#Guide On Child Assignment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vunblr · 7 months ago

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The Memory Remains

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

Word Count: About 13k.

note: Let’s pretend the incident with Renata in CATWS never happened. Bucky's presence at Pierce’s house is a bit more lenient for the sake of this story.

The Winter Soldier moved through his assignments like a shadow. So, when he was stationed at Pierce's home for a week, he was given explicit instructions: remain masked, both arms concealed under a layer of clothing and stay out of sight as much as possible, but if seen, remain silent, a faceless piece of security.

On his first day, he heard voices down the hall before he saw them, a child’s laughter, paired with a softer, patient tone. The child -a boy around five or six- bounded into view, dragging a toy truck and blissfully oblivious to the stranger cloaked in shadows. But the woman with him was different; she immediately caught sight of him. She looked surprised but quickly cast her eyes down as she guided the boy past.

Pierce’s strict warning echoed in her mind. He explained to her that his guest was part of a high-security detail, trained to avoid all unnecessary contact, just another eccentric demand of his government work.

New to America, she had recently left her home country after a severe burnout as a lawyer and the lingering shadow of an abusive relationship. She managed to pay a year’s rent in advance with her savings, but reality quickly slapped her in the face when she began looking for a job. Now in her late twenties, she had no experience outside a desk or a courtroom with foreign laws.

This job as a nanny was the first real opportunity she’d found, and she took it. The pay was excellent, and the boy’s parents were kind. With an arrangement between Pierce and his son, she spent part of each day with the child at Pierce’s apartment after kindergarten until his parents picked him up after work, which was conveniently close by. In the two months she’d worked for the Pierces, she hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary in the house, so the appearance of a security guard was an unexpected twist.

She understood the "no interaction" rule well enough; her brother had worked in federal law enforcement before he passed, so she knew about the necessity of concealing the asset's identity and the formality of the job. Yet, habit got the best of her. She’d nod or offer a polite “good afternoon” when she arrived and a quiet “see you” when she left. Sometimes she’d even throw out a casual comment about the weather or crack a joke, knowing she wouldn’t get a response. His silence was a constant, and his blue gaze kept drilled into an inexistent point in the horizon. By the third day, she found herself relaxing into the new routine, no longer unnerved by the silent figure lurking in the house. She resumed her usual activities while the child napped: baking small snacks for when he woke up, or sitting at the kitchen table with her crochet project in hand. She even started putting on a playlist mostly with songs from her home country, the soft, lively tunes filling the quiet rooms.

Sometimes, when she baked treats for the boy, she’d make a few extras, placing them on a surface near the man in the shadows. Her brother had told her enough stories about hours on guard, the hunger and thirst that crept in with the silence. This was her small way of saying I know the circumstances -Though she didn’t. Oh, she didn’t even scratch the surface of his circumstances.- “You can take it later when you are alone.” She had offered quietly.

The first time, the food sat untouched for hours, and she thought he’d rejected the gesture entirely. But, just minutes before she had to leave, she found the plate empty, and she could swear the right pocket of his tactical pants looked slightly stuffed. Taking it as a sign, she continued doing it, sometimes offering a simple piece of fruit, or a chocolate if she hadn’t bake. Each time, the plate ended up empty, and his pocket a little bulkier.

Unbeknownst to her, one song in her playlist seemed to provoke a reaction in the stoic custody. Its melody -a blend of mid-1900s music with a modern twist- stirred something faint and unreachable within him, persistent enough to catch his attention. Each time the tune played on shuffle, his gaze would flicker in her direction, his brows knitting slightly as if he were straining to recall a memory just out of reach. And yet, she remained blissfully unaware, humming along.

After a week, he was gone. The masked figure had simply vanished from Pierce’s house as if he’d never been there at all.

-----

Nearly nine years had passed since that afternoon when Bucky threw himself from the helicarrier into the water to rescue Steve, somehow re-emerging as a fugitive from Hydra’s grasp. Since then, there had been one chaotic chapter after another, ending in a shaky kind of freedom and a conditional pardon. He’d been granted the basics of a civilian life -even if he wasn’t sure what to do with it-, a place to live, and the requirement to attend therapy sessions.

One night, after a familiar nightmare left him panting and staring hollow-eyed into the bathroom mirror, his gaze landed on his hair. It hung long and unkempt, framing his face with shadows from another life, a reminder of missions in the dead of night, of orders he’d had no choice but to follow. His reflection stared back, haunted, tethered to the past.

A voice urged inside him, low and insistent. Cut it. Shedding the hair felt like severing the ties that still bind him to memories. His hand moved instinctively, reaching for the familiar weight of his knife, the same one he’d carried for years, an extension of who he’d once been. But he hesitated, hovering his fingers over the blade. If he was serious about moving forward, this had to be more than just an impulsive cut in the dead of night. It had to be his choice, deliberate and clear, reclaiming himself one small step at a time. He’d find a hairdresser, endure the closeness, the touching, the vulnerability of someone holding sharp scissors near him, and let it be a test. A small, tangible proof that he could start anew, piece by piece.

The next morning, he stood outside a shop near his apartment, with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and wrestling with the urge to turn and walk away.

He lingered on the sidewalk, eyeing the parlor's weathered sign and chipped paint. Its old, familiar look was oddly reassuring as if the place had been untouched by time. That decided it for him. He scratched his beard and stepped forward, and as the door chimed overhead, he knew there was no going back now. Behind the chair, an old man was trimming the hair of a customer nearly as old, both with the unmistakable air of a veteran. The barber gave him a polite nod, but Bucky didn’t miss the shared look between the two: a quick, appraising glance that seemed to mutter, hippie motherfucker.

“Y/n!” the old barber called, his voice rising as he looked toward the back room. “You have a customer.”

The moment Bucky heard a woman’s name, he froze. An image of an elderly lady popped into his mind: chatty, distracted, and maybe with a knack for giving creative haircuts. He could already hear Sam’s laughter echoing in his head if he came out of this with some uneven cut or something worse.

“Well, actually…” he began, trying to backpedal, but his retreat stalled when she appeared in the doorway. She wasn’t old, far from it. And attractive. Very attractive. His mind blanked as he stood there, frozen, just staring.

The old man caught his hesitation and cast a pointed look his way, a touch more disapproving than before. The customer in the chair joined in, nodding in silent agreement.

“Well, young man?” the barber asked, his voice gruffer now. “You gonna stand there or sit?”

Bucky cleared his throat, murmuring, “I… thought you were the barber.” His voice was low, almost defensive, as he looked between the old man and the woman.

Her eyebrow quirked high, clearly amused, while the old barber scoffed. “What? because she’s a woman?” he huffed, crossing his arms. “Kid, I’m pretty sure she can handle that hippie mane of yours better than I ever could.”

The man in the chair gave a quiet chuckle, nodding in agreement, and Bucky’s mouth went dry. This was not the quick, anonymous cut he’d imagined. But there was no turning back now; he could feel three sets of eyes on him, each waiting for his move.

So, with a quick breath, he took off his jacket, walked over, and sank into the chair, stealing a glance at her reflection in the mirror.

She got closer from behind, amused by the fact that he already sat on the chair. “So, what are we doing today?” her tone was professional, though her eyes sparkled with a hint of curiosity.

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly on the seat. “Just… cut it short. Something easy to manage.” He answered gruffly.

She nodded, assessing the length of his hair. “Alright, but I must wash it first since it's this long. Sprinkling it with water won’t be enough.”

He blinked, a hint of tension flashing across his face. The thought of sitting there with his head tilted back, felt almost unbearably vulnerable. He nearly reconsidered, but the not-so-subtly narrowed gazes of the two older men lingering on him kept him in place.

With a quiet sigh, he managed to make a nod. “Fine.” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She gestured for him to follow, and he found himself standing and trailing behind her to the hair-washing station in the back. Every instinct screamed to keep his guard up, but his need to change this physical marker of his past kept him moving.

As they reached the back, Bucky’s eyes landed on her phone, resting near a small speaker that hummed with soft, melodic tunes. At first, he barely noticed the music since he was too focused on the discomfort of the situation and strengthening his resolve to not get up and leave. His shoulders stayed tense as he sat there, hovering on the edge of the chair, every part of his body coiled with instinctive caution.

Then, the warmth of the water broke over his scalp, and against his will, he felt the tension start to dissolve, just a little. Her touch was gentle, she made no sudden movements, just a calm rhythm as she applied the shampoo, working it through his hair. She didn’t say a word, either; it was as though she understood something of the guarded edge to him, or maybe she sensed that he wouldn’t welcome small talk.

A few beats into the quiet, the song changed. It was still low and unassuming, just background noise. But then the melody drifted in, a tune with an old rhythm and a foreign lyric, hauntingly familiar, and his attention flickered, drawn in by the music without him fully understanding why. His eyes closed briefly, and fragments of memory teased at the edges of his mind: a dim hallway, shadows, the scent of baking, and the quiet hum of a woman’s voice.

Before he could grasp it, the memory slipped away, leaving only the echo of familiarity, a ghost of something he almost remembered.

As she massaged his scalp, the tension that had gripped Bucky’s shoulders melted away. The gentle pressure lulled him into a rare calm, his body betraying him with a warmth that crept over him like a slow wave. For the first time in a long time, he felt close to letting his guard down entirely, since the comfort of her touch drew him into an almost sleepy haze.

Then she reached for the conditioner, moving her hands with the same unhurried rhythm, but this time, she couldn’t quite keep from humming along to the song that played softly from the speaker nearby. Her voice was low, almost shy, as though she hadn’t meant for anyone to hear. But as she sang, each note seemed to tighten a thread in his chest, snapping him out of the drowsy trance.

Then it hit him.

The music and her voice brought him back to Pierce’s household, to those days he spent stationed in the shadows, monitoring everything in silence before the events of his escape. The faint aroma of something sweet drifting through the house, cookies, or bread, something good, something he hadn’t expected to find. He could still feel the strange weight of those illicit traits in his pocket, things she’d left out in silent offering, her small, unspoken kindness filling a gap he hadn’t known was there.

This woman... could it be?

His breathing grew shallow, each breath catching in his chest as a faint tremor ran through his body. His gloved hands twitched against the armrests, fingers curling and uncurling as he fought the urge to reach up, to pull himself upright and turn to look at her. He needed to see her face, study her features and search for that glimpse of familiarity, confirm that this wasn’t just some blurred, mismatched memory dredged up by the lull of her voice and the warmth of her hands. Worse yet, he needed to know this wasn’t some fragment of imagination, a scene conjured by his mind to taunt him with memories he couldn’t piece together. But before he could move, she stopped singing, her hands paused in his hair and he felt her hesitate, as if sensing his restlessness even though he hadn’t said a word.

“The wash is almost done,” she murmured, as if offering reassurance.

She inwardly groaned, mortified. Why on earth did she start singing? Way to scare off a customer, she scolded herself when she sensed his body tense beneath her hands. And of course, it happened with a handsome customer. She could feel the rush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, flooding her cheeks. Taking a breath, she forced herself to refocus, working to rinse the last of the conditioner as quickly as she could, moving her hands just a bit more briskly than before. Okay, finish up and keep it professional, she coached herself, feeling the sting of humiliation all over again.

As she finished rinsing the conditioner from his hair, she reached for a nearby towel. Without a second thought, still reliving the horror of exposing herself like that, she wrapped it around his head, pressing gently to soak up the excess water. “Alright,” she said softly, stepping back. “We’re done here. Just head back to the front, and I’ll set you up for the cut.”

He rose from the chair a bit unsteadily, as though waking from a daze, and started toward the front of the shop, acutely aware of every step. He glanced sideways at her once, catching a hint of embarrassment lingering on her face. As he reached the main area, he caught his reflection in the mirror opposite the chair and froze. Wrapped around his head, neatly turbaned and unmistakably bright, was a fluffy pink towel.

The old barber glanced up from the new customer he was tending to, settling his gaze on Bucky’s reflection with poorly concealed bemusement. "Good lord, Cecil, look how things have changed," he muttered dryly only for the other old man to hear, unaware of Bucky’s enhanced hearing.

The other old man, Cecil, leaned back, shaking his head with a smirk. “Used to be, folks would at least keep that kind of thing under wraps,” he muttered, his voice low but pointed. “Remember Karen’s brother? Now there was a guy who kept things to himself, blended right in,” he muttered with a knowing glance at Bucky.

Bucky gritted his teeth, faintly aware of the heat climbing up his neck, but he forced himself to keep a straight face. He was determined to get through this without snapping. His reflection caught his attention again, and he let out an almost inaudible sigh.

Behind him, she approached, unaware of the old men ranting. She held a bunch of hairpins in one hand and a comb in the other, gesturing toward the chair in front of the mirror. “Whenever you’re ready”.

As he settled into the chair, his gaze drifted to the handful of hairpins she was holding, and cleared his throat, struggling to keep his tone steady. “Uh, I thought I asked for it short,” he murmured, nodding toward the pins and comb with a faint frown.

She didn’t miss a beat, propping a hand on her hip with a half-smile. “And I thought you might like it to look decent,” she quipped, raising a brow in the mirror. “To get it even, I’ve got to section it out first, or you’ll end up with a patchy disaster.”

She worked focused, weaving her fingers through his hair and clipping sections with colorful pins until his head was dotted with bright little half-buns. Bucky’s jaw clenched as his gaze drifted somewhere distant, the rhythmic tug of the comb stirring faint, elusive memories. He barely registered the chime of the door until the soft shuffle of footsteps and murmured greetings filled the air.

Two more elderly men ambled in, one of them clutching a checkers game under his arm. They greeted Frank the old barber, then his client casually, and lastly waved affectionately toward her, who acknowledged them with a smile. As their eyes landed on Bucky, they paused, taking in his partially pinned-up hair and the bright clips dotting his head. They shared a wordless look of faint, unspoken disapproval, the kind only those with a few extra decades under their belts could master.

Bucky tightened his jaw again, pressing his tongue against his inner cheek, as he caught the old men’s exchanged looks. What, was this some kind of veteran association headquarters or something? He’d endured enough stares over the years, but the situation's absurdity hit a new level. If only they knew he was older than all of them. The irony almost made him laugh -or maybe just get up and walk out.- But he forced himself to stay put, keeping his gaze fixed on his reflection as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary, while she worked oblivious to the silent standoff between him and the retirement brigade.

As she started to cut with the scissors, couldn't resist trying to break the tension that clung to him like a second skin. “So, how long did it take you to grow this out?” she ventured, with her eyes focused on his hair.

Bucky made a vague grunt, somewhere between polite acknowledgment and indifference. “Couple years,” he muttered, the words barely escaping his mouth as his gaze flicked to her face again.

Trying not to stare, he let his eyes drift down, but they always found their way back to her. As she carefully moved around him, he observed the cadence of her movements, and the subtle kindness in her tone, and all completed the picture in his mind. The woman from Pierce’s household, he was certain of it now.

She tilted her head thoughtfully as she continued cutting, briefly meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Going short can feel like a fresh start,” she remarked, casual yet reassuring. “Sometimes, it’s about more than just hair, it’s like letting go of whatever it held onto. It happens a lot.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, catching her gaze in the mirror before he could stop himself. There was a beat of silence as her words hit a little closer than he’d expected.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low, almost as if speaking to himself. “That’s… kind of the point.”

She met his gaze again with a glimmer of understanding in her eyes, but she didn’t press him. She just nodded, lifting the corners of her mouth into a gentle smile. “Well,” she said softly, resuming the rhythm of the scissors, “then let’s make sure we do it right.”

Eventually, she paused the trimming, assessing the hair’s new length with a critical eye. “Alright,” she said, lifting the electric clipper with a raised brow. “Any specific style you want, or…?”

Bucky met her gaze in the mirror again, hesitating just for a moment. If he knew anything about styles, he might’ve had an opinion, but all he cared about was the fresh start he’d come here for. “Just… short,” he replied, with a hint of uncertainty.

She nodded with a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Got it,” she said, setting to work. The clippers buzzed to life, and as she deftly worked them through the remaining length, Bucky let himself drift, trusting her to handle the rest. By the time she stepped back to survey her work, he barely recognized his own reflection; shorter, cleaner, a stark shift from the man he’d tried so hard to leave behind.

As she brushed his shoulders for stray hairs, the old men ambled back to the front, their voices rising in a familiar, lively argument about the weapons used in the Vietnam War.

“I’m telling you, the M16 was practically useless in those conditions,” one of them grumbled, shaking his head as if reliving the frustration.

“Oh, don’t start with that again,” the other scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “The M14 was a good rifle but couldn’t match the firepower.”

Bucky couldn’t help himself. “There were issues with both models,” he interjected. The men turned, eyebrows raised as he continued, “M16’s jamming problems, and the M14’s recoil, that didn’t make it any easier in the jungle.”

One of them raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a slight smirk. “So, you a collector or something, son? Not many people remember those details.”

Bucky paused, weighing his words. He shot them a sideways glance, with a hint of something unreadable in his expression.

“Nah,” he murmured. “Just... good memory.”

It was all he said, but the weight behind his words was enough to hold their gaze for a moment longer than either man expected.

She watched them leave with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips before she turned back to Bucky, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well, would you look at that,” she said, amused yet curious. “Didn’t think I’d get to see you join in the shop banters so soon. Well, there you go,” she said, stepping back. “Sharp as ever.” She reached over to grab his jacket from the hook, handing it to him with a small, encouraging smile that held a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages.

Bucky gave her a faint nod and took his jacket, slipping it on. “Thanks,” he muttered, feeling her eyes on him as he reached for the door.

As Bucky left the parlor after his haircut, the chill in the evening air prickled against his skin, grounding him in the present but doing little to quiet the memories that kept surfacing in his mind. Each step felt like shaking off a shadow of something long gone, something buried. He told himself, firmly, that she was just another person from his past, just a woman who once showed him kindness in a place that had none. It shouldn’t mean anything after all these years.

But over the next few days, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left something unresolved. Her image haunted him not in the sharp, painful fragments of his past but in small, lingering echoes. He remembered the sound of her humming when she thought no one was listening, the soft click of plates, and the surprising warmth of the treats she’d left for him, knowing he might never touch them. She had looked at him, masked and silent, like he was a person, not just a thing covered in shadows.

A few days later, in session, his therapist caught on to his distracted state. She didn’t exactly push, but she revisited the topic they’d been circling for weeks: reconnecting with people, finding his place outside the shadows of his past. Her advice nagged at him as much as it reassured him. Connection. Yeah, right.

Then, one afternoon, his phone buzzed. It was Sam. He was doing outreach work in the neighborhood, trying to connect local veterans with PTSD resources. “Look, I could use a hand with some pamphlets,” Sam said, in a way that didn’t leave much room for negotiation. “Some old-timers hang around that parlor you mentioned. I think they’d be more open to it if you dropped these off.”

Despite his reluctance, Bucky ended up agreeing. Maybe he needed to see her again to put the memories finally to rest.

When Bucky stepped back into the parlor with the pamphlets clutched in his hand, Frank was busy with a client, and she was at the counter, writing something down in a small notebook. She looked up when the door chimed, and her gaze settled on him with a flicker of recognition.

Bucky cleared his throat and handed some pamphlets to Frank, who glanced at them with a barely concealed frown. “What is this, some new-age help group thing?” the old man muttered, though he took them anyway.

Before Bucky could respond, Sam walked in behind him, a wide grin plastered on his face. He slapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Hey, pal, didn’t know you’d actually do it,” he said, casting a friendly nod to the old-timers who regarded him with wary interest.

The veterans, having heard the conversation, perk up. “What’s this?” one of them asked, and Sam jumped in, explaining with his usual charm about the outreach work for veterans, PTSD resources, and community support. Bucky stood back, feeling the walls around him starting to rise, the familiar urge to retreat coming over him. But then he caught her watching him. He returned her gaze, and suddenly it was as if no time had passed. She was the same woman who used to hum softly in a house that held no warmth.

Before he knew it, Frank was muttering about “newfangled therapy and pamphlets” while the veterans grumbled, though one of them eventually accepted a flyer with a shrug. The moment felt absurd, but then, with a quiet laugh, she came to Bucky’s side. “Welcome back,” she said, with a soft voice and a suspicious biting on her bottom lip.

He cleared his throat, barely meeting her gaze. "Hi. Just, uh, helping Sam here with these pamphlets." He gestured awkwardly at the handful still clutched in his grip as if that alone explained his return. But before he could slide into silence, she tilted her head, curious.

"So… were you in the service, too?"

The question caught him off guard. His body stiffened, and for a moment, he considered deflecting. But then he took a short breath, composing himself before speaking.

"Yeah. Sergeant… a long time ago.” The words came out almost hollow like he was not even talking about himself. “Feels like it, anyway.”

Her eyes roamed his face as if she was noticing the wear and ache behind his expression for the first time, but she didn’t press him for more.

Behind them, Frank’s sharp gaze flicked over Bucky, his usual squint softening just a touch. He straightened, nodding with something closer to respect, and his gruffness was replaced by a rare moment of understanding. Bucky felt it, too, the unspoken acknowledgment from one who’s seen their kind wear the years like scars. “Well,” Frank said, his voice a little less brusque, “good on you for helpin’ out.” He didn’t look directly at Bucky as he said it, but the words were meant for him all the same.

He nodded, unsure of what to say.

Her smile grew softer as she met his gaze again “Guess we’ll be seeing you around, then, visiting the boys?”

Bucky shifted, glancing down with a faint nod. “Yeah. Maybe,” he muttered. Then he glanced back at Sam, who was deep in conversation with the veterans, seemingly in no rush to leave. He noticed the way Sam’s gaze occasionally flickered their way and caught the subtle grin playing at the corner of his mouth. To anyone else, it’d seem so, so casual, but he knew better, Sam was doing it on purpose.

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam kept his focus on the other vets, though his eyes flickered with barely concealed amusement when he glanced back.

The silence stretched a little too long, and she cleared her throat, slipping behind the counter. “You know,” she said lightly, “if you’re waiting on your friend, might as well have a coffee. It’s on the house.”

