#but now it's coming back again and it's really bad in my shoulder and right hip

[sabxynsweet]

Okay, hear me out….

Mattheo and sweetheart in the common room and she falls asleep on his shoulder and Mattheo threatens a bunch of first years or whatever who come in loud to stop them from waking her up.

OR OR OR

sweetheart falls asleep on someone ELSE’s shoulder and Mattheo gets mad and jealous, and purposely wakes her up

sweetheart!reader falls asleep on enzo’s shoulder, mattheo's not having it

both these ideas are so cute i think i'll write both <3 here’s your second idea, thank you for the request lovely ! the opening of this is SO dramatic because these boys really are terrified of mattheo it's so silly

They say that right before you're about to die, your life flashes before you like a montage.

Enzo's experiencing that now, memories coming to him like scenes in a film reel while he's frozen sitting at the dining table of the common room.

If it wasn't bad enough that the two of you were paired up for an assignment for a class that Mattheo wasn't in, it was real bad now because you were fast asleep on his shoulder and he couldn't move.

Theo walks past and stops when he see’s Enzo with a look of pure fear on his face, similar to a deer caught in headlights.

"What's up, Mate." Theo asks, Enzo glances over at him with "help me" eyes, unable to move more than his eyes with you hindering his movements.

"Oh." He laughs, "Mattheo's not going to like that."

"Don't you think I know that." Enzo hisses, glaring at Theo who was still laughing, "Let's hope she wakes up before Mattheo see's."

"Before Mattheo see's what?" Mattheo asks, voice cold and low.

Enzo flinches, making you stir a little but, much to his dismay, you're still fast asleep. Theo simply grins and moves back to watch.

"Listen, she was nodding off, I didn't mean to-" Mattheo ignores him, walking closer. Enzo thinks that today he might die.

Mattheo barely even glances at him, instead, he gently taps on your shoulder.

You stir awake - properly this time - and when your eyes meet his, his eyes soften and his annoyance dissolves into nothing.

"Mattheo?" You mumble, your head lifting off of Enzo's shoulder, he breathes a sigh of relief and moves quickly to stand next to Theo.

"Hey." He says, "you fell asleep there."

"Oh." You yawn, "what time is it?"

"5."

"Oh," You say, a little happier now, "it's not too late for a nap right?"

He shakes his head, "no."

You smile, eyes fluttering close again.

"No, baby, you're not sleeping in this position." He snorts.

"Why not." You whine, "M'tired, just let me die."

"You'll hurt your neck."

"You know, it's so totally not my fault that I fell asleep because your common room is so dark."

"I know, Sweetheart."

"Anyone would fall asleep here." You mumble before attempting to sleep again.

He shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

"Come on, you can sleep in my dorm."

"Really?" You murmur, one eye peeking open.

He nods.

"Will you wake me up for dinner?" He nods again, you smile.

"You're my favourite alarm clock." You coo jokingly.

He rolls his eyes but he's still smiling, he reaches out his hand and you let him lead you up the stairs. You lean your body weight on him.

"Unbelievable." He just barely hears Enzo mutter from below, "he was ready to murder me and then she wakes up and he's prince fucking charming."

Mattheo rolls his eyes and continues to guide you, careful not to let you fall.

taglist: @fallingwallsh @espressqe @theodoresvalentine @fanfictiononly4 @genuinelyfloatingsouls @fayezasstuff @glittervame @wxnterwidow333 @thalibaby @cminoko @blainea98 @randomfanpage @megzz-x

[jackrrabbot]

fidus achates

dbf!jack abbot x fem!reader

word count ~12.2k (sorry guys, omg)

content warnings/description: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, AFAB reader, age gap (jack is early forties and in the military, reader is mid-twenties), dry humping, phone sex, filming, hurt/comfort, single internal thought of jack wanting to knock reader up, camping inaccuracies

author's note: santos and garcia exist in this story even though it's before jack is even a doctor at PTMC. just go with it! enjoy :)

masterlist

you and jack take a short camping trip together without the watchful eyes of your father. this is the catalyst.

“Make sure Jack watches over you. I don’t need you getting eaten by a bear. Sacrifice him, if you—”

Your phone’s speaker crackles and your dad cuts out, but you get the gist of what he’s trying to say.

“Dad.” You chuckle. “We’re going to be fine. Promise. It’s a short trip—we’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon. I really wish you could’ve come along, though.” You pout, even though he can’t see you over the phone.

“I know, honey. But one of our military buddies—you know him, Thomas—really needs a helping hand right now. Someone’s got to be there for him, and both Jack and I can’t be away camping. It’s better that he goes so you can spend some time with him. When is he deploying again?”

“Almost right after we come back, I think within a day or two.”

“Yeah, see—I would’ve asked to reschedule the trip, but he’s going to be gone for another who-knows-how-long. You’ll have to go without me, honey.”

You sigh. “I know. It’s just always been our tradition, you know? But, you’re right, it won’t be so bad. Actually, it—... it’ll be good to spend some alone time with Jack. It’s been a while since we’ve hung out, just the two of us.” A loose thread on the hem of your jean shorts scratches your thigh, and you pick at it, anxious about seeing him again after so long.

“Are you implying I’m the third wheel? He’s my best friend, you know.”

You groan, “Daaad.”

He laughs heartily into the phone, tickled by your reaction. “I’m just yanking your chain. I know you two get along. You’re closer in age than he and I are, anyway.”

“Only barely. He’s still old enough that he could be my father.” A very young one, but still. “You’re just… way older.”

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. “Haha, hilarious, honey. But no funny business, alright? Regardless of what you say, I know how you look at him. And it’s not a look that’s appropriate for a daughter to give her dad.”

You gape, affronted by his implication. “W-What are you talking about? Actually… don’t answer that. Jack’s going to be picking me up soon. I’ll talk to you when I get back, okay?” You’ve never wanted to hang up a phone call so fast in your life.

“You better. And remember what I said, alright?”

“Of course. Bye!”

You hang up the phone just as you hear a heavy knock on your apartment door. Leaping from the couch, you rush over to open it, not before taking a deep breath in and out and adjusting your tank top and shorts. 

With an unhooking of the chain and a turn of the knob, you open the door.

Jack stands before you, dressed in an army T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, grinning wide when he sees your face.

He takes in your appearance like a breath of fresh air. It’s been far too long since he last saw you. Life has had her way with him over the past several months after coming back from deployment, and he’s been preoccupied—and unable to make time for you. 

…and your dad.

Now, he’s deploying back overseas in the next two days. This trip—and seeing you again—are the only two things that have been keeping him motivated while he’s been back. Days and days of counting down the clock until he could see you again.

He only wishes he had more time.

“Jack, you’re here,” you whisper, disbelieving he’s right in front of you. He looks… good. Strong. Like he could fold you in half. 

You return his smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a hug. 

When you two part, he squishes your cheeks with a single hand, puckering your lips. “Sure am, kid. Are you ready?” 

Babbling, you nod and respond, “Lemmejusgrabmybackpack.” He finally lets go of your face, and you both laugh.

“Are you sure you didn’t need me to bring anything else?” you ask.

“Just your pretty self.” He snaps his fingers. “And your cooler. We’ll need that. I’ve got ice in the trunk ready.”

“Oh, right. I nearly forgot. Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Jack grabs your wrist, and you turn to face him with a tilt of your head.

“Invite me in, and I’ll carry everything to the car.” He lets go of your wrist and leans over the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you, a vampire?” You raise a brow, confused. 

“Well, it must be the reason why I still look so good at my ripe old age,” he jokes, but doesn’t budge. He wants—needs—your consent to let him in. To cross the threshold. 

Because, really, he’s not so sure he’ll be able to behave himself around you on this trip. Letting him in now is future insurance just in case he does something against your father’s wishes. It’s not his fault if you give him permission to. 

He’ll try to be a good soldier, though.

He waits with bated breath, heart skipping a beat when you roll your eyes and quip, “Oh, you’re an arrogant one at that. Figures. Come on in then, bloodsucker. You can bite me as repayment for carrying my things.” You wink, gesturing for him to come inside.

“Don’t tempt me.”

The car ride to Raccoon Creek is only forty-five minutes long, and while you’re normally antsy during drives longer than your own commute to work—which is only a five-minute walk away from your apartment—you feel relaxed with Jack behind the wheel.

You hate driving, but he makes it look easy. His right hand is on the steering wheel, making a smooth turn down the winding road leading to the park, while the other casually hangs out the window.

Jack begrudgingly let you plug in your phone to listen to your playlist the entire way, complaining about the state that modern-day music is in.

Whatever, old man. Good music definitely still exists.

You’re about twenty minutes away from the park and too excited for your own good. Your knees bounce in sync with the music, the water in your bottle sloshing with every movement as it sits between your legs.

Jack sees you shaking out of the corner of his eye. “Calm down, kid. It feels like an earthquake in here.”

“Sorry, I’m just excited. I always loved going camping as a kid. It’s usually a tradition I share with my dad, but… it’ll be fun to share it with you now, too.” You look over at him with a grin.

Jack’s fingers twitch against the wheel. You’re too sweet on him.

“I’m excited too, angel. But let’s keep the shaking to a minimum, okay?” With his eyes still looking forward, Jack takes the water bottle from your lap and places it into the cup holder. Then his rough palm greets your knee and squeezes, grounding you. 

His hand lingers—thumb brushing over the soft, moisturized skin—but then pulls back a beat too late. And you notice. But you don’t do anything. Because your mutual attraction may be all in your head—key word, mutual—and you’re a good girl.

And good girls listen to their dad’s rules. Even if you’re sitting in the car alone with temptation itself.

You fan yourself lightly to stop yourself from overheating and point to the GPS. “We still have a little bit farther to go. I’m gonna take a quick nap. Wake me when we’re there?” You lean toward the open window and take in the cool breeze and the scent of the crisp summer air that passes by.

“Will do. Get some rest.”

You sit in the car, bleary-eyed and yawning, as Jack takes a second to check in at the park kiosk. He could’ve just checked in online but was too confused by the website and too stubborn to do it any other way than the old-fashioned one. 

It’s too late now anyway. You’re already here.

A few minutes later, Jack comes up to your passenger seat window, crossing his corded, veiny forearms over the edge. You almost reach out and squeeze but stop yourself.

“Alright. We’re good to go. You wanna take a second to use the restroom? Get some snacks? The only other thing we’ll be eating today is whatever we catch.”

You shake your head. “I’m good on the bathroom, and I brought snacks. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Alright. It’s a few minutes’ drive to where our reservation is.”

“Which is where, exactly? You never really shared the details.”

“You’ll see.”

You hop out of the truck and see the start of the trail leading up to where a walk-in site should be—at least, based on the dusty, barely standing post sign that reads, Walk-In 300 ft. Ahead.

Huh, guess you’ll be a little more isolated. 

Based on the Raccoon Creek map, the loop you’re in is tucked in the outer grounds of the campsite, far away from prying eyes and from the reminder that you’re not alone with only nature.

You don’t mind. 

It’ll be nice to have a real camping experience. A taste of the rugged outdoors. Typically, your dad books a cabin outfitted with power, a kitchen, nice beds, and a bathroom and calls it camping. Says otherwise, it reminds him too much of his time during the service. 

You peer through the window of the truck, looking at Jack on the other side.

Maybe your dad’s logic applies to him too. Maybe this keeps him in it—even while on home leave. You wonder if his days are spent just waiting until he gets deployed again. 

You’re saddened by the thought. You want to fill this very short trip with as much joy as you possibly can before he leaves again.

Did Jack somehow know this is what you wanted? 

Or… is he just sticking with what he’s more comfortable with? Quiet nights, haunted with thoughts for company, and the allure nature brings—even if there’s danger in every corner. Whether that be… bears or enemy combatants.

Maybe you’re overthinking, and he just wants you alone. You turn from the window and look ahead to the trail, a dry laugh escaping your lips.

Nah.

Jack pulls you back to land as you start to drown in your thoughts. He steps around the front of the truck and in front of you. “We’ll probably need to make two trips back and forth to get everything set up. You okay with that, angel?”

“Yeah.” You nod, adamantly. “What do you want me to carry?”

“Take the sleeping bags for now and carry your backpack with you. I’ll take care of the tents and the cooler.”

“Got it!” you say with a salute and a few measured paces to the trunk of his car. He shakes his head at you, lips quirked up and eyes crinkling. You unlatch the trunk and pull out the stuff. 

“You’re really excited about this, huh?” he asks as he joins you, amused by your playfulness.

“Of course… this is my first time actually camping. Not… glamping, like I always do with my dad. I’m glad he ended up letting you do all the booking this time around.”

“It’s a whole different experience. I hope you’ll like it.”

You make space for him to grab the tents and cooler. “I most definitely will. Why hasn’t Dad invited you to our trips before now? We should make this a thing. We can plan it around your deployments.”

“Already thinking about next time?” Jack raises a brow at you. “Let’s see if we survive the night first. C’mon, let’s get our stuff over there.”

Jack tilts his head to the head of the trail, and you walk toward it while he follows closely behind. 

After the second car trip and a quick clearing of the brush covering the gravel pad, you’re ready to set up your home base. 

“So you’ve never pitched a tent before?” Jack asks.

You look at him with wide eyes and a confused expression before you remember where you are. “Oh, you mean—uh, no. Never.”

He shakes his head and smirks. “Stay focused. It’s only the one tent, so we’ll do it together.”

You’re taken aback at this sudden news. “O–Only one tent? Didn’t you say… tents? With an ‘S’?” His eyes follow your pointer finger as it draws the shape of an “S” in the air.

“Did I? My bad.” He shrugs, but he hopes it plays off more nonchalantly than it feels. “It fits two people. When your dad said he wouldn’t be able to join us, I thought it’d be easier. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, not at all. I just… wasn’t expecting this.”

“I’m pretty used to living in close quarters. Sorry, I just assumed you’d be okay with it. Don’t worry, we’ll still be in our own sleeping bags. It’ll be fine for just one night.” He winks and clicks his tongue in an attempt to calm you. It works, slightly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, where do we start?”

“This spot is as good as any. It’s level, and since we cleared everything, nothing should be poking us in our sleep.”

Jack picks up the tarp from the ground. “Next: lay the tarp out. Want to do that while I unfold the tent?” 

You nod as he hands you the tarp, and you toss it out over the gravel. 

Jack unfurls the tent. “Alright, now, take one corner of the tent, and I’ll take the other. Pull it tight and lay it over the tarp.” You take one corner of the tent and walk diagonally from him, following his lead.

“All that’s left to do is assemble the poles, slide them through the sleeves here,” Jack says, bending down and threading his finger through one sleeve and pulling it up, “pin them, and bend them so the tent lifts. After that, I’ll stake it down.”

“Huh, I always thought it was harder to set up a tent. It seems pretty simple, actually.”

“That’s just ‘cause I’m here helping you, kid.”

Jack is just finishing up staking the last corner of the tent when you ask, “So, it’s barely noon. What do you have in mind for the rest of the day?”

“We can do whatever you like. But I was thinking we take a hike down to the lake and catch some fish. How’s that sound?”

“Let’s do it,” you say, picking up your backpack from the dirt and slinging it over your shoulder. “Do we need to put our stuff inside the tent, or can we leave it out?”

Jack smiles up at you. “There’s no one around. We’ll be okay. Let’s go.” He stands, then slings the camp chair bag around his back and holds the cooler and fishing pole in each hand. 

You’re about half a mile into your two-mile hike to the lake when you look back at Jack. He quickly glances up to meet your eyes, glinting with the sunlight and… something else. 

…Was he staring at your ass? 

God, you hope he was. It would make you feel a little less guilty to know he also can’t keep his eyes off you.

“Jack, why are you walking so far behind me? I practically have to yell to make conversation.”

“I want to make sure you’re always in my sight.” 

The logic tracks. Your dad did warn him ahead of time that if anything happened to you, he would kill him. And that’s putting it lightly. But still, he doesn’t have to be so far away from you. 

You stop in your tracks, turn around, and stomp toward him. His lips curl up as he watches you approach, and that just irritates you more. He just loves to get a reaction out of you, doesn’t he? Holding yourself back from chirping at him, you forcefully grab the fishing pole from his hands, and it’s quickly stuffed into your backpack, the red floater bobbing in the air from where the pole sticks out.

You thread your fingers through his now-free hand. 

“There. If you walk right by me, you’ll see me at all times, right?”

Jack glances down at your interlocked fingers and squeezes, just a bit. He most definitely could break your hand if he so chose, but his hold is so light that it tickles across your palm and makes you shiver. You clasp his hand just a bit tighter.

He looks back up at you with the same mischievous look he gave you just moments earlier. “I’ve been walking at your pace, sweetheart. Now, you’ll be the one who needs to keep up.”

For the next ten minutes of your hike, you’re nearly out of breath, only getting a chance to breathe when you stop to point out an interesting bird or some pretty shrubbery.

You turn to Jack, pointing at the brilliant, yellow American Goldfinch with the hand not currently clasped in his, but his eyes are locked on yours. A pout graces your face. 

Is he even paying attention? 

You suppose he’s probably more concerned with making it to the lake—before the sun sets—if you keep up this pace. You lower your hand, looking down, and let go of his with the other.

“Hey, what happened? Come back to me.”

You lift your head back up to him, and he pins you with an intense look. 

“I—I’m probably bugging you, aren’t I? I get it… we can just walk the rest of the way without any interruptions. We’re almost there, right?”

He scoffs, and you think he’s going to make a joke, but then he surprises you when he says, “What, are you kidding? Mother Nature is gorgeous, but you’re the only woman I have my eye on.” He kisses the top of your hand gently, relocks your fingers, and pulls you ahead. “C’mon. Just a little more to go. I’ll try to pay more attention to the birds.” 

Jack only lets your hand go once you reach the lake. 

The water is clear and bright blue, and it dazzles beneath the fiery afternoon sun. You're glad you packed your sunscreen and most obnoxious, gargantuan, floppy sun hat.

You swing your backpack around to your front to pull out the folded-up hat, the fishing pole bumping into your hand as it sits in the way. It feels a bit ridiculous once it’s on your head and you see the size of it as you look down at your shadow, but, whatever.

Jack looks at you, appalled, but otherwise makes no comment. 

Hat on, you both walk in step up to one of the piers that circle the lake. There are a few other visitors, but the piers are far enough apart that it doesn’t matter. It’s an intimate setting and perfect for fishing.

Jack sets down the nylon bag with the camp chair and the cooler on the wooden walkway, while you drop your backpack beside them and take off your hiking shoes and socks, wanting to dip your feet into the water.

You look back at him from the edge of the pier when he’s finally set up the chair and retrieved the fishing pole from your bag.

He meets your eyes and pats the seat. “I only brought one chair. I’ll fish while you sit.” 

You nod, lift your feet from the water, then take a few steps and crash into the chair. The hike wore you out more than you thought it would. You don’t even want to think about how your dad would fare if he were here.

Bending over, you reach for your bag, grabbing the sunscreen. You flip the cap, squirt a healthy amount into your hands, and rub it over your arms, legs, neck, and face. Meanwhile, Jack peels off his shirt and lays it next to him as he sits on the edge of the pier, throwing the line over.

The floater plops into the water, audible thanks to the isolated strip of walkway you’re on. Fishing isn’t really something you ever cared for, but since Jack has a permit, you can live vicariously through him.

“Jack… you need to put on sunscreen. Here.” You stretch your arm out to wave it in his face, but he doesn't take it.

“I’m fishing. Do you mind getting it on my back?”

“W-well, how about the front? You’re facing the sun.”

“If you can reach from behind, you can put it wherever you’d like.”

His voice is so smooth and velvety as he says it, and all you can think is, Jack, you can not be saying things like that.

You get down on wobbly knees and sit directly behind him, squirting some of the sunscreen into your hands and gently lathering it over his back. Your eyes connect the dots of freckles that litter his form, and you’re only more entranced as he rotates his shoulders and neck—as if putting on a show for you—and his muscles ripple beneath your touch. 

As much as you’d like to, you don’t linger too long, and soon you finish applying the cream on his back. Shaky hands apply more on his nape, and you circle them to reach his throat, fingers gliding over his salt-and-pepper-covered jawline. You dot his face, careful to avoid his eyes.

He’s just so pretty and a little too confident about it that it makes your head spin. 

You take in a deep—and hopefully silent—breath. Your hands inch down toward his chest, reaching from over his shoulders while sitting on your knees—your chest pressed tight to his back. 

Jack has to hold in a groan as he feels you nearly grind against him to reach over his shoulders, just so he doesn’t get sunburned. You’re so good to him.

You graze his nipples but move quickly to the surrounding taut pec when he flinches. 

“Getting handsy there, angel? Or should I say, devil?” He tilts his head back to you, giving you a sly wink.

“S-shut up. This is for your own good. You already put your life on the line for work. You don’t need to go belly up from skin cancer, too.”

He hums. “Can’t argue with that.”

You loop your arms through his to smear the cream over what you can’t reach from on top of his shoulders.His abdomen noticeably tenses as you glide your fingers over the sun-kissed skin, and you hold back a smile—happy that your touch can affect him like this.

Your fingers trail down to his navel, and even lower, and Jack has to force himself to stop you.

He gently envelops your wrist and says, through gritted teeth, “I think that’s enough, sweetheart. Thank you. Why don’t you sit back now? It might be a while until something bites.”

You reluctantly pull back and place your palms to his back instead. Pressing your cheek against his shoulder and nodding, you whisper a soft “okay,” as your lips brush against the delicate skin.

