#could do with one that has summaries and contents on...

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNDONE II.

A/N: sooo 👀 i feel like we all wanted more of them, so here it is! and i think there could be maybe a part 3 as well, let me know if you agree!

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: What happened between Harry and Y/N on that one night in his office can't be undone and it is now bringing them to a whole new territory.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME! | PART I.

Presenting was never Y/N’s thing. All the attention aimed at her, watching all of her moves and listening to what she is saying, it puts such a pressure on her that always gets her palms sweating and her speech stuttering. But today, as she presents her latest report at the bi-weekly meeting, she feels extra anxious.

And that’s because of Harry.

He has always been part of this meeting, he is sitting in the same spot as usual with the same gruff expression on his face while Y/N is talking through the numbers, but today his presence is entirely different to her.

Because just three days ago he watched her come as she grinded on him in his office. 

The memories still live vividly in her mind and that’s probably because she hasn’t stopped replaying them: sitting at her desk, making her third coffee of the day, on her route home, cooking in her tiny kitchen or lying in bed late at night, it’s all she thinks about. 

It’s a shame nothing more has happened though. 

The past few days have been quite hectic, mostly for Harry. An unexpected issue has been keeping him at work late, not leaving him any time to focus on Y/N and his promise to her. All they had was a couple longing gazes, a handful of hidden touches when passing by each other and murmured questions asking if they could postpone their meeting another day. 

Y/N understands it, he is busy, a whole department relies on him and great responsibility. That doesn’t take her disappointment away every time he apologizes when he asks to reschedule. 

Now that they are locked in a room with other people when the tension between them is palpable and Y/N is trying her best to control the ache for him in her chest and lower as well.

Once her presentation is over, a few questions are thrown her way, then she returns to her seat while feeling his burning gaze on her all the way. When she dares to look up from her notes he is still looking at her, but there’s a bit of softness in them now. Maybe even a tiny smile is hiding in the corner of his mouth, but maybe she is just imagining it.

People start flowing out of the room when the meeting ends, while Y/N and Harry are lazily gathering their stuff in hopes of having just a couple of moments alone, but that’s entirely crushed when the HR manager barges in and her eyes settle on Harry.

“Harry, can I have a word with you?”

Swallowing his disappointment, he shoots a short look at Y/N who just nods and leaves and it takes everything in him not to go after her. 

The past few days have been pure torture for him as well, having her so close yet he can’t even touch her. He’s been doing everything in his power to bend his schedule so he could at least put work down early enough that she is not asleep by the time he heads home, but he did not succeed. 

“Sorry to steal you away, but I wanted to chat with you about the new team lead’s onboarding,” Rita, the HR manager explains as they head to his office. He gives her a puzzled look. “You know, Rowan, the analyst lead you interviewed.”

“Oh… but that was so long ago, I thought he didn’t accept the offer.”

“He did, but he had a 2 month long notice period. He starts tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” his eyes widen. He completely forgot about it, though now he has a faded memory of Rita asking him about when he should start. To which he apparently said this week. “Uh, okay, tomorrow it is then.”

“He is coming at ten, I’ll do the paperwork with him and then bring him down here probably before lunch. He has the ‘meet the team’ event at two. Sam, Brian, Tate and Y/N already accepted, you haven’t, but it’s in your calendar.”

“Wait, who? Meet the team with…”

“Sam, Brian, Tate and Y/N. The analysts,” Rita repeats just as they step into his office. “Since Rowan will be their team lead.”

That’s right. Now Harry remembers. Rowan James is going to fulfill the Analyst team lead position that Harry has been substituting since what feels like forever, because they couldn’t find the right person. The vacancy has also been the only reason why Harry has been Y/N’s immediate boss since she’s joined the company.

But that comes to an end with Rowan’s arrival. 

***

It’s once again past nine when Harry finally shuts his computer off. His eyes hurt from staring at the screen all day and he already has a mile long to-do list for tomorrow. This week sucks, he thinks to himself as he stands from his desk, expecting complete darkness outside his office, but he is surprised to see a sliver of light at one of the desks.

It’s Y/N.

She is sitting at her desk, phone in hand as she scrolls with a tired look on her illuminated face. Harry’s chest warms at the sight.

Walking out he approaches her and he notices the nervousness in her eyes once she spots him, locking her phone. 

“What are you doing here so late?” he asks, grabbing a chair from the neighboring desk and rolling it over so he sits right in front of her. 

“I just… thought that I could… wait for you.”

“You should be home, resting.”

“You too,” she retorts and he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips. She looks so soft and warm, he must reach out and touch her, so leaning forward he places a hand on her thigh and he doesn’t miss how she sucks on her breath at the contact. 

He grabs onto her with his other hand as well and pulls her closer, until he can reach her face and cup her cheek in his hand. She melts into his touch instantly and Harry realizes how much he craved to touch her for more than just a fleeting second. 

“Why did you want to wait for me, Y/N? Hm?” he murmurs lowly, leaning forward until his forehead meets hers. She just hums in reply, her eyes fluttering close. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” she breathes out.

“But I’ve been right here all week,” he teases her.

“But not… like that.” It comes out as a whine, her hands grab onto his shirt at his stomach, tugging on the fabric needily. 

“Like what?” His nose brushes against hers, his lips only a breath away from mouth. She squirms when one of his hands slips down to her neck. He is going insane at how responsive she is, just one touch and she trembles, giving away just how much she wants him. 

Fucking addictive. 

“I want you, like… last time…” 

It’s clear to him how bashful she is, talking about what happened between them, but he is eager to hear her say it out loud.

“What did we do last time?” He angles her face so his lips could press against her cheek while his other hand wanders down to her lap, sneakily slipping between her legs. He feels the heat instantly and when he gently presses against her clothed center, she moans shamelessly and Harry’s cock twitches in an instant. 

“We… we…” Now she is struggling, because he is slowly stroking her, teasing and playing with her.

“Come on, baby. Say it for me.”

“We… Y-you made me come,” she finally answers and Harry hums approvingly before gently biting her jawline, then presses a kiss to the same spot. 

“That’s right, how?” He pushes his fingers against her slightly harder and faster now, her hips start rocking at the same pace, eager for more friction. She lets go of his shirt and her hands grab onto the base of his neck as if she is about to fall and she needs leverage.

“I was… It’s…” Words get lost on her tongue, her thoughts are a mess and incoherent as she feels herself inching towards her orgasm. 

“Come on, Y/N. I want to hear from you. I won’t make you come now until you say it.”

To emphasize that he is serious, he retreats his hand and she hisses unhappily at the lack of it instantly. Her eyes pop open and he loves the fire in them, almost angry at him. It’s such a turn on for him, he would love to fuck her until she turns back into her soft, sweet, submissive self. 

“You made me grind on your hard cock until I came.”

Her words come out crystal clear, none of the shyness is there that kept her stuttering before. Harry’s grin grows wide and his hand returns between her legs to finish what he started. 

It doesn’t take long before her breath hitches as her orgasm blows up and when her lips part, he is quick to swallow her moans, kissing her so roughly it’s almost painful, but it just makes her climax even stronger. 

“You are so fucking beautiful when you come undone from my touch.” He keeps kissing her, softer and softer until he is basically just pressing his lips against hers while she is still trying to catch her breath. 

Once her head clears her eyes instantly snap down at his lap, the outline of his hard cock making his lust quite undeniably. 

“No, Y/N.”

“Again?” She almost pouts, her hands falling to his thighs, gently rubbing them up and down. 

“I told you. If you touch my cock right now, there is no going back, but this is not the right time and place.”

“But when?” she practically whines. 

“Friday? I’m hoping to finish at a human time,” he chuckles softly, placing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“Okay,” she nods, defeated.

“Don’t be so sad. I promise to make up for the delay.” He flashes a devilish smile at her before kissing her hard, then standing up. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

***

Y/N arrives at work with a buzz and it’s not because of the end of the work week. Well, kind of, because that also means she is finally meeting Harry outside of the office. 

He texted her last night, assuring her that he will put everything down once the clock hits 5 o’clock and then asked for her address so he could send a taxi to pick her up and drive her to his place later in the evening. And now Y/N can’t wait for the day to be over so she could head home, have an everything-shower and then finally do what she’s been wanting to do not just all day but probably since her interview months ago.

Focusing on her work is harder now, but she somehow manages to get into the flow, so when her calendar’s reminder pops up about a meeting starting in ten minutes, she has to snap out of all those numbers and tables that sucked her right in. 

Then she realizes she is about to meet her new boss. 

She meets her teammates halfway to the meeting room and they walk in, finding Harry already in there with an unknown man. Harry’s eyes flicker at Y/N for a short second, but she can’t read anything in them as he stands from his seat.

“Hello everyone. I would like to introduce you to Rowan James, your new team lead,” Harry announces.

Rowan James is an objectively attractive guy, Y/N can’t deny that. In his tailored navy blue suit and crispy, white shirt, hair tousled just enough to give him that slightly unfinished look while still appearing put-together. His warm brown eyes swipe over the team before he walks over and shakes hands with everyone. 

His hold is firm, but not painful and he pays extra attention to listen to their names to learn them as fast as possible. If Y/N met him a couple of months ago or even two weeks ago, she probably would have had a fleeting crush on him. But now, as her gaze slides over to Harry all she can think about is what he has planned for her for tonight. 

She cannot look at other men the same way she did before him. 

“It’s so nice to meet you, I’m looking forward to having a one-on-one session with all of you.”

“I will be onboarding Rowan in the next weeks, gradually handing over all tasks, but I would like you all to evaluate the tasks you currently have and should be handed over as well.”

Y/N straightens her back as if she is sitting across from a teacher. Harry is radiating  authority, he has that expression on that’s all business, focused and professional. It could be scary, but for Y/N it has always brought an odd sense of comfort, because she knew whatever they had to handle, they would succeed no matter what if Harry looked like that. 

They talk a bit about themselves, hobbies, interests and then start to map out how they can all work together to make Rowan’s onboarding as smooth as possible. When the meeting is over everyone has their own action items and Y/N knows they got this. However, Harry seems somewhat… grumpy. As people start going their own way she tries to have a word with him, but he is busy instructing Rowan about something on his computer, so she leaves as well and carries on with her day. 

***

Harry feels off. 

He’s been having non-stop meetings with Rowan and everyone else he will be working with and he is trying his best to do a thorough handover while taking care of his own tasks as well, so it’s a crammed day. Rowan is nice, has good humor, a pleasant guy to be around and yet…

Something feels off. 

Harry can’t put his finger on it, the feeling settles in his chest and keeps bugging him all day, but realization hits him sometime in the afternoon when he sees Rowan sitting next to Y/N at her desk, looking at her screen.

It’s a simple scene, Y/N is talking about their ticketing system and how they usually assign tasks between each other, nothing unusual, but when he sees them share a laugh at something, everything clicks. 

He is jealous. 

Rowan is a good looking bloke, nice and smart, exactly like the kind of guy Harry imagines Y/N go for and seeing them work together just amplifies that thought in his mind. As he returns to his office and joins another call he is still musing over how he feels possessive over her even though she is not even hers. 

But he’s the one who’s made her come the last two times… Or is he?

The thought of Y/N messing around with someone else makes him feral. The call he is in is long forgotten, all he can think about is how crazy he is going over her and by the time he ends the call he knows he should clear the air out before he touches her tonight. 

***

She feels like before her first ever date in high school. Jittery, nervous, kind of lost. 

The taxi picks her up at seven, sharp, and then she is on her way to Harry’s place. Even the thought makes her stomach churn, it all kind of feels like a fever dream still. 

How is it going to be? What will happen? What if she messes up? Will he kick her out right after? 

When she gets out of the taxi in front of the luxurious apartment building, her hands are shaking and she thinks about just walking away, but she also wants this so much, she would regret not even trying. In the elevator she watches the numbers change, taking deep breaths after every fifth floor. And then she arrives at the twenty-seventh floor, the door opens and there she is, standing in front of his front door. Just when she is about to knock, it opens, revealing him. 

Harry stands there barefoot, in the same outfit he wore today, but the first few buttons are now undone on his shirt, revealing his tattooed chest, some hair and also a thin chain with a pendant that’s hidden from her eyes for now. 

“Come on in,” he softly murmurs, holding the door open for her. 

The place is somewhat what she expected, tasteful, expensive but not loudly, though it’s cozier than she imagined. Seemingly, Harry likes art, paintings, sculptures, books, there is something in almost every corner. 

Harry leads her into the open concept kitchen and she spots two wine glasses on the counter already. 

“Would you like a glass?”

“Sure,” she nods and lets out a shaky breath that catches his attention. 

“You don’t have to, Y/N. It’s all on you.”

He is talking about the wine, but at the same time, something else too. 

“I know. A glass sounds good,” she nods with a soft smile and watches him grab a bottle from the fridge and then pour some into both glasses, handing her one. 

She feels out of place and quite unsure what should be happening right now. Are they just gonna drink and talk? Or shouldn’t they just jump right into the fun?

“I wanted to talk to you first,” Harry says as if he could read her mind. He is leaning against the counter while Y/N is by the kitchen island, they have a decent distance between them, but it could be crossed with just one stride. 

“Okay.”

“I assume that since you’re here, you still feel the same way about… me.”

Heat creeps up her neck, to her cheeks and ears. She just nods, confirming his words.

“Good.” A tiny smile tugs on the corners of his mouth and it’s a relief, seeing this reaction, because he’s been acting quite distant towards her all day. 

Harry takes a sip from his wine and she mirrors him, doing the same, then he puts the glass down while she keeps it in her hands, just to busy them. 

“Are you in any type of relationship with someone else?”

Her mouth runs dry at his question.

“N-no. Are you?” 

“No,” he answers firmly. “Are you planning to be sexually active with someone else if we take this further?”

“I’m not a hooker,” she scoffs, finally understanding what it’s about. 

“I’m aware. But you’re an attractive, smart, wonderful woman who has every right to have fun with multiple men parallelly.”

She finds it hilarious that Harry thinks she is one, the type to hook up with more guys at the same time and two, she can get more than one guy to hook up with her. 

Because finding just one had been hard for her. 

Harry exhales through his nose and she notices a change in him. His shoulders fall and his expression looks almost… tortured.

“I don’t share, Y/N. If you plan on hooking up with others, then just tell me now, because I can’t–”

“I don’t want to hook up with others,” she blurts out. “I only want you.”

The vulnerability of her confession tightens her chest and the way he is inspecting her doesn’t change, but then she sees the fire in his gaze, though he is obviously trying to hold it back. 

“What about if you meet someone new?” he challenges. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Is this… about my new team leader?” Harry’s lack of answer talks for him. “I don’t want anything from him. I don’t want anything from anyone else.”

It’s hard for her to believe Harry is asking her all these questions because he’s jealous, but the look on his face clearly gives away his doubts right now. 

“He just seemed like… a great guy.”

“Yeah,” she nods, putting her own glass down before folding her arms over her chest. “He is a great guy.”

Harry’s jaw flexes and he nods, his annoyance and jealousy is now quite amusing to her, but she doesn’t want to push him more.

“But I don’t want him to bend over his desk and fuck me until I forget my own name.” 

The fire she saw in his eyes earlier is now a full on, raging wildfire that’s consuming everything around. His eyes drag down her body, taking his time without any shame as he drinks in the sight of all of her curves before his gaze drags back up to her eyes. She is throbbing just from his look.

“I need your consent, Y/N,” he firmly says. “I need to hear that you’re not here because you feel obligated, because I’m in a higher position. You have to say it before I touch you.”

“I’m here because I want you, it has nothing to do with your position or your power in the company. You have my full consent–”

That’s all he needed. He finally takes that one long stride and his lips smash against hers in a hungry, demanding kiss as his hands grab her face, pulling her into him even though she possibly can’t be closer as he is pushing her against the kitchen island with his hips. Suddenly, everything is forgotten, her nervousness and fears, his doubts and jealousy, it’s just their combined want and lust for each other. 

Harry loosens up his push against her just enough so that he can grab the hem of her shirt and get rid of it, throwing it to the side while her fingers start working his shirt’s buttons. Once his chest is revealed, she wastes no time gluing her palms onto his pecks, fingers digging into his flesh, loving the feeling of the muscles moving underneath them as Harry takes the shirt off. 

She gasps shortly when he grabs the back of her thighs and lifts her up into his arms while his lips start kissing and nibbling on the soft skin right underneath her jawline. Y/N can sense that they are moving somewhere, but her eyes are rolled back from the sensation his tongue is giving her against her heated skin. They don’t move too far though and Harry puts her back down to her wobbly feet, she is standing now on something softer, a rug, then pulls away and she almost starts protesting, but then her gaze meets his and the words die on her tongue. 

He doesn’t say anything, just reaches down and starts undoing his pants, pushing them down his legs until he can just step out of them, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. It’s an invitation, an unsaid one, but Y/N understands it clearly. 

Now is the time to do what I didn’t let you do before, his look says and she is more than eager to take on the task. 

She sinks to her knees with ease, her hands reaching back to gather her hair with the elastic she put on her wrist before leaving, but he is quick to stop her.

“I’ve got this,” he murmurs lowly, his palm closes around her hair and twisting it he makes sure he is pulling it just enough that he is not hurting her, but gives her scalp tingles. 

She grabs the elastic of his underwear, almost expecting him to stop her again, but when he blinks up at him, she only sees him expectantly staring down at her with slightly parted lips. So she tugs on the fabric and a moment later his cock springs free, hard and throbbing and fucking mouthwatering. 

She glances up at him again and wraps her hands around the base, feeling up the girth and length at first, giving him a few gentle tugs and judging from the way his hold on her hair tightens, he is very much enjoying her touches. Then she leans closer, eyes still up on his face as she sticks her tongue out and swirls it around the head. His cock twitches in her hands and he hisses at the sensation. Loving the reactions so far she gains confidence and then moves her head further forward, his cock sliding into her wet mouth inch by inch until the head hits the back of her throat and she pulls back. 

“Fuck, you look so good with my cock in your mouth,” he groans as she slowly starts moving back and forth, trying to take as much of him as possible, her hand playing with the rest of his length and his balls, fighting the urge to reach between her legs and touch herself as well. 

She tries to change up the angle a few times, push herself some more and make him go deeper into her throat and every time she earns a deep, guttural groan from him, a clear sign that she is doing well. 

His hold on her hair tightens then and when she is going forward, he pushes on her head just a little more, until she is gagging on him and then he pulls her back and up onto her feet. She is still a mess, tears and her own saliva is smudged on her face, but he doesn’t hesitate to kiss her, hard and eager as his hands work the front of her pants. She is quick to give a helping hand and once the pants are pooling on the floor, he picks her up again and carries her into the bedroom this time.

She gasps when she is thrown onto the firm, but comfortable mattress and Harry is quick to climb on top of her, his lips smashing against hers. His briefs are still on, though his erection is free, Y/N blindly reaches down and pushes the fabric further down until she can sink her fingers into his ass, bringing him closer, his cock pressing against her soaking wet center. 

Harry pulls back so he can get rid of his underwear and then in all of his naked glory, he takes a few seconds to admire the sight of her sprawled out in front of him in her underwear, the fabric of her panties has a clear darker spot between her legs and her nipples are poking against the thin material of her bralette. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out, one hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a few lazy tugs

Y/N has never felt more beautiful and wanted in her life, the burning lust in his eyes, the heat radiating from his body, she is now questioning every previous experience she has had, because they didn’t bring her this kind of explosion in her veins. 

Harry climbs on top of her again, he kisses her, but he is a tad bit softer this time, like he wants to savor this moment. He slips one hand under her back and easily unclasps her bralette. She wiggles it off her arms and pushes it to the side right before Harry slides lower, his mouth finding one of her pebbled nipples. 

“Fuck!” she gasps, when he gently bites it. He flashes her a smug grin before pressing a kiss on it and moving to the other one. 

He takes his sweet time kissing all over her chest and stomach, then he moves down to her thighs, avoiding to even touch her anywhere near her underwear that’s the very last item she is wearing. With every teasing kiss he presses to her soft skin, she starts wiggling more underneath, desperate to feel more of him, but it seems like he is sticking to torturing him. 

“Harry, please!” she begs when his lips are so damn close to her cunt, but still not there. 

“Please what?” he asks, hooking a finger into the elastic, but not pulling on it yet. 

“I need more!” she whines, chest heaving, hips grinding. 

“More of what?”

“You!”

Her answer surprises him, not what he wanted to hear, but… it might be even better and enough for him to give up the game he’s been playing. Finally, he pulls her panties down, throwing it to the side and when Y/N instinctively tries to snap her knees together to cover herself, something she doesn’t do on purpose, he is quick to wedge his hands between them, forcing them apart, wide open so he has a great view of her cunt, glistening from her arousal. 

Harry reaches out and drags two fingers down between her folds, softly and almost shyly, as if he couldn’t believe he is touching her and she is this wet, all for him. Then he gets comfortable between her legs, his hands on her inner thighs to keep them open and he wishes he could record the moan she lets out once his mouth is on her cunt. 

She grinds her hips against his face, his tongue moving perfectly against her clit and then teases her opening. He pays close attention to her reactions, making sure to keep doing what makes her shiver or gasp for air. When the muscle on her inner thigh starts twitching he assumes she is close, so he pulls back, climbing off the bed all together, walking over to his nightstand to grab a condom. In the meanwhile, Y/N is trying to catch her breath and fight the urge to cry at the lack of him all of a sudden. Turning her head to the side she catches as Harry rolls the condom on and then he is back on the bed next to her. He kisses her, lazily but deep, their tongues melting together before he pulls back and gently starts to rearrange her on the mattress. She obeys like a doll, ready to do anything he asks from her just to feel him some more. 

Soon, she finds herself on all four facing the end of the bed, Harry kneeling behind her and when she lifts her head she notices there is a big mirror right in front of her, allowing her to see him clearly even despite the position. Harry’s gaze catches hers in the mirror as his hands grab onto her hips, squeezing them and before moving to the next step he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her spine at her waist. 

“Let me know if it’s too much,” he tells her and she just nods eagerly, only wanting to feel him inside her already. 

When she feels his head poking at her cunt her arms shake for a moment. He wedges his shaft between her folds at first, thrusting back and forth a few times, gathering her juices before he grabs the base and positions himself to her center. 

Her mouth hangs open as he starts pushing in, watching his face twitch in the mirror as he tries to hold himself back from pounding into her without a care. Her walls are stretching, trying to shape to his size, painful and blissful at the same time. He pushes in halfway at first, stops for a few seconds, then pulls out and goes in again, this time deeper. He goes like this, inching further with each thrust until she is taking his whole length. 

He starts off slowly, but the pace quickly changes when he feels like she is used to him. His grip tightens on her hips as his thrusts get rougher, his hips smacking against her ass. Every time she feels like her arms and legs might give up she looks into the mirror and seeing him pound into her keeps her together. She watches as his skin starts glistening from the sweat and especially loves it when he moves a bit, finds a new, better angle and his head falls back as he moans her name. 

A sight and sound straight out of heaven. 

Harry notices that she is struggling to hold herself up, so leaning forward he circles his arms around her and pulls her up until she is kneeling as well, her back against his chest. She lets her weight push against him as he keeps fucking her in this new position. She looks into the mirror again, the sight of his hands gripping her stomach and breasts is so pornographic. Then he buries his face into her neck, sucking on the skin as she reaches back and rakes her hand through his damp hair. 

“I’m close,” she pants. She is practically sitting on his lap as he is fucking her from behind, the position is allowing him to reach a spot that’s rapidly pushing her towards the edge. 

“Go on, want to feel you come on my cock. Give it to me.”

His hands grope her breasts hard, his fingers might leave marks, but it feels so good, the pain paired with her nearing orgasm. 

When she finally tips over the edge her hands snap against his thighs, her walls grip his cock tight as he keeps moving. She is still riding the last waves of her orgasm when he follows, his thrusts fall out of rhythm and go even deeper if that’s possible as he releases himself into the condom. 

His movements become sloppy until he stops, but they remain in the same position, neither of them wanting to break the connection between them. 

Then gently, he pulls out of her, a disapproving whine bubbling from her throat that just earns a chuckle from him as he carefully moves them around until they are lying on the mattress again. Her whole body feels like noodles, sweat is drying on her skin, the coldness slowly wraps her in its arms, but she is way too sent to cover herself. 

Harry slips off the bed, he doesn’t fight the urge to kiss her swollen lips softly before he disappears in the bathroom. He returns with a damp towel and he carefully cleans her up while she just enjoys the sight of him taking care of her. He quickly disgards the towel and then leans down, hands on each side of her head as he holds himself up. 

Now she notices the necklace again, the cross pendant is hanging in front of her, along with a…

She reaches up to grab it and takes a closer look and when she realizes it’s a banana, she can’t help the soft chuckle.

“What?” he grins down at her.

“Has this been under your shirt all along?”

“Never take it off.”

Instead of a reply, she just hooks a finger into the chain and pulls him down until their lips meet again. 

“Do you want something to wear for the night?” he asks between kisses. She swallows back her smile, because his question means he wants her to stay. 

“No.”

“Good answer.”

Harry climbs back to bed and peels the covers from under her so he can wrap themselves, though she is enjoying him wrapped around her a lot more. Their limbs are tangled, her head is pressed against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat while he plays with her hair, occasionally kissing the crown of her head. 

“Good night, Y/N,” she hears him murmur and a moment later she is drifting off to sleep.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[agapeadaspera]

The above contains more than one example of a logical fallacy per sentence, which is a remarkably impressive rate of being wrong and bad at argument.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Ad hominem attack.

"Because masturbating to pedophilia and rape and violence towards women is not only fucking disgusting--" word-for-word an argument from disgust, one of the most basic logical errors out there.

"-but it also makes it so that you will need that type of content more and more in order to get off until the pretending isn't enough anymore." Slippery slope fallacy; also, an assertation as 'fact' something that the best of modern science absolutely does not support. I'm not love-bites-and-poetry-burns, so I actually do cite sources for my assertions - from this 2022 meta-study on kink communities, "No studies have found any psychopathological conditions that distinguish a group of people involved in kink from those who are not involved."

"Then you'll need the real thing." Again, slippery slope; again, this assertion is unsupported by fact or evidence.

"It's never been okay." This is just an opinion. I could point out that it's a gesture at a historical fallacy, the assumption that all 'good' or 'rightous' or 'pure' people throughout history would obviously agree with your points without taking into account context or culture. I could observe that it's an example of a false dichotomy, where you refuse to acknowledge alternate opinions (like, for example, that fantasy and pretend are perfectly harmless, so long as no actual people are being hurt or touched without their consent, a position supported by the overwhelming majority of modern science.) Hell, I might even point to this as an example of the increasingly-rare divine fallacy, argument that the thing you support is natural, ordained, or somehow favored by a higher power. But mostly I think it's just facile opinion in the middle of what is ostensibly a debate.

"And with you defending it so hard, I have to wonder what kinds of things you watch/get off to." This is a fun one, actually, because it's three fallacies rolled into one - we have another ad hominem, where the debator is attacked rather than the topic; we have another slippery slope, which let's be honest the entire anti movement is predicated on; and we have a fallacy of begging the question, where the arguer already assumes their premise is correct and that as a result they can use it to make value judgements about situations they have never been in and people they have never met.

"Sick freak." A lazy and uninspired ad hominem which adds nothing to the debate.

"idc." An obvious lie, which is not itself a logical fallacy except for how clearly false it is. If you didn't care, you wouldn't waste time and energy arguing your points on the Internet.

I highly suggest you familiarize yourself with the basics of argument and evidence before attempting this kind of interaction again. At the moment, you're so bad at it that it's actually giving me a headache to try to break down every individual way you're wrong.

[chvoswxtch]

crush

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you wanna show frank your gratitude for taking on a project for you, but he has other plans.

warnings: swearing, long haired bearded frank (yes that needs a warning), explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 2k

a/n: the first time I listed to crush by ethel cain I immediately thought of frank, & then I saw tons of edits with him to this song, & this has been stuck in my head ever since. I just recently renovated my own kitchen, so naturally I thought about something like this the whole time I was doing it. anyway, this is primarily for @thyme-in-a-bubble & @castawaycreature but the rest of y'all are welcome to stay. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds

All you’d done was offhandedly mention to Frank that you wanted to redo the kitchen. Some new paint, new cabinet handles, maybe spruce up the backsplash with different tiles. It wasn’t even a full blown project in your brain, more of an idea of a project for when you had the time and energy. But Frank being Frank took that and ran with it.

Needless to say, you were not at all prepared for the sight you came home to that evening.

As soon as you walked through the front door, you heard a loud mechanical whirring noise coming from the kitchen. Perplexity knit between your brows as you hung your keys up by the front door, following the familiar sound of power tools.

“Frank?”

Rounding the corner of the entryway, you stopped dead in your tracks and your breath hitched. The kitchen was in complete disarray. The cabinet doors had been taken completely off the hinges and were laid out in neat rows on top of a large canvas drop cloth that was spread out on the floor. There were sporadic piles of dark beige dust, evidence of the wood being sanded before it had been neatly painted that rich shade of green you’d been daydreaming about. There were open boxes of new tile and handles on the island, but your attention was immediately drawn away from the organized chaos and towards the source of it.

Frank was kneeling in front of the counter furthest from you, his jeans deliciously snug around his thighs, and the light grey tank top he wore had darkened in certain spots with sweat. There was a glistening sheen covering the exposed portion of his chest that made you want to drag your tongue over the tan skin, but what had heat blooming in your lower belly was the way his biceps bulged as he drilled holes through the drawer he was working on. You could see the clear definition in his arms and his back as he pushed the drillbit through the thick wood, his muscles flexing in a tantalizing way, and the droplets of sweat that cascaded down his veiny forearm were no match for the wetness that had begun to pool between your thighs.

He was so laser focused on the task at hand that he hadn’t noticed you, hadn’t even heard you call his name, which worked in your favor to be able to ogle him freely. There was rarely anything Frank did that you didn’t find attractive, but watching him work with his hands…that did something else entirely to you. Watching him do something so manly while looking so rugged with that grown out beard and that mess of unruly curls that were damp against his forehead…it made your mouth water. 

When he set the drill down and reached for the pack of screws and one of the new handles, he finally caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head in your direction. His stoic expression of pure concentration melted into something a little softer. He opened his mouth to say something, but then noticed the way you were staring at him. His dark brows quickly furrowed in confusion, mistaking the look on your face for something else. 

“What? Said ya wanted to redo the kitchen.”

“I didn’t mean you had to do it all on your own, or right away.”

Frank pursed his lips slightly with a light scrunch of his nose and gave a faint shrug of his broad shoulders, slipping the screws through the holes he’d drilled and lining them up with the openings on the back of the handle.

“Had the day off.”

That almost made you laugh. It was such a Frank thing to say, and do. Of course he’d spent his whole day off doing something you’d mentioned in passing. Frank wasn’t a man of many words, but he was a man of action. He wasn’t always vocal or physical about his affection, but you never had to question how he felt. He showed you in how he treated you, and the things he did for you. 

The sweet and thoughtful gesture combined with the way he looked right now had that flame of desire flickering in your lower belly turning into a full blown blaze. Walking over towards where he was still down on his knees, you reached out to push his messy damp curls away from his forehead, smoothing them back with your fingers, and lightly dragged your nails along his scalp in the process.

“Take a break.”

Frank abruptly paused, turning his head to look up at you with those warm brown eyes that could melt you into a puddle on the spot. He knew you like the back of his hand, and he recognized the barely concealed desire in your heated gaze, and heard the breathy need in your voice. He didn’t need to be told twice. 

His gaze flickered down to your bare thighs that were right at his eye level before he looked up at you again, and he slowly set down the screwdriver on the floor. He reached for your ankle, lightly trailing his fingertips up your calf, along the back of your knee, before gliding his warm callused hand up your thigh and giving it a squeeze, his fingers teasingly dipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

“Yes ma’am.”

A soft shuddering breath left your lips as Frank held eye contact with you while leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your thigh. Letting out a breathy laugh, you carded your fingers through his hair again, giving it a gentle tug while looking down at him with a grin.

“I should be thanking you for doing all this. You gonna let me?”