Bucky’s eyes fell to the floor, and he hesitated just a second before nodding. “Sure. Thanks.”

As she moved to make the coffee, he leaned on the counter, resting his gloved hands awkwardly on its surface as she prepared a mug for him. Then, without warning, she reached under the counter and pulled out a green tupperware, popping the lid to reveal neatly cut slices of pasta frola. The sight caught him off guard, furrowing his brows as a faint but vivid memory flickered to life, the faint smell of jam in the kitchen, the delicate pastry offered to him wrapped in a paper napkin, so his pocket wouldn’t get stained.

She noticed his look and chuckled lightly, misreading his reaction. “Don’t worry, it’s just a family recipe. I swear it’s not poisoned.” She gave him a half-smile, nudging the container closer. “It’s filled with quince jam, it’s tangy but sweet. Hard to come by here in the States, I know. But... it’s worth a try.”

Bucky blinked, as the memory lingered in his mind. “I’ve had it before,” he said quietly, more to himself than her, before reaching over and picking up a slice. The taste was startlingly similar, he didn’t realize how vividly he remembered it. “Pretty good,” he murmured, almost begrudgingly. But before he could stop himself, a flicker of raw emotion tightened in his chest, and he felt the familiar sting of tears prickling at his eyes.

He turned away quickly, bracing himself against the counter, willing for the feeling to pass. He couldn’t explain it if he tried, not to her, not even to himself. A stray laugh reached him from across the room, and he forced himself to breathe, focusing on the sound of Sam’s voice, the distant grunting of the men, anything to distract him.

Her voice broke through his lapsus, warm and light as she cleaned up the counter beside him. “Well, if you like it, there’s plenty more where that came from,” she commented with a playful smile. “The ‘boys’ practically fight over the last slice every time. You should see them, it’s like watching kids in a schoolyard,” she laughed softly, wiping down the counter. “I swear, I’ve had to start hiding an extra plate in the back just to keep up the peace.”

She glanced over at him, still unaware of his reaction, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “So, no pressure, but if you plan on sticking around here, you’ll have to stake your claim early.” Her voice was so light and easy, almost teasing as if sharing a small, harmless secret.

Bucky managed to make a nod, keeping his face averted until he was sure he was composed. Only then did he turn back, giving her a quick, curt nod. “Thanks. It… brings back memories,” he said, with his voice a little steadier now, though the weight of those memories lingered in his mind.

“Oh?” She tilted her head, eyes bright with curiosity. “I hope good memories?” Her smile was warm, perhaps imagining a grandmother’s kitchen or a friendly neighbor’s table, after all, it was rare for an American to have tried this kind of tart.

Bucky’s mouth curved into a faint, thin smile as he met her gaze for a fleeting moment before looking away again. “Something like that,” he replied, with a carefully neutral tone, edged with something unreadable. He lifted the coffee mug, taking a slow sip, hoping the gesture would gently close the conversation.

Before she could respond, the door chime sounded, and a man in his late thirties strolled into the shop with an air of familiarity. His gaze landed on her, and his expression shifted into something smug and self-assured as he greeted her by name. His eyes lingered a little too long, sliding over her outfit in a way that barely bothered to conceal his interest.

Her posture stiffened, but she managed to smile, nodding his way. “Hey, Brian. Frank will be back in a few if you’d rather wait.”

Brian chuckled dismissively as he made his way to the chair. “Nah, it’s just a maintenance cut. I don’t need Frank for that.” He settled in, leaning back with a casual grin. “Besides, I’d much rather have you take care of me. Your hands are way more skilled.”

“Right…” She gave him a thin smile. Glancing at Bucky, she excused herself from his side and headed over to tend to Brian.

As she set up her tools, Brian leaned back in the chair, angling himself to keep her in his line of sight. “Looking good today,” he praised, dropping his tone slightly as he studied her reflection in the mirror. “Gotta say, it makes my day to come in and see you here.”

She responded with a brief laugh, brushing off his comment as she began trimming his hair. “Just here to make sure you’re looking sharp.”

Bucky stayed a little longer by the counter, pretending to be absorbed in his coffee. But his eyes flicked up occasionally, catching the exchange in the mirror’s reflection.

Watching him quietly eating the last bite of tart at the counter, Brian smirked, leaning back in the chair with a lazy grin. “You know,” he drawled, gazing at her intently, “One of these days, I’ll have to get my mouth on that pie of yours.” The words were laced with an unmistakable undertone, his gaze lingering on her as if testing the waters.

Her hand stopped just for a fraction of a second before she responded, a quick, professional smile in place. “Well, I’ll let you know if I ever start taking special orders.” Her words were smooth and dismissive, sidestepping his implication.

Bucky’s fingers tightened around his mug. Was this modern flirting? He found himself suppressing the urge to remind Brian of a little respect. But with what right exactly? Some possessive urge rooted over a long-ago act of kindness? They’d barely exchanged a handful of words, words that, by the way, he could hardly string. Still, he couldn’t shake a barely contained irritation that crept inside him, a feeling both unfamiliar and too familiar all at once.

Brian’s flirting continued, tone growing bolder as he lounged in the chair with his eyes fixed on her as she tried to maintain her professional composure. Eventually, Bucky’s patience snapped.

He placed his mug down with a soft clink, rising to his full height and striding over, casting a long shadow across the two of them.

With a calm, steely edge to his voice, he focused his gaze on her. “Well, sweetheart, I’ve got some things to take care of with Sam. But I can’t wait to see you in that dress later.”

She blinked, pausing her scissors mid-snip as she processed what he’d just said. Then, catching on to the improvisation, she broke into a warm smile, tilting her head with a look of mock apology toward Brian before turning fully to Bucky.

“Oh, of course! Can’t wait to see you too, handsome,” she replied, adding a playful lilt to her voice. And without missing a beat, she tiptoed up, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, resting her hand on his shoulder for a bit of extra effect.

Brian’s smile faltered, and his expression shifted to discomfort as he glanced away, and the bravado vanished from his eyes.

Bucky turned smoothly, not sparing Brian a single glance as he made his way over to Sam, calm and unhurried. The entire shop seemed to hold its breath, caught in the aftermath of the exchange. Sam looked at him with a quirked brow, and Frank… just narrowed his gaze. Has something been going on under his nose with this redeemed hippie and he didn’t know about it?

Meanwhile, she could barely keep her thoughts straight. Her heart pounded wildly, and a thousand questions assaulted her mind as she mentally replayed what had just happened. First, the shock that Bucky had stepped in at all, with that calm authority that had left Brian squirming. Then, there was how effortlessly he’d delivered his line, so convincingly she almost believed it herself. And finally... God, the way he smelled when she leaned up to kiss him. Cedar, leather, and masculinity. She could still feel the trace warmth of his lean, muscular shoulder beneath her hand.

Had she overdone it? The kissing, the touching… she wasn’t sure, though part of her almost wished it had been real. She bit her lip, determined to focus on the task at hand as Brian shifted uncomfortably in the chair, with his earlier smugness replaced by an awkward silence.

Bucky reached Sam, who glanced up with a grin as he passed over the stack of pamphlets. “So… all this time you had a girlfriend and didn’t say a word, Tinman? That is low, even for you” he teased under his breath, low enough that only Bucky could hear.

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky muttered with a tight jaw, but the faintest hint of a smirk broke his factions. He didn’t meet Sam’s gaze, keeping his eyes on the pamphlets.

-----

One day, after a month since that unusual afternoon in the shop, she got out in her free time and settled on a park bench, skillfully crocheting yarn into neat, colorful granny squares, fully absorbed in her work.

Life wanted Bucky to pass through the park on his way home, hands stuffed in his pockets, with his troubled mind preoccupied with dark thoughts, a product of a grueling therapy session. But then he saw her, sitting just across the path and he halted. There she was, peaceful and intent on her project, just as she’d been all those years ago. Back then, he’d only dared to steal quick, curious glances, being a silent observer bound by his handler’s whims. But today, seeing her absorbed in those same small stitches, he felt an undeniable urge to bridge the distance between them. It took him a moment to remind himself that he was free to walk over, to break the silence himself. He took a breath, then walked toward her.

When his shadow fell over her work, she looked up, and her eyes widened with recognition. “Oh!” she said, surprised, but quickly smiled, recovering from the initial shock. “Hey, stranger.”

He felt a small, tentative smile come through despite himself. “Hey,” he murmured. His gaze flickered down to the granny squares arranged on her lap. “I’m interrupting? You just looked focused.”

She chuckled, lifting the half-formed square to show him. “Not at all; it’s my therapy, I guess. Helps me unwind.” Then, after a beat, she patted the space beside her. “Want to join me for a bit?”

He hesitated briefly before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, I’d like that.” Then he sat down.

Neither spoke for a while, just content to share the moment under the sun. Then, she glanced over at him. “You know, I never got the chance to thank you properly… for that day at the parlor, it meant a lot.”

He looked up, with a hint of surprise in his expression, then shrugged slightly, as a modest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t need thanking. But… you’re welcome.”

She smiled back, and that gesture eased something tense in his chest. He swallowed, gathering his thoughts, as his fingers traced the line of his glove. The moment felt right, and finally, he broke the silence. “There’s, uh… something I’ve been wanting to tell you.” He glanced down at his hands, stilling his thumb over his gloved palm. “If… if you’ve got some time.”

She paused, looking at him with a hint of curiosity, resting her hands on her project. “Of course.”

He sighed heavily as if exhaling years of hesitation. Slowly, deliberately, he began tugging at the glove on his left hand, peeling it off to reveal the metallic gleam beneath the fabric. The sun's soft light caught on the intricate panels and joints, giving the hand an almost otherworldly sheen.

Her hands stilled, and the yarn was left forgotten in her lap. Her eyes widened briefly as she took it in. At first, she assumed it was just a particularly advanced prosthesis. But then he flexed his fingers, and the subtle, fluid movement was far too precise, too seamless for any ordinary piece of tech. And then everything clicked. She’d seen that hand -arm- before, on news reports and grainy footage, the infamous name whispered in fear, The Winter Soldier. But alongside that news had been another truth: the revelation that he’d been a victim, conditioned to act against his will. A mere puppet of Hydra’s schemes. A human pet trained to secure their darkest ambitions.

Her gaze softened, with a mix of understanding and sorrow replacing her initial shock. She didn’t flinch or retreat. Instead, she studied his face, the way his jaw tensed, and how his shoulders braced as if he expected her to pull away. She hesitated, hovering her hand over his for a moment before gently resting it on his vibranium fingers. “Why are you showing me this?”

He stared at her hand, as if the touch was foreign to him, something he didn’t know how to accept. Finally, he sighed, the weight of the confession was evident in the way his shoulders slumped. “Because,” he began “almost nine years ago, you worked as a nanny for a family that went by Pierce.”

Her brow furrowed, surprised that he’d brought up something from so long ago, also puzzled by how he could possibly know. Only a handful of people had ever been in that apartment, and none of them had been a man with a metal arm.

“How… how do you know that?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral, though a thousand questions began to swirl in her mind.

“They told you I was security detail,” he said, watching her closely. “Some faceless bodyguard lurking in the shadows. Except it wasn’t exactly… just that.” His voice softened, with a hint of remorse lacing each word.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to connect the dots. She then remembered the quiet figure who’d kept to the periphery, masked, rigid and composed, an entire presence veiled in secrecy. His silence had unnerved her at first, but soon, it had become as much a part of the background as the furniture in the apartment. “You’re- that was- you were-” The realization dawned slowly, and her hand covered involuntarily her mouth as the pieces slid into place.

He nodded, not breaking eye contact. “I couldn’t say anything back then. Couldn’t even… react on my own accord. But I remember you. I remember the little things you did. The treats you left, the music… your hobby.” His gaze fell briefly to her hands, where her current project lay forgotten. “It was… one of the only kindnesses I knew, back then.”

She stared, absorbing the weight of his confession, piecing together the faint memories of that silent figure in the shadows, the one she’d tried to reach in small, gentle ways. The realization that the man in front of her, the Winter Soldier, was him left her feeling so sad, revealing a hidden, tragic depth.

“So… you were there, but you weren’t allowed to… be you,” she said softly, the words tumbling out as she tried to grasp it all.

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost a sigh. “There’s a lot of shit I’m still sorting through, but… I couldn’t shake the thought of telling you. What you did back then,” he paused, his voice dipping to a whisper, “it meant more to me than you ever know.”

She looked down, and her heart caught at the tone of his words. Before she could respond, he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with a bit of hesitation.

“Look,” he started, and she noticed his ears had turned a faint shade of red. “I, uh… don’t want to scare you off here. I get it if you think I’m coming on too strong, or if this seems… creepy.” He shifted, holding her gaze. “But I wanted to ask if maybe you’d like to… if you’d want to get a coffee sometime… or, I don’t know, maybe dinner?” A hint of nervousness flickered in his blue eyes, and he broke into a self-conscious grin. “Unless that sounds like a terrible idea, in which case, we could also just… feed some ducks in the park or something,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. ‘Feeding ducks? Do people still even do that?’

Seeing him tripping over his words made her heart skip. Smiling, she let the silence linger for just a moment before nodding. “I’d like that, whatever you’d prefer, coffee, dinner… or even feeding the ducks.”

A noticing relief flooded his face, and his shoulders relaxed. He chuckled, and for the first time, she saw a glimpse of someone who had spent far too long hidden behind walls, someone who was finally allowing himself a chance to live.

-----

Saturday’s sunset hadn’t even fully settled in when Bucky found himself pacing toward the parlor, with the nerves buzzing under his skin. This was his first proper date since 1943, and he felt like a high school boy. An awkward, brooding, traumatized, and scarred high school boy. Great, he thought, glancing up at the swirling clouds that promised rain, thunder echoing faintly from afar. He checked his reflection in a nearby window, adjusting his collar, brushing a hand through his hair. The frown he caught staring back only made him feel more ridiculous.

He stepped into the shop and spotted her immediately, busying herself around the place, her brows knit in concentration. She didn’t notice him at first, but when she finally looked up, her eyes lit up in surprise.

“Oh, hey,” she said, smiling wide as she took him in.

“Hey,” he replied a little awkwardly, realizing he’d arrived early. Clearing his throat, he lifted the small bouquet, feeling hopeful and self-conscious as he handed them over. “Uh… these are for you.”

She blinked, clearly touched. “Bucky… thank you. They’re beautiful.” She inhaled the scent, and he could have sworn he saw a soft glow in her cheeks. Frank, was sitting behind the counter and watched the whole exchange, and Bucky saw how his usual skeptical gaze softened just a little at the sight of the flowers. For a moment, he felt like he’d earned a point of approval from the old man.

Just then, another roll of thunder echoed in the distance, making her glance up at him with a teasing smile. “You think we’ll beat the storm?”

He held out his arm, “Guess we’ll find out,” he said with a lopsided grin, trying to keep his cool despite the nerves.

And with that, they headed out, stepping into the evening together, the storm chasing them as they walked to the nearby bistro.

The rain came down fast and thick, a relentless curtain that left them drenched within seconds. They huddled under a small awning, Bucky grimacing as he realized he hadn’t even thought of bringing an umbrella -not that he owned one, anyway-. He glanced over at her, taking in the way her damp dress clung to her body. He raked a hand through his dripping hair, sighing.

“Didn’t see this coming,” he muttered, half to himself, half to her. “I’m… sorry.”

She blinked up at him, surprised. “Why are you apologizing for the weather?”

He shrugged, as a sheepish look crossed his face. “Guess I feel like I should’ve been prepared.” He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little foolish for not planning better. “I could… call you a cab? We can try for another night.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “Or… if you want, my place is just upstairs from the parlor. You’re already here, and it’s warm. We could dry off and… watch a movie? Order some dinner?”

Bucky blinked, a bit taken aback. The invitation tugged at something deep and old-fashioned inside him. A woman who lived alone, inviting her date to her house at night... But then again, times had changed and so had he. He could feel the pull, that magnetic urge to spend a little more time in her company, and really, wasn’t that the whole point of tonight?

With a flicker of a smile, he nodded. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” He followed her through the rain-drenched streets, his boots splashing lightly in the shallow puddles until they reached the stairwell beside the parlor that led up to her apartment. She fumbled with her keys, glancing over her shoulder to flash him a quick, almost conspiratorial grin.

As they stepped inside, she chuckled, eyeing his soaked clothes. “I can get you some of Frank’s stuff to change into,” she offered, giving his drenched jacket a sympathetic look. “I do his laundry, so I’m sure we’ll find something that fits you. Just… don’t tell him.” She winked, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Despite the cold clothes sticking to his skin, Bucky felt a warm chuckle bubble up. “I think I can keep a secret,” he said, playing along, as his gaze lingered on her smile a second longer than he meant to. There, surrounded by warm, mismatched furniture and soft, inviting blankets, he felt welcomed into a place that felt… real, lived on, totally opposite of his apartment.

"Sorry about the mess," she murmured, disappearing toward a small laundry room tucked around the corner.

Bucky gave a noncommittal grunt, following her with his gaze despite himself. He tried to focus on anything else, but the soaked dress clung to every inch of her body, tracing her silhouette in a way that made it impossible to look away. He found himself rooted to the spot, too aware of his heartbeat drumming harder than it should. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. Get a grip, he told himself. Standing there in a small puddle, he felt more out of place than ever, and yet, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere else.

She returned a moment later with a bundle of clothes in her hands: a pair of worn pants that looked like they’d sit loose and just shy of his ankles, along with a white tank top and a blue flannel. “It’ll do for now, though, fair warning, he’s got about half your shoulders, so don’t blame me if the fit’s a bit... weird.”

Bucky accepted the clothes, glancing at the pants with a wry smile. “Weird’s fine,” he mumbled, grateful for anything dry but wondering if he’d end up looking like he’d raided a teenager’s closet.

Her laughter was light as she stepped back. “I’ll give you a minute to get changed,” she said, nodding toward a corner of the room. Then, she grabbed a set of fresh clothes for herself, giving him a quick nod before slipping off to the bathroom.

Once alone, Bucky looked down at the makeshift outfit. It was strange how easy she made things feel, and stranger still how much he found himself wanting to fit, if only for this evening.

Eventually, she emerged from the bathroom with a casual skirt and a matching blouse, feeling more comfortable, until her gaze landed on Bucky. He was leaning against the window, looking out at the rain-soaked street, lost in thought. The borrowed pants hung low on his hips, but it was the white tank top that made her brain stutter. It clung to him in a way that left little to the imagination, stretched taut across his broad chest, outlining every defined line of muscle. She could even make out the slight press of his nipples through the fabric, proof of the strain his frame put on the shirt that was clearly never made for him. She noticed the blue shirt he’d left folded on the table, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Couldn’t make the flannel work?”

Bucky glanced over, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a self-conscious smirk. “Yeah… tried it,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t quite fit.”

She quickly averted her gaze, trying to mask the impure thoughts racing through her mind as she gestured toward the bulky cabinet under the TV. “So… movie or board game?”

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a beat, soaking in the warmth of her place, and the coziness of being alone here with her. He felt a soft pull again, something that made him want to take another step closer, to reach out and-

“Let’s play,” he murmured, a bit roughly. Then, he gave her a slight smile. “Show me what you’ve got.”

They fell into the games as if nothing else existed. The hours slipped by unnoticed, each turn they took erased a little more of the self-consciousness they’d started with. Laughter broke through the usual stillness of her living room, paired with playful jabs and shameless victory dances as they bickered over the rules and accused each other of cheating.

At some point, she stopped worrying about how much she was watching him. It didn’t matter if her gaze lingered on the way his broad shoulders hunched with focus, or if she found herself distracted by a rare, soft chuckle he let slip when she pulled a fast one on him. And Bucky, for his part, began to let go of his usual reservations. Here, in her warm, cluttered living room with mismatched furniture, and board game boxes stacked by the couch, he felt no need to carry the weight of conversation or second-guess every gesture. He didn’t need to measure himself against the usual question of what was “normal” or “appropriate.”

As the night wore on, they were sitting on the floor, engrossed in another game, the coffee table cluttered with pieces and cards. The mood had shifted from playful to fiercely competitive. Both of them were leaning forward, so focused on the game that they barely noticed how close they’d become.

Amid a particularly tense round, she reached forward quickly to snatch one of his pieces. Bucky, acting on pure instinct, grabbed her wrist to stop her. But when doing so, his grip was a little too forceful, and before either of them could react, she lost her balance. She lurched forward, crashing into the coffee table as her hands scrambled for purchase and toppled over, knocking the game pieces everywhere.

Bucky froze, and his eyes went wide with shock as he realized what had happened. His heart raced against his ribs as guilt and embarrassment washed over his body.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted with panic. His hand hovered near her, unsure whether to touch her or give her space. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t think- are you okay?”

She sat up, a little dazed but unharmed. She managed to smile softly, trying to ease the tension. “I’m fine, really. Just… caught off guard.”

Bucky didn’t move from his spot, his entire body taut with self-reproach. He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze as he muttered more apologies. “I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean to grab you like that.” His words tumbled over each other in a hurried mess.

Her eyes softened, and she quickly tried to reassure him, though she could see the increasing discomfort in his posture. “It’s fine,” she said calmly. “I’m alright, seriously. You didn’t hurt me.”

But Bucky wasn’t listening. The self-reproach was already spiraling in his mind, the usual inner monologue of guilt and doubt taking over. “I’m a fucking mess,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “I can’t even-”

She reached out slowly, touching his arm lightly to calm him. “It’s okay,” she said again, but she saw it happening, his retreat, and it made her heart sink. He was going to pull away. She could see it in his posture, the way his gaze avoided hers, the tension in his shoulders as if he was already preparing to leave.

Without thinking, without any plan, she blurted out the only thing that had been swirling around in her head since the moment they started this strange, unpredictable connection. "I like you."

The words hung in the air, louder than anything she’d ever said before, a sudden bomb dropped in the middle of their awkward standoff. Her breath caught in her throat as soon as they left her mouth, and her heart skipped a beat, the rush of adrenaline almost as strong as the surge of fear. She could already feel her cheeks heating, but she couldn’t take it back now.