He shivers, but you’ve already pulled away. The skin on his forehead wrinkles as he furrows his brows in frustration at the situation. He’s trying, but his control is slipping. Slipped. And now he has to try to find ways to justify each and every time he inevitably gets too close. 

You've been sitting on the chair for the past hour, reading your book, when Jack shouts.

“I think we’ve got something!” Jack quickly stands, wrestling with the supposed creature, then reels in what looks like… a catfish? 

“Oh my God, you got one, Jack!” You stand up in a rush, nearly knocking the chair back into the lake.

He looks smug as he dangles the poor fish in front of you. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

The fish seem to be coming in droves now, and after what feels like only a few minutes, the ice-packed cooler holds several species of gutted fish—a nice haul of walleye, bluegill, and bullhead catfish—right next to the pack of beers. At least they’re packed into Ziploc bags.

Luckily, Jack had his army knife handy. Because of course he would.

He stretches in front of you. “God, my back aches. Can I sit?” he asks, pointing at the chair. 

You nod and go to sit by the pier, but as he walks past you, he pulls you back by the waist. He flips himself around just in time before crashing onto the chair, the fabric sinking and taut under your combined weight. You’re surprised it holds. More surprised that now you’re sitting in his lap like a child on a mall Santa. 

“J-Jack, what are you doing? This thing can’t hold the both of us.” You try to wiggle yourself out of his grip, but his hands only tighten on your waist. 

“It’ll hold. I have only the best, and I don’t want your ass to get sore sitting on the pier. Mine did.”

“Oh, and your lap is more comfortable?”

“I’ve been told it’s very comfortable. But I can flip you over and give you something else to whine about, if that’s what you want.” You open your mouth in shock, giving him an incredulous look.

“A-and why didn’t you bring the other chair?” You push because it’s a logical question, but you also want to know if he wants you to keep his lap warm. 

“It would've been too much to carry—even for me.”

It’s a weak excuse, and one you know isn’t true. Disappointment seeps in, but it bottlenecks as you remind yourself that at least you’re in his lap and at least he wants you there.

You glare at him but otherwise get comfortable, submitting to him a bit too easily. His arms bracket you in from where they now rest on the arms of the chair, and you twist your body, draping your legs over his. 

You press your palm to his chest, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. 

His shirt is still lying on the edge of the pier, damp from the harshly fought battles with the fish, and you swirl your fingers over the small tuft of chest hair trailing down his chest. His dog tags shine a bit too bright in your eyes, and you close them to imagine them as if they were dangling in front of you while lying on your back and taking his cock. 

Oh God, the thoughts are getting worse.

Your face starts to heat, not only from the warm weather but also from the close proximity. You’ve always shared a comfortable companionship, but over the past year or so things have been increasingly… intimate. Not obviously, but a few lingering glances and touches more than normal add up. It’s been over half a decade since you’ve met, and you’ve been attached at the hip since day one. But now you think you’re ready to take the next step in your relationship.

If Jack were to feel the same way, well, it’s something your father would just have to accept. You’re both well into adulthood. You’re mature enough to admit you’re helplessly attracted to him.

But Jack is still Jack. He teases, flirts, and touches you, and it burns you from the inside out—but he’s duty-bound to care for you, and he has to balance the act between a dad’s best friend… and something more. Possibly, something more.

Your eyes flit to the silicone wedding band around his finger, the shiny material reflecting the sun. It’s not new—and not something you try to pay too much attention to—but it triggers a core memory from days past, and you decide to bring it up.

“Hey, remember when we first met at Dad’s fifty-fifth birthday and retirement party?”

“How could I forget? The moment when you first became a pain in my ass.” He smiles down at you. It’s a soft look, endearing and warm from the recollection of the memory.

He jokes, but he remembers that day often—remembers how, even after the ache in his heart following his wife’s passing, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel when he first saw you. A light that was quickly snuffed out when your father introduced you to him as his daughter.

You ignore his statement, instead saying, “I was surprised when he first introduced you. I thought you’d be at least as old as him—not twenty years his junior.” 

“Military bonds know no bounds. He was a good role model. I was sad to see him retire, but he served his time. And he knew he had to get out before you went off to college.”

“I still feel so embarrassed and guilty asking you about your ring. I was so naive and… insensitive.” You cringe at the past you.

“You didn’t know, angel. It had been several years since she passed at that point, and I still had it on. It's not your fault you were curious when I showed up alone.”

A few seconds pass in silence. 

“Do you think… you’ll ever find the person? The person who you might set aside that ring for?” 

Jesus, you did not just ask that. 

You shake your head. “Sorry, don’t answer that. It’s not my place to ask you something like that.” You attempt to hide your face in the crook of his armpit, but your stupid hat makes it difficult.

Jack can’t bear the hope—and anguish—hidden in between your words. He tries to reassure you the best he can without cracking his chest open and giving you his heart.

He tilts your head up to him with his thumb and forefinger, finding your eyes beneath the rim of your hat. “Kid, look at me. You don’t have to feel bad. I’m not grieving anymore. The pain is still there, but it’s better now. I loved her—still have love for her—but I know she wouldn’t want me to stay alone forever. But… I never met anyone else, so why take off the ring? It’s as simple as that.”

You try to free your chin from the press of his fingers, but he doesn’t let you. You finally nod in understanding, and only then does he release you from his grip.

“You speak so fondly of her. What you two shared must’ve been really amazing.”

“It was. We were still so young and free at the time. Maybe I’ll tell you more about her someday.” 

“Okay.” A beat later, you add, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for this to turn so… melancholy.”

“It’s okay. If there’s one person in the world I want to open up to, it’s you.”

You both lie in the chair in peaceful silence for a few minutes, watching the sun begin its slow descent over the horizon, when Jack starts to doze off. You rest your hand right over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slow and even out. It’s another ten minutes or so before you gently rouse him from his short nap.

“Jack. Jack, maybe we should head back. I’m getting a bit hungry, and the sun’s starting to set,” you say, shaking him awake.

He just groans and stretches his arms before returning his hands to your waist. 

A few harsh blinks and a shake of his head later, he says, “Okay. Vámonos.”

Jack is setting up the swing-over grill and the firewood while you season what you can of the fish. Luckily, you knew beforehand to bring a few packets of salt and pepper. 

Unlike Jack—who’s willing to risk his health eating the fish raw and unseasoned like he’s on Survivor—you refuse to go without any seasoning. The fish isn’t complete without a sprinkle of smoked paprika, garlic, and onion powder, but it’ll have to do.

You admire how the flickering flames lick across his skin, giving him a warm glow, and his ability to withstand them as he lays the fish across the grill. 

The thought is dramatic, but it’s as if he’d suffer through a little bit of fire to feed you. Nourish you. Take care of you. If only he could brave the paternal firestorm to admit what you’ve already admitted to yourself.

As the nose-wrinkling, fishy smell of the walleye and bluefish morphs into a delicious, woody, salty sea scent, your mouth starts to water. You hand Jack a paper plate, and he serves you up some of the fish as soon as it’s ready.

After squeezing a bit of lemon, you pinch a piece off the malleable flesh and take a bite, moaning lightly at the small taste of heaven. It has a robust, earthy flavor, enhanced by the acidity and the salt and pepper.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack stares, unwilling to draw his gaze from you, even to take a bite from his own plate. He feels an overwhelming pride swell in his chest, knowing that you enjoy something as simple as the fish he grilled for you. He’d do this for you again and again, if only to hear your sweet moans of satisfaction—like music to his ears, looping forever.

Even if they’re only for his food.

You continue to eat, a few hours passing by in casual conversation, and after a few shared sips of the beer he popped open, you’re ready to turn in for the night.

“Jack, thank you for dinner. It was fantastic.” You beam at him from across the dying campfire as he sits in the other camp chair. You yawn, stretching your arms over your head, your top riding up. 

Jack watches as the material lifts, exposing your skin.

“I think I’m ready to head to sleep. Are you coming in soon?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just want to watch the stars for a bit longer. I won’t take too long. Meet you in my dreams, angel.”

“Meet you there.”

You discard your paper plate into a trash bag, then rifle through your backpack, grabbing your nightwear before unzipping the tent and heading in. Plopping down onto your sleeping bag, you quickly change out of your dirt-caked and sweaty clothes and into a pair of flimsy sleeping shorts and a tank top.

You’re barely conscious when Jack comes in only a few minutes later, already stripped down to his boxers as the moonlight from the open flap in the tent pours in.

Though it’s dark, and you're halfway to falling asleep, you can still see the outline of his cock through the thin material, soft against his thigh. Your body forces you awake, eyes nearly glazed over and face growing warm, but you dig your fingers into your thighs to keep you calm.

It’s stupidly hot. Scorching. Both because of the cramped space—thanks to the single tent—and the heat of the night air. You try to wait out your discomfort, hoping Mr. Sandman drags you to his realm soon, but maybe you’ve outgrown that. 

Addressing the problem head-on is best.

“Jack,” you whisper. He turns his head to you as he settles inside his bag.

“Thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?” he whispers back.

You’re not quite sure why you’re whispering. There��s no one around for miles. 

“No, I’ve just been tossing and turning all this time. I’m really working up a sweat. Do you mind if I—… if I just sleep over my bag? I know it’s cramped in here—”

“—No problem at all. Don’t want you sweating all night. You’ll get dehydrated.”

You hesitate but unzip your bag—after a few seconds of sheer panic that you can’t locate the zipper—and escape the sweltering insulation.

Of course he’d bring his standard-issue mummy sleeping bags. You probably should’ve brought your own.

It’s a bit darker in the tent now that the campfire has completely died out, and you can’t tell if Jack is looking at you or has his eyes closed. Only his silhouette is visible from the moon and starlight pouring in—his head tilted in your direction and his arms out, mummy bag not fully zipped yet.

You let a breath escape you, your body finally cooling down. The sweat from the heat dries, but now a nervous one takes its place, your emotions working overtime.

Reflecting on today, this is the most touchy, feely, and cozied up together you two have ever been. And it hurts because you don’t know when the next time you’ll be alone together like this will be. During Jack’s brief stints, while he’s waiting to be deployed, you mostly hang out with him alongside your dad. Or, if alone, somewhere in public or with their other military buddies. 

There’s always someone watching. 

Someone who would judge the girl with a schoolgirl crush on her older, widowed, and too-handsome dad’s best friend.

With an ache in your heart from how close yet far you are, you finally settle against the sleeping bag and try to fall asleep again.

What you don’t expect is for Jack to reach for you, pulling your hips into his so you’re chest to chest.

“Jack—Jack, what are you doing?”

“You’re not zipped in, and I realize you might knock me upside the head if you toss and turn in your sleep. It’s better if I keep you restrained like this. For my own safety.”

“But… doesn’t this defeat the purpose? I’m going to get hot while tucked into you.” Your heart can’t take this anymore. 

“Hm… I guess you’re right.” 

Jack's fingers play with the hem of your tank, and you can feel them slip underneath, his warm, calloused hand pressed to your lower back.

His voice is gruff. “Take it off. The top and shorts. I won’t be able to see anything in the dark.” 

You plead, “J-Jack—”

“—It’s okay. I’ll be a gentleman. I promise.” His hand slowly moves from your lower back to snap the elastic of your straps against your skin, urging you to listen to him. 

“Do it.”

He’s so persistent about it you can’t help but give in. This is only the most logical solution to your problem, after all.

You peel your tank off, nipples peaked as the fabric runs over them, and you instinctively know Jack is watching. 

Gentleman, my ass.

The shorts are discarded at the head of the tent next, your underwear the only thing keeping you modest. You return to his chest and settle against him, the cool material of his dog tags stunning you for a second. You’re only too hyper aware of your peaked nipples rubbing against his skin as he wraps his arms around you again. 

Oh, what he wouldn’t do to get a mouthful of them. But there’s not really a valid reason for that, is there?

After a few heart-pounding seconds of silence, Jack speaks up, “I couldn’t see much, angel. But I don’t have to to know that you’re beautiful. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about this, okay? I just want you to have the best sleep you can. We’ll be leaving pretty early tomorrow.”

You only nod, your face pressed into his armpit and inhaling his heady scent. You fall asleep quickly now.

As you stir, awoken by the alarm on your phone, you see Jack, already awake, leaning over you with an elbow propped up. A soft smile plays on his lips. You’re still drowsy from sleep but feel wide awake the moment you realize the state you’re in. Your breasts are exposed, visible due to the early morning light filtering in through the tent. 

But that isn’t the worst part.

Your legs are tangled with Jack’s, your underwear is soaked, and your core is flush against his thigh. You realize, with shame, you must’ve been grinding on him in your sleep. 

He too must have unzipped himself the rest of the way down overnight, and your body took advantage of it.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of your head, reaching for your top scrunched at the head of the tent. You quickly rise from where you're sprawled on the tent floor, snatching it from his hand and putting it on.

“Jack, I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—” you stutter, trying to move your legs from where they’re straddled between Jack’s, but he keeps you still with a firm hold on your waist.

“It’s alright. It was bound to happen with us being closed in and all.” He moves his hand from your waist to rub circles into your upper thigh, then pinches the soft flesh. Let’s see if he can get away with this one. “I want you to keep going. Take what you need.” 

“What?” You look down at him with a shocked expression, his nonchalance only exacerbated as he chuckles lightly into his fist, elbow still propped.

His serious eyes meet your owlish ones, and you gulp. 

“I said what I said.”

You’re flustered, tripping over your words, and Jack uses the opportunity to pull you back onto his chest and lie you both down again.

He waits. Waits for you to tell him that this isn’t right, that you can both forget this happened and move on. But he wants you to take advantage of him. He’s giving himself to you, even if you don’t realize it yet.

You’re both still for a few seconds, waiting for the other to do something. Say something. You decide to make the first move.

What’s a little more humiliation? Jack’s already seen your tits and felt your wet panties glide over his muscled thigh. And… he seemed to enjoy it. That’s all the liquid courage you need to do what you do next.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around his nape, pulling at the soft, graying curls, and resume the slow grind of your cunt over his thigh.

He just lies there, letting you use him, and watches you undulate on him like you’re the most precious thing in the world. And maybe—based on the way his breath hitches as you moan, and he relishes the overstimulated tears that drip onto his neck—you are. 

Your clit twitches, but you whine in frustration, not yet close. He decides to help you instead of being a willing bystander and grabs your hips to press you harder against his thigh, desperately guiding you up and down to give you the friction you need. 

“Waitwaitwait—Jack, it’s too—too rough, p-please.” 

Please don’t stop.

“Just give it to me. You can.”

Jack sweats as your hot pants collect in the crook of his neck, holding himself back from ripping off your underwear and taking you right here. If this is as close as he can get without crossing the proverbial line, he’ll take it.

You buck more wildly, sloppily against him as your orgasm fast approaches, and he gives you a final push—harshly spanking you, then gripping and spreading the fat of your ass to help you reach your climax. He’s basically doing all the work now, shifting you up and down so fast that your orgasm barrels toward you without remorse.

A gasp escapes you, one delirious with need—the sting of the spank and the relief of his warm, demanding touch, massaging and gripping your cheeks, finally hurling you over the edge. You come with a cry, muffled against his shoulder as you bite down.

Whispers of praise tumble from Jack’s lips, choked out, as he grapples with the ego boost of you coming on his thigh and the pretty mark you left for him on his shoulder. You’re so out of it, you don’t register his quiet confessions. 

“So, so pretty.” 

“You did so good, kid.”

“I wish… we could be like this all the time.” He kisses your sweaty forehead after that last one.

You lie still against him in the afterglow of your orgasm for a few seconds—catching your breath, reeling yourself back to reality—when you notice he’s hard, his cock twitching against his upper thigh and a wet spot forming on his boxers.

You reach delicate hands over to touch him through the fabric, but he stops you, fingers wrapping around your wrist. 

“We need to leave soon. Why don’t we break down the tent now?”

A frown tugs at your lips. “B-but… what about you?”

“Nothing about me. It’s just a natural reaction to us being cramped in here, that’s all. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Let me—”

“—I told your dad I’d take care of you. You needed to get off. I helped you. That’s it.” 

You’re taken aback, mouth open but left speechless. A mix of shame, guilt, and despair swirls inside you—his flippant tone adding heavy droplets of anger to the mix. 

Is he fucking serious?

You feel cheap. Used. This is the moment you finally feel brave enough to do something to push past the boundaries of your relationship, and he shuts it down. 

It dawns on you what he’s doing. He wants this—you—too. His actions over the past twenty-four hours have betrayed him, revealing what you’ve always hoped to be true. That he feels an irrevocable attraction toward you. And your excitement is quickly shut down when you realize he’s not going to do anything more about it than hide behind lame excuses. If he’s going to deny you like this… well, maybe it’s time to move on. You’re done waiting for him.

“You’re an ass, you know that?” Tears sting your eyes as you quickly push yourself off him, grabbing your shorts and rushing out of the tent.

Jack watches you leave, pain wracking his chest. He shouldn’t have been so indifferent. So clinical. His no-frills dismissal of the reciprocation you wanted to give—ah, you’re too fucking doting on him. But his job is to protect. To serve. To obey. Giving himself to you has never been part of the equation… as much as he’d like to. 

He knows he fucked up.

Bringing you out here, to the far, isolated loop of the park, was his chance to feel closer to you. You managed to worm your way into his poorly fortified defenses—out in the call of the wild, where he’s usually alone with nightmares from time wasted and lives lost—and he took advantage of his own weakness for you.

But what’s he to do to course-correct? You two aren’t meant to be.

And so, even with a disgusting guilt and for a short while, he feels satiated by what little he could offer you, even if he can’t offer himself.

You’ll get over it.

The car ride home is silent, with only the sound of the wind whipping into your face to quell your frenetic thoughts. He looks over at you leaning on the window, disturbed by the quiet. Even if he doesn’t enjoy your music, he always wants to hear you. Always. 

Once home, he walks you to the door of your apartment, your name leaving his lips before you can close the door in his face.

“I know you’re upset with me. You have every right to be. But… I had a really great time. I’ll miss you. Give your dad a hello and a goodbye for me, okay, kid?”

You look back at him, sighing. It’s not fair that he has to leave tomorrow. You want more time to stew and act like a petulant child. But instead, you drop your cooler to the ground and give him a warm—but respectful—hug. 

“I had a good time too, Jack. Stay safe overseas.” 

He stands stock-still, surprised you responded in kind, but returns your hug. “I’m thinking of you. Remember that.” He cradles your cheek, wipes away an eyelash, and then heads into the elevator.

As you watch him leave, you’re left wondering what the fuck you’ll do now.

“Why couldn’t he come again? You’re really bringing the vibe down, sourpuss,” Yolanda asks, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You’re currently sitting opposite Yolanda and Trinity in a cozy booth in the far corner of a bar, with your hands stretched out and head sideways on the table. You groan.

“He has some finance-bro presentation for work tomorrow. He won’t be able to hang out tonight. But fuck him, right, ladies? Tonight’s girl’s—” You glance up and see them making out, not ignoring you, but too wrapped up in each other for your voice to reach them. While you’re glad to have accepted their invitation to hang out—after not seeing them for a while—you had hoped that your recent fling would be here with you to make this less of a third-wheel situation. 

You met him on a dating app—he’s cute, gentlemanly enough, and decent in bed. He buys you nice gifts sometimes, too.

Trinity breaks the kiss, needing air, and turns back to you. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“He’s not coming.”

She reaches a hand over the table to pat yours. “That’s a shame. We probably could’ve gotten him to pay for all the drinks.”

You laugh, cheering up slightly. “Yeah, probably. Anyway… I think I’m gonna head out soon. I have work tomorrow.” You move your arms from the table and lift your head, rifling through your bag to double-check you have all your personal items. 

Your face feels warm from the few drinks you’ve had, accompanied by a pounding headache, and you're already tired from your long day at work. It’s really time to go.

“Are you sure? It’s still not too late… Why don’t we dance? Or have one more drink?” Yolanda asks, twirling the straw in her empty margarita glass.

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but I’m exhausted. You guys have fun, okay?”

They both give you a sad smile. 

“Let’s call you an Uber.” Trinity says.

You crash into your bed after getting undressed and completing a half-assed version of your nighttime skincare routine. Your phone pings, and you check it to see that Nathan has texted you, wishing you a good night and apologizing for not making it tonight. It’s almost sweet, and you start to smile, until that quickly turns into a frown when he follows up immediately with:

Do you think you could send me a little something, you know, for good luck? ;)

I’ll treat you to the bonus I get if I secure this client tomorrow.

You roll your eyes. You’re not against sending a few sexy pics now and then, but you’ve already gotten ready for bed. Still, the thought of an all-expenses-paid trip to the Maldives does sound good right about now.

You make the difficult decision to get out of bed and dolled up for this amateur photoshoot—the only incentive being an expensive gift in return—and put on your best set of lingerie. It’s just been sitting alone, thrown into the far end of your closet after Nathan gifted it to you not too long ago.

The babydoll dress is a sheer, pastel mesh color that complements your skin tone perfectly, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It pairs well with the thong in the same color, with cute little bows adorning the sides of your hips. You take a good look at yourself in the mirror, satisfied with what you see. He chose a good one. 

Sitting back in bed and on top of your comforter, you try to work yourself up. You flick your nipples through the ruffly mesh and run your fingers over your slit, barely covered by the thong. 

