justalittleoasisficrecs

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

Roan is such a sweetheart! 💜

since roan likes to copy eddie she starts calling y/n sweetheart or other pet names bc that’s what eddie calls her <3

little bit of hurt/comfort here <3 single dad eddie x fem!reader

"Daddy, where are we?" Roan asks, trying to work out their location from the little bit of window she can see through. Her sun visor makes it difficult work.

"We," he says, grabbing the side of his chair with two hands to see her in the backseat, "are outside Y/N's job."

"Is she having dinner?" With us, she means to say.

"Yes she is." Eddie checks out the window to see if you're coming. You're not, so he turns his serious face on Roan and starts with a gentle tone, "You know... when Teddy lost his ear? And you had to be very careful with him until I could get Uncle Wayne to sew him up?"

She squints, confused. "Yeah."

"Well-" Eddie smiles softly. "Y/N isn't feeling the best. So I just want you to be as nice to her as you can be until she feels better."

"Is Uncle Wayne fixing her?"

Eddie's voice raises an octave. "No, he's not. I'm gonna try my best, alright?"

"Why does she feel bad?"

He peeks out the window and sees you leave your building. "I- It's a grown up thing, baby." It's lots of grown up things, piling on and weighing heavy. You don't like to talk about it. Eddie's just gonna have to show you how much he cares.

Eddie pops open the door and waves. "Hey," he calls.

You look up. Your downtrodden frown quirks into an abrupt smile. "Eddie?"

"Hey."

You pick up your pace. He can't walk too far from the car while Roan's still inside to meet you, but he receives you with open arms.

"Oh my god, I missed you," you say. The relief in your voice turns his heart, has him clutching you tighter.

"I missed you," he says, cheek pressed to your cheek, hand scrubbing down your back. "I'm glad I caught you. Think you can clear a space in your busy schedule to come for dinner?"

"Is my favourite girl gonna be there?" you ask.

He encourages your head back to kiss your cheek. You love affection, you live for it, so he tries to make it a good one, and he strokes your cheek as he pulls away. He doesn't bother answering your question because it's rhetorical, Roan's always with him.

"Is she sleeping?" you ask.

Eddie climbs back into the driver's side and gestures for you to do what you want to do.

You open Roan's car door. "Hi, princess," you greet immediately, thrilled at her smart clothes and her hair in two low pony tails either side of her face. "It's so good to see you. I've missed you!"

"Missed you too," Roan says.

Eddie beams and turns his key. He knows the power of Roan's loving words against a bad mood.

The engine starts and the radio flickers to life, his music occluding your happy laugh. "Can I give you a kiss?" you ask fondly.

Roan pouts and holds her head up agreeably for you to kiss her on the cheek. She kisses you in turn.

Your smile is magnetic as you close her door and round to the passenger seat.

"So, what's for dinner?" you ask, closing the door behind you.

Dinner tonight is your favourite because Eddie's got game. He gets you home and bundles you and Roan on the sofa with the thickest throw blanket he owns, pulls off both of your shoes and gets you something to drink. Roan snuggles into your side and grins at Eddie's approving smile. He winks. She winks back clumsily.

When he's finally got a bowl of food in all your laps he sits down on your left side. You're hesitant at first but eventually you sink into him and he wraps and arm around your shoulder, content to eat one handed if this is what you need today.

"This is really good," you praise, chewing with your hand over your mouth.

He'd tried very, very hard. "No biggie. Whipped it up for you easy this morning. Working on a Saturday, that isn't permanent, is it?"

You sigh forlornly. "God, I hope not. I'm so sick of-" Your words dry up.

You pet Roan's shoulder like you've remembered she's there.

She looks up with a fork halfway to her mouth and everything on it falls off.

"Doesn't matter," you say with a snort, reaching around her to wipe a stripe of sauce from her cheek.

"It does matter, sweetheart," he says softly. "Of course it does."

You shrug it off. "It's okay, Eddie, really. It's fine." You slink down in your seat and smile at him all wobbly.

"Let me get you another drink," he says. He gets up, gives your shoulder a good squeeze as he goes.

Roan watches him leave. As soon as he's out of sight she thrusts her bowl to the side and untucks her small legs from the blanket.

"Everything okay?" you ask.

Roan's young, but she can tell you're not feeling good all on her own. Her dad's warning in mind, she stands up tall and drapes herself against your shoulder, hands vying for your face. She props her short fingers under your eye and strokes a wonky line. Your eyes fall to her, perplexed.

"What are you doing?" you murmur.

"Daddy said you're sick," she says, frowning at you. "Like Teddy when he lost his ear."

You blink at her. "I'm not sick, baby. Don't worry."

"You look," — Roan readjusts her hugging, hands in the collar of your work shirt — "sad."

You shake your head at her urgently. "No, no. I'm alright, Roan, I'm super happy. You know I'm always happy when I'm with you and daddy, cos you're so awesome," you say, poking her chest.

Roan doesn't believe you, though she likes you and loves you anyways. She wraps her arms around your neck and rubs her forehead into your jaw.

"Roan," you say quietly.

"Don't be sad, sweetheart," Roan says.

You giggle. "What did you say?"

Roan cuddles you and doesn't repeat herself.

"What did you say, baby?" you ask, arm wrapping around her back.

"Don't be sad, sweetheart."

You laugh again and hug her with a great big harrumph of breath, your squeezing arms startling an infectious baby-like giggle from her. You pull her up into your chest and lift your head until you're face to face, brushing that sweet lone curl out of her eyes as you say, "I guess I can't be when you tell me so nicely! Aw, Roan, you're my favourite little girl on this whole planet-" You're praising her in a near breathless rush. "The whole universe."

"I second that!" Eddie says as he returns, three cups pressed to his chest. He smiles, totally clueless. "What did I miss?"

"I made her better, daddy," Roan says easily, pride coming off of her in waves. Her curls tickle your nose as she turns in your arms to goad at him. "'Cos you took too long."

You beam widen your eyes. "Way too long," you repeat teasingly.

He has the good graces to look bashful. "You did? Thank you. I was getting 'round to it, I promise."

You nod at him. Yes, he was.

When Roan turns back to you, you shake your head. "All you, princess."

-

more eddie and roan

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

They are so precious! 💜

sharing idea time! Eddie being the lovable menace likes to tease or "be a meanie" as reader would say to Roan, so one day he's being playful and Roan decides to "defend" reader by "standing up" to her dad. like on the couch to try making eye contact and lecture him with such a glare he's worried her face will get stuck.

omg yes nothing so romantic as some light bullying (I say this genuinely) fem!reader

Eddie does this thing with his hands that is completely, unmitigatedly cruel. He might take your hand, and you settle into his side expecting to be loved on. When he's in an especially good mood he pulls your arm to his chest and runs the tips of his fingers over your bare skin slowly. It's a sweet tickling sensation that could lull you to sleep.

When he's in a better mood than that, he gets mean. He teases with the callused hands of both a mechanic and a guitarist, built for precision and brute force. His hand follows down to your palm and he holds your hand in his in a simple gesture, and then he gathers your fingers and squeezes until all your bones ache.

It always makes you laugh, a panicked braying as you try to pull your hand back and fend off his horrible attack. Eddie only grows more eager, rolling your fingers together until you gasp and beg to be let go of.

This time, he's done not only a number on your hand but your thigh. You're too sensitive for his pinching, and he gets right in there and squeezes until you can't breathe.

"Eddie," you squeal, totally dissolved, limp and gasping and flat on your back across the couch. "Please stop."

He tickles up the inside of your thigh but doesn't do any further damage. "You're laughing, aren't you? I think you like it more than you admit."

"Laughing isn't the word I'd use."

He grabs at your doughy thigh until you're pleasing for mercy and says, "No? You wouldn't? What word would you use, baby?"

His voice raises in volume with each new question as to be heard over your keening.

"Eddie, please, would you-"

"Stop!" Roan cries, climbing up onto the couch with impressive speed and dexterity.

You raise your chest and legs as she lands straight into the pouch of your stomach with an "Oof!" that whipes you out completely. Roan defends your limp state with two hands outstretched and a darling, dramatic scowl.

"Stay away, dad!"

His turn to frown. "That's daddy to you, short stuff. What's your damage?"

"You are my damage!" she shouts. It's hilarious and lovely in her baby voice and clumsy pronunciation.

You giggle under her weight and smile so wide it infects him. He catches Roan's furious gaze and it swiftly falls away.

"Baby, what's wrong? We're just playing."

"You're being the meanie!"

"A meanie," you correct mildly, hands coming to rest on Roan's hips.

"A meanie," she says crossly.

Eddie can't understand how he got here, why her favouritism tips so strongly to your side. You giggle again, to yourself more than either of them, and he remembers. The sound is pretty as your lackadaisical grin, your face tipped to the side to see him from around Roan's commanding pose.

"I'm sorry," he says, not sounding very sorry, "I'm not trying to be mean. It's just to make her laugh, Roan. Don't you like laughing?"

Roan looks him straight in his face, real upset between her pinched brows. How many times has he seen that expression on his own face? A furious kind of injustice.

"You have to be nice!" Roan declares.

"I am nice."

"No, you're mean. You squish too hard."

He supposes that's true.

Eddie dips his chin toward his chest and pouts at her apologetically. "I'm sorry..." He holds out his hand, hoping to hold her small palm against his own. She gives it to him with enough reluctance to break a dad's heart.

"You're mean."

"I'm only playing," he stresses.

He rubs the back of her hand and lays it down thickly. Affection has always worked against her moods, ever since she was a baby. Half the time she'd cried and Eddie could fix it with a hug and a kiss.

"You have to play nicer," she chides gently, sounding a lot like he does when he has to explain things to her. It's so close and so genuine he finds himself wanting to kiss every bit of soft skin on her face.

"I will, I promise. No more squeezing. Alright? Does that make you feel better?"

"Not me, Y/N!" she says.

"Oh." Eddie manoeuvres his daughter so she's in his lap and then pulls you up by your hand, bringing it to his lips in a princess kiss. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I won't be doing anymore squeezing."

You grin at him. "Damn straight you won't. Or you can answer to my lovely protector. Isn't that right, Roan?"

Roan has melted into her dad's arm like butter in the sun, but she has enough wits about her to say, "Right!"

Eddie kisses the top of her head, careful not to crush her freshly washed curls. He can't find it in himself to be mad that his girls have ganged up on him now. He likes having you both be on the same team. He only wants to be on that team with you.

"I'm sorry," he tries again pathetically, dropping his cheek into the couch cushion to look pitiful.

You do take pity on him, dropping your own cheek close enough to meet his eyes. "That's okay, handsome. You're forgiven."

He tries not to make it too obvious that he's looking down at Roan.

You bite with a pleased little smile. "Roan, would you forgive daddy? He's sorry."

She pats Eddie's thigh. "Okay."

Her forgiveness isn't grand, but it does feel good. Good enough to celebrate.

"Thank you, baby..." He toys with a ringlet of hair behind her ear until she shivers. "How about we go out for dinner, huh? The three of us."

"Where?" you ask.

"For cake?" Roan asks.

"I'm sure they'll have cake," he assures her.

You both seem remarkably, impossibly lively after that, a stark contrast to your sleepy states. He can't believe how quickly you abandon him, or how quickly you pull on your shoes.

-

more eddie and roan

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

So good 💜

ok but now i need eddie to propose to reader with roan holding flowers and being in her best dress

you don't have to read the ficlets before this one but can if you want to! eddie asks roan about proposing to you | roan calls you mom | eddie and roan move in | eddie and roan masterlist ♡ fem!reader

You've been expecting it for a while now. You'd thought for sure that eventually Roan would spill the beans, or that Eddie himself might reveal the surprise, but neither father nor daughter have spoken about anything even slightly wedding related in weeks.

You seem to have done things in a backwards order. Roan had called you mom before they even moved in, and now you're living together, you, your boyfriend and his kid, and there's no ring on your finger. Your coworkers think you're crazy, you can see it in their high and mighty eyebrow raises and wrinkled noses. You almost wish you could bring yourself to care about what they think, but you can't.

This morning, you'd woken up to a small hand stroking your hair, and when you'd opened your eyes you'd found Roan in her frilly nightgown kneeling on the floor by your bedside table, smiling at you sheepishly.

"What's up, babygirl?" you'd murmured, still half asleep.

"Can I hug with you?" she'd asked.

Eddie had been still sleeping, your alarm an hour from ringing. You'd scooted back into his chest and thrown back your sheets, and Roan had climbed in and fallen asleep again rather quickly. It had been a simple, perfect moment, better when her father had woken you up doing exactly the same thing.

It's unconventional, but it isn't wrong. You have a life together and you know it's for a good long time with or without a ring. Still, you'd sort of been expecting with the ring.

It kind of feels like the most important thing you've ever done. That, and falling in love with her dad twice over again. Something about living with Eddie has made him all the more golden. He'd remarked only a few days ago that you'd become clingier.

Roan had only slipped up once, the very first time she'd called you mom. She'd been excited about something clearly, excited enough to start calling you her mommy, and under investigation had admitted to a 'pu-postal'. Slowly, you'd come to realise what that meant. Eddie must have broached the subject with her, must have explained what your getting married would mean; you're gonna be Roan's mom (step-mom, officially).

You kind of feel like you already are now they've moved in. You're doing more for her than you ever had before, helping her with the bathroom and getting her dressed, hours of movies and cuddling and playing and singing and dancing. You're earning the title, slowly but surely.

"Sorry," you'd apologised, abashed at his having noticed but not offended.

"Are you fucking kidding? Don't be." You'd been laid out in his lap, arms around his waist. "This is exactly where I want you."

You smile at the memory, hands tap-tapping a rhythm into your steering wheel. You're on your way home, excited to see your boy, excited to see your baby, excited to make a home cooked dinner and stay up late watching movies. Friday nights have become your favourite time of the week. You, Eddie, and Roan eat, shower, and get into your best pajamas to make stove top popcorn fit for a family of ten and lie on the couch until you pass out on top of each other. It's perfect.

You pull up and Eddie's car is already in the drive, as it usually is. He'd confided in you once, when he was a little younger, that he'd rode around in a big rusty van. You can't imagine it now, his car all but screams family man.

You think the same of your front door, pausing to grin at the plaque by the front door, a slab of wood etched with a stick figure family. You'd deliberated getting it inscribed with 'The Munson's' but, as you've lamented, you don't have a ring.

Yet.

You bump into the house and drop your heavy bag, shoes off quick and into the living room quicker. You're expecting Roan to be laid out on the couch watching Friday cartoons, a bowl of chips in her lap to keep her occupied while Eddie makes dinner. It's a ritual at this point for you to swing open the door and reach over the back of the sofa for her. She indulges you without question, every single time. You cuddle, and you ask her for a kiss that she graciously gives, and so begins a perfect Friday evening.

Only Roan's not on the couch. Your living room is alarmingly clean. The TV is dark.

"Roan?" you call. Then, at the pervasive silence, "Guys?"

You swear you hear a giggle. Grinning, you creep back out of the living room and go the opposite way toward the kitchen. You know exactly what you'll see when you open the door; Eddie, in his work clothes, arms washed off oil upto the elbows and a wooden spoon in hand, stirring away at something warm and fragrant on the stove. Or maybe Eddie at the kitchen table, Roan perched on his thigh, the two of them talking as a part bake browns in the oven. Best, Roan upto her elbows in flour, fresh made pasta an hour away.

You open the door with a smile, already anticipating the firm hug that awaits you from your lovely boyfriend. The tightness of his arms over your shoulders, his hair tickling your cheek.

But again, there's nobody there. Nothing bubbling on the stove, no Eddie to demand a hug from. You pout dramatically and spin, looking for evidence of your small family and finding none.

"Guys?"

"Up here, Y/N!" Roan calls, followed by more raucous giggling.

Your confusion wanes. "What are you doing up there, princess?" you call from the bottom of the stairs. You take them two at a time and almost trip up the last one, carpet soft and freshly vacuumed under your socks. "And why is the house so clean? Is it my birthday?"

You stop dead at the sight before you. Red rose petals are scattered sparsely in a line from the top of the stairs to your bedroom. You follow them with your eyes swiftly, gaze catching on your open bedroom door.

You've watched Eddie do her hair hundreds of times now. You can see it clearly, her damp curls brushed and twined around the handle. How he drops each curl into his hand and pushes it upward toward her head to hold its shape.

Eddie stands in the middle of the bedroom, a dark figure in an otherwise white room. White sheets — your 'girly' ones that you'd swapped out when Eddie moved in — dotted in red petals. White balloons all stuck to the ceiling, ribbons curled and falling from them in spirals.

Roan, in her nicest white dress, her 'best dress', the one you always take extra care to be gentle with on wash day. Her curls are perfect, dark and silky and defined.

He's even let her wear her sparkly lip gloss.

Eddie, for once, seems to have taken care of his own hair. His frizz (which you love, because it's his look) has been tamped down into more gentle curls, ringlets weighed by their impressive length.

"You guys look nice," you say softly, not sure where to look.

Roan fumbles with the bouquet in her hands, white frosted cellophane surrounding a bundle of deep red roses.

Is it my birthday? you think. But no, it's not your birthday, which means...

"You wanna give her your flowers?" Eddie asks, voice a steady, quiet murmur. He takes her shoulder into his ring-clad hand and encourages her toward you.

Roan was waiting for the command. She rushes forward, realises she's rushing and takes the last two or three steps at a slower pace. You meet her at the threshold, petals crushed under your feet.

You take the bouquet, bent at the waist, from her outstretched hands.

"Thanks, baby," you say, swallowing around a heavy lump in your throat.

She beams at you. Her pert features, so much like Eddie's, look especially cute right now. Maybe because you know what's happening, maybe because she's the loveliest kid you've ever met, your eyes sting with tears.

You look away from her before you can crack. The flowers shake minutely in your hand, the smallest tremble. You stroke a thin petal with your forefinger and find a white note attached within.

It's Eddie's slanting handwriting.

For my mommy. I love you. Love and kisses,

Roan.

Roan is written in her own handwriting, big clumsy letters.

