#i could never fucking give a 5 minute long vow of How Much I Love Someone by myself let alone in front of like 60 people

[gutsby]

License to Kill

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marital bliss becomes a bloody massacre within hours of your wedding. Bucky has run the gamut of organized crime from gunrunning to public extortion, but an attempt on your life is a whole different ballgame. A honeymoon-turned-manhunt has Bucky out for blood.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Semi-public sex. Beefy, mob boss Bucky really wants to give you a baby. Praise kink. Size kink. Facefucking. Sex on a private jet. Attempted murder. Arms trafficking. Guerrilla warfare.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Any postnuptial banquet was bound to be the talk of Santorini when a groom arrived beaten half to death.

At least that was what you’d told yourself, what had plagued your mind for hours before the start of brunch, and what Bucky presently refused to acknowledge with so much as a bat of his eye or a word spoken in between.

“You worry too much,” he said as he sheathed himself inside you for the third time that morning.

Bucky seized your throat in one hand and tilted your chin to make sure you were capable of eye contact while he fucked you in front of the mirror. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that the face in his own reflection was bruised, bloodied, and sewn up like a patchwork quilt behind you.

Hazards of the job, he’d said.

Three masked assailants breaking into your villa the first night of honeymooning? Customary. Being yanked out of bed and made to kneel as your husband took the beating of a lifetime just minutes after consummating your marriage? More common than you would think.

Bucky hadn’t even blinked when he got pistol whipped by a gold-plated Beretta. Didn’t flinch when he was held to a wall and pummeled like a freestanding punch bag.

Almost smiled when he took a hard right hook to the nose and felt a torrent of blood flood out of his nostrils.

If anyone were to be accused of behaving too calmly in a home invasion, it would be Bucky Barnes. It seemed as though he’d seen this all before and had no qualms about getting the shit kicked out of him every now and then. Why he hadn’t so much as lifted a finger to fight back was still beyond your comprehension, though.

At length, he tightened his grip on your neck and tried to smile, his upper lip slashed in two and bruised a grim, violet hue.

“Who’s my girl?” he murmured an inch from your ear.

You whined when he delivered a particularly hard thrust, both of your hands flying to the mirror to steady yourself as he pounded you from behind.

“I-I am,” you whimpered.

The stretch was still something you were getting used to, but now Bucky knew just how to spread you open without making it hurt. He’d glide a thick finger between your folds, slide it down to your clit, and leave it there as long as you’d let him, rubbing quick circles while you bucked and moaned under his touch. And, in spite of all his cuts and bruises, your husband made sure to kiss your shoulder every now and then to let you know he still loved you—even if he was fucking you like he didn’t.

Bucky trailed his lips behind your ear and watched you writhe in time with every stroke he gave. Pressed his face close to yours, watched a desperate, fucked-out expression take over your features, and smiled to himself knowing that no one but him got to see you like this.

“Who likes getting stuffed full of this cock?” he taunted.

“I do.”

“Who loves making daddy feel this good?”

“I do.”

He never thought the sound of your vows could be repeated out loud in such an obscene way—his sweet bride bent in half with a thick, throbbing cock wedged between her legs—but he loved it nonetheless.

Bucky was rutting his hips at a breakneck pace and holding your head to the mirror like he’d never let go. Your climax was quickly coming close into view, and you felt your toes curl in the hardwood floor beneath them.

Suddenly, the chirp of a ringtone diverted your attention.

Bucky brought his phone to his ear as he continued to pound you mercilessly.

“Yeah, Steve?”

The mob boss’s business never took a break, it seemed.

“So what?”

“Yeah, no, I heard you the first time.”

“Well, I’m plowing my wife right now, can it wait?”

Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment at Bucky’s blunt choice of words. You saw his brow pinch behind you, his thrusts getting faster and sloppier, and in spite of the distraction, you sensed he was getting close too.

You yourself were right on the brink. Your gaze met Bucky’s in the mirror with a soft, pleading look, and before you knew it, your husband was bidding an abrupt farewell to his friend and chucking his phone to the side.

“Ready to cum for me, honey?”

You whimpered and nodded.

“Alright then,” Bucky said with a near-expectant look, weaving the fingers of one hand into your hair and pulling it back, tight, “Cum all over daddy’s cock.”

With a shriek you feared might carry throughout the whole banquet hall, you finally reached your peak and released around Bucky’s length, tears springing to your eyes as you closed them tight and moaned his name.

And, ever the cheeky fuck, Bucky leaned right in and kissed the sides of your face to collect all the moisture he could—‘Shit, honey, you taste as good as you look’—while he smirked. Would’ve grinned even bigger if he wasn’t so overcome with pleasure; but, as it was, he couldn’t keep from blowing his load just seconds after the last spasms of your orgasm. Bucky leaned over your torso and squeezed your body tight to his, fucking his cum deep inside you as far as it could possibly go.

For a few, dizzying moments, the man’s mind wandered to more primal thoughts of making it stick, knocking you up, and Bucky had to clench his jaw hard to suppress the groans that were threatening to spill through his teeth. Every time he fucked you, it was like something just clicked; he couldn’t rid the thought of giving you a baby.

But no, for now, the two of you were still on wedding time; before you could jet off to your real honeymoon destination—someplace in the Caribbean, if Bucky remembered correctly—your mother had insisted that you host one post-wedding event that day: a brunch.

Naturally, that meant you were obliged to serve a four-course meal on the terrace of the Canaves Oia Hotel.

The mother of the bride had been one hell of a staunch advocate for keeping this wedding party going as long as possible, and who was Bucky to tell her no? He reasoned he would have plenty of time to get you pregnant after all the wedding festivities had ended, so he didn’t mind.

At present, you tugged your panties and your dress back into place with a wince.

“I think you displaced my cervix, James.”

Bucky couldn’t deny he felt the smallest twinge of pride seeing you walk a little funny to collect the rest of your belongings and attempt to freshen up. It also gave him the perfect excuse to scoop you back up in his arms and pretend to be apologetic about your present dilemma.

“Did I really?” he asked as you giggled and tried to swat him away, “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Like hell you are.”

With Bucky still draped over your body, proffering his apologies again and again as he assailed your face with tiny kisses, you’d barely made it two feet toward the door before you collapsed against a table and almost toppled a centerpiece. The pair of you would be expected outside any minute now, where the rest of your post-wedding party was likely trickling in and wondering where the hell the bride and groom had gone, but Bucky seemed adamant on keeping you to himself a little while longer.

That was until the back exit swung on its hinges and a familiar, frazzled groomsman stumbled in.

“Can you horndogs hurry the hell up?!”

So Sam had heard you after all.

You just might’ve blushed if you weren’t being pushed out the door a second later, the hurried, chiding tone of your husband’s friend ringing low in your ears.

“Your old man’s ready to hit the roof,” he mumbled to Bucky, “Won’t start drinking until you two show face.”

“Probably still thinks my bride escaped in the middle of the night,” Bucky mused, flitting a look to you.

The man behind rolled his eyes and continued to usher you both outside. Sam Wilson knew exactly what had happened last night; he’d been the one to bring in the cavalry to save you both from imminent death, after all.

As you had come to find out, Sam wasn’t just a friend of your husband’s but also a close associate of sorts—the kind that would wait in the wings and do whatever it took to keep Bucky safe. When the wait staff at the villa hadn’t been able to reach you for room service delivery last night, reporting some ‘strange sounds’ inside, Mr. Wilson had sprung into action. Called the rest of your husband’s entourage and was up to your room in minutes, where they’d dealt a swift, and final, blow to your attackers. You hadn’t asked many questions after—just thanked him. Profusely.

“You look like hell,” the man observed with a sidelong glance in his friend’s direction.

“Really? I feel great,” Bucky replied.

The three of you weaved through a crowd of partygoers—every single one of whom, without exception, stopped and stared at your husband’s mangled face as he passed—and you started to chew the inside of your cheek. People were gawking, talking amongst themselves as they wondered aloud what the hell could’ve happened to the groom overnight. You felt their stares turn to you in a mixture of pity and reproach, and you wanted to hide.

“Ja-ames!” a sing-song voice trilled across the way.

You, Bucky, and Sam all stopped in your tracks to regard the duo that was making their swift approach over.

Bucky’s mom and dad.

As the older couple drew near, you half-expected to see them take on the same wan, horror-stricken look worn by all those around you, but to your surprise, they didn’t.

In fact, they didn’t bat an eyelid. Seeing their son’s face all gnarled and bloody barely even registered.

“Good, you’re here! The photographers just arrived.” Bucky’s mother swept you into her arms for a brief embrace before shooting her son a frown. Your husband, in turn, offered her an apologetic peck on the cheek.

“Sorry, ma. We got caught up,” he said.

“Sure looks like it.”

That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.

“Get in a fight with a grizzly last night?” he quipped.

“Three, actually,” Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-ear—or as much as his facial lacerations would allow him.

You saw father and son exchange a brief, knowing look, before it was extinguished just as fast as it had come. Clearly, some sort of understanding had passed between them, and the old patriarch seemed pleased. Proud, even. You couldn’t begin to imagine why.

“The bruising shouldn’t be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,” Bucky’s mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.”

She spoke so coolly about the trauma done to her son it damn near chilled you to the bone. You never thought the wife of a mobster would be oblivious to all the violence, but to talk as though this were just another day in the life as far as brutal beatings went was a little unnerving.

You strolled along and silently wondered what the fuck was wrong with this family. Then you realized, slowly, that this was your family now. Your stomach twisted.

When you got to the garden where the photographers were stationed, you saw your parents waiting, enrapt.

And, in a matter of seconds, you watched their expressions morph from exuberance to confusion to outright trepidation. Your father was quick to look away, but your mother clearly couldn’t be bothered to stop ogling Bucky’s gruesome appearance. She forced a tight-lipped smile at the very last second and stretched her arms out to you as the five of you approached.

“You’re glowing, my dear.”

She hugged you and, over your shoulder, tried to mask a discomfited look.

Your mother and father exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the group but seemed loath to linger on Bucky for more than a minute. Like they couldn’t quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.

“Places, people!”

The photographers were lined up like a flock of paparazzi. Each standing, crouching, squatting with their cameras in their hands, trying to get just the right angle.

The person in charge quickly busied herself with directing and adjusting every one of your positions before the pictures were taken. Telling Bucky’s father to straighten his tie, your mother to brighten her smile, the bride to tilt her shoulders just a little bit more, and Bucky, would you please stop groping your wife?

That last command had come from his mother, actually. Bucky had been palming your ass above your dress, and his mom couldn’t stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.

“My hand slipped,” Bucky retorted, much to the amusement of a few photographers.

You and his mother gave him identical admonitory looks, but it was you who was close enough to say something.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak, though, an odd sense stopped you on a dime.

There was a warmth. In your panties. Then a slow and silent oozing sensation. You squeezed your thighs tight together and, instinctively, lowered your hand to your stomach, as if that would have any chance of stopping it.

A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.

“My cum dripping out already?” he whispered, low as he’d ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.

“Shut. Up.” You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.

“Chin to me, Mrs. Barnes,” the lady in charge called out.

You did as you were told, and Bucky’s hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.

A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.

“Think it’ll stay in your panties?” Bucky managed delicately under his breath.

You didn’t respond. At length, his seed was seeping out of your underwear. You bared an even brighter smile for the cameras and tried not to flinch when he squeezed you again.

“Feel it sliding down your thighs?”

“Eyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, and—here, please.”

The man could barely peel his gaze, much less his hands, from your body. He stroked your hip with his thumb. Then, without warning, that same hand slid down to your rear and pushed into the fabric. You sucked in a breath.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave,” you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you could’ve sworn you saw your mother turn her head.

Unfortunately for you, your husband would do no such thing. He just moved his hand even lower down your back and brushed the space around that spot with the tips of his fingers. You felt a shiver pass over you, along with a whole legion of goosebumps spreading fast across the skin.

If you weren’t on camera and surrounded by family, you probably would’ve liked to smack him upside the head.

As the cameras continued to fire away, Bucky’s touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.

“Now just the bride and groom!”

The rest of your family members stepped to the side, and it was only you and Bucky before the cameras now. Still smiling like bright, shiny dolls and communicating like ventriloquists, your lips barely moved as you spoke.

“How ‘bout I push it back in?”

“Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Now kiss!”

At the direction of the lead photographer, you kissed your husband and felt a mixture of lust, hate, and love swell up inside of you. When you pulled apart, it was the latter of these three that was searing hot in your veins.

“I love you,” Bucky murmured with a grin.

“I love you, too.”

The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashion—being pulled from place to place, person to person, while your filthy-minded husband kept whispering in your ear all the depraved things he was planning to do to you once he got you alone. It was romantic, in a way; just terrible for your poor panties.

You reluctantly mingled and laughed with some of the most boring people you thought you’d ever met in your life—though perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisal—and gradually, family and friends pulled you and Bucky further and further apart until you were just being carted around like show dogs and forced to hold the same conversation over and over again.

“You look stunning.”

“Buck’s a lucky guy, I’ll tell you that.”

“Are you planning on having kids any time soon?”

You just smiled, nodded, and didn’t have the guts to tell them that Bucky’s baby batter was baking inside you right now. That would’ve been a fun one to watch the reactions from your uptight, intrusive relatives, though.

And speaking of Bucky, where the fuck had he gone?

Just twenty minutes ago he’d sworn he would have you bent over one of the hotel balconies overlooking the Aegean Sea, and now he was nowhere to be found.

Your parents were currently preoccupied with their second helpings of spanakopita, your in-laws draining mojitos like water, and Sam, like Bucky, completely MIA. No one else had seen hide nor hair of your husband in a little while, and frankly, your legs were growing tired of looking.

You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Bucky sitting a ways away on the terrace with Sam and Steve huddled on either side of him. They looked to be deep in discussion.

Steve, Stevie, Rogers, or, simply, your husband’s second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Bucky’s face.

You decided to let the three of them hash it out and to take a rain check on that balcony rendezvous for now.

At any rate, a pack of Pall Malls was calling your name.

You would fully concede this was a filthy habit you never should have started—like most fun things in life—but the reprieve of a nicotine buzz was too tempting to refuse. You grabbed your clutch and took off toward the far end of the lawn, set for a small alcove apart from the party.

You slipped the lighter and cigarettes from your bag as you walked. The scent of pure salt and sea foam greeted your senses as soon as you drew close to the spot—less than a stone’s throw away from the ocean.

Your hands had jammed the cancer stick in your mouth before your mind could make a single word of protest. You brought the lighter to life in your right palm and raised the flame to your cigarette until the end was lit.

Then you inhaled. Exhaled. Hoped no one would see you. You fanned the smoke from your face every so often.

You’d taken up residence on a bench just shy of the beach, and finally, you could stretch your legs and rest.

Maybe indulge in some disgusting thoughts about your husband while you were at it.

If you’d told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Bucky’s touch, you wouldn’t have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably would’ve told them they were full of shit. But here you were, splayed out on a bench by the shoreline thinking of nothing but the way your husband’s cock felt inside you. Feeling his seed dried on your thigh and aching for a fourth helping.

You felt pathetic. Maybe you were.

In any case, you didn’t really care.

You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When you’d plucked it back out, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

Bucky! Your lust-addled brain all but squealed.

You turned much quicker than you meant and nearly jumped in your skin to see who was standing there.

A grinning, bright-eyed blond.

In a panic, you flicked your cigarette over your shoulder and forced a smile.

“Hi.”

“Howdy.”

Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.

“No need to stop on my account,” he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, “I won’t snitch.”

His smile took on a shade of condescension, but the face seemed friendly enough. Then, to your surprise, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved something small and silver from it. He held it out to you.

“Courtesy of your husband,” he said.

You frowned. A flask?

“It’s not even noon,” you answered.

“Bucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it don’t seem they’re fixin’ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.”

Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.

“Fuckin’ A,” you coughed, “What’s this, nail polish remover?”

“Stolichnaya. Can’t talk shit until you’ve tried it.”

Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the man’s outstretched arm again—this time, to shake your hand.

“Joey, by the way.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.

“You’re a friend of my husband’s?” you asked.

“From the service, yeah. We go way back.”

You couldn’t help but raise both brows in question.

“The service,” you repeated.

“Russian Armed Forces,” Joey smiled.

And when the hell did Bucky plan on telling you he was a former foreign operative? You stared at the man before you in a medley of confusion and disbelief. Surely the thick Southern drawl had to mean he was joking.

“Sorry—I thought you knew,” he said sheepishly.

Your husband’s old comrade seemed genuinely contrite, blushing a shade of pink as he turned his gaze from you. You quickly regained your composure and flashed him a smile, insisting it was fine, just surprising to you is all.

“Perks of arranged marriage,” you said, “We’re wed for life and I don’t even know the guy’s job title.”

That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasn’t smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.

“You mind?”

“Not at all.”

You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When he’d taken a seat, you offered it to him, and he politely accepted.

With time, the two of you got to smoking and joking around with a little more ease. You didn’t normally get to see that happen—rarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangers—but this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Bucky’s old friend possibly do?

You found the man to be quick-witted and charming, if not marred by the slightest stain of conceit under the surface. He was objectively handsome: all cool, clean features with an unblemished demeanor and a set of brown eyes so light they almost appeared the color of honey in the sun. The only imperfection to be detected was a skewed, razor-thin scar on his chin. You weren’t ashamed to admit he might’ve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naïveté, earlier. But you had Bucky now; not even the most sublime, finely-chiseled Adonis could set your sights off of him.

You continued to smoke and shoot the shit.

“So you’re a Puritan, then?” Joey said at length.

“Huh?” You leaned back to stretch.

“You haven’t touched that flask.”

You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.

“Haven’t been into straight liquor since college,” you shrugged.

“But it’s your wedding weekend,” Joey smirked, “Think it says somewhere in the rule book you’ve gotta be hammered the whole time.”

“Does it? I must’ve missed that one,” you hummed.

Rather than answer you verbally, Bucky’s old friend opted to snag the flask from your fingers and unscrew the top himself. Made an unusually bold move and took your chin in his other hand.

“Open.”

“No!”

You bared a tight smile to be polite, but inside, you were more than a little put off by his behavior. Maybe this was some stupid rite of passage into their ‘brotherhood.’ You had to assume he was just being friendly.

“C’mon. Quit bitchin’ and open up,” he chuckled, pinching your face even tighter.

That left an even more sour taste in your mouth. You jerked your head to the left and were just about to inform the man it’d cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.

“Honey? Hon, you there?”

Immediate relief at hearing your husband’s voice.

You craned your neck to look around.

“I’m here, Bucky!” You waved an arm to try and get his attention, wherever he was.

It took him a second, but shortly, he appeared on the other side of some trees. He had a stern, if not slightly sallow, look on his face as he made his way over.

You turned back to Joey but found that he’d vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.

“Bucky, I just—”

“We need to go,” your husband cut in.

His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.

“Go wh—”

“Now, baby, please. I’ll tell you in the car.”

Your face dropped.

“We’re leaving?”

Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as you’d ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.

“Whole fuckin’ swarm of ‘em now,” he pronounced.

Bucky didn’t wait to hear another word. He just grabbed your hand and joined his friend sprinting back up the lawn. You could barely keep apace with their steps and, still clinging to Bucky, almost tripped and stumbled.

“Get the fuck up,” Steve spat.

You tensed. For a second, your feet scarcely moved of their own accord as you trailed behind Bucky and felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. Bucky’s best man had surely been a little rough around the edges before, but never this needlessly cruel. What did you do?

Your husband delivered an uncharacteristically gruff shove to the man’s shoulder and made sure he felt it.

“Don’t you start this shit again,” he said, “Lay off.”

Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotel’s perimeter. You glanced to the throngs of partygoers still scattered along the veranda and saw similar looks of disquiet and alarm all around.

Just when a dozen different questions of what was going on, where were they taking you, and why the fuck did everyone look so afraid bubbled to the tip of your tongue, a thunderous sound brought you to a standstill.

At the opposite end of the plaza, a cluster of tents, tables, and catering stations all splintered apart in a single, headlong explosion. A bright red column of fire shot up toward the sky, and following its ascent rose a wave of shrill and horrified screams alongside it. A barrage of gunfire rained over the crowd, and before you could even spare a look toward its source, Bucky yanked you flat on the ground. Your hands and knees were shredded across pavement, had less than a second to register the pain, and were shortly made to snake along concrete and glass toward the garden down below.

You crawled, then crouched, then bounded down the lawn following Bucky and Steve like a bat out of hell. Another explosion sounded nearby—this time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all over—and whole droves of people just dropped. Facedown in the grass and covered in glass. Bucky clamped your hand in his own with a force that could’ve snapped it in two, but you didn’t blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.

“Here!” Steve called presently.

He caught sight of a jet black sedan at the edge of the lawn and held a hand up to Bucky. A set of keys were promptly pelted into his grasp, and the three of you closed in on the car, quick, without another word.

Bucky tore the back door open and practically flung you inside. He primed himself to climb in right after, when a set of footsteps and a shout held him locked in place.

“Hangar’s clear.”

Sam, by the sound of it.

He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadn’t gotten the back door so much as halfway shut before the engine roared to life and the car lurched ahead. Not thinking, you grabbed hold of a seatbelt, but Bucky was quick to pull you in and jerk you down.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting then, but it certainly wasn’t your husband’s weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.

This wasn’t the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didn’t hold you tight in his arms or cradle your head to his chest. He just draped the weight of his whole body over yours and begged you strenuously not to move or make a sound. By the looks of it, too, the car was tearing up the turf of the lawn and anything else that happened to cross its path; there was no rhyme or reason to Steve’s driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.

Minutes, seconds, sights, and sounds—or what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered position—all bled together in a haze. Your pulse leapt and throbbed between your ears, and little more could be heard above that sound apart from the thrum of Bucky’s own heart, the thunder of gunfire, and the wail of sirens, coming low and faint and far too late to make much difference now.

You pressed your nose to the floor and got a dizzying whiff of nylon and bleach. Would’ve like to retch but gritted your teeth instead, lying in silence and wondering without humor if the splinters, the soot, or the blood would be hardest to wash out of your white satin dress.

The price of admission to board Bucky’s Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be ‘pregnant.’

You’d been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangar—a place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparently—and had been carried onto a jet. You didn’t squirm or protest, just hung limply in their arms and let them tend to you however they needed.

After all, you looked like fucking Carrie White on prom night: coated in blood and stiff as a board. Sitting with a thousand-yard stare and a frozen, muted expression as you tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.

You watched Bucky kneel down in front of you and hardly saw him at all. You sensed him stroke your hair but felt it from a place somewhere far outside your body. Bizarre was an understatement. All you could do was blink.

“It’s not— not her blood, is it?” your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.

“Some of it,” one nurse answered quietly.

Aw, hell. Bucky squatted on the floor and slotted himself between your knees, trying to get as close as possible so he could make you say something, even just see him. One of the attendants raised a warning look and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off in a second.

“She’s not looking at me,” Bucky’s lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, “Honey, I’m here— I’m right h—”

“She’s in shock.” Another voice came flatly.

Sure, shock works. In truth, your mind was floating somewhere even higher than the 43,000 feet the plane had ascended, and your brain had gone as soft as a clump of cotton candy in the rain. You couldn’t speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.

“She looks like death warmed over.”

Thank you, Steve.

Off to the side in a plush, leather seat of his own, the man nursed a scotch on the rocks and frowned. Bucky didn’t have the strength to throw a punch or a pillow at his head and instead said only to shut the fuck up, man.

Your husband turned to the nurses again.

“She’s pregnant.”

I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.

“No, she’s not, Buck,” Sam said from down the aisle.

“Well, she could be,” Bucky chided, “We’ve been going at it like rabbits since the—”

“Fuck’s sake,” Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you weren’t currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably would’ve done the same.

Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you were—or very well could be—carrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? She’s my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses weren’t all on Bucky’s payroll they probably would’ve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isn’t pregnant, even if you think your sperm is ‘built different’ than most.

“She’ll be fine either way,” the medic on your left said, stifling a chuckle. Wondering if the man had ever taken a sex ed class in his years of prudish, private education.

Bucky wasn’t convinced. Against all physicians’ wishes, he climbed up beside you in the seat and pulled you into his lap with both arms wrapped around your waist.

By turns, the world was coming back into focus for you. You met Bucky’s gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.

“See? See? She’s back.” Bucky squeezed your hip—and immediately released it when you winced.

“Mind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.”

Your caregivers pro tempore shot your husband a couple wry looks as they packed their supplies and started to leave, getting the sense that their boss wasn’t going to stop badgering them, or you, anytime soon. That worked just fine for Bucky, because then he would get to hold you any way that he liked, as long as you’d let him.

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as thrilled.

Sam watched the medics’ departure with a wary look.

“She probably needs to rest, Bucky,” the latter said, careful with his words.

Bucky’s eyes never strayed from yours.

“She’s okay, Sam. She’s good.” Perhaps speaking more to himself than anyone else. Steve shifted in his seat.

In your periphery, Mr. Wilson was approaching with a glass in his hand. You turned your head, and Bucky accepted the cup of water for you.

“Feelin’ alright?” Sam asked.

You tried to nod, but your husband was already cradling your head like a baby, urging you to take your first sip.

A spate of water splashed down the front of your dress. You shot Bucky a look as he hastily tried to dry it.

“She’s not a child, Barnes,” Steve muttered.

“Should probably keep that elevated,” Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, “We’ll get some ice.”

Sam tilted his head again, this time to motion to Steve. His friend pretended not to see him, and then Bucky was back on his feet, keen as ever,

“I’ll go.”

He kissed the top of your head and assured you he’d be right back. He’d just started off toward the door, when Sam hesitated. He flitted a quick look between you and Steve and looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky was already ushering him out of the room.

When you turned to Steve, you understood why.

The man had you pinned with a stare that could’ve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.

You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.

“Something wrong?”

You weren’t sure how you’d even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.

“You tell me.” Tone dripping with disdain.

You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suit—muddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than you’d seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldn’t shake.

What had you done to piss him off so much? Shit in his cornflakes? Step on his toe? Had he seen you with Joey and jumped to the worst possible conclusion? You sincerely couldn’t make sense of the man’s indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,

“We should’ve left you to die with the rest of your family.”

Your jaw slackened a bit.

“What?”

“You, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you should’ve stayed there to rot.”

Never mind the fact that he’d just wished you dead to your face—what did he mean about your parents?

“But they’re coming with us. Bucky said,” you managed.

“He did?” Steve grinned humorlessly, “He lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.”

That sent the first real wave of fear pulsing through you. You slowly rose to your feet but, feeling yourself restrained by the makeshift IV line stuck in your skin, you stopped. You plucked the needle out of your arm.

“What are you talking about?”

You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.

“What? That wasn’t part of the plan?” he quirked a brow, “Didn’t think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking family—”

You hardly even noticed you’d swatted Steve’s drink out of his hand until the glass went shattering on the floor. You blinked and raised a shaky, bruised finger about an inch from his face.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Your jaw was clenched so tight you had to speak through your teeth.

Steve was beaming.

The door to the room flew open, and Bucky and Sam strolled in with their ice packs and pillows. They stopped when they saw the glass on the floor and your figure looming over Steve.

“You picked a real spitfire, Buck,” the blond called out, his hands raised in surrender as he smiled up at you.

Bucky seemed more surprised that you were able to stand, much less take that menacing stance over his friend, and he quickly tried to guide you back to your seat. You wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?” You tried to shake your husband off as Steve’s grin grew even bigger.

“They’re fine, honey. Sit down, please,” Bucky mumbled.

“No! He said they were dead!” you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.

“Why don’t you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Sam uttered quietly.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing, your parents are fine,” Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, James,” you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, “What’s going on?”

“Either she’s a world-class actress or she really doesn’t have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.” Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You would’ve liked to knock back one or two—or ten—yourself.

You turned on your heels to face Bucky. At the moment, he seemed torn between imparting a death black stare on Steve and a placating, apologetic one to you. The tips of his ears were tinged pink.

“Baby—” He reached for you, but you pulled back.

“No.”

You wouldn’t ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoil—and perhaps by some painful truths he’d be compelled to share as well—and he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.

Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.