Previous hookup encounters with Nathan invade your mind—as a mood setter—but it doesn’t work. After minutes of trying and trying to get yourself turned on for the man who bought you the lingerie pass, you give up. Instead, your mind flits to Jack and that early morning after you spent the night cuddled together.

Minutes turn into seconds, and you’re already wet, the stringy satin clinging to your cunt. 

You open your phone’s camera and position yourself to take some pictures, snapping a few of your perked nipples poking through the thin bra and your damp thong. More photos are taken, each lewder than the last—the final few exposing your breasts and soaked cunt, bra tucked under and thong pulled to the side.  

Going the extra mile—even though Nathan doesn’t deserve it—you also film a quick video. Featherlight touches graze your nipples, and deft fingers split the seam of your pussy. You give yourself a few light slaps over your clit, making you jump. You tease, barely nudging a single digit inside your hole, moaning Nathan’s name. It’s deadpan, but he won’t notice.

The production is shit anyway. The darkness of the room and the dust trapped in your phone speakers don’t do you any favors for visual or audio, but he’ll get what he asked for. You quickly shoot off the risqué material one at a time, then fall asleep—too tired to change back into your sleepwear. 

The last thought in your mind before entering dreamland: You wish Jack were here to help soothe the ache in your heart and in your cunt.

Jack’s phone pings as he’s lying in his bunker, about to fall asleep. He’s been tossing and turning all night, anxious for tomorrow.

He’ll be home again, this time for a lot longer. He’s itching to see you again after months of mostly radio silence between you two since the trip. He’s sent a few texts here and there, and you’ve responded, but they’re curt. Dry. Diplomatic.

At least when he’s back, you’ll have to see him at some point, right? 

Even if it’s just with your dad—pretending everything is normal between you two—and giving him the cold shoulder when he isn’t looking. Always the good girl, putting on a brave face so Daddy won’t have to worry. He’d be crushed if he found out you couldn’t even stand to be near his best friend anymore. 

Jack reaches under his pillow to grab his phone, sitting up straight in bed when he sees several text messages from you. He opens your text chain, your contact pinned at the top.

Jack nearly passes out when he sees what you’ve sent.

His eyes zip from one photo to the next, too impatient to process each and every one pixel by pixel. You're wearing a pretty lingerie set, but not one that he would pick out. He much prefers a birthday suit—less fuss. A dozen or so images of your perky nipples and sopping pussy greet his wide eyes. 

His heart nearly bursts out of his chest. He can’t see your face—the image is cropped out or just out of frame—but including it might’ve actually sent him to the infirmary. Why didn’t he take more pictures with you—of you—during the trip?

Maybe he thought he wouldn’t have to. Like somehow it could’ve ended another way—with you two together. You don’t need photos when you’ve already got the real thing. It’s wishful thinking, and now the only thing he has as a reminder is a broken heart and a sore wrist from thoughts of you crying on his thigh.

The last message from you is a video, and he adjusts the volume so it doesn’t blast, but at least he’s tucked away in his own quarters—a nice perk of being a long-time sergeant. 

He does it as if lowering the volume absolves the wrongness in his more-than-willing participation and engagement with your lewd messages. Still, his thumb hovers over the play button, trying to convince himself to delete the texts and forget this happened—but it’s a losing battle. 

The short clip plays, and what he hears is like Apollo’s lyre, your moans and the squelch of your cunt seducing him—but one bad pluck of the animal gut in the form of another man's name pulls him from his hypnosis.

It’s a name that doesn’t belong to him. It rots Jack from the inside out, grime curling into his mouth, and he almost spews it onto the floor. 

He already knows you didn't mean to send this to him, but he’s devastated and envious. Ready to march on a warpath leading to the man who let you slip through his fingers with tears in your eyes. He’s replayed that moment of you leaving the tent one too many times, trying to rewrite the story in a way that would lead him back to you. 

Jack should’ve reached for you then. Reassured you that the moment wasn’t just because of a warped sense of duty. 

He wants you.

And you’re no longer the eighteen-year-old girl he initially met. You’re a grown woman, one who’s capable of making her own decisions. Jack chooses courage now, because if he doesn’t act, paltry, meager men will take what’s rightfully his… what has always been. And he fears you’re already being pulled away by forces he can’t control.

The only other obstacle is your dad. But Jack can take him in a fight, if necessary. He hopes it won’t come to that.

He aches for you. Wants to take the next steps in life and move on with you. But he can’t, not yet. Not until he’s back home and he can show you he means it. But now he has all the motivation he needs to try to get back in your good graces.

Instead of deleting the texts, he saves the material, then he does what he thinks is best to rectify the mistake he made all those months ago.

He calls you.

You’re awoken from a light sleep when your phone goes off, vibrating on the nightstand. 

Your eyes adjust to the bright light on the screen as you hold the phone over your face—careful not to drop it—and you see that you have a few missed phone calls from Jack. You sit up in bed.

It’s midnight. What could he want? It’s been—well, since before the camping trip—that you last spoke on the phone. You don’t bother returning his call. Whatever he wants to talk about can wait at least until you're fully conscious. 

You clear the notifications from Jack one by one when you happen to see another one from Nathan:

Hey, did you fall asleep? Where are my pics :(

That makes you freeze, anxiety jolting you into full coherency. You know you sent those off… But if not to Nathan, then to whom?

You immediately return Jack’s call, not even bothering to look through your messages to confirm what you did. You know you sent them to him. Because, maybe, deep down, you wanted to send him those photos.

The line connects, and you speak up first. “Jack?”

He feels his nervousness dissipate, rejuvenated after going so long without hearing your saccharine melody.

“Angel… it’s been a while.”

“I take it you saw what I sent you?” You tug at the bows adorning your hips, loosening them and twirling the slack satin.

“Heard it too.”

You bring your phone to your chest, groaning in humiliation as the soft sheets rustle beneath you. Despite that, you grow hot at his wrecked voice and utter honesty. How is it that after all this time—even on complicated terms—he can still make you fall apart with just his voice?

You quickly bring your phone back to your ear to ask him the burning question. “Did… did you like what you saw?”

Jack’s brain buffers, pulse racing at your shy, innocent, but very loaded question. He doesn’t respond right away but feels the need to praise you for being so good to him. 

“…Yes, God, yes. You don’t know what you do to me, kid.”

Butterflies flutter inside your stomach, and you almost want to throw your phone into the wall from the overwhelming joy you feel at his response. 

“W-why are you calling?”

“Why do you think? I hear you moan another man’s name, and you think I won’t address it?”

“You don’t have the right to be upset. I walked out on you… but you pushed me away.” You pout and chew on your lip. You’re not letting him get away with his behavior that morning.

He’s stunned into a short silence, but ultimately he’s glad you called him out. You’ve been more mature than him throughout everything, and he runs his fingers through his curls in embarrassment.

He puffs out a tired breath. “I know. But that’s also why I want to talk to you. I want to apologize for that day. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Letting you go… well, it’s one of my biggest mistakes. I won’t make it again.”

Coming from Jack, it’s the most heartfelt and mournful apology you’ve ever heard. Would it be too quick to forgive him already? The distance and time apart only make you more willing to throw the water under the bridge.

You start to tear up and begin to say something when Jack interjects, “And I want to tell you that you’re devastating. Just…” He chuckles. “I can’t even get the words out. Stunning. Even if you’re moaning another man’s name.”

Heat works its way through your body at his words. Still, you respond, with a sniffle, “And while wearing the lingerie he bought me.” You throw that in to make him hurt. Just a little bit more.

“You’re really killing me here, you know that?”

You laugh, and he feels as if all’s right with the world again. “Sorry. Thank you for apologizing, Jack. I’m—I’m also sorry for not reaching out to you more. I shouldn’t have held such a grudge against you. I know you only have the best intentions.”

He really doesn’t. Not with your video still playing in the back of his mind. Not when he’s nearly two decades older than you and he thinks about knocking you up. But as long as you want him just as badly as he does, it'll be alright. “I should’ve reached out too. It’s not your fault.”

You both listen to the hushed sound of the other’s breathing through the phone, not wanting to disturb the quietude brought by your mending of fences. 

A few peaceful seconds pass in silence. “So… what now?” 

“You tell me. What do you want, angel?”

“I want—I want you. I… I want to be with you, Jack.” Your voice comes out shaky and in a pathetic whisper, but that only endears you to him more.

“Then you have me.” Jack twists the silicone band on his finger, already planning your life together in his head. He’s going to take such good care of you. That nearly excites him more than the thought of getting you underneath him. Almost. 

“What do we do about my dad?”

“Don’t worry about him. We’ll talk to him together. I didn’t tell you, but I’m coming home tomorrow.”

If you weren’t already sitting up in bed, you would probably levitate. You smack your chest as your heart pumps a little too fast. “You’ll be here? Tomorrow?”

He’s amused by your sweet reaction. “Yes. Wait for me.”

“Okay, I will.” You nod, even though he can’t see you over the phone. “I—I missed you.”

“Me too, sweetheart. More than words can say.”

A moment later, Jack speaks up, addressing you by name. He doesn’t want the call to end. He wants to feel close to you again with a new understanding that he can be a little selfish. Because that's what people who let themselves feel and receive love do.

“Before we hang up, I want to try something. I want you to send your boyfriend a little present.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just… sleeping together. And what present?”

“That’s good. It’ll make this easier. I want you to touch yourself. Make him a video like the one you sent me. I’ll talk you through it, baby. Tell him who you were really thinking about when you made it.”

Your mouth hangs open. The gall. The nerve. The audacity. But his possessiveness and need to claim you in front of the audience of one make you squirm, your cunt starting to leak from just his words.

He tuts into the phone when you don’t respond. “Be a good girl and answer me.”

Affirming words spill easily from your lips. “O-okay. I’ll do it. What—what would you like me to do first, sir?”

Jack groans into the phone as he clutches it, his other hand moving beneath his boxers to free himself, and you giggle at his reaction. 

“Put me on speakerphone. Use one hand to film and the other to pinch and squeeze your tits. Perk them up real nice.”

You rip your comforter away from your body to play with your nipples through the mesh lingerie—sensitive—as the fabric rubs into them. As you tug each one roughly, your other hand shakes as it holds the phone while recording. It’d be so much more difficult to focus if you were also FaceTiming each other. But luckily for you, Jack probably doesn’t even know what that is. You’re patient enough to wait to see him tomorrow. In person.

You moan softly, more enthusiastically this time around than earlier tonight. Poor, poor Nathan.

“Say my name. Say it, baby.” You can hear the lewd squelches coming from Jack’s end as he jerks his cock, and you whine his name—loud enough for the phone to pick up—your nipples stinging from how brutally you’ve tweaked them.

He grunts, “Now, slowly drag your hand down and touch your clit. Make sure you give him a good look, angel.” Jack’s breathing quickens, and you hear him spit, lubing up his already wet cockhead and fisting himself to spread more slick down his length.

You follow his command. You trail your fingers down the slope of your body until they reach your center. Making sure the camera is focused on your cunt, you manage to splay yourself open, giving the lens a nice look at your soaked and slippery folds. Your digits press harsh circles into your clit, and you have to stop yourself from squirming too much to keep the phone from rocking. “J-Jack, I’m—I’m getting close. Pleasepleaseplease keep talking to me. Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

“Already going to come? We’ve barely started, kid.” 

Hearing him call you kid at this very moment does unspeakable things to you. Things it shouldn’t.

He laughs at you, mockingly, but he’s getting close too. He twists his rough fist up and down the length of his cock, putting his phone on the nightstand so he can massage his balls, throbbing and full for you.

It’s really too bad that all his come will be going to waste.

“You want my praise? That it?” he drawls, words slurring as his balls tighten. “You should be here, helping me with this.” Jack punctuates his statement with a rough tug of his cock, hopeful that you get his point through his voice alone. “This is all your fault. You’d like to see how hard and leaky I am for you, hm? I’ll prove to you how much you drive me crazy tomorrow. It’s a promise.”

Jack starts to stroke himself faster, the globs of spit trailing down to his balls and sheets from his hurried pace. He wants you to come first.

“A-angel, please, put the heel of your palm on your clit and three fingers in your cunt. It won’t fill you like I will, but it’ll work.”

He sounds absolutely wrecked, but he’s past the point of total humiliation now. As long as you do what he says, you’ll both be rewarded.

You rub your swollen clit with the heel of your hand, fucking yourself on three digits—and he’s right—it’s not enough. But he’s not here right now, and you need to come. He needs you to come.

“Are you doing it?” When all he hears is a high-pitched “Mhm!” from you, he gives the final directive. 

“Come, baby. Need to hear you. Show him what it’s like when a man really makes you come.”

You finally crest, overloaded with physical sensation and Jack’s praise, ragged and through gritted teeth. You let out a pathetic wail, orgasm ripping through you and making you drop the phone onto the bed next to you with a soft thud. You twitch, worn out, but can hear him shift in his bed, adjusting to make himself more comfortable.

With a strained voice, Jack says, “Good girl. That’s a… very good girl.” He gives you a few seconds to catch your breath. Then, he immediately follows up with, “Stay with me, angel. I need to hear your voice.”

A few more strokes of his cock, and your whispers and quiet confessions push him over the edge. 

He comes with a rumbling groan, thick spend making a sloppy mess over his hand, down his length, onto his sleep shorts, and into his sheets. At the tail end of his orgasm, he idly thinks about making you lick clean his mess. Maybe feeding it to you and watching your eyes glass over with the taste. Tomorrowtomorrowtomorrow.

With that in mind, Jack flops back onto his pillow, exhausted but satiated. He whispers your name, hoping you haven’t fallen asleep yet. You respond with a soft hum, and he lets out a breath. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. I needed that. We both did. Are you okay?”

“Mhm. Just tired,” you whisper back, head nestled sideways into the pillow.

“Okay, I don’t want to keep you up too long. You probably have work, right? Sweet dreams, angel. I’ll see you tomorrow. And… you don’t have to send him the video if you don’t want to.” Nathan will know soon enough that only Jack has a claim on you. 

You snort. You already know what he really wants. “I already sent it. Guess I should burn this lingerie set now, huh?” 

His lips curl up in a devilish smirk. He doesn’t deserve you. “Goodnight,” he says.

“Goodnight, Jack. Love you.” 

He freezes. He’s not sure if you meant those last two words or if they just spilled out of you due to your post-coital haze and fatigue. But he doesn’t get the chance to confirm, as he can tell from your silence you’ve fallen asleep.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” He hangs up. 

Love you.

You’ve just come home from work—tired and nearly passed out—when you hear a knock at the door. He texted you a while ago when his plane landed. Is he here already?

You open the door and see Jack, still in his military outfit and carrying his luggage, dropping it as you jump into his arms.

“It’s good to see you, kid.” He whispers into your neck, inhaling your scent. Your scent’s a little sweaty and like the outside, but you smell like home.

“It’s good to see you too, Jack.” You bury your face into his shoulder, wanting to crawl inside his skin, but content with just a hug for now. You can feel his back muscles even through the thick material of his outfit, and it’s as if he’s gotten even stronger since you saw him last. You’re glad he’s holding you up because you would have quickly dropped to your knees to give him a warm, wet welcome home. But the apartment floor is hardwood, and he hasn’t even stepped inside yet. There’ll be time for that later.

He tilts your chin up from where it's tucked into his shoulder and kisses you. It’s soft and gentle, like a ghost haunted by its past trying to grasp something real. But you’re solid against his touch, and he lets himself feel your lips and soft skin and supple body against his.

He kicks his gear into your apartment and closes the door, then carries you to your bed, still kissing you. He doesn’t bother to ask for permission to enter this time. You’re tossed onto the bed with a soft thud, and Jack bends down to cradle the side of your face with his warm palm, his intense stare meeting your loving one.

“Let me make good on my promise. Are you gonna let me eat out your sweet cunt? Or do you want my cock now?”

Your body shakes, and you make a cute noise in the back of your throat. “D-don’t you want to change first? Maybe let me make you something to eat?”

“No. I want to take care of you. Let me?”

You can’t help but beam at him. It’s no use fighting him. “Okay.” 

You lay your hand over his and notice his wedding band is gone.

“Dad? Dad, are you okay? You’re staring off into space…”

You and Jack give each other a worried look as you sit opposite your dad at lunch. You slightly regret having told him about your relationship. Maybe this could’ve been kept a secret until… nevermind. That’s too morbid. He’ll just have to accept this.

Your dad shakes his head. “Sorry, I—I didn’t expect this, but to be honest, I can’t say I’m surprised.” He sighs. “As long as you’re both happy, I’m happy. I can’t dictate your life anymore, honey. But Jack, if you hurt her, you won’t be dropping twenty. You’ll just be dropping. And I don’t mean pushups. Understand me?”

Jack smiles, turns to you, and brings your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I sure do.”

[bunnybeaches]

We’re on Air

Pairing: John Price x radio host! reader

or: Johnny and Kyle call into your radio station to help save John’s love life.

cw: swearing, fluff, bad attempt at johnnys accent

wc: 1.1k

part 1!

‘On Air’ has been flashing above you all night and yet nothing interesting. Coffee has gone cold, the blanket has fallen to wrap around your shoulders, and doodles grace your notebook. You love your job, you really do. Just some nights take it out of you.

One lady called and spent almost an hour gushing over her toxic ex-boyfriend, while another cried because the cat favors her husband.

You do quite fancy your job, you really truly do, but sometimes it’s overwhelming. You’ve felt sparks of love. Little bursts yet never that gushing feeling. The feeling where you’d absolutely do whatever you wanted for your person.

People come to you for your advice. Your hot takes on how people should act, or love. Sometimes you don’t feel quite qualified for this job.

What’s a girl doing giving love advice, but she can’t even follow her own advice?

Supernatural by Ariana Grande plays softly on the radio as you spin and spin in your chair. Slow nights like these are the absolute worst. You’ve almost gone through all the songs you wanted to play whilst still having over two more hours of the show left.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as the song ends. One more spin before—

“Hello everyone, Welcome back to Love Notes!” You immediately put on your radio voice. The sugary, soft voice that makes you seem more welcoming.

“Still waiting for any calls! Talk to me about anything. "I’m all yours for the next two hours!” An exaggerated laugh leaves your lips right as the phone rings.

“Oh hello lovely! What brings you here to my show?” You smile even though you can’t see what you assume to be a lady.

“Aye lass? Is this tha’ radio show? Love notes?” A man. That’s a man’s voice. A quite Scottish man at that.

You don’t get men on this show often. Maybe to ask for a suggestion, or advice. This man seems like he wants to have a whole conversation with you. This should be interesting.

“Love? Are you still there?” He has a friend. A British friend. “We need help.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for! Go ahead boys, I’m always happy to help someone in love.”

You frantically flip through your notebook. Trying desperately to find a page without your doodles.

With an inhale then and exhale you say, “Ok, I’m ready. What can I help you boys with on this fine evening?” Radio voice, use your radio voice and make it seem like you’re interested.

“Yes well, it would probably help if you knew our names,” The British one introduces himself first, “My name is Kyle. The other lad here is my mate, Johnny.” Johnny does a little wolf whistle.

“Aye, lass. We ‘ave this friend . He’s been alane fer years. He needs a date. We’re sick o’ him spoilin’ our nights at the pub wi’ his singleness.” Johnny’s voice goes fast. Spilling out any and all details about his friend.

You jot down any details you can pick up from his rambling. His friend's name is John Price. John is in his mid-thirties, and he’s in the military. Those are the basic details you’re able to pick up from Johnny.

“You want me to do what now? Well, I mean…I’m sure I could do that, but I’ve never done anything like that before.” You blank for a moment. Your show isn’t a dating show, and it never will be.

People don’t come to you to find a date, they come to complain or ask for advice on love. You aren’t a matchmaker, nor are you cupid. You’re just someone who’s trying to please the people pleaser inside of you.

“Aye love, we want you to get our lad a date.” Kyle says it slower this time. Like you couldn’t comprehend their ridiculous ask in the first place.

“You open your mouth, then close it again, then open it, then close it, before saying, “It’s uh…time for a commercial break.” Never once in your two years on this show have you gotten speechless.

”Stay on the line boys, we’ll be right back!” And with that you flow out commercials for the most useless shit no one will use.

“Find their friend a date! Who do they think I am!“ You pace back and forth, and all around your little booth. A few paces and a few jumps up and down should do, or that’s what you think. Right as you go to sit down the booth door swings open.

“Oh my god girl! I can’t believe you did this!” Tina, the office manager and your best friend, storms into the room.

”What did I do..?” You stare at her. She looks ecstatic right now.

“Well this John guy! You have to get this poor man a date!” She shoves her phone in your face. “The ratings babes! They are up like crazy! I’ve had so many calls about this guy already and wanting to date him!”

The color drains from your face, You aren’t qualified for this. Is she trying to make you look like a fool on the radio? In front of 100s, well 20s, of people.

“T, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t do this. I’m not—“

“John Price, from thirty to flirty!” Tina’s smile is gigantic. This is huge for the station. This could finally be what brings you guys back up.

You watch her. Study her. You know how Tina thinks. She’s going to put all her effort into this project till it succeeds. And it will. You won’t let her down. Letting her down is letting the show down, you can’t do that.

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll talk to John and get his thoughts. I won’t let you down T. I promise.” You muster up the best smile you can before bidding her farewell.

“Don’t let me down gorgeous! I’m counting on you!” Tina spins around with a wave of her hand. Her heels click click click against the ground as she walks away. The same click click click that’s going on inside your head.

