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bonitanightmxres · 2 years

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while we lasted || b. bradshaw

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x mitchell!fem!reader

warnings: angst, angry/mean rooster, established relationship, language, slight sexual advances but nothing happens

synopsis: when maverick decides to pull bradley’s papers from the naval academy, you’re left with a hard-to-keep-secret & a rocky relationship with the bradshaw boy.

length: 2.4k words

a/n: i used to post a lot on wattpad, but haven’t posted anything in a while so bear with me ;)

part 2| part 3

“You can’t tell him, sweetheart,” Your dad pleaded with you. For the past week, something had been eating away at him—you knew him well enough to know that, but Maverick wouldn’t let up. He wouldn’t tell you what bothered him, not if he could help it.

Until today.

Maverick had finally broken, the guilt of keeping the secret to himself proving too much to bear on his own. But god, did you wish he’d done so. Part of you was angry with him for asking you to keep such a thing from your boyfriend. You didn’t even think you were capable of keeping it from him that your own dad was the reason his career would be set back.

“Why, dad? How do you expect me to keep it from him? It’s only a matter of time before he finds out!” You protested, heart aching at the fact you’d have to choose—spilling the secret to Bradley and betraying your dad, or keeping it to yourself. Either way, you saw it ending badly for you.

Maverick sighed, “I made a promise to Carole, that I’d do everything in my power to keep him from flying. She couldn’t take it if something happened to him, not after what happened to—” Maverick’s voice trailed off, and took a deep breath.

Your eyes softened at your dad after his confession, knowing how much Goose and Carole meant to him. You were too young to remember Goose, but with the way that Carole and Maverick kept his memory alive as both you and Bradley grew up, it was like he was always there. “Why don’t you just tell him that? It was one of her last wishes, I’m sure he’d understand.”

“It wouldn’t have been enough to keep him on the ground. I don’t want him to be mad at her about it, either,” Maverick grabbed both of your hands, and looked at you pleadingly in your eyes. “I’m prepared for him to hate me when he finds out. All I’m asking is for a little more time before that happens.”

You nodded, agreeing to keep the secret for as long as you could, earning Maverick’s gratitude. Though you felt guilty about it, you thought that it was probably for the better if Bradley’s papers were pulled. Maybe it’d give him more time to discover a new path in life that didn’t involve being a pilot. The thought of being with Bradley and leading a normal life outside of the navy made you happy. It lessened the guilt whenever you thought about it, but you would soon find out that the guilt would never really go away.

three weeks later…

The slam of the front door rattled the picture frames on the walls of the apartment you shared with Bradley. It made you jump from your place in the kitchen as you’d just finished making dinner. Approaching the front door, you’re met with a clearly angry Bradley. His cheeks are flushed red, eyebrows narrowed, and worst of all— he’s silent.

“Hey, honey,” you called out, wiping your hands on a rag. “Everything okay?”

“Maverick.” He spat, the venom all but oozed from his voice.

You chuckled lightly. “What’d my dad do now? Make you do some extra push ups?” Maverick had a way of toying with Bradley by making him do trivial things like extra push ups or running an extra mile during training. You often had to hear it from Bradley after the fact, but you held no issue with him complaining about it-- even if Maverick was your dad. But this, this was different, you’d never seen his eyes so dark with anger.

“This isn’t funny, okay? He—” Bradley couldn’t even form the sentence, anger consumed him too much. You approached him closer, gently rubbing his arm in attempt to calm him down. “He pulled my goddamn papers from the academy.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, your heart dropped to your stomach. You couldn’t help but feel responsible for his suffering, but it wasn’t like it was your fault, though, right? “I don’t know what to say, Bradley. I’m sorry.” You tell him, but he shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair.

“He’s always messing with me, always making shit harder for me than it needs to be. I hate him for this. I fucking hate him.”

“Hey,” you started. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m a believer in that everything happens for a reason. Maybe you’re destined to go down another path. I know how my dad is, I’m sure whatever he did, he did for a good reason.” You suggest, trying to find the light.

“Seriously? How can you say that?” Bradley shook off your touch, narrowing his gaze at you like you’d just said something totally and utterly offensive. “This is my career. He had no goddamn right!” His voice grows louder and louder with every word he speaks.

You were silent, but Bradley’s anger radiated off his body in waves that made you uneasy. Suddenly your chipped nail polish seemed like the most interesting thing in the world. Fiddling with your fingertips, you were frozen in place, unsure of whether to speak and move or stay like that forever. Part of you hoped he would just go to the bedroom or take a shower and cool off, at least then you wouldn’t have to deal with his anger.

“Did you know?” Bradley asks in a deep voice, staring deeply in your eyes.

You wished to god he’d asked anything but that. Lying would’ve been easy, but that wasn’t who you were. Guilt would just eat you up from the inside out, just like it had done to Maverick. “Yes.” You finally admit, and it feels like for a moment, a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders.

Bradley scoffs, pushing past you down the hallway. He spins on his heels, pointing a finger at you, “How could you? No, seriously, how could you?”

“I-I thought—”

“You thought what? Huh? That if you ruined my career we’d live happily ever after? Like we have the perfect life?”

“‘Like’ we have the perfect life?” Your voice was quiet, shaking from the hurt in his words. They struck you right in the heart and knocked the breath from right out of your chest. You could already feel the tears gather in your eyes, but you fought to keep them there. Keeping a level head became harder, and all you wanted to do was yell back at him.

Bradley ignored you, leaving you in the hall as he entered the bedroom. “I bet you’re the one who told him to do it!” He shouted, slamming the door behind him.

Part of you wanted to follow him into the room, but you decided against it, knowing your presence would just anger him even more. So you stood there alone, not realizing that tears had been flowing steadily down your face the whole time. You put away the dinner you’d made in the fridge, your appetite disappearing. Instead, that guilty feeling you’d had when Maverick first asked you to keep the secret came back and it made you feel absolutely nauseous. Of course, you hadn’t purposely meant to make Bradley feel betrayed, and you hoped he’d forgive you for it soon. Despite the argument, you’d left some food out on a plate, in the event that Bradley came out of the room.

He didn’t.

Needless to say, you spent the evening alone. It neared midnight, and the rattle of the bedroom door caught your attention. You sat up, heart racing, and totally prepared for the screaming match that was probably going to occur. Instead, Bradley left. Plain and simple. Without a word or a good-bye, he slammed the door as he walked out.

Peeking out the window, the headlights blinded you as the car pulled out of the parking space and disappeared into the night. Turning off the TV, you curled up into a ball on the couch and cried. You cried until you had none left, and until you couldn’t breathe. Eventually, you’d fallen asleep, with the hopes that when you woke up, it would all be just a horrible dream.

It had taken him nine days to speak to you, let alone be in the same room with you or share a meal. For a week straight, he’d let you sleep in the bed and took the couch. After that, you guessed his back couldn't take it anymore and you were back to sharing a bed again. But he slept as far on his side as he could, and often woke up before you, that he might as well have not been there at all. Then, weeks went by and nothing really changed.

“The weather’s getting pretty warm,” you stated, twirling the pasta around your fork. “I burned myself with the seatbelt when I got in the car today.”

Bradley nodded and stated the obvious, “It is summer now.”

“Well, in that case, do you wanna have a bonfire down at the beach tomorrow night? We haven’t done that in a while.”

He shrugged, “I’ll be pretty busy tomorrow. Not sure when I’ll be back.”

“Oh.” Your heart sank at his rejection. “We’ll save it for another time then.”

He nodded, getting up from his seat and thanking you for the meal before he retreated to the living room. You hurried to clean up the kitchen, hoping to join him on the couch before he changed his mind and went to the bedroom instead.

Much to your surprise, he didn’t move when you sat particularly close to him. You took it as an opportunity to scoot even closer, practically pressing your body against his. He didn’t seem to notice, but he also didn’t brush you off. You stared at him for a moment, taking in his beauty as his eyes were glued to the TV. Summer sure had a way of making his skin beautifully tanned, and creating golden streaks in the brown of his hair. Just because you were in a bit rough spot with him didn't mean you loved him any less. It also didn’t mean that he stopped turning you on either. Bringing your feet up on the couch, you leaned closer and kissed the part of his arm that was exposed from his Hawaiian shirt. He still wasn’t paying attention, so you trailed higher, kissing his clothed shoulder. It clearly wasn’t enough, so you went all in. You sat on the couch on your knees, slowly moving his sleeve and tank-top strap to the side, revealing his skin and pressing your lips against him. As you’re in the middle of trying to mark the skin near his collarbone, he stops you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, standing up and furrowing his brows.

You’re left on the couch, looking up at him. “Wha-what do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious I’m not in the mood?” He fires back, crossing his arms.

“I-okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cross a boundary. Bradley, I-”

“You what?”

“I just-You let me sit with you, so I thought we were over it, a-and I took a chance, I-”

He scoffed, “Over it? I tolerate being in the same space as you and that makes you think what you did is okay? That I just forgot about it and we’ll fuck and everything will be like how it was?”

That was your final straw.

“Okay, you know what? Screw this.” your voice quavered as the tears fell freely down your face. You jumped up from your seat, rushing to your bedroom and slamming the door shut. Hauling an old suitcase from the closet, you tossed it open on the bed, filling it with all your clothes. You were in the middle of bringing your things from the bathroom when Bradley barged in.

“What are you doing?” He demands.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You mock him from earlier, angrily pushing past him and grabbing more of your belongings. “I’m trying so fucking hard to make things right with you, Bradley, but nothing seems to be working. I’m sorry I kept it from you. I’m trying to make it up to you, but you’re being so stubborn.”

“I think it’s gonna take a little bit more than dinner and a bonfire to make up for what you did,” he crossed his arms. “Don’t you get that?”

You sighed, zipping up the suitcase and rolling it out into the living room, Bradley following behind you. Fishing for your keys on the counter, you grabbed your purse and turned to him with teary-eyes “I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“What, so that's it? This is how it ends?” He asked, eyeing your luggage.

“I made a mistake, and I know how much it hurt you,” you said. “I love you, Bradley, but lately I’ve been questioning if you even still love me.” He stood silently in front of you, and he became hard to read with his hardened expression. “So, I’m leaving for a while. Maybe some time apart will do us some good and we’ll find our way back to each other.”

“And if we don’t?”

You took a moment to respond, not really sure what to say. Part of you wanted to be sure and say you would always find your way back together, but you didn’t even know if it was true. “Then it was fun while we lasted.”

With those words, you rolled the suitcase out of the house, tossing it into the backseat of your car. You didn’t dare look back at Bradley who was still standing in the doorframe, afraid that you’d break down and cry before making it down the street. As you drove, you thought about how one secret basically destroyed a relationship you’d built for years. You’d kept the truth to yourself in order to spare Bradley resentment toward Carole, and in the end, he’d ended up hating you for it. Later, you decided, that it was okay; you’d do it all over again.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster x reader #bradley rooster x reader #whumptober #rooster angst #angst #x reader #reader insert #top gun #pete maverick mitchell #maverick #fanfic #angsty #im sorry for hurting anyone with this #i didn't proofread lol

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scotianostra · 8 months

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On January 31st 1918 the ‘Battle of the Isle of May’ happened.

I dislike the titlw"Battle" in this piece of war time history, to me it belittles the fact that it was one big fuck up, and the fact it cost the lives of 105 servicemen also makes me feel uncomfortable as it was by no stretch of the imagination a battle.

During a war that was not short of calamities this one ranks up there with the worst, it was one calamity after another, at 18:30 a secret navy exercise known as EC1 involving the 13th Submarine Division (known a K-boats) and a number of Destroyers, Battleships and Light Cruisers had sailed from Rosyth.

The boats and submarines had sailed with only dim stern lights and in radio silence due to the sighting of a German submarine in the Forth earlier that day. They were not helped by misty conditions whilst travelling under the cover of darkness. An unlucky mishap with the helm of submarine K-14 had resulted in a collision with K-22. However worse was to follow…

The huge battlecruiser HMS Australia narrowly missed the stricken K-boats and disaster had been averted. But not for long. Communication eventually reached the lead Light Cruiser HMS Ithuriel about the original collision and the captain of the ship decided to turn around and head back to the two K-boats which had struck each other. Alongside the Light cruiser, the other K-boats also followed her back but communication was poor and unfortunately the boats and submarines further back, lead by HMS Fearless were unaware of the accident ahead and ran straight into their sister flotilla.

Over the following minutes, disaster struck again as HMS Fearless rammed K-17, and the submarine sank with the loss of all life in a matter of minutes. Submarines K-6 hit K-4, and nearly cut her in half, K-7 fast approaching spotting K-6, she just managed to avoid her, but was totally unaware of K-4 lying across her path, and a further collision ensued. The second hit proved fatal for K-4, and she sank. Only nine men were pulled from the water, and one of these died before he could receive medical treatment.

Total deaths were 105, 2 subs were sunk 4 more damaged and the Scout cruiser HMS Fearless damaged.

Despite it being remembered (black humour) as the ‘Battle of the Isle of May’, there were actually no enemy warships involved and only a combination of bad luck and human error resulted in such a great loss of life. The terrible events of that night took place just 1.5 miles off the north end of the Isle of May.

Of course the accident was kept secret during the war, and a memorial cairn was finally erected 84 years later, on 31st January 2002 at Anstruther harbour opposite the Isle of May.

#scotland #scottish #naval accidents #maritime disaster #world war one #history

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pollyna · 2 years

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Why Iceman and Maverick are the worst kept secret of the Navy:

*Mav passes a pen to Iceman*: *they look each other in the eyes for 0.3 seconds*

Hollywood *from the other part of the class not whispering at all*: oh no Wolf do something they're going start making out again!!!!!

Slider *finds them kissing in their room* *screaming to Merlin on the other end of the hall full of sailors*: fouND THEM. THEY WERE ALMOST FUCKING. SUNNY OWNS ME FIFTY BUCKS.

Goose *blocking the use of the bathroom to everybody and the Admirals at the O-bar*: sorry folks, our estimated pilots are settling a score 😏

Ice *coming out of the bathroom and looking suspiciously happy*: why everybody is start at us?

Mav: I don't know. Wanna go home?

Ice *looking softly at him*: yeah, yeah, let's go home

Everybody else and the Admirals: 😳

#they were in fact the worst kept secret of the navy #they buddies didn't help much tho lol #icemav #ron slider kerner #leonard wolfman wolfe #rick hollywood neven #marcus sundown williams #sam merlin wells #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #incorrect top gun quotes

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typingtess · 3 years

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NCIS: Los Angeles Season 12 – Recap

Everything this season is marked on a curve because getting 18-episodes on the air was a massive accomplishment all by itself. The crew and the cast kept each other safe, even the guest stars said it was the most COVID-smart set they worked during the pandemic.

The team stayed largely in California. There were trips to Bakersfield, San Diego, Oxnard, Butte County, Agua Dolce and the desert just outside of LA. Outside of California there were trips to Winona, AZ; Glynco, GA (home of FLETC) and wherever the hell Hetty was stationed (not including Linda Hunt’s driveway).

Kirkin died protecting Deeks and left Deeks his Russian crime syndicate. Joelle’s leg was amputated after a battle with Katya went Katya’s way. Sam was shot in the arm but it only stung a little.

Fatima joined officially full-time, as did newly minted NCIS Special Agent Devin Roundtree. Speaking of newly minted, Martin Atticus Deeks joined NCIS after losing the LAPD Liaison gig to changes at the department. Eric Beale is out of NCIS but is built software for the DoD so he’s around even when he’s not. Nell was given an ultimatum about taking Hetty’s job at NCIS or leaving.. Nell took off with Eric for an exciting future instead.

Evergreen mention is to be on the lookout for both Executive Assistant Director Shae Mosley and Deputy Director Louis Ochoa both who went home at one point during season 10 and never returned.

As for family, Nell lost her Mom. An older and confident Kam Hanna returned while Aiden is becoming a fighter pilot. Callen wanted to marry Anna who was more of a spy than anyone ever knew. Kensi and Deeks struggled with getting pregnant.

The team worked with the SEALs, JAG, Justice Department, Secret Service, FBI: Racist Division, DEA, Federal Bureau of Prisons, CIA and FinCEN.

There were return appearances from Senior Chief Wallace, Police Officer Harrison, Katherine Casillas, Arkady and Anna Kolchek, Nicole DeChamps, Sabatino and some screen time for Agent Castor. Lance Hamilton got a mention as did Bertie who is Zooming with Arkady.

Kensi and Deeks bought a house and are selling the bar. Deeks lost his liaison position and the show spun itself into circles trying to make this look like a decade plus LAPD detective would be laid off because of this. I think the LAPD Union would have something to say about that. Deeks was sent to FLETC and is now an Investigator for NCIS. It strikes me that the investigator is probably a more local position – you wouldn’t have an Investigator full time on a Navy vessel and other NCIS offices would have their own Investigators. Deeks stays in LA.

Eric reimagined (I do work in corporate America, it is one of their favorite words) Kaleidoscope and made a mint. He bought hotels to help the homeless before he builds them real homes. He also bought a Lamborghini and drove off in the sunset with Nell.

Hetty returned up to her ass in alligators. Did anyone expect anything different? Admiral Kilbride and more importantly Gerald McRaney will be a joy for the writers of the show. Like Deeks (and who saw this comparison coming), Kilbride is not capable of keeping his thoughts to himself. Unlike Deeks, he’s cranky all the time.

Open storylines included Katya, the status of Callen and Anna, the college choice/future of Kam, Kensi and Deeks adopting, Kensi and her serial killer stalker, Deeks and his crime family, where the hell was Hetty. The Admiral mentioned an adult son he is no longer in contact with – I would imagine that is something going forward. Not going forward – any family history of Eric Beale, what happened to Nell’s sister.

Three best episodes: “The Tale of Two Igors” “Signs of Change” “Imposter Syndrome”

Three worst episodes: “Raising the Dead” by a lot. In fact, it is all three.

Most frustrating episode: “Through the Looking Glass” – 80% awesome, 20% of telling not showing (cardinal sin of a TV show).

Here’s hoping season 13 is the old normal. The new normal in most things is growing tiresome and while the safety of the cast and crew is paramount, it would be nice to have the whole team in an inside location from time to time.

#NCIS: Los Angeles Rewatch #NCIS: Los Angeles #NCIS: LA #NCIS Los Angeles #ncis la

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heyhihellowhatsup0 · 4 years

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Tangled Webs - Chapter Seven (Dark! Peter Parker x Reader)

Dark Webs Masterlist | Tangled Webs Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, language, Topics of death and depression, PTSD, more angst, violence, a bit more fluff and smut than the last series (but not in this chapter)? Somewhat ignoring the MCU timeline due to mature content

Word Count: 4825

Summary: After doing your best to walk on eggshells around Peter, you finally reach the boiling point as you and him face (most) of your drama head on…

A/N: It’s been a hot minute but I’m back with an update. Hope ya’ll didn’t forget about this series like I did lmao. I hope you like this chapter and give me some sweet words because I missed it so much! DM me to be tagged and I hope you guys like it!! Please like and share if you can! (Also I found this .gif on google, so if you made it, or know who did, let me know and I will credit!) Thank you xx -N

You barely slept the last few days as you trapped yourself in your apartment in Stark Tower since the incident. You were sick, with no possible form of treatment and to boot, you almost were found out by Peter about what you were doing. Two things you weren’t sure how to deal with just yet. But you knew one thing for sure, you couldn’t take much more of these secrets.

Not being able to see Peter or talk to him was killing you. And with you and him broken up, it only made it harder. You were always independent, especially when Peter and you stopped being friends. You made your own money, solved your own problems, you even saved Peter a handful of times. So it wasn’t so much that you were one of those girls who needed Peter to constantly save you; but you were a team. And everything you did together made the both of you even stronger. That was one of the reasons why Peter and you worked so well.

But with Peter gone, and you struggling with your own issues; you could feel yourself getting weaker and weaker. The lethal combination with Octavious and your disorder mixed along with probably the worst of it all; you were missing Peter and heartbroken over him being gone. And the worst part was that you didn’t even blame him for pulling away. You definitely deserved it after hiding everything from him. You just wished that even if you did tell him the truth, that it would be enough.

But how could it be enough?

Pushing yourself out of bed, you used whatever strength you could muster up so early in the morning. You needed to conserve that and your energy for when Octavious called on you these days, which would only make you even weaker in the process. You would laugh at the irony, but you were too tired to.

You didn’t want to think about your death but given recent events; it popped up in your mind pretty frequently these days. You didn’t want to think so morbidly and always tried to remain positive but how could you not when your body was literally at war and the venom that saved your life was also potentially killing you? Death was inevitable for you now, and you were looking at it right in its eye.

Of course, Peter was always one of your first concerns. You saw how when you started spiraling out of control affected him; how upset he would be, or how Peter would blame himself for his actions. It killed you to think what he would say or do when you weren’t there to keep him grounded and remind him that there was nothing he could have done. That it wasn’t his fault and he shouldn’t blame or punish himself; and that finding somebody responsible was a waste of time.

