#i know they need better and he does seem like he will be a good home for them

[strang3lov3]

Apartment

You visit Benji's apartment before you leave. 6.4k words

Tags - cousin!benji, one shot, loss of virginity, very fuckin personal and emotional so take it easy on me, incest, piv, creampie, fingering, handjobs, nipple play, slight overstim, I cried writing this so,,,,

Maybe it’d be easier if Benji were here. 

Things are changing. A new chapter’s beginning and you should feel happy, right? Excited, because you know this is a good thing. Nervous would be okay, and natural, even. But looking at your room - or what’s left of it, at least, you feel so profoundly fucking empty. Thinking harder, digging deeper, you feel dread. These empty walls and cardboard boxes…it feels like such a scary and permanent change, and leaving everything behind feels impossible to wrap your mind around. Leaving everyone - all of your friends, all of your family. Benji. 

The last item you packed was a photo of the two of you. You guess that you were maybe thirteen in that photo. Your cheeks were fuller then and you were smiling, green and purple rubber bands around your braces in the spirit of Halloween, when that photo was taken. Benji had that stupid, shaggy haircut you loved so much, and he stuck Mike and Ike’s on his canine teeth, smiling so big. 

He was your first crush, way before you knew it was inappropriate to think of him like that. It never went away, though. But nobody has to know that except for you. You can keep it close to your heart. 

Benji really is your built-in best friend. He took a shine to you the moment you joined the world earth-side. He was always so patient, so gentle. Played dollies with you and everything, even though that wasn’t at all what he was into at that age. It wasn’t hard to pretend for your sake.

Benji’s the reason you learned to walk and run as fast as you did, little legs trying to keep up with him. Everyone always said you had your own secret language, too. And you did, literally. “Benji, translate” was a common command Benji would get from family members because he could understand your toddler-speak when others couldn’t. 

You’re going to the same school he went to. You always knew you would.

Tears build in your waterline and spill down your cheeks as you grab your keys and rush out the door, knowing exactly who and what you need. It’s a silent drive, and the sun is nearly set but it’s not quite dark yet, but you do love that orangey-pink that paints the horizon. 

You get out of your car and knock on Benji’s front door repeatedly, anxiously hoping he’ll answer. You probably should have texted. 

The door does swing open, thankfully. “Quit pounding on my fuckin’ door, dude, Jesus. I thought you were a cop.” Benji seems a little tired, with light shadows under his eyes and messy hair. He scratches the back of his head before looking at you, then realizes you’ve been crying. “Woah, hey - heeeyyy…” Benji pulls you into his arms and shuts the door, letting you cry into his shoulder for a moment before leading you to his small living room. 

Being in such a familiar, unchanged space grounds you. Benji’s been renting this apartment for a long time now. There’s shit broken from five years years ago that Benji still hasn’t fixed, and the same posters and artwork that’ve always been there decorate his walls. Dying plants on bookshelves that Benji can’t keep alive to save his fucking life. Mugs he’s stolen from shitty diners here and there, the fucking derelict. God, you love him.

Benji sits you on his used, blue sectional that has seen better days. It’s covered in tears and strange stains, probably not even by his doing. “What’s goin’ on with you, dude?”

“I - I,” You gasp and sniffle a few times, unable to speak as you sob. It’s always how it goes.  

“It’s okay.” Benji’s voice is gentle. He touches your shoulder and gives you a squeeze, waiting patiently for you to gather yourself. 

“I packed the rest of my shit and - and I don’t know,” you cry. “Just…looking at how fu - how empty it all was. I was all alone. I couldn’t do it. I n-needed you - fuck.” 

Benji nods, understanding well what’s the matter. With his thumb, he gently wipes away your tears, and his heart breaks at your forced smile as you tell him you’re fine and it’s really all okay. You don’t have to pretend to be fine and okay if you’re not. You can just be…you know. Hurting. And Benji can be there to ease that. You don’t have to soften or temper anything. He wants you to know this.

“I was gonna help you pack,” he murmurs, rubbing his knuckle along your cheek. “Right? I was gonna help you load everything into the truck and see you off tomorrow.” 

“I know. I’m really sorry, Benji.” 

“Don’t - hey - no, don’t be sorry, dude.” Benji leans forward and wraps his arms around you, knowing what you need but what you won’t ask for. Just some quiet time with him, crying into his shirt. Probably getting snot and tears all over it, but he doesn’t give a shit.

He pulls you into his body, situates you right between his legs. He covers you both in a scratchy, striped wool blanket that he got from some music festival years back. Benji unpauses the game he was playing on his PlayStation and just keeps you there, both of you quiet as he plays, save for your sniffling. 

He used to do this when you were younger, too, when he’d play Resident Evil and Silent Hill. He can laugh about the fact that you’re brave enough to look at the screen now. 

Benji keeps his lips pressed against the top of your head, kissing you there mindlessly. “Got some leftover Pizza Slut if you’re hungry,” he mumbles against you, kissing you again. 

“I’m not. But thank you, Benny.”

The nickname punches Benji in the gut. He hasn’t heard that in for-fucking-ever.  

Time passes in the quiet and dark room, illuminated only by the bluish glow of the TV screen and some warm, dim lamps. You slide your hands under Benji’s shirt and you hold his bare torso, memorizing all the details about the way his skin feels. He’s so warm and soft, breathing evenly with you on his chest. He smells like weed and faintly of sweat, and how that comforts you. What you wouldn’t give for this moment would last forever. Perhaps you could just unzip Benji and live in his ribcage, right there by his heart. Holding it safely in your hands. 

Finally, you whisper, “I’m scared.” 

Benji looks down at you. “Scared of what?”

You look at Benji, his gorgeous, handsome face. He’s so different now, but just the same as he ever was. His beard suits him well, and so do all those little marks of age on his skin. He’s lived his life in the sun and in the grass and sand and water, and it shows in the most beautiful of ways. 

You shrug. 

“No, no. Tell me,” Benji says, half paying attention to his game. 

“Being away from home,” you admit. “And um…being away from you,” you add, quieter.

“Oh, man.” Your admission tugs at his heart. Benji gives you a tight hug when he hears that. He thinks for a moment, conjuring up words he hopes will console you. “You know, it’s…what, just a few hours away, yeah? Three or four, something like that?”

Sniffling, you nod. “Yeah.” 

“And we’re gonna see each other at Thanksgiving, right? And Christmas break?”

“Mhm.”  

You nuzzle into Benji again, drying your tears on his shirt. “What else are you scared of?”

“Fucking everything,” you laugh humorlessly. Benji laughs too. 

“Yeah, I know. You always were,” he teases softly, pausing his game. And it’s true, what he said. About you being scared of everything. You can’t help it much. 

You used to come over here for sleepovers when you were younger. Benji would let you watch horror movies - he’s not into them much anymore, but still. The really shocking and horrible stuff, too. Your choice. “Your parents will rip me a new fuckin’ asshole if they knew I let you watch this shit, so…” 

You’d start out on his couch, then beg to sleep in his bed when you couldn’t get those awful images out of your head. He’d always take you in. “Yeah, fuckin’ - get over here. C’mon.” 

Benji slept better with you there, truthfully. His arms around your soft body, nose buried in your hair or your neck. 

You were scared of the bugs Benji would find and catch in his hands to show you, and he’d try so fucking hard to get you to tolerate them. You fucking hated watching them crawl on his skin. You were scared of the monkey bars at the park, but you wanted to do them anyway - Benji would spot you the whole time, his strong hands holding your waist as you made your way across. You were scared of starting high school, and you were scared of boys. Shy. There were times you were even shy around him, and Benji would have to work so hard to fish that sweet, chatty girl he knew out of you. He always got there.

“But you’re gonna do fine, dude. Really.” 

“How do you know?”

“Because I just do,” Benji says. You sit up a little and fold your hands under your chin, looking up at him with wide, tear-stained eyes. Your worried pout. Benji gently pulls on a strand of your hair and wraps it around his finger. “You’re not gonna smoke some asshole’s sketch-ass weed, right?

“Right,” you murmur, smiling at the memory. 

Benji taught you how to smoke, years ago at this point. He stressed the importance that you smoke his weed, and not some stranger’s shitass schwag that’d probably make you puke your brains out. 

It was winter, you remember that. Standing outside on Benji’s tiny porch where he taught you to roll a joint. You still suck at it, and make him do it for you. He rolls his eyes every time. 

You remember passing it back and forth in the cold, underdressed for the weather. The glow of the lighter on his handsome face. You were wearing plaid pajama pants and a long sleeve waffle knit shirt you borrowed from Benji, and you remember scurrying inside and sitting on one of Benji’s stools at his counter, pleasantly high and giggling while you watched him make pancakes. Bob’s Burgers was on in the background, and you were so fucking…happy. You’d never been so happy.

Benji remembers that night, too. He remembers hiding under blankets with you and making you giggle by tracing your fingers and tickling your palm. He remembers thinking you were so fucking beautiful and that he couldn’t believe you were all his. He felt so lucky to have you. He still does. 

“If you need weed, I will - I’ll hand-fuckin’-deliver. Promise. Okay? And you’re gonna make your own drinks, right?”

“Mhm.” 

“I’m fuckin’ serious, dude. Don’t let anyone else do it.” Benji doesn’t even wanna think about that. It is something he worries about, truth be told. He’s scared too, about you leaving.

The make-your-own rule is another one of his pieces of advice he gave to you when you were younger. Once again, you were at his apartment. It was after your very first breakup, which would have put you around sixteen. Benji asked what he could do, and you told him you wanted to drink. He didn’t think it was a good idea, but he let you anyway. 

“You’re so fuckin’ young, dude. Do you drink? Like - like actually?”  

“...Yes,” you lied. 

Benji breathed a sigh of relief. “Uh huh, okay. Stealing sips of wine from your mommy’s glass doesn’t count,” he teased, opening a bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade for you. “When you do drink,” Benji said, “In college or whatever, promise me you’ll make your own. Okay?” 

“Why?” 

“Just ‘cause.” 

You shrugged. You didn’t recognize the significance of his advice until you were older. It just hit you one day, what it was he meant exactly. You wonder if there was a story to match, or something. 

Benji, always looking out for you. 

You got drunk off of that bottle and half of another, and you cycled through the emotions with Benji at your side. It was a lot of sadness, you recall. Benji really felt for you, poor fucking kid. You were utterly crushed. 

“It’s gonna be okay, dude.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe,” you sniffled, wiping your raw nose on your sleeve. Benji chuckled and handed you a roll of toilet paper to use instead. “Oh, no. It’s fine. This was actually his hoodie, so. Kinda could use the snot, I guess,” you joked. 

But Benji didn’t laugh. “You’re shitting me," he deadpanned. "That’s his? You're wearing that asshole's fucking hoodie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You fucking loser, take it off.” 

You gave Benji a look. “No, I’ll be cold.”

“Who fuckin’ cares? Take it the fuck off, right now. Do it. I’m not kidding.” Benji snapped at you and motioned for you to remove it, but you shook your head. So he grabbed your sleeve and tugged, and that made you giggle. You pulled back and he tugged harder in return, trying to force your arm out of the sleeve.

It escalated, of course. You laughed when you hit the floor, and after briefly checking to make sure you were alright, Benji wrestled you. You squirmed and squealed as you fought for the upper hand, but Benji pinned you easily. He was always so strong like that, so capable. He rucked the hoodie up and off your body, accidentally exposing you in the process. You were both too drunk to give a shit. 

“Benji, fucking give it.” 

“Nope!” Benji hopped off of you with the hoodie in his hand, slid on a pair of shoes, grabbed a lighter off an end table and an aerosol can of god only knows what. “C’mon.” 

"Where are we going?"

"You'll find out."

He walked outside and down the street, with you following behind him, clutching your arms in the brisk air. Finally, after reaching a quiet spot at the end of the road, Benji dropped the hoodie. He crouched down, then flicked the lighter and handed you the can. 

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Burn that fuckin’ thing, dude.”

"You're ridiculous." You rolled your eyes and pressed down on the top of the can anyway, letting out a wild laugh at the large flame that you created. Benji laughed too, watching the cheap material of the hoodie melt and burn. God, it was so stupid and so dangerous and could have easily ended up being a trip to the emergency room, but laughing with Benji in and of itself was healing. 

Later, Benji took his own hoodie off and put it over your head. He pulled your arms through the sleeves, and it was nice to see a real smile on your face again. “Oh, yeah. That’s better,” he said. “I think that makes us about square. Just don’t fuckin’ - don’t go snotting this one up, okay? Fucking creature.”

“So yeah, you’ll be fine. You know, just - stay on top of your shit. Drop a class before you fail,” he advises, stroking your hair. Benji was always so handsy like that, so touchy. Not in an uncomfortable or unwelcome way, just comforting and loving. It seems to comfort him, too. “Umm…what else. Oh - your roommate is probably going to be an asshole,” he says. 

“You think so?”

“They always are,” he answers plainly. “And also, if they’re doing Humans vs. Zombies, don’t skip out on that shit. It’s fun as fuck.” 

“What is it?” 

Benji looks so beautiful as he looks up and off to the side, thinking of a way to explain it. He giggles a little, likely remembering playing the game himself. “It’s like - kinda like tag, but you have Nerf guns and shit.”

“I still have that little Nerf gun keychain you gave me,” you smile. “Do you remember it?”

“Oh, no fuckin’ way! Yeah, I remember it! Aw, man. Yeah, use that, dude.” 

“Can’t. It doesn’t work anymore.” Benji pouts. It was this little orange and yellow toy - Nerf Secret Strike is what it was called, if you remember correctly. You were small when Benji gave it to you. It ended up being one of those tchotchkes that just kind of hangs around. Gets lost for a few years and then shows up again, just to tickle you. 

“Bummer.” Benji pauses, then thinks again. “Do not try coke,” is the next piece of advice he offers you. “Fuckin’ waste of money. Seriously.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You don’t want that shit.” Benji goes quiet, thinking of more of his sage wisdom to impart on you. He thinks what he’s told you already about covers it. He knows you’ll appreciate it all, too. What he tells you is real and it actually matters to you, and it’s not the same bullshit you get from people who don’t know what to say. Benji gently pulls on a piece of your hair, then twirls it around his finger. “Aaaand…I want you to fuckin’ call me if you need anything,” he says, voice quiet. “Anything. I always got your back, dude.” 

“Benji,” you whisper.

“You know that, hm? You know I love you?” You’re not sure why you shrug. You do know how deeply Benji loves you. “Because I do,” he murmurs. “I love you so, so fucking much. Always have.” 

You smile sadly, tears welling up in your eyes, emotional all over again. Benji wipes them before they can fall. You see tears in his eyes, too. “And then I guess…I don’t know if I’m forgetting - fuck.” Benji wipes his own tears and sniffles sharply. “Oh, I know. For fuck’s sake, dude, use a condom. Just–” Benji taps you twice on the back, already sitting up. He stumbles off the couch and heads for his bedroom, motioning for you to follow him before scratching the back of his head and mussing his hair.

He left a lava lamp on in his bedroom, as well as some colorful string lights. His bed is unmade, and different posters decorate the walls. Sports teams, bands, video games. There’s a picture of you and him on his dresser that he’s opening right now - you on the handlebars of his bike, scared shitless as he rides behind you. He rifles through it, then gives you a handful of Durex condoms. “Here, take these. Don’t - yeah, don’t use the ones they’ll hand out at the health center. They’ll just fuckin’ rip on you,” he says. You wonder if he knows that from personal experience. 

Benji flops on his bed. You sit on the end near his feet, holding the condoms in your hand, tracing the circular outline with your thumb. “Benji?”

“What’s up?”

You take a deep breath, unsure why you’re about to tell him what you’re gonna tell him. Maybe you want his advice here, too. You’ve heard X, Y, and Z from your friends, but it’s just different somehow, talking with Benji. Someone who knows you inside and out, and who thinks in such a similar way to you. Who has a heart just like yours. 

“I’ve never had sex.” 

Benji turns to his side, resting his face against his fist. He looks amused, but not in a way that mocks you. Just curious, interested. “No shit. Really?”

“Yep,” you whisper. 

“No, like - like really? You never did it with…oh, shit. What’s his fuck...” You remind him of your ex’s name, and Benji snaps and nods. “Ooohhhh.”

“That’s why he dumped me,” you tell him. 

“Yeaaahh, yep, okay. I remember now.” 

“Don’t feel bad. I dodged a bullet. He’s fucking MAGA now, so.” You make a disgusted face as you think about him. God, and you thought it was the end of the fucking world, didn’t you? 

“So he can eat shit.” 

“Exactly,” you laugh. Benji gets it. Always. 

You flip the condom over in your hand, skimming over the words printed there, but it’s difficult to see in the low light. “I’m scared of that, too.” 

“Scared of what? Doin’ it?” 

You laugh at his candor. “Yeah.” You crawl up the bed, settling close to Benji. His unwashed sheets smell just like him, and it’s the warmest, most comforting scent.

“I mean, it’s instinct though, right? You’ll know what to do. Probably not gonna cum, though. Sorry.” Benji thinks you look so beautiful when you giggle at that, all bashful and flustered.  

You look at him for a moment, searching his gorgeous, hazel eyes. “When’d you first do it, Benji?”

“Umm,” he hums, thinking. “I was sixteen, I think?”

“What was it like?” 

Benji exhales, thinking back. “She was a few years older than me, you know. Whatever. We did it in her car and it sucked, dude. It was so uncomfortable. I fuckin’ busted too quickly, too. But she was really nice about it. We did it a couple more times before she left for school.”

You feel so awkward, but not in a bad way. You’re a little excited, curious. “Can I ask you more questions?” 

“Yeah, man. Shoot.” 

“What’s it like to be hard?” 

Benji laughs loudly, not expecting that particular question. Inquiring minds want to know, he guesses. “Oh, man. I don’t fucking know,” he giggles. “It feels like - like I don’t know, kind of like tensing a muscle. But it feels good, too.” 

“Mm.” You giggle awkwardly, not so subtle when you eye Benji’s crotch, wondering.  

“Fuckin’ pervert,” he says, and you smile in embarrassment. Like he gives a shit, though. There’s nothing wrong with a little curiosity, is there? “Do…you…maybe wanna cop a feel?” 

“Benji,” you laugh, but Benji’s not. He’s just smiling, eyebrows raised. “Wait, are you serious?” 

“I’m not not serious,” he says. “Just - if you want to, you can. That’s all. Want me to be your guinea pig?”

“But I don’t think we’re supposed to.” 

“I’m not a rat. Are you a rat?” 

You shake your head, and there’s an exciting, electric tension between you and Benji that’s nearly palpable. You could reach out and touch it, grab a handful, maybe. Your heart’s beating a little faster and your stomach is fluttering with it all. You wonder if Benji feels the same thing. 

Benji asked you who’d know or who’d tell when he kissed you a few years ago. It’s inappropriate now, and it was inappropriate then, but the memory remains a very private, personal pleasure of yours. 

You remember hanging out under a bridge while hiking. Taking a break to sip on some water and rest your aching feet, but it devolved into getting high together. Not too high, just happy and floaty, being tickled by the grass and watching the water flow. 

“I was fourteen, maybe?” he said, reminiscing about his first kiss when you’d asked. “It was another boy, actually.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Benji shrugged. “Sleepaway camp.”

“What was it like?” 

“Honestly? I didn’t think much about it. We were just dumb fuckin’ kids. But I didn’t kiss anyone again for a long time. Just kinda…yeah. I don’t know,” he shrugged.

You nodded, watching Benji puff on his joint. “I’ve never kissed a boy,” you told him. “Or a girl.” 

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” 

“Nope.” 

Benji gave you a look. “You wanna try?”

“I mean, we can’t, right?” 

“Technically, yeah. But who’d know?” After thinking for a moment and smiling to yourself, you told him yes, that you did want to try. “Alright, loser. Lay it on me.” 

You could barely contain yourself when Benji faced his body to yours. Knee to knee, both sitting with your legs crossed, vibrating with that shared energy. Benji waited there patiently with his eyes closed as you gathered the courage to kiss him, but you chickened out. He grabbed you before you could leave and kissed you anyway, and how exquisite that felt. His soft, plump lips. It was slow at first, gentle, and broken by whispers and giggles. You remember his warm hands on your face and waist, and how soft his hair felt between your fingers. It went on longer than it should have, and probably shouldn’t have happened in the first place. But oh, how special it was. 

“We’re just playing around, right?” You shrug and bite down on your smile. Benji scoots a little closer to you and takes your hand, noting your little tremble. You sweet, nervous thing. “Y’ready?”

“Okay,” you grin. 

Benji brings your hand to his body and presses your palm against his bulge. He’s only half-hard yet, but his cock twitches at your touch. You let out a surprised giggle, and Benji presses you harder against himself. He’s so warm through his shorts, and growing harder. It’s such a unique, pleasant feeling. “Holy fuck,” you laugh. 

“Can I like–” you trace him a little, intrigued by all that you can feel. Then, you squeeze Benji gently, eliciting a soft gasp from him. “Is that okay? Does it - does this, like, feel good?”

Benji chuckles. “You’re touching my fuckin’ dick, dude. Yeah, it feels good.” He lets you have your fun, lets you experiment. He’s fully erect now, and breathing hard as you tease him - unintentionally, of course. After a few seconds, Benji asks, “Do you wanna make it feel better, though?” 

“Yeah.” 

Benji pulls on the drawstring of his shorts and pushes your hand underneath them. You feel his pubic hair first, long and not unlike your own. “You’re not wearing any underwear,” you whisper. 

“Well yeah, dude. It’s the fuckin’ weekend.” You smile, and Benji giggles. You’re simply feeling his cock, not really moving your hand at all. Benji gives you a gentle push forward, wrapping his hand around yours. “You’ve really never done this, huh?” he asks, slowly moving your hand up and down. You shake your head no. “You’re doing good,” he promises. “You just go like this.” 

Benji lets you touch him on your own and brings his hand to your face. He pushes some hair out of your face and sighs, closing his eyes as he allows himself to relax into the feeling. His cock is warm and stiff, and you like how smooth and soft his tip is. He stops you for a second so he can take off his shorts entirely, and then lets you keep going. 

“It’s pretty,” you tell him, making a face when you hear how silly that sounds. “Or like - I don’t know. Fuck off.” 

“No, man. I’ll take it.” Benji laughs and rolls his eyes, then lets you keep going. 

As your movements slow, he knows that you’re wondering how far this thing goes. Are you supposed to finish him off? Do you just…stop? Do you want to stop? So, he asks you. “You wanna be done here or do you wanna keep going?”

“What would happen next?” 

“I’d touch you,” he offers. “If you wanted. Orrrr…whatever you want. Ball’s in your court here.” 

You nod, “Yeah, I want that.” 

“You want me to touch you?”

“I think.” 

Benji pulls your hand off of his cock and pushes you onto your back. He undoes your own shorts, then slides them down and off your legs. “You got some nice legs, dude.” 

“Shut up,” you laugh. Fucking Benji. Strange, beautiful man.

“You ever been fingered?” 

You shake your head. “Only by myself,” you tell him, scrunching your face. It’s a little embarrassing to admit that. You’ve never talked about it with anyone before. 

“Oh, don’t be all - ‘cause that’s good, though. You know what you like.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Wanna show me? What you like, I mean?” 

“I haven’t shaved, you know. Down there.” 

Benji scoffs. “Come on. I don’t give a shit. But you can say no, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s okay.” 

“No, no. I do want–” you interrupt yourself by sighing, frustrated by you don’t exactly know what. 

Benji gets it, of course. You’re just a little overwhelmed is all. It’s new and strange and maybe a little scary. “Hey, hey - can you show me what you want? Hm?” 

You let out a deep breath, then take Benji’s hand, just like he took yours. Your stomach jumps when his fingers drag over your stomach as you push them toward your pussy. You’ve never felt anyone’s hands there beside your own. 

You spread your legs a little and Benji’s fingers slip beneath your panties. It’s nice to be the one to control the pace here, to really have the ball in your court, as he said earlier. You’re the one who chooses what his fingers touch and when, and right now, they’re rubbing your pubic hair. You inch him down a little more, and gasp at the feeling of his fingertips resting against your clit. Benji smirks. 

You adjust a little, then put your fingers over his. You let out a little noise at the added pressure, then show him the way you want him to touch you. “Like this, I think,” you whisper, moving him in circles. 

“Yeah?” 

“Y-yeah.” 

Benji knows it’s not feeling the best yet, which is okay. It takes some time to warm up, to find the right angle and pace and position and everything. He patiently works to find these things, to make you feel as good as you make yourself feel. Maybe even better. 

You moan for him. It’s loud and sharp and born of pure pleasure, and Benji grins proudly. “Ahh, okay. I got it.” 

He giggles with you. You’re spreading your legs wider and pulling your hand away from his, wetter than ever, melting into the pillows. You’ve felt pleasure before, but it feels so much more intense at the hands of Benji. You sigh softly, rocking your hips against his palm. You wonder if this really is so wrong, just making each other feel good. 

Benji’s fingers slip lower, pressing against your wet, dripping hole. He pushes just one inside, pumping it in and out of you slowly, getting you used to the intrusion. “That okay?” 

“Mhm.”