Frank let out a quiet grunt when you tugged at his hair gently, and he gripped your hips to pull you directly in front of him just to press your back against the counter, his greedy hands already hiking your skirt up to your hips.

“Why don’t you let me take my gratitude how I want it, yeah?”

He didn’t give you a chance to protest before your panties were pooled around one of your ankles and one of your legs was pulled over his shoulder to open you up for him.

Your grip on his hair instantly tightened, the strands warm and damp against your fingers, unable to stop yourself from tugging him impossibly closer with a satisfied moan feeling that first swipe of his tongue. One of his large hands gripped your thigh that was on his shoulder, digging his blunt nails into your soft flesh, and his other had a tight grip on your hip to keep you steady as you leaned back against the counter and started to roll your hips against his face.

He didn’t stop you. He gave your hip a squeeze of encouragement and moved even closer on his knees, burying his face in your soaked cunt like he couldn’t get enough, and he usually couldn’t.

“Oh f-fuck…Frank…God right there-”

Your eyes nearly crossed when he sealed his lips around your clit and started suckling, and the edge of the counter dug into your back as you arched against it, tugging at his hair with both hands now as sensual moans and breathy pleas flew past your parted lips.

As much as you wanted to come on his pretty face, the desire you felt for him was so much stronger. Giving his hair a sharper tug, you practically had to beg him to relent, which was not a simple task.

“Frankie…please…I want you.”

He gave you only a moment of mercy to gruffly speak against your drenched pussy.

“You got me, baby.”

“I want more.”

Frank chuckled as he turned his head to kiss and nip at your inner thigh.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

“Frank.”

Another deep chuckle rumbled in his chest at your desperate whine of his name, and he rubbed his rough hand over your soft skin soothingly.

“What is it, sweetheart? Tell me what ya want.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Those seemed to be the magic words, and as soon as Frank rose to his full height, you grabbed the front of his tank top that was soaked with sweat and pulled him down for a messy kiss raw with hunger and need. Frank’s tongue parted the seam of your lips to tangle with your own while his large hands roamed down your body to grab your ass and squeeze firmly. His hardened cock was straining against the zipper of his jeans, pressing against your lower belly, begging to be freed. But the second you reached for his belt buckle, he grabbed your hips and swiftly spun you around to bend you over the counter.

The jingle of his belt being unbuckled and his zipper being tugged down were dull in comparison to your own blood pumping in your ears, your heartbeat as loud as raucous thunder. You’d been holding your breath in anticipation, but all the air in your lungs was quickly knocked out when he pushed his hips forward and his thick girth stretched out your snug walls in one swift thrust, nestling so deep you swore you could feel him in your lower stomach.

In an instant you slumped against the counter, and your eyes rolled while your jaw went slack, a choked moan echoing throughout the kitchen. Frank leaned over you, pressing his chest flush against your back, one of his hands gripping your hip while his other snaked around and reached up to wrap his hand around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze.

He nuzzled his large nose against your neck, kissing and nipping at your heated skin, dragging his tongue along the shell of your ear, rocking his hips against your ass as he fucked you with slow deep strokes, even though everything in him wanted to fuck you with reckless abandon. Frank never rushed anything, but especially not pleasing you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. This what you wanted, yeah?”

Blindly reaching behind you, your fingers grasped at whatever you could find to anchor yourself to, the fabric of his tank top clutched tightly in your fingers. 

“Frank-”

“I know baby, I know.”

It was almost eerie how well he knew your body, oftentimes better than you did. He knew exactly what you liked, and exactly what you needed, when you needed it. He kept his hold on your throat, but he let go of your hip so he could slip his hand down between your thighs, strumming his fingers over your clit in rapid succession, making you writhe in the limited space you were trapped in between the counter and his large body.

He let out a grunt when he felt you clench around his cock, but he held out on his own pleasure, always making sure you were well satisfied before he even thought about letting go. He let out a quiet moan in your ear when he felt you come for him, felt the warm wetness of your pussy drowning his cock and soaking your inner thighs and the denim of his jeans.

His hips stuttered, and he let out a guttural groan in your ear as he pushed himself flush against you, gripping onto you tightly as he followed your climax. Your pulsing cunt milked his cock in a way that made his forehead drop against your shoulder, and the soft whimper it tore from him made your knees weak and made that desire burn even hotter.

Both of you were panting heavily, and Frank was peppering soft kisses along your neck and shoulder, giving your hip a gentle squeeze before he slowly started to pull out. But little did he know, you were far from finished.

Not even giving him a second to think, you straightened up on your wobbly legs and turned to face him, fisting the front of his tank top as you pushed him backwards and up against the island behind you. Frank looked down at you in bewilderment, his hands instinctively shooting out to grab your hips.

“What-”

“You got to take your gratitude how you want, now I get to say thank you how I want.”

Flashing him a devilish smirk, you kept your eyes locked on his as you sank down to your knees in front of him, and Frank’s confusion quickly transitioned into hunger, his softened cock already stirring once again with need.

“Well this is definitely fuckin’ worth all the goddamn splinters.”

[fic-girlie]

Hi! You’re my favorite writer on here :) I love all your works!! I have a request for Javier Peña where he has been trying to get into readers pants for a while now and reader has denied him multiple times because of his reputation until it’s a late night when they are both alone in the office doing a bunch catch up work and she’s stuck with him and he finally makes enough moves on her. Small detail but I was imagining him smoking a cigarette while she sucks him off and lowkey rough desk sex 🌚

Overtime

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader Summary: After months of refusing Javier's attempts at asking you out, one evening you finally give in to your desires. Warnings: explicit sexual content (+18), dirty talk, softdom!Javier, oral (m receiving), office sex, unprotected sex, p in v sex, slight breeding kink, creampie

The office remains in that special way only government offices stay after midnight — not quiet, not really still, but subdued as though the walls are bated of breath. Fluorescent lights overhead hum with subdued life, their long shadows stretching in the chill light across desks suffocated in paper and half-full coffee cups. The Bogotá humidity seeps through the windows at any hour, heavy and persistent, and the indoor air is just thick enough to suffocate in if you let it. Stale ink, sweat, and cigarette smoke scent pervades everything — all of it clinging to the fabric of the room like specters too familiar to exorcise.

You've been here for hours, drowned in dusty old case files that no one else was willing to deal with. Bureaucratic bullshit, but it needs doing, and you'd rather do it properly than have Peña scan through them and announce them finished. He's been sitting across the room from you the whole time, but there's no way to ignore him — not really. You've attempted it. God, you've attempted it. But he's made a point of being impossible to ignore.

He's lounging now, slouched low in his chair with his legs spread and a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers, looking as if he doesn't have a worry in the world. Shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, chest damp beneath the thin cotton, top buttons undone just enough to show a distracting strip of tan skin. He's barely touched the stack of files on his own desk, only reaches out to pick one up occasionally to flip through it with the disinterested boredom of a man who isn't really invested in the work anymore — or maybe just never was.

You don't have to look up to feel his eyes on you. You can sense it like heat, like a pressure on the side of your neck. His eyes are a weight that you can feel, the kind that settles under your skin and stays there, throbbing slow and low and deep. And this has been happening for months.

"You always work this hard," he says, his voice a rasp, low and amused, "or are you trying to prove something?"

You don't even look at him. Just turn another page. "I'm trying to get this done. You should try it sometime."

"I already did mine."

You don't believe that for a second.

He exhales a slow, lazy tendril of smoke, the scent curling around you before you're even aware of how close it's gotten. It hangs in the air like an accusation. He doesn't move in his seat, but you feel the shift in energy — the way his posture steadies ever so slightly, like a predator preparing itself just before it strikes.

“You sure you don't need a break?" he says, too smooth. "I could brew coffee. Something stronger."

You look up then, just a flicker, and catch his gaze — dark, steady, challenging. His mouth twists at the corner like he knows just how far he's gotten under your skin and he's just waiting for you to own up to it. Bastard.

"I don't do breaks with men who think every conversation's foreplay."

He laughs — low and rough, with that subtle gravel grittiness that only shows up when he's too tired to make things pretty anymore. "That means I'm making progress?"

You shoot him a look, sharp enough to cut glass. "You're making progress in getting on my nerves."

"That's not a no."

And it's not. And you both know it.

Since the story goes, if you wanted him to back off so badly — if you were honestly not interested, had no chink in your armor — you would've put an end to this crap during the first week. Possibly even the first day, when he strode into the office like he owned it, tie already undone like he knew he wouldn't be needing it long. You'd seen the way he moved — wild, restless, too willing to swing fists or fall into someone’s bed. The kind of man who left charm in his wake like smoke, who let it blind people to the mess he inevitably left behind him. And you hadn't wanted to be a name on that list.

But he just kept coming back. Insistent. Intent. Not in a way that made you nervous — he wasn't stupid — but in a way that made you wonder. That parched your mouth when he stood too close. That made your thighs shift under your desk when he leaned against a file cabinet, arms crossed, watching you like you were more interesting than anything else in the room. He never pushed. Never cornered. Just… waited.

And maybe that was the most dangerous thing about him.

Now, he leans forward just enough to ash his cigarette in the tray on your shared desk, his other hand braced against the arm of his chair. His shirt sleeves are rolled high, revealing forearms dusted with hair and slicked lightly with sweat. He smells of cologne and nicotine and something earthy and understated, and it hits you harder than you'd like to admit.

“You ever wonder what it'd be like?" he says quietly, voice pitched lower now, like he's afraid of breaking the moment. "If you stopped trying so hard not to want it?"

Your chest tightens.

It's not like you haven't thought about it. Of course you have. On bad nights, on lonely ones — after missions that had failed, after drinks with the others when you came back to an empty apartment and lay there looking at the ceiling. You would imagine the weight of another person, the rasp of stubble against your neck, the calloused clench of fingers in your hair. And sometimes, more frequently than you'd ever admit, it was his voice that slipped between your thoughts, low and dirty and quiet in ways it never was out loud.

You just didn't want him to know that.

"You think if you say the right thing," you whisper, slowly standing up from your chair, "I'll change my mind?"

"No," he says. No smirk. No swagger now. Just that dark, burning stare. "I think you already have. You're just too stubborn to admit it."

You don't answer. You simply make your way to the file cabinets to drop off the latest report, each step away from him heavier than it should be. You hear the groan of his chair as he rises too, movement slow and deliberate, the way someone prepares themselves for something that hasn't occurred but will. The silence between you is taut and vibrating.

"I ever make you uncomfortable?" he wants to know.

You stop.

It's not what you expected. Not from him. And for a second, the air shifts again — not with tension, but with something different. Something real. There's that line again, the one you've danced around for months. The edge of flirtation, and then… something else.

"No," you say, slowly turning to him. "That's the problem."

You don't mean to say it. But once it's out, hanging there between you like the last gasp of a dying flame, you can't take it back. And you don't want to. Not anymore.

He's looking at you like a man who's waited too long already. Still holding that cigarette, still unmoving — but his whole body is coiled under the surface. Like he's waiting for a signal. For permission. For the moment you drop the act.

"I should go," you whisper, but you're not moving.

"Tell me to back off," he says, his voice low enough it's barely audible, "and I will."

And you don't.

You simply stand there, staring at him like you're already halfway gone. Like it's too late. Like you're not certain if you want him to stop — or if you've been waiting for this so long it's starting to hurt.

He says nothing else. Doesn't need to. He reads your silence as if he's been waiting for it — sensing the fracture yawn right down the center of your guarded resistance, waiting quietly for the moment it faltered. The space between you is charged now, thick with smoke and heat and something too bristly to put into words. His eyes never leave yours, even when he steps forward, slow and measured, as a man walking into a room already in flames.

You can sense it everywhere — the low, heavy pull of something dangerous, something enticing. It spreads on your skin and down the crease between your legs as he approaches, halting just close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body. Not touching. Just there. As if he's attempting to test to determine if you'll take the first move. If you'll admit how much you really need him.

But you can't look away. You can't even breathe without taking a lungful of his smell — that smoky, leathery, male warmth that once had been a warning, but now just sluices your mouth.

He brings the cigarette back to his mouth, takes a slow, deep draw, as if he's savoring it — as if he has forever. The cherry flares bright red, shining for a moment across the harsh cut of his cheekbones and dark sweep of his mouth. And then he lets it out, a wandering ribbon of smoke curling from his lips, drifting across the distance between you before rising, misty and thick and heavy with scent, into the air.

"You're still gawking," he growls, voice low and harsh and dark-edged. "You want me to quit?"

Your response is but a whisper. "No.”

He smiles then, slow and crooked and so goddamn confident it nearly knocks the breath out of you. His free hand lifts — not to touch, not yet, but to hook into the front of his slacks. Just enough to ease the tension there, to shift the clear, heavy line of him pressing hard against the fabric. The implication is obvious. And he knows you’re looking.

"Waiting for this," he growls, cigarette now in the corner of his mouth, jaw set. "Fuckin' so long."

He leans back a bit, takes a step back — and for a tight second, you think he's cooled. But then he slumps again into his chair, legs stretched out apart, one hand grasping the armrest, the other slumped firmly against his thigh. And then he nods, slowly, consciously, eyes still locked on yours like a silent command.

You don't even think. You're already moving, already settling between his knees, that burning tension becoming something desperate, something savage. Your palms land on his thighs, warm through the fabric, muscles tensed beneath your touch. He's still smoking, still looking at you with that unyielding face — half waiting, half holding back — as if he's daring you to get this done. As if he's never needed anything more.

"Fuck," he exhales, barely audible, as you unbuckle his belt and pull down the  zipper with gentle fingers. His cock springs out, already hard, flush-colored, thick and heavy. He takes another drag, smoke curling from his lips as your hand envelops him, slow and sensual, tracing your thumb over the bead of precum on the head. His hips lurch a fraction, teeth crunching down on the filter.

And then your mouth is on him.

You go slow at the beginning, lips wrapping around the head, tongue teasing just below the ridge. He's salty and sweaty, with a rich flavor so addicting — and he groans low in his body, one hand jerking up to grip the edge of the desk. The cigarette hangs loose from his mouth now, smoke drifting up above his black lashes as he watches you slide further down, take him deeper. Inch by inch.

"Jesus Christ," he hisses, breath cathing as you drain your cheeks and pull back, then slide down once more — a little harder this time, wetter. Messier. His thighs press against your hands, and his other hand comes up of its own will, finding its way into your hair, not pushing but holding. His palm is warm against your scalp, fingers closing as you moan on him sending vibrations all over his body.

"You look so fuckin' good like this," he growls, the cigarette jumping up and down with each sentence. "Pictured it every night. This mouth. Goddamn—"

You hum low in your throat, the throb vibrating through him, and he grunts, strained and deep, hips jerking just a little bit. His control is unraveling. You can feel it in each jump of his fingers, each hiss of breath he sucks between his teeth. He's fighting not to fuck into your mouth, not to come too soon — fighting to make it last. And you don't make it easy.

You drag your tongue along the bottom of him, slow and filthy, eyes flashing up to his. The look on his face — raw hunger, blended with shock — tightens your belly up. He's gazing at you as though he can't believe you're really here, like this moment has haunted his fucking nightmares. The smoke wafts above his head in tendrils of soft, burning spirals, his chest rising and falling too rapidly now, the cherry on his cigarette burning precariously low.

"Shit," he growls, sucking in a last drag before finally reaching up, pulling it out of his lips, and grinding it out in the tray behind him. His hand is back in your hair the next moment — both of them now, gripping tight, pushing you harder, rougher. "Keep going. Fuck. Don't stop."

You don't. You want to wreck him. You want to make up for every night you went home damaged and every morning you spent pretending you didn't give a care. You want to bare him down right here, in this dull office filled with monotonous fluorescent lighting, with the stale taste of cigarette smoke still lingering on his skin.

His breath is ragged. Shorter. His thighs shudder just slightly in your grip, and you feel his cock leap, his whole body tensing.

"Gonna come," he snarls, voice raw, like he's grunting the words through clenched teeth. "You better fucking—"

But you don't pull away. You want it. You want all of it. You want to relish the moment he explodes.

And he does.

He comes with a guttural sound, hips jerking up out of the chair, both hands buried in your hair so deep it makes your scalp tingle. Hot and thick, oozing down your throat in sluggish throbs. You swallow everything, tongue licking over the tip for one final time just to hear him curse under his breath.

He's all over you like a storm finally set free.

The moment your lips part from his cock, engorged and wet with saliva, Javier's already moving—belt undone, shirt open and stuck to his body, pupils black with desire. You barely have time to dab at the corner of your mouth before his own is crashing down on yours, tongue burning and eager as he yanks you upright by the arm. His kiss tastes like smoke and naughtiness, like all the foul things he's imagined doing to you for months, now bursting into the air in teeth and groans and desperate heat. You collide with his chest, shocked at how hungry he is now the dam's broken, how wild he's become. His hands are all over the place—pulling your top from your skirt, shoving it up to grab at your tits through the lace of your bra.

"Take it off," he growls, yanking the straps down your arms himself when you hesitate. "Let me see them."

You tear the bra off and let it drop, your nipples already stiff from the chill of the office air and the filthy tug of his voice. His eyes are on them as he falls to take one in his mouth, biting hard enough you flinch before groaning low, like starving for it. His own hand is already under your skirt, up your leg, fingers shoving your completely ruined panties out of the way and finding you wet and slippery. He groans into your chest.

"Jesus fuck, baby—look at this. You're wet just from sucking my cock?"

You suck in a breath when he plunges two fingers into you with no notice, hooking them deep, thumb rubbing against your clit as he devours your chest. Your knees buckle, hips jerking, your hands grasping at the back of his neck to stay upright.

"Javi—"

"Been thinking about this every damn day. You falling apart on my fingers in this bloody office." He licks a stripe across your nipple. "Desk groaning beneath you, walls trembling with your cries."

And then he pushes you up against the desk with both hands flat on your stomach, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. Your ass crashes into the wood with a thud, legs parting reflexively, thighs slick with your need and trembling with desire. Your skirt is up around your hips, panties still bunched to the side. You feel him spit in his hand and stroke his already hardened cock again once, twice. The wet sound of it makes your pussy clench.

He doesn't get into position right away—instead, he smacks the head of his cock against your clit. Once. Twice. It makes you spasm.

"You gonna take it?" he growls, eyes burning into yours as he fists himself. "Or you gonna run again?"

"Shut up and fuck me, Peña."

He growls—a harsh, animal sound—then yanks on your thighs, pulls you to the edge, and slams into you with one vicious thrust.

The stretch burns in the best way possible—he's thick, deeper than anyone's ever been, and it steals the breath from your lungs. You bow up off the desk on a torn cry, fingernails digging for support in the slippery wood. His dick opens you up, forces deep until his hips are flush against yours and your walls flutter from the pressure.

"Fuck," he growls, head falling against your shoulder. "Tight little pussy's gonna milk me dry."

He doesn't allow you time to adjust. He just fucks. Hard, fast, merciless.

Every thrust sends you sliding across the desk, the wood groaning beneath your back, your breasts bouncing from the force of his hips pounding into you. You balance one hand on the desk's edge, the other clenched fist tangled in his hair, holding on as he pounds into you like it's everything he's ever wanted.

You can feel every ridge, every pulse of him inside you—your walls slick, stretching around him, shaking as he angles his hips to nudge against that devastating spot inside you again and again.

You shriek—helpless, breathless.

"Yeah," he growls, your face his target with hungry eyes. "Take it. You take my cock so good, baby. Knew you would."

You can barely speak. Your brain is completely fogged, your mouth open and panting. All you can do is sense—sense the wet slap of skin, the tug of his cock, the drop of his sweat from his brow to your chest. One hand stays at your hip to keep you pinned, the other slides between your bodies and circles your clit in firm, fast strokes.

"Come," he commands. "I want you to come on my cock, baby. I want to feel you clamp down on me when I fill you up. You want that, don't you? Want me to come inside you?"

You moan, legs tightening around him as your orgasm bursts.

It's blinding—your pussy clenching tight, wet dripping down his cock as you stretch around him, body trembling, breath lost. You scream his name, your voice shaking, needy and loud in the dark. He growls, hips stuttering.

"Fuck—fuck, baby—I'm gonna—"

He slams in deep and stays there, cock pulsing hard as he pours himself into you. Hot and thick and filthy. His whole body shudders, arms flexing beside your head as he growls through gritted teeth, coming so deep it overflows.

The desk creaks under the weight of both your bodies.

You’re both shaking. Drenched in sweat. Ruined.

He stays in you for a long time, breathing, hands soothing on your thighs, your belly, brushing damp hair from your face as your chest heaves and falls.

By the time he finally pulls out, your pussy is a mess—wet dripping down to your ass, his semen leaking from your swollen hole in slow, sticky strands.

He watches it for a moment, thumb spreading your folds just to see the mess he made.

“Fuck,” he mutters reverently. “That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too sore to move, too fucked-out to care that your blouse is torn and your panties are ruined and there’s a case file crushed under your ass.

He kneels down, drops a kiss on your thigh, then your stomach, then he stands up and on your mouth finally. This one is slower. Sweeter. Satisfied.

You watch him as he puts himself away, zips up with hands that are still shaking.

He raises an eyebrow.

"You coming home with me, or do I have to fuck you again right here first?"

You smile.

"You got more in you, Peña?"

He smirks. "Baby, I haven't even started yet."

[geeky-politics-46]

Yayyy you’re taking Walker requests!!! Would you be able to write about how reader finds Walker on a dating app? Maybe she’s always had a crush on him and swipes right cause f*** it, but also she’s lowkey curious. She’s surprised that they match and it’s up to you on how it finishes!!!

Swipe Right

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary: You & John matched on a dating app. Val sees it as the perfect opportunity for good PR. The two of you just see an opportunity at love.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, language, fluff, smidgen of unintentional exhibitionism.

As soon as the sentence was out of your mouth, you knew you shouldn't have said anything. The looks on Yelena's and Ava's faces immediately told you as much. The wine was what made you mention that you were debating creating a profile on a dating site. Now, about an hour later, they had created your profile themselves and were already swiping away on your behalf.

Your new profile picture was you all done up and in an evening gown at a gala Valentina had thrown to try to promote the team as The New Avengers. You had joked about feeling like a Bond girl more than yourself that night, but you had to admit it was a really good photo.

“Okay, I appreciate your help making the profile, but can I at least do this part myself? I'm the one who has to go out with these guys after all.”

“No”, Ava deadpanned without even glancing away from your phone screen. Yelena was sitting to her left with your phone held hostage.

Yelena nodded in agreement with her.

“Yeah, no. Clearly, your judgment has led us to this. So now we have to assist in the screening process.”

You snorted at that and decided that it was time to bring their own singleness into the equation.

“Oh yes, because both of you clearly have a better track record than I do.”

Yelena started chuckling and recounted your own drunken confession about why your last relationship tanked. Glancing up at you momentarily before going back to swiping.

“You told us your last boyfriend cried during sex and hit on your mother in front of you. That is far worse than anything we've ever experienced. Clearly, an intervention is needed on your behalf.”

She did have a point. Perhaps a couple extra screeners could help you avoid the worst of the bunch this time.

You grumbled under your breath as they kept on working and decided you needed more wine. Reaching for the bottle and filling all three of your glasses as they debated whether to swipe left or right on some guy for you. Ultimately, landing on left when the very last photo on his profile was yet another photo holding up a fish.

“Seriously, why do so many men think a photo of them smiling with a dead animal is attractive?”

Ava was the one who voiced what you were all thinking as she looked away from the screen to take a sip from her glass. You silently nodded in agreement with her before starting to add your two cents.

“I think it's like a caveman thing or something. Proof they can catch food or —”

You were cut off mid sentence by Yelena sitting up bolt straight and grabbing to get Ava's attention all of a sudden. Her jaw on the floor and her eyes practically popped out of her head before bursting into what could only be described as a cackle.

Ava's attention snapped back to the screen to see the latest victim that had earned that response from the Russian blonde. She immediately choked on her wine when she saw the picture on the screen.

Coughing and choking out a stunned, “Oh my god!”.

Okay, now you had to see the guy that has garnered this reaction from your fellow teammates. You had a feeling it had to mean something either really good or something really bad.

You slid onto the couch, squeezing in on Yelena's left. Her mouth still agape and her eyes were still glued to the screen. A devious plan already forming in her mind, mentally communicating with Ava, who was already in agreement.

Suddenly, you saw why they had reacted the way they did. The profile picture they were staring at was none other than your teammate, John Walker. The blonde super soldier that for some reason you found stupidly hot even though he could get under everyone's skin with a single sentence.

Before you could even open your mouth or try to survey his profile beyond the picture he had up first, Yelena quickly swiped right. A thumbs up appearing as the signal that it confirmed you were interested.

“What did you just do?! Why did you do thar?! Oh my god, now he's gonna think I wanna hook up or something! I'm never gonna be able to face him again.”

Yelena looked at you pointedly and rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on. Neither of you is fooling anyone. You are the only one who cares enough to laugh at his stupid jokes. He hovers around you like a mosquito, and he stares at your tits like all the time. A hint of cleavage he practically drools on the floor. One of you is going to jump the other sooner or later. I'm just speeding up the inevitable outcome.”

Ava jumped on the bandwagon without hesitation.

“Plus you did tell him you liked the hat. We think maybe you really do want to hook up with him.”

Your jaw dropped like they'd just irrefutably proved their point.

“The helmet? Well, at least it was better than the stupid beret. I do not want to hook up with John! He just is kind of cute sometimes when he's not in a terrible mood. He's got pretty eyes, and he can be really sweet when his ego is under control.”

Yelema and Ava's eyes both went wide as you started to process what you just said. You could hear a pin drop the room was so quiet as they let you come to the conclusion they had both already come to.

“Oh crap, maybe I do want to hook up with him.”

You dropped your head into your own lap and groaned. Just as the doors opened and all 3 super soldiers wandered in. Unfortunately, overhearing the last part of your sentence. You heard the booming voice before the doors even fully opened.

“Ooo.. who do you want to hook up with?! I love gossip! Start over!”

While Bucky made a beeline for the kitchen not bothering to pay you guys any attention beyond a nod and smile, Alexei practically ran over to the couch to figure out all the juicy details.

As John stepped into the room and came into your peripheral vision, his curiosity clearly piqued at the conversation. You quickly downed what was left in your wine glass. Moving quickly, you stole your phone from Yelena and grabbed the rest of the bottle of wine before hastily leaving and retreating to your room.

Yelling over your shoulder without looking back “No one. Nothing. Forget it. I'm tired. Bye.”

You could still hear the cackles from Ava and Yelena as you made your escape. A confused Red Guardian begging to be let in on the secret. You really hoped that, at the very least, they waited until John wasn't in the room to spill the plan they had set in motion. You had a feeling Bob had already been informed by text the second you left the room. At least he could keep a secret, something you were very unsure Alexei could do.

You avoided your phone like the plague for the rest of the night. Even going so far as putting it in your nightstand under the book you were reading. Like somehow that would provide an extra barrier against the rejection you feared would come.

Completely missing the alert that you had a new match. A certain super soldier who couldn't believe his own luck.

--------------------------------

How Val had even found out you had no idea. Hell, you had only matched with each other the night before. You were starting to get the feeling she had all of your phones hacked and probably had bugs hidden all over the tower. Your next team bonding night was likely going to be spent searching the building from top to bottom until you were all confident you weren't on some sort of hidden camera reality show.

However she had found out, she had summoned both you and John to her office to discuss “the wonderful PR opportunity that had presented itself”. You had a strong suspicion that you would need a very stiff drink afterward.

For some reason, though, at least a reason neither you nor John was yet able to state out loud to each other, you both marched into her office and plopped down in matching chairs. Like children who had gotten sent to the principals office. She spoke, and you both just listened.

“Think of it… set up by your teammates. Unknowingly falling for each other, thanks to their zany antics. Like The Parent Trap, but with weapons. The two of you finding love against all odds. Despite all of your shortcomings. Saving the world together, then falling into each other's arms. America's sweethearts. The marketability of this is insane. You're a bombshell that can throw a knife. He's a pretty idiot with a god complex. The possibilities are limitless!”

You started fumbling your words trying to come up wirh some sort of response as John sat there bug eyed and squirming. Neither of you knew how to respond. Not that Val was really asking for your input about it anyway.

“We could even televise the wedding!”

It was at this point that you choked on your own tongue. John nearly fell out of his chair. You both were barely ready to dip your toe in the pool, and she was already picking out honeymoon locations. Frankly, you were surprised she hadn't mentioned filming and monetizing that yet. Truthfully, you wouldn't put it past her trying.

“Hang on Val! Let's put the invitations on hold for a second here. We haven't even talked about even having a first date, or even if we want to go on a first date. I mean, he's coming out of a divorce, I don't even know if he is even attracted to me or anything…”

John started talking over you at this point. Trying to put aside the thought that he could possibly not be attracted to you. In reality, he was crazy about you.

“Well. That was finalized a while ago. I mean, I hadn't really thought that I was… but with you… I do really like you. You're so pretty. I just don't know if it's believable that you'd be attracted to me.”

You diverted your attention from Val to John. Still talking over his anxious rambling, but now trying to convince him that you didn't just swipe right to mess with him. Even if it wasn't actually you that had swiped.

“I swiped how I swiped for a reason. I didn't do it to mess with you or anything. I just wasn't sure if you would think it's a bad idea because of the team and working together. We don't have to rush or anything, I mean, I've been single for a while, I just…”

Both of you tapered off your rants at nearly the same time. Turning to look back at Val with no less confusion on your faces than before. Although both of you were now blushing a little. Now that you both knew this wasn't just a fluke.

Val looked thoroughly entertained watching the two of you fumble like teenagers. Her eyes darted back and forth from one of your faces to the other. A grin on her face that didn't make either of you breathe any easier.

“Oh my god. You two are so awkward. It's so sad. The American public will eat it up with a spoon! I'll start working on a press release.”

Val went back to looking through the papers scattered in front of her as if you and John weren't still sitting there dumbfounded at the conversation you'd just had with her. After a moment, she realized you were both staring back at her.

She glanced up and made a shooing gesture toward the elevator as she picked up her phone. Her eyebrows raised like she was surprised you were both still there.

“You can leave now.”

You both stood in silence and walked to the elevator, already hearing her starting to pitch couples nicknames to whoever she had called. Thankfully, the elevator doors opened quickly and closed even quicker once you were both inside.

The silence between you was deafening. The tension was so thick that you were both starting to sweat. Quickly glancing at each other out of your peripheral vision before looking away when the other noticed.

Eventually, you cleared your throat and decided to offer an escape for John if he wanted it. You weren't going to let Val push him into something he wasn't ready for. Even if the idea of being with him didn't sound too bad to you.

“Seriously, John, we don't have to do this, you know. One word to Yelena, and you know she will get Val to drop it. We can just forget about the whole thing.”

He studied his shoes for a minute before responding. Chewing on the inside of his cheek as he did.

“If you want to forget about the matching thing, then I understand. I mean, you're you, and I'm… me. I get it.”

You hit the emergency stop button in the elevator. Turning to face John and forcing him to turn to face you. Tilting yourself down to get his eyeline level with yours. It didn't take more than a moment for him to adjust his gaze so you could fully stand straight again.

“Its not that, John. Really. I just don't want you to feel like you have to go out with me. I don't want you to feel forced to do anything because Val thinks it's a good idea. If you do go out with me, it should be because you think it's a good idea. Because you want to.”

“What if I want to? I mean only if you want to, that is. If you don't, that's fine too.”

“I might want to… if you want to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay. Me too.”

You hit the emergency stop button again, and the elevator lurched back to life. The both of you both fiddled with your own fingers and stared straight ahead back at the sliding double door in front of you.

God, you two really were awkward. Maybe it would have been easier if you had Bucky pass John a note asking if he liked you and telling him to check yes or no.

John was the one who broke the silence this time.

“Okay… so maybe we can have dinner tonight? Takeout, maybe. Stay here. I think most of the others left on a mission today. Chinese?”

“Yeah. That sounds good. You know to figure this out before Val decides to announce an engagement. Be at your floor around 7? See if there's anything…”

You gestured between the two of you with one finger. Not quite knowing how to verbalize what you knew there was between you. The tension that was so thick that you could cut it with a knife sometimes. The glances and random touches that you couldn't quite explain if asked.

