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washeduphazbin · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, I would like to ask for a smut from Adam x fem Reader, his dear wife is going to pay him a visit at his work and in the end they almost get paid for lute

New Eve (Adam x Fem! Wife! Reader)

-SMUT AHEAD MINORS DNI-

Other warnings: Adam Being Adam

I hope I wrote this ask and understood it correctly! Adam is my guilty pleasure. I love men who are dumb as rocks and who are going to be absolutely leashed by even stronger women.

REQUESTS OPEN

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

There's a saying that all good things come in threes, Lilith, Eve, and you. Adam's final wife, who physically couldn't be swayed by Lucifer because Adam had met you in Heaven. When you passed through the pearly gates, you were greeted by none other than the first human himself. You were in awe for about two seconds until you quickly gathered the first man was a complete and utter dickhead. He seemed to falter when you walked past him to greet an angel named Lute, Adam's second in command. She tensed a little as you introduced yourself, ignoring Adam's protests that dubbed you a Queen Mega Bitch.

All this to say, it took about three months before Lute caught Adam sticking his tongue down your throat with you latched onto him like a koala. You made a distressed sound at being caught while listening to Adam laugh above you. You distinctly heard him call your mouth as good as a vagina while pressing a kiss to your hairline. "Adam!" You hissed, pulling on the horns of his mask as he let out a defiant sound, "Inappropriate."

"Ugh yeah, that's kind of my thing, sugar tits."

"You need to not make it your thing, or this thing doesn't happen." You drew your line in the metaphorical sand before marching out of the room, faintly hearing Lute argue about Adam's behavior behind you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Two years later, you were Adam's new 'Eve' in heaven with two golden rings to prove the love that formed between the two of you...somehow. Did the both of you fight constantly? Yes. Did you want to wring his neck every time he opened the gaping hole he called a mouth? Also Yes. But did you love him...unfortunately. Even though he had a laundry list of bad habits, a vulgar mouth, and gross hobbies, he had his moments. He was protective, fiercely so, and despite his fuck boy personality, he only had his sights set on you. Lute often asked you what you saw in Adam, and you'd reluctantly sigh and give a tired grin, "He makes me laugh. Plus, with proper motivation, he's putty in my hand." Lute made a sound of understanding, nodding her head,

"Ah, yes. Use your feminine wiles to control those weaker than you, even if they may be physically stronger. We must use what we are given as women. Well, you must. I'm very strong without using that to my advantage."

"Yes, exactly," You snickered as Lute stopped outside Adam's office. "Which is exactly why Sera put me in charge of convincing Adam to meet with The Morningstar's daughter." You groaned, rubbing the bridge of your nose, "I'll see you back here later, then?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lute bowed, "I wish you luck...you'll need it. He's in one of his moods." before taking off into the sky and down the hall. You reached up with a stretch of your arms, fluffing up your wings to look extra pretty before knocking on Adam's door,

"Adam." You hummed, knocking on the grand marble door once before opening it. You leaned against the entranceway, wings brushing against the floor, as his head shot up.

"Sugartits!"

"Not my name!" You dodged Adam's hug with a flurry of your wings; he grinned, shoving the door closed with his hip. "Adam," you said in warning as he used his angelic magic to fly towards you and trap you within his arms.

"and what would you prefer I call you? My Bitch? Wifey?" He mused, peppering sloppy kisses against your cheek and down your neck. "We could go with Queen or Goddess, preferably." You shot back, dragging Adam down to sit in his chair; you hummed gently, removing his mask from his face. He leaned back, kicking his legs up on the desk as you slid down into his chest, straddling his hips. You hummed, running your fingers through his brown hair, and he melted into your touch, "My name works, too."

"I guess we can settle on Queen. Does that make me your King?" Adam preened as you scratched under his chin,

"Without a doubt...but we must talk about the Young Morningstar."

"Who?" He made a faux confused face which you raised an eyebrow back at in response, "Ugh, Lucifer's cunt daughter. What about her?"

"She's been begging for a meeting. I suggest you meet with her." Your lips began to trail down his neck, nipping at his skin as his body flushed.

"But that's so much work, sugar." He groaned, running his clawed hands through your hair, "Can't I just say fuck off back to hell we're gonna exterminate all of you regardless."

"Sera wants you to at least meet with her one time; she's giving you a lot of trust to handle this on your own."

"And if I do what you ask, what'll you give me?" He mused, eyes sparkling. You huffed, hitting him with the back of your wing, and he laughed, "Come on, you gotta sweeten the deal for me, mama."

"You're such a bastard." You huffed, moving to pull your hair out of your face. He moved his legs to the ground, and you could slide between his knees. "Robe off unless you want dirty," you commanded as Adam fumbled out of it quickly.

"I love you~" He leaned back with a sly grin, hand reaching up to move your head closer to his lip. Your fingers spread across his thighs, and you huffed softly, looking up at him.

"I love you more. If I do this for you, you promise to meet with young Lady Morningstar?"

"You can't just fuck me because you love me?"

"Bite me." You sneered, but there wasn't any malice in your voice as he stood up, picking you up off the ground and pressing your back against his desk.

"Oh, it would be my pleasure. I can't say your robes will survive, though I might need to get you some new ones." Adam popped the buttons on your robe, allowing your body to be laid bare for his eyes. He watched your breathing hitch as his long claw trailed down your neck to your chest. "Fuck I love these puppies, you know that?" Adam grinned, grabbing fistfuls of your breasts, squeezing and kneading to his heart's content. Your husband was like an oversized golden retriever. When he sees something he likes, he obsesses over it like a man deranged. His favorite playthings of yours were your tits and ass. "Any meetings?"

"None. I'm yours for the rest of the day. You can mark me how you'd like; I'm yours, my husband. Well, until you meet with the Princess."

"Fuckkkkk yeah, baby, come 'ere." Adam dove between your breasts, and he felt you suck in air through your teeth. He began to bite and suck on the supple flesh of your chest; you keened, arching into his mouth, hands tangling in his brown hair. You could tell from the way his teeth would graze against your nipples and your flesh he was doing everything in his power to leave marks on the skin.

"Adam...ngh." You panted, feeling his hand move down from your breast to slide down your stomach and between your legs. "Shit," You squeaked, feeling him tease your clit with his thumb and forefinger with a dopey grin on his face.

"There's my favorite girl," He flicked your nub skillfully; for being a massive asshole, this prick sure knew where to find your clit. One finger slid between your folds, and you tossed your head against the cold marble desk. "Damn, only one finger has you acting up? I must not be treating you good enough," He purred as another finger entered you, stretching you out to be big enough for, 'the first ever man god created.' Adam watched with delight as your wings spread out and trembled, glowing with a soft golden glow. "That's it, you're being such a good girl for me. Are you ready?"

"Yes." You panted, "Adam, please."

"God, you beg so nicely, you little slut," His hand reached up to grip your throat, causing you to let out a desperate whine, hips bucking into his fingers. "Beg Harder," He demanded, moving your hand to palm him through his trousers, stiff and aching. "Look at how hard you make me. How desperate. I need you to worship your god."

"Yes, sir." You purred, "You're my God, Adam. I need you, I'd worship for your love, your touch, your dick." You dragged your hand up your chest, playing with the swell of your own breast, "Don't you want to make me happy, baby?"

"More than anything." Adam's eyes lit up in elation, "Stay with me. Don't go to Lucifer. You're mine." He snarled, hands around your throat, "Say it."

"I'm with you. Only you. Forever Adam." His entire body seemed to relax when you said that, pressing gentle kisses to your cheek and lips. "I love you, you annoying Dickweed."

"Love you more, Sugartits." He grinned cheekily before lowering himself to you with a hiss-like laugh. "Tight as ever, and that's why I love you,"

"If you keep talking nonsense while you're literally inside me, I'll cut off your dick,"

"Sounds kinky."

"Adam."

"Fine, Fine, you're so vanilla." He mused, albeit his tone was much softer, fonder than his earlier teasing. His hands grabbed under your knees and pressed you close with a snap of his hips. You both let out a moan, yours higher pitched and needier, bucking your hips, searching for more friction than he was currently providing. You always savored the way he was able to fill you up, he wasn't the longest but god was he thick filling you in all the right ways. Every time his hips snapped into you, you could feel just how deep he kissed your cervix. "Yeah, you like that?" He panted, "Like how deep I'm getting? From the way you're dripping, you're practically soaking through my table. Your vag is like a vice, babe, so tight for this big cock."

"Hm. Your words always know how to turn me o-ng-ff." You moaned out this end at a particularly sharp thrust of his hips. "Fuck you," You panted as he grinned down at you,

"Good news, wifey, that's exactly what we're doing-"

"Sir!" You let out a scream as Lute slammed the door of his office open, you climbed against Adam's body like an embarrassed Nun. He groaned, still inside you but having the decency to cover you with his wings.

"What do you need, Lute? I'm a little busy getting it on with my sexy ass wife." Adam complained, motioning to the top of your head, to which you made an embarrassed sound of mortification. "Can this be rescheduled or-"

"The Princess of Hell is here, Sir. She just showed up-"

"Are you for real telling me that the bitch Princess of Hell is seriously cucking me right now?!"

"...Yes."

"(Y/n) If I killed her for interrupting us, would you be pissed?"

"Beyond Adam."

"Fuck."

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #x reader #fem reader #adam x reader #adam x you #hazbin hotel adam x reader #smut #requests open #reader insert #hazbin hotel smut

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blasphemousink · 2 months ago

Text

𝒜𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃’

summary: Joel reluctantly helps elevate the ache between your legs.

warnings: Tent sex, MDMI, tiny bit of mean!joel, guided masturbation, fingering, PiV sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, virginity loss, praise kink, slight oral (m receiving, one daddy mention, mutual orgasms and age gap (50s/20s)

setting: Tent on the way to Wyoming.

pov: 2nd person.

wc: 3.6k

masterlist

The tent is small. Barely enough room for both you and Joel, but it’s warm with both your breaths and the shitty sleeping bags that you both looted from Bill and Franks. Outside the world is dark, thick and quiet-but not eerily so. The trees are alive and you can hear them creak gently as they sway in the light wind. There’s only one problem. The ache between your legs.

It started earlier in the car, before you both decided to stop here for the night and that was five fucking hours ago. It started with a soft pulse between your thighs, but grew to your untouched cunt clenching everytime you looked at Joel or if he muttered something vague in that Texas drawl. Your nipples were hardened underneath your bra and everything felt hot. Your skin was flushed. Joel even asked you if you were okay at one point, and Joel never asks that.

You didn’t know what it was- well yeah, you did. You were twenty-two, not stupid. You just hadn’t ever felt this needy before. You didn’t understand what brought it on. Sure you’d felt this way before back when you were living in your dingy apartment in Boston, but the world was so dark and unsafe that you never took care of it. But it was never this intense. You were facing Joel, laying on your side. He was on his side too but facing the other way like he always did. There was probably a couple inches between you considering how small the tent was and that just made your situation even worse. Joel wasn’t much of a talker. You had known him for five months now and he’s saved your ass more times than you can count. He was initially supposed to be taking you to Salem to meet with the fireflies, but things didn’t exactly go to plan so now you were both heading for Wyoming to see Joel’s brother, an ex-firefly who may know where they are. He was pretty closed off and probably would prefer not to listen to your yapping, but you both formed some sort of a bond over the last couple months. And to be honest, you don’t know what you’d do without him.

His broad shoulders moved a little with each breath he took, but you could tell he wasn’t sleeping. Five months on the road together meant you could practically read him like a book. The ache between your thighs was almost unbearable now. You did try and elevate the ache with your hand earlier when Joel turned around, but every time it started to feel good, it slipped away and just made you even more frustrated. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Joel?” you whispered. He didn’t answer but his shoulders tensed a little at your voice. You knew he was awake and probably just pretending he was asleep so he didn’t have to listen to you nagging him.

“Joel,” you said again, not in a whisper anymore.

“What?” he snapped out. Not bothering to turn around. Normally, the snap in his voice would make you wince, but right now you just needed someone to help you out.“I.. i don’t feel good.”

You don’t feel good? What the fuck did you say that for. God, you shouldn’t have opened your mouth at all in the first place. You were going to sound so goddamn stupid.

He turned around at that, rolling onto his other side to face you. It was too dark in the tent to his face, but you could see the curve of his jaw and the bump of his noise.

God, this man was so sexy right now.

He leaned over and switched on the battery powered lantern to see you better. He actually looked concerned. Fuck, you shouldn’t have said that. He’s probably gonna think you’re infected or something.

“What d’ya mean ya don’t feel good?”

“Uh..” you paused. What were you meant to say now? Oh yeah Joel, I am so fucking horny right now, can you fuck me to make me feel better? God, this was humiliating.

He sat up in his sleeping bag and twisted his body to watch you properly. “What kid? Spit it out, some of us actually wanna sleep tonight.”“I just feel weird- like my body- uhm.. between my legs.”

He was quiet for a beat, looking at you like his brain couldn’t register that you actually said that to him. His hand came up to his face and ran down it exhaustively.

You chewed on your bottom lip, afraid to say anything in case you made this incredibly embarrassing situation any worse. You just sat up and brought your knees to your chest, tucking them under your chin, pressing them together for obvious reasons.

“Christ,” he muttered. “Why’r ya tellin’ me this, for god sakes.” Your cheeks burned and you refused his gaze. God, you felt like a stupid kid. This was humiliating.

“Just.. thought you could help me..”

“Jesus..” he said, switching the lantern off and laying back down. He turned over on his side, facing away from you once again. But, this time he scooted further away from you, as if you’d pounce on him if he was any closer to you.

You felt humiliated. If a clicker came along right now, you would gladly hand yourself to it. But still, as if the embarrassment wasn’t enough, your panties were still damp and your clit pretty much had a heartbeat of its own. You squirmed around in the sleeping bag, trying to find a position that was more comfortable in your.. situation, but nothing worked. Before you could stop yourself, a soft whimper escaped your mouth from frustration of how badly you ached. Joel stilled and so did you.

“What the fuck was that?” He said, turning over again, his voice etched with frustration that made your cheeks once again, burn. You opened your mouth and tried to find the words to respond that didn’t make you look like a complete fool. “I uhm..”

“Listen, I ain’t your fuckin’ boyfriend. You’re cargo. I didn’t take you to show you how to finger yourself. Either get out of tent and get yourself off, or go to sleep.”

If you were feeling any other way, his harshness would probably make your throat tighten. But right now, the way he was speaking to you made you want him to do unholy things to you. You stomach fluttered and you clenched around nothing. This was pathetic.

“I just- please Joel, I don’t know what else to do, I can’t just.. get myself off, I don’t know how.” You whined.

“You’re- what? Jesus girl, your twenty somethin’ years- anyway, doesn’t matter it ain’t my problem. You’re a big girl, figure it out.” He barked. You could hear his sleeping back rustle as he brought it up higher over him, as if to shield himself from this conversation.

“Joel, please! It aches, it has all day. I promise I won’t ask for anything else- you don’t even have to touch me-just tell me how and then we can go to sleep I promise.” You babbled out sitting up and crawling over to the lantern to turn it on. You sat back on your hunches, watching Joel squint from the sudden invasion of his eyes.

“Fuck- fine, fine! But this ain’t gonna be a..” he gestured between you both. “-a thing, between us. I’ll help ya with this but that’s it then, no more.” He said settling on his back and running both hands over his face.

Your eye’s widened. Sure you wanted this, but you didn’t expect him to actually agree. “Yeah- yeah I promise, just this once I swear.”

He huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright then uh- lay back down and take your pants off.” He said, keeping his gaze at the roof of the tent. You lay back against the sleeping bag and took your jeans and soaked-through panties off with the kind of urgency that would be embarrassing if you weren’t so fucking turned on. You settled back comfortably on your back and tried to control your breating, your heart thrumming in your ears. “Okay, open your legs and dip your middle finger through your slit- bring it to your clit.”

A confused expression formed on your face and you turned your face toward him, questioning without speaking. “‘S a lil bump at the top, it’ll make ya feel good.” He said, closing his eyes as if that will make this highly inappropriate situation with a girl young enough to be his daughter any better. You did as he said, dipping your middle finger through your folds and coating them in your slick. You let out a shuddering breath as you dragged it up to that bundle of untouched nerves at the top of your slit. “Okay-,” you said, waiting for your next instruction.

“Then, start circling it, nice n slow. Put a little pressure down on it.” He said, but now with a slight rasp in his voice. You twisted your head a little to get a look at him. He was shuffling around a little in the sleeping bag, adjusting himself. Was he getting off on this?

You, nonetheless did as he told you. You pressed down slightly on your clit, eliciting a gasp from you. You gave yourself a second to get used to it before starting to circle, nice and slow just like Joel instructed.

Your fingers moved clumsily at first, but you eventually got the hang of it. Your hips bucked up uncontrollably into your hand, seeking more friction as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Joel,” you whimpered.

“What is it? It hurt?” He said in a surprisingly soft coo-like rasp. But there was still an under lying annoyance. It made your body heat up and your lips part in another moan.

“A little, but feels good.”

He nodded. “S’okay, just the build. You’re doin’ fine.”

You cried out suddenly, your pace on your clit quickening rapidly, causing more arousal to drip from your weeping hole.

“F-fuck..”

“Yeah?” He mumbled.

“Ye-ah, gonna come..”

Joel face screwed up, his composure slipping away. The way you bucked your hips up, the way you called his name and the noises, fuck the noises.. it was too much. The voice in his head was screaming at him to control himself, but his throbbing cock had other plans. He shot up from his position, ignoring the ache in his back when he did.

You stilled your movements when he did, your hand trembling slightly. Your voice came out breathless and desperate. “What are you-,”

His body was over you before you could finish your sentence, pressing sloppy kisses to your mouth, his hand cradling your cheek. You quickly responded to his kisses, a whine clawing out of your parred lips. Your hands moved up to his neck, cupping it softly, your thumbs running over the patches of hair there.

He broke the kiss, but didn’t go far. His face hovered over yours and his uneven breath fanned over your face. “I need to know you’re sure you want this baby- eyes up here,” he said gripping your chin and forcing you to look him in his eyes. “I need you to use your words for me.”

You nodded, looking between his two eyes rapidly. “I want it-please- can’t wait any longer.”

That was all he needed.

He worked his flannel off, undoing each button eagerly and pushing it off his shoulders. You thought it was only fair you took off your shirt too, so you sat up a little and took your Henley top off, tossing it aside and unclasping your bra. By the time you were done, Joel’s cock was already out, the tip red and angry. It was your first time ever seeing a penis. You grew up an orphan in the QZ and were thrown out to fend for yourself by the time you were eighteen. You never got involved with anyone, too dangerous so it wasn’t like you had ever seen a real one except from a diagram when you were learning about penis anatomy in biology class. It was daunting to look at to say the least.

He was at least seven inches, heavy balls with a patch of dark hair around his cock and sack. You bit down on your lip and before your could stop yourself, your hand wrapped around the base. Joel groaned, dropping his head down to your forehead.

“Fuck baby girl, such a sweet girl.” He mumbled.

“Can you tell me what to do?” You whispered. Your voice would probably be incoherent if you both weren’t so close.

“You don’t have-,”

“But I want to.”

Joel froze, then leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Okay. Bring your hand to your mouth and get it nice ‘n wet.”

Your eyes dilated, your lip caught between your teeth. You brought your hand up to your mouth and gathered some saliva in your mouth, letting it drop down into your hand.

“Juustt like that baby, now just squeeze a little, stroke up and down.”

You nodded your head and brought your spit-slick hand back down to his cock and wrapped it around his shaft. You gave his cock a small, gentle squeeze as you stroked it once. A rumbling groan from Joel’s chest spurred you on, so you continued.

Joel’s hand covered yours, guiding your movements as his eyes fluttered closed. “Ah-fuck.. just like that honey, jerk my cock.”

