#propping your head on their shoulder while they make coffee on a rainy day-

[foli-vora]

there she goes

A/N: Soft boi has arrived! Literally only watched his episodes of the Mentalist because Patrick Jane, quite frankly, annoys/bores the absolute shit out of me.

Pairing: Marcus Pike/f!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: none that I can see but please let me know if you think something should be added!

+++

Standing in line at your favourite little café, you watch the rain pelt against the glass panels of the shop with disdain, cursing the bright sunny morning that tricked you into leaving your umbrella and jacket at home. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when you woke and left for work this morning, and now it seemed like the dark grey clouds delivering the onslaught of rain stretched from horizon to horizon with no signs of a break any time soon. Typical, you thought to yourself. Like your day hadn’t been bad enough already.

Your landlord had dropped the bomb of a rent increase, your car had a flat, you had missed the bus and had to take a cab, your desk chair decided to die – leaving you practically on the floor trying to answer calls and use your computer and the office printer refused to print anything, no matter how many times you called it a piece of junk and kicked it. Suffice to say, you were more than ready for a strong hit of caffeine.

You’re dragged out of your inner grumbling when a finger gently taps your shoulder and you whirl to face the tapper immediately, sharp words of irritation dying on your tongue the second you meet their gaze.

Brown eyes, you notice instantly. Soft, soulful brown eyes. He was… nice. Understatement. He was gorgeous, with neatly trimmed facial hair and windswept dark hair falling just above his eyes.

He gestures towards the counter with a polite half smile, “Uh, you’re next.”

You blink in confusion before glancing at the young girl behind the register, seemingly waiting for you to step forward and order, and quickly apologise to them both. She smiles, making quick work of your regular order and then you’re stepping aside, throwing another apology towards the stranger before finding a seat and sitting with a deep exhale.

The rain comes down harder because of course it does. You mentally add embarrassing yourself in front of the first decent looking guy you’ve seen in a while to your list with a quiet groan. Melting back into the chair, you take a moment to fully bask in your somewhat dry clothes and shoes before inevitably having to end up running through the torrential downpour back to the office.

A to-go cup is placed gently in front of you, your name scrawled across the side, and you blink dumbly at it before following up along the arm until you’re looking at the man from the line. He’s smiling again, his own coffee in hand and the other now buried in his pants pocket.

“Someone’s away with the fairies today.” He notes light-heartedly, and then gestures over his shoulder. “They called your name – I hope it’s okay that I bought it over.”

You blink again, and only when his brow quirks ever so slightly do you snap out of your reverie. 

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m not usually this spacey.”

His face softens, lips quirking into a sympathetic smile. “Bad day?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You reply dryly, eyeing the rain as you stand. “Thanks for bringing my coffee over. It probably would’ve been stone cold by the time I came back to Earth.”

You’re rewarded with a deep chuckle and it sends a little flutter through your chest. You made the pretty stranger laugh – not a total loss of a day, after all.

“I could try and make it better, if you want.”

You raise a brow, smiling shyly. “Oh yeah?”

He nods with a small smile, “Yeah.” He looks over his shoulders and shrugs lightly. “I could get you a slice of banana bread, a muffin, maybe… a gingerbread man? He has mini marshmallows as buttons.” His voice is light, playful, and when his grin widens, you find yourself unable to resist returning it.

You hum in thought, “Sounds like you’re a big fan.”

He chuckles, looking down as he nods. “Yeah look, I may eat colourfully decorated marshmallow buttoned gingerbread men more than a fully functioning adult of my age should.” He admits, grinning as you chuckle. “We could grab a table... maybe talk for a bit?” He watches you check your watch, hope growing in his chest at the thought of getting to know the pretty distracted stranger a little better over coffee.

“As tempting as that sounds, my break is almost over and I’m pushing it for time.” His face falls a little and you mirror his disappointment, briefly wondering if your boss would let you off if you tell her all about the pretty stranger at the coffee shop. “Thank you for the offer, though…”

“Marcus,” he smiles, shaking your hand firmly. The encasing warmth of his hand is enough to send a thrill through you, and your heart flutters in nervous excitement. The feeling doubles as he murmurs your name, pointing to your cup before you could ask how he knows.

You duck your head, smiling warmly at him before turning to the door and bracing for the wet chill that’s about to take hold. A warm hand softly pulls your arm back, and you turn back to him in question. He’s looking at your empty hands with a frown.

“Don’t you have an umbrella? Or a jacket at least?” Marcus asks, frown deepening when you shake your head.

“No, it was sunny when I left this morning – bad day.” You explain, a smile still tugging at your lips despite the downpour bombarding the street. There was something about this kind and pretty stranger that had you unable to stop smiling, and your cheeks were starting to pay the price with a lingering ache.

“Well, you can’t go out there without one, here – have mine.” He reaches past you and grabs the dripping umbrella propped up by the door, holding it out to you expectantly.

You recoil instantly, “What? No!”

“Please. It’s bad out there!”

As if to cement his argument, a snap of thunder crackles overhead, the rain increasing, and you cringe instantly.

Still, you shake your head and push his hand away, “I can’t take your umbrella! What about you?”

“I drove here – my car’s around the corner. Please, take it.”

You weigh up your options, not wanting to leave the handsome stranger with nothing to keep himself dry, but ultimately, it’s his pleading puppy eyes that completely win you over and then you’re reaching out, taking the umbrella softly and desperately trying to get a hold of your rapid heartbeat.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

He shrugs, an easy grin stretching his features and your eyes fall to glance over it appreciatively. He had a damn good smile. “Don’t mention it.”

“My knight in shining suit.” You coo, chuckling at the flush of faint pink that washes across his cheeks. “I can’t tell you how much this has turned my day around.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” And he truly is.

You linger a moment longer, grinning as he turns slightly bashful under your heavy scrutiny. “It was really nice to meet you, Marcus.”

He beams, “You, too.”

With a small wave, you disappear into the rain and Marcus sighs softly, watching you go with a small flicker of regret at the missed opportunity. Umbrella and your number next time, Pike, he scolds himself solemnly.

His nose curls as he watches the rain for a moment and then sighs deeply, reaching for the lapel of his jacket. He pulls it over his head and briefly thinks about his car, still parked in the nice and dry parking garage back at the bureau. He’s not at all sorry for telling you a little white lie to get you to take his umbrella, you needed something in this weather and it was his absolute pleasure to provide. Knight in shining suit. It had him smiling to himself the entire run back to the office, despite the downpour that had him saturated in the first two minutes.

He keeps an eye out over the next few days, intentionally going for lunch at the same time as that rainy day in hopes he’d see you again. Every day, he was left walking back with a feeling of disappointment, but not letting it crush his hope for the next day.

It’s not until over a week later when he’s standing in line, the café busier than usual, when he hears a familiar voice pipe up from behind him.

“I’ve heard the gingerbread men here are pretty good.”

You’re already smiling when he turns to face you, a grin of his own creasing his cheeks.

“I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.” He admits, nodding when you tilt your head with a curious oh? “Just making sure you’re not holding up any more lines – people need their coffee, after all. Can’t be waiting around all day.” He teases, laughing when you softly shove him playfully.

Shaking your head, you step up next to him and lean in to his side, “So guess what?”

He chuckles softly to himself, looking at you expectantly. “What?”

“I took a long lunch. Well, actually, I’ve been taking long lunches all week hoping to see you.” You admit, somewhat shyly. Were you coming on too strong? You hope not. It’s only been a week and you had missed him like you had known him longer than five minutes. You weren’t sure whether to be slightly concerned that a literal stranger had you so caught up in a whirl or thrilled that you had finally met someone who seemed genuinely decent.

He smiles softly, relieved that this little thing between you both wasn’t one sided. “I’ve been hoping to see you, too. I actually –”

“Hey, move it along!”

You startle, turning to frown at the irritated man behind you when Marcus chuckles and offers a small apology over his shoulder, before reaching for your hand and gently pulling you the short distance to the counter to order. You barely take notice of him and the barista talking, instead focusing on your hand now wrapped up in his, his thumb rubbing softly across your knuckles, and how it’s making your body thrum with electricity. You smile to yourself, eyes flicking back up to his face to find him looking at you expectantly, brow firmly raised with a small smirk.

You blink. “What?”

[bookishofalder]

Pretty Girl - Four

Summary: In which a call for help leads to Flip and Pretty Girl facing their feelings.

Warnings: Smut. 18+, NSFW, Swearing, PIV. WC- 5,506

A/N: Admittedly very excited to write the chapter. Suffered a few days of migraines this week, which now has me questioning every word I’ve written, but I hope you enjoy. To those who comment and follow regularly, you guys truly bring me joy and I appreciate you ❤️

Flip was dreaming in flashes. The events of the week prior, in the file room with (Y/N), replaying themselves over and over. Flash, her wide eyes. Flash, the way she wet her lips. Flash, the brief look of disappointment when they were interrupted. He’d been ruminating on that look, however neither of them brought it back up again-not after the meeting, where she’d sat next to him with her foot shaking uncharacteristically, nor on the silent drive home. It just...sat in the air between them, a balloon neither of them wanted to pop.

Already suffering from poor sleep quality, Flip was now sinking into a permanently exhausted state with the addition of nightly dreams that kept him on the edge of consciousness. His brain seemed determined to keep thoughts of (Y/N) at the forefront regardless of the time of day. He had been in love a few times in his life; with women who were kind, eager to become the housewife of a detective. But he never felt for anyone like he did for (Y/N). The protectiveness, the desire to know everything about her, to know what she was thinking...it was overwhelming. And so the dreams kept him tossing each night. And while he might have stayed like this, fighting them until he slipped into a deeper sleep, he was instead abruptly awoken when the phone next to his bed began a shrill ringing.

“Christ,” He mumbled, jerking up and rolling over. The clock on his bed stand read two-thirty in the morning. He grumbled in displeasure, intending on ignoring it. When the ringing didn’t cease, he groaned and reached for the receiver, his voice gruff with sleep when he barked, “Zimmerman.”

“Um, hi Flip.”

Flip immediately tensed, sitting up as the sound of (Y/N)‘s voice came down the line. His mind was already running ahead making the worst assumptions about why she would be calling so late on the weekend. It wasn’t a surprise when his voice came out slightly choked, “Pretty girl, are you alright? Are you safe?”

Her voice sounded somewhat strained with regret, “I’m safe, really. I’m so sorry to bother you so late-“

“Just tell me what you need, darling.” He interrupted, twisting to drop his feet to the floor and casting his eyes around the dark bedroom for his sweatpants.

She sighed, “The power went out here a few hours ago, and I’m not sure why. But with the weather tonight it’s absolutely freezing in here now. And my brother in law is away for work,” She took another breath, which Flip recognized was her attempt at hiding how cold she was, “I feel silly calling you.” He smiled, pleasure blooming in his chest at the realization that after her brother in law, Flip was the next person she trusted to call in the middle of the night.

Flip hummed slightly at her words, “No reason to feel silly-I’ll be over there in ten, take a look for you.” A voice in the back of his mind questioned whether this was a wise choice, but he pushed it back, ignoring it. She needed him.

“You don’t have to do that. If you could maybe just tell me what to look for on my, uh, breaker? Electric panel?”

Now he couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, “I’m coming over, darling. I’ll see you soon.”

A quiet thank you met his ears as he put the phone down. Flip switched on the light and stood, making his way around his room to put on his sweatpants and sweater before stopping in the bathroom to freshen up and splash his face with water to wake up. The combination of cold water and mint from his toothpaste helped accomplish this. Excitement flooded within him at the realization he would get to see her so soon.  

Pulling his shoes on, he considered if there was anything he should bring. He knew she probably had a toolkit but wondered if she would have a high powered flashlight. Deciding to lean on the side of caution, he grabbed his own from the kitchen drawer before sliding on his rain jacket, grabbing his keys and heading out into the cold night. It was rainy, a combination that meant the roads were especially tricky to drive on. His ten-minute drive was closer to twenty, tension building in his stomach the closer he got.

He was worried about being alone with her, of the risk of crossing a line. Worrying she would ask him what she had in the file room.

“Are you sure you aren’t keeping anything from me?”

How did you confess to loving your best friend, when they were the only good thing in your life?

When Flip pulled his truck onto her street, he noticed straight away that it was darker in her neighbourhood than on the main road. Glancing around at the houses, he saw no lights on, not even on porches. Parked in the driveway, Flip looked at (Y/N)‘s dark house as he stepped from his truck, then around the street. It was eerily dark, even the streetlights were out. So it had to be a power outage from the weather and not an issue with her breaker.

Hopping up her front steps, Flip rapped on the door softly. After a moment, the door opened to reveal his friend smiling shyly, a flashlight in her hand. “Hi Flip, come on in. Thanks for coming.”

She stepped back and secured the door while he removed his jacket and shoes, shaking some rain from his hair. “Hi, darling.” He looked around at her then, drinking in her casual appearance.

Her hair was falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her face clear of makeup. She wore a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms with an oversized CSPD sweatshirt. Flip felt his stomach fill with heat at the sight of her looking so...radiant. Innocent. Soft.

“Got some good news, and some bad, darling.” He said after a pause.

She gestured for him to follow her into the living room. Glancing around the cozy space, he saw she had lit a few candles along her fireplace mantle to bring some light to the room. Even in the dim light, he could tell the space was decorated entirely by her. Her personality shone through even in the choice of wallpaper.

(Y/N) leaned against the back of her couch, hands gripping it as she gazed up at Flip, “Always bad news first.” He wanted to reach out and smooth the little pucker between her brows.

“Well, looks like the whole neighbourhood is experiencing an outage, no lights-not even the street lights.”

She sighed heavily, “Great, so not something that can be fixed right now-meaning I woke you up for nothing.” Dropping her head into her hands, he heard her give a little grunt of despair.

Flip smiled down at her, amused. If only she knew he couldn’t sleep anyway. “The good news is nothing is wrong with your breaker. And now that I’m here we can get you set up for the night so you don’t freeze. It’ll probably be out for a while.”

She peered up at Flip through her fingers, eyes assessing his grin. “You’re not annoyed with me?”

Flip forced himself not to step closer to her, “No, darling. Now, let’s get a fire going.”

They worked in silence, the only sound the distant rain and occasional blasts of wind. Flip stacked the firewood, thankful her fireplace was large, while (Y/N) laid out the newspaper strips and kindling for him. Once he had the fire roaring, Flip assessed the room.  

The comfortable looking couch was set back from the fireplace, a coffee table in the centre. Standing, he dragged the table out of the way before coming to the couch and pulling it toward the fire. It took a minute, as it was a heavy son of a bitch, but after some finessing he was satisfied it was close enough without being unsafe for her to sleep on and keep warm. He’d wanted to avoid having her sleep on the floor.

While he’d been moving the furniture, (Y/N) had disappeared. He took a moment to survey the setup, then bent over the fire and took the poker to adjust the logs. She returned several minutes later, pillows and blankets in her arms. She dropped them over the back of the couch, then glanced up and met Flip‘s eyes. She paused, standing nervously, hands twisting together absentmindedly. “Um. Can I get you anything? Milk? Water?”

Flip probably should just thank her and make his way home, he’d done what he could for her. He could easily leave now. Instead, he nodded, “Milk would be nice, thanks.” Spinning around, she hurried away to her kitchen, leaving Flip alone again. He considered his next moves. He could just drink the milk in one gulp and then go home. Only...he wanted to stay. Even if just for a short while. The thought of spending time with (Y/N) that wasn’t during their drives to and from work thrilled him. It couldn't hurt to stay a little longer.

He settled himself on the ground, leaning his back against the couch and crossing his legs comfortably. The warmth from the fire was welcome; it was chilly inside her place.

(Y/N) reappeared, padding across the carpeting, “Here you go,” Handing him his glass, Flip took it and watched as she joined him on the floor, copying his pose so that her knee touched his leg. His heart rate increased.

He grabbed one of the larger blankets and carefully settled it over their laps. They sat in silence for several minutes, each watching the fire dance before them as they sipped their drinks. Flip heaved a sigh of content. “Always loved a good fire.” He admitted, smiling down at her.

“Mmm, me too. Listen, Flip,” Turning to face him, he saw her mouth pressed into a thin line. She tucked her legs back and propped one arm onto the couch. Flip met her gaze steadily, prepared for her to apologize. “I’m really sorr-“

Flip shook his head, cutting her off, “I’m glad you called. I don’t mind, and I can tell you’re more upset than you’re saying.”

Her eyes dropped, looking down into her drink before taking a sip. “I-I’m not a fan of the dark. Silly, I know.” She gave a little laugh that didn’t suit her. Flip could sense she was uncomfortable, tired and still cold. He hated to see her looking so self-conscious, unhappy. It lit something within him that was almost animalistic in its intensity.

“It’s not silly, (Y/N). I don’t like it much myself.” He replied, taking another drink of his milk, finishing it off. “You need to stop apologizing to me all the time, haven’t I told you I could never be upset with you?” When would she start to believe him? He gave her a reassuring smile while his hands gripped the empty glass, attempting to keep himself from reaching out to tuck her hair back or stroke her cheek.

The light of the fire revealed the way her cheeks flushed deliciously at his words, and suddenly she was looking everywhere but at Flip.

“I want you to know, Flip,” (Y/N) shifted, mirroring his position by gripping the glass she held, “You mean the world to me, and I’m thankful every day to...to call you my best friend. You take such good care of me, never make me feel bad...always know what I need,” Her words were rushing out, soft and breathless as she stared down into her drink, “Most men would have probably just told me to start a fire and go back to bed, but you just come straight over and-“ She gestured around to make her point. Slowly, her eyes moved up and met his gaze.

Flip turned her words over in his head, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. To stall for time, he reached over and took her glass from her hands. Setting both on the floor behind him, he came to a decision. Conceding to the desire to touch her, he took her small hands into his own. He ran his thumbs across the soft skin of her wrists, relishing in the contact.

“I like taking care of you, darling. You do so much for me and give yourself no credit. You worry every time you need something yourself,” He searched her eyes as he spoke, wanting to catch any expression that passed through them, “I like spending time with you. Making sure you’re safe, and I-well, you’re my best friend, I’d do anything for you.” He broke off when a hot tear slipped down her cheek and onto the back of his hand.

Her eyes were a storm of emotions as she looked at Flip, tears leaking out, her lips quivering. His whole chest tightened as he watched her. He automatically released her hands, raising his to cup her face. He brushed his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the tears gently, before meeting her gaze again.

The air in the room seemed to evaporate around them. Electricity shot through Flip’s entire body, and he couldn’t have said who moved first, just that one moment he was looking from her (y/e/c) eyes to her lips, and then their lips pressed together. Flip felt like he’d burst into flames, and he gasped at the sensation.

(Y/N)’s hands had moved up from her lap, now holding the collar of Flip’s sweater and pulling him closer as they kissed. He gripped her face, fingers in her hair, nearly moaned at how soft her lips were against his. Instinctively, his tongue swiped across them, and she responded by parting them, allowing him to slip inside her mouth. He groaned loudly at the overwhelming taste of her, of the heat of her mouth. He'd never tasted anything so fucking perfect.

When she whimpered loudly, it caught Flip entirely off guard. Though heat pulsed straight to his core at the sound, it brought him back into his mind and he jerked back suddenly, breaking the kiss.

(Y/N) hadn’t been expecting his sudden movement, so when Flip had pulled back and her grip on his shirt didn’t loosen, she only ended up falling into him. Her eyes peered up at him, pupils blown and cheeks flushed as she leaned into his chest. She panted, “Wha-?”

Flip was trying to catch his breath, to clear his head. He’d just kissed his best friend. They were alone in her house and they had kissed, and the entire situation was terrifying to him.

He didn’t think he could stop if they kept going.

“I’m sorry, I-fuck, pretty girl, do you know what you do to me?” He growled, his hands still holding her face. Her eyes widened further as he spoke. “Do you realize how much I love you? How fucking perfect you are?”

She was trembling uncontrollably, “Flip, fuck I-did you say you love me?” Shock crossed her face, her mouth falling open into an ‘o’ shape as she processed what he’d said.

Damn it all, he thought. It’s out now. “Are you kidding me? Sweetest, most beautiful woman I ever met.” He huffed, never looking away, “(Y/N), I think I’ve been in love with you ever since you came out of that bathroom, afraid of that damn spider. Keep falling harder every day. You drive me crazy, pretty girl.”

His heart was in his stomach and his mouth had gone dry, but it felt good to admit it out loud, to tell her about the feelings he’d been holding back for so long. She was silent for a long moment, just staring at Flip in complete disbelief. He braced for whatever she was going to say, promising himself that he wouldn’t regret ever telling her the truth, even though his heart might burst right out of his chest.

He hadn’t expected her reaction; when her mind seemed to catch up with itself and the surprise disappeared from her face, replaced by something that had Flip catch his breath. And then her lips were on his again. She was released his collar to push her hands into his hair, whimpering as she pressed her body against his in a frantic flurry of motion.  

Flip, though caught off guard, wasted no time in returning the fervour of her kiss, deepening it by sliding one hand further into her hair and pressing her face into his. He licked into her hot mouth eagerly, enjoying the little moans and whimpers that slipped out of her as she kissed him back. After a moment, he dropped the hand that wasn’t woven into her soft locks and gripped her waist, tugging her closer. (Y/N) moved, swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him fully.

“Fuck,” He growled when her hips, settled right where he wanted her, ground into him, desperately seeking friction. “Pretty girl.”

Another whimper, “Love it when you call me that, Flip.” She tugged his hair and Flip groaned again, his entire body on fucking fire for this woman. Did she truly not realize the effect she had on him?

He released his hold on her and slid both hands under her sweater, ghosting across her soft stomach as he continued to pepper kisses onto her cheeks, her jaw, down her neck. His hands climbed higher, brushing the undersides of her breasts, his dick twitching as he realized she wore no bra beneath the bulky sweater. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body, to suck and bite marks into her skin as she moaned for more, but he needed to make sure, absolutely sure, she wanted this.

With a great effort, he pulled away, his hands stilling on her bare waist, and said her name. Before he could say more, she was cutting him off, eyes bright.

“You big, grumpy man. My rough, tough detective. I love you too,” She ground her hips down again, pulling a growl from deep within Flip. Combined with her words, the effects had Flip slowly coming undone, his clear mind fogging up with thoughts of her, her body, her pleasure. “I wanted to tell you, but I was so afraid of losing you. I think about you all the time, did you know that, Flip? Do you know I lay in my bed every night and picture you? Touch myself and it only takes a minute to-“

“Fuck,” He thundered, interrupting her and kissing her again, “Just tell me what you want-I’ll give you anything, everything. Tell me it’s okay-“

“I need you, Flip. I’m yours and I need you,” She accented the words with another swirl of her hips, Flip’s cock now straining against his sweatpants painfully, “Fuck me all night and stay in the morning, Flip.”

His heart filling with joy, Flip had heard what he needed. The next moments were spent frantically undressing one another-first her sweater; Flip’s eyes on her delicious tits as they bounced around while she stood and shimmied her pyjamas and underwear off. He drank in her beautiful, perfect body, all soft curves and flushed skin, as he kicked off his pants.

“Come here, pretty girl,” He rasped, pulling her back into his lap and groaning when her heat skimmed across his cock as she settled. Flip smoothed a hand up her back, bracing her carefully, and then lifted himself, rolling them so that her body lay on the blanket beneath them, her hair fanned out around her. “Fuck, you are so beautiful. Gonna taste you, okay?”

