#guess who's coding tonight ?

[untitledgoosegay]

re: dimidue, my writing, & fic

it's important to me that dedue also gets to be weird and traumatized and difficult; it's important to me that dedue gets to be supported by dimitri as much as dimitri gets support from dedue

dedue's PTSD manifests very differently from dimitri's, whose trauma and mental illness are very obvious and externalized, but while it may be less obtrusive, "subtler" internalized mental illness is no less difficult to navigate

dedue gets passive-aggressive; he isolates himself and snaps [in the most plausibly-neutral manner possible] at attempts to draw him out; he's prone to insecurity, reticence, and self-abnegation, and to sink into dissociative apathy; he overextends himself trying to care for others as a coping mechanism that gets worse the worse he's doing; he denies that he's anything but fine even as it's increasingly obvious that he absolutely isn't, & to some extent even believes himself

unlike dimitri, who for all his issues is very self-aware about what he's experiencing and why (at least to the extent that he can understand it), dedue is more inclined to denial and avoidance; he's opaque even to himself (in this respect, dimitri's emotional intelligence complements him)

dedue is in some ways even more prone to black and white moral thinking than dimitri. when he's not actively in the midst of an episode, dimitri is constantly conflicted over the morality of his actions. he knows how he gets when his PTSD triggers, and it terrifies him, and he hates himself for it. he tears himself to pieces over it to the point of self-destruction and immobility. meanwhile dedue isn't nearly so passive or unquestioning in his judgment as some people (felix) accuse him of; he wouldn't accept or enable the murder of civilians, but i do think there's an extent to which he sees dimitri going Ape Shitt on the battlefield and goes "yep :) there he is, the man i love :)" the berserker rage worries him to the extent that it affects dimitri, but it doesn't really concern him in its own right. which on the one hand is often something dimitri needs -- someone to affirm, hey, this part of you comes from a good place, it doesn't frighten me, be kind to it instead of beating it/yourself with a stick -- but on the other hand ... mmmmm it is probably not normal for a person to be so blasé about barehanded dismemberment

dedue is a strong stabilizing & affirming influence on dimitri, but by the same token dimitri is a strong activating & encouraging influence on dedue; they are good for each other

[hana-bobo-finch]

I should probably just go to bed because I’m on the verge of posting every single thought I’ve had this past week eeggegeheheheh me when I don’t have my outlet to scream into the void

[unproduciblesmackdown]

the sense of having any lore about the ancient [ten to thirteen years ago] of marble hornets times like granpa granpa tell us a greentext story....the only hitch is not having stories and instead having "i guess you had to be there" tales from the fringes, unless instead of a hitch you frame this as a bit

[xo100]

Coming home - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: by anon; ‘y/n drunk in a club and calling lando to pick her up 🙈 him being patient and gentle 🫶🏼 thank you!!!’

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2214

୨ৎ

It had been a quiet evening for Lando Norris. The kind of evening he loved, where the house was filled with the gentle hum of the TV, and the warmth of home comforted him after a long day. He’d spent most of his time winding down, his thoughts often drifting to his girlfriend, who had texted him earlier in the day, saying she’d be out with friends tonight.

“You have fun,” he had told her with a smile before she left, his hands gently resting on her hips as he gave her a kiss goodbye.

She never went out too often—mostly a homebody unlike him—so he had encouraged her to enjoy herself, to have a night of fun and laughter, with drinks if she felt like it. He knew she didn’t really drink much, maybe a cocktail here or there, but nothing excessive. She had always been mindful, careful, but tonight seemed a little different.

-

It was around midnight when Lando's phone buzzed.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. He figured it would be one of those casual updates, maybe a quick check-in to let him know she was alright. But when he glanced at the screen, the sight of her name at the top of the message thread made him pause, and the message itself made him frown slightly in confusion.

“I’msogldmkgoig,” the text read. He blinked, squinting at the screen.

Lando tilted his head, trying to decipher the meaning of the garbled message. Was she typing in some kind of code? Then it hit him—a small smile tugged at his lips. She was drunk. Really drunk.

Shaking his head with a soft chuckle, he swiped open his phone, his thumbs moving quickly over the screen.

“Hey, you okay? Need me to pick you up?”

It took a minute or two for a response to come in, and when it did, it was no clearer than the first.

“nnoOOO immmmperf!!! ssssgood igot this!!! 😊😊😊”

Lando laughed under his breath, a fond smile settling on his face. He could just imagine her sitting at a table with her friends, holding her phone up way too close to her face, squinting at the keyboard as she tried to string a sentence together. She always got flustered when her texts came out wrong, even more so when she had a bit too much to drink.

He tried calling her, but it rang for a moment before she declined it. Another message popped up.

“ssorryyyyy busyy having fun witt gurls!! 🎉🍹”

Lando raised an eyebrow. He knew her friends, and he had no doubt they were looking after her, but it was clear she was teetering on the edge of tipsy and downright hammered.

A part of him wanted to laugh at the situation, but the protective part of him nudged forward. He’d rather her be home and safe than out and struggling to figure out how to text properly.

After sending her another message asking if she needed help, he waited, watching the dots of her typing bubble appear and disappear before another string of incomprehensible words filled the chat.

Then, finally, she called him.

Her name flashed across the screen, and Lando answered quickly.

“Hiiiii,” she sang into the phone, her voice bright but undeniably slurred.

“Hey, love,” Lando said softly, leaning back on the couch, the smile in his voice impossible to miss. “You doing okay over there?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, a bit of shuffling and background noise as her friends laughed and chatted around her. “Mmmm, I think soooo,” she said, dragging out the words. “But Landoooo, guess what?”

“What?” Lando humored her, knowing she probably had no idea where this conversation was going.

“I miss youuuu,” she said with a giggle, her voice softening with an endearing whine. “Like, really, really miss you.”

Lando’s heart did a little flip, warmth spreading in his chest. “I miss you too,” he replied, his voice dropping into that gentle, affectionate tone he used whenever they were being sweet with each other. “How about I come pick you up, hmm? I think it’s time to get you home.”

There was another pause, and he could hear the muffled sound of her friends in the background again, likely checking in on her. Then she whispered into the phone, as if telling him the world’s biggest secret, “Okay… but don’t tell anyone… I’m a little drunk.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “You don’t say.”

“But I’m not… that drunk,” she continued, her words tumbling over each other. “Just… a little.”

“Sure, babe,” Lando said playfully, standing up from the couch and grabbing his keys. “I’ll be there in a bit, alright? Stay with your friends. I’m on my way.”

“‘Kayyy,” she sighed, clearly relieved. “Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the best,” she whispered, her voice filled with a drunken sincerity that made Lando’s chest tighten in the best way.

He grinned, shaking his head again as he headed out the door. “You’re not too bad yourself, love.”

-

The drive to the bar wasn’t long. Lando had been there with her and her friends before, and he knew the route by heart. As he pulled up, his eyes immediately scanned the front of the building, and sure enough, he spotted her standing with a few of her friends near the curb, her posture relaxed but a little wobbly. She was laughing at something one of them had said, her phone clutched in one hand, her jacket loosely draped over her shoulders.

Lando parked and stepped out of the car, his eyes softening as they landed on her. She looked up and saw him, her face lighting up in a way that made his heart skip. She immediately broke into a wide, tipsy grin, her eyes sparkling as she waved enthusiastically.

“Landooo!” she called, drawing out his name in that adorable, exaggerated way she always did when she was happy to see him.

He chuckled, making his way over to her, his hands slipping into his pockets as he approached. “Hey, you,” he greeted, his voice warm and teasing.

She stumbled slightly as she moved toward him, but he was quick to catch her, his hands gently wrapping around her waist to steady her. “Careful, love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Her arms looped around his neck as she looked up at him, her eyes a little glassy but full of affection. “You came,” she said, her voice softer now, as if the reality of him being there had just hit her.

“Of course I did,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I wasn’t gonna leave you here drunk and texting me gibberish all night.”

She giggled, her cheeks flushing. “I wasn’t texting gibberish!”

Lando raised an eyebrow, pulling out his phone and holding up her messages for her to see. “You sure about that?”

She squinted at the screen, her face scrunching up in concentration before she groaned, burying her face in his chest. “Okay, maybe a little gibberish,” she mumbled.

He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her a little tighter. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, looking up at him with wide, playful eyes. “But I was having funnn,” she whined, though the smile tugging at her lips told him she was more than happy to go with him.

“I’m sure you were,” Lando said with a smirk. “But you’ll have more fun when you’re not regretting all those drinks tomorrow.”

She pouted up at him for a moment before her expression softened, her hand coming up to gently cup his cheek. “You’re so good to me,” she whispered, her voice carrying that drunken tenderness again.

Lando’s heart melted at her words, and he leaned down to kiss her softly, his lips brushing against hers with all the love and patience in the world. “Only because you’re worth it,” he murmured against her lips before pulling back slightly. “Come on, let’s get you in the car.”

-

The drive home was quiet, her head resting against the window as the streetlights flickered by. Every now and then, she’d glance over at him, her eyes soft and full of affection. He’d catch her staring and smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in soothing circles.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando laughed softly. “Am I?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, her eyes drifting shut as she leaned back into the seat. “Really, really cute.”

He shook his head, the fondness in his chest swelling as he stole a glance at her. “You’re something else.”

By the time they got home, she was half-asleep, her body heavy with the exhaustion that always seemed to follow a night of drinking. Lando parked the car and got out, walking over to her side and opening the door. She stirred slightly, her eyes blinking open as he reached out a hand to help her up.

“You okay to walk?” he asked gently.

She nodded, though her movements were slow and sleepy. He wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her out of the car as she leaned into him for support. Her head rested against his shoulder, and a small, content sigh escaped her lips as they made their way toward the house.

Lando unlocked the door and led her inside, his grip gentle but firm. She stumbled a little on her way through the doorway, giggling at her own clumsiness.

“You’re like my knight in shining armor,” she slurred playfully, looking up at him with a soft smile as they stood in the entryway. “Except you drive a McLaren instead of a horse.”

Lando chuckled, rolling his eyes in amusement. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She nodded, her head resting back on his shoulder as they made their way down the hallway to their bedroom. “It’s totally a compliment,” she mumbled, her voice getting quieter with each word. “You’re perfect.”

They reached the bed, and Lando helped her sit down, carefully slipping off her shoes. “Alright, love,” he said softly, “let's get you into something more comfortable.”

She whined in protest, her arms going limp as she dramatically fell back onto the bed, her legs still dangling off the edge. “But I’m already sooo comfy,” she groaned.

Lando smirked, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered affectionately as he knelt down to take her shoes off. Then he stood, heading to the closet to grab one of his oversized hoodies—one she always liked to wear—and brought it back to her.

With a bit of gentle coaxing, he helped her change out of her clothes, into the soft hoodie that smelled faintly of him. She sighed in contentment, snuggling into the fabric as soon as it was on.

“There you go,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face. “All cozy.”

She smiled sleepily at him, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed up at him. “Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

The words came out soft and vulnerable, almost like a confession. Even though she was drunk, there was a deep sincerity in her voice that made his heart ache in the best way. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his own forehead against hers.

“I love you too” he murmured, his voice filled with all the affection he’d been holding onto since the moment she had called him. “So much.”

She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as she snuggled deeper into the blankets. “You’re the best boyfriend ever,” she mumbled, her words slurring together as sleep started to claim her.

Lando stayed there for a moment, just watching her, his heart swelling with warmth. He could see the way her breathing slowed, her body relaxing completely as she drifted off to sleep. Even in her drunken state, she was still the girl he adored—the one who made him laugh, who always knew how to make him smile, and who filled his life with more joy than he ever thought possible.

He stood up slowly, making sure she was tucked in before he changed into his own clothes for the night. Sliding into bed next to her, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She instinctively moved toward him, her body curling into his as she sighed in contentment.

Lando pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his fingers gently brushing through her hair as he whispered, “Goodnight, love.”

And as she slept peacefully in his arms, he couldn’t help but smile, his heart full. Because nights like this—where he could be there for her, take care of her, and remind her just how much he loved her—were the ones that made everything worth it.

She might have been a little too drunk tonight, but to Lando, she was perfect in every way. And as they lay there, tangled together in the quiet comfort of their home, he knew he wouldn’t trade a single moment of it for the world.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; Hey anon! I hope you enjoyed it and that this was what you had in mind! If not let me know so I can change things! Enjoy it, love! I’m also currently working on part 3 of baking cookies, coming online soon!

[jaesblogstuff]

The Lines I Crossed For You

Happy (early) father’s day i guess LOL. I might write something a little better, best fit for the occasion.

Simon’s been divorced six years.

She left without a fight — just said she was tired of a man who worked too much and smiled too little.

He didn’t beg. Didn’t chase. Just stood in the kitchen while the door shut behind her. Since then he’s been steady. Alone.

Liam —his only continuation of Riley blood, his son — moved in after burning through money and excuses. Said he was trying. Said he’d “try and get back on his feet” Simon didn’t ask. Just gave him a room. A second chance.

But he knew the truth. Liam wasn’t trying. He was coasting. Still a boy in a man’s world.

And then you came along.

At first, just weekends. Then overnights, shifts too long, Liam too distracted to show up. You were always moving. Always tired. Always giving.

Simon saw it all. Quietly. Every forgotten pickup. Every brushed-off look. And the way you stayed anyway. He knew that lingering in the doorway, cooking for you, waiting up even when you didn’t ask. It was too much. But there was a point where watching became unbearable.

He told himself to stay out of it.

But tonight? He can’t, He wouldn’t.

⸻

It’s almost 11 p.m. when you show up. No text. No call.

You hadn’t planned to really. You’d finished a 14-hour shift, head splitting, feet throbbing, too exhausted to go home. You’d asked Liam to pick you up — just this once — and when he didn’t answer, you sat in your car with your keys in your hand and your chest tight with something between shame and fury. Simon’s house was closer than your apartment. That’s the only reason you came. At least… that’s what you told yourself.

He opens the door in sweatpants, barefoot, hair a mess, face unreadable — and the moment his eyes land on yours, something in you buckles. You’re not okay. And he sees it. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you murmur. “Just… need a quick crash.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Just steps aside. “You’re here,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”

You walk in. He doesn’t ask questions. Just takes the bags and load from your hands, sets them gently on the counter, and looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you. You swallow and glance toward the hallway. “Is Liam here?”

Simon’s jaw shifts, barely, but you catch it. “He left a few hours ago,” he says. “Went out with friends, I think. Didn’t say much.” A pause. Then quieter, “Haven’t seen him since before dinner.”

You nod once, like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t sting.

“I called him… three times,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Guess he forgot.” You rub your hands over your face, the fatigue crashing down all at once. “I can go… if this is weird. I don’t want to—”

“Stop.” Simon’s voice is low, firm. “You’re staying. Sit down.”

You do. Not because you’re told, but because for once, it feels like someone means it.

He places a warm mug in front of you — tea from the pot he made not long ago. You wrap your hands around it like it’s the only heat you have left. He sits across from you, watching you sip. “Rough day?”

You nod. “I don’t even know what happened. Just… non-stop. Four admits. One code. Everyone short-staffed again.”

You shrug lightly, stare into your cup. “It’s whatever.”

Simon watches you a long moment, his eyes careful, searching. “And Liam?”

You let out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh — hollow. “Didn’t show. Again. I waited outside the hospital like a fucking idiot for fifteen minutes before I gave up.”

The silence that follows is thick — not awkward, just loaded. Something in Simon snaps. Not loudly. Not violently. Just… breaks.

“I’ve watched you give him everything,” Simon murmurs, voice low and sharp. “And I’ve watched him give you nothing. That’s not fair. That’s not love.”

You blink hard. Swallow. “I don’t want pity.”

“You think this is pity?” he says, eyes locked to yours.

Then, softer, steadier. “I don’t look at you and see someone weak. I see someone who’s been strong for too long.”

His hand finds your knee. His thumb moves in slow, grounding circles.

“I’d give you everything if you let me. Every minute. Every drop. Just to watch you breathe easier.”

Your throat tightens. Something inside you splinters. You’re tired. Spent. But right now — right here — you’re also seen. Not just as someone who’s holding it together. But someone worth being held.

And Simon? He’s still waiting. Still giving you room.

“I don’t want to think,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why I will.”

Then you nod, barely a movement, and say, “Yes.”

⸻

He fucks you like someone who’s had years to imagine it.

Because he has.

Celibacy might as well have been stitched into the collar of his shirts — not by choice, but by the kind of quiet, aching resignation that comes from too many years of going untouched. No one since his wife.

And not once does he rush.

He undresses you slowly, reverently. Like your body is something to earn. His hands are warm and a little rough from yardwork and tools, but his touch is gentle. Intentional. His lips brush the inside of your wrist. Your collarbone. The skin just beneath your navel.

He doesn’t move to tease. He worships. When his mouth finds your thighs, you’re already trembling.

His tongue circles your clit. Soft, controlled, devastating, and the moan that leaves your throat is so quiet it startles you. It’s the kind of sound you don’t mean to make. The kind that lives deep in your chest and only comes out when someone really knows what they’re doing.

“Please,” you whisper, hips twitching, too gone to be embarrassed.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you first.”

Two fingers slide into you — slow, deep — and the groan he lets out is nearly broken. Like he’s mourning all the days he didn’t get to touch you like this.

His mouth doesn’t stop. And neither does your unraveling. You writhe under him, hand fisting the sheets, tears pricking at your lashes from how tender it all is. He doesn’t stop until you break — gasping, breathless, your back arching and legs shaking as you come hard against his mouth.

Only then does he rise, chest heaving, and kiss you like he’s starved. And then, just before he sinks inside you, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, voice rough and trembling

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Simon says, his voice low and raw against your shoulder. “To have someone like you. Someone so strong, so fucking hardworking, and beautiful, and kind — and just… look away. To not show up for you.”

“If you were mine—”

He stops himself. Shakes his head again like he’s trying to clear it. Like the thought hurts too much to say out loud.

But you feel it. You need it.

“No,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Say it.”

His throat works around the words. And when they come, they’re not smooth — they’re wrecked.

“I’d never stop touching you,” he says, voice cracking. “I’d never stop showing you. Every day. That you’re wanted. That you’re seen. That you’re safe. That you deserve it. All of it.”

You let out a broken sound, a breath that turns into a moan because the way he says it is what finishes you.

Not the touch. Not the friction. Him.

When he finally pushes in — slow, thick, achingly deep — the sound that leaves your mouth is a strangled cry.

“Oh my god—Simon—”

He groans, low and guttural. His hands grip your hips, firm but careful. “That’s it,” he pants. “Take it. Let me give it to you. Let me fucking have you.”

You nod wildly, mouth open, no words left. Your moans are quiet, breathy, raw. Real. They spill out of you like confessions. Like relief.

Simon moves slow — deliberate — each stroke heavy and deep, angled just right to drag a new gasp from your throat. His eyes never leave your face. His hands never stop touching.

It’s not just sex. It’s reverence. It’s grief. It’s a man making up for all the years he didn’t believe he’d ever get to feel this again.

It’s a man giving you everything his son never even thought to.

“You’re so full,” you whimper.

“You deserve it,” he breathes against your mouth. “Deserve to be filled until you can’t think.”

