#Cloth Inspection Machine

[szarina]

MY HEART IN YOUR HANDS

a night of his love bore a result. one that you can't escape from. you were still determined to let go of him and put him the story and happiness he deserves even you'll be left with nothing but a body with a shattered heart — Zayne is a another story. He's not willing to let you go when he's already in too deep.

❆ ₊⋆ ──── notes. inbox is open for any inquiries and requests that are related to this trilogy. thank you all for the support and the comments that made the sequels possible. i do apologize that it is rushed and all.

❆ ₊⋆ ──── taglist. @sillyfreakfanparty @chersyluvs @inzanekillian @regalillegal @quillsanddaggers @hebreeee @hi-itsmee @lupitalover @animegamerfox @xaakilove @iluvzayne @dstrctaya @roschea-arts @simpingpandas @auraficial @sill33witheen @popejar @skyline-night @aboobie @youraveragereaders @ssetsuka @nothoughts-justzayne

❆ ₊⋆ ──── content warnings. angst + yandere themes + implied noncon/dubcon + babytrapping + emotional manipulation + pregnancy + ooc zayne + possessiveness + brief descriptions of birth + insecurities + grammatical/typo errors.

READ PART ONE. PART TWO

It's probably a stomach bug or you overate which you always did when you're stressed.

That's what you said to yourself after breakfast when you came running to the nearest sink and hurling the contents of your stomach. The first purge came violently and the bits of your breakfast that wasn't digested by your stomach acid splatters on the pristine white sink of his kitchen.

Zayne rushes to your side. His white coat abandoned in the back of his chair and his sleeves are still rolled up while drawing circles in your back. You coughed up a bit, stealing a glance to him and your throat tightens and your stomach lurches forward. Another wave of nausea hits you.

The sound of the faucet being turned on registers in your brain and you watch as the once contents of your stomach slowly disappears and be washed away in the drain.

Concern was etched on his face. He takes a wash cloth, running it under the cold water flowing from the faucet, giving it a squeeze to wring out the excess water before bringing it to wipe the corners of your lips. His hand holding your jaw while he moves it to inspect your face.

After cleaning your mouth, he asks you a question. “We should go to the hospital.” He calmly says but there's a hint of tenderness in there.

“No. It's not necessary.” Straight out refusing him. It's just nausea, typical. There's several reasons for that but Zayne is quick to refute you. One of the cons of being with a doctor.

“It is needed. Clammy hands, elevated pulse and coldness, it could be a underlying symptoms of an illness. It's better to be sure. Your health should not be overlooked.”

Period. He didn't gave you any chance to refuse him again. He came with you all the way to the hospital and got you settled on one of the private rooms. Not the clinic for walk-in checkups or consultations.

You were kind of glad for the coldness of Zayne's hand while it massage the flesh of your arm. Personally taking your vital signs and doing the blood works while a nurse waits for his instructions. He taps your skin before sticking the end of the needle.

“You will feel a pinch.” He warns, it's not like you needed it. You survived in a fatal car crash and was prodded and wired to different machines.

Blood fills the syringe and he takes it out before putting it on a tray. “I need to get this done as soon as possible.” He orders and the nurse nods at him. Taking the needed information about you and rushes outside. Clearly, they were intimidated by Zayne and whatever he said is the unwritten rule in the book.

“You don't have to pause your work for me.” You surmised, resisting the urge to peel the band aid in your arm where he stuck the needle earlier to draw your blood.

“It isn't ideal but it won't hurt anyone for me to accompany you. Considering you're my patient and future wife. ” He affectionately pets your head. Pulling the chair besides your bed where you sat at. He sits right in front of you.

You ignore the last sentence. It doesn't ease your mind when Zayne is being overly affectionate to you like a housecat when it's near feeding time. Always watching, always close. He takes your hands in his. Marveling the smoothness of your own to his own scarred ones.

“It's going to be fine. Treat it like a another check up. We're only here to make sure you're fine.” His voice calm and assuring. Noticing the small tick when you're worried.

It didn't take long for your tests to come back. It wasn't a nurse who appeared but a another doctor. A woman wearing the same white coat similar to Zayne's, their identification card clipped in the left breast pocket of their uniforms.

Opposite to Zayne's stoic expression, she's bubbly for some reason. “Dr. Zayne.” She greeted the cardiac surgeon. A holographic screen appeared in front of her and with a smile that she fails to keep in doing so, she began to speak.

A sense of foreboding washes over you. You bit your lower lip unconsciously.

“There's no irregularities in the result of her blood tests, Dr. Zayne.” Her sight darting over you and Zayne. She glances back at the screen. “Although, the count of her red blood cells are lower and the white blood cells are higher than normal which is expected since hCG are detected in her blood.”

You didn't like where this is going.

“Congratulations, Dr. Zayne. She's pregnant.” She cheerily announces like it was a privilege to find out the most sought and talented cardiac surgeon is about to be a father.

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes at the sudden revelation. You raise your head to look at Zayne. The other doctor left to give you both privacy at the sudden news. Is that mirth on his eyes? It faded before looking at you but nonetheless it is present. His expression lax.

The memories of what transpired that night sent chills to your spine. You desperately wanted to forget that night but the ache in your body throbs and the hickey he left in your neck stings. You didn't know Zayne was capable of doing that.

“Zayne....” Your voice trails off as you call him. “Is it not to early for me to be pregnant?” Disbelief follows your every word. You meet his gaze. Begging for him to say the truth, that it was only a lie, a fluke, a mistake.

He wraps his arm around you. Your head on his chest and your world crashes when he spoke those words. “Blood results doesn't lie. It's more accurate than any other tests.” He explains. “I am glad that you are fine.” He says with such familiarity, voice gentle and warm. It was much tender than what he used when telling a patient of good news.

There's a flicker of revelry on his eyes as his gaze fixated on the windows before looking down at you.

“You're only pregnant.” He whispers. “It was bound to happen.” His hold on you firm. He presses a kiss at the top of your head. “Don't be so afraid.”

His hazel green eyes darkens as he said those words. “You won't be alone, I'll be by your side — just like I promised.” He murmurs. His arms secured around you, sensing that you're about to pull away.

It didn't bring you the assurance or the words you wanted to hear. Your fingers tightens around the crisp coat of his. Enclosed by your fists, you didn't care if it got wrinkled. All you can think is how you're going to raise a child. Your child with him.

“My parents are back.”

Zayne tells you to get a reaction from you while he loosens his tie. He just got home from overtime at the hospital. A traffic incident got him stuck. He expected that you're already asleep considering your condition but you were wide awake. Poring over the pages of your book.

He sees the furrow of your eyebrows from the reflection of the mirror on the wall. “Is it too soon for them to be back?’ Your voice were flat but for the sake of conversation you try to carry. Zayne ignored the tone of your voice. “The conference ended early.”

He takes off his watch and pulls the drawer to put it. Zayne turns around to see you flipping pages of the book. You didn't even glanced at him. Keeping your response clipped and only mmm's and yeah's. You didn't take the news of your pregnancy well.

It was sudden of course, it only happened that night and weeks later, you are with his child. Considering he monitored all your cycles and since you were under his care, there's a little bit of change in your diet. Foods that are nutritious and rich in boosting your chances of fertility. You didn't suspect a thing.

The night when it happened, he got swept away. Strongly feeling those emotions that he wasn't aware of and he snapped when you said those dreadful words. Why would you leave him now? Don't you love him anymore? He only made his point that night despite your tearful protests that breaks his heart.

He feels a bit guilty about it but was soon relieved. It was necessary. You're not going to leave him, not when you're carrying his child and it would be a shame to your family and there's the risk of you getting shunned. Affluent families doesn't take shame lightly. It was losing face and the honor that was built from time to time. He knows your parents won't agree.

It only happened once — you argued to him. After the test results came back all positive for your pregnancy. He easily downplayed it as normal and you were both a couple. Engaged and waiting to be married. A good time for the upcoming union but your tears told another story. You wanted to leave him and he used the oldest trick in the book. Impregnate your stubborn soon-to-be wife. It worked quite well. Side effect? Your fiancée won't take it lightly and will give you the cold shoulder. Fine by him.

He won't let you go that easy.

He keeps a firm grip on your hand as you both walked in the familiar hallways of the posh restaurant. It was traditional and had lasted through the years despite the frequent Wanderers wrecking havoc in the area. Following the maître d' in where the private room with both of your parents are waiting.

This happened a few times. It was usually you would walk behind him. Almost tripping — trying to catch up his long strides. He never bothered to look behind nor waited for you. Deja vu was the thing you hated. Forcing you to replay all the wasted efforts you put. A reminder that you were always overlooked, ignored. This time you weren't. Walking side to side with his hand intertwined to yours.

Birthdays, graduations and the milestones in one's life are always celebrated here in this very restaurant. Yours and his. It's the little things in life, Zayne's mother would say. It's also the way where Zayne, her son to make him come. Even when he's busy with his studies, he would come. Always the dutiful son that respects his mother's wishes.

On those times, he keeps the facade that you two were both fine. Not realizing that their children in front of their parents are strangers. A relationship strained that it makes family dinners unbearable. You and Zayne both perfected that. Keeping up with appearances.

The room was spacious. A huge crystal chandelier dangling on the ceiling. The light reminiscent of a candles burning in the night, creating a more subdued lightning but still provides the warmth and comfort of the area. It reflects on the cream colored curtains. Glinting on the silver cutleries.

“Here they are.” Is the first voice you recognized upon entering the private room. Your father's voice. Boisterous and good natured just the way you remembered it.

The maître d' politely bowed before leaving the room.

“Finally.” Another voice pipes up and it was Zayne's mother. You can see the slight crinkles on the side of her face. A total opposite of Zayne who keeps the same stoic look on his face.

“My apologies. There's a bit of traffic on our way here. Thank you for waiting on us.” Zayne apologetically nods his head. Light catching on his glasses.

You subtly pried his hand on your plush waist before going to greet your parents while Zayne's parents fuss over him.

“It's been so long, (Y/N). I hope you're faring well.” Your father says before you hug him. “I am.” You lied through your teeth but masked it as something warm to assure your father. You glance at your mother. Stiffly greeting her. The same cold hard stare that scared you and prevented you from bonding with her. You didn't blame her though. She was scared when she almost died giving birth to you. Thanks to Zayne's parents that she was spared from the fate.

“Mother.” Is the only word you can call her but nonetheless, she kisses your cheek. The little bit of affection she can spare to you. Maybe, it's also the reason why you settle for the tiniest of form of affections that were given to you that you're easily contented by it.

The other woman, Zayne's mother approaches you with warm eyes. You can see the lines on her face. A testament that she lived her life on her profession. You adored this woman like she was your own mother. “(Y/N), darling.” She presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“You look lovely as always, my dear.” Zayne's mother compliments you. Squeezing the flab of your arm which you didn't mind. “Is my son treating you well?” She whispers discreetly which isn't so discreet since she glances at his son who was talking to your parents. Her eyes wandering all over you and you failed to notice it. She knows.

“Zayne's treating me well.” You repeat her words. Assuring her that her son was nothing but the best towards you. It earned you a kind smile from her.

It wasn't far from the truth but Zayne was nothing like the man you knew since childhood and before the accident. You were used to his indifference but this was the another side you wished you didn't knew. All it took for you was to almost die.

The lines of her face became more prominent as she held your hand. “I can see that and you're doing the same to my son. I've never seen him so tender — devoted.” She smiles a little wider. The kind of smile knowing her child is somewhat happy in a place. “You know how my son is, always a little hard on himself. You've brought the best of him, my dear child.”

The worst. You wanted to correct her but looking at her kind, warm eyes. That looked out after you since you were a kid — you can't bring yourself to the truth. You've brought out the worst in her son.

“I hope so.” You murmured. Lowering your gaze.

You couldn't meet her eyes while telling a lie.

Zayne was putting pieces of different dishes in your plate. Keeping a sharp eye on the sudden change since you started your cravings and you have gotten quite sensitive to certain smells. A frown quirked in your lips meant you didn't like the food. A thin line meant it was okay and the twinkle in your eyes is what you desired at the moment but you will still refuse it with a pout.

He also noticed how you occasionally glare at him. Not hiding your frustrations at him but keeping it subtle not enough to raise suspicions for the elders in the table to pick up your sour mood directed to him.

There's the sound of ice clinking in the glass and a thud. Your father suddenly putting the glass in the table before a chortle left his lips. Highly amused at the scene in front of him.

“Old habits don't die, huh? You're always making sure she's well fed. I'm glad to know you're still taking care of her.” Your father said amused.

“It's the least I can do for her.” Zayne murmured after placing a chunk of the juiciest part of the meat to your plate. He made sure you take a bite out of it.

Another voice joins in and it was Zayne's father. “Ever since they were children, Zayne always keeps an eye on her and that's the time I knew he'll always look after her. My son here always earning brownie points to impress her.”

Funny how the adults see it. That was lie but also half of the truth. The brownie points was after the accident. It was suffocating now. You glanced at him and he still sports the same stoic look on his face.

“So Zayne...” His mother began to speak, her voice serious but there's a hint of warmth on it. “It's rather unusual for you to call us. Is something the matter we need to discuss?” She looks knowingly at the both of you, her stare a little longer on you before looking at Zayne.

The cardiac surgeon that is her son looks at you. His face hidden by the curtain of his bangs. “Yes.” He paused.

Reaching out for your hand and linking to his. The table grew silent including your parents and his. Suddenly aware of the seriousness in his voice. Anticipating for the news that is about to be revealed. The look on his eyes were warm when you stare at him.

“(Y/N) and I are expecting.”

Your heart dropped at his announcement. You can hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears from how fast it was beating. The familiar sensation of bile rising up in your throat surfaces but you tried to contain it.

Of course, he was going tell your parents and his about this pregnancy. This wasn't just a family dinner. He planned it. His parents back in town, knowing their conference was still ongoing abroad. Yours was easy to convince. They were much easier to involve and they trust Zayne more than anyone else in the world.

Zayne's mother is the first to erupt in cheers. “Finally.” She claps her hand in astonishment. You wanted to deny it but you feel bad, not when they are all expecting a grandchild from the both of you. The union will bore the result in no time but there's no wedding have occured, yet.

Before the accident you decided that you were going to discuss this with Zayne. Call of the engagement and you will both proceed in your life without attachments and pretend this awful engagement for the both of you never existed but it was impossible now. You're pregnant. A outcome of that night you badly wanted to forget.

Just when they're still reeling from the surprise that you were with child. It didn't stop Zayne from proposing again, something that you badly wanted to be free from.

“I understand the seriousness of the situation that comes with (Y/N)'s pregnancy since it was unexpected. Considering that it already happened. Will you allow us to marry as soon as possible before our baby is born?” His tone never faltered at those words. It was like reading from a script that he already prepared for. He was sincere and all.

Your body stiffens. Discomfort being etched to your face. “Did we? Isn't this too soon? I was hoping maybe after the baby comes.” You denied. There was no discussion of it or anything at all. You looked at your soon-to-be in-laws hoping they will disagree at the sudden wedding just because you're pregnant. You look at your parents for help too but you were quickly denied.

You tried to pry your fingers from Zayne's hand discreetly but he squeezes it. A warning. “The time's right, (Y/N). The engagement has been so long and it's a perfect timing before the birth of our grandchild. We were all worried that you two aren't planning at all” Your father commented. A bit concerned at your behavior. Your mother remained quiet. Zayne's parents agreed with your father.

“You don't have to worry a thing. Zayne's good for you. He's a good man.” Your father added. It's the start of every misery when it comes to arranged marriages.

“I apologize for springing this up. (Y/N)'s a bit shaken up since it was — we recently known that she's pregnant.” The pad of his thumb grazes your knuckles. His voice apologetic and remorseful enough to convince your parents and his. You really don't know him anymore.

“Oh darling. We understand. It's fine to feel that way. Trust me, everything's going to be overwhelming starting from now but it will be a breeze after you and Zayne are married.”

You pressed your lips in a thin line. Feigning to consider the implication. You glance at Zayne who's been quiet while his mother gently assures you that being married to her son will be the best choice for yourself and for the baby.

Your father must have sensed your hesitation. He reached for your hands. Holding it to his own wrinkled ones.

“I know marriage is not easy as it can be. Take me and your mother but we worked it out. I trust Zayne with all of my heart.” Your father takes your hand in his. “When we received the news of your accident, my heart couldn't take it. My little girl is hurt. Alone and scared without her father and when I knew Zayne was with you. I have never felt so relieved. Someone is looking after my little girl.”

His voice warm and you see your father, your old man — a little bit younger than his age. Like he was at peace that he knew that his precious daughter is in the right hands. Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes. You did love your father but your relationship with Zayne was the cause of your current misery.

“The baby...” He clears his throat. “My grandchild, consider it as a blessing to you (Y/N). After that inevitable accident and nearly losing your life. Consider it as a second chance to your life with Zayne.”

It was easy for him to say that but could you blame him? He didn't know. You wanted to shake your head in denial. The baby was no blessing. Zayne had put his baby in your womb as a punishment for wanting to leave him.

Everything was a blur to you. Worked it out? Your mother hated you. She can only spare you a bit of her affection. You desperately wanted to reach out to your father. Hoping that he'll listen to your plea but he had entrusted your life with Zayne cause no other man was enough to be with you. Zayne was the perfect husband that every parents wants for their daughters.

The dinner ended after they started discussing about the upcoming wedding. Zayne had excused you both with the reason that you need to rest early. Well wishes were made and Zayne's parents have decided to stay until the wedding.

The excitement was thick that even looking at them made you gag. There wasn't no malice on there cause it was for a good union that both families will be tied just like they wanted. It doesn't settle right with you.

They kept talking. How happy they were for there children being in love and the new addition of the family that will come in the next seven months. Hell, you didn't even knew you were pregnant and Zayne have known it before the tests. Simply because he knows you more than your own.

Uncertainty washes over you. This is not what you wanted. You were ready to walk away from all of this. Be shunned and be a disgrace to your own family. It will hurt but it was better than to be with him. Realizing that the Zayne you always wanted will never be him. There's always the shadow of doubt but alas circumstances changed that. He made it clear.

A gentle melody of the music being played in the radio fills the silence that is engulfing the both of you inside his car. You pressed your palm unconsciously to your stomach. It was still the seventh week of your pregnancy and there wasn't still a bump. The baby the size of a poppy seed sticking to your womb and doubted a baby bump will be prominent considering the natural roundness of your belly pouch. Well as normal people can see it, you're already pregnant.

“You've been quiet for awhile now. Do you want to talk?” He sees you rubbing your stomach. “No.” You answered him before pushing the button besides your seat. The seat reclines before you curled up. Ignoring him while he smoothly manipulates the steering wheel.

You continued to ignore him until you reached his house.

The heaviness of the air lays thick spreading in every corner that it was suffocating. Like the clouds bringing a storm.

“What were you thinking?” The silence of his house settled into you. Breaking it with a shout. The words slipped from your mouth. Your eyes blinks rapidly. There's a rattle of the chains from your sling bag as it hits the cold floor.

“What were you thinking, Zayne!?” You repeated. Your voice a little higher cause you never knew how to scream but someday you'll learn and maybe it was tonight.

Looking at that man who was once so dear to you. The man who you desperately wanted.

“Why would you do this to me? You didn't even want to be married — not to me, at least.” Your fist collided in his chest but he didn't budge. He welcomed it. He welcomed all the anger, the frustration.

“It is needed to be done.” He says without hesitation. A cold hard truth and you hated him for being true and honest with his intentions and feelings.

“Done?” You repeated the word as if your hearing had failed you and you turned deaf.

“How could you!?” You momentarily paused. Your voice quivered as you continued. “I gave you a chance. I was ready to walk away. I-I was prepared to leave anything behind cause I will never be yours. I will never be what you want. I will never be her.” A tear slipped from your eyes. Your body felt cold.

It was the truth. The cold hard truth. You gave up. How could you compete for a woman that holds his heart — his soul. That looking at him will ever remind you of her. That you will always be second. Part of you wished that you should have died that night.

The sight of your glassy eyes, burning with anger and frustration and hurt made his heart clench. It pained him to see you like this. Hurting over for the other woman. Yes, he admits it. He once loved her. Clinged to her existence cause it was the time that he felt that they belonged to each other until he realizes it was only an illusion. A sense of familiarity.

But what bothered him the most is your words. Leave him? Gave him a chance to walk away from this? From you? Why would you say that when you're already with his child. When all he did was take care of you?

He kept silent. His sight flickering between your teary eyes and the belly straining in your sundress. He lets you say it. Scream all your frustrations at him. You were in a delicate situation and he's letting you feel all of it but it doesn't mean he doesn't care. It's better to let it all out than harm you and the life growing inside you.

“I tried so hard for you. I learned things that I know would impress you. I learned how to bake. How to keep it shut. How not to annoy you. It didn't matter. You kept choosing her over me and now you want me? Decide for me? You're guilty. You're fucking guilty!” You screamed at him. Taking a breather because you didn't trust your voice no more.

“That's what you're feeling. You didn't love me! I smiled despite being hurt by you cause I know my place.” A violent sob racked through your body. You shoved him. Putting all the force of your anger and anguish in your hands. You want to hurt him so bad.

“You decided for me. You got me pregnant and you suddenly announced to my parents and yours that I'm pregnant. I — I — I hate you very much! I wished I died that night! I—”

I wished I died that night. Your words bouncing right back and forth in his mind. It rings on his head. The events that happened that night keeps replaying. Bleeding and unconscious. Barely breathing. You wished you died that night and what? Leave him alone in this world?

A frayed rope that was barely holding his emotions snaps, the ends wriggle — too late to realize what just happened.

Then his voice boomed. Akin to a crackle of thunder that shocks your insides that made you shut up. Staring at him wide eyed. The tears continued to spill.

“Enough!” He caught your wrists. Gently wrapped on his cold palms. “Don't you say that words again.” His voice back to the same composed ones. He pulls you closer to his. The scent of his seeping to yours and this is the times where you think Zayne can be warm too.

“Don't you say that words again. I will never let it happen to you again. Don't you ever say that!” He cups your cheeks. There's a slight tremor in his arms before composing himself.

The tears stopped and your anguish was replaced by confusion like you can't believe his words.

“Hate me.” He whispers. “Resent me. Hurt me.” He tenderly brushes the apple of your cheek. “Let me suffer with your hatred but I won't leave you. You are mine. And I will be with you for the madness you have to offer for me. I will take it — accept it — but don't you ever say those words again.” He says softly but there's the firmness to it. Making himself clear.

“You're mad.” Your voice came out unsteady. Disbelief painted in your face.

“Yes, I'm mad. If hatred is the only thing you will have for me in the long run. I will desire it as I desire you because you are mine.” His gaze locked into you. Clouded with darkness or simply madness.

A stray tear trickled down your cheek. Glistening in the trail of path of your still tear-stained cheek. He wipes it with his thumb. His gaze flickering between your eyes and lips.

“What happened to you? You're not the Zayne I knew.” Blinking slowly as try to clear your vision blurred by your unshed tears.

Is he for real? Or you got transferred to another reality where this version of Zayne madly desires you. Sees you for who you are.

There's only the sound of the breathing in each other's mouth. You can't process how to move or how to feel when he's holding you like this. None of you speak. Locked in each other's gazes. You were about to detach yourself from his hold and without a flicker nor a beat — he kisses you without a warning. The kiss that leaves you helpless.

It started out as soft. A tender kiss. The very first kiss you bestow when you didn't see each other for so long then the kiss turned out something as nothing but rough.

Feverish as his lips connected to yours. Pouring all those words that he can't speak of. That even the most sensible of man can be this emotional. Brought by the madness and the intensity of his feelings caused by this woman. His heart beating rapidly in his chest like a bird flapping it's wings wanting to be free.

He holds you close. Closer than he can ever hold. Afraid that if he lets you go — or loosen his grip you'll disappear. Forever lost.

His hand moves from the one holding your cheek to the back of your head and the other descending in the small of your back. Pulling you closer and deepening the kiss that you once lost to.

It was messy. The kind of kiss that all tongues. Dragging into each other. Tangled in desperation that air wasn't even a necessity.

You grip the lapels of his coat. It's the only thing you can hold unto while he keeps you caged in his arms. Leaving you no room to escape from his iron grip.

You were a marionette on his own strings but even he controlled your movements. You can't shut the thoughts running on your own mind.

Zayne's lips were warm on yours. You expected it to be cold but it was devoid of coldness but only the gentle warmth. It tastes like regret and sweet. Bittersweet you describe it.