Your lungs punched out a moan. Seeing him getting off like this was making your pussy drip like a goddamn faucet. Watching Joel’s face contort in pleasure was definitely something you never wanted to forget. The feeling of the soft skin of his hard cock in your hand felt better than any sex could.

He abruptly moved your hand off him and cupped your cheeks. His lips came to yours in a desperate kiss, firmer this time. His thumb stroked the apple of your cheek while you both kissed. “You haven’t done this before?” He mumbled against your lips.

You pulled back and shook your head. “No.. but I’m ready.” You said, breathlessly, hands clinging to his biceps. You could see slight hesitation in his expression, but nonetheless, his hand trailed down to your pussy, lightly testing the waters. His middle finger pressed down on your quivering hole, checking to see how ready you were.

“Fuck baby girl, she’s just cryin’ f’me ain’t she? Just needs some lovin’,”

“Mhm.. needs you..”

“Yeah well, we gotta get her ready first, don’t wanna hurt ya honey. Gonna just use my fingers first and then I’ll give ya the real thing, promise.”

“Okay.” You breathed out.

Joel eased his fingers into your untouched hole, but got two in easily from how soaked you were all day. At first it felt a little strange- not painful just.. foreign. But as soon as he was knuckles deep, curling them up with his thumb on your clit, pleasure easily started taking over. At first, an overwhelmed moan left your mouth, but Joel quickly soothed you with his words and gentle kisses on your face.

“That’s it baby, just breath through it.”

“Doin’ so well baby.”

“Just feel it honey, feel my fingers hittin’ that little spot.”

Overstimulated and aching for release, you cried out his name, clinging to his biceps as you bucked your hips up into his hand. “Yes, yes- thank you j-oel- ah!” The coil in your belly was building rapidly and intensified with every thrust of his fingers pressing against your g-spot and every circle on your clit.

“Come on baby, give it to me. You gonna make a mess for me?” He rumbled into your ear. You were so fucked out that you could barely concentrate on what he was saying. Before you knew it, you were crying out, tears streaming down your face as you experienced your first orgasm. Your pussy rippled and clenched around Joel’s fingers as you collapsed into the sleeping bag. Chest heaving.

“There you go baby. Did so well.” He cooed, lips trailing from your neck down to your breast. Joel caught a peak in his mouth and sucked gently on it. The feeling caught you off guard, who knew someone sucking on your nipple could feel so good. You could feel a drop of arousal dribble out of your overstimmed hole. “Joel..” you called, hands in his hair.

“Mmm? Can you handle more? You don’t gotta do nothin’ you’re not comfortable with sweet girl.”

“No-no I want it-please Joel.” You responded eagerly. The thought of him not being inside you in the next two minutes made you crazy. A rare smirk formed on Joel’s face as he leaned down to kiss you gently.

“I know that’s right.” He mumbled, lips brushing yours gently as he gripped his cock in one hand. The tip of him brushed your clit, making you shiver.

Joel’s voice was gentle as he pushed inside, his fat tip stretching you deliciously. The feeling was overwhelming to say the least, but you felt that you would die if he stopped. He distracted you from the burn with sweet kisses and before you knew it, he was balls deep. When the realisation hit you, you cried out, dropping your head back against your pack in which you were using as a pillow. It was so much better than his fingers. Joel groaned pressing his face into your neck as he started to thrust in and out.

The thrusts were slow, more of a grind than anything, but he was so deep his tip kissing that spot so well. Your hands scrambled around his neck, pulling his chest flush to yours.

“Feel so.. full Joel.”

“That’s right honey. Stuffed up huh?”

At that he pulled back, looking at where you were both joined. Watching how he stretched you. “Ohhh biiig stretch baby. ‘M so proud of you.”

“I love being stretched for you.. so much joel.” You said, a sob escaping your plush lips as he thrusted in deeply.

Something snapped in Joel when you said it. Whatever it was, it made him throw his head back, both hands gripping your belly as he picked up the pace just slightly.

“Ohhh.. baby girl.” He groaned out head now falling forward. With each thrust a bulge formed in your belly. It caused Joel to use one of his hands to trace the outline of him.

“You feel me right there honey? Feel how perfect we fit?” He said, other hand travelling down your belly to your clit and circling it.

That was it.

In a matter of seconds you were falling apart, thighs shaking, tent filling with the sounds of your sobs and cries. White flashes clouded your vision and with one big clench, you soaked his cock.

This seemed to push joel over the edge because he was now not just grunting and groaning, but moaning your name. The feeling was euphoric. Joel pulled out, his hand reaching for his cock to finish on your belly. Before his hand could wrap around you grabbed his hand, pushing it away.

“What-,”

Before he could finish, you had him rolled over. You were straddling his lap with a dizzy head from the orgasm you literally just had. You crawled down his body and settled between his legs. It’s not like you exactly knew what you were doing, but all you knew was that you wanted to give him the same attention he gave you.

“Oh baby..” he said in more of a whine than anything. “You don’t gotta do that honey, you’re exhausted.”

“Please let me.” You said softly, puppy dog eyes looking directly up at joel as you held his member in your hand and kitten licked it, eliciting a groan from him. “Please daddy.”

That was it, joel pushed your head down, not hard, just hard enough that your mouth wrapped around his cock. His hips stuttered and he came in your mouth. All from hearing you call him daddy. Thick ropes of cum coated your tongue, your taste buds memorising the taste of him. Joel’s head thumped back as he came, an: “ohhh,” sound coming out of his parted lips.

You had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a one time thing.

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moesthoughts · 1 month ago

Note

hear me out... smut with post!crash nat who sees her ex girlfriend at a club with her new bf and nat doesn't like that at all, and takes it upon herself to show up on readers doorstep later that night and remind her who she "belongs to" so to say

(this may or may not have been heavily influenced by like i would by zayn LMAOO)

ೃ࿔ one way or another

After getting rescued from the crash you wanted a new life, a blank slate. You distanced yourself from everyone, moved to the city, and even got a new boyfriend. One year after you were rescued, you and your boyfriend went to the club, you would never guess your ex girlfriend would be paying you a visit after.

pairing 𝜗𝜚 natalie scatorccio x fem reader

warnings 𝜗𝜚 angst, stalker nat lowk, addiction, drug mentions, cheating, smut with plot, fingering, cunnilingus r! receiving, overstimulation, praise kink

The club has always been overwhelming, the strobe lights that give you the biggest headache, the music that drummed against your ears, the heat from the amount of bodies, it sucks. Which is why Nat is sat at the bar, sipping on a cold glass of gin. She came alone, just how she likes it. Small talk with the bartender is all she needs, other than that she enjoys her alone time. Tonight feels different though, the alcohol doesn’t taste the same and the music isn’t as annoying as she remembers. A new DJ? Maybe that is for the better. Nat sets the glass down at the table and pushes it towards the bartender, muttering “put it on my tab”, for the fifth time this week, a broken promise, she won’t pay it till they personally knock at her door.

Nat is planning on leaving, well, she was. Until her eyes land on a familiar figure, she recognizes that body shape from anywhere. That hair, even if it’s grown a little different overtime, that style of clothing you never can seem to let go of, the shape of your nose, the dark red lipstick you wore to every party before that stupid crash, and most importantly that smile that kept her sane during the time in the wilderness. She stops in her tracks, it’s like time froze around her. Everyone around you is moving slow, all the colorful lights illuminate you, and some man beside you. Nat instantly clutches her hands into fists as she watches his hands grab your waist as you grind on him, he could just be some random guy at the club, and you’re really drunk. Her hopes are false once again as you turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, your lips interlocking with his. She swears she reads “i love you”, from your lips.

It makes her sick, but she can’t stop watching. You look so fucking beautiful with your makeup and hair done, that short dress that hugs your ass so well. You’re her ex girlfriend, you broke things off with her in the hospital after the crash, she still feels that sting in her heart every time you come across her mind. Now she has to watch you kiss this random dude with a big smile on your face. Nat presses her lips together, and finally pushes herself to leave. But she doesn’t, she sits in her car, lighting a blunt and smoking it, waiting for you and your boy toy to leave. She sinks into her seat once she spots you and your boyfriend get into a car, and leave. She starts up hers and follows soon after.

You live surprisingly close to the club, Nat wonders if you’ve been there at the same time and she didn’t notice your presence. Her eyes follow you as you walk to your apartment, open the door and enter it. She curses under her breath and presses her forehead against the steering wheel, contemplating her decisions. She’s already getting high, and stalked you all the way home. She figures she should finish the blunt, you’ll notice right away anyway. That same dizzy feeling graces her as she smokes, her brain becoming foggy, and her worries disappearing like her dignity. She opens her car door and drops the blunt on the ground, stomping it out. She stumbles over to your door, and knocks on it without hesitation.

You open the door, unknowing of who’s waiting on the other side to meet you. Nat relishes the sight of your eyes widening, the cute gasp that falls out of those pretty lips. She also observes how you aren’t slamming the door in her face, your eyes glued on her face, with that same thick eyeliner, lined lips, just with different hair. A sort of twisted smile plays on her face. She’s obviously under some influence, she’s swaying side to side when she’s standing still, her eyes look irritated and red. You sigh and grip the edge of your wooden door.

“Hey, pretty.”

Nat breathes the nickname that used to make you weak in the knees. She gawks at the sight of you up close, that tight dress, those familiar hips, your makeup that she wants to remove using her lips, she takes a small breath to compose herself. Unlike you, about to throw up at the sight of Natalie fucking Scatorccio, even if you made such a great effort to disappear from the rest of the survivors. Though, somewhere inside of you, you’re happy that it’s her and not anyone else. You take a glance into your apartment and step out, closing the door slightly.

“Nat— I.. how did you find me?”

Nat rolls her eyes and peeks into the small opening into your apartment, she doesn’t see any movement, she ponders if your boyfriend is even home. You seem so nervous, like you’re about to throw up at any moment. Some sick feeling inside of her likes that, she enjoys seeing you shrink because of her presence, akin to how she felt after that day in the hospital. You’re sweaty, nervous, you feel like you’re about to puke. The gut wrenching anxiety doesn’t leave you at all, you can only stare at her in awe, somewhere inside of you knows she won’t give you a straight answer.

“What? ‘Your boyfriend home, or something?”

She sneers, a toothy smile coming on her face, the dimples that you loved so much adorning her. You can only glimpse away, not wanting to melt at the sight. Nat takes a step towards you, and you don’t make an effort to move. Something comforts you about her presence here, like she is a missing piece to the puzzle you’ve been meaning to solve for over a year. She’s so familiar, unlike your boyfriend. He’s new, not the same as her.

“I— No. I’m alone.”

You stammer, embarrassingly. Nat chuckles lowly, causing you to sink even more into yourself. Her mood slowly changes as she watches you become more nervous, and detached. She softens up, feels bad for dumping herself on your doorstep all of a sudden, it has to be late, at least 2 am in the morning. She reeks of weed, blabbering drunkenly, she drags a hand over her face and averts eye contact.

“Listen— I’m here because of that guy, are you even happy? I mean— A dude? I thought you were into girls.”

She hits a weak point in your heart, and she was dead right with her words. You don’t even like your boyfriend, maybe only the thought of having someone that enjoys you. You purse your lips, trying not to let those pesky tears roll down your cheeks. Nat’s hand rests on your hip, you can only stare at it. She continues when you don’t pull away from her touch. Her other hand travels to your hips as well, pressing you against the door, making it creak slightly open.

“I don’t even know— Nat. I’m gonna be honest with you.”

“It’s okay baby, you remember who can actually make you feel good, right? Let me take care of you..”

You push the door open and drag Nat into your apartment, bringing her into a desperate kiss. She returns it instantly, kicking the door shut with her heavy boot. She paws at your waist like she’s trying to remember how you feel against her hands, that smooth fabric rubbing against her palms encourages her. Your fingers already tangle themselves in that familiar hair texture, the color darker than you recall it being. She moans into your mouth as you pull on her roots, your tongue plunges into her mouth, not bothering to explore, you already know your way around. You guide her towards your couch and fall onto it, taking her down with you. Nat breaks the kiss to catch her breath. She cherishes the sight of you being disheveled, your smeared lipstick that stains your chin now, your eyeliner slightly running down your pink cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful.. just how I remember.”

Nat’s voice is husky, you whimper as she bites down on your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. You both missed this, each other’s lips, hands, everything. Your fingers hook under her shirt, she pulls away from you so you can slide it off with ease. She’s wearing a red bra, not the same one, but a lacey one that shaped her chest so well it has you drooling. Nat smirks and unclips her bra, before you can speak she attaches herself back onto your neck. Your grope her, relishing the whimper that vibrates through your neck. She wants to devour you, keep you in her grasp forever. She won’t let you worm out of her life again, she’ll give you a reason to stay and leave that boyfriend of yours.

“Such a pretty girl, I want you all to myself.”

Nat murmurs against your skin as she works your dress down your body. You don’t even have a bra on, small black underwear is all that covers you after she discards your dress somewhere in the room. Her teeth graze your chest while her hands smooth over your now exposed skin, nails digging into the softest parts. She worships your body, she missed how you feel against her palms, how you shiver whenever she caresses you. You realize how much you’ve needed Nat, how your boyfriend couldn’t compare to how she appreciates you as a whole. No boy has made you feel this good, or paid any mind to your pleasure but his own. She rolls your nipple around with her tongue and hikes down your panties, you’re already so wet and she hasn’t even touched near your core. You feel her gasp against your skin as she touches your soaked cunt, she pushes herself up to see you fully. A muttered “fuck” falls out of her lips as she circles your clit with her finger, obsessing over the way you’re already rolling your hips into her touch.

“Shit, you’re so wet.”

She barely speaks over a whisper, you arch your back into her fingers as she pushes them inside of you. Nat’s lips part, she forgot how good you feel around her. Slowly she starts pumping her fingers, moans spill from your mouth shamelessly. She remembers those nights in her hut, her fingers drowning in your pussy, how you’d cover your mouth so nobody could hear you both, she’d whimper like she was actually fucking you. She never got rid of that habit, panting like a dog while she ruins you. She curls her digits in the right spots that make you mewl, how she presses her thumb on your clit makes your toes curl.

“Such a good girl for me, just like that pretty.”

That nickname almost sends you over the edge, your hand wraps around her arm, you almost feel bad for your neighbors, you both have never been this noisy. You missed each other, you want Nat to know how much you’ve been needing her, and she can’t help herself from the noises that come from her mouth. You start approaching your high, that knot in your stomach tightening, threatening to burst. She notices instantly, and picks up her pace, rolling her thumb around your clit and pumping in and out of you relentlessly. It doesn’t take long for you to cum around her fingers, stammering out her name in pure bliss. What you don’t expect is her lowering herself down to your sensitive cunt, and licking up the juices, rolling her tongue around your clit instead.

“Wait— Nat.. Not yet—“

“Please, just one more for me, that’s all.”

And you can’t say know to her, all you can do is whimper as she laps your wetness up. It stings, but feels so good. You grind into her mouth, already feeling like you’ll burst again. Nat wastes no time and slides her tongue into your cunt, fucking you with a pace that gradually brings you over the edge. Her nails dig into your thighs, her tongue working on undoing you. You cum instantly, whining from the overstimulation. She cleans you up with her tongue as best as she can, but she stops when your voice starts getting shaky. Nat wipes her mouth while looking at you, tears stinging your eyes. You slowly sit up and bring her into a kiss, it’s hungry, still that same desperation you two had at the beginning. Your fingers graze her jawline in a way that has her melting under your touch.

“God, I missed you.”

You murmur into her lips, your hand putting the right amount of pressure on her back. She pulls away from you and presses her forehead against yours. Memories from the crash flood your mind, but they’re nice ones, the ones that remind you that Nat is someone you can rely on.

“Why don’t we run you a bath?”

“Only if you join me.”

Okay so i’ve been wanting to write for post crash nat for SO LOMG thank you anon🤍🤍🤍 HEARING U OUT ANYDAY

req me!

masterlist

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets imagines #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets imagine #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio imagines #moesthoughts #moeswriting

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spencersmopbucket · 2 months ago

Text

Polar Opposites | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: When you joined the team, it was very evident to the others that you and Spencer may not get along the best. You were water and he was oil — but when working on a team, the repelling can be dangerous. Themes & Warnings: Ummm violence, hurt/comfort with Reid!, enemies to lovers

You were raised in New York. Alone. No siblings or mother.

Learning independence was quick for you. By the time you were eight, you were walking yourself to school, a keychain with the apartment key and a bottle of pepper spray dangling from it. You were tough, bull-headed, but not completely absent of warmth.

Your father was a good man. A strong one. He was on the NYPD, a conductor of justice, yet a fair one. You idolized him, even when he came home with blood on his knuckles and exhaustion in his bones. You learned early that justice wasn't always clean, and rarely kind.

You quickly learned from him.

When you were old enough, he put you into self defense classes. It wasn't much of a surprise to him that you immediately excelled.

He watched proudly as you took down grown men twice your size in the ring, never once hesitating. “You fight like your mother,” he told you once. You didn’t remember her, not really, but something about the way he said it made your chest swell.

You lived by his rules. Protect others. Never back down. Trust your gut, even when it got you in trouble.

By the time you were a teenager, you were patrolling with a police scanner on in the background of your homework, studying both algebra and 10-codes. While other girls wore lip gloss and whispered about boys, you were memorizing the NY penal code and learning how to hold a Glock.

As soon as you could, you joined your father on the force. Not quite where he was. He was pretty far up. But you made him proud, which is all you wanted.

Every commendation, every collar, every time you kept your cool when things went sideways — he’d clap a firm hand on your shoulder and say, “That’s my girl.” And that was enough. It had always been enough.

Until it wasn’t.

The night he didn’t come home changed everything.

You were the one who got the call. Not the captain. Not some rookie liaison. You. Because you were his emergency contact. Because they knew you’d want to hear it straight, from the mouth of someone who cared.

Officer down. Ambush. Three men. Two with priors, one on a vendetta. He died fighting, they said. Died protecting his partner.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t speak for almost twenty-four hours.

Instead, you scrubbed his blood out of his badge chain, boxed up his medals, and sat for hours in his worn recliner with your service pistol in your lap, staring into nothing.

The grief didn’t crush you. It carved you.

By the time you left the NYPD, you weren’t the same person. And maybe that was the point. You needed something new. Somewhere that didn’t hold his shadow in every alley, every precinct, every call sign on the radio.

The BAU wasn’t your first choice. Behavioral analysis wasn’t your strength. You didn’t have three PhDs or a mind built for chess moves and statistics. But they recruited you anyway. Hotch said your field instincts were unmatched, that you had a gut that couldn't be taught.

You were strong. Your suffering had hardened you into a diamond. But you did have a flaw. Sometimes, you rushed into things without strategy, relying on strength and impulse. You were more physically lead than others on the team, opting for the take-down rather than the talk-down.

This was what made you so different from the team's boy genius, Spencer Reid.

He wasn't the softest anymore himself. He was hardened by his abduction by Tobias Hankel, his drug addiction, his prison time, the loss of his first lover. But he didn't let it change him completely. He was still warm, like he'd been before. Still sweet. And he still did his job the same; in the same calculating, analyzing Reid way. He was more logic based than aggression based.

And that’s where you clashed.

Where you were storm and instinct, Spencer was method and measure. He needed answers before action. You needed action before the body count climbed. He quoted psychological journals; you trusted a gut that had never failed you. It was oil and water from the very beginning.

The team noticed it immediately — the sharp way you challenged his statistics, the way his mouth drew tight every time you went off-book, the way both of you refused to yield. Rossi called it "professional tension." Morgan called it "foreplay." Hotch just warned you both not to let it interfere in the field.

Of course, it did anyway.

It had been a difficult case.

A serial killer, targeting women, as was typical. It was a sensitive situation, requiring delicate action and careful steps.

The investigation went fine — smooth actually. It was easy enough to profile and find the man, but the hostage situation needed to be handled much softer.