She doesn't call you mom all the time and that's okay, you'll take whatever she wants to give, and even when she calls you by your name she says it with love. But when she does call you mom? It makes you wanna blubber uncontrollably.

"She told me what to write," Eddie says.

"Yeah?" you ask. You square away tears. It's alarming to be loved so much, but it's also amazing. Happiness overwhelms everything else.

He nods. Your mind isn't sure what to focus on, how handsome he looks in his black button down, sleeves pushed up, hands hidden inside his pockets, or how precious his baby girl is.

You squat down and open your arms. Roan jumps into them and wraps her own around your neck, face squished roughly to your cheek. Your bouquet crinkles as you hug back, and her hair falls into the flowers.

"I love you, macaroni," you tell her, eyes closing as you push your face into the top of her head. "So much."

"I know it hasn't even been two years yet," Eddie says.

You pry your eyes open and stand.

He's taken a step forward.

"Almost," you say gently.

"But it has been the best 'almost' two years of my life." You tighten your hold on Roan as she pulls her face from your neck to watch Eddie speak. "It's been hard. Uh..." He wipes his hands on his thighs and chuckles nervously. "I didn't realise this part was going to be so hard. But it's all been worth it, every part, and you've made it-" It melts your heart how scared he looks. "I wouldn't change anything. It's perfect. You're perfect."

His voice grows increasingly softer as he goes, his last admission a whisper.

"I'm trying not to be theatrical," he says. "But I'm thinking maybe you deserve someone to sing your praises."

"Eds..."

He puts his arm out. You don't know if he's asking for you or Roan, but you fall into him anyways. If he wasn't trying to get a hug from you that's just too bad. He tries not to crush your flowers.

"I love you," he says, arm sliding over your shoulder. "You're a bombshell, and you're," — his hand curls to cover the side of your neck, "the most loving person I've ever met. I know how lucky I am to be with you. How lucky I am that you love me."

Eddie isn't insincere. He's said a thousand nice things to you, he'll say another thousand before the year's out. But his voice is rough with an emotion you're not sure you've ever heard from him, a blazing earnestness, a reverential sort of love.

You want to say, I'm lucky. Are you kidding? I'm the lucky one. You want to burst into tears, and you want to kiss him stupid.

You don't do any of those things, because Eddie has a question to ask you.

He tries to back away from you and you cling, worried you're gonna fall over.

"I'm trying to get down on one knee," he says, bemused.

You shake your head voraciously, speechless.

"Marry me," he says. "I don't care how you want to do it. A church with all the trimmings or we can go down to the courthouse tonight. Just marry me, please."

"Alright." He laughs and digs through his pocket for the box, propping it open on his thigh to grab the ring before tossing the empty box onto the bed. It's clumsy, and it's bold. It suits him.

He proffers the ring between you.

Roan reaches for his neck. Not amazing timing, Eddie lets her climb onto his chest and wraps her up, and when the ring dissapears behind her back you realise how badly you want it.

"Yes," you say, because there isn't a reality where you could ever say no. It hangs in the air. "Yes, please, I'll marry you. I don't care how."

Roan giggles excitedly but still doesn't crack.

You look at the ring he's chosen for the first time in awe. It's exactly what you would've picked for yourself. You've no clue how he guessed.

Eddie lifts his chin, eyes on your hand. You can tell from the way he's lit up that he's biting backna sticky sweet smile as he takes his arm away from your shoulder and swaps it with the arm behind Roan's back to brandish the ring. Your ring.

You hold out your hand. He neatly slides it over your knuckle.

"Is that okay?" he asks.

You tilt your head back towards it and the three of you look at your hand. You've never liked your hands before this moment.

"Who am I kissing first?" you ask grandly.

Really, you want to kiss Eddie. He just proposed. But Roan's been holding in all her excitement and she's an ill-contained vestibule of emotion too big for her body, and you're startled when she bursts into tears.

"Baby," you say, at the same time as Eddie says, "Aw, bubby."

"I'm the one that supposed to be crying," you coo, searching for her hand. You rub over her knuckles. "What's the matter, princess?"

"I'm so happy 'cos now you're my mom," she says, all at once, words glued together by a continuous sob.

"Babe, we didn't get married," Eddie says, his sympathetic parentese robbed of any sincerity by a poorly hidden laugh.

"I was..." You look at Eddie and talk slowly, in case you're mispeaking. "I was kind of your mom already, wasn't I?"

Roan doesn't even answer, she just cries and cries. It gets you pretty quickly, eyes swimming with tears. You drop your head against Eddie's collar and stroke her hand, giggling wetly as a first tear bumps down your cheek.

"Not both of you," Eddie frets.

"If you loved us, you'd be crying too."

"I do love you." He kisses your temple, an expert in juggling his girls. "Happiest day of my life, as long as Ro stops crying."

"You gotta stop crying, princess," you implore, poking her soft cheek. "I need a sticky lip gloss kiss, please. I want a kiss print right here." You poke at your own cheek enticingly.

Her crying lessens. Eddie couldn't sound anymore content than he does when he says, "Go on. Give her a kiss, baby."

Roan gives you a sticky kiss as you knew it would be, the second best kiss of your entire life. Then Eddie drops her fast but not meanly into the bed, flower petals jumping up around her, and gives you the first. Both hands on your face, a tenacity behind him that makes you squeal with laughter, Eddie kisses and kisses and doesn't stop until you've run out of breath.

"Ow, watch it," you chide, lips tingling. "I need these, you know? How'm I gonna kiss you at the altar if you break my mouth?"

Your mentioning of an altar gets him bad. He kisses you again, again, the two of you giggling like fools with your hands pressed tight to each others faces.

Roan slides off of the bed and grabs at both of your thighs with an adorably cross look on her face.

"Oh no," Eddie says.

"Poor girl," you agree.

"We've left you out, hm?"

Like he's read your mind and you his, you bend in sync and kiss her damp cheeks.

"Thanks for keeping it together so long," Eddie says against her cheek, sealing it with another adoring kiss.

"I'm impressed," you say. She'd shown an amazing level of self control.

"Hours of coaching. Isn't that right?"

Roan nods primly, eyes widening as she emphasises. "He talked for ages and ages."

You're smiling so hard you think your cheeks might bruise. "He's a blabber mouth, huh? Nothing like you, angel."

Eddie snorts. You give him a little shove and he nudges you back, sharing a private look over Roan's head. I love you, he mouths.

Roan snuggles into your legs as you mouth it back.

-

more eddie and roan

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

I love them so much 💜

Would you be at the write a senario where Eddie and Roan spend a night with reader at their house? Maybe Roan's princess room reveal? 🙏🙏

yes!! love u!! I think this is like 3k ish but idk i wrote it in the app like an idiot <\3 ♡ fem!reader

Before the big move, you and Eddie are trying to ease Roan into her new home slowly. You'd worked hard on her room — more than hard. Nights spent covered in paint, other nights spent working overtime to afford the paint, the four poster bed, the big chest at the foot of it for her toys. You'd bought her a wardrobe, lots of new clothes to fill it, and a small mannequin outfitted in a pricey princess dress.

Eddie thinks you're going overboard, though he obviously loves you to death for the effort.

"You don't have to do all this," he'd said, lips to the back of your neck.

But you do. You'd never painted her nursery, never stocked up on diapers or formula or playsuits. You're bringing your girl home. Her room has to be perfect.

Tonight's the night.

You and Eddie stand outside of Roan's classroom. You're nervous enough to shake with it, hands wringing themselves sore.

"Relax," he says, worming a ringed-hand between them.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose and take a step closer to him, shoulder pressing to his shoulder, his proximity a balm.

The door opens, and Roan's teacher greets the surrounding parents with a smile. She starts to call the kids up one by one.

You peek around her arm and your eyes find Roan where she's sitting with her friend Stacey P. They have their heads bent together, and you can hear their excited babbling from where you stand.

"That's her next to your dad?" Stacey asks, eyes half covered by thin blonde bangs.

Roan beams proudly. "Yeah, that's my mommy."

"She's pretty."

"My daddy says she's go-jus."

You wave at her, wanting to kiss her forever and ever for being the sweetest, funniest baby girl in existence.

She waves back until her wrist looks like it might fall off.

"Roan," the teacher calls, "come on, chick."

Roan springs to her feet with her small backpack in hand. Her big puffer coat protects your legs as she slings herself at you and Eddie.

"Hey, babe. Are you excited?" he asks.

She lifts her head and smiles with her little teeth and her tiny appled cheeks, shorn curls falling away from her lovely big eyes. "Yes! Let's go!"

"Alright, hold your horses. I still have to talk to Mrs. Lundy," he says.

Eddie edges away from you. You tug Roan gently by the hand so you're out of the way of the other parents and then pop a squat to be at her eye level, fingers on automatic as you align her zipper and pull it closed.

"I'm really excited for you to see your room," you confide, because while you're extremely worried she'll hate it you're doubly excited that she'll love it. Princess pinks and all the trappings.

Roan doesn't even know what to say. It's obvious she's excited at having a new room too. Whenever she's stayed in the guest room in the past, it's simply been just that: the guest room. Now it's her bedroom, permanently, and she knows that it's double the size of her old one. She doesn't know you've redcoarated it completely, though. That's the secret.

"I hope you like it," you continue, rubbing your hands down the lengths of her coat before taking her warm fingers into your colder ones.

"I love it!" she declares.

"You haven't seen it yet," you say happily.

"I loved it already. Do I get to have Lucky in my room?"

You squeeze her hands. "I thought Lucky could stay in the living room. His tank is so big."

Roan thinks it over.

"He's your fish too now, babe, " you say firmly. "You can see him in the living room whenever you want, okay?"

"Okay," she says.

You stand up because your knees have started to ache and luckily Eddie's making his way back toward you. He takes Roan's empty hand and the two of you steer her out of the side door you'd come in through and into the playground, where a mass of other parents and kids are exiting their own classes.

"What'd she say?" you ask curiously.

Eddie can't hold in a smile. "Oh, you know, things."

"Things!" you repeat, frowning at him. Roan's hand swings enthusiastically in your own. You don't have any patience when it comes to the good stuff. "What kind of things?"

He tries not to say it and ultimately fails. "Our girl's literally Picasso. She wants to submit Roan's drawings for the Indiana young artists collection."

"What?"

"It's just for schools in Indiana, but if she gets accepted they put her picture in a book and they send us a copy."

"Will you swing me?" Roan asks loudly, tipping her head back to garner your attention.

You beam at her because she is literally the coolest child on the planet. "Depends, what does dad think?"

Eddie grins and readjusts his hold on her hand. You follow his lead, and soon you're both gearing up to lift her on the next swing.

"One, two, three," he counts.

Roan takes a little running jump and you and Eddie use her weight to swing her forward off of the curb and into the parking lot. She laughs with every new swing, and any worry about hurting her arms is quickly eaten up by her joy as you make your way to the car.

She climbs into the backseat with enthusiasm. Beside her carseat are a couple of boxes of her stuff, not too much. You want her to have the option to unpack but don't want her to go back to the trailer and find it empty. You and Eddie are doing everything you can to make this transition easy for her.

She sees all of it and gets confused.

"It's for Y/N's house," Eddie explains, pulling her car seat straps around her chest.

You bite back a correction. Our house, you want to say.

"For you room," you say instead.

"Oh."

"Is that okay?" Eddie asks.

She doesn't answer. It worries you. You chew at the inside of your cheek and turn to your purse in your lap instead, digging through it for the first of her presents, a fake key to the house. You're worried she'll lose it, although it's more ceremonial than anything. You have a real one for Eddie, not that he knows yet.

"I have something for you," you tell her, fist closed around the key.

Eddie shuts the driver's door and turns to peek at what you're doing, clearly curious. You open your hand and offer up the key.

"What's it for?" she asks.

"For the house."

You can feel Eddie's gaze on the side of your face. Roan takes the key and you turn to your boyfriend, plucking his own key from your bag and passing it to him with a smile. "S'your house. Need to be able to get in."

Eddie smiles at you. He's a soft looking guy, soft jaw, slightly high cheeks. He still hasn't settled about it being his house — he's thrilled, obviously, but you know he doesn't want to sound presumptuous or cheeky by accepting it.

Well, you don't care how it sounds. If they're going to live with you they need to know how welcome they are, and how much you want this to work as a family and not just as a boyfriend with his kid.

Eddie steals a kiss that you're not expecting, slightly too rough, extremely boyish. It's pretty great, as kisses go; you can feel his enthusiasm.

The ride to your house is funny. You've done it yourself hundreds of times, but it's suddenly not just your house. You've cleaned more than you've ever cleaned before in your life. You've changed decor to be less single girl and more family, brighter colours, rainbow kitchen utensils. You'd even got one of those plaques for your house outside with the number, and, perhaps embarassingly, a stick figure family engraved into the wood. A mom, a dad, and a girl. There's even a fish bowl for Lucky.

Eddie stops in front of it in awe.

Roan had insisted on you carrying her. If she hadn't you might've asked her to let you anyways.

"It's us," Roan says, following her dad's gaze.

"That's us," you agree. You nudge Eddie gently. "You gonna let us in?"

He's uncharacteristically quiet as he turns the key and let's you in.

You drop your bag in the hallway and you and Roan peek up the stairs. Rather than show her your redecorating, you've decided to save the best until last and walk her to the right toward the living room instead.

"I made space for your-" Is it hot in here? You're ten times as nervous as you had been now you're inside. "For your table. For the princess parties. All your toys. And..." You tuck her hair behind her ear and grin at her. "I usually feed Lucky when I come home. Do you want to feed him?"

Doesn't she just? Kids go crazy for stuff like this and Roan is no exception. You walk her across your rug where the coffee table used to be and pick up the fish food one handed, letting her take the lid off.

"Big pinch, okay?"

She nods and gets a big pinch of fish flakes. You direct her to the top of the glass and slide a panel aside so she can sprinkle it in, and then you bend swiftly so she can watch Lucky swim up from the bottom of the tank and nibble at his dinner.

Eddie stays standing in the doorway.

You look at him over your shoulder and he smiles rather weakly. "What happened to your coffee table?" he asks.

"I gave it away. Thought we'd need the space."

"You didn't have to."

You don't want to wait in agony, so you ask, "Eds, are you getting cold feet? Have you changed your mind?" Reality is sinking in and it's too much for him, and he really doesn't want to live here at all, and this was just a big, huge, awful mistake-

"I think this is the easiest decision I've ever made. I didn't- I wasn't expecting it to be this easy."

You gawp at him. "Easy for you, maybe. I'm exhausted."

You're seriously only kidding. You'd do all the work you've done lately a thousand times over if it meant you got to have this, Eddie looking at you like you're something worth looking at, adoring, infatuated, and his daughter in your arms babbling to her new pet fish.

"Sh-sugar," he says with a wince. "I know, babe, I swear. And I'm gonna make it upto you."

There's no point arguing with him when he gets like this. You smile coquettishly and raise your eyebrows instead. "Yeah? Like, a back massage?"

"A really long one."

"Foot massage?" you ask, though you don't actually want one.

It melts your heart how quickly he says, "Obviously."

"Can I see my room?" Roan asks, distraction waning as Lucky the fish finishes his food and swims back down into his underwater castle.

You wipe her fish-food covered fingers before she can rub it in her nice dress. "Mm, depends. Do I get a kiss for it first?"

With terrible aim, Roan agrees to a kiss and leans in, lips landing at the corner of your mouth. You giggle at her and pretend to think some more, "Hmm... I don't know, it's a pretty great room if I do say so myself. Think I might need a kiss on both cheeks."

"Dad, help me," Roan demands.

Both Munson's kiss either cheek.

Your stairs feel imposisbly tall. "Was I supposed to get a baby gate?"

"She's not a baby."

"Well," you say, holding her closer still as you climb up the last couple of steps, "s'debatable. She's a baby to me."

"She's a baby to me, too," Eddie agrees.

Roan's door is closed but easily discernible as hers. You'd had another plaque made, 'Princess Roan' written in pink bubbly letters with rhinestones and glitter.

"Did you make that?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah."

"You did not."

"No, I didn't."

Eddie snorts.

You set Roan down in front of her new room and cross your finger that this works. That she loves it.

She looks back hesitantly.

"Open it," Eddie prompts.

Dad's approval granted, Roan reaches up and twists the door knob. It opens with a resound click.

She gasps as she enters, eyes racing around the room to take it all in. The princess bed with four posters and sheer pink and white curtains with silky sheets, the heart shaped rug, the matching vanity and closet.

The Princess dress.

She toddles up to the end of the bed and runs her hand over the big wooden chest. You've made sure there's a stepping stool by the side of the bed in case she needed it, and sure enough she can't get onto the mattress without it. The puffy sheets depress under her body as she throws herself into a starfish.

It's alarmingly quiet for a moment, and then she giggles.

You smile and make a small sound of your own, arm instinctive wrapping around Eddie's. He pulls it out of your hold to wrap it around your shoulder, lips at the back of your head.

He kisses your hair. You barely feel it, elation hot and fast in your veins.

"It's like a princess bed!"

She doesn't stay in bed long, too excited to touch and feel everything. Her hands are childishly careful when she reaches the princess dress, a brilliant creation of fake silk and beads. Her squeal is genuinely the best sound in the whole wide world.

-

You'd been so wrapped up in Roan and her first night that you'd forgotten it was Eddie's, too.

Obviously, they've slept here before. Eddie alone when Roan's with Wayne, the both of them, he's stayed in your bed more times than you can remember, but now it's his bed and you've tried to make it feel like that with new pillows, a new bedspread that isn't so girly, and a new nightstand for the right side.

After dinner — Eddie's infamous pesto pasta with all the trimmings, a stodgy masterpiece — and bath time with new bath toys, you and your boy lie in bed together, silent.

Roan had stopped moving around ages ago. You'd put her to bed, kissed her forehead, said a cheesy but extremely necessary, "Welcome home," and Roan had held your hand until you'd pulled away, like she really didn't want to let go. She'd waited for you and Eddie to close your bedroom door before she'd gotten back up, and you'd listened to her explore her new room and laugh to herself for a brilliant half an hour.

Now she's grown quiet again, you're counting Eddie's heart beat under your ear. His hands mess with your hair, no rhyme or reason to his affectionate touching.