“Why’d you marry him?” Steve said suddenly.

Bucky’s face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,

“Because my dad was in debt.”

“For what?”

You paused.

“Real estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.”

Steve nodded. Ignored Bucky’s sharp, reproachful gaze.

“And how much money did he owe?” he asked.

“Steve,” Sam warned.

“Four, five million—more than he could ever repay.”

This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.

“You’re forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you don’t even know the price that tight little body’s paying?” he scoffed.

His words hadn’t hung in the air for much longer than a second before Bucky decked him, shoving him square in the chest and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. A splash of whiskey was quick to join the bloodstains adorning Steve’s tux, and the pile of broken glass on the floor grew even bigger. The man hardly flinched when Bucky shoved his head to the end table.

“Say it again.” Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.

“She should’ve known!” Steve snapped anyway.

You shared a brief look with Sam but found his expression inscrutable. He kicked a few shards of glass with the toe of his shoe.

“I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate,” you grumbled, “They were going to kill my father if we didn’t settle it, so I wasn’t all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.”

If he could go low, you would go lower. Fuck him.

You saw Steve grin through a freshly busted lip and straighten himself back into a seated position. He wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb while Bucky seemed to contemplate swinging again. The look in your eye cautioned him against it.

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his words—ones that wouldn’t prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throat—and looked to you, curious,

“Why would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?”

You shrugged.

“He’s a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldn’t fork over that kind of cash.”

Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Bucky’s expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.

“What?” you spat, “Did I say something funny?”

Sam shook his head slowly, starting, “I don’t think—”

“Your daddy’s a fucking gunrunner, sugar,” Steve wheezed, “Head of a multinational arms trafficking syndicate—motherfucker is not selling houses.”

Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldn’t let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.

“And how the fuck would you know?” you said to Steve.

“We work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,” Sam answered.

“And the man is horseshit at business”—Steve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attention—“He was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.”

“James?” You finally turned to him.

“And your daddy didn’t even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,” Steve sneered.

“James,” you pressed again.

You couldn’t understand why your husband refused to speak—going as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.

“HYDRA as in— the Russian mob?” you asked him.

“No, the Girl Scouts,” Steve huffed, “Yes, the mob.”

“Schröder’s boys. Your dad’s been in business with them for years—owed them a lot of money,” Sam added.

“And your dad and Bucky’s dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured he’d do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.” Steve seemed eager to tell this story.

All the while, the hue of Bucky’s cheeks grew even deeper—like he didn’t want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldn’t stand down until you’d heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.

“Then why’d he need me? Just another bartering chip?” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “A pawn?”

“A peace offering,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.

“Your father didn’t owe me anything. I would’ve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted I— that we marry. He wanted an alliance no subsequent financial incentive could disrupt. He would take the money I gave him, pay HYDRA, and bow out of any future dealings with them. Our marriage was supposed to guarantee that.”

Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.

“That was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided he’d have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,” Steve said.

“At the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Bucky’s warehouses in Brooklyn,” Sam continued, “Only problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.”

“So Schröder paid him a visit today,” Bucky muttered.

Without realizing it, you found yourself sinking into the nearest seat and bringing a hand to lay flat on your stomach. You felt sick. More than woozy, truthfully. Your head was spinning and your stomach was twisting something terrible, as if you’d just ingested cyanide.

Fuck, did you need a drink.

You couldn’t look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.

You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joey’s flask.

And, bloodlusting mobsters and outlaws be damned, the Russians knew how to make the hell out of some vodka. A single sniff of the stuff told you this was exactly what you would need to cope with your current situation.

“So you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?” you asked, “You honestly th—FUCK!”

Bucky lunged for the flask in your hand before you could take a single pull. He snatched it away in the blink of an eye and shot you a look.

“Liquor? For our baby?” he barked.

You audibly groaned and were just about to tell him that his understanding of human reproduction was a crock of shit when you stopped. You saw his expression change.

“Where did you get this?” Bucky asked, suddenly pale.

“You, dumbass!”

“Me?”

Bucky was presently passing the flask around to his friends, who were eyeing a spot on the bottom of the container with shared looks of alarm.

“Your friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,” you said.

All three men looked up at once.

“What friend?” Sam asked.

“Joey,” you answered, “Bucky’s friend from the army.”

If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin might’ve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.

Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.

“What friend from the army? What’d he look like?”

You were still scanning Bucky’s face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,

“I-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.”

“Tall fella?” Steve asked.

“Very.”

“Have a German accent?” Sam pressed.

“No, a real thick Southern accent,” you shook your head. It didn’t occur to you then that it could’ve been fake.

You were about to turn your attention back to Bucky, brow still knit in confusion, when a vague memory crossed your mind. You looked up at Sam and Steve.

“He had a—” You tapped your chin lightly, “—a little scar right here.”

You would’ve thought you’d just announced you had a bomb strapped to your ass the way the three men reacted. Each wore identical looks of disbelief and muted horror, exchanging looks between themselves as if they’d just discovered the Atlantic Ocean—and found the Loch Ness Monster lurking somewhere underneath.

Bucky looked the worst out of all of them. His face had drained of all expression and color as he stared at you.

“Joey?” he intoned feebly.

“Yes,” you answered—feeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.

Fortunately, Sam wouldn’t let you wallow in ignorance.

“Johann Schröder,” he supplied in a second, “The man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.”

Steve held the flask in his grasp for you to see the bottom, where a skull with six tentacles was engraved. Then he tipped the canister into a glass he’d taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.

“Looks to be a serum of his,” Steve said, hollow as you’d ever heard him, “Kind of like…roofies.”

“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” Sam asked.

“Nuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uh— to pour it in my mouth.”

A beat of silence gripped the room.

Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someone’s skull. Or both.

Still, he wouldn’t speak to you.

The inside of your head was throbbing.

You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steve’s eye when he’d suspected you of being a traitor the first time around; this cloyingly sympathetic gaze he was giving you now had to be the most maddening thing. He and Sam both looked on at you like you were a victim. Like you were something to be pitied, or coddled, or left to the capable hands of your husband—a motherfucker who couldn’t even speak so much as a syllable to you.

You felt a pressure build, then swell, then peak between your temples, and you wanted to wince but couldn’t stand the thought of looking weak in front of them.

Then your nose started to bleed.

That, at least, woke Bucky from his reverie as he fumbled around for a napkin and helped you to your feet. He looped an arm around your waist and led you off to the bathroom, his grip tightening on your frame with every step you took.

In two minutes flat, you were flooded with fifteen feet of toilet paper and tissues. Bucky cupped the back of your head in one of his broad, warm palms and kept it plastered there as he instructed you to hold it, honey, hang on, I can grab a few extra rolls right here and guided you toward a private area at the back of the plane.

You could scarcely see above the bunched up wads of Charmin Ultra Strong pressed close to your nose, but you trusted Bucky wouldn’t lead you astray. You felt the welcome touch of a bed underneath you, and then your husband was helping you settle in amongst the pillows and the blankets and the rose petals that had been scattered around before—not entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonetheless—and slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying he’d be right back with those ice packs.

You reached for his hand before he could leave.

“I don’t want it,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, “Want you to talk to me, James.”

Bucky’s brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I am— I’m talking to you right now, honey, I—”

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.

“I don’t want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,” he said simply.

“Why not?”

“You’re not in the right place to hear it.”

You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.

“We’re on a plane. Fleeing Greece. After you got curb-stomped in our honeymoon suite, our post-wedding brunch was bombed by the Russian mob, I was almost drugged by their leader, and my parents are probably as good as dead, if not being held for ransom, as we speak. Please tell me a better place to have this conversation.”

Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.

“Okay.”

Infuriating.

“Okay?” you snapped, “We could’ve died five times today and all you can say is okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Fuck this guy. You wiped your nose and stood up too.

Bucky tried to nudge you back onto the bed, wary of the ever-growing number of bumps, bruises, and nosebleeds afflicting your body. He tensed when you nudged him right back.

“I need to see my family,” You stood firm, “As soon as we land wherever it is we’re going, I’m on the first flight back to New York—or wherever they are.”

You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky returned.

“What? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Yes, I will.”

The worst part was he wasn’t even smug about it. Just calm and self-assured. You flung your tissues to the side and threw your hands up in exasperation, feeling the need to step away from him and start pacing the room. The man’s reticence was grating on your nerves.

“Why bother, Buck?” you snorted, “It’s not like I’m even your wife, really. I’m just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?”

You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Bucky’s chest. You looked up to find him frowning.

“Don’t say that again,” he glowered down at you.

Unlike most times before, you didn’t flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didn’t let him win.

“I’m not your wife,” you repeated, “We may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.”

You ignored Bucky’s evident desire to grab hold of something of yours and side-stepped easily, expanding the gap between you two as much as you could. It was almost amusing to see him not in control for once, and floundering to recover what semblance of it he could.

“You are my wife,” he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, “Everything I do now is for you—it’s not a goddamn game to me.”

“You used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Bucky said, “But I love you.”

“You met me yesterday, motherfucker!”

You could feel another bloody nose rising in your bones. You turned around, swiped your lip with the back of your hand and were surprised to see nothing there. You waited for the bleeding to start back up again. When you turned, Bucky had closed the distance between you and was holding something in his hand.

Before you could protest, he was smoothing the thing over your face—apparently he’d grabbed a washcloth and dampened it—and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.

“Is it so hard to believe that I love you?” he asked quietly.

He was trying hard to placate you, but his actions were having just the opposite effect. You let him wipe the blood from your face but watched him begrudgingly.

“You want someone to control, Bucky,” you said, “Love is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.”

Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You weren’t finished.

“You look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch over— who can’t take care of themse—”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? That’s not what a ‘good little wife’ is to you?” you retorted.

At last, Bucky tossed the hand towel to the side and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the dresser, shrugging off his suit jacket.

“That’s a— a bit I do when I’m horny. I don’t actually want you subservient to me,” he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.

“So holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?” you quizzed.

“To keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. I’m sorry I don’t want to see you butchered because of me,” Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You despised the indignation in your tone but couldn’t help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tie—just like the night before—and, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.

“Last night,” you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, “And today. Tonight. You’re as still as the fucking grave and won’t say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.”

You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky objected.

“You’re doing it right now! You wouldn’t tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who could’ve— hurt me. You didn’t say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe we’re in this together? That you’re trying to keep me safe? You couldn’t even—” you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a little—“couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!”

Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.

“I had to do that,” he snapped.

He threw his tie to the floor and started to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. The sight of his broad, veiny forearms were only visible to you for a second before he headed toward the closet, peeling off bits and pieces of his ensemble as he walked.

“You didn’t do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didn’t even try to fight back.”

Bucky had just muscled his way out of the confines of his dress shirt, leaving him in a tight, plain white tee. He turned to you with what seemed like the most pointed look of disdain.

“You think I wanted to do that?!” he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.

“You were too chickenshit. Didn’t wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,” you seethed.

Your husband looked as though he wanted to put his fist through a wall and pummel it several times over. Seemed like he did, anyway. In truth, he didn’t move—just watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.

“I’m chickenshit?” he repeated.

“Yeah. Coward,” you spat.

“Too much of a coward to keep you safe?”

“Precisely.”

At long last, you saw Bucky smile. It was the tightest, most humorless grin that had ever crossed his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He raised a hand over your head and bracketed his arm against the wall so he was leaning over you. Not meant to intimidate per se, but the sight of that smirk was unnerving, to say the least.

“Did you hear what language they spoke?” he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.

“It sounded like—”

“Russian, that’s right,” Bucky cut in, “Do you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?”

You swallowed and said nothing. Bucky’s breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your body—you weren’t sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.

“They told me, ‘If you move, we’ll kill her,’” Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, “‘If you fight, we’ll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.’ Or something to that effect.”

The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Bucky’s head by the roots of his hair and beating him over and over and over, threatening your life if he made a single move to stop it.

“Bucky—” you started.

“I know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.”

Your husband’s grin had transformed into something more of a crooked, downcast grimace, just baring his teeth as he tried not to lose his composure. Guilt flooded his face.

“I know I should’ve told you then. And after. I should’ve told you about your father as soon as Steve’s informant told us. I just—” Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldn’t meet your gaze—“I didn’t want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.”

It was like a blade had just twisted in your stomach. Your throat ached. You wanted to touch him but were almost too scared to ask. He looked so fragile.

“I am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you could’ve been unfortunate enough to marry.” For a moment, Bucky’s gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, “But that’s not how I’m supposed to love you—or going to love you.”

You weren’t sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.

“I’ve been a shit husband, fake or not. I’m sorry.”

Fake husband maybe, but the look on his face was intractably authentic. Palpable. He blinked as though trying to clear the warm and heady feelings from his expression—suddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted there—and focused instead on a few stray strands of hair that had blown over your face. He got very invested in those, all of a sudden.

While your husband stroked the corners of your face and fixed his gaze away from yours, you felt the smallest prick of warmth spark within you. Bucky looked soft and serene and sincere in his apology, defenseless now as he grazed his knuckles over your cheek and said it again,

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

He paired his apology with a rapid succession of little kisses pressed to your forehead, moving his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

You wanted to touch him, too. You almost felt as though you didn’t know how.

So you stood there and accepted his affections and tried to nod your head when he asked if you were alright, were you hurting any, baby? You leaned into the gentle pressure of his fingertips taking stock of every cut and bruise you’d sustained over the course of that day, watched Bucky’s brow furrow with each new discovery, and tried not to let his touch stray far down your body.

You wanted to be the one with your hands on him—now more than ever.

When Bucky’s hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didn’t think much of it, just smiling down as tender as he always did, when your lips really grazed over the skin. You pressed a kiss to his finger and wordlessly urged him to move it further. Now it was Bucky’s turn to be at a loss for what to do as you took the tip of his thumb between your lips and suckled it, gently.

“Honey,” he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warning—what were you trying to do?

You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.

“You can’t…” Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didn’t want to see you strain yourself any further.

But whatever pain this might cause was ancillary to you; you curled your tongue around the digit and moaned lightly.

The taste of one finger alone was enough to send you into a frenzy. That and the fact that he had been so open and honest and attentive to your needs made every bone in your body want to jump his. Something about a man taking accountability for his actions and communicating them in a way that didn’t intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Bucky’s efforts all the same.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.

“You worry too much, Mr. Barnes.”

The echo of his words from earlier—the ones he’d said as he was railing you against a mirror—made Bucky’s cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, bunny,” he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.

“Hurt me how?”

You really hadn’t meant to sound like such a tease when you’d said it, but it was hard not to come across that way when you were watching him like that.

And sinking to your knees, with your eyes glued on his.

Bucky sucked in a breath as you kneeled between his feet and nudged the seam of his pants with your nose. He felt so big against your face, you almost couldn’t fathom how he’d fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly he’d gotten hard—as if the two of you weren’t just having a heart-to-heart a second ago—and you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.

“You know I don’t mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,” you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Bucky’s mind.

You heard him stifle a groan when you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his pants and felt him swell even more. Your mouth watered at the sound, the sensation, the raw anticipation of what was to come and knowing that you got to dictate what happened. You undid the button and the zip of his pants and damn near drooled at the sight.

Even confined to his boxers, Bucky looked fucking huge.

Suddenly, you began to understand how needy he had been the night before when he’d first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadn’t so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bucky grunted as he planted a hand on the wall in front of him. You kissed the outline of his clothed erection and earned a full-throated groan.

Well, that makes two of us, you wanted to say but were too busy palming him through his boxers to utter a word. Soaking in the sight of him with every sweet, soft groan he made and wanting to be the reason for even more.

“Can I take you in my mouth, daddy?” you asked softly.

Bucky flattened his palm against the wall and nodded. Beyond words as you worked him out of his boxers.

For one, fleeting moment, you almost wanted to walk back your big talk when his cock sprung out of the fabric. You really hadn’t seen his length at all last night—too busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good look—but holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You weren’t sure if it was just the nerves of this being your first time giving head or if Bucky truly was that massive, but you felt your courage start to crumble before your eyes.

My husband is hung like a fucking horse and I’ve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.

Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didn’t notice the apprehension in your expression. After all, you were moving your lips down his cock and seizing the base of him with what looked like excitement.

Should I…lick it first?

It seemed you would have to learn all of this on the job. You stuck your tongue out and ran it up the length of his shaft.

When Bucky groaned in response, you sensed that that was okay. You pressed a few kisses on the underside of his member and scrambled to think of what else to do.

“Fuck, baby,” your husband let out the most guttural sound as you squeezed his length in your hand. Then, to your surprise, he seized a fistful of your hair between his fingers and rutted his hips, pushing the head of himself against your lips, “Take me in your mouth.”

You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do this—you’d be fine.

Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and Bucky gripped your hair even tighter. Let out a deep, satisfied moan like this was exactly what he needed. You liked that noise and wanted to take him even further.

What you didn’t expect was four more inches shoved inside your mouth before you could stop to take a breath.

The whole girth of his cock made a sharp intrusion, causing your cheeks to stretch and hollow out around him. The head of his member barely grazed the back of your throat, and still, you gagged. And not only gagged but choked, as though someone had just tried to scrub your tonsils with a fine-bristle toothbrush. Unfortunately for you, Bucky’s dick did not taste like spearmint.

He pulled his cock out as quickly as he’d pushed it in.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” Bucky blinked twice to get out of that blissed-out headspace and shot you a sheepish look.

The man had rarely been obliged to slow down or take five when his old, ever-changing flavors of the night sucked him off before—most blew him without trouble. But you, kneeling there batting your lashes through a few more tears than expected, seemed uncertain. Even half of his shaft made for a tight fit in your mouth, Bucky thought with some guilty feelings of arousal. He watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand and frown.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.

Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.

You raised a brow.

“Why? That all you got, Barnes?”

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle—and grunt, a little—when you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.

“Honey, are you s—”

He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.

“My mouth isn’t made of paper mâché. You can fuck it a little harder than that,” you said, running your touch down his length while holding his gaze. You looked eager.

Before Bucky could respond, you took the tip of his cock between your lips. Flattened your tongue and glided your mouth down as far as it could go before your cheeks started to hurt—then bobbed your head even further. One of your husband’s hands made a fist in your hair while the other scraped the wall, and you could tell it was taking some serious effort not to rut his hips out of habit.

Be gentle, be gentle, your dick barely fits in her mouth—

“—fucking hell you feel good,” he groaned.

Bucky took one look and could have cum on the spot.

It was one thing to feel you licking and sucking and stretching to accommodate his length, and another thing entirely to see you knelt in front of him with the world’s sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. You’d nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomen—and looked so pretty doing it.

Bucky fucking loved it. And you. And fucking you, your face, any place he could fit himself, quite frankly. He stared down at you struggling to take his cock and felt a strange new wave of desire pulsing through his body.

“You like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?”

“Barely fits but you take it so well, bunny.”

“My good little wife and her pretty fucking mouth—likes sucking daddy’s cock however deep he needs it, huh?”

You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldn’t quite speak your mind with your mouth full of Bucky, so you had only to nod. Your husband groaned when you hummed along his length and bobbed your head to answer ‘yes.’ He saw you try not to gag and decided to thrust a little deeper.

He watched his cock drag back and forth along your tongue and took hold of your hair like a vice, fucking your face until your chin and cheeks were drenched with spit. Every now and then he’d pull his cock out just long enough to ask how bad you wanted him in your mouth, how desperate you were to taste him again, and every time you’d answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.

You were amazed you’d lasted as long as you had—how quickly you’d devolved into this pliable, doe-eyed cocksleeve for Bucky and how keenly you desired to please him even more. It felt pornographic and lewd and somehow still loving as he plowed in and out of your mouth and sang your praises like no man had before.

Above you, Bucky was aching for release but adamant that he wouldn’t cum down your throat—not yet, at least.

His mind was alight with those pesky, primal thoughts again, and every time he watched you swallow him whole, he just wanted to fuck his cum someplace else.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was smitten or simply dominated by carnal desire; all he knew was that he wanted to give you his babies.

Lots and lots of babies.

A hundred or more, if he had it his way.

Again, you barely had a chance to take a fresh breath before Bucky threw you onto the bed. You’d just tried to steady yourself in a semi-seated position when the man shoved you back in the pillows and slotted himself between your legs, pupils blown wide with hunger.

In a blink, you were flipped onto your stomach with your ass yanked high in the air. Back made to arch, toes about to curl, you closed your eyes and sank your teeth into the sheets, moments away from begging your husband to fuck you right then and there, but Bucky had other plans. He seized the hair at the crown of your head and jerked your head to face forward.

The first thing to greet you was your own reflection—in a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bed—followed by Bucky’s broad form steadying behind you. You watched him wet his lips, furrow his brow, and use one careful hand to guide the head of his cock to your entrance. Completely piqued with arousal as you were, weeping beads of desire from that place between your legs, you almost wanted to buck your hips and fuck him yourself.

You refrained.

Bucky pressed the tip of himself to your clit and met your gaze in the mirror when you let out a whimper.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.

“Mean what?”

It took an unbelievable amount of willpower to fight the moan in your throat when Bucky dragged his cock down the seam of your cunt and rubbed every hot, throbbing inch of himself in the slickness between your folds. You were quick to take the sheets in your hands and squeeze as tight as you could—you wouldn’t let him win that easy.

“When you said you weren’t my wife. Did you mean it?” Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.

“No. I didn’t,” you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.

“Do you want to be my wife?” Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?”

In response, and as if to make a mockery of your request, Bucky just pressed the head of his cock inside you and watched you close in the mirror—daring your hips to move back another inch.

“What else do you want to be, doll?”

To say your mind was an empty slate bare of anything but the desire to be fucked was an understatement. You fumbled to find words.

“Your wife, your girl— that’s it, Bucky.”

Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.

“A good girl?” he hummed.

“Yes, daddy,” you cried and clenched around him.

Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the world’s most shallow thrusts as he flattened his hand on your back and made sure it stayed arched while he teased you.

At this point, you didn’t care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.

“Bucky!”

“Wanna be my obedient little cockslut?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“My bunny?”

“Yes, James.” Your cheeks were enflamed, almost hot to the touch.

Bucky suddenly drove himself inside you all the way to the hilt. He squeezed your hip in one hand and with the other slipped a finger between your folds to rub vicious, tight circles against your clit as you bucked and moaned beneath his touch.

“How about a momma?” he pressed, almost too low to be heard, “Wanna be that, too?”

His hips fell into a quick and easy rhythm against your ass, stretching you wide and filling you up almost seamlessly. Your mind was too consumed with pleasure and him to think much else, but barely, you managed,

“W-what?”

Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.

“Do you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking—what the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Bucky’s in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“No— James, we’re not, shit—” you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, “We’re not ready for that.”

“Look pretty…ready to me,” Bucky stifled a groan when you squeezed around him and made obscene little noises sliding up and down his cock. He watched the way your pretty, wet pussy stretched and swallowed him down to the base and imagined it dripping with his cum. He snapped his hips against your ass even faster.

It wasn’t clear just who was more overcome with desire—both of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been—and then Bucky flipped you onto your back.

He wanted to see your face as he fucked you slow this time, lips hovering mere inches from your own as he dragged his cock gently in and out of you.

“James,” you breathed, digging your heels in his back with a wordless plea to speed up, baby, please.

In truth, you just knew what would happen if Bucky had the advantage of slow and soft sex with a mouth lowered close to your ear. How he’d shower you with kisses and bring you right to the edge, rolling his hips against your body with strings of sweet praises flowing fast off his tongue.

“Just one, honey,” he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, “One baby and I promise we’ll be done.”

Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.

“Can you do that for me, doll?” he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, “Fit my baby in there?”

You couldn’t deny the feelings of pleasure were heightened to no end when he rubbed the heel of his palm into your tummy and continued to rut into you. That feeling of fullness, the delicate nudge against your most sensitive place, paired with the warmth of Bucky’s hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as you’d ever felt before orgasm, and it wasn’t hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing that spot, “You’d look so pretty all swole up down here, don’t you think?”

Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.

“Someone…tried to kill us…twice in the last twenty four hours,” you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix and you felt him bottom out inside you.

Balls deep and enamored with the expression on your face, Bucky laid a kiss on your forehead and smiled.

“I’ll take Schröder’s life with my own two hands if it means keeping you—” he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, “—and our child safe, honey.”

You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promise—even if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knew—but you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little you’d seen in the last day and a half, it had become clear as ever that there were no certainties; no promise of tomorrow, much less a probability that things would pan out exactly as you planned. Add to that a living, breathing child between you two, and the prospects for a safe, secure, and peaceful future were small. Infinitesimally so, in the grand scheme of things.

“No, Bucky,” you finally opened your eyes to find his tender gaze watching over you. Still moving his hips gently, still blanketing your body with his own, “That’s entirely just— just irresponsible. You know it would be.”

“Making a child together?” Bucky seemed wounded saying the words.

And, in spite of the serious turn your conversation had taken, you could see and feel with the growing pace of your breaths that both of you were close. You wanted more than anything to repair that muted, injured look in his eyes, but then Bucky was blinking it away, to the best of his abilities, and lowering his head back down to yours to impart a soft barrage of kisses along your skin. He resumed before you could even think to speak again.

“Okay. No, you’re right. It’s your choice, my love,” he murmured against your cheek, getting back into the more deliberate rhythm of his thrusts before. He stayed there holding his body and his lips as close to yours as possible, and when you felt tempted to say something again, you found the sound drowned by a cresting wave of pleasure.

Your legs tightened around Bucky’s sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Bucky’s drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.

“Gonna cum for me, doll?”

You nodded.

“So close, Bucky,” you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.

You felt your husband’s hand move from your belly to a place just below it—taking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nerves—and started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.

“Good girl,” Bucky growled, “Good fuckin’ girl, taking me so well.”

The praises and gentle circuits of his thumb continued as he fucked you harder into the bed and panted against your skin. Increasing the speed of his thrusts before catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss, body sinking into yours.

“Gonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?”

You whined in response, feeling your muscles start to ache from how hard your legs were wrapped around him. Bucky invaded your mouth with his tongue, kissing and licking and craving your taste as he fucked you stupid—and begged for your release.

“Cum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.”

A couple more snaps of his hips and you gave him just that: a hot, cascading ripple of bliss spreading all throughout your body, sending your mind in spirals and every muscle under your command a tense, throbbing mess. You swallowed a scream and took a bite of Bucky’s shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled with an audible hint of pride.

The smile only started to waver when his own release was coming close. Suddenly, his grip was moving to your hip and pinning you down to the bed, brows pinching in and breaths starting to hitch.

“Honey— honey,” he said, voice strained, “Baby, you— you gotta let go of your— ah, fuck.”

Still riding out the highs of your orgasm, you hardly even noticed how tight you were holding him with your legs, and shortly, this raised issues for Bucky, who was trying like hell to heed your wishes and not cum inside you.

“Baby, let go, I gotta—”

He probably could’ve fought to shake you off a little harder, been a bit more adamant about his efforts, but you looked so comfortable and lithe and sweet beneath his frame, so blissed out and happy to be taking his strokes, Bucky almost had to pinch himself to rouse his lust-addled brain to action and remind himself that this was how babies are made, man, get the fuck off of her.

Bucky let out a long, strangled groan as the ropes of cum left his body before he could think, or move, fast enough.

He hastily pushed your legs away and pulled out, but not before painting your walls with a good portion of his load. His hand fell to his cock and started jerking the rest of it out over your stomach, body washing with pleasure.

Vaguely, thoughts of babies and ballgames and neat white picket fences crossed his mind, but those views were fleeting; he remembered what you’d told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.

“I’m sorry. Should’ve pulled out quicker,” Bucky panted against your neck.

You stroked his bicep and shook your head.

“You’re fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,” you breathed and shared a weary laugh.

Before you knew it, Bucky was sliding off the bed and shuffling toward the bathroom in search of a towel. You prodded the warm, gooey mess on your belly with your finger and raised an eyebrow. Curious, and only slightly worried.

Bucky had been hitting it raw for a day now—surely one more half-load of his wouldn’t get you pregnant, right?

Fortunately, you didn’t have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.

A phone call? At 45,000 feet?

“Just the intercom,” Bucky called out, “Probably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.”

Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.

“You think they could hear us?” you asked.

Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.

“Hope so,” he said with a shrug, “You know I’d never miss a chance to let ‘em know I took a trip to poundtown—”

“Please never say that again,” you groaned, closing your eyes in sudden fear of what Steve and Sam may or may not have just been made privy to outside of the room.

You were just about to speak up again—perhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didn’t hurry the fuck up with that towel—when the intercom’s jarring peal started up once more.

Fuck this. Ignoring the sticky-sweet puddle of love still painted on your stomach, you sat up and crawled over to the phone and ripped it off the hook.

“Barnes residence,” you announced without ceremony. Then, imagining how smug Steve was probably looking on the other end of that line, you decided to be crass and add, “Bucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, he’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!”

You heard the caller burst out laughing, and you smiled to yourself. Pleased to have made an otherwise moody and brooding Steve Rogers crack at one of your jokes, you were just about to hang up when the caller cut in.

Bucky was returning with your towel in hand, lips curled in the faintest of smirks at hearing your crude declaration, when he stopped at the foot of the bed.

He saw the smile fall from your face, and his did, too.

From the other end of the line, a soft and familiar Southern drawl crawled out of the phone’s receiver.

“Sure thing, doll. Tell him it’s Joey Schröder calling.”

Taglist: @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx, @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes, @wilsons-striped-ties, @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @fandomsfeminismandme, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic, @dameron-grant-spector, @sushiseoks, @deansapplepie, @mrsjoequinn, @lunaroserites, @first-edition, @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi, @excusememrbarnes, @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl, @diannana, @shawnberry, @yujyujj, @urmomsalex, @mrs-bucky-barnes-73, @athenabarnes, @christinabae, @wintrsoldrluvr, @bethbunnyy, @i-heart-smut

(If I missed anyone or tagged improperly, please let me know! This is my first rodeo taglist)

[freshbakedbreadstick]

No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter One

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Herimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: You finally grab the bear by its ears and face it head on, despite all the unanswered questions. 

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of self harm, grief, death, mental health issues, strained relationships, smoking.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: OMG thank you all for all the kind words and love ! ! ! I'm gonna b honest with you all, after i posted the prologue I completely logged out of my account for the week LOL I was SO nervous abt it and so I just left it alone 😭 but I'm back with the first official chapter ! Also, I am opening the taglist for this series, so please let me know if you want to be tagged ! Thank you to one of you lovely readers for asking about that ❤️ your comment was very appreciate bc tbh I completely forgot abt even considering making one 💀 thank u babes ily and I hope you all enjoy !!!

Taglist: @marysucks-blog

PROLOGUE / MASTERLIST

The rumble and honk of a car driving quickly down the street took you out of your thoughts. 

Here you were, once again, on the sidewalk and across the street from The Beef. This time, it was not some odd hour of the night but rather 4 o'clock in the evening. 

After tossing and turning all night long, you rose early that morning much to the insistence of your mom and dad, who were very much eager to get you to reunite with Natalie, with bags under your eyes and stiff joints. You trudged around the house, jumping at every small noise that somewhat resembled the notification sound of your phone, before finally giving up and plopping down on the sofa to send Sugar a text. 

'Hi Sugar, it's me. Nice to talk to you again. I'll swing by The Beef at around 4 if that's okay with you.' 

About 5 minutes later, a loud buzz made you drop a glass of water to the floor.

'Of course! I'm so happy to hear from you! I can't wait (:' 

You could feel a pit forming in your stomach as you read the message. You can practically hear the way her voice lifts in excitement as you read it. To make matters worse, the smiley face felt like it had a mind of its own and it was taunting you. It practically said 'Remember the good days? Remember how close you and Sugar were? Before everything happened?' 

With a shallow breath, you threw your phone onto the nearest soft surface and scooped the broken glass up with your bare hands.  

Your parents fussed around you all afternoon before you left. At first, they said it was to make sure you were okay with going over there but it became pretty clear that they were pretty much just making sure you weren't going to back out. While you understood why they were chasing you around like a chick chased their mother hen, you got tired of it really quickly.

"Mom, I'm serious, I'm okay!" You insisted, pulling your shoe on and pausing at the threshold of the front door. 

"Are you sure? Do you want us to come with you? How about you let us drive you-" 

"I'm fine!! I'm going now!" 

With a sigh, your mother glances at your father before nodding, "Alright honey, be safe." 

With a weak smile, you headed off. 

And now here you were, finding yourself halfway down the street and being honked at by someone in their car. 

Snapping back to the present after replaying your hectic morning, you jump at the realization that you were unconsciously halfway across the street and heading towards The Beef.

"GET OUT THE WAY!" The person in the car yelled, sticking their head out the window. 

You ran to the sidewalk and half slammed your body against the wall, chest heaving. You had no idea what took over you and made you move without thinking but here you are now, in front of the same place you vowed to never be at again after Mikey's death: The Beef.

"Fuck…" you murmured to yourself, trying desperately to catch your breath as you closed your eyes. 

Focusing on the sounds of tires on pavement and rustling leaves on trees, you took a breath. You counted from 1 to 100 and then back to 1 again. You then opened your eyes and counted 5 things you could see, 4 things you could touch…

With a hard swallow, you turned around, ready to walk to the front door now. It was past 4 now but from the messages you got earlier from Sugar, you knew that there was 'no rush' and to just 'come in the front door'. 

"I can do this, I can do this…" you whispered to yourself and lightly jumped in place, hyping yourself up. 

You pushed forward, rounding the corner of the wall and to the front door, when BAM! Some guy just slams into you. 

You fly backward, stumbling as you try your hardest to avoid falling onto the pavement. 

"Watch it, idiot!" Some guy in a high vis vest barks at you before marching away with a wrapped sandwich in his hand. 

You stare, mouth open in silent shock and confusion, unable to respond. If this guy had bumped into you about a year ago, you would have practically beat him up yourself. Mikey would've had to come out of the restaurant and drag you off the guy, laughing and cheering all the way. His strong arms would wrap around you and somehow lift you up and off, voice husky in your ear as he alternates between voicing good humored apologies to the guy who had the misfortune of being an asshole to you and murmuring about how hot you looked while you defended yourself.

But in this moment, all you could do was regain the little confidence you had and go back to the task at hand: walking in. 

You swallow before standing up straight, plastering on a faux confident but cool grin onto your face. With your head held high in a way that you used to do but doesn't feel like you anymore, you jam a fist into your pocket and use your other free hand to push the front door open and waltz in. 

Cooly, you scan the empty restaurant. It seems like the lunch rush was very much over by now and the last customer for a while before the dinner rush had crashed into you and left moments before. So now, it was just you and The Beef. 

"Give me one sec!" A loud and charmingly obnoxious voice yelled from the kitchen. 

Your facade slipped as you heard this voice. Instantly, your shoulders sagged as you let out a quiet but pained laugh under your breath. 

The booming voice of Richie got louder and louder as he came out of the kitchen and to the counter, "How can I help you-" 

He paused. You immediately stood up straight again, a wide and sly but fake grin spreading over your face. 

Richie blinked, frozen. His eyes were wide and mouth had dropped slightly open.

After a couple seconds, the awkwardness started to set in for you, prompting you to speak up, "Jesus, Richie, you look like you've seen a ghost." 

In an instant, Richie snapped back to reality with a grin on his face, "COUSIN!" 

You winced at the volume, apparently not being the only one as you heard a couple muffled groans and protests from the kitchen as well as someone saying "what?!"

Richie threw his arms out, wide, before dropping them and racing around the counter to you. With a laugh, Richie's arms enveloped you, squeezing tight. 

You stiffened up immediately, feeling bad for not reciprocating instantly like you used to do. But whether or not that bothered Richie, you would never know because as fast as he enveloped you in a hug, he pulled away. 

"Cousin, what the hell are you doing this side of the country, huh?!" He grinned and placed his hands on his hips. 

"Oh my gosh!" Another voice said. 

Your head whipped to see Sugar at the doorway to the kitchen. She clutched a clipboard in her arms but as both of your eyes connected, she let it fall to the floor with a clatter. 

You can see her eyes well with tears as she raced around the counter to join you and Richie and as she got closer, she blinked them away. A wary smile appeared on her lips as she stood next to you, making her look a cross between nervous and relieved. 

"Richie, give her some space. Oh my gosh, hi!!" Natalie gasped. 

You winced a bit and smiled, "Hey…" 

You wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and stay there forever. 

"Shit cousin, I had no idea you were coming here! If you let us know beforehand, we could've made you a welcome party or, or, or something!" Richie said, ignoring Natalie. 

"How the hell have you been? How was it out west? I heard you got back in town but had no clue you were coming over here to visit!" Richie continued, going on and on and on. 

You stared at him, eyeing the way he looked rugged and much more tired than usual. But Richie was the same old Richie, loud and brash but caring when he wanted to be. 

Your eyes wandered from Richie's frame over to Natalie, who seemed to be analyzing your body silently. Her eyes were filled with worry and her fingers rapidly intertwined with themselves as she gave you a look that meant to say, 'Is this okay? Are you okay?'

You glance back at Richie before your eyes fell behind the two and to the entrance of the kitchen where a crowd had formed. 

And in front of that crowd was Carmy. 

Your shoulders tensed up, visibly enough to make Natalie perk up and whip her head around to see what you were staring at and make Richie go silent. The two glanced at Carmy and, unbeknownst to you, gave him a look of warning. 

Carmy wiped his hands on the towel he had and stared back, silent. His body language was unreadable and you couldn't tell whether or not he was upset at seeing you. Either way, you could feel the hair on the back of your neck stand. 

"Carmy…" you said, voice hoarse. 

You cleared your throat and awkwardly nodded, acknowledging those around him. You recognized a couple faces and others seemed unfamiliar but either way, they all looked at you with curious and cautious eyes. 

After stewing in silence for a bit, Sugar spoke up, "Carmy… say hello". 

Carmy blinked, eyes still set on you making you feel pinned to the spot. You could feel your breakfast swirl in your stomach as his eyes glared into you, analyzing your every move. Finally, he nodded and turned around, making the crowd behind him part like the red sea as he moved back into the kitchen. 

Suddenly, another face appeared in the doorway of the kitchen before yelling out your name excitedly. Fak came racing out of the kitchen, following the same path that Richie and Natalie took, before stopping in front of you.

"Holy shit!," he exclaimed happily, "Your home!" 

Your shoulder sagged. 

Home. 

You were home. 

He giggled to himself, not at all noticing your reaction "I haven't seen you in forever, how are you?" 

"Jesus man, give her some space she just arrived," Richie began, already launching into an argument. 

"What do you mean? I'm perfectly fine!" Fak said, head snapping over to Richie before the two began to bicker. 

Natalie rolled her eyes at them and turned to you, still concerned, "Just ignore them. Are you okay, sweetie?" 

You stood up straight again, wiping the wide eyed expression you didn't even know you had on your face for one with a lazy smile, "Yea, I'm okay." 

She reached her arm out, hesitating for a second to see if you would reject her, before resting her hand on your forearm when you seemed okay with it. She gently ushered you around the bickering men and behind the counter, to the kitchen. The crowd watching dispersed with curious eyes and kind smiles from those you recognized, letting you two pass through. 

As you walked through the kitchen, gulping as your eyes retraced each corner and crevice you had tried to forget about, your eyes stopped briefly to look at Carmy. With his back towards you, he silently chopped some vegetables, seemingly ignoring what was happening around him. 

"Here we are," Sugar said, quietly announcing to you to get your attention. 

You turned and dug your heels into the ground, soles squeaking as you did so. Sugar jumped back and glanced at you. 

"Can we… I'd rather we talk outside." You announce, voice wavering in a way that made your previous confident persona waver. 

Right in front of you stood the door to the office; an office you were very much familiar with as you too had spent many times there. All those memories, all bittersweet at this point, came rushing back; the nights you spent arguing over bills and paperwork with Mikey, the days you came with a bag of donuts from your favorite shop nearby, the intimate moments where your and his lips connected behind the closed door, the moments in which you hid in the office and cried your heart out. 

Sugar noticed the way your eyes had become misty and promptly led you to the back door of the kitchen and to the alleyway.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, that's okay. We can talk here.” she said soothingly.

Her voice was so comforting, making you feel nauseous. You hated the way that Sugar would always act very motherly, even when you were all kids. 

With a shaky breath, you nodded and smiled anxiously, “I'm okay Sugar, you don’t need to worry.”

Glancing at you, Sugar smiled softly. But her smile quickly dropped when she scanned your features, taking in your face again. 

“You look,” she began quietly, “You look good.”

You chuckled to yourself, knowing damn well that she was wrong, “Thanks, you too.”

Richie bursts out the back door, with Fak in town, still bickering.

“My God you two, just stop!” Sugar yells, getting the two to finally snap their mouths shut. 

Fak playfully salutes Sugar, a knowing look on his face while Richie rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. 

“Yea whatever. I’m just happy to see you again, cousin.” Richie says, directing his body to you, with a tone of softness in his voice that felt so foreign that it made you shiver. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said softly, rubbing your hands on your thighs.

It was silent for a bit as the four of you all glanced at one another, unsure where to start and what to say. Each party had so much they wanted to say to each other at that moment, but you knew that the three people standing before you had the most to say to you. 

Carmy came out the back door, silent and unsurprised to see the four of you glance in his direction. He closed the door behind him and stood off to the side, away from all of you. He then proceeded to take out a pack and light a cigarette, quietly puffing. 

“Cousin, did you even say hello? It’s rude as hell to just ignore her,” Richie said, a bit agitated at his dismissive behavior.

Yet Carmy ignored him, staring out to the side and away from you all, his blue eyes flickering, but refusing to even glance in your direction.

You could feel your eyes prickle and your throat tighten, regretting even showing up. Carmy was the one person you haven't seen the longest and here he was, ignoring you as if you didn’t even exist.

“Hey,” Richie barked, taking you out of your thoughts, “At least look at her!”

Richie began to stomp forward to Carmy, making you and Sugar flinch as you watched. Fak moved forward, reaching out to Richie and mumbling quietly to get him to stop. Right before Richie could grab Carmy by the shoulder, Carmy spoke up.

“I’m glad you're okay.”

Your mouth dried up.

His eyes turned to you and all you could see in them was pained understanding. He knew you weren’t okay; an okay person wouldn’t just pack up and leave the night after her boyfriend’s funeral. But, he saw that you were alive and the fact that you showed up here after so long meant something. 

It meant that now you were okay.

“Thanks Carmy” you said, making everyone’s head turn to you. 

Richie rocked his jaw and nodded silently, stepping back from Carmy. 

The three of them watched as Carmy lifted his box of cigarettes and offered one to you. They then watched as you walked forward, arms that had wrapped around your body falling, to grab one. He fished his worn lighter from his pocket, carefully lighting the cig you held around your lips for you, before pocketing it and leaning back against the wall.

You take a deep drag, letting the nicotine smoke fill your lungs before exhaling. It soothed your nerves, reminding you of the moments that you spent outside with Carmy, avoiding the yells from inside the house during a Berzatto family event. 

Suddenly, a deep funny feeling began to strew about in your belly. It felt odd and you tried to suppress it, but you just couldn’t help it. You barked out a laugh. 

It surprised you and everyone, not at all expecting it. You felt your cheeks heat up, horrified as to why you just laughed. 

You breathed in, only for it to come out as another laugh. Your horror was then replaced with amusement, making you laugh even harder. 

Sugar, Fak, and Richie all averted their gazes, a mixture of remorse and shame written all over their faces. 

You laughed even harder, slamming your back against the wall before sliding into a crouch. Your body shook so hard as you laughed, barely able to keep the cigarette between your fingers. 

Carmy looked away, an empty look on his face as he too chuckled to himself. 

After laughing so much that your belly began to hurt, you finally spoke up between dissolving giggles, “What the fuck am i even doing here!?”

Natalie turned her back to everyone, clutching her body in her arms. Fak walked forward and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t even look at him as he hooked one of his arms under your arm and helped you up from the floor to stand against the wall again. Your knees buckled slightly as you continued giggling and wheezing in an attempt to catch your breath.

Fak stepped back and sighed softly, watching your chest heave as your breathing began to stabilize. 

An uncomfortable silence fell as you caught your breath, leaving the four of you in limbo to listen to a couple cars pass by and the wind blow softly by.

Carmy straightened up, making everyone except Sugar turn to him. He dropped the cigarette he was smoking and crushed it under his shoe. He then reached behind him to untie the knot of his apron and then moved to his neck where he took it off completely. He thrusted it forward, pushing it to you.

“Okay Chef, break is over.” He said. 

You looked over at him, finding no fear or sadness on his face, before nodding and grabbing the apron. He stepped back and turned, moving to open the back door and step inside. 

Sugar, Fak, and Richie all turned to you.

“Break is over,” you repeated and began to tie the apron around yourself before opening the backdoor and walking back inside. 

[teneleven12xiii]

Another Loscar Drabble

The thought of being apart from Logan scared him half to death, so he suggests the only thing his brain could conjure up,

“Let’s get married,”

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Set in 2023 during the Las Vegas grand prix

“Osc, I don’t know if I’ll be racing next year” when Logan pulled him behind the Williams hospitality building he did not expect that sentence to come out of his mouth.

“What do you mean? What did James Vowles say?” his brows furrowed in confusion,

“They’re still negotiating a contract for me but my performance hasn't been good, I’ve cost the team too much money, more money than I’m worth.” Oscar moves his head to look up at Logan, there’s sadness in his eyes. “I get why no one would want me,”

“Don’t say that, Do not say that!! You were improving, I’ve watched you race, seen what you can do, and I know you can and will do it again. They’d be stupid to not give you another chance.”

“Osc,”

“And I want you okay? Always have and always will”

“Osc,”

“You think everyone hates you but I’m here and I fucking love you okay? I’ve been in love with you since we were 18 and young and stupid. I've been in love with you for so long I don’t know how to stop, and I’ll probably keep loving you for the rest of our lives. So don’t you dare say that no one wants you because I do. I want you”

“Oscar!” Oscar’s entire body jerks back in surprise, “I’m in love with you too” The thought of being apart from Logan scared him half to death, so he suggests the only thing his brain could conjure up,

“Let's get married” after a short wave of silence he mutters soft and quiet,

“Are you sure?” Logan asks

“Do you not want to marry me?” Oscar looks up at him with his glossy brown eyes, so wide and unsure that Logan had to suppress the urge to laugh, or press a kiss to his lips.

“Well I do wanna marry you, for years now. it’s just— we confessed our feelings to each other less than 5 minutes ago, Osc” Oscar nods but still he repeats,

“Let’s get married” he lets Logan wrap his arms around his waist, as he lays his head on the American’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne and body wash.

So they get married the next day, after finding suitable wedding attire and rings, in a wedding chapel with a sweet photographer who had her hands full with how much Oscar and Logan were giggling and moving around. She had managed to snap a few good pictures but they also asked to keep the burly ones using them as their lock screen. They had forgotten to write their vows so they both decided to wing it and still it was the most beautiful promise of love Oscar had ever heard. Logan cried and as he was about to make fun of his husband he slips the ring on to Logan’s finger he was crying too. Oscar did not expect for their first kiss to be on their wedding day but he’s not mad about it, he thinks it’s sweet and special, he still does. They hang up their wedding photos in their shared apartment in London, also in their homes in Australia and Florida. Both of their mothers both cried when they found out a few weeks later, then chewed their ears out for getting married in Las Vegas of all places on a whim, when they went home to Melbourne that winter break Logan had tuck himself into Oscar’s mother’s arms and told her,

“I’m sorry mrs. Piastri. I just love your son so much I couldn’t wait, please don’t be mad at us,” His mother who has always had a soft spot for the American just gave him a pat on the head and all was forgiven, with the promise that they would never do anything like this ever again.

Logan’s father shook his hand and welcomed him to the family, Dalton gave him the- if you ever hurt him I swear no one will ever find your body- talk then quickly reminded him that Florida is famous for their alligators. They honeymooned in the Bahamas before he had to go back to England for training camp. They spent Logan’s birthday on his boat a little ways out in the ocean, just the two of them then they watch the fireworks in his backyard and Oscar left for England with tears in his eyes the day after new years.

Bahrain arrives a few months later and Oscar can see Logan a little ways down the padock with his team, sunshine reflective off the ring on his finger, Oscar held his hand up to the sun smiling fondly as he studies it. Next to him Lando mumbles out a,

“Are you really not going to tell me who you’re married to?” Oscar laughs,

“You’ll figure it out,”

[gayseyjones]

I don't think I've really talked about how much I love tragedies on here rlly b4 but oh my god. I love tragedies. there is a reason my favorite media is shit like pmmm and little nightmares etc and it's bc I just genuinely love tragedies so much. good lird

[veronica-sawyers-monocle]

💔you’re having a hard time at work and your bf geto comforts you💔

✴ geto suguru x gender neutral reader

✴ cw: no sexual shit just fluff, reader has social anxiety and other unspecified mental issues, 👎 TRIGGER WARNING 9-5 JOB 👎

✴ a/n: this is e x t r e m e l y self indulgent and i wanted to write this because no one ever seems to say the right thing and i’m sure a lot of you can relate but i hope you enjoy! likes, comments, reblogs are very much appreciated :)

—————————————

Fuck this job. That was the only thought that ran through your head during the forty five minute commute home. With each passing day you grew more and more resentful towards your workplace, hating it right down to the obnoxiously modern, bland corporate art on the walls. You finally understood the deadened eyes your father had when he returned home from his office job, the long naps he’d need to take, alone in your parents’ room flat on his back with a pillow covering his face. “Don’t bother your dad, he’s got a headache from work,” your mom would say, a hint of threat in her voice warning you not to disobey.

A lump in your throat formed and stuck there at the thought of ending up like your dad, having this cold, meaningless lifestyle for the next 40 years. He loved his family so much that he slaved for 40 years, 40+ hours a week in a cubicle under dim, fluorescent lighting so that they never had to worry about money. Slamming your hand against the steering wheel in frustration, you vowed to yourself that somehow, by any means necessary, you’d break away from this lifestyle.

You pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex and trudged up the stairs to your unit, which you shared with your boyfriend, Geto.

“Hey, what’s up,” you greeted him halfheartedly. You let your backpack fall off your shoulder and thump against the floor where it sagged, shapeless.

“Hi, how was work?” Geto looked at you from his position on the couch, dark eyebrows knitted together. “Are you okay?”

Your heart always melted at the concern he had for you, and the lump in your throat grew bigger. You couldn’t even make eye contact with him for fear that the tears you’d been holding back throughout the last half of the day would spill over. And who wanted to deal with that?

“’M fine,” you muttered at the ground, walking past him and into the bedroom. Curling up into a fetal position and facing the wall, you hugged a pillow against your face to muffle the tears. Not long after you started crying, you felt a weight sink into the bed. A warm hand caressed your shoulder, and Geto’s soft voice broke through your sobs. “It’s okay,” His thumb rubbed against your shoulder, easing the tension in your body. “I’m here to listen if you wanna talk about it?” You sat up against the pillows, hiccupping a bit, and glanced at Geto sideways. His dark eyes softened as they met your teary, bloodshot ones. “I just want to help you out, in any way I can.” he said sincerely. You figured you could use a rant, so you shakily began talking.

“I feel so overlooked at work,” you sniffled. “And it’s not even worth it because I don’t even care about this job, yet I’m expected to deal with these people and do whatever they t-tell me to.”  Your voice broke and you covered your face with your hands to hide the tears that wouldn’t stop streaming from your eyes. Gently, Geto removed your hands from your face and held one of them in his own, intertwining his long, warm fingers with yours. “I n-never wanted to do any of this, you know? And now all of a sudden, I’m expected to—to get up every day and give a fuck about people I don’t even know, and…do pointless busywork until I can go home and just repeat the same p-process over and over until when? Until I die?” You looked at Geto, tears streaming down your face, and it broke his heart to see you like this. He knew you’d struggled to work a full-time job since you started, and your social anxiety and other mental issues made it even harder for you to be in a corporate environment.

Geto enveloped you in his arms, partially because he couldn’t hold back from it, and partially because he himself had begun to tear up at your words and he didn’t want you to see how much it affected him.

“I know it’s been hard for you,” he said, somewhat shakily against your neck. “But don’t ever feel like you’re less than the other people at your job just because you have a hard time handling it, okay? People’s brains are just built differently and that doesn’t mean you’re destined to be unsuccessful or unhappy with your life.” Geto broke the embrace and when you didn’t immediately look at him, he gently placed his hand on the side of your face and guided you to look at him. He smoothed your mussed up hair away from your tear-streaked face and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’ll figure something out and I’m going to be here to help you no matter what.”

“Thank you,” you whispered shakily, wrapping your arms around Geto’s large torso and hiding your face in his chest. He guided the two of you to lay down and he stroked your hair, intertwining your legs together and holding you close.

“Don’t thank me, I know you’d do the same for me.” He paused. “And I love you.” He said that in a much quieter tone, his voice thick with emotion. The two of you laid there for a few moments, the only sound was your sniffling, trying to breathe through your stuffed up nose.

“You don’t have to worry about work right now, okay? I’ll lay here with you for the rest of the night and we can order some dinner, your choice.” You smiled against his chest. Geto always knew exactly what to say and exactly what you needed.

“You’re the best.”

[beepinout]

ENCANTO HEADCANONS Part 3

-You know those mall Santa's that have kids say "I wish my parents don't get a divorce" or "i wish my sister doesn't die of cancer" or "i wish I dont die of cancer" or "I wish that someone dead in my life comes back to life"...yeah Bruno has to deal with that time to time and he feels TERRIBLE every time

-(in her own way) Julieta used to be a bad ass, she used to refuse to give people her food if they hurt her family or her

Someone: Julieta I need help

Julieta: Oh ok... wait, I remember you, you cheated on Pepa the other day!

Someone: So?! It's your job to help me, would you just do your fucking work already

Julieta:...Oh right, of course of course, let me make you something fresh right now(never returns)

- Abuela had to set her straight after complaints

- Dolores had the most embarrassing gift ceremony (I mean I know what happened to Mirabel but that was more sad than embarrassing)

- Her gift ceremony started as normal, then she got her gift and she could not stop crying, the party had to end early

- When Dolores first got her gift she just stayed in her room all the time, Felix and Pepa had to gradually let Dolores out of her room for a curtain amout of time

Felix: Come on Dolores, can you come out for five minutes, we'll count

Dolores:...

Pepa: We'll stay with you the entire time mi amor

Dolores:*Dashes out of her room and hugs her parents and doesn't let go for the exact 5 muinute*

- Every gift door picture was taken the day after the ceremony except Dolores whose was taken a few week after because she needed time to adjust

- When people heard that Pepa was pregnant they got sooooooo much weather equipment, the umbrella bissnes was booming

- Bruno as an uncle is like a more concerned and anxious grunkle stan

Camilo: Hey tio Bruno, can you help us with this potentially dangerous thing?

Bruno: I dont know, your mom would be upset and you know how she-Just kidding lets go!

-(he will try to end whatever there doing early if it gets serious)

- Isabela is very clumsy and is extremely embarrassed about it

- People pay Dolores not to tell others about something they did, she wasn't going to tell but she'll gladly take there money

- Dolores is very close to Bruno, before, during, and after he lived in the walls.Before she'd go to him about her gift since like him it was unwanted and she hated it, during she would beg Bruno to come back, mostly when she 12 but would occasionally ask him to come back when she was older too, also for 10 years she had amazing telanovelas, after she would just go to him to talk about things she heard through out the town because he can keep a secret and she would also help him with telanovelas

- When Bruno did his telanovelas in the wall Dolores would write reviews for them on paper and stick them on the inside of the walls

- Abuela was a menace when she was young, and that why her kids are too

- Abuela's mom was strict with her so Abuela vowed to not be that strict when she had kids and said all the ways she would be beter then her mom (unfortunately she didn't account for having to leave her home with nothing but the clothes on her back, watching her husband die, having to take care of a village and her 3 kids all at the age of like 20...so that backfired)

- Bruno had 1 girlfriend his whole life in his early teens and guess who it was.....FISH LADY, they where in puppy love city and everyone in a 10 mile radius was annoyed by them, she broke up with him the day her fish died

Young fish lady infront of a crowd of people holding a fish tank of water: YOU CURSED THEM ON PURPOSE DIDN'T YOU!