He's kissing you. Pouring all the feelings he can't say to you and you thought of her. Does Zayne thinks of her while kissing you like this. Imagining it was her on his arms and not some fucked up, insecure woman who begs for attention that no one notices but only when she bleeds.

Still, you kissed him back.

He's not the only one who can kiss you like this. You kiss him while tears pours from your eyes. You didn't stop. You both didn't stop. Chasing each other's lips and tangling each other's tongues. Tasting each other's breath. You're a mess. A fuck up who enjoys being kissed by a man you love who loves another woman.

You dreamt what it was like to be kissed by him. It was sort of granted but it wasn't on your own terms. It was rough. The first night and the first time he kissed you. It was ugly as it can be but still it was a kiss. One that you yearned for a long time. If he wants the hatred you can give to him — then he's sure he will accept all the resentment you have to offer.

It was this kiss he craves — needed. The bitter taste of your regret but there's sweetness above it. Honest and raw that you loved him all this time and you were willing to throw whatever bit of your sanity left for this.

It was addicting. How the fullness of your lips molds into his. The scent of you driving him insane and the feel of your plush body pressed on him. He feels your pulse quicken under his touch. Knows that your heart beats for him and only him.

It's wrong but it feels so right. He couldn't think of her. Not like this. When it's your lips on his. Your touch burning on his skin. Electrifying. Maddening. He will accept this. Learn to embrace it. And when he's in too deep, he couldn't think of her but only you. In his arms. Trembling under his touch while you cried.

Suddenly, the coldness of that lingered on his body melted. Replacing with the burning feeling of your skin. Melting like snowflakes.

The taste of salt in your tears made it addicting. Like the sweets he's fond — tasting the hint of something that shouldn't be there but it's always right. Meant to be there. Everything's balanced. Everything's feels right when it's your lips on his. When it's you who consumed his thoughts.

He will freeze hell for you.

Looking at your glassy eyes and the spit stained lips mix with yours and his. He wipes your tears again. Pressing his forehead to yours and the silence engulfs the both of you with the exception of the gasps taking air again after the kiss.

“You're going to hurt us both, Zayne.” Your voice shaky and pleading.

“Yes, but what is pain when my love for you can endure everything. A love without pain shall not last. And my love for you will be eternal.” He declares without hesitation. That it is the truth and will only be the truth.

Your eyes widens at the depth of the darkness of his words.

“I'll fix us both. I will do everything in my power — whatever it takes. You're not going to leave me and I won't leave you.” His hand holding your cheek descends to your round belly. “Not when our child is growing inside you. Not when you're mine.”

He kisses your forehead with all the love and promise. For a future with you.

That night something broke. A bond that was long forged from ice and a frozen promise. A vow destroyed when his own blood and flesh sprouted inside you. And just like that, he broke the fate of his with a twist of his devotion for the woman in his arms.

The chapel is something out from a dream. A job well done for a kind of rushed wedding. You can see the vibrant hues of wisteria draping over the gables of the chapel. A willow tree in the distance. The air is cool and buds of the flowers are slowly blooming as they sprouted from the damp earth. There's a burst of rain earlier leaving the scent of the soil and the cool breeze gently caressing your skin. It's the weather you want for a wedding. A auspicious day to be married.

Your family insisted per Zayne's flawless convincing, you weren't sure if it was even one. It was the truth coming from him and it was better this way since you're still in the early stages of your pregnancy. Both of your families agreed without a fuss and the wedding day came.

You found yourself behind the wooden doors of the chapel that remains timeless as the years gone by and you can tell that it was maintained. You tried to look up straight ahead as you hear the faint music began to play. The instrumental version of your favorite song from a movie. The doors opened and you think to yourself — it is now or never — or maybe you can run away from this. Save yourself from another heartbreak and disappointments.

You think of the flowers decorated in the pews and how it took the effort to make it pretty for your special day. You recognized a few of them. It's going to be wasted on you. You didn't deserve pretty things. It's not too late. Your conscience told you but as you take your first step towards him — it didn't matter anymore.

During the days you spend thinking about the future as a stupid teenager that carried until your mid-twenties you envisioned your wedding with him. You will be dressed in white and you know Zayne will be handsome in his tailored suit. He's always handsome — you mused to yourself but after years of pining and yearning for him that will never be reciprocated — you abandoned the dream. Some things aren't meant to be.

Then suddenly, you're the one walking down the aisle towards him when you have already given up for this moment. A future with Zayne. A future for the man who noticed you when you knocked on death's doorstep and suddenly — poof — like a flick of a wand or the sudden appearance of a heartbeat in the electrocardiogram after you flatlined — he's marrying you and you doubt him.

He didn't love you. He was guilty for all of this that until this day — by marrying you, he will atone for the misfortune that fell upon you when it's not his fault. You were just born at the wrong time and place, carrying the resentment your mother that placed to you. You can't bring yourself to believe that he truly loves you.

He didn't need to do all of this and he acted like he didn't had a choice to be with her when you gave him the chance. You were willing to walk away! And then when you decided that your tears aren't enough for this relationship to last long, that it wasn't truly you — the heartbeats growing stronger in your stomach tells you how far he can go just to prevent you from leaving him.

Your thought drifted to her, lingering in the back of your mind and surfaces when you're at most vulnerable. A pure soul with a pretty face. Beautiful inside and out. Fearless and gentle to everyone. You were not. You were a thief stealing Zayne from her when you they're the happiest with each other. A coward for letting fear take control of you. Powerless.

The smile plastered on your face strains in your skin. The more you tried to keep it up, the more it numb you. You really can't marry him. You're stealing him from her. You didn't want him to resent you for existing but the gazes of everyone lies heavily on you. The thoughts still screams inside your brain.

And as you take his hand, you can't erase her.

He didn't missed how your eyes flickers between the doors behind you and him. Still contemplating to left after what he had done to secure this day with you. As if it the life he put in your belly isn't enough. That's why a wedding must happen with both of your families as the witness of this union.

Zayne stands there waiting for you, there isn't amiss from his usual stoic expression but his eyes tell something. Certainty. It wasn't arrogance but the confidence that you were truly his.

His gaze fall to the beauty of his bride — about to be his wife. Walking towards him, clutching a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The blues and greens a dedication to the commitment.

The wedding gown beautifully hugs your plush figure. The gentle swell of your belly strains against the fabric of your dress, it wasn't a baby bump but you're getting there.

The draped sleeves of your wedding gown delicately exposes your soft rounded shoulders. A touch of modesty and a tease there. Your hair woven into delicate braids and a silver tiara rests at the top of your head weaved with leaves and small blossoms of flowers. It is what considered a timeless and elegant look.

As you get nearer, Zayne basks in your softer features especially your face. A light make up enough to highlight your features.

It was the face he learned to love, the one he gets to look whenever you weren't looking. Him constantly admiring you from how your round cheeks puff when you're pouting and the fullness of your lips that he founds himself staring at it more than he can count.

There's a slight tremor in your hand as you take his and once you're facing each other in the middle of the altar, the priest beginning his spiel about the sacred vows of marriage and the people staring at the both of you — Zayne knows you will always be his and that is the finality of it.

His eyes remained on you the whole time. Admiring the bride that was about to be his. It didn't deter him how glassy your eyes look, at the cusp of crying. He reaches out to wipe the tear that rolls from your eye. He can hear the small awe of the crowd.

Don't cry. You repeated the words like a mantra. You're going to play in his cards but it didn't stop the single tear from rolling. All of this feels wrong cause it was never yours to begin with.

You keep your eyes on him and behind those piercing gaze of the green of his eyes — does he imagine of her instead of you? Does he think that it should be her standing in your place? That she should be the one dressed in white — them exchanging vows of eternity and not even death will part them and find each other in the next life.

Your chest felt tight and your stomach in a twist. You wished you can blame it on the pregnancy hormones or something cause it's easier to put the blame than take responsibility of your actions. You should have left, instead you waited for him and that was the biggest mistake. You were trapped with no way out.

In the same measured voice, he began to speak of his vows. The intensity is thick that you're the only one who can pick it up underlined with warmth that makes it convincing. He affirms you with those words, tinged with softness that is solely reserved for you. A rarity for those who have heard it.

His eyes never left you. Looking deeply into your eyes while he gently lifts your soft hand before slipping the ring in your finger.

“I do.” The words are hauntingly sickening when it was your turn to say it. Your hands tremble as you take his hand, you were scared that out of nervousness you won't be able to put it but lo and behold it slips smoothly on his scarred finger.

His hands cups your jaw, the coldness of his hands seeps into your skin. The priest have pronounced you both, husband and wife — the kiss is about to seal the union.

You only tipped your face to look at him and then, he's leaning down to you — bestowing the kiss that he's going to be yours.

The eyes, they will never lie. You see the same hazel green eyes of his looking at you and you wonder when he looks at you like this. His eyes soft but holds the composure, a hesitation that once never existed and with the love he made you believe but the love's dubious and the real one was the one he holds for her.

Her. You can't stop thinking about her. Sweet, beautiful her will never be compared to you. You glanced at the doors and for a brief moment you see her. Crying silently while the love of her life — kissing someone who is not her. You closed your eyes in surrender.

And when you feel the slow, soft breath coming from his mouth — you strategically move your face slightly to the side and only for him the corner of your mouth. A shaky breath escapes your lips. Swallowing the bitter invisible pill down your throat.

He remains calm and calculating under the rejection of his kiss towards you. He subtly pulls you closer to him and even when you reject his kiss in your lips, you will still feel his love as he gently kissed your forehead. A devotion that he hopes you'll understand and accept.

Silver Springs.

The place where Zayne took you after the wedding. A cozy place nestled in the middle of the woods with a lake view. Perfect for sunsets and sunrises. A perfect getaway from the bustling crowd of Linkon.

You wouldn't exactly call it a honeymoon and retreat is a more befitting word for it. A three day and two nights to be away from everyone. It was your first day as newlyweds — husband and wife. You didn't need to stay long in this place and Zayne have his duties as a doctor.

You didn't know what to feel after the wedding. Everything was rush from your pregnancy to marriage. You didn't thought of it and suddenly you're in the middle of the woods with your husband. The word is strange in your tongue. Zayne — your husband. The very one who had been so distant to you and he's the one who is constantly hovering over you.

Dusk had settled and Mr. Moon have made it appearance. The night is dark — dotted with tiny stars and the crickets chirped in the surrounding area. For some reason it gave you a peace of mind for a few minutes. It reminded you of the summers spent at the countryside where your siblings and you frolicked over the damp grasses and throwing mudpies at each other. Your mother disapproved but your father was forgiving. Children should be children — he says. You can't even hear a drop of scoldings from your old man.

Zayne's in the other room, putting the bags away. You didn't bother helping him. Already exhausted of what transpired yesterday and you want to sleep for now but your brain didn't allow. Since the beginning of your pregnancy, your sleep schedule was a mess. You were out like a light in the mornings and sometines you stayed up late like a night owl. If it wasn't for Zayne's interfering and making sure your sleep schedule was aligned to what a pregnant woman should have.

The door creaked and it revealed Zayne. Holding a cup of tea that helps you sleep comfortably. He places it on the bedside table.

“You're going to regret all of this.”

You blurt out of the blue. The words were sharp but it's a surrender. He stops in his tracks. His gaze falling down on you. Studying you for a second.

“What do you mean?” He asks evenly but he knows what you're referring to. He needs to hear the words.

Your absentmindedly caress your rounded belly. “Me. All of this.” Your tone bitter. “You're going to regret marrying me and having me to bear your children.” You say without indifference nor a quiver to your voice. Not yet. You're still not cracking.

“I don't regret any of it.” He says as he settled down besides you. The wind rustles the trees outside and crickets stopped chirping. The night falling into the silence.

You move to your side and without hesitation, you crawled towards him. Climbing on his lap, caging his thighs. He didn't react much like he anticipated this one and is relishing on the sudden affection of his pregnant wife.

He leans behind the headboard. Holding your wide hip and grounding you on his lap. Securing that you won't let go after such bold move.

“I won't ever regret of marrying you nor putting my child into you. It will happen in due time and I decided it's the best for the both of us.” He says flatly — like it was the reason that makes sense.

You remained silent. Reaching out to touch his face and he melts into your hold. Grasping your wrist as you traced the features of his face.

This man. Your husband belonged to her and you're the one touching him like this. Freely admiring how the light dances on his pale skin. The perfectly sculpted face that you think he was made from a god. Those thick lashes arched in novelty. Framing those narrow eyes of his with eyes the color of forest in spring dappled in sunlight.

“You were so out of reach from my fingers. I watched you. Loved you silently. Hoping that one day you'll look at me but you never did.” Your voice trembled. The calmness of your exterior starting to fade away the more you look at him.

“I heard I flatlined.” It was awful, during your stay at the hospital you heard how Zayne was desperately reviving you after your heart stopped beating, sending you into another cardiac arrest and almost had given up until your heartbeat had surfaced again.

“Was it only the time you realized you were truly afraid of losing me or was it I was slipping away from you?” You searched for a bit of emotion on his face but it remained stoic like he was thinking.

“I never feared anything more than losing you.” The fear, the pain, the guilt that wracked his whole being. All that crashes into a single tidal wave. Rendering him powerless to protect you from all the things that harmed you. It was out of his control of what happened to that fatal car accident that it almost costed your life.

It was beneath him. He had never been so useless his whole life. He never wanted to see you hurt again. Lying in the bed — fighting for you life.

“My mistake ks that I had never given you the chance to know you more but now, I have a lifetime to know you and I won't let anything get between us.” He squeezed the plushness of your waist.

“Yeah?” You asked not moved by his declaration. “What about her? You loved her.” Your eyes burn, thinking of her. He watched as the white of your eyes turned red — deeply affecting him that you still think of her when it was you he choose.

“She doesn't hold my affections the same you hold mine.” He says coldly like the entire existence of her was nothing and is a taboo one to speak that will get you cursed. His expression barely cracked. The reserved, calm exterior were nothing to the cold gaze in his eyes. Simmering with the unadulterated devotion and the darkness merging in those depths.

“That's it?” You murmur — unsure, like you can't believe what he said. “That's it?” You repeated again. All his life it was for her. Being a doctor specializing in the cardiology since she was sick, something in the heart. Devoting his studies to understand her condition and he says that like it doesn't matter anymore.

“You built yourself for her, Zayne — you loved her more than anything else and it is this easy for you to say that I'm the one who holds your affection when you turned like this after what happened to me?”

“I did love her but she's not you. She's not the one I married, not the one who's carrying my child. You're the only one that matters and it will be the end for this. We have a future together.” He says without indifference.

“You won't know the extent of my devotions — I will kill for you. Let the world know that you are mine.” He added. The room turns cold as he let those chilling words left his mouth without breaking eye contact. Frost have formed in the corners of the room but he's warm.

He watch as your eyes widens at his declaration. The heavy implications lays thick and it was true. You don't how far he'll go to such lengths for you, to prove that you're the only one. Enough to convince you to abandon the thought that you will always be second.

Kill. The word is strong. Shivers creep down your spine. It doesn't hold any hostility but the thought of him killing for you, scares you the most.

“I save lives and I can take one too — if anyone touches you — let alone a strand of your hair, I'm the last person they'll be looking at. I am capable of holding a knife to someone's throat much as I am with a scalpel. Nobody will harm you as long I am here.” He added.

In which he already did. The paramedics fault to sent the man also in Akso Hospital. The negligence of his drunk driving endangered your life and in the unforeseen future will also put the others. He just ended it. Administering small doses of potent drug that made it look like he peacefully passed away in his sleep.

“I turned you into a monster.” You whispered, about to remove yourself from him but he kept you on his hold.

“You didn't. You made me feel without restraints. Real. This is who I am.” The tone of his voice didn't change while he strokes your cheeks adoringly.

You were on top of him but is Zayne is quick to admonish you to place you beneath him, that he's always the one to be in control.

“My devotion runs deep for you, more than you will ever know.”

This isn't what you envisioned for your future. Forever tied to him for this lifetime. He took the words from your mouth but it doesn't mean it was enough to say it again.

“I will hate you in the long run.” You warned him but Zayne smiles softly at you.

“It's fine. I have enough love for the both of us. Enough for the two little ones.” A faint smile ghosted his lips. Already attached to the twins — to the thought of being a husband to you and a father to your unborn children. He rests his palm to your protruding belly.

He gently switches the position of you both and now you're lying beneath him. Your hair sprawled like dark halo in the pillows. “You didn't kissed me properly in our wedding.”

His gaze lingering on the soft plump lips of yours before looking at your eyes. “I'll be kissing you properly tonight. You won't deny me right?” It wasn't a question for he kissed you and it's not only a kiss he got from you.

It was a real honeymoon after all.

It's the first time in months you have seen her again.

In the quiet afternoon of the corridors in the hospital, dressed in her hunter uniform. You were done for your monthly check-up with Zayne in your side. His crisp white uniform is abandoned for his black dress shirt and trousers paired with his leather shoes. He's not a doctor today but a doting husband to his heavily pregnant wife.

The flowy pale blue sundress did nothing to conceal the pronounced baby bump. Straining against the fabric and it's the only piece of clothing that is providing you comfort. Loose and breathable.

It may the effect of your pregnancy but you weren't the same anymore when you've seen her. There's no more stinging burn in your eyes nor the heaviness in your chest. You felt at peace or you made peace with your emotions towards her. It's not the assurance that Zayne was your husband and pregnant with his child — it is because you surrendered.

There is no point on dwelling with your ugly insecurities towards her and besides you're going to harm your babies in your womb. You were already at risk with your pregnancy and you shall not strain the innocent babies growing inside you.

The thoughts will always linger. Zayne studies your reaction or the possible trigger of a meltdown but he found nothing. He should be assured — relieved but the neutral expression in your face didn't settle right with him and then he noticed — the mask you were wearing.

Well, it didn't last long for the facadé to crack. You were calm but there's still the hurt left in your heart.

He didn't speak of it but he keeps a firm grip to your plush waist. Shielding you from any possible stress that may harm you and the babies in your womb.

They crossed paths again. What once yesterday's silent promise was nothing to today's and future's commitment to you. He didn't spare her a glance not once when in the past he look at her like she's the most precious thing in the world but now, she was only a shadow. A remnant of the past. He couldn't bother not when there's you in his hold, pregnant with his children. A future he looks forward to.

After leaving the hospital, you were both walking in the nearby park in Linkon. The trees were lush with greenery, the pond glimmering from the sunlight reflecting in the water. The grass soft to touch. The weather wasn't also warm or cold just a right touch of being a good weather.

It's been a few paces and the you noticed it, the stares.

Of course, who would not stare at the eye candy besides you holding your hands. If Zayne weren't a doctor he could be a model. Posing on different cover pages of famous magazines dressed in the latest trends of clothing. Haute couture and all that. Walking in the runway. He must be used from all of it. Except he's not the only one being stared at. They're also looking at you and Zayne noticed that.

You were looking more radiant. Lovelier and fresh like a rain drop. The pale blue sundress did your voluptuous curves justice even with your bump. You could be quite oblivious to but not for long.

The stares, they were weighted and when people stares either they are judging or admiring and you always think of former. You weren't a pretty face nor have the body of a model or maybe it's just the bump. That's right the bump and you unconsciously squeezed your hand in his. Anxiety filling the pregnancy brain of yours.

“Is there something on my face, Zayne. They're staring.” You asked him unsure. Pulling your cardigan closer to you.

He turns around to face you. Another curious gaze from a man he catched giving them a sharp look that says back off before looking at you. “No.” His voice tender and assuring.

“It must be the bump or I've gotten too big.” He sees how your eyes turned sad and the tears was already there.

“It's not the bump. It's you.” His voice firm and it kind of scares you.

“They're admiring my wife.” He explains and the sadness were replaced of a assurance. “Don't worry about them. You have me.” He softly murmurs to you and you believe him.

It makes him want to protect you more.

Zayne took you to a nearby flower shop. Where a nice old lady owns it. Keeping in mind to pick the flowers you wanted to plant since you've been eyeing the vacant part of the garden in the house. You didn't need to tell him. He knows. You've also been much open to him, vocal about what you want.

For the twins, you spoke to him one night about how you wanted flowers in the garden. You wanted flowers to bloom for the twins and he's more than happy to fulfill that for you.

“When are you due, dearie?” A voice spoke besides you. A gardening can in their hand while they admire the potted plants near you. Her hair silver, kept into a neat bun. Their eyes kind and she reminds you of the nice grandmas you meet in the hospital during your checkups or anywhere.

“In a few months.” You said softly, your fingertips tracing the petals of the daises. Admiring the other variants of flowers, thinking of what you should plant for your babies.

She laughs in a light-hearted way. Patting her apron smudged with dirt from tending all the plants in her shop. “The little ones are joys, you know.”

Your mood dampened a bit, remembering how you got pregnant in the first place and Zayne notices about to intervene not wanting to upset you further. “First one?” The nice old lady inquired.

You smiled softly as your gaze drifts to your round belly. “Twins, actually.” You murmur.

“Double the blessing at the first try.” She muses, looking at you. “Pregnancy suits you beautifully, sweetheart.”

Your face warmed at the compliment. “Excuse me, dearie. I shall find you a selection of seed packets of flowers you might like for your babies.” She left with a smile and you turned around to meet his gaze.

“You don't need to hover.”

He keep his hand planted at the small of your back and you sighed. This man can be stubborn.

The old lady came back with the seed packets she promised. She noticed Zayne. “You take care of her.”

“I will.” His voice flat while staring adoringly at you.

You both left shortly after getting the seed packets and bulbs of the flowers you wanted.

“I'm staying home for today.” He tells you one morning. The sun were barely up and you were puking your guts out in the toilet. Six months in your pregnancy and nausea have been kicking you harder than ever. Your twins were literally taking up the space in your belly.

“Is that allowed? You're the chief surgeon.” You take his hand as he assisted you in getting back to your feet again and guiding you towards the bedroom.

“My colleagues can handle today's work.” He says it like it's the most obvious thing and if he says so. You don't have the strength to argue nor push him anymore not when you're already resting your head on his chest. The warmth of his body and the coldness of his hands is what you need.

“Mmm...” A small sound escaped your lips as you tried to suppressed the sudden movements of one of your twins. It was kicking your stomach. You raised your head to meet his gaze. “Calm your spawns in my belly.” Groaning as you feel the both of your twins getting more active.

The surgeon put his hand on your belly. Rubbing soft circles around it and the twins immediately settled down. You didn't mean to sound bitter and call your twins — spawn but with your emotions heightened caused by your pregnancy that is your husband's fault. You can't help it.

Triggered by the way you addressed your precious babies — the familiar stinging pricking behind your eyes started and it broke out when you look at him.

“I hate you.” The words slipped from your mouth and then followed by another. “I hate that you put them in my belly without asking me if I wanted them.”

You couldn't count how many time you said you hated him than you loved him still Zayne remains tender with you. He did said he got enough love for you and how will he accept the hatred from you.

He countered it. “I love you.” He murmurs. “I love that you're mine. I love that you're going to be the mother of my children.” Your lips curls up in a pout and quivered as you broke out in sob and he kisses your tears away until you calmed down.

It's not really a big price he needed to pay. He didn't regret his decisions cause it was planned and he only acted upon it. Similar to operations, you can't cut open without studying their condition and Zayne knew that you still love him.

If you should not have still loved him, you would have tried to escape him or hurt the two little ones growing in your belly but you didn't. You loved them, nurtured and took care of them with care. His extensions of devotion.

Even when you screamed and told him how much you hated him — why did you still accept him in your arms when he seeks it or the days where you look for him for the safety of his body he provided you with love and comfort.

Strongly besotted that when you tried to annoy him with your cravings having particularly developed a taste for the brightly orange colors of the carrots that should have been obliterated — he took a bite after you said that “I'm going to eat carrots cause you hate it so you can hate me too.” He long avoided that disgusting excuse of a vegetable and only you can make him eat it — not to spite you but to show that he will never hate you cause the mistake you only did was love him with all your heart.

There's also your pregnancy, he didn't thought about being a father but with you — everything's right. Falling into its rightful pieces.

Some nights, she crossed his mind. Thinking that he didn't truly loved her. He did became what he is today but it's not enough for a reason to stay. To love is to hurt. That phrase didn't justify when his love for her slowly diluted and was filled for you. Filling the cracks of your shattered heart. He only got hurt when he almost lost you — when your heart decided to stop beating.