"Is the bedspread okay?" you whisper.

"It's perfect."

"What about the thermostat? Is it too hot?"

"Perfect."

"Do you want another pillow?"

Eddie's hand creeps down your head and spread over your shoulders. "Relax, sweetheart. It's all perfect." You can hear his smile, the hitch in his breath when he silently laughs. "I'll miss your sheets, I think."

"I kept them. We can just put 'em back on."

"I have a lot of good memories in those bad boys."

You pinch at his waist. "Idiot."

"Alright, come here."

You lift your head, inquisitive.

"C'mere," he prompts, catching under your arms.

He drags you upward until you're face to face. You hold your weight off of him, a hand woven carefully into his thick head of hair. He looks quite serious, almost impassive beside the traitorous quirk of his lips.

You put your hand on his cheek and stroke the line of his bottom lip with your thumb.

"You didn't have to do all of this. Everything. But you did, and it's perfect." He swallows and covers your hand with his. "Thank you."

Easy to lean down and kiss him. You wonder if he can taste your relief as your lips part, nose tips crushed together as you wade inward searchingly. His hand moves down to your wrist where his fingers curl and cling as you kiss harder, your lips tingling with a ticklish sort of pleasure. He tastes like the mint of his usual toothpaste and he smells faintly of aftershave, more of himself, an unexplainable smell. You inhale hard rather than pull away, reluctant to sever from him.

His hand roves down, up and down again, his touch leaving behind a blooming heat.

"I love you," you say, too close.

He nips at your lip and forces you back and away from him, lifting his chin to redirect any further kissing as he catches his breath.

"Fuck," he says with a chuckle, "you're fucking spoiling me. Everything's fucking perfect and now you're kissing me like that."

"I'm gonna wash your mouth out with soap," you warn with little heat, words sticky with happiness. You feel like you've just eaten a spoonful of honey. Your throat is thick with emotion.

"You're gonna kill me," he corrects. "Kiss me like that again."

"I'm not kissing you like anything if it'll kill you, Munson. Plan on keeping you for a long, long time."

He turns his face into your hand. His exhale is hot against your palm, worse when he readjusts. Unlike his heated mouthing moments ago, these kisses are sluggish. He sucks a small half moon into the fleshy base of your thumb.

"I love you," he mumbles.

He takes your hand into his again and rubs it up his freshly shaved cheek, the skin soft and smooth.

"I love you too. So much it's- it's sick."

"They should lock you up," he says agreeably.

You drop your face into the crook of his neck and let him cuddle you and tuck the sheets tight around your back. He doesn't complain when you kiss at his throat, not aiming for anything else but this, these kisses and his warm arms holding you close.

-

When Roan strolls into your bedroom the next morning with the worst bedhead he's ever seen and Teddy the one-eared bear hanging from her hand, Eddie watches your face pull into a huge smile, his hand already held in your lap. "I think you slept almost as good as I did, little lady," you greet, voice scratchy with sleep.

She grins at you both and beckons for Eddie to help her into bed with you both. "Best bed ever!" she says through a yawn. "Thanks, mom."

You burst into tears. Eddie's only surprised you hadn't done it sooner.

-

more eddie and roan

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

I loved this! 💜

SMUT PROMPT LIST

#38 “We passed “just friends” about 20 fucks ago” Sean Roman x female reader pretty pls xx

Just friends…

The words were still ringing in Roman’s ears as he gripped your hand and tugged you through the apartment door and slammed it shut behind you. He kissed you with brazen lips, his body unyielding as he trapped you between himself and the door.

Just friends…

That’s what you had said when the two of you had bumped into Joe Cruz outside of the brownstone apartment building. He’d been coming off shift, his head buried in his phone, his thumbs texting when he literally careened into you. You’d dropped Roman’s hand, shoving your own into your pockets as he looked at you like a couple of kids who had been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Are the two of you…” he had asked with a wry smile, gesturing between you both.

“No.” You had uttered, shaking your head. “Just friends.”

Just friends…

The two of you had been a couple for over six months at this point so hear those words come out of your mouth it wounded him. He knew it was complicated, that there were rules to be obeyed, that the fall out was worse for female officers than it was for the males. Guys got a slap on the back while women were slut shamed. He hated it, hated that that could happen to you, that somehow, he would be a part of it. In the beginning he had tried to stay away, he really had but you were beautiful, intoxicating. The two of you had a connection that transcended your partnership. Hearing it denounced like that prickled something inside of him. He wanted to remind you how much you meant to him, how much he cared.

“Would a friend kiss you like this?” Roman asked you, his thumb skated over your moist lower lip.

His nose trailed down the length of yours before he ravaged your mouth, his tongue parting your lips and delving deep inside. You melted into his body, your hands grasping at his shirt, the fabric bunching in your fists.

“Would they fuck you as good as I do?” his breath ghosting in your ear as he ground against you.

He was already aching for you, his cock throbbing in the confines of his jeans. His hand slipped between the two of you, his fingers seeking out your moist core. Already the fabric of your panties was wet, his thumb caressed that deviant nub, the one that made you writhe against him. He slid your panties aside, his fingertips delving inside of you, curling just slightly hitting that sweet spot.

You cried out at the sensation, your entire being flooding with endorphins as he pumped his fingers just little bit faster. His eyes were on yours, those stunning baby blues drinking in your pleasure as you keened, arching against his hand.

Sparks flushed through your synapses, erupting though your body like stars. You came undone on his fingers, breathing his name like a prayer.

Your skin was flushed, your eyes bright. You looked gorgeous, corrupted, and debauched.  

“Would a friend leave you looking this ruined?” he asked you, withdrawing his fingers from your panties before putting them inside his mouth. “Would they know how you taste?”

“Christ Sean,” you murmured, trying to catch your breath. “That friend thing really pissed you off.”

“We passed “just friends” about twenty fucks ago.” He told you, his hand coming to rest on the wall behind you as he lingered in your proximity. “At some point we’re gonna have to talk about what this is.”

“Sean…” you drawled out his name, your palms coming to rest on his chest. “I love you but if it comes out that we’re sleeping together…”

“You love me.” he repeated, the left side of his mouth quirking up.

“You know I do.”

“Like in a ‘just friends’ way.” He teased, shrugging his shoulders.

“You are such an asshole.”

“Yea” he murmured, dipping his head low so that he could kiss you again. “But I’m an asshole that loves you.”

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

I loved this! 💜

I would love to see a story with Jack (or Robby) where the reader is having a low energy/high pain day but isn't able to stop what she's doing (either she's at work or they have company over). Maybe she even tries to hide it but he can see through her and does everything he can to comfort her in the moment until she's finally able to crawl in bed and get the tlc she needs at the end of the day.

Bad Pain Day

Jack Abbot x reader

synopsis: jack and reader have guests over, but her pcos is acting up. jack's there to help her through it.

warnings: reader has pcos, alcohol mention, jack's prosthetic, language, angst/self-depreciating thoughts, hurt-comfort

words: 0.82k

a/n: please let me know if there's any medical inaccuracies! <3

This was one of the worst flares of your life. You’d tried to get some sleep while Jack was at work, but the pain was too unbearable. You were exhausted but somehow not tired enough to fall asleep. And when you did manage to go under, your sleep apnea woke you not long after, leaving you overheating and paranoid. All you wanted was to cuddle the man you loved and have him tell you everything was alright, but Jack wasn’t there, and everything wasn’t alright.

Once the clock strikes four am, you give up and substitute your failed attempts at slumber for scrolling on your phone. You had several texts from last night, and as you swipe through them, your heart stops. 

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! I’ll bring the wine :)

Shit. You were hosting a get together tonight. You and your friends had a weekly hang out where you caught up on each other’s lives, played games like trivia and pictionary, and gossiped over bread and cheese. This wasn’t something you could suddenly cancel.

Groaning, you slam your phone back down on the bedside table. It was going to be hell today.

Thankfully, Jack was back in three hours. When he came into the bedroom, he planted a kiss on your forehead before limping to the bathroom to shower off the ick of the hospital. 

Once he comes back out, curls wet and plentiful, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, you open the sheets for him to slide in next to you. He leans his prosthetic against the bedside table and wraps himself around you. “Didn’t get any sleep?”

You shake your head tiredly. 

“We can cancel tonight.”

“We can’t do that to everyone,” you refuse, turning to face him. His expression is soft and sorrowful, and you know that if you look any longer, you’ll crack. You tuck your head into his chest, and he reaches out to pull you closer.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“You.”

It’s two hours into the get together, and you feel like you’re going to pass out, throw up, or both. All of your friends made it, and they sit in the living room patiently as you excuse yourself to the bathroom. 

Locking the door, you move to face yourself in the mirror. You hardly feel put together: wearing a loose top and even looser pants, you tried putting makeup on but gave up when it didn’t make you feel prettier. Jack said you looked perfect, but you weren't sure if you believed him. Maybe it’s just the hormones, you tell yourself, settling down on the toilet seat and bending over to soothe the pain in your lower abdomen. You just wanted it to stop. 

There’s a gentle knock on the door, and you startle, straightening back up. You can’t stifle the moan of pain that comes from such a sharp movement, and the person outside the door hears it perfectly clear.

“Y/n,” Jack says softly. “I can make up an excuse to send everyone home.”

“I’m fine,” you grit out through clenched teeth. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Y/n,” he says again, sternly. 

You get up and fling open the door, moving past him and down the hall. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jack sighs, but he follows with a hand pressed against your lower back, steering you into the living room.

You sit on the couch, and Jack takes a seat next to you. Your friends are telling a story about their college days, and you pretend to pay attention as you lean into Jack, resting your head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around you, kissing the top of your head and nodding at something your friends say.

An hour later, the last person leaves, and Jack shuts the door behind them with a tired glance back at you. You stay on the couch, a pillow hugged to your stomach, and smile softly as he comes back to you.

“Can you walk?” he asks, and you hesitate before shaking your head.

With little effort, Jack scoops you up and carries you to bed, settling you down gently. He takes your arm and lifts it so that he can see the glucose stats on your smart watch. “You’re a little high.”

“Can you get me some water?” you ask, and Jack departs immediately. When he comes back, he holds out a glass, and you take it. Your hand shakes as you raise it to your lips, and Jack rests his hand over yours, steadying your hold. You savor a few gulps before smiling at him, appreciating his help and the fact that he didn’t take over and do it for you.

Jack had also grabbed a heating pad, and he hands it to you to press against your lower abdomen.

“What else do you need?” he asks.

You pat the bed beside you, repeating what you said earlier. “You.” 

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

This was so good! 💜

you asked for this

(repost)

pairing(s): adrian chase | vigilante x GN!reader

summary: Vigilante likes pain, more than he would ever freely admit. You like to be the cause of it.

words: 3.7k

cw: explicit, smut, cock & ball torture, torture, interrogation, BDSM, bondage, electrocution, sadism, masochism, brat taming (kinda?), blood kink, con-noncon BDSM scene, consensual sex, blowjobs, masochist!adrian, sub!adrian, aftercare, established safe words, established relationship, fluff at the end

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Sweat drips down his heaving chest, collects on his brow and dampens his dark curls. Eyes shut, his breath stutters through parted lips, rosy with a little bit of blood that he’s drawn from them. His head is hung back on his shoulders, baring his neck and the crisp protrusion of his adam’s apple to your wandering eye.

God, he has such a neck. You want to sink your teeth into it.

“You know, you can always ask for a break if you need one,” you tell him with a base amount of gentility. “I can be generous.”

He laughs up toward the ceiling; a weak, haggard sound that rattles in the back of his throat and turns vaguely toward a cough near the end. He takes a few short breaths afterwards, arms flexing against their restraints, wrists tied to the back legs of the metal chair he sits in.

“Give me your best shot, pal.”

You take an even breath to contrast his shuddering one. Then, you lean forward and bring the wand in your hand between his legs again.

The crackling of electricity fills the air, a vaguely blue glow shining from the conductive metal in the dark. His naked legs tense and flail, his hips arching off of the metal surface beneath him. And oh, how he howls up toward the ceiling, the sound echoing off the barren, dirty warehouse walls and meeting your ears ten times over. It raises the hairs on your neck, rolls something deep in your gut that you’re almost afraid to admit is there. Almost.

Three seconds later you sit back, and the shimmering Adonis before you sinks down into his seat again with a fresh layer of sweat gleaming on his skin.

You’ve been at this for a while now; you periodically electrocuting him between the legs, him proverbially spitting in your face every chance he gets. A vicious cycle of you torturing him, him goading you on, and so on into the night, all because he refuses to give you one piece of information.

“What’s your name?”

“Rumplestiltskin.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Water?”

“Please.”

You reach down to the floor beside your ankle and raise a white plastic water bottle. It’s the kind football players use, large and capable of holding a full quart at once.

You point it towards him and spray him in the face like a dog.

He splutters. You’re sure that with your aim he managed to inhale some of it. He tilts his soaked face towards you finally, a thin rivulet of blood running from his lip down his chin along with the droplets of fresh water. His eyes flash at you in tired annoyance. “The fuck was that for?”

“You didn’t specify how you wanted it.”

The insinuation hangs solidly in the air. You cross your legs, the leather of your pants creaking as it moves. His bright green eyes trail that movement, his lips parted still as he tries to catch his breath, and you catch a glimpse of another emotion underlying all that pain and exhaustion. A dark swell crawls along your skin at the thought.

Pretty boy.

“I don’t think you got enough of it up my nose that time,” he says blandly after a moment. “I haven’t done my weekly neti pot, do you think you could-”

Your hand tightens on the bottle, and a projectile stream of water hits him squarely between the eyes. His head flies back, water dripping down the sides of his face.

“Thanks.”

You bark a laugh. “Such a polite little brat. A cute juxtaposition, if ever there was one.”

He gives you a quiet hmph, his head slumped forward just enough that you can’t see his eyes past the matted curtain of curls over his forehead. His body has finally relaxed after its last jolt to the point that his thighs part just enough, giving you a prime view of what he has to work with.

Very pretty boy.

“I didn’t know you’d be such a glutton for pain, Vigilante.” The words roll off your tongue easily, but something about that nickname is clunky. It arrests the flow of the sentence, throwing a wrench in the works and making it come out almost wrong. Perhaps that was the desired effect, or perhaps he just isn’t very skillful at coming up with code names.

Vigilante looks up at you from beneath his lashes, heavy lidded eyes scowling at you through the dark. “Think I’d do any of this shit if I didn’t like it?”

A wolfish smile spreads across your face. “You should really run away when you can.”

“Y’know, Mozart wrote a song called ‘Lick My Ass.’ You should listen to it sometime.”

You slam the metal rod in your hands between his legs again, ensuring that it smacks hard against his balls before you turn it on, and the sharp sound of electricity crackles over the din of his shouting.

“HOOOOOOHHHH FUCK!”

This time you pull away after five seconds, just to salt the wound. Even after the current is lifted from him, he writhes, head tossed back, hips pushed out so far toward you that you can’t help but admire his cock. Flushed, swollen, and impressively hard. He doesn’t seem to be shy about it, but you guess he has bigger things to worry about at the moment.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he hisses, his face contorted in pain as he slowly lowers back into a semi-comfortable position. A vein jumps out of his neck, his teeth bared as he gurgles something in the back of his throat that sounds like another snarky insult towards you.

“You’re very resilient. I’m impressed.” You tap the dormant wand against your boot, leaning back in your chair again. You watch him, riveted as though you’re watching a movie. Small whimpers come out of his mouth with each quiet breath, his tongue darting out to stave off the blood seeping from his cracked lip. A deep bruise colors a spot just beneath his sharp jaw, purple fading to yellow already. With a hint of amusement, you observe, “That’s a pretty mark. Got someone waiting for you at home?”

He makes a short noise of protest. “Fuck off.”

“Ah. So, Vigilante’s got a partner. That’s sweet. Surprising, but sweet.” You tilt your head at him. “Do they know how much you like getting your balls fried?”

He pants, lifting his head a bit to fix his dilated eyes on your face. “Theoretically… if I had someone… and they knew that… I bet they could still do it better than this.”

You grin. “What’s your name, Vigilante?”

“Bruce fucking Wayne.”

This time, he almost starts yelling before the wand touches him. Unwilling to start letting him anticipate the pain, you pull away so quickly you barely give him more than a little zap.

He rocks forward in his seat as far as he can, whimpering and hissing miserably through his teeth.

“You must want some sort of relief by now,” you muse, tapping your finger on your knee. “Unfortunately for you, I’m a very patient person.”

He chuckles, a dimple popping up on his cheek when he grins at you. “What kind of relief are we talking?”

You hum, your eyes searching his face for some kind of trick. “Nothing for nothing, sweetheart. You tell me what your name is, and I’ll help you take care of that raging hard on.”

“You’re gonna help me?”

“Or I’ll just untie you so that you can take care of it yourself.”

He smirks, gazing at you tiredly with half-lidded eyes. “You untie me and that’ll be the last thing you ever fucking do. Ohhhh, I want to tear you to pieces.”

Amazing how menacing he can look even with those sweet curls and eyes half shut, the dimples on his cheeks seeming deeper in the shadows. Something about the tilt of his head, the tint of blood on his teeth as he smiles at you, makes you think that he’s far from joking. Still, you refuse to balk any more than he is.

“I’m so threatened.” You flick the button on the wand again, letting the electricity crackle in the silence for a second. “Okay. So I don’t untie you. There are other ways to get you off. I’m sure you’ll come if I just breathe lightly on that thing. I don’t even have to touch you.”

Vigilante whines, hanging his head back with his nose scrunched in indignation. “Fuck you for being so hot. Fuck this. ‘S not fair. God, I’d love to have you between my legs-”

“Then tell me,” you press, uncrossing your legs to lean forward. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“M-my name?” He heaves a shaky breath, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows drily. “My name… my name is…”

You blink. He couldn’t possibly be about to break.

“Deez nuts.”

Your hand swings forward, thumb clamping down on the button, amping the power up to ten. Vigilante shrieks up toward the ceiling, a broken sound dying in his throat and fading into a racking sob that shakes his entire body. His hips fully leave the seat, his writhing threatening to topple the chair he’s tied to.