He nodded emphatically without adding any actual words. What could he say that wouldn't sound terrible? That he had to pinch himself when he saw you had swiped right on him because he was sure he had to be dreaming? That he found himself constantly fantasizing about you in both appropriate and wholly inappropriate ways?

No. Not right now, at least. Maybe if tonight went well, he would get the chance to live even a fraction of those fantasies. Even if it was just for show, he would have happily gone along with Val's plan if it meant he could pretend that you loved him the way he loved you. Maybe now he stood a chance. Just a chance that it could actually be real.

--------------------------------

By the time 7 o'clock came around, you were both slightly calmer than you were earlier. In your case, it was thanks to the glass of wine you drank while you were getting ready. You didn't dress up or anything in particular. You just wanted to look put together but still comfortable. Also, you put on cute underwear. You know, just in case.

John had already picked up the food by the time you arrived. You were impressed that he had remembered exactly what you always ordered. A pride blooming in his chest when he saw your cheeks blush at his attentiveness.

You both sat on the couch and started eating. Before long, the conversation started. At first, it felt a touch awkward still, but after the first time he made you laugh, you both began to relax. Eventually, easing closer to each other until you were nearly touching. He was a far cry from the arrogant stubborn man you were used to working with.

After sharing a few stories and fun facts about recent events, the conversation turned towards the dating app and relationships in general. The air immediately thickened, not in a negative way.

“So really, why did you swipe right? You don't have to be nice to me. The others certainly don't pretend to be my biggest fans. I'm not exactly bachelor of the year.”

There was an air of both hopefulness and impending sadness in his voice. When you finally looked up, you saw him self-consciously chewing on his bottom lip. His fork stabbing absent mindedly at his food. It immediately melted any desire you had to make a joke and deny how much you actually liked the man.

“Well, I do like you, John. A lot, actually. I'm just not sure how to talk about it, and I'm clearly not very good at the whole dating thing. So, yeah. Also, Yelena was actually the one who swiped for me, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't have done it myself. I just probably wouldn't have found it had her and Ava not taken my phone and made the profile for me. I'm not sure I ever would have gone through with creating one on my own.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smirk to mask your own insecurities. It was a self-defense tactic you were quite fond of. Pretend everything is fine, and they'll believe it. Unfortunately, John knew you too well to fall for it.

“Well then, I'm glad she did. I'm glad you let them. I really like you too. More than it's probably smart to admit so quickly. If it's any consolation, I'm definitely out of practice at the whole dating thing. The last time I successfully wooed anyone was high school, and we know how that turned out. So I think you've still got the upper hand here.’

You chuckled and thought for a minute.

“I guess we can skip all the basic getting to know you questions in this case. Also, in my humble opinion, this isn't bad as first dates go. One of the better ones I've been on.”

He blushed slightly at the idea that you were enjoying yourself. That you were enjoying being with him.

“Well hopefully it will be enough to earn me a second date. I do have to ask, though, why are you even on that app? You could pretty much have whoever you wanted. I mean, look at you. You're smart, talented, funny, and gorgeous. Val pretty much said the same earlier.”

You couldn't help but start to blush a little now too at his compliment. A smile blooming on his face when he saw the pink twinge on your cheeks. Knowing he put that blush there. He wasn't totally rusty when it came to flirting, but it seemed extra endearing that it didn't seem like a line but a genuine statement. Like it was clear as day to everyone but you.

“Well thank you, but don't sell yourself short either Walker. A handsome super soldier is a pretty good catch. Truthfully, my track record is full of idiots, losers, and some of the worst guys in the city. Thought maybe if I cast the net a little wider, I might have better luck, and it's been long enough. I feel okay getting back out there. With our job, you know how easy it is to feel a little lonely sometimes. What about you?”

He took a deep breath and internally debated where to start. His eyebrows quirked upwards as he thought. You didn't rush him, but it didn't take long for him to start speaking.

“Well it's finally started to feel like the divorce with Olivia is real and that that chapter is officially closed. We are in the past. Now that the team is together I've had a little more chance to reflect on just how badly I fucked that and other things up. I decided that I want to try again. Even if it's not gonna necessarily be quite as simple as the high school sweethearts thing, I think I have forgiven myself enough to see what's out there. Honestly I wasn't expecting much to come from it. It just felt like a step forward instead of backwards for a change.”

You nodded and started to take a sip of your wine. All of what he said sounded perfectly reasonable. That he was finally ready to let go of the past. You had noticed that he had finally stopped wearing his wedding band sometime in the last few months.

He did have one more thing to add. Something that was painfully honest and a little embarrassing, but he hoped would get you to laugh.

“Also, it's been a long time, and at this point, I'm also just really, really horny. I haven't been… intimate… with anyone since the divorce. A while before the divorce, actually.”

You were not terribly surprised at his admission. As tightly wound as he could be sometimes, it made sense. It did get the wheels turning in your brain, though. It had been a while for you too, especially with someone other than a random one night stand. You missed being with someone you could trust. Maybe you should just rip the band-aid off and see if you were physically compatible? If not, you could both write it off as shaking off the dust. Getting back on the horse. No harm, no foul.

Suddenly, your thoughts overpowered your body. Willing you stand and walk over to him. A questioning look in his eyes as you approached him. A confident sway in your hips. You were the predator now, and he was your prey.

Moving to straddle him, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders and slowly lowered yourself down into his lap. His hands running up your thighs and settling on your hips. His nostrils were flaring, and his breath became labored as he realized what was about to happen.

“You shouldn't.”

He said it barely louder than a whisper.

You brought one hand up to ghost through his short beard. Letting him nuzzle into your touch. His blue eyes fluttering shit and his mouth falling open.

“If you want me to stop, I will. Just say the word. We don't have to do anything if you aren't ready.”

You leaned forward as you spoke just enough to ghost your lips over his forehead. Leaving the faintest kiss in their wake. A single kiss, and he knew he was already a goner for you.

“No, I'm ready. I want it. I want you. So badly and practically since I first met you. You just… you deserve so much better than me.”

You let your fingers run through his blonde hair and pulled slightly but firmly. A soft groan fell from his lips as you pulled just hard enough to tilt his eyes up to yours. His lashes fluttering and his irises starting to cloud over.

“Don't care. I want you anyway. Don't overthink it, John.” you answered confidently. Sensual smirk on your lips.

You felt his fingers grip tighter into the flesh of your hips and a breathy huff from his parted lips. With that, you didn't hold yourself back any longer and let your lips connect to his.

The first kiss was soft and sweet. Almost reverent. John's hands stayed perfectly still, even though you could tell he was itching to pull you closer. Like he was afraid that if he let himself go, you would shatter or run from him.

You brought your lips to his neck just below his ear, whispering “you wanna take this to the bedroom, soldier?”. Before stopping to suck and nibble at the skin there. You knew with his healing ability that you probably couldn't leave much of a real mark, but you were gonna have fun trying.

“Are you really sure you want this?”

He was so unsure of himself now. It was one of the things he hated the most. That he second guessed everything he did now. He was terrified of messing up yet again.

Instead of answering verbally, you let your hips start to roll against him. Grinding yourself into his lap. Letting the heat building in your groin answer him. Already enjoying the hardness of him that you felt growing beneath you.

You kissed him again. This time, with more passion. More fire. Trying to communicate how much you really did want him. Biting his bottom lip before pulling back and whispering against his lips, “it was you I was talking about the other night. When I said I wanted to hook up with someone.” Punctuating your statement by licking at his lips before descending back in for more.

A sudden fire lit within him as he crashed his lips back onto yours. Devouring you. His tongue quickly probing to find its way into your mouth. His hands shifted from your hips to grab at the meat of your ass. Grinding his hips into yours even harder. Letting you feel how hard he was becoming for you before standing and carrying you into his bedroom.

Not even bothering to shut the door before laying you down on the bed carefully and climbing on top of you. Not letting his weight rest on you, not sure if he should, until you pulled him down further. His nose nuzzling into yours at the sensation that you wanted him even closer still.

“Please tell me I'm not dreamin’. Don't think I'll be able to take it if this is all a dream.”

He spoke in such hushed words like he was afraid something would shift if he was too loud or rough. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to get up and leave. He shifted his weight to one side and started to drag one hand up and down your side. His breath skipped when your top shifted, and his fingertips met the soft, warm skin of your hip.

“I'm really here, John. It's not a dream.”

You brought one hand up to brush over the beard stubble on his cheek again. Kissing him softly before reaching down to start pulling your shirt up over your head. Throwing it to the side. Your pulse picking up at the way John's beautiful blue eyes studied every inch of skin like you were a map to heaven itself.

He started pressing open mouth kisses down your throat and onto your collarbone. Biting at the flesh at the swell of your breast. His hands slipped behind your back when you arched into his body. His fingers hesitated when they touched the hooks of your bra.

“For fucks sake John. I'm half naked in your bed. I'm not gonna change my mind now.”

Before he could move or even think, you lowered one had down and deftly popped open the button on his jeans. Effortlessly slipping your hand inside and palming over his hard cock through his boxer briefs. His erection throbbing in your hand and making him swear under his breath as you gripped his length.

You smiled against his lips. His cock felt perfect. Heavy and thick in your palm. A small wet patch where you felt the coronal groove where his head met his shaft. He was ramrod hard and deliciously veined.

“Face it Walker, I want to fuck you, and I want you to fuck me.”

He couldn't help the way his hips roll forward into your hand. You've barely touched him, and he's already on edge. You smiled seductively at his response. Eating up every bit of excitement he gave you. Knowing that once you broke through his hard outer shell, John Walker was a passionate man who would leave you panting and breathless. You wanted everything he would give you.

“Fuck, honey. You're gonna kill me.”

You pulled your legs up around his waist and used your feet to start pushing his jeans down his hips. Giggling when you feel him yank at the strap of your bra and the sound of the stitches snapping as he yanks the hooks apart. Neither of you felt the slightest bit bad about the destruction of the garment.

John pulled away to take off his pants and shirt as you threw your bra in the same general direction your shirt went in. Quickly shedding your own pants as well. You were anxious to really feel him against you. He slowly moved to climb back on the bed with you and let you take the lead again. Pulling him to lay on his back and letting you climb back into his lap. Gently lowering your hips down to grind his bulge against where you desperately needed him.

His hands moved to cups your breasts as you kissed him slow and deep. Moaning against his lips as his thumbs stroked across your nipples. The sound of your excitement encouraging him to continue. He dropped his head to your chest and pulled one of your nipples into his mouth. Circling the sensitive bud with his warm tongue before starting to suck on it.

Your hands flew to his hair, and your hips started rolling against his. The feeling of his member underneath you creating a friction that made your head start to spin. Your hips started to roll and buck against him as he happily switched from one breast to the other, then back to the first again.

He groaned against your chest, leaving open mouth bites on your skin. Lost in the feeling of your wet cunt and the thin fabric between you that was doing little to hide your arousal.

“Holy fuck. You're so goddamn wet baby. Need to feel you on my bare cock honey. You want that? Want me to fuck you raw? Wanna hear you say it.”

You nod frantically and pull at his hair. Your hips never ceasing their movement. A moan pulled from your throat as his hips bucked up into you. His cock twitching at the beautiful sounds you just made all for him.

“Yes John. Want you so badly. Need you to fuck me. Need your cock. Wanna feel you.”

He moved before your brain could even process what was happening. Flipping both of you over so you were on your back. Pulling your panties down your legs, a gasp falling from your lips as the cool air of the room hit your sopping core. His eyes devoured the sight of you naked and exposed before him as he pushed down his own boxer briefs.

A string of pre-cum flinging from his fat pink swollen tip and landing on your low abdomen as his cock bounced up against his abdomen. Your legs spreading even further than before, your cunt clenching around nothing in anticipation. You needed to feel him.

Reaching out your arms for him trying to pull him to you and he gladly obliged. Pushing your legs back and essentially folding you in half as he lowered to kiss you. A few sloppy open mouth kisses as he slotted his cock against your spread open pussy lips. Letting himself desperately hump against you. Spreading your warm slick along his throbbing length. The wet lewd sound intoxicating you both. Both of you were perfectly content to stay exactly like that and yet needing more at the same time.

“Fuck me John. I need to feel you inside of me.”

You were the one who broke first. Reaching between you to press him down just slightly so the head of his cock caught against your aching hole. Your body was practically sucking him in. He swore he had never felt anything as incredible as your warm wet pussy hugging his cock. His head spun as his hips stuttered after his first full thrust inside you.

As pent up as he was, John knew he wasn't going to last long. Not when your cunt felt like it was made for him. Not when you were whining so beautifully underneath him. Like you were every wet dream he'd ever had come to life. He was barely hanging on as it was when you started praising him.

“Your cock feels so good, John. Yes, don't stop. Feel so fucking good inside me. So fucking big. So fucking perfect.”

Your arms looped around his neck and hanging onto him for dear life as he held your legs open. Both of you daring to look down and watch your cunt stretch around his cock. A ring of white cream already forming around the base of his shaft. Proof that you were just as on edge as he was.

“Fuck. I'm not gonna last long honey. Wanna feel you cum around my cock before I fill you up.”

All you could do was helplessly nod and moan as John reached between you and started stroking your clit with his thumb. The roughness on the pad of his finger only adding even more stimulation. Your back arching into his touch and your praise growing louder as your orgasm started to build. The feeling of every ridge and vein on his cock hitting you perfectly.

“Harder John. Please. Fuck me harder. Wanted you for so long. Look so fucking hot in your suit. Surprised you can't smell how wet I get for you. Make me cum John. Please. Need to cum for you.”

His hips started to snap into you faster and harder. Just like you wanted. His full balls slapped against your ass. Punctuating your continued chants for him to make you cum. A growl emitting from his chest as he felt you start to squeeze him even tighter. Knowing he had you teetering on the edge of release.

“That’s it, honey. Know you're close. Cum for me baby. Cum for me and then I'll fill you up so fucking good. Tell me you need it!”

A high-pitched squeal coming from your lips as your orgasm hit you hard and fast. The delicious heat in your belly spreads through your limbs. Leaving your fingers and toes tingling as John continued his assault on your cunt. The squelching between you and the bedframe creaking was hotter than any porno you had ever seen.

As you came down from your high, you urgently needed to pull John to his own. Telling him exactly what he wanted to hear and letting him take everything he wanted from you. You wanted him to cum as hard as you had.

“You fuck me so good John. Come on baby, cum inside me. Fill my pussy up. I want you to cum inside me. I need to feel your cum inside me.”

His hips speeding up to a nearly inhuman rate. One of the perks of being a super soldier. Your eyes rolling back in your head as you started to reach the point of overstimulation. Your pussy somehow squeezing him tighter still. A growl through his gritted teeth was the only sound he could make as he hit his pinnacle.

One more hard thrust, and he buried himself in you as deep as he physically could. His nails leaving crescent shaped imprints in your hips that were sure to bruise. Rutting against you in a spasm with each spurt of cum that shot from his throbbing cock. Thick and warm. Coating your walls completely and overwhelming your senses. Sending you head first into another climax.

Your cunt trying to milk him of every drop he had. Your body pulling his seed even deeper. Like it belonged rooted in your womb. Like your body craved him and finally got what it needed.

You clung to each other. Lips and teeth nipping at any available flesh within your reach. John buried his face in the crook of your neck. Holding you as close as he could. Staying there until he absolutely had to move away.

Slowly starting to untangle your limbs from each other. Falling into another passionate kiss with John's spent cock still seated inside you. Only pulling out of you to go get a towel from the bathroom. Wetting it under the faucet before returning to join you in his bed.

Running the cloth over your forehead and down the sides of your neck to cool you down before dragging it down your body. Tracing it down the center of your chest before carefully dipping between your legs. Cleaning the mess the two of you created. Wiping you down before tossing it to the side and pulling the blanket up around the both of you.

You were dazed and throughly fucked out. Quickly drifting into a deep sleep, but not before pulling his arm around you and snuggling in tight to him. A soft smile on your face as you felt John tuck his scruffy jaw into your neck. Placing gentle kisses along your pulse point until he heard your breathing settle into a steady rhythm. Only then did he let himself fall asleep beside you.

--------------------------------

The morning sunlight was what woke you both. The warmth danced over your skin as you snuggled into each other closer. The debauched sights and sounds of the night before playing in both of your minds.

Your fingernails scraped lightly through the dusting of blonde hair on John's chest. The delicious ache between your thighs making itself known as you arched your spine to stretch. The tickle of his beard stubble against your forehead, making you tilt your head upward and start placing kisses under his jaw.

A content purr came from his chest as his strong arms pulled you up just far enough that he could kiss your lips. The passion started to grow between you again before you both pulled back and flopped back down. Hoping to get just a few more moments of rest before going for round 2.

Your head lay on his chest. Placing random kisses and bites against his skin. John tucked one arm behind his head and started drawing mindless patterns on your back with the fingers on his other hand.

“Morning”

Your voice was slightly gravely from the sounds he had pulled from you the night before. Your voice alone was enough to get him going again, but the nagging thought in the back of his mind, overriding his growing need to feel your body wrapped tight and wet around him again.

He needed to know what this was. Needed to know if he should tell his heart not to get used to the feeling of waking up with you in his arms. A sour feeling in his stomach at the possibility that this might be just a one-time thing. You made him feel alive like he hadn't felt in years. He didn't want to let you go and lose that feeling.

John nervously cleared his throat. Deciding it was best to face the situation head-on. Not drag out any hope if he couldn't have you as his.

“I'm not really a one night stand kind of guy. I don't… umm… I want this to be more than just sex. I really like you.”

You lifted your head off of his chest to gaze up at him. Nuzzling your nose into his neck before stretching up and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. An almost assuring gesture. Assuring him you were really there in his arms and that you were in no rush to leave.

“I like you too, John. In case I didn't say that awkwardly enough yesterday. I wasn't planning on just fucking you and pretending it never happened if that's what you are worried about. It's just after you mentioned how long it had been for you, and that you weren't really sure how to do the dating thing. It had been a while for me too. So I thought, why hold out on the most nerve-racking part of this when we already know each other well enough to find out if the sex is good? I don't know about you, but I thought it was pretty damn good. That we are pretty damn good together.”

A soft smile on both of your faces as you both mentally replayed the highlights from your night together. Not just the sex, but the easy conversation and the way you fit together like pieces of a puzzle when you both feel asleep.

“So you want to try the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing? America's Sweethearts?”

He kissed the top of your head and waited for a response. He still found himself bracing for rejection. It was instinct at this point. Even if he knew what you were going to say by the way your body shifted somehow closer to his.

“Yeah Walker. I want to try the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing. We aren't telling Val unless we want to.”

You crawled on top of him and let him wrap his arms around you. Bringing your lips to his again. This kiss was a little softer but no less passionate than last night. Letting yourselves start to melt into each other and continue what had begun the night before. Only to be startled by a tapping and then clicking noise coming from the large bedroom window.

Both of you were in shock as you turned and saw a photographer standing on the scaffolding occasionally used by window washers at the tower. Your jaw nearly smacked John in the face as the paparazzi began snapping pictures even faster now that he had the attention of both of you.

With no way to safely escape the compromising position without exposing more of yourselves, literally, you quickly pulled the comforter up over both of your heads. Disappearing into a white fluffy blob, before sticking one arm out and frantically trying to locate a phone. Frankly you didn't care whether it was yours or John's. You just needed reinforcements.

“Val is so dead!”

You exclaimed through gritted teeth as you called Ava. A moment later you heard a commotion outside the window and peeked out just in time to see her snatch the camera away from the man and toss it over the railing of the scaffolding before phasing through the window and walking past both you and John. Your two sets of eyes peered over the blanket at her. A smirk on her face as she subtly surveyed the scene and then showed herself out.

“Bucky and Yelena are making sure that the camera doesn't hit anyone on the ground and that it is completely unfixable. Next time, just remember to close the curtains. Nice to see you two idiots together, though.”

--------------------------------

John Walker taglist: @sareim123122

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[xomakara]

Between Loads | J.YH

SUMMARY | You hate doing laundry but maybe your next door neighbor, Yunho, can make it worth your time.

PAIRINGS |  Yunho x Reader 

RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE |  smut, pwp, romance, neighbors to lovers, fluff

CONTENT/WARNINGS | the 6th floor has creepy crawlies (but nothing really happens), profanity, flirting, teasing, unprotective sex (wrap it up ya'll), oral sex (both m/f receiving/giving), dirty talk, laundry jokes, just jokes all around, kissing, skin marking, skin biting, hair pulling, fingering, multiple positions, creampies, breeding/impregnation kink 

LENGTH |  7,004 words 

TAGLIST |  @aerangi   

NETWORKS |  @illusionnet  @cromernet  @othersideoutlawsnetwork  @winerys-collection  @cosyhomenet  @keopihaus  @ksmutsociety  @k-vanity 

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Thank you @pars-ley for the banner! I love it so much 💛💚 and thank you @lovetaroandtaemin and @heartikeu for beta-reading the beginning of the fic. And now she is completed! On another note, Yunho. Goddamn Yunho.

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

You hate doing laundry in this ever busy apartment building. Since it's late Saturday morning, all of the washers on the first floor have been preempted by people doing laundry to start their day. It'll take ages before a washing machine opens up, and you know that if you stick around, you're likely to have a load ruined from the little kids running about.

You wish management would provide folks with their own laundry hookups like they had with the dishwashers and stoves. Having one in your apartment would be heavenly. Instead, you have to head down several floors to the laundry room and then wait for God-only-knows how long for the damn machines to free up. The faster you could get in and out, the better off you would be.

"Maybe I'll go up to the sixth floor and use the laundry there?" you muse aloud as you pack away the rest of your clothes into your hamper. "But... Ugh, if it's not one thing, it's another!"

You normally avoid the sixth floor laundry room unless there are no machines available on the first, simply because you don't want the hassle of going into the hornets' nest. With the halls of the sixth floor filled with majority men for some odd reason, you want to avoid any harassment in the communal laundry room. You doubt very much whether they could keep their hands to themselves if you had no protection.

"Why must I face this annoyance?!" you yell as you storm down to the elevator with your basket. "It's a hassle, but, fine! Just this once! But, if they try to grab my butt or something, I'm punching someone! They better believe it!"

Armed with enough detergent and soap, you find the communal laundry room a touch more empty than your norm. With less folks around, maybe it will mean a quick load and not much trouble? The thought crosses your mind, but in reality, you know otherwise. 

"You're here too, Y/N?" Your next door neighbor, Yunho, pokes his head out of the open washer as you set the hamper down. "You're not usually here on the sixth floor."

"It's crowded and annoying downstairs," you state. "I don't usually come up here because of the jerks that are on this floor, but desperate times and all of that nonsense."

"Yeah, this floor is crawling with creeps," he agrees.

"I'd love having a washer and dryer set-up in my place. Then I could avoid places like this."

Yunho continues working on loading up his washer, though, you catch his sly glances as you begin sorting things into the next available washers. "Until then, let me know when you do laundry and I'll come up and wash. I promise to help deter the creepy-crawlies."

You can't help but laugh at his offer. "All right, fine. Thanks, I guess." You pushed the last of the clothes into your washer and slammed the lid down. "We'll see how it goes."

How many years have you known Yunho? How long did he live next door to you on the fourth floor? It's been a few years already... Maybe three? Maybe four? Enough that you feel you're used to seeing him, even with his incredibly handsome features, every now and again.

He is very easy on the eyes. Almost a bit too perfect. Tall, with a bright smile, nice arms, and toned thighs... what you would give to climb him like a tree and—

Nope!

No, stop, don't start thinking dirty. Bad Y/N. Bad, dirty brain. Stop perving on Yunho, now.

You glanced up at his bright smile, and turned back to the washing machines. Oh no. It was a sinfully sinful thing to imagine the many ways Yunho might kiss your neck, those hands pushing up your shirt and—

You have to shake your head before things get out of hand. This isn't the time or place to have these kinds of thoughts. The sooner your laundry is done, the sooner you can get back down to your own floor and hide your face behind the closed doors and take care of certain... urges that are beginning to surface.

But as you glance back up at Yunho, seeing him leaning over his own washer as he puts the last of his loads in, a heat pools in the pit of your belly. What you wouldn't do to have him fuck you over one of the washers or against the folding table in the middle of the room. Oh no, there was no mistaking how good and strong those arms would feel wrapped around you, thrusting inside you and whispering in your ear.

Bad... bad thoughts... You don't need this right now. No, you do not need the added strain of Yunho's visuals causing such fantasies. Nope, nope. Don't start, you're getting too worked up thinking about it, stop. You bite down on your lower lip, eyes staring a hole into the washer before you.

"Y/N? Everything all right?" Yunho leans over his washer and peers at you. "You seem distracted."

Oh, how sweet a distraction... If Yunho would shut his mouth, that might make things go easier, right? Shut the door, lock us both in here for hours, and let loose? "I'm fine," you blurt out, flinging a hand towards him. "Just hate waiting for laundry to do its job."

"Sounds like you need something else to take your mind off it. Porn always helps me get through chores faster."

A strange noise escapes your throat, something between a retch and a wheeze. Your entire face flushes darkly, and you rub your palms against your cheeks. "What?!"

"That was a joke," he chuckled.

"Don't say shit like that," you groan. "Especially in a public space. Like seriously, who knows when some other crazy neighbor will walk through those doors?"

"Yeah, no, good point." Yunho nods, and you can’t help but laugh along with him. "How long did you put in to wash those?"

"Just a medium load. So... Half an hour. Probably 35 minutes," you answer. "Then, another half an hour to dry. Can't get out too fast, else I might forget stuff."

Yunho hits a button on his washer and leans his hip against the top of it, making an audible clicking sound from his tongue. "Wanna go for a walk around while we wait? Might help take our minds off chores for a while. And it'll keep those jerkfaces down here from bugging you."

"Sure, why the hell not."

As you two wander the halls, you're somewhat surprised how not creepy everything is. Yunho is, like always, a pleasure to speak with as the two of you trade gossip, funny stories, and daily happenings. This time, however, you focus a bit too much on his lips moving, the curve of his smile, and the soft laugh that breaks the quiet air. Your mind flitters and keeps drifting back to thoughts of that moment, imagining how it would feel.

Fuck, his lips look soft.

That's it.

Yunho's lips are full and plush looking. Very soft. Probably the best kissing lips that a man could possess, even in such a harsh looking face. They practically beg to be devoured. The kind of lips you could easily imagine sliding against your body with ease, tasting each and every inch, and then engulfing you whole.

Fuck.

Even with Yunho talking animatedly, you can't pull your focus away. The urge to steal his lips in a kiss overcame you.

It can't hurt.

"Shit, I want to kiss you."

Or, it might hurt. A lot, in fact, considering Yunho's steps falter, and he almost face plants into the wall. He looks at you with wild, confused eyes. "What?!"

"Shit," you close your eyes and slap your mouth a few times, "shit shit shit, sorry. My stupid mouth. Ignore that." You swallow hard and turn to walk down the stairs, a shameful blush staining your face. "Yeah, just forget all about that. Me saying that. Yeah, good plan."

Yunho watches your hasty retreat, following after with a renewed lightness in his steps. "W-Wait. That's it?"

You reach the sixth floor landing, Yunho still trailing behind you as you head towards the communal laundry. "I am a dumb idiot that blurts things like that out without thinking. Forget I even said anything, please."

"Hey," he laughs as he takes hold of your wrist, stopping your stride to his laundry room, "you can't just say something like that and expect a man to completely forget it!"

"Yes. Yes I can," you assure him. "So, you will."

He laughs again as he follows after. "Absolutely not."

"Yunho, please." You pull out of his grasp and make your way back into the laundry room where only one person sits waiting at the folding table for their dryer to finish its cycle. "I just want to die in a hole. Or the void. Yeah, the void sounds great. I want nothing more than to leave this stupid galaxy and just fade into the vacuum of space."

"Why, though?" he asks.

You open up your washer and quickly begin taking items to toss them into the dryers. "Because... I just... Ugh. I mean." You groan and hide your face against the metal lid of a dryer. "Please, it's embarrassing enough that you had to witness and hear that, you really don't want to know why."

Yunho, not backing down from this new information, leans against his own washer, studying your flushed face. "Why, though?"

"Because..."

He seems to notice your hesitance. "Come on. I won't make fun of you."

You hang your head a moment, taking a breath and holding it as you wait to feel calm again. But, when you exhale, there’s no changing the facts. He isn’t letting it go. "Ugh, you're gonna laugh."

"Maybe. Maybe not." His gentle smile makes your heart skip a beat. "Try me."

You let out another long suffering sigh. "You've just... Always looked like you'd be really good at it. Kissing. And," you continue when he starts to chuckle, "you've always been so friendly and helpful. That, uh, it gets a girl's thoughts going... A-And... S-Sorry."

He bites back his laughter as best he can, cheeks pinkened with delight. "Don't apologize, not for something like this."

"Please," you turn around, your face burning in complete embarrassment.

Yunho notices that the two of you are the only ones remaining in the laundry room, save the lone lady reading. A risky play, but perhaps there isn't any better of an option. As the woman's dryer buzzes, she gathers her things, leaving the room without hardly noticing either of you. The risk is certainly real.

"You still wanna kiss me?" Yunho's grin turns down right mischievous. "Because I gotta say... Now you've got me kinda curious, too."

You stare at him blankly. "Seriously?"

"C'mon." His voice is low and raspy, turning your legs to jelly as he approaches and takes hold of your elbows. "Nobody's around. Give it a shot. Just once."

Fuck he smells amazing. Is that aftershave? You don't know. You can't tell what scent it is, but you don't want to leave the safe cocoon his arms provide.

"J-Just once," you mumble, feeling yourself sinking into his body.

"Just once," he murmurs.

Yunho's thumb glides along your cheek before his fingers run over the shell of your ear and his palm rests gently on your jawline. He shifts and ducks slightly, his eyes drifting closed as the world fades to just you and him.

Warm, gentle lips meet, yours and your heart begins to thunder violently. Slowly, tenderly, his fingers curl around your jaw, encouraging you to follow his lead, coaxing a pleased noise to slip free. The rush of warm desire floods you, and the desire to melt against his solid frame nearly consumes you whole.

Just a simple press of lips, a taste, and just a hint of tongue that nearly drives you mad, and it leaves you wanting nothing more than more. All the build up and heat culminates into a blazing fire that courses through you.

The heavy breathing, the ragged needy moans that spilled free—did they come from your mouth or his? Did they matter, really? This wasn't enough. You wanted more, even as his teeth scraped across your lower lip, his touch and kiss sending you further into oblivion.

Until the buzz of the dryer brings you crashing back to the real world.

Both of you draw back, lips barely touching as the loud buzz of the machine interrupts your world. A sluggish, sheepish laugh is shared as you part, moving to the machines. Yunho drops down onto a chair with a smirk still tinged with a deep crimson across his cheeks as you fold clothes, still working out the embarrassment and slight afterglow you experienced.

"So?" He asks softly as he hands off folded items to you. "Thoughts?"

"Need a few more tries to confirm," you answer just as softly. "You know, so I can give an accurate review."

He laughs, taking his own clothes out of the dryer to fold. "Wouldn't want a biased opinion now."

"Mmhm, exactly."

After finishing folding up the clothing, the two of you make your way back upstairs to your shared floor, teasing and poking, giving and stealing lingering, awkward glances along the way.

It isn't until you parted ways with an airy promise for another "chore" session together that a revelation dawned upon you.

It would be so very easy to fall completely in love with Jeong Yunho.

Yunho stayed true to his words to accompany you in the laundry room on the sixth floor, sneaking in kisses each time, leaving you wanting so much more each time. It was a fun, little secret shared just between you two. And then, eventually, it bled into other things. Like going on dates, a shared couch cuddle and a good movie, maybe an evening of food delivery, stolen glances, and hand holding. You met his friends, he met your friends, more dates came afterward, and then he became your boyfriend.

Yunho managed to convince the building's management to let him get a washer and dryer combination inside the apartment instead of having to trudge a bunch of floors down or up to the laundromat. What a plus. Now, not only could you easily wash a load or two, but you and Yunho could easily watch movies while you waited for everything to wash, dry, and fold.

