#little firefly reference in my ask?

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 16

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 15 | Series Masterlist | Part 17

Chapter Word Count: Over 5.4k

Chapter Summary: Bucky tries to pull you closer when you want to pull away, and someone else in your life my not take no for an answer.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, arguing, tension, slight harassment, kissing, reference to stalking, inner turmoil, manipulation, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky traded lazy kisses with you as your tears slowed, and you had no idea if it was his mouth that had your heart pounding and the crushing weight of everything that surrounded him. It was so much to unpack. Every encounter with him seemed to be that way. Something blindsided you or suffocated you, but you hadn't been at all prepared for what he just shared. And how could you? He didn't keep photos of his mother around, and you hadn't gone poking around online.

Would you have found out the truth if you had?

He followed your lips when you pulled away. “It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling you back in.

It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Though it partially made sense now why he was moving so fast. He believed if he met you then that you would've fallen in love and been together to this day. Because he didn't seek you out then and lost so much time, he was packing everything into a rushed time span. Dating, meeting his friends, getting you into his place. He was moving things along at an accelerated speed, and you were barely keeping up with the ride.

“No.” The muffled word against his lips somehow rang out loud and clear enough for him to stop, but you put a hand on his chest in case he tried to lean in again. “Why are you punishing me?”

His eyes rounded. “You think I’m punishing you? Jesus, why would you think that?”

“Because of how you went about all of this. I know you were desperate, and I get the drive behind some of your actions now,” you said, which you refused to excuse. You got it but couldn’t excuse it. “Your response of ‘where’s the fun in that?’ when I said you couldn’t just ask me out like a normal person? You almost seemed to delight in intimidating me. Why?”

If you saved his mom, why do this?

“I didn’t delight in that. I played it wrong,” he admitted in a quiet voice, surprising you. “I approached it like…”

“Like everything else in your life where you have everyone under your thumb through fear. You did the same thing to me.” You laughed just a little. “In a way, it worked because I’m officially afraid to try to leave you.”

Had things blossomed between you two organically, you’d like to believe that things would’ve been better. Healthy. There was always the chance that a relationship might’ve come to an end because life was like that. But if he frightened you enough to stay forever, he’d never have to worry. The stars would still align as far as he was concerned.

“I don’t want you to fear me or what we have,” he whispered, reaching for you as you scooted back.

“What we have? Tell me, do you think your mom would be proud of your actions to obtain me or ashamed?” You couldn’t believe that was the kind of man she raised, to put fear into the heart of the person he supposedly loved.

He flinched. Actually flinched. You might as well have raised a hand to him. “She…” He swallowed. “She would’ve wanted us together.”

“Like this? By you not giving me a choice?” you asked, pushing yourself up. “I need to go home.” There would be no getting through to him and this revelation was doing your head in. One cup of coffee wasn't enough either.

He got up to follow you. “Why are you rushing off?”

“I have a shift today, and I have to go home and shower,” you said, grabbing some of your things. “Don’t worry about dropping me off. I’ll get a cab.”

“What? No, you-”

“You put money in my account, so it’s not like I have to worry about paying for it. And it’s not like I’ll be alone either since you’ll have me followed whether I want it or not,” you said as a matter of fact.

“You’re putting a wall up,” he said, frowning as you grabbed your phone charger before he could. “Don’t shut me out, please.”

“I’m not shutting you out. I’m trying to process the gigantic bombshell you dropped on me,” you said, stopping to look at him when he grabbed your arm. “Bucky-”

“This has been a lot, all of it, but we can’t go back and change it, and you know I can’t let you go because we’re meant to be together,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “You feel it. I know you do.”

How many times would he say that until you agreed? “Just because you think fate stepped in-”

“Fate brought you into my club, but I gave it a much-needed push to bring us together after leaving things to chance for so long,” he said, tugging you closer and putting his other hand on your cheek. “You can’t tell me you don’t care about me in some capacity. You’re just afraid to admit it because it isn’t conventional in your eyes, but you don’t have to be afraid of how you feel.”

How could you truly fall in love with him when he orchestrated everything from the start? “Feelings or not you’re still going to force me to move in with you soon, and that scares me,” you said. Your wings would forever be clipped.

“We should’ve been living together and married by now,” he argued, keeping a tight hold on you. “I know I’m making you move in sooner than you want, but beyond safety it’ll give us a chance to really know each other before we get married.”

Talk of marriage had your heart thudding. The man would probably force you to marry him sooner than you wanted. “You said you already know everything about me,” you said. At least he thought he knew you. The vision of you he built up in his mind scared you, too. He couldn’t keep you on that pedestal.

“But you don’t fully know me yet, and I don’t know what it’s like to live with you. The experience will bring us closer together.” His smile was full of hope. “We can read together, do movie nights, dance in the kitchen.”

“Bucky-”

“We can exercise together, in and out of bed,” he continued, your breath hitching as he rubbed his nose against yours. “Don’t you already feel closer to me now that you know we're meant to be?”

A quick knock on the door followed by a long one saved you from answering. “It isn't check-out time, is it?”

“No. That would be Ray,” Bucky headed to the door and kept you back a small distance before he answered. The man really was protective, wasn't he?

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Ray said, giving you a polite nod before he leaned in and whispered something to Bucky. Whatever was said to him made his face harden. The entire change in his demeanor worried you.

“Kotyonok, let’s get your bag and get you back to your place so you can get ready for work,” he suggested, his smile tight.

“What’s the matter?” you asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” he answered, kissing your forehead. “And before we go, I know you suggested taking a cab, but please let Ray take you back to your place. It would make me feel better.”

The hint of a plea in his voice and the look in Ray’s eyes kept you from protesting. “Fine, Ray can take me home. Just give me a second to change out of these pajamas,” you said, a bit surprised that Bucky wasn’t offering to take you home himself. “But you are going to tell me later what’s going on, right?” you asked.

“I will, but I need some answers myself first. Get changed. I’ll get your bag,” he said, gently guiding you to the bathroom so you could change and officially ending that conversation.

Ray was still by the entry door once you came out, looking a bit stiffer than usual, too. You stole a glance at Bucky as the three of you headed to the elevator, catching the anger etched in his features as he gripped your bag handle tight enough that you thought it would rip. They were leaving you in the dark about something. You weren’t sure if you could take any other bombshells.

“Ray may need to pick you up from work instead of me, but I’ll message you if that’s the case,” Bucky said, fixing his hair in the elevator reflection. “And… we may need to talk about your girls’ day out.”

“What about it?” you asked, already knowing where he was going with this.

“If you can cancel or reschedule it,” he replied.

You stared hard at him. Where was that coming from? “No, it's tomorrow, and I’m not cancelling or rescheduling. And don’t you dare use Zemo as an excuse to get your way,” you snapped. Even if it was a valid reason, you didn’t want to hear it.

His jaw clenched, but he looked sad as he glanced at you. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“We talked about this. If it’s a safety issue, Ray agreed that someone could watch out for me. That should keep me safe,” you reminded him. You’d be fine. “Right, Ray?”

The blonde stared straight ahead. “That isn’t my decision,” he said apologetically.

Your shoulders slumped. For a short time, you thought he could be on your side or at least help give you some slack. “Right. Because you don't get to make decisions, and neither do I. You’re a bodyguard, I’m just a doll,” you said, looking straight ahead, too, and pulling your hand back when Bucky tried to take it. “Please, don’t.”

“Kotyonok…” Bucky sighed as the door opened. You marched out, not waiting for either of them. “Wait.”

You headed straight for the desk, feeling sadder when you didn’t see Natasha. “Checking out, please,” you said, sliding the room card over to the woman standing there.

“Of course. I hope you enjoyed your stay.” She looked behind you likely at Bucky before giving you a smile. “Ms. Romanoff also wanted to remind you that you have a place here if you need one.”

“I’m sure I’ll take her up on that soon,” you said, turning your head to glare at Bucky. While his expression was stoic, his eyes told you he didn’t want you to be upset with him. “And make sure she adds an inconvenience fee to the damaged wall bill. She’ll know what I mean.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she smiled. “Take care.”

Bucky was hot on your heel and you didn't make it two steps out the door before he had a hand on you. “You’re upset with me. Putting up more of that wall.”

You didn't speak until Ray walked past you to get his car. “You’re trying to get me to cancel my day out with my friends, after you went through the whole charade of buying me a new dress for it and everything. And after what you told me about your mom.” You took a breath to try to calm down. “Yeah, I’m upset, and yeah, you’re supplying me with the very bricks to build that wall.”

“I said we may need to talk about it, I didn’t flat out say you weren’t going,” he corrected you. He might as well have. “I know it means a lot to you, but-”

You held a hand up. “No. There are no ‘buts’ in this. For all you keep taking from me, I don’t ask for much. I really don't,” you stated. In fact, you’ve shown lots of restraint. “Who knows how many moments I’ll get like this with my friends once you move me in.” He wasn’t about to take this small thing from you after everything.

He titled his head. “You think I’ll keep you from them?”

“Part of me thinks you will, yes. Because as soon as I think that there’s hope, the second I think that we could be closer together while you loosen the reins, you say or do something that puts me back in your full control,” you said. He had to see that. “And every time you do that, like you are right now, it makes me want to push you away.”

“And you can push all you want, but I’ll just pull you closer,” he smiled, making you huff when he actually did so. “I’m not afraid to let you burn me.”

“You keep saying that. Give me a match or a lighter and we’ll test that theory,” you said. He burst out laughing, the sound loud in the morning air as your eyes widened. “Why are you laughing?” you asked incredulously. How could he laugh when you were still worked up?

“Because even arguing with you makes me happy,” he sincerely stated. “And now all I want to do is find a way to put a smile back on your face.”

You exhaled. He was so in love with the idea of a relationship with you that arguments appealed to him? Anyone else would've walked away by now.

“You’re infuriating,” you whispered when he touched the corner of your mouth and made it twitch in a small smile. “Impossible.”

“I know,” he whispered back, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, you’re tired and you’re overwhelmed, which is completely my fault. Am I right?”

“Yes,” you sighed. He hit it right on the nose.

“And maybe I was rash in suggesting that you cancel your plans, but I need to take care of a couple things before we discuss that more,” he said, leading you to Ray's car before you could protest. “You just have a good shift, okay?”

He was placating you now, and it was sadly working. “Fine,” you said, touching his hand, the metal one. “I don’t think I said so earlier, but thank you for finally telling me the truth,” you said, calmer than you were moments before. He should've told you from the start, but it couldn't have been easy reopening old wounds regarding his dad.

His gaze softened. “Thank you for letting me.”

“And whatever Ray told you or whatever’s going on, just breathe, okay?” you begged.

He took a deep breath. “I’ll just think of you and it’ll help,” he said, adding in a low voice as he pulled you against him. “And this.”

This was nothing like the slow, languid kisses from minutes ago. This was dominant, claiming, threatening to rob you of the air in your lungs, like he wanted you to feed your own breath into him. He either forgot Ray was there, or he simply didn’t care.

By the time Bucky stopped kissing you and helped you into the car, you didn’t want to look either of them in the eye.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing your temple and shutting the door as your heart flip flopped. God, he was insufferable. Confusing. Obsessed.

“You're certainly keeping him on his toes,” Ray said, not driving off until he made sure Bucky was in his vehicle, too.

“Someone has to,” you said, staring out the window. “I’m going with my friends tomorrow. I don't care if he makes you drag me back,” you said. Unless your life was in some sort of immediate danger, there was no reason for you to skip out on meeting up with the girls.

“So you’re aware, the suggestion of you moving your day out has nothing to do with wanting to control you. He’s upset because of the news I delivered and he wants to keep you close,” Ray explained, making you feel a little bad.

“So, that news was the reason why you both changed your tune, and you can't tell me what that news is,” you guessed. If you were in some sort of danger though, surely Bucky would’ve said so. “He told me about his mom. How I saved her.”

Silence filled the vehicle. “So, you know the truth,” he said after a minute, his voice neutral. “Are you okay?”

“I’m trying to be,” you answered carefully. You really were.

“That’s all you can do,” he said before adding under his breath, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

You snorted. “I guess I'm living breathing proof of that.” It was ironic how an act of kindness put you on this path. “And as much as I don't like to wish pain upon people, I hope Bucky's dad got whatever he deserved.”

Winnie, from the short time you knew her, was nothing but wonderful. Bucky said the dahlia painting in his office served as a reminder that he would never do to you what his dad did to his mom. He would never set you up to take the fall for anyone else, wouldn’t let someone else hurt you if he could help it. He would forever stand by you.

Was pushing him away doing you any good?

“He did,” Ray promised you. “And I say with complete sincerity that I hope today is very uneventful for you after the time you've had.”

Your nose scrunched as you laughed. “So do I, Ray. So do I.”

Ray was kind enough to wait outside of your place as you showered and got ready for work, and didn't push you to talk more before he dropped you off at the shop. He was even kind enough to stop so you could get another cup of coffee. It helped improve your mood.

“There she is!” Kate smiled when you walked in. “Little miss not-so-single anymore.”

“Hey,” you giggled before you paused. “I didn't know you were working today. Did you switch shifts with someone?”

“God, the schedule’s all messed up. Mrs. Crandle called out for some business thing-”

“Business thing?” you asked, your brows pinched. She hardly ever took time off for things like vacation let alone a business thing without informing her staff.

“Yeah, I’m not really sure about all the details, but Lorraine ended up switching the whole schedule around. Mya’s coming in later, and I had to come in early, and your shift’s ending early.”

“What?” you frowned, checking the schedule to make sure. She was right. Your shift today was almost cut in half. “Would’ve been nice to get a text or something.”

The assistant manager wasn't bad to work with, but she could be a little forgetful with things like that. If Bucky hadn't just put money in your account, you may have been more upset over having half a shift cut. After the night and morning you had though, maybe an afternoon off wouldn't be so bad.

“She probably forgot since you were coming in at your normal time. Who knows?” Kate shrugged. “You know, I half expected Clark to be here waiting for you. Seemed really eager to see you yesterday.”

“Yeah, about that.” You looked toward the door, your body tense in anticipation even though he wasn't there. “Why did you tell him I was working today?”

“He’s kind of a regular, and I didn't really think about it. Then Mrs. Crandle brought up your boyfriend and…” Her face fell as she stopped cutting stems, which made you feel bad when she glanced your way. “Crap, I did something wrong, didn't I?”

You weren’t about to go into specifics regarding your personal situation. “I just don’t want customers to know when my shifts are unless I’m specifically working on an order or event for them, okay?” you said, hoping she understood that it was a general request.

Bucky was not getting in your head about your safety.

“Okay, as long as you aren’t mad,” she said. You gave her a smile to assure her that you were okay. “So, tell me about your new boyfriend.”

You filled her in as much as you could to make it sound believable, just like you had with Addison. Like her and Mrs. Crandle, Kate was excited for you. And they would never know the full truth.

As your shift went on, you were surprised you hadn't heard much from Bucky. It was for the best though. He was clearly dealing with something. As much as you didn't want to defend him in your mind, it had taken a lot for him to talk about his parents. To show you some of the damage done to his body. It was a vulnerable moment. Did you owe it to him to be vulnerable, too?

Wait, why did you owe him anything?

“Heading out?” Kate asked once your shift was up.

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing at your phone. You wondered if you should text Bucky before you decided against it. You'd let him know once you got to your place that you wouldn't need a ride. “Just call me if you need me to come back in.”

“Don’t worry about that. Enjoy the rest of your day!” she smiled.

Satisfied when you didn't see Bucky or Ray’s car waiting for you either, you decided to take a walk. It was a nice day, and you needed the fresh air. You hoped the weather was nice for the winery. You’d have to take photos to look back on what was going to be a fun time.

“Hey!” you heard someone shout after a few minutes of walking.

You stopped when you spotted Clark waving at you from the other side of the street. You barely waved back before he joined you. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood,” he smiled, pushing his glasses up. “You done working already?”

“Yep,” you said, adjusting your bag. “And I should really-”

“Could we talk for a minute?” he asked.

You hesitated before nodding. “Sure,” you said, falling in step beside him.

“You know, I actually went to the shop to buy you flowers yesterday. I was going to buy you some roses,” he smiled.

Oh, God. “You were?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there and… It doesn’t matter,” he smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But I was thinking… Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime? My treat.”

The hopeful look in his eyes made a pit form in your stomach. “Clark, I’m seeing someone,” you said, his blue eyes dimming. Hadn’t Kate said that Mrs. Crandle brought up that you were in a relationship? “It’s fairly new, and I don’t want to mess things up,” you explained, though he wasn’t owed an explanation.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” he mumbled, kicking a small rock on the sidewalk. “Well, if it’s fairly new, I'm sure you can get coffee with other people.”

“Get coffee with people? Yes. But this kind of sounds like a date, and I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry,” you said. That would feel like cheating even if you didn't consider it a date, and you weren't that kind of person.

“Then we won’t call it a date,” he grinned.

Maybe you were feeling paranoid, but there was something weird behind his smile. “You just got out of a relationship, and I don’t want to send mixed signals by agreeing to go with you.”

His smile shook a bit. “It's just a coffee.”

“Is it?” The longer he stared, the more odd things felt, and you didn’t like it. “Listen, when you find someone else to give flowers to I’d be happy to pick some out for you.”

“I don't understand.” He laughed, but it sounded bitter. “You’ve always been nice to me.”

“Well, yeah. You’ve always been kind, too, when you come into the shop.”

“Too nice for someone like Bucky Barnes,” he muttered, his smile disappearing completely.

You gaped at him, almost faltering in your step. “What did you just say?”

“I said you’re too nice for someone like Bucky Barnes,” he said louder, his ire clear as day. “You think I don’t know about his reputation? He’s dangerous, and you’re too good for him.”

“How do you know I’m dating him?” you asked. And what did he know about his reputation?

He was quiet for a moment. “Mrs. Crandle said his name, and she has no idea what kind of man he is,” he said, making you feel uneasy. “I don’t think you do either.”

Oh, you knew plenty. “I appreciate your concern, really, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Well, I do. And I just don’t see why we can’t have one cup of coffee together,” he said, flashing a smile again. “It’ll be fun.”

“Because you know I’m seeing someone,” you said. He knew it before he bumped into you, but was still pushing for you to go with him. “And I also kind of make it a rule not to date customers,” you added, stopping when you got to your building. You walked faster than you thought.

“Well, rules should have exceptions, right? And if Bucky cared so much, where is he? Why wasn’t he waiting to pick you up and take you home?” he pressed, his eyes narrowing when you dug into your purse. “Maybe he doesn’t care about you as much as you think.”

Your next breath came out shaky. He hadn’t raised his voice at you, but you didn’t appreciate the third degree, or the implication that Bucky didn’t care. “Because he’s a busy man who sometimes works both days and nights. I don’t expect him to drop everything just to take me home.”

“If you took a chance on me, you’d never have to worry about things like that.”

You were starting to feel nauseous. “Well, sometimes I like the quiet after the bustle of the shop, so walking helps me decompress. And I can't take a chance on you when I’m seeing someone else.” Why was he being so pushy?

He took a small step closer. “You know, it’s dangerous to walk home alone.”

You took a step back, your keys between your fingers. “You’re right about that,” you agreed. The only reason you did so today was to take back a little control, which didn’t seem so smart now.

“I can start walking you home if you want,” he smiled, towering over you. Was he always so imposing? “When’s your next shift?”

You managed a smile in return, but it was extremely forced. “Clark, that’s really not necessary, but thank you for the offer. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

He gently took your arm when you turned toward the door, worry crawling up your spine when his hand tightened a fraction. You suddenly wish you had Bucky or Ray around. “I really don’t mind.”

“My boyfriend will mind, and I’m sure you can understand that. So it’s a no on the coffee and the walks home,” you said gently but firmly, pulling your arm back and rubbing the spot where Clark grabbed you. He wasn’t listening. It somehow felt worse than Bucky and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Was it because Clark tried to act nice? “It’s been a long few days, and I’m going to get some rest. Have a nice day, okay?”

His eyes narrowed again, but it was his chilling smile that unnerved you. “I’m sure I'll see you again soon. We’ll have to get that coffee,” he said, walking off before you could say another word.

You rushed into the building once he was out of sight, your hands shaking. It may have been from the confrontation or the combination of everything. Maybe Clark was just lonely and latched on a bit because you were nice. Hadn't Bucky done something similar?

But if Clark wanted to see you, why hadn't he just gone into the shop if he knew you were working?

Double checking your locks once you were in your apartment, you took a breath and stared at your phone once you sat down. You had to talk to Bucky. He answered within a few seconds of you calling.

“Kotyonok, is everything okay?” he asked, sounding both happy and concerned to hear from you.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” you asked, hearing a few other men speaking in the background.

“Because you’re calling me and not texting. And you sound a little off. What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” you lied. How did he recognize that you felt off? “I just wanted you to know that the assistant manager changed my shift, so I went home early.”

“Wait, you’re already home?” he asked. The background noise suddenly stopped. “Did you get a cab? Please tell me you didn’t walk back to your place.”

“…Fine, I won’t tell you that.”

Bucky let out an impressive string of curse words as you pulled the phone away from your ear. “That’s not safe. You know it isn’t,” he hissed, but you knew he wasn’t actually angry with you. Just the situation. And bumping into Clark today and Zemo the day before, he had a bit of a point. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Because I said it may not be a good idea to go out with your friends.”

You closed your eyes. He was not going to make you feel bad. “I just needed a breather, okay? And I made it home just fine.”

“But did you? How do I know someone didn’t follow you?” he asked. Clark’s face flashed in your mind when you stayed quiet. “…Kotyonok, did someone follow you?”

“No one followed me that I know of,” you said. You really didn't have any idea. “But… I did bump into Clark. He was in the neighborhood.”

“Clark? That guy from the shop who tried to give you flowers just happened to be in your neighborhood when I wasn't around?” he asked, fury seeping into his tone as you winced.

“I… I’m sure it was a coincidence,” you said. Placating him in this wasn’t going to work, but you had to try.

“That isn’t a fucking coincidence and we both know it. Did he say anything? Try anything?”

You shut your eyes. It would be like ripping off a band-aid. “He asked me to go get a cup of coffee with him, but I told him I was seeing someone.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “He asked you out?” he asked, making you shift in your seat. “Why the fuck do I not have a file on him yet?!” he snapped at someone in the background.

“I’m working on it, boss!” you heard someone promise. “Should I call-”

“No. I’ll call him myself,” Bucky growled.

Who was he talking about? “Bucky, it’s okay. The guy asked me out and I said no,” you assured him. You weren't going to go out with Clark. “I’m sure women throw themselves at you every day and you turn them down.”

“They don't ‘bump’ into me in my neighborhood. And had you told me you were leaving early, I could’ve made sure this guy didn’t go anywhere near you. I don��t even want him near your shop until I know more about him,” he said, his anger not lessening. “If he tries anything, I will tear him apart piece by fucking piece,” he promised you, the intensity in his tone making your throat go dry.

“That isn’t necessary,” you whispered.

He sighed. “Why would you deliberately put yourself in a spot like this just to prove a point? Be pissed at me, I can take that, but do not risk your safety,” he said, adding in a quieter voice, “I couldn’t take it if something happened to you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hating how guilty you felt, how worried he sounded on your behalf. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to worry you,” you said. It was stubborn and dumb on your part, and now you were afraid that Bucky really would try to cancel your day out tomorrow. You couldn’t let him. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“Make it up to me?” he asked. That seemed to get his attention. “How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll…” you began, steadying yourself. Natasha said you had power, and maybe you’d have to test that sooner than you expected. “Stay at your place tonight.”

You could hear a pin drop from the quiet. “You’ll stay the night?” he asked, his voice moving like lava through your veins.

“Yes,” you whispered, hammering the nail in the coffin.

“Give me two hours and I'll come get you,” he said, his voice strained, eager. “Be ready.”

“I will be.”

God, you hoped you knew what you were doing.

Oh, Clark. He's a problem now, isn't he? What do we think Ray told Bucky? And what's going to happen when you spend the night? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[himasgod]

M-Mayhaps platonic Malleus with reader who is his adoptive sibling but the Senate and majority of the people refuse to accept them as a sibling of their heir as they are half-fae and not a Draconia (Maleficia is fine with them but she holds very little power over the Senate)

MALLEUS AND READER

Where the Senate does not accept you as his sibling

The castle always smelled like briar smoke. You used to love that smell — it meant home, even when nothing else did. But lately, it just reminded you how unwanted you were here.

"You're scowling again," Malleus said beside you as you walked through the hall.

"Am I?" you muttered, hands in the sleeves of your robe. "Must be the lighting."

Your footsteps filled the corridor. The portraits of your adoptive ancestors — tall, haughty Draconias— glared down at you like they knew you didn’t belong.

The news from this morning still clung to your ribs: another vote in the Senate had failed to recognize you as a full member of the royal household.

"Third rejection this season," you said casually, trying not to care. "I’m breaking records."

"Their pride will cost them more than a few stained ledgers if they continue."

You glanced at him. Malleus looked calm, but his eyes were that stillness he always got when he was furious.

For your sake. That still made your chest ache.

"They say I’ll never be a Draconia, no matter how many generations pass. They call me the ‘thornblood orphan’ behind my back."

Malleus stopped walking. You almost kept going before realizing.

"You were not chosen my sibling because of your blood. You were chosen because you were family the moment you looked at me and asked if my horns were heavy, when you were almost a toddler."

"...You remember that?"

He allowed himself a ghost of a smile.

“I had never laughed so much before that night.”

Maleficia was waiting in her usual spot, teacup balanced on one finger.

"You’re late," she said mildly, not looking up.

You bowed your head and flopped gracelessly onto the cushion beside her.

"Politics is a disease."

"Mmm. Caught it young, did you?"

You groaned into the pillow. Maleficia finally turned, her features sharp and amused.

“You’re stronger than them. That’s why they hate you. You've established a bond of trust with Malleus that neither of them has been able to achieve in decades and decades of years.”

"They hate me because I don’t fit into their little picture of a perfect monarchy."

"That too. But mostly because you remind them their rules can be bent. Bent rules threaten old men with no power except tradition."

You peeked up at her.

“Why do you always sound like you’re quoting an evil play?”

“I am an evil play,” she replied, lifting her teacup with flair. “But I’m your play, and I’d turn every last one of those doddering cowards into bats if I had more authority. I could have it, but… I'm getting older. I prefer to drink tea and watch them argue in the Senate with a smile.”

"...Thank you?"

"You’re welcome, little thorn."

The chamber echoed with voices.

“Half-fae or not,” one senator was saying, “the child has no blood claim to the throne and cannot be granted the privileges of the House Draconia.”

Malleus rose from his chair slowly. The room fell into silence.

"You dare refer to my sibling as 'the child' in my presence?"

The senator blanched.

"I recognize blood, but I also recognize loyalty. Character. Strength. And if the Senate does not, perhaps they should look in a mirror and ask if it still deserves to stand.”

The senator sputtered.

“You would threaten the Senate?”

“No,” Malleus said, smiling ever so slightly. “I would only remind it that I am not a child anymore. And neither is my sibling.”

That night, you sat alone in the overgrown garden. You watched the fireflies float, thinking how they never questioned belonging.

Malleus appeared wordlessly and sat beside you.