When you pull back, you turn the wand off and toss it to the floor beside the water bottle with a clatter.

You watch him for a long moment. He twitches, his face still clenched tight, muscles still tense as he takes deep, labored breaths. His pale skin is flushed, rosy patches coloring his neck and shoulders. Slowly, so slowly, he sinks back into the seat until his legs release that built up tension, and his breaths turn natural, a rasping groan punctuating each one.

A sharp blast of laughter lurches from your throat, startling him and making him jump to look at you.

“‘Deez nuts?’ Really?”

A tired smile worms its way across his face, and he echoes your laugh softly. “Couldn’t help it. I’ve always wanted to say that.”

You each dissolve into your respective fits of laughter, yours much more energetic and loud compared to his at this point. You rub your eyes, check the time. You’ve been going for hours.

“How are you doing?”

He finally drops his shoulders, fully slumping back into the seat with his head tilted back on his shoulders. He’s obviously exhausted, but a soft smile graces his face as he cracks his eyes open at you.

“‘M good. How’re you?”

“Just fine, baby,” you coo at him. “Can I kiss you?”

He nods. He lifts his head as you stand, shuffling forward to carefully slide your hand up his thigh, clammy with sweat and cold from the chill in the empty warehouse.

You bend down and kiss your boyfriend tenderly on the lips, your thumbs stroking over his damp cheeks. His lips taste of salt and blood, bitten raw and rough. He groans softly, stretching up to try to deepen the kiss, his tongue darting into your mouth as quickly as he can manage it.

“Was I good?” Adrian says in a rushed exhale when you pull back. His green eyes are wide and stare up at you hopefully.

“Fucking amazing, baby. I don’t think anything can break you.” You stroke your knuckles down the side of his cheek, your heart swelling when he leans into that touch. “You were so good for me. God, I love you.”

“Mm… love you.”

For someone so easy to read, he’s almost anomalous in the way he behaves. Dating him, you’d been so accustomed to his usual state of bubbliness that when you finally saw him fight for the first time, you’d been utterly astounded. It was almost as if you couldn’t quite comprehend the fact that Adrian could be Vigilante, and vice versa.

You’ve gotten to a point where it isn’t so jarring. But that doesn’t mean he won’t throw a curveball at you every now and then.

“Okay so one time Peacemaker and I got captured by aliens and they tied me to a chair and electrocuted my balls and I was really mad at Peacemaker because he didn’t give up any information to stop them even though he totally could have but what I didn’t tell anyone was that I actually kind of liked it and anyways I was thinking can you maybe tie me down and torture me for information in a sexy way and then kiss me after?”

The request had taken you fully by surprise, but once you sat with it for a second, it wasn’t the strangest thing Adrian had ever said to you. And, you realized, there was something appealing about the idea to you, too.

“Yeah, I can do that. But we’re going to have a safe word and action, and if I feel like you’re in over your head then I’m going to stop everything. Okay?”

“Okay. Can our safe word be ‘Tinky-Winky?’”

“...That can be the safe word, yes.”

“Sweet. There’s nothing less sexy than a Teletubby.”

It had taken a week of thorough planning to work out everything, and to ensure that Adrian was keeping it all in mind. He put a lot of emphasis on the information-giving aspect of it, to the point where you were certain this was a test of his will. You’d checked in with him again as you pulled the Sebring up outside the abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, bracketed by woods on either side.

“You know that you have nothing to prove to me, right, baby?”

“I know. This is gonna be fun.”

He was practically vibrating with excitement. You smiled as you pulled rope out of the trunk. “I’m going to ask you for your name. Don’t tell me it, okay?”

“But you already know my name.”

“No, I know that. But when we go in there, you’re Vigilante. And I’m the enemy. Got it?”

“Okay.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Tinky-Winky. Oh! And if I can’t talk I slap my hand on the leg of the chair three times.”

“Good boy.” You reached up and slipped his glasses from his face. He blinked at you slowly as you slid them into your pocket. “I’ll ask you ‘How are you doing?’ That means everything is over, we’re done. Got it?”

“Got it. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Now take off your clothes.”

Now, you pull his glasses out of your pocket and put them back on him. He looks up at you again, not having to stare quite so hard to see you clearly. “You’re the sexiest person on earth. Like seriously, how did I get so lucky with you, huh?”

“Because you’re the only guy I know who’ll get his ass beat and then bring me home a plushie from the claw machine at work the same night.” You smile, your fingers drifting through his damp hair. “I’m gonna untie you now, okay?”

“NO- I mean… no. Please.” Adrian inhales sharply as you search his face for an explanation. “I-I’m really fucking hard right now and I don’t… I’m not sure if I- I mean-”

“You want me to help you with it?”

He nods rapidly, his face screwed up in earnest. “But if you untie me I might be really rough with you and I don’t want to do that on accident-”

“It’s okay, Adrian,” you shush him, slowly dropping to your knees in front of his spread legs. “I won’t untie you, but you still tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Okay. F-fuck, okay. Do I still have to say the safe word?”

“You can, if you want. I’ll stop either way.” You reach forward, ghosting one feather-light fingertip up the length of his cock. He hisses through his teeth, hips jolting even at that bare amount of contact. “Are you sure you want this now, baby? I know it hurts, I wasn’t easy on you.”

“No, I’m… I mean, it does. But I… I like it.” You know that Adrian is sometimes a little shy when it comes to asking for what he wants. It’s the only time you ever see him truly nervous to talk to you, but this is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen him, as you gaze up at him from between his legs. His voice is barely above a whisper when he repeats, “I like it.”

“Okay. Sweet boy, I’m going to take care of you. Just relax.”

Overly cautious, you lean forward to let the warmth of your lips brush along the side of his cock. It isn’t so much that you’re set on teasing him anymore, it’s that you refuse to cause him any more pain than he likely already has. Going at him hard and fast immediately would only irritate him further, and you want him to enjoy this.

The wet swath of your tongue soothes over his sensitive skin, and he strains against the ties that bind him to the chair, a groan bubbling up out of his chest.

“Haaah shit, holy shit.”

“Relax.” You kiss his tip, tongue darting out to flick gently at his slit.

“Ah, fuck- I’m trying.” Contrary to his words, he squirms, hips bucking toward your face, making you pull back with the movement. “Shit, you’re so good- so good for me. God, I fucking love you so much.”

You hum a quiet, soothing response as you let your lips glide smoothly along his curved underside, the very tip of your tongue tracing the long vein there and swirling carefully around his swollen head. His open mouthed gasps and groans fill your ears, sounding even more sinful than his howls of pain had been. Your blood boiling, you elect to make each touch of your lips and tongue to his skin an attempt to kiss that pain away.

He moans obscenely loud when your lips finally wrap around him, giving him the lightest little suck while petting the length of him with your fingers. He’s sweating again, nearly pouring buckets, but you imagine that this time it isn’t necessarily from a point of pain.

You remain there, sucking rhythmically and letting your fingers do the rest of the work, easing your saliva along his shaft until he’s quivering, strong legs twitching on either side of your head and breath coming out in short bursts. Then you slide your mouth down, matching the moan that he makes above you, and this time you don’t pull back when his hips buck forward just slightly.

“God, I’m gonna come. You’re gonna- fuck- don’t stop, please-”

You hum, letting your hands caress his thighs and thumbs graze along his hips, stroking softly before your hands tighten and hold him down against the chair. Not that you think you could overpower him if he really wanted to struggle out of your grasp- but, you know, he has a habit of jerking around when he orgasms.

You ease up as you continue the steady working of your mouth and tongue on him, giving it to him softly, each draw back accompanied by a lewd slick noise to combat his harsh groaning. All at once he jolts, head flinging back with an alarmingly high pitched noise in his throat and limbs straining as he comes, a rush of warmth and salt on your tongue. Hard pulses absolutely ravage his body until he can do nothing but slump back in his seat and take his air in weak, wheezing breaths.

You pull back with one last kitten lick to his tip, making his hips jump from oversensitivity. “Better?”

“Huuuuuuhh… uh huh.”

You smirk to yourself as you pull a knife out of your pocket and start cutting the restraints on his ankles. “You have such a way with words. You write poetry?”

His words are thick in his throat. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day-”

“Save your breath, Shakespeare.”

Adrian swallows, goes to say something and ends up coughing instead. You cut his wrists free, and reach for the bottle of water behind you, straightening up on your knees to push it into his hands. “Drink. I’ve got you now, you’re safe.”

“I know I’m safe.” His hands shake as he lifts the bottle to his lips, and he spends a long moment just chugging it until he manages to clear the dryness from his throat. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor beside you as he adds quietly, “You make me feel safe.”

“I always want you to feel safe with me.” You shift forward, settling between his knees as your arms wrap around his middle. He tucks his head against your shoulder, slumping forward to hold you, his breathing slowly returning to normal the longer you keep him there against you. Drenched in sweat and cold to the touch, but speaking of peace and comfort with his attempts to pull you ever closer to him.

“You’re really cold, sweetheart,” you tell him after his body completely relaxes into yours. “You want me to help you put some clothes on?”

“If I put pants on it’ll hurt.”

“Okay. There’s a blanket in the back of the Sebring, you can just wrap up until we get back home.”

He nods, letting you support his weight as he stands. Wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady, you hold the water and electric wand in your other hand as you slowly make your way back toward the entrance of the warehouse. He hisses as he walks, sort of bending forward and hobbling like an old man.

“Dammit- Peacemaker’s gonna know something’s off. He always knows about shit like this. You think he can read minds?”

“I think he can read your mind,” you say with a smirk. “Pretty much everyone can, babe.”

“That’s bullshit. How can everyone read my mind? I don’t have a radio brain.” He pauses. “Do I have a radio brain?”

“No, you don’t. You’re just really easy to read, there’s no shame in that.” After a short moment of contemplation on your end, you finally add, “There is something, though. You said you wanted to tear me apart. I couldn’t figure out if you were serious or not.”

“I uh… hm.” He blushes, looking down at his feet.

“Because, if that’s an offer for you to return the favor… I’d love for you to make good on that threat sometime.”

Adrian turns his head back towards you with a lopsided grin. “Really? You… yeah? Okay. What’s your safe word?”

“Tinky-Winky, of course.”

Adrian’s laughter echoes throughout the empty warehouse, bouncing off the walls and surging up on your heels.

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

So good! 💜

Day 5- mask kink with adrian chase ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

kinktober masterlist

Adrian’s hands roamed your body, his mouth clashing with yours. You let out a moan when he bit your lip, causing him to let out a chuckle against your mouth.

He began to take off the rest of his suit, peeling it off, while you took off your own clothes.

You had been harboring this secret ever since you found out he was vigilante, and you hated to admit it, but seeing him in the mask, taking out bad guys was the hottest thing you think you’ve ever seen in your life. You glanced over at the mask on the nightstand before turning your attention back to him.

He let out an audible groan at the sight of your naked body, and it never failed to have him hard in seconds.

“Goddamn. Swear, one day babe, you’re gonna kill me.”

You giggled at him, moving to kiss his lips again. His hands went to your cheeks, and he hovered on top of you, you leaning against the pillow.

He began to take off his boxers when you said his name, causing him to look at you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“I uhm… I had this idea.”

“Okay. Like what kind of idea?”

“A sexy one.”

He looked even more intrigued now, waiting for this idea.

“You should… keep it on.”

“Huh?” He asked, swallowing the lump in his throat, if you were thinking what he was thinking you meant, he’d jump up and down. “Keep what on?”

“The mask.”

His lips quirked up at that, eyes widening behind his glasses. “Holy shit. I think that made me even harder than I was.”

You laughed at him again, watching him scramble off the bed and go towards the dresser, putting it over his head and looking at you.

“So?”

“You look hot.”

He smiled underneath his mask, making his way back onto the bed. You were glad that you could at least see his eyes behind his visor, giving you some sort of vision.

“Babe, I have to say, this is the hottest idea you’ve ever had.” He told you, taking off his boxers, you smiling up at him while his cock was lined up at your entrance.

“I’m-“ you paused to gasp, gripping his shoulders while he slowly pushed into your warm walls. “Glad you liked it”. You breathed out.

“Of course I do. We might actually have to do this more.” He murmured, letting out a low groan when he finally bottomed out, feeling your nails leave crescent shaped marks in his back, his helmet hitting your neck.

“I was scared you wouldn’t like it.” You admitted to him, him moving away so that he could look down at you again.

He snickered at that. “Babe, have you even met me? I’m up for anything at this point. Especially this.”

“Good. Because you look so goddamn good in your mask.” You pressed a kiss to where his nose would be, making him let out a breathy laugh.

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

I loved this!💜

HELLO I haven’t seen any of the series yet but I am politely asking with my hands out flat for some Vigilante (new pookie) and from the prompt lists I think it was “Yeah, suck on it” and whatever it is, I’ll take it 🙂‍↕️💚

ohohohohoho yes this is a great list to choose from for Vig >:) I went with 6). "Suck On It" from this prompt list by @/delusionisaplace heehee.

p.s. welcome to the club hahahaha

Summary: A smutty little one shot for Vigilante <3

WC: 831

CW: Oral(Male receiving), GN!reader, strong language (It's Vig, c'mon.) head pushing, attempted deep throating,

SMUT UNDER THE CUT!!!

“Suck on it.” Vigilante demanded. He still donned his mask over his head, his suit was completely off.

Funny, you thought. Here he was completely exposed in such an intimate way, yet, taking his mask off was too far. A shame, really. Oh what you would give to see the facial expressions he would make because of you.

You kneeled in front of him, gripping the base of his erect cock with your hand, using your other hand to brace against his thigh. You gently lifted his cock upwards, pre-cum already leaking down his hardened shaft, lightly coating the tips of your fingers. You gave a gentle, yet teasing, pump gliding your fingers over his leaky tip. 

Vigilante sucked in a hiss at your slow movements. He tilted his head back, enjoying the slow build-up you were giving him. You gave a few more unceremonious pumps along his velvety and slick shaft. You bit your lower lip at the sight. Your mouth is already watering at the mere thought of his cock in your mouth.

Having enough of the teasing, you brought his cock to your lips, placing a quick kiss on his wet tip. You stuck out your tongue lapping at his slit, moaning at the taste of his salty pre-cum.

“Uhh, fuck. Hurry and suck it!” Vigilante whined.

You sank your mouth down on his cock, his tip hitting the back of your throat. You could hear Vigilante above you moaning and muttering incomprehensible words. You hollow your cheeks, stroking the underside of his cock with your tongue. You gently grab ahold of his balls giving them a slight massage as you work his cock with your mouth.

You felt Vigilante’s hands grasp the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair, Moreso to ground himself. The way you were giving him head had him seeing stars.

You released his cock, much to Vigilante’s disappointment. You kissed down his shaft, and ever so gently took one of his balls into your mouth. You began stroking his dick, as to not neglect it, as you focused sucking and licking elsewhere.

“Oh-ho shit! Fu-hngh-fuck!” Vigilante looked down at you.

You released him with a ‘pop’ and licked a wet, languid stripe up his shaft.

“Put my dick back in your mouth. I’m gonna fuck your throat. I want you choking on my dick and swallowing my cum.” If you could see his eyes, you’d see his pupils absolutely blown wide with lust. His cheeks were hot and rosy.

You did as he asked, and sucked on his cock once more. This time, Vigilante grabbed the back of your head with a purpose, coaxing your head down as he thrust his cock as deep into your throat as he could get it. You gagged around him, but he kept your head still.

“Come on, you can take all of it. I know you can.” He edged his hips forward.

Tears welled in your eyes at the strain of his girth, and the lack of air it caused. You gave him a tap on his thigh, and he pulled back.

“Fuck, just relax. I’m so close I promise. I’ll get off so quick!” Vigilante was desperate in his pleas.

He picked up the pace, thrusting his hips and recklessly pumping his cock into your mouth. You did your best to relax and accommodate his length. The sound of you gagging spurred him on and Vigilante’s thrust became erratic.

“Ohhhh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck!” He thrust his hips one more time, keeping his cock sheathed in your mouth.

Vigilante held the back of your head keeping you in place as he shot his load of warm cum down your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut as you focused on swallowing all of it.

You felt his cock twitch and begin softening. Vigilante let out an exhale before slowly removing himself from your mouth.

“Sh-show me.” He looked down at you once more.

You gave a smile and obliged him. You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, showing him you did indeed swallow all of his spend.

“That’s hot. That’s so fucking hot!” He palmed his flaccid dick.

You closed your mouth and stood up, “Well, we better get going. The rest of the team are probably wondering where we went.” You didn’t expect Vigilante to return the favor, and there was no time for a quickie.

“W-wait! What about you?” He still stood stark naked.

“Me? Vig, I’ll be ok. Besides, you can’t really give head with a mask on.”

“Well… I can take it off. Just close your eyes!” He offered.

You smirked at his suggestion, leaving the spare room of the video store-turned-hideout, “Maybe some other time.”

Vigilante hurried to dress himself, stumbling around as he tried pulling his suit back on, “wait! I could go another round!” He called after you.

Vigilante tried to catch up to you, desperately pleading and bargaining along the way.

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

I loved this! You write so wonderfully. I loved the miscommunication. You write Bucky so well! 💜

I Thought We Were Already Dating

pairing | congressman!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 4k words

summary | you thought you were spiraling over a situationship—meanwhile, bucky barnes had been acting like your very committed, very oblivious boyfriend the entire time. one public meltdown, a congressional office full of witnesses, and a very intense kiss later… you're officially his girl (and he never doubted it).

tags | (18+) MDNI, unprotected sex, p in v, established situationship, mutual pining (but one of them doesn't know), miscommunication, public confession, soft!bucky, domestic chaos, comedy & angst, bucky barnes is your boyfriend (he just forgot to tell you), reader is unhinged (affectionate), FLUFF & SMUT, friends to lovers (but they skipped the "friends" and the "lovers" just happened), poor congressional staff, possessive!reader, love confession, bucky is so in love it hurts

a/n | based on this request. i love writing chaotic reader

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

Your back hit the mattress in a blur of limbs and low groans, Bucky’s mouth never leaving yours, his hands already sliding under the hem of your shirt like he needed to feel skin, all of it, immediately.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he breathed against your lips, voice rough from hours of holding back everything but this.