You were sitting in your apartment one night after putting your clean clothes away, when a knock sounded on your door. You padded over and cracked it open, Yunho looking back at you from the doorway with an impish smirk.

"I think some of your clothes got mixed in with mine," he says, raising one of your lacy panties up as if to display it. "Looks like a pretty important thing for you to get back."

"My, my, Yunho. You sure you didn't just stuff it into your own hamper to bring over under the pretense of 'oopsies' and 'drats, how did these get mixed in?'"

He laughs and shoulders his way into your apartment, the front door shutting behind him with a kick of a foot. "Geez, you got me figured out! Don't expose me!"

Your shared laughter fills your tiny apartment as he picks you up and tosses you on your own bed, a huge goofy grin on his face.

"By all means, please steal away my panties if you wish."

"Oh? Should I get the matching bra too? Make it a matching set?"

"A truly insidious master plot!" You laugh. "What else do you plan to get while you're in my place?"

Yunho steals a sweet kiss and shrugs. "Figured a few kisses would make me feel better, and maybe borrow a girl in lacy undergarments?" He nibbles a bit on your throat. "Only if she doesn't mind."

"Hmm, fine, I guess you can steal away the goods," you murmur, tracing over his lips. "But, you know, the price of a kiss like that is really high. Might even need a couple."

"Are we bartering kisses for your lovely underwear?"

"Yes."

"Then, let's see."

The two of you hold one another, laughing in between long, drawn out kisses. Each kiss grows longer, deeper, and sweeter than the last, and soon, a hot need for something more than innocent kisses begins to consume you. Yunho's touches are soft, tender, and all-consuming, a strange mix of heady lust and gentle caresses that send a rush of adrenaline into your heart. You slip your hands under the bottom hem of his shirt, pushing it up to feel his heated flesh under the tips of your fingers. His back, his broad chest, the muscles under his skin, you want nothing more than to explore every single inch of him.

"Your kisses have gotten very... demanding... lately." Yunho's chest vibrates with his laugh.

"Oh?"

He nips your shoulder, dragging his lips along your flesh. "You keep kissing and kissing and then you bite and suck on my lips, like you don't plan to give me a chance to breathe again."

"Hmm. You don't seem to dislike it, do you?" Your fingers begin unbuttoning his shirt, fingertips scraping against his skin with a delightful friction.

"Absolutely not," his laugh is soft and husky, sending your heart into overdrive and leaving the world behind as his mouth begins mapping every single inch of your exposed skin. "But," he stops long enough to tear his shirt free from his shoulders and fling it aside, "it's awfully greedy of you."

You snort a giggle. "M-Maybe. But," you suck in a shaky breath as he licks up the side of your throat, "I'm not hearing complaints!"

"Not complaining at all." His hand fans out on your thigh, stroking upward, leaving an excited trail of heat wherever he touches, causing you to let out a heady gasp. He laughs breathily against your skin, "Only that," he hooks his thumb around the waistband of your shorts and tugs lightly, "I'm very happy that my girlfriend," the buttons were freed, zipper and all, "enjoys," he presses kisses against your thighs, "a man who puts a little bite into her kisses."

Yunho slips your shorts from your legs, tossing them onto the floor with a growing pile of clothes. When you both laugh at the realization that you were nearly naked, leaving only a lace bralette and matching panties, he can't help but bite your thigh. His tongue laps at the faint red spot, and he grins up at you. "Looks really pretty on you."

"Pretty, hmm?"

"It's definitely something a beautiful girl like you wears and a man like me wants to take off her." Yunho runs a finger up and along the underside of your bare leg, tracing along your shape, the pressure causing your entire body to twitch. "Unless the gorgeous lady says I can't take it off..."

"It means more laundry for me," you giggle.

He hums and gently kisses your knees. "True... But then... I wouldn't mind doing your laundry with mine next time, would that be acceptable?"

"Hmm, I dunno..." you pull his head down towards yours and nuzzle his nose, "what would my hot neighbor slash boyfriend want as payment for doing my laundry?"

"Mmmm," he nibbles at the plumpness of your lips and chases your breathless laughter, "you." He bends lower and kisses the swell of your breasts as he whispers, "All of you."

The sound that rips from your lungs is deep, and wanting, and more than pleased with his words. "Keep talking like that," you laugh against the crook of his neck. "Because I might actually fucking marry you."

His full body laugh causes the mattress to sink and move. "I didn't realize marriage was on your mind. Is that the way to your heart?"

"Oh fuck yeah. Completely. Marry me, we'll have four dogs, and three kids."

"Just like that?"

"Sure, fuck why not."

There's another bright peal of laughter from him as he sinks down on top of your naked flesh. "Shall we call the preacher before or after you give me my next kiss?"

"Dirty, filthy proposal. You're despicable." You groan and thread your fingers through his hair.

"Can't believe you'd consider marrying a guy who has only kissed you in laundry rooms," he murmurs in between long, dizzying kisses. "What is the world coming to?"

You let out a small laugh. "Yeah, it's awful, isn't it?"

"Jokes aside..." Yunho kisses his way down your throat, your chest, across your ribcage, and against the skin under your breasts, his words sending shivers up your spine, "Would you want to have dinner, spend more time together outside of the laundry rooms? Maybe go on dates?"

Your arms wind tighter around him, and your laugh is sharp. "Mmm, y'know what?" Your palm gently runs across his forehead, brushing away his messy bangs as you catch a hold of his full attention. "I'd like that. A lot, actually."

"Yeah?" The smile on Yunho's face grows wide and radiant.

"Yeah," you laugh, "and now I want you to show me how talented you really are with those lips."

He hums happily, the sound rumbling against you. "And what exactly shall my gorgeous neighbor ask of me in that area? Keep it civil."

"How about..." you muse quietly, tugging your bra down a bit to expose a hard nub of a nipple to the air of the room, "how about a kiss here."

"This isn't very civil." Yunho's nose runs over the upper portion of the breast. "But if the lady asks..."

"Mmmm, and one right here..." You drag the hem of your panties a bit lower on your hip. "A kiss."

Yunho, understanding where your game is headed, playfully takes the lacy hem in his teeth, dragging it down to expose a tuft of trimmed pubic hair before releasing it and resting his cheek on your bare thigh. "Where does my demanding little neighbor slash girlfriend want kisses now?"

"Hm..." you tap your chin and point downwards at a spot that he finds to be utterly delectable and beautiful. "I can think of one other spot for a kiss."

"Yeah?" His breath whispers across sensitive skin, tickling and sending you spiraling into heady excitement.

"Y-yeah..." your words are barely a whisper. "Gotta say... Kinda looking forward to it."

"Happy to indulge you."

And as Yunho drags the rest of your panties free from your legs, his mouth begins a thorough worship and appreciation of the most intimate area of your body. The squeals and gasps he could wring out of you, your hands clenching his hair and the sound of his name falls from your lips with abandon spurs him on until there is nothing left in his head but pure desire to hear you cum and cry out for him.

Out of all the men that ate you out in the past, none comes close to the skills of Jeong Yunho. The others were rough, amateur, quick and wanting. Yunho took his time, savored every reaction and gasp that came. There is no need or urgency or even demand in his motions. Every touch, flick, lick, kiss, and stroke of his tongue are in total control.

Your thighs clamps against Yunho's head, holding him there, begging him to never stop with soft pleads of 'don't you dare fucking stop.' He chuckles as he gently grasps your wrists, encouraging your hands to hold on tight to his head. And when his long fingers joins in, pressing into every spot that sends an electric pulse running up and down your nerves, there was little doubt that the world stopped spinning and nothing existed but him.

Lips, tongue, and two fingers dance across your center, plunging and withdrawing until everything begins to blur into one continuous pleasure. Before long, there is nothing to stop the moans and keening wails from escaping into the quiet evening as the rush of climax exploded into ecstasy and absolute joy.

Through it all, Yunho remains between your legs, happily drinking everything you gave.

"You," you manage after the rush and joy, your voice hoarse and raw, "have one hell of a tongue on you. I mean, I already knew it was talented," his shoulders move with soft laughter, "but fuck, I could've used you a long ass time ago."

Yunho emerged between your legs, a silly smirk dancing on his lips. "Good to know I can be of some service to my demanding girlfriend. Need a breather? Or more?"

You laugh, pulling his face up so that you can reach his lips, relishing in the taste of his tongue and your pleasure mixed on them, "Oh, definitely more but I can wait after dinner."

Yunho chuckles at this. "I'm kind of regretting the order this happened, because now I'm too curious to take a raincheck for dinner and just jump straight to dessert."

"You say this as though you weren't just finishing devouring me whole, just a minute ago?" You run a fingertip along his lips. "I wouldn't have any complaints whatsoever. Besides," you move and kiss his throat, licking and nibbling a line up along the soft skin and under his jaw, "I'm looking forward to returning the favor."

He sighs softly at this and hums in thought. "You," he laughs and kisses your sweaty brow, "you know what? Dinner can wait. After."

"Yes, after," you giggle softly as you crawl down his body, eagerly unfastening his belt and pants, and helping him tug the rest of his remaining clothes free. Your lips trail up his knee, along his inner thigh, and then across the other to do the same. "Dinner can wait. Dessert, on the other hand..." You glance up at him and catch a glimpse of his fully erect cock. "Can not."

Fuck, he's big. And you will savor every damn inch of him.

Yunho settles back, propped up slightly by pillows, his fingers combing your hair idly out of your face. "Have at it, my lovely, greedy little neighbor." There was another sharp, surprised gasp from you, accompanied by a laugh, and a groan of 'you did not just call me that'. To which he responds with a soft laugh, "Okay, my little girlfriend."

Your jaw tingles and you shiver at the way his title rolled off of his tongue. "That one works a lot better," you giggle, your teeth scraping along his length, the muscles on his legs jumping.

A rush of heady lustful pride floods your system and you shiver, eager and greedy and hungry for what Yunho would have to offer you. As your mouth wraps around him, his head falls back and his mouth opens with a soft sigh. His fingers didn't stray from your hair and he helps push it back off your face to watch in rapt wonder. You felt your body flush hotter and hotter, a thrill coursing through your core as your gaze met his.

God he's fucking perfect.

Your hand cup his balls gently, rolling them tenderly and watching the way he sucks his bottom lip inwards, the softest whine in the back of his throat. You lick along the length, tasting and testing and relishing in the feeling. The hard length and gentle flesh in your hands, the warmth of his body, it was everything.

When his hips begin jerking and bucking a little, you allow your throat to relax. Yunho watch in quiet fascination and pleasure. "You'll tell me if it's too much, yeah?"

"I got this," you smile and hold his erection still while taking him completely into the recesses of your mouth. Your tongue laps along his girth, tracing the thick vein on his underside, tracing it, flicking, and pressing with each inch. Yunho's breathing hitches sharply, a low rasping groan leaving his throat as his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head.

"Enjoying yourself?" you ask, not entirely expecting an answer.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Yunho laughs, voice husky and spent and rough.

"Oh, I'm fucking living my dreams," you hum, bending over once again. "I could go all night."

Yunho laughs at your enthusiasm, and you continue lavishing him, wet and warm and insatiable in your hunger. Long fingers in your hair, the heavy weight of his length, the scent, and taste of his own sweat, your desire and want for him never burned so brightly in your veins. It didn't matter that your jaw began aching, that your thighs and core ache for his touch. You couldn't stop, you wouldn't.

A breathless "close" warns you and you take him deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth. Your body responds hotly, growing so moist with longing and heady excitement, and an eager ache. The next series of soft, sloppy noises you pull out of him only brought you closer and closer to orgasm. He tense, his length grew harder, thicker in your mouth. You held fast, welcoming the sticky cum splashing over your tongue and coating the back of your throat.

Slowly, you lift your head up and meet his gaze. Carefully, you swallow, knowing how he tasted and how your body was absolutely aching for his. With a smile you slowly crawl upwards. "So?" you ask breathlessly. "Good review?"

"Four. Fucking. Stars."

"Ooh, nice. Would you recommend?"

"Hell fucking yes I'd recommend that mouth. Sign me the fuck up, yes," he let out another breathy laugh and kiss your chest, "fuck yes. Over, and over, and over again. It's fucking gold, baby."

"Excellent," you giggle and cup his face in your palms. "Wanna recommend other things now? I got an appointment that's open and willing and totally empty if you wanna recommend."

Yunho's arms wound around your waist and flip you onto your back with another sweet kiss. "Wish granted, babe."

The months that followed, and the time spent, left nothing to chance. By the end of it all, the laundry was more than folded, there were a lot of meals cooked between both apartments, movies had been seen and many, many dates were had. You wouldn't have had it any other way.

Your hands reach around Yunho, wrapping your arms across his torso and clinging to him tightly. "So... I was thinking."

"Yeah?" He stops folding his clothes long enough to pay full attention to you. "You thinkin' a lot lately."

"Yunho,” you pout.

"Y/N," he places his shirt aside and fully turns his full attention to you. "Go ahead and tell me."

"Is moving in with you... is it something we could consider doing, together? Like... officially?"

"Officially? As in..."

You make a sweeping gesture around the two of your places. "As in the apartment."

His laughter rings in your ears and soon his body is holding yours in a tight embrace. "Ah, we should totally move in together."

"It doesn't have to be your place, but—"

Yunho silences your rambling by kissing you. When his lips part from yours, a brilliant and beautiful smile graces his features. "Baby, we can get a bigger place. Or better yet, our own house." He kisses your forehead. "With our own laundry room, and kitchen, and, yes, three kids, four dogs, and..." Yunho squeezes you tighter in his arms, "a husband. How does that sound?"

A laugh, shaky and bursting at the seams and filled with absolute joy broke the quiet hum of the laundry machines. "Are we back to joking about the marriage thing?"

"If this isn't the woman I'm gonna marry one day, then I don't know who else could top her," his hands cup your face, fingers tickling through your hair. "Let's keep folding our laundry together. One load at a time."

"Stoooop, you are just too cute, I can't," you reply.

His thumb brushes along your cheek and then across your mouth. "For real though, let's look for a bigger place and really settle down. Maybe start with a pet first."

You sigh softly in agreement and stand on tiptoes to kiss the tall man. "Definitely. Totally." Your heart thud and sings at his promise for the future. "And, not that the sex isn't super, mind blowing, incredible. But…if you actually end up being my husband, then... We. Will. So. Break. This. Thing." You lightly slap the washing machine.

"We can start breaking it now, you know," he lifts you onto the counter and nestles between your thighs, "After all, if we are moving out together, might as well christen the appliances that helped us meet and fall in love."

"Seriously?" you question.

"Very, seriously,"he answers with a laugh.

Your hands snake through his hair and you draw his lips close to yours, sighing softly against his lips before speaking. "Are we done with laundry? I feel like we should be done."

"Oh baby, we haven't even gotten started," his words tickles your mouth with every syllable and leaves the hairs of your skin standing on end. "We're in between loads for now."

"Then I propose," your thighs wrap tighter against him, "we start another load now."

"Oh really?" His hand teases up the inside of your knee, lingering close to the hem of your skirt and then climbing upwards, exposing your skin a little further with each soft touch.

"F-for real," you groan softly, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt.

He huffs and cups your cheek as his mouth assaults your sensitive neck. "Like last time?"

"Y-yes. Exactly. Just like last time. But this time you don't need to pull out," your thighs twitchs and press together, trapping Yunho's teasing fingers in their hold. "Give me your whole load, Jeong Yunho."

The loud, amused laughter that shakes through him was enough to send shivers up and down your spine and pool hotly between your legs. "If the lady says she's ready for my load, then the man will do his damndest to fulfill his responsibility to provide said load. Again, and again, and again." His fingers slip down the front of your panties, playing in the soft curls and gliding along your wet center. "Gonna give your hole the biggest load, baby."

"Right here on the counter?" you gasp out with a laugh.

"As much as I love fucking you on the counter," Yunho chuckles softly, removing his hands and picking you up off and from the counter and carrying you off towards his room, "it'll be more comfortable in the bedroom. No spills that way."

"How responsible," you manage as the cold air hits your thighs when he sits you on the edge of his bed.

"Just doing my civic duty," he wiggles his eyebrows.

Your chest rumbles with giggles as you lay back against the plush blankets, watching as he comes crawling after you. His lips and warm, tingling kisses return in full force to cover the expanse of bare skin revealed by his gentle tugging. When all was bare, your thighs wound around him and drew him closer to you.

Yunho chuckles and peppers soft, butterfly kisses across your abdomen, hands smoothing along your sides. "Don't worry, babe," he whispers huskily into your belly, sending a pulse of need running straight up through your body and nestling in your core, "I'll make sure that the next time, and the next time... And the time after, and the next..." His head trails lower, his lips following a slow, arduous path. "And every time after that... Our load is properly taken care of and completed."

You hum a small laugh and quip playfully, "Damn, is there a fine for unfinished loads?"

"You bet there is, and it'll come with a series of hickeys, and bruises," he answers.

"I'll take my chances then," you sigh, the tone teasing, but also bracing and ready. "Charge me up, baby."

His answering laughter was equal parts adorably sexy and oh so arousing.

Fuck, did you want this, right here and right now. To be filled and consumed and dominated by the very man who own you already, body and soul.

A soft, breathy cry escapes your lips when the full weight of him presses down. Your mouths meet, open and hungry and utterly wanting, teeth scraping gently on sensitive lips. Your back arches up when his fingers dance and toys with you, dipping between folds and sinking deeper and deeper still, and when he replaces the fingers with himself, there is a short moment where all sensation halts before a loud, gasping whine passes your lips.

His words, dirty, sweet, hot, loving, all reverberate through you, intoxicating you to the core. "Fuck..." You let out a long, ragged groan. "Fuck, Yunho."

A sweet, beautiful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, eyes half-close and fully lost in ecstasy and passion as his pace gradually begins increasing in urgency and need and desire. "There's my sweetheart. That's my girl. Fuck... just like that..." The breathless moans spill, pushing you faster and faster toward climax. "That's my girl."

Arms wrap around his broad shoulders, your nails score down his back, his hips surging faster, burying him deeper, until all thoughts left your brain and all that remains was his touch, his body. You were alive, the world was alive, everything exists, breaths, pulsates in rhythm with him and your blood sings with the feeling. You are his and he is yours.

Forever.

He meets your lips again, swallowing the breathless whines and whimpers, before kissing your throat and along your clavicle. He pauses his thrusts momentarily, pulling out of you only to flip you onto your belly and urging your ass up into the air.

When his heat covers you once more, his fingers clawing at your hip to pull you even closer, and you bury your face into his sheets to cry out against them. "Fuck," you sob quietly, "ohhh, Yunho. Harder." You need him, everything, the unrelenting passion and unyielding love and comfort that surrounds you. "Oh my god."

He breaths another shaky breath into your neck. "Almost there." His tone is hot, sharp, ragged against the skin. "Got some of this load for ya. Not even halfway through the night. Hold on tight, baby." His voice comes as a rough command that sets your body on fire. "Gonna fuck this hole the rest of the night, just wait."

"Shit," was the only breathy, shaking sigh that you could form. "Oh my god."

Laughter bounced out of him, vibrating through you, bringing another bout of squeals. "Good fucking girl," he praises softly. "Fuck, baby. Such a good girl." He peppers soft, gentle kisses along the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and letting out a long, deep moan. "You want every drop, sweetheart? Want every single load? Is that right?"

"Mm," your reply was short, sharp, and needy. "Every single drop, fuck."

Yunho drags your hips upwards, angling and pressing the blunt tip of him against the silken recess of your womb, urging himself forward to the hilt as his words fill your brain. "Fill you. Give you the biggest load you've ever dreamed about. Everything you want."

"Everything?"

"All the loads you need," Yunho continue, "hmm? Yes?"

"Everything, fuck,” your shoulders tremble, the sheer ecstasy that passes with his words bringing you to the edge of climax. "Please, everything."

"Good fucking girl," Yunho's grin and hoarse laugh leave you desperate, needy and wanton.

With one final push he has you seeing stars and exploding into orgasm. In the dizzying and wondrous pleasure-filled moment, he buries his face in your neck, shuddering against you, holding you impossibly closer still. His name echoes over and over, barely registering and it was all you could do but sink against the pillows, heaving for breath, unable and unwilling to move.

Eventually, he shifts off and rolls, a heavy, sweaty arm drapes over you and pulls you close. Neither of you said anything, simply staring at one another, breathing slowly and calming the pounding in each others' chests and heads. His gaze rakes slowly over your exposed form, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, and finally resting against your eyes, so bright with contentment.

"I still got more in the tank," his thumb and forefinger pinches your chin gently between them. "So just to be safe, we shouldn't miss out on this opportunity."

You snort with laughter and hide your flushed face behind the pillows. "I hope we're moving in soon so there can be room for more clothes. Or better yet, storage space for our 'dirty loads'." You give another hoarse, rattling laugh. "Give me five minutes before you bring out another load."

"Tsk tsk tsk," Yunho playfully chides you, holding your hips gently and guiding your face towards his. He bends over to steal a kiss. "We are nowhere near finishing."

"Your tank doesn't ever run dry, does it?" you laugh softly.

"You are going to break this machine one day," came his mumbled retort but the sparkle of his smile said everything you needed to know.

"This machine better not break," you poke at his dick for emphasis before pushing him unto his back, "or there will be hell to pay, Jeong Yunho." You couldn't quite help the laugh in your throat, and the need that still flared inside.

"Remember, this is a delicate and rare machine. Handling is important,” he retorts with an eyeroll, a smile on his lips.

"How delicate and how rare?" Your laughter erupts, causing him to smile even brighter.

"Rare and delicate. And belongs to one specific and important person in my life," Yunho shrugs nonchalantly. "Sooo, handle me with extra care, babe."

"Dually noted and observed," you promise and reach to slide yourself home.

Fuck, you’re a wreck for him.

And, honestly... You were okay with that.

If his promises came with a load or two more, then all the fucking better for it.

[msfantasy]

Rendezvous [+18]

Orc x Reader

Summary: Tari begs her best friend to sleep with her husband so she can break the marriage contract.

Warning: Taboo's and Sexual themes are contained within this short.

A/n: Readers body is described to be like the average human woman. The words squishy, fleshy and large breasts are used.

It's times like these when you really enjoy life. Sitting in the backyard with your best friend Tara, and watching the wild flowers flutter and wave in the wind. You couldn't help but grin in contentment as you hold your tea cup to your lips, the delicate floral aroma only enticing you to wash away the hot buttery jam scone you just ate.

To your utter dismay, your tea begins to sour in your mouth at Tari's unexpected admission. “My husbands’ eyes are wandering.” She admits making you choke on your tea. You quickly place your saucer and cup down, shooting your hand out to grab Tari’s whose fingers are tapping nervously at the table.

“Oh god Tari- I’m so sorry to hear that.” She sigh and shrugs her shoulders.

“I knew it would happen one day- after all, it was an arranged marriage.” You still squeeze Tari’s hands in solidarity.

“Arrange marriage or not... this is terrible.” Your face drops, unable to imagine the pain your friend must be going through.

“Terrible? This is great news!” Your brows shoot up at Tari’s sudden delighted shift in mood. “Honestly I thought he would never stray, I thought it might take years before he lost interest in me! And not a moment too soon either.” You lean back into your chair, you mouth remaining a gape whilst your brows furrow in confusion.

“Huh?” You ask, head tilting to the side, unable to grasp the situation playing at hand.

“Okay- so in Orc culture when you have an arranged marriage it’s pretty much a done deal. You’re forced to stay a virgin for your husband and be committed to him til the day he dies BUT,” Your eyes dart around Tari’s face as she rampantly explanation of her Orcish culture, your brain peddling hard to keep up with her speech. “If your husband strays from your bed then our marriage contract ends!” She cheers excitedly.

“Oh… so … congratulations?” You mutter, unsure that was the right response.

“I’m glad you feel that way bestie because I have a HUGE favour to ask you…” Tari gets on her knees in front of you, looking up into your face.

Oh no.

Tari pulls out her biggest shiniest puppy dog as she begs you with the deepest sincerity. “Can you please sleep with my husband?” She begs, her desperation leaking ever so obviously from her aura.

“God Tari no! I couldn’t ever do that to you!” You say, edging back in disgust at the thought of betraying your friend.

“But that’s the thing Y/n! It’s for me please!” She begs again, but you’ve just about had enough. “Please Y/n! I know he’s huge and ugly and you’re a tiny pretty human- but it will only need to happen once! When he breaks his marriage vow I’ll be free! Your the only one that can do it- he has a human fetish and your human!” She begs again, grabbing you by the waist. “Please I’ll - I’ll give you all the money I have! I’ll become your slave! Please I’ll do anything!” She begs which has you frowning.

“Tari.” You say, kneeling down to her level. “You’re really that unhappy?” She nods erratically.

“I never wanted this… if you sleep with him, then I can finally escape and have my freedom again, I could travel, spend my money how I want and sleep with whoever I want, the marriage essentially become void.”

You look up at Tari understanding her point of view.

It feels wrong, but it’s what a good friend would do.

“Fine- I’ll sleep with your husband.” Tari squeals in delight, tackling you into a bear hug as she spins relentlessly in celebration at the prospect’s of her new found freedom and all because of your noble sacrifice.

Ironically, unlike Tari, you actually found her husband quite attractive. Tari just thought Ri looked so odd for an Orc.

Tari came from the Ea-an clan, which are orcs with green-skin, black or brown hair, black tattoos and gold jewellery.

Where-as her husband Ri came from the Nesian clan, far in the south. They typically have grey-blue skin, white tattoos, white or black hair and silver jewellery.

Ri was the first Nesian you’ve ever seen before which just further added to the aw and ethereal nature. Since they’re so far in the South, most people go their whole lives never seeing one.

Ignoring how Ri looks, the way he carries himself is just so attractive.

He always has his long white hair re-braided every week. You’ve often spotted Ri walking around shirtless around the Orc village, his battle scars and white tattoo being shown off for all its glory. Whenever someone gets drunk and mouthy in your bar, Ri was always there to set them in their place.

You already had reservations about your arrangement with Tari, tricking someone into sleeping with you feels terribly tacky, but now that you’re sitting across from her as she’s giving you a knowing smile all whilst Ri whips you both drinks up in their shared home, your resolve immediately crumbles.

“Holy shit Tari- I can’t do this!” You panic, looking off to the exit.

“Huh-why?! What’s wrong- tell me.” Tari panics as you try to back track your agreement.

“I don’t know how to flirt with your husband- what if he brushes me off?”

“He won’t!” Tari reassures, grabbing your hand to stop you from flailing.

“I’m just some boring human- look at Ri- he wouldn’t find me attractive! I’m just going to make a fool of myself!” Tari’s mouth widens in shock.

“You don’t seriously think you look boring do you?!” You shrug, in uncertainty. You don’t look ugly but you don’t look interesting and impressive like Ri or Tara.

“I’m not an Orc, of course he won’t find me attractive.”

“You don’t look like an Orc which is exactly why you are attractive. It’s erotic to sleep with someone outside our race.” Tari’s reassures but it hardly helped settle your nerves.

“What’re you two discussing?” Ri asks, setting the drinks down.

You couldn’t have snatched yours faster if you tried.

“Y/n was just admitting to me she thinks she’s unattractive.” You stare daggers back at Tari.

“That’s ridiculous- you’re human.” He says as if that statement made an obvious impact.

“Thats what I said. I think any Orc would be thanking the gods for gifting them such a pretty little human to ride their huge cocks. I don’t know a single Orc that hasn’t wished for this.” Tari states a bit forcefully. “Don’t you agree?” Ri’s jaw seems to stiffen a bit but nods in agreement.

“That’s ridiculous. How are humans attractive to male Orcs? We have all the same parts as female Orcs.” You question which makes Tari throw her head back in thunderous laughter.

“Do you not have ears? It's erotic for us Orcs to sleep with a creature that isn't our own kind- the taboo makes the chase more exciting.” She answers whipping a tear off the corner of her eyes. “You human girls are so tiny and tight. I’ve heard stories of your kind becoming drooling limp moaning messes- begging for more huge Orc cocks whilst they still ride orc cock so enthusiastically. I’ve even heard that humans have ridiculously libidos.”

Ri snorts at Tari’s final fact. “I think the libidos thing is just make believe.” But you shake your head.

“Sex drives vary person to person, but Tari is right, having a high libido is typical for humans, it’s part of our drive to procreate.” You say meekly much to the shock of Ri.

“So you human girls don’t just cum once, and feel satisfied to stop?” Your cheeks grow warm from the pure shock and aw growing on Ri’s face.

“Um- well-“

“Don’t be shy Y/n, we’re all friends here.” Tari eggs you on with a calculated grin to follow.

“Okay, well. In honest truth when I take care of my own orgasms, I can go multiple times. With sex, I usually would like to cum more than 2 times, but most human man can’t handle it.” You say shyly, seeing Ri become more engrossed in your sexual endeavours.

“So it’s true,..” He says in surprise, leaning back.

“That’s not all.” Tari continues, “Orcs are just so muscular, like stones but human girls are usually so squishy, like Y/n for example. If I poke her arm, it doesn’t feel like rocks. Go on touch her!” Tari encourages but Ri looks uncertain.

“It’s okay Ri, I don’t mind.“ Taking his hand and placing it on your arm.

“You’re right- I had no idea humans were so soft.” Ri begins to squeeze your arm excitedly, watching your arm flesh move around instead of resisting movement. You begin to giggle at Ri’s amazed reaction.

“I had no idea that being fleshy was so nuanced, surely female orcs are squishy.” You giggle as Ri grabs your other arm to see if it will squish too.

“We aren’t - even our breast are muscular.” You raise a brow to this, surprise you hadn’t noticed, but now that Tari’s pointed it out, Tari hadn’t any bounce to it.

You look at Ri from the corner of your eyes and see his eyes fixated on your chest, as if imaging your fleshy arms feel similar to your breasts. “You can touch them if you want Ri.” You offer, sticking your chest out just a little more, but Ri looks like he’s talking himself out of it. Knowing that groping his wife’s best friend is out of the question.

“Go on Ri- I’ve touched them before, it’s so squishy.” Tari taunts. Immediately Ri doesn’t wait for another second his hands grabbing your chest harshly, the action sends ripples of nerves shooting down the pit of your stomach.

“C-careful, mine are sensitive.” You say hesitantly, Ri nods and begins to nead them softly. You feel the need in your stomach stirring.

You look over at Tari who looks like she won the lottery. “Ri- if Y/n’s comfortable with it, you should explore her human body.” Ri seems shocked at Tari’s offer, his eyes bulging in shock. “Most human women find us Orcs repulsive- but Y/n’s a friend, you don’t mind letting my husband explore your body right?” She smiles poisonously as you nod in agreement. “Whelp- I’ll leave you too it- I’m pretty tired.” Tari releases the fakest yawn you’ve ever heard. But Ri doesn’t seem to notice, he’s too engrossed in contemplation in crossing social boundaries.

“I had no idea human women felt so different to Orc women.” Ri nodded in agreement.

“It makes me wonder if all those fantastical stories are true but I would never want you to feel pressured.” He says vaguely which triggers your intrigue. His hands hesitantly pull away, but your hands grab his.

“I really don’t mind if you want to explore my body Ri- after all, I’m curious if all the stories from humans are true. If Orc tongue and cock is as good as they say it is.” You can see something animalistic shift beneath the surface. A line that Ri was resisting to cross was dashed and you were a little frightened at the Pandora’s box you just opened.

“I knew Tari was a manipulative witch, but I had no idea her sweet little human friend could be too.” His voice rumbles with a hiss as he drags you onto his lap. “I would never break a marriage contract, but if Tari is going to offer her pretty human as bait - then I’ll definitely bite.” You shrink back nervously at the sudden change in personality but you can’t hold back the shuttering as Ri drags your core along his muscular thigh eliciting a pleasurable sound to pour from your lips. “I was just being a good husband. Keeping my hands to myself,” your eyes go a bit glossy, becoming unfocused at the teasing waves of pleasure building up from riding Ri’s thick thigh. His hold on your hips now loosened as you took your own initiative to drag your weepy cunt along his leg like a damn mut in heat. “I’ve even fisted my own cock to the thought of you. All to resist devouring you whenever your around, leaving your delicious scent on every surface and wearing those pretty little clothes.” You repositioned yourself to grind down on his lap, your eyes glazing over in pleasure as you continue to grind down into his lap. Ri grabs your chin, forcing you to look up into his eyes. “But if my own wife is going to toss her friend cunt first into my lap, then I won’t say no.” He grumbles tearing your top right off, watching your squishy breasts spill out.

