#the next chapter of smile more has been sitting in my drafts for weeks

[thelittleangryitalian]

New fic idea. What if after getting to know Bree and Chase better Kaz realizes how much they truly missed out on in their childhoods and starts keeping a little bucket list of things they never got to do. Chase finds out about the list and Kaz is determined to complete it with him when they go back to Mission Creek for the summer.

[tamurilofrivendell]

Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 11

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of Radagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @hufflepuff1700​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @jinlizz-dragondrama​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @firelightinferno​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @achromaticerebus​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @sleepyamygdala​​​​​​​​​​​​​   @smalltownbigheart​​​​​​​​​​​​ @qmabailor​​​​​​​​​​​ @genderfluid-anime-goth​​​ a/n: I’ve been a little behind on this one and I’m sorry!! My hyperfixation on another fic (and struggling to try and force myself to edit two first drafts of original novels) has made me blind to everything else which was obviously unintended when I started this, but I still have the outline in my drafts and I will finish it don’t worry.

The forest was quiet as Thranduil and his elk travelled beneath the trees. He was furious. No, he was absolutely livid. Who did Radagast think he was? Stupid wizards, always meddling. Thranduil knew deep down that Radagast did not intend to cause him true pain but, once more, his mind was seriously fixated upon that day in Lindon. The day he had witnessed the princess and the two queens die. However, his fury also stemmed from something else, something that neither had said but was very much present in his mind.

“-help her as your father would have wanted - as your mother would have wanted.”

Thranduil knew very well how his parents would want him to help her, particularly his mother. They would wish him to give the princess sanctuary and aid, which he knew was the correct thing to do and he would do it, but they would also wish him to honour the terms of the marriage they had arranged between the two. To strengthen the bonds between the Noldor and Sindar even further, which had really been one of the only things the two queens had ever wanted.

Thranduil would not, of course, force the princess into anything but... he knew without even having to ask that Radagast was already thinking it and that he could be crafty in getting his way, perhaps he was feeding the princess the story right this moment. Thranduil knew, too, how such a thing could work in everyone’s favour and he knew that it would honour the memory of all four of their parents, and perhaps help this girl who had been secreted away for well over 3,000 years without any titles, her name practically lost to history.

However, the source of his anger was not directed at the poor princess herself, not at the idea of marrying a complete stranger, but at what such an alliance would take from him.

You.

He recalled his thoughts of how he had never taken a queen, when the Enchantress revealed to Radagast her ire at his father’s apparent sin against her by not allowing her to marry his son. He recalled how his mind had conjured up the image of you, singing in the glade while picking berries, and he realised now why the thoughts had come to him - because he had quite obviously developed some sort of feelings towards you.

Thranduil came then to the clearing where he often met you, sliding from the back of his elk with a sigh as he looked around and realised that you weren’t here as he had hoped you would be. He stepped to the side and sat down upon a fallen log, leaning forward with his hands clasped, sitting for a time just staring down at the forest floor.

“You look gloomy.”

Thranduil quickly lifted his head at the sound of your voice, looking up just in time to see you stepping into the clearing. He smiled. “It has been a very long week...”

“Ah, so that’s why you haven’t come to see me.” You trilled, moving to sit next to him. You didn’t mean it in a bad way, you were not hurt by it or anything, but something in you had missed him greatly. You had become quite charmed by him and enjoyed the times you could spend in his company.

Thranduil chuckled. “I do apologise, my lady.” Running a kingdom was busy, he thought ruefully, though he still did not say it. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell you. Truthfully, he didn’t know what you must think of him, but he knew for sure you did not know he was the Elvenking. Perhaps you thought him a guard.

A soft laugh escaped your lips and you shook your head. “You don’t need to be sorry. I have perhaps become too used to your company.”

Since that first day Thranduil had come across you here, singing with the animals, he had probably come a lot more than he would normally otherwise have walked the forest. Something had just continued to pull him to you, and he had been drawn to this clearing of yours a number of times as the weeks had passed you both by. Then it had seemed only natural, it had become routine. He only wished he had not had the stress of the Enchantress and the past clouding the meetings, though he supposed now perhaps he should stop coming... the thought saddened him.

“Besides.” You continued, shooting him an amused glance. “We’ll always have our dreams.”

Thranduil laughed then, the first one since Radagast came to his halls and told him all about his last meeting with the Enchantress. He was pleased you remembered, truthfully, his silly little joke from before. Once upon a dream.

“Yes.” He chuckled, reaching out to take hold of your hand. “So we shall!”

As he took your hand, you were both suddenly struck by a most peculiar feeling that went jolting through the both of you. It felt like a real, tangible thing, a bolt of lightning. You quickly snatched your hand back in surprise and Thranduil frowned down at his own in confusion. “Did you...?”

You nodded, glancing up at him curiously. “What was that?”

“I do not know.” Thranduil muttered, pulling his hand back as he considered. It could not be... could it? He lifted his gaze and found your eyes on him. He smiled softly. “Lothíriel, I... I have come to greatly enjoy your company over these last weeks, and I...”

Here he trailed off and you wanted to push him to continue but all speech seemed to have been taken from you somehow. The clearing was silent for a long few moments then, the birds in the trees above poking their curious beaks down through the leaves to hear the king’s confession.

“I find you absolutely enchanting.” He admitted, looking back up at you. “From the very first day I saw you, I think I just... knew.” It seemed unfathomable to say such a thing, but a lot of elves had felt that way through history. Why, his own father had looked once upon his mother and instantly loved her as if he simply always had. It was as if their souls had known each other before they even met... and Thranduil suddenly came to the realisation that if he married Gil-Galad’s daughter then he would forever regret leaving you in this forest. He would always think of you, he wouldn’t be able to move on. That would not be fair to her, or to you, or to himself.

“Knew... what?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as you blinked back at him. You did not have much experience with others, or feelings like you were beginning to have, other than Thranduil... but you did not need to, really, as it seemed to sort of be a kind of instinctual thing.

Thranduil reached out to take your hand again, brushing his thumb gently over your palm. You shivered slightly and he lifted his gaze, meeting your eyes. “That I... that I am meant to love you.”

You could only stare at him in shock as the words passed his lips. “You... truly?!”

Thranduil nodded. “Truly.”

You were at a loss for what to say, not because you did not feel joyous or warm from the words he spoke, but simply because you were just no good at this. He did not seem to mind, almost as if he read what you were thinking in your eyes.

“Would you allow me the honour of courting you, my lady?” He ventured next.

You blinked at him, thinking that you should pinch yourself because it simply did not feel real. What could this interesting, worldly warrior possibly see in you?! Some random elleth who barely had any social skills the day he met her. You cast your mind over the time since then - every smile and lingering look - and you nodded, practically beaming at him. “Yes! I... I would like that very much.”

His smile grew slightly and you watched as he stood from the fallen log and extended an arm towards you.

“Dance with me.” He said suddenly, taking hold of your hands and pulling you to your feet.

You laughed and let yourself be pulled, and there in the clearing where you first met, you and he danced beneath the swaying blossom trees while the animals watched on.

That evening, you returned to the cottage with the brightest smile on your face. Your cheeks were rosy red and a blackbird was sitting atop your hair as you burst into the little house, causing Radagast to jump in the air and turn around very abruptly from his place at the counter. You were humming as you walked towards him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Good evening!” You smiled brightly as the blackbird jumped from your head down to the table. “Do you need any help?”

“What’s got you in such high spirits?” Radagast wondered. Why, you were practically floating!

A gleeful giggle escaped you as you reached for him, taking hold of his hands and pulling him into a little waltz across the kitchen floor. His steps were clumsy in contrast to your smooth ones but he couldn’t help but chuckle anyway, glad to see you happy... and safe. He had allowed you into the forest, though not without much back and forth in his own mind. However, he knew that soon you would be in Thranduil’s halls and would not have the same freedoms to visit your favourite places in this forest. Not until the Enchantress was gone.

You were humming as you danced with him and then you pulled back, smiling brightly at him as he watched you with curious eyes. “Oh, you’ll never guess!” You said, still a little nervous of his reaction but you knew that now was the time to tell him. “Wait until you meet him!”

“Him?” Radagast’s smile began to fade a little as he tilted his head at you. “What do you mean? Who? You have met some stranger?”

You shook your head, spinning on the spot once and then coming to a stop as you looked back the wizard. “Oh, no! No, he’s not a stranger. I mean... not anymore.” You clasped your hands together, truly hoping that Radagast would come to understand. “I have met him many times now, in the clearing. I should have told you, I’m sorry, but he is honourable. I swear. He wishes to court me, uncle! I promise, you do not have to worry! He’s coming tomorrow night, you can meet him and-”

Radagast, however, looked stricken. “Oh, my dear child...” He said sadly. “Oh, no... no. That can never be.”

You paused, your smile falling away, replaced by a soft frown. “What do you mean? Why not?”

“Well, you... you are already betrothed, my dear.” He said quickly. “From birth. To... to the Elvenking.”

“What?!” You could not understand his words because they quite simply made no sense. “No... h-how can I marry a king? I would have to be...”

“A princess.” Radagast said simply, watching the confusion on your face grow tenfold. “You are a princess.” He continued. “And I am sorry for keeping the truth from you but it was necessary. Please... listen to me.”

Radagast’s brow set into a deep frown as he looked back at you, the crestfallen look on your face, the hurt swimming in your eyes. Still, you didn’t run away and shut yourself in your room like you wished to. You stayed standing firmly before him as you waited for him to continue, to give you some explanation, willing him to make this all make sense.

Radagast sighed, his heart heavy with sorrow, for he knew that the time had now come to tell you everything.

[bidisaster-peanut-romano]

actually, you know what.

this is from a deleted chapter of shttdd. i had to cut it for a number of reasons, but this scene was one of the first i pictured in my mind and it works perfectly with the idea i still have about the relationship between peanut and his mother.

so. here it is, a deleted and rough draft of an excerpt from the story as well as a headcanon. enjoy <3

-

word count: 1.5k ca.

-

He finds her sitting on the bench at the stop, a bit of the excitement already faded, if anything in the calm of the wait in the rigid December cold, as Larry sits next to her.

Ever since he was a child, he has barely ever set foot in a church, except maybe a few times that he had to fetch Johnny for some Greasers meeting, so he certainly is no reliable source. Still, when he looks at his mother like this, when she isn’t running from one place to the other, he can’t help but think she looks sort of like a Madonna — in the good Sunday dress her mother had left her, smile sweet but with some undefinable glint of sadness in the corner of her eye. 

His knowledge of the story is vague, but he struggles to believe them, when he hears people claim Mary had happily and unconditionally accepted sacrificing her youth for a child, no matter how much good he would’ve done for the world or how much she would’ve been adored or even how much she would’ve loved the child. Larry is no Jesus, but he knows for sure that, despite treasuring him and loving him to death, his mom has never stopped grieving the teenage years she had to give up for a kid that only ever stopped her from flying away.

«The Espositos are so nice, inviting us all there.» When she speaks, her gaze is lost in the streets in front of her, and she might as well be talking more to herself than to her son. «It’s nice to stay over there, with people who care about you. It’s nice.»

There has always been something ironic about the way she loves and celebrates Christmas, especially since she’s never had a good relationship with a Father that has never cared about her and the only holy water in their house has only ever been the spit on good old Christian ladies condemning her to the stake. Everything she loves about the twenty-fifth of December, Larry has only guessed, is that, for a day, she can pretend not to be in charge, to have someone to rely on.

«Who else of your friends is there?»

She purposefully puts it casually, but the question stabs Larry’s heart sideways nonetheless. However, just like she did, he nonchalantly tries to list of all his Greaser friends that Hal might have invited for Christmas. «Well, usual, I guess. Lefty’s back in Rome for the week, Vance is with his sisters and his mom… most of them will stay at their own house I think. I’m not sure about the Pucinos, since Ricky’s dad just came back an’ all that. But I don’t think anyone else is coming. I wonder if Johnny and Lola will come, after all I think it’s jus’ the two of ‘em. I might go see them in the afternoon.»

At the last two names he finds himself biting the tip of his tongue, some bad feeling in his throat, the doubt that he wouldn’t have been able to avoid the topic if he said it nor if he didn’t.

True to his expectation, at the sole mention of Johnny’s name, his mom’s features harden, her eyes still into the distance; not even looking at him.

What a great way to start the day.

A huff escapes his mouth, but the knot in his trachea doesn’t go away with it. «Mom, I get that you don’t like him, you don’t gotta do this every single time.»

«It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s not personal!» She shakes her head energetically, as she always does, but Larry knows exactly where this is going anyway, and he’s awfully tired of this shitshow that opens its curtains any time he just happens to mention Johnny.

He rolls his eyes, sparks of irritation jumping in his chest, head falling in his hands as all the blood flowing to it makes it heavier and heavier. «I can’t believe we’re having this conversation at a fuckin’ bus stop.»

«I just,» Shrugging frantically, she keeps following her train of thoughts, deaf and blind to her son’s reaction, only her own heart beating in her head. «don’t think you should trust him as much as you do, y’know.»

His arms open, and he’s not looking at her either, too busy trying to hear his own voice over the roar in his ears. «He’s always taken care of me! Always!»

Her argument is always the same, repetitive, stubborn; he must have taken it from somewhere, after all. «For now! You can’t rely on that kind of guy!»

«“That kind of guy”.» Her and Johnny might have interacted two, three, four times at best, and certainly she’s never seen him rush at his side, or waiting for him to wake up in the infirmary, or introducing him to the higher ranking members of the clique, or pulling him away from bullies’ grip, or fighting back by back with him against older kids jumping them. She doesn’t know him, doesn’t know them, and, after leaving him wondering in his earliest childhood if she had ever wanted him around at all, she is definitely not in the position to judge whether Johnny actually cares about him or not. «What “kind of guy” would he be, huh?»

Still, she goes on, undeterred, if anything more determined to make her point come across. «He’ll just chase the first thing that excites him! He can only enjoy things as long as they’re good, but he’ll leave as soon as he doesn’t have fun anymore!»

This time, Larry snaps. «Oh, c’mon! Just ‘cause dad—»

Their eyes finally cross. Suddenly, they are but two sixteen years old staring at each other, both lost, confused, horridly lonely. He’s said the one word that he’s never supposed to voice, that is meant to stay stuck between the teeth she’s kept gritted since the day she found herself alone sixteen years ago. As soon as Larry has let it out, it has pierced into her gaze, breaking the glass of her eyes that she had tried to keep together with superhuman effort.

What an asshole that he is, isn’t he.

Taking back his words is impossible, now, or, at least, there’s nothing he can do to glue those pieces back together, fragile like crystal in his rough and indelicate hands. «Mom…»

«You know what? You’re right.» She turns her head away again; her voice is coarse, older than the thirty-two years old she’s supposed to be, as shaky as the little girl she never grew out of. «I can’t believe we’re having this conversation at a fuckin’ bus stop.»

Apologies are stuck up his throat, blocking his breath, but he knows better than to insist; for once, he should just be an adult and shut his mouth.

He just wishes this wasn’t such a minefield, one where they are only ever condemned to hurt each other.

When they get on the bus, it’s wordlessly, silence heavy on Larry’s stomach and his mom’s eyes passively laying on the window as the buildings slide behind it, gray snow that clashes with the colored lights, five broken for each one shining. She is often silent when something’s wrong; when he was younger, naive and unable to grasp why she should have been upset at him coming back home just a few minutes too late, he would stare at her from the couch, dread in his throat as her face wouldn’t soften for hours, waiting for her to give him a smile, to tell him that it was okay and she still loved him.

Growing older, though, he’s learned to be patient, to test the waters slowly and let her know that she’s safe peeking out of her own head. Lightly, making sure that his own uneasiness doesn’t leak through — she doesn’t need a child to comfort, right now. «Mom?»

Not an answer, a gesture, a gaze.

He takes a breath; just another try. «Mom, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.»

Finally, she turns to him. At first, there’s still something cold, distant in time and space, like her soul is only now realizing what body she’s finding herself into, like she’s seeing him for the first time, at birth. However, it warms soon after, thin lips curling in a soft smile, that Holy Mary tender and bittersweet gaze, as she caresses his cheek. «It’s okay. I just wish you didn’t turn out so much like me.»

This is another thing that she tells him often; in all these years, though, Larry still hasn’t found quite the right explanation. All he can do is laying his head on her shoulder and let her stroke his hair, pretending for just a second that they can be just as happy together as any mother and son would be.

What would they be like, if they were okay?

[canonicallyobserving911]

Fuck it Friday!

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

Here's a snippet from a WIP that's been sitting in my drafts for a few weeks. It's on pause until I complete the next few chapters in my multi-chapter fic titled: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!” but my plan is to get back to it soon.

It's a future fic and Eddie and Buck have been married for seven years in it.

____________

For the second time, the receptionist explains Dr. Mason’s in-person appointments are full but due to a cancellation, Buck has the option to do a virtual consultation with him tomorrow afternoon at 1:30PM.  He huffs and tells her to schedule it since he doesn’t have a choice then he exits his office.

It’s 12:12PM when he finally makes it back to the Jeep and after he gets inside, he debates whether he should call Eddie now or wait until they talk tonight.  He realizes he doesn’t have long to decide when his phone starts ringing since it’s his husband calling him on FaceTime.

Before he answers, he tries to steady himself so he won’t look like something’s wrong because he doesn’t want to worry him.

Eddie’s the Critical Care Paramedic for Los Angeles County and whenever he’s on shift, he’s in and out of the medevac all day long dealing with critically ill patients and most of them are in life or death situations.  It's the reason why he’s torn about whether he should tell him about the thing that may or may not be life threatening until he knows more.

He inhales, plasters a fake smile on his face, which he knows won’t fool Eddie, and answers, “Hey babe, how’s your shift?”

“It’s ok I guess but I’ll be glad when these last two hours are over.”  He pauses when he looks over Buck’s shoulder because he notices he’s not at home even though he should be since he worked a grueling 48-hour shift that went over five hours.

“Where are you?  I called the house phone and I’ve been calling your cell for thirty minutes but you didn’t answer.”

“Um… sorry I had it on vibrate and I’ve been at the store so I must have missed it.”  He lies.

“It’s ok.”  He heard the waver in Buck’s voice when he responded and he can see the fake smile on his face but he knows he has to ease into questioning him about whatever’s wrong, so he’ll tell him.  “What did you buy at the store?”

“Some steaks for tonight because I’m going to cook you an awesome dinner.”  He lies again and he realizes he has to go to the supermarket now to buy some steaks for dinner because they don't have any.

Eddie raises his eyebrows and he’s about to ask him what’s wrong but the alarm sounds.

“Hey… babe that’s the alarm and I have to go.  I love you and I’ll see you in a couple of hours." He looks into the camera and meets Buck's eyes. "And… just in case you thought I didn’t notice, I did! And we’re going to talk about whatever it is you’re not telling me when I get home, ok?”

He nods then replies, “Ok.  I love you too… so much”.

They end the call.

He throws his phone onto the passenger’s seat, leans his head against the headrest and sighs.  He doesn’t know how he’s going to tell him but he knows he has to because he’ll find out anyway especially since he won’t be able to avoid talking about it when he’s on a virtual call with Dr. Mason tomorrow.

What is Buck hiding from Eddie? 👀

Why did he go see a doctor? 👀

[prettylittlelyres]

Ladies Don't Write Music - 15th November 2023 - update

I'm on track for NaNoWriMo because I hit 25,000 words for the month today! I'm so pleased. Attempting NaNoWriMo at all this year was a huge gamble because I haven't written over 25,000 words since February 2023, and even then I only managed just over 37k... but I've written 25k in the last two weeks and a day!

I also finished writing Chapter Twelve today, and brought it in at 5,000 words exactly. That's both immensely satisfying, and a point of pride; it's the fastest I've finished a chapter on this manuscript since I started drafting it at the end of July. The full manuscript is now just over 60,000 words long, and I want to do some more writing before I go to bed.

Below the cut: a celebratory excerpt, my NaNoWriMo 25k badge, and the cover I designed at the start of November, because I'm proud of that, too.

I clapped the right tempo, and counted Fräulein Schneider in.

She began, halting here and there, but, in general, playing very well.

“I’m not sure if you need a teacher,” I said, as she came to the end of the first page, “You sight-read just fine, and your sense of rhythm is strong.”

Fräulein Schneider beamed at me. “Thank you!” she said, “But it’s… it’s the pitch that I struggle with. Did I really…” She looked down at her hands. “Did I really play that correctly? I keep thinking I was pressing the wrong keys, but I don’t like to look at my hands when I’m sight-reading, or I lose my place in the music.”

I shook my head. “There was nothing wrong with the notes you played,” I said, “Considering it was your first time with the piece, actually, it was excellent.”

Louisa raised her eyebrows, and looked from me to the sheet music, and then back again. “That’s… That’s a surprise,” she said, “I’ve always thought I was, well… quite bad at the harpsichord. I practise, but the music never makes any more sense than it does when I start learning a piece. My last two teachers gave up on me, but I keep playing anyway because Papa and Mama said it would be a good way to entertain my husband one day.”

“Doesn’t it sound good to you, at least?” I asked, “I mean, do you like the way it sounds, even if it’s a little confusing?”

She smiled. “Yes, very much… but I worry that it doesn’t sound so good to other people. Full of wrong notes… Who would enjoy hearing a piece they recognise mangled out of shape?”

I tapped the page she had just played. “You certainly didn’t mangle this,” I said.

“Oh,” she said, covering her face with her hands, “That’s a relief!” Then her eyes widened as she dropped her hands to her lap. “Goodness me, how embarrassing it would have been if I’d played it badly in front of its composer.”

“Badly, not at all,” I assured her, sitting down next to her at the bench, “A little slowly, perhaps, but…” I played the first few bars as they should have been played. “That’s what it’s meant to sound like. And what you played was close enough. Honestly, Louisa, if you practise for even half an hour every day, I think you’ll have the first page fluent in less than a week. Your hands will learn it, even if your ears don’t.”

I decided a while ago that Johann Schneider's character would be tone-deaf, and would enjoy watching music performed for the movement. He has a younger sister and I thought it would be interesting to explore her having the same difficulties. Johann isn't a musician (yet), but Louisa plays the harpsichord and has a lot of trouble feeling confident in what she's playing because she's never sure she's got the right pitch. Luckily, her proprioception is excellent (as is Johann's, which is why he can dance so well), so she can put her fingers on the right keys without needing to see them. This is what Katharina's trying to help her see here, in this ad-hoc music lesson; she doesn't need to hear what she's playing to be able to play it well.

I'm quite enjoying playing around with parallels between Johann & Louisa Schneider and Katharina & Hans Schmidt. In both pairs of siblings, you have the older, more serious one having trouble meeting people's expectations, in contrast with the younger, more humourous one having very little trouble at all. The pairs also mirror each other in their strengths and weaknesses: Katharina and Hans have audiovisual projective synaesthesia and perfect pitch, so can hear and see the music they're making; Johann and Louisa are literally tone-deaf (Johann completely, Louisa almost completely) and music for them is a much more visual thing than it is for most people. Then there's Katharina, whose coordination is so bad it causes problems, being the opposite of Johann, whose coordination makes him an excellent dancer who then has problems because he finds constant poorly-veiled requests to dance at parties very tiring.

[asimplearchivist]

ℂℍ. 𝕀 — 𝕀𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕥

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🗡 ⤏ cade yeager’s older sister never knows what she’ll find in their barn upon returning from her routine antiquing trips—the submission box at the driveway is often littered with junk of all kinds that they try to fix for a living. ⤏ you just never would have expected for him to take on the task of repairing a cybertronian. pairing 🗡 bayverse!optimus prime/yeager!reader word count 🗡 8.7k a/n 🗡⤏ i've been cleaning out my docs drafts debating on whether to upload certain unfinished works, seeing as some of them are partially complete (like this one). this was going to be a longfic that followed the events of aoe and would go on to tlk, but i lost steam for it pretty early on. there are a few more snippets that wouldn't stand well enough on their own to be posted, but i thought these three chapters would express the vibes i was attempting to convey. ⤏ this is an aoe ua where lucas didn't call the government about optimus right away, cemetery wind didn't find him immediately, and cade has an older sister by one year. the reader is ex-military and protective by nature, and not one to be trifled with - especially in regards to her family, as she would gladly sacrifice her life for theirs. she suffers from a psychosomatic limp in her right leg after sustaining a gunshot to her left shoulder while serving in afghanistan years prior. still suffering from ptsd, she's turned to exercise and bodybuilding as an outlet. she spends her time and makes money restoring antiques and furniture and occasionally collaborating with cade on his robotics. ⤏ this is kind of silly looking back on it (also not as well written, seeing as i created it back in 2017 [oh my god that was six years ago]), but i've promised myself i would try to work against my internal criticism and not cringe at something i spent a lot of time and love to make. i saw a few posts on tumblr floating around about posting old drafts and i thought i might do that with this, among others, so keep your eyes peeled for those.⤏ let me know if you see any glaring grammatical mistakes/spelling errors i missed, but more importantly, please enjoy this gem of my past! :)🗡 MASTERPOST 🗡 🗡 ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🗡

Tessa woke dreamily, a pleasantly warm haze dampening her thoughts as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Shimmering sunlight streamed in through the window, lighting up her room and causing motes of dust floating in the air to gleam like tiny flecks of gold. She stretched slowly, enjoying the feeling of tension releasing in her muscles. She smiled when she remembered that finals were over. She was free. (Until she went to college, that is. If she went to college.)

Though with the bliss of waking up to a quiet morning, she realized that it was actually quite out of place. It was suspiciously quiet. There wasn't any shouting from the landlord trying to sell the house again, or explosions coming from the barn. It was awfully peaceful, and Tessa really didn't know how to feel about it. It was only when she closed her eyes in contemplation of dozing off again that she remembered.

They had a transformer in the barn.

"Dad," she groaned, rubbing at her face and sitting up slowly.

A week had passed since Cade Yeager had unknowingly brought home a wanted, illegal alien (a literal alien, funnily enough) in an attempt to dismantle it for salable parts. But of course - of course it had to have been her dad. It couldn't have been anyone else's, because that's just what her life was: hectic and chock-full of crazy shit. So why not add housing an Autobot to the list?

She still couldn't believe her dad had managed to talk both her and Lucas down from making a call to the government about their accidental find. She didn't know how he did it - but he'd kept haggling and nagging and pushing until they'd acquiesced, and now they had a half-destroyed thirty-foot robot living in their barn.

Tessa couldn't say that she disliked Optimus, however - on the contrary, she was rather intrigued by him. He was very benevolent and soft-spoken (only did this show after their initial scare - Lucas wouldn't step close to the 'Bot for a solid two days afterward), and his voice never failed to soothe her with its otherworldly rumble. He was quiet, though, and didn't talk much - at least around her. Her dad said that he spoke with him very frequently, usually while he was repairing or constructing a makeshift part for the injured Autobot, and that entailed them being alone.

Cade had told her, the first night after he’d convinced her and Lucas not to call in the government, that he intended to let Optimus stay there for as long as he needed - until Cade could get him back into fighting shape, at the very least. It was wrong, what the government was doing to the Autobots - hunting them down like animals - and Cade sympathized greatly. Tessa admitted that she did, too, now that she knew the government wasn't actually targeting just Decepticons, but she was scared of the repercussions that it could potentially have on her family. Her father had assured her that nothing was going to happen to them, and that helping Optimus was the best thing that they could do right then. And he was already getting better info on robotics, just by looking at the 'Bot's inner mechanisms - not to mention that the Cybertronian made the continuous effort to answer any sort of question that Cade asked him. It was benefiting them already, he'd said. Tessa had sighed softly, pushing the tray of already lukewarm dinner into her father's hands before returning to the safety of their room.

Needless to say, Tessa made sure to give them both ample space. She would rather not have another missile ricochet through the house.

Tessa yawned, stood, and trudged into her bathroom, already resigning herself to cooking breakfast (again). She figured that the typical eggs and bacon would suffice - she just sincerely hoped that her dad hadn't pulled another all-nighter. Optimus had urged the stubborn human male to rest accordingly before, so maybe he'd done the same the previous night. She'd noticed that her dad was starting to get dark circles under his eyes.

After taking a soothingly hot shower and dressing for the day, she wandered downstairs and into the kitchen. It was methodical, routine, how she went about cooking the eggs and frying the bacon to her dad’s taste. Soon the savory smells were wafting from the stove, and when she heard the dull thumps of heavy, uneven footsteps descending the staircase she breathed out a sigh of relief. Cade shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and tugging the hem of his shirt down over his stomach. His hair was mussed, his movements stiff, and Tessa lamented her lack of foresight in not setting up the coffee pot beforehand.

"Morning, Dad," she said, flipping the bacon as it sizzled and hissed up at her. He mumbled something that could have potentially been English, trudging over to the fridge to pop the door open and draw a glass bottle of soda from its depths. He twisted the cap off, tossing it haphazardly towards the trashcan tucked into the corner of the kitchen (and effectively missing it by a long shot) before sinking into the chair already pulled out from beneath the table. His head fell into his hand, his shoulders slumping as he mumbled under his breath.

