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cupcaketeddybehr · 2 months

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pinky promises (toji x reader)

toji x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 1.1k

blurb!: toji comes home late from work again. you want a break, but you don't know that he's been working overtime to spoil you.

a/n: wow i forgot how much i love writing. cranking out fics is so fun hehehe <3 thank you so much for stopping by! i hope my blog brings you comfort and happiness!

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You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, waiting for Toji to come home. He was supposed to be home hours ago, and while this is the thousandth time this has happened, you can’t help but worry.

Every time your phone chimes, you glance at the screen, hoping it’s him, but it never is. Your sweet texts, “Toji, I made your favorite for lunch!” and “When are you coming home? I miss you!” remain unanswered. His cold lunch (which could now be considered a midnight meal) sits on the counter untouched. Yours sits right next to his as you cling to the hope that you’ll be able to eat together at least once this week.

When the traffic outside almost finishes lulling you to sleep, you hear the lock click in the living room. A bag drops, and the shuffling of feet ensues.

“Toji?” You call into the emptiness.

He walks into your room slowly and sits on your bed. “I’m so sorry, doll.” He apologizes. He kisses your forehead as he continues profusely apologizing.

“Toji, you’re always late.” You say, refusing to look at him.

He sighs, “I know doll. I’m sorry. They needed me to work overtime today.”

You turn away from him. “You always say that.”

“I know. I-”

You pull the blanket over your head, done with his excuses. “It’s like you don’t love me anymore.” You whisper.

He stares at how the blanket engulfs your petite frame, heart breaking as he wills tears not to fall from his eyes. He hasn’t cried in years. “Of course I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Why would you even say that?”

“It doesn’t seem like it.” You peek your head out of the blanket to look at him through glassy eyes. “If you’re cheating on me, you can just tell me.”

“Doll, do you not trust me? You’re the love of my life.” He says, reaching over to rub your back over the blanket. “I would end the world for you.”

“I don’t know, Toji. All I do every day is wait for you and cook your favorite meals in case you come home on time. But you never do.” You look at him and start to sob, refusing to believe that you’re saying the next few words that come out of your mouth. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“No, wait, don’t say that.” He says. “Please.” He adds.

“Toji, I don’t see this changing. You apologize to me every day you come late, but nothing ever changes.”

“No, please. Just give me one more chance. Just one more. I promise I’ll change.”

“I just want to be alone right now.” You choke out through your tears.

You don’t look at him as he leaves; you couldn’t even if you wanted to. Tears are blurring your vision. You’ve never cried this much in your life.

After a while, your tears turn into sniffles. You lie awake the entire night, unable to sleep.

In the other room, Toji remains hunched over, his head in his hands. He raises his head ever so often to pull at the skin on his fingers. How could he be so careless?

An hour passes when you hear the door squeak open. You beg your tears to stop where they are, but they come down anyway. How could he just leave like that? He would give up on the three years you spent together just like that?

Your phone dings, but you ignore it. He’s probably ending things. You should be happy. This is what you wanted, right?

Eventually, you cry yourself to sleep.

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of pancakes, your favorite. Didn’t Toji leave? And even if he didn’t, shouldn’t he be at work by now?

As you move to open the door, it swings open. You walk straight into a plate of pancakes and a rock-hard chest. Syrup drips from your hair.

Toji stands in front of you, trying not to laugh at the sight in front of him.

“‘s not funny, ‘ji.” You make eye contact with him once. He looks at you with adoration and a million apologies in his eyes. You start to cry. “Toji, please stop forgetting about me.”

He puts the plate down on the counter and pulls you into his chest. “I’m so sorry, doll. I’ll be better, I promise. Please don’t leave. I don’t know how to do life without you.” He whispers into your ear. “You’re everything to me. I would set the world on fire if it meant keeping you in my life.”

The sentiment is weird, but you get it. You get him, and he gets you.

After a few moments pass, he tries to pull away. You cling to him, refusing to take your face out of his chest. “Just one second, doll. I have something for you.” He says. He takes your hand and leads you to the island in the middle of your kitchen.

When you finally pull away from him, you see a giant basket in your favorite color. In it are all your favorite things. Your favorite snacks, drinks, a fuzzy blanket, fuzzy socks, three stuffed animals, and the new designer bag you’ve been talking about for ages.

You gasp. “Toji! Where did you get the money to buy this?” You know your boyfriend enough to know he can’t even afford the basket all his gifts are placed in.

“I worked overtime.”

You immediately hug him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask between sniffles. “Thank you so much.”

“It was a surprise.” He says. “I’ve been saving up for a really long time.” He pets your hair as he basks in your arms a bit longer. “I’m sorry for neglecting you, though. I didn’t go about this in the right way.” He admits while rubbing the back of his neck.

You drag him to the couch and sit on his lap. “I’m sorry that I made you think I wanted to break up.”

“I deserved that. I was an asshole. I’m sorry for not responding to your texts.” He takes the pancake plate off of the counter and begins feeding you pieces of pancake. “I promise we’ll spend more time together, yeah?”

You nod, clinging to his wrist, scared that he’ll leave again. “Pinky promise me.”

After years of being with you, he knows better than to start an argument about the silliness of pinky promises. “Of course, doll.”

Your fingers interlock, and you feel his love and devotion in the weight of his pinky finger.

“I love you, ’ji”

He kisses you all over your face. “I love you more.”

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thank you so much for reading 🥹 it really means the world to me

reblogs and comments are welcome and very much appreciated! 🤗

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yiiofsh · 4 months

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✦ . BOYFRIEND DLUC RAGNVINDR . ₊ ⊹

⌗ synopsis tendencies and scenarios diluc will have while being your significant other.

› content fluff, gn!reader, headcannons, slight ooc

notes .ᐟ my last headcannon post did very well, so i decided to do one of diluc for my friend. also writing a fic for venti, stay tuned. >_<

BF! DILUC who comes behind you and hugs your waist. he would either do this while you're cooking or even while you're getting ready. diluc would also have tendency to lay his head on your shoulder or head, sometimes whispering sweet nothings.

it was around 2am, you woke up extremely dehydrated. you decided to slip out of bed and grab a glass of water, just being mindful of not making any loud noises to wake up your burnt out boyfriend. walking towards the dark kitchen, you turned on the underlights of the cabinets for just enough light to see. after pouring yourself some water, you raised the brim of the cup up to your lips. as you were about to tilt your head to sip the liquid, you felt two slender arms slither around your waist. diluc then placed his head on your shoulders, whispering, "mm... come back to bed, please? i'm cold."

BF! DILUC who likes it when you play with his hair. because of that, he makes sure he has top notch hair care products and a routine so it'll feel even better when you run your slim fingers through his red hair. diluc especially loves it when you play with his hair while he falls asleep whether it'll be when you guys are going to sleep or when he's laying his head on your lap. he loves the feeling of you touching his hair, and when you massage his scalp. he always looks up for your massages after a long day of work. your touch will always make him feel sleepy.

BF! DILUC who hates having to let you cook and would rather cook for you. though, because of his busy schedules, you end up cooking nice meals for him. even though your dishes are immaculate, he rather cook for you and take care of you. he loves spoiling you and letting you relax. on days where he has no work, you'll usually wake up to a nice and delicious smelling breakfast.

you were deep in slumber, but the sweet smell of syrup and pancakes woke you up. looking to your left, you notice that the bed was nicely made on that side. the scent of pancakes made you know that your boyfriend was already awake, cooking up a small breakfast for you. after cleaning up your bed and making yourself look presentable, you walked downstairs, looking for your red headed lover. walking towarda the table, you see a nicely stack of pancakes, syrup, and multiple berries and strawberries placed in a cute bowl you bought for diluc. "goodmorning, love. i made some pancakes for you." he sweetly said before sitting dowm infront of you. your eyes light up at the yummy food, thinking about how you managed to get togethet with such a caring man.

BF! DILUC who LOVES cuddling you at night. when i say love, i mean LOVES. he would love spooning you while ofcourse being the big spoon. when he cuddles you, he holds you so close like you'll be easily ripped out of his arms. diluc would insist that holding you at night helps him sleep while you're probably dying of lack of air. though, his embraces are alwqus warm and loving, which i guess makes up for it.

› @yiiofsh

#genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact diluc #genshin diluc #diluc fluff #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #fluff #headcanon #gn!reader #slight ooc

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sonarspace · 4 months

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sweet syrup, satoru gojo

synopsis: emotions are all over the place when fwb!gojo stands you up… for another girl? content: fluff (kinda). smut (food play, fem!receiving, orgasm, unprotected sex) wc: 3.1k a/n: another fic within 24hrs to make up for my absence :). (not proofread!). this is a result of listening to sesame syrup by cigarettes after sex on repeat.

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

your phone chimes with a text from satoru “are you free this week? i’m coming to your city”. to which you reply almost instantly. “yeah, i can make some time.”

he texts back: “no need to cancel any plans. i can work around it. just wanna spend some time with you while i’m here.” making your heart flip.

“i have an event to attend tonight, but can i come over sometime between 2 and 3?” he sends another text.

it’s not really like you had much going on in the week so you decided to say yes. to which he sends a winky face and a see you soon.

it’s almost 2am when you’re done getting ready. it has been a while since you’ve seen each other and while satoru has seen you in all your rawness. you figured it wouldn’t hurt to dress up a bit.

you decide to wear an ocean blue lingerie set (his favorite color) and a sheer white dress over it, leaving nothing to imagination. you hope you can catch him off guard with this look.

you look at the clock and it’s already 2:30am. you decide to send him a text to confirm he’s going to come up or not. it’s not like satoru to stand you up especially on a plan he’s made.

“are we still good for tonight?” you text. but no reply comes through. he did say 3am didn’t he, you think to yourself. maybe he’ll be there by then. you sigh and decide to put on a movie.

you give him the benefit of the doubt and wait a bit longer past 3. but you regret that decision as you are watching instagram stories and see a pic of none other than, satoru gojo in all his glory at the party he said he’d be. an angry pout takes over your lips.

what gets you isn’t the fact that he may still be at the party but who he is with. some model’s lips are pressed to his cheeks – hand hovering over her back and his stupid people winning grin plastered on his face.

posted 20 minutes ago. you inhale deeply, trying to keep the tears at bay. you didn’t even know why you were hurt. after all you were just fuck buddies and nothing more. you suppose it was the anger making you cry.

feeling stupid at even trying to dress him for him, streaks of black mascara run down your face. you look at yourself in the mirror and take a deep breath, willing yourself to not cry over some rich fucker.

you wipe your make up and change into a pair of sweatpants and lay back down on the couch. continuing your show trying to distract yourself from the indirect rejection you felt.

but your mind kept going back to him. why would he wanna be with you when he can get all those pretty girls with their perfect bodies. girls who could probably make him feel far better than you do.

you were stupid to think there was something going in between the two of you. as soon as that thought crosses your mind a text chimes. “baby, i’m so sorry. almost there. 5 minutes.”

you scoff at the nickname ‘baby’ huh. “don’t bother. i’m going to sleep.” but you don’t get a reply back. instead what you get is loud repetition of knocks on your apartment door followed by your name.

he waits a beat and then continues knocking. “not leaving until you open the door” he texts you. out of compassion for your neighbors, you open the door. his hand stops mid knock as you gesture him to get in.

"i'm really sorry, i swear i didn't mean to keep you waiting for so long." he starts rambling and you look at him with a plain stare and arms crossed to let him know you're not having his bullshit — you already know he has other priorities.

"i lost track of time and i left the party as soon as i realized. my phone was dead, so i couldn't even text you. i just charged it on the way here. darling, you know i'd never keep you waiting," he moves closer to grab your hands and you let him.

you gulp hard trying to not cry. he reaches to touch your face but you jerk your head away. "don't gojo." the change stings him and you see a look of hurt pass over his face. "please" he drags out the syllable. "okay," you tell him and he almost smiles but you reach out and wipe the lipstick mark off his cheek bringing it up to his eyes "what's this then?"

he narrows his eyes at your thumb in thought, "it's nothing, i swear. she kissed my cheek out of nowhere and they took the photo and i moved away from her just as fast." and you scoff in disbelief, "you just have an answer for everything, don't you gojo."

he groans “just give me a minute,” and pulls out his phone — going through his texts to show the photos of him taken throughout the night. out of habit you take in his appearance. he looks unbelievably sexy in an all black outfit, a sheer black tank and a black overcoat with matching suit pants. you're immediately reminded of your white dress that you had picked earlier and think how perfectly it’d match his outfit. a tear involuntarily escapes your eye.

you wipe it casually before he can notice. he pulls up the photo probably going around on social media at the moment and then the one of him moving away from the lady, "see!" he exclaims. and you sigh, "what do you want me to say gojo?"

"first off, don't call me gojo. secondly, forgive me. it was an honest mistake, you know i'd never do it on purpose. and lastly, i've missed you so so much baby," he drops his forehead to yours and you don't pull away. cause you've missed him just the same.

"go home," you whisper to him. "can't." he replies in the same manner. "it's too late and i didn't get my car. let me stay. let me make it up to you."

you pull away from him and turn towards your bedroom. he lets out a sigh of relief thinking maybe you were giving him a second chance but his shoulders deflate just as quick when you say, "you can take the guest room."

and so he does. he'd take any chance to be close to you since his job makes it hard for him to stay around you for long periods of time. so whenever he comes to this city, he'd prefers to stay with you rather than at a hotel.

and although your relationship and feelings for each other were hidden under the title of "fuck buddies" you both knew it was more than that. both of you went exclusive as soon as you started sleeping with each other. hell you don't think you could find anyone who would fuck you as good as satoru does. and he doesn't even want to try because the way your pussy makes him feel is other worldly.

he gets out of the shower and opts to wear just his boxers and lays comfortably at the thought of making it up to you in the morning. meanwhile you twist and turn trying to find a position to sleep, wondering if you should give in or keep it up so he knows what he did was wrong.

you wake up to the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen and smile when you remember satoru stayed over last night. albeit not with you but still. your jaw drops slightly when you walk out and see him standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers. the early morning light accentuating the dips and curves of his muscles.

"satoru!" you shriek covering your eyes. "oh, good morning baby. why are you hiding your face?" he asks as if he isn't standing there with his dick in your face. "why are you naked?! put something on!" you exclaim. "ahh, nothing you haven't seen before princess. plus i’m not naked. I’m wearing boxers!” he grins and then adds on “can't exactly wear those clothes when i'm cookin breakfast. it's uncomfortable."

"ugh," you say out loud and march back into your room. you come out with a pair of his sweatpants and throw it to him from across the counter. "wear these!"

"whatever you want baby," he pulls them on and they rest sinfully on his hips – almost teasing you and your cheeks flush. “can you taste this for me?” he asks and you walk around the counter to stand next to him as he pushes a spoonful of syrup towards you.

your eyes flutter close and you hum at the sweet taste. “this is really good,” you smile softly. “thanks. it’s for the french toast. i just put it in the oven to keep it warm. thought you’d be asleep for a little longer.” you beam at the mention of french toast, they were your favorite. “nutella?” you ask and he nods with a mesmerizing smile “just the way you like it, sweets.”

you both gaze at each other with a soft smile. “can i have another spoon?” you meek. you accidentally let a little bit of it dribble down your chin. “oh shit,” you’re about to wipe it off but satoru holds your hand and pulls you in closer.

you feel his tongue leave a wet trail behind as he licks the dripping syrup from your chin to the corner of your mouth. your breath hitches at the sensation. he pulls back and looks at you with smirk.

before he can take too much pride in catching you off guard, you surprise him by clashing your lips to his. he bucks backward and steadies himself with a grip on your waist.

his heart picks up a beat at finally feeling your plush lips on his. tasting the remnants of syrup still sticking to your lips. your kiss felt transcendental to him. like the only way to stay alive was the air that passed through your mouth to his. and he rejoiced at that. he’d be willing to live with you as his source of oxygen.

gaining back some composure he pushes you back and places you on the counter. you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in further. his tongue tries to find its way into your mouth but you don’t budge. instead you giggle into the kiss and he takes it as an indication to kiss your teeth.

his lips move over your jaw, lightly nipping at the skin at the space under your ear. his tongue pokes out and traces your ear lobe once, twice and then he nibs down on the cartilage playfully with a whine of your name. the oven’s beeping brings you both out of the love lust trance you’re in.

he huffs and moves back to turn off the oven while you turn off the stove and grab another spoon of syrup. he turns back to see you leaning back on an arm and kicking your feet – dropping the sticky syrup over your clothed perked nipples. the lack of a bra evident. “oops” you pout, feigning innocence.

his breath seizes at the scene unfolding in front of him. he licks his lips once and then without wasting any more time, his mouth moves over your chest. licking the syrup off your shirt and in the process stimulating your nipples just like you hoped. he pulls off your shirt and throws it behind somewhere behind but before he can go further you stop him “wait!”.

“not in the kitchen,” you speak timidly – a flush creeping up your neck at his lustful stare. pressure builds in your stomach at the way he’s looking at you and you squeeze your thighs for a bit of friction.

“where?” he asks as he picks you up. “anywhere but the kitchen,” you whisper into the skin of his neck as you place a chaste kiss. and then he’s dropping down to his knees with you. laying you on the wooden floor of your living room

he leaves you on the floor for a beat and then comes back with the pot filled with syrup. he peels of your sweatpants along with your soaked panties. “lay still,” he tells you and you straighten out your legs and arms.

using you as his canvas he grabs the pot of syrup and tilts it over your body. creating a pattern of syrup on your naked body. he places the pot back on the counter and admires his work. a thoughtful grin on his face as he makes eye contact with you. “can i take a photo of you?” he asks and you nod without a second thought. he grabs your phone and snaps a pic. this image of yours would be imprinted in his mind forever and more.