And when you come again, harder this time, your whole body clenched and trembling, he fucks you through it with nothing but praise:

“Good girl.”

“So fucking perfect.”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

When he comes, he doesn’t pull out. He stays there — still buried inside — holding you like he’s terrified the moment might vanish if he lets go.

Later, when your breathing slows and the room fades to a quiet hum, Simon wraps his arms around you from behind. Anchors you to him. Then softer, at your temple: “Sleep.”

And for the first time in a long, long time — you do.

(i don’t know what i was thinking oh my goodness i’m sorry)

[greengoblinswifey]

Club Rendezvous—Luigi Mangione x Fem!Reader

summary— while on spring break, you cross paths with Luigi Mangione at a club, sparking an immediate connection that leads to a night in your hotel room. based on this request.

warnings— grinding, drinking, fingering, cunnilingus, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

a/n— Those photos are so fratboy Luigi coded, idk I like this little mood board, enjoy <3 I really hope he’s doing well, my heart aches when I think about him.

The club was alive, the high energy vibes only spring break could deliver. Neon lights flashed across the crowd, music boomed loud enough to shake the walls, and you and your friends were in the middle of it all. Drinks in hand, laughter over the music, you were living your best life. Your group wasn’t shy about taking over the dance floor, swaying your hips to the beat, your confidence catching more than a few eyes.

Among those eyes were his. Some tall, dark curly haired guy leaned casually against the bar, drink in hand, charm on full display. His backwards cap barely kept his dark curls in check, and his sleeveless shirt revealed toned arms. He was the type of guy who made heads turn without even trying. And tonight, his focus was on you.

You noticed him when you turned toward the bar, locking eyes for the briefest second. His smirk was teasing, and when he tipped his drink in your direction, you knew the game was on.

“Who’s that fine ass staring at you like you’re the last shot at the bar?” your friend shouted over the music, nudging you.

“Probably just some frat boy who thinks he’s cute,” you replied, though your smile betrayed you.

“Girl, he’s cute!” another friend chimed in. “Go dance with him!”

You rolled your eyes playfully but turned your attention back to the dance floor. It wasn’t long before he made his move, walking through the crowd until he was standing close enough for you to feel his presence.

“You dance as good as you look?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Why don’t you find out?” you shot back, challenging him.

He laughed, the sound sexy and confident. “I was hoping you’d say that, I’m Luigi by the way.”

“And I’m Y/N,” you flirted.

Before you knew it, he was behind you, his hands resting respectfully at your hips, waiting for your cue. When you started to move, he followed your lead effortlessly, the two of you in sync. The beat pulsed through your body as you threw your ass back, his grip tightening slightly to match your rhythm.

Your friends were cheering you on from the sidelines, one even yelling, “Get it, girl! Pull him in!”

“Your friends are wild,” Luigi said with a chuckle, his lips close enough to your ear to send a shiver down your spine.

“They’re hyping me up,” you replied, glancing back at him. “Don’t let ‘em down.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he promised, his cute smirk widening.

You felt on top of the world as you moved together, his presence grounding you while the world spun around you. The chemistry was undeniable, and the looks your friends shot your way only fueled your confidence.

“You’re stealing the show out here,” he murmured.

“Good,” you said, flashing him a grin over your shoulder. “I’m worth it.”

When the song ended, you turned to face him, breathless but grinning. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and for a moment, it felt like maybe you were.

“Wanna grab a drink?” he asked, his tone a mix of boldness and uncertainty.

“Depends,” you said, tilting your head. “Are you buying?”

“For you?” He laughed, already nodding. “Absolutely.”

As you walked toward the bar together, your friends erupted into cheers behind you.

“Go get your white boy, queen!” one shouted, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Guess I’ve got a lot to live up to,” Luigi joked, glancing at your retreating friends.

“You better,” you replied, “Think you can handle it?”

“With you?” His smirk softened into something genuine. “I’ll try my best.”

Spring break had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

The bass of the club faded slightly as you and Luigi leaned against the bar, drinks in hand. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d introduced himself, and you couldn’t deny how charming his boyish confidence was. You had a good feeling about him.

“So, what’s your story?” Luigi asked, sipping his drink and leaning closer to hear you over the music.

“Just here for spring break with my girls,” you said with a shrug, “What about you?”

“Same,” he said, his eyes lingering on yours, “Though I’m thinking this night just got a lot better.”

“You’ve got lines, huh?”

“Only when they’re true,” he replied, raising his glass toward you.

Feeling bold, the words spat out of your mouth before you could overthink them. “You wanna come back to my hotel?”

Luigi’s thick eyebrows raised slightly, his grin widening. “I’d love to,” he said, “But only if I get to take you on a date tomorrow morning.”

“Deal.”

Within minutes, he’d called an Uber he paid for, and the two of you were in the backseat, the city lights blurring past the windows. Luigi had his arm draped casually along the back of the seat, his fingers brushing your shoulder. You turned to him, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, testing, but quickly deepened. His hand slid to cup your jaw, pulling you closer. “You taste like trouble,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating.

“You’re one to talk,” you whispered, nipping at his bottom lip, earning a low chuckle from him.

By the time you reached the hotel, the air between you was charged. In the elevator, the doors had barely closed before Luigi pressed you against the wall, his lips capturing yours in a feral kiss. His hands roamed over your sides before one slid lower, fingers trailing into your bottoms.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Luigi,” you breathed out, your knees going weak as his fingers found your pussy.

“You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice low as his fingers thrusted in slow strokes. “You’re so tight.”

You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but the soft whimper you let out when his thumb pressed against your clit betrayed you. His lips found your ear. “Don’t you dare hold those moans. I wanna hear you.”

When the elevator dinged, you both barely managed to pull yourselves together, your face dazed and breaths uneven. Stumbling down the hallway, Luigi was still kissing your neck as you fumbled with the keycard, his lips sending shivers down your spine.

The door finally opened, and the two of you stumbled inside, laughing softly before his lips found yours again. You fell back onto the bed, Luigi bracing himself above you as his kisses moved down your neck to your collarbone.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his hands tracing your sides. “I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“You’re just saying that,” you teased.

He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with a seriousness that made your heart race. “Nah, I mean it. You’re stunning, and you’re driving me insane.”

His lips claimed yours again, his praise melting into your skin as his hands explored, every touch making you feel like he meant what he said.

His hands worked at the hem of your top, his lips brushing against your jawline. His fingers grazed your skin, pulling off your bottoms next slowly, leaving you in your bra and panties.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes roaming over you like you were something rare. “I don’t think you even realize.”

You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt in response. “You first,” you teased.

With a smirk, Luigi pulled off his shirt, revealing a toned torso with abs that had your breath hitching. When his hands worked to remove your bra, his fingers grazed your nipples. Once he freed you from it, he paused, staring at you as if committing every detail to memory.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

Your panties were the last to go, and when you reached for his waistband, he let out a soft laugh, his hands gently stopping yours. “Let me take care of you first, pretty girl. Tonight’s about you.”

Your lips parted in surprise, but Luigi was already lowering himself onto his knees at the edge of the bed. “Can I?” he asked, fingers resting on your thighs.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, and he flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “Good girl,” he murmured.

The first stroke of his tongue had you gasping, your back arching slightly. He knew what he was doing, his mouth working against you with a precision that had your legs trembling. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging gently as he grinned against your skin.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he continued, “I could stay here all night.”

“Luigi,” you breathed, your voice breaking as he pressed his tongue in deeper, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Your only response was a soft whimper, your head falling back as his tongue worked wonders against your quivering pussy. He lapped at your juices like a man starved, leaving not one inch of your pussy untouched. When your body finally gave in, shuddering beneath him and creaming, he pulled away, lips and chin glistening to smirk at you.

“You’re a dream,” he whispered, licking his lips and climbing back onto the bed.

You tugged him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. “Lemme take care of you now,” you offered breathlessly, reaching for his waistband again.

Luigi caught your hand, shaking his head with a smirk. “Another time. Tonight, it’s all about you. You’ve got no idea how lucky I feel.”

He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his tenderness making you realize you had scored the jackpot. He stood at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to unbuckle his pants as your gaze followed him. When he finally slipped them off, your eyes widened in disbelief at the sheer size of his hard dick.

“You’re joking,” you murmured, earning a low chuckle from him.

“Don’t worry, baby” he said, leaning down to kiss you softly. “You can take it. I’ll make sure of it.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes locking onto yours. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked his tone serious.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“We can stop anytime,” Luigi reminded you, cupping your cheek. “Just say the word.”

“I’m sure, Luigi,” you assured him.

“Okay, amore,” he whispered, the word rolling off his tongue effortlessly. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Luigi positioned himself above you, one hand gripping yours as he lined his cock with your entrance. His lips brushed against your temple as he slowly pushed in, both of you hissing at the sensation.

“Luigi,” you whimpered, gripping his hand tightly.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he praised. He set a steady rhythm, his strokes careful but deep enough to find your sweet spot. “You feel so good.”

“You’re so big,” you panted, your head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah?” he smirked, leaning down to kiss you. “Who’s making you feel good?”

“You are, Luigi,” you gasped, your body reacting to every word and thrust.

“That’s right,” he murmured against your lips. “Only me.”

He quickened his pace slightly, his hand slipping to your waist to steady you. The pleasure was becoming too much as he bottomed out and slammed back in, each thrust making your pussy quiver. “Cum on my dick, amore,” he coaxed, his voice soft.

Your pussy obeyed, a wave of release coursing through you as his thrusts slowed down, pressing gentle kisses along your jaw. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his lips curving into that beautiful smile.

Before you could fully recover, Luigi flipped you onto your stomach, his hand sliding down your back. “You look so good like this,” he murmured, gripping your hips as he started again.

You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, the pleasure building faster this time. “I— I don’t know if I can hold on,” you stammered, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to,” he reassured. “Cum for me baby. I’ve got you.”

Your body surrendered again, practically soaking his cock and the sheets, and he leaned down, pressing kisses along your shoulder. He gently turned you onto your side, lifting your leg as he settled behind you. His pace was slower now, deeper inside you, his hand brushing over your thigh as he whispered praises into your ear and you moaned his name like it was the only word you knew.

“You’re amazing, amore,” he said, his lips brushing against your neck. “I love this pussy.”

You reached back to touch his arm, your breathing steadying as he continued to hold you close. He pressed kisses to the side of your face, his grip tightening on your leg as he rolled his hips with precision. You were so sensitive, all in your mind was his cock slamming into you then retreating with just the tip before he thrusted back in again. He found your sweet spot each time, your pussy quivering with every movement.

“Luigi,” you moaned, feeling your orgasm approaching.

“I know baby, I know. Cum with me. Can I cum inside you,” he asked.

“Mhmm—please, cum inside me,” you whimpered.

He reached down to rub your clit and it sent you right over the edge. You cried out, your body shaking under his touch as a wave of liquid sprayed from your pussy. He fucked you through your orgasm and soon you felt the feeling of warm sticky cum filling you to the brim.

You both lay there panting, and you could feel his cum oozing from your pussy as he pulled out.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, disappearing into the bathroom.

You barely had the energy to lift your head, but moments later, he returned with a warm, damp towel in hand. Sitting beside you, he placed a hand on your thigh and smiled. “Let me take care of you.”

He started cleaning you up carefully. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, glancing at you with concern.

“No,” you replied, your voice a little hoarse. “I’m good. Just tired.”

He chuckled, setting the towel aside and lying down beside you. “Tired? I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, brushing a stray curl from your face.

“You would,” you murmured, cracking a small smile.

He shifted closer, pulling the blanket over both of you. “So,” he started, “was it as good as you imagined it would be?”

“Confident much?” you said as you rolled your eyes playfully.

He grinned, leaning on his elbow to look at you better. “Hey, I’m just asking. You’re the one who moaned ‘Luigi’ about a hundred times.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grew flustered and hit his arm lightly.

“Now, tomorrow before the date, breakfast on the beach? Or room service?”

“Surprise me,” you said, already feeling your eyes grow heavy.

He settled in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Deal. Sweet dreams, amore.”

“Night, Luigi,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest as you drifted off, feeling completely safe and cared for.

[eicsferrari]

premiere - cs55 smau

summary: yn is paul mescal's sister. her and carlos meet at a premiere

faceclaim: madison cline

a/n: i had this in the drafts for too long

masterlist

જ ♡ જ

ynmescal my twin brother is in a movie or whatever

tagged: bigbreadpedlar

♡liked by yourbestfriend and others

view all comments

yourbestfriend my wife💍

user14 she mugged him so bad

user9 he's so hot i need him😩

જ ♡ જ

ynmescal posted a story

→last night i met the most GORGEOUS and funny man we talked for a while but I don't know his name!! someone pls help me find him

→this is him if you know him ask him to slide into those dms thank you

replies

↪ yourbestfriend ON MAIN that's crazy

↪ yourbestfriend also that's f1 driver carlos sainz

ynmescal thanks babe

ynmescal brb searching his ig

જ ♡ જ

ynmescal don't mind me, just casually posting more pictures from last night

♡liked by gracieabrams and others

view all comments

ynmescal and now we wait ...

user3 mother i love you

user2 the last slide kskdkd

user11 posting this after sharing his picture on stories and following him iconic behavior

user17 tbh i too would do this if i had a chance with a f1 driver

carlossainz55 hola again 👋🏼

ynmescal hola😊

user7 it CANT be that simple

user18 ig it is when you are pretty😔

જ ♡ જ

ynmescal posted a story

→guess who has a date tonight

replies

↪ yourbestfriend NOW you use close friends

ynmescal it worked, didn't it?

ynmescal posted a story

જ ♡ જ

sainzupdates carlos leaving the paddock today

view all comments

user8 who is she?

user81 i think ynmescal, she was at the paddock with her brother paul. carlos commented her picture about a month ago

user35 this is such a pr relationship🙄🙄

જ ♡ જ

carlossainz55 good company today

♡liked by charlesleclerc and others

view all comments

user89 paul, carlos and charles together this is a big day for annoying people (me)

user55 tag her! we know who the good company is, you are not smooth

user52 the casual post oh to be young, rich and in love ...

જ ♡ જ

ynmescal this f1 thing is fun

♡liked by lando and others

view all comments

user29 pretty girl

yourbestfriend i bet it is🙄

yn ☺️

user37 is by any chance your boyfriend single?

ynmescal luckily no!

user37 and your brother? i'm not picky!

જ ♡ જ

ynmescal only bought this dress so you could take it off

bigbreadpedlar is this post necessary?

yn at least I don't have one night stands and run away from them at the park👊

gracieabrams IJBOL

carlossainz55 what's ijbol?

yn i just burst out laughing

bigbreadpedlar i'm too old for this shit

carlossainz55 same

gracieabrams look, millennials everyone point and laugh🫵

user19 are they really selling as a love story how she took a photo of him without permission and posted it?? stalker behavior she was so desperate to be a wag

user61 get a life

જ ♡ જ

carlossainz55 haters can choke

tagged: ynmescal

user he never posts his girlfriends omg this is serious

lando pic credits?

carlossainz55 no

ynmescal ❤️

જ ♡ જ

ynmescal quality time with my favorite people

tagged: gracieabrams, carlossainz55, bigbreadpedlar

user82 i love everything about this crossover

user68 carlos and paul are so boyfriend coded

yn i swear sometimes it feels like they are the ones dating, they have bike dates every day

gracieabrams ily

ynmescal i love you moreeee

carlossainz55 if only they knew why we were so tired in the last pic...

ynmescal CARLOS

bigbreadpedlar THAT'S MY SISTER

carlossainz55 i meant cycling!

ynmescal no u didn't

carlossainz55 no i didn't🤭

જ ♡ જ

Taglist: @justaf1girl @anamiad00msday @formoola1fan @2bormaybenot @searecs @rana030 @multifantasic70 @yourmommyagone22 @primadonaprincess55 @hoeforlifee @literallysza @nichmeddar @in-the-marina-trench @ahgase99 @gigigreens @danielricroll @harrysdimple05

[brunchable]

It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆. 《 Chapter 4: First Snow. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ✨️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: Rhys punches Bucky. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. This will be updated every FRIDAY(AEST). Adouble update what?? Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

You found yourself at the exclusive charity gala hosted by none other than The Emporium NYC—the brand your family had poured decades of effort into, now under your guidance as the new CEO. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting an elegant glow on the crowd below. You were dressed to the nines, a sleek gown that turned a few heads as you made your way through the event, mingling with business elites and socialites alike.

But tonight, even with all the excitement and the well-wishes in your honor, the event felt hollow. Rhys hadn’t even bothered to follow up after your argument; instead, he’d left you to attend alone, citing “deadlines” without even the courtesy of a call.

You brushed off the nagging disappointment as best as you could, forcing yourself into the motions—smiling politely, engaging in small talk, and pretending to care about which investments were “in” this year. Just as you debated sneaking out for some air and possibly texting Lincoln to bring the car around, a familiar face caught your eye.

There was Bucky, standing awkwardly near a table of canapés, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He was wearing a suit, but somehow, it seemed like he hadn’t entirely agreed to it. Apparently, he’d been convinced by Sam to come along to “loosen up” and “put himself out there,” which sounded suspiciously like Sam’s code for “torture Bucky with forced socializing.”

The sight of him, uncomfortably tugging at his collar, made you smile.

Before you even had a chance to greet him, he glanced up, catching sight of you, and did a double-take. He looked you up and down, clearly not expecting you to look… immaculate.

“Well, if it isn’t the king of resting grump face,” you teased, giving him a once-over. “Who roped you into this?”

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “A friend. Said it’d be ‘good for me.’” He leaned closer, mock whispering, “I feel like I’m at a wedding where I don’t know the bride or the groom.”

He then raised an eyebrow, his gaze settling back on you. “What about you? Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You gave a small, tired smile. 

“I’m the guest of honor, actually,” you explained. “The company wanted to make a big deal about me taking over, so here I am. Networking, keeping up appearances, and all that. Not exactly my favorite way to spend the evening.”

“What? Alone?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

You sighed, “Well… wasn’t supposed to be, but here I am. Just me and all this sparkling conversation.”

“Sounds like a blast.” He paused, glancing toward the crowded room and then back to you. “How about a little detour?”

Without waiting for you to answer, he gave a subtle nod toward the balcony doors. You hesitated only a second before following him, slipping away from the noisy crowd. The cool evening air was a welcome relief as you stepped onto the balcony, leaving the gala’s glittering scene behind.

As you leaned against the balcony railing, enjoying the cool air, fireworks suddenly burst across the sky in a loud, over-the-top display. Bucky raised an eyebrow, staring at the colorful explosions with a perfectly flat expression.

“Wow,” he said dryly. “I guess this is their way of saying, ‘Thanks for enduring the world’s most boring gala.’”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

Bucky shot you a look. 

“The appetizers are the size of my thumb, everyone’s pretending to care about whose yacht is biggest, and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard the phrase, ‘Ah, you’re the guy with the metal arm, right?’” He paused, smirking. “No, wait—I stand corrected. It’s definitely that bad.”

You laughed, nearly doubling over. “Fine, fine. Maybe it’s a little unbearable.”

“A little?” Bucky raised his arms in mock disbelief. “I’d rather be chased by an actual bear.”