You wanted to tell Peter to prepare him, to get the grieving out of the way if he could and enjoy whatever time you had left with Peter. But now, you weren’t even sure if you and Peter were going to make amends, and that scared you more. Would he even care about your health now? As much as you wanted him to, you knew Peter should focus on himself anyway. So you couldn’t help but think that maybe if he didn’t know, it would be best for everyone.

Snapping yourself out of your dark thoughts for a moment, you heard your coffeemaker go off. Grabbing your mug and bringing it to your lips, you stopped as you felt something run through your body as you stared at the front door. Somebody was coming to the door. Morgan had school and no way was Agent Kent knocking on your door after you made him look like an idiot in front of half of S.H.I.E.L.D.

You hurried to the door, hearing the door handle begin to jiggle and opened it. Your eyes widened as you looked at Peter standing in the doorway wearing a navy blue hoodie and jeans. His soft brown curls tousled and all over the place as his tired and now bloodshot eyes were staring back you bewilderedly.

“Hi,” you spoke out in a tired voice. Clearing your throat as you opened the door. The first time you actually saw Peter. The last time you saw him was at the ATM, unbeknownst to Peter that you were the one who knocked him into the window, leaving him to explain that to S.H.I.E.LD and Kent how he still hadn’t caught you. Again.

“I...uh...how did you know I was here? I didn’t knock?” Peter questioned as he looked at you. He knew exactly how long it had been since he saw you last. Nine days and eleven hours, Peter was counting his days a lot lately. It had been nine days and eleven hours, but it felt like it had been years dragged out of him. And now, he didn’t know what to say.

You looked different to him for some reason, and he couldn’t figure out why. He used to love seeing you in the morning with a fresh face as you made coffee wearing one of his old school hoodies. But this morning, you looked like a different person to him. Tired, pale, almost like you were getting sick.

Letting Peter in, you cleared your throat again, “I heard footsteps,” you answered to try and tip toe around the subject. You looked at the coffee on the counter as you ran your fingers nervously through your hair, “Coffee?” you offered him, not sure what to say to him. You never thought you’d see the day where you and Peter had nothing to say to one another.

Peter shook his head, “No, thank you. I just came to pick up some things,” he admitted, pressing his lips into a line as he showed you the duffel bag in his hand. Was he really about to pack his belongings and move out? Granted, it was just a few floors up; but how long was he planning on staying up there? Another week? A month? Forever? He didn’t like any of those options at all. But he knew he had to do it for now to protect you and most importantly; to protect you from finding out that Peter started drinking again. He knew if you found out, it would only trigger you more. And it was just the two times, he was hoping he could get himself to a meeting before anybody else found out.

He headed into the bedroom towards the closet, placing his bag on the chair nearby and unzipping it. He wasn’t really even looking at what he was taking, just grabbing whatever he could and began stuffing it into his bag. It felt like he was almost saying goodbye, and it wasn’t what he wanted to do at all.

Peter had been dreading coming here for days but he needed fresh clothes and truth be told, he wanted to check in on you. He had missed you these last few days and you always calmed him down no matter what you were going through. But he was worried about you too. And as much as he wanted to be there for you while you dealt with your demons, he also knew his demons were at bay and he couldn’t be around so much chaos right now. For his own sake.

“So...” you started to say a bit awkwardly, leaning up against the door frame as you stared downward towards the ends of your hair, “I think I may have a name for the guy you put away from the ATM. I was going to try and research a bit today,” you offered him what little intel you had. Especially since you couldn’t say much without mentioning Dr. Octavious, that would only connect Quentin Beck to you and you knew Peter would get killed if he knew too much.

Licking his lips as he jammed some sweatshirts into his bag, Peter nodded slowly, “Just be careful, okay?” he finally said as he kept his eyes on his bags, almost as if he was afraid to look at you otherwise he didn’t know what he would do. If he did, he’d probably stay longer, “Can’t trust many people right now,” he said a bit lower.

Yeah, like me, you thought to yourself, swallowing thickly. All you could do was nod your head as you tucked your hair behind your hair nervously. You couldn’t do this anymore. The hiding and lying. You were building so much inside of you and it was only making you feel worse, mentally and physically. You couldn’t afford to lose Peter, not now.

Moving a bit closer to him, you placed your hand on his shoulder to get his attention, “P-Peter, I-I have to tell you something,” you stammered, feeling your voice grow weaker as you felt the lump grow swollen in your throat. You were terrified of this moment, and you were more afraid because Octavious was listening in, as always. And if he was, then you didn’t have much time at all to tell him.

Peter’s brow furrowed as he turned his head to face you. He saw the distraught expression on your face and knew something was wrong. He knew you were hiding something from him and it was literally tearing the both of you apart, “Okay, what’s going on?” he asked you as calmly and rationally as he could.

You sucked in a sharp breath as tears began to prick your eyes. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you felt like your legs were about to collapse at any moment. Your bottom lip quivered the more you stared into Peter’s big eyes, trying to find your voice in the silence that was deafening between you both.

“I really fucked up. I…” you trailed off as you began to cry, the tears streaming down your cheeks more now, “I was so stupid and now it’s worse. So much worse, Peter,” you told him through your sobs.

“What? What’s worse, Y/N?” Peter asked as he raised his eyebrow. He was afraid of what you were hiding, but he hated the fact that you were hiding it more than anything. Whatever it was, it was big enough for you to decide that it would freak Peter out; and that bothered him the most. That you thought he couldn’t handle whatever it was you were going through.

You sniffled as you stared down at the floor, unable to even look at Peter right now as you tried to relax your breath, “Last summer...when I…” you could barely get a word out between your sobs, “At the game,” you finally got out.

“The game?” Peter questioned, his eyebrow quirking up as you looked at you suspiciously, “The Yankee game? With the elemental?” he asked for clarification.

Shaking your head frantically, you grabbed Peter’s arms to pull him closer, “That’s just it, Peter. It wasn’t an elemental! Don’t you find it strange you didn’t find anything that night? You came home empty handed,” you explained, your voice becoming more and more hysterical.

“Y/N, what are you saying?” Peter asked again, trying to figure out what it was you were trying to tell him. You had so many secrets these days, Peter knew that. And he couldn’t tell if this was a secret, or was it a bender? “Do you know what was responsible for it?” he tried again, trying his best to keep his tone level. He hated seeing you so upset and he didn’t want to make you any more upset than you clearly already were.

You nodded your head, “Okay, I know I sound absolutely crazy right now but I-”

You felt a pull on your throat, making you gasp. It felt as if your breath was taken away, like somebody just punched you right in your windpipe, preventing you from speaking. Wheezing out your breath, you saw Peter’s face waiting for you to answer. But you couldn’t utter a word.

Octavious, you thought to yourself.

He was listening in now, and controlling you. Preventing you from telling Peter the truth about what was wrong with you. Octavious wanted Peter dead and risking this conversation was enough, but you really needed to tell Peter what was going on. In hopes that maybe it wasn’t too late, for you or him; and some of these horrific events could be prevented.

And once again, you were frozen now. Blocked from telling Peter the truth and unable to help him find Octavious and get to him before he got to Peter. Or before you got to Peter. You were capable of so much these days, it frightened you to no end. And without Peter helping you control it, you were damned.

“What do you know?” Peter asked again, getting a little bit closer. He tried taking a whiff of your breath, but he couldn’t smell anything. His senses weren’t triggered, but he knew what a bender looked like. He’d hit bottom before. Granted his bottom looked a lot worse, he could still sense it from a mile away.

You tried to open your mouth but nothing came out. Tell him about the venom, you shouted at yourself. Tell him about Octavious, and the robberies. Tell him it was killing you and destroying you from the inside out. Tell Peter you needed his help.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you shook your head at him as you tried to speak; but nothing came out once more. You hated this. You were so close to being free just to be silenced once again. You didn’t know how much more of this you could take. It was becoming more and more obvious how much you needed Peter’s help, and he couldn’t give you anything if you were being controlled by Ock.

“I will have you rip out his throat if you so much as whimper in his direction right now, Y/N,” Octavious’ voice threatened you inside of your head, and you felt your stomach beginning to churn once more. You always tried to fight back, but in this moment, you were truly terrified of something happening to Peter. So you didn’t.

Looking down at the floor, you focused on Peter’s sneakers as you shook your head at him. Biting your lip to restrain yourself from saying anything further so Peter wouldn’t get hurt. You could tell he was disappointed in you, and you couldn’t blame him for it.

Peter sighed, running a hand over his face as he licked his lips, “Y/N, I know you’re going through a bad time right now. I’ve been there, and it kills me seeing you going down this path that I never wanted you to go down,” he had to stop himself for a minute, saying it out loud to you hurt him even more. He hated that this was the reality of your relationship, “I am so worried about you, I am. And you know I want to be there for you, and I’m trying to be. But you have to tell me what you need first,” his voice became rugged and raspy the longer he spoke, knowing he couldn’t say much else at that point.

He leaned forward, bringing his lips to the top of your head before he reached down and grabbed his bag on the floor. Taking a few steps towards the door before he looked at you one last time standing in the doorway, still staring down at the floor holding back your tears. And Peter was trying to do the same.

“I’ll be training all day and then I’m crashing with Kent if you need me for anything,” he finally told you, seeing you nod your head slightly before he turned and walked out of the front door.

The door shut behind Peter, and you collapsed to the floor. Sobbing to yourself as you grabbed a hold of the necklace Peter had given you, clutching onto the spiderweb pendant for dear life. You always told Peter everything. And now you didn’t even know who this person was anymore.

“We’re striking big tonight, Y/N,” Octavious’ voice ran through your mind as you tightened your grip on your necklace, “Rest up for it…”

--------

No matter what Peter did, he couldn’t shake the look you had on your face as he geared himself for his night. The look of pure terror on your face replayed over and over again in his mind as he got his suit on. His speech still fresh on his tongue while he pulled his mask over his head; wishing maybe he hadn’t been so harsh. The sound of your cries he overhead from the other side of the door when he left repeated while Peter initiated KAREN. He wished he hadn’t heard it, it nearly made him crumble, but he did.

Peter was in no condition to go out tonight. He had a lot on his mind with you, and the robberies, and how so many people were depending on him and he couldn’t deliver what they needed. And with the pressure coming from Agent Kent, Peter was really beginning to feel all the weight on his shoulders. And it was taking everything in him not to take another drink.

“I’ve got a good feeling we’ll get her tonight,” Kent said enthusiastically as he entered the room. He took a seat behind a computer chair as he gave Peter an all knowing smile, “She seems to be favoring the downtown area, and so far the museums are the only places she hasn’t hit yet. The Air and Space Museum is the only one that would have tech she may be after.”

“What makes you think she’s after tech? So far she’s only stolen money from bodegas or ATMs,” Peter gave Kent a puzzled face, did he know something that Peter didn’t? And if so, why wasn’t Kent giving him this information that was important?

Kent shrugged his shoulders as he adjusted his glasses on his face while focusing on the computer screen, “They’re always after more than just money, Peter. You of all people should know that,” he reminded Peter as he continued to pull some maps up on the screen.

“If you say so,” Peter said as he adjusted his web mode, making sure everything was working properly. You were usually the one who made sure his suit was updated, fixing Dark Web mode, and even making sure KAREN was properly synched up. There was always something calming about having you by his side before he went out as Spider-Man; even if it was just a basic patrol. You always calmed him down and made him feel like he was doing the right thing. Now, he was beginning to doubt all of that lately.

Peter’s eyes flickered to the counter top, focusing in on the bottle of Jack Daniels that was left behind from the other night. When he was planning on dumping the remaining liquid down the drain this morning before he went to see you. But now, he wasn’t so sure. He needed something to numb the pain, at least for the moment.

Without Kent noticing, Peter took a few swigs of the whiskey as he felt the warmth slide down his throat. It felt so wrong, and he knew it. And now, he felt absolutely disgusted with himself. Months of hard work and strength just flushed down the drain for a few sips to only make him feel more miserable for it. And now he had to find this robber half sober, half buzzed.

Peter went over to the window, staring down at all of the city lights as the lump in his throat grew bigger. The city suddenly looked smaller to him, as his eyes grew bigger through the mask. Your face coming back to his mind as he tried to shake it off once more, but he was beginning to find it nearly impossible.

“Don’t be afraid to use your advanced modes on her, Pete,” Kent said from the computer before he swung away, “That’s why you have them, to get rid of people like her,” he narrowed his eyes on Peter knowingly.

So, Kent wanted Peter to kill this masked woman, essentially. Although Peter wasn’t exactly new to that idea, he had his history of killing and it got him here. He knew there were other ways to get justice, even if it took longer. But Kent was messing with his mind, and he was beginning to think he may not have any other option.

Nodding his head, Peter aimed his web shooter for the nearby lamppost down below as he swung out of Stark Tower. The moment he left, he couldn’t help but feel a little relieved to get out of there. Even if it was to keep vigil.

Peter swung his way in no time to the museum. Everything seemed quiet in the city streets, making him feel a bit more at ease. He scanned the entrance, noticing no security to be found; which was oddly peculiar for a museum. Lights were on throughout the exhibits, and as Peter glanced up towards the camera, he noticed they were destroyed.

“Someone is here,” Peter said into his microphone, knowing Kent was listening in. He moved in towards the nearby exhibit for space missile technology, “Karen, activate Dark Web mode,” he whispered slowly as he felt the black webbing beginning to coat his suit before he went into the illuminated room to investigate. It was a little dramatic to go dark to see, but based on how strong this new rival was, Peter wasn’t about to take any chances with them.

Peter tiptoed his way towards the doorway, knowing he was invisible, but he still needed to proceed with caution. He peered into the doorway, frozen in the moment as he watched meticulously. Unbeknownst to his new friend that he was watching her every move. Making sure this time he would be ready to take her down.

The alcohol was swirling around Peter’s brain as he continued to concentrate. He hadn’t drank in so long, those few swigs that he had already affected him.

“Don’t overthink this, Peter,” Kent’s voice came through, “Remember what I told you, don’t be afraid to fully attack with this one.”

Peter had no idea why Agent Kent was so adamant about him being so cut throat. He knew the rules, and if Peter had to get more aggressive, he would. But right now, there was no reason to go the extreme. Especially since he knew how he felt towards getting his hand bloody. It led him down dark paths that he knew he didn’t want to go down again.

Feeling a bit dizzy, Peter pulled himself together as he took a few more steps forward. Watching her try and disconnect what seemed to be a missile on display from the exhibit area. What the hell was she trying to do with a missile, Peter thought to himself.

He got his web shooter ready, prepared to stun her for a moment with his taser web. Before he could aim in her direction, he felt a force punch him directly in his chest. His back hitting the wall with a thud as he whimpered. Opening his eyes as he saw her turning her head back to the missile, moving her hands even faster.

How did she even know he was there? There was no way she would have been able to even hear him unless…

...Unless if she had a spider sense too.

“Alright, that does it,” Peter huffed out as he picked himself up. He kept the Dark Web mode on as he whipped around so he was directly behind her, “I’ve just about had it with you and I’m done being nice about it,” he announced as he kicked the inside of her knee, buckling her to the ground.

Grabbing her by the arm, he heard her yelp as he twisted it a bit, “Deactivate Dark Web mode and turn off all communication,” he told Karen as he picked her up and shoved her against the wall as his suit came into vision once again. He didn’t need Kent in his ear right now. Not when he was this close to bringing her in and being done with this bullshit.

With her chest against the wall, he swiveled around. Looking into her eyes through her black mask as he raised her arm over her head. She had no weapons. And her eyes looked almost terrified. Her breathing was heavy as she kept her eyes on Peter warily.

“Who do you work for?” he tried to ask, leaning forward. His body pushed flush against hers as he had her literally backed into a corner with nowhere to go. His hand began to slide around her neck, squeezing in a little bit to threaten her in order to start talking, “You better start talking otherwise I will not hesitate right now,” he threatened through his teeth.

Peter squeezed a little more, hearing her groan as he waited for her to answer. He blinked as something bright glimmered along her neck, getting his attention. Adjusting his eyes, he glanced down at the necklace and squinted at her collar. The pendant staring back at him as his eyes rapidly fluttered back to her intense masked eyes; feeling his stomach drop.

“No,” Peter said in a low voice as he grabbed the pendant, “Y/N?” he asked.

And in that weak moment, you kicked Peter in the chest to break free. Sending him backwards and completely bewildered by what the fuck was happening…

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#tom holland #peter parker #spider-man #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader #tangled webs #dark webs #heyhihellowhatsup0

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cruisingthedemimonde · 3 years

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America’s Gay Men in WW2

World War Two was a “National Coming Out” for queer Americans.

I don’t think any other event in history changed the lives of so many of us since Rome became Christian.

For European queers the war brought tragedy.

The queer movement began in Germany in the 1860s when trans activist Karl Ulrichs spoke before the courts to repeal Anti-Sodomy laws. From his first act of bravery the movement grew and by the 1920s Berlin had more gay bars than Manhattan did in the 1980s. Magnus Hirschfeld’s “Scientific Humanitarian Committee” fought valiantly in politics for LGBT rights and performed the first gender affirmation surgeries. They were a century ahead of the rest of the world.

The Nazis made Hirschfeld - Socialist, Homosexual and Jew - public enemy number one.

The famous image of the Nazis burning books? Those were the books of the Scientific Humanitarian Committee. Case studies of the first openly queer Europeans, histories, diaries - the first treasure trove of our history was destroyed that day.

100,000 of us were charged with felonies. As many as 15,000 were sent to the camps, about 60% were murdered.

But in America the war brought liberation.

In a country where most people never even heard the word “homosexual” , historian John D’emilio wrote the war was “conducive both to the articulation of a homosexual identity and to the more rapid evolution of a gay subculture. (24)” The war years were “a Watershed (Eaklor 68)”

Now before we begin I need to give a caveat. The focus of this first post is not lesbians, transfolk or others in our community. Those stories have additional complexity the story of cisgender homosexual men does not. Starting with gay men lets me begin in the simplest way I can, in subsequent posts I’ll look at the rest of our community.

Twilight Aristocracy: Being Queer Before the War

I want us to go back in time and imagine the life of the typical queer American before the war. Odds are you lived on a farm and simply accepted the basic fact that you would marry and raise children as surely as you were born or would die. You would have never seen someone Out or Proud. If you did see your sexuality or gender in contrary ways you had no words to express it, odds are even your doctor had never heard the term “Homosexual. In your mind it was just a quirk, without a name or possible expression.

In the city the “Twilight Aristocracy” lived hidden, on the margins and exposed their queerness only in the most coded ways. Gay men “Dropping pins” with a handkerchief in a specific pocket. Butch women with key chains heavy enough to show she didn’t need a man to carry anything for her. A secret language of “Jockers” and “Nances” “Playing Checkers” during a night out. There is a really good article on the queer vernacular here

And these were “Lovers in a Dangerous Time.”

In public one must act as straight as possible. Two people of the same gender dancing could be prosecuted. Cross dressing, even with something as trivial as a woman wearing pants, would run afoul of obscenity laws.

The only spaces we had for ourselves were dive bars, run by organized crime. But even then one must be sure to be circumspect, and act straight. Anyone could be an undercover cop. If a gaze was held to long, or lovers kissed in a corner the bar would be raided. Police saw us as worthy candidates for abuse so beatings were common and the judge would do all he could to humiliate you.

Now Michael Foucault, the big swinging french dick of queer theory, laid out this whole theory about how the real policing in a society happens inside our heads. Ideas about sin, shame, normalcy, mental illness can all be made to control people, and the Twilight Aristocracy was no different.

While cruising a park at night, or settled on the sofa with a lifelong lover, the thoughts of Priests and Doctors haunted them. “Am I living in Sin? Am I someone God could love?” “Is this healthy? Have I gone mad? Is this a true love or a medical condition which requires cure?”

There was no voice in America yet healing our self doubt, or demanding the world accept us as we are. And that voice, the socialist Harry Hay, did not come during the war, but it would come shortly after directly because of it.

Johnny Get Your Gun… And are you now or ever been a Homosexual?

For the first time in their lives millions of young men crossed thousands of miles from their home to the front.

But before they made that brave journey they had another, unexpected and often torturous journey. The one across the doctor’s office at a recruiting station.

In the nineteenth century queerness moved from an act, “Forgive me Father I have sinned, I kissed another man” to something you are, “The homosexual subspecies can be identified by certain physical and psychological signs.”

These were the glory days of patriarchy and white supremacy, those who transgressed the line between masculine and feminine called the whole culture into question. So doctors obsessed themselves with queerness, its origins, its signs, its so called catastrophic racial consequences and its cure.

“Are you a homosexual?” doctors asked stunned recruits.

If you were closeted but patriotic, you would of course deny the accusation. But the doctor would continue his examination by checking if you were a “Real Man.”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Did you like playing sports as a kid?”

If you passed that, the doctor would often try and trip you up by asking about your culture.