She whimpered her permission as he began his journey downward, taking his time to suck marks into her skin that he would lave over with his tongue to soothe. His hands found their way to her breasts and began to pinch and squeeze, rolling the peaks between a thumb and finger and groaning against her skin when she cried out in pleasure at the sensation.

“Oh god, Flip!” She moaned loudly when he took a nipple into his mouth, his tongue moving over it before he switched to her other breast. His hands slid to her hips, stilling their attempts to seek out the friction he was thus denying her. He trailed his tongue down her stomach, lowered himself to the ground between her legs and kissed the sensitive skin of her thighs, leaving more marks. He felt his cock protesting between his body and the floor but ignored it when he came face to face with her slick centre, already glistening for him. Framed with trimmed, soft curls, it was the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen.

“So fucking wet already, barely even touched you,” Massaging her thighs, he tilted his head up and met her eyes over the swell of her breasts. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? Now put your hands in my hair while I taste this perfect fucking cunt.”

Her hands had barely threaded through his locks before his tongue was licking a long strip from the bottom up. Flip watched in delight as her entire body jerked in response, her head dropping to the floor, back arching. A long, low moan escaped her, and then he dove in.

Flip hummed at her taste, perfectly sweet and entirely her, turning him on even more. He licked everything, sucked on her sensitive clit until her legs began to shake, and then repeated it all over again. Occasionally breaking away to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh and revelling in the way she cried out his name each time. He never wanted to stop.

More of her juices flowed for him as time passed, as he edged her closer to her peak and then eased her back, teasing her without remorse. He wanted to hear her beg for more.  He wasn’t disappointed when, after pulling away the third time, her head popped up, “Flip, please, please let me cum. I fucking need to cum, you’re so perfect, I’m so close I can’t,” She broke off with a desperate whine.

Flip grinned, “Love hearing you beg for me, pretty girl,” He slid two fingers inside of her dripping heat at the same moment he wrapped his lips around her clit. He heard her head hit the floor as she screamed out, obscenities, his name, incomprehensible whines. He only had to thrust his fingers three times, curling them up each time they sunk into her before she came undone.

He was enraptured by the sight of her orgasm, the way her body jerked and tightened, her hands pulling his hair viciously as his name spilled from her lips. He worked her through the crest of her pleasure, humming against her to draw it out and drinking down everything she gave him. He thought he could die a happy man right there, drowning in her.

“Flip, fucking hell!” She cried out one final time, her cunt clenching around him when she became over sensitive to his ministrations. He eased back, kissing her thighs and licking gently at her folds as she came down, her hands dropping from his hair. He could have stayed there for hours, but his cock was protesting. Carefully moving, he brought his body up and lay over top of her, bracing himself on his elbows to keep his weight off of her as she caught her breath.

Flip growled at the sight of her blissed-out expression and kissed her hungrily, sloppily. She moaned, tasting herself on his lips. He leaned back up after a moment, “You still with me, pretty girl?” He gazed at her in concern, hoping he hadn't gone too hard.

A goofy smile split her face, “I’ve never cum that hard in my entire life, Flip Zimmerman. I’m pretty sure I’m on another plain right now.” He laughed, nuzzled her neck and ground his hips down, pressing his cock onto her thigh.

“You feel what you do to me?” His voice was low, “Been thinking about you for fucking months. Every day, all day, it’s just you. ”

“Flip,” (Y/N)‘s voice was breathless beneath him, her hands back in his hair, “Please, need you inside me right now, need to feel you stre-oh FUCK!”

He had slammed into her at her words, unable to hold back a moment longer. Splitting her open until he bottomed out, and then he stilled, panting, and checked in on her again. She was deliciously, dangerously tight around him, her walls already fluttering. She was crying out but nodding, seemingly unable to form words but wanted to convey to him that he could move.

“Good girl, just tell me if it’s too much. If this,” He slammed down again, earning another yelp, “is too much.” And then he began to pump, one arm braced on the ground while the other gripped her hip. He thrust into her wet cunt mercilessly, his eyes always on her face, watching for any change, any indication that she was in pain, but he saw only pleasure. Her screams only drove him on, encouraging him to move harder, to take what she so wanted him to and make her his. It was the best sex of his life, and Flip never wanted it to end.

When he felt himself getting close, he slowed his pace, kissed her once again, and then pulled back. Her heavy eyes watched as Flip, still deep inside of her, came to kneel and then he lifted her hips, adjusting her legs to one side, arms hooking under them. The new angle already had her whimpering before he began to move. She was so tight around him; he could see himself buried to the hilt inside of her and groaned at the perfect, obscene sight.

“Just,” He could barely speak, he was so turned on, “Tap my hand, if it’s too much, darling.” He knew she would tell him if she needed him to go easier, but he needed her to know she was safe with him, that her pleasure was the most important thing to him.

“Fuck me, fuckmefuckmefuck-“

With a roar, he was moving, his hips beginning a brutal pace now that he had the leverage of being on his knees. Her hands twisted into the blanket, tits bouncing as Flip hugged her legs and fucked into her as deep as he could. He repeated her name over and over, the only other sounds in the house that of skin hitting skin, the hot, wet noises her cunt made as she took his length, and her cries for more, harder, for him.

He felt her tightening around him after a short time, walls fluttering and getting wetter as he drove his hips into that spot over and over, unrelenting. “Going to cum for me, pretty girl?”

“I, fuck, Flip, I’m so close-you’re fucking filling me up oh god...”

“Cum, it’s okay, cum for me, please.”

As if waiting for him to ask, she instantly seized up at his words, and Flip almost went over the edge right there when her pussy clamped hard, her body jerking as the wave broke, and her pleasure peaked. He focused, holding off his own orgasm to chase her through hers, to drag it out until tears were in her eyes. His movements became sloppy, only slowing when he felt her begin to relax.

He had briefly wondered if he could keep himself on the edge, try to get another orgasm out of her. But then her voice cut through the air, firmer than it had been all night, and derailed his train of thought.

“Flip, please cum inside me, please, need your cum, please.”

“Fuck, fuck!” He cried out, slamming himself one, two, three more times, her words pulling him over, over, right off of the cliff and into oblivion. He kept his hips moving as he emptied himself inside of her, “Sweet girl, take it, fucking take it all.” Flip moaned, pumping every last drop of his seed with lazy thrusts, (Y/N) whimpering at the sensation of being filled. He had never cum like that in his entire life.

Though tempted to collapse, Flip was cautious as he lowered himself, kissing her stomach, breasts, neck, and then meeting her lips again. His tongue licked her mouth once more before he gripped her waist and rolled them. Now he lay on the floor with (Y/N) on top of him, head on his chest. Her walls still clenched around his cock. They both panted, catching their breath in comfortable silence.

Flip was clutching (Y/N), one hand rubbing gently into her lower back. His thoughts were thundering back, though they were happy. The realization of what had changed in the last two hours was making his heart swell in his chest. With their more primal needs satiated, his mind wandered. Because while that had been the best sex of his life, it was far outshone by the fact that his best friend had told him she was in love with him, too.

Flip grinned, and (Y/N) lifted her head to meet his eyes when she felt his movements.

“Happy with yourself, detective?” She panted, returning his grin with her best smile. Flip grabbed her waist and gently pulled her up, a little groan escaping each of them when his cock slipped out of her. Now level, Flip was able to lean up and kiss her, a chaste peck.

“Pretty girl, you’re the hottest fucking woman on this planet,” His voice was gruff from overexertion, “I feel like the luckiest man.” He continued, earning a happy little giggle.

“You say that like you didn’t just make me cum twice like it was easy.”

“Darling, I can make you cum all night if I want to. Just say the words.” He kissed her forehead softly.

A little whimper escaped before she could catch it. “Not saying I’m against the idea, but I need to use the ladies' room.” She made to get up but Flip held her tighter, stopping her. He wasn’t ready to be apart from her. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready, not anymore.

“I’ve got you,” He whispered. He repositioned her as he sat up, leading her legs to wrap around him and her arms to circle his neck. (Y/N) bit her lip as she let Flip raise them both from the floor, his hands sliding down to sink into the flesh of her bottom, holding her up. He carried her to the bathroom, kissing her between following her directions to the blue-tiled room.

He set her down on the toilet, then turned to the sink, squinting in the dark. One candle lit the room, and once his eyes adjusted he saw the neatly folded wash clothes on the vanity. He turned on the water and, knowing it would be cold, wet the cloth quickly before taking it to briefly wipe himself. He rinsed it and turned to (Y/N), who was still sitting on the toilet, her eyes following his every move.

“Did you pee?” Smiling at her comfortingly when she shied away from the question, “Pretty girl, let me take care of you.” He brushed his hand across her cheek affectionately.

“I did, yes.” She murmured. Flip nodded, then pushed her legs apart. Taking great care to be gentle, he ran the cool cloth along her folds. Ensuring to only move in one direction. She sighed in content as he cleaned her up.

Tossing the cloth into the sink, Flip picked her up again and moved them back to the living room. “You ever going to let me walk again?” She joked, clutching him close as he settled them down onto the couch. (Y/N) curled against him, one hand threaded in his hair. He reached down and pulled the blanket from the floor, covering their bodies, and kissed the top of her head.

“Meant what I said, darling.” He spoke into the night, his hand trailing up and down her back in soothing motions as the fire continued to warm the room, bathing it in a gentle glow.

The fire illuminated her eyes when she looked up, “I did too, Flip. And I-I don’t want to be just friends anymore.”

Flip nodded, one hand on her cheek, thumb brushing across the soft skin, “No, pretty girl, neither do I,” He agreed. They exchanged a look then that Flip would remember over everything else that happened during this utterly perfect night.

It sealed the love they’d been expressing that night, a look that told the other, I love you. I’m never leaving. You are everything to me.

“Get some sleep, beautiful. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

She snuggled in at his soothing words, a low moan of content rushing out before she closed her eyes.

For the first time in a long while, (Y/N) and Flip each fell asleep within minutes. Wrapped in one another’s arms, they would stay there until the sun came up.

Flip didn’t even need to dream that night.

Did you enjoy this chapter? Please consider reblogging or commenting—likes are basically just a bookmark!

Tag list ✨ @tashastrange89 @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @morby @pradaxstyles

[princessjaqulinechess1031]

Interesting

Description: Damian and Marinette have a rainy day date.

Characters: Damian Wayne, Marinette Dupain-Cheng

The rain poured down on Gotham, the streets lit up with the headlights of cars and the reflection of light posts off the thin flood of water on the street. Damian and Marinette sat inside the café, steam rolling up from their coffees and twisting the smell of mocha and cinnamon from Marinette’s coffee up into their noses. Marinette took a sip of her coffee, looking out of the window with a sigh and leaned her head against her hand.

“I love the smell of the rain,” Marinette said softly. Damian raised a brow.

“You can smell the rain?” Damian asked. Marinette nodded, her pigtails bouncing.

“Oui. Can you not?” Marinette said. Damian shook his head.

“Smells like a normal Gotham day to me,” Damian said. “What does it smell like to you?”

Marinette sighed and leaned back in her chair with a smile.

“Like…..fresh paper and the wafting of flowers,” Marinette said. Damian grinned at her.

“Sounds like a lovely smell,” Damian said. Marinette nodded. It was, it was one of her favorite smells. It reminded her of busy days back in the bakery of her youth, when the rain was pouring, and Papa and Maman would bake fresh bread with her. Even now, she could almost feel the heat of the oven and the laughter of her parents. Oh, how she missed them.

She used to not be able to think of them without at least one tear. But now…now she could think of them with a smile, without the marring that Hawkmoth had left on her family. A hole would always be left in her heart in the shape of her parents, but the hole was scabbed over. Still there, still in pain, but no longer bleeding blood so thick it threatened to drown her.

She heard a rustling in her bag, and she looked down to see Tikki’s antenna poking out. Marinette smiled and broke off a piece of the muffin she had bought and brought it down for her kwami to eat.

Damian laughed under his breath at the motion. “Tikki hungry?”

Marinette nodded and then shut her bag again once she was certain her little friend was fed.

“Thankfully, Tikki is much nicer about it than Plagg,” Marinette chuckled. Damian rolled his eyes.

“I’m the son of a billionaire, and I still don’t know how Adrien manages to afford to feed Plagg,” Damian joked. Marinette giggled and Damian reached across to peck a bit of her muffin off. Marinette playfully slapped his hand away but let him get away with a piece anyway.

“My muffin,” Marinette said in a mock-stern voice. Damian popped the piece of muffin into his mouth with a smug grin, and Marinette had to fight not to roll her eyes.

“You could have got your own,” Marinette said, “if you’re so hungry.”

“It’s more fun if I steal it from you,” Damian said. Marinette sipped her coffee, relishing the warm taste in the cool Gotham air. Though it was warmer in the coffee shop than out in the open, the rain put an inescapable chill that was impossible to ignore.

“My maman, she used to make the best muffins,” Marinette said. The scab clenched but did not reopen. “She used to make orange blossom muffins, and they were the best in all of Paris.” She smiled wistfully, eyes glistening as her mind wondered to a different time and place. “She taught me how to do it, but the first few times I just burnt them all!”

Damian chuckled. “I’m sure Alfred would let you make them some time, if you asked.”

“Do they sell orange blossom in America?” Marinette asked. Damian shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Damian said. “I don’t often do the shopping. I’m sure Alfred has his ways though.”

Marinette had to agree with him on that one. The Wayne family butler and closest confidante she was sure could take over the world, procuring orange blossom was probably a drop in the hat for him.

“Monsieur Pennyworth probably could,” Marinette said. Damian laughed once, lightly, and then crossed his arm on the table.

“Maybe you could teach me? My mother was never one for baking, so I never learned,” Damian said, eyes downcast. From all that Marinette had heard of one Thalia al Ghul, it sounded completely character for her to never teach Damian something as simple as baking. Or spend the time to teach him, regardless. Damian was never one to ask for help, so Marinette was obliged to agree to teach him.

She reached across and laid her hand on top of his.

“Of course, ma moitié,” Marinette said. “Maybe I can teach you the family secret for croissants!”

Damian laughed under his breath. “Let’s not get carried away.”

Marinette looked outside and noticed that the rain had let up to only a small drizzle. She picked up the pink umbrella by her seat as she stood, sticking out a hand to Damian as a symbol to follow her.

“Come on, let’s head back while the rain has calmed down,” Marinette said. Damian took her hand and followed her out. Marinette held the umbrella in one hand and her coffee in the other. Damian had discarded his when they left, saying it wasn’t that good anyway, but Marinette figured it was an excuse to take the umbrella from her so he could hold her hand.

Which he did after about a minute. Because Damian had already asked one vulnerable thing of her (to teach him how to bake), and so asking another was out of the question. Damian was a softie deep down under his grumpy veneer, but very rarely could he express that tenderness verbally. And Marinette was fine with it, if it meant she got to hold his hand.

The tip of Marinette’s boots wetted just a little, and she knew she would have to let them dry for a day or two before she could wear them again.

They walked in silence with their hands connected as the strolled through the drizzly day of Gotham back to the Manor. Marinette shut her eyes and leaned her head against Damian’s shoulder as they walked, finding warmth in him in the slight chill of the air.

“You really should walk with your eyes open, nawaret aynaya,” Damian said. Marinette hummed and opened her eyes lightly.

“It’s more fun this way,” Marinette said. “Adds danger to my day.”

Damian squeezed her hand tightly and kissed the top of her forehead.

“And being a superhero isn’t danger enough?” Damian asked softly. Marinette shook her head and propped her head up on Damian’s shoulder. The two came to a stop at the corner of a street, neither looking in front of them.

“What can I say?” Marinette said. “I’m a glutton for adventure.”

“Interesting,” Damian said. Damian leaned down and kissed her lips softly, and Marinette smiled into the kiss. Her coffee was forgotten, accidently dropped to the ground as she curled her arms around his neck. The coffee spilled on her boots, but she could not find it within herself to care.

Damian pulled away from her, looking down at her through half-lidded eyes.

“interesting,” breathed Marinette, before she reached back and brought him in for another kiss.

Notes:

it's FEARLESS day! this fic was partially inspired by the song "Fearless" by Taylor Swift, which she re-released today on the Fearless (Taylor's Version) album. I'm a Swiftie, what can I say?

Chapter Bible Verse:

"And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." -- 1 Corinthians 13:13.

Questions, comments, or concerns? Let me know! Have a blessed day!

[hutchhitched]

Don’t Talk To Me

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 76: Modern a/u Katniss is getting over the loss of her sister (you decide how) when she meets Peeta. She’s closed off but he finds a way in. Maybe she works for him? Him for her? Maybe she cries herself to sleep on his bread scented shoulder? (Please yes I need that) [submitted by @endlessnightlock]

Ratings/Warnings: T

A/N: Y’all... It’s finally here. This is story number nine from the nine prompts I claimed for the 2020 @everlarkficexchange and then lost the will to write during the early months of the pandemic. I wasn’t sure I’d get here, but it’s happened. This is not the story I intended to write when I took the prompt, but sometimes the muse takes control, and I simply follow. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays and @endlessnightlock for being supportive of my plot change.

Katniss Everdeen hates people. Well, that’s not exactly true, but she doesn’t exactly like them either. They’re too…human or whatever. Too many acquaintances. The last thing she wants to do is get close to any of them, especially after the events of the past few months. She’s barely holding it together as it is, and introducing people or, even worse, friends could tip her right over the edge. She values her sanity.

 That’s probably why the new, sweet, disgustingly optimistic, overly friendly hire at the coffee shop where Katniss works irritates her so much. He’s just so nauseatingly earnest. It makes her want to punch him in the face.

 “How’s my favorite barista today?” he asks when she joins him behind the counter while still tying her apron. She mumbles noncommittally, but he doesn’t seem at all deterred. “I like that sweater.”

 “Peeta,” she says as she attempts to maintain control of her temper. He looks at her with such eagerness, she wilts under his obvious enthusiasm. “I’m just… It’s not a good day. Can we not?”

 His face falls, and she almost relents. She doesn’t know what it is that’s convinced him she’s someone he needs to befriend, but she simply has no interest. She doesn’t want more entanglements. They hurt too much.

 “Sorry,” he whispers and turns away. She swallows a twinge of guilt for hurting his feelings, but she doesn’t yield. Instead, she pivots to the espresso machine and starts making coffee. They work together silently, their only conversation about drink orders. They move around each other easily with no uncomfortable bumping or banging elbows or shoulders. He’s a good worker, at least, and he knows how to take a hint.

 “See you tomorrow,” Peeta says softly as his shift ends, and she flashes a brief smile. She doesn’t want to be rude, but come on. He doesn’t have to be friends with everybody.

 It continues like that for months, him fruitlessly friendly and her taciturn and distant. He continues to pursue a friendship, never pushing or prodding, simply being there and consistently showing kind. It’s exhausting.

 “How do you manage to stay so sickeningly upbeat?” she asks finally after several days of wanting to scream. He wears her down. She’d tell him to stop, but she’s starting to think she might like his optimism a little bit.

 He pauses for a second to glance at her before returning his attention to slipping sleeves onto the cup he’s holding. He calls out the order and smiles at the customer before answering. “What’s the other option? Being miserable?”

 “Well, I’m pretty good at it.”

 “I don’t think that’s true,” he argues softly. “I think you’ve had a rough time, and you’re grieving and healing. No one begrudges you that.”

 She gapes at him for a few seconds before snapping back to attention. The last thing she needs is to break down in front of everyone. Somehow, she thought he didn’t know anything. It’s disconcerting to realize her grief is on public display when she’s worked so hard to tuck it away. She reels, and he presses his lips together in frustration.

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

 “It’s… You’re fine.” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I’m taking my break.”

 His wounded expression slices through her as she flees.

 ****

 Another couple of weeks pass before Katniss finds herself alone with Peeta again. They’re scheduled to close on a slow night, and everyone else has gone home when he locks the door behind the last customer and she turns off the light and secures the window for the drive through window.

 “Alone at last,” she jokes and is struck by his wry grin.

 “You don’t have to do that.”

 “Lock up? I think I do.”

 He catches her gaze and refuses to let it drop. “Pretend to be happy you’re here with me.”

 “I—”

 “I’m sorry,” he insists. “I thought maybe if I could talk to you and stop being so, you know, wounded that maybe we could take a shot at being friends. I didn’t mean to upset you, Katniss. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

 She doesn’t answer for several beats. He squirms a little and drops his eyes to study twisting hands and twitching feet. She’s going to regret this. She knows she will. Still, there’s something sweet and shy and kind that she yearns for when the rest of the world is so hard and cold. Maybe it’s weakness or something else equally awful she should expunge from her personality, but she can’t let him spiral this way. Maybe it’ll stop hers, too.

 “We could, uh, try that.”

 It comes out garbled and stunted, but the change in his countenance makes her glad she took the step. A thousand emotions flit over his handsome face, but a grin splits his lips so wide that his teeth flash white. She holds up her hands to head him off, but he steadies himself. With eyes twinkling, he chuckles.

 “I saw the fear there for a second. I’ll control myself before I start asking the deep stuff.”

 “The deep stuff?” she asks, still gun-shy.

 “Yeah, like it’s crazy that I’d voluntarily cover a shift for you if you called in sick, but I don’t know your favorite color.”

 “It’s green.”

 “Mine’s orange.”

 “Like those chairs?” she laughs and nods at the overly bright upholstery on the furniture. Apparently someone in corporate thought pumpkin spice wasn’t just their most popular fall drink; it was also where customers could put their butts as they sipped caffeine-laden drinks.

 “Softer,” he answers, his voice a breathy whisper. “Like the sunset.”

 Her eyes drift shut. He’s put a spell on the space with his words, and she wants to stay there for a moment. When he’s not being overeager, Peeta Mellark is charming as hell. Lord, help her.

 “Can I tell you a secret? It’s really important.”

 She tenses, but when she opens her eyes, she finds that he’s moved closer to her and propped his hip against the counter. He looks so young and hopeful there’s no way she can be scared of him.

 “If you must,” she sniffs and smiles to soften her response.

 “Lean in close. It’s a big one.” She does so slowly, and he waits patiently until she’s close enough that he can whisper, “Don’t tell our boss, but I’m a tea guy. Two lumps of sugar. I don’t even like coffee.”

 Her eyes widen for a split second, and then she bursts into laughter. Tears gather in her eyes as she shakes. “That’s not a big one!”

 “Coffee is life, Katniss. A known tea drinker would be cast out among the wolves. I’ll just stay incognito. I’m trusting you with my life here.”

 “And what if I spill it?”

 “Spill the tea?” He winks as she gasps for air. Just as quickly, he wipes his expression from his face and assumes mock sobriety. Somberly, he picks up the broom and starts to sweep. “Well, then, I guess you’ll have one fewer opponent to beat out for employee of the month.”

 The whole idea that Katniss, surly and grumpy as she is, could ever win a customer service award is so preposterous she can’t keep from giggling. By the time the café is clean, she’s a million times lighter. When they head separate ways after locking up, she watches him as he strides down the street. Before he turns the corner, he tosses a look over his shoulder and waves. She doesn’t even have to think about it. She waves back.

 ****

 They become friends, and it upends her life. Katniss isn’t used to having people around. Not since her sister passed away and left her all alone in the world. Katniss had gotten used to being an orphan, but when her sister was killed in a car crash, the loneliness and despair overwhelmed her. With Peeta around, she doesn’t feel quite so isolated anymore.