He was holding a young woman in a cage, down below his house in a bunker. You, Reid, Prentiss, and Morgan were sent to do the confrontation.

The four of you approached the property quietly. The woods surrounding the cabin were thick and silent, the late afternoon sun bleeding orange through the trees. Reid had his tablet out, blueprints of the house and rough sketches of the underground bunker on display. You barely glanced at it.

“We can’t spook him,” Prentiss said, voice low. “If he thinks he’s cornered—”

“He might kill her,” Reid finished grimly. “He’s already escalated twice. He’s unpredictable under pressure.”

That was Spencer’s way — anticipate the worst, measure every variable. Your jaw clenched.

“Then we don’t give him time to react,” you said, cocking your weapon. “He’s not expecting a full team yet. We move fast, controlled. Get in, get her out.”

Spencer’s head shot up. “No. We stick to the protocol. We make contact, distract him, and—”

“There is no protocol for a man holding a girl in a fucking cage, Reid.”

Your voice was sharper than it needed to be, but you didn’t care. The thought of that girl locked up like an animal made your skin crawl. Every second wasted was another scar, another trauma she’d carry forever.

“Exactly. Which is why we don’t risk charging in blind,” he snapped back, stepping in front of you. “You go in there guns blazing and he could slit her throat before you even get your second step down that ladder.”

Morgan’s hand landed on your shoulder, a warning. “Both of you — not the time.”

But you weren’t done.

“Then what? We just talk to him? Offer him therapy? Hope he suddenly sees the light?”

Reid’s eyes blazed. “No. But we don’t rush in and make it worse. You want to save her? Then don’t be the reason she dies.”

It hit harder than you expected. Maybe because deep down, you knew he was right. Maybe because you hated being wrong in front of him.

The plan went Spencer’s way. At first.

You reached them. The man was sweaty, eyes wild. The girl moaned quietly in front of him, wrestling around in the heavy chains she was bound by.

Reid and Prentiss attempted a talk-down.

The unsub paced behind the girl like a panicked animal, holding a long hunting knife inches from her throat. His eyes flicked between Prentiss and Reid, twitchy and erratic, the delusion already thick in the air.

“I didn’t hurt her!” he barked. “I fed her, didn’t I?! She’s mine now — I chose her!”

You could practically feel the tension radiating off Spencer. He stood just a step in front of Prentiss, hands raised, calm as ever — but you knew him well enough to see the strain in his jaw, the slight tremble in his fingers.

“You’re not in trouble,” Spencer said gently, voice even. “You’ve been through a lot. No one wants to hurt you, we just want to help her. Let her go. We can talk, just you and me.”

The unsub twitched. “She loves me,” he muttered, jabbing the blade toward the girl’s collarbone. She whimpered again, and your own hand inched toward your holster.

“Reid,” you said quietly. A warning.

But he held up one hand. Not yet.

“You’re right,” he said to the unsub. “You did choose her. You saw something in her. That’s important. That means you care about her, right?”

The man’s breathing hitched — confused. Hopeful.

Then it happened.

She whimpered again — too loud. Too broken. Something in her tone must have snapped the illusion in his head. Because suddenly he screamed, pulled her tighter, and raised the knife.

You moved before anyone else could.

Gun drawn, aim steady, you crossed the space in two steps and tackled him. Your shoulder collided with his ribs, knocking him clean off the girl. You wrestled the knife from his hand and had him on the ground in seconds, arm wrenched behind his back.

You barely heard the girl sobbing as Prentiss rushed to her side. Barely heard Morgan’s footsteps pounding down the stairs. All you could hear was the pounding of your own pulse.

“God damn it,” Reid muttered from behind you. Not angry. Not even frustrated.

Worried.

The rest was a blur.

Back at the precinct, the girl had been taken to the hospital. The unsub was in custody. Everyone was safe.

But Spencer didn’t say a word to you until you were alone.

The motel hallway was dim and quiet, carpet patterned with decades of wear. You turned when you heard his door click shut behind him.

“You weren’t supposed to go in,” he said. Quiet. Low.

You crossed your arms. “And if I hadn’t, she might be dead.”

“She might be,” he agreed. “Or you might be. We all might've been. You can’t keep putting yourself in the line like that without thinking. You don’t get to be the only one who carries the risk. Not to mention what risk it puts on the other teammates.”

You blinked. Something about the way he said it — like you'd selfishly put everyone in danger.

Your eyes narrowed.

"How come you're always shitting on my busts, Reid? You ever think that one of these times, you might wait too long and get someone killed?"

He swallowed, his face tightening.

"Don't turn this around on me. You continuously stray from protocol like you're above the rest of us. If you just followed directions, I wouldn't have to complain."

You felt the flare of heat in your chest — insult, frustration, maybe even guilt. But underneath all of it, something deeper: hurt.

"Above the rest of you?" you repeated, voice low. Dangerous. "Is that really what you think of me?"

Reid held your stare, but there was a flicker of regret in his eyes now. He hadn’t meant to cut that deep. Or maybe he had. Maybe it had built up between you for so long, he hadn’t realized the blade was that sharp.

“I think you act like you don’t need us,” he said. “Like you don’t trust anyone but yourself. And in this job, that’s not just frustrating, it’s fatal.”

You laughed once, dryly. “Well, maybe I don’t trust anyone else. Maybe I learned a long time ago that trust doesn’t keep you alive.”

That landed. His expression cracked. Because if there was one thing Spencer Reid understood, it was the cost of trusting the wrong people. Or worse, not trusting the right ones until it was too late.

"You need to ease up. Trusting someone besides yourself might keep you alive one day," He hissed, leaning into your face. "You act like a stubborn, impulsive fool."

You scoffed, a snide smirk curling onto your face.

"That's better than constant fear and anxiety. I'd rather be too quick than too slow, Reid," your cold voice biting into him. "You're so busy tucking back into your turtle shell that you don't realize how much time you waste being afraid."

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something fierce igniting behind the calm intellect you knew so well.

“Being cautious doesn’t mean I’m afraid,” he snapped back, voice low but sharp. “It means I’m trying to think. Something you never do until after the damage is done.”

You stepped closer, your breath mingling with his in the tight hallway. “Yeah, well maybe it’s better to act first and think later than to be paralyzed by what-ifs. At least I move.”

You stood face to face, a silent snarl shared between the two of you. Spencer took another breath to snap back, but you were interrupted.

"Guys. Enough. The jet is about to take off." Prentiss said, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shrugged her off, slinging your bag over it instead.

"It's cool. I was done being questioned about my successful take-down anyways." You muttered, walking away.

Spencer watched you go, the frustration still simmering beneath his calm exterior. His jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his hair, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on him. He wanted to say more; to tell you that beneath his caution was a desperate hope you’d be safe, that he cared more than he knew how to show.

But for now, he let the silence stretch, knowing this was just one battle in a longer war between you. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way to bridge the gap, if only you’d both lower your guards.

The jet ride was tense. You didn't even look at Spencer, opting to pretend he wasn't there. He couldn't help but glance at you, the brooding look always on your face no different than usual. He sighed, returning to his book.

Back at the office, you shoved your go-bag back into your locker. The photo of your father glinted at you, stuck to the back of the door. You knew what he would've said.

You traced the edges of the photo with a tired finger, the worn image of your father — a man who’d always been your anchor in chaos — reminding you of the rules he drilled into you:

"Protect others."

"Never back down."

"Trust your gut."

"I'm so proud of you, kid."

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, the weight of those words settling deep inside you. You’d carried his lessons like armor all these years — tough, unyielding, sometimes too sharp to wield without cutting yourself.

You stared at his image for a few more seconds, before turning away.

You jumped. Morgan, standing behind you.

"Jesus." You said, taking a deep breath. "Don't sneak up on me like that, dude."

Morgan chuckled, his usual easy grin softening the tension in the room. “Yeah, well, somebody’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

He glanced at the photo taped inside your locker. “Your old man sounds like a hell of a guy.”

You nodded, voice quieter now. “He was. Still is… in a way.”

Morgan leaned against the lockers, folding his arms. “You know, you don’t always have to carry all that weight alone. Not here. Not with us.”

You met his eyes, the sincerity there catching you off guard. For a moment, the walls you’d built felt a little less necessary.

"... Thank you."

Morgan nodded, leaning against the lockers.

"I heard you and Reid had a little spat in the hotel earlier."

You rolled your eyes, grumbling. Of course, Prentiss would've squealed.

Morgan’s grin widened, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, I heard. Something about Spencer getting a little too in your space?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “He’s got a knack for pushing buttons. Doesn’t know when to quit.”

Morgan shook his head, chuckling low. “That guy’s all brain and nerves. Sometimes he forgets there’s a person behind all that genius.”

You glanced away, feeling a mix of irritation and something softer beneath it. “I get it, but I’m not exactly easy to handle either.”

He leaned against the locker beside yours, eyes steady. “Look, I get it. You did what you had to do back there. You saved that girl.”

Your jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know that?”

Morgan shook his head. “No, I’m saying I see it. You’re a damn good agent. One of the best. But sometimes being the best means knowing when to slow down.”

You scoffed, bitterness creeping into your voice. “Slowing down gets people killed.”

Morgan didn’t flinch. “It’s not about slowing down all the time. It’s about picking your moments. You got guts, no doubt. But guts without control? That’s a problem.”

You finally met his gaze, raw and honest. “So what am I supposed to do, Morgan? Wait around for the bad guy to slit her throat? Let the clock run out?”

He studied you for a beat, then responded slowly. “No. But you gotta trust the team. Not just yourself. We got your six. We all do. Even Reid. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

You swallowed hard. The weight of his words settled in your chest. It was easier said than done. You were used to standing on your own — had been for as long as you could remember.

Morgan clapped a hand on your shoulder, solid and reassuring. “Your dad taught you to protect others, right?”

Your eyes flickered to the photo taped inside your locker, the man who was everything steady in your world.

Morgan smiled softly. “Yeah. And that means sometimes you gotta step back, watch the angles, think a few moves ahead. That’s how you protect the team and yourself.”

The tension between you seemed to ease, just a little. You weren’t used to advice that didn’t come with judgment, but this was different. It was real.

Morgan gave you a wink. “You’re a hell of a cop. Don’t forget, sometimes the smartest move is patience. Not just power.”

You nodded, the edges of your defenses softening just enough for a flicker of respect. “Thanks, Morgan. I’ll try.”

“Try?” He grinned. “No try. You’ll do it.”

You smirked back. “Yeah? You confident in me?”

“Hell yeah. Just gotta let the team catch up sometimes. And don't forget,” he said, nudging your shoulder. "We could all learn some things from you too. Even Reid, when he decides to get his head out of his ass."

You snickered, rolling your eyes and turning back to your locker, shutting it.

“Thanks for the reality check.”

“Anytime,” he said, before turning and walking away, leaving you with something you didn’t realize you needed — a little hope.

The next case came quickly. You almost weren't ready for it.

Your headphones blared into your ears as you trained in the sparring room, sweating as you bounced around a punching bag. Your gloves squeaked with every moment you made, punching into the bag with preciseness and toughness.

Your phone rang.

You yanked a glove off with your teeth and fumbled for your phone, the sweat on your fingers making it harder to swipe. The name on the screen — Hotch — made your stomach tighten. You were still riding the edge of your last conversation with Morgan, and now, here came another case.

“Yeah?” you answered, a little breathless.

Hotch’s voice was calm, clipped. “Briefing room. Twenty minutes.”

You wiped your brow with the back of your forearm. “Copy that.”

He hung up without another word.

You stood there for a beat, the bass of your music still thumping in one ear. The punching bag rocked gently beside you, evidence of your focused aggression. But the tension in your shoulders hadn’t eased. If anything, it pulled tighter.

Another case. Another town. Another family ruined. You loved this job but sometimes, it felt like it never let you breathe.

With a grunt, you unwrapped your gloves, tossing them in your gym bag. As you pulled your hoodie over your damp sports bra and headed for the showers, Morgan’s words echoed back in your head:

“Sometimes the smartest move is patience. Not just power.”

You smirked faintly to yourself, voice muttering under your breath, “Yeah, well... I hope patience works on serial killers too.”

You had no idea what you were walking into, but you knew this much: you'd face it head-on.

Just like always.

You pulled your work clothes on quickly and headed for the bullpen, tossing your hair into a ponytail.

The rest of the team was already there, relieved to see you walk in.

"Sorry. I was training." You said quietly, joining them at the table.

Hotch gave you a nod — his version of “no problem.” Reid glanced up from the file in his hands, his eyes catching yours for a moment before flicking back down. You weren’t sure what that look meant, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Victim number three was found this morning,” Hotch began, passing a photo across the table. “Female, early thirties. Same MO. Ligature marks, posed postmortem, and a red ribbon tied around the wrist.”

You leaned forward, studying the image. “Same as the others. No signs of forced entry?”

JJ shook her head. “Nothing. It’s like they let the killer in willingly.”

You crossed your arms, thoughts already sharpening like blades. “So he’s charming, disarming. Makes them feel safe… until he doesn’t.”

Morgan pointed at the map. “All victims lived alone, all in a five-mile radius. He’s hunting in a comfort zone.”

Spencer cleared his throat, hesitant but determined. “Geographical profiling supports that. He’s probably familiar with the area -- might even live or work nearby.”

You glanced at him again, this time holding the look for a second longer. “Then we start knocking on doors.”

Prentiss gave a wry smile. “I like it when you get fired up.”

You shrugged, grabbing a file. “Better than sitting on our hands.”

Hotch raised a brow. “Let’s keep it focused. Morgan, you and (Y/N) check in with local businesses. Reid, JJ, and Prentiss, canvass the neighborhood. I’ll coordinate with local PD.”

You nodded.

"I know that PD pretty well. My dad and I worked with them for a couple of years. I'll pitch in with the communications."

Hotch gave a curt nod, clearly appreciating the initiative. “Good. Familiarity could speed things up. Just make sure they loop everything back to me.”

You gave him a short, respectful salute. “You got it, boss.”

Morgan shot you a quick grin as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “You sure you’re not trying to take Hotch’s job?”

You smirked. “Please. I’d make a terrible brooding authority figure.”

Hotch didn’t even look up from the map he was marking. “I’m standing right here.”

You and Morgan exchanged a glance, both biting back laughter.

As the team filed out, Reid hesitated at the edge of the room. He glanced at you, like he wanted to say something, but then just gave a slight nod and walked away with JJ and Prentiss.

Your eyes lingered on his back for a second before you turned and fell into step beside Morgan.

“So,” he said as you headed for the SUV, “you and local PD go way back?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My dad and I used to consult on cases when I was younger. He was training me even before I joined the Bureau. Some of those officers were practically family for a while.”

Morgan nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a thoughtful smile. “That explains a lot.”

“What does?”

“You move like someone who’s been doing this their whole life. It’s in your blood.”

You paused at the passenger door, his words landing heavier than he probably intended.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “It is.”

Morgan didn’t push. He just clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Then let’s go show ‘em how it’s done.”

You gave him a small smile. “Hell yeah.”

You slid into the seat, heart steadier than it had been in days. Maybe the next few hours would be hell. Maybe this case would crack something raw in you. But with Morgan’s support at your side and your father’s instincts still pulsing through your veins, you weren’t going in blind.

You were ready to hunt.

No sooner had you and Morgan hit the pavement than the scent of tension in the air thickened, like something dark had just passed through and left its mark. The PD station felt different now than it did when you were younger. Familiar faces looked more worn, more guarded.

“Agent (L/N),” one of the lieutenants greeted you with a surprised smile. “Heard you were coming in. Damn, you look more and more like your old man every time I see you.”

You gave him a short nod, your voice quiet. “Thanks, Lieutenant. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

Morgan stood back slightly, letting you take the lead. He watched as you moved through the room with purpose; calm, steady, authoritative in your own way. You weren’t trying to be your father, but his legacy lingered around you like armor.

“We’ve already pulled security cam footage from nearby businesses,” the lieutenant explained. “We can have it queued up for you in five.”

“Perfect. Let’s get started.”

Morgan leaned over to you as they set things up in the back room. “You’ve got them listening to you like you’re already in charge.”

You gave a tired shrug. “My dad never tolerated anyone doing half a job. I guess that stuck.”

He studied your face for a moment — sharp, focused, a little worn around the eyes. Then he said, “You know, you don’t always have to be the one holding it all together.”

You glanced at him, surprised.

“You said that already,” you reminded him.

He shrugged. “You didn’t listen the first time.”

You laughed under your breath, but your eyes softened. “I’m listening now.”

Before either of you could say more, an officer called you over. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

The footage was grainy but clear enough: a figure pacing outside a bakery at midnight. Twitchy. Darting glances. Then dragging something — someone — down an alley.

Morgan muttered under his breath. “Looks like our guy.”

Your expression shifted instantly. Calm became alert. You pointed to the timestamp. “That’s two hours before the last body was found. He was still escalating.”

The lieutenant nodded grimly. “He’s getting bolder.”

Morgan stepped beside you, already scanning the angle, escape routes, signage. “What do you want to do?”

You took a breath, already forming a plan.

“We start there,” you said, pointing to the alley. “We follow the trail. And this time, we end it before he escalates again.”

Morgan gave a sharp nod. “Now that’s the kind of leadership I can get behind.”

You smirked faintly. “Don’t get used to it.”

He grinned back. “Too late.”

You quickly phoned the rest of the team, getting them in on it. It was decided.

You'd be bait — the youngest on the team. The prettiest, Prentiss had claimed. But it would take something you weren't exactly versed in.

Patience. Calculation. Thought before decision.

You, of course, had too look like less than an agent. That night, you had to get prepared, dressing down from your usual slacks and dress shirt and opting for a more.. casual.. look.

Garcia, JJ, and Prentiss just couldn't wait to get their hands on you. It was a once in a life time opportunity.

You barely made it into the hotel room before the ambush.

“There she is!” Prentiss announced, arms crossed with a smug grin. JJ was already holding up two hangers, each with an outfit. Garcia was seated cross-legged on the bed with a massive makeup bag splayed open in front of her like a battlefield.

You blinked. “Did you guys.. Were you waiting for me?”

JJ smirked. “Garcia brought supplies.”

Garcia didn’t even look up. “Sweet cheeks, I have been dreaming of this day since you joined the team. And now… finally…” She lifted a compact like a weapon forged in heaven. “The day has come.”

“This isn’t a makeover montage,” you muttered.

“Oh, but it is,” Prentiss said, grabbing your wrist and tugging you into the middle of the room. “You’re going undercover as vulnerable, off-duty eye candy. We’re making sure you sell it.”

“Guys,” you sighed. “This isn’t Clueless. I’m bait for a serial killer, not a Tinder date.”

“Exactly,” JJ said, tossing a pair of stockings onto the bed. “So you need to look like someone who doesn’t know she’s being watched. Not like someone who could break someone’s nose with two fingers.”

The scene was a bar. Wasting some time inside of it, sipping on a few prop drinks all alone, before stumbling out into the alley where he'd most likely take his chances on you.

You had to look the part. The mysterious, lonely temptress who would go quietly if grabbed.

You were forced into a short, red dress, one that hugged your curves and showed off the length of your smooth legs. Your hair was curled, natural makeup on your already pretty face.

You were gorgeous. Not that you weren't usually. But this was much different than your slick-back ponytail and business only outfit, a gun hanging from your holster.

Garcia let out a dramatic gasp when you stepped out of the bathroom.

“Oh. My. God.” she breathed, eyes widening. “You’re not just bait, you're irresistible temptation. Marry me.”

Prentiss gave a low whistle. “Remind me to never stand next to you in public again.”

JJ smirked. “He won’t stand a chance. Poor bastard.”

You tugged at the hem of the red dress, fidgeting. It was shorter than anything you usually wore. Hell, it was shorter than anything Garcia usually wore. “I feel like a walking target.”

“That’s the point,” Prentiss said, coming up behind you to fix a loose curl. “But don’t forget. You’re still the most dangerous one in the room.”