“…You’re not supposed to talk to the gallery guests,” you said, trying for humor. “It’s probably illegal.”

“Would it make a difference, if I told you that I consider you closer to methan half the fools arguing over titles?”

“They’ll never stop coming for me.”

“Then let them come. You are not alone.”

You leaned against his shoulder. Malleus let you.

At the next state event, you walked at Malleus’s side. Not behind him. Not two steps back as usual.

The nobles stared, bristling in quiet outrage.

Malleus offered you his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Let them see," he said.

"They're already whispering," you replied, adjusting your head high.

"Then let them choke on it."

You smirked.

The thornblood orphan walked like royalty that night. Because you were.

And eventually, they would have no choice but to see it.

[millersfinest]

the thing in your chest that beats ³ | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5.3k

mini-series: california | oregon | idaho (you’re here) | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, slow-burn romance, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption, afab body parts mentioned, vulgar language, some joel references, inner guilt, use of ‘y/n’ and ‘woman’, ellie has a panic attack, shambler appearance (ew), and for the fun part… SMUT, switch!reader, oral sex, fingering ( :P ), barely any dirty talk because this is a loving experience y’all (and i don’t really know how to write that lmao), ellie might be a little ooc but i just perceive her to be this way idk.

note: to start… if anyone needs anyone to talk to after hearing the results of the election, please don’t be afraid to direct message me. especially my fellow american queer/trans friends. we are truly in some tough times right now. i hope this chapter can serve as some sort of distraction for what’s going on. as always, enjoyy!

Idaho

Welcome to the Gem State, the sign read when you passed the state line into Idaho a few days ago. The place you’ve been dreaming of was getting closer and closer—that feeling of relief was near! You could feel it bubbling in your stomach, enriching the nerves that ran under your sore muscles.

Since Oregon, you and Ellie had barely shared a full conversation. It’s only been small directions, or helpful interjections with infected, or even, guidance in getting around potentially dangerous people.

This time around, you harbored most of the frustration and anger. Wrath wrapped itself around you once more, forbidding you from wondering what her inquiries meant—what bringing up Honey meant. Ellie tried to service you the best she could, trying to make up physically for what she couldn’t vocally. Resuming her position as your caretaker, but that only made things worse.

The wounds and weaknesses of Santa Barbara were healing but were being replaced by new ones. Surface cuts, sprained ankles, and scorned hearts. Ellie could ask you nothing without the pitch of your voice raising an octave. It wasn’t anything like the character she knew you to be.

Or the months you spent together thus far meant nothing—she never actually knew anything about you.

The annotated map relied in your hands as you approached an administrative building. You had spent the previous night planning the route, instead of engaging in small talk with your partner. You were, somehow, still trying to prove to Ellie that you didn’t need her. Indulging in an individual competition of: who does it better? It was a drastic understatement to call you a competitive person. And her incessant need to make up for the misfortune of her curiosity wasn’t helping.

“Here’s the firm…” You mutter, immediately trotting to the front doors. American Falls Firm. Pulling at the handle, you realized it was locked and barricaded from the inside. Huffing, you folded up the map, sliding it into your backpack. “Looks like we gotta find another way in.” Dusting your hands, you began to survey different sides of the building. She followed behind you, keeping an eye out for lingering infected and any other inhibitors.

Humming to yourself, you squinted at the broken window above you. Turning your head, you peered at the auburn-haired woman who’s back faced you. Your Beretta resided in her hands as she kept a keen eye on the surroundings. Ellie didn’t mind doing that job because it kept her mind from wanting appeal to you. It kept her from wanting to beg for your forgiveness. After all, this was just her doing you a debtless favor. She shouldn’t have been so attached to you anyway.

“Hey,” You waved her over. “I need a boost.”

She met your eyes, nodding with firm lips. “Sure,” Slinging the shotgun around her body, she bent at the knee and cupped her hands low. Placing your hands on her shoulders, your irises danced over her features, briefly. Dirt attempted to blend in with the freckles over her nose, but they didn’t stand a chance—you knew the difference. Her olive eyes did well to avoid yours, feigning a look of impatience. “Up you go.”

Ellie boosted you up toward the window with all the strength she could muster. Fingers catching onto the edge of where the floor and window meant. Using your own strength, you pulled yourself into a room illuminated by daylight. Groaning under your breath from the stretch of your muscles. Crouching, you leaned back down to pull Ellie up.

Her hand attached to your forearm, crawling up the stone wall and into the room. Ellie hissed as she crawled inside, holding her wrapped ankle to alleviate some of the pain. Standing to your feet, you looked down at her with flickers of concern in your eyes.

The other day, she tripped over a thick fallen tree branch from the morning dew—spraining or straining her ankle, you couldn’t remember the difference. All you knew was that she hurt her ankle badly, but it wasn’t broken. Ellie wrapped it herself with athletic tape from your bag; with her back facing you in embarrassment.

“Can we keep going, or do you need a second?” You inquire, avoiding your eyes, dismissively. Like you didn’t care what her response was, even though you did.

“I’m fine…” She stood to her feet, wringing out her foot.

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fine…” Ellie grumbled, walking off to another side of the room.

It was a barren office that the both of you meandered through. Picking at the miscellaneous items that could serve you in any way. There were two desks that occupied the office; decorated with familial picture frames and old-world gadgets that made no sense to either of you.

Slowly, pushing open the door, the entire building appeared silent. Light peaking through broken and foggy windows, greenery growing inside and through the deteriorating structure. You found it rather beautiful that the earth was taking back what was hers—negating the infected, of course. Your fingers traced the vines that grew through the cement. Those plants were living despite opposition; everyone could learn something from that.

Breaking through barriers and walls, despite their resilience.

You glanced at the auburn-haired woman, keeping a safe distance from you, scoping out the place. “What’s the route out of here?” She asks, dragging her sneakers against the cracked floors. There was a slight limp to her gait, but made sure to walk as normal as possible when your eyes were set on her.

Blowing air from your lips, you respond. “The ground floor. There should be a stairwell around here somewhere.”

Usually, lower floors of abandoned buildings worried you. Infected find themselves huddled in their own corrosion. In darker, moister, places they intensified. Some merging to the walls, other growing boils of acid.

When your eyes set on a metal door that led to the floor you needed to get to, your heart pumped blood into your veins. Pounding in your ears as an alarm. Through the window, white flurries fluttered by, confirming the one thing you were concerned about: over-developed infected.

“Mask up. Spores.” You swing your bag around to dig for your mask.

Ellie did the same, with slight hesitation. “Is the this only way through?”

You nodded, tightening the strap around your head. “Yeah, if we still wanna knock off some time.” Opening the door, you armed yourself with the pistol that sat snuggly in the waistband of your jeans. The walls were adorned in the crusty corrosion of the sick, bubbling in corners. You frowned under your mask, stepping slowly down the stairs. Ellie following behind you with the same caution, shotgun drawn.

Errk!

Both of you stopped moving in the stairwell at the sound of a clicker. You swear under your breath, glancing at your partner. “We’ve got company.” She muttered, nodding at you to go forward.

Moments like this was when you relied on her the most, but you’d never admit it. It was nice to not have to endure circumventing infected alone. Ellie was your backup, and you were hers. Even if you were still upset with her—underground that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was staying alive.

Navigating through the dark, with your lights flickered on, the both of you managed to stealthily kill the clickers wandering around. But when a pair of crusted hands leaped from the wall, pushing you onto the ground… Another beast was alerted.

With the sound of Ellie’s shotgun, a loud monstrous grumble rumbled from down the hall. You pushed the stalker to the side, scrambling to your feet. “Ellie, how many bullets do we have?” You asked her, adrenaline pumping through your body.

She checked the chamber, cursing. “Fuck! Three rounds.”

Picking up the pistol from the ground, you checked the magazine. Only a few bullets. The shambler began to stomp, approaching the two of you, increasing into a run. “We gotta go!” You grab her hand, tugging her a tight hole in the wall; tall enough for you to slip through.

Running into the room, you realized there wasn’t an exit. There was only a door, but it led back out into the hallway. The quick call you made to evade the boiling beast, was a mistake. Before you could even regret the decision, the shambler bursted through the wall.

Without command, Ellie began firing the shotgun. First bullet. Second bullet. Third bullet—she was out. It roared, releasing puffs of acid. You both dodged by the skin of your teeth, running around the room like frightened mice. Now, it was your turn to unleash pointless blows to the creature. Emptying the rest of your magazine into the bulbous creature did nothing but anger it. Somehow, it found a way to creep up behind you and Ellie, taking her by the throat.

“Ellie!” You exclaimed, voice trembling in horror. Her hands scratched at its arms, pounding to be set free.

A pipe leaned out of a wall as an escape route, a message from God—fate, prying at you. Using the strength of a scared shitless person, you yanked the pipe free, falling back onto your butt. Quickly, you stood up and began hacking at the thing. Sounds of effort and defensive fear leaving your lips. Dropping Ellie onto the ground, he turned to you, roaring. However, your hacking at his body didn’t stop until he was on his knees. Gurgles left his corroded and bubbled mouth, but you used it as bait to make your final blow.

Heaving over its corpse, your back hunched, the pipe slipping from your sweaty grip. She coughed, reminding you of her presence, slumped against the wall. Her breath began to grow heavy, hand on her chest.

“Oh, my God— Ellie!” You crouched beside her, unsure where to place your shaking hands. She attempted to crack a smile, to pretend she was fine, but she wasn’t. The imperative organ in her chest beat faster than it should have, knocking the wind out of her. She couldn’t breathe—at least it felt like she couldn’t.

Ellie was panicking.

“Hey,” You tried, deepening your eyebrows, sliding your hands from her shoulders to her neck, to her trembling jaw. “Ellie,” Her hand shot up to grip your wrist with vigor, looking into your eyes, intensely. “Ellie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Your free hand pushed strangling hair from sticking to the plastic of her mask.

The grip on your wrist moved to the entrapment on her face. She began to claw at it, whining. “No…” You attempt to stop her fast, strong movements, but she shoved you away. “Ellie— no! What the fuck are you doing?!”

She peeled the mask off her face, taking the deepest breaths you’ve ever seen. Leaning back, your eyes watered, watching her gasp for toxic air. Ellie pushed the strands of her hair off her face, leaning her head against the cement of the wall. Her heart was settling, but then she looked to you. Olive eyes meeting your teary ones. “What the- what d-did you just do?” You stammered. “Ellie…”

You enunciated her name with such weariness that it made her feel guilty. Still, getting herself together from her panic attack, she felt the need to console you. But she didn’t have the energy.

Breathing heavily under your mask, you watch as nothing happened to her. She doesn’t convulse, choking on the toxic elements in the air. There was nothing different about her. Absolutely nothing.

“I can…” Ellie breathed. “I can explain later. Let’s just get outta here first, all right?”

Having no choice but to believe her, you stood to your feet. Reaching down for her hand. When you pulled her up, her ankle gave out on her. “Shit,” Ellie cursed, furrowing her eyebrows. “The harder they fall, huh?” She dryly chuckled.

You frowned, wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

Unamused, you found a way out of the ground floor. Unmasking at the first sight of daylight. You didn’t have to travel far with Ellie’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The only place that was able to receive your weak bodies was a little bookstore around the corner.

It was clustered inside. Book aisles placed close together, where only a single body could shimmy through. A pair of metal stairs spiraled up the back of the store, leading to another floor of books. Dropping all of your things, including Ellie’s arm, you stalked up those rusty steps with hot tears welling into your eyes.

Ellie leaned against a bookshelf, pressing her lips into a line. Watching every harsh step you took, ascending up the stairs. Her own eyes began to fill with tears, glancing down at her shaking hands. Before they could fall, she harshly wiped her face and decided to busy herself. It wasn’t a bad time to take inventory.

Upstairs, you found yourself huddled in a corner. Hot tears streaming down your cheeks, weeping as low as you could. The tears falling down your face was a release of fright. You realized something on that ground floor that you wish you hadn’t. That freckled stranger you had come upon, or who had come upon you, in Santa Barbara was becoming a meaningful person in your life. Unbeknownst to you! Ellie had snuck up on you like a rodent in disguise.

That distant figure that once hovered in dim lighting who you didn’t trust has become so much more. You trusted her with your fucking life. And it only took a few months on the road.

Having barely recovered from the threat of that shambler, she snatched her mask off like it was nothing. In those few second, your heart beat so loud it stalled time. You thought she was going to die right in front of you, willingly.

It took you back to a moment in your past—the death of your mother. Before you reached Catalina Island, your mother sacrificed herself to ensure that you made it there. She gave you her mask to take the spores head-on. Promising that she’d hold her breath; at fifteen, you were silly to believe her.

Just then, Ellie’s gasps proved your immediate worries and fears wrong. She wasn’t going to die in front of you like your mother did. The viral spores on that floor didn’t kill her. Making you wonder: who the fuck were you traveling with?

Wiping your face, messily, you wander back down the rusted steps of the bookstore. You spot her with both of your bags opened, going through the supplies you had. Counting under her breath. When her strained eyes caught yours, she ceased all movement.

“You know,” She began, looking at the hand that was missing her pinky and ring finger, massaging her palm. “I think, that was the most you’ve ever said my name.”

You frowned, walking through the aisles, cheeks stained with tears. “What the fuck was that back there?” The sound of your voice was weak and frail.

“A panic attack…”

“I’m talking about the mask, Ellie. You breathed spores…?”

She licked her lips, averting her olive eyes. “I’m immune…”

A beat passed between the two of you, roping around your still bodies.

Ellie watched how your lips quivered, like you wanted to cry. The redness in your eyes made her frown. “I just— in the moment… I couldn’t breathe. I needed to take it off—“

“How do you know?” You abruptly ask. “How do you know that you’re immune? What if it just… I don’t know… Takes longer to develop in your system?”

“y/n…” She remorsefully spoke. “I was bitten when I was fourteen.” Ellie rolls up the sleeve of her jacket, pushing her tattooed arm toward you.

Pressing your lips together, you walk forward, taking her arm in your hands. Her forearm was covered in evergreen ink. Taking your hand, she guided your fingers over the eruptions in her skin. Abrasions. Hidden beneath the adoration of the tattoo. You never noticed this before. “I had a lot of time to know if this was real…” Ellie muttered, peering at you. Insecurity leaking from her pores.

You met her eyes, opening and closing your lips, trying figure out the words you wanted to say. “Who are you?” You examined the features you’ve come to know. “And don’t walk away this time— you have no choice but to tell me.” A chortle falls from your lips, causing her stiffness in her shoulders to loosen.

And so, Ellie told you as much as she could. She told you about how she got bitten. She told you about Riley. She told you about Joel and Tommy—about the fireflies—and about Joel, again. She told you about Dina and Jesse. And then, she told you about Abby. The familiarity of her name caused you to perk up. You knew of her from the resort; it was her and a little boy. However, the version she told you about aligned nothing with the version that you knew of.

“I went to Santa Barbara because I wanted to put an end to my suffering and Tommy’s— I wanted to kill her.” Ellie confessed, leaning her head back against the books pushed into the shelves. The two of you sat opposite of each other in a book aisle, knees grazing every so often. “I thought that would fix everything… But, when I saw her on that pillar…” She shook her head, running her hand through her hair. “For a second, I wasn’t going to do it. She led me to that beach, holding that kid, and I was gonna leave.”

Ellie blinked, remembering that empty feeling she felt on that day. Guilt crawling through her for something that was never in her control. You watched her speak, intently, with deepened eyebrows. “Then, I remembered. I remembered what she did— what she took from me, and I couldn’t let her go. I threatened that little boy, and I made her fight me. She didn’t want to, but I made her.”

“Did you kill her…?” You asked, slowly.

She chortled, wiping her teary eyes. “No. She took my fucking fingers, and I let her go.” The laugh she released was dry, and without humor. “It was like… Everything that I’ve done, leading up to that day, was all for nothing. All the people that I hurt— that I killed just to get to her… It was all for nothing.” Her voice cracked, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ellie couldn’t stop them this time.

You reached for her knee, caressing your thumb over the fabric of her jeans. She peered up at you, through her thick, wet eyelashes with a sort of surprise. Ellie didn’t think you’d stick around after hearing about her truth. You, a victim of the rattlers, empathizing with a murderer.

Before that, though, you were a firefly. You more than just a victim.

“How could I ever think of you as a bad person after what I’ve done?” She pressed her plump lips into a line, shaking her head. “That wasn’t what I meant at all… I was just trying to figure you out. I worded it all wrong— I’m sorry.” Ellie apologized with such frailty, you had no choice but to accept.

“Don’t be sorry, Ellie…”

“I’m beginning to realize I’m not really good with people.”

You squeeze her knee. “That’s not true. I think we get along great.” You shrug, attempting to lighten up the mood. Her lips curled at the corners, reaching for the hand on her knee, placing hers over yours. A silence bounced between you—eyes boring into each other’s, looking through each other. “I also think… You did what you thought was best…” You voiced, nodding affirmatively. “I probably would’ve, somehow, done worse.”

She scoffed, drawing circles on the back of your hand, absentmindedly. “Worse? You couldn’t have done worse.”

“You’d be surprised.” You lifted your eyebrows. “Not to beat a dead horse or anything, but as a firefly… When you’re told to do something, you do it.” Shrugging, you remove your hand from hers, crossing your arms. “I’m not a saint, Ellie. I’ve done loads of shit that I’m not proud of.” You looked down at your knees, frowning. “If some girl killed someone I cared about right in front of me… It would have been the last thing she ever did. Shit, I’ve killed people for less.”

You paused, eyebrows twitching. The image of a guardian angel came into your mind—Honey. “It should’ve been me in that house… In Santa Barbara.” Squeezing your eyes shut, tears began to fall down your cheeks once more. Angry, mourning tears. “It’s like… The Lord gave me second chance to do better— or was it fate? I don’t fucking know…”

Ellie blinked, having a severe déjà vu moment. Somehow the words spoken in her past, have managed to resurface. If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment, I would do it all over again. Spoken by your pretty mouth, instead of someone else’s. “I’d probably be just like Honey if it weren’t for you— dead. And I still don’t know what makes me worth saving, but I’m grateful. I’m grateful for you.” You sniffed, lips quivering while looking at the auburn-haired woman.

She swallowed, moving from her spot across from you to sit beside you. If only she had the courage to say those words to Joel. If only her resentment didn’t run so deep—perhaps, her guilt for his death wouldn’t be so strong. “Everything about you is worth saving… You’re like a lucky charm.”

You leaned your head back against the books, looking at her. “A lucky charm, huh?”

“Hell yeah! I mean, you totally whooped that shambler’s ass. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Hitting her arm, you giggle, keeping your eyes on the bookshelf in front of you. “Seriously, y/n…” Her humored tone faded as she trained her eyes on the side of your face, urging you to just look at her. To meet her eyes as passionately as she wanted to meet yours. It could’ve been the vulnerability that pulsed around the room, but she needed to see you. Her body ached for touch—perhaps, your touch. Ellie needed consolation for her confession.

Finally, your eyes drift toward hers. Not realizing how close her body was to yours. Shoulders, arms, hips, knees touching as if you were conjoined by the hip. Her eyes were prettier close up. They were greener than the evergreen that grew up desolate buildings. The freckles on her damaged skin could be connected like constellations—how come you never noticed this before? You wanted to trace the scar over her top lip and the one in her eyebrow with your finger, not just with your eyes.

The only thing that could be heard was your uneven, nervous breaths. Ellie moved her face closer to yours, just enough to tease, to ask for your permission without using her words. Her olive eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes. Weakly, you nodded, chewing on the corner of your bottom lip.

Her hands settled on your face, pulling you to hers. Meeting her lips with your lips, softly and patiently. Placing your hands on her wrists, you pull away, analyzing her features. Full lips were parted, wantonly. Pushing forward, you resumed the kiss with more intensity.

Whining against her lips, you got onto your knees, kicking your leg over her legs. Settling on her lap, her hands moved to your hips, kneading them. Her lips beginning to trail down your jaw; they were wet and hot kisses, causing your hips to roll on their own. Pleasured sighs fled from your swollen parted lips, holding onto her shoulders. “Ellie— Ellie, are you sure about this?” You question, with your eyes fluttered shut.

Against the sensitive skin of your neck, she spoke. “Beyond sure…” She muttered, littering your neck with love bites. Then, she pauses, pulling back to look up at you. Her hands still on your hips, pulling them to a stop to get your attention. “Are you sure about this?” Her pupils were blown out, adoringly.

You massaged her tense shoulders, licking your lips. The sight of her made your skin warm and tingly. “I’m fucking sure.” You smiled, playing with ends of her auburn strands. Leaning down, you pressed your lips against hers again, with fervor.

The both of you needed this—human connection. Even if it was short-lived, or temporary.

Ellie pushed at the flannel over your arms, tossing it to the side. Then, it was your knit shirt. She rolled it up from your abdomen, you lift your arms so she could remove it. Lastly, was your sports bra. She pulled it over your head, eyes marveling at the sight before her. Her calloused hands ran down the bare sides of your back, lips trailing down your sternum.

Running your hands over her hair, she latched her lips around one of your nipples. Sucking and nibbling at the sensitive nerves. A moan escapes your throat, arching your back into her. Your hips buck on top of her lap, begging for her touch elsewhere. “My lucky charm…” She mutters against your skin, kneading your other breast.

You end up with your back on the hard floor of the bookstore. Your hands pulling off her clothes like your life depended on it. She pulled your pants off, leaving you both only in your underwear.

Ellie kissed you, again, pressing her chest against yours. Her knee slotted between your legs, pushing her thigh against your clothed core. You could feel her grinding against your propped up leg, moaning into your mouth. Calloused hand gripping the back of your thigh. Sloppily, your lips trail to the side of her face, airy moans releasing beside her ear. “Ellie, please, touch me…” Wantonly, you pleaded, clenching the roots of her hair.

With her hot lips against your jaw, nibbling at your ear, she obliged. Drifting her hand down the center of your bodies, rubbing you over your underwear. Propping herself up on her other arm, she peered down at you. A pout resting on your wet lips, narrowing your eyes at her. One-handed, she slides your underwear to the side, running her middle finger up your center. Spreading your slick over that sensitive bud awaiting her focus. Ellie chews on her bottom lip, watching you shudder under her touch. “Right there?”

You respond with the tremble of your thighs and the heaving of your chest. She cracked a charming smile, eyes hazing at the sight of you.

Slipping two fingers into your cunt, she moans with you, curling her fingers slowly. Your hands roam her toned stomach, squeezing at her breasts, but you were losing focus. “S— So fucking good— ah!” Pulling her fingers out of you, she lowered herself. Kissing the scars and bruises that littered your abdomen. Her movements briefly confused you, until you felt her mouth on the inner parts of your thighs.

She pulled your underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. Then, she was on you, mouth hot over your cunt. Suckling on your clit, thrusting her tongue into you—eating you like she was starving. Your mouth fell ajar, grasping at her hair for something to hold onto. “Fuck, Ellie!” You whine, bucking your hips toward her face.

Her olive irises looked up at you between your legs, glimmering with lust. Arching your back, feeling that tightness coiling under your muscles, a lewd sound comes from your throat. Something between a moan and a yelp.

Sooner than later, your release comes crashing over you. Like a breath of fresh air. Legs clamping around her head, pushing her closer to your heat. Her lips making out with your pussy, bringing you down from your high. “Oh, my God…” You mutter, massaging her scalp with your fingers.

She crawls up your body like a lustrous lioness, letting your taste yourself on her lips. Your hands gripped at the fat of her ass, biting her bottom lip with your teeth. Ellie gasped, angling your face with her hand, groaning against your lips.

Sliding your index finger under the hem of her boxer-short underwear, you yank them down. “Damn…” Ellie mutters, kicking off her underwear the rest of the way. “You’re quick.” She chuckles, as you flip her onto her back. Running your lips down her neck, biting her skin.

“I want you… Can you blame me?”

You gripped at her hips, but when she winced you stopped. Peering down at her hip bone, a stitching remained there. Red and a little irritated. “It’s fine. Keep goin’, please.” Ellie tried, reaching for your hand.

Lowering your body, you kissed around the irritated wound, gently. Ellie watched you, chewing on her lip. Holding onto her hand, you kissed lower and lower. Through the hairs over her mound, the inner parts of her thigh—lightly over her cunt. She twitched, bashfully trying to shut her legs. But your hands braced her thighs.

Breathing her in, you licked a line up her center, making eye contact with her. An airy sound left her parted lips, free hand tweaking her nipples. “Yeah… Yeah…” She chanted, rocking herself against your face. You lick at her clit before sucking it into your mouth, her hips jolting at the feeling. Fluttering your eyes shut, you spend time on her sensitive bud, messily. Your non-dominant hand still holding onto Ellie’s, her grip tightening every second.

Taking your other hand, you insert your middle and ring finger into her core. Looking up at her reaction, while you made love to her clit. “Fuck, yes!” She enunciated her words lustily, drawing them out. Popping her bud from your lips, you begin to curl your fingers. Her wanton moans bouncing off the bookshelves around you.

“You’re so pretty like this.” You whisper, mainly to yourself, as you gaze at her in awe. Ellie was always so rough around the edges, but under you she was different. Her scarred body shook under you, in pleasure. She was in her element.

She moaned your name, riding your fingers. The muscles in her abdomen clenching, the grip on your hand getting harder. Taking that as your cue, you began to make out with her pussy. Only bringing her closer and closer to that breaking coil.

When the sparks in her stomach bursted into flames, a string of curse words fell from her lips. Her back arching off the hardwood floor, fingers pinching her tits. Her slick was all over your mouth, as you crawled back up her body.

Hungrily, she found your lips. Pushing your bare bodies together, you lazily made out—winding yourselves down.

Orange hues of the sun setting peaked through the windows, and the empty parts of the shelves. A burnt orange cast, glazing over your bodies like a blanket. Your legs intertwined, arms draped over shoulders, wrapped around waists; you were comfortable like this. Ellie was comfortable like this.

Parting your lips, she peppered small kisses along your jaw, before laying her head on your chest. “There’s a couch upstairs…” You breathe, playing in her hair.

“You say this now…?” She looked up at you, fingers rubbing circles on your bare hips.

A chuckle fell from your lips, your thumb caressing her flushed cheeks. “Heat of the moment!”

She sucked her teeth, nuzzling her head into your neck. “Whatever, you filthy woman.”

“Hey! You’re the one who took my clothes off.”

“You let me take your clothes off.” She nibbled at the skin of your throat, squeezing the fat of your hip.

You pressed your lips together, amused, running your fingers down her freckled back. “We could go up to the couch now.” You offered.

Ellie shook her head, hooking her leg around yours to pull herself closer to you. “No, just wanna lay here for a while…”

And you did just that. Laid with each other until your backs ached enough to move to the couch upstairs. Only to resume the position on the itchy cushions until the sun came back around to drag you both back onto the road.

[gyllenhaalstories]

BODIES IN THE SAND — ELWOOD DALTON 🎂

summary: it’s your birthday and dalton wanted to make it special.

warnings: eating, mostly fluff & smut (making out, thigh riding). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2730

gifs credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: today is my birthday and i am, for the fourth year in a row, making it everyone’s problem with a (very boring) self indulgent fic. 🎈 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

The dock master waved at you when you passed by. You did not leave him enough time to repeat his speech about watching out for the damn crocs like a broken record. You had visited the Glass Key Marina so many times since meeting Dalton, one could think the old man would spare you the lecture. Whatever. This time, you ignored him. You stormed towards the wooden pier on a mission.