“How about…” Benji adjusts his hand and inserts a second finger that has you sucking in a sharp breath. There’s a stretch, a little amount of pain. It’s gone in seconds, quickly replaced by pleasure as Benji curls his fingers repeatedly, brushing such a tender, sensitive place inside you. You moan loudly, never having felt such a sensation before. 

And it makes Benji laugh. “Yeah, that’s the shit, right?” It’s so beautiful to see you like this, coming undone for him. 

“It’s - oh my god, Benji.” 

Benji kisses you, swallowing the delicious noises you make. He hums in surprise when he feels your hand slip beneath his - good for you, taking control of your own pleasure. You rub your clit to match his ministrations, pulling away from the kiss to bury your face in his neck. In time, you’re cumming, and Benji uses his fingers to fuck you through it. 

You come down with Benji by your side, making soft noises. He looks at you so full of care, wondering what you’re thinking. It’s those parted lips and your wide eyes that give you away, and he knows you want exactly the same thing he does. 

“I always wanted the first time to be with someone who loves me,” you say, then swallow thickly, “And who I love.” 

“I mean, I love you,” he whispers. 

You nod and kiss Benji again, your sides tickled as he pulls your shirt up and off of your head. He pulls his off next, then helps you out of your bra and underwear. Fuck, you cannot believe this is happening. Benji’s spreading your thighs apart and slotting his slim hips between them, and it’s exciting to feel his cock against your pussy. You’re fucking throbbing. 

“You wanna - fuck - you wanna find one of those condoms or…?”

“Still on the pill,” you breathe, and Jesus, does that bring back a memory. Of course he remembers. He used to drive you to the pharmacy so you could pick up your birth control that you weren’t supposed to have. 

“Cool, cool. Okay.” 

Benji spits into his hand and strokes his cock, then presses the tip at your entrance. He drags it up and down through your folds a few times, then lines up at your entrance. 

You laugh, “I’m so fucking nervous, Benny.” 

“We don’t have to,” Benji says. 

“I want to.” 

He nods. “You ready? Or do you need a minute, maybe?

“I’m - I’m ready, I think. I just - will it hurt?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he answers honestly. “But I’ll be gentle as fuck, though. I promise. Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, and Benji notches himself inside. That initial stretch alone has you gasping, hurting a little. “Wait, wait, wait. Benji–” you put your hands on his chest to stop him. 

“What is it?”

“I don’t - I don’t know, I’m…fuck, I’m sorry. I’m being weird.”

“Hey.” Benji pauses to take your face in his hand, and he rubs his thumb along your cheek. “It’s just us, right? Just me and you.” He reaches for one of your hands and interlaces his fingers between your own, and he gives you three squeezes. I love you. 

He slides slowly into your body then, watching you so carefully. He sucks in a sharp breath as you clench around him, your eyes squeezing shut and your hand gripping his a little tighter. He bottoms out with a grunt, and you whimper at the fullness. 

“Hurtin’?” 

“A little. Can you just give me a minute to like - you know?”

“Yeah, man. Just tell me when you’re ready. M’not going anywhere.” He pushes your hair back as he waits for you to give him the go-ahead, cock throbbing inside you. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, man. Yeah. I think you’re so pretty.” 

It’s such a genuine compliment, coming from the person who looks at you like nothing else fucking exists. It’s how he feels, anyway. Nothing matters to him more than you, and it never has. He means that/

Benji moves when you tell him you’re ready for him to do so. He pulls out of you almost all the way, then pushes in. The pinch is still there, but it’s lessening, lessening…gone. You make such delicious, pretty noises as Benji rocks his hips not too quickly, but not too slowly, building the most perfect pace. You wrap your legs and arms around him, nails digging into his shoulder blades. “Benny,” you whine. 

Benji’s vocal too, groaning broken versions of your name as he fucks you, sawing his hips back and forth. His hand crawls up your torso and he squeezes your breasts, thumb flicking over your nipple. “Oh, man. Fuck,” he grunts. 

You rock your hips to match his rhythm, savoring every detail of this. His gorgeous body on yours, and the comfortable weight that comes with that. The hair tickling his nose that you push out of his face. The vein in his forehead protruding, something you thought only happened when he was angry. 

“How’re you doing?” he breathes, “You okay? Feelin’ good?” You struggle to answer him, opting for a lazy mumble and a nod instead, and that makes Benji smile. “Oh fuck, yeah you are,” he laughs. 

There’s a while longer of that steady thrusting before Benji’s reaching for your clit, massaging it in the same way he did earlier, and there’s no rush. He doesn’t will it to happen, and instead takes his time, letting the pleasure build on its own. 

It makes your legs shake and tremble, makes you moan against his hot, sweaty, salty skin. “Benji, I’m gonna–”

“I know. Let go, baby. I’m here.” 

You’ve never cum so hard before. Benji’s cockhead against your g-spot, his fingers on your clit - you’re in fucking pieces, sobbing his name as you fall apart. Benji fucks you through it all, ensuring he’s satisfied you completely. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest, you’re now seated on his lap. Benji fucks you even deeper from this angle, burying his face into your chest, sucking on your nipples. 

He knows it overstimulates you. He can hear it in your voice as he chases his own orgasm, and it’s a couple more deep, hard thrusts before he’s cumming, groaning in your ear. There’s a satisfaction that comes from the way he’s so sloppy about it, so frantic. And finally, that delicious warmth as he paints your insides with his cum, both of you knowing he shouldn’t. 

Just this one time, maybe.  

Benji sighs, pulling away from you after riding the last of its waves, and he notices you’re crying again. His brows knit together and he tilts his head, his cheeks all red  and warm.

“Ignore me,” you sniffle, wiping your nose.

As if he could ever ignore you. “It’s fine, dude. It’s okay. I got you.” 

Benji pulls out of you, making you spill onto his sheets. He doesn’t give a shit. He lays down with you instead, pulling you close to him. Noses touching, his hand on your waist, thumb rubbing you back and forth. In the soft, warm glow of the room, Benji doesn’t mind letting you see that he’s crying, too, and now it’s your turn to wipe away tears. 

Why wouldn’t he be, after all? It’s the last time he’s got you all to himself. Benji promised that you’d see each other at holidays but do either of you know that for certain, really? Fuck, he knows better than anyone how life gets as you get older. How lonely it gets sometimes. The realization that there’s some family and friends of yours that you won’t see again for many years, if ever. 

Benji will help you pack your things tomorrow, as promised. Tears will be spilling down his cheeks and he’ll pretend they’re not there, telling you not to worry about him. “I’m fine - I’m fuckin’ - I’m cool as a cucumber, dude.” You’ll laugh at that as you hug him for too long, and you’ll be late to leaving. 

You’ll drive away crying, and you’ll wear that hoodie he gave you all those years ago feeling close to him, knowing he’s part of you. Some 12.5% of your blood shared. 

It’ll be okay. 

you all know the drill. reblogs, asks, whatever, would all be very nice ♡ love ya.

ETA - shutting off anons for the night as I often do because that’s when the nutjobs come out. If you have an anon, send it tomorrow morning 🩵

[francislangdon]

omg. if you have the time. we decide to play a game of chicken together which leads to one thing or another AU

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Samira turns from her charting, scanning Mel’s face before shaking her head and starting to type again.

“He’s not,” Samira says, “He’s married, Mel. He talks about his wife all the time.”

“Not to me,” Mel mutters. “I’m pretty sure he is.”

“You’re probably misreading the signals.”

“I…” Mel stutters. She has been known to do that. That’s why she wanted to bring it up to Samira. “…Guess you’re right.”

Married men don’t flirt with women who aren’t their wives. Mel knows this the same way she knows everyone waits until they’re twenty one to start drinking.

Langdon swings by their desks then, she can sense him coming. A weight hits her shoulders and it’s his hands gripping onto her, solid. Mel tilts her head up into his body, resting against his chest.

“Hey, babe, you wanna take a look at the guy in North 5 with me?”

“What happened to him?”

“Mandolin accident. Guess how many fingers he lost.”

“Most people just lose one.”

“Most people,” he agrees ruefully, “But guess how many this guy lost.”

“Three?”

“Cut the fingertips off of all five, sweetheart.”

Mel winces.

He pulls her up out of the chair. “Over under three that we can reattach?”

Samira pipes up, “Under.”

“Someone’s a pessimist. What do you think, baby?” He’s standing so close his chest is touching her back.

Mel tries to catch Samira’s eye, but she’s disinterested, focused on the computer. “Um, over? I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” he pushes her towards the hall.

“I know where North 5 is.”

His hand stays on her back. “I know.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Collins continues to stitch the laceration on their patient’s leg, but her eyebrows raise in a way that Mel can tell means she’s paying attention. “Why would you say that?”

“Um, he’s been calling me terms of endearment. And he touches me a lot? More than normal, I think. Oh, and he brought me breakfast this morning. It looked homemade.”

“Langdon’s pretty impulsive. He probably gave you his leftovers.”

“What about the touching?”

“Yes, he’s very tactile. Like a big puppy, really.”

“Is he tactile with you?”

“Ha! Not likely.”

Mel’s brow furrows.

“Dr. Langdon is married, anyway.”

“I know that.”

“You’re a great doctor, Mel, one of our best residents.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s just playing favorites. Robby does that too, sometimes.”

“…You don’t think there’s any reason I’m his favorite?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Mel says awkwardly.

The curtain to the room opens then, Langdon’s head popping up. He winks at her. “What do we have here?”

She shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he heard their conversation before he walked in.

“Belligerent drunk,” Collins says, “Had to knock him out so I could suture him.”

“And it seems like you’re doing a fine job. Can I steal Mel?”

Collins hands her over without a second thought. “Go ahead.”

“Great.” Langdon tugs Mel out of the room by the wrist.

“What did you need me for, Dr. Langdon?”

He shrugs, “Dunno yet. Let’s go find something interesting.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Robby slowly closes the drawer he’d been digging in, a packet of nicotine gum halfway to his mouth. Mel had caught him in between cases. He’s a good teacher, albeit very hands off. Mel’s spent a latent chunk of her shift trying to catch up to him.

“Okay…?” Robby trails off.

Mel’s hands flex. “Do you…”

This is embarrassing.

“Do you think that he is?”

“Flirting with you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Mel wants the ground to swallow her.

“Langdon’s been on his best behavior since coming back.”

It’s true. He’s sharper now than he was before, she thinks, more attuned to the needs of the ED. Robby has been trying to wrangle him back into his role as the heir apparent.

“I think he was smelling my hair the other day? It was hard to tell. We were talking by the lockers and he just leaned in.“

“Langdon would never be inappropriate with any of our residents. He knows better than that.”

“I’m not accusing him of anything I just—”

“Good. If he’s not bothering you then we have nothing further to discuss,” Robby houses a few pieces of gum and shoves the rest back in the drawer. “C’mon Dr. King, we’ve got patients waiting.”

Mel takes the dismissal.

She shuffles over by the board to see what needs done, but Langdon’s standing by the ambulance doors, waiting for something to come in.

“Mel! Motorcycle accident coming in five. You in?”

She can never refuse him.

“Attagirl,” Langdon grins. He slaps her ass and gestures to a trauma room, “Go get gowned up, baby.”

Mel jumps at the impact, blushing, stealing a few glances back at him as she goes to follow his directions.

“Dr. Langdon?”

He pulls himself away from her lips, “Yeah, Mel?”

“Have you been flirting with me?”

“Little bit.”

He retracts his thigh out from between her legs. There’s a wet spot where she’s been grinding on it.

“Honestly, I thought you’d chicken out before we got here.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Mel says, lips kiss-swollen. She glances at the obvious erection in his pants.

“I thought I was being pretty obvious.”

“I’m not good at social cues.”

“Ah,” Langdon says, “Alright, let me be more direct.”

He shoves her up against the wall again, kissing her intently, the press of his hard length into her thigh undeniable.

[voidmetal-alloy]

This is gonna be pretty long but I realised a while ago that Bass and Zero both kinda have the traits that Wily wanted the other to have and I need to ramble about it for a while

Zero was designed to be an unstoppable war machine, meant to awaken when Wily would no longer be around to deal with the consequences of whatever kind of monster he turned out to be : Bass is aggressive, ruthless and will stop at nothing to get what he wants, willing to harm anyone who gets in his way be it through backstabbing or brute force. But we also know that Bass canonically does have a good heart and deep down he does enjoy being appreciated for who he is, and his cruel and selfish personality is more than likely a result of Wily’s influence on him in his early development, passing down his inflated ego and stubbornness, meaning that he still has the potential for good if he can finally accept that he’s still worth something even if he’s not the best, the lesson that Wily never learned and never taught.

Bass was designed to be Wily’s right hand man and follow his every word, built strong enough to make it through any failed world domination attempt : Zero is loyal, strategic and very capable, he’s more than willing to lay down his life for the people he cares for and to make hard decisions that will work out better for them in the long run, even if it means that he has to suffer, and Wily’s shortsightedness is exactly what made him this way. He foolishly assumed that giving Zero instructions and encouraging his violent tendencies through his subconscious would be enough, failing once again to recognise the pattern of rebellion that shows up time and time again in his robots. When Zero awakens from what has no doubt been a hundred years of being told he’s made for nothing but death, he’s shown kindness and compassion and, most importantly, understanding, allowing him to find a place where his battle skills are not only needed but appreciated. It’s because of this that he develops a hesitation to listen to what his original instructions were, and then he’s forced to endure the pain and consequences of the monster he was supposed to be when Sigma succumbs to the Maverick virus, and Wily’s plans for him become just another nightmare that his loved ones can comfort him through.

If Wily had been kinder to Bass and more encouraging of who he is outside his strength, he could’ve been that loyal soldier, and if he had been more observant with his faults he could’ve foreseen that pushing Zero with flashbacks and nightmares and forcing a purpose on him would drive him away and make him question himself. But the Wily that loves Bass for who he is isn’t the Wily that builds Zero for destruction.

A final note; I think that one of the main things stopping Bass from following the same path of redemption as Zero is that everyone trying to redeem him makes him feel that his love for battle is something he should be ashamed of, even if they aren’t trying to: Rock tells him he “doesn’t have to fight” never considering that he might want to regardless of his morals, Proto is too vague about his advice (which is typically just that he should reconsider his reasons for fighting, not that he should stop outright.) and usually ends up frustrating him, etc. the only character who hasn’t accidentally shamed Bass for enjoying fighting is Duo, who just tells him he’s a little weird but still a cool guy which Bass seems to like hearing.

[fandomflotilla]

War of the Roses: Proposals

Ruby: Jaune, you’ve been close with us for a while now, and you really mean a lot to both me and Weiss.

Weiss: And we wanted to do this for tax purposes anyway, so…

Ruby: Will you marry us?

Jaune: Yes! Absolutely!

Weiss: Oh my god, you’ve made us so happy, Jaune.

Jaune: When’s the wedding, I need to find a new suit for the occasion!

Ruby: Three months!!!!!

Three months later…

Ruby: …Jaune. Why are you wearing a priest’s outfit?

Jaune: …because I’m marrying you and Weiss together? I mean I have the certification for being a deacon right here but I figured I’d look the part too.

Ruby: Deacon? Why would the you need to be a deacon…oh no.

Weiss: Why “oh no”? It’s not like he thought he was just…the…officiant…oh my god…

Jaune: …what?

Ruby: Jaune.

Ruby: When we said “Will you marry us?”, we meant will you be our GROOM.

Jaune: Oh.

Jaune: OH.

Jaune: Wait is THAT why you had me plan the honeymoon??????

Weiss/Ruby: YES.

Jaune: I THOUGHT I WAS JUST BEING A THOROUGH AND SUPPORTIVE OFFICIANT.

Ruby: WHY DO YOU THINK WE BOUGHT SO MANY CONDOMS?????

Jaune: I THOUGHT YOU WERE PRACTICING SAFE SEX!!!!!

Ruby: WHY WOULD WE NEED CONDOMS IF WE WERE ONLY HAVING LESBIAN SEX?????

Weiss: Wait, you told Jaune to buy condoms? Why would we need that?

Ruby: WHY WOULD WE NOT NEED CONDOMS????????

Weiss: I thought the point of getting married was to legally be able to rawdog it?? And tax breaks???? Is that not the point of marriage????????????

Ruby: THE POINT OF MARRIAGE IS TO LOVE AND SUPPORT EACH OTHER TILL DEATH DOES US PART, NOT RAWDOGGING IT AND TAX BREAKS.

Weiss: Wait, really? Huh. Learn something new every day. Honestly that makes marriage seem a lot more stressful. Not sure I would’ve agreed if I knew that.

Jaune: If it makes you feel better, Weiss, legally rawdogging it was the reason my parents said they got married, and they seem perfectly happy.

Weiss: Don’t you have 6 sisters?

Jaune: Seven.

Weiss: Damn. Okay, good to know the record to beat.

Ruby: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!?!???

Further into the pews…

Yang: *sniffle*

Yang: It’s so beautiful…my baby sister is getting married…

Taiyang: *sniffle*

Taiyang: It’s just like when Raven, Summer, Qrow and I got married. Right down to the rawdogging.

Qrow: Don’t remind me of that shit, Tai. I’ve spent 20 fucking years trying to forget that particular conversation. You’re lucky I haven’t divorced you.

Blake: Are none of you the least bit concerned that Ruby is basically the only sane person in this three way marriage? Are they going to call it off now?

Qrow: I assure you, Ruby is the least sane person onstage. The other two are dumb enough to not know what they’re doing, Ruby’s smart enough to know exactly what they’re doing, and is doing it anyway.

Ruby: *distantly* SO DO YOU IDIOTS WANT TO GET MARRIED OR NOT?

Weiss/Jaune: *distant murmuring*

Ruby: *distantly* GOOD. NOW IS THERE ANY OTHER IDIOT IN THIS FUCKING ROOM WHO CAN OFFICIATE THIS WEDDING????

Qrow: And that’s my cue. *gets up and walks down the aisle*

Blake: …you all deeply concern me.

Yang: Blakeeeeee, can we have a messy unorthodox wedding with Sunnnnn????????

Blake: …*sigh*

Blake: Fuck my life.

[steddiehyperfixation]

i think you should try again

written for @steddiebingo prompt: scoops | 2k words | T |

It's the first day of summer vacation and Eddie should be overjoyed. Free. The cage that is school has been opened and he should be a bird in flight, stretching his wings and soaring weightless through the world, unladen with places to be or homework to do. But he isn’t—overjoyed or free or flying or any of it. The cage is open but he still feels just as trapped and heavy as ever, dragging himself sullenly around the trailer until even his uncle feels the need to say something about it. 

Wayne, never usually one to give unsolicited advice and who generally tends to stay out of Eddie’s business, finally looks over at him and tells him, “You gotta quit mopin’ around, Ed. This sulking ain’t doin’ anyone any good, especially not yourself. I reckon you’d feel better if you got outside, go do somethin’.” 

Well, Eddie reckons that’d probably make him feel worse actually, but he gets the part that his uncle’s not saying too, and he doesn’t want his sour mood to bring Wayne down as well. So he gets himself dressed and drags himself sullenly around town instead. 

It’s the new Starcourt Mall’s grand opening today and it’s packed to the brim with high school kids enjoying their break and graduated seniors celebrating their freedom. And it does make Eddie feel worse. He takes it out on a particularly loud, whooping jock in the food court, shoulder-checking him hard and receiving an elbow to the ribs and a “Watch it, freak!” in return. Stupid fucking town. Eddie pulls a devil face, and watching the jock and his friends recoil from him lifts his spirits only marginally. 

What does lift his spirits is wandering to get ice cream and happening across the one and only freshly graduated senior in this place who isn’t free or celebrating. Steve Harrington stands behind the counter of a Scoops Ahoy Ice Cream Parlor in a totally dorky sailor uniform complete with a hat, a sight that makes Eddie fight a smile for the first time all day. 

Eddie approaches the counter with a grin, looking Steve up and down. “You know, I was feeling like shit today, but I think this just cheered me up.” 

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know, I look ridiculous.”

“Nah, it’s kind of cute, actually,” Eddie says, because it is, and because he’s curious how Steve will react. 

Steve blinks, expression split between a flattered smile and skeptically raised eyebrow. “Thanks? Um.” He shakes his head as if shaking off Eddie’s comment, putting his customer service smile back on gesturing towards the selection of ice cream. “So, what can I get for you today?”  

Eddie shrugs. “What do you recommend to cure a shitty mood?” 

“Well, something chocolate usually works,” Steve answers, “but it depends on what's got you down.” 

“I didn't graduate,” Eddie says, which should be common knowledge by now. “Again. So I’m not really feeling the summer excitement like everyone else.” 

“Ah, right.” Steve nods with a slightly awkward, sympathetic smile. “Definitely chocolate then,” he decides, grabbing a scooper and flipping it in his hand as he slides over to the tubs of ice cream. “How do you feel about Rocky Road?” 

Eddie smiles a little. “It's my favorite.” 

Steve gets to scooping, quiet for a minute and then he says, “I didn't get into college.” 

“Oh.” 

“Not a single one. Not even community college. That's why I'm here. So, you know—I get it.” 

“Yeah.” Eddie appreciates the attempt at solidarity, he really does, but, “At least you graduated.” 

“Yeah…” Steve sheepishly breaks eye contact as he sprays whipped cream onto the ice cream he's scooped. “Are you gonna try again?” 

“I’m not sure yet. I have until the end of the month to decide,” Eddie says, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. 

Steve hands him a sundae with three scoops but only charges him for one, a kindness Eddie isn't quite sure how to respond to, so he doesn't—just pays and finds a booth to sit and eat at. 

He picks somewhere where he can keep Steve in his eyeline, still amused by those sailor shorts and intrigued by the odd little conversation they just had. Steve Harrington is nothing like Eddie expected, nothing like he seemed to be in high school, and the more Eddie watches him, the clearer that becomes. 

Steve’s off his game, keeps trying and failing to flirt with girls who come up to the counter. Whatever smooth charm he was once purported to have in those King Steve days of yore is nowhere in sight now and instead he seems to wear an ill-fitting mask of false confidence, blustering to some poor girl about postponing college in favor of getting real life work experience as if it was his own wise choice to scoop ice cream in a sailor outfit, but his eyes betray a look just as trapped and heavy as Eddie’s been feeling lately. Maybe there is solidarity to be found here after all. 

The girl leaves with her ice cream and Steve looks up to catch Eddie watching him, a startling, unintentional moment of direct eye contact. Steve gives a tiny smile and a small shrug—in embarrassment maybe, or just simple acknowledgement—but Eddie doesn’t see it long enough to interpret it, already looking away and snapping his attention back to the slowly melting sundae in front of him. He eats his ice cream and doesn’t look over again, allowing Steve the dignity of striking out with the next girl unwitnessed. It’s cruel to visibly revel in another’s failure, and while there are many people Eddie would love to be cruel to today, Steve isn’t one of them. 

So Eddie watches everyone else instead. As the natural curative powers of chocolate ice cream and marshmallows work their magic on his bad mood, he alleviates his bitterness further and entertains himself by imagining great, fantastical harm befalling anyone he sees whom he finds irritating. Snickering mean girls are cursed by wizards; obnoxious jocks are eaten by dragons; celebrating seniors are torn apart by hoards of goblins. 

“I think you should try again.”

Eddie blinks out of his daydream of a particularly vicious dragon to see Steve pulling up a chair, those stupid shorts riding up his thighs obscenely as he sits. Not that Eddie’s looking—he’s not (he is). He blinks again, pulls his gaze back to Steve’s face. “What?” 

“High school, graduating,” Steve says, “I think you should try again.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Eddie says with a scoff of a laugh, trying to sound light because he’s really not sure why Steve cares. “Going back for a third senior year is a bit pathetic, isn’t it?” 

“Not as pathetic as giving up,” Steve tells him. “And you never struck me as the type.” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you took that much notice of me, Harrington.” 

“Kinda hard not to when you were stomping on top of cafeteria tables every other day, Munson,” Steve points out, like duh. 

“Touché,” Eddie mutters. 

“You’ve got grit, man, is what I’m trying to say,” Steve continues. “You know—you’re bold, you’re tough, you don’t back down. You parade on top of lunch tables and rail against the stereotypes put on you, and that doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d let anyone, not even himself, tell him he can’t. So what’s one more senior year? What’s one more try to finally graduate and stick it to everyone who never thought you could? If anyone can do it this time, it’s you.” 

He says all this in what Eddie can only assume to be his best ‘team captain’ voice, an expert tone of firm encouragement and optimistic passion that Eddie can vividly imagine Steve (tiny basketball shorts included) having used in locker room speeches to rally the spirits and self-confidence of his teammates before they took to the field—or court, or whatever. The Hawkins High basketball team never won much in Steve’s time, but Eddie bets they had great morale. 

“Right, yeah,” he says, attempting to remain guardedly nonchalant even as his chest glows warm with Steve’s unexpected praise. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Steve nods, smiles. “Of course.” And that could’ve been the end of it, but Steve stays seated, taps his fingers against the table, and surprises Eddie again by saying, “And, hey, um, you run that Dungeons and Dragons club at school, right? Hell-something?” 

“Hellfire, yeah,” Eddie confirms, adding Steve Harrington knows what D&D is? to the ever-growing list of things that have bewildered and intrigued him about Steve today. “Why?”