Before you could respond, a camera flash caught both of your attention. You looked over just in time to see a photographer inching closer, recognizing Bucky and readying his camera.

“Oh, no,” Bucky muttered, eyes widening. Without a second thought, he ducked behind you, hiding like a kid trying to avoid a parent-teacher conference.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered, snickering. “You’re seriously hiding behind me?”

Bucky’s voice came from just over your shoulder, desperate but deadpan. 

“Do you know how ridiculous it is having pictures out there of me just… standing around, doing nothing? People already think I spend my free time brooding in a dark cave or plotting world domination. This’ll just confirm it.”

The photographer was undeterred, trying to get a clear angle. You decided to make it worse for him. Plastering on a winning smile, you called out scrunching your nose, “I’m sorry, but he’s very shy. You’ll need an appointment.”

Bucky, catching on, slouched further behind you, groaning dramatically. “Yes, I’m a fragile introvert,” he declared, though it sounded more sarcastic. “All this socializing is emotionally taxing.”

The photographer gave you both a look of pure exasperation, muttered something like, “Celebrities,” and finally left, muttering under his breath.

As soon as he was gone, Bucky straightened up, looking both annoyed and relieved. 

“Oh yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled as you doubled over, laughter spilling out uncontrollably.

Through your giggles, you gasped, “Honestly, who knew you were camera-shy?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, shooting you a half-hearted glare. “I’m not camera-shy. I just don’t need photos of me doing… absolutely nothing.”

You were about to fire back with another teasing remark when a voice called from the doorway. 

“Hey Boss?” Lincoln said, looking around the balcony, finally spotting you and pausing after catching you with Bucky. 

You groaned, rolling your eyes, the interruption pulling you back to reality. 

“Duty calls,” you sighed, turning back to Bucky with a reluctant smile.

He smirked, folding his arms as he watched you with a glint in his eye. “Guess I’ll just have to survive the party on my own.”

“Well,” you teased, backing toward the door, “try to avoid any other photographers. I don’t think I can save you twice.”

Bucky chuckled, taking a small step forward. 

“I’ll manage. But hey,” he said, holding your gaze for a beat longer, “maybe I’ll catch you around again… if you’re not too busy saving other poor souls.”

A giddy warmth bloomed in your chest as you tried to keep your expression casual. 

“Maybe,” you replied, giving him a small, playful wave as you stepped back into the light of the ballroom.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder one last time. Bucky was still there, hands in his pockets, watching you leave with that unreadable but somehow endearing look. And as you slipped back into the crowd, you couldn’t fight the small, stupid grin that tugged at your lips.

You caught Lincoln’s expression—one part curiosity, two parts astonishment, and maybe even a hint of betrayal. He quickly fell into step beside you, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper-shout.

“What the—? You know him?” Lincoln’s eyes widened as he tried to process what he’d just seen. “Is that why you asked me about him last week?”

You pressed your lips together, fighting back a laugh. “Calm down, Lincoln,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge.

“Oh, I’m calm,” he replied, though his eyes sparkled with barely restrained excitement. “Just… maybe feeling a little betrayed you didn’t tell me sooner. . . So can I have an autograph?”

× × × ×

Mission Report - J. B. Barnes To: N. Fury Subject: Preliminary Surveillance – The Emporium NYC Gala

Summary:

Attended charity gala hosted by The Emporium NYC, commemorating Ms. Y/LN’s recent promotion to CEO. Initial impressions align with prior assessments—She upholds a strong public image, maintaining composure and control over social interactions. Notably absent was her brother, who is assumed to play a significant role in the family business. Financial connections between The Emporium and Hydra remain unconfirmed at this stage.

Primary Observations:

Maintained close proximity to Ms. Y/LN during the event without raising suspicion. Her interactions suggest minimal awareness of potential financial inconsistencies within The Emporium. Detected a slight tension in her demeanor, potentially unrelated to business—indicating she may be open to informal connection or support.

Detailed Notes:

She was notably present without partner Rhys De Armande’s, who was expected as her support. Possible internal strain within close relationships could provide leverage if needed.

During casual conversation, Ms. Y/LN displayed no defensive behavior or signs of suspicion, indicating low likelihood of awareness about The Emporium’s alleged Hydra-linked transactions.

Absence of her brother raises questions regarding his involvement; additional background assessment on his role is advised.

Next Steps:

1. Gather intel on Ms. Y/LN’s brother and his level of involvement in company affairs.

2. Establish a means of recurring contact with Ms. Y/LN, potentially leveraging existing rapport to gain closer access to The Emporium’s internal affairs.

3. Monitor Rhys De Armande’s for any connections or knowledge that could corroborate Hydra involvement.

Conclusion:

Further investigation is required to confirm any connections to Hydra funding or activities. Ms. Y/LN appears unconnected to questionable financial activities, though developing a closer association could aid in discerning the nature of her family’s business ties. Recommend extending this cover to build familiarity with Ms. Y/LN and establish grounds for continued observation.

End Report

——

After finishing his report, Bucky leaned back, glancing over the words he’d typed. His gaze drifted to the section where he’d noted your apparent innocence in the financial dealings, the way you seemed oblivious to the possible Hydra ties. He read through it again, feeling a faint tug of something uncomfortably close to hesitation. The report had started to sound less like a surveillance file and more like a defense of you, highlighting reasons why you couldn’t be involved.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, mind flickering back to your laughter on the balcony, the way you’d leaned against the railing, unguarded and vibrant against the glittering cityscape. This was just a mission, he reminded himself. And yet, the thought of digging deeper, of edging closer to unravel the truth about you and your family, left a sour taste in his mouth.

With a sigh, Bucky closed the laptop. Getting close to you wasn’t just part of the assignment now—it felt like he was being drawn in against his own judgment. And for a man who’d always trusted his instincts, that was proving harder to shake than he’d expected.

× × × ×

The next morning, you were seated at your desk, a stack of files and emails demanding your attention. You were barely halfway through your coffee when the door to your office swung open without so much as a knock. Rhys strode in, his jaw clenched and his expression hard as he slapped a stack of photos down on your desk.

“What’s this?” he demanded, his tone icy.

You blinked, glancing down at the photos in front of you. Each one showed you on the balcony last night with Bucky—leaning against the railing, laughing, and standing close enough to him that it could easily be misinterpreted. The photographer had clearly captured every moment, especially the one where Bucky ducked behind you, making it look almost… intimate.

You took a steadying breath, not breaking eye contact as you replied, “It’s exactly what it looks like. I was at the gala, taking a break on the balcony, and happened to run into a friend.”

Rhys let out a disbelieving scoff. 

“A ‘friend’? This guy—Bucky Barnes?” He gestured to the photos, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you even know who he is? Since when do you two get so close?”

You felt a flare of frustration but kept your tone calm. “Since we ran into each other last night, Rhys. We were just talking. That's it.”

“You’re representing the company, Y/N. This isn’t the image we’re trying to project.” He folded his arms, staring down at you with a hard, unyielding expression. 

“Oh, I see.” You arched an eyebrow, finally letting a hint of your irritation slip. “So, the issue here isn’t that I was talking to someone—it’s that I was talking to him?”

Rhys clenched his jaw, looking ready to argue further but instead settling on a quieter, pointed tone. 

“We have an image to uphold. People are going to start talking if you’re seen getting cozy with some guy on a balcony—better yet an ex-assassin.”

“If people want to talk, they’ll talk, no matter what I do, Rhys. And for the record, there was nothing ‘cozy’ about it.” You held his gaze, unflinching.

Rhys leaned forward, his tone soft but cold. “Just… watch yourself. You wouldn’t want any misunderstandings to get in the way of your responsibilities, would you?”

He straightened, his expression still severe as he waited for your response. You met his gaze, forcing a small, composed smile. 

“Yeah—okay. Noted.” You nonchalantly shrugged, “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

After a tense beat, Rhys finally nodded, his face tight as he turned and strode out of your office, leaving the stack of photos on your desk as a bitter reminder. You took a steadying breath, staring down at the images for a moment before sliding them aside, determination hardening your expression.

As you refocused on your work, a faint memory of Bucky’s amused smile from last night flickered in your mind, lingering as you shook off the chill of Rhys’s visit.

× × × × 

You weren’t quite sure why you’d agreed to come to this high tea in the first place. Sitting here, surrounded by ornate teacups and delicate pastries, you wondered if some part of you had wanted to give this gathering one last chance—or maybe Sarah had just been very persuasive. Either way, here you were, sipping tea with college “friends” whose fathers all happened to be powerful men with influence. Chloe’s father owned a chain of luxury resorts, Cindy’s was a prominent investor, and Louzy’s family practically monopolized a certain high-end fashion brand. They had all grown up in the world of prestige, learning to wield influence with a perfectly manicured smile.

Across from you, Chloe extended her hand with a satisfied smile, the enormous diamond ring on her finger glinting in the afternoon light. 

“So,” she cooed, with an air of superiority, “Andy finally proposed. Practically begged me to say yes.” She laughed lightly, flicking her hair. “It’s been, what, a year and a half? I’d say he made a smart choice, wouldn’t you?”

Cindy gasped, leaning forward, eyes wide. “Oh my gosh, Chloe! It’s stunning. I can’t believe he went with such a massive diamond!”

Louzy added, “That ring is literally to die for. I mean, anyone with a ring that size has to be super special, right?”

Chloe smirked, then turned her gaze to you, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed judgment. 

“But, Y/N, you’ve been with Rhys for… how long now?” She clicked her tongue, feigning surprise. “Still no ring, huh?”

You took a sip of your tea, forcing yourself to remain calm. “It’s been a few years, yes.”

“Oh, a few years?” Chloe repeated, her tone laced with condescension. “I mean, not to sound rude, but… you’d think he’d be, you know, a little more committed by now.” 

She gave you a sickly sweet smile. “Especially since you’ve been attending a lot of events solo.”

Sarah shifted beside you, clearly annoyed, her fingers tightening around her teacup. You caught her eye, giving her a small, reassuring smile.

“I think Rhys and I are just… taking things at our own pace,” you replied, keeping your tone calm but firm. “Some people prefer to build a relationship on something deeper than a timeline.”

Chloe’s smile faltered slightly, but she quickly recovered. “Oh, of course. I mean, whatever works, right?” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Though, personally, I think it’s nice to have that… security.”

Cindy nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Who doesn’t want a big, sparkly ring to show everyone how loved they are?”

Louzy, who had been listening intently, suddenly perked up, her gaze sliding to Sarah. She tilted her head, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Hey, Sarah, I love that top! Is it one of the things you borrowed from Y/N’s wardrobe?”

A smug smile crept across Louzy’s face, clearly reveling in the veiled insult.

Before Sarah could respond, you placed your teacup down with a deliberate calmness, fixing Louzy with an unwavering gaze. 

“Actually,” you said coolly, “Sarah works for the Daily Bugle. And she has fantastic taste—though I wouldn’t expect you to recognize it.”

Louzy blinked, momentarily thrown off. Cindy looked at her in confusion, then at Sarah. “The Daily Bugle? Isn’t that… a real newspaper?”

Sarah shot you a grateful look, her confidence restored. “Yes, Cindy, it’s a real newspaper,” she replied with a touch of humor.

Sensing the shift, Chloe lifted her hand to admire her ring again, determined to reclaim the spotlight. 

“Well, anyway, let’s not get sidetracked,” she sighed, as if tolerating the attention on anyone else had been exhausting. “I just think it’s wonderful to finally have everything in place.”

You forced a polite smile, leaning into your chair. “Yes, Chloe. It really is… wonderful,” you replied, voice smooth but tinged with sarcasm.

As the tea dragged on, Chloe and Louzy tossed subtle jabs your way, but you countered with steady calm. Every now and then, Sarah would shoot you a grin, and by the end of the afternoon, you felt a quiet satisfaction settle over you.

You stepped out of the tea place with Sarah, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Remind me again why we went in there and willingly subjected ourselves to that?”

Sarah chuckled, glancing back at the elegant yet pretentious building. “Well, I always wanted to try that tea place… you know, just once.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing down at your Chanel tweed jacket and skirt as if regretting dressing up for this crowd. 

“Sarah, why didn’t you just tell me? We can go here anytime without needing to endure Chloe’s… antics.”

Sarah chuckled sheepishly, running a hand through her hair. “I guess I didn’t want to impose.”

Just then, your phone buzzed, and you glanced down to see Lincoln’s name flashing on the screen. 

“One sec,” you said, answering the call. “Lincoln? What’s up?”

“Hey, Boss,” he replied, his tone urgent. “We’ve got an issue with the Emporium accounts—a discrepancy that needs your immediate approval to resolve. And, well, the board’s asking for an answer ASAP.”

You frowned, glancing at Sarah apologetically. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You hung up, turning to Sarah with a reluctant sigh. “Looks like I’ve got to head back to work. Raincheck on that shopping trip?”

Sarah nodded, waving her hand. “Of course! Go do your CEO thing,” she teased with a smile. “I’ll hold you to that raincheck, though.”

You laughed, giving her a quick hug before stepping toward the curb, lifting a hand to hail a cab. As one pulled up, you glanced back at Sarah with a quick grin. “Promise, next time it’s just us—and zero frenemies.”

With a parting wave, you slid into the cab, already shifting gears mentally to whatever awaited you back at the office.

Sarah watched you disappear into the cab with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. Just as she turned to figure out her next move, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, wincing when she saw the caller ID. Taking a steadying breath, she answered.

“SARAH!” J. Jonah Jameson’s voice practically exploded through the phone, making her jump and hold the phone a few inches away from her ear. “I need you back at the office, pronto!”

“Uh, hi, Mr. Jameson,” she replied, trying to sound composed. “Is everything okay?”

“Do I sound like everything’s okay?” he barked. “We’ve got a tip on a big story—no, a scandal! Could shake up the whole city! And I need my best reporter here now!”

Sarah rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “On my way, boss.”

“Good!” he replied, practically cutting off the line before she could respond.

With a shake of her head and a resigned smile, Sarah headed down the street, already mentally preparing for the whirlwind of work that awaited her at the Daily Bugle.

As Sarah headed toward the office, she couldn't help but wonder what kind of "scandal" could have Jameson so worked up. The Daily Bugle was always sniffing out juicy stories, but this sounded personal. When she finally reached the office and pushed through the doors, she barely made it to her desk before Jameson spotted her and charged over.

“Glad you finally made it,” he said, his voice intense. “We just got a tip about the Emporium—the shopping mall empire. Something big is going on behind the scenes.”

Sarah’s eyes widened, and her mind raced. Y/N’s family business.

“Do we have any solid information yet?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Jameson thrust a stack of preliminary notes and reports into her hands. “Not yet, but rumors are swirling about questionable transactions, offshore accounts, maybe even connections to shady organizations. I want you on this, Sarah. Dig deep, find out if there’s a scandal in there somewhere. If there’s dirt, I want it on the front page!”

Sarah forced a nod, her mind flashing back to her earlier tea with you. 

“Got it, boss,” she replied, clutching the documents, her mind already racing with questions about what this could mean for you—and how she would approach it without compromising her friendship with you.

× × × × 

A discrepancy in the accounts wasn’t typical, not for The Emporium, and certainly not something the board would demand immediate approval to resolve. Numbers ran like clockwork under your oversight, and you’d established a system so airtight that any red flag was immediately worth noting.

Staring out the window, you couldn't help but feel a pang of unease twist in your gut. Sure, discrepancies happened—data entries, system glitches, even miscommunication between departments. But this felt different. Lincoln’s urgency wasn’t the usual, nor was the board’s sudden insistence on your approval.

You knew that taking on the CEO position would mean an endless carousel of problems needing to be fixed or avoided, but this was something more. Something beyond routine. You’d barely had time to settle into the role, and already it seemed like cracks were surfacing.

When you finally arrived at The Emporium’s main office, you stepped out of the cab, straightening your posture as if bracing yourself against whatever you were about to face. The lobby bustled with activity as usual, employees and visitors moving about, the hum of productivity masking the weight of whatever issue had been quietly simmering beneath.

Once upstairs, you strode into your office, where Lincoln was already waiting, a set of documents spread out on the table. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with tension as he handed you a tablet displaying the latest financial report.

“Here’s the summary,” he said, his voice lowered. “It’s in the overhead expenses—numbers don’t line up with projected costs, but it’s small enough that it might’ve flown under the radar.”

You scanned the figures, your brows furrowing as the discrepancy became more apparent. The numbers weren’t wildly off, but they were just enough to be suspicious. The amounts were being siphoned off in bits and pieces—a little here, a little there—practically invisible unless someone knew where to look.

“Who else has seen this?” you asked, voice steady as you looked up.

“Just you, me, and the board,” Lincoln replied. “They’re pressing for a quick approval to ‘rectify the issue,’ but…” His voice trailed off, clearly cautious about voicing his suspicions.

“But it doesn’t feel right,” you finished for him, the weight of his unspoken concern settling over you both.

You set the tablet down, crossing your arms as you considered your options. This was your first significant test as CEO, and you couldn’t afford to let it slide—not without answers.

“Alright, Lincoln,” you said, your tone resolved. “I want a full audit of every expense tied to this discrepancy. And I want to know who’s overseeing these transactions.”

He nodded, already jotting down notes. “I’ll get the team on it. In the meantime, maybe stall the board?”

You gave a tight smile. “Let them know I’ll review it by end of day. They’ll get answers once I have them.”

As Lincoln left, you exhaled slowly, leaning against your desk, the polished surface cool beneath your fingers. You’d wanted this job, wanted to carve your own place in your family’s legacy, but now you were feeling the weight of what that truly meant. You were the one in charge, and this—no matter how small it might seem to others—was yours to resolve.

With a quick shake of your head, you steeled yourself and turned back to the tablet. You had no intention of being caught off guard again.

Your phone buzzed, drawing you out of your focus. It was a text from Rhys.

Rhys: Hey, can’t make it to dinner tonight. Got to stay overtime at work.

You glanced at the message, feeling a familiar twinge of disappointment. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you typed, your response clipped.

You: K.

A few seconds later, the dots appeared, then disappeared. Another message popped up.

Rhys: Raincheck?

You stared at the screen, your lips pressing into a thin line.

You: Sure.

× × × ×

By the end of the day, you’d pored over the accounts, scrutinized each line and every report, reviewing it all until the numbers blurred together. Yet no matter how many times you examined the details, something about the discrepancy didn’t sit right. The board was pressing for a quick approval, but approving without full certainty wasn’t a risk you were willing to take.

Taking a steadying breath, you pulled up the video call with the board members. Your face remained composed, professional, as you addressed them.

“After a thorough review of the accounts, I’ve decided to delay my approval,” you announced, your voice calm yet resolute. “I want to ensure everything aligns perfectly before moving forward, for the good of the company.”

A few board members nodded in understanding, but one of them—a man with a steely gaze and a penchant for impatience—leaned forward, his brows furrowing. “With all due respect, Ms. Y/N, perhaps another review could clear this up quickly. We’ve been waiting on this matter for a while.”

You met his gaze evenly, unfazed by his subtle challenge. “I understand the urgency, but approving without absolute clarity could expose us to greater risk down the line. I’d prefer to be certain now rather than regretful later,” you replied, keeping your tone respectful but firm. “I’m sure we can all agree that protecting The Emporium’s integrity is our first priority.”