“look at how beautiful you look,” and surely you do. sprawled out over the wooden floors of your apartment with a sticky substance covering your body. but that’s not all. the sun shines through the curtains, casting your body in an ethereal light and a ring of light on your head acting as a halo. “just like an angel. my angel. aren’t you baby?” he asks for confirmation.

and maybe it’s too early to say but you do anyway. “only yours, satoru. always yours,” you utter the words he’s been waiting for – well he feels like his whole life but in reality it’s only been three months since you two started this relationship.

the intensity of his gaze has a shiver run over your body and you can feel goosebumps erupt across your skin. he moves on top of you. taking his time with your body. licking over and over until he cleans the syrup. you almost feel like you’re not breathing as his mouth moves over your neck, collarbones, chest, stomach – lapping and littering your skin with love bites.

before moving further down he gives you a deep kiss and you can taste the sweetness of the syrup on his tongue as it tangles with yours. but it’s so incredibly satoru, to be tasting this sweet you can’t help but suck his tongue a little.

finally he spreads your thighs and makes himself at home. licking a quick stripe to test your wetness. there’s so much arousal it has him wondering if you already came. your nubs a shade darker, almost angry at being away from him for so long. he coos at your pussy as it was a separate being. “you missed me, didn’t you?” a peck to your clit. “i missed you too, but your mommy was tryna keep us apart.” you can’t help but laugh at the endearing silliness of him speaking to your pussy. faking a gasp he whispers “i know! it’s okay. going to take such good care of you now,” this time he looks at you.

his tongue moves over your bundle of nerves pressing down on your nub stimulating it just the right amount and plunging a finger into your cunt. his eyes flutter close at your taste. “nothing comes close to your sweetness, darling” he groans. your hands tangle in his head as he continues sucking your clit. you moan his name “ha ha ‘m so close toru.” so he speeds up his pace – licking ferociously, wanting you to reach your high quicker.

you come with a scream of his name. eyes shut and fingers tugging his hair but he has no complaints. he loved the sting when you tugged his hair like this – when you were too fucked out to even realize you were doing it.

he frees his cock and he feels like he can breath a bit better now. his hardened cock turns impossibly harder when you reach a hand down and pump it a few times and he watches in awe. pre cum lathering his length.

“you doing okay?” he asks you from above aligning himself but not pushing in. “yeah,” you hum but you’re lost in thought. about last night. but satoru notices everything. he squeezes your cheeks so you look at him. “what’s wrong?” genuinely concerned.

“i was hurt last night when you didn’t show up on time. and i didn’t understand why i was so hurt because it’s not like we’re dating or anything. but seeing that pic of you, out with those people hurt. cause i was here waiting for you, wanting to surprise you with a dress i bought, that i thought you’d like. but that doesn’t matter. what i’m trying to say is that this is more than just sex for me satoru. i really really like you. i want more of you. more of this. more of us.” you confess all that you’ve held in since this past few weeks of being apart from him.

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, reeling in your confession. you feel like you’ve ruined whatever you had going on. “satoru, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way” in fact it wasn’t. you’d be heartbroken if he didn’t feel the same way. “you don’t have to say anything. i just, i-“ you’re about to continue but he cuts you off with a hard kiss. “i do too. all that you said. i too, want more of you, more of this, more of us. it’s more than just sex for me too, baby. has been for a while. i’m really sorry about last night. wear that dress for me tonight, please.” he pleads. “i’ll cook you a nice dinner and we can have our first date as an official couple. what’d you say?” he smiles softly.

your heart clenches at overwhelming emotions and tears line your eyes as you repeat yes over and over again until he’s kissing you and drinking the love out of you.

he carries you over to your bedroom and lays beside you. he grabs your leg and places it over his hip, lining his cock with your cunt. slowly he pushes into you. you both moan in unison. him at the feeling of your snug walls and you at the feeling of his cock stretching you apart.

your foreheads touch as you maintain eye contact. he thrusts into you ever so lovingly. languid and hard thrusts. as if you both had all the time in the world.

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

a/n: idk how i feel abt this 💔😭 but i hope you liked it. comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!

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murdrdocs · 6 months

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she’s driving me crazy

description. STILES STILINSKI finally gets another chance with you, and he won’t take it for granted

includes. SMUT 18+, riding, car sex, fem!reader, protective p n v, lots of making out, loser!stiles, awkward stiles, bi!stiles, exes getting back together, slightly manipulative reader, reader has easily malleable hair, reader wears makeup, drinking (but no drunk intercourse), bickering, scott guest appearance

wc. 6k+

a/n: long awaited stiles fic. bestie boo this one's for u. title from confidence by ocean alley. art credits unknown.

Stiles knows he fucked up.

He had you, after almost a full year of tortuous pining, and he let you slip through his hands. All of it, your relationship with Stiles, really didn’t last more than two months. Two months where date nights were rain checked and eventually canceled. Sleepovers were lackluster, and nothing more than a movie playing in the back while Stiles worked over something that wouldn’t rest in his brain, leaving you alone in the center of his unmade bed. Promises were made, and never kept. It was a mess, a horrible, murky mess of Stiles’ own creation.

He knows this. But he still allows himself to mourn what could have been. He grieves what was. All while nursing a warm beer that doesn’t sit well in his stomach, mostly because of the sight he has been doomed to acknowledge—also his own doing as he could definitely turn his gaze elsewhere.

You’re tucked under the arm of some guy who looks nothing like Stiles, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. Is that your dream guy? Or are you forcing yourself to branch out and try something that wasn’t him? He tries to resist the spiral that sends him on, and is only able to start crawling out of the self-deprecating and insecurity tunnel through Scott’s voice beside him.

“What’re you staring at?”

Scott reeks of alcohol and fruit-flavored syrup. If he wasn’t a werewolf, Stiles knows his best friend would be unable to stand straight by now. But Scott stands like his usual self next to Stiles, a big grin on his face probably from the attention he’s been getting from Kira. (It was sickening for Stiles to watch but he forced himself to be happy for the strong relationship his best friend has.)

Stiles’ immediate instinct is to lie. “Nothing.” He says it a little too fast. He tries to cover his slip up by taking a sip of his beer, but the flavor is unappealing to the point where the face of disgust he presents makes him look more guilty than he really is.

Scott stares at Stiles, waiting. Stiles knows he won’t lie to Scott, not about something this small anyway, and it is only a matter of a few seconds before Stiles sighs.

“Look,” he points at you and your suitor. “Don’t you think he’s making her uncomfortable? Look at that. He’s all over her. Probably reeks of Axe body spray.”

It’s then that the guy cracks another joke, your head throwing back in laughter just before you rest your ear against his chest. It’s so affectionate. As if you’ve known this guy for years, and not just mere minutes.

Stiles flicks his eyes over to Scott, expecting to see his best friend analyzing the situation with at least a small amount of attention that Stiles is. Instead, Scott is looking over at Stiles, wearing what Stiles can only describe as a knowing smirk on his lips.

Stiles steps back, a little bewildered. “What?”

Scott, annoyingly, shrugs. He sips his drink, one he has solely for taste as Stiles knows, and only responds once he’s taken a long, slow swallow.

“She seems fine to me. I thought you guys were broken up anyway.”

“We are!”

“Then why do you care so much?”

Stiles can’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. He turns to face you and your human shaped bag of bricks once again, gesturing for Scott to do the same. His mouth opens, lips parted and tongue ready to spew out the analytics he’d been gathering this entire time in lieu of an excuse.

Then Scott interrupts.

“Do you want me to see what’s going on?” Scott throws a finger up towards his ear, one eyebrow lifted as he waits for Stiles to gather the implications and then make a decision.

It takes Stiles longer to complete the latter than the former.

He waits, thinks, looks at you and the guy. And then remembers the strict ‘no listening’ rule you all have set in place, the one he most definitely won’t betray in the name of jealousy, even if you aren’t particularly aware of all of the intricacies.

When he sighs, it’s defeated and with his entire body. He knows he’s pouting, he assumes he resembles his teenage self—mopey and brooding. He doesn’t mean to speak through gritted teeth, but he ends up doing it anyway.

“No. She’s probably … fine. I guess.” It hurts to admit, deep in Stiles' jealousy-filled gut. Scott’s way of comforting him is by clapping a hand on his shoulder, and telling him that you’re a grown adult who is allowed to make her own decisions, the same as him.

Scott’s intentions aren’t understood until he points at someone in the opposite direction of you. A guy who, from the looks of it, has been eyeing Stiles for a while. He’s Stiles’ type. Exactly his type, actually, and Scott knows this.

“Instead of sulking around …” Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence in order for Stiles to understand. He only lingers for a few seconds, and then is pulled back towards the larger group by Kira’s eyes and grin.

The guy on the other side of the bar is still watching Stiles. He’s smiling a small but confident smile, like he knows Stiles wants him as much as he wants Stiles. He tilts his head in a beckon, and Stiles is close to letting the guy pull him over there. Until he sees you step away from the man, smile dismissively up to him, and start towards Stiles instead.

Instantly, it’s like a flip has been switched.

He starts to feel the effects of the alcohol, even though he’d been nursing the same bottle the entire night. Still, he chooses to attribute the buzz flowing throughout his body to the overpriced beer and not excitement of finally having your attention.

He watches your path, trying not to feel too disappointed as he takes notice of the way you’re struggling to walk in a straight line.

You fall into his arms in a fit of giggles. Your head resting on his chest, your hands circling around his back.

“Stiles,” you sing, long and drawn out and definitely drunk.

He repeats your name in the same tune, placing his drink onto a tabletop next to him and abandoning it for good. Keeping you away from self destruction is his new main priority.

You slump against him even more, turning yourself around and leaning back against his body. Your position leaves Stiles with nothing else to do other than stand stiffly. He knows that if you were sober, you wouldn’t be nearly as affectionate as you are now. He ignores the way your ass brushes against his crotch. He ignores the smell of your perfume wafting up to him, a scent he had the privilege of seeing you apply a few times before when you were dating. (The image of you getting ready for the day, lathering yourself in the oils and lotions and scents that worked to create your unique scent will never leave his brain, for better or for worse.)

He does his best to remain unaffected, but then you tilt your head up, the crown of your hair rubbing against Stiles’ shirt as you look at him. As soon as he glances down, he sees you pouting, clearly over exaggerated but it’s a look he, pathetically, will never be able to resist.

“Why won’t you touch me?” You manage to sound pitiful, as if you had lost every single thing you hold dear to your heart in the last couple of minutes.

In his response, he tries to remain neutral. Drunk or not, you know the game you’re playing, and Stiles foolishly believes that his knowledge of the ploy makes him insusceptible.

“Because you’re drunk,” he platonically rests his hands on your shoulders and encourages you off of him. “And we aren’t together anymore.”

You turn around to face him, grinning up at him like the cat with the canary as you tell him, “it didn’t stop us last time, right?”

That, and the way you almost throw yourself at some guy walking past, is enough reason for Stiles to link his hand in yours and pull you towards the others. Scott stares down at your interlinked palms for only a moment before Stiles explains his plan, which entails getting you back to your apartment before you do something you could regret.

This isn’t an excuse for Stiles to continue hanging out with you. He makes sure he clarifies that to himself and his best friend before he’s pulling you out of the bar and towards his Jeep.

You’re both less than ten steps away from the entrance to the bar when you suddenly have your lips pressed to Stiles’.

There is a moment where Stiles fails to resist. Where he reciprocates quicker than his brain can realize, acting on pure instinct and muscle memory instead of logic. He is unable to stop himself from getting comfortable, from linking this kiss to the last one he’d received from you. Hotter and messier than this one. (Lost in his appreciation to finally be kissing you again, Stiles fails to notice how you don’t taste like alcohol at all)

Only a few more seconds pass before Stiles reminds himself that you’re drunk, and that this is wrong. When he pulls away from your lips—regretfully, that is—he’s tempted into staying by the slight stickiness of your lipgloss and the almost-disgusting string of saliva that briefly keeps you two sewn together.

You try to lean back in, but Stiles stops you with his hands on your shoulders.

“You’re drunk,” he reminds you.

You’re fixing him with a look, one that feels strong and weirdly sober. His suspicions have more proof to back them up when you say his name with the same matter-of-fact tone he had just used on you.

“I’m not drunk.”

He scrunches his eyebrows together, the muscles in his face mimicking the movement as well. His lips part as he nonverbally exclaims his confusion. He lifts one of his hands from your shoulder to hook his thumb towards the bar entrance. He looks around, for nothing or no one in particular, but as if the night will have an explanation that you would surely be willing to provide if he asks.

He didn’t even need to ask before you provide an explanation. It’s cut and dry, matter-of-fact, spoken like it is the most casual thing in the world.

“I faked being drunk so you could take me home.”

Stiles knows what you mean. He’s not dumb. But he surely does feel it when he says, “If you didn’t feel well you could’ve just told Lydia. She would’ve taken you back to yours.”

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t wanna sleep with me, that’s fine. Just let me know before I waste my time.”

Stiles should stand up for himself. He should reprimand your attitude, and exclaim how unnecessary it was. Instead, he flounders and almost falls to your feet with the speed he clarifies himself.

“No. I do wanna sleep with you. Like, really bad. But … um … well,” you lift your eyebrows and Stiles clears his throat. “How many fingers am I holding up.”

“Jesus, fuck, Stiles.” He continues holding up his first three fingers on his right hand until you answer. “Three.”

You lean in but Stiles takes a step back. And then another. And then another, until he’s standing against the wall of the bar and you’re standing at the edge of the sidewalk.

“Walk in a straight line towards me.”

You don’t seem happy about it, but you place one foot in front of the other over and over again until you’re in front of Stiles. Nothing more has to be said before Stiles places his hands on your hips, pulls you flush to him, and finally allows himself to kiss you.

It’s been a while since Stiles had the privilege of kissing you. The last time, just a month ago, didn’t count in his mind. Sure, he remembered nearly every detail, but your shared inebriated state at the time overruled any legitimacy the encounter could have held. Now, it only acts as a reminder and motivator for Stiles to enjoy every moment of this that he can.

Eventually, it would be smart, and preferable, to leave the outside of the bar and actually take you home where you two could be alone. But for now, Stiles presses his hands into the middle of your back as a way to pull you as close to him as possible. He has his legs spread, creating space for your limbs to stagger. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then in his hair. Both of you are attempting to get as close to the other as possible, all while engaging in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever had. You both kissed cleaner when you were drunk.

Now, outside this bar with your closest friends inside, and with nothing but the night (and the bouncer) as witness, you submit to the other. There is a level of appreciation in the way your lips slide together. There is a level of gratitude in the presses of your tongues against each other. There is an exorbitant amount of longing that is solved each time you jerk your hips into Stiles and each time he reciprocates.

You thread your hands through Stiles’ hair the same time that he slides his hands down to your ass and squeezes, pulling you as close to him as possible and rubbing his thigh against the center seam of your jeans. You both groan into each other's mouths—Stiles from the way you tug just right on his hair, and you from the feeling of his leg between yours.

Sensing—knowing that he did something right, something good, Stiles does it again. And again. And again. The steady slide of his thigh between your legs does the job. You let your head fall, leaning the top of it against Stiles’ chest just right under his sternum.

The sound of you moaning Stiles’ name goes straight to his dick, with a few remnants traveling to his head, leaving him dizzy and with a steady growing semi. His actions make you grip his hair stronger. His actions indirectly cause pleasure for him, too.

It all disappears when the sound of spitting—loud and boisterous, almost cartoonish—breaks up the moment. Stiles stops his movements. He lays his hands flat on the back pockets of your jeans as he turns his head to the side.

The eyes of the bouncer meet Stiles and Stiles’ ears burn.

While the bouncer doesn’t say anything to him, Stiles knows the message he’s trying to communicate.

Get the fuck out of here.

Stiles is forced to push you back by hooking his fingers in your belt loops. He’s still touching you, at least an extension of you, but then your hands drop to your sides and Stiles can feel his body crying out for you. The same way his body calls out for vital needs—food, water, sleep, entertainment. He squashes his emotions for a second, plasters on a—truthfully sympathetic—face, one that comes off more as a tight lipped smile than anything else.

“Sorry, man. You — uh. You have a goodnight.” He throws a hand up to the bouncer, hoping it is received as friendly. When the bouncer returns the gesture, still with that same look in his eyes, Stiles heads down the street and pulls you with him.

The walk to the car is tortuous. His boner keeps rubbing against his jeans, leaving him to stop every few paces, face away from the street, and try to adjust himself. After the third time, you were voicing your frustration, claiming that it was taking forever to reach the car because of Stiles’ worry about who could see his erection. He tries things your way, ignoring the way his dick calls for his attention and instead focusing all of his attention on you.

The way your hips sway in your tight jeans. The way the wind blows your perfume to him and lifts the edge of your shirt in one, giving Stiles a peek of your skin. It’s such a small look, nothing more than a glimpse, and Stiles feels like a Victorian man the way he’s having to bite his fist at the next crosswalk to avoid groaning. The street lights illuminate your face in just the right ways, highlighting your makeup in an unnaturally ethereal way. Everything about you is driving Stiles crazy. There’s no way he’s going to make it to your house. If he doesn’t get to his car soon, he might pull you into the next bar bathroom that he could find just for a semblance of privacy.

If he could just get to his Jeep.

It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s been walking for far too long. He stops in the center of the sidewalk. You stop right beside him.

Stiles doesn’t say anything as he turns around and leads you three blocks down the street, one street over, and then into the parking garage elevator.

The way you’re grinning at him alerts Stiles of the words soon to come out of your mouth, definitely words that would be at his expense. He stops you while you’re ahead.

It’s nice to have the position switched. Your back against the wall instead of his. His hands are still on your hips, but he uses them to push you into the metal instead of pulling you into him. You have that part covered, your arms once more thrown over his shoulders, pressed into the back of his neck and head, drawing him in until the pressure of his lips against yours is a little painful.

In the rush neither of you have pushed the button, leaving the elevator stagnant on the ground floor. Stiles notices at the same time that you scratch his scalp. He moans, he really can’t help it. His mouth opens as you purse your lips again, and he feels a little bad but you aren’t deterred. In fact, you do it again, your nails scratching in just the right spot and Stiles feels like an animal the way he shudders and keens.

He’s more human when he admits, “Missed this.” He presses his lips to yours again, pulling back with a smack. “Missed you.”

Your lips slide against his with what Stiles can only describe as desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation and desire. You’re breathing a little heavy, deep exhales through your nose and inhales in the in between moments, and it doesn’t turn Stiles off at all. He wants more of you. He takes more of you.

He doesn’t know how long you two are in there, but it is eventually you who pulls back first, your lips visibly swollen and lacking any of the makeup that was previously on it.

“Has the elevator been moving at all?” You could check for yourself. Just one look over Stiles’ shoulder and you could see that the small screen still displayed a digital ‘1’. Yet, you’re looking up at him instead. Like Stiles is the most important thing in the elevator. Like he’s the most important thing in the world to you. (Maybe it’s Stiles’ delusion talking, but he chooses to believe it either way)

Still, Stiles looks over his shoulder, confirms that he hadn’t hit the button at all, and leans back to correct his mistakes.

The elevator beeps twice, bringing you both to the third floor, and as much as Stiles’ wants to continue standing there and just admire you, he can hear the door daring to slide close. Again, he pulls you out behind him.

As soon as he turns the corner, Stiles is immediately made aware of the lack of other cars on the level. It’s a little eerie, and if he wasn’t about to get his dick wet he would possibly be on the lookout for potential threats that could turn one of the best moments of his life into another inconvenience.

Your hands are on his shoulders, his back, his arms, as you hold onto him.