You plop back into your chair with a sigh. Radio voice, radio voice, radio voice, they can’t know you think this is ridiculous. They won’t know you think you’ll fail. The radio voice wi—

“Hello and welcome back! If you’re just now tuning in, let me catch you up! We have two lads here, Johnny and Kyle. They are trying to find a date for their friend.” You flip through the notebook.

“His name is John Price.” You smile softly. Maybe you’ll get a shot at him if this doesn’t work out.

“So boys I’m ready! Let me meet John.” You’re followed by silence.

“Boys? Johnny? Kyle? Did I lose you?”

“Ne lass you didn’t we're still here..y’see the thing is..John don’t know tha’ we called you.” Your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t know. All this shit for a man who doesn’t even know this is happening. What could possibly go wrong.

i’m soooo proud of this it’s the biggest thing i’ve ever written

thank you to allll my friends who supported me but especially @tojisteddy i love you so much girl

tag list: @yshanavocado, @omgfangirlland , @dilf-luvr-4evr

[iamthatonefangirl]

party - nsfw dbf!bucky barnes

word count: 1.9k based on this ask. disclaimer: uncle kink. (not actual uncle, it's reader's dad's best friend.) all characters are 18+. this chapter has some themes of dub-con but it's all fully consensual don't worry. you have been warned. read at your own discretion. a/n: I LITERALLY ONLY PROOFED THIS ONCE BUT I SO BADLY WANT TO POST.

series masterlist.

~~~

"Bucky, this is a bad idea," you tell him as you watch him shut the door to your bedroom behind you. "there's a million people downstairs. my parents will be looking for me."

your protests fall on deaf ears as he steps closer, staring you down with those eyes that somehow manage to both scare you and make you feel like the only girl in the world.

his hands come to hold you by your waist, not once breaking eye contact with you as he approaches. "then tell me you'd rather go back downstairs."

his words are a challenge, and even though you know better than to play his games...

he's right.

"come on, baby," he says, his words like molasses in your ears, "tell me you don't want Uncle Bucky to make you feel better, hmm?"

you can't help but roll your eyes at him. "you're horrible," you comment, shaking your head and smacking his arm, "now is not the fucking time for this, and you know it."

"your body's telling me a different story," he says with that stupid smirk still plastered on his face. he gently brushes your hair back off your shoulder, revealing the skin of your neck to his gaze. you make no attempts to push him away or deny his words as he leans in to press open-mouthed kisses to your flesh.

"no marks, Bucky," you scold. you really don't feel like having to spend another couple minutes in the bathroom trying to cover them up, to no avail, when you have a house full of people downstairs.

you can't help but gasp sharply when his hands on your waist suddenly spin you around, making you do a double take. next thing you know, he's suddenly picking you up like and tossing you forward onto the bed.

"Bucky!" you yelp as you fall against the sheets of your bed, but before you can turn around to yell at him, he's crawling over you, pinning you to the bed.

"shh..." he hushes you, pressing his hips down on yours to keep you in place. he's too strong for you to fight back against him, his weight successfully trapping you. you can feel his bulge up against the crack of your ass, and fuck, doing this right now is so wrong but it feels so good.

he once again pushes your hair out of the way to place his mouth back on your skin, in the gentle dip where your neck meets your shoulder. you're about to reprimand him for the second time when he murmurs in your ear, "no marks, huh?" once again, it sounds like he's challenging you, testing you.

you can't help but shiver underneath him, too distracted by the feel of his breath behind your ear, the way his voice gets deeper when he speaks when he's got you like this, right where he wants you.

"yeah. too afraid to let everyone know what you're in here letting your uncle do to you, ain't that right, pretty girl?"

a jolt runs up your spine. what if someone comes looking for you? what if someone finds out?

"relax," he says, hands running down your sides. "I've got you."

you force yourself to relax into the pillows, feeling the way his hands come down to the hem of your dress where it meets the curve of your ass.

"did you wear this for me?" he asks as he leans back, taking in the sight of you on your stomach as he straddles you from behind.

"yes," you admit to him, "who else?"

even though it was a harmless, rhetorical question, the idea of you getting all dressed up for someone that isn't him easily pisses him off.

he digs his fingertips into the plush of your upper thighs, making you wince at the increase in pressure.

"nobody else. that's not happening," he growls. he carefully lifts the hem of your dress up to reveal your skin to him, and then he's moving off of you, hands staying in place on your legs to keep you from squirming. "you're all fucking mine, you hear?"

like you would ever fight him on that. you want to tell him yes, I'm yours.

always have been.

"oh, fuck," you whimper when you feel his mouth on you, laving his tongue against you where the lace of your panties rest against your skin.

before you know it, he's sinking his teeth into the soft plush of your ass, gentle but surely deep enough to leave a bite mark. the feeling makes you moan again, and this time you bury your face into the pillow, makeup be damned. you can't stand the idea of anyone walking by and hearing what's going on right now.

his hands are all over you, cool metal fingers reaching up to press against the back of your neck. "that's it, keep quiet for me," he murmurs, lips moving delicately against you, taunting you.

you try to squirm, flinch away from the sensation, the heat of his breath against your skin.

he chuckles and continues to torment you as he whispers, "ticklish, huh?"

"no," you breathe out, trying to throw him off. your voice already sounds fucking wrecked, and he hasn't even touched you yet. you know he clocks it, even if he doesn't comment. when it comes to you, he notices everything.

"oh, but I don't believe that," he insists, his flesh hand pushing your dress further up your torso. his fingers trail down your back, the touch so soft it's barely even there. he continues to tease you, tongue darting out to taste your skin, teeth brushing against you every few seconds to keep you on edge.

the culmination of his hands, his breath, his mouth, all of it, makes you want to cry out for him. you want to let loose, beg him to fuck you slow and deep, right here, right now.

the thought reminds you of where you are. how long have you been gone?

"Bucky-"

it's as though he can read your mind, or perhaps he feels the way your body tenses up underneath him as he interrupts you, "shh, babydoll, just a few more minutes."

he withdraws his hand from the back of your neck, releasing you from your confines. both of his hands return back to their place on your waist to reposition you so you're lying on your back under him, just for him. he leans in close, resting his forehead against your own, noses touching.

"there you are," he whispers softly, as though he wasn't just driving you up a wall with gentle touches and tormenting the crap out of you.

the feeling of his lips on yours never fails to make you melt. you never want to leave his arms, what with the way he touches you like he owns you, like you're the most important thing in his life.

he's the most important thing in your life.

you wish you knew if he felt the same.

his flesh hand makes its way under your panties, calloused fingers immediately finding how soaked you are for him. he moves with determination, touching you the way he's learned makes your vision go white, bending you to his will.

"you're going to lay there and take it while I mark you up where only I can see," he whispers to you.

your head is nodding in approval before you're aware of it.

you get so lost in him, all your anxieties melting away as he leaves more marks on your skin than ever before. you let him lick and nip and bite as much as he wants, soft bruises appearing all across your stomach up to your breasts, just below where the hem of your dress lays atop your chest.

all the while, he gently thrusts three fingers in and out of you, nowhere near enough pressure to drive you to orgasm.

somehow, you feel so far away and yet so grounded at the same time.

as he moves down between your thighs, pressing your legs apart, you lift your head from the pillow just enough to get a look at the sight of him so enamored with feeling you.

you gaze over the bunched-up fabric of your dress bundled under your neck, taking in the sight of the hickeys over your torso all the way down to where he's now marking your inner thighs.

you might come just from the view: his eyes cinched tightly in pleasure as he tastes you, his lips attached to your skin like he's never wanted anything more than this. his fingers still lazily pushing in and out, lace panties soaked through, the fabric covering his fingers as he works you gently.

he always manages to do this, reducing you to nothing but putty in his hands.

and then your worst fears come true.

there's a banging at your bedroom door, and you hear your name being called out loudly.

even worse-

the jiggling of the doorknob makes your blood run ice cold.

the door is locked, you realize, silently thanking Bucky.

"I'll be right out," you call, and your voice is shaky and hoarse. fuck. "I have to change," you excuse, managing to placate your father enough that he walks away.

fuck, you might cry right now.

"it's okay, you're okay," Bucky assures you, leaning over you so his face is in line with your own. the motions of his hand picking up between your legs, trying to distract you. "I'm here."

you wrap your arms around his neck as he quickly pushes you over the edge, and it's just enough to make you relax.

"come on, darling. you gotta change and go find your dad. tell him I ran to the store."

you nod in agreement, but now, you're pissed.

pissed at your dad for ruining this. pissed at Bucky for doing this in the middle of the party. pissed at yourself for letting any of this happen, for betraying your family's trust. doing this right under their noses.

you really can't be mad at anyone but yourself.

~~~

an hour later, you're chatting with another friend of the family, one of your long-time neighbors, answering all her invasive questions.

"how's school, sweetie?"

"do you have a job this summer?"

"I'm sure a pretty girl like you has a boyfriend by now. what's his name? is he good-looking? tell me everything, darling!"

"no, no boyfriend," you assure her, casually laughing at the thought. "I'm focusing on getting through school right now."

just then, you catch Bucky's gaze from across the yard. you know he has no clue what you're talking about, no way he can hear from so far away.

it's a crazy coincidence that it's right now he looks over at you.

"school's important, but you have to let yourself have fun! live while you're young!" she encourages you.

if only she knew.

if only she, or anyone, knew.

the way you are having fun. the way you are being a stupid, idiot kid.

the way you're doing something so wrong and scandalous and fun.

the way his lips were all over your skin not even an hour ago, all while the party was in full swing, all your family and friends here.

as you look back over to him, you know he's thinking about it, too. he gives you a little smirk before taking a swig of his beer and diverting his gaze back to his conversation with your father as they man the grill.

you have to take a deep breath as you turn back to your conversation, trying your best to focus.

but how can you?

your mind is clouded with thoughts of the marks hidden just under the new dress you've changed into, only for you and him to see, to know about.