A murmur of agreement spread among some of the board members, though the one opposing you still seemed unconvinced. He opened his mouth to press further, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“I’ll follow up with additional findings by the end of the week,” you continued, your voice steady. “But until then, my decision to hold off stands.”

You could feel the weight of their scrutiny, but you held your ground, watching as one by one, they gave reluctant nods. After a few more exchanges, the call ended, and you exhaled, feeling a mix of relief and resolve. You’d faced their pushback with confidence—and ensured that your standards for the company remained intact.

As you leaned back in your chair, the weight of the meeting with the board still settling over you, a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. It was Lincoln, poking his head in, his expression a blend of curiosity and concern.

“How did it go?” he asked, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind him.

You managed a small smile. “Surprisingly well. There was some pushback, but I held my ground,” you said, leaning forward to stack some papers. “They weren’t exactly thrilled about the delay, but I made it clear why I’m being cautious.”

Lincoln nodded approvingly, hands slipping into his pockets. “Good call. Want me to arrange your ride home?”

You glanced at the clock, then back at the files still sprawled out over your desk. “Thanks, Lincoln, but I think I’ll be staying late. Just want to go over everything one more time, be certain I didn’t miss anything.”

With a nod of understanding, Lincoln gave a brief smile. “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning then,” he said before heading out, leaving you alone with the silence of the office and the persistent, nagging feeling that there was something still buried in the numbers.

Determined, you dove back into the system, meticulously retracing each figure and record line by line. After what felt like hours, your eyes caught something—a detail that seemed to have slipped through before, a specific source of funds that suddenly appeared in the data. You swore it hadn’t been there in your last review, but there it was now, standing out like a flag.

A frown creased your forehead as you hovered over the entry, wondering if you could’ve really missed it. You wanted to cancel the audit entirely and approve the request, as the newly surfaced detail seemed to align perfectly with the numbers. But as you leaned closer to the screen, the strange sense of something being slightly off continued to linger, almost hauntingly.

But it all looked right… didn’t it?

× × × ×

As you step out of the Emporium, the chilly late November air greets you, and the faint sound of holiday music filters through the street, blending with the gentle noise of the city. Pulling your coat tighter around you, you start to head toward the curb when a figure catches your eye.

There, leaning against a lamppost just outside the building, is Bucky. His face is partially shadowed, and he’s dressed casually, hands tucked into his pockets, looking a bit out of place yet completely at ease in the late-night scene.

“Bucky?” you ask, your surprise evident as you step closer. “What are you doing here?”

He straightens, glancing briefly up at the Emporium sign before looking back at you. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, “I was just, uh—meeting someone nearby. Thought I’d take a walk after, and figured I’d swing by here to see if the rumors were true about those holiday lights.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in your expression. “Really? You decided to swing by the Emporium in the middle of the night to check out Christmas decorations?”

He shrugs, looking offhanded but not entirely defensive. “Yeah, well, they’re pretty famous. Thought I’d see them up close. But I guess you got the better view from up there.” He nods toward the office windows, giving a slight smirk.

You cross your arms, unable to help the amused smile that tugs at your lips. 

“Sure, okay,” you say, not entirely convinced but entertained by his excuse nonetheless. “But for the record, you didn’t miss much. It’s just lights.”

“Hey, it’s the season,” he replies, gesturing around at the twinkling displays. “Guess you’re not a fan?”

“After a long day of spreadsheets and budget requests? Not tonight,” you say, shaking your head. “But thanks for the review.”

Bucky shrugs, glancing at the quiet street. “Well, then, let me make it up to you. Mind if I walk with you?”

You give him a raised eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at your lips. 

“Actually, I have a car waiting,” you say, teasing just a little. Then, with a small sigh, you add, “But… I guess I’ll say yes. Just because I don’t want to feel guilty.”

He lets out a low chuckle, falling in step beside you. 

“Well, far be it from me to give you a guilt trip,” he replies, a bit of mischief in his eyes. 

You and Bucky strolled side by side down the twinkling city streets, he glanced over, his expression relaxed yet curious. 

“So,” he started casually, “how was the day? Besides the whole spreadsheet marathon and budget thing.”

You shrugged, lips quirking. “Oh, you know, just another day of trying to keep an empire afloat without losing my sanity.”

He chuckled, his gaze following the lights strung along the trees. “No pressure, right?”

“Not at all,” you replied dryly, sharing a knowing look. “Though I will say, I could’ve used a win today… like maybe a certain bag of cat kibble.”

A spark lit his eyes, and he tilted his head with a smirk. “Ah, you mean the bag of kibble I heroically claimed off the highest shelf? I’ll have you know that was Alpine’s reward for being a saint.”

You scoffed, feigning disbelief. “Heroically? You didn’t even offer to help. You just left me there, hanging—literally.”

“I don’t know,” he replied, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “You seemed pretty resourceful. Besides, I figured I’d let the ‘trash panda’ hone her skills.”

You nudged his arm lightly, as you continued through the festive district, the world around you buzzing with soft chatter and the glow of holiday lights. The chill in the air had grown crisper, biting, and you tucked your hands deeper into your coat pockets.

Then, just as you were about to reply with another retort, a tiny cold speck landed right on the tip of your nose. You blinked, surprised, watching as Bucky’s eyes drifted upward, following yours to the sky. Little white flakes were floating down, delicate and pure, catching in the glow of the lights as they drifted.

“Oh…” you whispered, lifting your hand to catch a few of the tiny, fleeting snowflakes, their touch cold against your skin. Around you, a hush settled as people stopped to take in the first snowfall of the year, gazes lifted in awe.

Bucky held out his hand, watching a single flake melt against his palm, his expression unreadable. And just then, he overheard a soft voice from a couple nearby, a woman nudging her guy friend and whispering, “You know, in my country… seeing the first snow with someone you like means you’ll fall in love and have a lasting relationship.”

The man laughed, nudging her back, but Bucky shook his head slightly, a low chuckle escaping him at the sentiment. That’s ridiculous, he thought, though when he glanced back, his gaze softened. You stood there, face upturned to the sky, lips parted in a soft, childlike smile, utterly mesmerized by the tiny specks of snow falling around you. The snowflakes caught in your hair, melting against your cheeks, their delicate spirals illuminated by the glow of the city lights. You lifted your hand slowly, palm open as if to cradle the snow, and for a brief moment, the world around you seemed to fall away, leaving only the gentle dance of winter’s first gift.

Bucky found himself frozen, captivated by the simple joy radiating from you, his own breath catching in his throat. The city sounds faded, and all he could focus on was you, wrapped in this fleeting, ethereal moment. The way the snowflakes danced around you, landing softly on your hair and shoulders, made it seem like time itself had stopped.

Bucky cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away and glancing off to the side just as you turned back to him with a soft, glowing smile.

“It’s so lovely, isn’t it?” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper as your eyes drifted back to the falling snow.

He glanced up briefly, letting the snow brush against his face, before looking back at you. 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, his gaze on you a bit longer. “Lovely.”

× × × × 

Rhys swirled his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim lights of the bar. A few of his friends sat around him, joined by two women who laughed at each half-hearted joke he made. He took a sip, then leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug smile.

“You know, these days Y/N seems… less clingy,” he said with a hint of disbelief, like he was still processing the change. “No more arguments, no more endless complaints. I mean, it’s probably just because she’s still bitter I couldn’t make it to that gala,” he added with a dismissive wave.

One of the women leaned forward, tilting her head. “Honey, she’s obviously done with your relationship.”

Rhys snorted, though her words seemed to settle in the air a second too long. One of his friends chuckled, nodding in agreement. “That’s what happened to me last time. She probably wants out. Just break up with her, man.”

Rhys scoffed, looking genuinely taken aback. 

“Are you insane? There’s no way I’m letting her go,” he muttered, taking a longer sip from his glass. “Do you know how valuable her family connections are? And besides, she’s never going to leave me. She’s invested.”

Rhys’ friend, Derek, raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a smirk. “Really? When was the last time you two even slept together?”

Rhys' jaw tightened, irritation flickering across his face. “I’m not telling you that,” he replied curtly, setting his glass down a little harder than necessary.

Derek let out a short, mocking laugh. “Right. Because, you know, inviting other women over for drinks isn’t exactly what most girlfriends would call a turn-on.”

Rhys’ grip on his glass tightened as he turned to face Derek, his gaze hardening. “Got something you want to say, man?”

Derek just shrugged, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back, clearly enjoying how easily he’d ruffled Rhys. 

“Hey, I’m just saying… maybe you should think twice before acting like she’s wrapped around your finger. Just looks like the ice might be thinning, that’s all.”

Rhys glared at him, the playful atmosphere turning tense. But Derek just held his gaze, unconcerned, before lifting his own drink in a mocking toast.

Rhys’ gaze drifted toward the window as he took another sip, only to freeze mid-drink. His jaw clenched as he spotted you walking along the street with Bucky by your side. 

Scoffing, he muttered, “Speak of the devil.”

He slammed his glass down, standing abruptly, drawing curious glances from the women beside him. Derek glanced over, his eyes widening slightly as Rhys stormed out, pushing past the crowd without a word.

Outside, you were laughing lightly, lost in the easy conversation with Bucky, unaware of the storm approaching. The chilly November air swirled around you, a rare moment of peace settling between you two under the soft glow of the city lights and holiday decorations.

“Y/N!” Rhys’ voice cut through the evening calm, loud and unmistakably irritated.

Startled, you turned, seeing him striding toward you, a tense expression on his face. Bucky’s gaze flickered to him, his posture shifting slightly as Rhys approached.

“Rhys… what are you doing here?” you asked, instinctively stepping back as he drew closer.

“Forget that,” he said, brushing off your question, his tone sharp. His gaze narrowed as it flickered between you and Bucky before landing back on you. “Let’s go. Now.”

You hesitated, glancing at Bucky, who was watching the situation unfold with a calm but alert expression. “Rhys, I’m just… out for a walk. You don’t get to tell me—”

Before you could finish, Rhys reached for your arm, gripping it firmly. “We’re leaving. This… whatever this is, is over,” he said, jerking his head toward Bucky dismissively.

“Rhys, let go!” you protested, your tone turning firm as you pulled against his grip, but he only tightened his hold, ignoring your plea. His fingers dug into your arm, the discomfort quickly bordering on pain.

“You’re causing a scene,” he hissed, leaning closer as if to scold you.

“Rhys,” you said, a wince escaping, “your grip… it’s starting to hurt.”

That was all Bucky needed to hear. He stepped forward, positioning himself between you and Rhys, gently guiding you behind him. His expression remained calm, but there was a steely edge to his voice as he addressed Rhys.

“You heard her. Let go.” Bucky’s gaze was cold, unwavering, as he stared Rhys down, his entire stance emanating a quiet warning.

Rhys scoffed, his jaw clenched, refusing to back down. “And who exactly are you to tell me what to do?” he sneered, still holding your arm as he squared up to Bucky.

“I’m the guy telling you to let go,” Bucky replied, his tone steady, his eyes locked on Rhys without flinching. He took a small step closer, his frame casting a shadow that made Rhys falter just slightly.

Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke up, “Rhys, please, you’re making this worse.”

Bucky's jaw tensed as he held Rhys' gaze, his piercing blue eyes unyielding, a flicker of restrained anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He stood tall and solid, a quiet force between you and Rhys, his frame blocking you protectively from Rhys’ looming grip.

“She’s not going anywhere unless she wants to,” Bucky said, his voice low, edged with a steel that made him look almost dangerously calm. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t make a scene—he didn’t need to. His mere presence, unwavering and intense, was enough to convey every warning Rhys should heed.

Rhys scoffed, rolling his shoulders back as he maintained his grip on your arm, not backing down. 

“Do you know who I am?” he spat, narrowing his eyes. “I’m her boyfriend, so she’s coming with me. Get the hint?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed just slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if Rhys' bravado amused him. 

“Oh, I get the hint,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with calm menace. “I just don’t care.”

Bucky took a half-step closer, his gaze never wavering, his voice dropping lower. “You heard her. Let. Go.”

Rhys' face twisted in fury, clearly not taking the hint. His grip tightened as he looked straight at you, tugging at your arm again with impatience. 

"Let’s go, Y/N. Now.”

You winced, pulling against his hold, but he held firm, clearly too fueled by anger—and probably the alcohol coursing through his system—to let you walk away.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he watched you struggle against Rhys’ grip. Without a second thought, he reached forward, his hand strong yet controlled as he pried Rhys’ fingers from your wrist, loosening his hold until your arm was free.

The tension thickened as Rhys’ gaze flicked down to his empty hand, his face contorting with anger. Before either of you could react, he swung, his fist connecting hard with Bucky’s jaw. The impact echoed, drawing the attention of people nearby who began to murmur and stare.

Bucky stumbled back a step, his hand reaching up to wipe the corner of his mouth, smearing the faint trace of blood there. He straightened, his expression calm but his eyes dark and intense. He smirked slightly, almost as if he found Rhys’ outburst… amusing.

“Really?” Bucky murmured, his tone cool, laced with disappointment that cut deeper than anger.

Rhys faltered, his confidence shaken as he met Bucky’s stare—cold, unwavering, and far from intimidated.

Bucky’s fingers flexed at his right side, and he took a half step forward, his eyes never leaving Rhys. The silence between them was charged, heavy with unspoken challenge, but before he could make a move, you gently wrapped your hand around his arm.

“Don’t,” you said softly, knowing Rhy won’t be able to handle what might come for him. “He’s not worth it.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his hardened expression softening just a fraction. He gave a slow nod, letting out a controlled breath as his shoulders relaxed. Then, without another word, he took a step back, keeping himself firmly between you and Rhys.

Rhys’s gaze darted around, finally noticing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the tense scene unfolding before them. A few whispers and pointed glances pierced through his drunken haze, and he stiffened, the hint of embarrassment creeping over his face.

Realizing he was becoming the center of unwanted attention, Rhys clenched his jaw, reluctantly loosening his stance. He took a step back, throwing one last, heated look at you.

“This isn’t over, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl, but the threat was clear.

With that, he turned on his heel, brushing past the murmuring onlookers without a backward glance, his posture rigid with lingering anger and frustration. The tension in the air gradually lifted as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Bucky standing together under the soft glow of the city lights.

Bucky turned back to you, his gaze immediately dropping to where you were rubbing your wrist. His eyes softened, and he reached out gently, his fingers brushing yours.

“Let me see,” he murmured, concern lacing his voice as he carefully held your wrist, examining it with a gentle touch that contrasted sharply with the earlier tension.

You offered a small, apologetic smile, averting your gaze. “I’m sorry… about all of that,” you said quietly. “You didn’t have to step in.”

Bucky’s grip was firm but reassuring as he looked back up, meeting your eyes. 

“Don’t apologize for him. And trust me—I did.” His voice was stern, with a hint of quiet conviction, as if he wanted you to understand that he’d gladly do it again if he had to.

Your eyes drifted to the faint bruise forming on Bucky's jaw, the small cut on his lip that still bore a trace of blood. A pang of guilt tugged at you, even though you knew Rhys was the one responsible.

"Bucky…" you began softly, biting your lip. “Let me make it up to you. Come back to my place? I can at least clean that up,” you offered, gesturing to his split lip.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk breaking through. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I want to,” you replied firmly. “So unless you’re planning to argue…”

“Alright, fine,” Bucky agreed, a slight chuckle escaping as he glanced at you.

You pulled out your phone, dialing your chauffeur, and after a brief exchange, arranged for him to meet you both outside. The evening air was crisp, a soft breeze tugging at the stray hairs framing your face as you stood beside Bucky, waiting.

Within minutes, the sleek car pulled up to the curb, and the driver stepped out, opening the door for you both. You slipped inside first, settling into the plush seat as Bucky joined you, still looking slightly amused at the unexpected turn of events.

× × × × 

You unlocked the door, stepping into your penthouse, the soft lights illuminating the modern, inviting space. Almost instantly, Figaro trotted over, his tail swishing elegantly behind him. He rubbed against your legs, his usual greeting… until his gaze landed on Bucky.

The cat stopped in his tracks, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes, almost as if he were thinking, What the…? Figaro let out a small, questioning chirp, his gaze shifting between you and Bucky with unmistakable suspicion, though a small part of him begrudgingly acknowledged, Well, he did have a decent ear-scratching technique last time.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Recognize me, don’t you?” he muttered under his breath, watching Figaro with a knowing look. It was hard to miss the cat’s distinctive tuxedo markings—after all, he’d seen this little troublemaker sneaking over to visit Alpine more than once.

Of course I recognize you, Figaro thought, his eyes narrowing in mild annoyance. Doesn’t mean I have to like you invading my domain.

Unbothered by Figaro’s scrutiny, you led Bucky into the kitchen, opening a drawer to pull out the first aid kit as Bucky settled onto a bar stool. Figaro followed, tail high in the air, but he seemed more fixated on Bucky than usual, his amber eyes narrowing as he watched Bucky’s every move.

“What’s up with you, Figaro?” you asked, casting the cat a puzzled look as you opened the first aid kit on the counter.

I’m keeping an eye on him, obviously, Figaro thought with a huff, not that I’m worried or anything…

But Figaro only responded by jumping onto the countertop—a rare move for him—and inching closer to Bucky with a loud, indignant meow, as if to say, What is this guy doing here?

Bucky chuckled, meeting Figaro’s glare with an amused smirk. “Got a little territorial streak, huh?” He looked back at you. “Pretty sure he doesn’t approve of my presence.”

You glanced between Bucky and Figaro, your brow furrowing in mild disbelief. “Figaro, honestly—what’s with the attitude?” you said, reaching over to give him a gentle scratch behind the ears, but his gaze never left Bucky.

It’s not attitude, Figaro thought, shooting Bucky one last narrowed look. It’s… quality control. You’ll thank me later.

Bucky raised his hands slightly, grinning. “If it makes you feel better, I’m just here for the first aid. Nothing permanent,” he joked, earning another disgruntled meow from Figaro, who continued his vigil from the counter, as if making sure Bucky knew he was being closely monitored.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes with a smile as you dabbed some antiseptic onto a cotton pad, preparing to tend to Bucky’s split lip. Meanwhile, Figaro stayed firmly planted on the counter, his tail twitching as he observed every move with a suspicious, almost possessive air, though a tiny part of him begrudgingly admitted that he didn’t entirely mind Bucky’s presence.

As you began to clean his lip, Bucky’s eyes subtly scanned the room, taking in the layout of your penthouse in that almost instinctive, assessing way. His gaze flicked from the sleek, modern furnishings to the well-organized shelves, noting details without appearing overly interested—a habit he couldn’t quite shake, even in settings like this.

Figaro, still perched on the counter, watched him with narrowed eyes. He let out a low, inquisitive meow, his head tilting slightly as if asking, What happened to your face?

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing at Figaro with a smirk. “Oh, so now you’re interested?”

You laughed, catching the exchange. “Figaro’s just keeping tabs on his guests. It’s not every day someone shows up with a busted lip.”

Figaro’s tail flicked, his gaze lingering on Bucky’s bruised jaw, as if silently judging him for somehow letting it happen. You call yourself a tough guy? his eyes seemed to say, a faint air of feline disapproval mixed with that begrudging interest he refused to admit.

