#and that is when he decides to try Plan A again with her at his side | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fireinmoonshot · 2 days ago

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once in a blue moon | robert reynolds x reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: When you come down with a cold, Bob doesn't hesitate to look after you – even if he has no idea what he's doing. Warnings: Reader is sick, mentions of a cold and a fever, mentions of painkillers and Bob's previous drug use. Word Count: 2.1k A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who sent in this request. I love this idea so much and I had so much fun planning it out and writing it. I haven't written for Bob in about a week so I have missed writing for him so much. I'm definitely going to try and write for him more often and I'll be working on more of the requests I have already in my inbox! 💗

“I think,” Alexei starts, eyeing you from across the room as you sniff for the hundredth time in a minute, “that being an Avenger should make you immune to colds.”

Yelena, sitting beside you – though far enough away that she considers herself safe from you infecting her, frowns at her father. “It’s not like us being given the title of New Avengers suddenly makes us some new breed of human.”

“I never said that, but now that you mention it–”

“Yeah, we heard what you said,” Walker huffs, cutting Alexei off before he begins on some kind of tangent that none of you want to listen to.

Bob appears in the doorway of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He furrows his eyebrows as he looks around at everyone, completely lost in the conversation. “Who has a cold?”

He watches as everyone in the room – Alexei, Yelena, Ava and John – point at you. Bucky has been spending time at his own apartment, citing the fact that he’s sick of how loud it always is at the Watch Tower. Bob can understand that. He spends half his time locked away in his own room for a bit of peace and quiet.

“Okay, I do not have a cold,” you sigh, shaking your head. “It’s just a stuffy nose. I get like this every winter. Doesn’t everyone? I’m fine, so will you all stop treating me like I’m sick?”

You push yourself up from the couch, deciding to excuse yourself from the room and go and find a box of tissues. Your sniffing is starting to annoy you, just like it’s clearly annoying everyone else in the room too.

Bob frowns as he watches you stand up, go to take a step and then stumble. He recognises it for what it is instantly – you’re dizzy. You’d stood up a little too quickly, eager to get away from everyone nagging you, and whatever sickness was plaguing you decided to fight back, making your head spin.

He’s across the room in the blink of an eye, reaching for you just as you start to fall. You were heading right for the glass coffee table and he’s never been more glad to have use of super-speed – in moderation, of course. His powers still aren’t entirely under his control.

You grip onto his arm for a little bit of extra stability as you realise you’re not falling – thanks to Bob. You’re sure that the surprise is evident on your face as you look up at him, the room still slightly spinning around you.

“That was impressive, Bobby,” Walker says, looking at Bob with his eyebrows raised.

“Thanks Walker,” Bob mutters, tightening his grip on your waist. “I think you need some rest,” he continues, speaking softly to you. “Let me help you to your room?”

It’s a question rather than a statement – Bob wouldn’t want to do anything against your will, even if you are clearly sick and dizzy. He knows you can be stubborn at times but it doesn’t stop the worry from seeping inside of him. He’s never seen you like this before. You’re always strong, never weak. He knows that you’re not feeling like yourself when you nod back at him, accepting his help.

He wastes no time in starting to walk with you towards your bedroom, taking it slowly so you don’t get dizzy again. You can feel the eyes of everyone else on you both as you leave. You can already hear the interrogation you’ll get from Yelena and Ava once you’re better, as if you have anything to tell them.

Bob is always sweet with you, but you’re polar opposites. You’re much more stubborn than him, you can be much louder than him, you probably get on his nerves more often than not. But for some reason, you rather like the idea of him taking care of you.

Once you reach your bedroom, he pushes the door open. He takes two steps inside, an arm still around your waist, before he frowns. “What the hell?” He murmurs. “Why is it so cold in here? Do you not have the heating on?”

“I couldn’t figure out how to turn it on,” you admit, squeezing your eyes shut and tightening your grip on the back of Bob’s shirt as a fresh wave of dizziness falls over you. “There are so many buttons in this place and none of them are labelled.

Bob sighs and looks down at you. You’re so insanely smart and yet you couldn’t figure out how to turn the heating on? And you’d never asked for help – even in the dead of winter when the Watch Tower was freezing?

“You could’ve asked me,” he hums, voice so quiet that you almost can’t hear him. “I’ll show you once you’re better. But next time, just ask. Please.”

You smile a little at that. It’s one of the things that you like the most about Bob – his caring nature, despite everything he’s been through in life. It’s the kind of thing that draws you and everyone else towards him.

“I’d like that.”

He gives you a small smile and a nod before continuing. “Okay, change of plan, then,” he decides. “It’ll take too long for your room to warm up. You’re can stay in mine.”

Bob doesn’t give you a chance to try and convince him otherwise. He turns around instantly, bringing you with him as you leave your bedroom. His room isn’t too far away from yours, just a few doors up the hallway. You’re glad to still be holding onto him as you walk towards it. Your head is still spinning, vision a little blurry, and the fact that you couldn’t feel how cold your bedroom apparently was tells you that you think you might be coming down with a fever.

“It’s just in here,” Bob mutters as he pushes open the door to his own bedroom. He smiles as he feels how warm the room is, glad he’d left his heating on when he’d left it this morning. He kicks the door shut behind him and walks with you over to the bed, sitting you down on it and pulling the covers back. If he’d known this was going to happen, he would’ve at least washed the sheets for you. He hopes you won’t mind.

He carefully helps you lay down, adjusting the pillow behind your head, and does his best to try and tuck you in. He’s never been particularly good when it comes to things like this. As a child, he’d never learnt those things from his parents. He tries his best to comfort people when they need it, but he never considers himself very good at it.

It’s once you’re laying in his bed, tucked in, that he realises he doesn’t know what to do next. “Uh… I don’t really know what to do to help you now,” he admits sheepishly. He’d gotten you here and tucked you in, but other than that he was drawing a blank.

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I’m good at taking care of myself.” You reach up a hand and place it onto your forehead, trying to see if your suspicion of having a fever is correct. You’re not surprised when you remove your hand and find it a little wet from sweat. “I think I’m coming down with a fever though… I guess I really am sick.”

Bob’s eyes widen. A fever? He has no idea how to treat a fever. He reaches for his bedside table, opens the drawer and pulls out his phone. He has one but he doesn’t like to use it very often. He finds that being on it, especially on social media and reading about the incident he’d created a while back, doesn’t often help when it comes to dealing with the side of him that had created the Void. He sits down on the edge of his bed and unlocks it.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching him as he types something.

“I’m doing a Google,” he explains.

How to help someone that has a cold, his Google search says.

You watch him as he alternates between scrolling and typing, assuming he’s making some kind of list on his phone of how to help you. You’re smiling without even realising it, thinking about how sweet he is to be doing all of this for you without you even having to ask him to. He’s doing it all just because he wants to.

“What did you come up with, Doctor Reynolds?” You ask after a few minutes.

He looks up from his phone, a small smile on his lips at the nickname. “Google says that warm liquids, like soup or warm water with lemon, are good for you. It also says that putting a wet cloth on your forehead could help the fever. There were a few websites that mentioned painkillers, too… might have to enlist the help of the others for those. I don’t think that they’ll let me near them… for good reason, I guess.” His track record when it comes to drugs is not very good.

“Did you make a list? How many websites did you check?”

Bob looks down at his phone again. “Uh, all twelve on the first page.” He turns his phone around to show you the list he’s written on the notes app. It’s full to the brim of things that he’s found to try and help you get over your cold.

The simple fact that he’d gone to such an effort to find a way to take care of you when he didn’t know how makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside – and you’re certain it’s not because of the fever that you feel this way.

“You know that you don’t have to, right, Bob?” You mutter. “I can look after myself.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean that you should have to,” he shrugs.

You reach a hand out of the blankets and rest it on his knee – the only part of him that you can reach without stretching your arm too far. “Aren’t you meant to be training with John and Ava today, though?”

Bob nods, but he’s unbothered. He’s not going to leave you when you’re sick just to go and do some training. Training is something he can do whenever, but helping you when you don’t feel well only happens once in a blue moon. He’s not going to waste time by leaving you to fend for yourself, especially when you have a fever. Deep down, he knows that this is the right thing for him to be doing today. If he left you to go and train, he knows that he’d just spend the entire time being guilty and irritable.

He reaches out a hand and places it on your forehead, wincing a little as he feels how warm you are. “Training can wait,” he says, removing his hand. “I’m going to go and ask Yelena if she can order some soup for you online and I’ll get you a wet cloth for your forehead. I’ll try and see if I can manage to get them to get me some painkillers for you, too.”

“You won’t be gone too long, will you?” You say, unable to stop the words before they come from your mouth. Apparently it’s not only your body that’s being weak and betraying you today, but your mind as well.

Bob can’t help the small smile that comes to his face. “Not long,” he promises. “You should try and get some sleep while I’m gone. All of the websites on Google said that sleep and rest are the most important things above anything else.”

You’re glad that Bob hasn’t lingered too much on your slip up. You’re even more glad that no one else was around to hear it – it was definitely the kind of thing that would end up with you being teased by every other member of the team if they’d overheard it.

“I’ll try and sleep,” you tell him, meaning every word.

“Good,” Bob hums, placing his hand on top of yours, still resting on his knee, and giving it a squeeze. He may not be the best doctor, or any kind of doctor at all, but until you’re better, looking after you comes before anything else. After all, being able to sit by your side like this and have you willingly let him take care of you isn’t something he’s going to take for granted. He’s sure that soon enough, you will be back to your usual stubborn, loud self. But even then, he doesn’t plan to stray too far from your side.

#robert reynolds #bob reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #lewis pullman #thunderbolts x you #sentry #void

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littlegochu · 3 days ago

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my ride │ jjk 18+

"Don’t forget who you belong to."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: mafia male lead, empowered female lead, established kinda (downbad but cold jungkook)

rating: 18+, smut (sluuuuuuutyyyyyy sex, dirty talk, doggy, tied up, marking up, all that good stuff)

synopsis: He's not the kind of man you fall for. He's the kind you survive.

Jeon Jungkook doesn't love gently. He loves like fire-hot, wild, and uncontrollable. The first time Y/N meets him, it's supposed to be a one-night mistake. A beautiful stranger with inked arms, a wicked mouth, and eyes that burn right through her.

But one night turns into obsession, and obsession turns into a cage disguised as protection. He doesn't ask to be in her life. He decides. Every move she makes, he watches. Every man who looks at her, he remembers. And every time she thinks about walking away, Jungkook reminds her exactly why she never will. He's toxic. Possessive. Wrong in every way. And he's the only thing that's ever felt right. Because the truth is-Y/N doesn't want soft. She wants ruin. And Jungkook? He was built to destroy.

Y/N didn't think he'd come back. Not after that night. Not after the way she touched him like she didn't care and left like she wouldn't look back. But Jeon Jungkook isn't the type of man you forget — and definitely not the type to let you go first.

Since then, it's been unspoken — they're something. She doesn't call it exclusive. Doesn't call it anything. But he shows up after every shift. Every night. Waiting in the dark just to drive her home.

Until tonight.

She took a cab. Alone. Without telling him.

And Jungkook? He's livid. Not because she left — but because she didn't wait. Because ever since that night, Y/N's been his — even if she won't say it out loud.

She's fire, and she thinks she can walk away. But Jungkook's never been good at letting things he wants slip through his fingers.

And tonight, he plans to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

I'm still staring at the screen when I hear the knock — just once. Firm. Final. The kind of knock that doesn't ask if you're home, it tells you to open the door.

I do.

My heart skips. Jumps. Collides with my ribs like it's trying to escape.

Because there he is.

Not in a suit. Not in one of those soul-stealing, mafia-drenched outfits that scream, I own the night and everything in it.

No.

He's in gray sweatpants and a fitted black long sleeve. Simple. Understated. Dangerous. It's unfair how good he looks doing absolutely nothing. Like he could've stayed in, but decided ruining me in loungewear sounded more fun.

His shirt clings to his chest like it's scared to let go. Sleeves shoved up, revealing the ink wrapping around his forearms like sins he wears proudly. His hair's a mess — that hot, chaotic kind of mess that says I've been thinking about you all night and not in a tender way.

And the way he's looking at me?

Like I betrayed him.

Like I didn't just get in a cab — I stabbed him in the back on the way out. Like I'm the sin he regrets loving, but still wouldn't give up if you held a gun to his head.

'Yes?' I say, because apparently sarcasm is my only functioning defense mechanism.

His jaw ticks once. 'You left.'

Oh. Great. He's leading with that.

I cross my arms. 'Nice to see you too.'

He steps inside without asking — because of course he does — and shuts the door behind him with a quiet click. Not a slam. Not a bang. Just... quiet. Controlled. Scary. The kind of quiet that feels louder than shouting. The kind of quiet that makes your spine straighten instinctively.

'You were busy,' I blurt, already regretting it.

He's walking toward me now — slow, steady, and terrifyingly calm. Like a storm that's already decided where it's going to land.

'I told you I'd come get you.'

'And I told you I can handle myself.'

His jaw tightens again. Just slightly. But I feel it. That tension radiating off him like heat from a fuse that's burning too close to the powder.

I hate how attractive he is when he's mad. Actually, no — I hate how attractive he is all the time. It's exhausting.

His voice dips, low and lethal. 'Baby, you call me — I come get you. It's that simple.'

I blink. 'You act like I abandoned you on the side of the road. I got in a cab, Jungkook. A licensed one. With an old man who offered me gum.'

He doesn't smile. Doesn't blink. Just stands there and smirks.

"You don't leave without me. You just don't."

My brain queues up with a comeback — something about not realizing I'd been claimed like a mafia — but it dies a fast death the second he steps in close.

He smells like soap, skin, and something darker. Something sharp that makes your blood heat and your knees question their own integrity.

He halts just inches away, so close I can feel the low, controlled fury humming beneath his skin. He raises a hand — slow, deliberate — and places it on my jaw. Not rough. Not sweet either. Firm. Commanding. The kind of touch that doesn't ask for permission because it already knows it has it.

He tilts my face toward his. His thumb brushes lightly along my cheek, but I can feel the pressure behind it. The tension in his fingers like he's holding back a thousand things he's not allowed to say.

His eyes drop to my lips, slow and possessive. But he doesn't kiss me. Not yet. No, he's savoring the moment before the ruin.

"You think I wait outside your bar every night just for fun, hm?"

My breath catches. I can't even pretend to be annoyed. Not when his other hand slides up the back of my neck and settles there, fingers curving over the base of my skull like he's grounding himself. Or claiming territory. Maybe both.

"You walked away from me like you don't know what that does to me," he says, and the sound of it — low and cracked just slightly — makes my stomach twist. "Like I wouldn't burn this fucking city down if someone else tried to touch what's mine."

The air between us feels charged — like if I speak too loudly, it'll all ignite.

"Next time," he breathes against my ear, "You wait for me. Yes, baby?"

I nod. Because thinking is no longer an option.

But he doesn't move.

His hand tightens just a little. "Words."

"Yes," I whisper. "I get it."

And that's all he needs.

When Jungkook finally kisses me, it's not gentle. It's claiming. It's not I missed you.

It's Don't forget who you belong to.

His lips crush into mine like he's been holding it back all night — like punishing me with silence didn't work, so he's resorting to punishment by pleasure instead. I feel his mouth — hot, consuming, feeling the smirk he makes when he finally gets what he wants.

I don't even realize he's backing me into the wall until my shoulders hit it.

I know exactly what this is.

This is Jungkook teaching me the true meaning of dominance.

He hikes up my skirt, exposing the back of my thighs to his narrowed gaze, "Was this on purpose? Your pussy's dripping." he presses four of his finger flat against my cunt, roughly sliding them against the soaked cotton.

"Jungkook-" a whine leaves my lips, biting into my swollen lower lip as his hand reaches my skin, hooking his fingers into the lace, before spanking between my thighs again, twice more.

He scoffs, "This pussy's all mine" grabbing my ass with his calloused palms, the slick between my thighs catching his attention. Jungkook stretches and kneads the flesh, cementing himself.

"Greedy." his words slip through his gritted teeth. He grabs both my arms behind my back, my wrists feeling small in his hand.

"Bossy." I bite back, clenching because the idea of dirty sex with Jungkook is so arousing.

Far, far past the final punched hole, my sharp stilettos plunge between his black leather belt, tightly wrapped around the flesh.

He knots it twice, ensuring that it doesn't move. The guilt of his acts and the twisted pleasure of my masochistic tendencies combine, releasing a moan as the smooth cloth restrains. He pulls once, making my shoulder blade flex and my nipples scrape against the bed as my back curve is dragged into him.

Jungkook lets out a cocky laugh, rubbing his digits along my exposed cunt, "Slut." I let out a whimper as he waits for a response while pumping his stiff, oozing cock directly behind my dripping entrance. Wishing I could see how attractive he looks with his length in his palm.

"Are you gonna fuck me or n-"

Just as the last syllable leaves my mouth, he shoves his entire girth in, wasting no time by pulling me back into him by the belt, forcing me to meet the loud slaps of his pelvis connecting to my ass.

Jungkook isn't oblivious to my manipulative undertone, he loves to hear the words I'm yours. He had to show it again, plunge it into my system with the presence of an overwhelming orgasm.

With a deep thrust, he brutally buries himself in my tightness as the warmth recklessly overwhelms his senses. He's hungry, wanting to take in every inch of my body and watch his soaked cock vanish into my stretched hole.

He uses my hair to make me watch him. His eyes are focused on my spine, waist, and bound wrists scraping the leather. He looks obsessed with every inch, his eyes are narrowed and roll back in an instant. "Mine, mine, mine," he repeats.

"Fuck—" The word slips out before I can stop it, traitorous and desperate. I already know that smug, possessive part of him hears it like a goddamn trophy.

It stirred something raw in him—just like that night at work, when my coworker Sean let his hand rest a little too low on my back as I passed by. Friendly, harmless... but not to Jungkook. I didn't even have to say anything. I felt his eyes on me before I turned. One look from across the room — sharp, cutting — and I knew. No warnings. No second chances. That was the line, and I'd let someone cross it.

The sex was good that night.

"Harder," I gasp. The burn's already spreading — starting in my shoulders, raw and overstretched, then trailing down over my chest, where my nipples drag against the sheets with every movement. The friction's almost too much, too sharp, but it doesn't stop. It slides lower, crawling down my ribs, flooding me from the inside out. It reaches the throb of my untouched clit. Jungkook's cock dips, bottoming his fat tip out before pushing all the way back in- meeting my g-spot with vigour, pushes and pushes. The room fills with restless moans, pooling out alongside my spit, decorating the corner of my mouth.

"Let another man touch you- drive you, help you, but he could never make you feel like this." The heat of his anger crashes into me the moment he leans in, pressing the rigid lines of his body against my restrained arms. It hits like a wave—sharp, unrelenting—and I drown in it willingly. I can't breathe, don't want to, not with the way his teeth sink into my shoulder, hard enough to leave proof.

"Say it," he growls against my skin. "You're mine. Every inch."

I whimper, shaking under the weight of his voice as he marks me again, dragging fresh color into my skin like he's branding me with every bruise.

His hand wraps around my throat, firm but controlled, tilting my face up until my mouth parts on instinct—like I need to say it.

"You... yours, baby," I choke out, the words tumbling out messy and raw, strung tight with everything I'm feeling and trying not to feel.

He groans at the sound, like my submission winds something deeper inside him, something dangerous. Then his teeth sink into my shoulder again—harder this time—before he pulls back and slams into me all over again. His grip flies to my hips, grounding himself in the way I shudder beneath him, and the sharp sting of his palm slapping my ass echoes through the air.

I feel his frustration pouring off him — not just in the way he moves, but in every breath, every curse under his breath, like this is the only way he knows how to say mine.

I can't see the bruises he's painting into my skin, but I can feel them — the slow burn sinking deep, the tremble in my thighs as they threaten to give out. The bite he leaves on my shoulder pulses like a seal, like he's finishing a sentence written in teeth and heat.

My hands are bound behind me, but it's more than that. I'm tied to him — to the weight of his presence, the way he takes up space in my lungs, in my head, in everything.

"Hold it. Not yet." I drop my head against the bed, my arms trembling, the tension in my body stretching too tight to hold. It crawls down my spine, hot and overwhelming—but I don't get a break.

Jungkook's hand tangles in my hair, rough and certain, and yanks me back into him until my spine arches and my body fits into his like it was made for it. "Shiiiiit, baby..." he growls, voice thick and wrecked. "You're so fuckin' good for me."

I don't mean to whimper — it just slips out. A soft, helpless sniffle between the broken sounds of his name that keep tumbling from my mouth.

But he hears it.

Of course he does.

And it only makes him go harder — his hips driving into me with punishing precision, like every thrust is a warning, a claim, a promise I'm too far gone to deny. His tight balls slap against my swollen clit-more, deeper- he throbs and throbs, my walls sucking him in.

Jungkook's hands move to the belt, fingers quick but careful as he loosens it from around my wrists. The moment the tension releases, his arms slide around me — strong, warm, pulling me back into his chest like he can hold me together.

His lips find the curve of my neck, brushing slow kisses over the bruises he left behind — like he's trying to erase them with apology. His hand rests on my stomach, thumb tracing soft circles over the tender skin, grounding me, claiming me gently now — in the aftermath of everything he unleashed.

The room is quiet now — heavy with the kind of silence that follows ruin. My breath stumbles in and out of my chest, skin flushed and burning, body molded to his. I don't speak. I don't move. I just exist in his hold, pulled apart and put back together in the span of a few heartbeats.

Jungkook lowers his gaze, eyes dark but softer now — that rare calm he only shows me. His fingertips trace down my spine, then lower, slow enough to make my body twitch in response.

He hums — low and satisfied, softly grazing the purple skin with his knuckles.

"Looks good,"

authors note: i had this on wattpad and decided i love it soo much i had to post it here too (it had different names tho so lmk if u see a slip up hehe..) pls comment i love hearing ur opinions, also my requests are open anonymously!

#bts x reader #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #bts #bts fanfic #bts army #bts smut

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elixirfromthestars · 1 day ago

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college au & friend to lovers, oh I’m so here for this!! 🥰🥰

More under the cut ᯓᡣ𐭩

The door swings open within seconds, revealing Bucky’s easy and bright grin. He leans against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, hair slightly tousled, perhaps from running his hands through it. God, he looks great.

^ He’s so pretty I can’t with this visual 😩💕💕

Bucky exhales a short sigh, but his smile stays in place. “Told you, it’s not a big deal.”

^ Excuse me, it was the day the love of my life was born so yes it’s a big deal 😌💖

But he doesn’t make much of his birthday. He doesn’t like attention when he hasn’t earned it.

^ Stooooooop 🥺🥺🥺

Which means you have been assigned a very specific task - keep Bucky in his apartment until it’s time.

^ Oh, I’m so curious to see how our reader will pull this off 👀✨

“No! Nothing’s wrong with ice cream.” You force a laugh, waving your hand dismissively. “I just figured we could chill here for a bit.” You bite your lip, then continue. “We could bake you a cake?” You would love to face-palm yourself right now. Why would you even say that?

^ I love our reader she’s so silly 😂🩷 I’m so bad at keeping secrets, I would’ve spilled the truth already 💀

Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, his own bottle loosely held in one hand, he tips his head back and studies you. “That how we’re playin’ it, huh?”

^ Yes sir 🙂‍↕️✨ these lips are sealed 🤐✨

“Is this me deciding?” he muses, voice smooth. “Or are you just gonna tell me no again?”

^ You cheeky little— 🙄💕

“But I need my lucky charm,” he laments, throwing his head back against the cushion as if this is some great tragedy.

^ If that man said that to me, best believe I’d say screw the assignments!!! My baby needs me 😭🩷🩷

Miss Nelly, the sweet older woman who lives next door to him and Steve. The one they always help carry groceries up the stairs. The one who has trouble with her hip sometimes. If Bucky thinks she might have fallen, or perhaps tried to carry something on her own, of course, he wants to check.

^ He’s such a sweetheart, it’s so endearing 🤧💖💖

You throw the door open and basically slam it shut behind you before he can follow.

^ lmao I love her 🤣🩷

Right outside, Sam and Steve are standing there - in front of the open door to Sam's apartment where a chair lays with its backside on the floor - wide-eyed, looking about as guilty as two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

^ these two silly little idiots are going to end up ruining the surprise 😅💀 it’s so funny imagining these two big muscular boys trying to sneak around and be stealthy 😂

“So you gotta do your part. Go back in and stall him some more” A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know - offer him a good time.”

^ I mean... I’m not objecting to that suggestion… 🙈💗💗

“No, doll.” His voice is lower now, thoughtful, putting together a puzzle in his head. “What’s going on with you?”

^ Our reader is soooooo much stronger than me I would’ve spilled so much already 💀

His expression shifts again, humor creeping into the smirk on his mouth. “Doll,” he starts, voice light, amused. His hands slide up to rest on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. “Did you plan somethin’ for me?”

^ OH— 🫣

Bucky’s expression softens immediately, his amusement fading into something quieter. He straightens up, tilting his head tenderly. His full attention is on you. A gentle crease in his brows forms. “Why are you nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, lower.

^ the way he softens up immediately ahhhhhhhh 😭🩷🩷🩷

“Because.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Because I think we need to talk.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. The entirety of Bucky shifts and you just want the ground to eat you up right this second. Because now he looks so worried. So genuinely concerned.

^ oh no girlie…why would you say that 💀 whenever someone tells me that my blood pressure SPIKES 😅

“You walked me all the way back to my apartment.” Your voice turns quieter as if you are speaking more to yourself than him. Perhaps you are. Saying those things out loud makes them seem so much more important. “And then you got sick for three days.”

^ As if I couldn’t fall more in love with him 😭💖💖 He’s such a sweetheart, it’s make me yearn for a guy like him 🤧💗💗 Like where can I find a guy that will give me his jacket in the rain and walk me to my apartment?? 😭🩷🩷

Bucky notices your struggles. He sees them. Plain on your face. His thumbs brush over your skin in careful strokes. “And you took such good care of me.” His tone lightens, trying to pull you out of whatever hole you’re sinking into. “Remember that part?”

^ And our reader took care of him??? 🩷🩷 These two silly little idiots in love, I need them to kiss!!!! 🙈💕

Or you could finally come clean about the feelings you have held in your heart for so long. Feelings for your best friend.

^ YES PLEASE 🫶🏼🫶🏼

You see heads peeking through the small gap, cautious, bodies frozen in an awkward crouch as if that makes them less noticeable. Steve and Sam. They are trying to slip in without a sound, their movements so unbelievably slow, exaggerated. They resemble cartoon characters sneaking through a heist.

^ not these two again 💀 what are they up to now?? 👀

“Kiss me,” you blurt, and it’s not soft, not sweet, not anything carefully planted - it’s desperate, panicked. Bucky’s whole face just goes wide, pure shock filtering out anything else. Another bump. You’re not sure Bucky even heard it, but your lips crash onto his with urgency. Bucky freezes. And when you say freeze, you mean freeze.

^ AHHHHHHHHHHHHH 🙈💖💖💖💖

He sinks into the kiss, his body softening, folding inward toward you. His fingers slide up your legs, brushing tenderly against the fabric of your pants before settling on your hips, cautious, like he doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want to take too much. Then, his lips move. It’s a slow, searching motion, testing the waters, trying to figure you out. His mouth is warm, his lips so much softer than you imagined. And hell, did you imagine.