Garcia handed you a tiny clutch with your wire and phone inside. “And just in case he gets any ideas before the alley, Reid and Morgan will be watching from the bar. Hotch and I are set up in the surveillance van. You’re never alone.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror again. It was surreal, like staring at a version of yourself that only existed in smoke and mirrors. A version soft enough to lure in a killer. A version smart enough to trap him.

You took a breath. Deep. Steady.

“I can do this,” you muttered.

“You will do this,” JJ corrected firmly, her voice resolute. “And when you bring this guy down, I want my red dress back.”

You laughed softly, the nerves settling into something colder, more useful. “You got it.”

As the three women saw you off, Prentiss stopped you with a hand on your arm. “Hey. You’re more than bait. You’re the one drawing him out. That makes you the one in control.”

You stepped outside, meeting Morgan and Reid at the undercover vehicle, a sleek black SUV. They stood talking by the passenger's door, only noticing you approaching when you got close.

Morgan was the first to look up; and his reaction was immediate.

His brows rose, a low whistle slipping out as he took in your appearance. “Damn. Remind me what we’re trying to catch again? Because I think you just stunned me.”

Reid, less composed, blinked rapidly. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Y-You, uh, wow. You look…” His brain clearly short-circuited.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Careful, boys. I’m armed.”

Morgan laughed, clapping Reid on the back as if to snap him out of his stupor. “You good, pretty boy? Need a second to reboot?”

Reid cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets and very intentionally looking at the SUV instead of you. “I’m fine. Let's move out.”

Without another word, Reid hopped into the car, leaving you and Derek in silence. You rolled your eyes as Derek opened the door to let you get in.

Morgan held the door open with a crooked grin. “You know, I’ve seen you break a man’s nose with the butt of your Glock… but somehow, this might be the most dangerous I’ve ever seen you.”

You scoffed, climbing into the SUV. “Save it for Garcia.”

In a few short minutes, you were at your destination. You got out, securing the wire into a hidden place as Reid and Morgan looked around. You tossed your curls behind your shoulder and cleared your throat.

"Alright. In the bar for fifteen minutes, twenty at most. If he approaches you, play coy. If he doesn't, we still have a chance to lure him in the back alley," Morgan explained, securing his own wire and tucking his gun. "We're more likely to see him out there. He's struck in that area quite a few times."

You nodded.

"Don't be afraid. We'll be right there with you, just at a distance. If you're ever too uncomfortable to stand it, call for us."

You made a gesture of agreement to Morgan before finally glancing at Reid, who cleared his throat.

"Just.. Don't jump the gun." He said. He somewhat failed to keep the entitlement in his voice. You wondered what was plaguing him, but nonetheless, you ignored it, rolling your eyes.

"I got it, Reid. Don't worry. Your teachings will be on my psyche the whole time."

Reid’s jaw ticked slightly, clearly unsatisfied with your response but unwilling to push further — at least not in front of Morgan.

Morgan, on the other hand, was watching the two of you like he was sitting court-side. “Alright, kids,” he said, breaking the tension with a raised brow. “Let’s not make this a pissing contest. We’ve got a predator to catch, not egos to babysit.”

You smirked, giving Morgan a thumbs up as you reached for the bar door. But before you could step out, Reid finally spoke again, softer this time, less sharp.

“Just… be careful. Please.”

You paused, turning slightly to look at him. There it was. Underneath all the attitude and irritation — the worry. The fear. The unspoken something that had been simmering between you both since that stupid hotel argument.

You gave a nod. “I will.”

And then you stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement, shoulders square, mask slipping into place.

You weren’t the agent now. You were the bait.

For a while, it was dead.

You sat at the bar, sipping on a "vodka soda," looking around. You tried your best to keep your emotions off from your face, opting for a more bored look. Your legs were crossed. People filtered in, people filtered out. The music changed. Drinks were poured, people surrounded you. A few approached, but not the one you needed.

You checked the time subtly, tilting your wrist just enough to catch the glint of the watch Garcia had modified for comms. Seventeen minutes. A little longer than planned, but not enough to call it yet. You could feel their eyes on you, Morgan’s and Reid’s from their respective vantage points, watching every shift of your posture like hawks.

The bartop was sticky, the lighting dim, casting sultry shadows that you knew looked calculated from afar. You took another slow sip, letting your eyes drift across the room again. A man at the end of the bar caught your gaze, held it for a beat too long.

But he turned away. Not him.

Your fingers tapped lightly against your glass, nails clicking in a slow rhythm.

Patience. Not just power.

You breathed out through your nose, subtle and quiet. You could play this game.

Just when your boredom began to feel a little too real, movement in your periphery made your eyes flick. A man near the jukebox — tall, late 30s, scruffy beard, not quite drunk but deliberately slow in his movements. Alone. Observing. Not playing music.

He looked at you.

You tilted your head slightly, uncrossing and recrossing your legs. Deliberate. Casual. Vulnerable.

He didn’t move.

But now you knew.

That was him.

And he was watching.

You cleared your throat, turning away and looking disinterested, until you felt his presence get closer and closer. Then, he was right beside you.

"Out here all alone?"

You didn’t look at him right away. You let the question hang for a beat, took a slow sip of your drink, kept your eyes ahead like someone unsure whether to entertain the voice or pretend they hadn’t heard it.

Then you turned, just a little. Just enough for your lashes to lift slowly, eyes finding his. Soft. Unassuming.

You gave a half-smile. “Depends who’s asking.”

He chuckled lowly, like he’d practiced it. Like he wanted it to sound charming but didn’t quite have the tone right. “Just someone who hates to see a pretty girl looking so bored.”

You glanced around the room lazily, then back at him. “Well. Not exactly a thrilling place to be alone.”

His eyes scanned you too thoroughly. It made your skin crawl, but you didn’t flinch.

He leaned on the bar beside you. “Maybe I could change that.”

You shifted, letting your knee graze his thigh — accidentally, on purpose. “Maybe you could.”

From the comms in your ear, you could barely catch Morgan’s low voice: “He’s on her. Stay ready.”

You gave the stranger one last smile before looking down into your glass. “Buy me a refill?”

He motioned to the bartender. “Vodka soda, right?”

You nodded. “Good memory.”

He grinned, and that time it reached his eyes. Just a flash. Something darker.

Bingo.

Your heart kicked up. But your face never betrayed it. You leaned in, just slightly, pretending to laugh at something he hadn’t said.

You held a conversation easily, as if you'd been doing this forever. You barely nursed your drink, immersing yourself into fooling him more than anything else. You crossed your fingers.

And soon, it came. The question you needed.

"You wanna get out of here?" He asked gruffly, a hand coming up to stroke your exposed collar bone. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to snap his arm, slam him to the floor and cuff him immediately.

But you thought about what Spencer had said.

Contemplation. Patience. The art of being cautious. It was just as useful as the fire you usually lit onto anyone you apprehended.

You took a slow breath through your nose, keeping your smile soft, a little shy. You let your eyes flick down, like you were considering it. Like you hadn’t just felt bile rise in your throat at the weight of his hand.

This was the moment. The danger curled just beneath your skin, thrumming like a second pulse.

“Yeah,” you said, voice a little breathier, like nerves. “I could use some air.”

He smiled — victory, hunger, maybe both — and slid off his stool, his hand brushing down your arm as if he had the right.

Morgan’s voice was calm but firm in your earpiece. “She’s moving. Everyone hold position. Reid, keep visual.”

You followed him toward the door, a little slower than necessary, stumbling just enough to play into it. “Sorry,” you muttered with a nervous laugh. “Maybe I had one too many.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding the door open. “I’ll take care of you.”

The night hit you like a slap of reality — cold, quiet, real. Your heels clicked against pavement as he guided you down the sidewalk, toward the alley behind the bar.

Your breath hitched. Not from fear. From instinct. The part of you that was still an agent. Still ready to fight, to break him, to stop this before he could touch another woman.

But you stayed in character. You stayed the part.

“Reid,” Morgan’s voice came again. “Do you have eyes?”

There was a long beat before Spencer replied, voice low, strained. “Yes. He’s guiding her down the alley. Don’t move yet.”

You felt it in his voice. You'd felt it since your argument. The tension. The fear. The anticipation. There was something different about the way Reid talked to you, talked about you, ever since your moment in the hotel.

You turned to the man, letting yourself wobble just enough, brushing against him like you needed balance. His hand found your waist too easily.

“You okay?” he asked.

You gave him a soft laugh. “Yeah. Just… a little dizzy.”

“Don’t worry.” His grip tightened. “I’ve got you.”

And then, just like that, he started to lead you into the dark.

Any second now.

Then, moments later, his grip on you became stronger. More direct. Less friendly.

"What are you—"

Without another word, you were slammed up against the brick, his dirty hands all over you. Frantically searching for something. Pain echoed through your body as he continued ruffling your clothes, pulling at your hair.

You frowned, struggling.

"Please, don't—"

"Shut up, bitch! I know you're a cop." He snapped, jerking you slightly.

Your jaw dropped. You felt as though you had cold water thrown over you, dripping down your spine into your heels.

"But I'm not." You attempted meekly.

Cautious. Don't fight yet. Contemplate your choices.

He snickered snidely.

"Officer L/n. I know your father, sweetheart. Or knew him," He said, his clammy breath fanning into your face. "He got my friends put away for life. And then there you were, following right in his footsteps."

He dragged you away from the brick wall, grabbing you by your face. A knife glinted in his other hand.

The cold edge of the blade caught the faint glow of the alley light, flickering like a warning. Your breath caught in your throat. Your hands were still raised — not in surrender, but in precision. Timing.

"Where's the fuckin' wire? Tell me or I'm slitting your throat and dropping you right here."

You swallowed hard, keeping your voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. “I don’t have a wire on me.”

His eyes flashed with suspicion, narrowing dangerously. “Bullshit.”

"Please.." You muttered.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

"Where. Is. The. Wire?!" He snapped, pressing the knife into you.

You froze for a heartbeat as the knife pressed sharper against your skin, a searing line of cold fire that threatened to break through your calm. Your breath hitched but you forced it back down, steady and slow, every nerve screaming for you to act.

“Wait,” you whispered, eyes locking with his — steady, unflinching. “You want the wire? I'll give it to you. I'm begging you not to do this.”

His grip tightened, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, just a flash. Then, the knife pressed harder, enough to nick you, enough to cause a drop of blood to drizzle down. You hissed, tears collecting in your eyes.

Before the knife could press deeper, Reid sprang forward in a sudden burst of strength and precision — the kind of controlled force you usually wielded yourself.

He grabbed the man’s wrist, wrenching the knife away in one smooth motion. The blade clattered to the ground.

Without hesitation, Reid twisted the man’s arm behind his back and slammed him face-first against the brick wall with a sharp grunt.

The attacker struggled, but Reid’s grip was ironclad. He never did take-downs. He never felt like it was time. He valued a talk-down, a chance for the Unsub to see the light without an altercation. But something had snapped.

Reid’s breathing was heavier, eyes sharp and fierce — something you’d never seen in him before. The usual hesitation and quiet intellect gave way to raw, unyielding force. It was like watching a different side of him come alive, the side you’d been expecting all along but had never truly witnessed until now. The others had claimed to see it since he'd come home from prison, but it had never been revealed to you.

He hissed quietly, “Don’t move.”

You slumped against the wall, breathing heavily with a hand clutched to your neck. Blood flowed steadily, but not at a dangerous rate. Just enough to need a med team, but not enough to be scared. You stared up at the sky, frowning.

Morgan and Hotch came after, taking the Unsub from Reid, who was pressing him harder and harder against the wall every second as if he'd personally offended him with his existence.

Hotch immediately stepped in, his voice calm but authoritative. “Easy, Reid. Let him breathe.”

Morgan was already pulling out a medical kit, kneeling beside you quickly. “You good? That cut’s nasty, we can’t patch it up on-site.”

You gave a stiff nod, biting back the sting. “I’m fine. Just… keep him away.”

Reid’s jaw clenched, but he finally loosened his grip, stepping back reluctantly as the cuffs clicked shut around the Unsub’s wrists.

Your eyes met his, a quiet understanding passing between you both— raw tension still lingering, but also something deeper. You’d both taken a page from each other’s book tonight: your strength and resolve, his patience and calculated caution.

Morgan glanced at the three of you, breaking the moment with a grin. “Alright, bait and backup — that’s how we bring down monsters."

You rolled your eyes as you pressed the gauze to the side of your neck. "All in a day's work."

Morgan hummed.

"You need a hospital. I can drive—"

"I can do it." Reid interrupted quietly, looking at you more than he was Morgan.

You cleared your throat, nodding.

Reid’s eyes softened just a fraction as he reached out, carefully taking your hand to steady you. “Let’s get you patched up properly.”

Morgan gave you both a teasing smirk, but wisely kept his distance as Reid helped you into the SUV.

The ride was silent. The quick treatment in the hospital was silent, too. You allowed them to clean and stitch you up, flinching every few moments, before your eyes met Reid's again.

There was something different. There was no irritation or arrogance in his brown eyes like what he normally directed towards you. It was only softness. Just simply watching you, like it was a normal habit of his that he could do all day. Thick with tension. Words unsaid.

You couldn't lie. It made you blush. You looked away.

The conversation didn't ensue until the ride back to the hotel.

The engine hummed low as the SUV slipped down the dark road, headlights casting long, sweeping shadows across the pavement. Reid drove slower than usual: cautious, thoughtful. His fingers gripped the wheel with a quiet intensity, knuckles pale.

You sat beside him, your body angled slightly toward the window, but your eyes drifted, again and again, to his face. To the way his jaw tensed and relaxed like he was chewing on words. Like he couldn’t hold them in much longer.

He broke the silence.

"You did perfectly." He said quietly.

Your eyes flicked to him, surprised by the softness in his tone.

“Didn’t feel perfect,” you muttered, fingers brushing the gauze at your neck. “I let him get too close.”

“That was the point,” Reid said, glancing at you before returning his gaze to the road. “You had him completely. You waited. You didn’t react too soon. That’s what saved your life.”

You gave a small, dry laugh. “I thought I’d be the one snapping his wrist and pressing his face into the wall. Guess we traded roles.”

Reid’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, something more fragile. “You’ve always been better at brute force. I just never thought I’d actually need to use it.”

You leaned back in your seat, watching him. “So what changed?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept driving, eyes steady, lips parted slightly like the words were there, just hesitant to form.

Finally, he spoke, voice barely audible. “The second I saw him touch you, I didn’t think. I didn’t weigh the risk or the outcomes. I just… moved.”

Your throat tightened. “Why?”

He inhaled slowly. “Because if something had happened to you, if I had waited even a second longer, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself. It's hard enough to accept that you were hurt at all.”

You looked down at your lap, quiet for a beat. “I didn’t think you liked me that much.”

Reid frowned, squeezing the wheel.

"Name.. I don't dislike you." He said hoarsely. "I admire you, to be truthful. You're brave. Strong. Everything I want to be and have struggled to be my whole life," his voice was just above a whisper as he stole a glance your way.

"But I worry. All the time. I worry that something will go wrong and I'll lose another person. Another member of the team. And someone that I.." He trailed off.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

“Someone that you…?” you echoed gently, coaxing the rest out of him.

Reid’s jaw clenched. He exhaled shakily through his nose, like the truth physically hurt to say aloud.

“Someone that I like. Someone I care about,” he said at last, voice quiet but unwavering. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want it to. You make me insane, half the time. You drive me completely up the wall.”

You smiled faintly, despite the tension thick in the car.

“But then I watch you work. Or I hear you laugh. Or you look at me like I’m not broken, like I’m not damaged goods. And I—I can’t unfeel it.”

Silence blanketed the car once more, but this time it was full of unsaid things that didn’t need words. It buzzed with the gravity of what had finally cracked open between you.

He pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, putting the car in park. His eyes slid over to yours again.

You reached out slowly, resting your fingers gently over his. He looked down at your hand, then up into your eyes, as if trying to make sure this was real.

You gave a soft, knowing smile. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

Reid huffed a breath, almost a laugh, though his eyes were still glassy with everything he hadn’t said before tonight. “I thought you hated me.”

“I thought you were too good for me.”

His gaze flicked to your neck, then back to your eyes. “No one’s too good for you.”

"You are." You snorted. "I'm mean. Closed off. I don't listen."

Reid shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re protective,” he corrected gently. “You carry the weight for everyone else so they don’t have to. And you listen more than you think — not always to words, but to people. To their actions, their patterns. That’s why you’re good at this.”

You looked away, swallowing hard, your throat tight. “Still. You’re… kind. And soft. And patient. You make people feel safe just by being in the room. I make people flinch.”

Reid’s hand turned beneath yours, his fingers slipping between yours with quiet certainty. “I don't flinch.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, caught off guard by the quiet conviction in his voice. There was no teasing, no hesitation, no irritation in his tone — just truth. Solid and unwavering.

You stared at him for a beat, breath shallow. “No,” you whispered. “You don’t.”

Reid tilted his head slightly, his gaze dipping to your lips for just a second before returning to your eyes. “I see you. All of you. And I don’t flinch.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest like an anchor: grounding, calming, terrifying in the best way. No one had ever looked at you like this. Not with fear. Not with judgment. But with… something gentler. Something that threatened to undo every wall you’d ever built.

“You’re not scared of me,” you said quietly, like you were still trying to convince yourself.

“I’m scared for you, every time you throw yourself into harms' way,” he admitted, voice barely above a breath. “But never of you.”

There was a pause. Heavy. Electric.

And then, in the dark hush of the SUV, with the sounds of the city and the glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows across his face, you leaned in.

"Reid?"

"Call me Spencer."

You snorted softly, rolling your eyes.

"Spencer?"

His name lingered on your tongue, warm and unfamiliar in that intimate kind of way, like a secret finally spoken aloud.

He gave the faintest nod, eyes flicking down to your lips again, and this time he didn’t look away.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough around the edges, like he already knew what you were going to say but needed to hear it anyway.

Your breath caught, lips parting slightly. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

He blinked. “What?”

You tilted your head, your smile barely there. “The staring. The tension. The way you act like I’m a walking risk assessment.”

Spencer’s lips tugged up, sheepish but unrepentant. “I didn’t want to cross a line.”

“You didn’t.” Your voice softened, fingers still tangled with his. “You didn’t cross anything.”

He leaned in a little closer, enough for his breath to ghost across your cheek.

“Then can I?” he whispered.

Your heart thudded once, hard, before you nodded.

“Yes. Please.”

And then, he kissed you.

Slow. Intentional. Like he’d waited a lifetime for permission.

And you, well, for once, you didn’t think. You didn’t fight.

You just let yourself feel.

You knew your father would've liked him.

789 notes · View notes

dollerin · 3 months ago

Text

VOICE OF AN 𝓐𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 stack moore.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝑳𝐔𝐃𝐄 ─── you’ve got one hell of a talent, everyone knows that except for the notorious, stack. but he may be the one to get you your very first gig when he finds out. he says you shouldn’t let your gift go to waste, you’ve got the voice of an angel.

elias ‘stack’ moore x f. reader romance strangers to lovers physical touch 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝗐𝖼. 𝟣.𝟩𝗄 ─── 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒

part 2 available here

The old restaurant smelled of tobacco smoke and the pork chops that were being made in the kitchen, the aged wood scent lingering with it. It was crowded, per usual, but you didn’t mind—it meant you and your mother were getting business.

Fridays were usually the busiest anyway, people getting off of work, needing a good meal and a drink to wash down their rough week. Some work all day in the field and want to run away from the trouble of the other folks out to get them. And then there were others who just wanted to dance.

No matter where they were from, you served them anyway, a smile always on your face. Though working and serving for your mama wasn’t ideal, it was a start—a start to your dreams. And you were okay with that.

You weaved through the tables and small crowds of dancing elders, placing plates in front of people and collecting the empty ones. This was nothing new to you, so it came like second nature.