Bucky chuckled under his breath. “Well, tell him not to worry. The other guy didn’t fare much better.”

Figaro gave a little snort of a meow, as if to say, Good. Keep it that way, before settling back, still keeping a close eye on Bucky’s every move as he took in the surroundings, each glance and observation not escaping Figaro’s watchful, judgmental gaze.

You dabbed at Bucky’s lip with a cotton swab, your face mere inches from his, he watched you with a soft intensity, a gaze that lingered, one where he couln't tear his eyes away. Figaro, keenly observant even when pretending to ignore things, narrowed his eyes, picking up on the subtle shift in Bucky’s expression. That soft, unwavering look—a look Figaro had seen before, usually directed at Alpine, but never this intense.

Oh, I see… Figaro thought, letting out a low, almost smug-sounding meow that echoed around the kitchen. You find my human. . . attractive don’t you?

Bucky shot a look at Figaro, brows furrowing, as though he could sense the cat’s amusement. Figaro’s tail flicked with a barely contained smugness, his gaze darting between you and Bucky like he’d stumbled upon a secret.

“Something you want to add, buddy?” Bucky muttered under his breath, his tone just low enough.

Hm. How about we settle on a deal? I will help you with her. You throw in a good word for me to your feline friend, okay? The cat only blinked back at him with that irritatingly all-knowing expression, like he was storing this little detail away for later teasing. 

“Oh, he’s just nosy,” you chuckled, glancing over at Figaro, who was watching the two of you with an unmistakable gleam in his eye.

But as you returned your focus to Bucky, Figaro’s gaze lingered on the man, practically oozing feline judgment and, if Bucky had to guess, satisfaction. It was as if Figaro was thinking, Yeah, I caught you, and good luck hiding it.

“There,” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “All done.”

Bucky offered a small smile, his hand instinctively brushing his lip where you’d tended to the cut. 

“Thanks,” he replied, glancing around before adding, “Mind if I…?” He gestured towards the open expanse of your penthouse.

“Go ahead,” you replied, moving to the bar area to fix a couple of drinks. As you started pouring, Bucky drifted towards a series of frames on the wall, his gaze lingering on one particularly large, formal portrait.

He pointed to the frame, glancing back at you. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

You followed his gaze, feeling a familiar, complicated tug at the sight of the photograph. “Oh, yeah… half-brother, actually. My mom’s the second wife.”

“I see,” he replied softly, still studying the image with an almost analytical eye. He seemed to pick up on the formality in the photograph—the perfectly arranged poses, the distance in everyone’s smiles.

Noticing his expression, you added, “Family photos tend to look like business headshots when your family’s… like mine.”

“Guessing ‘family time’ wasn’t exactly Friday night pizza and board games?” Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, nodding as he looked at you with a newfound understanding. 

You laughed softly, handing him his drink. “Not exactly.” 

As Bucky moved from one framed photo to the next, Figaro padded along right beside him, tail flicking as he matched Bucky’s steps with a slight swagger, casting sidelong glances up at him.

In his mind, Figaro couldn’t help but scrutinize Bucky’s every move. Are you here to get rid of that other guy for good? Because, frankly, I DO NOT like him. He flicked his tail with a sense of finality, as if his opinion were the only one that mattered. Just saying, he thought, staring up at Bucky with a silent, assessing look.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing down to find Figaro practically glued to his side, the cat’s wide, amber eyes watching him with a mix of expectation and judgment. For a brief second, it almost felt like the cat was evaluating him.

“Got something to say, Figaro?” Bucky murmured, giving the cat a curious look.

Figaro simply blinked back, his whiskers twitching in what could only be described as mild approval. Maybe, he thought, as he continued shadowing Bucky’s every step, we can be on the same side, after all.

Bucky paused mid-step, glancing down at Figaro, who was still trailing him like a loyal—albeit judgmental—shadow. He let out a soft chuckle, crouching down to the cat’s level. 

“You’ve got quite the attitude, you know that?” he murmured, extending a cautious hand.

Figaro’s ears twitched as he considered the offering, giving Bucky a look that seemed to say, Finally, some respect. After a brief, regal pause, he leaned in, letting Bucky’s fingers brush over the soft fur on his head. “Guess we’re cool then,” Bucky muttered, scratching behind Figaro’s ears. Figaro’s eyes narrowed in pleasure, a low purr rumbling from his chest. He wasn’t about to admit it, but this arrangement suited him just fine. If you’re here to stay, soldier, at least you know who’s boss around here.

 tags: @winchestert101 @lomlbuckybarnes @lveegsoi @itsshellzy @almosttoopizza

@aami98 @hextech-bros @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @infqnitysblog

@ayayaeyato @blackbirdwitch22 @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @crdgn

@yiiiikesmish @jae0515 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @nikey-no-likey @aami98

@almosttoopizza @hextech-bros @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1

@ppbhquinn @ziawbarnes @scott-loki-barnes @let-it-sn0o0ow

[neeeooon]

haiaiaiia I just had this idea but I can't write so here I am <33

imagine you adopt a black cat (guess where this is going :p) and you fall asleep with it on your chest and in the middle of the night it turns human (chigiri my princess) so you wake up hugging him (ok idk anm if you can turn this into a masterpiece 🙏🙏)

also im destroyed cz of chapter 300 💔💔

Thank uuuu feel free to ignore :)

HAHA he’s soooo black cat coded this is perfect (i am not ready to talk about 300 i am unwell someone do a wellness check in 2 days j)

two for one deal

chigiri hyoma & gn!reader. crack, chigiri can shapeshift

you’d always wanted a pet growing up, even after you moved out and started dating. however, your jerk of an ex was allergic to all things cute and happy, so the minute you kicked him out of your life, you booked an appointment with your town’s rescue center. you weren’t exactly looking for a replacement, as your ex hardly ever cuddled you, but you wanted to care for something and have it keep you company.

the lady behind the register handed you the paperwork you’d filled out before your visit. “you got approved!” she beamed. “so, any particular type of cat you’re looking for?”

you smiled at her enthusiasm and let her lead you further into the shelter. “not exactly… i was hoping to see them all and connect with one!”

her eyes sparkled as she nodded, and soon you were in the cat section. she stood in the corner, organizing toys and treats, to give you some privacy in your search.

if you could, you would have taken every single one of those cats home, even the ones that didn’t want anything to do with you. “i’m seriously gonna be a crazy cat person…” you grumbled under your breath, and that was when you stumbled across the next cage.

you had to lean closer to see him, as his dark coat blended into the back of the kennel. he sat still and stared at you like you were an inconvenience. like his time here was temporary, and if you didn’t take him home, he’d find a way to break out. the thought made you smile as you flipped through his chart.

“oh, that’s peanut. he’s new!” the lady said when she saw you looking. “he was rescued after tormenting some kids during their soccer match a few days ago… but princess over here is lovely—“

“i’ll take him.” you don’t know what compelled you to say it, but the way that cat stared at you made you feel like he wanted you to rescue him, too.

the lady chuckled, almost nervously, and added, “i should warn you, he does not like being touched. he can get violent…”

you poked a finger through the cage door, and peanut walked up and ran his head against your nail. a beam of pride filled your chest, and the lady clapped her hands. “well! i’ll get his adoption paperwork ready for you.”

☆ 🐈‍⬛

you stared at peanut, who looked very unsatisfied with his setup. you bought the bed ahead of time and realized now that that was a mistake.

the bed was peachy pink and filled with half a dozen cat toys shaped like various foods and animals. "sorry," you apologized under the cat's harsh eyes. "i thought you'd be... not a boy."

already, you were unsure if getting a cat was a good idea after all. peanut refused to eat any of the food the shelter recommended for him, but he looked so thin that you gave in and tore up pieces of your dinner for him. he nuzzled against your leg after that, and you thought that meant you were friends, until he saw the bed and hated you again.

"it's too late to get a new bed," you explained. "just sleep there for tonight. a bed is a bed. plus, aren't cats colored blind?"

he blinked slowly at you. you shrank back and crawled into your own bed.

were you really going to let yourself be bullied by a cat? you tisked and turned your lamp off. "good night, peanut."

you were almost asleep when you felt a gentle thump at your feet. peeking an eye open, you saw peanut walking over to your face before stopping at your stomach. he climbed up, made bread on your ribs for a few minutes, and finally curled himself against you.

ignoring the warmth that filled you and the joy of acceptance, you closed your eyes for the night.

☆ 🐈‍⬛

peanut wasn't the biggest cat out there, but you didn't expect him to be so heavy. sometime during the night, he'd migrated from your stomach to your chest. still half asleep, you stroked his fur and hummed, "morning, peanut."

"good morning."

you froze. from the feel of it, so did he.

slowly lifting your head, you screamed when you found a man curled up against you. a man with bright red hair and sleepy eyes, but a man nonetheless. "what the—how did you get in here? where's my cat?!"

the man sat up, looking vaguely confused, as he stuck his arms out in front of him and wiggled his fingers. you scrambled away from him, clutching one of your many blankets to your chest. "g-get out, perv!"

the man rolled his eyes and poked each of his toes next. "i'm not a perv. you invited me into your house."

"i did no such thing!"

he looked over and blinked lazily at you. something about the way he was judging you felt familiar, and you were suddenly feeling defensive. "this is my house! what are you, a vampire? i didn't invite anyone in."

the man rolled another one of your blankets over his hips and sighed. "you don't happen to have any of your ex's clothes lying around, do you?"

you felt the color drain from your cheeks. "how... who are you?" you hadn't even told your friends that you dumped your sorry excuse of an ex yet. the only people who knew were you, your ex, and...

your eyes went round. "no way. absolutely not. i'm dreaming, this is a dream." but even after searching everywhere, peanut was nowhere to be found.

when you returned to your room, the man was dressed in a loose pair of your ex's sweats and a t-shirt three sizes too big. it showed too much of his bony collarbones and shoulders. he grinned, and you caught the flash of fangs you were very familiar with (peanut bit you while you were sharing your dinner with him).

shifting your weight between your feet, you nervously asked, "peanut?"

"chigiri, actually. but yeah. surprise."

your head felt light. "how?"

"i actually don't know," chigiri confessed in an amused voice. "i mean, i used to be able to change at will, but i've been stuck as a cat for a few weeks now. not as fun as it sounds, by the way."

"i never said that sounds fun..." you shook your head and pressed both hands to your face. "um... i don't really know what to do. i think i threw the cat toy receipts away, so i doubt they'll let me get my money back."

chigiri stared at you. "your cat just turned into a seriously attractive man, and you're worried about money?"

you looked appalled. "do you have bills to pay? no. you ate half my dinner, which was expensive, by the way. and 'seriously attractive'... someone's vain." but that was expected. peanut was definitely a diva, and this guy was peanut.

sensing your hesitance, chigiri stayed on the other side of the bed as he said, "i won't lie, there isn't a place for me to go. i can get a job if you let me stay; help you pay for rent or whatever."

sighing, you let your hand slide from your forehead to the side of your neck. you adopted peanut, not a human, but you promised to care for and protect him. no matter how weird it was, the idea of throwing him out made you uncomfortable.

sucking in a breath, you locked eyes with chigiri. "you're staying on the couch. and i expect you to cover half the rent starting next month. gives you enough time to get a job."

chigiri's grin was so large it flashed his sharp canines. "done."

"okay. now... should i call you chigiri, or peanut?"

[fluentmoviequoter]

hey I was wondering if you can do a Tim Bradford x reader where Tim and Isabel were working together and the reader saw them laughing together and she turned around asking someone who that was and she knows all about Isabel but scared that Tim would leave her to be with Isabel and she said overthinking because she just found out she was pregnant and scared Tim would leave

Thanks for the request! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! :)

Warnings: pregnant!wife!reader, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, Angela (yes, she gets a warning because she is amazing (and threatens to kill for you)). 2.0k+ words

Don't Leave Me for Her

Tim looks happy. You stand by your car, leaning against the hood as you watch him.

“Hey,” Angela calls, walking to your side. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” you answer, not looking away from Tim. “Who is that?”

Angela follows your line of sight, frowning when she sees what’s keeping your attention.

“Uh, that’s Isabel,” she answers quietly. “They’re working a case together. She had some intel that narcotics found really useful.”

Tim doesn’t work in narcotics, you think. So why is he standing with his ex-wife?

You take a deep breath, your hand resting against your stomach as you pick at your shirt. Tim starts laughing, leaning toward Isabel as she smiles at him. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you begin overthinking. Tim looks happy, happier than he ever has with me.

“C’mon,” Angela murmurs, wrapping her hand around your forearm as she leads you toward the door. “I need someone to keep me company.”

Nodding, you follow her, watching Tim until you can’t see him anymore. Your thoughts quickly turn to a fear that Tim will leave you to return to Isabel.

“Alright, spill,” Angela says, pushing you toward her chair.

You shake your head, looking down as you tug at your shirt again. “Just weird seeing them together, I guess.”

“Tim loves you,” Angela assures you. “He’s just working.”

“Doesn’t laugh like that with you, does he?”

Angela doesn’t answer, looking past you as Tim enters the station. He finds you immediately, walking toward you, oblivious to Angela glaring at him.

“Hey,” Tim greets, smiling at you. “What are you doing here?”

Seeing something I’m probably not supposed to. “I was passing by and thought I’d say hi. Hi,” you reply.

Tim’s brows furrow, glancing over at Angela quickly.

“But, I should probably get going, I know you’re all busy,” you add, standing and straightening your shirt.

“Um, okay,” Tim says, noticing how you avoid stepping too close to him. “I’ll see you tonight?”

You nod, though you don’t look sure of yourself. When Angela nods, you tilt your head toward your shoulder and take a deep breath. Tim can read your expressions well, but he hasn’t cracked the code of wordless ‘girl-speak’ yet.

“Are you okay?” he whispers as you turn back toward him.

“Yeah, just tired. I’ll see you tonight.”

While you quickly kiss his cheek, your thoughts begin to swim again. If Isabel had kissed him, he probably would have responded differently; when you do it, he stands there and accepts your affection, nothing more than a hand holding your hip to steady you. Angela would not be happy to know what you’re thinking, but the moment you get in your car, you fall into a spiral of heartbreaking thoughts, and in every scenario you imagine, you end up alone while Tim laughs with Isabel.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim calls you nearly a dozen times before you turn your phone off. Sitting in your quiet bedroom, you look at a framed picture of you and Tim. You’re smiling at the camera while Tim’s focus is on you. You saw how he looked at Isabel today, completely different. His smile, laugh, eyes, it's all different with her.

You know that first loves are different, everyone does, yet you let the fact that Tim never talks about Isabel anymore lead you to believe he was wholly in love with you.

You let your guard down. His sweet smile and kisses distracted you, and you never noticed how easy it would be for him to choose her.

A few tears roll over your cheeks, and you set the picture to the side, moving your hands to cover your stomach instead.

The front door closes, and you rush to wipe your face dry, pulling your shirt away from your skin before Tim steps into the bedroom.

“Hey, I’ve been calling,” he breathes, walking toward you. “What’s going on?”

“I guess my phone died,” you lie. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I just got a little worried.” He kneels beside the bed and looks at you. Not like he looked at Isabel, though. “Have you been crying?”

“I- uh- I saw one of those animal shelter commercials with the sad dogs.”

Tim chuckles, his lips quirking up into a smile as he hugs you. “You’re sure you’re okay, though? Nothing bothering you?”

“No. I’m okay,” you reply, turning in Tim's hold because it may be the last time.

“I was thinking that we should go out on Friday. I get off a little earlier, so we could go out for dinner and drinks if you want.”

“Dinner sounds good.”

“Lopez wanted to do a double date, but that always ends with me listening to Wesley while she steals your attention,” Tim adds, moving his hand over your shoulder.

Like Isabel steals yours? The thought is unwelcome and brings more tears to your eyes; you’re emotional and tired and growing more heartbroken each moment.

“Hey, isn’t there a game on tonight?” you ask, hoping Tim is as easily distracted by sports as by Isabel.

“I don’t think so. Trying to get rid of me?”

The opposite, but it feels like a losing battle.

✯✯✯✯✯

You call in sick to work the next day. It’s not a complete lie, though the truth is that you’re making yourself sick by overthinking, worrying, and constantly fighting tears. Tim left early this morning for work, and every time you think of him, you see him laughing with Isabel, then realize that she makes him happier than you do.

If this had happened a year ago, you would have talked to Tim about it. But now, there is much more at stake, and losing him would be the same as losing a part of yourself.

You need to talk to someone, and only one person understands the depth of your emotion because she knows at least half of your situation. After dialing Angela’s number, you cancel the call and decide to visit her in person. For the first time, you hope that you don’t run into Tim at the station.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Ange?” you ask, walking to her desk.

Angela looks up from a folder, her eyes widening when she sees you. You’re sure your face is red and teary, and your fiddling fingers are concerning, but you’re concerned, too.

“Can we talk?” you ask.

“Of course. Come with me.”

She leads you to an empty office, and you lean against the desk as she closes the door.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? If Tim did something, I will kill him and they’ll never be able to prove it,” she rambles.

You chuckle sadly before promising, “I’m okay. Mostly.”

Angela nods, moving to sit beside you as she takes one of your hands. “Is this about Isabel and Tim working together?”

You nod, and she squeezes your hand.

“Not just that, though,” you whisper.

“He really does love you; I didn’t just say that to make you feel better.”

“I know he does, but…”

“You think he still loves her, don’t you?”

“I don’t see how he couldn’t,” you argue, sniffing as a tear rolls over your cheek.

“What else is going on?” Angela asks.

You move your hand toward your stomach, and she gasps, grabbing your other forearm as she stands.

“Really?” she asks excitedly.

The door opens, and Tim stops when he sees you, his eyes fixed on you as his hands flex at his sides. 

“Really what?” he asks.

“I think you two should talk,” Angela says softly.

You shake your head, and she whispers, “Trust me. You need to tell him all of it.”

She walks past Tim, pulling the door closed behind her. Tim stands in front of you, setting his hand on your hip and rubbing it gently.

“Tell me all of what?” he asks. “You know you can talk to me about everything.”

Nodding, you try to believe him.

“I just- I’ve been thinking about us,” you begin. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah, we’re great. Aren’t we?”

You shrug, chewing on your inner cheek as more tears gather at your waterline.

“We’re not, are we?” Tim asks softly, gently wiping your tears away. “What’s going on?”

Someone knocks, and you lean back from Tim, but he follows your movement.

“Tim?” Isabel asks from outside. “Are you in there?”

Tim ducks his head to meet your eyes, but you push his hand off your hip and point to the door. 

He sighs and pulls it open, asking, “What?”

Isabel’s brows raise at his tone, and you watch them, though you can’t see much besides Tim’s back.

“We got another tip, the drug buy is going down in thirty minutes,” she explains.

“Then tell narcotics, I’m in the middle of something.”

“What’s more important than this?”

“My wife,” Tim snaps, closing the door and turning toward you again.

“Do you still love her?” you whisper, looking up at him.

Tim freezes, staring at you as he repeats the question to himself. He realizes how this must look to you, though your reaction seems too intense for this to be the only problem.