your dirty little secret, hidden in plain sight.

~~~

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list part 1: (send an ask or dm to be removed)

@starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy @mandoloriancookie @starstruck-cowgirl @doubledizzy22 @yvespecially @shereadzzz @blaineandergel @flow33didontsmoke @iiamlynn @belovedmoony @tellybearryyyy @doilooklikeagiveafrack @analovesmarvel @izzy698 @ketchumid24 @annabethboleyn @luv4koo @buckyseternaldoll @planetzeidy @thegirlfatherr @cieraboobear @wint3rbarnes @quinnofdrama @jeannie-beannie @buckysslut @peaceinourtime82 @poiscntree @sooberrt @yaboyguzma69 @dragonsoverall @barnesonly @drxies @morgan-getty

[cameronsbabydoll]

MY SMART GIRL

tutor!kook!pope x bambi!reader

WARNINGS: light academic dumbification, teasing, tension, praise, pope being smug, slightly possessive vibes, makeout at the end

AUTHORS NOTE: credits to kook!pope: @princessbrunette and @starfxkrinc !! also divider is made by me! also i know the math in this fic is for middle school but yeah!

he’s explained the formula three times.

you’re trying. god, you are. but your pencil is starting to slip between your fingers, your eyes blurry, your knees tucked under the desk like they’re holding you upright.

pope’s voice is calm. steady. kind of too calm for someone watching you struggle over the same algebraic expression for twenty minutes.

“baby.”

your head snaps up. “i’m listening,” you say quickly. too quickly. like you’re expecting him to scold you.

he doesn’t.

instead, he smiles. soft, amused. the kind of smile that makes your stomach flip.

“i know,” he says, voice warm. “but you’re listening with your cute little puppy face. not your brain.”

you blink at him. scandalized. “what does that mean?”

“it means,” he hums, tapping your notebook, “you’re staring at the page like it’s gonna sprout legs and walk you through the equation.”

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

he leans in, close enough for his shoulder to brush yours. “not a bad thing,” he murmurs. “makes me feel important.”

your voice is quieter now. almost shy. “so… if the exponent is negative—”

“it goes in the denominator,” he says, already circling the number. “it’s like… when something’s not ready to be on top, it goes underneath. it submits.”

you stare.

“that’s your academic example?” you ask, heat rising in your cheeks.

he shrugs, not even bothering to look sorry. “it’s memorable, isn’t it?”

you squint at him. “you’re insane.”

“but you’ll remember it now,” he says, smug. “you don’t have to get it my way. you just have to let me teach you.”

you let out a breath. one that sounds a little too much like i want to kiss you.

then, softly: “it’s hard when you’re so smart.”

he smiles again. different this time. quieter. a little dangerous. “not smart,” he says. “just really obsessed with your confused face.”

you stop breathing for a second.

he tilts his head, watching you like he’s memorizing your reaction. “look,” he adds. “let’s try from the bed. maybe the desk is too stiff.”

and maybe you’re too dazed to argue. or maybe you like the way his hand lingers at the small of your back as you sit down.

but you nod. and then it gets worse.

because now he’s behind you, thighs bracketing yours, his textbook on your lap like it’s innocent, like his breath on your neck isn’t making your thoughts evaporate.

you’re trying. again.

you get halfway through the question.

“pope…”

his hand rests low on your stomach, thumb brushing under the hem of your shirt. “yeah?”

“i can’t.”

he hums against your shoulder. kisses it, just barely. “you can. you’re my smart girl, right?”

you nod. slow. dizzy.

“say it.”

“i’m your smart girl,” you whisper.

and he grins. so proud. so smug.

he kisses your cheek. your neck. your jaw.

but you shake your head, still fixated on the textbook.

“i’m gonna get one,” you mumble. “watch.”

he leans back, hands raised like he’s letting you drive. “go ahead.”

you reread the question. your lips move, murmuring something under your breath, and then—finally—you circle the right answer.

you turn to look at him, triumphant.

he’s already looking at you like he wants to ruin your life.

“look at you,” he breathes. “that brain does work after all.”

“shut up,” you whisper, grinning.

“make me.”

you don’t get the chance—because his hand finds your chin and tilts your mouth up to his before you can think twice.

he kisses you like he’s been waiting all night. like you’re the answer to something he didn’t know how to ask. like he needs you soft and sweet and pressed up against him in his stupid boat shoes and pressed polo and smirking mouth.

and when you finally break away for air, a little breathless and dazed, he tucks your hair behind your ear and murmurs, “still think you’re bad at math?”

you shove the textbook off the bed.

“i think i’m bad at focusing when your with me.”

[16ferrari]

Falling for you

𖤓 — pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

𖤓 — summary: you’re crush on the well older man is revealed when walker plays wing-man

𖤓 — warnings: pinning, tension, suggestive content, fluff, john (with affection) being annoying. Edited but maybe some errors.

𖤓 — a/n: my first Bucky fic, not too sure how to feel about it, but i loved writing it!

Bucky Barnes, a name you heard a million times a day, wether it be on the news, an article or on paper.

But in your world, a name that could make your heartthrob like no other.

Your crush on the well older man, wasn’t new.

Anyone who looked at you could tell from a mile away you fancied him, eyes turned into hearts when you looked at him, red as a tomato cheeks, smile so wide it just about reached ear-to-ear, sweaty shaky hands when he took yours in his, words forming weird when he came around.

It made people laugh, really. How easily stupid, in a nice way, you went with him. How he could affect you in such ways, but you wouldn’t dare tell him the bombshell that is your crush on him, especially when he’s made it known to you, and those around him, he couldn’t handle relationships because his age is something he’s always thinking about when he’s with someone, and it affects him poorly.

However that still didn’t stop you from admiring the man, especially now, him in the boxing ring with bob, teaching him how to fight and defend himself. He looked good, to say the least. Wearing a tight while tank top, grey basketball shorts, long hair tied back in a ponytail, and sweat dripping down his body like he’d just jumped in a pool.

Your lip got caught between your lip as you watched him throw firm but gentle punches to bob, who was terrified out of his mind when it came to fighting Bucky. You watched his biceps pop out as he threw a punch, his arms looked godly fully glistering in sweat.

In your dead-full-focused on Bucky, john, who just so happened to appear right beside you in your daydream, cleared his throat loudly enough that Bucky looked at him and shot him a thumbs up, he shot you a quick smile that was to die for, which you just about did.

He turned his attention back to bob, punching him hardly in the stomach, which sent him down to the ground again, he got up from the floor groaning holding onto his now Bucky imprinted marks on his stomach.

“So, drop the news yet, kid” john so casually asked, bumping your shoulder with his. smirk wide on his face as he eyed you and the way you watched Bucky throw hits, more-so the way his arms fixated.

You threw an angry glance at him, “shut up, no” you tried to show a pissed off look to john, but the second Bucky looked at you again and gave you his infamous wink, you crumbled under the weight and turned red as a tomato.

John’s head fell back as he laughed loudly. “oh, you poor thing” he ruffed your hair, which you shooed his hand away. He leaned down to your ear, “you’re so crazy for him, it’s embarrassing sweetheart”

You know john meant his words in a light, teasing matter. But considering how absolutely down-bad you were for the older man, you ducked your head low, actual embarrassment setting in,

“i hate you” john fake gasped pretending to be hurt by your very weak comeback.

“Wow, I’m so hurt. Come on, you’re not even gonna show him hints you’re interested?”

You looked at him so fast, john flinched back like you were gonna hit him. “I’ve tried, walker, the old man isn’t so bight when it comes to girls showing their attraction for him”

John’s face lit up like he’d just thought of the most amazing thing. “maybe get in the ring with him” he shrugs like it’s nothing.

“Me, fighting?, yeah okay” like bob, fighting wasn’t exactly your strongest suit, you were better and trained better with weapons. “Never in a million years would i think about getting into a ring with Bucky”

John gave you a look, that you knew absolutely nothing good will come out of it. “Barnes” you froze like somebody had placed a target on your head and if you moved, you would drop dead, which in this case would be an better option than whatever john was about to suggest. “I have another thing, you can train for today” he proudly pointed at you, pushing you forward to get into the boxing ring.

You shook your head rapidly, feet coming to an halt from john’s pushing. “no, no, I’m good” god you’ve never wanted to curl up in a ball and hide away forever.

Bucky titled his head and hummed, a smirk plastered across his face. “You wanna go a round?” His hands came to rest on his waist, training bob now long forgotten as bob whined his way out the ring, murmuring a good luck under his breath to you as he limped away.

The words you formed in your head got stuck in your throat, so john answered for you,“Yes! she would love to go a round with you” john’s smile was teeth showing wide as he spoke for you.

You were gonna murder him in his sleep

Bucky walked over to the side you were standing at and held out his hand for you to take, “well, hop in doll” you felt like throwing up.

You took his hand in yours and let yourself get pulled into the ring with him in a quick motion. John walked to the way back with bob and gave you a thumbs up, and a stupid wiggle of his eyebrows. You quickly gave him the middle finger in return, and forced yourself to face the man you so desperately wanted to hide from.

“So, want easy or hard”

God you were about to drop dead, you stuttered out a response, “s-sorry?”

“Want me to go easy or hard on you, darling” bucky’s voice was laced with a darkness with and a hint of jokiness.

“Easy, please’’ your voice came out smaller than you wanted, which made him raise his eyebrows in a repeat yourself manner, “easy, please” you repeated louder, making a puff of air leave his lips in fake shock

“Thought you would of wanted hard” he joked.

“Well its my first time” in the background you heard john laugh hard, making your cheeks turn even redder than before. “Fighting!, i mean.. i’m better using my weapons skills instead”

In your distracted rant, Bucky had kicked your leg to the side, sending you easily down to the floor with a loud bang. “ focus” he yelled, letting you get up before throwing a punch to your stomach making you groan.

You bailed up your fist like yelena had taught you and took a swing at him, cussing yourself out when you missed and instead punched the air, giving him another opportunity to throw a hit to your side, which made you hunch over side pulsing badly from his strong hit.

“Said easy” you moaned through the pain.

“Nothing’s ever easy with me sweetheart”

Feet hitting against the pavement beneath you was all you heard as you maneuvered through his throws and punches. It was an never ending game of training, he was brutal with his hits and in return so were you, at least that’s what you thought. Bucky offered called you out in the mist of fighting, claiming your hits were so soft it was like he was getting hit with a feather.

Sweat soon coated your bodies, deep and loud breaths covered the room as you both kept taking swings at each other. Hit after punch, punch after hit, you wanted to stop, but Bucky didn’t allow you to, he made sure you learned his way of fighting the hard way, even if you wanted easy.

He moved his fist out to make contact with your face, but was surprised when you ducked perfectly on time. “Atta girl, you’re getting it” he tried another punch to the stomach, but was left stunned and shocked when you locked your leg around his and tugged him down to the ground.

You hunched over your knees, a silent celebration going on in your head at you finally getting the big, bold and tough man down. “got you” you spoke through loud breaths.

Bucky got up from his position on the floor like nothing and walked up to you, having no time to react he picked you up over his shoulder and threw you down to the floor with a loud thud, “you were saying” he straddled your stomach, hands on either side of your head.

“I hate you” you couldn’t face him, so you looked to the side, which only then did you realize john and bob were no longer in the room with you. “I had you, just couldn’t stand to lose”

Bucky grabbed your jaw and forced you to look him in the eyes, “oh you had me” he leaned down dangerously close to your lips, so close you could feel his breath on the surface, “just didn’t want to lose to you”

You chuckled heavily, “sore loser” you lightly pushed his stomach in hopes he’ll get the hint to get off you, but he didn’t move an inch. Now your stomach grew tight with nervousness settling in. “Fights over?” You asked with a tit of your head.

Bucky nodded, but just leaned back on his knees. “Tell me” he looked down at you, chest heaving up and down. “I’ve been hearing some stuff about you around the tower lately”

His hand dropped to softly touch your exposed skin from where your loose tank top gilded up, a even hotter heat coated your body. “what” you paused, “stuff”

Right then Bucky finally slowly lifted himself off you and sat down on the hard ground, beside your body which was frozen to the ground. “About your crush on me”

his confession made you shut your eyes in embarrassment, chest beginning to grow fear of him thinking you’re pathetic and weird for developing a crush on him, when he’s specifically told you he doesn’t love the ideals of relationships at the moment.

Your silences made him lightly uncomfortable, “is it not true?”

You swallowed a large amount of pride and finally answered him, “it’s true” you sat up, tugging your legs closer to you in hopes to protect yourself, from him, no, from rejection. “I know you’ve told me about your whole thing for disliking relationships, so I’m sorry”

“Why are you apologizing” you heard him scoot closer to you, so you were touching shoulder to shoulder.

Getting the courage you looked at him, “for liking you?”

Bucky chuckled, hand wiping the sweat from his face, “that’s a stupid thing to apologize for” you nodded, it was stupid to say sorry for liking someone, but it was the only thing you felt was right to say.

And then tension filled up the room, the whole training and fighting each other long forgotten as you both sat there in complete silence, one another trying to figure out the right words to say.

It was, for you, a difficult situation, your crush on the man finally coming to light after years of trying to hide them from him, and him sitting beside you not saying anything, just staring into space, not to your knowledge mouth full of things he wants to say to you, but too afraid to.

You cleared your throat and went to get up from the floor, everything that was going on getting too much for you to handle. You offered him a hand to help him up from the ground which he gracefully took.

Without any words, just glances at one another, you both left the training room together, walking side by side, each other going to your separate rooms. It was killing you really, the awkward silence and feeling between you both.

When you reached your room you took one last look at him before turning to walk into your room, what you didn’t expect however was he him pushing you into your wall, hands going to your hips, lips crashing onto your yours, in a longing feeling.

Your hands got tangled into his hair, tugging him forward as close as possible, afraid he’s giving you a sorrow rejection kiss to cover the pain he’ll leave you with, but him lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist told you this was something else, something more than longing, instead desperation and wanting.

He carefully carried you to your bed, lips not bothering breaking apart even to breathe. He laid you down on your sheets, hand coming to rest against your jaw opening your mouth so his tongue could make way into your mouth. He pushed open your knees farther apart to make move for him to settle comfortably between them.

You moaned into his mouth when you felt his knee brush against your clothed core. “Bucky” You spoke against his lips.

He broke the kiss, lips instead tracing down your neck where he kissed and sucked hard enough to leave marks. “Yes, doll?”

“This isn’t a pity kiss right”

he lifted his head from your neck and faced you properly. “I told myself to go to my room, leave you alone. But I just couldn’t stop myself from breaking my own rules for you”

Your fallen hair that covered your face, he moved. “I’ve liked you for awhile now, but the age..’”

You softly creased his face, “don’t even think about when I’m with you, Bucky”

He hummed, “i want this to work, but I don’t know how”

“I’ll teach you my way, you teach me your way”

He laughed softly, “doll, back in my day dating was a lot different”

You rolled your eyes, giggling a bit. “Okay then you teach me how you want me to be good fighter and I’ll teach you to how do this,” you made a hand gesture, “whole relationship thing”

“That sounds a lot better”

[lila-lou]

✨Settled - 3/4✨

Summary: With you, Dean Winchester feels something he never expected—a reason to slow down, to stay. One nervous first date is all it takes to make him want more than the road.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 6944

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.

A few days passed in a blur of easy mornings and late-night phone calls, the kind where neither of you wanted to hang up first.

Dean healed faster than you'd expected, not magically, but steadily. The deep bruises faded into dull yellows and greens, the worst of the cuts knitted themselves closed with only faint scars left behind.

You still didn’t press him about how he got hurt. Even though it gnawed at you sometimes, wondering what kind of life he really lived.

He had told you, with that same gravel-rough honesty you were already addicted to, "It’s probably safer for you if you don’t know, sweetheart".

And somehow… you trusted that. You trusted him. You knew he'd tell you when he could. When he was ready.

Right now, though, Dean had other things on his mind. And none of them had to do with the urgent hunter meeting going on around him.

He sat slouched in one of the worn leather chairs in the bunker’s library, one boot propped up on the edge of the table, phone cradled loosely in one hand.

Cas was standing stiffly by the bookcases, his arms crossed, brow furrowed. Jack sat perched on the edge of his seat, eager and attentive. Sam was pacing the room with a grim look, flipping through an old lore book. "…if the rumors are true", Sam said, his voice serious, "and Crowley’s somehow managed to claw his way back from the Empty, then we’ve got a real problem on our hands".

Cas nodded grimly. "It would explain the sudden surge of demonic activity in the Midwest".

Dean, meanwhile, was not paying attention. At all. He smirked down at his phone, thumbs moving quickly across the screen.

Dean: miss you, sweetheart. when can i see you again?

He barely noticed the sharp glance Sam shot his way. "You even listening, man?", Sam snapped.

Dean looked up with the lazy innocence of a teenager caught texting in class. "Yeah, yeah. Crowley. Bad. Got it".

Sam huffed in frustration and kept talking, but Dean had already tuned him out again, his mind full of you.

You replied almost instantly, because of course you did. Dean could practically feel you smiling through the screen.

You: Come over later. I’ll cook again. (Or attempt to).

Dean grinned so wide it hurt.

Dean: you could burn water and i’d still show up, sweetheart.

Across the table, Jack leaned in closer to Sam, whispering, "Is Dean okay? He looks… weirdly happy".

Sam glanced at his brother, the little half-smile playing on Dean’s face, the way his shoulders were relaxed for once, and sighed heavily. "Yeah", Sam muttered. "That’s the problem".

Dean didn’t even hear him. He was already typing again.

Dean: can’t wait to get my hands on you, baby.

He hardly lasted through another fifteen minutes of "serious talk" before he finally stood up, grabbed his jacket, and mumbled something about "important business" that absolutely nobody believed. Sam watched him go, jaw tight, arms crossed over his chest.

Jack tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. "Where's he going?". Cas just stared blankly after Dean, clearly not following either.

Sam sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. "To her".

Jack blinked. "Oh… you mean his girlfriend?".

Sam’s jaw ticked slightly. "Yeah. His… girlfriend".

The word tasted strange in his mouth. Because it wasn’t like Dean to have that, not really. And not this quick, this serious. Dean didn’t date. He didn’t get attached. He flirted, he charmed, he left. But this? This was different.

Sam had seen the way Dean smiled at his phone like a damn teenager. Had seen the way he physically relaxed after hearing your voice, like you were the only thing keeping him from unraveling entirely. And that scared the hell out of him. Because Dean Winchester didn’t get nice things. Didn’t get normal.

And as much as Sam wanted it for him — God, he wanted it — there was still that ugly, gnawing knot in his gut. You didn’t know. Not really. Not about the bunker. Not about the hunting. Not about the monsters in the dark that were more real than fairytales.

And Dean, for all his bravado, was falling so hard, so fast, Sam could already see the wreckage if this all blew up. If Dean lost you… Sam didn’t know if his brother would recover. Because Dean wasn’t interested anymore. Dean wasn’t distracted anymore. Dean was in love. And it was written all over him.

Dean shoved the bunker door open and climbed into the Impala, grinning like a fool. He didn’t even fight it anymore. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t thinking about demons or vampires or some ancient curse looming over his head. He was thinking about you. Your laugh. The way you looked half-asleep in his arms. The way you kissed him like he mattered.

Dean didn’t want to hint anymore. Didn’t want to dance around it. He wanted you. Every minute he spent away from you felt like a waste now. He didn’t care about being wrapped in another motel bed, another dirty town, another case. He wanted to be wrapped up in you. In your sheets. In your life. In something normal. You.

Dean didn’t bother knocking. He never did these days, not when you always left the door unlocked for him, like you wanted him to walk right in, like you trusted him that much.

But this time, he hesitated for half a second, standing there on your porch, heart pounding in his chest harder than it ever had against monsters or demons. Because this? This was real. This was you. And Dean Winchester had never wanted anything more.

Before he could second-guess himself, the door swung open and there you were.

Fresh from the shower, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy towel, your skin still dewy from the heat, your hair damp and clinging to your shoulders.

Dean froze. Absolutely, utterly froze. For a second, he forgot how to breathe.

You blinked up at him, a little startled, your cheeks immediately warming when you saw the way he was looking at you, like he’d just been punched in the gut.

"Hey", you said, a little breathless.

Dean just stood there, jaw slack.

Then, somehow, he found his voice. "Shit, sweetheart", he rasped, his eyes raking over you slowly, reverently. "You tryin' to kill me?".

You flushed deeper, pulling the towel a little tighter around yourself, your bare legs shifting under his gaze.

Dean finally remembered to move, stepping inside and closing the door behind him with a soft click, his green eyes never leaving you. "You could’ve texted me you were gonna look like…". He gestured vaguely, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "…that. Might’ve prepared myself a little".

You laughed shyly, backing up a few steps toward the hall. "I didn’t know you’d be this fast", you teased, your heart hammering in your chest just from the way he was looking at you, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

His hands came up slowly, giving you time to stop him if you wanted, but you didn’t. You never did.

One rough hand brushed your damp hair back from your face, his fingers skimming your jaw. "You’re so beautiful", he said, like it physically hurt him to get it out.

You laughed softly, reaching up to rest your hand over his chest, feeling the solid, steady beat of his heart under your palm. "And you’re sappy", you whispered.

Dean huffed a low chuckle, but he didn’t deny it. Not anymore. Not with you. "I missed you", he murmured, ducking his head to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, slow, lingering kisses that made your knees weak.

"You saw me two days ago", you teased again, your voice shaky with how much you wanted him already.

"Too long", he muttered against your skin.

You tilted your head back to look at him, really look at him, and your heart ached at what you saw. He looked… lighter. There were still faint bruises on his jaw, but his eyes were clearer now. His face softer, less tense. The heavy weight he always seemed to carry was still there, it probably always would be, but right now, it was tucked away under something else. Something new. Something that looked a hell of a lot like hope.

Dean kissed you again, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that made time stop, that said everything he couldn’t yet.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, he leaned his forehead against yours. "You got any plans tonight, sweetheart?", he asked, voice low and rough.

You smiled. "Not anymore".

Dean grinned, that cocky little tilt of his mouth you loved so much, but there was something softer under it now. Something real. "Good", he murmured, brushing his nose against yours. "’Cause I was thinkin'… maybe I just stay a while".

You felt your heart jump at Dean’s words, stay a while, but you played it cool, just smiling up at him, brushing your fingers lightly along the stubble on his jaw.

Dean caught the tiny flicker of emotion in your eyes, that flash of hope, and it made his chest ache. But he didn’t press it. He didn’t have to. "Go finish getting ready", he murmured, running his thumb gently along your cheekbone. "I’ll find somethin' to keep me busy".

You laughed softly, stepping away, feeling the way his eyes lingered on you until you disappeared down the hall.

Dean stood in your living room for a second, taking it in. The soft light, the faint scent of your shampoo still hanging in the air, the little touches that made this place yours. He breathed it all in like it was better than fresh air.

He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch, and wandered toward the kitchen, finding two beers in the fridge without asking. When you came back a few minutes later, your hair damp but brushed, wearing a pair of soft shorts and a simple shirt, he was sitting at the table, casually sipping his beer, flipping lazily through his phone. Like he belonged there. Like it was normal.

You padded barefoot toward him, tugging a towel through your hair a little absently.

Dean looked up the second he heard you and smiled, not the cocky smirk he used with the world, but the real one, the one he didn’t give away easily. "You’re gonna get sick if you leave it wet like that, sweetheart", he teased, setting his beer down and standing.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could argue, Dean was gently tugging the towel from your hands, guiding you by the hips toward the chair he’d just vacated.

You sat without thinking, your heart skipping.

Dean moved behind you, all careful hands and quiet movements, running the towel through your damp hair with surprising tenderness.

"You don't have to", you murmured, but your voice was soft, already losing the battle.

Dean huffed quietly under his breath, not annoyed, just fond. "I want to", he said simply, echoing your words from days ago when you’d cleaned him up.

You smiled down at your hands, letting him work. Dean was careful not to tug or pull, his big hands surprisingly gentle as he rubbed the towel through your hair, fluffing it up, brushing it back with his fingers. Every once in a while, he dropped a kiss to the top of your head without even thinking about it. Neither of you said much. And somehow, it was better that way.