Of course Ri could see through your charade- this isn’t a porno, it’s real fucking life. He could see you two working so hard to seduce him and it was honestly cute to see you try so hard because you seriously didn’t have to.

Now you'll have to pay the consequences.

[quotesprincess-blog1]

You Promised (Part 1)

Pairing : bob reynolds x female reader

Summary : You and Bob were engaged and secretly married from only the knowledge of a few friends but when things go wrong it ultimately ends in divorce and you do have a boyfriend but hes terrible anyways but one day you see him on TV and he is still wearing your wedding band and after the meet he shows up at your front door

Warnings : 18+ content, smut, angst, fluff, cheating but the boyfriend is lowkey a shitty guy but no smut in this part part, divorce trope, bob is kinda all over the place and so is reader.

from me : Heyyy, this is my first time writing a story since 2018 cuz bob has me so whipped up so please enjoy this, like and reblog if you want more parts! I haven't proof read this well but I will one day!

You had finally settled on the couch after having  a long gruelling day of cleaning the house. You looked over at your phone and it illuminated 12:39. You got up again eventho your legs were exhausted. You then made your way upstairs to take an everything shower. You undressed and threw your dirty clothes in the laundry basket and stepped into the shower excited for the feeling the steaming hot water on your aching muscles. You lit a candle that dispersed a cinnamon scent into the air and got to work washing away all the tension and build up of the day.

The weather was gloomy, dark clouds unwrapping themselves in the skies and a slight drizzle started but then water poured like waterfalls, you looked out to see on your window water droplets clashing into it at full speed.

You make your way downstairs a towel in your hair and your phone in your hand wearing  the sweatpants as soft as a whisper on your skin and just a black nike sports bra that didn’t really leave much to the imagination. You settle down in the couch with coffee in your hand and turn on the tv and then you see him. Bob. Your Bob. Technically not yours because time makes things go hazy but it was Bob.

Usually his interviews and press meets are done with him in his golden luminous suit that cinched his body in all the right places you couldn’t even recognize it was Bob the first time he presented himself in it, but today he was wearing casual clothes as it he sat next to Yelena. He was wearing some washed kaki cargos and a white sweater. You wouldn’t have had much to say if it was just a sweater but it wasn’t.

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You, Yelena and Ava were close friends at first you met Yelena on a mission Val had tied you up with and you both became friends very quickly then she introduced you to Ava and the rest was history. On one cozy Sunday, the three of you plus Bob were out at some Korean barbeque place together, just an usual girls night plus Bob and honestly you didn’t mind because he was such a laid back person. Bobs birthday was apparently in a week, you could tell he hadn’t remembered it because he didn’t even mention it once but you knew because you had asked Yelena about his birthday ever since she first introduced him. You wouldn’t have expected him to tell you his birthday anyways because he wasn’t much of a talker. Always kept to himself and would occasionally share a soft giggle or answer any question Yelena or Ava enquired him with. You had grown fond of that, really had, every guy that asked you out or you met on dating apps would not stop going on and on about themselves and all their hobbies and achievements but Bob wasn’t like that it was different and it made you curious.

You had waited for everyone to finish their meals and once they had you grabbed the paper bag you had tucked under your chair and you handed it to Bob over the table. “We probably won’t meet on your birthday so I thought I’d just hand this to you now”. He seemed confused like he didn’t know what was going on. “Just take it bob”, Yelena chimed it. He reached over to slowly grab the bad from your hand and before he even checked it he was already thanking you, “T-thank you.” “Don’t mention it”, you said enthusiastically. He then pulled out the milk colored sweater from the bag, It was white but had this little square texture all over it and you found that it made it softer. He had examined it for a bit too long you were starting to wonder if he didn’t like it, so you started rambling about something about “I don’t really know you that well, b-but I always see you wearing sweaters so I thought I’d get you something I thought you like if you don’t like it I’m sor-“. “N-no, don’t get me w-wrong I actually like it a bit too much, I don’t know how to thank you”. A sense of relief washed over you knowing he didn’t dislike it and you all continued talking, but you felt it, a shift in the atmosphere as if Bob was actually paying attention to you now.

Later that night you had hugged Yelena and Ava goodbye and just wished Bob because you didn’t know how he felt about that although you could tell from how he looked at you hug Yelena he wouldn’t have minded.

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Your mind was replaying all your memories when suddenly he bought his hand up to his hair and ran it through to adjust some of the unruly dark curly strands that fell on his forehead. That’s when you saw it. The gold wedding band, it wasn’t extravagant or big with a diamond but that’s what you and Bob both wanted, you just wanted a plain gold ring for your wedding band. Your eyes widened like a deer caught by headlights. You thought no way after everything was he still wearing it and you weren’t paying attention to the interview until you heard: “So Robert, whats the story behind the ring your ring finger on your left hand I wonder…”. Bob just chuckled half heartedly and looked like he was finally snapped back into reality because the rest of the team was at the interview and everyone was paying more attention to them than Bob so he was just sitting here. “I-It’s uh f-from a s-special someone.” Then his lips lifted themselves into a smile.

[FZZZT]

You had turned your TV off because seeing him after so long definitely hit you somewhere close to home. You then carried yourself to your fridge grabbed a tub of ice cream and settled on the couch again to scroll to your friend but you were doing it mindlessly and aimlessly not engaging with any of the content on tiktok because your mind was still on Bob. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, all those dates, all those hangouts, all those times when you had quote on quote accidently ended up in his bed and him in yours and you woke up embraced by him slowly kissing up your neck and back just not letting you go no matter your excuse-.

[Dingggg] Your attention snapped to your phone to see a notification from Trevor, your boyfriend, it was unexpected and you didn’t really expect things to go this far. After the divorce you had just been so desperate to move on you ended up with Trevor and at first it was great but then you had soon realized he had anger issues and the tendency to hit walls when he was really mad and soon the walls ended up becoming you and you don’t remember last night in complete detail but it ended up in you running up the stairs and trying to lock the door after he had been angry about how dusty it was under the couches but he had grabbed onto the back of your shirt which resulted in you falling face first into the stairs. When you had asked him about in the morning he had said that you fell on the stairs and you weren’t even surprised because this does happen sometimes. Your torso hit it the stairs first and there was some purple that had bloomed across ur torso, thighs and arms and that was the reason you were willing to clean the house today.

{4:38pm : I’m sorry about last night honey but be ready by eight because we are going to Nobu ;) }

You sighed, you hated this, hated being used how he wanted and then just have money thrown into your face like it would fix anything. You buried your face in your hands in utter annoyance when the doorbell rang. Startled you had slipped on one of your shirts lying on the couch because you weren’t expecting anyone and there he was. It was Bob.

He stood tall in front of you, and you stared at him from toe to head, he was wearing his usual lacoste black sneakers that were muddied but only on the soles and his cargo pants were rolled up because he knows how muddy your lawn gets especially but he knew a bit too well from how often you both used to spend time out there and it looked like he knew exactly where to step so his shoes didn’t get soiled. Above his pants he wore his white sweater and it was already thin but because it was wet from the rain it was basically transparent and you could see his chiseled abs peeking right though. He had flowers in one hand, pink roses, something Trevor never knew about but Bob did because he always had to know what you liked he had the flowers held with his right hand across his chest and his left hand still flaunting the gold wedding band.

“Eyes up here, Y/n, you really checking me out after you filed for divorce?” he declared with a slight sense of annoyance.

You looked up to see his face, his curly dark hair was truly as unruly as it could have been but flatter than usual because of moisture from the rain, water droplets were littered all over his face but that didn’t stop you from getting a glance at his eyes, they seemed sunken in displaying a ring of dark purple around them and his eyes themselves were a bit crimson.

“You’re the one showing up at my house with flowers in one hand the wedding band in another dressing up like we are going on some date” you bit back.

“You promised, you promised if I don’t stop thinking about you in a span of a year and a half then you would take me back and we would go back to how we were, right now its been 182 days, 23 hours and-“ he took a quick glance at his watch and declared “51 minutes, Baby I still wear it, our wedding band” and examined your hand to see you weren’t, I mean of course you weren’t, you were with Trevor it would literally be a soft form of cheating as if bob being at your house right now isn’t cheating. He looked up at your face “Y/N, I miss you, I miss us, there hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about you and it is eating me alive knowing where you live but not being able to show up just because you told me too and now times up and you have no idea how long I dreaded the time we didn’t spent together, I love you baby I do.”

You opened your mouth like you wanted to say something but to your dismay nothing came out then you said. “B-Bob, I-uh, I don’t know what to say”

“shhhh b-baby, you don’t have to say anything”

He then stepped closer, you hadn’t realized it until now but he smelled faintly of his whiskey and excessively of his usual cinnamon and oak perfume that seemed like he had used to cover up the proof of alcohol. Then his right hand with flowers on splayed across your back and his left hand on your cheek and you stayed like that for a moment him not being sure of what he was doing. You looked up into his eyes and he leaned in very close but not close enough for your lips to touch but one blow from the wind and you would kiss. He waited for you to kiss him and that’s what you did. Unable to take this any longer you tiptoed up into him and it knocks the wind out of his lungs, of course you both had done this very often but it has been so long when your lips connect he almost falls back but you grab his sweater to hold him in place and he pulls away so you tiptoe more about to fall over yourself but he catches you.

“B-baby, do you really want this because if you say no I’ll leave right now just please be honest” he blurts out. “If I didn’t want this I wouldn’t be kissing so shut up and kiss me” you demanded.

from me : I will continue writing for this if it does well and I really hope it does because its my first time!! Help a bob reynolds girie out yall ;>

[brookebroski]

I've Seen You

Coolin' Off part 2

summary: After that day at the pool with Pope, you've avoided the Cody house, attempting to keep your sanity. That is until a night one week later you're woken from your slumber and find an unexpected visitor on your porch.

warnings: sexual content, p in v, fingering, feelings. let me know if there are any others

author's note: This is part 2 to Coolin' Off. I hadn't expected for Coolin' Off to do as well as it has, but i had already started writing part 2 anyway for my own sake. So here you guys go. Any and all feed back is welcome, thank you for interacting.

word count: 4.8k

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The display at the pool was the star of all your dreams for the past week. You hadn’t technically booked it out of there but, you’re certain that that is how the boys see it. You had remained enveloped in Pope’s intense gaze until you heard the sliding door open and turned to watch J walk out. You took your opportunity to cease the likelihood of any more embarrassment for the day and had asked J if he could drop you off at home.

“Uh, sure,” he had said with obvious amusement in his tone, glancing between both you and Pope.

“Great, thanks.”

In the effort to leave as soon as possible, you had just grabbed all your belongings instead of dressing and opted to wrap a towel around your body to keep J’s truck dry. Without looking at Pope or even in the direction of the pool, you walked out with J, him holding the gate open for you. Looking back in Pope’s direction wasn’t needed for you to know that his gaze never left you, you could feel it burning the back of you as you walked out to the driveway. Once you were in the truck and heading down the driveway, the questions began.

“So, how do you know my family?” J asks, one arm on the wheel and the other over the center console, running his fingers over the seams.

“Oh, I uh, went to school with Deran,” you give the most basic answer to the question, worried that any in depth answers might lead to heavier questions; leading right back into the snare that is Pope Cody.

“O-kay,” J says, understanding the lack of a complete answer.

It’s not that you don’t want J to know these things, it’s that you know telling him that means you might have to tell him about Pope and why you stay at their house like the family is your own. Telling him how sleep overs at your best friend’s house turned into never wanting to leave because your parents were rarely home anyway.

Which opens the can of worms that is Pope; you being poor teenage Pope’s shadow while he pined for Catherine and then how his eyes finally turned in your direction as you got older and Catherine was no longer an option; as if she ever had been. Most mortifying though, would be this unspoken, yet understood between the both of you, stubborn rivalry you started when you decided you didn’t want to be his backup plan because he couldn’t have Catherine. Since then, he’s done everything in his power to get you to break, and at some point, along the way, you think you started to.

You dream of the breaking, of letting him win, letting both of you get what you want. The ending of your stubborn streak being a crass and fire fueled shattering of your composure, not thought out or planned in any way, just jumping him at any opportunity and damn the consequences. It’s always you, never once Pope, who gives in.

You pulling him into a dark corner at a party one of his brothers had thrown. You meeting him halfway in the pool to pull him under and use all the air you had gathered in your lungs to trade back and forth with him in a kiss so full of heat that your skin burns. You putting his hands on your body, trying with all your might to get him to cooperate with you, to get him to just kiss you damnit. Trying to get him to feel it too, this fire you have for him, leading his hands down, down, down to right where you need him, to show him just how much you have wanted this for what feels like your entire life.

Your fear plays out in your dreams; Pope not wanting you, having never wanted you. You taint his image with your fear, convincing yourself that this is exactly what would happen, this game you have both been playing is just that, a game. He never wanted you, not really, but toying with you gave him a distraction from Catherine. It’s this that wakes you.

You sit straight up in bed, stiff and sore from the restless sleep you’ve been getting for the past week. The breeze off the ocean a block from your apartment comes through your window and tries to cool you down. You inhale deeply and run your hands over your eyes, wiping the sleep from them before attempting to swallow the lump in your throat. You sigh, feeling the remnants of rejection from your dream weighing heavily on your chest. You have no way of knowing that would be his reaction, but it sits in you and festers anyway.

If you never go to the Cody house again, you’ll never have to deal with this.

The thought sours at the realization that you wouldn’t only be leaving Pope behind but Deran, and a family that you never had before Deran brought you home from school one day in 6th grade. In some dark corner of your mind, you think you always knew this would happen. The good things always seemed to come to a screeching halt when it came to you, showing up one day and gone the next. You know, though, that whether this is going to end or start you still want the Cody’s around, so you decide to suck it up.

Tomorrow you will go back to the house, sit by the pool and not play games you won’t win with Pope. First, you need a drink.

You rise from bed and make your way into the makeshift kitchen of your apartment. It’s small, not that you need a ton of room for one person, or rather one person who barely cooks. The sink sits in the middle of the kitchen bracketed by two cabinets, a drying rack next to it. You grab a glass and turn the faucet on and then off once you’ve gotten your water. Spinning on your heel you rest your back against the sink and take a gulp; it eases the dryness in your mouth. Your gaze turns toward the sliding glass door in your kitchen that leads out to the back porch, and you freeze.

There is a silhouette sitting on the step that oddly looks like Pope, his knees splayed wide and his head down between them. It’s obvious to you that he’s rubbing his face, something clearly bothering him. You shake your head and think,  fuck it before making your way to the door.

Once you slide the door open a crack you whisper out, “Pope?” His head lifts slightly, peaking back over his shoulder in your direction, when he sees you, he puts his head back down and nods.

“Yup,” is all he says, and you open the door the rest of the way, exiting the safety of your kitchen in favor of offering him solace. The sound of your feet padding in his direction makes him turn to you once more. You see it in his eyes, the confusion, the hurt, it surprises you. If he has no feelings for you, if it’s all just a game, then why does he look like his heart has been ripped from his chest?

His eyes follow you until you’re seated next to him on the step, you run your hands over the hem of your nightgown making sure it’s covering you. In no way do you intend to lean against him, even trying to keep space between the two of you, but he doesn’t have it. He leans his shoulder into yours and, almost hesitantly, his head into the crock of your neck. You hear him inhale and your breath locks in your chest. The words make themselves known, no longer allowing you to hold them back, “are you okay, Pope?” He tenses slightly, as if not expecting any words from you at all, before he lets out a small chuckle.

“You stopped showin’ up,” and your heart cracks a little at the pitiful sound of his voice, strained, like he hasn’t used it since he talked to you last. You let yourself go and lean into him, resting your head on top of his and moving your hand from your lap to grasp his.

“Didn’t think it mattered,” to him, in general, you’re not sure all you know is that the back and forth between you and Pope felt both too real and not at all. He lifts his head from your shoulder and looks into your eyes, not with the normal Pope stare, this one is softer almost sorry.

“Of course it matters,” without him saying it, you hear it: you matter. You sigh and look away from him, debating whether this is the time for the conversation you’ve been running from since you were sixteen, or if it would be better to stay silent. Leaving everything unsaid and in turn tense, heavy, and heartbreaking. His hand leaves yours and finds its home under your chin, turning your head to look into his eyes. There’s something there, mixed into the hazel of his iris’s, something sad, regretful. He inhales and clenches his teeth before he speaks, “I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrow, you shake your head slightly, wanting to ask why. What could he possibly be apologizing for? He doesn’t know how you feel so it’s not as though he’s turning you down, he hasn’t hurt you in any way that he knows of. To your knowledge, there is nothing in your psyche that you have let Pope in on, no way of him knowing that you dream of losing him every night, that you have ached your whole life for this man to look at you the way he looked at Catherine. You should be the one to say sorry, you’ve followed him around and bothered him your whole life, and for what, some juvenile crush that will never go anywhere.

You go to speak, trying to tell him there is indeed nothing for him to be sorry for but, he stops you.

“I should’ve told you, but you’re so good and I’m…me. I’m me,” he takes his hands from your face and covers his own. You’re stuck. Silent. The confusion wafting off you. You think this can’t be, Pope Cody cannot be saying what you think he’s saying. He’s sorry, he should’ve told you.

“Pope…” you don’t know what to say, wanting to know everything and nothing at the same time. This could be it, you’ve waited your entire life for Pope to look at you, just fucking look at you a sliver of the way you looked at him. You wanted him to want you, to crave you the way you did him. He’s never once in all the years you’ve known him showed you any romantic interest, at all. The idea that this man, this wonderful, beautiful, complicated man could want you has never crossed your mind. You’ve played silent yearner for so long, you don’t want to be silent anymore.

You try to tell him, you really do, damn the consequences, forget it not being reciprocated, you don’t care. You just need him to know that he means something to someone, means something to you. ‘I’m me’ he said, as though it was some sort of curse, as if he doesn’t hang the moon and starts in your sky, like he doesn’t breathe fresh air into your lungs every time you see him. You think the only thing that could have possibly ever made you admit how you feel about him, is Pope believing that someone couldn’t love him. So, you try to tell him, but he stops you, again.

“You were always attached to my hip when we were younger,” he pauses and shakes his head, chuckling, “it was like you followed me everywhere. And, at first, when you were really young, it annoyed the hell out of me. Whenever I would turn around you were right there. I remember thinking that one day I would inevitably knock you down, hurt you, unintentionally. But it never happened. You had your eye on me, watched my every move, always knew when I was going to turn around or start swinging at someone; always knew when to step out of the way. It annoyed me, until one day it didn’t. Or at least it started to annoy me for a different reason.”

Pope meets your eyes, his almost fearful, unknowing, like he was walking into a field of landmines; yours full of surprise at the idea that he had paid attention to you then. There’s a sinking in your stomach, he had only noticed these things because they were a nuisance to him, like he had no other choice but to pay attention to you because you were always right there. Ready to annoy him, ready to get in his way. You turn away from his eyes, a sour taste in your mouth. If he had come to your home to tell you how much he disliked you being around, then you had heard enough.

You start to rise, ready to return to your nightmares about this exact scenario because at least they weren’t real. Then, Pope swings his arm out, pushing it into your chest trying to keep you in place, very obviously not done ruining your night. You look back at him and shake your head, “I can’t listen to this, Pope. I can’t hear you tell me you didn’t want me around; I want to go to bed.”

The arm across your chest moves up to cup your face, his thumb running under your eye to collect the tear you hadn’t realized you let out. You want to lean into him, allow his firm hold to keep your breaking pieces together. All you had ever wanted was for him to notice you, to pay attention to you and you guess you got that, just not how you had imagined it. You watch him struggle, gnawing on the corner of his lower lip, trying to find the words.

“I wanted you,” the words seize you, dig their sharp claws into you. You gasp, instantly shaking your head, trying to deny his words. His grip on your face gets firmer, attempting to ground you, to get you to listen to him. “Yes, it’s true,” the stray tear he had wiped away, turns into a sob. You cannot see him, or anything, through your tears. Your breath quickens, all remnants of the calm you previously had are gone. Pope pulls you into him, nearly into his lap. You feel him start to rock, trying to console you. “Sh sh sh, you’re okay. Breathe for me,” he whispers into your hair.

You can’t breathe. How could you breathe knowing that nearly the entire time you’ve wanted Pope, he’s wanted you back? So many nights you had laid in bed wondering what you could do to make him see you. The stupid shit you’d get yourself into trying to get a reaction. Once you had realized that Smurf would send Pope to get Deran out of trouble, you started to tag along with your best friend. Underage drinking and smoking pot, picking fights with people who had done nothing wrong, trying to join in on the family business.

‘No,’ Pope had said when Deran had asked Smurf to include you in the next job.

‘Why not? She’d be a good distraction,” Deran had tried to convince him. You watched from your seat at the counter, Pope glancing over to you, looking you up and down.

‘I said no. Family only, you know that,’ Deran looked to Smurf who had just shrugged.

‘You guys let Catherine help out, it doesn’t have to be anything big, she just wants to help,’ bless Deran he had really tried to get you a spot on the team.

‘That’s different,’ Pope dismissed.

‘How is that any different?’

‘It just is, I said no, so drop it.’

You remembered feeling more alienated than you ever had in your life in that moment. You weren’t family, Pope didn’t want your help. If he wanted you, he would’ve let you help. You suck in enough breath to get the words to come out of you, “you said I wasn’t family, didn want my h-help.” Pope loosens his grip on you, and you use that to pull out of his grasp to look at him. Confusion streaks along his features before realization sets in.

“Didn’t want you hurt. The job was bad, they all are. I didn’t want anything to happen to you if it went sideways, I couldn’t live with myself,” he says it with so much conviction, you have no choice but to believe him.

Your tears have slowed down, having almost convinced yourself that this wasn’t real. He wasn’t telling the truth, but you can’t find a reason for him to be lying to you. However, on the slight chance that what he’s saying is true, you need to know why he hadn’t told you, so you ask. Pope sighs, runs his hand through his hair before resting it on the back of his head.

“I was no good. I hurt people and did terrible things. Knew you deserved much better than me, couldn’t hold you back from having it,” and your heart breaks all over again. He held his feelings at bay and put your wellbeing first. He believed he wasn’t good enough for you, but he’s all you’ve ever wanted. You grab his hand from the back of his head and hold it to your chest. He turns his eyes to you, so full of hope and fear.

“You were good to me. Everyone else doesn’t matter,” you tell him, trying to get him to understand. You didn’t need a hero to save you; you needed Pope, who would burn the world down for you.

You watch him deflate, the stone cold reserve cracking, finally showing himself to you. You see tears welling in his eyes, and it’s your turn to hold him. You move your hand to the back of his head and nod to him before guiding him to lie in your lap. You feel him shaking as he tries to fight off his tears. Running your hands through his hair, you try to give him the solace he’s needed and deserved his whole life.

This continues for a while, until Pope is still for long enough that you believe he will be okay. You lean down to whisper to him, “take me to bed, Pope.” He sits up slightly, training his eyes on you. His brow is furrowed, as if he doesn’t believe what you’re saying.

“Are you sure?” he’s hesitant, knowing that this has been an emotionally charged evening and not wanting to damage any of what you’ve just built. But fuck if he doesn’t want you right now.

“I want you, Pope,” you’re solid on this, having wanted him for so many years, and finally having him in your grasp. His eyes search yours, trying to find any doubt that may lie in them. When he doesn’t find any, he nods.

“I want you too,” the words run through you, the knowledge that this is real has you smiling at him so wide your mouth hurts. You nearly lunge at him, grabbing his face in your hands and locking your lips with his. You feel him inhale quickly before he settles into you, moving with you. His hand finds purchase on your face, thumb under your jaw, as he holds you in place not wanting this to end. You eventually break away from each other, both of you sucking in lungfuls of air. Pope looks at you deeply and brushes a stary strand of hair out of your face before he nods at you, “come on.”

He grabs your hands in his and you rise with him. You try to lead him toward your still open door, but he doesn’t have it. He puts one arm behind your back and the other under your legs and sweeps you up into his chest. Your surprise melts into warmth and you rest your head on his shoulder. You run your nose along his jaw and pepper kisses along it as he walks through the door, sliding it shut with his heel. You feel him shiver as you make your way down his neck small pecks turning into open mouthed kisses until you’re running the tip of your tongue over his carotid.

You know you’ve made it to your room because Pope drops you onto your bed. It bounces under you, and you watch as Pope takes you in. You give him a second to process before you run your hands up his sides, his shirt riding up just enough that your pinkies graze the hot skin underneath. Your hands make their path up, over his chest fingers tracing the muscles that reside under the thin fabric of his shirt, over his shoulders and back down his arms where you grip him tight. You pull him toward you, he follows, and you know he’d go anywhere in this moment, as long as he was following you.

He kneels above you on the edge of your bed and you rise to him. His eyes haven’t left you since he dropped you to the bed, his gaze heavy and intense as ever as you rest your hand on the back of his neck to pull him into you. The kiss is hot; it empties your mind of everything that isn’t Pope. Your noses nudge together as you move as though you’re devouring each other. Your patience starts to wane just as Pope bites your lip making you gasp. You feel Pope smile now that you’re open to him before his tongue searches for your own.

In the midst of your embrace, you feel Pope’s rough fingertips run up the length of your thigh. You shiver at the feeling causing Pope to break the kiss. He rests his forehead against yours breathing heavily, his eyes closed and his fingers still exploring. After a beat, his eyes open, looking deep into your own. His pupils are blown, dark as night, his look questioning. Unspoken words are traded between you before you nod against his forehead. He nods back just as his fingers meet the hem of your nightgown, running his fingers just over the top of your thigh. Fingers turn into his entire hand as he begins slowly pushing up, you raise your arms, aiding him in ridding you of any cover.

You’re bare to him having forgone underwear in the name of comfortable sleep. His eyes widen, running them up your body taking in every inch of bare skin and finally meeting your eyes. You smile at him, “your turn.” You reach for him, calm and cool despite the rush in your head and the heartbeat in your ears; he lets you. Your delicate fingers rub the fabric on the hem of his shirt before bunching it in your hands and lifting it off his broad frame. Jesus, you think, you have definitely seen him shirtless before but something about this instance being a bit more intimate than normal has goose bumps rising on your skin.

You can’t help yourself as you run your fingers over him, along the edge of his shoulder, down to the dip of his collarbone. Fingertips have a mind of their own as they rove over the skin of his chest and down his stomach, circling his belly button before they land on the waistband of his jeans. Pope groans and you feel it low in your belly, you don’t ask for permission before you’re unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. The black of his boxers peaks out, and now without the confines of the button you can see the hard ridge of him clearly. He must think this is taking a torturous amount of time because in seconds he’s pulling them down and off his strong legs.

“Boxers too,” you state eyes never falling from his hard length. Pope huffs and then he’s pushing his boxers down his legs too. He’s thick and you think that there’s no way he’s going to fit inside you, but you take him in your hand anyway, he inhales, breathing picking up. You pump him once, twice and Pope moans deep and throaty. His hand grabs your wrist, pulls you off him and pushes you back onto the bed.

“Won’t last,” he says in answer to your glare. Then he’s on you, grabbing the inside of your thigh and pushing it open. He looks down at your center and runs a finger through your folds. A gasp escapes you, and then a moan when he finds your clit.

“Pope,” you moan, and his eyes find yours. He nods, rubbing the nub with his thumb, pulling more breathy sounds from your throat. He looks back down at his fingers on you and pushes a finger inside your wet heat. You throw your head back, “holy shit, Pope. Move.” And he does, pulling out before thrusting back in. On the next thrust he adds another finger, spreading them inside you, stretching your walls. You buck your hips; having lost any control you may have once had on your body. A firm band of muscle snares your hips, keeping you in place, keeping you from searching for more.

Between one thrust and the next, an overwhelming wave of pleasure hits you, making you nearly squeal, “again.” Pope hooks his fingers up and nudges against that spot in the heat of you that made that intoxicating sound leave your lips; he’s desperate to hear it again. Just as he hoped, the sound happens again, and again and again as he quickens his pace making sure to continuously hit that spot deep in you.

“…m'gonna come,” you moan out, the bliss having taken over you, words becoming hard bastards to latch onto.

“Yeah? Gonna come for me, baby? Wan’ it so bad, baby give it to me,” your eyes white out and a strangled moan expels itself from your throat as the knot in your stomach bursts. You think you hear Pope talking but, your hearing has been taken from you as well. Your senses slowly start coming back to you, and you start grappling. Reaching for Pope, you grab his arm that thrown over your hips and pull him toward you, wincing as his fingers leave you.

Sensitive or not, you want him now, “please, need you now.” Pope makes a sound like he’s swallowed his tongue.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he makes the rest of the way up your body and settles over top of you, between your legs. You feel him, hard against your heat as he strokes himself through your folds, you hum. He looks into your eyes and you into his as he slides inside you. Pope groans and you moan low, you reach a hand up to cup his face, running your thumb over his lips and he rocks into you.

Moans and groans escape both of your mouths, heavy breaths covering each of you. As Pope rocks into you, you feel a familiar heat rolling in your stomach, a knot balling up and getting ready to break. The thrusts become erratic and the sounds coming from Pope are nearly pornographic. You nod your head encouraging him, “come on baby, come with me.” A strangled moan leaves his lips, and he snakes a hand down between you to rub your clit, the ball of fire bursts and you’re coming. Your heat pulses and locks around Pope and a surprised grunt escapes him before he comes deep inside you.

You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath. He collapses on top of you, and you think that if he stays there and you can’t breathe then you’re okay with dying this way. His head is nestled into the crook of your neck; you can feel his heavy breaths on your skin. You decide that if now isn’t the time, then there never will be one, so you wrap your hand around the back of his neck to hold him in place and whisper the words that will change your life forever into his ear, “I have seen you, and I love you still.”

You hear him whimper into your neck and he places a ghost of a kiss on your pulse before he wraps his arms around you. He rolls with you until you’re lying next to him, head on his chest, arm thrown across his stomach. You look up to him to find a look on his face that you’ve never seen from him before; one of both longing and resolution with tears in his eyes. His tongue runs over his bottom lip before he speaks, “I love you, too.”

[ms--lobotomy]

She Corvus on my Corax until I.... she Corax on my Corvus until I destroy my geneseed

Summary: Corvus has a bit of a guilty wank Word Count: 761 Content Warnings: NSFW, sad bird hours, size kink, religious (?) guilt, you really dont know whether its requited or not, an extreme amount of cum, no beta we die like Corvus's hopes and dreams Image Credit: @squishyowl

Corvus snuffed the lone candle illuminating his room. The orange light was gone in an instant, leaving the room in darkness. Sadly, he could see through it. He positioned himself on the bed, a luxury he had very recently let himself partake in. The sheets were some simple things from Deliverance, comfortable enough. 

It was disgusting. There was nothing wrong with it, per se, but the warmth and comfort was too alien for his liking. He looked at the ceiling for a moment, dark eyes blank and his bare chest rising and falling. 

It was at that moment when he reached for the lotion. He had to go about asking for it in a discreet manner, telling his sons that it was for a rash and looking at them like only a Primarch could. Nobody questioned him after that. 

The head of his paper-white cock was already leaking with precum as he pictured you in his mind. He felt himself begin to sweat. Matters of the flesh were weak; they were disgusting! Yet here you were, in his mind, so small and delicate on him. His hands reached out for you, as if you were there. He bit his lip. No.

By the Throne, you’d be so small on him. He’d even trimmed his cock for the occasion--not completely, mind you, but enough to fit his idea of presentable.