Bucky’s head snapped up at her words, and the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly as he looked at her, stunned. For a moment, all he could do was stare at her, as if he were trying to make sense of what she’d just said.

“You- you like me.” he finally managed, his voice barely more than a whisper, slightly skeptical.

She smiled in a way that was both reassuring and a bit teasing. “Well, that was the whole point of accepting going on a date with you, right?” His gaze flickered up, surprised, as she continued, “Why do you think I’d say yes to your invitation in the first place? I was even down to feed ducks with you.” Her smile widened, trying to lighten the mood, and a bit of that earlier sparkle returned to his eyes.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he shook his head, with a mix of relief and amusement in his expression. “I thought maybe- I don’t know. Maybe you’d just be nice, humor me a little.”

She straightened up, putting on her best impression of an old-fashioned debutante. “Excuse you, but I don’t feed ducks with just any man, what kind of woman do you think I am?” The statement had him laughing, a deep, hearty laugh that made his eyes crinkle and his nose wrinkle in an adorable way, making her knees feel like jelly.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t realize I was asking for such an honor. Guess I’ll have to work my way up to that level of duck-feeding trust.”

Her heart pounded as she met his gaze, and managed to find her voice. “So… if you’re serious about making up for that offense,” she teased, “I might be open to… one little act of apology.”

He paused, and his eyes widened just a fraction as he took in her words. A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze softened as he reached up, almost on instinct, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear with a featherlight touch.

“I… think I can manage that,” he murmured, in a warm, low tone. His thumb skimmed her cheek, brushing his fingers along her jaw as he leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to stop him. Then, finally, his lips touched hers, in a gentle and chaste gesture. When they broke apart, they stayed close, foreheads nearly touching, neither quite ready to pull away. His hand lingered on her face, grazing his thumb on her cheek as he whispered, “Is that enough to earn back your trust, or do I still have some work to do?”

She laughed softly, “I think… that was a pretty good start.” Then she bit her lip, leaning further into his touch, “Though, maybe…” she whispered, her voice dropping to a daring, playful note, “you might have to put in a bit more effort to repair the affront on my reputation.”

He didn’t need any further invitation. His hand slipped around the back of her head, as he pulled her close, capturing her mouth with a force that made her knees feel weak. This wasn’t the gentle, tentative kiss from before; this was raw, heated, as though he was pouring all the things he couldn’t say into the way his lips moved against hers.

His mouth parted, and his tongue slid against hers, drawing a soft, involuntary moan from her lips. She melted against him, her hands finding his shoulders and gripping tight. He angled his head then, deepening the kiss, brushing the back of her neck with his thumb as he sensually assaulted her mouth.

When he finally broke away, his burning gaze met hers, and he managed a rough, breathless murmur, “Was that… enough effort?”

Her cheeks heated, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, that’ll… do.” But the playful smile on her lips told him she wasn’t entirely ready to let go either.

Bucky’s hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, whispering her name, low and reverent, as he trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, each warm breath sending shivers over her skin. Her fingers wove into his hair, her other hand tracing the rough line of stubble along his jaw. Slowly, she tugged him up, and their lips met again in another heated kiss.

The world around them seemed to fade entirely, the patter of rain on the window was the only sound other than their breathless murmurs. His lips were hot and demanding against hers, his hand firm on her waist as he eased them both down to the plush carpet. The scattered board game pieces were forgotten, pressing into their knees and elbows as they moved together, desperate and unrestrained.

Bucky’s vibranium fingers brushed up her side, cool and deliberate, as his other hand still cupped the back of her head to angle her closer. His lips left hers, trailing down her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin just above her collarbone as his hand slid beneath her blouse, fingertips tracing patterns along her skin.

Her hands roamed over his shoulders and his back, as she tugged him closer, her nails grazing just enough to make him hiss. His breathing was uneven “Tell me-,” He rasped, voice thick with need, “Tell me you want this.”

She reached for his face, tracing her fingers along the rough line of stubble in his jaw. “I do.”

Bucky’s lips crashed onto hers, drinking in every soft gasp she gave him. His weight pressed her down against the plush carpet as his hand slid up the curve of her thigh beneath her skirt. The soft fabric bunched under his touch, as his fingers brushed higher until the cool air met her exposed skin. She shivered, but not from the chill. The vibranium hand moved to the buttons of her blouse, steady but reverent. One by one, the delicate closures came undone, and as the fabric fell away, and his knuckles brushed against the warm skin of her chest, drawing a quiet moan from her lips. When the blouse finally opened, he pulled back just enough to look at her, his heavy-lidded eyes dark with desire as his chest heaved with ragged breaths.

“God,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of want. The hand on her thigh squeezed gently, while his other hand grazed her exposed collarbone, slipping beneath the straps of her bra.

Her breath hitched as his fingers teased along the edge of the fabric before slipping it down her shoulder. His lips followed, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that made her arch beneath him. The scrape of his stubble against her sensitive skin only heightened the sensations. His mouth moved lower, dragging over the curve of her breast until his lips hovered above the thin lace of her bra.

She gasped as he nipped lightly through the fabric, licking promptly to soothe the sting. “Bucky,” she whispered, her voice trembling, filled with need.

His gaze flicked up to hers as his hand came up to cup her other breast, his thumb brushed over her nipple through the lace, drawing a soft, breathy moan from her, and then repeated the motion, this time circling the stiffened peak with a deliberate slowness that had her squirming beneath him.

Her hips shifted instinctively, brushing against his, and that’s when she felt his erection, pressing insistently against her thigh through the loose fabric of his borrowed pants, and she arched into him, slipping her hands beneath his tank top to trace the hard planes of his chest.

“Feel what you do to me?” he rasped, his voice breaking as her fingers trailed lower, tracing the edge of his waistband.

Her answer was a breathless kiss, open and hungry, her teeth tugging lightly at his lower lip before her tongue swept into his mouth. He groaned against her, pressing his hips against hers in a slow, deliberate grind that made them both gasp with want.

The friction between them built as his hand moved from her breast, sliding down her side to grip her hip. He tugged her leg higher around his waist, pressing himself more firmly against her. Her nails scraped lightly down his back as he thrust his hips again, and the pressure of his cock against her clothed clit sent sparks of pleasure through her body.

“Please,” she whispered, a needy, whiney sound.

He stilled for a heartbeat, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, and his lips curled into a sly smirk. “I need you to use your words, doll,” he murmured, voice gravelly and thick with desire.

Her cheeks heated, and the weight of his tired gaze made her shy for just a moment. But the throbbing between her thighs burned hotter than her embarrassment. She licked her lips and she found her voice, a little bolder now. “I… want you inside me.”

His smirk vanished, replaced by something darker, hungrier. He reached behind his neck to pull off his tank top in one swift motion.

The scars on his shoulder and chest caught the dim light, jagged reminders of everything he’d endured. Her fingers stilled against his chest, breath catching as she took him in. But there wasn’t fear or pity in her gaze, only awe, tenderness, and something that made his throat tighten.

“You’re so handsome,” she murmured, leaning forward to press her lips to his collarbone. Her kisses trailed across his skin, soft and reverent, lingering on the edge of a scar.

The last of his self-consciousness melted away at her touch, and he growled softly, pushing her back down onto the carpet. His vibranium hand wrapped around her wrists, pinning them above her head with just enough pressure to make her breath hitch.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” he said, brushing his lips on her ear as his free hand slid down her body. He traced the curve of her waist, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties. Her breath hitched as his hand dipped beneath the fabric, teasing her, tracing slow circles over her clit with controlled and deliberate movements as if savoring every little sound she made.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, lips ghosting over her jaw before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “All for me, huh?”

“Bucky,” she gasped, bucking her hips against his hand.

“Patience, doll, I’m a little… rusty.” he whispered, as his fingers slid lower, parting her folds and slipping inside her. Her moan was like music to his ears, her body arching beneath him as he set a slow, maddening rhythm.

She writhed against him, and her breathless gasps and whispered pleas spurred him on. He watched her intently with a dark and focused gaze, seeking each stroke and curl inside her that made her moan, learning what made her gasp his name like a prayer.

Her hands twisted above her head where his metal hand kept them pinned, and her thighs trembled as her body moved instinctively against his. "That's it," he murmured, his lips brushing over her neck. "Let me hear you. Tell me what feels good."

A strangled cry escaped her lips as his fingers found just the right spot, and his thumb brushed over her clit in perfect tandem. Her hips bucked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he gave her. Her voice was breathless, broken as she moaned, "Right there- oh! God, right there."

His tongue traced the shell of her ear “Got you, sweetheart. Just let go for me.”

She shattered beneath him moments later, tipping her head back as the waves of her release washed over her body. Her cries filled the room, mingling with the rhythm of the rain outside. Bucky felt the tight coil of his own restraint loosen at the sight of her release. Any lingering self-doubt evaporated, replaced by the raw satisfaction of knowing he’d done that, that he’d learned her, that he’d given her this.

He slowed his movements, easing her down gently, still stroking her as she trembled beneath him. When her breathing steadied, he brought his hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers as he licked his fingers clean, savoring her taste with a low groan.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly under his gaze. “Rusty, huh?” she murmured with a shaky laugh.

With a grin, he shifted, fumbling to rid himself of his pants. But as he pushed up onto his knees, something sharp jabbed into him, and he froze.

“Son of a-“ He hissed, lifting his knee and finding a pointy plastic game piece stuck underneath it. He held it up between two fingers, glaring at the offending object like it had personally insulted him. “Seriously?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. “That’s what happens when you’re too eager and don’t clear the battlefield first.”

“A battlefield, huh?” he grumbled, tossing the offending piece aside with a flick of his wrist. Despite his frustration, the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a suppressed grin.

He stood quickly, tugging his pants down with a low, irritated huff. Her gaze lingered on his body, and her breath caught as her eyes traced every line of his body, every mark that told a story he didn’t always want to remember.

The heat in his expression faltered for just a second, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his gaze, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and his lips twitched in a self-conscious smirk. Climbing back on top of her, he didn’t hesitate as her hands slid up his arms, guiding him closer. Her lips found his pulse point, trailing lower to the curve of his collarbone. When her lips brushed over a jagged scar, he exhaled sharply, and his hand caught her chin, tilting her face toward his.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he rasped.

Her eyes gleamed with mischief as her lips curled into a teasing smile. “I thought we’d already established this was a battlefield,” she whispered.

“Well… I’m not exactly known for doing sloppy jobs while battling sweetheart” he countered, and with one swift movement, he ripped the seams of her panties and guided himself with one hand, pressing lightly the thick tip of his cock against her slick entrance. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged it up and down her folds, catching on her clit with every pass. Her hips jerked against him, and a breathless moan escaped her lips. “You’re so ready for me,” he murmured, as he pressed himself harder against her, the friction almost too much. “Think you can take all of me, doll?”

“Well, I guess we’ll never know if you don’t-”

A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips before he eased into her slowly, inch by thick inch, interrupting her sass with a gasp that turned into a long, broken moan as he filled her completely. He groaned, pressing his forehead to hers as he stilled for a moment, letting her adjust to his size.

He started slow, rolling his hips into hers with a cautious rhythm, his breath hot against her neck as he groaned softly with each thrust. Her body arched beneath him, meeting him as best she could, though the stretch of his cock left her gasping.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmured with roughed voice, as his lips brushed her temple.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, and beneath her, the scattered cards and pieces dug into her back, but the discomfort was barely registered through the haze of pleasure coursing through her body.

“Bucky…” she whimpered, scrapping, her nails lightly against his skin as she clenched around him, lifting her hips to grind them against his.

“Hold on, doll,” he rasped, sliding his hand behind her thigh, lifting her leg higher to hook it around his waist. The new angle sent a lightning bolt of pleasure through her body, and she cried out, throwing back her head as he thrust deeper, harder.

“God, look at you,” he groaned, as his dog tags swayed with each movement. The faint metallic clink added to the symphony of their labored breaths and the rain tapping against the window.

She couldn’t think as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and the sharp tug sent a low, primal growl rumbling through his chest. He shifted, sliding his arm beneath her other thigh, resting the back of her knee on his inner elbow, thrusting deeper, harder, making her cry out, arching her back as he drove her closer to the edge. “That’s it,” he rasped, his voice rough and commanding. Her nails scraped against the rug beneath her, trying desperately to find some kind of anchor as her body writhed beneath him. “You feel so damn good,” he muttered, finding her mouth with his in a searing kiss as he continued to take her apart.

Sensing he wouldn’t last much longer, Bucky shifted slightly, sneaking his metal hand between their bodies. The coolness of vibranium against her overheated skin sent a jolt through her hips, and then his fingers found her clit. He circled it with slow, deliberate strokes, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips. But he wasn’t done. Shifting slightly, he slowly pressed his index finger at her entrance, sliding it inside alongside his cock. The new stretch made her gasp again, arching her back at an impossible angle against him.

“Bucky!” she cried, her voice breaking on his name.

He froze for a fraction of a second, giving her time to adjust, before driving his finger in knuckle-deep. The motion coaxed a pleasured cry from her lips as he curled the digit, pressing into that spot deep inside that made her see stars.

His thumb resumed its work on her clit, circling in time with the thrust of his hips and the curling of his finger. Her cries grew louder, and louder, each sound spurring him on.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath hot and uneven on her skin as he continued to work her over. “Falling apart for me.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders and back, the only thing grounding her as she spiraled closer to the edge. The combination of his relentless thrusts, the pressure on her clit, and the maddening stretch inside her finally shattered her. She cried out, and her entire body trembled with pleasure as the climax ripped through her body, blinding and all-consuming.

Unable to hold on any longer, he groaned deeply as he felt her tighten around his shaft, her release dragging him quickly over his own edge. He withdrew his finger, gripping her hip as he buried himself inside her with one final thrust, spilling his hot seed on her welcoming pussy. His breath came in heavy pants against her skin, and his body kept shuddering with the force of his climax.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were their ragged breathing and the faint patter of rain against the window. He shifted slightly, resting his forehead against hers while their bodies were still entwined.

She let out a soft, contented hum, tracing lazy patterns along his shoulder. “Again, Bucky, you call this being rusty?” she murmured, curling her lips into a smile, but before she could tease him further, his expression shifted slowly, a flicker of self-doubt breaking through the earlier confidence.

He ran a hand through his hair, and a faint blush crept up his neck. “That thing I did,” he started, hesitant, “with y’know, my finger-” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Was that too much? Too… weird?”

Her lips parted in surprise, but then a small, warm smile curved them. “Weird? Bucky…” She leaned in, resting her hand on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath her palm. “It wasn’t too much. It was… creative.” She chuckled softly, her cheeks heating at the memory. “Unexpected, yeah. But in the best way.”

His brow furrowed, still caught in his head. “I just didn’t know if- it felt right at the moment, but it’s been so long since I-”

She interrupted him with a light kiss, sliding her hand to cup his jaw. “It was right,” she said firmly, locking her gaze on his. “Don’t overthink it. Just… trust me when I say you don’t have anything to worry about.” Her lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pointy things prickling at my ass.”

Bucky blinked, and then his eyes darted to the floor around them, suddenly remembering the scattered game pieces and cards beneath her. “Shit,” he muttered, immediately shifting off her. “Sorry, doll, hold on.”

He backed off her quickly, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes darted between the scattered cards and her disheveled state.

“Relax. I was a little… preoccupied with other things to notice.” She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow.

Still, he bent to pick up every piece around her, muttering about “pointy plastic landmines.” When he finished, he straightened and extended a hand to her, pulling her gently to her feet.

“I’ll make sure next time is on a battlefield… less hazardous,” he declared, quirking his lips into a small, self-conscious smile.

“Next time, huh?” she teased, brushing her fingers lightly over his chest. “Confident now, are we?”

Bucky’s grin grew, and a flicker of his earlier confidence returned to his factions. “I might be. If you’re not scared off by my… tactics.”

Her fingers continued to trail lightly along his chest, stopping just above his heart. “Not scared. Intrigued.”

Bucky bit his lip, and his eyes darkened with a renewed spark as he slipped his hand around the back of her head. With a gentle yet insistent pull, he drew her closer, capturing her lips in a sensual kiss. Outside, the rain continued with its soft and unrelenting rhythm, a distant soundtrack to the moment they shared, where nothing else mattered but the heat of their kiss.

Just in case someone is interested, this is the song that inspired the story.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Spotify

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yuujispinkhair · 9 months ago

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its time for single dad!kuna and his albino kiddo, uraume x elementary teacher!y/n

OMGGG THAT SOUNDS SO COMFORTING AND SWEET 💗😭 Okay I had to write this! I hope you like it!

Single Dad!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff. 800 words. Divider @/chilumitos

When you start your job at the new school, everyone warns you about a certain pink-haired, tattooed dad.

"Oh you have Uraume in your class? Well, good luck then."

"Why?"

"Oh, it's not the child that is the problem. It's the dad!"

Your coworkers tell you about this huge, grumpy man who always barks out orders and complains left and right the whole time because he thinks his child isn't getting treated correctly.

When you first meet Sukuna, you really are intimidated by him. He is tall and muscular, almost filling out the whole doorway and towering over you. A very attractive man, but scary with those tattoos that tell you he must lead a life in crime or at least must have been involved in something like that at some point. He sneers at you while his eyes sparkle threateningly,

"A new teacher, huh? I sure hope you will do a better job than the ones before you. I won't accept any carelessness when it comes to looking after my child!"

Sukuna's voice is harsh, and his gaze is full of anger. But you listen patiently to him and realize that this is just a man who is worried about his child. A child who doesn't really have any friends and is sick all the time and gets bullied for it.

You can understand Sukuna. Can understand the helpless anger you see in those maroon eyes. Like a tiger who is ready to kill for his cub but doesn't know how to handle the everyday tragedy of his child being an outcast in school.

You smile warmly at him and tell him in a soft voice,

"I understand that, Mr Itadori. You are worried about Uraume. I promise you that I will have a close eye on them. I won't look away when someone bullies them. Uraume is a lovely child and amazing the way they are. I will do my best to guide them on their way to becoming a confident and happy person. Thank you for coming to me with your worries."

And you see this big, bad, angry man falter and blink at you in confusion because, apparently, none of the other teachers ever reacted the way you did. But he catches himself after a moment and tells you he will watch you closely before he leaves without a farewell.

You keep your word and look after Uraume, praising the child for the exercises they excel in and sitting the whole class down to discuss with them that it's not okay to make fun of others for the way they look, etc. Teaching them that everyone is different and that this is okay. You even assign group projects, where you pair Uraume up with some kids who you know are sweet and won't be cruel to them.

Three weeks later, you walk out of the school in the afternoon when all the kids have already left, jumping when a low voice speaks up next to you. Sukuna is leaning against the wall of the building, smirking at you, maroon eyes wandering curiously over you,

"I came to thank you, Miss. Uraume told me about how much fun they are having at school now and that they even found two little friends. They told me you are the best teacher in the world."

You break out into a big smile, eyes filled with happiness,

"I am so happy to hear that! Uraume is doing so well! I am so proud of them and so happy that they enjoy coming to school now!"

And Sukuna pushes himself off the wall, taking a step closer to you. So tall and broad, but he doesn't seem all that intimidating anymore. There's a little smile tugging at his lips, and his intelligent eyes are warm when he tells you in a low, velvety voice,

"All the other teachers ignored my complaints or refused to talk to me anymore and sent me to the principal, who was just as incompetent. You are the first one who took my words into account and let actions follow. I thought this school was a hellhole, but you changed my mind."

You chuckle softly, feeling a bit flustered at the intense gaze out of those beautiful maroon eyes and the praise coming from this attractive man.

"Thank you, Mr Itadori. I am glad."

"Sukuna."

"Hm?"

"Call me Sukuna, please. It will sound nicer if you call me by my first name while we have coffee together."

And with that, his grin grows broader, and he jerks his tattooed chin toward the little café down the road, making your heart flutter excitedly as you smile back at him and nod softly,

"Yes, that sounds really nice, Sukuna."

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n

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girlfromflor · 2 months ago

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part 4 | supersoldiers!141 x f!reader

two months into your shared life and you can’t possibly imagine a routine without them. simon is a subtle presence, you know he’s there and you feel him, but half of the time you don’t have many interactions – he feels you, you feel him, you understand each other. you don’t have to talk to share things, it’s like you can mentally and emotionally hold hands with him even though he’s not physically by your side. kyle is more than present, always making sure you have everything you need to comfortably carry on with your day. he has grown to lingering touches and sweet words, you often allow him to stay over the night when shows up at your door – he never asked to sleep in your room, but to know he was in the house was soothing enough.

as for john, he was more than attentive to you. he quickly realized that, in order to make you feel at ease with new things, he had to act confidently about it. you never asked for the things you wanted, so he stopped asking if you needed things soon enough, opting to take it into his own hands and do it – whatever it was. and like it was practiced, when something felt out of place, you’d speak up. like it was normal, like you’ve never even doubted it before, simply because he wasn’t doubting either.

that opened so many doors for you – as a group, yes, but specially between the two of you. you were being quietly and decisively guided by him like he was physically holding you through every step. and it didn’t take too long for you to wordlessly work around each other, his silent domination working like a heavy, warm blanket around you. you felt safe, good and protected. it was as clear as it was indescribable – what you shared –, the proof of it coming when your first actual operation happened.

it was already chaos for you, but you managed it well because you had to. there was no hesitation on the enemies’ part. no doubt, no humanity, so that’s exactly how you worked – fast, assertive and fucking precise. there was a bubbling, unknown feeling deep inside you that was egging you on, pushing you to do more, think less.

you were already on the way to leave the village that you were assigned to defend across the border. a group of machines had gone autopilot again and were causing problems, your task was to take the people out of there and into the city. the explosion was unexpected. someone must have fired too close to the machines and then they activated self-detonation, but you didn’t have time to think about it, there was a child crying somewhere far in your back. you let go of the car’s door, turning around like a lightening – glancing at price for a split second before you started running towards the sound. no second thoughts – someone was going to do it, you just acted faster. john didn’t have to say it but it was implicit, all of them saw it as clear as day, “you can go, i’ve got your back”. you didn’t raise your gun nor did you pull out a knife. you just ran, knowing that whatever came to your way was going to be put down by john – you captain, your protector.

when you found the kid – a scared little boy, secured in the arms of an older one – he started talking faster than you could comprehend. you made out the words “fell” and “hurt” and quickly realized the older one was injured. you moved to pick the older one up, doing it effortlessly with the way he weighed nothing to you – the perks of being a supersoldier. you looked to the younger one asking “think you can run?” to which he responded with a vigorous nod. you motion for him to go, “i’m right behind you.”

john watched as you appeared from the corner of an empty house with a child in your arms, a smaller one running in their direction. johnny ran instantly when he saw you, picking the younger boy in his arms before running back to the cars as well. you reached it without trouble, stepping inside in the back seat with johnny and kyle – the kids safely seated in your lap and in johnny’s. when you got to the base’s medical center it was easy to make out a woman desperate trying to find her kids. it was extremely fulfilling to see them finding each other, knowing you were part of the reason why they could.

later that day, john was in your kitchen with you as you washed the dishes you used during dinner. the others had just left to sleep, everyone was tired, just needing some good, long night of sleep. john was leaning on the counter when he spoke, “cannot believe you sprinted to get them,” his tone soft, letting you know he wasn't reprimanding you – if anything, it was a compliment.