“No. I love you,” Tim promises, taking your hands. “I loved Isabel once, but you are everything to me.”

“I saw you laughing with her yesterday.”

“She-“

“You seemed happy, and I want you to be happy, but I also don’t want you to leave me. I want to make you happy.”

Tim releases your hand, placing his hand under your chin to tilt your face toward his.

“Hey, look at me,” Tim demands, though his voice and touch are softer than usual. “I am never leaving you. You make me happier than anyone else in the world. Happier than I was with Isabel, even though there is no comparison between you. I’m sorry that I made you feel this way.”

“I was just overthinking it,” you mumble, looking at his collar rather than his face. “I didn’t want to do it alone if you left me.”

“Do what alone?”

Licking your lips, you look back at his eyes to say, “I’m pregnant.”

Tim’s smile grows slowly, and you can’t help but laugh when his hands move to your stomach.

“You’re pregnant?” he repeats reverently.

“Yes, I am. You’re going to be a dad, Sergeant Bradford.”

Tim bends to kiss you, one hand remaining on your barely-there baby bump as the other cups the back of your neck. 

“That’s why you’ve been messing with your shirt so much, and why you didn't want to go out for drinks,” Tim realizes quietly.

“You noticed that?”

“I notice everything about you. Just like I knew you weren’t okay yesterday and this morning, I just didn’t want to push you.”

You smile at Tim, wishing you had remembered how amazing he is and chosen to talk to him rather than overthink and grow scared of him leaving you. Someone knocks on the door and Tim groans.

“I know you’re in there,” Angela calls. “Open up.”

Tim shakes his head as he opens the door. You smile and nod at Angela, and she claps her hands together in front of her chest before hugging you.

“We’re having a baby!” Angela cheers.

“Uh, no, we are having a baby,” Tim corrects, pointing between himself and you.

“You made her cry, Timothy.”

“I apologized.”

Angela looks at you with narrowed eyes, and you nod.

“Then shared custody it is,” Angela decides.

“Do I get the baby at some point?” you ask.

“You have it for nine months,” Tim argues. “I get it after.”

“What makes you more worthy than me?” Angela asks.

“It has my DNA, Lopez.”

“Tim?” Isabel asks, approaching the open door. “Are you sure you don’t want in on this?”

“Yeah, I’m busy, but thanks for helping,” he answers. After Isabel walks away, Tim looks at you. “She made me laugh by telling me that whatever had changed since she went to rehab was good for me. That was you.”

“Wow,” Angela drawls. “Tell the love of your life, the pregnant love of your life, that you were laughing at her. That’s not a good way to get custody.”

You laugh, leaning against Tim as he pulls you close. He truly is the love of your life, and no matter how much you overthink, you know deep down that he’s yours forever.

[luveline]

jade my heart I’m really feeling Peter parker tonight in this chilis. maybe just Pete listening to r go on about something she likes? Like a book or a tv show and he’s just listening but also so obsessed with her and thinks she’s adorable? I love u! 🫶🏻

ily ty for requesting <3 fem

“It’s a prequel, you know?” 

Peter feels fondness for you pretty much every second of the day, but the way you’re asking without looking at him, and the way you’re laying across his lap so unbothered, he finds himself grinning like a mad man. “I did not know that,” he says. 

You nod up and down with a severe sort of look about you, as though this is of the utmost importance. If Peter doesn’t get on the same page as you soon, he’s not gonna make it. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen the first trilogy. Like, I like you so much, but where the hell have you been?” 

“Where have I been?” he wonders. 

“Anyways, that’s not the point, sorry. They’re complicated movies. You’d like them, though. Next time I’ll bring my DVD’s and we can watch them, if you want to, you’ll really like them, or you’ll really like Natalie Portman, at least. She’s beautiful. And her character is so… complicated, I guess, she’s doomed from the beginning of the narrative and she’s the catalyst for so much but she’s also just… sorry, I’m being totally boring.” 

“Says who?” 

Doesn’t take much more than that to get you rolling again, you want to tell him that badly, “I don’t wanna spoil it anymore because I really think you’ll love them if you watch them, but you’re gonna need to watch the first trilogy to get the emotional impact, and you’ll love them, don’t worry.” 

“I’ll love them,” he agrees, attempting to lean down for a kiss. 

“Wait, is this a shut me up kiss?” you whisper. 

Peter shakes his head as he kisses you, serving for a wobbly but soft press of your lips to his. “Never. Tell me everything about it.” 

You talk until you’re hoarse, literally hoarse, and Peter has to make you a cup of water. His cheeks are hurting from smiling at you. You’ve never looked this cute, not once, not even when he took you to Coney Island and you screamed the house down on all the rides. 

“I think we better go and get those DVDs,” he says. 

“It’s dark out,” you say. 

“We’ll swing.” 

“Isn’t that against your code of ethics?” You sip your drink, pointing at him. “We’ll hear someone who needs help on the way and you’ll drop my extended editions to save them.” 

“I won’t drop anything,” he says. “Come on! Come on, if you’re this excited just talking about it I wanna see how pretty you are when we’re actually watching the movies.” 

You press your smile into a line. “You’re not just humouring me?” 

“I could listen to you talk for hours, baby, but you sound like you did the second time we got off of The Cyclone.” 

You do a spinning, meandering dance into his arms. “If you insist.” 

Your feigned reluctance is adorable. He grabs you in both hands for another misaligned kiss.

[stillalivebydemand893]

Lights down low

(repost)

Story:Julia’s party was supposed to be chill , parents gone, music blasting, zero responsibility. Erik and Peach got invited and guess who tagged along? Jealousy.

It was Julia’s boyfriend’s birthday party — parents out of town, house packed to the brim, music shaking the windows four blocks away.

“I told you he came in two strokes and had the audacity to call me a slut after. You give one frat guy a chance, flash him a phenomenal pair of tits, and suddenly you’re the villain.” You huffed, on the way to the party, Erik right by your side — best friend, occasional fuck buddy, eternal chaos.

“You do have great tits. I can vouch,” he said, sipping from his half-warm beer like it was gospel.

“Thank you.” You flashed him a wicked grin.

“So was that why you climbed through my window two weeks ago? All desperate like a virgin on sacrifice night?” he tilted his head, smirking.

“Nope. That was three weeks ago. I was just ridiculously horny from reading smutty fanfics on Tumblr. Might’ve been ovulating too. Who knows?”

He chuckled — deep, amused, unbothered. He’d never said no to you, and hell, it didn’t look like he was about to start now.

“I’m not even gonna ask, you horny little menace.” He tossed his beer into the bushes and lit a cigarette.

“Shut up. You love me.” You bumped into his shoulder playfully.

“I love your tits more. They never insult me. They’re always so… welcoming.” He took a drag and passed it to you, and you took a pull like it was second nature.

“Don’t get a boner now — we won’t even make it to the party. And I told you, I’m not into exhibitionism anymore,” you muttered, rubbing your temples like that’d make the memory of last time disappear.

“Hey, remember that girl Jessica I was telling you about?” he asked, casually mid-drag.

Blood. Boiling.

Jessica.

The bitch who bullied you in tenth grade for wearing glasses — she’s the reason you stab your eyeballs with contact lenses every damn day. You never told Erik, didn’t want to drag him into decade-old girl drama.

“Yeah… what about her?” Your voice dropped cold, your eyes sharper.

“Julia invited her. I’m taking Jessica straight to Dicktown tonight. Think she’s ever been fucked by a guy with a dick piercing?” He looked up toward the sky, like praying for divine guidance straight to her panties.

Your mouth literally watered at the thought of his pierced cock. Not the time, not the moment.

“She seems like the type who’s into bad guys. Total bitch energy,” you muttered, almost too low for him to catch.

You arrived at the house — chaos already in full swing. Music thumping. Lights low. Bodies swaying.

“Remember the safe word?” he locked eyes with you, that dark glint saying he was ready to burn the whole night down.

“Order 66,” you nodded, resolute.

“Good girl. Let’s get this party started.”

Blush. That praise? Always got you.

The safe word wasn’t just for hookups gone wrong. It was your shared code for everything:

too horny

not horny

bored

needed a stomach pump

post-fight emergency exit

or just an excuse to ditch the world and curl up rewatching Twin Peaks until sunrise.

You walked through the door and split up — he was already greeting his bros with beer in hand, every “what’s up, dude?” dripping charisma. The life of the party.

You were swept into your girlfriend group, cocktails flowing, hips moving, laughter spilling everywhere.

But halfway through the night, something in your gut told you to flee. Or maybe... chase. Erik was on your mind. Erik with Jessica was twisting your stomach in knots.

And there he was.

On the couch.

With her.

That blonde bitch — plastic smile, nails too long, hand on his chest, toying with his chrome hearts necklace. The matching one you two bought last summer after working shitty jobs all season to afford them.

Rage. Pure, hot, uncut rage.

“What the fuck is she doing with my Erik?” you whispered, then froze.

My Erik? Where the fuck did that come from?

You tried to breathe, calm the storm, but when she leaned closer, fingers lingering way too long on that necklace — your necklace — something snapped.

That was it.

He might hate you for what you were about to do.

But fuck it.

Fuck her.

You walked toward him like a damn magnet, fueled by liquid courage and spite. Thank the gods you wore your Converse — any other shoes and you’d have face-planted ten steps ago from the cocktail of vodka and adrenaline coursing through your veins.

He could spot you in any crowd. That’s how deep you were carved into his brain.

“Hey, Peach, what’s u—” He didn’t get to finish.

You straddled his lap without warning and crashed your lips into his, making a mess of his breath, his thoughts, everything. His hands moved on instinct — just like they had a hundred times before — gripping your waist, pulling you closer like he was afraid you’d vanish.

The kiss was raw. Unfiltered. Tongues battling, breaths lost, your little moans slipping out like secrets. You pulled away, chest heaving, lips swollen, and shot the blonde devil sitting next to him the most wicked, satisfied smirk in your arsenal.

Erik knew exactly what game you were playing — and he was all in. That damn smirk of his? Criminal.

“Sorry, honey. He’s taken.” You said it sweetly, like sugar laced with poison, while Erik kissed along your neck like he was staking a claim. Which, let’s be honest — he was.

Jessica’s jaw dropped like she’d just seen a ghost. A ghost with better eyeliner and a hotter boyfriend.

“Oh my God… Googles, is that you?” she sneered, voice sugary and fake — the kind of fake that cracked if you pressed too hard. “I didn’t even recognize you! You looked so goofy in high school.” She fake-laughed, Barbie-style, still clinging to mean-girl habits like they were designer purses.

Her words hit like a sucker punch — suddenly you were seventeen again, crying in front of the mirror, hating your reflection, ripping off your glasses and wishing you could be invisible.

You tightened your grip on Erik’s shoulders, grounding yourself. Rage simmering. Shame choking you.

But just as Jessica thought she had the last word —

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Erik snapped, venom in his voice.

Jessica gasped, clutched her pearls (probably metaphorically), and scurried off like a coward dressed in glitter.

“What a bitch,” he muttered, exhaling hard, hands still warm on your waist.

You leaned your head into the crook of his neck, breathing him in like therapy. He ran a hand through your hair gently, coaxing your attention.

“You good, Peach? Want me to execute the order, Lord Sith?” he teased, voice light but eyes scanning you for real damage.

You giggled, quiet and real. “I’m fine now. Let’s go home.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, and to your surprise, it made him blush. Actual blush — like a schoolboy who just got kissed behind the bleachers.

You climbed off his lap, already missing the heat of him, the pressure of his bulge pressed against you — but you laced your fingers through his and tugged him toward the door.

“I drank so much I can barely walk,” you groaned once the night air hit your face like a slap.

“Come on.” He turned his back to you, crouching slightly. “Piggyback time.”

You didn’t hesitate. You climbed on like it was second nature, arms around his shoulders, head resting against him.

“Look… it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Erik exhaled, voice softer than before. Oh no. He was mad. Shit. Maybe he really did want to hook up with Jessica, and you’d just ruined his night with your stunt.

“But—can we at least acknowledge how hot that move was?” he grinned suddenly, shaking his head. “Like, damn, Peach… you nearly made me cram my pants.”

You burst into laughter, unable to help it. Dork.

“That was exactly my intention,” you said smugly, ruffling his hair.

Then, more quietly: “I guess… I didn’t want you to seal the deal with Jessica. She used to bully me in high school. For looking like a nerd.”

The words left your lips in a rush, and with them, a weight you didn’t know you’d been dragging all night.

Erik stopped walking. He gently set you down from his back, turned to face you — and you could instantly see it in his eyes.

Hurt. Not at you — but for you.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” His voice was low. Serious.

You felt like absolute trash.

“I—I didn’t want to ruin your plans,” you stammered. “You seemed excited, and I didn’t want to step in over some… stupid thing that happened ages ago.”

You couldn’t look at him. Your eyes were glued to the ground, guilt wrapping around you like vines.

But then his fingers curled gently under your chin, lifting your face to his.

“Peach,” he said, voice suddenly a balm. “You saved me. She was boring me to death. I swear, I’ve never had a conversation so dry in my life. It was like talking to a blank Google Doc.”

You laughed—half-sob, half-snort.

“All I could think about was how to get out of there and find you. Every second with her felt like a second without you.”

Your heart clenched.

He pulled you into a hug, kissing the top of your head with reverence like you were the most sacred thing on Earth.

“And for the record?” he murmured against your hair, “you looked hot as hell in glasses. I'd have fucked your brains out in the library if I’d known you back then.”

You laughed again — he was the only one who could make you laugh in moments like this.

“Big words for a man with blue balls,” you teased, looking up at him, mischief reloading in your eyes.

“If we don’t fuck in the next thirty minutes, I will collapse and perish like a Victorian orphan.” he groaned.

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him into you, crashing your lips against his in a kiss— rough, possessive, and long overdue.

“So… I’m taken now, huh?” he whispered against your lips between kisses.

You couldn’t hide your smile anymore. The wall inside you had crumbled.

“You’re mine, Campbell,” you said, arms wrapping around his neck, eyes locked on his like a promise.

He grinned.

“Always were. Always will be, babe.”

[mothandpidgeon]

keystrokes (dave york x hacker!f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

rating: E (18+!)

summary: You hacked into Dave Yorks computer and found more secrets than you bargained for.

contents: Non con/dub con, mean!Dave, voyeurism, sex toys, masturbation, mutual masturbation, porn, breaking and entering, violence?, gun, gunplay, choking, morally grey reader, reader is Girl with the Dragon Tattoo coded but not physically described

wc: 3.4k

a/n: So I've been having some ✨writers block ✨ (hence the lack of updates last month) but for some reason, Dave York did a little breaking and entering in my brain and shook it loose. I've been writing a lot of heartfelt romance recently and I think I just needed a little depravity I guess.

Thank you @moonlitbirdie and @whocaresstillthelouvre for giving this a look and for anyone I shouted at about this idea (looking at you @schnarfer and @toomanytookas but I know there have been others). Dividers by @ saradika-graphics.

You squint in the light of the refrigerator. It’s empty save for some cartons of half-eaten Chinese food and cans of energy drinks. Check the time— half past one. Too late to order in. Guess cold lomein it is. 

The apartment falls back into darkness once you swing the fridge door shut. You’re used to it, the soft glow of your computer monitors illuminating your little space. It’s easy to forget to turn the lights on when you’re focused on your work. Forget to eat. Forget to meet people that aren’t on the other side of a screen. 

You sit down at your desk, legs crossed in your seat, and shovel some food into your mouth. Most nights are like this, lost in your work. It’s never felt like a job, not really. More like a way to do the shit you’ve always done except now you get paid to do it. You’re a subcontractor of a subcontractor, someone far enough away from the government that they can get information while still maintaining plausible deniability. You don’t know who you’re working for and most of the time your assignments are vague. All you have to do is gather intelligence and put it into a neat little report without mentioning the methods you used to get it. 

You’ve always enjoyed uncovering people’s secrets, reading notes over your classmates shoulders, looking through the search history on friends’ computers. That insatiable curiosity is what led you to start hacking. The targets these days aren’t always exciting but at least tonight’s is. 

David York. 

Early 40s, divorced. Ex military. DIA. There’s much more to him than that, though. A little program hidden on his computer lets you track each keystroke he makes. 

You’ve learned all about him. Dave he prefers. There’s a lot that won’t make it into your report— where he shops online (Brooks Brothers), the take out he orders (one large pepperoni from Frankie’s Pizzeria),  the porn he watches (girl on girl). But there’s one thing your bosses will be interested in: Dave York is a contract killer. 

You could’ve ended this project by now. You’ve got plenty in your notes to make your customers happy yet you’re still logging onto his computer. It fascinates you that a man so normal, almost on the borderline of boring, could be so dangerous. 

You shovel some food into your mouth and go drag your mouse over your desk. You’ve been reviewing footage you recorded through his webcam today. A few lines of code and you were able to turn his laptop’s camera on without activating the tally light. He was smart enough to use unique, complicated passwords, two-factor authentication, and encrypted emails but he didn’t take the time to put a sticker over his webcam. 

You’ve found some interesting information this way— listened in on conversations, heard the things he only says into his burner phone. Tonight most of it is just Dave at the keyboard, his tie loosening over time. 

You scrub through the footage, Dave drinking coffee and typing in fast forward punctuated by stretches of his empty home office. Nothing exciting until—

You pause the video when you see it. Lomein hangs from your open mouth. He’s half naked, head thrown back, hand buried in his lap. His dick is engulfed in a big fist, a bead of precum frozen before it rolls over his fingers. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen a mark in a compromising position. In this line of work, you’ve seen all the dark corners of people’s hard drives.  There’s worse than nudes and home made porn out there. Normally— if it’s not illegal, at least— you just scroll by. But Dave, it’s different when it comes to him. For some reason, seeing him in a compromising position has your blood rushing in your ears. He’s a killer. How many people have had the opportunity to see him in such a vulnerable state? 

He’s bare to the waist, his chest so smooth you wonder if he shaves it or if he’s naturally like that. His broad shoulders look perfect to grab onto if you were on top of him. Riding him. 

Of course you notice all of this after taking a good, long look at his cock. A clutch of dark curls trail down his soft belly to where it stands, drooling in his fist. You realize you’re salivating. 

Guilt pokes at you as you move the playhead back. It’s a violation. Then again, you’ve all but eviscerated Dave's privacy. You know exactly how much money is in his bank account, that his daughter Molly has a sleepover this weekend, that he’ll kill innocents.

He’s not a good person. You’re not either. 

You roll back the tape, finding the start of this, and hit play. Dave’s palm traces his bulge through his pajama pants. He’s watching porn, you can hear the over-exaggerated moans through the computer’s tinny speakers. 

It’s not the first time you’ve noticed that Dave is hot. After all, you have access to all of the pictures on his laptop. Including the selfies he takes after his runs, muscles glistening with sweat. He’s a bit clean cut for your tastes but right now, he’s something else altogether– the lust in his brown eyes, the control as he teases himself. You swallow hard. 

It’s a while before he actually takes his dick out of his pajama pants. You remind yourself repeatedly that you can stop, just click away and let him keep this moment to himself but you’re on the edge of your seat, already throbbing. He finally pulls down his waistband and you’re looking at his upright cock again. It’s thick, a flushed vein running up the underside. He squirts lube into his hand from a bottle that’s just out of frame and when he finally lets his fist move down his length, his eyes sink closed, savoring the sensation. 