He was terrified of losing you — of living a life without the sound of your voice or your presence haunting him.

You are his destruction and you shall be only his salvation.

Stained his hands with the blood of he saved and those who harmed you. He will protect you even it cost him what he believes in.

It was all the answers and the logic that he received that he didn't truly loved her cause Zayne only bleeds for you.

The twins came early as expected.

Aurora. His first born daughter and the eldest of the twin came into the world crying her eyes out like a newborn does. Her cries filled the quietness of the hallways and mixes with the storm raging outside.

The other twin — the one that gave all the doctors and nurses including him the scare. It wasn't visible since they were trained to be calm in situations like this. He didn't came crying for he wasn't breathing.

They had tried to all medical procedures to coax his youngest to cry or breath and even with his specialty in neonatal care, it didn't prepared him for this scenario until he sees your weakened state, reaching out for his child — your child with him.

Zayne didn't believe in miracles that it was only the will of the mind and body shall survive in dire straits but a mother's love for her child proves that miracles exist.

He placed your son to your chest and you cradled your unmoving child to your chest. “Mommy's waiting for you.” You whispered. Your voice hopeful — trying not to crack. Gently tapping his back to coax him to cry or breath or anything that he's alive. It was minutes of pure torture but you remained calm, you didn't let the fear of losing your child take over.

You didn't take your eyes off him. Tears are welling up in your eyes but you didn't let it slip and then it happened — a tiny flutter of breath — his tiny fists curls up in your chest. You let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding and the tears fall before you can realize. You let out a choked laugh. Relieved that your baby boy is alive and well.

“Yue.” You call his name and he gave you the tiniest of smiles before his eyes began to open and stares at you with eyes similar to his father.

Outside the storm had passed. Dark skies began to part and to show the moon peeking through the stormy clouds. Shining brightly and fully.

The room is dim. The monitors beep and seeing you in bed brought unwanted painful memories for him. You're not in that situation anymore. You're alive and passed out from exhaustion despite trying to fight it earlier to admire your children.

The twins are resting in their separate bassinet. Already done with their tests and no health conditions were present. Both healthy and thriving.

Zayne loves his children before they were even born but his gaze fixated on his baby boy. The one who didn't cry and breathed not until surrounded by your warmth or hear the voice of his mother.

Similar to him whenever he wasn't near to you. His fingers gently stroke his baby's boy head then whispered. “You shouldn't scare your mother like that.” The baby only stirred, lips twitching as if understanding him.

He looks at you peacefully sleeping. He will never you put with this kind of pain again. He promised to himself. Admiring his wife blissfully vulnerable and beautiful.

“We're together now.” He said before placing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

At that moment with the twins and you resting, Zayne had never felt so complete in his life.

It felt surreal — how you managed to birth your two babies. Peacefully asleep in their separate cribs, dressed in their snowman onesies.

The pregnancy scared you and with Zayne constantly hovering over you adds the anxiety that you weren't going to be a good mother. You weren't even ready to conceived the both of them but Zayne wanted them — wanted to grow in your womb that you will have no means to leave him.

It mirrored how weak you are that you are easily manipulated with no control of your autonomy. Forced to be with his children without the thought how it will change the course of your lives.

Zayne became the cold and ruthless man that didn't know he was capable of. He would rather let you hate him than leave. You screamed — told all the foul words that you knew but he only stands in front of you with cold gaze. Did his heart even break when you told them all those spiteful words?

The nursery was quiet. The walls were pale blue, painted with arctic animals. Penguins in the corner with their black and white feathers, polar bears in their snow white fur and the other wall were dotted with tiny snowman.

It became your haven when everything becomes too heavy for you to carry. What once you despised growing inside you became your comfort. You hated yourself for hating your children when they were inside your belly cause how come you would want something you didn't ask for and when your baby boy came out almost lifeless and brought to life with your warmth — it frightened you.

They lay asleep. A twitch of their lips in there and their body stirring. You reached out gently to stroke your daughter's cheek with your knuckles. Sweet Aurora with her adorable smile. Melting hearts after she was born. She looks like you with your eyes in hers, taking your facial features and you hope she won't take after your personality.

You kiss the pad of your fingertips, pressing it to her chubby cheeks. You teared up a little. Your gaze fell to the other crib where your baby boy rests well he's not when he sensed you. Reserved Yue who only cries when you're far away from him. Always wanting to he with you.

You take him out from his crib to soothe him. Cradling him close to your chest and your baby boy looks at you with his father's eyes. The same hazel green that you didn't know wether to love or hate it but it belongs to Yue. The baby you almost lost. He's a mirror of Zayne. A tiny version of your husband and the resemblance grew bigger every day.

“You know how to scare mommy, Yue.” You whispered in the quietness of the night and his round eyes stares at you — unblinking.

You sniffle a bit. “Mommy won't wish anything but she hopes that you and Aurora would grow up, strong and healthy.” You laugh a bit to yourself. It was every mother's wishes to their children and you're no different.

Then your voice drops lower like you were on the verge of crying — you are but you only smiled. “But I hope you and Aurora won't be like me.” Your voice cracks. “Please don't be like me.” You repeated and your breaks with every word. “Please don't change to be loved — to be wanted.” You don't want a repeat of history. You don't want your children to be in the same pain you had gone through.

“Learn to leave when you're not needed or wanted and learn to stand up for yourself. Mommy will teach you how even she failed to do it for herself.” The first tear came rolling and Yue raises his tiny hands as if to reach you.

You laugh to yourself before leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Mommy's sorry for telling you this, Yue.” You look at your daughter. “Aurora.” You silently call her name. “Mommy does not want her babies to be hurt.”

You wipe the tears using the heel of your palm before gently rocking your baby boy to sleep. You promised to yourself that they won't be like you. A weak coward who can only stand up for their self when it's only too late.

Zayne stilled for a moment when he hears you say those words. He didn't mean to hear it and assumed you were asleep except you weren't and he finds you in the nursery. Sitting in a rocking chair. Rubbing soft circles to your baby boy and then he hears you. Begging and broken.

After all this time you still think of that? That you still live in the past with the pain of his shortcomings but who could ever blame you — you were hurt by his own.

Slowly, he walks towards you.

The weariness of today can't compare to your pain. He holds your wrist — almost startling you and he catches the tear stains in your cheek and the embarrassment that followed.

He kneels in front of you. Reaching to wipe the tear stains on your face before cupping your round cheek on his large palm. “They won't know it. They will be loved the way I loved you.” He says in a calm voice that soothes your very being despite being hurt.

“I won't allow that.” His voice low enough for you to hear and not to disturb the children sleeping. “And you should never believe nor feel that.”

You were about to say something but your lips closed. Waiting for him to speak again.

“You were never meant to feel those things.” Brushing the tears with his thumb. “You're mine and I have a lifetime to spare and the next that you shall never feel these things again.” He assures you before standing up to press a kiss to your lips before his gaze fell down to his son who looks exactly like him. He softly caressed their soft head.

“Yue, Aurora and you shall never be in pain and I will rid everyone whoever tries to harm you all.” It's dark and chilling from how he spoke those words.

You only hoped that his words are true and there won't be a repeat of that again.

[leviathanleva]

Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

After months of giving your all to a man you barely even knew, you're finally rewarded. He takes off his mask in front of you almost hesitantly and you're overjoyed. Still, you want to, need to know why and so despite your better judgement, you ask him only to receive a laugh in response.

“Wan’ed you to see what the father of yer kids looks like, Birdie.”

[5.1k words] [Slightly NSFW]

Chapter 3 "Powder"

Simon had expected tension when he’d relied to you the news that he was leaving on deployment soon. But no, you were as chipper as ever, rolling your sleeves instantly and beginning to prepare him for the journey while bombarding him with questions.

It was…different, in a good way. There was no guilt for having to abandon you to fulfill his duty. You were worried, that much was clear, but you didn’t let it bother you enough for him to have to figure out a way to comfort you before leaving.

He was grateful even if he didn’t show it, hoping that the crinkled skin in the corners of his eyes was enough of an indicator.

He stretched lazily on your small couch, feet tucked under your bum as per your usual arrangement, while you absentmindedly folded his freshly washed clothes back into his duffle bag. A random sports channel is playing on the telly, drowning out the silence while he watches you fuss with a shadow of a smile hidden under his mask.

A pile of dry laundry was splayed over the armrest you were leaning against and you plucked each piece with the utmost care, looking over it for any spots that the washing machine hadn’t been able to get rid of before laying into his bag.

“Is this a bullet hole?” You murmur to yourself while looking over a gray knitted blouse, particularly at the edge of one sleeve where the stitching was ruined. You run your thumb over the hole, brows furrowing as you inspect it, then turn to Ghost with a small frown. “There’s a bullet hole in this one. You wanna keep it?”

When he realizes your question is targeted at him, he blinks away the thoughts swirling in his head and shrugs.

“Keep i’, adds character.”

You snort, but fold it regardless and stuff it with the rest of his clothes.

A distant whistling erupts from the kitchen and you stand to dust off the lint from your sweats before scurrying to get the kettle. It doesn’t take long before you reemerge with two steaming mugs in each hand and set one before him on the coffee table. He grumbles out a thank you while sitting up and tugging his mouth free from his mask.

Back tea with milk, just how he likes it, piping hot in a mug big enough for him to comfortably wrap his hand around.

“Gonna make a real good missus.” Ghost murmurs out casually and picks up the mug before taking a prolonged sip and letting his eyelids close at the familiar flavor.

“Yeah? Well, you’d make an awful husband.” You joke, playing along with the innocent understanding that he’s joking and not trying to figure out how to get your ring size without making it obvious. You kick at his knee with your own, a playful smile tugging on your lips. “You never fight with me over anything. Even when I try new cooking recipes off the internet.”

He mulls over your words for a moment, eyes focused on his steaming beverage.

“Didn’ leave no marks on me las’ night. Can complain abou’ tha’.”

“Jesus Christ, Simon.” You gasp and sputter to place a palm over his mouth, thrusting yourself into him as he fights off your flailing hands with ease. “Don’t say such things!”

“Why no’? ‘m just ‘aving a fight with me wife is all.” His teasing doesn’t relent but he lets you press your weight on him and guide him down into the cushions of the sofa. There’s a rumble coming from his chest, a series of snorts as he watches you struggle to keep from becoming completely flustered.

“Oh my God, stop! Stop it!” you’re already a flushed mess, he can feel your face burning from his position beneath you as you fight your wrists free from his loose grip.

“Tryin’a mount me like you did las’ nigh’, Birdie?” His hands come to rest on your waist, the words slipping past him just before you press both your palms against his mouth with a doe-eyed look on your face. He holds you steady, a wolfish smirk making his canines peak beneath his upper lip.

For a moment he thinks your abashed state will hit its limit and you might faint right on the spot, what will the uneven breathing and shaky arms, flared nostrils and quivering bottom lip.

“Shut! Shhh. No more sinful talk. Awful man you are, I’ll never marry you.”

An empty threat that only makes his smirk grow as his chocolate browns twinkle up at you adoringly. It doesn’t cross his mind even for a second that you’re unaware of just how serious he is and how much planning has gone on inside his thick skull over the past few days.

It’s okay, you don’t need to fret over such things, all you need to do is say yes when he finds you a pretty enough ring.

“Gonna behave now, old dog?” You ask and hesitantly free his mouth before settling down on top of him and crossing your arms, a hint of a victorious aura to your puffed-out chest and twitchy smile.

He pats your bum ever so gently and sits up abruptly, causing you to slide into his lap. The power imbalance tips in his favor as soon as he’s looming over you, wide shoulders and muscly arms making you nearly disappear in his embrace. He bumps his nose into yours, head bent down to your level and tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

You swallow thickly, your heart leaping in your throat and staying there as he lingers just on the edge of kissing you. And he’s already pawing at the waistband of your bottoms, greedily trying to slip his thick fingers beyond and toward the comfortable warmth of your sex.

A shiver crawls up your spine and a pleasant tingle settles low in your tummy. Your head snaps towards the digital clock propped above the TV.

“Stop it.” You scold, push him away from sniffling at your neck like a curious wolf and again on his back before slipping out of his lap. “Greedy old dog. I have to go shopping or else you’ll be having fried air with a side of nothing.”

A displeased grumble reaches your ears as you make your way towards the bedroom, intent on changing. You scoff, roll your eyes at your roommate’s childish pouting. Flicking the lights on, you trudge towards your wardrobe, your shared wardrobe although shared was a very generous way of putting it. Aside from a pile of boxers and socks and the occasional black top, there wasn’t much of Simon’s attire.

You wondered if this was all he had while slipping into a pair of jeans, thought over the fact that he did look like a guy who’d be caught dead before going out clothing shopping. It was a sad realization, you made a mental note to buy him some more things when your next paycheck arrived or when he decided to leave another wad of cash on the kitchen counter and label it as rent money.

At least he had a toothbrush, even though with how used and abused it looked, you considered getting him a new one alongside other male toiletries like soap that didn’t smell like wildflowers and shampoo that was a bit less strawberry scented.

After donning a comfy hoodie and walking to the hallway to put on your shoes, you glance at him and see him molding into the couch while his stare is glued to the screen and his brow is visibly lowered in displeasure.

“You can either sulk or you can come with me and get your blood going.” You suggest and straighten up once you’d tied your laces. He didn’t budge, only gave you a side glance. So you try again, more softly this time. “I’d like the company.”

You bat your lashes at him prettily, toss him a girlish smile and coquettishly slip on your jacket and he’s just a man after all, he gets up and pats down his top before joining you.

Coaxing him to do anything was never difficult, all that was needed from you was to look weak and cute and like you’d yield the moment he lumbered over to you. You liked to think you were special and that he wouldn’t bend the knee to just anyone, but then again you hadn’t seen Simon interacting with other people.

Most of your time together, all of your time together, was spent within the confines of your home. Ghost wasn’t one for going out, he was selfish like that, liked you all to himself, and with your attention nowhere else to be set except for him and his needs. You didn’t mind, it was cute in a way. He was needy and touch-starved even if he refused to admit it aloud.

Poor old dog, you’d take good care of him.

Although while you were locking the front door and felt him hook a pinkie finger around yours and lead you down the stairs, you got to thinking. Maybe you were more of a dog than him. You were the one bowing your head to his every wish and did anything you could think of to please him. It was one of your greatest pleasures to slave over him because he’d been so tired and beaten down when you’d first kind of “adopted” him.

Then again, he’d sort of made you adopt him. He’d just brought his things over and hadn’t left. You were certain he would have if you’d just said something, but you never had, you hadn’t confronted him about any of the weird things he’d done so far. Maybe it was too late now or maybe he’d just bury himself between your legs and lap at you until you were near unconscious like the last time he had when you’d seemed displeased. Or maybe he’d actually disappear and never come back and even though you’d known him for a couple of months, something sinisterly painful jabbed at your heart at just the image.

No, this was fine. You were happy to have him. Right…?

The grocery store wasn’t too far away, you could get to it on foot easily. Although something felt off. As you walked down the street with Simon in tow, you noticed the quick, ridged glances you were receiving from people of all kinds of ages. Some of them even made the effort of walking out of your way or taking sharp turns to avoid the two of you.

It was an odd experience, one that also subtly tickled a particular pleasure gland in your brain.

Was this what having a scary dog privilege was like? If so, then you were having the time of your life.

If only people knew what an actual sweetheart your companion was, they’d double over laughing at their first assumptions. But they never would because Ghost was yours.

When you picked up a cart that required both your hands to steer, you felt a tug at your jeans and glanced down to see he had hooked one finger around the belt strap on your side. You offer him a soft snort and try to bite back the grin that was growing on your face.

The place was full as expected, newly stocked as well for the weekend shopping most customers did around your area.

As you made your way through the aisles you scolded yourself for not scribbling down a list of what you needed, then proceeded to pick up a good amount of garlic and onion because most dishes need one or both aplenty. Wouldn’t hurt to have more even if you already had some back home.

Slowly, but steadily, your cart begins to fill the more you walk around and your vision falls on something that you were running low on. Funnily enough, since your new roommate, you’d found yourself having to shop more than once a week. He had a ravenous appetite and you liked that about him, liked having someone there to enjoy your cooking.

Living alone was a blessing, but it did get lonely sometimes.

And before you’d just make something hasty and easy for yourself, too busy with work, too tired after work, or just too lazy and not seeing the appeal of treating yourself. But now, you had someone who depended on you and it felt exhilarating to prepare meals and have another mouth to feed. It didn’t matter to you that Ghost wasn’t big on verbal praises in regards to the food you made him or the care you put into him.

You were happy just having him contently lounging on your couch and stroking your thigh while you lay beside him.

“Milk, eggs, cheese, butter, Simon, you’re tugging too much.” You call back while sifting through the egg cartons and trying to find one that has all ten eggs intact. When the tugging didn’t relent and you received no answer, you turned back with the intent of scolding the silent giant. “Simon, I said you’re – ”

But it wasn’t Simon. He was on your opposite side, staring downward. You follow his gaze to find a little sprout of a being hooked to your jeans and looking up at you with just as much confusion.

Apparently, the toddler had seen your tall, dark, and handsome partner linked to you and with their guardian nowhere to be found, she’d done the same. A child’s mind will forever stay a mystery to you.

The child doesn’t look older than five or four, with large eyes and a small mouth that was shaking with uncertainty while she gawked up at you in a silent plea. The jacket she had on made her look like a walking square, her hands barely poked out of the sleeves. She’d be adorable if not for the tear-stained cheeks that immediately tugged at your heartstrings.

You shake off the shock that has stiffened your joints and push your cart away.

“Hey, there.” You coo gently, shoo both of their hands off your jeans before they end up pulling them off your hips, and kneel down to greet the poor thing that was already hiccupping with sobs. “Hey, little Darling. Where’s your mommy? Did you get lost?”

When the waterworks start again, you gently pet her back.

“There, there. Let it out, it’s okay.”

You curse yourself for not packing any tissues in your bag and wipe the tears off her chubby cheeks with your thumbs.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart.” You soothe, glance up at Ghost to see him standing there silently and watching the encounter unravel with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Typical guy. “Can you tell me your name? Your mommy’s name?”

“Julie.” Was the choppy, nasally answer you receive as the toddle clumsily wipes the snot in the sleeve of her jacket.

“Is that your name or your mommy’s name?” You ask while unzipping her jacket enough to get it off her mouth and find it coated in a sheen of saliva.

Tissues, wet wipes, freaking toilet paper, you would have liked to have something to wipe the poor thing clean, but of course when you needed your supplies most, nothing but your wallet and chewing gum were in your bag.

“My name is Julie. Mommy’s name is Mommy.”

You would have giggled at that answer if Julie wasn’t pouring out her little heart’s sorrow in front of you. Instead, you nod with an okay and rise to face Ghost while resting your hands on your hips. From what you can see around you, nobody is looking around frantically for a lost toddler so you sigh and run a hand over your hair, thinking.

“Might have to take her to reception and make an announcement. Or the mom might already be there.” You say and give the hulking behemoth a once over before cocking your head to the side. “I’ve got the cart. You mind taking her?”

You take a step back, but by the uneasy looks both of them are giving you, it dawns on you that playing mediator was your next step before taking the child along.

“It’s okay.” You give Julie a warm smile, eyes moving between her and Ghost while he also squats down, a foot away from you as not the scare the little thing. “This is Simon. He’s really nice, I promise. He’s my best friend, in fact, he won’t hurt you. Promise.”

It takes some more convincing on your part before the toddler agrees to be picked up by your companion, but once he’d set her on his shoulders to scan the area for her parents, she seemed as cheerful as a cherub. Apparently, she’d never been held that high off the ground before, it was a whole new experience for her, and by the way Simon supported her back with a hand larger than her head and the gentle shine in his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t having too bad of a time either.

You make your way towards the reception desk, accompanied by a symphony of kiddish giggles, your grocery shopping left on the back burner until you relieve yourselves of your new bundle of joy.

Squeals would come from Julie every so often as she fidgeted around on Simon’s shoulders, her pudgy hands splayed in his dirty blond locks or tugging gently on his ears. It suited him being in charge of a little one, the fatherly appeal caused a pleasant knot to tighten in your chest and you tried to wipe the wide grin off your lips, but you just couldn’t.

“Hi, good evening.” You call out to the staff on the other end of the wide reception desk, thankfully catching their attention just before they turned their back on you. “Hi…We found this little girl in the dairy aisle, haven’t been able to find her parents. Would you be able to make an announcement maybe?” You lean in and lower your voice, glancing back briefly to see Julie preoccupied with giggling while toying with Simon’s free hand to hear. “We don’t know the names of the parents. I tried asking but…no dice. Her name is Julie.”

It takes less than ten minutes of you hanging about the reception after the announcement was made, while Ghost entertains the lively toddler, for you to see a flushed woman hurrying your way with her purse clutched under her arm.

You straighten up and adjust your jacket before taking a few small steps forward.

“Oh thank God. Julie!” The mother you presume, presses a hand to her chest when she sees her baby girl atop your roommate’s shoulders. “Thank goodness.”

She surges forward before plucking her child from Ghost’s hand and squishing her to her cheek with a relieved expression softening her earlier strained features. You guess Julie would have been just as vocally ecstatic if her face wasn’t immediately squished to her mom’s neck. You watch her flail for a bit before being maneuvered on her side so she can say a thank you.

“Thank you so much! I turned around for a second and – ”

“ – It’s not a problem.” You chirp back, waving your hands to hopefully dismiss the built-up anxiety that had the mother’s eyes still as wide as saucers. A polite smile adorns your lips, your gestures open and stance friendly to ease the poor woman before she suffers a heart attack at your feet.

“I hope she didn’t give you any trouble.” She says while smoothing out her daughter’s hair lovingly and pressing a feverish kiss to her forehead, earning a giggle in response. Then she extends a hand towards you, which you shake with pleasure. “She can be a bit of a handful. My name is Lily, by the way. I’m sorry to have to meet like this.”

“No trouble at all, ma'am.” You nod, let her shake Simon’s hand as well while you give her your name, and toss a fleeting glare at your loving roommate for not offering his. “We’re happy to help. Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you again, bless you. Say thank you, Julie.” Lily urges and gently grabs Julie’s arm before waving it at both of you. She turns then, readjusts the toddler in her arms, and offers you one last farewell before walking away. “Have a good evening and thank you.”

Despite both the distance and the chatty surge of people around you, you can hear Lily scolding her daughter under her breath before returning to the cart she’d abandoned. It all makes you laugh, especially hearing the muffled mumbles of protest as Julie stares at you and Ghost over her mother’s shoulder.

You wave at her one last time before fetching your discarded grocery cart and rolling it to Simon’s side.

“Didn’t know you were so good with kids.” There’s a teasing note to your tone as you glance at him from under your lashes, hiding a smirk behind the collar of your jacket.

You take the lead, slowly making your way back between the aisles while skimming around for any products you might have skipped past the first time.

“Didn’t eithe’.” He says softly as if the whole situation was the most foreign thing he’d ever witnessed. As if this had been the first time he’d held a toddler, it was heartwarming to feel the thought behind his absentminded voice.

“You’d make a great dad one day.” You hum and poke at his side with your elbow to make him look down at you only to beam up at him.

He’s silent for a while as you stop by the stacks of instant ramen, eyes never leaving yours as his head tilts to one side.

“Tha’ so?”

“Absolutely.” You respond with confidence before breaking your heartfelt eye contact to pick out a packet of noodles for rainy days when you don’t feel like cooking. “Maybe I’ll get to be the Godmother.”

You miss the way he arches an eyebrow at your statement as if you’d said the most blatantly inaccurate thing ever. You miss the way his chocolate brows fall down to your belly where they stay for a suspicious amount of time while he thinks over how nice it would be for you to go shopping with a wee one fussing about in your cart.

For the rest of your stay in the grocery store, Simon was noticeably more touchy. Instead of hooking himself to your jeans, he had a hand pressed to your lower back, thumb rubbing circles into your jacket, hard enough for you to feel. You didn’t question it, thinking his good mood was probably due to your encounter with Julie earlier, the toddler did boost his spirits up after all. He persisted while you were making your way home, holding the groceries in one hand while keeping his other on you.

Nothing seemed out of normal to you while you were outside besides him being a little needier than usual. You didn’t ask about it and didn’t tease him either, instead, you were trying to figure out what to cook up tomorrow because you had all the time you could wish for since it was Saturday. Then again, you had other chores to tend to. There was the washing up, hoovering, dusting.