“didn't think about it,” your voice is a quiet, distant sound. you haven't given it much thought, but now that he’s bringing it up, it gets clearer how you had relied on them without question.

“that's what i mean,” he says, trying to make explicit how amazing it felt for him, to know that you had blindly trusted that they would’ve backed you up. how easy it was for you to trust them, trust him.

you laugh, a bit taken aback by his words. “i don’t doubt you, y’know?” you say, and is so sincere he can’t help but pull you in for a hug.

because he knew. god, he did – he felt it, the complete utter faith you had in them. because you felt how they would do anything to keep the five of you safe and together – it was simply a mutual understanding. he laughed then, matching your wave of emotions, the warmth spreading in his chest making him feel so good he didn’t care if it was coming from you or him – he knew you were feeling it too anyways. “i know, sweetheart.”

it was easy being around john, just as much as it was with kyle and ghost, and that brought a sense of ease to you all that made you feel giddy and cozy. and johnny? well, he was… trying. he still held himself back around you, even though you started giving him more openings to be himself around you. it seemed like he grew used to the habit, and it was infuriating. he tormented everyone with his relentless thinking and strong emotions, but he never acted on it.

it must be really hard for him to do it, that’s what you’re thinking at the moment. it’s been 30 minutes since he dropped by your place to “watch a movie”, but you know he’s not even close to paying attention to it. as a matter of fact, you know exactly what is going through his mind – you can feel it low in your belly and deep in your core.

“oh, for god's sake, johnny. can you stop?” you snap, exasperated tone making it clear that you mean it – even though there was a hint of a smile in your lips.

“stop what? i’m nae doing anything,” he answers, not even looking at you as he does. there’s a smirk on his lips and a teasing edge on his voice.

“you don't need to, i can hear your thoughts like they're being fucking hammered in my head,” and he laughs at your words, because even though you shared a very crazy emotional bond, there’s no way you can hear his thoughts. you don’t mind him, finishing with “it's fucking maddening.”

“nae my fault yer mental, lass,” he manages to let out, breathless and still smiling from his fit of laughter. not even a full pause after it, he says “seriously, what’re ye even talkin’ about?”

“i'm serious. cut it out, or i'll make you,” you deadpan, tone not half as stern as you wanted it to be, and with the look in his eyes it’s clear it didn't have the desired effect.

“huh, will ye, now? i'd like to see ye try, bonny,” he turns on the couch to look at you, teasing tone and teasing tone rolling off in every syllable.

“so you know what you're doing,” you turn to him too, mimicking his movements without thinking much about it.

“oops, ye caught me,” he says, and you don’t try to hold the laugh that slips your lips. you playfully punch his stomach, and he laughs too – he doesn’t miss the way you don’t move your hand, simply laying it on his chest. “cannae help it, y'know? nae around ye,” he moves closer, his voice is lower in your ears, and it’s like his accent is even stronger now.

“that’s a lie, johnny,” you whisper, making a joke to ease the mood, “you can’t control it with anyone.”

he chuckles and moves to touch your hand that is on his chest, hand closing around your wrist and giving your arm a light tug. you laugh and move to sit between his legs – back touching his chest, head resting on his shoulder. at his lack of response you add, “you don’t have to keep yourself from doing the things you want, johnny.” tilting your head back, you hold his gaze, “it’s not healthy.”

“aye,” he says as he pushes your face back to watch the tv, his chin resting on your head. “just wasn’t sure if you’d be alright with it.”

johnny didn’t shut up about it afterwards and the boys very much liked the new pace that had been settled. still, the men had to often remind johnny to do the things he wanted. he was too afraid you’d pull away, and he knew the others thought that too because he’d often reply with “ye say that, but ye dinnae act on it yerself.”

it’s how they end up in another one of these discussions. you're in the backyard of their house, picking up some flowers to decorate your place while they are gathered on the porch watching you as they speak.

“you have to act on it, otherwise she won’t either,” kyle points out, leaning on the porch’s fence.

“aye, ya know it,” john shrugs, his eyes still on you – remembering all the times he got you to do things simply by acting confidently around you –, “casual dominance or some shit.”

“i’m nae sure that’s a thing,” johnny chuckles, finding it funny that they’re trying so hard to make him believe their words.

“watch and learn, johnny,” kyle says at last, before walking to you. he calls your name and you look up, a smile already making its way to your lips as you settle the basket filled with flowers on the floor.

the others stay unmoving, watching to see how the scene will unfold. johnny says from where they stand, “that’s nae fair, she’s whipped.”

“i’m sure she’d react the same way if it was any of us,” john is quick to jump into your defense, watching as simon bends down a bit to lock eyes with johnny and nod – he thought the same.

they fall into silence to pay attention to you and kyle. he has his hands on your waist now, pulling you closer to him. he’s talking about something silly, you’re not really paying attention because your eyes keep flickering to his lips. a nervous laugh slips to your lips when kyle calls you out on it, arms further closing around you – hugging your middle. your hands find his biceps and then slide up slowly to find their place on his shoulders.

“what is going through that pretty head of yours, love?” kyle asks you, and he clocks your flustered state immediately. “don’t even think about lying, i already know.”

you pout then, it was unfair. you weren’t used to it like they were, so you tease him a bit, “if you know, then why’d i have to say anything?”

he smirks, a chuckle escaping his lips because it was like you were reminding him of the very reason why he was there in the first place. “you’re right, baby,” is all he says before he slowly moves down to touch his lips on yours.

it was breathtaking, the shared feeling of your joy and satisfaction. his lips are soft on yours and you have to fight the urge to rush things. one of your hands is on his shoulder while the other is settled on his cheek. his hands squeeze your waist slightly, grounding himself in the moment. you kiss slowly, tongues brushing in one another passionately, in a way that rips the air out of your lungs. you giggle when he pulls away, pulling him into a hug and hiding your face in his neck. he laughs, squeezing you in his arms, cooing “don’t get shy now.”

you leave a peck on his neck as an answer, and pull away from the hug. the others watched amazed at how easy it was for kyle to get a kiss – a bit aroused by how bad you were holding yourself back. and johnny is about to wail his complaints out when they are caught by your gaze. johnny’s words die in his tongue because – as if sensing the disturbance in the harmony you’ve set between you – you grab the basket with one hand, the other interlacing with kyle’s, and start walking towards the porch. once you’ve made your way up the small set of stairs, ghost is wordlessly taking the basket from you and stepping inside the house. john gives kyle and johnny a look that says “behave” before petting your head and stepping inside as well.

you turn to johnny, all doe eyes and flustered wishes, “say it, johnny.”

he blinks, then looks at kyle – who just shrugs with a smirk. he pats the back of his head before stepping closer to you, “uh… lass,” he starts, a bit nervous but most importantly: fucking excited that this is happening. he has to talk slowly in order to not trip over his words, simply because he wants to make it happen so bad. “can i kiss ye, bonny?”

and fuck, yes he can. he knows it, hell— price and simon know it. they can feel it deep in their chest, in addition to the overbearing need to palm their semi – they wonder how wet you are with the exchange. “yes, please,” you whisper, and just like that johnny is on you.

the kiss is a bit faster than the one you shared with kyle, but fuck if it wasn’t just as good. johnny had both his hands on your face, cupping your cheek. your hands fell in his waist, stroking softly through the fabric of his shirt. you don’t even realize when he pulls away, opening your eyes only to see his almost fucked out expression – steamin’ jesus, he’ll never neglect himself again. kyle has half a mind to pull the both of you into something more, already knowing that simon and john are trying to balance it out – otherwise, you and johnny would pull you all into a spiral that no one would want to leave.

turns out all you needed was a greenlight. they’re sure that now you are going to be just like johnny – maybe a bit worse, it’ll depend on the time of the month.

series masterlist a/n: please let me know what you think, and what you want to see in the next part!💘 | taglist: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @little-mini-me-world @bath1lda @imthatone-annoyingfriend @night-shadowblood-writes2 @z-wantstowrite @kentuckyhobbit @supernova2205 @thatghostlykid @reggiesslut @reap3erslov3

#cod x reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #poly!141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #captain john price #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #task force x reader #cod #call of duty #bel's works

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sfznyxio · 3 months ago

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-ˋˏ GOTTA CATCH 'EM ALL! ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. do you have what it takes to be a pokemon master? step right up; start your adventure to become the greatest pokemon master of all time!

CHARACTERS. albedo, arataki itto, childe, diluc, gorou, hu tao, kaedehara kazuha, kaeya, kamisato ayaka, kujou sara, raiden shogun, sangonomiya kokomi, scaramouche, thoma, traveler (aether & lumine), venti, yae miko, yoimiya, zhongli

CONTENT. gn!reader. pokemon au. comedy, fluff. 2.1k wc. rewrite of gotta catch ‘em all! at my old main blog @/verxsyon. original was written before wanderer’s release, hence why he’s referred to as scaramouche. mentions of accidental arson by a pokemon (yoimiya).

VERA. oh, lookie. another pokemon au with another fandom. best memory with this song is when i went to amber liu’s concert in 2020 and it was at the end of her set list. my friend and i are huge pokemon fans, and we screamed out the entire song to the point we lost our voices the next day. fun times ten out of ten.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ALBEDO

an artist whose paintings are framed in numerous museums around the nation. albedo has trouble finding a subject for his next piece to place in the cathedral. while searching for mondstadt’s gym leader, his smeargle asks you on his behalf to help him out. you’re the nearest person around the area, and the pokemon exposes his hesitancy to ask you because he’s stunned by your appearance. you’re confused, but with your permission, you become his inspiration. as thanks, he acts as your tour guide.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ARATAKI ITTO

more or less your rival. he’s always the first trainer to challenge you to a battle as soon as you earn a gym badge, and he does it very annoyingly - one might add. itto thinks he’s all that, bragging that he’ll crush the elite four and the champion in one go with his best buddy, tauros. while he’s at it, he bets he can crush you too. but his arrogance gets the best of him when you won. the next time the two of you battle again, he swears that he won’t go easy on you.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. DILUC

a guide and bartender from the flying-type gym. diluc is assigned by the leader to serve drinks to challengers - as well as the gym leader himself. his talonflame is his best friend, but unfortunately he can’t help due to being used for the gym challenge. he’d rather battle someone instead of being behind the counter all day, so you suggest being his opponent. he doesn’t expect you to be so mischievous, similar to the leader, devising a plan to kidnap his partner. to your surprise, he agrees with it.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. GOROU

a trainer who frequently hikes the mountains to train with his lycanroc (dusk form). you meet the duo when your partner smells curry from his campsite. gorou is very kind to let you stay for the night, seeing that it’s getting dark and no town in sight. before departing in the morning, he warns you about the dangers you’ll face en route and says you and your partner are welcome to hang out with him anytime. when you earn the electric-type badge, you’ll celebrate with a feast full of curry.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. HU TAO

a trainer raised by mediums and fascinated with urban legends. hu tao is investigating the truth of those legends with her chandelure. seeing that you got lost in the totally not haunted forest that leads to the next gym, she proposes to join her investigation on the rumors of ghosts in the area. in return, she will give you tips on how to beat the gym leader. she habitually pranks people for fun, so you have a hard time believing that whatever she says is the truth.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

a transfer student and your classmate at the pokemon academy. you feel sorry for kaedehara kazuha because he has to deal with you copying his notes every single day. that’s what you get for sleeping a lot in class. for someone who sits at the back of the class, his sawsbuck (autumn) is an attention seeker, annoying the poor guy with its antlers until he sends it back into its poké ball. apparently it doesn’t like you because his partner spends more time watching you sleep with hearts in his eyes.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAEYA

a famous pokemon coordinator. everyone expects kaeya to participate in the biggest pokemon contest of the year, with a purpose to celebrate his victory against the city’s gym leader. he thrives off excitement, so upon hearing that you, the future champion, is among the crowd, he wants to make sure the whole world knows you’re the real deal. at the peak of the competition, he sends his weavile to invite you onstage and challenges you in a battle as an excuse to flirt with you in front of millions.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAMISATO AYAKA

co-heir of the kamisato hotel chain. her older brother rarely stays at the penthouse due to business trips, so kamisato ayaka manages logistics in his stead. she’s rarely outside, but when she does, she’s with her glaceon at the boutiques shopping for new clothes. you happen to be at the same boutique as her, having a hunch that she’s a prominent figure in society. the two of you accidentally switch bags when passing by each other, but luckily it’s a minor issue. once it’s resolved, she quickly leaves.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KUJOU SARA

the daughter of a flying taxi pilot who was captured by the fatui with his pokemon. kujou sara is in the business with her corviknight. she wants to thank you for rescuing her family by giving you free access to the taxi anytime, anywhere. however, you feel embarrassed for contacting her on a daily basis because you never learned how to ride a bike. but the thing is, she already knows your secret, picking up on it very early. you did her a huge favor, so she doesn’t mind teaching you.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. RAIDEN SHOGUN

the electric-type gym leader and mayor of the “city of eternity”. married to her work, the raiden shogun is out of touch with the modern world. her gym staff, especially her morpeko, are concerned that she never has time for herself, so they ask you to keep her away from her office for the day. she’s confused, but agrees to go on a date with you. dango and light novels surprise you about her character - the sweetest person you’ll ever meet on the inside.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. SANGONOMIYA KOKOMI

a trainer who you first encounter at victory road. sangonomiya kokomi is sightseeing there and appears more than happy to accompany you until her destination. with her and her sylveon, double battles aren’t difficult to breeze through. at the exit of the cave, she asks for a battle to test out your strength. one hell of a strategist, however you’re quick to target her weak spots and win. she says that next time, she won't go easy on you at the league. that’s what a member of the elite four would say.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. SCARAMOUCHE

a random trainer who you accidentally hit when catching pokemon. the boy named scaramouche roasts your terrible aim and exaggerates that he could’ve gotten a brain injury. you’re a relatively new trainer, so he does pity you and demonstrates how to throw properly. he then offers you to spar with his gengar because the pokemon ahead are super strong and your team should be fully prepared by then, but he won’t admit that to save himself the hassle for the future.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. TARTAGLIA

a commander of an evil organization, tasked to handle overseas matters with his wailord. the men in his division steal pokemon from trainers to discourage them from continuing on with their journey. his lax nature is what makes him struggle to get everything under control. luckily, you’re there to save the day. impressed by your heroism, tartaglia wants to hire you as his assistant, but of course, you outright refuse. he says the offer still stands, but you turn him down every single time.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. THOMA

the director of housekeeping in the kamisato hotel chain and bodyguard of the kamisato family with his arcanine. you heard that the hotels offer trainers to work as attendants for handsome pay, so you desperately go there to make your wallet thick again. you’re assigned to room service, being taught the basics of vacuuming floors and fixing beds. sometimes thoma goes off tangent, talking about his boss and his habit of feeding him odd dishes, which is quite concerning.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. TRAVELER

the professor’s assistant who assists you in completing the pokèdex. the first meeting with the traveler starts off with you showing how you use your pokemon partner for battle, who then realizes that it’s from the lab and accuses you for robbery and trespassing. the argument gets heated to the point where the professor had to step in and let you explain. after consulting with the professor, they become your travel buddy along with their minun (aether) or plusle (lumine) to help you on your journey.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. VENTI

a flying-type gym leader stationed in mondstadt and classical musician. as a hobby, venti plays windtrace with the citizens, which influenced the layout of his challenge. to battle against him, you have to avoid getting caught by his altaria. barely anyone passes because he's known to fool people constantly, so they never know what tricks he has up his sleeve. when you manage to win both the game and the battle, he shows up at your hotel that night, serenading you for good luck.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. XIAO

a trainer who works for the rock-type gym leader. loyal to a fault, xiao is determined to not let anyone get past him. staying true to his word, his tyranitar is very difficult to defeat, but you won’t let that stop you from getting the badge. his partner knocks out your team in one hit, sending you out for a rematch. on the way back to the gym, he got ambushed by “treasure hoarders”, a group who steals badges for a living, and you beat them up. from that moment, you earn his respect.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. YAE MIKO

the owner of the city’s publishing house and a friend of the electric-type gym leader. her guilty pleasure is teasing young trainers that she knows their deepest, darkest secrets. they become terrified, never to be seen in the city again. you agree that yae miko is terrifying because of how both she and her delphox carry themselves. it seems that you’re an exception, having the guts to charm her with your crappy flirting skills in hopes of her not scaring you out of her domain.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. YOIMIYA

the current owner of the naganohara daycare center which she inherited from her grandparents. yoimiya is very popular with children and young pokemon, entertaining them with fireworks. due to the lack of staff, you sign up to be a volunteer. one day, she and her grandparents find an egg in the playpen, and she asks for your help to hatch it together. don’t let it come near her flareon. it almost cooked the egg alive with its flames as well as almost burned the center down.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ZHONGLI

a rock-type gym leader stationed in liyue and a historian. zhongli enjoys drinking tea and myths of legendary pokemon. challenging gyms can be fun, but hunger and hydration sure aren’t. entering his gym, he notices how deprived you are from food and water, so he orders his garchomp and staff to arrange you a meal. the food must’ve cost a fortune, though his knowledge of every bit of history you can name shocks you more. he rambles so much that he forgets about your gym challenge that day.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

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Sum of All 17

arnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Steve lowers you to your back as your head lolls. Concsiousness is fuzzy in the shadowy room. You see only his silhouette as he drags you around the floor with ease. Before you can react, before the thought of stopping him can even flicker, he bends over you.

The sweetness on his breath makes your core twinge. You gasp and touch his chest, offering a weak defense against him. You blink as you try to see him clearer.

“Sweetheart,” he growls as he holds himself up on his elbow. “You didn’t think I was gonna let that go, did ya?”

You whimper as he tickles your neck with his other hand. You hold your breath as he feels along your chest and the thin fabric of the dress. Your skirt is rumbled around your thighs, your lower half tingling and twitching as he settles between your knees.

“You’re gonna wanna stay awake for this,” he snarls and squeezes your tit. You yelp and swat his hand. He growls. “Oh, baby, you wanna do that?”

You drop your hand back and go rigid. You stare at him through the haziness. “Steve...”

“Mmm, keep saying it.” He bends and nuzzles your neck. You exclaim as his beard tickles your skin. You squirm helplessly as his nips at you, adding to the ripple beneath your skin.

His hand continues downward, trailing over your stomach, his touch sending a child up your spine. You twitch as he clutches the bunched skirt and rumbles. He presses his lips to your neck as you slap the floor.

He smothers you as he lets go of the satiny fabric and his hand dips beneath your thighs. You flinch again as his fingers graze along your fold. You whisper his name in one last pathetic plea. He kisses along your jaw.

“Sweetheart, you still awake?” He lifts his head, his lips brushing yours.

“Steve,” you sigh again.

He crushes into your mouth as he pokes around your cunt. Your toes curl as he flicks between your lips and circles around your entrance. He centers his fingertips and exhales into you. His tongue invades your mouth as he wiggles past the resistance lower down.

His pushes into your cunt and you open your mouth wide at the tension. You clasp onto his bicep as his lips smear down your cheek. He snarls and slides his finger into his knuckle. He curls them and pressure clouds inside you.

He leans his pelvis on the back of his hand, adding to the heaviness. He nibbles and pecks along your neck and she rocks his hand in time with his hips. You quiver and squeeze his arm as his motion jerks you against the floor.

“Mm, that’s it sweetheart. This is exactly what you need,” he rasps. “Good girl, that’s it, you stay with me now.”

You moan as your head drifts to one side. He pinches you with his teeth.

“What’d I say?” He warns.

You babble as he buries his fingers even deeper and presses the heel of his hand against your clit. Your back arches and he drops his hips harder than before. He mimics the act of fucking you as he thrusts in time with hand.

“This what you want?” He growls. “Huh? This what you like?”

You whimper and reach an arm out. You heave as your chest thumps and your pulse races. His motion picks up, soft grunts tickling up your behind your ear.

“That’s it, baby, I feel it...”

You squeak and slip your hand up to his shoulder. You tilt your hips beneath him and your legs quiver. You spasm as another orgasm rolls over you, choking a high whine from your throat.

He chuckles as he guides you through the after waves, still rocking gently as you whimper and twitch. You puff out shallow breaths and push on his shoulder. “Please, please...” your eyes threaten to sink back into your skull. “I... Too... too much.”

He wiggles his hand, the rough skin of his palm chafing on your clit. You squeak again.

“You know I’m not done,” he grits through his teeth.