He was tired.

"How late did you stay up last night?" she asked him, transferring the now crisp bacon over onto the plate already loaded with heavily salted and peppered eggs. She moved over to him, setting it down in front of him before shuffling back to grab him a fork from the drawer.

Cade, obviously still submerged in a half-catatonic state, made the mistake of plucking up a strip of bacon. He jolted up, hissing and cussing as he swiped his fingertips against his pajama pants. Tessa gave him a scolding look, handing him a fork.

Cade sighed, taking it. "Eleven...?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, cocking her hip and planting a fist above it.

He averted his gaze guiltily, looking entirely like the man-child he was. "...Maybe closer to two. Or three. Or was it three thirty...?"

"Dad," she groaned, tugging at her hair in frustration. "Nothing good is going to come out of this if you work yourself into the ground! Optimus doesn't need to be repaired in the span of four nights-"

"Tessa - honey, you don't understand!" he interjected, squinting against the sunlight streaming in from the window. "I've already been able to make three of my inventions work because of him! He's helping me build these things, and the sooner I can sell them, the sooner we can get some money rolling in."

The young blonde opened her mouth to argue further, but the genuine look in her father's eyes made her stop short. She hesitated, and he took the opportunity to stand and grasp her arms gently, drawing her into a tight, reassuring hug. She resisted but for a few seconds before sighing and giving in, wrapping her arms around him and breathing in the familiar scent of mechanical grease and sweat. Memories lingered in the back of her consciousness. This was her father, what embodied him. Comfort and grease.

How lovely.

"Tess, baby," he murmured into her hair, brushing his fingers through it slowly, "I promise this will turn out okay. Just give me a little time. Optimus is genuinely grateful for what we're doing for him, and he's trying to repay us in any way that he can." He squeezed her affectionately. "We'll get out of this soon. Everything will go back to normal."

"I sincerely doubt that," she mumbled into his shirt, though secretly she was soothed by his words. He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before they both drew away from each other. Cade returned to his seat, digging into his cooling breakfast while Tessa moved over to the coffee pot to get a fresh brew going. She knew he was going to need it, if he was going to function at all that day.

"Did Lucas get those parts you need?" Tessa asked, popping the top off of the coffee maker before grimacing. She hadn't made coffee in a week, how old were these grounds? Yuck.

"Yeah. Most of them," Cade said through a mouthful of eggs. Tessa sighed, but did not scold him. "I'll have to order some. If I can fix up that old tape recorder, I've got a buyer on Ebay. Fifty bucks."

"Hmm." Tessa tossed the old filter out, disposing the forgotten bottle cap while she was at it. She opened up the cabinet, straining on her tiptoes to reach the filters and grounds. Curse her short genes.

"Optimus says that a lot of his self-regenerating systems have kicked in now that he's out of emergency stasis-lock. Whatever that means." Cade swallowed before shoving a wad of bacon into his mouth. "But he's still looking pretty rough. I think he needs a good wash."

"But won't that make him more obvious?" she asked, filling the pot up in the sink and pouring it into the tank. "Won't the government be looking for his old paintjob? Maybe we should paint him a different color or something."

"He mentioned that he changed his vehicle mode while on the run from that ambush," he said. "Combine that with all the rust he's got, I don't think he'll be easily identifiable for a while. But, still..." He polished off the soda before sighing. "I feel bad for him. He seems to be in a lot of discomfort, and I'm pretty sure he's still in pain. He's cooped up in that barn, having to crouch or sit all the time. The guy can't even step outside for fear of satellites seeing him..."

"Maybe he can go out at night," she suggested, sympathizing greatly. Texas heat sucked sometimes, and some days in the summer you couldn't even step outside for fear of suffocating on contact. "He can stretch his legs a bit without so much fear of being seen."

Cade visibly brightened. "Good idea. I didn't think of that."

Probably because you're just running on fumes, Tessa thought wryly as she flicked on the coffee pot.

"In any case," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the counter. She jabbed a finger at him, giving him a firm (and faintly pleading) look. "I want you in bed before midnight tonight."

Cade grinned around his fork, his eyes glittering with faint amusement. "I'll try," he said, swallowing, "but I can't make any promises."

"I'll make Optimus lock you out of the barn," she warned, knowing full well that the thirty-foot mech would most definitely agree to it. They both knew it. "Just...try, okay? Or I'll spike your dinner with melatonin, too."

Cade shuddered, cringing. "Okay, okay, chill," he said, picking up the last strip of bacon before standing with his plate and wandering over to the sink. "I'll go to sleep at midnight."

"Before midnight," she pressed.

"Before midnight," he acquiesced.

Cade washed off the plate, chewing studiously on the bacon like a tobacco addict while Tessa stepped over to the fridge and unraveled the loaf of bread. She dropped two slices into the toaster when Cade's cell phone began to ring.

He growled softly, flicking the faucet off before fumbling with his pajama pants. "It had better not be that damn..." He drew out the phone from his pocket, squinting at the name before the blood drained from his face.

Tessa's face creased in immediate concern. "What? Who is it?"

Cade's trembling thumb slid across the screen before he lifted it to his ear. "Heeyyy, sis..."

Tessa felt her blood run cold, a thrum of nervousness welling up in her stomach. Cade cast her an anxious glance before rubbing at the back of his head. "I'm fine. Tessa's fine...wait, you found a what? That's awesome!"

His enthusiasm was short-lived, as it died just as quickly as it had come when Tessa gave him a sour, pointed look. "Uh, yeah...Tessa finished up her finals. Yeah. No, I haven't finished that...you found a part for it? Nice." He fidgeted where he stood, leaning against the counter and rubbing at his mouth. "Listen, we've, uh...I made a big buy here a few days ago...no, it wasn't...okay. I, uh..." He grimaced, his teeth bared as he ran his fingers through his hair. "How long's it going to be 'til you get here?" He paused, listening intently, before the barest iota of relief relaxed the muscles in his shoulders. "Okay. This evening? Later? All right...yeah, see you then. Love you, too. Bye."

The second he lowered the phone from his ear and ended the call, he let out a prolonged, hissing curse through his teeth. Tessa worried her lower lip between her teeth, waiting for the ball to drop. Cade sank back against the cabinetry, his head hitting the upper section with a dull thunk. "We're screwed. I completely forgot about..." He shook his head slowly. "She's coming back tonight, maybe around seven. We've got to hide Optimus somehow."

Tessa stared at him incredulously. "How? He's a thirty-foot robot!" she hissed at him. "She practically lives in the barn, and that's the only place he can hide! She'll sniff him out in minutes!"

"I know that," Cade pressed, shoving the phone back into his pocket so he could scrape his hands down his face. "But she'll kill me when she finds out-"

"What, that you accidentally bought a literal illegal alien and now you’re trying to fix him?!" she cried exasperatedly. "Of course she's going to kill you!"

"We can't tell her," he insisted. "She's ex-military. Who knows how she'll react when she finds out we've got a Cybertronian in the barn."

"We can't keep it from her," she protested. "Even if we do manage to hide him at first, she'll find him eventually. She spends as much time in there as you do, if not more - which is stupid," she muttered. "And you'll have to continue repairs on him eventually."

Cade sighed resignedly, dropping his face into his hands. "At least make spaghetti for her," he mumbled, voice muffled. "The most we can do is butter her up before we tell her. I...I need at least tonight, so I can think about how I'm going to tell her."

Tessa stared at him for a long moment, but the tense silence that threatened to fall was broken by the toaster popping. At least that was one device in the house that Cade hadn't tampered with.

"Don't worry about it," Tessa told him, trying to offer some relief to his nervousness. "I'm sure once you explain everything to her, she'll understand. Like you said, he's helping out a lot with your robotics, so it's not a completely fruitless endeavor. And, once he's fixed up and leaves, we can call the government and point them in the opposite direction. That way we'll get the money but we'll throw them off his trail."

Cade looked up at her, a slow smile tugging the corners of his mouth apart. "I love you," he cooed. "You're smart like your mother."

Tessa flushed, turning to she could both pluck her toast out of the toaster and hide the smile that split her face in two.

It turned out to be a terribly hot day, as was typical of an early Texas summer. The only respite against the blazing sun was the industrial-sized fan humming near the barn door and the tin roofing reflecting most of the sun's oppressive heat. Sunlight streamed in from between the wood paneling and the opened loft window, providing enough illumination to cast dark shadows against the interior of the barn not under its direct assault. But, despite the dust and rust and grime clinging to his plating, the few unmarred spots of Optimus' armor gleamed.

Cade swiped an arm over his forehead, the beads of sweat and friction serving to wipe away at least some of the grime that had collected there. He had half the mind to take off his shirt, soaked and sticking to him in all the wrong places. He felt about as dirty as he probably looked. Even still, he doubted that Optimus would appreciate seeing a half-naked human - especially a half-naked human that was as dirty and unkempt as Cade knew he was. Or maybe the mech wouldn't care at all. Either way, he wasn't going to risk it, particularly since he was working with hot metal. He'd experienced the repercussions of that before and it had been no bueno.

Hefting the heavy-weighted hammer and setting the rounded metal casing against the molding sphere, he tapped out an angle that had been too sharp. The shift and scrape of metal on concrete almost made him flinch, but the movement in his peripheral reminded him of the barn's other occupant. Optimus was clearly uncomfortable, hunched over and grimacing every time he jostled one of the chains hanging from the ceiling or bumped against the scaffolding Cade had set up so he could reach his chassis. It had struck Cade how clearly he could read the mech's expressions - he was certainly human-like, despite the vastly differing components that made up the Cybertronian's faceplate.

"You took a hell of a hit, you know," he said, squinting at the casing with a merciless eye before wandering over to the standing cutting torch. "The missile just missed your power source."

The massive mech blinked, tilting his helm slightly, before he glanced down to the exposed internal workings within his chassis. His spark flickered erratically, casting an eerie glow against the dim shadows within the barn. "We call it a spark," he responded softly. "It contains our life force...and our memories."

Cade stilled, staring up at him in surprise. He hadn't thought... "Yeah...we call it a soul."

Optimus ex-vented slowly, his optics flicking away. He absently scratched at part of his pectoral plating, rolling his shoulders slowly. Cade inwardly winced at the metallic grating noise, trying to remember if he had some car grease. Yeah...add that to the growing list of things he was going to have to fix.

God, this guy was a mess.

Optimus grimaced suddenly, glancing down at his armor and plucking at a sizable shell casing embedded in the rusted, peeling metal. He tugged it free, staring down at it rather apathetically before flicking it away. Cade heard it bounce off the side of something somewhere to his right with a sharp cling. "Cade..." The Autobot hesitated, blinking as his optics shuttered, making the mechanic wonder if it indicated deep thought. "...why are you willing to help me?"

Cade paused, fiddling with the nozzle of the blow torch. "I guess maybe because you trust me to," he mused, leaning back as the torch roared to life and illuminated everything around him in a flaring orange glow. He quickly popped the welding mask down over his face, adjusting his grip on the round casing before bathing it in the spurting flame. Optimus watched his actions in rapt attention, seeming to absorb the human's reply.

When the metal was glowing as orange as the flames that were heating it, Cade shut off the torch and trotted back over to the ball bearing before pounding out more angles. He eyed it one last time before trotting over to the barrel of oil he'd had for years, dipping it in gingerly and being wary of the flames that flared and licked up at his hands. He then doused it in the barrel of water he'd set up next to it, turning his face away from the steam that hissed and shot up into the air. When he lifted the mask again to admire his handiwork, Optimus leaned over slightly as though to look at it, too.

"It look okay?" Cade asked while popping the mask back up onto his head, turning and walking up to the massive 'Bot so he could inspect it. The Prime nodded and reached out with an open servo, taking the casing before slowly and carefully fitting it around the flickering blue light within the depths of his chassis. He let out a heavy gush of hot air that ruffled Cade's oily hair, not quite a sigh of what must've been relief but probably the closest thing he could come to it.

"Thank you, Cade," he murmured sincerely. His shoulders slumped as though he finally had the chance to relax. Cade supposed he would, too, had the physical manifestation of his soul been so exposed for so long - and around strangers, no less.

Around strangers who were the same species as those who had made him wary of them in the first place.

"Hey, Optimus," Cade began tentatively, drawing out his syllables as he tried to conjure up the right words to inform the Autobot of their growing predicament. He didn't really know how he was going to react. "I've...got some good news and some bad news."

This seemed to set the mech on his guard, as his shoulders drew up again subtly with a tenseness that Cade suddenly regretted inciting in him. His optics shuttered, narrowed, and focused wholly on Cade, quiet and waiting. Of course, the moment he'd finally had a chance to relax, Cade had to go and ruin it.

The inventor sighed, pulling the mask from his head and rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. "Good news is my sister is coming back." He looked back up to Optimus. "The bad news is that my sister's coming back."

Optimus shifted restlessly, optics flickering rapidly between extreme dimness and flaring brightness. "Is she one that could pose potential danger?"

"Not really - at least, I don't think so," Cade added hurriedly. "I just...I don't know how she's going to react to...this." He gestured towards Optimus vaguely, for lack of a better word. Or any word, for that matter. "She's ex-military, and I know you guys worked with them for a long time. I don't think she ever worked with the Autobots, though, since she was discharged before the first attack in Qatar, but..."

Optimus stilled, tilting his helm slightly. "Do you wish me to tell her the circumstances of how I arrived here?"

"No - no, it's fine," Cade responded, "I can handle it. I've just...I've been trying to figure out how to tell her."

"Tell her the truth," Optimus said simply, gently. "That is was an accident. It was most definitely not your fault." He paused. "If she should wish me to leave, then I will be on my way. I do not wish to cause dissonance within your family."

It's a bit late for that, he thought wryly, but didn't voice it. "Optimus, we've been through this - I want to help you. I want to help you get back on your feet, if nothing else - it's just not fair how these guys are chasing you around like you're some wild dog." He frowned, anger beginning to simmer low in his gut. "I think she'll understand."

...At least, I hope she will.

Dear God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, it was good to be home.

You pulled off of the interstate onto the highway branching off and directing you closer to your destination. You hummed softly along with the radio playing just over the rumble of your tires rolling over the pavement. Your arm was probably well sunburned by this point, having laid across the open windowsill for five days straight. The wind tugged at your tightly-bound hair, warm and dry as the sun brushed the edge of the horizon. The scent of flat, grassy plains - the scent of home - had you finally, finally relaxed after your trip.

Finding fixer-uppers for Cade and yourself to restore proved to be something you'd long ago gotten into the habit of doing - every three weeks you'd pack up your truck and trailer and drive around your proud home state in search of potential quarry. Scholarship opportunities for Tessa, as well as acceptable colleges, had recently been added to your list. None particularly met your standard, but...it was your niece in question, and you had always been protective of Tessa. Perhaps more so than Cade, in your mind. Maybe it was a Yeager trait.

You breathed out a sigh as you slipped your sunglasses off the top of your head and over your eyes. The sunset was certainly a sight - vivid oranges and reds melting together like a forge, blazing just as hot. You couldn't wait to take a long, hot shower and sleep in your own bed - cheap inns and motels be damned to the seventh circle of Dante's hell, honestly.

Paris, Texas welcomed you soon enough. There were a few people lingering in the streets or stores, but it was quiet for the most part. You waved towards a few acquaintances as you drove by, feeling relieved excitement bubbling up in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to home. You couldn't wait to work with Cade on some of the things you'd found in your brief travel. You'd even bought a couple of things for Tessa that you could freshen up and give her for her college dorm as a going-away present.

God, you were going to miss her. But...it would be nice to have the house to Cade and yourself again. Just like the good old days.

A flush of warm contentment washed over you when you pulled onto the familiar old farm road, dust swelling up from your tires and rising up in a thick cloud behind your trailer. You slowed down as you approached the rickety old mailbox and the metal crate welded beneath it, turning in slowly. You stopped when you saw that the electrical lines were crossed.

Oh, boy...maybe you shouldn't have gone on this last trip.

It seemed that your arrival was well anticipated. The robotic mut you and Cade had built what seemed to be forever ago was already whirling around in circles, yapping on and on about voice recognition and dialing nine-one-one. You could've sworn you'd fixed that. Cade was standing on the front porch, arms folded over his chest and fingers drumming against his arm.

He was nervous. What the hell did he do this time?

Parking and disengaging the engine, you grabbed your duffel and purse out of the passenger's seat before sliding out of the truck. Cade stepped down from the porch to take them, to which you waved him off and instead pulled him into a tight hug. The strong, familiar scent of motor oil and grease filled your nose. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he said, arms resting on your back. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Drive back was okay?"

"Yeah. Didn't shoot anyone."

"Always a good thing." He pulled back, grinning and grasping your arms gently. "Tessa made spaghetti."

Your hunger, now making itself apparent in the way your stomach twisted and growled irritably, predominated your rising suspicion. "Praise God. I've had enough McDonald's to last me three lifetimes."

Your brother's warm laugh, more relaxed than his tense body language had been moments before, followed you into the house as you both went inside. The hearty smell of the Yeager family spaghetti sauce filled your nostrils and your mouth watered immediately, the tension draining from your limbs as you cast a glance back at Cade. "Let me go put this up real quick," you told him, trotting up the stairs. You heard him acknowledge you with a grunt as he turned into the kitchen.

The upper floor was dark and quiet, and it allowed you to breathe in the scent of home as you made a beeline for your room. You entered, tossing both bags onto your bed and making a flying trip to the bathroom to relieve yourself. You made quick work of washing your hands, simply wiping off the warm water on your jeans as you descended the stairs. You heard Cade's voice before you got to the doorway leading to the kitchen, the urgent, low tones initially obscuring Tessa's lighter whispers. Your suspicion returned, but you couldn't make out what they were saying because of the music playing softly from the radio.

You really hoped they hadn't broken something they shouldn't have. Didn't matter if it was a law or piece of equipment - if Lucas had been messing with your punching bag again, you'd be wringing his skinny little neck soon enough.

You made a show of yawning, stretching your arms over your head as you clomped around the corner. Cade turned to you, holding a pitcher of tea in one hand and a glass of ice in the other.

"I'm assuming you wanted tea," he said.

"Yeah, that's fine," you said, taking the glass after he filled it and sitting at the table. Tessa was distributing spaghetti on three different plates, as well as corn and salad. She set it in front of you with a swift one-armed hug around your shoulders, which you readily returned. "Heard about your finals. Good job, kiddo."

"Thanks!" she said, smiling and practically oozing pride in light of your praise. She meandered over to the oven, popping it open and grabbing an oven mitt to draw out a tray of garlic bread. "Want one?"

"Yes, please," you breathed, plucking one from the tray when she proffered it to you before dropping it on the edge of your plate to save your fingertips from the hot sting.

Cade plopped down in the seat across from you, reclining back and exhaling deeply. He rubbed at the dark circles beneath his eyes. You squinted at him, about to ask if he had been staying up late again, when Tessa, too, sat to your left.

"Pray?" she said, glancing between the two of you. You nodded, and all three of you bowed your heads so you could utter a brief prayer of thanks. Afterwards, you scooped a generous forkful of spaghetti into your mouth, practically melting in your chair as the warmth and flavor blossomed over your tongue.

"Oh my god, Tessa, never change," you told her firmly after swallowing. She flushed, hiding her smile behind her glass as she sipped lightly.

"How was the trip?" Cade asked, tearing the slice of garlic bread apart and stuffing a chunk past his lips.

"Good, for the most part," you said, reaching for the salad dressing to drizzle it over the chopped lettuce and tomatoes. "Got a few things that I can fix up pretty quick. Joe Anderson's been nagging me for a table for three months now. I think it's Amy's birthday soon and he's looking for something to give her."

Cade breathed out a sigh of relief. "I've almost got a couple of doohickeys fixed. Got a couple of buyers on Ebay. I think I'll be able to pay the electric bill with them."

You looked up at him, your chewing slowing to a stop. "Is that why we're borrowing the neighbor's electricity?"

Both Cade and Tessa stilled, exchanging a hesitant glance. The nervousness in the air was palpable.

"Is that what's going on?" you asked, voice simultaneously firm yet gentle. "You've been acting weird. Were you not wanting to tell me?"

You didn't miss the very pointed look that Tessa directed at her father.

"I thought I shouldn't have gone on this trip," you muttered. "I'll try to get that table done tomorrow. The sooner we can pay it, the better."

Cade shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing at his neck anxiously. "That's...not what I wanted to tell you."

You raised a brow. "Is it about that 'big buy' you made?"

"I...yes," he replied hesitantly. "It's a truck."

You blinked. "A truck."

"Yes - an old truck. A semi. A cabover. I was planning on dismantling the engine for parts to sell."

"Planning on it?" you asked curiously.

"Yeah. I...ran into some...trouble with it." He straightened, fiddled with his fork. "You'll have to see it for yourself."

"If all you needed was help on it, all you had to do was ask," you told him gently. "But we'll start on that in the morning. I'm tired. You look tired - have you been staying up late again?"

He flushed, opened his mouth perhaps to protest, but Tessa interjected with a flat expression and a strong nod.

"Sleep," you pressed firmly, "and we'll tackle it when we're both fresh. Comprende?"

"Sí," he muttered, casting his eyes downward.

"Good." You smiled, half affectionate and half exasperated. "I'll cuddle you aggressively if you don't."

"Resistance is futile," Tessa chimed in, spearing a chunk of lettuce with her fork.

You reached over and squeezed her arm with a grin, directing it at Cade. He finally met your eyes, and after a long moment he returned it, looking as tired as you'd ever seen him.

You had once been a very deep sleeper. When you were younger, back when Cade was smaller than you, he always thought something was wrong whenever he would get up in the mornings and fail to rouse you unless he were to practically scream in your ear. You slept through thunderstorms and fireworks alike, never once stirring from your oft dreamless slumber. Very rarely did you dream, even rarer did you suffer from nightmares.

Unfortunately, that was a long time ago.

After graduating from high school and enlisting your services in the marine corps, you'd quickly learned that sleeping deeply was not an asset useful to a soldier. Countless times of interrupted rest trained you to be instantly alert at the slightest of noises or potential dangers. It had served you well, the night your base in Iraq had been attacked - you'd heard the distant rumble of non-American military engines across the way and you'd saved your troop by waking and warning them just in time to escape your bunker before it was incinerated into smoke and ash.

The ambush had been long and violent. They'd come in under cover of the dunes on the far east side, near a mountain range, and had wreaked havoc on the base, killing many and injuring more. Snipers, unfortunately, were present - when you'd gone to rescue your superior officer from a burning quonset, one had nearly managed to blow your left arm out of its socket. It was only by God's grace that your squadron's medic had gotten to you in time to staunch the bleeding. Your arm barely survived, and as a result of some psychological bullshit, you now had a rather inconvenient limp in the opposite leg. Unnoticeable to you (and your family) now that you've all gotten accustomed to it and have dealt with it long enough that it wasn't as bad as it used to be. Only if you had one of your spells did it act up again.

And by 'spell', it obviously meant a full-blown anxiety attack courtesy of your PTSD, which used to be triggered by anything ranging from the sound of someone dropping a pen to having night terrors. The night terrors, in themselves, were not particularly bad - you'd gotten used to the images of blood spattered across the sand and the sounds of screams and explosions ringing in your ears, echoing over the rivulets of time and memory. No, it was the aftereffects that you hated; waking in a cold sweat, trembling all over, nausea and lightheadedness threatening to send you over the side of your bed. Over the years, however, you'd gradually recovered - returning home after being medically discharged and falling back into a semi-normal, tamer routine certainly helped. The night terrors and your spells grew fewer and farther between as the years drew on. Having Cade and Tessa as a support system helped majorly, as well.

But, as is the case with everything, there were always exceptions. Sometimes, out of nowhere, you would dream of the ambush - crying out in your sleep as a result and never failing to draw Cade into your bed to wrap you up in a tight, warm embrace. His presence, the sound of his heartbeat and his gentle murmurings and reassurances helped to calm you down, but it still frustrated you every time that it would happen. You thought you were getting better. You thought that you'd forgotten the terror and the pain. But revisitations of it were inevitable.

Tonight, it would seem, would be one of those nights.

The air was cold. The sand was cold. Your heart, heavy and lodged in your throat, was thumping painfully as you crouched low and wide-eyed in a grenade-blown pit, avoiding crossfire and the sight of the enemy. You were trembling, deep and wholesome panic thrumming through your entire body as you tried to think, tried to comprehend what was happening, tried to articulate what you needed to do. A distant murmur of sentimentality in the back of your mind told you that you should go back to your bunker, try to salvage what few belongings you were permitted to have. Shock and the ingrained soldier's sense would not let you.

Gun. You needed your gun. You needed your gun so you could fire back, save others, protect your squadron. Where was it?

In the smoldering remains of your bunker, along with everything else you'd owned.

Another grenade clattered against the smoldering side of the communications center, falling dangerously close to an armored Jeep and rocking it on its wheels with its concussive explosion. You winced, shied away from the flash of fire and shrapnel, and looked wildly, desperately around for an ally, someone you knew, someone you trusted.

"Yeager!"

Your head shot up, eyes focusing in on the medical facility. The chief medic was hunched in the doorway, clutching an IV bag in one hand and its partnering needle in the other as he stared straight at you.

"Merendsen!" he shouted. "Merendsen's trapped in his bunker!"

Now given an order, a purpose, your mind locked onto it with renewed determination. However, when you told your body to move, it did not budge. You shook and shivered, but your limbs would not accept the commands given to them. You heard an unintelligible shout from another point in the camp, closer to the medicinal facility, and the chief medic looked back to you with furrowed brows. "They're readying a mortar! We've got to evacuate!"

To this day, you still don't recall ever getting up. All you remember is no longer laying in the sand, only running headlong through the crossfire and explosions and yelling towards the bunker where your commanding officer dwelled. The building was half collapsed, crackling and hissing with flames that licked against the shadows of light. You stumbled to your knees, digging at the crumbling and charred cement and hoping you wouldn't get hit. You gasped and cursed when you scorched your hand, but you were rewarded when you heard a groan amidst the rubble.

"Sir!" you gasped, trying to find the location of the sound. "Merendsen! Captain Merendsen!"

"Yeager...?" he rasped, and grunted when you shifted a rather large chunk of rock.

"Help me, sir," you panted. "I can't get you out by myself."

He groaned, though whether through pain or delirium you didn't know. You saw his bloodied, swelling fingers poke out from between a gap in the debris. Several painstaking and anxiety-riddled moments slid by, and as soon as his shoulders were visible you grappled for him and tugged him free of the debris. He choked out a curse, blood dripping from his head and hands as you dragged him onto the sand.

"We - we need to evac," he wheezed, glazed eyes taking in the decimation that was once home camp.

"We're working on it, sir," you managed, using a sizable chunk of concrete for cover as you tried to plot the best route to the medical facility. There was heavy fire being exchanged through the main route, several of your comrades hollering and bleeding while trying to hurl back as much as was being given to them. None noticed your predicament.

The medical facility. If you could get him there, he'd be safe until everyone got organized. It was the most well-protected place in camp (or what used to be the camp).

"Can you walk?" you hollered above the blast of fire swelling around a Jeep that had been turned over on the edge of camp.

"I'm fine!" he shouted back, gritting his teeth and trying to get his legs beneath him. His pupils were blown. He had a concussion. "Let's move! We need to get out of here!"

You hauled his arm around your neck, drawing his weight into your side and hefting both yourself and him to your feet. You huffed and strained beneath the extra weight, eyes stinging as sweat and dirt and smoke blurred your vision.

It was painstaking, bobbing and weaving through debris and smoke for cover. Your comrades made way for you, giving you cover-fire when crossing areas where you were plainly visible. Your commanding officer was grunting and cursing due to pain, trying his best to support his weight despite the fact that his leg was bent at a rather unnatural angle.

You rounded the corner, spotting the welcoming entryway to the medical bunker, and somewhere in the back of your conscious mind you recognized it - recognized this moment - and began to dread despite not being able to change the events of the past. All you registered was the distant flicker of red right before Merendsen was hollering in your ear. Your mind and focus clicked into place in that instant - sniper. Deeply ingrained instinct kicked in and you threw your weight to the side, shoving your captain into the sand as pain unfathomable exploded in your uncovered shoulder.

The next thing you knew was Merenden's face over yours, mouth moving but no sound coming forth. You realized you couldn't hear - not just him, but everything else. Your ears were ringing, body cold and frozen. Your heartbeat, hot and painful, throbbed in your shoulder (or, in retrospect, what was left of it).

Turning your head in an attempt to gain your bearings, you saw the sickening color of scarlet staining the sand beneath you, splattered over Merendsen's pinched face as he hunched over you protectively. He dug his palms into your shoulder, eliciting a weak, breathless gasp as pain bloomed across the forefront of your psyche. You felt the squish of blood against your torn and rent flesh. Your vision flickered, the dark draw of unconsciousness tugging at the edges of your consciousness. You were suddenly tired. Tired, and dazed, and hurting.