“Why did you park all alone? Did you plan this? Were you trying to get in my pants all night?”

Stiles digs into the front pocket of his jeans and searches for his keys. “No. There were other people parked here earlier. They’re just all gone now.”

You hum unconvincingly. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Stiles.”

As soon as Stiles has the passenger door unlocked, he holds the door open for you and stares, hoping the annoyance is overpowering every other feeling he’s currently having towards you.

“In the back,” he tells you. You smile up at him, big and entertained, and then do as he says.

He climbs in right behind you. At this point in the night, there was no point in attempting to get back to your apartment or his. Stiles couldn’t wait much longer, and you two are no stranger to the back of his Jeep. You’ve been in this situation before.

It’s all completely effortless. You’re already in the process of slipping your jeans off whenever Stiles has the door closed. He mourns for just a second, pouting to himself over not being the one to take those sinful jeans off of you. But then you climb over his lap, situating yourself to hover just a bit above him.

Stiles plants his hands on your hips, just like he did before, and pulls you to sit right over him, just like you have before. He knows that the status of your relationship has changed since the last time he had the privilege of being in this space with you like this, but that doesn’t mean the way you do things has to change, too.

You were never shy before. You would always be quick to attach yourself to Stiles in whatever ways you could, just like you had been doing just a little earlier into the night. But that’s gone now. Now, you’re staring at him, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip.

Before you were together for a short time, Stiles had spent months pining. Months analyzing whatever he could about you. Months mentally cataloging your tells. And now, he calls on that information to declare that you’re hesitant. You’re nervous. No, not just nervous. You’re worried. Almost regretful.

He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?”

You shrug but Stiles knows you’re aware of what has you like this. He just gives you the time to voice it.

Eventually, you say: “Will this change anything between us?”

It’s his turn to shrug. “I dunno. Do you want anything to change?”

You shrug again.

“Well … do you want to keep going? And we decide that afterwards?” Stiles really wants to fuck you, but deep down he knows that if you stopped and got up off of him in this moment, he would be okay with it. Well, he would be okay with it after a few days. Maybe a week or two.

A little part in him swells, jumps, and clicks its heels when you nod.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” You press your lips to his once.

“You just tell me when you decide, okay? I’m cool with whatever you’re cool with.” And Stiles means that. If he gets just one more time with you, if this is his final time with you, he would cut his losses and be grateful for the time that he was allowed. What else was he supposed to do? He would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize his spot in your life.

Stiles can feel the warmth of your center is his hand when he trails his touch down. He cups your mound and his eyes flutter shut. He feels like a pervert for only a second before you start to work your lips down his neck and rock your hips into his hand. The way your mouth suctions around his favorite spot almost has him distracted enough to not notice your hands working on his pants. Almost.

He can’t really tell in the dark, but he can slightly feel your once confident movements start to falter. You stop on his neck, keeping your lips as nothing but a pucker against his skin before you pull away completely to look down between the two of you.

“When the fuck did you start wearing a belt?”

Stiles doesn’t want to tell you the truth, he feels like it would be too embarrassing. Really, he knows it wouldn’t, but something about having to tell you that he decided to wear a belt because you always said he should makes him feel a little meek. So instead of filling the silence with the truth, he fills the silence with the clinks of his belt buckle as he undos it himself.

“Recently,” is all he tells you when you’re still staring at him for a response. Somehow, it’s enough for you and your hands are back on his waistband.

In record speed, your hands are down the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around Stiles’ cock. He doesn’t hiss, but he does shudder. He tries to hide it by pretending that the car is cold, which it was beforehand, but now it’s warm. It becomes warmer when you spit in your hand, wrap it around Stiles’ cock and pump him a few times, and then push your underwear to the side and hover above him.

It really pains Stiles to stop you, but he does. He asks if you have a condom, then he asks if you want to use a condom, and the entire time he’s kicking himself. Because he can feel the warmth radiating. He has his tip already nudged between your folds, and just this small touch is already making him lose it. His nails are digging into your hips, he’s breathing harder than he was before, and he has to blink a few times to really focus on you.

It feels like Stiles blinks and suddenly you’re tearing the foil packet open and slipping the condom over him. He watches it go down as best as he can, and the light doesn’t reveal much. Just the bottom of you and the tip of him is visible, the rest Stiles is forced to make out through squints and memorization.

He’s just briefly dejected about the lack of visuals, but then your hands rest on his shoulders and he hears you take a breath and he knows it’s time.

Stiles rests his hands on your side and looks up at you.

You go down slowly. Softly. It allows Stiles to feel each delicious inch as they go by, revealing more and more of the inside of you as time passes. He battles between watching your face and simply basking in it. Eventually, he settles on the former.

Your eyebrows are tightened just enough to show your discomfort. You have your lips parted, long breaths leaving them every so often, usually right before you sink down again. And Stiles has seen you take him before. He knows that you have been able to take him faster than this before. And then he wonders: is this your first time doing this, with anyone, in a while? Have you been as lost without him as he has been without you? Have you even attempted to fill that hole, and was your stunt earlier tonight just that: a stunt?

There isn’t time for him to ponder over his questions like he would have wanted to whenever you bottom out. It’s with a sigh, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his just briefly.

You rest your forehead against his, and you both breathe together. Or, it’s more so you breathing and Stiles matching the pattern.

You lean up, you move your hair out of your face, and you tell him, “Don’t remember it being this hard.”

Slightly cocky, Stiles tilts his head. At first he doesn’t say anything. He smiles, his eyes are heavy when they look you up and down, and then he rubs your back. “Take your time.”

You take the time you need and then you start moving. Up and down. Up and down. Agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster when you get more comfortable.

This is what Stiles has needed. This is what he has been missing in his life. You’re like a drug for him, and one hit seems like enough at the time, but by the time this is all over he knows he’s going to be searching for more. He’ll do anything he has to, so long as it gets him in a spot similar to this again.

He searches for your hand, refusing to look away from the way your body moves atop of him for even a second. You help him out, bringing your hand to his, pressing the fingertips together, leaving Stiles to interlock them. He lifts your hands, looking at them in the white light that enters the foggy window. Somehow, this image is even more captivating. There is a more pornographic way the two of you are connected, one that demands Stiles’ attention. There is something about the innocence of this. He’s doing nothing but holding your hand, and Stiles feels like he might either lose his mind, or cum too quickly.

He might do both. One after the other.

You sink down on him again, a little awkwardly this time, but it does it for you. You hit a spot that makes your mouth widen and your eyes flutter shut. You search for it, and find it miraculously. Your head throws back as you hit that spot over and over again, pleasing yourself on Stiles’ dick. The image is heavenly for him. It’s euphoric.

He lets his eyes wander down your neck, along your clavicle, and your shirt reveals just a bit of your bust but it’s not enough. With his free hand, he pulls the rest of the fabric down, and when he sees that you’re not wearing a bra, he almost cums into the condom then and there. He doesn’t wonder how he hadn’t noticed, he doesn't consider how he hadn’t taken into account the natural shape of your breasts pushing through the fabric, almost reaching out to him. Instead, he leans forward, presses his hand into the curve of your back, and attaches his mouth to the untouched skin.

Your free hand sinks into Stiles’ hair. Your fingers weave through the back of his hair first, and then you make your way up to the front, pushing back his bangs blindly.

Stiles peers up at you from his spot around your nipples. You’re still in ecstasy—your head now level once more, but your mouth still open and your eyes still closed.

He detaches from your nipple to tell you: “Look at me.”

It fuels Stiles’ ego when you do as told quickly.

You’re looking at him on his command yet Stiles feels like he’s the one entranced. Because of your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. Watery, lazy, but your pupils are dilated. Your mascara has transferred to under your eyes by now, and it’s smudged a bit, making you look completely fucked out. Stiles thinks some of your makeup along your face has disappeared too, but it allows for a fresh skinned appearance instead.

Really, there is nothing else for him to do except kiss you. It’s so messy but so good. You flatter in your movements on his cock, but Stiles feels absolutely no remorse when he takes over.

He unlocks your hands and plants them both on your hips again. This time, he uses the leverage to pull you down on him again and again. He lets you lead the kiss, while he leads this.

Your hands land on the leather of the seat behind Stiles' back and the foggy glass pane of the window. He hears your fingertips glide down the surface as he starts to fuck you harder, and then the sound is combined with your moans when your lips separate from Stiles’.

You call his name, low and breathy.

He hums.

“‘m so close. Keep going. Just like that.” He nods. Then you add, “Little faster.” And he does as told.

Your forehead pressed against his, the sweat on both of your skin making your heads glide more than anticipated. It doesn’t deter either of you. When your nose bumps against Stiles’, he kisses you again. When your head becomes too heavy for you to hold it up, he presses his thumb under your jaw, rests his fingers on the side of your neck, and holds the weight for you.

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, adding your name at the end to seal the deal. “Baby,” he says, and his heart swells when you hum in response. So he says it again. “Baby, you feel so good. Feel so good, babe.”

He doesn’t know what more he says. He can vaguely recognize his lips forming the words and his own voice in his ears calling you the prettiest girl ever, telling you that he could never get this anywhere else, telling you he never wanted to get this from anywhere else.

“Needed this so bad. I needed you so bad. I’ve missed you.” And just as his words finish, yours begin.

“Stiles, Stiles. Right there. ‘m … I’m…!”

He singles two fingers out, slips them between your thighs, and rubs along your clit until you’re shaking above him and holding onto his wrist between your bodies. He doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away, but watching you cum is too gorgeous for him to ever dream of making it stop.

So he doesn’t.

Not even when your eyes start to leak and your lips start to plead and you contract around him.

“One more,” he asks. “I just need to see it one more time. Please.”

The sound of him moving in and out of you is loud. He drifts his eyes down to watch it happen, groaning when he just barely sees a broken ring of white glinting in the fluorescents from the parking garage.

It feels a little romantic when you cum and then Stiles follows right after.

The Jeep is warm, the windows are foggy, and there’s an ache in Stiles’ thighs. He knows for every one of his aches, you have three. The condom has been removed, tied, and disposed of in an old paper bag Stiles had sitting on the floor of his car. His pants are pulled back up, but his belt is still undone. His shirt sticks to his skin and he really needs greasy food and a shower.

But if that means leaving this moment, and never returning to it, he could put off his needs and wants for an eternity.

You’re sitting next to him, redressed with the button of your jeans still undone. You’re staring straight ahead, trying to catch your breath as you rub the muscles in your thighs.

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he licks his lips and he says, “Uh … do you … um. Would you like some … ice or something? For your legs?”

You smile ahead, turn to face him, and shake your head. “It’ll be fine. Nothing a shower and good sleep won’t fix.” You pause. “And maybe some food.”

Which is how Stiles ends up sitting in your bed, sipping the remnants of his Dr. Pepper as he watches you lather lotion on your legs with your towel still hanging off of your body.

“Your food’s cold,” he tells you. He doesn’t tell you about the handful of fries he stole earlier, but he knows you’ll notice it and hold the grudge for later.

Later. Will there be a ‘later’?

“Be there in a second.” You start to walk back to the bathroom. “Should we go to that place in the morning? Or …” you look at your clock and wince at the time. “Later. The one with the really good pancakes?”

Stiles is quick to agree. He would love to do something with you later.

#stilesworld!#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski smut #celeste writes misc

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water-to-drink · 1 year

Note

LMFAOO YOUR NEUVILLETTE FICLET ABOUT THE READER THINKING ALL WATER TASTES THE SAME IS SO FUNNY 😭 imagine if neuvi finds out his s/o doesn’t even like drinking water 😭 like they just drink juice or soda all the time. Literally hate drinking water like THEY WOULD DRINK IT IF THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT LMFAOO

I Don’t Like Water

(Pairing): Neuvilette x gn!reader

(Synopsis): Neuvillette finds out that you only drink juice or soda

(Tags/Warnings): Dialogue heavy, soda and energy drinks exist in Teyvat (just pretend), possible ooc Neuvilette, (if missed anything lmk)

(Word Count): 409

(A/n): Neuvillette might be ooc, but I love when composed characters lose their cool

Based off this mini fic

Iridescent eyes watched you intensely as you poured a vibrant colored drink into your cup, a sight the Chief Justice of Fontaine had quickly become accustomed to. Ever since you’ve moved in with Neuvillette, he noticed you would always drink juice or soda and replenishing your stock whenever you begin to run low

“Dear, I’m curious to ask something of you. Do you drink water by any chance?” You looked at your lover confused as you walked towards the table he was sitting at. “I’d notice that your beverages are usually those high in sugar, I have yet see to you drink water.”

“Oh, that’s because I don’t like drinking water.” You said nonchalantly

“I-I beg your pardon.”

“I do not like drinking water, I only drink it when there’s nothing else to drink.”

Neuvilette looked at you stunned. “Elaborate on what do you mean you don’t like drinking water?”

“I just don’t like the taste of it.”

“Perhaps you’ve been drinking water that don’t originate from the best sources, pure Fontaine water doesn’t have an unusual taste you might be referring to.”

“That’s the reason why I don’t like water, it doesn’t taste like anything.”

You see Neuvillette stop his line of thinking and take a deep breath through his nose. “Well, do you drink tea or coffee at the very least?”

“No… I prefer energy drinks over coffee.” Neuvilette turns away from you and covers his face with both of his hands. “Neuvi, It’s not that serious.”

Neuvilette takes his hands off of his face and looks up at you in disbelief and concern. Finally sitting straight he turns towards you and puts his hands on your shoulders

“My dear, light of my life, center of my world. For my sanity and health, please… please, please drink some water.” Your partner uncharacteristically begged

“But I don’t like the taste-”

“If it’s taste then put fruit in it!”

“That makes it taste weird.”

Neuvillette stands up and makes his way towards the window. He blankly stares at the scenery all the while trying to process what you just told him

“Is me not drinking water that has fish pee and nut in it, really that upsetting to you?”

“Dear, please before I catch a stroke.” Neuvillette pleaded sounding exhausted

“Fine I’ll try to drink some water!” You relented

“Thank you darling-”

“Maybe I’ll drink some water if it has some fruit syrup.”

Dear archons give this man strength

#genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x female reader #genshin x male reader #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette x gn reader #neuvilette x female reader #neuvillette x male reader #fic request

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alonetimelover · 1 year

Text

pairing: Harry Styles x scientist(physicist)!reader

summary: There is this one professor at Oxford that can explain physics theorems with help of POP culture. What happens when she uses Harry's music to explain one of the themes?

a/n: It took me definitely much more time than I anticipated... I hope I didn't butchered the theorem explanation in this fic (if so, make me aware, please).

masterlist

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Messages between Jeff and Harry

reyJeff sent an attachment somehow you're useful for science...

my responsibility what is it? last time you sent me a link I got an hour long scolding from my mum and she's somewhere in the house

reyJeff nothing bad this time just some professor is explaining a theorem while using your music she's good, i now know what is the Higgs mechanism

my responsibility there's no way you understand physics, they must be a miracle worker... I'll check the video out see you tomorrow at the office? reyJeff reacted to the message

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TikTok

“But, Dr YSN, the Higgs mechanism does not make sense?” said or rather asked the voice behind the recording phone.

“Syrup allegory did not help at all?” Dr YSN turned from the blackboard, looking directly at the asking student.

“I mean, I understand that when the Universe’s temperature cooled down the Higgs field condensed in all volume and scattered across it like a fog. But what and how and - ugh - why?” The student grew impatient and angry in her incomprehension.

“It’s okay, Lauren. I understand that this subject wasn’t the one you expected while choosing to study biology. And unfortunately it is important, it will help you connect quite a few dots while learning about cell division and bioprocesses. But going back to the Higgs problem.” Doctor cleared her throat and stood near her desk. One hand holding onto the oak surface, drumming her fingers in thought of how to help those young people.

“Dr YSN," interrupted her thought process some other student. "If the particles are getting stuck why not photons?” They connotated the allegory that Dr YSN wanted to primarily help them with understanding.

“It all comes to the mass of the particle, and just like you all know now - photons do not have mass. They are, according to quantum mechanics, a portion of energy. Yes?”

The whole room nodded their heads, suddenly remembering the lecture from just two days ago.

“Okay, now back to the Higgs problem. Do you guys have a favourite artist?”

The lecture room erupted with not so hushed whispers about who should tell the name of their idol. Doctor patiently waited for one of the young men to grow courage and speak up.

“Harry Styles?”

“Perfect!” Exclaimed lecturer. “Now, do we have people here that do not like Mr Styles’ music?”

On the screen overlooking more than enough of the lecture room could be seen a few of raised hands (a definite minority).

“Okay, listen carefully. We’re imagining it now."

Doctor strolled from behind her desk and moved forward as to be closer to her students.

"Let’s say that Mr Harry Styles’ music is our Higgs field. Can you do that? Amazing. Now, when he got his latest album out it spread around the world. Everyone liked it, right?"

Seeing some of the student nodding their heads, she exclaimed, "not right. You," she pointed at the student that previously raised their hands. "You all didn’t know. And that's why you are photons in our experiment. Photons, like we already relearned today, are without mass and in our example they are without love or interest in Mr Styles’ music. Everything is clear for now?”

After getting an approval of nodding heads, YN anyway moved to the blackboard and wrote:

mass = love for Mr Styles' music

photons = not-fans of Mr Styles' music

“Fantastic. Any particle that has some mass, so love for that music, will find itself stuck. You’re stuck because you love that music -” she pointed to the student that had said Harry’s name, “- so you listen to it, analyse and appreciate. The appreciation grows with love so the resistance grows with mass."

appreciation = resistance

"All in all, the current love is the measure of appreciation. So?”

“The current mass of the particle is the measure of resistance that the Higgs field can withstand,” said almost everyone present in the room, making the doctor smile from ear to ear. She had already written it down on the board.

“Excuse me? If Harry’s music is the Higgs field then Harry alone is the Higgs particle - the God Particle, right?” Asked someone from the first row.

“That is correct. Excellent, Madeline! Now, you all understand the basics of the Higgs mechanism and field?”

view all comments

wtf, how did i just understand physics???? im a sociology major

can we talk about how she took her time to explain instead of yelling for not understanding? it's sad that we need to point that out

harry + physics ??? never thought i would experience it

as a physics student - WHY CAN'T I HAVE THIS LECTURER?? - she's soooo good

im 15 and understood this shit, holy moly

it's going viral so HELLO HARRY i know that someone sent it to him and he's sitting under his little blanket, watching it

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Instagram

scienceandharstyles

liked by harrysmoustache, harrystyles and 23 381 others

scienceandharstyles I don't know how many of you know but my physics lecturer is literally the 'viral Higgs professor'. Today, after the lecture, she was kind enough to explain to me this awful mathematics (I hate maths) even though it was late (8:30 PM) and she had plans. I just thought I would post about it here (I have her consent for uploading this photo) to show how amazing she is.

view all 3 032 comments

sciencestudent we need more professors like her!

harryupdates I'd love to have this type of lecturers at my Uni...