He rubbed lotion on his cock, imagining your tiny hands on him instead of his own. Your skin would be so soft against him, your mouth tiny and wet and welcoming. He thought of you lapping up every last drop; his precum, and then more, and then his cum for real once he finally spilled in you. He’d have a hard time keeping your teeth intact if you were to… oh, how disgusting it was, that he would jump to such conclusions! 

He shivered as he thumbed at the head. A shiver went down his spine, and his face scrunched up. He imagined your tongue on his cock instead, your puppy-dog eyes looking up at him. How shy you would be on him, how gorgeous-! 

He couldn’t help but buck his hips up into his hand. At that moment, he was glad there was nobody around his room, because the moan he let out was absolutely loathsome. But he had to. The thought of you bouncing on his cock, your tight little hole greedily taking it in while he rubbed your nipples with his thumbs only made him rub himself harder.

Who were you to do this to someone, he thought, reaching his second hand down to his balls and fondling them gently. He immediately tensed up as the words entered his brain. No, no, that’s a human being, he admonished himself. His hand started to work him a little bit slower. Respect your serf.

Then why are you pleasuring yourself to the idea of sullying them?

“Gross,” he said, between moans. “I can’t…”

One of his eyes opened, and he propped himself up on the bed with the hand he used to work his balls. His cock was throbbing on its own now, begging to release loads of cum into you. But you were far, far away. Those pretty eyes, that perfect face, the petal-soft skin of your ass and the enchanting shape of your thighs…

Without noticing, he sped his hand up. He let out a whorish moan, resigning himself to the obvious. He grit his teeth as he felt a warmth rise through his body, a warmth he wasn’t made to endure, a flaw in his geneseed but a pleasure nonetheless. 

“Gah--!”

And before he knew it, a white, viscous fluid spilled from him, covering his pelvis and the sheets surrounding him. His hand slowed down, covered in the salty liquid when it finally stopped. Sweat beads dotted his skin. His heart sunk into his stomach and his cum sank into the fabric. He shook, his chest heaving. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it.

So, there he lay. Covered in his own cum, you dancing through his mind. You taunted him, through no fault of your own. You, you…

If he hadn’t felt disgusting before, he was filthy now. With his clean hand, he shakily reached out for the tissues. Had he been more forthcoming with his feelings, you could be laying in bed right now next to him. But that wasn’t the galaxy he lived in. Unless…!

His mind was made up. His breathing steadied. In the morning, he would ask you on a proper date.

and then he cuts his bangs with safety scissors

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

[bullet-prooflove]

ONE WILD NIGHT SERIES: My Future Wife - Dennis Whitaker x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes @caffeinatedwoman @hooks-martin

Summary: Dennis makes a promise to you at Jana's celebration of life event.

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis’s heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Written In The Stars - Your first date with Dennis takes place underneath the stars.

In The Park - Dennis reveals a secret after the two of you spend the night together in the park.

Virgin - There’s a rumour going around about Dennis.

Debauched (NSFW) - Karaoke night ends a lot differently than it did the first time around.

Symphony (NSFW) - Dennis has never eaten pussy before…

Pretty Boy (NSFW) - You and Dennis take the next step in your relationship.

Firsts (NSFW) - Dennis experiances alot of firsts during your first night together.

Permanent Marker - You find out about the betting pool.

Denny’s To Do List - Dennis realises he’s in the midst of a sexual awakening.

The Porn Boom (NSFW) - Dennis isn’t like the other man you’ve been with.

Bite (NSFW) - Dennis doesn’t mean to edge you.

Wild Flowers - A crown of wildflowers leads you and Dennis to discuss the issues he has with his family.

A Friend of Denny’s - Your relationship with Dennis takes a turn when his parents come to town.

A Cold Day In Hell - Dennis tries to make amends for his actions.

Gardens of Babylon - Dennis has made his choice, now it's time for you to make yours.

Dennis’s first episode of public sex takes place in the bathroom of the Wyndham Grand. He’s done it outdoors back home in Nebraska but it’s never had this level of excitement, it’s never been as thrilling as it is now. He doesn’t know if that’s because of you, or if it’s the possibility of getting caught that makes it such an aphrodisiac.

Both, he decides as his shirt flutters the floor. Your fingertips trail over the UV patterns on his chest, the swirl over his ribs, the heart above his left nipple and for a moment your expression is unreadable.

“I hate her.” You say quietly, tracing over the places that April has touched. “I have no right to because we were on a break but I do."

“You have nothing to worry about.” He reminds you, his nose grazing yours as he cradles your face in his palm. “The only woman I want is you, it’s always been you.”

“Then show me.”  You whisper, your hands come to rest on his belt, unfastening it as your mouth brushes over his.

His waistband loosens, his jeans slipping down over his bare ass along with his underwear. His cock slaps against his stomach, a drop of pre-cum smearing across his flaxen treasure trail. His hands delve under your dress, hooking on the elastic of your underwear drawing them down your thighs. The black lace is sodden, damp from the feel of him pressed up against you on the dance floor.  He tilts his head down, watching as your fingers wrap around his cock, sighing contently as you grasp him.

He’s been touch starved in the months you’ve spent apart, craving you in every way possible. It’s not just the sex or the intimacy that comes with it, it’s the companionship, the laughter, that smile that makes him feel like everything is going to be ok, even when the world feels like it’s crashing down around his head.

His thumb ghosts along your jaw as he tips your mouth up to his, claiming it. He enters you slowly, your hand guiding him until he fills you with every single inch of him. There is nothing on this earth like the rush he gets when he’s inside you. He could drown in this feeling, die happy in it.

“God I’ve missed you.” He whispers as he pulls out and sinks back in. “I’ve missed every single part of you.”

He finds your rhythm, the same way he always does. Long, hard thrusts that have your thighs tightening around his hips drawing him deeper as he fucks you on the vanity. His palm slips between the two of you, fingertips ghosting over your clit and you keen into his mouth as it drives you right to the point of rapture, and Dennis, he’s right there with you at the pinnacle of release.

You look gorgeous in the throes of ecstasy. Eyes closed, skin flushed, his name on your lips. He hears the door open behind him, his eyes flicker up to the mirror. He sees April, standing there, her mouth forming an ‘o’, her gaze fixating on your farm boy’s bare ass as he empties his load into you.

He knows he should be embarrassed or ashamed but with you he’s not, he’s bold and maybe, just maybe a little feral. He’s glad she’s seen the two of you together like this, maybe she’ll get the message that he only has eyes for you. She kissed him earlier tonight, told him she’d had a thing for him since long before you came along.

Dennis doesn’t believe her, he doesn’t believe any of the girls who’ve come his way since they learned you were on a break. He was just a meek little MS3 when he met you, but you breathed life into him, made him more confident in himself, in his abilities. You saw the real Dennis Whitaker underneath it all, the man that he is, the doctor that he can be.

“Get the fuck out.” He snaps, when their eyes meet in the reflection. “I’m fucking my future wife.”

Her breath catches and then she’s gone, the door slamming shut behind her as Dennis loops his arms under your knees, spreading you wider for him. He’s harder than ever, going for that second round when your fingers thread through his hair, your eyes meeting his.

“Did you mean that?” You ask him with a shyness that makes him fall in love with you all again.

“Yeah.” He whispers, punctuating the word with a thrust of his hips. “After my residency, when you're ready, I’m gonna make you my wife.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mybworlds]

Seasons

Pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: You, after a very long trip alone across the country, arrive in Jackson. Joel is a very lonely man and after Ellie broke up with him, he's even more alone and grumpy. Tommy and Maria decide that you're going to stay at Joel's house for a while, at least until more houses are built. Will your cohabitation be easy? Or will it be more complicated than everyone thinks?

Warnings: use of you, use of alcohol, loneliness, suicidal thoughts, suicidal attempt, a short story about sexual assault that occurred in the past I won't go into details, another SA in the present days, PTSD, violence, blood, lots of sexually explicit content, use of petnames, dirty talk, fluff elements, mutual pining, the main characters spy on each other for a while, the image of the female character has the sole purpose of representing the character, but you can imagine her however you want, no physical description of the female character except for long hair often gathered in a ponytail or braid, she wears a bra and jeans (most of the time).

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Masterlist

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed; @thatoneperson38747

The last conversation you had with Joel left you bitter and confused. You didn't expect those words. You were hoping to hear completely different words coming out of his mouth.

You're so stupid.

What did you expect him to tell you?

Joel's condition is improving day by day although a slight limp still remains, perhaps the leg just needs more time to fully heal.

You spend a lot of your time drinking tea, at least while there was some, in front of the fireplace. You lead a very quiet life and the days pass quickly with such a regular cadence that they sometimes become even boring. You have avoided and continue to avoid Joel. As for him, he barely gives you a fleeting glance or a distracted greeting.

He has Ellie, he doesn't need you and this is demonstrated by the fact that after getting ready for the patrol, he goes to call Ellie and together they go to the stables, smiling and pushing each other with a knowing air.

Maybe that's the way it should be, you tell yourself, maybe this is what he really needs. He doesn’t need you, this last thought almost gives you a cramp in your stomach it's so strong. Why do you feel this way?

Jesse suggested that you go back on patrol since Joel has been going back and forth from Jackson to other villages in the surrounding area, but you declined for the last two days.

The truth?

You don't want to see Joel. You just have to cross paths with him in the morning and pretend that his words and attitude didn't irritate and hurt you.

You've gone from liking him to despising him, all because he never knows how to say thank you or tell you something nice or at least friendly.

The lie?

Your head is spinning and you prefer not to ride a horse.

You took the opportunity to see Noah. He's nice, attentive, ready to listen to you if you need it, but you think that although he's full of good qualities, you can't tell him about what you lived in Boston or what you faced all alone before Jackson. You talk to him about the present days, about what you like or enjoyed doing before the outbreak, but there’s that limit that you can't overcome with him and on one hand you feel sorry, but on the other you need to take your time.

You don't want to rush things with Noah, and you're not even entirely sure that there could really be something between you beyond friendship.

Also, you visit Dina. She seems really sick. A couple of times she even vomited in front of you and at the sight of your cookies, she joked that it wasn't your cookies' fault. You smiled and made her something hot. You hope things will get better, maybe she just ate something bad.

A couple of evenings later, you are on the porch wrapped in a heavy coat that Jesse found and brought you from one of his last patrols, you hugged him and thanked him, while he revealed to you a surprising news: Dina is pregnant.

You are completely surprised, you didn't realize she was pregnant. You thought she caught a bug. She told you she wasn't feeling well, but you hadn't even thought that that could be the reason. Dina hadn't told you anything, but that's probably because you've been mostly stuck indoors with Joel for the past few weeks.

Joel... You ungrateful asshole!

You’re angry with him.

You hug your coat tighter. It’s freezing tonight.

You spot movement not far from you, the light in Joel’s garage, now Ellie’s house, has come on. You hear a light chatter and recognize Joel's voice.

You roll your eyes and huff.

You sit in a dim corner of the porch hoping the shadows are on your side, you don't want Joel to see you. Or notice you.

You hear him laugh before the door opens. He has such a warm laugh that it almost makes you smile even though you feel a deep sense of irritation towards him. You see Ellie hugs him, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her head on his chest for a while. Joel wraps his arms around her and places a kiss on her head.

He's so sweet to her.

Maybe it's time for you too to look for a little of that sweetness that has always been missing from your life. Is Noah who you're looking for? You shake your head, not sure at all.

You hug your legs to your chest, curling up in a ball. You think back to when that evening, the evening of the dance, you shared that state of semi-consciousness and the sofa, you think back to the kisses you gave him and the one you win from him. You loved feeling his plushy lips against yours..

Oh, no wait, is that Joel Miller you're thinking of? That Joel Miller? The same one who made you feel uncomfortable, like an intruder, like an idiot from the first moment you set foot in his house?

You hear a noise in the distance, the door is closed and shortly after the light too. You hear footsteps, Joel is coming back. He has something in his hands.

You lean back in the seat hoping to disguise yourself as best you can, you see him walking a little slower. His leg must still be hurting. He climbs the steps with a grimace and approaches the door, he's about to enter, but then he stops and turns to face you. He hides what he has in his hands.

Let him keep his damn secrets!

You look at each other as best you can considering the darkness. Neither of you say a word, you just hear the cold wind and what sounds like an owl in the distance.

You turn your head toward the garage again, you want to say something to him, but his attitude always so strange and contradictory blocks your every possible word.

“I’m tired.” he barks “‘m goin’ to sleep.” he adds.

You don’t say a word, you don’t nod, you just keep your gaze straight ahead. You hear him sigh, then open the door and close it.

“Fuck you,” you spit through your teeth, frowning.

The next day, when you get out from under the covers, the air seems to be less cold. You stretch and notice how dim the light is still and so you go downstairs wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants.

You yawn, running a hand through your hair loose on your shoulders, and barefoot you go downstairs. You just shiver as you head towards the kitchen. You open the pantry door with a habitual manner, but you already know there's nothing there except your cup and Joel's.

But when you open it, to your great surprise, you find three jars behind your cups, you take them one by one and you find in one coffee, in another tea bags and in yet another sugar.

The steps of the staircase creak and shortly after a hoarse voice asks you, “Whatcha doin’?” you jump in surprise and for a moment a jar you were holding was about to slip out of your hands.

“No, what are you doing?” you ask him, raising an eyebrow.

“Couldn't sleep.” he replies and indeed his palor and evident dark circles prove it “What ‘bout you?” he asks.

“Same.” He lets his gaze run over your figure and you can't help but feel almost confused in front of his focused gaze “Um, I...” you turn three-quarters of the way towards the pantry “I found coffee and tea...” you don’t know what to say.

“Uh, uh,” he says without adding anything else.

You look at him as if waiting for him to say more, but he doesn't say anything. Joel wears his usual impenetrable expression, the one you want to slap. Especially in the last few days.

“You have anything to say?” you ask him, looking him straight in the eyes.

“No.” he says entering the kitchen and approaching the hob with a limping step “Would you like some coffee or your tea?” he asks you vaguely.

“But why don’t you take off this mask of indifference?!” you blurt out, slamming your hands on the sink behind you.

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” he says, as you watch him prepare the coffee.

“Of course!” you exclaim, taking a deep breath.

Joel will never stop being Joel!

“Where do these come from?” you ask him. He doesn't answer you, so you insist "So?"

“They certainly didn't magically materialize!” he exclaims, preparing the water. You observe his strong hands do the same movements and be captivated by them for a moment.

“Can't you just tell me I had coffee and tea?” you ask him annoyed.

He rolls his eyes, “I had coffee and tea” he repeats before to exclaim, “Ready!” referring to coffee.

He's unnerving.

You sit there in silence feeling like a stranger to your own emotions in the company of a man completely unknown to you who while revealing parts of himself wanted to camouflage others.

“When will you go back to patrol?” he asks you changing the subject.

“Dunno,” you say, sitting down on a stool, “I don’t even know if Jesse will invite me again,” you add in a whisper, placing your hands on the cold counter of the kitchen island.

Joel sits down next to you, placing his cup on the counter. “That kid adores you.” you smile “You would only make him happy if you came back.”

“I love him, too.” Joel looks at you almost questioningly and you, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks, hasten to add “He’s a good guy and knows how to make himself loved. He’s a good friend.” only at that moment after saying those words you look at his face again.

Joel looks back ahead of him, staring at an unspecified point, sipping his coffee. You watch his pronounced profile, his plushy lips against the cup, his grayish beard. You watch his gray t-shirt fit perfectly on his torso.

You look away, clenching your hands into fists in a nervous gesture before to get up and reach the pantry where you take the jar with the tea bags. You prepare the water and turn your back to Joel keeping your head facing the jar full of tea bags.

“You could come with me today,” he says and you hear him get up and join you. “I have to go to the radio tower, a couple of hours and we’ll be back.”

“Go with Ellie.” You reply hastily, immediately regretting it. Not so much for the words as for the tone used. The tone is more annoyed than it should have been.

But why do you feel that way?

“Ellie is with Dina. She does nothing but throw up and Ellie won’t leave her alone.” he says in a whisper.

For a couple of minutes you remain in absolute silence, then you say bitterly, “I hope Dina at least appreciates that,” watching the water begin to boil.

“I’m sure she does. From what I understand Dina cares about her. And I think Ellie does too. I just hope she’s happy.”

“She will be,” you state “She deserves it.”

“Like everyone.”

You look up and breathe deeply. You’d like to be happy, to feel good, but you know that this can never happen. Not in this world. You are condemned to a survival full of unhappiness, of unlived moments, of...

All of a sudden, your head spins, you narrow your eyes, assuming a pained expression, you lean forward toward the sink as if trying not to fall.

“Hey, you okay?” Joel asks you placing his hands on your forearms. You didn't hear him coming, he was so silent. You feel his big hands gripping you tightly and you find it so pleasing, so reassuring.

“I’m okay,” you say in a broken voice.

“You are not,” he says, you can barely hear the gas being turned off and Joel leading you into the living room.

It feels like all the air is being sucked out of you. Your head is spinning, you can't breath.

“Don’t faint!” Joel murmurs your name, you close your eyes gasping “You’re gonna be okay. Got it?” you nod, but it's so hard not to give in to this vortex that seems to want to suck you in “What’s a place that makes you feel safe? A place you might have gone to when you were a little girl.” he asks you when you are sitting on the living room couch.

“It's the . . .” you try to think of a place, any place, a special place you saw when your life had a meaning, but your mind goes to the last thing you would ever have thought of: Joel's arms. The dream you had some time ago comes back almost violently to your mind, that is, of dancing with him to the tune of Pearl Jam in his living room.

“What is it?” Joel insists.

“The beach,” you lie in a small voice reminding you of your favorite place when you were little.

“Sounds good.” he says holding you tight against him “And what is this beach like?” he asks you.

“It's a sandy beach. When I was little, my father and I built sand castles, I pretended to be a princess and my father was a prince who came to save me.” you say in a strangled voice, yet you find yourself smiling with your eyes closed.

You feel him run a hand up your arm in an attempt to calm you down and help you focus on reality and not on what caused this new panic attack. His fingers gently caress your arms, his is a soothing touch that, even though your panic attack, takes your breath away and makes your heart beat faster.

Silence stretches between you, you inhale deeply and exhale just as deeply. Joel says nothing, he silently waits for you to feel better.

“I don't get you.” You say in a faint voice, placing your hands on your thighs “Why, while you don’t care about me, you’re so… um, caring?” you consider.

You open your eyes as Joel wraps a blanket around you and then puts an arm around your shoulders as if trying to warm you.

“There. You'll see that now it’ll be better.” he says, rubbing your forearm with one of his hands.

He's so physically close to you again, you're so scared of what you're feeling right now. . . On one hand you want to push him away and tell him to stop acting so nice to you, but on the other you like this closeness so much.

“You’ll never really answer a question of mine, will you?” you request taking a deep breath and then looking up at him.

You see him chewing the inside of his cheek and looking thoughtful. You’d love to know what he's thinking. Even though you don't understand him, you hope with all your heart that sooner or later he will allow you to understand him fully. You're not sure if you like everything about him, but if he decides to confide in you then it means he trusts you. After all, he told you about Ellie and her condition a few weeks ago. It still seems incredible to you.

“How do you feel?” he asks, moving his hand away from your forearm.

“Better.” you reply, nodding as if to emphasize that the panic attack has passed.

You turn to him and find yourself eye to eye with him for a moment, then he immediately looks away as if embarrassed.

No, that can't be! I mean, Joel Miller embarrassed by who? By you?

You also look away, open and close your mouth a couple of times, then say the first thing that comes to mind, “The coffee and tea must have gotten cold!”

“That boy. Noah.” You look up at his face again. “He seems like a good kid.” You don’t comment on his words, not knowing what he wants to tell you. “Maybe you should give him a chance.” You sigh, “Well, I think that . . . You should be happy, too, and maybe with . .”

“You’re doing it again.” You interrupt him and he looks at you. “Deciding for others.” You clarify. “You can’t decide what’s best or what’s not. That goes for me, for Ellie, for anyone, Joel.” your tone is determined as if you don't want to admit any replies “I know you did and you do it for good, but. . . Life doesn't work like that.” you lower your gaze, you want to tell him more about before, but for some reason your words get stuck in your throat.

“Yes, I should know by now.” he hums looking everywhere but at you.

You barely hide a little smile, you wish you were able to be angry with him, to hate him for making you feel less than nothing, for treating you badly and then had the presumption to advise you who to go out with, but the truth is that when you think of Joel you think back to how he held you in his arms during your panic attack in the snow or when he noticed the cuts on your wrists and simply caressed them without asking or that kiss you exchanged weeks ago, the tenderness he shows you despite the mask he wears.

“Are you really interested in playing the guitar?” he suddenly asks you and you look at him for a moment, perplexed by this sudden change of subject.

“Yes, well. . If you like. I think it's difficult to find a time given the patrol shifts though." you reply taking the blanket off.

He watches you for a moment then one corner of his mouth curves up in a small smile, “So, are you coming back?”

You exchange a look, “Yes and if I'm not mistaken there's a patrol to do at the radio tower, right?” you say with a small smile getting up from the couch “Shall we go?”

“Not before drinking a damn cup of hot coffee,” he replies, getting up from the couch and giving you a small smile.

You even missed smiling at him and this, all of this, is not good.

When you reach the stables, you find only Bolt. There is no sign of your horse. Perhaps someone took him to go on patrol.

“It's all right, it's not a dangerous patrol, we'll be here in the afternoon.” he tells you reassuringly taking the horse by the reins and leading it out of the stables.

Once you leave the stables, you come across the man who had such harsh words towards Joel some time ago.

“So, have you started patrolling together again?” he asks you with a mellifluous tone.

You sigh, avoiding answering, but Joel answers instead, “There are those who do something useful for this community and those who do nothing but complain about this or that.”

The man chuckles, “I guess it's very convenient to have such company these days.”

Joel looks at him puzzled, “What d’ ya mean?”

The man shrugs, “It's better to have company like that than to risk being alone, isn't it?”

You decide to intervene, “If you don't mind, we have things to do, you've already wasted enough of our time with all these insinuations.” Your tone of voice is hard, firm, eyes fixed on the man's “Come on Joel.” you say looking Joel in the eyes and placing a hand on his arm.

“So, you’ve decided which side you’re on,” the guy continues. “I made you out to be a more reasonable person and someone who would choose more wisely.”

“My life, my choices.” you reply, taking a couple of steps towards him.

Joel says your name, you turn around, “Come on, forget it.” Joel sighs and rides his horse.

You give the guy one last angry look then turn your back on him, Joel reaches out to you and you grab it and hoist yourself up behind him onto the horse.

The road is long, or at least it seems very long to you, and very silent. Your head stuck on the words of that asshole who was almost about to repeat the words he addressed to you a little while ago.

“What happened with him?” Joel asks you when you thought your trip would be completely shrouded in silence.

It hurts to think back to that proposal, but you want to be honest, “He… he made me a proposal.”

Joel stops his horse and turns his torso a little towards you, looking at you with a questioning expression, “What kind of proposal?”

Your eyes widen and you feel the heat reaching your neck and cheeks, “Not that kind of proposal. I mean…”

“It's okay, sweetheart.” he reassures you by turning in front of him, you almost breathe a sigh of relief because you were afraid of hearing a joke from him and you wouldn't have known how to respond.

“By the way, what’s that asshole’s name?” you ask him, placing your hands gently on his hips.

“I honestly dunno, but I don’t care who the asshole is. He’ll remain jus’ another fucker.” you smile at his words “Is that okay with you?” he asks you, turning his face slightly towards yours, you nod, smiling slightly again “Good.” he adds, nodding his head and then looks around.

The thick, impassable snow has given way to pale patches of vegetation with a few hints of color here and there. The snow is still there near the radio tower and it's still quite cold there. Although he told you it's not a dangerous patrol, you, who are still prepared for the worst, brought along two sandwiches and some warmer clothes for both you and Joel, as well as your inseparable bow and arrows. Maybe you're wrong to still care about him, but like it or not, he’s no longer a total stranger with whom you share a roof over your head. The more you look at him, the more you talk to him, the more you learn to read those little microexpressions on his face and the more that initial distrust towards him crumbles.

“Here we are,” he announces. You dismount and he follows you, adjusts the rifle on his shoulder and then approaches the metal door of the tower, opens it to cautiously observe the inside. The danger inside is not the infected but rather any raiders who may have slipped inside to find shelter or perhaps create their own lair. When he's sure that there's no one there, he enters.

You follow him closely, you notice that he's still limping a little and every now and then a small groan of pain escapes him, "Do you want me to go up and check the radio and the area?" you offer.

“We’ll go together.” He nods at you. You nod in return. You watch as his face still twists from time to time from the discomfort his wounds still cause him. However, he endures it all in silence. When you reach the landing, you see him grasping the iron balustrade now corroded by time, you know he will never ask you for help directly so you approach him and help him.

He saw how much care, patience and concern you had for him and continue to have.

What the fuck did he do in his life to deserve a charitable and compassionate person like you?

The least he could do was try to put that guy in his place so that you didn't feel uncomfortable, at least not too much. Joel knows well that nothing he does or says will ever be enough to demonstrate his infinite gratitude and respect towards you, he’d also like to do something nice and important for you, just like you allowed him to resume and repair his relationship with Ellie. He’d like to see you smile and dispel that hint of sadness that always clouds your eyes. He knows that beyond the rape there is definitely something else that you don't want or can't talk about yet, but at the same time he knows that in you there is a goodness and generosity that is now very rare in a destroyed and collapsed world like yours.

“Fortunately, we got back before the storm broke out!” you exclaim, rubbing your hands together. “I just hope it doesn’t rain in the chimney!”

“That’s not going to happen. I fixed it a year ago and it should still hold up,” he informs you.

You nod, “I'm going to get some wood!” you exclaim, quickly making your way to the back exit.

“I’ll help you!” Joel exclaims, but you give him a small smile before saying, “I don’t want you to get tired, it must have been hard enough today, riding a horse and climbing stairs.”

You are such a beautiful person, sweet, compassionate. You would have made a great nurse, he thinks.

Even though you told him not to get tired, Joel comes to you taking the thickest and heaviest logs from your hands, places them in the fireplace and then takes the smallest and lightest ones too hearing some little complaint from you here and there like “I can do it” or “let it go” or “don’t worry”, but he does it anyway.

He loves hearing your soft snorts or how your lips curl up when you don't like something, he has to do everything to disguise the smile that forms on his lips when he notices this.

He likes you. He likes you for what you do, for how you do it. He likes you because you do everything to not make yourself feel or be defined as a burden. Come to think of it, Joel now regrets calling you that way or making you feel that way in the early days.

“Have a seat.” You invite him, disappearing from his sight for a moment as he sits on the couch as you just told him.

“We have to make dinner.” He reminds you. “What do you want to eat...?” You reappear at his side with the sandwiches you had prepared that morning. He looks at you, you are amazing.

Joel can't help but smile and you smile back, in that moment everything seems perfect, except his heart that can't help but hammer furiously in his chest. He has to calm down or you could hear it so much that you are sitting close together.

“Hope you don’t mind.” you tell him, looking for his eyes.

“Not at all.” he replies, returning your gaze.

You finish your sandwiches in silence, you delicately clean the corners of your mouth, he runs a hand over his lips and beard, dropping a couple of crumbs on the floor.

You and him occasionally look into each other's eyes, but then you lower them again and stare at the fire in front of you. He doesn't know what you're thinking, but he should sincerely thank you for everything you've done. You saved him.

“I wanna thank you.” You tell him and he looks at you surprised, he’s the one who should say thank you, not you, and for what?

“About this morning.” You continue as if sensing his thoughts. “You’ve always been there when I had these… moments.” You add, “I don’t really know why, but with you I can face these… so, thank you.”

Joel stares at you for a long moment, then looks away, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable, “I didn’t do anything special.”

“But you were there.” you reply, taking his hand. “If I had been alone in the snow, clickers or runners or raiders could have found me and I would have died. You were there and you saved me.” Joel notices how shy tears form in your eyes and in a strange intimacy, he slowly brings his other hand closer to your face, placing it delicately on your cheek, with his thumb he wipes away a tear that had started to stream down your cheek.

“Whenever you want.” he tells you feeling something in his stomach, without even realizing it his gaze start to go from your eyes to your lips.

How he would like to kiss you and not because alcohol makes him feel more relaxed, but because he just wants to! Who knows if you remember that moment, who knows if you would do it again...

You clear your throat, moving your hand away from his, Joel also moves away as if he's caught in a current, “I..” you say “I'm going for a second.. up and.. um,” you're uncomfortable, he can see it from the way you're avoiding his gaze now, from the way you stand up and put your hands in your jeans.

He just nods, then looks toward the fireplace and when he hears you close the door he lets out a ‘fuck’ before covering his face.

Did he ruin everything with you?

NEXT CHAPTER ➢

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 8

Summary: A cozy night of homemade pizza and chaos turns into something deeper. Spencer stays for dinner—and maybe more. Nothing is official, but everything is starting to feel real. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: lots of fluff Word Count: 6k

Series Masterlist

Rain has always meant different things to me.

When I was a kid, it meant quiet. My mom might sleep through the afternoon, and I could read on the porch with a blanket and a sandwich and the kind of peace I only learned to appreciate later. In college, it meant pulling all-nighters, highlighting textbooks by the glow of a desk lamp, pretending the water against the window was applause instead of a reminder of everything I was missing.

Sometimes it comforts me. Sometimes it sinks me. Depends on the day.

But tonight, as I drive slowly through her neighborhood, headlights casting watery halos against the pavement, it feels like something else entirely.

It feels like softness. Like something that could maybe last, if I let it.

I keep picturing them—Y/N in one of those oversized sweaters she pretends isn’t hers, hair soaked through and clinging to her neck. Maddie splashing barefoot through puddles, laughing like the world was made just for her. And me... not on the outside of it.

I don’t usually think like that. Not in specifics. Not in scenes.

But something about tonight makes it easy to imagine—dancing in the rain with them. Stupid, messy, barefoot dancing. No music, just laughter. Maybe Y/N would roll her eyes and try to keep Maddie from slipping, but I think she’d laugh too. The real kind. The kind that bubbles up and cracks open your ribs.

It’d be… good.

Too good.

And probably a medical nightmare.

Maddie’s shoes probably don’t have proper traction. Rain increases the risk of slipping by 43%, and her coordination still skews toddler-adjacent on most days. If she fell—blunt force trauma. ER visit. Y/N could get sick. Hypothermia. The flu. Pneumonia. I could be the reason they both get hurt. I could—

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, forcing a breath through my teeth.

No. No puddle dancing.

Not unless I run a full risk assessment and buy a second set of rain gear in three different sizes.

Still, as I pull up to the curb outside their apartment, I can’t stop thinking about it.

Not the danger.

The dancing.

How much fun we would have despite the potential danger.

How Y/N’s hair would stick to her cheeks. How Maddie would shriek with delight every time a car splashed nearby. How maybe—just maybe—I’d let myself laugh without thinking too hard about what it means.

I kill the engine, but I don’t move right away.

The rain patters gently against the windshield, soft enough that it almost sounds like static. I sit there and watch it blur the streetlights. The glow of their apartment window is faint but warm, flickering slightly—maybe from the TV, maybe just the old wiring in the building.

I wonder what they’re doing in there. If Maddie’s still in her glittery apron. If Y/N remembered to flour the counter *after* Maddie touched it, not before. If they’ve already started without me. If it would’ve mattered.

I reach for the bag on the passenger seat—inside, a box of animal crackers and a used DVD copy of *Kiki’s Delivery Service*. It was the only Miyazaki film I had two versions of, and I’d noticed Maddie liked anything with magic. I don't know why I brought it. They probably already have it.

I check the time on my phone.

7:42 p.m.

I told her I’d be here by 7:30. Technically not late. Statistically, socially acceptable. But my chest still tightens like I’m intruding.

I step out into the rain before I can think too hard about it. The hood of my jacket does nothing. My curls are soaked almost instantly.

The walk to the front door is short, but it feels longer. Like every step is a decision.

There’s a crayon drawing taped to the door. It’s a pizza. Sort of. The proportions are wrong, and the pepperoni is suspiciously purple, but it’s got glitter glue on the crust, and “PIZZA NIGHT!!” written in shaky pink letters.

