irelandking

[irelandking]

You Wear Those Shoes and I Will Wear That Dress

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: you and Peter are just friends but he accidentally kisses you goodbye

Masterlist

“There you are.” Peter smiled to greet you. “How was your first class at college?”

“I wouldn’t know. I did todays Wordle and then I was just texting and clicking between four different tabs on my laptop the rest of the time. I did not hear a single word.”

“What class was it again?”

“I don’t know. Like math or something?” You shrugged. Peter took your schedule from you and skimmed through it.

“Art history.” He told you when he read it on your schedule.

“Are you serious? How did I end up in that?” You asked as you took your schedule back from him. Peter laughed as you read through your list of classes as if you had never seen them before.

“You never fail to amaze me. Are we still on for tonight?” Peter asked once his laughter died down.

“Duh. Like I’d miss our first day of school tradition.”

“Cool. I’ll see you after class then.“ Peter smiled and leaned in to kiss you goodbye. He walked away from you and went to his next class with a smile still on his face. Once he sat down in his seat, his smile instantly fell.

“Oh no.” He whispered.

He quickly touched his hands to his lips and sure enough, felt your sticky lipgloss still on his lips.

“Oh no. Oh no oh no.” Peter gulped and got out of his seat.

“Class has started. Stay in your seat.” The professor ordered. Peter sat back down in his chair and slid all the way down.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Ned whispered to him.

“I just kissed Y/n.” Peter whispered back.

“Really? Where?“

“In the hallway.”

“But where on her?”

“What? Her lips. Where else?”

“Which lips?” Ned asked with a pointed look.

“What?”

“What?” Ned looked to the side.

“Oh my God.” Peter realized what he meant. “What?”

“Focus Peter.” Ned whispered harshly. “Did you guys start dating without telling me?”

“We’re not dating. It was just an accident. What am I gonna do?” Pete whined and slid even further down in his chair.

“I don’t know, dude. How do you just accidentally kiss someone?”

“It was just a reflex.” Peter shrugged helplessly. “I was leaving her so I kissed her goodbye.”

“Why would that be your reflex if you’ve never done it before?”

“I don’t know. I had a dream about her last night. That might have something to do with it.”

“What kind of dream are we talking here?” Ned questioned. “The kind that makes you wake up with a smile on your face or the kind that makes you have to wash your sheets?”

“The smile kind. We were dating in my dream. I guess I forgot I wasn’t dreaming anymore.” Peter sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Well do you like her?” Ned asked.

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m not allowed to like her. We’ve been friends since we were in utero.”

“I didn’t know you guys traveled together.” Ned frowned.

“Do you think it would be weird if I did like her?” Peter wondered, mostly to himself.

“Not any weirder than you starting a surprise make our session with her in the hallway.” Ned shrugged.

“It wasn’t like that.” Peter blushed. “It was just a peck.”

“Then why are your lips shimmery and pink?” Ned narrowed his eyes at Peter’s lips.

“It’s her lipgloss. Damn it. This stuff is like glue.” Peter groaned as he wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand. He couldn’t help but blush at the thought that your lipgloss made its way to his lips.

“It’s worse. It’s like crazy glue. It’s like Kragle.” Ned whispered.

“Do I need to separate you, boys?” The professor asked. Peter and Ned exchanged a look before remaining silent for the rest of the class.

Once you were done with classes for the day, you went to the rooftop of the student center building. Peter was already sitting on the ledge, like you planned. You went and sat beside him, noticing the way he tensed up.

“Hey.” You said, making his eyes shut in embarrassment.

“Hey.” He said quietly.

“Here’s your first day of school soda.” You replied and handed him a can of Coca Cola.

“Thanks.” He took it from you and avoided eye contact.

Peter was never allowed to have soda as a kid. May said it made him too rambunctious. You stopped drinking soda out of solidarity because it killed you to see him being the only one not drinking soda at birthday parties. When Peter asked when May would finally let him have soda, she said he could have it on his first day of high school. After a particularly nerve-wracking and embarrassing first day, you found him up on his roof and gave him a can of Coca Cola. You carried on the tradition every year since then.

You opened your can of soda and held it up. Peter unethically clicked his can against yours and you both took a sip.

“So.” You said after a beat of silence. “You kissed me today.”

“Oh God.” Peter groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Wasn’t expecting that.” You shrugged and took a sip from your can.

“I’m so embarrassed.” Peter said quietly from behind his hands.

“Don’t be. Who cares?”

“I cares.” He whined. “I just messed this all up.”

