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buckslafdhoodie · 3 months

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curtain’s closed (i’m watching you this time), a bucktommy fic!

length: 5,511 words

language: english

tags: fluff, mild hurt/comfort, exhausted! buck, soft buck, soft tommy, sleepy cuddles, date night, domestic vibes, buck-centric narrative, big spoon! tommy, little spoon! buck

site: ao3 (linked here!)

summary:

"That's not the job, Evan," Tommy turned his head, pressing his lips to the crown of Buck's head.

"That's all you, sweetheart." Tommy murmured into his hair and Buck? Buck was so gone for this man that it was a bit ridiculous. As he lay there, his face smushed against his gorgeous pilot boyfriend's neck, drawing lazy circles on Tommy's shoulder and grinning like a fool, Buck realized he could see a future here. Not a few weeks or months, but years of companionship, of kindness, of stories swapped and gentle embraces, inside jokes and shared closets and--

Oh, he'd done it now. Buck was well aware there was no backpedaling now that his mind had caught up with something he had subconsciously been tiptoeing around since the fateful cat-5 mouth static.

“B’careful there, Tommy… You keep saying stuff like that and I’ll start to think you like me.”

(or, Tommy comes over after a hard shift for Buck and has to herd his overworked boyfriend to bed. Buck gets to be the little spoon, Tommy gets to give his boyfriend the praise he desperately needs, and Buck is still tormented by his lack of a couch and his love of clipboards, somehow)

inspired by @breadandjamsforfrances’s post about buck being the little spoon for the first time and @buckevantommy’s request for some evan little spoon/human blanket fics!

Buck wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t! It wouldn’t be the first time that Tommy was in his apartment, between their first kiss and the subsequent dinner dates that he had hosted over the past month or so.

Okay, so maybe it was the first time that Tommy had texted Buck before the 118’s shift was even over asking to see him. It had been a hard shift, starting with a call to an electrical fire at a daycare that had Buck scouring the building for an unaccounted-for child until Bobby had to physically wrest him from the crumbling structure and only getting more hectic and taxing as the hours passed.

So it goes without saying that seeing the notification from his boyfriend (god, would that ever get old?) had been a welcome sight, even if the unexplained spontaneity was a bit unnerving. It certainly had not in any way triggered an afternoon of methodically going from one corner to the other of the loft, cleaning every speck of dust in sight, throwing his bedding in the wash, and even running to the store to pick up some beer and then promptly panicking, calling Eddie when the wall of bottles and cans towering over him all started to blur together.

Buck’s phone buzzed against the freshly cleaned counter. Peering over at it from his place in front of the sink, the man’s eyebrows furrowed a little bit when his eyes caught on Eddie’s name instead of Tommy’s, seeing as it was nearly seven and Tommy was not one to be late (barring the occasional massive forest fire, of course).

[18:50] tubbs (eddie): I hope he gets there before Clipboard Buck does

Buck audibly groaned, rolling his eyes fondly at the device as he finished drying the glass in his hand and set it on the drying rack before scooping up his phone and responding.

[18:50] crockett (buck): was the capitalization necessary???

[18:50] tubbs (eddie): Yes.

[18:51] crockett (buck): >:(

[18:51] crockett (buck): also, rude!!!!

[18:51] crockett (buck): your hatred towards my poor clipboard is cruel!

[18:52] tubbs (eddie): I don’t know what to tell you Buck!!!

[18:53] tubbs (eddie): Even the strongest of men cannot handle Clipboard Buck!

The fact that Buck could pinpoint the exact exasperated look on his best friend’s face in his mind was a bit concerning, honestly. In the relative quiet of his flat, though, surrounded by the whirring of fan blades and the quiet buzz of his appliances, the man couldn’t find it within himself to get self-conscious at the idea of caring that much about a friend like he would have up until joining the 118.

[18:54] crockett (buck): don’t u worry, the clipboard is safely stored away

[18:54] crockett (buck): it served its purpose well

[18:54] tubbs (eddie): I’m not even gonna ask.

Then, there was a lull in the texts. In place of the flow of banter, Buck’s mind went into overdrive once again, the doubts creeping into his brain like lichen in the cracks of a lone forest stone. The sound of his thumbs hitting the screen of his phone as he typed and deleted about a dozen different messages was oddly soothing. About halfway into a rambling and probably ill-advised text about Tommy’s fashion choices, Buck’s phone buzzed yet again.

[18:56] tubbs (eddie): Relax, man.

[18:56] tubbs (eddie): I think your typing bubble is going to seize if you keep doing whatever it is that you’re doing over there.

Buck snorted, feeling a bit of the tension coiling in his shoulders fall away. Still, the jittery, nervous energy was making itself heard, loud and clear, through his thumb’s jerky movements as he forced himself to type an actual response to Eddie and hit send like it was a life-or-death situation.

[18:57] crockett (buck): whatifhesbreakingupwithme?????

[18:57] tubbs (eddie): He isn’t.

[18:57] crockett (buck): HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!?

[18:58] tubbs (eddie): He let you blow up his phone with the history of tornado alley at 4am…?

[18:58] crockett (buck): …

Had that really been 4am? A quick swipe into his and Tommy’s text thread showed that, yes, Buck had gone down that particular rabbit hole at 4:12 in the morning and for some reason his boyfriend had entertained it. The corners of his mouth twitched up into a soft smile as he returned to the conversation with Eddie.

[18:58] crockett (buck): fair point

[18:58] crockett (buck): i’m freaking out over nothing, aren’t i???

[18:59] tubbs (eddie): Yeah but that’s okay. It just feeds Hen’s golden retriever theory.

[18:59] crockett (buck): pfft thanks man

It was at that moment that Buck glanced up and caught sight of the glowing “6:59” of the oven’s clock. In a moment of panic, the man nearly dropped his phone as he fumbled to finish up his conversation with Eddie.

[18:59] crockett (buck): he’s probably on his way up now, gtg

[19:00] tubbs (eddie): Have fun, man!!

[19:00] tubbs (eddie): Not too much though lol.

No sooner had Buck placed the phone back on the counter when three quiet knocks sounded from the front door. The blonde didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until he pulled the door open and found himself standing face-to-face with Tommy. Tommy, who stood there in a simple gray tee shirt, a light-weight denim jacket, and jeans like he was unaware of his ability to make any outfit look like it was made for him, somehow. The pilot's usually immaculate hair was less styled than usual, a couple of loose little brown waves falling just below his hairline. Just looking at the man, his boyfriend, made Buck feel like the air in his lungs had been punched out of him.

"Hey, you." Tommy's voice jarred Buck out of his praise-filled train of thought, amused and warm in a way the younger man thought he would never fully get used to.

"Hi, hey, uh–" As Buck's voice cracked, he could already feel the warmth of what was undoubtedly an outrageous blush working its way up the back of his neck. “You made it with a minute to spare!”

“It would have been more but I spent about ten minutes driving ‘round the block,” Tommy accepted Buck’s silent invitation inside, stepping around him and stooping down to untie his boots. “Someone really needs to teach some of your neighbors parking etiquette. I didn’t realize that it was possible to park so perfectly in between two spots.”

“Oh my god, I know right?” Buck groused as he closed the door, idly listening to the deadbolt click into place while his eyes drank in the sight of Tommy’s jacket pulled taut across his shoulders.

‘God, Buck, let the man at least take off his shoes before you jump his bones–’ His inner voice which, at this moment, sounded suspiciously like Hen reminded him of his priorities as Tommy straightened up. Good boyfriend duties first, there was more than enough time for embarrassing amounts of thirsty thoughts and flirting later.

“Here, let me.” Buck reached out, tugging lightly on the collar of Tommy’s jacket and helping the man shuck it off his shoulders, thrilled to catch the sight of his boyfriend’s dimpled smile as he made his way to the dining table to carefully drape it over the back of one of the chairs.

The sound of Tommy following him across the room was the only warning that Buck got before two strong arms were curling themselves around his waist; a warm, sturdy weight that never failed to ignite the warm campfire in his chest. The culprit in question chuckled as the blonde realized he had practically melted back into the embrace.

“What’re you laughing at?” Buck questioned with no real accusation in his voice, carefully spinning around so that he could look at Tommy rather than stare out the window at the sun as it made its descent toward the horizon. He found himself hooking his right arm around his boyfriend’s neck while his left hand came to rest on Tommy’s bicep as if it were second nature.

Maybe it was, honestly.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I would say you got off shift 12 minutes ago, not twelve hours. You seem… keyed up.” Tommy quirked an eyebrow at Buck, his bright blue eyes seeming to tear through the younger man’s outer facade like paper. Usually, that would send Buck on the defense but he found none of that nerve-wracking, prickly feeling crawling up his throat this time; instead, he chuckled sheepishly and used the hand behind Tommy’s head to gesture vaguely.

“I may have had too much energy and went on a bit of a cleaning spree,” Buck explained, his voice dropping down to match Tommy’s as he waited for the other man to glance around, judge the apartment, maybe make a quip about the place needing a good spruce up or something.

But of course, this was Tommy. If there was one thing Buck could count on Tommy for, the man could surprise him with even the smallest of acts.

“Your place is cleaner than like 95% of men in their thirties, Evan– how did you even manage to find eight hours worth of stuff to clean in here?” Tommy was looking right at him, his undivided attention pinned on Buck as his eyes hopped from point to point on his face, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

“I also went to the store, grabbed some groceries, a few different options for dinner if you haven’t already eaten which– shit, I should have asked you earlier! I can always just whip something up quick for myself later or if you aren’t feeling my cooking we could do takeou– mmh!” Tommy had apparently picked up on the easiest way to get Buck to stop running his mouth a mile a minute, as one second he was dividing his attention between the brunette’s amused expression and the fridge to his left, and the next he was instinctively closing his eyes as Tommy’s big palm curled around his jaw and he became suitably distracted by the feeling of slightly chapped lips pressed against his.

Buck genuinely couldn’t think of anything more enjoyable than this: being wrapped up in an embrace with his gorgeous, considerate, unfairly competent boyfriend, losing the seemingly constant edge of anxiety and stress that he carried around like a set of weights upon his shoulders under the more pressing weight of Tommy’s gentle yet insistent lips upon his, the scrape of stubble and the smell of aftershave like catnip to him.

Idly, Buck wondered what it was like for Tommy. Was he just as content being in Buck’s space? As easily lost in the simple act of being close and melting into each other with a familiarity that the blonde knew couldn’t just be his imagination. There was deep curiosity inside himself that urged him to beg Tommy for a glimpse inside his mind, to promise he’d listen to every word if the older man would let him. But even that voice was overpowered by the pure single-mindedness that kissing Tommy brought out in him.

Eventually, they pulled apart, although they didn’t go far, barely a few inches separating their faces as Tommy spoke, his eyes glinting in a way that Buck was finding hard to ignore.

“I don’t think I know of anyone else on the face of the planet that could work a twenty-four hour shift, clean his entire apartment, come up with and go grocery shopping for multiple meals, and still manage to be as energetic as you are, Evan. It’s equally impressive as it is mildly concerning.” Tommy ran his thumb across Buck’s cheek, tracing the bone beneath his stubbly skin with a reverence that had his earlier flush returning with a vengeance. “What’s your secret? Or is that just how you’ve always been?”

“I’ve gone a mile a minute since I was born, according to Maddie.” Buck laughed softly, his right hand coming up to idly scrape his fingernails through the short hair at the nape of Tommy’s neck as he continued, his voice taking on a softer edge: “Well, I mean… knowing you’d be here may have given me a pretty sizable boost as well, if I’m honest.”

For a moment, the silence between them made it feel like they were on pause, time going by around them while they stood still. Buck waited with bated breath, somehow nervous he had somehow messed up the moment by being too honest, or maybe he had shown his hand too early. And then, like the sun breaking through the clouds on an overcast day, Tommy smiled and the prettiest shade of pink spread from the tips of his ears to the apples of his cheeks. Buck couldn’t help it as his mouth split into a grin at the sight.

“You didn’t– Evan, you really didn’t have to do that for me. You just got off of a hectic shift and probably needed a nap more than the loft needed a deep clean.” Tommy tilted his head, taking his eyes off Buck for a few seconds to scan over the apartment loosely before returning his gaze to him. “I promise you that I don’t mind some dust or clutter or even an unmade bed.”

Buck gasped dramatically, lifting his hand off Tommy’s bicep to clutch his imaginary pearls, his commitment to the bit trumping his need to soak in his boyfriend’s proximity. “Tommy Kinard, if you think I’d ever let such a handsome guest in my home without making the bed, you must have a horrible impression of me and my hosting standards!” Buck wasn’t sure where the pompous attitude came from, in all honesty– maybe he had been watching too many of Maddie’s dramas.

Tommy barked out a laugh that had Buck melting on the inside before seemingly pulling his composure back into place, fixing the other man with a faux-serious look that, if Buck didn’t know better, he would have thought it was real.

“Evan Buckley, I know you would never willingly leave your bed unmade, you keep quite the tight ship around here. I was simply stating that even if you were a hoarder, I would still come over as often as I could manage.” The implied “for you” at the end of the sentence made Buck silently curse his light complexion as he was sure that he was probably redder than the 118’s engines.

A quiet laugh made its way out of Buck’s mouth as he dropped his hand back to Tommy’s arm: “Yeah, I don’t see myself becoming a hoarder any time soon– I have enough stuff scattered around here as it is!”

Tommy silently raised an eyebrow at him. Before he could even make the comment Buck knew was coming, the younger man surged forward to place a firm kiss on his boyfriend’s mouth, giving him a taste of his own medicine for once. This kiss broke off quicker as Buck pulled back to grumble playfully against Tommy’s jawline.

“If you even mention the C word in this house I am not cooking dinner, do you hear me, mister?”

“... Evan, you’re not cooking dinner either way– you’ve been awake for the better part of thirty-six hours– I am making you something quick and getting you to bed before you drop.” Tommy’s words baffled Buck. Weren’t they supposed to be having date night? Of course Buck would cook! He was not that tired!

“I did not just clean and buy groceries and make you drive all the way out here for you to spend a few minutes cooking and then leave like a maid!!” Buck said incredulously, eyebrows furrowed as he searched Tommy’s face for clues as to what was going through his head.

“Ev–” Tommy started to speak, Buck cutting him off, the metaphorical boulder inside his brain having already picked up too much speed to stop now.

“No, Tommy! Today has been long, sure– I did only get to sleep for maybe thirty minutes in between the 8-car pile up and the campers who nearly started a brush fire. Twice. But I have been really excited about getting to see you all day! Hell–”

“Evan–”

“I was so amped that I decided to buy a different beer than usual and called Eddie in a panic because I somehow don’t know what kind of beer you like which is kind of a problem we need to solve, by the way–”

“You didn’t have to–”

“-and now you’re here and I’m going to cook you whatever you want and we’re gonna watch some random documentary and cuddle and have a full night together while our days off line up, okay?!”

“Evan, I’m not going to leave!” Tommy’s hands went from Buck’s waist to cupping his jaw, gentle but insistent. “Now, will you breathe for a second, babe? You’re gonna go blue at this rate.” It took a second for Buck to process Tommy’s words, realizing his boyfriend was right. Taking a second to drop his head down on the other’s broad shoulder and taking a couple of deep breaths, the brunette’s hands came to rub up and down his back in a soothing manner.

“...’M sorry, didn’t mean to get so heated with you.” Buck apologized quietly, his voice muffled by the fabric of Tommy’s tee shirt. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away just yet, the weight of Tommy’s arms keeping him grounded.

“You’re good, I should have realized that being vague would set you into a spiral, especially with how little sleep you’re running on right now.” Tommy sighed softly, his tone just as apologetic as Buck’s, which didn’t seem right in the former’s mind but, like a wave a mile high, his little outburst had seemingly sapped the last of the energy from his body. He quickly realized he'd have to pick his fights carefully here before he embarrassed himself even further.

“You’re… not leaving?” Buck just had to clarify that. If he was getting shipped off to bed, did that mean Tommy planned on just… hanging around? Watching some TV? Reading a book? Taking embarrassing photos of him while he slept to send to Chimney and Eddie?

“No.” The way Tommy said that simple word made his knees weak; it was so unbelievably tender, like the idea in and of itself physically pained the pilot to even think about. Beneath Buck's forehead, Tommy’s muscles stiffened up. The sleepy blonde made an involuntary, confused noise in the back of his throat.

“I mean, unless you want me to…?” Oh.

Oh. Tommy thought Buck wanted to kick him out? That was so absurd that he couldn’t help but start laughing, hard enough that he could hear the chair behind him jostling against the table, creating a horrible, cacophonous sound with the echo of his near-delirious laughter.

After a few moments, Tommy joined in; it took them well over a minute to wind down, Buck’s head pressed against the side of his boyfriend’s neck and said boyfriend’s arms squeezing around his waist once again.

“I just went on a whole ramble about you not leaving, do I need to get a sign above the door that says ‘Tommy Kinard is ALWAYS Welcome’ on it or something?” Buck said, his tone teasing as he peeled himself away from Tommy’s neck, blinking his eyes a couple of times to try and discreetly fight the impending drowsiness seeping deep into his bones.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed, but what about when I mention the couch?” Buck gasped dramatically, clumsily trying to cover Tommy’s mouth with his hand but missing. Badly. He somehow completely missed his boyfriend’s mouth, instead slapping his hand haphazardly on Tommy’s chin. After staring at his hand for a few seconds, Buck concluded that okay, maybe he was losing his fight against exhaustion a bit more than he thought.

“Alright, I think maybe dinner can wait– you are beyond exhausted.” Tommy echoed his sentiment sternly, dropping one of his arms from around Buck and using the other to nudge at the small of his back, pushing him towards the stairs.

Buck went willingly, mental flashes of him losing consciousness and cracking his skull open on the stairs or maybe the dining table acting as a great motivator for him to accept Tommy’s help getting to bed. Somewhere in the myriad of thoughts swirling around his exhausted mind, guilt was starting to seep into the forefront of his mind.

Even with Tommy’s reassurances and the soft pressure of his hand on Buck’s back, steadying him on their short trip up the stairs, his brain was sure that he’d fucked up. Tommy nudged him towards the bathroom as they reached the top of the stairs. He shuffled his way inside, listening to his mind idly pondering what Frank would have to say about this sudden bowling ball of guilt sitting in his stomach.

As the door clicked shut behind Buck, he could hear Tommy moving outside, the sound of fabric rustling, and the quiet humming of a tune that the blonde couldn’t place. Tragically, turning on the tap drowned out that heart-achingly domestic ambiance. The knowledge of what was waiting for him on the other side of the thin door spurred him through brushing his teeth and quickly washing his face. After some consideration, he stripped off the dark jeans he had tugged on earlier in favor of his boxers and the maroon tee shirt.

Stepping back into his bedroom, Buck was drawn immediately to the sight of his bed: the gray duvet had one corner flipped up from where it once was neatly tucked in. Not only that, but the water glass that habitually sat on his bedside table had been refilled, and the lights on the bottom floor of his loft were all turned off, leaving the small lamps on either end of his bed as the only light source in the apartment. Buck could already feel his lips curling up in a smile, touched by Tommy’s attention to detail and care no matter how many times the other man unknowingly put it on display.

Speaking of Tommy, Buck’s eyes drifted over to the man who stood by the short bookshelf mainly used as a TV stand. The pilot held a small stuffed animal, a cat Buck could have picked out from a lineup any day.

"That's probably one of my favorite things in this place." Buck walked over, bumping his shoulder against Tommy's as he came to stand side by side with his boyfriend.

"It was a gift from a little girl. Angel. She uh... She got trapped in a housefire way back when I first started with the LAFD," Tommy tilted his head to glance at Buck, eyes sparkling with interest so pure that the sleepy man couldn't help but continue, struggling to return his gaze to the toy as he spoke.

"She was this tiny little kid standing like right next to the engine, crying real bad and holding this little stuffed animal with a death grip. I stopped to make sure she wasn't injured and turned out, the poor kid's cat was still inside. So I ran in, the house was pretty much in shambles at that point... But I had this feeling, I guess," Buck could almost feel the flames of the home's hallways as he spoke, recalling Bobby's voice yelling at him through the comms under the sound of beams buckling and the fire roaring beside him.

"I ran into the room at the end of the hall and 'lo and behold, there was this giant tabby cat under the kid's bed." Buck made a vague gesture with his hands, recalling the fluffy beast he almost mistook as a winter jacket that got shoved under the bed. Beside him, Tommy huffed out a surprised laugh, looking between the blonde and the tiny tabby toy with amusement.

"I know, I know, I was just as surprised! I thought I was looking for a little kitten, maybe, or a smaller cat at least. It had to be some sorta Maine Coon or a Siberian or something-- It was the size of a backpack!" Buck couldn't help but laugh as well, dropping his head onto Tommy's shoulder as he did so, relishing in his ability to be the one leaning rather than the one being leaned on for a moment. It was nice, he had to admit.

"When I brought the cat out to her, she turned to me with the biggest, teariest smile and traded me. The toy for the cat. I tried to give it back but she said that she didn't need it, I'd given her the real thing back." Buck finished, his eyes suspiciously wet. Thankfully, Tommy didn't call him out on it. Instead, the older man carefully put the stuffed toy back in its place on the shelf and turned to face him, an indescribably soft expression on his face.

"I think you have the biggest heart of anyone I've met, Evan." The sincerity in Tommy's voice nearly bowled Buck over with its intensity. The part of Buck that always yearned to be seen and cared for was practically vibrating beneath his skin, fighting with the part of him that wanted to brush off Tommy's kindness, make some ill-placed joke, or perhaps a half-hearted denial.