^ what. a. kiss. 💗💗💗

His hands tighten, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you forward to the edge of the seat, into his chest, his grip growing needy, desperate. He seems to have been starving for this, like something in him has just broken loose. The kiss turns deeper, heavier, a push and pull of breath and movement. He kisses you with searching urgency, trying to memorize the exact shape of your mouth, the way you feel pressed against him, the way you taste.

^ I’m not okay 🫠💗💗💗💗💗

Your name is a breath that leaves his lips with the kind of care reserved for wishes made on falling stars. It sends another shudder through you, and his grin turns brilliantly wide. “That the present you were talkin’ about earlier?” he breathes, voice still hoarse, still dazed.

^ Yes. 🙂‍↕️✨ And if you want more I’m more than happy to give you more. 🤭💕💕

“Yeah, baby?” he drawls, and the way the new nickname rolls from his tongue so seamlessly makes your next inhale shatter midway, breaking into uneven pieces. You almost feel like choking.

^ YOU CAN’T JUST DROP THE PET NAME LIKE THAT AND EXPECT ME NOT TO GET ALL GIDDY 🤭💕💕💕💕

Tilting his head, Bucky feigns deep thought, but his eyes stay on you at all times. “Would that involve two idiots tryna sneak around behind my back?”

^ oh 😳 he knew all along?? 🫣

“You were actin’ all off from the beginning, doll. Knew somethin’ was up,” he states, voice a little softer, until he turns on his playful teasing voice again. “Flawless execution, sweetheart. Didn’t notice a damn thing.”

^ You cheeky menace 🙄💗💗💗

His expression gives way to something soft. He bites his lip again, before bringing your hands up and kissing them softly, twinkling bright blue eyes trained on you and the deep flush that spreads along your cheeks. Perhaps Bucky Barnes finally has a reason to start celebrating his birthday.

^ Yes he does 🥰 Oh, he most definitely does 🤭🩷

My lovely, I loved every second of reading this!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼 You already had me so hooked with the college au & friends to lovers, and then as I read more and more it gave me rom-com/sitcom vibes and it made me adore it even more!! 🥰🥰 Bucky is such a darling menace in this and our reader is so relatable, I absolutely loved the dynamic of these two so much!! 🥹💖💖Apologies for taking so long in getting around to read this, life & other personal stuff got in the way 🥺🩷 Your third entry is one of three of my final and most largest ones to read, and I promise to get around to it as soon as I can 🫶🏼🫶🏼 Thank you so much for participating multiple times in my writing challenge, it warms my heart so much to know you were inspired over and over again by it!! 🥹🩷🩷

Supposed Distraction

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: It’s Bucky’s birthday and you and your friends are planning a surprise party. That leaves you with the task to distract him while the others prepare.

Prompt 1: “I think we need to talk.”

Prompt 2: “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Prompt 3: “Kiss me.”

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: friends to lovers; reader is embarrassed and rather terrible at attempting to distract Bucky; Bucky is smug; Bucky is worried; Sam and Steve are idiots; feels; pining; tension; Bucky is a sweetheart

Author’s Note: This is another entry for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge by @elixirfromthestars ♡ I hope you’re not getting tired of me participating, my dear, but I couldn’t help it. Especially since you were the one inspiring me to write this about college!bucky. I'll have to thank you for that!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Masterlist

You always knock four times.

It’s instinctive at this point, muscle memory more than conscious thought. You don’t even remember when or how it started, but it's always fours knocks.

“Hey, doll,” he greets, voice warm. “You’re early.”

You arch a brow, stepping past him when he shifts to let you in. “It’s your birthday, Buck. What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone, huh?”

Bucky exhales a short sigh, but his smile stays in place. “Told you, it’s not a big deal.”

“‘Course it is, Buck,” you argue, almost indignant at the thought. Because if anyone deserves a day where people get to celebrate him, it’s James Buchanan Barnes.

But he doesn’t make much of his birthday. He doesn’t like attention when he hasn’t earned it.

It’s why he loves the mound, standing there under stadium lights with all eyes on him, but loathes things like this - birthdays, personal praise, anything that forces him into a spotlight just for existing. You suppose that’s just part of who he is.

You saw him earlier, in university. You shared one class today. He walked in a few minutes late, baseball cap pulled low, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

You had been waiting for him, barely able to contain your excitement as you nearly launched yourself at him in the hallway with a cheerful happy birthday, Bucky!

He had only blinked, slightly startled at your enthusiasm before huffing out a laugh when you crushed him in a tight hug. But he hadn’t complained, only chuckled softly, winding his arms around you and pressing his hands to your back, waiting for you to be the first to pull away again.

You told him he'd receive his present later the day with a grin and Bucky only rolled his eyes with a fond smile, letting you have your moment.

But what Bucky doesn’t know is that there is a surprise party awaiting him later, planned by you and your shared group of friends - because somebody has to make sure that today doesn’t pass like it is just another day.

Sam’s apartment is the only logical choice, given that his roommate dropped out and no one had rushed to fill the space yet. That means lots of room, plus an open invitation to make a mess.

The only issue is that Sam’s apartment is directly across the hall from Bucky and Steve’s.

Which means you have been assigned a very specific task - keep Bucky in his apartment until it’s time.

Not that you had much say in the matter. The moment the question came up about who would be the one distracting him that long, every pair of eyes landed on you.

You are his best friend, but - and that’s how you see it - so is everyone else. Still, they seemed to believe that you could hold his attention for long enough, that you could keep him engaged enough not to notice the shuffle of footsteps and suspicious voices beyond his door. That it would be you who he doesn’t mind having around, lingering in his space.

Honestly, you didn’t argue.

There is not a reason as to why you should. Any excuse to spend time with Bucky is a good one.

After all, you love the guy. But that’s a problem for another day.

You drop your bag on the worn-out armchair by the window, the same spot you always claim when you are here.

Bucky’s jacket is slung over the back of the chair, and the second your bag lands on it, the scent of his cologne drifts up - clean, something woodsy, something him. It distracts you for a second, but then you turn to face him again.

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans after closing the door again.

“Where’s Steve?” you ask casually, like you don’t already know he is across the hall, making sure everything is set up for the surprise. But you don’t know what he told Bucky.

“He said somethin’ about running some drills with the rookies, helping out the coach, or whatever,” Bucky answers, tilting his head in that unconcerned way. He slowly makes his way toward you. “Guess one of them nearly took his own damn head off trying to hit a curveball.”

One of your brows lifts amused. “And Steve’s the guy to fix that?”

Bucky smirks. “Well, y’know how he is. Someone fucks up a throw, suddenly he’s gotta be the one to teach ‘em how to do it right.” He shakes his head, like the whole thing is ridiculous.

“Yeah, sounds like Steve,” you state, trying to suppress a knowing smile.

You lean your hip against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, trying to keep it casual. The apartment is small, with the kitchen bleeding into the living space, a single couch, and a coffee table taking up a lot of the room. You love it.

“So, what do you feel like doing?” You tip your head toward him. “You’re the birthday boy, you get to decide.”

Bucky scoffs, lips curling, finding your antics amusing. But then, he actually seems to consider it. His hands slip from his pockets, arms crossing as he leans back slightly against the table. His gaze falls to the window. Sunlight spills in, casting golden lines across the floor and making your hair gleam.

“You wanna go get some ice cream or somethin’?” he suggests. “It’s warm out.”

You blink, caught off guard. Bucky isn’t usually the one to propose going out. It takes a little coaxing most days, a push to get him moving and leave his apartment to meet your group of friends somewhere outside. You wonder what he would have said if anyone else were the one distracting him.

But you can’t take him up on it. Because you can’t let him leave and potentially find out.

“Uh-no,” you say, a little too quickly, a little too firmly.

Bucky’s brows lift, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “No?” He huffs a laugh, shifting his weight onto one foot, arms still folded. His voice takes on that slow, teasing drawl. “You just asked me what I wanna do, doll. Thought I got to decide? Y’know, birthday and all that.”

You just started this distracting thing and you are already messing up. Great.

You scramble for a way to walk it back, to keep him here without making it obvious. “Yeah, you know, I just-” You glance around as if the answer is hidden somewhere in the room. “Why don’t we stay inside?”

Bucky watches you, eyes narrowing just slightly, trying to puzzle you out. He doesn’t look suspicious. But there is a curiosity in it.

“Why?” he drags the word out, tilting his head. “Something wrong with ice cream? We could also go get some tacos maybe-”

You would love to face-palm yourself right now.

Why would you even say that?

There will be plenty of cake at the party. Cake that’s already been ordered, picked out, baked yourself, and waiting across the hall. And yet, here you are, offering something completely unnecessary, completely ridiculous.

God, you are terrible at this.

Bucky’s blue eyes are on you, considering, lips parting, about to say something.

Panic rises.

“Or not,” you blurt, stepping forward too fast, too sudden, hands coming up in a vague, dismissive gesture. “Yeah, maybe not. That’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”

You shift where you stand, fingers twitching at your sides. You don’t get nervous around Bucky - at least, not like this. But something hot and uncomfortable starts to creep up the back of your neck.

A slow smirk pulls at Bucky’s mouth as he watches you with so much amusement in his eyes, enjoying whatever the hell this is turning into.

“You alright over there, doll?” he asks, voice warm, teasing.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He tilts his head, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. “Cause you’re actin’ a little funny.”

You open your mouth, a retort or something like it ready, but Bucky suddenly leans in just a fraction, gaze sweeping over your face like he is searching for something. And yeah shit, you need to shut this down. Now. Or you’ll be a hot mess on the floor.

“Just forget it.” You shrug and then move away from him, toward the fridge, suddenly very interested in whatever’s inside. “You want something to drink?”

You don’t look back at him immediately, don’t give him a chance to see the way you feel your face warm up. Instead, you grab two small bottles of orange juice, shoving one in his direction as a distraction.

Bucky takes it easily, but that amused smirk does not waver a tiny bit. He is still watching you.

Bucky is no idiot. And if you’re not careful, he’s going to catch on fast.

You twist the cap of the bottle a little forcefully, the plastic groaning in your grip. The cold of it seeps into your palm, but it’s not enough to steady the way your heart is beating a little too fast. Taking a sip of the juice, you try to swallow past the lump in your throat.

He has always been observant. Even more so when it comes to you. You wish, just this once, that he'd be a little more dense.

“You gonna tell me what’s up with you today?” he asks, voice colored with curiosity, dipping just enough into concern that you flinch internally.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

It’s defensive, but all it does is amuse him. His lips curve, his brows shoot high, the lines on his forehead creasing in exaggerated surprise.

Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, his own bottle loosely held in one hand, he tips his head back and studies you. “That how we’re playin’ it, huh?”

You shrug, taking another sip of your juice, using the movement as an excuse to break eye contact. But you know it does not deter him.

Bucky makes a thoughtful noise, shifting his weight. “Y’know,” he drones out, tone lazy but eyes sharp and smirk sly. “Usually when people get all cagey like this, it means they’re hidin’ something.”

You shoot him a hopefully flat look. “Wow, Barnes. That’s some real detective work. You want to get a notepad? Maybe a magnifying glass?”

His smirk widens. He seems thoroughly entertained. You don’t like it.

“Depends,” he teases, leaning in just a fraction. “Do I need ‘em?”

Your pulse spikes. Bastard.

With an obvious eye roll that unfortunately lacks the conviction you tried to portray, you cross the room, shoulders set, and let yourself drop into the armchair where your bag still rests with a heavy thud. The cushions soften the impact. Trying to feign the usual comfort you feel sitting here, you tuck one leg under the other, leaning back. Your hands tighten around the still cold bottle of juice.

Bucky doesn’t move right away. He is still standing by the counter, bottle in hand, eyes never leaving you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you ask, reaching for the remote, already trying to steer this back into safe waters.

Bucky exhales through his nose, humor lining the corners of his eyes. His stance is easy and relaxed, but he looks at you like he knows something is off.

“Is this me deciding?” he muses, voice smooth. “Or are you just gonna tell me no again?”

There is no accusation in his tone, just that familiar Brooklyn drawl that makes everything sound like an inside joke.

He finally moves, dragging his body toward the couch. He doesn’t plop down like you did. He settles himself with intent and leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his entire focus trained on you like you are the most interesting thing in the room.

You swallow.

“You’ll get to decide,” you promise, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glances at the dark TV screen, then back at you.

“Nah,” he claims. “Let’s talk.”

Your stomach drops.

Bucky never lets things go when he is curious. You see the spark in his eyes, the glint of amusement, the way the corners of his mouth twitch with that smirk. He knows you are acting weird. Maybe he doesn’t know why, but he sure as hell knows something is up and he is going to dig.

You inhale deeply, fighting the urge to groan. But all you do is force a casual shrug, stretching your arms over your head before letting them drop back into your lap. “What do you want to talk about?”

Your fingers fidget with the label on the bottle, a nervous little movement you don’t mean to make. Bucky’s gaze flickers down to your hands and you freeze, immediately stilling them, letting the bottle rest in your lap and shoving your hands between your thighs.

His eyes snap back to yours, lips curving up.

“You,” he says simply.

You roll your eyes, feigning playful annoyance, because if you don’t, you might actually combust on the spot. “Oh, come on,” you scoff.

For the next few minutes, you actually manage to let a conversation drift to normal things. The familiar back-and-forth. You talk about classes, you being annoyed at that one professor who has a habit of trailing off mid-lecture, forgetting what he is actually supposed to talk about. Bucky tells you about his brutal morning training session that left half the team groaning like old men.

You bring up his next baseball game, the one you won’t be able to make because of an assignment, and Bucky whines.

He doesn’t just complain a little but rather goes on about it for minutes on end. Arms flailing, huffing dramatically, groaning like you just told him his dog died.

“You could just skip,” he protests, lounging back into the couch.

“I can’t just skip, Bucky.”

“But I need my lucky charm,” he laments, throwing his head back against the cushion as if this is some great tragedy.

You roll your eyes but there is warmth rising in your chest. “I’m sorry, Buck. But I did come to all your games last month.”

“Yeah, which is why you owe me,” Bucky retorts, sitting up again, gesturing with his hands. “I hit a homer 'cause you were there. What if I suck without you?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you laugh, but Bucky grumbles under his breath, not quite over it.

It starts to feel normal. Easy. You begin to believe that you might actually pull this off. That you can keep him here, keep him occupied, long enough for your friends across the hall to finish setting up.

But then a loud thump echoes from the hallway.

Your spine goes rigid.

Bucky’s head snaps up, his grin replaced with a furrowed brow.

Another thud.

Yeah, so, that was that.

You fumble for your phone and type out a quick text to Sam.

Y: What are you guys doing out there?

The reply comes almost immediately.

S: Just keep Barnes inside.

You would love to curse loudly right now. Because thank you for nothing, Sam.

Bucky is already standing.

“What are you doing?” you ask, standing up as well, your voice perhaps a little sharper than usual.

Bucky glances at you briefly. There is a tiny bit of concern in his eyes. “There’s something goin’ on out there.” He gestures toward the door. “Think I should check. Might be Miss Nelly.”

Something clenches in your gut.

But that is not what is happening out there.

You rush to step between him and the door. “Let me check.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You wait here, doll. I’ll be back in a sec-”

But you don’t let him finish.

You throw the door open and basically slam it shut behind you before he can follow.

Yes, that was perhaps a little rude. Yes, that will probably only make him more suspicious. Yes, you could have come up with something better. But you certainly did not have the time to think about what exactly.

You would have laughed at the sight if not for the fact that you just slammed Bucky’s own apartment door basically in his face without an explanation.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” you hiss, voice low, exasperated.

Sam lifts his hands in a calm down gesture. “Listen-”

“No, you listen,” you snap, whisper-shouting, barely resisting the urge to grab them by their collars and shake them. “He’s two seconds away from walking out that door.”

Steve grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “We, uh, we miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated?” you repeat, eyes narrowing.

They both exchange a glance.

You sigh in frustration. “Where’s Nat?”

“Out with Bruce getting drinks,” Steve answers, folding his arms. “Wanda, Clint, and Laura are inside, decorating.”

“Look,” Sam starts, raising a brow. “We’re bustin’ our asses for this dickhead, and you’re the one who came up with the whole thing in the first place.”

“That’s not-”

“So you gotta do your part. Go back in and stall him some more” A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know - offer him a good time.”

Your eyes narrow, hands on your hips. “Sam.”

Steve sighs, shaking his head, but there is an unmistakable smirk tugging at his lips.

You glare at them both, spinning on your heel before they can make this worse, yanking the door open and stepping back inside the apartment.

Bucky is exactly where you left him.

Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. Lips parted slightly, caught between confusion and suspicion.

He is wearing that what the hell was that expression.

You swallow and shut the door more forcefully than necessary, the sound echoing slightly.

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just fixes you with a stare so focused, so piecing, seemingly able to look right through you. It makes you shift where you stand, suddenly hyper-aware of every nervous tick in your body.

“Alright,” he starts slowly, carefully, eyes falling to the door before turning back to you. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Not Miss Nelly,” you quip, attempting a light and assuring tone.

It does not work.

Bucky still doesn’t blink. His jaw works. He doesn’t buy a damn thing you’re trying to sell him.

“No, doll.” His voice is lower now, thoughtful, putting together a puzzle in his head. “What’s going on with you?”

You try to press down the lump in your throat.

“You’re actin’ real weird.” His words aren’t harsh, not even accusing. Just observant.

He cocks his head slightly.

Why did the others think you could withstand the way his eyes root you to the spot without flopping down to the ground as a puddle.

You are so screwed.

You push yourself out of the conversation, walking over to the armchair again and trying to find something to keep you busy while plopping down.

“It’s nothing, Bucky.”

Your fingers curl around the juice bottle, bringing it to your lips, but the cold liquid doesn’t do much to cool the heat crawling up your spine. Your thumb works at the label, picking at the paper until it peels away in small, curling strips.

Bucky blows out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face before slowly making his way over to you.

Crouching in front of you, he braces his forearms on his knees, his eyes intently locked onto you.

The sudden closeness forces you to suck in a breath and your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hands.

Shit.

Your next inhale is a little hesitant. The air thickens. “No.” It sounds too stiff.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He is smirking so wide. Enjoying this so much, the way you squirm in your seat before him.

You push forward, shaking your head. “No, Buck. I did not.”

“You sure?” He almost laughs.

“Yes, I just-” You are floundering, drowning in your own words. How can you save this now?

“I’m nervous.” Well, at least that’s not a lie.

Bucky’s expression softens immediately, his amusement fading into something quieter. He straightens up, tilting his head tenderly. His full attention is on you.

A gentle crease in his brows forms. “Why are you nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, lower.

And guilt hits you.

How do you get out of this?

But, hell, he is so close, too close. His eyes are so blue, too blue. His gaze is so intense, too intense. You are feeling hot, too hot - your brain isn’t working, it’s overheating, and your mouth is suddenly moving.

“Because.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Because I think we need to talk.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

The entirety of Bucky shifts and you just want the ground to eat you up right this second.

Because now he looks so worried. So genuinely concerned.

You feel yourself start to sweat. Where is this going? Why can’t you stop this? Why did you even start it?

Bucky’s face drops to a frown so deep, lines are forming. A hand of his moves, palm landing lightly on your knee.

“We can talk, doll.” His voice is even softer now, barely above a murmur. “Is something wrong? You alright?”

You just stare at him.

Your heart is hammering.

What the hell are you doing?

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your fingers keep worrying at the torn label, peeling off strips that crumple beneath your fingertips. It’s the only thing you want to focus on right now with Bucky’s proximity and his intense gaze.

But then his hands replace the bottle and he grasps your fingers, wrapping around them and stilling their fidgeting.

Something electric rushes through your veins so quickly, you couldn’t catch it if you tried.

This is getting way too serious.

Too intimate in a way that sends your pulse skittering up your throat.

You feel like a deer caught in headlights, your body tensing up, lungs forgetting how to work properly. Because this is veering dangerously off course, heading straight for a conversation you’re not sure you’re ready to have. You never thought you’d ever be ready.

But you started this. You walked straight into it with your own words, and there is no backing out now. So you might as well be honest now.

No time like the present.

Bucky must feel the way your hands begin to tremble in his hold, because he adjusts again, shifting closer, his knees pressing against the base of your chair. His thumbs trace over the backs of your hands. His frown deepens.

Why does he have to be so worried? It would make things so much easier if he remained casual and easy. But really, that’s how Bucky always is. Worrying so fast when it comes to you. You can’t really blame this on him now, can you?

His voice drops lower, soft as a whisper. “What is it, sweetheart?” His eyes are full and searching. “Talk to me.”

Air hitches, stalling between your ribs before pushing forward in a rather trembling exhale. Your lungs barely feel full. Your eyes dart away from his, searching the room, the floor, anywhere but him.

“Did I upset you? Is it something I did-”

“No!” you rush out, hastily. “No, you didn’t do anything, Buck.” God, now he even goes that far. This is bad.

Bucky softens a tiny fraction, but he keeps sweeping his eyes over your face, latching on the details, trying to study you, trying to read what this is about. “You can tell me, doll. Always. Whatever it is,” he coos so sweetly, and it makes you want to cry.

How do you even start this?

You open your mouth. You’re certainly not ready to climb the whole mountain, but perhaps you can try a small hill.

“Do you-” You swallow, trying to sound as if you are simply reminiscing. “Do you remember that time after your game last year when it started pouring the second we left the stadium?”

Bucky blinks at the sudden turn. Confusion enters his features but the worry only deepens. “What?”

You push forward, gaze fixed on the arm of your chair as if it might give you the courage you need. “You gave me your jersey, even though I already had a jacket and you were the one soaking wet-”

Bucky’s brows pull further together, his head shaking slowly, not knowing what to do with your words. “Doll-”

His hands squeeze yours gently. “I mean- Yeah, I remember.” Confusion also settles in his tone. “But what’s that got to do with-”

“I don’t know,” you cut in quickly. “I just-” You exhale a deep sigh. “I think about that a lot.”

Bucky says your name like it is something delicate. Something that might slip away if he is not careful.

“Look at me, please.”

You try, but it’s hard.

It means staring into those impossibly blue eyes that see too much, that strip you bare without even trying, that try to coax something out of you, you didn’t even plan on letting go.

But you force yourself to lift your gaze and it is worse than you expected.

He is watching you with an intensity that makes you stop breathing. His stormy eyes are so full of concern, so desperate to understand what is going on in your head, searching every inch of your face.

His lips are parted slightly. His breathing is sharper. Uneven.

“What’s going on, hm?” he coaxes, so softly, so full of patience you don’t deserve. “What’s this about? You still feelin’ guilty?”

Your heart plummets like a stone.

“Doll, there’s no need to, alright?” His hands squeeze yours, grounding, reassuring. “We talked about this.”

God, why does he have to be so good?

His voice is so warm. Warm like sunlight, like home. It makes the sting behind your eyes grow stronger.

You don’t want to cry.

You don’t want to feel this way. Don’t want to ruin his fucking birthday like this. This is getting so out of hand right now, but what should you do? You are so tangled up in trying to figure out what to say, things you are too much of a coward to finally admit out loud.

You nod, swallowing and swallowing but the clump of emotions stays stuck in your throat. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out flat, like you are detached from it. “I do. Sorry for bringing it up.”

Bucky’s lips press together, and then he sighs so deeply, his chest rises and falls profoundly.

“Doll,” he murmurs, straightening up, arms beside you tensing as though he is holding himself back from doing something. “That’s not what you wanted to talk about.”

He’s right.

“Darlin’, please,” he urges, and god, the way that word falls from his lips makes you shudder. His voice is barely above a whisper now, full of something genuine, something tender, something that makes him sound like he wishes you would just talk to him, and it makes you want to shrink down to something he can’t see anymore. “What is it?”

You could lie. Again.

You could laugh it off, steer the conversation away, keep pretending.

You could drag this out further until the others are ready, leaving him worried and slightly upset.

You could tell him the truth about the party.

Or you could finally come clean about the feelings you have held in your heart for so long. Feelings for your best friend.

Drawing in a breath, you straighten slightly. Your hands, still held in his, still shaking, squeeze back. His eyes never waver from your face, tracing the contours of your features.

You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help much. “Uhm,” you croak. “I- I wanted- I need to tell you something.”

His fingers twitch around yours. His features fall into a deep concentration. He doesn’t rush you. Just watches. Waits.

And god, his eyes are pools you never learned to swim in.

You look away, at the wall behind him. “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now, I guess. But-” You inhale a quivering breath. “But I was afraid. Because I don’t know how you’ll react.”

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His chest rises and falls deeply, almost mechanically. There is something almost spellbound in the way he stares at you, completely locked in, completely yours. The only sign that he has heard you is the subtle press of his fingers against yours.

His head dips in a nod for you to go on.

You wet your lips. “I, uhm-”

But then something catches your attention.

The door to Bucky’s and Steve’s apartment opens.

Painstakingly slow.

You stiffen.

Bucky is still so enamored with what you were saying, he doesn’t seem to notice at first. His back is to the door.

You see heads peeking through the small gap, cautious, bodies frozen in an awkward crouch as if that makes them less noticeable.

Steve and Sam.

They are trying to slip in without a sound, their movements so unbelievably slow, exaggerated. They resemble cartoon characters sneaking through a heist.

Sam motions at you wildly, gesturing at Bucky, at himself, at the hallway, mouthing something like distract him! Keep him busy.

They almost make it, but Bucky catches the small reaction of you, the surprise. His senses are too tuned in to every little thing about you and with his brows knit together, he shifts to glance over his shoulder.

You don’t think about anything.

Your hands rip from his, and before he can turn fully, before he can see those two idiots, you grab his face.

Bucky jolts, startled, his breath hitching audibly. His skin is warm beneath your palms, the sharp angle of his jaw fitting perfectly against your hands. His wide eyes snap back to you, dumbfounded, searching.

He blinks at you. Then blinks again. Then simply stares.

His lips part slightly, breath brushing over your skin.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

This is close. Too close. Closer than you’ve ever been. Well, but not closer than you’ve let yourself imagine. But having him here in reality is something else entirely.

Sam throws you a thumbs up over Bucky’s head and a wiggle of his brows and the both of them disappear from sight into the hallway.

But you just made this worse.

And you are still holding his face between your hands.

Bucky’s lashes flicker, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t fight it. Just stares at you like you’ve done something earth-shattering, like you’ve just rewritten every unspoken rule between you in a single, desperate motion.

Your pulse is a drum against your throat.

You see Bucky’s pulse thunder in his neck.

But he doesn’t move. You don’t move either.

He doesn’t breathe. You don’t know if you do.

He watches you. You watch him back.

“Doll?” Bucky practically breathes the question.

You swallow hard. Opening your mouth doesn’t help with finding words, so you shut it again. Slowly, you pull your hands away from his face.

But Bucky still doesn’t move.

His breath is still broken, his lips still parted, his brows still slightly drawn, stuck somewhere between surprise and something so deep, you’d be falling endlessly.

He is leaning in just the slightest bit, as though his body hasn’t quite caught up with his mind, not even realizing he is doing it.

And you hate the way your chest aches at the look in his eyes.

There is so much all at once and the more you stare, the harder it gets.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, dropping your gaze.

But there is movement in your peripheral.