Young Bruno: All I said was those types of fish don't last long

Young fish lady: You didn't need to say anything, everyone knows whatever you speak out of your STUPID MOUTH ends up being true no matter what

Young Bruno: IT'S NOT MY FAULT YOU CAN'T TAKE CARE OF ANYTHING

Young fish lady:*Dumps the entire fish tank on Bruno's head* THATS IT! WE ARE DONE MADRIGAL!

- To this day Bruno still cringes at that moment

[clairenatural]

destiel, some sort of au, 1.4k of pre-marriage stress turned to fluff that I wrote at 4am. enjoy!

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and Dean jerks his head up towards it.

Don’t be Cas, don’t be Cas, don’t be—

“Dean?” Cas calls.

Fuck.

He debates telling him to go away. He debates not answering. Neither will work.

“Sam send you?” He settles for instead, and he hates how shaky his voice sounds.

“Yes.”

“I told him not to.”

“I know. We decided I should come anyway.”

Dean almost laughs at that—at that absurd response to this absurd situation. It comes out more like a cough. He stares down at his dress pants, his shoes. They’re new. It’s all new.

When he speaks again, his voice is soft, and he refuses to look at the door. “What are we doing here, man?”

There’s a sigh from the other side. “Theoretically, we’re getting married, but—” a soft thump, as Cas leans against the wood, “—I suppose that’s really up to you.”

Dean grimaces. There’s no anger in his fiancé’s voice. No malice. Concern, maybe, but he’s doing a good job wrangling it back into the same even tone he uses with his panicked undergrads. Dean hates it, being talked to like some scared kid, but he is hiding in a bathroom at his own wedding, so. He suspects he deserves it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, so quietly he’s not sure if Cas will hear him. For a long minute, the only response he gets is the swish of fabric as the other man slides down the door, the telltale clacking of dress shoes as he situates himself on the hardwood. Then—

“I love you,” Cas starts, and it’s so much more than Dean deserves at the moment that he suddenly feels like he might cry. “You know that, right?”

Dean blinks. “I—yeah. Yeah, of course I do.” He shifts, and suddenly the toilet seat is digging uncomfortably into his thighs. “I love you, too.”

“Good,” there’s another soft thump as Cas leans his head back against the door, and Dean hates how relieved he sounds. “Okay. So—” his voice is less steady, now, and a pang of guilt shoots through Dean’s chest. What is he doing. “If you don’t want to do this, we won’t.”

Dean had already pushed himself off the toilet seat, but now he freezes. “What?”

“We can go home, right now. We won’t get the deposits back, but I’m sure our guests would enjoy the free party, and we—”

“Wait,” Dean has crossed the room, now. “You’d do that for me?” There’s a piece of Cas’ coat peeking under the door frame. Dean stares at it. “And we’d—”

“Order pizza, and pretend it’s a normal Saturday, and talk about this in the morning.” It’s not the we’d be fine he was hoping for, but it’s better than he expected.

Dean sighs and turns, mirroring Cas in sliding down his own side of the door to settle on the tile floor. “You deserve so much better than that, man.”

He knows Cas is tilting his head. “Is that what this is about? What I deserve?”

Dean pauses. “No,” he lies.

“Okay. Is it about what you deserve?”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” Dean snaps, and then immediately feels like the scum of the Earth.

Cas’ weary sigh will haunt him for the rest of his days. “I’m not. I’m just—I want to understand.”

I want to understand why you’re hiding in a bathroom on our wedding day. Why you’re doing this to me. To us.

Yeah, Dean does too.

Before he can respond there’s a flurry of footsteps, followed by a rushed whisper and what sounds like gesturing before the footsteps recede.

“Sam?” he hazards a guess.

“He’s just worried.”

“He always is.” Dean pauses. “Are guests getting worried, too?”

“…Yes,” Cas answers slowly, and then too quickly. “But they don’t matter. This isn’t about them.”

Dean groans, pulls his knees up to his chest, and buries his face in his hands. “’Course they matter,” he grumbles into his palms. “That’s why we’re here,” by here he means the fancy mansion estate Naomi had wanted them to rent.

“Dean, you know I would have married you in a courthouse.” He sounds puzzled, now, which is at least a nice departure from exhausted/crushed/dangerously calm.

Dean does not know. “What?”

Cas hums. “Or in a roadside chapel. Or in one of those Vegas Elvis churches.”

He feels incredibly dumb for not knowing this.

Cas is still talking. “And I would have waited 5, 10 years.” He pauses, thinking. “20, even.” 

Dean feels a little breathless. “You were serious, earlier? When you said…if I say no, we’ll go home. Just like that, everything’s cool?”

“Just like that,” Cas agrees. “Although ‘cool’ is a strong word.” At least he’s being honest. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “My point is, Dean, that I am already yours in every way that matters, and I will remain so for as long as you’ll have me. Wedding today or not.”

Dean groans and leans his head back against the door. “That simple, huh?” he grumbles, even as his brain is yelling yes, it is.

“I think that’s part of the point,” comes the reply, and there’s a smile in his voice for the first time in the conversation.

“...Me too,” Dean replies after a beat, and it’s as soft as his earlier apology but this time he knows Cas can hear him. “You gotta know that, Cas.”

“I do,” Cas confirms, and it’s less unsure than Dean was afraid it would be.

Dean starts to smile back but catches himself, instead dragging a hand across his face, because despite these warm fuzzies—“You’re still gonna regret this.” It’s a neutral remark. Like a fact.

He can almost hear the eye roll.

“You’ve been saying that for our entire relationship, and yet I am not the one hiding from our wedding in the bathroom,” Cas replies, and Dean would call him out for being a smartass if he didn’t have an irritatingly valid point.

“Yeah, but—” he starts a futile attempt to argue, but Cas cuts him off.

“I could sit here and list off all the reasons why I’m here—why I’m choosing to be here—but I have some very well thought-out vows on the subject—” Dean is suddenly acutely aware of the paper tucked into his own suit jacket “—and I’m prepared to spend the rest of our lives convincing you that you deserve me, and I deserve you, and we deserve us.”

And that…..that actually sounds pretty good.

Okay.

Okay, yeah.

He rolls this over in his head for a moment before nodding and preparing to stand, to apologize, to—something. But Cas obviously takes the silence as there being something (else) wrong, because after a few seconds of shuffling his fingers slide under the door.

He’s (awkwardly, as much as the tight space will allow) holding his engagement ring.

He took off his engagement ring, and now he’s giving it back, and Dean’s not sure what could have gone horribly wrong in those few seconds of silence but this is obviously the other shoe dropping, already¸ and—

“Will you marry me?” Cas asks, voice muffled from where his face is obviously pressed against the wood.

Dean freezes. He stares at the ring. He remembers buying it. He remembers giving it to Cas in the first place. And now he's hiding in the bathroom on their wedding day and his perfect dork of a fiancé, who he will never deserve but who loves him so much anyway, is...proposing back.

He picks it up and puts it on his own finger, and it looks out of place and it doesn’t fit right, but suddenly he’s grinning so much that he doesn’t care. He stands quickly and yanks the door open, then reaches down to pull his startled fiancé up off the floor and into his arms.

“Yes?” Cas asks, pushing back just enough to be able to breathe, and suddenly the whole weight of the situation hits Dean at once. His grin falters.

“Yes—yeah, of course. I’m giving you the ring back, obviously, but—Christ, Cas, I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

Cas puts a finger to his lips, cutting off the babbling. “Wedding first, apologies after.”

Dean nods. Cas lets his hand drop but Dean catches it, presses a kiss to his fingertips, and links it with his own. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Cas reaches out for his face with his free hand and smooths his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone.

“I love you,” he says, very seriously.

“I know,” Dean smiles, and it’s only a bit nervous. He risks leaning down to press a kiss to Cas’ forehead. “Come on." When he steps away he also steps forward, tugging Cas by the hand down the upstairs hallway. “Let’s go get married.”

[wiypt-writes]

Rock N Roll People In A Disco World

Part 5- Nobody Dance On A Sad Disco 

Intro: Paul doesn’t react well when your logical and practical side suggests you postpone your wedding…

Pairing: Paul Diskant x Reader

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Word Count: 7k

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Rock ‘n’ Roll People Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Part 4

"I just don't understand why you think this is such a big frickin' deal, Paul." You said with exasperation. This argument had been carrying on for a good twenty minutes and so far, the only thing you'd accomplished was going in circles like a NASCAR driver. 

“You don’t understand?” He scoffed, hands on his hips, “seriously? You don’t see why I’m slightly pissed off you wanna postpone our wedding?” "You can't continue to tell me that not pushing everything back a few months makes the most sense right now. In a month’s time we were supposed to be going away for our stags, and since..... since... you.... This is just what's better for..." 

"Y/N, you do still want to get married don't you?" He interrupted. The strain in his voice was evident from both use and emotion. 

"What kind of fucking question is that?" Now you were raging. The absolute audacity of him to even ask that.  “Well it's non-rhetorical.” “Of course I still want to get married, you fucking moron!” You growled.  "Then explain to me wh.." his voice cracked out and he breathed harshly through his nose. “That!” You gestured to him. “That is why!” "So it hurts a little, it's fine. For fucks sakes, I'm fine," his voice was entirely strained from arguing, his chords stretch to their limit. “No, you’re not.” You shook your head before you took a deep breath and pinched your nose. “Paul, I want our wedding to be a day we both look back on in years, decades even, to come and still love every minute of it...” "And we will!" “Right, okay, so your voice fails during our vows or your speech and you’re gonna be okay with that, huh?” You put your hands to your hips and waited for his reply.  "No. I mean, I don't know." "My point exactly." You flung a hand up in his direction.  “But it’s another eight weeks off, plenty of time, I might be fine.” He shrugged you off like he could make it happen. You knew it wasn't possible. It had only been a week since he'd said your sweet nickname as clear as day and while more and more words were stronger and phrases longer and more clear, you knew him better than that and you knew he wasn't ready no matter how much he wanted to pissingly argue with you that the two of you could move forward as if his shooting were nothing. 

"Might. Key word." You sighed, clearly frustrated to the point of tears as they welled and stung your eyes.  “Okay, fine.” His hands flew out to his side. “Have it your way, call the venue and cancel.” Gritting your teeth, you replied, “I don’t want to fucking cancel, Paul, I just want to move it!” “You know how long in advance we had to book that place, Y/N, it could be another year before they have an opening again.” “Then we wait another year!” You sighed dramatically, “in the grand scheme of things what does it matter? Today, tomorrow, twelve months, it all amounts to the same thing.” "It matters to me, Y/N." “Okay... fine. Let’s keep the date.” She shrugs. “Let’s just go for it and when you can’t speak and start to get frustrated we’ll write our vows on a pad of paper. Or, better still how about we learn sign language?” “You’re a sarcastic bitch.” “Yeah? And you’re a stubborn asshole.”

There was a long, angry pause between the two of you, harsh jabs and insults now floating painfully in the air. The two of you glared at one another. Both of you furrowing your brows and chewing on the insides of your mouths.  Then, you sighed, again with a harsh tone. "God damned it, I hate this. I hate that we’re even having to have this conversation but we are. You were shot! You were moments from death and-“ "And now it's my fault?" He shrieked at a higher pitch than his voice typically was.  “Oh for the love of- I didn’t say that!” You balled your hands into fists, your body visibly shaking. “So what are you saying?” “I’m saying that given everything that’s happened, pushing the second biggest day of my life back is the least of my fucking concerns, Paul.” Now you were tearfully arguing, your eyes red as was the tip of your nose. You blinked hard to attempt to show your strength, not wanting to back down. “Second biggest?” “Yes, the second. Because when you...I mean the...” you swallowed back the sob that threatened to scream from you, so you choked in it. “The first was when they told me you were going to live.”

At your words, Paul blinked a little, his mouth opening before it snapped shut again and you shook your head, continuing to talk. “I know you’re hurting and struggling with all of this and it isn’t what you want but it hasn’t been easy for me, either.” You sniffed, the tears now falling from your eyes. “I might not have been the one that took a bullet to the neck but I had to sit there and watch you, barely able to live but fight so hard to stay and all I could think about was the fact I might have to live without you and for that reason alone I’d have changed places with you in a fucking heartbeat.” Your face scrunched up with heavy emotion that you'd held onto for weeks. 

“Y/N....” he tried to take a step toward you, but the damage was done for the night. You were done.  “Seeing you there, in that bed, wondering if you were gonna make it or not, it was the worse time of my life. So, yeah, frankly I don’t care when we say I do, but it can't happen the way we want it to right now. You’re alive. That’s enough for me. And right now, well it should be for you too.”

You turned on your heel and quickly left the living room. You slammed the bedroom door shut and leaned your back against it whilst you allowed your exterior to fully collapse. You buried your face in your hands as you sobbed. This wasn't what you wanted, you'd expected a better reaction from him as you'd hoped he'd have seen things the same way as you, but you were wrong. 

Now, all that was left was to go to bed. You had no fight left, no drive and right now, you didn't want to make up.

Eventually, you crawled into bed and moved no further. Sleep weighing on you heavily. 

****

When he'd watched her go, Paul was floored. The things she'd said to him had gone unspoken since he'd been home from the hospital. He knew it had been hard on her, the both of them, what he'd gone through but he'd never imagined how she'd have felt given she was always such a strong woman and that was one of the things he adored most about her. 

In frustration, he rubbed his hands over his face and decided he needed a walk. He walked around the neighborhood and back, taking in the cool air, realizing the fall weather was upon them. Shit, fall, the holidays were creeping up on them and he'd hadn't even given it a thought. 

It didn't matter, what mattered was the incessant need to push their wedding back another year, was his best guess, and that killed him. It wrecked him and he found himself getting angry all over again. He wanted to marry her now, drag her down to the Justice of the Peace and take her as his bride the minute the courthouse opened. So now, why, all of a sudden did she not want to do even so much as that. Was it cold feet? Was it him? What had happened to him? Was she ashamed of him being unable to speak? She said it was nothing of the sort but it didn't stop the thoughts from weighing on him. 

When he got back to their apartment, he found Y/N fast asleep in their bed, her back to his side of the bed. He hated that they were going to bed like this. He didn't believe in it, and if he was honest with himself, this was the first time this had ever happened in the span of their relationship. He was a firm believer in his parents golden rule, never go to bed angry and always kiss each other goodnight. Tonight he didn't get to do either. 

With a sigh, he pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it in the direction of the hamper in the corner of the room but it didn’t quite make it. Instead, it dropped about a foot or so away, ironically right on the spot where he’d dropped to one knee that November evening almost three years ago…

She'd stood in the bathroom across the hall getting ready for their dinner date, listening to him chatter on in their bedroom about whatever it was as he dressed for the night. It was mid-week and they'd both managed to be off in time for a dinner date. Paul had wanted to make it fancy, something special.

"Do you know what today is?" He asked as he tied his tie in the mirror that stood in the corner of their room.

"Er, Wednesday," she replied, loud enough for her voice to carry. 

"Of course, but try again," there was a hint of humor to his voice, sarcasm at best.

"Date night," she giggled. 

"Nope." He breathed out a nervous, shaky breath. A full two strides and he stood in front of their chest of drawers, pulling open his sock drawer, reaching for the small box in the back. 

"I give up."

He chuckled anxiously and closed the drawer. "Our anniversary." He took a knee, opening up the small box and waited. 

"What? No, that's not for a few more months," she said with a smile as she walked across the hall and into the doorway of their room. Her hands were at her ear, adjusting her earring.

She gasped seeing him on one knee, his eyes smiling but his hands shaking as he held out the ring box. The lid open to show her what he was asking. 

"Also true, but no. At exactly this minute, twenty-one months ago," he checked his watch, "I responded to a call for backup and my life changed forever. I met this woman who I just couldn't let go and that same woman took her time in giving me a chance. But I knew from the moment she kissed me that nothing would ever be the same. I fell in love that night, and I knew I wanted to make her mine, to keep on loving her forever. That is, if you'll have me forever?"

He watched as her eyes began to pool with tears as her own shaky hands covered her mouth as he spoke, a nervous silence crossing the room as she seemingly processed everything he'd said. 

Tearfully, she replied, "yes, absolutely, yes!"

Tears welled up in his beautiful blue eyes as he stood, and pulled the ring from its box, slipping it on with jittery fingers over the knuckles of her ring finger before he crashed his lips into hers for a deep, happy kiss. "I love you so much, Sugar."

With their foreheads pressed sweetly together, they both cried a little. 

"Tell me about it, Stud." She smiled.

They were late to dinner that night, both of them showing up glowing. But his surprises hadn't ended there, no. He'd had both their parents waiting on them for their eight o'clock dinner reservations to celebrate their new good fortune. It was a night he'd never forget, not ever. 

Paul glanced down at the ring on his girl’s finger as she slept. Her left hand just close enough to her face so it wasn't obscured as she still lay with her back to him while her right lay tucked up under her pillow. The five raw cut diamonds were set in white gold, a center stone with two diamonds on each side. The center cut wasn't gargantuan and it didn't need to be. She knew how hard he'd worked to buy her the simple design with the small stones it held. 

He'd wanted to upgrade it the month he'd solved his first case as a detective but she'd denied him, explaining that it didn't matter how big or fancy it was, the first one was special because of all the thought and effort he'd put forth to even consider her as his wife.

With a sigh he bowed his head and turned to go wash up, before he climbed into bed, Y/N’s back still facing him and he lay awake, looking at the ceiling until finally, an hour or so later, sleep finally took him.

**** The next morning your alarm went off for the first time in weeks. With a groan you hit the button to silence it and cracked open a sore, tear swollen eye, it was still dark outside. You rose, heading on auto-pilot to the bathroom and showered quickly before you wrapped in a robe and headed in to make yourself some breakfast. Just as you were finishing up, Paul walked into the kitchen and you stood up and left the room, not speaking a word to him, you had nothing else to say.

Unfortunately, your bad mood soured what should have been a happy return to work, a sign that your life was getting back to some form of normalcy. Instead, you were off your game, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

"Yo, Panny, you come to work or just fucking off?" Rodriguez hollered from behind you as an entire clip of used bullets lay at your feet, still hot from firing. You slammed your hand against the button that brought your target to you, all but four shots missing the target. "Fuck off, Ro." "Y/L/N!" Captain Rogers shouted from the doorway. "Outside, now." With a grumble, you rolled your eyes and holstered your weapon, but not before changing out the empty clip for a new one. The tone of his voice was not comforting. "You got your ass handed to you on the mats in hand to hand, you couldn't even shoot a decent hand at sniper poker, and now my ace shot, a skilled and decorated marksman, can't sink a suspect in range." Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek as you drew a deep breath. “Sorry Cap, must be a little rusty.” He sighed and shook his head as it dropped disappointingly to his chest. "You're not ready, go home Y/N." "Steve...." "I pushed you too far. Go home, chill the fuck out, take the weekend." You groaned, “I don’t wanna go home.” The petulance evident both in your tone and body language as you folded your arms across your chest. “I'm fine. It's just a rough start." "Go the fuck home, Y/N. Or I'll send the Mrs. after you." You couldn't stand his wife and given your relationship with Steve, it was a credible threat. Karen Rogers was as green as Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West. "I'd call you an asshole but you're my sup so...." "Now, Y/N." “Fine.” You shrugged. “I’ll go back home. Wonderful.” "I didn't miss the sarcasm," Steve called out to your back.

You flipped him the bird as you kept walking.

**** Paul slammed the door to his mom and dad’s house, storming into the kitchen. It had been a shitty morning, with Y/N not speaking to him and then that damned fucking speech and physical therapy he had to endure twice a damned week.

“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Big Jim looked at him, frowning a little. Paul ignored him and headed straight to the fridge, pulling out a soda.

“Paul, honey, what’s got into you?” Dot asked gently and he sighed, turning to face both his parents who were sat at the bar top, the remnants of a brunch on their plates in front of them. “Y/n wants to postpone the wedding.”

“Ah.” His dad leaned back in his chair. “And let me guess, you don’t?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Language.” His mother chastised and Paul rolled his eyes, as he paced slightly across the kitchen.

“And, you clearly discussed this in your usual, calm and rational manner?” His dad arched an eyebrow. Paul paused for a moment to eye his dad, before he resumed his movements.

With a sigh his mom spoke. “Paul, sit down for a second, quit pacing my kitchen floor.”

“I don’t want to sit down.” He shot back, petulantly.

“Paul Christopher Diskant, you sit your grown butt down, now.” His mother’s tone was sharp and with a groan he pulled a seat out from the breakfast bar, opposite his parents, and flopped down.

“Now, out with it, from the beginning.” His mother instructed and Paul let out another growl of frustration.

“I just told you. She wants to postpone the wedding. I don’t. There’s nothing else to tell you.”

“Don’t sass me!”

“I’m not sassing you, you’re just not fucking listening.”

“Hey, cut the shit. Don't talk to your mother like that.” Big Jim pointed at him, his voice stern. “You might be a grown man but I'll still kick your ass into next week, you little shit.”

Paul took a deep breath, his head hanging slightly. “Sorry Mom. It's been a really crappy couple of days.” At that he snorted. “Crappy couple of weeks one way or another.”

“Oh, Paul. I know it's not been easy.” Dot gave him a gentle smile. “But you're here with us and that's really all we care about.”

“I just feel like Y/N is getting cold feet. And that really sucks.”

“Don't be a dick.” Dot scoffed at his admission of feelings. “That girl has stood by you while you knocked on death's door.” “Mom, did you just call me a dick?” Paul looked at her, his brow raised and she nodded.

“Yes.”

“She’s not wrong.” His dad interjected.

“What is this gang up on Paul day?”

“You’re acting like a spoiled child who just had his best toy taken away.” Big Jim looked at him. “Son, she wants to postpone, not cancel!”

“Well it didn't feel that way last night or this morning. She stormed out for her first day back at work all pissed off I wasn't agreeing with her.”

“And I refer back to my previous observation. Maybe you should have attempted to discuss the issue in a calm and rational manner as opposed to shouting and getting all pissy.” Big Jim observed.

"I’m not pissy, I’m just... look, we've waited twice as long as we wanted to because she loved the venue so much, hell, I loved the venue. That place means a lot to us and it's so perfect. Everything has been perfect until now." He sighed, his voice again weak.

"What was her reasoning?" Dot pressed.

"Me." He said sadly, frustration clearly featured on his face.

"Paul, I highly doubt it's just you."

"She doesn't think I'm ready. Healthy enough. Healed enough. There's till eight weeks, Mom. Eight weeks, I can be so much better by then."

Dot reached across the granite for his hand. He took it, and held tight, like a boy needing his mother.

"My sweet, love sick boy," she softly smirked at him and he rolled his eyes .”Y/N is only thinking about you. She knows how frustrated you get when you struggle to talk and how would you feel if that happened during the vows or speeches? Look, Sweetheart, you’ve waited years for this, what’s another couple of months?” 

“Mom, it won’t be a couple of months, there’s no way that place won’t be booked up for at least another year. I just... Is it so bad that I want to marry her right now as we planned?" His voice breaking and cracking. Too much talking.

“No, Son, it's not.” Jim cut in. “But listen to yourself, your struggling to talk now after this conversation. Y/N just wants to have the wedding you both have dreamed of, and spent so much time planning. Don't take that from her or yourself. You'll look back and think, I should have waited, when I was at full strength.”

Diskant looked at his father before he sighed and his shoulders sagged a little. “Seems like I’m out voted.”

"Not out voted, just...." Big Jim couldn't come up with a reasonable example. 

But Dot interrupted, "We just think you need to think about this a little more and be open to what's going on."

"Open to what? The fact I’m now not gonna get married for another year coz some asshole shot me in the neck?" 

"Paul..."

He shrugged, "Whatever. Guess, I have some rearranging to do."

Automatically, he looked down at his phone and saw that Tom Ludlow was calling. If there were any better time to get off this hamster wheel of an argument it were now. "I gotta take this."

He stepped outside and took his call. An hour later, he was meeting Ludlow at their apartment, fresh bottles of beer in the fridge and two on the coffee table between them.

Ludlow filled him in on exactly what happened after he'd left the scene and Paul behind. He talked about how Biggs was using Ludlow to get to Wander, how Tom had killed his entire unit out of self-defence and in turn discovered all the corrupt shit Captain Wander had on Tom, the unit, multiple officers, judges, councilmen and other local politicians and prominent community leaders. He told Diskant about the stolen money, hidden in the walls of Wander's home and he explained how important Biggs seemed to think Tom was for IA and the department. 

It didn't surprise Diskant in the slightest that Ludlow's department was dirty. In fact, he'd half expected it and the realization hit moments before he was shot. The rest of Tom's story however was just insane, insane enough that he joked a movie could be made about it. 

That said, Paul trusted Ludlow from the start. And he’d clearly been right about the guy, even if helping him had resulted in him being moments from death. Painful memories aside, it was nice to see him too. They’d been through a lot, but Paul wasn’t dumb enough to figure this was a purely social call. He knew Ludlow felt guilty about what had gone down and that was partly the reason for his visit. But it was misplaced guilt, one Disco was happy to absolve him of.

"Listen, Paul, with what happened, I..."

"Hey, it's okay. Shit happens. I'm alive. I knew what I was getting into, the risks involved. You gave me an out and I didn't take it." His voice rasped a little.

"Felt like I took a kid to a gun fight." Tom sighed, tossed back some of his beer and shook his head with a slight shrug. "But you're one helluva kid. A fucking fighter. You're a good cop, even better detective and I'm sorry I pushed you so far."

“No hard feelings, man.” Disco took a slug of his beer and shook his head as Ludlow made to speak. “I mean it. I knew what I was signing up for the second the call came in. Our jobs are shady as fuck and twice as dangerous.”

“You can say that again.” Ludlow sighed. “Still, what happened was rough, I’m glad you’re through it.”

Disco gave him a smile as they clinked bottles and Ludlow’s eyes scanned the small living room, stopping on the photo on the small shelf above the television. Paul glanced at it, looking at his and Y/N’s smiling faces as they stood in his parent’s back yard, both dressed in casual jeans and t-shirts, taken a few months before he’d been shot. A time when everything had been simpler and his life on track.

“How's the Missus?” Ludlow asked and Paul took a deep breath.

"She's, uh, she's good,” he answered, deciding not to burden Ludlow with details of their argument, “first day back today, getting her ass kicked I'm sure. Rogers told her it was training day."

"That's rough. Rogers is a hard ass.” Ludlow mused before his eyes flicked down to the beer bottle in his hand. “She er, she due back any time soon?"

Paul shrugged, “I wouldn’t expect so. Why you ask?”

“Because I don’t intend to be here when she returns.” Ludlow replied. “She wasn’t very happy to see me last time.”

At that, Paul frowned. “Last time?”

“Did no one tell you I came by the hospital?”

“Well, yeah they mentioned it but-“

“Well your girl packs a mean right hook.” Ludlow ran a hand over his jaw, almost as if he was recalling the punch he was talking about.

“Wait, what? She hit you?” Paul leaned forward, deeply concerned and slightly proud.

Tom nodded, "then said that if you died, I was next."

“Dammed, she’s vicious.” Paul couldn’t help the smirk which flicked onto his face at the thought of his girl landing one on the man sat next on the small armchair opposite him. 

But the grin soon faded as it sunk in just how downright upset and distraught she must have been to do that. For all his jokes about her being a hard ass, she wasn’t one to throw punches around for no reason, in fact, given her job, she often did everything she could to avoid altercations in any shape, stating she saw enough of it at work without seeing it in her personal life too.

"Yeah, she is and frightening. But she's got good intentions. I don't fault her. I'd have popped me one too." Ludlow shrugged.

Paul took a deep breath as he pondered what Ludlow had said. His girl had that stupid nickname “Panny” for a reason, nothing much phased her. So for her to be rattled enough to sock Ludlow in the face just goes to show exactly how distraught she had been.