“There’s a couple of kids I kind of babysit, they’re gonna be freshmen next year and they’re really into that nerd stuff—like, total geeks,” Steve says. Easy targets, he means. He shrugs. “So, you know, if you did decide to stick around another year, it’d be nice for them to have someone to look out for ‘em.”

“Ah,” Eddie says. Now this all makes a little more sense. He points his spoon at Steve. “There it is, the ulterior motive.” Steve doesn’t care about him; he hasn’t been trying to talk him into a third senior year for Eddie’s sake, but for the sake of a bunch of nerdy kids he knows. Which, actually, is still kind of sweet. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Put that accusing spoon down, Munson, there’s no ulterior motive. I meant what I said before, too. I want you to try again for you, because you really are tough and I really do think you can do it. But also because there are some kids who might need you. Both of those things can be true.”

Eddie puts his accusing spoon down and uses it to take another bite of his soupy ice cream instead. “I guess.” 

“And, who knows, maybe I want it for me too,” Steve adds flippantly, and Eddie can’t tell if he’s being serious or if this is just a cheeky hypothetical to further his point. “You know, I drive those kids around a lot, I’ll probably be picking them up from those Hellfire meetings. Maybe I want to see more of you. Maybe all three of those things can be true.” 

Hypothetical or not, Eddie can’t hold back his oddly endeared smile anymore. “Alright,” he concedes, “you’ve made your point.” 

Steve grins back. “I’ve gotta get back to work,” he says, finally standing up. He drops a hand onto Eddie’s shoulder as he passes by, a brief, lingering squeeze. “Just think about it.” 

Eddie glances at his shoulder as if half expecting the touch to have sunk into his skin and left some sort of imprint. It hadn’t, of course. He scrapes up the last of his sundae and quickly stands before Steve can get too far. “Hey, Steve?” 

Steve pauses and turns around. 

“I think you should try again too.” 

“What, with college and stuff? Yeah, I know, I’ll probably reapply next year.” 

“Well, yeah, good, that too,” Eddie says, “but I meant— I saw you strike out with that girl earlier; I think you should try again. You’ve got a lot going for you, really, and I, uh, I think a lot more people would see that if you didn’t put up some weird facade of over-the-top confidence. So- yeah, I think you should try again, but be honest, be yourself, you know, without all that bluster.”

Steve smiles, a slow, bemused sort of smile that borders on a smirk, as his head tilts and his eyes glance Eddie over. “I just did,” he says, and then he’s turning away again. “I’ll see you around, Eddie.” 

It takes a couple seconds of buffering time for Eddie to process exactly what Steve meant by that, and by then Steve’s already gone, back to work and busy. “Yeah, you will,” Eddie mutters in delayed, unnecessary response, grinning to himself as he throws away his empty sundae cup and walks out of there in far better spirits than he’d entered with. 

He still doesn’t know yet if he’ll be going back to Hawkins High for another try at senior year, but he does know that he’ll definitely be coming back here, to Scoops Ahoy, for another try at Steve Harrington.

[arbitrarykiwi]

Heyyyyyy it's shawtyyyy (again)

So I have a question 👉🏾👈🏾

I just read your namgyu x big boobs!reader and it made me wonder...

If you'd do a reader with a big butt

Like a whole bakery behind her back

I feel like namgyu (or Thanos you can do either) would go crazyyyyyy just smacking readers ass all the time LMAO

Would you do that? Pretty please? *bats eyelashes* 🥹👉🏾👈🏾

SHAWTYYY!!!! MY LOVE!!!! ABSOLUTELY I WILL DO THAT!! 😩😋 this was already in the works after the big boobs!Reader because I couldn’t get the thought of riding him reverse cowgirl and making him see stars because he can’t handle all that ass

I hope you like this one!!!!! I’m prayin I did it justice

Warnings: nsfw themes , smut (18+)

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LMAO!! I said this in the last one I’ll say it again, idc- uses your ass as a pillow

Mf will make you get up from where ever you’re laying, flip on your stomach, and he will lay down. Head on your ass, cheek nuzzling into the jiggling flesh, arms wrapped around your waist and connected under you

Resting on your ass is also one of his favorite way to smoke

Sprawled out on the bed, you’re on your stomach. Red eyes watching some video and he’s laying on his back horizontal to you, head leaned up against your ass as he hits the blunt

He’s also such a fucking dweeb and gives you fake back shots everytime you bend over

Having just taken the laundry out of the dryer, you’re realizing you haven seen your phone in a long minute.

“Hey baby, have you seen my- oh fuck.” You groan, dropping one of the shirts you were carrying from the laundry room to the bedroom. You drop the rest of the pile you were holding to better scoop up the warm clothes.

You’re not even sure how he did it- how he got up that fast and knew you were bending over- he was in the living room and you were in a hallway! He couldn’t have seen you! But, Nam-Gyu is practically bounding down the hallway and coming up behind you.

One hand crossing over your lower back to hold your hip and the other presses down on your back, putting you into the pretty little arch he loves so much.

“Fuck, there you go.” He hisses out, pressing his pelvis flush against your ass. He’s pulling you back against him, drawing his hips back then thrusting forward.

Nam-Gyu is quite simply addicted to the image of your ass rippling against him, the way anytime he drives his hips forward his cock is completely surrounded by your ass- yeah, he’s in heaven.

“Fucking hell!” You giggle out surprised, placing your palms on the floor to steady yourself, “How’d you even move so fast?!” You say, simply taking each faux thrust he gives.

“I know when my baby’s bending over, it’s like a radar.” He says, laughing along with you.

When you play is game along with him, putting more weight on your hands and shaking your ass back against him??? Immediately to the bedroom with you!!!

Hand on your ass 100% of the time

Walking with you and you’re wearing jeans? Hand in your back pocket cupping your ass

No pockets? Fuck it, hand down the waist band of your pants. He really doesn’t care

Slapping your ass anytime he gets, much like you said

Walking by him while he’s playing some video game, he’s risking his character dying to reach out and slap your ass as you walk by

Pouts if the slap wasn’t good enough and makes you walk by again so he can try to slap your ass again

The sound of the slap echos out through the room, its dull, and really hits the side of your thigh more than anything. You don’t think anything about it, it’s happened more times than you can count- you were expecting it!

“That wasn’t a good one”

“Get the fuck back here, I need to try again.”

You two speak at the same time, laughter ringing out through the room as he realizes you really got him down to the littlest thing he does. Hell, you seemed to have some grasp on his ass slapping rating scale to realize that wasn’t going to cut it.

“Fuuuuck, you’re not real.” Nam-Gyu says with a groan, “You know me so well.” motioning you to walk backwards and pass by him again, he’s grinning and shamelessly looking at your ass when you step backwards.

You repeat what you just did, walking by him to your original destination. This time his palm is connecting with your ass in a perfectly time slap. It’s sharp, your ass recoiling with the impact- you can even feel the throbbing sting of where his palm landed seconds after it happened.

His eyes are locked onto your ass like a predator about to bite into a chunk of raw meat, “Ughhh, so much better, that one had some good fuckin’ recoil.”

And then he’s sending you on your way!

Also has definitely hit you with a “You need help holding that? Looks heavy.” And then grabs you ass

Yeah he loves lil’ short skirts or short shorts that ride up so high they’re not even shorts anymore- he adores them

But what really gets him going?!? You wearing his boxers or tight jeans

There’s something about the way you fill out his boxers- damn near busting at the seams becuase men’s boxers in his size aren’t sewn for that much curve.

And jeans?! Fuck, he could cum in his pants watching you walk away from him in jeans. Theoretically, the fabric should be constricting, should limit the amount of movement…but nope! It’s still moving

Especially loves the little jump you do when you put them on to get them over your ass

100% has went out and bought you a pair of jeans with his own money just to recreate a porn video he saw where the crotch of the pants was ripped and the girl was getting fucked from the back through the opening

ALSO THOSE NIGHTGOWNS!! Yk the ones that have that thin soft fabric that is baggy as hell but the second you’re walking the outline and jiggle of your ass and waist is so visible?

Yeah he’s like on his knees barking like a dog. You put that on he’s taking it as a sign he’s bout to have a fantastic fucking night even if all it amounts to is him getting to just look at you in it.

He’s the type of guy to literally not give a fuck what you wear outside. He’s confident you’re his and if you want to show off what you got?! By all means!!

He gets a sick ego boost when you’re out at the club he slides up to your side, arm pulling you into his side and watching every man who was staring at have a look of defeat when they realize you’re taken

More than a little tipsy and definitely stoned beyond belief- you’re having the time of your life at Club Pentagon. Having a boyfriend as a club promotor has its perks!!

The music is thrumming and you’re on the dance floor with a group of girls you randomly met. Dancing and hyping each other up like you’ve been friends for years. They’re so welcoming that you feel like you can dance more without having to worry about someone coming up to you.

So of course you have the time of your life!! You’re swaying your hips to the song, the fabric of the lil red dress you have on flowing with every little movement you make. And as the music picks up and the lovely group of girls around you dance with you- of course you’re throwing some ass!!

Nam-Gyu likes when you do this- a personal show just for him to watch while he works the floor of the club. It’s entrancing really, you know you look good, you know you have a lot of ass, and you know how to move- you’re a fucking masterpiece to him.

Standing against the bar, having just finished talking to some random VIP who was far too drunk to even realize the promotions Nam-Gyu was trying to sell, he’s now watching you dance.

You can feel his eyes on you, drinking you in like you’re the finest wine this bar as to offer (and a bottle is like 3k at the club). He’s licking his lips and doing his best to discretely adjust his pants as he watches- studies- you, ass and thighs jiggling with every shake you intentionally do.

He doesn’t move when he watches you throw your hips back on some girl who giggles and playfully smacks you ass- nah, you’re simply having fun- if anything he’s glad you found a little group to hang out with.

He does move when he sees a man somehow pushing his way through the group of girls surrounding you and try’s to talk to you. He can see how you freeze what you were doing, looking at the man with an irritated look. He can see how the man tries to reach out and touch your waist, attempting to talk to you.

You jump a little when you’re pulled into his side, you didn’t even see Nam-Gyu walk up! Nam-Gyu steps so he swats the man’s hand away from you, his own arm wrapping around your waist.

“Pretty isn’t she?” Nam-Gyu says, his voice low and stoic, hand squeezing you to him even more, “She’s not for you to touch though.”

“You just gonna let your girl whore out on the dance floor like that?” The guy scoffs, immediately switching his mood now that he knows he doesn’t have a chance to take you home

“Yeah.” Nam-Gyu says shrugging, “Why not, I’m the one taking her home and imprinting my hand on the ass she was just shaking.”

Your face is flushed and your body heated from your boyfriend’s words but Nam-Gyu just smirks lazily and waves the man off.

When he hugs you he’s putting both hands on your ass and using it as leverage to pull you closer to him and squish you against his chest

Sit on him

On his lap on his face…literally anywhere he wants it

Says that no chair is good enough to handle all of your ass so he’s the only option….again he’s a fucking dweeb

Facesitting 1000%

Facesitting, but!!! He’s making you twerk on his face. He’s so fucking nasty.

Also more often than not- he’s eating it from the back

Hands spreading your ass, fingers pressing into the flesh and shaking your ass on his face, going to town- like dudes obsessed

Of course he’s a doggy style fiend but I raise you…..

Prone bone!!!

His favorite position hands down.

“Just put it in~” you’re whining, trying your best to wiggle your hips back onto him. It’s hard the way you’re literally pinned to the mattress. He’s straddling your thighs- pelvis pressed against your ass as he just inspects you.

He can’t get over the way his dick looks pressed into the valley off your ass. He’s rocking himself back and forth just dragging the weight of his cock through your thick ass.

“You have no fucking patience.” You can hear how he’s speaking through gritted teeth- he’s trying not to blow his load all over your ass then and there.

You whine, “youve been doing this for hours…”, hips arching off the bed, when two large hands switch their grip and grab a handful of each ass cheek. He’s spreading you apart, watching how your own wetness strings between the fat of your ass in shiny webs.

The smartass he is, is pausing all movement to turn his head to look at the digital clock under the TV, “it’s been 15 minutes..” he scoffs, shifting back to prod his fat tip against your dripping pussy.

It doesn’t take much, the second you feel the tip of his cock draaag nice n’ slow through your folds, you’re moaning out his name.

“This fat fuckin’ ass…” he’s growling more to himself than you, one of his hands that grips your ass, shaking it and watching the flesh recoil against his pelvis and dick, “so good…just letting me play with you…you can wait a lil’ longer, yeah?”

Sobbing into the pillow you’re trying your best to press back against him and slip his cock into your cunt yourself! But Nam-Gyu was never one to rush things.

With a sharp slap! His hand is connecting with your ass. You’re moaning out in response, hands gripping at the pillows to try and ground yourself in anyway possible. When he witnesses the recoil and the blossoming red imprint of his hand, he’s moaning with you.

“Yeaahhh,” Nam-Gyu’s drawling out, “you can wait a lil’ longer.” He’s answering for you. He needs to make it even and do the other side of course!

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Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills

((Lmk if you wanna be on my taglist for everytime I post <3))

[firingstars]

no one asked for this, but this is a dissection of my own fic bc i love this characterization of bucky x reader and tbh i might just do this to other fics that i adore. <3

Bucky hated his phone, but he still texted you often. Texted you good morning and good night every single day.

guys bucky wrote reader a LOVE LETTER in the first fic and told her during their first date that he hated his phone and everything about it. however?? bro still texts reader like its his job. like its the only thing he knows.

You were pretty certain that he wasn’t joking when he said that he assassinated JFK, too. Except, you were drunk when he confessed that to you during a drinking game that you two were doing when you first started dating. You don’t know if you dreamt it. Bucky refuses to comment, like a true politician.

bucky tells reader everything. he told reader everything about his past. and obviously, she took it like a champ. this was part of his non-negotiables that he quietly hinted at during match made that he was kinda scared to actually say out loud. someone to accept him and his faults. the reason why he fully accepted reader to begin with was because during the first date she said:

“Well, you can’t run from me,” you smiled at him, “I already know your past. There’s nothing that you need to hide from me that I’ll be scared of.” (this is from match made not locked in lols)

AND SHE DIDNT EVEN KNOW THE EXTENT OF IT she js knew what was put online as the backlash bc of the mfs that were like ?? congressman assassin???!?!? extra: bucky once asked her what she thought abt that and she said she still thinks he's better than the other politicians by a loooooonnnnggg shot so she rly doesnt care extra extra: she's worked with clients that are way worse than him and never elaborated. bucky is confused on what that could possibly mean

You finish your own skincare routine faster than he does, as per usual.  “I don’t understand why the hell I have to do this, doll,” he grumbled as you left the bathroom. “I’m over a century old.”

bucky complains, but does he ever mean it??? no. bro is whipped. always whipped. do not forget man is the same man that did not understand reader when she said people generally have one love language. he has all five.

- “Just a present. Saw it, thought it would look nice on you.” - His card is slid into your palm, and his lips are pressed against your knuckles. “I’ll pay for you and Mel,” he said, giving you one more smile. - “I bought [these shoes] for you,” he said, tilting his head as he examined the design a little closer. ... he always wanted to be the kind of man that was able to spoil his girl rotten– to bring his woman to the best places and sign the check without batting an eye.

and the influx of flowers after reader confirms that she loves flowers teehee. he's always getting her flowers. there's always fresh flowers somewhere. always. if he sees the flowers he last got her wilting?? oh lord. someone's dying

- He learned over time that you just wanted silence, the same way that he did. - Bucky answered any questions that you possibly could’ve had for him, already knowing what you would’ve thrown his way. - ... you still had to do work when you came home ... Bucky seemed to plan for that, which is why he had a room specifically made for a home office for the two of you.  - “Do you know how many times you have ranted to me about the fact you hate restaurant proposals? You hate planning them, and you hate watching them. Why would I ever propose to you in a restaurant?”

the wording was very deliberate- bucky learned over time. do you know how many times. there was trial and error in the beginning of their relationship bc bucky still wasn't up to speed with modern dating (and obviously still isnt with how nervous he was about asking to move in) but reader was very patient with him throughout all the speed bumps bc she understands his struggles and his past, which is exactly what he was looking for from the very beginning of this whole matchmaking shenanigans

idk this entire fic was just a love letter to reader because i didn't feel like writing an actual

dear y/n, blah blah blah love, bucky

kinda thing.

someone did ask me what the love letter did entail and i rly did entertain the idea of writing the love letter... but i felt too lazy. so this fic if what came out of it. which honestly. feels like the opposite of laziness.

locked in

— a sequel to match made

congressman!bucky x matchmaker!reader

summary: you and your boyfriend have been together for a strong nineteen months and counting. problem is, you’re starting to notice he’s hiding things from you.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, semi-public (?) stuffs, oral (f+m receiving), hair pulling, face grabbing, fingers in mouth, unprotected sex, backshots, fingering, window… sex…, soft dom bucky, slight sub reader, language, no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, bucky is the best boyfriend ever and loves you very much

word count: 15.2k

a/n: due to popular demand, here’s a second part! this is also my formal apology for whatever happened in love, persevering <3 please accept. // also if anyone saw this get prematurely posted with NOTHING attached you didn’t fucking see it. i wasn’t made aware until EIGHT HOURS LATER and the fic wasn’t even done yet!!! 😔 i always make my fic intro template things before my fics are done for motivation

masterlist

You almost lost your fucking job. 

You expected it, honestly. With the amount of lines you crossed, boundaries broken, and toes you stepped on… Yeah. There was only so much that your boss could take from you— star employee or not. 

Thankfully, your boss kept the whole thing quiet from the rest of your coworkers to spare you the embarrassment since you had the decency to come to her and tell her the truth. 

It still meant you had to refund Sam Wilson the entire Ador Luxury Matchmaking Package, which your boss was not happy about.

Sam, on the other hand, was over the moon. 

When he received the refund transaction, he called you almost immediately. You had to go into a private conference room to answer the call, away from your coworkers.

“Mr. Wilson,” you answered the phone, trying to keep your tone light.

“Hey, Ms. Matchmaker,” he said, suspicion in his voice. “Did Buck cancel his membership?”

“That is correct,” you said, clearing your throat. 

“I thought we had an agreement. I paid you guys extra to not allow him to bully you guys into ending the program,” Sam said. You can hear the frustration in his voice. You don’t blame him. “What happened?”

“I can assure you– the refund is not due to Congressman Barnes just cancelling the service,” you said. “In fact, he is no longer in need of my services.”

“What? Then he’s been on a date?” Sam asked. “If that’s the case, then why the refund? If the date was successful, then doesn’t Bucky get the benefits or whatever?”

There was no response from your end for a good handful of moments. You were stuck, unable to respond. You couldn’t figure out how to say the words in the most professional way possible. You needed to find the right concoction, just in case there was someone walking down the hall at that exact moment,  and overheard your conversation. 

In the end, all you could think was that Bucky was a dead man walking.

You were going to kill Bucky. You weren’t sure how you were going to do that, seeing as he was the one with the years of experience of fighting between the two of you, but you would do it. You were hoping that he would’ve told his one and only friend that he had a girlfriend. 

Then again, Bucky refused to answer any of Sam’s calls. You texted Sam back most of the time when you got ahold of Bucky’s phone, pretending to be Bucky. Bucky didn’t care that you were doing that– though you wondered if Sam would be heartbroken if he ever found out. 

“Hello?” Sam asked, calling out your name. “Are you there?”

“Congressman Barnes terminated his membership with Ador as he and I have mutually decided to pursue a more personal relationship with each other,” you quickly answered him, cringing at your own words. You took a quick breath in before continuing, “The refund is due to my own oversight, and is serving as an apology to you for wasting your time on our service. I truly hope that you will forgive me for being unable to maintain a more professional connection with the client.”

It was Sam’s turn to fall silent. You had to check your phone to make sure that the call was still active. There was a slight rustle on the other end, letting you know that he was still there– that he was on the other end, dissecting your words, gears processing through his mind.

“The matchmaker I hired is dating my friend?!” he cackled. 

“Mr. Wilson, I truly apologize for the inconvenience–” 

“There is no inconvenience!” he cut you off, still laughing. “Holy shit, let me tell you– after that first meeting with you? I asked Bucky what he thought about you as his matchmaker and his only words? He thought you were pretty. Would not say anything else. Fuck, listen, let me call you back– or let’s all go to dinner. You, me, Buck, and my girl. I gotta head down to the office and harass Bucky right now.”

You went on an unpaid suspension for eight weeks after the refund transaction went through. The HQ of Ador had to undergo a full on investigation to figure out if you were worth keeping around as an employee or not, seeing as you ended up breaking client-employee conduct. 

Your boss wasn’t awful, though. In fact, she was only pissed off about the refund because she knew that headquarters back in London would have been alerted. Either way, it was still the right thing to process the transaction. She promised you that she would be your biggest advocate during the investigation, and she would try to argue for you to get the time to be paid seeing as you were the best employee in the New York branch.

The second you told Bucky– who told Sam– you found money wired into your account the next business day. It was the same exact amount that you had refunded back to Sam. It was still more money than you would’ve made if you were working those eight weeks. 

Neither man told you how they got ahold of your bank information. Neither man would look you in the eye when you questioned them. 

So, you had eight weeks of basically overpaid, free vacation to do whatever the hell you wanted, and a new boyfriend. Which meant you spent damn near every single day in his office, cosplaying as some government worker– an intern or secretary. And you were helping him. You actually were. 

“You really don’t have to do any of this, baby,” Bucky told you. You had been coming for an entire week straight at this point.

“If I stay stationary for two months, I think I might die of brain failure,” you told him, stealing a stack of his files from him. “Besides. You look like you need some help. You should really hire a secretary. Or someone to help you out. A personal assistant, maybe?”

“I can handle it on my own,” he sighed, shaking his head. Despite his words, he looked grateful as you took the files to the lounge area of his office and spread them out on the coffee table.

“Tell that to me when you sleep more than two hours a night, handsome,” you said, tucking your legs under you.

With less sensitive information that he was allowed to hand over to you, you organized and kept tabs on. You summarized documents for him perfectly that made his life easier. You helped train other onboarding interns that didn’t know what the hell they were doing. You managed his calendar when he looked like he was about to combust into flames. You got to spend time with him during his breaks, have lunch with him, eat dinner with him, and he would drive you home, and spend the night with you most nights.

Not that anyone knew that, though. They thought you were an actual employee of this official government building in New York. With the way that you walked side by side with Bucky every single day, holding files and looking down at his work phone– they really thought that you were working for him.

“Where’s your secretary today?”

You don’t know who asked the question, and you don’t really care. There’s about three other officials in this room that barged in out of nowhere, when you were on Bucky’s lap. 

Both of you had panicked, and he had shoved you into the hiding space beneath his desk before any of them could see the scandalous position he had you in. 

Unluckily for him, he had chosen the wrong place to put you. 

“At a training session with other interns,” Bucky said, tone clipped and short. He was irritated at being interrupted out of nowhere, but also at the fact that you were ignoring his warnings. 

You grinned, pressing an innocent kiss to the hand that gripped over your wrist. Tight, but not enough to hurt you. You continued to palm over his hardening length with your free hand. 

You weren’t paying attention to any of the fancy words that were being thrown around over your head, but you were certain that Bucky wasn’t either. You rested the side of your head against his thigh, feeling the muscle tense and hardened at your touch as you continued to lazily play with him over the fabric of his dress pants. 

Bucky’s metal hand slipped from your wrist to your hair, carding through it and stopping at the base of your skull– another cautionary message being sent to you as Bucky tried to focus on the sudden meeting thrown his way. Thankfully, these men loved the sound of their own voices. They couldn’t hear you slowly unzip him, and free Bucky from the confines of his slacks. 

“Your thoughts, Congressman Barnes?”

Your boyfriend cleared his throat above you as your lips kissed the tip of his cock, wrapping your hand around the base of him to keep him in place as his dick twitched in response. You fought back the small hum that threatened to come forth as you licked up the small bead of precum that leaked out.

“It’s a very… worrying matter,” Bucky said slowly, clenching his jaw as he took in a slow breath. You licked a thin strip up from the base of his cock– focusing on the thick vein that you knew was sensitive. “That is very worrisome. And we’ll get to the bottom of this uh– worrying... issue.”

You paused at his words, unable to believe what you were hearing from him for a moment. You pulled away from him for a moment, hand still wrapped around his dick as you pressed your face to his thigh, trying to hide your laugh into his flesh. 

Bucky’s hand tugged back on your hair roughly, pulling your head back and away from his thigh. Immediately, his metal hand shifted from your hair to clasp around your face, covering your mouth. His fingertips dug into the soft skin of your cheeks, daring you to make another noise. Surprise and excitement shot through your body in response.  

You could test him. You could press it. 

You decided against it, and licked his palm instead, closing your eyes. You could feel his hand twitch against your face— he told you once that his arm was calibrated to feel sensations. That he felt nerves like his other arm did. You smiled just a little, then kissed right where your tongue had just been. 

All the while, your hand was still pumping at his dick in lazy strokes. Nothing too much, nothing that would alert anyone of your presence, nothing that would make him let out noises that were only yours to hear. 

“Right,” one of the officials said slowly. “Well– we have lunch with some of the other representatives in ten minutes. You are welcome to join us, Congressman. If your secretary comes back from her training, she is more than welcome to join us as well. Lord knows we need a little more eye candy around here.”