 They take short walks on shared breaks, and he leans down to pick dandelions from between the sidewalk cracks before handing them to her with a bashful grin. He shields her from overly aggressive customers during busy periods at the café, and, after several weeks, he manages to convince her that spending time together outside of work isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

 “Friends do tend to see each other in social settings,” he teases, and Katniss finally relents.

 They go to movies and basketball games and art exhibits and archery competitions and all sorts of other things she had no idea she’d enjoy until Peeta suggested the activity. Sometimes, they do mundane things like grocery shopping together. She finds she likes trying new things as long as there’s someone with her and they can debrief about what was good and bad afterward. He convinces her to try one of those art classes with BYOB wine and a pre-chosen image to paint, and she gasps when his own creation takes on a life of its own while hers seems like a bad paint with water replica. He teaches her to cook bread and cookies and cinnamon rolls, and she shares her heirloom lamb stew recipe with him. They’re comfortable together. He never pushes, never makes her feel like he needs anything more than simple friendship.

 Until, that is, the anniversary of her sister’s death.

 She should have taken off work. She knows that, but the café is short-handed. Besides, she needs the money. It’s rainy and muggy and awful when she leaves the house, and the subway is packed much more than usual. She’s jostled and pushed and touched inappropriately (although, that was likely unintentional with how closely pressed together the passengers are in the train car), so that by the time she gets to work, she’s irritable, grumpy, and a ten seconds from losing it.

 It’s possible it’s the weather or the alignment of the stars or an almost full-moon or the changing of the seasons. It could be that other people are suffering from trauma and loss and depression, as well. Or it could be that Katniss just has really bad luck.

 “This drink is wrong.”

 The harsh complaint is snapped at her by an unpleasant looking man with white hair and a beard. He looks at her like she’s something rotten on the underside of his shoe when he shoves the cup toward her and sloshes some of the hot liquid on her outstretched hand. She hisses at the burn and immediately turns to the sink to run cold water over her skin before it blisters.

 “Don’t turn your back on me! Fix my coffee.”

 Katniss tenses, her guard up, but she refuses to move. His actions burned her, and she’s following not only methods of self-preservation but also the company’s safe work policies. Injuries are to be treated immediately on the job. She’s doing that.

 He continues yelling, attracting the attention of patrons and staff. Peeta finishes with the order he’s taking and quickly intervenes, coming to her rescue whether she wants him to or not. She’s not sure which is accurate.

 “Can I help you, sir? My name is Peeta, and I’m—”

 The man squints at Peeta and raises a shaking hand toward me. He’s livid, and Peeta takes a half-step back at the fury that’s suddenly directed his way. The situation escalates. It’s not pretty. The police are called, and customers are shaken. That’s nothing compared to the way Katniss quakes inside her own skin. She’s barely holding it together when their manager intercedes.

 “Get her out of here,” Haymitch barks at Peeta before turning to the customer. The coffee cup he’s thrown at her rolls on the floor in a puddle of liquid. The name scrawled on the outside is Snow. It’s ironic. Katniss has always hated winter.

 They make it to the back before she crumbles, and Peeta lets go of her hand to help her sit down on a stack of crates. He settles next to her and pulls her into a loose embrace—tight enough so that she knows he’s there but loose so she doesn’t feel trapped. It’s the perfect way to comfort her. He’s perfect, and she’s a mess.

 The tears flow, and she’s too broken to bother to wipe them away. Shoulders shake and sobs tear from her throat in gulping heaves. At one point, she moans her dead sister’s name. It’s a mournful wail that washes over her and makes her hurt even worse. He pats her back and toys with the tip of her braid. It’s an unlikely source of solace, and it causes her to turn into him and press her face to his shoulder.

 He smells like bread, she realizes in a random flash of clarity. She’s lamenting her sister, but that scent claws at her senses and registers in the olfactory section of her brain. How odd, she thinks before a fresh wave of grief shakes her torso.

 “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’m here. Take as long as you need. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

 She’s not, though. She’s not all right, and she knows he understands that. He’s working with a limited vocabulary as he tries to help her. That’s what people say when they’re faced with a weeping friend. She’s done it herself. His tone of voice and gentle touch more than prove his compassion for her pain.

 She doesn’t know how long they sit there, but it’s long enough that her tears have soaked his shoulder. A sharp cough invades their little bubble, and they both glance up to see Haymitch in the doorway.

 “Clock out,” he orders in that gruff way of his. “We’ve got you both covered. Take her home, boy.” Peeta nods at the nickname without protest. It would be offensive if it meant anything other than their boss can’t remember anyone’s names, although that’s bad enough.

 Peeta hails a cab and gives her address. He escorts her to her door and unlocks it for her before guiding her inside and seating her on the couch. When he moves away, she grabs at his hand and pulls him down next to her. His arms envelop her again, and she presses her face into his neck and allows the tears to streak down her cheeks while she hiccups. She hates being vulnerable, but she trusts him. They’ve grown close over the past few months.

 Finally, she runs dry. Her sobs subside, and her body stills. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t attempt to pull away. Instead, he simply waits and gives her the space for what she needs. It’s a beautiful thing to grieve with someone who allows it to occur instead of hindering the process. She’s not okay. She won’t be for a long time, but she’s survived today. For now, that’s enough.

 “Thank you,” she mumbles against his shoulder. When he doesn’t answer, she glances up at him through wet lashes and finds him looking at her with compassion in his piercing blue eyes. She could fall into them if she’d let herself. When he lifts his hand to brush flyaway wisps of hair from her forehead, she thinks maybe she should.

 Time freezes. There’s a pulse between them that shakes the world. They’re drawn together, and she doesn’t second guess it or pull away from him. Instead, she closes her eyes and meets his mouth with hers. It’s gentle, just a sweet brush of lips, but it tastes like a reawakening, like the snow melting away and the earth coming back to life in spring.

 It’s scary. It’s terrifying. It’s also right. After the events of the past year, she deserves a new beginning.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Petrichor

aka the long-awaited Sad Buffy Fic™️ 🐶 This got smuttier than I’d planned, but what else is new lmao

Also: Canon compliance? Don’t know her (I also don’t fully understand the schematics of Alex’s house, but let’s just pretend I do).

Also on AO3!

(Oh, and Happy Season Four Renewal!)

***

“Your dog’s a little weird, dude.”

Alex sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

Outside, his beagle Buffy has been frantically running around and barking at the air for the last thirty minutes. There’s not a squirrel or bird in sight.

“Is she always like this?” Kyle asks, turning away from the window that faces Alex’s backyard to look at him.

“No, usually she’s pretty mellow,” Alex says, passing him a cup of coffee. He takes a sip from his own mug to stall before he finally admits, “She only gets like this when it rains.”

“Huh,” Kyle says, considering it for a moment before he adds, “Layla always hated the rain. Remember when we used to have to bribe her with peanut butter to get her to go on walks if it was too cloudy?”

Alex remembers. Kyle’s childhood German shepherd was usually fearless, but put her near any liquid that wasn’t in her water dish and she’d run with her tail between her legs.

If only it were that simple with Buffy.

“It’s not the rain that’s making her do that,” he explains, looking down into his mug. “Well, I guess it is, but not—not like you’re probably thinking.”

Kyle processes that a moment before he speaks up.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or am I gonna have to guess?”

Alex sighs again. “She misses Michael.”

Kyle looks skeptical. “How do you know?”

Because I miss him too, is on the tip of his tongue, but Alex hesitates. As melancholic as the rain makes him, he’s not interested in spilling his guts over it.

“Because Michael smells like rain,” he says instead. “It’s an alien biology thing, apparently, but you probably would know more about that than I do.”

“Oh my god,” Kyle says, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Are you saying she’s looking for him out there right now?”

Alex nods. “She’ll give up in about an hour, but, yeah. She smells rain and she thinks he’s home.”

“That is so fucking sad.”

“I know,” he sighs, and turns around to go find a seat on the couch.

“Like, Sarah McLachlan in those ASPCA commercials level sad,” Kyle continues as he follows him, taking a seat on the other side of the couch. “Wait, did you guys adopt her together? Like, as a couple?”

Alex considers how to answer that. “No. We were together—I guess as much as we ever were—when I got her, and he went with me to pick her up from the shelter, but she’s not—he didn’t adopt her with me. He was just around a lot when I first brought her home.”

“Mmm, I see,” Kyle says, understanding. “Maybe you should call him.”

“What?” Alex asks.

“You know, invite him over,” Kyle says, like it’s obvious. “Ask if he wants to come play with her a little.”

“What?” Alex asks again, looking at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Look, I may not be a veterinarian, but you don’t need years of specialized training to see that your dog misses her dad,” Kyle says.

Alex raises an incredulous eyebrow.

“Well, her other dad,” he amends a moment later.

Alex shakes his head. “He’s not—That’s ridiculous.“

“Is it? He was here when she was a puppy, man,” Kyle counters. “They’ve clearly got a strong bond if she’s missing him that bad.”

Alex knows he’s right, but… he can’t just call Michael and ask if he wants to come play with Buffy.

Sure, he and Michael have been on good terms lately—great, even, now that they have a common goal and have learned how to actually communicate without having two totally different conversations.

But, months ago now, Michael asked him to stay away. He told Alex he didn’t want to be with him anymore, that it hurt too much, and Alex understands that, really he does, and he’s been trying so hard to maintain the boundaries Michael wants while still being there for him any way he can.

And if he invites Michael over right now, it won’t be because it’s something Michael needs from him. It’ll be because it’s a miserable, rainy day, and Alex and his adorably stupid dog miss him.

And if Alex is being honest with himself… he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he calls Michael and Michael says no. Not right now, not when Michael’s absence in his life, in his home, feels like an ugly, gaping wound.

“Just think about it,” Kyle says. “You never know, maybe he’s been missing her too.”

When Kyle leaves an hour later, Alex registers the quiet and realizes Buffy’s stopped barking. Finally, he thinks, until he goes to the back door and sees her slumped up against the glass, looking absolutely fucking miserable.

“Fuck,” he says, with feeling.

He opens the door and scoops her up off the ground. She’s a little wet from the start of the drizzle, but once she rests her head on his shoulder and huffs despondently he can’t bear to put her back down. He takes her over to the couch and draws the blanket around the both of them, hoping he can cheer her up with enough kisses and pats.

With the smell of Michael so thick in the air, he’s not surprised it doesn’t work.

He stays there with her until hunger beckons him toward the kitchen to make both of them dinner. When Buffy won’t touch her kibble, Alex scoops some leftover grilled chicken, rice, and veggies from his own plate into her bowl. It works, thankfully, but when she’s done she curls up on the floor with a sigh and Alex’s heart breaks just looking at her.

He ends up lying down on the floor next to her, his head cushioned by a pillow he dragged off the couch. The rain really starts coming down outside then, and Buffy starts to whine.

“I know, baby girl,” he says, curling more tightly around her. “I miss him too.”

He’s not sure how long he stays there before his phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out to see a text from Kyle.

Did you call him yet?

Alex sighs and rolls onto his back, his hip aching with the movement. He stares at the ceiling for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons, until Buffy huffs a huge, sad sigh again and he just can’t fucking stand it anymore.

“Fuck it,” he says to himself and takes out his phone again.

He doesn’t end up calling Michael. Instead, he texts him a picture of Buffy without a caption.

His phone vibrates a minute later.

Aww, why’s my girl look so sad?

Alex isn’t proud of the noise he makes when he reads that. He types his response, then deletes it, and then types it again. Nerves coil tight in his stomach when he sends it.

Kyle seems to think she misses her other dad. Wanna come over?

Alex drops his phone on his chest so he doesn’t stare at it. It’s another long, long minute before his phone buzzes again. He takes a breath before he reaches for it.

Michael’s reply is just three words.

On my way

Buffy barely lifts her head up off the floor when there’s a knock at the front door. Alex walks down the hall to answer it, massaging the tight muscles in his right thigh as he goes. He straightens up when he reaches the door and opens it to find Michael standing there, looking gorgeous as ever in a dark green flannel that’s unbuttoned practically to the middle of his chest, his curls a little damp from the rain.

“Hey,” Alex smiles, stepping aside to let Michael in. “Thanks for coming.”

“How could I say no to that cute face?” he replies, but the way Michael looks him over as he says it makes Alex wonder whether he’s actually talking about Buffy.

He doesn’t have long to ponder that particular nugget of information, though, because once Michael’s voice carries into the house, Alex hears the frantic sound of Buffy’s nails scraping his hardwood floors. Michael gasps a little theatrically when Buffy rounds the corner, barking as she barrels toward him at full speed down the hallway.

“Hi, baby girl,” he coos, crouching down to her level.

When she’s finally in front of him, she spins in excited circles at his feet, barking and panting while Michael pets her everywhere he can reach. It takes her a minute, but eventually she stops moving long enough to prop herself up on Michael’s knee so she can alternate between licking his chin and staring up at him with abject love and affection, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.

It’s the happiest Alex has seen her in—God, he can’t even remember. He’d feel a little put out about it if he didn’t understand it on a deeply visceral level. When she looks up at Alex as if to say Look! He’s back! Alex can’t help but bend down to pet her too.

For his part, Michael seems similarly affected. “Oh, I know, baby, I missed you too, I missed you too,” he’s saying with a wide smile. His eyes are wet when he looks at Alex and Alex’s throat grows tight with feeling.

Did Michael need this as much as Buffy did? Alex wonders when Michael breaks eye contact.

“Oh god, uh, Alex?” Michael says suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts. “I think she had an accident.”

Alex spots the small puddle beneath her when Michael gets his hands under her arms and lifts her up onto her back legs.

“Shit, I’m sorry, hang on,” Alex says, making for the kitchen. “Make sure she doesn’t step in it!” he calls back on the way. He grabs the paper towels and some cleaner from the cabinet under the sink and heads back into the living room. “Sorry, she’s just excited,” he explains when he gets there.

“So I gathered,” Michael says, but there’s no hint of annoyance in his voice or on his face.

Alex cleans the mess quickly, and by the time he’s thrown out the used paper towels and washed his hands thoroughly Michael’s found himself on the couch in Alex’s living room. He’s lying back against the couch with Buffy on his chest, scratching right behind her hears as he talks to her.  

Seeing them like that reminds him of the first week they brought her home. He has a photo of the two of them sleeping on the couch together, her tiny head stuffed under his chin, and Alex’s heart aches remembering it. He wishes he’d been strong enough to tell Michael what he wanted. Maybe if he had, Michael wouldn’t be rebounding from his short-lived relationship with Maria and Alex and Buffy wouldn’t both be missing him so fucking bad all the time.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?” Alex asks, realizing he’s been standing there in silence for a few minutes.

“You okay?” Michael asks as he gives him an assessing look, his hand paused on Buffy’s back.

Alex realizes this is the first time in a long time that anyone’s asked him that.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies, on instinct more than anything else. “You want something to drink?”

“I’d love a beer,” he says, and Alex welcomes the opportunity for a tactical retreat.

“You got it.”

He collects himself in the kitchen while he grabs two beers from the fridge, uncapping them before he walks back into the living room. Alex hands Michael his beer on his way to sit down on the other end of the couch.  

“Thanks,” Michael smiles as he takes the bottle Alex offers. Buffy sniffs the bottle when he goes to take a sip, but Michael holds it out of reach and explains, “No, this isn’t for puppies.”

Alex can’t help but laugh as he props his left elbow on the back of the couch to watch them.

Michael takes a long pull from the bottle and then sets it down on the end table next to him so he can keep petting Buffy uninterrupted.

“She really did miss me, huh?” Michael wonders aloud, as if the very idea that someone would is novel or unbelievable.

“Of course she did,” Alex says, placing his beer on the coffee table and scooting closer so he can pet her with his right hand. He doesn’t quite realize until it’s too late that he’s put himself right next to Michael, his right bicep almost brushing Alex’s chest. He studiously keeps his eyes on Buffy as he adds, “She loves you.”

Out of the corner of Alex’s eye, he sees Michael’s mouth turn up in a soft smile. “I love her too.”

They chat idly while Buffy soaks up Michael’s attention—Michael tells Alex all about a new experiment he’s working on with Liz that has exciting implications for something Alex would need at least two astrophysics degrees to understand, and Alex shares that he’s been keeping himself busy with music again, much to Michael’s delight.

After years of going back and forth between fucking Michael and fighting with him, it’s nice to just talk to him for a change.

The conversation makes its way back around to Buffy when she shuffles her way up Michael’s chest to fit her nose right under his chin, her eyes drifting shut for a nap. When Michael laughs and drops a kiss on the soft patch of fur between her eyes, Alex’s finds the strength to take Kyle’s advice.

“Look, I, um,” Alex starts, shifting on the couch, “I was actually thinking maybe you could… come around sometimes. To play with her.”

“What, like visitation?” Michael asks with an eyebrow raised. “I get joint custody on the weekends?”

Alex can’t help but laugh. “You make it sound like she’s our kid.”

And, wow, he should not have vocalized that thought because as soon as the words are out of his mouth Alex is hit by a whole fucking wave of feelings he does not have the time nor the ability to unpack right now, and by the look of it so is Michael.

“Hey, you’re the one who called me her dad,” Michael points out, a second too late for it to sound completely casual.

“Technically, Kyle did,” Alex flushes, but gestures to where Buffy is snuggled into his neck, finally at peace. “But look at her. She misses you.”

“Just her, huh?” Michael asks, so quietly that for a second Alex thinks he’s imagined it, but then Michael’s hand slides down from the back of Buffy’s neck to cover Alex’s own where it’s resting on her back.

Alex’s mouth goes dry. He chances a look at Michael, and what a fucking mistake that is because Michael’s honey-gold eyes are staring right at him and Alex forgets how to breathe.

“You miss me, too, Alex?” Michael asks, something that sounds a little like hope in his voice.

Alex looks at Michael for a moment, his head and heart at war the way they always are when it comes to him.

“Yeah,” Alex finally admits, a bone-deep exhaustion hitting him as the confession crosses his lips. “I do.”

Michael nods, processing that. “I miss you too,” he says after a long minute, his thumb stroking over the back of Alex’s hand, and Alex fights against the urge to pull his hand away because this doesn’t just feel important, it feels fucking monumental, but how can he even think with Michael touching him like that?

“Stop,” Alex begs softly. “Please. If you don’t mean it, or if you’re not ready, I need you to stop.”

When Michael doesn’t say anything, Alex closes his eyes, the inside of his bottom lip caught tight between his teeth to keep from losing it. He’s felt like he’s on the edge of something all day and Michael sitting here, teasing him with the offer of more, it’s just too much.

Alex feels Michael let go of his hand, feels Buffy disappear from under his palm, hears his leather couch squeak under Michael’s shifting weight and fuck how has he fucked this up already, he’s barely even said anything—

Alex flinches when he feels the warmth of Michael’s palm against his cheek.

“Alex,” he whispers. “Open your eyes.”

Alex does, swallowing hard as he meets Michael’s gaze, his eyes shining with tears.

“I mean it,” Michael tells him, his expression sincere.

“You do?” he asks hesitantly.

“Of course, I do,” Michael says, leaning in to gently knock their foreheads together. Alex’s heart aches at Michael’s closeness, the familiarity with which Michael touches him. He never thought he’d get to experience it again. “God, Alex, I miss you so much I can’t breathe sometimes, I—”

Alex closes the distance between them without a second thought, finding Michael’s lips as warm and soft as he remembers. He pulls back a second later to apologize for cutting Michael off, for moving too quickly when he’s not even sure what exactly Michael wants, but Michael just makes a hurt noise low in his throat and follows after him for another taste, and then another.

Michael presses further and further into his space until Alex’s back hits the couch cushions with a soft thud, the top of his head brushing the armrest. Alex pulls away from Michael’s mouth with a slick sound, and as he gasps for air, Michael attaches his lips to a tender spot beneath his jaw and sucks, igniting a fire low in Alex’s belly that threatens to consume him.

He can feel himself getting hard as Michael worms his way even closer. He guides Alex’s left leg to rest against the back of the couch as he settles his solid weight between his thighs, continuing to pepper his throat with wet, sucking kisses all the while. It’s not until Michael dips his tongue into the hollow of his throat that Alex’s hips lurch upward of their own accord, seeking the kind of relief only Michael can give him.

“Michael,” Alex moans, eyes slipping closed as his restless fingers weave into Michael’s curls.

Michael hums his response and slips his hands under Alex’s ass, encouraging him to grind their cocks together through the fabric of their jeans. It’s rough and hot, too much and not nearly enough, and along with his spiking pleasure comes the daunting thought that they’re moving too fast—that they’re about to make the same mistake they always do.

“Fuck, wait, we should—“ he begins to protest, but Michael interrupts him, groaning unhappily against the neckline of his t-shirt before he lifts his head to look at him. Alex’s eyes skip down to Michael’s mouth automatically, that tempting shade of pink making it very hard to remember what he was thinking two seconds ago.

“Don’t tell me what we should do,” Michael begs him, drawing Alex’s attention back up his face, to where his eyes are wide and more than a little desperate. “What do you want?”

Alex stares at him as that question hits his ears, a “What I want doesn’t matter” already on the tip of his tongue before his brain even catches up with him. He’s spent so long carrying those words in his head and in his heart that he barely notices their weight anymore—not until it’s Michael staring back at him and offering him everything he’s ever dreamed of.

This time’s no different, and Michael must see it on his face because the look in his eyes softens along with his voice as he asks again, “What do you want, Alex?” He reaches up to cup the side of his face, his thumb brushing featherlight across his cheekbone. “I’ll give you anything.”

Alex swallows roughly, his eyes burning with tears he can barely hold back.

“You,” he answers, perhaps more honest than he’s ever been. His voice trembles as he adds, “I just want you.”

A brittle smile breaks out on Michael’s face, his eyes shining in the lamplight before they flutter closed as he leans back down to kiss him again, slow and deep and wet.

Heat starts to simmer between between them once again, the soft press of Michael’s mouth and the tease of his tongue driving all other thought from Alex’s mind. Michael works his hands slowly under his t-shirt and Alex hardly notices it happening until Michael rolls his thumb over one of his nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin.

Alex groans and shivers at the sensation, using his prosthetic—planted firmly on the floor now—for any traction he can get to press his hips up into Michael’s lap.

Michael smirks against his mouth, and Alex can’t help but catch Michael’s full bottom lip between his teeth in retaliation, making Michael whimper so sweetly that Alex lets him go and soothes the bite with his tongue almost immediately.

Michael gives him one last kiss before he pushes Alex’s shirt as far up his chest as it can go and dips down to latch his mouth over his right nipple. Alex sighs and drops his head back against the cushions, his cock thickening even further as Michael teases it into a hard bud with his lips and teeth and tongue, playing with the other between his thumb and forefinger. He tugs it between his teeth and Alex gasps, arching his back and pressing his chest more firmly against Michael’s mouth.

After a few more minutes of teasing, Michael starts a slow slide downward, trailing wet kisses along the way as he charts a path down Alex’s belly toward the wiry hair peeking out above his belt.

“You want my mouth, ‘Lex?” Michael asks before dragging his tongue along the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his jeans.

Alex’s stomach clenches as he pictures it—Michael going down on him with singleminded focus, looking up at him beneath his lashes as he sucks on the head before taking him deeper, sinking down until the tip of his cock is snug inside his throat. He’s always looked so good with his head between Alex’s thighs.