You barely managed to smile before his teeth grazed your jaw, his scruff dragging just enough to make you shiver. His body blanketed yours, warm and solid, pressing you down in the most intoxicating way.

“You saw me this morning,” you murmured, fingers curling into his hair.

“Not like this.”

The shirt came off.

Then his.

You didn’t stop him.

You never did.

Because being under Bucky Barnes like this—held like something he didn’t want to let go of—was the only time you felt whole. His touch, his mouth, his breath in your ear as he whispered how good you felt, how fucking perfect you were when you were under him like this.

It was all consuming.

He kissed his way down your chest, every inch of skin worshiped like he didn’t just want you—he needed you. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down, slow, like he loved the way you sounded when you gasped just from anticipation.

You watched him from above, chest heaving, skin flushed—and in that moment, something tight twisted in your stomach that had nothing to do with arousal.

It was the ache.

The quiet question in the back of your head that always came right before you let him *n.

What are we?

You didn’t ask.

You just let your legs fall open, let his body settle between them, and swallowed the question whole.

He looked down at you once more, eyes so soft they burned.

“You want me?” he asked, voice hushed, reverent.

You nodded.

“Say it,” he whispered, leaning down, lips brushing your collarbone.

“I want you,” you breathed.

He groaned, low and wrecked, and then he was inside you.

One thrust.

Slow. Deep.

Your back arched, your mouth parting in a gasp as he bottomed out, hands gripping your hips like he was anchoring himself in you.

He didn’t move at first.

Just breathed.

Pressed his forehead to yours.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You always feel like home.”

You blinked.

Your heart stopped.

But then he started moving—hips rolling slow, dragging pleasure from your core in waves. Every stroke was measured, precise, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him. Like he wasn’t just fucking you—he was holding you, claiming you without a single word about what it meant.

You let your nails scrape down his back, your thighs tightening around his waist, chasing every thrust like it could answer the questions you didn’t dare ask.

He kissed you again.

Not hungrily.

Not possessively.

Just soft.

Like a man who thought you already belonged to him.

His pace stayed slow at first—torturously so. Each thrust sank deep, dragging friction that had your nails pressing harder into his skin, a soft whimper caught at the back of your throat.

He was watching you now.

Eyes dark, focused, mouth parted like he was trying to memorize the way you looked when he was buried inside you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, and the way he said it—it was too soft. Too real. Like it meant something. Like you meant something.

You arched up to meet him, hips rising into each roll of his body, chasing that dizzying edge as the room dissolved around you. The only thing real was the heat building between your bodies, the slick slide of his skin against yours, the way he groaned every time your walls clenched around him.

You could feel your release winding tight, breath ragged, body shaking.

And then—

His hand cupped your cheek.

His lips found yours again, tender and aching as he whispered into your mouth, “That’s it. Let go. I’ve got you.”

It hit you like a wave.

You shattered underneath him, crying out as your body clamped down, orgasm tearing through you with a sharp, wet sound of skin against skin and your name on his tongue like it was sacred.

He fucked you through it, his thrusts faltering, rougher now, deeper, desperate.

“I can’t—baby, I’m gonna—fuck—” he groaned.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulled him tighter, wanted him closer.

“Inside,” you whispered, dazed.

His eyes locked on yours—wide, vulnerable, wrecked.

Then he was coming—hot and hard and raw, his whole body shaking as he buried his face in your neck and let himself fall apart in you.

His voice cracked.

“I love you,” he gasped, barely more than breath.

And you heard it.

Your body was still trembling. Your mind was still fogged.

But your heart?

It snapped to attention.

Because he said it like it was obvious.

Like he’d said it before. Like you knew.

His breathing had slowed.

His body lay heavy over yours, arms curled protectively around your waist, lips pressed to your collarbone in a lazy, half-conscious kiss. You could feel the weight of his affection in every touch—adoring, familiar, like this was just another Thursday night in the life of Bucky Barnes, the man who clearly thought you were his.

Because he said it.

He said I love you.

And not like it slipped.

Not like it was some heat-of-the-moment moan tangled in a climax.

He said it like he meant it.

Like he’d said it before.

Like he thought you already knew.

Your hand twitched on his back.

Your heartbeat, which had only just settled, started racing again—but not with pleasure. With full-blown panic.

Because—

What the actual fuck?

You stared up at the ceiling, body still bare, skin still warm from him, and yet—

Your brain screamed: WHAT ARE WE?

He shifted slightly, nuzzling closer, mumbling something incoherent as he pressed a kiss to your chest.

Meanwhile, your soul was clawing its way out of your skin.

Because if he thought this was that—you being his, this being real—then you’d missed a crucial piece of the plot somewhere back in act one.

He never asked.

There was never a “will you be my girlfriend?” conversation. No official status talk. No expectations. Just great sex, unholy chemistry, soft sleepovers, texts that made your stomach flip, and a drawer at his place you never questioned.

You suddenly wanted to sit up and scream.

But instead, you lay there frozen, blinking at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed you.

His hand rubbed slow circles on your hip.

You resisted the urge to launch yourself across the room.

What the fuck is going on.

Are we dating?

Is this real?

He sighed against your skin, content and sleepy.

You swallowed hard.

One Week Later

Your phone buzzed beside you on the kitchen counter.

It lit up with his name, the one you still hadn’t changed in your contacts—just “James 🇺🇸” with a dumb little flag emoji he’d added himself the first week you started… whatever this was.

James 🇺🇸:

On my way back—what do you want for takeout?

You stared at the screen for a second too long.

The question was simple. Casual. Routine.

And that’s what made your stomach twist.

Because it was routine.

The texts. The keys to your place. The way he dropped his jacket over your chair like he lived here. The way he smiled when he saw you, like everything else melted away.

You typed, deleted, typed again.

Finally, you sent:

You:

thai? the dumpling place. y'know the one.

Your phone buzzed two seconds later.

James 🇺🇸:

Already reading my mind, huh?

I’ll be there in 30.

Got you extra peanut sauce because I know you hoard it like a gremlin.

You huffed a small laugh, despite the weight still coiled in your chest.

Then you stared at that thread a little too long.

The little hearts you’d sent last week.

The blurry selfie he sent you from his office at midnight, captioned "Thinking about you and losing a vote at the same time 🫡”

The I love you that still echoed in your ears like a gunshot.

You set the phone down.

Walked into the bathroom.

And stared at yourself in the mirror.

You’d never called him your boyfriend.

He’d never asked.

But he acted like he was yours.

And the scary part?

You wanted him to be.

You just didn’t know if he knew that mattered.

The door creaked open with a familiar scrape—he still hadn’t fixed the hinge.

You turned from the couch, face carefully neutral.

He stepped inside in that unbuttoned suit jacket, tie half-loosened, hair tousled from a long day of pretending not to want to strangle half of Congress.

And he was smiling.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, like it was the most normal thing in the world, setting the takeout bags down on your kitchen counter without even looking.

Baby.

You froze.

Okay, he calls you that all the time.

Maybe he calls everyone that.

Does he call Sam that?

“Place was packed,” he continued, toeing off his shoes. “Some guy tried to skip the line and the little lady behind the counter threatened to beat him with a ladle. Reminded me of you.”

You stared.

He wandered to the fridge, pulled out your favorite seltzer—your specific lemon one—and cracked it open before sliding it your way.

You caught it on instinct, fingers brushing the condensation.

He hadn’t even asked.

Just knew.

Then, casually, he took off his jacket, draped it over the chair, and loosened his tie more, tossing it with a sigh. His white dress shirt stretched a little at the biceps. He was still talking—something about a subcommittee vote gone to hell—but you were barely hearing it.

Because now?

You were tracking everything.

The way he set down two sets of chopsticks like it was automatic. The way he separated the sauces—your peanut ones on your side, his spicier one near him. The way he snagged the remote and flopped down beside you like he lived here.

Like this was his couch.

Was it his couch?

Was he paying your utilities?

“I don’t know why I let them keep putting me in these budget meetings,” he muttered, cracking open a box of dumplings. “Every time I try to talk, someone from Indiana gives me a migraine.”

You nodded slowly.

Then: “Do you… have a toothbrush here?”

He blinked at you mid-chew.

“Yeah?” He swallowed. “Under the sink. Next to yours. Why?”

Your eye twitched.

“Do you… always leave a change of clothes here?”

He nodded again, popping another dumpling in his mouth. “Babe, half my henleys are in your closet. You know that.”

You did.

You just didn’t process it.

You turned toward him fully, food forgotten.

His arm was already around your shoulders, pulling you in.

You didn’t resist. You leaned in.

And then you stared blankly at the TV as he rested his chin on your head, warm and soft and so stupidly comfortable.

He sighed.

“I missed you today,” he murmured. “It was shit at the office.”

Your heart did a weird thing in your chest—flipped, twisted, frowned.

You blinked slowly.

“…Do you keep anything at anyone else’s place?” you asked, very casually. Too casually.

He snorted. “What?”

“Just wondering.”

He reached for a spring roll. “No? Why would I?”

“Just wondering,” you repeated, mechanically.

He made a soft mhmm noise and handed you a dumpling without looking, already distracted by the TV again, thumb grazing lazy circles against your arm like his body just knew where you were supposed to be.

Meanwhile, your brain was screaming.

Are we dating?

ARE WE DATING?!

And he just sat there, all warm and sleepy and Thai-food-happy beside you, like the man absolutely not at the center of an existential relationship spiral.

You chewed your dumpling, eyes narrow.

You were going to lose your mind.

A Few Days Later

The sky over Washington was a thick stretch of slate.

Fine rain fell in that soft, insistent way that made everything damp without ever fully raining. The streets were quiet, the air cool against your cheeks, and your lungs ached just enough to make you feel alive as your sneakers slapped against the wet pavement.

Beside you, Rachel kept pace effortlessly.

Of course she did.

She looked like she’d been born doing yoga on a yacht.

“I still don’t get how you convinced me to jog in this weather,” she said, breath easy, ponytail bouncing behind her. “You’re getting fit for a reason or just embracing the sad girl cardio?”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, ignoring the sting in your ribs. “Trying to keep up with a guy who’s genetically engineered and built like a statue.”

She smirked. “Oh, right. The Bucky Barnes. Still a thing?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your feet hit a puddle, splashing your ankles.

Rachel didn’t wait.

“I mean… it’s cute. Really. Him bringing you coffee, showing up to all your little gallery events, texting you like a golden retriever with a crush.”

You squinted through the mist. “Is there a ‘but’ coming?”

She gave a mock innocent look. “No ‘but.’ I just think if he hasn’t made it official by now, he’s probably just riding the comfort wave. You know?”

Your stomach dropped—quiet, slow—like something sliding off a ledge in the dark.

“He’s… not like that,” you muttered.

Rachel made a noncommittal sound, the kind that sounded like “maybe” but meant “absolutely.”

“Sure,” she said lightly. “But a guy like that? Everyone wants him. Powerful, polished, and hot—but still gives off that ‘I could destroy you emotionally if I wanted’ vibe. It’s catnip.”

You bit your tongue.

She went on, like she didn’t just lob a grenade at your chest.

“I’m just saying. If I were dating him, I’d make damn sure everyone knew it. Otherwise…” She shrugged, smiling sweetly. “Kind of feels like letting a limited edition slip through your fingers.”

You slowed slightly, blinking rain from your lashes.

Rachel picked up her pace, unaware—or pretending to be.

Or maybe that was the point.

The worst part?

You didn’t even know what to say.

Because in your head, you were screaming: I don’t know if I’m dating him either.

You didn’t answer her.

You just picked up speed.

One second, you were jogging beside her—lungs aching, mind heavy—and the next, your legs were moving, not with purpose but with sheer emotional combustion.

“Wait—what the hell?” Rachel’s voice snapped from behind you, sharp with confusion. “Where are you going?”

You shouted over your shoulder, breath shallow, “Forgot—I left the oven on!”

It was a terrible excuse.

You hadn’t even used the oven that morning.

And Rachel, in all her smug, sculpted glory, definitely knew it.

But you didn’t care.

You turned down a side street without looking back, rain misting against your skin, hair sticking to your neck as you ran harder, faster, legs burning. You were vaguely aware of your own ridiculousness. You were sprinting through Capitol Hill in soaked leggings and adrenaline—not because of a fire, but because your chest was burning.

Because the words still a thing were still ringing in your ears.

Because her little smile made you want to scream.

And because deep down, you didn’t know how to answer her.

You didn’t know.

Your lungs ached, your sneakers skidded slightly on wet pavement as you turned a corner, and still—you kept going.

Toward the tall glass building you knew by heart now. The security desk that always smiled when you came in. The floor where the man who may or may not be your boyfriend spent hours arguing policy and quietly doodling in his tiny notebook between meetings.

You didn’t know what you were going to say when you got there.

You didn’t know what you wanted him to say.

But you knew this:

You couldn’t keep playing house in your head while the floor beneath it kept shifting.

You needed an answer.

Even if it hurt.

Even if Rachel ended up being right.

You just prayed she got splashed by a Metro bus on the way home.

The doors of the administrative wing slammed open with a bang.

You stumbled in, soaked from drizzle, cheeks flushed, ribs on fire, and about three seconds from a full cardiac event. Your leggings were clinging to your thighs, your hoodie had definitely seen better days, and your lungs were currently staging a mutiny.

Several staffers at their desks froze mid-keystroke.

Someone dropped a pen.

Bucky looked up from where he was speaking with a few of his aides, a file in one hand, coffee in the other—and blinked at you like you’d just teleported in from an alternate timeline.

“Hey—what—?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Silence.

Every single head in the room turned.

Bucky’s coffee cup paused halfway to his lips.

You pointed at him, panting. “Because—I think it’s time. I want to be your girlfriend. Officially. Like—not just sleepovers and emotional eye contact over takeout—I mean actual, real-life, ‘we’re together’ kind of thing.”

You sucked in another breath and barreled on before you lost your nerve.

“I know you’re busy, and, like, technically running half of Congress with your jawline, but I just—I need clarity, okay? Because I was jogging with Rachel, who’s a menace to society, and she said some stuff and I started spiraling and I just—I ran here. I ran. Here. For this.”

There was a beat of complete silence.

Bucky’s eyes were wide.

His aides?

They were riveted.

One woman actually had her hand over her mouth like this was her favorite telenovela.

You blinked at the room.

Your mouth opened. Closed. You slowly lowered your arm.

“Okay,” you said, breathless. “So clearly, that was… too much.”

You looked around at the awkward stares, then back at Bucky, your voice flattening with pure, defeated embarrassment.

“So maybe I was delusional. Maybe this isn’t what I thought. And that’s fine.”

You nodded to yourself, a slow descent into insanity.

“If I’m just some situationship moron who caught feelings and made a public scene at a congressional office,” you continued dryly, “I’m going to kill myself and take everyone in this room with me.”

You made eye contact with one aide near the door.

He flinched.

Then you sighed heavily and scanned the room, noting every wide-eyed aide pretending desperately to become one with their laptops.

Then you snapped.

“Show’s over, folks. Go home. Or back to your unpaid Excel spreadsheets or whatever.”

No one moved.

One intern coughed.

You groaned, dragging both hands over your face in slow, mortified defeat, mumbling through your fingers, “This is literally my villain origin story.”

You barely heard his footsteps as Bucky approached, but you felt him—warmth, presence, tall and steady as he stopped just a few feet in front of you.

“Hey,” he said gently, “can you look at me?”

You shook your head without moving your hands. “I’ll die.”

“No you won’t.”

“I might.”

He chuckled quietly, and something about it made your heart twist. Like this wasn’t the end of the world. Like maybe it wasn’t even close.

You slowly peeked between your fingers.

He smiled softly, eyes full of that same calm patience he used when trying to explain to you how Medicare reform worked.

He stepped closer, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “It’s 2 o’clock,” he said, glancing around the room. “They all get off at five.”

You stared up at him.

“Oh,” you said blankly. “Cool.”

A pause.

Then, softly—almost hesitantly—he added, “I thought we were already dating.”

Your arms dropped from your face as your expression completely short-circuited.

“…What.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Yeah. For, like… a while now?”

You just stared at him.

Unmoving.

Mouth parted.

One eyebrow quirked in silent disbelief.

“…What.”

He blinked again.

Now he looked confused.

“You… didn’t think we were?”

“…No?”

He gave you the most innocent, baffled look known to man.

“I brought you to Sam's birthday party. You met his nephews. You wear my boxers. What part of this didn’t scream boyfriend to you?”

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Then opened it again.

“I—You never asked me!” you accused, voice pitching.

“I didn’t think I had to!” he exclaimed.

You stared at him, absolutely scandalized. “How was I supposed to know then?”

Bucky blinked. “I—what do you mean? Everything I do is—”

“You’re from the 40s, James!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “You guys used to, like, wear suits and give flowers and do grand declarations and ask girls to go steady in a diner over milkshakes! I was waiting for that!”

His jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“I watched Grease with you last week!” you cried. “You don’t get to act brand new!”

He dragged a hand over his face, groaning. “Okay, no more old movies for you.”

You crossed your arms, still damp and out of breath, glaring at him like he’d personally invented confusion.

Then he stepped back.

Took a slow, deep breath.

Straightened his posture.

And said, “Okay. Fine.”

He cleared his throat, eyes locked with yours, serious as a heart attack. Then he said your name—your full name.

“Will you do me the incredible honor of officially being my girlfriend?”

The room went so quiet you could hear someone’s chair creak.

You stared at him.

Then slowly, a dumb smile spread across your face.

“Wow,” you said, blinking. “This is… so sudden.”

Bucky paused, squinting

You pressed a hand to your chest. “I mean… we’ve only been sleeping together, sharing hoodies, texting nonstop, and eating Thai food three times a week for a few months. You barely know me.”

His jaw clenched.

“Don’t.”

“I mean, I barely know me, James. Are you sure about this? How could I possibly say—?”

He said your name—a low, gravelly warning that made your smile bloom full force.

You grinned.