But as soon as you twisted your key in the lock and stepped inside your now-shared apartment, he had you practically pinned against the wall. Grabby hands were fumbling to get your jacket off while you kicked off your shoes and spat mewling protests against the bulk of his shoulder.

Between getting you and himself undressed, you managed to slip out of his grip and pattered to the kitchen hurriedly, groceries in hand. You barely managed to set them on the table before Ghost twirled you around in his arms like you weighed nothing and bent you over the counter.

“Simon!” You hiss back and fuss to get yourself free. “What’s gotten you so riled up all of a sudden?” You feel a prominent bulge press against the soft curve of your ass and squeal. “Darling, please! At least take me to the bedroom first.”

A “tsk” comes from behind you and you’re about to yap at him that that’s no way to respond to the person who’ll be making him breakfast tomorrow, but the air is knocked out of your lungs as you’re picked up with ease and flopped over his shoulder like a potato sack.

“Simon!” You thump a weak fist against his back as he carries you down the hallway and it still makes you laugh that he needs to duck past your kitchen door, despite the situation. “Talk to me, Darling? Please? Not that I mind, but I need to put the groceries in the fridge and – ”

He tosses you on the bed and crawls on top of you, the mattress dipping under his weight. There’s a certain flare to his eyes as he stares you down and you feel a lump form in your throat before you force it down and coo up at him.

“Wanna tell me what’s been going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You try to squirm away but only end up with his erection lodged between your thighs and his body weight locking you down against the sheets. A moan slips past your lips before you cup his cheeks and run your thumbs over his eyebrows to ease the tension that’s built up there.

“Tell me, please?” You urge while getting comfortable beneath him and swatting away the hand he has toying with the button of your jeans. You lock your legs around his thick waist and pull him a little closer. “Please?”

He doesn’t respond right away, apparently smacking his hand off you thrust him into a spree of thoughts. You wait patiently, one hand scratching at his scalp tenderly while the other stays on his cheek. He looks away from you after a while, something you don’t quite comprehend darkening his moment of contemplation as he mulls over a decision you can only guess at.

His earlier desperation has all but vanished, leaving you absolutely confused.

“Si…Darling.”

You don’t expect him to turn back to you with pain glistening in those brown orbs you like so much before he props himself up on one elbow. Don’t expect the uneven movements of his hand as he slowly, timidly takes one of the black bands holding his mask in place and unfurls it from his ear before taking the little slip off entirely. He places it by your head and adjusts himself on both elbows, a thin-lipped frown tugging the corners of his mouth down as he watches avidly for your reaction.

A pang of guilt surges through you because of how long you’d been silently staring back at him in the darkness of your room. The street lamps illuminate the walls, illuminate his bare face as well.

His. Bare. Face.

The one he’d been hiding since you’d first met, the one you hadn’t seen even when you’d seen the rest of him stark naked whenever you made love. It doesn’t register at first, that you can see his whole face, that he’d finally let you see all of him.

Then your chest flourishes, it feels like exploding in a heap of budding flowers and a breathless laugh leaves your lips, one of joy, of an achievement long overdue, finally accomplished.

You hesitantly cup his cheeks again, this time feeling the light stubble grazing your soft skin.

“Hey…” You manage out, fighting to kick away the surprise and give him the love he deserves for taking such a step forward. “Hey, handsome old dog.”

Your tender expression forces him to halt his breathing altogether before he buries himself in the safety of your neck, breathing you in slowly, the familiar scent calming his strained nerves. You feel the muscles on his back ripple under your touch as you run your hand over his form tenderly, feel his chest expand with every strictly controlled breath he takes.

“Hey…” He murmurs back, greeting muffled into your skin as you rest a trembling hand against the back of his head and sink your fingers into his short hair.

You hadn’t even paid attention to the scars littering his battle-honed skin, they’d been the last thing on your mind as you’d taken him in. He was ruggedly charming, uniquely handsome, it boggled you why he so fiercely hid his face when there was nothing wrong with him. But that was a discussion for another day, you pushed down your bubbling questions and just let the moment consume you.

You feel his lips move against your neck as he swallows, and nuzzle your cheek against his crown lovingly before closing your eyes with a sigh. He relents when you nudge him with your nose to lift his head before pressing a kiss to his nose, then his cheeks, his chin and forehead before finally planting your lips on his. His desperation to remove your bottoms returns then and he’s back at toying with your button and zipper.

You let him take off your jeans while you tug at his jacket, leaving it to pool on the floor before he eases himself out of his blouse and nestles back above you. Your feet come to rest on his strong calves, hands in his hair and glazing over his back as he loses himself in your skin, nipping incessantly at your collarbone while silently asking for you to take off your top and let him feast on more than just your neck.

And as always, you’re pliant when he’s finally caught you under his bulk. You push him off enough to discard the article of clothing before letting yourself fall back into the sheets, mewling happily while he laps at your flesh like a man starved.

A heat pools in your loins, one you try to soothe by pushing your hips up into his and earning yourself a choked growl that makes you quiver with excitement.

But a question keeps nagging at you no matter how heated you become and how low his insatiable lips travel down your body. You hum when his nose nudges the hem of your panties and you stop him before he can pull them off and descend on your gathering slick.

“So…” You begin through a strained voice and glance down at him, finding his eyes already locked on you. Your mouth goes dry, throat tightening, but you force yourself to ask. You need to know, if nothing else, at least this. “What’s the occasion?”

He laughs at your hesitation, a deep, rumbling laugh choir that should come from the monsters in your childhood fairytales, not the man about to stuff his face between your thighs.

“Wan’ed you to see what the father of yer kids looks like, Birdie.”

<<< Chapter 2

Chapter 4 >>>

Masterlist

[namelessgakusei]

Mada Dame Yo

Mark Grayson x reader

Warnings: Death, violence, use of a gendered term: wife (once)

Notes: Reader is like Homura/Subaru in this case, dying and going back in time whenever Mark becomes a killing machine. Based off my meager knowledge about Invincible. I really need to watch the show.

add. note: I knew I saw a similar idea somewhere and I finally found it again! @tunapestopasta posted an idea like this! Go check it out! :D

Noi! The Clara Dolls! (cont.)

"I dream of the morning. It's not time yet. It's not time yet. What color will the morning be? It's not time yet. It's not time yet. The night is still only half-eaten."

You don't know when it started. When Mark started acting strange. When he got his powers, his personality slowly shifted to a more... sinister one.

Sinister!Mark stood in front of what remains of your city, bloodstained teeth grinning down at your form. You were the only one spared, left to run on your own like a mouse. You were rightfully scared, who wouldn't if your boyfriend suddenly turned on the planet he was supposed to be protecting and ate its residents??

The GDA were no use either, most of them were eaten, if not, too injured to fight anymore. Earth was done for and it's all thanks to this cannibal maniac. His smirk faltered when he saw a small white creature hop to your side.

"Do you want to make a contract with me?"

You woke up in Mark's lap after that. Thinking it's merely a bad dream, you clung to him, eagerly trying to forget what you just witnessed. But this Mark, while chuckling and hugging you back, doesn't sound like your Mark. His voice... is a bit raspier.

You don't notice the ring on your middle finger.

This Mark doesn't possess any powers, but that didn't stopped him from being a daredevil. Since when is Mark so reckless? Sure, he still like Seance Dog and treats you like you're the most precious thing in the world, but...

His eyes look crazed.

It didn't took long for Mohawk!Mark to gain his powers after that. His new found abilities fueled his arrogance, easily creating a rift between him and the GDA. It didn't took long for him to get bored and snap.

Your "dream" repeated itself when he stood in front you, cackling and snaking his arms around your body, the blood from his suit seeping into your clothes. You feel sick. His laughter doesn't sound like the one you grew to love. Maybe he noticed that you were hyperventilating and let you go to inspect what's wrong, but you blacked out after that.

This time, you woke up inside your room. What was that?! Your fingers ghosted over your body, looking for the ghost of blood that Mark's clothes put on you. There's nothing. The world outside your window isn't destroyed. You're safe... You're always safe! Mark... Mark never hurt you!

Mark.

Where's Mark?!

Hastily grabbing your phone, you scrolled through your contacts to look for your boyfriend.

There is no Mark Grayson.

???

Suddenly, a loud crash shook the ground, making you fall face first on the floor. Is that an earthquake? You heard an explosion, is there an attack? You heard nothing for a few minutes, making you slowly get out of your room and out to the yard, but your eyes caught someone's in your backyard.

Those familiar brown eyes bore holes at your shocked form.

Mark?!

You immediately opened the back door and ran to his side. Why is he in a ship? Why did he crash land in your backyard?? Why is he wearing... that?

You don't dare ask about his new suit and just helped him inside your house, fussing over his injuries. But before you can go to get a first aid kit, he caught your arm.

"How do you know my name?"

Viltrumite!Mark was calm. There was a bit of miscalculation when he arrived at Earth but nothing that can jeopardize his mission. He is intrigued by the earthling who knew his name, who looked at him with something he can't decipher. Perhaps he should study humans more before taking action.

At first you thought that he hit his head. That he got alien amnesia or something. But the way he looks at you with such innocence, like he really doesn't know you, breaks your heart. What's going on?

You learn that he wasn't your Mark a few hours after that. He's a Mark who was taken by Nolan after Debbie gave birth to him. Oh. That explains why he doesn't know you, this Mark didn't grew up in Earth. He grew up to be a Viltrumite.

What does that make you? What about you? He's your boyfriend. He was your boyfriend. But he now isn't. He doesn't even know you.

You swallow a sob and made an incredibly foolish decision.

Maybe you could prevent Earth's destruction this time.

All you need to do it guide this Mark to see that it isn't worth it to destroy this planet. That there are many things here worth protecting for. Maybe you'll even arrange a meeting with him and his mom! Debbie's... safe here, right? Probably?

You thought you had everything under control, with him following you around like a puppy, too curious about humanity and how you teach him things. Human culture, food, entertainment, you tried making him invested in your world. He looked so cute when he figure things out and runs to you like a child waiting for praise. The first time you did, he was confused when you touched him so softly. Clearly he's unused to anything aside from the Viltrumite regime.

You thought that this time, no one has to die. Even if it hurts that everything you know isn't what it is now, you chose to ignore it, in lieu of not wanting to remember the previous Marks. You thought that this Mark will be different.

Now you realize that it's a foolish decision on your part. Earth burned, Viltrumites came to conquer, Humanity was almost eradicated, and Mark stands in front of you, with a gentle smile on his face. The same one he practiced with you to not scare other people with his scowl. The same one he wears whenever you two were together.

He kneels down and cups your cheek, a gentle gesture, like you taught him. With bloodshed around you, Mark uttered the words you both love and hate to hear.

"I love you."

You found out that you can manipulate time to an extent by the fourth Mark. This one, like Mohawk!Mark, has a few screw looses. NoGoggles/Lensless!Mark is a damn sadomasochist. He brings you up in the sky purely to see you cling to him in fear, he purposely tortures you for a reaction, and when you fight back? Oh, he's over the moon! He's begging for more, all while clinging to your leg.

He was about to kill the entirety of the GDA when you accidentally stopped time, allowing the others to escape. You don't know if it's fear of seeing your friends die again, but suddenly, your clothes changed, a small shield appeared on your arm with a gemstone on the back of your hand. Cecil didn't let you go by then, having you support the team while they fight back against Mark. Your abilities don't last forever, so they're on a time limit. But it seems like no matter what they do, they just can't seem to kill him.

He accidentally killed you when your ability ran out and time continued, you don't remember if you died from his punches or from the car that was thrown at your direction.

By the fifth Mark, you were so sick of it. You want your life back. You want your Mark back. Not the one who looks like his dad and demands that you become his wife. Omni!Mark pursued you relentlessly when you fought back with your powers. Stopping time to steal firearms, you found that you could also store items inside your shield. This could do, you'll help the GDA fight off this bastard who wears the face of your beloved.

You ended up in his arms not long after. Not in a loving embrace, he's literally squeezing the life out of you as he spats about you being ungrateful.

Your life ended with him as the last thing you saw.

The cycle continued for so long that you became desensitized. You wake up, Mark's there, Mark becomes an enemy, You fight back, you die and then you wake up again. You've seen so many variations of him, both the reasonable and unreasonable ones. Some of them were reluctant to conquer Earth, only doing it because it's too much to fight off the Viltrumite Empire. Some of them joined you in the rebellion. Some of them outright killed you for not seeing their ways.

Each and everytime, you wake up in his arms.

This version is no different. You opened your eyes and you're in Mark's room. Some of his versions doesn't even have one. Seance Dog posters are on the walls, the comic books were on his table, his bed smells like the faint memory of your original Mark.

You don't even remember him anymore.

This world's Mark is sure to be the same as the others. The harbinger of destruction. Those with eyes who look at you with so much love that it makes you sick.

The door opens and Mainstream!Mark smiles at you.

[therapyandprozac]

Title: Lollipop

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: consent king, edging, ruined orgasams, oral f! and m!receiving, fingering, super soldier stamina, brief face fucking(he looses control), arm is vibrator hehe, honorifics, so much cum talk, cream pie, lil breeding kink

Description: Upon rereading and editing all I can say in my defense is ovulation got me down bad. Oh and I kept the TSwift references to a minimum but ya know not zero, whoops 😏

You toyed with his business card between your dexterous fingers, debating the morality of calling your tutor at 11:37pm. Reflecting on the one and only session you had with him, just a few hours ago his eyes laid on yours for the first time. Piercing blue eyes undressing you slowly in his head through the lesson, you did the same to be fair. Imagining pulling that long scarf down, revealing his neck. The sound his coat would make falling gently to the floor, as your hands would explore his crisp white button down…

Shaking your head back to reality, to the ten digits printed in silver lettering on the sturdy cardstock dancing within your hand. The day dream just solidified your conviction, holding the card firmly in your hand now. You call the number, expecting an answering machine given the time.

“Bit late don’t you think?” He answers the phone with a question.

“Y-yeah sorry,” You stutter out before introducing yourself being cut off halfway.

“You think I didn’t save your number in my phone?” Sassy is the only word you can think to associate his voice with.

“I made that good of an impression, huh?” with a smile you respond.

“Doll, you’re the sexiest person to ever step foot in my classroom, I’d be remiss if I didn’t remember you.” Your eyes widen as you blush, you’re so happy he’s not here to see that.

“So if I said that I called because I couldn’t get you out of my head,” A dark chuckle comes from the other line. “What would you say to that?” You finish your suggestively open question.

“1719 Alpine Street, come to me.”

“Oh gods yes sir.” He hangs up the phone and you race for your keys before seeing yourself in your doorway mirror. ‘Oh hell no.’ You think to yourself before running upstairs to change. Stripping your comfy clothes fully before getting to your closet. You pick a long sleeved black lace dress, sure you’re only wearing it for him to take it off of you, but as you look back into the mirror, it’s definitely worth it. A long drive filled with anticipation and shifting thighs, as you imagine his intoxicating eyes and all of the times his tongue swiped across his lips during your lesson. As you pull into his dark driveway you can’t wait to be wrapped up in his arms.

Sauntering up to his front door, you knock once before the door opens with a whoosh, his metal hand grasping the knob. A Henley dark blue almost black, sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, it hugs his incredibly well toned form. Dark grey sweatpants hang loosely, doing nothing to hide the fact he's been anticipating your arrival as well. He invites you in like he’s not bulging right before your eyes.

“So happy you called.” He whispers once the door is closed, grabbing your wrist and pulls you into this incredible kiss, chaste and simple but unforgettable. Having a look around as he steps to the nearby bar grabbing two glasses and a full bottle he leads you to a den type living room with a roaring fire in the fireplace.

“Your house is beautiful, professor.” You look at the fine detailing around the room you’re in.

“It’s Bucky,” he hands you the bottle of wine. “Check the seal.” You inspect the bottle, it's brand new.

“Thank you.” You whisper hesitantly at his wordless understanding of your fears.

“Always check.” He nods with you while he opens the bottle with a corkscrew. Filling both glasses nearly all the way full you chuckle.

“You trying to get me drunk sir?”

“Without question, yes.” He winks “But firsts,” pulling the drink away when you reach for it, placing them on the coffee table he turns back to you. “What do you want from tonight?” He isn’t touching you, though you can see in his eyes that he wants to cling to your flesh like his life depended on it.

“What do you mean?” You ask genuinely.

“You called me, I invited you over and kissed you, that’s all that’s happened so far. So I repeat, what do you want from tonight?” His face remains unreadable giving you full choice in this situation. He looks in his mid 40’s, very well put together and you are loving how consent driven he is. Stepping into his personal space not touching him but close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.

“When I met you I knew you were different, fuck am I glad I was right.” Your right hand grabs his large bicep. “I want you Bucky, your fingers,” Lacing your left hand in between his fingers. “your mouth,” your lips place gentle kisses up his neck. “your cock.” You whisper against the skin of his ear. A chuckle escapes him but his hands remain by his side, what more do you have to say to get him to touch you. “Fuck! Fuck me please!” You shouted.

“When I saw you I wanted to taste you, your sweet cunt taunting me under your skirt.” Licking his lips he hums a distant look in his eyes. He pushes you onto the couch before dropping to his knees, he places the glass in your hand.

Before kissing up your legs, once you’re about halfway done your glass he starts gently parting your legs. Peppering kisses up your thighs as he groans smelling you with a deep inhale he closes his eyes and savors the time between your legs, you see a smile on his lips before his tongue slips past them and up your dripping slit.

A hum from deep within his chest as he dives in, his nose stimulating your clit in an odd but very welcome way. Your hand reaches down and grips his thick fluffy hair, rolling your hips against his face. He gets the message and wraps his large hands around your hips and pulls you in tight. Gasping and groaning you grind against him, his licking and lapping make you pant and moan.

Your orgasam is barely held at bay when one of his hands leaves your hip and his fingertip traces your entrance teasing you. His eyes lock to yours, crows feet grow around his intense eyes as he smiles, he plunges two long fingers deep inside you.

“Gods yes, Bucky fuck!” You shout as you cum, your fingers twisting in his hair. His fingers do not stop as he stands up and licks his lips, you move to take off his pants needing him.

“No, no sweet thing, one more.” He smiles patiently though you're pawing at him.

“Want to touch you sir.” Gasps sweet gasps escape your lips desperate for air or release.

“Patience doll, all in good time. If tonight is all I get, I want to savor you.”

“Why do you think this is the only time?” You say between pants and gasps.

“I don’t, but just in case my kitten.” He purrs before adding another finger into your hungry cunt. Your back arches as he curls his fingers, there’s a slightly blank expression on his face. As if he is memorizing every movement of your body and sound that slips across your lips.

“Kiss me?” You pant sounding more desperate than you intended too.

“With pleasure.” He speeds up his pace as he leans forward with a gentle smile on his face. After leaving a breathtaking kiss he takes off his Henley, you intake his bulky and perfectly toned form. A hum from deep within your chest as your eyes wander over his scars and rippling muscles. He continues stripping, moving to his slacks and boxer briefs. The “V” of flesh that leads your eyes down and between his thick thighs, saliva swells as you imagine how heavy and full he’d feel in your mouth. Sitting on the bed across from you, you speak up.

“Can I eat you please.” You stare eagerly at his throbbing erection.

“Gently.” He chuckles.

“Only want to lick and swallow you sir.” You can see in his eyes that it's been a while and you smirk. “I have a question, professor.” Crawling up the bed on your hands and knees, licking up his thighs. “If I suck two from you,” Up on your knees resting against his chest by now, looking down at him with your fingers gripped in his hair. “Could you still fuck the absolute devil out of me?”

“Doll, I could fuck you through tomorrow.” His lip where it meets his nose twitches as he holds the dominance over the situation, despite this potentially submissive position you’ve put him in.

You smile and purr before wordlessly adjusting to be on your knees bent over his cock, fluttering your lips up his shaft licking occasionally. Teasing is the point, you wanted to make him wait, make him shake and beg for mercy. The image in your head drives you to lick a long wet stipe from his balls to the tip. Irregular breathing from above drives you to take his aching cock into your hot mouth. Taking your time sucking and toying with the tip, feeling him shift impatiently you reach one of your hands to hold his balls gently only playing with them when he would get antsy and want for more. You work his shaft slowly down your throat, soft pulses up and down just agonizingly slow he is a groaning mess.

“Please please kitten.” Hips jolting as the words fall whimpering past his lips, loving the way he squirms under you. “Don’t stop, fuck please, doll yes!” You suck him hard and deep throat him, how could you not he’s begging so beautifully. Humming and lapping around him, balls fondle between your fingers, as he wraps his hands into your hair finally taking control as he fucks into your throat. Choking around him as he cums, so far down your throat you don’t even taste him until he pulls out. “Fuck, are you okay? I got carried away.” You look up at him, nodding with glassy eyes, a wide smile and saliva running down your chin.

His thumb wipes your chin with a cocked smile, his hand traces up your thighs to your pussy. Two fingers run from the bottom of your hole up to your clit, using your slick as lube he violently shakes his metal hand.

“Ahh woah Bucky fuck.” His hand feels like a vibrator, you lift your head and bite his neck. His right hand finds your nipple, squeezing and rolling the swollen bud between his fingertips. “No why, just fuck me Buck please!” You beg as he ruins your orgasam, whining and being shut up by lips on yours.

“We,” He starts between violent kisses, getting on his knees to match your stance. “Like to edge each other, we should,” He grunts as he pushes you onto your back, feeling where your legs are bent together, up to your pussy. ��do something with that one day.”

“Stop planning for the future and put your cock in me Buck please.” Wrapping your long legs around his waist.

“Like learning things about you.” he pants against your lips. “So demanding,” pushing himself inside you, your head falls back as your spine arches. “Didn’t know you before today,” Soft hip rolls he uses to punctuate his words. “But I’ve been waiting for this, for you.” He whispers against the shell of your ear, while his cock is deep inside you. You roll your hips desperately, foggy headed all you can think about is the feeling of him filling you in a way no one ever has and his lips glued to your neck.

“Professor Barnes, you fit perfectly li- like you were made for my cunt.” He huffs his head rolling, light headed as all the blood in his body rushes to his cock.

“You’re so tight and warm, shit,” He pants. “Don't know, think you were made for me.” You’re loving the way his well put together speech pattern is falling apart as he gets closer and closer.

“Just for you sir.” You gasp as he speeds up his thrusts. “Bucky,” your voice just a whisper. “Can I cum please?” A whimper slips his lip.

“You asked so nice, doll. Please cum around me, let me feel how tight you can grip me love.” He whispers into your ear, repositioning himself into a deeper angle just right. You shout as your orgasam rips through your body.

“Fuck Bucky, how are you so,” A moan rips “so deep? Can feel all of you Buck, your veins pulse against me, torcherously hot, I feel everything, I want more. Do you know what the matepress is, sir?” You whisper just barely audible, he hums and moves your body with great ease into position. “I could see it in your eyes, something deep and dark, let it loose please.” You look up into his icey eyes. “That need within you, fuck me like you’ll find it in me sir.” His hips follow your command.

“Don’t say shit like that, I’ll never let you go.”

“I hadn’t finished.” You blush between moans and gasps as he perfectly satisfies what you asked for. “Fill me, cum deep inside me please.” Tears sting at your eyes as a fantasy and a dream of a man collide in this moment.

“As you wish.” He says before biting a large chunk of your flesh definitely enough pressure to leave a bruise. You gasp and moan. “Cum for me princess, you’re so desperate for it, pull what you want from me baby.” He whispers and licks over his bite mark. Still thrusting into you with great strength, your legs start to shake as your last orgasam drags out of you, but pulls him deeper into you.

“Take what’s yours doll.” He bottoms out, breaking the crest of your cervix finally as he cums, holding himself in place deep inside you.

“It’s so warm, sir you fill me, fuck me, so good Bucky. Mine!” You shouted, glad he didn’t have neighbors who would’ve most definitely heard. Your brain stops working as you black out. When you come to you are clean and tucked in tightly next to your large tutor.

“Mine.” He echos your last coherent thought with his metal arm grasping around your throat in a way that should be threatening, but just makes you melt into his body.

“Yours sir, all yours if you’ll have me.”

“When we wake up do you want to go on our first date?” Placing soft kisses up your neck, you laugh and nod sleepily, excited for what life has in store with the one wrapped around you.