He drags his hand slowly from your cunt. He wipes his wet fingers down your thigh and you wince at the tenderness there. He lifts himself on his elbow again as you feel him fumbling lower down. The soft cut of his whisper chases away the fogginess.

He grunts as he shifts over you, switching elbows as he holds himself up. You push against his chest as he guides his tip along your overworked bud. You bat your lashes in panic as you feel how thick he is. He rubs against your wetness, spreading it as he pumps himself.

“Steve,” you breathe again.

“Be a good girl,” he pushes down to your entrance. “I know you can do it.”

His tip stretches you as you squeal. You dig your nails into his shirt and flail your legs around him. You’re still oversensitive from his fingers. You clench around him as he tries to dip further in.

“Relax,” he kisses your cheek. “Baby, be good for me.”

He tilts his hips, easing in just a little more. Your walls scream at just that and you turn your head away. You hiss through your teeth. He rocks, working just his tip in and out of you.

“I know you can take it,” he pets your hair with his fingertips as he grips your hip with his other hand. He holds you down and sinks deeper on his next thrust. “Look at that, you can do it.”

You gnash your teeth and groan. You latch onto his lapel as he pumps into you. You push your legs wide only for the strain to knot in your lower back. You don’t think he’s right. You don’t know how much more you can take.

He buries himself completely and stops there. You writhe around him as pathetic noises escape you. Your insides vibrate at the fullness of his intrusion. You touch the bare skin of his neck and he moves to nuzzle his beard into your palm.

“That’s it,” he slides back and exhales. “You’re my good girl.”

He pushes back in and you moan, your fingers weaving through the thicket on his jaw. He leans into your hand as he falls into a slow tilt. Each time you think you’re too full, he rocks back and leaves you painfully empty. You don’t which is worse but you don’t want him to stop.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #mob au #sum of all #marvel #mcu #captain america #avengers

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yuvany · 9 months ago

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LET'S FALL INLOVE

𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 and the moment that they realised they fell inlove with you.

HYUNG LINE x f ! reader CONTENT / WARNING(S) fluff / none ! WORD COUNT : 521 ⎯ CHECK BOX !!

reblog and like if you enjoyed ┊ MAKNAE LINE HERE !

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

Heeseung had always been protective over the people he cared for. You had become no exception, but as his friend, or so he thought. When it was crowded, Heeseung's hand would find the small of your back to guide you through the crowd. Once when you almost fell from slipping on water that someone had spilled on the floor, Heeseung was behind you to catch you. Each time, you would give him a smile and say 'thank you' so warmly that made his heart swell. He never realised it until one time when he offered to share an umbrella with him due to the rain that he maybe found you pretty and adorable.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

You and him had been friends for a while, but never had the two of you been out together alone. There was always a mutual friend tagging along, but not this time. You had reached out and asked if Jay wanted to hang out in the park. At first, he hesitated, but upon realising that he's free, he agreed. He goes out of his house and makes his way over to the assigned park. There you were, sitting on a bench, Jay starts walking a bit hurriedly to skip the awkward air when you see him, but he sees that you're speaking to a small child who's been crying. You were holding them in your arms, drying their tears and comforting them that it'll be alright. "That was really kind of you." He pops up behind you after it was resolved.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

It's the small and simple things that caused him to feel his heart double in speed. Him managing to make you laugh seemed stupid, but it sure was effective. Whilst walking together to a party, Jake accompanies you and tells jokes to lighten up the already bright mood. At first it all started off as giggles and laughs between friends, but the more jokes he told, the more he started to feel the butterflies grown inside of him. Jake was naive enough to believe that things like this only occured in movies, but whenever he sees you smile so brightly, he can't help but smile with you. "Jakey, care to say something funny?" You say, your tone is soft but friendly with a tint of laughter. Jake couln't help but looking forward to every time you'd make this request.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

It was the late night conversations that gave him the confirmation that maybe what he felt for you was more than just friends. He had avoided that thought for a while, not wanting to distrub whatever had been established amongst you two. As you two enjoy the foggy evening while the sun falls beneath the horizon, there was no tension what so ever, the conversations ranged from speaking about everything to nothing and everything inbetween with a constant flow. Sunghoon admired the way you spoke so calmy, and the way you listened to his stories as well as how calm you looked. He felt his legs wanting to swing and kick the air the more time he spent with you.

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ijustwanttobegolden · 11 days ago

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𝔹𝕖𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝔻𝕦𝕥𝕪

Bodyguard chan!

Christopher Chan is your most recent assigned bodyguard up to date (not only because he is the best of the best but because the others found it hard to handle your spoiled ass, unable to keep up with your impulsiveness and crazy adventures which put the job to the extreme) chan however, sticks around. Professional and fully capable of handling the intensity of you - In control when it came to protecting you but not in control of falling for you. Chan is in LOVE. When you start going on forcing yourself on fake dates with the newest heart throb on social media - for image and press purposes - you discover chan is more overly protective then he should be but without a doubt there is something that lingers between you both that can't be ignored.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Warnings: mild language. mentions of threat. Feelings of jealousy. Mature content applied.

(I can't get the keep reading link to work, don't hate me, it is a long fic, so sorry guys!!!)

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You drove him crazy from the moment he started the job, a job he lived and breathed (the long hours made that quote quite literal) but he was highly skilled and top of his game in this expertise. It was a job that he was overly experienced in and was classed as the best in the industry so how could he not live and breathe it when he was king and making big bucks. He was trusted to work with some of the most high up people around the globe and so this job was without a doubt moulded for him, your managers insisted. Not only did you need a bodyguard but someone to fully take charge and discipline you, the others were WEAK. That's how you drove him crazy. Not only were you an impulsive rising star, always pushing boundaries, breaking rules and protocols (sometimes your way of throwing mini tantrums in protest - the whole - I just want more freedom thing) but you were constantly teasing and testing on purpose. just for fun. It was fun stressing 'channie' out. Teasing him was so difficult but also so easy at the same time, although he was a tough one to crack, so dedicating, so professional, so strict. The man had so much patience that it was almost you that was going crazy but through all that stubbornness of his, you drove him absolutely INSANE. It just wasn't fair in the slightest, you made his job difficult. You were gorgeous.. daring.. and you were so testing that it almost became a turn on for him. Chan failed so many times to not let his mind wander to inappropriate thoughts. The thing is with chan, he wasn't stupid. He knew you were trying to push his buttons on purpose and as much as it was annoying, it was also low key amusing and again very very sexy.

As much as you swore to hate every single bodyguard you had, like a step parent and child that never got on. There was something about chan that you warmed up to. The way he would smell and dress for a start. Always smartly dressed in all the top designer suits.. as it states in his exceptional and lengthy reseme and I'm sure that's not the only thing that's lengthy with how impressive he is.. it states that he used to be a model for Fendi. You even admired how he looked in his baggy hoodies for more casual events. Thick luxurious material, always Designer and of course a splash of his lingering godly Versace spray. You know the details of his hoodie right down to the very last stitch from the time he draped that heavenly thing over your shivering frame as you made your exit from the club and into the cold night. The warmth and the smell was heaven sent but not nearly as good as the strong sclupted arms that wrapped around you protectively, guiding you and shielding you and keeping you safe. The pap photos were fire. Not only did you look good in Chan's oversized hoodie but you looked really good with chan himself. Chan had to keep himself from thinking it too when he saw the photos online, his cheeks slightly heated as he read through comments from your fans shipping you together.

'does anyone else think y/n and her bodyguard look so cute together?'

'omg I am sooooo writing a fanfic on this'

'omg I used to ship y/n with... but now I lowkey ship her with her bodyguard'

'Does anyone know the name of y/ns body guard? He's so fit'

'look how close they are! He gave her his hoodie!!! that's not what bodyguards do!'

'hmmm, thats what boyfriends do'

'secretly dating definitely'

'they are so hot'

'definitely fucking'

'they should just get married already... but wait! maybe they are...'

'new power couple of 2025'

Oh the hoodie Definitely did something . Then there were other times when the man would just simply do his job properly, unlike the others. He was firm. Quick with his eyes. Constantly scanning for any threats or danger while guiding you effortlessly through the crowds. Not once were you ever pushed or pulled or touched by anyone. With chan, you were invincible. Was it the way his hand would linger a little bit longer on your lower back or how sometimes his arms would naturally snake around your waist while guiding you through crowds and events. There were many times he would make you melt by taking you by surprise, making stops on the way back to the hotel, be it for ice cream or coffee when you could really do with it most. Strangely it's like he knows, like he could read you all over and that's the only ever time he would bend the rules slightly because unplanned stops in local areas was breaking protocol. But as much as you were developing a soft spot for your bodyguard chan, he was also developing a soft spot for you too.

You made each other feel seen. Gave each other a bit more freedom in your tight-knit situation of fame and money. work hard play ha... Work even harder. You added some playfulness and banter to your more serious everyday working world and it was good to find a little bit of something again... Whatever it was... But real life would keep taking over. Just when you thought you snapped him.

'take off my heels'

'sneak me out to the beach'

'if you're gonna stand outside my bathroom all night you might as well get in here and join me in the bath chan'

He clicks back into super strict professional mode and reality kicks in. Nothing but a lonely star having to be watched like a child at all times because she's constantly 'in danger' though there were so many close situations with paps, stalkers and muggers. Constantly followed by a bodyguard is a bit dramatic but after nearly getting kidnapped not once but twice, threatened and harassed maybe it is not that dramatic after all. So many... Creeps. Chan is extremely strict on those guys and that's why you hadn't felt any more safer. Although annoying like a lingering fly sometimes, he was only doing his job. That man is your guardian angel - In a really scrumptious hoodie.

Your thoughts had got the best of you one evening. It was another bubble bath pamper sesh and you had just convinced chan with your cutest pout and fluttering lashes to run the bath for you and the spoiled princess that you are, he even put the oils in that you liked without even any instruction.

"Bath is ready for you, princess"

A new teasing nickname. It stuck. Now that's all he calls you.

"okay, I'm only ever gonna ask you this one last time.. care to join me?" Your eyes narrowed in on him. The tone. Was you teasing? Mocking? Frustrated, bored? Chan only guessed you were just plainly asking. Not really expecting any specific answer but you slightly hoped he would end the misery of him towering around the door and suddenly drop his pants and get naked just for the laughs. Maybe then you would perk up from this recurring nightmare of a routine.

But nothing. Strict. boring.

A heavily depressed sigh escaped your lips as you padded slowly past the dark tower of a man to enter the marbled bathroom. You needed some excitement in your life, some fun, a flirt! Maybe a... Date?

It pains you to think about it actually. Dating is not fun when you are famous, you actually hate it but if chan wasn't willing to break the rules and spontaneously skinny dip into the bath tub with you then a little date here and there to take your mind off these boring nights wouldn't hurt.

"channie! Get you get me my phone? Oh and bring some wine!"

Your voice echoing in the bathroom made the demand more intimidating. You hated how you sounded sometimes but being a demanding spoiled princess was a facade you couldn't let down now. Chan saw past it though and it never phased him in the slightest and if anything.. He grew rather fond of the whole spoilt princess thing and he was happily at your service.

"What do you say princess?" his deep voice muffled back through the door.

Rolling your eyes pretending to be annoyed wasn't working with your hand over your mouth trying to stifle down a giggle.

You refused to say it, until chan bursted in. No warning this time as he usually would but he respectfully kept his deep brown eyes on yours, never looking down, not a peep. Professional. Yawn.

The bubbles covered you anyway and you held your delicate hand out for the items he wasted no time in fetching. He stood still, eyebrows raised. Waiting for you to say It. You shook your head with a teasing smile.

"don't be stubborn, where are your manners" he warned. He looked so fine when he told you off.

"please"

He shook his head. You were honestly going to be the death of him.

Before he could break eye contact, wanting to admire how beautiful and spoilt you looked in your big luxurious bathtub. Your eyes glistening like the sparkling white wine in your hand, your glossed lips taking careful cherished sips and your body glowing from your shimmering bath oil and how your hair trailed down effortlessly, tips wet at the ends as they moulded into the water like you were a real life mermaid, so stunning, he quickly stepped out to change back into his solid form, standing on guard just outside the bathroom door, his heart pounding.

You rolled your pretty eyes once again as he left, returning your attention back onto the mission - sip and scroll in the suds.

For months now your publicist has been keeping on about setting you up on a date. It's important for image apparently, to boost followings and popularity and all that bullcrap. Stubborn as you were though, you refused. Until now unfortunately. But if you were going to date, the least you could do was actually pick the person, that's something you guess. Your scrolling on Instagram and tik Tok got distracted by funny animal videos and K-pop dance routines until eventually a few videos caught your interest, trending. 'Ohhh he's handsome' you beamed with bright eyes. You face lighting up with the screen. This guy was trending from his recent starring role in this new popular action movie and he was EVERYWHERE. Perfect! Your publicist would approve. Without no hesitation you tap tap tapped straight onto her contact. Uncertainty washed over for you a moment but before you knew it, you were already calling her.

...

As handsome as the trending star was... asshole. Absolute asshole.

You sat quietly judging. You were currently at a meeting in some sort of private coffee bar. Both your publicist chatting and discussing agreements as you and him both sat opposite each other, beside them. Basically before you start going on any dates and officially go public, a contract and agreement must be made with both parties, fun right?

It's like a play date, both you and him are the shy awkward children and your publicists are the yapping mothers. Yapping about all the drama and future weddings but of course in the famous world. You started to feel uneasy. You searched for the comfort of his dark chocolate eyes, even knowing they weren't there and letting your heart ache in disappointment. It was very rare he had time off but out of all the shifts, why did he have to be off for this one. The others who covered him just weren't the same. You focused on 'boring bill' his eyes half shut looking like he was about to fall asleep on the spot, still alert nonetheless but no appearance of enthusiasm or strength or comfort whatsoever. Chan however somehow became your anchor. He made you feel grounded, safe and constantly reassured. He was primal, picking up changes in your body language instantly and noticing shifts in your patterns and emotions like he knew you from the inside out, which is why he was good in situations like this. All you needed was to give him that one look, he knows exactly which one. that one look for him to get you out of any situation. His dark chocolate brown eyes would never leave yours unlike half shut boring bills. Chan's attention of course flickers back and forth but only to continuously scan the perimeter and the people in it for any potential threats and dangers and then his prime focus would be solely on you. In anxiety riddled situations, it's his eyes you would look for, they brought you that reassurance and comfort and if you needed to stare, he would let you bore your eyes into his own, comfort is what he would give you. That's exactly what you needed right now, you winced at the sight of him not being there and you focused back on the handsome asshole in front of you who apparently goes by the name of SAN. You got bored when you dabbled into a bit of conversation at the beginning of the meeting (good start) but you remember him mentioning that he dabbled in some singing in a K-pop group before venturing off to acting in TV shows and films. Either way he was becoming super famous and he's hot and the dates will be fun so who cares right? Though again the pouting princess was slowly questioning her choices.

...

A little black mini dress, a go-to staple when you have an intimate date at a jazz club right? You had never questioned yourself like this before, you thought getting dressed up for a date would be fun, a bit stressful but fun, like they made it look in the movies. Except it wasn't fun like the movies, you didn't have any of your 'girlfriends' around you to help pick out clothes and have girly talks to hype you up about the date itself. It was boring, a thing you were trying to avoid these past few nights. You sighed heavily, the most stressful sigh to ever escape your lips, and there's been a lot! Must have been loud when there was a quiet knock on the door.

"y/n, princess?"

Chan.

If your heart could smile, it was smiling right now. You had missed him so much the last three days since the meeting. Annoying as he was sometimes, something lately made you grateful to have him around.

"I'm okay! just trying to pick my outfit."

"and I'm sad..." You accidentally mumbled.

Eyes wide and hands covering your traitor of a mouth, your heart begins thundering in your chest when he responds "Can I help?"

You looked around at the bomb of clothes that had exploded in your walk-in closet, grabbing an oversized shirt quickly to cover up. A hesitant reply. "Ummm maybe, come in"

A strong smell of something familiar.. Versace? Why was it so strong when chan hadn't even entered the room yet. You hugged over your body at the shirt, your movements becoming more vigorous as you recognized the fabric and looked down discovering you had thrown on Chan's white dress shirt from an event a few months back. A tragic funny story where you were currently about to go out onto the red carpet to be interviewed when someone 'accidently' ran into you with a glass of red wine, spilling it and staining it all down your beautiful white evening dress. Mortified there was no way you were going to step foot in front of cameras to be interviewed. Your publicist being the witch that she is kept insisting saying the 'show must go on' and 'it would be funny' 'a funny story to tell' 'you would be trending! Making headlines!' ooohhh no. No. You would be humiliated. Turned Into a meme. It would embarrass you and haunt you for the rest of your career but you had no choice.. camera crews were ushering you, interviewers howling for you, fans in desperate need of your content. Your publicist practically held you by a lead. All you gave him was that one look, though this time with glistening tears, tears that made his heart ache and so chan thought of a quick immediate plan. All it took was that look. Next thing you know you were being quickly guided behind some paneling for the backdrop.

"What are you doing?' you gasped. Tears still glistening and threatening to spill.

"Don't let those tears fall and ruin your pretty make up, keep your head up. I've got you" he spoke firmly.

As he was speaking, he rushed to rip his smart button up blazer away from his body, revealing his pristine white shirt.

"oversized shirts paired with heels are still in fashion right?" He questioned quickly with a breathy chuckle. Not like you had a choice.

"umm yeah, I could make it work..." You hesitated, looking him up and down questionably. Was he about to strip?.

"princess, you could pull off anything"

And that was the first ever time he called you princess. The air became hot while your heart heaved in your chest but it was the compliment that took you back the most.

"take off your dress"

The heat of the moment, the commands. Really got your heart racing. You saw him in a different light that day.. it was new, exciting, you were impressed with how dedicated he was to his job, to you. But it was a just his job, right?

You nervously tugged at the zipper of your dress, it was harder to concentrate on yourself when your bodyguard was trailing his hands down his chest, undoing one shirt button at a time. You knew he had a good build, his chiseled biceps and defined abs always poked through his tight fitted clothing but to see him undressing, showing his flesh. That was something you let your curiosity get the best of. Your eyes wandered shamelessly while you aimlessly reached for your zipper, losing grip of it now and again from how nervous you were. This whole situation was just too overwhelming.

Finally he was free of his shirt and oh what a sight. His firm chest was with eyesight from how much taller he was then you, his six pack flexing with every movement. His skin so perfectly soft and buff looking. That mixed with his dark hair, dark eyes and plump red lips. He was beautiful.

"concentrate princess, here let me help"

As if you weren't already flustered enough, chan's large hands grip around your waist to pull you closer, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath cascading over the skin of your neck. You keep your eyes locked on his now and his hands smooth up the small of your back to latch onto the pesky zipper you were desperately fighting with a few seconds ago.

Effortlessly.

Zip.

Your breathing became quick and desperate as the rush of letting the dress fall and changing into chans shirt had started but he was already there, shirt held out for you to slip your arms into and he respectfully assisted you with doing the buttons up quickly getting you covered before covering himself back up with his blazer.

You flashed him a grateful smile before reaching for your dress quickly to rip away a sparkly chain that was attached to your white dress to now wrap it around your waist to give the shirt some style and shape, matching it with your sparkly heels and jewelry as if it was meant to be your outfit this whole time. It's like you just left the LV store.

'wow.. told you could pull off anything" Chan spoke impressed as he scanned the final look. 'hand on my heart, you look amazing"

"couldn't have done it without you!" You sighed in relief.

"thank you channie"

And with that you jumped up quickly to hug him. Was it allowed to hug your bodyguards? You weren't really sure but it was quick, in the moment and it felt good.

Like you moments ago. Chan was also taken back. And not just by the new nickname you suddenly gave him which made his heart melt but by the little trusting hug you gave him. Little did you know it meant the world to him. It was quick but nice, warm and comforting with your sweet smelling perfume that he had grown to love, lingering a bit longer than usual. It was heaven.

That little moment behind the backdrop that evening was nothing but it was something.

We now conclude the story of how you ended up with chans shirt. Which you... kept? So how are you going to explain this to him when he walks in and sees you wearing it?

You panic and jump up to mindlessly start flicking through clothes as you hear him enter the room. You dare to look at him but you don't have to know he's already questioning not only the pile of clothes surrounding you on the floor but the item of clothing you are currently wearing. He recognizes it instantly. You can't see the knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips but it's there and he warms up to the memory that evening. He breaks the silence, taking you out of your awkward misery, he can feel your tension but he converts it instantly. Hes so good at that.

"can still pull it off, I forgot how good you look in my shirt"

You melt into comfort and spin around to finally meet his gaze. A wave of relief washing over you.

"you don't think it's weird that I still have it? Or even wearing it? Which just so you are aware I never actually wear this! It's just been stuffed away since that evening and'

Chan steps closer, he doesn't need to tell you to stop blurting out pointless explanations, you shut up instantly. You take in his eyes, questioning what he's thinking, he was very hard to read.

"I think you should wear it tonight for your date but wouldn't that be like marking my territory?"

"excuse me chan?" You gasped. You couldn't tell if he was trying to make a half hearted joke or if he was being deadly serious. "Isn't that a bit unprofessional for you to say? You may be my bodyguard but you don't own me, what are you trying to say?' a more teasing tone failed you and you were quick to become questionable and defensive.

For the first time ever, a sheer look of panic was evident in his face.

"Forgive me princess, I mean.. y/n, that came out wrong"

You didn't overthink it, you were quick to drop it and you nodded, shrugging it off.

"someone a bit sour that they have to work tonight? I hear that bodyguards hate being on date night duty" you teased, continuing to search for the perfect black little mini dress.

"not really, where did you get that information from?"

"boring bill"

Chan fell through and busted out with laughter. It's the nickname that was more funny, you really were a nightmare in this line of work. He did back you up on that one though, bill was very boring and lazy on the job.