"...eager! Yeager! Stay with me, soldier! Don't you dare give up on your family!"

You blinked slowly, eyes listlessly returning to Merendsen's. His face was twisted into a pained, worried grimace.

"You've got a niece to go home to!" he shouted above the din, and you vaguely recognized the shift of sand as someone else skidded to a stop beside your head. The chief medic's face, illuminated by fire, swam on the side of your vision as though submerged in water. "Your brother needs you! Your family needs you!" Merendsen lifted his hands away from your shoulder so the medic could replace them, and your captain moved to grip your limp, trembling hand with his own. "Don't let go, soldier - that's an order!"

You remembered smiling, thanking him with a broken and soft and terrified voice. Then you remembered no more.

You remembered the pain, and its clawed grip upon your rapidly fluttering heart, and that was the first thing you felt when you jolted awake - except for the fact that there was no pain, and no slick, stickiness of blood soaking your shoulder and the cold sand beneath it. Your heart was still beating, though, thumping in your temples and throat and making quite the impression of itself on the inside of your chest cavity.

You blinked and sat up slowly, sucking in several lungfuls of cool, clear air. Your brain began to reboot slowly, gradually swimming out of the dark depths it had submersed itself in. You exhaled shakily, your hand going to your left shoulder. A pang of remembered agony tingled through the damaged nerve endings. Damn phantom pains.

Several tense, quiet moments passed. You breathed, focused on your heartbeat, closed your eyes against the vestiges of fear and shock. Your heart calmed, your body stopped trembling. You brushed your dampened hair away from your neck and grimaced as you registered the sweat clinging to your skin. Your eyes settled on the band of moonlight shining through your opened window, allowing the pleasant night air passage. A cursory glance towards your alarm clock assured you that yes, it was far too early to be awake.

4:21. Great.

Your eyes adjusted slowly, and you frowned when you saw your bedroom door still secured tightly shut, realizing your brother's warm presence wasn't currently wrapped around yours.

Cade hadn't come. He always came. He always knew. Where was he?

The distant clatter of metal against wood caused you to freeze. Your senses focused in on the sound, ears straining to hear anything else. Instead, dead silence settled over the outside world once more.

Your hand slipped silently under your pillow, the familiar bite of cold metal a comfortable weight in your hand as you settled your fingers around the grip and drew it out into open air. Your pistol gleamed in the moonlight as you slid your legs off the bed and slowly eased your weight into your feet. The floor did not creak nor groan as you crept to your window, peering around the edge to scrutinize the yard below.

No signs of life, nor disturbances. All was quiet.

Your eyes narrowed, and you made your way into the hall to check on your brood. Tessa was asleep beneath her sheets, hair strewn out over the pillow beneath her head. You closed the door silently. Cade, too, was in bed (thankfully), snoring and sprawled out over his mattress. He was deeply under, you could tell - how much had he been working before you'd returned?

Assured that they were safe, you padded down the stairs and made your way to the back door, grabbing a flashlight on your way by and stealing outside without a sound. You kept to the shadows, prowling towards the barn warily. Though every fiber in your body was tensed and focused on making your approach undetectable, your mind was buzzing. Who would be in your barn at this time of the night? Your first thought went to some wayward teenager or young adult looking for a quick buck, but you found that unlikely given you hadn’t heard a vehicle approach. A glance to the field and road beyond your home also proved that fact, as there was not a vehicle in sight. It could've been a raccoon, but you found that unlikely. Maybe something had just fallen over?

Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to check. You just really hoped that you wouldn't have to use your gun. You really weren't in the mood to shoot anybody.

Circling around to the back of the barn where the larger door rested, you readjusted your grip on your gun and tucked it behind the barn’s door handle. You braced yourself, taking a steadying breath. In one smooth motion you clicked on your flashlight and raised it level with your head, throwing the massive but relatively light door open before raising your gun to the immediate darkness within. "Whoever the hell you are, raise your hands - and don't make a mistake you'll regret, because I will shoot you!"

Two wide, startled, glowing blue eyes blinked down at you from inside the depths of the barn.

Shocked out of words for a split second, you froze. Then, "What the actual f-"

You had only a moment to register that the eyes belonged to a gargantuan, alien frame. It seemed that it, too, had been stunned by the mutual shock of discovering the other, but not for a moment longer. In that same instant, the gargantuan, alien frame lunged for you.

Screw not being in the mood to shoot somebody.

You raised your pistol and your finger twitched over the trigger, but the unknown figure was faster. A massive hand swiped out at you from the shadows, knocking both the gun from your grip and your entire body off of your own feet. The breath gushed out of you as you made harsh contact with the ground, the jolt stunning and dazing you. You scrabbled for purchase on the dewy grass beneath you as the figure leapt to loom over you, blocking a huge portion of the sky and casting a dark shadow over you. That same massive hand slammed down into the soft soil next to your head, fingers groping for your comparatively tiny body. You rolled away, stuttering out a curse as your hand found purchase on something cold and metal and heavy enough to be used as a weapon. Without thinking (not that you had the capacity, with your mind scattered and adrenaline coursing through your limbs), you found the creature's glowing, narrowed eyes in the dark and chucked the object at its crested head.

The clang of metal meeting metal rang out with the brief flash of sparks right before it was drowned out by a deafening bellow of pain. A disk-like shape fell from the creature's head and you had naught but a second to again roll to safety before it sank into the ground like a blade while your flashlight clattered a few feet away from you, light flickering across the ground. Green fluid spurted freely from the figure's cracked skull, but you were distantly confused to see electrical sparks shooting from the open wound.

Cade's shocked outcry of your name snapped you back into focus. Your head whirled to see him jumping from the front porch, sprinting straight for you and your still growling attacker. The ground shook beneath you and you were startled to hear the unknown figure (danger threat protect) garble out a roughened, pained version of your brother's name before its massive hand made another move to grab you.

"Optimus, no, don't-!"

"Cade, stay back - this human has a gun!"

"What the hell?!" you cried, staggering to your feet and away from the - holy shit, was it-?

Was it a transformer?

"Cade, get back!" you shouted, your eyes now finding the metallic sheen gleaming off the figure's silhouette. "Get back, get the shotgun!"

"Wait, just - wait a second!" Cade sounded panicked, worried, though you realized with terror he was running for the transformer and not you. "Optimus, wait!"

'Optimus'? Why did that...

The gargantuan figure froze as the human male stopped between it and you, waving his arms frantically and looking as pale as a sheet in the moonlight. "Please, just hang on a second!" He glanced wildly between the both of you, eyes pleading. "Let me explain!"

Both you and the transformer stilled, chests heaving and eyes looking from Cade to the other with suspicion and wariness.

"This is your sister?" the robotic alien rumbled, taking you off guard. It eased onto its haunches, sitting up and allowing the moonlight to illuminate its figure. Rust and peeling paint caught your eye, dust and grime obscuring much of what must've once been shiny metal. Its face was twisted, mouth pinched as it turned its glowing gaze to you. You realized that the disk that had fallen from its head was one of two ear-like arrays with sensor finials. The open wound(?) was still dribbling that same green substance. Blood?

"Yes, Optimus, this-" Cade exhaled heavily, hands and voice shaking with relief as you both stood down. He looked to you, guilt and apprehension forming in his eyes as he gestured towards the mechanical being behind him. "I..."

A short silence settled upon the three of you, tense and anxious. After a beat, you sighed and glanced up at the transformer, leveling it with a pointedly non-aggressive look. You saw the stiffness in its metal-plated shoulders relax minutely, then looked back to Cade only when you were sure the unspoken ceasefire was cemented.

"So..." you deadpanned, a wry, weary quirk forming at the edge of your mouth as you rubbed your sore cranium. "...who put him in your basket?"

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Love through the pages | Chapter 8

Masterlist

Synopsis: Bob Floyd isn’t the man you typically find in a love story. His awkward mannerism and unusual ways don’t make him the typical heart throb, but Bob certainly has his charms. He finds love in an unexpected place when he finds a hidden message in a book that changes his life for ever. He meets the girl of his dreams but true love is not always an easy road and can they survive the ups and downs that life throws at them.

Warnings: 18+, potential slow burn, mentions of injuries and hospitals, language, smut, 18+, swearing. Nothing too specific for this chapter.

Bob’s number had been in your phone contacts for over a week now and you still hadn’t used it. You drafted 16 different messages to him and tried to call him 10 times but still hadn’t worked up the courage. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk to him, you did desperately, but somehow this made you even more nervous. You’d poured your heart and soul into those letters and felt like you knew everything there was to know about Bob and yet now he felt like a complete stranger. Bradley had been pestering you to just call him.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve done it,” he kept telling you and he was right, once you made the first step everything would fall into place. But you still couldn’t do it.

You glared at the message you had written out while stirring your now cold pasta with your fork. You wrote a new message out to Bob during your lunch break, but once again hadn’t worked up the courage to send it. Natasha was sitting opposite you, she’d eaten her lunch and was now answering emails, occasionally glancing up at you when you kept sighing. When you sighed again she snapped her laptop screen shut, glaring at you in annoyance.

“Just send the damn message, please. It will put us all out of our misery.” She shuffled her chair round the table snatching the phone out of your hand and pressing send.

“NO!” You gasped, grabbing the phone back and staring in horror at the now blue message. It had been delivered. That was by far not the best message you had written, it wasn’t witty or friendly or anything like what you had written in the letters. It was simple.

“Hey, Bob. It’s Y/N. Jake gave Bradley your number, who gave it to me. I thought I’d reach out to say hi. Feel free to give me a call if you fancy a chat.” It wasn’t well written and you felt like you'd just spewed words out, but now there was nothing you could do. Natasha looked at you smugly like she’d won. “They owe me 20 bucks each,” she said plainly, shrugging her shoulders.

“What!?” You looked at her exasperated.

“We all had bets on how long it would take you to message Bob. Bradley thought you’d do it straight away and Jake thought after a week. Sophie bet a fortnight but I had more faith in you.” She smiled at you as you let out another sigh.

“But Nat, it wasn't the perfect message. I’ve been writing them and writing them but nothing seems to come out right.”

Natasha sighed, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “it doesn’t have to be perfect. It just needs to be true. Hopefully, he’ll give you a call by the end of the day.”——————————————————————————“Shit! Shit! Shit! Jake come quickly, I need your help,” Bob half gasped, half shouted from his room. Jake appeared in the doorway wrapped in a towel, water still dripping down his body.

“What? What is it?” Jake asked, hurrying towards him while trying to stop himself from tripping over his towel.

“She sent me a message. She texted me,” Bob's eyes were wide and full of worry. He gulped.

Jake raised his eyebrows, “I’m sorry, but you didn’t just make me run in here halfway through my shower because a girl messaged you?” He used his sarcastic voice and used quotation marks with his fingers as he spoke. Bob groaned, this was a big deal for him, it was the next stage in your relationship and it frightened him that someday soon you might meet again in person. Bob had only had a few girlfriends before, nothing serious and none of them had lasted more than a few months. With you this was different, it was special and he was desperate for it to be more. Jake must have seen it in Bob's eyes because he sat down carefully on the bed, not worrying about making the sheets damp.

“Bob, there’s nothing to be scared of. You really like this girl and you’ve known each other for months. You’ve told her some of your biggest secrets and now you're frightened to message her back? That's not the Bob I know.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at Bob sincerely. “The Bob I know fights for what he loves, so message her back. Just meet up for coffee or something.”

Bob nodded slowly, pulling the phone back out from where he had hidden it under his pillow and opening up the message. He wrote a simple reply asking if you’d like to meet up tomorrow. He stared down at the message nervously. His stomach churned and he could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat, his palms damp with sweat. With a deep breath, he pressed the blue arrow and the message zipped on to the screen. Delivered.

“Atta boy, Bob. I’m proud of you.” Jake sauntered out of the room, his towel hanging low enough that Bob diverted his eyes awkwardly, shaking his head. He’d done it.

Bob stretched, pushing himself off the edge of his bed. He pulled his pyjama top over his head, running his hand through his unkempt hair, his spectacles balancing on the bridge of his nose. Grabbing his towel off the radiator he moved towards the bathroom when his phone rang out. He turned slowly, hardly daring to pick it up off the table. The screen lit up, revealing a picture of him and Jake when they went to Disneyland for Jake’s birthday. Jake had set the picture as his lock screen when he fell asleep on the way home and Bob had never bothered to change it. There were two notifications, one reminding him that he had to pick up Mr Cain’s suit from the dry cleaner, Bob made a mental note to do that on his way to work. The second message was short and sweet, simply stating: “I’d love to. See you at 11 am at the bookshop,” with a little heart-shaped emoji next to it. Bob blushed fiercely, averting his eyes from the screen and trying to contain his smile. His heart swelled at the thought of finally meeting you. Bob could honestly say that he’d never felt this way for anyone before, and yet he felt like he’d known you his whole life.

Tag list: @callsign-phoenix @imjess-themess @blue-aconite @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @alexxavicry @a-reader-and-a-writer @topguncortez @maggiescarborough @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @sunlightmurdock @basiccortez @airedale17 @callmemana @shadowolf993 @dhwanishah09 @wkndwlff @topguncultleader

[once-upon-an-imagine]

WIPs

so, since this has worked in the past, I thought I would ask again...

SEND ME THE NAME OF A WIP and I'll share a piece of the story!

so, there are two different ways that you can actually request this now:

first, you can take a look at the Masterlists on my page to see what the upcoming fics are and let me know which one you'd like a sneek peek of 😊 (I'm also putting it below if you don't want to go all the way there 😂)

Masterlists:

Stranger Things Harry Potter: Marauders Era Harry Potter: Golden Trio Era

or, since I don't have all the summaries updated there because I've had a few requests in the past few weeks, if you would like just a random WIP, I currently have 38 inbox messages, and 7 drafts, so you can also just say like Inbox #something, or Drafts #5 for example

I will have more free time this weekend AND I also have all next week off work so, please request away and help me get out of this horrible writer's block 😁 thank you all so much for your patience btw! love you, dearies ❤️

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

How Sweet It Is

[Henderson!Reader] Your favorite part about working at Scoops Ahoy is working with your crush; Steve Harrington. Everything was going normally one day until you see the next customer in line is your ex-boyfriend with his new girlfriend and Steve noticed.  

Our Last Summer

[Sinclair!Reader] Your brother and his friends were certain that you were dating someone but hiding it from them. At the same time, Dustin is sure that Steve is dating someone and hiding it from him. 

Wild World

[Newby!Reader] After your dad died, everyone saw how the light in you shot down as you pushed everyone away. For weeks your friends, especially Steve, have been trying whatever they can to get you to open up again. One day, when you don’t come home, everyone is looking for you but Steve is the one who finds you. And he finally gets you back.

Always On My Mind

Sequel to You Keep Me Hanging On if the reader chooses Steve.

With Or Without You

You dive into the Lover’s Lake before anyone can stop you and come back to tell everyone about the Watergate. But then, something pulls you back to the Upside Down and all you can see are bats around you so you feel like this is the end. Until you suddenly see Steve Harrington coming back for you and saving you. (mixing three similar requests)

How Will I Know [Chapter 3]

You have walked the halls of Hawkins High unseen. If it wasn’t because Eddie Munson and his Hellfire Club had found you, you probably wouldn’t even have any friends. You knew someone like your all-time crush Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington wouldn’t notice you in a million years. Until you get paired up for a project and he finally learns your name.  

Eddie Munson

Alone Together

Eddie has always noticed you. You have always noticed Eddie. But neither one of you has ever done anything about it. Until one day, Eddie sits with you at the library and you smile at him

S.O.S.

When you finally get a chance to play your favorite songs with the school orchestra, your boyfriend, the one person you really wanted there doesn’t show up.

When It’s Love

Sequel to You Keep Me Hanging On if the reader chooses Eddie.

There Are Worse Things I Could Do [Chapter 4]

[Harrington!Reader] Your senior year was supposed to be the best one in your life. But when Jason broke up with you and turned the entire school against you by spreading rumors about you, you can count with your hand the people that talk to you. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, Nancy, and Robin. But there might be a new one you can add to the list. One you never thought possible. Eddie Munson.

Argyle

Cielito Lindo

[Byers!Reader] Argyle is staying with your family when his parents are out of town. You know he’s been feeling down because he has to celebrate his birthday without them. So, you try to do something to cheer him up. (Sequel to Build Me Up, Buttercup)

Take A Chance On Me

You have been in love with your best friend since you can remember, but you’ve never had the courage to tell him, fearing he might not feel the same. However, when you confide in Jonathan, he convinces you to finally take the leap. 

A Kind Of Magic

Bullies are something you’ve had to deal with your whole life. You try to ignore it and not let it bother you. But the moment your boyfriend sees how people made fun of you, he immediately intervenes and stands up for you. (Warning: reader gets bullied for having a learning disability) 

Me Gustas Tu

When you go over to your best friend’s house after breaking up with your boyfriend, you get more than you were expecting. 

No Words

[Hopper!Reader]The first time Argyle went speechless was when he met you. Ironically, he’s the only person you have felt completely comfortable talking to.

(500 Miles) [Chapter 3]

[Hopper!Reader] After moving to California with your sister and your new family, you think maybe you’ll finally get some peace. But, of course, you are now driving across the country in your boyfriend’s pizza van, on your way back to Hawkins.

Billy Harrington

Highway To Hell

[Munson!Reader] When you are tired of your brother and your boyfriend arguing all the time, you come up with a plan that finally makes them work together and at least not murder each other.

***I actually have a lot more Billy requests but haven't updated the masterlist.

Steddie (Steve & Eddie)

A Sunday Kind Of Love

For six months, you had been fine with having a secret relationship with Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson. But that changes when a very special day for you approaches and you want them both by your side and for that to happen, a few rules might get broken.

Edge Of Seventeen

Against your boyfriends’ wishes, you decide it’s what’s best for everyone if you are the bait for Vecna. You stay back in the attic with Max and Lucas. Steve and Eddie try to make it back as quickly as they can but it might be too late. (Warning: reader is cursed by Vecna and gets hurt) 

Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now

Everyone in your group could feel the sexual tension between you, Steve, and Eddie. Which is probably why they all ganged up and planned to have the three of you share a bed to see if you would finally admit your feelings. 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Marauders Era

Scars To Your Beautiful

[Black!Reader] You have always been considered the ‘least beautiful’ of the Black family. You’ve heard everyone call your cousins and even your brothers that. But not you. Until someone does.

Sirius Black

You’re Still The One

[Potter!Reader] When Sirius comes out of Azkaban he comes to find you and Harry. And he’s surprised to see someone else there too.

Just Give Me A Reason [Chapter 5]

[Snape!Reader] Coming back for another year in Hogwarts meant you and your brother were away from your worst tormentor. But when your school tormentor finds out about it, things are about to change and you are not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. (Warning: mentions of abuse)

*** I think I have more Sirius requests but haven't been updated

Remus Lupin

Linger

When you finally have the courage to ask Remus on a date, it did not go as well as you had wished. At all.

Too Good At Goodbyes [Chapter 6]

Twelve years ago, Lily and James Potter were brutally murdered. Twelve years ago, Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban for a crime he did not commit. Twelve years ago Remus Lupin left you to take care of a one-year-old Harry on your own. Twelve years ago Severus Snape was the only person who was there for you. And now, Remus is back to teach at Hogwarts with you, as Harry courses his third year, and Sirius Black escaped Azkaban.

*** I think I also have a few more Remus requests

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Harry Potter (Golden Trio Era)

Charlie Weasley

She Is Love

Charlie loves to make you blush and nervous because he knows you have a crush on him and he has a crush on you, but he doesn’t like it when someone else makes you blush or nervous.  

I’m Yours

Even if you’ve been friends with the twins forever, your boyfriend Charlie still feels a little bit jealous of how close you are with his two younger brothers.  

*** I also have a few more Charlie Weasley requests in my inbox

Bill Weasley

Get Outta My Dreams

Bill falls in love with his little brothers’ best friend but he is certain that she would not feel the same after seeing him with his werewolf scars.  

[allandoflimbo]

Take It Back: His Story (5)

Sequel to Take It Back

Previous Chapter

Summary: You and Bucky. It was supposed to be a happy ever after. Your story, home, and love was near perfect. After all, you had worked so hard and suffered so much to be where you finally were. But behind the scenes, Bucky had been dealing with more baggage from the past than he had been willing to publicly share. Steve was always the second best when it came to him and Bucky. From Nat, to you, and maybe now, even someone else. It’s been seven years since Ashlyn cheated on Bucky, but nine since she first fell in love with him.

Two years after their public divorce and after starting therapy, she holds onto a dangerous mixture of jealousy and strength. With new friendships and new love on her side, she knows she should let Bucky go. But should is so hard to do when she loved as hard as she did.

A/N: I know the pacing of this up until now has been a little...strange, maybe tedious, but trust my process. This was the only way it would've worked to tie everything in together. It was a hard outline to get on paper, took many drafts of getting it just right, but this is the way it works. I apologize if the back and forth was whiplash, but trust me. It'll make sense looking back. From here on out, the timeline and pacing will be more straightforward to follow. Basically, it'll be Take It Back but from Bucky's POV, the scenes we never saw, stories we never saw, emotions we never saw, (I'm talking that year gap where Y/N and Bucky fell in love while he was still with Ashlyn) and eventually it will go into the present where the continued story will...well, continue. Trust. Also, please let me know your thoughts. I beg you to even spam me. Your words encourage me as you read. Thank you.

WARNING:

This story will contain sex; oral, m/f penetration, anal sex, dry sex, rough sex, shower sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, porn watching, and soft sex. Very strong language, strong adult content, use of drugs/alcohol, sensitive topics like marriage trouble, illnesses (both terminal and mental), one incident of almost non-con, college frat parties shenanigans, and emotional angst.

Story will take place TWO years after Bucky and Y/N got married but will also do flashbacks to the same time line as Take It Back 1 and their college years.

Rating: Rated R.  18+ ONLY. 🔞 no minors.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Masterpage for Take It Back: His Story

After much work, and many planned events, they came to a conclusion together.

“Do you want to come inside to talk?” He can sense the slightly hesitation in Natasha’s tone, “My roommate won’t get back till tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

They had spent all of winter break together in the city trying to rekindle the romance in their relationship.

He looks over at Nat as he turns the car off. The heat is barely off for a few seconds before the cold temperature from outside already starts cooling the car again.

Bucky unlocks the car doors and they both get out.

They’ve been stalling around the inevitable conversation for a few weeks now, but it was time to finally lay it all out.

Nat opens the door to the backseat, grabs her bag, and swings it over her shoulder.

The walk to her room is quiet.

She sits down on her bed and Bucky takes a seat in her chair.

He turns to look at her, both elbows on each knee and hands clasped in front of his face.

“So…” she starts.

“Yeah.”

“We’re great together, right?”

“Of course. You make me happy.”

“You make me happy, too. And I love always being there for you just as much as you are for me.” She responds.

Bucky nods. They both look down, debating how to carefully say the next few words.

He reaches forward and takes her hand gently into his.

“You helped me in ways I can’t put into words. You still do, and I want to always have you in my life. You, Sam, and Steve, even Connor, are the best people in my life right now.”

Nat nods her head, a small smile forming on the edges of her lips.

“But we’re not in love.” She says.

Bucky shakes his head back and forth.

“No, we’re not.” he pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear, “But it is a different kind of love we have. Our friendship.”

“We can’t force it just because. Maybe the first few weeks we just had to get it out of our system. But aside from the physical—“

“Exactly.” Bucky lets out a chuckle and nods, “We’re good friends, Nat.”

Their eyes meet once more, this time their face becoming serious.

“We’re both okay with that? Staying friends?” She asks.

“I’m more than okay with that.” She runs her thumb over the back of his hand. He watches her movements closely.

“You know I’ll always be over protective of you right?” Bucky smiles as she responds, “Probably more than Steve. I’ll always want what is best for you, for all of you.”

“Thank you.” he says. She looks up at him when she feels his hand on her face. He leans forward and places a small kiss on the apple of her cheeks and then running his thumb over that same spot, “Really. Thank you for everything.”

They stay like that quietly for a few more minutes.

Bucky bites at his bottom lip and then looks away from Nat, debating if he should bring this up now.

His hand drops off her face.

“I need to say something, and maybe it’s not the best time to ask this,” He searches her eyes for a few moments, “I spoke to Steve a few weeks ago.” Nat’s eyes drift down briefly at the mention of Steve’s name and this does not go unnoticed by Bucky, “I won’t go into detail, for the sake of both your privacy and because it has nothing to do with me, so it’s not my place to get involved,”

“Bucky—“

He smiles and shushes her.

“It’s okay. But I do need to say this,” He can see what may be a glimmer of tears on Nat’s eyes. He wonders what the hell happened between them, or more importantly what it was she was thinking, “Steve is a great guy. If there’s something you need to say to him, or something you wish to work out with him or explain, you should do it. All you have to do is talk to each other.” Nat swallows thickly, “Okay?”

They stare at each other for a few more minutes, a look he’s never seen before in Nat’s eyes is there. He wonders what that is.

She eventually nods.

“Okay.”

Bucky hangs his head down, relieved.

“Okay. Good.”

They spend the next few minutes talking about mundane things like their classes and how Bucky’s Steven King binge is going.

When he leaves her room, he feels light.

It wasn’t because him and Nat broke up, but because something great came out of that room.

Understanding, respect, and a continued friendship.

Sitting back in his car, Bucky pulls out his phone and sends Steve a text:

It’s done. We agreed to stay friends. It ended well..

——

Present

“She never did, did she?” Doctor Raynor asks, “Nat. She never spoke to Steve about it.”

Bucky shakes his head back and forth.

“No. Not that I’m aware.” He says.

Raynor purses her lips and nods.

“What happened after that?”

Bucky takes lets out a deep breath as he leans forward in his seat.

“I mean, it was college. It was normal. We all stayed friends. Nat and Steve didn’t talk as much as you’d think, but I remained friends with both of them, and I included both of them for everything. As well as Sam and Connor. I continued doing my gigs during Christmas. I haven’t touched a guitar since, though. But it was just that; college.”

She types.

“How was your relationship with your father?”

Bucky bits his bottom lip as he looks down at the tips of his shoes.

White Nikes.

“It was surprisingly well,” Raynor raises a brow, “And I only say surprisingly because of judging off what we know now. But at the time, it was just as you’d expect. He was a good dad to me. Sure, we had different values, but he was my father and he treated me well. After senior year, that summer I finally took up the internship at the company.”

“What did you do there?”

“I was his assistant for four months. Come end of September, he started taking me with him to his meetings to learn the ropes. Nat and Steve applied, too. They got in but I got the classic nepotism treatment. I started getting cliental on my own by second year. Not high profile. We all worked together. George started to become a little more assertive towards me at the end of my first year. It was obvious he was trying to make me his carbon copy.”

“What was—”

“I was too broken. I was too nice,” he spits out cutting her off, “I was a pushover as well as a sensitive little punk. I was nothing like him. He was a great CEO. If there’s one thing I won’t deny until this day about George is that he was good at what he did. Our firm became the biggest and more reliable representation for the biggest cases in the city because of him. He built the name. Even more so when he and mom got involved in politics. Trying to run a senator campaign and all that. Barnes Enterprises didn’t do proceeding pro se, so even with my Juris Doctor I hadn’t gained his full confidence or respect. I don’t think I was ever truly made to run a law firm like he was. CEO’s with legal background are always preferred, like George. But a lawyer isn’t always a CEO. It’s a different Carreer path. Steve was a different story. He was good. He is good. He was even better when George start getting involved in sketchy shit.”

“James—”

“Again. I was never good enough. I’m still not.”

Doctor Raynor moves up in her own seat and looks Bucky in the eye.

“Have you ever spoken to Steve about any of this?” He looks at her bewildered.

“No.”

“Maybe you should. About all of this.” Raynor types on her laptop. “How do you think the relationship between you, Steve, and Nat influenced your future relationship with Steve?” She asks, pushing back the previous conversation for now, but hoping the new question would make him realize on his own how important it was for him to communicate with his friends.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” Bucky says slowly and calculating.

“How has your relationship between you and Steve been since you and Y/N got married?”

Bucky thinks for a second, truly thinking about it, and his eyes drifting downwards.

“It’s been fine. Maybe not how it used to be, but it’s fine.”

“How so?”

Bucky groans.

“I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know what you want me to say,” his tone is almost annoyed at this point, “We’re still friends, if that’s what you’re asking. We keep in touch every once in a while. We try to.”

Raynor is unfazed by his sudden sharp temper, knowing she struck a nerve worth striking.

“Does it come easy?” She asks in a monotone.

“Sometimes, I guess. Part of it,” he clears his throat, “A lot of trust has been lost with me as a friend. He’s been nothing but good for me and time after time I just, I feel like I’ve always let him down.”