[redbird-tf]

Wild dog

dean x little sister

synopsis; A vampire hunt goes horribly wrong, leaving you injured in more ways the one, by the person you'd least expect.

inspired by

Word count; 2.6k (officially my longest story, please dont let it flop)

Warning: hurt/comfort, injury, john, violence, language

No no no, this couldnt be happening. You all knew taking on a vampire nest was a dangerous mission, but this mistake should have never happened. Now, here you lay on the cold, hay-covered floor of an old barn. Pain pulses through your body, your mind teetering on the edge of consciousness, and Dean looming over you.

The barn was crawling with those nasty blood-sucking monsters—20, maybe more. You three had been tracking them for weeks and prepared well. Hiding in the bushes, you waited until the nest was deep in slumber before making your move. You had to move quietly. Killing as many in their sleep as possible until one awoke. Its shrill scream shattered the silence, jolting the rest of the nest awake. "Split!" Dean's voice rang out, and in an instant, you all scattered.

Dean skidded to a stop as he faced a dead end. His grip tightened around the machete, turning to face the vamps closing in. “come get it you sick son of a bitch” he growled. He swung in every direction, blood soaking his clothes. When Dean got like this he turned into a killing machine. No thoughts just, swing-hit-kill, swing-hit-kill. A vamp hurled down at him from the ceiling, yet without flinching Dean grabbed it by the throat slamming it against the wall behind him and slicing its head clean off. Only when the head rolled past his feet did he take a breath and allow his shoulder to slump.

The sound of fast footsteps made him whirl around, swinging his machete wildly, his fist connecting with the creature's face, sending it crashing to the ground. “Dean stop!” Sams horrified voice rang pulling Dean from his soilder like state. Deans eyes widened in shock and the machete slipped from his hand. “Oh my god” his voice broke. It was you. You who was running up on him. You who’s side he sliced into. It was you who lay in front of him now.

Dean collapsed to his knees, and his hands came up to cradle your face “Sweetheart, sweetheart can you hear me” he begged with desperation. You let out a painful groan, and Dean let out a heavy sigh of relief. Sam lifted your shirt, inspecting the cut that was pouring blood. His concerned gaze met Dean, “What?” Dean demanded, panic rising in his chest. “We can’t stitch this dean, we need to take her to the hospital now” Sam replied with quick urgency. He pushed Dean aside, scooping you into his arms. You let out another agonizing moan. “Sorry bug” Sam whispered. “And say what?” Dean frantically snapped while darting toward the car. “I don't know Dean, let's worry about that when our sisters insides aren’t visible!” Sam shouted in frustration.

————-

When they reached the hospital, Dean shouted for help, and within seconds doctors surrounded them, lifting your limp body from Sam's arms and onto a bed. Deans eyes never left you as you were wheeled away, only breaking when pushed past white doors. It was then the adrenaline wore off and guilt flooded his body. He stood frozen, Sam’s voice was mumbled trying to convince the nurse it had been a bear or something.

“Sir, sir, SIR” Dean's trance was broken by the nurse's voice. “Does your hand feel alright?” She asked kindly. Dean furrowed his brows in confusion, then looked down at his fist. His knuckles were bruised and the image of his fist connecting with your face made his lip quiver.

Dean and Sam sat in the silence of the waiting room. Dean's head hung low, his thumb rubbing over his bandaged hand. Sams head jerked up at the sound of heavy footsteps, “what the hell” he muttered. Deans eyes widened at the sight of John. They both quickly stood from their seat “Dad what are you-“Sam was cut off. “What the hell happened?” John asked sternly, gazing between the brothers. There was a tense pause before Dean spoke up “It was me… she ran up from behind me. i should have been more careful…” Dean spoke quietly, half to keep the nurses from hearing and half because he couldn’t raise his voice without the risk of breaking down. John sighed heavily “How many goddamn times have i told her not to do that-“John started “It's not her fault” Dean quickly rebutted. John opened his mouth but fell silent at the sight of a nurse approaching. “How is she?” John asked, his body tensed, bracing for the worst. “Shell be alright” the boys shoulders dropped. “Shell have to take it easy for a few months to prevent tearing stitches….” The nurse paused, hesitating to continue “Her injury was very severe, it's a miracle she's still alive” The room fell silent again. “Can we see her?” Sam asked in an urgent tone.

The three of them hurried to your room. Sam and John rushed to your bedside, except for Dean who stood frozen in the doorway, watching you slowly gain consciousness.” what happened?” You asked groggily. Sam spoke softly to you but the Anastasia still weighed heavy, making it hard to understand his words. A shiver ran through your body and your head cocked to the side catching a glimpse of Dean. Dean jumped out of sight, pressing his back against the wall. He swallowed sharply, his heart hammering in his chest. “De…” he heard you call. “Dean” again, and again. A moment later John stepped out, “she's cold. She wants a jacket” he stated firmly. Without a word, Dean shrugged off his jacket and pushed it into John's hand. “Go home. We’ll talk later” he ordered. “Yes sir,” Dean said lowly, his hand dragged down his face, then he turned his heel.

—————-

“What do you remember?” Sam asked, sitting at the edge of your bed. You thought for a moment, your mind capturing bits and pieces. A look of shock came over your face. “I was running to Dean and then…” Your breath hitched and your hand clutched your side “he didn't mean to” you whispered with turned-up brows. Sams brows furrowed in contrast “Of course he didn’t” he reassured you, placing his hand over yours. “Here you go kid” John stepped forward, passing Dean's jacket to you. “Where's Dean?” You asked. “Let's get going before the cops get here” John continued ignoring your question. “He didn't mean to Dad! It's my fault” you blurted out. Johns's gaze sharpened “you were reckless. and he acted like a goddamn wild dog. This is on both of you, i hope you've learned something. Now come on” he snapped coldly, turning his back.

——

The drive back to the motel in John's truck was silent with unbearable tension. When John pulled into the lot you noticed Dean's impala was nowhere in sight. “I'll check into another room. You two go to bed,” John said gruffly, pointing between you and Sam before walking off. Sam carried the bags into the room as you limped in behind him. “Where Dean?” You asked, turning to Sam with a confused look. “He’s probably just grabbing a drink” he explained, while unpacking his bag. “Can we call him, just to make sure” you nervously fidgeted with your fingers, “let's just give him some space right now,” Sam spoke quietly, giving you sympathetic eyes.

You had been tossing and turning for hours. Unable to sleep thanks to the pain meds wearing off. You stared at the ceiling until the glow of headlights flickered into the room. You listened closely to the squeak of brakes, followed by the jingles of keys. You quickly closed your eyes pretending to sleep. Footsteps crept their way into the room, then faded back out. You peeked around the room, seeing nothing changed. Slowly you sat up, cradling your side as you pushed yourself from the bed. Grabbing Dean's jacket from the nightstand, you tiptoed to the door making sure not to wake Sammy while you slipped out.

The wind bit at your cheeks. You quickly draped the jacket over your shoulders, pulling it tight. The Impala was parked in front of you, but no still dean in sight. Your eyes scanned the lot. It wasn't until you squinted your eyes that you spotted a figure in the distance, sitting on a bench, beneath a large oak tree. After a few minutes of limping, and grunting, you finally reached the bench. Dean swung around at the sound. “I got your jacket…” you said awkwardly. “Keep it,” he muttered after giving you a once over and taking a sip of his drink. You slowly took a seat next to him. The rustle of the tree blowing in the wind surrounding you two. “I shouldn’t have run up on you-“ you tried to reason “It's not your fault” Dean cut you off, his voice firm, eyes locked on the ground. “You've told me over and over again not to “ “so i should have known. I shouldn’t have looked before…” his voice strained.

Another silence settled. “I don't blame you Dean” you stated softly. “Well, i do.” He replied sharply, taking another swing of his drink. You watched him for a moment before shifting closer, resting your head on his shoulder. You could feel him relax beneath your touch. “You know when we were younger, I'd come home from school and Dad would be gone, but you'd be there.” You kept your voice steady. “Then Sam left, and i was sure you would to…but you never did. You've always been there for me Dean” you spoke softly. You saw his grip tighten around the bottle. “You know what hurt most of all” your voice barely a whisper. “when i called for you from the bed…and you didn't come” Your voice wavered before you could stop it and you bit down on your lip. Deans body stiffened. For the first time that night, he looked you in the eyes. His green eyes were a storm of emotions. “I'm sorry, kid” his voice painfully sincere. He lifted his hand to cradle the side of your face, his thumb smoothing over the bruise beneath your eye. “Dean i know you won't forgive yourself, but can you make me a promise” Your voice shook terribly, trying to keep your tears at bay. Dean nodded immediately. “promise you'll always come when i call you” you pleaded. Dean's face cringed realizing the pain he caused you, some worse than the physical. “I promise, baby” His voice was firm, unwavering. A gust of wind cut through the air causing you both to shiver violently. “We should go in now” Dean suggested to which you quickly nodded, earning a soft chuckle from him.

As You both stood up, a sharp pain radiated down your side, stopping you in your tracks. Dean turned to you in an instant, hearing you wince. “what's wrong?” He asked concerned. “My side” you breathed out, clutching at your ribs while bent over. Dean crouched down in front of you “How about i give you a ride” Dean recommended. You couldn’t help but smile as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, allowing him to slowly lift you off the ground. His warmth engulfed you. Your eyes grew heavy, sleep pulling you in as you rested against him. until his voice pulled you back. “You know I'll always protect you too. Even if that means from me sometimes” he said quietly, but his voice laced with a sense of seriousness. You pressed your face into his shoulder, letting yourself relax again before softly murmuring.

“Dean Winchester, my own wild dog”

[konigsfavgirl]

inspiration from here 🎀 — had to make my own version, it just feels so accurate lmaoooo

König never liked the beach. Too hot, too bright, too many people. The sand got everywhere, the humidity made his clothes stick to him, and worst of all? The sun. Scorching, merciless, and completely unavoidable. He preferred the cool, quiet shade of the mountains, where he could actually breathe without feeling like he was being slow-roasted alive.

Yet, despite his many complaints, he found himself standing there, right at the edge of the shore, watching you run toward the waves with excitement. He didn’t even know how he ended up here, but he had a pretty good guess.

Your enthusiasm was his greatest weakness. He could handle combat, intense military training, and even life-or-death situations. But when you looked at him with those pleading eyes, practically bouncing on your toes as you asked, “Please, König? Just one beach day?”—he knew he had already lost.

And now, here he was. A 6’10 Austrian war machine, drowning in layers of sunscreen, sweating under the sun, and internally regretting every life choice that led him here.

When you took a glimpse of that pretty seaside, your eyes shone like there were gold coins waiting for you to pick them up, but König? He was doing that for you, not because he wanted to do it and he made that clear multiple times during your way there.

He was sent into pure horror when he realized that there was no shade anywhere. Thank God he packed a whole beach tent without your concern, and he was about to set it up immediately before his little angel got harmed by the hot sun.

König was a man of precision, but the sunscreen application? Pure panic. It wasn’t just the normal kind either. He frantically applied layer after layer to your skin, barely taking a breath. He was in a full-on frenzy, convinced the tiniest bit of exposed skin could burn you. “It’s for your safety, Hase,” he muttered, even as he smothered your face with a second, third, and fourth layer of SPF 50.

The moment you stepped away from him and into the water, he was already freaking out. Watching you wade into the water, König hesitated, his gaze darting from you to the waves. He couldn’t swim properly. Not because he couldn’t float or manage basic movements, but his height made it impossible to wade through the shallow water without his legs towering out. Plus, the waves didn’t seem to care about his size—they crashed right into his broad chest, making him feel even more awkward.

He stayed at the shoreline, awkwardly trying to look composed, but secretly dying of discomfort as he watched you splash around.

And then, it happened—the burn. Just a light redness on your cheek, but to König? It might as well have been a full-blown sun-induced crisis.

“NEIN!” He yelled, rushing over and carefully inspecting the area like he was checking for a wound, his brows furrowing in disbelief. His hands were all over you now, reapplying sunscreen like you were his most precious cargo, never mind the fact that he’d just done this not five minutes ago.

He was almost ready to take you back to the tent and wrap you in a cocoon of blankets until you were safe from the cruel sun. The waves and beach? Forget them. His main focus was now keeping you safe.

He looked around frantically, as if the itself was at fault for making you burn. “We need to go back to the shade!” he hissed. And even though you reassured him it wasn’t that bad, he wasn’t hearing it. He was already dragging you back under the tent, keeping you in the shade as if you might spontaneously combust if exposed to the sun for more than a second.

He indeed was overreacting but he would never forget himself if you got harmed by anything, he was supposed to protect you and keep you safe from any threat — he was smittened by you like he was never before and he knew that

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Carmy stood in the dimly lit laundry room, hands on his hips as he glared at the washing machine like it had personally wronged him. The display panel flashed erratically, like it was trying to send an SOS in Morse code, while a faint but concerning smell of burning plastic wafted through the air.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. All he wanted was to wash his clothes—just one normal task in a sea of chaos. Apparently, even that was asking too much.

With a frustrated sigh, he muttered curses under his breath and gave the machine a half-hearted nudge with his foot, as if that might magically revive it. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. The machine remained defiantly lifeless.

“Wow. Bold strategy. Were you planning to wrestle it next?”

The voice startled him. He turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, holding a laundry basket overflowing with brightly colored clothes. You were dressed in the epitome of Saturday comfort: an oversized t-shirt with a graphic that read 'Physics: It’s Not Rocket Science... Oh, Wait, Yes It Is,' paired with baggy sweatpants and ridiculously fluffy, colorful monster feet slippers. Your hair was slightly messy like you’d just rolled out of bed—or perhaps fought the laundry demons he was now dealing with.

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know machines responded to passive-aggressive foot taps.”

Carmy let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t have a better idea.”

“Well,” you said, stepping into the room and setting your basket down on the counter, “I hate to break it to you, but this thing looks like it’s plotting your demise. What’s the issue? Won’t open?”

“It stopped mid-cycle,” he explained, gesturing toward the uncooperative machine. “Clothes are stuck. It’s probably fried.”

“Oof. Smells like defeat and polyester.” You crouched down to inspect the machine, tilting your head like a mechanic sizing up a stubborn engine. “Looks like it’s giving you the silent treatment. Did you try apologizing? Promising to separate your whites and darks next time?”

“Funny,” Carmy deadpanned, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

You straightened up, planting your hands on your hips in a stance that could only be described as authoritative. “Well, lucky for you, Carmy-next-door, I happen to be an expert in broken things.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah? How’s that?”

You let out a playful scoff, crouching in front of the washing machine as if it were a patient in need of your expertise. “When you work in a place that runs on shoestring budgets and prayers, you pick up a thing or two about fixing stuff. I’ve practically got a minor in MacGyver-ing. It’s part of my many talents.”

He smirked, watching as you pressed a few buttons and tapped the side of the machine like you were coaxing it back to life. “Sounds like a tough gig.”

“Oh, it’s a blast,” you replied sarcastically with a grin, peering at the machine’s latch. “But the real fun is my lovely fourth graders and their… slippery fingers. Nothing keeps you on your toes like finding out your class stapler’s been dismantled to ‘see how it works.’”

“And you adore them,” Carmy guessed, his voice soft but sure.

“Ugh, to a fault,” you admitted, sitting back on your heels to glance at him. “They’re chaos in human form, but they’re my chaos. Like when Marcus decided to see if he could use glitter glue as a bookmark. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t. And then there was Kayla’s science project that involved exactly zero science but a lot of snacks. Kids are wild, but they’re kind of the best.”

Carmy chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

You huff a laugh nodding. “But they make all the broken stuff worth it... also, they’ve prepared me for moments like this. Fixing things? I’m a pro. Diffusing meltdowns? Also a pro. Dodging paper balls? Let’s just say my reflexes are unmatched.”

He chuckled quietly, his blue eyes softening as he observed your easy confidence. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Oh, hardly,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

He watched as you tinkered with the inner workings of the washer, the way your monster-footed slippers stuck out behind you, and the light in your eyes as you spoke about your students. There was something captivating about the way you moved—confident but never overbearing, your words spilling out in an endless stream of humor and warmth. For someone who probably dealt with endless chaos in your day-to-day life, you had an energy about you—warmth—messy and vibrant—that felt oddly grounding in his otherwise muted world.

Finally, with a triumphant click, the washer’s door popped open. A puff of warm, damp air escaped, carrying with it the faint scent of detergent. You rocked back on your heels, grinning up at him as if you’d just disarmed a bomb.

“And there you have it!” you declared standing up, sweeping your arm dramatically toward the liberated laundry like a game show host revealing a grand prize. “Your clothes are finally free, Chef Carmy. Laundry liberation, courtesy of yours truly. I accept gratitude in the form of snacks, coffee, or eternal admiration—your choice. But please, no autographs. I have to stay humble.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” Carmy said, huffing a quiet laugh as he shook his head, stepping forward to start transferring the damp clothes into another machine. His tone softened slightly as he added, “But thanks, really. I owe you one.”

You waved a hand dismissively, already moving to the next machine with your own basket in tow.

“Don’t worry about it, Carmy…” you said, your tone casual, though the smirk playing on your lips suggested otherwise. “But, if you do feel like you want to repay me, feel free to bring me more of those leftovers—like the ones you brought when I first moved in.”

He paused, eyebrows raising slightly as he met your gaze. “That’s what you want? Leftovers?”

“Not just any leftovers,” you clarified, turning back to load more clothes. “The fancy ones. Braised short ribs, perfectly roasted vegetables... whatever culinary magic you’re whipping up in that kitchen of yours. Don’t think I forgot.”

Carmy paused mid-transfer, glancing at you with a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “You liked those, huh?”

“Liked?” you scoffed, tossing a pair of socks into the machine. “I was ready to write you a thank-you sonnet. That braised short rib? Poetry in food form. You’ve ruined me for takeout forever.”

He chuckled softly, shutting the door to his machine. “It was just a test recipe.”

“Well, then I’d be happy to test more of your recipes,” you said with a wink, starting your own machine and leaning back against it. “Strictly as a favor, of course. I’m nothing if not generous.”

“Generous,” he repeated, shaking his head with a smirk as he pressed the start button on his machine. He glanced at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“See?” you teased, flashing him a grin. “You’re already getting the hang of this whole neighborly exchange thing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my expectations high.”

Carmy shook his head, letting out another quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you quipped, settling yourself into the nearby chair and grabbing a book from the empty laundry basket at your feet. You opened it casually, like you weren’t fully aware of the fact that his attention was still on you. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Chef Carmy. I’ve got standards now.”

Carmy smirked faintly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, watching as you flipped through the book, completely at ease. The light in the room, though dim and slightly yellowed, softened your features, making you look... warm. Pretty, even. The oversized t-shirt, the messy hair, and those ridiculous monster slippers didn’t detract from it—in fact, they only made you more endearing. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. Instead, he tucked the thought neatly into the back of his mind, letting it sit there quietly.

The faint hum of the working washing machine filled the space, stretching the silence between you into something that felt oddly comfortable. He wasn’t used to that—not in conversations, not in moments like these. Usually, silence felt heavy, awkward, something to be broken. But this? This felt... different.

Still, the need to say something eventually won out, despite his lack of finesse with small talk. Clearing his throat softly, Carmy shifted his weight and finally asked, “So... uh, how are you liking it here?”

You glanced up from your book, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “In the building? Or in the laundry room?”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “The biulding, I guess."

“Oh, it’s not bad,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “The walls are a little thin—I may or may not know the entire plot of the soap opera your upstairs neighbor is binging—but they are decent. A little quiet, though, except for one guy who keeps kicking appliances. Total menace.”

“Sounds rough,” Carmy deadpanned, though his smirk gave him away.

“It is,” you said with mock solemnity before your smile softened. “But honestly? I like it. It’s... cozy, you know? Feels like a place where things can settle down.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor. “That’s good.”

“It’s growing on me,” you admitted, closing the book and resting it on your lap. “I mean, it’s not every day you move into a building and immediately make friends with someone who’s probably going to be on the cover of Some Fancy Chef Magazine someday.”

“Friends?” he said, arching a brow.

“Yeah, friends,” you replied with a teasing grin. “Or at least laundry room acquaintances.”

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine. “Friend's better.”

"Good," You smiled, shifting slightly in your chair. “So, Carmy-next-door, aside from working and battling possessed washing machines, what do you do for fun?”

“For fun?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as though you’d just asked him to name every spice in his kitchen alphabetically. “Uh... I don’t know. Not sure I’ve got much time for that.”

“Not buying it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Everyone’s got something. Come on, spill. What’s your guilty pleasure? Do you secretly knit in your downtime? Binge-watch trashy reality TV? Start a garden but refuse to tell anyone because it ruins your ‘serious chef’ vibe? And if you are, I know someone who could be your new best friend.”

He let out another quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of those, but now I’m thinking I should start knitting just to throw people off.”

“Do it,” you said, pointing at him. “Then you can make me a scarf. But seriously, what’s your thing? There’s gotta be something.”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “I guess... sometimes I’ll just walk around the city. Clears my head, you know?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “That’s a solid choice. City walks are like people-watching with a side of fresh air. What’s your favorite spot?”

“There's this park near the river. Quiet, not too crowded. Good place to think." Carmy tells her.

"Sounds nice," you replied, smiling. "I might have to check it out sometime."

"You should," Carmy said, his expression softening. He clears his throat, "I-uh, I used to draw, though. Sketch stuff when I had the time.”

“Used to?” you asked, leaning forward a bit, intrigued. “You mean you don’t anymore? Or are you just too modest to admit you’ve got sketchbooks hidden under your bed?”

His smirk faltered into something a little more genuine, a touch of shyness creeping into his expression. “I still do. Sometimes. When things aren’t too crazy.”

“Now that’s interesting,” you said, sitting back with a thoughtful smile. “What kind of stuff do you draw? People? Landscapes? Elaborate food masterpieces?”

“A little of everything,” he said with a small shrug. “But mostly recipes, or at least how I want them to look."

“Like a visual diary,” you said, nodding. “That’s actually really cool.”

“Yeah, well...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing big.”

“Carmy,” you said, tilting your head at him. “You just admitted to having an actual hobby, and I’m here for it. Don’t downplay it.”

He huffed, shaking his head flushing ever so slightly. “Alright. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Me?” you repeated, your eyes lighting up as you sat back in the chair, clutching your book like a prop in a comedy routine. “Well, let’s see. I’m a professional daydreamer, certified in overthinking, and an expert-level snack enthusiast. It’s an impressive resume, I know.”

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smile. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“Oh, it is,” you said with a mock-serious nod. “But if we’re being serious... I like to read, obviously.” You held up the book for emphasis. “And I’m a sucker for a good movie. Big screen, small screen, doesn’t matter. I also like to go out with friends— go to clubs, a karaoke bar, grab dinner, play board games, complain about life. You know, the usual.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “Any favorites? Books or movies?”

“Hmm,” you mused, tapping your chin. “For books, I like a little bit of everything—mysteries, fantasy, even the occasional cheesy romance. Keeps life interesting. And movies... I’m a sucker for feel-good comedies. But every now and then, I’ll binge something dark and broody just to balance it out.”

Carmy nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Feel-good comedies? Got any recommendations?”

“Oh, I’ve got tons,” you said, your eyes gleaming. “But only if you’re ready for some real classics. Think Clueless, The Princess Bride, or When Harry Met Sally. If you’ve never seen those, we might have to reassess this friendship.”

“Clueless,” he repeated, remembering the movie because of Natalie who forced him and Mikey to watch it, one eyebrow-raising. “That the one with ‘As if’?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “See? You’re already on the right track.”

He smirked, shaking his head again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“What about you? Do you watch movies, or is that too much fun for someone as serious as Chef Carmy?”

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I watch stuff sometimes. Nothing specific. Just... whatever’s on.”

“Lame answer,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. “We’ll work on that. I’ll make you a list. Everyone needs go-to favorite movies.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said, his smirk softening.

“Good,” you replied with a playful nod, leaning back in your chair. “And since you’re such a layer enigma, like an onion, I’m guessing you don’t do the whole ‘night out with friends’ thing often?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “Doesn’t happen much.”

“You should,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your tone teasing but warm. “You might surprise yourself. One minute you’re awkwardly standing in a corner, and the next, you’re reenacting a dance scene from Dirty Dancing with a stranger. That’s how the best stories happen.”

Carmy shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Not sure that’s my thing.”

“Hey, it doesn’t have to be Dirty Dancing,” you said with a shrug. “But everyone deserves a good night out now and then. Even mysterious chef-next-door types.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But no promises.”