⤷ scienceandharstyles she really is amazing! after a few examples she wanted me to do to see if i understood the topic, she just flawlessly moved the convo towards my interests, like??? she's so attentive and warm and sweet? i obviously started talking about harry...

hArrysbtch does she know how tiktok is simping over her???

⤷ scienceandharstyles she said that as long as people could take something from those videos, she didn't mind

⤷ hArrysbtch tbh i don't blame those people... she's gorgeous

harrysmylife HARRY LIKED

helloitsharry guys, remember that tiktok account we thought was harrys? maybe it is and he started it just to watch her videos??

⤷ hArrysbtch no way... it makes sense. i checked and that account liked almost all videos that are about dr ysn

⤷ harrysmoustache plus it was created around the time the first video of her started going viral. coincidence? i think not!

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harryupdates

liked by hArrysbtch, scienceandharstyles and 43 492 others

harryupdates HARRY was seen arriving at the Oppenheimer's after party in London!!!

view all 2 201 comments

hArrysbtch him and Nolan are besties. CONFIRMED

harrysmoustache wearing all black??? he knows it's serious

⤷ harrysfan82 did you want him to wear pink?

⤷ harrysmylife harry would be able to pull that off

scienceandharstyles guys, my professor was the consultant on that movie!!!!

⤷ harrysmoustache you mean THE professor? the higgs professor???

⤷ scienceandharstyles yes! she and one of our older professors were providing knowledge for the director and actors on set. Dr YSN was working with Nolan since he started writing the script!

⤷ hArrysbtch i need them together. i need to know everything about them interacting

⤷ harrysmoustache can you imagine harry trying to justify him literally stalking all those videos of her explaining her lectures??

⤷ hArrysbtch ohhhh, id die to be next to them while they were talking!!!!

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harryupdates

liked by scienceandharstyles, hArrysbtch and 58 303 others

harryupdates HARRY AND DR YN YSN at the after party!

view all 4 402 comments

hArrysbtch NO WAY

hArrysbtch look at his face!!!! he was blushing!!!!

hArrysbtch she's so beautiful 😍

scienceandharstyles the god particle and his creator!

harrysmoustache i need videos to see if he was shy 🤭 if so, i know for sure he has a BIG crush on her

harrysmylife guys there was a video going all over twitter! after he was introduced to dr yn and the other professor, she was like, "i've never thought i would see the god particle in person"

⤷ hArrysbtch oh she was flirting too

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scienceandharstyles

liked by harryupdates, hArrysbtch and 34 201 others

scienceandharstyles guys, i met harry today....

view all 2 589 comments

scienceandharstyles ok, story time! 1) it was at this very cute cat cafe in Oxford, very close to my campus. they serve those beautiful coffee with drawn cats on the foam!! super cute! but back to the story, i was just petting one of the cats - Murphy - when i heard the bells. and I am super noisy and needed to know who entered the cafe

scienceandharstyles 2) i looked up and it was dr YSN (tiktoks higgs professor but i really don't like calling her that). when she saw me she just immediately walked up to me and asked if she could seat with me while she waited for her friend to arrive. i, of course, agreed (i literally love her).

scienceandharstyles 3) she then helped me with some of my work for uni (maths again...) and while explaining she was so attentive and asked about my day. she asked if i got the tickets for the concert i wanted (i didn't say it was for harry) and when I said I did, she was so happy for me!

scienceandharstyles 4) after about 30 minutes of talking someone else entered the cafe and, you guessed it, it was harry. what's more, he walked up to us because HE WAS THE FRIEND MY RPOFESSOR WAS WAITING FOR. he greeted her with a hug and introduced himself to me. i was so shocked i couldn't form a sentence. dr ysn helped me calm down and said a few words for me.

scienceandharstyles 5) they both then moved to the other table to actually enjoy their time together. but before that harry offered to take the photo with me but only if he could wear my hat!!!! yeah, it was a wild day

hArrysbtch oh, that's first date harry, I'm telling you

harryupdates madeline im so happy for you!

harrysmoustache if he dressed like that for our first date, i wouldn't be able to form a sentence... he looks so handsome

harrysmoustache AND HE HAS THE MOUSTACHE AGAIN, LET'S RAISE MOUSTACHE STANS

harrysmylife the tattoos, the chains, the nail polish, the hat, the bicep????? im dead

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physics_oxford

liked by scienceandharstyles, harrystyles and 10 301 others

physics_oxford Dr YN YSN would like to invite 'anybody that craves knowledge' to the open lecture about Robbert J Oppenheimer's work described in the film Oppenheimer. As the science consultant during the filming, Dr YSN invited the writer and director of the movie - Christopher Nolan, as well as the lead actor - Cillian Murphy. We cannot wait to see you next Friday at the main hall!

view all 982 comments

scienceandharstyles Can't wait to attend this!

⤷ yourinstagram Can't wait to see you, Madeline! ❤️

student21 Dr YSN to the rescue to everyone that didn't understand the movie!!!

studen45 it's amazing that more people can experience the brilliance of Dr YSN teaching! Great move from the Dean.

harrysmoustache i think im going there... fingers crossed

student23 CILLIAN???

harrysfan21 i bet that harry's attending it!

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harryupdates

liked by hArrysbtch, harrysmoustache and 46 502 others

harryupdates HARRY arriving at Dr YN YSN lecture at Oxford University!

view all 4 201 comments

hArrysbtch who predicted that???

harrysmoustache HARRY AND CILLIAN REUNION

harrysmylife we stay winning, my soldiers

stylesbabie he looks good 🫠

harrysfan82 he's so supportive of dr ysn

hArrysbtch scienceandharstyles were you there???

⤷ scienceandharstyles i was!!! and he literally greeted me by my name?? like, he remembered... After the lecture ended he waited for dr ysn and others from the panel and left with them! even gave me a wave then!

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harryupdates

liked by scienceandharstyles, harrysmylife and 56 492 others

harryupdates HARRY VIA DELETED IG STORIES !!!

view all 5 011 comments

hArrysbtch can you guys imagine what he's posting to his close friends ig stories? I WANT TO BE THERE

harrysmoustache the hugging sticker???

harrysmylife i love how he appreciates dr ysn way of showing that she cares... i love then

scienceandharstyles that was my latest lecture with dr ysn! it was a tough one, im wondering how Harry understood it

⤷ stylesbabie what was it about?

⤷ scienceandharstyles literally, bunch of maths equations that we need to understand and then use in practice!

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 310 others

yourinstagram this is what i'm dealing with instead of checking the papers and giving grades...

view all 34 comments

annetwist He's going to break his neck one day!

⤷ yourinstagram please, tell him, Anne. he's not listening to me...

⤷ harrystyles I am well coordinated, thank you.

gemmastyles he has some connections with your students. be careful, ynn

⤷ yourinstagram they all love him! im already loosing!

yourbestfriend glad to see those plants alive

⤷ yourinstagram thank you, im a very good plant mommy

harrystyles who is this dancer? he seems exeptional.

⤷ yourinstagram remember the book about ego i wanted to lend to you?

⤷ jeffazoff ohhhh, burnt to ashes!

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harryupdates

liked by scienceandharstyles, hArrysbtch and 23 301 others

harryupdates HARRY was seen at the Oxfords library!!

view all 2 402 comments

hArrysbtch oh wattpad girlies open the documents and write about professorry!!!!

harrysmoustache it's giving dark academia

scienceandharstyles guys, he's literally hanging out at our campus. it's so cute!

⤷ harrysmylife is he there often?

⤷ scienceandharstyles yes! a few times a week. he's bringing lunch or coffee to dr ysn office. sometimes they have lunch together somewhere on the campus. he's now treated here just like any other student. most people don't even pay attention to him!

⤷ harryupdates im so glad people don't bother them

⤷ user46 is it even allowed?

⤷ scienceandharstyles if he's doing it, there must be the dean's consent!

stylesbabie he even dresses like those old-school professors!

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yourbestfriend

liked by yourinstagram, harrystyles, scienceandharstyles and 32 492 others

yourbestfriend Dr YN YSN reading her graduate's research paper and finding out that they, indeed, included her boyfriend as one of the examples.

view all 5 402 comments

yourinstagram I am a PROUD supervisor!!!

harrystyles I am, indeed, helping science. Will I also get a Nobel prize?

⤷ yourinstagram No, baby. You won't.

⤷ harrystyles :(((

scienceandharstyles ohhhh god!!! my thesis!!!

⤷ yourinstagram I sent you an email with all comments about the paper, Madeline. You are on the right track! ❤️

hArrysbtch she is SOOO BREATHTAKING

⤷ harrystyles agreed.

⤷ hArrysbtch Harry?!

user492 Isn’t it confidential?

⤷ scienceandharstyles Well, they didn't say whose paper was it. I commented that, and I don't mind people knowing. Besides, it will be published soon.

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wired

liked by yourinstagram, harrystyles and 381 492 others

wired It's been only 12 hours and our newest video of Dr YN YSN answering your questions has over 2,5M views! Should I (the intern) ask THE boss for PART 2? Link in bio.

view all 10 391 comments

yourinstagram It was an absolute pleasure to film this video! I wouldn't be opposite to doing a part 2 👀

harrystyles Boycotting! There was no God particle!

⤷ yourinstagram So, part 2?

⤷ harrystyles Part 2.

harrystyles The best Doctor out there! 👸🏻

⤷ yourinstagram ❤️❤️

scienceandharstyles our dr is getting famous!!!!

harryupdates Woah, this video singlehandedly is convincing me to change majors!

user49 one of the best videos in the series!

user78 Can't remember seeing someone being this enthusiastic about physics theorems.

yourbestfriend bestie getting famous... i love it

⤷ yourinstagram thanks to you and encouraging me!

⤷ harrystyles *clearing throat*

⤷ yourinstagram and thanks to my wonderful, one and only, best in the whole world boyfriend

⤷ hArrysbtch oh he loves attention!

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a/n: would you like to see more of physicist!reader?

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles instagram #harry styles fake ig #scientist!reader #physicist!reader

1K notes · View notes

rainandandy · 25 days

Note

Hi! Could you do a Rain x reader fic where reader has a nightmare about Xenomorph chasing her and Rain comforts her?

Warnings: Angst, Xenomorph description, panic attack description

Word Count: 1142

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem! Reader

The pitch-black corridors of the station loomed around you, stretching infinitely into the darkness. Every breath you took echoed against the cold metal walls, a haunting reminder of the silence that had fallen after the others were lost. But this silence wasn’t comforting; it was the kind of silence that heralded something far worse.

You were alone. Or at least you thought you were. Every footstep, every laboured breath seemed amplified, like the sound was being consumed by something waiting, watching from the shadows. The shadows themselves seemed alive, shifting and curling like tendrils of smoke, threatening to swallow you whole.

Then, the hiss—a sound you would never forget, one that clawed into your soul and sent icy fingers of dread through your entire being. You whipped around, heart pounding, eyes wide, searching for the source. There it was, at the far end of the corridor, emerging from the shadows, its elongated head gleaming under the dim emergency lights. The xenomorph, its form a perfect amalgamation of terror, muscle, and predatory instinct.

You turned to run, but your feet felt as though they were stuck in molasses, each step dragging you down as if the station itself wanted to keep you there, to offer you up to the nightmare closing in behind you. The creature’s breath—hot, humid, rancid—was on your neck, closer with every heartbeat.

The walls began to close in, narrowing the corridor until it felt like you were squeezing through a vent. Panic surged through you, choking the air from your lungs. But worse, much worse, was the sight that stopped you cold: Rain.

She was ahead of you, in the narrow corridor, her face streaked with dirt and tears, a desperate look in her eyes as she reached out for you. But as you tried to move toward her, the xenomorph’s skeletal tail whipped around your leg, dragging you back, further into the darkness.

“No!” you screamed, your voice breaking with terror. You could see Rain’s mouth moving, but no sound reached you. The creature’s claws wrapped around you, its jagged teeth dripping with viscous saliva as it drew closer. You struggled, desperate to reach Rain, to save her, but your movements were sluggish, like fighting through a thick syrup. Rain’s eyes widened in horror as the xenomorph reared back, its inner jaw snapping out toward you.

Then it wasn’t you the creature was after. It lunged toward Rain, and you were helpless, forced to watch as it closed the gap between them in a heartbeat.

“RAIN!” you screamed, sitting up abruptly, your voice echoing in the small, darkened room.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for breath, the dream still clawing at the edges of your consciousness, refusing to release its hold on you. The room was silent, save for your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the station's life support systems. The small cabin you shared with Rain and Andy was a sanctuary now, but the dream had torn down all sense of security, leaving you raw and vulnerable.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, gentle but firm. “Hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe. We’re safe,” Rain’s voice was soft, full of warmth and concern.

Tears blurred your vision as you turned to face her. The moonlight filtered through the small window, casting a silver glow on her face. She was so close, so real, and it was that reality that finally started to pull you out of the nightmare’s grip.

But the terror wasn’t gone—it was lingering, seeping into your bones, making it hard to breathe. Your heart raced as if you were still running for your life. “I-I saw you, Rain… It was going to kill you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop it.”

Rain’s expression softened, her own heart aching as she saw the fear etched on your face. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m right here. Nothing’s going to hurt you, not while I’m here.” She pulled you into her arms, cradling your head against her chest. “Listen to my heartbeat,” she whispered. “Just breathe with me.”

You tried to focus on the steady rhythm of her heart, grounding yourself in the moment, but the images from the dream kept flashing before your eyes. The xenomorph’s jagged teeth, the hopelessness of trying to escape… It was too much.

“I can’t…” you gasped, your voice breaking as a panic attack surged through you, gripping your chest like a vice.

Rain held you tighter, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re safe,” she murmured, repeating the words like a mantra. “You’re safe, baby. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

The comfort of her touch, the calm in her voice, slowly started to penetrate the fog of fear enveloping you. “I was so scared,” you admitted, your voice trembling as you clung to her. “I can still feel it, like it’s still there.”

Rain leaned back slightly, cupping your face in her hands so you could see her clearly. “But it’s not here. It was just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream. But that’s all it is.”

You nodded, though the tears kept coming, your body still shaking. “I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “And you never will. We’ve been through too much to let anything tear us apart now.”

Rain continued to hold you, her presence a balm to your frayed nerves. She kissed your forehead gently, her lips lingering as if she could kiss away the fear itself. “You’re stronger than you know,” she said softly. “We both are. We survived. And we’ll keep surviving. Together.”

The word "together" hung in the air, a lifeline that you grabbed onto with both hands. Slowly, the panic began to ebb, replaced by the warmth of Rain’s embrace, the solid reality of her presence. You let out a shaky breath, the nightmare finally starting to lose its grip on your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Rain replied, her voice filled with love. “We’ve been through so much. It’s okay to be scared. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, your body finally relaxing against her as the last remnants of fear slipped away. Rain held you until your breathing steadied, her touch never wavering.

“I love you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible as you started to drift off, the comfort of her arms pulling you back to sleep, this time a peaceful one.

Rain smiled softly, pressing another kiss to your temple. “I love you too. Always.”

As you fell back into a much-needed sleep, the lingering fear of the nightmare was no match for the reality of Rain’s love, her strength, and the promise that, no matter what, you would face whatever came next together.

#alien romulus #rain carradine #cailee spaeny #rain carradine x reader #marie raines carradine #alien #alien franchise #horror #wlw #request #fic request #requests open

104 notes · View notes

bigassmoonchild · 9 months

Text

Happy

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Simon finally comes home, and he meets his two little angels. You’re finally happy, and things seem perfect. A little too perfect.

Content Tags: Comfort, Twins (name reveal), Death, Canonical death, SPOILERS FOR MW3, Family Moments, Good Father Simon, Simon Finally Realizes How to Deal With His Emotions, Mentions of Pumping, More Original Characters (no name mentioned), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, Omega! Reader, No Use of Y/N

A/N: This is the end. Maple Syrup is done, it has been finished. Feel free to keep sending asks about Doc and Simon! I am more than happy to keep answering prompts about their life together and their family <3. It is insane. I am so proud of how far this has come, and I am so happy that you all have enjoyed it. Don’t worry, I have another fic lined up!!

Part 1 | Previous | Headcannons, Masterlist

Price isn’t entirely sure the last time he could smell something like this on Simon. He isn’t entirely sure if he’s ever smelled him like this. Not in the however long he’s known the Lieutenant. There’s words that he should find, something to get his other alpha, his Lieutenant, to feel better, yet there’s nothing. No matter how much he wants to say something, the words are lost to Price.

He knows the feeling coursing through Simon. Price himself missed his middle pups birth, and yet this all feels different.t He isn’t even sure there are words to convey what he wants to say, if he could just transmit the feeling he needs to he would. But he can’t do that, that just isn’t a thing that’s possible. Maybe in the far, far future but right now? All he needs to find are the words to help make his other Alpha hurt just a little less.

The tangy scent that fills the air of the heli almost burns his nose. It’s not something he’s ever smelled before, not on Simon. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley didn’t smell hurt, or sad. Hell, he never even really smelled anguished even when he probably should have. Price knows the pup- the pups- are here, and he knows Simon should be feeling a sense of joy. Excitement, even. But there’s nothing. No joy, no happiness, just fear and a tang of pain.

While Price knows the feeling- he missed his own middle pups birth- he can’t find the words to express to Simon that it’ll all turn out okay. That everything will be figured out, that you won’t just abandon him. Simon isn’t a bad Alpha, he might be rough around the edges but he truly does mean well. Maybe his words were a little harsh, maybe his tone wasn’t always what he wanted to convey, but Simon never meant real harm to those on his side.

The sounds of shrieking, wails and snarls coming from the other end of the phone almost haunted Price. He’d never heard his own Omega, the perfect parent to their pups, scream in such a way. Maybe it was just because it hurt, maybe because you had to push two pups out of you, but maybe it was because it was so unexpected. His omega had gone to a few classes to prepare for it all.

Christ. You’d had two pups, and Simon wasn’t there to help at all. Your own pack, the one you were born in, wasn’t even there to help you with this moment. Price knew that there was very little anyone could do to fix this, but by all the gods who knew of the green Earth he wanted to find a way.

While your relationship with Simon had definitely been through worse, he knew that it was torment. Price had been given the opportunity to slowly court his own omega, make them fall in love with him each time that they were together. He knew what it took to get an omega, at least his own, to fall in love. But neither of you were given that chance. You were just some Doctor that had been assigned to their base, just a Doctor who was sent out by your own leaders and Captains to figure out what was happening.