None of that was news to Paul, he knew all of this, and it had been pointed out to him again earlier that day by his parents. And then, in a moment of clarity, he realised that he might be being slightly unreasonable. Whilst logically, a compromise would be to perhaps cancel their current venue and forgo the huge day they had planned and book something smaller and less flashy for a few months down the line, Paul understood that she wanted this to be the best day it could possibly be for both of them. They had fallen in love with the Shutters on the Beach from the start, and had booked it with enough time to save for their dream day, even though they could have done something smaller and been married by now.

But that was a decision they had taken together, and hadn’t taken lightly, understanding that it would mean a long wait until they said “I do”, but that wait would be worth it. So, in the grand scheme of things, whilst he might not completely agree, she was right. Another year or however long made fuck all difference, even if he didn’t necessarily want to postpone, he understood.

And damned, now he felt like a right jerk.

*****

You pulled up to the curb to your duplex and frowned as an unfamiliar black car was parked outside, one you couldn’t recall seeing before. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes, resting your head back against the seat as you gave yourself a moment, trying to rid yourself of the frustration of the day.

Rogers was right, you weren't ready to come back. Not yet. Or at least not after the argument you’d had. It frustrated you entirely that this one small thing had spiralled so much as to affect your job. Never, since you'd joined the force, not even since you'd been on S.W.A.T., had you been sent home for misconduct of your behavior. That angered and frustrated you more. And right now, that frustration was leveled firmly at Paul.

You knew he was angry and upset, but so were you. You were thinking logically, wanting your wedding day to be as perfect as it could be for you both, but Paul was blinded by emotion. You understood. Of course you did, it wasn’t like you wanted to postpone, hell you wanted nothing more than to become his wife but it wasn’t worth rushing if it meant that when the time came you could both make those declarations to one another without either of you worrying his voice would give out.

And it irritated you that he couldn’t see that.

Growling out loud and slamming your palms against the wheel, you shook your head. That was when you saw him, you saw the one person you unadmittedly blamed for your mood, your position and your current situation.

"What the... That mother fu..." you stopped yourself, downright pissed at seeing Tom Ludlow leaving your residence.

You waited until Ludlow pulled away before exiting your car, slinging your 'go bag' over your shoulder from the back seat. You didn't miss your fiancé tossing what appeared to be bottles into the recycling bin at the side of the duplex.

He saw you and smiled, but you did nothing to acknowledge his gesture, allowing the screen door to slam behind you.

“Babe?” Paul’s voice called after you as he followed you in. “Sugar, look, I’m sorry-“

“What the fuck was he doing here?” You dropped your bag to the floor of the small hallway and wheeled round to face him.

"What?"

“Don’t play dumb with me! Ludlow, why was he here?” Paul sighed, "He called me while I was at my parents, wanted to come by. We talked for a bit, had a couple of beers and clearly you saw him just leave." There was a pause between you. "Which by the way I heard all about how you decked him in the hospital lobby." "The fucker deserved it. He's lucky you pulled through or I would have killed him. It would have been a clean shot too, non-traceable round. I'm not a marksman for nothing." Paul rolled his eyes, “you’re being ridiculous, this-“ he gestured to his scar, “- was not his fault.” "It was and you know it was. This is all because he didn't think you could do your job on your own." “Bullshit Y/N!” Paul shot back. "He gave me an out and I said no. He told me to go home, but I told him I knew what I was doing." You could see him flush with anger and, at his surprising admission, you were shaking in it. "He what?" "You heard me." "You fucking asshole. You stupid, stupid son of a..." you couldn't bring yourself to talk about Dot like that so you carried on, your anger raging as you railed into him. “How dare you throw that at me? You had every fucking chance to come home and let him take the fuck up on his own and you still went. You still stepped right into the fucking madness when, Tom fucking Ludlow of all the people in the entire fucking department, gave you a chance to come back to me?"

“Stop it Y/N! You know as well as I do, you don't take up the badge and go 'you know what, I might die today, imma sit this one out'!”

He had you there, he wasn't wrong. You literally growled at him, your chest rumbling. Paul sighed, and swallowed, looking down at the floor before he raised his head and licked his lips as he glanced over your shoulder for a moment before meeting your eyes.

“Listen, about the wedding-“

You groaned, “I can’t do this now.”

“Just listen to me, will you?”

“Why? So you can tell me again how you don’t want to change our wedding date? Because of your pride and..."

At that something flashed in his eyes and he took a sharp inhale through his nose.

"My pride?” His voice his voice strained harshly, "Okay, how about we discuss why you do want to change the date because you’re embarrassed. You're embarrassed of me."

His comment floored you momentarily and you frowned. “Is that what you really think? That I’m ashamed of you?”

"Feels like it."

"Pull your God damn head outta your ass, Paul."

“The only person round here with anything up their ass is you, a big fucking stick about Tom Ludlow paying me a visit.” He croaked back. “What, you want me to be sat at home, helpless, waiting for you to come back? Does that fit with the narrative of why you wanna call the wedding off? Poor Paul, he can’t manage much at the moment so-“

“Fuck you!” You screamed back. “Fucking fuck you!”

Your chest heaved, your nostrils flared. You. Were. Done. You moved to leave, but as you made towards the door, his arm shot out and his hand wrapped around your upper arm.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere you’re not!” You spat, wrenching your arm from his grasp.

He grabbed you again, this time by the waist and pinned you to the near-by wall. It wasn't painful or abusive, it was just enough roughness to keep your attention.

“Get off me.” You hissed, attempting once more to rid yourself from his grip.

“Fucking calm down!” He instructed, his hands pinned yours to the wall, his chest lifting away from your body. It reminded you of how he'd treat a suspect, enough force to maintain control but not to hurt.

His words were said through clenched teeth, his own hot breath from his nose flicking your hair a touch, he was so close. His blue eyes, full of fire, blazed into yours as the two of you stood still, chests heaving from the exertion of the shouting and anger.

He was the one to break first as he slammed his lips into yours. It stole your breath as he kept you pinned against the wall.

Eventually he pulled back and you glared at him. “Prick.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He hissed again, his voice breaking before his lips crashed back to yours. His hips ground into yours, keeping you pinned to the wall and it didn’t escape your notice that he was hard. The fucker was turned on.

But, in all honesty, no matter how pathetic it was, his display of dominance had you fluttering slightly but you were damned if you we’re going to show him that.

You felt him release your arms as his hands quickly moved to your work cargos. Your utility belt and flies were no match for his swift movements and you felt the release of their hold on you as the material flew open.

His chest and kiss kept you pinned to the wall as he undid the zipper to his denim and you quickly felt the head of his cock slip between your folds. “Seriously?” You whispered, making no attempt to stop him. “You think a fuck is gonna sort this out?”

He rutted up into you, stuffing himself right inside and jolting your body up the textured paint. The burn and stretch took your breath away, you weren’t as prepared as usual but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

"I said shut up." He growled as your arms swooped around his neck, trying to find purchase to grab and your fingers found the collar of his shirt. You gave a tug, no doubt stretching the collar but you didn't care. He thrust upward and used his hips to keep you in place as he leaned back enough to slip his shirt off, his built chest and less defined abs now on display, that necklace bouncing off his chest from the speed of his disrobing.

His eyes still blazed as you caught them in your own gaze. He looked down right feral, his skin flushed with anger. His hands flew to the hem of your navy uniform tee and in a wrench he had that over your head, his lips dropping to your collar bone and he nipped along the line, stinging bites that would no doubt leave their marks.

“Not so fucking mouthy now, are you Sugar?”

Your only reply was the 'fuck' that escaped your lips at a whimper as he spoke. The rasp of his injury mixed with the deep tone lust did to him had you fluttering in all the right places.

You weren't sure how he'd done it but your boots were unlaced and falling to the floor at his feet with a thud. You barely registered the way his fingers slipped under the hem at the leg of your cargos and slipped your socks away. He was rutting into you with such hard measure, his tongue aggressively and passionately dancing with your own. You felt a rawness against your back from the wall. He stopped kissing and fucking you long enough to tear down your pants and panties the rest of the way, leaving you in your sports bra, your nipples rock hard poking into the material. All whilst his body still pressed hard against you.

With a yelp, he lifted you and carried you the few short steps to the couch, dropping you on your ass and turning you to your knees. You caught just a glimpse of how he looked, chest naked and heaving, tattoos glistening with sweat, that look still raging in his eyes. You wagered you looked about the same because he looked how you felt. His cock glistened with your slick as he slipped right behind you, a knee on the cushion of the couch, the other boot planted into the carpet.

Without a word his hands grabbed your hips, unceremoniously repositioning you before he slammed straight back inside, jolting you forward a little as you cried out, your hands curling round the arm of the sofa, elbows locking to prevent you from falling face first into the cushions.

The angle change along your swollen walls filled you with a deep, rough pleasure and you groaned loudly as his hips rotated in a dirty grind as he bottomed out on one of his thrusts.

"Oh my... fuck..." you stuttered and behind you Paul gave a moan of his own.

“That all you got to say?” He panted, his voice cracking slightly, punctuated by his pants.

“Asshole.” You managed to whisper and with that, Paul grabbed that ponytail you sported and held tight, arching you head back towards him.

“Jesus Christ you just can’t stop can you?” His lips crashed to yours in a sloppy, filthy, tongue filled kiss before splaying his chest over your back, his hot breath against your ear as he made the most pleasurable grunts and moans, his hips pounding back and forth in a relentless rhythm.

He was close, you could feel it in the subtle rhythm change of his hips, his hand on your hip squeezing your skin, bruising it no doubt later.

"Do. It." You punctuated.

“Oh, baby girl , you should know by now,” he growled as his right hand moved from your hip, slipping around your belly and down between your legs, “not. before. you.” In no time at all his fingers had teased you to relief, your back arched as you cried out loudly, the heat and surge of your orgasm washing over you, the world spinning as you crashed over the edge.

He growled your name as he came, filling you but not stopping his relentless thrusts as if he couldn't help the automated way his body had taken over, taken you. You felt how warm your insides were at his spend, no doubt absorbing most of it. You fell forward onto the couch, his body lightly crushing you into the cushions.

As the two of you worked at recovering, his lips brushed over your skin in super soft kisses; along your shoulder, the back of your neck.

The only sound in the room were the two of you breathing heavily, a stark contrast to the screaming match you shared for the last two days. Then you felt his weight shift and a sweet kiss to the back of your neck.

"About the wedding...."

You groaned, after everything you just threw at each other and the most ridiculously, satisfying angry sex you had ever had, he wanted to start back up again. "Please don't. I don't want to argue."

He hushed you and your walls squeezed against him. He let out a low chuckle mixed with a moan. "I’m not." He kissed your shoulder. "Before you came in before like a buck shot grizzly bear, I was gonna say you were right."

You stilled and turned your head to look at Him. “I’m sorry, say that again?” You teased

He smiled and nipped at your neck, "don't be a dick."

He pulled out of you and sat down on the sofa. Your body was jello but you couldn't miss the chance to seize an opportunity to slip him back inside you and simply sit on his lap. He gave a grunt as you kissed him, soft at first, then lolled your tongue over his lips. "I'm sorry too."

“I never said I was sorry.” He playfully chuckled and this time you nipped at him, teeth grazing his jaw.

“Don’t be a dick.”

His hands moved to your hips and then up your back, pulling you against his tacky damp chest.

“Disco?”

“Sugar?”

“You don’t really think I’m ashamed of you, do you?”

"It'd crossed my mind."

"Look at me," you sat up and held his jaw in your palms. "Never, in my entire life will I ever be ashamed of you. You are the absolute strongest, bravest person I know."

"Okay."

You kissed those sweet little moles on his right cheek by his nose and just below his bottom lashes. "I love you like no other, Paul Diskant."

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and that gorgeous soft smile spread across his lips. Then you wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a kiss where you knew he'd feel and understand what you meant, what you felt. It was covered by a still healing scar, but he felt everything.

“I only want us to have the day we want, the day we deserve.” You whispered, sniffing a little as you blinked back tears.

"I'll call Shutters tomorrow. See what they can do." He whispered into your hair as he kissed your head.

“Thank you.” You lay your head on back his shoulder, his arms holding you close.

***** Part 6.1

[multiplefandomsblog]

request; Shuichi and his fem!s/o take each other virginity?

pairing(s); shuichi x AFAB! reader

warnings; post-game saihara, saihara has some PTSD from the killing game but it is not heavily mentioned, cussing AFAB! reader, soft dom! Shuichi, vanilla-ish, intense kissing, mention of marriage, hurt/comfort-ish?, angst-ish?, petty arguments, sexual frustration, they both losing their v-card, shuichi picks you up, shuichi reads porn mags but not elaborated here, established relationship, they've been dating 6 months btw, they're living together, cyring, begging, accidental overstimulation, self-indulgent, irresponsible and unprotected sex(always wrap it before you tap it you fucking idiots), unedited but used spellcheck. OKAY I KNOW 6 MONTHS IS REALLY SHORT AND I HAD A DIFFERENT IDEA IN MIND BUT I JUST DBHSBJHSBD IM SORRY THIS IS JUST SUPER MESSY

note; i rushed the end and this is kind of garbage(god please don't read this), but here's a few songs that i listened to while writing this;

505 - Arctic Monkeys & Cute Panties Soaked In Arizona Iced Tea - Sewer//Slvt & a bunch others idk

wc; 5.8k+

You both dabbled in the idea of having sex, having shared mutual trust and desire for each other within the early stages of your love-filled relationship.

Even so, the obvious statements were left unsaid, and the obvious desire you both have for each other’s bodies had been left alone, never to be picked up again.

Now don’t underestimate yourself, there would be some not-so-rare make-out sessions when you both got into the mood and made sure to give each other ‘the look’, but they’d always end in Shuichi stiffening up and asking if you’d like to stop.

And like an idiot, you had always said the same goddamn thing, the opposite of what you wanted to say. “Sure, y- yeah.” Always praying he wouldn’t hear the disappointment in your voice. You didn’t want him to be upset that you wanted to continue, because wouldn’t that just be selfish of you?

Your prayers always seemed to be answered anyway, though mostly carried by Shuichi’s helplessly obvious nature; he ate it all up.

But maybe you should’ve been praying for the opposite because otherwise, you wouldn’t be here right now.

Maybe it was the stress from the fact that Shuichi’s boss yelled at him today, maybe it was from the fact that he had one of his colleagues accidentally file one of the most important cases, improperly, maybe it was because you both hadn’t fucked in 6 months.

Well, whatever it was, it had Shuichi fuming.

“This? Again?” Shuichi sighed in an attempt to calm himself, his face lacking the patience it usually held.

“What do you mean ‘again’!? I’ve told you this, tons of times before!” To be fair, you had no idea why you had been so angry either, but before you could even think or hold yourself back, random arguments you truly never cared about had been brought up.

What the hell were you two even fighting about?

Despite your mind screaming at you to stop, your mouth continued to act first. “God, why don’t you ever listen to me? You know, sometimes it seriously just feels like I’m talking to a brick wall when I talk to you.” That wasn’t true.

“Is that right?” He didn’t know what came over him. “Well, if we’re talking about our talking habits, I think you sometimes talk too much; it’s hard to keep track of what you’re saying sometimes, and it just- it brings me a headache…!” That wasn’t true either; he was a detective, he listened to every single detail you spoke out from those beautiful lips. Shuichi would listen as intently as he would during an investigation as he gathered information from perps.

But you didn’t know that. You had been too busy reeling from his previous statement to remember all the nice moments you had before this. His words felt like acid on your palpitating heart. Did you talk that much?

You gulped, lip trembling without your consent. “Y- yeah?”

No, I didn’t mean any of it. Please don’t look at me like that. “... Yeah.” Shuichi averted his eyes as he lied for no good reason.

You nodded in feigned indifference, chewing the inside of your cheek as you attempted to walk past him and outside the kitchen — to which he immediately stopped you, an urgency laced within his actions. Sudden anxiety wracked his body, and images of the previous executions flashed in his mind.

You couldn’t go.

With his eyes wide in a slight panic, they narrowed back to their normal width as he took a deep breath, pulling you towards him and suddenly pushing his lips on yours. “Shu-” he blanketed any open space for noise to escape through with his lips, kissing you with desperation you’ve never witnessed firsthand.

Despite your internal concern for him, your hands slipped up his shoulders to the back of his neck, pushing him closer to you than he already was on instinct.

Okay… This was okay. It was better than fighting, that was for sure.

You were confused by the sudden display of physician affection, but you could only get a little of you to care; you missed him. It had only been 5 minutes into the fight, yet you had been pulling him close like you hadn’t seen him in a year. Luckily for both you and him, he missed you too. He didn’t like fights. Especially not meaningless ones like these.

You both didn’t know how, nor when, but before you knew it, you had been sitting atop the kitchen counter, legs wrapped tightly around Shuichi’s waist as his hands gripped yours. A familiar, heavy feeling of arousal pooled up at your stomach, remaining there like an itch you knew only Shuichi could scratch. Shuichi was comfortably close for you to somewhat feel his phone poke at your thigh, but even so, not close enough. Clothes started to feel restricting, and you both shared the same need to just tear them off, but

—

“S/o,” he muffled on your lips, trying his best to try and pull away from your captivating lips on his, though it was incredibly hard with those velvety lips of yours.

“S/o!” The bad feeling in his stomach grew, and he suddenly realized it had been because he didn’t want such a special moment for the two of you, to be spoiled by a petty fight neither of you would remember in a few days. He didn’t want your shared story to be an argument that leads to sex. Call him a hopeless romantic but, that simply didn’t sit right with him.

Shuichi pulled away abruptly, apologizing under his breath as he avoided eye contact with a slightly puzzled you. “I…” He started nervously, gently nestling his forehead atop your beating heart in an attempt to self-soothe himself.

"I don’t want us to finally, um, do... This out of- of anger and- S/o, you have to know that I love you so much and that I-” That wasn’t what he meant to say, it didn’t come out right, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think of what he had originally planned to say. His mind was jumbled, words weren’t good enough for him anymore. Shuichi began to prick small unwanted tears at the corner of his eyes as he rambled with sincere intention.

“I don’t want to look back at this day and- Or what if you regr-”

You shook your head frantically before he could finish his sentence, gentle fingertips tapping the underside of his head as you urged him to look into your eyes. You sighed fondly as you swam in those pools of liquid gold, a small, assuring smile contorting onto your face.

“It’s okay, I know, I know you didn’t mean it.” You took another breath as you continued, a deeper inhale. “And I know what you mean but, Shuichi I… No matter what, I could never regret a single thing with you,” His hands tightened around you.

“And frankly, it doesn’t matter how we ended up… Doing this with each other.” It was kind of funny how you both couldn't say the word 'sex'. A three-letter word that may have seemed terrifying to the two of you back then, started to gradually lose its intimidation factor.

“Because as long as you love me, and I love you, that’s all that will matter.” You lightly laughed at how sappy you sounded; wondering if you’d be this romantic when reciting your vows.

You two weren't even married.

But Shuichi would be lying through his teeth if he said he hadn't visualized you in a veil; and wow, did you look amazing.

Shuichi paused, gazing up at you with intense affection, and love for you. You could feel your cheeks heat up from how intently he gazed at you, you couldn't help but slightly shrink underneath his gaze.

Without missing another beat, Shuichi suddenly broke the gaze, and wrapped his arms underneath your bottom, picking you up with a concealed struggle. He'd have thought spending most of his time typing in that office, would give him some sort of arm strength.

Well, you'd find out later, wouldn't you?

Making his way to the bedroom carefully, Shuichi gently set you down on your back, trapping you in between his arms and locking his lips back onto yours soft and slowly, unlike his last pecks.

You could feel your heart rate speed up as he started to run his hand underneath the thin material of your top, and despite the rising anxiousness itching at you, the feeling of love and anticipation easily overpowered the feeling — though not completely.

For a split second, Shuichi pulled away to pull your shirt up and over your head, and the moment his loving, eager golden eyes found their way back to you, he swore he almost suffered a cardiac arrest on the spot.

With your hands resting beside your head, lips swollen and exposed chest heaving; he thought you looked like the most stunning human being that had ever graced this earth.

And he wasted no time showing you how he felt.

Quickly stripping himself of his shirt, you watched in slight amusement as he struggled to throw the material across his room, his eagerness becoming his enemy. He felt the mattress slightly dip and inflate, though he couldn't see anything as his vision was obstructed. Shuichi — despite having a feeling you had sat up and was probably going to help — didn't want to submit into his embarrassment just yet. He could take off his shirts, and he was going to prove it-

His eyes clenched shut in frustration, suddenly shot open as he felt a cool breeze hit his warm face, as well as the sound of quiet laughter.

"C- come on, don't laugh...!" Shuichi complained half-heartedly.

You grinned. "Sorry, sorry," You raised your hands in defence, taken by surprise as

Shuichi pinned the same hands back onto the bed, playfully pecking your face all over before moving down the valley of your neck and collarbone.

You did your absolute best to not laugh as Shuichi had told you to, but you couldn't prevent the huge, goofy smile that broke out on your face. The euphoria of having someone you truly love and trust, showering you with affection, combined with the ticklish feeling of his slightly chapped lips on your neck, had caused you to giggle.

"Is it- Is it really that funny?" Shuichi grumbled, kisses turning into gentle bites as he wanted to get you to make noises that weren't giggles; not that he didn't adore the sound.

Just not in this situation, nor position.

"It's not, I-" You snorted, "I promise! I just, I feel really, really happy right now." You admitted in between laughter.

You felt Shuichi pause against your neck, and your laughter died down as you wondered if you did something wrong.

"Shuichi-?" You squeaked as you felt his warm breath and kisses travel quickly towards your stomach, right above where you wanted it most. You could feel your face heat up, as well as your core, from the mere puff of air.

Your excitement slowly turned to dread as you felt his hands slowly slide down to the waistband of your pants, and without realizing it, you stiffened up. You felt slightly guilty of your reaction; you wanted this, right? You were so excited a moment ago, where did it go? The logical part of you didn't seem to want to chime in and say, 'It's a natural reaction!'

So you settled for chewing your lip in an attempt to distract yourself from the heart-wrenching guilt.

The action hadn't gone unnoticed by Shuichi; he knew that habit all too well. It was a nervous habit, quite often in many people, but it always seemed to drive Shuichi crazy when you did it. He never noticed when others did, as he was constantly too busy staring straight at you like a boy with a hopeless crush.

But look at him now.

Shuichi from 6 months ago probably wouldn't believe the Post-Shuichi, that he had got the chance to be your boyfriend, let alone share such an intimate moment with someone as special as you.

"Hey, look at me," He grinned gently as he caught your attention.

"It's... It's just me here. You don't have to worry, or be nervous because I'm right here, and I... I'll love you no matter what." It was hypocritical to say, as his hands had practically been quivering beyond his control, but he spoke the sincere truth for you.

He watched in slight anxiousness as you stayed in silent, stunned shock. Shuichi started wondering if he should've said something else-

"O- Okay, yeah, you can- You can, um." You didn't mean to sound so awkward, but you hoped the slight eagerness laced in your voice made the message clear enough for him.

Shuichi slipped his thumbs underneath the waistband of your pants, golden eyes focused entirely on your face as to detect any discomfort.

Seeing none, he slipped the rest of it off, growing excited yet also nervous as he saw you for the first time. "You're soaked..." He uttered underneath his breath in stunned awe, unwillingly causing you to jerk your legs shut.

And who's fault is that!? You wanted to say that, but in the condition and position you were in right now, it didn't seem very possible nor ideal.

You let out a small whimper as you felt Shuichi gently encourage your legs back open, a small pout on his face as you hadn't given him enough time to savour the visual.

No words were said, and no words were needed as Shuichi communicated his wanton need for your pussy with nothing but his eyes. Captivated and persuaded by his puppy-dog eyes, you hesitantly opened your legs back up, silently gasping as you felt the cold air hit your glossy folds yet again.

Your momentary shock faltered into embarrassed confusion as you caught Shuichi staring at it with a thoughtful gaze. It was strange; you felt like an animal at the zoo up for display to just... Stare at.

But perhaps the most embarrassing thing about the whole thing was the stars in his eyes as he watched you twitch and shudder. “Sh- Shuichi.” You tried to snap him out of his gaze, face growing hotter and hotter as time passed by with him continuing to stare at your impatient pussy.

“I’m just going to… Put one in.”

If there was anything Shuichi had learned from the numerous articles on how to please your partner during sex, is to always prep them.

“Wait, huh-?"

His finger sunk in easily, prodding finger slipping into a pillowy bundle of nerves; it was like heaven on earth for Shuichi, and he wanted to make sure it felt the same for you.

"Hah- Nnnn!”

Your loud moan snapped him out of his trance, and unfortunately, he had reacted a moment too late as his finger had already been knuckle deep.

Experiencing a mini panic attack, guilt overwhelmed his body, and he moved to pull out, only to be caught by surprise as you caught his wrist right before he could.

"N- No...! It's- It's okay, mmngh- Just- just feels good, is all." You were glad you hadn't lost the complete ability to speak yet; because that'd surely be humiliating, wouldn't it?

Shuichi tensed his hand unintentionally, causing you to jolt slightly as you could feel every single movement. Shuichi's eyes widened in realization and guilt at your sudden reaction.

"A-Ah, sorry! I didn't mean to-" He cut himself off, head tilting as you moaned a little too loud for your taste — but not loud enough for his.

Shuichi shifted himself, so his face was hovering over your blissed-out one, slight confusion taking over your features as he seemed to be watching you carefully, almost as if he was expecting something —

With a sharp inhale, you felt your hole swallow in another finger, the pleasure now doubled up. If this is what fingering felt like... Then you'd have to assume the main course felt 5x as good as this, right?

Your hands shot up to his shoulders to dig your nails into, the pleasure finally becoming too much as he started experimentally moving in and out slowly.

Shuichi would've asked, 'Is this okay?' but judging by your moans and pleas for more, he concludes he has his answer.

Running his thumb down your folds, Shuichi decided he would explore your pussy as he continued his slow thrusts in your clenching hole — and what better way to do that than to accidentally brush his fingers against your clit?

You nearly sobbed, climax rising alarmingly close, before dropping as Shuichi continued with his exploration.

"Shuichi! T- There! Right there! Please!" You repeated like a mad man, nearly jolting up if it wasn't for Shuichi's body that loomed over you.

With a confused, but obedient nod of his head, Shuichi tested the waters yet again, eyebrows furrowing as he pressed around in random spots. "Ah!" His eyes widened in slight achievement as he watched you start to violently spazz out the moment he pressed onto a button-like nerve.

"C- Coming, I'm- I'm comin- Ahnn!" Shuichi began roughly circling his thumb over the bundle of nerves, unknown of how sensitive the nerve was, and unknowingly forcing you into overstimulation.

"Sh- Ah- W- Wait!" You stammered, squirming away from his unrelenting hand, unsure as to why it had felt as strong as it felt. "Wait, please!" Shuichi suddenly pulled away from your clit, panic taking over his body yet again as he carefully picked you up and slipped you onto his lap.

"I- I'm sorry...! I didn't... Are you- Are you okay?" He stuttered, eyes wide with concern.

Had he gone too far? Was he missing something? Maybe there was a spot you didn't like?

You shook your head, doing little to assure the rising storm of worry you knew Shuichi would accumulate.

"I- I'm okay, it felt good. I think you just overstimulated me a bit but," You brought your arms around his neck, scooching your partially numb ass over his erection.

"... Not like I didn't like it." You grinned lopsidedly, leaning up to capture his lips into a passionate kiss, one filled to the brim with ever-lasting passion. He wasted no time to reciprocate, face slightly reddening as he groaned from the slightest pressure of your thigh pressing down against his erection.

"Sorry...-" Shuichi slipped in an apology, before quickly being sent back into the depths of your touch.

"Don't be-" You countered, letting one of your hands run down the crevices and nooks of his scrawny chest and stomach, down to trace his faint V-line.

"Mm-" An unplanned moan slipped out, and the blush on his cheeks worsened. He was sensitive, and that was to be expected for a first-timer. Though Shuichi refused to believe it was his sensitivity, but your soft touch.

Jolts of pleasure shot up his spine, and his pants only grew tighter, to the point where his brain was screaming at him to take them off.

Lucky for him, you complied without another thought.