Dalton, now confident in Billy and Reef's abilities to handle the unruly patrons on their own (if they remembered to lift with their knees), allowed himself a night off from time to time. The pay as the bouncer of the roadhouse supported him plenty anyway. He did not splurge much, judging by the fishing box overflowing with stacks of cash. When he did spend his money, he would buy all the books Charlie recommended to him or he would treat you to his new favourite food, conch chowder.

You were usually the first person to know about his sporadic vacations, except for today. You drove to the roadhouse and Laura greeted you with a perplexed smile as to why you were there without Dalton. Frankie walked down the stairs from her office and expressed the same level of confusion. "Dalton called, said he's sick. I think the boat dreams are getting to him. Took him long enough." She explained before helping her employees to get the bar ready for another night. Dalton, sick? You stormed out of the bar with the same determination that made you beeline to The Boat.

"There you are." Dalton, who sat on the railing of the boat, stood up and turned around to greet you. The look on your face, painted with surprise, satisfied him, it was worth spending the entire afternoon decorating his corner of the marina. "Happy birthday."

You stood on a creaky wood plank and took in the scene. Orange balloons matched the colours of the sky as the early sunset reflected on the water. There were garlands and streamers, basically anything that could make the dock look festive. You scoffed at the Happy Thanksgiving banner attached to the back of the boat that clashed with the rest.

Dalton quickly justified. "I know... 'Was all Charlie could find." He worked on the ribbon of the balloon he had previously secured on the railing and held on it tight. He raised his leg to get off the boat, but you interrupted.

"I appreciate the thought. This looks so..." You spun on your heels and admired the decorations for a few more seconds. "This looks really nice. But that still won't get me to climb on that thing. It's literally sinking." You pointed at the rusty boat that the dock master constantly referred to as a frying pan. You wholeheartedly agreed with the older man.

"It's not sinking." He leaped from the boat to the dock. The tone of his voice failed to convince you. "... Yet." You both nodded in agreement. Not yet. Soon enough, Dalton would be taking a nap with the crocodile.

You let him come to you.

He tilted his head, eyes squinting at you. "You know, those little footsteps of yours sounded furious. Everything okay?" He clenched his jaw, already bracing up for bad news. It was all he seemed to attract: bad news.

"I should be asking you! Are you okay? I went to the bar and Frankie said you were sick."

"I don't get sick." He shook his head lightly.

"Then why did she tell me that?"

"Oh, I asked her to." He marked a pause, as if that was enough information. You pressed him to grant you with more details. "I thought it was a good excuse." There was a hint of pride in his grin.

"A good excuse that worried me a lot." Your attempt at reprimanding him failed miserably, especially when his grin widened while he stepped closer to you.

Dalton carefully tied the ribbon of the balloon around your right wrist. He then flicked the balloon, watching it bop. "Charlie and I have been planning this for a little while. Couldn't find a proper banner in time." His chin pointed at the Thanksgiving wishes.

"You can say something cheesy to make up for it." You suggested with a chuckle.

"I'm thankful that you're born?" Although he said it like a question, he was certain in the sincerity behind his words.

"That does the job." You both exchanged a moment of laughter. "Thank you for taking the time to decorate for my birthday."

"There's more." He guided you off the dock and through the makeshift path to the beach, always hovering a hand over your lower back to make sure he would be quick to react if you fell.

You let Dalton walk by the shore. Although you did not mind feeling the water run over your feet and ankles, he had insisted enough times that it was safer for you to stay on the other side. So you just let him do what he wanted. Your hand brushed over his a few times and you caught sight of the smirk on his lips.

He also noticed your head was turned towards the water so he pulled you to stand in front of him. He lost no time to hold your hand when you reached behind to grab his. Dalton mouthed a quiet wow when he took in just how beautiful you looked with the pink sunset sky.

Things were simple with Dalton. He did not talk much about what lead him to Glass Key, but you learned enough snippets of his life to know he wanted things to remain this way: simple. He liked the way you weaved yourself through the routine he built since working at the roadhouse. You'd visit before work, at work, after... You would hang out at the bookstore with Charlie, you would sit by the bar with Laura. It all felt simple. He did not hide his appreciation for the time you shared. He showed honesty in his intentions with you when a kiss turned into a lot more one too many times. Plenty of whispered praises, plenty of love filled gazes. You took it one day at a time with Dalton. And today was a special day in more ways than one.

Dalton bumped against you when you stopped walking abruptly at the sight of the makeshift picnic set up. Beach towels laid on the sand and held in place by a bunch of rocks and a pretty conch shell. It looked a little funky but he knew you could not care less. "After my first shift at the bar, Frankie told me this whole sales pitch about the place." He let go of your hand so you could wander towards the beach towels. "She said this was a beautiful spot to have a drink with someone special." Frankie was talking about the roadhouse, not the beach at the back of the marina but... It was close enough.

"She must be right." You sat down on the towel, Dalton joined you. He attempted to say something else, but the balloon floating in the evening breeze distracted him. You watched him intently as he untied the ribbon from your wrist and attached it to the handle of the cooler.

You exchanged a smile and enjoyed more of the sunset. You wondered to yourself how people could live in a beautiful place such as this and forget to pay attention. How could someone get used to a view like this? You certainly could never. You knew Dalton felt the same.

And Dalton knew what you were thinking about. He had travelled quite a bit, both for work and to escape it. He faced the same reflection time after time. "I don't know." He broke the silence, answering your unspoken question. "Maybe they don't have the right person by their side to remind them to appreciate the moment."

"I like the sound of that." You shifted closer to him and his hand slid along your lower back to find its place on your hip. "It's romantic."

"Wait 'til you hear about what I baked for your birthday..." He let out a small grunt when he stretched his arm towards the cooler to pull it closer.

"You can bake?"

"Nope." He opened the cooler and tilted in your direction. "But Charlie can." Kind of. He let you take a peak inside to admire the cupcakes that he prepared with the teenager and with Stephen on supervision duty.

You found it so endearing how he formed a bond with Charlie. Dalton even grew to like her comparisons to western novels and cowboy boots wearing broody heroes. You leaned in to admire the desserts and chuckled at the sight. "They're all squished."

"Shit." Dalton whispered at the sight of the dozen of misshapen cupcakes. He pulled out the tray and set it on the beach towel. He selected one that sort of held its shape during the transport from Charlie and Stephen's house to the beach. "I swear, I frosted them all nice for you." He grinned apologetically.

You grabbed the cupcake from his hand and took a bite. You swallowed thickly and tried to contain a funny face. "These are..."

"Burnt as hell." He stole a bite from the same cupcake and grimaced. He looked down at the rest of the desserts and began to explain that he was sorry, that he really tried to make your birthday special.

You interrupted him with a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "There was frosting." It was not entirely false, but you hoped this would stop the train of thoughts.

He still looked unsure, he worried that he had messed up.

So you kissed him again, on the same spot. You would usually let him lead and make the the first move so he would not feel trapped, but you wanted to reassure him. "Spending time with you is a nice gift on its own. So this?" You gestured around you. "This is great. And this." You held his head in your hands for a few moments, waiting for his lips to curl into a smile. "It's all I need to have a good time."

The smile stayed glued on his face even when you pulled away. You reached for the cupcake again and Dalton took it from your hand to put it back on the tray, slamming the cooler shut for good.

"You can't waste the cupcakes, you worked so hard to bake them for me." You would have eaten a couple of the sweets had he not stopped you, you wanted Dalton to know you liked the gesture.

"Then the crocodile can have them." You nodded, agreeing with his idea.

"Maybe he'll spare you for another night."

The sound of yours and Dalton's laughter blended together as one. "That's exactly what I was thinking." He replied.

"I know I just said I'm having a good time, but..." You crawled to kneel between his legs. You sat back, keeping a safe distance to let Dalton decide. "We can make it even better."

He considered the implications of your offer. Now, he felt like he was the one being celebrated. You were a real treat, kneeling before him with a gaze he had seen many times before. You wanted more... You wanted him. Dalton leaned in, glancing between your eyes and your lips.

You let him come closer until your mouths met in a gentle kiss, mirroring what you did moments ago.

His nose brushed against yours while he left you longing for another kiss. The small nod of his head told you everything you needed to know.

You erased the distance completely and kissed him again with your head tilted to the side.

Dalton's fingertips caressed along your arms and guided you to wrap them around his neck. He deepened the kiss when he felt one of your hands cradling the back of his head.

You hummed when his hands began to explore your body. The gentle touching up and down your back grew in eagerness.

Dalton's hands gripped firmly on your hips, pulling you closer. He placed a hand under your thigh and positioned you how he wanted. He took it slow, one step at a time. His hand travelled back up to the curve of your ass that he squeezed a little bit harsher than you expected.

The whimper you let out only encouraged him to keep going while his feverish touches fuelled you to take this further. Your tongue traced his lips before he parted his mouth open.

Your tongues danced together while he let go of you briefly to unbutton his shirt. Immediately after, your hands were all over him. Your fingertips followed the shape of his collarbone down to the curve of his pecs to end on the valley between his abs. You printed each and every detail of Dalton in your mind.

Your loving touch spread goosebumps on his skin, or perhaps it was the breeze getting cooler. The sunset reached its last instants, the sun appeared to be swallowed by the ocean far beyond the horizon. The marina was peaceful, but not quiet. Soft whimpers and grunts filled the silence as the waves slowly hit the sand.

You paused to catch your breath, Dalton could not take his eyes off your kiss swollen lips. "Wanna make you feel good." He whispered against your lips before leaning in again to let his tongue invade your mouth. His hands rested on your hips, squeezing the flesh and making your body move back and forth.

You ached from the lack of direct contact with him, you needed to feel him. But, again, you wanted to respect how far he seemed willing to go.

So he put his words into actions. Dalton made you straddle his thigh, trying to adjust the best he could to make sure you were comfortable. With his hands on your ass again, he began to make you grind on him. At first the movements were tentative, he let you adjust to the friction between your core and the clothes. But when you moaned at his ear, he could no longer hold back.

You rocked your hips back and forth, succumbing to the ever-growing hunger for more. More of this heated intimacy, more of Dalton's warm skin on yours... More.

Every time a door opened, Dalton closed it by repeating that you were a nice person, that you did not want to know him in that way, that you did not want to get close to him.

Yet, you waited. You showed him you had all the patience in the world for him. You showed that you were not out to get him, that you simply wanted to make Dalton feel good too.

You succeeded. The more you waited and reassured him that you would respect his boundaries, the more Dalton wanted to explore what lied beyond those limits.

"I don't want to stop." You murmured at his ear, trailing kisses from his ear and along his jaw until your lips connected again.

"I don't wanna stop either." His grip tightened on your hips, forcing you to slow down. "But since you refuse to get on the boat with me..."

You remained categorical, he would never convince you to step foot in that death trap. "We can go back to my place."

"Oh yeah?" Dalton kept you immobile, pressed down on his thigh. Your whine of complaint sounded like music to his ears. "You think you can wait that long?" It was quite the drive between the beach and your home. If either of you had the genuine intention to leave, you would have done in a while ago. "I'm not too sure about that."

You scoffed at his assumption. "Can you wait?"

Dalton answered your question by capturing your lips with his in a rough kiss. He slowly, carefully, helped you to lay on your back. He guided your legs apart to make space, his gaze meeting yours while his hands caressed your thighs. He let the tension build, he needed you to give him one more sign that you wanted this just as much as he did. When your hips bucked forward, your body pressing more against his, he grinned. "I've waited long enough."

[berryispunk]

Like A Song Stuck In My Head

Before @thedrabblecollective's challenge kicks off tomorrow—and after meeting the characters yesterday—here’s the intro story you’ll want to read before diving into the drabbles themselves.

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc (Firefly)

tags: alternate universe, takes place after TF events, all the music references, rockstar! Frankie, dual POV, addiction, drug mention, cocky Frankie, strong female lead, ANGST, strangers to???, falling in love, some harder themes, dive into mental health (later), emotional turmoil, eventual smut for later chapters, curse words

general summary: Like a Song Stuck in My Head follows Frankie , as a troubled guitarist chasing a second chance, and Firefly, the sharp-tongued bartender who sees through him. What starts in a dive bar becomes something deeper—until it all falls apart. Some connections burn fast. Others never fade. Some songs never leave you, even when the music stops.

word count: 2,5 k

moodboard done by my dear friend @guelyury. gracias, bonita!

main series navigation

Firefly’s seen plenty of boys with guitars. But none like the one on stage tonight—wild waves for hair, sweat-slicked and electric like a live wire, half-drunk on adrenaline and something sharper. Frankie Morales, lead guitarist of Thorns of August, doesn’t just play—he moves like the music’s tethered to his soul, like it’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

She wipes down the counter with a practiced flick, half-watching from behind the bar. Not that she’ll ever admit it.

Donna leans in beside her, arms crossed, gaze steady on the stage. “The boys are good, right?”

Firefly shrugs. “Guess they’re decent.”

Donna smirks, all tough-love and mischief. “Guess the fish boy’s got an eye on you.”

That’s when she looks up—and catches Frankie’s gaze locked on hers like he’s been watching her all along. He doesn’t look away. Just smirks, cocky and smug, before turning back to his guitar like she hasn’t just caught him staring. She rolls her eyes, but there’s heat curling low in her chest.

After the set, he swaggers over, guitar still slung across his back like a weapon or a trophy. Pupils blown wide, jaw tight—wired as hell but humming with something she can’t name. He taps the bar with two fingers.

“Whiskey. Double.”

She gives him a once-over. Band tee snug, silver rings, that look in his eyes like he thinks she’s already fallen.

She pours the whiskey. He knocks it back in one go. No wallet.

“You gonna pay for that?” she asks, cool.

He grins. “I already did. Just played your sad little stage, didn’t I?”

She doesn’t blink. “If you don’t pay, I’m throwing you out. Couldn’t care less if you’re Mick Jagger’s long-lost bastard.”

He laughs—slow, full of bite. Peels a crumpled twenty from his back pocket and tosses it onto the bar like a challenge.

“Are you always this uptight, hermosa?”

She meets his gaze, unflinching. “Are you always this insufferable?”

—

She walks away before he can come up with something clever, sliding down the bar to serve a pair of regulars who actually tip. Doesn’t spare him another glance. Frankie watches her go, elbow braced on the counter, still riding the high—everything too bright, too fast, too much. But somehow, she cuts right through the noise.

It’s the way she moves—like she owns the place, like the world doesn’t get to touch her unless she says so. The sharp line of her jaw. The tattoo curling over her collarbone. No rain, no flowers.

And the way she doesn’t smile when she doesn’t mean it. That part floors him.

He thinks about tossing out something flirty, one of his usual throwaway lines. But it feels wrong here, flimsy—like trying to play a song with all the strings snapped. She’s not playing the same game. And it bothers him.

Later that night, the crowd’s thinned to the half-dead drunks and the regulars too drunk to find the door. The stage is dark, gear packed, Benny’s laugh echoing somewhere near the exit. But Frankie’s still at the bar—leaning, lingering. He’s not sure why. He tells himself he could leave, find some girl if he wanted to. He’s done it before. But tonight, he doesn’t. Tonight, he stays. Eyes drawn to the fiery redhead behind the bar who hasn’t smiled at him once.

“You still here?” she asks without looking up, wiping down the counter like she doesn’t care if he answers.

He shrugs, trying to look cooler than he feels. “Band’s packing up. Thought I’d keep you company.”

She flicks a glance his way. “You look like you’re two seconds from kissing the floor.”

He grins, all teeth. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

She huffs out something like a laugh, but it’s dry. Noncommittal. Still, he takes it like a win.

“You get high like this every show?” she asks after a beat, genuinely curious now.

He leans in, cocky. “Only the good ones.”

“Then that explains it.”

That makes him laugh—rough, real. He rests an elbow on the counter like he plans to stay a while, like maybe he belongs here now.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Firefly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Bullshit.”

She shrugs. “That’s what people call me.”

“You got a real name?”

“Yeah, but you haven’t earned it.”

That hits somewhere deep. He covers it with a smirk, but inside, it throws him off balance. People usually hand him what he wants. She just tossed him back on his ass without even trying. 

He doesn’t know it yet—not through the static in his head or the ego propping him up—but something shifted. And in the weeks that follow, he keeps showing up. Even when they’re not playing. Even when he says it’s for the drinks.

It’s not.

—

It starts on a quiet night. The kind where the jukebox hums low and the only customers left are nursing heartbreaks or hangovers. Frankie’s at the bar again—this time not high, not vibrating out of his own skin. Just tired. Guitar case propped beside him like a loyal dog. She slides him a soda without a word.

He nods. “Thanks.” No smirk, no wink. Just that low, scratchy voice that’s somehow softer without the coke in his system.

She leans in, arms crossed. “So what’s your story, Guitar Boy? You always this broody when you’re sober?”

His smile twitches at the corner, crooked and real. “Only when no one claps for me after a show.”

She rolls her eyes, but something in the stillness makes her pause. He’s not performing tonight. Not selling the charm, not trying to win anything. Just sitting there, present. So she cracks, just a little.

“I used to study literature,” she says, fingers absently tracing the condensation on his glass. “Had this whole big idea of being a teacher. A writer. Romantic kind of broke, you know?”

He doesn’t interrupt. Just watches her, like he knows better than to speak yet.

“Then my mom got sick. Bills piled up. Took a break from school to help out. Never made it back. Ended up here, in a city I never meant to stay in, behind a bar I didn’t plan on working at.”

She shrugs like it doesn’t sting anymore. Maybe it doesn’t.

“But... I don’t know,” she adds, quieter. “I’ve grown to weirdly love it. The noise. The chaos. Donna. Even the semi-decent bands that roll through.”

He lifts a brow. “Semi-decent, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

But the corner of her mouth curves, and this time the smile isn’t forced.

After that, he starts showing up more often. Not every night, but enough that she notices when he’s not there. Always sober now, or at least trying to be. He comes in quiet, nursing a soda or nursing nothing at all, just resting in the hum of The Shack like it’s the only place that doesn’t expect anything from him.

They talk. Not deep all at once, but in fragments. He’s a better listener than she expected. When his pupils aren’t blown wide and his hands aren’t jittering, Frankie has this way of being still—really still—like he’s storing everything she says to turn it into music later.

One night, she tells him about her favorite poetry book. Just mentions it in passing while wiping down the bar. Doesn’t expect him to care.

But a few nights later, he walks in, looking sheepish, a little unsure, and drops a worn copy of the exact book on the bar between them.

She blinks. “You can read?”

He chuckles, fake offended. “A few words, yeah.”

Then, almost shyly, he adds, “I read some of it. It's kinda like songwriting, just… quieter.”

It catches her off guard. The honesty. The humility. For a moment, her armor slips—and she lets herself smile. Not the sharp one she wears with drunk guys and rockstars. A real one.

He doesn’t try to kiss her, doesn’t push. Just sits there with his soda and the book between them, like maybe that’s enough.

—

The weeks blur.

Frankie doesn’t know when the shift happened. Maybe it was the way she said you haven’t earned it with a half-smirk and fire in her eyes. Maybe it was the book—how she lit up talking about it, how her voice softened like she forgot to keep her guard up.

So he buys it. Reads it. Not all of it, not at first. Just enough to underline the lines that feel like her. He keeps a notebook in his bag now, scrawled with half-finished lyrics and fragmented thoughts that make no sense unless you’ve been inside his head for weeks.

“you speak like everything’s temporary / but your silence stays with me.”

“she keeps her name locked in her teeth / dares you to ask for the key.”

She haunts him. Not like a ghost—no, Frankie knows ghosts. She’s worse. She’s alive. She’s red hair under cheap bar lights. She’s rolled eyes and soda cans slid across the counter. She’s the only thing that makes him feel sober when he’s high.

But she never lets him all the way in. Even when she laughs at something he says. Even when she leans closer without realizing. Even when she tells him about the professor who once said her words made people feel too much. She always pulls back, just before it gets real.

It drives him mad. Not angry-mad. Addict-mad. Desperate for a hit, and she’s the cleanest thing he’s ever wanted.

So when show night comes, and the green room smells like sweat and spilled beer and Benny passes him a bump, Frankie doesn’t hesitate. The coke floods him like always—confidence, chaos, clarity, then none at all. He’s wired by the time they hit the stage. Sound blaring, blood boiling, eyes darting for her even while he’s mid-solo.

He spots her eventually. Behind the bar. Laughing, not at him.

Some guy’s leaning over the counter, too close. Talking with his hands. She looks uncomfortable—but polite. Frankie sees red. Doesn’t care that the guy’s just a customer. Doesn’t care that they’re mid-set. He drops the guitar mid-song.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls, stumbling off the stage.

It happens too fast.

The guy mouths off. Frankie swings. Benny jumps in. Chairs scrape. Bottles crash. Someone throws a punch that wasn’t even meant for them. Suddenly the whole bar erupts. Santi grabs Frankie from behind, pinning his arms before he can lunge again.

“Enough, man. ENOUGH!”

Frankie’s breathing like a wild animal. Coked out and furious. Mind buzzing with static and the taste of blood.

And then—

He sees her.

Across the chaos. Still behind the bar, where she ducked for cover. Her eyes on him, not scared. Worse–disappointed. Like she’s watching something she’d hoped wasn’t true unravel right in front of her.

Donna’s voice cuts through it all. Sharp and final.

“Get out. All of you. You’re done here.”

Frankie doesn’t hear what else she says. Santi’s dragging him toward the door. Benny’s bleeding from the lip. The crowd’s yelling. Cops are probably on the way.

But all he can think about is her gaze.

It follows him out the door. Lingers in his chest even when the cold hits. And for the first time in a long time, Frankie feels something worse than the high wearing off.

He feels shame.

— 

The bar smells like stale beer and regret.

Firefly unlocks the door with a click that echoes louder than it should. Her head throbs from too much adrenaline and not enough sleep. She barely drank last night, but she feels hungover anyway. Emotionally wrung out. The kind of tired that seeps into bone.

She steps inside slowly, like the chaos might still be waiting for her.

The place is trashed. Not totally wrecked, but enough—a few chairs overturned, a crack in one of the front mirrors, and a smear of something dried and dark on the floor near where Benny got hit. Donna stayed late cleaning up most of it, cursing under her breath the whole time. Firefly stayed too, silent, scrubbing until her hands ached, not saying much. Not about him.

The cold air clings to her skin as she props the door open to let in some fresh light, grabs the broom, and starts sweeping. She’s barely a few swipes in when she hears it.

Boots on pavement and she freezes.

Frankie stands there, half-shadow, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together with nothing but denim and shame. He looks like hell. Hoodie, sunglasses, hair a mess. The whole hungover rockstar programm. She knows he’s sober—can feel it, somehow. But that doesn’t make it better.

Her heart sinks so fast she almost misses it.

But she straightens, shoulders squared and voice flat, despite her inner turmoil.

“You’re lucky Donna’s not here.”

He flinches like she slapped him. Takes one hesitant step closer but doesn’t cross the threshold.

“I just…” His voice cracks, then clears his throat. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

She stares at him.

Not because she doesn’t believe it but because part of her wants to and that’s the worst part.

“You should go, Frankie.”

“Please,” he says, like he’s begging now. “Just—just let me explain. Let me—”

“No.”

It’s final. Her voice doesn’t shake, even if her hands grabbing the broom do.

“You think I haven’t seen guys like you lose it before?” she says, eyes icey. “You think I haven’t had to clean up after someone who let the high talk louder than their heart?”

He swallows hard, but doesn’t argue. Just stands there, all wrecked and quiet, which is even more deafening somehow.

She doesn’t wait for him to answer. Doesn’t give herself the space to waver—because if she stays in that doorway, looking at him all shattered and sorry, she just might. But this was never her battle to win. Never hers to fix. And it never will be.

Firefly steps past him, into the darkened bar, and flicks on the lights.

Fluorescents hum above her as the door creaks shut behind her, echoing in her ears.

He doesn’t follow. Thank God, he doesn’t follow.

And the second she’s alone, it all crashes. The broom clatters to the floor and her hands tremble even harder. She presses her back against the wall and slides down to the tiles. The first sob rips out before she can stop it, raw and ugly and real.

She wanted to believe he was different. That the quiet nights and stolen conversations meant something.

That maybe she didn’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length forever.

But last night reminded her why the walls exist and why she can’t afford to let them fall.

thanks for reading 💌

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[mysteria157]

Merry Christmas from my little corner at the @pixelcafe-network. Thank you so much for hosting this gift exchange! I had so much fun writing this for my elf @grimmweepers. Your Christmas list gave me the opportunity to write Sukuna for the first time. I wanted to lean as much into your likes as much as possible so that it feels like it's you in this story.

I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: True Form!Sukuna x Reader (Ryu)

Rating/CW: slight dark romance, fluff, implied sexual content, dark themes (references to violence, blood, destruction, and a hint of cannibalism because it's Sukuna). MDNI!

WC: ~8.5K

Summary: Sukuna gives in to mortal festivities, for the promise of a worthy gift, unaware that some traditions leave marks deeper than ancient power.

Divider: @cyberbeat @arminsumi @firefly-graphics | Masterlist

The winter night drapes itself across the ancient estate, stars scattered above like diamonds on black velvet. Fresh snow has transformed this formidable domain into something almost magical—though no amount of pristine white can truly soften the centuries of power that seems to pulse through every shadow of the grounds.

You used to take these walks alone, finding solace in the environment that gave way to the shifting change of the seasons. But now, on this chilly and almost silent night, your solitary footprints are accompanied by another. Deeper, more commanding treads belong to Sukuna, whose very presence seems to make the stars above burn brighter, as if they, too, acknowledge the power that moves beneath them, feeding off the cursed energy he emits with every breath.

Your exhale forms a frosty white cloud before vanishing into the night air. It’s cold, far too cold for a walk, but you’re out here to clear your thoughts, to quell the overwhelming urge to ask Sukuna a question that you don’t want to imagine the answer to.

The thought first emerged when fall gave way to winter, the autumn leaves replaced by the starkness of bare branches now hidden beneath blankets of snow. The thought of markets late at night adorned in yellow lights, of hot cocoa and gifts wrapped in red ribbon.

The words, having coiled behind your teeth for days like a spring, finally slink past your lips. “I was thinking…what if we celebrated Christmas together?”

“Christmas.” The word leaves his mouth not as a question, but as if it’s not worth inflection.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting your rolling anxiety. He’s never been one for new things. This is his domain, after all—his home, his formidable walls that he has erected and ruled with an iron fist. The mere thought of anyone—let alone a mortal—suggesting something outside his design is almost laughable.

You pause in your footsteps, tracing his looming shadow in the snow before you look up at him. He’s tall, looming with a height that comes not from this realm, his silhouette dwarfing everything around him. While you are covered in furs and wool and warmth, he stands in a simple black Haori, barely covering his skin and open to show his chest.