He touches  himself with a practiced motion, gripping the shaft and pulling upwards, a twist of the wrist so that his palm caresses the tip before squeezing back down the length again. His strokes are agonizingly slow. He’s so methodical, patient, like in everything else you’ve discovered. 

You’re holding your breath, the suspense aching in your core. There’s plenty of time to study him— those full lips parted, muscles in his arm flexing. Every once in a while he grunts and loosens his grip, keeping himself from going over the edge. 

By now, your hand has found its way between your legs. Your fingers trace absentmindedly over the seam in your sleep shorts, already sticky and soaked through. You match Dave’s lazy pace, giving yourself the same pleasure he’s experiencing. 

Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you lean over to the set of drawers beside your desk and pull out your favorite vibrator. You shimmy out of your shorts and panties and drag the toy over your needy clit. 

You moan with him, watching Dave’s toned arm flex up and down. His bottom lip looks so thick, you want to rake your teeth across it. It’s almost grotesque the way his nostrils flare, the rhythmic grunts that leave him as his hand works faster. The muscles in his neck strain and you can tell he’s close. 

You are, too. You swivel your hips against the vibrator, speeding up the thrusts and strengthening its power. Fuck. What would it feel like to have Dave’s mouth on you? His cock in you? 

He can’t hold back any longer. Dave’s eyes squeeze shut and his jaw clenches and he makes a noise more animal than man. The eruption of cum is the last thing you see before you’re sent reeling, moaning out your own desperate cry as you pulse around your vibrator. 

You take deep breaths as you return to earth, hitting the spacebar to pause the video and blinking back to reality. Your heart rate slows and you wipe your hand across your face. That’s enough work for one night. That might be enough Dave for good. Tomorrow you’ll finalize your report and put him out of your mind. 

The vibrator is tossed carelessly onto the desk. You put your panties on but leave your shorts discarded on the floor amongst the rest of your laundry and then you put your computer to sleep. Without the light of the monitors, the room is cloaked in darkness and you drag yourself from your chair a few short paces to the bed. 

It’s still dark when you wake, an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You strain your ears for noise, any sign of what woke you but there’s nothing. Then a creak. Your heart leaps into your throat. Someone’s here, in your apartment. 

You fumble for your backpack in the dim. Somewhere in the bottom there’s a can of pepper spray that you bought for a situation just like this but your hands are trembling and you can’t see a fucking thing. 

A figure appears behind the French door that separates your room from the kitchen and any drowsiness that was lingering evaporates immediately. It’s a man— broad body clothed entirely in black— and in his hand you make out the silhouette of a gun. The room’s too fucking tiny for there to be anywhere decent to hide. There’s no time to think. Your only choice is to brandish your bag as a weapon. He barges in and you swing for his face. 

“Fuck,” he grunts but it merely slows him for a moment, knocking hm off balance and his beanie off of his head. 

You scramble towards the front door but you’re tackled to the ground, wind knocked out of your lungs. As you gasp for air, you’re flipped onto your back and you find yourself face to face with your assailant. Even in the darkness, through your terror and disorientation, you recognize him. 

Dave York glares down at you, his angular face cast in shadows, a menacing snarl on his lips. The muzzle of his silencer is far too close to your face but there’s no shrinking from it with your head against the floor and Dave’s heavy hand on your middle. 

“You and I have a problem,” he growls. “You know why I’m here?”

You shake your head frantically, still barely able to fill your lungs. 

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. I know you’re not stupid,” he says. 

He pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing and hauls you towards your room. You’re thrown into your desk chair, head still spinning. Dave stands over you and clamps your wrist to the arm rest. 

“You know why you’re spying on me?” he asks, a cold threat in his words. 

You nod. 

“Then you know you don’t want me as your enemy.” You say nothing but a shiver runs down your spine. His eyes are nearly black, reflecting the dull light of the sleeping computer monitors. 

“I want your hard drives. Back ups, too. Everything you’ve got on me,” he demands. 

“Okay,” you manage. “Would you just get that gun out of my face?” 

“Get to it,” he says, and spins your chair so you’re facing the keyboard. 

The monitors come to life and, suddenly, you’re in deeper shit. You try to hit a shortcut on the keys to close the window that’s open but your fingers are trembling so hard, you miss. Dave sees it all. 

Something changes in him— a tightening in his jaw, a flaring of his nostrils— as he sees the evidence of your surveillance. His spent form, blissed out and covered in his own release hovers on screen. Right where you left him. 

Dave’s eyes narrow at the video then slide down to the toy sitting within arms reach and there’s no denying what he can see so plainly. 

He rounds on you with a wild look, flinging the chair back so its wheels hit your bed. 

“You get off on that?” he demands.

Your heart might have actually stopped for a minute.

“Answer me,” he demands.

“I– No,” you lie.

He appraises you with a deep scowl until a wicked grin spreads on his lips. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, huh?” he muses.

He drags the gun across your breast, your nipple hardening beneath the muzzle’s brush. You let out a whimper— out of fear or arousal, you’re not sure. You swear he growls under his breath. 

“You’re trouble though,” he says.

You swallow thickly, your entire body quivering. 

”Show me,” he says, depositing the gun on the desk and thrusting the toy towards you.

”What?” You ask.

”Show me how you touched yourself,” he tells you.

That’s what you thought he was saying. You stare at him dumbly, too shocked to even protest.

“You watched me. Only seems fair,” he says as if this is some bargain you’re cutting with the man holding the gun.  ”Do I have to make you?” 

He leans over you, his hand braced on the back of your chair, and presses the vibrator into the gusset of your panties. Rough and clicked onto the highest setting, you squirm and cry out. You’re already so overstimulated, it’s torture and bliss all at once. Your hips buck against the toy but Dave holds your thigh open.

”Okay! Stop! Fuck!” you whine, wrenching at his wrist until he lets up.

You try to catch your breath.

“Take these off,” he instructs, snapping the elastic of your panties against your waist with a thick finger.

You hiss and glare at him but you have no choice but to obey, sliding them down your legs. Dave watches, his eyes darkening once you’re revealed to him. He swears under his breath.

”Look at that mess,” he says.

Your whole body burns but the hunger in his gaze makes your fear take a back seat. Defiantly, you put your hand out for the vibrator. You open your legs wider so he can get a good look at you. There’s a tick in his jaw that gives you some satisfaction.

The vibrator purrs dully in your palm and you take your time bringing it to your clit. A low, long moan leaves you. You’re swollen but slick and even gentle strokes feel electric in your veins. 

There’s a tent already forming in Dave’s pants. He’s a killer, sure, but right now he’s horny.

Your head falls back as you continue. His gaze devours each part of you— where the toy glistens against you, your nipples rising and falling below your shirt, the crease in your brow as you keen. 

“You’re a filthy girl, huh?” he asks. 

You nod and a smile actually pulls at the corner of your lips. It shouldn’t turn you on so much to jerk off in front of a man that has seemingly no hesitations when it comes to killing you but somehow that fact has arousal mounting faster. Your eyes drift closed as you focus on the heady sensation of the friction on your overworked nerves. 

The sound of a metallic clink and soft zip distracts you from your reverie. When you look at Dave, you find his hand down the front of his pants, knuckles straining against the fabric of his black boxer briefs as he tugs at himself.

“Keep going,” he breathes and you realize you’re staring slack-jawed, desire flooding out any remnants of fear left within you. 

After a few blinks, you press the vibrator against your clit again. Your back arches and you give a luxurious sigh for his benefit. His fist tightens, muscles in his neck straining and, fuck, you have to grip the seat of your chair to keep yourself from falling out of it. 

With a grunt, Dave’s pushing his jeans out of the way, freeing his cock so he can work himself in the angles he likes, the same ones you watched through his webcam. The sound of his shallow breaths and slick strokes mix with the rumble of your toy and the creak of your chair as you writhe. It’s absolutely maddening. And then he starts babbling. Saying things like, “You like this, huh?” and “Say my name sweetheart.” You do it, panting out the word to a hum of approval. 

He crowds you and for a moment you prepare yourself for the chance he’s about to shove his dick down your throat. Instead he’s yanking up your shirt, exposing your tits to the cold air in the room. Dave fondles one and then the other, squeezing the tender flesh with a groan. His hand is much softer than you’d expect for a contract killer, his touch almost gentle as he teases your nipples with the pad of his thumb.

Dave’s expression nearly looks pained, a delicious frown over his plump bottom lip. It makes you mewl and your hips jump. 

“You close?” he asks. His voice is ragged. 

A breathless nod is all you can manage. 

“Good girl,” he rasps.

His words are enough to send you over the edge, with a wanton moan. It crashes over you with so much more intensity than the one that came before it. Your spine locks up, thighs shake as you clench around nothing. Your heart hammers in your chest and between your legs and it’s as if the room is spinning. You twitch in aftershocks, completely spent. 

The fog of pleasure has barely lifted when you glance up at Dave, fist still diligently pumping. There’s a fire in his eyes, that untamed excitement. 

“Give me one more,” he commands. 

“Can’t,” you plead. Need still bubbles at your core but your body is so exhausted from adrenaline and exertion, lust and release.

“You better,” he says. 

Dave grinds the vibrator mercilessly against you and you swear aloud. He lets up only for his hand to close around your throat. It’s an unbearable mixture of pleasure and dull ache— the bruising pressure on your clit, the muscles in your thighs taught and burning— underlined by that euphoria. He squeezes around your jaw just hard enough to see stars again. 

“That’s right,” he breathes against your cheek, his nose pressed into your temple.

Another orgasm comes almost immediately, pulsing at your core and squeezing through every fiber of your being. This time, you’re quiet, just a high pitched whine like a hurt animal though you’re anything but. 

Dave groans. You can hear his teeth gritted though your eyes are shut. He swears and his hot release paints your bare chest, thick and sticky. 

Everything stills as you both come down, all loosening muscles and shaky breaths. Dave remains close to you, stroking your cheek. His lips brush your hairline and you notice the smell of his cologne for the first time, something clean and masculine. 

Dread should come now. He’s had his fun, now he can do away with you — yet it doesn’t surface. 

Slowly Dave stands and tucks himself back into his pants. He almost looks ashamed of himself. You pull your shirt down, covering your stained breasts, and watch Dave smooth his hair. 

“So are we good?” you ask. 

“If you do what I said,” he answers. “You’re going to get rid of anything you have against me and you’re going to tell your bosses that all you found was a regular guy.”

“Alright, Dave,” you say. 

He scowls at you like he doesn’t like your tone. “When I say delete everything, I mean everything,” he says, eyes flitting towards the monitor. 

You steal a glance in that direction as well. Dave half naked, still frozen there looking absolutely ruined. 

“Understand?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m going to know if you don’t because I’ll be watching you. And if you cross me, I’m going to come back here and I won’t be so nice to you next time,” Dave says. 

You wish that threat didn’t make your body light up like a Christmas tree. It’s absolutely reckless. There’s no chance in hell you’re letting go of that piece of treasure and if the consequence is Dave knocking on your door– or letting himself in– that’s a risk you’re willing to take.

It’s as if he knows. Dave scoffs to himself, then fishes his hat off of the floor along with your panties. 

“These are mine now,” he says.

And you’re almost sad to see him go.

comments and reblogs always appreciated! or scream at me in the ask box or dms!

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

[eclipseberrycake]

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 6.5

AN: Okay i was in the middle of writing a/the clean browser history request when this came in (Idk if it's posted yet or not, depends how i feel lol) and immediately dropped everything to laugh and scribble a few ideas. I did finish the CBH request before starting this but the entire time I was giggling. AND Part 7 will be in the works at some point, but I'm working on some other requests before that <3

I wasn't gonna post this tonight but I hit 50 followers so let's celebrate:)

I haven't posted rules yet, which is coming, I'm just formatting it lol, but I'm comfortable with most things! I originally am a smut writer and so not very much can make me uneasy. That being said, for this blog I will not write any smut to stay respectful to Qwuel's wishes :) But things like this? I think are hilarious and absolutely on the table.

That trend is so funny to. For those who don't know, it's basically one person holding the camera, looking completely fine saying "Us after pound town" and then panning over to their partner, who looks, for lack of a better term, absolutely wrecked. There are a few DW takes on it on tiktok and I like every single one of them. :)

-> Part One

-> Part Two

-> Part Three

-> Part Four

-> Part Five

-> Part Six

Warning: More mature themes, nothing explicit but more mature nonetheless, talks and references to sex/ sexual activity but again, nothing explicit.

☁ Okay, okay, so this can go two ways here.

☁ The Broke take: Astro and Sprout split the roles of the more 'Dom' party.

☁ Both are mains, who are statistically stronger, faster, more evolved than the commons- like you and Cosmo. So it makes sense that they take the more upfront and steady role.

☁ Even on runs in previous parts, I've kind of played with that a bit. Both are settled individuals who have been practically trained to be in front of the camera and spotlight- no matter how much they hate it.

☁ I don't think that changes much after the breakout, honestly. I think after they've returned to their own forms and have had time to become reacquainted with not only themselves, but everyone else, they still hold that aura of main.

☁ Because there is a way about the mains that just...exonerates their status even if they don't mean for it too. It's in their designs and how they walk, and talk, bolstered from their times with their handlers.

☁ So it makes sense that within their relationship, they kind of take that responsibility as well.

☁ I find with Sprout especially as he's protective to a fault this is true? Like I've talked before about how you all stress him out, but it's because he cares so much it practically chokes him.

☁ While he does love good fun and being a menace in his own way- we'll get into that later- he also wants what's best for you all. So he's making sure you're eating and drinking water, taking care of yourself no matter what.

☁ Especially after the pudding cup fiasco. He keeps such an eye on the pudding inventory in the building after that, those who weren't there start worrying for him.

☁ Astro is similar in the sense that he wants the best for you all, but he goes about it in a different way. He's a very quiet individual outside of the private times he shares with you all, so he has to be sneaky about it. He has a reputation or so he's told.

☁ Bro is shadow the hedgehog coded /hj

☁ He shows his love in softer, quieter gestures. Like when he checked your forehead during the Blu incident? It was all he could think to do in that moment without freaking out. He does the smaller gestures because he's always so close to the precipice of panic when it comes to any of yours health. Bro is not chill, will never be chill, never wants to be chill.

☁ He and Shelly are BFFS, and as I said in her thing, she gets frantic when her partner gets hurt. Guess where she got that from. She got it from Baby Astro, crying for the handlers every time she so much as skinned a knee.

☁ He got more discreet about it as he grew up, but it never truly went away.

☁ So now that I've gotten that all out of the way, :)

☁ They are just as generous as lovers as they are as just like...beings.

☁ When it comes to you and Cosmo, nothing is off limits. Nothing is too much to ask for. You guys so much as breath and it has a hint of a thought of want for anything (Except pudding.) and it's yours.

☁ They probably have moods where, like the meme above, you and Cosmo need them to pick up your slack because asking you to do anything other than lay there is too much.

☁ Again, these two have different ways of showing aftercare.

☁ Astro's is soft, gentle massages and damp clothes being held by his star shards so you can reach them when you're ready. He's whispering and cooing all sorts of praises about how well you did for him and carrying you and Cosmo literally everywhere necessary.

☁ I don't know when I made carrying you guys Astro's thing, but it is now.

☁ Anyway, he's never very far from either of you and practically demands you two stick close to each other if nothing else so he can keep a close eye on both of you. If one of you absolutely demands to move somewhere and he's pinned by the other while Sprout is getting snacks or something, he's using his star shards as helping hands.

☁ He's always mindful of your own routines as well. For example, Cosmo puts a lot of care into his tail, which evidently gets ruffled and scuffed during the tussle against the bed, so he goes out of his way to learn how to properly care for it and making sure the process is as comfortable for Cosmo as possible.

☁ If you have a certain lotion or ointment you prefer, he always keeps it nearby so he can help you regardless if you can do it yourself or not.

☁ Whenever you or Cosmo try to do it yourselves, he's swatting your hands and doing it himself anyway, shooting you a stern look if you continue to whine about it. If you continue trying to do it, he isn't against using his extra hands to pin your own to the bed as he goes about caring for you.

☁ If you and Cosmo think there's no way he can catch you both, man oh man do I have some news for you. Because he can and he will. He's got an extra pair of hands and those star shards of his? He's got incredible control over them and literally makes a fool out of whoever thought they could outrun them.

☁ C'mon, you can barely stand and you think you're outrunning those bad boys?

☁ For all Astro jokes about Sprout being the Warden, he actually plays the part much better. By the time Sprout returns, you both are cleaned and subdued with Astro looking like the cat that caught the canary.

☁ Speaking of Sprout, he knows Astro has you both beat even with one set of hands tied behind his back. So once he's sure you and Cosmo are both okay and contingent enough you don't immediately whine when he's out of reach, he's showing his love in the way we already knows he does.

☁ He's getting you and Cosmo your favorite after care treats and water, along with things for himself and Astro, before returning, taking some of the burden off of Astro.

☁ He's the tallest out of all of you, so he too can also carry you quite easily. If by some miracle, one of you stubbornly gets out of Astro's reach, he's right there, picking you up like you weigh nothing. To him? You probably don't.

☁ He's a cheeky little asshole though, poking yours and Cosmo's cheek as you sip on water with that cocky little smirk, making you shove him away with a hand in his face. His go to move when that happens is to grab the hand and use it to pull the rest of you into his lap, nuzzling into your head with a laugh. You just didn't understand how cute you were to him, did you?

☁ Sidebar: I said they had moods, but with Sprout? Practically a given with him. With his stamina, he's got energy for days and knows it, which is why he takes a good portion of the aftercare that requires moving past what Astro can reach with the star shards.

☁ Rest assured though, neither Sprout nor Astro so much as think about moving until you and Cosmo are both soothed enough to handle the lack of personal attention.

☁ They have their favorite ways to end sessions too.

☁ Astro loves watching movies and cuddling in a big pile of kisses and limbs and laughter. It's literally his favorite thing in the world. He admittedly needs the contact for a little longer than Sprout does, loving the constant connection that comes with the bliss. You and Cosmo are quick to fall asleep during that too and he knows you're having good dreams since you're so close to him, so that's also an added bonus.

☁ Sprout can go either way. He likes the movies and cuddle pile, more so if you and Cosmo fall asleep. Not only are you two getting the rest you deserve, but it gives him the opportunity to turn his attention to Astro, smothering the celestial in all the love and adoration he can handle. But-

☁ He also enjoys doing any sort of group activity afterwards if you and Cosmo feel up to it. He's more than willing to hoist one of you on his back and trot into the kitchen, with Astro carrying the other one behind him, going on and on about what he could make or what they want to feel better.

☁ Food is literally such a big love language to him and he tries to show it at every possible opportunity.

☁ Bonus points if you and Cosmo are sitting there, licking your wounds as you groan to each other over all the things that are sore. He doesn't like that your in any sort of pain, obviously, but it makes him laugh at how big of babies you could actually be.