Steve and Sam are creeping back out of the hallway, lugging something that looks like Bucky’s speaker system from his room.

And god help you, they are still moving at a snail’s pace, their motions so exaggerated, so painfully slow and obvious that you want to scream. You grit your teeth.

Fortunately, Bucky is still just staring at you, stunned.

The two are just about to reach the door, so close to getting through this ridiculous charade, when Sam’s end of the box bumps against the shoe shelf.

The sound isn’t loud, but it’s enough. Enough for Bucky’s head to instinctively turn toward the noise. Enough for his body to shift just slightly.

Your brain short-circuits.

Like completely.

Totally.

Lacking any sense.

Not only do you pull his face back.

You pull it in.

“Kiss me,” you blurt, and it’s not soft, not sweet, not anything carefully planted - it’s desperate, panicked.

Bucky’s whole face just goes wide, pure shock filtering out anything else.

Another bump.

You’re not sure Bucky even heard it, but your lips crash onto his with urgency.

Bucky freezes.

And when you say freeze, you mean freeze.

Every muscle in his body turns to stone. His hands flex before going rigid, floating in the air. His breath stalls. His spine goes straight, and the grunt he lets out - so low and gravelly, caught deep in his throat - reverberates into your mouth.

But behind him, Steve and Sam go as still. Dead silent.

You can feel them watching, their eyes practically bulging out of their skulls.

For a full few seconds, nothing happens.

But then, there is a shift. You don’t see it, but you know it. The way their disbelief turns into something smug - something amused and downright delighted. You feel the way Sam’s mouth probably stretches into that toothy and knowing, cocky-ass grin. You feel the way Steve simply looks happy.

You don’t pull away.

Instead, you wave one frantic hand behind Bucky’s back, motioning wildly, trying to get them to move.

You open an eye to see them still staring, Steve blinking rapidly, Sam grinning like a fool, nudging Steve.

But then, finally, they start creeping out of the room again.

They are gone now.

Bucky still isn’t moving.

He’s not breathing.

He’s not reacting.

And the tension stretches so tight, you swear the air could snap in half.

Because this isn’t just a distraction anymore.

This isn’t just a cover-up.

Your lips are still on Bucky’s.

Your hands are still gripping his face.

And his are trembling where they hover near your knees, as if he wants to touch you, wants to move, but his brain is still struggling to catch up with what is happening.

Then the tension snaps.

Bucky exhales against you.

It’s not just a breath - it’s a surrender. A sharp and shuddering exhale that stirs against your lips, warm and tentative, as if he is trying to feel what is happening, trying to understand the shape of this moment.

His hands flex and twitch against your legs, but he is hesitant, as if waiting for something, waiting for you to pull back, waiting for this to be some kind of mistake.

But you don’t pull back.

You don’t want to pull back.

And that’s when he melts.

Then, his lips move. It’s a slow, searching motion, testing the waters, trying to figure you out. His mouth is warm, his lips so much softer than you imagined. And hell, did you imagine.

He makes a sound - low and unsure, a hum deep in his throat that vibrates against your lips. His movements are careful, almost disbelieving. Like he is afraid this will disappear if he lets himself want it too much.

But then something changes.

Your nails lightly run over his neck, thumbs over his jawline.

And you feel the exact second the hesitation snaps.

He pulls you in.

The kiss turns deeper, heavier, a push and pull of breath and movement. He kisses you with searching urgency, trying to memorize the exact shape of your mouth, the way you feel pressed against him, the way you taste.

His lips part, just for a moment, and then he dares to press in a little more, tilting his head, fitting his mouth more firmly against yours.

He makes another sound - this time rougher, needier - a groan that slips through the space between you.

You can feel the want in the way he kisses you, in the way he angles his head to take more, to taste more, and damn if it does not overwhelm you.

The way his fingers tighten their hold, his thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, needing to feel your warmth.

And the way he breathes you in, each exhale shaky, each inhale sharper, like he is drunk on this, on you.

Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tangling in the strands at the nape of his neck, and the second you pull just so slightly, he makes a sound.

A gravelly noise that shoots straight through you, heat curling at the base of your spine.

He is kissing you like he can’t help it anymore. As if he has been waiting for this exact moment, for you, for so long that he’s past the point of fighting it.

You thought he’d pull away. You thought he’d startle and demand an explanation, eyes sharp with suspicion, voice laced with confusion. But he doesn’t.

His lips only press more firmly against yours, his nose sweeping against your cheek, his chest rising and falling unevenly, breathing erratic as if he is just as lost in this as you are.

Your heart is hammering so violently in your chest, you think he must hear it, must feel it where your body is pressed to his. Your hands are slightly trembling, sliding to curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him. Because you have to hold on. You have to anchor before you fall, before you slip too deep into the intoxicating pull of him and lose all sense of self.

But maybe you already have.

Because he is kissing you as though he’s afraid this is a dream, testing the edges of reality with every careful, exploring movement of his tongue and lips.

He tastes like something warm, something safe, something like the orange juice you two have been drinking, something wholly Bucky. Every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours, is stealing a coherent thought from your mind.

This was supposed to be a distraction. This was supposed to be a lie.

But hell, it’s not.

It’s everything you’ve ever wished for.

When you pull away, both breathless and panting, his forehead stays against yours.

Your pulse is so fast, so fluttering, and you know he can feel it, the way it thrums in your chest, in your throat, in the slight tremor of your fingers still curled loosely in his shirt.

His hot and shuddering exhale fans over your lips and it’s maddening how much you want to taste them again, how much you want to fall right back into him.

You open your eyes.

His are already on you, so close, so intent, so devastatingly blue that they don’t help at all in trying to regain a healthy breathing rate. There is something in them, something soft and devoted, something awed, like he can’t quite believe you are real, that this is real.

A shiver works its way down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its way and Bucky sees it. He feels it. His grin widens, slow and boyish almost, something that makes him look young and light, like something is lifted off his shoulders.

Your name is a breath that leaves his lips with the kind of care reserved for wishes made on falling stars.

It sends another shudder through you, and his grin turns brilliantly wide.

“That the present you were talkin’ about earlier?” he breathes, voice still hoarse, still dazed.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. Smiling. Grinning. Like a fool. God, you can’t stop. It’s lifting your cheeks and making you feel giddy in a way you haven’t felt in so long.

“No,” you whisper back, voice airy.

“Don’t matter,” Bucky’s voice is full of affection, of something certain. His hands slide up, one cupping your jaw, thumb skimming over your cheek, the other finding the nape of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair. Holding you there. Holding you close. “Best damn present I’ve ever gotten.”

His tone is so sincere, so full of adoration, that your breath turns upside down, and you can’t do anything but feel the way butterflies are dancing in your stomach.

Heat floods your face and Bucky’s fingers flex against your skin, his smile turning impossibly brighter.

His eyes are shining with something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in them before. It’s breathtaking. It’s promising. It’s worshipful.

It’s everything.

You guess you owe him a little bit of an explanation.

There is guilt pooling in the hesitation before you speak. “Buck?” you start, voice quiet.

“Yeah, baby?” he drawls, and the way the new nickname rolls from his tongue so seamlessly makes your next inhale shatter midway, breaking into uneven pieces. You almost feel like choking.

His voice is so full of warmth, so soft, so fond. He is smiling at you and his eyes are sparkling as if you’ve just handed him the world. He is kneeling in front of you, patient and content, as though he’s got all the time in the world if it means spending it with you.

Something dizzying rushes through your veins, sparking at the base of your spine. You have to take a moment, a single, shaky pause to shove the giddiness down for later, to not let it explore the wide landscape of your heart and mind.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, still at the edge of the armchair. Your chest almost brushing against Bucky’s. “I, uh- I do have something planned for you.”

Bucky is beaming. His amusement spills over into something so brilliant and blinding. His entire face lights up, so open, so full of adoration that it makes a feeling of pure bliss explode in your chest, sending delightful shivers down to your toes and hell, you don’t think you can handle it.

“Oh, do you?” he muses, dragging the words out slow and teasing. There is something beneath the syrupy sweetness. Something like mischief. His brows raise, eyes glinting, his lips twitch, and you know he is about to be a menace.

Tilting his head, Bucky feigns deep thought, but his eyes stay on you at all times. “Would that involve two idiots tryna sneak around behind my back?”

You blink at him.

Bucky’s grin turns wolfish and he bites his lip to suppress a laugh.

Groaning loudly, you press your hands to your face and Bucky lets the laugh out. It’s full-bodied and wholehearted. His chest shakes, his shoulders lift, his body tilts into it. And it’s such a good sound, such a lovely sound, so rich and free. It makes your own lips curl despite the frustration of the ruined surprise.

Bucky reaches up to gently pry your hands away from your face. His grip lingers, thumbs tracing over your knuckles, his touch so easy and natural.

Perhaps Bucky Barnes finally has a reason to start celebrating his birthday.

“But oh baby! Your smile.. Felt like warm sunshine after a heavy storm.. Overdose of it, is still not enough for me..”

- Zankhana

#elixirscinema #marvelstoriesepic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#lovely mutuals ♡🎀♡#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader

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the-librarby · 1 day ago

Text

DRUNK IN DA CLUB

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

Your brother is coming home for the summer holidays and plans to crash at yours. What he didn’t warn you about, however, was the unexpected friend he decided could tag along.

Brother’s best friend au, what more is there to say. (Reader is John McTavish’s sister)

3:05 am

The slight night breeze cooled your car down as you sat in the car park of the airport. It was hot, and the airport was a continuous stream of traffic that you could not wait to get out of. You drummed your fingers against the open gap of the window as you looked out for any sign of your brother. His plane landed an hour ago but there was still no sign of him.

Usually you wouldn’t pick him up, but since he was going to be home for a longer break you thought it was the least you could do— being a good sister and all.

Your phone buzzes beside you in the dark of your car’s interior. You reach for the dial of your radio and turn down the music before answering it.

“Hey Johnny, you here yet?” You look out the window in search of him.

“M’here just got out, it’s fucking crazy in there. Where are you?” He asked.

You reach for your keys to start the car, “I’ll come to you, tell me what you’re nearest to.”

Casually you can see John standing there with his duffle bag high on his shoulder and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. Beside him is a man you don’t recognise, he’s got a cigarette lit and a mask pulled under his chin as he smokes. You don’t think much of it as you wind down your window, and let out a low teasing wolf whistle.

“Need to get somewhere, darlin’? I got room in my car just for you,” you cackle as John’s disbelieving shake of his head.

“Shut it, it’s way too early for your shit,” there’s no heat behind it, by the smile on his face you can tell he’s pleased to see you.

You keep your hands on the wheel as he opens the boot of your car to toss his bags in. Curiously you watch the unfamiliar man follow John’s footsteps, through your rear view mirror you can see them exchange a few words as he drops the butt of his cigarette and hikes his mask back up.

Eventually John drops himself in the passenger seat while his friend carefully enters the backseat. When you look in the rear view mirror this time you can see his mask actually has a skull imprint on it, and you assume his hair is blonde by the low lights from passing headlights under his beanie.

“Gonna introduce the mysterious stranger in my backseat sometime soon?” You inquire as you pull out onto the road again.

John sinks deeply into seat, relaxation finally sinking into his bones, “‘uh? That’s Simon, I spoke about him once or twice didn’t I?”

You frown, the name rings a familiar bell, but it’s not what you care about right now. “Okay, so why is Simon in my car right now and not home on holiday?”

The unfamiliar voice makes you flinch in shock, “You didn’t tell her Johnny?” His voice rumbles.

John scratches his head trying to remember, “Did I ask if Simon could crash at yours or did I imagine that?”

“Johnny!” You exasperate, “You fucking idiot, you didn’t think to tell me that you were planning to bring a friend home over the holidays?”

“I thought I did!” He shoots back, not the least bit apologetic.

You sigh exaggeratedly, Simon is already looking at you when you glance back in the mirror, you smile to ease his stress, “Don’t worry Simon, you’re more than welcome. Even if someone, didn’t think to fucking warn me so I could set up the spare room,”

Johnny scoffs, “You never set up the spare room for me,”

“Because you never appreciate my effort, you’d sleep on the carpet and still think it was the best nights sleep you’ve ever had,”

“I cannot fucking wait to sleep.” he moans.

It’s almost 5 am when you pull into the driveway of your house. You’re exhausted as you close the door behind you, the boys grab their own bags and let you lead the way to unlock the front door. You flick the entrance lights on and kick your shoes off, John follows with ease but Simon makes an effort to be a bit more reserved as he neatly slips his shoes off.

You lead them through and open the door to the spare room on the way to the kitchen. You peak over your shoulder to look at John’s friend, “Simon, this room is all yours, okay? I’ll get some blankets soon, feel free to drop your things though,”

He nods and quietly ducks in while you and John walk into the kitchen. He drops his bags unceremoniously on your couch before stretching his arms high above his head.

“Not much of a talker is he?” You muse.

John hums, “He’ll warm up. He’s a tough nut that guy.”

You nod, turning on the kettle for a much needed drink. You turn your back, faintly hearing John collapse on the couch as you move about grabbing some cups. When you turn back around Simon is standing beside you, almost hovering.

“Jesus!” You gasp, clenching the handles of the cups harder in your fright, “You move quietly for a massive fucking man,”

John cackles from his spot on the couch, absolutely pissing himself with laughter. The slightest crinkle forms at the corners of Simon’s eyes at your reaction.

“Need a hand?” He brushes off.

You exhale deeply, “Sure, tea or coffee?”

“Tea, the man’s fucking British,” John cuts in.

“Bags are in the top cupboard.”

You move about in comfortable silence, Simon keeps his space as he moves about trying to find where you keep everything. Upon first impression, you find him very respectful and try not to judge his reasoning behind wearing a mask and beanie indoors.

John is almost snoozing with his hoodie on and arms crossed over his chest when you call for him, “Do you want tea or not?”

He swats his hand absentmindedly, “M’sleepin’ later,”

You roll your eyes and put his mug back in the cupboard. Simon helps himself and makes his to his liking, by now his eyes are hooded with exhaustion. You make a beeline for the linen closet and take out spare blankets, without looking around you drop them on the edge of the spare bed before making your way back into the kitchen.

“Alright, spare room is all done. You can make it however you want,” you announce.

He nods, watching as you stand on the other side of the bench to make your drink. Without wanting to make it awkward you smile politely and gesture towards his drink, “Do you want to take it to your room? I’m gonna pass out in like ten minutes anyway, no point in staying out here.”

He takes your opening and thanks you before retreating back to his room. You exhale quietly once he’s out of earshot, although a polite house guest so far, his silent personality sets you on nervous edge. You remembered him earlier as John’s lieutenant who he’s always cracking jokes as you heard over your phone calls. But honestly you find it hard to imagine.

Must be one tough shell he’s got.

You shrug your shoulders and make your way across the hall to your own room. With the blinds shut, you can almost imagine it’s not sunrise as you go to sleep.

Hours later you can hear rummaging in your kitchen once again, the smell of bacon wafts in after making your stomach grumble. With a dreary moan you rise, throwing on a jumper over your shorts as you shuffle into the kitchen. John is at the stove, humming and energetic as he moves about. Although a morning person, you have no idea how he’s so alive after only a few hours sleep.

“Good morning sleepyhead!” He cheers, “Thought I’d make you breakfast for being such a caring baby sister,”

“Shove it,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes roughly with the sleeves of your jumper, “Why are you so loud?”

“He’s loud enough for the both of us,” a deep voice answers.

“Sleepyhead number two! The whole family is here,” John coos condescendingly.

Simon is standing there in casual clothes similar to last night, only this time the beanie and mask are missing. You can’t help but gawk as you take in his full face, he’s definitely blonde if the mop on top of his head is anything to go by. And he’s much more handsome than you anticipated.

When he looks over at you, you try to save yourself by smiling and waving him off, “Honestly, I don’t know how you deal with him,”

“Likewise,” he mutters, bringing the empty cup from last night to the sink.

“Hey,” John flicks the oil coated spatula at the both of you, “Don’t bond over your fond annoyance for me, I didn’t agree to that,”

You raise your eyebrow, “Not really offering anything else though are you?”

“I am slaving away at this stove for you, and this is how you treat me?”

“You’re clearing out my groceries because you’re starving don’t try to make yourself look good.” you shoot back.

John opens his mouth but then thinks better of it, you got him there. He whistles a merry tune as he turns back to the stove, you gaze over at the sink to see Simon rinsing out his cup with a faint smile on his face.

“Enjoying your stay so far?” You muse.

He looks over at you as he switches the tap off, “It’s been entertaining,”

John scoffs, “Don’t be humble, you love hearing me get told off,”

Simon hums, “It is satisfying.”

The kitchen falls into a peaceful silence, you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools at your island as you watch John move around and rummage in drawers to finish cooking breakfast. Simon stands awkwardly for a moment, as an uncomfortable house guest does. You tap the bench beside you in silent offering to sit down, he gratefully takes your invitation and pulls up a stool beside you. Even when sitting down you can tell he’s quite tall with the way his shoulders are resting inches above your own. You honestly find his stature a bit intimidating but try your best to not let it show on your face.

“How are you?” You ask, to be polite.

Simon looks down at you quizzically, like he’s trying to understand your question. You almost feel bad, when’s the last time someone asked him that?

“I’m,” he thinks, “Okay. Relieved to have a break,”

You raise your eyebrow, “You sure you signed up for a break?” You hitch your thumb in Johnny’s direction, “You know he’s gonna run you ragged right?”

He chuckles, “I know, maybe you can reign him in for me,”

You grin and lean in to whisper, he stoops down to hear you, “We’ll take turns. Joint custody?”

He looks at you and nods, small amusement shown on his face, “Deal,”

When Johnny turns around with two plates in hand, all he can see is the both of you leant in close whispering about something. He immediately cuts in with disapproving shout as he puts the plates down in front of the both of you.

“No way, I am not having this,” he states.

Simon reaches for his cup as he listens to whatever is about to unfold, you frown, “Having what?”

He gestures between the two of you “This, whatever this is. It’s too comfortable for me, where’s the space for Jesus?”

The choke you hear next to you makes you look over, Simon is bent over his cup, incredulous look on his face and taken aback.

You however, are used to this, “Don’t fucking start Johnny, we were just talking about what your plans were.”

John looks between the two of you, hands on his hips in assessment. You sigh and roll your eyes, Simon remains silent but at ease. The both of you are far too used to Johnny’s antics to fall for his intimidation tactic. You pluck one of the hashbrowns off your plate and hold it out in peace offering, he instantly breaks character and takes it.

He bites a corner off as he speaks, “We’re gonna go to the beach,”

“No we’re fuckin’ not,” Simon instantly cuts in.

You laugh at the deep contempt in his voice. John huffs, “Don’t be a baby, Si, we need to keep up the tan,”

Simon leans towards your side to whisper, “You’re it, you can take this one,”

You shake your head and smile, looking over at John who conveniently has his back turned to fix his plate.

“Not a fan of the beach?” You inquire quietly.

Simon forks at one of the eggs on his plate, “I’d rather kill myself,”

You snort, his bluntness taking you off guard. John joins you both with his plate now full, once placed on the island you speak up, “I actually just found this hidden swimming hole near my place that we could go to,”

John raises his eyebrow, “How hidden is it exactly?”

You mull it over for a moment, “It’s not deserted, people definitely know about it, but it’s still pretty quiet. It used to be a quarry, and it’s in the middle of the bush so not a lot of people make the drive.”

Both boys sit in silence for a minute, debating probably entirely different things. Simon glances at you for the corner of his eye, silent plea to seal the deal.

“I mean it’s better than the beach during peak hour? You’ll never find a spot now at this hour,” you bargain.

John sighs, “I know when I’ve been outvoted. Just didn’t think my own blood would betray me like that, for the British no less.”

You roll your eyes, choosing not to respond and finish your breakfast. The boys talk about people you’re not sure of, coworkers you assume. You don’t think much of it, allowing their chatter to fill the quiet of your house. It’s nice to have company, you missed having your brother home and it’s always a relief to see him in one piece.

Simon is slowly growing more on you, still hesitant and quiet but John cracks his shell a little more with each sentence he pulls out of him. You have no idea how he does it, he’s got a gift when it comes to pulling out peoples personalities.

Eventually you push yourself back from your stool and hop off, bringing any empty dishes to the sink. “Best get your things ready if you want to make your way over,” you call out from over your shoulder, “It’s still early so it should be empty over there if we want it to ourselves,”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, I call shower first,” John responds, walking over to his bag.

“Where are your manners? We have a guest,” you frown.

“Simon can suck it, I’m not sacrificing my slot for him,” he calls out as he pulls clothes out, flinging them over his shoulder to hold.

Simon raises his hands, pacifying, “I can wait,”

You point a soapy finger in Simon’s direction as you wait for the water to run warm in the sink, “Don’t let him walk all over you Simon, he’s an asshole and will take advantage,”

Simon stands, collecting the forgotten dishes on the island, “I’m well aware.”

The bathroom door closes shortly after, effectively cutting off the conversation. You turn your back and continue washing the dishes, this time you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand before two arms appear beside you to place the dishes down.

You breathe out, “Seriously, you have got to teach me how to move around so quietly,”

Simon raises an eyebrow, “Why would you need to be trained in stealth?”

You shrug, scrubbing at a plate, “Seems handy, imagine how undefeated I would be at hide and seek,”

When you look over at Simon you can see him already staring at you incredulously, “You would use trained stealth skills for hide and seek?”

“Duh?” You answer dumbly, “Have you ever snuck up on Johnny? He has the best reactions,”

“Can’t say I have.” he responds bluntly.

By the time you make it to the swimming hole the sun is high in the sky and it is fucking hot. The walk down was all downhill so you’re already dreading the walk back but you try to not think about it. You grin when you see the water and turn around to face the boys, arms outstretched.

“See? Isn’t this so much better than an overcrowded beach? We’re all alone!” You marvel.

John immediately removes his shirt, admiring the water, “Yeah okay, I’ll hand it to ya’ this is much better,”

You look over at Simon and send him a conspiratorial wink. John jogs past already beelining for the water to cool down. You place the bags down, bending over to bring the towels out.

“Need help?” Simon asks, almost looming over you.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Do you want to place the towels down? I need to find this sunscreen,” you reply.

Simon does as he’s told while you keep looking, damn sunscreen always disappears when you need it most. Eventually you find it at the bottom, when you straighten back up you see all three towels neatly laid out in a row. You smile in thanks and sit down on the nearest one.

You generously squeeze some sunscreen onto your hand before handing it over to Simon who’s now beside you, “Sunscreen?”

He shakes his head, “Don’t need,”

“What?” You frown, “Everyone needs it,”

He shrugs, “Not me,”

“Simon, put the fucking sunscreen on,” he’s being ridiculous now.

He shakes his head, pushing the bottle back into your hands. You take your chance and slap your other hand against his outstretched arm, a big white spot of sunscreen is now splattered all over his tattooed arm.

“Oh no,” you gasp, “God I’m just so clumsy, let me get that for you,” amused by your own ridiculous acting, you try not to laugh as you rub the sunscreen into his arm.

Simon looks down at you imploringly, watching you rub your hands up and down his arm. He refuses to admit that it feels nice, and looks away from you. Focusing on John who’s swimming towards the other end of the hole.

You hold your hands up, still covered in sunscreen, “Might as well do your other arm, wouldn’t want you to tan unevenly.”

Like he gives a fuck. He rolls his eyes and tilts his body, giving you access to his other arm, with a grin you spread the excess sunscreen over it. John swims towards you both, stepping out of the water now drenched head to toe. He cackles when he sees you finishing applying the sunscreen.

“Roped you into it did she?” He sympathises.

He scoffs, “I feel like a child,”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, pulling away to grab more sunscreen, “Your turn Johnny, get down here so I can get your back,”

John immediately sits down in front of you, not willing to fight you on this one. He looks over at Simon, “Should go in Si, water’s warm and empty.”

Simon grunts, watching the water for a moment. You’re busy rubbing sunscreen into your brother’s shoulders, when Simon stands, you don’t take notice until you see his shirt drop on the towel he was previously occupying. You watch over John’s shoulder as he walks towards the watering hole, broad back on display for you to stare at. Your jaw drops as you take him in, all his scars and the tattoos that crawl up his biceps and onto his chest.

“Close your mouth,” John mutters, not even looking at you.

“It’s not— fuck off,” you blush, pointedly looking away.

“You’re about as obvious a brick wall,” he looks over his shoulder at you, mischievous smile on his face.

You glare, “I’m not obvious about anything,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah? You rub sunscreen into everyone’s arms?”

“That was taken out of context,” you defend.

John turns back, “Sure it was.”

He eventually moves to sit on the other towel beside you, watching Simon swim back towards the bank. You remove your t-shirt revealing your one-piece bathing suit. As you apply sunscreen, John leans over.

“Your birthday is coming up right?” He asks.

You hum, rubbing up and down your arm, “Yeah, in a week. You keen on coming?”

“Fuck yeah, I could go for drinks, you got any cute friends?”

Your eyes roll, “Don’t be a sleaze, I’m not cleaning up your mess.”

Just then Simon re-emerges, the chest you didn’t see before now all you can see. You absently rub sunscreen into your neck as you watch him trek back, John is talking but it’s white noise. You only zone back in when you seen Simon looking at you questioningly.

“Sorry?” You pardon.

“Simon was wondering what day your birthday was,” John supplies helpfully, smug as he does so.

“Oh!” You recover, “It’s next Friday, I’m going for drinks with a few friends. Which you’re more than welcome to tag along to,”

Simon nods walking over to his towel. John leans in to whisper, “Nice save, idiot,”

You slap his arm, cringing in embarrassment, “Fuck off, you’re not getting any of my friends now,” you hiss.

Simon pretends to not hear, draping his towel over his neck to dry any water. The swimming hole is peaceful, and hearing you and Johnny bicker oddly puts him at ease.

He’s curious about how your birthday will unfold.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you

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fic-girlie · 3 days ago

Note

I need more of baby number three 🥹🥹 wonder if it's a boy or a girl? Maybe Mateo and Lucia picking out a name? Maybe Pedro feeling bad for not being with reader that much during this pregnancy because of all the shooting and press conferences. (It doesn't have to be all in one fic, I'm just throwing a few ideas lol)

Quiet arrival

Pairing: dad!Pedro Pascal x actress!mom!reader Summary: You welcome your baby at home, with Pedro there, while Mateo and Lucia pick her name. Warnings: established relationship, fluff, home birth, cuteness, slight angst

The morning your third child decides to make her debut begins softly, deceptively.

The light outside your bedroom window is barely beginning to stretch across the hardwood floor when you sit upright, eyes wide, hand clenching the bedsheet. Pedro stirs beside you, tangled in the sheets, his breathing soft and steady—so unlike yours.

You nudge him once. Then again, harder. “Pedro.”

His eyes open slowly. “Hmm?”

“I think… I think it’s happening.”

It takes him a second, and then the words hit. He bolts upright, hair wild and eyes wide. “Wait, now? Like now now?”

You grit your teeth through a tightening wave, nodding as sweat beads at your temple. “Yes, now now.”

Pedro blinks, then leaps from bed. “Okay. Alright. I’ll call Juno. And the doula. And—wait, where’s the—do we have towels?”

“Do not forget the damn tub,” you mutter as he sprints into the hall.

You’d planned this. Carefully. No sterile rooms, no fluorescent lights—just home. Just peace. And chaos, apparently.