“Yes,” you said. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

And before he could react—before he could breathe—you launched yourself into his arms, hands gripping his shoulders, mouth crashing into his with every ounce of pent-up emotion and leftover adrenaline.

His arms instinctively caught you—one around your waist, the other beneath your thighs as your legs wrapped around him like you’d done this a hundred times before.

He kissed you back, hard and fast, like he’d been waiting for this moment—like maybe he needed it as badly as you did.

Somewhere behind you, someone definitely muttered, “What the fuck.”

Another staffer fumbled their phone like they were torn between reporting this to H.R. and posting this on the internet.

Bucky didn’t care.

He just kissed you deeper, right there in the middle of his office, as if the whole damn building hadn’t just watched him get emotionally hijacked by the woman he thought was already his.

Eventually, you pulled back, breath a little ragged, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, arms still looped lazily around his neck.

Bucky was wrecked—eyes dazed, mouth parted, chest rising and falling under you like he’d just run a marathon and won.

You leaned in once more, planted a sweet, casual kiss on his cheek, and whispered, “See you at home.”

You slid off his lap and smoothed your hoodie like you hadn’t just climbed him like a tree in front of half his professional staff.

Bucky blinked. “Wait—what? I was just about to go on break—”

You turned at the door, already tugging your hood up. “Yeah, no, I gotta find Rachel.”

He frowned, still catching up. “Why?”

“To tell her to her face that you’re mine now,” you said flatly. “And so hopefully, she dies of jealousy in front of my eyes.”

You opened the door and strode out like a woman on a mission.

Bucky watched you go, completely speechless, still half-hard in his slacks, shirt wrinkled from where you’d yanked on him like you were trying to break his will to serve.

His aides were frozen, stunned, borderline traumatized.

And then, slowly, that grin started to grow on his face.

A little crooked. A little stunned.

But proud.

Because that?

That was officially his girl.

And God help anyone who tried to say otherwise.

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

This was so cute! 💜

Change Of Plans

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader

relationship: established

synopsis: reader is sick and accidentally stands robby up

content: sick comfort, fluff, cursing

notes: requested!

This is it. You’re in Hell. You’re being punished. What for? Maybe because you stole Perlah’s leftovers from the break room fridge. Maybe because you were constantly cracking jokes at Langdon’s expense. Maybe it’s just because the world loves to be cruel. No matter the reason, you were sick - which was absolutely insane to you because it’s not even cold season, and it’s been years since you’ve had a fever. But here you were, bedridden, nose red, eyes dry, body so weak you can barely feel it. You have a pulsing migraine, so all the lights are off, and the ceiling fan is on high. It’s already a little after five pm, and you haven’t left the bed since you crawled into it last night. Trust, you were feeling the consequences of zero food or drink, but you were too fatigued to move. 

With a groan, you throw your arm over your eyes. Your phone buzzes, and you tiredly reach for it with your other hand. Blindly, you search your bedside table. Just as your fingers brush the phone, they knock it over and onto the floor. “Shit.” Turning onto your side, you peer down at your phone with a glare. It’s probably not important, you tell yourself, completely forgetting the date you had planned with Robby for that night. You roll onto your stomach and shut your eyes.

Robby is at the fancy restaurant. He’s dressed in something other than scrubs, and he even reserved the seats in the back corner of the room - just where you liked them. Everything was perfect - minus one thing. It’s been thirty-two minutes and counting, and you still weren’t here. 

Robby was starting to get worried. He told himself different excuses for your absence ranging in emergency, occupying himself by scrolling through his phone and texting you.

The new piano guy’s actually pretty good Are you okay? Should I order?

Robby sighs and puts his phone face down on the table. He spots the waitress sheepishly making her way over and runs his hand over his face. “Is there anything I can get you?” she asks. 

Robby slides his phone into his pants pocket. “No, I’m going to head out.” 

She nods with an expression akin to pity, and Robby looks away. He doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him. 

Robby brushes past her with a mumbled goodbye and shoves his hands into his pockets as he exits the restaurant. Stood up, he scoffs. One year, and now she decides to stand me up. 

But as Robby crosses the street, he thinks of something. Something you mentioned the other day, right before heading into work: you had a cough. And, come to think of it, you were clutching your forehead like it hurt. 

With a newfound energy, Robby turns and speedwalks towards your apartment. You were sick, and like hell was he going to let you suffer alone.

You grumbled as your phone went off again, hugging your pillow and burying your face further into it. Leave me alone. 

There’s a soft knock from across the hall - in the direction of your front door. You ignore it, telling yourself it’s for next door, but there’s another knock, louder this time. With a groan, you lift yourself slowly, carefully getting to your feet. The world spins. You check your appearance in the mirror - your pajamas are disheveled, your hair a crazy mess. It’ll do. 

Before the guest can knock again, you undo the latch and swing the door open. You’re met with the last person you wanted to see in this state: your boyfriend.

“Hey,” Robby greets you softly, making his way inside.

“What are you doing here?” you ask a little too sharply, shutting and locking the door. You sniffle as you turn to see the worried look on his face, then down at his clothes. “And why are you dressed so nice?”

Robby chuckles, shaking his head. “What, a guy can’t just wear a button-down?” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “We had a date.”

“Oh shit,” you cry out, leaning against the door for support. “Fuck, Robby, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs, moving forward to take your weight and help you to the couch. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

You settle down on the cushion and pull your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. Robby takes the spot next to you. “You didn’t answer my texts,” he says.

You shake your head. “I dropped my phone. I couldn’t move to get it.”

Robby nods. He understands; he always does. “You shouldn’t be here,” you tell him, moving away. “I’ll get you sick.”

Robby grabs your legs and pulls you back into him, putting his lips to the crown of your head. “Don’t care,” he says into your hair.

“But your job-”

“They’ll survive without me,” he cuts you off. You shake your head in disbelief.

Robby moves to situate the two of you so his back is against the couch back and your back is pressed against his front. His arms wrap around you. “What did you eat today?”

You sigh at the question. He always asks you this when you aren’t feeling well. But then you bite your lip in guilt. “Nothing,” you murmur softly, but Robby hears. 

He sighs, moving you to the side and getting to his feet. “You didn’t drink either, did you?”

You shake your head.

He runs his hand through his hair again; if he continues this, it’ll be more dishelved than yours. “Did you at least take your pills?”

You shake your head again, looking down, ashamed. 

Robby takes a minute to collect his thoughts. “It’s okay,” he says, resting a hand on your leg. “Do you still keep your meds in the bathroom?”

You nod. “They’re in the blue container.”

He pats your knee before leaving in search of your nighttime medication - you can take that at the very least. Before he comes back, Robby moves through the kitchen, rattling everything. You’re too tired to move to investigate.

When Robby’s standing before you again, he has a water bottle and your pills. He places them on the table before you and looks between you and the kitchen. “I’ll make some dinner.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him, pouring the meds into the palm of your hand. 

Robby ignores you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and marches to the kitchen as you gulp down the water like it’s sacred and lean back against the couch.

“I’m sorry for standing you up,” you call as Robby takes out a pot and places it on the stove. He fills the pot with water before he responds. “Don’t be sorry for not feeling well.”

“But we had a date,” you pout, sniffling again. Robby crosses the room in an instant, shoving a tissue box in your face. You take it gratefully. 

“We can still have a date,” Robby tells you, going back to the kitchen to watch the water boil. 

You bite your lip. “Can we watch a movie?”

“I’ll even let you pick which one,” he assures you. You beam, and he grins back. 

“And we can cuddle?” you ask, putting the tissue box down.

Robby clasps his hands together. “Eat a whole bowl of soup, and you’ll get all the cuddles you want.”

You plop back down on the couch, so incredibly thankful for your boyfriend. “Deal.”

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

This was so cute 💜

Polaroids (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Bob keeps your relationship private, but he doesn't try to hide the dozens of Polaroids of you all over his locker and truck. He has a daily routine of taping his favorite Polaroid of you to his jet's console, but when it goes missing, things get chaotic. Luckily, you're there to make everything better. WORD COUNT: 2.3k WARNINGS: Bob gets angry in this one, folks. Cussing. Fighting. Hangman's an asshole- sorry. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3

Bob didn’t like talking about his relationship. It’s not that he wasn’t proud of her, or that he felt ashamed. But in fact, the opposite. He’d seen these animals, he’d call co-workers, and how they’d treat girls. Granted, the squadron he was with now wasn’t so bad. Rooster, Hangman, and Fanboy were hard flirts, but they had basic decency. He never felt embarrassed by their behavior when they went out to the bars, and they’d try and pick up a girl. If they were successful, they celebrated. If they weren’t, they’d walk away and move on. 

But it was his past experiences with other pilots. Locker room talk always rubbed him the wrong way. He did his best not to judge these guys. He had those thoughts, too, but he had heard too many dehumanizing things said about women he knew and didn’t. So he preferred to keep his gorgeous girlfriend, Y/n, under wraps, even if he did trust his current friends.

They preferred to keep their lives separate anyway. With Bob having his work and friend group, and Y/n having hers. It kept their conversations interesting, as they had their own lives to discuss, not just their shared one. 

The Dagger Squad, of course, would try and pry any information out of him. All they knew was that he had a girlfriend. Half the time, they’d forget what her name was because they had never met her, and Bob preferred not to talk about her, for fear they’d ask to see her. 

He was surprised they didn’t notice the Polaroids. Taking pictures of his girl was his favorite thing to do besides flying. He wasn’t exactly a photographer. But he made good use out of the instant Polaroid camera she got him for Christmas. It was so much better than taking pictures on his phone because he could hold the memory in his hand. The light and the moment were captured and printed instantly just for him. 

They were stuck everywhere. Photos over the years were plastered all over the inside of his locker. In his phone case was a picture of her wearing his glasses. And in the fold-out mirror of his truck was a photo of her taken off guard in the kitchen that she hated, but he loved. The one of her kissing his cheek was usually tucked in the front pocket of his flight suit. They all served as reminders of what he had waiting for him once his shift was over. His best friend and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his whole life. 

His favorite was the photo he taped to his control panel every day. It was a little beat up, naturally, but he made sure to keep that one in the best condition it could be. It was his good luck charm- the first Polaroid he had ever taken of her. It was Christmas morning, and she sat next to the lit tree, in his old Lemoore High School shirt that she had stolen for herself. She hugged the frankly huge teddy bear that he had gotten her. While the lights on the tree sparkled in the photo and cast a golden glow on her smiling face. For some reason, when he had it, the missions went better. The days went by more easily when he got to see his girl’s face after a stressful hiccup in flight. 

It had been a long and grueling day flying under the sweltering sun. They had been training for a strike mission, and the dogfighting exercises had left him drenched in sweat, and owing Maverick 200 push-ups. Thanks, Payback, for the BRILLIANT idea. And thanks, Hangman, for doing what he did best- leaving him in the dust and pushing his buttons. 

After an almost embarrassing amount of time, he walked back to the locker room with biceps so sore they screamed. He unzipped his flight suit and took his glasses off, using the white shirt underneath to clean the fog and sweat off them. He couldn’t wait to go home and find his girlfriend in her study, working. And he especially couldn’t wait to bug and distract her from all of it. 

That’s when the sense of dread hit him, and he realized. He quickly checked all his pockets. Yes, the one of her kissing his cheek was there. But his lucky charm wasn’t in any of the other pockets. He rushed to climb out of his flight suit and scrambled to throw on a random shirt and shorts from his duffel. He couldn’t leave it in the jet. Who knew what maintenance would do if they found it? They’d probably just throw it away. 

Throwing on his backpack, he sprinted back down to the hangar. He didn’t even notice the whole squadron standing around talking. He didn’t care. All he wanted was his favorite picture and for this horrible day to be over with. 

The sunset shone on his forehead, exacerbating the glistening stress sweat. He quickly climbed the ladder onto the Super Hornet and looked inside the backseat interior. The only place it could be. And when he looked at the spot between the radar and the comms control, he put his face in his hands. It wasn’t there. The memory of the Christmas lights and the bear was missing. 

“Fuck.” He said to himself. It was hard to get Bob to curse, but this felt like an appropriate occasion.

Then Hangman’s voice rang out behind him. 

“Hey Baby on Board! You sure this isn’t a picture you found on Google?” 

Bob’s head whipped back to find Jake Seresin holding the photo. On one hand, he was just grateful that someone had found it. On the other hand, out of all the pilots, he wished so deeply that it wasn’t Hangman. 

He quickly climbed down the ladder. “Give me it back, please.” He said exasperated, and walked towards him.

Jake held the photo up so that Bob couldn’t get it. Neither of them was short, but Hangman was just slightly taller. 

“I’m not kidding.” He said, trying his best to keep his cool. It took a lot to make Bob angry. He was typically level-headed and able to logically think things through. That’s why he was a WSO Top Gun Graduate, and not necessarily a pilot. But right then, his whole day had been building up inside him, and this was the one thing he didn’t mess around with. 

“I just can’t believe that a babe like this is with a guy like you. Really, you should let me call her up.” He said teasingly with a smile. After leaving Bob and Phoenix stranded, AND doing this, Bob was at the end of his rope.

“Hangman, just give him back the photo,” Phoenix voiced with her arms crossed. She and Rooster watched the whole interaction, which just made him feel worse. This was humiliating. It was like they were boys in a school yard- which Bob would say was an apt description of most of the people he had worked with in the past.

He reached up for the photo and finally got a grip on it, but Hangman didn’t let go. 

“I just think it’s funny! I wanna look at it. I think there’s more in his locker, too.”

“Just let go, Hangman.” His voice was less whiny and more serious now. 

“No!” He grinned.

The two tussled and grabbed at the photo. It felt like a moment that was way too long. Until eventually they each pulled in a different direction, twisting it. It completely bent. Thankfully, it couldn’t rip because of the type of film, but the photo itself was fairly distorted. Bob’s heart beat out of his chest, and it was like his stomach twisted the same way the photo did. 

He suddenly let go of the photo and pushed Hangman so hard he stumbled back, surprised. The photo slapped onto the pavement. 

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE,” Bob said, following after him, ready to beat the shit out of him. Even though at first glance, most people would believe that Hangman would win in a fight between the two. It didn’t quite look it at the moment with the anger in Bob’s eyes and his arms pumped from the earlier push-ups.

Rooster quickly ran over and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back. “HEY HEY HEY!” 

Phoenix ran over and did the opposite, pushing her hand against Hangman’s chest, though he didn’t try to move forward. He knew he was in the wrong here, and it was clear by his guilty expression.

“Bob, man, calm down,” Rooster said. They all looked at him, surprised. Timid, awkward Bob was… kinda scary when he was pissed off. His glasses slightly crooked and red in the face. Maybe it was just strange to see him so out of control.

He slowly pushed Rooster off of him and walked over, grabbing the crumpled photo on the ground. After a failed attempt at straightening it out, he put it in his pocket and walked off, steaming. 

That night, when he got home, he slammed the door. He was never the type to do that, but he felt so defeated. His duffel bag dropped to the floor uncaringly. 

“Bob? Is that you?” Y/n called out from the study.

He sighed, a little relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” He said, his voice almost completely flat. That wasn’t normal. He’d usually meet her in the study, but at the sounds of distress, she quickly came out.

She walked out to find him hanging up his sweatshirt with a depressed look on his face. His usual smile was replaced by a small, tense frown, and his shoulders were high and stiff. Something was very wrong.

“Oh, baby.” She said, walking over, “What’s wrong?” Her voice was so gentle.

He sighed and quickly wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I need to shower,” He said, not having gotten the chance to on base. But he still squeezed her, needing the support dearly. 

She shook her head against his chest. “What happened?” She knew he was trying to avoid it. 

He stepped back and pulled the bent photo out of his pocket. “Hangman happened.”

She gasped at the sight of it in his hand. “Oh no… Is this a man or a dog we’re talking about here?” She asked confused, and that made him laugh a little. He was already so grateful to be home. 

“Man. Though he definitely acts like a dog.” He groaned.

She gently took the photo from his hands. “I can try and fix it. Straighten it out. There might be a crease still in it, though.” She tried her best to flatten it out like he did, but to no avail.

He shook his head. “You can try, but I doubt it’ll be okay.”

That answer was so depressing, she looked up and tilted her head. “Hey, we’ll get it back to normal. I’ll look it up. How about you go shower and eat? I made pasta cause I was too lazy to be a real chef tonight.” She tried to lighten the air. “Then you can tell me all about your day.” 

He sighed in relief. “You’re too good to me.” He said softly, pulling her in for a much-needed kiss.

And that’s exactly how they ended up sprawled on the couch, each with bowls of penne and vodka sauce. On the coffee table, the photo lay on a piece of wax paper and was buried under some thick fighter jet manuals Bob had. 

“It was just like the whole day had been building up in me. Payback’s bet. Hangman leaving me and Phoenix dead in the water. The two hundred push-ups. And the photo going missing in the first place drove me crazy. So when he bent it, I just… exploded a little.” He admitted, almost ashamed to have lost control.

She sighed. “That’s okay. It was natural after all of that.” She reassured gently, reaching for his calf and squeezing it. “This Hangman guy sounds like a real douche.”

“Understatement.” He said, but he was feeling better talking through it all with her. “I just hope that the photo is okay. You know it’s my good luck charm, and if it’s not flat, it won’t stick to my console very well.” 

A small smile appeared on her face. “It’s under some of the thickest books I’ve ever seen. If it’s not flattened, then that’s just defying gravity.” She said. 

He exhaled again, relaxing, and it was like the tension in him completely dissipated. “You’re right.” He said gently. 

“Hey, maybe after today he’ll leave you alone.” She suggested.

He scoffed, “Hangman? I give him less than a week before he starts using you against me.” 

She chuckled and set her bowl down so she could lie down against him. “Hmmmm, gotta get you enrolled in anger management classes then.” She teased.

He kissed the top of her head. “You’re funny.” He said sarcastically.

The next morning, he woke up at the crack of dawn per usual. He slowly slipped out of his girlfriend’s grasp, and she whined, half asleep. Their typical routine. He gently leaned down, ran his hand over her hair, and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.” He whispered, and she subconsciously did so.