“Who says you messed it up?” You shrugged.

“Of course I messed it up. We’ve been best friends for 20 years and I just smooched you on the mouth out of nowhere. I’m never gonna live this down.” Peter sighed and swung his legs like a little kid.

“Listen, I can forgive the kiss, but I cannot forgive you saying “smooched”. That’s where I draw the line.”

“This is serious.” Peter said as he fought back his laughter.

“I’m being serious.” You insisted. “I don’t care that you kissed me, Pete. It doesn’t have to change anything between us.“

“I can’t just be normal around you now that I know what it feels like to kiss you.” Peter said quietly. You let out a sympathetic sigh and rubbed circles on Peter’s back.

“I’m such an idiot. I’m so embarrassed.” He said again, sounding close to tears this time.

“Pete, you have no reason to be embarrassed. We’ve embarrassed ourselves in front of each other way worse than this. This is like level 1 embarrassment. We’ve gotten to at least level 6.”

“Yeah?” Peter cheered up a little. “Like what?”

“Like when I graduated from training bras to regular bras and I slept over at your house and realized I didn’t know how to take a regular bra off because they’re not like training bras that can be taken off like a shirt. So I had to get May to unbuckle my bra for me. Can you imagine how embarrassed I felt when I asked her to do that? Especially since she clearly found the situation very funny but was trying really hard not to laugh.” You said, making Peter’s body shake with laughter.

“I remember that.” He smiled. “No one would tell me what was going on. I was so mad.”

“I remember you being mad. And that was super embarrassing for me. Way more embarrassing than an accidental kiss.”

“Agree to disagree.” Peter shrugged, knowing it would set you off.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow. “That’s fine. Then how about the time you farted in class and everyone gasped and turned to look at you and you gasped even louder and turned around to blame it on the person behind you but there was no one there? That was way more embarrassing than today.”

“That was really embarrassing.” Peter admitted as his mood lifted the slightest bit.

“It was. Or the time in fifth grade I got distracted by the soccer team playing and walking right into that tree.”

“I remember that.” Peter laughed. “You were just lying there while everyone was trying to get the teacher's attention. And wasn’t your nose bleeding?”

“Uh, yeah. Tremendously.” You playfully scoffed. “Because I fractured it, remember? My face was bruised for a whole week. And I still have a bump on my nose.“

“Consider it a gift from the tree.” Peter teased.

“I do. You know what else was super embarrassing? That time we were walking to school in like sixth grade after that snowstorm and the sidewalks were covered in ice. And then you slipped and landed on your knees and I tried to catch you but I fell too. Then we kept trying to stand up but kept slipping so we had to crawl on our hands and knees until we didn’t see any more ice.”

“Oh my God.” Peter groaned. “I forgot about that. And the second we stood up, you slipped and fell on your back.”

“Yep. Then I just laid in the street like a defeated turtle.” You shook your head at the memory.

“That was pretty bad.” Peter chuckled. “A lot of people saw.”

“They sure did. But I survived it. Just like I survived that time I walked out of the locker room to go to my swim meet and everyone was laughing at me and I couldn’t figure out why until one of my teammates pulled me aside and told me my bra was on over my swimsuit. And I still do not know to this day how that happened.”

“That’s so bad.” Peter covered his mouth as he laughed at your expense.

“I know it was bad. I lived it.” You reminded him. “And believe me, it’s a lot more embarrassing than kissing your best friend.“

“Says you.” Peter blushed as looked down at his lap when you brought it up again.

“You still don’t believe me?” You raised an eyebrow. “Here’s another one. That time you tried to sit down but forgot the quintessential step of pulling your chair out so you fell right on your back and knocked the wind out of yourself.”

“That was so embarrassing.” Peter whined. “What was that, freshman year?”

“Yep. Third period English.”

“No one even laughed at me and that made it so much more embarrassing.”

“See? You’ve embarrassed yourself way more than today.” You laughed and shoved him slightly.

“I guess so.” Peter reluctantly admitted.

“You still don’t look convinced. Lucky for you, I have more.” You smirked. “Remember that time we had a sleepover in second grade and you peed the bed? And I didn’t want you to feel bad so out of solidarity, I peed the bed. And then we were too scared to tell your parents so we slept in our own urine.”

“Kids pee the bed all the time.” Peter shrugged. “That wasn’t that bad.”

“Maybe for you.” You scoffed. “You peed the bed on accident. I had to look your mother in the eyes and tell her I purposely peed on her son. Because instead of saying ‘hey don’t feel bad. Everyone pees the bed’, I peed on you so you wouldn’t feel bad. Imagine how that feels.”