“Do you ever go basketeering?” he would ask, remembering to check if there was any lisp or effeminacy in your voice.

Finally if the doctor felt like it he could examine your body to see if you were a member of the homosexual subspecies.

Your gag reflex would be tested with a tongue depressor. Another hole could be carefully examined as well.

Humiliating enough for a straight man. But for a gay recruit the consequences could be life threatening.

Medical authorities knew homosexuals were weak, criminal and mad. To place them among the troops would weaken unit cohesion at the very least, result in treachery at the worst. In civilian life doctors had much the same thing to say.

The recruit needed a cure. And a doctor was always ready. With talk therapy, hypnosis, drugs, electroshock and forced surgeries of the worst kinds there was always a cure ready at hand.

Thankfully the doctors were not successful in their task, one doctor wrote “for every homosexual who was referred or came to the Medical Department, there were five or ten who never were detected. (d’Emilio 25)”

Here’s the irony though, by asking such pointed and direct questions to people closeted to themselves it forced them to confront their sexuality for the first time.

Hegarty writes, “As a result of the screening policies, homosexuality became part of wartime discourse. Questions about homosexual desire and behavior ensured that every man inducted into the armed forces had to confront the possibility of homosexual feelings or experiences. This was a kind of massive public education about homosexuality. Despite—and be-cause of—the attempts to eliminate homosexuals from the military, men with same-sex desires learned that there were many people like themselves (Hegarty 180)”

And then it gave them a golden opportunity to have fun.

The 101st Airborn - Homosocial and Homosexual

“Homosocial” refers to a gender segregated space. And they were often havens for gay men. The YMCA for example really was a place for young gay men to meet.

Now the government was already aware of the kind of scandalous sexual behaviour young men can get up to when left to themselves. Two major government programs before the war, the Federal Transient Program and the Civilian Conservation Corps focused on unattached young men, but over time these spaces became highly suspect and the focus shifted to helping family men so as to avoid giving government aid to ‘sexual perversion’ in these homosocial spaces.

But with the war on there was no choice but to put hundreds of thousands of young men in their own world. All male boot camps, all male bases, all male front lines.

The emotional intensity broke down the barriers between men and the strict enforcement of gendered norms.

On the front the men had no girlfriend, wife or mother to confide in. The soldier’s body was strong and heroic but also fragile. Straight men held each other in foxholes and shared their emotional vulnerability to each other. Gender lines began to blur as straight men danced together in bars an action that would result in arrest in many American cities.

Bronski writes, “Men were now more able to be emotional, express their feelings, and even cry. The stereotypical “strong, silent type,” quintessentially heterosexual, that had characterized the American Man had been replaced with a new, sensitive man who had many of the qualities of the homosexual male. (Bronski 152)”

Homosexual men discovered in this environment new freedoms to get close to one another without arousing suspicion.

“Though the military officially maintained an anti-homosexual stance, wartime conditions nonetheless offered a protective covering that facilitated interaction among gay men (d’Emilio 26)”

Bob Ruffing, a chief petty officer in the Navy described this freedom as follows, ‘When I first got into the navy—in the recreation hall, for instance— there’d be eye contact, and pretty soon you’d get to know one or two people and kept branching out. All of a sudden you had a vast network of friends, usually through this eye contact thing, some through outright cruising. They could get away with it in that atmosphere. (d’Emilio 26) ”

Another wrote about their experience serving in the navy in San Diego, “‘Oh, these are more my kind of people.’ We became very chummy, quite close, very fraternal, very protective of each other. (Hegarty 180)”

Some spaces within the army became queer as well. The USO put on shows for soldiers, and since they could not find women to play parts, the men often dressed in drag. “impersonation. For actors and audiences, these performances were a needed relief from the stress of war. For men who identified as homosexual, these shows were a place where they could, in coded terms, express their sexual desires, be visible, and build a community. (Bronski 148)”

“Here you see three lovely “girls”

With their plastic shapes and curls.

Isn’t it campy? Isn’t it campy?

We’ve got glamour and that’s no lie;

Can’t you tell when we swish by?

Isn’t it campy? Isn’t it campy?”

The words camp and swish being used in the gay subculture and connected to effeminate gay men.

I would have to assume, more than a few transwomen gravitated to these spaces as well.

Even the battlefield itself provided opportunities for gay fraternization. A beach in Guam for example became a secret just for the gay troops, they called it Purple Beach Number 2, after a perfume brand.

This homoerotic space was not confined to the military, but spilled out into civilian life as well.

Donald Vining was a pacifist who stated bluntly his homosexuality to the recruitment board as his mother needed his work earnings, and if you wanted be a conscientious objector you had to apply to go to an objector’s camp. He became something of a soldier chaser, working in the local YMCA and volunteering at the soldier’s canteen in New York he hooked up with soldiers still closeted for a night of passion but many more who were open about who they were.

After the war he was left with a network of gay friends and a strong sense of belonging to a community. It was dangerous tho, he was victim of robberies he could not report because they happened during hook ups, but police were always ready to raid gay bars when they were bored. “It was obvious that [the police] just had to make a few arrests to look busy,” he protested in his diary. “It was a travesty of justice and the workings of the police department (d’Emilio 30).״

Now it might seem odd he was able to plug into a community like that, but over the war underground gay bars appeared across the country for their new clientele. Even the isolated Worcester Mass got a gay bar.

African American men, barred from combat on the front lines, were not entirely barred from the gay subculture in the cities. For example in Harlem the jazz bar Lucky Rendevous was reported in Ebony as whites and blacks “steeped in the swish jargon of its many lavender costumers. (Bronski 149)”

The Other War: Facing Homophobia

“For homosexual soldiers, induction into the military forced a sudden confrontation with their sexuality that highlighted the stigma attached to it and kept it a matter of special concern (d’Emilio 25)”

“They were fighting two wars: one for America, democracy, and freedom; the other for their own survival as homosexuals within the military organization. (Eaklor 68)”

Once they were in, they fell under Article 125 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice: “Any person subject to this chapter who engages in unnatural carnal copulation with another person of the same or opposite sex or with an animal is guilty of sodomy. Penetration, however slight, is sufficient to complete the offense.”

Penalties could include five years hard labour, forced institutionalization or fall under the dreaded Section 8 discharge, a stamp of mental instability that would prevent you from finding meaningful employment in civilian life.

Even if one wanted nothing to do with fulfilling their desires it was still essential to become hyper aware of your presentation and behaviour in order to avoid suspicion.

Coming Home to Gay Ghettos

“The veterans of World War II were the first generation of gay men and women to experience such rapid, dramatic, and widespread changes in their lives as homosexuals. Bronski 154”

After the war many queer servicemen went on to live conventionally heterosexual lives. But many more returned to a much queerer life stateside.

Bob Ruffing would settle down in San Francisco. The city has always been a safe harbour for queer Americans, made more so as ex servicemen gravitated to its liberated atmosphere. The port cities of New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles became the prime destinations to settle. Vining’s partner joined him in New York, where they both immersed themselves in the gay culture.

Other soldiers moved to specific neighborhoods known for having small gay communities. San Francisco’s North Beach, the west side of Boston’s Beacon Hill, or New York’s Greenwich Village. Following the war the gay populations of these cities increased dramatically.

The cities offered parks, coffee houses and bars which became queer spaces. And drag performance, music and comedy became features of this culture.

These veterans also founded organizations just for the queer soldiers. In Los Angeles the Knights of the Clock provided a space for same sex inter racial couples. In New York the Veterans Benevolent Association would often see 400-500 homosexuals appear at its events.

A number of books bluntly explored homosexuality following the war, such as The Invisible Glass which tells the story of an inter racial couple in Italy,

“With a slight moan Chick rolled onto his left side, toward the Lieutenant. His finger sought those of the officer’s as they entwined their legs. Their faces met. The breaths, smelling sweet from wine, came in heavy drawn sighs. La Cava grasped the soldier by his waist and drew him tightly to his body. His mouth pressed down until he felt Chick’s lips part. For a moment they lay quietly, holding one another with strained arms.”

Others like Gore Vidal’s The City and the Pillar (1948), Fritz Peters’s The World Next Door (1949), and James Barr’s Quatrefoil (1950) explored similar themes.

In 1948 the Kinsey Report would create a public firestorm by arguing that homosexuality is shockingly common. In 1950 The Mattachine Society, a secretive group of homosexual Stalinists launched America’s LGBT movement.

References:

Michael Bronski “A Queer History of the United States”

John D’emilio “Coming Out Under Fire”

Vivki L Eaklor “Queer America: A GLBT History of America”

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

The Lesbians

In 1947 General Eisenhower told a purple heart winning Sargeant Johhnie Phelps, “It's come to my attention that there are lesbians in the WACs, we need to ferret them out”.

Phelps replied, “"If the General pleases, sir, I'll be happy to do that, but the first name on the list will be mine."

Eisenhower’s secretary added “"If the General pleases, sir, my name will be first and hers will be second."

Join me again May 17 to hear the story of America’s Lesbians during the war.

#gay history #world war two #queer history #gay #lgbt

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collecting-stories · 4 years

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The Crush - ep. 04 - JJ Maybank

Summary: It turns out it wasn’t on accident Rafe showed up to the party. Some secrets are revealed amongst the pogues.

A/N: I don’t know if you’ll have seen this twist coming...

The S’week Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

“It’s a known fact.” JJ huffed, crossing his arms behind his head as he looked up at you. He was laying in your bed, much like the night before only this time he was beneath the covers, no clothing on, and you were sitting beside him, facing the head of the bed with your legs crossed, your right thigh pressed against his side. 

You were naked too aside from his cut-off, navy blue shirt. The one he’d been wearing on the beach when you found him. 

“It’s a known fact that you’re a brat.” You replied, pressing your lips together as you tried to fight off a smile. “This cannot be the worst senior week ever.” 

“You’re right, once I hooked up with this girl-“

“Oh my god!” You laughed, shoving him away from you though he didn’t budge. Instead he grabbed your wrist and held your hand in his. 

“Let me finish the story!”

“Okay, okay, your hooked up with this girl.” 

“Yeah, it was her senior week and John B and I went to this party. Anyway, we hooked up right, and all the sudden her boyfriend burst through the door and just starts pounding on me. If it wasn’t for JB, I would be dead right now.” 

“I would’ve had sex with a ghost?” You teased.  “Very Patrick Swayze.” 

JJ gave you an exaggerated frown and shook his head like he had no idea what you were talking about. You grinned, leaning down and kissing the bridge of his nose and then his lips.

“It’s a movie? Ghost...he dies and then comes back to haunt his girlfriend. There’s a freaky scene where she makes pottery...we’ll watch the movie.” You decided. 

“Eh not my kinda movie.” 

“It’s good for a laugh.” 

After you’d taken a turn skinny dipping in the ocean the both of you had haphazardly thrown on clothing and walked back to the house, sneaking upstairs with the bag of alcohol to continue the party together in your room. 

You’d had every intention of polishing off at least the pinnacle of vodka but the bag sat untouched where you’d dropped it at the door when JJ had grabbed your hand and led you to the bed. 

JJ shifted in bed and scrunched his nose up, “I need a shower, I’ve got sand like up my ass or something.” 

“Oh wow, there’s a turn-on.” You teased as he flung the blankets back and stood up, completely naked, to look for sand. “Oh my god,” you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into the pillow, “you really are having the worst senior week ever.” 

“Tell me about it.” He huffed, making his way into the bathroom to start the water for the shower. 

“Your back looks good by the way. You can probably go to the beach today, if you let me put sunscreen on you.” You called, getting up and walking over to lean against the open bathroom door. JJ was standing in front of the full length mirror, still trying to determine if he had sand anywhere. 

“On one condition-“

“Is it, that I shower with you?” You asked. 

“See, great minds and all that.” 

“No, I’ve just spent more than ten minutes with you so I know what you’re like.” 

“Either way, you agreed to shower sex and there are no take backs.” He announced, before looking over at you and adding, “I mean obviously if you changed your mind-“ 

“I got it.” You laughed, “now get your sandy butt in the shower.” 

“I told you, didn’t I tell you!” JJ practically shouted as you pushed him into the shower. You pulled off his shirt, tossing it by the door and climbing into the shower after him. 

JJ pulled you under the spray of warm water, kissing you and trying to back you up to the wall. You pulled away, holding his face in your hands as if that would ward him off.

“Shower.” You insisted, “I promised Kie last night that we would actually do the beach with them this time.”

“But-”

“No.” You shook your head, moving your hands to shake his in time with yours, “no sex. Just shower.”

“I get shower sex post beach then.”

“You got shower sex post beach last night! JJ!” You laughed and squealed when he surged forward, burying his face in your neck and sucking on the skin there. “Stop!”

“Never!” He teased fingers dancing along your sides and making you squirm.

“Okay, okay. Post beach shower sex.”

“Do you feel like Sarah is being weird?” Kiara asked as you walked to the beach, Pope and JJ already a few feet ahead of you. “I mean she practically begged us to come down here and she’s been avoiding us all week. I thought it was John B too but he told me last night that she’s been weird.” 

“Yeah; somethings off.” You replied. “She’s been weird with me too.” 

You had been friends with Sarah since you were kids and you were used to her push and pull behavior when it came to friends but this was something entirely different. She acted like she wasn’t even on the same vacation with the four of you and was dominating all of John B’s time and attention. You’d barely said five words to him in the time he’d been down here. 

“Hey, try to keep up,” Pope called, leaning against the umbrella stake as he and JJ waited for you and Kiara to catch up. 

“Sorry,” she apologized as the two of you picked up the pace. You pulled your sandals off and walked barefoot the rest of the way to JJ, who was grinning smugly as he watched you. You were still wearing his pelican marina cut-off, using it as a cover up for your bathing suit. Pope had grilled him about it on the walk up while you and Kiara talked about Sarah. 

“Dude, I literally asked her yesterday if anything was going on with you and she said no and now she shows up in your shirt? Not to mention where the hell did you disappear to last night?” Pope had whisper-shouted, a specialty of the Heyward's. 

“A lot can happen in 24 hours?” JJ had asked, shrugging his shoulders. He had glanced back at you, laughing at something Kiara said, looking totally happy, and he was pretty sure he knew exactly how John B felt the one time he got drunk and tried to explain his feelings for Sarah. 

When you had looked over at him you stuck your tongue out and then smiled and he was slightly derailed off his conversation, missing the end of what Pope was saying. 

“...get involved.” 

“What?”

“I said, don’t forget she’s Rafe’s ex...do you really think it’s a good idea to get involved?” Pope had asked, genuinely concerned for his friend. The last thing he wanted was JJ putting himself out there only to be let down. 

“That’s over.” JJ replied, tone filled with so much certainty that Pope didn’t question it further. 

You hadn’t told JJ everything about Rafe but he’d seen the way Rafe had talked to you last night and, though everyone was always ready to write off JJ as being oblivious, he could pick up on body language better than most. It was a necessary skill when he lived with his father and he hadn’t missed the way Topper put himself between you and Rafe. He might’ve still gone after Pope but he had been protecting you. JJ’d only been a jerk about it when you came up to him at the beach because he was pissed to be the last person to find out that you had dated Rafe and he was a little worried that Sarah had been telling the truth when she told Kiara you were going to get back with him. 

“Okay, I’m not walking another second, my legs are killing me.” You announced when you finally reached JJ and Pope. 

“Well I’m not putting the umbrella down here, this is a terrible spot!” Pope complained. The sand was still soft and a little too dry for his liking. He wanted to go further down the beach, closer to the water.

“Fine.” 

Kiara laughed as she walked passed you, “you’ll make it, don’t worry.”

“Hey how much do you want to carry me down there?” You asked, eying JJ. He’d stayed put while Kiara and Pope walked down the beach.

“Barely at all.”

“Please, I’ll buy lunch.” You pleaded, pouting at him. 

JJ pressed his lips together and furrowed his eyebrows as he pretended to be deep in thought, “lunch and whatever I want on the boardwalk.” 

“Okay.” You nodded your head and held out your hand, “deal.” JJ spit into his hand and shook yours, laughing when you pulled away immediately. “Oh my god, ew!” 

“You didn’t complain about my spit last night.” 

You pretended to gag at his words, only sending him into another laughing fit as he turned around to let you piggy back down the beach. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and he hoisted you up. You kissed just below his ear in thanks. JJ kept his hands on your thighs as he walked down to where Kiara and Pope had set up the umbrella and blankets. When he got over them, he let go of your legs in an attempt the drop you but you held on tighter in shock as your legs fell, pulling both of you down on the blanket. 

“Good job JJ.” Kiara teased, pushing at him until he rolled off of you. 

“She didn’t let go!” 

“So you could drop me?” You asked, sitting up and moving closer to Pope, “no thank you!”

“Hey, give me your phones, I’ll put them in my bag.” Pope held up his black jansport, shaking it for emphasis. 

Kiara handed hers over and you fished JJ’s out of your bag, digging for your own with no luck. “Mine’s not in here.” 

“Did you leave it plugged in?” Kiara asked, leaning over to look in the bag too. 

“Maybe.” You shrugged, “I know I had when we went back to the house.” 

“Probably in the bathroom or something.” JJ said, “now, more important...sunscreen me. I think I’m already burning.” He held the sunscreen bottle out to you and you rolled your eyes, moving over to sit behind him.

He pulled his shirt over his head and settled in front of you, letting you rub sunscreen into his back. You kissed the back of his neck before smoothing some across there too, pushing some of his hair away so it wouldn’t get oily. Kiara and Pope headed down for the water but you stayed behind with JJ.

“Not going in yet?”

“I’m gonna work on my tan.” He replied, laying down on the blanket and putting his sunglasses on.

You pulled your coverup off and JJ glanced over at you. “You saw me in my bathing suit this morning before we left.”

“I forgot how good you looked on the way here.” He replied, smiling at you.

You rolled your eyes at him and tossed his shirt over his head. When he pulled it away and pouted you could only laugh, leaning over and kissing him.

“I don’t know if this is the best place to have this conversation but...I don’t wanna chicken out or anything and I just wanted to reiterate that I don’t want this to be like, a casual, here for s’week thing.” You explained, pulling your knees up to your chest. “I also wanted to ask if you wanted to stay with me an extra week? Everyone could stay too, it doesn’t have to just be us-”

“It could just be us.” JJ replied, “I’d be down.”

“Even after your terrible week here?”

“I guess it hasn’t been so bad.” He admitted. “And like I said, it’s not casual. I swear.”

“Good, because Pope told me about your s’week plans.”

“No, come on!” He groaned, standing up and dropping his sunglasses on the blanket.

“What are you doing?” You laughed, standing up and following him down to the beach. He ran into the water, jumping in and swimming over to Pope. Kiara shouted when he splashed her by accident, jumping on Pope’s back and sending them both down into the water.

“Dude!” Pope laughed, surfacing and trying to dunk JJ underwater at the same time.

“He knows I know about his ‘JJ does s’week’ plan.” You said, laughing at the two of them wrestling in the water with each other.

“I can’t believe you told him.”

“What plans?” Kiara asked, looking between the boys and you.

“JJ was gonna have sex with a bunch of girls this week.” You explained, keeping your voice low as a woman and her two kids waded passed.

“Oh my god! JJ!”

“What? I only had sex with one!” He practically shouted. The woman whipped around, looking startled by the four of you and JJ bit his lip to stop from laughing at her expression as Pope apologized for him.

“What a lucky one I am.” You muttered as the woman pushed her kids further away.

“You know it baby.” JJ winked at you.

“Ew, can we just have a normal day please?”

John B was already talking about another party after dinner, as the six of you stood and sat around the island eating straight from the boxes of pizza that were sitting there. JJ was standing next to your seat, his hand on your stool and you angled toward him. He leaned over and kissed just below your ear.

“I think I’ll stay here.” He announced glancing over at John B.

“JJ Maybank, turning down a party?” Kiara said, “do my ears decieve me?”

“You guys go.” He shrugged.

“We can go,” you whispered, leaning into him. “I don’t care.”

“Nah, I would-”

“Your phone’s buzzing.” Sarah cut in, looking at your phone vibrating against the marble countertop. It was laying facedown and you picked it up, angling it away to look at it.

It was right where JJ said it would be when you got back to the house that afternoon, sitting on the bathroom counter charging. When texts from Rafe had started to come in you had looked back through your messages, confused, only to find that someone had sent pictures and texts to him from your phone. You hadn’t told JJ that you were getting texts but you’d been ignoring them since they started.

“Who is it?” Sarah asked, leaming across the counter.

“No one.” You shook your head and put your phone down again. You turned back to JJ, knowing that the texts were getting too out of control now and you’d have to tell him. “Can I talk to you?” You whispered.

“Yeah, sure.” JJ nodded. He backed up to let you out just as your phone buzzed again. Sarah was out of her seat, rushing around the island and grabbing your phone off the counter.

“Sarah!”

“What the hell? I thought you said things were over between you and Rafe?” She asked, holding the phone up.

“They are!” You insisted as she passed the phone to Kiara. She shook her head, not wanting to look at it.