You broke the kiss, resting your forehead against his chest as you hunched over to unbuckle his pants. The breathy and beautiful sounds of Shuichi panting like a dog-in-heat above you only made your fingers work faster. The sound of his zipper being pulled down hit his ears, and his eyes clenched tight shut as he felt a curious hand fiddle with his boxers.

"Can I...?"

He nodded frantically, an adorable eagerness overtaking control of his actions.

As you slipped your hand into the binds of his grey-scale boxers, you weren't sure what you were going to see, or how he would feel once you got your hands on his stiff length.

Shuichi wasn't sure what he was expecting either, but expectations didn't matter when you were with each other, right?

"H- Hnnnn...!"

Well, even so, he sure as hell wasn't expecting his strained whine he let out the moment your hand coiled around the base of his cock. With his whine unintentionally egging you on, you decided to pull it out all the way, curious to see him.

God, if you were to laugh now, he'd probably die.

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you could physically laugh, nor breathe…. Or even speak for that matter. He rendered you speechless, and as he tried to read your expression, he found himself praying the silence was a good thing. Though before the thick, lust-filled air could suffocate you both, you decided to voice your thoughts.

“W- Will that fit…?” Your face was probably as hot as a pizza pocket fresh out of the oven.

Now, you weren’t sure what a real dick looked like; you hadn’t seen one in real life before, so maybe it was average in dick sizes, but you couldn’t help but shudder from uncontrollable excitement combined with the fear of that thing tearing into you.

Shuichi noticed the look of fear on your face, and his instinct kicked in; nervosity and anxiety went as he focused on your needs instead, something he’d always done, to an almost unhealthy point.

You let yourself fall back onto the mattress yet again, your head that had been lost in its own thoughts, hitting the plush pillows as Shuichi softly guided you comfortably down. It seemed only now did you realize you were completely bare to Shuichi, head to toe, naked. What a convenient time.

Shuichi’s T-Shirt struggles couldn’t distract you now, and so there you sat, avoiding eye contact with the worried boy as you shrunk further into yourself. You were ready, you repeated to yourself. But perhaps your true fear had been, was he ready for you?

His voice broke the upsetting silence, and out came the words you didn’t want to hear. “If you’re having doubts, we don’t have to do this today, or ever, for that matter.” Shuichi was so close to you, you could practically hear the sound of his little heart beating unevenly. Your hand subconsciously lifted and set itself on his chest to try and feel the small hum and vibration of his heart, and for a second you almost forgot what he had asked.

“I… Shuichi, I want this but,” You weren’t sure how to explain, and a part of you wished he could just read your mind and tell you exactly what you wanted to hear. But relationships weren’t that easy.

“I… What if I dissatisfy you? Like, what if I’m too small, or too loose, or- or what if how I look impacts the experience; are you sure you want to have your very first time with someone like me? Like-” Shuichi cut you off with his lips, the desire for you to stop talking about things that would never happen, as well as the desire to kiss you, combining into this moment.

The man wore an expression of pure earnestness; the confidence he had almost scared you. “I love you so much, and none of that matters to me. I promise you, none of that will ever happen.” His voice was heartbreakingly sincere, to the point where you felt guilty for doubting him.

He, honest to god, understood how you felt completely. Shuichi was afraid he would cum too early, or if he wasn’t long enough, or girthy enough- He was terrified of ruining your first experience with him, he just didn’t want to look the emotion because he was afraid diffidence wasn’t sexy.

Maybe it was ridiculous, but to be fair, your assumption of yourself dissatisfying him was even more so.

Not trusting your own voice to speak, you simply averted your eyes and nodded, exhaling slowly as you tried to push your doubts away. Shuichi followed your gaze, using a gentle hand to tilt your head back to face him, wanting you to look at him as he finally puts it in.

“I’ll go… really slow, okay? Tell me if you want me to stop, okay baby?” You went beet red at the new pet name, but before you could counter his sneaky remark, your voice and breath were stolen from you as you felt something warm throb at your entrance. Was that his —

“Sh- Shit...!” You hissed, eyes clenching tightly shut to conceal the small tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You were right, it was going to hurt.

Shuichi had only slipped in the tip of his cock, marvelling at how easily it sunk in at fault to your slick. He bit back several low moans that threatened to spill out of his mouth, God, you felt so warm inside. Perhaps it was a gross thought, but Shuichi hadn’t exactly been thinking anymore, eyes clouded and nearly crossed from the intense, foreign but pleasing feeling.

“H- How does It feel this good…?” He slipped quietly to himself, eyes lidded as he lost himself in your embrace.

Gulping harshly, he stilled his hips and tore his eyes away from your walls that hugged him so snugly, shifting his attention instead to your pained expression. With a hushed and strained voice, Shuichi voiced several shy but sincere praises and assurances.

His bony hands travelled up from your hips, to lace your hands, fingers shakily lacing your fingers together. Shuichi found himself sighing in relief as he could feel your stiffness slipping away, squeezing your hand as a reminder that he was proud of you for it.

“Do you want me to move?” Shuichi asked, worried eyes darting to your concealed ones.

You pursed your lips, hesitating to shake your head no. You knew they couldn’t stay like that forever — Well, Shuichi probably would’ve if you told him to, but you couldn’t do that to him. Then again, you were still trying to get used to the painful yet filling intrusion in between your legs.

You were on a mental crossroad, unsure of what to say in response to such a simple question. And great, now you left him too long without a reply; the poor guy was just laying there. You could hear your brain screaming at you to just say something! Just fucking say something-!

Shuichi noticed your slight discomforted expression, as well as feeling you tense underneath him. A light bulb went off in his head as he thought of a way to make it all better, and he opened his mouth to speak once again.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, just um… Just trust me, okay?” You felt him squeeze your hands again, to which you squeezed back, voice caught in your throat.

You trusted him, of course, you did. What if he didn't know how much you trusted him? You would put your entire life in his hands, you would jump off a cliff if he told you it was safe.

Your lifeline spoke up again, "Take a deep breath and then exhale at three. R- Ready?"

You nodded, taking the deepest breath you could.

"One," Shuichi whispered.

"Two," You felt your shoulders relaxing.

"Three." As soon as your entire body sunk into the sheets, relaxing completely, he sunk the rest of his length inside you, pushing harshly against your hands pinned on the bed for leverage. Shuichi had been holding his breath as to not moan too loud, despite the foreign feeling, it almost felt like it was meant to be like this. Would it be cheesy if he thought fucking you was his destiny?

You gasped sharply, eyes shooting open as your jaw dropped, silent screams escaping your mouth as your back arched into him.

"Ah- Ah!" Your strained moans grew louder as the stretch finally registered within you. A bead of sweat formed on your forehead as you squeezed his hands tightly, wanting to pull him closer.

Shuichi didn't say anything, biting down on his lip and nearly drawing blood as he bottomed out, his balls clapping gently on the tender skin of your ass.

You couldn't help but whine uncontrollably the feeling being too much. You could feel everything. The small curve of his perfect cock, the feeling of his tip pulsating into your walls and every goddamn accidental shift of his Shuichi’s hips.

With his hips pressed as close as they could be against yours, you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist, heels bumping against his tail bone as you did such.

Everything seemed to slow after a couple of seconds filled with breathy silence, your heart rate slowing down as well. The stretch remained, but the pain slowly melted away with every exhale you took, pleasure and need overtaking it instead. “Sh- Shuichi.” After hearing your voice so brittle, Shuichi lifted his head from your shoulder in urgency and concern. “Y- Yeah? D- Don’t worry, I won’t move until y-”

“N- No, you can- You can move, it- I want it.” You stammered over your words, suddenly shy as you pleaded for him. It was embarrassing to be begging for something so lewd, but you’d soon learn that embarrassment wasn’t valid when you were screaming your lungs out.

You’d wonder why you were both suddenly so timid with each other, treating each other like fragile glass that could break if you arose your voice too high.

Nodding uncertainly at your words, Shuichi gave your hands one last reassuring squeeze unsure if he had done that to assure you or him.

With a shaky inhale, Shuichi tested the waters by rolling his hips against yours gently. Worrying whether he was doing it right, as well as worrying if he hurt you. Though he’d be lying if the worry didn’t somewhat slip his mind the moment he felt that nearly irresistible wave of bliss wash over his body. Not wanting the feeling to stop, Shuichi decided he’d do it again, causing you to moan louder than the first time.

He couldn’t help but feel something strike his heart, and before he knew it, he was thrusting harder, more, aiming in different directions to get you to moan louder.

“Hah!” It was a foreign feeling, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a bad thing. You could feel your heart pulsating, a thin layer of sweat cultivating on your skin and his, and most of all you could feel Shuichi moving inside you. Every inch of him rubbed against your walls, and all of it just felt so fucking addicting.

“S/o!” His call for your name had lost itself in the sea of your moans as well as his own.

You could only reply in rickety moans, body bouncing as each thrust he granted upon you pushed your head closer to the headboard; the only thing keeping you as close as you were to Shuichi, being your connected hands.

“Sh- Shuichi, fuck!” You couldn’t even remember your name anymore, the name of your lover rolling off your tongue a couple of hundred times as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull, his hard pace driving you to insanity. You couldn’t even recognize yourself anymore, moans that escaped your lips sounded so pornographic you couldn’t possibly assume those were yours.

Shuichi on the other hand had been moaning and grunting like he was in pain; the way your walls clenched around him had brought him closer and closer to his high, but he didn’t want to cum just yet. He wanted to get that sweet spot.

It was so incredibly gratifying every time you called out his name; maybe not-so for the neighbours, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly smug as his neighbours would’ve known that it was — “Shuichi!” — who had been making you wail and moan like that.

Your uncertainty and discomfort from earlier disappeared into thin air, forgotten forever as you lost yourself in this new feeling of being plowed like a cornfield.

Finally finding the energy and courage to pry open your tear-filled eyes, your jaw remained slack, mouth blubbering out nonsense and ‘I love you’s as you made eye contact with Shuichi.

You felt your heart stutter and stop a moment as you saw how pretty he looked at that moment. With his facial expression contorting into one of pure pleasure, and a thin layer of sweat making his skin almost seem like it was glowing, combined with the loving look in his eyes; it was all too much, and before you knew it, you made your own lewd expression as you felt a foreign knot suddenly build up and untie in your stomach just as quick.

With stuttered, pathetic attempts at pleading his name, you attempted to get his attention as you had been slightly afraid of what was building up inside you. “Sh- Shu- Some- Something’s- Mmnhah!” You sobbed out, jaw going slack as screams poured out from your throat.

Shuichi’s eyes widened just a fraction as he realized what was happening, slowing his hips before suddenly going faster than before, grunting as he brought himself back to his high. “It’s- It’s okay baby, just let go- Urk—!” Shuichi wheezed as he felt your trembling vaginal walls clamp onto his throbbing length, feeling as if he had just gotten the air punched out of him. Well, you were only following his order.

Hunching over you, he squeezed your hands as he rolled his hips one last time, slow and deep, causing you to elicit a louder scream from the spot he hit. He had to suppress a thankful smile; there it was. He began to dig his glans especially hard into that spot, causing you to sob and squirm from the intense pleasure he had been putting onto you. “S- So good- I- I can’t-” You stammered, mind fuzzy and misfunctioning as your orgasm had been concentrated by Shuichi’s bold action.

You wondered if this was his first time; he seemed so experience like he knew all the right spots to press and prod at.

When really, he just read way too many porn mags.

Shuichi’s breath hitched as he felt his cock twitch, not long after the mini action, he had finally released inside you, going slack over your body as he nearly cried into your shoulder from how good it felt. Desperate and shaky moans and groans spilled from the binds of his thin lips, and no matter how hard he tried to dig himself into your neck, the moans remained loud.

Time seemed to slow down, Shuichi had gone flaccid inside you and quiet as he tried to catch his breath. Despite the lower half of your body still incredibly sensitive and numb, you managed to switch your positions, shifting him, so he was laying on his side instead of you.

He let himself be cradled by you, sweaty skin sticking together in an uncomfortably comfortable way. It was warm.

“... God, we should’ve done that months ago.” You half-joked, voice gravelly.

Shuichi groaned in response, wincing as he pulled out slowly.

“I don’t think I.. regret waiting.” Shuichi truthfully spoke, smiling a lopsided grin.

“Because it made this moment more special… right?” He hoped he wasn’t the only one to think so.

You nodded, eyes eventually drifting shut. “Yeah… You’re right, you’re.. always right.”

[bloody-bee-tea]

JC Love Month 2020 Day 9

Mystery Talent

Day 9 of JC Love Month brings more JC living at the Nie's from Day 1 and Day 5 and it shows that they are so very good to him when JC picks up a long forgotten hobby because he feels secure enough with them to do so.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t know what he expected when he first took Jiang Cheng in but it certainly wasn’t to be cornered by Jiang Yanli of all people.

“Listen,” she says and fixes him with a glare that actually makes Nie Mingjue straighten up more than he already is.

“I’m listening,” he says seriously and wishes that Nie Huaisang would be subjected to this as well.

He was the one who first raised the idea that they should take in Jiang Cheng after all. He should get this version of the shovel talk as well.

“If you hurt my brother, I’ll know,” she tells him and he nods, because he doesn’t doubt it for a moment.

It’s the curse of the elder siblings to always know when the younger ones are hurt.

“I promise to take good care of him,” Nie Mingjue vows and he thinks they are already on a good way.

Jiang Cheng’s birthday was a success and he seems more comfortable in their home with every day that passes.

Nie Mingjue knows that they have to make up for years and years of a shitty family life, but they are damn well going to try.

They managed to make Mo Xuanyu feel like family, and he was near suicidal by the time he got to them, so they should be able to do the same for Jiang Cheng.

Nie Mingjue startles slightly when Wei Wuxian suddenly appears behind Jiang Yanli, only nodding along but not actually saying anything, and it’s more disconcerting than Nie Mingjue wants to admit.

“If he calls us because he’s unhappy here, you’re going to regret it,” Jiang Yanli says, and while Nie Mingjue would normally laugh at a threat like that—because really, what is Jiang Yanli ever going to do to him—he nods.

This is a serious threat and Nie Mingjue has no doubt that she will channel immeasurable amounts of strength simply to kill him if he should hurt Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian is probably going to hold her flower, if Nie Mingjue were to steal from Nie Huaisang’s meme talk, cheering her on and not otherwise lifting a finger.

It’s good to see that Jiang Cheng has his siblings standing up for him like that.

“I will make sure that he never has reason to call you out of grief,” Nie Mingjue tells her and Jiang Yanli’s face softens, just the slightest bit.

“Good. And if you should ever see him bake, you’re going to call me immediately,” she then says, even more serious than she was before and Nie Mingjue frowns. “And I mean immediately. If you stumble upon him in the middle of the night baking then you’re going to call me that very same instant.”

Wei Wuxian nods behind her, just as intense as his sister and even though it’s a mystery to Nie Mingjue why Jiang Cheng baking should be cause enough to call them no matter the time, he nods again.

If they want him to call, then he will, especially if it holds some significance for Jiang Cheng to bake.

“Do I dare ask why?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and Jiang Yanli gives him a very sweet smile, that already tells him the answer.

“No,” she still says and Nie Mingjue sighs.

Fine then. He’ll just wait and see what’s going to happen.

~*~*~

A lot is going to happen, it turns out. First and most notable, Nie Mingjue thinks, is the fact that for the very first time it’s Jiang Cheng who drags Nie Huaisang into the room.

It’s making Nie Mingjue anxious because so far Jiang Cheng has never willingly used the room—he has always been dragged off by Nie Huaisang and came back out crying more often than not—and so Nie Mingjue paces in front of the closed door for the entire time they are in there.

“You need to relax,” Mo Xuanyu suddenly says from his side and Nie Mingjue almost startles.

He didn’t notice him there.

“I know, I know,” Nie Mingjue absentmindedly says, keeping his eyes on the still closed door, at least right until Mo Xuanyu steps in front of him and pulls his face down so he’s looking at Mo Xuanyu instead.

“Mingjue,” he says and Nie Mingjue sags where he stands.

“I know,” he says again, much softer this time, but he can’t help but to worry.

“He’s doing fine,” Mo Xuanyu tells him and then simply throws himself at Nie Mingjue, who catches him easily, because Mo Xuanyu has been with them for long enough for Nie Mingjue to expect this.

“Is he?” Nie Mingjue asks and Mo Xuanyu slaps his back.

“I know you’re stupid, but you’re not actually that stupid. Of course he’s doing fine. This is a good sign. It’s him expressing his emotions, and that’s always good. Remember the first time I used the room?” Mo Xuanyu asks him and Nie Mingjue tightens his arms around Mo Xuanyu at the memory.

“Yes,” he says, because he does.

Mo Xuanyu dragged him into the room and he had started with begging him to not kick him out for this, and only when Nie Mingjue had told him that would never happen did Mo Xuanyu yell at him for a good five minutes about how stupid Nie Mingjue was being by trusting Jin Guangshan even the slightest bit, and be it just in a work-relationship.

When he had been done, Mo Xuanyu broke down crying—mostly out of relief to get it all off his chest—but the sight had still hurt Nie Mingjue.

“It was a good moment,” Mo Xuanyu reminds him and Nie Mingjue shrugs.

“Doesn’t make it easier to see you cry,” he admits, because he hates when any of the others cry.

Nie Huaisang mostly learned to wield his tears like a weapon, but there are times when they are real and that’s always bad for Nie Mingjue’s own feelings. Mo Xuanyu mostly doesn’t cry at all anymore, deciding to smile his hurt away, but that, too, is painful to watch.

At the moment it’s mostly Jiang Cheng who cries though, and it makes the other three weepy too, because he cries at the most normal things like a hug or the reassurance that he’s loved.

That’s very hard to take for Nie Mingjue.

“It’s why I stopped,” Mo Xuanyu says and pulls away.

“Seeing you smile when you’re hurt isn’t that much easier, Xuanyu,” Nie Mingjue tells him and flicks his forehead and he’s not at all surprised when Mo Xuanyu’s eyes go a little bit misty.

“I’m working on it,” he promises and Nie Mingjue knows that he is.

They all are still working on all of their issues, after all.

It’s in that moment when the door to the room flies open and Jiang Cheng stalks off, tears streaming down his face and a very stunned Nie Huaisang coming out after him.

“You good?” Nie Mingjue asks, even though he itches to go after Jiang Cheng to see if there is anything he can to do soothe him.

“He is louder than you are, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says with something akin to wonder in his voice and Nie Mingjue frowns.

“Is that good or bad?” he wants to know, and watches fondly as Mo Xuanyu bounds over to Nie Huaisang to pull him into a hug as well.

Except this one is accompanied by kisses Nie Mingjue most definitely does not want to see.

“Good, I think,” Nie Huaisang finally says when he extracted himself from Mo Xuanyu and Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes, not that anyone sees, because they go right back to kissing.

“Alright, then,” Nie Mingjue grumbles and goes after Jiang Cheng, because clearly Nie Huaisang is being well taken care of.

He finds Jiang Cheng in the kitchen, where he’s pulling out all the ingredients he’d need to bake, and there are still tears streaming down his face.

Nie Mingjue still has Jiang Yanli’s words in his ear, so he immediately reaches for his phone and dials her number without taking his eyes off Jiang Cheng.

“Nie Mingjue,” she sweetly greets him but Nie Mingjue is too worried what this means to greet her properly.

“He’s baking,” he says and there’s a surprised gasp at the other end of the line.

“He’s what?” Jiang Yanli asks, and her voice sounds shaky and Nie Mingjue wants to know what this is all about this very instant, because if he needs to go in there and soothe Jiang Cheng then he’d rather do it sooner than later.

“He’s getting out all the ingredients he needs and he’s baking something.”

There’s a shuddering breath from her and then she bursts into tears, much to Nie Mingjue’s horror.

“Yanli?” he carefully asks, wondering how they could have fucked this up so badly but then she laughs.

“Thank you so much for giving this back to my brother,” she says through her tears and Nie Mingjue frowns.

“I don’t understand,” he admits and she takes a moment to calm herself down before she explains.

“He loves baking, and he has quite the talent, too,” she starts and now Nie Mingjue is even more confused, because if he loves this then shouldn’t this be a good thing? “Our parents, they—they didn’t approve,” she says and her voice goes dark. “It’s only for girls in their eyes, and it holds no real merit, isn’t something useful for the company or whatever they told him and they forbid him from doing it. He hasn’t baked anything in years. He used to do it when he was happy, when everything was so right in the world for him that he wanted to capture it with something you could taste, but I haven’t seen him do it in too long.” There’s a pause before she whispers “I think the last time was when he was fourteen.”

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue says and he looks at the situation with different eyes now.

Jiang Cheng is still crying, but now that Nie Mingjue knows what he’s looking for he sees that Jiang Cheng is relaxed, his shoulders loose and a lightness to his steps that wasn’t there before.

“Thank you, Mingjue, thank you for giving me back my brother, I mean it,” Jiang Yanli says and her praise makes Nie Mingjue uncomfortable.

“Don’t thank me,” he says gruffly but he can’t deny that he is touched by her words.

But mostly he’s touched because apparently Jiang Cheng is finally happy again.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he says suddenly itching with the need to hang up and go into the kitchen to talk to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli laughs as if she knows exactly what’s happening.

“Tell him I love him,” she says and then simply hangs up.

“Jiang Cheng?” Nie Mingjue carefully asks when he steps into the kitchen and Jiang Cheng gives him a huge smile, even though there are still tears on his cheek. “What’s going on?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and Jiang Cheng looks at the ingredients like he’s doubting Nie Mingjue’s intellect.

“I’m baking,” he says and Nie Mingjue sighs.

“I can see that. I meant the whole thing,” he says and makes a vague gesture with his hand, hoping to encompass everything about Jiang Cheng right now.

At Jiang Cheng’s confused frown he elaborates. “I just talked to your sister. She said you’re happy? I fail to see how you storming out of the room crying equates to you being happy, if I’m honest,” Nie Mingjue says and Jiang Cheng laughs before he motions for Nie Mingjue to come closer, so he can work more easily and without having to turn around all the time.

“This was the first time I used the room,” Jiang Cheng says. “The first time I decided to go in there.”

“I know.”

“I—in my old home, arguments were not to be held,” he says and Nie Mingjue goes very warm when Jiang Cheng refers to the Jiang residence as his old home.

It means he accepted that this is his new home.

“My parents yelled at each other and they berated us, but we weren’t actually allowed to talk back. And whenever one of us did, they took something away from us. Mostly their attention, but sometimes they would tell us how disappointed they are in us, or how bad we are behaving, how they can’t love us if we’re being like this. Sometimes they would take things we liked; certain books or our laptop or whatever else we held dear.”

Nie Mingjue has to fight the urge to go over to the Jiang residence and yell at them a whole lot. How dare they.

“Well, I say us, but mostly it was me,” Jiang Cheng says with a self-deprecating smile. “So whenever I said something to them, I always knew that it would have consequences. Their love for me was always conditional, I knew that, even though I chose to ignore that most of the time. I always hoped, you know,” Jiang Cheng mutters as he mixes the ingredients together.

“But today I went into the room with Nie Huaisang and I yelled at him for at least three minutes and we had a very bad fight, if I’m being honest. But throughout it all I knew that no matter what I said, we’d come out of the room and I’d still have his love and a home. I knew that it wouldn’t change anything if I yelled at him. I know it wouldn’t change anything if I yelled at you or Xuanyu either, and I haven’t felt like that in a long time,” Jiang Cheng whispers and Nie Mingjue can’t help himself, he simply has to reach over and pull him into a hug.

“Love is not conditional, Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue roughly tells him, fighting his own tears. “We will always love you, no matter what you do and you will always have a home here.”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng says, full on sobbing in Nie Mingjue’s shoulder now. “It’s why I’m baking. Because I know and because I’m home.”

“That you are,” Nie Mingjue agrees, and it’s a long time before Jiang Cheng goes back to baking.

When the muffins are in the oven, the smell draws Nie Huaisang and Mo Xuanyu out of their room and the first thing Nie Huaisang does when he sees Jiang Cheng is to hug him as well, furiously muttering something that makes Jiang Cheng blush and smile and Nie Mingjue hopes to always see him this happy from now on.

When the muffins are finally done it’s chaos in the kitchen, because everyone wants to be the first one to taste them and Nie Mingjue easily admits that he’s very proud that he wins, mostly because it makes Jiang Cheng laugh again.

The muffins are the most delicious thing Nie Mingjue has ever tasted and when they finally all settle around the kitchen table, various drinks in front of them, it certainly does feel like family and home.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

Nie Mingjue is looking forward to making Jiang Cheng bake a lot more often in the future.

Next part

[cryonme]

fallingforyou- calum hood.

word count- 1.5k

tw- drinking, smoking, cursing, a couple of tears. other than that just calum being sexy and also cute.

mentions- calum, fiona, luke, michael

a/n- hi! sooooo, this is the first part in my “series” of Calum and Fiona. this series will not have to be read in any order, just a bunch of one shots of Cal and Fi been cute. BUT this ons should be read first, as its the start of their relationship. im very excited abt this and I hope you all are too!!! also, i know a lot of my followers are from the HP fandom but I've been really wanting to branch out with my writing so here's this little number. I still write for HP, btw! not to worry. anyway, I hope u all enjoy this. I love it a lot and I worked very hard!!!! inspired by fallingforyou by the 1975. I recommend listening to the song for dramatic affect.

—

Calum sipped on his drink as his eyes danced around the kitchen that was filled with drunk and high 20-30 somethings, unimpressed until his deep brown eyes landed on her. Dressed in a little halter top and flared jeans, head thrown back in laughter at God knows what, she laughed at just about anything, especially when intoxicated. Her dark hair cascaded down her back and her lovely brown eyes squeezed shut, she looked like a goddamn angel.

He told Luke a million times that he wasn’t coming to this party, just like he had done with every party that rolled around in LA, but once Luke promised her attendance, he still declined.

But snuck in anyway 3 hours in, trying to go unnoticed by his 3 idiot friends.

His plan failed, of course. Why wouldn’t it? Michael had caught him at the worst time, 4 jack and cokes in, grinning at her like an idiot from across the kitchen island.

“She’s your friend, mate. You know you can like, talk to her.” He had said, nudging his best friend with his elbow.

Calum rolled his eyes, “I’m not 7, Mike. I’ll talk to her when I want.”

“You’re never gonna land a girl like Fiona if you don’t say anything.”

“Who says I’m trying to land her?”

Michael nearly choked on his drink, “Good one, Cal.” He patted his friend's shoulder and pretended to wipe a fake tear. “Hey, Fi!”

Calum had known Fiona since 2013 when 5 Seconds of Summer first toured with One Direction, when she was an assistant to their tour manager. She was the same age as the guys and they all bonded quickly, and to this day she still tours with them. She’s still just an assistant, says she doesn’t want to take on the responsibility of manager, she mostly just makes sure the guys are all where they’re supposed to be at all times.

Fiona turned away from her friends and smiled at the two Australian goofs, excusing herself from the group of girls and making her way over.

“Calum Hood? Enjoying himself? At a party? Insanity!” She smiled that radiant smile of hers and took Calum’s cup from his hands, treating herself to a sip.

“3 of those things are true, and I’ll give you a hint, I’m not enjoying myself.” Calum retaliated and Fiona raised her eyebrows at Michael.

“Hi, Fi.” Calum smiled and slung his arm over her shoulder.

She playfully rolled her eyes and leaned into Calum, “Hey Mr. Buzzkill.”

“I’m gonna go play pong with Luke, you know how he gets when I’m not his partner. Bye Fifi!” Michael rushed out and ran out of the kitchen, no doubt going to gush to Luke and Ashton about Calum and Fiona being cozied up in the kitchen.

“You look pretty tonight.” Calum said flatly, not making eye contact.

He could say those kinds of things to her, they had been friends for 7 years, but the drinks definitely helped him get it out.

“Don’t look too bad yourself, Hood.”

Calum brought her small frame around in front of him so he could look at her. She rested her chin on his chest and looked up at him with her doe eyes, and he made a vow right then and there that he would absolutely get to call her his one day.

This happened often. Calum and Fiona would cozy up to each other when drunk, hugging and touching, never once kissing, and nothing ever came of it.