“Fair,” you replied, looking over at him with a soft smile. “I’m just saying, Chef Carmy, you can’t live in your kitchen forever. Sometimes you’ve gotta step out and find your own rom-com moment.”

Carmy stared at you for a moment, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head, as though amused by something he couldn’t quite put into words, but the warmth in his expression lingered.

The hum of the machines filled the room, a soft backdrop to your easy conversation. What started as playful banter drifted into more thoughtful exchanges—small glimpses into each other’s lives, quirks, and histories.

Minutes melted into what felt like seconds, neither of you noticing the time slipping away. For once, it wasn’t about schedules, responsibilities, or the ever-present noise of the outside world. Just two neighbors sharing stories in the glow of the laundry room’s dim light.

A/N: So, thank you so much for all the support. It really keeps me going. I'm thinking of making like a small series of this, like a few interactions before they started dating- maybe some jealousy along the way lol- the first date- maybe the future but idk.

Also, just in case I do, please tell me if you would like to be tagged.

Part 4?

@themorriganisamonster

[strwberrybils]

INKED INTENTIONS | b. eilish.

ꨄ︎ contents: tattoo!artist billie, a little subtop!billie moment (i love you blake) fem!reader, quickie, oral, i think that’s it !!

ꨄ︎ gabi’s quick thoughts: i have written 4 fics today please someone stop me IM ON A ROLL. anyways lmao enjoy !!

the tattoo shop door jingles as you step inside, making your presence known. the faint hum of the tattoo machine instantly fills your ears, followed by low rock music bleeding through the speakers, mixed with people’s conversations to their tattoo artists. the shop smells of antiseptic and ink, a combination that brings back vivid memories of your last visit.

you’re nervous.

the last time you were here, months ago, it was for a small, dainty design on your wrist. nothing complicated, but that wasn’t what made you nervous. it wasn’t about the tattoo itself— it was about her.

billie.

the tattoo artist with the confident blue eyes, the baggy clothes, and long, gorgeous black hair. she had beautiful and soft pink lips and hidden tattoos that your eyes always darted to, though you’re favorite was the one on her hand— the same hand she used to run her fingers along your skin when she finished your tattoo off.

you’re not sure why you’re here again. the excuse of wanting another tattoo feels thin even to you, but the truth was that you couldn’t stop thinking about her— about the way her hands moved so delicately over your skin, about the way that her eyes lingered over your body when you were laying in her chair.

“oh, hey!” her voice pulls you out of your deep thoughts, her tone smooth and slightly amused.

you look up to see her stepping out from the back room, wiping her hands on a towel. she’s wearing loose black pants that sit low on her hips, a cropped tank top that shows off her toned stomach and the intricate tattoos climbing up her arms. her black hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands framing her face perfectly, as usual.

she looks… good. too good.

you gulp.

“nice to see you’re back,” billie says, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “what’s it been? a couple months?”

your eyes land on hers for a moment, and you run a fingertip over your tatted wrist, slightly anxious now. “yeah, figured i’d just get another one, you know?”

“thought you might,” she says, giving you a sweet, comforting smile.

her gaze lingers on you for a moment before she nods toward the chair. “c’mon love, let’s see what you’ve got in mind.”

you follow her lead to her station, and you feel like your chest could literally explode with how nervous you are. it wasn’t about the needles or the pain or how sickening the smell of alcohol pads and ink was, it was about how billie’s eyes stayed glued to your body as you laid down, about how she bit her lip when you pulled your crop top up, exposing your bra.

“i was thinking something right below my…um….”

“your boobs?” billie giggles, though her eyes don’t soften up. she’s looking at you so hard and with such precision, but you brush it off on the fact that it’s literally her job to inspect and intricately view your skin before tattooing it.

“mkay,” she starts, leaning back to manspread in her chair as she throw a leg over her knee, “since this is just a suggestive area to place a tattoo, i’m sure you don’t want everyone in the shop seeing your chest. i have a station in the back, would that make you feel more comfortable?”

you feel your body grow more tense, the thought of being alone with billie, her seeing such intimate parts of yourself— it’s mindwracking. but you just shrug, “yeah, that’s fine.”

“okay, dope.” billie gives her thigh a slap before standing up, waiting for you to mimic her movements. and then she takes your hand, guiding you towards the back of the shop and through a door that says “BILLIE” in bold lettering with a polaroid next to it. it’s of her throwing up the middle finger and smiling at the camera, a backwards cap and a long jersey complimenting her frame.

“nervous?” billie breaks the silence between you two, her iridescent eyes locking onto yours. it’s like she can almost sense how stiff you are when you slump into a chair, watching as she closes and locks the door behind her.

“it’s not the tattoo.” you blurt out, then immediately regret it. you basically just told her that she makes you nervous.

billie raises an eyebrow, a newfound amusement blossoming against her visage. “oh? then what is it?”

“i just—” you pause, fumbling for words, being careful that you don’t slip up and say the wrong ones, “i don’t know. i’m just… tense.”

she sets down her tools and steps closer, her hands on her hips as she studies you. “tense, huh? well, honey, we can’t have that. i need you relaxed, or this’ll be harder than it has to be.”

before you can respond, she’s moving behind you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. you’re still stuck on the fact that she just called you honey, but you try to relax as you hear her slump into the chair behind you, her hands resting on your shoulders.

“let me help, yeah?” billie suggests, her voice low and soothing.

her thumbs press into the tight muscles of your shoulders, and you let out an involuntary sigh. her touch is firm but gentle, and it’s almost embarrassingly effective at melting some of the tension in your body.

“a little better?” she asks, her breath warm against your ear.

“yeah,” you breathe, though your heart is racing for an entirely different reason now. you try to let the feeling subside, your eyes closing as you bask in how good your skin feels, the knots in your body working themselves out underneath billie’s touch.

her hands move down to the curve of your shoulders, her fingers kneading the knots there. it feels… too good. too intimate.

“you’ve got a fuck ton of tension, girl.” she comments jokingly, her tone casual but her touch anything but.

“yeah,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper, “stress.”

her hands slide a little lower, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of your upper arms. the room feels warmer suddenly, the hum of the tattoo machine in the background fading into nothing.

“you’re still tense, honey.” billie murmurs, her lips dangerously close to your ear now. she leans next to you, “maybe i’m not doing a good enough job— you need something more?”

your breath hitches, and you swear you can feel her cocky smile against your skin.

“billie—” you start, but the way she presses her thumbs into a particularly tight spot in your neck makes your words falter.

“shh,” she says softly, her hands sliding down your arms, her fingers tracing lightly over your skin. “just relax.”

the air between you shifts, electrically charged and heavy. her touch lingers, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin that feel less like a massage and more like something… more.

“there we go,” billie says, her voice dropping an octave. her voice is husky, her breath making your ears twitch, “you’re starting to relax now, yeah?”

“barely,” you deny, the words slipping out before you can stop them. you try to shrug off her actions as her just doing her job, but it doesn’t feel like that when her hands move to your sides, her fingers brushing against your waist. it’s not a massage anymore, and you both know it.

“you okay?” she questions, her voice softer now, almost a little hesitant.

you turn your head slightly, your eyes meeting hers. there’s something unspoken in her gaze, something that makes your breath catch in your chest, and you choke out a small ‘yeah’, your voice barely even audible.

her lips curve into a small smile, and then she’s leaning closer, her hand cupping your jaw as her lips brush against yours—soft and tentative at first, then more sure when you don’t pull away.

it’s electric, the tension between you snapping all at once. her hands are on your waist now, pulling you closer, and you’re gripping the front of her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. she’s quick with her actions, and you both know that you don’t have much time— she probably has other clients.

with a swift movement, billie yanks your sweatpants off of your body, sliding them onto the floor and taking your thong with it. she immediately drops to her knees, tapping your thighs, “open ‘em.”

you obey, not a hint of reluctance in your actions as billie smiles beneath you, biting her lip, “so fuckin’ gorgeous. i’d be lying if i said i haven’t thought about doing this before.”

it’s a shock to you, honestly. billie had always seemed like a flirt, but the way she looked underneath you now— it was like her demeanor had changed. it was needy, wanting, like she’d do anything to taste you right now.

“please? can i?” she asks you, and you nod, your body language more than any verbiage could do justice.

billie’s tongue finds itself on your clit, suckling at the bud harshly, making you gasp. she’s quick with her movements, knowing in the back of her mind that she’s only got so much time with you. her head cocks to the side, finding a sweet spot on your pulsing bud that makes you grip the table beside you, and you accidentally knock something over that makes a clink against the floor.

“billie? you alright in there?” someone calls, and you assume it’s one of her co-workers. but she doesn’t stop to respond, she just looks up at you with wide blue eyes, a shit-eating grin on her face as her mere licks intensify to something more wanting, something more hungry.

“this okay, honey? this feel good to you? please, tell me!” billie whimpers, though she hates the fact that she’s gotta part from tasting you. but she needs this, needs to know that she’s the one making you feel good— so you offer up sweet words as you look down at her, “feels amazing, billie, i promise. please keep…k-keep going—“

your words are cut off by billie’s tongue returning to your clit, her fingers grazing over your cunt before slowly pushing them inside you, and the fullness makes your head feel dizzy. her fingers curl at a pace that shouldn’t even be human, and you fight to stay silent, since you’re completely unaware of how much noise can travel through the door behind you.

“fuck!” you whisper-yell, trying not to get yourselves caught as you wrap an arm around your waist, finding something to grab onto so you don’t literally tumble off of your chair. you feel your orgasm impending and you grab a fistful of billie’s hair, “m-m’gonna— bils, baby—“

you don’t mean to slip up and call her that, but that’s the absolute least of your worries right now. billie thrusts into you even harder, eyes glossed over as her gaze lays upon you, “wanna be the reason you feel good— so badly….please…you gonna cum? all for me?”

you nod as you feel your cunt pulse against billie’s tongue, clenching around nothing as your orgasm washes over you, your back slumping into the chair harshly as you let out little whines, billie’s hand gripping at your bare thigh as your chest heaves.

when her lips part from your center, her mouth is wet and glistening in the lighting of her office, and she smiles, licking her lips,

“so…you still tense?”

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[pucksandpower]

Man’s World

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari engineer!Reader

Summary: Charles refuses to just stand by and watch as you get disrespected

Warnings: misogyny and lewd comments

You’re admiring the sleek lines of the red Ferrari F8 Tributo in front of you, running your fingers lightly over the glossy paint. The showroom is quiet this early in the morning, just a few employees milling about getting ready for the day.

Charles had to stop by to sign some merchandise for a charity event and asked if you wanted to tag along. You opted to wait out front and enjoy the eye candy while he took care of business.

You circle around to the back of the car, appreciating the aggressive styling and massive rear diffuser. As an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari who often extends your expertise to working on their road cars, you know every detail of this machine intimately. Your hands itch to pop the hood and inspect that glorious twin-turbo V8, but you resist.

This isn’t your workshop back in Maranello.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the group of guys entering the showroom until one whistles loudly. “Hey baby, those legs look good enough to wrap around me real tight,” one calls out.

You freeze, feeling your heart rate pick up.

“Don’t be shy, we just want to get to know you better,” another says as they swagger over.

You press back against the car, sizing up the situation. Four of them, all clearly well-off based on the expensive watches and designer clothes. But their eyes are cruel as they look you up and down.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” The apparent ringleader asks. “Hoping to sink your claws into some rich guy and take him for all he’s worth?” The others laugh nastily.

You lift your chin. “Actually, I happen to work for Ferrari.”

The man snorts in disbelief. “Yeah right, and I’m Michael Schumacher. There’s no way a woman knows anything about these cars other than where the passenger seat is.”

You clench your fists, biting back a scathing retort. The thought of educating these misogynistic jerks gives you immense satisfaction, but you know it won’t do any good. They’ll never change their prejudiced attitudes.

“Don’t listen to him, darling,” one says, giving you a lecherous look. “I’d be happy to take you for a ride, show you how a real man handles power between his legs.”

You’re about to tell him exactly where he can shove his stereotypes when a familiar voice interrupts sharply.

“That’s enough.”

You look over to see Charles striding angrily toward you, green eyes blazing. The men surrounding you look irritated at having their fun spoiled.

“Can we help you with something, pal?” The ringleader asks sarcastically.

Charles ignores him, coming to stand protectively beside you. “Are you okay, mon amour?” He asks under his breath.

You nod, relief washing over you now that he’s here. “I’m fine.”

Charles turns an icy stare on the men who’d been harassing you. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to my girlfriend that way,” he says coldly.

The leader looks Charles up and down dismissively. But then a spark of recognition crosses his face. “Wait a minute … you’re Charles Leclerc!” He elbows his friends. “The Formula 1 driver!”

The others’ eyes widen as they take in Charles with new understanding. “Whoa, seriously?” One exclaims.

The leader chuckles, clearly trying to recover his bravado. “Well, what do you know? The famous racer has a pretty girl on his arm.” His lips curl in a smirk. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s obvious she’s just using you for your money. No way she knows anything about these cars other than how much they cost.”

Charles crosses his arms. “As it so happens, my girlfriend is an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari, so I’d bet my entire net worth — and my car collection — that she knows more about the cars in this dealership than all four of you combined and then some.”

You have to bite your lip to hide a smile at the dumbfounded looks on the men’s faces.

“An engineer?” One sputters. “You can’t be serious.”

You level a challenging stare at them. “Deadly serious. I’ve personally worked on over a dozen projects for Ferrari, including the SF90 Stradale hypercar we just launched.” You point across the showroom. “There’s one right over there, in fact. Mid-front mounted 4.0L twin-turbo V8, delivering 769 brake horsepower combined with three electric motors. First plug-in hybrid Ferrari ever put into full production.” You smirk at the slack-jawed stares your technical rundown elicits. “So yes, I’d say I know a thing or two about these cars.”

Charles grins proudly and squeezes your hand. But the leader is not ready to back down just yet.

“Anyone can memorize a monologue,” he scoffs. “I don’t buy it. You’re clearly just clinging to this guy for his money.”

Fury rises in your chest. You open your mouth to retaliate, but Charles beats you to it.

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about,” he snaps, green eyes blazing. “I’d be very careful with what you say next.”

The man smirks, crossing his bulky arms over his chest. “Or what, tough guy?”

Charles takes a step forward, jaw clenched. The man towers over him but Charles doesn’t flinch.

Right as it looks like things might get physical, you quickly take Charles’s arm. “He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Charles hesitates, nostrils flaring. After a tense moment, he relaxes his stance and turns his back on the leering man.

But it seems the group isn’t done provoking you yet. “That’s right, listen to your sugar baby,” one of them calls out. “Wouldn’t want you messing up that pretty face for the cameras.”

Charles whips back around, shaking with anger now. Heart pounding, you cling to his arm in an effort to hold him back. “Charles, please-”

“No, Y/N.” He shakes off your hand, stalking toward the men. “I won’t stand here and let them insult you.”

You watch helplessly as Charles gets right in the leader’s face, nearly nose to nose. “You need to apologize. Now,” he grits out.

The man narrows his eyes. “Apologize? For what? Stating the obvious?” He smirks coldly. “Face it, your little girlfriend is nothing but a gold diggin-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. With lightning speed, Charles’ fist connects squarely with his jaw. The man stumbles back with a pained shout, hand flying to his face.

“Charles!” You hurry to his side, alarmed. Charles is breathing hard, staring down at the man doubled over and groaning. The man’s friends back away nervously.

Chest heaving, Charles turns to you. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t listen to him insult you for another second.”

You meet his fiery gaze steadily. “It’s okay, I understand. Thank you for defending me.” After a beat, you add wryly, “And remind me not to get on your bad side.”

That startles a small laugh from Charles. The tension in his shoulders eases. He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “No chance of that, mon ange,” he murmurs. “You bring out the best in me.”

***

“Ow, ow, ow!” Charles hisses as he gingerly holds his right hand. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding.

You sigh, grabbing the first aid kit to tend to your dramatic boyfriend. “I told you not to punch him, Charles. You don’t know the first thing about throwing a proper punch.”

Charles pouts, wincing as you take his hand in yours to examine it. “I was just trying to defend your honor, mon amour. That man was saying such crude things about you.”

You shake your head, amused by his protectiveness. “My hero,” you tease. “Next time just walk away. I don’t need you breaking your hand over some entitled idiot’s comments.”

Charles hangs his head. “I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just saw red when he kept insulting you.”

You smile softly, touched by how much he cares. You start cleaning the wounds on his knuckles with a disinfectant wipe.

“Ow!” Charles cries out dramatically. “That stings!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” you chide. “It’s just a little antiseptic. I have to clean it so it doesn’t get infected.”

Charles pouts some more but stays still as you finish cleaning the abrasions. You apply an antibiotic ointment carefully before beginning to wrap his hand with a bandage.

“I really messed up my hand, didn’t I?” Charles mumbles dejectedly.

You nod. “You definitely did some damage. Nothing serious, but you’ll be sore for a while.”

Once you’ve wrapped his hand securely, you bring it to your lips and place a gentle kiss on the bandage. “There. All better.”

Charles gives you a lopsided smile. “My own personal nurse. How did I get so lucky?”

You grab an ice pack from the freezer and hand it to him. “Here, put this on your hand to help with the swelling and pain.”

Charles sighs dramatically but does as instructed, holding the ice pack gingerly against his injured hand.

You glance at his wrapped hand, the knuckles already starting to bruise beneath the bandage. “Does it hurt terribly?”

Charles considers the question. “Honestly? Yes, it really does. Punching someone is not as easy as it looks in the movies.”

You laugh. “No kidding. That’s why you leave the punching to trained fighters, not Formula 1 drivers.”

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” Charles mutters. “What will the team say when they find out I injured myself in a fight? And I’ll never hear the end of it from Pierre.”

You pat his leg reassuringly. “Just say you hurt it working out. No one has to know about your misguided attempt at honorable combat,” you tease.

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Good idea. The last thing I need is for this to become paddock gossip.”

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, Charles icing his hand while you snuggle contentedly against him.

"Thank you for patching me up and taking such good care of me,” Charles gently brushes the hair from your face with his uninjured hand. “Even when I do stupid things."

You grin. “It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it. Especially since you did almost break your hand for me.”

You settle back against Charles comfortably. He may be reckless and impulsive at times, but you know he always has the best intentions at heart. And you'll always be there to care for him if those good intentions backfire.

For better or worse, this protective man is the love of your life.

[cntloup]

Simon bumps into you, a troubled woman whose boyfriend kicked her out after he found out she's pregnant

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

He takes you to the mall after you eat nearly everything on the menu. He figured since he doesn't spend much money on himself and he earns more than enough, he'd put it to good use for once.

"Anythin' you want" he says, "Really?" you squeal with a wide grin and a light smile forms on his lips at your childish joyfulness.

There's still a slightly weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. What does this man want?

Yet you allow yourself to enjoy this for now since such an opportunity may never come up again.

You walk around carefully inspecting each store and considering what you may need and what's necessary, of course also indulging your vanity a bit.

"Doesn't suit you", "Not for you", "That's better" he mentions his opinion bluntly as you try on different clothes or different shades of makeup products.

"But I need the large ones. I'm gonna be huge." you pout and he lets out a low chuckle, "Yeah, didn't consider that. Sorry."

He notices your reluctance as you look through the various items, "It’s ok, luv. Take whatever you want." he reassures you and you smile and mumble a shy 'thank you'.

He follows close behind, carrying your bags for you while loosely keeping a hand on the small of your back as you roam around and occasionally stop for a snack, ice cream or a game machine, chuckling at you as you lose miserably.

He checks you into a hotel as he had promised and helps you settle, gives you the key and a piece of paper.

"Here. This is my number. If you ever need anything, give me a call." he says then goes to leave, but you stop him.

"Thank you so much, Simon. I can't thank you enough. You really saved me tonight." you say while smiling gratefully.

"Don't mention it." he responds with a nod, his gaze lingering for a moment.

After he leaves, you flop down on the bed and your head is filled with thoughts of him.

He's straightforward and only speaks when necessary, doesn't spill too much about himself as you've come to learn.

Yet there is something that he cannot hide, a hint of pain in his eyes, silent and profound. And his voice, laced in a shade of sombre.

He's an enigma. And you intend to figure him out.

And little did you know, his mind is filled with thoughts of you as well.

[theloveinc]

jason todd x reader - boobies and entrails, entrails and boobies. 1.3k

(warnings: afab!reader who has bio baby and is called "mama," mentions of giving birth and post-birth body, nipple worship, kinky and weird SORRY i went insane, one instance of gore, jason is pretty teasing and suave, but so are you. mature themes, be warned.)

Jason and his staring problem—

At you, mostly (he gets it from the whole “being a vigilante” thing, he says when you point it out. It has to run deeper than that, though—because it’s not just tactical scans and daggers you catch him shooting, but the most heinous pair of bedroom eyes, as well, even in the most public of places), but also… at every single thing around you, too. Not a single trip out of the house goes by without him inspecting the scenery, the bus, the people around you both with those searing blue eyes. If he were anything like Superman, your whole neighbor and everyone in it would’ve been burnt to a crisp before you even managed to move in.

But also, Jason and his staring problem now that you’re lactating, as if he’s always desperately waiting for the moment your shirt comes off for whatever reason, to feed the kid or you to change your clothes. 

(He knows it’s perverted, but it’s tender in a way, too, and there’s nothing he likes more than being tender with you, having you in ways no other person can.)  

In fact, the cosmic energy of his ogling problem is probably the reason that you’re leaking through your shirt right now, breasts stiff and heavy from waiting for your baby to wake up from their snooze to be fed, and from the intensity of your lover, just watching, just waiting–

(He claims that it’s simply because he’d hate for anything to happen to either of you in such a vulnerable moment, that he can’t stand the thought of any kind of disturbance during baby’s feeds, even if it’s just the doorbell, the fridge’s automatic ice machine, or the sound of sirens outside.)

But just like their father on the nights he isn’t tossing and turning and sweating, your baby is a heavy sleeper, doesn’t exactly snore (yet) but you can always hear their little puffs of their breath through the monitor at night. It’s… cute (just like Jason is, when he’s able to fully relax). 

You’re only just coming out of the nursery when you catch sight of the stains in the hallway mirror–right where your nipples sit, over the large Wayne Enterprises logo of your shirt–cussing because now you’ve gotta change clothes and you're unsure if your raw nipples can take the friction of another bra and t-shirt sliding over your chest. 

Jason hasn’t exactly hid the nipple cream, but he keeps it on his side of the bed so that he can do the honors of applying it for you, which would be weird, but…you’ve seen his entrails on multiple occasions, plus you birthed his baby and the entire time, he had his head between your legs to watch. That aside, however, he actually knows what the hell he’s doing, cupping and kneading your chest before bed each night, one last round of filling up your pump for his shift to feed the baby before licking up the rest himself. Then, he’s slathering you in lotion, fully assured that you’re empty and content enough to sleep until it’s your turn for the baby.

(You’ve found that you’ve come to love his calloused and rough hands even more than you did previously: the ridges and notches of skin scratching every itch, feeding every urge, and serving to answer to your every need, grounding you in ways you often don’t always notice, but instead, always feel.) 

But then the man himself is appearing in the threshold, acting smug and surprised to see you as though he wasn’t already on his way to pester you in the nursery, where he’d likely pull you from your fussing with folding and refolding the baby clothes so you could sit on his lap in the room’s armchair and eventually fall asleep with your face in his neck. 

And he’s walking up and pressing his belly to yours, your sore tits nudging against where he is most firm and they are swollen, causing you to inhale sharply, huff just a little out of surprise—

Before you realize Jason’s cornered you on purpose.

(You can’t escape those eyes, not even for a second, always catching the smallest of things; the dribble of spit about to land on your shoulder when you’re burping the baby, the air bubbles that haven’t quite yet settled in a freshly made baba, the single loose thread about to unravel their little crocheted hat.)

One side of his lips tilt up, and you glare—not annoyed so much as unimpressed by his scheme. You’d much rather his initial plan, or the one that ends ups up with you in your own bedroom, taking advantage of the next 45 minutes without a baby in either of your arms, than be out here, cranky from the chill of your milk cooling on your shirt, leaving wet marks your husband will both enjoy and tease you relentlessly for (both verbally and physically). 

“What?” you mutter, trying not to shirk away from his prying gaze, unpacking you the way he’s always been able to (even now that the two of you have softened in ways only parenthood can allow for), with caution and vigilance lingering in every small movement.  