“Well I don’t send guys I’m not with pictures like this.” She scrolled down to one of them and held it up so everyone could see the phone this time.

You turned in your stool, trying to reach for the phone. “Sarah!”

“What the hell Sarah, give her the phone back!” JJ said.

“I didn’t send those, I swear to god.” You looked back at JJ as you spoke, “they were sent while we were at the beach.”

“So what? Someone else sent them?” Sarah replied. “Are you accusing one of us?”

“I didn’t send them.”

“I guess it wasn’t you that told him you made a mistake and JJ means nothing to you? That’s he just a loser pogue and so are his friends.”

You clenched your fists, digging your fingernails into your palms and trying to stop yourself from crying. “I would never say that. Why are you doing this?”

“She didn’t have her phone at the beach Sarah,” Kiara grabbed the phone now, scrolling through to check the time stamp, “I saw her bag I know she didn’t.”

“So who did?” JJ asked, not a hint of malice in his voice as he put his hand on your back.

“Are you suggesting one of us did?” Sarah asked, looking between the two of you.

Your eyes met Sarah’s as JJ’s hand came up to squeeze your shoulder and you saw the way her jaw tensed and she clenched her own fists. “Oh my god.” You gasped.

“What?” Kiara looked away from the phone and over to you.

“It’s JJ...the guy you liked before John B. The one you told me you still had feelings for? It’s JJ isn’t it? That’s why you’re doing this?” You accused.

“You’re insane.”

“Don’t hurt him, we might not get along but he’s John B’s friend...what a load of bullshit!” You said. “So what was your plan for senior week? Come down here and get him back?”

“It’s not JJ.” Sarah insisted.

“You’ve avoided spending any time with us...you invited Rafe to the party last night didn’t you?”

“Look-”

“What a shitty person! God, I can’t believe you!” You pushed away from the island and got up. JJ grabbed your hand but you pulled away from him. “I have to go.”

“Wait!” Sarah reached out for you.

“No, just stay away from me! You knew I would say yes to you guys coming down here. You knew I liked him, I told you.” You said, glancing back at JJ before looking at Sarah, “you knew about Rafe.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Don’t play dumb Sarah. Even Topper knew.” You left the room, running up the stairs. Kiara got up from the table and followed you to make sure you were okay.

“Sarah, what’s she talking about?” John B finally spoke up, looking between his girlfriend and his best friend.

“Sarah and I hooked up before you guys started dating. It was just some party...it wasn’t a big deal.” JJ explained to John B.

“It wasn’t a big deal?” Sarah whipped around to look at JJ, looking absolute devastated.

John B’s chair scrapped against the tile floor and he got up from the island, grabbing his phone from the counter and heading for the back door. Sarah called his name but he only shook his head before letting the door slam shut after him. JJ, Pope, and Sarah were left in the kitchen.

“I’m gonna...” Pope said, grabbing a slice of pizza and heading for the basement where the theatre room was.

“I didn’t...” JJ let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry if you felt like...there was something here but...why date John B then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe it’s something you should think about.” JJ said, making his way passed her to the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“Making sure she’s okay.” He headed up to your bedroom where Kiara was sitting on your bed. You had locked yourself in the bathroom and you weren’t coming out was how she explained it before going to find Pope.

“All I wanted was a drama free week.” Kiara said.

JJ shut the door behind Kiara and walked over to the bathroom, knocking gently. When you didn’t answer he tried the doorknob, closed in but not locked, he came in to find you sitting on the closed toilet seat, head in your hands, leaning over to your knees crying.

“Hey,” He spoke soft, kneeling down in front of you and placing his hands on your thighs. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t get it...like, we’ve been friends since kindergarten, I don’t know why she would do this.” You said, lifting your head to look at him. “She has John B, like he’s crazy about her...”

“As much of a catch as I am,” JJ said, making you stifle a laugh, “I know that’s not the whole of it.”

“The last time I broke up with Rafe it was because he thought I was talking to someone about him...I like to party but Rafe...is on a whole other level. And he’s paranoid when he’s high. He freaks about everything and-”

“It’s okay.”

“I thought he wasn’t gonna stop. He was pissed because I broke it off and Topper and Kelce knew he could...get physical but they never saw it. But Top drove me to Rafe’s and I was just sitting there on the couch while he screamed at me. He called me a whore and a liar and told me I was worthless and then he just...Topper had to pull him off me.”

JJ put his arms around you, guiding you off the edge of the toilet seat to sit with him on the floor. He pressed his back against the bathtub and held you while you kept your face in his neck, tears wetting the skin.

“Sarah knew though,” you said, “she saw me leave with Topper, he told her what happened. She knew. I don’t care about...whatever boys and shit, no offense-”

“Very offended but you can make it up to me later.” He teased, kissing the top of your head.

“She knew about Rafe, I don’t understand why she would try put me in the position again.”

“Let's skip the party tonight,” JJ suggested, “I think the alcohol bag made it back to your room.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and holding JJ a little tighter.

“Hey, is Sarah still here?” You asked, standing on the last stair and watching John eat cold pizza. It was somewhere near three am in the morning and you were having trouble sleeping.

“All her stuff is gone. I think she went over to stay with Rafe.” He shrugged. “I thought...I don’t know. I guess I thought things were really good between us.”

“I’m sorry...I didn’t mean for all this to happen-”

“It’s not your fault.” John B insisted. He pushed the pizza box down the island toward you, “cold pizza.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” You walked over and grabbed a slice, standing at the island next to him. “I feel like we haven’t gotten to hang out a lot. Like I’ve barely seen you all s’week John B.”

He laughed and nodded his head, “I know, I know. I gotta change that.”

“Well, I think we’re going to the waterslide tomorrow if you’re interested in that?” You offered. “I’ll ride double so you don’t have to go on alone.”

“Thanks I appreciate that.” He said.

You turned to face him, smiling. John B looked at you for a moment before leaning in toward you as if he was going to kiss you. You backed away from him just as he pressed his lips against yours, eyes wide and John B seemed to lurch back in surprise.

“I-” He choked on an explanation for what he had just done.

“What’re you doing?”

“Sorry, I just...”

“I’m just gonna....uh, thanks for the pizza.” You said, dropping it into the box and heading back toward the stairs. “I’ll...see you in the morning.”

“I’m sorry! Shit.” John B cursed, scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration.

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howdoyousleep3 · 4 years

Text

kiss it when he eat it

Summary: When Steve brought home a beautifully-wrapped navy blue box one night after work he made this newfound ache inside Bucky grow almost infinitely. He had placed the box in Bucky’s lap with a kiss on the cheek, taking his seat next to the younger man on the couch, and watched with prematurely dark eyes as Bucky slipped the ribbons off its edges. Bucky’s sweet smile and tease of a tone both faltered when he unfolded delicate tissue paper to reveal— Oh. Oh my.

Pairing: Daddy!Steve/Baby!Bucky

Word Count: 11.8K

Tags: Alternate Universe, Daddy Kink, Feminization (!!!!!!!!!), Dirty Talk, Anal Sex, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Office Sex, Kink Exploration, Subspace

Author’s Note: Hi! I figured it was time for me to properly post my fics with tags and summaries instead of just throwing you in blind. Also, this is totally what I had planned to share when I got to 500 followers but I’m so close to 600 and I am v sorry I am the worst. 🙃 I in no way intend for this fic to glorify hairless undercarriages. Body hair is cool. No body hair is cool. You do you! This was purely for the smut. Enjoy! 😘

Find it here on Ao3!

The first time Steve calls Bucky’s asshole a “pussy” Bucky comes within seconds of the word falling from Steve’s mouth. He whispers it roughly into Bucky’s lips, telling Bucky how much he loves fucking into his sweet pussy, two pairs of dark eyes locked together, and the noise that the younger man let’s out after a punched-out ”Daddy!” is a shout of shock, embarrassment, and arousal. No one had every referred to his ass as that and it makes his gut and his chest damn near ache in desire and heat. Bucky was a strong man, had a dick, worked out, dressed well; he wasn’t supposed to find this sort of feminization arousing.

That first orgasm to Steve saying such filth left Bucky’s mind reeling, his chest heaving, wide eyes looking up at Steve and the big beefy blonde just smirked down at him knowingly and kissed his lips sweetly. Bucky wondered about himself and his sexuality, Steve’s sexuality, why he never wanted to hear Steve refer to his ass as anything but a pussy again. It started this slow burn within his entire being and he felt like a giant walking question mark. Steve, of course, was very cognizant of the fact that Bucky had this new-found desire, this shocking new secret arousal, and he used it to work and tempt the younger man strategically.

When Steve would tell him he was so sweet and call him baby and sugar it had a newfound meaning, a new burn, behind it. These names of adoration were not new but…they felt it. They felt different in Bucky’s mind and body. He was always sweet for Steve but now he felt bashful, blushing and giggling, preening under any attention Steve would give him. He bit his lip more and buried his face into Steve’s thick neck and learned how to bat his eyelashes like a pro, good for both pouting and sucking dick.

It took him a few weeks before he balled up all of his courage and used the word himself, sitting atop Steve’s thick thighs, riding him into tomorrow—"Feels so good in my little p-pussy, Daddy, oh fuck.” The noise that left Steve’s body sounded like it was punched out of him, obviously waiting patiently for Bucky to be ready to say the word himself. He felt powerful, sexual, came to love and adore both his and Steve’s size and age difference even more. It made his desire for sex and heavy petting and affection grow significantly, Steve asking him what had gotten into him even though, judging by the sparkle in his eye, he already knew the reason behind this new fire.

When Steve brought home a beautifully-wrapped navy blue box one night after work he made this newfound ache inside Bucky grow almost infinitely. He had placed the box in Bucky’s lap with a kiss on the cheek, taking his seat next to the younger man on the couch, and watched with prematurely dark eyes as Bucky slipped the ribbons off its edges. Bucky’s sweet smile and tease of a tone both faltered when he unfolded delicate tissue paper to reveal—

Oh.

Oh my.

Under the tissue paper laid two pairs of extremely feminine black underwear, one seemingly satin and the other lace, and Bucky almost doubled over in arousal, body flaring up with heat. His hands reached out to carefully run his fingers along the edge of the box, nearly afraid to touch the undergarments, and he breathed out Steve’s name in shock.

“You like ‘em, honey?” Steve inquired in a low voice, hand coming to rest and rub at Bucky’s lower back, and the brunette’s eyes bounced between Steve’s face and the box in his trembling lap. He let out an embarrassingly desperate noise as his fingers unintentionally grazed the satin pair on top as Steve’s lips did the same to his temple.

“Why don’t you try a pair on, Buck. Show me how they look,” and oh the thought of wearing women’s underwear for Steve, for Daddy, feeling shockingly feminine, a dirty secret, made Bucky’s core throb, and he nodded his head as Steve kissed his cheek and sat back. Bucky bit his lip softly, retrieved the satin pair with shaky hands, and placed the box on top of the coffee table in front of them. He took a few seconds to appreciate and savor the feel of the undergarment in his hands, the silky fabric feeling like cool water flowing between his fingers. The feel of them was what Bucky could only describe as intimate and knowing that he was about to put these underwear on his own body, feel them cradle his balls and hug his cock, it all made him let out a soft noise.

He stood, wanting his thoughts to morph into reality immediately, and pushed his sweatshorts to his feet, dragged his shirt over his head, both garments hitting the floor carelessly. He heard Steve exhale loudly beside him at seeing Bucky wearing nothing under his clothes and the younger man blushed lightly at the small acknowledgement. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers once more before he lifted lithe legs, one and then the other, and tantalizingly slid the underwear up his body.

Oh.

Bucky had let out a soft moan, hands still grasping the waistband, and his eyelids had fluttered closed. Bucky couldn’t form a coherent thought, mind racing between how the garment felt holding and hugging him to why he hadn’t been doing this before that moment. He ran his hands down the front of the underwear, tucked his erection under the band, and moaned at the feel of his hands on his body over satin. On wobbly legs he slowly turned around to face Steve and let out a small noise as he locked eyes with the blonde.

“Oh, sweetheart. Look at you…” Steve cooed and Bucky damn near purred, his eyelids and neck feeling heavy, and his hands ran over the feel of the silk covering the front of his thighs once more. Steve scooted forward on the couch, big hands coming to rest on Bucky’s hips, rubbing in soothing circles, and Bucky gasped when he felt lips kiss his stomach soothingly. His gasp had turned into a high-pitched whine when the kisses on his stomach had trailed down to press hot kisses on his encased cock.

“So fuckin’ pretty, Buck. Can’t help myself,” Steve explained softly, Bucky barely registering his words as Steve mouthed over his erection more, hands squeezing at his sides. Bucky felt overwhelmed, overheated, at the sensation of feeling nearly twice of everything. The panties hugged his body, Steve hugged his hips. The silk was smooth on his skin, Steve’s lips were smooth on the new undergarment. Bucky whined when Steve’s hands ran around to grip his ass in his big palms, squeezing and kneading, still kissing over his erection.

“You feel good, honey? What’d you think?” Steve asked quietly as he pushed and pulled at Bucky’s body, rotating him to get a good look at his ass.

“S’good, Daddy, so good,” Bucky breathed, fingers curling into fists at his sides as he drowned in the sensation of Steve’s hands squeezing at his flesh, his ass, and then his front half was being pushed forward.

“Bend over, sugar. Lemme see.”

Bucky moaned as he bent at the waist, placed his hands on the coffee table in front of him, and spread his feet a few scoots apart, arching his back naturally. Steve let out an appreciative noise, running his palm against his ass cheek before bringing it down for one good smack. Oh shit. Bucky let his head drop forward, moaning through his bitten lip, soaking up the throb of the skin of his ass, the way the fabric of the panties soothed the burn of the smack. Bucky wasn’t mentally prepared for Steve’s next words:

“Does it feel good huggin’ that pretty cock, Buck? That sweet little pussy?”

Bucky shouted out a moan, fingers grabbing at the wood of the coffee table beneath him, Steve moaning as he kissed directly over Bucky’s hole over the satin. Bucky had felt light-headed, the intensity and eroticism of the moment verging on overwhelming, his knees trembling, and Steve was there to pull him back into his open lap. It was in that moment, writhing in Daddy’s lap while wearing ladies’ panties, that he truly accepted this piece of who he was. Nothing had ever felt more right to him, more right for his sexuality, more right for his relationship. Not only had he fully accepted this part of himself, but it was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever done.

Steve hadn’t even taken the panties off or pushed them to the side. He kept a hand wrapped around Bucky’s throat, the other hand rubbing and tugging at Bucky’s cock over the satin of the underwear, kissing and licking at Bucky’s neck, cheek, ear, and temple. His voice was low and breathy, his own fat cock hard underneath Bucky’s plush ass, and he talked the younger man to completion, encouraging Bucky to cream his panties as he tightened his grip on the column of his throat. Bucky had whined and sobbed and cried but never once was he hesitant or self-conscious; that part was over.

His journey of sexual self-acceptance has brought him to this point. To say he was nervous is a drastic understatement; he was petrified. It was a combination of nerves and excitement, but he was quite certain nothing would go wrong. In fact, this could only go very very right. Nonetheless, Bucky was nervous. He was nervous when he got dressed that morning, was nervous in class, was nervous on his way to Steve’s office. He was damn near vibrating out of his skin as he walked through the glass doors of Steve’s office building. And horny—he was so horny. Steve had been gone for business for an entire fucking week, seven whole days, and he had gotten home so late last night that Steve all but fell asleep on his feet two steps within the front door. Bucky was able to get him to bed but Steve was up within hours to head to the office, leaving Bucky with a few sweet kisses and hushed wishes. Bucky missed Steve and wanted him, wanted his time and his attention and his love. He wanted his lips and his hands and his cock. He’ll get it all with this. Bucky’s been keeping a secret. Nothing big but…

Bucky got waxed.

Bucky got…waxed.

He isn’t a super hairy person to begin with, but he literally went into a spa and had a woman smear hot wax all over his body, slap that piece of paper on top of that, and rip it off all over his lower half; Bucky’s as smooth as he was the day he was born. He has to admit—he should have done this sooner. After the initial pain and swelling drifted away everything felt right with an enormous intensity. Wearing clothes felt completely different and in fact, the first time Bucky wore a pair of his panties after being waxed he ended up humping the bed and coming without even touching himself. He loved the feeling, the sensitivity, the secret, and he couldn’t wait to share this secret with Steve.

Lunch picked up on the way and in hand, Bucky made his way up to Steve’s office in one of the elevators. He knows Steve’s lunch time and he is aware that he may be busy, known to work through lunch, so some of Bucky’s nerves are reserved for being turned away and having to walk home. Two steel doors sliding open, a ding of a bell, and Bucky’s looking at the receptionist’s smiling face, her eyes warming once she recognizes Bucky.

“Bucky! How are you? I haven’t seen you in so long!” Darcy beams, voice genuine and smile bright. Bucky has liked Darcy from their first interaction and appreciates that Steve has someone so dependable and caring in his corner, a corner where Bucky can’t always be.

“I’m great, Darcy, thank you. I hope you’re well. Is Steve around?” He doesn’t even waste time, nervous and excited energy radiating from his core, hands shaking, and Darcy nods her head and says, “Of course. Go on and head back! He’ll be so happy to see you.” Bucky ducks his head and smiles a thanks, trying his hardest to ignore the knowing gleam in her eye as he walks around the large oval desk and down the hallway to the left. Panties and waxing aside, Bucky is genuinely excited to see Steve. They rarely go so long without seeing each other and this trip was exhausting for them both. Seeing Steve late last night and sleeping next to him was a tease and Bucky wanted more.

He stops at a set of heavy oak double-doors and gently rasps his hands across the surface, listening intently for a noise on the other side. He hears a disinterested, almost aggravated, “Come in,” and opens a door, squeezing in and letting it click shut behind him. He sneakily turns the lock with a shaky smirk before turning back around to find Steve standing at a long white table next to his desk, head down, papers in one hand, holding his cocked hip in the other. His ocean-blue eyes turn and flick up to Bucky before falling back down to the desk and Bucky’s chest tightens and damn near bursts when Steve does a frantic double-take and drops his papers.

“Buck,” he breathes with a soft laugh, grinning widely, and Bucky has to remind himself to inhale and exhale at the picture Steve makes, coming at him with open arms, adoration sweeping across his features. He’ll never understand what he did to deserve such a person in his life, such a partner and lover and boyfriend. It makes him so emotional he could shed tears, has shed tears.

Bucky’s so caught up in watching Steve shorten the distance between them that Steve’s grabbing at him before he can react to it, pulling him into his chest with an open palm along his lower back, his other hand coming to curl around the nape of his neck. Bucky does what he can to hug back, one hand full of lunch, but his face naturally finds the crook of Steve’s neck, pushing his nose into it, arm wrapping around a strong lower back.

“What are you doin’, baby?” Steve murmurs into his temple, grin evident just by the way his mouth feels on Bucky’s skin, voice deep and curious. Bucky takes a moment to breathe Steve in, his warm, woodsy, natural scent, eyelids fluttering closed. God, he’s missed Steve. He purses his lips in the gentle skin of Steve’s neck and replies, “Got a couple surprises for you,” adding in a quick, “Been missin’ you,” for good measure. Steve hums into his temple.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm. Brought lunch among…among other things,” Bucky states, mumbling into Steve’s broad shoulder. God, he could spend hours giving these shoulders attention: kissing and rubbing and nipping and touching. They’re the shoulders that lift Bucky off the floor like he is light as a feather. They’re the shoulders that Bucky tucks himself into on lazy Sundays to take naps. They’re the shoulders Bucky finds himself biting and bearing down on when Steve sides his thick cock—

“Oh?” Steve purrs, grip tightening all over Bucky’s body, and Bucky knows right then they won’t even touch lunch. Steve’s voice is so low and deep in his ear, his hands greedy. He’s walked through the door not even three minutes ago and he’s already falling apart at the seams, so satisfied that he’s not the only one desperate for his boyfriend. Bucky’s so giddy all he can do is nod his head, Steve running thick fingers through his hair, tugging on it to pull his head back, lips chastely touching his repeatedly, corner to corner.

“So fuckin’ sweet, Buck,” Steve murmurs, eyes crinkling in the corners as he grins, and Bucky feels his face flush at the small compliment. Steve pulls away, Bucky feeling like his soul is achingly following him as he turns and takes the bag in Bucky’s hand, walking it over to his office’s sitting area. Bucky follows, Steve stopping by his desk to ring Darcy, asking her to screen his calls and not let anyone into his office. Oh. The power makes Bucky weak all over.

“Are you going to make me wait or can I know what my surprises are now?” Steve asks in an amused tone, taking a seat on the couch, placing the lunch on the table in front of him. Bucky finds himself marveling at the picture Steve makes in person, in front of him, actually here. It must be a day that Steve isn’t expected to be in the office.