“Did you ever ask him what really happened between him and Y/N?”

Bucky scoffs, gently running his hand over his black wedding band.

“No,” he says it like it was an absurd question, "It’s in the past. Plus, most of it was forced on his part. He really wanted something that she wasn’t fully in all the way. She didn’t want it as much as he did.”

The clock on the far left quickly becomes of interest to Bucky.

“If that’s the case, do you think maybe that’s the reason things are tense now? Maybe when he found out about you and Y/N it reminded him of him and Nat. Is there a part of you that ever considered that possibility?”

He ticks his sharp jaw. His blue eyes dart back to his therapist whose eyes are starting to sink into his deepest souls.

He hated it.

“It’s possible. I never spoke to him about it. It doesn’t help that we have the same women involved in our lives.” He says it without thinking.

Dr. Raynor nods. She pushed her laptop away and leans her arms on her table, hands clapped together.

She was relaxed and trying to make this more genuine for him.

“I have two more questions for you. Was there ever a part of you that maybe became curious to know if maybe what happened with her and Steve wasn’t fully unrequited? And I don’t mean that she was okay with dating him, but maybe she was okay with more with him, deep down? At the time.” Bucky doesn’t like the questions she asks, “Maybe his emotions and feelings towards her and towards you were justified and that’s what contributes to the continuing of this lingering tension between the both of you?”

Bucky clenches his teeth and looks away from her.

“I have. But it’s not my place to ask.” He mumbles.

Sue him for not obsessing over the inappropriate idea of the past relationship between his wife and his best friend.

“You asked him that same question more than ten years ago when he was with Natasha. This is no different.”

Bucky glares at the doctor, a snarl on his lips.

“Y/N is my wife. This is different. And it won’t change anything.”

“Of course it won’t change anything between them, and it won’t brew anything, but talking about it will fortify your friendship with Steve, which would be a great step in the right direction. I think you should listen to his side of the story, too. For the sake of making peace. Closure.” Bucky doesn’t say anything to that, “as for the second question,” She clears her throat and turns her computer back to her. She types something briefly, “Ashlyn.”

There’s silence.

Bucky’s eyes hesitantly meet hers, and just like that, the look in his eyes almost convey a whole different man. It belonged to a man who had been betrayed. An ex-husband.

What was once bright and bright blue were now dark and stormy.

She continues.

“What is it that still bothers you that you’re afraid to say?” She asks quietly.

He can feel his hearth beating away rapidly in his body, and not in that good way. It was the kind that made him see fiery red and want to rip everything apart.

Bucky looks at his fingers and picks at their tips.

His licks his bottom lip and furrows his brows.

What is it that he was afraid to say?

He doesn’t realize he says it out loud.

“I love my wife very much,” he whispers gently, “The love we share is indescribable. She knows this and everyone does,” he takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes tightly together.

“Go on.”

“But the complexity of which it happened, we happened, when we both found out how we felt about the other, it was—“ he looks up and meets the doctor’s eyes. She can see the sorrow in his own, “it was inappropriate,” he moves up in the leather chair again, as if moving up was the only way she could hear him and now raising his voice, “I cheated on Ashlyn. Let that sink in. I want for one second, for that just to sink in. I cheated on her emotionally, mentally, and physically. And I’ve heard it a million times, especially by the tabloid that loves rubbing it in everyone’s faces, especially hers I’m sure. I’ve heard the retaliation sentence: yeah, but she did the same to you. If not, worst. She was a gold digger and she cheated on you, too. I’ve heard it already. Like a broken record to my ears.”

He takes a deep breath to continue.

“But here’s the thing,” his voice breaks slightly. Saying things he’s been holding in for years was making him emotional, “There is absolutely nothing pretty, nice, or justifiable about that comment; about that statement. There is nothing about that sentence that makes it better or makes what I did, or she did, okay. Whenever I would hear it, the hurt and torment that went through me was unbearable, and it also made me beyond frustrated because everyone loves rubbing Ashlyn’s face across the mud and making me the good guy.”

Raynor tries to keep her face without showing biased emotions at his words. He was surprising her.

“Before I fell in love with Y/N, I loved Ashlyn,” she can see the genuine tenderness in his face as he says it, “I loved her and she did love me. That’s what they don’t understand. It was not fake. Not the beginning. I’m not sure when it stopped but it was real.” His voice soften towards the end.

“The public, meaning my friends and family too not just the media, underestimates the love we shared. They seem to forget that she was a good woman, in a different sense that I understand than they do, because they only saw one part of it all. What they see is an unfaithful wife who wanted money, what I see is Ashlyn. My ex girlfriend, my ex-wife, the mother of my unborn baby,” the tears in his eyes are heart shattering, “It bothers me so much every time I see something awful written about her because of what she did, meanwhile I almost did the same thing and I get categorized as a good man,” he licks his lips and sits up taller, “But these are things I can’t tell anyone, because they would get the wrong idea.”

“But here’s the thing, it’s not about having the wrong idea, and it’s not about me saying I still have romantic feelings for her; it’s not, because I don’t. This is about the simple fact that everyone needs to have a reality check that they’ve only ever heard one part of a story and that they seem to forget that we were in love and that what she did to me killed me! I love Y/N so much, but in the beginning, I was consumed with guilt for so long because of it! I could’t look Ashlyn in the eye because of my cowardliness. I had moved on from her, shit I was ready to abandon her,” his voice breaks again, "and I loved her sister, but it still bothered my conscience. Meanwhile, she was sleeping around hurting me and it seemed to not even have bothered her, when we had shared the love we did for as long as it did. I don’t give it a crap if it makes me sound like a hypocrite, but her cheating on me killed me.”

“Not only my heart, but my self confidence, my trust for anyone, my feelings of capability as a man!”

He takes in a deep breath to calm himself. His voice is somehow still vibrating off the walls, even though he stopped. He sniffs and looks down once again.

“When me and Ashlyn were together, I tried my very best to try and continue to make it work between us, and people ask me why, why would you want to continue to make it work?” He looks up again until blue meets brown, and he scoffs, “Maybe because we were in love at one point? Maybe because I didn’t expect her to be cheating on me the whole time? Maybe I didn’t try hard enough? Did I do something wrong? Did me and her do something wrong? I know she messed up, but why? Why did she do that when I know she loved me? I know she did. Am I doing something wrong now? Maybe it hurts because at the time I wanted to make it work. Maybe because I knew a side of her nobody else did. Maybe it was because I was part of that relationship and they weren’t. They only ever saw a small part of it.”

“And those memories of our relationship; knowing she took that and destroyed it, took it for granted, hurts me. It changed me. I’m a hypocrite and I know it, but knowing that part of me felt like I wasn’t good enough in the beginning undid my entire morale as a man. Knowing that I felt what I did for her for so long and then slept with her sister does bother me. I was never that kind of man. But, all of this, I’m telling you - they don’t know that. And it doesn’t surprise me because they don’t know our side of our story. It’s not their fault.”

“And your biggest fear of telling it to your wife—“

“Not only is it unnecessary, but it’s because I don’t want her to get the wrong idea. I don’t have feelings for Ashlyn anymore, I stopped before our engagement, but those memories and the remembrance of what I did feel will forever stay with me.”

He wipes under his eyes after a tear manages to leak out.

“I still don’t know any of the details of her affairs or why,” his voice is even quieter than earlier, “Three years ago, when I found out she cheated on me, we had a big fight. There was screaming and yelling, I called her a whore, almost called her a worthless piece of shit and a bitch; it was on the tip of my tongue. But I did call her a whore, and I put my hand on her wrist. Then, I walked out. I had Steve hand her our divorce papers. To this girl I was once cherished. I haven’t spoken one word to her since that fight. I never asked her what the hell happened. What did we do to destroy us?”

___

Inside, the coffee shop is almost empty, minus three other people and two baristas. The weather was dark outside and it made the orange glow inside the shop captivatingly warm.

"What do you want? I'll grab it for you, you can take a seat wherever you want."

Ashlyn tells him her order and she makes her way to the window seat.

With one last look over his shoulder, he finally gives the barista is full attention, giving him their order.

He waits patiently at the cash register, two arms out in font of him, left food bouncing up and down.

He was nervous.

This girl was gorgeous and he felt something when he met her.

He starts tapping his pointer finger rhythmically on the counter. A few minutes later, the barista turns to him with a small smile.

“Here you go, sir.”

Bucky smiles back, taking both white mugs.

“Thanks so much.”

Turning back to the table against the window, his stomach flutters.

Ashlyn’s in a trance as she looks out the window, admiring the snow fall.

He can’t help the chuckle as she startles when the mug lands on the table with a soft clink.

“Did I scare you?” “A little. I was just to captivated by the prettiness of it all.” She motions in a circle with her right hand, perpendicular to the glass. She turns to the cup in front of her, giving it her full attention, “Thanks.”

“Of course.” He responds.

They they a few sips.

“I don’t think i’ve ever been in the city during a snow storm.”

“Yeah? It’s alright,” she raises a brow at his answer, “Not to crush on your New York City winter wonderland dreams or anything.”

“Why only alright?”

“I mean,” he looks out the window and smiles. He tightens his right hand around the cup, letting it warm him, “It’s beautiful. For the first few hours, especially at night. But in the morning? Unless you have a complete white canvass out your window, you’re looking at black and brown slush and a severe slipping hazard.”

Her smiles slides off slowly.

“That stinks.”

“Yeah, but like I said. The first few hours make it worth it.” His response makes her smile.

They take more sips of their hot chocolate.

“So you’re from upstate? I don’t go much.” “Really?”

“Yeah, not unless I’m going hiking. We sometimes go to the Catskills in the fall to see the foliage, and this other park up near Poughkeepsie.”

“That’s a nice area. I live a little closer though, in Hudson Valley.”

He narrows his eyes at hers and leans back in his seat.

“Let me guess; Westchester.”

Ashly lets out a laugh.

“Yep, that’s home.”

“That’s not too far.” He takes another sip of his cocoa, “I have an apartment here with my roommate Connor, but when I’m not in the city we mostly stick around the L.I. at my dad’s place.”

Ashlyn is the new to lean back now in her seat with a smile.

“Let me guess: Suffolk county.” The edges of Bucky’s lips perk up and he bites it, “What? Am I wrong?”

He shakes his head with a bigger laugh and drinks more of his cocoa.

“How about you? Are your parents in the valley, too?”

Ashlyn’s eyes drop solemnly and her finger runs over her mug. Bucky realizes his mistake immediately. He’s seen that look. He’s been on the receiving end of it before.

“No, they aren’t with us anymore. They passed away. It’s just me and my little sister.”

“I’m sorry.” “It’s fine. It’s been a few years now.”

“How much younger is she?”

“Three years.” Ashlyn’s eyes soften, “She’s gentle. I’m trying my best to be what I can for her now that they are gone.”

Bucky nods.

“You guys are close?”

Ashlyn tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms over on the table.

“We were. When she was in middle school, we were close. I did’t have many friends so when I got home, I always looked for my parents and her. In high school, since she was younger, we didn’t have the same experiences at the same time, but I always tried to include her. I fear I came off as uncaring or cold. But I was just protective. But we were always a little different, especially me,” she takes a sip, “And I don’t mean in a good way. I was very uptight, closed, and to myself. I guess it’s my own fault, partially. When mom and dad died, it got quiet between us again. It was hard on us. It was a bad car accident. It was a head-on collision-”

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was soft, caring.

She looks down at her cup and then out the window at snow still slowly falling from the sky.

She did miss them. She just never said it enough. She never liked showing her vulnerable feelings for your sake. Death made her uncomfortable. She’d rather think about the good outcomes.

Maybe I’ll see them again one day.

With Bucky Barnes in front of her, something felt right in the world, suddenly.

She jumps slightly when she feels his hand on hers. It all felt so surreal.

“My mom died right after I came back from Afghanistan. They had chased her down after they found out and I had made it out alive, and they wanted revenge on our family. It took the officials months to find her.”

She knew the story, but him telling her directly was different. They talk for a while longer before they finally decide it should be time to head home.

With the snow piling up, Ashlyn was scared it would stop the trains earlier and she had to get home to you.

Bucky walks with her to Grand Central station, holding her shopping back from Zara for her the whole time; because he offered to.

She prints out her ticket and then finally turns to Bucky to tell him goodbye.

“Thank you again, for the tour, and for the drink,” she takes the bag from him, “It was really nice meeting you.” “When can I see you again?” He doesn’t even hesitate.

Ashlyn gapes up at him and then swallows hard.

This was happening.

“Uhm.” she’s at lost for words as he waits patiently for her response.

His face falls slightly.

“I’m sorry if that was strong, I just really like you. Figured I could offer taking you out on a date, if you say yes, of course. It’s okay if you’re not interested.” He starts taking a step back.

“No, no I am,” she says hurriedly, a small chuckle escaping her mouth as she goes into her purse. She pulls out her cell phone, “What’s your number?” Bucky smiles and tells her, “I’ll send you a text on the train. Promise.”

He walks through the entrance of his apartment door when he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans pocket. He pulls it out and unlocks it.

Hey. It’s Ashlyn. Just got on the train. Let me know when you’d like to meet up. I had a great time. Thank you again bucky

“The hell are you smiling about?”

Bucky’s head shoots up towards Connor who is sitting on the couch that faces directly towards the door.

Bucky rolls his eyes as he closes the door behind him.

“This girl I just met.”

“Is she cute?” “Yeah, really cute. Sweet, too. I think you’d approve.”

_____

“It’s about time you got back!” You shout from the Kitchen as you mix your greens in your pot.

You hear the door close shut, followed by footsteps approaching the entrance to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

You smile softly. “I’m glad you had a good time, though. Did you at least find the shirt you wanted? Only you would go shopping when you knew we would be getting a snow storm.”

Ashlyn chuckles.

“Yeah, it was nice.” She says gently.

It’s quiet for a few more moments before you cover your pot, and turned it down to a simmer. You turn around to see her smiling, her head on her hand looking at you.

“Are you okay? You’re scaring me.” She nods.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

You squint your eyes at her.

“What happened?”

“I met this guy.”

You smile and roll your eyes.

“Should’ve known that’s what it was.”

“He is so hot, and he’s a gentleman, and my god, Y/N, it was like out of a fairytale!”

You smile again and make your way to the other side of the island, sitting down in the barstool that faces her.

“What’s his name?” There’s a twinkle in her eye.

“That’s the thing. It’s Bucky Barnes.”

You squint, your head suddenly in a swirl.

“Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because it is. You know, Bucky Barnes. George Barnes’ son, from Barnes Ent—”

“Wait, no way.” Both your brows raise as you remember how he’s literally a famous lawyer, “Ashlyn, there’s no way.” You say, smiling even more wide now.

“Yep. He looks exactly the same in person. We’re going out again.”

“That’s amazing,” you sighed resting your own head on your hand, “I wish I remembered what he looked like. I just remember the article a few years back about his mother, but that’s it. It was really sad.”

“I”ll introduce you to him. You’ll love him.”

______

Their first date is at Bucky’s apartment for dinner.

Connor was out of town for the weekend visiting his family in Michigan.

After dinner, Bucky took her hand, and asked her to join him in the middle of his kitchen for a slow dance.

As the song neared its end she turned around until she was facing him.

Their eyes met in an intense heat. Bucky swallows hard as he gently pushed her hair back.

Closing his eyes, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head.

Ashlyn feels her heart swell.

"That's our first kiss."

"Yes, it was."

He sighed contently as she wrapped her arms around his middle.

“I want to take you somewhere.” He mumbles.

“When?” “Right now.”

She pulls away from him and gives him a confused look.

“We already ate.”

He smiles.

“It’s not a restaurant,” he looks over towards the coat rack, “Come on, bring your coat. It’s not far.”

He was right. It doesn’t take longer than twenty minutes for them to get to their destination.

She shouldn’t be surprised that he’d this cheesy and unbelievably romantic, but she is.

He’s got his chin rested on her right shoulder and his arms wrapped around her torso.

“It’s beautiful.” “Still can’t believe you never saw it.”

The Christmas tree at Rockefeller.

“Yeah, well.” Is all she says. She smiles contently, allowing herself to be swayed by him.

After a few moments, she feels a tug on her waist; his hand. It’s turning her around to face him.

She’s barely faced him all the way, her hand just almost cupping the side of his neck, when he leans down and kisses her deeply. A real kiss this time.

And just like that, it starts snowing again.

____

It was the best date of her life. Like a true gentleman, after they leave Rockefeller, he drops her off at the station, staying with her until her track is called, and kissing her goodbye.

The train ride home is quiet and content, but her thoughts are anything but quiet.

She’s not sure if it’s everything happening so fast and if it was because luck was finally on her side, but she feels a sudden fear.

She’s scared that what she is going through is too good to be true, just like it was when she had her family after school.

She was terrified that she couldn’t hold onto this feeling forever; happiness.

But for some reason, she also felt empowered. She never felt that before. She never had the confidence to feel like maybe she could actually do something for herself.

For the first time in her life, she feels inclined to take life by the balls and enjoy being happy and maybe doing something for herself.

She even considers the thought of maybe finally moving out. A fresh and new start. She spent so long not wanting to move on emotionally after her parent’s death, maybe it was now time. Her only concern was you. You were younger. Your safety came first.

She would discuss it with you when she got home.

She’s texting Bucky the entire ride home, telling him how much she cares about him and he tells her he feels the same. It feels like a fairytale.

What are you doing when you get home?

Bucky asks.

I might stop by to get milk real quick. I need to check with Y/N if she needs something from the store actually

Ashly says.

Be safe. Text me when you get there.

I will.

Laying in bed, he closes his iMessage app and opens Instagram.

He finds Ashlyn and starts snooping through her photos. He only recently followed her and he hadn’t had a chance to see any of her pictures yet.

They were simple and he could tell she didn’t spend a lot of time on social media. She only had twelve posts.

Most of them were scenic; photos of a park and a beach. The others were regular candid shots of places and some of her in the photo posing. Most of them were between a year and a year and half old, no more than thirty likes on each photo. He clicks randomly on a picture of a cute border collie laying on her lap.

He reads the caption.

Was nice making a best friend here in PA! We’ll be back, pretty Mia. @miathecollie @paairbnb @y/l/n_y/n

That must be Ashlyn’s little sister. He clicks on the last @ and it takes him to your instagram page.

You’re private but he can see you in your profile picture. Now he could put a photo to the name. He doesn’t request to follow you since he hasn’t met you yet, but he knows he will eventually.

He exists out of the app, and when Ashlyn texts him that she’s in town, and eventually goodnight, he quickly falls asleep.

Next chapter

@rebloggingmyrecs​ @kjdara​ @angstsebfan @lethallyprotected​ @lilfuturescars​ @ccmarvelxx​ @thesneakylittleminx​ @empress-of-riva @death-unbecomes-you​ @sonicisnotsober​ @sebsgirl71479 @prettywhenicry4​ @dhoruwolfie​

[jxckyx3]

Hi!

So this is one of my older prompts that has just been sitting in my drafts for a while now. I think it's been a year or two...?

(⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

Either way, I finally decided to use it and I hope you all like it!

💜🖤💜

_____________________________________

Ship: Daithideterroriser

Top: Brian

Bottom: Nogla

AU: /

Setting: Apartment building

Type: Smut / Fluff

Warning ⚠️: The chapter you're about to read contains heavy swearing, alcohol, one night stands, theft, smut, sexual themes and other mentions or situations that may disturb, trigger or offend the viewer. Reader's discretion is advised. 🔞

__________________________________

Third pov -

"Is that..." The lanky man trailed off, glancing over at his roommate from his spot sitting on the couch in the living room.

The other who had just returned from the drug store hummed in response, a wide smirk on his face.

"Had to get a few more boxes. Ran out the other night." He said, struggling to shut the door with his hands, as they were occupied with an unnecessary amount of tiny, dark grey boxed condoms.

Nogla sighed in pity and slight disappointment as he watched Brian struggle, dropping a few boxes on the floor as he bent over to grab his dropped car keys.

He continued to stare at his friend with the same expression as he giddily made his way down the hall, disappearing into his room with a small slam of the door.

Nogla chewed on his inner cheek, listening to the sound of Brian shuffling around in his room until the the man came back out, that same big smile still formed on his face.

Please don't say-

"I'm gonna head out. Might be back tonight, who knows?" Brian said with a laugh, wiggling his brows in hint as he held up a line of new condoms.

Nogla knew he was gonna say that...

The taller gave a halfhearted chuckle, internally cringing as he stared at the blue rings. He could only imagine what kinds of things those poor latex coverings were gonna see pretty soon.

"Alright, don't wait up!" The other said, giving his roommate finger guns and a quick wink before he was out the door and the apartment was filled with silence again.

Nogla let out a long sigh of...what was it? Sadness? Anger? Annoyance? Loneliness?

Loneliness...yeah, that was it.

Over the last few weeks, Brian had been acting strange to Nogla. He had suddenly started leaving the house mid day and coming back late at night. Sometimes he'd even disappear for more than a day at times.

Brian was always a mature guy. Waking up early, working out, doing his work. But lately, he's been doing the complete opposite of that.

Skipping breakfast, stopped working out, being late to recordings with him and the guys, day drinking.

Nogla didn't know why Brian has started to wast his days like that, as it came out of seemingly nowhere. There was no further days ahead that hinted Brian was in distress or any sort of unhappiness, so why now?

Why so suddenly did he decide to waste his time bar hopping, getting stoned with people he didn't even know at random parties and having all these one night stands?

One night stands.

That's what bothered Nogla the most about Brian recently. He's been putting more time into hooking up with girls, that the taller couldn't even look at his friend the same without questioning how many girls he's fucked that week.

Of course he knew it was none of his business, and he had no say in what Brian did with his time or body. But he was worried for his friend.

The shorter of the two had been mugged, stolen from, and jumped before so there was no telling what could happen next.

He could be drugged, kidnapped or worse, killed.

Nogla saw no positive outcome in anything Brian's been doing, and lately it's been getting out of hand.

He heaved another sigh, setting his guitar aside and tossing his notebook on the coffee table.

He suddenly wasn't in the song writing sort of mood.

He pulled himself off the couch and trudged over to the kitchen, feeling the sudden ache to calm himself with a nice warm cup of tea.

The sex part of Brian's sudden immaturity acts had gotten the worst. Even more so than the drinking part.

It had gotten so bad, to the point that he'd go out almost every other night if not every night. Then on the days when his roommate was home, he'd bombard the other poor man with his stories and who he met and who he fucked. Where they fucked, how they fucked, when they fuc- it was just too much for Nogla.

He couldn't relate with Brian in any way on that sort of topic. One reason being because he was single, and stooping down to Brian's level to the point of having one night casual sex wasn't in his best interest.

Another reason being, was because he was just not a sexual guy. He didn't understand it when guys discussed eachothers sex stories to eachother in major detail as if it was the most casual thing ever. Nogla wasn't the kind to get grossed out easily, but a topic like that could definitely ruin his appetite.

And a third reason, was just because he was gay. He wasn't closeted, having told his friends and viewers just a few months ago. And expectedly one of the perks of being a homosexual, was that Nogla didn't see women in any sexual way. Where as Brian, saw women as God's finest work.

And don't get him wrong, he loved women too and thinks they are powerful and beautiful in their own ways. But he just didn't see them in the same light Brian did.

When Nogla looked at a women, he thought 'Wow, she's so pretty. I wonder how she got her body to look so sculpted. Must be working out...I need to work out soon.'.

Where as when Brian saw a women, he thought 'God damn, gimme a piece of dat' ass!'.

See the difference? It's not hard to spot.

At first sight, Nogla appreciated a women for her looks. Wondering how she manages to look as beautiful as she does, and question's wether he should try something new to make himself look prettier as well. But for Brian, he observes the women in an inappropriate manner, wondering what she's like in bed or what she would look like undressed.

Hell, even on the rare days when Brian is home he still talks about it. Wether it be when the two are watching tv, or if he's seen a new face near their building.

It never failed, and it was truly starting to get to Nogla.

When he first got his Visa, he had no place to stay. Brian had already had his, so he offered to let the other live with him. So he agreed.

The two were so happy and excited, talking about all the things they'd do, all the cool plans they'd have together.

Nogla's been living with his best friend for only a year now, and now Brian's barely in the house anymore.

Nogla was lonely, sad, and he felt disappointed in himself for not saying anything about it to Brian.

He felt wrong to do so, as if he was gonna step into restricted area.

"Telling someone what ta do, especially when I live in their house... I can't do that." He uttered to himself, sighing loudly as he stared down at his cup of tea.

He watched the steam rise into his face, staring down at himself in the dark brown liquid.

He could always share these problems with the other guys, but he didn't want to do that without talking them out with Brian first.

It felt...weird to talk about someone behind their back, so why do it to Brian?

Technically the shorter man had done nothing wrong, so what was there to complain about?

The fact that he felt ignored? Sounds more like a personal problem.

Nogla shook his head, grabbing the cup and taking a small sip from the sweet heat.

Maybe he could wait it out? Maybe it was some sort of phase Brian was going through. Maybe it would go away in time.

Maybe...

Nogla's pov -

That maybe, had turned into a definite nope.

It's been two more weeks, and I honestly don't think I could take any more of Brian's bullshit.

I did mention to him that he wasn't around lately. I told him his dogs were missing him, just to use it as an excuse in hope of having him stay home more.

It did work, but not in the way I expected.

Instead of running around town from club to club looking for someone to bang, he ended up installing a dating app so that he could bring girls here. To have sex!

It didn't help that he now has people digitally lined up, waiting for an opening so that they could have the next turn with him.

I thought bringing him home would be a grand idea. So that we could spend a bit of time together, so that I don't have to call or text a dead, lost or stolen phone whenever I needed to remind him it was time to record.

But did I help? No, in fact I think I may have made it worse.

I haven't gotten sleep for days! Hearing moaning and banging and cursing almost every day of the god damn week!

And I've also learned that Brian likes to go hard; so not only am I worried for him about getting an STD or some shit, I also worry about the girls and if they are physically okay after getting railed by Brian!

Sometimes I try to offer the girls a drink or at least a bath or something, but that never really fails without one of them hitting on me, cursing me out, or just giving me the stink eye.

Some of them were nice I guess, but that's the only positive side in this whole situation.

The worst part, is that sometimes Brian kicks me out of the apartment when he brings over more than one girl. And lately, he's started to do that more often.

I get that it's his place, and that he's charging me less than half for rent but fuck, is it getting annoying.

He knows I have no place to stay, so he usually kicks me out during the day. Telling me to go to the mall or some shit.

Sometimes I'd come home late like he suggested of me, and the door would be locked. I would end up having to wait in the hallway till morning, find a hotel that was open 24 hours a day, or recently, I'd have to pick the lock.

I had just learned to do that, so I wasn't really good at it and it usually took some time.

All these things were getting to me, and I know it's natural for a middle aged man to be sexually active --especially Brian--, but fuck is it aggravating.

It certainly doesn't help my crush on him either, and it just makes me sad seeing him act this way.

"Hey Daithi, here."

I glanced over from staring at my plate of breakfast, untouched, cold.

"Yeah?" I asked, my voice raw and croaky, having just woken up. I looked down to see him handing me a green piece of paper, the number 'fifty' in bold.

I stared at it for a few seconds, looking between him and the bill for a few seconds.

"Why are ye handin' me money?" I asked, confused. Brian, hummed, setting the money down near my plate on the counter before moving to serve himself some food as well.

"Well I'm gonna have a few 'friends' over and we're gonna be drinking fer most of te day. Then later, we're gonna fuck." He said with a chuckle, adding a slight motion of thrusting his hips forward at the end.

I watched with a pout as he set a few of the eggs that I made on his plate, grabbed a few pieces of bacon and tater tots with his fork.

"So ye're kickin' me out again." I huffed, saying it as more of a statement than a question, since that's exactly what was happening. I crossed my arms as Brian turned around, his eyes fixed on me. He blinked a few times in silence, before flinching and moving his eyes back down to the pan.

The fuck was that about?

"Well, when you put it that way...but yes. That's exactly what I'm doing." He said, grinning to himself as he set his plate down on the counter and started to eat standing up.

"So what do'ya want me to do with t'is?" I asked, gesturing down to the money. Brian shrugged, ripping apart a piece of bacon with his teeth.

"I dunno. Go out and buy yourself somethin'. Meet new people. Go fuck a guy." He suggested, laughing to himself at the last part.

I scoffed, pushing the bill away.

"First of all, I have enough stuff. Second of all, I hate meeting new people and third, I don't do the fucking." I said, huffing as I shoved a bite of eggs into my mouth.

I watched as he raised his brows in surprise, looking me up and down in askance. I just waved my hand at him to drop the subject, not particularly wanting to talk about the fact that I'm a bottom.

I knew he was gonna end up telling the guys, and that would mean more gay jokes and teasing for later next time we recorded. But now I was too tired for Brian's bullshit.