“Nothin’,” he smiles, leaning in to press his nose to yours, hands wrapping around your hips to cup your ass and pull your hips to his. You can feel the outline of something in his pants–not yet fully tented, but still chubbing with heat, and you barely brush against it when you move to curl your fingers in his belt. 

“You’re lying.” 

(Jason seems to like this domestic life he has with you, a little more than he cares to admit–out loud, at least.) 

“Just wanted a kiss, maybe,” he feigns innocence, teeth visible through his sly grin. “‘not gonna make me ask for one, are you?”

You exhale sharply, and though you raise an eyebrow, you also lift your chin, welcoming the way his mouth settles heavy on yours, curving against your lips, pressing them open wetly until your eyes are closing and you’re leaning into his frame where his arms are waiting to pull you as close as possible.

Jason pulls back, but doesn’t quite recede from you; his eyes dark and pretty eyelashes heavy in the low, evening light of the hallway…so you wait (letting him give you more delicate pecks on the mouth, cheeks, eyelids, in between each of his breaths) and wait and wait, til his hands finally start to creep, up from your hips, where his thumbs tickle your belly, still soft and wrinkled from your labor, to your waist where they begin pushing up your shirt. He fingers the low edge of your nursing bra, tickling the soft underside of your boobs as he begins to move the band upward. 

“Todd…” you warn, fidgeting in his hold as his form, his hands, his eyes overtake you, slowly stretching the elastic up and over, until it has crumpled the fabric of your t-shirt against your collarbones and your tits are free.    

Still, his eyes only crinkle at the sides, as they have started to do more and more the longer you’ve been together.

“You’re leaking, mama,” he whispers, moving his hands from your bra to where you’re now exposed, heated flesh going chilly from exposure, warming where he cups 

“And?”

He smirks, “‘just wanna help, is all.”

One of his fingers glides down your nipple gently, and milk starts to bead when he presses (not hard enough to bruise, but enough to have you keening, your at least for a second, til his hand is swiping your skin and he’s sucking the fatty drippings into his mouth and sucking. Hard. 

“Yeah?” you breathe, staring into his eyes, watching just the same. “Then why don’t you go and get my pump?”

(He does, obediently, not before turning back to give you those eyes one more time, as if to say, later, soon as baby is fed–

And boy, does he make good on the wordless promise: Jason has you howling on his thigh later even with a mouth full of milk.)

[evieolo]

Panty Thief

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Contains: SMUT!!/ Male masturbation / Handjobs / Male!Receiving

“Chris, can you check if my laundry’s done for me?” You call from behind your door, catching his footsteps in the hall. Chris sighs dramatically, his voice loud enough for you to hear, and stops at your door, pushing it open. “Why can’t you do it?” He proclaims, shooting a playful glare your way. He’s dressed in low-cut gray sweats and a plain black t-shirt, carrying a mix of shirts and hoodies, folded messily in his hand.

You stretch your arms out, feigning tiredness. “I don’t want to get up.” You yawn, draping your comforter more over your torso and immersing yourself further in your social media. Chris sighs, realizing since he has to do his laundry he has to get yours out of the washing machine. Begrudgingly, he heads to the laundry room, as if he wasn’t already on his way there.

The smell of fresh laundry fans Chris’ nose as he walks into the dull room, a boring room contradicting the rest of the house, with white walls—no decor, only a window with a drapy shade over it that, on sunny days, beams light into the room, the only exception of furniture being the washer-dryer.

Chris inhales, shamelessly breathing in the fumes of your coconut-scented detergent, a scent he’d grown happily accustomed to after your many years of friendship. In Chris’ mind, you had an excessive amount of clothes. You’re not a messy person if you subtract clothes from the mix; your room is always littered with your latest clothing hauls, mixed but in separate piles from your dirty laundry. When he’d gone down to the laundry room an hour ago your clothes were cycling through the wash; still now you now had one snug load to the side in a circular hamper. The hamper adjoined the running dryer which had a second batch of clothes in it.

He approaches the shaking dryer slowly—there are two minutes left in the cycle—he might as well stay in the room while he waits for yours to finish.

Chris absentmindedly picks up the detergent you use and out of boredom reads the many labels on the bottle, giving up when he reads too many ingredient words with over twenty letters in them; the bottle’s sticky at the top where Chris holds it, he doesn’t realize this until it's slipping out of his fingers. The detergent bottle falls from his hand and spills into the hamper of your clean clothing.

Chris curses silently and snatches the bottle off the haphazard mix of clothes. He sets the bottle atop the drier and inspects the pile, pulling the soiled short on top of the pile off, wincing at the damp stain. He presses a palm to the next shirt down, realizing detergent did seep past the first top. He lets out a dramatic sigh of frustration and pulls the shirt off the top of the pile—discarding it into his basket of dirty laundry, deciding he’ll wash it with his own clothes and return it to you afterward.

He peeks to the pile of your laundry now without your baggy T housing the rest of the apparel. An orange piece catches his attention. It’s his favorite color, plus, he’d never seen you wear this specific shade before. He’s curious.

Chris saunters back to your hamper and pulls the orange bottoms out of the basket. He flushes when he realizes the bottoms are not shorts. They’re panties, peachy orange with a navy frill along the hems.

The man practically freezes in place, the panties were innocently simple—nothing relatively showy but they were his favorite color. There had to be some meaning to that. Right?

Chris runs his wrist along the hem of your bottoms, meshing the fabric of them between his thumbs. The fabric is light and delicate, almost weightless to touch, running his fingers over the hem he feels the jagged texture, so thin it's almost translucent.

He imagines how they’d sit on your hips; flaunt the curve of your ass. The thought of this—of you, shifts the looseness of his pants and he feels a recognizable stiffness arise against the fabric of his boxers.

“Chris?”

You enter the room tauntingly and Chris mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath. He realized he’d look like a pervert in any situation so he quickly bunches your panties in his fist and pockets them.

Your eyes narrow as you realize he neglected your request and didn’t tell you that your laundry was done, “What have you been doing down here for the past ten minutes?” You ask skeptically.

Chris’ features flush red and he sucks his teeth, his mind blank of any witty remarks. He pauses for a second before speaking, “Wishing your laundry would disappear…Okay, but seriously, why do you have so many clothes?” He whines, alleviating the tension he’d created in his mind.

You laugh, opening the dryer that’d just finished its cycle with a ‘click’

“You’re just mad that I have style.” You rebuttal, a wide smile on your face.

“Mhm”

Chris swallows harshly, standing stiffly as he watches you bend down to spoon your clothes out of the dryer. His eyes focus on the curve of your ass, the way you teeter on your knees to reach the clothes in the very back. It’s not soon before he feels harsher tightening in his abdomen.

He mentally curses himself. Asking himself if he seriously got a boner from watching his best friend do laundry.

Chris makes a light grunting noise—his begrudging goodbye—before he leaves the room. You turn your head at the diminishing sound of footsteps. “Chris, I thought you were doing your laundry?” You press, curious as to why he’s leaving so soon.

Chris continues out of the room, only turning his head slightly to respond to you, “I-I’ll do it later.” He stammers, making his way up the stairs making a beeline to his bedroom.

When he reaches his room he’s flustered, his cheeks are red and you’re running through his mind. There are only two things he can think of: your ass and your panties.

Your panties that are in his pocket.

He pulls his fist out of his pocket and holds your undergarments again. The sight of the frill only turns him on further, making his hard-on tent his pants. Chris curses under his breath for the nth time before retreating to his bed, shooing away his self-accusations of him being a ‘pervert’ and deciding to do something about his boner.

He sits on his bed, scooting back against the headboard and shimmies his sweats down, pushing the band of his boxers down to reveal his hardened-cock.

Feathering a hand down to his base, he groans a sigh from the pressure his hand brings. He pumps his length upward, coaxing pre-cum from his angry tip, smearing the drops in liquid down his base as he pumps himself; picturing you as he does so.

He imagines you—bending down for him instead of a washing machine. How your hands would wrap around him, your small hands; small but oh so gentle. And fuck, those panties, he wished he could see them around your hips, how they would flaunt the curve of your ass perfectly. He’d push the cloth to the side and fuck you with them still on.

He palms your pocketed bottoms, pushing them against his cock and thrusting against the fabric, hips roiling into his hand as he moans your name.

“Fuck Y/N, fuck, yeah just like that.” He whimpers, rutting against his hand so desperately he doesn’t realize how his door creaks open.

“Chris, did you take…” you pause, unsure how to ask if he knows where your missing undergarments are, “Uhm - did you take something from my laundry bin?” You question shyly, too embarrassed to blatantly admit you can’t find your favorite panties. Your eyes are down, and you teeter on your heels, until you grow impatient with Chris’ lack of response and look at him.

Your eyes widen, and you yell out a loud “Fuck!”, meekly covering your eyes with your hands and turning away.

Chris then notices your presence, his jaw drops and his cheeks burn bright red. He tries to shuffle under his comforter, but it's to no avail; he’s sitting on top of it.

You continue to conceal your vision with your hands, only peeking through a small crack at his face until you realize where your panties are. Wet and bunched up in his hand. Your mouth falls slightly ajar in surprise, and you stop hindering your vision.

“Chris, were you jerking off to my underwear?” You ask wide-eyed.

Unsure of what to say, Chris simply nods out a quiet “yes.”

Chris stays silent. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows harshly. “Are you going to stand in my doorway like that for the rest of your life?”

You take this as an invitation to join him in his bed, sauntering to the bed’s foot, and kneeling yourself onto the mattress, crawling over his sprawled-out legs and leaving your hand dangerously close to his hard-on.

“Can I?” You hum, meeting his eyes. He nods eagerly, watching you intently. “If I had known you were this big I would’ve done this a long time ago,” you coo, feathering a hand down to his needy tip and running a thumb over in a circular motion. With this, Chris leans back and lets out an opened-mouth moan.

“Fuck Y/N,” He sighs, lazily running a hand through his hair as you start moving your hand down his shaft. Running your palm up and down and squeezing gently once you reach the tip.

“Wanna suck you off, baby.” You hum, pressing a kiss to his tip. Chris shivers at the contact, groaning at the sloppy peck, “Please.” He whines.

You puff your cheeks out, readying yourself for his size and kitten lick his tip before wrapping your lips around him, sinking your head down slightly to test the waters before speeding up a bit, filling the room with sounds of erotic spit and Chris’ loud groans.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Chris moans, knotting his hands in your hair and pushing your head down further every time you bob down. The sound of your lewd gagging nears Chris’ orgasm.

Looking at you sets him over the edge, the way your back arches towards him, to get easier access to him, how tears prod your waterline every time his dick hits your throat, the hums you let out as he knots your hair tighter and tighter.

His dick twitches in your mouth, signaling to you his upcoming release, and before you can get a breath through your nose, he's rutting his hips into you, pushing your head down to his base, breathing heavily, as his cum sloppily trickles into your mouth.

He holds your head down sternly as he comes down from his high, pushing you down against his base. When he releases his grip on your hair, you pull back, chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Holy shit.” Chris mumbles, threading his fingers through his hair. You straighten your spine, positioning yourself back in a sitting position on your knees and meet eye level with Chris.

He smirks when you meet his eyes. Your face is red, and your throat is sore from the way his tip bruised your pharynx. Chris watches intently as you wipe his dripping cum off the corners of your mouth with the back of your wrist. “Where’d you learn how to suck dick like that?” He heaves, a playful undertone to his words.

“I dabble,” You smile, shrugging off his question as you give him a crooked smile.

Chris pauses for a second, opening and closing his mouth twice before he actually speaks, “Why’d we do that?” He asks, pinching his eyes shut in embarrassment.

You sense his awkwardness and scoot closer to him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Chris, this doesn’t have to change things between us; best friends fuck all the time.” You say, delicately pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Chris meets your eyes, pulling his boxers back on to leave him less exposed. “You can’t call me your best friend after sucking the life out of my dick.” He laughs.

Meeting his gaze you fold your arms in your lap, “If I shouldn’t call you my best friend, what should I call you?”

“How about boyfriend?” He winks, shifting off the bed and heading for the shower stopping to toss you your dampened panties. “Can you wear these for me tomorrow?”

[firingstars]

in this life | ch. 3

bucky barnes x female reader

summary: "There's only one God, doll, and He's gonna bring me back to you." "I don't need God," you told him, fresh tears brimming over your eyes. "I just need you."

warnings: 18+, mdni, no smut in this chapter, reincarnation trope, language, mentions of financial instability, memories are written with italicizes, no use of y/n, angst, yearning, longing, everyone's alive no one is dead because i said so, alternating pov's

word count: 4.8k

a/n: i wanna write a hydra doctor/nurse x winter soldier fic so bad yall

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“B̸͔͉̣̈́̓͆́̐ͅŭ̶̖̜͔̍̽c̴͓̰̻̅́̐́͘k̸̢͉̿̑̊͜,” you say slowly, staring at the box in his hands. You see the brand on it, the pretty logo, and the carefully tied ribbon on the front. You know exactly which boutique this is from, and where he got it– upper Manhattan in the elite folk’s area. “What is this?”

“My anniversary present to you, pretty girl,” he chuckles, placing the box on the table. “You didn’t forget, did you? It’s tomorrow, if you did.”

How could you forget? You had the date marked on the calendar with a heart, and you stared at it every morning. One full year around the sun with him, after spending your entire life right by his side. One full year of you finally being able to call him yours. 

“C’mere, doll,” he hums, reaching for your hand to come closer, to come inspect his present. “I have other things planned for you, but this can’t wait. I’m giving it to you a day early since I want you to wear it for me when we go out tomorrow. We’re going dancing later in the night, and I want everyone to see how pretty you are.”

“You bought me a dress from Sally’s?” you whisper, your voice cracking. “How expensive–”

“Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll do anything for you,” he cuts you off, cupping your face in a hand. “Swear, baby, I made sure that the rest of our finances wouldn’t be affected because of this. It’s all yours to enjoy.”

He undoes the red bow carefully, then opens up the box for you to examine the dress for yourself. Your breath gets caught in your throat, almost afraid to let your oxygen even get close to it.

He got you a beautiful sky blue dress with white accents. The fabric was soft on your fingers, and you could see the subtle lace adornments that were done by hand and not machine. Moreover, you could see the sweat and labor he put into it– to get you this dress.

The late nights and early mornings for the past month and a half suddenly made sense. He was working more at the shop, coming home exhausted and smelling like oil and grease before you shoved him into the shower to freshen up so you could feed him dinner. He told you that it was because one of the guys got sick, and they needed someone to pull the weight. 

He’d been coming home, sounding exhausted, muscles wound up and tight with tension and pain from the amount he was working, but he never complained. Instead, he held you tighter at night, kissed you a little harder, and still whispered sweet nothings into your ear as if you strung up the stars in the sky just for him to view.

You turn away quickly, ignoring the brief feel of confusion and panic radiating off of your lover’s body. Instead, you go into the hallway closet, digging up a box that you had hidden under a few other loose items and return to him.

In the time that you thought he was being called to work more, you had also begun your own little project at home. You were able to work a few extra shifts as well to buy some nicer fabric, and decided to make him a new suit.

After all, you knew his measurements by heart. Whenever his clothes got a rip or tear, you would be the one fixing or adjusting his clothes. He would always tell you to leave it alone, but you never would. You would wait until he passed out from exhaustion then creep out into the living room to quietly mend his ripped clothes. Even in this past month and a half, you would fix up his clothes as his body grew larger from packing on more muscle from working longer and harder hours, you still continued to adjust your skills.

“It’s not as nice as the dress– but I made you a new suit. Your old one had some holes and stuff,” you tell him, eyes going watery. “I guess we can both look our best tomorrow for whatever date you have planned.”

He’s staring at you. You think his mouth is agape, but you can’t fully tell with the blur of his features. Then, you’re being scooped up into his arms as he spins you, showering you with kisses and love that make you forget your tears.

“You’re too good for me,” he tells you, a bit breathless. “I love you, you know that?”

“If anyone’s too good– it’s you,” you say with a laugh, cupping his face with your hands as you nod. He’s still holding you against his body, carrying you towards the bedroom. “You always take care of me, and do it so quietly.”

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. For him, it is. “Never wanna see you sad or struggling, doll. You can rely on me. I’ll make sure the world can never hurt you even if I’m not right next to you.”

You giggle, then press a kiss to his lips. “The world could never keep me apart from you.”

Bucky finally took it upon himself to find out what happened to you after he left for war and never came back. Just as Steve said, you never settled down. There were no lovers, no flings, certainly no children. The closest you had to a family was Peggy, Peggy’s family, and a cat that you adopted closer to the end of your life. At the very least, Bucky felt the comfort of knowing that you weren’t totally alone throughout your life.

Other than that, you spent all your time by yourself. You went home to an empty apartment every night after work, you slept by yourself. You woke up, made breakfast for one, and faced the changing world on your own.

Peggy had come onto your doorstep after Steve had disappeared into the ice, informing you of both of their deaths. The two of you worked hard to make something out of the legacy Steve and Bucky left behind. 

While Bucky went through old files from the beginning of S.H.I.E.L.D. that had your name on it, Steve had visited him. Brought him an old box with your name written on the top of it.

“Before she died, she gave Peggy all her valuables,” Steve said softly. “And when I met Peggy again, she gave them to me. I’ve kept them here in the compound– I figured it would be better here than you accidentally finding them in our apartment.”

Bucky kept the box in the compound for a few days. He wasn’t ready to touch it, to go through whatever you deemed was valuable. Then, one day, he found the box was waiting for him on his bed. Steve must have brought it back home, quietly urging him to face his past. So, Bucky did. He slowly unboxed the memories, going through each item with caution.

Inside was an old teddy bear that he won you at the fair from your very first date together. You two had hung out often before, by yourselves without Steve, but this was different. This was after you both had revealed your feelings. Bucky remembered spending an entire five dollars trying to get you this bear, and how you tried stopping him from spending more and more, but he couldn’t let you walk out of that date empty handed. 

You laughed and called him insane for spending that amount of money on you, but he always told you that there wasn’t a price on the love that he had for you. Bucky would never forget the way your eyes glinted against the starlight. You had that teddy bear on your nightstand every night once you two shared an apartment, a quiet reminder of everything he promised you and more. 

A majority of the box were filled with handwritten notes that Bucky had given you over the years, some ranging from short and sweet things just letting you know he stepped out to grab some groceries to full on poems for you. He didn’t even know that you had all of these saved. 

A few of them were tear stained, and his chest clenched at the sight. He could imagine you, in your old age, going through the letters and notes late at night. He could see it clearly– a future where he was supposed to grow old with you, where you both were supposed to read your old letters together and laugh. Your future ended with you alone, preserving memories like a lifeline.

He found his original pair of dog tags in the box, carefully taken care of. There was no sign of rusting or wear or tear– you were gentle with them the entirety of your life. His heart ached at the thought of it, holding the small and fragile metal in his flesh hand as he thought about a life before everything had happened to him. 

Bucky found a scrap of fabric and lace cut from the dress he bought you from the first anniversary the two of you had together. He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. You cried that day as he held you in bed. You kept thanking him for the gift, as if you didn’t hand make him an entire suit in your free time without him knowing. All he did was buy something from a store. 

He found a locket, one that you used to wear around your neck. One that he gave you– one that had a picture of the two of you. He had his arms wrapped around you, his head pressed against yours. Both of you were smiling.

There were a couple more photos of the two of you in the box. He picked one up, his heart hammering loud in his chest as he stared at it. Though it was old, he could still make out every single one of your features. He remembered this day– the two of you saved enough money to get a professional picture taken together instead of something done in a fair. You were smiling softly at the camera, but he was looking at you. 

Bucky slipped the picture into his wallet, careful with the old material. He used to carry this picture with him everywhere. He decided he would do it again. 

“You okay?” Steve asked, and Bucky looked up. His friend was standing at the door, leaning against the doorframe. 

“How is it not her?” Bucky whispered, his voice cracking. He was fighting back the tears. The grief. The sorrow and the pain that he had carefully trained to hide away since he had finally gotten a hold of his mind once more. “She was– you saw her, Steve. She looks exactly the same.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve said, clenching his jaw. Bucky saw the pain on Steve’s face– you were Steve’s friend, too. The three of you were inseparable. Where Bucky was a pain in your ass growing up, Steve was the glue that held you both together until Bucky grew up. 

“Even the way she holds a pen is the same,” Bucky said, and he thought he sounded crazy– but it was the truth. When you took their order, he watched you. Every single movement, every breath, every blink. You were the same. “She spells her name the same, her posture is the same, the way she talks is the same– everything is the same, Steve.”

It was as if you stepped out of the forties and re-entered his life in the modern world again.

“She recognized us,” Steve said, letting out a breath before shaking his head, “but not… us.”

Bucky buried his face in his hands, trying to calm himself down. “I looked into her ancestors. She doesn’t have any ties to… to the version we know. None. How does this make sense?”

“I don’t know,” Steve whispered, and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. 

He let his hands drop, his eyes fixating on the box in front of him again. These were your most valuable possessions– and all of them had something to do with himself. Bucky wanted to scream, but his body wouldn’t let him. All he could do was sit there in silence, hot tears streaming down his face.

Your head is pounding from the seminar. It wasn’t mandatory for you to attend by any means, but it was good for you to have it on your resume for future references. It was information that you already knew, already had researched on your own time. At the very least, you would be able to get some extra credit from the professor that had let you know about the lecture.

Stepping out into the New York street, you checked the time on your phone. You didn’t have to get to the diner for another handful of hours. You were hungry, and you had some cup ramen in your pantry that was calling your name. If you rushed, you would be able to catch the subway to get back to your side of the city as soon as possible, giving you a chance to study and unwind before you went back to work.

You walked down the street, your eyes doing the same thing they always did.

They scanned the faces of strangers. You looked people up and down, seeing if their build was similar to the man in your dreams. You knew your attempts were futile. You knew you would never find him, not when he wasn’t even real to begin with.

You let out a sigh. You had long stopped being disappointed after failing to find someone that matched your dreams. Still, you couldn’t fight the small hurt in your chest. You stopped at a crosswalk to wait for the light to alert you that it was okay to cross with the rest of the pedestrians beside you. You let your gaze wander once more, and your heart stuttered.

On an outside patio, you saw him. He wasn’t alone– he was with his friend, enjoying a lunch together in the middle of the city at a nice restaurant. When the light turned, your feet were moving before you could stop yourself. 

You drop your textbooks and notebooks in front of the two super soldiers, both men jostling in surprise to look up at you. You don’t blame them– you did just crash their lunch without a single word of arrival. You dragged a spare chair from another table to theirs, taking a seat. You took in a sharp breath, ignoring the thumping in your chest as you crossed your arms.

“Which one of you harassed Tony Stark into creating an entirely new scholarship that only has me as the recipient?” you asked, eyebrows raised at both of them. 

You went home and did another round of research on Stark Foundation scholarships after your phone call with Peter. You found your specific scholarship at the very end of the list– newly added, with no other information on how to even qualify for the scholarship. It hadn’t existed before.

You even pressed Peter to get a meeting with the infamous Tony Stark, who had been avoiding your emails like the plague. Peter, bless his heart and soul, was caught in the middle. It really wasn’t fair to him, but you were at your wits end. You were being given something that wasn’t meant for you– and it felt wrong.

Both men shared a look. Steve lowered his sandwich, clearing his throat before he decided to let his gaze wander away. Bucky looked a lot more interested in a bird that landed nearby, nipping at a few crumbs on the ground. 

“Was the ten grand not enough?” you whispered, reeling. “That money– it’s more than enough for the tuition for the rest of the year.”

“Did you use it yet?” Bucky asked, finally looking back at you. You blinked at him, taken aback.

“Why would I use it?” you asked, scandalized.

“Because it was your tip. For excellent customer service.”

“No, I didn’t use it! I’ve been waiting for you to come back to my damn diner so I could give it back!” you exclaimed at him. 

“Pity. Really liked your pancakes there. Guess I can’t come back,” Bucky sighed. Steve nodded in agreement, both men beginning to continue eating their lunch.

“Are you serious?” you asked, eyes wide in disbelief. You watch as Bucky flags over the waitress to come by.

“Can we get another club sandwich?” he asked, watching the waitress write down the order. Then he pauses, quickly adding, “Ah, don’t add any pickles though. Extra green peppers. And a raspberry iced tea, please.”

“Did you run intelligence on my favorite foods, too? And the foods I don’t like?” you asked, frowning at him. 