The dark markings of his tattoos glow like black embers in the moonlight, each one a testament to the ancient power that pulses beneath his skin. Two pairs of muscular arms fold across his chest, large and thrumming with strength. An archaic strength that can level cities and destroy with little effort, yet those same fearsome arms cradle you with unexpected gentleness in the depths of night.

The fact that you understand this side of Sukuna, gives you the strength to press on.

“It’ll be our first Christmas together,” you press.

“A mortal festivity,” he claps back, naturally sharp but with little heat.

“I’m a mortal,” you counter, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down from the menacing glare you can see right through. “And from what I remember, I am your Queen.”

Quadruple crimson eyes narrow from your truthful declaration, their glow cutting through the frost-laden air like embers in the snow. The two on the right gleam brighter against the rough texture of his half-petrified cheek, like jagged stone contrasting with smooth flesh on the other side. “You mistake indulgence for approval.”

You shrug, nonplussed, sniffing the chilly air up your runny nose. “Then indulge me. Mortals, like myself, put up Christmas trees, decorate their homes, bake treats, and watch movies.”

He hums, taking a step toward you. As he draws closer, the air shifts. While you have no cursed energy, you’ve come to know his intimately. It presses against your skin like an unseen force, electric and stifling, its movements mirroring the emotions he tries to smother. You’ve learned to read it like your favorite book, though it’s a story only you seem privy to, and you don’t intend to let him know.

“Indulge me?” you try again.

He remains unconvinced, his characteristic indifference plucking at your cold skin as you look up at him unflinching. It’s not like he denies you often. Sukuna, for as powerful as he is, gives to your many asks with a wave of his hand as if your happiness is unwarranted, even if his gaze flickers to you minutely for praise at haven catered to you.

Your confidence has only grown steadily, but that anxiety that curls around an ask still tastes sour. So you pull out another mental note card, a line you practiced in the mirror for days for this very moment.

“Gift-giving is also another tradition,” you sigh in faux nonchalance, pursing your dry lips as you try to ignore the flicker of curiosity you see on his face. The subtle tick of his jaw, the way one of his eyes tightens just so, the feel of his cursed energy pausing in its movements as if to hear you more clearly. “I know you’d never turn down any sort of offering. Especially from your Queen.”

Only seconds of anxious silence pass before that deep hum permeates the air, a gentle give. “You use that title often, Ryu.” You shrug again, biting the flesh of your cheek to suppress the victorious smile you can feel in your muscles. “Why must I wait for a specific day of the year to receive a gift? I can simply take what I want with little effort.”

His hubris knows no bounds. Neither does your perseverance.

“You put up with a few days of Christmas cheer, and I’ll make sure you get the best gift ever. Something wonderful and fitting for the King of Curses,” you promise, hoping to bring him home with your sales pitch. “But no griping.”

Sukuna scoffs, indignation heavy in the sound as he puffs white smoke into the air. “I do not gripe.” The look you throw him is unimpressed; one brow arched in a silent challenge that grants you a narrowed-eyed glare of concession in return. “Why do you assume you will get what you want?”

He reaches for you as he complains, and despite his sharp tone, you lean into the weight of his touch. You’ve come to know the language of his hands, each gesture a revelation of the complex nature he embodies. Like now, as he adjusts the furs draped around your shoulders—precious things hunted and skinned himself. His movements are deliberate, with hands impossibly gentle despite their proven capacity for destruction.

“Because you see me,” you whisper, the words soft but heavy with meaning. They carry the weight of something unspoken, a recognition of the four-letter word he is not yet ready to voice—your understanding of his care beneath his praise, his protection weaved into his possession.

A sales pitch now seems trivial, disrespectful even, in light of how the tone has shifted around you. Shame prickles at your skin, but it fades just as quickly, overwhelmed by the truth of your words. You do see him, even when he's being stubborn.

Sukuna’s answering hum to your question—to the anxious worry that started this conversation—reverberates through the air, an unspoken approval that settles in the space between you both.

Days later, the skies bloom with gentle hues of cotton candy—pale blue and pastel pink, slowly darkening as the sun peeks on the horizon. The dawn of winter greets you with its chilly embrace, its breath sharp and unrelenting, its touch frostbitten. You’re bleary-eyed as you shuffle over broken branches and moss-covered paths in the East forest.

The weight of your determination keeps you moving, even as your body protests, regretting your tenacity because why would Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, buy a tree when he can simply ‘get one from the backyard.’

“I like that one,” you offer, shakily pointing with a heavily gloved finger at a modest six-footer, its snow-laden branches slumping under the weight.

“If I’m to entertain a mortal festivity, it will not be done poorly.”

You’re far too cold to point out his first gripe of the day. His voice carries that familiar edge, but beneath it rests a note that only you can hear—the same careful attention he uses when observing the movements of his enemies, now turned to the expansive forest to the east of his estate.

You close your mouth around an exhale, your cheeks puffing like a fish in your own rendition of a pout as you follow him. The forest stretches silent and vast around you, a living extension of how far his power goes. Sukuna stops abruptly, still as stone as he surveys the trees with a menacing gaze. The dominance he exudes seems to make the air itself hold its breath. You’re simply a spectator—watching an apex predator stalk its prey—it would be a marvelous sight if you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“This one,” he declares at last, voice carrying the familiarity of pride and authority as he looks up at a magnificent pine.

It’s uncharacteristically different in every way; a shadow brown trunk as thick as his waist, strong branches that house deep green needles, forming their own canopy over the other and covered in the white blanket of snow. Its towering height practically pierces the sky, a physical representation of how the being in front of you sees himself—ambivalent and all-seeing.

With a flick of two fingers, Sukuna’s Cleave technique slices cleanly through the thick trunk. The looming pine shivers, snow plopping from its arms in white globs before it slowly falls to the ground with a muffled thud. The wind that picks up from the disturbance tousles his pink hair, strands whipping against his marked face. One of Sukuna’s muscular arms grabs his prize and effortlessly hoists it onto his shoulder.

You can’t help but admire the broad expanse of his back. The curve and dip of muscle against black markings that shift with each movement, the skin warm to the touch despite how cold he makes himself seem.

The sight of him makes you think of his Christmas gift—your secret project—the fabric carefully chosen to embrace that strength with something just as enduring. You wonder if he will notice the details, the painstaking intricacy you’ve chosen just for him.

His gift is soon forgotten when his gaze falls on you, an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Carmine pools that invite you to step closer and gaze beneath its liquid, to see small slivers of vulnerability presented in the form of the pine on his shoulders. He’s waiting, expecting not praise for his strength, but praise for what he has provided. An offering.

You smile gently, genuinely, and without quivering despite the temperature. “I love it,” you compliment, watching as your words card over his offering like a caress that only fans the flames of his pride. His belly mouth curves into a smirk, chuffed in agreement with its host, white teeth glistening and ghostly breath puffing in steaming plumes.

He walks to you, thunderous steps shaking the forest floor but doing little to shake you, tucking and readjusting your furs once more before ushering you back to the estate, his unspoken need for you to get warm carving a smile onto your face.

In Sukuna’s vast estate, where shadows roam, and servants move with silent reverence, there is no room for joviality and merriment. He rules unflinchingly, with a face usually etched in disinterest and a heart that beats only in the throes of violence and battle. But since you’ve set foot in his domain that he keeps dark and teeming with fear, things have changed.

Now, the halls carry the scent of your vast perfume collection, a blend of smoky oud and earthy florals that linger in the air long after you pass. The servants, once bound by fear, now offer gentle smiles to the mortal who goes against the rules of this cursed realm.

Now, the shadows walk with you, satisfying your thirst for the paranormal as they follow you like a silent watchdog, a testament to the orders of their master—a being with four arms, four eyes, and a grudging acceptance of your presence.

Now, the mortal who carved her way into Sukuna’s domain with hardly a blink, the mortal who can see beneath his veneer of bleach-white bone and hardened blood…

Now… that mortal has decided to bring Christmas to these ancient halls.

Darkness now flickers with light. Pine garland decorates the windowsills in the expansive front room of Sukuna’s estate, its sharp scent striking through the air with every brush of your fingertips along its needles. The front room, what was once empty and meant only as a tunnel to another destination, is now lively from your touch.

A tall fireplace, its mantle wrapped in garlands of cypress and silk ribbons the color of deep red wine that reminds you of his eyes, casts a warm glow over goblet-red curtains that frame looming windows and fur-lined chairs that you curl into when you read your many books.

Sukuna has molded his domain to fit your silent requests. Your Christmas spirit that Sukuna continues to entertain if only for the promise of his reward, breathes life. His spoils—the cleaved pine—stands proudly by the fireplace, its branches wrapped in shining white lights and delicate ornaments.

Uraume was diligent, while unwilling to entertain anything pertaining to mortals, their loyalty outshines their disinterest when it comes to their Queen. Said loyalty shines in the snow that rests on each emerald branch, crystalline shimmers colored amber and orange from the roaring flames of the fireplace. Their technique ensures it will never melt, an ethereal touch of winter preserved.

You can’t help the warm smile that graces your features as you admire the transformed space. But it’s the scents wafting from the kitchen that draw you from your admiration. Cinnamon and nutmeg dance with something darker, a metallic tang that speaks to how well you’ve learned to blend your world with his.

Uraume, for as menacing as a curse user they are, has the cooking skills worthy of Michelin praise. The kitchen is their sacred domain but is now a battlefield of flour and spices, mortal and ancient alike. The heat from multiple ovens warms your bare toes, and copper pots and pans clank and steam with soluble renditions of a Christmas feast.

Sukuna’s dutiful servant moves about the kitchen with practiced ease, refusing help from the other cursed spirit-like servants in your presence no matter how many times you’ve insisted that you don’t mind.

“The consistency is correct,” Uraume observes, subtle praise in their soft tone as they nod toward the ruby liquid you’ve folded into dough. “Sukuna-sama will find it acceptable.”

You hide your smile at their careful choice of words. Months of coexistence have taught you to read the subtle ways in which Uraume expresses care—their meticulous attention to your recipes when cooking for you, your happiness from delicious meals enough to mask their fondness they will never admit to.

“We’re going to make gingerbread houses,” you exclaim an hour later to an indifferent Sukuna. His presence in the kitchen is rare, and you’ve had to ignore the peep of garbled eyes from cursed spirits who poke through the kitchen doors in disbelief before scuttling away in fear of being caught.

The counter is littered with cooled cutouts of gingerbread house walls, arches, and windows. White icing in pastry bags that will serve as glue and gumdrops to be adorned as paneling is the perfect setup for this small occasion between you both.

Despite Sukuna’s menacing demeanor, he is astute. It’s why he’s achieved the status he has now, why he’s feared among the world, both mortal plane and astral. So he wastes no time piecing together his own creation, his eyebrows creased in concentration fitting of a warrior planning a siege.

As Uraume flutters around you both, you recount the tale of Hansel and Gretel, Sukuna’s crimson eyes gleaming with interest at the more gruesome parts of the brothers Grimm.

“So this witch,” he muses, two hands delicately pipping white icing for a jagged wall, his other two hands covered in flour. “She devoured children who wandered into her domain.” His eyes twinkle with approval, his belly mouth curving into a devious smirk. “An acceptable response to trespassers.”

“She built the house to lure him in,” you add, swallowing a chuckle as you feel his cursed energy wiggle around you in interest. “That’s why it was made out of sweets.”

“Why did these children not become a proper meal?”

“They outsmarted her,” you explain, watching in muted supplication as his face drops from satisfaction to disapproval. “Pushed her into her own oven.”

His belly mouth scoffs, frowning as his thick tongue tastes the spiced air. “Mortals.”

As your special cookies perfume the air with metallic sweetness, you admire Sukuna as he works. He utilizes all four hands to guide his gingerbread creation to completion, clicking his teeth when a wall crumbles in his palms and humming in delight when the icing holds steady. Your gingerbread house lays half-created as you watch him, observing in silence until his masterpiece sits before you.

It’s a fortress—walls as imposing as a cathedral’s, windows designed to daze would-be escapees. The path to the door winds hypnotically, sugar-crystal steps that seem to pulse with cursed energy, leading young feet exactly where he wants them. The final touch? Miniature figurines made of pretzel sticks and marshmallows that are arranged at the front door like an offering.

“The witch’s failure was in her execution, not her concept,” he declares. Where normal gingerbread houses invite warmth, his promises something darker—a blend of Christmas tradition and Sukuna’s deadlier inclinations. “No child would think to check for a secondary barrier here.” He speaks as if defending a dissertation, pointing to the candy canes that could easily become weapons instead of the holiday cheer they should represent.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, soft and genuine, as you admire his evil architecture. Four eyes find you immediately, piercing in their gaze as if defensive, yet still holding something akin to wanting your approval. Your hand finds his marked cheek, fingers tracing the tattoos that mirror all over his body. He leans into your touch with imperial indifference, wary of Uraume’s presence in the kitchen but not indignant enough to deny your warmth.

“A domain worth of the King of Curses,” you praise, watching how his belly mouth curves into the wide grin that his master does not offer. It’s more than enough to know he’s satisfied.

“And why is yours unfinished?” Sukuna asks, crossing his arms in mock reproach despite the splattering of flour on his skin and Haori. “Surely, my Queen will make something of equal likeness.”

The oven behind you dings before you can reply, and Uraume retrieves your treat, the aroma rich and spiced. You slide the steaming plate between you, the burgundy cookies still piping hot and ready for him.

“I had other priorities,” you supply, blowing on your fingers before you offer a cookie to his belly mouth. It opens wide, tongue lolling to the side like a panting dog and already watering before you place the cookie on his taste buds. He chomps loudly, sharp teeth devouring the concoction of ginger, blood, and aged spices from Uraume’s private garden—a perfect blend of your world and his. His cursed energy warms, wrapping around your waist in approval as Sukuna throws cookies into his own mouth now.

“Is this my gift?” is all he asks, satisfied but ever impatient as he and his stomach finish the plate. You don’t resist the eye roll. “It’s a very acceptable gift. However, I wouldn’t have entertained Christmas if you only wanted to cook.”

“It’s not your gift Sukuna.” You wave him off, snatching the now empty plate before his belly mouth’s tongue can lick at the blood crumbs, another heaping plate taking its place that Uraume leaves. “And don’t try to guess. You won’t get very far.”

“Hm.” He leans back slightly, one of his hands reaching to dust flour from his forearm. You roll your eyes again, choosing instead to finish your gingerbread house while he sulks. “Then it must be something more…significant. Ancient scrolls, perhaps? Found deep within forgotten temples, imbued with curses?” His voice drips with mock curiosity as if daring you to reveal even the slightest clue.

You snort, pausing mid-pipe to give him a flat look. “First of all, ancient scrolls? Really, Sukuna?” His belly mouth grumbles at being ignored, lips covered in a red dusting of cookie smacking for more. “Second of all, what would I be doing roaming around a temple? This isn’t the Heian era, despite how much you like to talk about it.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, more intrigued than annoyed by your commentary. “So I am wrong?”

“Completely,” you answer, biting back another laugh as you return to your task of piping green icing along a gingerbread wall to resemble bushels of grass. “Do you think your gift revolves around curses and destruction?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” he counters smoothly, his tone smug and his gaze unwavering.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the nth time in only so many minutes, feeling the warmth of his cursed energy curling around your waist again, tugging at you like a child pulling his mother’s sleeve for attention. “Just eat your cookies and stop guessing, Sukuna. You’re nowhere close.”

His belly mouth snickers as Sukuna throws another cookie into it, but his narrowed gaze lingers on you as if memorizing every shift in your expression, every subtle movement of your hands, waiting for you to slip. You have a feeling that even though Christmas is only days away, his curiosity will make it seem like an eternity.

As he often says, Sukuna indulges for you quite often. Trivial mortal instruments meant to stave off your boredom. He tells himself it’s for his own peace, to keep you from pestering him in the throne room, even though he still searches for you and longs for your presence in his lap.

One of those mortal instruments? A television. He knows what they are but has never been bothered to pay attention—an invention he dismissed as frivolous and mind-numbing. The flickering screen is often a source of laughter and comfort on one of your sleepless nights, and though he swore to never sit beside you while it played, here he is. On Christmas Eve. Reclined casually on the expansive sofa in your chambers, a disdainful sneer aimed at the annoying mortal known as ‘Buddy the Elf’, judgment radiating from his very being.

“Ryu, you cannot possibly enjoy this,” he huffs, one hand picking at nonexistent lint on his linen pants, another draped over the back of the couch, and one more cradling your soft form against him.

“Elf is a Christmas tradition!” You insist, handing a heaping hand of buttery popcorn to his belly mouth who accepts with a please grumble. Unlike Sukuna, who prefers a more…carnivorous diet, his belly mouth will eat almost anything it is fed. You chuckle softly, laying your head on his naked chest as you both watch Buddy decorate the department store into a winter wonderland. "I love it."

“He trespasses into their domain and then defiles it. Disgusting.”

“I thought you agreed not to grumble.”

“I never agreed.”

You hide your smile in the warmth of Sukuna’s side, breathing in the familiar aroma of burnt incense that clings to his skin, grounding and intoxicating. The movie plays on, you enjoying, while Sukuna analyzes each scene with the precision he’d use to raze a village. He won’t admit what he’s been reduced to—a powerful being indulging in idiotic entertainment to please the mortal lady of his estate. All for a gift that he cannot guess.

You trace idle patterns on his marked arm. Each touch makes his cursed energy flutter beneath your fingertips, electric kisses on your skin that he pretends not to notice. These are the moments you love most—when the fearsome King of Curses allows himself to simply…exist beside you, his pride softened by the peace you often bring.

“A weapon,” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through Buddy and Jovie’s shower singing.

You blink, craning your neck to look up at him. “What?”

He gestures expectantly to the room around him. “You’ve found a weapon worthy of my domain.”

You should have known the moment he stopped complaining about the movie that his attention had drifted. The fact that this is what he is thinking about makes warmth bloom in your chest. “Are you guessing?”

“I do not guess,” he insists, glowering at the television to avoid looking at you, his curiosity-tinged cursed energy betraying him. “I deduce.”

A weapon would be fitting for someone like him—his strength, his dominance, his endless hunger for power. But it’s a far cry from what he will get. You throw more popcorn into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at just how wrong he truly is.

He’s silent only for a moment before he adds. “Why must I wait until tomorrow, when you can simply tell me now?” His logic is, as usual, rooted in authority and impatience. You chew another handful of popcorn deliberately, ignoring him as you keep your eyes glued to the screen.

Not even five minutes pass before one of his large hands brushes against the nape of your neck. His fingers card through your hair, tugging the strands—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You know what he’s doing. His touch feels like a predator sneakily luring in prey. You know this game—this is Sukuna feigning boredom because he’s curious, using seduction to coax you when you’re being stubborn. It’s as effective as it is dangerous. But this time, you’re prepared.

“If you’re going to ignore the movie,” you trail off, your voice a mix of seductive challenge and amusement. You twist in his lap to straddle his waist, sliding your hands up his chest, tracing your fingers around his nipples in slow, deliberate circles. He does not react, at least not on his face. But you can feel the imperceptible jut of his hips, feel his cursed energy hum up your calves, and wrap around your body like a warm fog.

“I know of something else we can do.” You’re suggestive, voice dropping to the pits of your stomach as your lips brush along the sharp edge of his jaw. The shift in power is immediate, and exactly what you want. His hands tighten on your waist, head tilting slightly, giving you better access to lavish him with praise.

“Is that so?” His voice is pitched low, heady already. “Anything is better than this drivel.”

You roll your eyes as you fall back on the sofa, your body arching under his touch as he pulls you closer. Your hand slides lower, tracing the edge of his haori where it hangs loose against his skin.

“You’re impatient as usual,” you whisper, nipping lightly at his neck. “But you’ll wait this time. Won’t you?”

His eyes narrow as if in protest. But he doesn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, his hands roam your body, each touch firm and possessive. You grin against his skin, knowing you’ve managed to distract him…at least for now.

“A temple,” his voice rumbles through the darkness, shaking you from the deep edges of sleep. His massive form curves around you possessively, his warmth seeping into your skin. Both of you lie tangled in the aftermath of your earlier indulgences—the sofa, the wall, and, finally, the silk sheets of his bed. All bearing witness to his insatiable need for you.

“Mmm?” you mumble, still trying to pull yourself awake.

“Built in my honor,” he elaborates without repeating himself, shaking you again with a harshness that makes you yelp and throw a glare over your shoulder. He smirks to himself as if he’s finally solved the mystery. “That is my gift.”

You groan, burying your face in your pillow, but secretly relishing in the way he can’t seem to let this go. Rolling over halfway, you peek up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. The moonlight creates a shimmering backdrop, outlining his form with silver, blood-red eyes gleaming with determination. For someone who claims to have no interest in mortal traditions, he’s relentless about this one.

“You woke me up to guess….again,” you grumble, glaring at him through a half-open eye.

“I do not guess,” he starts, ready to repeat the same phrase from hours ago. “I simply—”

“Deduce, yes, I got that the first time.” You cut him off and surge up to give him a kiss, feeling his surprise for only seconds before he melts into your affection. “Go to sleep.”

“A secret text,” he murmurs against your lips, undeterred even as his arms pull you closer. “Written in blood.”

You grimace before answering with your lips on his again, your leg curling around a thick waist, ready to use the ammo from your arsenal just like a few hours ago. “Do I need to distract you again?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.

The midnight air watches with bated breath as Sukuna rolls on top of you, his towering frame rousing the tingle between your legs.

“I know your method of distraction,” he whispers against the skin of your neck. His belly mouth kisses the skin of your inner thigh, licking its lips at the promise of what you might offer if you’re willing. “Considering you are no novice, one might think that you keep secrets from your King often.”

Your affronted laugh dissolves into a sigh as both stomach and Sukuna adorn your skin with wet kisses—one along the vein of your pelvis while the other works at the skin behind your ear. “O-one might think,” you manage, gasping as his mouth finds the pulse in your neck, “that my King is simply impatient for Christmas morning.”

“It is already past midnight,” he growls at the feel of your touch drifting lower, his cocks already throbbing and oozing precum. “Merry Christmas.”

“A proper Christmas morning!” you correct with a chortle, smacking his chest playfully. He hums noncommittally, the sound vibrating through you both, possessive and yet tender in a way that only you are privy to. “A few more hours. Let me wake up properly.”

With those final words, you promptly roll over, denying him any more sensual touch that could ignite the early morning. Sukuna, used to your defiance, simply grumbles at your withdrawal, choosing instead to press searing kisses along the naked skin of your back. They ignite the embers in your belly but are not persistent enough to tempt you further.

“A domain expansion,” he insists, inhaling the perfume at the dip of your spine, lips brushing the soft skin there.

“I can’t even do that.” Your voice is heavy, the dredges of sleep finally pulling at your consciousness.

“More blood cookies.”

You remain silent, using his solemn guesses as music to lull you back to sleep.

Sukuna can feel your presence even deep in sleep, his cursed energy wound tightly around you like a second skin, always attuned to your warmth, your breath, the way you shift beneath the covers. So when that connection shivers—when his energy touches only empty space—his crimson eyes snap open. Your side of the bed is still warm, a ghost of you lingering on his silk sheets.

He can still feel you in the estate, so he rises slowly, surveying his chamber. He takes in the transformation--the pine and silk ribbons that are around the mantle now present in his chambers, and the smell of cider and blood cookies that still wafts in the air around him. Resting along one wall is a beautiful vanity carved from marble with obsidian-lined mirrors and velvet surfaces adorned with your plethora of fragrances. The table near his window is littered with books, a speaker—another mortal instrument—rests quietly, no classical music that you enjoy playing.

His room—once untouchable, dark, and sacred—is now infused with you. It should feel like a violation, his personal sanctum defiled with the touch of a mortal. And yet.

His body is no longer cold in the halls because you thrive in warmth. His servants may bow in fear to him, but they smile at you. Shadows, once tools of terror, are now a source of protection and amusement, a manic gleam of fascination with the otherwordly preventing you from being fearful.

His emotions are still a mystery, but slowly unfurling like petals that have been sleeping for many winters. Anything besides strength and power, besides determination and tenacity are weak—should be weak. But you feel these emotions plenty, and to Ryomen Sukuna, you are far from weak.

The soft yellow lights from the pine tree spill against the floor, welcoming his bare feet as he enters the large living room that has come to life because of you and for you. He won’t admit it out loud, the pride that surges through his chest like a rushing wave when he looks at the tree. A pagan symbol meant to honor a god that is not himself, willingly brought into his domain by his own hand, a rare sight in his forest that only his eye could catch. He cleaved it. He carried it upon his shoulders. He cupped the approval in your eyes like water in a shallow pool in a drying desert, sacred and coveted.

His efforts have become yours, decorated in tinsel and ornaments, in obnoxiously bright lights and snow that will never melt. And you sit next to it, your silhouette glowing against the roaring fireplace, your gaze looking up at what he’s allowed you to have. You noticed his presence long ago, but you remain transfixed with the tree, a soft smile gracing your features as he draws closer.

“It is far too early,” he rumbles, his voice gentle but heavy in the silent Christmas air. “Come back to bed.”

You huff in reply, not bothering to offer words even as he sinks down next to you. His arms crossed over his chest, his legs folding in to sit with grace on the fur-covered floor. This close, he can smell another fragrance that you collect, a smoky Oud that coats your skin like a second skin.

It’s one of his favorites, yet another thing he will not admit, but you know. You know from the way he buries his face in your neck at night, his chambers shrouded in darkness beside the slanting of moonlight on his sheets, his cursed energy caressing your skin in appreciation.

“It’s a great tree, you know,” you sigh, wistfully. You hope to keep the tree up and lit long after Christmas passes. It’s a wonderful sight, a depiction of a past life before you became aware of the unknown, of curses and spirits, sorcery and realms besides Heaven and Hell. To see it now, in the domain of a powerful king, shining brightly as if the one who cut it down did not have four arms and eyes. “It’s strong…resilient.”

“Of course it is. Who do you take me for?” he snaps, tone not holding any heat as his sharp gaze looks at you from head to toe. He leans imperceptibly into you when you laugh, a sound that shakes from your robe-covered chest and into the warm air, the shadows catching it as if they are fireflies in the night.

You finally pull your gaze from the tree, looking to Sukuna and he refuses to let you hear the hitch in his breath. He refuses to tighten his jaw or let you hear the click of bone as he fights the urge to openly bask in your gaze. “I have something for you.”

You grab a box beneath the tree, the only object that decorates the skirt. You’re climbing into his large lap before he can protest, willingly invading his space without fear of the consequences. For others, a swift death. For you, a subconscious shift in his form, one of his arms falling behind you and hitching along your hip to steady you on his thigh.

“I hope you like it,” you muse, shrugging with indifference to shield your anticipation. “I know "human sentiments" are not your specialty.”

The hands not holding your back trace along the red ribbon, silky soft and tied neatly by you. But before you can push the box more insistently into his hold, his hands slide under yours, firmly stilling your movements.

One of his hands reaches behind his back, his form shifting closer before he presents you with his own box. It’s smaller than yours, crafted in dark, polished wood, the flames from the fireplace glimmering along the surface.