"to a certain extent, he's not wrong, some dislike it because it means more work. There's more risks, more intensity from paps. Then it's also profiling the actual person who you are dating and being hyper aware of intentions and outcomes and so on"

Funny, you were bored and interested in his explanation at the same time, your eyebrows rising in curiosity and surprise.. it was the way he talked about protocols and all the important stuff that got you hooked. He was knowledgeable, so professional and good at what he does, it just made him all the more attractive.

"so does this mean you will be 'profiling' my date tonight? What are you? some sort of FBI agent?" You giggled teasingly. You naturally reached for his dark locks to ruffle through them playfully. An action he didn't react to. He stayed firm. Laughing with you and then serious the next. It's like he would slip from his role only to realize and flip firmly back, back to bodyguard mode. It sucked.

"not that intensely no but one bad vibe from him and it's over" he pressed, shifting his stance so that his posture was fixed straight.

"well I better cleanse him before we enter the jazz bar, this man is a total stuck up asshole"

After those words you send chan a wink, grabbing the first dress you tried on (it's always the first dress) and fluttering your way around the clothes to change into the bathroom, leaving him dumbfounded.

If you really meant what you said then chan was in for a really tough night. Not only does it pains him for you to be forced into dating but to be dating a stuck up asshole, this isn't right. It's not what you really want, so why were you doing this. The thought of you dating in general just kills him, for reasons he's unsure of but to be forcing yourself to fake date, this was something else.

So far.. so goo... not so good...

Your mini black dress alone was enough for chan to willingly fight off a thousand men with his bare hands. You looked incredibly sexy, there was no doubt that men were going to approach you and no doubt that chan was going to keep you safe as always... But tonight he felt different and if it came to it, he would really hurt someone if he had to.

He hated how he was feeling right now, as gorgeous and as sexy as you looked, a pang of jealousy twitched in his chest. He always loved how you looked, how you dressed for yourself always, so confident and beautiful and able to get anyone you wanted. Knowing the picky princess that you are, he knows you wouldn't settle for anything less, so why fake date an asshole? Why waste all this beauty on him. Chan was not happy in the slightest.

He bit his tongue all the way to the jazz club and when you got there, his usual professional routine took place but in a more intense way than usual. Firmly he held the car door open for you after scanning the surroundings in great detail and planning a safe entry into the building. His dark eyes are quick and focused but more darker than usual. He naturally holds his large pale hand out for you, he always assists you getting out of the car, carefully and securely always. As he holds out his hand the figure he recently just warned to stay back jumps in and a hand flicks out in replacement of his suddenly. Your date.

Still in the car and just stepping out, you take the hand and a wave of worry washes over you when you don't feel the warm comforting hand that is chans. Chan's hand is a lot larger than yours and they fit together as snug as a glove, warm and caressing. Not too hard of a grip but enough to ground you, support you, make you feel safe. You know every little detail, this was not his hand. It was cold, fingers icy and slim and there were no little squeezes which confirmed it was not chans. Channie always gave you three little squeezes, a little code you both had to reassure you that everything is okay. Your brows knitted together in concern but you weren't scared, there was no way chan would let a stranger get this close to you. It must have been...

"San!" You squeaked surprised as you fully stepped out. A face reveal that was most appealing with his sharp airbrushed features. He was breathtaking, though as handsome as he was your eyes darted to chan for reassurance, his sparkling dark eyes, so intense but still comforting made you melt back into ease. He gave you a nod of approval, a go ahead to walk with San and into the restaurant, You had been close to your assigned bodyguard for so long now it's like you both magically developed telepathic skills. That's not the only confirmation you wanted though, your eyes immediately darted from San to to chan because chan is the only person you want to see. He is the most beautiful and handsome man to ever exist in your world and it dreads you to think no San or any date for that matter will ever compare to him.

It wasn't just the looks, it was how he made you feel but he was your bodyguard and he was just doing his job, you had to pinch yourself so many times to stop being so delulu over it.

You take a deep breath, beginning to strut towards the jazz bar. You were nervous. But for all the wrong reasons. Already paps were flooding your path, adding to the sickness in the pit of your stomach. Forcing a date was a terrible idea, you wouldn't be able to handle the reality of a real one so why put yourself through a fake one. It was getting all a bit too much, too fast, already. Your steps are becoming slightly unsteady. San already failed the vibe check. Ignoring your current state and tugging you along like a little rag doll while chan did everything he could to ease the paps of on your side.

"slow it down" he warned under his breath. Loud enough for San to hear but not enough for the paps to start catching a headline. That's all you needed 'bodyguards snaps at movie star San, in pap brawl'

San actually slowed surprisingly, giving it all the fake 'baby, Are you okay? Take your time, I've got you'

Baby? Ew. Honey this is only the first date. What did chan just say? Slow down? Ummm yeah.

Anything to make his image look good and then there it was.. a big 'slap in the face' a big reminder that this was all that it was for, for show.

All it took was for you to give him that look. And you know who I'm talking about and you know what look. But you stood your ground. You came here for fun and fun was what you were going to have. So stubborn. you were not going to let this fake dating back fire on you.

You perked up, took a breath and straightened your dress smiling and posing for the paps.

"I'm all good, let's go in!" You smiled at san, grabbing his ridiculous cold hand. Not a red flag this time but an ick.

Chan studied you carefully, his eyes flickering with concern. Again he noticed every little detail in you, every little tone and shift. He was not buying this sudden enthusiasm but he held his stance, kept focused, he still needed to make sure all the other surroundings were safe.

The atmosphere was warm, seductive, romantic. You got seated in a luxury padded booth. Materials all velvet and rustic, soft glows from candlesticks presented neatly on the table, warm lighting cascades around the room from vintage lamps and thrifty lampshades. Soft jazz playing in the background took the edge of, the pretty piano dominant in the sounds. The smell of Michelin star foods wafted in the air and of course how could you miss the notes of sparkling champagne, expensive of course. The place was very private, only a few couples seated here and there, in the small, dimly lit bar. It was an intimate vibe. You wish you could have more nights like this more often... But with people you actually know and love...like your truly missed best friends who were also famous and busy or... You searched the room eyes landing on channie.

You blinked out of thought quickly, your eyes focusing back onto the movies star in front of you who was urging you hurry and pick a cocktail.

"what's the rush' you lightly giggled but your laughter fades when you quickly notice how impatient he is.

From a distance, chan watches you both closely, eyes squinted harshly and he shifts uncomfortably when he reads the body language. He's watched you so many times on an evening out to know you're such a cocktail girlie and your favourite is and always will be strawberry daqari. Only frozen though. God forbid anyone gives you one that isn't frozen. You are also very adventurous so if anyone was to offer you one, he knows you would say...

"surprise me"

San snaps up from the menu, a surprised expression on his face.

"what?"

You send him a cheeky smirk, eyes glistening "I can't decide so surprise me.

He shakes his head in defeat amused none the less. "I'm not going to do that princess. I hardly know what you like... But I'm sure that will all change very soon" he flirted, leaning over the table.

Bad timing to start sipping water. You almost choked. You start to cough in surprise at the cocky reply but not the nickname in particular.

Chan was not impressed. His knuckles whitening without even realizing. He was tense. Also the nickname? How dare he, chan couldn't help but slightly feel slightly aggressive towards this man, that was chan's nickname for you and only he gets to call you it.

"seriously though, I wouldn't know where to start, I don't want to risk getting something too sour or too sweet, something you aren't going to like.

"well I like something..."

"fruity"

You look up at chan who cut you off unexpectedly.

"you like something fruity" chan confirmed.

He stood confident, fisted hands now linked together presentably in front of him. He looked smart, strong, and professional. As always. You couldn't help but stare a little while longer, forgetting about the date in front of you. Warmth filling your chest, that same fluttering heartbeat when he helped you during the red wine on white dress situation.

"he's right" you smile knowingly. Your heart is still melting. Does he really notice these things?

"strawberry daqari, to be precise" he winks.

Yes he really does. You blush uncontrollably. Luckily your make up is a little more on the heavier side tonight. You can feel him concentrating on you, questioning every reaction though you were all over the place tonight, it was so hard to read you it almost scared him.

As the night drew on, things started getting more intense, you became slightly intoxicated with each passing minute. San got closer and things got a little more touchy and flirty. It was protocol for chan to keep distance. Keep a close eye but not to interrupt. If there was no sign of harassment, out of line inappropriate behavior or suspicious activity then The bodyguard has no right to interfere and needs to give more space. Unfortunately for chan you seemed to be enjoying the night, getting cozy with your date and the same on Sans end, despite being a douche. The alcohol was definitely playing a part in this, there's gotta be a loop hole to this surely because this was killing chan and following protocol of respecting space on a date night was getting seemingly harder to do. He was sweating now, tense. Every touch on your bare leg, every whisper in your ear. Chan was ready to rip the guy away from you but why? If he wasn't being a threat then why? The way your eyes lit up, the way you laughed, the way you bit your bottom lip as you focused on this guys annoying talkative lips that chan so desperately wanted to punch. It was killing him. What was it that made him feel like this.

First it was just a first date. Then there was a second. Then a third. Chan prayed there wouldn't be a fourth.

It was now becoming a regular. As much as chan hated red carpet events, that is what he would rather be doing with you right now. Anything but these painful dates. He was starting to get tired, not of you but the job, it was wearing thin on him and he needed a break, to take some time off but he refused. He even gave up his designated days off during shift patterns because he couldn't stand the thought of not being on watch during a date and something went wrong. He needed to be there for you. To protect you. To make sure you were okay. He wouldn't forgive himself if something were to happen, plus he just wanted to be close to you.

Unluckily for chan there was a fourth date but the fourth date was a disaster. No alcohol involved this time and you felt off . Bored, tired, not feeling it at ALL. San started becoming a bit too needy, a bit too touchy a bit too possessive and controlling too quickly and it drained you. You were miserable. Just wanting time with your friends, to have fun, be happy and yes, maybe in love! True love. Today was the only day you were close to that...

"where are we stopping? Wait are we even supposed to stop? Channie are you secretly kidnapping me? Has this been your plan all this time? I mean I know you were smart and cunning but this..." You trailed off.

Your head pressed against the tinted window of the car, you began steaming it up with your breath. It would be a waste of time winding the window down because channie would be right on your case about sticking your head out the window and the dangers of it but you were like an excited child.

Your view was of a large building, painted with bright pinks and blues as if a unicorn vomited all over it. You've made many ice cream stops in the past (breaking protocol of course) but this.. This ice cream shop was on another level..Like charlie and the chocolate factory level. You recognized it instantly. It was trending all over Tik Tok and you had been gushing about it ever since you saw it. You even recommended it as a date to San but anything to damper you down, said no. Chan wasn't going to have any of it, he wanted to make you, the princess happy. He knew how much you loved ice cream and wanted to go to this place, so he was going to do anything he could to make it happen and now here you both were.

"no way! Channie! Are you serious!" You jumped but your face suddenly dropped...

"I have an interview booked in hour..."

"I got you covered, it's fine princess"

The assisting comforting obligated hand hold as you dipped out of the car sent a wave over your body, it felt better than ever before. Your hands glued together a little bit tighter this time and strangely you naturally didn't let go, it's like neither of you wanted to. Chan had to at some point surely? But he didn't and something suddenly sparked between the two of you. You both paused, not really sure as to what was going on right now, stuck in your own bubble. Chans deep gaze captivated your own for a moment, both searching trying to find your telepathic skills until you result in mirroring reassuring smiles. Then...

Squeezes of the hand.

Both of you were in a moment of bliss right now, jolts of electricity running through you. Whatever was happening right now felt so out of professionalism a bit daring if you will, crossing some sort of rules and boundaries but neither of you cared in that moment. It just felt right.

Okay so Hand in hand with your bodyguard in the most tik tok famous ice cream shop was not on your cards today but you weren't complaining. It was sweeter than the strawberry sauce you watched the cashier pour all over your ice cream. You had never seen a side of chan like this before and it was refreshing. You both felt free for a moment, normal like any casual couple in this ice cream parlour. You blended right in, so careless and free with smile covered faces. You were shocked at this bold move of chans. This was breaking rules, this was out of duty standards, this was Beyond duty in fact. You wanted to ask so many questions but you didn't want to ruin this moment the moment of him now wiping strawberry sauce from your chin with his thumb and sipping up the sweetness. He looked less like a bodyguard and more like boyfriend material right now. You were melting like the ice cream.

You didn't want to seem phased and as much as you were lost in your own dreamy delulu world with your bodyguard chan right now, you couldn't help but notice some young fans in the corner of our eyes snapping pictures.

"I know, it's okay... I'm just taking you to the ice cream shop which you demanded to take you too right?"

You smile warmly but fear creeps in.

"Chan... My publicist would kill me, I'm supposed to be dating San and you are breaking the rules... I know you are my bodyguard but you've seen the comments online, there's already rumors that we are secretly married and all that crazy shit. my fans ship us too much. I don't want us getting in trouble" tears prick your eyes and unexpectedly chan pulls you into him before saying something that hits you like a ton of bricks.

"not being able to get ice cream and forced fake dates with ex K-pop members... You are not a prisoner y/n"

Tears fall now. Let's hope the pictures that get posted hints you were emotional because maybe your time of the month and you just needed ice cream. Makes sense.

But no.

After your emotional roller coaster of breaking rules, eating the most amazing ice cream and realizing you have a thing for your body guard. You finally get back from the interview (which shockingly were all questions about you and San) and see said posts.

To your surprise no crying photos! They must have been nice fans. Your eyes well up once again. The photos were of you, happy , smiling. Chan towering behind you protectively as always but more relaxed than normal. He looked cute, like he was in boyfriend mode. One made you laugh where he's leaning his chin on top of your head browsing the menus and another of him wiping away the strawberry sauce, your eyes fixated on his sweet red lips.

Comments pulled at your hearts strings. You really did have the best fans.

'look how happy they both look'

'i shipped them from the start. I called it'

'wait is this a date?'

'a real date for sure, her and San are definitely secret enemies and are just doing a publicity stunt'

'from bodyguard duty to boyfriend duty'

'guys I was actually there at the ice cream shop and let me tell you when I say they have a thing'

'omg omg omg! I was there too and 'y/n' got upset about something and he was so supportive! Like he couldn't hold her tight enough, this man loves her'

'this is giving me forbidden love vibes... Someone write a fan fic!'

'i saw them holding hands outside and there was so much chemistry, girl please explain'

You couldn't get over some of the comments. You questioned your feelings for chan before and you sensed something towards you too but you thought you were just being delusional and that chan was just being extra caring and protecting because of his job but maybe you was right about something all along and was it really that obvious?

He had seen the posts too. Realization hitting chan like a tone of bricks. Those intense feelings, it all made sense now. How could he not notice? All the banter, all of the admiring of your outfits, being turned on by your witty remarks as flirtatious proposals, the late nights of letting you stay out at clubs and keeping your mischievous ass safe. The eye contact and secret code hand squeezes, how could he not notice he was falling for you. but he had to stay professional, he would lose his job, he would lose access to you, he had to somehow stay in control of this. You now just made his job even more difficult, without even trying this time.

5th date.

This didn't get any easier for chan. Especially now there was knowing tension but things were a lot worse... You and chan weren't the only ones who saw the posts. Getting ready for his fifth date tonight, San made it his mission to make the night as miserable as possible for your beloved bodyguard. Thinking it wouldn't be so bad seeming you were out with friends on a group date this time, chan was unaware of Sans brutal plan to be all over you, reminding him of their positions. Though little did San know you weren't really feeling it anymore and things could go sideways very quickly. You only had to give one look.

Chan couldn't stand the sight. Usually with your groups of friends, you were GLOWING. Your gorgeous smile beaming, energy vibrant and contagious, lighting up the room. You still looked gorgeous regardless, your hair and make up always on point, the perfect outfit hugging your curves like a goddess, but the glowing goddess herself just wasn't present. It was him. Draining you. Chan couldn't take it. His sight narrowed on the douche bag darkly, watching closely for any wrong moves. Any wrong moves and he'd be a gonner.

You refused to let any discomfort show, although it was a struggle. You couldn't let chan see the misery in you, the defeat of fake dating, you wanted to proof that you weren't a prisoner, plus you didn't want to get him into trouble. You wanted him to continue being your bodyguard, it was better then nothing. You just accepted you would never be truly happy.

At this point chan had already given in. He couldn't bare watching you like this, if he had to break protocol he would. He hated how stubborn you were, fighting through all of Sans inappropriate comments, touches and nasty shut downs when trying to vibe and chat with your friends.

His fists clenched, jaw tightening. Every sneaky snare from San made his blood boil. He knew exactly what he was doing. All of a sudden a warm touch caught him off guard, stopping him from flipping at the last second.

"hey"

The small soft sound was y/f/n voice. Her touch was almost comforting but his mind wouldn't rest though his fists stopped clenching and he softness his stance.

"everything okay?" He questions deeply, his eyes never leaving you at the rounded booth table.

"I was going to ask you the same thing? I know you are on duty right now but you are also human and I can see you are not okay" she innocently explained, her eyes burning into his side profile.

"of course" he lied, staying firm and professional.

The girl rolled her eyes, typical men hiding their true feelings. "Chan... I've seen the posts, not just the recent ones either and I've seen you both when you've been on duty too, all of the nights out we've rebelliously had, the way you watch her, more than just her bodyguard. Lending her your hoodies, holding her hand.. I wish my bodyguard was more like you... But he's just not in love with me I guess..." She snickered knowingly nudging him lightly.

His dark eyes almost peel from you for a split second . Was it really that obvious.

"Even now, look at you... Ready to pounce to the rescue at any given moment. you have feelings for her chan which you can't ignore.. so Don't fight it. Look at her, she's miserable. Go save your princess"

He shook his head, catching your eye now, your face repulsed by whatever San was drunkenly whispering.

What were him and your friend talking about? You focus in on them in the distance.

"I can't save her" he sighed, finally opening up a little "She will hate me if I ruin this for her, ruin whatever this is for us, if I risk losing this job, I risk losing her"

"oh wow" she giggled "both so stubborn". Finishing with a hiccup, She looks on at you. Her gorgeous friend, fading. "Look" she pushed. "You both deserve to be happy, save my friend please..."

"trust me I would but she needs to do it on her own terms, that way I'm still respecting her and her choices. I won't lose my job and I won't lose her'

"your call but you know how stubborn she is chan and anyway you might even snap before then anyways" she sighs. She taps his shoulder quickly before making her way back to the table, your eyes blink knowingly and it's back to the reality of pretending. You fake laugh and chan's not sure how much he can take now, especially when San pulls the big guns and pulls you into his lap.

You stay strong, pretending to enjoy the sudden action. Your friends all wiggle their eyebrows and make flirty jokes. All expect your close friend y/f/n who was stood by chan moments ago giving him a pep talk. She was not impressed either, mimicking Chan's vicious protective gaze. You shift slightly uncomfortable, a feeling unfamiliar under you but it was obvious what it was. Your eyes landed on chan but you never gave him the look. Chan's heart was racing now, never has he been this on edge on duty before and that's saying something, he's been through it all. He was completely on stand-by ready to intervene at any slight change in your facial expressions or body language. All you had to do was give him that damn look. But you didn't. The night continued on and it killed him. It killed both of you.

Lingering eye contact, knowing glances, you both struggled and the more San touched you, the more miserable you became, the more you wanted chan.

Chan was desperate to get you alone now. He could sense the needing in you. He knew you too well. He was fighting a battle inside his mind. Just let him save you... He is your bodyguard after all... Finally you got up, San clinging to you.

"where are you going princess"

You snapped a glare, your patients and strength wearing thin.

"don't call me that" you sighed.. " i'm just going to the ladies restroom"

Chan watched like a hawk, listening to every word and tone carefully and analyzing the whole situation. His stance is firm and protective. San left his hand there a little longer, it didn't look like he was going to remove it anytime soon causing chan to step closer.

"stay princess" he childishly pleaded but it was more of a small demand.

"she said don't call her that" chan calmly but firmly spoke. his voice was low and deep and intimidating. His eyes flickered to yourdreassuringly, a confirmation of safety that warmed you inside. You gave him a slight nod in approval. "Please could you remove your hand for the lady to go to the restroom" very impressive work from chan, it was demanding yet calm, his voice still deep.

You blush lightly, San without hesitation as daring as he was, respected the command instantly, snaking his hand away from your arm. Free from his grip was somewhat satisfying and freeing and you were so grateful it was a straight forward thing and not an uproar of drama like a team Edward or team Jacob thing.

You got up and he followed. Chan of course. He was hot on your heels, guiding you through the restaurant with his comforting hand on the small of your back. It felt sooooo good. Your body shaking off the cold hideous feeling of Sans icy touch and warming up to chan's warm familiar one.

"are you going to give in yet" he breathed "I can't watch you any longer" he whispers under his breath. You finally reach a private area that leads to the fancy bathrooms.

"but it's your job to watch me" you protested, turning to face him and crossing your arms.

Chan is tense, his comforting eyes now clouded with something you didn't recognize. You questioned him with concern but anger filled you. Like you needed a release of something.

"because that's all it is toyou right? Your job. You are just doing your job" you shook, your lips trembling eyes filling with worry at what his reaction may be to you suddenly lashing out. Your hands are shaking, your thoughts all mashed up and confused.

Instead of fighting back, chan steps forward, taking your shaking hands gently in his own. He tries to calm your racing confused heart but his is just as bad, anxiety knocking his confidence but still, he fights through and pulls you into his warm pounding chest, comforting you and keeping you safe in your own little bubble once again. "Is this part of my job? No, I choose to pull you close. I choose to risk my job to be closer to you. it's not part of my job to be in love with you" he confesses. Your eyes prickle with warm tears and you begin to feel him sway you slightly, an attempt to ease the anxiety radiating from you both then he continues after taking in a deep breath. "If anything it's not aloud but here I am, beyond duty, begging you right now, please.. y/n.. give in.. this is killing me.. It's not your job to fake date but you choose to but you don't have to... I can see you aren't happy, I can make you happy" he pleads and your heart swells.