“I can’t imagine it feels great.” Peter laughed.

“Or, how about this? When uncle Ben was gonna pick us up from school but you had to stay after so robotics or something so I went alone. And I was sitting in the backseat of his car when my body decided it was prime time to enter womanhood and I literally got my first ever period in your uncle's car.”

“Oh God.” Peter covered his face with his hands.

“That was so embarrassing for me. He took me to the store but neither of us knew what supplies to get so he got me diapers. Diapers! That’s so embarrassing!” You laughed as you shook Peter’s arm.

“You’ve made your point. That was very embarrassing for you.” He said as he playfully pushed you off.

“I haven’t even said the worst one yet. Remember in eighth grade when you and I smacked into each other during gym class?”

“Oh no.” Peter groaned. “Not this story.”

“Yes this story.” You insisted. “You and I were running in opposite directions and I crashed right into you. And apparently, it was a sensitive time for you because you got a whole ass boner in your little eighth-grade gym shorts. Which would’ve been fine, since I didn’t know what a boner was yet, but then my friends told me I was pregnant with your child.”

“I still remember you telling me that you were pregnant.” Peter chuckled. “And then the incredibly awkward and tear-filled conversation with Aunt May we had afterward.”

“She laughed so hard at us. It was so embarrassing.”

“Yeah. She still hasn’t let me live that one down.” Peter told you.

“I know. She still texts me asking for “motherly advice” from time to time.”

You both leaned into each other as you laughed. Once your laughter died down, you shared a look and smiled shyly at each other. You rested your hand on Peter’s knee and looked out at the setting sun.

“I remember at your parent's funeral when you had to help carry your dad's casket out of the room.” You said quietly. “But it was too heavy for you since you were only 9. The flowers slipped off the top because you weren’t tall enough to hold it up. You came to me crying afterward about how embarrassed you were.”

“Yeah. I remember that.” Peter kept his eyes down as the memory replayed in his head. You looked at him and saw that a few tears had slipped down his face. Peter felt you looking and turned his face a little so you couldn’t see him cry. You titled his face back towards yours and wiped his tears with the sleeve on your shirt. You kept his face in your hands and looked into his watery eyes.

“Remember when I got diarrhea at Uncle Bens's funeral?” You asked him, making him burst out laughing.

“I told you not to eat the macaroni and cheese before we left. “Peter clicked his tongue. “I knew it would upset your stomach.”

“I know.” You sighed. “But I’m not God, Peter. I can’t just say no when someone offers me macaroni and cheese. And May made it special so that you would feel better. I had to eat it.”

“You did not have to eat it.”

“It’s what uncle Ben would’ve wanted.” You deadpanned, making Peter laugh again.

“Wow. I can’t believe how many things we’ve been through together.” Peter realized as he looked over at you. The sinking sun was lighting up your face in a warm yellow, the same face Peter had been looking at since he was five years old.

“And how humiliating 90% of them were.” You added, making him laugh again.

“Yeah. Even if they were humiliating, I’m glad they happened. They make for pretty good memories.” Peter said as he put his hand on top of yours. You flipped your hand around so you could properly hold his and gave it a squeeze.

“They do. And someday, we’ll be laughing at the memory of today.”

“Yeah. I guess the kiss will become just another embarrassing moment between us.” Peter sighed and looked out at the skyline.

“Maybe. Or maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

“What do you mean?” He wondered as he looked back at you.

“Maybe instead of remembering it as embarrassing, we could just remember it as the first time we kissed.” You shrugged as you avoided eye contact. Peter blushed a rosy pink shade as he thought of the kiss in a new light.

“I like that description better.” He smiled shyly and squeezed your hand again. You looked up at the sky and let out a short sigh. Peter watched curiously as you nodded your head as if you had come to a decision.

“Can I tell you a secret?“ You asked him.

“Yeah. Of course.” Peter shrugged and leaned his ear towards you.

“Come closer. It’s really embarrassing.” You waved your hand towards yourself so he would move closer. Peter looked at you curiously and moved closer. You cupped his chin between your thumb and pointer finger and moved his face towards you before kissing him. Peter’s eyes flew open before fluttering shut, his eyelashes ticking your face on the way down. He brought his free hand to your cheek and kissed you back, feeling the embarrassment from the day melt away. When you pulled away, Peter’s face from elated to confused.

“Wait, did you steal that from that one episode of Victorious? When Robbie kissed Cat?” He asked you. You put your hand over your mouth as your eyes went wide.