You were just a Doctor, tossed into a world of hurt all because of Simon. And Simon wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself for any of it. You were alone, to care for two newly born pups, all alone to give birth to them. He’d heard you snarl at one of the doctors who had come in. Just Price’s Omega was allowed in, they were the only person who was allowed near you.

Simon shouldn’t have just ran off to the mission without at least having gone and seen you first. Maybe then, just maybe, he would have had the balls to stay behind and try and fix his mistakes. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have been left alone to birth your children. God, he felt so fucking stupid. He’d missed the birth of his pups.

Maybe, hopefully, you’d forgive him. You had before, so hopefully this wouldn’t be that much different. He had to stop doing this, stop making these situations occur where he hurt you so much and had to hope to whatever god would listen that you would accept him back into your arms. He could see Price, Gaz and Soap glancing at him every now and again. Soaps nose was scrunched up, his eyes slightly narrowed while looking at him.

“You alright, L.T.?” Soap asked in the silent helo. The tension was so strong Simon thought he could cut it in half. His eyes slowly moved from staring out of the window to looking right at him. Soaps eyes didn’t move, matching his stare.

Swallowing thickly, Simon broke eye contact. “Worried, s’all,” he responded, voice slightly hoarse. A hum came from Soap, and he watched him turn to look back away where he’d been prior to it. No one else spoke for the remainder of the flight back, and Simon found himself glancing back out the window he was near and watching the ground pass by quickly.

Sometimes he wondered what other people were up to, how simple their lives might be. How they might be having a nice dinner with their pack, watching as their pups grow up with ease. He felt a pang deep in his chest, and he almost felt his eyes burn for a moment. He craved such normalcy. He wanted to curl up in your nest next to you, hold you close as you slept against him.

Take care of his pups and help you out after the birth. He barely noticed the helo land and was half conscious as he walked into the compound. People were glancing at him, their eyes following him as he walked. Simon barely noticed, though, and he felt as though he had tunnel vision on his walk to your shared room.

From a few halls down, he could smell something. It was sweet, mixed in with your own scent. Milky, almost, and slightly powdery. He swallowed thickly, as just another hall down he could hear shuffling coming from your shared room. Christ, when had his hearing become so sensitive? He heard you humming faintly, some cooing and whining from two other sources.

And he opened the door, sliding the key out of the lock as he walked in. Your eyes found him, widening just a little and the faintest scent of fear coursed through your scent. Two wails suddenly screeched through the room, your eyes darting back to the closet nest and you moved without hesitation. He heard little purrs and coos coming from you, the wails slowly dying down into soft whimpers.

His heart shatters into pieces. He feels a pain he hadn’t thought possible, the thoughts whirling through his head. His pups don’t know him, they hate him and he can’t be here. Simons muscles are tensed, ready to make a run for it. He can almost feel tears pooling in his eyes, his throat closing up as a small whine comes from deep within him.

There’s nothing he can do. Absolutely nothing. He wasn’t here when they came into this Earth, he wouldn’t be here when they left. And he hated himself so deeply. But the purrs that you gave, little coos bringing him from his thoughts. His head almost cleared, listening to you whisper soothing words to the little things. God, they’d be tiny. They had to only be a few days or weeks old at this point, but everything felt like it had ground to a halt when he’d heard you were in labor.

And he shouldn’t he absolutely should leave until he can talk to you alone but he can’t. He can’t run away again when things get difficult, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave you. He had to make things right, but he wasn’t sure how.

Simon didn’t feel like he could move. He slid his boots off, sliding them in their spot in the corner. He moved slowly, cautiously as he inched closer to the closet. He was barely peeking around the corner when you spun and growled at him. Growled. Deeply, from so far in your chest he hadn’t thought an Omega could make that noise.

Your eyes had shifted from being you, shifting into a deeper and more primal look. They softened, slowly, as your snarl faded carefully. You had remained crouched next to the two pups, your hands still gently laid on each of them.

When you growled, you could smell fear coming from Simon. You aren’t entirely sure if that’s what pulled you out of this weird and deeply defensive spot. The father of your pups, your Alpha was standing above you and looking down at you with wide eyes. You watched as he carefully slid the balaclava off, his eyes dropping down to take a look at your pups. You shifted a little, no longer crouching down in front of them.

His eyes became softer, his brows no longer furrowed so deep into his eyes that he almost looked awed. You knew they had his eyes, although a little lighter because of how young they were. They looked so similar, although your little Lily had more of your features than her fathers. Finley, on the other hand, had his stronger features but he had your hair. Maybe he had your nose, but you were partial to your pups.

You said nothing as you handed one of them to their father. Lily shifted, her nose scrunching up as she inhaled his scent up close but it slowly disappeared as she became comfortable. Her little hand grabbed at his shirt, and one of his hands moved to stroke against her hair. He held her closer to him, and you could see his nose twitch a little as he inhaled her scent.

“I want to retire,” he whispered, not looking away from the little pup in your arms. You could feel your heart stop, your eyes almost welling with tears as the realization slowly sunk in. Your pups would have their father, and you would have your alpha.

“Do you know their names?” You whispered softly, watching as he looked up at you. He shook his head and you gave him a weak smile. You still hurt, not just physically, but emotionally. He had abandoned you. And yet he was here now, holding Lily in his arm and his eyes felt so gentle while he looked at you. “You’re holding Lily,” and he nodded, his nose twitching a little bit. “Finley is down here,”

“How do you differentiate them?” You gave a little laugh, picking up Finley and letting Simon grab onto the two of them. Your big, scary looking alpha was standing there with his head ducked down looking at his pups. He seemed so gentle, his jaw was relaxed and his brows weren’t furrowed. He seemed almost happy.

You glanced away from the three of them, swallowing thickly. “Lily’s scent is a little stronger, kind of like yours. Finley isn’t as shifty and he’s a little quieter. Mostly it’s just their scent, though, but also. Other things,” you glanced away and heard Simon laugh from deep in his chest. His eyes were scrunched up, and his head was tossed back.

Genuinely, you don’t remember if you’d ever seen him laugh as hard as that. You’re not sure that you have, and it made you feel warm. Your chest hurt, but in a good way this time. You could feel your cheeks aching from the smile you had on your face, watching your little pack enjoy themselves.

For some time, the two of your stood there basking in the little family you had. Simon finally sat himself in your nest, and you showed him how to change their diapers. The two of you sat there for what felt like minutes, but had to be hours. He helped you to the toilet when the pain relievers finally stopped working as well, helping to prepare your new pad and helping you get back up.

The first night you were able to spend with him, you hadn’t woken up once. You’d stashed away some pumped milk in a little mini fridge they’d let you keep in the room just for this, and when you woke up and added some more that you’d packaged you noticed a few missing. You smiled a little, glancing at him snoring away in the bed you shared.

It didn’t take long for his retirement to become official. The two of you found a little place not too far from the compound, and he’d gotten a new job. It was pretty decent, but he also received an alright amount of money from the government for his service. You were still working in the medical field, but you found yourself leaning more towards finding an office job, one where you could actually have decent hours to be able to help care for the pups.

Raising two pups at once was difficult. Sure, Simon helped when and where he could, but it was just difficult in general. When one pup wasn’t crying, it was the other. When one needed a diaper change, the other suddenly needed one as well. You were just happy to have your mate and your pups healthy, happy and not at risk to die.

Until Simon got a phone call.

“They think Makarov survived,” he whispered to you in bed after you came back from finishing your pumping. You could feel your blood run cold, and you turned over to look at him.

“What?”

He sighed deeply, shifting his head to look at you. “They have some,” he paused and swallowed. “Evidence. They think he’s still alive, and we need to find him. Kill him,” and your heart was suddenly pounding.

“We?”

You watched as his eyes closed, his scent changing to one that confused you. “They need me to help them,” he whispered, his hand finding yours carefully. He squeezed it, and you squeezed back. You sighed deeply, closing your eyes and feeling your heart begin to slow down.

Opening your eyes, you looked carefully at Simon. Even in the dark, you could see his brow furrowed. “I’m coming with,” you whispered. He sat up straight, elbow locked as he held himself up.

“Absolutely not,” his voice was stern, almost a growl. “You will not be going anywhere near this mission,”

You scoffed, rolling back over onto your back. Your eyes gazed across the dark ceiling. “I’m coming with you,” you whispered once more. Simon shook his head, his free hand sliding across his face.

It was a week long argument. Tempers were short, and things weren’t very happy within the house. The two of you still worked together with the pups, but it was silent. He still took care of the pups at night, even though he was sleeping in your guest bedroom. You stayed quiet, listening faintly in on his phone calls. He was trying to stay quiet, you could tell.

It was mostly arguing, at least from his end. Anger about not wanting you to go with, and whoever he was talking with appeared to be arguing for your help. He was always a little angrier after finishing the call, but he stowed away with the pups while they took their naps and seemed to just stew with the thoughts for a while.

After a week, probably just a little longer, he finally came up to you with his head down. He wasn’t making eye contact, but his brows were still furrowed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a moment. You nodded, continuing to package the breastmilk you’d just finished pumping. “Price wants you to join, he’s worried there might be issues with medical care while we’re on the mission,” you nodded again but paused after finally registering what he was saying.

“Price said what?”

And the mission was horrible. Absolutely horrible.

The only part you truly remember about it was watching as Soap took a gunshot to the head. You watched the blood pour out of him, heard the shouts and ensuing chaos.

Makarov got away. You did what you could, but at the end of the day you had no way of saving Soap. Simon had grown silent, and the return to the compound was horrible. Price’s omega was taking care of the pups, as their own were almost finished with their last years of school. And you left the 141 alone as they spread his ashes, holding Simon close as he sobbed into your body.

His grip on you those next few weeks were incredibly strong, his arms not letting you out of bed when you needed to use the bathroom, and he was just a little withdrawn for some time.

You named your next pup after Soap. And Simon slowly grew better about the passing, the 141 was often around to see their pack-pups. Everything felt wrong without Johnny, though. No longer just Soap, it was Johnny. Even your youngest had become Johnny, and Simon was able to keep himself from being especially partial to the young one.

They grew up so fast, but it took so long. And maybe it should have felt good, but Christ were they some difficult pups at times. Lily had her first rut, as did Finley. Johnny hadn’t yet presented, so you were just assuming he was a Beta until he would present. Maybe he wouldn’t, but you loved your little pups more than you had ever thought possible.

It wasn’t all too bad. The 141 stuck around, and you found yourselves living in the same neighborhood as the other two. Gaz had found himself a mate, and they had a few pups of their own. You helped with the birth of the first, just as Price’s Omega had done for you. They were there as well, and Simon was holding Gaz back even with the shrieks.

Gaz had tried throwing the two of you out of the room, as his omega had ended up in a similar situation to you. In the middle of birth suddenly, and unable to make it to a hospital in time. Lucky bastard, the birth took twenty minutes.

But you were happy. And that’s all that mattered.

TAGLIST (finished for Maple Syrup, please let me know if you’d eventually like to be added to a general Ghost x Reader taglist, or just no longer be tagged 🫶)

Some tags are not accepted, as it won’t show your blogs when i’m tagging. i’m so sorry!!

@sae1kie @shinebright2000 @zechie-spams @itsmadamehydra @smiley-roos @enrapturedbythemoon @stargatenovus @cowboydisaster @josieguts @the-queen-of-england183 @littlelovebug98 @cringeycookies @averytiredfanfictionwriter @kariiiel @http-paprika @snorklingfae @lukneetoonz @wise-owl @waves-against-a-cliff @megkviss @ducks118 @404lunar @zoom-zoom77 @hollowmasque @bootabo2000 @ducks118 @bunnyvs @perfectus-in-morte @itsmytimetoodream @the-occasional-artist1125 @lunamoonbby @ghostslittlegf @teddywebby @astro-ghoul99 @vicky-09 @batmanunicorns523 @xuanzhe @tsugikatsuhowl

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bunniesanddeer · 7 months

Note

Hiiiii! I was wondering if I could request a fic with a sick reader? I'm currently sick with the flu and am looking for a bit of comfort :(

Hi! I am sorry for taking a bit to respond. Needed some sleep after work. I wasn't sure if this is exactly what you wanted, so I am sorry if it isn't. This is just some minor fluff from the perspective of Alastor.

Sick

Pairing: Alastor X Sick!Reader

Tags: Sick reader, fluff, minor angst, allusions to sickness and Alastor's past.

Word Count: 1,048

Alastor did not like when people got sick. He did not like seeing their snotty faces, or listening to their fevered rambles. He did not like getting sick, either. The Radio Demon hated it. It reminded him of being a weak child, and it was something he actively avoided. In order to do so, he avoided sick sinners, giving them an even wider berth than the average sinner. That is, until you got sick.

It had been a normal morning up until Charlie spoke up.

Charlie had called your name as the group made their way to the dining room. Alastor had been setting the final platters down. They were heaped full of pancakes, and waffles, something you had requested recently. He looked up from the table, making eye-contact with a confused Charlie.

“That’s weird,” she said. “Normally they’re up pretty early. Has anyone seen them?” Charlie looked at the group, and got shakes of their heads in response.

Yes, that was odd. Normally, by this time, you were up and following Alastor around the kitchen. He rarely let you help, but you always sat in the kitchen with him. Sometimes you would ask him silly questions about his life, and sometimes you would sit, sipping your drink, and listening to whatever music he played.

Alastor realized that it had been quiet all morning. (Something in him twinged. He had completely forgotten about your morning ritual! How rude). “Well, my dear! You get everyone settled in for breakfast. I’ll go see if they have merely lollygagged in bed too long!”

Charlie thanked him with a smile and a thumbs up. He didn’t respond, merely making his way past her and towards the stairs.

When he finally got to your room, he knocked on your door with a flourish. Alastor’s ears twitched as he listened intently. Nothing. There was only silence on the other end. He knocked again. Still nothing. With a sigh, and a mild form of discomfort, (one did not just barge into another’s sleeping space!), he opened the door, and let himself inside.

The room was quite dark. The curtains were pulled tight across the window, and the room had a musty smell to it. Something made Alastor feel the slightest bit skittish. Hmm.

There, on the bed, was a lump swallowed by blankets. He rolled his eyes. Ah! You were merely avoiding the day. With little sympathy, Alastor ripped back the blanket, to be met with the sight of you curled into the fetal position, eyes barely blinking open.

“Al?” Your voice was rough, and nasally. “Wa’s goin’ on?”

Your eyes had crusts at the corner, and your face was flushed. Your hands twitched, and your breath seemed to whistle just the slightest.

Gross. Alastor was immediately on guard. He did not want to get sick. He wanted out of this room.

But the sight of your exhausted face, made him think twice. He pondered over the situation for a moment, before gently putting the blanket back on the bed, gently tucking you in.

“I will be right back, dear. I am just going to go get some water and a thermometer,” Alastor said, taking off from the room before you could respond. His hands itched. If he was being honest, the drive to send someone else to take care of you was definitely there, but… You were ever so sweet on him. He couldn’t understand why, but he wasn’t about to repay that shred of kindness by abandoning you.

Alastor made his way to the kitchen, and to the medicine cabinet tucked in the corner. He pulled the thermometer, and after briefly reading over some labels, one of the medicinal syrups. He grabbed a cup, a plastic one he was not about to give a sick person a glass that they could drop, and filled it with water. On his way out, Charlie caught his eye. Alastor merely shook his head at her, and made his way back to your room.

Back in your room, Alastor helped you sit up, and propped the thermometer in your mouth. The back of his hand settled on your forehead, a strange habit he would never break. Your face was full of exhaustion, and it reminded him of another face, and he needed to force himself to focus.

“Just a moment, dear. Then I can give you this water,” he said, waiting for the strange thermometer to beep. He pulled it out of your mouth with a gentle tug, and read the number. “Ah. 102. You definitely have a fever. It’s not severe, but let’s help you get better.” Alastor handed you the cup, keeping the bottom of it supported as your weak grip held it.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as he set the cup down on the bedside table. He settled down, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“M’ throat hur’s,” you mumbled, your eyes blinking slowly. “An’ I don’ think I can eat anythin’ right now.”

Alastor hummed. “Yes, I suppose we can let you rest now. We will get some warm broth in you later. If you do… expel later, it will be much worse on an empty stomach. Plus! Some good always helps heal the body and soul.” His claws push back some hair from your forehead. You lean into his hand, making him pause. (He would pretend the way his chest suddenly ached at the sight meant nothing. It was better that way).

“Can I have a hug?” Your voice is rough, but you’re looking at him with such hope in your eyes. Alastor can feel his smile get involuntarily tugged wider.

“Hmm. I suppose. He crawls up onto the bed, and settles besides you. You were much smaller than him, so he towered over you, even as he settled against the back of the bed. You immediately turn and nuzzle into his side, face tucked into his ribs. His arm wraps around your shoulder and back. Alastor decides to ignore the fact that you’re sweaty, because he’s being nice, not because the way your arms wrap around him cuts off his thinking.

“Sleep, dearest. I’ll be here.” Alastor hums to himself as you fall asleep.

He doesn’t like when people get sick, but perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing.

Asks are OPEN!

#alastor x reader #fanfic #fluff #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #alastor #alastor x you #sickfic #Bun's short fics

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avonne-writes · 6 months

Note

oh my god now that the show and the war is over I NEED domestic buck and bucky fics bonus points if buck is sick and they cuddle all day😅😅

I can’t wait to write this AU, but I have to finish Reverie first, so I hope you’d still like to read to it after 🩷 But until then, here's a snippet I've just written:

It's cold. So cold, that Gale thinks he’s back in Germany for a few seconds, locked in the filthy hopelessness of the stalag, with no end in sight. He’s swimming in sweat but his body trembles nevertheless. Icy pain rolls down his neck in waves. He can’t get any air through his nose so he tries to sleep with his mouth open, but that just makes his throat ache that much more. He wishes he could stop breathing long enough to fall asleep, but no such luck. The duvet doesn’t wrap around him tight enough. Curled up miserably on his side of the bed, he can’t do anything but convalesce. Even his bones hurt.

The front door opens downstairs, but it's too early for John to be home. Robbers? But there’s no sound of clinking china or cabinets being opened, only the jiggle of keys and then familiar, heavy footsteps up the creaking stairs. The bedroom door opens softly, then the world's most annoying voice whispers into the stale air of the room.

"Is our pretty little patient still with us?" When Gale ignores him, Bucky's socked feet thread across the carpet to the bed. His fingers drum on the wooden footboard. If Gale had the strength, he'd kick him. "Or did he become a butterfly?"

"What the goddamn hell are you talking about?" Gale gripes, his voice hoarse as though he was dying. He doesn’t open his eyes. He has no interest in seeing Bucky's mug when he’s getting on Gale's nerves like that.