"I- I'm not... I was just doing my job--" Buck croaked out, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

"Yeah, maybe at first. Checking in on her, making sure she wasn't hurt both definitely fall under doing your job," Tommy tugged on Buck's free hand, guiding him towards the side of the bed with the duvet flipped over, his clear eyes staying locked on Buck's even as he walked his way backward towards the bed.

"But you ran into a burning building alone, searching for a cat that you figured would be too small to see easily through the smoke, you hauled that cat out of there, alive." When Tommy nudged Buck onto the bed, he obliged, crawling into the bed with one hand still clutching Tommy's as if the man would disappear without it. Thankfully, it seemed Tommy felt the same way, following right behind him.

After a bit of shuffling and adjusting, including Tommy fighting with his jeans while Buck fought with the sheets he somehow already had tangled around his legs, they quickly found a comfortable balance. Buck was pretty much on top of Tommy, his head tucked under his boyfriend's stubble-covered chin. Their legs intertwined as Buck curled in towards Tommy, who was lying on his back with his arm around Buck's shoulders.

The rumble of Tommy's voice right beneath his ear was soft and soothing. Buck idly wondered if, in another life, Tommy had been a cat, the soft rumbling reminding his sleep-addled mind of a cat's purr. "You know how I really know you weren't just doing your job, Ev?" Buck craned his head back, his answering "No, how?" muffled against the column of Tommy's neck.

"When that girl gave you her stuffed animal, you kept it. You didn't leave it at the firehouse, or throw it out, or donate it. You put it right there in front of your bed, and stood there to tell me the story even though you're running on fumes. That's not the job, Evan," Tommy turned his head, pressing his lips to the crown of Buck's head.

Oh, he'd done it now. Buck was well aware there was no backpedaling now that his mind had caught up with something he had subconsciously been tiptoeing around since the fateful cat-5 mouth static.

“B’careful there, Tommy… You keep saying stuff like that and I’ll start to think you like me.” Buck mumbled, his voice coming out far softer than he had expected (and maybe a bit slurred but who could blame him, he was more comfortable lying there with his boyfriend than he had been since he couldn’t even remember when).

“I’m not dating you cause I feel ‘meh’ towards you, Ev– you know that, right?” Tommy’s hand squeezed Buck’s shoulder gently, a comforting gesture for the both of them.

“Mmhm… Don’t worry, Hen can’t tease you for liking me if I like you more.” If Buck was asked later where this comment came from, he’d blame it on being on the verge of falling asleep, and spew some facts about how exhaustion for over 18 can cause one to act similarly to someone at the legal limit for alcohol consumption. Secretly, Buck knew it was his way of letting Tommy know that he was in it, ready and willing to be teased and seen as a love-struck fool when it came to his boyfriend because… well, who wouldn’t?!

Buck didn’t stay awake long enough to hear Tommy’s response or to feel the other man carefully shift him onto his side so that he could flip off the lights and crawl right back into bed behind him, curling almost protectively around the firefighter with a grin hidden in the dark of the room as Buck practically burrowed himself back into the embrace with a tender, sleepy sound that could melt the ice caps.

As Buck and Tommy had both suspected would happen, the blonde-haired man slept for what would have been record-breaking amounts of time if it weren’t for the many injury-induced recovery comas that he’d been subject to over his time as an LAFD firefighter. Buck only woke once during the night, his eyes fluttering open to the faint light of the slowly lightening sky illuminating the loft. For a moment, the man didn’t register the body plastered to his back as anything more than an oddly moved pillow until the dull thump-thump-thump of Tommy’s heartbeat kickstarted his sleepy brain. It couldn’t have been later than three or four in the morning and Buck knew he should just close his eyes and let sleep drag him back under but the call of his boyfriend curled against him was more appealing.

Despite his many relationships and flings, Buck couldn’t recall ever being the little spoon. Once, when he and Taylor’s relationship was still new, he woke up to go on shift and found her arm thrown over his hip but that was nothing like this. From head to toe, he was engulfed by Tommy, his broad chest pressed flush to Buck’s back and one of his thighs slotting perfectly between his own. It was warm and all-encompassing and oddly, Buck felt protected in a way he couldn’t quite put words to.

It was almost like Tommy had found a way to bundle Buck up without making him feel trapped or suffocated, simply supported and cared for and loved in a way he had only ever felt in brief intangible moments in the past. Carefully, as to not disturb his lovely boyfriend, Buck rolled over, gazing up at Tommy through half-closed eyes, admiring him for so long it probably would have been creepy if it weren’t for the fact that it was mostly dark out and Tommy was peacefully dozing, unaware of his gaze.

After what could have been a second or an hour, Tommy’s arms squeezed around Buck’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer and Buck closed his eyes, humming happily as he slowly let himself fall back asleep, mentally ingraining the image of Tommy with his messy hair lit by the cool morning light into his brain, the serenity flooding his system like a drug he would never get enough of.

(Eventually, Buck woke up at nearly eleven in the morning on top of Tommy to the muted sound of the man in question typing something on his phone with one hand while the other rubbed circles on his lower back. He was confused as to how he got there, considering they had both been on their sides, but according to his boyfriend, Buck had crawled entirely on top of Tommy in protest after the man got up to use the bathroom. Although Tommy insisted it had been “frankly adorable, ten out of ten would get crushed by you anytime,” Buck rolled out of bed with a blush down to his chest, locking himself in the bathroom in his embarrassment at the cost of hearing Tommy’s teasing laughter but not being able to see his gorgeous smile.)

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captain-mj · 1 year

Text

London Fog

And this is the end! It's been fun guys!

also, my apologies about the poll, when I was writing this, one of the options was winning and I only found out later it lost :( sorry

Link to the full thing

Ghost sat on the roof of the courthouse, smoking quietly. He had the gun aimed right at Wayne’s head in case anything happened.

Jason had easily accepted their request to agree with the police that it was a misunderstanding. Thanks to Wayne’s military status, things were quickly swept under the rug in an act that could only remind him of why he hated police as a kid. It had been tied up with a pretty little bow. No charges put down. No care about the person hurt. Luckily Jason made an extremely quick recovery. If it was because Ghost pulled a few strings with some magic people he knew, that was no one’s business.

The fact only made Ghost more bitter than he already was. So he had the gun pointed right at Wayne. He was sitting in a coffeeshop, waiting for Soap to arrive. Wayne should be kneeling on the ground. Ready to beg and plead once met with the presence of Soap.

What a goddamn fool. Reckless asshole. However, that was to be expected by someone who acted like him. Who’d mistreat Johnny so callously.

It would be the last mistake he ever made.

Soap arrived, looking flushed and so alive. Everything about him was brighter. He had purposely picked something typical of what he’d normally wear, but it was definitely different. The clothing seemed to tug differently. His beauty unmatched. Right before he went in, he gave Ghost a small smile, directed right at him. Sun incarnate. The very sea itself wrapped up in human skin. Volatile and loving and loved and ready to crush you once you went too deep.

Johnny was very different from Soap. Still the same in all the ways that mattered, but he was just so damn good. He dragged Ghost back into bed each morning and now that he was able, he drew all the time. Ghost had never, ever liked his face but seeing it drawn with pencil and pressed onto shitty notebook paper? Maybe he could stomach it. He also worked better than whiskey. Soap had the ability to knock him out and let him sleep through the night. Either through sex or by cuddling. Something about his touch just felt right. He was perfect.

Ghost watched them talk. Wayne was harsh. Something about his edges. Wrong. Cruel. He was talking to Soap like Captain ordering Sergeants. It set his teeth on edge. But Soap wanted to do this, so he stayed here. Watching.

Soap looked soft. Sweet. A picture of the same mockery of a person that he was before. Ghost imagined slowly slitting Wayne’s throat for Soap. Having him watch. Tell him to slow down. To make it last. Blood starts to fill his mouth and he realized in his excitement that he bit his own tongue.

It felt nice. The liquid getting between his teeth. Would Soap be worried if he knew? Make him wash his mouth out and tell him to be more careful? Would he tell him to sink his teeth in deeper?

Soap nodded along to what Wayne was saying. He smiled and flashed his teeth and did all the things he’s supposed to do. He’d make a lovely siren with how easily he pulled Wayne into his thrall.

The drink he had stayed untouched on the table. It was clearly a hot drink, which Ghost found weird because Soap preferred cold.

Wayne stood up and left, Soap trailing after him, cup in hand. Once they stepped out of the coffeeshop, Ghost stood up and made chase. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, gun in hand, keeping them in sight every moment.

Wayne’s voice floated up. Harsh syllables in a harsh voice. Picking Soap apart.

“Why didn’t you tell me a man was going to be in our home?”

“I didn’t think about it. He was just supposed to run in and grab something.”

“He had your coat.”

“He knew I was a selkie. I apologize, darling, I didn’t know what he planned to do.”

Wayne whipped around, grabbing Soap easily. It rattled Ghost. How the man just… touched Soap. Did his skin not burn from doing so?

Soap stared at him. Doe eyed.

Wayne saw something in those depths. He let go of him. “Your coat. Who has it? Where is it?”

“Not here. I Have it.”

“I see.”

“I want to give it back to my husband.”

Husband. The word made something in Ghost’s soul preen. He had figured out, without Soap explaining it to him, that thanks to the back and forth of the coat, they were married in Selkie eyes.

And once Wayne was gone, Ghost would be his only husband. The only person that mattered. He grinned and readied his gun again. Letting the familiar weight guide him. One small movement and Wayne’s head splatters on the ground.

Soap started to lead him to an alleyway. “Please. My darling. You want me back, right?”

Wayne followed. Moth to fire. A rat chewing through flesh to get to the prize. “Of course I do. You’re mine.”

Ghost could hear their voices. The angle was getting difficult for sniping so instead he stayed poised with a knife.

Soap smiled at him brightly. His teeth… Were they always that sharp?

They were bloodstained moments later. Ghost was only supposed to help him if he started losing, so he wouldn’t be helping.

Military training and raw strength did nothing to help him. Soap sank his teeth deep in his throat to damage his vocal cords and grabbed him by his shoulders. He shoved him to the ground and started punching. It was less animalistic than Ghost was expecting but no less feral. No less enthralling to watch.

Ghost jumped down, not making a sound as he hit the pavement. He stalked around them, enjoying the sight of blood mixing with crisp morning air.

The cup sat on the fire escape of the nearby building. How Soap managed to do that with neither himself nor Wayne noticing was beyond him. Out of curiosity, Ghost grabbed it and smelled it.

Earl grey. Soap probably got it for him. He hated the stuff. It made his insides feel warm and fuzzy as he lifted his mask to drink it before turning back.

Punching him must’ve not been enough after a minute, because Soap had gotten to strangling him. Blood still poured from the wound in his throat. He’d be dead in minutes anyway. But it gave Soap some satisfaction, watching the life drain from his eyes.

He kept choking him long after he was dead. Needed to make sure.

Ghost wrapped his arms around him and grabbed his hands. He slowly helped him uncurl his stiff fingers from the pulsing, bloody mass of his throat. “It’s done, love.”

“Mo chridhe.” Soap leaned into him, letting Ghost pull him up. “This won’t be suspicious right?”

“I’ll handle it. Nothing is ever going to happen to you.”

Soap nodded and tilted his head, kissing along Ghost’s throat. He was an image like this. Covered in blood. There was something in his eyes. Something new.

“Simon.”

“You’re using my first name. Must be serious.”