A chorus of laughter rang around the room, but not from Bucky. In fact, he just stared at them until their laughter became uncomfortable, and they awkwardly excused themselves. 

The second the door to his office shut, Bucky’s chair was rolled back instantly, and your hands weren’t touching him anymore. 

You were still on your knees, looking up at him as Bucky stared down at you, hand still on your face to shut you up before you had been caught laughing at his inability to form proper words with your mouth on his cock.

“You’re so pretty like this, baby,” he murmured, hand shifting to cradle your face.

A metal thumb brushed against your lip slowly, a shiver running down your spine involuntarily. His touch was gentle. Reverent. He touched you like you were made of glass. Unlike the blown out, hungry look in his eyes, the gruff, low tone of his voice as he whispered to you. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw his other hand tuck himself back into his pants. When your eyebrows furrowed in response, he let out a soft chuckle.

Bucky leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. Then, he stood up tall. He rolled his shoulders back, but you couldn’t focus. Your eyes were on him, and the aching bulge above his zipper. 

“I have to go to lunch, sweetheart. When I get back, you’re going to get exactly what you wanted from me, okay?” 

Your boyfriend left you there. Left you partially under his desk, still on your knees. What was supposed to be you teasing him, quickly shifted into you being extremely hot and bothered. You didn’t know how long lunch would take, either. 

You busied yourself with literally anything else. Not that it worked. Every footstep that came down the corridor, you were jumping in attention like some rabbit in heat.

Except, Bucky moved like a ghost. You wouldn’t hear his footsteps. 

When he finally returned, you didn’t even hear him until the sound of the office door locking caught your attention. You barely had the time to turn around before he was all over you. Lips were on yours as he hoisted you upwards, wrapping your legs around his waist to carry you to his choice of christening. 

An arm swiped his desk clear of any debris so no pens or other office supplies would be digging into your skin. He bunched your skirt up to your hips, and pulled your panties to the side. Bucky bent you over his desk with fingers shoved into your mouth to keep you quiet as he did what you wanted from the beginning. He curtained you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispered sweet nothings to contrast the punishing thrust of his hips— letting you know that he still very much adored you, but was also extremely annoyed by your little game earlier.

Afterwards, Bucky cleaned you up gently. Kissed you softly, held you tightly in his arms. Then presented you with food that he brought back for you– he ordered you lunch while he was out eating since he knew you wouldn’t have left the office while he was gone. 

You almost jumped his bones again right then and there for how considerate he was of you.

So yes, you almost lost your job, but you weren’t necessarily upset about it. Not when you got to spend an entire month with Bucky, helping him out at work, cuddling with him at night, and waking up at whatever time you wanted the next morning. On the rare days that you weren’t at the office with him, it was because you were somewhere else– still with him. 

Eventually, you were called back into work.

You convinced Bucky to hire an assistant to take care of his little things— stuff that you did for him to make his life easier so he could focus on more pressing things. It managed to ease his workload just a little bit, but not by a lot. Bucky still managed to bite more than he could chew, and you knew he was stressed from how slow the process was for passing bills and getting change to happen. 

Despite it all, the two of you were content. Happy. Overjoyed, really. He was perfect, and he swore to the heavens that you were, too.

A cacophony of voices, poppers, music, and sparkles were blasted into your face as you pushed open the door to the office. Streamers were shot directly into your face, colors cascading directly before your eyes, showering you with colors of the pastel rainbow. 

Your coworkers, all dressed to the nines, were cheering. A few of them held flutes of champagne. Two of them held balloons– together making the number twelve together. One of them held a cake that read congratulations.

There was a catering table set for the party that was clearly waiting for you. You saw the table set, ready for everyone to dig into. You knew your boss didn’t hold back when it came to celebrating any kind of achievements, especially not your own. You were the best at what you did here.

Your grin wasn’t smug, even though you had every single right to be. You shrugged your blazer off as you sauntered into the room, allowing the applause and cheers to wash over you. You dropped your purse and other materials off at your desk as your boss approached you with a grin, hands going to your shoulders.

“My star employee– our number one matchmaker!” she cooed at you, everyone shouting around you in response to our praise. “Tell me, with this wedding upcoming this weekend, how many will you be responsible for?”

You paused, only for dramatic effect. The ceiling looked suddenly oh so interesting as you smiled. Then, you guessed, “Twelve?”

“Twelve!” your boss roared, the girls around you jumping up and down with excitement and cheer. 

“Do a speech, a speech!” your deskmate urged, and you only let out a small, playful sigh as everyone died down around you.

You were handed your own glass of champagne, led to the front of the room, and turned to look at all the girls. Girls that you worked with for the past six, almost seven years. Your boss had been doing this job for well over a decade now. There were a few new faces that had just started a few months ago. 

With your glass lifted into the air, you smiled, “Love is all around. It’s easy to find the perfect match for someone.”

They squealed, toasting to you. The cake was brought to you, letting you blow out the candles as if it was your birthday or something– just a tradition your company had for good luck. Something to bring more successful matches and weddings to your clients.

Your two clients, Luke and Jessica, were tying the knot after twelve months of dating, and another four months engaged. One year and four months— which was a relatively short time, but who were you to judge? They both told you they knew the other party was the one after the first date. Who were you to stand in the way of them? 

Just because you were fucking bitter, and jealous that you couldn’t spend time with your own boyfriend despite the fact that Luke and Jessica got together three months after you two did didn’t mean a thing. Not a single thing. 

You masked your growing irritation well with your clients. After all, your performance margins had been going through the roof within the last six months. Your productivity has never been better, your clients have never been happier with your performance, and you have been churning out perfect match after match like you might as well have been Cupid himself. 

Yet, you couldn’t find a single time for your own boyfriend. 

When you had a free night, he didn’t. There was a dinner that he had to get to, one that required secrecy amongst government officials. You understood that. You didn’t hold that against him– especially not when he looked pained to tell you that you couldn’t join him when you offered to come with him the first time he said he had the work dinner. Because you didn’t mind joining him for work related activity. You just wanted to spend time with him, by his side.

But you were a fucking matchmaker. You didn’t have any business being in a government setting, and you knew that. He knew that. The entire government knew that. 

Sometimes it wasn’t even dinner. Sometimes, he wasn’t even in the city. Or the state. Or even the fucking country. Bucky always let you know in advance when he had to travel for work, but there was usually never any chance for the two of you to meet for even a brief look at each other across the road. Just to see each other in person before he had to hop on the plane and head hours away from you.

On the rare occasions Bucky had a free night, you most certainly did not. You had a proposal to plan for. Not a policy or business proposal like he worked on. A marriage proposal. One that had you sneaking around parks in bushes, setting up trails of rose petals, hiring and arguing with musicians– things that you didn’t need your boyfriend around to trail you like a lost puppy asking you if there was something that you needed help with. 

If it wasn’t a proposal, you had another work event. A client on the verge of a breakdown because their date cancelled on them, or some bullshit like that. You would be so close to finally being in your boyfriend’s arms, but you would have to cancel on your own lover to play therapist even though you were severely undereducated and underpaid for the position. 

Bucky was understanding. Too understanding. So understanding that it made you want to bash your head into the wall. 

The two of you had working hours that were strenuous, strange, and demanding. 

Bucky hated his phone, but he still texted you often. Texted you good morning and good night every single day. He reminded you to eat at least twice a day knowing you were only running on the fuel of your own brain to make it through your work hours.

Absence definitely did not make the heart grow fonder. If anything, your heart was growing irritated. Angry. These happy couples around you were pissing you off. 

Each and every single one of your clients that reported to you that they were falling in love with the person that you set them up with, was like another person setting you up for failure. You were a ticking time bomb just ready to explode, and the only one who would ever be able to defuse you is currently locked away in his office with his pretty fucking secretary that you know he doesn’t care about, but spends more time with than you do. 

You’re not jealous of her perse. 

You’ve seen them work together. It’s strictly professional. You don’t know if she has a boyfriend, and you don’t really care if she does or doesn’t– you trust Bucky, bottom line. He hasn’t given you a single reason to not trust him. You know he has eyes for you and you only. What you’re envious of is the time that she gets to have with him. She sees him every single day. She handles his schedule, hands him coffee, speaks to him face to face, sits with him during meetings, and discusses his fucking policies with him. 

You’re jealous of the time that you don’t get to have with your own boyfriend. You haven’t seen him in over a week and a half by this point. Last time you saw him, it was for a brief lunch that lasted forty-two minutes before you both had to run into meetings. Before that, two weeks. 

You scratch angrily into your notebook, then rip the page out. You crumple it up, throwing the wasted piece of paper into the bin with a frustrated groan before scrubbing a hand down your face. 

The time on the clock reads 1:44am.

Bucky should be getting home by this time, you think. Your phone hasn’t rang otherwise. There’s no good night text yet. 

This was easier before. Easier before you got so attached to him. Easier before your world got shifted on its axis, and started to rotate around him, just a little bit. Easier when you didn’t love the man so fucking much. 

You couldn’t dwell on this though. Not when you had to go to sleep. You had somewhere to be tomorrow, and you couldn’t look like death itself. You sent off your own text to him, then let your sorrows and loneliness cuddle you to bed. 

As much as you wanted to wait for him to text you back, you couldn’t. You had a battlefield to get to. A networking event. A bride to maybe convince that she wanted to marry her groom. 

By the end of the wedding, your purse was full of business cards, and your lips were full of promises to call women on Monday to get them on your books as clients. Your face muscles hurt, your feet ached, and your heart was breaking.

Your phone was full of notifications, and not a single one of them was from your loving boyfriend. Did he get JFK’d somewhere? He couldn’t have. It would have been all over the news already if he did. Sam would have called you, too. Besides that, the serum in his veins would have him feeling the murderous intent from a thousand miles away.

You were pretty certain that he wasn’t joking when he said that he assassinated JFK, too. Except, you were drunk when he confessed that to you during a drinking game that you two were doing when you first started dating. You don’t know if you dreamt it. Bucky refuses to comment, like a true politician.

You make it through the rest of the wedding, get invited to the afterparty, decline, and step out into the street to wait for your Uber to arrive. A car pulls up to the curb that you know is not a silver hatchback like the app indicates, so you ignore it–

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone on a Friday night?”

Your head snaps up at the voice. Bucky’s stepping out of the driver’s side, holding a colorful arrangement of fresh summer flowers for you, wrapped in kraft paper, tied off with a bow. He’s dressed in a formal suit– bowtie and everything. You vaguely remember him telling you that there was a gala event that was happening tonight the last time that you two had a chance to speak on the phone. He must have had a chance to slip away from there. 

“Need a ride?” he asked, feet stopping just right before you.

You let out a laugh, looking up at him. You take a moment to admire him. Bucky’s smiling at you. There’s so much love in his eyes for you. There always is. In fact, it seemed as if there was more love there than there was than the last time he saw you. You were certain that there would be double the amount the next time you would meet.

“I have one,” you sighed, deciding to play coy with him. “Coming in about five more minutes.”

Bucky clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Five minutes? That’s too long. Shouldn’t make you wait out here for even a second.”

You couldn’t fight back the grin that makes its way onto your face. You close the remaining distance between the two of you, your hand resting on his chest as you lean upwards towards him to meet his lips. Bucky’s hand wraps around your back, holding you to him to stabilize you, a small sigh escaping through his nose. 

“Hi, handsome,” you hummed, parting from him. 

Your smile only widened a little more when Bucky chased after your lips instinctively, wanting more. Wanting another kiss. You gave him just a couple more pecks before you settled the heels of your shoes back onto the cement of the sidewalk. A laugh rumbled through you at the disappointed look on his face.

“How’d you know where my wedding was, Congressman?” you asked, looking back at your phone to cancel the ride. 

“Oh you know. A birdie told me,” Bucky said, shrugging as he moved to open the passenger door for you.

“You had Redwing spy on me?’ you raised an eyebrow at him, stepping into the car..

“More like I had Sam send a trail on you tonight. Don’t know if he used Redwing,” he corrected, holding the flowers out for you to take. 

You rolled your eyes at him as you took the bouquet. He was messing with you, and you knew it. You shared your location with him on your phone a long time ago, and he only just figured out how to use the function of it a few months back. He was even shocked to find out that there was such a feature so easily accessible on regular technology. Bucky even asked you if you had his location. You didn’t, and you told him that you didn’t want it. You figured he would be weirded out by that kind of stuff as a former spy, and you were right. He was more at ease after your reassurance. 

However, he did enjoy the fact that he didn’t have to go through several satellite feeds and camera playbacks to find where you were.

In the car, the music is soft. Low. Something from the forties that you don’t really listen to unless you’re with Bucky. He’s tapping his finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the song, and you find yourself relaxing into the comfortable leather of the seat. 

Neither of you are speaking, nor do you find the need to. 

Bucky knows you. You’re exhausted after an event like this. He used to ask you how the job went, like a mission debrief. To you, it is a mission. This was your battlefield, and you just fought against enemies and kept your cool against a thousand different obstacles that could’ve made the mission go sideways.

He learned over time that you just wanted silence, the same way that he did. Bucky used to think that you wanted to talk after these events, which wasn’t totally wrong. You talked if the event went horribly wrong and you needed to vent your frustration out to someone that wouldn’t get you fired. You talked his ear off because you couldn’t say what you wanted to in front of your own clients.

Bucky misunderstood and thought you wanted to talk after every single event. Eventually, he realized that most of the time, you enjoyed the peace and quiet of a job well done. That you wanted to sit without having to force a smile anymore, to close your eyes, and feel the weight of his hand on your thigh comfortingly as he drove. 

The sound of a text message coming through cut off the music momentarily. Your eyes cracked open, and on the center screen of Bucky’s dashboard, you saw there was a message from Bucky’s one and only friend.

Don’t Respond [12:08am]: Did she find out what you’re doing yet?

“What’s Sam talking about?” you asked, shifting to reach for Bucky’s phone that was in the cupholder. 

Bucky was faster. His hand left your thigh, grabbing the device before you could. He looked at the small screen momentarily, taking his eyes off the road for just a second. Then, you watched as he long pressed the side of his phone, turning it off completely before putting it back in the cupholder.

“Nothing, sweetheart. I’ll text him back later,” Bucky said, giving you a smile before looking back at the road. His hand returned back to its rightful place on your thigh. 

You stared at the side of his face, blinking at him. There was no more music in the car, since his phone was turned off. You were left in silence, just the low thrum of the engine and your thoughts being your only source of entertainment as Bucky turned into your apartment’s parking garage.

Bucky will text him back later? Bucky will text him back later?

No the fuck he won’t. 

As much as Bucky loves new technology like a nerd loves Star Wars, he hates it all at the same time. He thinks it’s disgusting for any sane person to spend the amount of time they do glued to their phones willingly outside of educational and work purposes. He’s a man that had zero choice in life, and he prefers to see the world. If he has free time, there is no way in hell that he will waste it typing away on a tiny screen to text back anyone. 

Except you, of course. He’ll only text and call you.

His reaction was even more strange. Bucky didn’t swat your hand away or anything like that. He didn’t scramble to get to his phone before you did– but he did react. He didn’t answer you. He deflected. He’s always answered your questions to the fullest.

Besides that, this wasn’t anything new between the two of you. You always texted Sam back through Bucky’s phone. When Sam texted, you would read it out loud, Bucky would answer, and you would type what Bucky said, but in a nicer… less aggressive way. In fact, 99% of the conversations Bucky had with Sam through text was done by you. Sam still did not know of that fact, and you were not going to be the one to tell him. 

You’re still reeling in your own thoughts by the time you get to your apartment. 

You shove your downward spiral for just a moment to accept Bucky’s extremely tempting offer to shower together– which is never anything sexual. 

Bucky enjoys the intimacy of being able to hold you, bare, and help you get cleaned from your day. It’s one of his favorite things to do. You revel in the way he takes his time, hands scrubbing at your scalp slowly to lather up the shampoo. He’ll ensure that not a single part of your body goes untouched.

You do the same for him. You take great care in every part of his body. You remember the first time you touched his scars– paid close attention to them. It looked self-inflicted. Nothing like a surgery or done by doctors or scientists, like how he said the arm was attached to him. When you saw his face, you knew you were right.

Every once in a while, you can still see the dark shadow casting over his eyes when your hands run over his shoulders. You simply move to kiss against the scars to quietly remind him that you aren’t afraid of him, and you watch as the shadows fall mercy to the light.

You finish your own skincare routine faster than he does, as per usual. 

“I don’t understand why the hell I have to do this, doll,” he grumbled as you left the bathroom. “I’m over a century old.”

“And I’m trying to make sure that you don’t look like it,” you replied over your shoulder. 

Bucky huffed, but continued with the routine that you strictly put him on. He complained, but he never went against your words. You knew that he was still following it even when he wasn’t spending the night at your place, too. He’s always been a handsome man, but you would say that he’s been leveled up even more since you came around.

While he’s distracted, you move towards his bag. 

You don’t distrust him, but you’re not stupid either. Turning off his phone, saying things out of character– yeah. Something is different. What’s even weirder is that he doesn’t have any of his usual things with him. There’s only his laptop. He doesn’t have any of his regular written notebooks or calendars that he usually carries around with him. The man loves his written, visual items. He likes to flip through pages and see things with his own eyes, to be able to edit with a pen instead of a tap of his fingers.

You hear the last cap of the bottle close, and shut his bag. You’re only left with more questions as you move his bag towards the hanger where your own purses hang.

“Ah– sorry,” Bucky apologized, seeing you move his stuff. 

“It’s alright,” you hummed, thankful you were able to play off your snooping.

The two of you move towards your bed, sliding under the sheets. You settled into his arms naturally, assuming the position that the two of you had found most comfortable in the almost two years of dating. Your head rested on his bicep like it was a pillow, his metal arm coming around you to wrap around your waist to keep you cool against his furnace of a body. 

“You ever respond to Sam?” you whispered into his chest, closing your eyes to snuggle closer into him.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, moving to grab his phone from the nightstand behind him. You immediately shifted, just slightly– to try and see the screen.

But so did he.

With one hand, he angled his phone so that it was distorted. The brightness was down low enough that you weren’t able to properly see the messages between both men. However, you saw him silence the chat. You saw the swipe of his thumb, and the icon that signified a silenced message.

Then, Bucky put his phone face down on the nightstand before returning to you.

“Good night, doll,” he murmured to you, hand moving to tilt your head up to him. He kissed you once, twice, a third time before settling back against the pillow. “I love you.”

“Night,” you whispered back, though your mind was everything but asleep. Suspicion was creeping up on you. You could feel it– the sign of something coming. You pushed your gut feeling down. “I love you, too.”

Bucky ❤︎ [2:48pm]: What days do you think are your most free days right now?

You paused, staring at the text on your screen. This is different. This isn’t a text that you normally received from Bucky. Especially not in the middle of the work day, either. Momentarily, you want to entertain the idea that someone stole his phone, but you were certain that someone would be injured or dying if they even got close to ever trying to rob Bucky.

Me [2:50pm]: Are you asking me on a date, Congressman?

Bucky ❤︎ [2:53pm]: I’m trying to plan one instead of our random spontaneous ones, yes. Can you let me know what days work best for you so I can look at my calendar?

Last time he ‘planned’ a date, the two of you went to Romania for your first year anniversary for a week. You didn’t even realize that’s what he meant by planning a date until you were at the fucking airport with no luggage. Except he packed for you, had your passport, and everything else you could possibly need. You were just completely oblivious to the entire thing. 

Me [2:54pm]: Is this a trip kinda date?

Bucky ❤︎ [2:55pm]: No, but I do need two days of your time.

Me [2:56pm]: You’re asking for a lot, handsome.

Bucky ❤︎ [3:01pm]: I promise I’ll be worth it.

You smile at your phone at his words. Of course he’ll be worth it. You take a moment to go through your calendar, flipping back and forth between all your different events. You cross check between client meetings, event plannings, meetings with your coworkers and boss, and then text him back with your response. 

Me [3:12pm]: Weekends are really bad right now. Mondays, too. Wednesdays are also surprisingly bad… Tuesdays and Thursdays are the best. Fridays are a hit and miss.

Bucky ❤︎ [3:25pm]: Tuesdays are bad for me. Rep. dinners on Tuesday nights and Wednesday morning debriefs. Can you block out Thursday and Friday for me two months from now? The 17th and 18th. I’ll give you more details about our date when it comes closer.

Two months? That’s more than enough time to block out. You’ll even take the weekend off for good measure, just in case. Still, two months is a long time to prepare for just a date. You can’t help but tease him a little bit.

Me [3:27pm]: You don’t plan on seeing me for two months? :( 

Bucky ❤︎ [3:30pm]: You’re funny. We’ll still have our random and spontaneous dates. Like tonight. I’m picking you up for dinner. Don’t call a ride after work.

Excitement flutters in your chest. You saw him four days ago, but you’re still happy. 

Time is thankfully on your side today, and he’s waiting for you outside your company’s building. You’re starved for food, for his affection, attention, and everything in between. 

Except all of that dies once his phone rings in the middle of dinner. Bucky silences it, and you see the screen. It has a name that you don’t recognize, then his phone goes faced down onto the table. A few moments later, it buzzes, indicating there was a voicemail left. Bucky swipes the device, pocketing it safely away. 

You’re really trying to not let this bother you. But change doesn’t just happen overnight, and this is Bucky’s personal phone. This isn’t even his work phone. He leaves his work phone in his bag, permanently silenced when he’s not working. This is his phone that he carries with him that he purposely ignores, that is only supposed to have two contacts in it– yours and Sams.

Bucky drove back to your apartment, even though his apartment is closer to the restaurant that he chose for the two of you to eat at tonight. 

You’re lying awake in his arms that night, listening to the sounds of Bucky’s soft snores as he sleeps beside you. It took him a long time to be able to sleep first between the two of you. You used to see how long you could stay up, to see if you could fall asleep after him. The first time he fell asleep on your lap, you almost cried.

Now, you’re staring at his sleeping face wondering if he thinks you’re a fucking idiot. 

The signs are right there. All the blaring signs are screaming in your face, loud and angry. The hidden phone screen, calls, and texts. Hiding his calendar, and all his written notes from you. The sudden trip planning, even though there was nothing special about two months from now. Two months was your twenty third month together. Not even the second year anniversary. 

Yeah, Bucky thought you were stupid.

The biggest sign? You’re currently sleeping in your own bed, and not in his. He’s hiding something in his apartment that he doesn’t want you to find—

An engagement ring. 

You go through Bucky’s drawers like those are your own clothes to wear because they are, and he loves to see you in his shirts. You once spent an entire weekend properly organizing his apartment in a way that made sense because his junk drawer consisted of bullets and lego pieces from when Sam’s nephews came over.

You once found guns and daggers in his apartment just by dropping pens and searching for them. There’s absolutely no way that Bucky can hide a velvet box anywhere in his apartment from you that you won’t accidentally stumble across. Hell– you found a loaded nine millimeter in your own apartment, and asked what the hell it was doing there. 

“Safety,” is all he answered with.

This was your job. This is what you did for a living. You helped other boyfriends hide proposals from girlfriends like this. This is exactly what you did– this is how you told them to do it, though you were a little more slick with it. You definitely made sure your clients weren’t hiding their phones from their potential fiance’s, that’s for sure. 

You made sure that your clients did not know that they were being proposed to. It was your mission, honestly. You saw enough of those TikTok’s where women truly had that gut feeling where they knew it was happening. You refused. It needed to be a surprise. You scouted out every single person in your client’s lives to ensure that every single moment would come to be a surprise. From ensuring that their nails would be done to the ring itself- everything would be perfect. 

Your boyfriend of almost two years was planning on proposing to you in two months, and he thought you wouldn’t find out? Jesus Christ– what were you going to do with him?

Marry him, you supposed.

If you were anyone else, if you were any less stable in your emotions, you would’ve thought he was cheating on you. Hiding his phone definitely made your eyebrow twitch for half a second, if you were being honest. Thankfully, you were able to maintain a rational and sane mind.

Sane was an overstatement. You were now planning an entire wedding in your head without the engagement ring on your finger. You were anything but sane. Insanity was taking over every single cell in your brain as you stared at Bucky, imagining your future. The thought made you extremely giddy. 

A smile crept up on the corner of your lips as you moved into the warmth of his embrace. His arms tightened around you instinctively, and he let out a soft, contented sigh.

You can’t keep it to yourself as the date starts coming closer and closer. 

Mel, who has graduated as your client and now has become your friend, is sitting in your apartment, telling you about her most recent date with her boyfriend of six months. Not in a way that she would when you were her matchmaker, but as friends would. You find yourself liking this arrangement much, much more.

“Enough about me though,” she grinned, swirling the wine in her glass. “Tell me about you and Bucky. How are things going?”

“You really wanna talk about the guy that your boss hates?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her as you take a sip out of your own glass.

“I can separate work from girl talk,” Mel said, smiling at you. 

“Well,” you said, smiling at her, “If you’re free the rest of the evening, I was wondering if you wanted to get your nails done with me?”

“Nails?” Mel repeated, raising her eyebrows at you as she brought the glass to her lips.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I think Bucky’s gonna propose to me on Thursday.”

Her eyes widened as she choked on her wine, the alcohol spluttering back into the glass. You couldn’t hold back a laugh before you jumped to your feet. You turned, rushing to grab paper towels from your kitchen to wipe off her face before it dripped, and stained her clothes. 