His cock throbs painfully at the thought, desperate for Michael’s attention, but there’s something else on Alex’s mind right now, something he wants with a ferocity he can’t quite put into words.

“I do,” he says, softly tugging Michael’s hair to get his attention. “Up here.”

Michael stares at him a moment before he gets it, confusion fading as a fond smile takes its place. He slithers up Alex’s body until he can hover over his face.

“You want me to kiss you when I make you come?” Michael asks him, rubbing his nose along Alex’s cheek.

Alex nods, not trusting his voice.

Michael presses a soft, almost reverent kiss to his cheek.

“I can work with that,” he says, moving closer to his mouth. He kisses him again, not more than a peck, before he sits up and leans back, resting his weight on his knees between Alex’s spread thighs.

Alex mourns the loss of warmth, but he soon forgets it as Michael strips his flannel off his back and tosses it haphazardly behind him, revealing his toned chest and stomach. His mouth runs dry just looking at him and he quickly follows suit, yanking his bunched up t-shirt over his head and letting it fall gracelessly to the floor.

He starts on his jeans next, but Michael’s hands bat his out of the way, one cupping his cock through the denim while the other undoes his belt with practiced efficiency. He teases his crown with the tip of his finger for a torturous moment before Alex groans and he gets with the program, tugging Alex’s jeans and underwear down his hips just far enough to free his cock.

The relief Alex feels at no longer being so constricted is instantaneous, and Michael takes full advantage of the situation, curling his fingers around his shaft and thumbing through the moisture glistening at the tip. He spreads it down the length of him as he starts to jerk him off, not firm or quick enough to make him come, but enough to make the pleasure that’s been building inside him since they started this flare hot and insistent.

Alex catches his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from crying out as his hips twitch upward, fucking his cock into Michael’s grip. When he tears his gaze away from where Michael is playing with him, he sees honey-brown eyes staring back at him.

“What?” Alex asks, flushing under Michael’s attention.

“Nothing,” Michael smiles, shaking his head. “You’re just really fucking pretty like this.”

Alex scoffs at that, but it only makes Michael more insistent.

“You are,” he says defiantly, squeezing his cock a little on the upstroke. Alex tries to bite back the moan building in his throat, but it’s easier said than done. “I mean, you’re always pretty, but when I’ve got my hands on you? Shit, ‘Lex. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Oh yeah?” he shoots back, eyes drifting south toward the dark spot slowly bleeding through the front of Michael’s jeans. “Why don’t you show me?”

Michael rises to the challenge, letting go of Alex’s cock and getting to work on his ridiculous belt buckle. He shoves his own jeans and underwear down his thighs as quick as he can and seconds later Alex feels Michael caging him in as he covers his body with his own, pressing up into his space to kiss him just like Alex had asked him to.

He feels Michael’s cock poking into his belly, smearing precome against his skin, and Alex hooks his leg around him to bring him closer until their cocks are trapped between them. Alex breaks the kiss for just a moment, just long enough to lick his palm before he slips his hand down his belly to wrap his fingers around them both, making a tight, wet channel for them to fuck into. The sticky mix of spit and precome isn’t nearly as smooth as lube, but it’ll do.

“Uh, fuck,” Michael groans against his mouth as he begins to rock his hips forward in a slow, steady grind. “Been a while since we did it like this, huh?”

Alex hums in agreement as memories of the two of them in the back of Michael’s truck, rutting together on a makeshift mattress that smelled faintly of weed, flash through his mind. A lot’s changed since then, but the drag of Michael’s cock against his still feels just as good.

Michael starts to thrust in earnest then, and Alex’s burns with every slide of his cock against him, with every eager kiss Michael presses to his mouth. His heart is pounding against his ribs and blood is rushing in his ears, nearly but not quite loud enough to drown out all the perfect little sounds Michael keeps making in the back of his throat.

It’s not long before it all overwhelms him and Alex shudders as he comes, his balls drawing up tight and cock pulsing hot and wet between them. He gasps into Michael’s mouth, too far gone to remember how to kiss properly as his pleasure washes over him, inexorable as the ebb and flow of the rising tide and strong enough to pull him under.

Michael follows him a moment later, moaning sharply against Alex’s cheek as he spills over his fist, adding to the mess Alex made. Alex jerks him through it, milking him for all he’s worth until he hides his face in Alex’s neck and starts to whimper, overstimulated. Alex lets him go then and focuses on catching his breath as the last of his pleasure fades.

Michael’s the first to move, bumping his way back toward Alex’s mouth to kiss him again, lips raw and slick where they brush against his mouth. Alex cradles his cheek with his clean palm to hold him there as they trade kisses, neither one of them quite ready to break the spell that drew them back together. Alex loses himself to it, so much so that he barely registers the quiet patter of claws against wood drawing nearer until Buffy hops her front paws up onto the edge of the couch and starts to lick his cheek.

Alex makes a rather undignified noise at the sensation of Buffy’s tongue on his face—not to mention the smell of her breath—and Michael laughs against his mouth before he pulls away to look at her.

“I’m sorry, princess, were we ignoring you?” Michael coos, and Alex isn’t proud of the way Michael’s low, rasping voice makes his spent cock twitch.

Michael reaches over the edge of the couch, feeling around on the floor for a moment, until Alex hears a sharp squeak. Buffy barks happily, lowering down on her front legs and wagging her tail, and Michael throws one of her brightly colored toys as far as he can across the room.

“That ought to buy us 30 seconds,” Michael says, leaning up between Alex’s spread thighs. Michael’s bare chest shines as he reaches over for the box of tissues sitting on the coffee table, sticky with sweat and come. He grabs a few for himself and then offers Alex the box.

Once they’re as clean as they’re going to get, Michael zips up his jeans and gathers their dirty tissues to throw them out. Alex likewise tucks himself away and sits up on the couch, nervously awaiting Michael’s return.

He’s just reaching for his shirt on the floor when Michael comes back, his head cocked to the side as he looks at him curiously.

“What are you doing?” Michael asks, the corner of his lips pulling up into a lopsided smile. Alex gives him a questioning look, but Michael only steps closer and plants his hand on Alex’s chest, pushing him gently to lie back down. “I’m not done with you yet,” Michael explains.

Alex raises an eyebrow, but Michael just settles on his chest once more, tucked between Alex’s body and the back of the couch. He throws one leg over Alex’s thigh and his arm wraps around his waist, his chaotic mop of curls tickling Alex’s nose as he shifts to get comfortable.

The silence between them as they lie there is nice, simple in a way things rarely are for them.

That is, until Alex’s mind starts running away from him, age-old doubts and fears plaguing his thoughts. He loves Michael more than anything, but was falling back into bed so soon a mistake? Can they really make it work this time?

“Stop thinking,” Michael mumbles against his collarbone.

“Sorry,” Alex apologizes with a sigh, dropping a kiss into his curls. “I just…”

“Hm?” Michael prompts him when he doesn’t continue.

Alex takes a breath before he says, “I just can’t believe we just had sex on my couch without actually talking things out first.”

“Really?” Michael asks, leaning up to look at him incredulously. “You can’t believe that?”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Alex concedes with a laugh. “I just meant—I don’t know. I thought the next time we did this, we would be a real couple.”

That’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Michael’s face falls a little, his eyes sliding down to stare intently at Alex’s collarbone. He doesn’t pull away from him though, not yet, which Alex hopes means he hasn’t completely fucked this up.

“Who says we’re not?” Michael asks slowly, chancing a look back up at Alex’s face. Alex isn’t sure what he finds there, but it reassures him enough to joke, “I mean, we have shared custody of a fur baby remember? That sounds pretty serious to me.”

Alex laughs at that, his eyes warm and fond and maybe just a little misty.

“I love you,” he says, the words spilling out of him before he can contain them.

His heart seizes in his chest a little at the unexpected admission, but it’s worth it to see the joy on Michael’s face as he presses in close and whispers those words right back at him.

The next time it rains in Roswell, Alex wakes slowly to the sounds of soft laughter, rustling sheets, and raindrops tapping away at the roof overhead. He drifts in that space between sleeping and waking for a few moments, warm and content.

Buffy barks suddenly, pulling Alex firmly into the land of the living. He cracks open an eyelid to see Michael sitting up in bed and a very happy beagle demanding belly scratches on the comforter in front of him.

“Shh, daddy’s sleeping,” Michael scolds gently, and Alex’s heart feels so fucking full.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up, the movement drawing Michael’s attention.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Michael says, casting a rueful smile over his shoulder.

Alex smiles and shakes his head, shifting closer so he can rest his head on Michael’s shoulder and pull him back against his chest. He rests his right palm over Michael’s heart, his fingertips dragging lightly through his chest hair.

“Never apologize for being here when I wake up,” Alex says, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. Michael ducks his head and smiles, his hand coming to rest over Alex’s on his chest.

Alex closes his eyes and breathes deep, the heady scent of petrichor filling his lungs.

Maybe rainy days aren’t so bad.

[suituuup]

pandemic shenanigans

Chloe discovers TikTok and decides to do a bunch of pranks on her girlfriend

rated: T

word count: 3k

ao3 link

*

It’s the pandemic’s fault. 

Chloe was bored af one day at the start of quarantine, and decided to download TikTok, the app Gen Z has been raving about. Little did she know five minutes on the app could turn into four hours without her being aware and brought procrastination to another level. 

She quickly becomes addicted to cute animal videos (duh) and couple pranks. So addicted that the temptation of trying a few on her girlfriend is too great. 

i. Did you forget what today was

“Morning,” Beca mumbles, rubbing her eye with the heel of her palm as she shuffles towards the coffee pot. While Chloe’s an early bird, Beca rarely makes it out of bed before ten on the weekends, and Chloe is usually already showered and dressed by the time she does. 

She and Beca live in that same studio which they used to share with Amy, until their Australian friend inherited some serious money and moved out. 

It’s been really nice to have an actual bed instead of that crappy pull-out couch. 

“Good morning,” Chloe chirps, craning her neck to accept the kiss Beca brushes to her lips. Beca slides in the chair across hers, pouring some milk in the bowl Chloe’s set out for her, followed by cereals.

(yes, she’s that weirdo who puts the milk first.)

“What?” Beca pauses with her first spoonful halfway to her mouth, finally noticing Chloe staring at her. 

“Did you forget what today was?” She asks with a raised eyebrow, cradling her mug in her hands.

Beca blinks, and Chloe can nearly see the fuck popping up in her brain as panic flashes in her eyes. “Uh, Saturday?” 

Chloe purses her lips, both to appear annoyed and to keep her bubbling laughter in. “Beca.” 

Beca’s nose scrunches up. “I know, I know, gimme a sec. This is not our anniversary, or your birthday, you’re not working today so there’s nothing important regarding your job,” she lists off, her eyes lighting up a beat later. “Oh! Is it this weekend Aubrey’s coming up?” 

“No,” Chloe sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe you forgot.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Beca rushes out, standing up and crossing the distance between them to sit across Chloe’s lap. She kisses her softly, looping her arms around her neck. “I’m sorry. What’s going on today? I promise I’ll make time for it. And I’ll give you a massage tonight to make up for being a bad girlfriend. And we can eat whatever you like.” Smirking mischievously, she adds in a lower tone, “And, I’ll let you do whatever you wanna do to me later.” 

Chloe grins, unable to hold it any longer. “Nothing’s going on, babe. I was just messing with you.” 

Beca’s jaw falls open as she pulls back, glaring. “Not cool, dude!”

Chloe simply giggles, nuzzling her neck and pressing an apologetic kiss to Beca’s skin. “You’re cute when you’re panicking.”

A huffs puffs free and Beca pouts. “Whatever.”

Chloe tightens her hold around Beca’s waist so she can’t get away. “Can I still do whatever I want to you tonight?” 

The whimper that rises from Beca’s throat shoots a chill down her spine. Beca’s cheeks redden and she squirms a little in Chloe’s lap. “Yeah--yes.” 

Safe to say Chloe won’t be uploading that video on TikTok. She also won’t tell Beca this was a Tiktok prank, because this turned out to be a lot of fun and she’s got more up her sleeve.

ii. climb on their lap while they’re busy doing something else

Friday nights are Chloe’s favorite. As none of them work during the weekends, it means they get two whole days of quality time with each other. Tonight though, her highly professional girlfriend needs to take care of a few work things to make sure she can spend a stress free weekend, but it’s been hours, and Chloe is kind of craving some attention. 

Beca’s working on her laptop while sitting on the couch, and after changing into her PJ’s, Chloe unceremoniously curls up sideways on her lap, looping her arms around her shoulders and resting her forehead against the side of Beca’s neck. 

“Oh,” Beca breathes out, setting her computer aside before her arms loosely wrap around Chloe’s body. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” Chloe murmurs back, brushing a kiss to Beca’s neck and releasing a soft sigh of contentment. 

Beca’s hand runs up and down her thigh as she pushes a kiss to Chloe’s hair. “You alright?” 

Chloe hums, forgetting all about her phone propped against one of the shelves capturing the moment to make a TikTok, instead basking in the instant comfort being in Beca’s arms provides. 

Beca peppers her face with soft, featherlight kisses that make Chloe warm from the inside out. She really is a slut for Beca’s affection. “M’sorry I had to work tonight.” 

Chloe smiles. “It’s okay.” She pecks Beca’s lips and brushes her nose against hers. “I’m heading to bed. Don’t work too late, babe.” 

Beca nods, winking softly. “Right behind you.” 

True to her word, Beca slides under the covers less than five minutes later and tugs Chloe’s body against her own. Chloe releases another happy sigh, which is cut-off by a yelp when Beca runs her freezing toes along Chloe’s bare calf. 

“Becs!” She cries, moving away and slapping her arm. “Your feet are freaking icicles!” 

Beca snickers like a teenager, seemingly very proud of her act. 

“Put some socks on.” 

Beca’s nose scrunches up adorably. “Ew. No way.” 

“Then stay on your side,” Chloe grumbles, tugging the covers higher around her as she rolls away from Beca, settling on her opposite side. 

“Sorry,” Beca whispers into the dark, shuffling closer. “I won’t do it again.” 

She feels her resolve break as Beca’s lips trace a trail from her exposed shoulder blade to the side of her neck. She hates her traitorous body for not having any willpower when it comes to Beca’s ministrations. “You better not, or I’ll kick you,” she half-jokes. 

“Kinky,” Beca breathes along with a soft laugh, pressing one final kiss to Chloe’s cheek as she drapes her arm around her middle. “I love you.” 

Chloe laces their fingers and squeezes. “I love you too, weirdo.” 

iii. walking out naked while they’re in a zoom meeting 

“Well what doesn’t he like about it?” Beca’s voice carries from the living-room as Chloe stands in their bedroom, a towel wrapped around her naked frame. 

That video of her and Beca cuddling on the couch blew up, hitting 3 millions views and about 400k likes. The few homophobic comments that popped up were quickly drowned out by thousands of people gushing over their relationship or crying about wanting the same kind of relationship. 

Beca was of course aware Chloe would post that video on the internet and weirdly wasn’t opposed to it. 

“Again?” She hears her girlfriend sigh and steps out, losing the towel as she rounds the corner. “I mean, yeah, sure. I’ll see what I--” 

Beca’s words die on her tongue the second her eyes flicker up from her computer screen. Her jaw drops and her mouth gapes wordlessly for a few seconds. 

Chloe is briefly concerned she might have broken her girlfriend.

“Beca?”  Her boss’ voice carries through the speakers, snapping Beca back to her meeting. 

“Yes, yeah-- um-- sorry, I…” She stammers as her cheeks burn, and clears her throat. Her eyes quickly glance back to Chloe, who is fighting against a string of giggles. “I’ll-- I’ll work on something else, no problem.” 

“Alright, keep me posted.”

Beca nods. “See ya.” She shuts her computer so fast Chloe’s concerned she might have damaged it. “You’re evil,” she mutters, shaking her head. 

“Are you complaining?” Chloe husks, strutting over in her birthday suit and tossing her phone on the couch.

Beca visibly swallows, bracing on Chloe’s waist as she settles down her lap. “Never. But next time try not to give me a heart attack?” 

“Deal,” Chloe murmurs, bending down to capture Beca’s lips in a searing kiss. 

iv. Ask them what they would do if they were at a party and a hot girl came up to them

“Hey Bec?” 

“Mm?” 

It’s a rainy rainy afternoon, the ones Chloe loves as they don’t have anywhere to be, and she gets to chill on the couch with her favorite person while listening to the rain pelting against the window. 

Chloe’s head is on Beca’s lap as she lies on the couch, reading a book while Beca messes around on her phone. Beca has absentmindedly been scratching her scalp, and Chloe was about to fall asleep when she got a prank idea. She discreetly propped up her phone against her mug on the coffee table a minute ago, pressing record. 

“What would you do if you were at a party and a hot girl came up to you?” 

Beca lowers her phone, peering at Chloe over it. “What do you mean?” 

Bending her knees, Chloe shifts to sit up and faces Beca. “What would you do if a hot girl flirted with you?” 

“You know I don’t know when people flirt with me, right?” 

Yes, Chloe does know. She lost count of how many times she’s flirted with Beca over their four years of friendship pre-getting together without Beca having a freaking clue. 

“Okay, but still,” Chloe clears her throat and straightens a bit from her slouched position, tucking her legs underneath her. “Let’s say you’re at a party, and I’m a random girl, not your girlfriend, alright?” 

Beca rolls her eyes but nods anyway, setting her phone down and angling her body towards Chloe a bit more. 

Chloe props her elbow on the back of the couch and cradles the side of her head in her palm as she smiles softly, getting into character. She reaches out to run the tip of her pointer finger along Beca’s forearm while keeping her gaze locked on hers, her teeth racking over her bottom lip in an over-the-top flirty move. “Hi.” 

“Hey you,” Beca murmurs with a small smirk, leaning closer a little. Chloe swats the back of her head. “Ow! What was that for??” 

“It’s not me,” she reminds Beca as the brunette rubs the spot with a glare. 

“Sorry, it’s just hard to remember that with those eyes of yours,” Beca laughs. “I can’t focus, they’re pulling me in.” 

“Aw,” Chloe beams. She leans in to peck Beca’s lips, raising an eyebrow when Beca pushes her away. 

“Dude, I’ve got a girlfriend.” 

Chloe rolls her eyes, shoving her as Beca laughs. “Touché.” 

v. ask them if they still get butterflies

“Bec?” 

“Mmm.” 

Spring morphed into summer. A hot, sticky and humid summer. The pandemic is still very much a thing, and Chloe can’t even tell you what day of the week it is anymore. To make things worse, their AC is down, which is why they find themselves on the rooftop of their apartment building that evening, laying on a couple blankets as they stare up at the night sky. Chloe misses the hundreds of stars she would gaze at when she was a kid in Oregon, but she sort of finds the steady sound of cars passing by in the street below them soothing. 

Or you know, maybe it’s the joint she smoked twenty minutes ago with her girlfriend that is finally hitting her. 

“Do you still get butterflies?” 

Beca’s head rolls to the side so she can look at her. “Still?” She asks, smirking softly. “They never left.” 

Chloe giggles, shoving her lightly. Beca is known to grow sappy and affectionate when she’s high, and Chloe absolutely loves it. “Dork.” 

“Felt them just this morning when you were singing in the kitchen while making breakfast and almost pinched myself because I still have to wrap my head around the fact that I get to marry you.” 

Chloe does a double-take as she registers Beca’s words. “What?” Her voice is barely there, hidden under the layers of emotions seizing her throat. 

“Well… yeah,” Beca shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re like, it for me, you know?” 

Moments where Beca splits herself open like that are rare, and they never fail to make Chloe’s heart soar. 

“Are you going to say something Beale or keep staring at me like a weirdo?” Beca eventually quips, chuckling softly. 

Chloe shakes her head a little, then leans forward to push a lingering kiss against Beca’s lips. “I love you, future wife.” 

She feels Beca sigh contentedly as she curls up against her side, her arm wounding around Chloe’s back. “I love you, too.”

vi. sigh loudly in front of them

“What’s wrong?” 

It’s day two hundred something of quarantine. Chloe is bored out of her mind. 

“Nothing,” she whispers, keeping her tone unconvincing on purpose. She’s lying on the couch while Beca sits at the end working on her computer, a Friends rerun playing low on the TV. 

Beca shuts her computer and sets it on the coffee table before crawling up Chloe’s body and settling on top of her. She presses a light kiss to the side of Chloe’s neck. “You sure?” 

“Mhm,” Chloe hums, looping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. 

“I can stop working,” Beca suggests softly, placing another kiss to her chin, then to the tip of her nose. “Wanna go grab some Chick-fil-A? Then we can watch one of those cheesy rom coms that you like.” 

“M’okay,” Chloe agrees quietly. “Can we just cuddle for a bit?” 

“Yeah,” Beca breathes. “Course we can.” She settles her head on Chloe’s chest, lifting it a second later. “Wait, is this a TikTok thing?” Upon Chloe nodding, she groans. “My reputation is taking a blow with each one of those, you know that right?” 

A giggle bursts past Chloe’s lips. “I’m sorry, your what?” 

That earns her a glare. “Bite me, Beale.” 

vii. wipe their kiss away

“I hate this fucking pandemic,” Beca grumbles as she makes it inside, kicking the door shut with a little more force than necessary. “I hate those Karens who don’t wear masks,” she continues as she hoists her two grocery bags on the kitchen counter. “Scratch that, I just hate people in general.” Beca eventually takes off her mask, heaving out a sigh as she drops it onto the counter. “Finally.” 

Chloe smiles in amusement, walking over to start putting the groceries away. “Thanks for going out, babe.” 

“No problem.” She pecks Chloe’s lips on her way to store the yogurt in the fridge, doing a double-take when Chloe wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Did you just… wipe my kiss away?” 

“What? No I didn’t,” Chloe replies innocently. 

Beca stares at her, cocking an eyebrow. “Was it not up to your standards or something?” 

“I mean…” Chloe shrugs nonchalantly. “It was just a peck.” 

“Mmm.” She resumes her task, closing the door to the fridge behind her before making her way over to where Chloe is standing, setting her hands on her hips from behind and coaxing her to turn around. 

“What are you--” the rest of her sentence is cut off by a moan as Beca’s lips capture her own. Chloe’s knees wobble from the heat of the kiss, its intensity sending shockwaves throughout her body, all the way down to her toes. She’s left in a daze by the time Beca pulls away, blinking twice in slow succession as she rolls her swollen lips together. “Holy shit.” 

Beca puffs out her chest a little, smirking. “That’s better.” 

Groceries forgotten, Chloe slides her hand into hers and drags her to the bedroom. 

viii. call them your spouse during a phone conversation

“I’m home,” Chloe calls out as she steps inside their studio apartment. She pauses in the doorway, taking in her surroundings. 

Their small kitchen table is beautifully set, two candles lit on each side and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers sitting in the center. Soft acoustic music is playing through Beca’s portable speaker. “Hey, you.” 

“What’s all this?” Chloe asks, smiling brightly as she slings her purse off her shoulder, setting it down. 

Beca approaches, a sheepish smile spreading across her features. “Well… because of this freaking pandemic, we haven’t been out in months, so I thought we could just do a home-date. I ordered from your favorite sushi place, should be here any minute.” 

“Aww.” Shrugging off her jacket, Chloe steps up to place a soft kiss to Beca’s lips. “You’re sweet. And very sexy,” she adds with an eyebrow waggle, taking in Beca’s fancy jumpsuit and hairdo. “I’m gonna go change real quick.” 