"Then go on a shopping spree at...the grocery store?" He suggested, quirking a brow at me. I pursed my lips in thought, glancing up at him before I swiped the money off the counter.

He chuckled as I shamefully shoved the bill into my pocket, shooting him a quick glare that he knew my weakness for food.

"Fock off thot." I muttered, taking a few quick bites before hopping off the bar stool and heading for my room.

If Brian paid me more than usual, then that meant he needed me out of the house quickly.

Who the hell even invites fuck buddies over at nine in the morning anyway?

I scoffed at the thought, rolling my eyes as I pulled my shirt off. I walked over to my closet, putting on a much cleaner one. I pulled a pair of skinny jeans on and threw on a jacket and a pair of shoes.

Passing the body mirror, I quickly ran my hands through my hair, fixing a few messy ends before grabbing my wallet.

I wasn't really up for looks, just wanting to leave before Brian's snobby girls came.

"Alright, I'm headin' out." I said, setting my foot on the stool and quickly tying my shoes.

"Shit, that was quick." Brian commented, glancing at the change of clothes. I hummed, grabbing the cup of coffee from his hand and chugging it.

"The sooner the better." I sighed, booping his nose before moving towards the door.

"See ya soon." I called, only having time to see him stare at his now empty cup before I was out the door and gone.

_

"Alright, bye Oliver!" I called, giggling as the callout caused him to stumble and glance my way.

"Bye David! Hope to catch you soon!" He said, waving his rag at me as I opened the door. I laughed at the dorky smile on his freckled face, waving him off before heading out the coffee shop.

I hummed to myself happily, staring down at the coffee in my hands.

Okay, maybe Brian was right about the meeting new people thing.

A few hours ago it seemed that I walked into the small coffee shop. It was already late, but I was still tired from this morning, having been technically forced out of the house- or paid to leave.

I wasn't expecting to stay long, maybe just grab a few muffins and a drink then be on my way.

But that's when I met Oliver.

He told me he was a trans male, around my age, and was really chipper. His burst of energy was really contagious and it made them really fun to talk to. He liked to babbel about his girlfriend a lot, something I found admirable.

I had only met them a few hours ago, but I truly felt as if he was my role model.

He owned a coffee shop, had his own home and he was getting engaged soon.

I know I had my own good things in life. My channel, my subscribers, my friends, family. But he just seemed so...happy.

Must be his relationship.

I sighed, walking slowly as I stared up at the sky. The stars were hardly shining because of all the city light, but the moon highlighted the clouds just perfectly where it was still calming to look at.

I glanced down at my phone, reading the time.

It was past ten already. Hopefully Brian's 'company' is gone by now.

I sighed at the thought, frowning as I trudged along the sidewalk.

Yeah, Oliver had a relationship. I envy them.

But as much as I try, I can never shake the thought of Brian out of my head.

Yeah he may be a dick sometimes, yeah he was insensitive at times and yes, he was straight. But...he was charming, sweet, and overall a really nice guy to be around.

It was one of the main reasons I so unhesitatingly agreed to be his roommate. Because not only did I want to spend more time with him, I was hoping it would bring us closer. At least as best friends.

Well, I consider him my best friend. I dunno if it applies the other way though.

I growled to myself, gripping at my hair with my free hand.

All this overthinking and want is giving me a migraine.

I took a large gulp from my coffee, relaxing my shoulders as the hot liquid ran down my throat. I took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out through my mouth.

Breath, Nogla. Relax.

_

I raised my paper bag of muffins, holding it with my teeth as I moved my coffee to my other hand.

Without thinking, I grabbed the door handle and turned it with a small click.

I frowned in confusion, taking a second to realize.

I usually go straight for the bent paper clip that I placed on top of the door frame, seeing as Brian usually locks the door when people are over and I'm out. And since he never gave me the spare key, I have the pick the lock.

But...this time it was unlocked?

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion, slowly pushing the door open. I jumped slightly as Brian's dogs panted happily at me, nudging my shoes. Loud radio music was playing and all the light were off. I closed the door behind me and gently patted the pups heads, pushing them aside. I walked, slowly managing to maneuver towards the kitchen not too far away.

I patted the wall, finding the switch and flicking it on.

My jaw dropped at what I saw, the muffin bag falling from my mouth.

"What te fuck?!" I exclaimed, slamming my coffee down onto the counter.

The three women glanced up from their spot on the floor, hovering over a just waking up Brian. Their hands were full of his shit; money, cards, and even his ID.

They looked like deer caught in headlights, frozen and shocked, not moving a single muscle even as Brian slowly pulled himself from off his back.

"Te fuck...hey is t'at my wallet?" He asked, rubbing his eyes before snatching the leather pocket from one of the women.

I sighed, leaning against the counter as I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Get te fuck outta our house before I call the cops." I growled. One of the women opened her mouth, looking as if she was gonna protest.

I dropped my hand and glared over at her, quickly cutting off any attitude she was ready to give me. They gave each other quick glances, as of trying to mentally discuss what to do.

"Out!" I shouted, quickly making up their minds as they gathered their stuff and skedaddled for the door. They only shot quick glances at me, looked terrified as they ran out the apartment.

I shut the door behind them, sighing as I locked all three locks.

"Way ta go dumbass, ya almost got robbed." I sighed, taking a sip of my coffee as I watched Brian pull himself off the ground with a low groan.

He held a hand to his forehead, indicating he had a headache.

Good.

I glanced down, taking in his state. There was dool trailing from the side of his mouth, bite marks littered his neck and shoulders as well as hickeys and there was obvious scratch marks that started at his chest, more marks following down to his back and arms.

I wanted to feel mad at those women for being careless with his body like that, but it was hard to stay mad when he wasn't wearing a shirt; each and every muscle shown beautifully from the thin layer of sweat on his skin, the white kitchen light helping.

I glanced away, feeling my face heat up as I took another sip of coffee.

"The fu-... they took my fucking cash." Brian cursed, huffing in frustration as he tossed his wallet onto the counter.

I snorted, rolling my eyes at him.

"Good. Ye should be glad t'ey didn't take you're cards n shit." I teased, sliding him one of the chocolate muffins I got from the shop, along with two pills of Advil I grabbed from the drawer.

I reached into the cupboard to grab a mug, filling it up with tap water and handing it over to Brian.

He heaved a heavy sigh, tossing the pills in his mouth and chugging the water in big gulps.

Hmm, must've been dehydrated.

"I'm fuckin' parched." He croaked, poking at the muffin before breaking a piece of and popping it into his mouth. I chuckled at the gravely sound in his voice, nodding as I poured some of my coffee into his empty cup and sliding it back over.

"Well that's what booze and vodka does, Brian." I said, glancing over his shoulder at the large alcohol bottles sitting on the coffee table in the living room.

He hummed, frowning down at his hands before grabbing his cup.

"Where'd ye get t'is pastry? It's fuckin' marvelous." He exclaimed, ignoring me to taking another bite.

I chuckled to myself remembering the coffee shop that was ran by both Oliver and his girlfriend, Alexandria.

Such pretty names.

"I got it downtown from a small coffee shop. The guy who made it gave me a good deal on it along wit' te coffee." I said, smiling as I hopped on to the counter.

Brian froze, raising a brow as I folded my legs.

"Guy? Y'know him?" He asked, grabbing his mug and taking a sip.

"Yeah, I met them today, his name's Oliver. Pretty nice guy. Kind cute too." I said, chuckling to myself. It was more of a friendly observation than a comment on his looks in any attracted manner.

He was just simply cute, like a puppy or an innocent baby deer in a way. Almost like a child.

I frowned as Brian choked on his coffee, a few trails leaking down his chin.

"Ye alright-

"Yeah, yeah 'm grand. Tell me more about 'em?" He asked, keeping his eyes down as he wiped the spilt coffee away. I frowned in confusion before continuing.

"Well he owns the shop, he's our age, uhh...well we didn't really talk much about ourselves. Just random topics in general." I said, finding the statement the most accurate. Most of the time we spoke, Oliver just shared tik toks he found to be funny, or asked my opinion on some of the sample muffins they had there. The rest was basically asking about me or talking about his girlfriend.

So there wasn't really much to say about him, more so of Alexandria.

"...huh." Brian spoke, looking as if he was deep in thought as he took a long slow sip from his cup.

"'Huh'?" I asked, confused on his response. He shrugged, setting his cup back down and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I thought ye said ye didn't like meeting new people." He said, looking up at me with half lidded eyes.

I stared, observing the small quirk in his brows and the slight frown on his lips.

Was he...mad at me?

"Well I don't, but he came up ta me. He was pretty nice so we kinda just hung out a while." I said softly, so that if he was mad, I didn't somehow make him any madder.

Brian just nodded his head, licking his teeth as he looked up at me before standing up.

"Alright well, I'm tired. See ye tomorrow. Goodnight." He said, giving me an obviously forced smile before reaching up and ruffling my hair. He booped my nose the same way I did to him this morning before lazily heading towards the hall with a loud yawn, taking his coffee and muffin with him.

I opened my mouth to speak, but seeing as I had nothing to say, I closed it back up.

Was he okay? Well he did almost get robbed tonight...might be the alcohol.

I sighed, setting my cup down and hopping off the counter. I grabbed a small grocery bag from under the sink, knowing I'd surly have to clean up Brian's mess.

Brian's mess...that included of beer cans alcohol bottles and...

"Ugh, condoms." I muttered to myself, taking a glance at the living room floor where at least a few full, tied up condoms were.

I shivered, groaning in disgust as I grabbed a clean pair of plastic cleaning gloves from the drawer.

_

I knew it was bad, but now it's worse.

It's gotten to the point, that Brian is starting to bring a new girl everyday. Sometimes more than one girl a day.

Regardless, he hasn't leaned anything since the last time those girls tried to rob him, seeing as he gets fucked over both literally and figuratively more times than I can count.

He's had to cancel five credit cards, get a new ID three times and had seven hundred dollars worth of cash stolen all in a span of three weeks!

It's gotten out of hand, and no matter how many times I've told him to calm down, to stop, he just ignored me or brushes it off as minor issues.

I'm getting tired of Brian letting all these women stomp all over him like some kind of useless money bag and sex toy, and it's honestly pissing me off that he's done nothing about it.

"Brian, we need to talk." I started, walking into his room without knocking.

"Jesus, knock will ya?" He said with a slight chuckle, sitting on his bed and tucking a few folded condoms into his leather jacket.

I've expressed my anger and irritation on the matter before, and it's never gotten me anywhere. But this time was different.

This time I'm gonna make sure he knows how much I hate the lifestyle he's chosen.

"Fuck knocking, it was probably just made up by some guy who got caught jacking off so he created a way for his family to warn him and let their presence known when at his door so t'at he doesn't have to get caught doin' it again." I huffed, leaning against the wall near the door and crossing my arms over my chest.

Brian froze, glancing up at me with the same smile. It softened a bit, probably realizing how angry I was right now.

"Hey, what's up?" He pried gently, setting his hands on his knees.

I glared down at him for a second before speaking.

"You can't go out anymore." I started.

"Ugh, not this shit again." He groaned, sighing when running a hand down his face.

"Yes, this again. Brian, you're wasting your life away and I'm not gonna just sit here and watch." I huffed.

He scoffed, standing up and grabbing his wallet.

"Yeah, no I'm going out. Wether ye like it or not." He said, grabbing his phone and tucking it into his pocket.

He made his way over to the door but before he could head out, I set my hand on the wood and slammed it shut.

He stared straight ahead, nodding at the door before sighing and looking down at the floor.

"Nogla..." He said, his voice warning. I pushed my lips into a pout, taking a single step sideways to block the door, completely cutting Brian's chance of leaving during the conversation unless he jumped out the tenth floor window.

"David." He said, snapping his eyes up to meet mine. His voice was now stern, a bit of anger laced in his tone.

But I wasn't gonna be bothered by it.

"Y'know what? No, okay? You've been drinking every day, having multiple one night stands for two months and you've been robbed for weeks. You're late for when we record, you can't even help me pay te bills on time because of all te stolen money, and ye can't even go a few days without a drink in one hand and a vagina in the other...or your hand in a vagina- ye get what I mean!" I snapped, balling my hands into fists.

"The guys are gettin' worried, yer sister 'as been calling me saying ye ain't answering any 'a her texts and- Bri, I'm worried. Okay? We're all worried about ya, and regardless of how shitty these women are being ta you, ye don't do shit about it!" I finished, watching as each and every jab made him flinch at the truthfulness of my words.

"Daithi, it's none of you're god damn business what I do with myself and my money." He said sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. I groaned in irritation, running a hand over my face.

"I know it's not and that's exactly why I've been so quiet about it since ye started, but now it's gettin' outta hand and it's worry'in me." I stated.

"Ya don't need ta be worried. I'm a grown fucking man, Nogla. And if ye don't like it, then ye can just leave." He growled, obviously getting a bit heated from everything I was admitting. I flinched at the words, only a single flash of regret showing on his face.

A single was all I needed to not just do exactly that and get up and leave.

"No Brian, I'm not leaving ya in t'is state. This is obviously a personal problem and since nobody else is here ta do it, I have ta step in an' stop you before you go ruining your life. This is how addiction and depression starts, and if it's gets to the point where fans start ta notice, I can't help your reputation. It's outta my hands if it reaches that point, and God damn does it hurt me for not stopping ya sooner." I argued, feeling my hands shake in anger.

I kind of wanted to punch him for being so stupid and oblivious, but violence wouldn't do any good. As nice as smacking him back into reality sounded, he'd probably only fight back.

And though I'm taller than him, Brian was a strong mother fucker. I've seen him get into a bar fight one time and though it was hot as shit it was fucking terrifying.

I'd hate to have to find out what the other end of his fist felt like.

"D'ya think I give a damn about what te fans think of me? If I did, I wouldn't have shown my face on the internet at all let alone start a whole ass channel. My personal problems are none of your concern, so ye can stop feelin' bad about yourself and move out me fuckin' way will ya? I don need your fucking pity!" He snapped, moving his hands around to express his anger.

I gaped at him in shock, offended that he saw it that way.

I didn't pity him, I felt sympathy for him. He's obviously going through something that he's keeping to himself, and hasn't even spoken to anyone about it.

"I'm not pitying you Brian, I'm just trying to help! All you've been on about is sex and alcohol, sex and alcohol! When is it gonna end, Brian? When are ye gonna stop te bullshit and talk ta me about what's on ye're mind?!" I shouted.

"You're on my mind!" He gave in.

I froze, staring down at him dumbly. He heaved a loud heavy sigh, tossing his wallet and phone on the dresser and pacing around the room.

"For months, Nogla. Months, and I haven't been able to get ye outta my head! Every morning, every night, every single fucking second of the day, you're all that I can t'ink about!" He yelled, his words confusing me.

What did he mean by that?

He clearly took hint of my silence, glancing back at my confused face before he continued.

"Ever since we met, I've been crushin' on ya like a stupid teen in a god damn drama movie. I told myself that it would fade in time, that it would be gone as soon as it came. I'm straight, so I dunno what I was thinkin'! But after we met in Ireland fer te first time, it was one of the best moments on my life and my stupid feelings just ended up getting stronger!" He cursed at himself, kicking over the chair next to his dresser with a loud bang.

I flinched, not only because the loud sound and action startled me, but because I couldn't believe what he was saying.

Did he seriously...feel that way? All this time? I mean I've had a crush on him since then too, but he felt the same way?

"When ye got your Visa, I wasn't thinkin' when I offered fer ye ta live with me. But when ye showed how excited ye were, it got me excited. A month after, ye came out ta us all as gay and this stupid, annoying, inconvenience of a crush grew stronger! All I could think about was holding ye're hand, hugging ya or even doing cringey ass shit that sappy couples usually do, and it annoyed the hell outta me!" He started again.

He then snapped his head in my direction, taking a step closer.

"And what did you do? You fucking made it worse. You inconsiderate little shit, you decided to wear women's clothes, and wear pretty hair pins and those cute little leg warmers that make your fucking legs stick out fucking adorably!" He shouted, taking another step closer.

I backed up into the door, feeling the cold wood on my flushed back.

Brian scoffed, chuckling deeply but not one of humor or happiness.

"Just look at what you're fucking wearing right now." He seethed, shaking his head as he openly checked me out.

I glanced down, now slightly feeling flustered in the clothes I was wearing.

It wasn't much but a cold shoulder long sleeve a black pair of shorts and high knee socks, but I now felt exposed in a way. As if I was completely naked under his gaze.

"I-im sorry." I stuttered, not really knowing how to respond to any of what he was saying.

"Yeah, you fucking should be. I had to fuck numerous women that reminded me of ye, just so that I could get some relief fer seein' ye every day. Jacking off stopped working after a while, and sex all together did. So I had ta drink, so t'at I could bear fucking a women that sounded nothin' like ya! At least they let me call them Daithi, right?! It helped that they didn't know what it meant. I told them it meant 'beautiful'." He admitted sighing to himself as he ran his hands through his hair.

I could feel my heart beat practically slamming in my chest and my body heat up a hundred degrees from how flustered I was.

It didn't fucking help that Brian was angry and God did I love when he gets angry. I'll admit that it's hot, but now probably wasn't the time to be thinking about that right now.

I should feel weirded out that he pretended all those women were me. Hell, any sane person would pack their shit and leave.

But it felt nice to know he did that. Nice to know that he didn't fuck just any women. He only did the ones that strongly reminded him of me.

It did explain why all the women had dark hair and pale skin. Most of them even had green or brown eyes. And they were all tall...I mean some of them were short but the majority of them did resemble me with individual features I guess.

❗15+❗

"And y'know what Dai? Ya should feel sorry, because you're the one that pushed me ta drink. You're the one that caused me to fall in love with ya, and you're the one ta make me so God damn sexually frustrated." He said with a suddenly deep tone and voice. He took a small step closer to me with each blame, and it was honestly scaring me to think of what he was gonna do it he closed the gap between us.

"And God fucking damnit, it's you're fault for looking so fuckable!" He shouted, grabbing my neck and yanking me down.

I jolted, a small squeak forcing itself out of my mouth as he smashed our lips together, out teeth clinking from the force.

The slight pain wasn't much to think about, as he shoved his tongue into my mouth and intertwined it with my own. My eyes were wide in shock, my hands placed on the door behind me.

Brian's lips moved aggressively and roughly that it was hard to refuse the dominance. There was no room for surprise or fear or even shock as he kissed me. Only pleasure took a hold of my mind and body as he slid his other hand to my waist, griping tightly.

I've always imagined what Brian's lips might feel like against my own, but this was ten times better than anything I've ever thought of.

I closed my eyes, setting my hands on his shoulders to push him away. He growled into my mouth, like he didn't want to pull away just yet. Or at all.

"Mhn...air-...mn." I managed to fit the single word between our mouths. Brian sighed loudly, irritated but understanding. He let go of my neck, letting me slowly pull off with a gasp.

I rested my head against the door, closing my eyes to imprint the memory of his lips on mine. The feeling, the warmth, the taste. It was all so good.

I then flinched, a moan of surprise escaping from my mouth as I felt Brian attach his lips to my throat.

I griped onto his jacket tightly, clenching my jaw to hold in my noises as he trailed his tongue across my pulse point, slowly moving down till his teeth hit my collar bone.

"I-im glad." I muttered, finally getting a chance to breath properly when he pulled back in confusion.

"What?" He asked, clearly not understanding.

I looked back down to him, meeting his gaze.

"I'm glad ye feel t'at way. I...I like ye too." I admitted bashfully, raising my hands to trail my thumbs across his jawline, admiring how sharp it was.

Brian stared at me for a few seconds in silence. His face was blank and it was hard to read what he was feeling let alone thinking right now.

I then yelped as he grabbed my thighs and threw me up, pushing me up against the wall and pulling my legs around his hips. The sudden change in position definitely made it easier to kiss, seeing as we were now at the same level.

"God I love when you're shy and honest." He groaned, licking his lips before pushing in for another kiss.

My breath hitched in my throat just as it did the first time, his teeth biting my lower lip to demand entrance.

🔞

I allowed it, already feeling comfortable with his tongue darting around my mouth. Brian slid his hand into mine, the other one feeling around until it rested on my backside.

Shivers ran down my back as his thumb slid under my shirt and massaged into my tailbone, the others still resting on my butt.

"Fuck Brian..." I moaned as he pulled back, closing my eyes as his hands finally slid down my shorts, cupping my back-end softly.

Brain growled, his chest rumbling against my own from how close we were.

"Shit, say my name like t'at again." He demanded, sliding his hand lower and gripping tightly. I jerked at the rough action, biting my lip as his nails dug into my skin.

"B-brian." I repeated, following orders as he said. He let out another sort of low moan, before pulling me away from the wall and throwing me on the bed.

I landed with a soft grunt, moving to get up only to be pushed back down.

Brian growled curses and profanities to himself as he unbuttoned my pants, violently tugging them off my legs.

Usually I liked it when my partner was soft or gentle, but somehow the way Brian was aggressively tearing my clothes off, just made me more aroused by the second.

I lowered my hands to my crotch as he finally yanked my pants past my thighs and off of my legs.

"Don't hide baby, I wanna see it all." He muttered softly, pulling my wrists away.

Brian then froze, staring down at my black laced underwear for a second. I mentally cursed at myself, feeling my face go red as I averted my gaze.

"Heh... panties." He commented, looking up at me with a smirk. I pushed my lips into a pout, scowling at him. He just laughed at my embarrassment, leaning down and pressing his mouth right against my heat.

I gasped at the sensitive feeling, slightly arching my back as he inhaled deeply, sliding his face higher until he was at the center of my belly.

Then he exhaled.

"Ye smell so beautiful, my love." He complimented, before pressing open mouthed kisses on my skin.

I wiggled my wrists in his grasp, the words catching me off guard. Wether it was the comment in general or the pet name he had called me, regardless it made me feel nice and all tingly inside.

Brian placed more kisses, going higher and higher until his mouth reached my chest, his nose having to push my shirt up the whole way there.

"B- Brian please..." I whined softly, gasping as he lightly slid his tongue against one of my nipples.

"Beg, my beau." He uttered, adding teeth into the mix.

Great, now he's adding more pet names to flustered me further? Is he pulling these out of his ass?

"C-can ye please just- ugh, Brian!" I whined, not wanting to throw away my pride so quickly.

I mean, I waited days to build up the courage to finally point out to Brian that he had a serious problem and needed to stop drinking and having sex for weeks at a time, only to have him confess his love, pin me down then fuck me?

What else did he want from me? My dignity?!

"Ah, ah, ah. Don't be a brat, David." He said, using my real name.

That mean he was being dead serious.

I whimpered, whining in defeat as there was no other way around this. I had to beg and I had to beg good if he was gonna give in and gimme what I wanted.

"Pl- please Brian. It's startin' ta hurt now, c-can ye just...can ye...can ye please just fuck me already? I-i wanna feel...I...I wanna feel you inside of me, please Brian." I pleaded helplessly, looking away as I felt my body heat up in shame.

Brian chuckled smugly, biting his lip as he looked down at me with power.

"God, of course dipshit. I would've said yes with a simple 'please'." He groaned.

I turned to glare at him but that thought had suddenly came to an end as he rubbed his hand into my crotch.

I mewled at the feeling, rolling my hips up into the touch to add pressure. Brian chuckled at the action, using his other hand to run up and down my chest.

I cursed under my breath as he played with the lace on my underwear, his fingertips feeling cold against my warm skin.

His left hand then trailed up from my chest to my neck, simply resting there.

Before I could assume why, his other hand gripped my panties and tore them right off with a loud tear.

I yelped in surprise, moving to sit up only for his first hand to tighten around my neck and push me back down.

"No moving." He ordered, keeping his eyes on mine as he slowly moved his hand to my groin. I gasped, holding onto his left wrist tightly as he slid his fingers up and down slowly.

"Oh my gosh...haa, Bri." I whimpered, closing my eyes in pleasure as his thumb slid up to my chin, pushing onto my bottom lip.

"Fuck, I love when ye call me that..." He admitted with a groan, sticking his thumb into my mouth.

He pressed his finger onto my tongue, playing around with the saliva as his other hand lowered between my legs. I squirmed, panting heavily as his fingers brushed against my entrance, slowly teasing the rim.

"Be honest, Dai. When's te last time ye've been fucked?" Brian asked, leaning over me as he slowly pulled his thumb out, wiping my spit onto my lips.

I stared at him in silence, too busy loving the feeling of his fingers gently circling my love hole.

"M-months? A year? I dunno." I admitted, trying to push my hips into his hand so that he could just get the hint and finger me already.

Well, he obviously got the hint. He just didn't wanna give in so easily yet.

"Damn. 'S been a while hadn't it? Y'er not te kinda person ta jack off either, are ya." He said, now teasing me with words, his eyes glancing back down to my lips every now and then.

I shook my head, embarrassed. Brian laughed at that, seeming to find it funny how submissive I was being right now.

"Aww, poor baby. Don't worry though, I'm gonna make ye feel so good ye're gonna be beggin' fer more." He grinned, pushing all three fingers in.

I yelped, tensing at the feeling. He pressed his lips back down to mine, slowly scissoring me open with all three digits.

It was hard to breath while kissing him and moaning into his mouth at the same time, along with the motion of his fingers pushing in and out.

God he was right. It felt so good. It felt so good, I'd give up anything to have him make me feel this way.

The way his fingers just barely brushed the nerves inside of me, the warmth of his tongue creeping into my mouth, the weight of his body on top of mine, his hips between my legs, spreading me open.

God this was heavily.

Brian's pov -

Another small gasp slipped past his lips, the sound getting caught between our mouths.

His breathing was stuttered and every thrust of my fingers caused another jerk in pleasure and mewl into my lips.

Everything about this was exactly like how I imagined and more.

The warmth of his walls tightening around my fingers, every gasp and sigh he made, the helpless whispers of my name moaned onto my tongue.

It was fucking amazing. He, was fucking amazing.

I pulled back from the kiss, trails of saliva connecting between our lips. His eyes and lashes were glossy, his face red beyond just a simple blush.

"B-bri, I need y-"

"Shhh, I'm gonna give it ta ye. Just be patient my love." I reassured, having to physically restrain myself from tearing this man apart.

He was just so cute and sexy in every way.

I dunno why I waited so long to confess to him, but thank God he gave me the push I needed.

I'm glad he accepted my feelings for him, giving his own back in the same way. It felt like a dream when he said he felt the same. It surprised me so much, it nearly gave me a fucking heart attack.

"Brian, I need...i-i need-"

"I know baby, I know." I hushed him, giving him one last peck before moving away from him. He whined as I slowly slipped my fingers out, his body jolting as I softly rubbed my thumb against his heat.

"Ya need me now, or d'ya wanna wait a bit?" I asked softly, whispering the words into his ear. He trembled at the feeling, a smirk of satisfaction tugging at my lips.

"N-now, Bri." He whimpered, averting his gaze from me. I chuckled lightly, feeling adoration towards him from the way he kept calling me that nickname I told him that I loved.

I trailed soft kisses down his neck, halting to nibble on his shoulder as I lifted his legs around my waist. His dainty fingers tugged at my shirt, his breathing shallow.

I slipped the condoms out of my jacket, smiling down at him as he looked up at me with nervous eyes.

"D-do women usually like it when ye get rough?" He suddenly asked, blinking up at me as I pulled my jacket and shirt off.

I raised a brow in question, ripping the top of the condom off with my teeth.

"Rough?" I asked, wanting to laugh as he didn't awnser right away, his eyes mesmerized as he trailed his hands down my chest.

"Yeah uh... everytime ye brought a girl over i-it sounded like ye were goin' rough." He said, almost sounding embarrassed that he was listening in.

"Do ya want me ta go rough?" I asked, his eyes trailing down as I unbuttoned my jeans. His breath hitched in his throat as I pulled myself out, slowly rolling the condom on without a problem.

"Y-yes please." He whispered, his voice high pitched as he stared down between my legs with wide eyes.

I chuckled deeply, crawling over him. I pressed our heads close together until our noses touched, my lips just barely grazing across his.

"Ye sound scared, Daithi." I commented, noticing the sudden change in breath. Before it was slow and deep, but now it was fast and short.

He made a small sound of need, arching his back up to press our chests together.

"Brian, just shut up and fuck me already. I've been angry for two months hearin' ye fuck all these other people. It's my turn." He snapped, his lips pushed into a small pout of annoyance.

I chuckled smugly, feeling his hips rock up into my groin, looking for any sort of friction. I held his hip with one hand, pulling him as close as possible before pressing my mouth into his.

I then slowly pushed in, a loud gasp getting caught between our lips. I groaned at the heat, feeling his walls tighten the more I pushed in. I didn't stop till I hit my base, pressing my hips into his own as hard as I could.

If I was gonna do this, I want to do this right. If rough is what he wanted, I was gonna give it to him.

A small whine slipped from his tongue as I pulled away from his mouth, slowly sliding out of him till there was nothing in him but my tip.