“How can I let you meddle and not have anything to counter it with?” It’s all Sukuna offers, tone low and edged with something warmer than usual. He places the box in your hands, his gaze heavy on your face as though waiting for a reaction. Truly, the thought of him getting you something had not crossed your mind. Sukuna seemed more than willing to put up with your holiday antics if only to get something in return. So the weight of the box in your hands, cool against your palm, feels substantial.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid, the dark wood creaking softly. Nestled inside a bed of rich blue velvet, is something that steals the breath from your lungs. It gleams against the firelight as you pick it up, its crystal surface refracting shards of gold and crimson that dance across your body. The shape is elegant yet otherworldly, the surface etched with markings that you’ve come to see throughout his estate. A stopper made of black Onyx crowns it, carved into a teardrop that you pinch and pull to open.

The scent curls into the air, smoothing beneath your nostrils in a delicate yet commanding embrace. It’s sharp at first, with notes of what you recognize as juniper and lemon, fresh and crisp like the frost that curls on the windows in your chamber. You’re an expert in fragrance, so it doesn’t take you long to detect the undercurrent of bergamot and pepper, adding an edge that’s reminiscent of Sukuna’s power—lurking beneath the surface.

It seems as if the notes are never-ending. Pine needles and incense weave into a rich, earthy warmth, like the forest you both walked through to cut down the decorated pine that rests behind you. Amber and balsam provide a sweetness that lingers with its base notes and a touch of vanilla. Finally, the richness of cinnamon adds a spicy conclusion, as if kissing your skin before it fades into the morning air.

“You didn’t,” you begin, mouth suddenly dry, your eyes quite the opposite. “You made this…?”

“Do you think anyone else could, Ryu?” he counters, his tone holding a rare softness that you wish you were more levelheaded to preserve forever. A hand not resting on your back drifts along your shoulder blades, caressing in a mixture of observance and reverence. “It is yours.”

Like everything else in this domain.

That is what he wants to add. Is what curls at the tip of his tongue. But he uses your fluttering eyelashes to distract that urge that throbs in his chest. Uses the sight of you resting the perfume carefully back in its velvet encasing before closing the wooden box as if it might break.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally whisper, uncaring of how shaky you sound. The gift is uniquely Sukuna, deeply reflecting his essence but still having you in mind. “Thank you.”

He offers that characteristic hum, rumbling through your body and clenching around your heart with a force he’s not yet ready to acknowledge. His belly mouth curves into a smug grin, but his eyes are still on you as if searching for something.

“Another example of my indulgence that you mistake for generosity.”

The way his cursed energy hums around you, warm and protective, tells you otherwise. And it only serves to make you laugh, finally wiping the tears from your cheeks and gently setting the wooden box on the fur rug beneath you both.

“Uh huh,” you tease, snickering at his frown you can see right through. You finally pick up your box, the surface warmed by the fire, now resting in his hands. The teasing air around you both falls to the wayside, hushed anticipation taking its place.

He’s spent days pestering you about what he would get, and now, with you on his lap and his massive hands cradling the box with unexpected gentleness, his curiosity morphs into something else. A prize he’s excited to have and now afraid to open. Not in fear—Sukuna has no room for fear—but in anticipation.

It takes everything in you not to snatch the box and open it yourself, but eventually, he does, and the purse of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes fall before you like a book as old as time finally opening.

The silk is as dark as the shadows that roam these halls, shimmering like oil in water as it slides along Sukuna’s thick fingers. To anyone else, the material would simply be silk. But to Sukuna, he can feel the cursed energy that pulses along it, no doubt stitched together with a cursed thread strong enough to embrace him and yet still soft to the touch.

You had no way to conjure or control cursed energy to weave into the fabric, so you had to turn to Uraume for help. Their frosty hands had guided yours, harnessing the cursed energy necessary for you as you wove the threads, ensuring the haori could hold the weight of Sukuna’s power while remaining as delicate as the intentions behind it.

The silk mirrors the intricate markings on his skin, its edges dyed in gradients of shadow and blood.

“It’s a Haori,” you finally speak, soft and given space so he can observe his gift without hurry. “It’s all you really wear, so I thought crafting something of my own would be….nice.”

Words gather on his tongue, and then scatter like leaves in a storm, too feeble to express the weight of what he feels. He knows that a simple hum of approval won’t be enough—not this time. Not for you. But as he readies himself to speak, opening his mouth just so, his breath catches when he looks inside one of the sleeves.

The inner lining is adorned with ancient symbols sewn in patterns only he would recognize, the same ones you’ve felt him trace in the air around you when he thinks you’re sleeping, offering protection for when he cannot be near you. They shimmer faintly, their glow deepening in the shadowed folds of silk and fading when touched by light—a testament to the darkness he commands and the solace he finds within it.

“Ryu—”

“At least put it on,” you interrupt, voice slightly shaky and betraying your exposed nerves. You hold the garment delicately, taking it from him and helping each arm through the sleeves. The silk moves like smoke around his massive form, designed to accommodate while maintaining the elegant lines that befit a being of his stature. Your eyes are on his skin, focused on the hem of his lapels as you trace over it and rest your hand on his chest.

“There,” you whisper, smiling but not looking up at him. His heart is steady beneath your palm, not fluttering like a bird in a cage, and you’re not sure whether to be upset that your gift doesn’t make his heart race. “It looks good on you.”

It fits him perfectly and thrums with a warmth that echoes the temperature blooming in his chest. That three-letter phrase—that elusive word that’s made his lip curl in disgust since the beginning of time, now pounds in his ears from the garment that sits on his skin.

It’s not just a garment—it’s an acknowledgment of who he is in his truest form, a declaration that you see his beauty in both his power and his evolution. The way it drapes over his marked skin, how it seems to pulse with its own life in response to his cursed energy—these details speak to your understanding of him, how you’ve learned to…love both the demon and the subtle changes your presence has wrought in him.

“You see me,” he finally speaks, uncharacteristically hushed. You see him—demon and protector, destroyer and creator, ancient force and the being who has learned to nestle mortal joy in hands only meant for destruction.

They’ve always been directed at you. Not from him. He’s never said them before. He’s never really known how, and part of him has always been envious of how the words can fall so effortlessly from your lips.

He’s never said them before. And yet now, at this moment, it feels like if he doesn’t act, the opportunity will be lost forever, forced down into the pit of his belly for who knows how long.

You hold your breath when you feel one of his hands cradle your cheek, massive enough so that his fingers card through your dark hair.

“And I see you, Ryu.”

The words feel like a promise. Like they will probably be rare but will only hold more and more weight as time goes by. And that’s okay for you. To be in his presence. To open him up and show him that he is capable of something gentle enough to hold you. That’s your gift that you will never need to wait until the 25th of December for.

His belly mouth is unusually silent, but his cursed energy tightens around you like a caress. Warm and vibrating, a protective weight that will remain around you for as long as you breathe. It speaks volumes that his pride won’t quite let him voice.

You lift a hand to rest on his cheek, tracing along the smooth skin that gives way to the rough texture that wraps around his right side. His two eyes on this side are more narrowed, encapsulated in the hard surface around it but still oozing dominance that could make others cower and definitely not come closer like you do. You cup his jaw before finally meeting his gaze—soft meeting a harshness that will never affect you, love meeting the beginnings of the same that linger beneath crimson pools.

“I see you too, Ryomen.”

The sound of his name makes his chest tighten, the organ behind his sternum pounding irregularly for only a second before falling back in line. His given name is forbidden for any who wish to speak it in likeness—he will only tolerate the name ‘Ryomen’ if it is wrapped in fear, or if it falls from your lips.

The silence lingers for what feels like forever, his hands holding you on his lap while he lets you map his face. Your heart flutters, happiness pulsing through your veins with every beat, cataloging every aspect of this moment in your mind forever.

“There is one mortal tradition,” he finally muses, his voice carrying that particular note of mischief that always makes your breath catch, “that I find…acceptable.”

It’s the kind of tone that usually follows lips along your skin and hands between your thighs, reminiscent of a man who can only bask in vulnerability for moments before shifting to something heady and tinged with lust.

Before you can question his motives, one of his hands lifts to hover above you both. His cursed energy manifests between his fingers, dark and potent, morphing itself into something that makes you snort in delighted surprise. Dark tendrils grow slowly from the mass of energy between his fingers, twisted and mangled to form branches, its leaves pitch black with berries that gleam like drops of blood.

A twisted version of mistletoe, the only representation that would be acceptable to someone like Sukuna.

“Of course, you’d make it look menacing,” you tease, giggling softly as his other arms draw you closer to his chest. His belly mouth snickers from below you, ready to join his host in whatever is planned. One of your fingers traces the metal of his gauges, your eyes narrowing in playful indifference.

“Then I advise you to have one ready for next year.”

Your heart stops, lungs seizing in your chest as the words tunnel into one ear and out the other. Next year. The idea hangs in the air, fragile and precious—proof that even Ryomen Sukuna, with all his arrogance and dominance, is willing to entertain a future with you.

The mistletoe pulses above you, casting reddish shadows across your faces, and you don’t need to think any longer as you lean in to slide your lips along his. His hands widen the expanse of your back, your robe slipping off your shoulders to hang in the crevice of your elbows, the heat from the pulsing mistletoe spreading over your chest. The naked feel of you against his torso pleases him, and beneath the prideful smirk against your mouth, beneath the snicker from his belly, you taste that four-letter word in his mouth, siphoning as much of it as you can before you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper against his lips, your body warming even further despite the heat from the fireplace.

He offers that hum—that characteristic hum that means so much.

Acquiescence.

Agreement.

I see you.

The mistletoe falls to the floor, crunching beneath your weight as Sukuna lays you on the fur, hands tracing your waist, sliding along your spine, hiking your legs around him. He doesn’t speak, content to admire you beneath him—a mortal without cursed energy who loves perfume, the paranormal, and classical music. A mortal who hates spiders, but loves Gothic architecture, monsters, and the many books that line his walls.

A mortal who has crawled beneath his skin and nestled there, unwilling to leave. And he’s too ashamed to admit that he gave up trying to pry you from inside of him a long time ago.

You throw your arms around his neck, impatient and tired of his staring, carding your fingers through deceptively soft pink hair to pull him down so that you can once again honor this particular tradition—one that, like everything else between you, has been transformed into something uniquely yours.

Merry Christmas, @grimmweepers !!!!

[bigtreefest]

Details

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: Ransom can’t help the way he pays such close attention to every detail regarding you

Word count: 1,081

Content/warnings: very sappy Ransom, no dialogue, ransom’s internal monologue?, references to intimacy, kisses, lots of timeline switching? (Flashbacks and returns to present)

A/N: Below is the song which inspired this fic. It’s been a longtime favorite and I think it definitely fits the summer vibes

I guess we can call this a part of my summer celebration! It’s a vacation at a beach house, and probs an equal partnership? Based off a song. Yeah, I make the rules.

Anyway, comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

Ransom didn’t really have a name for this feeling, despite his vast vocabulary. The main reason was that he had never really felt it before, so how could he be sure? It was definitely beyond the simplicity of the lust he had felt on several occasions. Was it admiration, adoration? Whatever it was, he was sure it went both ways from the crooked smile you gave him as you stretched in the dim morning light.

After a week of your getaway, it was the last morning the two of you were waking up in his family’s coastal home. He loved the way the rays coming through the curtains graced your face, especially today, as you laid tangled in the sheets of the king-sized bed.

The past week had been filled with relaxation and enjoyment each day. Beach picnics, sunbathing, swimming, and…other…enjoyable…things. Those were his favorite. He was desperate to get to that, but not desperate in the moment, where he was worshipping you and your body, and every little thing that he could commit to memory. He never wanted to forget this time; it was simple, with no deadlines, no responsibilities besides each other, although he’d never call you a chore. You were a pleasure. One he was sure he didn’t deserve.

Ransom watched closely as you sat up, the sunshine creating a crown around your head and hair. He couldn’t help but notice you. All he saw was you.

His entire life, Ransom had always noticed the details. That was his strength: little things no one else picked up on, and they were all around him, but honestly, when he was looking at you, he couldn’t tell you anything going on in the background: what he had planned for today, or what he’d done before you woke up the day before.

When you’d gone out to eat at that one restaurant, the one that he thought probably had an ocean view, he couldn’t remember, he wouldn’t be able to recall a single song that had played during dinner.

What he does remember, though, is everything about you that night. The way the sea salt in the air from the long day had added a little extra wave to your hair- tightened the coil, how your skin glowed from the golden hour sunset shining through the glass by the table, the way you got a little tongue-tied after you shared your third glass of wine, which the waiter so rudely interrupted your story to ask if you wanted. No one deserved to stop your beautiful voice from talking, not even Ransom, and especially not the weirdly kind young man pouring the bottle. What was the waiter so nice for, anyway? That quickly left Ransom’s mind, though, attention switching to something much more important. He was completely focused, just not on the usual, external things. There were different details his brain favored these days.

Ransom had visited the coastal home since he was young, playing with the neighbor’s kids while his parents were off doing who knows what. Now, he couldn’t care enough to retain the name of the guy who lives next door. That sort of information was trivial when there was someone else who he would’ve rather had take up every corner of his mind.

That night after dinner, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you in the car, stealing every glance he could without veering off the road. Hundred dollar bills could be falling from the sky and he wouldn’t even notice, which carries its weight when all that Ransom’s ever valued, all that’s ever been steady in his life, is money. That was until you and whatever feeling you were giving him for the first time. It was as if he finally hit the threshold of realization to what’s been creeping up on him this whole time.

Upon your return to the beach house, the two of you laid in bed, cuddled up close as the light from the TV playing late night talk shows danced across the bedroom. You were tucked up into his side, your head on his shoulder as one hand crossed his body and rested on his hip, his one arm doing the same to you as the other tangled in your hair, gently massaging your scalp. He watched as your eyelids fluttered shut, heavy with tiredness of the day and comfort in his hold. Another moment to be savored: your absolute trust in the security of his arms. He smiled to himself as you mumbled in your sleep, studying every little quirk of your lips, every barely intelligible word he could catch, not judging, but committing to memory.

In another life, Ransom would’ve tried to deny that you were any more than just another girl, but there was no use. He was too far gone. Finding ways to surprise you, shower you in gifts, and all the quality time you asked for. Whatever you could desire, really, it was yours, and he had no business withholding from you. His heart wouldn’t allow him.

Ransom was in tune with everything you were doing right now. He pushed aside the thoughts of the week’s earlier memories with you for a second, and cleared everything else nonessential from his mind. He only needed space for what was going on currently. He observed as you scooted closer to him, pushing aside the pillows that were often just so as you slept. Absorbed the way your head tilted to the side at that certain angle when you were leaning in, just about to kiss him. He surely didn’t want to miss it as he closed his eyes and let you fall into him, tongues dancing in an amatory rhythm. So in sync, so naturally that he didn’t care about anything else. Every detail was something he wanted to devote his attention to; memorize and hold onto forever.

Yeah, he should probably get up and make you your coffee. How he loved to see you stir it, just the simplest task, but this felt more pressing. The warmth in his chest from your touch, the way your kisses filled his lungs with light, with life. How your fingertips traced up and down his chest, tucking into the waistband of his boxer briefs. He shuddered at the sensation, at what even your gentlest touch could do to him. Breakfast could wait. You offered enough to feed his soul forever. This feeling? The new wholeness? It was love.

Bonus A/N: Soft!Ran. I only know him. Could you imagine a nice little rainy day in bed, looking out the window at the coast?🥺

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[alexa-yukiyu]

Young Love (Marco x f!winged!reader)

A/N @quinloki 👉🏼👈🏼 I did it, I made it based on the prompt ‘Oh i’m in love’ I don’t think it turned out as well as I was expecting but I hope it can at least bring a small smile to your face. I wanted to do at least something for your birthday, kind of like a thank you for all the things you give us. This is really soft as it is when marco is on his teens; again I really hope you like it and here we gooo

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/drinkthesky and @/firefly-graphics

“Huh, Marco, where are you going?” Teach called, watching as his senior jumped off his post and walked into the forest that lined the clearing they were currently making guard at

“I’m taking my break,” He called, not waiting for the response of the former as he continued to walk deeper into the forest, sighing when he finally made it to another clearing ways away from where the current ceasefire was taking place.

He dropped to the ground with a slight huff, closing his eyes and crossing his arms as he thought of his small exchange with Roger’s first mate; his fists tightened as he remembered how easily the man had brushed him aside. Embarrassment filled him at the memory of his full-blown attack being stopped by a single finger. Perhaps if he hade-

His eyes shot open at the sound of leaves crunching and rustling behind him. He knew that thanks to the ceasefire, even if it was one of the enemy crew, he was in no danger. He glanced behind him to shoo them off, only to pause at the sight of the stranger.

Standing there, slightly hidden behind a tree, was not one of Roger’s men. In fact, it wasn’t even a pirate; rather, it was a young woman. By the looks of it, she appeared to be a native of the island they currently stood on.

Marco’s face flushed as the woman peeked her head out of the tree. A small arrangement of feathers decorating the back of her head, held together by a highly intricately designed headband. In her hand, she held a similar-designed bow. However, it was the wings that she showcased on her back that grabbed Marco’s full attention.

Marco scrambled to get up, letting out a small yowl as this caused him to fall head first into the ground, quickly picking himself up and trying to appear casual in front of the girl.

“H-Hi,” he cursed himself for stuttering as he tried to get his nerves under control.

“Are you a local?” He questioned

“I am, who are you?” She questioned

“I -I’m from the Whitebeard pirates. We stopped here for supplies but encountered some difficulties, so our stay has extended more than planned.”

“You’re a pirate?” She exclaimed

Marco was caught off guard as the girl jumped fully out of the tree, fluttering close to him.

“What is it like out there? Have you been to many islands? Do you travel in a big boat? How does it feel to travel? Do you have a big crew?” She hurriedly asked, curiosity shining in her eyes as she leaned closer to the young man, her hands forming fists as she lost herself more and more in her excitement

“Ah! I - Im sorry,” she spoke, taking a small step back.

“I got a little excited… I’ve never seen the outside world, so I guess I got excited to meet someone who has,” she muttered, slightly hiding herself with her wings in a bashful manner.

“It’s okay,” he assured her.

“I don’t really mind telling you about our travels; we have seen all kinds of islands.”

The two spent the rest of the night exchanging stories. Marco excitedly told her about the different seasoned islands scattered in the sea, even telling of an island lost in the old times and an island made entirely out of trees. The girl listened in awe at the dangerous adventures the man had taken part in and the numerous treasures he and his crew had managed to claim, laughing at the tales between him and his brothers, along with the Captain of the ship he referred to as pops.

In exchange, Dokucha told him all about the island. The small village she and the rest of the villagers resided in, being taken in by them when she was fairly young after her family had been wiped away by a hurricane that stroke the island as he comforted her. She told him of the colorful flora that littered the island, even showcasing some of it by tucking a blooming flower on his hair much to his delight. She told him of the equally extensive fauna; from big to small, the island was home to all kinds of creatures. It wasn’t until the sun began to peak that Marco took notice of the time as he shot to his feet.

“I have to go back to camp; the ceasefire will be ending soon,” he spoke, stopping as he spotted the disappointment on the girl’s face. He kneeled down close to her again as he grasped her hands, the previous flush returning to his face as he did

“I can come back tonight,” he promised.

“Really?” She questioned hope filling her face

“I will,will I see you here? I still have to tell you all about the Moby dick.”

“Yes! I will see you tonight, then!”

“Great!”

And so the two promised.

-

“Marco! I was worried you wouldn’t show up! She exclaimed as he spotted the small tuft of hair approaching the clearing with haste.

“I’m sorry, the fight went on longer than I thought it would tonight,” he explained.

“Are you okay? Were you hurt?” She questioned worriedly as she took in any possible injuries

He gushed internally as she worriedly assessed him, spinning around him to ensure nothing was amiss.

“My injuries heal,” he stated with pride as he stood confidently.

“Heal?”

“My devil fruit enables me to heal myself instantly.”

“Devil fruit?”

He paused, realizing that she must not have acome across the concept of devil fruits on the island; as he explained the concepts and power of devil fruits and how his own worked, he watched as her awed expression grew into an elated one as he offered to show her his full Zoan form.

She gasped as the man before her enveloped himself in cyan flames, covering her eyes at the bright flames in the otherwise lightless clearing. Once her sharp eyes adapted to the change in light, she lowered her arms, gasping as she took in the huge bird that stood before her; entranced, she approached him, extending her hand towards him and gasping; it wasn’t hot as she was expecting the flames to be, rather they were warm, they were inviting, they were

“Beautiful….” She uttered as she kneeled in front of him taking him in

The words she spoke would forever be engraved into Marco’s mind as the words that would change what was a small crush into a blooming love.

-

“Marco! You’re here; it’s strange seeing you during the day, isn’t eve-Marco?” Dokucha stopped her words as she took in Marco’s frantic state

“Marco, what’s wrong?”

“I-it’s over... the fight is over.”

“I don’t understand. Is that not wonderful news?”

“N- I mean, yes, don’t you know what that means, Dokucha?

“That the fight is over?”

“It means it won’t be long before we leave,” he sighed, defeated

“Oh,” she muttered

“I won’t see you again?” she questioned

Marco frowned, his own heart breaking as he heard the young woman’s heartbroken tone.

“Please come with me!” he pleaded, grasping her hands.

“Come.... with you?”

“You can have the adventure you wanted. You can see the Moby Dick and travel in it.”

“But what about my village?”

“Is there anything left for you here?” that silenced her; she knew that although he was right, despite her loving the village and its people and vice-versa, there was nothing more to gain if she were to stay here.

“Will your Captain be okay with this?”

“I won’t let him say no.”

She shook her head, letting out a disbelieving laugh.

“You didn’t think this through.”

“W-well, I have a beginning and end. I’m still figuring the in-between”

“You’re a dork”

“Is that a yes?”

She smiled, leaning in a quick, chaste kiss on the Phoenix’s cheek.

“Let’s go.” She grinned, opening her wings and promptly taking to the sky.

Marco looked entranced at the girl touching his cheek as he tried to take in what had just occurred.

“Are you going to stay down there?” She hollered

“Oh... so that’s what it is. I’m in love,” He spoke, a smile growing on his face as he heard her call out to him again.

“I’m coming”

What we thinking?

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[lvmimis]

cw: implied sex and references thereof but no smut in this fic. fluff. silly terminology. love confession.

If Suo were awake, and if ever you were more honest about your feelings, you'd joke that post-nut clarity came to you, not moments after sex but the morning after, where the crack of your eyelids brought you his sleeping visage before anything else.

And in that moment, you realized you loved him. Not love as in adored or appreciated, but in the way that makes your heart rend at the thought of being apart too long or at his furtive glance being directed away from you to another.

It's not the first time you've slept together, and by God, it won't be the last, but it's the first time you've woken up first, watching him in the perfect peace of slumber, motionless and beautiful, as he lays, facing in your direction. Something about this vulnerability overwhelms you - Suo is never one to be caught off guard, but you can tell that he has no reason to heighten his guard against you, even if you've fought him off emotionally as long as you have.

Perhaps he'd always known there would be this very moment, your hand reaching out towards his face to caress it before you even think of what you're doing. Your fingers graze gently against the curve of his cheek, and he leans into it.

He's not asleep.

"Suo..." you start, then stop, wondering why you're calling his name in the first place.

He hasn't opened his eye yet, but he kisses the palm of your hand, and then shimmies closer, an action that might be too cute for his sweet but somewhat serious presence.

"Morning," he offers in a gentle voice before he's grinning, warming you with his gentle brown gaze. His hand mirrors yours then he lets his nose affectionately tap against your forehead. No kisses yet, not until you've both freshened up.

"Thank you for staying," he says. He always thanks you this way, as if you'd be so foolish as to disappear in the middle of the night.

But you could if you wanted to. Suo knows that anything you give him is fully and totally of your own volition, and stresses that always.

You move closer, and he pulls your leg gently so that it drapes over his hip. Your cheeks warm, and he grins, knowing he's got you flustered already.

It's too early in the morning for this.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks.

You sleep well every night you're with him, you want to admit, but instead you nod.

Moments pass, and then you add something else. "You know, I realized something." 

Interest piqued, Suo raises his eyebrows, his fingers tapping gently at the curve of your thigh.

"What?"

"A little bit of post-nut clarity if you will," you say out loud. He blinks at you for a second, then laughs, as you expected. It's funny to think that at one point you worried about being too vulgar for him, but he's always far less unrefined than you think.

He surprises you constantly.

"I’m glad to hear that. Grace me with your new wisdom, my love," he replies. A laugh coming from you yourself, you smile at him.

"I really, really love you."

It’s practically a grenade you’ve lobbed at him; he pauses, and you can see the ghost of a blush, gone as fast as the wisp of a firefly before he answers in stride.

"I sure hope so, unless this would all be very awkward." He shifts slightly, and the devious fox smile returns, but you press on, not allowing him to let him keep his feelings at the surface.

For someone so sure of himself, he's too often playful and light; you want to let him feel something deep for once, let what lays in murky water rise to the surface, unafraid of what it will reveal. You cup his cheek again, and look at him carefully, making sure it's clear that you mean it from the bottom of your heart, the pit of your belly.

"I love you, Suo. I want this... and I want it again and I want it more, and I think I might want it for as long as I can foresee."

You can hear his breathing stop for a moment.

He expected you to say it - that you loved him, one day - but he never expected to say it first.

Beaming, he rolls over so that he's on top of you, pressing his lips to your forehead.

"I love you too."

Another peck to your eyelids, then he nuzzles into your neck.

"Would you like to see what else post nut clarity can show us?" he asks, using your own terminology. You giggle and slip a pillow in between your faces, with your voice muffled through,

"We have places to be!"

He pulls the pillow off of you and grins. "Fine," he agrees as he stretches out his hand to raise you up out of bed.

But his smile isn't the fox smile anymore; it's his true smile, and his love for you is clear as the blue sky.

[chaotic-ppeach]

I like to yap so i want to give a little breakdown of those last paintings!

I was inspired by Alphonse Mucha and his structured yet ethereal watercolor style. Everything flows together, and it reminds me a bit of stained glass. He still paints in textures while being exceedingly neat. Anyways… I morphed this with my sketchy/oil paint inspired digital style and this is what happened. (If you are unfamiliar with. Alphonse Mucha PLEASE look him up)

Side note: my art is MEANT to be zoomed in on. I leave little scratches and details not visible from standing back/without clicking on the image. Imperfections are welcome in my art as well as extraneous detail. Placement of details, textures, warmth and lighting is intentional to draw your eye to the main focus. I love adding Easter eggs to those who look closely and I plan to get even better at this! Alright.

Let’s start w/ Lev

1. The sky bridge used by Abby and Lev to get supplies for Yara. For me this is the first time Abby and Lev really let each other in, decide to trust and start bonding. Lev trusts Abby to keep him safe, not to betray him to WLF, and is relying on her to retrieve the supplies to save his sisters life. He’s putting his own life, anf more importantly Yara’s, in her hands. He is encouraging, kind and patient with Big Bad Abby’s fear of heights, and even tries to ask personal questions to distract her and get to know her more.

2. One of the most traumatic things to happen to a child, in any media I’ve ingested ever. Exile, injury, going back to a broken home only to lost his mother by his own hand, quickly followed by his sister who was killed in a matter of seconds with no time to grieve or process any of this. He does not allow himself to be paralyzed, Abby is there to help him keep pushing and and keep fighting. Honestly day 3 Abby is one of my favorite parts.