He looks casually powerful, unassuming yet most definitely alpha-male. His thin tan sweater hugs his chest like it was painted on and the same goes for his dark jeans. Don’t even get Bucky started on those thighs, fuck. Bucky swallows. Normally he would make Steve wait, draw it out and tease, eat some lunch, but he isn’t entirely sure if he could even sit through lunch with Steve looking the way he does and Bucky feeling the way he does.

So, he doesn’t make them wait. He’s standing in front of Steve and the curious expression written across his face, and he brings his dexterous fingers up to the button on his jeans, grabbing at the denim slowly with fingers on both hands. He stills there, watching Steve’s neutral expression as he brings a hand up to rub at his bearded chin softly.

Steve asks quietly, “What’s the surprise, sugar?” voice level and calm, the complete opposite of how Bucky feels in this moment. His brain feels like it’s vibrating, his hands tremble, and Steve is anything but transparent. Steve is so good at waiting things out and not letting Bucky know how he feels. That’s part of the reason they’ve worked out that Steve needs to be more verbal for the kind of needy person Bucky is. Sometimes though Steve will use it to put Bucky on edge, to make him feel uneasy or humiliated in the way he sometimes desires.

Steve’s neutral face makes Bucky slightly hesitant, but he powers through, knowing this will all be worth it, that Steve will be so happy and think Bucky is so good. Bucky’s fingers lower the zipper on his pants as Steve’s eyes follow his movement.

“I did something. Something that I’m nervous about. Something that…that I think you’re going to like,” Bucky says softly, opening the fabric of his pants enough for Steve to take note of his choice in underwear, his eyes flicking up to Bucky’s quickly. Steve’s mood, his aura, his demeanor all change at the notice of sheerness and color, Bucky biting his bottom lip as Steve licks his own, thighs widening in the cushion of the seat. Bucky wants to drape himself across those powerful thighs.

“Thank you for being honest with me, sweetheart,” Steve says and Bucky’s eyelids flutter at the light praise, a hum bubbling out of his mouth. He hasn’t had Steve like this in so long and it’s so obvious; Bucky’s so easy. Bucky’s so easy for Steve.

“You got somethin’ to show me under there, Buck?” Steve asks after Bucky gets caught up in his own thoughts, fingers still resting on his fly. Steve’s question immediately makes Bucky bite his lip, his face flush, and he nods his head in such a bashful fashion that he knows it makes Steve’s chest ache and his pants tighten. “You can’t get shy on me now, sugar. You come up to my office in the middle of the day unzipping your pants and showin’ me your pretty panties and then don’t want to show me? Gettin’ all bashful?”

Steve’s voice is low and rough and it washes over Bucky like warm honey, easing into his veins and down the back of his neck. Steve is such a cultured and poised man and Bucky gets such a thrill from being the special one that gets to hear his shortened Brooklyn-fueled rants, sexual or not. He loves to hear those deep bitten-off words like he’s straight off the streets and trying to start a fight. He makes a small noise, tucking his chin and looking up at Steve through his lashes.

“Come on, baby. Show Daddy what you brought him,” and Bucky can’t deny him, not when he looks so powerful and handsome sitting there with his legs spread wide and he’s looking at Bucky like the prettiest present has just been dropped into his lap. It almost makes Bucky want to giggle. What an effect Steve has on him.

Bucky is pushing the fly of his pants open, drawing the zipper down in a slow motion, a tease, pushes the waistband of his pants down and over his crotch. He watches his own movements, watches as the front of his thong becomes more and more visible, the sheerness of the maroon panties showing his half-hard cock off beautifully. It makes him a little more breathless himself, such a sight not to be seen in an office as this, makes him wonder what must be going through Daddy’s mind.

When he looks back up at Steve it almost makes his knees give out. Daddy has never looked hungrier, eyes dark and mouth dropped open an inch, looking like he’s going to shove Bucky back onto the floor and tear him apart in the best way. What a thought.

“Buck…?” Steve asks quietly, a quizzical yet gruff edge to his question. Steve knows what these are, he knows what’s peeking out of Bucky’s jeans, and Daddy’s immediate reaction makes the younger preen, makes him feel more confident with his decision. It’s been so long since he’s had Daddy and he knows he made a risky yet appropriate decision; he just needed the green light.

He chooses not to verbally answer Steve, unsure of what he would say anyway, and moves to finally push the waistband of his pants down and ever so slowly over the curve of his bare ass. He feels a little scared, a lot dirty, taking his pants off in Steve’s office, the cooler breeze on his skin making him shiver. He didn’t think he had any expectations on how Steve would react, but he realizes that was a lie because when Daddy lets out a hefty groan, one that sounds like it’s clawing its way out of his chest, he startles.

Steve doesn’t utter an actual word though, eyes roving, so Bucky moves to lift his shirt a little, show Daddy more, jeans held up by the bottom curve of his ass just enough. He’s hard, how could he not be, erection visible through the sheer front of the thong, and when he moves to adjust his dick, Steve lets out a mixture of a chuckle and a moan.

“Fuck, Bucky. Baby…” he purrs, disbelief evident in his tone, leg twitching, hand rubbing over his chin. Bucky can’t help but duck his head again and he isn’t sure of what to do until Steve is croaking out, “Lemme see all of it.”

He feels the familiar flare of his cheeks move south to his neck, the heat of arousal a physical thing, and he gives himself a minute once-over before turning slowly to his left. It’s awkward, his pants barely pushed down, resting below his ass but awkward isn’t on his mind when he knows Daddy is drinking in and appreciating every detail of his panties and the panties on his body.

He opted for simplicity and preference. He knows that Daddy likes to see lighter colors on his body but those are for different times, for softer times, which is why he chose a dark maroon color. The sheerness is for the tease, for showing Daddy his arousal, and it’s also more feminine. Bucky likes that. He also likes the delicate little bows sewn onto the sides at his hips, another feminine feature.

He continues turning until he’s no longer facing Steve, and he bites his bottom lip, pulls it between his teeth hard, when he hears Steve’s rumble. Bucky isn’t the most confident person, but he knows his ass doesn’t quit in these panties, looks like a ripe little peach that hopefully Daddy can’t wait to dig into. There’s a string pulled taught between his ass cheeks, bottom on full display, knows that the pieces of fabric are tugged up and frame his hips beautifully. Quite honestly, Bucky feels so very confident in them, feels like a little bit of a tease, more sensual than he possibly ever has, and to know that there is another secret for Daddy underneath this secret makes him have to bite his bottom lip yet again to stifle his giggle.

By the time he turns back around to face Steve, Daddy is leaning forward, elbows on his knees as if he’s ready to pounce and Bucky is barely on two steady feet before there are hands on his hips and lips on his stomach. Steve’s pushing at his jeans, forcing them down his legs, not in a rushed movement but there is a fire behind it, an urgency. His lips feel like fire on Bucky’s stomach, his sternum, blazing a messy path of open-mouthed kisses on his skin.

“Off, Bucky, off—get these off, holy…” Steve demands, voice gravelly and deep, pushing down at Bucky’s jeans and up at his shirt, and the younger mewls, a soft desperate noise. He hadn’t thought past the moment of showing Daddy what was hiding under his jeans, hadn’t truly considered what would happen next because of how focused he was on this moment. He hadn’t thought about how Steve would want him to strip right here in his office, hadn’t thought about the effect that would have on his mind.

Bucky pushes his shoes and socks off in somewhat of a blur, toes them off and then moves to rip his shirt over his head, tosses it in a forgotten manner to the side. Steve’s hands are everywhere, on his hips and his sides, finally swooping around to squeeze tight at his ass, both hands kneading at the fatty flesh there, and it makes Bucky whimper. It’s feels better than he imagined it would, Daddy’s hands big, his fingers squeezing in tight, makes him forget about that second surprise with a gasp.

“Daddy,” he whimpers, half in vocalizing his pleasure and half to get his attention, but his plea is ignored. Instead, Steve pulls him forward, makes him stumble and fall into Daddy’s lap, straddling those thick thighs in a movement that makes him feel a little like a slut. What a sight they must make: Steve fully clothed in casual business wear while a boy only donning a thong squirms in his lap. It makes Bucky’s dick twitch, his gut roll.

“Bucky, sugar. You’re tryin’ to kill Daddy? Huh?” Steve asks in a hushed but clipped tone, the tone he uses when he’s highly effected by the decisions Bucky has made, when he knows Daddy is hard. He can feel it too, feel Steve’s straining cock underneath his bottom, underneath the thin fabric of his panties. His front is pressed in tight against Daddy’s chest, a thick arm wrapped around his waist, and Bucky whines, his hands slipping to Steve’s shoulder, his neck.

“Haven’t had my hands on you in almost a week and you wanna show up to my office in somethin’ pretty and delicate, somethin’ that I’m gonna feel bad ruinin’? Huh, Buck? That your plan, sugar?”

Bucky makes a pitiful noise, shakes his head, “No, Daddy just…just wanted to surprise you,” he murmurs and it makes Steve groan, a hefty noise, one that he lets out into the skin of Bucky’s neck before his lips are seeking his out. It’s been so long since he’s had Steve like this, since he’s kissed him in such a demanding way, since he’s had Daddy’s hands gliding everywhere, so grabby.

“What a fuckin’ surprise, baby, fuckin’ look at you—all wrapped up for Daddy. You’re so sweet, Buck.” Steve’s praise rolls down his spine like a warm shower, makes him want to shiver, makes his hips twitch forward some.

“Fuck, this ass, Bucky,” Steve marvels with a chuckle, squeezes at his cheeks with both hands, cracking his palm up across one globe in a startling movement. Bucky gasps, moans at the sting, the pulse of pain. Steve’s teeth nip at his jawline, his chin, before he reaches a hand between their bodies, rubs at Bucky’s cockhead through his panties.

Oh.

“Prettiest little thing in the whole wide world, wrappin’ your sweet pussy up for Daddy to take apart, all for himself like a goddamn present.”

Bucky squeals meekly, can’t fucking help it, drops the noise right there onto Daddy’s lips for him to drink up in a satisfied noise. He pulls his hips back in a jerk only to roll them forward in a filthy movement, lets the line of his body stretch out as he straightens and lets his head fall back some. Daddy plays with his cock, just little rubs and smears of precome, right through the fabric of his underwear, and Bucky shivers with the wave of lust that swoops over his form, rolls his body a few more times.

“Daddy, D-Daddy I—”

“Mmm yeah, sugar.”

“Steve, t-there’s…there’s somethin’ else…”

That gets Steve to stop, gets him to peer up at Bucky through his lashes, gets the fingers on his dick to slide around and cup his hips. Bucky gets a soft kiss to his lips and an equally soft, “Buck?”, tries to not get swept away by the feeling of Steve’s big hands kneading a bit roughly at his hips, his sides.

“I uh…” Bucky starts, swallowing and looking away from Steve’s eyes, “I went to uh…to a spa.” Steve kisses at his chin, a small purse of his lips, hums.

“D’you have a nice time?” Steve asks and leave it to him to be concerned and interested in Bucky’s experience at a spa and not on what he might be doing there. The anticipation might just kill him, makes him clench his smooth little hole around nothing, makes him imagine Daddy fucking into it, what he’s been thinking about for days.

“Mhmm, I…um, I g-got,” he can’t even get it out, is choking on his words, knows Steve’s eyes are on him. Fuck it.

“I got waxed.”

He meets Steve’s eyes then, glances at him from out of the corner of his eyes with his head turned, and it’s obvious Steve doesn’t understand right away. He’s still smirking up at Bucky, his hands grabby and greedy, and Bucky can see and feel the moment it all just…clicks. Steve’s brows crease together a little, his hands slow their movements to stop at the top of Bucky’s ass, Steve looking at him in somewhat of a demanding way. Bucky wants to whine, swallows down a small whimper, digs his fingers into Steve’s neck some.

“Look at me,” is what Steve ends up saying after a few moments of unbearable silence, voice barely above a whisper, knows he doesn’t need to physically do anything to get Bucky listen to him but that doesn’t mean it’s easy for Bucky to meet those eyes. He squirms a bit in Daddy’s lap, whimpers pitifully before turning his head to meet Steve’s eyes.

He’s barely breathing, Steve looking at him with a seemingly neutral expression and if it weren’t for Steve’s mouth dropping open some and the raging erection underneath Bucky’s bottom, he’d have no idea Daddy was so effected.

“You got waxed?” Steve asks and Bucky feels his face flood with color, his neck heat up, his cheek burn. When Daddy says it, it makes him want to bury his face into the older man’s neck, makes him want to hide, but Steve clicks his tongue. He coos a little bit, rubs his nose along Bucky’s in a comforting gesture, gets him to meet Daddy’s eyes again.

“Y-yeah, yeah I…I got waxed.”

Steve hums at his words, a little deeper than the previous hum, and his hands come back to life, slide up and squeeze at his sides.

“Yeah? Y’got waxed where?” Bucky can’t help it, can’t help the little “Oh” that slips from his lips at the prompt of a question.

“If you did what I think you did, sugar you better say it out loud.”

Bucky seems to be full of whimpers tonight, full of meaningless noises of humiliation, lets out another whine, a huff of a pout. He knows what he did, Daddy knows what he did, and yet he can barely utter the words, knows Daddy wants to hear those words. Steve closes the small distance between them, brushes their lips together, eyes locked to Bucky’s, knows Steve wants to watch him as he says them.

“I…I got my p-pussy waxed, Daddy…”

Steve lets out an exhale that resembles a growl, leans forward and takes Bucky with him, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. Bucky’s thighs can’t help but reflexively clench tight around Steve’s waist at the sudden movement, can’t help but mewl into the filthy wet kisses Daddy gives him. Steve’s grip is so tight on his ass his thick fingers nearly graze his soft taint, his sensitive hole.

“Did you now? That sweet little pussy all soft and smooth?” Bucky’s gut rolls, molten and thick with arousal and he nods his head, lips grazing Daddy’s as he does so, gives a squeak of an, “Uh-huh.” Steve lets out another exhale, a heavy one, bites his words out through clenched teeth—

“And who’d you do all that for?”

Bucky’s sure he’s leaking through the front of his panties at this point.

“I did it for y-you, Daddy. This p-pussy is all…s’all soft and smooth for you.”

And it’s as if Steve’s reaction makes the wait and the anticipation almost worth it, makes the build grow into this immense crescendo of a moment. There have been few times where Bucky has witnessed a break in Steve’s composure, where he can see and feel and hear Daddy’s franticness, and this tops those moments.

Daddy’s eyes gleam and where Bucky could barely look him in the eyes a few seconds before he can’t bear to tear his eyes away from Steve’s now. Daddy snarls, lets out the hungriest noise to date, startles Bucky at the force of it before he sweeps a hand up the line of Bucky’s spine.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, Buck,” he growls, licking into Bucky’s mouth, hand gripping the back of his neck, other hand moving to pinch at Bucky’s nipple tightly and oh that makes him cry out, makes him sob into Daddy’s mouth. His head spins, so many sensations, feeling so much, and then Daddy is pushing at his hips, off his lap. He scrambles, his feet hitting the floor, hands reaching forward to steady himself before Steve leans back a little with a wipe of his hand over his mouth.

“Show me.”

Bucky stands there dumbly.

Show Steve? Like…?

Daddy reaches forward and smacks at his hip in a bite of a move, makes Bucky gasp.

“Show…me.”

He doesn’t know why hearing it the second time is so different but when it clicks Bucky whimpers, watches as his own erection jumps in his panties, sees the darker stain pool on the front. He fidgets some, tries to buy time while his mind races with what to do. No matter what he chooses, it will be more than a little humiliating, but Daddy sits there with his chest heaving and his eyes eager and he has no choice but to begin to turn around on shaky legs, circling his hips around slowly.

There is absolutely no reason why he should be nervous to show Steve anything on or any part of his body. Steve is more familiar with these parts of him than he is himself but that doesn’t stop Bucky’s hands from shaking, his heart from racing. He doesn’t even stop to think, simply moves, knows that if he stops, he’s going to psych himself out, and at the root of all of this he just wants to be good for Daddy.

Warm hands grip his hips very lightly, one and then the other, a reassuring gesture, and Bucky drops at the waist, bends forward and splays his hands down on the coffee table in front of them. His brain immediately flits over to the very first time he put on women’s underwear, in such a similar position as this one, and he can’t help but feel a sense of pride. This was his choice, his doing, his initiation. He is taking ownership of this feminine side of himself that he has grown to love a little more each day. It feels a little like coming full circle, of the complete acceptance of this new addition to himself.

Bucky is a little less nervous now that that positive thought washes over him, relaxes his form. He is less nervous but that still doesn’t stop the humiliated mewl he lets out when Steve takes it upon himself to crack his hand down onto one of Bucky’s ass cheeks before taking them both in his hands and spreading him wide.

Bucky doesn’t breathe, can’t breathe, needs oxygen but fuck it, can’t even hear Steve breathing, no more audible heave of his chest. The silence drags on for what feels like hours and it’s awful, unbearable, makes him dig his fingers into the surface of the table, needs to feel something. He then detects one of Steve’s fingers slide down, hook the single string of coverage he has, and he pulls it to the side. Bucky bites his lip, god fucking forbid he make another disgruntled noise, cheeks burning at the knowledge of Steve quite literally and openly staring at Bucky’s hairless asshole.

“Oh, Princess,” Steve finally purrs, and it makes Bucky’s toes curl, his teeth ache, makes his next long exhale come out as a whine, high and feminine from the back of his throat. Princess does him in every goddamn time, makes him feel like the prettiest little peach, the cutest little bunny, makes him want to be so sugary sweet for Daddy it makes him begin to unravel. He’s so swept up in his visceral reaction to a cute pet name that he doesn’t even think about what Steve will do next so when he feels a fingertip, two fingertips, brush and softly circle around his hole, he squeals.

“Baby,” Daddy coos, fingertips light and unrushed as they swirl, “Oh, baby you’re so sensitive, aren’t ya? Look at this pretty pink hole.” Bucky spreads his feet apart some, lets his head hang forward as he’s overcome by the shocking difference between the sensation of this compared to what he’s used to. All he can do is whimper, choke on his sob, in response, wants so many different things but overall just wants—

“Daddy…”

“Uh-huh, sugar know just what you need, know what this pretty pussy needs. Fuck, Bucky look at’chu, look what you’ve gone and done for Daddy. This princess pussy all for me? Huh? All smooth for Daddy?” Bucky barely registers the hands gripping his hips tight, sends a silent little prayer up that they hold on tight, because Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stay conscious. Steve’s big fingers rub in a tight little circle once more and swipe down Bucky’s balls in a sensual thrill before he feels hot breath on his taint.

He gets out a short, “Da—” right before Steve lets out his own moan, pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss directly over Bucky’s little hole, hands going tight on his hips. And it’s just a kiss, it’s just a kiss, but it wrecks Bucky, makes him choke on his frantic breaths, makes him want to pull away yet push back into Daddy’s face. He’s so sensitive, feels Daddy like he’s never felt him before, whines right alongside Steve’s groans as he kisses at skin smooth like silk.

“Sugar, oh…oh god, baby oh yeah, Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve mumbles into the kisses he peppers all around Bucky’s ass, his hole, his taint, biting hungrily at a cheek before squeezing them with both palms yet again. Daddy’s lips are smooth, always soft, and they feel like absolute bliss gliding along Bucky’s newly-smooth skin but Daddy’s tongue is the true gift. Bucky’s never felt anything like it, and it is in that moment, when he feels Daddy’s tongue sweep deliciously up and over his needy hole, that he decides he always wants to be waxed.

Because the feeling of Daddy working him over with that talented tongue has him biting out a curse as his eyes roll back into his head, has him swaying forward some, unsteady on his own hands and feet. It has Steve pushing at his hips, his back, has him gritting out, “Down, Buck—on the coffee table, baby. Can’t even…need to—,” and he moves like water, collapses down across the wood of the table, turns his cheek into the cold surface and braces for Steve’s next move. But no amount of bracing could prepare him for Daddy’s hungry mouth to meet his equally hungry hole.

It’s like he’s never felt Steve’s mouth on his asshole before, like it’s the first time feeling Daddy take him apart with his lips and his tongue. He fights between the urge to stay still and feel and the desire to squirm and press back and feel more. Steve’s hands make the decision for him, spreads his cheeks wide and hold him in place where he wants Bucky. Daddy’s tongue is so slippery, so talented, is slow but purposeful, quite obviously soaking in and exploring these new changes.

“Goddamn, sugar this is…ngh this is somethin’ else,” Steve rumbles in between kisses before fluttering his tongue around Bucky’s hole in a way that has his toes curling, has him tilting his hips up and back, wants more. Daddy is hungry, is greedy, moans as he flicks his tongue, as he rubs his lips along such smooth and sensitive skin. Steve’s beard adds to the heady sensation of being fucked by Daddy’s mouth, soft trimmed hairs making him let out little punched out noises, little grunts.

Bucky lets out a garbled noise at the sensation of being so wet, of Daddy’s spit having nowhere to go or pool, no option left but to slide down his taint to his balls, Steve slurping and chasing it in a rushed movement. It has Bucky shouting, has him unknowingly mumbling, “Pussy’s s’wet,”, has Steve groaning in response.