Chloe hurries to the bedroom and opens her closet to pick something; she can’t remember the last time she wore a dress, her main outfit having consisted of a hoodie and sweatpants for the better part of the year. Plucking her navy blue, knee length dress out, she changes into it and takes ten minutes to arrange her hair and put on light make-up. 

Beca is on the phone as she steps back out into the kitchen, grinning when Chloe appears. “Yep, got it. Listen, I gotta go, my wife and I are about to eat dinner.” 

Chloe freezes mid-step, her heart stuttering as she registers the term Beca used. 

“Sorry about that,” Beca says once she’s hung up, casting Chloe a smile as she sets her phone down. 

“You just called me your wife,” Chloe murmurs, her eyes shrinking suspiciously a beat later. A gasp follows when it hits her. “Wait, are you TikTok pranking me??” Her gaze quickly sweeps the room. “Where’s the camera, Mitchell?” 

Beca simply grins, shaking her head as she reaches for something in her pocket. “Not a prank, babe.” 

Shocked eyes lifting from the square velvet box nestled in Beca’s palm, Chloe watches as Beca steps closer and lowers herself on one knee. Her heart trips dangerously and she stops breathing altogether. “Bec, you better not be lying.” 

The way she seems nervous all of the sudden tells Chloe this is definitely not a prank. “Chloe--” 

“Yes,” Chloe croaks out, tears pooling in her eyes as her head bobs up and down in a frantic nod. 

Beca’s chuckle comes out strained as she blinks back the moisture in her own eyes. “Dude, let me ask the question at least.” 

“Sorry.” Chloe clamps her lips together and squeezes Beca’s hand to wordlessly let her know she may keep going. 

“Chloe,” Beca repeats, her voice wavering slightly. “This year has been weird as fuck, and the most challenging one yet, but despite everything, I had a near constant smile on my face because of you. You’re my best friend, and the most beautiful person I know, inside and out.” She sucks in a deep breath through her nose, letting go of Chloe’s hand to open the box. Chloe gasps softly at the sight of a simple, yet elegant oval cut diamond set on a rose gold band. “Will you make me the happiest person on earth by accepting to become my wife?” 

“Yes.” She tugs on Beca’s hand, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as soon as she straightens. “I love you so much.” 

Beca grins against her mouth, backing away just enough to seek out Chloe’s eyes. “I love you, too.” 

As she stands there basking in this new, overwhelming wave of feelings, Chloe decides that 2020 wasn’t that bad, after all. 

[marbleheavy]

thunder and lightning and princess mononoke

“I know that tonight was supposed to be our get-stuff-done night,” he said, “But work was chaos today so I would like to propose a movie night instead.”

“Oh?” Nico raised an eyebrow and leaned against the door frame, still teasing Will despite the anxiety radiating off of him, “You think so?”

“Are you saying you’d prefer to do laundry rather than watch a movie with your wonderful boyfriend?” Will asked.

Rated: General Audiences

1,858 Words

Read on AO3

@solangeloweek Day 1- Rainy Days

--------

Will’s stomach dropped as he heard the thunder roll on his walk home from work. Not just because he didn’t want to be rained on—or, with his luck, struck by lightning— but because of the thought of Nico alone in their apartment as the storm hit. He was already running late and the sun had long since set, leaving Will to weave through the city in the dark and pray he wouldn’t get soaked by the rain. He started jogging, his bag thumping against his leg as he rushed home. It seemed like everybody else had the same idea as the other pedestrians on the street seemed to pick up the pace.

He darted past people, apologizing as he bumped into people’s shoulders or nearly stepped on someone’s foot. His mind was racing nearly as fast as he was. He knew Nico hated storms, he had since he was a child and his mother had been killed during one. Plus, as a son of Hades, Nico never took any turbulent weather as a good sign. He also knew how much Nico hated to admit how afraid he was of them, so Will would always figure out some way to distract his boyfriend, either with stupid jokes or music or a shower of affection. When he saw their building in the distance, he broke out into a sprint and made it inside just as the rain began. He huffed and darted to the elevator, catching his breath as he rode up.

As he finally made it to their apartment, he opened the door carefully and immediately listened for any sign of his boyfriend. “Nico?” he called, dropping his bag on the kitchen table, “Are you here?”

“Yeah,” Nico answered as he walked out of their bedroom.

Will saw the way Nico’s shoulders were tense and how his hands fidgeted at his sides and it made his heart ache. Not wanting to reveal his own concern or put Nico on the spot, Will smiled warmly, running a hand through his hair. “I know that tonight was supposed to be our get-stuff-done night,” he said, “But work was chaos today so I would like to propose a movie night instead.”

“Oh?” Nico raised an eyebrow and leaned against the door frame, still teasing Will despite the anxiety radiating off of him, “You think so?”

“Are you saying you’d prefer to do laundry rather than watch a movie with your wonderful boyfriend?” Will asked.

Nico rolled his eyes and pushed off the door frame, walking forward and pressing a kiss to Will’s cheek. “It just means we’ll have more to do tomorrow,” Nico told him.

“That’s a problem for future Will,” he grinned, “The Will of today wants to watch The Phantom Menace and eat popcorn for dinner.”

“Fine,” Nico sighed.

“Perfect,” Will grinned, “Can you start the popcorn while I change?”

Nico hummed and leaned forward toward Will again, his eyes darting to the collar and shoulder of his shirt while he tugged lightly on the fabric as if he was inspecting it. “I suppose,” he feigned annoyance.

“You’re a sweetheart,” Will laughed as he swept past Nico, his fingers brushing down the length of his arm.

He heard Nico chuckle as he stepped into their room. He listened to his boyfriend hum in the kitchen as he pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, tossing his rumpled work clothes into their very full hamper. They really should do laundry, but when thunder cracked as he stepped out of their room and Will watched Nico flinch violently, he didn’t care if they never did laundry again as long as he could make his boyfriend feel better. He walked quickly up behind the raven, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head atop Nico’s. Nico leaned into his touch and neither of them said anything about how his hands were shaking. “Do we have hot chocolate?” Will asked.

“I think so,” Nico said softly.

“Do you want some?” Will pressed a kiss to the top of his head and pulled away, moving to pull out the milk and hot chocolate mix.

“Yes, please,” Nico smiled over his shoulder at Will.

It made Will’s heart flutter in his chest and he busied himself with pulling out a pot and pouring in the milk to heat up to try and soothe himself.

“Ooh,” Nico joked, jerking his head to gesture to the pot of milk in the stove, “You’re getting fancy with it.”

“Of course,” Will grinned, “Only the best for you, my love.”

The milk began to simmer just as Nico poured their popcorn into a bowl. Will turned off the heat and stirred in the hot chocolate mix. He opened the cabinet in front of him, pulling out two mugs, one of which was Nico’s favorite. It was a black mug that revealed dancing skeletons all around it when it was warmed up. Will had gotten it for Nico for his birthday a few years ago and it had been used almost daily ever since. The thought made Will smile as he ladled the hot chocolate into each mug. He turned to put the milk away and grabbed the whipped cream, adding it to their cups. He grabbed them as Nico picked up the bowl of popcorn. “Alright,” he smiled, “Let’s go.”

“Do we actually have to watch The Phantom Menace?” Nico asked.

“What do you wanna watch instead?” Will asked, setting their mugs on the coffee table, “And please say it isn’t anything scary, I’m not looking to spill all of the popcorn.”

“Princess Mononoke?” Nico suggested.

Will groaned, “Oh my god, yes! I totally forgot about that movie!”

Will plopped onto the couch, immediately putting his feet up on the coffee table. Nico snorted as he flicked off the lights and sat beside him, their thighs pressed together and the bowl of popcorn resting on top of them. Will grinned as he handed Nico his mug and then grabbed the remote, pulling up the movie and starting it. Nico reached out to grab a handful of popcorn, eating some himself and feeding a few kernels to Will, who hummed in thanks.

Will sipped his hot chocolate and felt the whipped cream brush against his nose. He turned to face Nico, a grin on his face. Nico laughed as he saw the dollop of whipped cream on his nose, reaching forward and brushing it off with his thumb. Will leaned forward and set his mug on the table. Nico eyed him suspiciously, “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” Will sang.

“I don’t think I believe—“

Nico didn’t get a chance to finish as Will suddenly began to tickle the sides of his torso. Immediately, the raven burst into a fit of laughter and began to squirm, trying to pull away from Will’s fingers.

“Will!” he screamed in laughter.

“Yeah, darling?” Will asked with a grin, still tickling him.

“Stop!” Nico tried again to pull away but Will just wrapped him up in his arms and began to blow raspberries against his neck. After a few minutes of Nico’s seemingly endless laughter and complaints, Will finally released him. Nico scurried backward on the couch, glaring at Will with a pout. “Not cool, William,” he frowned.

“Aw, I’m sorry, love,” Will chased him, “I couldn’t help it.”

Nico narrowed his eyes, “I disagree.”

“If I give you a kiss will you forgive me?” Will fluttered his lashes and smiled cheesily.

“You’re just gonna try to tickle me again,” Nico raised an eyebrow.

“I would never!” Will gasped and then fake saluted, “Scouts honor.”

“You weren’t a boy scout,” Nico rolled his eyes but moved back toward Will anyway.

Will pressed a kiss to Nico’s cheek and then to the tip of his nose in apology. Nico grumbled but leaned his head against Will’s shoulder. The blond smiled and as much as he wanted to, didn’t try to tease Nico again. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed in the sky, sending a flash of light in the room and making Nico shudder, leaning further into Will. Will wrapped his arm around Nico’s shoulders and began to drag his fingers up and down the smaller man’s arm soothingly.

They sat comfortably as they watched the movie, Will pressing kisses to Nico’s cheek or forehead when the thunder would crack. When they both finished their hot chocolate and the popcorn bowl was mostly empty, Will laid back on the couch, his head propped up against the armrest. Nico set the bowl and their mugs onto the coffee table and climbed on top of Will, draped over him like a blanket and resting his head on his chest. He sighed as tucked his head beneath Will’s chin and the blond wrapped his arms around him, tracing his fingers lightly up and down Nico’s back.

Will’s heart was bursting in his chest and he had to stop himself from showering Nico with a flurry of kisses. He couldn’t help the way he suddenly felt overwhelmed with adoration for his boyfriend. Honestly, he’d never stood a chance. Not since the first day they met and especially not then when Nico was laying so comfortably against him and his hair smelled like Will’s shampoo and he was certain that it was Will’s shirt he was wearing.

Nico seemed to settle further against his boyfriend, his breathing evening out. Then thunder cracked again Nico jolted, his breath catching. Will tightened his grip around him and brought one hand up to run it through the raven’s hair. Nico gripped the hem of Will’s shirt in his hands. “Thank you,” he mumbled softly.

Will’s voice caught in his throat. He knew Nico was thanking him for his comfort and for doing so without question. As if Nico even had to thank him at all, as if Will didn’t want to spend the rest of his life making Nico as happy as possible. He wished he could express to Nico how much he loved him, how much he adored him, how much he wanted to spend every single second of every single day showering Nico with affection and praise. All he said instead was, “Always.”

Nico hummed and kissed Will’s neck softly. It made his skin burn and his stomach flip. He could tell from the way Nico’s breath had evened out that he was about to fall asleep. Part of him wanted to tease Nico for falling asleep so early and before they even finished the movie but he didn’t dare disturb him.

He glanced at the windows and could see the rain splatter against the glass but the thunder seemed to have stopped. Will prayed it wouldn’t start again so Nico could sleep peacefully.

“I love you,” Will whispered.

Nico nuzzled his cheek against Will’s chest and sighed, “Love you too.”

Will smiled and flickered his gaze to study Nico’s profile. His eyes had fluttered shut and his lips were parted just barely. The sight made him smile and he pressed a kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s head before pressing his nose into his hair and turning back to the movie.

[commanderserwin]

Hiii darling! could you write any modern au drabble with Eren and his s/o please? Like how they spend their weekend together or something.. Love you!

❯ a/n: hello! thank you for this, and because it was raining earlier-- so this is what i came up with! thank you!! (i almost made this into an among us drabble, i mean i have it but yeah) enjoy, my darling!!

❯ characters. eren yaeger x reader

❯ summary. rainy weekend! 

“we should’ve stayed in bed.” 

the soft patters of the rain echoed in the small apartment, with the cars driving through the puddles, the heavy sloshes of the water on the pavement, as the day started a little gloomier and colder. the soft breeze coming from the little cracks of the windows colored the bedroom in chills, making you snuggle closer and deeper under the heavy blankets over your body.

“... raining?”

eren mumbled from his sleep, fluttering his eyes open. he faced you, his green eyes still in a sleepy state as he yawned directly at your face, making you scrunch your nose in response. he chuckled lightly, placing his cheek on your shoulder, while his arm found its way to drape over your waist.

“are we not getting up?” you asked, intertwining your fingers lazily with his.

“it’s raining,” he breathed, playing with your fingers underneath the blanket.

“and?”

“it’s cold,” he answered, lifting his head to meet yours. eren kissed the edge of your jaw, eyes closed as he snuggled closer. “let’s stay here a bit longer.”

you nodded, easily coerced with the gloomy weather and the early morning cuddles as eren wrapped himself around you— already sleeping lightly while his chest steadied in a rhythm. closing your eyes, you listened to the rain softly pouring, the hurried cars over the wet pavement, and eren’s soft snores that made you breathe a little heavier, reaching out to the sleep that you have missed—,

“shit, i have a lecture,” you straightened up beside him, turning to face the ceiling as you rubbed your eyes.

“are you serious?”

“yes,” you nodded repeatedly, hand blindly finding the phone underneath your pillow. “i mean, i need to revise only—,”

“god,” eren propped himself up by the elbow, squeezing your hand underneath the blanket, while he watched you endlessly flick through your phone, “can that wait?”

you raised a brow, putting your phone close to your chest as you faced eren. you asked warily, smiling softly, “why? do you have something in mind?”

eren pursed his lips, looking at the bedroom door deep in thought, then he smiled. “pancakes?”

“you cook and i’ll clean,” you offered, going back to your phone while eren nodded, getting out of bed, opening up the curtains to have some light in. “don’t burn the pancakes.”

“i don’t burn them.”

you looked through your phone, cocking your head to the side, nibbling on your lower lip, while eren raised his arms in defeat. “fine, fine. i won’t burn them.”

“try not to,” you mumbled, getting up off of the bed.

eren rolled his eyes, flicking your arm as he went out of the bedroom to get the breakfast ready. you rolled your eyes back with a smile, stretching your arms over your head, as you proceeded to fold the blankets and fix the bed.

it has only been a couple of quiet seconds, hearing the cabinets clang as he opened them, the sounds of mugs hitting the countertop gently, and the filling of water in the heater. a few seconds, the sounds of the morning laziness filling in softly while it rained outside, the perfect, perfect weather for a proper cup of coffee—,

“shit.”

you sighed, listening to eren cursed all over the kitchen, padding your way across to the kitchen, whistling as you looked at the mess. you grabbed the instant coffee, stepping over the broken eggs and the styro tray that hung out on the kitchen floor.

“i dropped the eggs.”

“i could see that,” you smiled, kissing eren’s shoulder in passing while you fixed coffee for the both of you. 

“help me.”

“later.”

eren just leaned on the counter, musing his hair as he looked at the eggs on the floor, deep in thought of the mess that he has done. eren looked up, pleadingly, while you handed him his cup of coffee, “do you want milk or sugar with that?”

“we should’ve stayed in bed.”

[yespolkadotkitty]

Home

Another Henry/reader that never quite migrated over here from AO3. Pure fluff.

The rain pounds down on the window panes of your house, the harshness of Winter taking its usual toll on England. You usually don’t mind - curling up under a blanket with Kal is your favourite thing on a rainy, cold day - but this evening you can’t relax, because Henry isn’t coming home.

Shooting delayed by typical bad weather - can’t make the flight this afternoon. I’m sorry. xx

You stare down at your phone. You have the order from Dishoom, the best Indian in London, all queued up. You could cancel it, or have yourself an Indian feast to console yourself….

Beside you, Kal lets out a low woof.

“You’re right. I’d only regret it. I’ll just have tea and make something later.”

You decide to binge watch the IT crowd on Netflix instead, padding downstairs with Kal at your heels. You set the kettle to boil, your gaze wandering over the various pictures of you and Henry on the kitchen walls - one from a fancy dress party last year, another from the time you, he and Kal went on a hike in the Welsh mountains and came back happy and tired and covered head to toe in mud.

You set your hand on the dog’s head, and Kal whined softly.

“I miss him, too.” It’s been a long five weeks, and your own work commitments as the illustrator of a popular gothic novel series had kept you from flying out to meet him for a sneaky conjugal visit (or three, or five).

Kal settles into your lap - or rather completely across you as he is a huge dog, all fur and muscle and sloppy love - as you start the first season of the IT Crowd. It was one of the things you and Henry had first watched together, and a fine example of British comedy. The warmth of the tea in your stomach combined with the familiar comedy lulls you into a doze, Kal nuzzling up against your shoulder.

You come to what feels like hours later to the sensation of falling - only to realise you’re being lifted. The scent of cedarwood, coffee, and Henry’s habitual verbena soap floats on the edges of your awareness. You mumble something and snuggle into a warm, woolly sweater-

“You’re home!” You jolt so hard that Henry almost drops you on the stairs.

“Steady on,” he says fondly, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. Kal trots behind you both obediently, and you yawn hugely as Henry lays you gently on the bed.

He stretches out beside you, propped up on an elbow, his head resting on one broad palm. “Let me guess. Five cups of tea and no dinner to speak of?”

You frowned playfully. “I feel kind of called out.” You let your gaze roam over him - heavy scruff from a few days without shaving, errant dark curls tumbling over his forehead, damp from the rain outside. He looked tired; but delicious, especially because you knew that under that wholesome exterior he could be really quite dirty. “I thought you missed the flight.”

“I pulled some strings. I needed to see you,” he said softly, and the earnest note in his accented voice tugs at your heart. You snuggle into him, finally, and he’s warm and his heart beats solidly under your ear, and happiness that he’s home blooms within you.

“Hungry?”

“Not for food,” you say cheekily.

“Cheeky. Food first. I know you, you’ll pass out afterwards and then you won’t eat until tomorrow.” When you stick your tongue out at him, he just smiles innocently. “What? I find you endearing.” He rolls off the bed and heads downstairs to the kitchen. It’s a good thing he’s an amazing cook, you think, because otherwise you’d give him hell for that endearing comment.

“Do people even use the word endearing anymore?” you ask as he dumps eggs into a bowl with salt, a generous scoop of butter, and pepper.

“If they met you, they would,” he says without inflection.

“Now who’s being cheeky?”

He just smiles at you, all innocence, and you realise, more than ever, how much you’ve really missed him.

You pull up a stool and watch him work. He has an apron tied around his waist, one of yours, with little pink flowers on it, and rather than make him look silly, it just makes him look even more masculine. It makes you want to tear it off him.

But instead you eat the delicious ham and cheddar omelette that he makes you both while Kal tucks into his favourite expensive dog food. By this point it’s two in the morning, and your eyelids are drooping. Hand in hand, you go up to bed after letting Kal out one last time, and the three of you curl up on the big bed together, the only light in the room glowing from the one small lamp on your bedside table.

Outside the night is black and the rain lashes at the windows, howling against the trees. But inside, Henry’s arms hold you tight, and he’s warm and yours and everything is again right with the world.

You’ll make him wear the apron again tomorrow. Without anything else underneath.

Not beta’d - we die like men.

Tagging folk who might enjoy this: @chamomilebottom @constip8merm8 @ly--canthrope @iloveyouyen @ohjules​ @peakygroupie​ @mary-ann84​ @littlefreya​ @andahugaroundtheneck​ @promptandpros​ @lilliannaansalla​ @ravenpuff02​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @hnryycvll​ @princess-of-riviaa​ @radaofrivia​ @thethirstyarchive​ @princess-of-riviaa​ @sissyscream​ @sadiemaeve​ @asylummara​ @readings-of-a-cavill-lover​ @raspberrydreamclouds​

[dirtyoatmeall]

The Sun and Her Love (Aizawa x reader)

A/N: I’ve been in a really soft mood, so have some Aizawa fluff. I really love this, and I hope you do too! After getting caught up in the manga, and starting Vigilantes, he needs some love. I tried my best with the timeline, and left Oboro out, so people who have only watched the anime will get what’s going on. 

Pairing: Aizawa Shota x Reader (female pronouns used/assumed)

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: None :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were like the sun.

Not in a ‘the world revolves around you’ kind of way, but in a ‘light that spreads warmth into your very soul’ kind of way. You brought people joy, they instinctually sought you out, sought the warmth that you emitted, the kind that seeps into your bones, the kind that reminds people of summer, of sun kissed skin and freckles and joy, summers from when you were young and didn’t know the hardships of the world yet. The kind where you step into the sunrays and felt the weight lift off your shoulders, that’s what you brought people.

Aizawa remembers the first time he met you. It was fall, cold enough to break out heavier coats and drink hot coffee, though one conversation with you felt like stepping out into the July heat. You were both in your first years, in different classes but both in the hero course at UA. You were friends with Yamada first, your personalities complimenting each other, it only took one conversation before you were a part of the group. He brought you to the lunch table Aizawa was already seated at, Yamada introducing you proudly. All it took was one smile Aizawa’s way before he was blushing, though he blames it on your warmth, he just had too many layers on. You fit in like a piece to a puzzle set, completing the group, bringing sunshine to Aizawa’s rainy personality and brightening Yamada’s already sunny disposition.

The first time he told you he loved you was two years later, in your third year. The two of you had started dating in the middle of your second year, he was ready to tell you then, but wanted the time to be right. It took him a year to figure out that there was no right time, there wouldn’t be a magical moment when everything fell into place, there was just the present and the joy he felt during your time spent together. So he told you he loved you for the first time during lunch, you had been laughing at something Yamada said, trying not to choke on sushi, gripping Aizawa’s hand to steady yourself. And when he did utter the three words you had been waiting to hear for over a year, you really did choke, eyes wide as you coughed up the piece of sushi that had lodged itself in your throat. Yamada was the one cackling now as Aizawa patted your back, small smirk gracing his features. You recovered quickly, smiling big and bright at Aizawa, practically glowing as you threw your arms around him, loudly proclaiming your love as well. He could fell your warmth and love seep into his bones at that moment, bringing him a sense of comfort and finality, this was it, he was going to spend the rest of his life with you.

You married four years after that. It was small, with only your close family and friends in attendance. Though the two of you were ready to get married years before, you had both agreed it would be best to wait, get settled in your careers first. Aizawa had just begun teaching at UA and you were a sidekick at a local agency when you had decided it was a good time. Yamada, of course, was his best man, and Kayama was your maid of honor. There wasn’t really any press at the event (much to Aizawa’s joy), as neither of you were high ranking heroes. The ceremony itself was short, the two of you said your own vows, talking of the love and joy you had felt over the seven years you had known each other. You spoke of the comfort Aizawa brought you, how his embrace had become your home and he spoke of the sun and warmth you had brought into his life. It was a night you’d always cherish, dancing and partying late into the night, then falling asleep fully clothed in your shared apartment, your cat burrowing into the layers of your wedding dress.