The music in your mama’s joint wasn’t slow, but it wasn’t fast, either. It was the perfect tempo for people to groove along and for you to begin humming to yourself as you cleaned off empty tables. The band that played were a few good family friends that agreed to play there every night, no pay required. Every once in a while, you join them. Sometimes they played popular blues songs, other times they played the songs that you wrote yourself, and knew all the lyrics to. Now, of course, the audience didn’t know the songs but they didn’t have to. Your voice was what captivated them.

By now, it was a regular thing for someone to come up to you and request a song—or just ask you to go on stage so they could hear you. All you could ever do was nod your head and bashfully agree as you walked up.

But tonight, it didn't happen. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe it was because your mama needed some extra help, with the amount of folks that piled into her restaurant. Your cousin—the only chef that she had at the moment, was sick so she was forced to do all the cooking by herself, instead of helping you serve.

As you continued to hum to yourself, the music still echoing throughout the restaurant, the bell on the door jingled. Your back was turned, but you heard footsteps as another customer came in. They didn’t ask to be seated, though.

You glanced behind you to see that they’d taken a seat at the bar, but then you did a double take once you saw who it was.

Some people whispered to each other, but they didn’t dare make eye contact with the person.

Stack.

One of the famous Delta twins. Dressed in that red hat that sat low, hiding his eyes a bit.

You turned back to the task at hand, not wanting your staring to be too obvious—though it probably already was. You could hear him shuffling in his seat at the bar, the sound of his lighter flicking and him inhaling a bit.

You continued working as if he weren’t there, humming along to the music. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes boring into the back of your head.

Soon, the music ended on the stage, leading everyone to applaud before the band started their next song. Some of them walked off the stage, taking a bathroom break or a sip of water. You continued humming to yourself, even as the music was gone.

“Y/N! Hey!” Someone called out to you.

Your head popped up, seeing one of the band members headed right toward you.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“You wanna c’mon for our next number? It’s your favorite,” he said.

“What? ‘Down Hearted Blues’?” You asked, quirking your eyebrow.

The man chuckled, “You know it.”

You thought about it for a moment, his constant ‘c’mon’ had made you want to go up there and grab that microphone. But you weren’t so sure if you’d do that tonight.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir—“

“Go on up there! You know everybody love yo’ voice!”

You shook your head, hiding the bashfulness on your face.

He turned around to the rest of the restaurant, raising his voice for everyone to hear, “Aye, y’all, don’t y’all love lil’ Y/N’s voice? Don’t ya’ love when she sing for us?”

They all paused what they were doing to agree, the area erupting with applause and cheers. That didn’t make your case any better, if you were one of them white folks, you would’ve looked like a tomato by now.

Your smile grew as the people’s focus was now on you, encouraging you to head up on that stage.

“C’mon, Y/N, sing for us!”

“I wanna hear some good ol’ blues tonight!”

“Girl, if you don’t get up there—!”

After a moment of them all trying to persuade you at once, you drop the cleaning towel on the table you were standing at. You walked through the crowd again, walking toward the stage with loud cheers behind you.

The smile on your face never dropped, even as you got to the center of the wooden platform.

Stack was tucked into the back of the restaurant still, remaining in his seat at the bar. He took another drag of his cigarette, waiting to see what all the ruckus was about—what the big deal was about one voice.

People took their places at their tables and some stood around as the instrumental of your favorite song began to play. You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes as the lyrics began to flow out of you.

Were there folks watching you all around the restaurant? Yes.

But you could feel a certain pair glued to you. Like they couldn’t move. Like they didn’t want to move.

You sang out, your voice drifting throughout the restaurant like a harp played in the moonlight. You clutched your chest, reciting the lyrics as if you had lived by them.

Stack looked up at the platform from beneath his hat, the cigarette sitting between his plump lips. They curled up at the corners, a smirk playing on his face as he listened to you. He could’ve sworn he died and came back when he heard, nodding his head slowly in approval and enjoyment.

You twirled to the side of the stage, your long work dress flowing with you as you fell in love with the music all over again. People not only loved you for your voice, but for your performance. How you let the chords flow through your veins. The music was you.

As the band began to reach the end of the song, you smiled out to your little crowd, seeing all them send cheers your way.

You made your way off of the stage, hugging some of them, others kissing you on the cheek.

“Alright, y’all, I gotta get back to work now,” you laughed, cheeks burning from your wide grin.

They all let you get back to your duties, still cheering you on from afar, but not wanting to hear any fuss from your Mama.

You walked back to the table you were at before, grabbing the dirty towel to place in the basket full of other used cloth.

“‘Scuse me, miss,” a voice said from behind you.

You turned to see Stack grinning at you, sly look plastered on his face, per usual.

“Um, hi?”

“Hi,” he repeated. “I don’t mean to bother, but… that was you singing up there?”

You nodded.

“Mhm.”

He smiled, gold pieces on display. His eyes scanned you for a moment before speaking again.

“Just wanted to let you know I enjoyed it. Sounded like an angel sent from heaven.”

You raised your brow, slightly, “Thanks.”

He moved a hair closer to you, eyes never moving from yours.

“I’m offerin’ you a spot down at this here Juke Joint.. You know the SmokeStack twins?” He asked, eyes shimmering in the restaurant’s dim lighting.

“Yeah, I heard of em’. What that gotta do with a Juke Joint?”

“We openin’ one. Right here in the Delta.” He said proudly.

You folded your arms, not responding.

“So? What you say, huh?” His voice lowered, his words only heard between you both.

You narrowed your eyes up at him, “I don’t know.. I don’t understand what I would be gettin’ outta this.”

“Well,” he ran his tongue over his lip. “Thirty cents an hour. And a front-row seat to this here pretty face. Can’t beat that.”

Something about his little comment made your stomach tumble, but you straightened your stance.

“Still not hearin’ what this’ll do for me.”

He sighed, looking around for a moment before turning back to you.

“I meant it when I said you got a voice on ya, pea. Voice like that don’t come ‘round often. Why don’t you come on out? Show folks what the blues s’posed to feel like?”

You kept your eyes on him, thinking for a moment. You didn’t know if this was just a way for him to keep persuading you to come so he could try and take you home—or what. But he had a point. How would you ever get to where you wanna be in life, with your gift, if you don’t show it to folks outside the restaurant?

You tapped your foot, trying to make a decision.

“I…” you started, looking down at your scuffed shoes.

He hummed, waiting for your response, leaning down to follow your gaze.

“You in or what?”

“Lemme talk to my Mama. See what she says, she might—“

“You a grown-ass woman, what you talkin’ bout’, askin’ your mama?” His eyes scanned you again, lips twitching like he was holding back a grin.

“She might need my help,” you finish your sentence, cutting your eyes at him. “It ain’t easy runnin’ a restaurant all by yourself, now.”

Stack gave a short nod, hand coming to his pocket, shifting around it. He pulled out some cash—real dollars, not just coins. He grabbed your hand from your side, placing the paper right in your palm.

“That gon’ cover one night for y’all?” He asked, already knowing the answer as you stared down at the money, mouth agape.

“I— You—“

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow night, then? Bring some of your mama’s platters, hear?”

And with that, he tipped his hat, showing off the gold in his mouth before turning to the door.

꒰ ≧ ̫ ≦ ꒱ྀི : decided to split this in two parts !! :) first sinners fic.. kinda nervy tho.

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witchthewriter · 1 year ago

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𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 & 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: oh god this man is doing things to me...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISFJ or ISTJ

Ravenclaw

Lawful Neutral to Neutral Good

Sagittarius Sun, Cancer Moon, Scorpio Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・You're the rider of Silverwing, the glorious, graceful and maternal dragon who watches over you wherever you go.

・When you were young, it was very difficult for your mother because Silverwing would sweep you away and take you to her nest. Making you one of her own.

・You knew about the Hightowers, and how close Alicent & Rhaenyra were. You were very jealous, but weren't the kind of person to bump shoulders just to be included.

・So your best friend was a dragon. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

・Your connection with her is incredibly strong. Almost telepathic at times. She can feel what you feel - like two one soul in two bodies.

・And when you become of marriagable age - she did not like any of the suitors. So she was there, right by your side, huffing and puffing (putting your white cloaks on edge...)

・Just like Rhaenys the Conquorer, you flew further and further with your mount.

・You weren't the sister of Rhaenyra, but of Rhaenys. Your parents were Aemon Targaryen and Jocelyn Baratheon. And they had you when they were very, very old. Your birth was a miracle.

・And your sister, who was many years older, became a mother to you. As your two parents died.

・Your marriage was put forth by Viserys, well, Otto mainly. He knew his daughter would become queen and yet he was still full of ambition.

・Rhaenys saw straight through this. And your sister did everything she could to stop the marriage.

・But Viserys would not be persuaded...

・When you first met Gwayne, your initial opinion was that he was an ass. A pompus, arrogant, rude, ass.

・He had kissed your hand within the first two minutes and let his eyes linger on your own for far too long.

'I hate him already.' You thought and Silverwing snarled in agreement.

・But the dragon did not deter the Hightower man. He simply smirked and bowed his head.

・As time went by, your cemented walls were slowly knocked down one by one by Gwayne.

・But it wasn't until you offered to take him flying that you truly bonded.

・Clinging as tight as he could to you, Silverwing did every trick in the book to make him faint; straight diving and pulling up at the last second, twirling over herself over and over etc.)

・The whole time you were laughing, not just at his reaction but laughing with pure joy. Your fiance feeling what you feel.

・After that Gwayne looked at you with a newly found gratitue. You were true friends.

・But when Rhaenys started to speak to you about what marriage was really like - you didn't want to hear it.

"...my love, he may stray and sometimes you cannot stop it."

The words had hit you like a boulder to the heart. No, you could not endure such a betrayal.

"Sister. If he dares, then Silverwing will have the most royal feast she has ever had."

・But you need not ever worry about Gwayne's attention turning to another. You are all he needs. All he wants.

・He shows it to you through the way he speaks; the charming, soft voice that makes your knees tremble. The ever so gentle brush of his hand against yours.

・It drives you insane.

・And you never, not once in a nillion years, thought you would say this.

・"Gwayne, please. Let's just marry. Now. It needs to be now or I'll explode."

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Forced Proximity

"I'd do anything for you." (Gwayne) x "As you should." (You)

Survives because of pure luck (You) x Is the pure luck (Gwayne)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Enemies to Lovers

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Let It Happen by The Midnite String Quartet

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・Your first kiss was ... passionate. The hesitation of your lips before one another caused such heat you could not comprehend.

・You consummated your wedding night. Over and over and over again. Until Gwayne said, "my heart I cannot handle another round. I do not think I can move."

"Oh husband," you said while rolling onto your side. "You are going to have to get used to this. There's fire in my blood after all..."

・His eyebrows rose and his handsome face was covered in amusement.

"Well, wife. I guess I'll have to train harder," and with that he gripped your waist and flung on top of you.

・It is well known that the two of you cannot keep your hands off each other. You always do it when no one is around - but somehow someone always sees.

・But it's very difficult when he whispers in your ear all the things he thinks about. The things he wants you to do to him. Where he wants you to touch him.

・Is this not what married life is about? Being so incredibly obsessed with the other that your whole body hurts whenever they aren't near?

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shegetsburned · 1 year ago

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❝ the duke’s proposal ❞ w. satoru gojo 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dearest gentle readers. the time has come for us to place our bets for the upcoming social season! marriage-minded mamas must consider the oldest of the gojo’s family thrilled to conquer hearts with his wits and undeniable charm. having officially announced his wish to find a bride, we certainly hope to see the young rake, on the dance floor, turn the tides and find a wife after much seasons of avoiding his duty. may the best lady win! • — a/n. i know @grumpchua asked for this and i believe it will feed some of y’all, so here’s the food <3

.nsfw.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who you’ve known ever since your debut and has been a inconvenience in your life for quite a while. like a tick biting into your flesh, only bringing trouble and worry for yourself. truth is, the duke loved pestering you about failed courting attempts or clumsy men coming to steal your hand, only to fall with them into a life of misery and depths. you undoubtedly did not attract the smartest and wealthiest of them all and satoru took advantage of this unwanted success.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who’s audacious. far from being a gentleman. the cockiest of all rakes. you did not only despise the man, you thought he was without honour, unromantic and arrogant. lord satoru was, in fact, everything you thought he was, but loved to show you personally every single one of his flaws.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, despite your best efforts, thought no better but to follow you around at every ball and "unexpectedly" bump into you at the market or when you walked out of the modiste. lord gojo was high in the instep, purposely shoving his strength of character and title in unfortunate suitors’ faces every time they deemed to approach you. needless to say, he took pleasure in crushing your chances of ever securing a proposal.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who has never really shown any interest in you, before. he would rather amuse himself by courting pretty debutantes only to leave them hanging and being chased by the impatient mamas of the ton. that was until his status caught up to him and forced the man to consider a serious marriage proposal. unfortunately for you, an idea blossomed into the young rake’s mind when he realized his need to find a bride was more urgent than he hoped to be.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, one evening, during a tranquil promenade, abruptly stops and steals you from your mama, offering his hand for you to finish your walk beside him. he obviously had a plan and it involved the lady that despised him the most in this entire ton: you— and who would be better than you to not catch feelings and be able to execute his plan perfectly?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who proposes an alliance. knowing you only attract the worst suitors possible, he assures you that more eligible men will throw themselves at your feet when they see the famous duke gojo court you. he swears it’ll only be temporary until he can find a suitable bride of his own without hundreds of ladies begging for his attention when you’re wrapped around his arm. you’ll be found desirable and he’ll have the peace he desires. what could possibly go wrong?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, for the first days, tries harder than any other years you’ve known him. the first day, your carriage’s waiting downstairs to meet him in the parc. he’s holding your umbrella above your head the whole time and acting like quite the gentleman, for once. he laughs with you, readjusts your hair and takes care of every single one of your needs. this masquerade goes on for two weeks where, each day, he surprises you with gorgeous flowers, kind gestures and words you would’ve never thought to hear. until one night, it’s an invite to his mansion that’s waiting for you, which you accept thinking it’ll just be another public appearance with him by your side. oh, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who welcomes you in his home, one gentle hand resting against the back of your corset to escort you to the ballroom where people were gathered and seemed to be enjoying their evening. everything would’ve seemed in order if not for the many men eyeing you from across the room. it seemed odd now, considering you hadn’t had this kind of attention for weeks, but it also seemed like satoru’s plan had worked and you couldn’t be more satisfied.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who listens to you converse with one of the gentlemen who had introduced himself to you. he seemed kind, polite, educated and of high status, which couldn’t have been more perfect if it hadn’t been for the duke terminating the conversation with a harsh remark and by guiding you to the dance floor without even writing his name on the card around your wrist. he had lost his temper in a matter of seconds and you were more than surprised by his lack of manners.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who tries to convince you to play along but you know this is entirely about something else. his grip around your waist and hand has never been so tight. he’s pulling you closer until his breath tickles your face and his words are whispers when he reminds you that your deal isn’t over and you’ll have to wait until you are allowed to let yourself be courted by other men. you try to respond but he spins you around gracefully. his fingers trail your column when he catches you and before you know it, you’re dancing with him and no one else is in the room.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose deep gaze startles you. he hasn’t left your eyes and does not plan to until he gets a proper response from you. satoru’s piercing blue eyes linger on your lips with a cocky smirk and you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast. he had never shown this facet of his before and it made your chest flutter. would he have preferred your attention was entirely on him, this evening, and not on the handsome suitor that had caught yours? no. you hated him. he was tricking you to make it seem real.. right?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose tension is enough to fill the room with curious whispers surrounding your odd pair. you two made it seem like you had shared more than simple dinners and promises. in front of everyone, you looked used to being so intimate with satoru, but you were trembling in your shoes when he leaned forward, grazing his lips against your ear to try and make you understand that he wouldn’t allow any suitors to approach you just yet.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who pulls you away from the crowd, stealing you away to his bedchamber in front of indiscreet pairs of eyes. he seems more impatient than ever when his instinct takes over and, god, your innocence has an unexpected hold on him. you question satoru with incomprehension in your eyes until he finally closes the door to answer you.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who skillfully shows you everything you’ve been missing and every little sinful activity he’s been partaking in with innocent debutantes such as yourself. only this time, he means it. his hands touch every sensitive spot, his lips cover yours and trail down to your exposed chest. his fingers slipped under your dress, letting him discover your body with your help as you take him in, whining at his insensitive touch.

you’ll never know, that night, if duke satoru gojo meant to lose his mind over you in front of everyone else for his scheme and personal gain or if it had been purely accidental and you had just mesmerized the rake in a matter of weeks to the point where he couldn’t think about anything else but to have you in his bed for the rest of his life.

#—﹙🎐﹚𑣲 by yours truly﹒#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #jjk satoru #bridgerton #bridgerton au #regency au

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yungbludz · 6 months ago

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Sports Car — BS

AUTHOR: a surprise for my baby @brennendeerinnerungen

SUMMARY: […] you could do it on your own while you’re looking at me […]

WARNINGS: smut, + 18

“Y/N! Are you watching your friend, Coco Gauff?” One of the several interviewers stops you on the way to the entrance. You decide it is polite to approach and answer some questions, after all your new single is coming out in three days.

“Yes, of course. I had to come and support my girl,” you reply showing them your customized shirt with Coco’s face on it. The interviewer chuckles amused by your passionate support.

“There has been a lot of talk about your friendship with her. As a Spaniard is it hard for you to cheer on her even against other spanish players?” She asks and you giggle.

“I mean, Coco is family but yeah, it depends really. Billie Jean Cup is a different story, she knows I’m her number one fan but when it comes to my country it’s another story,” you explain. Coco’s match at the Australian Open is about to start and you can see her parents waving at you as you answer a few more questions.

“What Spanish players do you support then?” Tricky question.

“Uhm I like Paula, I like that she is coming back stronger after that injury. And of course Carlitos, how can you not like him? He is the man of the moment,” you answer. No matter your nationality, you cannot not love Carlos. He is a great guy on and off court and you got the chance to meet him thanks to Coco and Francis during the US Open.

“May we expect to see more of you at his matches? Perhaps in his box?” Oh. You giggle embarrassed because you got yourself in a bad spot with this.

“Nono, I mean of course it’d be a pleasure to watch him play but nothing is going on, guys,” you reply trying to keep it clean. The interviewer reads the last question to wrap it up since the match is about to start.

“Last question: three words to describe your next single?”

“Mmh… Dynamic, sexy and energetic,” you thank the interviewer and her cameraman before walking towards the court. Before you can even reach your seat you hear your phone buzz in your back pocket.

«you in alcaraz’s box? If he has a death wish…»

It’s Ben. You look up to spot the sender somewhere. Ain’t no way that was live and he was watching it. He must be here somewhere, lurking around. Your phone buzzes again.

«your coco shirt was cute. You were cuter this morning with nothing on though,»

He is such a little shit. You can picture his childish smile as he types this. He think he is so slick with it. You giggle and head towards Coco’s parents that are already seated.

«focus on the match and win it, yeah? Or I might have to go watch Carlitos for real,»

You tease him back. Ben has never been a very jealous person in your relationship, perhaps because you never really gave him reason to suspect your loyalty. But you can see him roll his eyes at your teasing response to which he replies with angry emojis.

You lock your phone and sit behind the Gauff family, channeling all your energies on your best friend’s match. It is a quick win for Coco who finishes winning 6-3, 6-3. You raise to your feet with your fist up every time she wins a game and by the end of the match you are tired as if you had been playing the game. Coco turns to her box before shaking the opponent’s hand and she smiles at you. That’s my girl.

You head to the cooldown room and wait for her to finish cooling down on her bike alongside her family. A few people who walk by stop you to ask for a picture that you gladly take.

“You were amazing! And that forehand? Damn…” you are always very energetic and excited after a win of hers which she always appreciates. Especially you and her dad team up to recreate together some rallies she won and make the whole family laugh.