“Like, you look really pretty.”

Fiona threw her head back again and laughed, “You, Mr. Hood, are drunk.”

“Yeah,” Calum took her hand and spun her around so her back was to his chest and rested his chin on her shoulder, “And you’re really pretty. Look at us stating facts together.”

Fiona giggled again and grabbed Calum’s cup from him, taking another sip.

Calum slowly snaked his arms around her waist and she held onto his arms with her hands, Calum swore he would have melted on her right there.

Fiona spun again and looked up at her friend of 7 years. She wanted to know what went on behind those intense eyes of his. Ashton, Michael and Luke confided in her with almost everything, she knew all about what went on in their heads, but Calum had never told her a thing. Not one detail. She had no idea that Calum was falling for her, on that night, in that shitty lighting, and he was falling for her hard.

“Beer pong?”

-

The two had been waiting for their turn in beer pong for 20 minutes and finally decided to sit down on a nearby bench and just watch. Calum pulled her onto his lap and she hummed happily, with her arms around her once more.

The brown eyed boy took his arms off of her for one second while he dug through his pockets, then put them back in their rightful place, holding a joint up to her lips. She gladly took the weed into her mouth and allowed Calum to light the end for her while she took in a drag.

She held the joint between her fingers and blew out. “You’re a good friend, Cal.”

Calum frowned at that. He had been drinking a little bit more than usual and the word “friend” made his heart drop.

“Don’t wanna be friends.”

Fiona snorted, “Shut up.”

“M’serious.” Calum mumbled against her shoulder. “I don’t wanna be your friend.” He turned his head so he could place her lips on her neck, “I wanna kiss your neck.”

“Calum…”

“I’m falling for you, Fi.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“So you don’t get to do that!” Fiona suddenly jumped up off of Calum’s lap and faced him, catching the attention of a few people, but no one seemed to care enough.

“Fiona-” Calum started and reached to grab hold of her thigh but she slapped him away.

“Fuck you.” She spat and stormed away. She was probably just going to sit on the front steps. She was too drunk to drive and she left her phone with Calum.

The dark haired boy sighed and hoisted himself up off of the bench to follow after her, at least to give her her phone. He made his way through the crowd of people and was stopped by Luke right before he made it to the door.

“I don’t know what you did, but fucking fix it.” The blond poked his finger into his chest so hard he stumbled back.

“Wha-” He started but by the time he could he finish the one syllable word Luke was long gone.

Calum shook his head and pushed the door open, finding his favorite girl slumped over on the steps with her shoulders shaking. He hurried so he could crouch in front of her and rest his hands on her knees, and refused to move when she tried to push him away.

“I know you’re mad at me but you’re crying and nothing hurts me more than that.” He said softly, trying his best to get the girl in front of him to stop shaking.

After a couple minutes of letting Calum stroke her knee gently with the pad of his thumb, Fiona finally brought her head up and Calum wanted to kick himself for making her cry like that.

“I have loved you” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, “For 7 fucking years Calum.”

Calum felt like he just got all of the wind kicked out of his lungs, but he didn’t move a muscle.

“I’ve watched girls who treat you like shit come and go and I don’t even get to pick up the fucking pieces because you don’t fucking talk to me, then one night you have a little bit too much to drink and suddenly you’re falling for me?”

“I love you.”

Fiona froze.

“Fuck, Fiona I’ve loved you for 7 years. Every girl who’s come and gone has been a distraction from you because in my head, you’d never feel the same way. I never opened up to you or talked to you because I was scared that if I did I’d let it slip that I love you and I’d lose you. Every time I see you my chest feels tight and I feel like I can’t breathe, every time you laugh I can’t help but smile to myself like a fool and whenever you cry I can’t look at you because I’m afraid I’ll cry too. Screw falling for you, Fiona. I fell for you.”

Fiona didn’t move, she felt like she couldn’t move. Calum had just shared more with her in 30 seconds than he had in 7 years, she was shocked.

“What the fuck took you so long.” Her question came out as more of a statement.

“I’m an idiot.” Calum breathed out before finally leaning in and kissing the girl he had loved for so long.

//pls remember to leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed it, kind words mean a lot🖤and so begins the life of cal and fi, i can’t wait! hope u all are excited too. xx roxie

[collecting-stories]

Ten Years - JJ Maybank

Request: could u write something abt y/n and jj who have been together since they were like 12 and just make it super fluffy🥰

A/N: so there wasn’t really like, a full plot request so I just kinda went with this...hope you like it!

Outer Banks Masterlist

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

JJ stood in the entrance to the dressing room, phone in hand as he texted back and forth with Pope and swiped through different online stores. He was shirtless, wearing a pair of actual trousers, a far cry from the cheap ones he used to wear when he bused tables at the island club. He was supposed to be trying on different suits but it’d taken you an hour just to get him into these pants, you couldn’t imagine how the rest of the shopping trip was going to go. 

“Matching sweatshirts?” JJ asked, holding his phone out to show you a picture of dorky matching sweatshirts that said ‘player 1’ and ‘player 2’ respectively.  

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you rubbed a hand against your forehead and took a deep breath. You should have known that trying to shop would go south with JJ. “I love you so much but there is no way in hell I’m wearing matching sweatshirts with you.” 

“I can’t believe you’re not gonna wear matching sweatshirts with me.” JJ whined, pulling his phone away to send the picture to Pope. “I’m gonna get a new girlfriend who will.”   

“Ask Pope.”

“I am.” He replied, continuing to text.  

“Not right now JJ! You’re supposed to be getting a suit anyway, not standing around on your phone shopping for cheesy sweatshirts.” You sighed, finally standing up from the ottoman that was available for seating outside the dressing room. You tried to grab his phone from him but he slid away, socked feet gliding on the laminated floor. He backed further into the dressing area, toward the stall you’d ushered him into earlier.  

“What if you didn’t have to wear it out?” He asked, holding his phone out of reach when you tried to grab it again. As much as you enjoyed the sight of JJ in nothing but a pair of nice pants, and you did enjoy the sight quite a lot, he was starting to get on your last nerve. Especially when he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you against him, still holding the phone away with his other hand.  

“So what I’m just gonna walk around our house wearing a sweatshirt?” You asked. The little blue ranch house that you and JJ were renting on the cut was set back a little from the road but it wasn’t entirely void of neighbors. Not to mention the amount of times any of the pogues dropped in without warning. When you looked up at him you realized his eyes had glazed over, pupils dilated as he stared, completely unashamed, right down the front of your tank top. “JJ!”

“What...you in only a sweatshirt? Let’s skip all this and go straight to the honeymoon.” He suggested, grinning as he leaned in to kiss you.  

You let him, though you finally gave in to the eyeroll as he pulled away from you. It was like trying to corral a child into doing something. “Not exactly doing the big tent wedding here J. Now pick a suit.” 

“But if you don’t have to go out?” He whined, mind still on his stupid sweatshirt idea. You’d never matched clothes before and you’d heard him on more than one occasion mock couples who did, so why he was suddenly interested in the cheesy tradition was beyond you.  

“Oh my god, buy the sweatshirt, please.” You groaned, stepping completely away and heading back out of the dressing room, “but finish trying on suits first!”  

“Love you!” 

Your mom wanted a big wedding with all the people she was friends with invited as well as family members none of you had even seen in your lifetime but you had refused. It felt silly to do the big white wedding, silly and costly and not like you and JJ at all. The money saved for it had been spent on converting a VW bus that was a nicer version of the Twinkie, that he had parked out front of the house you’d been renting together since you turned nineteen.  

Still, even without the wedding, you wanted a semi-nice dress and him in a suit when the two of you went to City Hall at the end of the week to get married.  

Married. You were waiting for the word to make you feel different but so far it just felt normal. Like it was just supposed to happen.  

-

“Why are your eyes covered?” You laughed, walking into the living room to see JJ standing there in his suit with his hands covering his eyes. He’d obviously just been smoking before you came in because his juul was still in his hand too, trapped between his fingers.  

“I don’t wanna see you before the wedding!” He exclaimed.  

“You’re driving,” You laughed, grabbing at his hands. When you pulled them away he had his eyes shut. “JJ, open your eyes.” 

He opened one eye and then the other, slowing smiling as he took in the sight of you in the simple white dress, you’d picked out with Sarah a few weeks ago. It’d been sitting wrapped up in the closet so he couldn’t see it without you in it. “You look really beautiful.” He finally said, kissing you. “You’d look even more beautiful in matching sweatshirts.” JJ teased.  

“Oh my god JJ. I’m not wearing matching sweatshirts to get married.” You replied, taking the juul from him so you could put it away.  

“Then I guess the dress works.”

“Wow thanks.” You laughed.

Before you could walk away from him JJ grabbed your arm, drawing your attention back to him. “Hey, before we go-“

“We have like thirty minutes to get there.” You said, cutting him off. There was no way the two of you were going to make it in time.  

“It’ll be quick, promise.”

“What?” 

“I know we’re not doing vows but I didn’t exactly get any points for a romantic proposal either...considering. So I just wanted to say something before we leave, without everyone else around.”   

JJ’s ‘proposal’ had come about on a Tuesday morning. It wasn’t romantic, there wasn’t even a ring picked out yet. Instead JJ had been sitting on the other side of the island, trying to steal pieces of bacon off of Pope’s plate while he was in the bathroom, when you told him that your mom was giving you a hard time about the two of you living together.  

Your mom’s favorite words were ‘just a phase’ when she talked about you and JJ. It was just a phase that you were going through that had you attracted to someone she viewed as a ‘bad boy’ in every cliched sense of the term. Though you highly doubted at 22 that it was a phase. Especially when you’d spent the last ten years basically dating. Since the 6th grade winter formal when JJ asked you to dance with him.  

“She said ‘once you get out from under that roof you’ll see’ and I told her that I’m never moving. We’re gonna like get married and get a cat and have windchimes like Lana.” You had said, smacking JJ’s hand, “stop eating Pope’s food.”

“He abandoned it.” JJ pointed out.

“He’s in the bathroom, stop it.” You said, waving the spatula at him. “Anyway...she just...” you groaned, “I can’t stand when she does that like. We’re not in highschool anymore. Why can’t she drop the whole ‘this is temporary’ thing like...do you see these four walls? Not temporary.”

“Marry me?”

“What?” You froze, spatula in hand, staring at him in surprise.  

“Marry me.” He shrugged. “You said it yourself, this isn’t temporary. So, marry me.”

The wedding day, though it wasn’t really a wedding, had come quicker than the two of you had expected and now, if you weren’t out the door in five minutes, you knew that you’d be late. JJ was an erratic driver but nothing would get you to the other side of the island on time.  

“You’re gonna make me cry before we even get to the courthouse?” You asked, already feeling yourself get teared up. “That’s mean JJ.”

“I just want you to know,” He started to say, trying not to laugh when he realized you were starting to cry, “hey, come on...I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“I know, I know I just-” you looked up at the ceiling and blinked a few times, “oh god this mascara isn’t waterproof.”

“We’ll survive if your makeup doesn’t stay intact.” He promised.  

“JJ!” You laughed. “Okay fine, go, I won’t cry. I just...won’t look at you.”  

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Just say the thing.” You insisted, waving your hand for him to go ahead.  

“When I asked you to marry me it was spur of the moment but it wasn’t just something I said because I thought it’d be fun or cute or whatever. We’ve been through...hell...together and I know how hard it's been and there isn’t any guarantee that it won’t be hard-”

“That sounds awesome,” you laughed but JJ could already hear the slight crack in your voice.  

“-shut up. You never let me finish anything.”  

“I do too!”

“You literally just interrupted me trying to be nice and tell you something romantic.”

“I’m sorry...go ahead.”

“No, the moment’s ruined.” JJ shrugged, grabbing his backpack off the table so that the two of you could leave.

You grabbed JJ’s hand, trying to pull him back toward the middle of the living room and away from the door, “no finish, tell me!”

“Fine, fine. You’re such a brat.” He laughed, “I was gonna say-”

The door opened and you groaned as Pope stuck his head in, “yo...guys, lets go.”  

“Hold on!” You whined and JJ wrapped his arms around you, holding you close and kissing your forehead.

“I’ll tell you later, while we’re in our matching sweatshirts.”

“Unbelieveable.”

-

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[your-eternal-muse]

Half As Pretty

Heather Series Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The Song Mentioned in the chapter, Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars aka, the song that made me sob because it was too perfect for this damn fic. I recommend listening to it while you read the part its mentioned in.

Summery: Reader is experiencing her own personal hell, but one midnight confession sets everything ablaze.

Words: 3.4k I told y’all it’d be longer.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of nicotine addiction, the beginning of an alcohol addiction, suicidal thoughts, slight manipulation from one Derek Morgan, and just a whole lotta hurt.

Paring: Spencer Reid x Heather Charmical, eventual (I promise) Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

A/N: Okay.....I’m finna be real honest.....I was listening to my music on shuffle when Poison and Wine came on, and I started crying while typing, and than I re-listened to it while typing this up and proceeded to cry again. It took me about 3 minutes of psyching myself up to write ONE sentence near the end of it because I knew there was no going back once I wrote it. This was so hard to write in the most beautiful way possible, and I really hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Shout out to @toosassy2handle​ for the recommendation of Heather's last name. It’s long and annoying and just reminds me of a stuck up bitch so its perfect.

~~~~~~

I used to love weddings.

They were always so well put together.

I’d always admire the pretty bride, the dress, everything.

I dreamed of having one of my own one day. And when I met Spencer, those daydreams changed so that I was walking down the aisle towards him instead of someone whose face I could never quite focus on.

But that’s all I’m ever going to have. Daydreams.

Because here I sit, all dolled up next to his mother, at none other than Spencer Reid’s wedding.

It’s obvious Heather did most of the planning.

I don’t take him as a ‘dusty rose’ type of person.

I stare at the soft colors and delicate flowers, and fire burns deep within me.

I want to burn this place to the ground.

I can’t, though.

I’m supportive.

I’m happy for Spencer.

I’m happy that he’s happy.

I’m happy.

I’m happy.

I’m happy.

I look down at my hands, playing with the hem of my burgundy party dress.

I don’t think I’ve been this dressed up since….

I think I threw that dress away when I got home that night.

I don’t remember much of that night after coming back to the table.

I’m positive I drank at least half the champagne they had.

Derek had to carry me home.

“My son didn’t plan any of this.”

I look over, and see Diana scowling at the decor. 

I can’t help but let a small smile spread across my face.

At least she agrees with me.

I lean in closer to her, so our words can only be heard by us.

“I completely agree. He’s more of a ‘dark academia’ kind of guy.”

She smiles at me, reaching her hand over, and patting my leg. “You know when he told me he was getting married, I thought it was going to be to you.”

My heart stops. “Y-You did?”

She nods, looking around the room like she hadn’t just said something that made my world stop spinning. “I didn’t meet Heather until a week after he told me. That’s when I learned that they were dating in the first place. I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed.”

I bring a hand up to my mouth, covering the smile and laugh threatening to spill.

“But she makes him happy. Anyone can see that.”

The smile falls, and the laugh dies.

“Though, he did bring you to meet me not too long after meeting you himself.”

I nod, remembering the trip. “It had been a month. I had known him for a month, and he really wanted me to meet you. I was so nervous. I really wanted you to like me.”

Her smile is big, and her hand finds one laying in my lap, squeezing it.

“I liked you the minute he told me about you.”

I loved Diana.

I will always love Diana.

I open my mouth to say something, but someone a few rows back says ‘Here comes the groom.’

I turn my head, and low and behold, there he is, walking with the biggest smile on his face towards the front. He stands, with his hands clasped in front of him, as he waits like the rest of us.

He looks stunning, in a simple black and white tux.

His eyes meet mine, and I smile at him.

He winks back at me.

The moment doesn’t last long before a song starts, and a hush falls over the crowd.

Slowly, one by one, bridesmaids and groomsmen make their way down the aisle. 

Derek is the best man, and he pats Spencer's shoulder as he takes his position behind him.

And then the music shifts, and while she starts to walk, something dawns on me.

I will never be as pretty as she is.

She’s breathtaking.

She’s practically glowing in the white satin ballgown, a bouquet of roses clutched in her hands.

She’s looking around at the crowd, smiling and nodding and it’s only when she’s halfway down the aisle that she meets his eyes.

I look at him, and I don’t think there are any words that can explain the look of pure joy written across his face.

JJ, who is sitting beside me, reaches over and grabs my free hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

She reaches the front, and all eyes are trained on her, but I can’t tear mine away from him.

He holds her hand so delicately, and I can see him fighting back tears.

I don’t even notice when vows are said and rings are exchanged. I only notice when I see JJ look at me from the corner of her eye as the officiant says “If anyone has any objection to the marriage of these two people, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

For a moment, I think about it.

“Me! I do!”

The crowd gasps as I make my way towards the front.

“I do. I object.”

His eyes are wide and she looks furious.

“Why do you object?” The officiant says, startled.

“Because I love you.” I’m looking directly at him.

“I love you, Spencer.”

No.

No, I can’t.

I’d lose everything.

You’d be a selfish bitch is what you would be.

“Then do you, Heather Charmical, take Spencer Reid to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

Tears are lipping out of my eyes, though my eyes are not the only wet ones in the room.

I can blame it on the emotions. I wouldn’t be technically lying.

“And do you, Spencer Reid, take Heather Charmical, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Please say no.

“I do.”

I don’t have a heart anymore.

This just confirmed it.

“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

He takes her face between her hands, and places his lips on hers in a passionate kiss.

That’s it.

They’re married.

People clap and cheer, and they lock hands, walking back down the aisle, now together by law.

I want to puke.

People start to get up, and I suddenly can’t breath.

My chest rises and falls, and I shoot a glance at JJ, before making my way through the crowd as respectively as possible to leave the room as quickly as I can.

I look down to my bag once I make my way into the vast hallway, digging and searching for my cigarettes when I ram into someone, dropping my purse, and spilling the contents over the smooth tile floor.

“Fuck.”

“Hey hey hey, what’s the rush baby girl?”

I look up to see Derek, kneeling down to help me pick up my stuff.

“I just, I just um,”

Breath, y/n, just fucking breath.

“I just really need to find a bathroom. I shouldn’t have drank all that tea before coming here.”

I shove things back into my purse, not even really looking, before standing back up.

“I’ll find you and Pen in a bit. Promise.” 

I don’t wait for him to answer, turning and walking away before he gets a chance to speak.

I’ll find a bathroom eventually.

~~~~

When is an appropriate time to leave the wedding of your best friend, whom you're secretly in love with, without seeming rude?

Because I need to leave.

I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I don’t.

My right leg is crossed over my left, shaking with every anxious heartbeat.

People have plates full of food, and are mingling with drinks from the open bar, another thing that I know for a fact Spencer had nothing to do with.

I’ve barely touched the food on my plate, my appetite gone, at least not for anything other than the fruity little cocktails that keep appearing in front of me.

I’m about to get up and find someone, probably JJ, that I got sick in the ladies room, and to tell Spencer I’m sorry, when he walks up to where I’m seated, his hand outstretched for me.

“Come dance with me.”

The liquor in my system makes me giggle.

“I thought you didn’t like dancing?”

“I’ll make an exception for my favorite girl.”

Don’t let Heather hear you say that.

I place my hand in his, and let him lead me to the dance floor, where he spins me, before bringing me in close to him, resting a hand on my hip, and grasping my left hand with his other.

My hand not in his rests comfortably on his upper arm, and we sway, back and forth to the soft music.

My heart is pounding in my chest, and I’m positive he can feel every heartbeat through the layers of our clothing. 

The lights are soft, and the music is gentle. If I close my eyes, and don’t think about it, I can imagine that this is our first dance, at our wedding that will never happen.

“Thank you, for coming y/n.”

My eyes open, and I can’t hide from him anymore. His eyes don’t falter from my own, and his smile is small.

“Of course I’d come. Why wouldn’t you think I would?”

“I don’t know. You’ve seemed off these past couple months. I didn’t know if you’d be up for it.”

Shit shit shit.

I laugh off my panic. “Spence, I could be bleeding out on my apartment floor, and I would still make it here. You mean everything to me. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He grimaces at the thought of me dying, but the words that follow erase the worry on his face. “You’d tell me if something was wrong right? Everything’s okay?”

I smile at him, placing my head against his shoulder so I don’t have to look him in the eye when I lie. “Everything is fine. I’m okay. I promise.”

You’ve gotten way too good at lying to him. What’s gonna happen when he finds out? About your secret? About how it's getting harder and harder for you to get out of bed in the morning because it’s just not worth it anymore? Or about your depleting alcohol cabinet, since every night you seem to think drowning out your sorrows will make it easier to sleep?

He rests his chin on my head and we just sway back and forth to the music. 

His fingers start gently playing with my own, and I hear him softly singing to himself as we dance.

“Oh, your hands can heal, your hands can bruise.” His hand moves from my hip to my lower back, holding me there against him as he continues to sing. 

“I don’t have a choice, but I still choose you.”

I move my face farther into his shoulder, like I could disappear if I wanted to. This feels too intimate, feels too wrong. I should step away and congratulate him, tell him to go find his wife for god's sake, and leave with my dignity still intact. 

But I don’t want to. I’ve dreamed of him holding me like this, and the words he’s whispering I know are for only me to hear.

“Oh I don’t love you, but I always will. I don’t love you, but I always will.”

Whoever the dj is, deserves a raise, because while this song is totally not for a wedding, it’s perfect for this moment.

“I always will. I always will.”

The song ends, and we stand, still together, for a second longer than we probably should. 

“I’m sorry to break you two up, but I was wondering if I could convince my son to dance with his mother.” 

Diana’s voice is soft, and I smile against his shoulder before moving back, removing myself from him. 

His eyes are wet.

“Of course, Diana. He’s all yours.” 

She turns to me before I walk away, pushing stray hairs out of my face, fixing my necklaces and smoothing out my dress. “Heather looked like she was about to burst into flames. I thought I’d save you from a public sacrifice.”

Fuck.

“Thank you, Diana.” 

She kisses my forehead before turning back to Spencer, and I use the time to walk back over to my table, grab my purse and make my way out of the room. 

I find a balcony of sorts, and the cool December air cools my skin. 

I once again dig through my purse to find my cigarettes, pulling out the pack once I do. When I open it, however, I find it empty. 

I smoked my last one and didn’t even realize it.

“Damnit!” I crush it in my hands, before placing it back in my purse.

The sun is setting, and I can see my breath.

I walk forward to the stone railing, looking out over the small park below the building. The stone is rough beneath my palms, and dark spots appear as I cry for the second time today.

I don’t have a choice, but I still choose you.

He couldn’t have meant it the way I’m thinking he meant it. He was just singing along to a song he’s probably heard thousands of times the past couple months.

But it’s too perfect not to. 

Is it possible? Did he love me? If he did, does he still love me?

“Aren’t you cold, sweetheart?” Derek’s voice startles me, and I jump a little. 

“Uh, no. It feels nice. It was getting a little stuffy in there so I thought I would come get some air.” 

He hums, and walks up to stand beside me, his hands in his pockets. 

“You know, when you dropped your purse earlier, an envelope fell out.” 

My eyes widen.

“It didn’t have anything written on it, so I just assumed it was for Spencer and Heather and put it with the others. You seemed like you had other things on your mind so I thought I’d help.”

No no no no no no no no this isn’t happening. This isn’t real, he didn’t just give my love confession to the now married man it’s about and his wife. Oh my god, I’m gonna die.

“Y-You what?! No no no, that wasn’t meant for them. No no no. Holy shit.” I start pacing back and forth, combing my hands through what little of my hair was down.  

“I need to go get it. He’ll understand. It’s just a big mix up. He can’t have that envelope.”

I turn ready to run back into that room and make a scene when Derek speaks from behind me.

“You mean this envelope?” I turn and there he stands, holding it in his hand. 

My stomach rises from my feet. “Jesus fucking christ, Morgan. That’s not fucking funny.” I walk forward to grab it, but he’s taller than I am, and raises it out of my reach. “I never said it was.”

“Give it back, Derek.” Even in heels I can’t quite reach his hand.

“I will, once you tell me what's in it that gets you so worked up at the thought of Spencer having it.”

I don’t meet his eye as I reach for it again. “It’s nothing. It’s none of your business.”

“Baby girl, I see the way you look at him.” He grabs my wrist with his free hand, lowers himself so he can look at me straight on. “And that dance that you two just had? That’s not nothing and you know it.”

My lip trembles and I remove my arm from his grasp, walking back to the railing. 

If you jump, this could all end. You wouldn’t have to explain anything. It's a perfect cop out.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, my voice shuddery when I talk. “You have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even Penelope. And especially not Spencer.”

He stands close by my side, his eyes on my face as I stare out over the park. “I promise.”

Is this what having a heart attack feels like? 

I take a short breath in, it's all I can muster, and speak. 

“It’s a confession. I’m horrible with words, so I wrote it down to give it to him.”

“What were you confessing?” 

Tears resume to fall down my face, and I pinch at my cuticles. “That I’m in love with him.”

I feel Derek shift to look down at the railing, the envelope placed in between us.

“I confessed that I’m in love with him. That I have been since the moment I met him. I know how horrible it is, I know but I couldn’t keep it in any longer. Even if he never finds out, I needed to put it out there that I love him.”

“You’re in love with me?”

I choke on my breath, and my nails dig into the stone.

No. Please no. Please tell me this is all just a nightmare, and I’ll wake up this morning and it’ll have never happened.

My body is frozen, but I manage to turn to see him standing in the doorway, a look of pure shock written across his face.

He looks like I just slapped him.

“Spencer, oh my god.” It’s nothing more than a whisper, but it feels like a scream ripping from my chest.

“Y-You’re in love with me? When-, I-,” he runs his hands through his hair, and takes a step forward. 

I'm sobbing, and I can’t stop. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen. “Spencer, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on you finding out like this.”

“When were you going to tell me?” His voice cracks, and I realize then that he’s not angry. He’s hurt.

I have to be honest with him now. I can’t lie to him. It’s over. The ruse is over. 

I’m finished.

My fists clench and unclench as I try my best to keep my emotions under control.

“I was going to tell you the day you introduced me to Heather.”

His eyes flicker to the envelope resting on the railing, and they gloss over for a second as he remembers that day.

“You told me-”

“I lied. I lied and said it was for my mom, but it wasn’t.” I cross my arms in front of me, a chill settling itself on my skin.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I wish his voice would get louder. I wish he would scream at me. I deserve to be screamed at.

“You were dating someone, Spencer. You had been dating someone, and you had just introduced me to her. What would you have wanted me to do?”

“Not lie to me!” There we go. Get angry. Hate me.

“Why? What would you have done!? What would have happened if I didn’t care about your relationship with her and just given it to you?”

It’s getting darker, and the light pouring outside from the building is the only one to see by, so I can’t really make out his face.

“I don’t know! I have no idea of knowing, but I do know that I wish you wouldn’t have lied to me. You’ve been hiding from me, Y/N. Please stop hiding from me. I can help you.”

I roll my eyes, my vision going blurry from the tears. “No you can’t Spencer. You’re married. Did you forget that?”

He’s quiet, and I can see Derek shift his gaze from between us, not really knowing what to do. 

His voice is substantially softer when he speaks next. 

“Give me the letter.”

I choke back the noisy sobs. “No.”

He repeats himself, holding out his hand.

“Please, give me the letter.”

“Why?” I’m exhausted. Can’t this conversation just end?

“Because I need to know that you loved me like I loved you.”

Loved?

He just told you to your face, that while he may have loved you once upon a time, he doesn’t anymore. He doesn’t love you anymore. He doesn’t love you.

I can’t fight this anymore.

“Please don’t hide from me anymore.” He pleads, and I can feel myself beginning to go numb. Whether it’s from the cold, or my mind starting to shut down, I have no idea. 

I grab the envelope from where it sits, walking forward and handing it to him. 

He brings it to his jacket, tucking it safe inside one of the pockets. 

“I’ll call you. Okay? And we can talk this out.”

There’s no talking this out, Spencer. What’s done is done.

He looks between me and Derek, and without another word, he walks back into the building, shoulders tense, and head down.

This is it. This is the end of the line. Nothing will be the same.