“Made an educated guess,” Bucky tells you, a smile forming onto his lips. It’s faint, but you can see the corners of his lips turn up. There’s something distant in his eyes, but it quickly goes away as he returns to his sandwich. You can’t help but stare a bit longer at him. You want to etch his features into your memories so you can never have the chance to forget this face again.

Again? 

“You’re not denying that you ran a background check on me,” you quickly said, shoving away the nagging thoughts in your head.

“How else would we have gotten your name for that scholarship? We also needed to see what your field of study was so that Stark could grant you a fitting title, too,” Bucky said. Steve nodded once more, like some sort of yes man. 

You were in shock. Disbelief. Not only wasn’t he denying it, he was confirming it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had your social security number at this point. You slumped back in your seat, pinching the bridge of your nose as you closed your eyes tight. You took a deep breath, trying to control your temper. 

“Why me?” you asked, voice a bit tired. None of this is making sense to you.

“You gave us a complimentary dinner,” Steve answered immediately, giving you a small shrug.

“I don’t think a bill that cost less than fifty dollars warrants paying for my entire schooling and a twenty thousand percent tip,” you said dryly. 

“You deserve it,” Bucky replied with another shrug. The sandwich and your drink came out relatively fast, and he moves to organize your books out of the way so you can eat. “You haven’t had lunch yet, right?”

“Did your intelligence background check on me say that, too?” you frowned at him, though the sandwich is calling for you. Your stomach growls right on cue, both men smiling a bit as Steve pushes the food closer to you. 

Bucky lets out a soft laugh, and shakes his head.

“No, doll. It’s just a little past noon,” he told you, and your heart stutters in your chest. 

“Doll?” you repeated, watching him pause.

“Old forties habit,” he quickly dismissed, and you glance at Steve. He’s pretending to not even be here, in this conversation. “Sorry. I’m sure it made you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that…” you trailed off, blinking at your sandwich. “I just have a lot of dreams of someone calling me that. I think I just got surprised, I guess.”

You let out a small breath and begin to eat lunch. There’s a silence amongst the three of you that you can’t really place. It’s not awkward, by any means, which feels somewhat strange. This is the first true conversation that you’ve had with either of the men outside of a working environment, but it feels comfortable– like this is right. Like you’ve been in a similar situation before, just eating lunch together in the middle of New York’s busy streets.

“Dreams, huh?” Bucky finally murmured.

“Yeah. Dreams… Think it's in the forties. I never see his face, though. I can hear him and feel him, but I never remember his name when I wake up. I think I might’ve watched a show when I was younger or let my grandpa’s stories from the forties get ingrained too deeply in my head as a kid,” you said, trying to joke. Except, it really isn’t a joke to you. 

Thinking about your dreams on a deeper level rather than just accepting it as a fact of your own life makes your head hurt. There was a time when you had poured each dream into a journal, tried dissecting each scene, but only ended up in tears that you couldn’t explain. The sense of loss was too heavy. You didn’t know what you were grieving. You didn’t know who you were grieving for.

“Thor says reincarnation is possible,” Steve suddenly spoke, both of you looking at him. “I’m sure it’s not just an Asgard thing. Maybe it’s a past life of yours.”

“Steve,” Bucky muttered. You can hear the warning in his voice, and you’re not sure why there even has to be a warning.

“I thought about that,” you said, and you meant it. You take another bite of your sandwich then cringe at the sudden vinegary taste in your mouth. “I don’t really think it’s true, though.”

There's a slice of pickle slice in there. You pull apart the bread to inspect, certain to find even more pickles throughout the sandwich. You’re about to fish them out yourself, when Bucky’s hand moves. He’s already peeling them off, and adding it to his sandwich, like it’s second nature to him.

Because it is, a voice whispers in the back of your head, followed by a sudden ache. 

You clear your throat, pushing down the tightness in your chest.

“If it is a past life, then that’s kinda sad,” you finally said, letting out another slow breath. 

“What’s so sad about it?” Steve questioned.

“She– maybe me– misses him. The man I dream about, the life that possibly could have been mine,” you shrug, watching the perspiration on the raspberry iced tea slip down the glass. “I wake up feeling like there’s someone missing, and I don’t even know who to look for.”

You don’t even know why you’re voicing these thoughts out loud. The last time you ever said anything remotely similar was back in middle school, when you saw a therapist for the first and last time before deciding to lie to your parents and tell them that you were fixed. 

There’s something natural about the way you feel here, with them. The way Steve’s eyes watch you like he sees something beyond your words. He nods thoughtfully, taking in every single sentence you speak.

And Bucky. He looks like he would rip the world in half if you asked him to. At your words, he seems conflicted. There’s a storm raging behind his eyes that you can’t place, but you find yourself feeling the same sense of longing. You want to touch his face, rub your fingers over the crease between his brows, and reassure him that you’re okay. That what you’re feeling will pass, as it always does. 

You’re not even sure why you feel the itch to reach for him.

“Anyways,” you said, clearing your throat. “I hope it’s not a past life. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if it is. The soldier’s probably long gone, don’t you think?”

“You never know,” Steve said softly.

“You tell me,” you said, giving him a smile. “How many of your World War II veteran friends are still around today?”

Steve paused, then looked at Bucky. “There’s one right there.”

You glanced at the man, too. He was still looking at you, hanging on to every single word that passed through your lips like it was a lifeline. 

“What do you think?” you asked him. “You think my soul has been recycled and brought back to this earth for a second run?”

Bucky stares at you. You hold his gaze. It’s not uncomfortable to be watched by him, you realize. If anything, you feel at ease. There isn’t an ounce of judgement in his eyes, even though you said some crazy things that have made doctors look at you sideways before. Then, you watch as his shoulders shift as he finally breathes.

“Finish your food,” he grunts, tearing his eyes away from you to go back to his meal as well.

You let your eyes linger on his figure for a few more moments before you went back to your sandwich. The three of you ate in silence for the remainder of the lunch. New York continued to buzz all around you, but none of you seemed to comment or mind it. Once again, you couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that this was right. That this was where you were supposed to be.

When the check came, neither man let you see it. 

“Our treat. Since you paid for our dinner,” Steve said.

“Do I have to remind you guys about that insane tip?” you asked wearily.

“Then my treat,” Steve shrugged. “Bucky left that, not me.”

“I still won’t take it back, by the way,” Bucky added.

You slumped a bit in your seat, letting out a deep sigh. You could tell he was serious from the look in his eyes, though you didn’t have any real prior knowledge as to why you knew this. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, checking the time. You still had enough time to get home to study a bit. You had a presentation tomorrow to defend your field of study, and you needed to go over your notes.

Just thinking about it made you frown– one of the ethics professors really despised your choice of work, after all. You couldn’t blame her. When you really thought about it, you were going into the memories of a person to dissect what made their memories traumatic to be able to restore parts of a person that they may have lost in whatever scenario they were in. 

This professor had been arguing with you since you chose this study to pursue, and you had been fighting back ever since. You’ve been consistently proving your point. You even took more humanities classes than necessary to prove to the scientific board that you weren’t inhumane in your approach with your study– that you were doing this in order to help other humans. Of course, at the end of the day, you understood that there would always be people that had issues with change.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, and you gave him a tight smile.

“Just thinking about a project, and a teacher who might try to fail me. If she does, I might end up repeating the semester,” you said with a deep sigh. “Then that scholarship you two got me would be for nothing.”

“She sounds horrible,” Steve commented, and you caught the look that both men shared. Your eyes widened slightly.

“Please don’t get her fired with whatever connections you two have,” you quickly said, sitting up straight. “It’s fine– if I can’t prove my research to her, then I won’t make it once I graduate. So just– it’s fine, okay?”

“If you say so,” Steve said, sitting back in his seat. You let out a sigh of relief, closing your eyes briefly. 

“Well,” you said, standing up. “It was really nice seeing you both again. I do have to finalize my notes for my project though, so I gotta get going.”

“Good luck. You’ll do great,” Steve told you, giving you a small smile.

Bucky shifted, grabbing all your textbooks and notebooks off the table. He organized them into a neat stack, and handed them over to you. You smiled gratefully at him, reaching to take the books from him. 

Your fingers brushed against his, a shock of electricity rushing through your body at the small touch. You flinched, almost dropping all of your things. Thankfully, Bucky still had a good hold of all of the books, holding on tighter to everything.

“Are you okay, doll?” he asked again, but this time for a different reason.

“Great,” you forced out, taking your things from him. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” he said with a single nod. 

“And thank you for lunch,” you quickly added. “I really appreciated it.”

“Of course,” Steve grinned at you.

You took one more long look at both super soldiers before you picked up your bag from the chair, slinging it over your shoulder. You walked away, feeling heavier than before. Each step felt harder than the last, like walking away was the last thing that you should be doing. You made it down the block before the urge to turn around was too strong.

They were already gone.

next chapter

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[callalillywrites]

His Little Clothes Thief

Another entry for @steverogersbingo. A2 - Sharing Clothes

I'll admit this one ended up being way cuter than the original idea I had for this prompt, and I may have stretched the prompt a bit to make this work. I'm definitely happy with the results.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Steve Rogers Bingo | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1034

Summary: You come home to find Steve rummaging through your closet for his favorite shirt. He has plans for it and refuses to be deterred.

Warnings: none; just a lot of fluff

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

"Steven, what do you think you're doing?" you demanded, hands crossed over your chest while you hip rested against the door frame of your closet.

Your boyfriend of nearly three years glanced over his shoulder. His hands stilled on the hoodies hanging in front of him. He had the nerve to give you a knowing looking before returning to what he'd been doing. This time though, he picked up his pace as he sifted through the large collection of hoodies you've amassed.

"I'm looking for my favorite shirt. I know you have it, sweetheart."

You scoffed at the mild accusation in his tone. Sure, you'd been known to 'borrow' some of his clothes from time to time, but you always returned them.

Steve had the nerve to mimic your scoff. "I saw it in your pile when we were doing laundry yesterday. Don't think I don't know you."

"What makes you think I still have it?" you asked, not about to let him win this match so easily. "How do you know it's not hanging up in your closet? You know the door on the other side of our garden tub? The last I checked you have a greater collection of clothes than I do. What makes you so sure I have it?"

"Because, sweetheart," he spared you another exasperated though loving glance, "I already checked my closet, and it's not there. While I do agree I have more clothes than you, I also know what I have and my shirt isn't among what's mine. Your closet is the next logical conclusion."

Realizing he had you there, you stubbornly clung to the idea that you didn't have his shirt. Your gaze swept over the walk-in that you'd claimed the day you two moved in. You were determined to prove him wrong and send him back to his own closet. Not one hanger or shelf was missed in your scrutiny, so certain you were in your knowledge.

It was only when your gaze landed on an out-of-place navy shirt that in fact looked familiar did you shift your weight. Studying it further, you could just make out the edges of the even more familiar shape and color of his shield emblazoned across the front.

Creeping forward, you kept an eye on Steve and his attention on the far wall of your closet.

"I'm telling you, my love, it's not in here."

And it wouldn't be in the next thirty seconds if you had your way.

Steve hummed, clearly still skeptical of your assertion.

It was just as well. As long as he kept his attention where it was, you could do this. You could be stealthy when you wanted to be, and right then, you really wanted to be.

You dared a glance in his direction when you neared the spot where his shirt hung. Your hands stretched the short distance towards it and even gripped the shirt. With his attention still diverted, you tugged gently at the shirt, pleased when it gave and dropped off the hanger.

Knowing you wouldn't have long, you turned to dash out of your closet.

You made it two steps and only two steps.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you back into a solid and warm chest.

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"What's what?" you asked, deciding to play dumb even though you've been caught.

Steve's soft chuckle wasn't lost on you as it reverberated through you. "That shirt in your hands. It looks awfully familiar, ya know?"

"I don't know," you said, shrugging even as you held up the shirt to inspect it. "Looks like any other shirt you'd give out to your fans. Certainly doesn't look like anything that special."

"Oh, it's plenty special, sweetheart," Steve murmured close to your ear. His breath tickled across the exposed skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing as he continued, "I got that shirt from someone very special to me. It's my favorite because they gave it to me."

"You must really care about them if you notice when this shirt isn't among your others."

The softest of kisses pressed against the space where your shoulder and neck met.

"They are the most precious part of my life."

He said the words so softly but so assuredly that your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. Your belly swooped while happy tears rushed to your eyes. Darn him for doing this to you every time.

Swallowing past the lump forming, you twisted so your eyes could meet. You managed a decent though mocked glare in his direction while you pushed the shirt into his hand still holding you close.

"You never play fair," you accused him though your voice lacked any real conviction.

Steve, without an ounce of remorse for eliciting such an emotional response from you, simply leaned in and pressed another sweet kiss to your lips. His nose rubbed against yours when he pulled away to say, "I play for keeps, sweetheart, and I mean to keep you as long as you'll let me."

"Even if I steal your clothes from time to time?"

"Especially because you steal my clothes," he countered, pressing another kiss to your lips.

He released you then, shaking out his shirt.

When you figured he would slip it over the tank he was wearing, he surprised you by raising the shirt and tugging it over your head and down your body. While you hurriedly pushed your arms through the sleeves, you caught the speculative gleam in his expression.

"I thought…"

Steve shook his head. "Nah, it looks better on you, sweetheart. Plus, I know you like wearing it when you've had a long day. I just wanted to have it ready for you when you got home. Unfortunately, you got home before I could find it."

This time, you rose up on tiptoes and wrapped yourself around him. Your lips founds his and didn't let him go until you both needed to pull back for some air.

"Do you know how much I love you?" you asked between breathy inhales.

Steve grinned. "Almost as much as I love you, sweetheart."

[itsmerelliwellie]

Don't Ask Me, I Had To Fight Them | Y. Nagumo x Reader

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For this pretty over here

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18.) "I beat the crap out of three guys because they looked at you wrong. Don’t ask me if I like you.”

PROMPTS

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Warning(s):None

Important Warning: NOT REALLY BETA READ

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You were in the middle of restocking the syrup shelf when the front door jingled, loud and sharp against the quiet hum of the café. It was nearly closing time. There were only a few stragglers with laptops and lattes remaining, none of them a threat to your peace.

Then he walked in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Yoichi Nagumo drawled, somehow both smug and tired. You didn’t even have to turn around to know it was him. No one else could lace trouble into two words so effortlessly.

“Don’t call me that,” you said, barely glancing over your shoulder. “It’s not cute when you’re bleeding.”

Wait—bleeding?

You straightened up fast, eyes locking on him as he strolled over to the counter. His black button-up was wrinkled, one sleeve rolled up messily, and a dark bruise was blooming just below his cheekbone. His lip was split, and there was dried blood on his knuckles.

“Yoichi.” Your voice was flat with disbelief. “What. The hell.”

He looked at you with that lazy grin, like nothing was wrong at all. Like he didn’t look like he just walked through hell to see you. “It’s not that bad.”

“You look like you fell down a flight of stairs and picked a fight with the staircase.”

Nagumo chuckled, then leaned casually against the counter, his fingers drumming on the wood. “I beat the crap out of three guys because they looked at you wrong.”

He was smiling like a puppy who just brought home a good stick, waiting for praise.

You blinked. “You what?”

“They were talking about you,” he said, voice light, but eyes dangerously dark. “Real slimy, too. One of them said something about the way your apron hugs your hips. I didn’t like that.”

“You,” You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temples. “So you beat them up?”

“I was gentle,” he offered, feigning innocence. “Mostly. They’ll recover.”

You stared at him, your heart doing something really inconvenient in your chest. He was insufferable, reckless, and too smug for his own good.

But damn it, the fact that he’d gotten into a fight for you made something warm and guilty flutter in your stomach.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, stepping out from behind the counter. “Sit down. You’re bleeding all over my floor.”

He raised an eyebrow but obeyed, sliding onto a stool with that signature slouch, legs spread, hands resting lazily on his thighs. “Tending to my wounds already? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, grabbing the first aid kit from under the register. “I just don’t want you dripping blood on the espresso machine.”

He smirked, tilting his head as you approached, holding up his hand. “Aw, worried about me, love?”

“No,” you lied.

You took his hand gently, inspecting the torn skin on his knuckles. Your fingers brushed his, and you felt the way he tensed—just a little. Like he wasn’t used to being touched like this. Like it wasn’t pain he was reacting to, but something else entirely.

“Don’t ask me if I like you,” he said suddenly.

Your eyes flicked up, confused. “What?”

“That’s what you were about to say, right?” His voice was soft now, lazy but low. “You were gonna ask why I’d go that far. Why I care.”

You looked at him for a long moment. His usual cocky façade was still there. But underneath it, you saw something else. A quiet intensity in his eyes. A softness in the way he looked at you, like you were something fragile he didn’t know how to hold.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” you said quietly, dabbing at his lip with a damp cloth.

His breath hitched. “Good. Because I don’t do declarations.”

“No. You just beat people up instead.”

The tension lightened when he shrugged. “It’s my love language.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re such a menace.”

“But I’m your menace,” he said, and this time—this time—the teasing had a weight behind it. Something real.

Your hands paused. His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second too long.

“Yoichi—” you started, but he leaned in, close enough that your knees bumped, his breath brushing your cheek.

“I’m not gonna kiss you in the middle of a café,” he murmured, voice a little rough. “But if you keep looking at me like that...”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to,” he whispered.

You swallowed. “Maybe I do.”

He grinned, crooked and full of mischief. “Then let’s make a deal.”

“Let me say a prayer real quick first.”

“You patch me up,” he said, brushing off the comment before leaning back with a wink, “and I’ll take you somewhere private tomorrow. Somewhere I can kiss you.”

You rolled your eyes, heart pounding. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, flexing his bandaged hand and watching you with a warmth he didn’t bother hiding anymore, “you still haven’t kicked me out.”

You didn’t reply out loud, but it looked like he already knew by the way he was smiling

Nagumo watched you in silence, letting the quiet stretch comfortably between you as you cleaned the last bit of dried blood off his knuckles. His skin was rough from calluses but warm under your fingertips. His pulse was steady. Too steady for someone who had just taken on three guys in the street. Either he was a psychopath (strong possibility) or he really didn’t consider it a big deal (even more likely).

“I mean it though,” you said softly after a beat, taping a butterfly bandage over the worst cut. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“What, protecting you?” he replied with a soft chuckle. “Bit late to complain, don’t you think?”

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.

“No,” he said. “You don’t.”

That made you look up. There was something in his expression—an honesty that didn’t match the usual teasing curve of his mouth.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit back and let people talk about you like that,” he went on. “I’ve seen what you deal with. I know you’re tough. But you shouldn’t have to be all the time.”

Your throat tightened. No one ever said things like that. People usually praised your strength as if it meant you didn’t need softness. As if needing help, protection, or comfort made you weak. But Yoichi saw it differently. Saw you differently.

And now you were sitting across from him, your hand still wrapped around his, and your heart was doing all kinds of gymnastics you couldn’t ignore anymore.

“I didn’t ask you to fight for me.”

“I didn’t do it because you asked,” his words were oddly firm. “I did it because I wanted to. Because the thought of someone looking at you like that made me want to rearrange their face.”

You huffed a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “And here I thought you only cared about being charming and annoying.”

“I can multitask,” he said with a grin.

You tried to pull your hand back, but he caught your wrist gently, holding it in his, loosely enough to let you go if you wanted. You didn’t.

“Do you always get this reckless when you like someone?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He didn’t flinch. Just leaned in a little closer. “I told you not to ask me if I like you.”

Your heart skipped. “Why not?”

“Because I’m trying really hard not to kiss you right now, and that would definitely tip the scales.”

You blinked, pulse roaring in your ears.

“Then stop trying,” you whispered.

His smile faded. Just for a second. Like your words caught him off guard.

The distance was gone. He leaned in slowly, his forehead almost touching yours, breath mingling with yours. But he hasn’t closed the gap yet. He just hovered there, lips nearly brushing yours, like he wanted you to make the next move.

“I don’t want to be something you regret,” he murmured.

“Do I look like I’d regret kissing you?” you asked, lips tilted in a soft, daring smirk.

He exhaled a quiet laugh—relieved, excited, reverent all at once. “God, you really are dangerous.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rough or hungry. It was slow. Careful. The kind of kiss that unraveled your bones and poured warmth through your veins. His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek so softly it made your knees weak.

You didn’t know how long it lasted. You only knew that when he finally pulled back, he stayed close, his thumb still stroking your cheek, eyes soft and warm.

“Well,” he breathed, smiling faintly. “That was either the best idea I’ve ever had... or the dumbest.”

You smiled back. “Probably both.”

“Perfect,” he whispered. “My specialty.”

There was a pause.

“So,” he said casually, brushing his nose against yours. “You free tomorrow?”

“For what?”

“That date I promised,” he said. “Somewhere quiet. Private. Maybe a little secluded.”

“Sounds shady.”

“You say that like it’s not part of my appeal.”

You laughed, and something in his face softened completely. It was the kind of look that didn’t belong to a spy or a killer or a smartass. It was the look of someone who cared way more than they wanted to admit but was slowly, slowly giving in to that truth.

You reached up and gently fixed a strand of his hair sticking out at a weird angle. “Fine. But if you get into another fight, I’m not kissing you again.”

“Liar.”

“Shut up.”

He leaned in close again, brushing his lips just beneath your ear this time, voice low and teasing. “Make me.”

You shoved his shoulder, but your heart was floating.

And maybe he’d never say I like you out loud.

But you didn’t need him to.

He already said it with bruised knuckles, bleeding lips, and a kiss that holds a promise.

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A/N: MWUAHHH

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[whereubeenloca]

Laundry room

Part 1 of the Neighbor! Reader series: Table of contents

Summary: You and Carmy have an awkward encounter in the laundry room of your building

Pairing: Carmy x Reader

Tags: Slow burn, Awkward, Meet- cute

Word Count: 590

You love your apartment.

It’s cute and it’s smack dab in the middle of Chicago. A 15 minute walk from the ‘L’, a bus stop a block away, reasonable rent, it checks almost all of your boxes. There’s one thing it’s missing though, in- unit laundry.

The laundry room is dark, wet, and all the way in the basement of your building. You take the tortuous journey once a week. Lugging your clothes and coins down two flights of stairs, squeezing through the skinny hallways. You finally push your way through the doors, excited to finish the chore you hate the most.

With a huff you cross the small room to the lone washing machine. The units themselves look like they crawled out of the 90’s- you’re surprised they’re still running. You peer through the front loading window and groan. It’s full. After a moment of inspection you realize you recognize these clothes, a small load that seems to only consist of white t-shirts and socks. It was there this morning too, whoever owned them must have forgotten.

You let out another grunt of annoyance, it’s been long enough, you think to yourself as you open the door. It’s laundry room etiquette, really. Don’t leave your shit if you don’t want someone touching it, right? As if on cue, the door to the room opens and you jump, eyes snapping to the movement. You’re hunched in front of the machine, a damp t-shirt pinched between your fingers, as you stare up at the stranger. You’ve seen him around once or twice, blue piercing eyes and long blonde curls that frame his face. You quickly stand, stepping away from the machine to make room for him.

“Sorry.” He murmurs as he crouches down to retrieve his clothes.

“It’s fine.” You respond, huddled in the corner.

Of course, the one time you try to take someone’s clothes out of the machine they catch you. You sneak a peek at him as he’s crouched in front of the machine, he’s cute that’s for sure. He’s wearing a white-t shirt - is that all he owns? - and jeans. The back of his shirt lifts with every move, you avert your gaze as he pops open the dryer. You load in your laundry as quickly as you can and pull out your coin-purse, inserting five quarters into the slot, $1.25 per load was highway robbery in your opinion. As you press start you look over at the mystery man next to you, he’s patting down his pockets.

“Here,” you say, snapping open your coin purse. “Uh, how much do you need?”

He blinks once, he wasn’t expecting you to say anything.

“A quarter.” He mumbles, his voice is rough and quiet.

You nod and place a quarter onto the machine, the metal clangs loudly.

“Landlord changed the price recently, I uh- I wasn’t expecting it last time either.” You respond with a small smile. He grins back awkwardly.

“Yeah, $1.50 to dry is crazy.” He mumbles “Thanks.”

“Of course, um?” You trail off at the end, is it weird to ask his name? I mean, you live in the same building. It isn’t crazy to know your neighbors, right?

“Carmen.” He responds.

“Carmen.” You nod before introducing yourself.

Silence steals the conversation away from you as you finish collecting your things.

“Well.” You say, picking up your empty basket. “Um, have a good night.”

“You too.” He responds as you pull open the heavy metal door and make your way back to your apartment.