3. The boat, at the end in Santa Barbara. Even when Abby is on death’s door, weak, starved, beaten, you name it. She’ll give her life to protect her boy, here when he’s most vulnerable. She doesn’t want to fight, she’s done with the cycle of revenge and violence. But for him, her mind and her body screaming to give up and to leave, she’ll fight for him. Even if it costs her her life.

4. The aquarium, a shark, and Yara. I know this didn’t happen in the game but I wanted to add it. Lev isn’t Lev without Yara. So many critical events for Abby, Lev, and Ellie happed in the aquarium so it only felt right to have it there. And a shark because his love of sharks is too cute. Plus I needed a sea creature so it would read visually as an aquarium and fish were too small.

5. The wave frame is honestly more an aesthetic choice, but Lev is scared of the sea and there’s a lot of water in the game. Another point he crossed the sea HIMSELF to retrieve his mom. He must have been terrified. And for it to end the way it did… oof.

6. I changed his expression from the reference photo. In the reference he’s very doe-eyed, unsure, almost fearful. I wanted to show just how strong he is when it mattered most. He’s not letting anything stop him for fighting for those he loves, even if they don’t want his help.

1. The coins she collects throughout the game. Virginia, California, New Mexico, Illinois, and I’ve quite forgotten the last one. There’s a moose on it. Intentionally i did not make the designs clear or render the metal more. Coins are extremely detailed, the frame is not. It would look weird. Plus there’s no reason, the focus is her face and I don’t want the viewer’s eye being made to compete on where to focus. Abby isn’t Abby without her dad, I couldn’t not include a piece of him in the artwork. It’s a way for her to stay connected to him in a way other than the virus, the fireflies, or revenge. A collecting hobby that’s simply for the pleasure of it, a break from her regularly tightly disciplined lifestyle.

2. Firefly Emblem. Not rocket science, growing up a firefly had an impact on her. It’s a big part of who she is. Seeking growth, seeking to do better day by day. To help and be kind. I make the emblems glow for aesthetic reason but also, “Look for the light” kept coming to mine when trying to figure our what color they should be.

3. The Harbor Seal. Again, a nod to the aquarium, but also to Owen. I believe she deeply and truly loved him. Fight me. Plus i believe part of the reason she becam e so melancholy when the seal appeared was because of her dad. He seemed to enjoy animals, and perhaps it brought back memories and the pain of losing him all over again. She wants to be there, to be present with Owen but this overwhelming grief with nowhere to go is drowning her. She uses training and patrols to release some of this pressure. She asks Owen to come with her not because she doesn’t care and is blowing him off, but because she wants the one she loves to be with her as she’s processing this grief and anger. I don’t think either of them could see this at the time, perhaps Owen a bit.

4. A wolf. Obviously, WLF, and her nickname from Yara/Lev “Wolf”. More importantly wolves are pack animals. One thing that strikes me between Ellie and Abby is the complete opposite experience they’ve had with community. Ellie grew up under military rule. Extremely strict and single minded. No room for self expression or exploration, no support for her own individuality. Leaving her community was a freeing thing. Her brushes with other groups in her travels with Joel only showed her how cruel and insane people can be. Even in Jackson, she i troubled. She has to hide both who and what she is, and because of this seems the loner type and struggles to find a sense of community outside of her immediate ‘family’. And then with Dina, Jesse and Tommy… Dina is a stead support, then a liability, then a weakness for Ellie. She eventually loses her to her own grief. Jesse was her good friend, and in trying to save Ellie ends up dying very suddenly and tragically. Tommy, the only one on earth that could understand her grief and she could sympathize with. He ends up losing himself to grief and taking this out on Ellie, causing a rift between them. She ends up alone. Community is riddled with trauma and discomfort.

Abby on the other hand. Grew up with lots of support, openness, and guidance from her father and the fireflies. She was allowed to unapologetically be herself. Losing her community (the hospital) was the single most traumatic event that happened to her. Her world crumbled. She then clings to what she has left, searches and finds herself in another community (WLF) that allows her to be herself. Left and right as she walks through WLF territory she is warmly, fondly greeted by multiple multiple people. It is apparent is is loved and respected by many. A community is where she thrives, where she belongs. After being excluded from the WLF, she clings the the next thing she can help. Lev and Yara. She takes them in as she would appreciate herself. When they voice discomfort of her mocking their culture she changes her ways. She can respect a community and what it means to people. Even at the end of the game, she’s risking life and limb for her last remaining bit of community, her boy. Wolf, is very fitting.

5. The Infection. Honestly I just needed to include it somehow. But really is is a big part of her. Her whole childhood I bet she listened to her father rant about the infection and his research. She’s spent her whole life running from or killing infected. After Salt Lake, I could only imagine every infected, especially friends, she kills she’d think “If only we had a cure…” Her hatred for Joel growing…

6. I also changed her expression slightly. Because these are sister paintings I wanted it to look like Abby could maybe be looking directly at Lev. In the reference she was looking up.

Okay that’s all….

[ozwriterchick]

Back to Us - Chapter 7

Summary: Y/n wakes after an accident to her Avengers team-mates. But something isn't quite right and only Steve and Tony can see it.

Characters/Relationships: Steve Rogers x Reader; Tony Stark; Natasha Romanoff; Other Avengers Characters

Content warnings: Mentions of an accident (no details yet); If I missed any, let me know

A/N: If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Not beta'd so any mistakes are my own. I don't write smut, but there are allusions to smut in my stories.

Back to Us Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1470 (approx.)

GIF by dazedandkaitfused

A couple of days later, Nat walked into the gym to see Steve training like a machine.  “Wow Rogers, are you trying to murder that punching bag?” she laughed.

Steve glares at her and continues punching with all his Super Soldier might.

“Ok Captain Angry, I guess this is about Y/n and her little trip away?” she enquired.

“Not.. (punch) ready.. (punch) to talk.. (punch) about it.. (punch) Romanoff.” He grunted.

“Alright, if you insist, I have some intel on why she left.  But you’re not ready to talk about it so, I’m just gonna be over here training” she smirked, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Nat moved over to the treadmill for a warm up, putting her earbuds in and blasting some rock music, she starts running.  Only seconds later, she feels a presence at her side and looks up into Steve’s angry gaze.

“You can’t just say that and not elaborate Romanoff”. Nat points to her earbuds, indicating that she can’t hear him.  He glares at her again.

“Ok, settle Rogers, geez”

“Spill Nat, I need to know what’s going on.  She didn’t talk to me about going away, she didn’t say goodbye, I’m freaking out over here.”

Nat had never heard Steve like this so, sighing, she took pity on him.  “Well, I ran into her as she was leaving her, I mean your room, with her bag.  She said she needed a few days to process the memory gap being so big and some other info she’d heard.”

“Did she say what that information was?”

“I asked her and she said she heard you talking about your fiancé.  She admitted to me you guys have been fooling around and she said she never thought you were that kind of person to cheat on your fiancé.” Nat shrugged and looked at him as if this was all his fault.

“Aarrgghh Nat, why didn’t you say something to her?  Or come and get me to explain it?  She wouldn’t have left if she knew the truth.”

“Steve, it wasn’t my place to tell her, besides didn’t the Doctor say that telling her big stuff like that could cause irreparable damage to her brain if she’s not ready for it?  I wasn’t going to be responsible for that.  I’ll leave that up to you and Tony.”

“Yeah. I get it, sorry Nat.  I’m just freaking out she’s going to leave for good and then where does that leave me and Noah?”

“I don’t know Steve, but you have to trust that if your bond with her is so strong that she’ll make her way back to both of you. And you know she would never leave Noah forever.”

“But she doesn’t remember us, or him, so what would really be stopping her?”

Nat shrugged and looked at Steve with sympathy. “Sorry Steve, I don’t know what else to say.  Just trust her and the link you guys have.”

Steve went back to his temporary room to shower and think.  He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he had to find you and talk to you.

A few days later.

Tony walks into Steve’s office and sits on the chair opposite his desk.  “Hey Steve, I heard from Y/n this morning.  She’s doing ok, still not ready to come back yet.  I know you’ve been trying to find her, but you have to let her be.  You have to give her the space she needs, at least for now.”

“Well I’m glad she’s ok Tony, I just wish she’d let me talk to her.  Nat told me why she really left, she heard me refer to my fiancé, but she didn’t realise I was talking about her, she thought I was cheating on my fiancé with her.”

“Yeah, I got that much out of her” Tony said. “I wanted to tell her, but I don’t think it’s my place to.  Hopefully she wont be away too much longer.”

“I hope not Tony.  Noah needs her, and so do I.  I’m just thankful he doesn’t really know what’s going on.”

“How is he doing?  Has he asked about her?” Tony asked.

“I don’t know Tony, he asks about her every day but he won’t really talk to me about it so I don’t know how he’s feeling.” Steve replied.

“Well, if I speak to her again, I’ll tell her you want to talk, see what she says, ok?” Tony concedes.

Another week went by and Steve had resigned himself to not speaking with you until you got back.

He was sure you’d spoken to Tony on a regular basis, and he just wanted to talk to you, to straighten all of this misunderstanding out.

“All Avengers, please meet in the War room in 1 hour” FRIDAY announced throughout the compound.

“Avengers,” Tony began. “We have a new mission from SHIIELD.  There is an insurgent group in Romania, near the HYDRA facility that you guys cleared a few years ago.  It is believed they are trying to re-start the facility.”

“Didn’t that get blown to smithereens in that last mission?” Clint asked.

“Yes, it did, but according to the latest info, they’ve been slowly and secretly rebuilding it, and all the machinery.  We have to go in, level the building and capture anyone in the area.” Tony explained further.

“Sounds like a plan.  Who’s going?” Bucky asked.

“This is an all-in mission” Tony said.  “Everyone is required.”

“Then, aren’t we missing a team member?” Bucky enquired.

Tony nodded. “Y/n will meet us there.  I’ve already sent the coordinates to her and she’s on her way.”

Steve looks at Tony hopefully, but Tony shakes his head at him, knowing what he is asking.

“Wheels up in 30 minutes.”

In the Quinjet

“So she’s joining the mission but she won’t talk to me?” Steve asked, his voice about to crack with the stress of both the mission and Y/n’s radio silence.

“Sorry Cap.” Tony put his hand on Steve’s shoulder to provide some comfort. “I pleaded your case but she said she just wants to get in and out and back to wherever she’s been staying.  I am encouraged that she agreed to join the mission though.  Hopefully that’s a good sign.���

The team arrives in Romania and disembarks at the nominated meeting point.  Y/n is waiting there and strolls over to the group.

“About time old man, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming and I’d have to do this by myself” you grinned at Tony, then turning you nodded at Steve.  “Captain.”

“Good to see you Y/n.  Let’s do this.” Steve said stoically.

The mission went flawlessly this time.  Hawkeye used some of his new exploding arrows to blow up the building and all insurgents were captured and waiting on SHIELD to pick them up.

Steve snuck a look at you, laughing and chatting with Nat.  He casually strolled over but noticed, the closer he got, the less you were smiling.

“Hey Y/n” Steve said. “We’ve missed you at the compound.”

“Well, that’s my queue to exit.  I need to check on Clint, I think he got hurt in the fight.” Nat said, standing.

“Subtle Romanoff, real subtle” you hugged her and smiled at her.  The smile falls off your face as you turn to Steve.  “What do you want Rogers?”

“Come on Y/n” Steve pleads with you.  “Talk to me, I want to explain what you heard.”

“I think I know all I need to know Rogers.  No explanation can change that” you began.  “You’ll be happy to know – or maybe not – that I’ve got about a year of my memories back, so soon I’ll remember everything.  Including who your fiancé is and I’ll be able to clue her up about what you’ve been up to.”

You look down at the ground and in a small voice you say “I just never thought you’d be the sort of person to do that.”

“Y/n please” Seve begs you. “There’s a rational explanation for all of this.”

At that moment, Tony walked up letting Steve know they were ready to head back to the compound.  “Y/n, once we’ve gone, SHIELD will take you back to your drop off point.  Don’t take too much longer though eh?  Everyone misses your presence around the compound.”

“No problem” you replied to him.  “Thanks Tony.” And with that you walked away from the 2 of them.

Once they arrive back at the compound, Steve pulls Tony aside.  “She told me she has some of her memories back, around a year.  So she should be getting to the memories of our relationship soon.  Hopefully then she’ll come back and talk to me.”

“Yeah, hopefully.” Tony said, wishing he could be more positive, if only for Steve’s sake.

Tag List: @wolfbeanpotion @vioplay19 @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @crazyunsexycool @zaraomarrogers @bitchy-bi-trash @mrsnikstan @harrysnovia

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 15

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 14 | Series Masterlist | Part 16

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.6k

Chapter Summary: You learn the root of Bucky's obsession with you.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, masturbation, dirty talk, tension, backstory, reference to stalking, inner turmoil, slight feels, talk of violence, angst, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and this chapter is... something. Thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You hadn't opened your eyes yet when you felt Bucky’s fingers brush along your stomach in an almost hypnotic motion. You didn't know what time it was or what was going on in the world outside, but you knew you were in his arms and would be in his bed soon enough. Sleeping with someone next to you wasn’t something you were completely used to. It had been so long, and when it did happen it was always by choice.

You hadn't exactly kicked Bucky out though, had you? No, you invited him in. If only to prevent him from putting another hole in the wall. Natasha said she’d bill him for it, but you were going to make Bucky pay her extra for the inconvenience.

“I know you’re awake,” he murmured, his lips touching your neck. “Your breathing changed.”

“Mmm. You listen to me breathe?” you mumbled. That tracked for him.

“It’s a beautiful sound,” he said, your eyes finally opening when he pulled you closer. Whether it was sleep, being beside you, or both, it had an effect on his… anatomy. You went still when he rocked his hips once, letting you feel just how hard he was. “God, waking up beside you is a dream come true.”

Your fingers dug into the pillow under your head as he rolled his hips again. His fingers didn't drift south, didn't tug at your pajamas. He also didn't stop that slow grind and you hated that a bit of wetness gathered between your thighs. “Did you have good dreams?” you asked, your voice surprisingly even.

“Mmm. I had very good dreams,” he answered, his voice rough. “Would you rather I tell you or show you?”

Neither. That was what you told yourself. “What about me?” you asked. “You don’t want me to tell you about my dreams?”

“Tell me,” he urged, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I dreamt about you, Bucky. You laying beside me in bed, holding me close. Just like this,” you said, his groan permeating your skin. “Do you want me to keep going?”

His teeth gently sank into your shoulder, making you gasp. “Yes,” he growled.

“Okay,” you smiled, pushing your hips back just a little to tease him. “I dreamt that you touched me. So hot it made me feel like I was on fire.”

Another groan escaped. “Where, Kotyonok? Where did I touch you?” he asked, his voice strained.

“See, here's the thing…” You suddenly pulled yourself from his grasp and turned in time to smack him in his face with the pillow. His shocked expression was worth it. “I don’t remember the rest of my dream because some entitled jerk pounded on my door in the middle of the night and punched a hole in the wall.”

He chuckled as he sat up, his hair falling in his eyes. It was a gorgeous sight and it wasn't fair. “Did you just hit me with a pillow?”

You did it again, your frustration fueled more as he kept laughing. “Sleep is precious to me,” you said, nodding to his lower region. “You’re lucky I don't smack that with the pillow.”

He took it from your grasp before you could try. “Okay, it was shitty of me to show up when I did. I’ll give you that,” he said, reaching out to touch your cheek. “But I really did miss you.”

“I understand that, but it was one day,” you argued, shivering when his thumb moved along your skin. He went a single day without you and lived to tell the tale.

Pain filled his eyes. “But I already went so long without you.”

You sighed, pulling away and searching for your phone so you could check the time. “I need caffeine before we have our talk.”

Bucky looked down at himself. “And I need to take care of this.” He smirked at your expression. “Don't worry. As much as I want to be inside you, our first time won't be here.”

That was a relief. “But you do plan to fuck me here at some point.”

“Natasha let that slip, huh?” He stood up with a stretch and you looked away. “I plan to make love to you and fuck you, too. The best of both worlds.”

“How considerate.” You stretched, too, his eyes following you. “Let me use the bathroom before you jerk off in there, please.”

“You're welcome to listen,” he smiled.

He’d probably put on a show if he knew you were listening. “I’m going to sit in the other room once I’m done and order breakfast. Would you like anything?”

He looked touched that you considered that. “Coffee with cream and sugar, eggs sunny side up, and bacon, please.”

“Okay,” you said, rushing to the bathroom before he could follow.

“I might just jerk off in bed if you’re in there,” he called out as you shut the door.

“Be my guest!”

You swore you heard a chuckle as you went about your business, going to the bathroom, brushing your teeth. Ignoring him didn’t last when you heard a soft groan. Jesus, the man had absolutely no shame.

“Fuck, doll, I’m so hard for you,” he moaned.

You counted to three in your head and brushed your teeth a little harder, faster, trying to block him out. Maybe if you ignored him he'd shut his mouth. Maybe.

“Are you wet for me? Come to bed and let me take care of you. I'll make you melt on my tongue.”

Spitting harder in the sink than you needed to, you gripped the porcelain once you rinsed your mouth out. You had no doubt he’d eat you out like a starved man. Would he make you take him in your throat soon? Fuck your face until you drooled and cried or would he be gentle and let you get used to the weight of him on your tongue?

“I know you can hear me.” His voice was sinful, dark, and you scrubbed your skin so hard when you washed your face you were stunned you didn’t hurt yourself. “Sure you don’t wanna come out and see what you do to me? Maybe show me your pretty pussy? I can jerk off on it and spread it all over those pretty lips.”

You bit your lip, wishing your knees didn’t feel weak. “Bucky, please.”

He groaned louder, his breathing labored. Your breathing was a little heavier, too. “Say it again, I’m almost there.”

All you had to do was open the door to see if his pupils were dilated, if there was heat in his cheeks. Was his hair still a mess from sleeping? Would he make a show of stroking his cock? “Bucky, hurry up,” you demanded.

He chuckled, a breathy sound. “Can’t wait for you to say that before I fuck you.” Your eyes shut as he let out another obscene groan. “Before I fill you full of me.”

“Just go to the sitting area,” you muttered to yourself, not looking at your reflection in the mirror.

You left the bathroom with the hope of avoiding his gaze, but you made the mistake of looking at the bed. He was in the middle of it, looking every bit like a king. His lower half was covered by the blanket, but you could see that his right hand was under there, still stroking himself. His chest heaved, his eyes half lidded as you stared at each other. You had to break yourself from that spell, even if the man was jerking off to the thought of you.

“Like what you see?” he rasped.

You swallowed hard, but smiled. “Coffee with cream and sugar, eggs sunny side up, and bacon, right? Right,” you said, proudly walking with confidence from the room. “Clean up after yourself when you’re done.”

“I’ll clean you up, too, after I make a mess of you,” he stated, a long moan following as you plopped down on the sofa.

Guess he finished.

Once it was quiet enough in the bedroom, you ordered breakfast. You still needed a shower, if only to cool yourself off and get rid of the wetness that seeped out thanks to Bucky. You weren’t sure if you trusted him not to join you or try to watch and had a feeling he’d make you shower and bathe with him once you moved in.

Bucky, for his part, didn’t come out until there was a knock on the door minutes later. Any trace of his earlier transgression was gone, looking more put together, but there was still tension in the air. You remained silent as he thanked whomever was at the door once he checked the breakfast cart himself and wheeled it to the small table. He even pulled out a chair for you, staring at you with a soft gaze until you went to join him.

“Feel better?” you asked.

“Not really,” he admitted, setting the food out with a frown. “Orgasms take the edge off, but having you close and not having you is difficult.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you uttered.

He sat down and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Why did you invite me in this morning?”

“I told you I was tired,” you said, which you were.

He hummed, taking a bite of his eggs. “You could’ve told me to leave, have Natasha call security, anything, but you didn’t do any of that. You didn’t make me sleep on the sofa either,” he said with a knowing smile. “Admit it, you wanted me in bed with you.”

“I will not admit that,” you said quickly. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

He shrugged. “Maybe you were testing to see if I’d stay true to my word and not force myself on you or maybe you actually missed me more than you want to admit to yourself. Either way, I’m glad you did. Best sleep I can remember in a long time.”

Admitting anything would be admitting defeat and you couldn’t do that to yourself. “It wasn’t even a full night’s sleep,” you pointed out. It was after two in the morning when he showed up.

“Doesn’t matter. I still slept well because I was holding you,” he smiled softly, nodding to your plate. “Please, eat. The food here is really good.”

You poked your food around before you dug in. He said things like that and it fueled your guilt for not giving in or fully accepting your new life. You weren’t going to romanticize anything he did though.

“You said we had some things to talk about,” he said after a minute. “I’m all ears.”

You took a large sip of your coffee first. “Yeah, like Ray following me. It was meant to be a day to myself and you had me followed,” you said, watching for his reaction. As expected, he didn’t look the least bit ashamed. “I don’t expect an apology from you because you’ll harp that it was for my own good, but you can understand my frustration that you didn’t let me know, right?”

That was one of the things that bothered you the most. The half answers and missing pieces and being kept in the dark. How much of it was for your own good and how much was it because he didn’t want you frightened more?

“I did have you followed and my instinct proved to be correct that you needed eyes on you. Also proves that you need to move in as soon as possible,” he said, your heart sinking. Of course he was twisting this to justify himself and get what he wanted. “But I get your frustration. It’s a big change for you, having eyes on you at all times.”

“Because of you.” You ignored the flicker of hurt in his eyes. This was all because he chose you. “Why Ray?”

“He’s good at his job, I trust him, and you seem to trust him,” he replied. You did to an extent. “I’m glad he suggested this place to you since you weren’t exactly interested in spending the rest of your day at home.”

You were glad for that as well. “Well, it was nice resting somewhere that didn’t have cameras or bugs around the place. Natasha was also nice to talk to,” you said. Meeting her didn’t fully ease your stress, but she helped.

Bucky ignored the camera comment. “She can bend the will of many men to do what she wants,” he said. There was respect there, even a hint of fondness. “Unsurprisingly, she’s protective of you, which is good.”

Likely because of whatever she experienced growing up she looked out for others, though you wondered if part of it was because you were Bucky’s girl. “She offered me a place here in case I ever need space or time to myself., I plan to take her up on that offer.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Because you don’t want to be near me.”

Putting your hand on his across the table, he immediately reacted to your touch. It was time to take a lesson from Natasha’s book and sway him. “Because we both need that space and moments to ourselves, just like we both need our friends. And any time apart will only make things more meaningful when we’re back together,” you stressed. Like you were stubborn in accepting your fate, he was stubborn in not wanting separation from you in the slightest. “I already feel like a prisoner of sorts in this relationship, so is it really too much to ask for a bit of a longer leash?”

“I’ll worry when you’re not nearby,” he admitted.

Your heart clenched, but you couldn’t allow that sweetness to manipulate you. “Because of men like Helmut Zemo?” you asked. Bucky gripped his fork tight. “You know, it’s a little convenient that the day you give me to myself is the day he shows up.”

What if it was a ruse for Bucky to not give you more days to yourself?

“I can see why you’d think that. I'd be suspicious if the roles were reversed,” he said, a hardened look crossing his face. “But I don’t want him anywhere near you and wouldn’t set you up that way.”

You were still a little suspicious, but the way Bucky, Ray, and Natasha reacted regarding Zemo told you that none of them had any idea he’d pop up. “Why not?”

“Because he isn’t a good person and shouldn’t have gone near you,” he said. You raised an eyebrow at that. “I’m not a good person either, but he’s something else.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. There was a story there and you needed answers.

“He’s rich, powerful, like me in many ways, but the difference is he once had a wife and kid who were his whole world. Something I’ve longed for and never had.”

You tried not to tense up, but that was where you came in for Bucky. He wanted you to make that dream a reality. “Had?” you asked, noticing he referred to Zemo’s family in the past tense.

Bucky nodded sadly. “A few years ago they were… collateral damage in a deal gone wrong. The loss changed him. He grew colder, more ruthless,” he explained. You were glad you finished eating because you weren’t sure you could stomach a bite after that. “Our work relationship has been shaky ever since then because he blames some of the men I’ve worked with for what happened and I feel like he’s been biding his time and waiting to strike.”

“‘Collateral damage’? It was his wife and child,” you said. Zemo may not have been a good person, but you had no doubt his family was innocent.

“I didn’t mean for it to sound heartless,” he said.

“And what? Him setting his sights on me, is it a game? Is he going to hurt me?” you asked, tears instantly filling your eyes. You were afraid all over again. “Will he try to kill me?” you whispered. Bucky’s associates were loyal to him as far as you knew. If Zemo blamed them in some way, what better way to hurt them than to hurt someone their boss cared about? A loss for a loss.

“No,” he said fiercely, pushing his chair back so fast and hard that it hit the floor. A tear fell when he rushed around, dropping to his knees beside your chair. “I don’t know what his angle is yet, but I’m going to find out and I won’t let him hurt you.”

“How can you guarantee that?” you asked.

“I can’t, but I have to try because I can’t lose you, too,” he whispered, wiping your tears away. “We don’t even have to wait until the end of the month for you to move in. I can have your apartment packed up while you’re out with your friends.”

You pulled away from his touch. “No,” you whispered back. Moving in sooner wouldn't help. “You owe me more answers.”

He let out a breath. “Kotyonok-”

“No!” you snapped, moving back in your chair. “Why are you so obsessed with me? And don’t just tell me that it was the connection of seeing me at the club and realizing we’re two lonely souls meant to be together. There is something there that no one is telling me and I need to know.”

Whether it was for closure or sealing your fate, it would drive you crazy to not know.

Bucky took your hands and pulled you up, a detached look taking over his features as he led you to the sofa. The look frightened you more than his leers or glares. Had you pushed too far?

“I told you my dad was an unfaithful partner to my mom, but he was worse. Much worse,” he began, gently squeezing your hand. “We always had money, more than we knew what to do with, but it was never enough for him. He stole from his partners and was careful to cover his tracks, but he slipped up one day. And when that day came, he shifted the blame to my mom. Convinced them enough that they believed him when everyone knew my mom would never steal a penny.”

Your mouth fell open when he audibly exhaled, a broken sound. “Bucky… I…” You didn’t know what to say.

“They didn’t kill her, but they nearly did. She couldn’t even see me when I showed up because her eyes were so swollen. She was hardly breathing,” he continued in a hurt tone, pulling his hand free of yours to remove the glove from his left hand. Your eyes weren’t deceiving you the night he showed up at your apartment. His hand was made out of some sort of metal. “Lost my arm getting her out of there.”

He held it out so you could touch it. “You lost your arm?” you asked, your fingers grazing the metal ever so gently. You had never seen anything like it.

He shuddered. Could he feel that? “It was worth it for the woman who brought me into this world, raised me, and loved me unconditionally,” he said without regret. “And my dad? He just kept whoring around, and told his associates that she had to learn her lesson the hard way. He couldn't admit the truth.”

Your eyes misted over. How could his dad do that to his mom? To Bucky? “I’m so sorry.”