When he finished, he tossed the towel onto the table, sliding his hands down your shoulders, squeezing lightly. "All done", he said, a rough tenderness in his voice.

You turned in the chair to look up at him, standing there in his jeans and flannel shirt, looking every bit the tough guy he always was, but with those soft green eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing he saw.

"Thanks", you said, your voice catching a little.

Dean shrugged one shoulder, trying to play it cool, but his hand lingered on your back, warm and solid. "No big deal", he muttered. "Gotta take care of my girl, right?".

The words slipped out so casually, like he didn’t even realize he’d said them. But your heart jumped all the same.

Dean caught the look on your face, realized what he said, and instead of pulling back, instead of joking it away like he might’ve once, he just smiled a little sheepishly. Not too much. Not too serious. Just… real.

Another week slipped by like a dream, filled with stolen kisses, lazy mornings tangled in bed, quiet conversations under the covers when neither of you wanted to move.

And now here you were again, wrapped up in Dean's arms, naked and completely spent, your skin still humming from the way he’d loved you like he had all the time in the world. Your head rested on Dean’s chest, your fingers absentmindedly tracing lazy patterns over his skin. His hand moved slowly up and down your back, his touch soothing, like he never wanted to let you go.

You stayed like that for a long time, breathing together, hearts beating in the same slow rhythm.

Dean was half asleep, you could tell, his body warm and heavy against yours, his breathing slow and deep, but his hand never stopped moving on your back. Never stopped touching you like he needed the reassurance that you were still there.

You shifted slightly, your voice soft against the quiet. "Dean?".

He hummed low in his throat, a deep, lazy sound that rumbled through his chest under your ear.

You smiled a little, tracing a circle around a faint scar on his ribs. "I was thinking…", you started, hesitating just a second.

Dean’s hand stilled for a moment on your back, his body tensing ever so slightly, barely noticeable if you didn’t know him like you did.

"I was thinking…", you repeated, softer, "next time… maybe I could come over to your place".

There was a small pause. Not long. Just enough for you to feel him draw in a slow, careful breath. Dean shifted under you, just a little, his hand smoothing down your spine, settling low on your back again like he was grounding himself. "My place, huh?", he said, his voice low and rough with sleep, but there was a thread of something else in it too. Something heavier.

You nodded against his chest, your fingers still tracing light patterns on his skin. "I mean… if you want. I'd like to see where you live".

Another small pause. You lifted your head slightly, just enough to see his face, the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes opened slowly, flickering with something you couldn’t quite name.

Dean stared up at the ceiling for a moment, silent. Then he looked down at you, those green eyes soft, careful, full of so much you felt it in your bones. "You really wanna see it?", he asked, like maybe you didn’t know what you were asking for.

You nodded again, smiling shyly. "Yeah".

Dean’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. He dragged a hand slowly up your back, into your hair, cradling the back of your head. "You got no idea what you're askin’, sweetheart", he said quietly. Not a warning, not really. Just… honest. But he didn’t say no. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned up slightly and kissed your forehead, slow, lingering, like he was sealing some silent promise between you. "Alright", he murmured against your skin. "Next time… you come to me".

The Impala rumbled steadily down the old two-lane highway, the afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the fields on either side.

You sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting lightly on the curve of the door, the other curled up against your thigh, stealing little glances at Dean over the dashboard every few minutes.

He looked good. Better than you’d ever seen him. Relaxed, almost. His hand loose on the wheel, his other arm stretched out casually across the back of the bench seat like it belonged there, like you belonged there too.

But even through the calm exterior, you could feel it, a tension just under his skin. The way his thumb tapped a nervous rhythm against the wheel. The way he kept glancing at you like he was about to say something and thought better of it.

You shifted slightly, smiling softly. "You okay over there, Winchester?".

Dean gave a rough little chuckle, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Just…". He trailed off, staring straight ahead at the empty road. "…lot on my mind".

You waited, giving him space. Dean’s grip tightened slightly on the wheel. He exhaled through his nose, like he was bracing for a hit. "You know, uh… this life of mine…", he started, voice low, rough, almost apologetic. "It’s not… normal".

You turned your head fully toward him, frowning slightly at the tone. "I know you’re not exactly a nine-to-five guy", you said lightly, trying to ease the heaviness in his voice.

Dean huffed a breath, a half-laugh, half-sigh, but he shook his head. "Nah, sweetheart. It’s more than that".

You stayed quiet, letting him get there at his own pace.

Dean shifted his hands on the wheel again, jaw clenching like he was forcing the words out. "I ain’t who you think I am", he said finally, his voice low, almost breaking. "And the place we’re goin’, it ain’t some cozy little apartment. It’s… different".

You could hear the fear behind his words, not fear for himself. Fear of you seeing the truth and leaving. Fear of losing you before he really even got to keep you. You reached out, laying your hand gently on his thigh, squeezing softly. "Dean", you said, your voice steady, full of something so certain it made his head snap toward you. "You don’t have to be scared. Whatever it is… I’m not running".

Dean stared at you, really stared, like he was trying to burn your face into memory, just in case. He looked wrecked. Hopeful. Terrified. "You say that now", he muttered, looking away again, his knuckles white on the wheel. "But once you see it… once you know…".

"I’ll still be here", you said simply. No hesitation. No fear.

Dean blew out a slow breath, like he didn’t dare believe you yet, but some tiny part of him wanted to. Needed to.

A little while later, Dean turned the Impala off with a heavy sigh, his hand lingering on the keys for a second longer than necessary.

You looked around, blinking at the place he’d pulled into, a massive, dimly lit underground garage, walls of concrete and old stone. A few other cars sat parked along the edges, all different makes and models, most of them a little beat-up but clearly loved. It was… strange. But not scary.

You shifted slightly in your seat, taking it all in. The place felt… ancient. Solid. Like it had been here longer than you could imagine, untouched by the world above. The walls were lined with pipes and heavy iron beams; old, yellowed lights buzzed quietly overhead.

It should have felt cold. Claustrophobic, maybe. But somehow, with Dean sitting beside you, his hand still resting loosely on the keys, it didn’t. It just felt… important.

Dean finally pulled the keys from the ignition with a soft jingle, breaking the silence between you. He sat back against the seat, scrubbing a hand over his face like he was still bracing himself.

You touched his forearm lightly, your fingers brushing over the leather of his jacket. He turned his head toward you, his green eyes wary, searching. "You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?", he asked, voice rough but low, almost tender.

You gave him a small, sure smile. "I’m with you. That’s all that matters".

Something in his face cracked then, something he’d been holding tight behind all those layers for far too long. He didn't smile right away. He just looked at you.

Finally, he nodded, slow and a little shaky. "Okay", he muttered. "Let’s go".

You both climbed out of the Impala, your footsteps echoing slightly in the wide, empty space. Dean instinctively came around the car to your side, reaching for your hand, not pulling, just holding, as he led you toward a heavy metal door set into the far wall.

He punched in a code on a faded old keypad, the lock clanking open with a mechanical groan. "You’ll get used to it", he muttered as he pushed the door open, glancing back at you. You squeezed his hand in silent reassurance.

The door swung wide, revealing a long stone hallway lit by low, warm lights spaced out along the ceiling. It felt like stepping back in time. The air smelled faintly of old paper, leather, and something metallic you couldn’t quite place.

Dean led you through the hallway, his thumb stroking absent circles against the back of your hand. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, how tightly wound he was, even now, even with you.

At the end of the hall, the space opened up and your breath caught in your throat.

An enormous library stretched out in front of you, sprawling and beautiful in its own rugged way. Tall, arched ceilings. Walls lined with ancient books. Heavy tables covered in open lore books, scattered notes, and maps. It wasn’t just a bunker. It was a sanctuary.

Dean tugged you a little closer instinctively, his hand firm but careful at the small of your back. And that’s when you spotted them. Three figures were gathered near one of the central tables, a tall man with long hair you instantly recognized as Sam, a serious-looking guy in a wrinkled trench coat (Cas, Dean had said?), and a younger man who was practically vibrating with energy.

Dean let out a low groan under his breath. "Great", he muttered. "Full house".

You smiled to yourself but squeezed his hand tighter in encouragement.

Sam looked up first, blinking in surprise, then smiled warmly. "Dean", he said, his voice carrying easily through the vast space. "Didn’t know you were bringing… company".

Dean gave a stiff little nod, tugging you slightly closer to his side like he was ready to physically shield you from whatever might happen next.

Jack bounced to his feet, waving enthusiastically. "Hi! I’m Jack! You must be Dean’s Girlfriend!".

Dean groaned again, under his breath this time. You laughed softly, squeezing his hand once more in reassurance before stepping forward with a shy, warm smile. "I’m (Y/N)", you said, your voice steady even though your heart was pounding a little.

Cas nodded slightly from where he stood, his head tilting in a way that was somehow both curious and cautious. "I am Castiel", he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "It’s good that you're here. Dean has not emotionally bonded with another human at this level in quite some time. It is essential for his psychological—".

Dean nearly choked. "Alright, that's enough, Cas", he barked quickly, cutting him off.

Before you could even blink, Dean’s arm slid firmly around your waist, steering you away from the others, his hand warm and strong at the small of your back. "Come on", he muttered, his voice low and gruff. "Let’s get you somethin’ to drink".

You laughed under your breath, letting him guide you down another wide hallway. You could still hear Jack’s excited voice bouncing off the stone walls behind you, and Sam’s low, tired sigh trying to wrangle him.

Dean didn’t slow down until you were tucked safely inside what looked like a wide, industrial-style kitchen, all old metal fixtures and worn tile floors. He let go of you reluctantly, moving to the fridge and grabbing a couple of beers. "Sorry about that", he muttered, handing you one without quite meeting your eyes. "Cas, uh… he means well. Just doesn’t really do that whole ‘filter’ thing".

You smiled, popping the cap off your beer and watching him as he leaned back against the counter, taking a long pull from his. "It’s okay", you said, stepping a little closer to him. "I like them. They seem… real".

Dean huffed a soft laugh, finally meeting your gaze and the tension in his shoulders eased just a little. "Yeah", he said. "They're real, alright. Real pain in my ass, sometimes".

But there was no heat behind the words. Just affection. The kind of deep, bone-deep loyalty that didn’t come easy and never went away once Dean gave it.

You leaned against the counter next to him, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. He bumped you back, just a gentle nudge, but the way his hand brushed lightly over the small of your back again told you everything he couldn’t say yet.

Dean watched you as you looked around the kitchen, the worn-in coziness of it despite the cold stone walls, the little signs of life tucked into corners: a coffee pot that looked like it ran 24/7, mugs with cracks repaired in the handles, faded notes pinned haphazardly to a corkboard. It was lived-in. Real. Just like him. And somehow, it made you fall for him even harder.

Dean watched your face, watched the way you didn’t shrink back, didn’t judge, didn’t run, and something in his chest loosened painfully. "You’re takin' this all a hell of a lot better than I thought you would", he said quietly, voice rough but full of something almost like wonder.

You smiled at him, small, sure, solid, the same way you always did when he needed it most. "I’m here for you, Dean", you said simply. "Wherever that leads".

Dean stared at you for a long moment, long enough that you started to wonder if you’d said too much, too soon. Then he leaned in slowly, cupping your cheek in his rough, calloused hand, and kissed you. It was slow, sweet, a little tentative, like he was still afraid you might disappear. You kissed him back just as slowly, your hand resting over his heart, feeling it hammering beneath your palm.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and shaky. "God, sweetheart", he whispered, voice cracking just slightly, "you’re gonna ruin me".

You smiled, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "Maybe", you whispered back. "But I’ll take good care of you".

Dean let out a shaky laugh, the kind that sounded almost like a sob if you listened close enough, and kissed you again, softer this time, more certain.

A little while later, you found yourself perched on the kitchen counter, your legs swinging gently back and forth as you nursed the last of your beer. Dean stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the counter opposite you, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His beer sat forgotten beside him, his green eyes locked onto you, studying you like he was trying to figure out how to start.

You gave him a teasing little smile, tipping the neck of your beer toward him. "You’re staring", you said lightly.

Dean huffed out a soft laugh through his nose, shifting his weight. "Yeah", he said, voice low, almost fond. "Hard not to".

Your cheeks warmed a little, but you didn’t look away. Something hung in the air between you, heavy, expectant, and you knew he was building up to something.

Dean pushed off the counter slowly, coming to stand in front of you. His hands rested on the edge of the counter on either side of your thighs, caging you in, but not in a way that made you feel trapped. Safe. Protected. Always.

He dipped his head a little, meeting your eyes seriously now. "Listen, sweetheart…", he started, then paused, searching your face. "You know how I said this life ain’t normal?".

You nodded, your heart picking up a little.

He blew out a breath. "Thing is… it's not construction jobs and road trips or shit like that".

You tilted your head slightly, giving him an encouraging look.

Dean’s fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the counter near your hip. "You ever hear about, uh… monsters?".

You blinked at him. Then laughed. "Monsters?", you repeated, grinning. "What, like… vampires and werewolves?".

Dean didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. He just looked at you, steady and serious.

The grin slipped off your face slowly. "You’re… kidding", you said after a beat, still trying to keep your tone light.

"I wish I was", he muttered.

You stared at him, trying to process, trying to figure out if this was some kind of elaborate joke. "So what", you said slowly, setting your empty beer bottle aside, "you’re telling me you fight… what? Vampires? Ghosts? The damn boogeyman?".

Dean nodded, almost apologetically. "And demons, shapeshifter… whatever you can think of", he added.

You laughed again, a little nervously this time, studying his face for any sign he was messing with you. But there wasn’t even a flicker of teasing. Dean Winchester was dead serious. "Come on", you said, trying to smile, trying to give him an out. "You’re messing with me".

Dean’s hands shifted slightly, his fingers brushing against your thighs as if grounding himself, or maybe you. "I ain’t", he said quietly. "I swear to you, sweetheart. Every word’s the truth".

You searched his face — the open sincerity there, the raw edge of nerves in his eyes — and your heart stuttered. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t lying. This was real. Or at least… real to him. You swallowed thickly, your mind spinning.

Dean watched you carefully, like he was waiting for you to bolt, for you to laugh in his face for real, for you to do all the things he’d been terrified you might once you knew. But you didn’t. You just looked at him. At the man who had held you through the night, who had kissed you like you were his whole world, who had never once made you feel unsafe even though he carried the weight of monsters in his blood. And you stayed.

"You’re serious", you said finally, your voice soft but steady.

Dean nodded once. "Yeah", he said roughly. "I am".

You let out a shaky breath and gave a small, almost disbelieving laugh, not because you thought he was crazy, but because your heart was doing that stupid, reckless thing where it told you it didn’t matter.

Dean shifted a little where he stood in front of you, still watching you so carefully, like he was waiting for you to crack under the weight of everything he was trying to tell you. You didn’t. You just gave him a small, slightly overwhelmed smile and said, “Okay. So… tell me”.

Dean blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “You sure?”, he asked, voice rough. “Ain’t exactly bedtime story material”.

You nodded, bracing your hands on the edge of the counter behind you. “I’m listening”.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and huffed a slow breath. “Alright”, he said, voice settling into that low, familiar rumble you loved. “Where do I even start?”. He paced a little in front of you, gathering his thoughts. “Vampires are real”, he began, ticking it off like a checklist. “Werewolves, ghosts, demons. Witches, too. Sirens, banshees… shapeshifters”.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, trying to absorb it all.

Dean gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, I know how it sounds. Trust me, I didn’t believe it either, not at first.”

You tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear, heart pounding. “But… you hunt them?”.

Dean nodded. “Me and Sam… we grew up in it. Our dad was a hunter too. Been doin’ this since I was a kid”. He leaned back against the opposite counter, arms crossed loosely, giving you space. “You name it, we’ve probably killed it. Saved a lot of people along the way. Lost a lot too”. There was a weight in his voice when he said that, heavy, full of old wounds you hadn’t seen yet.

You swallowed hard, feeling the edges of your reality tilt a little. It sounded insane. It was insane. But the thing was — Dean wasn’t insane. He was the most solid, real thing you’d ever known. You nodded slowly, trying to piece it all together. “You’re like… real-life ghostbusters?”.

Dean barked out a short, rough laugh and for the first time in minutes, some of the tension in him eased. “Yeah”, he said, smirking. “Minus the whole ‘gettin’ paid’ part”.

You smiled back, still reeling, still trying to process, but you meant it. You were listening. Really listening. Even if part of your brain was still insisting this couldn’t be real.

Meanwhile, down the hallway, just out of sight, Castiel was standing dead still, his head tilted toward the kitchen in that weird, birdlike way he had when he was concentrating.

Sam passed by, carrying a stack of books. He frowned when he saw Cas just standing there, motionless. “Cas?”, he asked cautiously. “What are you doing?”.

“I am observing”, Castiel said simply, his voice low.

Jack came bounding up behind them, nearly bouncing in excitement. “Observing what?”.

Cas turned his head slightly, still keeping his focus on the conversation you and Dean were having inside the kitchen. “Dean is explaining to (Y/N) the nature of our reality”, he said solemnly. “She appears… confused. But receptive”.

Sam’s face tightened. “Cas…”, he said slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re eavesdropping”.

Cas blinked at him, looking genuinely confused. “I am… monitoring”, he corrected, as if that made it perfectly acceptable.

Jack grinned. “Dean’s totally in love with her”, he whispered loudly.

Sam groaned under his breath. “Yeah, kid”, he muttered. “I know”.

Back in the kitchen, Dean hadn’t noticed his unofficial surveillance team yet. He was too busy watching you, the way your face shifted from disbelief to curiosity to something softer as he kept talking. “You’re taking this better than most people would”, he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Hell, better than I did, when I was a kid”.

You let out a long, slow sigh, setting your empty beer bottle down on the counter beside you. Dean’s eyes flicked to the movement, his shoulders tensing slightly like he was bracing for you to bolt. Instead, you slid forward on the counter just a little, your knees brushing lightly against his hips where he stood in front of you. "You don’t seem like a nuts guy", you said softly, giving him a small, tired smile.

Dean’s eyebrows lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up in something close to a grin. "Yeah?", he asked, a little rough around the edges. "Coulda fooled me".

You shook your head, reaching out to tug gently at the front of his flannel shirt, an unconscious gesture, grounding yourself with him. "You’re the most solid thing I’ve ever known, Dean", you said simply. "And maybe this all sounds crazy, sure. But you don’t".

Dean swallowed hard, his hand lifting instinctively to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. For a long second, neither of you said anything. You just existed there — in that quiet, fragile bubble — breathing the same air, feeling the same pulse of something so much bigger than either of you could name.

"You have no idea", he murmured finally, his voice low and thick, "how much I needed to hear that".

You leaned into his hand without thinking, closing your eyes for a second, feeling the way his thumb kept moving, slow and soothing. When you opened them again, Dean was staring at you like you were the only thing in the whole damn world that made sense.

Meanwhile, back down the hallway, Jack was practically vibrating in place with excitement. "Are they gonna kiss again?", he whispered loudly.

Sam sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. "I don’t know, Jack. Maybe".

"I think they should kiss again", Jack said helpfully. "Dean sounds like he wants to kiss her".

Cas, still very seriously "monitoring" the situation, nodded once in agreement. "It would be logical", he said solemnly. "Physical affection often reinforces emotional bonds between humans".

Sam gave up. He turned and started walking toward the library, muttering under his breath, "I need a drink".

Jack and Cas stayed exactly where they were, still hovering near the kitchen doorway like the world's least subtle spies.

Back in the kitchen, Dean finally dropped his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "You're somethin' else, sweetheart", he whispered, his voice rough and tender all at once.

You smiled softly and tilted your chin up just enough to brush your lips against his, a kiss so light, so gentle, it was barely more than a breath. But it was everything. Dean kissed you back, slow, lingering, like he had all the time in the world.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again, breathing you in. "You’re not scared?", he asked, so quietly you barely caught it.

You opened your eyes, meeting his. "Not of you", you said simply.

Dean lingered there for a moment longer, forehead pressed against yours, like he needed to soak in your closeness just a little more. Then, without much warning, but still slow enough to be careful, he slid his hands to your hips, gripping you firmly and lifting you off the counter with effortless strength. You gasped, your hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders.

Dean just smirked, that slow, wicked little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he settled you against him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. "Got you", he murmured against your ear, the rough scrape of his voice making you shiver.

He adjusted his hold on you easily, like you weighed nothing at all, and started walking, carrying you down the hall, away from the kitchen, toward another part of the bunker.

You laughed breathlessly, holding tighter to him. "Dean", you whispered, your heart hammering wildly against his chest.

"Yeah, sweetheart?", he rumbled, walking like he had nowhere to be but with you.

"Where are you taking me?".

Dean glanced down at you, his eyes dark and soft all at once. "Show you my room", he said simply. "’Bout time you see it".

You bit your lip, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, but you didn’t argue. You didn’t want to. Wrapped up in Dean, pressed so close you could feel every breath he took, you felt safe.

Meanwhile, back in the library, Sam was flipping through a lore book, trying very hard to mind his own business. Jack, however, was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing slightly in his chair. Cas, standing stiffly by the table, cleared his throat.

Sam didn’t look up. He was trying so hard not to ask.

Finally, Cas spoke, in his typical, flat, utterly serious tone: "I believe", Cas announced solemnly, "that Dean and (Y/N) are going to engage in coitus".

Jack perked up immediately, grinning wide. "Really?!".

Sam closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to the table with a groan. "Cas…", he muttered into the wood. "Please. Please stop talking".

Cas tilted his head, confused. "I am simply making an observation based on physical proximity, increased body temperature, and their mutual emotional attraction".

Jack leaned forward eagerly. "That’s a good thing, right?".

Sam raised his head slowly, giving Cas a pained look. "Yes, Jack", he said tiredly. "It’s a good thing. It’s just… not something we talk about".

Cas frowned. "But Dean talks about it. Frequently".

Sam groaned again, this time louder. Jack giggled, delighted.

Cas blinked. "I thought emotional support between members of the family unit was encouraged".

Sam shoved the lore book across the table and stood up. "I’m getting a drink. A big one this time", he announced. "You two… stay here. And stop listening to Dean’s sex life, for the love of—".

He didn’t even finish. He just walked away, muttering darkly.

Jack looked up at Cas, wide-eyed. "Are they gonna get married next?".

Cas considered it very seriously. "It is… highly probable", he said after a long moment.

Jack beamed. "I hope I get to be the flower boy!".

Cas nodded, fully solemn. "I will ensure it".

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Part 4

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[darlingdream1010]

(Dpxdc)

When Danny was younger, his favorite line from a movie had been, “With great power comes great responsibility.” It felt like being in on an inside joke whenever somebody would quote it. It made the character’s journey to making the right choices with his powers even more meaningful. And above all else, the line was cool. Because that’s all that matters when you’re a kid.

Or at least, that should have been all Danny had to worry about.

-

“Welcome to Bat Burger, what would you like to order?”

Jason frowned up at the employee, whose tone was dry as bone. Icy blue eyes gazed apathetically at him from underneath black bangs.

“Jaybird, order. Wounds don’t heal themselves, I have to feed this engine,” Dick said, patting his stomach behind Jason.

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve survived on less.”

“And I don’t want to again. Two bat classics and one Joker-fries to share?” Dick called up to the window, climbing over Jason’s back to get within hearing distance.

The person nodded and slammed the window closed before Jason could rescind Dick’s order.