☁ Less bonus points if someone comes in and asks what attacked you two. Sprout can't stop his cackles fast enough as Astro chokes on his spit. It's just too funny watching you two scramble to answer that, turning a bright cherry red as you shoot them both glares. He's sure Cosmo absolutely combusts at the question, making him laugh even harder.

☁ Now, that was the broke take.

☁ The WOKE take: You and Cosmo top their bottom asses like it's no problem.

☁ You and Cosmo are both commons, which while not as strong as the mains, I'd like to argue are much tougher. In game they get an additional hit point, so I like to think if you're a common, you can take a punch or two and still get back up.

☁ This is carried over to the rest of your life of course. You and Cosmo are less likely to whine over injuries like minor burns or papercuts, you probably regularly playfully rough house with Cosmo because the other two whine about it. Hell, even by being a distractor alone, you're fast and don't take anyone's shit.

☁ Because everyone is so quick to blame the distractor if they get hit, you very quickly learned to become assertive and lay out a plan so if they deviate, it's their fault. You've grown accustomed to the other toons whining and snapping at you, especially in the beginning when getting research without Rodger seemed like a hopeless endeavor.

☁ So you have experience with toons fighting you on your every decision and quickly laying down the law.

☁ As for Cosmo, he's a healer.

☁ ...I don't know if y'all main healers, but I do (Alongside Astro) and lemme tell ya. People are mean to healers. He's constantly getting into fights with the other toons if he doesn't heal them well enough or if they simply have a scratch and are begging for a full heal. He had to learn to hold his own fast, much in the same way you did.

☁ Not to mention heals. The reason he drops everything once a heal is called is because before you and the others got experienced and learned how to properly hide and do runs, he had to fight the others for heals. Rodger and him had gotten physical more than a few times as the magnifying glass tries grabbing the med-kit for him and Toodles while Cosmo needed it to heal you along with everyone else.

☁ So while he's sorry for stressing Sprout out when he does it, he admittedly isn't looking to really break that habit for worst case scenarios.

☁ That being said, again, Cosmo is tough. He isn't a soft pastry who's gonna crack at the first sight of conflict. He's used to shutting attitude down as it comes, and he's used to grey walling when arguing gets him nowhere.

☁ Sidebar 2: Cosmo would be such a good gentle parent bro. He doesn't confuse it with dismissive parenting and I just- UGH.

☁ Anyway, suffice to say that you and Cosmo both know how to be a dominant voice no matter where you are. Or who you're dealing with.

☁ One of the notes I've had scribbling for this entire time since I got this message was, and I quote:

☁ "Sprout's a brat. I'm actually his scarf so I know."

☁ And I stand by past me. She was right.

☁ Sprout is the biggest brat. I've said it before in the Healer! Reader one (I think), but he like...refuses to get healed. He'll fight Cosmo and Ginger on it. This, again, carries into whatever he does. He's stubborn and willing to play dirty to get what he wants.

☁ Only child syndrome or something. His handler only had one toon to handle, so it makes sense that he got used to having all the attention on him. He lowkey expects the same in a relationship. He wants you three to be as obsessed with him as he is with you, and while you are, he probably doesn't think that way sometimes.

☁ He thinks because he's taller he can get away with whatever he wants. He pushes and prods when you aren't giving him what he wants and probably thinks he can change your mind. Which is where that assertiveness from early comes in.

☁ Eeny meeny miney- Let's start with Cosmo. Cosmo is quick to just...not interact when Sprout gets into one of his moods. While normally he's all over you guys and your every whim, there is a kind of switch that flicks when the mood strikes Sprout that changes the interaction.

☁ I can't explain it but like, you know when your partner is being a brat for the sake of being a brat or when they genuinely want your attention. Like you know. And Cosmo? He knows.

☁ So when Sprout is being a bit of twat, he doesn't engage, does not interact, barely gives him a glance before returning to what he was doing.

☁ Like, he's not outwardly strong, but he's got enough muscle that when Sprout tries to throw himself onto Cosmo's back, as if to prove a point, Cosmo can hold the weight while also continuing to ice cookies. It's kind of funny actually.

☁ Of course, Sprout does do well with this and when he realizes he's not getting what he wants from Cosmo, he throws his equivalent of a fit. He cries and whines about "You don't love me anymore" and "I've been replaced by cookies."

☁ Cosmo has to really pry on his patience for that one.

☁ As for you, you deal with Sprout however you deem fit. If it's the same way as Cosmo, he's literally like a ticking time bomb, just waiting to blow up in your face. In which case, you and Cosmo have a great night ahead of you! If you chose a different, more punitive approach...it's still a great night ngl.

☁ Astro is like...the polar opposite. He needs to please and is so good at it too. He does have a hiccup in the sense that sometimes he gets too lost in the need to just be near one of you. While Cosmo's dealing with Sprout, Astro is probably with you, quite literally crawling in between whatever you're doing and you, perching himself in your lap to get your attention.

☁ He's like a cat. Worse. Blu isn't even as bad as he is.

☁Also? He bites. When he's not getting the attention he wants, Astro bites. Then acts like he didn't do anything.

☁ So deal with them as you please. They like it, trust, I'm actually Sprout's scarf.

☁ Afterwards, they are shells of the toons the were.

☁ They are such babies.

☁ They need constant attention and will complain if they don't get it- one much, much louder than the other.

☁ While you're trying to get damps cloths ready and towels and Astro's favorite lotion, you have star shards yanking at you, trying to pull you back the entire time even with Cosmo still right there.

☁ If Cosmo is grabbing water and snacks, he can still hear Sprout yelling at him from your room, literally just making noise for the sake of making noise even if Cosmo can hear the strain on his throat.

☁ By the time everything is cleaned and water and snacks are within arms reach, you and Cosmo are pinned. No choice about it. Maybe if you're lucky you'll have time to put on a movie or something, but if not, man sucks to be you.

☁ They need the constant touch. It admittedly comes from a fear of abandonment especially while they're so vulnerable.

☁I haven't gone into detail about my own headcanons about their handlers and I'm kind of split on it in all honesty. I think their handlers definitely cared for them deeply, but they were still humans and humans are flawed individuals especially when it comes to things like money. We know the founders were bad people, but I think their handlers were genuinely good people who were just told bad things. Which influenced how they cared for the toons.

☁ But that's another discussion for another day.

☁ Not to be that person, but everyone can tell when those two took it lying down, so to say. because even the next day you and Cosmo are always seen with at least one of them following you.

☁ Maybe you and Vee are discussing the aspects of bringing her game show back, but she can barely focus, too busy laughing at the sight of Sprout slumped over you, arms locked around you as he burrows into your shoulder. He hasn't moved since you sat down, immediately falling into you, and Vee is sure he's got no plans on moving or letting you move either.

☁ Or maybe it's Shelly, cooing at Astro, who's hiding in Cosmo's back, as the cake roll copies his recipes into his personal recipe book, laughing as star shards swat at her.

☁ Either way, they cling. They're velco babies at heart.

☁ But either way I think it's safe to say, either party, no matter which way it goes whether it be Fruitcake taking over or you and Astro or Astro and Cosmo or you and Sprout, it's safe to say the next day is a no-run day.

☁ Just in case :D

[thisismyhell]

Stuck in the Elevator | pt. 2

Summary: getting drinks at the bar after work, you take advantage of the doctor's willingness to follow you. When the stakes are raised, can he build the confidence to return the favour?

pt. 1

Warnings: smut, making out, oral (m receiving), dom!reader, sub!spencer

Since the incident in the elevator, Spencer couldn’t stop running your words through his brain. You told him you owed him. The two of you had touched each other in the elevator, and he finished in his pants. He didn’t mean to do this but you seemed to have that effect on him. 

“Spence, you coming for drinks with us?” You asked him a simple question but he shot up at his desk like he heard a gun go off. You giggled at this, always amused at his reactions to you. You leaned over his desk, looking him up and down, “Well? Are you?”

“Um-yeah, sure? Who, who else is going?”

“Us and the team, been a hard day is all. Emily figured we could use it.”

Emily. He knew she was behind something but he wasn’t sure what. Whatever was about to happen at the bar tonight, he’d be sure to remember her name was somehow behind it. 

Spencer arrives last to the bar and realizes there is only one spot left in the booth with the team, and it is beside you. He sits down beside you with his drink, and you raise your glass to cheers him. “Wait, we have to make eye contact while we cheers”, “why?”

“It’s 7 years of bad sex if we don’t”. You hold his eye contact and watch as his cheeks darken, he fixes his glasses before clinking your glass with his. You’re drinking a margarita and you take the time to lick the salt off the rim of your glass before taking a sip. Spencer notices and almost chokes on his whiskey. You giggle at his mistake and put your hand on his thigh, making sure he was okay. 

He’s about to say something to you but you turn away and join back in the group conversation. Spencer tries his best but you still have your hand on his leg and his breathing has changed. 

“So y/n.. I always see you on the apps at work. Any luck with all that?” Emily prods you. 

“Listen, I just need a good lay. It’s not the same doing it by myself, ya know?”

“Oh I know, sugar. Trust me, there’s plenty of men and women in this bar that would be happy to help.” Garcia points around to prove her point, not necessarily looking at Spencer. 

Emily definitely knew about your interaction in the elevator, but did anyone else? Was Garcia implying that Reid couldn’t help you with this? He knows female anatomy, and he knew he was on the right track. He ran out of time, that was all. He could have made you finish if the dumb elevator had stayed put. He takes another sip of his drink and feels your grip on him strengthen. As he puts the glass back down, your hand starts creeping up his thigh. If your hand got any closer you’d be able to feel how hard he was getting. 

“The vibe is immaculate at this table, but I really think we ought to be dancing!” Garcia exclaims, pulling Emily out of the booth and onto the dancefloor. Reid exits the booth to let you out and sits back down, but not before you grab his ass on the way. 

He gulps and sits to watch you and the girls dance, finally letting loose after a long week. 

“Reid, I think that girl at the bar is eyeing you” Morgan points out. 

Spencer looks over and notices the blonde at the bar, ‘Oh, yeah I guess so”. 

“Sooo, you gonna go get her a drink? Or should I?”

“I’m not interested. Go ahead.”

Morgan leaves him alone in the booth to pursue a more interesting night. 

Spencer looks back over to the dance floor, seeing you, Emily and Garcia dancing together. You’re wearing a black tanktop and jeans, showing off your body without your regular uniform. The BAU is pretty lenient with your dress code when you’re not in the field, but Reid had never seen your shoulders on display like this. Even from his seat he can see the sweat on your body and your hair clinking to it. He wishes he was the one to make you sweat. Your shirt is riding up and he has a perfect view of your tummy and your ass as you dance around. 

Reid realizes how uncomfortable his pants have become, and when he looks down he positions his legs further under the table. He has to get to the bathroom, but he has to go through the dance floor in order to do that. He would have to walk right through you, and he knows that won’t go well. 

He takes a beat and makes the decision. Standing up and making his way to the bathroom, he tried to go around you. Obviously that wasn’t going to work, and you snag your finger in his belt loop as he passes. Pulling him closer by his hips to yours, you can feel what he was trying to hide. 

“God, you’re so easy” you purr against his ear. 

“I-, I don’t know what you’re talking about”. 

“The music’s too loud, I can’t hear whatever you’re lying about.”

You put your mouth on his and he gives in embarrassingly quickly. You notice how nervous he is and you take his hands and place them on your waist as you put your tongue down his throat. You feel him groan into you and he feels a small amount of shame being in public like this. But he can’t help it. He can smell you even better and feel your sweat against him. With his hands on your bare waist, he puts the tips of his fingers just below your tank. 

You put your arms around his neck and melt into him, trying to get him to calm down. Even though you can feel his boner, his hands are shaking and he keeps trying to pull away and talk to you. 

Finally pulling away, you look right at him. “Are you trying to talk to me? Right now?”

“Y/n, I was just- I mean we’re right out in front-”

You take his wrist and drag him to the bathroom he was trying to get to. He’s mumbling the way there and you keep rolling your eyes. Once in the bathroom, you lock the door and press his body against it. “What are you talking about? Will you shut up?”

“I was trying to say that anyone could see us, that we weren’t in private even though you were touching-”

“I know anyone could have seen us. If you weren’t busy kissing me you would have notices multiple other couples doing the same thing”

“Other couples? Are we-”

“Doctor, you aren’t paying attention.” Spencer had failed to notice that while he was stuttering, you managed to unbutton his pants and undo his belt buckle. You could see the pattern of his boxer briefs and he was blushing. 

“Math equations?”

“I feel like that isn’t surprising all things considered-”

He stopped talking as you kneeled down on the ground, taking his pants and underwear with you. He sprung free, touching his belly button. 

“Baby…”

“Y/n! I- last time you made me-”

He shut up when you put him in your mouth, looking up at him with doe eyes. His mouth was open looking down at you, feeling his tip touch the back of your throat. It all happened so fast he wasn’t able to process it quick enough. Once your mouth started moving, his head hit the door and he succumbed to the feeling. You held his balls in your hand and jerked what couldn’t fit in your mouth. 

Spencer was trying to breathe deeply, but all his breaths were coming out shallow and high pitched. Pulling your mouth off you asked, “has anyone ever done this to you before, baby?”

He looked down at you, watching you jerk him off with spit dripping down your chin. 

“No…you’re the first, y/n…you’re…the first…”

This brought you joy, being the first to suck his pretty cock. How could it not? You put him back in your mouth and began sucking, running your tongue over him. Reid couldn’t even try to hold back, simply overcome with pleasure he had never experienced before. He began thrusting into you, gently placing his hand on the top of your head. You took his hand and forced him to grab your hair, making him mouth fuck you harder. 

This spurred him on and he felt less guilty about what he was doing. Still vulnerable, but less scared. He thrusted into your mouth and he savoured the feeling of your tongue on this new part of him. And you seemed to like it. To really, really like it. 

He was whimpering and you were trying to grind down on something but you couldn’t. Nothing was there for you to feel yet, but soon. You began to go faster, trying to make him finish down your throat. 

“Y/n, I-, I’m gonna-”

You broke away, “do it, Doctor, I dare you” then continued your actions. 

He couldn’t help it. You looked so pretty on your knees, and he had the perfect view down your shirt. He could see your ass sticking out behind you with your knees digging into the hard floor. Your eyes were glossy looking up at him with spit dripping down your chin. His cock was in your mouth and he was outwardly whimpering, almost crying out of pleasure. He couldn’t help it, he had no choice but to finish just like this. 

So he did. He moaned as his jaw slackened, holding your eye contact as you swallowed. You kept going until he was finished, almost over stimulating him until he pulled himself out of your mouth himself. He realized then that you would have kept going if he didn’t stop you. 

You wiped your mouth on his thigh, leaving some of the evidence behind. Standing back up you kissed him before he could catch his breath. He could taste himself on your tongue and he didn’t mind. It was like taking a claim, further proof of what had just happened. You had his taste in your mouth and he was hoping it stayed there long enough to remember. 

“Did you-, did you enjoy that?” he asks sheepishly. 

“Baby. Don’t be stupid.” You kissed him one last time before opening the door and walking back to the bar. 

Spencer was left behind, cleaning himself up in the bathroom before leaving. He needed to gain some confidence. You have made him finish twice now and he hasn’t been able to return the favour. He thinks that you believe he can’t do it. He washes his hands and follows you. 

You’re dancing with Garcia when you feel a hand grab your waist, leading you away and towards the door. 

“We’re leaving.” Reid tells you, not a question. 

“Finally. It’s about time.”

[kara-knight]

I've seen Jedi reciting the Resol'nare plenty of times in fic. What I love in Jedi/Mandalorian relationships though is when the cultural exchange flows both ways. So, where are the Mandalorians reciting the Jedi Code?

There is emotion, yet there is peace.

They could be sitting in meditation with their Jedi partner/s because even if they cannot touch the Force, they've found this quiets their buzzing mind, and it's like their Jedi taught them how to breathe again. (The serene face of their Jedi sitting in the sunshine with their eyes closed, their lashes casting tiny shadows on their cheeks as they reach out to the universe, to the Manda, to the Force? Well, thats not half bad either.)

There is ignorance, yet there is knowledge.

Understanding is entwined with intimacy, and the foundations of your relationship are being built of beskar when you care, when you try to understand what is so fundamental to the world of the person you love. So much of Jedi culture is based on teaching and learning. When you're a Mando who could only guess at what is truth and what is legend about the Order though youve heard a lot of wild tales, every time you're at the Temple its not just your Jedi, its all the knights, masters and right down to the younglings who want to share their knowledge. That's how it begins to feel like home. (And the Jedi library? You've never seen anything that could hold a candle to it.)

There is passion, yet there is serenity.

You never knew Jedi could get angry before you spent any time with them. Just hadn't thought about it. Now you could see it, clear as day. They were shaking with it, silently burning up with it. And yet they did not act. "There's kids in there. They've got ad'ike, younglings!" You gesture sharply towards the warehouse you've been scouting out that should've been abandoned. From your vantage point, through the high windows you can both see heavily armed beings shoving around children. The zoom on your HUD lets you see the tear tracks on their faces. You start forwards, ready to jump off the ledge, jet-pack roaring. "Stop." Bare fingers close around your gloved hand. Fierfek, sometimes you wished they'd wear more armour than one white vambrace swirled with gold like you'd seen on the Temple Guards and its pair, your own bright painted beskar. You take a breath and you can see your Jedi's chest rise and fall in time with it. You could break their grip, their hand, but you won't. Not never. You trust them. They're as angry as you are. You trust them to see what you can't. "Why? What do you think we should do?" "If we go in there 'sabers and blasters blazing, it'll be the kids who'll get hurt. Not us. Not those shabuir'e who are doing this. Those kids." "Ka'ra. Oh Force. You're right." They don't rub it in, just nod grimly. "We do this my way. We do this carefully, and Force willing, everyone goes home tonight." You slide your hand through their loosened fingers to slot them together, to hold them. They lean in and press your foreheads together.

There is chaos, yet there is harmony.

Jedi go through lightsaber katas like they are not only fighting but creating, footsteps soft, barely brushing salle or sparring circle floor. They dance. When they fight, they are a whirlwind of flashing, shrieking plasma. It's blue, it's yellow, it's green, it's purple, it's all so bright, raining down like the long ago monsoons of Mandalore's jungles. It takes a far more skilled warrior to wound not kill in the tulmult of combat as those burning blades find their mark. And you follow them, stepping in where they leave themselves open (they know you'll be there), staying close even as searing light skims over your head (they know you'll be there), walking away from the fight to finish the rescue no matter how much it pains you, letting them dive into the fray alone (because they know you'll be there). (The Ka'ra and the Force shine upon you. You take the kids home together. You all get out.)

There is death, yet there is the Force.

When they watch their Jedi use the Force, it feels like the universe itself is in the room. Their Jedi laughs and tells them that the universe has been here all along. The Force flows through us, the Force protects us, and the Force ties us together. It is part of all of us since before we became us and we will be part of it for always after us. It doesn't end, it doesn't need to begin, it just is. We are the universe, you and me, we are our two peoples whether they fight or die side by side, hand in hand. It is the Temple and it is Manda'yaim. It goes beyond the galaxy and all we know and love, it is all we know and love. We are something and we are everything.

So, what if there are Mandalorians also reciting the Jedi Code? What a beautiful universe we could be creating.