He blinked rapidly and you wondered if he had tears in his eyes, too. “It took her a long time to recover and she never fully did, but she tried to make the best of it. She still had her spirit, and kept her distance from my dad in our home. Some of my friends even made sure my dad wouldn’t go near her,” he said, smiling wistfully. How could she handle staying there? Was it for her son? “Because she never fully recovered though, I almost lost her again over four years ago.”

“What happened?”

“Before I answer that.” He shifted to face you, awe in his eyes. “Have you ever saved a life?”

“What?” you asked, thrown by the question.

“Have you ever saved anyone?” he asked again.

“No, I’m not a hero. I…” you trailed off before a vivid memory filled your mind. “Actually, I did once.”

“Yeah?” he asked, but he sounded as if he already knew.

“Yeah. There was this older woman walking across the street with a friend or relative one day, I’m not sure,” you said, wincing when he gripped your hand. “Bucky, you-”

“Tell me what happened,” he begged.

“She stopped and put a hand to her head while her friend kept walking. I could tell something was wrong and before I knew it I rushed toward her and grabbed her hand when she started to collapse. I pulled her out of the way just in time before a speeding car hit her,” you explained, remembering it like it was yesterday. Your heart had raced so fast when she crumpled in your arms. “Her friend understandably freaked out and flagged a car down to take her to the hospital. She kept thanking me for saving Winnie, but I was still worried about her.”

“Winnie.” Bucky swallowed hard and loosened the hold on your hand. “That was her name?”

“Yeah.” You gave him a strange look when he inhaled sharply. “I stopped at the hospital to donate flowers like usual and I asked one of the doctors I knew pretty well if anyone named Winnie had checked in. I knew she couldn’t tell me yes or no and I didn’t have any other information to give her, but I did ask if she could make sure she got a vase if she was there.”

“Did you ever see her again?” he asked, his voice thick.

You nodded after a moment. “Yeah, I did. I went back maybe a week later and she spotted me by chance as she was being wheeled to her room. She said I could stop in if I wanted to, so I did,” you smiled softly. “She said my flowers brightened up her room and I asked how she knew they were from me because I never put my name on the cards. She said she just knew. I made sure to bring her flowers the next time I visited.”

A sniffle pulled you from the memory and Bucky looked like he was trying hard not to break down. “You kept visiting her?”

“I did. She didn’t always say much because she was tired some days, but seemed to like it when I read to her. Said her son liked to read to her, too, but I never saw him stop by,” you answered sadly. She was a kind woman and it broke your heart that she didn’t get a lot of visitors. “Then one day, her room was empty. No one could tell me anything. I don’t know if she went home or passed or what happened. It was like she just vanished.’”

“She was brought home before she passed away days later,” Bucky said, his hand shaky as he took his wallet out.

You stared at him. “How do you…” He said he knew you donated specific flowers to the hospital. The same kind of flowers you gave to Winnie. “Bucky, what are you-”

“I lied to you during our first date when I said I wish you could’ve met my mother. You did meet her and she did love you,” he said, showing you a photo in his wallet. It was a younger picture of Bucky. He looked full of life and the woman smiling was the very woman you pulled out of the path of the car. “You just didn’t know it.”

“Winnie…” you whispered, feeling like the wind was knocked out of you. “She was your mom.”

The kind woman you saved by chance was the mother of Bucky Barnes.

“Her full name was Winifred. I only visited her during off hours so it wouldn’t attract any attention. Used a fake last name for her records, too, so no one would know that a Barnes was in the hospital,” he said, tucking his wallet away. “She used to talk about this sweet woman who saved her and brought her flowers, but she couldn’t remember her name. With her mind slipping, it didn’t surprise me and I was too caught up in other things to fully look into it because I knew she was safe and this person didn’t mean any harm.”

Your mouth was agape, trying to process everything when he bitterly laughed. “You…”

“Dad never stopped by, of course. Not that I would’ve let him, the piece of shit.” His metal hand curled as anger flashed across his face. “And this person couldn’t have been like my dad and the cowardly men who thought it was okay to beat up a woman. Men like Alexander Pierce, Brock Rumlow, Jasper Sitwell.”

Those were some of the names Zemo mentioned. “Oh, my god.”

“You know, one of the last things she said to me was that she hoped I found my other half one day. To love her completely, hold her tight, and never let her go,” he said, an odd smile on his face. “I only wish she was alive so she could see us together.”

You gasped. He took those words to heart, twisted them into something dark and possessive. “I-”

“I told you that traditional dating never worked for me,” he cut you off. “Seeing you in my club, it all made sense as to why.”

You couldn't find the words, too lost to speak up if you tried.

“And imagine my surprise when I had my men look into you just to get facial recognition footage of you saving my mom on the street that fateful day. And footage from the hospital with you sitting there talking with her, bringing her happiness without asking for anything in return,” he said, cupping your cheek as you tried to get over the shock. “I knew I wanted you the moment I saw you, but that just solidified it more. You saved my mom, and gave me more time with her. That’s something that no one else could ever give me.”

Your lip trembled. You saved his mom’s life, gave him more time with one of the only people he seemed to love and respect. No, that couldn’t be. That couldn’t have been you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I had scared you enough. Would you have listened or believed me if I told you that so soon?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know,” you breathed. You weren’t sure what to think anymore.

“Don’t you see now why I’m so desperate to keep you close? To keep you safe? Had I looked into it then, we could’ve met and been together this whole time,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. “But it’s okay. Fate stepped in and brought us together now.” He traced your lips with his thumb. “We’re going to make up for all the lost time, and never be lonely again, Kotyonok. That’s a promise.”

Something fell apart inside you and you weren’t sure when you began to openly weep, but he silenced your cries with his lips. Maybe he was crying, too, you couldn’t be sure, but he held you tight against him and didn’t let go. You didn't fight him, couldn't fight him. You were the one who asked for answers after all and you got them, didn’t you?

And knowing what you knew now, walking away from Bucky was never going to be an option. He would never allow it. Fate wouldn't allow it either.

A lot to unpack there, lovelies! Bucky sort of behaved. He believes fate brought you together . What do you think? And what will happen next? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[gebnohe]

The Number One and Only!!

hsr women x idol reader

characters: Acheron, Robin, Serval (separately, not in order)

tags: gn!reader, fluff, idol, idol!reader, established relationship, suggestive for some

a/n: I COMPLETELY FORGOT I HAD A TUMBLR ACCOUNT  LOLLL

so firstly i wanna say i know almost nothing about celebrity culture i dunno how red carpet stuff works or whatever and yeaheayeeayeyayeah 

idk if this has been done already and youll probably see this a lot in my author notes

ive only read maybe a few fics to understand the [acceptable] format and stuff, and theyve only really been hsr fics

i love hsr! wow! 

i did just throw this together when i remembered i had a tumblr so apologies if it isnt up to the best quality im rusty and motivationless

also i like doing these little author stuff for whatever reason idk i find them nice

apologies if i did any mischaracterizing in here i try my best to get characters done right and whatnot

sorry about length differences…! owwwww

PLEASE GIVE ME IDEAS FOR THE NEXT ONE PLEASE 

(and yes, if you recognize the reference in the title, it IS one… heh…) 

you are a king/queen/monarch/ruler/supreme leader/dictator(? 😨 hopefully not) gg!

errr about the robin one my friend did ask that i write an nsfw of it (i did end up doing it) but im not sure if its actually good or not.

idk how/if ill link it

i also just dont really want to be a smut writer, i just wanna write cute warm maybe suggestive but not nsfw stuff… (on the occasion i remember this account)

also are there female firefly fans?? i genuinely have never seen one 

still doing a tiiiny bit of semi colon practice because wife said it was hot when used properly so i am going out of my way to start using them. anything for wife. lesbians unite. sapphics unite ✊. i hope you all find your second scissor.. 

Context: You’re an idol working under an agency! Pretty basic formula. You’re extremely popular, and able to charm anyone with next to no effort. People lay their eyes on you and fall in love almost immediately. Your performances are always beautiful, eye catching, and got every witness addicted from the moment you start to the moment you end. (Also this was written with the intent of you being a different [kind of] idol in each one, but idk feel however you want or something??)

Acheron:

Work today was exhausting… again. You’re going on tour soon, so your managers are stressing out about plans, being hinderances and disturbing your peace. How could an agency be so unprepared? 

It didn’t matter… they paid well at least. But your whole week had been exhausting; your manager was being the pain in the ass they always were, and you were working “overtime” practicing your routine just to make sure you got it down to just how it was intended. 

And when you were finally allowed to go home, you barely made it to the car. Hell, you were having a hard time keeping your eyes open. But somehow, you’d managed to get home.

You fumble with your keys for a few seconds before you finally unlock the door, exhaustedly stepping inside. And there, you’re greeted by your gorgeous girlfriend, Acheron. 

“Ah, you’re home?” She says, immediately noticing your exhaustion as she approaches. 

“Exhausting work.” You groan. “…this week is stressful…”

Acheron walks over to you, providing a kiss on your cheek and taking your hand, leading you to the bedroom to lie down and rest. 

“Mmm…” You murmur, following along as she guides you. “Thank you…”

Instead of lying you down on the bed, she sits on the side of it and gently pulls you onto her lap, making you straddle her.

“How was work?” She asks, eyes shifting to look up at you, hands coming to rest on your thighs, “Wait. You already said.” 

Acheron cuts you off, a small and gentle smile on her lips, her finger on yours after coming up from your thigh. 

“Yeah… but Aeons… it’s been so stressful this week…” You sigh, smiling softly back at her. “My manager is being so anno…” 

You suddenly trail off, Acheron’s hands caressing you from your thighs to your waist and back again. Her lips found your neck and she start gently kissing your skin, occasionally nipping at it. 

“Continue…” She murmurs, breath warm against your neck. 

You shiver while Acheron continues pressing her lips to your neck, “Annoying… and…” 

You try to continue, but the continued affection and kisses on your neck along with the touches make it even harder to focus. Acheron’s hands start to undo your clothes, your skin slowly forgetting the caresses of the fabric and becoming familiar with the caresses of Acheron’s hands. 

“Forget about work…” She whispers, lips moving to your ear and giving a playful and suggestive nip. Your hands struggle to find something to hold onto in order to steady yourself while she moves down to your collarbone, still speaking quietly.

“You can just let me treat you tonight…”

Serval:

Serval clearly had musical talent, which you easily scouted from the moment you saw her when you toured in Belobog. You informed your manager about her, and easy as that. Now she was working with you, helping compose and create new songs for you to perform. You’d noticed more about Serval though, with her musical talent not being the only thing that drew you to her. That vibrant, electric, outgoing, and sociable personality. Even that purple streak of her hair was really cute. And over the time you two worked together, you two grew really close. It evolved from just a work relationship to a friendship, and from a friendship to a relationship. 

But you stop your daydreaming reminiscence when you hear a knock on the studio door, Serval peaking her head into the room. 

“You in here?” She says, looking around the room before her eyes rest in you. “There you are.” 

Serval’s expression softens, taking a step into the room with a coffee in her hand, and the another being held between her arm and chest. 

“You alright there?” You chuckle, standing up and walking over. “Need help?” You ask, watching her awkwardly try to close the door while simultaneously trying to not spill either coffee she was carrying. 

“Ah, thanks, love.” Serval replies gently, exhaling with a bit in relief as you take the coffee she was holding between her arm and chest. 

“You look good today.” She smirks, “I mean, not that it’s anything new but… even better than usual.”

“Really now?” You smirk back, returning the tease, “Though… I’m not sure if you could look any better.” 

“Damn right.” She laughs gently, closing the door behind her, then kisses you.

Serval takes your hand, walking over to the table which was only a few feet away, snd sets her coffee on the table, looking you in the eyes. “So. Do we actually plan on getting work done today? Or are you just gonna let me cling to you for a few more hours?” 

“I’d love that, but we need to actually finish this song.” You chuckle back. “We can do that after or during, but we actually need to work now.” 

Serval wraps her hands around your waist and pulls you towards you, then lovingly kisses you while squeezing your body against hers. “…Fine.” She smirks, amused  that you’re getting a but strict on her. “Let me finish my coffee first. I can’t work in peak shape unless I’m actually awake fully.” 

“…Eh. Fair enough.” You shrug, compromising. She was never a morning person, after all. 

Serval takes another sip from her cup then sets it back down on the table, the arm moving back around you and meeting her other hand around your back. 

“So. You actually got any plans for what we’re gonna work on today? Or are we just going in… raw?” She asks with a raised eyebrow and suggestive tone. 

“Damn it, Serval.” You laugh gently, “Be quiet.” 

Serval smiles warmly back at you, hugging you again then finishing her coffee. “Alright, alright. Fine. Later then.” She boops your nose playfully, then kisses your cheek and steps away from the table. 

Serval randomly pauses and slowly turns to you. “…Have we even started working on the song yet?” 

You stare at her blankly in response for a few seconds. “Uh.” 

Serval bursts out into a gently laughter, her beautiful and cheerful voice filling the room before she slowly manages to compose herself, a grin rapidly growing on your face. “Okay, okay. We should start now.” 

“Wow, great idea.” You say sarcastically with an affectionate eye roll, walking over and taking her hand while shifting into a softer tone. “So where should we start?”

Robin:

You were both heavily involved with the music industry, obviously. Fellow singer, performer, whatever. It didn’t matter, because Robin had fallen in love immediately. She loved the way you moved when you sang, how you held the mic… and her eyes always being glued to your lips as you performed. SHE was your number 1 fan.

But of course, your relationship obviously couldn’t be public. Do you realize how much attention that would attract? Yeah, no. You both were celebrities, but having paparazzi asking Robin if you and her had tongue-kissed yet sounded the farthest bit from pleasant. 

And there you were. You were on that shining stage, singing and performing, looking beautiful as you always did. All of this was only enhanced by the glaring lights, the way the crowd cheering you on from below just made you shine even more. And it even with all of the combine efforts of all those elements, Robin still felt her eyes drawn and glued to your lips. 

She continues watching from backstage while you wrap up your performance, waving to the crowd as the curtains closed while a bead of sweat glides down your face and the spotlights shine down upon your position on stage. 

The curtains fully close and you exhale, gently putting your hand on your chest. “Haah…” You breathe, sweat drops trailing down your face and hitting the floor. You take a moment for yourself so you can catch your breath, then make your way backstage.

While walking, you sigh again, exhausted from the performance you just put on as you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder. You slowly turn around, and Robin suddenly presses her lips against yours, pinning you against the wall, her tongue gently pushing its way into your mouth as her arms move from your shoulders, across your arms and to your hands as she laces your fingers with hers. She moves her arms down to coil them around your waist and squeeze your body closer to hers as she continues kissing you.

Shortly after she pulls away and looks you in the eyes, nearly panting as much as you were with a piercing glitter in her aquamarine-like eyes. 

“Holy- aeons above… you were amazing!” She says excitedly, hugging you tightly. “Xipe I-“ she continues, still squeezing you. (Xipe is the harmony aeon) 

She laughs gently, a lot more excited about your performance than you are, and amused by your lack of words despite only giving you maybe a second to get out a sentence. 

“Robin… my stars…” You laugh back gently, wrapping your arms around her neck as they rest on her shoulders. 

“That was the worst scare I’ve ever gotten…” you tell her, catching your breath. It really wasn’t because of the performance this time, though. 

She hugs you tightly again before speaking. “You’re amazing.” She tells you gently, a playful and approving smile on her face. “Goodness me… I have so much I want to say…” She kisses your cheek then takes your hand, almost dragging you to your changing room as she continues to wear that same playful smile. 

“Robin, calm down.” You chuckle tiredly, walking in the door behind her and exhaustedly sitting down at your makeup stand. 

Robin walks up behind you and wraps her arms around your neck, resting her cheek on the top of your head. You lean back into her touch from the chair, your hands finding their way up to her forearms and resting there. She kisses the top of your head before backing up and swiveling your chair around, then cups your face and plants a kiss on your lips. 

“Don’t worry, I already locked the door.” She assures you, a look of desire in her eyes as she moves down your face, her hands mimicking the action, moving down to your waist and up your shirt. “If you’re still too exhausted, I can do all the work this time…” 

[fandomtherapy44]

Trick or Treat Dean x reader Oneshot! Pt2

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: SMUT, language

Summary: Y/n and Dean finally get to have a treat.

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WC: 2,401

AN/ So this is like a second part to my Congrats you're a Dad fic with Dean, but you don't have to read that to fully understand this one. This was supposed to be posted on Halloween, but life got in the way, so let's just pretend that it is okay! Also, if you like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I have a Spike x reader with smut if you're interested!

I blink my eyes open to sunlight peeking through our curtains and shining on our feet. The air is cold and crisp due it being October, and I want just to ignore the world and cuddle myself deeper in the heap of blankets we have on our bed. But sadly, the world demands our attention, well, more like our daughter needs it. I knew Bella would be awake soon her being now seven and having all the energy in the world, man I never thought I would be jealous of my kid. And my boyfriend the father of our daughter Dean Winchester is just softly snoring away. 

And I couldn't blame him he has been working a lot for us, both of us were to just afford a bigger place. I softly kiss his nose get out of my bed and grab my robe. I walk to the kitchen to get breakfast ready. I start the coffee and get the pancake mix out I’ve been making new spooky designs for Bella every day, its a pain in the ass to do it but worth it to see her face light up every morning plus it’s a lot easier to get her up for school. I start to make the food pour my coffee turn on a hype playlist on my phone to try to wake myself up.

“Hey, baby,” Dean said in his early gruff morning voice coming into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around me from the back.

“Good morning sleep well?” I responded loving the feeling his arms brought an extra warming to my body.

“Yeah, I did, what is that a witch?” He asked referring to the monstrous creation I have in the pan, no pun needed.

“No, I was going for candy corn.” I slumped my shoulders pout and I could feel his body chuckle at that.

“Aww sweetheart you know Bella loves anything you make for her.” He comforted me.

“But it’s supposed to be-” Before I could get in one of my little overthinking rants Dean started kissing my neck.

“Dean, what are you doing? You know Bella has to be up in fifteen minutes.” I sighed trying not to get swept up in his presence. Which is impossible.

“I am trying to remind you that no matter what you are an amazing mother to our little girl and that you deserve a little treat.” He breathes in my scent and reaches forward to turn off the stove. He starts to kiss my neck and finds my pulse and sucks down on it like he was a vampire.

“Mhh Dean.” I moaned.

“All for you.” Then his hand slips through my robe and to my shorts.

“I love these on you so easy to…” His fingers find their way to my panties and lightly tease my slit. The fingers getting slick on them almost embarrassingly.

“To go in.” I start to move with him and grind up on him a little like a dance. I can feel him getting hard. He moves his shaft against me.

“You…are…playing…with…fire…buddy.” I stated with bated breath.

“Always have.” He then slips in.

“Ah fuck Dean!” Fingers start to pump in gently.

“That’s it just let go.” I'm already close, it’s been a while since we could have a fun time.

“Mommy?” Shit! Fuck!

Dean quickly removes his fingers and goes to wash his hands while I try to compose myself.

“Good morning Princess, did you sleep well?” I asked as I placed her pancakes on the table kissed her head and tried to forget the last ten minutes.

“Uh-huh! Good morning Mr.Dean!” She exclaimed excitedly eating her pancakes with glee.

“Good morning Pumkin!” He adored her back with her nickname. We still have not told her that he was her Dad we really want her to get comfortable and she is.

“Mommy we still have to get my costume.” Our little seven-year-old demanded.

I laugh, and so does Dean, and we sit down, too. “Well, how about this: How does Mr.Dean take you to get one, huh?” Her little eyes light up like Christmas lights.

“Really! Yay! Thank you, Mr.Dean.” She runs to hug him and then to get ready.

He turns to me with a little panic running through him. “I’m going take her? Not that I don’t want to it’s just it will be like a real bonding thing do you think she’s ready or me?” My heart leaps with joy at his shyness and happiness.

“You are ready, plus if you’re going to stay around there is going to be a lot of bonding experiences.” Before I know it he pulls me to his lap.

“Hey I am here to stay and I’m going to rock the socks off of this bonding experience.” He gave me his signature smile and I leaned in to kiss him. We start to drift into what we were doing before and I pull away.

“Mhh baby you're giving me blue balls here.” He gripped my hips.

“Sorry, but we both have work and you still have to drop off Bells at school, maybe later okay?” I get up to get ready. “I lo-” I stop myself. “I hope you have a good day.” I smile and ignore the almost confession I committed. 

It’s Halloween and I’m rushing to get ready in my costume. 

“Babe you almost ready Bella is pulling on my-” he stops dead in his tracks seeing me.

“Wow just wow.” Scanning me up and down in my Poison Ivy costume he was Batman and Bella was Robin.

“You just trying to torture me aren’t you?” He asked in a low sexy voice getting his hands on me.

“Maybe?” I innocently asked knowing what I was doing.

“Oh, are you really trying to play coy right now?” He gripped harder on my hips.

“Why don’t you find out Mr. Wayne?” I whispered and nipped his earlobe.

“I am going to have you all tied up with your own-” He gets interrupted by our adorable daughter.

“Batman! There are criminals out stealing candy we must stop them!” She pronounced it like a real superhero.

“We are coming, Robin!” He called out. He turns back to me.“We just got blocked again by our own kid what is this world coming to?” He practically whined.

“Sorry, Mr.Wayne.” I kiss his cheek grab my cape and leave with blue balls… again.

We walk hand and hand while watching Bella run down the sidewalk shouting “Criminals beware!” Yes, it is the cutest thing ever. Between the orange twinkle lights and fake monsters on the lawns, little kids running around having fun, and the man I am starting to love it felt like a dream. A dream I never thought I would get.

“Hey, Ivy what's passing through that pretty head of yours?” My Batman asked. I hug his arm tightly.

“Just I think this is the best Halloween Bella and I have ever had.” I kissed his shoulder.

He squeezes my hand in agreement. “Me too, but there was this one year where I got to fight this animatronic that is a horror movie icon!-” He sees my face of confusion and just stops. “Yeah, me too.” 

We get home after an hour of Bella yelling about criminals and yes people did look at us a little weirdly. We walk up and Sam and Eileen are waiting on our porch. “Hey guys, sorry but we weren't expecting you.” I hug them both. 

“Actually I was,” Dean responded to my surprise.

“You were?”

“I was thinking while Bella has a super fun sleepover with her Uncle and Aunt we can have our own “super fun sleepover”.” I got what he was putting down and I loved the idea. I bend down to Bella.

“Sweetie would you want to-” 

“Yes, Mommy! Love you goodnight!” She hugs me quickly and runs to her uncle. I signed thank you to Eileen and she signed back you're welcome and have fun.

“Dean you planned this?” I put my arms around his neck.

“Well what I said earlier is true you do deserve a treat.” 

“Well, Mr.Wayne show me to your bedroom.” He picks me up bridal style and takes me to our bedroom.

SMUT 18+ Below cut....

He brings me in and places me on the bed. The room is dark, and a candle is burning, giving off the scent of chocolate and sweet berries in the air.

“Oh, you don’t know how long I've been waiting baby.” He starts to kiss down my neck. Paying special attention to my sweet spot.

“Why don’t you show me?” I raised my eyebrow being bratty. I knew what I was doing and I was good at it. That’s how we met in the first place I may have “accidentally” bent down in front of him at the diner.

“Oh, I will.” He gropes all down on me like he’s never touched a woman before. His fingers linger and drag down my most sensitive areas. Knowing what he was doing.

“Babe? Babe!” I giggled. “We have time now slow down I want to enjoy my Batman.” I spread my hands down his chest. Felling his toned muscles through his costume hell he probably could be Batman. They tensed under my fingers.

“I know it’s just that I miss my Ivy in bed waiting for me.” He nibbles on my neck. Sucking hickies in the deep nape of my neck.

“Me too but we have all night and tomorrow morning so I’m thinking maybe five rounds?” I pronounce confidently. Letting him really get into it. He was now licking those sore spots.

His eyes light up. “You really think we can do five?”

I pull him down by his cape. “You're right let’s do ten,” I smirk. Like I said it has been a while.

“Oh, I like what you're thinking!”

I slowly pull off my costume to reveal my green matching sexy lingerie. I run my hands over my body to tease him.

“Oh my, I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“That you are Mr.Winchester.” He climbs on top of me and we start to make out. His tongue slips to meet mine and we start a beautiful rhythm. Like we had a hundred times before.

“Mhh Dean.” His hand goes to my pussy. Fingers go straight in. Really, sloshing in.

“So wet already huh?” The fingers pump in but then move more quickly. My body reacted and involuntarily jumped up. His hand steadied me on my hip. It was so sexy that my body shook from excitement.

“Yes yes!” He makes rings around my walls. He makes patterns in me. Rubbing up and down before I know it I’m cuming.

“Shit, I guess it has been a while.” I chuckle. “You're turn Bats.”

I push him to the bed and get on top of him.

“You want slow or fast?” 

“Slow.” 

I pull his pants down and bend to pull his underwear down with my teeth and his shaft springs forward. I start with tiny kitten licks and go up and down mainly focusing on the head. My tongue circled the top like a lollipop. The flavor being sweet and salty. 

“Mhh that’s it Baby you're doing great.” He sighs in deep pleasure.

At that compliant my pussy gets wet again I guess I have a praise kink.

I then suck deeply. And bop my head up and down making sure to get all of it. I then add my hand to it. And I pump the parts I can.

“Ah fuck!” I can tell he’s getting close. I don’t pull off and he comes in my mouth.

“I will never get tired of that.” He smiles happily.

“Thank you, now should we get to the main event of the evening?” I raise my eyebrows up and down.

“Yes, we should.” He goes to pull off the rest of the costume but I stop him. “Wait I've always wanted to do it with Batman.”

“Oh you dirty girl, okay your wish is my command.” He pulls me to him and slides up his shaft to meet my slit.

“Okay, are you ready?” I nod yes.

He slips in very easily.

“Oh that is…”

“Amazing” I finish.

He starts to move at a careful but intentional pace his strokes in me making music with my body. His shaft was hard as a rock making it juts up like it was a ship hitting the shore but in the best way possible. He held me up in a way I would feel every thrust.

“Ohh Dean…” I groaned out. He is fucking sex on legs littery and physically.

“Y/n… fuck…so…good!” He could feel my walls clench around his dick hard he kept pounding and sweat started to pour from both of us making the slick a lot more slideable. 

I grab the sheets in a tight grip to remind myself I wasn’t in heaven even though I felt was pretty close. One of his hands goes up to my nipple to rub it in small circles. His thumb moves over the texture of it and my whole body is in full on stimulation. I moved up my hand to his bicep and his skin was hot. We were both meeting each other in the middle of the thrusts. We were both getting close.

“Dean..” I was breathless.

“Yeah I gotcha Baby okay ready.” I nod yes.

He slows down his thrusts to make sure we can fully chase and enjoy the high. His hand that was on my chest goes to my clit. He makes tiny pets at it.

“Three…Two…One!” Both our bodies exploded together.

He pulls out and flops down next to me in exhaustion. 

“Baby we needed that.” he pulled me in under his arm.

“Definitely, so ready for the next round.” I reached up and brought his face to meet mine.