"Are ye sure ye want it rough? I could get really aggressive." I warned, narrowing my eyes at him with a smile. He panted lightly, nodding his head at me.

"Just because ye love me doesn't mean ye need ta go easy. I want ya to rail me hard 'n fast. Treat me like one of ye're bitches." He growled softly, biting his lip as I groaned at his dirty words.

"Y'know ye're really asking fer it." I chuckled, only earning a giggle in response. I braced myself a bit, moving my knees in a more comfortable position before slamming back in.

A high pitched squeak fell from his mouth, but it was a sound of a pleasure more than a sound of pain.

We hadn't used lube, but hopefully the lubricated condom was enough so that I didn't hurt him.

I chuckled at the glare he sent me, before starting a steady rythem of in and out. It was an average pace, seeing as I didn't wanna go straight into pounding the lanky bitch.

I wanted to take my time with him. Show him how much I really love him.

But fuck was that hard to do when he just kept moaning my name with his sweet rich voice.

"F-fuck man- ah!" He yelped, throwing his head into the pillows in bliss as I hit a sensitive area, his arms shaking as they latched into my hair.

The slight sting of pain was... different. Obviously whenever I had sex with women they'd claw my back or bite my arms for support.

But the pain Nogla was giving me felt gentle. Like he was scared to hurt me. He wanted to be soft with me, but wanted me to be rough with him?

Interesting...

"Fuck Bri, faster!" He moaned, threading his fingers through my hair. I groaned deeply into his chest, grazing my teeth across his collar bone.

I did as he asked, slightly speeding up my thrusts. The constriction of his walls along with the hair pulling was beyond amazing, his hips grinding into each motion of back and forth.

I moved my hands from beside his hips, slowly feeling up his body. His skin was soft and smooth, my finger tips warm against his flushed body.

Nogla moaned quietly, his lashes fluttering as I tried my nails up the sides of his waist and torso.

"God y-you're so pretty." I stuttered in disbelief, subconsciously speeding up even more.

I let deep groans escape my throat as I rocked into him, the bed frame hitting the wall with every jut of my hips.

Nogla's keening became louder, that being the loudest sound in the room by far. He let go of my hair to move his hands to my hips, pulling me harder into him each time I pushed into him.

"Harder?" I asked quickly, not wanting to groan of moan in-between my sentences. Nogla nodded rapidly, fluttering his eyes fully open to meet my gaze.

And it that wasn't the most beautiful sight ever, then I didn't know what was.

I let out a long exhale of breath, grabbing the back of his knees and pinning them to his chest before I started to plunge in and out of him quickly.

He gasped in delight, cursing between almost every moan and scream. The new position caused me to push deeper, the angle hitting directly into Nogla's prostate.

"Brian! Brian! Oh my go- ah- sh!" He screamed, tears trailing down his face. I hummed in adoration, loving the pleas and whimpers of my name of his voice.

I couldn't help myself from leaning down to catch those noises into a passionate kiss, gripping his legs tightly.

"Fuck- sorry, I th- think I'm gonna cum soon." I admitted, feeling the burn in my gut grow quickly.

Though it was unusual for me to orgasm so soon, this was Nogla I was having sex with and it wasn't a surprise that he made my insides cramp so quickly.

"Me t-t- ah!" He moaned loudly as cum shot from his tip, hot ropes landing on his stomach as he trembled violently. I growled at the sight, as a few smaller drops managed to land on his face, one of them on his eyelashes, causing him to keep one teary eye opened as I continued to fuck him aggressively.

"I lo- I love- fuck, I love ye Brian!" He whispered desperately, cupping my face with his hands.

That was it. That was my breaking point.

I came loudly with a gravelly call of his name, my thrusts stuttering as I rode out my orgasm.

We both panted lightly as I soon came to a stop, the sound of wet breath and stuttered pants filling the room.

I smoothly pulled out, earning a small hitch of Nogla's breath as I carefully set his legs down.

I pulled my condom off and tied it up, tossing it in the small bin next to my nightstand.

I glanced back down to Nogla, staring into his dark emerald eyes before quickly leaning forward and capturing his lips in another passionate kiss.

However this one was much different from the previous ones we had. It was chaste and full of emotion, the both of us practically pouring our hearts out into the slow motion of our lips.

I pulled back with a small tug on his bottom lip with my teeth, licking my lips to savour the taste.

"I love ye too." I muttered, finding the adorable smile that spread to his face much too contagious.

"I've been waiting eight years fer ye ta say t'at." He admitted, softly running his hands through my hair. I chuckled at that, humming in pleasure at the feeling of his warm fingers on my scalp.

"I've been waitin' eight years ta hear myself say it as well." I said, reaching my hand up to wipe the trails of tears from his eyes as well as a few of the cum splatters.

He giggled loosely, wrapping his arms around my neck and pulling me down next to him, nuzzling his face into my neck and sighing happily. I chuckled at the childish actions, holding him close despite the both of us being half naked and him covered in his own cum.

I then frowned, staring at the ceiling in thought.

"Who's Oliver?" I asked, feeling the wave of jealousy hit me just as it had the night Nogla came back with muffins and that cup of coffee.

"Just a friendly guy I met at the coffee shop. I already told ye t'is Bri-...wait, we're ye jealous, thinkin' I was attracted to him?" He asked, quickly catching onto me.

I chuckled bashfully, averting me gaze anywhere else but at him.

"I mean kinda- well, yes. Okay? That's te only reason this while thing got worse. Because ye said he was cute and how nice he was. It made me angry." I sighed, finally finding the courage to look down at him.

I frowned as he laughed at my face, trying my hardest not to kiss him to shut him the fuck up.

"Brian he has a girlfriend, and when I said 'cute', I said that in a way you'd describe a child or a puppy. Ye're te only one I feel both emotionally and physically attracted to, Bri." He reassured me.

A harsh shiver ran down my back, goosebumps spreading across my chest as he said that last sentence.

"Good. Because I'm te only one who's allowed ta touch you and love you like t'is." I said, tilting his chin up to steal his lips.

He returned the gesture, running his thumb over my cheek bone.

"I'm sorry I ignored ya. I just felt sorry fer myself." I apologized, pulling back to do so. Nogla shugged, tapping our noses together before planting a kiss on my chin.

"No need fer all t'at. 'M just glad ye're all ta myself now." He said, drawing a short laugh out of me.

"Does that mean we're a thing now?" I asked, rubbing my fingertips up and down the curves of his body. He visibly shivered at the light touches, looking up at me with sweet, caring eyes.

"If by 'thing' ye mean 'lovers', then yes. I'd like that." He muttered, throwing one of his legs over my waist.

I grinned, moving my hand from his waist to slid up the under side of his leg, moving from the soft fabric of his knee high sock to his thigh, sliding dangerously close to his rear side.

"So...does t'at mean ye're up fer another round? That is a thing that lovers do, right? Love?" I teased flirtatiously, already feeling aroused by the intake of breath he took as I gently groped at his soft skin.

"God, stop sellin' yourself, I already know you're hot as it is." He whined, trailing his hands down my chest as if to show.

I then laughed in surprise as he pushed me down, hopping up to sit on top of my lap.

I bit my lip and groaned, running my hands up his thighs to ground myself as I took in the way he was displaying himself and his beauty for me and my eyes only.

"God you have such a gorgeous body." I growled, running my hand up his waist and up the center of his belly, smearing the cum splatter.

Nogla chuckled at the words, regardless, his face flushing a dark red as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside.

"Likewise. Now, fuck me harder than ye've ever fucked one of those girls." He demanded, grinding his own heat into mine to show how much he wanted it.

I let out a long sigh, closing my eyes and just enjoying the way his body warmth flooded over mine.

"Oh, you're gonna get it sweetie." I growled, sitting up to pull him into another lip bruising kiss.

10541 words   

_____________________________________

Heh, so this one wasn't supposed to be this long but regardless I like it anyways.

😖

my upload schedule will be fucked and it'll take longer since I'm still using my neighbors wifi, regardless I'll try to keep posting frequently as possible.

Anyways I hoped you guys liked this one, and I hope ya have a great day and keep comin' back for more!!!

♡⁠(⁠Ӧ⁠ｖ⁠Ӧ⁠｡⁠)

💜🖤💜

- Jacky      

_____________________________________

Featured or mentioned characters:

Nogla - Nogla, David, Daithi,

Terroriser - Brian

[linaket]

Weekly Writing Check-In (2/12/23)

Tinder Saint Progress: * 6 of 15 chapters complete. * word count: 18k (projected: 40k)

An excerpt, with some lore building.

“Rashad wasn’t completely wrong. Almost every Ilazkin text had some story or another in it, but there’s layers. The story of Shahsu and Maran is about parts being separated, and bringing them back together. Under it is the construct of the soul.”

He knelt at the center of the room, and was rewarded by the symbol he was looking for. He brushed his hand over it, feeling the raised edges around it. “This one is the whole.” He waved Jinan over. “Wait here.”

“The soul?” Sita asked.

Once Vahn saw the path, it was easy to follow. “The soul wasn’t a single thing to the ancients. It had parts.” He found a second panel on the opposite wall. “This one is self. Suad?”

They approached, wary but grudgingly willing. “Is there more?”

“One more.” 

Vahn crossed the room to the panel that Rashad had originally found. With the flames illuminating it at the right angle, it was exactly as it had been before.

“What’s that?” Suad asked.

Vahn smiled to himself. He remembered the light slanting through the windows and how the shadows darkened the annoyed knit of Kanna’s brow. “She couldn’t really figure out what to call it.” He tilted his head to the side, studying the lines. “I guess ‘gift’ is pretty close. But…”

“What would you call it?” Sita prompted. 

Vahn had almost forgotten she was there. “Instinct might be closer.”

🎵 A Shell In The Pit's Rings in Rings in Rings

Thoughts:

This week I managed to be more productive than I have been in recent times, finishing a full chapter. It's only about 3k, but that's a good bit for me since I fell out of my regular daily writing habit last year. It felt really good to write, even if it wasn't my favorite scene and once again suffered from "why do I have so many characters doing so many things always all the time."

It did give me a bit of hope, though. I'm aiming now to try and finish a chapter a week. It might be a bit lofty in my current state, but I want to re-establish a writing routine again. I've missed it, and I need it.

Tinder Saint has been going a bit... oddly, in comparison to my usual way of going about things. Because I had been feeling so low about my writing, I had spent months spinning my wheels and getting nowhere, until I decided "fuck it" and just. Banged out an entire scene draft for the whole story in a few days. But when I did that, it helped me to see things much clearer, and I was able to get excited about the project again. I always avoided doing this because I thought it ruined part of the fun/spontaneity of writing, but it... didn't do that for me. I know what is going on and what happens, and now I can't wait to make it pretty and make it hurt.

I have been skipping a few chapters / scenes that I simply. Didn't feel like writing. And I am typically a very chronological writer. Even now, it's nagging me that I skipped some things. And because of it, I have about two or three chapters that are sitting half finished. I'm thinking I may spend this next week going back to some of those skipped scenes since I have a better idea of what I need in them and I'm feeling a tad more confident in myself since I was able to get some good writing sessions in.

[hol-whore]

18+ -- erina pendleton x fem!reader - poetry, ch. 4: hymn

Erina gets a bit carried away at bath time.

notes: hiiiii it's been a long time! we get straight into the action on this one -- this has been sitting in my drafts for AGES and will now finally see the light of day. enjoy a lighthearted and tender first time fingering <3 not my most elegant chapter, but i like it a lot all things considered!

link goes to my ao3!

The week carries on with your newfound rhythm, the two of you sharing meals and coy looks and delighted kisses in both quiet moments alone and the company of others. It came to you both so naturally, like it hadn’t only been a handful of weeks ago that you were silently pining over one another. Erina stands behind you in front of the mirror now, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. She pulls you back against her, pressing her lips to the crook of your neck and the bottom of your jaw, and you can't help but laugh a little. “What is it, my love?” you ask teasingly through your giggles, “I have duties still, you know.”

She buries her face in your neck and rocks you side to side slightly. “It’s weekly bath time, darling. That’s still a duty, is it not?”

Weekly bath time was actually two days from now, but you wouldn't ruin her fun.

You roll your eyes and fake pout, setting down the dusting rag and turning around in her arms to kiss her gently with an exaggerated sigh. “Hmm, I suppose the dusting can wait. But only for you.” And with another giggly kiss as a thank you, Erina excitedly leads you to the bathroom.

She must’ve planned this, because the tub is already full of hot water and two towels sit on the stool beside the bath. Erina looks at you expectantly, and you offer her a confused glance before making a ‘turn around’ motion at her. She blinks absently, then smiles and shakes her head. “No, no, you first. You’ve been working hard all morning, my love, you must feel gross.”

You did, but still, Erina usually went first.

You turn around for her anyway, blushing when you feel your dress and corselet come off your shoulders, but Erina doesn't quite continue. Instead, she slips her hands beneath your bloomers and cups your hips, rubbing gently and kissing your neck once again, and you feel something strange rushing through you. You whine quietly and swallow hard as her fingers brush past your hip bones and down the V of your body, not quite meeting in the middle as you stop them with your own hands.

“E-Erina,” you manage, voice weak, “This--”

“Shhh, my darling, I want to try something,” she whispers next to your ear, kissing it and nuzzling your shoulder. “May I feel you?”

Your heart begins to race as you realize the situation, realize that you can’t say no because you don’t want to, and you grip her hands tightly.

“...where?”

“Everywhere.”

You feel like your body is melting, but you nod and release her hands.

“Please.”

And with that, Erina continues as if she’d not been stopped. Her hands grace the creases between your thighs and waist, and you bite back whatever noise is trying to form in your throat. She rubs the bottom of your stomach, then squeezes the swell of your thighs, and you can tell she’s loving every inch of you.

Her hands drift back up to your sides, hugging gently, then traces the outline of your ribcage. You feel your back arch slightly as they meet in the middle of your abdomen, and you whimper and whine helplessly.

Erina grins behind you, and moves to cup your breasts in her hands. Her thumbs graze over your hard nipples, and you make a sound not unlike a strangled bird. She laughs, panicked, and quickly draws her hands away.

“...Darling? Are you alright?”

“S-Still getting used to that.” You hesitate, then draw your hand to your cheek and wince. “Put them back. P-Please.”

Erina approaches more slowly this time, and you cover your mouth as she squeezes your chest, testing the waters and giggling a bit.

“Oh, sparrow, you’re so soft…” she mutters, easing you over to the mirror and pulling the thin undershirt off of you. Her face hovers over your shoulder and she smiles at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek and groping you again.

“Look, so cute and round. My hands fit so perfectly around them, don't you think, my darling?” she whispers against your skin, her low voice sending chills up your spine, and when she squeezes a particular nerve that makes you cry out under your hand, Erina looks delighted.

Her fingers delicately roam your chest, lidded eyes watching you with intrigue in the reflection of the mirror. She pinches a nipple curiously, and you no longer care about making noise. You gasp and tense your legs then lean back on her, biting a knuckle — she was incredibly delicate with you, without being too featherlight in her touch. It was a bit assertive, a bit tender, and everything you could ever want from her.

Erina coos soft compliments under your moans about what a fine lady you are for her as she carries on, rolling your nipples in her fingers once in a while as she works your chest. It’s fine, for a bit, but in an instant a wave of pain washes over you and you quickly tear her hands away on impulse, hissing a quiet “ow” under your breath.

Erina is immediately abound with concern, eyes wide as she hugs your abdomen and frowns. “I’m so sorry, dearest, I didn't mean to be so rough. This is...new, to say the least,” she whispers, peppering you in praising kisses and running her fingers through your hair, “I can stop, if you would like, or maybe you could sit and take it easy. I-I’ll be gentler, I promise.”

There’s too much desire in your heart to tell her to stop, but you do have a request.

“Erina,” you start, panting some as you catch your breath, “you’re a bit overdressed, don’t you think?”

Her eyes meet yours in the mirror and she smiles coyly, pressing warm lips behind your ear and stepping back once she releases your waist. “Hmm, I suppose so. Why don't you help me fix that, then?” she teases, then tugs your hair playfully and turns her back to you. You gather every bit of yourself and set to work undressing her, lavishing her in kisses on any new bit of skin you can. It’s not near as romantic or smooth a process as you found Erina’s to be, but the fact that she’s fidgeting is certainly encouraging.

You work her down to just her bloomers, and near immediately she’s upon you again, kissing you deeply and holding you close by your waist. Her breasts --- twice as beautiful as you usually found them, now that it felt right to look --- press against you in a way that drives you mad. They’re so warm against your bare skin, and something about the way the softness of them feels on your own chest makes your brain feel dizzy.

Erina breaks the kiss and gathers her clothes, pulling the bathside stool over to the chair near the vanity and delicately laying them on top. She sits herself in the chair and pats her leg twice, and you suddenly feel very, very hot. You swallow, steeling yourself, then find it in you to straddle her lap and Erina smiles up at you with cheeks redder than roses.

“You’re beautiful.” you breathe, admiring her face and finally letting your hands rest on her sides. She bashfully casts her eyes down as you kiss her forehead, stroking your thumb along her soft skin. Your mind feels like porridge; you couldn't imagine doing this with anyone other than her.

Erina hooks her hands together behind your back, inching you closer by simply the small of it, and nuzzles her face between your breasts. She kisses you there lightly, just a couple of times, and you swear you might die from it.

Her thumbs work the crease between your thigh and waist, and this time you feel like you are dying. On harder strokes, you shamefully feel your hips push into her. You have half a mind to stop her, worrying this may be happening too fast, but when you tell yourself to grab her hand and stop her, you end up gripping her shoulder instead.

Erina tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and kisses your chest again before taking a nipple in her mouth. It’s something like a kiss, something like a bite, and you immediately gasp and whine.

She doesn't pull back this time; instead she takes it again, kissing it over and over, sometimes biting lightly. All her kisses melt together into more of a suckling, and you find yourself making a lot more noise than you anticipated. Her tongue is so, so warm – the way her mouth tugs on your nipple and how her face looks working your skin makes you shaky.

Erina, a hardened and focused look contorting her delicate features as she pulls away, grits her teeth and pulls a hand to your chin. Her grip is almost too tight as she holds your jaw in place, and you feel yourself start to sweat more as you search her soft, stern face.

“Keep your eyes on me, my love, I want to see them. They're gorgeous…” she murmurs, and you see her jaw clench and unclench as she watches you, her hand slipping past your hip to tug the front of your bloomers. Your heart feels so full of desire and want, and you're sure it’s probably wrong to rush into all this intimacy, but somehow that doesn't stop you from scooting off her lap and dropping the useless fabric to the floor only to settle on her legs once again.

Erina is flushed horribly red as she eyes your lower half hungrily as you’re situating yourself. Her grasp on your chin returns and her fingers delight in dancing along stretch marks on your thighs. Every time she draws too close to your center you feel your legs start to shake, and you swear you hear Erina laugh.

“My, what a good girl you’re being, love. Not that I’m surprised. Tell me if I should stop, my treasure, don’t do more than what’s comfortable for you.”

You tremble as you nod gently, and Erina’s thumb strokes your jawline as her other hand ghosts your center. Gentle fingers trace your outer folds and you swear you would've fallen forward were it not for Erina cupping your chin.

You weren’t some kind of prude --- you’d touched yourself a couple times in the past --- but this was completely different. Every slight movement of Erina’s hand between your legs hits you hard; your hips jerk and your legs try to spread further and you feel like you’re on fire.

She rubs two fingers against the hood of your clit and you whimper a bit louder than intended from shock and pleasure. Your nails dig into her shoulder and your hand grips her side. Erina winces and loosens her hold on your face, instead cupping it gently, and hushes you softly while stroking your cheek. “Easy, darling, take it easy. D-Does that...feel good?”

“Too sensitive,” you pant, your mouth dry as you try to swallow, “Erina…” You whine, losing your thought as she kisses you softly, now moving her hand farther down between your legs. She hesitates, if just for a moment, then furrows her brow and slips a finger experimentally between your folds.

Erina’s face pales as you inhale sharply and she stills her hand, nervously meeting your eyes and searching for the okay. You give her a heavy kiss to her palm and force your hips forward. You feel desperate for her touch now, feel like you need her to keep going, feel like you need her to slip that finger in fully.

She swipes her fingers up, then back down and her breath catches as she makes some rhythm out of it and mutters your name.

“You’re-... You’re very wet. Oh, darling, you’re so very wet for me.”

Somehow, hearing it like that feels filthy, and you relish in knowing that if you died now you’d be going to Hell with how much further your mind was taking things.

“Erina,” you whine again, a tear welling up in your eyes from want and something like anxiety from not knowing what to expect, “Erina, can you please put it in?”

She looks panicked, caressing your cheek as a small comfort, but nods regardless.

“Um.”

“...what?”

“I’ve. Never done this.”

“I mean, neither have I, but--”

“N-No, dear, I’ve never...you know.”

Not even for herself? Why on Earth did that shock you?

You swallow hard, your shaky gaze blinking away more baby tears. You furrow your brow and desperately try to find your words to explain.

“Just…um. Just find the opening and follow the curve…? G-Go slow, though.”

Holy Christ, you were doomed.

Erina gives you a confused, doubtful look and looks down at her hand, offering a couple more strokes up and down. Her finger gently prods your core, searching, and once she slips it in the slightest amount, she pales and looks back up.

You wince some, and reach down to ease her hand further. The first couple of times, her angle is all wrong, and it stings; her nails are just slightly too long. Every time you hiss a little in pain but encourage her to try again, she looks twice as frustrated as before. Erina grips your thigh and kisses your cheek as she tries once more, and this time, she takes it slow and carefully fills the slope of you. The palm of her hand is flush against your folds, and she shifts slightly inside of you.

You kiss her forehead and hold her shoulder tighter, bringing your own hand down to rub on your clit and you moan and let out the breath you were holding. Erina pumps in and out once, ever so slowly, and sighs as she does.

“This is-- dearest, is that good? I-It’s so wet and warm and slick…”

“It feels okay, I think,” you whisper, then give her a sympathetic look. “You’re doing good, my lady. Do I need to move…?”

“I don’t know.”

“...Do we need to stop?”

“I don’t know that either.”

She offers another focused, slow pump, this time curling her finger at the tip and you shudder.

“Y-Yes?” she asks, caressing your cheek.

“Again, keep going.”

And she does go again, repeating the small motion but faster and pushing in farther. Her finger grazes the spot you know ruins you, and you groan.

Erina lets out a deep breath and shudders, squeezing your hip. She’s built a steady rhythm now, and she slips in another delicate finger since you’ve widened out. Your hips rock against her now and then, and frankly, you’re amazed at how much better this is than trying to do it alone.

Her other hand slides over your rear and pushes forward some, and her pace picks up even more. She leans forward to kiss the base of your neck, your collarbones, your chest. You work your clit carefully, trying to maintain a rhythm like hers. Erina’s kisses are distracting, however; she plants her lips down your breast and you start to get a little sloppy with your circles. She takes your nipple in again, sucking on it and grazing her teeth across the bud and tugging on it with the force of her mouth as best she can.

It’s a lot of sensations to take in, but you could not complain.

You are feeling overwhelmed, however, and your muscles are achingly tense. Your brain is so incredibly hazy and muddy, and just as you force another heavy circle into your clit, your head falls back and you moan loud as you reach your climax. The pace of your hand working your clit slows to a near stop. You grab Erina’s wrist and encourage small, longer strokes as you ride your orgasm out.

She pulls out fully and peppers kisses all over your face, wrapping her arms around you and sighing. “Blessed above, that was…incredible, darling.” she mutters against your skin, reaching up to run a hand through your hair. You nod, then kiss her softly and press your forehead to hers.

“I...I want to take care of you now, Erina.”

You feel her falter under you, and she holds her breath for a bit.

“Th-That shouldn't be a problem. These bloomers are, uh. Ready for the laundry, we’ll say. Give yourself a minute though, love, you’re exhausted.”

Though she was right, you also feel like you could walk on water right now, if you tried. You obey her for now, though, and settle your head on her shoulder as she coos compliments into your ears about how she loves you and praises of your body.

Usually, you’d retaliate with praises of your own; but you know soon enough she’ll be the one at your mercy and you couldn't pass up the opportunity to make a bigger mess out of her.

[friendlylemonade]

Second draft from my in-progress upcoming pmv series

Chapter 1 Episode 1

/Three months later/

 

“And so I said, it’s not my fault that you thought I was dating your cousin!” A chipper voice exclaimed, followed by only slightly manic laughter. Syrian wiped the tears from her eyes as her laughter died down.

 

“Wait wait wait, so he genuinely didn’t realize that it was a completely different dragon!?” Syrian questioned with a light tone to her voice.

 

“No! He had no clue!” Bluebird replied, barely containing another bout of laughter. Syrian smiled, glad to have friends with good senses of humour.

 

“Syrian, I must speak with you,” a grand, very familiar voice called, and Syrian barely repressed a sigh as she stood from her spot on the rocky floor. A few chuckles sounded at her situation, and Syrian playfully stuck out her tongue at the dragons who made them.

 

Syrian walked over to a large cave, the meeting cave. Don’t get her wrong, Syrian was glad to be in a leading position, even if it was only just her troop, but she hated meetings. It was just something about sitting in a barely decorated, bland stone room, usually surrounded by irritated soldiers that irked Syrian immensely; though, she didn’t really have a choice, did she?

 

“There has been a recent Flame dragon outpost set up near our camp. There’s not much traffic yet, but it could become a problem in the future if it gets bigger. I need your troop to destroy it, and hopefully the dragons inside,” Vulture said, cutting straight to the chase. The pale dragon handed Syrian a marked map with the location of the outpost on it. Syrian took the map and tucked it underneath her wing.

 

“I’d recommend you kill the dragons inside, and then search for valuables, as we’re running a tad short right now,” finished Vulture as he took out a file and marked something down in it.

 

“You can count on me,” replied Syrian, saluting the general before quickly leaving. Syrian rolled her eyes once she was out of sight of Vulture. Syrian didn’t really mind killing dragons, for her, it was just part of the war, at least this time, it was for a reason. A tiny voice inside of Syrian said that she should probably care more about killing dragons, they were living, breathing beings who had lives. Families. Siblings. Syrian shook the thought out of her head. The dragons chose to be in a war, they should expect some death every now and then. Besides, it’s not like she liked it, she just… didn’t mind it as much as others would. It’s what made her a good soldier, any hesitation or mercy would get her killed; she learned that pretty early on.

 

“What did Vulture want?” Bluebird asked, making Syrian realize that she’d walked back to her troop without being aware.

 

“We’re leaving for a mission soon, some outpost near our land,” Syrian explained, sitting down next to the cave wall. The troop collectively groaned, having just gone on a mission a few days earlier. It made sense to have them go on missions often, them being the newest troop in the cavern, but that didn’t make it any less of a pain in the tail. Syrian pushed a stray pebble with her paw, before deciding to just swipe it out of the way.

 

“Hey, at least it’s nearby,” Syrian didn’t need to say anything to remind the troop of a few weeks ago when they had to go all the way to the swamplands just to grab some intel, which turned out to have been burned to ashes long before they got there.

“Well, if that’s all, then I’m heading to my cave,” Woodpecker, the troop’s angriest member, announced.

 

“Oh! Can I come? I always wanted to see your cave!” Asked Quail, a particularly lanky dragon. Nobody knew how Quail managed to become a soldier, and many theories were floating around the cave system. Some dragons speculated that all his siblings were dead, while others hypothesized that his parents were rich and paid for him to become a soldier. Whatever the reason, Quail became a soldier.

 

“No,” Woodpecker said bluntly, stomping off to her sleeping cave. Quail visibly deflated at her response before he left as well, presumably to his own sleeping cave. Syrian huffed, watching them walk out, Woodpecker lightly kicking Quail as she moved. Quail tried too hard sometimes, and he didn’t know when to let go, especially when it came to a certain pink dragon. Syrian turned to Sparrow and Bluebird, finding them conversing in hushed whispers, likely about Quail’s failed romanticism, and that was all that Syrian needed to decide to take her leave.

 

Syrian pitied Quail; every troop had that member, the one that everyone knew wouldn’t last long, and Quail was practically a ticking time bomb, ready to explode (maybe even literally) at any moment. It was never a matter of if he would die, rather, it was a matter of when. Syrian suspected that Quail knew this, and was trying to make the most of what fleeting time he had left. Syrian shook the thought out of her head as she entered her sleeping cave. It was too soon to think about… that. Maybe Syrian would spend the day with Quail tomorrow, if only to get the image of bloodied feathers out of her mind. Feather dragons weren’t solitary dragons by any means, hence their troop system, and Quail was no different. Unfortunately, Quail was more often than not left to his own devices. Sparrow found him a coward on good days, Bluebird felt unnerved by his unusual body type, Woodpecker outright hated him, and Syrian was always reminded of… someone whenever he was around. Long story short, Quail was constantly being left out of the troop, but none of them had the heart to request a switch. Well, except maybe Woodpecker, but she didn’t have the authority to do so, and nothing she said could convince Syrian that removing Quail from the equation would fix the light tension that occasionally covered their troop like a fine mist.