By the time the inflatable birthing tub is filled and the doula, Juno, arrives, you’re gripping the sides of the bed, growling things at your husband you’ll pretend later were said out of love.

“If you ever want to touch me again, you try carrying a watermelon in your pelvis for nine months and see how you feel.”

Pedro kneels beside you, wide-eyed but gentle, brushing back your hair. “Sweetheart, you specifically said you wanted me to catch the baby this time.”

“I also said I wanted tacos and you came back with a quinoa salad. You are not to be trusted.”

You hear Juno stifle a laugh behind you. Pedro leans in and kisses your shoulder, his voice tender against the tension of your skin. “I’m here. I’m not moving. You’re so strong, mi amor. So strong.”

Hours pass.

There’s sweat and water and pain. But there’s also his hands holding yours, whispering praise and soft encouragement. At some point, your hand grips his arm with a strength that leaves marks and you lock eyes, breathless.

“You did this to me,” you pant.

“I know. And I’d do it again,” he whispers, laughing, forehead to yours.

Then, finally—after an eternity and a blink—she’s there.

Tiny. Damp. Perfect. Her cry is more of a breath than a scream, like she’s just as stunned as you are. Pedro’s hands are shaking when he lifts her gently out of the water and into your arms. You’re crying before she’s even against your chest.

Pedro kneels beside the tub, utterly wrecked and smiling like he’s never smiled before. “Mi amor... you did it. We did it.”

You both sit there in awe, until your daughter squeaks again—just the softest sound—and Pedro cups her head as though he’s holding the whole world in his palm.

——

It takes a few hours before the house feels calm again. The midwives clean up quietly, your doula makes tea. Pedro runs back and forth making sure the kids haven’t destroyed the living room while the world was shifting inside the walls of your bedroom.

Mateo and Lucia are standing outside the door, bouncing on their toes, when he cracks it open.

“She’s here?” Mateo whispers, eyes wide.

“She’s here,” Pedro says, voice thick. “Come meet your sister.”

Lucia’s hands are clasped in front of her chest like she’s praying. Mateo bolts forward first and Pedro barely catches him before he face-plants into the room. “Careful, buddy. She’s small.”

You’re in bed, propped up on pillows, skin warm and flushed. Your daughter is nestled at your chest, bundled in a soft yellow blanket. Pedro walks them in slowly, one hand on each shoulder.

Lucia gasps. “She’s so tiny.”

Mateo inches closer, eyes scanning every inch of her face. “She kinda looks like a potato.”

Pedro grins. “A beautiful potato.”

“She looks like you, Mama,” Lucia says softly, and your throat closes around tears.

Pedro settles beside you on the bed, wrapping one arm around your shoulders. “Want to hold her?”

They nod furiously.

You shift gently, easing your daughter into Mateo’s arms first, helping him cradle her securely. His expression changes instantly—every trace of goofiness gone. He’s struck quiet. Reverent. His sister leans in, tucking her cheek close to the baby’s head.

“What’s her name?” Lucia asks, voice just above a whisper.

You and Pedro look at each other. He nods.

“Well…” you begin, “we wanted you two to help us pick.”

Their jaws drop in unison. “Really?!”

“Really,” Pedro confirms. “We’ve got a few ideas but we wanna hear yours first.”

Lucia’s brow furrows immediately, deep in thought. Mateo’s already rattling off options like he’s on a game show. “Ava. Sofia. Paloma. Hermione.”

Lucia blinks. “You can’t name her Hermione. She’s not a wizard.”

You laugh softly. Pedro leans forward, brushing a finger along the baby’s cheek. “What do you think, mi sol? Any names you feel in your heart?”

Lucia suddenly gasps. “What about Isla?”

You and Pedro glance at each other. The name curls in your chest like warmth. Your baby coos as if in agreement.

“Isla,” you repeat. “It’s beautiful.”

Mateo shrugs with a grin. “Okay, fine. But her middle name should be something epic. Like… Luna.”

“Isla Luna Pascal,” Pedro whispers.

Your hand finds his. “Perfect.”

——

That night, the kids are finally in bed after endless lullabies and dramatic retellings of the day’s events (Mateo claims he felt her being born from downstairs).

The house is still. Quiet. You’re in bed again, propped up, Isla asleep beside you in her bassinet. Pedro moves slowly around the room, dimming lights, folding blankets—anything to keep his hands busy.

Then he turns to you.

His voice is low. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

You nod, already knowing the weight he’s carrying.

He sits on the edge of the bed and takes your hand in both of his. You can feel it before he says anything—the guilt. The longing. The apology.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here enough,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “With the filming in Toronto and the press tour… I missed too much. I missed you. And I hate that.”

Your eyes soften. “Pedro…”

“I know I was working, I know it’s what I had to do—but watching you today… seeing how strong you were—how you carried this whole family while I was gone—I just…” He swallows hard. “You’re everything. And I never want you to feel like you’re doing this alone.”

You lean forward and cup his face gently. “You came home. You always come home.”

“I should’ve been here more.”

You kiss him. Slow and soft. “You were here when she came into the world. That’s what she’ll remember. That’s what I’ll remember.”

He pulls you into a careful embrace, mindful of your body but needing to feel you. “Thank you for our children,” he whispers. “Thank you for giving me this life.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, hand curled over his heart. “Just promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“No more quinoa salads during labor.”

He laughs—quiet and full of love. “Done. No quinoa. Only tacos from now on.”

You smile, breathing in the peaceful silence of your family’s newest chapter. Your husband. Your children. Your home.

Your little Isla Luna, sleeping softly in the cradle of your love.

#pedro pascal #pedropascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fandom

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butterflybuckethat · 21 hours ago

Text

Operation: Seduction

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader (8k words) - Jake is your older brother's best friend. So when he lets you live with him to get out of your childhood home, you're dying for him to see you as more than the 'kid sister.'

Warnings: This actually ended up being kind of filthy! mdni!

Note: Somehow, this took me three weeks to write. I think I'm happy with it but it took a few rounds of edits so who even knows. I hope you like it <3

🦋 Masterlist 🦋

You and Jake had been living together, in relative domestic bliss, for nearly eight months when you decided that you needed to bring him to his knees.

When you moved in, you hadn’t seen him since his flight school graduation. Your older brother Aaron insisted you all go to support Jake, not that your parents put up much of a fight–growing up, he’d been at your place more than he’d been at his own. He was relatively the same, if not broader, tanner, and more sure of himself if that was at all possible.

You had always had a familiar relationship and fell back into that pattern relatively quickly when you moved in, desperate to leave Texas. It may have been possible that you had the teeniest crush on Jake when you were teenagers (what sixteen year old, wouldn’t? Handsome, kind, athletic Jake who ate your waffles and bought you ice cream to make up for it.) So, one evening, when you were wrestling for the remote–he wanted to watch the taped Cowboys game, and you wanted literally anything else–you casually said, “What if I flash you? Then can we watch Love Island?”

It was a joke, mostly. And it had become a secret pastime of yours to try to make the cocky aviator blush. So far, you had only succeeded once: when he threw you over his shoulder when you tried to walk into the second Sephora that day. But you were wearing a mini dress and you shrieked that you weren’t wearing anything underneath. He dropped you so fast, his cheeks a bright red that only subsided after minutes of your cackling and a peek at your bike shorts.

He was laying on the couch and you were on top of him, teasing him with your fingers around the hem of your shirt. You were expecting him to roll his eyes or push you off like he had hundreds of times before, so it surprised you when he scoffed out a “Please.”

You sat up in his lap, arms crossed, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” Jake brought his large hands up to your hips to steady you but you slapped them away.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t know,” he repeated slightly exasperated. “In my mind you still have headgear.”

“I never had headgear.” You frowned and got off his lap, no longer interested in being in his proximity. He was messing with you. Intellectually, you knew he was messing with you but you couldn’t stop yourself from reacting.

“Didn’t you?” That evil glint that you knew so well resurfaced in his green eyes.

“No!”

“But you get my point.” He only spread out further, taking up the space you were once in.

You were standing, sleep shorts scrunched in your fists. This was so ridiculous but you were angry, angrier than you had ever been at Jake’s jabs. And his amusement only made it worse. “Just fucking say it,” you spat.

“Say what?” he asked, folding his arms behind his head.

“Say it, Jake.”

He heaved a sigh, like this conversation was an inconvenience. “I don’t find you attractive.”

And you decided, right then, that you would break him.

–

“So, what’s the plan again?” Natasha asked. The two of you and Bob were sitting at her dining room table surrounded by Chinese takeout. You were closest to them of the rest of the Dagger Squad and when you asked to convene an emergency meeting, Nat immediately offered her place.

“To make him beg for me,” you said simply. They were well aware of your borderline antagonistic relationship with Jake and had given up on trying to understand it a while back. She even said that it “explained a lot about him.”

It hadn’t always been this way. In school, when your brother and Jake were thick as thieves, before Aaron got himself a wife, baby, and medical degree, Jake was nearly reverent of you and your family. He would help with dishes and offer to go grocery shopping, and even dropped you off at soccer practice a few times. But as the two of you got closer through your regular correspondence during his deployment and his time staying at your house when he was on leave, the relationship became more…playful. It didn’t really matter that no one else understood it, because you and he did.

“No, I got that part,” Natasha said. “ I just don’t understand how we get there.”

“Be sexy,” Bob said with this awkward grimace on his face. “I assume.” It took you a little longer to get close to Bob but after weeks of snapping back at Jake for him, you eventually wore him down. He was the one that was able to get you a job with one of the civilian contractors on base.

You were honestly so grateful for, really, the entire Dagger Squad who had taken you in as one of their own when you had spent so long feeling trapped and alone at your parents’ place.

“He already said he didn’t find you attractive,” Nat said. “Which is crazy by the way.”

“Thank you,” you said, mouth full of egg roll.

“So what are you going to do? Single White Female all his exes?”

Your eyes blew wide. “Natasha, you’re a fucking genius!”

“I’m on it,” Bob said, already starting his research and ignoring Nat violently shaking her head.

Jake had had very few actual girlfriends, maybe five altogether but that’s all you needed.

Candace

Candace was Jake’s most recent girlfriend and the only woman to make it onto his instagram grid (besides you). You had only interacted with her once in the first week you lived with him until she unceremoniously disappeared from his life, but the picture was still up. She was in a strappy red bikini sitting on Jake’s lap. Bob found the exact one online and you were now wearing it underneath your clothes for the team beach day. It was flattering, if a little annoying to put on—it’s structural integrity completely dependent on a series of bows you tied that morning.

“You still mad at me, baby?” Jake smirked, dropping himself into the beach chair next to yours. He was still panting from touch football, his golden abs glistening with salt water and sweat but you weren’t paying any mind to that.

“Of course, baby.” You batted your eyelashes. “Why would I be mad?”

“Maybe because I–”

“Just hold that thought,” you interrupted him, turning your whole attention to Javy who wanted someone to go into the water with him. You readily agreed and stood, casually angling your body to face Jake and took off your shirt. You worked slowly and turned away to give him the most advantageous view of you shimmying out of your shorts. If you weren’t so set on revenge, you might have felt embarrassed but when you looked at him, in all your bikinied glory, you absolutely relished in his eyes scanning your body.

“What were you saying, Jakey?” you asked as innocently as possible and left him a stuttering mess.

You stood in the surf, wanting to remain as elegant as possible to emulate Candace and avoid a drowned rat look. Javy, bless him, eased in also, talking animatedly about the John Wick movies that you admitted you had never seen. “We should do a movie night,” he said resolutely. He peeked behind him at the rest of the group, but did a quick double take. “Incoming,” he warned.

You barely had enough time to turn around when Jake hauled you in a fireman carry, bringing you deeper into the ocean.

“Jake!” you wailed. “What the hell? Put me down!”

“And swim alone?” he asked but it came out breathless, as he tried to keep you contained despite your squirming.

“You’re an adult, aren’t you? Maybe act like one.” You were panicking a bit. It had taken you an hour to get your hair into the perfect breezy but sexy updo and the water would totally ruin it.

“You first,” he said and dropped you.

The rest of the day went by smoothly, hanging out with your friends and drinking spiked seltzers. That is until you left completely dehydrated and with the most awkward sunburn of your life.

You hissed as Jake helped you out of his truck, your tender skin sticking to the leather seats.

“I know.” He frowned, leading you into your shared apartment. “I think I have aloe in one of these drawers.” He immediately began rummaging, first in the junk drawer and then in the bathroom cabinets. You followed him, carefully removing Jake’s oversized shirt that he leant you.

“I think I just need a cold shower.”

“Just let me do this first.” He spoke softly, squeezing a glob of gel on his fingers and delicately rubbed it on you. “Isn’t this usually why you wear a rashguard?”

“I just wanted to try something different.” You held the bikini top to your chest, letting him pop the knots at your shoulders so he could gain better access. The fabric gave immediately, falling limp at your fingers.

“Is it because of what I said?” he asked. You were facing away from him now and couldn’t see his expression. But his cool fingers across your back felt heavenly and you couldn't help but close your eyes.

“No.”

“Why is it so important to you?” Jake spoke barely above a whisper.

You whipped your head around to look at him now and flinched from the pain of it. Your eyes narrowed, “It’s not.”

“Does baby have a crush on me?” You saw challenge in his eyes and if anyone was going to rise to it, it would be you.

“And if I did?” Your tone was firm, not giving away a single thing. You squared your shoulders and tightened your jaw, portraying confidence despite being half naked and bright red.

Jake’s eyebrows raised. He took your face in his hand and inspected it. Your breath caught at his close proximity. After what felt to you like a minute but was probably no more than a few seconds, he released you. “Stop fucking with me,” he mumbled, smirk firmly in place.

Athena

According to Bob, Jake and Athena dated for two months and the only reason they knew it lasted that long was because of the lingerie she left hanging in his bathroom. When it was gone, they knew, so was she.

Your Saturday morning was spent with Natasha in Victoria’s Secret (Bob, understandably, passed on this excursion). Your burn had faded but your relationship with Jake hadn’t healed similarly. You weren’t sure if he’d intentionally been giving you the cold shoulder or if he’d just been having a busy work week but regardless, you hadn’t seen him more than ten minutes.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” Natasha asked after you had explained your last interaction with him. “I mean, it seems intense.” She held up ruffled pink boy shorts eliciting a laugh from you.

“It’s always intense,” you shrugged. “It’s kind of our thing.” You started digging through a drawer for the matching black lace thong to the bra you already had.

Nat made a face. “That looks so itchy.”

“I don’t exactly have to wear it.” You flashed her a devious smile before moving to the next one.

“Did anything ever happen between you two?”

“Are you kidding? Aaron would never have let that happen.” Much to your teenage annoyance, your brother was very protective of you. The only boyfriends you had in high school were secret, sneaking kisses underneath the bleachers or in your room before he got back from football practice. You remembered one afternoon in the tenth grade when Aaron and Jake came home early and caught a boy sneaking out your window. Jake held you back, stroking your hair as tears streamed down your face, while your brother chased him down the street. No one got near you after that. Even after they graduated.

“Jake did come back to take me to prom,” you said. “He got special dispensation and everything.”

“That was sweet of him. Maybe–”

You shut that down immediately. “It was practically punishment for scaring off anyone else who would’ve taken me.” Unfortunately for you, Jake left a lasting legacy.

“I need to see those pictures.”

“You definitely don’t.” You laughed and poked her in the side.

Before Jake got home from the gym you washed your new lingerie in the sink and hung it on the shower rod to dry. Despite Natasha’s reservations, you were feeling giddy. You kept your bedroom door ajar, waiting with bated breath to hear the familiar jingle of his keys in the hall.

You snuck a peek at him, taking in his disheveled hair and rippling back muscles as he stripped walking into the bathroom. Jake had always been gorgeous, even when you were kids all the mothers would coo over him. The boy could get anything he wanted with a smile and a “ma’am.” It was infuriating but you couldn’t say you didn’t understand it.

When he got out, you were bundled up in a blanket on the couch. He ran a towel through his hair and you watched his deft fingers push each button through its respective hole up his fly and followed the line up his happy trail to his face, looking straight at you. You were certain you blushed.

“Hey.” He cleared the gravel from his throat before continuing, “Are you going out tonight?”

“Just to the Hard Deck with y’all,” you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “If that’s okay.”

“Can you be ready in twenty?”

When Jake ducked into his room, you tip-toed over to the counter, swiped his car keys into the sleeve of your sweatshirt to keep them from making noise and set them down in the bathroom. It was steamy and smelled like his body wash. You noticed your lingerie set had been carefully moved to the counter and you were nearly giddy. You brought them with you into your room to get ready.

You took a deep breath outside the double doors of the Hard Deck. Jake went in but you took a beat to smooth your hair and apply lip gloss. You wore a white summer dress with little pink rosettes all over it and a high slit up the thigh. It was the perfect night for it with a fantastic breeze, if only you could keep it together. You tried to wear the lingerie beneath it but Nat was right, it was not comfortable.

You shouldn’t have been this nervous, you were walking into a bar that you had walked into a million times before, but the look Jake gave you after he retrieved his keys from the bathroom kept replaying in your mind. Judging by his sharp intake of breath, the way he jerked his hand back like you burned when he led you out the front door, he must have noticed the empty space next to the sink.

You forced your shoulders back, fixed your face into the confident girl you were and pushed the doors open with a bang.

The bar seemed to stand still, all eyes on you, as you paused in the entry for the moment, feigning that you were searching for your people (you knew exactly where the Dagger Squad was, in the same spot they always were) while you let the wind blow through your dress to flash a little leg.

Penny called you over and handed you a beer, “Don’t you look gorgeous!”

Before you could rebuff, the man next to you leaning against the bar interrupted: “That you do.” He introduced himself as naval officer Danny. He wasn’t bad looking by any means with his big biceps and flashy smile, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Jake.

You giggled as he twirled you to show off the dress. “What other tricks you got?” he asked with a raise of his brow.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You winked at him. It felt great; clearly this had potential.

“I think we’d all like to know.” Jake was here to break up your party.

“Christ, Hangman. Why do you always ruin a good thing?” You couldn’t even see Danny with Jake standing between you two. You knew Jake meant this little intrusion as a bucket of ice water, but it had the exact opposite effect. You were practically thrumming.

“Fuck off, Danny.” Jake asked Penny to put your drink on his tab before dragging you away by the wrist.

“Bye, Danny.” You couldn’t resist waving at him because it meant more of Jake’s hands on you. He wrapped his arm around your waist, tight like you might escape.

“Bye, sweetheart.” Danny gave you a lascivious smile.

You laughed at the scowl on Jake’s face. You, reluctantly, escaped his grip and turned to face him. “Aw Jakey, you can twirl me too.” You wrapped your hair around your index finger. “If you want to.”

He pulled you back so close to him. “Maybe later,” he sneered but you ignored it.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said and sauntered over to your friends.

You and Jake certainly had your soft moments too. He cooked you dinner more nights than not and always asked about your work day and you did the same, keeping him company in the kitchen and making sure that he had everything he needed. You knew everything about each other and enjoyed being around one another–even when one of you was being annoying as hell.

You weren’t very good at pool, but that didn’t matter when you leaned over the table, letting Jake get an eyeful. He beat you, easily, but not without a few unforced errors. You caught him a few times staring hard at your dress, as if he was trying to see through it.

“Lost your edge, Bagman?” Natasha joked.

“What could I have lost when I won?” You liked Jake when he was so sure of himself, it's what made him so fun to mess with, to flap the unflappable man.

“Your dignity.” You smiled sweetly.

“I have it on good authority that I never had any.”

You squeezed into the booth between Bradley and Jake. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this dressed up,” Rooster said between sips of beer.

“I just thought it was time to get out of my work clothes.”

“And thank god for it!” Reuben called from across the table.

You flipped him off, only making him laugh harder. You enjoyed the easy banter between the Dagger Squad, the companionship and in-jokes. You had never really experienced that before, being a part of a tight knit group, and you loved it.

After the third brush of Jake’s knuckles on your bare thigh, you thought you would give him an opening. “You coming on to me, baby?” You kept your voice low so only he would hear.

“Why?” he asked, smirk blooming on his face, giving you exactly what you wanted. “You want me to, baby?”

“Can’t a girl just want a little male attention?”

“Not when she’s you.”

You recoiled, ready to fire back but you didn't want to argue with him in public. You fought every instinct in you and decided to extricate yourself, “Let me out.”

“Where are you going?” Jake asked, not moving an inch. He was infuriating.

You schooled your features, being careful not to betray how upset you actually were, and said, “I want another drink.” When he still didn’t move, you got up on your knees and straddled his hips. It was your intention to quickly maneuver over him but he stopped you before you could get out on his other side, his hands automatically moving to your hips.

“I could get it for you,” he said, thumb caressing your hip bone through the thin material of your dress.

You hated the way heat pooled at your core and how your eyes flicked to his lips. You leaned forward even closer, taking the opportunity to ruin his night, nearly pressing your chest to his, “What the fuck are you doing, Seresin?”

His hands couldn’t have left you faster; Aaron calls him that, Mav calls him that, not you. And you left him before the shock wore off.

You made a beeline to the bar, asked Penny for a shot of tequila, and downed it ignoring her concerned look.

“Hangman let you down, honey?” Danny asked, still in his exact spot.

“Something like that,” you mumbled.

“I promise, one night with me and you’ll be wondering what his name was again.” He reached out to grab you but you were too quick.

“Fuck off, Danny.” You tried keeping your voice light but your head was swimming and you really just needed some air. But Danny followed you. He was clearly drunk, swaying a bit as he stood.

“Don’t be cute,” he said. You kept walking but he grabbed your wrist, “You can’t wear a dress like that and not expect a man to–”

It happened in an instant. Danny on the ground and Jake looming over him with a swollen fist.

“Sorry, Penny.” Jake looked almost sheepish before turning to you. He touched your face and inspected your wrist. “Are you okay?”

You could only nod.

Penny gave him a towel full of ice and ushered you both into a back room, letting Javy get Danny in a cab.

You watched Jake, he didn’t betray that his hand hurt but you knew it did. “Sorry,” you said. “I was on one tonight.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Those are usually more fun for me.” He passed you his scotch to sip. “It’s fine, he deserved it.”

You fell into a comfortable silence, sharing Jake’s drink, until he opened his mouth to speak. Then, he shut it.

“What?” you asked but he just shook his head. “Are you shy?” You were teasing but, for perhaps the first time in his life, he actually did look shy.

It took him a second but he finally asked, “Why did you dress up tonight?” Once the words were out, his nerves disappeared like you had imagined them. A total blip.

“I wanted you to think I was pretty,” you said honestly.

He blushed and it felt like a win, even if he responded with a quip. “Is it my birthday?”

Cassandra

The only time Jake accidentally sent you an email that was meant for your brother was about Cassandra. Endless paragraphs waxing poetic about the nightgowns she wore; thin and silky and revealing…

Javy’s John Wick movie night was taking place at his studio apartment. It took some wearing down but he eventually agreed to making it a sleepover and everyone was going to be there. You even borrowed Jake’s sleeping bag.

Bradley brought what could only be described as a fuck ton of beer and Mickey dumped out a duffel bag full of boxes of candy and microwaveable popcorn on the coffee table.

“Where’s your sleeping bag?” Reuben asked him.

“You have it,” Mickey said.

“No—“

“Yeah, when we were at Walmart. It was in the shopping cart and I was holding the candy and I asked you…” He trailed off, the crease between his brow only getting deeper.

“No, you didn’t.” Reuben’s arms were crossed but his expression betrayed his sadistic glee.

“Fuck! Javy?”

“Yeah, we can share my bed.” He rolled his eyes. This was the first team event Javy had ever hosted and you had a feeling it would be the last.

Before the first movie started, you and Nat squeezed together into Javy’s tiny bathroom to change into your PJs.

“Show me,” Natasha nearly giggled as you reached for yours. It was an ivory silk nightgown that stopped barely at mid-thigh and a little pair of matching bloomers. The fabric was thin but opaque so you didn’t feel totally exposed. “He’s going to lose his mind,” she said.

You and Nat settled into the spaces on either side of Jake on the couch and Javy pressed play on the movie. You did miss Jake’s double-take when you came out in the nightgown—and neither did Nat who gave you a wink.

Honestly, it may have been the quietest the group had ever been. You were the only one who hadn’t seen it and yet they were all rapt. Even Jake’s focus was completely captured, the only time he looked away was when you reached over him to grab a handful from Natasha’s popcorn bowl.

Reuben fell asleep first. 11:30, right on the dot. That was his schedule and he was notorious for sticking to it. The rest of you got into your sleeping bags shortly after, unable to concentrate on anything but his snoring.

You tried getting comfortable but it just wasn’t happening. You had no choice but to lie there and watch Bradley scroll through his phone in the next sleeping bag over.

“Any progress?” He whispered.

“Some,” you said, inching closer to him.

“He’s stronger than I thought. I for sure would’ve cracked by now.” He looked at you, smiling face illuminated by the glow of his screen. “I mean, who sleeps in that?”

You punched his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Bradley chuckled but stopped quickly when Jake got up to get water. He urged you to go with him, practically unzipping your sleeping bag.

“Alright!” You rolled your eyes.

The kitchen wasn’t much more than a wall of cabinets and appliances and a tiny island. The corner of Jake’s mouth lifted when he saw you. “You hungry?” He asked, head in the fridge. “Javy’s got celery.”

“Anything else in there?”

“Nope,” he said and closed the door, enveloping you back in darkness. He handed you his glass of water and you took a few sips before handing it back. This wasn’t unlike what the two of you did when you were at your own apartment except it usually devolved into the both of you passing out on the couch to the sound of the Food Network.

“Where’s Guy Fieri when you need him?”

“Tell me about it,” Jake mumbled as he refilled his glass. He walked you back to your spot on the floor. “Is this new?” He asked, rubbing the material between his fingers.

“Kind of,” you said, glad for the darkness.

There was a long beat of silence. You were waiting for him to say something about the emails or Cassandra. But he didn’t.

“It looks good on you,” he said and headed quickly back to his own spot on the floor.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, encouraged by the compliment, and you didn’t want him to leave just yet. “Hey, Jake,” you called. “Do you want to go to that diner in the morning?”

“Absolutely,” he said and took a few steps toward you. “I would kill for those blueberry panca—“

But he didn’t see Bradley stick out his foot and he tripped, his full glass of water landing all over you.

You gasped. The fabric clung to your skin, cooling you down to freezing.

Jake swore. He apologized profusely and ushered you into the bathroom. “Maybe Coyote has a hair dryer.”

He flicked on the light and began rummaging under the sink. You were totally blinded, your eyes weren’t able to adjust to the sudden change in light with any speed.

You heard Jake stop before you saw it. When your vision came into focus, he was staring up at you slack-jawed. The nightgown had gone completely sheer. He could see everything.

“Jake!” You shrieked, wrapping your arms around yourself. This was too much, even for you.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He ran out of the bathroom and came back with his hoodie, offering it to you.

“Well, turn around!” Once his back was turned, you stripped off the wet top. It landed on the tiled floor with a smack. You languished in Jake’s hoodie, it was warm and soft and smelled like him. Next thing you knew, he had taken off his sweatpants and was helping you step into them. He crouched down, only in a t-shirt and briefs and pulled the drawstring tight around your waist, tying it into a neat bow.