“Shit– shit! I’m so sorry,” she coughed, patting her face. 

“It’s okay,” you said between laughter, desperately trying to compose yourself. “Do you– do you want more wine?”

“Do I want– No! What? We need to go to the salon now! One of us needs to drive! Why the hell don’t you have a car again?!”

“Uh… I just… order a ride everywhere, or Bucky drives me,” you answered her, sheepish. “I’ll just order us a ride, we’ve both had a glass already. We don’t need to drive there, Mel.”

“Must be nice–”

A knock on your door makes you both pause. You move, going to check the peephole and find your boyfriend standing there with a box in his hands. You rip the door open, shocked.

“Bucky?” you asked, surprised. “Don’t you have a dinner to get to soon? It’s Tuesday.” 

“Yes, but I wanted to drop this off to you,” he said, giving you a smile. He leaned over the box, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Just a present. Saw it, thought it would look nice on you.”

“What is it?” you asked as he transferred over the gift box to you.

“A dress,” he shrugged. “What are you up to today?”

“Mel’s here,” you said, opening the door further so he could see her. He looked past you, giving her a small wave that you’re certain that she returned back. “We’re about to go get our nails done. I was about to order a ride.”

“Oh? Don’t do that. I’ll just drop you two off. You’ll go the place you always do, right? It’s on the way to the dining hall,” he said.

“What? I don’t want you to be late,” you said, frowning at him. 

“It’s fine,” Bucky insisted, shaking his head. “They can start without me. Talbot is late more than a few times anyways.”

“It’s true,” Mel said from behind you. You turned around to look at her, finding that she was gathering her jacket and purse. “Talbot is always late.”

“See? Thank you, Mel.” There’s a bit of a gloating tone to his voice that makes you smack his arm. Bucky chuckled in response, a smile settling over his face. “Come on now, grab your stuff so we can get down to the car so I’m not too late for the meeting.”

You sighed, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to change his mind and get him to leave you. You put the box on the counter to inspect once you return later, and snatch your purse from where it’s resting on the table. Both you and Mel follow Bucky down to the car. He holds open the back door for both of you to climb into the backseat like he’s your chauffeur, and not your boyfriend.

Bucky drives in silence, you and Mel scrolling through pinterest hurriedly during the car ride for inspiration pictures for your nails while trying to be subtle about the fact that you know that you’re getting proposed to. Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice that you know, though.

Once he pulls up to the salon, Mel thanks him for the ride and slides out. You lean over the console to give him a kiss, and he grabs your hand, stopping you.

His card is slid into your palm, and his lips are pressed against your knuckles.

“I’ll pay for you and Mel,” he said, giving you one more smile.

You want to race down the aisle right at that moment. 

Instead, you get your nails done with Mel, swallow down butterflies that are forcing their way up your throat, and get to the restaurant that Bucky told you to meet him at while he runs late at his last meeting before your date. 

It’s a beautiful skyline restaurant in the middle of New York that your own company can’t even secure a date at. You’ve tried multiple times. In fact, your own clients have wanted to get proposals done at this restaurant. It just couldn’t be done. Reservations were booked out at least a year in advance, and somehow Bucky was able to secure the two of you a spot with two months to spare. 

There’s live music playing here by world renowned musicians. The chefs are even more well known. The lighting was low so that it wouldn’t take away from the view outside the windows. The time of night that Bucky chose was perfect– New York was lit up like stars on the ground from the table that you were sitting at. 

You were dressed in the gift Bucky bought for you. A backless, square neckline gown. The straps came up and wrapped around your neck like a halter top would, and tied around the back in a thin bow, the long straps kissing down your bare spine. It was soft and airy against your skin. 

Bucky arrived earlier than you expected, but you were sure he was still later than he wanted to be. Either way, he still had another bouquet of fresh flowers in his hands for you that you two had placed under the table. Of course, he didn’t take a seat before giving you a kiss for a greeting, and murmuring his apology for not being able to pick you up.

“You look beautiful,” he said, smiling at you. “I didn’t think you would wear it tonight.”

“I thought you bought it for me to wear tonight?” you asked as he placed the flowers under the table. You watched as he sat down across from you. 

“Mm… Well, I bought it for you to wear,” he said, reaching his hand across the table. You easily slipped your hand into his, watching him bring your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “When you wear it doesn’t matter to me. I just wanted to get you a present.”

“A present?” you echoed, unable to stop smiling. “Even though you already do so much for me?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t want to do more for you, sweetheart,” he hummed. 

The waiter came by not a moment later, letting you know that the first course would be coming out momentarily. You both thanked him, and returned back to each other. 

“I feel like I don’t see you as much these days,” Bucky said, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. 

“It’s been really busy for the two of us,” you agreed, releasing a soft sigh. 

“I even contemplated hiring you as a matchmaker again, just so I could block out meetings and have you in my office again,” he joked, making you laugh. 

“That would be fraudulent, Congressman,” you teased, shaking your head. “For you and me.”

“What are they gonna do? Threaten to fire you again?” 

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face is firmly planted, and isn’t moving anytime soon. 

“You know our dates don’t always have to be somewhere big or fancy, right?” you tell him, your voice softer.

“So you keep telling me,” he hummed, squeezing your hand a little bit. “I know, sweetheart. You said this to me. Several times. I just want to do this for you. For me, too.”

You soften a little bit at his words. You’re gently reminded of a previous confession he told you from when you first started dating. 

You told him that you were more than happy to just get takeout with him on busier days. To get fast food or something quick, if it meant that you two would have more time to spend together. You didn’t always have to sit down and eat somewhere nice. He said that he knew that, and he liked doing that, too. But as a kid in the forties, he always wanted to be the kind of man that was able to spoil his girl rotten– to bring his woman to the best places and sign the check without batting an eye.

This kind of thing was healing for him, too.

“We can get burgers tomorrow,” Bucky said, giving you a smile. 

“Deal,” you grinned at him. 

The first course of your meal was brought out to the two of you. You two never spoke about work over food. It was your rule. You talked about everything else. Sam. Mel. Your parents and siblings. The conversation Bucky overheard while he was in line getting coffee the other day. 

There was always a lot to talk about when you two never saw each other. Then again, you were certain that you would ever run out of words even if you spent every waking moment with him. If there ever came to be a time when that was the case, you were more than happy to spend the rest of eternity in a peaceful silence with him, as long as you were able to hold him. 

Topics never ran dry between the two of you. More than once, you two needed to remind yourselves to shut the fuck up in this fancy establishment because there were sophisticated people around you having very nice meals. 

“I’ll book a private room next time,” Bucky said under his breath.

“I don’t think they’ll let us come back, babe,” you whispered between soft, gasping laughs. “The host is glaring at us.”

That only made Bucky snort, which made you have to cover your own mouth in return before another fit of giggles wrecked through your body. It took everything in the both of you to compose yourselves before dessert was brought out. 

Once your table was cleared off, and you were left with just your wine glasses and the centerpiece on the table, you and Bucky smiled at each other. You were strangely reminded of your first date with him. So you told him that.

“This reminds you of our first date?” he said, his nose crinkling just slightly. “How so?”

“Mm… The ambiance,” you said, shrugging just a bit. You rested your chin in your palm. “You. Me.”

“It’s always you and me on our dates, sweethearts. Who else would it be?” he sarcastically joked, rolling his eyes at you.

“You know what I mean,” you scoffed at him, watching him smile a bit. “I just… feel a bit nostalgic. Just a… who knew, kinda thing.”

“I knew,” Bucky said, making you pause for a second.

“You knew?” you repeated his words, raising an eyebrow at him. Your heart picked up speed just a little bit. This felt like the start of a speech– the start to the speech.

Bucky cleared his throat, and your chest grew tighter at the sound. He shifted in his seat, and you watched as his hand dipped into his pocket. Oh, shit. It’s coming. Your eyes shot back to his face, and your mouth went dry.

“I thought you were the matchmaker, sweetheart. You didn’t know that we would end up together?” he clicked his tongue at you. “I knew I couldn’t trust a matchmaker that didn’t have a boyfriend of her own.”

“I have a boyfriend now, don’t I?” you asked, but thought– Not for long.

He smiled, eyes meeting yours. Then, a velvet box is produced. Placed right on the table in front of you. You can’t bring yourself to look down at it, not when Bucky is still looking at you.

“I want to spend the rest of my days with you. And it’s getting really fucking hard when I can’t see you all the time because we both live on opposite sides of the city, and have awful work schedules that keep us apart. Even so, I love you so much and I can’t imagine being with anyone else,” he confessed to you. Bucky takes in a deep breath that slightly shakes before he whispers out your name, nervous, “Will you move in with me?”

You freeze.

What the fuck?

“Move in with you?” you echoed, blinking.

Bucky opens the box. It’s a key. A shiny, silver key.

“I bought a penthouse in Manhattan,” Bucky said, sliding the box over to you to inspect the key even closer. “I want to see you more often. Not just the random dates when we both have time– I want to sleep next to you every night, and wake up to you in the mornings.”

“A penthouse… In Manhattan,” you said slowly. 

Your brain was short circuiting. In fact, it was fried. Gone.  You were still staring at the key, lips parted. He… wasn’t proposing to you tonight?

“I’m sorry. Am I– Are we moving too fast?” Bucky suddenly asked you, and you could hear the panic in his voice. 

Your head snapped up to look at him. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry, eyes scanning all over your face. You slapped yourself mentally. You could only imagine how you looked just now– staring at him and the key with a blank look on your face, and giving him no answer.

“What? No! No, Bucky– we’re not moving too fast at all,” you reassured him, hands darting across the table to take his hands in yours. “Most couples our age move in together by the first year or so. Mel and her boyfriend are already planning on moving in together when Mel’s lease breaks in a couple months.”

Bucky lets out a breath of relief, and you watch as his shoulders drop. You feel guilt surge through you at the pure stress that is released from his body at that moment.

“God– I just… You know, the penthouse… It’s fully furnished. I’ve been– Sam has been helping me out, actually. He helped me meet with some realtors, get the place fully furnished and decorated,” Bucky said, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ve been living there for the past two and a half months while waiting for all the furniture to come in, and it’s finally all finished as of yesterday and it never occurred to me that you could possibly say no until just now.”

“You’ve been– Is that why you take me back to my apartment after our dates? Instead of yours?” you asked, surprised.

“I already got rid of my other place, sweetheart,” he said, giving you a small, anxious smile. You can see him bouncing his leg up and down just slightly. “Got the penthouse so that we could have enough space for your stuff and mine.”

“You took me out to a fancy dinner, and prepared a speech for me to ask me to move in with you?” you whispered, your heart feeling fuller by the minute.

“I grew up in a time where couples didn’t move in together until after they were married, doll,” Bucky reminded you, his voice small and soft. 

You’re speechless, for just a moment. You take your eyes off of him, to look down at the key in the box, a smile finding its way on your face. You look back up at him, watching as he mirrors your own smile.

“I think it’s time to head home, Congressman.”

Bucky trails behind you quietly as you step into the penthouse. The elevator directly leads to your home– something that you had only ever seen in movies before. You barely took a step into the rest of the home before you were running numbers into your head.

“What’s my share of the bills?” you asked, heart racing as you look up at the high ceilings. “And don’t you dare tell me not to worry about it, Bucky. If we’re living together, then we’re splitting bills. I don’t care that you make more money than me–”

“We’ll talk about finances later, baby,” he cut you off, hands rubbing your shoulders to soothe you. “We’ll split it equally based on our incomes. Just go explore for right now.”

“I don’t know if I can afford this, Bucky,” you said, turning around to look at him. You were freaking out.

“Your salary was put into play when I got this place,” he said, cradling your face. “Sam and I met with the banks. We met with financial advisors to ensure that this would be feasible for both you and me. Please don’t ask how we got your information.”

“Is there a loan–”

“There’s no loan,” he assured you. “Do you trust me?”

“I do,” you answered instantly. 

Bucky gave you a smile, then pressed a kiss to your lips. You melted into his embrace, feeling your worries wash away with just one touch. He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back comfortingly. When he pulled away, another kiss was pressed to your forehead. 

“I’ll give you all the documents later to look over. If you still hate it, then we’ll break the lease, and we’ll find somewhere else. I don’t care where we live. I just want to be somewhere that’s with you,” he promised. 

“Okay,” you breathed, nodding. 

Bucky’s hands leave your body, and he steps away from you. He’s quietly urging you to take a look around. 

You had two floors to explore. The elevator opened up the first floor, where there was an open concept condo. You were staring at a living room, kitchen, floor to ceiling windows, and there were built-in shelves on the wall that held Bucky’s books– and had empty spaces for your own books. Down here, there were two doors– one leading to a half bath and the other leading to a home office. 

You saw two desks, separated by a bookshelf. Bucky’s desk was already occupied with his things, while yours was empty and waiting to be used. On the shelf were pictures and other momentos collected by Bucky over the duration of your relationship so far. There was space for you to decorate with whatever you pleased. On the other end of the room was a daybed and some other furniture to cozy up the area. 

Upstairs, there was a platform for another lounge area. Also furnished to hang out in case the two of you ever had any guests come over. Here, your bedroom was behind a closed door. 

A king sized bed was in the middle of the room, along with two nightstands on either side of it. There was a full walk in closet, Bucky already having his stuff hanging on his side with yours waiting to be filled. The windows are touching the floor just like they are outside, and Bucky has the curtains pulled back so you can see the city lights from your bedroom window. 

“What if I get fired?” you whispered, Bucky’s arms wrapping around your waist from behind. “I won’t be able to pay my share of the bills.”

“I’ll pay then,” he said, pressing kisses to your bare shoulder and neck.

“What if you get fired? Or what if you quit? Join Sam and return back to action?” you asked, heart racing. 

Bucky chuckled against your neck, squeezing you against him. 

“Iron Man’s late wife donates a large portion every year to the heroes that do the work. If that’s me, then we’ll be fine,” he promised you. “It’s how Sam gets paid right now.”

“Oh,” you breathed, nodding a little dumbly. You tilted your head to the side, allowing him more access to more skin. You felt him smile against you. 

“You like the place then?”

“I can’t believe you hid this from me.”

“I hide you from the entire American government so you can continue to walk the streets of New York without being asked about politics that you don’t care about. I hid Romania from you. I think I can hide an apartment,” he listed off, scoffing softly at the end.

All of your hair is gathered in one of his hands to get it out of his way as he continues to press dizzying, nipping kisses against your body.

“A penthouse,” you managed to correct.

“Same thing,” he muttered, and you felt him tug on the string of your dress. A moment later, the soft fabric was sliding down your body, and pooling at your feet, “C’mon, sweetheart. We gotta christen the place.”

You’re being turned around to face him, and your arms move to slide up his chest and wrap around his neck. Bucky’s lips met yours in an opened mouthed kiss halfway, tongue gliding over yours easily. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you sighed into his mouth, feeling his hands glide up and down the sides of your body. Something about him being fully dressed, and you with nearly nothing at all did something to the both of you.

Your fingers grabbed onto the collar of his dress shirt, tugging him into a deeper, needier kiss. Bucky groaned into your mouth in response, hands finding purchase on the flesh of your ass. His fingers dug into the supple skin, making you moan softly as he groped you.

Your boyfriend gently pushed you until your back was pressed against the window. Once you were situated where he wanted you, Bucky parted from your lips, only to attach himself to your neck once again. He kept shifting, moving down to your collarbones, your chest, your sternum. Lower. 

You watched helplessly, every inch of you thrumming with desire and need as Bucky slowly shifted to his knees in front of you. His hands moved down your body, dragging your underwear down your legs as he positioned himself to sit back on his feet, thighs spread just a bit for comfort. You’re certain your breathing was erratic as you stared at him.

Usually, you were the one on your knees for Bucky. This was different– this was new. You were more than certain that you would still be the one at his mercy.

“Don’t your feet hurt in these heels?” Bucky asked, hand closing around one of your ankles to lift your foot off the ground slightly. “They look uncomfortable. Very tall.”

“It’s not too bad,” you whispered, unable to trust your voice to speak any louder. “I like these shoes.”

“I bought them for you,” he said, tilting his head as he examined the design a little closer.

“That’s why I like them,” you murmured.

Bucky chuckled just a little bit, shaking his head. He moved slowly on purpose, undoing the strap around your ankle and slowly pulling it off of your foot like you were some sort of princess. He gently led your foot back down to the floor, keeping an eye on your posture to make sure you didn’t suddenly fall from the shift in height. When he was certain that you were stable, he switched over to the next foot, repeating the same process.

Except, he didn’t put your foot back onto the ground. Bucky lifted your leg higher, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle, eyes closing as he did. When they opened, he met your gaze, never looking away as his kisses went higher and higher up your leg. He settled your knee to hook around his shoulder, moving to fully kneel before you as his hands went to grab your waist, keeping you pressed against the glass behind you. A firm, tight grip. 

You wouldn’t be able to run from whatever he was about to do to you. Not that you would ever want to.

If he wasn’t holding you up, you were certain you would’ve folded over and collapsed the second his tongue met your heat. The vibrations from the groan sent shockwaves through your entire body that made you tremble above him, hands darting to grab onto his shoulders for an extra form of stability as his tongue parted your folds and flattened against you.

“Shit, Bucky,” you moaned, your mind going blank. All you could feel was him. 

His tongue dipping just slightly in and out of your aching hole, only to drag up to your sensitive clit to swirl figure eights around the nub. Bucky’s hands on your torso, his thumbs  drawing circles into your skin to soothe you against the stimulation he was giving you. The heat of his body radiating against yours from where he was positioned beneath you. 

“Your pussy is squeezing around nothing, baby,” he murmured, pulling away from your core for just a moment, a whine ripping through your throat in response. Bucky clicked his tongue at you, and kissed the inside of your thigh to subdue you. “Have I been neglecting you? Not fucking you enough for you to be so needy?”

Definitely not. Maybe it was the fact that everything was crashing down on you. The fact Bucky went so far to secure the two of you an entire home without you knowing, furnishing the whole place, meeting with financial advisors– all of it made you incredibly desperate for him. 

It was like that one time when you watched him do the dishes for the first time at the beginning of your relationship. He was at your apartment, doing your dishes that you were too lazy to do before he came over. You don’t know what the hell happened to you at that moment, but you just watched him. The second the water turned off, you were unzipping his pants and giving him head. It confused him, but he also wasn’t complaining. 

“I’m always needy for you,” you barely managed to answer him.

Bucky’s lips parted, eyes scanning your figure above him for a few moments. Then, one of his hands left your waist, and two fingers were shoved into you without a single warning. 

A moan ripped through your throat, and you weren’t given a chance to even recover before his mouth was back on your clit, sucking and flicking at the sensitive nub. His fingers entered and exited you at a delicious speed, and he could feel you coming apart around him. Your body was beginning to tremble, walls beginning to shake– and he curled his fingers the way he knew you liked.

You came undone, Bucky’s hand moving to press against your stomach to keep you from collapsing forward. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you whimpered his name, tugging on his hair weakly to pull away from your overstimulated body. 

Reluctantly, he released you. Bucky’s hands never left you as he stood, keeping you upright. Your legs were still shaking when you had both feet on the ground, but fuck if you were going to let Bucky stay dressed. 

You had every intention of returning the favor once Bucky was just as bare as you were. Bucky saw it in your eyes, too. The way your gaze dropped down his torso to his cock that was stiff and high up against his stomach, waiting for you. You barely moved your hair to the side before you were being spun back around, chest pressed to the glass– eyes to the view of the New York city skyline. 

“Next time, doll,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade that made you shiver. You let out a small moan as you felt him drag the length of his dick through your folds, coating himself in your slick to get him ready to enter. “Gotta be inside you right now or I might go insane.”

“Hurry up, then,” you whined to him, pressing your ass back further into him. A mistake, and you knew it. Not that it really was a mistake on your end though.

His hand came around from your stomach, gripping your throat and jaw, pulling you back into him. Your back was arched, hands resting on the glass for some sort of security in the position he had you in. Bucky forced your head to turn, to look at him. 

Bucky wanted to watch your face contort with pleasure as he finally slid in, watch as you fell apart as he speared you full with his cock. There was a look of satisfaction and fucking arrogance in his eyes with the way your mouth fell open in a noiseless moan. Bucky took advantage of it, shoving his tongue into your mouth to swallow up any of the noises that he knew would start coming once his hips started moving.

You couldn’t keep up– not with his kiss, not with the pacing– not with anything that was happening right now. His hips were snapping into yours at such a brutal pace, his metal hand gripping your hip to keep you in place, and you barely managed to pull away from his lips to breathe. 

“So good– so good,” he groaned as you turned back to the glass, chin falling to your chest for a moment as you moaned in response. 

Bucky didn’t let your head hang for too much longer. He pulled your head back up to look out the window, and you could feel his breath against your ear as he continued to pound his hips from behind you.

“Isn’t the view so nice, baby?” he whispered to you.

“Wh… what?” you moaned, mind spiraling for just a moment.

“It’s so nice,” he continued, grunting behind you, “I know your pussy loves it– loves it when I fuck you in front of all of New York to see.”

Excitement shoots through you, and you unexpectedly clamped around him. Bucky’s hips stuttered as he cursed softly. You were close– again– and Bucky wasn’t making this any better for you. Then again, you almost just brought Bucky over the edge with you.

“Shit. I knew you were a fucking freak when you tried giving me head in front of my coworkers,” Bucky muttered, a small laugh falling from his lips.

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “I’m so close–”

“It’s too bad. New York can’t have you,” he cut you off, pulling out of you. 

The sense of loss is immediate, but not for long. Once more, he’s spinning you around. This time, he’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing at all. Your legs are wrapping around his waist immediately, and he’s sinking you back down on his length within seconds. 

Your lips are collided with Bucky as he’s fucking you against the window now, holding you up in his arms as you hang onto him for dear life. Your fingernails are digging into the muscles of his shoulders, scratching down his chest in a way that he once admitted that he loves, and you’re moaning into each other’s mouths.

The thrusts are growing sloppier as the kiss grows messier– there’s no need for words between the two of you anymore. You both know your tells at this point.

Bucky angles his hips just slightly to hit that one spot in you, forcing you over the edge as his own orgasm threatens to take him. Your body seizes, and you can’t kiss him back anymore. Bucky busies himself with your neck, leaving marks on your skin as he fucks you through your high, chasing his own that comes just moments later, coating your walls and dripping down onto the new floors of your new room together.

You’re still panting and trying to catch your breath, head dropped onto his shoulder when Bucky moves, carrying you to the bathroom to clean up. His kisses are softer as he walks over, his words more gentle. His body separates from yours as he rests you on the edge of the bathtub so he can start the water to fill the tub.

“How’s the view?” Bucky asked you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A soft laugh rips through you, and you can feel him smile against your skin.

“The view is perfect, handsome.”

You didn’t find a single number out of place in the documents he presented you either. You took an entire weekend going over the numbers while Bucky watched you quietly. He didn’t bother you while you did so. In fact, he just stayed nearby and took the days off work, too. Bucky answered any questions that you possibly could’ve had for him, already knowing what you would’ve thrown his way.

Which only made your heart grow fonder for him, if you were being honest. He knew you like the back of his hand.

Once you were satisfied with everything, he helped you move all your stuff from your previous apartment over to your new home. Bucky timed the move in perfectly– your lease was about to break the following month, so you had just the right amount of time to tie up all your loose ends. 

All you really had to move over to the new place was your wardrobe, books, and sentimentals. You found out very quickly that during your random dates where Bucky would come home with you, he started taking stock of all your little things around the house. Anything that was running low, he just went ahead and bought so it was already at your new home, ready for you to use.

The last couple weeks were spent with you listing all your unneeded furniture up on the marketplace for an extra few bucks. Things like your dining table, sofa, coffee table– everything that Bucky had already bought and decorated for your home together. 

“You know this couch?” Sam asked you as he flopped down on it. “And the coffee table? The rug? Those barstools? The fucking light fixtures?”

You and Bucky invited him and his girlfriend over for dinner for a small celebration– a little get together to commemorate the fact that you and Bucky were officially fully moved in together now. 

“What about it?” you asked, handing him a bottle of beer.

“I picked it. Me. Bucky just swiped his card. You’re so fucking lucky, matchmaker. Your boyfriend sucks. If I wasn’t there– shit. You would’ve had clashing colors and patterns in this luxury penthouse,” Sam scoffed, taking a long swig. “I had a fucking headache just standing there. The sales associate thought we were married the way I was arguing with him in the store.”

“You two basically are,” you said, grinning against the rim of your own bottle.

“Don’t say that,” Bucky muttered, a shudder running through his body. “I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life with that idiot.”

“God, I’m glad we agree,” Sam groaned, shaking his head. 

“We picked more neutral stuff,” Bucky told you, sitting beside you on the couch. An arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. “We thought it would be easier for you to add whatever additions or colors you’d want in the future.”

“Oh, so you did think about me when you purchased an entire penthouse and furnished the whole damn thing without telling me,” you teased. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight the smile on his face. “Yes, sweetheart. I thought of you.”

With the two of you living together now, it was easier for you both to see each other. You reveled in the fact you could fall asleep every night in his arms, even if you went to bed first. He didn’t want you waiting for him if he had an event that had him staying out late, but you would often wake up to him pulling you into his embrace.

In the mornings, Bucky would usually be the one to wake up and leave first. 