When you had awoke the next day, makeup smeared and head sore from the hairclips digging into your scalp all night, you felt Aizawa shift. You turned your head toward him, finding him already gazing at you, head propped up on a hand, love oozing from his gaze. You smiled brightly, shifting your body, ready to pounce on him when you cried out in surprise at your cat, who was digging its claws into the meat of your thighs to prevent you from smothering it. The cat climbed out of your dress, giving you a displeased look before sauntering off to their cat tower in the other room. You looked back at Aizawa, surprise still evident in your features. When your eyes met, the two of you burst into laughter at the scene that had unfolded and you wound your arms around his neck, smiling into his hair as your ring caught the morning light.

It was another year before you had joined the teaching staff at UA, specializing in the history and evolution of quirks and life before they manifested (a subject you had be interested in since your school days). You had enjoyed working as a sidekick, but after hearing Kayama talk about the joys of teaching and seeing how happy Aizawa and Yamada were, you accepted the position with little hesitation. The two of you had a great routine once you started, you had the same schedule after all, so you got to go to work together, eat lunch together, and come home together. Your relationship had never been stronger. The two of you had discussed kids, but decided against them for now at least. While your schedules allowed time for you to spend with each other, you were still busy, and you two agreed it wasn’t right to subject a child to an empty household. You were content with the little family you had made for yourself with your husband and your two cats.

Though over the next few years, the urge to add another grew. The two of you were thirty, having been married for about seven years and teaching together for six. You lived in the teacher’s residence building together and while a baby didn’t sound the worst, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to adopting an older child, and a purple haired teen came to mind. But before you could bring it up to your husband, the Hassaikai raid happened.

All previous thoughts about a child left your head the moment you met Eri. You hadn’t even attempted to talk to Aizawa about it, as soon as she was cleared to leave the hospital, you set her up a space in your apartment and welcomed her with open arms. Aizawa didn’t know he could love you more than he already had up until that moment. Watching you interact with Eri, how you didn’t question bringing her into your home, how you immediately started treating her as your own, it filled him with such warmth he thought he had developed a fire quirk. Eri had opened up to you just as quickly, he still remembers the joy on your face the first time Eri had fallen asleep in your lap, tired from watching movies with you all day. You remember watching Aizawa introducing Eri to your two cats, her hiding behind him until they came and headbutted her legs. She had the softest smile on her face as she reached out to pet them, and now the three of them were inseparable, wherever Eri was, at least one of your cats was with her, either curled up on her lap or watching her from a perch. Your heart was full, you had a job you loved, students you adored, and a perfectly imperfect family you came home to every night.

Months later, your heart had grown another size. You hummed as you made dinner, Eri was at the table, discussing everything she did with Mirio and the other third years today. You swayed your hips slightly to the quiet music you had playing, smiling as you watched one of your cats weave in-between your legs, waiting impatiently to be fed. Before you could give in to their bribery of affection, the door to your home opened. You smiled as you turned to greet your boys, giving them each a kiss, Aizawa on the cheek, just below his scar, and Shinso on the forehead. The teen flushed slightly, still not used to the affection. You ruffled his hair before telling him to change before dinner. He smiled and hugged you before heading to his room. Your eyes widened at the sudden change in attitude before beaming brightly at the pasta in front of you.

Aizawa came over after greeting Eri, arms winding around your waist as his chin settled on your shoulder, watching you finish making dinner. You hummed, leaning back into his arms, exhaling softly at the comfort his embrace brought you. “He’s improving quickly, especially with the binding cloth.” He said softly, and you could hear how proud he was. The two of them have been working hard at preparing Shinso for the hero course, and you had no doubts he’d get in. Aizawa helped you dish dinner for everyone and when you sat down, looking at your family, laughing and discussing their day, you thought your heart would burst at the sight. If someone had told you all those years ago that you’d be married, teaching at your high school with two adopted kids, you probably wouldn’t have believed them. But as you squeezed Shouta’s hand, meeting his gaze with love in your eyes and a warm smile on your face, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

[calmlftv]

open mic night (pt. 1) - l.h. blurb

description: a fateful meeting in a coffee shop. part 1 of a 3 part series.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: honestly this is just straight fluff 

w/n: happy birthday to the bubba! i’ve been sitting on this for a while and what better day to post than today. enjoy! 

taglist: @spicycal​ @castaway-cashton​ @irwinkitten​ @n-ctarinenga​ @notinthesameguey​ @blackbutterfliescal​ @ashtonsos​ @loveroflrh​ @bestyearssos​ @treatallwithkindness​ @bestyearslftv​ @another-lonely-heart​

****

“Sweetheart, can you please let daddy dress you?”

Luke had reached the point of begging, his daughter laying on the changing table and wiggling far too much to make this easy for him. He sighed, his daughter giggling and staring at him with those beautiful blues that he had passed on to her, the color crystal clear as she drooled over the teething toy she was gnawing on. 

The day had been absolutely dreadful, knocking out the wind from Luke’s lungs as it delivered countless punches to his gut. It started with his call from his ex, the shrill ringing of his phone waking him up from the brief amount of sleep he had gotten the night before. He thought he was prepared to have his daughter but her teething phase had been draining to him, and ever since his ex up and left him and Cecilia, he had been forced to navigate all the new territory on his own. 

Being a dad was his greatest joy, but he had his moments of weakness. Like now. 

His phone trilled in his pocket, the sound jolting Cecilia and making her drop her toy. Almost immediately the water works started, Luke groaned as he answered the phone with a snap. 

“Hello?” He said, taking a deep breath to calm himself down as he picked up the toy and waved it in front of his daughter’s face. 

“Sound like you’re having fun,” came Calum’s gentle voice, Luke’s best friend and confidant. 

Luke sighed again, setting the toy down to the side as his daughter continued to cry. He pressed the phone between his shoulder and ear, his hands quickly moving to dress her as she finally let him manipulate her limbs. 

“A joyous one,” he mumbled, picking up Cecilia and holding her against his chest as he bounced in place. He rubbed her back as Calum spoke again, teeth dragging over his lip ring as he comforted the child. 

“Think you’ll still be ready on time?” 

“Yeah, should be,” he said, quickly moving to the kitchen to grab a clean paci before giving it to his girl, her mouth immediately sucking on it as she finally calmed down. 

On the other side Calum chuckled, no doubt hearing the quiet whimpers from his niece as she settled against Luke’s chest, his lips pressing a sweet kiss to her hair. 

“She refused a nap again?” Cal asked softly, knowing the amount of stress on his friend. 

Luke nodded, shifting so one hand was holding his phone while the other held his daughter against him. “Yup,” he answered, Cecilia’s whines quieting down as Luke moved around the house. “This is day four now that she hasn’t wanted a nap. I’ve tried everything, I don’t know what to do.” 

His best friend sighed, heart breaking a bit at the desperation in his friend’s voice. “Sorry, mate. I’ll ask Joy, see what she could recommend.” 

Luke nodded, relief moving through him as he relaxed. His eyes glanced at his daughter just in time to see her eyes close, breathing evening out as he smiled a bit. “Thanks, man, I appreciate it. Listen, Cici’s asleep, I’m gonna put her down and finish getting ready. See you at the shop?” 

“You know it.”

With that Luke hung up, carrying his daughter to the small carrier he had gotten ready earlier in the day. He gently and carefully set her down inside it, covering her in her blankie and resting her stuffy on her lap before smiling, her tiny and quiet frame settling in as Luke kept his eye on her, wandering around the room and packing everything together before moving everything to the car. 

** 

You pulled into the parking lot, late as usual, and quickly gathered your song book, running out of your car into the rainy evening. You flung open the trunk door and grabbed your ukulele, flinging the soft case over your shoulder before shutting and locking your car and walking into the coffee shop. 

Thankfully no one turned towards you as you stepped inside, everybody chatting as a blonde man set up his stuff on the small stage. Your eyes moved around the room until they landed on Ashton, his dark hair falling in his face a bit as he sat at a table and chatted with somebody else standing beside him. 

“Hey,” you greeted warmly as you stepped over to him, leaning down to hug him as his other friend stepped back. 

Ashton beamed when he saw you, your childhood best friend ending the conversation with the other person as he turned towards you. “Hey yourself,” he teased, motioning for you to join him. You sat down, setting things on the table while Ashton gestured to the barista at the counter, the woman nodding and bringing over a hot cup of tea that had to have been waiting for you. 

“Late again?” He asked, the answer already lighting up his eyes as his gaze met yours. You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you checked the time on your phone. 

You groaned and sat back against your seat, your back bouncing against the chair. “Dalton wouldn’t let me leave,” you said, eyes fixed on the cup in front of you as Ashton stared at you. You blushed deeply and dropped your hands to your lap, eyes moving to fix on them as you played with the rings around your fingers. “Said if I wanted to go I had to clean the bathrooms, and when I mouthed off he got on the phone with his wife, and that’s when I left.”

Ashton sighed, sipping at the drink he had as you talked about your boss. “Isn’t that where-” 

“Can we not talk about this?” You interrupted, sitting up and shaking the thoughts from your head. “This is supposed to be fun, remember? Just the two of us hanging out?” 

Ash smiled and nodded, a clearing throat directing your attention to the stage. The blonde man that had been setting up was sitting on a stool, a guitar in his hands and a smile on his face. Your eyes took in his face, a bit of scruff along his jaw and a beanie covering most of his blonde hair. A bit of it was falling into his face, a black lip ring clinging to the corner of his mouth as the most gorgeous blue eyes you’ve ever seen pierced through the crowd. Call it cheesy, but you felt like you were the only one in the room as you stared at the handsome stranger, his hands resting casually and comfortably over his guitar. 

“Hello, everybody,” he greeted warmly. “My name’s Luke, and I’d like to thank you all for coming out to the first Firebird Open Mic Night.” 

The crowd politely applauded, the screaming giggle of a child making everybody laugh a bit. The man’s eyes darted over to a man with bleached hair, a beaming little girl standing on his lap as she clapped.

“Thank you. This first one’s called Falling.” 

The audience settled in, some people keeping their eyes trained on Luke as his smooth voice melted over the words of Harry Styles while others had quiet conversations at their tables. Your eyes were firmly locked on the man performing before you, his voice hypnotic as his fingers danced along the neck of his guitar. For some reason you were fixed on him, everything around you falling away while you lost yourself in this handsome stranger and his music. 

When he was finished performing you applauded him, the man thanking everyone again before climbing down from the stage. Everybody had already gone back to their conversations but you were watching as he immediately moved towards the little girl, grinning as he scooped her up from the other man's lap and peppered her in kisses, a shrieking giggle coming from her as she reached out to touch his face. 

You smiled at the sight, tearing your eyes away as Ashton cleared his throat. “Have you talked to Jenn about Dalton yet?”

You groaned again as he brought it up. “And tell her what, that her good Christian husband is a creep who’s trying to grope me?” You lifted the tea and took a sip, leaning your head against your hand as you set the cup back down. “I need this job, Ashton.” 

“I know,” he said softly, reaching over to gently tap your chin with his finger. You looked up as he smiled at you, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze. “But you deserve better than this. At the very least, a better job where your boss won’t try to fuck you every time you bend over to clean or pick up the kids.” 

A sigh escaped you as you pulled your hand away. “I know, but I love their kids, and nannies are practically obsolete in this town. Besides, I only have to deal with him when he comes home.” 

Ashton sighed as you rationalized, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. A tall body passed by the two of you, something falling and bouncing against your foot, the light tap alerting you to something being by it. 

“Cecilia, please don’t throw your paci,” a voice pleaded as you picked up a little pacifier. You smiled as you looked up at the stranger, Luke’s blue eyes staring back as he smiled back at you. 

“Sorry about that, I guess she really wanted to say hi,” he said shyly, the little girl wiggling around in his arms as he tried to keep her still and failed. 

“No, it’s no problem,” you giggled, standing up. “Um, hang on, I can rinse this first.” 

Luke gave you a confused look but nodded, watching as you walked to the bathroom and propped open the door to give him full view of what you were doing. You quickly ran the paci under some warm water and pat it dry with a paper towel, closing the bathroom door behind you as you carried it back out to him. 

“Here you go,” you said cheerily, handing the paci to Luke as the baby got a bit fussier. “I’m y/n, by the way. You were really good up there.” 

Luke smiled, handing his baby the paci as she continued to wiggle around. “Thank you, this little wiggle worm being here definitely helped.”

You grinned, eyes moving to the little girl. “Aw, someone just doesn’t want to settle, huh?” 

“No, she definitely doesn’t,” Luke chuckled, adjusting his daughter until she finally settled against his chest and rubbed her face against his shirt. “She’s a handful most days, if I’m honest, and it doesn’t help that she just started teething. It’s just the two of us and I’m way out of my element.” 

His words tugged at your heart, smile faltering just a bit. “Um, well, have you tried freezing her teething toys?” His blank stare answered your question. “You should try that, just to help cool and soothe her gums a little bit. And a lot of baby orajel.”

Luke looked at you, an eyebrow raised but a smile on his face. “Thank you,” he said kindly, his smile warm. “Do you have kids, too?” 

You smiled. “Oh no, I’m just a nanny,” you clarified, nodding as you turned to your songbook. You flipped it open to a blank page and ripped out a corner, taking a pen and writing down your phone number to hand to him. “If you, um, ever have any questions, or just need a friend, feel free to text or call or anything.” 

Luke looked at the paper in your hand and then met your eyes, smiling as he took it and put it in his pocket. “Cute and bold, I like that,” he said, a teasing tone to his voice as you blushed. “I have to go sit down, but thank you, y/n. You can definitely expect a text soon.”

You smiled and nodded, your hands shaping into finger guns as you sat back down and Luke walked away. A blush burned your cheeks as you turned to Ashton, the man stunned as he looked at you. 

“Did you just do finger guns to a cute man and his infant child?” 

“Yes, I’m an embarrassment.” 

Ashton laughed at how flustered you were, the sound filling the room as you buried your face into your hands. Thankfully, the rest of the night passed by with less than minor incidents, you getting up to sing before having to leave a bit early. 

Ashton hugged you tightly before saying goodbye, watching you leave the shop and get to your car to make sure you made it okay. When you got in you took a breath, about to start your car when a ding sounded from the phone in your pocket.

Shaking it out of your coat, you looked at the screen, a smile on your cheeks as two texts appeared. One was a photo of a cup of coffee, your name written on it in sloppy writing and a small, blurry hand reaching for it. 

Thank you for the advice, the following text read. Would love to have some coffee with you when you’re free next. -Luke 

The grin that spread across your face was unstoppable, every fiber of your being absolutely beaming as you read the text over again. The fact that he wanted to see you after your slightly awkward interaction was a good enough sign for you, your thumbs tapping and nails clicking against the screen as you sent a positive response back. For the first time in forever, you were excited to get through work and have it be over, just so you could see this handsome stranger and his baby again. 

When you got back to your apartment you collapsed on to your bed, letting out a content sigh as you curled up against the pillows. After your long day of childcare and creepy parents and handsome fathers, you were exhausted, being responsible enough to turn your alarms on before you drifted off to sleep, dreaming of your next meeting with Luke. 

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Chapter 3

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

We Meet Again My Love

It was rush hour on E 52nd. Two lines of steel and tire, each one tailgating the one in front with disgruntled city folk inside waiting for even an inch of movement. At the junctions, cars weaved into the traffic as seamlessly as a shuffled deck of cards only adding to the frustration of those already on the packed street. Especially, the frustration of one mobster.

The rain softly falling from a thick blanket of gray above provides a sort of peace in the middle of such tedious traffic. Steve looks at the raindrops racing down the window of his black Mercedes AMG, his chin propped up on his hand and elbow resting on the side of the door. His patience wearing thin with every motionless minute that passed. At least he kept himself busy with his thoughts wandering off to the mystery girl from the museum.

Secretly, he'd do anything to meet her again. She plagued his every thought, veering him from his work and making him lose all his focus in anything and everything he did. He hated it but never tried to stop it.

He was on the way for a job with Bucky in the driver's seat and Sam in the passenger. There was a sleek Cadillac in front of them and one behind for backup as if he was the damn president.

It was a simple job. Threaten the pastry chef down on 54th for paying up what he borrowed four months ago. Probably break a few things and stick the meatball’s head in a coffee grinder for good measure. A lot easier than most tasks and definitely not needing three luxury cars filled with notorious mobsters to finish, but then again the kingpin was never shy to boast just how powerful he was. Not to mention, he wasn’t much of a fan of doing the dirty work.

“Steve?” Bucky called. Steve hummed a response, turning his towards him. “We’re here,”  he says.

“Took long enough,” Steve clicks his tongue. “You know what to do,” he tells his friend. The man nods with Sam getting out of the car. “Take the guys in the back and make sure to take the kid with you this time. ”

Sam growls quietly. “Is that really necessary?” he questioned with his head ducked into the car. “The kid’s a troublemaker.”

Steve’s eyes flit towards him and Sam was starting to regret what he said. They were friends since high school. Steve saw Sam the same way he saw Bucky; as a brother. And treated him as such. They smoked cigars and drank liquor during Sunday football. They dragged Bucky down to the depths of hell for his lengthy history of psycho girlfriends. But when it came to the matter of the business, Steve wasn’t a friend to him or anyone else. He was his boss and his orders were firm.

"'The kid ain't so bad," Steve said pulling a box of cigarettes out from his coat pocket. "I owe his auntie a favor so do as I say and show the boy what a good Brooklyn beating looks like."

Sam sighs with a nod and closes the door behind him.

“Don't worry," Bucky chimes in. "We'll take the kid," he says, unable to hide his own distaste. "I'll send him to get you when we're done."

Steve lights his cigarette as Bucky gets out of the car. Sam hollers at Clint coming out of the car from behind, telling him to bring the boy with him.

"C'mon, Pete," Clint hissed at the teen. "We don't got all day!"

"Yes, sir!" Peter squeaks getting out of the car and running to catch up with them. He was around the age of nineteen but looked like he belonged in the ninth grade. A bit short and skinny with pale skin - paler than usual today .

Steve watches how the boy follows the rugged men towards the shop. Sticking out like a dandelion in a cluster of weeds. He chuckles at the way Peter frantically nods at what they're telling him. His eyes alert and footsteps light. So light that he ends up tripping over himself and into Bucky.

Bucky smacks him on the back of the head, scolding him for being stupid.

"Quit playing around, kid!" Bucky snaps at him. "The boss is watching ya!"

Peter gulps, bobbing his head up and down while rubbing the back of his head before following them inside. Steve shakes his head while exhaling a puff of smoke. The boy reminded him of himself from a long time ago. The first time his old man took him out on a job. God bless his father's resting soul.

You inhaled the sweet aroma rising from the cup in your hands. Already tasting the saccharine flavor of French Vanilla on your tongue.

The tiny cafe huddled between the high rise buildings on 54th was the best place for some quality coffee and study time. You never understood how the place could be so empty when they had the best service.

It could have been the outward appearance that gave it a bad connotation especially on a droll, rainy winter day like today. Washed out underneath an overcast sky, it hunched in on itself, fighting against the cold rain. Hundreds of people rushed by it, out on the crowded street never giving the poor thing a chance.

If even one ventured to come inside, they would understand just how charming the tiny shop was. Warm and cheery in its aura and its employees with bright lights and colorful walls. Not to mention in its sweet smells of hot coffee and freshly-baked pastries.

Sometimes the best places in the city were the ones no one knew anything about. And you came to the conclusion that it was a good thing. The less people knew of this place the less crowded it would be. The less crowded it was meant that it’d be quieter. The quieter it was made it an even more ideal spot for studying biological mechanisms.

Unfortunately, today was a bad day to study at the cafe on what would have seemed to be an overall good day. Not even a second after you cracked open your notebook, a group of grisly men with guns slammed the door open and walked in, demanding to see the owner of the cafe.

The men were ruthless and destructive, breaking everything that came in their way. Purposefully dropping the cups and plates on the counter to the ground and flipping over tables.

The shop was empty with only you and another customer, an old man reading the newspaper by the window.

You froze in the corner, not knowing what to do. Your heart pounding against your chest and breathing heavy. You could make a run for it but there was a good chance the guy with the long hair would catch you easily.

The men didn't seem to care about the two bystanders, barely even noticing the two of you. Their goal was the head and there was no need for them to drag in the innocent. So you decided to stay put until action was needed.

The owner, Manny, was dragged out of the kitchen by one of the men.

Manny fell at the feet of the brunette who seemed to be the leader. His face twisted in fear and covered in sweat.

"Been a while, Manny, how’s it been?” Bucky asks. “Been missing ya.”

“Please,” Manny begs, his voice strained. “I’ll pay you back just give me some time!”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “You’ve been saying that for four months now, fatass.” He pulls Manny up by the collar. “Ya know how much the boss hates being lied to,” he seethes.

“I know, I know,” Manny nods like a maniac.

“I don’t think you do, buddy,” he shakes his head with a twisted grin, placing his gun underneath his chin. “The big guy is real pissed that you dipped on him and took his money on top of that. So pissed that he decided to come all the way over here to see ya.”

Manny swallows with the color draining from his face.

“Hey kid, go get the boss,” Clint orders Peter.

He nods and dashes out the door to get the boss leaving all of them in horrifying anticipation. He returns in a few minutes opening the door and letting in another man. Taller with broader shoulders and a very familiar face.

Your skin pales at the sight of the freak from the museum.

“You!” you blurt out, pointing at him and making all eyes turn on you.

Steve turns his head and his eyes light up.

Mean Gangster Mode Deactivated

“Rosalind Franklin!” Steve smiles at you, walking past the chaos and towards you in the corner. “How’s it going? How’d your paper go?”

You stare at him confused. “Y-you’re a gangster!” you yelled, pointing at him.

"Gangster's a bit vulgar don't you think?” Steve shrugged.

"You're a fucking criminal!" you emphasized in shock.  

Bucky’s gun drops to his side, but his grip on the pastry chef remains tight. His eyes flit towards Steve then Sam then Clint. The latter two asking the same silent question with their eyes.

"Damn, that hurt me right here,” Steve frowned playfully, pointing to his heart. “After all, I’ve done to help you? This is the thanks I get?”

“I never asked for your help,” you spat at him.

“Right, the whole DNA thing again,” he said. “You know, Rosy, I was really bummed out when you ditched me at the museum that day. Stripped me bare of my words and left me all alone without a goodbye. That’s cold, sweetheart.”

“My name isn’t Rosy,” you snapped at him. “And are you mental or something? Why in the world would I drink coffee with a stranger!”

“Then what’s your real name?” Steve asked, stepping into your space. His head leaning towards you with a loose strand of hair falling in front of his ocean blue eyes. His hand is flat against the wall behind you, caging you in from one side to keep his balance.

You have never been this close to a man before. Especially one so effortlessly handsome and dangerous. He licks his lower lip with a sharp smile and you gulp speechlessly.

He was dressed formally. A three-piece suit that looked very expensive, probably costing more than your scholarship. You can see the way his muscles bulge under his coat. He most definitely did not pad his suits. There’s a strong urge within you, pushing you to place your hand on his chest.

Just for a second. Just to see if a man this perfect actually existed.

You could smell the strong, crisp scent of cologne coming off of him and its intoxicatingly addictive, pulling you closer into his temptation.

“I’d really love to get to know you more,” he crooned.

His voice was so tender and earnest and you didn’t understand why. Neither did he. Sure he’s seen a billion pretty faces in the past, but for some reason, yours won’t leave his head. Yeah, he only met you last week without even a single detail but damn, did he want to learn all the explicit intricacies that created you. Maybe he was going mental.