“We can go home,” he said, his expression holding nothing but concern.

“I’m good,” you promised and scurried back to your spot next to Bradley, at a complete loss for what just happened. You were breathing heavily despite not having exerted yourself.

“How’s that for progress?” He whispered.

“You’re such a fucking douche.” But every time you closed your eyes, there was Jake with an unmistakable hunger in his.

Kennedy McMaster

Kennedy was the only of Jake’s girlfriends you knew personally. She was your next door neighbor, head cheerleader, and his longest high school relationship. He took her to his prom. Your strongest memories of her were her glaring at you when he drove her home after their dates and the cloying scent of her pink sugar perfume that lingered on all his clothes.

You were determined not to let your last encounter deter you. It was shocking and something you were not at all prepared for but it, ultimately, served your mission. Now you knew with near certainty that he was attracted to you, he just needed a little push to admit it.

Your boss was out of the country this week so you were working from home and Jake’s truck was in the shop the last few days so you’d been driving and picking him up in your old Jetta without temperature control to make up for Maverick’s disappointment at seeing his bruised knuckles.

“Don’t you think these women are exes for a reason?” Nat asked under the spray of the shower. You and she often FaceTimed when she was alone in the women’s locker room. She was one of the bravest people you knew, but even she was better safe than sorry.

“I mean, yeah. But he was dating them for a reason too.” You were squeezing yourself into an aesthetic that could only be described as “yummy mummy”--it was the closest thing to wearing a cheerleader uniform as an adult. You wore leggings, a matching little zip up jacket, and a brightly colored sports bra. “The goal is for him to think I’m attractive, not for him to fall in love with me.”

“You sure?” Nat asked but you didn’t hear her, distracted by an incoming text.

~ Bob: I can’t believe you made me do this but it’s done

You squealed–you tasked Bob with spraying your perfume into Jake’s flight suit while Mickey and Reuben ran interference.

“He fucking did it?” Natasha laughed incredulously. “I for sure thought he would chicken out.”

“And we still would have respected him for it.”

“As if.”

You laughed but even to your own ears it sounded nervous.

By the end of the week, Jake was so looking forward to getting his truck back and you were ready to go back to wearing sweats, even though you were enjoying Mickey’s comments every time he saw you in the tight athleisure: “I wouldn’t even mind driving a minivan if it came with you.”

When you’d arrived on base to pick Jake up, you’d been informed that he was being held back for extra drills. Mav, not wanting you to die of heat stroke in your shitbox car, had invited you to enjoy the A/C inside. It was a particularly hot day and, even without the jacket, a sheen of sweat had developed on your body.

You sighed when the light breeze coming through the hangar hit you but the scene you walked into made you want to go back to your sweltering car. Maverick stood above a panting Jake, having just finished doing push-ups.

“Again, Seresin,” Maverick said. “You’re distracted. Making stupid maneuvers.”

By the dark green stains on Jake’s flight suit, you could tell he’d been doing them for a while. But he kept his expression neutral, taking his lashings.

“How many times do I have to say it?” Maverick’s arms were crossed. “You’re not alone out there.” Jake faltered a little. “Keep going,” Mav urged.

The rest of the Dagger Squad fell in line beside you, watching.

“I think you took it too far,” Javy said. You blushed, not realizing that he knew.

“Dude.” Reuben hit his arm.

Javy waved him off. “If you didn’t want me to know, you shouldn’t have fucking told me.” He turned back to you, eyes soft but firm. “It’s too much. You’re everywhere. He can’t concentrate. He’s making dumb mistakes and…” He trailed off, clearly trying of the right words. “That comes with a high cost in this line of work.”

You were fighting back tears, not wanting them to feel like they had to comfort you when you were the one who fucked up. “I’m so sorry,” you said to everyone. “I got carried away and involved you all in something that should never have happened in the first place. It was stupid and I’m sorry.” You took a deep shaky breath. “I’ll apologize to Jake too.” Just thinking about how you were going to explain all this to him made you severely nauseous.

“Don’t apologize to Hangman!” Mickey said.

“Yeah, he doesn’t need to know,” Reuben added, swinging his arm around your shoulder and giving you a squeeze. “Maybe just keep it out of work.”

You felt terrible the whole ride back to your apartment but Jake seemed happy as a clam. He asked to drive, so you let him, and he was humming along to the radio. He seemed more relaxed than he’d been in a while.

You were nearly home when he asked, “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize your perfume?”

You practically jumped out of your skin. You analyzed his face, looking for any hint at how much he knew. He wore his same smug amusement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

“I didn’t think you would,” he laughed.

“Maybe you’re having a stroke.”

“Must be.” He nodded with pretend thoughtfulness. “Why else would my flight suit, which is always in my locker unless I’m literally wearing it, smell like you?”

You looked at him, grateful he had to keep his eyes on the road. All the windows were down, the breeze whipping through his hair. Even exhausted and covered in sweat, he looked incredible. “Is it such a bad thing?” You practically squeaked that out.

“Not unless you consider thinking about you instead of my training exercise a bad thing.” He threw his hand over the back of your seat to back into the parking spot to make it easier on you in the morning and, despite the heat, you shivered. When he had successfully made it into the spot, he stayed close to you for a beat longer. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Then you know how to make it stop.” You leaned impossibly closer. It wouldn’t take much for him to kiss you. He licked his lips and couldn’t tear his eyes off yours.

Your heart thundered. This had to be it.

“I should call Aaron.” He backed away. He couldn’t even meet your gaze. “He always takes forever to respond,” he mumbled. And in an instant, you were alone in the car.

Giulia

Not wanting to rely on the team, you dug back through your emails with Jake to find information. All he wrote was that she was a flight attendant from Milan who made insane baked goods. It was a single line in a single email dropped in the middle of a long-winded anecdote about starching vs. not starching his service uniform.

You were going to bake a pie. You had prepared the night before by watching Claire Saffitz videos and calling your mother, but your last meeting ran long and you were late coming home from work. You tried being quick but the custard curdled and the crust burned and this was all so stupid, you couldn’t even remember what you were doing it all for in the first place. You would’ve sobbed but you didn’t even have enough energy for that.

You ordered a pizza and thought about changing out of the ridiculous outfit you wore to work—your knee-length pencil dress looked flight attendant-esque, especially with the twilly scarf tied around your neck. But by the time it had arrived, you ran out of time. Jake was already at the door.

He sat down beside you at the counter and dropped his head in his hands with a deep sigh.

“You want a slice, baby?” But you asked softly, without the usual teasing associated with the nickname.

And he followed suit, “More than anything, baby.” The exhaustion resurfaced his home-grown twang exactly how it sounded in all your memories. The nickname thing started after Aaron had gotten his first girlfriend. He was in the eighth grade and they would hold hands and end each sentence calling the other “baby.” Jake had only started doing it with you because he was a little jealous of losing his best friend’s attention, not that he would’ve ever admitted it. But it was everything to you, to have an inside joke with him.

He didn’t even use the plate you set out, devouring half the slice in a single bite. “You look cute,” he said, tugging on your neck scarf a little. “You're usually in sweats already when I get home.”

“I tried baking you a pie.” You couldn’t even look at him. Somehow this felt so much more vulnerable than anything you had done thus far.

“You did?” His face broke into the goofiest grin.

“I burned it.”

“What was it supposed to be?” He squeezed your shoulder.

“Lemon.”

“I love lemon.”

“I know,” you demurred. You contemplated making lemon bars but making shortbread seemed much more involved than a cookie crust. Idiot.

“Do you remember the tiramisu you made for your parents anniversary?” He laughed, throwing his head pack. “How you managed to burn a dessert you don’t bake, I have no idea.”

“I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to bake it!” You cried, a grin resurfacing on your face.

“How–”

“The recipe was vibes based.”

“Whatever that means.”

“Yeah, whatever that means.”

You smiled at one another, both of you feeling more lively.

The two of you finished the pizza before deciding to get into more comfortable clothing. You contorted yourself trying to get at the invisible zipper until you eventually gave up. You didn’t really want to ask Jake because you were done teasing and torturing him. You were done with this entire endeavor. You didn’t need him to decide you were worthy of dating as long as you got to spend time with him and, in truth, you were quite certain that you’ve been hurting yourself more than you’ve actually had an impact on him.

But the dress didn’t fit over your head and the dumb little TikTok Shop magnet contraption broke after its first use, zipping up the dress that morning. So, after a great deal of effort, you padded over to his side of the apartment and knocked softly on the door. He let you in, dressed in navy briefs and a worn t-shirt. His room was neat as a pin with no clothes on the floor and hospital corners folded in his sheets.

“Can you unzip me?” You moved your hair to expose the zipper to him, watching his reflection in the mirror leaning against the wall.

You watched him sink his teeth into his bottom lip. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please,” you begged. “I’m stuck.” You were starting to feel claustrophobic, scenarios of wearing that dress forever clouded your mind.

You shivered when he hooked his fingers under the collar of your dress. Jake took his time dragging the zipper down, trailing his fingers down your spine.

He pushed apart the seam of your dress and splayed his hand against your skin, the tips of his fingers ducking just beneath the strap of your bra eliciting a gasp from your lips. Like a man possessed, he continued, a dark look crossing his face.

“Jake,” you moaned, as he snuck his hands around your hips, inside your dress and grazed the lacy trim of your underwear. You felt like you were on fire, every bit of you alight under his half-lidded gaze.

Jake traced the line of your jaw before tilting your chin up just the slightest bit, angling you just right to give him access to the knot of the scarf around your neck. You could have wept when he pulled his last hand out of your dress but the moment the scarf was gone, his hands were back dragging you flush to him.

“Say my name again,” he demanded, voice like gravel.

“Jake,” you moaned louder, having forgotten the ability to regulate. You were lost to the anticipation. And before you had a chance to gain any sense of composure, he drove his tongue into your pulse point.

Your whines turned breathy and knees weakened but he only held you tighter so he could continue his onslaught of nipping and sucking down your shoulder.

You arched your back, wanting to do more, feel more. And you watched him nuzzle into the line of your hair, hissing when you grazed his erection with your ass. Jake’s lips parted, flush, and you were sure he was going to say something.

His phone started to ring, and you cringed, an old picture of Jake arm in arm with your brother lighting up the screen. Jake unceremoniously removed his hands from you. “One sec,” he said and answered the fucking phone. “Yeah buddy, what’s up?”

You looked at him with shock and disdain but he was sitting at the foot of his bed. Your heart sank and you tried to step away but he latched onto the back of your dress and gently pulled you down to sit on his knee. His grip wasn’t tight, you could’ve left. But you didn’t. Instead, you sat there, uncomfortable in your freezing wet panties.

You could only hear Jake’s side of the conversation, he was hesitating and if you didn’t know him better you might have said he was nervous. “Look,” he said, “I was wondering…” He glanced at you, an expression you couldn’t read on his face. “How would you feel if I asked out your sister?”

You may have blacked out. You saw his lips move and the smile on his face but you couldn’t decipher the words, not when excitement, love, and rage were all rushing in your ears.

Jake tossed his phone, beaming, and slid his hand up your thigh. That seemed to snap you back to the moment because you stood, backing away from his touch. “What the fuck was that?”

He stayed sitting and spoke very calmly. It was infuriating. “I don’t have much in the way of family. You and your brother are everything—”

“So you have to ask him permission to fuck me?”

“Is that what we were doing?” He asked with this dopey look in his eyes. Butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“Don’t be cute,” you said, willing yourself to stay angry. “I’m not some fucking plaything—”

“But it’s fine to toy with me, right?” He stood, then. “That’s why I’ve been half-cocked in my jet all week.” He didn’t raise his voice or move closer when you took an instinctive step back, and you lost all of the moral high-ground you may have had.

Your back hit the door, you hadn’t realized you were so close to it. He followed you this time, resting his forearm above your head, fingers trailing up the back of your thigh to where your dress was nearly hiked up leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. With how close he was now, you were sure he could hear your heart thumping.

“Would you have stopped if he said no?”

“No.” Jake crashed his lips to yours. The kiss was sloppy and imbued with so much longing. It was everything you had wanted for as long as you can remember.

He pressed open-mouth kisses down the column of your throat and dragged your clothes down with him.

The dress hit the floor and he sank to his knees. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I-I don’t know.” You were completely overwhelmed, hot beneath his touch.

“You’ve been working me for months.” His smirk was salacious. “I can’t imagine you didn’t have something in mind.”

“Say it,” you demanded, regaining lucidity.

“What do you want me to say?” He laughed bitterly. “That you’re always on my mind? That you only get more beautiful every time I see you? That, every night, I think about you in that fucking nightgown?” He wiped his face, looking suddenly exhausted. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying not to think about you this way?”

You knelt down, slotting your legs on either side of his thigh. He brought his hands to your hips immediately, helping rock you back and forth across his hard muscle. He kissed your neck and you sighed, “I love that you do.”

“I want to watch you cum like this,” Jake mumbled.

“I’m not sure I can,” you panted, fully enjoying the friction but certain that it would not be enough to get you there until he yanked your cotton panties up, increasing the pressure on your clit.

A wave of pleasure shot through you. Jake deafened your moans with his kiss, keeping you steady as you moved your hips faster.

“Ja-ake,” you moaned, pleasure building in your core.

“Yeah, baby.” He flicked your nipple through the unlined cup of your bra and it sent you over the edge. His hands returned to your hips to help you ride out your orgasm.

You collapsed onto the carpet in a fit of giggles. This was so unbelievable. Even at the beginning, you never thought it would end this way.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said and the look of pure genuine love in his eyes took your breath away.

You pulled him down on top of you, kissing his cheeks and lacing your fingers in his hair. “Your turn?”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” He teased, brushing the hair off your face.

“Do you have a condom?”

He reached over you to his jeans and took one out of his wallet.

“Aren’t we ambitious,” you said, already kicking off his briefs.

“And here I was, hoping you’d jump me in a supply closet.” Jake took his time removing your undergarments, taking you in as he teased your folds with his dick.

You groaned together as he pushed himself into you. “I’m not going to last that long,” Jake breathed into your skin and it only made you hotter. This man, who you’d been so taken with, was also incredibly taken by you.

You hooked your leg over his waist and he drove deeper into you. You ground your hips but he held you still to rub your clit in tiny dizzying circles.

A guttural moan erupted from your throat as you spiraled into your second orgasm. Jake kept going, rubbing and thrusting until your legs shook and the aftershocks became so intense that tears welled in your eyes. “Jake,” you cried, unable to take it anymore, and he came, nipping at your collarbone.

Once your breathing slowed and Jake disposed of the condom, he lifted you onto his bed. “Can I get you anything?” He asked with a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“Water.” He sat up to grab it and you followed.

“Darlin’, as long as I can help it, you will not be leaving my bed,” and Jake planted a long mind-numbing kiss to your already swollen lips.

As you sunk back into his pillow, watching the man you very nearly loved shirtless in the kitchen, you decided that wouldn’t be so bad.

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #glen powell #glen powell x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman #top gun #top gun maverick #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha phoenix trace #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #one shot #imagine #maverick #operation: seduction

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justaz · 1 day ago

Text

I beg. Please. Reread the books. I need the reliance on fanon to stop. Canon is right there.

No one “debated saving Nico”. They all agreed immediately to save him:

When Percy was dreaming of Nico trapped in the jar he said: “‘Nico,’ Percy said, ‘where is this place? We'll save you....’” - Literally the first time he sees Nico, he decides that they’re going to save him

Then after Percy tells everyone at the table, their reaction is: “‘The giants are trying to lure us," Annabeth said. ‘They're assuming we'll try to rescue him.’ / ‘Well, they're right!’ Hazel looked around the table, her confidence apparently crumbling. ‘Won't we?’ / ‘Yes!’ Coach Hedge yelled with a mouthful of napkins. ‘It'll involve fighting, right?’ / ‘Hazel, of course we'll help him,’ Frank said. ‘But how long do we have before... uh, I mean, how long can Nico hold out?’” - Of course Hazel agrees immediately, as does Coach Hedge and Frank

After discussing the seeds, Piper says: “‘That's not much time,’ Piper summed up. She put her hand on Hazel's shoulder. ‘We'll find him. At least we know what the lines of the prophecy mean now. 'Twins snuff out the angel's breath, who holds the key to endless death.' Your brother's last name: di Angelo. Angelo is Italian for 'angel.'’” - Piper agrees immediately and brings up the prophecy which reaffirms the importance of Nico and a key part he plays in the quest, which means they need to save him

Percy introspection and final vocal agreement: “Percy stared at his jelly donut. He had a rocky history with Nico di Angelo. The guy had once tricked him into visiting Hades's palace, and Percy had ended up in a cell. But most of the time, Nico sided with the good guys. He certainly didn't deserve slow suffocation in a bronze jar, and Percy couldn't stand seeing Hazel in pain. ‘We'll rescue him,’ he promised her. ‘We have to. The prophecy says he holds the key to endless death.’” - Which is the set up for what people are actually in such an uproar about, the questioning of Nico’s loyalty even though the question is completely valid as Percy points out here. Nico is more a rogue agent, he does his own thing like when he lured Percy down to the Underworld to receive information about his mother. Sure he didn’t know what Hades would do, but Percy didn’t know there was a deviation to the plan in the first place - a plan in which he was already risking his life, trusting in Nico only to be betrayed even if Nico didn’t mean for it to be one.

Argo II scoreboard right now is 5/8 vocally agreeing to save him, no matter what the rest say, the votes are in favor of a rescue mission, especially with the importance the prophecy places on Nico. The only ones who haven’t vocally agreed to save him are Annabeth, Leo, and Jason.

Leo starts the vocal questioning of the safety and security of the plan: “‘Uh...’ Leo shifted in his chair. ‘One thing. The giants are expecting us to do this, right? So we're walking into a trap?’ / Hazel looked at Leo like he'd made a rude gesture. ‘We have no choice!’” - Leo is simply questioning the plan and Hazel reacts viscerally because she’s so focused in on Nico being in danger that the slightest hesitation seems like a worse problem than it is. Nothing against Hazel, I’d react the same way if it was my brother, but still Leo never said “let’s not save this emo loser” he’s just saying that there is a clear threat posed here that they’re walking right up to

Leo and Jason voice the same opinion: “‘Don't get me wrong, Hazel. It's just that your brother, Nico... he knew about both camps, right?’ / ‘Well, yes,’ Hazel said. / ‘He's been going back and forth,’ Leo said, ‘and he didn't tell either side.’ / Jason sat forward, his expression grim. ‘You're wondering if we can trust the guy. So am I.’” - They don’t question saving him, they question the plan and Nico’s loyalty. For good reason. Again, Nico is established more as a rogue agent. Who’s to say he didn’t side with the giants and is in cahoots with them to lure the Seven into this trap for Gaea to bring Bianca or his mother back? They’re pointing out concerns and questions, it’d be idiotic to go into this situation with a half-baked plan and no backups if they don’t consider all possibilities and Nico’s loyalty has always been up in the air which is a huge red flag in this situation

Climax of the “debate”: “Hazel shot to her feet. ‘I don't believe this. He's my brother. He brought me back from the Underworld, and you don't want to help him?’ / Frank put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Nobody's saying that.’ He glared at Leo. ‘Nobody had better be saying that.’ / Leo blinked. ‘Look, guys. All I mean is-‘ / ‘Hazel,’ Jason said. ‘Leo is raising a fair point. I remember Nico from Camp Jupiter. Now I find out he also visited Camp Half-Blood. That does strike me as... well, a little shady. Do we really know where his loyalties lie? We just have to be careful.’” - And then Hazel blows up and storms off. Frank reassured Hazel that no one was saying that then gave Leo the push to make it clear that wasn’t what he was saying and that’s what Leo was going to do (clarifying his point) before Jason cuts in and defends Leo from the offense that Hazel is on. He reaffirms that they’re just questioning his loyalty, they have to be careful when going to rescue him, they never said they would leave him to suffocate and rot.

Please stop this propaganda and reread the books or at least the wiki. I swear fanon has y’all in a goddamn chokehold.

Anyways, here’s the apology scene so y’all will maybe shut up:

“‘…Sometimes demigods make bad choices.’ He looked sheepishly at Hazel. ‘Like sometimes we're too suspicious. And we speak without thinking.’ / Hazel stared at him. Slowly it seemed to dawn on her that he was apologizing. / Jason elbowed Leo. / ‘Ow!’ Leo yelped. ‘I mean, yeah...bad choices. Like not trusting people's brothers who, you know, might need saving. Hypothetically speaking.’” - Apologizing for being suspicious and not trusting Nico, not apologizing for not wanting to save him, apologizing for their suspicious words against Nico’s loyalties hurting Hazel

#pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #heroes of olympus #heros of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #mark of athena #moa #jason grace #leo valdez #argo ii #annabeth chase #hazel levesque #piper mclean #piper mcclean #percy jackson #frank zhang #coach hedge #canon

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alwayssassydreamer · 2 days ago

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Mirror, Mirror

A/N: my experiment at writing "new" chatacters continues the idea for this came from a good friend - so if it sucks it's her fault 😅 it got way longer than planned and i don't know why i did that but yeah...oh and i kind of "ignored" the extreme size difference so Kata is tall but not like super duper giant tall

Speak to me, sing to me, bare your soul to me Step through the mirror, join me inside Run to me, stay with me, till eternity Show me the face that you hide

Plot: you see a man in your mirror who haunts you even in your dreams until one day you feel like he reaches through

Warnings: use of Y/N (once), "horror", Kata is a Demon, i have no idea what to put here it's kinda a gothic romance story maybe, Modern AU

Characters: Demon!Katakuri x GnReader

Your life had been more or less fine, you had a decent job that got the bills paid and more, your apartment was cozy, your car had been running for 3 months without anything breaking or needing to be replaced - which was a fucking miracle - and the only thing that might have been missing was a partner but it was okay for you. You liked to refer to your single life as being "free".

Though deep down you often felt lonely but you always drowned that small traitorous thought with something else.

You stood in your bathroom brushing your teeth, from outside you could here some game show from your tv. Just as you spit out and got back up you saw a man in the mirror.

"The fuck" you shouted jumping and instinctively looking over your shoulder - nothing.

You turned back to stare at the mirror - nothing either.

You cocked a brow and kept staring at the mirror before you sighed.

"Oh god so stupid" you said laughing. You had probably been imagining it - too little sleep and too many "bloody mary" videos on youtube.

You turned off the bathroom light and shuffled into the living room. The game show host on the TV was laughing too hard, like someone had told a joke that wasn’t funny. You grabbed the remote and clicked it off. The sudden silence made your apartment feel hollow.

Still, you shrugged it off. Just tired.

You went to bed.

The next night, it happened again.

You were flossing this time and when you glanced up, he was there again. Only this time, he didn’t vanish.

He was watching you. Big. Still. The kind of man that made you think of ancient statues: too massive, too still, too real. His mouth was hidden under a scarf that rippled as if caught in a breeze you couldn’t feel. His eyes locked with yours like he was staring through the glass and into you.

You blinked.

He didn’t.

The floss slipped from your hands.

You turned around again, nothing, of course, but your hands were trembling now. When you looked back at the mirror, he was gone.

But the surface was fogged up.

You hadn’t taken a hot shower.

And five long indents had appeared in the condensation, dragging slowly downward like the mark of fingers from the other side.

You touched the glass to try to rub the marks away but nothing changed and the moment you touched the glass it felt extraordinary cold. Sure glass was cold but that one was almost too cold.

"Okay you know what who needs mirrors, maybe....yeah I maybe I just put a towel over it." You said to yourself as you reached for the biggest towel you had and drapped it over the mirror even taping it so it couldn't fall off.

"Yeah nothing out of the ordinary a lot of people hide their mirrors" you told yourself trying to convince yourself that you had seen nothing, that there was no man in the mirror that left marks on the glass - from the inside.

You went to bed and decided to sleep with the light and the tv on. Not because you were scared.....no of course not.....ghosts or men living in a mirror weren’t real right? Right?

You groaned as you crawled into bed and pulled the sheets up despite the night being kinda warm. After staying awake for what felt like hours sleep finally overtook you the dream you had though was far from comforting or sweet.

You were standing in your bathroom again.

Only it wasn’t your bathroom.

The walls stretched too tall, the tiles too slick, too dark - like obsidian. The light flickered overhead, casting sharp shadows in impossible directions. The mirror, that mirror, stood bare, the towel gone.

Your feet moved on their own. You approached.

You didn’t want to look, but your body didn’t care.

And there he was again.

But this time, he moved.

He raised a hand, long fingers wrapped in dark fabric, too big for a human man. He pressed it to the glass. You stopped just a breath away, your heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted out.

“Why do you hide me?” a deep voice rumbled, not aloud, but inside your head. It was calm. Curious.

His eye glowed faintly, red in the dimness.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The glass began to bend, like water, rippling outward from where his hand pressed. His fingers sank into it. Then his wrist. Then his arm. His entire form began to emerge, slow and fluid, like the mirror was birthing him.

“I see you every night,” he whispered. “I wait.”

You backed up. Your heels hit the edge of the tub, you fell, scrambled, your voice caught in your throat as the man stepped fully through the mirror, towering and silent. His scarf fluttered unnaturally despite no breeze. His silhouette was massive. Wrong.

You opened your mouth to scream—

And woke up.

You shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat. Your sheets clung to you, the TV screen frozen on static.

Across the room, the bathroom door stood slightly ajar.

The towel you taped?

Crumpled on the floor.

And the mirror was bare.

After that night you took the mirror down and turned it around and used your phone to do your hair, make up and all that stuff. But it didn’t help.

You began seeing him on every reflecting surface no matter where no matter what and soon your whole apartment was covered in towels, blankets and cardboards or papers. But even that didn't help because then you began hearing his voice.

It started soft.

Barely a whisper, like a thought that wasn’t yours.

When you brushed your teeth: “You looked better yesterday.”

When you washed your hands: “I miss seeing your eyes.”

When you closed the fridge: “Don’t you want to look at me again?”

You started turning off anything reflective - TV screens, phones, even utensils that caught too much light. But he was still there. Sometimes, in the reflection of your pupils in the bathroom selfie camera, you could just make out the shape of his scarf.

You stopped going to work.

You stopped going out altogether.

And then… the voice changed.

It grew clearer. Closer.

“You tried to erase me. Hide me. Why?”

“I was content to watch, but you made me feel ignored.”

“I want to be seen. I want you.”

He was everywhere now. Reflections in windows you passed. In puddles outside. In the shine of your kettle. Sometimes, even in your dreams, he stood at the foot of your bed, never blinking, waiting for you to invite him in.

One night, after days of this torment, you cracked.

You tore the towel off the mirror and screamed, “What the hell do you want from me?!”

Silence.

Then, his figure appeared—clearer than ever. Tall. Sharp. Broad-shouldered. His lone eye glowing beneath his scarf.

And he answered.

“I want freedom.” He tilted his head, like a dog studying a wounded thing. “And I want you.”

You stumbled back. “Freedom? I—I don’t know how to—”

“You already opened the door, little mirror. The moment you looked.”

Your lights flickered.

The mirror began to ripple again.

And his hand reached out, fingers brushing the air just past the glass.

Then—

You woke up.

Except this time… you weren’t in bed.

You were kneeling in front of the mirror. The towel at your feet. Your hand flat against the glass, mirroring his.