You pull away, eyes searching his own and finally they return to his usual warm shade, glistening with hope and admiration. He smooths a strand of your soft hair away from your face that was currently sticking to your teary wet cheek. You smiled warmly, bravely cupping his cheek with the soft palm of your hand. The sudden action grounded chan instantly, calming his beating heart, he melted into the touch and searched your eyes deeper. He hesitated for a moment but took another deep breath. "I didn't want to do this here... I was hoping I could just punch that douche bag in there, take you home and confess my love to you over naked breakfast in the morning but I don't have much of a choice now..."

Your heart races, this didn't feel real to you right now, in the arms of your bodyguard, both relaying your true feelings.. what was he going to say next?

He held you tighter. His strong body wraps around you like a safety blanket and you couldn't get enough of his scent, you wanted to strip him right here right now. Damn your impulsiveness.

"what is it chan?" You breathed, lips dying to crash onto his now. He looks you dead in the eyes and locks in with you.. "Princess, not as your bodyguard but as a forbidden lover... Risk it all with me..."

There he goes again. Taking your breath away, getting your heart to flutter uncontrollably and lose all your senses, surprising you over and over. When will this ever stop? You never want it to. You only grip onto him tighter.

"channie I..." You were speechless.

"don't ruin me princess, say yes, be mine, I will always take care of y..."

Your lips finally crash onto his own. You shut him up completely with a well overdue kiss, your lips moulded perfectly together. Kisses were wet, soft, delicate but hungry, your chests heave in sync, both gasping in-between for air but you both lived and breathed for each other in this moment and like any other moment you've had and any other moments that lie ahead for you both. He shuffles forward towering over you as you pull him into you while he presses you against a wall, both more hungry now. The sweet sucking and gasps are filling the quiet space around you, just you and your little bubble of heaven. No one else around you matters now and never will when you finally plan to make your escape plan together...The princess and her bodyguard, happily ever after...

#bang chan imagines #bang chan #christopher bang #christopher chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan imagine #stray kids #stray kids fanfic

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technically-human · 2 months ago

Note

So I've seen you mention fics in the tags of some of your art and I'm just wondering if you write fanfics???

I do, though not very often! I wrote The devil wears black and I'm currently writing a post second movie one from the Doctor's POV. Here's a scene just in case I never do finish it

When Robotnik was around 4 years old, bored with the coloring books and the rhymes in the ones that actually had words, he had read about symbiotic relationships, and concluded it was a good enough way to classify human interaction.

Parasitism was easy enough to understand, and something to be avoided. He knew himself extraordinary, and was aware of how that could attract all kinds of leeches to him. He couldn't allow anyone to benefit from his spoils while actively harming him. If he was prone to that kind of analysis, maybe Robotnik would claim that was when his paranoia and distrust began to build. In reality, he considered that his default mode ever since birth.

Mutualism seemed like something to aspire to, beneficial for both parties, strong. Unfortunately, Robotnik would later learn that while lots of people –and institutions– wanted something from him, rarely did they have anything to offer. He was self-sufficient, and although some things he couldn't get on his own, he was sure he could find suitable replacements if he felt so inclined. Mutualism was rare, perhaps even unrealistic, at least for him.

Commensalism was stupid. Even if he wasn't being harmed, why would he allow someone else to benefit from him without giving anything in return? Sounded like slightly more subtle parasites, in his opinion.

So Ivo Robotnik learned to live surrounded by leeches and ticks.

People, yes. Foster parents who only wanted the benefits of having a genius at home, colleges that wanted him to attend even if they had nothing to teach him, because his presence made things more prestigious, government organizations that intended to put a leash on him, to guide his genius like it belonged to them.

He managed. He learned when to say no and when to say yes, when he could tolerate the sting and painstakingly squeeze some benefits for himself.

He didn't reconsider his stance on commensalism until he got Agent Stone assigned to him. Robotnik didn't actually need him, he had lived more than enough on his own to be confident in that assessment, but… having him around actually didn't hurt. Stone never took from him, never subtracted. He just attached himself to the Doctor, clearly got some things out of it, but without stealing them from him. Like a barnacle.

What do whales think of the barnacles that cling to them? Do they even notice? Robotnik certainly did notice his, but found he didn't actually mind. Even while knowing that Stone held on waiting for future compensation, he found that it was acceptable. When he eventually revealed his true nature as yet another parasite, Robotnik concluded, it would be fine, for he, unlike everyone else, had earned it. The Doctor had bled for lesser men, he could spare a few drops for a pest that at least was loyal.

The idea that he could be the parasite had never occurred to him before.

Ivo Robotnik was the man with the resources, the one with the brains and the plans and the irreplaceability. People wanted, needed things from him. Even when he was a child, an orphan with nothing but his half-baked plans and the few spare parts he could collect and transform, it was easy to see potential in him. It was easy to know he had a lot to offer, if one was willing to take the risk of trying to steal it.

Ivo Robotnik had nothing now, defenseless and empty in a way he had never been. He couldn't even move. He couldn't even build or create or think. And he was only alive because he was taking from his own agent.

Subtracting.

There weren't mosquitoes in the crab, but Robotnik could almost visualize it. Stone distractedly slapping his hand on his own arm to eliminate the pest. Looking at it, at the tiny trace of blood with disgust. Then pausing, turning towards the Doctor, who couldn't move and wouldn't speak and had nothing anymore, and realizing…

Well, the crab was underwater and mostly free of living organisms, except for Stone himself and, if one felt inclined to count him, Robotnik, so that wasn't realistic.

The image still played in his mind every now and then.

#ask ask ask #stobotnik #yeah this one is a bit angstier...#for now! i think he's about to get silly after #*checks document*#around 5k worth of words #i haven't reread the thing so if there are mistakes no there aren't

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cavernsandcod · 3 months ago

Text

ESPRESSO | Cpt. John Price

─────dad's-best-friend!price x reader

· · ────── ঌ·✦·໒ ─── · ·AO3 VERSION | MY FIC GUIDE

Everyone has a complicated relationship with their father; the good, bad, and the ugly. Just like every complicated adult has their vices to cope with their issues. Drugs, sex, gambling, work, adrenaline— name it, it's been done.

Yours is a bit different: hooking up with your father's best friend.

WARNINGS: mild angst. reader has a shitty dad(—i.e. neglectful, militant), but no depicted abuse. alcohol. strong language. legal age gap (20s/40s). power dynamic. smut. porn with plot. authority kink, d/s. unsafe, risky sex. oral (f+m receiving). dirty talk. praise. petnames. fluff, kind of. fem!reader. not edited. WC: 7.9k

The carousel never stopped growing up.

Each time you got accustomed to a new home, school, or routine, you had to pack your bags and start over.

Your father had a new assignment; another part of the world to risk his life in while your mother did her best—well, her worst—to cope. The loneliness and sleepless nights of worry got to her once you reached double digits in age. Their conversations turned bipolar, either abrasive spats or days of tense silence. You were too young to understand, really, but you got the gist. Only saw her on weekends because she moved hours away to start a new family.

And your father, he never made an effort for much of anything except his career. He received a substantial pay raise for contracts in the UK in your teens and never looked back to ask you how you felt about it.

You, perpetually on the back burner of his mind, were only supplied the basics a child needs. A bed, three meals, and a decent schooling. Sometimes got to tag along with him to work events if you caught him in a good mood.

The uniformed men were always kind, many with children and families of their own. Made you feel safe from the hard conversations you weren’t old enough to understand. Bled some color into the sterile, militaristic surroundings you grew used to.

Even then, you knew your upbringing was atypical. Knew that you shouldn’t get attached to anything because the rug always gets ripped out from under your feet.

Once you reached your teens, school became your only out. If you had any shot of straying from your father's militant footsteps, it became apparent that a good college was the best way. Excessive studying tarnished every fake friendship and social invite you had—but there weren't many of those to begin with.

Dwelling aside, you made it.

All the hours of academics paid off with the reward of a prestigious university. Being away from home and your father was the best part of it all. A mellow roommate, a group of classmates similar to you—and the culture of uni. How startling it was compared to the environment you grew up in.

It's your last year, and summer breaks and holidays still aren’t any easier. Going back home still has that sour taste. Each time you expect welcoming arms and approval, you get a harsh reminder of why you left.

Dressed up. A camouflaged wallflower. Cowering in your father’s shadow, small like you once were.

Countless galas bustling with formal attire and gowns alike, decorated with fairy lights and the low hum of seasonal music. Men and women with chest candy to show their years of sacrifice. Their dry conversations all start to sound the same after twenty minutes.

Logistics, hardship, and embarrassing tales are a poor attempt at humoring the family members sitting at the table. You don’t laugh, don’t smile. Only think about how good the end of this holiday will be when you can return to junk food and mild rebellion.

The weather this time of year is perfect for beers and barbecue, all humid and sweltering. Perpetually smelling of bonfires and chlorine swimming pools.

At least this year you aren’t on display. No blinding lights, no raffle tickets, or overpriced, butter champagne.

It’s not a formal event whatsoever. Just a backyard party hosted by one of your dad’s esteemed colleagues. Already much preferable to the stuffy venue space that leaves you nauseous.

“John’s a good man,” your father told you as you climbed into the truck. If he’s taking a break from talking about himself, you usually listen. “Made himself a Captain. Some of the toughest maggots I’ve seen in years, that lot.” Maybe this John character will be a kinder man than your father. Maybe he’s seen the lengths of his temper. Maybe he’ll be kind to you like the other soldiers.

Is he kind to his own family?

The house is alive when you arrive. People standing in the front, side, and backyard. Children of varying ages roughhouse, running barefoot in the manicured grass, belting out squeals and babbles of excitement.

The smell of meat grilling makes the humidity tolerable. As you enter the backyard, your father makes a beeline for the patio, more eager than you’ve ever seen him.

A pair of broad shoulders overlooks the party, thick biceps bulging from a black tee. The cherry of his cigar shines like the sun beating down on you, a cloud of smoke evaporating each time he puffs. His aura is different to the other men around him; commanding and reserved, standing in a spot against the railing that you know is only his.

It’s only when your father gives him a harsh pat on the shoulder, that you realize this is John—John, the good man.

He cracks a smile in response and returns the gesture, his voice a soothing thunder. John turns and reaches into the open cooler resting beside him, fishes out a beer for your old man. Placating. Giving him a bottle to keep him mellow.

Your father settles into a lawn chair, posture stiff and manicured as ever. Didn’t bother to introduce you around—not while he’s twisting the cap off his only pleasure in life and gulping it down.

You flinch when his eyes move onto you, squinting. It’s only fair considering you’ve been staring. After a beat, he nods his head, mouth curling into a more genuine smile than you saw before. All you can muster is an awkward wave through wide eyes.

Not your best work.

“Oi—“ A voice belts. “Fancy a drink, hen?”

It’s coming in the direction of the plastic buffet tables. The first has bread and toppings, various platters, and the other is decorated with solo cups and pitchers.

The source, a younger man than John, is sitting beside the homemade concessions. He’s easy on the eyes, with charming features, holding a squirming toddler in his arms. She has his eyes and, no doubt, the same feral energy.

“Oh, sure,” he hands you a cup. “You have anything stronger?” You ask, gazing down at the punches and cans of fizz.

“Afraid not.” He dodged a headbutt by the skin of his teeth, shushing her. “Cap’n has all the good stuff.”

“I see,” you take a small sip, allowing the pure sugar to coat your tongue. ”Well, thanks anyways.” He turns his head to the side to mutter something to her, and you spot a smear of sprinkles and icing. You raise your index to point at his cheek, “you have a little something.“

He swipes it, giving his daughter a look of intense betrayal. “Wee menace—“ he bounces her, blowing a raspberry onto her stomach, “ah told ye not to get into the cake!” She squeals, little flip-flops kicking through the air.

You chuckle against the plastic rim of your solo cup and step away from the chaotic mess.

Working the grill is possibly the most formidable man you’ve ever seen, still wearing a hoodie despite the heat.

Standing beside him is a still muscular but leaner man who’s dressed appropriately. A tank top and shorts showing off healthy, bronze skin, his hands nursing a mixed drink. He clatters into the ear of the big one flipping sausages and patties, leaning in and throwing jabs.

(You decide to skip on a plate since the man you’d have to ask for one looks like he’ll devour you whole—)

The punch is gone and the red cup turns weightless in your grip. Watching your father talk the Captain’s ear off, all smirks and happy-go-lucky makes you want a taste of the good stuff he supposedly has.

You trudge the wooden steps of the porch and keep your head down. Embarrassing yourself in front of your father is one thing, and you’ve done it many times. But doing that in front of the smoking-hot SAS-Captain isn’t as easy to choke down.

“Ah, sweetheart, c‘mere!” Your dad’s voice greets you, foreign in its softness. Sweetheart? Since when? “Come say hello to John. He is your host after all, eh?”

You nod before stepping closer, standing before the two sitting men. As you shift your focus to the man of the hour, your stomach clenches. He’s hotter up close.

“Hello.” It’s simple. Perhaps too much. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

John only stares, a light expression on his face. His thighs, thick and muscular, are spread wide in the patio chair. The bottle he’s been nursing is in between them, resting at the crotch of his denim. Two of his thick fingers caress the bottle neck, toying with it until you can’t help but track it.

“Well, aren’t you sweet? It’s my pleasure.” He responds, showing a half-smirk. You can tell his gears are turning, but can’t figure what about. Suddenly, the silence feels too heavy, and he tosses back the last of his beer—gathering himself.

“Call me John, love. It’s not sir here.” His assertiveness comes naturally, but it is not unkind. The faux confidence in your posture shrivels even more.

“Right. Sorry.” You swallow.

He chuckles, sprinkling some warmth to the tension. “No need for sorry either. Didn’t know better.”

“I tell you what, Cap’n—“

Your father’s voice soils the moment, slurring and obnoxious. It seems to startle the both of you. The Captain’s blues shift to him, his jaw clenching.

“She’s never that polite with me—her own old man. I tell ya, respect is a dying breed with these brats—“

The longer he rambles, reeking of liquor and disdain, you tune him out. Try to calm yourself down before the spell you’re caught in shows in front of all these people. The porch feels small as if it’s groaning and sinking under the weight of your dysfunction. Your cheeks are burning, your chest is starting to heave, hands are shaking—

“I, uh, need to use the washroom.” The words are a blurt; crude, disrespectful, ungrateful. “Is it—?” You point an index toward the screen door beside them, already peering inside at your escape.

“Down the hall, take a left,” John answers, eyes full of knowing scrutiny; you can’t tell if it’s toward you or your kin.

You step inside his home, feeling at ease without all the outside noise. It’s remarkably clean—some of the furniture even appears handcrafted. Wood floors, freshly polished and with minimal scuffs. Sparse picture frames, mostly of the same men you saw out there, posing in formation and nearly unrecognizable. The rest of the home is antiquated and fully furnished, but still lacking any clues to the man’s true personality. He’s probably not here enough to let it show. This place is merely a bed and desk between foreign lines and blazing bullets.

You decide to skip the left.

You ascend the L-shaped staircase to your right, glancing over your shoulder to ensure you won’t be caught snooping. This isn’t your house, your place, nor your crowd—and somehow the distraction of an alluring stranger’s home is more lulling than your own. Things that don’t belong to you aren’t weighed down by baggage and bad memories. They serve as an escape.

The washroom door is ajar when you pass it, creeping further down the hall with your head on a swivel. It’s wrong and you know it, but your feet don’t stop. Floorboards creak and groan once you make it to the end of the hall. A bedroom, a linen closet, a storage room. Nothing spectacular.

The first door left closed catches your eye.

To your surprise, it isn’t locked. You push it open silently and shuffle inside, dabbing at your eyes with your shirt. The fireplace on the back wall is unlit, two bookshelves on either side, stacked full with thick hardcovers. Beams of sunlight shine across the desk in the middle, sleek and lacking clutter. Only pens and a few files that don’t make sense to you. All the drawers have a keyhole, preventing you from trudging any deeper.

Sunlight casts warmth on your arms and legs, finally giving you the boost to catch your breath. Instead of falling further, you lose yourself in all of John’s distractions. There are more photos up here, on the mantles. Still the same men, in pubs and restaurants alike worldwide, throughout the years of their relationship.

John is clean-shaven in the first one, a stern but youthful glow to his face. Tan camo gear, a background of sand and humvees. Your thumb skims over the thick Sharpie scribble in the corner: Lieutenant Jonathan Price, circa 2009.

Somehow, you like him better now; salt and pepper, bourbon-breathed, a toned tummy turned soft—

“Find something you like, love?”

Fuck. Your nervous system goes haywire, body rigid. Frozen in place like a rabbit sensing a predator to avoid becoming dead prey.

“I’m really sorry,” you squeak, setting the framed photo back in its spot. “I was just—” His footsteps are slow, but loud enough for you to hear. He’s heading for the honey-stained cellarate beside the door. He kicks it closed before you can run for the stairs and beg your dad to let you drive him home.

“No more apologies.” The cork pops when he removes it, pouring himself a healthy glass of what looks like an aged whiskey. A deep amber swirling in his grip, glinting in the beams of summer. “Doing a bit of snooping instead of joining the party? Now, that’s curious.”

Cuticles tear when you bite at them, unsure of where to go. The door is closed. You feel like you’re in trouble. John is settling into a chair, getting comfortable. His tone reeks of disdain and ambiguity, impossible to peace together.

“I wasn’t snooping, really, I only wanted a break. I didn’t even want to come to this party either.” You explain, rounding the desk without getting any closer. “No offense.”

He chuckles. “None taken. I’ve heard worse. ‘S not exactly your crowd, I’m sure.”

You hike a brow, “what do you mean by that?”

The ice clinks as he sips. “Don’t know, dove. Bar crawls? Street fights? Speed dating? You tell me.”

“I don’t—” You huff, fighting a smile. “I don’t do things like that. All I have time for is studying.” It sounds pathetic to say it out loud, but deep down, it doesn’t feel that way, and only you know why. Anything to keep from home.

He looks pleased, sprinkling a crumb onto that constant fear of being in trouble. “I know. He told me all about it. Though, I sense I’m more supportive of your studies than he is.” Another swig empties the glass and he stands to refill it.

For some reason, you feel the need to come to his defense. He’s a shitty dad. Your shitty dad—whom you’ve known longer than John, since birth. “He’s not… like that. It just takes awhile for him to come around, I guess. My father is—”

“—A prick?”

Can’t argue with that. “We’re complicated. And it’s hardly your business.”

“He made it mine, he’s at my home.”

Four steps closer. A wide body cloaking yours. You can’t move. “Especially when his daughter would rather be hiding in a stranger’s home than around him.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” you deflect, crossing your arms and tucking your chin. “I needed some air.”

“Been crying too, by the looks of it.” He pinches your jaw, forcing you to turn it back toward him. “Too sweet for all of it. And too smart. Not a bratty bone in your body.” It works because you know he’s right, and somehow standing before him, being steered by his hands feels right.

You close your eyes when his breath fans over your face. His voice is soft thunder, drowning out the rainfall of voices in the yard. “Here, have a sip.”

This should be wrong. No, it is wrong. Still, you nod your head and wait for the rim to reach your parted lips.

It’s pungent. A sharp punch to the nose. Your nose crinkles, mouth starting to frown as if you’ve never tasted liquor. Whatever he has is clearly a different league than the kegs at uni.

“Hm, I figured,” John leans back to finish the drink off, muscles growing looser by the second. “Suppose that means you were telling the truth, then.”

“I was.” Unconsciously, you open your eyes and find yourself leaning closer to breathe him in.

John reaches around you to set the empty glass down, fingers dancing close to your waist before closing in. He notices the hitch in your breathing, the clench of your jaw muscles, and most of all the fight inside yourself.

“It’s okay to like it, love. Just don’t want to see you sad, is all.” The tip of his nose burrows into your hair, the free hand holding the back of your head. “Gonna let me help you, doll?”

You nod again, head spinning. And that seems to be all it takes. Something once tucked neat below the surface unleashes so violently that you feel it.

The cracks widen. He grips your jaw, lips latching onto the apple of cheek and trailing until he reaches your mouth. The beginning is a tiptoe that abruptly turns messy and feverrant.

The levee breaks. Your tailbone hits the back edge of the large desk, digging into it. You wince against his maw, beckoning two large hands to lift you onto it. The part of your thighs widens, his pelvis nestled between the crux of them.

The waves pull you under. You moan into the kiss, muffled and pitiful. The pressure of his erection is just right against your clothed pussy.

His name spills—a desperate plea for more that he stifles.

“Shh.” John soothes, pulling the hem of his shirt until it’s left untucked. The kiss breaks with a wet pop. “We’ll need to be quiet, lovey. Our secret.”

Love; there it is again, sodden with need.

Your hips shift when he leans forward to suckle on your clavicle, teetering close to your breasts without giving in.

“I need,” you whisper, “need more. Please.”

He tuts. Something that says patience. Be a good girl. It’s the perfect high pitched frequency to rewire the clutter in your brain. When he starts to slither lower, working your tank top off, you have wholeheartedly forgotten why you were upset in the first place.

Your nipples pebble from the air conditioning, growing erect through the thin fabric of your bra. They beg for relief from the chaffing—and he begs to feast on them.

“You wanted me to see these today, didn’t you? Perfect fucking tits.” John probes, snapping the strap against your shoulder with his hand. His hot, whiskey breath fans across your cleavage as he unfastens it.

They drop without the support—essentially hanging fruit for a man starved. Sweet and full of life on his tongue.

He suckles until his tongue grows tired leaving a trail of saliva in its way, but the fire in his blues remains ablaze. You gasp when he pulls you off the oak, a hand on the nape of your neck to herd you.

You’re facing it now, slowly tilting down until your tits are smushed against his workspace. Your upper half shivers against it, teeth biting into your bottom lip in anticipation. His fingers dig into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them, and your panties, down to your ankles in one go.

When the breeze settles onto your bare ass, you wait for the feeling of hips against it. To feel the prod of a thick cock against your entrance. For him to slam inside you without preamble, splitting you open and pounding you sore.