“Hey congrats, champ,” you can feel everyone’s eyes on you as a third voice approaches you all. You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. But you do it regardless. Ben is wearing a black hoodie and his headphones are over the hood, pulled over his head. He pats Coco on the shoulder and greets her family before letting his eyes fall on you. He has a match in ten minutes.

“There’re cameras,” you stop him before he can lean in and he sighs, looking around to find a blind spot. He walks towards the end of the hallway and you wait a couple of seconds before following him.

“I’ll be right back,” you say before disappearing after your boyfriend. Ben is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, there are only two doors and they are both for workers only. Once he sees you his hands immediately grab your waistband and pull you closer.

“My lucky charm,” he mumbles before kissing you as if he was going off to war for years. You have been dating Ben for a whole year but no one outside your friends and family know about it. At first it started as a precaution, not knowing exactly where all of that was going to lead you two. Plus, being two public figures also means that you don’t really have the freedom of doing whatever you would like. As time progressed and you realized that things were getting serious, you still didn’t feel comfortable outing your relationship to the world.

“How are we feeling? Going to take this one home? Or will I have to put up with your pouty face for a week?” You tease once he pulls away. Ben rolls his eyes at your joke and shakes his head.

“I’m winning this one,” he says confidently. You grin and nod at his statement. He is always hot when he speaks confidently.

“You better. I’ll be watching you,” you threaten him with a finger pointed at his face which he readily bites jokingly.

“I wish you could watch it from my box,” he admits in a whisper. You sigh. You know one day this hide and seek game will have to come to an end because neither of you wants to keep up this farce but for now it makes you feel good to know you can have this little bundle of joy all to yourselves.

“Can’t, gotta go to Alcaraz,” you crack a joke and try to lighten up the mood but he simply snorts and shakes his head.

“Always teasing me… You are asking for it,” he rubs his nose against yours before leaving a couple pecks that are simply not enough and leave you yearning for more.

“Go win, champ. Or I will have to go to Carlitos and—“ Ben delivers a harsh slap to your ass. You look at his shameless smile in bewilderment. There is no way the rest of Gauff family hasn’t heard it and there is also no way they don’t know what that was. Ben chuckles, proud of himself.

“Behave or you’ll get more tonight,” he whispers before kissing you again. You pull his headphones down around his neck to tug at his beautiful curls as he grabs your ass with no shame, as if you weren’t in the middle of the tournament building and anyone could walk in on you two. You both shamelessly make out for longer than necessary, his hands kneading the soft skin of your backside while your fingers pull on his curls.

“We gotta stop. I can’t go out there with a hard on,” Ben chuckles embarrassed as he pulls away. You peck his nose and rest your chin against his chest.

“Fine. I’ll wait for you. Make it quick, gotta finish what you started,” you send him a wink before taking a step back and leaving. As you make your way back to Coco and her family, everyone is already snickering and you can feel it is because of that little stunt you two pulled.

“Everything good?” Coco asks you as she gets off the bike. You playfully roll your eyes at her and nod. You catch a glimpse of walking past you, head low and his headphones in. Your eyes never leave his figure until he is out of sight.

“Your lipstick is a little smudged, honey,” Coco’s mom points out in a whisper that only you can hear. Oh. You smile embarrassed and immediately pull out your phone camera to fix it. That’s embarrassing.

“Oh I remember when I was your age. I was much worse with Coco’s dad,” she tries to lighten up the mood.

“Mom!” Coco groans as she walks to the locker room to take a shower and she can hear your laughter as she closes the door behind herself.

By the time Ben’s match is over, you are patiently awaiting for him by his car. The parking lot for the players and their teams are quite reserved so you draw no attention from curious eyes, seeking for a scandalously good news. Ben emerges from the building with his bags on his shoulders and behind him you can spot his dad and mom, so you get off his car and start walking to them to greet them. But once you get to Ben he stops you with his body.

“My car. Now,” he mumbles with an odd tone. You furrow your brows and look behind him to at least wave at them. Ben’s parents wave back and noticing the situation they head to their own car.

“What was that about?” You ask confused as he unlocks his car. Ben doesn’t give you any answer as he throws his bags in the back and hops in the car. You are completely turned to look at him in the face and attempt to understand what his problem is. He won, right? So why does he act like something is wrong?

Once he is seated he looks at you and his face relaxes.

“Just need to smooch my girl in peace,” he leans in to kiss you and you almost slap him.

“Idiot. I thought something bad had happened,” you say before he connects your lips, his hand cupping your cheek and pulling you closer despite the car not being the most comfortable to be kissing and making out. His kisses are slow and needy. His tongue gently dancing with yours and his hand sliding from your cheek to your neck to softly apply some pressure.

“You don’t know how bad I wanted to fuck you out there. Almost costed me the match,” he grunts in between kisses. Is he for real? He was too horny to play? You inevitably burst into laughter and pull away. Ben looks at you annoyed and puzzled.

“I’m sorry. I just— Jesus, you need to get your hormones in check,” you say giggling and he rolls his eyes at your abrupt reaction.

“I hate you so much,” he says pouting and getting his seatbelt on. You grin amused and lean in to kiss him better but he turns his head so that your lips land on his cheek.

“Oh c’mon. It was a joke!” You try to make him reason but he simply shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. He is wearing a different hoodie from before, this time it is a brown one from Loewe. His silver necklaces resting on the soft material. Now that you look at him properly you can notice his curls are still a little damp and his cheeks are a little rosy.

“Can I make it up to you by letting you hear my song before anyone else?” You ask teasing him. Ben’s eyes widen and his grin widens. You usually don’t let him listen to it before the rest of the world because you like the little pout on his face when he is told no. But it is a silly rule and you don’t mind breaking it for once.

“Maybe…” he tries to remain vague but you know he is dying to give it a listen. In his defense you have been teasing him about it for weeks. He even tried to text your producer to ask him to send it to him but you told all your crew to not give in to Ben. You giggle and give him a peck before pulling out your phone.

“Start driving though,” you tell him and he does as requested, starting the car. You go through your files and once you find the song, you connect your phone to his car.

“Are you ready?” You glance up at him. He nods quickly as he merges into traffic. It is a ten minute drive to the hotel so you have plenty of time to give it a proper listen. Without further ado you click on play and focus on his reaction.

Hey, cute jeans

Take mine off me

Oh, golly gee

I can't take no more

I'm goin' weak in my knees

Where'd you put those keys?

We can share one seat

Ben taps his fingers on beat on the steering wheel and you catch the little smirk on his face as he realizes where it is going.

In the alley, in the back

In the center of this room

With the windows rolled down

Boy, don't make me choose

In the alley, in the back

In the center of this room

With the windows rolled down

Boy, don't make me choose

You try to hide your smirk but Ben shakes his head in disbelief. He knows you are talking about him and it does not come as a surprise either since you have been writing about him since you two started dating. But this song seems to be more… explicit than usual.

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna uh

No, you ain't got no Mrs

Oh, but you got a sports car

We can uh-uh in it

While you drive it real far

Yeah, you know what this is

You press your lips together as the chorus plays. Ben cusses under his breath, his smile widening as you grow bolder with the word play. You turn slightly towards him and rest your hand on the back of his neck, playing with his hair. He knows exactly what you are doing yet he doesn’t say anything but simply enjoys your soft touches and your new single.

Pretty blue streetlights

And my hazel eyes

And if it feels right

We could go again like three, four times

So my type

Got butterflies

So good it hurts

Thinkin' 'bout what we did before this verse

The American can’t help but reminisce on all the times you were in the car and all the times he could have had you without even needing to ask because you would have been down for it. The mere thought of fucking you in his beloved sports car has his cock swelling in his jeans.

You move your hand from his neck to his side, caressing his jaw and playing with his necklaces.

On the corner of my bed

Oh, and maybe on the beach

You could do it on your own

While you're lookin' at me

Oh. Ben gulps visibly and you can’t suppress your amused grin as he does so. The curly haired man glances at you briefly, cocking an eyebrow and sighing. He doesn’t say anything but his face says it all. He takes his right hand off the steering wheel to adjust his pants.

Your hand twists one of the silver necklaces around your finger and tug on it. You are being a tease on purpose.

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna uh

No, you ain't got no Mrs

Oh, but you got a sports car

We can uh-uh in it

While you drive it real far

Yeah, you know what this is

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna uh

No, you ain't got no Mrs

Oh, but you got a sports car

We can uh-uh in it

While you drive it real far

Yeah, you know what this is

You don’t take your eyes off him for one second, clearly paying no attention to the road ahead of you so you don’t notice when he gets off the highway. Your hand now sliding down from his neck to his arm and then ending up on his thigh. He predicted this move the second you had laid your hand on him but still he can’t help but grow more impatient.

Oh my guy

You don't wanna waste my time

Let's go ride

Oh my guy

You don't wanna waste my time

Let's go ride

I think you wanna, wanna

But you got a sports car

While you drive it real far

Yeah, you know what this is

The song slowly comes to an end and you wait for him to comment on it. Ben stays quiet for a moment, probably registering all your words and verses. It is when he kills the engine suddenly that you realize you have not arrived at the hotel yet. Matter of fact this looks like a random parking lot in the middle of Melbourne.

“So? What do you think of it?” You ask coyly, retracting your hand from his thigh. Ben rakes a hand through his damp curls and sighs.

“First of all this is the hottest thing I have ever listened to. Second of all: get in the backseat,” he unfastens his seatbelt and you burst into laughter. Ben doesn’t seem to be joking though as he gets off the car to hop back in in the backseat, he sits down in the middle and pats his lap before resting his arms at the back of the headrests.

“Your wish is my command, baby,” he cheekily says. You giggle as you mimic his motions and crawl to the backseats, resting one leg on each side of his thighs.

“Did you really like it?” You ask putting on your wettest doe eyes to make him stroke your ego. Ben caresses your thighs and follows an imaginary trail from your legs to your back and then to your ass, pulling you closer. You can’t help but feel a sudden but familiar presence between your bodies that makes a small smirk creep up on your face.

“Do you feel it? That’s what your little song did to me, baby. I fucking loved it,” he mumbles looking at you straight in the eyes. Your grin widens at the praise and you kiss him. One kiss leads to another and before you realize it you are embarrassingly and shamelessly making out in his car. The windows are tinted but still not a very appropriate behavior for two very public figures. When you are around Ben it is hard to behave or even have control over your own self. Despite having dated for a long time, you still feel like it is the first months sometimes.

“Put it back on,” Ben whispers in between kisses and you frown confused.

“The song. Put it back on,” he clarifies. You pull away and chuckle at his request. Yet you stand up— as much as it is possible in his car— and lean forward to take ahold of your phone and put the song on repeat. As you do so, you can feel his fingers trying to take your skirt off. You giggle and wiggle your ass to tease him and in all response he simply gives it a soft slap.

“Nono, stay put,” Ben stops you when you try to sit back in his lap. You stay bent over the armrests, between the driver and the passenger’s seat with your ass in the air covered only by your underwear.

“What are you—“ you begin to ask confused but stop when you feel him pull down your panties.

“Wait a second,” he murmurs. You stay put but it is hard when you are dying to know what he is up to. The American pulls both seats down so that you are not squished between them anymore.

“Rest your legs here,” he taps both seats and you unsurely agree to follow his instructions. The new position makes you even more tilted forward and you hold onto whatever you find to not fall and hurt yourself. Ben comes to your rescue, wrapping both of his arms around your thighs and keeping you close to him.

“Comfortable?” He asks with a teasing tone. You are not properly uncomfortable but the position is odd and you are scared you may fall over sooner or later.

“Not really. I think— Oh,” you are caught off guarda when Ben leaves a soft kiss to your core. The American chuckles when you suddenly shut up.

“Gotta prep my girl,” he says spreading your folds even more apart. Not being able to see his next move adds another level of tension and sexiness to the situation. Ben starts off slowly: giving your core a couple of kisses, purposely ignoring your clit to increase the tension.

“Ben,” you moan when he finally dives in. His tongue swirling around your clit and sucking on it. You rest your head against the stereo system, your mouth dropped open and your ears ready to pick on every sound that leaves Ben’s mouth. They are nasty. The wet sounds of his spit mixing with your juices.

“Taste so good, baby,” he groans while pulling you impossibly closer, his face completely shoved in your core. In the meantime your song repeats over and over and over again in the background.

“Oh my,” you whine when he sucks on your bundle of nerves harder. Your legs were already struggling but now they are shaking next to his head as he feasts on you.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” He asks teasing you while you can feel one of his fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Yeah,” you manage to respond without choking on your own words.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” he teases. The little prick is taking advantage of your fucked out state to make fun of you. In all response you push your hips back, his tongue meeting your core again, this time accompanied by his fingers that draw little eighths on your clit.

“Fuck,” you curse.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re gonna cum now,” he says and you can almost picture the shit eating grin on his face. Your juices wet Ben’s nose and chin as he gives it a few more licks, just to tease you and not send you over the edge on purpose. He has eaten you out several times but this position excites him more than usual.

“Ben, please,” you beg when he continues to tease you, his teeth sinking in the soft flesh of your inner thighs followed by slaps and kisses. He is just being mean now.

“This is for teasing me about Carlos,” he reminds you of your little jokes that are now costing you more than you had previously estimated. Ben grins when you push your hips back for the umpteenth time and chant his name like a prayer. At some point he decides he has had enough and puts his tongue to work.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you curse as he laps at your juices. You can feel his finger rubbing your clit and making your sight blurry while your legs tremble. Ben grunts when you start to teeter over your orgasm, he can tell by the way you moan higher and more frequently. His lips alternate from sucking on your bundle of nerves and leaving wet kisses on your core.

“I’m—“ you whimper when he finally pushes you over the edge overstimulating your clit and making you cum hard. You think you are about to collapse by the way he continues to press his face into your pussy, his tongue never stopping its movements until he can feel your juices dropping from his chin.

“Yeah, let go,” he murmurs and you are thankful he wraps his arms around your thighs to hold you back. From that moment onwards your vision is blurry and your mind is somewhere else. Your body moves following Ben who pulls you back in his lap carefully. The American grabs one of the spare towels he has in his car to clean you up.

“Are you good to go?” He asks, nuzzling his nose against yours. You furrow your brows and look at him with the most confused expression you can put on.

“Thought you wanted to—“

“It’s okay, maybe another day,” he says trying to brush it off. He doesn’t think you could take it? You slowly come back to your senses and shake your head. You position yourself on top of him, the only item on your body is your top. So you eagerly tug at his hoodie to motion him to take it off.

“Thought you wanted to fuck me,” you quote him. Ben chuckles and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, scanning your face to see every trace of uncertainty.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to,” he insists, not wanting to test your limits. You don’t even answer, simply reach your hands out to pull down his shorts. The American gets the memo and helps you out by essentially kicking his shorts off. Ben sits there in his white boxers that leave little to nothing to the imagination. In the meantime your unreleased song continues playing over and over again in the background.

“Are you going to be able to take it?” He teases you as he catches you staring at it. You roll your eyes at his teasing jokes and with firm hands you pull it out. Ben sighs loudly as you touch him, his arms hooked around the headrests as he watches you do all the work. There is something about you taking charge and watching you do as you please.

“Fuck,” he grunts when you spit on it and jerk him off. Not that he needs to fully harden, he is hard as a rock and ready to be inside you but you know he likes it this way. Ben is entranced by the way your hips raise and your hand aligns him with your entrance. You look up at him and lock eyes as you sink down. Both of you sigh in contentment as he bottoms out.

“I fucked you countless times yet you still feel so fucking good,” he groans as you adjust to him, your walls squeezing around him. You let out a breathy chuckle and try to move. There is not much room left for you to move freely. But it will have to work. You rest your hands on Ben’s shoulders as you raise your hips and lower them slowly. It takes no time for the windows to get foggy and for the both of you to get sweaty.

“Shit. Yeah, just like that,” he praises you, your forehead pressed against his as his cock fills you up to the brim. He starts to move in sync, meeting your movements with his slow thrusts.

“Touch me, Ben,” you beg him and he doesn’t need you to repeat yourself twice. One of his hands comes to your clit and starts to run it just the way you like it. Having already come makes your next orgasm build up faster.

“Look at me,” he tells you as you close your eyelids. Despite the struggle, you open your eyes. Ben stares back at you with his lips parted, his hips doing fifty percent of the work in fucking into you.

“That’s what you wanted uh? What you sing about? Me fucking you stupid? What are your little fans going to say about their favorite singer when they find out she begs for me to fuck her in my car? When they find out she takes it so fucking good for me?” He teases you. You are only able to whine in response, your nails digging into his shoulders. He raises your hips and keeps them still as he starts to fuck into you harder and faster. The skin to skin contact makes the hairs on your body stand.

“Tell me, baby. Are you mine?” he demands. Your mouth now next to his ear, he is able to hear every little moan of yours even better now. It only makes his cock swell in your folds as you continue to whimper and whine and moan.

“I’m yours, Ben, fuck,” you struggle to form a coherent thought. The American sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he feels himself teetering over the edge as well, both of his hands having grabbed a fistful of your ass to keep your steady and fuck you harder.

“Look at me when you cum,” he mumbles and you do. Looking down at him with your mouth dropped open as your second orgasm washes over you even harder than the first one. Ben can feel your walls squeezing his cock to death, almost trapping him inside you as you milk him out. He cums just as hard, you can feel his seed spilling down your thighs and it only makes you moan harder.

“ ‘m sorry, I didn’t pull out,” he apologizes out of breath but you shake your head. Your nails now fully leaving scratches on his shoulders but he seems to be paying it no mind as he tries to gently put you down back in his lap. You both collapse afterwards, your sweaty bodies melting into one as you catch your breath.

The only audible thing outside your unsteady breathing is your song streaming. Ben gently rubs the small of your back as neither of you seems to be interested in moving an inch. Matter of fact he stays inside of you for at least another ten minutes. You see the half-moon marks on his shoulders and caress them softly. Hopefully you didn’t hurt him.

“I think your fans will go insane over this one,” he comments and you smile proudly.

“I know I did,” he adds chuckling. You look up at him and grin, leaning in to kiss him. He holds you close to his body as if there was any chance you could ever willingly escape from his embrace.

“Y/N, quite a scandalous song. Can you tell us more about it? Or about him?” The interviewer asks with a knowing smirk. It is a quick interview before your exhibition so you don’t have much time left. You chuckle embarrassed, clearly expecting such a question. The camera is pointed at you, catching every change in your facial expression. You know Ben is somewhere watching this live and giggling.

“I like sports car and I like guys who drive them,” you remain vague but your grin says what your words don’t. Your song released yesterday and you have had the chance to read some of the comments. Everyone is going insane over it and over the mysterious man.

“Guys? Or a guy?” The interviewer insists and you laugh again.

“Maybe,” you don’t give her any information but everyone knows by now that there is definitely someone. You don’t plan on keeping him a secret for much longer but you like the idea of people going insane over this.

“Okay, we got it. Well, Y/N, is there someone you’d like to say hi to before we wrap this one up?” It is a common ending for the show you have been invited to. You nod and look straight into the cameras, your lips threatening to form a smirk.

“See you back at home, Ben,”

#x reader #imagines #imagine #love #requests #smut #ben shelton x reader #ben shelton #ben shelton smut #ben shelton imagines

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shurisneakers · 3 months ago

Text

unsolved (xv)

Summary: Bucky doesn’t even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet’s amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, tension, Christmas, ghosts, mentions of ptsd,

A/N: i'll be so honest. this is not edited i will come back during the day and edit this. it's 3am here man. welcome to Christmas in may

Previous part || Series masterlist

It was two nights before Christmas.

Not to get too festive, but Bucky was already ho-ho-h-over this shit.

As with everything, the Avengers refused to be normal when it came to planning Christmas. A giant tree had already been brought into the living room, with the bottom 3 feet already decked out in ornaments. Boxes upon boxes of ornaments– customised, traditional, passed down for years, new– lay at its base, waiting to be set up.