I smile.

I raise my hand to knock—but before I do, I hear it.

Laughter.

Maddie’s high and sharp, and Y/N’s just behind it—low and warm and trailing off into something breathless.

I lower my hand.

For half a second, I think about turning around. Walking back to the car. Letting this night exist without me.

But then I hear Maddie shout something about “cheese crimes,” and I don’t know why, but that’s what makes me knock.

Three quick taps. Soft.

Like I’m asking permission to come home.

The door opens before I can even take a step back.

“Hi,” Y/N says, smiling like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “We were waiting for you.”

And then Maddie appears—racing behind her, hands outstretched like a cartoon villain, shrieking, “I’m gonna get you!” Her palms are completely covered in flour. So is her face. And her hair. And her socks. Honestly, it’s unclear how much of it is intentional at this point.

Y/N is trying to dodge her with all the grace of someone who’s already given up. There’s flour smudged across her cheek, streaked in her hair, and caked into the sleeve of her sweater. She looks wild. Radiant. Like the living embodiment of chaos and comfort.

It’s both absolutely terrifying and… heart-achingly adorable.

“Spencer!” Maddie shouts when she sees me. Her hands immediately go up like she’s about to hug me, but Y/N stops her.

“Honey, you’ll ruin his clothes.” She laughs and steps aside, motioning for me to come in.

“Enter at your own risk,” she says, eyeing the flour trail that now winds from the kitchen to the couch and back again. “We tried to make pizza from scratch. It turned into... performance art.”

“I can see that,” I murmur, “Is the cheese at least safe?”

Maddie gasps dramatically. “There *is no cheese.* I *ate* it.”

Y/N sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, No… there’s back-up cheese, but I hid it. She was supposed to be in charge of toppings, but she keeps eating them.”

“I’m still the head chef!” Maddie yells from the kitchen.

“You’re a topping vacuum,” Y/N calls back.

I bite back a laugh and close the door behind me.

And just like that—the rain is outside, and I’m not.

The kitchen looks like a war zone.

There’s a flour cloud hovering in the air, the countertop is splattered with sauce, and there are at least three open bags of shredded cheese for reasons I don’t understand. Maddie’s on her step stool again, wielding a plastic spoon like a scepter.

“Welcome to Chef Maddie’s Culinary Castle,” she announces. “We’re making dinner and it’s going to be delicious.”

Y/N is at the sink, washing her hands, but she turns toward me with an exhausted grin. “Do you want to help or observe from a safe distance?”

I lift an eyebrow. “Define safe.”

She gestures vaguely toward the dining table. “Safe: flour-free, sauce-free, emotionally protected.”

I glance at Maddie, who is now trying to shape a pizza crust into the letter M with both fists.

“…I’ll risk it.”

Y/N snorts, tossing me a dish towel like a referee calling me in from the sidelines.

I roll up my sleeves and make my way to the other side of the counter.

“Alright,” I say, peering at the disaster unfolding in front of me, “what’s my assignment, Chef?”

Maddie squints at me. “You may be in charge of… mushroom distribution.”

“Sounds important.”

“It is. Don’t mess it up.”

Y/N leans in then, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her arm brushing mine. She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Actually, you’re in charge of keeping the toppings uneaten.”

I glance at Maddie.

She’s already got a fistful of mozzarella halfway to her mouth.

We make eye contact. She freezes. Slowly lowers the cheese. Then—

She bolts.

“Oh no you don’t,” I mutter, lunging for the bowl.

“Hey!” she shrieks, grabbing it back like I’ve insulted her honor. “These are *for testing!*”

“They’re for the pizza!”

“*I* am the pizza.”

I blink. “What?”

Y/N snorts behind her hand, barely holding it together.

We start wrestling over the cheese — gently, of course — me pulling the bowl out of reach, Maddie trying to climb up higher on the stool with the kind of chaotic determination only a sugar-starved child can summon. It’s ridiculous. And messy. And loud.

And I can’t stop smiling.

At one point, she flings a single olive at me with deadly precision.

“Sabotage,” I say, deadpan, brushing it off my sleeve.

Maddie cackles.

Y/N turns away, pretending to focus on the sauce, but I catch the way her shoulders shake with laughter.

Eventually, the pizza gets made. Somehow.

The crust is uneven. The toppings are biased toward one half. There's an entire zone that’s just mushrooms and chaos. But when we slide it into the oven, Maddie does a little dance in place and announces, “We did it!”

Y/N sets the timer and sighs like she’s just run a marathon.

“Alright, cleanup crew,” she says, pointing at me and Maddie. “Let’s make this kitchen at least *semi-functional* again before the cheese fuses to the counter permanently.”

Maddie groans but grabs a sponge. I rinse the bowls. Y/N wipes down the table. It’s a mess, still, but a shared one. A lived-in kind of mess.

Maddie hums while she wipes the counter with a sponge twice her size, narrating each pass like she’s a contestant on some flour-covered cooking show. She’s still got dough in her hair and a smear of sauce across her temple, and her socks are slipping off her feet, but she’s radiant with pride.

“There’s cheese stuck right *here,*” she says, more to herself than anyone else. “It dried weird.”

Y/N glances over, amused. “Did it surrender yet?”

Maddie shrugs. “I think so. But I’m still gonna wipe it again—just in case.”

Her brow furrows. She’s so serious about it. Like this is part of the job. And honestly, maybe it is.

I finish rinsing the last bowl and glance back at them.

Maddie’s standing on her little step stool, sleeves bunched at her elbows, socks half-off, hair still a little crusted with flour. But she’s wiping that counter like it’s important. Like she’s helping.

And Y/N? She doesn’t correct her. Doesn’t rush her. Just watches with this soft, proud look on her face, like it’s normal that her daughter is taking her job as sponge-wielder so seriously.

And I realize… it is normal. For them… For me.

I’m still at the sink, rinsing out the last bowl, but I don’t move.

I just watch them.

And for once, I don’t feel like I’m intruding. Or hallucinating. Or on the verge of messing something up.

I just feel… lucky.

It’s such a quiet kind of thing, that realization. Not loud or cinematic. Just a warm bloom in the middle of my chest.

Every time I look at Maddie, I smile. I don’t even think about it — it just happens. Like some instinct I didn’t know I had until she came crashing into my life with glitter glue and dinosaur facts and the world's most chaotic pizza skills. She’s loud and particular and brilliant, and she has this way of existing like the whole world is still something to discover. Every time she laughs, I swear I feel it in my ribs.

And Y/N…

God.

When I look at her, it’s not just a smile. It’s something else entirely.

It’s like my heart forgets how to beat for a second. Like my brain short-circuits in the best possible way. There’s this fuzzy, fluttery feeling that wraps around my chest and makes me want to sit down and stand up at the same time. I used to think that was anxiety. But it’s not.

It’s her.

It’s the way she looks when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and gets flour on her cheek without realizing. The way she tilts her head when she listens to Maddie talk about *The Cheese War.* The way she lets things be messy and real and soft.

The way she sees me.

And not the résumé version. Not the profiler or the genius or the guy with the past he doesn’t like to talk about. Just… me. The awkward, overthinking, overprepared guy who’s somehow always forgetting his sweater and showing up with animal crackers like it’s a peace treaty.

She lets me be that person.

And tonight, standing here in her kitchen, I don’t feel like I have to brace for impact. I don’t feel like I have to be useful to deserve being here. I’m not worried about what’s coming next or how this might fall apart. I’m just… in it.

With them.

Maddie tosses the sponge onto the table with the dramatic flair of a magician finishing a trick. “Cleanup: complete!” she declares.

Y/N laughs, and when she looks over at me, her eyes are already smiling. She doesn’t have to say anything. She doesn’t need to.

Because somehow, I already know.

This is what it feels like to belong.

And I want to stay.

She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something—maybe ask me to sit, maybe suggest tea, maybe nothing at all.

“Pizza’s almost ready… Why don’t you—”

“Mommy!” Maddie cuts in, practically bouncing on her heels. “Can we eat it on the couch and watch a movie? Pleeeease?”

Y/N blinks, startled, then laughs again. “You didn’t even let me finish my sentence.”

“But you were *gonna* say something boring like ‘set the table,’ and the couch is better.”

“She’s not wrong,” I murmur.

Maddie’s eyes light up. “See?! Spencer agrees!”

Y/N throws her hands up. “Great. I’ve been outvoted in my own home.”

“Democracy,” I say, deadpan.

“Traitors,” she mutters, but she’s smiling when she turns back to the oven. “Maddie, go check the movie shelf. See if there’s anything you haven’t watched a hundred times already.”

Maddie takes off like she’s been given a mission from the president.

I hesitate. Shift the weight of the bag in my hand.

“Actually…” I clear my throat, suddenly feeling like I’ve overstepped somehow. “I wasn’t really planning for this, but I, um—I brought something. A DVD. *Kiki’s Delivery Service.* It’s just been sitting in my drawer for years, and I figured you probably already have it, but I thought maybe Maddie would…”

I trail off.

Y/N turns, and her expression softens in that way it always does when she catches me mid-overthinking.

“That’s perfect,” she says, before I can keep rambling. “Let’s watch that.”

We relocate to the couch while the pizza cools, and somehow in the shuffle, I end up being the one in charge of “blanket logistics.”

There’s an actual pile of them in a basket beside the entertainment unit—more than I think any three people reasonably need. I pull out a soft, well-worn fleece one first, and Maddie immediately yells, “*That one’s mine!*”

“Noted,” I murmur, handing it over with both hands like it’s a ceremonial cape.

She spreads it across the couch with the precision of a seasoned architect, then plops herself dead center and pats the cushions on either side of her.

“I go in the middle,” she says, very seriously. “That’s the rules.”

“Is it?” I ask.

“Yup.”

Y/N’s already dimmed the lights, a warm glow from the kitchen spilling into the living room. She’s lighting a candle on the coffee table—cinnamon-something. The room smells like vanilla, garlic, and whatever heaven is made of.

I hand her a blanket without asking. She raises an eyebrow but accepts it with a quiet, “Thanks,” and sinks into the cushion beside Maddie.

I reach into the bag and pull out the DVD.

“Ready for lift-off?” I ask.

Maddie nods dramatically. “Ready, Captain!”

I load the disc. The screen flickers to life. That familiar Studio Ghibli logo appears, and Maddie claps like she’s watching fireworks.

I sit down on Maddie’s other side, careful not to crowd her.

But she doesn’t hesitate. She leans into me immediately, her head resting on my arm like it’s something she’s done a hundred times before.

And at this point, she’s leaned on me so many times that I wouldn’t be surprised if it were the hundredth time.

I don’t tense. I don’t overthink it. In fact, something in me shifts without even trying, like my body makes space for her automatically.

I no longer freak out… It feels natural.

She’s warm and still faintly sticky from the kitchen, flour dusted into her curls and the corner of her mouth.

And I don’t care.

She lets out a soft little sigh as she settles in, like she’s found her spot. Like I’m her spot.

And my heart—quietly, insistently—aches in the best way.

Y/N looks over at me from the other side, her own blanket pulled over her legs. She doesn’t say anything. Just watches us for a moment, then smiles—something soft and tired and full.

I hold her gaze, and for once, I don’t look away.

Y/N leans back. I hear her exhale.

And I feel it again—that quiet little thought I’ve been trying not to name.

*This is what it could be like.*

The movie starts. Maddie’s already whispering questions. Y/N’s hand is resting close enough to mine on the couch cushion that our pinkies brush.

I don’t move it.

It’s subtle, the way he adjusts.

He doesn’t flinch when Maddie leans against him. Doesn’t freeze or hesitate or check to see if it’s okay. He just shifts—barely, instinctively—like he’s making space for her without even thinking about it.

And that’s what undoes me, a little.

Not the fact that he’s here. Not the DVD or the pizza or the soft curls of his hair still drying from the rain.

It’s the way he makes room for her.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Maddie nestles into his side with the kind of trust only kids can give freely, and Spencer just… accepts it. No question. No fanfare. He doesn’t make a big deal of it. He doesn’t need to.

And watching the two of them like this—tucked beneath a pile of blankets, sharing warmth and popcorn and a screen glow that turns everything golden—I feel something crack open inside me.

Something small and trembling and good.

He’s no longer just a guy. Or a friend.

He’s becoming a part of us. And it’s happening so naturally, so quietly, that I almost missed it.

I should’ve been freaking out.

I mean—I love him. And he’s becoming family already. That should terrify me. I should be halfway out the door by now, looking for excuses, telling myself I need more time, more distance. That it’s too much too fast. That Maddie’s too young and I’m too tired and he’s too... too *everything*.

But I’m not scared.

Not even a little.

I just feel warm.

Like for once, I’m not holding this whole world together by myself. Like someone else is already helping carry it, and I didn’t even have to ask.

I glance over again and see that Maddie’s breathing has evened out, her hand still curled into the fabric of his sweatshirt. Spencer’s eyes are heavier now, his focus flickering with the rhythm of the movie. I think he’s trying to stay awake for her sake. But he’s already halfway gone.

And my chest aches again—full, not broken.

Because this… This is what safety looks like.

Not the kind you plan for. Not the kind built on alarms and locks and backup plans. The kind that sneaks up on you. Grows in the spaces between things—between laughter and silence, between a kid’s sleepy weight against your side and a man who never expected to be someone’s comfort.

The kind of safety you feel in your bones.

The movie keeps playing, soft and steady, casting flickering light over the three of us. Kiki’s soaring across the screen on her broomstick, full of determination and heart. Maddie’s breathing deepens, then evens out completely. She’s out. Dead asleep against Spencer’s chest, her little hand still curled in the hem of his sweatshirt like she doesn’t even realize she’s holding onto him.

And he hasn’t moved an inch.

Not even to shift his arm. Not even to get more comfortable. Like part of him is scared she’ll wake up if he breathes too loudly.

And then I realize that, he has fallen asleep too.

His lashes brush the tops of his cheeks, breath slow and even. One arm curled protectively around Maddie, the other limp at his side. His head has tilted just slightly toward hers, like even in sleep, his body is still leaning toward comfort. Still anchoring her.

It hits me all at once.

How natural this looks.

How right.

Not performative. Not practiced. Just instinct. The kind that doesn’t come from knowing what to do, but from *wanting* to do it. From *choosing* it—over and over again, even when no one’s watching.

My throat tightens.

Because I didn’t ask him for this. Didn’t plan it or imagine it or dare to hope for it. But here it is anyway: this impossible, accidental picture of the life I always told myself I didn’t get to have.

And somehow, it doesn’t feel fragile.

It feels… possible.

I stay there for a moment longer, knees tucked under me on the other side of the couch, just watching the two of them. The flicker of the screen glows soft over their faces. Maddie murmurs something incoherent in her sleep, a tiny sound barely louder than a sigh. Spencer doesn’t even stir.

Eventually, I ease off the couch. Move slowly, careful not to disturb the pile of limbs and blankets.

I bend down and gently scoop Maddie into my arms, and her head lolls against my shoulder without protest. She’s heavier like this. Sleep always makes her feel more solid somehow. More real.

Spencer doesn’t wake.

I carry her down the hall, tuck her into bed, pull the blanket up to her chin. She sighs again when I kiss her temple, and I wait until her breathing settles before I step back into the doorway and close it behind me.

When I return to the living room, the movie is on its credits and the room is dark—just the low blue of the screen lighting the space.

Spencer’s still on the couch, one arm now sprawled across the backrest. His body has shifted slightly, head tipped to the side, mouth parted in a way that tells me he’s deeper asleep than he probably meant to be.

I step closer, kneeling beside him.

“Spence…” I say softly, brushing the backs of my fingers across his cheek.

He doesn’t wake at first. Not fully. I watch his brow twitch, his lips part slightly—but he doesn’t come back up from wherever he is.

Which makes sense. He barely sleeps while he’s out on cases. And when he does, it’s rarely deep.

“Honey…” I murmur again, lower this time. The pet name falls from my mouth like I’ve said it a thousand times. Like it was always meant for him.

That’s when he stirs.

Abrupt. Sharp.

He grabs my wrist.

Not hard. Not to hurt.

Just startled.

But it’s more than that—more than just waking up in a dark room.

It’s the kind of flinch that comes from too many nights in too many motel rooms with a gun under the pillow. The kind of wake-up that doesn’t just mean *I was sleeping*—but *I was preparing not to be.*

My chest tightens.

“Hey…” My other hand finds his cheek, warm and steady. I stroke my thumb along the edge of his jaw, anchoring him. “It’s okay. It’s just me, Spence.”

He blinks, still dazed, still half-there.

I stay close.

Fingertips brushing lightly through his curls, just behind his ear. Not to pet him. Not to coddle. Just to remind him—*you’re safe now. You’re not out there. You’re home.*

His grip on my wrist loosens slowly.

And then he exhales.

The kind of breath people hold without realizing. The kind they only release when they know they’re not in danger anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice frayed at the edges. “I didn’t— I just—”

“You’re okay,” I say again, softer this time. “You don’t have to explain.”

And I mean it.

Because he doesn’t owe me a polished version of himself. Not here. Not now.

He’s just Spencer. Sleep-deprived. Soft-jawed. Wrapped in a throw blanket and lit up by the glow of a paused screen. He looks younger like this. Not innocent—he’s never really been that. But… unguarded. Still wearing all the things he’s survived in the lines around his eyes.

His hand rubs over his face, knuckles pressing into his eyes like he’s trying to push himself fully back into the waking world.

“Where’s Maddie?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

I smile without meaning to. “She fell asleep in your arms… I carried her to bed.”

He pauses at that.

Not just in body, but in thought.

Like his brain is still catching up to the meaning of those words. Like some small part of him is trying to replay it—*she fell asleep in your arms*—and match it against every old belief he’s ever held about himself. Every doubt. Every fear. Every time he thought he wasn’t safe enough, soft enough, *good* enough.

And now here he is.

Trusted. Chosen. Slept on.

Something flickers across his face—too fast for me to name it, too soft for him to hide.

“I… It’s late. I should go,” he says, almost reflexively, already shifting to stand.

He reaches for his things—his bag, his jacket. But before he can grab them, I rise too. And without fully thinking, I place my hands over his.

It’s warm.

No—*beyond* warm. It’s burning, in that quiet, glowing kind of way. The kind that starts in your chest and works its way outward. I’m getting too close to the flame. And I *want* to. I want to be *burned* by it, just to know it’s real.

“Actually…” I begin, soft but steady. “It’s really late. And I just… I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you driving around at this hour.”

He looks at me, amused. His mouth quirks—almost a laugh, but not quite. “Y/N, I’m an FBI agent. I think I can handle a little late-night drive.”

“I *know* you can,” I say quickly, holding his gaze. “But it would give me peace of mind if you stayed.”

There’s something in his face that shifts—just slightly. A little less amusement. A little more softness. A little more weight.

“I—The guest bedroom’s ready,” I continue, rushing it out before I lose my nerve. “And I have a couple pairs of pajamas that might actually fit you, if you don’t mind drawstring pants with tiny stars on them…”

That gets a breath of a smile. I keep going.

“And I’ll make breakfast in the morning. For you and Maddie. Just—eggs, toast, nothing fancy.”

He doesn’t interrupt. He just watches me. Like he’s trying to figure out if this is real.

“I know it’s a huge step,” I say, quieter now. “And maybe it’s too soon. Maybe I shouldn’t be asking.”

I squeeze his hand, not even sure when I started holding it.

“But please… just stay.”

I look at him then. Really look.

*Say yes,* I think. *Stay with us.*

“I… okay. I can stay.”

I don’t realize how tightly I’ve been holding onto the moment until that breath leaves my lungs.

It’s not a grand declaration. Not some sweeping promise. It’s just a single word. Small. Quiet.

But it feels like the ground shifting underneath me.

My hands are still on his, and his thumb brushes against mine. Just barely. Just enough.

I nod, swallowing around something thick in my throat. “Okay. Good.”

We stand there for a moment, the space between us suddenly humming. I think he wants to say more—I can feel it in the way he’s still looking at me. But instead, he just runs a hand through his hair and glances toward the hallway.

“Where’s the guest room again?” he asks, like it’s casual. Like we’re not both standing on the edge of something neither of us has named.

“First door on the right,” I say. “Fresh sheets. Tiny lamp. Bad art on the wall.”

A half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds perfect.”

He starts down the hall, slow and a little hesitant. I follow a few steps behind, mostly out of instinct.

Before he disappears inside, he pauses. Looks back at me over his shoulder. His face is soft, unreadable. But something flickers there—something quiet and grateful and impossibly tender.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?” I ask, almost whispering.

His gaze drops for a second. Then lifts again.

“For all of this,” he says simply.

“I’ll go get the pajamas for you… oh, and a clean toothbrush!”

He smiles—really smiles—and disappears into the room.

I stand in the hallway a few beats longer, staring at the closed door. The house feels still now. Heavy with something unspoken, but not unwelcome.

There are two mugs in the sink. A half-eaten slice of pizza still on the counter. A blanket crumpled on the couch where he slept next to my daughter. A pair of kid socks on the floor. The smell of cinnamon and tomato sauce still lingers in the air.

And for once, none of it feels like a mess.

It feels like something living. Something *good.*

I practically dance my way to my bedroom. Like a giddy teenage girl who just got a “hi” from her all-time crush. Like someone who’s been waiting for something she didn’t even know she was allowed to want.

I grab the pajamas—drawstring pants with stars on them, naturally—and the softest toothbrush from the pack I keep under the sink.

And as I pass by his door again, I catch myself smiling.

He stayed.

He’s here.

He’s really here… he’s going to sleep in my home, and he’s going to wake up here, and we’ll have breakfast together…

God.

That shouldn’t feel as big as it does. But it does.

It feels monumental. Like the axis of my world just tilted slightly toward something warmer. Something better.

I hug the bundle of clothes a little tighter to my chest.

Because I asked him to.

Not begged. Not desperate. Just… *honest*. I *pleaded*, maybe — the way you do when something matters to you. The way you do when you're not ready to let a good thing walk away just because you're afraid of what it means.

And he said yes.

He didn’t make a joke. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t look for an out.

He just looked at me like I was something worth saying yes to.

And I don’t know what that means for tomorrow, or next week, or whatever comes after this. I’m not naive. I know things like this can be temporary.

But for now?

He’s here.

And not because he felt obligated, or cornered, or guilty. But because *he wanted to stay.*

Because he trusted that it was safe to.

I walk down the hallway slowly, past the couch where we watched the movie, past the socks Maddie left behind and the melted candle flickering out on the coffee table.

Everything smells like cinnamon and tomato sauce and comfort.

I knock on the door to the guest room.

“Spencer? I have the pajamas.”

There’s a pause, then the soft shuffle of footsteps. The door opens slowly.

He’s changed out of his work clothes—just his undershirt now, socks still on, curls a little mussed from running his hands through them. He looks impossibly tired. But he also looks *here*.

He smiles when he sees me.

A real one. Gentle and a little sheepish. The kind that doesn’t ask for anything, just *gives*.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, reaching for the clothes in my hands.

I hand them over, and our fingers brush—barely. But the contact still feels like it means something.

“Oh—” I add, holding out the toothbrush, “—soft bristles. And brand new, I promise. Maddie keeps them in a cup under the sink for ‘emergencies.’ Apparently, this qualifies.”

He huffs a soft laugh, and for a second, I see it again—that stunned little look he gets when someone thinks of him before he does. Like he still doesn’t quite know what to do with being cared for.

“Tell her I said thank you,” he says, and his voice dips a little, warmer now. “And thank you. For… everything.”

“You already said that,” I reply, smiling despite myself.

“I know.” He rubs the back of his neck. “But I mean it.”

I nod once. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

He hesitates—not because he’s unsure, but like maybe there’s something else he could say. Something he *almost* says. But he just smiles again.

“Goodnight.”

I step back and watch the door close softly behind him.

And for a long time, I just stand there in the quiet hallway, pajamas no longer in my hands, the scent of cinnamon still lingering in the air.

Previous Chapter |

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[needylesbiansc]

Lilia's baby

Patti LuPone week (Day one: pregnancy)

Summary: The coven has the tradition of going to Lilia's room to watch movies when she's not there. But one day, when they go to her room as usual, they find her crying and discover that their lives are about to change.

After the witches' road, everyone got what they wanted; Jen's business flourished and the lawsuits disappeared, Agatha got her purple back, Alice broke the generational curse and her narrative changed, Lilia got as much money as you could imagine and probably won't have to work for more than 500 years. Billy's case, on the other hand, was the most complicated, but everyone helped him.

Of the entire coven, Calderu was the most reserved. Even though they had all bought a house and each one had their own room and space, Lilia was only there on the weekends; no one knew where she went and no one dared to ask. However, on the days Lilia stayed with them, she was the one who cooked, and everyone there loved that. If they had a problem, Lilia was the one who was always there for them.

When Monday arrived, following routine, the coven met in the tarotist's room before the afternoon arrived, taking advantage of the fact that she was never there, as she left on Sundays when everyone was asleep. They usted to met in her room to watch movies, since the Sicilian had the biggest room and television in the house, even though she didn't use them.

They gathered outside with food and drinks, and when Jen opened the door, she found Lilia sleeping peacefully in her bed, holding a crumpled piece of paper. Examining her face, she realized she'd been crying. The next thing she could process was the image of Agatha practically jumping onto the bed, fighting for her spot before realizing Calderu was there, now waking up.

"What are you doing here?" Agatha asked, lying down next to her.

"Uh? What are YOU doing here?" She asked, yawning. Agatha opened her mouth to reply, but she didn't know what to say, so she looked at the rest of the coven standing in the doorway. "What are you all doing here?" No one answered. "Billy?" she called as she sat down. The teenager was the only one who could be honest with her.

"Well, we came to watch a movie," he said, avoiding her gaze.

"A movie?"

"We always do. You're never here, so we just meet here," Alice replied.

"So, what are you doing here?" Jen asked, approaching Lilia.

"Is it illegal for me to be in MY room?"

"In all the months we've been here, you've never stayed. Is something going on? You know you can count on us."

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to stay a little longer," she replied, running a hand through her hair.

"Should I believe you?" Agatha chimed in as the Divination Witch crumpled the paper in her hands even further before throwing it. Alice caught it.

"What's this?" she asked, returning the paper to its original form. Lilia avoided everyone's gaze, a few tears escaping her eyes. Jen approached and hugged her.

"What's wrong, honey? Breathe," she urged, trying to calm her. She turned her gaze to Alice and She knew What She had to do.

"It's a blood test," she says, reading the contents of the paper.

"You're pregnant," Billy says, looking at Lilia. The crying intensified.

"Is she okay?" Agatha asked, munching on popcorn, and Jen glared at her. "Oh, how delicate."

"Who's the father?" Alice asked, approaching, and Lilia turned to look at her, trying to breathe properly.

"That's the problem," she replied, hiding her face in her hands. "She left me a few days ago. Without saying goodbye, without explanation. She just left a letter that just said 'I love you, I'm sorry,' and I don't know what to do" She said the last part in a whisper, now looking at the coven with teary eyes.

"She? So it's a woman. Ayyy, Lilia, I didn't know you were like us" Agatha comments.

"This isn't time for jokes, Agatha," Alice tells her.

"It's okay, Alice," Lilia says, wiping away her tears. "I just have to move on."

"So you'll have the baby?" Jen asks.

"I've always wanted to be a mother but I didn't want to do it alone, you know? I was just waiting for 'the right person and the right time.' But I guess things only happen when they're meant to." She sighs.

Since she was a little Girl, she'd imagined herself holding a baby, until the witch hunt came and made her constantly flee. She knew it would be unfair to bring a child into the world under those conditions. But it allowed her to have other children; those who weren't her blood and didn't have the same last name. But she loved them as her own. She hadn't had time to start her own family, not even think about it, not until SHE came along.

That faceless, nameless person had restored her hope and made her feel loved. When the scent of roses filled her home, when those gentle arms held her and made her feel safe, when their lips tasted each other's, when their souls joined in a single dance, when they loved each other without barriers... Everything was perfect until that day when she simply left.

Regarding the common cravings of pregnancy, Lilia wasn't much different than many pregnant women. Most nights, the members of the coven would wake up to the smell coming from the kitchen. It was always the tarotist cooking, remembering the recipes she learned while traveling around the world. No one complained about it, and they often even took turns sleeping in Lilia's room with the excuse of being there for her and then, if she craved something, eat her delicious food. Even Rio would sign up to the one to "keep an eye" on her at night.

It was common to see the older woman immersed in her own world, talking to spirits, animals, or even her own daughter. Despite the fact that she had clearly not been born, the woman devised a communication system that, according to her, worked well. It was also not unusual to see her sleepwalking in the middle of the night.

When the pregnancy became visible, Jen was the one who advised Lilia on the shopping process, although most of the stores she took her to didn't suit the woman's style, so it took much longer than the average person to go shopping, causing Lilia to become tired, and later, the effort of all the hours of walking was visible on her feet.

The elder witch often immersed herself in her own world, concentrating on her books, communicating with the spirits around her, and with her own daughter, who, despite not yet being born, created a way of communicating that, according to Lilia, worked perfectly well.

Agatha was the one who spent the most time with her, despite her nature. The entire coven would go to work most of the day or, in Billy's case, to study and spend time with his parents, leaving the two witches together. This brought them closer, creating a strange dynamic between them; Agatha would talk while the clairvoyant cooked; Lilia would stroke her hair while she was falling asleep; the tarot reader would sing, and the purple witch would listen enchanted even when she jokingly tells her to shut up. When Lilia immersed herself in that mythical world, she simply downplayed it and let her do whatever she needed to.

Billy took advantage of Lilia's permanent presence at the house to spend more time with her and practice his methods of reading tarot cards, birth charts, numerology, sigils, connection with deities, rituals, and traditional spells in general, focusing on the yellow witch's specialty. The tarotist loved teaching the teenager about the power each person possesses through their own determination, working with entities, connecting with oneself, time and dimensions, and how to use all of this to his advantage. Although the woman enjoyed constantly testing him and the training was exhausting, they both loved it.

The coven used to take road trips often, and these past few months were no exception. When the yellow witch was about 24 weeks pregnant, they set off for Virginia—a six-hour drive for the average person. For the chaos coven? 12 hours minimum. Despite the setbacks (they changed two tires, stopped to pee about 50 times, complained about 100 times, and nearly killed each other) they arrived at their cozy destination and celebrated being alive with a glass of wine. This was the first time Lilia missed not being pregnant, because no one would let her take even a sip of wine, so she had to drink orange juice with Billy.

The first time everyone felt the baby was during those two weeks of rest. It was a warm afternoon, and everyone had gone outside to sit by the riverbank. Everything was quiet; it felt so comfortable and familiar. The water, the trees, the animals, and the fresh air. Everything was silent until Lilia gasped in surprise as she placed a hand on her belly, causing everyone to turn to look at her.

"Is everything okay, honey?" Jen asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, clearly alarmed.

"The baby kicked," Lilia replied, smiling. She took Jen's hand and placed it where hers had been, and seconds later she felt it; a slight movement that filtered through a kind of special energy, making Jen smile too.

"I want to feel the little one too," Billy said, approaching excitedly. But the only response he received was a shove from Agatha.

"No, teen. Don't dress up, me first," the purple witch told him, stepping forward, making everyone laugh.

That afternoon passed between jokes and laughter. It was a moment everyone could cherish and remember. That was the same afternoon in which they agreed on what the baby's room would be like and that when they got home they would carry out everything.

The room consisted of: A purple crib, a gift from Agatha; A black closet with red and gold details, a gift from Alice; White walls with sigils of protection and abundance, painted by Billy and Lilia; An extremely comfortable sofa but with a totally strange shape, a gift from Rio; and a deep love lingering in the air.

A couple of months later, on a rainy day; after weeks of not being able to sleep well, headaches, rib pain, swollen feet, a few laughs, and many good times as the coven came together to care for her, that long-awaited day finally arrived: the day the baby would be born.

The changes in the older witch's body were now much more visible. Her energy and vitality had shifted. Her eyes had a distinct glimmer of anticipation, her hair was a little brighter, and her spirits were soaring. Despite the exhaustion that came with carrying a life, she insisted on continuing to work, cooking, and generally doing everything as usual.