“Fuck yeah it is, baby. This sweet little pussy is leakin’ for Daddy, isn’t it?” Bucky is finding that he has to fight to keep his eyes open, has to fight to respond, feels like he’s a little underwater. He hasn’t floated in a long time and being so sensitive coupled with not having dropped in so long is going to push him there fast if Steve keeps this up.

Steve’s thumb pressing in tight against his taint has him letting out a sob, has his head twisting against the tabletop, has one of Daddy’s hands running up the length of Bucky’s body to grip the back of his neck harshly. Daddy doesn’t even say anything, curls his thumb around in a rough circular motion, jabs his tongue in deep slow movements, hot open-mouthed kisses following every other tongue fuck. It feels too fucking good, so good, makes Bucky’s gut curl in that familiar coil, that hot twist in his balls.

“Daddy,” Bucky tries but it’s weak, a whimper of a noise, he can’t get it out in the frantic manner to match how it sounds in his head. Bucky can hear the lewd messy sounds of Daddy’s mouth on his cunt, can feel the warmth of his face in reaction, tries again.

“Daddy! Daddy m’gonna come, oh f-fuck m’gonna come, please I—”

Bucky can hear the ghost of the scream he wants to let out in his head but the only thing that becomes vocalized is a heave of a gasp when he feels Steve’s hand slip into his panties and grip tight around the base of his cock. Said grip is damn near painful, leaves Bucky squirming and letting out guttural noises, a squeal when Daddy bites at the top of his ass. Tears spring to his eyes in frustration, he was so close, is struggling to center himself, sobs some more when he feels the warm length of Daddy’s front press against his back.

“This pussy doesn’t fuckin’ come unless it’s on Daddy’s cock, you hear me, Buck?”

Steve’s hand on his cock gives him one last solid squeeze, takes the air right out of Bucky’s lungs as his eyes roll a little more at Daddy’s words. He manages to nod his head weakly, wants that, wants to come on Daddy’s cock, is his favorite way to come. Steve gives him a loud wet kiss on the cheek before squeezing his ass one more time, patting that little piece of fabric back over his slick hole.

“You stay right there, Princess.”

Bucky nods his head again, gives Daddy a little, “Uh-huh,” and feels his cheek get a little wet with saliva he hadn’t realized was slipping from the corner of his mouth. He also hadn’t realized his fingers were digging into the edge of the table, knuckles white, arms pressed in tight against his side. He feels vulnerable yet safe, always safe with Daddy, but this is different; they’ve never experienced this together. That fact alone lays heavy in his gut, in his core, this feeling of newness hot and tingly.

He can hear Steve rummaging in his desk, hears his heavy footsteps make their way back to Bucky. He hums when Steve’s big hand sweeps down his back, when he feels soft lips on his neck, on his back following the hand.

“How y’feelin’, Buck? You feel good?” Steve asks in a warm tone with an edge of something different too it, almost franticness or eagerness. Bucky takes the time to answer, hits all those points of self-check-in as Steve has taught him, hums.

“M’good, really good. Wanna come, I…m’so sensitive and achy.” Steve groans.

“Yeah, sugar how could y’not be sensitive? You’re always feelin’ so much but now? Oh, baby that pussy is almost too sweet,” Steve’s voice is like a lullaby to Bucky’s ears and his mind, makes a smile tug on his lips some, makes his eyelids heavy. He hears the pop of a cap, instinctively raises and tilts his hips back like a little slut, likes the way it feels, likes how exposed and sexy he feels. Daddy purrs at the sight, at Bucky physically asking to be filled, at the sight of his boy pussy on display and wrapped up in string and bows and sheer fabric.

Bucky can still feel Daddy’s spit on his hole, can feel the slickness and the difference in temperature from the rest of his body, it making him shiver. Steve doesn’t really give him a heads-up or a warning aside from the warm hand on his side before he slips the tip of a finger passed Bucky’s rim, around the string of his panties, inside. Bucky whines, a high and throaty noise, and Daddy doesn’t stop, presses his finger in and in and—

“Fuck, Buck how’s that feel? Huh? You good, baby?”

Bucky is better than good. If this one finger feels like this, feels so big and so thick and so…immense, he almost worries for himself for when Daddy finally slides home.

“Mhmm, m’good, Daddy yeah yeah,” he breathes as his dick jumps against the front of the panties, taking his time and licking his lips as he clenches around Steve’s finger, already wanting more. It’s like silk, like velvet, Bucky wanting to ride the sensation of softness and newness into the evening hours. Daddy pumps his finger a few more times, simply warming Bucky up, before Bucky feels the press of a second fingertip alongside the first.

“You put anything in this pretty pussy while I was gone, sweetness? You touch your princess parts and wish it was Daddy?” Steve’s voice is hot and low, washes down Bucky’s spine as if he were actually breathing into his skin, breathing air into his lungs. Bucky whimpers, shakes his head.

“No, Daddy no—nothin’. Saved it for you.” That pleases Steve, makes the older man groan out a chuckle in disbelief, makes him groan in unison right alongside Bucky as his second finger slides slowly home. This addition makes Bucky choke on his next few breaths, makes him deepen the arch in his back some, has him wanting Steve’s palm to press against the front of his panties.

“That’s sweet’a you, sugar, savin’ it all for Daddy, look at’chu—sweeter n’sugar.” Bucky preens at Daddy’s words, his lips pulling up in the corner, makes him respond with an equally sweet sigh of, “Daddy…” and is rewarded with the pull out and press in of thick fingers. Said fingers are slick, probably moreso than necessary, Daddy using extra lube, but Bucky loves it, loves feeling all wet and smooth. It makes him want to be fucked.

“Daddy, please,” Bucky begs, not above it, whining his plea out in a long and pathetic mewl. He turns his head to face forward, chin digging into the hard surface of the table, and it must make an appetizing sight because Daddy’s other hand is soon sliding through his hair, gripping it tight at the roots. It makes his neck strain some, makes him sob at the feeling of pain mixing with the sensation of Steve’s fingers pressing tight into his sweet spot.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, his only response being his eyes rolling up and back, entire body clenching around the sensation of being so thoroughly taken apart.

“Fuck, honey you’re gaggin’ for it aren’t ya?”

Bucky’s gonna come. It hits him like a freight train, makes him gasp heavily once, twice, makes him choke out a variation of Steve’s name as he scrambles for the table’s edge. The fingers inside of him are pulled out slowly but do not return, the hand in Bucky’s hair gets pulled a little tighter, maybe to give him something else to focus on, he isn’t sure. He’s hysterical, admits it and feels it all over, doesn’t know if he wants to come or if he wants to hold off, but either way the decision is not his own, is rarely his own.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” Daddy whispers in his ear, voice molten, seeps into Bucky’s bones, to his core. Bucky hears himself making small noises, wills away his orgasm, fights it with every fiber of his being, struggles in Daddy’s grip. He feels the heavy presence of Steve’s front pressed against the line of his back, hand still in his hair, breathes Daddy in as the first wave of tension passes through his body.

“There ya go, sugar such a sweet little thing for Daddy, so good.” The words are sweet and they pass like honey over Bucky’s neck, down his spine, make him hum out a low groan. Daddy is still talking, murmuring nonsense into his ear, soothing words that roll over his hectic mind to make it less chaotic, but his hands are still moving. Lips scorch a path up his neck at the same time he hears a zipper, a pop of a cap, can feel Daddy’s hand fumbling around behind his ass. He knows what it means, makes him whimper out a pathetic, “Daddy!”, makes him grow a little hysterical again.

“Mhmm, sugar know you’ve been waitin’ for this, been waitin’ for Daddy to make these princess parts feel so good, baby,” and the agreement Bucky goes to give turns into a wet gasp when he feels the slick head of Daddy’s cock press against his hole. It already feels so different, a little more added sensation, a delicious pressure, and then—

“Fuck, Daddy…”

It feels different, so different, and Bucky doesn’t know how such a minute change can bring on such a substantial difference in sensation. Daddy doesn’t stall, doesn’t draw things out, pushes and presses in, and Bucky wants to weep at how close he feels to Steve. He hadn’t anticipated this, feeling Steve in such an intimate way, feeling every ridge and vein and curve of Daddy’s cock. He’s being fucked, being fucked in a way he’s never been, and when Steve presses his hips tight into the curve of Bucky’s ass, he sobs.

The hand in his hair turns into a soothing one, glides through his locks the same way Steve’s coos glides down his shoulders, down his back.

“Bucky, baby…” Steve starts, a little breathless and a little dark, lips pursing at Bucky’s cheek as his head is turned and laid lightly down onto the table. The feeling of Steve’s sweater on his bare back is soft and soothing whereas the denim of Steve’s jeans digging into the back of his thighs, his ass, makes him hiss a little. Where his own dick and balls normally hang heavy between his legs, they instead are tucked up into the confines of his panties.

Every breath he takes makes him wiggle back into Daddy, makes him so very aware of how full he is, of how thick and heavy Daddy’s cock is in his pussy. He’s never once felt as much as he feels in this moment, entire form as sensitive as his ass is, practically vibrating out of his own skin.

“Tell me how it feels, sugar. Come on,” Steve commands in his ear and Bucky is so far gone he doesn’t even think, just responds with, “Feels so big, Daddy s’like I’ve never been…never been fucked before, feelin’ so much.” Steve purrs, pulses his hips in little rolls, slides his hands deliciously down Bucky’s sides. It makes Bucky let out a happy noise, his own little purr of a sigh, makes him arch his neck roll his spine, makes him slide his arms up the table to grab onto the opposite edge.

“How s’it feel different, Princess?” Steve asks in a husky voice, his Daddy voice, and Bucky mewls in response, a high and drawn out noise when Daddy starts to pull his hips back and press in.

“Feels so smooth, Daddy, so wet. Feels…ngh feels so good, can feel you everywhere.” Steve presses hot kisses up Bucky’s neck, wet open-mouthed ones, leans his weight onto Bucky’s back as his hands slide down to grip his hips. Things are slow, savory, Steve setting a devastating pace, one that allows the two of them to soak in every second. The groan Daddy lets out into Bucky’s ear makes him want to giggle, makes him smile, makes him bring a hand down to his mouth so he can suck a few fingertips between his lips.

“Oh, Buck look at ya—know that face, sugar. You’re feelin’ sweet, fuck you’re feelin’ sweet.”

He is, he can feel it, can feel it in the base of his neck and his toes, feel it in his head. It isn’t overwhelming and it isn’t a full-on float but it’s ever-present, makes him relax on the tabletop beneath him, makes Daddy fucking into him feel that much better.

Bucky going sweet always does something to Daddy, always makes him go a little feral, makes him lose some control. He nibbles on the back of Bucky’s neck at the same time he pulls his hips back far enough to where just the tip is sheathed inside of Bucky’s hole and slides back in. It makes Bucky’s eyes roll some, makes him want to close them since he apparently is struggling to keep them open at all, makes him want to hold his breath so he doesn’t disrupt the sensation of feeling. Only the first true thrust is slow; every thrust after that one is much harder and much deeper, franticness bleeding out through Daddy’s actions.

“That’s it, Buck—lay there and let Daddy enjoy this sweet pussy, let him fuckin’ use it, baby.”

It’s euphoric. It’s pleasurable for so many different reasons, takes his breath right out of his lungs, leaves him grunting out little sighs and whimpers with each of Daddy’s thrusts. He pushes his fingers a little deeper into his mouth, moans around them, sucks on them at the same time Daddy’s fingers dig into his sides. His body moves, bounces, with each thrust and smack of Daddy’s hips into his bottom, a jarring but comforting movement.

Bucky knows Daddy’s well-endowed, almost extremely so, but Bucky feels like Daddy’s cock is in his throat, feels so thoroughly fucked he can barely hear himself gasping, knows he might end up crying.

“Fuck, baby y’feel so sweet, so soft, Daddy can’t get enough. Daddy wants to fuck this pussy full, wants to fuck it ‘till it’s shakin’, sugar, fuck.”

“Daddy, oh,” Bucky whimpers out, almost forgets about the fingers in his mouth, spreads his legs apart some on instinct upon hearing Daddy’s filthy words. Steve makes a grunt of affirmation, pulls back and off of Bucky’s body, fucks his cock into him a little deeper, a little faster. It all makes Bucky let out a whine before sticking his fingers back into his mouth.

“Daddy needs…wanna see that pretty face, Buck c’mere, come on,” Steve starts to say, grinds his hips in tight and hard one more time before pulling out slowly. He grabs for Bucky before he can process Daddy’s words, whines when his fingers are pulled from his mouth, when he’s lifted from the table. He thinks for a second that they’ll go to the couch but lets out a whimper of surprised when Steve turns and presses Bucky’s back into the carpeted floor, grabs for the lube and slicks his erection up some more.

Bucky loves being on his back, loves spreading his legs, loves when Daddy takes what he wants from Bucky, fucks him stupid. Steve grabs for his thighs, tosses them onto those deliciously broad shoulders, motion pressing his thighs together in a way that Bucky just knows is going to wreck him, make everything slippery. The fabric of Steve’s clothes feels comforting and silken under his thighs, Daddy being fully clothed adding to the whole eroticism of the situation.

The fat head of Steve’s cock presses against his opening, his rim, at the same time Steve’s wide palms glide tenderly up his thighs, his shins, his lips turning and running along the ticklish skin of his ankles.

“Missed bein’ inside’a you while I was away, Buck, missed this pretty pussy oh, honey,” Steve murmurs against the skin of his foot, his ankle, as he presses back inside with a gutting slide, his hands grabbing at Bucky’s thighs, holding them close to his chest. The pressure feels so good it makes Bucky’s teeth ache, makes him roll his head back to arch his neck, makes his chest heave as he tries his hardest to not be swallowed up and completely overwhelmed.

Bucky’s sigh turns into a deep moan, Daddy’s cock filling him right back up beautifully, and he can’t help but subconsciously bring his fingers down to rub at his own nipples. Daddy notices immediately, encourages Bucky with sugary words, tells him to stick his fingers in his mouth and bring them back down to his chest, “There ya go, baby, pinch ‘em, rub those little pink—yes, fuck.”

Steve moves his hips and rolls his body with pointed grace, jean-sheathed shins gliding and bouncing along the carpet in order to fuck into Bucky intensely. The position has Bucky feeling like he has to make a noise with every thrust, his body having no choice but to need and utilize any source of release it can. His fingers pluck and roll over his nipples, them hardening under his own touch, little zaps of pleasure leading right to his dick, the dick he had forgotten was still wrapped up in sheer material and bows.

“Oh, Daddy m’wearin’ panties,” he slurs in disbelief, raises his head to glance down his body to watch his erection bounce against the front of his thong with every slap of Steve’s body into his own. The material is soaked through the front, an embarrassingly large stain pooled near the tip of his cock. He hears Daddy chuckle, a bubble of a noise, a mumble of something sweet, a kiss pressed against his ankle.

“Fuck yeah y’are, sweetness, wearin’ panties all for Daddy. Got a soft little pussy to go with it don’t ya, Buck?” Daddy asks and Bucky mewls.

“Mhmm, s’all for Daddy, all for you Daddy. Love how you fuck my…my pussy, Daddy,” Bucky moans, hands coming up to cup his neck, and Bucky feels himself lean into that sweet headspace more, both of them well aware of the fact that Bucky’s mouth runs when he’s feeling sweet and about to come. Steve’s groan turns into a little bit of a snarl and then he’s pushing Bucky’s legs off of his chest, spreads them wide at the ankles first and then runs his hands down the inside of Bucky’s thighs.

“Yeah, Buck? You a little slut for Daddy fuckin’ your pussy?” and Bucky would answer except he can’t, can’t move his thick tongue in a way that would produce words, just lays there and looks up at Daddy fucking into him. Bucky’s thighs drape over Daddy’s own, almost wrap around his narrow waist, hips tilted up and held tight at an angle that has him crying out into the air above him.

“M’a little slut for it,” he sobs, bringing his fingers up to his mouth again, and Steve lets out a low groan that sounds like it’s been punched directly from his chest.

“I know you are, sugar bear—I love it. I love you,” Steve moans and Bucky joins him with his own cry, Daddy fucking into him once, twice, three times hard, angle grazing and then pressing right into his sweet spot. Just like before, the urge and need to come sweeps over him in a rush of a movement, has him gasping and scrambling, leaning up on his elbows. He’s bent and contorted in such a way that him leaning up gives him the perfect line of sight to see his panties and to watch Daddy fuck into him.

“Oh fu—I’m…Daddy I wanna come, make this pussy come,” Bucky cries, watches Daddy’s eyes follow his cock, watching him fuck in and out of Bucky’s greedy hole. Daddy hums, brings a hand down to rub at Bucky’s cock and it’s messy, uncoordinated, squeezes and pulls and pats.

“Gonna fuckin’ cream those panties, Buck? You gonna make ‘em messy, baby? All messy for Daddy?” The questions make Bucky’s head drop back, so lightheaded he can’t hold himself up even for a second longer, makes him scramble for blind purchase until Steve mercifully leans down and follows Bucky as he presses him back into the carpet. Bucky digs his fingers into Daddy’s sweater, his hair, presses his lips sloppily into Steve’s own, nips at his bearded chin.

That hot coil of pleasure builds in his gut, in his balls, makes him arch his back so he can better bear down onto Daddy’s thick cock. The bump and grind of Steve’s stomach and torso onto his confined dick pushes Bucky that much closer to that cliff, makes him want to throw himself into his climax after being denied twice already.

“Daddy, wanna come please, can’t wait, please—”

“A’course, baby, wanna feel that pussy come, give it to Daddy,” but Bucky shakes his head frantically, wants to be good, wants Daddy to come too, that little subby part of his brain wanting to be used in such a way. In response, Steve nods his head, leans down to completely drape his body over Bucky’s much smaller one, fucking into him at a new angle. The angle makes the sound of Steve fucking into him almost make Bucky blush in its lewdness, so wet and so filthy.

He feels a hand on his hip, leans into the opposite hand on the side of his face like a cat. Steve coos at him, “Come, Bucky—come on Daddy’s cock,” gives him a sweet kiss, and there’s nothing Bucky can do to control or try to prevent his orgasm. He wails, sobs into Daddy’s open mouth, rips at the fabric of the sweater covering Steve’s back. Having been brought to the edge and pushed away from it twice already makes this orgasm feel like it’s sucking the absolute life out of Bucky, makes his thighs tremble underneath Daddy’s grip and form.

Steve’s mouth is at his ear, murmuring absolute filth into it, talking about Bucky’s pussy and how it feels coming around Daddy’s cock, such a hungry little thing. The waves of pleasure are almost too much, are almost painful, especially with how hard Daddy continues to fuck into him, but Bucky never wants it to stop. Daddy’s groaning and whispering about how he’s going to come, asks Bucky if he wants that, wants Daddy’s come to fill his pussy up.

He begs for it, squeals for it, weeps for it.

He can feel the sticky wet mess of his panties cling to his cock, knows he has to look like the filthiest thing Steve’s ever seen, but knows that alone might lend a hand to the eruption that is Daddy’s orgasm. Bucky holds on tight, moves his arms to wrap around Daddy’s neck, clings and clenches down on the thick cock inside of him. Steve’s noises are pressed right into the skin of Bucky’s neck, his shoulder, and Bucky wants to drink them in, wants to bottle them up and keep them forever.

“Fuck, baby love, holy shit love you so much, fuck…”

Daddy has a filthy mouth, never curses as much as he does when he’s inside of Bucky somehow, and it makes Bucky giggle, makes him bring his hands and run them through the hair on the back of Steve’s head. Steve pants onto the side of Bucky’s face, pumps his hips a few more lazy times, savoring the feeling Bucky is sure, and the final long groan Daddy gives makes Bucky’s dick twitch in a useless effort.

Bucky used to hate the parts of sex that came after an orgasm: the cleanup and the inevitable awkwardness and the shuffling around. Steve has taught Bucky how to love this part, how to live in and savor this glow, how to not rush your way out of it. Bucky loves the way he and Steve can lay there together, still intertwined, how they can catch their breath and clear away the foggy headspace of making love together, work back to reality as one. The soft touches, murmurs, and giggles are some of Bucky’s most cherished memories to date.

Bucky could have never guessed that the two of them would share this moment on the floor in Steve’s office, but a dirty part of his brain knew they’d christen it eventually. Bucky knows there is much to discuss, knows Steve will want to talk about how Bucky is feeling and how he came to this surprise decision, but that’s a conversation for when they’re home eating curled up on the couch and not when Bucky is coming back to reality and feeling soft.

Bucky’s giggle is somewhat contagious, makes Steve let out his own chuckle when he pulls back to look down at Bucky, to run his fingers down his face to his chin.

“You proud’a yourself, sugar bear?” he asks Bucky, voice a gruff whisper, hand squeezing at his curled hip. Bucky doesn’t even have to think when he goes to answer—

“Yes, Daddy—very proud.” Steve smiles some more, a beam of a thing, tilts Bucky’s chin up to kiss him sweetly.