He whipped around, glaring at his older brother. “I’m not taking you for midnight runs again.”

Dick just patted Jason and laughed. Maybe he didn’t take him seriously because that’s what he’d been saying the past five midnight Bat Burger runs.

The window slid open again. “Move up.”

“Tha—“

The slam of the window cut Dick off.

“Damn,” he muttered.

Jason couldn’t help smirking at that. He lazily pushed them forward with the engine, cruising forward just in time for his bag to be thrust unceremoniously out of the window.

He grabbed it before their grumpy patron could think to just drop it on him. Dick snatched his burger and cradled the fries to his chest. Jason steered them over to the parking lot and jammed his kickstand down.

Dick leaned over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Here?

Jason shrugged. It was nice outside tonight. Dark, tranquil and silent. He liked the whistle of the wind and the rustle of the vines—

“JASON!” Dick shouted.

Jason was off the bike in half a second, hands on his holsters. Dick had pulled out his escrima sticks and was stinging massive torrent of vines whipping toward them. Jason groaned.

Of course somebody had to ruin his night just as he was beginning to enjoy it. He ran his hands along his belt, considering what would be best to fight the rabid plants in front of him.

Just as he pulled out his lighter and a trusty can of wasp killer, an angry male voice called out from across the parking lot.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Both Jason and Dick turned around instinctively at the voice. It was the employee from before. Dick glanced back at Jason. He nodded, and they both ran for the citizen.

“Get out of here! Run!” Dick shouted.

“Your scrawny ass isn’t a hero for coming out here!” Jason shouted.

The staff member ignored them, stalking toward the vines with a stormy expression. Dick jumped to the side, striking one of them. Jason was pretty sure he heard him say “bad dog.”

He raised the wasp killer to help his brother, glancing over at the employee. “You should really get out of the way.”

He didn’t listen, stepping into the arena of vines. Instead, the young staff member raised his voice and shouted:

“Don’t tell me what to do—YOU DIDN’T PAY!”

Jason saw Dick jerk in surprise, opening his side up completely to the plant. Before Jason could step in, the citizen lunged forward and wrestled the vine out of the air, then tore it out of the cracks in the road like it was one behemoth of a weed.

Huffing and puffing, the red-faced citizen(?) faced them, hands now braced on his knees. “I’m sorry about-“ they wheezed in another breath, “I-I’m sorry about that, it was my fault you didn’t pay. I forgot to ask for your card,” the young man apologized.

“Forget the money, what did you just do?” Jason demanded. The mass of vines was completely uprooted and just laying there, twitching with its final ounces of life.

“Sir, I know you and your friend are vigilantes and you do a great service, but this is my job…”

“I said what did you just do? With that vine!” Jason demanded again, but Dick stopped him with a hand.

He passed the man two twenties. “Will that be enough?”

The man smiled gratefully. “Thanks. I’m Danny, by the way. Sorry about the confusion again.”

“No…need,” Dick said uncertainly, watching Danny hoist the entire tangle of vines over his shoulder. He did it while wincing, but the point stood that he could do it.

Danny waved them goodbye and strolled off toward the Bat Burger dumpster.

Jason turned to Dick, who shook his head tiredly. “No. We’re not asking questions. I’m going back to my city, you’re going back to your alley, and B—actually, probably Tim—will figure it out like the big boy heroes they are.”

Jason sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Sure, man.”

[azzifudd10]

Somewhere To Land

Chapter 21: Us

7:48 a.m. — Paige’s Apartment

The morning was lazy in the best way. Eli had taken his bottle like a champ and was now sitting in Paige’s lap, squishing the buttons on the TV remote and laughing every time the volume bar moved.

Paige, hoodie-clad and one-hand functional, just grinned and let him live his best life.

“You’re too powerful,” she said seriously. “They should make baby-sized remotes.”

From the kitchen, Azzi snorted. “You just want control back.”

“No,” Paige said, “I just want to change it off ‘Cocomelon’ before I lose my mind.”

“Don’t slander classics,” Azzi called, pouring coffee.

Paige tilted her head back to smile at her. “You’re beautiful when you’re caffeinated.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I made you muffins.”

Paige smirked. “And because I’m in love with you.”

Azzi went still for a half-second — that familiar softness blooming in her chest again — then crossed the living room and kissed the top of Paige’s head. “I love you, too. You big baby.”

“Hey, that’s his title.” Paige pointed at Eli.

Eli blew a raspberry.

8:10 a.m. — Hallway Outside Azzi’s Apartment

Katie and Tim stood in front of the door, holding coffees and a small stuffed animal for Eli.

“She said she was off today, right?” Tim asked.

Katie nodded. “Yup. And she told me if I ever don’t call ahead, I’m ‘insane’.”

“So this is insane?”

Katie grinned. “Absolutely.”

She knocked.

Nothing.

Then knocked again.

Still nothing.

Tim glanced down the hallway. “Maybe she’s out with the baby?”

Katie looked at the doormat. No packages. No shoes. No stroller.

Then she noticed the slightly cracked door across the hall. The one with a hoodie hanging on the knob.

“She mentioned a neighbor. A ‘friend,’” Katie said with a knowing smile. “Maybe she’s there.”

And with zero hesitation, she walked over and knocked.

8:13 a.m. — Paige’s Apartment

Paige rocked gently on the couch with Eli in her lap and was about to steal a bite of muffin when someone knocked.

Azzi frowned from the kitchen. “You expecting someone?”

Paige shrugged. “Nai maybe?”

She got up — slowly — and cracked the door.

Two strangers stood there. Middle-aged. Warm eyes. Familiar cheekbones.

“Hi?” Paige blinked.

Katie tilted her head. “Sorry to bother you — we were looking for Azzi?”

Paige hesitated. “She’s—uh—she’s right here. Come in.”

Katie and Tim stepped inside, immediately clocking Paige’s bandaged hand, the baby in her arm, and Azzi poking her head around the kitchen wall looking confused as hell.

“Mom?” Azzi said, eyes wide. “What are you—?”

“I told you we’d visit!” Katie said, walking over to hug her. “Just… didn’t say when.”

Azzi hugged her back, stunned. “I thought you meant, like… next week.”

“I like surprises.”

Tim came over and pulled Azzi in next. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Azzi laughed in disbelief. “Y’all are insane.”

“And yet,” Katie said, turning to Paige, “this must be Paige.”

Paige stood awkwardly, shifting Eli in her arms. “Hi. Sorry I look like a mess.”

Katie stepped forward, ignoring the awkwardness entirely, and gave Paige a soft hug around the shoulders. “You’ve been taking care of my girl. Thank you.”

Paige blinked. “I think it’s the other way around.”

Tim chuckled. “Nice to finally meet you. We’ve heard good things. And bad ones. But mostly good.”

Azzi groaned, face in her hands.

8:35 a.m. — Living Room

Eli now sat in Tim’s lap, chewing on the ear of a stuffed bunny while Paige and Katie shared the couch, a little more relaxed now.

Azzi, next to Paige, kept stealing glances between them like she couldn’t believe this was real.

“You really didn’t know she lived across from you?” Katie asked.

Azzi shook her head. “Not until I told her I was moving and she was like, ‘That’s literally across the hall.’”

Tim laughed. “Fate’s funny that way.”

Katie looked at Paige. “And you’re recovering alright?”

Paige nodded. “Azzi’s been taking care of me. I’m… not good at asking for help. But she doesn’t really give me the option.”

“Sounds like someone I raised,” Katie said with a smirk.

Azzi nudged her mom. “Hey now.”

“No complaints,” Paige said softly. “It’s been… really nice. Being with both of them.”

10:20 a.m. — Quiet Moment on the Balcony

Katie stood beside Azzi, both of them holding mugs as they looked out over the street below.

“She’s lovely,” Katie said. “And clearly loves you.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I’ve never had something feel like this before.”

Katie leaned into her shoulder. “You deserve it. After everything… I’m glad you’ve got this. That little boy, too.”

Azzi looked back through the glass door at the couch — at Paige laughing as Eli grabbed her cheeks and babbled at her.

“I think he loves her.”

Katie smiled. “Then I’m not surprised you do, too.”

11:47 a.m. — Back Inside

As they packed up to leave, Katie turned back to Paige. “We’re in town for a few more days. If you ever want a break, or just someone to hang with while she’s at work, we’re around.”

Paige smiled. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Tim shook her hand carefully. “Take it easy on that finger. But I hope we see you on the court again soon.”

Azzi followed her parents out into the hall, giving them each another hug. “You’re crazy for just showing up.”

Katie winked. “Yeah, but it worked.”

Later That Night — Paige’s Apartment

Azzi lay with her head on Paige’s shoulder, Eli curled between them. The soft hum of a lullaby app played on her phone.

“I think they liked you,” Azzi whispered.

“I was terrified.”

“You didn’t seem it.”

“I had your mac and cheese in my system. It gave me power.”

Azzi laughed. “So you’re saying I should keep cooking for you?”

“I’m saying,” Paige said, kissing the side of her head, “don’t stop doing anything you’re doing. Because this… us... it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”Azzi turned her face toward her. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

[tyamisu]

military!rafe x sensitive!reader

warning! bad language, slightly smut

“Honey?”

He called out, grunting as he dropped his duffel bag to the floor. He sighed, bent down to untie his shoelaces, then stood up again, voice louder this time. “Honey? Darling?”

No answer.

Rafe frowned. Tugging his jacket off, he headed upstairs, calling again. “Baby? Where the hell are yo—,”

His words died the second he heard a sob from their bedroom. His heart dropped. He stormed inside—and there she was, curled on the ground, face buried in her palms as she cried.

His eyes widened. He rushed to her side and gently cradled her face, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “Baby... what happened? Why are you crying?”

She shook her head, still sobbing. Her hand touched his shoulder—wordless, needing. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist, whispering against her neck, “You’re okay now, baby. I’m here.”

For a while, he just held her, no words spoken. Just breathing, just silence.

Then, finally, she lifted her tear-streaked face from his shoulder, eyes red. “Am I just... a pit stop, Rafey?” she whispered, voice broken.

“What?” he breathed, tightening his hold on her. He shook his head hard, cupping her face. “Of course not, baby. Why the hell would you say that, huh?” His voice was rough, but there was a gentleness in his eyes.

“Talk to me. I’m not a damn mind reader, and I sure as hell ain’t a god who knows what’s in your heart. So please, baby... tell me. Everything.” There was a sternness in his tone, but also a quiet desperation—because her tears were killing him.

He wanted to rip apart whoever had done this to her.

But there was no villain here. Only her pain.

So instead, he kissed her softly, rubbing slow circles on her back. No words. Just comfort.

“Talk to me, darling. I’m all damn ears.”

She nodded weakly, then leaned into him, her cheek resting on his chest. His arms tightened instinctively.

Then she whispered, barely audible, “I... I feel like my period only comes when I expect a baby. So I... I feel like I’m just a pit stop for it. A disappointment.”

He stilled.

Pulling back slightly, he stared at her. “Are you serious?” he asked softly. She nodded, lips trembling. “Yes... I wanted a baby, Rafe.”

He sighed—loudly this time. “Honey, we’ve only been married two months. I just got back from deployment. I didn’t even have time to look at your face properly, who knows you have mole or whatever. How the hell am I gonna make you a mama, huh?”

She pouted, whining as she hit his chest gently. “But our neighbors wife is already pregnant! She’s like... a month in.”

“Because her husband had time to do God-knows-what to her, baby. And, I didn’t.” He cupped her cheek again, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting for the right time to make love to you so good you can’t even remember what day we have been doing it.”

Then he leaned forward, kissing her slow, deliberate. “Don’t do this to me, baby. I just got home. I missed you. All I wanted was a kiss and a hug when I walked through the damn door.”

Her pout deepened, eyes glossy again. “But I’m just sad I’m not pregnant yet!”

He chuckled, finally. Shaking his head, he scooped her up bridal-style. She yelped, arms flying around his neck, giggling now as she kissed his cheek.

“Are we gonna make a baby now, baby?” she murmured against his skin.

“Yes, we are.”

this is so cringe my lord. it's originally for simon but I already done it before and three stories already... but yeah..

I'm sorry it's really cringe (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠).

thinking about making this as series 3<

[yuma-mukami-garden-god]

NSFW (I think) Diaboys react to S/O emotional while drunk while telling their diaboy how much she loves them please :)

Sakamaki Brothers

Shu

“…You’re crying about me?”

He sits up lazily, but his eyes are wide. He’s not used to being loved this way—gently. You’re on his lap, clinging to him, rambling about how he makes you feel safe, how you love even his silence.

He tucks your head into his neck, murmurs softly:

“You’re drunk and sweet and stupid… but I think I needed to hear that.”

Reiji

“This is… highly improper.”

But his voice is tight. You’re curled against his chest, eyes wet, voice cracking as you call him brilliant and beautiful and safe. His hands hover before wrapping around you.

“…You truly mean that, don’t you?”

He kisses your forehead with reverence. “Then allow me to be worthy of it. Even now.”

Ayato

“Oi, don’t cry! What the hell?!”

He’s panicking—so bad at handling emotions—but he’s also red as a tomato. You’re drunk, sobbing against his chest, repeating, “I love you so much, Ayato… I’d pick you over everyone, every time…”

And suddenly he’s still. His arms pull you tighter.

“…Damn right you would. You’re mine. Always.”

Kanato

“Why are you crying…?!”

He’s anxious and clingy, voice sharp—but when you whisper how much you love him, despite his tantrums, despite everything… his eyes soften. He buries his face in your hair.

“You love me more than anyone else ever could… say it again. Say it until I believe you.”

Laito

“Nfu~ Bitch-chan… you’re drunk and dangerously honest tonight, huh~?”

You’re sobbing into his shirt, telling him how deeply, completely, achingly you love him—not for the flirt, but the boy underneath.

His smile fades.

“…Do you really see me? Even when I’m ugly inside?”

You nod. He kisses you—slow, trembling, almost reverent.

“Then you’re mine. Forever.”

Subaru

“Stop… saying stuff like that. You’ll break me…”

You’re curled in his lap, tearfully confessing every time he made you feel safe, every second you looked at him and thought “God, I love you.”

He hides his face in your shoulder, fists trembling.

“…I don’t deserve this. But fuck—I want it. I want you.”

Mukami Brothers

Ruki

“You’re quite emotional, livestock… I should scold you.”

But he doesn’t. You’ve collapsed into him, crying as you tell him he saved you, that you’ve never felt more wanted, more seen.

His arms come around you slowly, holding your head.

“…It humbles me. That you could love me so much. I will not let you regret it.”

Kou

“Eeeh~ You’re gonna make me cry next, Kitten~”

You’re drunkenly sobbing against his chest, telling him how much he means to you beyond his idol image. You call him human. Real. Yours.

He buries his nose in your neck and whispers,

“…Don’t disappear on me. I don’t care how messy you are—I want all of you.”

Yuma

“Oi, calm down—yer spillin’ tears all over my shirt.”

He acts gruff but holds you so carefully. You sob about how he makes you feel safe, warm, alive.

He stares at you like you just cracked open his chest.

“…Shit… You really love me, huh?”

He pulls you into his arms, presses a kiss to your temple.

“Guess I gotta stick around forever now, huh?”

Azusa

“You love… all of me…? Even the ugly… broken parts?”

His voice is shaking. You’re crying so earnestly, whispering how beautiful he is, how worthy, how he deserves love that doesn’t hurt.

He cries with you, nuzzling into your chest.

“…Then… please… never leave. I want to be yours… until I disappear.”

Tsukinami Brothers

Carla

“…Your drunken mind speaks truth your sober self hides.”

You cling to him, tearfully whispering how he terrifies you and makes you feel like you belong. That you love him in every era, every life.

He strokes your back silently, lips at your temple.

“Very well… Then I shall remain by your side. No matter how divine—or monstrous—I become.”

Shin

“H-Hey, you crying again?!”

He’s terrible at this—freaking out, awkward—but when you sob into his shirt, whispering you’d fight gods for him, he shuts up fast.

“…Dumb girl.”

He holds you tighter.

“Say it again. Say you love me. Just one more time…”

Other Diaboys

Kino

“Oho~ someone’s drunk and in love~”

He teases you at first—until your tears hit his collarbone and you whisper, “I don’t care what you’ve done… I love you. The real you.”

His smirk falters. He wraps you in his arms tightly, no more games.

“…You’re dangerous, you know. Saying stuff like that. You might actually make me believe you.”

Karlheinz

“Such raw emotion… how rare.”

He watches you cry into his robes, whispering how your love is real, not worship, not fear—just love.

He cups your face gently, eyes softened.

“…Then let me show you how eternal that love can be.”

(You may or may not end up in his bed afterward, tangled and glowing.)

Richter

“My darling… crying over me?”

He strokes your cheek, stunned by the depth of your words. You cling to him, whispering that he’s always been enough, even when the world treated him like nothing.

He pulls you close, holding you like a secret.

“…No one’s ever said that to me. Don’t stop now.”

[odearly]

ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

fucking friends and strangers, well, you love me

song by daffo

summary : you left the outerbanks as soon as you turned 18, leaving behind your family and friends to find yourself and escape your abusive father. You come back 4 years later, surprising everyone... including rafe cameron.

══════════════════════

══════════════════════

You pulled up to 'poguelandia' after driving your shitty chevy all the way from charleston, south carolina to the outerbanks. One ferry ride later and you're standing in the world you used to fit into, watching your past all run back to you.

All the hurt, all the suffering you faced on this island is running at you at the speed of your brother. You don't know how to react because you can't breathe, can't think, can't cry because there nothing to cry about.

You stood there frozen for a second before you feel your brother tackle you to the ground in a hug, knocking you out of your thoughts. "Fuck J! What the hell!" You pushed him off of you, standing up and brushing the dirt off your clothes.

He got up pretty quickly though, the rest of the pogues finding their way to the entrance of the Chateau now. Kie ran to you at light speed the moment she saw you-- you were always her favorite babysitter. She pulled you into a kinder but still squeezed hug. "Oh my god!! You're actually here! I thought JJ was just bluffing."

"Dude I wouldn't lie about that." He groaned, and walked back over to Pope, John B and Sarah. "Who's this?" Sarah asked and you saw her. Sarah Cameron.. why was she hanging out with pogues?

JJ spoke up, "Just my runaway sister, wont even give me a hug." You scoffed and walked over to him, giving him a proper hug. "Yeah well, maybe don't attack me next time."

It was nice to see your brother again, it really was. All of these memories, though, were making you anxious, angry even. You were right back where you started on the shit list of the outerbanks.

John B spoke up finally, his hand around Sarah's shoulder. "Wrap up the family reunion." You turned around to face John B and Sarah.

"John B pulled himself a kook. Sarah Cameron at that." You looked her over, wondering why the hell a rich girl like her would slum it with the pogues.

Sarah scrunches her face at that. "I don't care about that kook stuff." You roll your eyes and glare at John B, "I don't know if I can trust you, Sarah." You said very bluntly, dragging out her name like you were challenging her.

You hate the Cameron family. Rafe especially, he was in your graduating class. He was constantly teasing you for smelling bad because you didn't have hot water some weeks, making fun of you for being poor and living in a trailer, you never wanted to see him again.

"C'mon yn, me and her, were serious." John B said, looking slightly irritated. You look at Sarah again, inquisitively, looking for any chance she may be using John B. For what? You don't know but you couldn't trust a kook.

"You talk to Rafe?" You asked, trying to understand exactly whose side she's on. She scoffed, crossing her arms as John B pulled her a little closer. "As little as humanly possible."

You nodded, a simple agreement of peace. If you don't tell her anything then she can't break your trust. JJ smiled at that and looked at all of the pogues, "Alright then lets go fucking party!"

══════════════════════

sarah's story & messages w rafe

══════════════════════

a/n: hi.. so i hope you guys like this i've always wanted to do a smau but ive never actually achieved it. this story will be smau and irl.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

└➤ series masterlist 。✑ ───┐

warnings: child birth, miscarriage mention

Hattie's mother was an excellent midwife. Over twenty years of experience helping babies come into the world in over four different territories, with her little girl as her apprentice and aid. But she was old now. Fragile and prone to sickness. So when Mary Bradford went into labor with her first child, Hattie was the one called to their little house instead of her mother.

Mary was laid out on her bed in nothing but her night gown, her forehead glistening with sweat and clutching at the sheets as another contraction roared through her.

"You're doing so good, sweetheart," Hattie said as she patted Mary's forehead with a wet rag. "Won't be long now."

The young woman started crying again and Hattie shushed her, took hold of her hand and let her squeeze until it hurt. Then she panted: "I can't! I can't!"

"I'm sorry to say this, but you don't have much of a choice. This baby is coming no matter what," Hattie chuckled lightly.

"Please, please," Mary begged, took hold of Hattie's hand with new vigor and looked her square in the eyes. "Don't let me die."

Hattie remembered Mary's mother. She had been present during the birth of her youngest brother. All that blood. The screaming. Mary's father wailing and clutching at his wife like that would bring her back. Hattie knew she couldn't promise anything, shouldn't promise anything. But she couldn't help but take hold of Mary's sweaty cheek and say:

"I will try my best." Then she grabbed a spare cloth and wiped off her hands. "Now, let's check baby's positioning, yeah?"

Hattie smiled reassuringly as Mary winced and whimpered. Then her face dropped. Not a head. Two little feet. The baby was breech.

"I-Is something wrong?" Mary asked.

"Not much to worry about, but, I'm going to have your husband fetch the doctor. Just in case." Hattie wiped off her hands again.

"The doctor? No! They're only brought in if something's bad!"

"Mary." Hattie placed her hand on her shoulder. "The baby is feet down. I know how to deliver him this way but the doctor will be here in case anything truly goes wrong. I want you both to have the best chance."

"O-Okay."

When she left the room, Mary's husband was sat at a chair in the kitchen. He popped up from his seat as soon as he saw her. "I don't hear any crying?"

"No, no baby yet. I need you to run into town and get Dr. Floyd."

"The doctor? Is everything - ?"

"Everything is just fine, Mr. Bradford," she reassured as kindly as she could. "But I would like him here."

"Of course!" he said before he practically ran from the house.

Robert was still getting used to riding on horseback, but he was much better than when he first started out. At least he finally had some control over the horse Jake had given to him, a beautiful chestnut mare that was stubborn and liked to nip at him. Robert wondered if it was some kind of joke on Jake's part.

But that horse seemed to understand the urgency of the situation and followed Mr. Bradford's own out to that little house in the middle of nowhere.

He could hear the screaming from outside the house. Putting a reassuring hand on Mr. Bradford's shoulder, Robert went inside first.

"Don't push, Mary! Don't push!" Hattie instructed calmly as the laboring mother cried.

It really wasn't the right moment, but when Hattie saw Robert standing in the doorway with his medical bag in hand, she couldn't help but think he looked handsome. Sleeve garters around his biceps. That vest that looked slightly too tight, a chain dangling from his pocket that connected to his timepiece. Spectacles slipping down his nose. He had a single brown curl dangling over his forehead from his ride, and she desperately wanted to smooth it back. She knew he hated his hair being out of place.

He interrupted her train of thought with a small cough. "You called, Ms. Seresin?"

"Yes!" She looked back to Mary with pink tinted cheeks. "The baby is breech."

"I'm assuming you know how to deliver a breech baby," he said plainly as he set down his bag. "What do you need?"

She half expected him to question her ability as a midwife. To completely take over the birth because he was the doctor here. But she shouldn't have expected that of Robert Floyd; she knew him better than that. He was kind and knew what she was capable of. When she told him about her midwifery after she got a call for the first time since he came to town, he seemed in awe of her. It nearly made her blush then, and it definitely made her blush now.

"What I fear would happen has happened," she replied, looking back to Mary who writhed against the mattress. "The shoulders are stuck."

"Let's get to work then, Ms. Seresin."

Twenty minutes later and the baby was free. Screaming like a banshee and perfectly healthy. A little baby girl. Mary cried tears of joy as the tiny little life was placed on her chest, and Mr. Bradford practically burst into the room to see them both.

Hattie and Robert stood off to the side, taking turns cleaning their hands.

There was a look on Hattie's face that Robert couldn't really place. A sorrow. A joy. A hurt. She had been all smiles and laughter when the baby was first born. But now she was lost somewhere else, drowning in it. A memory maybe? He didn't know. But he wanted to find her and keep her from drowning.

"Did..." Robert started but couldn't find the words for a moment. "Did you and Henry ever have any children?"

She looked up at him, lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes. Twins. They...They came too soon."

He took her hand then. Freshly cleaned and still a little wet. Her hand felt so small wrapped in his. He was warm, too. She couldn't tear her eyes away from those veins that bulged beneath his skin and a thin layer of hair. He gave her fingers a squeeze and she squeezed back. Let herself indulge, just for once, when he tried to pull away and she kept her grip on him. He didn't seem to mind, however, because after a sudden intake of breath, he dragged his thumb across the back of her hand.

"I'm here," he whispered to her.

She nodded and gripped his hand just a little tighter. Let him lead her outside to the warm sunshine, fresh air, and the sound of cattle somewhere in the distance. The tears that stung the backs of her eyes abated as she looked out across the plains to the distant mountains, as she felt Robert's thumb rub soothing circles into the back of her hand.

The good doctor had been in Colorado Springs for nearly three months. Summer had now fully set in as the days grew long and the air hot. It was hard to imagine the town without him now. He was a fixture, a constant. Especially to Hattie. His presence in the boarding house drawing room was a comfort. One she hadn't felt since Henry died. Hattie looked down at their joined hands and a sharp pang of guilt and sorrow surged through her. Sour and sobering. With a final, selfish squeeze to his welcoming flesh, she drew herself away from him.