“I’ve been thinking about you lately,” he confesses. Your cheeks heat up and the tips of your ears light up. “You’re always stuck in my head,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you got me runnin’ in circles.”

His subordinates looked at him confused as if he wasn’t the mob boss but some lovesick teenager. You tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“You’re nuts!”

Steve laughs heartily while standing straight. “I had the feeling that’s how you’d react.”

“You can’t just say stupid stuff like that!” you scolded him. “You don’t even know me!”

“All the more reason for us to have a coffee together!” Steve suggested. “And how convenient for us to be in a cafe.” He turns around towards Sam still holding the owner of the shop with a gun to his head. “Hey, Manny, can I get a table for two?”

The man nods slowly while in a chokehold.

“Great,” Steve nods and looks around the place. “God, this place is a fucking mess.” He places his hands on his hips and turns towards you. “Tell you what, how about we ditch this joint and go down to this real classy place on Hyde Ave?”

“I’m not going anywhere with an ugly dirty mobster,” you spat at him, pushing past him and grabbing your bag. You strut past the others who were still frozen in confusion and impressed by your boldness.

Steve grins at your insult. “A pretty face and a sharp tongue?” he said, following behind. “You’re a girl after my own heart.”

“I don’t want your heart,” you snapped at him. “Or anything to do with you. Stay the hell away from me and it’ll do you some good!” you threatened before turning on your heel and pushing past the door.

Steve watches your retreating form with an even wider grin and giddy excitement in his chest. Playing hard to get I see. Mark my words, sweetheart, I’ll win this game. My name isn’t Steve Rogers for nothing!

“Uh, boss?” Clint asked from behind. “Who was that?”

Steve turns to look at him with a coy grin and the distant sound of wedding bells ringing in his ears.

"The future Mrs. Rogers."

[notquitecanon]

Like a Good Neighbor // Bucky Barnes x Reader

A break from your regularly scheduled crossover. 

Fluff with a side of hurt/comfort, and a sprinkle of angst

TW: mentions of a break in, gun mention, blade mention

_________________________

“Thanks, sorry, what was your name again?” The mysterious dark-haired stranger asked, blue eyes avoiding yours. His buff body and defensive stance looked almost laughable holding your ‘welcome to the floor’ cookie platter. Nevertheless, you smiled sweetly resisting the urge to be nosy and look past him into his apartment. 

“Oh, sorry, I never told you. I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I’m two doors down. The dead ficus marks the spot.” You joked, nodding down the hall where the dilapidated plant sat beside your own door. He cracked the smallest smile, icy eyes lifting to yours. And for a split second, it felt like he was scrutinizing every molecule that you were made of- a shiver went down your spine, which you filed away to psychoanalyze later. For the moment you ignored it though, smiling softly at him, “I’m sure all the women living alone will feel a lot better with you around.”

He ran his free hand through his long, dark hair before nodding again. You sense it was time to excuse yourself, “Well, I’ll get out of your hair and let you get settled in. If you need anything- a cup of sugar, laundry detergent, best takeout phone number- just knock on my door!”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.” He smiled dryly again, watching you until you got back to your doorway. His experienced eyes softened slightly at your happy smile before you waved one last time, closing your door. 

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him so softly. Besides Steve, everybody looked at him like he was a criminal, or at the very least like he was a ticking timebomb. He knew he deserved it, but it didn’t mean that the glares and wary side-eyes didn’t hurt.  

Once your door shut, he backed into his own home, locking his door behind him. His metal-hand dug a cookie out from under the plastic wrap as he made his way into the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t much, but every “specialist” decided that living on his own was essential to rehabilitating.  Steve’s first idea was setting him up in a house next to Sam, which both men immediately shot down. Maybe having you as a neighbor wouldn’t so bad.

_________

The next time you saw your mysterious neighbor, you were running after and shouting, “Hold that elevator! Please, hold the door!” 

Bucky’s ever-so-fast reflexes easily caught the sliding doors before the shut, watching you bound up the elevator. You slid to a stop right in front of him, shuffling beside him in the metal shoebox. Despite your heaving chest, you still grinned at him while adjusting your grip on the brown paper sacks in your arms. 

“Thank you very much, neighbor!” You beamed as he pressed the button, “Sorry, you never gave me your name so I’ve just been referring to you as a neighbor.” 

He watched you ramble as the elevator shook to action, he knew why you were so determined to catch the same elevator. It was the only one and it took forever to get up and then back down to the lobby again. “Sorry, ma’am, my name is... my name is Bucky.”

“Well, very pleased to be on first-name basis, Bucky. And don’t call me ma’am.” You corrected, emphasizing his name. He decided he liked how it sounded when you said it. He smiled, a slight up twitch of the corner of his lip. Finally, the elevator shuddered to a stop, the pause between stopped movement and the doors sliding open was just long enough to cause Bucky to feel claustrophobic. 

Like a gentleman, he motioned you out first and once he thought you couldn’t see, he glared at the rickety lift. But, soon figured out he was busted when he heard you giggling. You watched his cheeks redden while you jiggled your key in the lock- but in your distraction, the groceries that had been precariously balanced between your hip and the door toppled on the floor. You hissed, “Shit.” 

“I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.” Bucky smirked, crouching beside you and helping collect the runaway vegetables. You huffed playfully.

“Well, there’s just a lot of things you don’t know about me.” You smiled, blindly reaching towards a box of mac&cheese as you tucked some hair behind your ear. The casual movement was interrupted by you becoming acutely aware of your hands meeting. It was juvenile, but the split second of lingered contact sent butterflies into your stomach. He jerked away before you even flicked your eyes to your hand. Not knowing what else to say, you just softly sighed, “Your hand is really cold, you should eat more spinach.”

His eyebrows furrowed, confused, but he just stammered, “Oh, alright, I’ll, uh, try to remember that then.”

You chuckled at his confusion, grabbing the last runaway grocery and shoving it in the paper bag. You slowly stood, and he did the same, picking up the other two grocery bags, easily hefting them up as he muttered, “I can carry these in for you.” 

“And they say chivalry is dead.” You mused, propping the door open behind you. Bucky quietly followed behind you to the kitchen, eyes glued to the floor as if he wasn’t allowed to look at your home. Finally, he set down your groceries on your counter. You thanked him happily, watching as he backed out to the doorway. 

“Have a good night, ma’am.” 

“Good night, neighbor.” 

__________

There were a dozen little run-ins like that. Bucky would run out of coffee, and your apartment had a shorter line than Starbucks. One of your light bulbs would go out, just out of your reach- and Bucky would be there a lot faster than maintenance would. Bucky’s wi-fi would go out-he knew Steve wouldn’t know how to fix it, and he didn’t want to deal with Sam’s mockery. You would have a scarily persistent admirer follow you home after a night out, one call to Bucky and he’d lurk in the lobby doorway to scare him off. 

Within these run-ins, there were a hundred micro exchanges. And though neither of you said it, you each treasured each and every one. 

________

It was a rainy Sunday the next time Bucky held the elevator for you. It was late fall, and the sun was already down, creating a rather bleak evening. Nevertheless, you laughed as he wrung out his baseball cap, adding to the puddle of raindrops dripping off your raincoat. 

“You blew out your candles before leaving right? You’re bad to leave them burning.” You asked, subtly teasing him in the process. He lifted his eyes to you, that smirk growing on his face. You didn’t know the details of his past, you never cared to ask or research, but the gain in confidence always warmed your heart. 

“Doll, one day that mouth of yours is gonna get you into trouble.” He chided as the elevator groaned to a halt. You threw a playful wink over your shoulder, as always he let you go first. He stopped at your door, waiting for you to safely make it inside. 

“I’ve got more eggs than I know what to do with,” You started, as usual, the lock putting up a fight as you jiggled the key, “Come by tomorrow before you’re run and you can get some free breakfast.” 

Finally, the lock gave way allowing you entrance to your own house as Bucky nodded, “Sounds like a date. See you tomorrow. Lock your door.”

As usual, you playfully rolled your eyes as you shut the door. He waited until he heard both locks click into place before calling through your door, “Goodnight.”

He waited by your decaying ficus, waiting for your echo on the other side. But it didn’t come. He waited a few seconds, his minds automatically jumping to the worst. He didn’t want to come off as crazy, but he had a bad gut feeling so he waited outside your door for another moment. 

Meanwhile, inside your apartment, you locked your door to appease the man outside. You moved to your kitchen to drop your keys in the bowl on the counter, opening your mouth to call back but movement in the corner of your eye distracted you. Your mouth closed, eyebrows furrowing as you went to investigate. 

You found the culprit, curtains fluttering from the wind of an open window- one you knew you didn’t leave open. You suddenly became painfully aware of every sound around you, stomach dropping and heart leaping into your throat. Quickly you began to stride towards the door, but a strong arm caught you by the waist and then a hand clamped onto your mouth- silencing your scream. 

You immediately reverted to base instinct, wildly thrashing against your captor. In your efforts to escape, a stray flailing limp knocked over a lamp which in turn knocked a glass dish off your coffee table. The sound was loud enough that the man holding you cursed, but you didn’t stop fighting until cool metal clicked against your face. 

From outside, you heard Bucky’s muffled voice, “(Y/N)? You ok?”

The man holding you placed the gun over your lips, “Shh, nice and quiet, don’t want to bother your neighbor.”

You whimpered, your scream dying in your throat. Bucky was a big dude, but you didn’t want to put him in danger. The man holding you kept the gun against your head but flipped open an old cell phone. “Yeah, sir, we had the wrong information. This is a civilian woman’s apartment, she walked in before we could get out. No sir, no sir, yes sir. I know sir.” 

 All you could hear was squabbling on the other side. “I thought that if we, no sir, I just didn’t want to attract unwanted attention, yes sir, I’ll take care of it.”

You knew what ‘take care of it’ sounded like, and in that moment blind instinct took over. One hand pushed the gun away from you, his finger catching the trigger. Your eyes were ringing as your other hand reached for anything in reach. Your fingers clutched a glass candle jar and slammed it into his head. He growled in annoyance as you scrambled away. Ears still ringing, you were vaguely aware of Bucky yelling on the other side of the door and his incessant knocking (verging on beating). You shouted some gibberish back as you stumbled into the kitchen. Your assailant caught you by the leg, sending you to the floor.  

Suddenly, you heard the resonant sound of solid contact and then wood splintering. But you were focussed on the man who was hunched over you, trying to getting his hands around your throat. You saw a flash of silver as the man was ripped off of you, Bucky’s hulking form following him as the assailant tried to getaway. Bucky was a lot larger than the bald man who now held fear in his beady little eyes. Bucky, however, had an almost a scary amount of focus and disguised anger in his icy blues. 

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?” He demanded. The assailant flashed his gun, but Bucky’s hand- shocking how you never noticed how silver it was- simply wrapped around the barrel. Three rounds were fired into his hand, earning a concerned yelp from you. His eyebrow twitched but he didn’t lose focus was crushed bullet casings tinkled on your hardwood floors. Smoke swirled around the two men as you watched from your crouched position on the floor. 

“(Y/N), call 911.” Bucky called from you, easily deflecting a punch. Just as easily, he took the assailant by the collar and held him against your wall. You were too shocked to move. His voice was softer this time, “(Y/N), go wait outside. Please.” 

Nodding, you scuttled out of your apartment, phone in hand. Dialing 911, you paced up and down the hall. The operator went through all the usual questions which you answered shakily. Finally, the operator asked if you were safe, which you answered yes too, so she hung up telling you cops were on the way. You took a few shivery breaths to calm yourself, but it caught in your throat when another hand wrapped around your mouth. 

“Sshhh, don’t want to ruin the asset’s surprise.” A voice hissed in your ear. You stiffened, when would this night end? You tried to thrash against the person’s hold but he stopped you by slamming your head into the mantle. Your vision was blurry as Bucky walked out of your apartment. His stance was scarily defensive, shoulders squared making his seem even larger than usual. 

“Soldat, I’ve missed our time together.” Your captor started, a Russian accent becoming evident as he brought a blade to your throat, “I’d keep your distance. She seems like such a good neighbor, but it seems she has you distracted.  But I need the asset right now.” 

“HYDRA is dead.” Bucky growled, eyes settled on the blade against what you didn’t know was a vital artery. The man holding you chuckled. 

“You know what they say about HYRDA’s, cut off one head... well I think you know the rest.” The man holding you trailed off, adjusting your grip. “Now let’s begin, attack and she dies. Even twitch towards that door, and she dies.”

“желание.” It was a word, guttural, you assumed Russian, but had no idea. But Bucky seemed to recognize it. He got even tenser, if that was possible. His eyes flitted towards the door, but he didn’t move a muscle. 

“pжавый” He continued, voice inflecting on certain syllables. The look of fear of Bucky’s face broke your heart, but seemed to be distracting your captor. 

“семнадцать.” He went on, the blade loosening at your throat. Bucky, however, flinched, metal hand-winding into his hair. You made a split decision, you didn’t know what was happening, you were scared, but whatever was happening to Bucky- you weren’t going to let it happen. 

“Девя-” Mid word your foot slammed down on his, and then your head bucked back into his nose. Without support, you collapsed to the floor. The distraction was all Bucky needed, and before you knew it Bucky slammed the strange man into the wall. The knifed man slid down, unconscious. Bucky bent down, unlacing his shoe and using the lace to makeshift cuff him. Your eyes flitted down and checked his other shoe- no lace. He must have cuffed the other guy. 

Bucky backed away from his handiwork as cops raced up the stairs. A tall blonde was behind them followed by a slightly shorter black man. The black man was talking to some police officers, and the blonde raced to Bucky. 

You braced yourself against the wall as you tried to stand up, but nearly fell over in the process. You didn’t realize how much your body hurt until that moment. Bucky was at your side in an instant, and as easily as he threw the other man into the wall, he lifted you in his arms. The blonde, who you now noticed as Steve Rogers from the news, watched on curiously, but Bucky redirected your attention to him. 

“It’s over now, Doll, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He whispered. You peeked over his shoulder at the policemen dragging the first assailant out- he had a bloody mouth that he hadn’t had before. Bucky effortlessly unlocked his door, “Steve, can you check the back, just in case.” 

The blonde-Steve- nodded, starting off down the hall as Bucky sat you down on his couch. Your fingers trailed over the soft black material of his flannel, one hand tangling into a red blanket. Steve came back, nodding to Bucky as he motioned himself outside. “(Y/N), you’re completely safe here, but I have to talk to the police. I’ll be right outside.”

As much as you hated being talked to like a toddler, the softness of his voice eased the edge off your nerves as you nodded. Watching as he stepped out, you caught his soft smile as the door closed. With the door shut, your mind whirled with all the recent memories, eyes stinging as you thought of all the times you were nearly killed. Russian words, HYDRA agents, guns, knives, what had you gotten into? Fingers trailed to your neck when you could swear there was still a knife pressed to your throat. 

A soft knock sounded at the door, you eyes flitted up to see Bucky. You forced a smile, “You don’t have to knock on your own door, you know?” 

Kneeling in front of you, he smiled back, chuckling softly, “Yes ma’am.” 

Finger’s reached up to your hair, and Bucky frowned, eyes narrowing in, “He got you good didn’t he.” 

You winced at the touch, smiling awkwardly as he got up to retrieve first-aid kit, “I’m really sorry you got tangled up in all that sweetheart.” 

‘All that’ flashed through your memories like a movie, “Bucky, what exactly is all that?” 

“Everything from my past that I thought was over.” He sighed sadly, preparing the first aid supplies and dabbing at the bleeding wound on your forehead, “What you did was really brave. Stupid, but brave.” 

You couldn’t tell if he was comforting you or scolding you, so you just ducked your head, which didn’t do much. Bucky wordlessly used his pointer finger to pick your chin up as you answered, “I’m not going to pretend to understand any of this, but Bucky you looked scared. Those people weren’t ever after me, were they? They were here to hurt you.” 

“Fending off assailants isn’t in the neighbor job description. You could have called the cops and not looked back.” His thumb ran across your cheek, but you were surprised that it glided wetly. You never even noticed you were crying. 

“I was under the impression we were more than just neighbors.” You whispered, leaning into the touch. Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was the shock, but you were tired, and you were tired of beating around the bush. His blue eyes widened before his smile slowly grew. Your hands were still shaking when you grabbed his cheeks, pulling his lips to yours. 

He was hesitant at first, but soon his metal hand came up cup your cheek- the cold a stark contrast against your wet, feverish cheeks. His other hand rested on your thigh as he returned the sweet kiss. Bucky broke off the innocent kiss before it was no longer innocent. 

“You need to get some sleep. You can take my bed tonight and we’ll clean up your apartment tomorrow.” He decided, tucking some hair behind your ear. The touch was warm, relaxing. You nodded, not having the energy to argue or come up with a witty comment. 

With a warm hand on the small of your back, he led you back to a ridiculously neat bedroom. He stopped by his closet, pulling a large flannel shirt and a pair of boxers out, offering them to you with a quirked eyebrow. You nodded with a yawn, letting him motion you into the bathroom. 

Finally, you exited the bathroom to find that Bucky had already turned down his comforter for you, “I’m gonna take the couch. This alright?”

You nodded, perching on the edge of the bed- you could already smell the scent of cologne coming off his sheets. “Hey, Bucky?” 

He stopped in the doorway, looking to you, “Yeah, sweetheart?” 

Your cheeks reddened, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sheets, “Could you stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?” 

“Of course, doll.” 

____

no one asked for this, and its the bad™️

[b-afterhours]

Avenue of Sins (part nine)

SUMMARY: a story of two misfit kids from mid-west america making it big in the big apple. and in the true sense of the american dream they find themselves in a life of sex, money, drugs, and a little rock n roll too.

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

if you’re seeing this for the first time you can read part one here and if you need to catch up on previous chapters go here.

series playlist

AUTHORS NOTE: i can’t thank you all enough for your incredible patience! i hope you enjoy this chapter. things will be concluded in the next coming sooner than later!                                           ____________________

He was in his loft leaned back with his feet propped up on the corner of his desk stress smoking through his pack of Marlboro's. Bill had received Joey Russo’s page just before he went to bed. He was alone the night before which he didn’t like a first but later was grateful Alma had decided to sleep in her own bed while his head stewed with anxiety. Lighting his seventh cigarette, he pinched the phone’s receiver up, the dial tone sounding off as it hovered for only a moment before letting go of it. He was stalling, wasting time as the phone rest atop his desk taunting and mocking him. He knew time was ticking, the Russo’s were waiting for his phone call, they were getting as antsy as he was to get rid of Craig but they had the easy end of that deal.

Taking a deep lung burning puff of his cigarette as he slid his legs off the desk and reluctantly began to dial Joey Russo. It rang and rang, each piercing ring making his nerves shot right after the next.

“Joey?” He said after the line picked up but there was a moment of dead air and then all he could hear was the cacophony of trumpeting jazz, laughing girls, clinking glasses, and fast Italian conversation.

“Hey, hey!” The voice on the other end finally answered. “Give me a minute will ya? I gotta take this call in my office.”

There was no time to respond before he was put on hold. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he breathed as his leg bobbed nervously under his desk while he waited.

The phone finally picked up again. “Is this who I think it is?” Joey finally said his voice clearer than before.

“What? Are your fuckin’ wires tapped or something? Who else could I be?”

Joey chuckled. “Well, you never know? But I’ve been waiting on your call all day. I was getting worried you tucked your tail and left the city.”

“Anyway–”

“Anyway!” Joey said cutting him off. “I kept my part of the deal – a deal I didn’t have to make mind you – I expect you to keep yours.”

“Right… Could I ask, what happened?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m just curious?”

“We sent her backpacking, how ‘bout we go with that? I think my cousin would like to see the scenery soon? Don’t you think it’s time? Get his backpack ready tonight.” Click.

Bill swallowed what little saliva he had left in his dry mouth and slowly set the receiver down on the telephone. For a moment his heart felt heavy for Blondie realizing what he really asked of his enemy and picturing her cold lifeless body, blue-lipped and alone in a remote area of some undisclosed forest upstate. The fact that she was no longer breathing because of him when all she wanted was to be seen by him and that was all he had to offer her in the end.

He produced a tiny, rainy-day bag of coke stashed in his desk as he thought on to his inevitable murder plot. Taking the switchblade from his back pocket which he bumped a tall pile of cocaine on the sharp tip of his blade four separate times until there was the only residue of white powder left in the little pink bag. Feeling that familiar tingle go up his neck, his heartbeat ramping up, he tore the bag open resting it residue side down on his tongue causing it to go numb instantly. He stood up, spitting out the used up coke bag from his mouth as he made his way to look out the loft windows and down to the strip floor.

Violet was working the stage floor shaking her bare tits in patron’s faces as they tossed a few bills her way. He scanned the room of belligerent, gawking men before landing his eyes toward the bar. Queenie, Raven, and Praline hustling back and forth behind the bar to get the patrons their respective favorite brands of whiskeys and beer. Everything seemed to be running as it always did. His eyes finally landed on Alma who was at the far end of the bar, leaning on her elbows and smoking a cigarette laughing to herself when she saw a gentleman in the club spill a drink in his lap. A pang ached in his heart, scared knowing that if he could do what he did to Blondie, could he do the same to Alma?

As he was watched in the back of his mind he was thinking about how much he wanted everyone out. To get Craig out of his club and finally, gone for good. He flicked his wrist up to check his watch, closing time was in a little over an hour. Bill spotted Craig coming from the stock room with a crate of fresh beer mugs. Before setting them down he whispered something to Alma in passing with a slick smirk on his face. She shrugged her shoulder away as if to shake away the words he had said to her. She backed away keeping a fair distance with a disgusted look on her face before angrily stamping out her cigarette. He watched as she tried busying herself with anything at the bar that could make it seem she was diligently working. Until she turned her head back towards Craig when it seemed he said something else to her. She got into his face then, her face scrunched in revulsion as she exchanged words back to him and then turned back around, her long black hair whipped passed Craig's face as she continued to wipe mugs.

“What... the fuck?” Bill said to himself as he stood there in his loft unable to make of what he saw. The whisper from Craig to the snapback from Alma towards him. Something about it didn’t sit right with him. He pulled another cigarette from his pack to keep his twitching jaw occupied and nodded to himself agreeing with the notion that something was going on. Alma wasn’t telling him something...

…

Alma had been casually smoking at the bar trying to calm her nerves and amuse herself with the clumsy drunken antics with men in the club. However, it was Craig and having to practically avoid him the best she could whilst still being his boss was proving difficult as time went on. Especially when he whispered in her ear while she was non-suspecting of his presence at the moment he did it.

“God if only you could feel on my cock right now,” he said hot breath against her ear and all.

It sent a sickening creeping shiver down her spine. She stamped out her cigarette finding it just as unpleasant and wanting nothing more than to get a reasonable distance away from him that didn’t require a flight out the state of New York. She proceeded to pick up a dish rag wiping down already clean mugs as to not seem affected by his words and turned away from him.

He retorted back feeling he didn’t get the rise he wanted from her and said, “You heard me. I know how wet that pussy gets… I can still smell it on my fingers.”

Alma sighed through flared nostrils and turned her head back to him. She closed the gap between them with just a few steps, meeting that asshole smirk on his face and looked right up at him square in his hazel eyes.

“I swear to god if you don’t shut the fuck up! What the hell is wrong with you? Just, shut the fuck UP!” She said turning her head away from him once again flustered and embarrassed.