He got ready in his khaki uniform and walked out to the living room. On the table were the stacks of manuals. He very carefully took them off one by one and set them on the couch to soften the noise. Checking on the Polaroid, he sighed in relief as it was flat again. A small crease was across the middle, but at the very least, it was flat. He turned it around and saw something new. On the plain white back of the photo was a lipstick kiss mark over the folded line. In the tiniest pen was ‘A kiss to make it better’. 

And the biggest smile grew on his face. This was better than he could’ve asked for. 

Now he didn’t just have a good luck charm, but also a kiss to remember her by. 

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

This is so good! You write so beautifully 💜

Happy Father’s Day, Jack

TLWG bonus chapter (part 4.5 : in between phase six and phase seven of sticky fingers, quiet mornings )

LIFE WE GREW SERIES MASTERLIST <3

a/n : part two to the prequel is still in the works, but thought I'd offer this bonus chapter for you all! wc: roughly 2,300

Father’s Day begins exactly twelve minutes after Jack Abbot walks off a trauma floor that nearly broke him.

It’s 7:12AM.

Pittsburgh humidity clings to the porch railing like breath. The street’s quiet. A dog barks three houses down. Somewhere in the distance, a train rolls through, low and steady. Your windows are cracked open, just enough to let the air in, not the heat. You’ve already brewed the coffee. Toasted the waffles. Set out the card. Tucked her handprint painting between the sleeves of the new Steelers sweatshirt you bought him, folded carefully, placed right on the arm of the couch where he’d see it first. Everything’s ready. You’ve been up since six.

You’re wearing a pair of biker shorts and his old PTMC long sleeve, the sleeves pushed to your elbows, the neckline slouching over one shoulder. There’s a small smear of pink paint on your wrist from when she wouldn’t stop “signing” his card with the side of her fist last night.

The front door opens.

And then he’s there.

Jack Abbot. Black scrubs, soaked in overnight shift fatigue, shirt clinging at the collarbone, badge unhooked, stethoscope looped tight in one hand. His eyes are bloodshot. One shoulder visibly lower than the other, like the weight of the shift is still hanging off him.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sees you in the kitchen and stops like something hit him square in the chest.

You meet his eyes.

“Happy Father’s Day,” you say, quietly.

Jack blinks, stunned for half a second, then sets his stethoscope down like he forgot he was still holding it.

“You did all this?” he says, voice rough. “For me?”

You nod. “Of course I did.”

He rubs a hand down his face. “I was gonna pretend I didn’t care. Be chill about it.”

“You? Chill?”

“I had a speech ready.”

You look at him, curious. “For Father’s Day?”

Jack nods, smile barely there, just a flicker at the corner of his mouth, sleep still hanging off him like a second shift. He steps closer, the hem of his black scrubs brushing your hip as he leans against the counter. “Yeah. Figured you’d do something. Thought I’d try to be smooth. Say thanks, maybe kiss you slow. Try to talk you back into bed.”

You snort. “You practiced that in the trauma bay?”

He shrugs, cracking the faintest smile. “Tried. Didn’t get far. An intern asked me about marriage,” he says. “Like, dead-ass. During rounds. Whole hallway smells like blood and ketamine, and he goes, ‘Dr. Abbot, is it worth it?’”

You laugh under your breath. “And what’d you say?”

Jack’s hand comes to your waist, fingers curling in over the long sleeve's hem, thumb pressing into the soft skin of your hip like he’s grounding himself.

“I said—‘Imagine the worst shift of your life. Like, seven codes, backboarded GSW, a social worker crying in the supply closet, just hell. And you come home to someone who doesn’t ask anything from you. She’s just there. Coffee ready. Kid babbling in the crib. And you still get to love her like you’ve got time to spare.’”

Your throat tightens. “You said all that?”

He shrugs. “He’s lucky I was running on adrenaline. Any other time I’d have told him to shut the fuck up and chart.”

You grin. “That’s disgusting. I love you.”

“I love you more.” He tilts his head, eyes flicking down your body. “You wore this for me?”

“Maybe.”

“You trying to get me to cry or get me to fuck you?”

“Why not both?”

Jack groans softly and presses his forehead to your shoulder.

“I’m so tired,” he whispers. “And you’re making it worse.”

“I made waffles.”

“You’re trying to seduce me.”

“They’re heart-shaped.”

Jack mutters something against your skin that sounds like Jesus fucking Christ and then kisses your shoulder. Slow. Open-mouthed. Like he’s remembering you’re real.

Then—

Crackle.

The monitor hums. Both your heads turn.

And there it is.

“DAAA-DAAAA?”

Jack’s breath catches.

You wait.

Then her voice rises again, louder now, sweeter, almost like a song:

“DADA COME NOW. DADA COME.”

You glance up at him.

He’s frozen, eyes locked on the monitor. Silent. Like the sound cracked something open in him and he’s trying not to let it spill out.

Last year, she couldn’t even form the word. No teeth. No words. Just soft coos and gummy grins. Now she’s standing in her crib, gripping the rails, calling for him like he’s the whole damn sun.

You rest your palm over his chest. Feel the breath rise sharp beneath it.

“Go,” you murmur. “She’s been practicing. I caught her saying it to that photo in her room last night, the one of all three of us. She can see it from the crib.”

Jack nods. Doesn’t speak. Just takes one deep breath, like he’s bracing against the weight of it, and moves.

Then, just before he turns the corner, voice low without looking back:

“Don’t eat my waffles.”

You smirk. “No promises.”

You follow him down the hall. Quietly. The morning presses in around you like a held breath.

The nursery door swings open.

And your daughter, the light of your life, is standing in her crib, duck in one hand, hair in total disarray, cheeks flushed from sleep. She points at him like she’s been waiting her whole life for this exact moment.

“DADA.”

Jack drops to a knee like she shot him straight through the ribs. “Hi, bean,” he says, voice thick, eyes already glassing over. “I missed you.”

She lifts both arms like royalty, and he gathers her up like it’s instinct, like it’s oxygen. Her little body melts against his chest, warm and heavy with trust, her curls sticking to the collar of his wrinkled black scrubs. He holds her like he never wants to let go—but when he turns to you, it’s different. Deeper.

He looks at you like you hung the stars. Like this, this home, this child, this morning, is something he still can’t believe he gets to have. His eyes are wrecked. His voice rough with everything he never says out loud.

“Best thing we ever made.”

And when he looks at you, it’s not just tired. It’s bone-deep love. That look he only gives when he’s too exhausted to keep the walls up, when all that’s left is the truth. That he loves you. Fiercely. Silently. Constantly.

For one long, breathless moment, the house is still.

Jack Abbot. In black scrubs. A baby in his arms. His whole heart in yours. A Father’s Day that actually fucking means something.

And not a single part of him takes it for granted.

You cross to him and lower yourself beside them, curling into his side like it’s the only place that’s ever made sense. His arm slips around you instantly. She presses herself between you both with a possessive little grunt.

“Happy Father’s Day,” you whisper again.

Jack closes his eyes. Breathes you both in. And then, softly, without opening them:

“I love you”

You lean into his chest. “I love you too. You’re the best thing we’ve ever had.”

His voice is wrecked when he says it. “Don’t ever let me fuck this up.”

“You won’t,” you promise.

Later that night, 11:42PM.

It’s almost midnight.

The waffles are long gone. The handprint painting’s been magnet-pinned to the fridge, slightly crooked, beside a gas bill and a grocery list Jack added to earlier—diapers, more blueberries, get her favorite tea. The new Steelers sweatshirt he pulled on after his shower this morning still smells like soap and daughter. You caught him wearing it again after dinner, toddler in his arms, rocking on the back porch swing with her cheek pressed to his chest like she’d been waiting all day for that exact configuration of time, weight, and warmth.

She was asleep by 8:40. Out cold by 8:49.

He hasn’t put his ring back on since work, but it’s there, on the nightstand. Next to the baby monitor. Next to the small black leather album he still hasn’t opened.

You told him about it during dinner, leaned across the table while he was chewing and said, “There’s one more gift.”

He blinked, fork halfway to his mouth. “I already got three. The card, the sweatshirt, the painting…” He tapped the side of his head. “That’s three. I counted. You’re done.”

You smirked. “I’ll have you open it when we’re alone.”

Now you’re in bed. Jack’s walking out of the bathroom, threadbare navy shirt, boxer briefs riding low on his hips. He’s blinking slow like he’s still catching up with his own exhaustion. But when his eyes fall on the album, he pauses.

“You’re really gonna make me cry three times in one day?”

You smile, heart already racing. “Just open it.”

Jack squints, scrubs a tired hand down his face, and mutters something like I’m too fucking soft for this. He sits beside you. Turns the album over in his palm. His hand is rough from work. Tape residue, fading ink, a healing nick on his knuckle that you know came from a trauma room cabinet door he forgot was broken. His thumb lingers on the spine. He flips the first page.

And then—

“Jesus Christ.”

His voice goes flat. Then quiet. “Oh, fuck me.”

You don’t answer. Just watch the slow unravel.

Jack blinks. And then blinks again. His breath leaves him like he’s been punched straight in the solar plexus. His mouth opens, closes.

“Is this—are you—this is you?”

You smirk. “Don’t act like you don’t recognize your own wife.”

He flips another page. The flush spreads from his neck to his ears. There you are, posed in soft golden light, black lace barely covering anything. His dog tags around your neck. Your hands behind your back, wrapped in his tie. One shot with your fingers curled in the waistband of your panties, gaze sharp, hair mussed, lips parted like you’re waiting for him to step out of frame and ruin the rest of the photo.

Jack swears under his breath. “When—when did you do this?”

“Last week. Took a long lunch. Studio near the firm.”

He flips the page again, and stops cold. His breath stutters. His fingers tighten against the edge of the leather.

You’re wearing his sweatshirt. Not the clean, fresh one you gave him this morning, but his sweatshirt, the grey one with the faded army logo that still smells faintly like old detergent, sand and him. The same one he left on the bed the first night you ever stayed over, when he didn’t want to make it a whole thing but didn’t want you cold either.

And now—Christ.

The hem sits just below your hips, riding up higher on one side, exposing the curve of your ass like a secret you wanted him to find. Your back is arched, thighs tucked, feet flexed like you shifted into that position mid-movement—like you’d just climbed up and waited for him to follow.

Your face is half-hidden in your arms, cheek pressed to the mattress, but he can still see the soft part of your mouth. The barest hint of a smirk. The slope of your spine. The suggestion of everything just out of reach.

Jack exhales like he’s been sucker punched.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “That’s my sweatshirt.”

His voice cracks on the word my.

Jack shuts the album fast, like if he looks at one more page, he’ll fucking combust on the spot.

“I married you,” he says, voice hoarse. “I fucking married you.”

“You did.”

“I thought the waffles were gonna break me. The new sweatshirt, the painting—she said Dada—and I kept it together. Barely. And now...” His hand drags down his face again. “Now you’re pulling this shit?”

You crawl closer, hand on his thigh, voice low, “Happy Father’s Day.”

He stares at you. Then laughs once, quiet, pained, wrecked. “You’re actually trying to kill me.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

Jack turns to you. The look on his face is nothing short of reverent.

“Like it?” he repeats. “I want to frame every goddamn page. I want to staple it to the fridge. I want to show that intern from this morning what happens when you marry someone way too good for you.”

You laugh. “You wanna show him nudes?”

“I wanna show him you. I wanna show everybody.”

“Jack—”

“I’m so in love with you,” he breathes, voice low and wrecked, like it’s clawing its way out of his chest. “I walk around all night with blood on my shoes, palms aching from compressions, lungs full of hospital air, and all I do is think about you. Think about this house. Think about coming home. To waffles. To her. To you. To this life I don’t fucking deserve.”

You climb into his lap, slow and deliberate. His hands catch your hips without hesitation.

“I was trying to make this special.”

“You did,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “You made it sacred.”

You lean in, lips brushing his. “You gonna thank me properly?”

Jack doesn’t answer. He just kisses you, slow, deep, aching. Like gratitude and lust and years of knowing your body better than he knows his own. His hands slide up your back beneath the hem of your shirt. You’re not wearing anything underneath.

He swears again. Then flips you back against the pillows, his body blanketing yours in one fluid motion.

“I’m gonna spend the rest of the night worshipping you,” he says into your skin. “Starting now.”

And when he finally slips inside you, hot, deep, full-body groan into your mouth, there’s not a single thought left in his head but you.

The woman who made him a father.

The woman who still wants him.

The only thing that’s ever felt like home.

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

They are so cute!! 💜

summary: lena has a dance recital and pope needs your help. feelings can’t be pushed down any longer.

andrew pope cody x reader

a/n: i was working on some of the requests in my inbox when i got distracted (sowwy) this is a continuation of what i am calling pope x lena’s favorite. i don’t necessarily think this is a chapter situation mainly because i suck at chapters. i write ideas as they come and inspire.

pope was screwed in a major way. lena’s dance class just came home with a set of mandatory steps needed to be taken for recital hair and makeup. staring back at him in big bold letters. do not deviate this is a non negotiable for all recitals your dancer will not perform if standards are not met. you had shown him the basics in order to keep it out of her face at class but now this looked way more complicated and he has no idea where to start. well technically he does: with an SOS text to you.

you message back with ???? i can be there in 10 minutes. he replies with a picture the piece of paper that contains the stupid rules. he’s never liked following rules. his own rule was no rules except when it came to lena, and maybe you now if he thought about it hard enough.

either you’ve missed the part entirely of his SOS text or you’re messing with him because you reply back omg andrew a recital, that’s going to be too cute! can i buy a ticket to go? he’s shaking his head with a small smile. i already have your ticket, lena made sure of that. but she won’t be dancing if i’m in charge of her hair and makeup this is why i need you. apparently she needs someone backstage to do this hair and makeup pre-show and for my sake and hers can you please help, it’s either you or one of the moms who hate me, or worse… smurf. there is a clear number one choice for me and lena.

he watches your three little dots signalling that your responding back and he finds himself holding his breath because this feels like a big ask of you to be his dependent’s special person when you two aren’t even dating. of course i can help! you can let the studio know that i will be lena’s stage hand. he releases the breath he was holding. i owe you.

the day of the recital came up quickly on you. you find yourself rushing to pope’s house with all the supplies needed to make sure lena is the cutest dust bunny any production of snow white has ever seen. hairbrush, gel, elastics, bobby pins. little clips to hold lena’s bunny ears on her head. the standard red lipstick and a good eyeliner to put whiskers on her face, exactly as the studio deemed necessary for the show. you’ll do her makeup backstage but you’re heading over to their house early so you can do her hair. not bothering with a knock you open the sliding glass door and smell the pancake breakfast being made. “smells good in here.” you take a seat next to lena at the table. “big day calls for a big breakfast” pope places a plate in-front of you and takes a seat on lena’s other side his own plate in front of him. you all eat with easy conversations between the three of you talking about events the big and the mundane since you all saw each other last.

you glance at the time. “i should get started on your hair while you finish breakfast. is that okay lena?” she nods and you get to work. the studio wants two french braids into a bun. you start by gently brushing out the tangles. pope excuses himself to make a call while you work. he’s on the phone watching through the glass door, because he can’t help himself. lena is chatting about something to you animatedly you are keeping the conversation going but you have your brows knitted in concentration on lena’s hair. you say something to lena that has her looking up at you and the both of you laughing. the sight is enough to make his heart burst but its the sound that can be heard through the little crack in the sliding glass door makes his knees buckle a bit. you’re also being so gentle. his only memory of smurf doing julia’s hair was it always seemed so rough and almost painful, lena looks pretty much relaxed as you are pinning her bun into place.

you tell lena she’s all good to go and tell her to change into her leotard and tights. she skips down the hall and you’re starting to clean the dishes. that makes pope wrap up his phone call. “hey deran i gotta go. see you at the recital.” he hangs up and goes back inside. “you’ve already helped enough today and you’re not even halfway through.” he pours you a cup of coffee. “go sit down, relax for a few before we have to head to the theatre” you roll your eyes playfully at him and sit at the island. “you’re kinda bossy, has anyone ever told you that?” he smiles at you and continues with the dishes.

it’s time to leave so that you arrive backstage on time. pope opens the passenger side door to the truck for you to get in before he is getting lena situated in her car seat in the back. he hops into his side and starts the car on its way to the local theatre. “lena are you getting excited?” you turn back to look at her. “i’m scared” you look at pope who has sported a new frown at lena’s admission. you turn back reaching your hand out for her to take. “its okay to be nervous. it’s a big new thing that you’re doing today. preforming in-front of a crowd can be scary sometimes, but you’ve practiced so hard at dance class. and me and uncle pope are so excited to watch you, all your friends are dancing right next to you, how fun is that? i love dancing with my friends” pope is in awe at how you were just able to completely validate lena’s feelings, without telling her she has no reason to be scared, like it’s regular conversation for you. you make it seem so easy. “plus i think uncle pope said we can go for ice cream after to celebrate.” he absolutely did not say this but who is he to say no to you, or lena for that matter, especially when you’re giving him the playful smile that he suspects you somehow have figured out is an automatic yes from him to anything you say. plus that information seemed to change lena’s mind. “okay yeah i am excited to dance.”

you arrive at the theatre and get out of the truck. this is where you have to leave pope to go with lena backstage, he hands you your ticket. “i will save your seat for you.” you nod and grab lena’s hand and head towards the dressing rooms.

in the dressing room you feel so out of place next to all the rich dance moms, walking around like they belong back here. but you try and hide your insecurities from lena, instead focusing on getting her ready. you help her get her costume on. you clip her bunny ears to her head and secure everything with a bit more hairspray. next you move on to the whiskers making sure that you’re putting all your perfectionist tendencies to good use for once. the lipstick is next, you don’t glob it on like the other girls’ moms have. just lightly putting enough on so it doesn’t bother lena or get everywhere. “i don’t like it when i can feel my lipstick stuck on my lips” you tell her as you apply. finally you are helping her put on her ballet slippers, the last step before the dance teacher will take over and you can escape the dressing room and go running back to andrew.