That day, Jen had been the only one out to work. Alice and Lilia were training tee, who had made a significant progress in recent months with his powers and control over them. Billy was practicing his interdimensional travel; he had poor posture. The yellow witch approached to correct him, but before she could reach him, she stopped abruptly.

"Is everything all right?" Alice asked. Lilia lifted her dress a little and moved one of her hands to her legs. Looking at her hand, it was wet.

"I think my water broke," she replied, clearly nervous. Billy opened his eyes and turned to look at the women.

"Shit."

"For the gods, I'm not ready," Lilia told them, panicking.

"Call a responsible adult," Alice demanded, already panicking.

"AGATHA!" the teenager shouted, and the woman entered the room extremely quickly.

"What happened?" she asked, oblivious to the situation.

"Lilia's water broke," Billy told her.

"Call a responsible adult," Agatha told them.

"You're the adult, dammit" Alice screamed.

"The only responsible adult I know is the one in trouble right now," the purple witch replied, as Alice guided Lilia to the nearest chair.

"Can you call Jen?" the Sicilian asked, overwhelmed by her thoughts.

"She's not answering her phone."

"I guess we can all calm down, right? You're not in labor anyway, and even if you were, you're not going to die from doing it alone," Agatha commented with her characteristic sense of humor.

As Lilia contemplated the possibility of having to give birth alone, the front door opened.

"Jen!" the yellow witch called as Jen walked in.

"Hi, honey. I just saw Teen's missed calls, is everything okay?" she asked as she approached her.

"Her water broke," Alice said.

"Is that true?" she asked, looking at Lilia, and she nodded. "Have the contractions started yet?" she asked, and as if called, labor began.

Endless hours passed amid screams, gasps, and sweat. According to Agatha, she was the most affected, because her hand was the one Lilia used to ease her pain, and according to the purple witch's testimony, her hand was almost fractured. Billy and Alice took care of everything and, if Lilia asked, brought her water. Jen, on the other hand, took full responsibility for the medical care. All those hours of accumulated fatigue evaporated once they heard the baby's cry for the first time; only then did everyone breathe a sigh of relief.

Lilia's world lit up when her baby was in her arms for the first time. It was a joy she hadn't experienced in all the centuries she had been on earth. A tear of satisfaction, joy, and relief escaped her eyes, and a big smile spread across her face. That tiny human being now lit up her life, and even if they couldn't see it now, it also lit up the lives of the coven, who looked at the mother and daughter with big smiles on their faces.

[kirietown]

Star Burster | Part IV

Pairing: clark kent x f!reader

Summary: the big talk with Superman.

Content: angst, mentions of possible pregnancy

18+

[chapter one] … [chapter three]

Word count: 3.1K

a/n: I wanted to share a lil on characterization. I think Clark in Smallville vs metropolis are very different, but for the sake of this fic I combined that but included more nervousness towards reader. To others he very much has Smallville charm n a strong sense of justice whereas with reader the metropolis personality comes out and he just seems shy 24/7

You were half asleep by the time he appeared in your bedroom. You had been under your sheets, a small candle being the only light in the room, strong enough for you to see the words in the book you were holding, but weak enough that you didn’t notice him until you felt your bed dip.

“Now, did I say you could sit on my bed in your outside clothes?” You said in a quiet voice, anxious that somehow your mama or papa’s ears would pick up on you.

He only chuckled softly in response, and you turned your head to face him and noted a tired look in his eyes. You wondered if it was there earlier today and if you’d somehow missed it. Were you any better than the crowds that swarmed around him? You hardly knew anything about him, and yet you’d let him in between your legs within minutes of meeting him. Would you have done the same with any man who’d comforted you then?

”What are you reading?” He finally asked quietly, matching your softness. In lieu of a reply you simply flipped the cover so that he could see.

“Frankenstein,” he said. “A little old, but I’ve read it in my spare time as well, I enjoyed it. How are you feeling about it?”

”I’ve read it a few times already, this is my ma’s book, she told me she got it as a little girl and it scared the hell outta her. I like to read it, just as a reminder that ma was a dumb kid at one point too.” You laughed softly at the memory of her description, and how your granny had to tell her there was no walking corpses lurking outside the farm. “The book ain’t scary at all,” you continued. “I think it’s sad, and it sorta… It… Well, it’s starting to make me think of you.”

“Me? How come you say that?”

You shut the book, laying it on your bed as you sat up on your elbow, careful not to let your blanket slip and reveal your night gown. You had changed into it out of habit, but now felt unsure in the sheer material, not wanting to send an unclear message.

“You ever wonder if people would have still kept kindly to you if you didn’t look the way you do?”

“How do I look?” He asked curiously, to which you rolled your eyes.

”Now don’t be modest, you’re a handsome fella. But what if you weren’t? Now the creature in the story, he wanted to be kind, but he was hardened not just ‘cause he was different but because he was ugly too. That ain’t fair now is it?” You tilted your head as you met his eyes, and if he needed to think about his response, he didn’t show it because it flew out his lips like it was nature.

”I think I’ll always believe in human kindness, in goodness. There’s a lot who love the idea of me, and maybe it’s because I look like most people—“

“— more handsome though,” you interjected, much to his amusement. You could spot the blush that crept onto his face despite the dim lighting.

”I… I suppose,” he continued in his deep voice. “I have a privilege in looking the way I do, despite the fact that I’m not even from this earth. That’s why it’s part of my duty to be a champion of the people, a champion of the oppressed.” You nodded at his words, a sense of pride swelling in your gut at the fact that you managed to get him to open up. Maybe, you could see how far he could go?

”Do you mind telling me where you’re from? I know ma always says that’s a rude question but…” you trailed off, hoping he’d reply. The room was silent for a few painful heartbeats before he spoke.

“I was sent here as a babe from a faraway planet once called Krypton… I had parents, and likely more family, but I never got the chance to meet them. Krypton was doomed, and so I was sent here as its only survivor; my planet’s last son.”

“I’m sorry,” you replied earnestly. He’d confirmed your suspicions, as well as the suspicions of many people that he was some sort of extraterrestrial. It was strange to think about, but it didn’t bother you. You don’t think it would have bothered you even if he looked a little funny. He had a good heart on him, and maybe he was right about kindness, but in your eyes there was a lot of bad in the world.

“No, I understand the curiosity,” he replied. “I grew up in America, raised by regular parents, and eventually became this,” he gestured to himself. “My mother wove fabric that came from my spacecraft and made this for me, this cape came straight from this planet though. My mother thought it would add to the appeal, at first I thought it silly, but I couldn’t let her down. Now I suppose I couldn’t imagine being without it.”

“A bit of a mama’s boy, huh?” You inquired, a teasing smile gracing your lips.

“It’s hard not to be,” he replied coolly.

“I don’t suppose you were raised in Smallville, now were you?” You asked, regretting the words before they even finished on your lips.

”I am unsure if you want to know the answer to that,” he said. You didn’t know what he meant by that, and you realized the reality of the situation. It felt as though the temperature of the room had changed though you weren’t sure why. You’d always had a sense of yourself and your surroundings, and realized it wasn’t the room at all but your own worries suddenly creeping up. You could only chitchat for so long until the inevitable conversation needed to happen. It had been fun while it lasted; just talking about books and mothers. It was nice to know he had a mother, it was something else that pulled him down to earth, made him digestible as a stranger.

”I don’t know what to make of myself,” you said into the room. Your eyes were focused on nothing, and seemingly everything all at once. You could hear his light breathing, you could see the shine of his red and yellow emblem on his chest. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look into those eyes of his. You weren’t sure if you could stomach it, especially when you tried to imagine Clark’s and it felt as though you couldn’t get his face right. His features seemingly confused, as though his nose didn’t know how it was meant to sit, and his eyes didn’t want to cooperate. It seemed to always be like that in the Superman’s presence.

“I think you’re very wise for your age,” he said. “I think you think a lot, and maybe a little too much.”

“A wise woman wouldn’t have cheated on her betrothed with the first man to call her pretty,” you said. “If anything, I think that’s the making of a very unwise woman.”

“I’d hardly call it cheating,” he replied softly, and surely. “It was like you said, you didn’t think he liked you, and it was your parents’ decision, wasn’t it?” There was something below the surface of his words, as if it was breaking him to say. Was he guilty too? Your pa had once said a man can often hide his sins through doing good deeds. It was gambling almost, and his words as a child, led you to steal cookies from jars every time you needed to do your chores. Your pa had chuckled after he told you just because lots of folks do it, don’t mean it works that way.

“But now I know he does like me,” you said.

”And how do you feel about him? This man you were told you gotta marry?” You heard him hold his breath after, and in an odd way you felt as though the silence of your room didn’t feel as familiar as the sound of his breathing.

You were quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I made a promise to him,” you finally decided.

“You didn’t answer the question,” he said softly. You weren’t sure why, but you felt as though you failed them both, at that very moment.

“I think you have the answer then,” you murmured.

“Do you love me?” He asked after a small sigh, and you suddenly felt as though you were saying all the wrong things.

”I don’t even know you,” you said. “I don’t even know your name.”

“You didn’t answer that question either,” he replied. You could feel the tears beginning to trickle down your cheeks, and embarrassingly you began to wipe them away. You stopped at the feeling of him shifting over, almost hovering over your frame as he wiped them away himself.

“I…” You trailed off, at the sensation of his fingers brushing away a tear that had travelled close to your lip. His hand had moved, and circled itself under your chin, bringing your face up towards his. The candle light reflected in his baby blues, and from the flame’s light you remembered that despite his gentle and soft hands, he could kill you if he really wanted to. Yet, despite that, you felt yourself sink down, and rested your head in his hand.

”I don’t understand what pulls me to you,” you whispered. “I’m not some crazed fan chasing a dream, I feel like I know you, as though I’ve known you my whole life. Is it disgusting to say you remind me a bit of him? The parts a’ him I could never talk to ‘cause he couldn’t let me in?” Your words came out like a flood, with sudden gasps as you felt your stomach get lighter with your confession.

“You could never be disgusting,” he said, and you knew he meant it. He meant every word he’d ever said to you, and that was what made him frightening. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, I wish I could make it better somehow.”

”I miss him,” you said. “I feel like when I’m with him I feel an ache like he’s not there with me; it goes away when I think of you. Ain’t that something?”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. You knew it was the type of sorry someone gave, but they meant something else entirely. Why did it feel like he was saying I love you? You didn’t know this man, and yet it felt like you’d always known him.

“I think we’re a mess, not a single one of my thoughts makes any sense when I’m around you,” you finally said, sniffling. He chuckled at that, though you knew his heart wasn’t in it.

“Is that so bad?” He asked gently. His hand under your chin, and the other rubbing your cheek with his thumb. It was intimate, more intimate than anything you’d ever experienced before you met him. The thought overwhelmed you even more.

How could any of this be bad when it felt so natural? When it felt natural to be in the dark, with this man, a nameless man, as if you’d known him across many lives. It felt natural with Clark too, but disjointed somehow as if there was some type of force preventing the two of you from merging.

How long had it felt that way? Why did it take another man waltzing into your life to see that?

“I don’t know anymore,” you whispered. You shut your eyes, consumed by the softness of his skin. It felt familiar, like a hand you know just as well but your mind couldn’t put the pieces together.

“It’s hard for me too,” he finally said. You opened your eyes in confusion, your brows knit together. “I wish I could tell you everything, I wish I could stop the tears, but there’s… I can’t say too much, it’s a burden really.”

You scoffed, sitting up and away from his hands. You were suddenly aware of the cold as you moved away from him, your nipples pebbling up under your gown. You didn’t care if he noticed, not in this moment.

”Don’t tell me you’re hiding a wife and child back home or something,” you said. The thought of it made you sick to your stomach.

“No,” he said. “Definitely nothing like that, but it isn’t as if I can ever be truly honest with you about who I am. That’s something for you to put the pieces together on, it’s a vow I took, in order to protect those I love.”

Those I love.

“How can you love me? You don’t know me,” you said.

“I don’t know Krypton either,” he replied without hesitation. “A distant planet, now nothing more than ashes in space. Yet, I carry it with me everywhere. I see home in everything I see, in what I touch, in every smell. I may not know you in the ways you think I should, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love you. Ever since I’ve met you, I’ve seen you in everything.” He spoke softly, not a stutter, and not a single moment where he looked away from you. It was overwhelming, it was so overwhelming to know a man so capable of vulnerability.

You had been so used to men who carried their feelings inside of them until it ate away at them. Your pa was a good man, but that didn’t mean you’d ever heard him talk about your ma the way the men in stories did about their wives.

“You scare me,” you said. “It’s scary to know there’s someone out there, someone who knows all the right words into your heart.” Your words had a touch of humour, but deep down, what you really meant to say was I love you. You suspected he knew that, because the truth was despite your self awareness, you weren’t quite as ready to be as vulnerable as he was. You may have been your ma’s spitting image, but you had all your father’s flaws.

“It is,” he said. He looked away for a moment, as though in contemplation, before he turned to face you again. “I think there’s something else you’re scared of though, your heart’s been beating like a rabbit all night.”

You gulped softly, your mouth suddenly turned dry. “I’m scared I could be pregnant,” you said carefully, watching as he shut his eyes in thought. “It’s too soon to know, but… I don’t know what to do if that is the case.”

He kept his eyes shut tight, before he opened them again. His eyes downcast, and you could feel your stomach drop at the sight, a sight that felt so familiar. You hadn’t seen him look so reserved before, and yet something about it itched.

“I shouldn’t hav—“

”It wasn’t as though I didn’t want you to,” you said. “If I could go back, I don’t think I would’ve changed anything. I don’t care anymore if that makes me horrible.”

“You’re not horrible,” he said. “You could never be horrible.” His eyes were blazed, you felt as though you saw a spark of red but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He moved fast, his body suddenly leaned over yours as he held you gently in his arms. They circled around you protectively as though you could break, and you supposed you could if he wasn’t careful.

“What is it you’re not telling me?” You asked hesitantly. Your own arms now circled around his neck, as you breathed in his scent.

“I want to tell you everything,” he whispered against your neck. His breath tickled you, and caused the little wisps of hair on the back of your neck to stand. “I want to tell you so bad, I think it’s breaking me,” he said quietly, his voice so soft you nearly didn’t hear. You turned in his arms, moving enough that your head was now pressed against your head board. You moved your hand to cup his cheek, and stared into his eyes and noted their sudden glassiness.

“Why can’t you?” You asked softly. “A vow you said?”

“You’ll understand in due time,” was all he said. “Please, please,” he begged. “I want you to know that you will be okay, you won’t ever have to feel bad ever again, okay?” You knew he was telling you the truth, but it still wasn’t enough somehow.

”And if I’m with child?” You asked bluntly. He replied with silence, his forehead now pressed against yours as if to comfort you. You only sighed, your hand moving to your belly, and finding his own already pressed gently there over the sheets.

You gripped his hand and let out an unexpected sob. A silent pathetic sob because despite your turmoil, despite the anxiety and fear, you were much more afraid of waking your mother. He shushed you gently, his hand still clutched in yours, and his other wrapped around your head. He rubbed tenderly, doing his best to calm you down with his hands. How could you mother a child when you felt like a grown child yourself?

“My name,” he said suddenly after you’d finally stopped your crying, the room quiet if not for your shared breathing. “My name is Kal-El,” he spoke again after another beat of silence.

“Kal-El,” you murmured with a dull sense of thrill, as if the two of you were sharing a secret. It didn’t stop your worries, it didn’t stop the pit of fear that had manifested deep inside you.

Regardless, you shared another secret of your own as your lips met against his. There was no hesitation, and there was no guilt either, and perhaps that would be your biggest secret of all.

Kal-El, you’d whisper it sporadically through the night as he held you tenderly. You traced the letters onto his hands, and tried to picture it as though you’d read it in a book somehow. You held a small fearful delusion that you’d forget it the moment he turned his back to leave you.

[forthebrokenheartedthings]

Keep Driving

You guys are now subjected to my backlog. Again most of these are from my Ash and After rejects, but figured they could stand alone. Thanks for reading, liking and sharing. I appreciate you all 💕

Pairing: Bucky Barnes and ex!avengers reader

TW: Sexual content (fully explicit), Bucky Barnes 🤤

Try to ignore my mistakes 😅

Summary: When Bucky asks you to the gala, you say yes—even if he says it like a joke. You spend hours getting ready, dress picked just for him.

Then he shows up with someone else.

Sam shows up at your door fifteen minutes later. You go anyway. And when Bucky sees you—he breaks.

You let someone else flirt, let someone else touch, and Bucky finally stops pretending.

What follows is a confrontation, a confession, and a limo ride that doesn’t end until you both admit exactly what you want.

————————————————————————————

You’re cleaning a rifle when he says it.

Leaning in the doorway like he always does—shoulder to the frame, arms crossed, that smirk on his face like he’s trying not to let anyone know he has feelings at all.

You’re in your tank top, oil on your fingers, and Yelena’s yelling something from the other room about why the fuck she can’t find her shoes.

“Hey,” Bucky says, “you wanna go to that ridiculous gala with me next week?”

You blink, mid-disassembly. “What?”

He shrugs. “I’ve gotta go. ‘Congressman Barnes’. Dress code. Shiny shoes. One of those things where they parade us around and pretend we’re not criminals with good cheekbones.”

You narrow your eyes. “And you want me to go?”

“Well.” His mouth quirks. “You clean up okay.”

You toss the oily rag at his chest. “Try that again, charm school.”

He grins.

But he doesn’t take it back.

And for some reason—your chest stutters a little.

You play it cool. You roll your eyes. You throw a sarcastic “Yeah, sure, sounds like a thrill” back at him and pretend like it doesn’t matter.

But when he pushes off the doorframe, walking away, he says:

“Cool. It’s a date.”

You don’t ask him what time. Or where. Or if he meant it.

Because if you ask—he might laugh.

And if he laughs, you’ll have to pretend it was funny, too.

————————————————————————————-

You don’t bring it up the rest of the week.

He doesn’t either.

You tell yourself it was a joke. You tell yourself you were joking.

But that doesn’t stop you from buying the dress.

And it sure as hell doesn’t stop you from sitting on Yelena’s sink the night of the gala, curling your hair and pretending it’s not for him.

“That’s a new one,” she says, watching you through the mirror.

You shrug. “Just a dress.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

You pull mascara through your lashes. Your heart’s in your throat.

You check your phone.

No message.

No call.

No confirmation.

You still keep getting ready.

For him.

Even when the part of you that knows better whispers: he didn’t mean it.

————————————————————————————

You’re nearly done when Yelena walks back into the bathroom.

She’s not carrying your heels. That’s how you know it’s bad.

She’s holding her phone.

Her face is different now—flat, unreadable, like she’s bracing.

She doesn’t say anything at first.

Just hands it to you.

On the screen: a blurry photo from some entertainment gossip account. That carpeted entrance to the gala. A long staircase. Bucky Barnes in a suit.

And a tall woman in a gold dress holding onto his arm.

They look good together.

You don’t breathe for a second.

Then you hand her the phone.

Then you sit down on the edge of the tub and try really, really hard not to let your eyes well up.

Yelena sits next to you.

“You wanna stay home?” she asks.

You laugh—one bitter sound. “I think I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because—” your voice catches. “Because if I go… he’ll know.”

She’s quiet for a second. Then: “He should know.”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

And that’s when she pulls out her phone again.

“Yelena—what are you doing—”

“Calling Sam.”

“Why are you calling Sam?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Yelena.”

“I’m not letting you cry in glitter eyeliner. That shit is waterproof but I have limits.”

———————————————————————————-

She puts it on speaker.

“Yeah?” Sam answers, voice bright over the line.

“You’re going to the stupid gala, right?” Yelena says. No greeting.

“Uh, yeah—wait, what happened?”

“Bucky picked up some girl.”

A beat. Then: “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”

There’s a pause. And then: “Put her on.”

Yelena shoves the phone into your hand like it’s a mission brief.

You sigh, wipe under your eye, and say, “Hi, Sam.”

His voice shifts—immediately softer. “Fix that makeup.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’m picking you up in fifteen minutes. I don’t care if you’re barefoot. Fix that makeup, put on that dress, and let’s go show that guy the meaning of jealous.”

You laugh before you mean to.

It bubbles up, a little cracked, but real.

“Fifteen minutes?” you say.

“Fourteen now,” he says. “Clock’s ticking, gorgeous.”

You hang up.

And Yelena grins.

“Let’s burn this place down.”

————————————————————————————

Fifteen minutes later Yelena practically shoves you down the stairs.

Sam is in a sleek tux, crisp white shirt open just enough to be cocky about it, sunglasses on despite the fact it’s past sunset. His mouth drops open the second you appear in the doorway.

Then he whistles.

Loud.

“Damn,” he says, hopping out of the car. “You look like vengeance had a makeover.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips anyway. “You’re not allowed to be hotter than me tonight.”

Sam grins and offers his arm. “I’ll tone it down.”

Yelena leans into the open window as you slide in. “You get into a fight, text me. You get arrested, call someone else.”

You laugh. Sam doesn’t.

“She’s not getting arrested.”

“I’m not ruling it out,” you say.

Sam snorts and climbs in after you. “Let’s make a scene.”

————————————————————————————-

The car smells like leather and money and tension.

You smooth your dress for the fifth time. It’s a deep cut—elegant, sharp, like something that could kill if you moved fast enough. Your makeup is flawless. Your hair looks expensive. You feel taller than you are.

Sam watches you out of the corner of his eye. “You good?”

You nod. “You gonna let me use you for petty revenge?”

“Why do you think I wore this watch?”

You squeeze his hand once. It’s steady.

———————————————————————————

The gala is exactly what you expected—loud, elegant, suffocating.

The building is all glass and chandeliers and cameras. Music drifts from a live quartet tucked into a corner. Waiters float past with champagne flutes. Everyone smells like money and social climbing.

But it’s the staircase that hits you.

The one in the picture.

Wide. Gold-trimmed. The entrance to the ballroom just below.

You pause at the top, Sam on your arm.

And then you see him.

Bucky.

In a tux that fits him like he was born in it. Hair slicked back. Jaw sharp.

And beside him—her.

That same tall woman in the gold dress. Laughing at something he’s not listening to.

Bucky sees you.

His entire posture changes.

He’s in the crowd, drink untouched in one hand, his date chattering quietly at his side. But the second his eyes land on you—

He forgets how to stand.

His jaw slackens. His hand drops an inch. He doesn’t blink.

You can feel the silence crawl into his chest.

He looks at you like you’re not real.

Like you stepped out of some impossible dream in a dress that was stitched from the part of his soul he forgot how to want.

And Sam, bless him, leans into your ear and says with a grin:

“You know, Cinderella was my favorite princess. Looks like it’s his too.”

You almost laugh.

Almost.

But you’re too busy watching Bucky watch you.

Because he’s still not breathing.

Still not listening to a word his date is saying.

And the second your heel hits the first step—he takes one slow, stunned step toward you, like he might not survive this if he stays still.

You don’t stop walking.

Not for him.

Not yet.

The moment your heel touches the ballroom floor, people start moving.

Like water parting around something hot.

Like they feel it—your energy, your silence, your arrival. Even if they don’t know why.

Sam walks with you, arm still loose beneath yours, easy smile in place.

But he knows.

You feel his fingers twitch once. Not for him. For you.

He’s steady because he knows Bucky’s not.

——————————————————————————-

You catch him in the corner of your eye.

Still watching.

His date trying, still, to tug his attention back to their little corner. Her voice lifts, laughter forced, but his head doesn’t turn.

Not even a degree.

It’s glued to you.

You smile.

And then you let someone else approach.

He’s tall. Blonde. A little too eager.

He’s not Bucky.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, eyes already scanning your waist, your neckline, your legs.

You shrug. “You can try.”

Sam smirks. “I’ll be over there. Don’t start a war.”

“No promises.”

———————————————————————————-

The man’s name is Travis.

Of course it is.

He walks you to the bar with his hand already hovering too close to your lower back. You let him. You don’t flinch.

Because you know who’s watching.

He orders for you without asking. The drink is too sweet, but you take a sip anyway.

He leans in close when he talks. Tries to act like he’s charming.

You nod. Let him think it’s working.

You look past his shoulder.

Bucky hasn’t moved.

He’s standing statue-still, shoulders squared, eyes on you like he’s studying. Memorizing. Melting down.

His jaw flexes once.

Then again.

Sam stands behind him, now leaning against a pillar, sipping from a champagne flute and watching Bucky like he’s trying not to burst out laughing.

Then Travis does it.

He puts his hand back on your waist.

Lets it slide.

Lower.

Lingering at the curve of your ass.

And that’s it.

Bucky moves.

Sharp. Controlled.

Not fast—but everyone feels it.

Like something clicked loose and now it’s coming straight toward you.

He walks through the crowd with the focus of a sniper. No one touches him. No one tries.

The air around him changes, and the people near the bar instinctively drift apart like a pressure system just shifted.

Travis doesn’t notice. Not until Bucky stops right behind him.

And takes your hand.

Not rough. Not yanking.

Just claiming.

Cool fingers curl around your wrist like he’s trying to remember if you’re real.

And then—

“We’re leaving.”

His voice is low. Even.

But lethal.

Travis blinks. “Sorry—what?”

Bucky doesn’t look at him. He’s staring at you.

Like nothing else in the room exists.

“We were just talking,” Travis says, more defensive now.

Bucky still doesn’t look.

But Travis looks at him—and that’s enough.

The second he sees Bucky’s expression—

The absolute ice in his face—

He backs up.

“Oh—I didn’t realize she was with someone.”

You pull your hand gently from Bucky’s grip.

“I’m not.”

You say it flat.

Bucky flinches.

Just slightly. Like a punch that lands soft, but still hits.

And then—

“Don’t look at me,” Sam says from a few feet away, raising his glass.

Bucky’s eyes flick that direction.

Sam shrugs. “You had your shot, Barnes.”

You look back at Bucky.

He’s breathing harder now.

Not from anger.

From regret.

You don’t wait.

You walk past him.

Let him follow.

Let him catch up.

Because whatever this is—it needs to end before it kills you.

————————————————————————

The gala doors swing shut behind you with a whisper of silk and pressure.

The air outside is cooler. Quieter. Everything muffled under the weight of what just happened.

Bucky stops a few feet from the valet circle. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t reach for you again.

Just stands there.

Like the whole damn world is caught in his throat.

You cross your arms.

You don’t look at him.

“Don’t do that,” you say softly.

He turns slightly, brows pulling in.

“Don’t come get me like that,” you go on, voice flat. “Don’t pull me away from someone—don’t touch me—if you didn’t mean it.”

“I did mean it,” he says. Fast. Too fast.

You look at him now. Hard.

“Then why didn’t you come with me?”

He blinks.

And there it is.

The sharp flash of guilt in his eyes.

“I asked you,” he says.

“You joked.” You shake your head. “You made it a joke, Bucky, and I still said yes. And you still didn’t show up. You showed up with someone else.”

His mouth opens. Closes.

You press your hands to your sides like you’re holding yourself together.

“I spent hours getting ready,” you whisper, voice cracking. “For you. You didn’t call. You didn’t text. You didn’t even think I meant it, did you?”

“I—”

“I mean nothing to you,” you say, sharper now, louder. “That’s what it felt like. And I let it happen. I let you mean something to me, and you couldn’t even give me—”

“Is that why you think I did this?”

His voice stops you cold.

Quiet.

Wrecked.

He steps closer, slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“Is that really what you think?” he says again. “That I didn’t come with you because you didn’t mean anything to me?”

You don’t answer.

He takes another step.

“I didn’t show up because I didn’t think I was allowed to,” he says. “Because I thought if I saw you like that—if I saw you looking like you, and I knew I wasn’t allowed to touch you—I’d fucking lose it.”

You swallow hard.

“And yeah, maybe I joked. Maybe I chickened out. Because how the hell am I supposed to think someone like you would say yes to me?”

Your throat tightens.

“I’ve been in love with you since I saw you,” Bucky says.

Voice low. Shaking.

“And I have tried so hard to stay out of the way. To stay good. To not take anything I’d ruin. But I saw you tonight and I—fuck, I couldn’t do it.”

You just stare.

“I never thought I could have peace without fucking it up,” he says. “But you were peace. You’ve always been peace.”

And in the silence that follows—

You break.

You cross the space between you like it costs you nothing.

You grab his face with both hands.

And you kiss him like you can’t stop.

——————————————————————————-

The kiss is messy

Desperate.

Too much and not enough, your hands in his hair, his mouth on yours like he’s trying to apologize and possess you at the same time.

You feel it—how long he’s wanted this. How long you have.

And then the limo rolls up, slow and sleek, headlights glowing in the dark.

Bucky breaks the kiss with a gasp against your lips, one hand still tangled in your hair.

He turns just enough to signal the driver, breath ragged.

“Keep driving,” he says. “Until I tell you to stop.”

The door opens.

He helps you in.

You don’t let go.

——————————————————————————

The second the door shuts, you’re in his lap.

Straddling him. Dress bunched at your thighs. His hands on your waist like he’s trying to figure out if this is a dream he’ll wake up from.

“Tell me this is okay,” he says, voice thick.

“It’s more than okay,” you whisper.

You kiss him again, deeper this time, and his hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. You shiver, grinding down once against the hard line of him beneath you.

He groans—low, broken—and pulls the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

His mouth follows.

Hot kisses down your collarbone. Your chest. His tongue teasing around your nipple, then taking it into his mouth while his hands slide down your back and under your thighs, gripping you tight.

You gasp, fingers fisting the lapels of his suit jacket.

“Off,” you breathe. “Take it off.”

He moves fast. Peels his jacket off, then the buttons—clumsy, too rushed. You help, dragging your hands across his chest, down his abs, nails scratching just enough to make him hiss.

You slide back just enough to push your panties down your thighs, moaning softly when his fingers trail up the inside of one.

He’s watching you now. Wide-eyed. Reverent.

“Christ,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful.”

You stroke him through his slacks, then pull him free. Hard, flushed.

“Bucky,” you say, wrapping your hand around him, slow. “I’ve wanted this forever.”

He groans your name like a prayer.

You shift forward, guiding him to you, the stretch of him stealing your breath as you sink down—slow, inch by inch.

He chokes out a sound, grabbing your hips.

You roll yours once and he bucks up helplessly.

The car rocks.

You ride him like you’ve waited years for this—because you have. The windows fog, your skin sticks to his, and the only sounds are your moans and the sharp pant of his breath against your throat.

He kisses you between every thrust.

He says your name like he means it.

And when you fall apart around him—tight and clenching and shaking—he groans deep in his chest and spills into you with a muttered, “Mine.”

———————————————————————————

You don’t move for a minute.

You just breathe.

And he holds you like he’ll never stop.

The city rolls past in a blur of lights and motion.

The windows are still fogged.

Your dress is barely up on your thighs. His shirt’s unbuttoned, his hair a mess, one hand still gently trailing up and down your spine like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you.

You’re both quiet.

Not because there’s nothing to say.

But because everything that needed to break open already did.

Your head rests on his shoulder. His other arm wraps around your waist, holding you steady against him like you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

You shift a little.

His breath catches.

He kisses your temple.

“I should’ve said it sooner,” he says quietly.

You look up at him.

He’s not looking at you yet—his eyes are on the ceiling of the car like he’s afraid if he looks right at you, he’ll ruin it.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says. “I just didn’t think I deserved to be seen the way you see me.”

“You do,” you whisper.

He finally meets your eyes.

“I see you,” you say, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “Not who you used to be. Not the arm. Not the mission. You.”

He leans in.

Not to kiss.

Just to touch his forehead to yours.

“I thought if I kept my distance, you’d be safer,” he says. “That wouldn’t lose you.”

“You were already losing me,” you murmur.

A beat.

He nods, almost painfully.

“Not anymore,” he says.

You cup his face in both hands.

“Promise?”

His voice is a whisper.

“You’re not just mine tonight. You’re mine.”

He kisses you again—soft this time. Sure. Not desperate.

Certain.

And outside, the lights pass by unnoticed.

Because here, in the slow hum of the backseat and the quiet of everything finally laid bare—

You stay.