“Ohh give me like thirty minutes to recuperate I’m not twenty anymore.” I smile at that and give him a sweet kiss truly appreciating that he is here and getting older. Because with his old job, he could of very easily of ended at twenty.

“Dean thank you for my treat best one I’ve ever gotten.” I cuddle in deeper and think “I am so in love with Dean Winchester.”

Thank you for reading! And remember to vote! Also, if you like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I have a Spike x reader with smut if you're interested!

[sapphire-writes]

Girl In The Bar (modern hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 1 || masterlist || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: Your internship begins at Citadel General Hospital. But your first day does not go according to plan as a familiar face appears.

word count: 4.3k

note: here we go! my little celebration piece, the beginning of a new AU/mini-series! thank you so so much for all the love and support ❤️

warnings below the cut!

warnings: medical terminology, stitches/sutures, mentions of blood, concussions, nausea, referencing spicy times but nothing explicit in this chapter

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

You’d been preparing for this. That’s what you keep telling yourself as you stand outside the doors of Citadel General Hospital. Four grueling years of med school weren’t for nothing. Your heart beats steadily, only slightly quicker than usual as you take a deep breath to steady yourself. 

You can’t help but stare up at the large building in front of you, watching the sunlight reflect off of the many windows, obscuring the view of the occupants inside.

“Are you going in?” a girl says sliding up beside you, curly brown hair flowing freely around her face. She gives you a crooked smile, tilting her chin to signal you inside. There’s a faded scar across the bridge of her nose along with a dusting of freckles. 

“Can’t believe it’s the first day,” she sighs as the doors open and you follow her inside, “We met at the intern mixer briefly.”

The mixer was held a few weeks ago. You'd met most of the other medical interns and gotten a tour of the hospital. CGH is massive; it’ll take time to learn the lay of the land. You follow her down the hall towards the intern locker rooms. Scrubs wait for you and you hurriedly begin to change into them. Nettles scoops her hair into a large bun on top of her head, wrapping a scrunchie around the mess of curls. 

“Right,” you say, nodding as you remember her, “It’s Annette, right?”

“Nettles,” she corrects, “Family nickname. Though from what I’ve heard, they barely refer to us by our first names.”

“That’s correct,” a guy says, throwing on his scrub top, “Be prepared to change your name to whatever your last name is.”

The guy glances at you, cheeks flushing. He rubs his dark curls out of his eyes, adjusting his light blue scrub top before extending his hand for you to shake.

“Jace Velaryon,” he introduces, squeezing your hand, “Or just Velaryon I guess.”

“Do you know who your resident is yet?” you ask, just as a woman in dark blue scrubs enters the room. Her red hair is held behind a scrub cap decorated with silver eagles. She holds a clipboard tightly in her hands, tapping a pen against the metal.

“Velaryon, Waters, Martell, Snow, and…” she pauses, before reading your last name, “You five. Baratheon will meet you at the nurses' station. Three minutes.” 

You hurriedly lace your sneakers as a locker from across the room slams shut. A woman with long ink-black hair elegantly plaited down her back hurries forward. 

“Thank you Dr. Arryn,” she calls, as the woman leaves the room.

Another young woman hurries from around the corner of lockers, struggling to pull her thick brown hair into a ponytail, “She didn’t say Baratheon, did she?” she asks, as her hair tie snaps. 

You reach into the pocket of your scrubs, holding out the spare you have. She smiles gratefully as she accepts it.

“Sara Snow,” she introduces, “We’re sure she said Baratheon?”

“Sure did,” the girl with the braid says, her dark eyes wide, “Cory Martell. Nice to meet you all for whatever time we have left.”

Jace chuckles nervously as Cory fiddles with her braid, taking a sudden interest in the ends of her hair.  

“What’s that mean?” Jace asks, looking at you all as you don’t respond, “Hello?”

“Ballbuster Baratheon,” Sara says with barely an audible whisper.

“Ah shit,” Nettles says, tilting her head back as she groans.

“Am I the only one who is lost?” Jace asks, “He can’t be so bad.”

Nettles only shrugs but gives you a wink before pushing forward out the door. You hurry after her, the rest of your cohort stumbling not far behind. The nurses’ station is bustling with people; the phones ringing continuously. 

Cory stands up straighter, flipping her braid over her shoulder. 

“Do you see him?” Jace asks, looking down the hallway.

“See who?” a doctor comments, eyeing Jace carefully. 

She’s wearing similar blue scrubs and holding a clipboard, black hair cut bluntly at her chin. 

“Dr. Baratheon,” Jace comments, still looking off in the distance, “Heard he’s a hard ass.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow at him, fire in her cobalt blue eyes. She wets her lips, before folding her arms in front of her, holding her clipboard against her stomach. 

“Very interesting Dr. Velaryon, assuming the scary resident is a man,” the doctor comments, flipping through her charts.

Jace’s face turns beet red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sara glances at him, a pitying look on her face whilst Nettles attempts to hide her snicker with a cough. You elbow her slightly in the ribs and her eyes widen in feigned shock. 

“I didn’t—” Jace begins to ramble before being cut off.

“I didn’t ask,” Dr. Baratheon says, waving him off, “I’m Dr. Maris Baratheon, you may call me Dr. Baratheon. Not Maris, not Mari, not Baratheon. Is that understood?”

You all nod eagerly, mumbling your agreement, Jace looking rather pained.

“You’re interns,” Maris says, deep blue eyes scanning over you, “Runts—bottom of the food chain. Extensions of me-but don’t get in my way. When I move, you move. You will observe, you will listen and you will learn.”

She lets her gaze fall on each of you as she speaks, her tone not very friendly.

“You are my interns. My responsibility. You fuck up, it falls back on me,” she says, pointing her finger at each of you, “Do you think I like fucking up?”

“No ma’am,” Jace says, shaking his head back and forth. 

“Correct,” Dr. Baratheon says. 

The pager strapped to her waist beeps frantically and she glances down, before nodding; more to herself than to all of you. 

“Let’s move people,” she says, moving down the hallway.

You all begin shuffling behind her, quickening your pace to match the urgency of her walk. 

“I’m an idiot,” Jace says miserably, “She’s going to hate me forever.”

“Probably,” Nettles says with a snicker.

“She won’t hate you, she’ll understand you’re learning,” Sara insists.

“Oh yeah, she seems super understanding,” Cory agrees, but one glance at her reveals her sarcasm. 

Dr. Baratheon stops outside a room before turning back to the lot of you. You all nearly collide with each other trying to stop in time; Jace slams into Sara’s back and she pushes him with her shoulder. Cory reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen. 

“Who has been prepping my charts?” Dr. Baratheon asks, rolling her eyes at your scrambling. Your hand shoots into the air along with the rest of your cohort, “Good, you’re not entirely useless.” 

Dr. Baratheon opens the door, walking inside the airy hospital room. The windows are large, letting in rays of sunlight along with a beautiful view of the Honeywine River. It’s a clear day today, the blue water ripples and sparkles as some boats make their way further down the mouth of the river. 

“Come on in,” Dr. Baratheon insists, “Someone tell me what’s been going on.”

A girl sits on the hospital bed, tubes, and wires twisting away from her, a stuffed lion held tightly in her small arms. Her golden hair lays flat against her head and though her skin is pale, she smiles when Dr. Baratheon enters the room. A woman you assume to be her mother sits beside her, looking tired as she holds a cup of ice. 

“Cerelle Lannister, nine-year-old female,” Nettles begins, lacing her hands behind her back and straightening her shoulders, “Admitted while complaining of fever and muscle spasms localized to the lower body.”

“Thank you, Dr. Waters,” Dr. Baratheon says, walking to check the chart at the foot of her bed, “How are we feeling this morning Cece?”

Dr. Baratheon’s voice changes as she talks to Cece; it takes on a more caring, comforting tone. Cece smiles nervously, turning her flushed face to her mother. 

“She’s okay,” her mother answers, “The spasms seem to be about the same. Nurses said her fever broke last night.” 

“I’ve eaten so much ice, my tongue is numb,” Cece says, sticking her tongue out, “See? I bet it's blue.”

Sara giggles at the action and you can’t help but smile too. You hate seeing such a young kid in the hospital, it makes your chest tighten. 

“No blue tongue. But I guess you’re not interested in ice cream for dessert later?” Dr. Baratheon teases. 

Cece’s eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously.

“Let’s not talk crazy now,” she squeaks, “I am always interested in ice cream.”

“Just making sure,” Dr. Baratheon says, cracking her first smile of the day, “Dr. Snow, how would you proceed?”

Sara stiffens at the sound of her name, clearing her throat. 

“Muscle spasms can indicate an overuse of the muscle or perhaps an electrolyte imbalance,” Sara begins, as though reciting from a textbook, “I would make sure she’s getting enough fluids and rest, get some labs done to confirm.”

“And after that?”

“Potentially a CT scan and MRI to rule out any potential nerve damage that may be contributing to the spasms.”

“What about the fever?”

“Fever is an immune response that indicates potential infection,” Cory interrupts, “We want to rule out a viral or bacterial infection.”

“Which first?”

“Rule out the infection first,” you interject, causing Dr. Baratheon to turn to you, “More likely bacterial than viral. Ms. Lannister doesn’t have symptoms.”

“Alright, yes,” Dr. Baratheon agrees, “What should we do if we think it's bacterial?”

“Gather a culture,” you continue, “Skin, nose, saliva. Run labs for those as well to rule them out.”

“Well Cece,” Dr. Baratheon says, turning back to the child, “You’ve got a competent group of doctors caring for you. We’re going to do our best to get you better.”

Mrs. Lannister squeezes her daughter's hand. Cece smiles shyly, holding her stuffed lion closer to her chest. 

You stand in line for lunch in the bustling cafeteria. Quick lunch, and then off to run for labs for Cerelle Lannister. Different options are laid out in front of you as you drag your tray alongside Jace’s. He’s still moping-- has been all morning. Sara rolls her eyes at him as he drops a banana onto his plate.

“You need to chill,” she tells him, reaching for a turkey club. 

“How do I come back from this?” Jace asks, reaching for a cup. He moves to the soda machine, choosing to fill it with cherry coke, “She wants me dead.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tell him, fighting a smile.

“I’m serious!” he says, eyes wide, “She could make or break my entire career based on this slip-up, put me in the pit for the year.”

You decide on a chicken Caesar wrap before scanning the cafeteria for a free table. You spot Nettles a few tables away, leaning back in her chair and munching on a bag of potato chips. She waves you over and you motion to your colleagues to follow. 

“So you’ll do the time, pay your dues, all that jazz,” you console Jace.

“Yeah, but--shit!” Jace yelps as you reach the table, his cup falling to the floor. Reddish brown liquid blooms on the white floor and Jace groans, “This day keeps getting worse.”

“C’mon, let’s get some paper towels,” Sara says, putting her tray down and grabbing Jace’s arm.

Nettles watches them walk away, unmoving from her spot as you take the seat beside her. 

“What a drama queen,” Nettles comments.

“I mean, if I pissed off Ballbuster Baratheon, I’d be pretty upset too,” you tell her, giving a sympathetic smile.

“You’re too smart to make that mistake,” Nettles comments, and a pleasant prideful feeling lodges in your chest. 

You smile at her.

“Thanks,” you tell Nettles and she shrugs.

“Just being truthful,” she says, “I briefed everyone before we started. You’re rather impressive.”

“You briefed everyone?”

“I like to know who I’ll be working with,” she says nonchalantly. 

You nod, impressed by her dedication. You take a bite of your wrap, wincing slightly at the soggy texture of the lettuce. It’s edible. You doubt you’ll have anything to complain about when the hospital is working you into the ground. Your eyes scan the cafeteria as you chew, taking in the other doctors in the cafeteria. 

Your eyes drift over to a pair of residents near the vending machine; a man and a woman both with strikingly platinum blonde hair. The taller of the two has it pulled away from his chiseled face and into a low bun. As he turns your heart drops into your stomach. 

“Shit,” you whisper, feeling the blood drain from your face. 

“What?” Nettles asks, examining her half-eaten sandwich, “I mean it's bad, but not that bad. They have hot dogs on Fridays.”

“Not the food,” you explain, “The doctor.” 

Nettles follows your gaze toward Aemond as he’s lost in conversation with the other resident. Her eyes flicker between you two, eyebrows raising to her hairline. 

“You know him?”

“Know who?” Cory asks as she arrives, sitting in the empty chair beside you, “This food looks nasty…”

“I need to go,” you tell them, standing with your tray, “I need to--” It’s too late when you realize you’d stepped right into the spilled soda, your feet going out from under you.

You drop onto your back with a loud thud, head smacking against the linoleum floor.

“Fuck! Are you okay?” Nettles asks, crouching beside you. You blink rapidly, stars in your vision from the impact, “Shit, Y/N you’re bleeding don’t move! Head injury, you could have internal bleeding-”

“I’m okay,” you insist, trying to sit up, “I’m just….woah.” A wave of nausea rolls through you and you lean back against the ground, “Maybe I do just need a moment.”

Your vision blurs but you can see his lean silhouette in the distance. Through your haze, you swear you see his body language change, his posture stiffen, and your lunch lurches in your stomach. 

“You’re concussed,” Jace insists crouching beside you, “Don’t move. You’ve cut your head too…”

“My head?” you ask, bringing a hand to your temple, feeling wetness on your palm, “Fucking hell.”

You’re staring blankly at the ceiling, mortification settling in your bones as your colleagues chatter around you. 

“What is going on?” Dr. Baratheon’s voice echoes through the cafeteria, “Y/L/N?”

“Yes Dr. B?” you mumble, earning a chuckle from Cory.

“I’m going to let that one slide because you’re likely concussed,” Dr. Baratheon says, “Velaryon, Waters, get her to a bed.” She grumbles, moving on with Cory and Nettles, “I’d like to keep my interns in one piece please.”

The night before the first day of your internship you couldn’t sleep. Call it nerves, call it excitement, one thing was for sure; there was no way you were finding sleep at a reasonable hour. So you decided to grab a drink. Something to calm your nerves. 

Just a few blocks from your studio apartment was a small hole-in-the-wall bar, the Dragon’s Den. One drink to calm your nerves, that’s all you needed. You’d sat at the bar alone for a while, sipping your wine and reading yet another smutty romance on your Kindle.

You’d noticed him come in, of course. It was hard not to notice him. 

He was truly beautiful; with striking platinum hair braided away from his face and down his back. Chiseled jawline, long straight nose, and those eyes. One violet, one blue, watching you from across the room. Your cheeks warmed as you buried your nose back into your book.

He’d caught you staring. 

He’d joined you at the bar; slightly awkward, but confident enough to strike up a conversation with you. Ask what you were drinking. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, and count the veins winding their way up the back of his hands.

“You’re a long way from Riverlands,” you’d commented as he’d told you where he was from.

“My sister dragged me out,” he’d told you, “I’ve just recently moved back here, to be closer to family.”

“I have a new job starting tomorrow,” you’d told him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you.

“Congratulations,” he’d said, smiling as though he genuinely was happy for the stranger he met at the bar.

He’d bought you a drink, saddled up next to you. Listened intently as you spoke to him about your hobbies, your interests. Watching you the entire time with intense focus. 

“I don’t normally do this,” he’d insisted as you pulled him towards you outside the bar.

“Me either,” you agreed. It didn’t matter if it was true or not; it's what people say when they make reckless decisions. 

Fingers fisting into his button-down shirt, you’d pressed your lips eagerly against his. You hadn’t been kissed like this in forever. Hadn’t been touched like this, been fucked like this. 

You’d brought him home, walking the short distance hand in hand taking breaks in between for him to press you against the brick walls of the buildings you passed, let you wrap your legs around his waist as he kissed the life out of you. 

You’d stumbled into your apartment desperately peeling the clothes from your body and his. Greedy hands, greedy mouths, and lipstick smeared across his cheeks and chest. Fingers, tongue, a combination of the two, and then his cock splitting you in half, pounding you into the mattress. 

He’d made you cum five times. 

Five times, during a one-night stand. You could barely feel your legs as you drifted off to sleep. 

You’d woken early the following day, stumbling out of bed and into your small kitchenette as the lanky stranger gathered his things. 

“Aemond,” he’d told you, with a shy grin as he entered his number into your phone.

How anyone could be shy after that bedroom performance was beyond you. 

“I’ll text you,” you’d promised him, as he opened the door.

“Have a great first day.”

Somehow, Jace and Sara get you to a bed, secluded with some curtains. You can’t believe he’s here. He’s a resident. In every hospital possible, it had to be this one. By the looks of it, he wasn’t expecting to see you as well.

The curtain opens and an attending enters the small bedside area, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. Dark hair and eyes he glances up at you, a small smile on his lips. 

“Not every day an intern lands in a hospital bed,” he comments, ushering you forward. 

You sit up, groaning slightly at the throbbing in your head. 

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you grumble, and he flashes you a grin. 

“Follow the light,” he softly commands, clicking his penlight and moving it in front of your face.

You blink, but obey; following the bright light. 

“Good,” he murmurs, “Now follow my finger.” He does the same motion with his finger, “Pupils look good, any pain?”

“Just where I hit,” you tell him, “Will I need stitches?”

“Just a few,” he says, bringing a gloved hand to move your hair, “A small split. Bleeds a lot more than it's worth.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you tell him, as he reaches for some gauze, “You’re the neuro attending?”

“One of them,” he comments, applying some dap gauze to your wound, cleaning it gently, “I’m Dr. Cole.” 

You tell him yours and he nods, a glimmer of recognition in his eye. 

“I read your resume,” he muses, discarding the bloodied gauze, “Your thesis was very interesting.”

“Thank you,” you told him, remembering your research, “I enjoy research a lot.”

“Plenty of opportunities here,” he says, removing his gloves, “I’ll have Dr. Targareyn come stitch you up.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, “Can’t I just use some butterfly bandages?”

He shakes his head, pursing his lips.

“Don’t want to scar up that pretty face,” he comments, “Targaryen doesn’t mind, he enjoys the practice.” 

You chew on your lip as Dr. Cole leaves the room. Several moments later the curtain opens and Aemond steps forward. He’s just as beautiful as last night and your pulse quickens remembering your time spent together. 

“Hey,” you manage as Aemond clears his throat. 

Aemond stands awkwardly stiff, before moving to the stool Dr. Cole previously occupied. He doesn’t speak, just uses his long legs to pull himself closer to you. He readies a tray, grabbing a suture kit and lidocaine. You watch his tense, calculated movements before he turns to you. 

“This may sting,” he murmurs, as the tip of the needle enters your skin causing you to wince. 

The lidocaine works fast, and the area begins to tingle with numbness. Carefully disposing of the needle, Aemond grabs the suture and begins his work. You can feel his hands on you, and watch his face as he stares at his handiwork. 

He won’t meet your eyes. 

“We didn’t know,” you tell him, feeling the tugging of the sutures, “Aemond-”

“No,” he answers, “You’re right of course. No harm, no foul. But this can’t happen again. I’m your superior.”

“Superior? It’s not like you’re an attending,” you tell him. 

“No but I’m in a position of power and authority over you,” he continues, “The implications of a workplace relationship between the two of us would be an uneven distribution of power.”

“Okay, we slept together once,” you tell him, “No one’s saying we’re in a relationship-”

“Then you agree,” he counters, “We shut this down before it really starts.”

That’s not exactly what you were thinking as you reminisce about the previous night. Staring into his eyes only makes your cheeks grow hotter, a nervous sweat begins to form on your brow. 

“Is that what you want?” you ask, your heartbeat suddenly noticeable; a gentle flutter against your ribcage.

“It’s not about want,” Aemond insists, avoiding your gaze and focusing solely on his suturing, “It’s about being dutiful, and doing what’s right. What’s expected of us.”

Goodbye guy in the bar, you think to yourself, heart sinking slightly at the thought.

“Yeah, sure,” you tell him as he cuts the final stitch, “I’m not going to say anything.”

“You’re all set,” he tells you, moving to stand, “Think you can take them out on your own in a week?”

“If not, I know where to find you,” you quip.

Aemond stands next to the tray of instruments, freezing as he awkwardly glances at you sideways. His posture is tense. You let out a nervous breath at his startled reaction. The sex god you met last night is nowhere to be found. He flexes his hand before shoving it into the pocket of his white coat. 

“That was a joke,” you tell him, earning a curt nod, “One week. Got it.”

You hear the sharp voice of Dr. Baratheon call your last name before the curtain is yanked back. Her eyes find Aemond immediately, lips forming a tight pout.

“Dr. Targareyn,” she says apprehensively, as though she’s watching him very carefully. 

Aemond nods acknowledging her before she turns to you.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” you assure her, “I have to run those labs for Cerelle Lannister-”

“Martell is covering that,” Dr. Baratheon cuts you off, “You have a head injury. I want you home for the remainder of the day.”

“Dr. Baratheon-” you insist, but she holds up her hand.

“Come back tomorrow,” Dr. Baratheon tells you and reluctantly nods. 

You suppose going home isn’t the worst idea. 

“Let’s get you an Uber,” Dr. Baratheon says.

“I can drive her,” Aemond says suddenly. His eyes are wide before he casts his gaze to the floor as if he can’t believe the words left his mouth.

You watch him carefully.

“Okay,” you tell him. 

Aemond’s car is nice. Clean, like he just bought it. He very well might have, now that you think of it since he moved to the area so recently. The ride is silent besides the sound of the air coming through the vents. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, as he pulls up to your apartment complex.

“No drinking any alcohol,” Aemond says, still not meeting your eyes, “Make sure to get plenty of rest and monitor your symptoms. Do not feel any pressure to come back to work tomorrow if you’re not up for it.”

You nod and his gaze flickers to your face. He wets his lips, tongue darting out quickly. It might be the concussion, but you can remember how it felt. How he tasted. Fuck. 

“I got it,” you assure him, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He nods, unlocking the car doors before getting out. Aemond walks around the front of the car, opening the door for you.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists, and you nod, taking the hand he offers. 

He remembers your unit. The entire elevator ride is full of tension as you wait to reach your floor. As you walk down the hallway. As you get to your door.

You turn to him, wanting to invite him inside if only for a cup of tea to thank him for being so kind. If only to keep him near your longer. 

But Aemond nods curtly as you unlock the door.

“Have a nice day, Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, turning on his heel and heading down the hallway. You watch him flex his fingers again, before shoving them into his pocket. 

“Goodbye Aemond,” you call, and he pauses, hand outstretched to press the elevator button.

His head dips for a brief moment before he straightens up as the elevator doors open and he disappears inside. Your heart hammers as he turns, giving you a nod once more, before the doors close obscuring him from your view. 

You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Before tucking yourself into your bed, you lean against your window which gives a view down to the front of the apartment. Clouds have gathered and fat drops of rain begin to fall, splashing onto Aemond’s car still parked below. You watch as the lights come on, but he stays idling a moment more.

Your phone vibrates. 

Reaching for it you can’t help but smile as you see the message.

note: hope you liked it!! again, thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the love and support for my silly little stories, y'all are seriously the best for real 🥹

Series Taglist: @witches-of-discovery-a @mooncalvin @rwdkarla, @spinachtz, @arcielee, @castellomargot, @bellaisasleep, @wintrr13, @angel6776, @watercolorskyy @hogwarts1207, @gibbsgirl7, @high-on-darren-criss, @theshatteredideal, @elizarbell, @hiraethrhapsody, @helaenaluvr

[lives-in-midgard]

Stay With Me

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: Steve is there for reader after a mission.

Word Count: 830

A/N: Hey everyone! I had this idea when I saw the prompt: "Please, stay with me." of the Fluffcember from @buckys-wintersoldier But because it wasn't Christmas themed and then I also didn't have time I decided to not post it for the Fluffcember. So, here it is I hope you enjoy it!

Divider made by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

Returning to the compound after a mission was not always easy. Sometimes it was, but not today. A lot of bad things happened on this mission, and you didn’t know how to deal with it right now. The whole flight you just looked at the ground, trying not to look at the others, but you could feel them all looking at you. Especially Steve, who sat across from you.

When the Quinjet landed on the compound, you were the first one who made their way out of it, not looking at any of the other Avengers. You could hear Steve calling your name but you didn't care, you just wanted to go home. Home to the comfort of your apartment.

When you got to your car, you turned on your favorite playlist as loud as you could and drove off.

The first thing you did when you got home was to take a shower and change into comfortable clothes. You quickly looked at your phone and saw that you had received a message from Steve.

"Hey y/n, are you okay?"

You didn't answer and put your phone away. Then you sat on the couch with a blanket over your shoulder and started thinking about the mission. How you almost caught the HYDRA agent until he suddenly escaped. How many people had to die. And then you started thinking about the moment you could have died until Steve came and saved you.

You sat there for a while until you heard a knock on the door. You weren't really in the mood to see anyone at that moment, but the person didn’t stop knocking.

After the tenth knock, or at least that’s what it felt like, you got up and went to the door. When you opened it, you saw a very worried Steve standing there.

"Hey." You said quietly.

"Hey." Steve said, looking over your body to see if he could see any injuries.

"I came here to check on you. You drove to your apartment so quickly after you got back to the compound." He said softly.

"Yeah, umm sorry. I just had to get away from there." You mumbled.

"You know what happened on the mission wasn't your fault, right?" Steve said, referring to the things that happened there.

"I don't know." You mumbled and looked at the ground.

"No, hey, it definitely wasn't your fault. You did your best; we all did our best." He said, took your hand and you looked back at him.

"Deep down I know this, but right now it feels like it’s all my fault."

"I know this feeling all too well. He paused a moment and then said.

"If you’d rather be alone now, I can go."

"No, please stay with me." You confessed and Steve gave you a comforting smile.

"Of course." He said and you opened the door more so he could walk in.

You both sat on the couch very close to each other so that your knee touched his. You sat in silence for a while until Steve said something.

"Actually I also wanted to check on you because I wanted to see if you have any injuries." You looked up at Steve who had another worried look on his face.

"I'm fine, I just have a few small scratches and a few bruises, but nothing serious."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked and you nodded.

"What about you?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about me, sweetheart." You blushed at the petname he gave but tried to smile at him.

"How about we watch a movie and order some take out?" Steve suggested, placing a strand of hair behind your ear, making you a little nervous.

"That's a good idea." You smiled at each other. Steve suggested ordering the pizza while you searched for a movie. You found one that you remembered Steve wanted to watch and decided to pick that one.

You ate the pizza and watched the movie. After the movie ended, you decided to watch another one. You had a great time together and were really grateful that Steve came over. The movie had just ended when you decided to say something.

"Thank you, Steve. Not only for coming over but also for saving me on this mission." A small tear fell from your eye and Steve's gaze softened. He wiped the tear away and wrapped his arms around you. Then Steve pulled you into a tight hug.

"Of course, I saved you and came here. You mean so much to me." You sniffed a few times while Steve rubbed your back and hugged you for as long as you needed him.

After a while you broke the hug but stayed close to him. You placed your head on his shoulder, and he held you close to him. Steve insisted that he wants to stay the night to make sure you were okay and because he didn't want you to be alone.

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @rogersbarber | @eviebuggg | @nicoline1998enilocin | @nekoannie-chan | @kandis-mom | @sergeantbarnessdoll | @noellez-best-life23 | @buckskemp | @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 | @cutedisneygrl | @mrsbuckybarnes1917