You no longer set an alarm on your phone. Bucky’s sweet kisses were your wake up call every morning. He wouldn’t leave until you kissed him back, no matter how long it took you to wake up. 

“Morning,” you would whisper to him.

“Morning,” he’d reply, kissing you one more time for good measure. “I made you breakfast. It’s on the table.”

“Wake me up earlier tomorrow so I can eat with you,” you whined to him, though you just rolled over on your side, closing your eyes again.

Bucky chuckled, leaning over your body to press a kiss to your temple. You sighed, letting the morning wash over you for just one more moment before you pushed up off the bed. You’d follow him downstairs, watch him grab his blazer off the seat of the dining table, and you’d tie his tie for him at the door.

“I’ll be home early tonight. I don’t have any events today,” you said, smoothing out the fabric on his chest.

“You’ve been coming home early every night,” he said, raising his eyebrow at you.

“So have you, Congressman. Almost like there’s something you’re running from. Something you’re avoiding at work?” you teased, smiling at him.

“No. Just trying to get home to you,” he hummed, smoothing out your bedhead with both hands before he held your face gently to kiss you one more time before he went off into the world.

This was your new daily morning routine. 

The trade off on coming home early meant that you still had to do work when you came home. Both of you. However, Bucky seemed to plan for that, which is why he had a room specifically made for a home office for the two of you. 

You two would spend your evenings there before dinner for a few hours, finishing up any work that you weren’t able to do at your respective offices. You two would be silently working on your own jobs.

You, researching your clients preferences and trying to match them up based on their profiles. You would also be looking up the best date spots, trying to keep up with the latest trends for dating, and making sure that you weren’t falling behind on anything else.

Bucky would be going through packets upon packets of different meetings that he would have attended. There were several different duties that he had acquired since you first started dating, and there were a lot of responsibilities that he had started shouldering. You were certain that he was also helping Sam on the side, though he couldn’t tell you full details as per usual. 

Usually, you would stop working when you heard Bucky stop working and open the door to the office. He normally ordered food for the two of you, and would go out to the lobby to pick it up, and bring it back for you two to eat.

It was your signal to put everything down, and relax with him for the rest of the night.

You heard him close his binder, heard the wheels of his chair roll backwards, but you didn’t hear the elevator open and close to signify his departure down. You shook it off– wondering if he just went off to the bathroom or something.

Then, you felt him behind you. 

Bucky’s chest was pressed against your back, enveloping you in his warmth. His hands were on your shoulders, and as always, the left side of your body was colder from the touch of his metal prosthetic. 

“Hi, handsome,” you said, a smile coming onto your face. “Is it time for dinner?”

“Almost. Delivery is on its way,” he answered you.

His hands slid down your shoulders, goosebumps rising on your bare skin as his hands moved all the way down to cover your own hands. He left his hands on top of yours, and you hummed, happy to feel him all over you for just a moment. Bucky’s head pressed against the side of yours, then he dropped his forehead into the crook of your neck.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, tilting your head to the side to give him more space to rest. He took it, burrowing deeper into you.

“Yeah. Just a little nervous,” he murmured into your skin, taking a breath. 

You were about to ask him what he was talking about, to turn around and look at him properly. Then, you felt his hands slide up just a little bit, resting now on your wrists instead of covering your hands completely. Except, there was a weight he left behind that wasn’t there before. Your eyes shifted downwards, and your breath caught in your throat at the ring he slipped onto your finger– the cool metal that he masked with the metal of his own arm.

Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes widened at the sparkling star on your finger. Bucky plucked this thing out of the fucking sky– he had to. There was no way. 

“Marry me, sweetheart?” he asked softly. There was a slight tremor to his voice that you caught. A slight shaking in his right hand that you could feel. 

You couldn’t repeat what you did at the restaurant, make him freak out with worry over your quiet shock and silence.

Your sudden jolt into standing surprised him, but he didn’t seem to mind when you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his lips, then his cheeks, his eyes– everywhere you could as tears were beginning to well up and spill over. You couldn’t help it. You felt Bucky’s anxiety release with each kiss, his hands resting on your waist to hold you against him.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, smiling at you.

“Why would I ever say no to you?” you demanded, making him laugh. “Fuck– I thought you were going to propose to me at the restaurant when you asked me to move in with you!”

“The restaurant?” Bucky asked, blinking. “What– really?”

“Yes!” you nodded, wiping your tears away roughly. Bucky caught your hands, putting them down to your sides so he could wipe your tears away in a more gentle way with his thumbs.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said, looking appalled. “Do you know how many times you have ranted to me about the fact you hate restaurant proposals? You hate planning them, and you hate watching them. Why would I ever propose to you in a restaurant?”

“If it was you, then I would have changed my mind about it right away!” you argued with him, stubborn. “If it was you, you could’ve proposed to me with a candy ring, and I still would have said yes! We can elope– I don’t need a fancy wedding or anything. I just– just you. I just want you, Bucky.”

You watched as his eyes softened for you as he looked all over your features. You were certain that you looked like a mess right now, but you were finding it harder to believe that with the way he was looking at you right now. He looked as if you were the one that created the universe, and solved all his problems. There was nothing but admiration, love, joy. These were eyes that only you had the privilege to see. 

A smile came onto his face, one that you adored. A smile that you were going to be able to have for the rest of your life.

“Well, I’m your fiancé now, but you’ve already had me from the beginning, doll,” he said, “I’ve had this ring for over a year now, actually.”

“A year?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to ask,” he admitted, a bit sheepish. “And just… right now. It felt right.”

“Me working in the same room as you felt right?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at your blatant sarcasm. Except, he’s still smiling. He never gives you a real attitude. He wouldn’t dare. He loves you too much to ever do that.

“The fact that we’re both able to do our own thing in silence, but still be together felt right. We don’t need to speak. We don’t need to be touching. Don’t get me wrong, I love all those things, but… When I looked over at you just now— I felt at peace. Peace that I never thought I was ever allowed to have. So yes, it felt right.”

You’re about to cry again. You’re about to start fucking ugly sobbing in your boyfriend– your fiancé’s arms. You have a thousand things to say, but you know none of them will make sense right now. So, you bury your face in his chest and hug him tight, his arms coming to hold you even closer to him. 

“I love you,” you settled with, your voice breaking slightly.

“I love you, too,” he chuckled in response.

You listened to his chest rumble with laughter under your ear, felt his head rest against the side of yours. He led your bodies in a gentle sway, rocking the two of you back and forth. He took in a breath, releasing it slowly in a contented way. 

Your mind is racing still, and you ask one single question– just one to get his opinion. 

“Where should we get married?” you whispered to him. 

Bucky’s quiet for a few moments. A few moments too long. You pull back from him to look at his face, finding a smile on his lips, and a small sparkle in his eyes.

“I have some friends that want to meet you. Do you think you’re up to traveling to Wakanda?”

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn let me know if you would like to join my general bucky taglist for whenever i post a fic!

[waitingandwishing]

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Word Count: 2.5k "𝖫𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌" ━━ Ever since you were a kid, all you wanted was to be cared for.

“‘Cause I see your real face, it’s as ugly as sin. Gonna put you in your place cause you’re rotten within.” You sang, practicing the choreography easily. “When your patterns start to show it makes the hatred wanna grow out of my veins…”

Your voice trailed off and you sighed, collapsing on your bed with a huff. You rolled up your sleeve to reveal the spreading marks, glowing and pulsing each time you grazed your other hand on them. For almost your whole life, they’ve never spread this fast before.

Jinu said that his shame was what caused them to spread… What shame did you have then? The shame of these markings? But if so, then Rumi’s would’ve spread much faster than before right? You huffed. You couldn’t believe you were about to do something this stupid but… Maybe you should visit a mudang?

You groaned. Why were you now turning to spiritual stuff? You laid on your back, thinking for a moment before deciding you’d go to sleep early instead. You probably needed a good night’s rest anyways… Just as you walked over to your lamp to turn it off, a knock on your window interrupted.

You turned to see the large blue cat from before and the bird perched on top of its head. You frowned, but opened the door and entered your balcony. “Hello?” You greeted. The tiger stared at you before pushing into your hand as if telling you to pet him like before. “Where’s your owner?”

The tiger purred before biting your arm. It wasn’t a harsh bite, more delicate than anything as it seemed as though it was trying to guide you somewhere. “Ooookay…” You cringed at the horrible sensation of it’s drool coating your sweatshirt but didn’t pull away.

You followed the tiger into a portal before ending up on the street instead. You shivered at the cold wave of existential dread that came when you entered, but brushed it off and pulled your hood over your head instead. You couldn’t exactly be seen being hauled away by a blue tiger in public right?

“Isn’t it odd how we keep meeting like this?”

You turned to see Jinu with his hands in his pockets. You smiled slightly, the tiger now letting go of your arm. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sent your cat to come get me.” 

Jinu shrugged, feigning an innocent expression. You walked forward, now enshrouded in the darkness of the alleyway. “I actually have something to ask you, surprisingly.” Your gaze was fixated on the ground, not daring to look up at Jinu. 

“My markings…” You rolled your sleeve up to reveal the spread of them going across your arms. “Why are they growing? You said that yours grew from shame but… I haven’t felt any shame.”

Jinu stared at them, his finger twitching slightly to reach out, before he curled his hand into a fist instead. “It is… Hard to identify shame.” He finalized.

You looked up at him, blinking, before letting out a chuckle. “That’s hardly an explanation. Nor does it give me any comfort.”

“Ah, I’m… Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You shook your head, “After we seal the Honmoon…” Your voice trailed off, eyes glancing at Jinu before clearing your throat. “Rumi’s and my markings will be… Fixed.”

“How did you get your markings?” Jinu asked.

“Ah… I, uh, don’t know actually. It’s just something I’ve been born with like Rumi.” You looked at them, furrowing your brows at the noticeably drastic changes, “We’re not related though so…”

“And you don’t hear Gwi-Ma in your head either?” Jinu asked. You shook your head, your eyes focusing on the cat now rubbing on your legs.

“No…” You muttered.

“Then you’re lucky too.” Jinu said. He stayed quiet for a while, tilting his head up to look at the purple colored sky.

Did negative thoughts count as Gwi-Ma speaking in your head? No, you didn’t think so. Everyone had negative thoughts sometimes, even demons have them replaced by Gwi-Ma’s manipulation. If so… Were they really that different from humans?

“Maybe… You can be lucky too.” You thought out loud. Jinu turned to you with a confused look on his face. “When the Honmoon is sealed, all demons will be banished to be with Gwi-Ma for all eternity. You can be on our side. You’ll be rid of the markings.”

Jinu paused, opening his mouth to speak before you added. “It doesn’t mean you’ll live without your memories of misery. At least, I think so.” You mused before finally looking at Jinu with a smile, “Jinu, if you help us win the Idol awards, you can stop hearing Gwi-Ma’s voice inside your head…”

“What makes you think the Honmoon can save a guy like me?” Jinu asked, eyes carefully tracing the street in consideration.

“You tried to help your family. We all…” Your voice trailed off, masking the wince of a sudden headache with clearing your throat. “We all make mistakes.”

Jinu scoffed, “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s never that simple.” You challenged, “If the Honmoon can… Help me and Rumi with our mistakes, it surely can with yours.”

There’s a softening. A stillness in his eyes as he looks at you. As if his entire world has just settled into place. His pupils dilated just slightly, eyes warm with a kind of quiet awe, and for a moment, time seems to hush around the two of you. It’s not dramatic, not always flashy. It’s subtle. Sacred.

Familiar, even to you. You feel as if you’d done this before, that you’d felt this way before. You cleared your throat, “You always stare at someone like that?” You asked.

Jinu blinked out of his trance, turning away to the blue tiger sitting in front of him with a tilted head and crossed eyes. “It’s just… You remind me a lot like someone I knew.” Jinu said. You didn’t ask anything else because it seemed like he didn’t want to elaborate any further, but it warmed your heart either way.

His words carried the weight of a thousand unspoken memories and the quiet certainty of realization and recognition. It’s the look that said… You mattered. Not because of what you’ve done or said, but simply because you’re… You.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” You smiled, now turning away, “I’ve gotta change out of this wet sweatshirt before I start getting overstimulated so… Just think about my offer?” You turned your face to the side, looking at Jinu in the corner of your eye, “Give me a message if you accept it, Jinu.���

- - -

You explained the plan to Rumi, to which she agreed with. Jinu would help you win the Idol Awards, and you would seal the Honmoon when it was over. “Should we tell the others?” you asked, walking backstage to get ready for the rehearsal.

“... No.” Rumi decided, “They… They won’t understand.”

“Are those Celine’s words or yours?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment—but she didn’t smile. Not even a flicker. Your grin faltered. You stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder with quiet concern. “Rumi…”

“These lyrics are so… Wrong.” She said, her arms crossing tightly over her chest like she was bracing for something colder than judgment.

“Yeah…” you muttered, wincing as a dull throb pulsed through your skull. “Pretty hypocritical of us, I get it.”

“It’s fine. I think we can get through this.” Rumi nodded, but her voice didn’t carry much weight. You hesitated, studying her a moment longer before nodding back and stepping onstage beside her.

The music started, echoing faintly across the space as the four of you moved into formation. “Time to put you in your place ‘cause you’re rotten within.” You sang, turning with the practiced motion.

“When your patterns start to show it makes the hatred wanna grow out of my…” Rumi’s voice trailed off. She stopped moving entirely, her face blank and filled with hesitation.

“What’s going on? Why are we stopping?” Mira asked, her tone sharp with confusion.

“It’s just… These lyrics are throwing me off.” Rumi muttered, “I don’t think they’re right just yet.”

“Seriously? Now?” Mira frowned, eyebrows pulling in.

“No, it’s fine.” Zoey laughed weakly, already flipping through her lyric journal. “It’s the second verse, right? Uh, how about… ‘When the patterns start to show, the whole world will finally know that you’re depraved’?”

You shook your head at the same time Rumi did. The movement was subtle, but Mira noticed. Her frown deepened as her gaze shifted toward you, questioning. You couldn’t meet her eyes. You looked down at the scuffed black floor instead.

“Um, ‘My sword will happily show you to your grave?’” Zoey offered again. Rumi shook her head, “‘You will be pummeled till no remains—’”

“No, Zoey, it’s just—It’s the whole song.” Rumi sighed, weariness etched into her voice.

“Oh… Okay, great!” Zoey said, trying to laugh it off, but her voice went quiet as her eyes fell to the notebook in her hands. “Well, then, I might as well tear these all up!”

“Rumi, we don’t have time to change the lyrics even if we wanted to.” Mira said, stepping closer now. “The Idol Awards are tomorrow.”

“Well, I… I don’t think I can sing this song.” Rumi argued, her voice small but firm.

“It’s… So hateful.” You added.

The tension between the four of you was like static before Bobby stepped in, his timing almost too perfect. “Hey, girls, just wanted to bring some last-minute pick-me-ups…” He smiled, though it was clearly strained, placing the bag down. “I know things have been really stressful lately and you’ve been working so hard on the Idol routine.”

Then, a sharp pink pulse hit you, like static in your bones. The headache returned in full force, blooming behind your eyes like fire. You winced, though hit it well. You turned and ran. There wasn’t time for more arguing, you had civilians to save.

- - -

“Seriously, what is your problem?” Mira asked as she sliced through a demon's body.

Mira’s words ring in your ears like an accusation you can’t deflect. You know you’re hiding something but it isn’t out of malice. It’s out of fear. Out of uncertainty. Out of not knowing if you’re right or wrong. The Honmoon. The song. The dreams. The missing people. The silence where there should be cheering fans.

“I told you, the song, it’s-”

“I’m not talking about the song, I’m talking about you and Y/N!” Mira said. You turned your head, looking at her before pulling a demon closer to you and stabbing it with your dagger. “Why are you both questioning everything that we stand for when we’re so close to sealing the Honmoon? What are you two not telling us?!”

“I-I-”

“What are you hiding from us?” Mira asked, her hand on Rumi’s shoulder just as the purple haired girl was about to pull away.

“Not everything is about your insecurities, Mira!” Rumi yelled. You widened your eyes, looking between the two of them with a pained expression.

You stood between them, looking at both their expressions. Zoey stood next to Mira with widened eyes. The whole tunnel that shrouded you with darkness suddenly blew past you, the skyline of the city and mountains coming into view.

“Mira, I-I didn’t mean…”

“Would you two stop fighting each other and look?!” Zoey yelled, pointing to the huge hole coming from the upper bridge. 

“Why is it so big…?” You muttered. Multiple hungry demons piled on top of each other, ready to ravage any human souls on the train.

“If you’re with us, prove it.” Mira challenged, looking at you and Rumi before focusing her attention back on the demons.

You got into position before lunging with the four of them at the herd of demons. Your whip cracked like gunfire, splitting the air above the demon's heads. One lunged forward, to which you moved your shoulder forward, elbow locked and fingers snapping the whip at the end. The tip wrapped around its wrist, pulling it forward before plunging your dagger into its chest.

“It’s a take down, Imma take you out and it ain’t gonna stop!”

The second demon charged, causing you to spin left and let the tail of your whip loop low around its leg. You pulled hard, dropping its balance before throwing the dagger into its chest and disintegrating it.

You leaned in, whip in a cross-body strike. The tip lashed across another demon's face, causing it to screech before bursting into a pink dust.

“Jung shin eul noh koh null jib balb goh! Kal eul seh gyuh nuah! You’ll be begging and crying, all of you dying. Never miss my shot!”

When another lunged again, you dropped the whip and caught behind the ankle. In a wrapping move, the tail tangled briefly. You yanked hard, turning your hips and unbalancing it successfully. You threw your dagger again.

“I don’t think you’re ready for the takedown! A demon with no feelings don’t deserve to live… It’s so obvious…”

You widened your eyes, watching as another demon came swinging with a club at Rumi, who had suddenly paused their demon massacre. “RUMI!” You shouted, latching your whip onto her waist and pulling her forward. The momentum caused you to fly forward, sending a kick to the larger demon's head.

The lurking demons overran the plane. You knelt down, helping Rumi up as Mira finished off the last of the demons with a shockwave of blue energy. 

Mira turned to look at you and Rumi, disappointment evident in her eyes, but just as she was about to say something, you spoke up first. “The passengers!” You realized. 

You entered the train, searching through the seats to find at least one person, only to be disappointed at the sight of the missing people. What were you going to do now? 

The train stopped at its nearest station, the four of you walking out with saddened looks on your faces. “Whatever you think about the song, it doesn’t matter right now.” Mira spoke up, her voice breaking slightly. “Everything is at stake and we just need to get through this together.” She walked away, not daring to meet yours or Rumi's gaze.

“You know I’m always on your side but… It’s really hard to understand this time.” Zoey muttered, turning to look at the two of you, “We can’t win this without your voices…” She finalized before walking away with Mira.

You and Rumi exchanged glances. Something’s wrong. And not just with the mission. With you. With Rumi. With the entire foundation everything’s been built on.

You look at her, your partner in this, and the weight in her eyes mirrors your own. The kind of weight you carry when truth is clawing at the inside of your chest but you’re afraid to open your mouth and let it out. Because if you speak it aloud, it might undo everything you’ve fought for…

Zoey says they need your voice. Mira says you’re keeping secrets. She’s not wrong. But they don’t see what you see. They don’t hear what you hear in that song. They don’t feel how wrong it’s beginning to sound.

taglist: @the-bookish-artist @nisarelle @iviorienne @justanindiangirl12 @t4naiis @usuallyunlikelyfox@livsh20@venommie@dprweganggang03@satansdaughter123 @yumekono @arkcitrus

[darlingxs-blog]

YOUU . will write about daemon uhh idk hc idkk uhhh how would it feel like to kiss him . he clearly seems to enjoy „scaring” the player and not acting completely subservient towards you, so I like to think giving him more freedom or egging him on to do his own choices would be a . Way to bond w him

(I wonder how the others would react to him, if theyre able to comprehend him at all)

UHH besides that . maybe possibly perchance teasing Daemon? Finding some way to make him feel all tingly physically and seeing his form get all staticy and fuzzy? i need to kiss him and his . blue mouth UHHUDNFFHGGGHGHHHH

HEHSHSB OHDHHE WHY ARE YOU SO SMART OHDHEB GOOD LAWD YESSSEEHDHD

We kissing Daemon right on his static ass lips trust 😼🙏

Unfortunately I've never flirted with nor teased anyone ever in my life (I have no dating experience leave me alone) so the teasing is definitely going to be some very erm low tier shiz nit okay thank you byebye

A bug...

He's a love bug. Shhh keep it to yourself.

The bugged out dresser freaked you out a little bit, it started glitching when you tried to talk to Deenah but were met with a corrupted voice and a messed up text box and no show of Deenah, at all.

But you know what they say right, third times a charm. You walk up to the glitching dresser and shoot the little 'love beams' as Skylar Specs likes to call them at that dresser that freaks you out a little if your being honest.

"I don't bite." A glitched out figure of what you can't even describe appears in your view and you can't lie. He's...kinda hot. "I think. Did I?"

Feeling oh so confident with yourself and your abilities to tug at your household object's hearts you decide to work a little charm- no, let's be honest here. The words slipped out before you could even register what you wanted to say "you can if you want" seriously, what the hell was going on in your brain sometimes. "I don't think I want to" his distorted voice snaps you out of your self depreciating thoughts and makes you feel a little upset...he could have been at least a little nicer.

"And why not?" You reply back to the glitched out figure, if you started digging your own grave, why not make it deeper?

The silent buzz of static fills the air around you two before "chomp chomp" again with his distorted voice "munch munch" how serious he sounds and since you can't really tell his emotions by his expression all you can do is try to force down a laughter that threatens to spill from your lips.

Though, before you can say anything in reply. He's gone.

__________time skip cause I fucking can_______

You wake up the next day, before even getting out of bed you slide the rose tinted glasses onto your face and the warmth of Betty and her soft body snuggled up with you sweeps your stress away. You gotta thank Skylar for showing you this absolutely fabulous woman the first day you got these damn dateviators.

"Mornin' honey." Betty's arms tighten around you while bringing you in closer and you laugh sweetly idc if your a man, your a femboy now at her antics. You know just how much she doesn't like the mornings. "C'mon darlin' you gotta let me go." And she does, with a lot of reluctance before sitting up and grabbing your wrist with a much softer grip than she had on you before.

"You're not gonna kiss me before you go?" A pretty pout is on her lips and you just can't resist giving them a quick peck- just so she'll feel better...and you just really wanted to kiss her.

She hums and falls back against the plush pillows on your mattress holding one of the many throw pillows to her chest before shutting her eyes softly to squeeze in just a couple more minutes of rest.

After a quick stretch that pops your arms you turn your head only to remember the glitchy dresser, Daemon likes when you suddenly remember he is there even if you can't see him physically or at least that's what you think.

You walk up to the dresser and without even having to think about it for too long Daemon appears in front of you in a blitz. He looks...angrier than usual. That's none of your business though.

One dateable by one you've slowly been 'realizing' them as the Kind yet Anonymous hacker but it and today was the day you wanted to see what Daemon would look like if he was well complete.

"Daemon, something on your mind?" Sympathy etches on your features and he has to force himself not to jab at you for getting way too soft way too quickly. Someone could take advantage of that. "'Fine. Just do it." His layered voice is sharp, he doesn't want to waste time it seems.

You've busted your ass off getting your specs points to the max and now it finally pays off with your large harem of lovers becoming human right in front of your very eyes, like you did with the ones before the process of Daemon becoming human is much more...anticlimactic really, but you can't lie. Even with the features that would seem odd for just an ordinary human he still is quite fine- "can I kiss you" "What?" You blink once, twice, thrice before he says it again "I want to kiss you" bitch YES PLEASE DHHEBD

"Well, If you want too..." suddenly feeling very bashful you turn your head away, out of all the things you thought he would have said when he finally became human you have not conjured up a single scenario where that was the very first thing he said.

A hand that seems to generate a buzz of static across your skin and deep into your blood stream turns your head back to face forward and lips are pressed against yours. Daemon's lips are flat and almost freezing yet you've never felt anything that made you melt so quickly.

A hum of static fills your mouth and dances on your tounge like pop rocks and yet you don't feel anything at all, all the while you feel his desperation he has with every nip at your skin with the mouths that don't exist.

With every second that passes with his lips locked with yours the buzzing gets more intense, it feels like a straight shock of electricity and yet you don't feel enough pain to pull away in fact it only brings you closer.

Unfortunately, with your mortal body comes with mortal lungs that do need air to survive so you pull away with a huff that you regret. You really didn't want to let him go.

He looks down at you and your flushed face, chuckling like he isn't just as red.

___________________________________________

I had to stop it right there cause it was getting cringey, unfortunately I don't know how to write Romance 😔 IM SORRY but like I'm happy with this lowkey, kinda, a little.

On everybody's soul we YES WE are cracking Daemon.

[linkenthusiast]

Hello!!!!!! So I had this idea a couple of days ago, and I can’t get it out of my head, so here it is: the Chain reacting to Guide! Reader cry. I’d love to see this in your works, but please don’t feel any pressure. Have a fabulous day!!

No pressure at all!! Always up for brain storming these days <333

Splitting this to 3 parts cuz I can’t keep up with all 9 at once.

I cried just writing about this y’all I need some comfort.