She went back to idly wiping a few mugs with her dishrag before throwing it down. She needed a breather and found herself in the graffiti’d women's bathroom with her back against the door. She dug in her lace bra for a pink baggie only to see that she forgot to replace it with a full bag earlier. She looked forward and sighed as she peered at what she could of herself in the mirror marred with various stickers and writing. In the mess of it near the center, was her name, not Alma but Echo, written in thick sharpie with a stylistic halo adorned devil horns on top. She had done it as a joke years ago when things seemed like everything was going up then. It was like nothing was going to settle her nerves until she remembered Craig was a marked dead man. She had been riddled with so much guilt about their encounter she nearly forgot that too.

She rolled her neck back and forth a few times and shook her arms off and decided to suck it up. Soon, Craig wouldn’t be a problem anymore and their secret tryst in the stock room would die with him. In the beginning, she had remembered feeling bad that he was destined for death but now she wished she could kill him herself.

Emerging from the bathroom she bumped right into Bill where the hall ended and meet the stairs to the loft.

“Oh, I just came down to look for you,” he said with an earnest smile.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Let’s go back up to the loft,” he said sliding his hands into his black trouser pockets.

Alma followed him up, she noticed a weird tense air about him when she shut the door behind them. He sat down on the couch and instead of sitting next to him she sat on the other couch opposite of him. Bill’s eyes flickered to towards her when he did so and she saw his usual pale green eyes were pitch black, he was high as hell, and if that wasn’t a give away the slight sniffle and rubbing of his nose would have.

“So, what’s up?” She asked crossing her knees and smoothing the skirt of her wine-colored halter top dress.

“Well, last night I got a page from Joey before bed.”

“Oh, shit...”

“Yeah, I had a chat with him a little bit ago and Blondie’s gone now-”

“Did, uh, they tell you what they did to her?”

“Not really? You know how Italian mobsters like their metaphors for shit. Joey said, ‘they sent her backpacking’. Whatever the fuck that means,” he scoffed. “Anyway, he wants my part of the deal done tonight.”

“T-tonight!” She said almost too relieved, happy even.

“Yup,” he sighed picking up a half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray sitting on the coffee table between them and lighting it. “Tonight…” he said taking a puff. “It’ll be after the bar closes and you can’t be here.” Alma opened her mouth to object but he quickly interjected before she could. “I swear Alma you can’t be here.”

“Bill, you can’t do it alone. I know you’re more than capable but what if-”

“What if what?”

“What if something happens to you?”

“I have a gun with fucking hollow points-”

“This isn’t a time to be cocky, Bill. You’ve never killed anyone before, shit can go left real fast before you even know it.”

“Christ sake...” he shook his head stamping out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Alma, I have to ask, what the ever-living fuck was that shitty interaction you had with Craig earlier?”

Alma sunk back in her seat, stunned he caught that. “What interaction?”

“I saw, with my own two eyes, him whispering something to you that you didn’t particularly like? Why the hell did he even get that close to you Alma?”

“He’s just being his shitty self. You know how he is!”

“I do. I remember the sick shit Kansas told me what he said to her. I just don’t understand why you even let him get that close. No! Actually how close you got when you were telling him off?”

Alma sat there speechless she couldn’t think of anything quick to say that would suffice as a good cover. But how her face fell and her unwillingness to look him in the eyes, he knew.

“Please,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please, come up with anything if you’re not willing to tell me the truth. Fucking lie to me, please!”

“Fuck you!” She said finally looking at him with glassy eyes.

“What?”

“You’re such a fucking asshole!” She said wiping a fresh tear that had escaped down her cheek. “A hypocritical asshole!”

“Are you serious right now?”

“How dare you even ask that? What do you want to know since you think you know every damn thing? You wanna know if I slept with him? Would you be happy to know that I didn’t but I let him eat me out? You don’t have the right to care anyway!”

“You’re right I don’t! You’re better than that. Craig fuckin’ Russo, Alma are you crazy!? You can have anyone eat your pussy but him?!”

“Well, maybe I don’t want just anyone?” Her voice cracked and she looked away embarrassed.

Bill swallowed, “Alma,” he said softly.

“Don’t ‘Alma’ me.” She looked at him, her eyes were angry as she ignored the tears that slipped down her cheeks. “You go and do everything you want, walk around like you have a big dick, and fuck whoever you want and I never say a single word about it.”

“You don’t say anything? Then what was it with Blondie, huh? I’m surprised you even asked what happened to her?”

“Fuck her and fuck you too!” She seethed.

“This is going nowhere.” He stood up prompting her to follow. “If you think I’m some cocky, hypocritical asshole then just go,” he said pointing at the door in front of them.

“I’m not leaving,” she said crossing her arms and standing her ground.

“You’re leaving, go home. Go back the shitty ol’ Strathburg for all I care.”

“Bill? Jesus Christ, are you listening to yourself, or are you too high to know what you’re saying right now?”

“It seems to me you feel I ruined your life. But you came here all on your own.”

“We promised each other-”

“We were kids Alma. Stupid kids.”

She shook her head. “I know what you’re doing… It’s not going to work. I know what you’re going to have to do but it’s not going to make me think differently of you.”

“That’s nice to know. But I don’t know how I feel about you right now.” Alma’s whole demeanor changed feeling the blow of that statement. “So are you going to leave on your own or should I have Theo show you out?”

“Don’t push me away like that. You wanted me to lie and I didn’t, now it’s your turn damn it! Quit fucking shafting me. Quit thinking you’re some heartless punk. Why don’t you just really say it?”

“Say what?”

“You know what I want you to say! If you say it I’ll leave,” she gestured. “I’ll go back to Strathburg fucking Missouri if you say it. Just don’t lie about it anymore. You’ve said it once already what’s so hard about saying it again?”

“Say what Alma?” He said becoming visibly frustrated.

“Say that you love me! I love you, damn it! Say it back!” He stood there his cheeks flushing as he looked away. “You wouldn’t be telling me to leave if you didn’t. You think you ruined my life, you didn’t. I came here to find you in filthy ass New York City because I love you! I can’t help that… This is it for me.”

“No, it’s NOT!” He screamed causing her to jump. “You have to go,” he said calmly but stern.

“I don’t want to...” she said with a quivering voice.

“Then Theo will have Rashad drive you home.”

He put his hand on her shoulder to lead her out but she shrugged him off before harshly pushing him away. “Don’t.”

She stomped down the stairs and took a left turn around the corner walking quickly down the hallway past the bathrooms and out the back door. When the heavy steel door slammed behind her she doubled over screaming loudly to nothing but a damp cold alleyway. Her life suddenly felt meaningless more so than when she left St. Louis for New York years ago. She had come for a new start but instead found herself digging deeper into a dark hole of self-destruction. All she got herself into was drug dealing in a strip club, a drug addiction, sore kidneys chasing down bad memories with alcohol, and the shittiest case of unrequited high school love in history. The sad part is even though Bill wouldn’t say he loved her. She hung on to the small fact that at least he hadn’t said that he didn’t love her at all...                          

                               _____________________________

tags: @dreamtherapy @bskarsgardlove92 @tinygayfungi @skarswhat @nutinanutshell @xskarsgardx @reinamysterio @darling-dearest-desired@erika-beau-berika @fine-i-suppose @corlin90 @codependentcellist @loveforbillskasgard @kikilikes @twosupergayghosts @umbriellethenightfall @tigers-pat @billullabies

(please let me know whether you’d like to be added/removed from tags)

[imaginary-portal]

Resistance

Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Y/N = your name

Y/L/N = your last name

Masterlist

Enjoy :)

————

You step out onto the London streets, clutching your coat closer for warmth on this rainy day. You can see your breath in the air as you walk to the nearest coffee shop. You step in line and order your usual coffee with a muffin. You walk back outside and down another block to get to work. You work for a British marketing team for Marvel Studios. It is a lot of fun, but you have to keep so many secrets about the job. Anytime you start a new project you sign contracts to keep things underwraps until the company offically releases it. You enter your office building, show your badge to the woman at the front desk, and enter the elevator. When the bell rings for your floor you take in a deep breath to focus your mind for a long day of hard work. You step out the elevator and go into your office. You take off your coat and put it over the back of your chair. You sit down in the chair and log on to your computer. As you take a bite of your muffin, you see out your office window Tom Holland and Zendaya walking with a team of people. Looks like you have guests today.

You don’t even get halfway through your muffin when your boss comes into your office asking you to meet her in the conference room. You bring your coffee with you, alongside your notebook and your pen. You walk to the conference room and see your boss by herself. She looked a wee bit stressed which is out of her norm. “Okay, we have a team of people visiting for some marketing pitches, then in a small group, including you, will vote on the best one. Then you are going to lead the project with a team.” You nod. “Sounds good. Thank you for this opportunity. Where shall I sit?” She points right next to her seat. You place your items down in front of you, and a group of people enter the room. You shake hands and introduce yourself to everyone. In particular, you remember the third to last person. “Good morning, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You shook the handsome gentleman’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Tom Hiddleston.”

Everyone gets settled and your boss starts the meeting. Everybody runs their pitches and you take vigorous notes. The fourth pitch was your favorite so you put a star next to it. When the meeting ended, everyone left except your boss, Tom Hiddleston, his manager, two of your boss’s assistants, and you. Your boss starts the conversation. “Okay, Mr. Hiddleston. I would like you to speak first. What are your thoughts?” Tom speaks about how he favors the second pitch, given how well he knows his character, Loki, this pitch best sets up the kind of path he wants to see for him. You couldn’t help but notice how when he speaks he often adjusts his glasses and plays with his beard. “Thank you, Mr. Hiddleston. Next, Ms. Y/L/N. What do you think?” You sit up a little more straight. “Well, while I think the second pitch is interesting, I believe the fourth pitch is the most logical, given the kind of work our team is going to have to put into this project, it is the most plausible and the most likely to attract the broadest audience.” Tom and his manager take a short moment to talk separate from the group. The manager uses a notebook to cover their faces. You look at your boss, who gives you a thumbs up. You don’t know how to feel about that. “Okay.” His manager says. “We’ll settle for the fourth pitch, so long as we can tweak it a smidge to meet Mr. Hiddleston’s requests.” You click your pen. “All right, let’s see what we can do for you. What requests might you have?” Then Tom starts listing them. They were all pretty small and simple things so you or your boss didn’t have to shut any of them down. His most important request was that he could be more involved in this project than he usually is. Your boss would have to consult her boss to make sure that was okay, but she said she has confidence they will let him join the team as he pleases. During the conversation, you and Tom made frequent eye contact because you two did most of the talking. After the meeting ended, Tom and you shook hands again. You said “Thank you for coming today, I am excited to work with you on this project.” He smiled. “Thank you making room in your schedule to do this. I am excited as well.”

A few weeks went by and you planned out the project almost entirely. It was now ready for execution. You contacted Tom’s manager to tell him that the project is ready to begin and Tom is welcome to join whenever he can. After the project was started for three days Tom paid a visit. The team and you were stuck, arguing over how to do something. It was great to have a fresh pair of eyes to give an opinion. Tom ended up siding with the option you were siding with, and that ended the dispute. You then split into subgroups. Your group consisted solely of Tom and you, and that was by chance because everyone chose their groups. Anyway, it was good to catch him up to speed on things. “I got to hand it to you, Y/N. You’re doing a very good job.” You smile. “Thank you, but it is a group effort, I am just the leader.” You flip through some papers on your desk. Tom steps closer to your desk and speaks in a lower tone. “Well what happens if something were to go wrong? Who is likely to get the most blame?” You mouth ‘me’ without looking up from the papers. “Exactly, so then if things are going well, you should get the most credit as well.” You shrug. Tom laughs, which causes you to look up at him. You noticed the glimmer in his eyes when he laughed. “You can’t take a compliment, can you?” You huffed out a laugh. “I guess not. There are always things to improve on.” You go back to your papers. “I appreciate that you are interested in some of the behind-the-scenes work. It’s not something you see everyday.” You put the papers in a stack and look up at Tom. He smiles. “Yeah, I like to be involved with my character, and this project makes a big impact on his future.” He adjusts his glasses. You take in his presence for a moment. He stood with perfect posture, looking all fine and sophisticated. Your phone rings, breaking you from your unprofessional trance. You answer the call. It was your boss, asking you to do something for her after your lunch. You write it down on a sticky note and end the call. The call reminded you that you can take your lunch break now. You get up from your chair and grab your coat. “Lunch time.” Is all you say. You grab your set of keys and your wallet. “Y/N, shall we have lunch together?” Tom asks. You look up, surprised like a deer in headlights. “Uh, sure. Why not?” You smile, hoping to soften your impression on him.

After you clock out, the two of you leave the office and enter the elevator. Things get quiet for a moment. Your heart races a little. “Do you have a place in mind?” You ask. Tom shakes his head. “No I do not. Do you?” You nod. “There’s this place on the corner, it has good lunch food. But if you don’t want to go there we don’t have to...” Tom interrupts you. “No, we can go there.” The elevator dings and you exit the building and off into the streets. You walk to the restaurant on the corner. You get a table and order drinks. You both searched the menus for a meal. Once you ordered you got to talking. You talk about your hometowns and your jobs. The food arrives and you get to eating. Tom liked the food which was a relief. Towards the end of the meal, Tom says “Y/N, you’re a career woman, huh?” You smile. “Yeah, I guess I am. It must be really obvious.” Tom shakes his head. “But that’s a very good thing. I admire that very much.” You blush and look down. “Well thank you. I also admire your work ethic.” You look up and you and Tom both smile at each other. Tom reaches over the table and puts his hand on yours. You feel the warmth of his hand for a few seconds but then you pull your hand away. “Um, I’m sorry Tom.” You frown. “No. I’m sorry Y/N, I overstepped.” The waiter comes and gives you the check. You take out your wallet. “I can cover it.” Tom offers. “No, it’s okay I got it.” Tom gently takes the check out of your hands. “I’m sorry, but I insist.” You felt a wave of guilt wash over you. When Tom finishes with the check, you get ready to leave. While on your walk back to the office, you apologize to Tom again. “I’m sorry about that, in the restaurant. It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s just not the right time.” Tom accepts your apology, but doesn’t make eye contact with you.

Working in the office with Tom got real awkward after that lunch flop. You tried collaborating with others on the project, but you still had to work with Tom. You were all flustered and you still felt guilty for pulling your hand away. Thus, communication amongst the group became increasingly difficult, and you had to make everyone break for the day to recompose yourselves for tomorrow. You felt bad because you kind of scorned the entire group, and ended another half hours worth of potential work, and it was mainly your fault because you were distracted. You left to go to your office. One assistant got you a cup of coffee and you took a breather. You got a knock at the door, and you looked up. It was Tom. You could tell he was being extra careful, as if he was walking on eggshells. “May I come in?” You say yes, and Tom enters. He takes a chair and pulls it over to your side of the desk. You had your elbows on the table to prop your head up. You were massaging your forehead. You weren’t quite near tears, but you were visibly stressed. “Y/N, what is wrong?” Tom whispers. You let out a deep breath. “I’m just trying so hard to focus right now.” You hear Tom swallow a lump in his throat. “Y/N, is it because of me? I didn’t mean for this to happen.” You shrug. “I don’t know.” Tom puts a hand on your shoulder, sending tingles down your spine. You move your shoulder back so his hand slides off. “Y/N, do you want to know what I think?” You ask him what. He replies “I think you are a sucessful and talented person, and so much that I think you should cut yourself a break and stop resisting to something you may want.” He pries your hands off your forehead and holds them in his. You had no choice but to look into his blue eyes now. “I think that if I can read body language correctly, you’re interested in me. I think you should give me a chance, Y/N. I think you have already gotten yourself so far in life that you should reward yourself, and let someone special reward you too. Y/N, I will be that special someone, if you let me.” Your heart melted from his kind words. “Okay.” You say after a few seconds. “I’ll stop resisting so much. I’ll give us a try.” Tom cracks a smile and you smile back. Tom wraps his hand around the back of your neck and presses your forehead onto his. You got extreme butterflies in your stomach. You felt his breath on top of your lips. Tom leans in closer and kisses you, short and sweet. Your hands cupped his cheeks, finally getting to feel the texture of that attractive beard.

[underimagines]

The Space Between

Summary: Sometimes you have your doubts. So does he.

3k-Kofi Poll Results Drabble - Mettaton-EX/Reader, SOULmate AU: Fluff with a Hint of Angst

read it on ao3 / buy me a coffee

It was tough dating a celebrity.

Mettaton was a wonderful guy. Fun, bright, charming, and always full of life and energy. It was no surprise that he had such a huge fanbase. You’d pinched yourself more than once, just to make sure that, no, you weren’t dreaming.

Your relationship, overall, was a good one. Though he was busy, Mettaton always did his best to make you happy.

But that was the problem. He was a very busy Monster. Between concerts and interviews, running his own (multiple) shows, and acting as the head of an entire business, you were struggling to find time for the two of you.

You’d been left dateless on many a Date Night, sitting alone in one of the high-end restaurants he’d booked for you two to go out to until the waiters finally took pity on you and asked if you wanted the check. There were nights when you clung to a Mettaton-themed plush, wishing it was him instead, and crying yourself to sleep.

During a particularly rainy, dreary day, you opted to stay in. You were satisfied to stay curled up on the couch with a book until night fell and you could sleep until tomorrow came.

Then the front door of your apartment opened.

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the drenched, looming frame that staggered over the doorway. Book clenched in your fist, you reeled it back, ready to chuck it at whoever was slowly stumbling towards you.

It wasn’t until they pushed finally looked up at you that you recognized who they were.

“Hey, Mettaton.” You spoke softly.

He looked like a complete and utter mess. His hair was drenched, plastered to his cheeks and forehead. Dark synthetic bags hung under his half-lidded eyes. Every step he took creaked, arms hanging so low that they nearly dragged on the floor.

Mettaton gave a weak mumble as a response to your greeting, swaying back and forth on his stiletto heels as he slowly crossed the distance between you two.

You put your book down and opened your arms. He fell into your embrace. The chill of his metal body made you gasp. “Ohmygod, you’re freezing!”

“Sorry, darling…” He muttered with his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Hey,” you curled your fingers in his wet hair, gently stroking his scalp, “Are you okay?”

There was silence for the moment. The only thing you could hear were the inner mechanisms of his mechanical body buzzing away. He sounded like your laptop when you had too many tabs open at once.

“Mettaton?” You pressed gently.

He sighed, shifting his position to lean his chin against your shoulder. “No, darling, I don’t think I am.”

A pit began to form in your stomach. “Are you tired? Do you need to recharge? Should I call Alphys?”

Mettaton sighed again, deep and heavy. His arms wound around your body, caging you beneath him.

“No, please, darling. I just need you to stay with me for a while. Can you do that for me?”

You blinked, pulling him closer as a warmth bloomed inside you. “Of course.”

It was hard to tell how much time had passed as you both just laid there. Enough that your arm was falling asleep, pinned under his weight. You tried to wiggle it free, without jostling him too much to ruin the moment. But it was stuck tight, and you ended up resigning yourself to your one-armed fate.

Mettaton pressed himself even closer to you, like he was scared that you were going to slip out of his fingers and disappear into thin air. You wanted to know what was bothering him so much. You hardly ever saw this side of him, and it made you worried.

The words hung there, just unsaid. ‘What’s wrong?’

But you couldn’t get them out. It felt wrong, somehow, pressing the issue. You didn’t want to bother him. You were sure that if he needed help, he’d ask for it. Wouldn’t he?

All you could do was hold him as he clung to you.

Robots couldn’t cry. Even if Mettaton wanted to, it was physically impossible for him to shed tears. He had to use eye-drops when it came to his shows and movies. There was always one thing that gave away his terror more than anything else: the creaking and clicking of gears inside him, the whir of his internal fans, and the unsettling hum of his soul bouncing in its carrier.

He mumbled something against your chest.

“…What?”

Another incomprehensible mutter.

“Metta, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

He sighed and lifted his head, propping his chin on your collarbone. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Your stomach dropped. “Sorry for what?”

“I’ve been so very wrong to you, darling.”

“What…do you mean?” Your hands were shaking, palms clammy.

“I’m your partner. Your soulmate. I’m supposed to share my life with you. But I’ve been…so caught up in my work that. I can’t imagine how lonely you’ve been here, without me. I know for certain that I have been missing you so much that my soul aches even when you’re right here next to me.”

He spoke softly, his beautiful pink and golden eyes swirling with regret, hesitation, and fear. “I owe you so much more than what I’ve had to offer. You deserve so much better than this. So much better than what I can give you.”

‘So much better than me.’ He didn’t say it, but you could sense that he meant it.

“Mettaton…” You leaned up, propping your upper body on your arms. Mettaton moved to kneel between your legs, his hair still a complete mess. Gently, you smoothed it back, giving him the warmest smile that you could muster.

“I love you.”

His fans leapt at your words, his eyes widening as his hair began to rise, like he’d touched a static ball. “Darling, I…”

You pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him. “Listen to me. I missed you.”

Mettaton’s eyes moved over your face as you spoke, from your lips, to your nose, to your eyes, back and forth.

“I missed you more than I can say. And yes, I have been lonely without you here. But I know you’re busy. You have a life outside me. And I have a life outside of you. And that’s okay. It’s okay that we live for ourselves, because those are the lives that we get to share with each other.”

You moved your hands to cradle his cheeks, stroking your thumbs against the warm synthetic skin.

“I love seeing you happy. And I know that your work makes you happy. Getting to perform for people, and talk, and play with your band. Music, art, theatre. You were born to entertain people, Mettaton. I couldn’t see a world where you’re not the one standing under a spotlight.”

He laughed breathily, nuzzling into your palm.

“You’re right. If I hadn’t met Alphys, I never would have gotten the chance to…to really be myself.”

“And it’s the same for her. Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t make me any more important than her. And I don’t want to be.”

“I just want it to be easier for us…”

“I know you do.” You mumbled, kissing his forehead. “I do too. And one day, it will be. But for now, all we can do is remember that we have each other. You’re not alone, and I’m not either. No matter how hard things get to handle. Or how busy we might be. Or how much time we spend away from each other, that doesn’t mean that we love each other any less. We’re going to be okay. Okay?”

His bottom lip trembled a bit as he leaned against you and breathed. If he’d had the ability to, you were sure he would have been crying. “…Okay.”

“Good.”

A weight felt like it’d been taken off your shoulders. How long had you been holding all that in? It felt like you’d just had a moment worthy of a Nicholas Spark’s book. You bit back the laugh that bubbled in the back of your throat, mind wandering off, and only coming back when Mettaton crawled over you, leaning down so that your foreheads touched.

“I won’t forget this, darling.” He mumbled. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him back down, fingers threading through his soft, silky black hair.

“Make sure not to,” you whispered against his scalp, “or I’ll have to remind you every day.”

It wasn’t a threat, but a promise.

He laughed. “I know you will.”

And like that, the tension in the air was gone.

You laid on the couch, tangled together, no sounds but your breathing, the whirs of his fans, and the steady thumping of your heartbeat.

Finally feeling at rest, you allowed your eyes to slip closed. For once, you could finally say the words and actually feel like they were true.

Everything was going to be okay.

AAAAA, it's finally done!!! Despite this being the shortest Kofi-fic I've written, it was the most difficult. I have no idea why. I'm fairly satisfied with how it turned out, though! Thanks for reading.

- Mod Mellow