 

Syrian barely realized that she had entered her cave when she did, but as soon as the smooth leaves that made up her bed came in to contact with her, it was like her mind suddenly turned back on. Syrian looked around her cave, it wasn’t very decorated, only containing her bed, her slightly bloodied, very old, spear, a burnt-out lamp, and a spare dagger. She’d thought about sprucing up the place, but since she had heard rumours about an exceptionally large battle coming up soon, she didn’t bother. Besides, she didn’t want to get this place feeling like home; for all she knew, she could be due for a transfer to another cave system. Syrian bared her teeth slightly at the thought, she had only just got used to everybody in this cave system, she really didn’t want to deal with a transfer. Yellow blotches danced around Syrian’s vision as she closed her eyes, before quickly opening them and looking around. That was…. Strange, to say the least. Syrian shook her head, it probably had something to do with those stupid dreams.

 

Syrian never remembered much from her dreams, but lately they felt… off. Like somebody had replaced her normal dreams with a scroll full of fantasy stories. Not that she was complaining, weird dreams were better than… no, she wasn’t going to think about that. If Syrian was being honest though, she would have thought that killing dragons would be low on her likability list. Now, Syrian didn’t exactly like killing other dragons, but… it was them or her, right? Besides, they chose to be soldiers. They chose to come too close to Feather dragon territory. Right? Right. So killing, totally justified, after all, if they didn’t want to be killed by her, they should have just not become soldiers in the first place. There were so many other jobs! Goose had still been sending her letters, and some of them talked about how her siblings were doing, heck, some of them even reached out to her themselves. Flamingo took up an apprentice’s position at a carpentry, Peacock made headstones for graveyards (that must be a well-paying job what with the current war going on), and Parrot hadn’t written to her yet, but last she’d heard, he’d been running an inn. Oh! Messenger! That was another one. Wait- no, back on track, where was she? right! There were many jobs that didn’t require partaking in the ongoing conflict. Besides, the Flame dragons could always just surrender to the Stone dragons, then they wouldn’t have to fight!

…

Oh, who was she kidding, Syrian knew damn well that that wasn’t how it worked. War was… complicated to say the least. Syrian didn’t even know what she was fighting for, did anyone? She knew that it was for the betterment of their kingdom; the stone dragons promised that once they won, they would receive a portion of the flame forest to live in, almost like birds. But she was never taught what had caused the war, her parents overlooked that part in their history lessons. It must have been something bad though, the stone dragons preferred to stay on their island, so to wage war on the flame dragons was almost unsettling. What could the flame dragons have done to cause that? Many rumours floated around the cave, from the outlandish ‘the flame dragons firebombed the castle!’, to the more realistic ‘the flame dragon royals cut ties with the stone royals and things escalated from there’. Either way, Syrian was fighting a war that had nothing to do with her, with her entire species! And for what? A bit of forest? Oh, please, they had enough land as it was! All in all, Syrian was more than displeased but the conflict

Syrian wished that this was the first time that she went down this particular train of thought, and she doubted that it would be the last. Sighing to herself softly, Syrian plopped down onto the smooth, uncomfortable leaves that made up her pathetic bed. She missed the soft, flexible leaves that made up her old bed from home.

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ~ 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎! 𝙱𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝙱𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚛! (𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎) 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗 // 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 *𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴* 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟸𝚔

a/n: have a little midnight chapter! i hoped to post this a lot sooner but tumblr didn’t save the draft where i’d done the first 1k words (i have the whole storyline roughly mapped out but it still sucked to lose all my work), so i was like nope fuck this and then i left this alone for a couple of days because i could not be bothered to type everything i’d just lost. BUT we’re back!

     Today makes exactly 3 weeks since Margaret Carter and Brock Rumlow exposed the part of your life you’d hoped would stay hidden forever. Although you told Prince James that you wouldn’t contact him anymore, a big part of you was hurt that he’d made no move to contact you. Steve hadn’t come by the bakery either, and you couldn’t bring yourself to go to the palace gates. If you were asked to leave, you didn’t think you could handle that.

Despite feeling down and wanting nothing more than to spend your days laying in bed, you still put on a happy face every morning. After all, you and Peter still worked at the bakery every day. May and Ben both offered to work your shifts, understanding that you may want time to yourself, but you declined. The distraction of having things to do all day was good for you.

Well, mostly good for you. You woke each morning feeling at least a little exhausted. It took you a long time to fall asleep each night. You’d often involuntarily stay awake until midnight, but would still get up at 6am sharp to get ready for the day.

Peter often snuck into your room to turn off your alarm so that you could sleep while he worked solo in the mornings. He pointed out that mornings were slow anyway, and you were grateful for those few extra hours of rest. 

One morning things appear even slower than usual. By 11am, you could still count the number of customers on one hand. 

You and Peter decided to close the shop at 11:30, for half an hour to have lunch, opting to eat in the kitchen while experimenting with different breads and pastries. May thought that maybe some new desserts might bring in people from the nearby village, and you and Peter were now determined to come up with something good.

At noon when you walk back out to open the store front, you’re surprised to see 2 women sitting on the bench outside. You rushed to unlock the door, apologizing for keeping them waiting. As they follow you back inside, you can’t help but glance at them again. They look so familiar, yet you don’t think they’ve ever come in before.

When they introduce themselves a minute later, you learn that you’re right. You had seen them at the ball.

Natasha Romanoff and Yelena Belova explain that they’re Becca’s private security whenever she needs to be out, and at the ball they were helping to keep a watchful eye on things. And you learn that they’re there right now because she’s asking you to come to the palace.

“I— I don’t know if it’s a good idea to—”

Yelena puts a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile. “She said to tell you that her idiot brother isn’t there, so you won’t have to worry about running into him. She only wants to discuss something with you.”

That does make you feel a lot better, though you can’t help but wonder where he is. Still, you’re reluctant to go. Surely Margaret has fed her the same stories, why could she possibly want to see you?

As much as you want to say that you really can’t go, you see Natasha and Yelena standing there basically twiddling their thumbs, and you have a feeling that they’ve been instructed to not return unless you’re with them.

Peter, sensing your anxiety, walks over and stands next to you. “I can manage for the rest of the day if you want to go. If you don’t, I can tell them that I need you here because I have to leave or we’re expecting a big order or something.” He’s been really worried about you, and hopes that if you do decide to go with them, whatever conversation you have with Becca will cheer you up.

Part of you knows that you have to go with them. If you didn’t you’d just spend all your time wondering what Becca wanted to talk to you about.

“Umm Natasha, Yelena? Is it alright if I just meet you both back at the palace? I’d just like to go home and change first,” you approach the 2 of them, still a little anxious, but better knowing that Peter has your back and would’ve been willing to lie for you.

“Oh call me Nat,” she smiles at you. “And we can just come with you, walk you to the palace after. You live just down the road right?”

Wow, guess I was right about them not coming back unless I’m with them, you think to yourself.

You make small talk on the short walk to your house, and by the time you get there your nerves have pretty much gone away. They’re both really nice, and you find yourself laughing at their bickering over who of the 2 of them is the better fighter.

“—it is definitely me,” Yelena grins at you. She motions to Nat, “this one is a total poser”.

Nat scoffs, rolling her eyes but ultimately letting Yelena win the conversation for now. “Alright alright let’s just let her get changed so we can head back, hmm?”

You quickly change into a yellow sundress and run a brush through your hair, exiting your bedroom just 5 minutes later.

“Cute!” Yelena admires your dress, “I might have to borrow that sometime”.

“I wouldn’t let her if I were you,” Nat warns you as you begin the short journey to the palace, “last three pieces of clothing she borrowed from me? Still haven’t seen them”.

You burst out laughing when Nat does airquotes around the word borrowed.

All too quickly, you reach the palace gates.

As soon as you step into the palace, Becca crushes you in a hug, nearly knocking you both to the floor. Yelena and Nat glance at each other, laughing as they excuse themselves, saying they’ll be in another room if you need them.

You follow Becca up to her bedroom, where she shuts the door and you both collapse on opposite ends of her bed. After a moment, she’s the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you sooner”.

“You have nothing to apologize for, you must have a lot to do around here—”

“How are you doing since… what happened at the ball?”

You had a feeling this was why she’d actually asked you to come over. “I… I’m as okay as I can be, I guess. I wish I hadn’t been exposed like that, but I suppose it’s a relief that everything is out in the open. Although part of me is worried about King Laufeyson and what he’ll do when he finds out that I’ve told people about the accident— that I guess wasn’t really an accident.”

Becca sits up, though she won’t make eye contact with you. “You have nothing to worry about. King Laufeyson will not bother you or your family ever again.”

And now you’re on edge. “Wh-what? What do you mean I have nothing to worry about, how do you know he won’t bother us?”

As she realizes what she’s just told you, Becca’s eyes widen. Saying nothing, she simply grabs your hand and practically drags you through the palace. You come to one of the many living rooms and find Queen Winnifred sitting on a sofa, reading.

“Your majesty,” you start to curtsy as she notices you both enter the room, and she surprises you by putting her book down and pulling you in for a hug and telling you to call her Winnie.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you, I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet at the ball. Though I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” You look between Becca and Winnie, now even more confused. What feels like a million scenarios are running through your mind, but you don’t think any of them are accurate.

“Perhaps we should all sit down,” she motions behind her to the couch. You sit on the couch with her, while Becca opts to sit on one of the large chairs just on the other side. “What do you know of King Laufeyson and his people?”

Dread fills your entire body. “Other than… what he’s done to my family, nothing.”

You all glance up just in time to see Thor enter the room. You stand up when he approaches, and he greets you with a hug, apologizing for intruding but saying he had to come and talk when he heard you were at the palace.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as soon as I read your letter, but I just felt you should know. Loki is— was, my brother. He was adopted as an infant and we were raised together. Our childhood was normal, we were very close back then. But the older he got, the more defiant he got. It was clear that he needed help. He wasn’t just an angry boy, he was… cruel. Our parents did everything they could, gave him every opportunity and unfortunately covered for him too many times. But finally everyone had enough, and he was sent away to school that was meant to help him. But it only made him angrier. He rebelled, and as soon as he turned of age, he manipulated the crown away from our parents. It’s why my home perished. Not literally, as in a fire, but it was destroyed by Loki. He ran all Asgardian’s out of the kingdom and quickly filled it with his own people that he met while away. He— he is not. good man.”

You sit there, trying to process everything, when Winnie speaks up once more. “We welcomed the people of Asgard with open arms, vowing to help however we good. From a legal standpoint, there was nothing we could do. He was cruel and manipulative, but he hadn’t technically broken any laws. Recently we’ve had people do some digging, and what happened to your parents, it’s not the first time he has caused a situation like that. Two nights ago, one of our people went to your home, and May Parker provided us with the documents proving that he threatened your family and made you promise to never tell. We’d asked her not to say anything to you just yet, for we didn’t want to get any hopes up. But we’ve just received word that your proof, amongst all the rest, was enough. Loki Laufeyson is no longer king of Asgard. The throne will be returned to Odin and Frigga, who have also been living in the palace. They’re on the side that I don’t think you’ve been on.”

“What’s to happen with King— what’s to happen with Loki now?”

“The people of our kingdom, and Asgard, are pushing for a hanging. But even if he should receive a life sentence, he will still never see the light of day, and he will never harm anyone again. James has been away—”

“Is this why he’s gone now? Loki—” Now you’re panicked. And you feel selfish, for being upset that he hadn’t contacted you, when you now know where he has been.

“When Bucky read your letter and learned what Loki did to you and your family, he was angrier than I’ve ever seen him. He wanted to go and apologize and comfort you right away, but he was so angry with Loki. Right away he wanted to leave and kill him. He left the next day, accompanied by Steve and a few of our other men. He didn’t have any real plan, but we got updates from them fairly often. He was the one who gathered further proof of the crimes that Loki had committed, and it was him that informed us that Loki had been overthrown.”

Winnie picks up when Becca grows quiet, “I love my dear son, but he was a fool for reacting the way that he did, when Margaret and Brock tried to air out your personal business. They’ve both since been exiled from the kingdom, because this isn’t the first time they’ve attempted to meddle in business that they have no reason to insert themselves into. They should’ve been dealt with long ago. I apologize that it took this incident involving you.”

You wipe away the couple of tears that had fallen, “I’m sorry that you’re all dealing with this because of the letter that I wrote to Prince James…”

“I’m not sorry,” Winnie gives you a sad smile, “of course I’m sad that this happened to you and I wish that it hadn’t, but now that we know, it’s good that we’ve dealt with the problem. Loki Laufeyson has been allowed to reign as King of Asgard for far too long. Now he’s dealt with, and Odin and Frigga may return to Asgard as the rightful King and Queen.”

You’re about to respond, when Sam and Clint suddenly burst into the room.

“When did you all get ba—” Becca starts to ask, but Sam cuts her off.

“It’s Bucky, he’s hurt.”

not clickable means it won’t let me tag you. (i’ll try to @ you in a comment / reply to this, it’ll come from my side blog @infiniteminds)

series tags: @thebuckybarnesvault​ / @matchat3a​ / @avengersfan25​ / @et-homephone / @adangerousbalance​ / @bxtchboy69​ / @zealouspostwitch / @sgt-tasm​ / @sebsgirl71479 / @ivybarns / @storyofmemory / @sky0401​ / @realgaytrash​ / @moonlightreader649​ / @sugarpits / @browneyedgirl22 / @inkedaztec​ / @buchanansbaby / @starbxcks

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all character tags: @jaywalkingape

[boldlyvoid]

Million Dollar Man | chapter two

18+

summary: Spencer's therapist recommended he branch out and meet new people who don't want to talk about his work... she didn't expect him to sign up for a Sugar Daddy website.

Content warnings: sugar daddy!spencer, age gaps (14 years), daddy kink, blow jobs, kissing, drinking mention, lowkey perv!Spencer, cum play, praise, oral (female receiving), grinding, love confessions, arrangements, Spencers anxiety, (more to add)

word count: 3.4K

a/n: updates on Wednesdays and saturdays at 2 pm est

Chapter Two | Masterlist

She sat on the subway with an anxious pit in her stomach and her purse held close to her chest. Her laptop in her bag, she didn’t want to lose it on her way to the most important meeting of her whole life.

Her story was becoming a book, she was almost done the final draft, they were making touch-ups to the cover and picking the type of paper today.

Her dreams were coming true within the next month, soon she’d have a physical copy of her book, her pre-sales were showing that she’d be on the bestseller list, and her name was finally going to be on the cover of this one.

She sighed and reached for her necklace, holding it between her fingers as she took a few deep breaths. She was doing so much better today than she was last year and it was all because of Spencer, he was the best thing to happen to her. To think she complimented his sweater vest and now he’s the only person in her life she can count on.

All she can think about is him for the rest of her journey, through 4 more stops she keeps her eyes closed as she thinks of all his little facts and his cute laugh. She smiles to herself and the anxiety slips away, she loves him and she knows that for sure, but she just doesn’t know how she loves him.

She’s never had a sibling, her best friends are all women, her previous boyfriends were all shit and her other sugar daddies were never this wonderful, and her parents are lesbians… she doesn’t know what her feelings really are for Spencer, mainly because she’s never known any other men to compare him to.

But she does know the exact moment she realized she fell for him.

He booked a hotel room in DC after a local case, asking her to meet him in there at 10 pm. She was waiting in the bathtub when he arrived, bubbles galore, her hair up and arms open, “welcome home, honey.”

He laughs, “you want me to get in there with you?”

She just nods, “let me take care of you, daddy?”

He takes off his blazer, pulls his tie off and starts to unbutton his shirt. She watches patiently as he gets undressed, and it’s not sexual to her. He’s her person, her best friend, the only human being she would ever share a moment like this with and that’s when it hits her.

She doesn’t accept it just yet.

It’s not until he’s lying on her chest, between her legs, cheek resting on her boobs as she runs a sponge over his back while he gives her a little run down on his terrible week. His co-worker almost died, his mom is stressing him out, the only good thing he has left is her and she knows that.

“And then I get to my moms facility and she’s had a really good day, she knows me and she knows all of my childhood again and she’s all right there in front of me and yet she’s so far away. I’m never going to get all the time I want with her and it’s really hard to accept.”

He shares things with her that he doesn’t even tell his therapist. Because his therapist doesn’t hold him like a child against her chest and tell him he’s okay when he get’s upset.

Y/N loves him, so she kisses his forehead, “I’m so sorry, I have 2 moms if you’d like to have one?”

“It’s okay, I would love to meet them sometime though,” he wraps his arms around her waist a little tighter under the water. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Did I mention my leg is 44 inches from hip to toe?” She asks in the middle of the silence, quoting pretty woman, knowing he hasn’t seen that far into the movie yet. “So basically we’re talking about 88 inches of therapy for the bargain price of $800 dollars a week.”

Her legs wrap around him and their naked bodies are closer than they’ve ever been and yet it’s completely platonic, “I’d spend a million dollars on you if it always meant feeling this good after.”

She runs her cheek along his wet hair as he snuggles into her neck, “mmm, I like the sound of that,” she teased. “My million dollar man.”

Her stop rolls around and she pulls herself out of her day dreams to get off the train and head to her meeting. She smiles as she walks through the station, up the stairs and onto the busy downtown streets when she gets a text with Spencers special chime. She opens it when she gets to where she’s going, safely inside and in the waiting room.

It makes her laugh in the waiting room. People look at her but she doesn’t care, he’s so special to her she feels butterflies in her stomach even when he’s not around.

“Y/N!” She hears her name being called by her editor, he’s over ecstatic as he comes running out to get her. “Come, come we have so many choices to make!” He jumps up and down as he holds her arm, like a child in a candy store.

“Andy, chill man,” she laughs at him and plays it cool, “It’s just the cover being finalized.”

“It’s our baby!” He teases back, pushing his glasses up and tugging her behind the glass doors of the office.

She’s surrounded by people and paper and huge versions of her book cover. She has a sharpie as she fixed mistakes and jots down final ideas. “And I wan’t Phil to look more human and less like data from Star Trek?”

“But Dorothy looks okay?” The artist asks, nervously and Y/N can tell.

“She looks beautiful! You really brought her justice,” she smiles, “really she looks the same in my head! It’s just Phil and I’m sure it’s tough getting a drawing to look like a robotic human, let alone human.”

“I have some ideas?” She opens up more, taking her iPad out and sliding it across the table, “I wanted to give him more of a Sophia feel? His face is silicone but his joints and everything are more like an Elon Musk crash dummy.”

“That’s perfect!” She’s shocked, “why didn’t that go in the first draft?”

“I was worried it was too much,” she’s a little older than Y/N, and yet her anxiety is that of a teenage girl. “I’m going to get working on the final, do you want some emailed versions tonight?”

“Yes please,” she smiles.

“So we’re done?” Andy asks, “we’ve made all our final calls?”

“I believe we have,” Y/N closes her laptop and takes her phone out, taking a photo of the final rough sketch of her book cover on the table to send to Spencer before he comes to pick her up. She can’t wait to see him now.

—

They’re sitting side by side in matching spa robes, he’s getting a pedicure while she gets her nails done. Leaning back in her chair with a face mask and cucumbers on her eyes, she’s never felt more relaxed in her life. And just in time too, her back was killing her from writing, her knuckles hurt and she just needed a break.

Spencer did too, he was genuinely not having a good time at work anymore, every case made him spiral and he always looked to Y/N on days like that. They met more than once a week now, she got $800 every Friday and she didn’t even really need it anymore. He was coving for so much of her bills and lively hood that her savings account was growing and growing because of him.

For the first time in her life she thought she would be okay if a man left her. As terrible as it was, as much as her moms tried to raise her differently, she fell down the daddy issues rabbit hole and she’s never going to find her way out— however, luckily for her, Spencer is down here too, and he brought a flashlight.

He understands her, more than anyone else on earth. He knows all her secrets, every crush and bad grade and snide remark she’s ever kept to herself. He didn’t judge her, he could actually listen to her issues and tell her why she had them. He gave better advice than a therapist and he was able to get information for her if he didn’t know the answer to what she was going through.

He’s absolutely everything to her and yet he’s 14 years older than her, he’s still traumatized beyond belief, he’s sad and ashamed and recovering… but he’s the best man in the whole world and she wishes he could see that. If he just looked at himself from her eyes, if he felt how she did in her soul when they were together, he’d love himself.

They’re too relaxed to drive home, and Spencer knew that would happen beforehand, bringing her a change of clothes (lingerie) and that robe me mentioned. He books a hotel above the spa and takes her to it. Arms linked as they enter the suite, she’s amazed to find more than one gift bag on the bed.

“How many gifts is this now?”

“We’re at 5 out of 24.”

She laughs as she wraps her arms around him in a thank you hug, “this is what you consider 4 gifts? Spencer there are like 8 things on the bed, let alone the massage and manicure?”

“If you think this is too much I guess you’re going to get really mad next week,” he teases as she looks up at him with a surprised look on her face.

“Spencer, I am so busy next week, I cannot be galavanting around with my sugar daddy,” she tries to act like she doesn’t want to go on an adventure with him again.

The last trip they took was the best week of her life. They went to all the historical sites in the UK that she and Spencer had talked about. Mainly old churches and castles, strange poets graves, random art and most importantly; stone henge. It was a trip of a lifetime and he took it with her.

“I watched the rest of Pretty Woman the other day,” he smiles, “and I thought I’d pull an Edward Lewis and really surprise you because you deserve it.”

“You know how the movie ends, right?” Her heart beats really fast in her chest and she wants him to love her so bad but it’s also terrifying now that she’s this close.

“He lets her choose,” he whispers.

“He rescues her,” she corrects him.

“And she rescues him right back,” he really did watch the end of the movie.

It makes her heart skip a beat as she swallows sharply, “what does this mean for us?”

“I have a whole plan, a whole sequence of events I want to stick to. I wanted to make you fall in love with me this week and ask you on your birthday, can we still do that?” He pleads with her, he’s so serious. He’s clearly put a lot of effort into this.

“Absolutely,” she smiles, “but if you’re going to make me wait that long for you to ask, you still can’t kiss me till then. No matter how much I already love you.”

“Really?” He’s so soft with her, she knows he’s not reacting to the teasing. He’s never had someone tell him they love him and then stay after.

“I would never lie to you about that, spence. I know what love means to you, I know how scared you are and I’m scared too. But I know there is no one else in the whole world I’d rather be scared with than you,” she holds him tighter and rubs her nose against his, “so what’s in the bags, daddy? Finish your surprise.”

She plays along perfectly, stepping back and hauling him towards the bed. “I got you some outfits and things for the next 2 weeks, we have a few things planned. We’re going on a flight soon, I have new luggage being delivered to your apartment this week and we’re going to see your moms for 3 days.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “there’s no way, Spencer, I haven’t seen them in 5 years, I’m going to cry.”

“I know,” he cups her jaw with his hand. “They’re really excited to see you.”

She hugs him tight, kissing his neck as she holds him. “Thank you, daddy, do you want me to put something on for you now?”

“I’m just going to take it off you, plus, what your wearing is sexy enough, he whispers back. “You’re always so beautiful, baby.”

“I thought you were saving the best for last?” She asks as she pulls back, overly eager and he can tell.

“I want to repay the favour from the other night.”

She doesn’t mean to gasp and yet she does, “please?”

He pulls on the tie of her robe, opening it enough to snake a hand behind her back and draw her in with a hand on her bare back. “Please what?”

“Please, daddy?” She looks up with her best begging eyes, perfect pout and all. “I want you to touch me, I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

He steps away from her to swipe all the bags off the bed before picking her up and laying her back against the pillows. He kisses down her body, hand on her lover back as she arches, he drags his bottom lip from her belly button to her cleavage. Nipping and sucking at the exposed skin on her chest, pulling her breasts out of the bra to suck on her nipples, she moans and it’s louder than she expected.

As she plays with his hair, he marks her, bruising small little love bites all the way down as he makes his way between her legs, “take me, please?”

He’s been dreaming of this for so long, he can’t even give you an accurate number of times his mind has drifted to the thought of how wonderful she would taste, how beautiful she’d sound…

“Tell me how badly you want me?” He asks as he spreads her legs and kisses her left thigh.

“I haven’t had sex in 10 months while waiting for you. Daddy, please you’ve owned me for so long, just take what’s yours already for gods sa- OH!”

With a broad lick, his tongue flattens against her core and it shuts her up. She gets what she wants, holding into his hair as she tosses her head back, taking it all in and enjoying it. He’s been on her mind for months, every time her vibrator was where he is now, she thought of him. he’s been the man of her dreams longer than she’s known him, and he was proving it.

“Right there, daddy,” she speaks through shallow breaths, “do you know how much I’ve thought of this?”

“You know I don’t,” the vibrations of his voice against her skin are glorious, he looks up at her through his lashes as his tongue flicks over her clit and she shakes a bit.

“Fuck,” she gasps, gripping his hair tighter, “better than I thought you’d be, fuck, too bad you— Jesus, don’t have the stash anymore…”

He stops and looks up at her, the smirk on his face glistening with her juices, “the stash?”

She nods, “I’ve thought about calling it the pussy tickler,” she teases, running her hand down his cheek and swiping her thumb across his bottom lip before bringing it up to her mouth to taste, “I want more of you.”

He kisses back up her body and she reaches for his robe the second he’s close enough. “Just grind against me? I know you’re waiting but we can still feel good together?”

He kisses the side of her mouth and she takes that as a yes, wrapping her legs around him so his hard cock is pressed right against her core as they move their hips in synchronicity with each other. His breathing is heavy as he kisses her cheek and jaw, her nails scratch down his back, he feels absolutely amazing against her.

She feels so empty, she wants him so bad she’s clenching around nothing as she squirms against his cock and wishes she was full.

“I wish I could move time,” she whispers. “Fuck, why can’t it be my birthday?”

He laughs against her, grazing his teeth over her neck and drawing another moan from her but then he stops moving his hips, “why are you so impatient?”

“Remember I said I stopped enjoying everything? Well, taking a 10 month break from sex and thinking about you every time I got off has made me desperate,” her hand cups his cheek, “I’d wait forever for you, but a girl needs to be fucked hard every once in a while.”

Only she could find a way to make something both profoundly beautiful and whorish at the same time, he loved her for it and she knew that now. He smiles and leaned in to rub his nose against hers and it takes everything in her not to kiss him. The same way it was taking everything in him not to slip into her as he began to grind against her once more.

She’s so close, the accidental edging has added a whole new level of desperation she’s never felt before. She wants to cum for him so bad, but more importantly she wants him to cum for her.

“Take my bra off,” she whispers, Spencer’s hands travel behind her back to unclasp it and he helps her out of it before tossing it to the floor.

“Cum for me daddy,” she whispers in his head with a hand in his hair, gripping him tightly as he bites at her neck, “cover me with your cum like you’re marking your territory.”

“Shit,” his hips sputter against hers.

“Say it, I know you want to,” she teases, so close to the edge but it’s too good of an opportunity. She loves seeing him fall apart like this and she can’t wait to see it again. “Who’s am I?”

“Daddy’s girl.”

He grinds down on her harder and faster and she’s so close, the bubble in her gut is reaching a fever pitch and with a gasp, she’s cumming and then she feels it. His load covers her stomach as he pants against her neck and grips her hips tighter as he comes down.

She wraps her arms around him and holds him as close as humanly possible, her breathing still heavy as he rises and falls on her chest. He’s heavy but she doesn’t care, she just kisses the top of his head and thanks him.

He brushes his nose against her neck, nuzzling her like a cat, “do you really mean it?”

“What, honey?” He remembers so much, this could be a question about something she said 2 months or 2 minutes ago and she has no clue.

“You’re not just playing along with my kinks right, you genuinely want to be mine?”

For being her million dollar man, his heart sure was broke. This is why he wasn’t ready, he still didn’t understand why she would want to stay without anything in return, he’s gotten so used to paying her for her time now that his anxiety has managed to convince him that she’ll leave when he stops being worth it to her.

“What does my necklace say?” She asks, knowing how close he was to it. “Read it to me, I forget.”

“Daddy’s girl,” he smiles again.

She soothes her hands over his back, “I would do anything with you because I love and trust you, but also because everything you do is sexy… you could read me the dictionary and I’d still want you to pump me full of cum after.”

“It sounds so crude after,” he laughs, “speaking of, we really need to have a shower.”

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine?” She teases as he gets up.

“Only if you let me wash the front too?”

She smacks his bare ass and races him into the bathroom, turning on the water and getting in with him while still laughing and carrying on. He’s her best friend in the whole world, there’s no one else she would rather do this with… there was no one she has done this with. No one has made her feel this good, before during and after sex.

Spencer Reid was an anomaly, but he was hers.