This part contains Time, Twilight and Warrior.

Guide!Reader tears

Pt 1

Time

- Time wouldn’t really call himself much of a comforter— he’d be at a total loss when someone breaks down crying in front of him.

-he’s not completely helpless though! When he manages to find his words, he can offer solid words of wisdom from his experience.

- however, when he found you —his guide— crying softly in a quiet area in the woods, he helplessly watched.

- he didn’t know what to do— you’re his guide! You know his adventures more than he does, how does he expect to have wisdom that tops that??

- However, now that he’s seen you, he can’t leave you alone.

Your sniffling can be heard in the rustling leaves, the tears continuously falling down your face with each time you try to wipe it off. You’re sat beside a tree, hugging your knees tightly.

Time had found you not too long ago, but it seems you have yet to notice him.

He’s at a loss. You, his guide and support system through his adventures—broken in sobs.

His next step created a loud rustle, jumping you out of your trance. You looked in the direction of the sound and was greeted with a slightly awkward Time.

“Hi…sorry, didn’t want to scare you…” he softly spoke. You aggressively wiped the rest of your tears as a response to his appearance. “It- it’s fine. Uhm… did you need something?” Your voice was quiet, slightly cracking. You even avoided looking at him.

He simply just shook his head, “I was just walking around…do you…need some company?” They were really simple words, respectful to you even if you had rejected it. Fortunately, to his pleasure, he received a nod.

He went to sit beside you, leaning on the same tree you did. “Do you want to talk about it?” He hesitatingly questioned. He looked over, feeling and seeing a shake in your head. No? Okay, that’s fine, he can work with that.

The silence picked back up once again, your occasional sniffles breaking it.

“Y’know…it’s nice to cry. I myself find it hard to do but…it always feels like a rain shower, like the world is going to end…” he spoke softly.

“But, if you take a second to look at the sky, you’d always find a rainbow when the clouds disperse.” He continued.

“It’s okay to cry, it will always be a better tomorrow.” A sob broke from you. You leaned onto Time’s armoured shoulder, letting more held back tears spill. Soon enough, you found the pain numbed and your eyes tired, and Time still there with you. Silent but observant, and always there for you.

Twilight

- designated big brother.

- knows how to calm plenty of children down— who’s to say those tricks wouldn’t work on anyone older?

- he becomes really concerned whenever you seemed down.

- he’s always seen you as the singular optimistic hope in a rather dark and horrifying world that he lived in.

- he’d always want to see you smiling. He’d pull every trick in the book to cheer you up.

No good. Nothing was working.

He’d noticed the loom and gloom that followed you the whole day. The silence that was carried by you and the way you always seemed to look at the ground. You followed whoever’s shadow was in front of you in a trance. He tried asking you what was wrong before, but your response was a simple “I’m fine” and moved on.

He had tried a couple things that would usually work with the kids in his village. Any sweets? No, trying to get you to talk about your interests, you just shut him down instantly. He would’ve tried giving you a little gift to get your mind off of things to help improve your mood even a little.

Nothing worked, to his luck. The rest had noticed your mood and didn’t ask too many questions when you went out.

Twilight decided that there’s one thing he’s yet to try—Wolfie. Then he slapped himself, instantly forgetting that you already know that it’s him, you were his guide for goodness sake!

“Hey Rancher? Mind taking these for a good wash?” Wild spoke up from behind him. A ton of time had passed and Twilight didn’t hesitate to agree, wanting to at least check on you. He can’t help it, he’s worried.

He showed up near the river, surprised to spot you crouched down and sobbing. You used the water to try and calm your puffy eyes and covered your face a little.

Twilight stepped out to approach you. His steps were heard by you, pausing for a minute, you looked up at him.

Your eyes were puffy, feeling both your warm tears and the cold river water littering your face. “Oh…Hi Twi…” you looked over at the basket of clothes, realizing what he was there for.

“Do you…uhm…need some help with that…?” You asked, wanting to avoid talking about your tears altogether. Twilight couldn’t buy that.

He set the basket down and knelt right in front of you. “Can I hug ya?” He asked simply. Shocked, you kind of looked at him. The request itself broke you to tears again. You softly nodded, trying to wipe your tears away again as you felt his arms wrap around you like a warm blanket.

The water works wouldn’t stop, your own arms wrapped around Twilight and clutched him tightly. Your sobs muffled into his shoulder and your tears coating his tunic.

He stays there until your tears died down and you fell asleep on him. He laid you down and wrapped you with his wolf pelt until he had finished his chores, to which he then carried you back to camp.

Warrior

- him living in war gives him a very different experience compared to the rest of the Links.

- most of their tears came from the urge to survive, to live, and to mourn the loss of loved ones.

- so when he catches you crying, he’s kind of coded to think the worst.

- someone’s dying or you’re in danger, just to the very extreme.

The chain was in town, restocking and getting ready to depart once again. Wars went ahead to try and remind you of their soon departure.

Coming to your room’s door, he knocks on it. Staying put for a minute for any response. He invited himself in, thinking that you had maybe fallen back asleep, only to hear sniffling.

Instantly alert, he sees you at the table in front of the mirror— you looked horrible. Your eyes are puffy, you kept wiping the tears from them. Your hair was an absolute disaster, a bird’s nest if you will.

“Hey— hey hey, what’s—what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Wars rushed to your side, trying to lift your face up to look at him. Questions spilled from him, looking around to see if you were hurt in any way and such. You looked almost silly, your cheeks were squished because of his hold and your eyes were tightly closed, your brows frowned. Wars wiped your tears carefully with his thumb.

You hiccuped out—“N-nothing— nothing is— working with me.” Breaking every now and then.

“What? What’s not working?” Wars urges you to continue. “A-all week, nothing was okay— stupid wild shoved me i-in the river! My clothes kept g-getting cuaght and— the needle kept—poking and and…” you took a breath, “I got a bug b-bite and— I just— my hair doesn’t want to work—” Wars shushed you softly, finally understanding that your frustrations throughout the week had got to you.

He kept holding your face and shushing you, trying to lessen your tears. A couple minutes later only sniffles can be heard from you. Wars took a breath, relieved that you were getting a little better. “Do you…want me to help you with your hair?” He quietly asked you. You, tired from crying, softly nodded and turned to face the mirror and Wars went to behind you to brush your hair out piece by piece. He’d take his time to try and make it look the way you wanted.

[thecowboyfiles]

Could you write Bob Reynolds x transmasc reader pls? Like rough, but they both have control at some point. Also a little dysphoria comfort is always sweet. Tysm!!! Also i got recommended you by undying decay and your writing is so good obbsessiivley reading it now

Ahhhh I love mae so much and I'm so grateful to her for recommending me 🥰 I also loved this request and I hope you do too! Please come back and request more ❤️ Also, I have memberships now if you wanna check them out 💕 Cw for the use of the word "pussy" and "Cunt" to describe transmale genitalia.

₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

📂 Current File: ▼ ▶ Relinquish.mp3

ⓘ Robert Reynolds x Transmasc Reader

It’s not unusual for things to get rough with you and Robby. Both of you needed to feel in control, You— because it helped ease the dysphoria and made you feel more ‘manly’ even if that was a bit cliche and he seemed to need it because his life had been out of control for so long that being in control in the bedroom gave him some sort of peace.

It always starts off slow; the tower is empty. You and Robert had been laying on your bed, making out for who knows how long, tongues slowly pushing in and out of each others mouths, biting and licking at each other’s lips, a lighter fight for dominance. Then, someone always takes control. Today, it was Robert.

He pulls away from you abruptly, like he’s got some sort of wild idea that just pinged his brain and for a second you think it might have nothing to do with you and he’s going to jump up out of the bed and abandon you for a sudden burst of inspiration and motivation to do something to help the team. It wouldn’t be the first time, but this time, his eyes tracked you up and down and an evil, greedy smirk spread out over his lips before he straddled your hips and pinned your wrists to the bed. “You’re mine tonight, sweetheart,” He smirks, tightening his hands when you make a show of squirming underneath him and whining softly.

“If I’m yours, then you better take me,” You smirk up at him, biting at your bottom lip.

You didn’t know how long the two of you had been making out for, but you could feel Robert hard against your hip and your own boxers had been soaked for quite a while. You push up lightly, lifting your hips up off the bed and into his body, but he only tightens his grip, you’re sure you’re going to have five perfect, finger shaped bruises around your wrists tomorrow.

“You keep demanding things like that, and I’ll have to tie you up,” He threatens. You both know he would never, at least not unless you had talked about it before, it would take away too much of your control, but the threat of it still makes your cunt throb.

Robert takes a minute to lean down and grind his hard cock into you and give a needy whine but then it’s right back to control when he lets go of your wrists to shed you of your pants and boxers, then him of his own. With him preoccupied, you could move and take the control now, but you don’t, not yet, not when it was so obvious.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Robby,” You say in a hushed tone, watching him roll the condom onto his hard, leaking, cock.

“Don’t I always?” His smirk gives away that it’s not a real question, he knows that he does. “I’ll take care of you, sunshine, don’t you worry about that.” With the condom on, he leans back over your body and presses his lips to yours, a too soft gesture for what was about to happen.

Robert runs his hands down every inch of your chest and torso before he squeezes one of your thighs and hikes your right leg up on your shoulder. He gives you no warning before he pushes into you, punctuated with a loud moan. “Do you know how good you feel, baby? How tight and warm? Can’t fucking take it, and your perfect cunt is all mine,”

“Fuck, move, Robby.” You groan, stretched around his cock and desperate for the pleasure you knew was coming.

“Awfully bossy for a little boy who's on the bottom aren't you?" Robert smirks from above you, blonde hair falling into his face, but he's too preoccupied to push it back.

This was your moment. You wrap your legs around Robert's waist and push up with all your strength and flip the both of you over so you were straddling him with his cock still buried deep inside of you. "Now, who's on the bottom, little boy," you can't help but spit his words back at him while you grind down against him, hard and fast.

"Ah shit, oh fuck" Rob groans out, gasping in surprise, and whining as you speed up even more, this time, you lean down and press you lips into his, sinking your teeth into his lower lip and pulling.

"You wanna take control? You want this tight, wet, pussy to be all yours, Robby?" You smirk wickedly. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that." You knew what he could do, the kind of strength he had, and you both knew what you were really asking. The first time Robert had used his super strength in bed, he didn't have it quite so under control and you ended up needing a new bed.

Robert is still beneath you, whining and whimpering pathetically, half heartedly trying to push up further into you, but those works have his eyes popping open and shining up at you. The next time you're both flipped, it takes your breath away. The sheer speed and force at which you go from being above Robert to below him is dizzying and there's no chance to catch your breath as he pounds into you. All you can do is grasp desperately to his back, leaving raised red marks from your nails and just hope you aren't loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

Robert had made sure you came three times before he even came once and despite how tired and worn out you were, you never passed out before you two had a chance to hold each other close and talk. "Does it bother you when we use words like that?" Robert asks softly after a long stretch of silence and just soaking each other in.

"Words like what? You ask tilting your head slightly to look up at him.

"Y'know... like cunt and pussy and stuff."

You take a moment to think about it but then shake your head gently. "No, not really. Maybe if someone else used them, but I know how you see me." You smile softly.

"Oh yeah? And how do I see you, pretty boy?"

"Exactly like that," You grin, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

[theinheriteddutchess]

Like Fate

Summary: Steve seemed perfect. Until he didn't. And now you're not sure if you'll ever be safe because he does not accept your breakup.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 2.002

Warnings: stalking, non-con vibes, ex-boyfriend Steve, possessive Steve, mob!Steve, threats, controlling ex.

Notes: I forgot I had this done for a bit, sorry, just been busy on other Stories, but right I thought, why not? Make room, vol that masterlist. So here it is, enjoy.

Masterlist

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

The lights were so bright it was disorientating, blinding you at times, making it difficult to see your surroundings clearly. But you could have sworn you saw him.

When you looked a second later, he wasn’t there.

You tried to calm your racing heart. No need to panic. It was your paranoia. You were out of town, visiting your friend. He didn’t know where you were. That was the whole point. To be away from that smothering tension that his presence left in you. You ex-boyfriend.

Steve Rogers. The picture of perfection. Boy scout good manners, eager to help. That’s how you two met. You, stranded on the side of the road when your car suddenly gave up, and him, stepping up to help you out.

He had asked you out before you parted ways and you had accepted immediately. He had been so kind, and you weren’t too ashamed to admit that his good looks and dazzling smile didn’t make your heart flutter.

He seriously gave you the best sex you ever had. It’s like he knew your body better than you did! There were times you lay limp on the bed, not knowing how to ever get back to normal again.

He was perfect. Well, he had seemed so anyway.

You knew he had been thinking of proposing. His best friend let something slip and winked when you stuttered nonsensical words in your total surprise. It might’ve been fast, you didn’t even know each other a year, but you already knew you’d say yes.

And then you had accidently been at the wrong place at the wrong time. And you had watched as Steve shot a person.

He had looked nothing like the friendly man you’d come to know. But that this wasn’t the first time he had killed, that was sure. And the way he had spoken, about the man messing up a delivery, it didn’t take a fool to know he was in some shady business.

Shaken, you had packed your stuff - thanking whatever entity was out there for looking out for you and you having been undetected so far - and decided to leave everything you  couldn’t carry. No word, no note. Just ran as fast as you could.

He called after an hour. Then rapidly several times when you didn’t pick up. He drove to your apartment, but you refused to open. He got agitated then, but obeyed your wishes to be left alone. For a few days. Then he demanded to talk. When you told him you wanted nothing to do with him, that you knew he was a murderer, he let out a chuckle.

“Oh honey, I’m much more than that.”

It had chilled you, afraid he was going to kill you right then and there, cursing yourself for being so dumb to tell him you knew, but he hadn’t come near, he didn’t force his way into your home. He had told you to think about it for a few days, and that you would come back, he was sure.

He seemed to be under the impression you would take him back. And you spend a few days and nights terrified he was going to show up again and force his way into your apartment to either murder you or abduct you. None of these things happened, but you felt watched. Sometimes you saw his face in the crowd. Or your car was suddenly filled up. Your sister received an expensive gift for your niece under your name. You never shopped in that store, you couldn’t afford it. 

Weird things like that kept happening. A filled fridge. Money into your bank account, your male friends rapidly refusing to hang out with you anymore. It was his doing, you knew it. You had no real proof. And what could you say? My ex is trying to take care of me? I just don’t want him to? He murdered someone? You had no proof and you were sure the body had disappeared long before. 

You couldn't sleep, and you couldn’t focus, and your neck hurt from twisting it so much while walking outside, to see if you spotted him. Sometimes he was nowhere in sight, but you did not let your guard down. You refused to go to your favourite coffee shop, because they told you everything was paid for, indefinitely.

You thought for a moment if it was easier to give in. But you couldn’t condone his lifestyle. You could not deal with seeing anymore murders. And Steve had proven he had a possessive streak. How did you not notice it before? Were you so blinded by infatuation?

So when your friend had offered you to come over for a few days, to get pampered while dealing with a break up - and that’s what you told everyone, not anything more -  you took it.

It was supposed to be a few days away from it all, to be able to let go and figure out what to do from there. Move? He would know before you made one step. The only thing you could think of was to disappear, but that meant leaving your family and friends behind, and you did not think it past Steve to use them against you. You wouldn't expect any decency from him after what you witnessed him to be capable of.

It was your first night here in this place, and yet you thought you spotted him. It couldn’t be possible. You had told no one. You grabbed a bag and just left. If anyone wanted to contact you, they had your number. It was the safest way you could think of.

But as you looked around frantically, he was nowhere in sight. A figment of your frightful illusions. You took a deep breath, told your friend you’d be right back. Off to the bar, ready to drink and forget your problems, even if only for a few hours.

As you waited to be helped you felt someone press against you from the side. Maybe a drunk clubber, maybe an interested guy, maybe both. You weren’t looking for any attention though, so you peeked up to check what situation you might be in and froze.

A sparkling smile shone down upon you. He was wearing a deep blue shirt, hair styled to perfection. As usual, it always looked like he had a personal hairstylist with some kind of secret serum to make it lay on his head that way. His sleeves rolled up to show his impressive muscles - and you weren’t the only one who ogled them -, eyelashes casting a mysterious shadow on his cheeks with how long they were.

God, he looked perfect. And you were a dumb hoe to fall for it!

“Hey baby, having fun?”

“How?” You only managed to stutter, your eyes not leaving his frame even once.

“How did I find you? Baby come on, I always know where you are and what you are doing. I’m a little hurt you’ve tried to flee from me, but I get it, you’re scared. You saw something I never wanted you to see and now you’ve got it in your head I'm not the man you fell for. But you don’t need to be so frightened around me. I don’t hurt the people I care about.”

LIke it was going to make you feel relieved to hear it. “Just everyone else.”

He shrugged, looking unapologetic. “When they get in my way. Or steal from me. I really hate liars.”

He brushed some sweaty hairs from your forehead. Almost lovingly. “But you are different. I knew it when I first saw you. Special. I knew I couldn't let you slip through my fingers. And we were perfect weren’t we?”

“It was all a lie,” You told him, trying to whisper but the loud music made you raise your voice at the same time. “You were never that person.”

“Of course I am, I’m just also a little more.” He signed at the bartender to come over, and of course the man came over immediately even if you tried to catch his attention for minutes before. ��She'll have a sea breeze cocktail. And give me a beer, okay?”

Then he turned to you again. “We’re going to have a drink and we’re going to talk things out, and after, once I answered all your questions, you’re going to tell your friend we’ve made up. Just a silly misunderstanding.”

“I will not!” You hissed. “There’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind.”

His eyes narrowed, even if the smile never left his face. “If you’re worried about her getting bored without you, don’t worry. Bucky will be happy to keep her company. Look, it seems they're getting along already.”

You recognized him after a second. Bucky. His best friend. He was smiling down at your friend, and his hands were on her hips and she peaked coyly from under her lashes at him as she let her finger trail over the opened collar of his shirt.

He turned you and pointed into the direction where you had left your friend on the dancefloor. She wasn’t alone. A big dark haired man was dancing close to her. Your friend was looking at him with that expression she used when she tried to lure men in, before they realised they’d be limping from her bed the next morning.

You stepped forward, or were going to, fully intend to put a stop to this, to get her away from him safely, when you got pulled back, and into a firm chest. You felt him lower himself so he could talk into your ear.

“Don’t. He won’t hurt her. He actually might be a little interested in her. Maybe you should let them get to know each other. It will give us time to work things out, and as long as we are talking, he’s got no reason to get to work. So what is it? Does Bucky get to have his well deserved day off, or do I need to put him to work and give some orders?”

You felt bile come up watching them and hearing Steve's words. You didn’t want to do this, you didn’t want to be near Steve, he terrified you. But your friend was in danger, that was sure. Tears sprung in your eyes and you tried to prevent them from rolling down and alerting anyone. It would not end well.

And even if you managed to escape now, what about your friend? And what about after? Steve had already proven he wasn’t going to let you go, and now he knew where she lived. And you knew he could get to any one of your family or friends. The only reason he hadn’t was because he wanted you to play along. Maybe hoped you would come to be okay with who he was. 

You wouldn’t be. But as much as you were frightened by him and by everything that was still a mystery to you, you didn’t think you could put anyone else in trouble.

You sighed, feeling the breath shakily come out.  “I, I think we can talk.”

His smile brightened. “Good, I’m glad baby. You’ll see, we can work this out. You have nothing to worry about. All you have to do is just hear me out. I’m sure we can get back to how things were, right? Although….I'm sure you know about my plans, Bucky was a little eager to spill, wasn’t he? He’s always been a sap. Romantic at heart. And who knows, maybe next year he’s going to be the lucky man at the way those two are eyeing each other right now. Reminds me of us. Like fate.”

He dragged you to the VIP area. Secluded. Alone. Your heart beating quicker with every step you took further away from your friend, further away from backup, further away from the freedom of what your life had been.

Taglist:

@rnurse-kole

@peaches1958

@alicedopey

@chickensarentcheap

@thezombieprostitute

@stargazingfangirl18

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83

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

TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, angst, walkers (Zombies), lecherous behavior, discussions of sexual history, homphobia, weed, depictions of being stoned and Marijuana use.

Part 4

Between Brothers - Part 5

The abandoned house sat like a forgotten memory among the overgrown Georgia pines, its weathered siding barely holding back the wilderness that threatened to reclaim it. You'd been walking for what felt like forever, your feet aching in boots that had cost more than most people's monthly rent back home, when Merle spotted it through the trees.

"Well, well," he drawled, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Looks like Christmas came early, sugar."

You watched nervously as he kicked in the front door, the wood splintering easily under his boot. A week of traveling with Merle had taught you that subtlety wasn't in his vocabulary. The house groaned around you both as you followed him inside, dust motes dancing in the afternoon light filtering through broken windows.

"Merle, we shouldn't be—"

"Relax, darlin'. Ain't nobody been here in years." He was already rifling through cabinets with his good hand, overturning cushions with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this before. The stump where his hand used to be didn't seem to slow him down much. "Besides, finders keepers in this world."

It was when he started checking the bedroom that you heard his low whistle of appreciation.

"Well, I'll be goddamned." Merle emerged holding a small wooden box awkwardly against his chest, grinning like he'd struck oil. "Looks like the previous tenant had some real interesting hobbies."

The sweet, earthy smell hit you before you even saw what was inside. Your nose wrinkled slightly at the unfamiliar scent.

"What is that?"

Merle's grin widened as he held up a small baggie with his left hand. "This here's what we call God's gift to mankind, sweetheart. Premium Georgia green."

You took a step back, shaking your head. "Oh no. No, absolutely not."

"Aw, come on, lil doe." The nickname rolled off his tongue like honey, though you still weren't sure why he'd started calling you that. "Live a little. World's gone to shit anyway."

"I don't... I've never..." You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very out of place in this crumbling house with this dangerous man.

"'Course you ain't." He was already gathering kindling for a fire in the stone fireplace, struggling slightly with the one-handed task but too proud to ask for help. "Bet you never done a lot of things, sugar. That fancy upbringing of yours probably didn't include much fun."

"It's not about that," you protested, but your voice lacked conviction.

"No? Then what's it about, darlin'? You scared you might actually enjoy yourself?"

You bit your lip, watching him work. The past week had been a constant battle between your better judgment and the strange pull you felt toward him. Everything about Merle should have sent you running, but something kept you there, following him through the Georgia wilderness.

"I just... what if something happens? What if we need to run?"

Merle paused in his kindling gathering to look at you, and for a moment his expression was almost gentle. "Sweetheart, we been walkin' for a week straight. You look like you're about to drop dead on your feet. Little bit of this might actually do you some good."

He had a point. You were exhausted, emotionally and physically drained from everything that had happened, especially after the van had died on you. Maybe...

"I don't know how," you admitted quietly.

His grin returned, softer this time. "That's what I'm here for, lil doe."

An hour later, you found yourself sitting cross-legged by the crackling fire, watching Merle awkwardly attempt to roll a joint with one hand. Papers kept tearing, weed kept spilling, and his cursing was getting increasingly creative.

"Goddamn piece of shit..." he muttered, trying to hold the paper steady with his stump while sprinkling the green herb with his left hand.

"Do you need help?" you offered tentatively.

"I got it," he snapped, then immediately softened his tone. "Just takes a little longer is all."

You watched him struggle for another few minutes before finally scooting closer. "Here, let me..."

"You don't know how to roll, sugar."

"No, but I have two hands." You reached for the supplies. "You can talk me through it."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even gratitude—before the familiar smirk returned. "Well now, look at you being all helpful. Careful, darlin', or I might start thinking you actually want to try this."

"Maybe I do... A little."

"Atta girl." His voice dropped to that low rumble that did strange things to your stomach. "Now, take a paper..."

It took three attempts and a lot of guidance from Merle's rough voice over your shoulder before you managed something that vaguely resembled a joint. It was lumpy and crooked, but Merle pronounced it "perfect" with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for masterpieces.

"Now comes the fun part," he said, lighting it with a match from the fireplace.

The first hit made you cough so hard you thought you might die. Your eyes streamed, your throat burned, and Merle's rough laughter didn't help your embarrassment.

"Fuck, Merle!" you gasped between coughs.

"Easy there, honey. Ain't supposed to inhale it like you're drowning. Here, watch me."

He demonstrated with practiced ease, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly. "Your turn. Smaller this time."

The second attempt was better, though you still coughed. The third made your head feel light and strange.

"There we go," he said, studying your face with those pale blue eyes. "How you feeling, darlin'?"

"Weird," you admitted, surprised by how the word seemed to float out of your mouth. "Kind of... floaty?"

"That's the idea." He passed it back to you. "Take another."

By the time you'd shared half the joint, the world had taken on a softer quality. The edges of everything seemed less sharp, including Merle's usual abrasiveness. You found yourself actually relaxing for the first time since you'd found him on that rooftop, giggling at nothing in particular.

"There we go," he said, leaning back against the wall. "Now you look less like you're about to jump out of your own skin."

"Is this how you always felt before... everything?" you asked, waving vaguely at the world outside.

"Nah, this is better. Used to need a whole lot more than this to feel good." His expression darkened for a moment before the lazy grin returned. "But enough about me, lil doe. I got questions."

Something in his tone made you wary, but the warm buzz in your head made it hard to care. "What kind of questions?"