“Y/n….”

I don’t respond. I just turn, grabbing my purse and walking down the stairway the leads to the park from the balcony. 

My tears leave hot streaks against my cold skin. 

A snowflake lands on my nose.

~~~

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[nashvilledreams]

My Naya, my Snixxx, my Bee. I legitimately can not imagine this world without you.

7 years ago today, she and I were together in London when we found out about Cory. We were so far away, but I was so thankful that we had each other. A week ago today we were talking about running away to Hawaii. This doesn’t make sense. And I know it probably never will.

She was so independent and strong and the idea of her not being here is something I cannot comprehend. She was the single most quick-witted person I’ve ever met, with a steel-trap memory that could recall the most forgettable conversations from a decade ago verbatim. The amount of times she would memorize all of those crazy monologues on Glee the morning of and would never ever mess up during the scene… I mean, she was clearly more talented than the rest of us. She was the most talented person I’ve ever known. There is nothing she couldn’t do and I’m furious we won’t get to see more.

I’m thankful for all the ways in which she made me a better person. She taught me how to advocate for myself and to speak up for the things and people that were important to me, always. I’m thankful for the times I grew an ab muscle from laughing so hard at something she said. I’m thankful she became like family. I’m thankful that my dad happened to have met her weeks before I did and when I got Glee, he told me to “look out for a girl named Naya because she seemed nice.” Well dad, she was nice and she became one of my favorite people ever.

If you were fortunate enough to have known her, you’ll know that her most natural talent of all was being a mother. The way that she loved her boy, it was truly Naya at her most peaceful. I’m thankful that Naya got that beautiful little boy back on that boat. I’m thankful he will have a strong family around him to protect him and tell him about his incredible mom.

I just hope more than anything that her family is given the space and time to come to terms with this. For having such tiny body, Naya had such a gigantic presence, a void that will now be felt by all of us - those of us who knew her personally and the millions of you who loved her through your TVs. I love you, Bee.

My favorite duet partner. I love you. I miss you. I don’t have words right now, just lots of feelings. Rest In Peace Angel, and know that your family will never have to worry about anything.

We started out as the closest friends and then like all new things, we went through a bit of a rocky phase. However, we stuck by each other’s side and created the most beautiful friendship built out of love and understanding. The last I had the chance to see you in person, I had left oranges outside our home for you to take. I wanted to say hi through the window but my phone didn’t ring when you called (which it never does, f*cking T-Mobile), so instead you and Josey left two succulents on our doorstep as a thank you. I planted those succulents and I look at them everyday and think of you. I still listen to your EP on repeat because from the moment I heard it, it struck me and I always wished the world knew more of your voice. You sent me over 5 dozen SnapChat videos when you and Josey woke up in the morning and I kick myself that I didn’t save one of them. You always shared recipes and I admired your love for food. We vowed to spend every Easter together, even though Covid stole this last one from us. You are and always will be the strongest and most resilient human being I know, and I vowed to carry that with me as I continue to live my life. 

You constantly taught me lessons about grief, about beauty and poise, about being strong, resilient and about not giving a fuck (but still somehow respectful). Yet, the utmost important lesson I learned most of all from you was being a consistent and loving friend. You were the first to check in, the first to ask questions, the first to listen..you cherished our friendship and I never took that for granted. 

We never took photos together because we mutually hated taking pictures...our relationship meant more than proof. I have countless pictures of our babies playing, because we shared that kind of pride and joy. So I’m showing the world a photo of our little goof balls for you, because I know that meant more than anything and they remind me of you and I. I speak to you everyday because I know you’re still with me and even though I’m feeling greedy that we don’t get more time together, I cherish every moment we had and hold it close to my heart.

There are no words and yet so many things I want to say, I don't believe I'll ever be able to articulate exactly what I feel but... Naya, you were a ⚡️ force and everyone who got to be around you knew it and felt the light and joy you exuded when you walked into a room. You shined on stage and screen and radiated with love behind closed doors. 

I was lucky enough to share so many laughs, martinis and secrets with you. I can not believe I took for granted that you'd always be here. Our friendship went in waves as life happens and we grow, so I will not look back and regret but know I love you and promise to help the legacy of your talent, humor, light and loyalty live on. 

You are so loved. You deserved the world and we will make sure Josey and your family feel that everyday. I miss you already.

She was bold. She was outrageous. She was a LOT of fun.⁣

Naya made me laugh like no one else on that set. I always said it while we were working together and I’ve maintained it ever since. Her playful, wicked sense of humor never ceased to bring a smile to my face.⁣

She played by her own rules and was in a class of her own. She had a brashness about her that I couldn’t help but be enchanted by. I also always loved her voice, and savored every chance I got to hear her sing. I think she had more talent than we would have ever been able to see.⁣

I was constantly moved by the degree to which she took care of her family, and how she looked out for her friends. She showed up for me on numerous occasions where she didn’t have to, and I was always so grateful for her friendship then, as I certainly am now.⁣

And even as I sit here, struggling to comprehend, gutted beyond description- the very thought of her cracks me up and still brings a smile to my face. That was Naya’s gift. And it's a gift that will never go away. ⁣

Rest in peace you wild, hilarious, beautiful angel.

How can you convey all your love and respect for someone in one post? How can you summarize a decade of friendship and laughter with words alone? If you were friends with Naya Rivera, you simply can’t. Her brilliance and humor were unmatched. Her beauty and talent were otherworldly. She spoke truth to power with poise and fearlessness. She could turn a bad day into a great day with a single remark. She inspired and uplifted people without even trying. Being close to her was both a badge of honor and a suit of armor. Naya was truly one of a kind, and she always will be. 💔 Sending all my love to her wonderful family and her beautiful son.

Dear Naya, 

I’m failing miserably to process this news. I always imagined old future senior moments where we would hear your infectious laughter down the hall knowing that our funny bone was in for a treat. To many people, myself included, you were the life of the party. Not only able to rock when fun was to be had after a long day but that shining friend that was always willing to listen, offer sympathy, perspective and at times, give much needed levity to any situation. 

You were a beast on the show. I admired you as I watched you nail multi page monologues that you learned moments before and pour your heart into every performance with an energy that had that snicks special written all over it. Our deep conversations about life inbetween scenes are some of my favorite moments with you. Getting to hear about your hopes and dreams for the future and with Josey’s arrival, ‘Your greatest success’ I was so happy to see your dream turn into reality. 

You deserved more. I’m so sorry but you deserved more. You gave life your all and I hope all the good that you have given to the world will be returned in abundance when you reunite with our brother in the heavenly skies. I’m so grateful for our memories. We will make sure to keep your legacy and spirit alive so Josey will grow up to know the incredible woman you were. Love you, Naya. You are already missed. Eternally. 

-HSJ

Naya and I fell into stride with such ease, she was my first friend and ally on our show. In the pilot, our characters came and went with such swiftness. Our enthusiasm brimmed with all of the unknown. We tried to grasp what the other cast members must be feeling as we were working in such separate manners. We dared to dream. What if this show worked? Wouldn’t that be something? Something was brimming, it was palpable. And thank god it worked. Naya’s magnetic talent was going to be unleashed, we just didn’t know it yet. ⁣⁣

I’ve been revisiting Naya’s performances on our show and it has brought me great joy. To work with her was a gift. There was a great deal to absorb - her work ethic, her fearlessness, her talent - supreme. Naya had a laugh that would envelop you and hold you captive. She was mesmerizing. That twinkle in her eye, her luminous smile. Naya lead with truth, humor, wit. I loved her for all of these reasons. ⁣⁣

I loved her sense of curiosity and wanderlust. I was lucky enough to be her travel partner for some of my most favorite adventures. As I write this, I’m grinning with swelling memories of a spontenaous 36 hour excursion - one might even say diversion - to Paris. With Naya, everything was possible and would often simply unfold before us, almost magically.⁣⁣

On this particular jaunt, within ten minutes of checking into our hotel, we found ourselves strolling the halls of L'École des Beaux-Arts, sipping wine from paper cups with students showcasing their latest work. It was fantastic. We were united in our commitment to discovery. And there was always a list of cleverly curated ideas in Naya’s back pocket, should we need it. ⁣⁣

I cannot make sense of this tremendous loss. I will hold onto her and these memories for the rest of time, alongside our Glee family. Please hold space for her, her family, her beautiful boy. ⁣⁣

In absolute, loving memory.

Naya The world is at such a loss and I am truly heartbroken. I still remember the day I met you. You Walked straight up to me, grabbed me by the face and drug me around until I met every single person on set, introducing me as “new booty”. You were one of the first people who made me feel like family when others saw me as an outsider. I didn’t know then that you would become my family and that’s just who you were to everyone.. A Mother, Sister, Daughter and most of all a friend. Your massive heart and bright spark is what carried our entire show, when at times we all felt like giving up. 

You always showed up for me when I needed some wisdom or was down and just needed someone to talk to. You took care of everyone around you in a way that was so warm and comforting and you sure knew how to throw a hell of a party! 

I always admired your bravery and passion to fight for what’s right even when it seemed like you were up against the world. Your spirit is contagious and you continue to make everyone you have touched a better and stronger person by knowing you. 

My favorite part of glee was getting to watch you perform and shine up close every day. You really were the pulse of that show. Anyone who was blessed enough to see and experience your raw talent knows it to be true. You’re one of the smartest and most gifted people I have ever met. There is no one like you and there never will be.

You have changed peoples lives all around the world and you continue to change mine forever. I will never forget your love and kindness. Thank you for sharing your spirit Angel.

I will miss you always. I Love you Naya

For the last 7 years the 13th of July has shattered our hearts beyond repair. There aren’t enough words to describe the pain we are feeling, we are truly heartbroken at the loss of @nayarivera .

Naya, Cory loved you so so much. He cherished your friendship more than you will ever know. From the laughs you shared, to the strength you gave him when he needed it the most. Cory truly adored you. He was in awe of your incredible talent, the way you gave everything you had to each performance; the slap in the auditorium was one of his favourite stories to share. You once said Cory was like a member of your family; you will always be a part of ours. We’ll carry you in our hearts forever. We miss you. Friends reunited for eternity.

We send all our love and strength to your beautiful boy, your family, friends and fans 💔🐻💔

[blueaura]

Lost and Found Ch. 8

A/N: Hello again! This chapter is a little shorter than the last couple of chapters but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Thank you for the feedback on the last chapter, it means a lot. Also, I’m making a seperate tag list for people who would like to be tagged in all of my supernatural stuff (one shots, dabbles, other series etc.), so let me know if you want to get on that. Also, Also - if any of you have any requests for one-shots or the like, I’d love to do that. Thanks to everyone who’s read and re-blogged it this far. As always, any tips and suggestions are welcome. Feedback would be amazing. Thank you and happy reading!

Summary: Sam and Dean meet a young hunter who is a little rough around the edges and they reluctantly take her under their wing. But she might be a little more connected to them that any of them realise. 

Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8

To Dean it felt like it took forever.

He watched Cas’s hand glow as if he were healing her, not even daring to breathe. Sam stood beside his brother in support. Cas had his eyes closed in concentration. Dean was looking worriedly at Y/N but she didn’t look like she was in any pain. He trusted Cas with his life and knew he would never knowingly hurt Y/N, but worrying came naturally to him and he had to make sure she was safe. There was an instinct there that he was usually used to associating with just his brother.  

Cas had only wanted to see her soul but as soon as he put his hand on her, he was bombarded with her memories. Her thoughts, her pain, her experiences – they were so loud. He had never felt so crippled by a human mind before. He was surprised by the intense anger he felt on her behalf. The girl didn’t seem to harbour much anger herself – there simply wasn’t any place for it beneath the fear, uncertainty, loneliness and hurt. He saw her memories like he had once seen Dean’s when he pulled him out from hell. Once he was sucked in, he couldn’t get out until she let him even though he felt like he was somehow violating her privacy. But, if he ever had any doubt that there was a part of Dean Winchester in this girl, the burning determination underneath everything else would have been enough to remove it. Even without seeing her soul, shining as brightly as her father’s.

Y/N was expecting pain even after Cas assured her that there wouldn’t be any. What she was not expecting was the warmth. It felt like she was bundled in the softest blanket and nothing could hurt her as long as she stayed in the cocoon of that warmth. It was bright light and hope and love and like nothing she had ever felt before. She almost didn’t want to let it go but she could feel the sensation trying to pull away from her. She chased it until she couldn’t. She didn’t know how long had passed before she came back to Earth, so to speak.

Cas’s hand slid from her forehead down to her cheek momentarily.

“I’m sorry for the hard life you’ve had Y/N. You are truly an incredible human being and I vow to protect you to the best of my ability from here on. I shall not let any harm befall you.”

The intensity of his words surprised her but she didn’t say anything. Dean, on the other hand, balked at the words.

“Wait, what just happened?” he asked, looking from Cas to Y/N and back again.

“What’s with the vow of protection? Is this some kind of Twilight imprinting bullshit?!” Dean’s voice grew more hysterical with every word, making Y/N muffle a snort.

“Dude, why the hell do you even know what that is?” Sam asked incredulously. Dean ignored him in favour of glaring at his friend.

Cas turned away from Y/N to give Dean his best imitation of Sam’s bitchface.

“No, Dean. I didn’t imprint on your daughter. I can assure you I have no intention of mating with her,” Cas sarcastically dead-panned, which would have normally impressed and even amused Dean but his brain had stopped working at that moment.

Daughter. Daughter.

Fuck.

There was a ringing in his ears. He could hear Sam calling his name, could feel the weight of his hand shaking his shoulder, but everything was muffled – the only thing he could focus on was the fact that he had a fucking daughter.

Of course, he had known it was a possibility – that was the whole damn point of the angelic test, but now… it was real. He was a father. Just like that. In that moment – he fucking hated Sandra.

Sam would have loved to say that Dean reacted maturely and focused on Y/N and didn’t freak out at all, but father or not, he was still Dean Winchester. So, Sam wasn’t all that surprised when instead of making sure his daughter was alright, Dean stormed out in the direction of the shooting range, or so Sam assumed. He knew his brother and he knew that it was how he processed things. Working on his car or shooting stuff was Dean’s way of dealing with the news and Sam was just grateful that he didn’t choose to turn to the bottle instead.

He watched Dean walk off but instead of trying to reason with his brother, he turned towards the other person affected by the news. His niece (Holy shit, he had a niece) was frozen in place, her eyes not really focused on anything. Cas looked at him worriedly and Sam realised that Cas hadn’t meant to drop the news in such a way. He smiled at him reassuringly, and walked to where Y/N was still standing.

Instead of calling out to her, he gently guided her to the library and made her sit down on a chair. She didn’t react at her which didn’t necessarily surprise Sam but worried him nonetheless. Cas brought a glass of water from the kitchen and Sam quickly thanked him before setting it down on the table and kneeling in front of Y/N.

“Kiddo? Hey Y/N, are you alright?” he instinctively asked and winced. Of course, she wasn’t alright. Her entire world had just turned on its head.

“Y/N, you with me?” he tried instead.

She looked at him without really seeing him. He had to repeat the question a couple of times before he even saw a hint of acknowledgement in her eyes. He waited patiently until she finally shakily nodded her head.

Her throat was dry. She reached for the glass of water blindly. Sam quickly picked it up and placed it in her waiting hands, watching as she took small sips.

“Where’s…” she trailed off, sipping at the water again just to have something to do.

“Probably in the shooting range. He’s… processing. But I guess so are you,” he said uncertainly.

“You have a shooting range?” She was clearly avoiding the big elephant in the room, but Sam didn’t take the bait.

“I’ll show you later,” he dismissed the topic change expertly. “How are you holding up?”

“You mean after learning that my mother lied to me my entire life?” she spat out. Sam winced at the tone but ignored the hostility, only squeezing her shoulder in response. She deflated at the lack of a fight. He simply waited.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I wasn’t expecting… I know you were all but convinced but I wasn’t. San- my mother always gave me the impression that my father was dead. Until a few minutes ago, I didn’t even have distant relatives that I could call family. Now suddenly, I… I don’t know how to deal with that,” she said, frustration heavily lacing her voice.

Sam noticed the hesitation at her mother’s name and stored that little piece of information for later. His heart went out to her, it truly did.

“Look, I can’t even begin to imagine being in your position right now. Or Dean’s, for that matter. Hell, I’m still reeling from the fact that I have a niece, and I’m not even the one directly affected by this! So, I cant tell you how to feel or what to do. That’s up to you. What I can tell you is that you’re family now, Y/N. That word has way more weightage in this household than it probably does anywhere else. So, whatever you’re going through, you won’t be alone. I’m here, Cas is here and when he eventually gets over his little temper tantrum, Dean will be here too,” Sam smiled wryly.

Y/N chuckled a little even as emotion clogged her throat, shaking her head at Sam’s attempt at levity. She was suddenly pulled into the tightest hug by Sam, but this time she refused to cry. She’d had way too many breakdowns in the past few days and she’d ignore the stinging in her eyes and the burn in her throat if it was the last thing she did.

Instead, she sniffled into Sam’s plaid shirt, realising this was the second time in as many days that she was in this position. She chuckled at that, and instead of pulling away burrowed herself deeper into the comfort of the embrace.

Sam squeezed her tighter and kissed the top of her head. This was his niece. He was a fucking uncle! What did uncles even do? She was probably too old for toys. He also didn’t see much pranks in their future, at least for a little while. He could teach her he supposed. She clearly needed education and didn’t seem particularly thrilled about any form of formal institution. Yes, he would be the brainy uncle, who answered all the questions. He could do that.

Eventually, she pulled away. Seeing the hopeful expression on Sam’s face, she managed a weak smile at him, trying to tell him that she would be alright.

“I think I’m going to get some sleep and… process all of this. Let me know if De-Dean comes back soon,” she stumbled a little, not entirely sure what to call Dean anymore. Was ‘Dean’ inappropriate? It was way too soon for anything remotely in the ‘Dad’ ballpark. She put it away as a problem for later, not wanting to deal with the headache that accompanied thinking about her new family.

“Yea- yeah! No issues, kid. Get some rest. Dean will probably be a couple of hours. Cas already went to him earlier. He’s good at making Dean sort through things. I’ll probably head over there myself in a few,” he said assuredly.

“What’s up with that anyway?” she asked, her earlier curiosity making it harder for her to keep her mouth shut.

“What’s up with what?” Sam sounded confused.

“Cas and Dean?”

Understanding dawned on Sam’s face, immediately replaced with a look of long-suffering exasperation. Y/N giggled at that, making Sam smile subconsciously at the sound.

“If you ever figure it out, let me know,” he sighed and with a last kiss to her head, walked away.

Y/N shook her head and walked up to her room. She once again took stock of all the things that supposedly belonged to her. The mattress was the softest she’d ever slept on. She had her own freaking room. She had food to eat and clothes to wear and a couple of guys who cared more for her than what she thought she was worth.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t so bad.

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[stxvercgersslut]

omg could you do a Chris Evans x Toddler!Reader where he’s her stepdad and readers dad is always ‘to busy’ to see her and she’s really disappointed so readers mom & Chris comfort her🥺

A/n: YESSS!!!! Omg I love this I love this I love this!!!! It’s actually the cutest ask I’ve gotten 😭❤️ I just can’t not write this! I also kinda changed it a little so that it’s just Chris comforting her sooooo I hope you like it.

Warnings: Language, dissapointmemt, a whole lot of fluff.

The one that cares

Chris hadn’t expected to fall in love as quickly as he had fell in love with Delilah. She was the love of his life from the moment that he had met her on the set of one of his latest movies. She’d only been there to visit her brother on set, yet his eyes had instantly fell on hers as soon as she walked into the room. He couldn’t just let her leave, so of course that they he had went straight up to her, talked to her, found out her name and inevitably asked her out. It was a quick cycle done in around 10 minutes of meeting her, but Chris couldnt have been happier. This type of love was real. Passionate and just over all the one thing that he had been searching for his entire life. Delilah was it for him the second he’d met her.

Around 2 months into dating Chris had been introduced to you, this small 2 year old little girl with a hug smile on your face the second you’d met him. It was like an instant connection from the beginning. Of course it had taken you a few weeks to get used to him being around. But after a while you finally began to enjoy Chris’s company. Especially since he was round at the house almost every single day to visit your mother.

After around a year later Chris proposed to your mother and on your 4th birthday, the they got married. It was more of a celebration for you then it was for them. Especially since It was practically your birthday present. You’d been so excited. Chris could remeber how happy you had been that day, standing right next to your mother and giggling happily during the actual wedding. He’d even picked you up and held you in his arms during your mother’s vows. Wanting to keep you as involved with this wedding as physically possible. It was clear from the beginning that Chris loved you as if you were his own. Which was what drew Delilah to him.

Finally a father figure. Not that you didn’t have a dad, but Chris was around a whole lot more then your asshole of a dad was. And that in itself just wasn’t fair.

Josh, your biological father, had been pretty much out of the picture since you were 2. Only occasionally being able to see you since he always claimed that he was ‘busy’ when he was usually out at some bar making out with any random women that would throw themselves that him. It was clear from the start that Josh didn’t give the tiniest shit about you, or even the fact that you were his child.

Even when he actually bothered to show up, usually because either Chris or Delilah had forced him to actually pay attention to you and reminding him that you were just a kid, he wasn’t even there. Not really. He just sat there, didn’t even play with you, just sat their and watched as you played on your own with you teddy’s. And even then he didn’t stay too long. Clearly not liking the fact that Delilah had found happiness in an A-list celebrity.

Not only did Josh’s lack of being around for you upset you but it also Angered Chris as well as Delilah. However Chris was even more furious with Josh then the both of you combined. He hated how upset you got, how heartbroken you were when Josh just sat there or didn’t even bother to show up. But what hurt him the most was watching you sob into either his chest or your mothers chest right after being reluctantly informed that once again Josh wasn’t coming. To see your excited little face switch so quickly into one of pain and heartbreak was enough to completely piss Chris off to the point where he wanted to actually beat the shit out of Josh.

Today, for example, was once again one of the days that Chris always dreaded. Today had been the day that Josh was finally supposed to come over and spend some time with you, after 3 whole months of not seeing you he was finally coming over. Yet 5 minutes before he was actually supposed to be there he called. Of course he did.

Chris groaned as he looked towards you before back to his phone “sorry sweetheart, I’ll be back in a second” he announced before finally leaving the room after kissing your head gently. Despite all the disappointment you were still excited to see Josh. Of course you were. Diliah wasn’t there today, in fact she was working today so it was just him. Thankfully Chris got the day off so that he could be there for you when the inevitable happened.

“Hello?” He began, not even giving him a chance to speak “Josh where the fuck are you? You’re supposed to be here in 5 fucking minutes” Chris spoke not giving a shit that he was being rude, Josh didn’t deserve the nice side to Chris. Not at all.

“Yeah.....about that....My work called me a few minutes ago and said that I need to go in. Something about needing extra staff today” yet another excuse! This man was truely an asshole.

“BULLSHIT!” Chris spat, venom seeping from his words as he did. Now he was pissed. “It’s not bullshit man! I have work!” Josh lied. Usually if this happened then Delilah would be there to take the phone away from him before he said something that would ruin the entire ‘agreement’ but today she wasn’t there to stop him, so he was free to say whatever he wanted. Within reason of course.

“Listen you asshole!” He began, suddenly becoming insanely aware of the fact that he was being too loud. Almost startling you. “We both know that you don’t have to work today!” Now he was a little quieter “and we both know you’re just going to go to a bar or a strip club! You’re an asshole and all you want is to fuck with y/n’s mind! She’s an innocent child who fucking loved you no matter what yet you don’t even care about her?!? What kind of parent are you? Dads should be there for their kids but you don’t even care about her!” This wasn’t Chris talking, this was the anger that had finally been allowed out.

“What?!? First of all You have no right to say any of that! And second of all yes I do care about her! I’m just busy!” He defended, still doing a shitty job at it.

“No you don’t! You don’t give a shit!” Chris yelled angrily, not caring for any more of his bullshit, so he hung up. Now completely stressed about the fact that he had to go and break your heart again. Oh this was going to hurt a whole lot more then usual.

After a good 2 minutes of mentally preparing himself for the heartache, Chris finally walked back to the front room where you were still happily colouring in a drawing that you had made for Josh. Little did you know Josh never took those drawings, Chris was always the one to take them and hide them in his room since your biological father always ‘forgot’ the pictures. Chris just wanted to spare your feelings that’s all. Didn’t want to add anymore heartache into the mix of disappointment.

Quickly Chris sat down on the couch opposite you. Watching you for a few moments before finally speaking“Hey babygirl, can you come sit with me for a minute please?” He asked carefully, to which you instantly stood up and wandered over to him with a cute little wiggle to your step since you were excited. Soon climbing up onto the couch and getting onto his lap like usual which he never actually seemed to mind since it meant that you felt comfortable around him. “What’s wrong Daddy?” You asked, already seeing the lines of fear registering in his features as he began to think. Every single day he thanked the gods above that you’d accepted him into the family.

“Your real dads not coming today” rip the bandage of as quick as physically possible. If he did that then he’d have more time to comfort you if needed. God this was going to be so hard “.....I know you really wanted to see him today but he got really busy.....baby I’m so sorry that he did this to you and it’s so not fair at all” he stated. Watching as your bright e/c gorgous eyes dissapeared and were once again replaced with disappointment. On what world was any of this not heartbreaking to see? Exactly it was devastating. Especially when he loved you so much.

“My dads......not coming?” You asked, pain already beginning to seap into your voice.

“No baby.....I’m so sorry...” he spoke, his voice already breaking and tears already forming in his eyes. How could someone be so cruel to someone so kindhearted?

“But he.....he said he would......” you stutter. That in itself was enough to cause tears to spill from Chris’s eyes. Never had he ever thought that you’d get this heartbroken over being disappointed. After so many disappointments he would have thought that you would have gotten used it already.

“I know I know....but he’s done this before sweetheart.....he’s known for it.”

It unfortunately didn’t take long for you to break down into floods of tears, already beginning to break Chris’s heart even more then he ever thought that it could. You were worse then heartbroken, in fact you were devastated.

He couldn’t take it anymore, seeing you so broken was hurting him. So before you knew it he was picking you up and literally placing you on his hip so you wer closer to him. No way was he letting you just wallow in self pity. Not when your birthday was in 3 days. You were so close to being 5! How could he just leave you to cry on your birthday weekend. Exactly he couldn’t. “Okay baby It’s so close to your birthday and I’m not letting you be sad! So what do you wanna do? It’s your weekend starting now, so what do you wanna do?” He asked, hopeful that giving you the option of what to do would perk you up a little. Yet you just continued to cry into his shoulder, extremely angry, upset and scared with everything that had gone wrong today.

“It’s okay....it’s okay sweetheart just cry..let it all out.” He soothed, rubbing your back reassuringly as he did “Daddy’s here. I’m never gonna leave you sweetheart. I promise you I’m not going anywhere unless I have to. But I’ll always come back okay? I will always come back”

But thankfully, after 20 minutes of just rocking you in his arms and softly humming along to the words of your favourite Disney songs (being a big fan of Disney had its perks of course) you finally stopped crying. Now completely registering what Chris has asked you a few moments ago. “C.....can we go....to Disney land?” You asked quietly, afraid that you’d get shot down.

This was a big ask from you, one that Chris should have Beene expecting! Especially since you’d wanted to go to Disney land for so long yet you’d always been knocked back. Although, today was different. Today Chris has given you free rain on whatever you wanted to do today. So how could he disappoint and tell you no? “Hmmmm okay sweetheart Disney land it is! Just me and you? Or do you want me to ask mommy if she wants to come too?” He questioned, literally just letting you make all the decisions today since he’d said it was your day. If this was how he would get you to calm down completely then so be it. To avoid having any fans spotting him he’d have to make a few phone calls, maybe see if he could use a private jet in order to make sure you weren’t see. Especially since your were his step-daughter and thankfully not one knew about you just yet. He’d been able to keep you out of the public eye.

“Mommy’s working, just you and me” you spoke, for a four year old you were learning quickly which made him quite happy to know you were learning. “Alright sweetheart then lets go.” He spoke.

And that day he stayed true to his word.

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