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Sugar daddy fic (Some tags didn't work)

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[dirty-holy-things]

tequila

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, no Y/N.

Rating: Mature.

Chapters: 1/1 (oneshot)

Words: 6.3k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption + intoxication. Heavy on the angst, but has a positive / hopeful ending. I'm physically incapable of writing something that doesn't have a moderately happy ending, sooooo...

Author's Notes: This had been sitting in my drafts for a while, and is not beta'd or edited. Please be kind. If you'd be interested in a follow up / second part, please let me know!

Summary: Only a few weeks out from a difficult breakup, Bucky comes across the assorted things that you had left behind in your previously-shared apartment. A favorite t-shirt, your hair ties, a collection of DVDs, and a bottle of tequila that you had left in his freezer - these were the only remaining tethers that kept you tied to him. And as Bucky combed through the once-shared apartment, gathering the lingering pieces of you, he wrestles with your absence; the tequila tells him to call you, while his conscience wars in the background. Will he turn his phone off, resisting the temptation of calling you? Or will he dial the all-too-familiar number, and hope to hear your voice just one more time?

Bucky’s broad hand grasped the door knob to his apartment, twisting until he heard the familiar click in the door frame that signaled the door had unlocked. With a heavy, pained sigh, he ambled inside. He dropped his backpack onto the floor of the foyer, not bothering to hang anything up as he usually would. It had been a challenging day - meetings, data, mindless government presentations that frankly, he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about. His mind was occupied by other things.

His mind was occupied by thoughts of you.

All sorts of small things in his world brought you back to him. Today, it had been a takeout menu for the local Thai restaurant that the two of you had frequented. You had been the one to introduce him to it, breaking up the monotony of his day-to-day life and his meals. He had passed by the restaurant on his way home everyday, but had never given much thought to stopping there - at least not until you had suggested it.

Seeing the menu casually tossed aside set off a sharp pang in Bucky’s chest, as he unexpectedly remembered the last time that he had seen you at this shared favorite spot. It had been almost two weeks since he had caught a glimpse of you at the well-loved Thai place; if he focused hard enough, he could still smell the spices toasting and wafting across the block.

***

Bucky saw the sunlight shining off of your hair, before he saw the smile stretching across your ever-expressive face - a smile, that he knew he was no longer responsible for. He then saw another man, tall, dark haired, handsome, standing next to you. He watched as this stranger wrapped an arm around your waist; he felt overwhelmingly nauseated by the sight, and Bucky couldn’t help but think about how much better the two of you must have looked together when you were wrapped in his arms instead.

***

Bucky shook his head, feeling the muscles strain as he rolled his neck; he stretched his flesh arm and the vibranium one, trying desperately to dispel the image of you wrapping your arms around another man. It worked, briefly - just long enough for Bucky to snap out of this painful illusion and to begin going about his evening routine. There were still day to day responsibilities, things that had to be done — whether he wanted to do it or not.

Pulling his shirt and pants off, tossing them into the laundry hamper, Bucky made his way to the bathroom. He turned the water on, tested it for temperature, all the while trying so incredibly hard not to think about how hot you liked the water.

It was always too hot for you anyway, he told himself grouchily. He tried desperately not to think about how soft and sweet and warm you were whenever the two of you showered together, under the scorching water. He stepped into his lukewarm shower, feeling the water run down his face and chest. He inhaled slowly, taking several deep breaths, before the knots in his shoulders began to loosen beneath the water’s gentle pressure. He stood like this for quite a while, before forcing himself forward into his routine — shampoo, conditioner, body wash, rinse.

And when the water began to run cold, he turned off the tap, grimacing as the freezing air hit his skin while he grabbed blindly for a towel to wrap around his shivering form. Clothes, he thought desperately, as the steam rolled off of his skin in the frigid bathroom.

Wrapping the fluffy towel around himself snugly, he stepped out of the shower and caught a glimpse of his face in the foggy mirror in front of him. Although Bucky had once been cocky, confident, and attractive in his youth, that sense of confidence had died down after decades of degradation; and now, it was rare for Bucky to spend more than a few cursory seconds examining his features. He had started to regain some of that youthful confidence with you, but it seemed that you had taken that sense of confidence with you when you had left; and now, he almost always averted his eyes from his reflection, not wanting to see the broken shell that had been left behind.

But the day had been long, and his usual mental defenses were worn thinner than usual, so he fell victim to spending a moment examining the facial features that felt almost alien to him now. He recalled himself as once being youthful, bright, alive, vibrant, his blue eyes sparkling and nary a wrinkle present; and then there was the time in which he was dark, concealed, sallow, hollow, his eyes showing the void where his soul had been, but he had never really seen any reflection of himself then, as it was not necessary; and then somehow, after all of that, he had come back to a place of being alive, whole, solid, and healthy.

But all of that liveliness and vibrancy was gone now, now that you were gone with it. And as he stared on at his current reflection, he noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes first. Sam hadn’t been pulling any punches when he told Bucky that he looked like shit. The heavy circles outlining his deep blue eyes were a startlingly dark purple, fading into a yellowed green, as they spread outwards from his sullen eyes; it almost looked as though he had two black eyes — and honestly, that might’ve been preferable to how he felt right now. Looking on at himself, he also noticed that his cheeks were sunken, almost as if his admittedly-rare smile was now retreating further inwards. He could also see the newly-defined creases forming between his brows, and for the briefest of moments, he recognized those few lines as ones that he had once seen on his father’s face — although the memory of his father was hazy, after a hundred years or so.

Sighing dejectedly, and with resignation, he rubbed his face in his palms and stepped away from the mirror, pulling a hand through his damp hair, trying to dispel the overwhelming thoughts, the memories, the hurt that nipped at his heels like a hellhound. It chased him every day, the pain and regret; and while he was usually adept at sidestepping and avoiding it, it had caught up to him today.

Trying to force some sense of normalcy and stability, he moved out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, choosing to preoccupy himself with the decision of what clothes to wear, now that he was clean. Standing stark naked in his closet, he blindly grabbed for boxers, sweatpants, and the first clean tshirt he could find, just wanting to be done with his self-care responsibilities and to be able to relax for the evening.

But as Bucky grasped at the first available shirt in his dresser, he found that he didn’t quite recognize the garment that he had grabbed to be his, as it was a dusky rose color - not his usual color choice, by any means.

Flipping it over, he saw the jaunty, white, printed logo of your favorite band, Salem. This was your favorite sleep shirt, the one he kept neatly folded and easily accessible, for any night that you many need it — that was, assuming you hadn’t stolen one of his shirts. The seams of the tshirt were worn thin from your frequent use, and there was a burn mark on the lower left side of the shirt from when you had tried to plug in the Christmas tree, but had caught yourself and your shirt on fire instead.

You had never cared, you loved the shirt just the same, and had continued to sleep in it, burn marks and all. If anything, you seemed to love it more — you had a fondness, a softness, for that which was damaged or broken. Bucky was evidence of that.

This was not his shirt, nor could he continue to harbor it here; he turned the damaged and delicate fabric over and over in his vibranium hand mindlessly, until it was wrapped tightly into his fist like a vice. The tension began in the metallic joints of his forearm as he continued to grip the shirt tighter and tighter, and the tension continued to spread, across his broad shoulders and into his neck with every second that passed. Bucky felt his jaw begin to tighten and a hotness creeping up into his face, as he stared down at the rose-colored garment that once used to hold and clothe his whole world.

This undeniable, heartbreaking heat continued to rise within him, before pricking his eyes, as his chest began to constrict. He inhaled raggedly and swiped a calloused hand over his face, pushing hard against his too-prominent cheekbones as he willed this overwhelming, grieving feeling to retreat.

And yet, the painful, aching feeling simply moved from his face to his chest. There was a harsh, throbbing ache that now settled in, gradually deepening until it felt like a whole cavity was opened, swallowing his lungs and heart whole.

He had to get rid of this fucking shirt.

Taking a deep, concentrated breath, Bucky began to unclench his vibranium fist, watching as the mechanisms in his arm progressively relaxed with his instruction. The shirt dropped to the floor, and he distinctly did not allow himself to watch it fall and crumple into a pile by his feet.

Stepping over the offending garment, he began pushing away items in his closet until he unearthed an old shoebox, one that, at the time, he had been too busy to bother disposing of. Some small part of him wondered if he had subconsciously saved those boxes, something deep down knowing that he would one day need this small box to pack up the evidence of a former love. Maybe he had known all along that this wouldn’t, couldn’t, last.

Maybe he’d always known you needed more than a broken man. Maybe he’d always known he would need more than he could give.

Fuck.

It was time to be rid of the shirt and all of the other things that haunted this apartment.

He began to fold the soft cotton shirt, intending to place it gently into the box, only pausing for a moment to wonder if it still smelled like you. He wanted to lift the shirt to his face, wondering if, for a moment, he may catch the smell of sugared candies, printer ink, and the rosemary soap that you loved. The smell that was distinctly you.

But before the motion could be completed, he changed his mind, and gently folded the shirt, ensuring there were no wrinkles or creases.

She would want these things back, he thought. You would want your perfectly-worn sleep shirt back. As painful as the heartbreak might be, he didn’t want to be petty or destructive towards you.

Even if —

Even if you didn’t love him anymore, he still loved you, and didn’t want to do anything that could hurt you.

Bucky’s mind began to wander as he looked over what was now just his apartment, wondering what small items of yours had lingered. His eyes fell first on the lotion that sat on your bedside table, which had been partially obscured by the stack of papers and mission reports that had been steadily accumulating in the weeks since you had been gone. He absentmindedly brushed the half-filled bottle into the box, hearing a gentle thud, its fall partially cushioned by the band tshirt that he had gently folded and placed in the narrow shoebox.

Bucky continued to pick up the various small mementos that had been left by you, until the box became heavy in his hands. Convinced that he had located all of your things, he contemplated sending you a message to let you know that he had gathered everything for you, so you could pick up your things from the apartment. However, the sight of your hair ties and your Lord of the Rings DVDs had unnerved him more than he anticipated, and he placed the box down on the countertop, deciding that this could certainly wait for at least one more day. He wasn’t ready to let go yet, for the apartment to be devoid of all memories of you.

His stomach grumbled loudly and abruptly, shattering the silence that Bucky hadn’t realized he was lost in. It was unlikely that he had anything in the apartment to eat, but he still needed to try, he thought to himself begrudgingly. You had always been the one to do the grocery shopping, cook the meals, make sure that Bucky was cared for; and in your absence, he had neglected to resume those responsibilities.

Opening the freezer, he was surprised to find one more item that did not belong to him - a bottle of tequila, with a few ounces missing. His nose turned up involuntarily, wincing at the sight of the alcohol. He never understood how you could stomach the stuff, as acrid as it was. He briefly contemplated dumping it out, or maybe saving it to return to you, but a sly and bitter voice crept into his mind.

Just drink it yourself. You bought it for her anyway, and wouldn’t it be nice to try and forget for a moment? The voice sneered.

It was an impulse.

Bucky Barnes, at 106 years old, was no longer an impulsive man. He was known by all of his colleagues and friends for his stoic, measured, controlled mannerisms. However, Bucky Barnes had not experienced this gnawing, all-consuming pain of heartbreak before.

Before he could stop to think of the potential consequences, he unscrewed the bottle and lifted it to his lips. He could smell the liquor long before he could taste it, and for a moment he considered putting the bottle down entirely; the bold and abrasive scent of the tequila made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

He was more of a whiskey man, really.

The tequila burned going down.

He needed to feel something other than himself.

Feeling the heat spread through his chest and into his stomach, Bucky released a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He lifted the bottle again, bringing the cool, crystal-clear glass to his lips. He shuddered as he felt the alcohol making its way through him, his super-soldier metabolism making the alcohol hit faster and harder than it would under normal circumstances — and it also made the impact of alcohol more short-lived than usual, so he had to work to maintain a higher concentration. At this point, he was almost chugging from the bottle.

Sighing, he ambled to his couch and sat down, feeling himself sink into its soft cushions. You had helped him pick these couches out, after pointing out that his previous ones were hard, unyielding, uncomfortable. The original couches had been just fine, but you insisted on finding something that the two of you could comfortably lay on together. And now — and now it was just him, all on his lonesome.

The comfort he was feeling now made him agitated. Who were you, to have flown into his life and... and changed everything? He had been doing just fine on his own, thank you very much.

Feeling his brows knit together in frustration, Bucky drank deeply from the bottle again. A large man, with a shot of super-soldier serum to boot, he was not overwhelmed easily by the alcohol he was consuming; but he could feel some heat and color rushing to his cheeks. And then he couldn’t help but picture your cheeks, flushed and irresistibly, kissably warm, the way they would be after you had been drinking. He only ever drank tequila with you. Bucky wondered what you thought of his face in those moments, when he was reckless alongside you. Did he grow warm and flushed, too? Did you find it endearing?

*****

The first time he tried tequila, he almost got sick, despite his super-soldier inclination. You had talked him, or tricked him, into taking something called a snakebite with you. The two of you had been holed up in a shitty dive bar in Colorado, you were wearing the same Salem shirt he had just found in his closet, tucked into a pair of ripped, high-waisted jeans and heeled boots that only served to accentuate your every curve. The two of you were on the first getaway trip of many, after you had surprised him with airplane tickets and reservations for an AirBnb that was sketchy at best, but came with a hot tub. You had promised him a relaxing weekend, but he somehow knew that some measure of chaos would come along with any adventure that included you.

You chanted his name over and over, barely audible over the sound of local dad-rock band and the usual bar noises - “Bucky, Bucky, Buck-y, Buck-y, Buck-y!” Until he felt he had no choice but to humor you, to try and stomach the liquor set in front of him on the sticky tabletop. You laughed with your whole chest as you watched him take the shot, choke a little, and bite into the thin slice of lime. His face soured at the taste of the lime and the lingering burn from the cheap tequila, although your smile continued to broaden into a laugh. “You have to go next,” he coughed and choked out. “It’s only fair, doll.”

You rolled your eyes and ordered another shot. With a mischievous grin, you lifted the glass to your lips and tossed back the alcohol, clearly much more acquainted with the taste. “Another one?” You asked Bucky playfully, and he shook his head gently.

“Someone has to be able to get us home,” he said with a laugh, grabbing your waist and pulling you into his lap. “And I’m going to guess that the super-soldier with the high metabolism will be the designated driver for the night.”

He could smell the bright citrus of the lime that lingered on your lips, and leaned down to kiss you gently, grinning into the curve of your smile. He could feel you grinning into his kiss, as you draped an arm over his prosthetic shoulder.

“Bucky Barnes, ever the responsible gentleman.” You paused for a moment, and Bucky could see an idea forming as you knitted your brows. “What if… we just leave? We can stop by a store on the way back, I think I saw one that was open on our way in - we could get a bottle of tequila, and some limes, and just enjoy this from the comfort of our hot tub?”

Bucky knew this was less of a question, and more of a statement of what would occur, and he smiled as he looked on at you, admiring the way the amber lights of the bar highlighted your ethereal, stardust features. He would indulge any request, honor any need, he would do absolutely anything you asked of him. Hell, he would’ve commandeered one of Stark’s suits and brought you the moon, if only you were to ask him with that same enchanting smile on your face.

When you had made your way back to the relative comfort of the AirBnb, you grabbed the handle of tequila and Bucky’s hand, and pulled him out to the back porch, where the hot tub was waiting with an uninterrupted view of the snow-capped mountains stretching out endlessly before you. You began playing a song on the Bluetooth speakers, he couldn’t remember what song it was — yes he could, it was ‘A New Life’ by Jim James, fuck — and you pulled him close, beginning to dance with him slowly.

As beautiful as the mountain view was, it didn’t compare to the sight of you, bathed in the soft, glow of the moonlight and the warmth of the string lights that draped through the trees surrounding the porch. Bucky stared down into your eyes, and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead as the two of you danced, stepping in time together slowly. He felt you exhale gently into him, felt you relax into his arms, heard you whisper a soft ‘I love you,’ before he spun you out from him in a slow, graceful circle; well, about as graceful as the tequila would allow, but it still felt like absolute magic to him.

The sweet song came to a close and you pulled away from him, a smile working its way from your mouth, to your cheeks, and finally to your eyes, where the corners of your eyes crinkled with mischief and glee. You slowly began to lift the rose-colored tshirt over your head, revealing smooth skin, before pulling him with you towards the hot tub —

*****

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed, snapping out of his reverie. He knew what happened next, he knew how that night had… progressed, and he didn’t particularly care to relive the more intimate moments, now that you were gone. The thought of your previously-shared intimacy and affections, and now, he realized, the thought of you with other people - that would simply be too much for him to bear.

Grabbing the bottle of tequila aggressively, he drank from it again, hoping that the burn of the alcohol would drown out the growing, roiling darkness in his stomach and chest.

It did not work the first time, or the second, or the third. Goddamn his enhanced metabolism.

Finally, on the fourth heavy pull of the bottle, his mind began to wander as the walls began to gradually sway. Steve Rogers couldn’t get drunk — he had gotten the prime version of the super-soldier serum. Bucky Barnes, however, had gotten the knockoff, hacked version; and while it took a great deal more to get him drunk, he was not quite as immune as his best friend had been.

A gentle ping from his phone shifted his attention. There was a text message from Sam, the one person in Bucky’s life who could be called a friend. He asked if Bucky was coming out to the bar tonight with their other coworkers, Torres and Sharon. Bucky had forgotten that he had blindly RSVP’d yes while trying to sort through the morning’s notifications and emails — technology was a bit of a learning curve for him, and while Bucky had picked up on things fairly quickly, he still fell back on his ‘age’ as an excuse for an easy out. Who could really blame the 106 year old man for any sort of technological blunder?

‘You going to be there tonight Barnes?’

He groaned as he tried to focus on the screen, the letters swimming together as he tried to piece together an appropriate response.

‘Not tonight. Sorry.’

‘That’s too bad. You were almost starting to become fun.’

‘Now I definitely can’t go. Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation as a stick in the mud.’

‘In all seriousness though, I hope you’re doing okay.’

He read the last message from Sam and placed his phone on the coffee table, facedown. Sam was perceptive, having picked up on the significant decline in Bucky’s enthusiasm for life in general, and his social participation in the last few weeks; Sam was a… friend, but Bucky was still unfamiliar with how to actively be a friend, given that he had been nothing more than a lethal weapon for the last six or seven decades.

Sam seemed to have some inherent measure of empathy and respect for Bucky, although the two admittedly butted heads quite frequently; and that was likely due to their own complex relationships to Steve Rogers, who had indelibly shaped and guided both of them. Sam and Bucky were all too similar, and all too separate, and yet were tied together by the vibranium frisbee of Steve Rogers.

You had been the one to convince Bucky to make an effort to interact more with his teammates, and he had been surprised to find that he had enjoyed their company, particularly that of Sam — even though they had started out on rough ground. He had been isolated and controlled for so much of his life, so companionship and friendship was a new concept.

You had even introduced him to several of your own friends, ones that you had met through an assortment of rallies and campaigns for social justice and human rights. You had been a fighter all of your life, and it had come as no surprise to Bucky that you had continued to fight even now, even though the world’s problems were so large and you were so small.

Your friends had been surprised by your choice of partner, having heard the whispered stories of the foreign assassin, who wreaked chaos under the name of the Winter Soldier; they had exchanged hushed and quiet queries behind your back, wondering what could possibly compel someone as socially conscious as you to love a legitimate war criminal —

And it had been his most recent actions that had catapulted the two of you into destruction. As the Flag Smashers had emerged, steadily growing in support and power, he had set off to eliminate them — it was the next mission, so of course Bucky went along, without once stopping to think about their perspective, their history, their priorities. Bucky Barnes knew how to follow orders and to fight; he might not know how to be a friend, how to love someone, how to send an attachment in an email, but he knew this.

He remembered how you had railed against him, how you had fought for him to hold some measure of perspective and empathy. He remembered how he had lost himself to his own trauma and grief, how he had lost himself to his own history and had cast you aside, insight and all, as it was simply too conflicting and too painful to acknowledge anything else.

He remembered your last fight all too well.

*****

“They’re just fighting for their right to survive! Their right to exist! We were all forced to figure out how to survive, after half of our goddamn universe was eradicated— you included! You were gone for those five years, Buck, I wasn’t, and I missed you every single day like a knife in my chest. I saw everything that happened after Thanos, the good, bad, the ugly, and everything in-between.” You had screamed, not understanding how Bucky could fault the Flag Smashers for insisting on reasonable treatment, after a five-year indulgence in the idea of equality and equitability. You continued on in your rant.

“After an unspeakable tragedy, people had finally created a world with some measure of decency, and now you expect them to sit back and… and just watch it be stripped away from them? Of course they’re going to fight! Sure, maybe they’re going about it in less than ideal ways, but —“

“Our world survived for centuries without militant super soldiers, doll,” He spit out dismissively. “Look at all the wreckage that Steve and I created in the last century. You really think we need more of… more of those… monsters, out there? Unstoppable, indestructible, and dead-set on a mission? When did that ever do anyone any goddamn bit of good?”

You scoffed, eyes rolling. “When are you going to stop thinking of yourself as a monster, Buck? Will you ever be able to let that go, or are you going to continue to cling to the past, despite the fact that it cuts you open and bleeds you dry?”

Bucky felt the rage boiling inside his chest, rolling off of his shoulders like steam on a locomotive, the destination set for hell and destruction.

“You’re not a weapon anymore, Bucky! But, god, sometimes you act like — you act like you still want to be. You told me once, that your whole life has just been going from one fight to the next, it’s obviously what you’re comfortable with, but you can’t seem to let that go. You just keep going, following orders and fighting in other people’s wars. World War II, Vietnam, the Cold War, the Afghanistan War, the fuckin’ intergalactic war with Thanos — all you know how to do is fight, except you don’t seem to have a goddamn fucking clue about how to fight for me!”

“You don’t have a goddamn clue about how to fight for anything you care about, or, shit, how to even care about anything that’s not a fight or an order. You don’t know how to accept any kind of peace, any kind of —” You voice caught in your throat, the tension nearly eclipsing your voice. “Any kind of love — all I’ve ever done is love you, Bucky. I’ve loved you from the first day I met you. You never had to fight for my love, you always — you always had it — but because it came so easily, maybe — maybe it wasn’t something you could understand, something you could let yourself accept.”

Bucky watched, frozen in place, as you continually swiped away the tears that steadily spilled across your cheeks, overflowing like a river after a rainfall.

You pursed your lips, your whole body trembling with the weight of your heartbreak and disappointment, hot tears rolling down your cheeks and clouding your vision. It was a pain worse than any broken ribs, and although the pain lanced just as physically deep, the emotional pain threatened to shatter you like porcelain, like glass, like all tempered and fragile things.

“You just… you don’t see me as something worth fighting for, for leaving the fighting for. And… and if it’s not a fight, it’s not something you can understand.”

You words trailed off as you turned away from him. You were right, in your assessment that his life had been nothing but a continual progression from one fight to the next; and you had been the only one to offer any sort of respite, but when the opportunity for conflict arose? Well, he was back in his comfort zone.

Bucky Barnes knew how to fight — physically, verbally, psychologically — and you were the unfortunate casualty of his deeply-ingrained fighting instinct. He couldn’t accept kindness, couldn’t accept peace, couldn’t accept any idea that conflicted with his gravitational pull towards a fight.

As the moment spun out of control in front of him, he wanted to tell you that he’d abandon the fight, that he’d leave it to Torres and Sam, or even talk them out of it. He desperately wanted to abandon the fight in favor of your love, in favor of your sense of progressive, peaceful, social salvation — but he hesitated, fear blooming in his gut. Bucky Barnes didn’t know how to be peaceful or kind.

So he watched you gather your things from the apartment, and walk towards the door.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t ask you to stay.

Didn’t ask for you to forgive him.

Didn’t tell you he would take it all back, would change himself for you.

Bucky watched you swipe away the tears that were rolling rapidly and hotly down your cheek, and you stared at him for a moment, hoping that he would do something, anything, to make things okay again. He just watched, paralyzed, as you shook your head with a dark, coughing laugh, and grasped the door handle.

The knob turned slightly, but the door would not unlatch all of the way. This was his chance, he realized, as the door continued to remain stuck. The door wasn’t the only thing stuck, however - the apology caught in the back of his throat, he felt like he was choking on it. You pulled on the door knob, jostling it, once, twice, three times -

And then, the door swung free.

The moment had passed. His chance was gone.

You closed the door gently behind yourself, and your lack of anger, even in this final, definitive gesture, hurt him even more than if you had slammed the door off its hinges. It was a quiet, defeated heartbreak.

***

He slammed the near-empty tequila bottle onto the coffee table, shattering the memory that clouded his mind. He felt the tears rising, rising, and he couldn’t stop them. They spilled down his hollowed cheeks and dripped onto his sweatpants, as he continued to cradle his head in his arms, chest bowed into his knees as the pain carved through him.

He gasped, a sob racking through his chest, shaking him like a leaf.

What am I supposed to do without her? How did I just - let her leave? He asked himself, knowing there was not an answer. Or, that the answer was something even more painful — he didn’t deserve, couldn’t allow himself, the unconditional love that you had shown him. He was a fighter, not a lover, and he had pushed you away when that love had shown itself.

It felt like the whole world was folding in on itself, burying him under the pressure of it all. It felt like someone had punched him in the throat, landing blow after blow, as the pressure continued to build.

He rocked back and forth on the couch, resenting the comfort it brought him. He didn’t want the comfort without you. He didn’t want anything without you.

He pushed himself off of the couch and felt his knees hit the floor. Rubbing his eyes, chest heaving with each shallow breath, he continued to cry, wishing desperately that he could change what he had done, wishing he could take back the harsh words and the way he had pushed you away.

His phone was sitting a few feet away, discarded from his previous conversation with Sam. Was it a few feet away? His depth perception was not, well, fantastic at this point. His arms felt like lead as he tried to pull himself back up, dragging his chest onto the seat of the couch. Pushing himself upwards, he strained with the effort it required.

Maybe the tequila wasn’t his greatest idea.

The room began to spin as he made his way to his feet. Running his hands over his face, he tried to force himself to focus on locating his phone. Picking it up, he felt the cool weight of it in his hands. The device was dwarfed in his large hands; he had a feeling he would struggle to type in this state.

His heart caught in his chest as he began to sort through his phone, trying to find your contact information. Should he call you? Text you?

You should leave her alone, she doesn’t want you. She was disgusted by you. Heartbroken by you.

He remembered the way your words stung and he hesitated. He should put the phone down and go to bed.

However, tequila was not conducive for good decision making, and before he realized what he was doing, he had dialed your number.

The phone began to ring, and it felt like he was about to vomit his own heart out of his chest as he listened to the trilling dial tone of the phone. He felt the panic spreading from his chest, into his head, ears, shoulders, arms, felt his heartbeat racing wildly. He could hear and feel each and every heartbeat in his eardrums as the phone continued to ring.

What would he say, even if you did answer?

What if you didn’t answer?

He didn’t have to wonder for long; phones don’t ring forever.

“Bucky?” Your voice answered, softly.

He felt his chest cave in. He couldn’t manage to find a single word, couldn’t manage to choke one out. He just cried softly into the receiver of the phone. You didn’t speak again, and the silence coming across the line was somehow both painful and comforting. You were here with him, in some form, in some measure.

He inhaled shakily and tried to focus, his hands shaking as he gripped the phone tightly enough to break it. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Sorry. So sorry.” He began crying harder as the words slipped out of his mouth, the words that he had wanted to say for weeks.

Silence carried across the line for a moment. “I know,” you whispered. “I know. I am too.”

“Sweetheart,” his voice cracked, before he said your name aloud, for the first time in weeks. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He paused for a moment, an idea slowly forming in his mind. Another impulse.

“Bucky, I know, but I can’t —“

“I know,” he inhaled. “You can’t. But...” he trailed off. “I don’t want to be a weapon anymore.” He gripped the phone tighter. “I need you to hear me, doll.”

You stayed silent.

“I’ll, fuck — I’ll fuckin’ dissolve the whole thing. My whole government contract, I’ll put an end to it, put an end to all of the fighting, I jus’ wanna be with you, doll. You’re the — the sweetest thing in my life, and I miss you, feels like a fuckin’ hole in my chest… Just... please, doll. Please, doll, come over. The last thing I want to fight for in my life is you, ‘cause you’re the only thing in this godforsaken universe that means anything to me.” He paused, hearing the continued silence across the line.

“Come back to me. Come home to me. Please, sweetheart. I need you.” His hollowed cheeks were drenched with tears, hanging his every ounce of hope on your words.

“Bucky…”

He started to cry again, silently, resting his head on his knees. “I know it’s too little, too late. But we can start over, together. Please, sweets, show me how to do this right. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”

You were silent again, and Bucky began to wipe away his tears, steeling himself for the inevitable goodbye.

Static, on the line.

Here it was. His stomach sank.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, Bucky. I’ll be home soon.”