"Oh, just curious about you, sugar. Week of traveling together and you're still a mystery to me." He took another hit, eyes never leaving your face. "Like, you ever let a boy get to second base?"

Despite his constant Innuendos the question still caught you off guard, and you felt heat creep up your neck. "Merle..."

"What? Just wonderin' if those pretty tits of yours have ever seen any action."

"God, you're so crude," you muttered.

"That ain't an answer, darlin'." His grin turned predatory. "Come on, we're just talking here. You ever let a boy touch you?"

Maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the way the firelight made everything feel dreamlike, but you found yourself answering. "Some."

"Some?" He leaned forward, interested. "What's 'some' mean, sweetheart?"

"I mean... yes, okay? I've been touched before." Your cheeks were burning now.

"Where?"

"Merle!"

"Come on, lil doe. We're sharing here. Where'd he touch you?"

You rolled your eyes, the gesture more dramatic than usual thanks to the weed. "Jeez, Merle, your acting like I'm a nun or something."

His eyebrows shot up, and you immediately realized your mistake. That grin of his turned absolutely wicked.

"Well now, that's real interesting. So you ain't completely innocent, are you, darlin'?"

The way he was looking at you made your stomach flutter nervously. "I didn't say that."

"Goddamn." Merle's voice was rougher now. "You ever suck a dick, sweetheart?"

You nearly choked on the smoke. "Give me strength"

"That a yes or a no?"

"I'm not answering that."

"That's a yes." His grin was absolutely filthy now. "Bet you were real good at it too, weren't you, sugar? Bet you got that sweet little mouth wrapped around—"

"How many have you sucked, Merle?" you shot back, your cheeks burning but determined to flip this back on him.

The words hit him like a slap. His cocky grin vanished instantly, replaced by pure horror. "What the hell—no! Jesus Christ, what kinda question is that?"

He actually recoiled, nearly dropping the joint. "I ain't no goddamn fairy! That's disgusting!"

His reaction was so over-the-top that you couldn't help but smirk a little, even through your embarrassment. "Just asking. You seem awfully interested in the mechanics."

"That's different! I'm a man, and you're a—" He gestured wildly at you, his face flushed red now too, but for entirely different reasons. "Hell no, I don't do that sick shit!"

"Hey man, Love is Love." You held up your hands in mock surrender. "Seemed fair to ask."

Merle took a long, aggressive drag from the joint when you passed it back, like he was trying to burn the very suggestion out of his brain. But after a moment, that familiar gleam crept back into his eyes.

"Nice try, sugar, but you ain't gonna distract me that easy." His voice was still a little strained, but the predatory edge was returning.

"We were talkin' about you and that pretty little mouth of yours. What about the main event, darlin'? You ever go all the way?"

You took another hit, buying yourself time. "Maybe."

"Maybe ain't an answer."

"A few times," you said finally. "But it wasn't... it didn't mean ... what I thought."

"How many times is a few?"

"Merle..."

"Come on, lil doe. We're being honest here."

"Three," you whispered. "Three times... same person."

"Three times." He seemed to be turning this over in his mind. "That it? Just three times in your whole life?"

You nodded, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

"Damn, sugar. For someone who ain't a nun, you sure are selective." His tone wasn't mocking, though. If anything, he sounded almost... impressed? "See, I'm just trying to figure out how innocent you really are, lil doe. What kind of experience you got—"

"What, you planning on getting me a hooker now that the world's gone to shit?" The words came out sharper than you intended, fueled by the weed and the memory of what he'd told you about his brother.

Merle's grin faltered slightly. "Now that ain't fair—"

"Isn't it?" You sat up straighter, suddenly feeling more clearheaded despite the buzz. "Because that's your solution to everything, isn't it? Just throw money or liquor at it and make it go away?"

"That ain't what that was about."

"No? Then what was it about, Merle? Taking away your baby brother's choice? Getting him so messed up he couldn't think straight and then shoving him into bed with some girl he'd never met?"

Merle's jaw tightened. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly. You thought you were doing him some kind of favor, but really you were just being a selfish asshole who couldn't stand the thought of his little brother being different from you."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. Merle's eyes had gone cold, that familiar wall slamming back into place.

"You done?" he asked quietly.

"Are you? Done trying to figure out my sexual history so you can what—corrupt me? Add another notch to your belt?" You laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not some innocent little flower you can manipulate."

"That what you think I'm doing?"

"I don't know what you're doing." You took another hit, using it to buy yourself time to think. "But I know what you did to him was wrong."

Merle was quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher than usual. "This boy from back home?"

"We dated for a while, but..." you state looking away, some of the fight going out of you.

"But what?"

"It wasn't right. I don't know... I figured I'd wait for feelings, you know? Real feelings. Not just... physical stuff." You looked at him pointedly. "Not just scratching an itch."

Something flickered across Merle's expression, too quick to catch. "Feelings, huh? That's real sweet, darlin'. Real sweet and naive."

"There's that word again." You shook your head. "Just because I don't screw around doesn't make me naive, Merle. It makes me selective."

"Same thing, ain't it?"

"No, it's not." You turned to face him fully. "Naive would be thinking everyone's good deep down. Naive would be trusting people just because they're nice to me. I'm not naive—I'm careful. There's a difference."

"If you say so, sugar."

"I do say so." You studied his face in the firelight. "So what about you? How many women have you been with?"

Merle's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. If we're sharing, let's really share. How many?"

"That's different—"

"How is it different? Because you're a big tough man?" You laughed, but it wasn't entirely pleasant. "Come on, Merle. You've been prying into my sex life for the past hour. Turn about's fair play."

He was quiet for a moment, clearly not used to being on the receiving end of such questions. "I don't know. Didn't exactly keep count."

"Ballpark."

"More than three," he said dryly.

"More than thirty?"

Another pause. "Yeah."

"More than fifty? A hundred ?"

"Jesus, what are you, taking inventory?"

"Just trying to understand the man I'm traveling with." You took another hit, feeling bolder. "Were any of them... special? Or were they all just—"

"Just what?"

"Just transactions." You met his eyes.

Merle's face went hard. "You got something you want to say, lil doe?"

"I already said it." You shrugged. "I just think it's sad, that's all."

"What's sad?"

"That you think sex is just something you do to someone instead of something you share with someone." You pulled your knees up to your chest.

"You think you're better than me?" His voice was dangerous now, low and rough.

"I think we're different," you said carefully. "I think we were raised different, taught different things about what intimacy means."

"Intimacy." He said the word like it tasted bad. "That some fancy word they taught you at your fancy school?"

"It's just a word, Merle. It means closeness. Connection. Something real."

"Real." He laughed, but it was bitter. "Nothing real about it, sweetheart. It's just biology. Scratching an itch, like you said."

"Is it? Then why do you care so much about whether I've done it or not?"

That shut him up. He stared at you for a long moment, something working behind his eyes.

"I mean it," you pressed. "If it's just biology, just scratching an itch, why does it matter to you whether I'm experienced or not? Why do you care?"

"I don't—"

"You do. You've been asking me about it. You walked in on me in the shower and you've been thinking about it ever since." You saw him flinch slightly and knew you'd hit home. "So why? What's it to you?"

Merle was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer.

"'Could just be planning your corruption," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Are you?"

"What?"

The admission hung between you like a fragile thing, and for a moment you saw past all his walls to something raw and wounded underneath.

"Planning my corruption?"

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw something in his eyes that you couldn't decipher. "Maybe I am, lil doe. Maybe I am."

"I'm not naive," you protested, but the moment had shifted something between you.

"'Course not." His tone was different now, less teasing and more thoughtful. "Bet you went to some fancy private school too, didn't you, sugar? All proper and shit?"

"Actually, no." You pulled your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling the weight of the conversation. " But ... We had money ... lived pretty well."

"No shit?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "What kind of money we talking about here?"

"Enough." You shifted uncomfortably. "My father was in shipping. Import, export. We had a nice house, nice things..." You paused, looking at him. "What about your parents? What did they do?"

Merle's laugh was harsh. "They didn't do much of anything, sugar. Unless you count drinking and fighting as professions."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Made me who I am." He shrugged, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. "Your daddy probably had more money in his wallet than mine made in a year."

"Money isn't everything."

"Easy to say when you got it."

You studied his profile in the firelight. "Is that why you hate me sometimes? Because of where I come from?"

"I don't hate you."

"Sometimes you do. I can see it in your eyes. Like you want to punish me for something I didn't choose."

Merle was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe I do," he admitted finally. "Maybe it pisses me off that someone like you is slumming it with someone like me."

"Someone like me?"

"Clean. Good." He said the last word like it was foreign to him. "Everything I ain't."

"You think I'm good?"

"I think you're better than this. Better than following my sorry ass through the woods looking for a brother who might already be dead."

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. "Then why do you let me?"

"Because I'm a selfish bastard who dont wanna be out hear with no one to talk too."

You reached out then, your fingers brushing against his hand. He didn't pull away.

"You're not as bad as you think you are," you said softly.

"Yeah? What makes you so sure?"

"Because someone who was truly bad wouldn't care about finding his brother. Wouldn't feel guilty about what he did to him."

Merle's jaw tightened. "I don't feel guilty."

"Don't you? Isn't that why we're really out here? Not just to find him, but to make it right somehow?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't deny it either.

"A nice house where, exactly?" he asked instead, clearly wanting to change the subject.

You hesitated, then figured what was the harm. "Island in the pacific."

Merle's eyebrows shot up. "An island? Like, surrounded by water and everything?"

"That's generally how islands work," you said dryly, and he barked out a laugh.

"Smart mouth on you when you're high, ain't there?" He shook his head. "So you're telling me you went from living on some fancy island to following my sorry ass through the Georgia backwoods?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds pretty stupid."

"Nah, not stupid. Just..." He studied you for a long moment. "Just makes me wonder what kind of life you're running from."

The observation was too perceptive, and you felt heat creep up your neck. "Wasn't running"

"Everyone's running from something, lil doe. Question is what."

"Who says I'm running?"

"What you decided to follow a one-handed redneck through walker-infested Georgia?"

"As opposed to leaving you on that roof ?"

Merle looked at you with something that might have been respect. "Yeah, Fair point."

"So what happens when we find him? Your little brother?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens to me? Do I just... disappear? Find somewhere else to go?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard. "You worried about that?"

"Maybe. I don't exactly have a lot of other options."

"You could go back. To your island."

"Could I? Airport schedules are a bit hard too pull up these days."

The fire crackled between you, and you found yourself studying his face in the dancing light. The harsh lines, the pale eyes, the way his mouth twisted when he was thinking.

"Can I ask you something?" you said finally.

"Shoot."

"Do you ever regret it? What you did to him?"

Merle was quiet for so long you thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"Every damn day."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I was young and stupid and thought I was helping." He ran his hand through his hair. "Because I didn't want him to be... different. Didn't want him to get picked on more than he already was."

"Different how?"

"Shy. Sensitive. Too damn kind for his own good." Merle's voice was rough with something that might have been pain. "Kid never hurt a fly, never said a harsh word to nobody. In our neighborhood, that made him a target."

"So you thought... what? That sleeping with a prostitute would toughen him up?"

"I thought it would make him more like me." The admission seemed to cost him something. "Thought if he got some experience, he'd be able to handle himself better."

"But instead you just hurt him."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

You could see the guilt eating at him, could hear it in every word. "Is that why you're so determined to find him? To make up for it?"

"Maybe I just miss my baby brother." He looked up at you, and for a moment his mask slipped completely. "He's the only good thing I ever had in my life, and I'm thinking I fucked it up."

The raw honesty in his voice made your chest tight. Without thinking, you reached out and covered his hand with yours.

"You'll find him," you said softly. "And when you do, you'll make it right."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because despite everything you've done, everything you think you are, you love him. And love... love finds a way."

Merle stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. "You really believe that?"

"I have to. Otherwise, what's the point of any of this?"

He turned his hand palm up, his fingers curling around yours. "You're something else, you know that, lil doe?"

The nickname made your chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the weed. "Why do you call me that?"

"Call you what?"

"Lil doe. You call me that the most."

Merle was quiet for a moment, his fingers twitched once. "You remind me of one, I guess. All big eyes and skittish, but..." He trailed off.

"But what?"

"But stubborn as hell when you need to be." He looked up at you, and there was something in his expression you'd never seen before. Something almost tender. "Deer are tougher than people think. Survivors."

Outside, the Georgia night pressed against the windows, full of dangers both known and unknown. But inside, by the dying fire, the most dangerous thing might just be the way Merle kept looking at you now like he was afraid to break you.

"We should get some rest," he said finally. "Got a long way to go tomorrow if we're gonna find my baby brother."

You nodded, but made no move to get up. Neither did he. The fire crackled between you, and somewhere in the distance, a night bird called out into the darkness.

"Merle?" you said quietly.

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"Thanks. For... this. For making me try something new."

His smile was softer than you'd ever seen it. "Anytime, lil doe. Anytime."

[stellargh0ul]

Can we have some Perpetua x reader fluff? Feeling very scared of the state of the world right now

sweetheart, the only thing I can say is that there are better times ahead. to quote our darling Perpetua- nothing is ever forever. it's tempting to give in to fear, but you must keep hope alive in your heart.

-

“you press this button if you want to go faster,” you tell him, leaning over to poke the corresponding button on the controller. he squints at you, as if you’re lying to him, and experimentally taps it.

the kart on screen shoots forward and Perpetua giggles, giving it another tap.

he doesn’t move any faster this time, given his lack of another mushroom to push him forward, and you shake your head.

“it only works once you have a power-up. you can use any of your items with that button, not just the mushroom.”

“alright…”

he seems focused on the screen, turning the controller this way and that despite the fact that only the control stick does anything to move his kart onscreen. it’s your turn to laugh and you do so, watching your Papa learn how to play Mario Kart like a child with their first video game.

it probably is his first- you assume that there weren’t many people donating full game systems and games to the orphanage, and you doubt that he’d picked them up once he was a member of the clergy.

your own kart is still at the starting line, since you’d put your controller down to help him figure out his own, and you just let the game run as he practices moving the kart in jerky motions. you figure it’ll take a race or two before he’s ready to have you join in, and even longer before you can try using your actual skills against him in a match.

but it’s all in good fun. it’s a rare afternoon where he’s not hunched over his desk, working on Ministry paperwork or writing new lyrics and songs for the band, and you’ll take all the alone time with him that you can get.

Perpetua is sprawled out on the couch, robes askew, mask half hanging off his face, and it’s nice, you think, to see him relaxed. you wish these moments weren’t so rare, but you know there’s important work that needs to be done and that everyone in the ministry demanded his attention all the time.

you’re just glad that he’s chosen to spend the free time he does have with you. you rest your head on his shoulder and he spares a moment to peck your temple before he goes back to driving the kart on the track.

“dear, I think i’m ready to race you,” he says, and you scoff as you look at the screen- he’s in last place against the CPUs. but at his insistence, you pick up your controller and navigate to start a new race, intending on going easy against him so that you didn’t beat him too badly.

you aren’t prepared for him to lap you. twice.

as you look over at him in disbelief, he gives you a shit-eating grin.

“did you really think we didn’t have video games? people donate old consoles all the time. and I just needed help learning the controls of the new one, lamb, but it’s not so different from any other Mario Kart game.”

“…oh, it’s on,” you say, going to start another race, and he gives a cackle that warms your heart.

[hells-okayest-dad]

47 & 15

Ask game

These are longer, I think, than they're supposed to be (the second, In particular really got away from me) so enjoy the content I guess, though I simply must put some of this under a cut so as to not be obnoxious.

47: crave

Jean was staring. He knew he shouldn't, but he was doing it anyway. His eyes followed a bead of water as it trailed down Jeremy's back, twisting and turning as it followed the contours of his muscles. Letting himself look was a compromise, a concession in the active battle he was fighting to suppress his desire.

There must have been other people in the room, but Jean only noticed Jeremy. That is, until Cody sat down beside him. "He's not typically my type, but even I have to admit he is pretty dreamy." The sudden voice nearly made Jean jump out of his skin. He'd been caught. But something in his brain registered the voice as Cody, and before that, as Not A Threat.

Jean glanced over at them, not threatened but still embarrassed to be perceived. "Shut up," he grumbled, though there was no real malice to it.

"You love me," Cody laughed, nudging Jean with their elbow.

"Debatable," he grumbled back and it wasn't a complete denial.

"I get it, you know. It sucks, wanting something you think you can't have."

Jean followed their gaze over to Pat and Ananya in the corner and scoffed. It was not the same. "You can have them," he said.

"Can't you?" They replied. "I've seen the way he looks at you."

So had Jean. And he was sure Jeremy had seen the way Jean looked at him. The mutual attraction was hardly a secret at this point, the question was just what was allowed. Had the rules truly changed? Was it just as simple as going for it? "Maybe," Jean replied, bringing his eyes back to Jeremy.

15: trembling hands

Jeremy's hands were shaking as he fiddled with the lighter in his hands. He was usually so good at this but tonight he just couldn't seem to get it to light. He was about to throw the lighter off the balcony in frustration when he heard a voice from beside him.

"Does Laila know you are smoking on her patio?" Jeremy hadn't even noticed Jean coming, but he turned to face him now.

"Technically, it's your patio," Jeremy countered. "The FBI gave the apartment to you. And I'm not smoking, I'll have you know, because I can't get the stupid thing to-oh!" As he tried to demonstrate the way that the lighter was bullying him by refusing to cooperate, he somehow managed to get it to go. He reached for his cigarette, but Jean's words stopped him.

"What if I don't want you smoking on my patio?"

Jeremy flipped the lighter shut and looked up at Jean. "I guess that's your right." Jean had his plants out here after all, and he probably didn't want Jeremy stinking up the apartment when he came back inside. Would the FBI pay the building's cleaning fee, he wondered. "I can go for a walk if you really want me to."

"I wish you would not do it at all," Jean said, and his expression was unreadable. Was he angry or concerned or annoyed?

"Yeah, well that's not really a choice you get to make, is it?" It was harsher than he meant for it to be, he could tell by the way Jean's eyebrows shot up, but he was on edge and he really just needed a smoke. He'd be better after. "Look I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I mean I do mean it's just—" he cut himself off, taking a breath. "It's not that big of a deal, okay?"

Jean looked at Jeremy for a moment, as if he were calculating something. Before Jeremy could ask what it was, he grabbed a loose cigarette off the railing and held it like he'd seen Jeremy hold it. "If it is not that big of a deal, maybe I should do it. I have certainly had enough stress to earn myself a vice, no?"

It wasn't at all what he was trying to accomplish, but the sight of Jean against a starry sky holding a cigarette was so striking it nearly had Jeremy on his knees. The bluff was so obvious that Jeremy almost called him on it, but for once he couldn't bring himself to light this handsome man's cigarette. When Jean raised an eyebrow at him in response to the pause, Jeremy just sighed.

"I don't want to see you do that to yourself, to risk your health and career." He knew this meant he lost the argument, but he shoved the lighter into his pocket. "You deserve to find a better way to cope."

Jean looked at him again, content to have won Jeremy and sure. "And what if I feel the same way about you that you feel about me?"

It couldn't have possibly been what he meant, but Jeremy swallowed hard at that implication. Jeremy was interested in Jean, he loved Jean. And while he'd seen flickers of Jean's own interest, he doubted it would ever lead anywhere, despite the way it felt like tensions between them had been growing. But even if that happened, he doubted it would be anything more than that. "You... Shouldn't say it like that. Someone might think you mean... Something else." He was sure his face was turning red, it felt like it was a thousand degrees.

Jean's face was certainly turning red. Maybe he really hadn't intended for Jeremy to take it like that. His eyebrow furrowed and he tilted his head. He stayed like that for a moment, like he was warring with himself. "There is only us out here," he said, and as he stepped closer, Jeremy had to tilt his head up higher to maintain eye contact. "What do you think I mean?"

Jeremy started to look away but Jean had his chin in his grasp now. He was utterly doomed, Jean was simply too hot to contend with. But it was a hard question to answer without revealing his own feelings, although there was the chance that that was the push they both needed to get the ball rolling on... Whatever this was. "That you want to be... More... Than friends."

It was like Jean was waiting for permission, because his lips were on Jeremy's in a second. Jeremy gripped onto the man's shirt and pulled himself in closer. All too soon, he pulled back looking at Jeremy with his pupils blown and his face red. "Does that answer your question?" All Jeremy could do was nod, though he wasn't sure it really did. "Good." He smiled and Jeremy was glad he was already holding on tight as his knees wobbled beneath him. They would have to actually talk about this at some point, but Jeremy was not going to ruin this moment.

"Oh," Jean added. "I will not kiss you if you have smoke on your breath."

Jeremy blinked. That meant he wanted to kiss Jeremy again right? Jeremy let go of Jean with one hand to throw his pack of cigarettes off the deck before bringing Jean in for a second kiss which both men eagerly participated in.

"I shouldn't have thrown that," Jeremy said as he pulled back. "I think kids live down there. I'm gonna go get it actually. But I'm gonna get rid of it. And maybe when I get back..." Jeremy wasn't sure what he was suggesting. Definitely kissing.

Jean laughed, and while it wasn't the first time Jeremy had heard it, is was just as beautiful of a sound this time. "I will be waiting," he said.

[iceemochaa]

Sitting At The Bar With Eoin And Paddy

Pairing: Eoin/ Reader/ Paddy

A/N: Eoin survives because he deserves to be with Paddy!

Word count: 818

You should have known that sitting at a bar in a room full of military men would be overwhelming.

The loud music, sweaty men singing off tune and shouting over the band. Jumping up and down with a glass of alcohol in hand should have been a no brainer— Oh! and hearing Paddy complain that his drink isn’t strong enough is just too much.

Why did you come here again?

Eoin sits between you and Paddy but you can still hear his loud ass voice close by, leaning over the counter to “ask” the bartender why This lovely establishment doesn’t have any other variety to his liking.

That was you paraphrasing it.

“Are yer fucking stupid?” He shouts, grabbing the glass cup from the bartender's hand and throwing it down on the floor. “Is this entire fuckin’ place filled with soft arse alcohol?”

“Paddy…isn’t that overkill?” Eoin sighs, leaning back into the counter with his elbows resting on the edge. He’s not disappointed or embarrassed— Paddy always gets like this when he has too much to drink, it’s more like he’s confused on why Paddy is upset. They always drink here when they come back from their deployment; The tables and chairs haven't been changed out, that leaking ceiling by the bathroom still drips from time to time and the drinks are still the same.

He finds it almost funny in a way, that regardless of what goes on during the ongoing war they can still come back to some normalcy.

Paddy turns around to sit back in his chair, fixing the collar on his uniform before getting annoyed and releasing the top button, too hot and very annoyed already.

“Uh…no?” Paddy says with a hint of confusion, like what he’s doing isn’t a problem.

Since people enable Paddy to act like a massive cunt to local civilians, he will never try to change his attitude regarding that fact. Eoin tries, truly, with soft spoken encouraging words and a pat on the back when Paddy just can’t seem to wrap his head around it.

You on the other hand? You think he needs a nice, good, punch on his pretty face. Something to twist his head around so he’s walking backwards for days. Rattle him so bad that maybe he’ll start reciting poetry from his ass instead.

You hope you're the one to do it.

Eoin brushes his knees against yours, your thoughts interrupted, a slightly concerned expression riddles his face. You think about how cute it is that Eoin cares about you, almost like an older brother when it counts. Then you wonder how he ever got involved with someone like Paddy Mayne. The complete opposite of a gentleman.

You give Eoin a slight smile, a reassuring squeeze on his knees to signal that you were fine. You could enjoy it better if a certain someone wasn’t terrorizing the overworked employee but so far, it’s fine.

After a while, the time slowly dragging itself, you feel a yawn brush against your throat. It’s already midnight and the soldiers are slowly disbanding but still going strong with their mini karaoke sessions. You're glad that they have so much energy and somewhat light in their eyes at this moment. The future is too uncertain for anybody to know what will happen. For now, they enjoy what they have.

Soon enough the hype dies down and people linger to listen to some soothing jazz music, a couple of men heading out to go home and possibly enjoy their last moments in a real bed until the next deployment.

You figured you should leave too.

“I should go.” You say, turning towards Eoin who is patting Paddy on the back for some reason. You won’t ask why, too tired and frankly, didn’t care to know.

“You haven’t even touched your drink.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Sure you don’t.” Paddy chimes in from nowhere.

“Does he ever shut the fuck up?” You sigh out loud, eyes rolling to the side, but it’s definitely meant for Paddy.

“So, she speaks!” He laughs, the sound makes your ears hurt. You can’t help but watch Paddy reach over the counter, the bartender too scared to tell him that he isn’t allowed to do that and pulls out a green bottle. Looks like Italian wine? You're not too sure but Paddy stands, a sinister grin painted on his lips and his eyebrows raise high up.

“Can’t speak when someone constantly thinks he’s the center of attention.”

“Oh? A real jokester in our midst,” Paddy says with glee, “When did yer balls decide to drop? Say, last night? When the moon was half up and the sky-“

“—There he goes again, another shitty poem.” You sigh once more, a headache brewing at your temple. Paddy’s nonsense is close to making you snap.

“I kinda wanted to see where this one was going.” Eoin smiles.

“Trust me, you don’t .”