Stockings had arrived in the mail, hot cocoa was being purchased by the pound, and the damn Christmas playlist had gotten boring 3 days into the month, but continued to play every single day like they were working in a grocery store.

Bucky doesn’t really feel the cold as much as the others– spending 70 years in nothingfuck Siberia will do that to a guy. So while everyone wears ugly sweaters that you’ve gotten them with enthusiasm, he sticks to an ugly Christmas t-shirt you had custom made for him.

And felt-antlers. With bells. Because you stuck it on him and he never bothered taking it off.

He’s fended off several attempts to get him to go carolling through the Tower. He did go to the soup kitchen to serve people the whole month, and shovelled snow from driveways for free.

He thinks that’s good enough for Christmas Spirit.

“Bucky Barnes,” you announce, gliding into his personal space once more with practiced ease. “I have an idea for you.”

“Of course you do,” he says, voice like gravel after not using it the whole day. “Are you going to make another animal talk and then lie to me for months?”

“Lie to you for months?” you scoff, dropping your head into his lap, feet kicking up. “I literally fucking told you she talks, like multiple times. You’re the one who didn’t believe me.”

His hand instinctively moves to run over your scalp. “Oh I’m sorry, I’ll start taking everything you fucking say literally.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

He narrows his eyes. “Starting now.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

“Starting now.”

“You’re my-–”

“Stop it. Get help.”

“You will never learn from your mistakes,” you tsk lightly, unperturbed. “I even told you she picked Alpine as her name, why the fuck would I lie about that?”

“I thought you talked to her like– I don’t know– an imaginary friend or some shit.”

“She’s not imaginary.”

“I know that now,” he hisses. “She’s been calling me a little bitch for the last 2 weeks every chance she gets.”

“Have you considered that perhaps it’s because you are, in fact, a little bitch?” you ask brightly.

“I know that, doesn’t mean I wanna hear it every time she wants food.”

“You should get her one of those dispensers where she hits the button and it gives her food.”

Bucky grumbles, adjusting so you can be more comfortable, “It’s her Christmas present.”

“You’re a big ol’ softie,” you say approvingly, patting his thigh. “Speaking of Christmas presents, what did you get me?”

“Didn’t get you shit.”

“Excuse me.”

“Don’t need to ask me for permission, ‘s a free country.”

You push up from his lap, glaring at him. “Did you get anyone presents?”

“I got Steve socks.”

“What about Sam?”

“Socks.”

“Nat?”

“So–”

“If you say socks, I’m gonna kill you.”

Bucky shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“Did you get me socks too?”

“No, they didn’t deliver in time. You'll get them next month.”

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“You sound like the fucking Grinch.”

“Whatever.”

“You sound like Scrooge. You’re gonna have a 200 year old Bucky Barnes show up tonight and make you change all your ways and then you’ll be nice to me,” you say, laying your head back down on his lap.

“I’m always nice to you,” he scoffs. Which is true. He even made sure the fucking temperature was to your liking, even though everyone had complained about it.

“Liar. Anyway, that reminds me of what I came here to talk about. It’s so convenient that your personality is a natural segue into Scrooge. I think that says a lot about you.”

He stares at you. You grin at him.

He rolls his eyes, glare dropping in favour of a small smile instead.

“I found a Reddit post about how to summon the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future,” you say, pulling it up on your phone. “All you need is 2 red candles, and some blood and stuff.”

“Feel like you’ve skipped over a lot there.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I’m gonna get red candles delivered for the Tower anyway, and I’m sure the chalk from the seance we did a few months ago will be enough.”

“While you’re at it, you can get yourself socks too and I’ll pretend it’s from me.”

“Stop.”

“I’ll put a note on it, if it helps.”

“It does not, I hate you.”

“Guess I’ll cancel the socks then.”

“I’ll kill you, Barnes.”

Finally, after a marathon of Die Hard, the Tower retreats into quiet. Everyone gets back to their floors, leaving only soft lights on and the faint hum of Eartha Kitt in the background.

Bucky sits at the counter, waiting for you to get on with your scheme.

There’s a plate of cookies beside him that was definitely supposed to last the whole week, but was depleting rapidly at a pace that was unjustifiable.

He looked comfortable. In a good mood, even.

You slid onto the chair across from him, a candle in each hand and your phone tucked between your shoulder and ear.

“Did you know,” you said, striking a match, “that if you perform a Yule invocation on the night of a waxing moon–”

He only chooses to listen, chewing absentmindedly.

“—and speak the ancient lines passed down by account owners on Reddit—” The flame on the candle lights up your face. “—you can summon the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future.”

He thinks you look nice in the candlelight. His head tilts lightly as you light the other one.

“You mean like the story?”

“No, like the tax auditors. Yes, like the story.”

He slides a cookie over to you, which you accept. “It’s two nights before Christmas. I should be resting.”

“You’ve been resting all day.”

“I shoveled a driveway this morning.”

“For five minutes.”

You place the candle in a chipped ramekin you stole from the kitchen. The second one wobbles slightly before finding its balance.

“You know,” he said eventually, “for someone who claims to hate rules, you love rituals.”

“Completely different.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, taking another bite before asking casually, “How’s this month been for you?”

You look at him with an eyebrow raised. “Is this a performance review?”

He shrugs. “Christmas tends to be a lot. Family this, family that. First year here was incredibly claustrophobic.”

You draw a little diagram on the counter with a sketch pen. He’d have to wipe that off later.

“It’s been alright,” you say after a while. “This is probably the first time I’ve been a part of something like this.”

“You can fuck off somewhere quiet.” He offers you another cookie from the plate, watching as you take this one as well. “No one would say anything.”

“Sam’s got me learning some choreography with Cass and AJ, so I’m pretty sure he’d mind.”

“No one cares what Sam thinks.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, you can’t fool me.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. The corner of your lip pulls in a smile.

“Besides– maybe all this ‘family this, family that’ will help me get what you meant by silent blenders.”

He stops chewing momentarily, trying to place what you’re talking about. It sounded familiar, just on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t place it.

“Clock tower,” you remind him.

Oh.

God, that was so long ago.

So many things have changed since then. Looking back, he thinks he’d have done things a lot differently.

You handing your phone over to him snaps him out of his quick flashback.

“What?”

“This is a two-person ritual,” you tell him. “I need you to read it so that they come haunt you too.”

Bucky’s nose twitches.

Did he really want more people after him.

He skims through the Latin line on the screen with the same energy as reading a rental agreement.

“This is too much effort.”

“Um.”

“It’s the middle of night, I don’t want to learn Latin.”

“You’re such a pain,” you whine. “Fine, just repeat after me then.”

“What if I say it wrong?”

“Well, then you’ll probably summon something else, Buck. You looking forward to that? You wanna make a new friend?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, watching you over the rim of his mug. The light from the candles flickered across his face. It made him look softer. The quiet suited him.

“Repeat after me. This is the oath,” you announce. “I do.”

“I do,” Bucky says dryly.

You nod your head. “We’re married now.”

His lips stretch into a thin line, casting a wry look at you.

“I’ll get you there some day, baby.” You grin. “Alright anyway. ‘Si spiritus circumvagantur–”

He says it, not sounding even remotely interested.

“Monstra nobis praeteritum, praesens et futurum.”

“Monstra nobis– how long is this thing,” he interrupts.

You send him a pointed look. He says the stupid line.

“Ut quod fractum est reparare possimus.”

Bucky feels a sudden sense of unease as he says it. He may have thought of it as a joke before, but did he actually want more people haunting him? Did he want the one person who was haunting him to show up once more.

“Sana quod vulneratum est. Muta consilium Parcarum,” you read, glancing over at him.

He says it, but his words get more faint, shoulders tensing.

“Melior homo esto ante lucem,” you finish.

You look at him expectantly.

“Good night,” he says instead, chair scraping against the floor as he pushes away from the counter.

“Did you just quit on me at the last second?”

“Got bored.”

“I cannot believe–”

“It was too long. Get a shorter spell next time.”

“I can’t believe you made me summon ghosts alone.”

He raises his hand in mock salute. “Hope your visit goes well.”

“I hope you get visited by the Ghost of Being Lame.”

“Maybe he’ll bring socks.”

You stand up, blowing out the candles as look at him. “You're lucky you’re cute.”

His face suddenly feels hot, which is stupid, because the candles were already extinguished.

Nothing happens.

You declared it was because you were literally perfect and there was nothing to change ever, so they didn’t even bother making the trip to see you.

Bucky’s sort of glad he doesn’t have to see his sister on her favourite holiday.

The next morning, the Tower was already loud before a reasonable time.

And much like a fucking minefield, there was mistletoe everywhere.

All over the ceilings, every doorway, hanging from sticks on top of basic necessities like the fridge.

Bucky noticeably avoids walking under any of the mistletoe, which only made it more fun.

“Are you allergic?” you ask innocently, trailing behind him into the kitchen.

“To you, yeah,” he muttered, swerving clear of opening the fridge like it might save him.

You lean on the counter. “What would be the worst thing that happened? Someone kisses you?”

“Someone sees it happening,” he says.

He turns around, only to immediately bump into Nat. Bucky whose lets out something similar to a screech and has the look of a cat who accidentally touched water, books it.

You’d never seen him leave a room faster.

Afternoon is spent at a volunteer event downtown.

Distribution tables, hot meals, paper hats. A photographer from some local paper follows Sam around for three hours.

Bucky stands beside you and quietly refills the cider table without being asked.

“You know, just because you haven’t mentioned the thing you said on the ship, doesn’t mean I forgot it,” you pipe up.

Bucky pauses, grip tightening on the ladle. “I was seasick.”

“Yeah. Which is why I think you were telling the truth.”

“Wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I’m not gonna push you, Buck,” you tell him. “I’m just sayin’ that if there’s something you want to talk about, you can.”

He stays silent, instead focusing on whether every glass was filled the right amount.

You squeeze his shoulder and go to find Nat to help with blanket distribution.

Bucky barely moves from his designated table. You show up occasionally to make sure he steers clear of the photographs being taken at random.

On your way out, he silently hands you a candy cane and doesn't look at you when you take it.

Clint catches him under the mistletoe in the garage.

Bucky physically recoils when a sloppy, wet kiss is pressed to his forehead.

By the time the sun dipped behind the Tower, dinner was long done and half the team had changed into progressively worse pajamas.

The living room smelled like cinnamon and pine. The movie was something old and animated, the volume low enough to talk over.

You were on the floor with your back against the couch, half-wrapped in the throw blanket Bucky had been using until you’d stolen it.

Steve flips through a catalog Wanda had brought back from a Christmas market. He keeps holding up strange ornaments and asking if they were “a thing now.”

“That’s a mushroom,” Wanda said flatly.

“It has a face.”

“They all do.”

“It’s smiling at me.”

“Smile back.”

On the other couch, Sam had Alpine on his lap. She was tolerating it with visible judgment.

You weren’t really talking. Not in full conversations. Just that easy holiday haze of noise and small jokes and unfinished thoughts.

“Who keeps changing the thermostat?” Steve asked without looking up. “The hallway’s freezing.”

You didn’t say anything, biting back a smile at Bucky very pointedly staring straight ahead.

You bump your knee into his.

He bumps it back.

It’s too late when everyone disbands.

By the time the lights switch off, Bucky’s too drowsy to drop you to your floor the way he usually does, instead groggily making his way back to his room.

You told Nat you’d be there in a while, that you’d set up your presents and then come upstairs.

You can’t sleep.

There’s a restlessness in your limbs, like something’s trying to shake loose inside you.

So you walk.

You grabbed the throw blanket off the couch, draped it over your shoulders, and stepped into the quiet, humming the last carol that was playing when you left.

No point in really paying attention to where you’re going, it’s not like it matters.

The only light came from the window, where the skyline buzzed faint and gold against the glass.

The hallway beyond the common room was empty.

As you shuffle along, something shifts.

It’s faint, but there.

And though you’d had variations of it over the last few days–something about it is so familiar, it slows your stops.

A trace of cinnamon, baked sugar, worn wood, and warm cloth. Scents buried under years, suddenly so vivid.

You stop walking, whipping your head around to look at the kitchen.

It was empty, the leftovers stuffed into containers in the fridge.

The hallway is the same–quiet, washed in soft light.

But the scent is unmistakable.

Your chest tightens before your mind catches up.

And when you turn to look back at the path ahead of you.

She’s already there.

At the far end of the hallway.

She’s just there, the way she used to be at the end of a long shift, standing in the kitchen doorway of the bakery with a dish towel in her hands and something cooling on the counter behind her.

Same cardigan, same sleeves rolled to the elbows. Same soft shoes, same patient gaze. The way she used to watch you when you thought you were being subtle.

You’re not sure if your body moves first or your voice.

“Mrs Mullens?”

She smiles, and it feels like the world has opened up to swallow you.

You can’t remember the last time you saw her. You’re not sure you even remembered what she looked like.

You’ve had years of impossible things since then. Cities falling. Rooms shifting. Time and space slipping out of your grasp. But this makes your throat ache in a way none of those things ever did.

When you don’t take a step towards her, you still find that she’s closer. Like you have no choice but to meet her midway.

“It’s been a while,” she says, voice airy. It reminds you of wind chimes.

Your voice cracks, just slightly. “You look exactly the same.”

“Well,” she says, tilting her head, “you slouch more now, so it evens out.”

The laugh that escapes you is soft, unsteady.

“Walk with me,” she says.

You find yourself nodding before it even registers.

Moving down the hallway you’ve done hundreds of times in the last year now feels like the floor of the café again.

The air warm with sugar and vanilla. The low sound of a radio playing something old. You, legs aching from a double shift, watching her knead dough like it was nothing.

“How long has it been?” she asks.

You shrug, but your eyes sting. “Too long.”

She nods once, small smile teasing on her lips. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

“I meant to come back,” you say, quieter. “I really did. I told myself I would.��

“I know,” she says.

You fidget with the hem of your sleeve. “Working at the cafe was the first time I didn’t feel like– you know.”

“I know that too.”

You stare at her. “I shouldn’t have taken off like that suddenly. It was a shitty thing to do.”

“You were scared,” she says gently.

“I should’ve said goodbye.”

“You weren’t ready to.”

“Should’ve tried.”

Her voice stays level. “You stayed longer than I thought you would.”

You glance at her.

She smiles again, soft. “And I hoped you’d stay longer still. But I also knew what it looked like when someone was running.”

Your throat closes.

“I was going to give you a raise,” she continues, just conversational. “I’d already had the envelope.”

You blink hard.

“I think I hoped,” she adds, “that if I gave you enough reason to stay, you would.”

“I know,” you say, without meaning to. The words just slip out. “I’m sorry. Everything felt like it was closing in on me.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

You look away, not knowing what to do about the guilt grabbing hold of your ribs.

“Why are you here?” you ask after a while.

She shrugs, lightly. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Same old.” Your shoulders rise in half a shrug. “Don’t think I’ve ever had a biscotti as good as the one you used to make. Used to steal them right out of the display case.”

She chuckles. “I knew. Why’d you think we never ran out? I started making extra.”

You grin, despite yourself.

You’re not quite sure you’re awake. Everything feels hazy and unclear.

Like it’s a reminder that this is actually happening, she reaches over, resting a hand on elbow.

Your fingers tighten around hers. It feels like the guilt was going to eat you alive.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to say thank you,” you say. “I should have stayed.”

“You can still do that,” she tells you gently.

Your eyebrows furrow.

And when you look at her to respond–

You come up empty.

Just gone.

But the air still smells like cinnamon.

You blink hard a few times, looking behind you.

The silence fores you to keep moving down the hall.

The elevator ride up seems unusually short, but you cant say for certain that you were focusing on anything but what happened.

It dings, the door opens up and you step out to more quiet.

As you walk down the hall to your room, the smell of cinnamon fades. The touch of her hand on yours also begins to ebb away, as much as you don’t want it to.

You take a turn to your room, walking past picture frames and more mistletoes– until you come to an immediate halt.

There’s a bench you don’t remember being there before.

Someone’s sitting on it.

You stop, hand at the ready at your sides.

The person on the bench slowly turns to look at you.

It damn near knocks the breath out of you.

They look like you.

Well, it’s not exactly you– there’s a lot more lines and…fatigue.

Enough to unsettle. Not enough to feel like a mirror.

“What the hell,” you whisper.

Other You raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Gonna take a seat?”

You don’t give an answer immediately.

“Well?”

You cautiously slip onto the bench, watching from the corner of your eyes.

“Well at least we’re still hot,” you mumble.

Other You has a thin smile, nodding along. “One of the constants of life.”

You give a sidelong glance. “You’re from the future, I’m guessing.”

They lean forward a little, elbows on knees. You match it.

“You here to warn me?” you ask.

“Not exactly. Life’s fine.”

You furrow your brow. “Then why are you here?”

Other You shrugs. “What, we can’t have a conversation? This should be the most interesting talk in the world.”

“Do we ever win the lottery?”

“No, but we waste a lot of money buying tickets.”

“What stocks should I invest in?”

“Chicken. Bouillon.”

“Do Bucky and I ever–”

You don’t even finish your sentence before Other You’s head is shaking with half-smile.

“Seriously?” you ask. “Not even once?”

“Nope.”

You honestly asked as a joke but the answer has you feeling more dejected than you’d anticipated. Which was wild. Because what the fuck.

“We leave soon, I suppose,” you pose.

“A week after Christmas. Another roadtrip someplace, but this time, you don’t come back to the tower with him.”

“Well that’s fucking bleak.” You blow out an exhale. “We ever stop anywhere?”

“Couple months. Year, maybe.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “What does life look like now?”

Other You scratches a spot on their jaw. “You meet a lot of new people. Mediocre coffee. See new places. Thirty two new jobs.”

You nod slowly. “Sounds pretty–”

“Lonely. Yeah.”

You exhale. “I don’t want to be tied down.”

“Nor did I.”

Another silence.

You look at Other You, a little sharp, but their face is calm, unbothered.

Other You stretches out their legs, ankles crossing. “It’s not a tragedy, you know. The way we turned out. We’re not a cautionary tale or anything.”

You look away. “Do you want people?”

“Yeah,” they say simply. “I have them. For a while, anyway. Life isn’t bad. I don’t answer to anyone. I can go wherever I like. It’s fun.”

You sit with that. “Would you do it again?”

“I don’t know anything else.”

You fidget with the edge of your sleeve. “I don’t know if I do either.”

“Yeah.”

You glance at them.

“But you’re asking. That’s more than I ever did.” Other You stands then, stretching a little. “Any other questions?”

You look up. “That’s it?”

“That’s enough,” Other You says. “If you’ve got no more questions, I’m gonna head out.”

“Can you tell me what the lottery numbers are?”

“What makes you think we remember random fucking lottery numbers?”

Your face cracks into a smile.

The lights above you flicker, demanding your attention for split second.

When you look back down, you’re on your feet.

No bench in sight.

And no you.

You sigh, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself as you continue down the hallway to your room.

Past the floor common room, and by the kitchen, until you catch sight of flaming red hair.

The kitchen is dark except for the light over the stove.

You don’t turn anything else on. Just walk in, barefoot, letting the tile cool the heat in your skin.

Nat’s perched on the counter, feet tucked under her, arms crossed. Her hoodie’s too big and her hair’s still damp, like she just got out of the shower and couldn’t be bothered to dry it.

There's a jar of olives open next to her. She picks one out and eats it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks.

You shake your head. “Not really. You wouldn’t believe the night I had.”

She nods once, popping another olive into her mouth.

You open the fridge and stare into it like it's going to offer you something new. It doesn’t.

You grab the first thing that makes sense. Half a juice box.

Nat watches you for a second. “You’re the only one who drinks those.”

“That’s not true.”

“No one else touches the purple ones. You keep pretending someone else is buying them but I’ve seen the receipts.”

You snort quietly. Toss the empty box into the bin. It misses. You let it.