“I want to join the military.”

~~~~

Six months. Soap did it in six months.

Ghost tried to pull strings, speed it along, but Soap refused his help, wanting to do it on his own.

When he was finally a big enough name though, he allowed Ghost to make sure he got on the 141 instead of a random unit.

So Price handed him the papers and Soap happily signed them. He had bulked up. Still short and not quite as big as Ghost, but definitely bigger. The tattoo on his arm was new, but Ghost had been there when he got it. He also knew that if he went further up his arm to where his collarbone was, there would be dozens of little hickeys and bites from Ghost.

One new thing was also a scar on his chin. It was small but there. Ghost questioned if it was good idea to do this. He’d never raise those concerns to Soap though, not wanting to control his actions. Even if maybe jumping into the military was a bit… of a… choice. Yeah. It was definitely a choice.

As long as Soap was happy. And Soap did seem very very happy.

“I did it!” He grinned up at Ghost. “Now we can go on missions together and eat breakfast and sit with each other while doing paperwork and…” Soap stopped to catch his breath and Ghost kissed him. Nice and easy.

“Yeah. Anything you want.” Ghost wrapped his wings tight around Soap who melted into him.

“Love you, Simon.”

“Love you, Johnny.”

Taglist:

@the-snarky-dragon @elevencloudsofnine-blog @lukewarm-chickensoup @nervouspsychologynerd @korym @cthulhusstepmom @princess-heathen @revenge-of-the-bucket-demon @roachboy @shadowsnowberry @crazies-unanimous @shiftylookingcrow @joltom @xenomorphee3 @thedeepvoidinmyheart

#johnny soap mactavish #john price #captain john price #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #soap cod #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #rodolfo cod #Selkie coffeeshop au

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the-7th-heart · 1 year

Text

Ah yes, the Inatober

I was very scared for some reason about posting any of my participations...

But I decided I don't care anymore and I want to share my ideas with more than 1 person-

So this is day 1.

Don't know if this will be comfortable to read but for now I'm not sure how else I can put it out here...

1 - tropical fruit(s) / in your arms

“Aaaand, we’re back!” Tsunami threw his surfboard-free hand up and shouted as the two walked back into the small wooden cabin.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Joe said, putting his surfboard on the wall next to the door. “But this time I think I might’ve actually enjoyed it.”

Tsunami turned around at a dangerous speed while possessing a big block of wood and smiled.

Joe once again thought back to the nights he’d stay up and think about how he’d come to love this smile as much as he did. The nights when he questioned, if he even loved it, if he wasn’t just faking it all not to make the poor fool feel bad, if he was even worthy of all that he got. But then he’d turn around and Tsunami would be there, sleeping, drooling, and looking like a total mess that a regular person would just laugh at and Joe’s heart would melt.

Even now, after a year (or was it 2?) of meeting each other, Joseph King was looking at a person he could call his own standing in front of him in his swimming attire, his hair still somewhat wet, and the King of Goalies was melting on the inside and hell, maybe a little on the outside too.

“Great to know we finally found a beach you don’t hate!”

“I think the fact that this one didn’t have sand saved it.” Joe sighed and looked around the cabin, looking at the mess they’d made in the week they’d been staying there.

When Tsunami suggested that the two go on a “little getaway” Joe was extremely suspicious of where they’ll be staying. He knew he’d be forced to go to the Okinawa islands because of course, Tsunami is practically a one-trick pony, but he didn’t really know where exactly he’d be sleeping for the planned time. One thing he did not really expect was a chack or rather a shed-looking thing right next to a beach. At first, he did a 180 and started going right back to the airport, but after Tsunami explained the nature of the shack and the history it had in its walls, he gave in.

Now, every time he looked around, he couldn’t help but imagine a tiny, hungry boy running around with some ducktape trying to repair the sink in the kitchen, just hoping for his parents to come back, without the knowledge that he’d be on his own from then on.

“Well, all is good and stuff,” Tsunami said walking into the kitchen. “But personally I’m very hungry. You?”

“I could use some food.” Joe followed after him and leaned on one of the few mismatched counters. Tsunami opened the fridge and looked a little dissatisfied. His face immediately lit up when he noticed the bag Joe forced him to get last evening during shopping time. He took it out and put it out. Joe was looking at him in silence, admiring the way his muscles flexed around his arms as he lifted the heavy paper pack.

After closing the fridge Tsunami reached into a cupboard and took out a cutting boards and a sharp knives, set them on the last free counters, and turned triumphantly to Joe.

“And?” Joseph King crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow, trying to still keep up his intimidating image. Why? Because the author struggles with characterization, that’s why.

“Fruits.” Tsunami said in a proud tone of a true winner.

“Just?”

“Grilled.”

“Es todo?”

Tsunami stumbled, his voice sounding less confident.

“I mean,” he said, softening his stance. “We don’t need to grill all of them if you wouldn’t like that…”

Joe sighed, smiled, and relaxed his own posture.

“Grilled sounds fine, don’t worry.” Tsunami jumped right back up.

“Okey-dokey! You can wash and start cutting the stuff we have, I’ll go out back to get the grill hot.” Before Joe could argue Tsunami walked off to do his part.

‘C’mon Joseph, puedes hacerlo.’ Joe took out the contents of the bag - a pineapple, some mangos, dragonfruit, starfruit, and overall Okinawa-native produce.

“How he’s planning on grilling water-based fruits is truly a fascinating topic of discussion. And also not my problem.”

He turned on the tab and quickly rinsed all of them. Afterward, he proceeded to stare all of them down and re-evaluate how hungry he actually was. He took a deep breath and looked to the door to see if Tsunami’s coming back, then took the knife in hand.

“Lo hiciste un millón de veces antes, una más no te hará daño.”

Hyping himself in his mother tongue didn’t help the fact that as soon as he held down the mango, the hand he held the knife in started shaking. He put down the knife and breathed again.

“Una vez más, Joseph.” He took the knife again and focused more. ‘Tsunami gave you one job and you are more than confident enough to fucking do it.’

He started cutting the soft fruit and it was going well until he had to slice again and at the last minute messed up his focus.

“Shit!” He let go of the knife and instead gripped his finger. “Maldito idiota…” He prolonged the ‘a’ at the end in frustration. Just then Tsunami walked back in.

“Hi there, I think I got it to work, and how are you- Oh” He paused and looked at the clearly not-great situation. “Everything… Alright?”

“It’s fine,” Joe said sharply, still pissed at himself. He looked at him, his eyes just filled with aggression. “Where do you keep the first aid kit?”

Tsunami looked scared but carefully went to the cabinet above the fridge, took out a white plastic box, and handed it to Joe who snatched it and turned away from him to rummage through it for a bandage in the safety of the counterspace. He was frustrated and getting more and more angry with the things falling out of the box and off the counter until he just screamed and slammed his hand on the nearest surface.

“Hey hey hey,” Tsunami approached quickly. “What happened? What do you need?” He sounded worried, but Joe didn’t respond. Just stood there with his eyes closed, one of his hands close to his chest and the other supporting his weight on the counter. Tsunami hesitated when reaching to put his hand on Joe’s shoulder and instead looked at his bleeding finger. Without a word, he looked around and picked up the adequate equipment from the floor.

“Let me see.” Joe opened his eyes. Tsunami’s face was focused, his eyes serious. He was holding a little spray bottle, some gauze, and a rolled-up small bandage. “Let me help. Or you’ll bleed out.”

A little hyperbole never hurt anyone and it was just enough for Joe King to extend his bleeding finger to let Tsunami handle it while he looked away.

‘Can’t even fucking complete a simple task. Useless.’

He winced in pain when Tsunami cleaned his wound.

“Sorry, I know it hurts…” But it was Tsunami that sounded hurt. And worried. This made Joe feel even worse about the whole situation. He felt soft material going on and around his palm just before Tsunami explained that he was finished.

“Now will you tell me what happened?” When Joe looked at him, he immediately just extended his hands in front of him, spread his palms slightly, and looked down. He could feel them shaking. He hated that feeling.

Suddenly his palms were rolled into soft fists by warm hands. He looked up and Tsunami was looking him in the eyes.

“You should’ve told me.”

“I…” Joe felt like he had forgotten how to speak, his voice apparently did too. “I thought I could do it.”

“You should’ve just told me…” Tsunami was still holding his hands gently. “How bad does it get?”

“Bad enough to fucking cut myself.” His tone was hostile. Tsunami’s hold wavered, but he stood there firmly. Just then Joe realized how it must’ve looked on the outside, with all that anger seeping out of him. He was usually scary-looking, but right now he was scary and angry, like a puma locked in a too-small cage. It hit him that the way Tsunami looked at him just a few minutes ago was scarily similar to the way he looked at him during that match - but this time it had that hint of personal influence in it, like Jude’s gaze had that day.

“Fuck, I’m…” He took away his hands and just sat on the ground. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“Hey hey,” Tsunami rested on his knees in front of him. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. It’s not your fault, I presume at least. Shaky hands are usually caused by stress or some other underlying condition, like some past hand trauma, and seeing as you’re a goalkeeper I think I know why yours are as bad as they are. Still doesn’t explain why you didn’t just tell me before, I wouldn’t have left you alone with sharp utensils if I knew!”

“Like I said, I thought I can do it-”

“Well, you clearly can’t!” Tsunami exclaimed. “Joe, next time, please please please, just tell me. I know I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed nor the most handy person, but I can sometimes help out, y’know?”

They stared each other in the eyes, a silent staring battle for who is in the right here. Tsunami won, but only because Joe let him. Or so he told himself. His gaze softened and he took Joe’s hands again.

“I know a lot just happened,” Tsunami said carefully and smiled, looking a little embarrassed. “But I am still hungry…” As if on que Joe’s stomach agreed with the given statement. He sighed.

“Okay than,” Tsunami got up from the floor with Joe before the latter continued. “Let’s get to work.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll do the cutting now.”

“I’m for, but what am I supposed to do now? Sit on the counter and look pretty?”

“Considering how beautiful you are, I’d say yes.”

“...”

“<3”

#inatober #genda koujirou #tsunami jousuke #hurley kane #joe king #one of my “I just think they're neat” ships #I'm honestly not sure about this one but it's the first thing I've written after a massive writer's block

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ramp-it-up · 2 years

Text

Great Minds

Pairing: Jake Jensen x Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d, SMUT! Read at your own risk. Pining, Angst, nefarious dealings, explicit sex, dub con voyuerism, masturbation, nipple play, exhibitionism, a lil’ spit play, Corporal kink, oral sex (m/f recieving) creampie, cowgirl, sex in the grass/ outside.

A/N: This is in response to the following ask from @nagisaunicorn-blog. And it was supposed to be a drabble. 😪

NOTICE: I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

“We have an additional 30 days. I want you to cut back your hours in the lab.”

You looked up into the eyes of the best looking Loser, in your opinion, Corporal Jake Jensen. Him taking charge was such a turn on. You cocked your eyebrow at him.

“You need to be careful, this work is extremely important. That means balancing this work with taking care of yourself. You’re an important asset.”

For the past 15 days, you’d spent 12 hours a day, every day, in the remote lab in the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, eyes strained by staring at a microscope or at the computer screen, barely communicating with the mercenary.

After all, it was a perfunctory relationship. You were one of the world’s most important scientists, and his mission was to protect you. Your job was to deliver the formula. You initially had only 30 days to do so.

Now you had 30 more.

Jake was certainly easy on the eyes, and kind, if a little silly. He wasn’t as goofy as you were warned he would be, but he was observant. He noticed your tired sighs, and heard you tossing and turning in your sleep through the walls of the living quarters. He’d made the call to Clay to extend the mission.

This was very important work, and you were, in fact, exhausted. You’d hardly left the secluded cabin, determined to meet the timeline. You had to save your family, who were in danger if you didn’t perform.

You smiled weakly up at Jake.

“Great minds think alike.”

He never seemed to meet your gaze. Jake had only looked you in the eye once, when you met him two weeks ago, and he’d hardly said five words to you at one time. You looked down at your watch. It was only 4pm. You usually worked until 8. But he was right. You needed to be at your best to do your best work.

Jake sensed your silent agreement. It was good the way you two communicated without too many words. Wonderful even. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of you and blow it as he often had before. He blessed you with a sheepish smile before he turned around to put your materials away, giving you a view of those cakes in his tight jeans.

“Why don’t you take a walk, I’ll make dinner.”

“Thank you, Corporal…”

“Call me Jake.”

The smile in his voice made you grin at his back.

“Jake…”

Over his shoulder, Jake watched you take off your lab coat and the goggles from your head, wash your hands at the sink, and exit the lab. Then he waited for his heart to slow to its normal rhythm before going to the kitchen.

Jake admired you. More than you knew. You were brilliant and dedicated, and absolutely gorgeous, although he knew that you didn’t think so. You were so different from the vapid women who were usually hanging around the guys.

You were full bodied, just the way he liked. The way women needed to be. At night he imagined all the ways that he could hold on to your ample body and keep you warm. And safe.

But he wasn’t here for that.

You went to your room and pulled out some leggings and sports bra that lay neglected in your bag. You were full of excitement to see and feel the sun in your skin. You smiled as you tied your athletic trainers on your feet.

It was a warm evening in the mountains, great for a walk. You hiked and contemplated the next 45 days alone with Jake in the woods as you catalogued the various species of plants and birds in your head.

You daydreamed of the chilly day you first arrived and you witnessed Jake chopping wood to ensure there was enough firewood for a while. The way his muscles rippled was awe inspiring. And arousing as hell.

Your panties were drenched and you ran to your room before he finished, just in case he could tell when he looked at you. After that, you tried not to linger around him for long. You were horny as hell for him, but you needed to relax.

Because there was no way that he would be thinking the same things you were thinking. There would be no sex by the fireside with Jake Jensen. After all, it was full on too warm for a fire now, and you most certainly weren’t his type, surely, judging from the women you saw him with, but it was fun to dream.

You weren’t ashamed of your body, but you knew not to waste your time with men that were. You’d learned that lesson the hard way.

There was nothing for miles around, but 20 minutes into your hike, you came across a stream. You were delighted and went along the edge to watch the clear water dancing along the rocks. It looked so refreshing that you took off your shoes and put your feet in the water, leaning back on your hands to enjoy the waning sunlight.

This was heaven.

As he started prepping for dinner, Jake decided that some fresh fish would do just the trick. He remembered that you complimented the fresh mountain trout dinner he’d made last week. In the short time you were together, he discovered that he loved making you smile. He grabbed his pole and as he approached the creek, he heard humming. He went into stealth mode, hiding behind a tree until he saw you, head thrown back, glowing in the sunlight.

He ducked as he saw you look around and bite your lip, eyes mischievous. He got an eyeful of you in your tight workout gear when you stood up to look around again. He felt like a creeper and was about to go back to the cabin as he saw you pull your top over your head.

Jake’s mouth dropped open as he saw your tits. Now he felt like a stalker, but he couldn’t move, only watch as you stripped off your bottoms and you stood before him, naked.

Jake was so fucking hard that he had to release the pressure in his jeans. He slid his zipper down slowly, stopping when you paused and turned your head as if you heard something. He froze, as you listened, then smiled and shook your head as if you thought something funny and then slowly walked to the water’s edge, giving a view of that luscious, full ass.

Oh, how he wanted to eat it.

The water was cold, but refreshing against your feet. You had goosebumps, but you plunged ahead, your racing heart compelling you forward. Soon, you were drenched and stood up to let the sun warm you again. You ran your hands down your body, cupping your breasts and sliding your fingers in between your legs.

You were a vision. Before he could think, Jake’s cock was in his hand and he was dry stroking it as he watched you touch yourself. He wanted to touch you, not able to tear his eyes away from you or stop his lewd act. He was out of control.

He decided to stay hidden, and enjoy you privately.

No harm, no foul.

You kept splashing water on yourself and massaging your breasts, pinching and rolling your hard nipples. A small moan escaped Jake’s open mouth as he swelled in his hand. He froze as you stopped and looked right toward his tree.

“You like that, Corporal?”

Jake stood stock still and closed his eyes, as if that could make himself disappear.

“I know you’re there.”

Slowly, his head poked around the tree, giving you a glimpse of his red face underneath his shock of blonde hair.

“I-I’m sorry.I-I… I just…I’m sorry.”

Jake’s stutter was absolutely adorable. You chuckled at his red face.

“‘S’okay. Come out from behind that tree.”

Jake got even redder. He cleared his throat and looked down at his pink tipped cock in his hand.

“I have an idea of what you’re doing. I heard your zipper.”

Jake’s eyes widened.

“You’ve seen mine; now show me yours.”

Jake’s face registered disbelief, then changed from embarrassment to a slow grin.

“Seems fair,” he quipped as he stepped out with his dick in his hand.

Your eyes were wide now.

“Wow, Corporal. Just wow.”

You looked up from his huge dick to the smirk on his face.

“You look like you’re happy to see me.”

You cocked your head at him as you pulled your nipples again and watched him resume stroking, confident at what this was now. He let his jeans fall to the ground and stepped out of them and his shoes.

“I didn't know you liked big girls.”

You shivered and licked your lips as you said it.

“I like real women,” Jake replied as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

“Come here and I’ll show you just how much.”

You smiled and walked toward him, eyes on his wet, red lips as he licked them while looking you up and down.

“You’re so hot. I wouldn’t think a woman like you would want to get with a guy like me.”

He bit his lip as you approached him. You stopped in front of him and cocked your head at him.

“What do you mean? A hot, sexy military man who is intelligent and brave?”

Jake grinned and nodded.

“You got a point there.”

You reached out to him.

“Give me that hand.”

Jake extended his free hand as you shook your head.

“The other one.”

Jake stropped stroking and you watched his cock bob, glistening with pre cum, as if moving with the slight breeze. Jake watched your nipples pebble as he licked his lips again. He almost didn’t notice your mouth open until the spit almost reached his palm.

“Oh shit!”

Your mouth was wide open as your saliva dripped from your tongue. You slurped and then grinned up at him.

“And you’re a freak too, jackpot!”

Jake made you feel care free. You giggled.

“I just thought that you needed some lubrication,” you nodded down at his dick. “Go on.”

Jake stared for a minute and then continued jacking himself off. He’d be content to let you watch him finish, but god he wanted to…

“YES!” he yelped and pumped his fist as you got on your knees in the grass in front of him, hands on his thighs and and looking up at him with those eyes. He almost came right there.

Jake pointed it at you tentatively and sure enough you opened your mouth as he inched the tip of his dick between your lips. You felt a dribble of pre cum as he exclaimed, “Holyyyyyy…”

You sucked his tip so good that he had to close his eyes. He almost fainted as you pulled off with a pop and then proceeded to deep throat him. Then, he had to do breathing exercises to keep from hyperventilating when he looked down and saw that you were playing with your tits again.

“Absolutely gorgeous sucking my dick like that. But I have to.. I need to… I’m about to pass out.”

Part of you wanted to make a man pass out from a blow job, but you couldn’t do Jake like that.

You pulled off and then sat back on your knees, playing with your slick.

Jake watched your hand in between those thighs and wasted no time getting down to that spot. He kneeled before you and you took his cock in your unoccupied hand, jacking him to watch his eyes roll back into his head. You were enjoying the power you had over him almost as much as he was.

Jake enjoyed your hand on him for a couple of minutes, then pulled your hand away from your clit. His stomach flipped at your little whimper as he tasted the juices on your fingers. He wanted that taste in his mouth and that sound in his ears for a long time to come.

“Fucking delicious. Need more.”

Jakes large hands wrapped around your thighs and spread your knees even wider. He took off his glasses and placed them on the ground beside you. He couldn’t wait anymore.

All of a sudden, you were looking at the tree canopy as Jake nosed between your folds, and you felt his dripping wet tongue take a long swath up your crease.

You arched your back as Jake kept a hold of you, moaning at the way he was eating you out. He alternated between licking and sucking emphatically, shaking his head as he took your clit with him.

Your hands found his hair and pulled as he added stars to your afternoon sky.

“F-f-fuck you’re good at that, Jake…”

Jake nodded, lips still attached to your clit. His eyes emerged from your cunt to glint up at you and watch as your mouth fell open when he inserted his thick middle finger. When your chest started to heave, he curled it toward him, finding that spongy spot, and causing a scream to erupt out of you and startle a nearby flock of birds.

When you opened your eyes, you found him between your thighs, watching your pussy clench around nothing. He rubbed the lips around your quivering hole, pressing in with his thumbs, but giving you very little of what you wanted.

“Jesus, Jake….”

“So fucking tight. You’re gonna feel so good around me. All of you, all around me…shit.”

Jake was ready to feel your bounteousness surround him. He was pulling you up easily onto your shaky legs.

“W-what?”

Jake was leading you to his tree.

“You gotta ride me. Wanna feel that jiggle on my dick.”

You giggled nervously as Jake planted himself under the oak. You went toward him as he reached out grabby hands.

“Don’t worry. I got ya.”

You stood above him as he looked up at you, pointing his cock at your cunt. It was like a magnet, you crouched down, not caring that you were getting dirty. All that mattered was that you were getting filthy with Jake,

You kneeled over him and jumped as he swiped his tip at your entrance.

“Fuck this is going to feel good.”

Jake looked you in the eyes.

“You ready?”

You nodded as you started to sink down around him. He was so fucking big. It was the stretch for you.

“Ah, ah, ah, Jakeeeee...”

Jake’s head fell back against the tree trunk.

“Fuckkkkkkk. Gorgeous. That pussssyyyyyy. Fuck Fuck fuck.”

Suddenly he opened his eyes.

“I think my favorite thing in this world is stretching you out around my cock.”

His hands were everywhere all of a sudden, grabbing, pinching, twisting, feeling, pulling on your body as you slowly fucked yourself open on him.

“Second only to feeling on this sexy body.”

Now he was fully sheathed inside you, cock pulsing mightily.

“Ohhhh, Jake. Please Jake…”

“It’s up to you, Gorgeous. I’m just living the dream, buried inside you. If you wanna fuck, fuck yourself on my cock.”

“Oooooh….”

You started moving, slowly at first, obsessed with the drag of him as your pussy tried to pull him back in as your thighs moved you off of him. Jake grabbed handfuls of your ass and wiggled them as you started riding his dick. He was in heaven. He loved the feel of you.

Your tempo increased as you started chasing your high.

“Jake,” you whimpered, pouting at him. “Make me cummmm.”

Jake reached in between your thighs and circled your clit with two fingers and held on for dear life as you detonated around him. He let you ride it out, then flipped you onto your back again, pulled out and then licked your cum from between your legs.

“Dreamed of doing that since we met.”

You chuckled.

“Who’s a freak?”

“We both are.”

Jake smiled and then frowned.

“Listen, I could… I could just finish on your stomach.”

He looked down at your beautiful fupa and shivered.

“I’m on the pill… so you can…AH!”

Jake speared back into you when he heard ‘pill’ and your pussy clutching him was all he needed to start cumming. He gritted his teeth and groaned to try and stop it. Then you whispered in his ear.

“Give me that cum, Jake. Shoot it all up inside me. Then I’ll lick your cock clean. Suck you dry.”

“OH SHITTTTTTT!!!!!”

This time Jake scared the birds as he started to spurt.

Jake came inside you, his vision gone white. You had talked yourself into another orgasm, so you helped to milk his spend out of him.

He was on his back and only half heard what you said.

“We’re gonna have to make a fuck/work schedule if I’m gonna have that formula finished in 45 days…”

Jake smiled at the sky.

“Great minds think alike,” he croaked as you made his toes curl when you kept your promise.

#ask dj #Jake Jensen #jake jensen x female reader #jake jensen x y/n #jake jensen x you #jake jensen x plus size! reader #jake jensen x black reader #jake jensen x black plus size! reader #jake jensen 'smut'#jake jensen the losers #jake jensen fan fic #Chris Evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans 'smut'#chris evans fanfiction.

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wanderlustpeach · 3 years

Text

broken dreams — matt murdock.

PAIRING: matt murdock x reader