“Good. You should be.”

Bucky can’t help but preen and blush in the fragile little state he’s in, duck his head some, to which Steve presses chaste kisses to his cheeks. Steve settles an elbow to the floor by Bucky’s head, settles into that syrupy post-orgasm glow the they’re quickly succumbing to. Looking at Steve, his features and his eyes and those rosy cheeks, reminds Bucky why he has come to love this part of sex so much.

“I missed you,” he whispers without thought, inner monologue spilling out, but Steve accepts it with open arms. His hand comes up, brushes his fingers across Bucky’s forehead, across his eyebrow all feather-like, the way he does when Bucky is sleepy.

“I missed you too, Buck. So much. M’not used to bein’ away from you for so long. I’m takin’ you with me next time.” Bucky giggles again, secretly hopes Steve is telling the truth and sweeps him away alongside him next time. The time apart wasn’t entirely awful, Bucky telling himself it’s healthy to be okay when your partner is gone, but it hurt to go to sleep alone each night, hurt to go some days without getting a call from Steve.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad,” Bucky ponders in a mocking way that makes Steve chuckle, makes him kiss Bucky softly again. They spend the next minute in silence breathing each other in, droopy eyelids and light smirks that tug on the corners of their lips. Bucky finds the fingers of one hand digging into Steve’s beard in his go-to comforting gesture.

“You want pizza for dinner?” Bucky hums.

“Had pizza last night. Indian?” This time it’s Steve’s turn to hum.

“Mmm, yeah. Indian. Can’t wait to get you home, wanna see you in my shirt and pretend to throw a fit.” Bucky’s heart does that thing where it simultaneously feels like it’s in his throat and in his tummy, where he knows he’s smiling like a goon and can’t help it.

He tilts his chin up, nips at Steve’s chin, kisses him on the lips.

“Good thing it’s already out and all worn-in from me wearin’ it this week. Might have to go digging around for another one,” and Steve gives him one of those looks that makes him feel like he’s floating away on a cloud.

“I’m sure I’ve got one for you somewhere, sugar…”

#stucky #Baby!Bucky #Daddy!Steve #i am working on my endings

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masjestickingdom · 4 years

Text

My Little Secret (Part 2)

Pairing: NCT Jaehyun x reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: So you made a promise to yourself that you would get over your feelings for your sister’s husband. Except you can’t.

Note: This is part 2 of My Little Secret! If you haven’t read the first part, please check it out here. And if anyone wants to drop anything in the suggestion box, please do so. I’m open to any ideas, seriously, so don’t feel embarrassed--you can send it anonymously.

____________________________________________________________________________

Nothing about that night felt right. Your dress was too tight. The curling iron was nowhere to be found. Half of the jewelry you owned were tangled. Worst of all, you were sweating bullets from walking back and forth from your room to your small office, rapping to your boss, who was also your friend, on the phone.

“What? I was never given that file,” you would repeat when your friend asked you to look something up.

It was only half past seven and all you wanted to do was to go back in time and take back your statement, “I’ll go.” It was stupid of you to agree to go to some charity event to meet a guy when you strongly despised social settings, which was odd because your work required you to socialize all the time.

With one of the most important business meetings ahead of you in a week’s time, Jia was freaking out over how disorganized everything was.

“Jesse,” she whined, calling out your name for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. “I swear I gave you the file.”

“Maybe I left it at the office,” you said, rushing to slip on your heels. “I’ll be there as soon as the fundraising event is over.”

Once you made it out of the building, the cold breeze of the dark autumn night ran past you, and you instantly regretted not bringing out with you a light coat. You hissed under your breath as you made your way over to your car, which you parked across the street for some reason you couldn’t recall.

“I just had to park it at the farthest corner,” you murmured while your friend kept babbling on about some random dude on the street (and sometimes you wondered how Jia got the position of marketing manager with her tendency to chatter whenever she was anxious). “Hey, I need to get going, so call me when you need something else, okay?” you told your buzzing friend, hoping to free your mind of work for the next couple of hours.

The ride to your sister’s house was peaceful. The street lamps and office lights lit up the navy night sky and, subsequently, your mood. Every passing street had people strolling on the sidewalks, some with families, others with friends, and some alone. With your window rolled down, you listened to the sound of the wind and the delightful screams of children running around. But your peace ended quickly: before you knew it, you were standing in front of an all-too-familiar brown door, across the mowed lawn, with your fingers drumming lightly against your bare thighs.

“Please get me through this night” you whispered to an invisible force before the door flew open with a friendly face.

“Jesse!” your sister excitedly greeted, immediately welcoming you with a warm hug.

“Hi, Janet,” you said, trying to return her enthusiasm. “How’s the stomach pain?”

In a hushed tone, she replied, “Honestly, I’m just using that as an excuse not to call our nanny. I’ve got the feeling that she has her eyes on Jaehyun.”

“Oh, really?” you reacted weakly as you pulled away from her embrace. “That’s a shame.”

That did not at all throw your mind into chaos. Not at all. Your sister quickly changed the subject as she scanned you from head to toe and wiggled her eyebrows. “Well someone cleaned up nicely.”

You simply shrugged, letting yourself in the house. Everything was in the same place, still as boring as ever. The only new additions were the two humans who were approaching you with wide smiles.

“Jesse, long time no see,” Mark and Doyoung said with wide arms, to which you decided to hug both of them simultaneously.

The two black-haired beauties had known you since they moved in, which wasn’t a long time ago, but the three of you clicked. You loved music and had always fantasized about becoming a music producer when you were younger. Mark and Doyoung were living the dream, and you couldn’t wait for big things to happen for them.

While you were catching up with them, your nephew Jaehyung made his appearance out of the hallway with his adorable hands partially wrapped around his father’s, the man you secretly loved.

“Auntie!” your nephew shouted, willingly letting go of his father’s hand as he dashed towards you at full speed.

By instinct, you bent down to receive the speeding little boy who almost toppled you over.

“I’m starting to get the feeling that he loves her more than he loves us,” Mark said to Doyoung in a not-so-quiet manner.

“Well, I’m a blood relative,” you told your same-aged friend, lifting Jaehyung up from his feet and letting him join you and your sight of the world at your freakish height. “Isn’t that right, LJ?”

“Auntie is always right,” your nephew sweetly responded, to which Mark and Doyoung dramatically gasped.

“I don’t mean to break you two apart,” your crush spoke, “But we have to get going if we don’t want to be late.”

Thankfully, you were able to shoot a calm smile at Jaehyun, greeting him very briefly before handing the sweet little boy in your arms to his mother, all without making a fool of yourself. Jaehyun was absolutely gorgeous. With his slick-backed hair and dark blue suit that complemented his eyes, you could just run your fingers along his beautifully placed--

No, you couldn’t. You had to physically refrain yourself from acting out your fantasies by forcefully turning your back to him, and you lowly hummed to a pop song, hoping your amoral thoughts would wash away. However, the fact that the other two called the back seats, leaving you at the shotgun with Jaehyun by your side, forced you to swallow the rising guilt inching near your throat. To your luck, Jia had called you and whisked you into the world of your comfort zone, which was funnily what you were sick of: work.

...

“There is no way you actually got him to get back with his ex.”

You were just about to text back your secretary regarding something Jia requested to have when Mark pulled out the vacant seat next to you and said what he said.

“You actually got Jungwoo to leave the event to talk to her,” the dumbfounded boy said, shaking his head in disbelief.

That’s right. You somehow managed to encourage Jungwoo, the guy your sister and Jaehyun set you up with, to get back together with his ex-girlfriend. There was nothing wrong with Jungwoo; in fact, he was the perfect gentleman you would have dreamed of having in your younger years. He was stunning--physically, facially, and personality-wise. He was funny and considerate. He had a soft, melodious voice that you swore you heard on the radio. He even shared your weird preference of music. But there was one thing: he was the perfect gentleman, except he wasn’t Jaehyun. The amazing skills you had to convince someone, someone as fine as Jungwoo, to leave you for someone else astonished Mark.

“You must be a beast when you negotiate,” he murmured while you typed away on your phone.

“Believe me, I had no intentions of shooing him away,” you told him. “He just mentioned that he got out of a long-term relationship, so I asked him a few questions. I swear that’s all I did.”

Your same-aged friend snorted. “Yeah, yeah.” When you continued to text your secretary, he added, “You should really get off your phone and interact with others.”

You simply hummed and Mark, in response, swiftly snatched your phone and tucked it away, far from your tech-deprived hands.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you questioned your smirking friend, your eyebrows deeply furrowed.

“Getting you to mingle.”

“You’re gonna get me fired,” you huffed frustratedly.

“Mark almost got me fired,” you heard your other mischievous friend say. “It was one of the worst days of my life.”

“I should get ready for that anytime soon then,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Get ready for what?” another familiar voice spoke.

The apple of your eye joined the table, sitting across your seat. Suddenly, the table seemed longer than it was, stretching for miles and miles. You quietly let out a sigh and decided to look around your surroundings, eyes gliding over the mass of people conversing. In the midst of your scanning process, Doyoung and Mark abandoned their seats to get more drinks. Without you noticing, Jaehyun managed to scoot down to you, stealing Mark’s seat.

“Is there anyone here who catches your eye?”

Startled at the proximity of his voice and suddenly uncomfortable, you began tapping your feet to the rhythm of the background chatter. You didn’t dare look at him in the eye; you didn’t want to face his genuine curiosity--it would destroy you. Instead, you picked up your glass of wine ever so slightly, swirled it around, and answered with a plain “no”.

“I’m sorry that you and Jungwoo didn’t work out,” Jaehyun said with pity filling his voice.

“Well,” you began in an effort to keep the conversation rolling instead of childishly letting your emo-side take over, “I’m 30, and I seem to be wedded to my work. I’ll be alright.”

“Work does seem to like you a lot,” the beautiful man joked. “But you don’t seem to hate it.”

You offered a small smile. “I’m over it with people constantly calling me, but, yeah, I don’t hate it.”

When a moment of silence passed, you deemed it fitting to finally take a sip from your drink. But it was then when Jaehyun thought it was appropriate to say, “Janet seems to think that you’re a work-a-holic.” Now that was a label you had never thought applied to you. A work-a-holic? You? Impossible. What was wrong with simply liking to bow down to fear?

“I guess I need to fill up that loneliness,” you said lightly, setting your glass down. “Gotta have something, you know?”

Jaehyun dismissed your half-hearted comment. “You do know that she’s concerned out of love.”

You simply nodded and added, “Gotta love her too,” earning you a knowing look. “Okay, being my brother-in-law doesn’t mean you get to scold me too.”

A low feeling of heartache stirred in you as the conversation carried out. If this basic conversation about your life had you killing inside, how could you face three weeks worth of the same thing with him in two weeks time? Answer: you couldn’t.

“You know, if you keep working like that, you won’t have time to date.”

“I’ll just date my work then,” you replied sarcastically. “No one needs a human significant other to fulfill their satisfaction.”

For once, you looked at Jaehyun straight into his eyes. Those deep brown orbs of his spoke of genuine curiosity. You were right: they destroyed you. You forced yourself to avert your gaze back to the crowd before you.

“Come on, why don’t you give yourself a break?” he asked, leaning closer to you due to the sudden increase in background noise.

His natural honey-scented self was overpowered by the soft lavender-scented perfume you saw Jia spray on him earlier. It was the perfume you had gotten them for their four-year wedding anniversary, with the card, “Don’t worry: it’s gender-neutral.”

“Okay, I really don’t want my brother-in-law giving me advice about my love life,” you grimaced bitterly while trying not to breathe through your nose. “It’s weird.”

“Then take it as a friend.”

A new wave of the aromatic scent reached your nose as you sharply inhaled at the words that left Jaehyun’s lips. Friends? Friends? Since when were you and Jaehyun friends? Sure, you guys talked, but it was only because of his relationship with your sister. If you hadn’t met him through your sister, you were sure that you wouldn’t have had the guts to approach him yourself. Being friends with your brother-in-law was not something you had in mind, not especially since you were in love with him--not that you were planning on making a move on him. In fact, you wanted to do nothing with him.

But if you were friends, then wouldn’t that be the first step to getting over him?

Thankfully, a fellow co-worker of Jaehyun’s saved you from your train of thought, informing Jaehyun that their boss was looking for him. Before he could leave, though, Jaehyun patted your shoulders and sent you a comforting smile. You watched him go farther away from you as he interacted with his boss whose face instantly brightened. Smooth talker. Sociable. Look at me, sitting and moping as if there’s no tomorrow, you thought bitterly, tasting your wine for the first time.

And that was how you spent the night--sitting by yourself, worrying your phone would be broken from the number of calls Jia would have made, and watching the man you loved mingle with others like the loveable man he was. You were officially pathetic.

When the time came to leave, you were more than ready to sprint out the doors and claim freedom. Instead, your boss called and the cold wind slapped your face.

“Jia, I got the file,” you said to your friend, pushing your company’s tall glass doors open and waving the thick file in your hands even though she couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I told Sophie to leave it at my desk. Don’t worry, I’ve got things covered, alright?”

Before Jia could say anything else, you stepped onto the pavement when you heard someone call out your name. Once you saw who it was, you greeted that person with a bright smile. That man could liven up your day with his mere presence.

“Johnny!” you exclaimed, reciprocating the tall man’s lively tone. As you initiated a hug, you asked him, “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yeah, my boss pulled me back,” Johnny said grimly. “What’s with the file?”

“Oh, this? It’s just something Jia was freaking out about.”

Your considerate co-worker sent you a sympathetic smile. “Couldn’t get Sophie to get it to your place, huh?”

To that, you shrugged and said, “It’s not that bad. It’s just weird having people peeking into my house.”

Talking to Johnny was like meeting your long time friend. He was a breath of fresh air, asking you about things that had nothing to do with your love life. You admired the way he could easily change topics without seeming too sudden and appreciated his quick wit. Unfortunately, the fruitful conversation didn’t last long, and you two parted ways, Johnny taking a cab while you jogged across the street to reach Jaehyun’s black, family-friendly SUV.

“Hey, who was that?” Doyoung said suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows in a manner you thought was silly.

“A coworker,” you replied emotionlessly, hoping Jia would stop texting you.

“He was checking you out,” Mark blatantly remarked.

You stopped typing momentarily and shot a glance at his direction. You meant to give him a menacing glare, but you were caught off guard by Jaehyun’s arm resting behind your headrest. You cleared your throat once you realized that he was backing up the car from the parking lot.

“He’s just a friendly person.”

Sick of Jia’s constant demands--you still loved her--and the horrible night full of pain, you rested your elbow comfortably against the window and rubbed your temple. You were not going to be able to sleep that night with that splitting headache, especially with Mark and Doyoung teasing you.

“Come on guys, give her some privacy with her love life,” Jaehyun defended you as he removed his arm from your seat. “I think she’s had enough tonight.”

You offered Jaehyun a weak but warm smile. “Thank you.”

He, in return, gave a cheeky one. “Hey, do you know the song that goes, ‘Jesse and Johnny sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-’”

“-I-N-G!” - Doyoung Mark chimed enthusiastically.

Sinking into your seat, you grumbled, “I’m really babysitting four children next month, aren’t I?”

And the way back to the house of torture was filled with laughter and childish rhymes while all you wished to do was jump out of the car and end your misery. Oh, but you had no idea that the three weeks that awaited you made that night seem like nothing in comparison. Nothing you could do would prepare you for hell.

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lettrespromises · 4 years

Text

┄───➤ LettresPromises informs you : you have one notification. ❜

──➤ 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 : 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.

──➤ Smoker sent you a letter, would you like to read it? ❜

@theastroooooworld sent a letter : ❝hello my lover 🧚🏼‍♀️, i hope you are well no matter when you see this request !since i love above all your writing, could you make a scenario with another love of my life : Smoker ? in which this angel becomes aware that he loves his best friend from childhood, but this confuses him a lot and he ends up not knowing how to act with her anymore and until he decides to tell her ? please make it very sweet and full of good vibes ! I trust you once again for this declaration of love !𓊕 — juste entre nous deux; tu es une personne formidable et j'avais juste besoin de te le dire, je t'aime fort 💜🤸🏼‍♀️❞

the author’s letter : ❝dear cam, i couldn’t be more honored of writing this request for you, especially because it concerns smoker and he has no business being this hot but oh well!! thank you for trusting me with your wonderful idea, i hope you’ll enjoy this promised letter. je t’aime si fort, t’es plus qu’incroyable et j’aimerai que tu le saches.❞

──➤ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : pure fluff. ─➤ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : none. ➤ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.6K. Excerpt of the letter : ❝Only then did he realize that he had never felt an agonizing sensation of vacuity coursing through his veins when he was feeling frustrated. It was odd, it was foreign, he felt weak. His subconscious screamed at him to associate this haunting feeling of loneliness to the lack of your presence, and for once he agreed— Smoker knew he felt different, in the worst way possible, when you were not around, so he let out another puff of smoke.❞

Is there anything Smoker won’t put words around? Yes, there is.

There is the consuming rage fueled by his unquenched thirst to capture more pirates and bring his status of « white hunter » closer to glory. But he reminds himself that perhaps some pirates deserve to be set free as his orbs lay on the poster of Monkey D. Luffy and the letters of the word « wanted » screaming at him. There is the sense of injustice within the epitome of justice, such acerbic poetry, and the cacophony of remorses making his jaw clench every now and then. There is the frustration of acknowledging that there will forever be a gap between his own definition of justice and his superiors’ definition of justice, particularly Akainu’s version which appears too merciless to his own liking.

And there is the haunting torment of being incapable of qualifying properly his feelings.

He knows what anger feels like— he knows how anger bends his body, he knows that anger will push his sanity down a pit and he will have to sit here and observe an unhinged version of himself crawl out of said pit.

He knows what indifference feels like— but he barely realizes that his eyes roll back whenever his superior wishes, yet again, to narrow the notion of freedom within justice, he knows that his brain purposefully decides not to absorb any given information pooling out of Akainu’s mouth.

Smoker knows how his emotions manifest themselves and recognizes them kinesthetically.

But Smoker also fails to identify the newcomers.

« State your name and business before coming in. » It also seems that he has trouble recognizing the five distinct taps of your knuckles on the door leading to his office, but oh well.

Your knuckles brush the wooden surface of the door until reaching the doorknob and twisting it in the process, you close the door behind you, leaving his pseudo orders waiting in front of the door at the same time. « I’m kind of hurt, I thought you’d recognize my secret knocking style, we’ve spent ages creating this secret language as kids. »

But how could Smoker not recognize the sound of your voice and the honey dripping down your vocal cords?

He shifted in his seat, secretly thanking for your presence so his orbs could properly project a different visual than the bland reports scattered across his desk, and he thanked you a second time for allowing him to visually embrace the shape of your body, but he kept that to himself. « Should I give you a reminder of how old we are, Y/N? I’m almost certain we’re way past that age. » Smoker stated, a puff of smoke punctuated the end of his sentence.

« No doubt, you’re definitely past that age. » You trailed off whilst making your way over to his desk, a grin which radiated ill intentions shone brought amongst your facial features. You made a seat out of his desk without asking for permission, Smoker lightly tapped your left thigh in return, a weak attempt to make you get off of his desk. The experience granted by having shared the majority of your life with Smoker offered you the prestige of being free of your own deeds around him, without ever having to worry about pseudo consequences. « But I do have amazing news for you, I’m sure you’ll love it. » You finished, an amused gleam shining in the irises of your eyes at his quirked eyebrow, a silent way to tell you to explain further.

« I’m coming with you and Tashigi on Punk Hazard! Now, now… I know your emotionless self won’t let it show but I know, I just know you’re thrilled to hear that. » You slammed the report proving the sincerity of your words regarding your presence on the mission held on Punk Hazard on his desk in a loud thud, and the proudest grin appeared across your face, just to emphasize that silent victory over Smoker who had always refused to go on a mission with you, but never once did he admit it was because he was afraid of seeing you getting hurt.

Another puff of smoke left his lips, out of frustration, he recognized that he was feeling frustrated because of the way his teeth would hold his cigars a bit tighter, often approaching the limit of breaking them in two.

« You seem so eager to come on Punk Hazard, but I don’t think you realize how dangerous this mission is. » He grumbled, his eyes finding yours lost amongst the metaphorical electricity created in the room because of the tension. Smoker couldn’t quite tell what frustrated him the most— was it the fact that Akainu, out of all people, granted you the wish to come on Punk Hazard? Was it the fact he envied your ability to willingly ignore the magnitude of danger? Or was it the fact you called him emotionless?

Emotionless.

Smoker wasn’t emotionless, see— he was feeling frustrated. But, nonetheless, the words echoed in his head until it lost its meaning. Was he emotionless? No, no, no he was not. Smoker was not emotionless. He was frustrated, frustration is a valid feeling therefore is he able to show emotions. But only now did he wonder if it was genuine frustration.