"Well, you look like a giant caterpillar all cocooned up."

Gale doesn’t deign that worthy of a reply. He pulls the duvet the rest of the way over his head. There’s nothing he wants to see in the room anyway. He just wants to be left alone. Glass thuds on the bedside table.

"Got you some cold syrup."

The cover is pulled back from Gale's face and a pleasantly cool, dry palm presses to his forehead. Bucky sighs. When he speaks again, the joking tone drops from his voice. "That’s gotta be a fever."

He wipes the sweat from Gale's temple with his hand, then the bed dips by Gale's side. He hears clinking and banging, then a large palm slides under his head and pulls to prop it up. He cracks his eyes open to slits only to see Bucky bent over him with a spoonful of vile medicine in his free hand. Gale tries to push it away.

"Don't be a child, Buck, open up."

"Says the one yapping about caterpillars." Gale mumbles, so slow that he thinks Bucky won't let him finish the sentence, but he does. He looks amused, despite the tinges of worry around his eyes.

"Someone ought'a have a sense of humor."

"Wouldn’t bet on us." Gale squints at Bucky again, satisfied to see the flash of his grin.

But still, Bucky doesn’t let up - he holds the spoon in front of Gale's mouth until Gale sighs and swallows the syrup in it. "There."

Gale sinks back into the cushions and turns away from him, rolling closer to Bucky's side of the bed. It’s tempting to steal his pillow but with the clogged nose, Gale wouldn’t be able to smell him anyway. A hand rests on his shoulder, Bucky's thumb stroking.

"Care for some company?" Bucky asks. When Gale remains silent again, he continues filling the quiet. "I phoned my boss, told him I was sick."

"What, we share a body now?" Gale grumbles. "What if you do get sick?"

"Then I didn't lie, did I? If I get sick, I'd have caught it anyway, what with this narrow thing you picked." He pats the bed.

"You gave me the wrong measurements."

"Just admit that you wanna sleep in my arms."

"Did you get something for your head?"

Bucky laughs to himself in low chuckles, then Gale hears the rustle of clothes, the clink of a belt. The duvet pulls away from his back, leaving him freezing where the sweat-soaked pyjama shirt sticks to his skin. But he doesn’t have to suffer for long. The bed dips further, then a warm, naked chest presses to his back. Bucky tucks in the covers around them, them slips his arms around Gale to hold him close. It feels like heaven.

Gale sniffles. "I'm disgusting."

Bucky sighs as though he’s happy. He kisses Gale's overheated neck. "Course you are, you little caterpillar."

Gale grits his teeth. "Go away."

"No can do." He holds Gale tighter to his chest, and the shivers subside. "I'm sick, after all."

Gale decides not to say anything else. He remains irritated for two more minutes, then Bucky's warmth starts seeping into him through his clothes. He breathes out and falls asleep.

#mota #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #my writing #sickfic #post-war domestic husbands

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ronearoundblindly · 6 months

Note

Hi Ro! I know I'm late to this party, but can I get B and F for Steve?

Thank you! 💜

Never too late, darling! This is tumblr, not a job 😁

This one got away with me. It got weirdly sappy for the categories asked, but I went with general Steve from no particular universe here, plus a nondescript part of the timeline or beyond, could even kinda be AU--if you squint--except Steve is definitely famous in some capacity and was small when young. (I just think he happens to look very cuff-able in this gif so we roll with it.)

These dirty asks from this game are aptly titled, so MINORS DNI.

B - Bondage

He can't exactly be tied up, not by anything commercially available, but Steve surprisingly likes the chance to sit still, take a backseat, and enjoy experiencing your enjoyment. He used to be so small. He assumed he'd never have the power he does now.

The restraints, as useless as they are, work as a calming tool to shut off his brain for a while. He's not responsible for anything. That's nice. Very freeing. The act of binding him is in itself roleplay; he's playing small and weak.

He's noticed something else, too.

Over the weeks and months you two have repeated this ritual of tying him up, and you both understand just how much it doesn't remotely hurt him, you've grown...more aggressive with the bonds. It's only when you're tying them--never an ounce of it in anything that follows--but he watches and realizes that you relieve frustration by pulling harder, knotting tighter, heaving around until their just so.

At this point, since Steve can do nothing else, he loves to see it. He's heard short and vague accounts from you, of shitty behavior, of innuendo, of back-handed compliments about how you do so well even with Steve. How his reputation must boost you. How you don't have to work so hard or be good because he'll carry you. How your accomplishments are all tied to him somehow.

It's not true, but they say it. They mean it. Steve can do nothing but let you physically yoke him down in your life, even for a few minutes. The weight it seems to lift from your shoulders is worth any momentary sting he might feel.

No. Steve doesn't mind the bonds at all. He even hates that you can't restrain him for real. He wishes he could give you that. Then people might see that you're just that powerful and you've always been that strong. He had nothing to do with it.

Okay, one sec, let me pull myself together here. YIKES.

IT BECAME ITS OWN FIC! [Entwined]

F - Food Play

[Fools Rush In Steve a.k.a. Sketch is notoriously anti-crumbs-in-the-bed, so he is 1000% not a part of this convo. Sorry, bub.]

YUP. Steve loves to feed you. It's a care thing. He always wants your opinion of all the food on the table, so you have to try everything. Here! Try this. The fork is already by your lips and he's smiling eagerly.

In the bedroom? Oh yes, he is very fond of licking sweet things off you and having them licked off him. It's one of the things that seems to tickle Steve the most--body and soul--and it's so playful. He even gets to lean into having a fast metabolism and needing calories after his workouts. If he drizzles honey or chocolate syrup on you, or hilariously fizzes too much whipped cream out of the canister he has not gotten the hang of yet, then that's a snack and a half. That's multitasking. That's just good time management, ya know?

Savory stuff is for meals and the table though. There's none of that that gets played with during sex. He's never outright said that's a rule, but it seems obvious when there's never been a crossover event.

Super random shout out to Steve having a bit of a thing for champagne and licking it off your neck after he deliberately splashes or pours it there. The bubbles tickle like hell and the cold is so shocking, but whatever, he loves it.

🙄

Thank you for asking!

Ack, I can feel in my bones that the bondage one might end up as a one shot. I am in so much trouble.

[Main Masterlist; Dirty Asks Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro answers #dirty asks #ask game #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you

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sequinsmile-x · 3 months

Text

Morning Light

Five different Father's Days in Aaron's life.

-x-

Hi friends,

So, this got away from me. Massively. But I can't help myself - I love these '5 times' type fics.

I really hope you enjoy this, and if today is a hard day for you please know I am holding space for you.

This is largely very very soft. So I hope you enjoy it!

Let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 6k

Warnings: None! Some, small, bits of angst because I am who I am but nothing that wouldn't be in canon.

Parings: Hotchniss. Brief Haley/Aaron

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

When he wakes up, the house is strangely quiet.

The gentle silence he’d been used to before Jack was born was gone, the slow lazy mornings he and Haley had once enjoyed a thing of the past. He didn’t miss it, didn’t look back on it fondly like he thought he might, but rather he enjoyed the chaos that seemingly came with having an 8-month-old in the house.

He groans as he sits up, rubbing his eyes with one hand and reaching over to the other side of the bed with the other. He frowns when he feels nothing but cool sheets, a sign his wife has been up for quite some time, and he stands up, suddenly desperate to seek her out on a rare Sunday morning when he wasn’t away on a case. As he steps out into the hallway he hears her downstairs, a smile breaking out over his face as the sound of her humming to herself, something she always did when she was cooking, travels up the stairs.

He hovers in the doorway of the kitchen for a moment, taking the opportunity to watch her as she splits her attention between the fruit she’s slicing up, the waffle maker in front of her, and Jack sitting in his high chair, oatmeal spread across his face. It was moments like this, watching her as a wife and a mother, that it really struck him how long he’d known her, how long he’d loved her. She’d turned from a slightly rebellious teenager who once convinced him to pierce his ear to the woman right in front of him, grown with him as he did everything he could to ensure he would never repeat his father’s mistakes, that this home would be one free of the violence that had spread through his childhood home like the blackest of mould.

“What’s all this?” He asks, his smile only getting wider when she jumps, her hand on her chest as she looks up at him, her eyes narrowed as Jack’s giggle fills the room.

“Jesus, Aaron,” she mutters as he walks over, leaning into his touch despite her irritation, a smile dancing across her face as he kisses her cheek, “I need to get you a bell or something.”

“Sorry, love,” he replies, kissing her cheek again, “I could have made breakfast.”

He usually did when he was home. It was something he did to try to make up for the times work took him away, a gesture he knew didn’t truly split the load his wife had mostly carried since their son was born. He was starting to see the cracks appearing, how she’d barely hide her annoyance sometimes when a call came through, as if there was anything he could truly do about it.

“Not today,” she says, smiling at him as she gets on her tiptoes to stamp a kiss against his lips, “Happy Father’s Day.”

He chokes on a laugh, his smile slightly disbelieving as he looks down at her, pulling her closer with his hand on her back. It was a day that had never meant anything good to him. It had gone uncelebrated in his home for as long as he could remember, his mother’s attempts to acknowledge it diminishing as the years went by, finally disappearing once his father died, any pretence that he’d been a man worth celebrating dying with him.

“Father’s Day?”

She playfully rolls her eyes at him, a glint to her smile that had first attracted him to her back when they first met in theatre class, “Yes, Aaron. You’re a father now, if you remember.”

He smiles and nods, looking over at Jack who was watching them intently, “Yes, I remember.”

“And Jack insisted we made your favourite breakfast to mark the occasion,” she says, nodding to the plated-up waffles, syrup and sliced fruit before extracting herself from Aaron’s embrace to walk over and pick Jack up, expertly wiping his messy face and hands in seconds, “He even made you a card.”

“You did all that for me, buddy?” Aaron says, gratefully taking his son from his wife, kissing the baby’s head as he settles him on his hip. He looks at Haley as he carries on, wanting her to know he appreciates it, that “Thank you.”

She winks at him, “You stay here, I’m going to go get your presents.”

Aaron watches her go and then turns his attention to his son, bouncing him on his hip and chuckling as Jack presses his tiny hands into his face. He makes a point of kissing them, his heart growing in his chest as Jack giggles, Aaron’s new favourite sound in the world, but he’s drawn out of it as his cell phone rings in his pocket. He adjusts his hold on Jack and grabs his phone, sighing when he sees it’s JJ calling.

“JJ?”

“Sorry to call on a Sunday, Hotch,” she says, sounding genuinely remorseful, “But we’ve got a bad one.”

“How bad?” He asks, as if he has any choice but to leave, as if the tiny bubble he’d been living in since he woke up wasn’t already burst.

“Florida bad.”

He presses his lips together and shakes his head, internally cursing the serial killers of the world for at least not giving him one day off, and he kisses Jack’s head, “Tell the team to meet on the jet in an hour.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, hesitating for a moment before she carries on, “I really am sorry. I know it’s your first Father’s Day.”

He hums, “Unless you’re the unsub JJ you don’t have anything to apologise for.”

She chuckles, the sound drowned out as he hears Haley’s footsteps approaching him. He smiles sadly at her as she stops just short of him, a gift bag hooked over her arm and two cards clasped in her hand. She frowns at him, her eyebrows stitched together with barely covered irritation.

“See you on the jet.”

When he hangs up, Haley sighs, her hands on her hips as she presses her lips together and shakes her head, “A case?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, “Apparently it’s a bad one.”

She chuckles humourlessly, “None of them are good ones, Aaron,” she says, blowing out a breath as she puts the gifts down on the kitchen counter, “It’s Father’s Day. Jack is supposed to spend today with you.”

“I know,” he replies, guilt that was starting to feel all too familiar licking at his insides for the fact he hadn’t hesitated all that much about the fact they had to go. “We can still have breakfast and open the gifts.”

She stares at him for a moment before forcing a smile on her face and nodding at him, “Yeah,” she replies, taking Jack from him, kissing their son’s temple as she settles him in their embrace, “That will have to do.”

He watches as she settles Jack in his high chair again, “Next year I’ll put out a notice that all serial killers need to stop on Father’s Day weekend.”

She laughs despite herself, shaking her head at him as he takes his seat at the breakfast bar, “Yeah,” she says, her smile genuine but slightly sad, an edge to it he hates that he can’t name, “Next year.”

___

Aaron’s confused when he hears a knock on his front door at 8.30 am on a Sunday. He’d barely slept, the weight of the day ahead resting heavily on his chest as he tossed and turned all night, his eyes fixed on the clock as the time ticked passed midnight into Father’s Day.

The first Father’s Day since Haley had died.

It felt strangely harder than Mother’s Day had. For that, he had a plan. He had spoken to Jack’s teacher, had prepared the little boy as much as he could. He’d helped him make a card and pick out flowers and they went to Haley’s grave and spoke to her. It had been difficult, one of the hardest days of his life, but it had been easier than this. Even after the divorce, Haley had made a point of making sure Jack got him a gift and a card. She always made sure he had him that day - that he spent the day with his son if he wasn’t at work and it meant everything to him.

He knew Jess had bought a card, and that Jack would have made something at school, but it felt lonely. His reality as a single father, a reality he blamed solely on himself, all the more real on a day like today.

He frowns when there’s another knock on the door and he walks towards it, his confusion only deepening when he spots Emily through the peephole, her arms laden with bags. He opens the door and furrows his brows, wondering if he’d somehow fallen asleep and was dreaming.

“Emily?”

“Finally,” she says, walking past him as if she lived here, grunting as she places the bags all down on his kitchen counter, “This shit is heavy.”

He stares at her, still frozen in place by the door, his mouth hanging open as she shrugs off her jacket, revealing the casual clothes she was wearing underneath. Her being here wasn’t unusual, she was a frequent visitor these days. Ever since Jack and Haley had gone into hiding she’d spent a lot of time with him, reminding him he wasn’t alone, being the friend he hadn’t realised he’d needed until she was right there with him. She’d been even more present since Jack had come back, her ability to make his son comfortable in a world that was suddenly different to him something Aaron was sure he’d never be able to pay her back for.

“What are you doing here?”

She smiles, but she’s cut off from responding by Jack barrelling into her side, the little boy seemingly appearing out of nowhere as he wraps his arms around her.

“Em’ly!”

She leans down and picks him up, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she settles him on her hip, “Hi Jack,” she says, smiling at Aaron, feeling uncharacteristically shy under his gaze, “I think it’s time we let your Daddy in on our little secret, huh?” She asks, tickling him, drawing a laugh out of the little boy.

Jack nods enthusiastically and turns to Aaron, his arms stretched out for him, “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!”

Aaron beams, his smile wide as he accepts his son from Emily’s arms, ignoring the warmth that spreads through him from where his hand grazes hers, “Thanks, buddy,” he says, kissing his son’s cheek as he takes a step back, his smile turning curious as he looks at Emily, “I’m still not sure what’s going on.”

She smiles at the sight of them together, her stomach flipping as she replies, “Jack asked me if I knew it was Father’s Day coming up just a couple of weeks ago, and he said you liked to have your favourite breakfast on Father’s Day,” her smile turns soft, a way to quietly let him know she knew it was something Haley had done for him, “But he’s too small to cook for you. So he asked me to help.”

“Em’ly said she’d come over,” Jack says, his smile wide, so similar to Haley’s it makes Aaron ache, and Aaron lets out a shaky laugh, shaking his head at the two of them. He can see the spark of insecurity in Emily’s eyes, something she tries and fails to hide from him, and he knows he has to extinguish it before it catches fire.

“Well, this is a very nice surprise,” he says, smiling at her before he looks at his son, “Why don’t you go get changed out of your pyjamas and I’ll help Emily set up?”

He nods and kisses his father’s cheek before he scrambles down to the ground, running to his room and leaving the two adults alone. Aaron obverses her as she looks at the ground, purposefully avoiding eye contact, and he’s overwhelmed by the love he’d been harbouring for her for far too long.

He hadn’t been able to name it until she started coming around after he’d been attacked. It had followed him everywhere, haunting him and tapping him on the shoulder every time she so much as smiled at him. As soon as he could name it, he felt a wave of shame, sure that he didn’t deserve to be with a woman like her after everything he’d done, even if he was fairly sure she loved him back.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

She looks up at him, her eyebrows furrowed as if he was being ridiculous. As if there had been no other option other than for her to come over when he knew she’d usually still be sleeping.

“Yes I did,” she says, nodding towards the pile of things she’d abandoned on his counter, “Now, help me get this unpacked. I’m doing all the cooking though.”

He smiles curiously as she unpacks the bags she’d brought with her, his focus fixed on the waffle iron she sets down on his kitchen counter, “You hate waffles.”

She looks up at him, a surprised smile bursting across her face before she tries to suppress it, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she narrows her eyes at him, “How do you know that?”

“You were complaining about them at the hotel breakfast buffet on a case recently,” he says, the memory making a smile flick across her face, her condemnation of the food something that had stuck with him. The way her eyebrows had pinched together in the same way they would when she was presented with a particularly gruesome case file, “You called them ‘pretentious pancakes.’”

She stares at him for a moment, a familiar feeling that she desperately tries to ignore whenever it occurs bubbling in her chest. Whenever she saw him like this, soft and so unlike the man she’d got to know at work, her stomach would flip. Forbidden feelings for a forbidden version of him that felt even more wrong given the situation he was in, the fact he was grieving a woman he’d known most of his life.

Emily first realised she was in love with him when she found him in the hospital after Foyet had attacked him. Seeing him like that hurt, a guttural pain low in her gut that told her the feelings she’d written off as a school-girl crush ran far deeper than that. It was inappropriate at best, she knew that, especially at first when he was in pain and missing his son. She did her best to love him practically. To be there for him by driving him to work, by silently paying for the medical bills his insurance didn’t cover.

It was something she’d carried on since Haley died, her affection shifting from just him to him and Jack. She spent weekends with them. Did simple things like grocery shop and going to the zoo with them, their smiles and laughter, the joy they found even in the darkest of times, all she ever wanted in return. It’s why when Jack pulled her aside a couple of weeks ago, a frown on his face that was all Aaron, and asked for her help with doing something for Father’s Day she hadn’t needed to think about it.

She would do anything for either of them.

She clears her throat as she looks at the food on the counter, her cheeks warm as he continues to stare at her, “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I remember everything about you.” His words hang in the air around them, a confession he hadn’t even intended to make, and for a moment they both freeze. Everything they hadn’t said, and knew now wasn’t the time to say, written across their faces, both of them staring at each other as if they were afraid to say anything, to disturb the delicate holding pattern they’d found themselves in for months now. “So,” he says, smiling at her, “Did you buy this waffle iron especially for today?”