He was smiling, the scarf around his neck gone to reveal a scarred mouth and sharp teeth yet it didn't scare you the way it should have.

Suddenly you felt it - his hand it started to wrap around yours. No this couldn't be it was just a dream, no imagination or hallucination. He wasn’t real this wasn’t real.

You couldn’t.....his fingers had fully wrapped around your hand and your hand.....it was no longer on the mirror glass no it was inside the mirror. You tried to pull at it but he tightened his grip.

"No! Don't!" you yelled frantically.

His hand - his real, solid, warm hand - tightened around yours like a vice, yet it didn’t hurt. It was firm, possessive, like he was afraid you’d vanish. The mirror rippled around your wrist, swallowing your skin with a liquid shimmer that defied all logic.

Your breath hitched.

“No! What are you doing? Let go of me!” you shouted, yanking back as panic took full control.

But he didn’t let go.

His eye narrowed slightly, not with malice—but with longing.

“I’ve waited too long to lose you now,” he said, voice velvet-dark and quiet. “You saw me when no one else ever did. You called me forth.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you snapped. “I never wanted this—whatever this is!”

“You wanted to be seen,” he murmured, leaning closer to the barrier. His breath didn’t fog the mirror, it darkened it. “You whispered it every night, even when you didn’t say it aloud. I only answered.”

You shook your head, eyes wide with disbelief as your arm slid further in. You could feel his world, cold air, static and wrong, brushing along your skin. “This isn’t fair—this isn’t real!”

His brow furrowed slightly. That ever-present scarf fluttered, and for a brief moment you saw the barest glimpse of a scar at the corner of his lips—something human beneath all the terror.

“I was not made to be real,” he said, almost sorrowfully. “But you... you changed that.”

Then, softer. “Come with me.”

You froze.

“Come into my world. You won’t be alone. I’ll give you everything. No more hiding. No more being overlooked. You’ll be mine, and I’ll be yours. Forever.”

The grip around your hand loosened slightly not letting go, but giving you a choice.

“Step through,” he whispered. “Or walk away. But if you leave me now, I will never appear to you again. I will vanish from every mirror, every dream, every reflection. I will not haunt you. I will not love you.”

The glass cooled. Still. The silence between your heartbeats stretched.

You looked at him really looked at him and even with his scarf gone and his scarred mouth and sharp teeth you felt less and less scared of him. But could you step through, and moreover what did that mean for you.

"I will not love you" those words they were spoken so real almost painful as if he feared you would decide to walk away. Your heart ached you were torn between fear, curiosity and a strange ache inside you

You stared into his eye, deep, scarlet, endless, and for the first time, you didn’t see a monster.

You saw loneliness.

Eons of it. Years, maybe centuries, spent behind glass, whispering to no one, watching people live lives he could never touch. He didn’t beg. He didn’t demand. He offered choice, even knowing what it might cost him.

The scarf had slipped entirely. His mouth was scarred, his teeth sharp—but his expression wasn’t cruel. It was vulnerable in its own terrible way. He was not human. You knew that. And yet…

You were tired too. Tired of being alone in rooms that echoed. Tired of being seen, but never truly understood.

And that ache in your chest - it pulsed louder now, synchronized with the way he held your hand. Gentle. Waiting.

“I…” you whispered, eyes searching his face, “If I step through… what happens to me?”

His gaze softened, and his fingers caressed the back of your hand like silk.

“You will change,” he said simply. “You will not be what you were. But you will be known. Loved. Kept safe. No more mirrors between us.”

His thumb traced over your knuckles, reverent. “But you’ll never return to your world. You’ll be mine. Entirely.”

You trembled. You should’ve been terrified. But instead, you whispered:

“…And you’ll be mine?”

A pause.

“Forever.”

You swallowed hard, chest tight.

There was the door.

And he was the key.

You took a single step closer.

You took a deep breath your body grazing the mirror and part of you teethering between both worlds.

"I don't even know your name" you said softly so close now that he could have pulled you inside if he wanted to

His expression shifted, barely, a twitch at the corner of his scarred mouth, as if your words struck something deep within him.

The glass between you pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

“You’re the first to ask,” he said, voice quieter now, almost reverent. “The others screamed. Cursed. Prayed.”

His hand, still holding yours, rose to your cheek, fingers gliding through the rippling barrier like water. Cold, but not cruel.

“I had no need for a name before you,” he murmured. “But if it is a name you want… then I will give it to you.”

He leaned forward. His lips nearly touched the mirror, nearly touched yours.

“…Katakuri,” he whispered, and though his name sounded strange in your world, it felt right in your bones. Familiar, like a memory that wasn’t yours. “You may call me that. Or anything you wish… if you stay.”

He paused. “And you—what shall I call you little mirror?”

You stood there, suspended between two realities, your breath fogging the mirror that refused to stay cold.

Your name on his tongue. Your hand in his. His world reaching out to swallow you whole.

And still… you had not yet stepped through nor had he forcefully pulled you through.

"Y/N but you can keep calling me little mirror" you answered softly still on the edge between both worlds.

His eye softened at your name but even more as you allowed him to keep calling you "little mirror", like it was something sacred, something he had etch into every surface of his mirrored prison if it meant keeping you close.

“Little mirror it will be,” he repeated, slow and deliberate, tasting it like a vow.

Then he leaned in, his forehead brushing the glass, no, not the glass, your forehead, as if the barrier no longer dared to separate you.

And he whispered, voice like velvet and winter rain.

“I have watched you for so long… even when you didn't know me. I’ve memorized the way you sigh when you’re tired, the way your smile fades just before it fully forms… You think you're invisible in your world, but to me, you’ve always been the only one.”

Your heart clenched, breath caught in your throat.

“I would burn through every reflection, shatter every mirror, just to hold you without glass between us,” he murmured, voice aching. “Let me show you what it means to be wanted. Truly wanted. Not as a fantasy… but as a soul worth worshipping.”

You swayed toward him, the space between you no longer clear where one world ended and the other began.

“Say yes, little mirror,” he breathed. “And be mine.”

And this time… You didn’t step away.

You stepped through.

The moment your whole body had slipped through the mirror behind you seemed to close off and it was clear you weren't getting out of here again. But part of you didn't mind.

Katakuri was even taller than you expected and the mirror world was - strange, wide, a bit cold and most importantly lonely. You looked up at him smiling warmly.

"You've been here all alone? And i always thought i was lonely" you observed heart aching at the thought of him.

Katakuri stood still for a moment, as if stunned by your presence - your real presence - in his world.

No longer a fleeting image. No longer a shadow behind glass.

His crimson eyes met yours, wide and reverent, and he reached out as if afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast. His hand gently brushed your cheek again, warmer now, the barrier gone and you felt it - the trembling in his fingers, the way he held his breath like this was a dream he didn’t want to wake from.

When you spoke, he lowered his head slightly, shame flickering across his scarred face.

“I have always been alone,” he admitted. “My world was built from echoes and silence. I learned every crack in the glass, every corner of this hollow place… but none of it ever saw me.”

He looked down at you then, really looked. “Until you.”

Your smile warmed him in a way no fire ever could.

“I used to envy the people in your world,” he continued. “They passed by without fear, without knowing how precious their voices were, their warmth, their freedom. I hated them… and pitied myself.”

He stepped closer, and this time his arms wrapped around you with care, massive, protective, gentle. His head rested briefly against yours.

“But now… if I had to wait a thousand years just to hold you once, I’d do it all again.”

Around you, the mirror world shimmered, long halls of silver light, vast dark skies that reflected nothing. You could see distant doors that led nowhere, corridors that twisted, rooms built of frozen memories and phantom reflections. It was lonely. But not anymore.

You nestled into him, whispering softly, “Then I guess we’re not alone anymore.”

Katakuri’s breath hitched, and for a long, quiet moment, the mirror world felt a little warmer.

Time passed differently here. Days bled into nights without ever truly changing, like the mirror world existed just outside the edge of reality, quiet, suspended, timeless.

And yet, somehow… with him, it never felt stagnant.

Weeks, maybe months, passed in that strange, shimmering place. You stopped counting. Katakuri showed you pieces of his world slowly, always watching your reactions with near-painful attentiveness, as though your comfort mattered more than anything else. And it did, to him. You were his world now.

The rooms changed when you touched them, responding to your emotions. Places he had long thought empty began to bloom with warmth, light, and fragments of beauty that hadn’t existed until you arrived. A mirrored garden that shimmered with petals of glass and silver. A quiet, cathedral-like chamber filled with memories of dreams. A bedroom that molded itself to your liking - the softest bedding, faint starlight through curved walls, and a hearth that glowed with gentle, blue fire.

And him.

Katakuri.

Never pushy, never demanding but always there.

Loyal. Fiercely protective. Gentle beyond words. The terrifying, stoic mirror demon… who brewed you tea and sat with you in silence when you missed the hum of real wind. Who let you fall asleep against his massive shoulder, tracing the lines of his scars with your fingertips, while he held you like something fragile and beloved.

He kissed you for the first time under the illusion of a thunderstorm. Rain drumming softly on mirrored rooftops. He cradled your face like he had spent lifetimes wondering how to deserve the feel of you. When his lips touched yours, it wasn’t possessive. It was reverent. Like a vow. Like he'd never take such a gift for granted.

And from that moment, it was no longer a haunting.

It was a love story.

He no longer hid his face from you. Not even his scars. You knew every inch of him. The sadness buried in his silence, the gentle ache in his chest when you laughed at something he didn’t understand but wanted to. He traced poems across your skin at night, in languages forgotten by time. You whispered your fears to him, and he never tried to fix them, only held them with you.

One day it began with music. Soft, ethereal, drifting through the halls like the echo of something that had once been human. You had no idea where it came from. Maybe the world itself had learned how to sing just for the two of you.

You stood near the edge of a silver lake, its surface reflecting not the sky, but you. Dozens of you twirling in still water, your figure gently mirrored in a hundred delicate ripples.

Katakuri stood behind you, watching.

He rarely spoke during these moments. Words weren’t needed. The way his fingers grazed yours, the way his eyes followed your every breath it told you everything. And tonight, there was something in the air. A quiet ache. A yearning.

You turned to him, hand outstretched. “Dance with me.”

His brow lifted faintly, uncertain. “I don’t know how.”

You smiled, stepping close, placing his hand on your waist. “Then let me show you.”

It was clumsy at first. He was so tall, so careful, so aware of every inch of you as though he feared breaking something precious. But then… he let go. Just a little. Let the music move through him. Let you lead.

You laughed softly, breath catching when he finally moved in rhythm with you. His hand pressed at the small of your back, and his other fingers tangled with yours. You swayed beneath the shifting light of the mirrored stars, warm and close, until there was no space left between your bodies.

His forehead pressed to yours. His lips hovered above your own.

“Little mirror…” he whispered, voice low, unsteady. “I’ve never known peace… until you.”

You cupped his cheek. “And I’ve never known love until you.”

His breath hitched. And this time, when he kissed you, it was no longer careful.

It was hungry. Desperate. Worshipful.

He lifted you with ease, your legs curling around his waist as he walked you back into the silver grass, laying you down with such tenderness you could cry. His hands trembled at your hips, scarred mouth tracing along your throat, your collarbone, your heart.

The mirror world shimmered around you, responding to the sacredness of it all.

You were his. And he was yours.

Not a demon.

Not a reflection.

But a man.

And he loved you with every haunted, aching part of his soul.

#one piece #charlotte katakuri #katakuri one piece #katakuri x reader #op katakuri #charlotte katakuri x reader #charlotte family #big mom pirates #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert

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cece693 · 16 hours ago

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I'VE DECIDED AND YOU'RE WHAT I WANT

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader synopsis: You and Bucky were dancing around each other—you know it, he knows it, the tower knows it, hell, you think even Fury knows it—yet you reject every one of his advances. It's not that you don't feel the same way, but after everything that Bucky has gone through, you don't want him to be pressured into anything. He deserves some peace after Hydra. However, Bucky knows what he wants and is determined to show you that.

You’re halfway through your morning run around the perimeter of the compound when the sound of metal-shod footsteps falls in rhythm beside you. You don’t need to look to know it’s Bucky—his gait is unmistakable. “Mind if I tag along?” he asks, breath perfectly even.

You shrug, pretending the sight of his damp hair and sleeveless tee doesn’t light up your hindbrain like a Stark-tech billboard. “Free country, Barnes.”

He chuckles. “So they tell me.”

The two of you do another lap in comfortable silence. Then, on the downhill stretch, he tries once again. “Dinner tonight? Nothing fancy—just the little shawarma place in town. No mission talk, no debriefs, just…” His lips twitch. “Just me wantin’ to hear you complain about the Mets in real time.”

Your heart catches in your throat. It would be so easy to say yes. Instead you slow to a walk and tug your sweat-rag from your pocket. “Bucky, you deserve a clean slate first. Space. Time to figure out what you want that isn’t tied to Hydra nightmares or SHIELD paperwork.” You wipe your face, avoiding his eyes. “I’m not—”

“—one of my trauma projects, yeah, I know the speech,” he finishes, frustration evident on his face. “You ever notice you’re the only one who thinks I’m made of glass?” You open your mouth, but he’s already lengthening his stride, jaw clenched.

Natasha finds you later in the common room, frowning into a mug of post-run protein sludge. She drops onto the sofa, boots up on the coffee table. “Remind me why you’re holding Bucky at arm’s length like he’s radioactive?”

You puff out a laugh. “Radioactive? He’s more like freshly decommissioned ordnance. Safe if handled right.”

Nat’s brow arches. “He’s also a grown man who survived a century of brainwashing. I think having dinner with you is the easiest thing he's going to do.”

“Not if he feels like he owes me," you mutter.

Something softens in her expression. “He doesn’t owe you. He likes you. There’s a difference.”

You start to argue, but she’s already on her feet. “Listen. Bucky has spent months rebuilding his life. Therapy sessions, sparring drills, the whole Wakandan de-programming package—and if he wants to date you, that's his own decision. Nothing forced him to want that. Now, new plan: I’ll prove Barnes can make choices for himself. You’re free tomorrow night?”

“Nat—”

“Excellent.”

At 0900 sharp the next day, Natasha materializes outside the weapons range, one manicured finger crooking at Bucky. “Barnes. Tactical image adjustment. Let’s move.”

Translation: Makeover.

She marches him through a barbershop redolent of bay-rum and Sinatra, where three inches of hair hit the floor, revealing lazy waves along with trimming the rough edges of his beard into something that whispered approachable instead of fugitive. A vintage shop is next—Henley's soft as sin, a caramel leather jacket that hugs his shoulders like a promise, jeans trimmed to Stark-level precision. Last stop: a corner café that still whips egg creams the 1943 way. Under café fluorescents he studies his reflection in the window glass. “Look at me—trying to pass for normal,” he muttered.

“Normal’s overrated." Nat says. "But comfortable? That’s sexy. Now all that’s left is words.”

Bucky swallowed. “Those I can handle.” A beat. “Probably.”

Night slips over the compound like a velvet drop-cloth, the sky stuffed with pinhole stars. You’re in the upstairs kitchen nuking leftover dumplings when the lights cut out—then bloom back on in soft amber, so mellow it feels intentional. A single Post-it sits beside the microwave, handwriting compact and measured: Roof. 20:30. —N

You check your watch: 20:12. Natasha Romanoff never sends invitations late.

The freight-elevator deposits you amid the HVAC labyrinth, but someone’s transformed the concrete plateau. String lights arc between ventilation stacks; a vinyl blanket spreads near the parapet, weighted by two diner mugs that steam in the crisp air. The scent of cocoa and cinnamon drifts over warm asphalt. And there—hands tucked in his caramel jacket—stands Bucky, looking unfairly handsome in moon washed denim. The makeover is noticeable but not costume; it’s him, refined instead of re-forged. He watches you register the scene, mouth curving. “Hey.”

Your pulse stutters. “Nat’s handiwork?”

“She’ll insist on royalties,” he concedes. “But the legwork’s mine.”

You nod toward the blanket. “What’s in the mugs?”

“Proof I’m not a trauma project: dark cocoa with cayenne. I remember you saying spicy chocolate was your ‘final-meal dessert.’” He shrugs, almost shy. “Figured I’d test the memory, see if you’d veto it yourself.”

The implication lands: choice—yours, his, shared.

You ease down opposite him, accepting the mug. The heat bleeds into your palms. “Look,” he begins, “I get why you’ve been careful. Hydra didn’t just mess with my head—it messed with my perspective. For a while, anyone who treated me kindly, I figured they must be wanting something in return."

You start to protest, but he lifts a hand. “Then Sam point-blank asked me one question,” Bucky goes on, the string lights painting molten flecks across his eyes. “‘If you could have anything today—no guilt, no handlers—what would it be?’ I opened my mouth and realized the answer wasn’t a shrink, or more mission time, or absolution. It was you, across some tiny table, judging my shawarma technique.”

He huffs a brittle laugh, then sobers. “That scared the hell out of me, because it meant the want was mine. Not Hydra’s rewiring, not Steve’s nostalgia, not anyone else’s idea of who I’m supposed to be.”

You turn the mug between your hands, the cinnamon-cayenne perfume a small storm under your nose. “Bucky, wanting something and being ready for it—”

“—aren’t always the same,” he finishes gently. “I know. That’s why I’m not asking for a five-year plan. I’m asking for tonight, for tomorrow’s shawarma, for the right to text you bad ‘Get-Mets-soon’ puns when their bullpen implodes.” A tiny grin tugs one corner of his mouth. “Space to figure things out shouldn’t mean you have to stand way over there.”

The argument you’d been polishing for weeks—healing takes isolation, you don’t want to be another shackle—suddenly feels thin, see-through. This isn’t a man looking for a medic; it’s a man offering his real name and seeing if you’ll say it back.

You set the cocoa aside, scoot across the blanket until your knees brush his. “Okay. Ground rules,” you say, heartbeat rattling like dice. “One: when the nightmares hit, you wake me instead of disappearing into the gym at 3 a.m.”

His shoulders loosen, as if he’s just been given oxygen. “Deal. Two: if the Mets lose by ten runs, you have to let me gloat—Yankees fan privilege.”

You groan. “Cruel, but fine. Three: if either of us starts feeling like the other’s therapist, we tap out and call the actual therapist.”

Bucky nods, solemn as treaty-signing. “Four: kisses are mandatory after successful treaty negotiations.”

“Barnes—”

He leans in, testing, leaving you the last inch of choice. You close it gladly. The kiss is unhurried, a careful press that tastes of peppery chocolate and pent-up hope. When you part, breath mingling white in the chill, his grin turns boyish and a little stunned, as though he’s stumbled on spring after a Siberian winter.

“Sam’s gonna take credit for this,” he murmurs.

“Let him. Nat will extort him for hush money.”

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criminalyapping · 3 days ago

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mistaken identity

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

You're about to walk out of your shared apartment - running early enough to stop for a coffee for once - when you notice the brown paper bag sitting on the kitchen counter, labeled with a quick scrawl of a sharpie on the side.

Whitaker.

Seeing the lunch bag sitting on the counter, you immediately know that your plans for a slow morning are dashed. Quickly checking your maps, you scoop up the lunch and head towards the hospital briskly. You're not jogging, but if you want to make it there and to work on time, a fast walk is called for.

Flushed and embarrasingly out of breath, you arrive at the emergency department; the pitt, as those close to you so lovingly call it. Even at 7:45 in the morning, the waiting room is packed and you patiently wait in line to speak to the person doing intake. As patiently as you can as the minutes tick higher and higher, closer and closer to you being late to work. The blonde woman in line in front of you turns her face into her sleeve and hacks up a lung. You take half a step back and hold your breath. You make a mental note to pick up some laundry sanitizer; you can't believe you hadn't thought about the germs that must have been brought home from this place.

Finally, you get called up to speak to the woman behind the glass. You hold up the lunch bag so she can see.

"Hi! Dennis forgot this at home, I was wondering if there was a way to get it to him?" you ask.

Her once detached and professional expression flickered as she glanced between the bag and your face. The corners of her mouth lift slightly.

"Oh, you can go on back, honey, ask anyone back there where you can find him," she grins.

"Oh- I just, I have to run, I thought maybe someone could-" you stammer.

"Sorry, we're swamped, you just go on back, okay?" she reassures, pushing a button on her desk and gesturing towards the doors to your right.

"Okay" you agree softly, mostly to yourself, and turn and walk through the set of double doors.

Immediately you are overwhelmed. The florescent lights beat down, the smell of antiseptiic fills your nose, and you hear what sounds like 30 overlapping voices all speaking with urgency.

You take a few steps forward, desperately searching for anyone who isn't looking busy.

"Excuse me," you start, catching the attention of a man walking by in scrubs and looking at the tablet in his hands. He pauses in his walk and looks at you.

"Yeah, what can I do for you?" he asks with a smile.

"Um, I have Dennis' lunch, he forgot it at home. I just," you stumble, "is there a fridge I can put it in for him?" you ask.

"Dennis? You mean Whitaker?" he asks, doing a double take.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I just-" you begin, only to be cut off.

The man, whose badge says Mateo Diaz, looks over his shoulder towards the center of the room.

"Hey, Dana!" he calls. A woman with short blonde hair looks up over the rim of her glasses.

"What?" she responds.

"We've got someone looking for Whitaker! Says that he left his lunch at home." he explains, his voice taking on a conspirational tone you don't quite understand.

"For Whitaker?" she calls, taking off her glasses and walking across the room towards you.

"This is for Whitaker?" she asks as she comes to a stop in front of you.

"Yes, yeah, he left it, and I thought I would bring it." you explain again.

Dana smiles with a glint in her eyes.

After a moment of silence, you begin again.

"I don't- I mean, I can't stay, I thought I could just drop it off?" you propose.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll get you out of here quickly, hun. Let's go get Whitaker so he can say thank you." she decides, grabbing you by the shoulder and steering you deeper into the pitt.

You pass various people in scrubs, and you wrack your brain for all of the names and characteristics of people who you have heard about, trying (and failing) to pair flashes of faces to names.

It seems like, for every person who glances at you, Dana explains, "For Whitaker," before urging you further in.

"Robby!" she calls as she stops you behind the big desk in the middle of the room.

A tall, bearded man in cargo pants looks up, right at you cowering behind a lunch bag.

Now, Robby is certianly a name that you're familiar with.

You've heard complaints about him, you've heard the singing of his praises, not to mention how intimidating he is.

"Yeah? Who's this?" he asks, putting his glasses into his pocket and coming closer.

A second later, you realize that Dana isn't answering for you and that Dr. Robby is looking right at you.

"Oh! I, um, this is Dennis' lunch. He forgot it. I just, I thought I would drop it off." you explain, yet again.

Dr. Robby looks behind you, most likely at Dana, and sighs, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Yeah, yeah, he's definitely around here somewhere. I'll go grab him." he agrees before turning and walking towards a room.

Dana once again grabs you by the shoulder, this time urging you into a chair while she stands in front of you.

"So you live with Whitaker, yeah?" she prompts, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, he um, he moved in a couple of months ago." you reveal.

"Yeah?" she asks with a smile, "is it going good?"

"Yeah,' you confirm, thinking the question is slightly odd, "he's been pretty easy to live with. No complaints," you joke, pulling a chuckle from Dana.

"Yeah, he's a peach, isn't he?" she asks.

"For sure, I'm- he's very nice." you reply lamely.

"Nice? That's all I'm getting? You're killing me, kid." Dana chuckles.

Before you can clarify, Dr. Robby is returning with a sheepish Dennis trailing behind him.

"Hey, thank you so much, you really didn't need to bring it all the way here," he thanks.

You stand up as he approaches, holding out the lunch for him to take.

"That's okay," you deny, "I was running early for once anyway," you chuckle.

"Well," he pauses, "I appreciate it," he smiles.

You return his smile, the stale air between you starting to feel awkward. With a quick glance around, you spy at least 4 other nurses or doctors watching the interaction intensely. Dana and Dr. Robby hadn't left, also watching you.

"Okay, well, I have to go before I'm late to work," you say, inching towards the door. "I'll, um, I'll see you later." you say as you turn away.

"Yeah, bye!" he says.

"You're not gonna walk her out?" Dana prompts, looking between the two of you.

"No, no that's okay, he's probably busy," you deny with a flush on your face. Why are all of these people staring at you?!

Feeling wigged out, you turn quickly around and walk towards the door, giving a slight wave to the group before you slip through the doors.

As soon as the doors click shut behind you, you let out a deep breath, shaking your head to clear it as you walk out into the cool morning air.

"Who was-" Dr. Santos asks, looking in the direction that all of the eyes in the room are staring, catching a quick glimpse of your profile before the doors close. "What's she doing here?" she asks, looking at Whitaker.

"She brought Dennis his lunch, isn't that sweet?" Dana coos.

Dr. Santos sighs, "You've got to stop forgetting that, man." she reprimands. "I'll tell her not to bring it again, this is way out of her way to get to work."

"Hey, I didn't even ask her to, I didn't even realize I forgot it!" he whines.

"Whatever, whatever," she waves him off, "but if you make her late to work and give her asshole boss an excuse to yell at her, I'll kill you, okay?" she threatens.

Whitaker nods stiffly.

"Stop stealing my girlfriends' precious time, you do enough of that at home when you hog her to talk about Star Wars." Dr. Santos scoffs before picking up her adandoned tablet and walking towards her next case.

"Wha- girlfriend?" Dana stutters, "hers?" she asks.

Dennis gives another short nod and walks away as well, happy to be out of the awkward situation.

Dana and Dr. Robby share surprised looks.

After a beat of silence, he asks.

"Did you know that Whitaker and Santos lived together?"

I looooooove trinity santos with my whole heart, kisses to every person on here who was written about her muah muah mauh

that being said she deserves so many more fics about her!!! justice for dr santos!!!

let me know if you like this, i would be more than happy to write more if you want!!

#the pitt #the pitt x reader #trinity santos #trinity santos x reader #the pitt imagine

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yourstrqly · 2 hours ago

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➳ PILATES + F1 ⁺ ✢

you ask the drivers to join your pilates session. includes the f1 grid 2025 (except aston martin & lawson) and dilfs (räikkönen, vettel, webber, button)

ᡴꪫ my poor bby alex but nico was on fire (how did a tractor beat a ferrari?) Also hello, my hiatus ends with this

ᤎ༉ williams

aa23 — wakes up one morning and decides he wants to see (not join) what pilates is about — you make him wear athletic wear, saying that he can get a glimpse for a few minutes and then do his required workout — but suprise! joins the class when he's asked by the pilates instructor if he wants to try — "its torture bunny, how are you doing it once a weak? Can't feel my arms" (he's all sweaty, a massive grimace on his face while you pout sweetly, body just slightly covered with sweat) — redemption arc incoming

cs55 — gifts you pilates reformer so you both can workout from home — doesn't think to even try it out but his fitness coach sees it and makes him use it — it becomes part of his daily workout routine — buys a second reformer because now you can do his routine together — "look at us mi amore, finally a couple workout routine" (he looks like a puppy saying it, bright eyes, big smile)

ᤎ༉ mercedes

ka12 — kimi and you plan dates based on the tiktok trend 'alphabet dating' and its your turn to plan a date based on the letter p — for a while now you wanted to try pilates but didn't go so it's the ideal idea to do it with your emotional support bf — "its horrendous cuore mio, don't make me do it again" (you won't, but you can't wait to show his sister the video)

gr63 (platonic!reader) — you and carmen plan the monthly girl's day at her and george's place, and you decide to ask carmen to join you for a class as you have seen pilates trend all over social media — george the ever so chatty guy, comes in at the moment and wants to know what pilates is — so you book a pilates class for the three of you — george is into it and gets every penny out of the class

ᤎ༉ alpine

pg10 and kika! (love herrr) — kika is the first to try pilates and swears by it, thats why she's making you tag along to her pilates classes (she even bought you matching sets!) — you don't enjoy it much but do it anyway because you feel stronger and love kika's excitement whenever you join her — pierre, feeling slightly left out, watches the pair of you get ready in matching pink sets and decides to swap his morning run (and black clothes) for a pilates session (and pink shirt and shorts) — like you, pierre doesn't like it as much as kika though he loves the fact you're all doing it together and secretly likes the colour coordinated fits

fc43 — doesn't get the hype around it — you try to bribe him with a paid dinner, shopping spree and other things but nothing seems to work till he comes around and makes a suggestion — "i'll join you if we'll have car sex guapa" — will spill the fact he had sex in his car in an interview

ᤎ༉ racing bulls

ih6 — "that's a torture device, bebe, to stretch and kill a man. i won't go even near it." — he does after encouraging words (and a week long sex ban) — very hesitate to use it and mostly lays on it, watching you putting all work it — is very vocal on how good you look and compliments your flexibility

i dont write for liam, sorry!