« I didn’t reach this rank by slacking off, you and I both know it. I’ll see you soon enough, Smoker. »

He found his own answer when you hopped off his desk and left the room, the sound of the door being shut close was his sole wake-up call. Only then did he realize that he had never felt an agonizing sensation of vacuity coursing through his veins when he was feeling frustrated. It was odd, it was foreign, he felt weak. His subconscious screamed at him to associate this haunting feeling of loneliness to the lack of your presence, and for once he agreed— Smoker knew he felt different, in the worst way possible, when you were not around, so he let out another puff of smoke.

This enigma kept him up at the worst moments, and like every enigma, obtaining an answer to soothe the inner pain caused by the latest obsession of his mind was almost impossible. He immediately knew he couldn’t talk about it to Hina, or worse, Tashigi. Either way, he was sure to be met with either a harsh judgement and could already imagine Hina saying « You’ve mellowed ever since we joined the navy, Hina is amused. » or the inevitable stutters cascading from Tashigi’s mouth. Smoker was on his own, drown in the torment of his own emotions.

The sole temporary solution he found was to ignore you, if his body and mind had to hurt then so be it, he couldn’t handle the agonizing pain of seeing you go away, Smoker had mentally told himself to be a martyr and accept it.

You, on the other one hand, did not bother too much about his absence, you figured it was his way to mentally prepare himself ahead of a mission. You accepted it too, both his absence and the inexorable feeling of your heartstrings being bent in unimaginable ways.

Smoker lighted up the fifth cigar in a row now, and once more he blindly trusted the aftereffects of your absence for the cause of this obsession, smoking some more was merely a placebo to soothe the torture brought by the lack of answer. Truthfully, Smoker hadn’t spoken in a while, perhaps he had nothing to say as long as he knew what was going on. He spoke rarely and judged the value of his words before actually speaking— sure, he had directed his subalterns here and there to organize the ship on their way to Punk Hazard, but aside from the obligations of his ranks, he found nothing to say. Or rather, his mind didn’t grant him the ability to talk until he figured what was this haunting feeling which had no familiarity with frustration anymore. But was he emotionless?

Instead, Smoker let the rhythm of the waves crashing against the ship in the darkest hours of the night to rock his thoughts. His hazel orbs never left once the ‘wanted’ posters of Monkey D. Luffy and Trafalgar Law— of course he knew their faces and who they were, but the couldn’t trust his body anymore and wondered whether or not this secret emotional disease was going to affect his memory. Smoker hoped it wouldn’t have any impact on his memories with you, he was willing to let amnesia consume him whole and burn everything he knew except any memory which had your name written all over it.

From that moment, Smoker knew it was definitely not frustration.

« Smoker? Smoker? Earth to big cigar boy? You can go to sleep, it’s my turn to watch over the ship and you kind of look like a zombie if I’m being honest. » He hadn’t even noticed you entered the main cabin and thus he cursed himself for doing so, but Smoker noticed you looked hesitant by the way you were fiddling with your fingers, it was something you always did as a child.

Most of all, Smoker noticed something else— whenever you were in the same vicinity as him, the pain soothed, it faded away to let the most blissful sensation appear instead. Yet another question he will never obtain the answer to.

Using the grip on the armrests as a support, Smoker stood up and headed towards the door to leave you alone whilst you were on watching duty, that was the initial plan : head towards the door and leave. Head towards the door and leave. Head towards the door and-…

« Y/N, can I ask you something? » … And shamefully ask you to ease his pain instead.

You looked at him with a quizzical look painted across your facial features, both at the sudden interpellation, but mostly at the fainted grip he was holding on your wrist. « Sure, I’m all ears. » You replied, curiosity tainted the way your words came out but you kept your eyes locked on his frame anyway.

Smoker took a sudden drag of his cigars to ease his nerve and subconsciously give him a few seconds to organize the isolated parts of sentences shooting in his mind. Truthfully, he didn’t even know if this was necessary given that he ignored how he was feeling or what caused his body to hurt so much, translating this agony into words was beyond impossible. « You have to promise not to tell anyone about this. » He inquired, his orbs adopted a darker tone on the demanding tone coating his words and the hold on your wrist became temporarily tighter, you hummed in response, allowing him to continue. « If I’m being honest, I think I’m sick or have caught some kind of disease. It’s odd and quite impossible to properly be explained. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but it’s manifesting through this constant sensation of feeling empty. It weighs on my mind, and I have no idea what’s causing it. »

You quirked your brow in response, genuinely concerned as to whether or not Smoker was actually sick— after all, as you were approaching the extreme binary climate of Punk Hazard, such possibility couldn’t be evicted. You allowed your orbs to roam over his face, a guilty pleasure, and besides visible confusion, you couldn’t depict any physical symptom.

« Um, right? Do you have any idea when did this start? » You asked, hoping to obtain more hints about his situation.

« I hate to admit it but it started when you left my office last week, and now that you’re here I feel better, as in I don’t feel this emptiness anymore. » He continued, and for the first time in your life, you could admire his emotions dancing under the moonlight. « I was wondering if you felt sick, too. »

« So, if I sum it up you feel ‘empty’ and ‘in pain’ when I’m not around. » You couldn’t help but bend your lips into a smile which you knew he already hated by the ill intentioned looks of it.

« Sort of, but you haven’t answered my question : are you ill or not? » A question so innocent which found its answer in the shameless laugh escaping your lips, Smoker covered your mouth with his palm— not because he cared about the quality of the slumber of his soldiers, but rather because the sound of your laugh was awakening something else in him which was too harsh to handle.

You delicately wrapped your fingers around his wrist, slowly making him retreat his limb to his torso, and to his greatest pleasure, your laughter left an imprint on your facial features in the shape of a grin. « Would you believe me if I were to tell you that I found the cure? » You asked, already imagining the outcome of a possible answer.

« Huh? What is it? » He responded to your question with yet another question, but there and only there he found the answer to his haunting enigma when your fingers invaded his vision field and threw the sole obstacles to the apex of the situation, his cigars, on the floor before stepping on them to extinguish them. And there and only there, Smoker felt peace when your lips crashed onto his in a delicately harsh liplock whilst your palms were cupping his cheeks. It came as a reflex, and he couldn’t blame himself for it because he had fantasized about this scenario several times while hoping it would be the cure to his problems, Smoker caged you against his chest as his forelimbs protectively claimed your waist.

The more your lips were lingering on his, the more he felt every ounce of pain exude his body by his every pores— you were the cure, you were the answer to his enigma and always have been. If his lungs hadn’t failed him, Smoker would have gladly delivered himself into the temptations of your lips once more, judging by the way he blindly chased after your lips when you broke the kiss.

Another giggle escaped your lips as your thumbs brushed invisible motions against his cheeks, « Do you still feel empty at all? » you asked, such a rhetorical question, right? Smoker looked at you quizzically but then it hit him— he felt full, and vacuity had lost sense. « No, I don’t feel empty anymore. » He concluded to your amused smile.

« You’re not sick and never have been, or maybe it’s a sickness to you, but you’re in love, Smoker. That’s what you were feeling. And if I’m being honest, I’ve been feeling quite ‘empty’ myself too. » You confessed and opened your heart to him so he could admire each tone of vivid color painting your feelings for him which caused him to tighten his hold to bring you as close as humanly possible. He had found his cure and needed as much contact as possible. « I suppose you’re right, I do feel better when you’re by my side. »

And here, you planted yet another peck on his lips and gave in to the sweet temptation of savoring the taste of his lips once more. The gleam shining in the corner of your eyes reflected nothing but genuine love, and you knew it was the same gleam reflecting in his own orbs. « I’ve never been more glad to be sick in my entire life. » Smoker concluded, and kissed these words into the skin of the crown of your hair.

That’s when Smoker knew that perhaps he wasn’t emotionless, or at least, he was able to feel emotions as long as you were by his side.

#one piece #smoker x reader #one piece x reader #smoker #one piece reader insert #one piece imagine #one piece oneshot #smoker hcs #smoker imagine #smoker oneshot #one piece hcs

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

Text

Don’t Be Over Me

John Wick x Reader (A/n-this should have been the third part of The Arrangement, but I got distracted and ended up writing this)

Warnings- Angst

Blinking slowly, Y/n hoped the motion would brush the hurt out of her eyes while the long sip of her martini would numb the ache in her heart. Why wasn’t he hurting too? Hadn’t he ever cared, or had they simply been words cast out to reel her in? She wished she knew; Y/n definitely had the courage to kill a man with her bare hands, but approach John after they’d broken up? She could never.

It happened a month ago, but still, it hurt like hell, and didn’t help that John seemed to have already been over her. Their break-up had been his idea- if it were up to Y/n, they’d still be together, but John had pushed her away, with the flimsy explanation that he wasn’t looking for a commitment. He’d tried once and it hadn’t turned out the way he had expected, and now that John was back in the life, the last thing he wanted was to be attached. Y/n though, Y/n loved John, adored him, messy, bloody past and all; she’d had the same kind, though unlike him, she wanted more than a casual, label-less involvement. But instead of trying with her, John had chosen his own path, walking out of her house without even a second thought.

It killed her, more and more everyday, but Y/n had done her best to put on a brave face. Even if he’d broken her down, shredded her heart, Y/n wasn’t going to let it show. If she did, she’d feel like she’d lost somehow, like it was just a game; John would ruin her and then they’d see who was better at coping. Arguably, he had an advantage.

In his life, John had done a lot, more than most, he'd killed, survived, made hard calls, loved and lost. He'd made countless decisions, and had regretted few. At first, breaking up with Y/n was just like that, a decision that he wouldn't regret; he loved her, but she wanted commitment and something that was lasting. But John wasn't ready for that, it had only been a couple years after Helen and he'd only just rediscovered stable ground in the criminal underworld, so naturally, cutting off their relationship seemed like the best way to go. At first, it was okay, she was better off without him anyway. But then it happened, maybe he'd have been okay if he hadn't been there right at that very moment, that movie moment, where one party regretted everything that had led to that very specific moment;

She laughed.

And because the world was a cruel, cold, unforgiving place, it just had to be genuine, full bodied, melodious laughter. She’d thrown her head back, loose tresses grazing the navy silk fabric constituting the back of her blouse and her eyes slipping closed, long, dark lashes fanning the tops of her cheeks. John hadn’t seen Y/n laugh like that since their split, and when it happened, and he realized he wasn’t the one making her rousing that reaction, in fact, he wasn’t even privy to the reason. That was how disconnected he was from her. Really, it should have been okay, it was what John thought he wanted.

But instead, it hurt, like hell. Like someone had punched him in the gut then drove a knife through his chest.

After that evening, in the Continental's lobby, when she was checking out and he was checking in, every time John saw her, the knife turned; slow enough so he’d be sure to soak up every agonizing ounce of pain. He’d let Y/n go, and now, she was okay without him.

All while he was falling to pieces.

He’d never let her see though.

That was why he was sat at the bar in the Continental’s lounge, fingers loosely closed around a half-finished, crystal glass of his favorite bourbon, stealing glances at her through the maze of patrons, as Y/n sat in a secluded booth, all by herself with a martini. John knew exactly how that martini was made; gin, always gin, never vodka, top shelf vermouth and a twirl of lemon peel instead of an olive. He recognized the dress she was wearing too; a short, black, velvet strapless one that hugged her curves and rode up her thighs when she sat. Her hair was held up in a high ponytail, strategic strands falling over her face and boasting her diamond earrings, she hardly ever wore her hair like that, but John always thought it looked nice when she did. But that night, Y/n looked better than nice, better than pretty or beautiful. She looked exceptionally stunning. Unattainably gorgeous. Light years better than he deserved.

And she was perfectly fine.

No quiet tears or sunken eyes. No paled cheeks or quivering lips. No sniffles or fidgety posture. Instead, Y/n was okay. Sipping her drink without a care in the world, leaned back into the leather upholstered cushions with her legs crossed and her stoic gaze cast towards the uncaring sea of people. Occasionally, someone would stop by and she’d trade hushed words with them, sometimes chuckling quietly, other times just offering a soft little quirk of her deep red lips, waving briefly as they’d leave her to return to disturbed solitude.

It was wrong, and utterly selfish, but John hated seeing Y/n like that. He hated that she was okay while he felt like he was dying inside. At least if she wasn’t, he could somehow summon up the courage to walk up to and admit defeat. Say the words that would ensure things went back to the way they were, “I’m sorry, I made a mistake.” But surely, he couldn’t do that when Y/n didn’t even seem to miss him. As far as he could tell, the only person John had hurt was himself.

What was her secret for getting over him so quickly?

Didn’t she ever love him?

When, eventually a man, younger than him but still older than Y/n, one he didn’t know very well, stopped at her table, talking for a bit before sliding in next to her, John’s stolen glances turned into a full on stare. At times, when some unknowing person or the other would temporarily interrupt his sight, John would groan quietly, hoping they’d somehow get the message and move out of his way. He needed to see. She couldn’t be over him that quickly.

But Y/n was.

Because soon chatting turned into low whispers, with heads drawn in, and then, whispers turned into huddling, and huddling turned into his lips on her neck. John had kissed her neck, as she emitted hitched, low breaths and soft pleading moans. His lips had traveled down her neck, slow, with his hot breath fanning her pulse erotically, just the way she liked it. He’d tasted Y/n’s skin, felt its softness and sought haven in her warmth. Her fingers had threaded through his hair and her bare leg, brushing his thigh had awoken something in him that John hadn’t felt in years. It was never just sex, it more than that, all encompassing, protective, soothing, it was love.

And John had thrown it away, just so he could see her tangled up with someone else in a low lit bar. Her was drink forgotten, her eyes screwed shut in pleasure as Y/n’s new companion let his hand paw at her waist. Maybe to John it looked more provocative than it was. Maybe he was just a jealous, sore loser who couldn’t stand seeing the woman he loved give herself to someone else.

Maybe he was just too weak to have kept her.

But ‘maybe’ didn’t matter. Because it was actually happening, she had actually moved on. And now, she was letting her new friend urge her out of the seat, taking his hand as they weaved through the masses. And for a split second, John thought that their eyes met, just as she was being gently pulled along. There was no emotion in her stare though, it was brief and cold, yet John was anything but grateful when he was wretched out by a hand on his arm and a voice interrupting his thoughts, “Hey you.”

It was Addy, old friend and flame. In another life, she might have been the one that got away, but by then, the title had gone to Y/n. “Hey,” he pretended to clear his throat with purpose, turning to face her.

“On the house,” Addy, winked, topping off John’s drink, watching with dilated pupils as he downed it in one go, setting the glass to the counter with a thump, drowned out by the edgy jazz, “You know,” she dragged her lower lip through her teeth seductively, “My shifts a couple minutes from being over, and it's been a while since we hung out.”

John suppressed a smirk, Addy was always one to get to the point. Unfortunately though, John didn’t think he could bring himself to enjoy the company of another that night, “I think I’m just going to turn in,” he slid off the bar stool, fishing through his pockets for a gold coin, “Goodnight Addy,” nodded, slipping it onto the marble top.

“I told you,” she gleamed, sliding it back towards John, “On the house,” that was when she got closer, leaning over, probably standing on her toes so their faces would be within a hair of each other’s, “And Y/n’s already over you, maybe you should let me help you get over her.”

The smell of her perfume, mixing with the heady fragrance of booze was enticingly intoxicating, and John found himself drawing towards Addy. Their lips brushed, though just barely, not really in a kiss, but with enough contact to ignite the first sparks of lust. Besides, maybe if he kept his eyes close and her mouth shut, he could probably fool himself into thinking it was Y/n. “How long?”

“I can be done now,” she tossed a dish towel to the bar top, walking towards the edge so she could slip out and join him on the other side, “Let’s go,” Addy offered her hand, and when John took it, he kept his lips sealed, knowing that the sooner he sunk into the fantasy, they better.

Nothing. That was what he’d offered in his unaffected gaze when their eyes locked. It was what he’d shown when Y/n started leaving the lounge with a man who’s name she hadn’t even registered. John Wick had acted like Y/n was nothing to him when he took Addy’s hand, ready to leave himself.

Not that she should have been surprised.

And the worst part? Y/n still couldn’t even bring herself to hate him. In fact, she was jealous, she wanted him to hurt, for his heart to bleed and match hers. She wanted him to sulk up to her and apologize, just so she could tell him to ‘fuck off,’ only to take him back in the end. She wanted something. Anything but more heartache. But that was all John seemed to give her.

Maybe she was better off without him after all.

As Y/n let her mystery man lead her to the elevator, all she could think of was what John was doing with Addy. Were they just going to drink, she knew they had a history, so maybe they were going to do more. It was a dry, hard pill to swallow; the thought of John with another woman, sharing what they once did. Him, touching Addy the way he touched her, kissing Addy the way he kissed her, making Addy feel the things John had made her feel. It wasn’t fair, Y/n wanted that, she wanted that and more. She wanted to love him.

The cool reflective doors of the elevator opened with an automatic ding, leaving Y/n and her companion to stagger out and towards his room at the end of the hall. By the time he was shutting the door behind them, there was barely a moment to slap the light switch before he was pawing hungrily at the hem of her dress, carnal desire over taking his being. With her fingers tangled in his short shock of dark hair, Y/n fought to sink into the moment, pressing his face to her chest as he crouched lower. But even as she stumbled backwards into the made bed, letting him nearly fall on top of her, still fighting clumsily to get her dress off, Y/m couldn’t do it. It didn’t feel right.

He, whoever he was, didn’t feel right.

His touch floundered about her body, quite unlike the way John's just glided across her skin. His kisses were far too sloppy, noisily trailing down the column of her neck, and all in all, he was in too much of a hurry. On top of that, it was hard to get out of her head, to accept that for a while, that might be her new reality, hook-ups with random men in an attempt to fill a John shaped void, nights spent with someone who seemed woefully inexperienced in savoring pleasure, or worst yet, with the kind of man that didn’t really care too.

“Stop,” Y/n managed, suddenly shoving him off, immediately standing and regaining composure. Before the very confused man could protest, or even try to convince Y/n to stay, she was cutting him off, “This isn’t gonna work,” she huffed, readjusting the top of her dress, making sure that everything was in its place, “I should go,” and without another word, she turned on her heel, brushing a couple escaped tears away from her lids.

Sniffing, Y/n stumbled out of the suit, shutting the door behind her, simultaneously as someone else a few doors down did the same. Her breath shook quietly, and she kept her head down, more interested in getting back to her room than seeing who it was. But apparently, they couldn’t condone her unspoken plea to be left alone, and tentatively, they interrupted her walk back to the elevator, “Are you okay?”

Gasping quietly, Y/n jumped as she looked up at him. John. Looking quite unlike they way he’s looked back at the bar. His eyes were dimmed and his lips agape with surprise. “I….” Y/n trailed off, unable to offer more. Seeing him like that, with the hurt clearly painted on his rugged, handsomely worn features wasn’t half as satisfying as she’d imagine it would be. All of a sudden, she didn’t want to yell, scream or cause a row. She didn’t want him to break down a cry either. Instead, she wanted to make it better, wanted to hold him, tell him that despite it all, she still loved him with her whole heart. “No,” she finally sighed, her breath hitching in a quiet, broken sob, “I’m not.”

John’s eyes shone with mirrored pain, and he sniffled quietly as he slipped his hands into his pockets and turned on his heel to slowly approach her. For the first time, he seemed to be letting his guard down, showing everything that he’d kept hidden from the world. John wasn’t fine, he wasn’t okay, and certainly wasn’t over Y/n. “Neither am I,” he shook his head, his gaze panning to his feet before once again meeting Y/n’s. “It was a mistake,” they were closer than a foot apart by then, and all Y/n wanted to do was melt into his arms.

“Do you miss me?” Her inquiry was sorrowful, and Y/n’s lips quivered. Inside, she knew that if his response anything opposing a ‘yes’ would completely shatter her.

“Everyday,” John stepped closer, reaching for her waist in a leap of faith He seemed almost surprised when Y/n didn’t recoil or shove him away, the way he thought he deserved, “I was wrong Y/n. I don’t want casual, I’m ready for more. But only if it's with you. Please don’t be over me,” he pleaded with soft urgency

“I’m not, bu I don’t want you to just say that just-”

“This isn’t like that,” John interrupted, his eyes begging her to believe him, “I miss you so much Y/n. And it kills me to think that you could be happy without me, because I don’t remember how to be happy without you. I love you, and I promise, I just need one more chance to prove that this is exactly what I want.”

“Promise?” And John’s answer wasn’t verbal. Instead, he kissed her, deep and true, as if it was the last thing he’d ever do. Their tears mixed and Y/n felt like she was sharing the sheds of her soul with John, like they were pouring themselves into each other with just that one kiss. Shared breaths, salty tears and muffled noises held them together, reminding them both that it was always meant to be like that.

There was no one else she wanted to kiss, there never would be.

“I promise,” cupping her face, John kept their foreheads close, the tips of their noses touching, just before he went in for another kiss, letting the walls around them fade away as they melded in to each other.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves

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