She hears what he hasn’t said, all the things they’d talk about when life was a little simpler again. When the muddy waters he was wading through were clearer. And she smiles, her dimples carved out deeply in her cheeks as they go warm with embarrassment only he could drag out of her.

“Shut up.”

___

Emily smiles to herself as she closes the hotel room door and slides the lock across, proud of herself for not waking up her boyfriend as she quietly wheels the room service she’d ordered closer to the bed.

She climbs on top of him, straddling his abdomen as she leans down, pressing her chest against his as she starts to stamp a series of kisses to his jaw, the scratch of his stubble rubbing against her lips, and up to his cheek.

“Wake up honey,” she whispers, her hand sneaking under the hem of his t-shirt, her fingers dancing across the scar at the top of his chest, “Wake up.”

Aaron groans, his hands landing on her hips as if magnetized as he wakes up, pulling her impossibly closer as she continues to kiss him until he turns his head, capturing her lips against his.

“Not that I don’t enjoy you waking me up by climbing on top of me half naked,” he drawls, his voice rough and raspy from a lack of sleep, “Why am I awake at…” he groans as he looks at the clock, “5 am,” he sniffs, finally pulling his face away from her, “And can I smell breakfast?”

She smiles as she sits up, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as his hands find her bare thighs, the shirt of his she’d fallen asleep in gathered around her on top of him, “Happy Father’s Day, honey.”

He’s still half asleep, so he frowns at her, “What?”

She chuckles and leans into him, her hair falling down and covering them both as she presses her lips against his. He smoothes it back, pushing his fingers through the soft locks as he holds her in place, never tiring of having her this close.

“It’s Father’s Day,” she mutters, barely pulling back enough to speak, her breath skipping across his face, “And I know you’re sad we’re working,” she kisses him again, “So I ordered room service so you can have breakfast,” she pulls back and smiles at him, her eyes sleepy and full of love, “And later on you’re going to FaceTime Jack. And I’ll fight anyone who tries to interrupt.”

He stares up at her, blown away, not for the first time, by the way she loved him and his son. The way she looked after them, forever making sure she put them first. He’d been irritated when they’d been called away on a case late on Friday, his teeth grinding and his shoulders tight as the jet took off, leaving his son and any chance of spending a day that had become so important to him behind. Emily had been his saving grace. Her presence enough to make him feel better, her hand on his knee under the table on the jet a comfort, a soothing balm to any ailment, he wasn’t sure he could ever live without again.

He rolls them, capturing the surprised yelp she lets out in a kiss as he lays half on top of her. She hooks one of her legs behind his back and digs her heel into the top of his ass, moaning into the kiss as she deepens it, her nails lightly scratching at his scalp.

She found it hard to believe that this time last year she’d been alone in Paris, torn apart in every possible way, terrified Ian would jump out of any shadow she came across. It had felt hopeless at the time. Like she’d never get to come home, or feel like herself again. The months had stretched out, every lonely night a small infinity in which she would lay there and play all of her decisions over and over in her head, a punishment of sorts she’d given herself. A penance she felt she deserved for letting down the people she loved, for putting them in danger.

She’d almost kissed Aaron the night before Sean McCallister called. They’d gone out for dinner, just the two of them, a night they were both too shy to call a date. She’d come close to pressing her lips against his, to inviting him inside, but she’d been interrupted by her neighbour, the moment gone as quickly as it had appeared. Aaron had kissed her cheek and smiled at her as he left, and she told herself she’d kiss him next time. Afterwards, when everything had been torn from her, she wished she’d kissed him. Wished that she knew what it was like to be with him, to feel his bare skin against hers, but now she knew how it felt, she knew it would have been worse. The reality so much more than she ever imagined laying on the cold floor of her unassuming apartment in Paris.

She hums as she pulls back from the kiss, smiling as he chases her lips. She rests her forehead against his and presses her thumb into his lower lip, a sound she refused to call a giggle escaping when he kisses the pad of it.

“Breakfast will go cold,” she whispers, her hand tracing up his cheek and mussing through his ruffled hair, “You can have your way with me afterwards.”

He hums, “Oh yeah?”

She nods, rubbing her nose against his, “Why do you think I woke you up so early?”

Aaron kisses her fiercely, his grip on her waist tight, before he pulls away, dragging her with him as he sits up, “What did you order?”

She scoots towards the trolley she’d wheeled over and passes him the tray of food, settling next to him against the headboard before she pulls the metal tray cover off of it, smiling widely as she reveals a plate of waffles next to a plate of pancakes, “Tah-dah!”

He laughs at her flare and tilts his head as he turns to look at her, “There weren’t waffles on the menu. I checked when we had breakfast yesterday.”

She shrugs and shifts closer, the tray lying over both of their laps, “It’s amazing what you can convince people to do when you offer to leave them a very large tip.”

“You asked them to make them for me?”

She nods, reaching out for a fork to pull apart her pancakes, “It’s your favourite, and they already had all the ingredients.”

He smiles, his gaze fixed on her profile as she eats. His eyes drift from her sharp jawline to the slope of her nose. He’d always known she was beautiful, it was something that had been hard to deny even back when he didn’t trust her, but seeing her like this, up close and bare-skinned as they ate breakfast together, was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to.

“You’re staring.”

He leans in and kisses her cheek, unashamed that he’d been caught out, “You’re beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes at him and turns her head to kiss him, the taste of syrup passing from her lips to his. “Eat your pretentious pancakes,” she says, kissing him again, “Then we can have sex until your alarm goes off.”

He laughs and nods, “Yes, sweetheart.”

___

Aaron yawns as he walks through the house, scratching the back of his head as he walks into the living room, finding his wife exactly where he knew he would.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

She looks up at him from the baby in her arms, her smile shaking slightly as their eyes meet. They were shining up at him, a mix of exhaustion and frustration reflected in the tears he knew she hated. She has their newborn daughter clutched against her chest, her milk-stained t-shirt bunched up over her breast as she tries to feed her, an edge of desperation in the way she tries to get Rose to eat.

“Morning,” she replies as she looks back down at the baby, “I don’t think she’s getting anything.”

He sits next to her, one hand on her back and the other on Rose’s and he smiles at his little girl, still as enraptured by her as he was the very first time he’d seen her. He kisses the side of Emily's head, “You remember what the doctor said, Em. She won’t eat much these first few days.”

She hums, clearly not believing him as Rose unlatches, and she looks as defeated as she sounds when she lifts the newborn to rest her against her shoulder. Aaron adjusts her shirt and nursing bra for her and she smiles gratefully, a silent thank you passing between the two of them in the quiet of their living room.

Rose was less than two days old, fresh home from the hospital only the night before, and already the centre of her parent's world along with her older brother. They’d started trying to get pregnant just before their wedding and it had taken a little longer than either of them had hoped. Aaron had watched as his wife folded in on herself with each negative test. A cruel origami of her worst fears as she started to believe that maybe, just maybe, she’d let herself get too happy. That she’d got carried away in the fantasy of him and being Jack’s mother, and she’d forgotten that she still had a past that she felt she hadn’t undone yet. No matter how many times he assured her that his love for her was unconditional, that he would be there if they had 10 children or no more other than Jack, she didn’t believe him. A constant tension thrumming under her skin right up until the moment she was staring at a positive test.

Her pregnancy hadn’t been easy, far from it, but he knew the moment she was handed their little girl that Emily considered every part of it worth it.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” she says, kissing the side of their daughter’s head, “She wouldn’t go back to sleep so I brought her down here.”

“You could have woken me up,” he says, pulling her close so she’s leaning against him, both of his girls in his arms as he leans back on the couch.

“I wanted you to have a lie in,” she mutters, rubbing soothing circles on Rose’s back, “It’s Father’s Day.”

In any other circumstance, he’s sure he’d laugh, he’s sure he’d point out that every other Father’s Day they’d been together she’d woken him up early for one reason or another. Whether it was to make sure he got to continue the tradition of a waffle breakfast that Haley had started even if they were on the other side of the country, knee-deep in casework, or because she’d found a spider the size of her fist in the pantry and woken him up with a scream. It was close to absurd that this year, she didn’t deem their tiny scrawny newborn, who was still getting over the shock of no longer being tucked up warm inside her mother, a reason to wake him.

It was her all over though. The love of his life. She was a mess of contradictions tied together with empathy and beauty and he wouldn’t want her any other way.

“You can always wake me up,” he assures her, kissing her forehead, “Now why don’t you and Rosie sit here,” he says, smiling when he spots the baby had fallen asleep, “And I’ll go make breakfast.”

Emily’s face crumbles, the shininess that had been set in them for days, making them look even deeper than normal, giving way to tears. They splash down onto her cheeks as she shakes her head, burning hot tracks into her already slightly sticky skin.

“No, I should do it,” she says, wincing as she tries to move forward, held in place by his arm around her, “You shouldn’t have to make your own breakfast today.

Her earnestness makes his heart swell, overwhelming love for her spilling out of him and onto the floor around them. He cups her jaw and pulls her close, kissing her tears away until he presses his lips against hers.

“Em, sweetheart, I say this with all the love in my heart,” he says as he pulls back to look at her, thumbing away new tears that fall past her lashline, “But you had a baby 36 hours ago and you can barely walk let alone stand at the kitchen counter and cook. You just need to concentrate on her okay?” he says, nodding down to the baby girl in her arms, “And anyway, she’s the best early Father’s Day present ever,” he adds, the vice around his heart loosening as Emily smiles at him, “You’ve already outdone yourself.”

She swallows thickly, her lips pressed together as she tries to figure out if he's lying, her profiling skills left somewhere between her 40-hour labour and the rollercoaster of emotions she’d been through since, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he says, kissing the tip of her nose and smiling when she scrunches it up, “Now you two sit here and look pretty, I’ll go make us some food.”

“Okay,” she says, finally relaxing back into the couch as she relents, well aware that he was right anyway, that she couldn’t stand up straight if she were offered millions of dollars to do so, “We can do that.”

He kisses her forehead and walks away, humming to himself as he decides this is going to be his best Father’s Day yet.

___

He’s woken up by tiny hands pressing against his face, and his daughter's faux-whisper, somehow louder than her usual talking voice as she pokes his cheek.

“Are you awake Daddy?”

He smiles as he grabs her, her giggle one of his favourite sounds in the world, right up there with his sons and his wife, and he presses a series of kisses to her cheeks, “I am now Rosie-Posie.”

The four-year-old carries on laughing, eventually wriggling out of his grip and settling on Emily’s empty side of the bed, “Mommy sent me up.”

He wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer, resting his cheek on top of her head as she settles against his side, “Did she?”

He feigns innocence, pretending he doesn’t know what day it is, as if his wife hadn’t threatened him to stay upstairs until she came up and told him she was ready.

Rose hums and fiddles with the wristband of his watch, her tiny fingers always ready to grasp something, “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“What’s for breakfast?” He asks, playing dumb again, his smile soft as she rolls her eyes at him, looking impossibly more like Emily than she usually does.

“Waffles, Daddy,” she says, “Just like always.”

“Well that’s good,” he replies, pushing some of her unruly hair from her face, “Waffles are my favourite.”

“Mine too!” She replies, her smile wide as her apparent irritation with him was forgotten as soon as it had appeared.

“And mine,” Jack says having appeared in the doorway, bounding into the room and sitting on the edge of the bed, “Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

He thinks of that first Father’s Day, in the quiet hours before Emily had shown up with the waffle iron she was currently using, when it was just him and Jack. He’d been so young then, not much older than Rose was now, and at the time it was impossible to imagine a different reality than the one he’d found himself in. Sometimes, when he woke from a nightmare, his monster human and oh so real, there would always be a moment when he thought he was alone again, that everything he’d had in the last few years had been nothing more than a dream.

Then Emily would be there. Her forehead against his and her hand curled around the back of his neck as she brought him back to her, soft reassurances and stories about their children until his breathing evened out and he could no longer feel the press of Foyet’s knife. He did the same for her, their relationship a give and take that had grown with them, each of them always exactly what the other needed.

“Thanks, Jack.”

Emily walks into the room, their two-year-old on her hip and matching smiles on their faces, flour spattered in both of their hair, “Breakfast is ready.”

“Waffles!” Rose cheers, and Lucas joins in from Emily’s arms, his tiny hands clapping together at the thought of his favourite breakfast. Rose runs out of the room, overwhelmed by her excitement and Jack is hot on her tail, ever the protective big brother.

Emily sighs performatively as Aaron climbs out of bed, shaking her head at her two eldest children as they run out of the room, “I can’t believe I live in a house full of waffle lovers.”

“Well two of them look exactly like you, baby,” Aaron says as he makes it to her side, his hand on her back and his lips catching the corner of hers, the flavour of the raw batter she’d clearly tasted passing from her lips to his, “They had to get something from me.”

She hums and cups his cheek, adjusting her hold on Lucas, the little boy’s hands firmly wrapped around the strap of her tank top, “Happy Father’s Day, honey.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in to kiss her, his lips barely touching hers this time before Lucas bats his hands at his father, a frown on his face Emily always said was all him.

“No kissy,” he says, resting his head on his mother’s chest, “My mama.”

Emily and Aaron both suppress a laugh as they look at each other, Lucas’s possessiveness of Emily something that had been strong ever since he was a tiny little thing. It had only got worse with the recent news their family would unexpectedly get bigger, another baby tiny and safe under Emily’s still flat skin that they hadn’t anticipated. She’d told him a month ago, her eyes bright and shining with anxiety, somehow worried he wouldn’t want this. As if he would ever get tired of having more of her in the world. He’d simply kissed her until she wasn’t worried anymore, something he’d learned long ago was the easiest way to calm her down.

“Sorry, Lukey,” Aaron says sincerely, knowing now wasn’t the time to try and resolve the possessiveness, “It won’t happen again.”

He looks back at his wife and she winks at him, mouthing three words at him over their son’s head in the silence of the room.

I love you.

A familiar warmth spreads through him. Brought on by the softness of her skin, the sound of his eldest children giggling downstairs, and the faint smell of waffles in the air. Every time he’d ever doubted himself, every awful thing he’d ever survived, seemed insignificant in moments like these. All it would take would be one smile from his wife, one peek of the dimples she’d passed onto their children, although she would claim he’d passed on his, and it would disappear. Leaving him only with this. A life he would have once thought impossible.

A life where he had room for things as beautifully simple as a tradition like breakfast on Father’s Day.

He mouths the words back at her, a reflex that was no less special even though he’d done it countless times, her smile in return no less beautiful than the first time.

I love you too.

-x-

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divinelolita · 1 year

Note

nah cuz i jus thought of smth..

kaulitz twins(together headcannons or full fic the amount of fucks i give are not even close to one) when their bf asks if they love him jus out of the blue like they could just be sitting down together and he jus asks the question not even lookin at em😪✌🏾

and ofc they finna be like duh why tf is wrong with u😀 this mf prolly says nvm and tries to shove it off as if its nothing like bro🧍🏾

HA not me thinking of tom panicking and heading to his phone deleting every contact(he ain't cheating or anything hes jus mad worried)😔🤞🏾

NO AND BILL THINKING HES NOT LOVING ENOUGH STOPPPPP ugh😞😞

u can add more if u wish man🥲🥲

KAULITZ TWINS X READER: LOVE

I WAS GNA MAKE THIS SAD BUT I FEEL LIKE I'VE DONE TOO MANY SAD THINGS RECENTLY

"Ah, here we go!"

Bill grinned excitedly as Tom placed a plate of pancakes infront of him, drenched in maple syrup and a slab of butter on top. Tom smiled at his brother, then at you as he placed your own plate of food infront of you.

"You better eat that. Do you know how long it took to make?" Tom joked, sitting down next to you as he took a sip of his orange juice, gagging slightly as he nearly spit back into his cup. "Bill what the fuck! I told you no pulp!" he chocked, coughing as he shivered dramatically.

Bill rolled his eyes as he stabbed at his pancake, glancing at Tom with an annoyed look. "There's nothing wrong with pulp,'ya baby." he muttered, laughing quietly as he watched Tom gag, face all scrunched up. "Pulp is nasty as fuck! Right, M/N?" Tom asked, looking at you with a quirked eyebrow. Bill also looked over, biting into a strawberry.

"I don't mind it." You shrugged, giggling as Tom's jaw dropped, hanging low. Bill let out a triumphic laugh, taking a big gulp of his own orange juice. "I can't believe you betrayed me like this.." Tom sniffled, dramatically wiping away a fake tear from his eye.

The room was filled with the occasional "mmh.." when one of you tasted something good, or the clatter of glasses when you would put your orange juice down. The occasional scrape of the forks against the plates would sound commonly. It was..nice. The silence was comfortable, or at least for the twins.

For you? It seemed weird and strange. You felt as if..as if it was empty in here. You knew they were at ease, everything was fine but you just couldn't help but ask..

"Do you guys love me?"

You asked quietly, taking another bite of your food after stabbing it with your fork. Ah, now the table was uncomfortably quiet. Tom's hand stopped in mid air where he was going to take a bite of his bacon and Bill looked up from his plate, looking at you with concern.

"What?" Tom asked quietly, feeling his heartbeat pick up and his hands become suddenly too sweaty to hold his fork. He glanced over to Bill, but Bills eyes stayed on you, his mouth open yet no words could come through. You shrugged, glancing at both of then before taking another sip of your orange juice.

"Eh, 's nothing." You respond, taking the last bite of food and smiling as your taste buds rejoiced in the flavour. Really, Tom was a fantastic cook! Too bad most of the pancakes he flipped landed on the ceiling...

"Want me to take anything back to the kitchen?" You asked, grabbing your empty plate and utensils. They could only shake their head, Bill forcing a small "No thanks, babe." You nodded and headed off to the kitchen, placing the items in the sink. You turned the water on, grabbed the sponge, and whistled to yourself as you began to scrub the crumbs and sticky syrup off.

---

As soon as you left, Bill turned to Tom quickly, eyes big and wide. "Did you do something?" he whispered, poking his older twin in the shoulder with his fork. Tom hissed in response, swatting Bills hand away. "Why do you think I did something? What did you do?"

Bill immediately shook his head from side to side, becoming defensive. "I didn't do jack shit!" The air between them was quiet, before Bill asked under his breath, "Did you like, text someone else..?"

Tom's heart dropped, his legs felt numb and his phone in his pocket felt 10 times more heavy. "I mean.. I didn't text them." he said sheepishly, rubbing the bath of his neck. Bill raised an eyebrow, scorching over closer. "Who's 'them'?" he asked, tilting his head in confusion.

Tom hesitantly pulled out his phone, going to his contact list. Bill gasped jokingly, scrolling through what seemed to be hundreds of people. "Holy shit.." he giggled, not being able to contain himself. He yelped as his brother hit him rather harshly on the arm. "Help me out here, Bill. He's my boyfriend too."