ᤎ༉ red bull

mv1 — doesn't care for the sport and you can't get him to join — still is a supportive bf and buys you cute sets and trinkets but also pays for the classes

yt22 — takes one look at it and regrets his decision — powers through the class, face mirroring his hate for it but tries and fails to put on a brave face — afterwards he sips on a strawberry matcha, eyes wide as you happily talk about buying a reformer for your shared home (he can't say no when you're that excited but is dreading the view of the toture device in his home gym)

ᤎ༉ ferrari

cl16 & alex — alex and you see pilates all over tiktok and decide to give it a go — while you stay consistent, alex much rather enjoyes her cardio and does it in the meantime — but once in a whild she will join you for a beginners class (its just a hobby, you don't take it too seriously) and books it for the three of you, so charles doesn't have an out — he's pretty confident he'll be better than alex but his confident attitude dwindles when you arrive and he's the only man — a man in a women dominated field! — after adjusting a few times, he'll definitely end the class on a high, cocky smirk on his face

lh44 — isn't too happy about it and doesn't enjoy it a bit but will be better than you — is definitely planning a revenge

ᤎ༉ kick sauber

gb5 — "you want me to do what?" — he's not thrilled but his ego will absolutely push him to do his best and top yours — will make you pay for the class and matcha afterwards — occasionally joins you when you go to a class just to brag in front of your girlfriends that he's better than you — doesn't realise that his cocky attitude is a big reason why you continue with pilates (he's hot like that)

nh27 — he'll do it without complaining but you take one look and know he doesn't like it but will push through the class (he does the sets more or less lazy) — class finished? great now he can freely gossip about the pilates moms' drama — "Nein, nein, she said that Claire's chocolate cake isn't made out of fresh ingredients but cake mix box. But says it's her grandma's recipe. Poor granny, her reputation might aswell be gone." — asks you once a month to book a class for him too just for the gossip

ᤎ༉ haas

ob87 — is doomscrolling when you get ready for your first pilates class ever, nervous smile decorating your lips as you put your hair up — instantly asks you about plans and if he can drive you — the class has free space which gives you the chance to pleading look up your boyfriend "can you join? i'd feel so much more secure" — will do it even though he doesn't exactly wear the right stuff but he's a man in love and how can he say no to your beautiful face?

eo31 (bff!reader) — its estie bestie who has to listen to you complain about wanting to pick up sports again but you don't — thats why he books you a pilates class — doesn't realise the consequence of his action because you will book him a pilates class too under the disguise that you're joining his workout routine

ᤎ༉ mclaren

op81 — come on, that man is gone for you and will do it once for you without protest — during the class his irritation will grow but he'll keep it to himself and lets you rant about your difficulties and accomplishments when you share a snack on your way home

ln4 — he views pilates as a typical girl's sport and doesn't even think about doing it himself but you catch him off guard when you make him join you in front of the tv, a video on its display and a few things like towels and weights laying besides the mats — you'll absolutely destroy him but won't notice it because you're locked in — he's panting at the end, laying sideways to watch you

ᤎ༉ dilfs

kr7 — complains about back pain for days, so you ask him to join you — immediately says no — but you stay persistent and search for pilates at home videos on youtube — finally get him to join you but only because you'll give him a massage afterwards

sv5 — on tuesdays, he religiously pulls out everything that's needed for a good pilates session at home — its a ritual and it started with you wanting to be fitter after seeing him workout (he didnt pressured you, it motivated you) — is a dedicated motivation speaker, says stuff like "Meine Süße, two reps and then breath", "You're doing amazing, oh look at you, legs toned and abs on display"

jb22 — honestly he doesn't care for pilates at all but seeing you wear those cute sets? sign him up — which you did — "She wants us to do that? Hell no" (does it anyway) — as long as you go to his sport with him, he'll go to your sport

mw (whats his racing number? 15? someone tell me pls) — supportive but won't go to pilates or do it at home after seeing videos — "I love you but i'll not do it. Hush it, stop with your eyes, darling." — will ask lily, oscar's girlfriend, to go with you and pays for it

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dovesdreaming · 23 hours ago

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Taste of trouble

Chapter 1 of: Veil of vengeance

Summary: You meet Bucky for the first time when he is a customer in your bakery. His looming presence becomes a regular feature and he finally asks you out on a date (1.8k words)

Masterlist

Veil of vengeance masterlist

A/n: WOAH! I’m publishing this just a few months short of a year when I first said I would write this series 😬 I’ve had the majority of this chapter sat in my drafts since then but I’ve burnt out so many times during the past months so this has been pushed back. This may not be the best writing I’ve ever done but it’s a start I decided to make this shorter than I planned just so it was more of an introduction. Hope you enjoy please leave any constructive feedback or ideas! (Reader will become badass later on just give her a chance)

It was an early morning in Brooklyn, and the smell of freshly baked bread floated through the small, cozy bakery on the corner of Maple and Hudson. You leaned over the counter, watching the sunrise through the large windows of the shop as you absentmindedly shaped the dough beneath your hands. The golden light bathed everything in warmth, making the bakery feel like a small, tucked-away paradise. Your hands moved expertly through the familiar motions- kneading, rolling, shaping- crafting your signature pastries that would be ready for the morning rush. Owning a bakery had always been your dream. There was something magical about waking up before the world, bringing it to life with the scent of freshly made bread, the sweet smell of cinnamon buns, and the buttery richness of croissants. It was an unassuming job, but it was yours, and you cherished every moment.

As the bell above the door chimed, signaling the first customer of the day, you looked up with a bright smile, ready to greet whoever had wandered in for an early morning treat. But when your eyes landed on the man entering the shop, the smile froze on your face. He was tall, dressed in dark clothing, a simple black leather jacket over a gray t-shirt, dark jeans that hugged his muscular legs, and boots that echoed softly against the wooden floor as he approached the counter. As he crossed His arms against his chest, you also noticed his hands were clad in leather gloves even though it was a warm spring morning outside. Your attention was quickly taken back to his face. His presence was commanding, almost overwhelming, and he seemed slightly out of place in your cozy little bakery. His hair, dark and slightly messy, framed a chiseled face that was both rugged and handsome, but it was his eyes that caught you off guard. Icy blue, intense, and focused entirely on you. For a moment, you felt a flicker of uncertainty. He was intimidating, no doubt about it. The kind of man who turned heads without trying. His presence seemed to fill the entire room, making it feel suddenly much smaller.

"Morning” he said, his voice deep and gruff, yet there was a strange softness to it. "Good morning” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t betray the nervousness creeping into your chest. "What can I get for you?" He glanced down at the display case, seemingly lost in thought. You noticed the way his brow furrowed, as if making a decision as simple as picking a pastry was a challenge. It was oddly endearing, watching this intimidating figure hesitate over something so small. "Uh, what do you recommend?" he asked, looking up at you again. The intensity in his gaze sent a small shiver down your spine, but you pushed through the nervousness and smiled softly. "Well, our cinnamon buns are the most popular. Fresh out of the oven, actually”.

His lips twitched slightly, almost as if he were suppressing a smile. "I’ll take one of those. And a coffee. Black”. You nodded, grabbing a warm cinnamon bun and placing it in a small paper bag before pouring his coffee. As you handed them over, his leather clad fingers brushed yours, just for a split second, and you felt your heart skip a beat. He gave you a brief nod, almost as if he was uncomfortable with the interaction, before he took his items and moved to a table by the window. The moment he sat down, you found yourself watching him from behind the counter. There was something about him that drew you in, something that made you curious despite the initial intimidation. He seemed…out of place, not just in your bakery, but in the world around him. Like he carried a weight no one else could see.

Throughout the morning, you kept sneaking glances at him, and every time you did, you caught him doing the same. His eyes would dart away the moment yours met, but there was no mistaking it, he was watching you too. It became a routine after that. Every morning, he would come into the bakery, order the same thing, a cinnamon bun and a black coffee, and sit at the same table by the window. You still didn’t know his name, but you learned his habits. He always paid in cash, always left exactly five dollars in the tip jar, and he always seemed to linger just a bit too long, as if he had nowhere else to be. Each day, you grew a little less nervous around him. His presence became a comfort, even if you still didn’t quite understand him.

After a few weeks, you finally worked up the courage to ask his name. It was a quiet Tuesday morning, and the bakery was nearly empty. He’d just finished his coffee and was about to leave when you called out, "Hey, I don’t even know your name."

He stopped, his hand on the door, and turned back to you. For a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he gave you a small, almost shy smile.

"Bucky” he said. "Bucky Barnes”

"Bucky" you repeated softly, smiling back and before you could even finish introducing yourself he said "I know” his smile widening slightly. "It’s on the sign outside”.

You laughed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Touché”

After that, Bucky began staying a little longer each morning. You’d chat between serving customers, talking about small things at first. His favorite movies, your love for baking, the weather. Each conversation peeled back a layer of his intimidating exterior, revealing someone softer, more vulnerable underneath. The more you talked, the more you realized how gentle he could be, despite his rough appearance.

Still, there was something about him that remained a mystery, something lurking beneath the surface. You noticed the way he would sometimes tense up when someone new walked into the bakery, his eyes scanning the room with a quick, practiced precision. He was always alert, always watching. And while he was kind to you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a part of his life you weren’t seeing.

One evening, after he’d been coming to the bakery for a couple of months, Bucky asked you to dinner. "Are you free tonight?" he asked, leaning casually against the counter. "There’s this place I know- Italian, best pasta in Brooklyn”.

You felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach. Though you’d been hoping for it, part of you never thought he actually would. You agreed, and that evening, he picked you up outside the bakery which you lived above. You had just had enough time after closing to rush upstairs and throw on one of your nicer dresses and doll yourself up a bit. Taking extra time to not mess up your eyeliner and making sure your hair lay nicer than you usually wore it for work.

When you opened your door to Bucky you didn’t know what to expect but wow did he clean up nicer than usual. His usual leather jacket replaced with a suit jacket, his hair had been combed back. You couldn’t help but let your eyes rake up and down his figure several times, drinking up the view in-front of you. You only broke out of his daze when he cleared his throat, feeling a warm flush come over you as your eyes snapped back to his face where he was now wearing a knowing smirk. Diverting your eyes away from his not being able to hold his stare any longer you noticed he was holding flowers in his hands which were still clad in leather, you needed to ask him about that.

The dinner was perfect. The restaurant was small, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, and the food was incredible. But more than that, being with Bucky felt… right. He was quieter than most men you’d dated, but there was something about his presence that put you at ease. His deep voice and rare smiles made your heart race in a way you hadn’t felt before. There was a warmth between the two of you, a connection that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

Bucky and you gently strolled back your place it was a warm evening but the breeze had a chill to it leading goose bumps to prickle over the skin of your arms. Buckys keen eye noticed and without hesitation took his suit jacket off and draped it over your shoulders. Warmth engulfed you as did his scent of cologne. You looked up at him through your eyelashes and couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. In a sudden rush of confidence and adoration for the man next to you, you took his hand in yours after them brushing against each other many times. Your heart beat sped up significantly hoping he didn’t pull away, instead he took a tighter grip of your hand and swept his gloved thumb back and forth across the side of your hand. The air felt so much lighter and electrified at the same time.

When you finally reached your front door Bucky stopped behind you as you entered your key into the lock, turning it til the door creaked ajar. You turned back to Bucky now a step taller as you balanced on the door ledge. Neither of you said anything, you just stood there basking in the peace of each other’s presence. He brought a hand up to your face and pushed a loose hair behind your ear before taking hold of the side of your face, stroking your cheek. He slowly lent in as you allowed your eyes to close. His lips brushed yours gently once before he reconnected his lips with yours with a deeper more emotional kiss. You had leant in just a tad too much, lost in the moment causing your feet to wobble on the ledge but Bucky stuck his hand round your wasting steadying you. You were left breathless when you pulled apart but beamed in the afterglow of your first kiss with Bucky. He finally said goodnight to you adding on that he’ll see you in the morning as usual. He watched as you went inside and made sure you had locked the door before setting off for his house.

Once the door had shut you couldn’t help but lean against it, giddy with happiness at how well the date went. You leant your head on your shoulder feeling not your skin but Bucky’s blazer still draped over you. There was no point in trying to give it him back now he would be a few streets away by now it could wait til the morning instead you pressed your nose into the fabric breathing in the scent that followed Bucky everywhere, something that was just so very him.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!!

Do you think I should jump straight into a few years down the line where they’re getting married or does anyone want to see the relationship develop a bit more?? Maybe even this chapter from his pov?

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netflixbingger · 3 days ago

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Beneath Rebel Skies - Chapter 5

Characters:Cassian x Reader Summary: You and Cassian Andor were childhood friends on Ferrix—until your parents suddenly tore you away without warning. Years later, you reunite during a mission for the Rebellion. Old memories clash with new tension as you’re forced to work together, navigating the lines between friendship, loyalty, and something more. Word Count: 2,388words Warnings: Violence, Loss, Mild Language, mentions of sex Previous Chapter

Your day off had started with good intentions—sleep in, maybe do something mindless, not think about work or anything that required emotional bandwidth.

That plan lasted all of twenty minutes.

You made it through half a ration bar and one lukewarm cup of caf before you were pacing your quarters like a caged animal.

Yavin was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you itch. No assignments, no drills, no emergencies. Just you, your thoughts, and the gnawing urge to do something. Sadly Kiira was out on a mission, and you weren’t exactly on speaking terms with Cade just yet.

Which is how you found yourself walking across base with no real destination - until your feet, apparently deciding for you, stopped in front of Cassian’s door.

You didn’t have a reason. Not one you’d admit to.

You knocked before you could think too hard about it.

The door slid open almost instantly, and there she was.

Mid-twenties, maybe. Rebel uniform half-done, damp hair curling slightly at the ends, like she hadn’t dried it properly. You recognized her vaguely—Elira? Eliya? Something like that. You’d seen her around base a handful of times. She was the kind of woman people noticed. All confidence and careless beauty, like she didn’t even have to try.

And she was stepping out of Cassian’s room with her boots in one hand and a knowing smile on her face.

“Oh—hey,” she said casually, barely missing a beat. “Looking for Cassian?”

You blinked. “Uh. Yeah.”

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, still smiling - friendly, almost apologetic. “He’s in the shower. I was just heading out.”

She brushed past you without waiting for a reply, a waft of warm air and citrus soap trailing in her wake. No shame, no awkwardness. Just... gone.

You stood there in the doorway, not moving.

For a second, you considered turning around. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should’ve stayed in your quarters, bored and alone, instead of showing up uninvited like an idiot.

But then - too late. You were already here.

You adjusted your shirt, ran a hand through your hair like it might make a difference, and stepped inside without another word.

It was Cassian’s quarters, alright. Sparse but lived in. His jacket slung over a chair, his boots abandoned near the foot of the bed. There was a small cluster of plants near the window - half-wilted, half-thriving, like he couldn’t quite decide whether he was trying to keep them alive or not.

You wandered over and poked at one of the pots idly, then circled the room again. Out of habit, you tugged the sheets straight on his bed, smoothing them out until the crumpled mess was neat again.

You told yourself it wasn’t weird. You were just… making use of your time.

Still restless, still thinking too much, you finally gave up and flopped onto the bed with a sigh, one arm thrown over your eyes.

The refresher door hissed open.

“What the—?”

You peeked out just in time to see Cassian step into the room—barefoot, towel slung low on his hips, water still glinting on his chest and shoulders. His hair was damp and pushed back messily, a few strands clinging to his forehead. He froze when he saw you, surprise flickering across his face—genuine, unguarded, and maybe the most un-Cassian thing you’d seen all week.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice rough from the steam.

Your brain short-circuited. For a second, all you could do was stare.

Then you sat up slowly, like this wasn’t the most awkward moment of your life. “I have the day off.”

Cassian blinked at you, then at the bed, then back again. “Did you… make my bed?”

You ignored that. “And you have the day off too.”

He was still dripping on the floor, towel still low on his hips. “So?”

“So,” you said, standing and brushing off your hands like this was perfectly normal, “let’s go do something... I’m bored.”

Cassian just looked at you like you’d started speaking Huttese, “You break into my quarters, and now you ask to hang out?”

“I didn’t break in. She let me in.”

His brow lifted. “She.”

“Elira,” you said pointedly.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is not how I imagined starting my day.”

You shrugged. “You got laid and now your friend’s asking you to take a walk. Pretty solid morning, if you ask me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re in a mood.”

“I’m unsupervised.”

A pause. Then: “Maker help me.”

He turned toward his closet. “Ten minutes.”

You grinned and flopped backward onto the bed again.

You listened to the soft rhythm of him moving through the room - drawers opening, boots hitting the floor. A muttered curse under his breath. You stayed where you were, hands folded on your stomach, eyes tracing the lines in the ceiling.

You expected him to change his mind. To tell you to leave.

He didn’t.

Ten minutes later, he reappeared - fully dressed, hair still damp, blaster clipped to his belt like it was part of him. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you, expression unreadable.

You sat up. “You ready?”

“For what?”

“I told you. Doing something.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a live grenade.

“Where exactly are we going?”

You were already heading toward the door. “You’ll see.”

He didn’t follow immediately.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Nope.”

He let out a breath—half sigh, half surrender—then finally, finally followed.

You didn’t look back as you led him out of the hangar bay and through the winding corridors of the base, boots echoing against ground until the metallic hum of Yavin faded behind you.

The jungle outside greeted you like a wall of green—humid, earthy, alive. Vines curled around old stone, roots cracked through ancient pavement, and the path beneath your feet slowly narrowed into something wilder.

Cassian caught up beside you, his steps measured, hands tucked into his pockets. “Should I be worried you’re leading me into the woods?”

You didn’t slow. “Worried? You came willingly.”

He gave you a look, dry as ever. “I was curious. That’s not the same as trusting your sense of direction.”

You glanced at him, lips twitching. “And yet, you’re still here.”

He gave a soft snort. “Against my better judgment.”

You nudged his arm. “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know. The war won't collapse just because you took a walk.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the silence that followed wasn’t quite a protest either.

The trees eventually gave way to a clearing, where sunlight filtered through the canopy in long, lazy beams. You stopped near the edge of an overlook, the horizon spilling out in shades of green and gold.

Cassian stepped up beside you, gaze sweeping the landscape. “Didn’t know this was out here.”

“That’s because you don’t stop working long enough to notice things,” you said, nudging him again. “It’s called downtime. Try it sometime.”

He cast a quiet, sidelong glance your way. “You’re lecturing me about downtime when your idea of relaxing is breaking into my quarters?”

“I didn’t break in.” you sighed

Cassian tilted his head. “Fine. Barged in.”

“Elira let me in,” you countered smoothly, though saying her name aloud felt strange.

Cassian was quiet for a long beat, then shifted his stance, arms loosely crossed. “So… was this your plan all along? Invade my morning and drag me into the woods?”

You smiled despite yourself. “The plan was fresh air and good company. One out of two isn’t bad.”

Cassian shot you a look, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before he shook his head lightly. “Funny.”

You lowered yourself onto a flat rock overlooking the edge, stretching your legs out comfortably. Cassian hesitated for half a second before settling down next to you, leaving just enough space to keep it careful.

After a moment, his voice came again—low, thoughtful.

“Do you ever miss Ferrix?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just watched the light catch the tips of the trees like fire.

“I don’t think I miss Ferrix itself,” you said. “But I miss who I was there. It was easy. I was so… innocent and carefree in a way I didn’t even realize until it was gone.”

Cassian nodded slightly, still staring ahead.

“And now?” he asked.

You let out a breath. “Now, I feel like I’m surviving more than I’m living. Some days I wake up already bracing for the worst. Some days I look at the mission log and want to scream, to throw something, to beg someone else to do it instead.”

You swallowed. “But I go. Because someone has to. Because if we stop now, everything we’ve lost—everything people died for—it’s meaningless.”

He didn’t interrupt. His silence was steady, holding space for you.

You paused, the words settling between you.

“But we’re close,” you added quietly. “So close to something better.”

Cassian leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “I hope you’re right.”

You glanced over at him. “Do you ever think about what comes after all this?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment.

“I try not to,” he said finally. “It feels dangerous.”

You studied him. “To hope?”

“To want something I might not get.”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head in disagreement. “I think I’d want to be somewhere green. Field of grass, maybe a garden. Nothing fancy. Just… stillness. A place where I could sit outside and not have to listen for alarms.”

Cassian was silent for another breath before saying, “You deserve that.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten. Like he meant it more than anything else he’d said all day.

The quiet held for a while, soft and companionable.

You weren’t sure when the conversation picked up again—only that it did, slowly, easily. You both sat and talked. Nothing serious at first. Just… things. You joked about Draven’s permanent scowl, laughed when Cassian described the absolute disaster that was his first meeting with K-2, and swapped stories from childhood that neither of you had ever bothered to share before.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out there. It felt like thirty minutes. Maybe less. But when you glanced up, the sun had shifted, casting longer shadows across the grass. It had been hours. One of those rare stretches of time that didn’t drag or race - just passed.

Eventually, you stood, brushing your palms on your thighs. Cassian rose with you, slower, like he’d forgotten the rest of the world existed.

You didn’t rush to leave.

You just stood there beside him, shoulder to shoulder, letting the moment settle into something unspoken.

Then a drop hit your shoulder.

Cassian looked up just as the clouds rolled in - sudden, fast. No warning. No thunder. Just a soft patter that became a steady downpour within seconds.

“Of course,” he muttered, wiping water from his brow, already annoyed.

But you just laughed -loud and unbothered - tilting your face toward the sky like it was the best thing to happen all day.

“You’re enjoying this?” he asked, disbelieving.

“It’s just water, Cass,” you grinned, hair already starting to cling to your cheeks. “You’ll survive.”

He gave you a look - classic Cassian: all tight-lipped practicality and mild suffering. Water trickled from his temples. His shirt was already soaked through, fabric clinging to his frame.

You spun in a slow circle, arms outstretched, letting the rain soak you without resistance. “Come on. Admit it. It’s kind of nice.”

“I’m soaked,” he said flatly.

“You’re dramatic,” you shot back, still laughing.

Cassian rolled his eyes but didn’t move. Didn’t seek cover. Just watched you - half annoyed, half… something else you couldn’t quite name.

You turned back toward him, strands of hair plastered to your face, your tank top now a second skin. The rain made it nearly sheer, fabric hugging your ribs, your collarbone, the curve of your chest. You didn’t notice…But Cassian definitely did.

He looked away too fast, blinking hard, like the rain had suddenly gotten in his eyes.

Your smile twitched. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, jaw tight.

The rain was cold now. Your skin prickled - not just from the chill, but from the quiet way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

Cassian cleared his throat, his focus snapping back to the treeline like it had done something to offend him. “Let's head back.”

You grinned through the curtain of rain. “Didn’t peg you for the type to be scared of a little weather.”

“I’m not,” he said, a little too quickly. “I’m soaked. You’re soaked. This isn’t fun.”

You stepped closer, just a little, voice playful. “Speak for yourself.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t step back. Just stood there, eyes darting to your mouth for half a second too long before flicking away.

The tension was quiet but unmistakable. Like a wire drawn tight between you, humming in the rain.

“It’s just rain,” you said, softer this time. “You’ve been through worse.”

Cassian didn’t answer right away. His gaze returned to you—once, then again. Slower now. Assessing. You weren’t trying to provoke him, not really, but there was something in the way his mouth pressed into a line. The way he suddenly couldn’t meet your eyes for more than a second.

You tried not to smile.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Nothing,” he muttered, redirecting his stare to a nearby tree like it held the secrets of the galaxy.

You laughed—quiet and real—and wandered forward a few paces, splashing in a forming puddle. “You really hate this, huh?”

“I don’t hate it,” he grumbled, clearly lying.

You twirled once more, arms loose, eyes half-closed.

“I’m soaked,” he repeated, like it was the only argument that mattered.

“You keep saying that like it’s some tragedy”

You turned back to face him again - and for a moment, the world stilled. The rain didn’t stop, but it quieted in your mind. Cassian looked at you. Really looked. And something passed between you then, fast and invisible, but sharp enough to feel.

You gave a small shrug, soft around the edges. “Fine. We’ll head back.”

Cassian didn’t protest. He just nodded and fell into step beside you, quiet as always. But something had shifted.

The silence between you felt different now. Not strained. Not awkward.

Just full.

And when your arms brushed on the walk back—he didn’t pull away. He didn’t even flinch.

NEXT CHAPTER

Ooo, the sexual tension is starting to buildddddd!!!

This chapter felt a bit rushed for me, but I wanted something cute before things start getting a bit more dark and heavy! Lmk what yall thought :)

#andor #cassian andor #cassian andor imagine #cassian andor x reader #cassian x reader #star wars

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sunnysunsins · 2 days ago

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Hi confess, you want this point by point? (Puts on the brand new invented by local rwders "smug asshole" hat.) Okay, sweetie, let's dance.

Ren decided to become a huntsman after what happened to his family - "I saw the beast, we need a huntsman." - Li Ren. Phrasing is important - "A huntsman" - singular one. Making Ren believe that 1 huntsman would be able to take down Nuckelavee. That's his goalpost. When he finally got to kill it, it took all 4 of them - students - to take it down, reinforcing his idea that they're not ready. Every other major grimm they took on they also worked together and sometimes barely scraped by - not ready yet. And now, with everything going to shit in Atlas - they're still not ready. You know who is ready and is getting results in his eyes? Military. Order and structured commands didn't fail them yet, right? (In his eyes.) They're students, one would think adults with years of experience know what they're doing, right? (And then the entire show is about how that's bullshit, adults are also flying by the seat of their pants in this.) That's literally the whole reason why military propaganda works in real life - people want to believe those in charge know what they're doing and can lead the way on these big issues.

1.5. Some of you might be going "hey smug asshole(tm), you're reading way too into this, where is it in the show itself?" Literally in the show, if you look at it from the character's pov. Look at the situation through their experiences and personality, how they got brought up and what drives them. Which is kinda like my entire thing.