SUMMARY: there will always be a fine line between love and hate.

WARNING: profanity, mention of low self esteem, the use of the word whore, brief mention of sexual act.

GENRE: angst with a hint of fluff at the end.

WORD COUNT: 4k

[MAIN MASTERLIST]

The word love had no meaning to you, why would it. When you were trapped in a repeating love cycle of wondering if you were doing the right thing, if you were good enough to be loved. A toxic cycle that went on and on in your head, grasping to the little hope you had.

To be loved & wanted.

Was that to much to ask for, but why couldn't he give you what you wanted, what you were promised in the beginning. The reason it all started, a silly lie it was.

Countless lies after another, the feeling of longing and desperation, something that was a staple in the so called relationship you had with Grant Ward. The mastermind behind all your life problems & the only one to the Solutions of your never ending downfall.

How could the men who claimed to love you, to the moon and back treat you like a piece of trash at the bottom of his foot, a repeating mistake he came home to. A desperate girl clinging onto hopes and dreams of a no existent relationship. A fool if you asked him.

A complete and utter fool.

Pacing around the room, breathing in and out. You sat there thinking of all the things you could say, once he stepped foot in your once shared apartment. It was nothing but a reminder of the empty love you both shared for each other, a place were you both claimed to spend the rest for your lives together no matter the cost, a foolish mistake.

It was like he sensed the distress in the air, slowly inching to the door, calculating how he was going to turn around the conversation to make you think that you were in the wrong for thing so such thing. Him using you? No never. The lies he was going to plant in your head to manipulate, the outcome. He was the good guy, and you were being nothing but a disobedient girlfriend who doubt her boyfriend.

"What's that beautiful mind of yours thinking about?" He questioned kissing you on your forehead, pulling your closer getting a good sniff of your freshly washed hair.

"I fuck," you gloomily sighed out, running your hands over your face. You could do this, you don't need him. You remind yourself, pushing down the fear of him leashing out and turning the subject.

"Breathe. Take your time." Grant persuaded, throwing out the old flowers he brought the last time he was over here. A gift he brought every-time he know you wanted out. Out of the relationship & out of his sight.

Finally breaking you pushed yourself of the the wall storming up to grant grabbing the flowers throwing them in the sink next the once hot meal you cooked him, another repeating mistake you fell into. Cooking a meal for a men he was never on time, always the same accuse. " my team needed me," the same fucking lie you heard every damn time.

"I'm done. I can't do this anymore Grant. I'm tired of staying up at night wondering when your come home, I'm just so fucking tired." You cried out, tired of hoping and holding onto something that was never there.

"What the fuck do you want me to do, I'm working for us. Im doing everything for you, and you can't just fucking appreciate it. Im tired to but you don't see me complaining, I work hours after hours for you, Am I not enough for you huh, what more do you want women!" Grant snapped, glancing down at the now ruin flower arrangement, he spent his time and day picking out just for you. Was he not enough for you, maybe he spoiled you to much that you became so greedy that it was slowly killing him.

"That's not what I meant. I just want you to be there for me Grant please, I just miss you." You sobbed out crouching down balling yourself into your body. Trying to make yourself smaller. You just wanted to be seen to be loved for you was that to much to ask.

"Oh baby." Getting Down to your level placing a soothing arm around your now small body, pulling you into his chest hiding you away from the world. "It's okay let it out." He reassured, humming rocking you back and forth cradling you body, glancing up at the ceiling he smirked. The same routine every few months. He had your in the palm of his hands eating the leftover scraps, you depend on him Financial and emotionally. He made it known that he was the only one for you. The only one that could truly love your for how your were.

"Grant?"

"Yes my love," he softly replied still rocking you back and forth, while whispering sweet nothings into your ears, a nothing notch ticked off from his list.

"I'm sorry, for everything. I shouldn't have blow up on you. I know it's my fault, honestly. I'm so sorry please forgive me."

"I forgive you baby. You don't have to apologize." He insisted, slowly pulling you face back from his chest so he could get a good looking at your pretty face, dried tears straining your once radiant face. Only to be left back with nothing but lifeless eyes and now a dependent on a men he viewed your nothing more then a bed warmer, when he wasn't fucking daisy; his fellow teammate.

A outspoken women, a ball of fire that just won't take no for a answer. Something you could never be. You were nothing but merely a doll he crafted from his own hands, a toy.

"Let's go to be okay, I'll makeup for all the lost time we've missed out on okay." He grinned down at you, the shell of a women he used to love.

"Okay." You giggled out, wrapping your arms around him as he carried you to the bedroom. this was all you every wanted for him to see you, to finally appreciate and worship your body.

But who said he truly did, in the end. This was only a mask for the empty hole you had in your heart, a simple pain replacer.

"I love you." You gasped out, as he ripped open your shirt. Throwing you on the bed, spreading your legs as he climbed through like a men that was starving.

Why did you put yourself through this again, time and time again. You were nothing but a stupid girl clinging on to the hope that her once caring boyfriend loved her. How damn foolish could you have been, after everything.

One little word on his end and you were back to where you started, he knocked you back ten steps. It was the one in control and you were nothing more the a mindless doll that followed his ever little steps, ever small meaningless word he drowned you in. False hope, something you grow to take Comforted in like an old friend, you welcomed back with open arms. Something that never changed.

Glanced around the coffee shop waiting for your friend, Karen. To indulge in the relationship problems you have been having for the part few years, you were tired of hiding it from her. She has been with you throw thick & thin.

Maybe your mother was right, you need to love yourself before you love others. Something she drilled in your head growing up, something you never grow to care for. Why would you need to love yourself when you had others that could do that for you.

Toying with the half empty coffee cup, as the now cold and dry pastry sat to the side.

Why did you do this to yourself. You were worth more then this. Maybe it's something you grow accustomed to, the feeling of a endless pit of self hatred. The feeling for nothing being enough.

The bell attached to the door went of cause a few heads to glance over into the new incomer. Karen stood there head strong, beautiful as ever. Hair laid down in her signature low ponytail, with a few fly ways.

"Karen." You called out waving the women over, with a small smile gracing your lips for once.

"Hey, how's to been y/n." She asked placing down her umbrella wiping off the rain from her now strained wet jacket. Glancing up at you, with a wide smile. She missed you. How could she not, you were one of the first people she connected to when she came up her for law, a outspoken girl with big dreams. But before her was now a dull version. Sat before her, there was no longer a sparkle that lit up the room in your eyes, you no longer came by the Law Firm to visit her, like you once did. You became a ghost.

"I've been better truly." You confessed honestly, playing with the now empty cup. Glancing out the window, watching people in love running from the rain trying to find shelter. You watched a old lady calmly walk in the rain with no care for the consequences.

Sighing with a grim frown Karen placed her hand on top of the stray hand resting on the table. "You can tell me anything y/n. I'm always here, open ears and arms."

"I just want to be loved and not treated like a mistake. A damn burden clinging onto anything that shows me a little amount of love. I just want to be me again Karen is that so hard to ask for."

Finally pulling your eyes away from the window. Karen could finally see the sadness in your eyes, the longing to be treated as enough. It crushed her, what happened to her once careless friend. Where did she go?

"What did he do!" Karen finally broke the silence, she knew you wont just think like this. She never really liked him in the first place, just tolerated him for you sake. He was the devil in disguise to her.

"It's not him. It's me. I'm the damn problem. I ask for to much over and over again. I understand that his busy working to bring home food on the table, but his barely there. He barely fucking sees me, I'm a damn ghost in my own house." You ranted, gripping her hand So tightly you could see, her once white hands turning a bright red. She let you do it, you needed to let it out. She understand. You where the problem not him, something he embed in your head.

It was all your fault. It always will be. He was doing you a favor by still being with you.

"Stop thinking like that y/n please. You aren't the problem it's him, have you looked in the mirror honestly. I'm not trying to be mean but have you seen yourself, you aren’t you. You look tired, beat down.”

It was the honest truth, something you need to hear. Even if you weren't going to listen you need to know you have someone here who truly cares for you, not a damn manipulator who is feeding of your insecurities and lows self esteem. He was a liar and a cheat.

"Honestly Karen I didn't come here for you to shit on me. I just need someone to talk to."

"And that's what you have. No you want someone to listen and let you continue to hurt yourself. For you to be a fool and depend on a men who might I add is a criminal. A damn criminal — a danger to society."

"I know. I shouldn't be hiding an ex — shield agent in my house. But what can I do I'm in love with him. His my whole world. Im nothing without him." You admit sadly, with tears clouding up your vision. What you be without him. You are you today thanks to him. A emotionally unstable mess, and sad excuse of a woman.

"Y/n you called me for help, so let me do it." She promised wiping the down tear strained checks, slowly blinking her tears away. How could she have let this go on for so long, She just wanted you to be happy but at what cost. Look at you now, a shell of a beautiful woman she cared for.

A mess, a beautiful mess.

"I'll let you help, but please promise me no matter what never, I mean never let be become like this again." You insisted placing you dry, shaking hands on top of hers. You needed to do this, for you and your self esteem.

A crumbled, stomped out poor thing.

"I promise. With my last dying breath he will rule the day he crushed your heart y/n." Karen proudly claimed, pulling her hands away from your face. "But we first need to start with the packing. I know it will be hard, it know it hurts but if you want to get better you need to start now."

"For the better." You grimly smiled, looking down at the ring Grant give you on your third anniversary; where he promised he would make you Mrs.Ward. How foolish you were back then, a blind girl to love and hope. Slipping off the ring throwing it in the empty coffee cup, placing the lid back on it.

"To new beginnings." Karen exclaimed, pulling out her phone texting Foggy if him and Matt could help with a friend moving out. They need a break anyways, with the lack for cases. They need fresh air, especially from the stale air, they are surrounded in all day.

She didn’t want to worry you pretty head, she had this under control. That’s what she was here for. Moral support.

"Let's get you shopping first, we need to change that whole little get up you got going on right now." Snatching your arm up, pulling you to the door. But slowly coming to a stop next to the trash can wearily glancing over at you, as you debating on throwing the ring in the trash. With a smile on your face, no longer glancing down at the ring, you tossed it in the trash were it belonged.

"Good riddance."

Smiling at the small steps you made, she pushed out the door with a pep in her step. She was going to get the old you back no matter the things she had to do. You were her rock and she was the light at the end of the tunnel.

God it was hard playing strong, it was so wearing trying to push the feeling out doubt down. We're you doing the right thing but leaving him, was it worth it in the end, would you truly be free like you dreamed. To be loved without having to beg over & over again to be seen. It's been three weeks since you last seen your old home; an empty place you closed yourself into staying in. It became your own living hell. A place were you were so desperate to be loved & seen by a man who don't love you.

Moving in with Karen into her two bed apartment — that could barely fit the both of you, it was nice. It felt homey. You didn't have to look over your shoulder wondering if you boyfriend was coming home to see you. You didn't have to wonder, you had Karen: a loving friend that would do anything for you. For the past three weeks, she's been taking you out to places you once loved, showing you think your own boyfriend couldn't.

She was your knight and shining armor.

"Hey y/n I'm going out would you like to come?" Karen asked brushing out her freshly done curls, pining a few loose strands behind her ears. Glancing over from the bathroom mirror: as the door stayed cracked open. So she could keep an eye on you. You've been have withdrawals, second guessing your decision.

"I don't know Kare, i don't think I can mentally handle being around people. Not right not at least." You grumbled, tearing your eyes away from the tv. It wouldn't hurt at all to at least live a — little would it? No, you needed to get out of this funk, for wondering about what ifs.

"okay it's —"

Cutting her off, you racked your brain with possible outcomes. You could be happy for once. To live in the moment and not worry about him or your problems. A little drink wouldn't hurt, to dance the pain away. Something you desperately needed, a numb to the pain. "You know what why not, to hell with it. What harm could it do." You confidently stated. Turing off the tv, jumping up heading to your how disorganized and clutter room, looking over the boxes till you came across a box where you had you collection of clothing shoved deep in the closet hidden away from the world never touched again. I'm his words they were slutty, it looked like you were asking for it. A attention seeker, a fucking whore.

Pulling out a skinny tight black strapped dress, it was beautiful. Never ever truly able to wear it around Grant. Not when he shoved his words down your throat, a daily reminder. You were a attention seeker; clinging onto the validation of others. A Whore, who didn’t know how to control herself. Why would you want another man to look at your when you had him. It never mattered how you felt, no it was always about him. How could he deal with this, a whore of a girlfriend. A shameless one.

You could never do anything right in his eyes, there was always something you had to do that set him off, the way you wore your hair, clothes and they way you talked. He had to be in control of you every breathing moments when he had the time. When he wasn't fucking his teammate: Daisy or Skye what she liked to be called now.

Stripping yourself from you clothes, you grabbed a pair of see through black stocking. a new pair of matching bra and underwear. Grabbing a pair of black pumps, You wanted to feel good in your own skin again. It was show time, you told yourself as you liked over yourself in your mirror. You cleaned up well when you tried.

"Well i be damn, you look so good y/n. Oh my god." Karen gasped looking over your body, the dress snatched you in ever right place. It brought out your little hip dips and fully fit snuggle over you chest. You were breathtaking: a beautiful miss.

"Don't flatter me Karen. You are the real show here." You giggle pulling her close to your chest. Giving her a little twirl, watching your best—friend spin around. Looking like a fairytale princess.

"Let's steal the night baby." She chucked grabbing your arms, dragging you to the door while holding her keys in—between her teeth, struggle to grab her bags. This was going to be one hell of a night.

If only you knew the Devil was going to be there: hidden in the shadows. Watching your every more. Fascinated by the way you carried yourself with false sense of pride and confidence. Clinging onto false hope & reassurance. Watching the way your body was begging to be mishandled, craving for attention to be broken beyond repair.

Matt did know why draw him to you, was it the sadness that reeked all over your body when you came in with Karen, maybe it was the way you shoved down the doubt you had in your body and sucked it up. He could sense you from over here, with all the sweaty bodies bumping and grinding against each other clinging on to feeling. He could smell the sex in the air, from the couple in the far left corner who was shamelessly giving head to her partner, buckled on her knees doing what she knew best.

He could feel you disgust and nervousness, the way your body clamped up ever time a men reached out to put a hand on your hips, crawling at your skin like hungry wolves.

You didn't fit this seen, but neither did he. A blind in a club, a men unable to see in a damn club, what a shame. He wouldn't be able to see the colorful discs ball bouncing off you skin light you up, like a star in the sea of bodies.

It drawl more attention then what you needed. Remembering the words of your boyfriend: "You're a attention whore, you just crave to be seen damn it." A remaindered that you were less then him, nothing but trash under his foot, something so easily to discard and walk past.

"I'll be at the bar." You told Karen pulling your body away from the grasping hands as you watched her make her way over to a her friends: Matt & Foggy. Who were stationed in the middle of the far back, in a booth overlooking the mess of bodies.

"What is he doing here," You asked yourself looking over at Matt: who was dresssed in his usual suit and tie, that fitted him like it was made for him. Like it was a second skin. Last time you checked he was blinded, what would he have in being in a club full of degenerates who wanted to live in the moment.

To feel loss and free. Something you wished you could feel, to be careless and not have to worry about your life problems. Or more like you boy problems.

"Can I get a Margarita please."

Distracting yourself from the problems at hand. You didn't notice an approaching figure, one that stood out then the rest. A men with a devilish smile, and bright red glasses. "Hey can I get a Bourbon on the rock with light ice." He called out from behind you flagging down the waiter who just not finished with your drink, nodding at the man beside you fixing up his drink.

"What brings you here?" Matt asked. Staring up small talk, he felt you stiff up when you finally realized he was talking to you, glancing up at the man. There he stood, with a Bourbon in hand. It seemed like his eyes were on you, but how wasn't he blind?

"What do you want Matthew?" You asked glancing over at the men that made you heart skip a beat. Something you shouldn't be feeling. You were in a relationship more or less, you couldn't have feels for a man who was known to be detached and careless when it came to women.

But that's what made you crave him more, you wanted to feel something. To be touched and worshipped even if it was only for the night. Could he show you that? Would Matt knowingly be with a taken women, a women who was claimed to a monster, a pathological liar.

"Nothing I just wanted to see how your hold up y/n." He whispered into you ears, as he reached past you grabbing his drink. He could feel the way your heart picked up speed, the way you pulse quickened, the way you hand became clammy. He know he was the cause it.

"Matt you need to back up before I do something I'm not supposed to." You begged. Barely holding on, as the alcohol coursed through you body. Making you on edge, ready to jump if you were gave the chance. He smelt good, damn it he was just all around drop dead gorgeous. Everything about him, his smile they way he cared for people.

He was everything you wished for in a man, a dime out of the rest. "What if I want you to." He teased sliding his arm around your waist, pulling you flat against his chest. He could feel everything. He could smell you arousement in the air, it surround you in a cloud. God was it heavenly.

"Matt please." You begged with lust filled eyes, turing sideways to get a good look at him.

"Please what baby?"

"Please fuck me." You whispered seductively into his ear, biting on you lips, gripping on your thighs trying to keep them closed. Maybe, just maybe it felt right.

With the alcohol flowing through, you couldn't think straight all you wanted was him. Him in—between you, on you. You wanted him to destroy the little sanity you had left.

"That's all you had to say. Let's get out of here shall we." Pulling you from the chair, forget all about the drinks you both order. Slapping a 40 on the table, with the two drinks pushed together. Nodding at the bartender.

He was going to ruin you world. Make you wonder why you were so head in love with a man, who had no care for you. A man who seen you as nothing more then a toy, and controllable toy.

"I'm going to show you what I've been missing." He growled grabbing a handful of you ass. It was going to a long night.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #daredevil angst #grant ward #Grant ward x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x y/n #matt murdock x y/n #—n. work

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

A Truth Universally Acknowledged // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hi angel! I love all of your stories, especially your Bridgerton and work! Is there any way you could write something soft and fluffy for Anthony and a female reader! PLEASE AND THANK YOU - Anon.

A/N: I haven’t written for Anthony in what seems like forever! As much as I love Benedict, I do love writing Anthony fics. This isn't overly long, I just wanted to write something soft and fluffy that’s entirely domestic as well. I hope you all like! Title is a quote from the first line of Pride and Prejudice (further quotes from the book are in italics).

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: none - fluff, books, marriage, happy relationships, cute.

Word Count: 1.6k

The house is silent as Anthony strides through the waiting, open door. He nods his greeting to the Butler, Wilkins, before letting the weariness that had haunted him all day settle over his bones.

“Wilkins?” Anthony asks; no need to voice the question. Wilkins knows.

“Lady Bridgerton is in the Green-and-Gold, sir.”

Anthony smiles at the Butler. “You really do know everything.”

Wilkins smiles; nods his head. “It is my job, sir. Lady Bridgerton has already told me that you will take your final meal of the day in there, too.”

Anthony takes the stairs two at a time; refusing to accept his laboured breathing by the time he reaches the top. He was not an old man yet; he was still a very active man.

Turning left, he wanders blindly to the Green-and-Gold room named for the colour scheme of the walls and the furniture. His late grandmother had decorated the room; so fondly remembered by her ancestors that each refused to change a thing in the room save for any upholstering that needed to be done occasionally.

He finds you sitting on the left hand side of the room; the comfier side as argued by everyone who visits the room. Your legs are curled underneath you as your eyes pour over the page of an open book in your lap. From here, Anthony cannot possibly hazard a guess as to what you might be reading, but he feels a twinge of jealousy at the attention being paid to the book and not to him.

Well, love makes fools of us all, Anthony thinks to himself. “Darling,” Anthony greets in one single breath, as if the sight of you makes it all the easier for him to breathe.

“Darling,” You smile, standing from your seat, coming to greet the man you love with every fibre of your being. “How was your day?”

Anthony groans as he removes his jacket before tugging at the knot of his cravat. “Long,” He complains, struggling with the neckpiece. You smile at your husband, batting his hands away from his neck so you can take over. You feel the heat of his gaze as your hands work to do undo the knot he had tightened with a single tug; as the fabric unravels under your nimble fingers your husband reaches out to squeeze your waist.

“Thank you,” He whispers, voice full with an emotion you can’t quite decipher. Love? Weariness? A combination of both? Anthony looked ragged as you run your eyes over his face.

“I’m sorry that your day has been taxing, my love.”

“It’s all the better now that I’m here with you.”

“Flatterer,” You tease with no real heat behind your words. Anthony beams at you; eyes crinkling in the corners from the force of it as his hands tighten on your waist and his head dips to capture your lips in the kiss he has been thinking about for the better part of his day.

Breaking away, Anthony plants one, two, three kisses to your lips in quick, chaste succession leaving you breathless and highly amused. “How was your day?” He asks, curious as ever to find out what his wife does when he isn’t at home to distract you.

“Dull,” You answer plainly, enjoying the feel of Anthony’s strong arms around you.

“Dull?”

You purse your lips, thinking over your plans for the day so far. “I suppose dull doesn’t work. It hasn’t been dull at all.”

“Oh?”

“I’m only saying it because I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” He murmurs, kissing you once more. “What are you reading?” Anthony asks when he pulls away, spying the book laid delicately on the couch.

“Eloise let me borrow it. She gave me it when I called to see her this morning,” You answer, leaving the comfort of Anthony’s arms to take your seat on the couch.

“Darling, you know we have an entire library full of books, don’t you?”

Fixing him with an unimpressed look, you counter, “Your sister read this and thought of me. The least I could do is read it.”

“Alright,” Anthony sighs, knowing a losing battle when he sees one. “Budge up.”

“Pardon?”

Anthony gestures to the couch. “Make some room for me.”

A puzzled look settles across your face, but you follow the request, nonetheless, shifting on the couch so Anthony has room to sit down.

Anthony settles with his head on your lap; offering you a self-satisfied smile when you raise an eyebrow at him. “Comfy?” You ask, voice laced with humour.

“Very,” He responds. “Will you start from the beginning? I don’t want to miss anything.”

Chuntering about high maintenance husbands, you mark the page you got to before returning to the beginning. “Anything else before I begin?”

“Nothing… Oh, one thing.”

“That is?”

“I love you.”

Any previous ire you felt towards your husband disappears at those three magical words. The frustrated slant to your brow evens out as you reach out to stroke a hand through his hair and down the side of his face.

“I love you too,” You answer earnestly, feeling the power of the emotion running through you.