Instead, you feel his weight shift. A hot mouth between your thighs, two big hands pulling your cheeks apart to get a view of your pussy. It quivers, already glistening without any touch.

You let out a sharp gasp when he dives in. No time wasted with kitten licks or long, wet stripes along your inner thighs. He shakes his head when his tongue is fucking you, oscillating until you fight a cry.

“Fuck—!” You yell, muted by your gritted teeth.

He hums, and it feels like a vibrator pressed against your clit. “Even sweeter down here, sweetheart.” John’s words are muffled, as if tearing himself away would cause him death.

The captain shifts from your hole to your swollen clit. He laps at the puffy bead, suckling each time you let out a whimper for something more—already knowing exactly what you need from him. Letting you take it from him.

“My sweet girl,” Price mumbles against your sex, gently spreading it open with his thumb. “You just need to cum. Just needed your pussy played with a bit, eh? ‘S that right?”

Your brain turns haywire. Yes, yes, yes. He’s right. That’s what you need—

You can’t answer, not with words. All you want is for that coil in your tummy to snap. It would only take a few more seconds.

He latches again, hallowing his cheeks until slick pools between his lips. The bundle of nerves in your abdomen gives way, off the edge of the cliff in an instant.

Everything stops. Your legs wobble, a drooling mouth agape against the back of your hand, eyes rolling to the back of your head. The only reason he rips himself away is the fear of you falling too deep, growing too loud for any of his to remain discreet.

He can’t toy with you today. Can't push the limits, no matter how tempting it is.

His zipper interrupts the ringing in your ears, forcing you to gather yourself. He isn’t done and you don’t want him to be. You want, no, need more of him, whether you faint afterward or not because he’s too much to handle. The logistics of it don’t matter right now.

“Do you feel it, love?” He peels down the waistband of his briefs, pressing his hard cock against your pussy, gathering the arousal. It feels big—but you knew that when you first saw him. Already had expectations for what it might be like, and though you can’t see it, you know you were right.

“Gonna fuck you now.” His voice grows hard, an arm snaking across your belly to raise you up again. The thought of being moved makes you whimper impatiently. You want him now, bent over his desk as you were.

Despite the haste in his actions, you can tell there is a purpose to him readjusting you.

Your gaze lands on a bare chest. He must’ve taken his shirt off at some point behind you. Slowly, your head dips down to take a gander. John pumps his cock, using the slick he collected for a smooth, repetitive glide.

It curves upward toward his stomach, girthier at its base. Dirty-blond curls conceal some of it, conjoined with his happy trail.

The reddened tip leaks pre-cum that you want to taste. But, selfishly, you only want him to give in and put his dick inside you for being good. His mouth was only a lick of what you know he can give.

He stays true to his word, scooting you closer so his stomach presses against yours. Your legs hug his waist, spread wide to let him take his spot.

“Need you facing me.” The tip notches against your entrance, barely pressing inside. You yelp, sucking in a breath. “See? ‘M too big for you to stay quiet, baby.”

Your hole remains snug, but still eases him in, making room for what your cunt wants. It's too much to choke down without noise. “I can’t- They’ll hear us—“

“That’s why you’re looking at me, pretty. So I can help you. Just need you to trust me, alright?” You nod your head, eyes shifting from his cock to meet his. To trust him.

He raises a hand, clamping it over your mouth with a vice grip. His hips start to move, pushing forward until his pelvis is flush with yours, balls deep.

You squeal against his palm, cunt filled to the brim, womb being butted. She aches, fighting the sheer size of it, welding the pleasure and pain of every shallow thrust.

You want him to take it slow, but you’d only beg for more if he did that.

“That’s it,” he groans, mouth against your ear. The other hand digs into the fat of your hip, leaving indents in its wake. “Just take it for me so you feel better, sweet girl.”

His pace quickens into calculated ruts, causing your muffled noises to grow in intensity. Every drag of his cockhead inside you lulls you closer to that addictive ecstasy. His tongue was surface-level, playful, and exhilarating, nothing compared to the deep den of primal need. Something you ached for the first time you saw him whether you knew it or not.

Someone enters the house downstairs, dishes clattering, and John looks at it as incentive. Both hands tighten as an anchor for deeper, sharper thrusts that send the penholder and paper weight cascading to the floor. “Can feel you getting tighter, love,” he groans, stubble and breath tickling your ear. “You want to cum all over my cock—all stuffed full?”

You nod while slobbering on his mitt.

The air punches from your lungs with each jolt inside your pussy. The coil tightens again, snared and full of tension. Instead of jabbing, he reduces his pace to slow grinds along the front wall of your cunt, massaging the spongy spot that makes your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

His head lifts from the crook of your neck to meet them.

“Just—fucking—need to cum, baby.” John stutters, a drunk expression that warrants the lazy movements in his pelvis. “Ah, shit—Do it for me. Be good.” He holds on for you; bites the inside of his cheek until he bleeds.

The muscles in your stomach throb, your spine goes weak. A warbled cry expels into his flesh when you gush around him, knees shaking against his sides. All the tension you carried downstairs seems to vanish for a moment. The consequences of being caught look meaningless. Giving in, inviting rebellion feels like something you can live with.

Your eyes flutter open, brows furrowed as he shifts his focus onto his own pleasure. All you need to do is keep still and take it. Be the good girl he knows you are.

He pulls out, leaving you empty and clenching around his absence. Subtle, slick sounds echo through the office as he grinds against your pussy, bumping into your clit.

His hand does the rest of the work, squeezing the base until he sputters, leaving fingerprint bruises on your hip.

You feel the ropes of cum paint the outside of your cunt, his mouth latching onto yours as he rides through it. “So messy.” He whispers, stubble harsh against your lips.

Your legs and posture drop as he pulls away, tucking his cock back into his briefs. You don’t feel regretful, only tired and in need of a cold shower.

“You go downstairs first.” He instructs, lifting you off the desk. After finding your shirt, he slips it over your head, leaving your bra somewhere tossed aside. After, he kneels, dangerously close to the mess he made, he helps you step into your panties and shorts again, hiding the evidence.

The fabric sticks to you, full of cum and sweat. Your legs throb and wobble without the support of the desk beneath you, the spend costing them causing them to stick. “Get yourself a plate, too. Can’t have you passing out, can we?”

“O-okay.” You, utterly stunned, aren’t sure what else to say.

His lips find your sweaty temple, hand splayed across your heaving tummy. “Be good.”

The descent downstairs is slow and just short of shameful. You aren’t sure of what you’ll say if anyone asks questions.

Hopefully there’s a snug corner you can tuck yourself into.

Months pass before you see John again.

The music pounds your eardrums. People are yelling over it. Bodies slam into you.

It’s the night of your grad party, surrounded by fake friends and alcohol. You lost track of the only decent one you came here with. A few minutes pass when you stare at her text, explaining why. She got bored and decided to bar hop in the city with her guy. Shit.

Your vision ebbs and blurs and you wonder if you should have joined her. This isn’t your element. This isn’t safe. This house is unfamiliar. How are you getting back to your dorm?

You never do this, never stop being the rational one in the group. Always the designated driver who holds a buzz while your friends get hammered. Yet, here you are, holding onto a bannister so you don’t faceplant. As you thumb through your contacts, you wager the options in your head about who to call.

A family member—you’d rather die.

One of your classmates—either here with you, or asleep.

The SAS Captain you fucked within earshot of all his collegues and your dad after he caught you hiding in his home office—now that’s promising. And somehow less humiliating.

You giggle against the wood grain when you click his name, feeling the sway of the alcohol on your decisions, remembering the euphoria of that day. He’s probably asleep, too. A text might be better. Otherwise, his name will continue to collect dust in your phone.

—heyyy

—are you awake captain?

He reads it after a few seconds.

I am, sweetheart. Why are you texting me?—

You pout, as if he’s here to see it.

—i missed you and i thought it was past ur bedtime

—hehe

Call me now.—

You don’t call him.

Why should you? He’s being a proper sourpuss about a little joke—

The screen flashes with his name and it takes a few moments before you can figure it out. Stumbling to your feet so you can walk outside, you cover one ear and raise the phone to your ear.

“Sweetheart.” It sounds more like a scold than a greeting.

Keys jingle on the other line, a car door opening. “Where are you?” John’s unmistakable voice flows through.

Your shoe scuffs against the pavement, balance off as you look for a street sign. Somehow, he’s able to make out the address you stutter through. Luckily, you aren’t too far out from his place because you won’t be upright much longer.

You lower yourself onto the curb and tuck in your knees, eyes drooping from intoxication. “Am I in trouble?”

Your voice is weak, half-genuine but his is neither. “No, love. I just need you to stay where you are until I come get you. Alright?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, plucking out blades of grass. “I’ll stay.”

The call ends.

You sit there for longer than you can keep track of. The muffled bass keeps you awake even though you’re fighting it. Knowing you will see John again is motivating, too, but it’s unsure if he’s going to be warm. It’s an extremely unlikely way to reconnect with an old hookup.

An engine grows louder, tires crunching gravel through the ringing in your ears. The brakes squeal, a car door closes, boots enter your swaying sightline.

You lift your head from your lap and chew on your lip when you meet his gaze, feigning innocence. “Mr. Price?” You know who it is.

“C’mon. Get up.” His brows furrow, not giving you the time to follow his commands. Instead, he cups your upper arm and pulls you up, leading you toward his car. The other hand holds the back of your head, shoving it to the center of his chest in case you manage to fall. A few scrapes is better than a drunken head wound.

“‘M not supposed to get in the car with strange men.” Your feet drag, ankles bobbing, but his hold on you doesn’t budge.

“Cute.” John retorts, unamused as he opens the passenger door. “But I think we’re past strangers.”

With ease, he lifts your body into the seat, tucking in your feet and then forcing your hands into your lap. When he leans over you to buckle the seatbelt, you lick your lips and smirk at him, shamelessly breathing in his cologne.

“You think I’m,”—you hiccup—“cute?”

John draws back and pauses, skimming your features with a clenched jaw. Decides not to negotiate with you right now.

“We’ll talk in the morning.” Your door closes.

As you slump against the window, your eyes follow his speed-walk around the vehicle to climb inside, and how abruptly he puts it in drive and takes off. After that, most of it is a blur of neighborhoods and headlights that you’re too out of it to pay attention to.

The trudge inside his place is bits and pieces. There’s a constant hand on the small of your back, up the stairs until you reach the bedroom. His bedroom. You only saw a glimpse back at the party—masculine, simple, and neat. Two hands on your shoulders steer you toward the bed until you lower onto it.

John digs through his dresser, pulling out a clean t-shirt. “Arms up.”

You raise them, and he pulls off the sweaty one you’re wearing, and then your bralette. His shirt is more breathable by far, perpetually smelling of him. You toy with the hem as he reaches for your jeans, tugging them off each leg methodically. “Can’t sleep in these, can you?” The captain mumbles, more to himself. “Probably not the shoes, either.” Those are next, tossed onto the armchair with your clothes.

You chortle, cheeks hot. “I like your clothes.”

“Yeah? Then stay right there.” He turns away and enters the bathroom, returning with a small cup that he extends.

You stare at it, puzzled and hesitant. When you cock a brow, he sighs. “Mouthwash. You smell like a distillery, and I reckon you’ll fall over before we can brush your teeth.”

You toss it back, relying on muscle memory to swish it around your cheeks before spitting it back into the cup. The minty aftertaste is miles better than the remnants of your last syrupy, mixed drink.

“Nauseous?” He returns to the bedroom, peeling off his belt and jeans. “Tell me the truth.”

You shake your head and that seems to burn the energy you have left. The world tilts on its axis.

John huffs when you fall over, cheek squished against his navy bedspread. If he weren’t in such a sour mood, he might appreciate the sight a bit more. Instead, he grabs a throw blanket and drapes it over your crumpled frame before climbing in next to you. One arm snakes around your waist to keep you secure and the other supports your head in case you start to roll, or vomit in the middle of sleeping.

You don’t vomit in the morning.

You have a hellacious headache in place of an alarm, however. The body pressed against you throughout the night is gone and you’re shivering now. With a groan, you climb off the bed and follow the noise.

The bathroom door isn’t shut completely. You can see his shadow moving under it, the sound of him brushing his teeth and spitting out the excess.

“John?” You frown from the bright light when you push the door open. “How am I here?” That question reminds you of how you ended up here—actually, that you can’t remember the answer. All you can do is rely on hope that he was responsible enough to not have sex with you when he brought you home.

“A few texts.” He answers, placing his toothbrush back in its cup. “That’s how.”

“Did we… we didn’t—?”

“No,” he shakes his head, expression stern. “Believe it or not, love, I have a conscience.”

You can finally breathe. “Good.” Your shoulders drop, posture relaxing. “I mean, you were mindblowing, but— I’m glad we didn’t.”

The flattery gets you nowhere; John walks past you and you can feel the cloud that follows him. It makes the air thick.

Though all you want to do is sleep, you follow him with furrowed brows. “Are you mad at me for something? Whatever I said, I was drunk. A-and you didn’t have to come get me. I would’ve asked… I don’t know, someone, for a ride home.”

“I doubt that.” John argues, stopping at the foot of the bed. “You were seconds from passing out when I got there, too shitfaced to stand. You’re lucky nothing bad happened.”

Frankly, you’re offended. No, you don’t get out much, nor have you ever been that drunk without a ride. But this spat isn’t remotely fair.

“I know that. I’m not an idiot.” You roll your eyes, pulling his shirt over your head.

Like an asshole, he does that cocky, knowing half-smile. “That’s my point. You’re not stupid, sweetheart.” Despite the heat in his words, his eyes comb over the sight of your bare chest, then the swell of your ass when you bend to grab your jeans.

With your back turned, literally, you are fully intent on ignoring the domineering lecture you know is coming. It’s not his place. You just need to get home and forget about the whole thing.

“Don’t get dressed yet.” His feet shuffle closer. “We aren’t done.”

You scoff, refusing to turn around. “Or what? You’ll lecture me about safe drinking, Mr. Price?”

A dark cloud casts over your bare body in an instant. Two hands clamp onto your shoulders and spin you. Then, a rough palm shoves you onto the mattress. “I’m not doing this with—”

You let out a yelp, hands digging into the comforter. A flame of arousal flickers in your belly and it wages war with frustration. “This isn’t funny to me, John. My head hurts—”

“Shut your mouth. It won’t do you any favors.” The bed creaks when he sinks a knee into it, one before the other to hover on top of you. John’s eyes singe into every inch of your skin, hands beginning to roam. “Besides, I thought it was Mr. Price, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, sincerely regretting your choice to be snarky. “I-I wasn’t…”

“No?” His thumb toys with the waistband of your panties, stilling when your hips buck upward. “Hm, I suppose ‘sir’ is better, anyhow. Easier for you to remember.”

When your mouth opens, he tuts and brings the hand up to your chest. Too far from where you need him to touch you. It’s been too long since you felt it. Stale memories aren’t enough to get off to. None of your toys do the trick. And the blokes your age are clumsy and inconsiderate—nothing like John.

“Though your pretty head might not remember it,” he licks a nipple, teeth barely grazing it until you shutter. “I said we’d talk in the morning.”

You whine and reach for his belt, but he swats the back of your hand harsh enough for your knuckles to sting.

“Ah-ah— you want it? Want my cock inside you?” He asks, almost deceptively sweet. “Be polite.”

Your throat bobs when you swallow your pride, feeling every ounce of dignity drain from your bloodstream. “I want your in me cock. Please.”

He tilts his head like he’s truly thinking about it. Every second feels a lifetime. His index adjusts a strand of hair sticking to your cheek, sluggish enough to count as torture.

“Much better.” John leans down, pecking your lips a few times. “‘M gonna give it to you now.”

Relief washes over you with a shaky breath. You start to think this will go by quick, that a rough fuck will be all it takes for him to forgive you. One that you’ll enjoy probably too much, but God, all you want is for him to fill you—

“Up.” He fists the hair on top of your head, firm enough to make you raise it. “Follow my hand.”

You gape at him with wet eyes, lip all but quivering. You should be whining from the stretch of him, knees tucked as close to your chest as they’ll go—but instead, you’re sitting up and unsure of why.

It takes a slow blink for him to put a foot on the bed and feed his tip toward your lips. Circling them with it until they part enough for him to slip inside. Despite months of fantasizing about having his cock down your throat, you feel tricked.

“Easy. There we go. Hold onto me.” You grip his thighs tight, tilting your head forward. Halfway inside the warm, wet chasm of your mouth, his eyes flutter shut with a satisfied groan.

”Fuck— you’re bloody perfect.” It’s a new, soon-to-be addiction. He starts to pump his hips cautiously, narrowly avoiding your gag reflex.

Tears prick in your eyes as your throat fights to allow him space in it. You gag when he pushes deeper, giving his thigh a light squeeze, not a full-stop.

He pulls out, gripping the base of his glistening cock. “I-I thought—“ You stutter, voice hoarse. “You said you’d give me your cock, John.”

The hand in your hair tightens, enough for your scalp to start screaming. You whine from the mild pain and he reneges, stroking your temple to keep you dazed.

“Try again, sweetheart. Use your head.” After a beat of silence, you gather the pieces missing. Begin to anticipate what will warrant one of his firm corrections.

“I told you what I wanted, Sir.” It’s the correct answer—you can tell. Your neck is already sore, the agitated muscles putting a damper on your speech. “T-that I wanted your cock inside me. You promised you would—“

“Oh, baby.” His voice softens, less militant and more condescending. The hand on his cock starts to pump slowly, spit coating his fingers.

“I said I’d put my cock in you, but I didn’t say where, eh?” The tip prods at your mouth again and it opens on instinct.

You gulp, desperation breeding. Arguing is futile.

He goes deeper than before, easing through every gag and cough until your throat opens. “Your mouth is just as good isn’t it, baby? You can cum from this?” You won’t. And he damn well knows it.

The shift to rhetorical and demeaning feels like something you should hate. He’s been mean for the sake of it; playing with his slab of meat before devouring it.

With your eyes closed, it’s not as agonizing. You focus on the sounds he makes and keeping your teeth from getting in the way. Every grunt and groan makes your pussy clench around nothing. Makes you want to slither a hand between your legs for relief.

“‘M gonna cum, sweetheart. Keep still—“ he retracts with a wet pop, jerking himself off with only the tip being warmed. Your tongue rolls over the slit, nails digging into his hip bones to egg him on.

His fist balls on top of your head when he comes, costing the roof of your mouth and inner lips in hot, milky spurts. “Fuck, mmfph—“

John loosens the grip, finally allowing your head to rest. His mouth meets yours, tongue lapping at the inside of it despite the remnants of his climax still on your tastebuds. Before you lean back again, he works at your soaked panties, nearly ripping the cheap fabric when he rids them.

After all that, you’re practically buzzing with anticipation. Whining into every kiss. Gripping onto him like he’ll run away. Grinding your pussy through thin air.

“Gonna fuck you now, pretty. Like I promised.” He pecks your collarbone. “Turn over for me.”

With his hands steering you, you’re facing the bed in an instant, staring at the backs of your hands digging into the sheets. You arch your back, putting your head down, but he stills you with a gentle pat on the hip.

“All the way down, love. On your tummy.” It’s unusual, but definitely more comfortable than bending your spine. As you shift off onto forearms, he sets a pillow underneath the spot of your pelvis, elevating your ass.

You can tell it’s a calculated move to drive you mad. The soft arch of your back, how he’s going to drape his entire body on you and crane his hips toward that special spot.

Weight settles across your entire back, a cock head finding your hole. You wiggle your hips and he breathes through a laugh, easing inside you smooth as butter.

He doesn’t waste time, not like before. The stretch is seamless, an instant pleasure that flows to the plug of your womb.

“S-so deep. Mm— fuck.” You moan into the pillows, mouth agape.

His cock bullies for its spot in your guts, deeper than it was the last time. He leans closer, fingers slipping across your belly to massage your clit. The other drapes over your tits, his body forcing you into a bear hug from behind.

“I missed being inside you, sweet girl,” his hip bones bite into your ass, balls flush with it. Every drag of them makes your eyes roll, working the places inside you that have never been abused. “Taking my cock so well.”

The rough pads of his fingers swirl around your clit as he fucks you into the mattress, hearing sounds he couldn’t before. But now, every thrust earns a sharp, overstimulated moan from your lips that he’ll savor; to keep him warm when he’s away.

“‘m gonna cum, don’t stop.” Your voice raises an octave, a fire burning in your stomach. The headboard slams against the wall as he quickens the pace, abusing the aching spot that worked so well before.

You come with a shaky moan, coating his dick in a slick that drips down his inner thighs. Sweat poured from your skin, muscles taut and overworked.

You go limp beneath him, relying on his hold to keep your head from dropping. “Almost there, baby—“ Baby. There it is again, only desperate. “Just keep t-taking what I give you.”

Instead of thrusting, he slows and begins circling his cock inside you, grinding his pelvis into the fat of your ass. “Fuck, fuck. M’filling you up this time.” He mutters into the side of your head, unintelligible.

Your vision blurs, body jolting forward when he stills inside you. Spurts of cum coat the inner walls of your cunt as he slumps forward, bracing himself with both palms on the bed now.

You can breathe once he eases up, panting like a dog into your neck. “You’re perfect.” John’s lips feather against your ear before he shifts beside you.

Your pulse begins to slow, limbs jelly, and therefore useless in leaving anytime soon.

“I think I hate you.” You mutter into the sticky skin on your wrist, curling onto your side to face him.

His lips curve upward, slightly impressed. “I’ve heard that before.” He does the same, scooting close so you can lean against his heart. “How’s the headache?”

“Gone.” You reply, begrudgingly.

“Hm. Suppose you should get out of here, then.” John teases, while making no effort to move or let go of you. “Just a few steps and you’d be out of my hair. Easy peasy.”

You huff, fighting exhaustion. “Please stop talking.”

He chuckles hard enough for your head to jiggle against his chest. “Only because you asked me so nicely, lovie.”

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