She offers the jar of olives. You shake your head.

“Why are you up?” you ask. “What’s bugging you?”

“You remember that guy we met on the roof last month?” she asks. “The one who said he knew me from the Red Room but kept calling me Nadia?”

“Yeah.”

“I still don’t know if I knew him.”

You lean against the counter, crossing your arms. “That’s what’s keeping you up?”

“Not really. But I’m thinking about it.” Nat picks another olive out of the jar, inspects it, then eats it. “Steve was trying to wrap presents earlier. Took him two hours. He’s probably used all the tape in the country..”

You smile, just a little.

“He put your name on one of them,” she adds, chewing on another olive.

“You spy on everyone’s gifts?”

“I notice things.”

You pull a chair out and sit. It creaks a little.

“You didn’t have to stay up,” you say.

“I agree.” She slides the olive jar closer to you.

You still don’t take one.

“Do you think I’m strange?” you ask, not really sure where it came from.

Nat doesn’t blink. “Yeah.”

You laugh, soft.

“Not in a bad way,” she continues. “Just– specific.”

You chew that over.

Nat kicks her heel lightly against the counter.

There’s a crack in one of the tiles. You wonder how long it’s been there.

“You used to be on the run too, right?” you ask her finally. “But you’ve been here for a while. Why’d you stay?”

“Helps if the government isn’t trying to hunt you down.” She shrugs. “Besides, I figured if you ever stopped long enough to look behind you, someone should still be here.”

You don’t reply.

Nat screws the lid shut on the jar. “This place suits you.”

The haziness that’s been following you around all evening suddenly swells around you, reminding you of its presence.

Hesitantly, you call after her, “Are you real?”

She shrugs again. “I’m always real when it counts.”

The radio hums from nowhere. The lights flicker once more.

And you’re back in the hallway in the common room downstairs.

The living room is silent. The lights from the city glimmer.

You stand quietly in the centre of it all.

Bucky wakes up to Alpine pawing at his ribs.

It’s too bright out.

He rolls onto his side. She chirps. Climbs over his shoulder and plants herself by the window like she’s keeping watch.

He gets dressed. Stretches. Rubs at the back of his neck until the worst of the stiffness fades.

Alpine judges.

Downstairs is warm, loud, and already a mess. Wrapping paper underfoot. Someone’s spilled cocoa.

He takes a lap, slipping in and out as unannounced as he can.

Doesn’t see you.

You’re probably just late.

He sits on the couch.

He gets up again.

Checks the kitchen.

Your mug’s still in the sink from last night.

He opens the fridge like it might contain a clue. It doesn’t..

He pulls out his phone.

No texts.

He scrolls. Finds your name.

Types ‘Where are you?’

Deletes it.

Tries again.

‘You skipping Christmas?’

Deletes that too.

He settles on ‘You good?’

Sends it. Doesn’t wait for the read receipt.

Wanders down the hall. Checks the gym. Empty.

He walks back to the common room. Nat’s lounging on the arm of the couch, chewing on a candy cane.

He sits beside Steve, who’s halfway through a puzzle that no one asked for.

“You alright?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.”

The word comes out before he even thinks about it.

He takes a sip of coffee. It’s too strong. Someone messed with the settings again.

The snow keeps falling.

You’re not here.

He’s not worried.

He’s just… watching the door.

In case.

Just on time, it swings open loudly.

The chatter in the room dies down until everyone’s looking at who just barged in.

“Oh shit– was that too loud? Sorry,” Peter’s words trip over themselves. “I thought I was late– the bus didn’t come. I didn’t want to–”

“Hey, kid,” Sam calls. “You’re right on time. Come on in.”

Peter grins wide, bounding into the room with two giant bags.

“May sent pie. D’you guys wanna eat some– actually, it’s pretty early. I can just leave in the kitchen for later,” he rambles, pausing when he catches sight of Bucky stretched out on the couch. “Oh hey, Mr. Barnes. I wanted to talk to you about something when you have the time–”

“Presents first, conversation later,” Clint announces. “I’ve been waiting since the crack fuck of dawn.”

“You woke up ten minutes ago.”

“I’ve been waiting since the crack fuck of ten minutes ago.”

Bucky settles in, eventually.

Takes the mug Steve hands him, warm and too sweet, and the plate of cut apples.

You’re still not here.

The living room’s already littered with opened boxes, half-crumpled wrapping paper, that one roll of tape Clint lost and blamed on everyone else.

Bucky’s got his own small pile tucked in the corner. Nothing dramatic. Just things he picked out with intent, which is about as much holiday spirit as he can manage.

Sam gets a replacement for the book Bucky accidentally dropped in a puddle three weeks ago. Same edition, leatherbound this time.

“Fancy,” Sam says, flipping it over. “Trying to buy my forgiveness?”

“Just stop threatening to sue me.”

He gives Wanda a little wind up music box, with some tune he remembers her humming months ago.

Peter gets everything ranging from Legos, to a promised trip to the NASA headquarters, to gummy bears.

Nat’s gets a knife. Obviously. Custom handle. Something he shaped himself. She doesn’t say anything. Just runs her fingers along the spine of the blade, nods with a smile, and taps his shoulder as thanks.

Steve actually gets socks, because he’d found the limited edition signed copy of a Gid Tanner CD in Bucky’s room already by mistake.

Clint gets socks that don’t fit him.

There’s one more box left in the corner. Wrapped more neatly.

He doesn’t touch it.

Steve reaches under the tree and pulls out a package marked with Bucky’s name. The paper is pink. The tag has hearts drawn in glitter pen.

“What the hell is this,” Bucky mutters.

A tie.

With each Avenger’s face on it, stitched badly in red and green thread. Alpine’s head is on one.

He stares at it for a full ten seconds.

Then folds it carefully and tucks it back into the box.

“That’s what you get for not telling us what you wanted.”

But they do get him plenty of things. It’s enough to last him a year and more.

Noise canceling headphones, a subscription to National Geographic, more tools for woodworking and a new set of gloves.

The gifts keep coming.

And somewhere in the room, tucked under the tree, your box still waits.

By the time the sun dips, the Tower has thinned out.

Alpine has claimed Bucky’s lap like a throne. He doesn’t argue. She won’t mov either way.

The snow is still falling.

He checks his phone again. No new messages.

Dinner came and went. Steve made something that tried to pass as stuffing.

Your name was mentioned twice, but only in passing.

It’s getting late now.

He lets his hand rest on the box still tucked behind the tree. Doesn’t unwrap it. Doesn’t move it.

Thirty minutes to midnight.

He gets up, Alpine protesting with a growl, and walks out of the room.

She, of course, calls him a little shit once more.

The elevator hums softly on the way up.

He reaches your floor. Pauses at the door.

You’d always told him to just come in. He knocks anyway. Waits.

Nothing.

He lets himself in.

The lights come on with a soft click.

Your room is… mostly the same. Bare, except the weirdly bent lamp.

Bucky looks around now, trying to decide if you’ve taken anything.

There’s nothing obvious. But then again, he wouldn’t be able to tell if you did.

He looks at the clock.

Still time.

Karaoke has entered the equation.

Steve is halfway through “Blue Christmas”. Clint’s howling along in a key that doesn’t exist in music theory. It’s a disaster.

Bucky watches it all from the corner of the room, nursing the last of his lukewarm coffee, one leg bouncing under the coffee table.

He gets up finally, under the guise of grabbing something sweet.

Half the table’s been picked over, but there’s a bowl of wrapped caramels shoved into one of the stockings over the fireplace.

He leans down, reaches in–

And hears the door open.

He doesn’t turn around.

“Took your time.”

Your voice follows, breezy and a little wind-chapped, “You’d think I’d never left.”

You’re still in your coat. A box under one arm, big bag in the other. You’ve clearly been outside a while.

“Presents are in the bag,” you tell them, “Help yourselves.”

Clint’s already shoving a mic at you, demanding a duet.

“In a minute. I’ve got a thing to do.”

They elect to finish off the monstrosity that was Blue Christmas.

You sway into the living room where he is, ruffling Peter’s hair on the way.

“Hey,” you say, smiling at him, small and familiar. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught up with something.”

“What was it?”

“I drove next state over to find the cafe I used to work at. To see if the lady I used to work with was still there,” you inform him with a sigh. “Turns out they moved years ago.”

“Why’d you look for it?”

“I wasn’t really thinking,” you admit. “Got stuck in the holiday rush on the way back. Sorry for not answering your texts. I was driving pretty much the whole day.”

He stares at you.

He knows you’re impulsive, but something about this felt like it was…off.

It was too short, you looked too distracted.

You weren’t telling him the whole story, for whatever reason it was, but it was enough to make you drop everything and go look for something you’d left behind in the past.

“Got you something,” you add, pulling out the box from under your arm.

You hold out the box.

He doesn’t take it right away.

Instead, he says, “You almost missed karaoke.”

You step further in. “How would I have lived?”

You stop in front of him. Still holding the box. You’re a little out of breath, like you came straight here without thinking.

“I’m fine, by the way,” you say.

“I know,” Bucky replies.

You finally offer him the box again. He takes it this time.

He lifts a brow, when he shakes it to get a clue of what’s inside. Something rattles around, but he draws a blank on what it could be.

You drop down onto the floor, sitting cross legged. He elects to join you, bringing the big box you gave him along with him,

You reach toward the tree, like you’ve known exactly where your gift’s been this whole time. You grab it, navy wrapping, a little crooked at the edges, and hold it up.

It’s heavier than you were expecting, which makes you raise your eyebrows.

You look at him. “From you?”

“Yeah.”

“If it’s socks I’m gonna jump out the window.”

“I’ve left it open.”

“Thanks,” you snort. “Go on, then.”

He peels back the paper carefully and opens up the lid.

There’s another smaller box in there, which he finally flips open to reveal a collection of drink sachets. Every kind imaginable. Weird flavors. Strange colors. A handwritten label on each one.

Some are just jokes. Others are things you actually thought he’d like.

He stares at them.

“Fuck coffee. We’re gonna figure out what drink you really want,” you say, grinning. “You can play beverage roulette.”

He picks one up.

“Lemon hazelnut cinnamon tea,” he reads, before looking up at you. “This sounds terrible.”

“You’re gonna try it anyway.”

He shakes his head, trying not to smile.

“Okay,” you say, “Second one’s a little different.”

Bucky reaches into the box to find a flat, thin package wrapped in dark red.

He runs his finger under the tape and pulls out a frame.

He freezes.

Inside are two yellowed tickets. Old. Worn at the edges.

Not quite the originals he remembers. But close.

“I tried to find the real ones,” you say. “They’re not in circulation anymore. But these were the same ride. Same year. Closest I could get.”

The Miniature RailwayDreamland – Coney IslandAdmit one – 10c

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

You watch him a beat too long. “I thought maybe… you’d want a piece of that day.”

His fingers are still resting on the glass.

After a long second, he says roughly, “You remembered.”

“Well, yeah. How could I forget Becca Barnes dragging you five times onto a tiny train?”

He looks at you with something flickering behind his eyes. For once, you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

He sets the frame down gently.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

You beam at him.

He leans over to push the box he got you towards you.

Unlike him, you tear off the paper.

He’d have rolled his eyes with a smile if he wasn’t about to– well, he doesn’t know. He can’t name a single thing running through his head right now. Al he knows is that his chest feels like it’s going to explode.

You find a flimsy cardboard box inside, which you also essentially yank off, but significantly gentler this time.

It takes a while to register what it is.

Inside is a miniature house.

Not a dollhouse — not quite.

It’s rough-hewn, handcrafted, clearly made in a workshop, not a factory.

Each room is lined with pieces to match. Sinks, a bookshelf made from matchsticks, a tiny coat by the door that looks suspiciously like the one you always wear.

The doors all open. The windows too.

And there are people. Tiny replicas of the rest of the Avengers in their costumes, each in a different room.

You lift up the box wordlessly to have a closer look, when you notice everything is glued down, including the rest of the team.

Except for one little figure. Not much bigger than a thumb. Untethered. Looks a lot like you. Like someone specifically took extra time out to carve it to be as authentic as possible.

You turn it over in your hand slowly. “Are these…?”

“The team.”

“They’re glued down. Mine isn’t.”

“Figured you wouldn’t want to be.” Bucky clears his throat.” Point is, they’re always there. Even when you aren’t.”

Your fingers tighten slightly on the box. “You built this?”

“Tried to.”

You swallow hard. “I love it.”

Bucky’s mouth twitches.

You trace the edges of the house again, fingers catching on the little imperfections in the wood. The weight of it sits in your lap, solid and strange and oddly warm.

“You asked me what it feels like,” he murmurs. “To have people like that.”

You glance up. He doesn’t meet your eyes, just watches the house.

“When I first moved in, I was in the kitchen and someone was making a smoothie. The blender made this awful noise when it powered down. And it sounded so much like… something else. One of the chairs they used in Siberia, or something.”

His voice stays even. Distant, almost.

“Threw up all over the breakfast table. Everyone was there. Sam. Steve. Nat.”

You stare.

“They didn’t say anything. Just… cleaned it up. Gave me water. A different shirt. And the next week, there was a new blender. And it made no noise.”

You feel your throat go tight.

“They make fun of me constantly,” he says. “For everything. The way I eat, the way I breathe. But they’ll clean up the table. Replace the blender.”

You look at him now. Really look.

“So when I think of what it feels like– that’s the closest I’ve ever come to naming it.”

“Silent blenders,” you say, voice quiet.

He nods once. Eyes still on the little house.

You don’t say anything for a while.

And neither does he.

You close the box gently. Rest your hand over the lid like it might keep the warmth inside.

When you look back at him, he’s already looking at you.

The noise of the team still going strong in the background.

“Come on,” you say softly. “We got some karaoke to do.”

He exhales out a laugh in the form of a small breath, accepting your hand as you tug him to his feet.

“Did you sing?”

“I don’t sing.”

“Nonsense, I know you got a set of pipes in you. Michael Buble’s gonna bring it right out.”

He’s about to respond when something rustles overhead.

You glance up.

Sure enough, mistletoe hung slightly askew on a sliver of garland, taped with what looks like medical adhesive.

It swung dangerously, like it was just about to give up.

You look back at Bucky. “That was completely coincidental.”

He raises an eyebrow.

He’s not smiling. But his mouth is doing that thing it does when he’s fighting one.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

You stare at each other.

Neither of you moves.

“You gonna do anything about it, or just keep calling it names,” you challenge with a dumb smile on your face.

Bucky exhales through his nose. Looks like he might say something else.

Instead, he just steps closer.

The smile you have on falters.

Honestly, it’s not like you were expecting him to do anything about your stupid flirting because– well– he hadn’t done anything in months.

But he’s looking at you with something unreadable on his face and you can smell the remnants of the day on him.

“What?” he asks, voice low, taking a dangerous step closer. “No comment now?”

Your mouth opens and closes.

God, he may look like he wants to commit homicide, but nutmeg smells real good on him.

“Well,” you breathe out, and add nothing more.

His eyebrows raise in amusemuent for just a second before his face changes into something else. Something more serious.

He’s close enough that you can tell that he’s controlling his breath.

“It’s tradition,” Bucky murmurs, like you need any sort of justification whatsoever.

Your eyes dart down for a split second, but he still fucking catches it, the corner of his mouth upturning just minisculy.

Your hand reaches up to fist his stupid sweater–

“Hey! Good, great, you’re both here. Finally.”

Both of you jump apart like you’ve been caught doing something scandalous.

“Peter,” you say, blinking repeatedly as you attempt to catch your breath. “What’s wrong?”

The kid skids to a stop. “Okay, so I’ve been trying to ask this for like, months, and nobody’s been answering me, and I figured since I’m technically an Avenger and it’s Christmas, I can just—wait, are you guys mad at me?”

Bucky stares at him, dry as all hell as he asks, “Why would we be mad at you?”

You flick at him, telling him to behave.

Peter frowns. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you were ignoring me on purpose? Because I’ve tagged you both, like… a lot.”

You tilt your head. “Tagged us where?”

“On Twitter.”

There’s a moment where you all stare at each other like you’re speaking in an alien language.

“I’ve been tweeting at you since you started this series,” Peter continues, eyes darting between the both of you. “You even read one of my tweets in your videos. I thought you knew.”

Bucky’s head turns slowly toward you. You’re already staring at Peter like he’s sprouted a second head.

“What are you talking about?” you ask slowly.

“Well, it’s my alt. I didn’t want people from my school to see that I was tweeting at you guys.” He scratches the base of his neck. “Sk8rboy02?”

“Wait,” you say, jaw dropping. “You’re sk8rboy02?”

“Yeah,” Peter drags in confusion. “I thought you knew?”

“You’re the one who kept replying to the giveaway post with ‘I deserve this because my cousin died in a haunted Chuck E. Cheese’?”

Peter nods, completely sincere. “And also ‘if you give me the EMF reader i’ll use it responsibly (lie)'.”

“You entered the contest seventeen times,” you say slowly.

Peter brightens. “So you did see me!”

“Of course we saw you. You called that guy from the Daily Bugle a balding fuck.”

“Oh yeah, he’s my boss. He sucks.” Peter waves off. “Wait, so you just… didn’t realize it was me?”

“No?” you ask incredulously.

“I said I knew someone in the Avengers in like four different tweets!”

“Everyone thinks they know someone in the Avengers,” Bucky mutters.

“Okay, yeah, fair.”

You shut your eyes. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been tweeting at us all year. You’ve been defending us online. You fight random reporters.”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t think to just… say it to our faces?”

“I honestly thought you guys knew.”

“No,” you and Bucky both say at once.

Peter shrugs and flips open a small, folded notebook from his hoodie pocket. “Okay, cool. Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, I’ve got some questions I’ve been collecting on behalf of the internet.”

“No,” Bucky says again.

“Just a few!” Peter insists. “They’re good questions! Like have you ever brought home something cursed by mistake? Or if a ghost starts following you, how do you tell it to leave? Or—this one’s from me—have you ever faked a haunting just to win a bet?”

Silence hangs in the air.

“Or not,” he says, closing his notebook. “I’ll just– head out.”

You glance over at Bucky.

He rolls his eyes.

“One question,” you say, turning back to the kid. “Holiday spirit.”

Peter practically vibrates. “Okay. Okay. This is a good one. What’s the most haunted place in the Avengers Tower?”

“Laundry chute on the south side,” you say.

Peter scribbles something into his notebook like it’s the gospel truth.

“Thanks, guys.” He beams at you. “I’ll see you out there.”

Before you get a chance to reply, he zips away, already calling for his shot at the mic.

You and Bucky just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, in the lull left behind by Peter’s hurricane.

You glance up.

More mistletoe. Hanging smugly from the beam above you like it planned this.

You both clock it at the same time.

“Again?” he says. Tired. But not really.

“Second time today,” you reply, hands stuffed in your hoodie. “Third if you count the one in the elevator.”

“Which I don’t.”

You turn slightly to face him.

“You know,” you start, tone carefully casual, “for a guy who once took a full round to the ribs and still had the energy to toss a grenade into a Hydra facility, you sure are squeamish about a little mistletoe.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just glances at you sharply, like he’s assessing something.

“I’m just not trying to do something halfway,” he says finally, tone even.

You open your mouth. Close it.

“Okay.”

You step closer.

Just enough that your hands brushes his. That shared warmth again. Static in the space between.

You lean, slow.

Your lips press gently to the corner of his mouth.

Barely there, more cheek than kiss, but close enough to make him inhale through his nose like he didn’t mean to.

When you pull back, you say nothing.

He blinks once.

“You missed.”

“Oh, did I?”

“Little to the left next time,” he mutters.

“Maybe,” you say, already turning to leave. “Next Christmas.”

Bucky exhales, shutting his eyes for a second before he follows right behind you.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

THANK U TO EVERYONE WHO BOUGHT ME A KO-FI FOR THIS SILLY FIC. I BOUGHT MYSELF SOME CAKE.

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