A peaceful look crosses Anthony’s face as your words sink into his skin like a balm on an open wound. He had felt neglectful lately; not spending as much time at home as he would have liked. He felt bad for leaving you so alone. Without children, you were your own companion throughout the day, and whilst you had both discussed having children, Anthony was to be left mildly vexed at the thought of you spending your days alone until a child was born.

The opening of parliament combined with Anthony’s seat in the House meant that he was spending more and more time in Westminster and less time with you.

A ratio Anthony was not fond of.

“I’m ready when you are,” He whispers; eyes focused on your face so he can watch every reaction and see every syllable leave your mouth.

Flashing an annoyed look at your husband, you take a deep breath and begin:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“What?” Anthony asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hush,” You admonish half-heartedly before continuing.

“However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.”

“This author is a genius,” Anthony exclaims, his voice awed as he tries to catch a glimpse of the cover to see the author’s name. “Who wrote this?”

“Are you going to comment the whole way through? I’ve barely read two paragraphs.”

“Sorry, darling, but I have to know. Who wrote this?”

“Her name is Jane Austen.”

“Well Jane Austen is a genius. In two paragraphs she’s captured what it is like to be a single man with a fortune in and amongst the sharks with unattached daughters.”

“Sharks?” You ask, highly amused at your husband’s words.

“Mothers,” Anthony shudders, remembering what it was like to go through so many seasons still unmarried. A Viscount with two seats of power combined with a hefty ancestral fortune – many mothers didn’t care whether Anthony would love their daughters; they simply wanted a fortuitus marriage that would leave them set for life.

Anthony thanks any and all gods and deities out there that he found his love match in you. You had taken him by surprise; Anthony had already resigned himself to a season with countless mothers forcing their daughters onto his arm. Until one evening early into the season, he had been listening to Gregory whine about the workload at Eton when his eyes met yours from across the room. In a total state of cliché, Anthony met your gaze, and he knew. He knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life loving you, worshipping you. He knew that whatever his future held, you would be right there weathering it alongside him. In a single glance from across the room, he knew.

You were married before the season finished; a special licence dispensed after a favour from the Archbishop called in. Anthony couldn’t wait; didn’t want to wait – he wanted to start the rest of his life with you as soon as possible.

Your light laughter breaks Anthony out of his reverie. “They aren’t all that bad,” You argue. “I suspect you’ll be worse than me when it comes to our children.”

Anthony snorts; doubting your words but loving the way you speak so openly about your hopeful future family. Clearing your throat, you continue to read on.

Anthony settles further into your lap; letting the calmness of your voice wash over him. After a moment of watching the concentration on your face, Anthony lets his eyes slip closed. He has no intention of falling asleep; he simply wants to enjoy this moment to its fullest.

“Mr Bingley was good looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features…”

A snore interrupts your rendition of Pride and Prejudice. Pausing mid-sentence, you look down to your lap where Anthony has fallen asleep so peacefully. Smiling softly at the man, you close the book, placing it to one side before running a hand through Anthony’s ever-unruly hair. He hums contentedly, pushing his head further into your hand as you begin to scratch at his scalp.

As you watch Anthony doze dreamily, you feel your eyes lose the fight against the growing tiredness. Your hand stills in Anthony’s hair as you fall asleep alongside your husband, utterly content at the path your life has taken considering it led you to him.

*****

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley @spideysz

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagines #Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagines

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hansensgirl · 4 years

Text

please don’t take him (even though you can).

summary. | She can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him.

warnings. | Major angst, cheating, nightmare mentions, anxiety, yearning, nail-biting, insecurities, mental heath issues, mentions of violence, abandonment, implied smut, talk of death, grief, some religion stuff (not major), loneliness, mentions of torture, PTSD, split personality disorder i think, this is really angsty and possibly triggering so please be aware of the warnings! 18+

word count. | 12k.

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff.

a/n. | THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 6K!!! i love each and everyone so much like serious i will kiss you all!! happy valentine’s day as well!! based off of jolene by dolly parton and love by daughter. thank you to my love @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing and listening to me talk about this fic every now and then! ilysm! this fic is very near and dear to me, so please reblog it 🥺

The Soldat’s sentences are broken, just like he is. The words fall apart as soon as they roll off of his tongue. So much to say, so few words, so little time. His hands are as cold as the bitter Russian winters, as cold as his stare. The Soldat doesn’t know what to feel. He’s as numb as when one’s entire body has been bitten by frostbite.

His voice is deeper than it was for the man he once was. From the screaming, from the crying, from the torture. He has no control, not even over his own voice. He keeps quiet and thinks. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. Something has dawned on the Soldat. He does have control. But for how long? He only has it for a few minutes, maybe even hours. But it’s enough. He only has it until the soul of his mission’s body has left. He only has it until their eyes hold no life in them.

It’s 2014, and the first sentence he has completed is “I love you.”

You can remember it well. November 17th, the snow had fallen early and neither of you were prepared. Milk intended for hot chocolate boils on the stove and the crackle that the fire brings was the only sound in the room. He watches you from afar as you slowly stir the milk with a wooden spoon — the only one that he hadn’t accidentally snapped.

He doesn’t like the cold, he never has. Though he’s always warm, the cold haunts and taunts him. Memories and nightmares come with the snowfall and ice. “Are you okay, Winter?” you ask him, and he snaps out of a blank trance.

Winter. He likes being called Winter, although he loathes the season.

He nods his head after some careful thinking. Through the mess that is his mind, he manages to ask himself if he’s okay. Is he? No, he isn’t. He’s not sure why he nodded, but damn is he grateful for that smile you give in return. One in a million, you’re a burning star. The brightest there is, and the shiniest diamond ever. You’re rare, the person who poets write about and singers cry about. But you’re the only one for him. Only his.

“What flavours, Winter? Would you like to try something new?” you ask him, bringing the heat down and taking the milk off of the stove. Winter gets up from his spot near the fireplace and strides over to you. He likes the way you don’t choke in fear when he walks towards you.

You show him the numerous flavours of cookies you had baked that morning, and allow him to take as long as he’d like to choose. “M…” He struggles to say the word, scared that he’s being too demanding and that it’s a trick. HYDRA often did that. Fooling him just so that they could harm him, even though they never really needed a reason. “You can have anything you want, Winter. Anything.”

You reassure him, hesitatingly putting your warm hands on his warm face. He looks up at you, and you give him a soft smile that makes him want to cry with love. “Macadamia?” he requests politely. You hand him the macadamia cookies and smile, before grabbing one of the chocolate bombs you and he made the other day.

“Would you like to pour the milk, Winter?” you question him, grabbing his favourite mug. It was white and had a cheesy pun that always made him smile. “Yes.” He keeps his answers short, scared that he’ll say the wrong thing, or that he’ll abuse his privileges. The stories… The harsh stories they tell about him contradict him. He looks just like that feared soldier; the one you should run from.

But God, he’s just a broken man. Not too far past repairing, but just enough that it takes certain special tools to fix him. He towers over you like a brute, a powerful stare that would make anyone but you cry. He takes the carton of milk for you, cracking a slight smile when he remembers that you were so weak that your hands would shake when lifting it.

Your heart warms as his lips stretch. Before, you weren’t sure if you even had a favourite sight. But now… now you know. He’s your favourite sight. He pours the milk with shaky yet careful hands, and you envy his strength through your admiration. He stops just at the right time without having you tell him. Independence. He’s learning.

You break pieces of chocolate into the cup and let the hot milk melt the sweet treat, before adding a dash of cocoa powder. You both watch in wonder and awe as the milk turns into hot chocolate. Winter takes his cup from you, and thanks you. “You’re welcome, Winter,” you say, placing your cold hands on the mug.

He watches as you sigh at the warmth, knowing that your body doesn’t radiate as much heat as he does. “S- Share?” he offers you, taking note of how you’re slightly shivering. You nearly choke on your hot chocolate as he proposes the utmost tempting action ever. “My blanket…” He adds on, making you take note of the blanket your father gave you that rests on his shoulders.

It’s not necessary, but it gives him a type of comfort that only you can give as well. “Please?” you ask, shivers crawling up your spine and goosebumps rising on your skin. You walk closer to him, padded feet barely making any noise as they rest on top of creaky wooden floors.

He opens the blanket like wings and takes you under his arm like a bird. Ready to show you the world, even the nastiest bits and pieces of it. He wraps the majority of the blanket around you and he’s infatuated with the relaxation that you radiate. No threats, no impending dooms. You stand side by side, not so silently sipping on your hot chocolate because you love the little smile he gives at the slightly loud slurps.

Winter doesn’t know what comes over him. Courage? Cowardice? A spur of love? His mind is too messed up to think that clearly. He turns you around to face him, the blanket falling to the floor with a slight thud. Who knew wool could be so heavy?

Heavy like your heart. Heavy like the tension that lingers.

Perhaps it’s not courage or cowardice, and in fact, it’s Bucky who used to flirt like a maniac with every girl in the neighbourhood. He bends down and plants a kiss on your lips — at least that’s what he thinks it is. You’re easily goo beneath his coarse hands as they cup your cold face. He doesn’t move his lips and you don’t either. You’re both content with the simple yet unique kiss.

He pulls away and you have to admit — you’re breathless. From both the lack of air and from happiness. It’s rare to have such feelings be reciprocated. “I love you,” he bluntly admits, and never in your life have you been so shocked. “W- What?” you ask incredulously, taken aback yet you can already feel your body, soul and mind taking off to cloud nine.

“I love you.”

He repeats himself and God knows he’s willing to say those three words and eight letters over and over again just for you. “You do?” you ask him, feeling tears well in your eyes. “Yes. I love you. Love has immense, yet measurable effects and changes in the biochemistry of the brain. I mean- my brain? The three basic parts of love are driven by unique blends of brain chemicals…”

He pauses to take a deep breath.

“Every time I look at you, I have the term, ‘butterflies in the stomach.’ It’s caused by a reduction in blood flow to the stomach. I have the strongest urges to protect and love,” he explains with more words than ever.

Never in your life have you ever heard the words that are pouring out of his mouth. “Do you…?” he nervously questions, feeling his heart palpitations speed up at such a rate, it’s like he’s having a heart attack.

“I love you, even more, Winter.”

It’s 2016, and your Winter is almost a different person.

His name is Bucky– James, he tells you. You call him Jamie. Information discovered from trips to the museum and paragraphs of articles and textbooks fill out the blank spaces of his life. Apparently, students learn about him and the rest of the Howling Commandos in school. But you haven’t been, so you wouldn’t know.

The night terrors are tough, but they’ve been slowly improving with you by his side. You’re both broken in your own ways, but you have each other, and that’s enough. He doesn’t mind it when you call him Winter, but you know it makes more sense to call him by his true name. You’re fine with anything, as long as you have him.

“My, my… Did you wake up in a good mood?” you ask him, hugging him carefully from behind because you know that sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched. That’s fine. “Maybe… I was thinking of going out today. Alone. Will you be safe?” he asks you, handing you the best meal he can scrounge up. Biscuits and tea. “Always, because I have you,” you tell him, making him give you a sad smile.

You don’t have a table, so he lifts you up onto the counter that is next to the sink. Inside, there are stacks of dishes. Neither of you have the energy to wash them, but today you will, to keep yourself busy. He’s already dressed; tight red henley on top of two more sweaters that are stretched out over his broad chest.

Jeans that barely fit his thick legs, combat boots that he stole and a cap that conceals his identity from wandering eyes. He watches as you eat, just in case you accidentally bite your tongue, burn yourself or choke. He’ll always be there for you. “Did you eat?” you question him, breaking your last biscuit and handing the bigger piece to him.

At first, he refuses to take it. Doubts from HYDRA still linger, they never can go away even with the most reassurance and love from you. “Please? You can lie and you can choose to not answer, but at least take this,” you beg, placing the half in his gloved hand. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips; the taste of orange pekoe tea making him sigh.

He’s always been partial to green, even though he can’t recall ever drinking it. He reluctantly eats the piece and you stare him dead in the eyes as he does so. “You know I’ll always love you, right?” you speak up once he’s finished. You know all the proper manners like they’re written on the back of your hand. When you were younger, they were.

In loopy cursive. Black Sharpie ink settling into your skin and you can remember the way your father scolded you for doing so. The memory is fresh, fresh like the tears you notice in Bucky’s eyes. He nods, and you down the rest of your tea. You never had a preference between tea and coffee. You were grateful to have either.

They both had their flaws, and they both had their strengths. “And I’ll always love you, лунный свет,” he whispers, closing the space that divides you both. His lips — slightly chapped yet so soft — are pressed against your cold forehead. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, but it’s not one of surprise.

No.

It’s of satisfaction, and you find yourself doing it more often than once. “What does that mean?” you ask him as you trace the teacup with one of your fingers. There’s still a bit of tea inside of it, but it’s barely anything. Not enough to quench a thirst. But since it’s come from him and since his murder-scarred hands made it, it’s enough for you.

Your finger dips, and it’s only then when you notice there’s a small chip. You don’t resent the cup for it, no, not at all. In fact, you find yourself a bit more enamoured with the piece of cheap china in your hands. “Moonlight,” he bluntly tells you, before taking the cup from your hands. You don’t even realize it until he replaces it with his hands.

Oh… He doesn’t like it? Now– now you hold a little bit of resentment towards it because if James doesn’t like it then maybe you shouldn’t. “Why?” you ask as you wrap your hands around his. You lace your fingers together and you can feel the stark contrast. On one hand — your right hand — your skin is comforted by the cotton glove he wears.

On your left hand, your skin is comforted by his bare, rough hand. “Well, лунный свет, what do you think it means?” he asks you in return as you trace the stitches on his glove and the grooves of his hand. “I… I’m not sure. I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Your head ducks down in disappointment, but not with him. It’s for yourself, as always. “Don’t be, sometimes we don’t know everything,” he tells you softly, “and that’s okay.” His words reassure you as always.

“You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you,” he monologues to you, and you find yourself at a loss of words. “James…” You whisper, looking up at him.

His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, but they’re glassy and you can see right into his soul. “I love you, лунный свет, until the end of love,” James whispers to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you, even more, Jamie, until the end of love. Until the end of time,” you whisper back, shutting your eyes. Bucky squeezes your hands, and you do the same in return. His head slightly knocks yours as he places his forehead against yours.

“Until the end of time, лунный свет.”

It’s still 2016, and you’ve lost your Jamie.

And it’s not like he’s somewhere in a sea of people, or some nook of a large building. No, he’s gone and you don’t know how to get him back. He told you to wait in the park that nobody usually goes to. Well, if you count both yourself and James as nobodies. You watch from afar as destruction and terror rips your home apart, and you pray that James is okay. You need him.

Surprisingly, nobody notices you. You wear most of James’s clothing, as it all couldn’t fit in the two backpacks he packed. You don’t mind, because you’re trying to forget about the small gun that’s in your boot. You don’t even know how to use it, and he knows that. “It doesn’t matter, лунный свет, once they see you with a gun, you’ll automatically be the strongest person there.” His words echo in your mind and so do his actions.

He dressed you in a rushing manner. His eyes kept locking with yours. Through his soft, almost scared complex, you can see the soldier you met two years ago –– only murder in his eyes, ready for a mission.

You bite your nails and try to ignore the screams from passersby “Until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time…” You repeat the phrase over and over, hoping the Gods above can hear the plea in your voice. “Please don’t take him, even though you can, please don’t take my Jamie,” you beg out loud, looking up to the sky that greys the same way old memories do.

He’s not okay, he's probably dead… And you left him there to suffer. How selfish could you be?

“Shut up.”

I’m not wrong, I never am. I wasn’t wrong about Father, was I?

“I… That’s different.”

Is it though?

You bite your tongue, whatever snarky remark you just had has now lost itself in the mess that is your mind. You’re conflicted as always. Should you stay, and let Jamie get hurt? Or should you help him? You spend a good few minutes repeating those questions over and over. You feel like you have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. You let out a satirical laugh, and you know that you seem insane.

Two days ago, you had brought up a saying to Jamie.

“My father… He had this saying. When someone has lived their full life, but it still seems to go on and on, it means that God and the devil haven’t come to an agreement yet,” you tell him, pulling at a thread that hangs on his jacket. “An agreement about what, лунный свет?” he asks you, looking up from the pamphlet he stole from a museum in a town near Bucharest.

It’s crumpled, but everything is legible still. “Who has to take them,” you smile up at him, and he returns it. “Perhaps, that's what's happening. They’re still arguing, still negotiating. That’s why you’re still here. If one of them were ready to take you, they would’ve done so already. But they haven’t,” you explain to him in your usual soft voice. He once told you that your voice is one of the best things to listen to.

Better than music, better than laughter, better than the admissions of ‘I love you’ you tend to trade.

“Maybe you’re right, лунный свет. You know, you’re different from the rest of us– them,” he whispers to you, taking in the way your face creases in certain spots when curiosity takes over. “How so, Jamie?” you ask him, setting down the needle, roll of thread, and jacket. “You have hope, faith,” he starts, “it’s both dangerous yet helpful. It’s what separates you from the demons of the world.”

“лунный свет!” James calls out. You look up from the ground and the movie of your life with James pauses. “Jamie…” You whimper, taking in his form. He’s bruised and battered, cut up and injured. Just like when you found him on the porch of your home. “Oh, Jamie… What happened?” you ask him, feeling yourself begin to panic. Your heart quickens, and you rush to him like he’s about to die.

“We have to go, л��нный свет. It’s a hideout, it’s for your own safety,” he briefly explains to you and he grabs your arm. His grip is perfect. Not too tight, but not too gentle. You can tell he’s scared, but you know he’ll never admit it. “I have to go fight, but I’ll be back for you. Do you know the Avengers? It’s– Argh– We don’t have enough time. But I’ll tell you all about it later, лунный свет.” James is all business and nothing else.

You’re worried, so worried. But you have hope, and you have faith, and you know everything will be okay in the end. “But you’ll stay safe, right, Jamie?” you question him. He doesn’t respond, the only thing coming from him are grunts of pain and puffs of determination. “Answer me, Jamie. Promise me you’ll stay safe,” you demand of him in a strong voice. Never in your life have you ever raised your voice like this, but when it comes to James’s safety, you no longer care.

“I promise, лунный свет, until the end of time.”

It’s still 2016, and your Jamie is going away.

He’s leaving this world, but it’s for himself. You hold back all the pleas, all the begging you have in your body because you know he wants this. He needs this. His train is going to depart soon, off to a faraway land. A cold one, to be exact. You feel tempted to remind him how much he hates the cold, but you choose to keep your mouth shut. You’ve learned a lot in the past few days, more than when you were in high school.

Steve, Jamie’s past, what HYDRA is, the Avengers, the types of evil in this world–– They’re all things you’ve learnt. Your Jamie isn’t a different person, he isn’t. He just has more to him now. You replay the horrific memories of the past days in your mind over and over, even though you hated them. You look through the glass doors, and ahead of you is James in all his beatific glory.

In front of him, though, is the Black Widow. You don’t know if she’s from Jamie’s past, but you know they have a connection. The way they speak to each other; low and soft, just like summer rain. It’s almost the same way you speak to Jamie, but it’s not quite like it. He smiles up at her, and you remember how much you love his side-profile. It’s envious, really. But then again, Jamie is perfect in your eyes, despite his horrors and his scars of his past.

Of Winter’s past.

Your Jamie and Winter have their similarities. You’d make a list, but it would go on forever. You keep your eyes trained on his face, one of your favourite things to look at. Dare you say, he looks at her like no other. You’ve never seen this look on his face. But then again, your Jamie is going away and maybe it’s that impending nervousness. She looks at you. Her green eyes –– ones that just encapture you in the best way possible –– lock with yours. You feel insecure, almost as though she’s judging you.

But one of Earth’s mightiest heroes would never do such a thing.

She’s judging you, you know. Probably thinks you’re some nobody, some pathetic little girl who can’t even defend herself.

“No, she isn’t,”

And how can you be so sure?

Right. How can you be so sure? You watch as she gives James –– your Jamie –– a pat on the shoulder. She walks out, through another door and you feel as though she did that just to avoid you. And honestly, you don’t blame her. You walk in, hesitatingly of course. Each step of yours is wary. Your old, beaten-up sneakers barely make a sound against the floor. Your Father always said you walked like a ballerina and spoke like a princess.

“H– Hi, Jamie,” you quietly greet him. He looks up, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips are puckered in thought. He gives you a small ‘hi,’ and you smile at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” you ask him, taking his form in again. His cuts and wounds are all bandaged and healed up. You recall the marvel that is the explanation of how he heals so quickly. The super-soldier serum, curated by HYDRA just for Jamie.

“No, Shuri and Helen fixed me up. And now, they’re gonna fix my mind,” he tells you, all while letting out a light-hearted chuckle. You smile again, just to ease the tense a bit. But even you can’t fix it. “I may be back to my old self, but I’m a walking time bomb. I’m dangerous, and I need to heal. For the sake of myself, and others,” he tells you sadly. He looks up at you and he gives you a grin that isn’t his usual happy one.

Yours falls, and his follows. “It’ll only be a year, maybe even a few months. Everyone here is smarter than Tony Stark, they’ll probably figure it out,” he reassures you just like how he used to whenever you got worried. You nod, and it’s just a farce. You’re not sure if you hope he can see through your façade or not. He sighs and looks at the door. The same door that Natasha walked out of just a few mere moments ago.

You don’t look back. You don’t follow his gaze. Why waste your time on something that will hold no meaning in the future, when you have the love of your life in front of you? You tilt your beard and swallow, just the way your mother used to. At least that’s what your father told you. “I love you, Jamie. I’ll always love you, until the end of time,” you whisper to him.

“And— And I love you too, лунный свет.”

It’s 2017, and along with your Winter, they’ve taken James’s love for you.

You don’t blame them. You don’t hate them. They’ve helped James heal, help him be better (even though God has already curated such perfection). The past seven hundred and thirty and then some days have been painful. The past seventeen thousand, five hundred-twenty hours have been slower than ever. It’s not like you’ve been keeping count. No, but Friday has.

The team — the Avengers — don’t allow you to come with them on their trip to Wakanda. You expected it. Ever since Steve and Tony put their differences aside for the sake of the world, you knew you’d be shunned from the team. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey have tried to be friends with you, but after a debriefing with Tony, they couldn’t even lock eyes with you.

Once again, you don’t blame them.

You stay locked in your room, and you don’t mind it. It’s nice. It is true that people really do look like ants from such a height. You know the glass is bulletproof, but it feels like it’s seconds away from breaking. You love seeing the rain patter against the glass, just like how you love to see the snow melt as soon as it touches the clear surface.