the dance teacher comes in and is taking a look at all of the girls to make sure everyone is presentable. she’s eyeing lena up and down which causes a pit to form in your stomach wondering if you’ve messed something up for her. the dance teacher speaks up “everyone listen up, if your little dancer does not look like miss lena then fix whatever you have done incorrectly” she’s pointing towards lena to show off your work which makes you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. lena beams at you and gives you a hug. you crouch down to look her in the eye and hold her hands. “i have to go find my seat, but remember uncle pope and i are so proud of you and we know you’re going to do so good. we will be in the lobby waiting for you when the show is all done okay?” lena nods and the dance teacher comes to wrangle all the girls to get them show ready, you sneak out of the dressing room.

you stop at the vendor selling flowers in the lobby and buy a bouquet to give lena after the show and look at your ticket to find your seat. you head to the area you see andrew sitting beside his family and your suddenly feeling out of place again like you’re intruding on a family event, but you push it down and go to your seat. you slide into the one beside andrew, his hand brushing your lower back as you pass by him to your seat. you pretend like that didn’t do something to make you wish his hands were on you more often. he’s looking down into your eyes with a smile. “flowers? where did you find those?” you look down at the bouquet. “in the lobby but he was closing up i had to sweet talk my way into this these” he smiles at you. “yeah i bet you did, well now you’re going to make me look bad with nothing for lena.” without hesitation you hand him the bouquet. “give her these ones, they will be more special coming from you.” he’s wondering what you mean by that, you could have brought lena a rock and she would be talking about how special it was for days because it came from you. “you paid for them, i can’t take them” your thrusting them towards his hands “you paid for my ticket. think of it as a trade” you drive him crazy by never letting him pay for anything. “well you got all that stuff to put in her hair” you look at him with your sparkly eyes and he knows he’s lost this little argument before you even open your mouth to respond. “i bought those things with the cash that i randomly found in my wallet. it appeared out of nowhere like a reverse robbery” he knows that you know it was him but you let him have that little win. he’s biting back a smile ready to keep this little playful thing going when the lights dim signalling the show is about to begin.

the show starts and pope can’t keep his eyes off you from the corner of his eye. you are so supportive of all the dancers and he watches you melt at the little toddlers running around, and it melts him a little. especially when he looks past you and sees his and lena’s actual family not even hiding the fact that they’d rather be anywhere but here. when lena’s class is finally on, its your turn to take a peak at pope watching lena dance. you aren’t disappointed when you do watching him watch her with a proud pride that makes you smile as you turn back your face mirrors him watching lena dance around the stage with a big smile.

once the recital is all done you head to the lobby with andrew’s family and wait for lena to come out. pope suddenly feeling protective of you, and your too good for his world watching smurf’s eyes look at you up and down. he walks over to you to block you from her line of sight. you don’t have to wait much longer for lena to come bounding over still in costume, pope scoops her up in his arms and the family surrounds her now turning it on like they actually cared to spend their afternoon watching the recital. lena has had enough of them so she’s wiggling out of pope’s arms to go running over to you. you pick her up in a hug and feel her give you one back. “lena that was so good, did you have fun?” you feel her nod against you. “so much fun. thank you for coming and helping me. look at the flowers uncle pope got me” she’s proudly holding the flowers up to you. “those are so pretty. we better get going so that we can get them in some water.” your looking up at pope hopefully conveying with silent eye contact that you have given them an out. “yeah we better get going it’s been a long day here for us, thanks for showing up” with that he leads the way back to his truck, lena still in your arms chatting to you about what happened backstage after you left her. pope gently grabs her out of your arms so he can buckle her into her car seat. “uncle pope are we still stopping for ice cream?” he looks at you in the front seat trying to hide a smile and then back at lena who’s looking up at him waiting for his answer. “of course we are, we’re celebrating an amazing performance”

he stops at the little spot close to the house and lets you and lena order. he doesn’t get anything and you roll your eyes at him calling him boring which makes him huff a laugh as he goes to pay. lena has grabbed your hand and pulled you out the door so you can’t protest to him about it. the shop worker hands back the change saying “you have a beautiful family.” he turns back to look at you and lena, she’s still in her dance costume, your swinging her hand in yours around and she’s smiling and giggling at whatever you just said. he nods at the worker in thanks and leaves the shop to join you and lena on the bench that you found where you enjoy your ice cream and the company.

you’re finally all home from the big outing. well back to pope and lena’s so you can collect your things that you left there, and go home. pope cannot stop thinking about what the ice cream shop worker had to say and how bad he wanted it to be true, how that if it was then you wouldn’t be leaving again to go to your own place.

“hey i was thinking about ordering pizza for dinner, you should stay. lena would probably like your help better taking that hair down” you don’t even look up from your bag where you’re making sure you have everything. “oh are you sure? you already fed me pancakes and ice cream today i’m going to start feeling like a bit of a free loader.”

he looks down at you and what he really wants to do is shake your shoulders so that you understand what he says next, instead he grabs one of your wrists so that you stop what your doing to look at him. “all the things you do for lena without batting an eye, all the things you do for me, you are the opposite of a free loader in this house. okay?” his eyes are so intense when you look into them and your skin is tingling on your wrist where his hand is wrapped around you don’t even know how to answer him, how to tell him that you would do everything all over again in a heartbeat because even though this whole thing started with just wanting to make sure lena was taken care of, it has selfishly turned into excuses to see him too. you settle with a nod of acceptance and a “sure i will stay for pizza” he lets go of your wrist to go order. you stay to eat pizza and help pope to finally coax lena out of her costume and into her pajamas so that she can go to bed. you’re with her in the bathroom taking out all the bobby pins out of the bun leaving the two braids in her hair on her request. next you’re helping her gently wash off the makeup and leave her to brush her teeth. “hey i’m going to put her to bed but do you want to stay for a beer after?” you nod at his offer. “sure”

your sitting on the couch when you hear lena’s door softly close for the night. pope heads to the fridge and pulls out two bottles and opens them bringing them back to the couch. you take one and turn to face him. “the lady at the ice cream shop said something interesting to me today.” here goes nothing pope thinks. you take a sip of your beer. “oh yeah?” he leans in a bit closer. “yeah told me i had a beautiful family after you and lena went outside” he’s eyeing you for a reaction, you give him an adorable one without realizing of your eyes going wide in shock like maybe you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. reminds him of the night he met you lena’s bedroom at smurf’s with your tiara on. “i, oh, uh what did you tell her?” you stammer out. “nothing, i didn’t correct her. just thanked her and went out to join you two.” you can’t think of anything to say so you just stare into pope’s eyes. you start with an “andrew i-“ and he cuts you off before you say something. “i think i didn’t correct her because i wanted it to be true, it made me realize that i haven’t made a move because if i mess this up im not just messing it up for me, but also for lena. you are the best thing that could have possibly happened to us coming into our lives when you did.” you look at him with glassy eyes, and he speaks again. “i would really like to try with you if that was something you’d want” you grab his hand and answer with a simple “yes” that makes him smile at you “yeah?” you’re smiling back and nodding still holding his hand. “you have to do it proper though i’m not just going to kiss you tonight because we shared our feelings that we’ve both had for a while.” you admit to him that you feel the same way. “you have to wine and dine me even if we are doing things a little backwards.” he laughs at how cute you are. “how about next friday night? i get a sitter and i take you out?” you smile and look up at him through your eyelashes. “yes please.”

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

This was so cute! 💜

WORLDS BEST DAD.

dad bucky barnes x fem!reader

WORD COUNT. 1123 SUMMARY. father’s day never used to mean much to bucky until having a family of his own. with another baby on the way, you all enjoy a slow morning in bed giving gifts and appreciating the worlds best dad. [fluff] NOTE. not so keen on my own dad so wanted to make bucky a dad. seems healthy right?

⎯ ☆ ⎯

This day in particular hadn't meant much to Bucky in a rather long time, the day feeling like a random Sunday in June with no cause for celebration. Though that changed about three years ago when he became the central focal point for the special day: having a daughter and baby on the way to give him a reason to enjoy the occasion. 

Bucky lays at your side, sleeping soundly while you rest against the headboard, hand smoothing large circles over your bump — the act like you were trying to calm your son’s kicking feet. You make a faint sound of unease and your husband’s head whips up from the pillow, eyes attentive despite their struggle to adjust to the bright light of the room.

“Everything okay?” he asks almost immediately, gaze honing in on yours. 

“Yeah,” you assure and smile softly. You bring your other hand to brush over his cheek, thumb swiping over him sweetly. “Want to feel him? He’s kicking like crazy.”

He returns a smile as the reassurance eases his mind and he adjusts, laying back down and resting his temple on his fist. He extends his other hand and you grab his wrist gently, guiding him under your top and to the point of discomfort. Your husband's smile widens with the contact of his hand to your skin and he begins to feel rough taps against his palm.

“I think he’s speaking to you in morse code,” you start, and he peers up to meet your eyes again, showing interest in what you have to say. “I think he’s saying ‘Happy Father’s Day’.”

He grins and lowers his eyes back to your belly, his hand continuing it’s circling despite your son’s seeming to have calmed down. It was as if he just enjoyed the sheer contact of touch, to feel both you and his son in a way so gentle and casual and domestic. And while pregnancy this time around was more taxing on you than the last, the little moments you’d frequently have like this in bed made it worth it — the giant, interfering belly, fatigue and thick, heavy ankles felt worth it.

With your due date closely approaching, it’s important to appreciate these moments of silence, these moments of calm before it all becomes anything but. These minutes you’d share with your lover in the morning with his hand on your bump became part of routine, it became something you’d do every morning. Quite like you hanging onto the quiet before the storm, the storm being your daughter wreaking hyperactive havoc with her awakening.

Like it was anticipated, you hear a noise from the monitor on the nightstand and you pick it up, watching your little girl crawl out of bed with a stuffie in her hand. Within a few short seconds, your bedroom door creeps open, and a short silhouette of your daughter appears through the gap.

“Morning princess,” Bucky smiles as he gestures her over.

“Hi, baby,” you, too, grin, welcoming her.

She paddles her way across the room and to your bed, small, hurried footsteps carrying her closer before she excitedly jumps between the two of you. 

Bucky grunts as he takes the brute force of her landing, though he would much rather the knee to the stomach was on him than you. “Careful with mommy’s tummy,” he reminds softly, and wraps his arms around her — bringing her to lay between so he can smother her face with kisses. 

You watch it play out, loving eyes observing the warming act. And only when it dwindles down and he stops, do you touch her. You smooth over her wild bed head and redirect her attention, nodding to your husband beside her. 

“Do you want to tell daddy what we’re doing today?” you ask, softly jogging her memory. She struggles for a moment and you get closer, whispering beside her ear. “What are we going to make for breakfast?”

“Pancakes,” she exclaims as she sits up, hands beginning to clap at the thought. 

“Pancakes?” Bucky repeats, matching her excited tone like he was entertaining her. “What are we having on them?”

“Gummy bears,” she giggles, her toothy grin visible through her animated expression. “And chocolate, and— and cream, and, and,”

“Candy worms?” you suggest and she turns silent, her head twisting slowly to look at Bucky. 

He notices her questioning glances and decides to play along, keen to humour his little girl. “That’s too far,” his head impishly shakes, pretending not to like the idea.

She mirrors your lover’s reaction, her face grimacing as he mimics a faux face of disgust. “No, mommy.”

You smile as you look between them, suppressing a laugh. “How about jelly beans?”

She takes another minute and turns to look at her dad, silently awaiting his response. He pretends to give it some thought and nods faintly, permitting his approval as a grin widens. 

Your daughter finally agrees with a nod that rather matched that of Bucky’s. Though you reroute conversation, directing it back to the subject of the special day. 

“Should we give daddy his present?” you ask, face lighting up. 

She clambers away from the pair of you and slides off the bed, heading for the gift bag on the floor beside the dresser. She rejoins you moments later with a beaming smile you have never seen shine so bright. 

“What’s this?” Bucky sits up, smile genuine and sincere as he reaches for the pink bag in your daughter’s hand. 

She giggles, watching intently despite her young age. “A doll,” she interrupts, spoiling it before he even has a chance to take it out the bag.

He pulls it out and his smile falters, trying his very best not to laugh and taint the memory. Bucky turns to meet your eyes to figure out a way best to respond, though you’re no use: the hand over mouth a visible tell you were also struggling to compose yourself. 

“That’s so thoughtful," he pauses and looks over the regifted doll. “This is from your room, isn’t it?”

She nods shamelessly. “Do you like it?” she asks, innocent eyes lit wide and huge.

“I love it,” he kisses her forehead. “Thank you, princess.” You watch as he then removes the attached envelope, a saddened grin replacing the cheerful one before as he reads over the face of the card inside — ‘I got the best dad in the world’ printed large and proud on the front beside an ink transfer of her small hand. It was really a warming sight to see him get choked up by it, rather beautiful really, to see his doubts get reassured in real time: that he is a good dad, despite questioning himself not to be.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

This was so good! 💜

Pope Cody and vouyerism… pretty please 🫶

smut ahead duh if voyeurism isn’t your thing, you might wanna sit this one out

i’ve thought about writing this SO many times, it’s actually kind of insane. we’re doing neighbor! pope cody for this one because i’ve been wanting to write this into my series of drabbles for him, because of course he would watch you through your window!

he’s driving home late one night, ready to pull into the driveway of the cody household when he notices the light coming through your bedroom window.

the sheer white curtains that he’s grown to know well are always drawn tight, but tonight they’re open— not all the way, but just enough for him to see inside.

he parks his car on the curb in front of his house, far enough from the driveway that he can see across the street and into the window on the side of your house, watching in the pitch black of his truck as you maneuver around your dimly lit bedroom.

you look pretty— you always do— but tonight you’re wearing a matching pajama set that clings perfectly to your body as you toss your throw pillows off of the bed and onto the plush carpet at your feet.

he shouldn’t be watching you crawl into bed; his heart shouldn’t be racing as you shimmy underneath the covers with your hair splayed out on your pillow; and his dick certainly shouldn’t be stirring in his jeans when he catches your hand slide down underneath your comforter, your legs spread and your eyes falling shut.

no. you’re not touching yourself. not with the curtains partially open, and your bedside lamp bright enough to illuminate your every movement. you couldn’t be.

and then as if to answer his disbelief, you’re rustling under the blanket until the thin material of your pajama shorts appears from underneath the comforter, falling to the floor along with a tiny pair of lace panties, both pieces of clothing joining your array of throw pillows strewn across your carpet.

he could practically hear the little sigh falling from your lips as they parted, all pouty and desperate while your hand worked between your legs.

your upper arm was still outside of the covers, moving at a steady pace that allowed him to imagine the stroke of you fingers beneath the blanket; gentle circles over your clit, or maybe careful plunges into your core, curling and lingering in the spots you liked most.

watching you like this, blissed out in the comfort of your bed, unassuming and innocent as you touched yourself in the privacy of your bedroom was enough to make him finish in ten seconds flat.

but he doesn’t touch himself.

his dick pushes hard against the restraint of denim at his crotch, but not once does he think to unzip his pants and rub one out while watching your hand dance between your legs from his secret lookout across the street. he just watches.

letting the image of you like this burn itself into his memory. hoping and praying if he looks with enough obsessive admiration, the sinful vision of you touching yourself for him will play out again tonight in his dreams.

[justalittleoasisficrecs]

Cute! 💜

Sick Day

Jack Abbot x f!reader

status: fiance

synopsis: you're sick, and jack is there to help

vibes: fluff/hurt comfort

words: 0.6k

a/n: i love writing abbot comfort

You wake slowly, groaning at the pain in your body. Your head aches, and you’ve been sniffling all night. It’s a surprise you got any sleep. An arm is thrown across your side, and you turn slowly to face Jack Abbot, your fiance. He snores softly, the wrinkles in his forehead smoothed out for once. He looks calm, relaxed. And he isn’t having any nightmares, which is progress. Jack always tells you that you scare the bad memories away - his own personal dreamcatcher. You aren’t all that sure this is true, but you like to believe you bring him peace.

Jack blinks at you slowly as you move so you’re sitting up, finding it hard to breathe out of your nose right now. “How are you feeling?” he asks, taking his arm back and running a hand through his hair.

You sigh. “I feel like I got hit by a Cybertruck.”

With a soft chuckle, Jack slides up to sit next to you. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but his boxers. You’re wearing a matching pair and one of his white tees, and despite the agitated look on your face, he finds you absolutely adorable. Jack presses the back of his hand against your forehead and pulls it away with a worried expression. “You’re hot.”

You smirk at him. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Jack laughs again, pulling the sheets back and shuffling to the side of his bed. He massages the skin on his leg where the prosthetic’s socket is going to go, groaning before sliding the metal leg on and locking it in place. He limps for a minute, adjusting, before moving towards the closet. You watch as he comes back with a thermometer, and you sigh. “I’m fine,” you insist.

“Doesn’t hurt to check,” he says, running the meter over your forehead. When it beeps, he pulls back. “103,” he says stoically, setting the thermometer down on the bedside table. “I’ll call Robby and tell him you aren’t coming in.”

“Oh no,” you argue, tossing the sheets off and moving to stand. The moment your feet touch the ground, you wobble, your vision blurred. Jack’s there in an instant, lowering you back to the bed, lips pursed together in a straight line. “I’m calling him,” he says with finality. You don’t have the energy to argue.

Once you’re resting safely on your back, Jack takes his phone off the table and dials Robby’s number. It rings once, twice, three times before he answers. “Hey, man,” Jack says, “Y/n’s not feeling so good…yeah, she’s got a fever…I should still be able to come in later…No, don’t need to drop off some soup; it’s fine…” By the time he hangs up, you’re dizzy from all the rambling. 

“Jack,” you say, reaching out for him. “Hold me?”

He looks down at you with a small smile, tucking his phone away. “Later. Right now, you need nutrients.” Planting a kiss on the top of your head, Jack pulls on a shirt. “Sleepytime or Vanilla Chamomile?” he asks, heading to the bedroom door and resting a hand on the frame as he looks back at you.

“The chamomile tea, please!” you say, taking your phone from the nightstand and scrolling through your notifications. “Lots of honey.”

Jack nods curtly, and you know he was already going to get you some. “I’ll make pancakes,” he says.

You moan with happiness. “God, I love you.”

He leaves, shaking his head, but there’s a blush creeping up his cheeks.