2. Blake and Yang telling Robyn about Amity - from the start they were iffy on keeping everything a secret. They see the positive picture - Robyn understanding and helping them, but don't see the negative side - her using this as blackmail for one (potential reasons why IW doesn't trust her, among "noboby can know bc Salem has eyes and ears everywhere" ones). Blake we are on the wavelength with, now Yang's reasoning - she was the most vocal about the lying thing from the start (as much as scenes budget was allowed to show us) - sauce: v7 ch 3. She went along with it for a while, then it wasn't working for her anymore, it didn't give the results she wanted. So now she goes along with the plan with more potential progress than sitting there and doing nothing. Which gives results, but not on silver platter - Robyn still doesn't fully trust them, but at least they offered. (which will be both helpful and hurtful later in the volume). They took a risk to try and help, so finally something good might happen, and then it backfired because IW is a paranoiac (for understandable reasons too, but we're not talking about that here)

3. The point that's been driven to the ground even in the show itself - Ruby lied because Ironwood is acting like a paranoid trigger-happy dictator. Which, guess what he became later, when he again started feeling like he's losing control of the situation? Oh right, exactly that. (again, for understandable reasons, that's another essay). Last time the team saw him (even Weiss when she was there!) he was a lot more stable and willing to cooperate. But now they see his recent actions, see what happened with Ozpin, with Leo, the whole atlesian vibe as a whole, and decide to wait it out and see how it plays out. They don't know who to trust anymore and how to approach them without making them go off the rails. ("We didn't want you to lose hope" - Oscar.) Remember how they reacted themselves when they learned the truth about Salem. (Hi Qrow, you still haven't apologized for punching Oscar btw. He felt that, we saw that in the episode) And that's them. They're not a military leader with a doomsday button. Kinda makes sense they won't really want to break the news before checking the waters.

4. Jaune is finally feeling like a proper huntsman, that's what he's thinking. Same for Weiss + she gets to finally reconnect with Winter and feel like she's her own person and not her father's proxy.

While the characters do suffer from lack of slow scenes exploring their inner thoughts (thanks to fight scenes taking all the budget) it's not non-existent like some think. You just have to watch the interactions and dialog, it's all in there.

Confession #835

#smug asshole moment (tm)#is that what we call not hating on the show now?

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xiaosenthusiast · 21 hours ago

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10. dragon boat festival

Yn shook their head and sighed. Why couldn't he just leave them alone? First, he fuels the rumor by not denying it, and now he wants to ask about who they're going to the festival with? Yn just couldn't wrap their head around the situation.

"Hey! Yn. it's been a while."

The man walking up to Yn smirked, his hands in his pockets and a bounce in his step. He seemed happy. The voice snapped Yn out of their thoughts as they smiled to the person standing in front of them.

"Hey Scara. How've you been? Should we head inside?"

They signaled to the entrance and started walking, Scara matching his pace along with them. "I'm doing okay. Finals are over so I'm on summer break now."

"Oh! It's the same for me. Guess we got lucky haha. What are you planning to do for summer break..?"

The conversation continued into the festival as the pair walked around. They got to try Zongzi and view the dragon boat race. It was interesting to see how the school had adapted it since it didn't have a river. After a while, you headed to another booth that was selling Realgar wine in little cups.

There, you ran into Yanfei, Hu Tao, and...Xiao. Yn quickly glanced at him and focused their attention back on their friends.

"Yanfei! I thought you wouldn't be able to make it because of your finals." Yn smiled and held Yanfei's hand while subtly dragging her away. "Oh wow there's samples over here. I'm gonna borrow Yanfei for a second!" Hu Tao raised a brow and pouted. "You owe me dinner Yn!!" The woman sighed and looked at her leftover company. "Should I give you two a moment? I can't tell whether you're gonna fight or make out."

Xiao narrowed his eyes and Scaramouche sighed, Hu Tao could only hope that the two of you would come back soon.

"Yanfei! Why are you with him?! I mean, I know he's your family, but he wouldn't voluntarily third-wheel you and Hu Tao. I think."

"But he did! He said 'Can I join you? My friends left me.' So I took pity on the poor guy!"

Yanfei trailed off and looked over to the group that they left behind. "Why'd you decide to come with Scaramouche anyway?"

Yn looked at her and shrugged, "I wanted to do the mugwort walk but everyone was busy. So I asked him."

"Why didn't you ask Xiao? We both know you know each other better anyway."

As soon as Yanfei uttered her question, Yn sighed and shook their head. "Yanfei. We haven't talked long enough in recent years to be as remotely close as we used to be."

"Well yeah, but I can't believe that you just gave up without even trying. Especially when he-!" Yanfei stopped herself and huffed, moving her gaze to the ground. Like she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"So what? What about him?! If he still wanted to be close then he could've said something!" You sighed and gripped Yanfei's hand tighter, "It's not a big deal anymore. We've moved past that. All we are is acquaintances now." The way Yanfei acted made Yn confused. Why was she trying to group the two of them together so much?

"You're right. I'm sorry I acted like that. Let's just go back." She mumbled quietly and didn't look at you. It felt like she had more to say but stopped herself.

Meanwhile, Xiao glanced between Yn and Scaramouche. He convinced himself that he was only watching out for you, like he did at the party. He's known you since you were kids, how could he just sit back as one of his friends took you? In all honesty, his heart sank a little when he got that message from Scaramouche earlier in the day. Xiao would never admit to himself the obvious reason why though.. Which was out of character for him.

Scaramouche wasn't a bad person, he was just a little rough around the edges; but so was he. So why could you put up with Scaramouche's antics but not his? Well, he never really tried getting closer to you again. Especially after you confessed. It made sense why you disliked him.

As he was thinking about it, he came to the realization that you weren't the same person you were in your schooldays. Why would he look out for you when he didn't even know who you were anymore? You had your own friends that could take care of you. So why...

"Sorry we took so long. Scara, should we head over to the mugwort walk now?"

Xiao looked at the two of you, a ripple growing bigger in his chest. He couldn't, he thought to himself. He didn't know you; but then you turned your back. Like you did so many times before. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He didn't know you, but couldn't he change that? It was simple really. All he had to do was reach out to you, stop you from going with him.

Could he allow himself? Would he be content in that decision? He'd already hurt you once before, he couldn't bear to do it again. His thoughts were racing, trying to find a reason in which he could reach out to your hand.

He just didn't want to lose you.

And before he realized it, he did.

He grasped your hand without thinking.

"Oh."

Yn turned to him, slightly shocked. "Huh?" She swiftly composed herself and responded with a quick "What?" Her tone blunt.

"Can I join you guys instead? I don't feel like third-wheeling." He said the first thing that came to mind, his eyes were glued to yours, keeping the relaxed facade.

"How do you know you won't be third-wheeling us?"

Xiao gripped your hand tighter. The two of you looked at Scara, his impatience obvious with his crossed arms and annoyed eyes narrowing at Xiao.

Yn pulled their hand out of Xiao's hold and held their hands up. "Well, he won't! I'll just let you two go on since you're both friends. I don't mind staying with Hu Tao and Yanfei!"

You smiled nervously and clung to your friends who were bewildered at the scene playing out in front of them. You pushed the two ahead and laughed it off. Xiao took one glance at you before turning and walking away. It was weird.

It might have been your delusions but it seemed like he was looking at you longingly? No. It was definitely a delusion. You shook your head and turned back to Hu Tao and Yanfei, trying to process the situation.

"That was weird. Right?" They nodded in agreement immediately starting to gossip.

"I didn't expect him to do that. I didn't expect the other one to say that! Yn! Your love life is seriously turning into a fanfiction!! Where are all these men coming from? Who's the next bachelor?!" Hu Tao pulled you closer with fire in her eyes, her never ending questions poured out while Yanfei tried to pull her off of you.

Your mind was a jumbled mess. You could understand why Xiao said what he said, but you couldn't understand what Scara meant.

Xiao probably wanted to get away from the couple and since Scara was his friend, it was obvious he'd try to join us; but Scara...why would he reject Xiao's request like that? Why did Xiao grab your hand so suddenly?

The questions seemed to pile up, and you didn't have any of the answers. It was truly frustrating and you couldn't stop thinking about it throughout the festival.

In the mugwort walk, a conversation of its own was happening.

"Why did you come with Yn?"

"Why did you grab her hand?"

The two had questions that the other preferred not to answer. The air between them was awkward to say the least. Neither of them said anything until Xiao broke the air.

"Do you like Yn?" He kept his eyes ahead, maintaining a calm character. He was like this until Scara retorted with "Is that important right now? Shouldn't you figure out your feelings?"

"I..." He hesitated. "I'm not sure yet; but I want to find out." After that, they were quiet. As they both thought about what to say.

Scara looked away and muttered, "When you're able to answer that question, I'll answer yours." Xiao looked at him slightly puzzled and dismayed while nodding.

With that, the mugwort walk finished in silence. Neither of them saying a word to the other.

And soon, the day was coming to an end. All that was left was the the Performing Arts Department's showcase. There were many performances to enjoy ranging from plays to traditional dance and opera singing. Which Yunjin was part of. When you got to watch your friend perform, you couldn't help but forget about the happenings of the day as you finally relaxed and cheered for Yunjin.

prev / mlist / next

🎀 ; and that concludes the first part ! i'm gonna go on a quick hiatus to think about where i want the story to go because no direction = bad writing...even this is honestly a bit dookie but it's all part of my journey to becoming a better writer! i'll come back after a week or two refreshed and knowing in what direction i want to take!

💫 ; TAGLIST — (16/35) @layla240 @eccedentesiast-sapphic @okukura @trulyylee @6blxe @jayzioxx @x-hihihi-x @anqelkoz @jiminscarmex @yurisukhsm @bubblebellaz @introvertaku02 @raidenshogunmommy @serenity-xiao @atlatcaheart @celestiai0

#fake it till u make it — series #adeptus xiao #genshin x reader #genshin x you #modern au #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #xiao x you #genshin smau #genshin impact xiao #social media au #genshin fanfic #xiao x y/n #xiao smau #xiao

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softsunnyy · 14 hours ago

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when two people are obsessed.

i think this series is a warning in itself, but well. This contains:

🚨 insecurities, some angst, rough sex, tying him, not letting him (and you) cum, babytrapping, jealousy, obsession, thoughts of him cheating on you, using a vibrator on him, sub and dom Quinn, and i think that's most of it. 🚨

as always, poorly written.

you've been staring at the same photo for 15 minutes; frozen, feeling a pain in your stomach that makes you want to get out of bed and leave the house to find Quinn.

he went to a party with his teammates, and you were fine, trying to live with the idea, even though you weren't too happy about it. And you tried, really tried not to look at the tracker so often; not to constantly search for the insta stories of the people at that party, but you did it anyway.

and those who search can find things they might not want to know.

like that photo, where you see his reddish eyes, his huge smile, his slightly raised shirt, his messy hair, and his arm around his friend's shoulders, who looks even drunker than him.

but everything would have been relatively fine if it had only been that. If it had only been a photo of your stupid drunk boyfriend.

but who is she? who´s the girl next to him, standing too close for your liking?

her dress is short, her smile´s too big, and one of her hands is near his chest, near him. And you wanna rip her hand off, find out who the hell she is, and ruin her life, make her regret ever touching him, ever even looking at him.

and him, oh, what did he do? why would he do that? he knows you'd see him, that you'd freak out, that this would be too much for you. So, why put you through this?

you try to think, to reason, but your body is frozen, your mind is foggy, your hands are clenched tightly, and you feel like your teeth are going to explode from how tightly you're clenching your jaw. You're upset, you're paranoid.

is this what he wanted? did he do it on purpose?

you don't know, and that bothers you even more, so you spend the next few hours planning, gathering inspiration, thinking about what to do to make him pay for this. So that he learns his lesson.

and so you fall asleep, not noticing when he arrives, stumbling, too dizzy and barely aware of his own existence; making so much noise that he's surprised he doesn't wake you, and then lying down next to you, as if he deserved it. As if he hadn't done anything wrong.

so, when you wake up, the first thing you see is his body, as he's on the bed, snoring softly, and asleep enough that he doesn't feel your movements, like when you get up to get the things you need, or when you return, tying his wrists to the headboard with his own ties, then slipping one of those thick necklaces he bought for you around his neck, securing it with delicacy.

and you feel annoyed again, seeing his exposed chest, since he apparently decided taking off his shirt before sleeping was a good idea; But before doing anything you made sure to take off his pants and underwear, letting the cold air hit his cock, watching him shudder in his sleep, completely unaware of what's happening in his body right now.

and you wanna punish him, to make him pay. You want him to suffer for the awful time you had the night before, watching him let another woman touch him, as if he belonged to everyone, as if he didn't belong to you. So you took that familiar chain in your hand, tying it to the clasp of his collar, doing a small test, gently tugging at it, watching how each slightest tug makes it tighten even more around his neck, taking away a bit of his air.

then you took off your clothes, taking your time, feeling the warmth begin to reach your body little by little, seeing his expression so calm, unaware of what's about to happen. And you see how his chest rises with each breath, how his eyelashes rest delicately, brushing his cheeks; and you see how his cock hardens just a little and how his skin prickles with goosebumps in the cold air.

you just know he´s gonna look beautiful gasping for air, and you wanna see the way his eyes will be wide open, his face growing redder and his neck marked by the leather. Still, with his rock-hard cock, surely dripping with pre-cum, wanting to bury himself in your walls, take you, as if he's earned it.

because he doesn't know what he did. Because he'll surely wake up not understanding, not remembering. And the thought alone makes your blood boil, filled with jealousy, with fury.

and now you put your hands on his chest, scratching, leaving red lines up to his v line, watching his pale skin change color, irritated. And the sight is arousing, so you watch yourself do it a couple more times, too lost in how your nails dig into his skin, marking, scratching, harder and harder, until small dots of blood appear on his skin. And you see him stir, a little disturbed, but still dreaming, and the mere thought of waking him from the burning is enough to make you lean in, replacing your hands with your mouth, leaving bites, from his pelvis to his collarbone, some harder than others, knowing it would leave bruises, which would later turn a deeper shade of purple, and make it painful for him to even move.

and his white skin is now marked, in a mix of your drool, the wounds, and the bites. But that doesn't wake him, not completely. You only see his cock harden little by little, as if feeling pain is a turn on for him.

still, you try not to linger too long, forcing yourself to leave his chest so you can climb onto one of his thighs, panting softly at how cold his skin is compared to your hot, dripping, completely soaked pussy, solely from the sight you have now.

and you begin to move, subtly at first, for your own enjoyment, but it's not enough, so you start to roll your hips, rubbing yourself like a whore, making your juices fall, while your clit is stimulated, drawing small moans from you.

and you remember it, you remember the photo, the way her hand was on him, and she was smiling, triumphant, as if she'd taken everything from you and felt no remorse. That made you move faster, fiercer, your brows furrowed, and your hands unconsciously clutching his chest, digging your nails into him once more, but this time causing enough pain to make him wake up. And Quinn gasps, trying to move his hands to rub his eyes, but immediately noticing they're tied. This makes his eyes widen, staring at you as if you'd betrayed him. As if you were doing something wrong.

“what…?” he tried to ask, but was interrupted by the intense burning sensation in his body, as well as the feel of his soaked leg, now heated by your arousal, dripping onto his skin, making a mess. He whimpered, in pain, and tried to read your expression, but nothing came to mind. His mind was too foggy.

“well, look who decided to wake up,” you said, in a dry, mocking tone, stopping moving, lifting your body a little and letting a thread of your fluids join you to his skin for a few seconds before you rolled off him completely.

your gaze is terrifying, and Quinn tries to remember, to think, but everything distracts him, and his mind is so lost that he can't put his thoughts together.

nothing. It's like he woke up completely stupid, and you're not helping him. Your actions are only confusing him more.

and he watches you walk to your closet, pulling out a box he knows perfectly well, making him gulp nervously.

he watches you take out a small object, but you don't give him time to ask, to beg, because you return to him, this time sitting on his lap, being careless with his cock, which is getting harder by the second.

“did you have fun last night?” you asked, wanting to hear his answer. You want to know how much he remembers. How much he's capable of telling you.

and you see the doubt on his face; the way he tries to think, until he decides to speak, hesitating.

“i did… yes.” He decided to be honest. A normally smart choice, though now it only makes your mind go red, thinking once again about the thousands of things that could have happened while you weren't around.

Quinn sees your jaw clench, how you seem to be trying to contain yourself before turning on the small vibrator in your hand, starting on a low intensity, but still not moving it.

“you know, i tried not to mind you leaving. I really tried,” you started, finally moving your hand, bringing the vibrator to one of his nipples, watching him shudder, and hearing his whimpers.

his nipple hardens, aching, overly sensitive as the vibrations hit his skin, tickling him, making him try to pull away.

it's too much, and you're just getting started, he knows.

“but there's something i don't like, Quinn, and that's watching a whore even lay eyes on you.” He tries to remember, to think of what you mean, but he can't, and you press the vibrator a little harder, now touching a different button, making him feel stronger vibrations.

his nipple is slightly reddish, his skin burns, and his cock is too hard, so much so that it hurts, making him squeeze his eyes shut.

“i don't know what…” you increase the intensity once more, and he can't finish his sentence, moaning, groaning, and making his hands into fists.

“that's the worst part. You don't even remember.” Your words are laced with venom as you shift the vibrator, moving it to his other nipple, watching it harden immediately. Quinn can't even speak, too lost in the sensation. His nipples are now numb, overstimulated.

“i really don’t know…” he whimpers, opening his eyes to try to look at you, to make you feel sorry for him, but he can’t. He only receives a cold stare, while you move the vibrator in circles, circling his nipple.

and his skin feels on fire, as if everything were burning, as if he were in hell itself, although at the same time it's too exciting. Thick white stripes emerge from his tip, showing how sensitive he is; his veins showing, and he's too swollen, yearning to slide into your walls and fill you with his cum.

“please…” he tries to beg, but you're not surprised. You don't even blink, though your eyes are too revealing, and he knows you're enjoying this, how you have him right where you want him, without even being able to move.

and for a moment he thinks you'll show mercy when you decide to remove the object from his nipples, giving him a break. But no. That wasn't your plan.

“you're gonna eat me. And you're gonna do your best,” you commanded, and he nodded, willing to do anything you want for your forgiveness.

besides, eating your pussy would never be a punishment for him... right?

at least that's what he thought, until you positioned yourself on his face, your pussy dripping as you grabbed the chain of the collar in your right hand, your left hand still holding the vibrator.

and you don't give him much time to think, sitting down, feeling his tongue immediately on you as you begin to move your right hand, pulling at the chain, slowly tightening the collar, until you can feel him sucking your clit wildly; desperately.

then you lean down, resting your tits on his chest, and stretching your left arm to bring the vibrator to the tip of his cock; the vibrations make him moan against your skin.

and he acts almost on instinct, devouring you, running his tongue between your folds; sucking, playing, teasing you, and swallowing every drop of your fluids as he feels you stimulate his cock and cut off his air, making it increasingly difficult to think.

and he feels dizzy, increasingly lost, and he can't even rest his hands on your body for support, because you decided to be a bitch and tie his wrists to the headboard.

and you moan, you enjoy it, letting him do all the work, trying to control the sensations, his desires. Not knowing what to do, and doing everything on automatic, seeking your pleasure because he knows you're in control.

and you move, riding his face while he eagerly devours you, like it's his only way of asking for forgiveness.

but no, you're not going to fall for that.

so you let him continue, watching his cock turn slightly red, his veins too prominent, his balls tense, and his legs spasming until you know he's at his limit; removing the vibrator, watching weak white stripes emerge from his tip, a failed orgasm. The first of several you had planned.

and you feel him choke, how he can barely swallow your juices because of the lack of air; but you don't stop, not until you feel the knot forming; when you feel how excited he is about eating you out. Because now he's trying to enjoy it, to take advantage of the situation.

and no. That can't happen. So before you can cum you pull out of his face, dripping, your hole throbbing and your clit swollen.

your pussy hates you for this, and you feel sore and sensitive from not being able to cum, but it's all worth it when you turn around and see his face, his chin glistening with your juices and his heartbroken, haunted, betrayed, and offended look, as if you'd taken away his favorite toy.

"what? you think you have the right to enjoy and cum after what you did?" you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your heavy breathing. And Quinn just shook his head; his face slightly red from the lack of air.

and you decided to loosen the grip on his neck just a little, watching him gasp, trying to fill his lungs once more.

you sit back down on his lap, right over his cock, watching it slide between your folds, spreading both of your fluids and teasing you, making you both gasp, sensitive.

the sight is obscene, and you know Quinn will spend days complaining about the pain in his body, and how much you took advantage of punishing him, as if you were getting rid of every time you've been angry with him.

but does it really matter?

not to you, so you don't hesitate, taking his cock in your hand, hearing him gasp, his skin burning against yours, as if your mere touch were a welcome to hell.

and at first you play, spreading his fluids with your finger, seeing his tip so shiny, calling you to suck it, to swallow everything he has to give you. But you don't give in to temptation, taking his cock to your hole, feeling how you throb, how your body cries out for it, so you can heal your heart, and everything you felt when you saw the photo.

you wanna remind him who he belongs to. Who he chose. Because there's no going back now. No way to get away. You won't allow it, even if you have to do crazy things to keep him by your side.

you'd do whatever it took to have Quinn forever.

and with that thought, you sit once more, sliding his cock inside your walls, expanding them, opening you just the way you needed to, causing a moan to escape your throat, momentarily breaking the dominant character you'd created, drawing Quinn's attention.

he looked at you with hungry eyes, as if you were his prey again. As if for a moment he'd regained control.

but you're not gonna give him the win so easily, so you try to distract him, starting to bounce on his cock, watching as his breathing becomes heavy and his legs tense.

and he tries to be patient, because he doesn't want to break his ties, doesn't want to make a mess by grabbing your hips and making you move faster, the way he'd normally force you to move. But you don't help him, and it seems like you move slower on purpose, enjoying how desperate he is, how this is making him even more sensitive.

because you both feel everything.

you can feel every inch sliding in and out of you, his tip gently hitting your sensitive spot. And he feels like his cock might explode, suffocated by your pussy, which welcomes him like it's home.

and he can feel you throbbing, squeezing him tighter and tighter with every hit he delivers to that spot inside you that makes you arch your back and lose a little control.

and Quinn wonders if he should beg, if his desperate eyes aren't enough, or his bitten lips, or his hands completely red from the effort.

he needs to know what to do to make you move faster. And soon, though he doesn't get a response, he notices you starting to get desperate, bouncing faster, your tits moving, and your hands trying to grip his body.

his cock hammers inside you, making you feel dizzy, full, so satisfied that for a moment you almost forget your plan. However, the knot forming in your belly reminds you of it. And you try to be alert to when he starts to get nervous and tense, until he does, giving you the signal to stop your movements.

frustrating both of your orgasms once again.

and he grunts, his gaze annoyed, and this stops feeling like a game.

what the hell could have been so bad that you feel you have to make him pay like this? it frustrates him that he can't remember it well, since your words weren't even enough. Nothing comes to mind.

and you wait, you wait until the pain is so much that he begs again, imploring you to move, to forgive him, to let him come.

and he asks for your forgiveness, but you know it's an empty "sorry", because he doesn't remember yet. So you wait a bit before moving again, this time rolling your hips, feeling him hit your cervix because he's so incredibly deep inside you.

“you did this to yourself, you know that, right?” you said, breathless, staring at the small bulge forming in your belly because of him. “We could have been enjoying, you could come inside me as many times as you wanted, but you decided to be a whore, and leave, and let another woman near you.” Your words were laced with venom, and you couldn’t help it, slapping him across the face.

but he doesn’t react badly. You know it by the way his cock throbs inside you, feeling bigger.

and he really tries to remember, but only has vague memories.

“why would you do that to me, love?” you ask, a slight insecurity too evident in your voice. “How can i trust you every time you go out from now on?” you said, trying to make him feel guilty, even though your words held some truth.

and you see him swallow, nervous and distracted, searching for the right words, only to pathetically beg you to forgive him, to trust him.

begging you to believe how much he loves you.

and that sentence makes you move fiercely again, riding him, drawing a moan from him as you bring your face close to his neck, kissing his collar, then leaving bite marks just above it, too close to his jaw, where his beard is starting to grow.

and you have him whimpering, increasingly sensitive, wanting to fill you with his cum, until your hole can't hold it all and you start making a mess.

the thought alone is printed in his mind, making him try to break the ties, failing miserably as he tries to shift his pelvis a little, so he can move with you, even though you don't let him.

and too soon he feels close again, and his cheeks turn red. He doesn't think he can hold it, and he truly prays silently that you don't notice.

but you do, and you stop again.

and he grows desperate, moving his hands violently, trying to break the ties once more, watching his skin turn bright red from the friction of the fabric against his wrists. And still, nothing seems to work.

and he feels you smile against his neck, licking his wounds as if you hadn't made them yourself, as you roll your hips again, this time slower, deeper, knocking the air out of him.

and you know he needs you. God, you've never seen him so broken from not being able to come, and you know that normally he would have used your body until you fainted, but he can't, and the mere thought of what might happen when you're satisfied is arousing, making you keep going, rolling your hips and stopping when you feel he's about to come.

you do it again, and again, and again. Not noticing how each time the ties loosens his grip more and more, while you moan, taking advantage of his body, and using his cock like it's your new sex toy.

and you're lost. He knows it, from the way you drool, with your eyes closed and your breath against his skin. So he takes advantage of that moment to loosen his ties completely, bringing his hands to your waist, turning you so fast you don't have time to react; feeling him slide off you as your face hits the pillow.

you feel him position himself behind you, pushing his way between your legs, not giving you a second to think before burying his cock deep inside your pussy, drawing a sob from you at the intense burning sensation in your hole.

and he shows no mercy, moving fast, hard, using his hand to tug at your hair as his chest touches your back.

you know he's searching for his own orgasm, but you can't stop yours from building, making you moan louder, desperate, feeling him hammer inside you, hitting your cervix, and taking over every part of you like he's in charge again.

and you let him, you let him take over again, because you can't resist it. God, you don't even know how many hours you've been playing with him, taking him to his limit, until you've exhausted your body too.

and it hurts, he moves so hard that your hole burns, and all you can hear in the room is your loud moans, along with his and the sound of his hard cock sliding into your completely soaked pussy.

and your knot appears at just the right moment, and you know you should probably reveal the final part of your plan to him. Your idea that could change things. But you don't.

he has to be yours forever.

so when you cum, you moan his name, feeling him start to cum inside your pussy. Thick. Heavy. More than ever, quickly filling you, though he doesn't intend to end there. And he moves again, overstimulating you both, but with an idea in mind that won't stop him.

he's going to abuse your body like you abused his, but he's going to make you cum so many times you pass out.

and he's going to use you so much your body can't handle it. And he'll keep fucking you, filling you as many times as he wants, even if your body has given up.

and maybe you should have warned him in the first round... but it's too late now.

he doesn't need to know that you officially stopped taking your birth control pills. Even with all the times you skipped them, you always found a quick fix.

but now? he doesn't need to know.

he has to be yours forever.

and you'll be able to rethink that part of your plan when hours and hours have passed, and the two of you, more relaxed, talk about what happened at that party, and he apologizes wholeheartedly.

but... will you tell him?

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