You wonder if they’ve cut his long hair. You love his locks. Strands of brown mixing, the occasional lighter brown strands standing out. You love the length of his hair, too. Reaching just at his shoulders, and even past them. You love the way it tickles your face, especially when he bends down to kiss you.

You love everything about him. You always have, and you always will.

Your room is small. You can’t handle big spaces — Friday tells Tony, and he scoffs. Truthfully, you’re content with anything. He could’ve given you a broom closet to live in, and you wouldn’t complain. But you like small spaces. Big spaces make you feel a bit overwhelmed. Stark Tower has many wonderments to it.

For example — the technology. If you don’t like the scenery of the concrete jungle, you can change it to the view from Tony’s vacation home in the Hamptons. You always did have the wish to travel the world. From the streets of France to the lovely waterfalls in the Philippines. But the thought of being high up in the sky, with the small chance of crashing. It may be one in five million, but you won’t take the risk.

Even air crafts have their faults and flaws. Like having only two or three backup plans, the bathrooms, the limited space, the fact that if you pay extra you get better treatment, and the food options. But everyone looks past these things and they’ve been reduced to small issues that just don’t really matter. As long as the big picture looks perfect, the small details don’t matter.

You wish you could see yourself that way. A beautiful person at first glance. Where your details –– your flaws –– don’t mean anything. Because as long as the big picture is perfect, the details don’t matter. But you’re a detail-oriented person and every single thing matters. Even the little things that nobody will see. If only you could see yourself the way both Jamie and Winter see you. They know you have flaws, like the way you don’t like listening to helpful advice sometimes.

“Ms… Mrs. Barnes?” Friday calls out. You look up to where the voice comes from. Up above you, and a little to the side is a speaker. It’s small, barely noticeable. “Y- Yes, Friday?” you ask her, setting down the old mirror that was once your grandmother’s. It has a few cracks, but they aren’t serious enough to mess with anyone’s reflection.

“The Quinjet with Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Stark, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Vision, Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Barnes is arriving,” Friday tells you. You swallow thickly — nervously. You may have been preparing all week, but all that effort goes down the drain. Will he act differently? Will he be ecstatic to see you? You ask yourself all these questions, and the answers to them just seem to taunt you.

“Will you be waiting at the entrance for them?” She speaks up after a few beats of silence. You nod before you remember Friday doesn’t have eyes. She can see, but she can’t see. “I will, Friday. Thank you,” you tell her. You set down the mirror with its face on the top of your dresser. You look around and you can just feel as though there is something missing.

Truthfully, you aren’t used to your room. You miss the wooden walls that held scratches from the furniture. You miss the coziness the fireplace emanated. You miss the view of the hills covered in snow. You miss it all. This concrete jungle isn’t made for you — you aren’t made for it. You stand up and with short steps (intentionally short), and the feeling of marble underneath your feet instead of wood works up your nerves even more.

You can hear commotion –– more so people whisper shouting at each other. “God, Rogers, get a grip! You look and sound like an old lady worrying about her grandchildren,” Tony snaps at Steve, before calling out for Friday. “Friday?” he yells, shoving one of his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” she answers back.

“Is the room ready?” he asks her, and the rest of the Avengers take a seat in the living room. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, Mr. Barnes. If you need any assistance, just call for me.” Friday’s voice is always lovely. She reminds you of an aunt who is always ready to take care of her relatives.

You don’t hear Jamie’s lovely voice and you’re worried. You can see some parts of the living room from your spot in the hallway. “Just try not to kill any innocent people, okay?” Tony sneers, earning a smack on the shoulder from Pepper. Pepper always seemed nice to you, but your encounters with her were usually a bit awkward and short-lived. Steve is ready to throw his shield at Tony and so do the rest of the Avengers who were on the Captain’s side.

“’S fine, Steve. I deserve it anyway,” Bucky whispers loud enough for you to hear. Your heart jumps for joy — your Jamie really is back. You take another step, carefully, of course. “You don’t deserve that… Are you okay, Buck? Do you need to lie down? Drink water? Fresh air?” Steve attacks your Jamie like a mother and you can see why they got along so well in the past.

“I’m fine, Steve. Really. I just want to take a tour of this… this place,” Bucky admits to Steve, and Tony just can’t pass up the chance to roll his eyes. Bucky turns his head around as he takes in the large room. The television was so huge, he feels as though he is at the cinema. He doesn’t turn all the way around, so you must deal with the sight of his back. His clothes are nothing like the clothes he used to wear back in Romania.

He looks like he just attended his own funeral.

“You sure, Buck?” Steve asks him for reassurance. Bucky nods and he thinks about how much he misses his goats. “Alright, but remember to call for Friday if you get lost.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder and Tony is the first to walk out of the room, as usual. Pepper follows him, knowing how Tony gets whenever he sees Bucky. “Can I see my room first?” Bucky quietly asks Steve, making sure nobody else hears.

“Of course, Buck. It’s upstairs, is that fine?” Somehow, Steve believes that Bucky has a fear of heights. Though Bucky fell from a great height back in 1940-something, he’s not scared of heights. He’s more terrified of the cold and of trains, especially ones that run between mountains.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky snaps, growing tired of his best friend’s constant worrying. Steve raises his hands in surrender and you can tell Bucky doesn’t like that. “Hi, Jamie,” you greet quietly. You immediately regret ever leaving your room as everyone whips their heads around to face you. Bucky’s lips fall open in a gasp.

“Doll,” Bucky whispers beneath his breath. You take in his face and he’s just as beautiful as ever, if not more. Wisps of his hair fall and frame his face. He has a slight five-day-old scruff, one that is clean but also slightly messy. You remember the way you would sit in his lap, razor in hand, as you clean up the edges of Bucky’s beard.

He pushes past Sam, past Wanda, past everyone — hell, even past Steve who doesn't take the shove lightly. He nearly trips over the white couch that stands in the way. He comes up close to you, and you look up at him. You watch his eyes — but you don’t look into them. For some reason, you can’t seem to lock eyes with him. “Oh, my doll… I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers softly as he cups your face with his murder-scarred hands.

“Jamie…” You easily mimic his look of shock with a mix of adoration. You’re not sure how you ever said goodbye to the man in front of you — no, the man he used to be.

Now, he’s different. He’s not your Winter, your Winter is gone. They’ve taken him from you, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, then you would’ve fought them until the last tooth and nail. “I’m back, Doll, and ‘m all yours,” he whispers, bringing your face forward to his. You close your eyes and you think he’s going in for a kiss, but he stops when his lips are inches from yours.

“But I need to get better first, Doll. I need to get used to everything, is that all right?” He asks even though he should already know the answer. Right? You don’t know what they did to your Jamie. The rushed explanation filled with words you don’t understand only left you a confused mess. “Of course, Jamie. ‘Until the end of time,’ remember?” You whisper back.

He keeps quiet.

It’s still 2018, and you’re at an impasse.

You loathe impasses. You may persevere every now and then, but impasses just seem to love you. The saying, “you attract what you fear,” is terrifyingly true. You’re scared of impasses. You know they love to knock you down and kick you until you’re sputtering with blood leaking from the corners of your mouth that rarely ever turn up anymore. But they still occur.

It’s been a year and five months since Bucky came home, and each passing day has its difficulties. Whether it be nightmares, panic attacks or intrusive thoughts. But you’ve been there with him for every step. When he didn’t want to go to therapy alone, you went with him. When he couldn’t sleep after a rather gruesome nightmare, you told him some childhood stories. It feels like nothing has changed, truly.

But Jamie isn’t Jamie — and you don’t know what to do. “Jamie, do you want anything to eat?” You ask him, holding a plate of pancakes you whipped up once you knew nobody would be in the kitchen area. “Is– are those pancakes?” He asks you, turning around from his desk. You nod and look down at the impressive stack. Dr. Cho told you to make sure Bucky continues to eat. Sitting on the small table next to you – the ottoman – is a cup of steaming hot tea.

It’s not orange pekoe, it’s earl grey, Your father loathed it, saying that it’s meant for the elderly even though he had a head full of greys and aching joints. You’d laugh him off, but then pour him a cup of green tea. “Yes, some of them have blueberries,” you tell him, stretching your full arms out at him. You see that look of contemplation in his eyes again. “Would you like to eat with me?” You ask, knowing how he can get when those thoughts pester him.

“Of course, I’m all but a gentleman,” he jokes, and you give him a smile. “That you are, especially when it comes to the ladies,” you add, and he blushes. Bucky looks down and tries to hide the shy smile from you, and you allow him to do so. It’s not like you haven’t memorized every bit of Jamie, even down to the small things. “Is there any syrup? I’ve been craving sweets all morning.” Bucky grabs the second plate and he almost hesitates in grabbing a few pancakes.

You turn back around to get the tea, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t feel as embarrassed with taking food. “Here’s some tea, you don’t have to drink it, though.” You set the filled China cup on the glass table and the clink it gives lasts for a split second. “Remember when we would buy about three boxes of orange pekoe tea? Even though it wasn’t the best — especially since it was for so cheap — we’d still drink it like it was water,” you reminisce to him out loud as you take a pancake off of the stack.

There’s silence, and you swallow thickly. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, Jamie, I myself forget a lot of memories too,” you quickly reassure him, fanning the flames before they could even start to burn. “No, it’s not okay… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gripping the specially made fork tightly. He hates it. It makes him feel like some sort of danger. Someone that breaks people and things so easily.

“Don’t be sorry, Jamie, or else I’m going to have to start apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,” you threaten him, and he cracks a smile. “Alright, only because I know you’re going to become annoying.” He grabs the syrup and drowns his pancakes with sticky delightfulness. “Yeah…” Your voice is all but monotonous with a hint of sadness.

He probably thinks you’re already annoying, you follow him around all the time… Do you ever let him do other things? Without you? Like hanging out with friends, healing on his own, cooking his own food… You’re so clingy.

“Shut up.”

You only want me to shut up because you know I’m right.

“What are you doing today?” you suddenly ask him. You haven’t dug into your pancakes yet, so you stare at the food in front of you with a strong glare. “Uh, well I’m not sure,” Bucky admits, and you only then realize how much you’ve held him back. “You should hang out with Sam, or Steve, or maybe even accompany Banner in the lab,” you suggest to him, looking at his plate. It’s nearly clean, with some streaks of syrups and a few occasional crumbs.

“Sam’s busy training with Steve, and I know Banner works best without someone hovering over him like a hawk — well, more so a raven. I’ll probably just hang out with ‘Talia, she’s been of great help with my healing.” Bucky takes the tea from your side and slowly sips it. “‘Talia?” you ask him. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re sure that it’s a nickname. “Natasha, she went through something similar as me, so I’m hoping she can give me some advice,” he clarifies quickly.

“Oh, that’ll be great for you,” you exclaim to him. “I know… You don’t mind, do you?” he asks with one of his eyebrows raised. He’s never done that before. “Never. Go enjoy yourself, Jamie,” you urge in a soft voice, looking at him from the brim of his teacup. The sight reminds you of when you first moved away from the city.

The sun was rising in the distance. A few clouds shrewd over the lovely sight, but the yellows and oranges were stronger than the greys. From over the horizon, the sun made its way up to the sky. You watched from the porch with a blanket wrapped around your body. You miss those simpler days.

The ones where the only problems you had were the cold weather and the homework your father had given you. Sheets of paper sat on the table in the living room, with your multiplication tables written on them. Your sevens and eights always messed you up, but your father knew you could do it.

“Do you have any plans for today?” He questions, staring into the half-full cup. “I might go to that huge library Tony has, one of the agents was saying they have these seats called ‘bean bags,’ isn’t that funny?” You let out a harmless giggle, one of those small ones a protagonist would have that would make their love interest swoon. “I’ve sat on one. Not very nice. Natasha and I are the only ones on the team who hates them,” Bucky says as his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

The other day, you caught him with a mouthful of blood. It wasn’t from a punch in the face or a knife in the guts.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you two,” you playfully tell him, wiggling your eyebrows to the best of your abilities. Bucky just stares at you, a small glint of humour in his eyes but it slowly disappears and your smile goes away along with it. “Hm.” He downs the rest of his tea and you wonder how he isn’t wincing with pain from the heat. Oh, right, he’s a super-soldier.

Bucky begins to stand up and moves to take the dishes to the kitchen but you quickly stop him. “It’s alright, I can take it,” you reassure him. Without realizing it, your hand strokes the wrist of his bionic arm. You look up at him and smile, instinctively giving him that look you used to give Winter. Bucky hesitatingly shrinks away from you, and your smile drops. Nononono– Too much…

He smiles and walks out the door, not even sparing you one of those lovely second glances. Sighing, you settle the plates upon each other and the tension leaves the room behind him. You’re careful to avoid the syrup on one of the plates. The feeling of stickiness against your dry, cold hands will be unpleasant.

The thought of it has you shivering. A small electric shock climbs up your spine and you’re glad that nobody is there to watch you shake it off. You carefully pluck the fork from Bucky’s plate and place it next to yours. “Hey, Friday?” you call out into the empty room. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers, ready to be at your service.

“What books are there in the library?”

It’s been around 92 days since Jamie told you about him and Natasha, and you can feel reality slip through your fingers.

Bubbles of giggle erupt from the common room. Never in your life would you ever have called a living room the common room, but words always seem to stick. Just like the syrup on these plates that just don’t seem to go away. You don’t mind cleaning up after the heroes. You’re glad.

You have something to occupy yourself with, or else there’d be holes in the floor for your incessant pacing. You run semi-lukewarm water over the plates, hoping the dried syrup would melt. You recall the way your father would terrify you into loathing sweets. He’d show you the way syrup would ‘harden underwater’, and he’d tell you that’s what occurs in your blood.

It’s too bad that a few days later, you learned that blood is thicker than water and the world is filled with nothing but lies. It’s scary, really; trusting someone with your whole life while they toy you around like seeing you be oblivious is a pass time.

Your hands warm up under the water and suddenly you wish you hadn’t left your bed this morning. “Bucky, stop, my face is all red,” Natasha demands through her laughs, and James snorts. “So? I like seeing you red, it’s my favourite colour,” he retorts and Natasha rolls her eyes.

You can’t see the playful, friendly banter, but you can hear it. It makes you smile. You love knowing Jamie is having fun, he deserves it. “Hey, you,” Sam greets, walking into the kitchen. “H- hi, do you need anything?” you ask him, halting your movements.

“No, just got done training those new recruits and I’m already fed up,” he complains and you giggle. You know Sam is being light-hearted, so you don’t take his words too heavily. “Well, a busy man like you needs a big breakfast. There are some pancakes over there, help yourself.”

You wait until he busies himself so that you can continue to wash this plate. You look at it — it’s covered in a mix of suds, syrup and water. You notice there’s a small chip on the edge of the plate and you can’t help but wonder where the piece went. If it were a piece of clothing, you would accuse the washing machine. But it isn’t, so you suppose it just went missing.

You place the plate back in the sink and sigh, before grabbing a sponge. The colours always confuse you. How can two contrasting colours go so well together? It’s beyond you, truly. Maybe your grandmother would’ve known, she always did know a little bit about everything.

Maybe she’d know what’s wrong with you.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you might weird Sam out. You roughly scrub the syrup off and it’s a bit too joyful to see it all gone. “Hey, Sammie,” Natasha chirps, patting her fellow teammate on the shoulder. You halt your movements. “Hey, Nat. Are you doing anything today?” Sam asks her, his eyes following her.

“Other than hanging out with Bucky, no, not really.” She tells him. She stands right next to you, a little too close for your personal liking. She opens up the cupboard and you continue to wash the dishes. You ask yourself if she’s watching you, or if she’s judging you.

Looking up, you accidentally make eye contact with her. You quickly look away and you’re not sure if she does the same. “‘Scuse me,” she whispers, stretching over to the cupboard on the other side. You stare straight at the sink, but your eyes fail to miss the locket that hangs from her neck. It’s slightly opened, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The gold is slightly aged, perhaps a gift from when she was younger. Or maybe she got it recently, and a battle in the fields damaged it slightly.

On the outside of the locket is an engraving. You squint your eyes to read it, as the shaking from her movements messes up the text. “Until the end of time…” You read in your mind, and you drop the plate in the sink. Everyone in the room flinches and Natasha steps away. Sam stops eating and you’re utterly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you quickly apologize, picking up the plate. It’s not broken at all, but you still feel so guilty.

Natasha looks at you for a brief moment and you look back at her. She darts her eyes to your still hands. If she focuses just a bit more, she could see the way they shake. You look at the locket one more time, trying to see the inside of it. You need to know who’s a photograph she cherishes. You need to know who she cherishes in her heart, until the end of time.

The black and white photo of Jamie moments before he was shipped out reveals itself, and your heart drops.

“Friday?” you call out, setting your book down onto the bed. You place your makeshift bookmark –– a polaroid of Bucky — into the page. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers. “Isn’t it a good thing that Jamie is socializing with his teammates?” you ask her, sounding like a worried mother. “It is. It’s just what the doctor prescribed,” she jokes, adding a mechanical laugh to her words. “Well, more so his psychiatrist. Dr. Cho is the doctor he gets his medication from. And his psychiatrist suggested socializing,” she clarifies.

You wonder if she’s against the joke mechanism Tony added to her system.

You laugh, just to ease the tension but it doesn’t do anything since she’s an A.I and you’re the only person in the room. “Thank you for laughing, Mrs. Barnes,” she graciously says as much as she can. “If it’s a good thing, then why do I feel so…?” You trail off because you don’t know any words to describe the emotion you’re feeling. “Anxious?” she completes, and you sigh. “Yes, anxious,” you admit.

“The other day, I was washing the dishes. I could hear James and Natasha laughing. Jamie’s laugh was music to my ears. It was like that song you hear on the radio occasionally, you know? But he doesn’t laugh like that with me, he doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else,” you solemnly tell her. “He spends so much time with Natasha — and usually I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t even bat an eye — but it just makes me anxious, Friday.”

Your voice is filled with concern, and Friday herself has never heard you so worried. “She… She had a locket. It was gold and heart-shaped. It had a very special phrase engraved on it, and the picture inside is Jamie.” You swallow thickly as even you can’t fathom the words that are falling past your lips. “I held back from telling you this, but Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes had a past together,” Friday admits.

“Pardon?” you ask incredulously. “Back in Hydra, Mr. Barnes trained Ms. Romanoff. They had secret romantic rendezvous and were in love. Then, when the Red Room and Hydra found out, they were separated,” Friday tells you. “It’s probably why they’re so close, Mrs. Barnes. She’s his most recent relationship before you,” Friday reasons to you. It makes sense, it makes so much sense. “Should I be worried, Friday?” you ask her, smoothing your hands over the sheets that you lay atop of.

“No, Mrs. Barnes. Would you like to know why?” she asks you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. They’re sweaty, yet so cold. “Because that was in the past, Mrs. Barnes. Mr. Barnes is in love with you, he’ll love you until the end of time,” Friday sweetly tells you. You smile and then dip your head. Bucky loves you just as much as you love him.

It’s been a month since the talk you and Friday had, and you’re starting to doubt her words.

You lie awake in your bed. Caffeine-provided adrenaline pumps through your veins. This isn’t the first time you’ve stared up at the ceilings since you’ve arrived. Ever since Sam made you a cup of coffee from the new machine Stark bought, the bags under your eyes have gotten worse. You warned Bucky about it and he laughed. Just not as hard as you wanted him to. At least he heeded your advice.

Bucky lays asleep next to you. He lays on his right side, even though laying on his left side would make more sense. Bucky always gets better sleep when he lays on his left. You crack your knuckles quietly, even though you can’t wake him up. He used to be such a light sleeper, only because of the vivid nightmares he would get. You hate when he would get his nightmares. The terrifying images that taunt him would always cause him to have a panic attack.

It’s been over a few months since his last nightmare.

You want to turn on your side so badly–– and you can. But your mind can’t help but make you wonder if he’ll wake up. You look to your side when you hear a snore escaping Bucky’s mouth. You let out a coo, even though you used to think snoring was annoying. Your father’s snores would always bother you. You used to joke and say that one night, he’ll wake the sun up.

You gently turn on your left side and a small part of you hopes he’ll do the same. Maybe then you’ll get some warm cuddles to make your sleep. You shut your eyes because the city lights are far too bright at night. The sheer curtains obviously can’t hide New York’s bustling and liveliness. You slow your breathing down and relax your body. Hopefully, sleep can come to you soon.

Next to you lies Bucky. He’s quite literally in dreamland and he doesn’t want to ever wake up. Everything is so realistic, almost as though he’s living another life when his eyes are closed. He has a smile on his face, one that can charm almost anyone. The last time he had a dream like this wasn’t back in the forties — no. It was last night, and now sleeping is a lot better for Bucky.

Natasha giggles, loudly. It’s a cacophony of different sounds. It’s not fake, like the ones you hear on television. It’s real. It’s so vividly real that it makes his heart swell loudly. He looks to her first, making sure she’s enjoying herself before facing the judging stares from Tony and Rhodey.

His hand is intertwined with hers. He rubs his thumb on her skin and he knows what’s running through her mind. She shoots him a look, one that he chooses to ignore. He gives her a smirk and then brings her hand up to his face. He closes his eyes and presses a kiss on the diamond ring she wears.

The scenery changes.

It’s some time in 1992, and he’s holding onto her tightly. She’s asleep, with her locks of auburn hair spread out against the floor. She lays on his chest, and he makes sure she’s comfortable enough with him. Sure, his spine may ache and his under-eye bags may have deepened but he doesn't care.

“Natalia?” he whispers, checking to see if she’s asleep.

She’s knocked out cold and he’s glad. After what he just put her through, he doesn’t blame her. Hours upon hours of what they both like to call ‘training’ has her sleeping like a baby. He chuckles, and he hopes the rumbles in his chest don’t wake her up.

“Hi, Winter,” she hums, rousing from her sleep.

He curses and she giggles. Natalia rubs the tiredness from her eyes and she stretches as much as her body allows her to. “How long until they come?” she asks him. He looks to the make-shift alarm he stole from a mission and sees an hour marked on it. “One hour, Natalia,” he says.

She hums in delight. “Do you think this one hour will take a while? Or will it go by as fast as light?” she questions. Her accent is heavy, but it’s so beautiful. “Fast. Time well-spent goes by fast,” he tells her. “And how do you know this will be time well-spent?” she looks up at him.

“Time spent with you, is always time well-spent, Natalia.”

You hold your breath. Bucky mumbles sweet nothings to Natalia — Natasha. You want to cry so badly but then again, you don’t want to wake Jamie up from his dark paradise. You try to tell yourself it’s just a dream, that everything will be okay and that there’s nothing to be worried about. But even your thoughts fail to reassure you about the man lying next to you. You don’t know whether you should wake him up, so you bite down on your bottom lip and hope that this whole thing is just a dream.