"Thank you, Bob," she said.

"Of course." And he watched her go back inside the cottage before he whispered gently: "Hattie."

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates

[archivewriter1ont]

Thank you so much for the tag, @snips-fics! Btw I now love Crow!

Okay this is a long one, but it's an excerpt from I Know Your Name as My Brother: Adopting Echo, a work I'm really proud of for a couple of reasons. 1, it's the first longfic I ever completed. 2, I love writing just-adopted Echo and how he gets absorbed into the Bad Batch, and I actually feel like I did pretty good with this one. 3, I love brotherly/platonic love in general and the Batch are SUCH good character examples of that affection.

This is from Chapter 5: Broken Pieces (Somehow Fit Together).

divider by @stars-n-spice.

Echo nuzzled into the pillow, glad that they couldn’t see him – or that if Crosshair could, he wasn't commenting on the action. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, reminding himself that he was safe and everything was okay because he wasn’t alone. They were right here, they were with him, nothing could happen. “G’night.”

He drifted off to sleep within seconds, foggily thinking that he hadn't been this comfortable since he'd gotten blown up.

Then the terror reared its taunting head, nightmares with all their dark terrors and inescapable labyrinths of horror that he never could tell were false or real. Sometimes he would see the slaughter that had taken place on the Rishi Moon and look on in horror all over again when Cutup was eaten by a giant eel and when poor Droidbait was shot down. He’d be trying to get away with Fives and Hevy, the only ones left…and then Hevy was suddenly ripped away from them too, in a blaze of sacrificial glory that Echo had never thought he’d have to live with. Sometimes it was the shuttle explosion after he’d made it out of the maze of fortress called the Citadel, and there was nothing but fire and the smell of burning flesh, searing pain devouring limbs that he could clearly tell he no longer possessed. He distinctly remembered seeing what was left of his legs just before he blacked out for what he assumed would be the last time, and the memory never ceased to make him want to vomit or pass out. Then he’d be strapped to a cold metal surface in an even colder room, unable to fight the modifications being made to his shattered body as expressionless droids and strange figures in masks floated in the void that threatened to swallow him, orchestrating his transformation from an ARC trooper into some twisted half-machine creature that he didn’t want to be…

Tonight the nightmares took him to Kamino.

The sterile halls were flashing crimson, the red alarm signals washing across the white tile like a symbol of the blood being spilled around the city. His blood ran hot with adrenaline and the stinging fear-excitement of battle while his heart pumped in a rhythm chilled by dread. There were blaster bolts screaming around him, and through the visor of his helmet he caught glimpses of Commander Cody and Rex and Fives and –

“Ninety-Nine, no!” 

His own voice echoed inside his bucket as his vision blurred, then focused on a figure in light blue crumpled on the floor. He heard the droids’ shooting grow more frenzied as he stepped out to block the hall, his own blaster growing heated from the rapid firing, but he glanced over his shoulder anyway.

Ninety-Nine had been wounded in the leg but was struggling to his feet, trying to heft the bag along with him down the hall. He was fighting to get up, to get the ammunition they needed…

And then suddenly he was down again, this time with two blaster wounds burned into his back. 

Echo knew in his gut that the older clone wasn’t getting back up. An outraged roar broke from somewhere nearby and served as the background to the furious bolts he sent flying toward their enemies. It took him a few seconds to realize that the sound was coming from him. 

The next few moments went by in a cacophonous whirl. One second he was standing over Fives, letting bolts of energy sear holes through anything inanimate in the search for the remaining droids. The next he was stumbling to his knees, dropping his blaster and hearing it clatter to the tile as he gathered Ninety-Nine’s malformed, too-still body into his arms.

He knew he was dead. What cruel irony – dying in the same buildings where he was decanted, on tiles he’d likely cleaned a thousand times after being relegated to maintenance. Ninety-Nine should have been an Alpha, he remembered Hevy saying once, but something had gone wrong with his DNA. It had been corrupted, or maybe some of the Kaminoans had tried experimental mutations that just hadn’t worked out right. The man had never been outside Tipoca City, never seen a battlefield. While his siblings had been slaughtered in the millions on distant planets, he had been the one left behind, left to live as an outcast while the rest of the clones forged bonds with each other in the fires of battle. But he’d died a true soldier, fighting alongside his brothers…that had to count for something, right?

Echo blinked quickly, then again, trying to keep tears from rolling down his flushed face. His body was drained from the last few days and he was so tired…he really just wanted to close his eyes and sleep…

He forced his eyes open and his world shattered into pieces. He was no longer holding Ninety-Nine. 

He was holding Hunter.

The sergeant was a mess. There was blood smeared over his face and many – too many – blaster burns bored through his armor. His long hair was matted with crimson and he was deathly still, his skull tattoo stark and mocking against his pallid skin. 

Echo was horrified to realize he wasn’t breathing .

“Hunter!” His voice cracked halfway through and he fumbled as he checked for a pulse. There wasn’t one.

He whipped his head to the left to look for Fives, for Cody or Rex, for anybody , but he couldn’t find them. His frantic gaze fell on three new, familiar figures in the red-tinted dimness – Crosshair, Wrecker, and Tech, each sprawled near their discarded weapons in dark red puddles.

They were all dead. 

Echo screamed their names, but the calls went unanswered and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Black dots danced in his vision and he couldn’t see past them except for the flashes of red and gray and Hunter’s closed eyes. He tried to move but something was frozen onto his legs and his right arm. He couldn’t make them work. It was almost like they weren’t there at all.

“Echo!” 

Someone was coming for him. He heard them running down the hall, footsteps far louder than they should have been. He couldn’t see them, his eyes still fighting the spinning dots and dimness of the hall. Was he passing out? Because it sure was taking a while….

“ Echo! ” 

The voice was so close it rattled his brain. He flinched back and tried to answer but all that came out was a muffled sob. He was crying, a grown ARC weeping in front of whoever had come to rescue him and his brothers. He didn’t remember how they’d gotten here or what was happening and he didn’t want to. He wanted to punch someone, preferably the person who was yelling at him, the person who was shaking him and acting like he couldn’t see Echo’s dead brothers, like he hadn’t been too late to save the 99s…

“We need ta calm him down,” a different voice suddenly said. It wasn’t yelling but it was big and right next to him.

“Just grab him before he hurts himself!” A third voice joined in, sounding like crisp new sandpaper.

“Wait! He's just been through a traumatic year of imprisonment and a violent rescue and is currently in new surroundings. Any unannounced touch may contribute to a higher level of–”

“Kark it, Tech, he's scared .” 

Wait, that raspy voice was Crosshair. But Crosshair was dead, right? Crosshair was worried about someone? It must be somebody special for that cold devil to be concerned – one of his brothers, definitely. Echo wanted to open his eyes and see who this special person was but he couldn't seem to wake up. Was he even asleep?

“I think not touching him is worse right now.” Hunter’s voice agreed with Tech’s and Echo felt something brush against his face. It was rough and cool and felt like a palm. Someone was holding a hand to his cheek.

“Echo.” Hunter’s tone was lower now, but urgent. “ Vod’ika , please. Stop moving or you’ll hurt yourself.”

Was he moving? Echo didn’t know. He just knew his heart was thumping way too quickly in his chest and he felt like he was going to be sick. Ice was clotting in his veins and he was so cold he thought his hands were frozen, at least the one he could still feel.

“It’s okay,” the voice continued. The hand stayed on his cheek and Echo abruptly felt the world grow calmer, like the ground wasn’t shaking so badly. He could breathe a little easier and he thought he could almost see something through the black. “ You’re okay, Echo. You’re safe on the Marauder .”

What was a Marauder ?

Echo blinked and suddenly he could see. He stared up into a pair of concerned amber eyes and realized Hunter was leaning over him, dark curls framing his face in the dim light streaming in from the cockpit. There was no top bunk blocking his view to the ceiling and no mattress underneath him. He must have thrashed out of the bed and fallen to the floor. 

“You with us, Ey’ika? ” Hunter’s voice was smoky and low, like he was talking to a frightened aakhound.

Without answering, or maybe as an answer, Echo launched himself up with his one arm as leverage and plowed into the sergeant’s chest. 

Hunter’s arms were ready and waiting and closed around his shoulders, holding him tightly and pulling him close to his chest. Echo's fingers clutched the back of the tracker's blacks so tightly he thought they might rip the fabric. He couldn't bring himself to care at the moment, and he doubted Hunter did either.

That's not the end of the chapter, but it's as much I felt wouldn't be overwhelmingly huge! I am just super proud of/happy with this entire fic.

Thanks again, @snips-fics! ❤️For the tag, and for being a lovely person in an unlovely internet world!

Share a fic excerpt or art piece you are proud of — whether it is already posted or a WIP.

If it’s a completed work, also share the link!

If it’s a WIP, give us a summary of what we have to look forward to ☺️

Encourage your moots and followers to share their own creative joys by tagging them in your post!

NPT: @lifblogs @leapingbadger @pandorademos @snitchcrimsonwrites @boredzum-671 @arlothia @locitapurplepink @dizzy-9906 @jordosprout @mae-lou-ron @dangraccoon @maybe-some-words @99aceace @bonaxie @toutorii @callme-naomi @artdoc-draws @royallykt @wife-to-ct9904 @snips-fics and anyone else who would like to participate!

[your-internet-bf]

It's been a while since you've seen a doctor, and you're nervous as you follow the nurse back to my office. What's there to be nervous about, this is just a little checkup, right? You notice the nurse's manicured burgundy nails as she knocks sharply on the door. She turns to you, smiling prettily, and says, "the doctor will see you now."

You push open the door and enter quite a large room. The nurse follows, closing the door behind you. In the center is the examination table, off to the right is a small crowd of young adults, appearing to be made up of men and women, and on the left is me, seated at my desk. "Welcome," I say, standing and extending one hand. My voice is deep, warm, and smooth, and you fumble for a moment, blushing a little, before you remember to shake my hand. Your hand is dwarfed in mine, my strong fingers encircling you, and a thought flashes unbidden through your mind - what would those fingers feel like inside you? - but, come on now, that's really not appropriate...

"I have a few students with me, as you can see. Is that alright?"

"Well, yes, of course!" Why shouldn't it be?

"Excellent. Now, I'm pioneering this new full-body examination method - it's really quite extraordinary, the maladies I can detect this way - but be warned, it is, shall we say, unorthodox. Is that alright?"

Just for a moment, you see something in my eyes, something behind the genial smile and gentle, reassuring tone. Just for a moment, you feel like some specimen, some piece of meat, pinned down under the lights with nowhere to go... but just for a moment. Surely, nothing bad can happen, and I'm a doctor, aren't I? You can trust me. So you swallow your fear, and you acquiesce.

"Excellent! Let's have a seat on the table, if you don't mind, and we'll make a start. Nurse V, if you would..."

As you sit on the table, the clinical, sterile seating a little cold against your skin, the pretty nurse steps behind the table, facing you, waiting for something. From your right, I approach, and you feel again just how much larger than you I am as my broad shoulders block out one of the ceiling lights. With all these people watching you, it takes all you have not to squeeze your legs together, just a little bit.

We begin with a quick examination of your face - "you have beautiful eyes, you know," I purr into one ear. I place one hand on the side of your neck and tilt your head; god, you've been reading too much, haven't you, the way you want these strong, expert fingers to close around your throat.

"Now, open your mouth for me, please." You oblige, and I cup your chin and slide my thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. Your eyebrows jump in surprise, and you look at me questioningly.

I smile again, still inside you. "Unorthodox, remember? Now, close your mouth and try to swallow." From behind, the nurse strokes your cheek with the back of one hand, and you feel a sudden ache between your legs. You close your lips around my thumb and swallow. It tastes... clean, mostly, as one might expect from a doctor, but you can taste the sweat underneath.

"Very good, one more time for me."

You swallow again, and you feel me slide my thumb over the surface of your tongue, pressing down, swirling in circles.

"And, one more time... yes, that's it, good job, very good job."

The praise for this degrading task is more than you can bear, and you squeeze your thighs together. Fuck, it's humiliating, everyone just saw you do that... All these eyes on you, the beautiful nurse behind you, this big, strong doctor with these big, strong hands and that big fucking bulge... but no, this is just a checkup, nothing is going to happen, right?

While you were thinking, I dried my hand off and had begun speaking.

"I'm - I'm sorry?"

"No worries. I was saying, can you remove your top, please? We need to examine your heart and your breathing."

You stare at me. "Remove my - "

"Yes, remove your top. The fewer barriers between me and you, the less interference with my examination." My face is quite serious, almost bored - this really must be routine. You look back at the nurse, and she smiles slightly and nods. So you undress, your nipples betraying you, standing at attention. You blush as the crowd of students looks at you intently. The nurse lays one warm hand on your shoulder, slender fingers gripping you reassuringly, and your eyes are drawn once more to those burgundy nails.

I step in close, and you feel my breath warm on your chest. "Now, observe the stiffness in the patient's nipples - this is to be expected, given the cool air, and it's certainly nothing to be ashamed of," I say, smiling. I press my stethoscope up over your heart, the metal cold on your skin, and your mind is betrayed by the pounding of your heart. My eyes flick up to meet yours, and I grin, predatorily, and once again you feel like a piece of meat beneath the lights.

I examine your breasts, starting with your left. Enclosed in my big, strong hands, I squeeze and push, prod and pull, ostensibly feeling for any abnormalities, but the way my fingers brush over your nipples, the intensity with which I sink them into your soft breasts, heaving now as your breath comes faster... My practiced tongue rasps over one nipple and a tiny moan escapes your lips as you try desperately to hide how much you're enjoying this; try desperately, and fail.

Abruptly, I pull back. "Excellent! All seems well here." I rest one hand on your other shoulder and turn to the students. "Note the pleasure response during this section of the examination, and I hope you were paying attention to the oral technique."

I turn back to you, my eyes dancing as they meet yours. "Fully undress, if you would. The inspection must continue."

Your hands tremble as you slide your clothes down off your waist, and the nurse aids you, her lovely hands stroking along your thighs and calves as she does.

"And spread for us, please."

Obediently, your thighs open, exposing your cunt, your needy, aching wetness, to all.

"Note the beauty of the patient's sex, here. The shape of the folds," I murmur, tracing one finger along your sensitive lips, "the balanced ratio of the clitoris to the vulva overall," sliding two fingers on either side of your clit, squeezing gently between them, "the appropriate pleasure response in - "

You lose what I say as I plunge two fingers inside you, powerful and dextrous, knuckles slipping past your tightness easily. It feels so fucking good to finally have something inside you, after all this aching and teasing, and god, so many people are watching, they're all watching your pussy spread and toyed with by this big, strong, handsome older man, and now the nurse's slender fingers are across your throat and her lips are on your forehead, and she tells you that you're doing so well for me, you've been so good...

My fingers press up inside you, finding your g spot, and with my thumb rubbing on your clit, I start melting you. Waves of pleasure course through your body, you gasp, moan, whimper, and with your eyes closed you can't tell whose lips are so soft on yours, but it feels so fucking good, and all those people are watching and it makes you want it more, your back arching, chest heaving, melting under the attention, and finally, mercifully, you cum, contracting around my fingers, squeezing your thighs together, trembling, shaking, gasping for air. You hear me say something, but you're so overwhelmed with pleasure that all you can make out from my speech is "very, very good".

The hand withdraws from your throat, and I gently, gently, extricate my fingers, and settle my hand atop one thigh, fingers slick with your desire.

The nurse whispers affirmation in your ear as I address the class. "Stimulation in this manner, of the two most sensitive sex stimuli, brings the most consistent and powerful orgasms to those possessing these organs." I stroke the inside of your thigh reassuringly, before turning to you.

"The final part of this examination is seeing how well you handle penetration. I'm going to need your unequivocal verbal consent before proceeding."

The nurse leans in and whispers into your ear, "might I suggest 'please, sir, will you fuck me?'" You'd blush harder if you could.

You swallow, nervously, and there's a twisting in your gut as you say it. "Please," you begin, voice cracking. "Please, sir, will you fuck me?"

"Yes, that is sufficient. I must say, though," I warn, unzipping my jeans, "that I am quite large." I slap my cock down on your tummy, and the sheer weight of it shocks you. You've seen size like this in porn, sure, but fuck, you've never touched something like this. When you tear your gaze away from my cock, I'm grinning down at you, predatory again. "You can back out at any time, you know." My voice is low, teasing, challenging. "Should we continue?"

You nod shakily, and spread your legs a little wider.

One hand on your raised knee, one hand guiding my cock, I push against you. For a moment you realize the exam had to be done in this order; if you weren't so fucking wet, there's no chance you'd be able to take me. But all thoughts are blasted out of your mind as I push harder and slide in.

It's so fucking thick that you can't help but groan. You've never felt so full, so strained inside, being pushed in every direction; you're not built for this, maybe there's just too much, your body is rejecting me - and then I push again, another few inches, and you slam your head back against the padded table, a long, drawn-out "fuuuuuck" wrenched from your lips. You feel my strong hands brace at your hips, and with a final thrust, slamming your cervix up into your guts, moving your entire body, the ridges of my cock sliding deeper and deeper, sliding painfully, pleasurably past your walls, I'm inside you.

The nurse rests her hands on you again, and purrs in your ear, "you're doing so well for him, I know it's hard, it's so hard, but you're doing such a good job, pretty girl..."

Glacially, I pull out, allowing you a moment to rest, before thrusting in again, hands still at your waist. You sob once, loudly, and then you sink into it as I pick up a rhythm, deep, deep strokes inside you. You hear me grunting, whispering something, and I grow more frantic, impaling you a little harder, and through the wall of pleasure you hear me rumble, "nurse V, begin the overstimulation procedure."

"Certainly, doctor." She leans over you, lips fiercely meeting yours, and one of those slender hands reaches down to abuse your clit. An image of those burgundy nails on your cunt flashes through your mind as I continue pounding you, forcing you to spread for me, adjust to me, even as the nurse plays your clit like an instrument, and fuck, she's a virtuoso.

You sing a song of moans and voiceless curses under our combined mastery, knowing your audience is entranced, filled with a blazing, lusty pride. The deep bass of my voice, resonant in your skull, is saying something, but you cannot hear me; you're moaning, groaning, pleading, "yes, yes, oh my god yes" over and over...

The song swells to a crescendo and with two sudden strikes, two powerful thrusts into you, it ends with a thick, hot, sticky white wave of my approval inside you. You feel it pulse deep, deep inside, filling you, load after load delivered straight past your bruised, abused cervix.

You come back to reality with my cum spilling from between your legs, trailing thickly down onto the exam table. I zip up my jeans while the nurse helps dry you off, from all the sweat and saliva. She dabs caringly at your mouth, and you notice that the cloth is dyed the same shade as her lipstick.

"Now," I address the class, "I hope you were paying attention." I rest one hand on your aching, trembling thigh. How many times did you cum with me inside you? How long were all these people watching you writhe beneath me, begging, losing yourself in the pleasure? You have no fucking clue. "This patient has bravely volunteered for each of you to examine her, here and now, while she's available to us."

Your jaw drops. When did you agree to that? You would never - but you were begging, "yes, yes, yes" earlier, weren't you, while I was talking. You agreed. Everyone heard you say it.

"One at a time, please. And," I say to you, grinning wolfishly, "don't worry. I'll be watching the entire time."

[driftvoid]

Perhaps it would be easier to tell his mother about what he did for a living; it could take some of the weight of his shoulders and knowing his mother, she would list a fair amount of reasons why he should also tell his children about it, and it would make him feel better in the end. It was nice to think this way and in his head it could all be so easy – if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t just work in an office, dealing with files and personnel, but that said personnel dealt with aliens and that he had been doing the same thing for a few years as well. Sadly, things weren’t as easy and his head was aching, with the hypotheticals, that every question and every possibility drew up. He was too tired. He should have come home earlier, put the kids to bed and should be lying in his own now, not staring at the ceiling, but getting the sleep he deserved. But there was no rest for the wicked and perhaps keeping secrets from the people he loved most, was something he was getting punished for with a lack of sleep and aching bones, reminding him that he was getting older, too and not just the children.

“He promised to show ya summat cool? – Any idea what yer uncle meant by that? Sounds a bit dodgy.” He managed a smile at the words; eyebrows raised in question – before the smile faded quickly at his son’s changing demeanour. A neutral expression forced onto young features, and he stiffened as though he had just heard terrible news. Confusion swept over Ed’s own expression, and he wondered briefly what he had said now or what Gordy could have thought, before HE REALISED. Confusion was quickly replaced by annoyance at himself, before he shook his head quickly.

“Sorry, Gordy, I meant maybe this weekend or the next, yeah? Not some weekend way off in the future. I just wasn’t sure when Artie’s about, but… I can always give your gran a call and ask her if we can’t come round for both weekends, if Artie’s not about this time?” While he could think of nicer things to do than driving up to Liverpool on a Friday night, so that they’d arrive early Saturday morning, he also didn’t want to see Gordy’s disappointed expression again. He had disappointed his son enough for a lifetime, in his opinion, and he felt like, he was always continuing to do so. And that even though he wanted the best for his children. How did he manage to muck if all up this badly? – Perhaps it was just the tiredness that turned his thoughts so critical of himself, of how he was raising his children, and about how he lived his life in general. One good night’s sleep and the world would look brighter again.

He raised a hand and ran it over his face, as though he could wash away his exhaustion and the self-doubt, before he turned his eyes back to his son.

“I remember the one with the photos. She’ll be made up to see it, after sending most of the family album our way. – And I had to get loads of them photocopied.” Another little smile tucked on the corners of his lips, then she shook his head again, but this time more out of amusement, than anything. “Listen, Gordy, y’know you can keep secrets, right? I had my own secrets when I was yer age. It isn't illegal, and you’re not hurtin’ anyone – but y'don't need to be spendin’ yer hard-earned money on Moira or me. We’re not off too bad money-wise, and… I don’t really do all that extra work, because I get paid extra for it. It’s just… sometimes it’s important, y’know? Not more important than you or yer sister, obviously, but bein’ an adult sometimes means makin’ decisions that seem dead impossible and that are proper UNFAIR, you get me?”

Dad tended not to talk about his work much at home, which had been fine when Gordy was younger, but he's more curious now that he's coming into an age where he's starting to think about his future - about university and careers and what he wants to do with the rest of his life. And yet... He's never asked that his father tell him what he does in his day-to-day, because there's some inner voice telling him that whatever it is, it's very important. His own day-to-day follows a pretty set routine five days out of seven at the moment; breakfast, school, home, dinner, bed. Sometimes Dad was there, and sometimes he wasn't ( Gordy preferred when he was, as much as he loves his aunt ).

He hates fighting, arguing, worrying --- but it's all too easy these days. He can't help the way he gets, the way he thinks and thinks and the thoughts twist in his head until they've taken up all the energy he has left. Wasn't the separation anxiety supposed to lessen when you grew up? Is there something wrong with him? He doesn't have the capacity to worry about that right now on top of everything else ( so maybe he'll save that for tomorrow morning to add to the pile he's already got to worry about ).

"I hope he is," Gordy hums, "he promised me he'd show me something cool next time he was round at Nan's, and I can't wait for Christmas." The idea that their trip might get put off is like a sudden kick to the stomach; Gordy stiffens under his blanket as he tries to force his face into something neutral, something that isn't going to give away just how much he needs a change of scenery, needs to be with his grandmother. "---No, I guess this weekend isn't important." Was that neutral enough? Or is his inner tension escaping into his tone?

Even the subject of his presentation - the singular piece of schoolwork he's exceptionally proud of - isn't enough to fully pull him back into a better mood. "It was the one with the photos." She'd made him promise to show her the finished result when they saw each other next, and he'd been looking forward to it this whole time.

"'m allowed to have a secret," he decides, the set of his chin utterly serious, "it's not going to hurt anybody, and I'm pretty sure it's not illegal." It's a low bar, to be fair, but does he really have to tell his dad everything? "I just want to help out a bit, that's all. Then maybe you wouldn't have to work so much."