Bill sighed, resting his head on Tom's shoulder as they scrolled through each contact.

"Who's Stacy?" Bill asked, saying one of the many contacts that had a girls name.

"I dunno, some girl from a concert." Tom responded, clicking on her contact. There was no profile picture, no notes, nothing.

"Yeah...no. Delete her."

And so Tom did. Girl after girl. To the point where he only had around 20 contacts left.

---

You hummed a song under your voice as you placed your now clean dishes back onto the dish rack to dry. Drying off your hands, you walked back to the dining room. You smiled softly at the twins, taking their plates aswell as their cups and utensils with you. Before yo could walk through the doorway, Bill yelped a small "Wait!"

You turned on your heel, looking at him with confused eyes as you leaned against the doorway, clinking your nails against the plates. "...Yes?" you ask slowly, smiling softly as you saw how he turned slightly red, leaning towards Tom. Tom sighed, looking up at you from his seat as he fidgeted with his dreads.

"I just..you know we love you so fuckin' much, right..?" he questioned quietly. You chuckled quietly, it was cute how they seemed slightly worried and almost cautious to ask the question.

"Yes, of course I do." You answer, flashing a grin that they quickly returned, smiles identical.

It was the happiest you've ever seen them.

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volklana · 5 months

Text

I Could Drown Myself In Someone Like You

Part One

Title Comes From This Song:

You can find my other Biker!Bucky fic here:

Request: Hey girl I literally just found your blog and when I tell you I BINGED your Ride series. Please I beg could we have some more Biker Bucky? Maybe barmaid reader? I really don't mind as long as we get some BikerBuck!

Warnings: Mentions of unwanted physical attention. Future chapters will allude to past domestic abuse. If that isn't for you, please don't read, protect your peace and you can catch me next time xx

Bucky pulled his bike into the parking lot of his bar and grill.

A customer stepped outside to light a cigarette and the light from inside spilled out into the dark, along with the music playing inside.

Bucky was nothing if not a creature of habit, every night he would ride his bike through winding forest roads, down to the creek, and sometimes he would lay on the riverbank smoking cigarettes like he and Steve used to do when they were teenagers, before they’d gone to war, before he’d been fucked up. Before he became whatever this version of himself was.

And then in the evenings he’d pull up here to his bar and drink nearly not enough whisky to drown out the nightmares in his cabin behind the bar.

Sighing, he let himself into the bar. Steve as always was pouring drinks and chatting easily in that light hearted way he had, Bucky would have been envious if he hadn’t loved him so much. Steve had managed to hold on to all the best parts of himself, but Bucky’s were buried somewhere in a bunker in the Middle East, and even if he wanted to, he could never get them back.

Sam was busy flipping steaks at the grill and gave Bucky a wide eyed grin as Bucky passed him by and pushed the swing door into the back office.

He stilled all action at the sight of a girl in his office on top of his chair, on her tiptoes still unable to reach the top shelf as she fumbled to reach something.

“Can I help you?” he said gruffly and god damn if he didn’t startle you half to death and nearly cause you to fall off the chair.

“I’m looking for the grenadine syrup, Steve said I would find it up here.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Bucky laughed “And did he also tell you it was fine to climb all over my shit in the process?”

“No, Sir,” you offered meekly, stepping gently down off his chair “I’m sorry,” but you couldn’t fight the smile that was threatening to spread across your face.

Bucky huffed and reached over your head with ease, pressing the bottle of grenadine into your hand.

“Next time Steve sends you on a mission like that, tell him to pull his lazy, tall ass in here and reach the damn top shelf himself,”

You smiled up at him, and he felt the ghost of a butterfly in his stomach.

“I’m y/n,” you offered with a smile and he couldn’t help but return a lopsided one himself.

“Bucky,” he returned.

Bucky made your mouth water, his tight black jeans were ripped at the knees, and he wore a well worn leather jacket but it did absolutely nothing to hide his muscular frame, his hair was long and messy and was just begging for you to run your hands through it. You had to shake all thoughts of him from your head as you returned to your shift.

“What’s her story?” Bucky asked Steve, eyeing you as you made your rounds and he sipped on his whisky.

“Why do you assume she has a story?” Steve cocked his head now following you in his line of sight too.

“C’mon Steve, no one ends up here unless they have a story. They’re either running away from something, or someone. Or they’re on their way to somewhere else, and they’re simply stopping off here.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, clapping him on the back “You always assume the worst in people.”

“And they always prove me right,” Bucky countered while taking another sip.

As you finished mopping the floor, you made your way into the back office, looking shy, wringing your hands, nervously.

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

“Sam said to talk to you about if it would be okay to get this week’s wages upright,” Bucky could see straight away how embarrassed you were “Bucky I wouldn’t ask, but the bnb are asking for payment upright and I’m just 40 bucks short.”

Bucky was reaching into his wallet straight away and you tried to put out a hand to stop him.

“Please..Please,” Bucky shook his hand and handed you some notes, you scrunched your eyebrow at his kindness.

“Take this for tonight and I’ll get you your full wages for your shift tomorrow.”

“I’ll pay you back Sir,” you said, voice so low it was almost a whisper and he shook his head softly.

“Let me give you a ride back,” he offered and you shook your head profusely.

“You’ve done enough for me tonight,” you reminded him, notes in your hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow for my shift.”

Bucky watched you go, and again that ghost of a butterfly fluttered in his stomach and he grimaced uncomfortably.

Bucky watched you over the next few nights, always the first to your shift and always the last to leave.

And every night you refused any offer to drive you home from him, Sam or Steve.

He was filling out papers in his office when he heard a gentle knock and you were before him.

“I wanted to give you this,” you said meekly with some notes in your hand , “I can’t thank you enough Bucky.”

“Doll,” he sighed, surprising even himself with the nickname “Please keep it, consider it a welcome gift.”

“If it’s all the same I would like to give it back to you,” you smiled, placing it on his desk “It was awful kind of you and I’ll never forget it.”

Before he could even respond you had dipped out of his office and began your shift.

The bar went quiet when a particularly menacing looking gang wandered into the bar, and immediately Steve and Sam stood to attention, you were in the back fetching more pitchers.

They seemed to be scouting the area out before choosing a table at the opposite end of the bar to settle at.

Steve caught your arm as you went to take their orders “Be careful,” he nodded towards them and you went to take their orders gingerly.

Amid the wolf whistles and cat-calls you finally managed to take their orders, which you promptly relayed to Sam and Steve.

After you had successfully served their food and first round of drinks, you retreated to behind the bar before they summoned you back again.

“C’mere baby,” one of them slurred pulling you onto his lap.

You initially tried to laugh off how uncomfortable you were, but when he wouldn’t let you wrangle free, you felt trapped and felt your panic begin to rise.

“Let me go,” you tried weakly when he began to try kissing your face, trapping your hands in his much stronger ones, you tried to make pleading eye contact with Steve but he was nowhere to be seen.

As he let go of your hands to toy with the waistband of your denim jeans you finally managed to bolt free, but when he grabbed your arm and spun you around you reacted with a swift slap to his face, shocking even yourself, but you were in no way expecting the sharp sting of a returning slap, tears welling in your eyes and hand flying up instinctively to your burning skin.

Everything else passed by in a blur as you recognised Steve and Bucky kicking into action, you just about managed to get your feet to move before you were collapsing down behind the bar, feeling the all too familiar feeling of a panic attack ripping through your body and the awful sensation of not being able to breath.

It seemed like hours before Bucky was before you where you sat, rocking back and forward, hands covering your ears.

“Doll,” he tried and you cowered away from him, he got down on his hunkers and gingerly reached for you, “it’s me doll, it’s Bucky. Breathe for me. Breathe for me.”

When you finally felt like you could breathe again Bucky went to fetch a glass of water and leaned up against the counter, arms folded, he examined you over, eyes honing in on the red, swollen skin of your cheek.

“I’m so sorry Bucky,” you finally broke the silence, refusing to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he shushed, dropping down to his hunkers in front of you again “You have nothing to apologise for!”

You couldn’t help the tears that sprung to your eyes with shame and you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

You rolled your eyes and sniffed, “This was meant to be a fresh start, and it seems like trouble just follows me wherever I go.”

“What can I do doll?” Bucky said softly reaching out to put a reassuring hand on your knee, it was only then you realised his knuckles were bloody.

You realised with a startle that he had got his knuckles bloody for you.

“Can you take me home Buck,” you asked swiping your thumb over his knuckles, your silent thank you for the trouble they had gone to on your behalf.

Bucky pulled into the parking space of the bnb, and helped you take your motorcycle helmet off.

It had been weeks since you first reached town and Bucky was curious.

“What are you still doing here? You don’t want to find somewhere proper?”

“Nobody will rent to me,” you said sadly “I’ve tried everywhere. Even that shack out by the creek that’s been abandoned since before we were born. Nobody wants to rent to me because I’m an outsider.”

Bucky was suddenly angry at how the town had been treating you.

“Thank you for taking me home and I’m so sorry about tonight,” you said softly and Bucky turned to examine your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, your eyes fluttered closed at the touch and something jolted inside Bucky.

“You sure you’re okay?” he whispered and you nodded softly.

You stood gently on your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow Buck.”

Bucky tossed and turned all night. He had briefly fallen asleep only to once again be woken by a nightmare. The same one. That same bunker. That same chair. But then something unexpected, when he tried to close his eyes again, your eyes were staring back at him, and if he was honest that was what was keeping him awake. He knew he was in trouble….

“Keep your coat on y/n,” Bucky ordered as you arrived for your shift.

“What? Why?” you cried, fearing you were being let go, Bucky huffed a laugh at your horrified expression, “Doll, you’re not fired. We’re taking a little road trip.”

You climbed onto his bike and held on tight to his torso, winding through Californian redwoods, the mountain air all around you.

Bucky finally pulled onto a little dirt track that led up to an opening in the trees and a singular cabin stood against the backdrop of a small lake.

“Come on,” he motioned, removing your helmet, and leading you inside.

It was cosy, the living room and kitchen were open plan and there was an old cast iron log burner in the middle of the room with logs stacked either side of it.

There was one room off the side which you assumed was the bedroom.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky asked motioning around.

“It’s beautiful Buck,” you said, still unsure why he had brought you here “It’s a beautiful home.”

“It’s yours,” Bucky stated simply, back turned to you and hands on his hips.

“What?” you almost shrieked and he replied in the same nonchalant tone “It’s yours!”

“Bucky, wait!” you deadpanned, catching his shoulder and forcing him to turn around to look at you, eyes scanning his face until he conceded.

“It was my Mom’s cottage, and seeing as she’s not here anymore and I’ve got my place at the bar, I think you should have it, you can’t stay at that bnb forever. You need a place of your own.Plus it’s about time some life was breathed back into this place ”

“Buck,” you cried, eyes watering, not letting go of your hold on him “Are you sure?”

“It’s yours doll,” he whispered, eyes flicking briefly down to your lips, “For as long as you choose to stay, and I hope you do stay, it’s yours,”

You extended your hand out to him “You take the rent out of my wages,” you ordered, waiting for him to shake on your deal.

“Doll,” he sighed “The place was lying empty, I'm not going to charge you rent,” you looked like you were about to argue when he stuck his hand out too, “Counter offer, if you do this place up. Make it somewhere lived in and beautiful. Somewhere my Ma would be proud to look down on, then we’re quits.”

You nodded and shook his hand ferociously, tears threatening to spill.

“Thank you Bucky,” you whispered, pulling him into a hug and relishing in the feel of his strong arms around you, and your heart hammered in your chest when he placed a gentle kiss on your head.

After a month or two of working at the bar you had saved enough to buy a second hand, beaten up old pickup truck, and Sam brought you out to pick it up.

“Are you sure you want this hunk of junk y/n?” he argued but you were enamored and being able to drive it home to your cabin filled you with an enormous amount of peace.

You had been growing closer and closer with Bucky, sometimes he would stop by on your days off to do some of the diy you pestered him about on your shifts and if you were honest you really enjoyed the company.

The first few nights on your own in the cabin had been nothing short of terrifying. You weren’t used to being alone and on the second night a huge storm knocked all your power out and you shivered in bed all night terrified of the darkness.

Bucky came around the next morning and fixed your generator so that would never happen again.

“There,” Bucky sighed “All done!”

You came to join him on the porch and passed him a bottle of beer and he flicked a switch and the fairy lights he had hung all around the cottage flickered to light.

“They’re beautiful Buck,” you smiled, hugging him tightly, eyes lighting up like a child as you looked up at them.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said softly, hands coming to rest on your waist, and his breath on your neck made you shiver.

“Bucky,” you tried softly but he cut you off with a kiss. You melted into his touch completely and he gently became more ferocious in the way he clasped your body and kissed your lips.

He backed you through the open door of the cottage until you collapsed down on the sofa and he climbed on top of you, he was making quick work of your shirt when you finally came to your senses.

“Wait, Wait,” you panted, hands planting on his chest “Maybe we should slow down for a moment.”

“You want me to slow it down baby doll?” he panted and you nodded gently.

“I’m not ready Buck,” you cried and Bucky suddenly noticed how terrified you looked, feeling guilty that he had pushed you to a place you weren’t ready for yet.

“I can wait babygirl,” he promised, cupping your face in both of his hands “I can wait.”

“Bucky, no. No.” you cried, pushing him away with your leg and running your hands through your hair, “I can’t do this,” you cried.

Bucky sat still on your sofa not quite sure what to do for a moment “You don’t want this?”

You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes “It’s not that Buck, it's just I can’t be what you need right now. I can’t be with you like this.”

“What do you think I need?” he rose gently “All I need is you,” he countered

“Hey, hey, why are you crying?” he shushed brushing your hair behind your ears “Don’t cry.”

“Please Buck,” you were pleading, “Please can you just leave, I can't do this. It’s too much for me.”

Bucky was torn between wanting to assure you some more and respecting your request for him to leave. He hesitated just a moment too long for you to take it the wrong way completely, your eyes were wide and ferocious like an animal that had been cornered.

He scratched the back of his neck before he could find his voice “Doll, if I’ve read this wrong-”

“-You have,” you snapped “You’ve read this wrong and I need you to leave now, please,” you paced until you found his leather jacket hanging across the back of a chair and tossed it to him.

He couldn’t help the anger of rejection that rose up in his chest, and the shame for having read the situation so wrong.

“Fine. Fine. I’m going,” he sighed, pulling his jacket on and stomping towards the door.

“You know what..” he started one hand on the handle, but stopping to face you “Forget it,” he deadpanned, pulling the door open and slamming it behind him.

Work the next few days were less awkward than expected, Bucky and his bike were nowhere to be seen. You’d heard Steve mention to Sam that he was worried that Bucky was gone on another whisky fuelled bender and you couldn’t help the pang of guilt that gnawed away at your stomach.

Days turned into a week with no contact from Bucky and the guilt was eating you alive. You had texted him days ago to apologise, and asking if you could talk it out and explain, but he never replied. Not only were you angry with yourself for fucking everything up but now you were really beginning to worry.

You were closing the bar by yourself tonight, it was a quiet Tuesday night and business was slow. You knew Steve had a date after work so you dismissed him early so he could go buy her some flowers he’d kissed you on the cheek and almost skipped out of the bar.

It gave you the opportunity to pop your headphones in and listen to your music as you mopped and cleaned.

It was nice to do a deep a clean without Steve or Sam trying to hurry you out.

And as you made your way into the back office to put away the takings into the safe your heart almost fell out of your chest.

Bucky was laying back in his office chair, eyes squeezed shut while some girl with her skirt hitched up at the sides was grinding her hips on him, her own head thrown back in ecstasy as she rode him.

You froze on the spot, you couldn't help the way your stomach sank to your toes in a feeling of betrayal, or the way your eyes stung with tears.

Bucky wasn’t yours, you had seen to that with your stupidity the other night so you had no right to feel the way you were right now and when his electric eyes suddenly bore into yours with an expression you honestly couldn’t read you were backing out of his office quicker than lightning.

He followed you out into the carpark catching you just as you were about to climb into your truck.

“Doll,” he reached for you exasperated, “Doll wait, please.”

You turned to face him, tears rolling down your cheeks, and he reached for you gently, relieved when you didn’t bat him away as he cupped your face.

“I have no right to be crying,” you sighed.

“I don’t understand,” He stuttered, somewhere between annoyed and confused,” I thought you didn’t want me?”

“Bucky, of course I-” You were about to answer when Bucky’s name being yelled across the lot caught both of your attention.

“What the fuck is this?” The girl who had been with Bucky only moments before came storming over and smacked him straight across the face as hard as she could.

“You always fucking do this shit James,” she cried “This is the last fucking time.”

She looked at you genuinely hurt and for a moment you wanted to apologise, until her expression turned to contempt.

“Seriously, this is who you keep blowing me off for?” she huffed out a laugh, “Good luck with that, you’ll be crawling back to me in no time.” You felt yourself shrink down to half your size under her words.

She took one last seething glare at Bucky before smacking him again and he made no move to stop her, watching guiltily as she stormed away.

“I deserved that,” he said glumly, you made a face to argue when he cut you off, “No doll, I truly deserve it. Hell if you wanted to have a pop too I would understand.”

“Buck,I don’t want to slap you” you sighed and he ran a hand through his hair before kicking at the dirt.

“Then what the hell do you want y/n? Goddamn it.”

You were floundering like a fish out of water, trying to grasp at words and coming up short.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you tried and he cut you off with a pointed finger.

“Don’t give me that shit,” he warned “You literally could not throw me out faster the other day and then you turn up crying when I’m clearly fucking trying to get over you so what is it? You don’t want me but you don’t want anyone else to have me?”

“No,” you scoffed, your own anger rising now too.

“No” he repeated exasperatedly, “So what do you want?”

“I- I don’t know,” you mumbled.

“You don’t know?” he goaded and goddamn was he intimidating, looking at you like a predator stalks his prey, waiting for an answer to pounce “Well, I sure as shit can’t figure that out for you sweetheart,” he sighed, running the back of his hand across his lips, before spitting on the ground.

You were not used to this Bucky, this agitated, whiskey drunk version of him. The one most people were used to. But not you.

“Look, just go,” he sighed eventually, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I don’t know what you want, but it sure as shit ain’t me. And I'm done with whatever the fuck this is.”

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, tears welling in your eyes as you reached for the handle of your truck door and pulled it open, gasping back in fright when Bucky slammed it closed suddenly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked like he was going to yell at you but nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Please don’t go,”

Trapped between his body and the door of your truck you melted into his touch, whimpering as he leaned forward to capture your lips with his own demanding ones.

Tagging:

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#bucky x reader #biker!bucky #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes au #biker #volklana writes

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