“Did you sleep well, Jamie?” you ask him, folding his laundry for him. He looks up from the book he’s buried in and nods. “Amazingly, I’m so glad I can finally get some shut-eye now,” he tells you. You hum and Bucky looks at you. “Is everything alright?” he asks. “Yeah. Just peachy,” you say. He mumbles a quick okay and goes back to reading his book.

Jamie has a wonderful attention span, so there’s no reason for him to be stuck on the same page for around ten minutes. You have an idea as to what’s on his mind. Well, more so who. Natasha. “Any weird dreams?” you ask him after a few seconds. This time, you’re pairing up Bucky’s socks. “N– No, I don’t think I dreamt of anything.” He lies through his teeth and you know this because he has a tell.

Whenever he lies, he stares out into the distance. It’s usually to your right, but that doesn’t matter.

“But that’s good, right? No more nightmares.” You hold a pendant in your hand and it’s not yours because you broke your necklace a few days ago.

“That’s true,” he dryly agrees. It has the letter ‘N’ written on it. It seems like it’s new, unlike Natasha’s locket. You place it on the dresser softly. “You know, everything has a meaning. Nightmares, dreams, even dreamless nights,” you start. “I know, some are worse than others, though,” he follows. “Sometimes, nightmares mean change,” you continue.

He nods, but you don’t see it. “When you dream, it might be that you have some wishes or conflicts that have been suppressed,” you sweetly tell him. Bucky looks at you, but your back faces him. “And even not dreaming means something. When you don’t dream, it might mean that your mind is free of all the bad things,” you roughly shut the filled up drawer and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the loud sound.

“Sorry…” you sheepishly apologize. “S’ alright,” he smiles. “Well, my burning question relates to that, I guess,” you admit. He raises an eyebrow and you turn around. Your fingers tap against the oak wood of the dresser. Sweat that has built up for the past morning or so leaving an imprint of your fingers on the wood. “Do… Do you remember when you used to call me ‘moonlight’?” you ask nervously.

Bucky pauses whenever small movements he was making and you make direct eye contact with him. You look away immediately, though. “A– As a nickname?” he asks. “Yeah… You’d say it in Russian. There was beautiful reasoning and meaning behind it…” you explain to him. Your voice carries more hope than anything. He stays silent and you shakily exhale.

You know exactly how to pronounce it. “лунный свет.” You look up at him. “I… What was the meaning?” he asks. “I– I have it written down. Just wait, don’t go.” You move towards the bed and reach underneath your mattress. Your father would always hide things like that. Sometimes, you’d catch him placing your works of finger-painting underneath the bed.

You lift it and retrieve your little notebooks. It’s not much, but it’s something. You flip to the page that you wrote on two years ago. You smile once you reach it and turn back around. Jamie hasn’t left. “This page. I wrote it down when you left to go to the market. I remembered each word and I still do,” you cheerfully tell him. He smiles up at you and you hand him the book.

You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you.

The words are beautifully written. They’re traced over in black pen and even have little stars scribbled around them. “I said this?” he asks, in an almost incredulous tone. “Yeah, word for word,” you assure him. “This is really sweet, and I probably said this, but I don’t remember calling you moonlight, Doll. I’m sorry…” He sadly admits to you. Your heart drops, but it’s alright. He may not remember it, but you do. Maybe one day he will.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” you tell him in a sad tone. You take the notebook back from him and place it underneath the mattress. Jamie watches you as you do so. “Are you sure?” he asks on more time, just to be sure. “I’m sure. Dr. Cho and the others said this is normal, Jamie,” you assure him. “Alright.”

Everything is alright. Everything was alright. Everything will be alright.

You carry the laundry basket against your waist and you can’t lie and say you didn’t just bury your hands between the clothes as soon as they came out of the dryer. The common room is mostly empty. Wanda and Clint are out on a mission. Tony, Rhodey and Pepper are on a trip. Steve and Sam are training recruits. Vision and Bruce are in Dr. Cho’s lab. You assume Natasha is in her room and James is in yours.

But even assumptions can be wrong.

You hear that laugh that’s as soft as summer’s rain — Natasha’s laugh. It’s beautiful, just like her. But you can’t compare her beauty to anything, it’s beyond that. You walk up to the room where you can hear her, and pear through the small crevice the door has. She looks at Bucky with those emerald green eyes of hers. In them is absolute love and adoration.

“лунный свет, you look so pretty when you laugh,” Bucky tells her. She smiles and blushes, before giggling again. “You’re too sweet, Buck,” she whispers. Bucky grabs a hold of her hand, and his thumb rubs against her ivory skin. “Can never be too sweet when it comes to you, лунный свет,” he counters.

Your heart cracks, especially at the seams.

It’s been a week since Jamie called Natasha “лунный свет,” and you’re determined to get him back.

She must know she can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him. That’s why you’re wearing a dress you borrowed from Wanda. You bite your red-stained nails nervously. It’s an improvement since your last date night with Jamie. Last time, you both shared a box of macarons that he stole from the grocery store. Underneath the moonlight, he once again professed his love for you. But this time, he gave you his dog tags to wear.

You have them on. They clink with your each and every movement but you don’t mind the sound at all. You spread a blanket onto the wooden floor. It has some similarities to the two sleeping bags you used back then. They were similar colours and took up the same amount of space. You throw some pillows on top, arranging them in a circle. The record player in the corner plays “‘Till the End of Time” by Perry Como.

You hum along to the melody of the song. You remember when Jamie said it was one of his favourites. You jumped in joy because it’s also one of your favourites. You carefully light the candles that are scattered around the room. Friday is already on alert in case one of the flames gets a little too big. You open the box of macarons and place them inside the little circle you have going on.

You set down other food items — such as croissants and a charcuterie board. It was all for cheap, mostly due to the bargaining you did with the old lady at the store. As soon as you dropped the words “date night’, she immediately went with whatever you had to offer. You turn back around and try to search for the scrapbook you have been making for the past two years. You always saved it for something, but that something doesn’t seem to be in your future.

“Where are you, little book?” you ask out loud. Your voice is in a sing-song melody, just like how your father would have his. You search around the dresser. You check in the drawers and the jewelry box but you can’t seem to find it. You decide to check the desk, because if it’s not here then it has to be there. You scan the top of the desk but don't find anything.

Carefully, you grasp the golden handle of one of the drawers and pull it open. The drawer glides easily, and if your father were here, he would’ve marvelled. You don’t find it, so you lift some stray sheets of paper. “Please be here…” You beg out loud. But it doesn’t turn up, and you pout like a little child. You drop the sheets of paper, but something grazes against your finger.

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d probably squeal in fear. Twine that’s pulled at the ends tickles you and you giggle. Your eyes follow to where it comes from, and you find a sealed envelope. You frown out of pure, ingenue curiosity. You pick it up and spin it around in your hands. It’s a beige envelope, one of the many you gifted Bucky on Valentine’s Day.

The twine wraps around it with no useful purpose. Only for the aesthetics. On the back has your name, written in cursive scrawl that belongs to one James Buchanan Barnes. You turn it back around, and carefully open it. Your father taught you that there’s a specific trick for opening envelopes. It was one of the many secrets your family had. And by family, you mean Jamie, your father and your grandmother.

It may not be much, but it’s more than enough.

Inside is a letter. More of Jamie’s handwriting fills your view and you don’t mind it at all. You pull the letter out and unfold it. You start to read it, only taking in the way his handwriting looks. You sit down on his chair and your eyes take in each word.

Dear лунный свет,

I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. You can hate me, you can be disgusted with me. You can do whatever you want. But promise me, you won’t let what I’m about to say hurt you. I’m in love with Natasha. I’ve fallen out of love with you and listen, it’s not your fault. How can it be your fault? You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.

But I’m in love with Natasha. I have been for the past year or so. When I saw her again two years ago, something inside me happened. I got butterflies, as stupid as it sounds. She’s everything I want, everything I need. We go way back, and she knows me like the back of her hand. I’m sorry, лунный свет. I am so fucking sorry. I know writing this letter isn’t the best way to do this, but I feel the need to do so.

Love,

James Buchanan Barnes.

You can die right here, right now. You wonder if this is some kind of sick joke Bucky is playing on you, but after sitting there for a few more minutes, you realize it isn’t. Suddenly, the candles burning around you are pointless and so is your entire being of existence. You sit there, stupefied and filled with hurt. You let the letter fall into your lap and slip down to the floor, where it meets the wood with no sound.

The record scratches but you don’t even wince. Now, the voice of Perry Como is all warped and haunted. You hate it. You hate everything. You shut your eyes and sigh quite loudly. She took Jamie from you — your Jamie. Your throat tightens up and you feel like time slows down. You break down, the dam crashing down as the water flows at high pressure. It’s all so much at once. Tears leak from your eyes and drip down to the desk.

You hang your head, almost in shame.

Why are you crying? This was bound to happen.

“Can you just shut up for once?” you cry out.

“Mrs. Barnes, is everything alright?” Friday asks. “Yes, Friday. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?” you politely request. Your voice nearly cracks from the tears. “Of course, Mrs. Barnes,” she says, before dinging away. Mrs. Barnes… You’re not Mrs. Barnes, were you ever? She was always Mrs. Barnes, and she always will be. You let out a choked cough, one that uses all the strength in your body that isn’t destined for your crying.

You look down to the opened drawer and then to the letter on the floor. A groan escapes past your lips. It’s one of pure hurt and pain. You can feel your heart shattering into pieces. Each shard cuts your insides and you struggle to calmly breathe. You grab a sheet of paper from the drawer and pluck the pen that lies on the desk. You take a deep breath and begin to write your heart out.

Natasha,

Please, please don’t do this. I know you may be in love with him (which is the best feeling ever, I know), but please don’t take him just because you can. I also know that nobody can control their feelings. But even love disappears one day, right?

You could have your choice of man, Natasha. But I don’t think I can ever love again. Not without him. If only you could see the way Steve, Sam and Bruce look at you. You can have any of them, so why did you choose Bucky? Why are you taking my Jamie from me?

He dreams about you. He calls your name in his sleep. He calls you moonlight and I’m sure you don’t know the true meaning of it. But if you ask, he’ll probably tell you. This is coming off as rude — I know. It’s not what I want but I want you to ask you one thing only.

Please don’t take him, even though you can.

You scribble your name at the bottom of the page. A tear drops from your eyes and soaks into the paper. You re-read each sentence, and with every word, you hate yourself even more. You throw the pen at the wall, not caring that it breaks at the impact.

You want to send it to her so badly, but your father always told you to never fight fire with fire. Would she even listen to you? Probably not, so why try? Jamie isn’t coming back because Jamie doesn’t love you, he hasn’t for a while. You look away from the letter and to the candles that decorate the room.

You’re so foolish, thinking Jamie could ever love you. He did once, but this isn’t your Jamie. Your Jamie is gone and so is his love for you.

You fold the letter up until you’re satisfied. One end slightly overlaps the other but even the smallest things that would usually bother you doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. You bring the letter to the burning candle and let it light on fire. Along with the paper goes your instinct to fight for the love of your life.

You can never love again. Not without him.

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 4 years

Text

another helping of living w/ bakugou thoughts:

pls i am so sorry, i feel like i bombard y’all with these constantly, but u don’t understand, he literally lives in my brain full time

- if you’re rolling your sleeves up, to wash your hands before dinner, he’ll whack your hands away and do it himself. very much “you’re takin’ too long, idiot. i wanna eat already. let me do it.”,, don’t be fooled tho, you could do it in 2.5 seconds and he’d still open his mouth. bc it has absolutely nothing to do with u and everything to do with him wanting to be close to you

-ik he watches the mha equivalent of the history channel. i just know it. dude is a grandpa at heart, n im so confident he would 100% sit down and watch a 3 hr docu on like, old weaponry or some nerdy shit

-bakugou is annoyingly arrogant, but only about things that don’t matter. like, he’ll fully sit in front of you and tell you he’s stronger/faster/smarter in passing conversation,, but when he does actually impressive shit??? the man clams up. absolutely clams up the second you praise him, trying to brush off whatever ridiculous feat he just pulled to protect u with a “It’s not that big a deal, shut up about it already, dumbass.”

- pls mans is an absolute simp. u ask him to do something and he’s on his feet in a second. ofc he’s complaining but he’s also then following that up by doing things you didn’t even ask him to do. fan behavior honestly.

-when you’ve had a bad day, he’ll make u food and throw blankets in the dryer for u. don’t expect much verbal comforting from him, bc obviously, but he’s pretty good with actions. you always feel a little warmer after he’s wrapped you in a blanket n fed you something ungodly spicy

- i have absolutely no basis for this but ik he secretly watches kids movies. like, if it’s animated then he’s there. ofc no one is allowed to find out about this ‘embarrassing’ behavior tho, except maybe you. maybe. if you accidentally happen to see it bc he’d never tell u himself.

- he’s a beast to wake up in the morning, but he’s a lot more easy to convince if u pet his hair. or rub his back/shoulders. maybe even kiss his neck. look, u cannot tell me that he doesn’t want to be absolutely coddled in the morning- especially when he can get away with it so easily.

-bakugou always pulls ur legs into his lap if u sit down next to him. pls he’s so weird, he’ll just like, tap his fingers on ur calves absentmindedly while he’s watching tv

-he probably created a playlist of songs ur ‘allowed’ to play around him. meaning, it’s only the songs on ur phone that he likes 🙄

-bakugou always takes his work phone calls outside. like if his phone rings he’ll just stand up n walk tf out the door to take it. even if it’s cold. u ask him once about it n he just “Work stays at work. This is my fuckin’ home. Now shut up about it already.”

-you’ve never once seen this man wearing socks around the house. don’t ask me, i cannot explain this whatsoever, but i just kno this man walks around constantly barefoot 🤢🤮 unfortunately.

-he’s like, the most functional person ever in almost every aspect, but the stuff katsuki is bad at?? pls he is hopelessly bad. like, lets say art stuff. omg he just doesnt have the patience for it, okay, so say goodbye to any dreams of cute lil couple’s crafts. like, he’ll sit there while u do yours, but his will look like utter shit

- during the week, katsuki is either at work, training, or at home. pls, he works so hard during the day that i highly doubt he’s anything but an absolute homebody during the work week.

- bakugou gets pissy if u re-arrange any of the furniture on a whim. pls he likes comfort and familiarity n if he stubs his toe on the stupid coffee table one more fucking time, he’s going to scream

-its a rare occurance,, especially bc of the crazy hours he works,, but bakugou rlly likes making dinner for u to come home to. he just likes to feel like he’s taking care of u tbh

-he still goes to bed at like 8:30. or thats what u think, but rlly he just goes to sit in your room and have some time to himself for a bit. as much as he loves u, he prob still needs some alone time to recharge

-bakugou takes meticulous care of any plants u have in the house. like he’ll water them on a strict-ass schedule, n preen them when necessary. pls the way he’ll curse them out if they even dare to wilt under his care?? very much “What the hell, you bitch? ‘m doin’ everything fuckin’ perfect! Grow already!”

-katsuki is such a little bitch when he’s sick. he’ll be running like a 103 temp, brain literally melting, and still trying to get up and work out. the only way u can get him to chill the hell out is if u take a nap with him. ofc that means u always get sick too,, but hey- lil sacrifices right??

-he never lets you get the door. like, if there’s a knock n neither of u knows who it could be,, pls he’s on his feet so fast. waving u away n looking thru the keyhole w/ sm suspicion

-he has his spot on the couch, n u will not find him sitting anywhere else. like, that’s his spot. u better pray for anybody who mistakenly takes it

-bakugou doesn’t like dirt or grime, so he won’t allow you or himself, to sit on your bed with clothes that have been outside. like, even if you’re just sitting on top of the covers, he’s gonna throw a fit and demand you change your clothes first bc “No way in hell am I gonna let your dumbass dirty up my bed.”

-katsuki rlly likes when it storms outside. he’ll go sit in front of the window and watch the rain, sipping on a warm drink while he waits for more thunder.

-living with bakugou is incredibly frustrating, bc he’ll just show up with new skills all of the goddamn time. like you’ll be like, “hmm i’d love to remodel the bathroom someday”,, and the very next weekend bakugou is meticulously re-tiling the bathroom floor by hand, probably also painting the walls in a new color, maybe even installing a new sink just to spruce it up. n then he’ll just present the entirely new, upgraded room with such weird nonchalance that it pisses u off. pls and if you watch him while he does these little projects, with all the weird precision and skill he suddenly gains?? pls you’re sure he must be possessed by the ghost of a craftsman

- when he hangs out with the bakusquad, he’ll drag you along every time. he expects you to sit with him the entire time and act as a social buffer?? basically, someone’ll ask him a question, one he deems stupid and therefore not worth answering, and bakugou will just look at you expectantly. he’ll just stare at you blankly, hardly even blinking until you pick up the slack and answer for him. you call him out on this many times, but it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t change anything. he does this over and over and over again

-bakugou gets really unsettled when you guys fight. like, he can’t sleep and he’s snapping at everybody, and is somehow more aggressive than usual. he always wants to just make up already, but the pride in the way won’t allow it

-he’s a weird stickler about intended furniture functionality?? like, the table is for eating, and the couch is for watching tv, and then only way you’re gonna get him to mix the two is if you ask him rlly rlly nicely

-finally- i have no basis for this one, but ik it in my heart: bakugou has a very intense fight with your thermostat nearly every single day. he swears up and down that it never ‘behaves’ for him, but every time you check it, it’s working perfectly fine

--/--

ahahhaa sorry y’all for the super random spam today,, but here were are back to our regularly scheduled bakugou programming,,,, bc idk if it’s obvious ur honor, but i love him

#bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x self insert #bakugou hcs #bakugou headcannons #bakugou fluff #bnha fic #mha fic #mha headcannons #bnha headcannons

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reidsnose · 4 years

Text

makeup (spencer reid x reader)

overview: reader is wayy to tired to take care of herself, good thing her bestie spencer is there

genre: fluff

a/n: this one made me all giddy but shes a shorty too oops hahha lmk what yall think :)

masterlist

sharing a hotel room with Spencer wasn't an incredibly uncommon occurrence. you two were best friends and would spend most days at each other's apartments anyway, plus the bureau did not mind saving some extra money down sizing rooms every now and then.

so you sat on your bed, particularly exhausted after todays work day. the case was yet to be over and you could really use some sleep before returning to looking at crime scene photos and interviewing creeps.

Spencer watched amused as you huffed out a long breath and flopped onto the mattress, still in your work clothes.

"whats wrong?" he asked crossing to the bathroom, toothbrush wiggling with each word from the corner of his mouth.

"im so tired i dont want to take off my make up," you groaned, just the idea of putting in any effort into anything made you exponentially more exhausted.

"do you want me to do it?" he asked with a mouthful of toothpaste, popping his head around the corner.

"would you really?" you asked, wondering why you felt like your heart was now beating much faster than before.

"yeah," he replied before spitting into the sink and rinsing out his mouth, "change into your pj's while i pee and then come here so i can take your make up off for you."

you sluggishly changed into your pajamas, wishing spencer would bhelp you with that too. you shook the thought from your brain and knocked on the bathroom door after hearing him washing his hands.

"ok what do i do?" he asked, opening the door then drying his hands on a towel.

you poured some make up remover onto a cotton pad and handed it to him before promptly hopping up on to the counter and closing your eyes.

"you take that and wipe my face." you instructed, closing your eyes and jutting out your chin.

"uh..ok here we go."

he ever so gently brushed your skin with the cotton pad, so softly as if you would break at any second.

"spence.." your eyes fluttered open.

"did i push too hard?" he worried.

"no you're actually a little too gentle, you need to press down a little so the make up comes off. remember when you wiped frosting on my face at my birthday?"

"what i would never do something like that," he lied, chuckling slightly.

"you should use the same amount of force you used then!"

he pressed slightly harder, wiping your face strategically and periodically checking the cotton pad to see if it was doing its job. you sat in a comfortable silence, trying hard to not let your heart burst every time his fingers connected to your face. every time he held the back of your neck for better stability.

unbeknownst to you, he was doing the same thing. his fingers were on fire as he took your make up off, but a good kind of fire. you sat there look so tired, but so beautiful. so..kissable. he tried to ignore his thoughts but it was difficult have the most gorgeous woman, inside and out, as a best friend. let alone being this physically close. he was sure this was his peak. life simply wouldnt get any better than this.

"i um..you can open your eyes," he said, turning around to throw away the make up pad.

"i don't wanna," you replied, sleepily pulling him close to you and wrapping your arms around him. "you're so comfy i could fall asleep right here."

you wondered why being this tired made you act a fool like this.

"do you want me to carry you to your bed?" he asked, heart thumping from holding you in his arms.

"can i sleep in your bed?" you yawned, "its so cold in the room and i always have nightmares on my bed. trust me its science."

"well cant argue with science," he laughed at your half assed explanation, carrying you bridal style and plopping you on a mattress so soft and filled with the smell of him, you were asleep in no time.

ultra mega super cool taglist!:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife

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asweetprologue · 3 years

Note

Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn’t help but steal it and/or friends with benefits falling in love <3 geraskier or jaskier/other wolf if you'd like a challenge

I got #2 twice, so I decided to combo these for you and @a-kind-of-merry-war. Hope you guys like soft af smut!!

Explicit below the cut!

36. Friends with benefits and both people catching feelings AND

2. Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn’t help but steal it

Geralt freezes as soon as he steps into their shared room. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times, and then says, “Is that mine?”

Jaskier looks up from his seated position on the bed, propped up by the flimsy pillow the inn had provided, folded in half. He freezes himself, his pen poised above the page of his notebook, and looks between it and Geralt a few times. “What? The book?”

Geralt shakes his head as he steps into the room, allowing the door to fall shut behind him. Jaskier feels something hot unfurl in his gut at the dark look in Geralt’s eyes. It’s a look he’s gotten to know quite well recently, and it’s usually a precursor to good things. Geralt steps up to the bed and sets one knee beside him, and Jaskier’s heart rate spikes embarrassingly.

Geralt reaches out two fingers and slips them under the hem of the shirt Jaskier’s wearing. The dark fabric is soft with age, billowing around Jaskier’s form and falling loose about his shoulders. “My shirt,” Geralt says, and his voice is warm with something that Jaskier can’t identify.

Jaskier shivers. “Sorry,” he stutters, setting his notebook aside on the frail bedside table. “I, uh, my shirts are all in the wash, I can change into something else--”

Geralt pushes forward, his nose suddenly tucked into the hollow of Jaskier’s throat, where the collar of the shirt meets his skin. “Mm,” Geralt says, “don’t. You smell good. Fuck.” And then he bites lightly at Jaskier’s collarbone, and Jaskier is suddenly desperate to get the shirt off for a whole different reason.

They’ve been doing this for a while now.

Jaskier isn’t even sure anymore how it started. One moment you’re pining desperately after your best friend, and the next you’re - well, still pining, if he’s being honest. But now he’s pining while also having the best sex of his life on a regular basis. He’s not sure if it’s better.

It’s hard, is the thing. To sleep with your best friend, in the first place, much less sleep with your best friend who you’ve been in love with for the last ten odd years. Jaskier has to stop himself from reading into things, from seeing layers that aren’t there. When Geralt wraps his arm around Jaskier after they’ve finished, snuffling sleepily into his hair, or when he presses tender kisses to the bruises he left the night before, or when he looks at Jaskier across the campfire with something soft and burning in his eyes - none of it means anything. Geralt cares about him, Jaskier knows this, but they’re just friends who fuck each other sometimes. If Geralt had wanted more, he would have said, oh, anytime in the last decade and a half. Jaskier refuses to make a fool of himself believing otherwise.

But it’s hard. He wants Geralt constantly, a feeling that has only grown worse with each encounter, but every quick fuck just leaves him feeling achy and empty inside, no matter how blissfully good it is in the moment. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t even care about the sex that much. It’s amazing - of course it’s amazing, Geralt is practically a god, and he’s got stamina - but Jaskier would trade it in an instant just for the knowledge that his feelings are even partially returned. Being so close to having what he wants, sharing intimate moments when their bodies are pressed tight together and singing with pleasure, only brings what he lacks into sharp relief.

Like now, with Geralt pushing him back into the shitty pillow and straddling his hips, dragging his unfairly large hands up Jaskier’s sides as he moves in to kiss him. Jaskier meets him halfway, immediately letting Geralt lick into his mouth and turn the kiss into something wet and needy. Geralt pulls away after not nearly long enough and starts biting kisses down Jaskier’s throat, sucking hard enough at one point that Jaskier can’t help how his hips thrust up against Geralt’s ass. Geralt makes a pleased sound against his jaw, a low rumble that has Jaskier squirming.

“Come on,” he pants, turning his head to try and recapture Geralt’s mouth. Geralt is uncooperative, so it lands somewhere near his temple instead. He’s still tucked into Jaskier’s shoulder, and Jaskier can feel him inhale deeply. “Are you-- Are you smelling me?”

Geralt hums an affirmative, taking another drag. Jaskier just blinks up at the timber ceiling of the inn, floored. After a moment Geralt says, “You smell good.”

Jaskier doesn’t know what to say to that, and Geralt doesn’t give him time to think about it. He pulls back, finally, and uses the hands still tucked under the shirt to ruck it up, his mouth falling on Jaskier’s left pectoral. Jaskier grabs the hem, fully intending to lift it over his head while Geralt is distracted, but a hand on his wrist stops him. He looks down to find Geralt watching him with sharp eyes, pupils blown wide. “Leave it on,” Geralt says, and Jaskier shudders at the heat in his tone. He drops the edge of the shirt, and Geralt goes back to work.

Usually when they do this, Jaskier makes an effort to stay in control. It’s not that he’s dominating by nature, though he doesn’t mind taking charge once in a while if his partner is interested in that. He just can’t handle it when Geralt turns his full attention to pleasuring him. It’s much easier to keep his feelings in check when he’s fully focused on Geralt’s pleasure. He can work his tender affections into the press of his lips and fingers easily, hide all the words he so desperately wants to say in the touch of skin on skin. It’s enough, he tells himself, to make Geralt feel good for once. And if he’s focused on how good Geralt feels, he doesn’t have to think about how much he wants Geralt to touch him tenderly in return.

This time, though, Geralt seems intent on making Jaskier writhe underneath him, and it’s immediately too much and not enough at once. Geralt takes his nipple into his mouth and sucks, and then laves his tongue over the bud until Jaskier is gasping. Once he seems satisfied with the left, he moves on to the other and gives it the same treatment, leaving love bites around the dusky skin before flicking his tongue over Jaskier’s nipple repeatedly. “Shit,” Jaskier says, throwing his head back as Geralt blows a stream of cool air over the sensitive skin. He feels hot and overwhelmed already, his cock straining in his trousers.

Geralt is soft and warm above him, nosing down the flat plane of Jaskier’s stomach, pressing tender kisses into his skin. He glances up when Jaskier speaks, and his eyes are soft too, the evening light streaming in through the lone window catching on the slim ring of gold around his pupils. He’s looking at Jaskier as if he cares, and his fingers are gentle when he reaches down to unbutton Jaskier’s pants. It’s too close, too much, but Jaskier doesn’t know how to change the pace, doesn’t know if he even wants to.

He drops his hands to Geralt’s shoulders as warm lips descend on his stomach, lifting his hips as Geralt pushes his trousers and braies down. Geralt leans back to pull them fully off, discarding them off the side of the bed. For a moment he just sits, looking over Jaskier spread out under him, and the warmth in his eyes makes Jaskier’s stomach go liquid with arousal even as anxiety furls in his chest. If Geralt keeps looking at him like that something is going to give. He can feel the words sitting like venom ready to spit on the back of his tongue, and he swallows them down before he tugs on Geralt’s shoulder to try and pull him back in. Maybe he can smother his selfish desires in Geralt’s mouth.

He shouldn’t want more. This should be enough.

But Geralt doesn’t meet him for the kiss, just shakes his head as he smooths a hand down Jaskier’s side and thumbs over the jut of his hip. He smiles, just a little, and his other hand moves to tug the shirt under Jaskier’s armpits back into place a bit. “I like you like this,” he says. Jaskier blinks at him.

“Like what?” he asks. He’s breathless, his cock arched up and smearing precome on his stomach, and Geralt is looking at him with something that seems part hunger and part fondness. He makes a last ditch effort, trying to turn things simple and dirty. He stretches out, knowing he must look obscene, and purrs, “Laid out for you? Ready for your cock?”

Geralt huffs a laugh - insulting, Jaskier thinks with a pout - and leans back in to press another kiss to Jaskier’s collarbone, this time just a faint brush of lips. “In my shirt,” he says simply, as if the words don’t wind their way immediately around Jaskier’s heart and squeeze. What does it mean? What could he possibly mean by that, it can’t be, he doesn’t--

Geralt is unaware of his spiralling, and after a moment it doesn’t matter, because Geralt is sliding his way back down Jaskier’s body and then Jaskier’s mind goes perfectly blank as Geralt’s mouth sinks down over his cock.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasps, jerking at the sudden heat enveloping him. Two warm palms come up on either hip and hold him easily in place. Geralt hasn’t done this for him very often, and Jaskier had forgotten how overwhelming it is. There’s no hesitation in his movements, and all Jaskier can do is lie there and let it wash over him. He thrusts against Geralt’s hold as he bobs his head faster, tonguing Jaskier’s slit in a way that makes his eyes roll back. Shit but it’s good, and Geralt is so focused, Jaskier is losing his mind--

He’s looking down at where his dick is disappearing inside of Geralt’s stretched lips, and then Geralt lifts his mouth off of Jaskier’s cock, and their eyes meet. And he’s looking at Jaskier like he always does, with heat and affection and wonder, and Jaskier’s ears are roaring and his chest is bursting and his traitor mouth opens and he says, “Gods, I love you.”

Geralt’s eyes go wide, soft and shocked, and Jaskier immediately feels something cold wash over him. He can’t back out of this, he knows already. It was too earnest, too raw. If he’d said it when Geralt’s mouth had been on him maybe they could have dismissed it in the heat of passion, but he didn’t. Geralt is staring at him, mouth agape, lips still red from how they’d been stretched around Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier closes his eyes, not willing to look while Geralt gently turns him away.

But suddenly there are lips on his, and Jaskier opens his eyes with a gasp as Geralt plunders his mouth relentlessly. He kisses back - he’s powerless not to - and then Geralt is pulling away again, only to gasp out, “Do you? Do you mean it?”

Jaskier falls still for a moment, and Geralt meets his gaze as he waits for a response, clearly nervous. “I-- Of course I fucking mean it. Do you want me to mean it?” He feels like he’s going to shatter apart from how anxiety wars with hope in his chest, threatening to turn him into a wasteland. Geralt just reaches up a hand and slides it up Jaskier’s neck until he’s cradling his cheek.

“Yeah,” he says, and then presses a helpless kiss to Jaskier’s lips, painful and earnest. “Me too. Didn’t think you would feel the same.”

Jaskier pulls away again to stare Geralt in the face, shock a soft blow against his fragile heart. “I’ve loved you for years,” is all he can think to say.

Geralt makes a pained noise and then they’re kissing again, and this time they don’t stop. Geralt presses down until they’re one long line of heat, touching from shoulder to hip, legs slotted easily together. They rut against each other until Jaskier grows tired of the rough friction and reaches down to push Geralt’s trousers out of the way, taking them both in hand. Geralt’s hand doesn’t leave his face, and they don’t stop kissing, not until they’re both too worked up for anything more than panting against each other’s mouths.

Geralt slips his head down and presses his nose back to Jaskier’s jaw, breathing him in. “Smell so good,” he stutters out, “like me, like you’re mine, Jask, fuck I’m close--”

“Yeah, yes,” Jaskier says over him, canting his hips up as he moves his hand faster. “Love you, I love you, come on.”

Geralt goes still above him, a high whine leaving his throat as he grinds down into Jaskier’s hand, burying his face in the warmth of Jaskier’s shoulder, his spend coating Jaskier’s fingers and dripping onto his stomach. Jaskier works him until his shuddering stops, and then Geralt reaches down a hand to still him. Jaskier lets out a soft ah at the pause, but soon Geralt’s hand replaces his own and he’s thrusting wildly up into a familiar, calloused palm. Geralt shifts to the side slightly, and Jaskier turns his face to follow him, desperate to be as close as he can. “Geralt,” he begs, nearly a sob.

“I’ve got you,” Geralt promises, and that’s it, he’s done. He clenches his teeth as the first crest of pleasure overtakes him, and Geralt slowly wrings out everything he has until Jaskier collapses back into the mattress, gasping and oversensitive.

They lie there for a few moments, just catching their breath in the quiet room. It’s darker now, the sun beyond the little window finally conceding to the cool night. Deep purple shadows fill the valleys of Geralt’s body, and Jaskier unthinkingly reaches out to trace across the edge of one. He lets the simple sensation calm his racing heart enough to say, “We should probably talk about it.”

“Probably,” Geralt hums, and then he reaches out and hauls Jaskier to him, pressing their sweaty, come-sticky bodies together. Jaskier makes a face, and he feels Geralt’s laugh more than he hears it. “In the morning,” he says, and Jaskier sighs, letting himself relax into the embrace.

“Alright,” he agrees. “In the morning.”

He lets his eyes fluttering shut, his head falling to rest on Geralt’s shoulder, arm slung over his stomach. It’s peaceful, and Geralt is warm and firm in all the right places, and he’s nearly asleep when Geralt speaks again.

“Me too,” he murmurs into the dark, pressing the words into Jaskier’s skin like a kiss. “I love you too.”

Jaskier smiles, and he falls into a dreamless sleep.

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #witcher #witcher fic #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #prompts #grey #merry

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myfeetkeepdancing · 3 years

Photo

A/N: The gif and the idea of soldier!Tom made me feel things. Not sure if I used right terminology for the army ranks. But enjoy!

NSFW! 18+

The unbearable heat, the sand, and the distance between home. It gets to you. With the sun sinking behind the horizon of sand, you make your way to the latrine. Simple plywood boxes, a couple of shower stalls, and sinks. It's a strange place. Searing heat in the day and cold nights as soon as the sun sat low. You can already feel the temperature drop as the first breeze of the cold wind blows past your exposed arms. Pushing against the door, you welcome the warm and somewhat damp atmosphere. But a wave of disappointment washes over as you spot another person in the corner of your eye. Once again, you don't have the place to yourself.

"Sergeant." You salute in one hand, the other holding your bag of clean clothes. The higher your rank, the better the facilities. That was a blatant lie. Nothing was better. You get a plain simple salute back from the other and continue on inward. You take the other stall, preparing yourself to change out of your clothes. Already feeling the unease of sharing the latrine with someone else.

"Dude...." A familiar voice calls out to you. "You look like shit."

You turn back, and only then do you notice the person you share the latrine with. Small goosebumps shoot up your skin. "Holland." Unable to keep a straight face. A ray of sunshine between all the bitter and harsh realities. "Yeah… Thanks" You sniffle at his comment. "You too."

"I heard you went outside." He says with a serious look on his face.

"Yep… we went out for patrol." You nod, sighing as you recollect what happened hours ago. "We got caught in a firefight." Jabbing two fingers near your left shoulder. "Connor got shot." Indicating the hit.

"Shit… How's he doing?"

"Lost a lot of blood. But... eh... he'll be fine." Ending the conversation by turning your back to him. Seeing him undress made you nervous. Privacy wasn't much here, but you at least try to respect the others. Hoping to get it in return.

You strip without another word and step into the shower cubicle. Opening the rusty valve connecting the shoddy pipework to release a stream of hot water. That feeling of finally being able to wash away the dirt and sand from your pores is heavenly. The sand gets everywhere. Sometimes you wonder if it's gotten into your brain as well. You close your eyes and let the water pour onto your face. Cleanse yourself of sweat, sand, dust, and stress.

With a squeaky sound beside you, your stream of water cuts half in pressure and dips in temperature. Tom got under the shower as well. "And you?" He continues, standing in the other shower cubicle. Being square in size, made of plywood, and covering very little to nothing. Shower curtains are something the army never heard of. No privacy whatsoever. "You don't look too good."

"I'm fine." You grumble and avoid eye contact. It felt weird in many ways. If you wanted to talk with someone, you preferred to do that somewhere else. "Just… counting down the days, you know…" And try to shrug off your thoughts. Turning away slowly from the conversation.

"Yeah… You and me both." He confessed. "Damn desert. Sand gets everywhere." Chuckling to himself.

"It really does..." You sigh as the water runs down your face. Relaxing you. But time and water are limited. Opening your eyes, you reach beside you for the shampoo.

A shot of heat coursed through you. As if being caught. But you weren't. You caught Tom, arching forward, staring down into your stall. It happens quickly, and you manage to catch glimpses. While his one hand continued washing his abs and chest. The other surely wasn't doing that. You share a glimpse of eye contact. You couldn't help it either. You looked. Your eyes were drawn to it. It was awkward enough for the both of you to look back away right after. Tom shifted his gaze to the front of him, looking at the stream of water. Anything to avoid each other. You pour the shampoo in your hands." Eyes to yourself, Holland."

"Yeah, Yeah…" He mumbled while continuing to scrub himself clean. Instinctively you both turned your backs to each other. "I eh… was looking for my shampoo." Scraping his voice with rather an unease and slight nervousness.

"I… I don't have it, Tom." You said, scanning the floor around you. "M-Must have fallen down the other side." Taken aback by the sound of your own voice. You weren't sure if the last remaining bits of adrenaline from earlier were surfacing or that which you saw earlier. But the authority in your voice was softened. And one thing is sure, you're trembling lightly. Watching the shampoo wiggle in your hand. You try to steady your breathing. You try to shake it off. Continue cleaning yourself. Let the water run down your face again. Count down from ten. Think of happy things. Cats. Dogs. Home. The beach. Shirtless Tom…

You cursed yourself under your breath. Feeling the blood race to places you wish it wouldn't. Think of other things. Reset your mind. But you can't. The trembles become worse. And you can't fool your body any longer. You feel it. The terror grows as quickly as your length hardens. The quick-paced footsteps coming from the other stall send you into a panicked state.

"Let me use yours." He announced as the plywood makeshift door creaks open behind you. It's enough to make your heart skip several beats. You want to scold him, bellow in outrage. Entering one's shower cubicle was strictly forbidden. You know the rules. You knew them all too well.

Turning on your heel, ready to face him. Snarl him a disciplinary warning. "We agreed-..." The words came out shakingly. Quieter than you had planned. But they were silenced. Tom had closed the distance faster than the plywood door could fall shut on its own. You embrace the feeling of his lips on yours wholeheartedly. You close your eyes and let it happen. Moaning softly into the kiss as you both inched together. An erratic groan escaped both your lips as you watched each other, feeling your cocks come in contact. Like blunt swords battling it out. "T-Tom… We p-promised we'd never…."

"No, shut up…" He cut you off, cupping your cheeks in both his hands rather aggressively. Followed by a smashing on his lips on yours. "I missed you so much." He whispered, staring at you with this loving glint in his eye. “Your touch... all of it.”

"I missed you too." You reply with a growing smile. The emotion in Tom's eyes, the passion, the care. Nothing made this hell hole of a desert easier than being with him. Feeling a mutual smile grow. "I love you." You both whispered in unison. Careful not to speak it out loud.

"We have little time." He glanced back at the white clock hanging beside the door. Even showering time for Sergeants had its limits. With a quick gesture, you wind the chain of his dog tag around your fingers. Pulling his lips in. "Will you be quiet for me?" You command, more than ask, pinning him to the corner of the cubicle. Tom's pleading eyes said enough as you put the dog tag between his teeth. Nodding eagerly in agreement. He looks drop-dead gorgeous. But you have little time to take it in. Tom swings both arms to either side of the plywood walls. Seeing him all ready and willing, you quickly grab both his legs and hoist him up by the knees. Quickly repositioning your hands on his hips, and then the asscheeks. Stabilizing the position as you align your cock to his hole.

Air escapes your lungs as Tom's tight hole slides over your cock. Welcoming you with a warm, tight embrace you've missed for so long. You both shudder, shake and quiver in utter bliss. The position allows you to penetrate deep into him. Forcing a whimpering groan of pleasure from Tom. Clenching his jaw as he struggles to stay quiet. Desperate to drown out the sounds. His teeth gritting on the metal of his dog tag. Throwing his head back and tightening his grip on the plywood, he fights to stay in the game.

The first few rolls of your hips are controlled and almost without the sound of flesh on flesh. Careful not to make much of a commotion. Careful not to break the plywood. Careful not to let emotions get the better of you.

But seeing Tom like this. Feeling him. It's all too much too quickly. That short hair. Sharp jawline. Whimpering sounds. The way the muscles in his arms strain and his abs flex and relax. The sway of his muscled chest ebbing to your pounding thrusts. It's a build-up that finds a release faster and faster.

You've been stationed with Tom for months. Both of you leading a squad of your own. Luckily. You couldn't really pinpoint how it started. How the love manifested in the first place. Was it the shared training? That talk on the plane? That firefight? The dinner talks? Somehow you managed to find each other. Talk and enjoy each other's company. Or was it the lack of girls around? Tom assured you it wasn't. Taking every ounce of doubt you had with a kiss you'd never known you wanted.

It didn't make it easier. Because you simply couldn't work together. You only had eyes for one another. Especially in an environment where danger lurks around each and every corner. That dreaded feeling when a squad went out for patrol. For some of them, it might be their last. And Tom thought the same. The grueling long hours of waiting for them to return. Hearing sounds in the distance. It gets to you.

But the happiness of seeing him return. It's unmatched. Bloodied and bruised. It didn't matter. He's alive. You wanted to jump in one's arms. Celebrate life. But you couldn't. A nod had to suffice.

The others didn't know. And you wanted to keep it that way. It wasn't healthy in the least. Some days, you avoided each other like the plague. Differentiate your breaks as much as possible. But once in a while… you needed each other—more than ever.

"You're gonna make me cum..." Tom breathed out. He shook and losing part of his balance. His one arm snapped onto his bouncing cock. Jerking fervently along his length. Grunting and gasping for air. His dog tag sliding back on the chain. You feel him tighten around you—all in a matter of seconds. Tom shuddered in your hold as you try to keep him balanced. Angling his hardened cock onto his stomach as he felt the wave surge.

Cum is hard to clean. It's sticky and leaves a weird residue on most surfaces. Tom knew, when aroused, he could shoot quite the load. Even more so when it's been weeks. Shooting in arches even artillery specialists could learn from. One final rub of his fingers on his cockhead and his balls did the rest. You hold him. Keep him steady. With your cock sheathed deep into him. You watch him shoot his load. Splattering his abs with unfathomed speeds and intervals. Covering his abs and curves in bursts of cum.

"C'mere… baby." He commandeered with a shaken voice. Tom feeling your climax and understanding the need of you pulling out of him. You simply couldn't finish inside of him. But that was easier said than done.

Tom, still recovering from his climax, trembles shaking his frame and muscles weakened by the ecstasy. He helps you pull out, feeling the urgency of helping you with your climax. Your knees already weak, and your hands shaking. You push Tom down as soon as he has his feet to the floor. Forcing him down the plywood plank, ass on the floor. You manage to take a small step forward, one hand of your cock. The other reaching for plywood, holding on for support. Salvation at hand. You try to aim, but thankfully Tom helps.

Warm, wet lips envelop your pulsing length. Tom takes no chances to let you spill any on the floor or on walls. Helping you climax with the help of his mouth and an unexpected finger up your ass. In reflex, you arch forward to the towel in range of you. And clench your teeth down hard on the towel. Desperate to drown out your groan of pleasure. Your knees begin to buckle, and you hear Tom struggle. Gurgling as you length pushed further into the back of his mouth. Almost down his throat. Tom had worked a finger between your asscheeks and pushed deep into your hole. Drilling at your insides. Making you close to spasming out of pure bliss. Forcing you to shoot your load down his throat.

Your vision is hazy and so in your mind. You're barely able to breathe. And nor could Tom. Holding on for dear life on the plywood wall. But you manage to regain your footing. Pulling your length from his throat. A rough cough and wheeze followed, suppressed by him shielding his mouth with his arm. Making sure to wipe away any saliva and more.

Tom sits there on the floor, the water from the shower falling in between his legs. You watch him as you catch your breath. Leaning with both arms crossed on that half wall of plywood. Tom coughing the last bit of wetness from his throat. You comb your fingers through his short hairs. A bit roughly. But he likes it that way. Letting his head follow with the force of your hand. Hanging back against the wall. Seeing his muscled chest rise and fall. A smile out of thousands. It's precious. Eyes that make you flutter. "Almost a minute." You wink. "That was really quick."

"It's been too long." He smirks. With no time to waste, you hunch down in front of him and pull him into the waterfall of the shower. Letting your lips reunite as the warm water washes away the sweat from your exhausted bodies. Giggles go back and forth in relative quiet, giving him a helping hand with cleaning the cum from his stomach and abs.

Something as simple as that, yet loaded with sexual tension in that moment. Simple strokes of your fingers, guided by his hand. Helping him clean. You have to stop yourself from going further. And so does Tom. Seeing your cocks harden within seconds. In the end, it's a necessary clean-up. No evidence. Making sure it does run down the drain. No traces.

Blood on the other hand became a normality. The sight of it doesn't scare you anymore. Seeing trials of thinned-down blood collect in the drain. "Don't worry…" Tom assures you as you observe the whirls of water mixing together before disappearing into the drain. "Old wounds. See?" Turning his torso to the side and showing you cuts and bruises on his back.

"You got a new one." You murmur, running your finger along the cut. It's long and not that deep. But bleeds slowly.

He looks over his shoulder, following your finger. "That's from just now." He beams. "I'm wearing that one proudly." Kissing you as you let that sink in. Slowly starting to get on his knees, ready to go.

"Promise me-..." The air stocks in your throat. And try to blink away the tears welling in your eyes. "T-Tom…" You whisper with a trembling voice, trying to get his attention again as you both rise to your feet. Knowing the moment is there. Tom not letting one moment go by without his lips praising you. Small kisses peppered across your skin. No pattern. No hickeys. Just adoration and love.

With one hand, he reaches for the back of your head, placing his forehead against yours. "Listen to me, (Y/N)." He says staring deep into your eyes. "You have to stay strong. We're almost done here. Just a little bit more..."

"I know." You sigh. "I know…"

"Please stay safe, darling." He whispers. The words burn into your very soul. His kindness and caring nature. It's impossible to keep the tears from rolling. "I know you can do it." Patting your cheek. "Please do…" Rubbing the first tears from your eyes. "Cause I heard your boys talking about how reckless you've been lately."

"I will…" You nod. And kiss him goodbye. "Now go." Slapping him on the ass. "Go before they start noticing anything." Pushing him out of the cubicle.

"Promise me, (Y/N)." He veered back. "I wanna bring you back in one piece. Alive."

"I promise." And you can't help but smile.

"Good, cause my parents are dying to meet you..." Kissing you back before storming out of your cubicle. Taking his towel and closing his shower. "I've told them all about you." He winks. Leaving you all in awe. And a reprimand for showering too long.

#tom holland x male reader #tom holland x male!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland male reader #tom holland male!reader #male!reader #male reader #male reader imagine #mxm #smut #male reader smut

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