“I did. I didn’t think you would remember that.” You said behind your hand. Peter burst out laughing as you covered your face in embarrassment.

“I did. And you just tried to act like you made it up. You thief!” He pointed at you as he laughed at your expense.

“No.” You whined. “I really didn’t think you’d remember that. That makes this so embarrassing for me.”

“It really does. I’m getting a lot of second-hand embarrassment right now.” Peter said as he pressed a cold hand to his burning face.

“Well this is just great.” You sighed sarcastically. “Our second kiss is just as embarrassing as the first one.”

“You know what they say. Third times a charm.” Peter reminded you. You both laughed and felt the awkward tension dissolve from the air between you. You stared at each other for a moment as your laughter died down before leaning in. Peter put his hand back on your face and wrapped your hand around his neck as you kissed. This time, you were both prepared for it. When you pulled away, you exchanged shy smiles and laughed in embarrassment.

“Yeah.” You smiled to yourself. “Third times a charm.”

Most embarrassing moments were brought to you by my lovely readers ☺️ thank you for the submissions

Tag List 🏷

@awesomebooklover17 @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling @serendipitous-amor

@lavender-writer @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@letsloveimagines @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr @mara-twins @maryjanee23 @geeksareunique @emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland @flixndchill @sovereignparker @thisisthebiplace @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @caelestii-e @eridanuswave​ @itscaminow​ @fiantomartell @solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant @illwritetomorrow @thehappygrungelife @saysomethingspiderman @smilexcaptainx @quaksonhehe @kelieah @seasidecrowbar @lovelessdagger @electraheart-3174 @unbelievableholland @yourtypicalhotmess @horanxholland @thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @heyheycharlatte @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie @tomshufflepuff

@maybemona @alexxcorona113

#peter parker fanfic

[irelandking]

Your Kiss, My Cheek

Pairing: Tom Holland x best friend!Reader

Synopsis: after kissing Tom’s cheek one time for good luck, he tries to find ways to make you do it again

Masterlist

“I’m so nervous.” Tom said as he peeped through the curtain to look at the crowd. He was asked to give a speech at an awards ceremony and as his friend, you tagged along for emotional support. Tom gulped when he saw how many people were in the audience and walked over to you.

“Don’t be. What’s that thing you always say? Turn nerves into excitement?” You said as you straightened his tie and jacket.

“I know. It’s just hard to do that sometimes. Right now my nerves want to turn into diarrhea.” Tom mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m so glad you told me that. Thank you. Truly.” You chuckled and patted his chest.

“You’re welcome.” He laughed shyly. You gave him a playful look before going into your pure and getting some antacids.

“Here. Take these for your tummy. And then take a breath. You’re gonna be great.” You assured him as he swallowed the antacids.

“If you say so.” He sighed and shook his nerves out.

“I do say so. Now go. I’ll be watching the whole time.” You gave him a reassuring smile and pushed him towards the stage. Tom started to walk towards the stage but then turned back to pull you into a hug.

“Thanks for being here.” He said as he squeezed you tightly.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You chuckled and hugged him back. Tom pulled away after a minute and started it walk towards the stage but you pulled him back by his hand.

“Wait. Come here for a second.” You said and pulled him down to kiss his cheek. It wasn’t something you usually did, but something you felt he needed. Tom’s entire face burned red and he looked at you with wide eyes as he touched his cheek.

“What was that for?” He laughed shyly.

“A good luck kiss. To wish you luck out there.” You smiled timidly.

“Oh. Thanks.” Tom smiled as well and kept his fingers where your lips had been.

“You’re welcome. Now go kill it.” You patted his cheek before pushing him towards the stage again. You stood in the wings and watched Tom give his speech, giving him an excited wave every time he looked over at you. His speech was met with an standing ovation that included you clapping the loudest of all. He ran off the stage afterwards and scooped you up into a hug.

“Ah! You did great. That was amazing!” You hugged him tightly as he spun you around in a circle.

“I couldn’t have done it without you. I would’ve been rambling and stuttering and totally embarrassing myself out there if you weren’t here.” He said once he set you down.

“Oh, no. I can’t take the credit for your innate ability to charm a crowd.” You complimented him, making him blush again.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in the world who finds my run on sentences charming.” Tom said with a shy smile.

“Good. I want to be your only one.” You smiled fondly at you before realizing you said too much. That confession along with the kiss from before put you in new territory for your friendship. There was an awkward silence between the two of you for a second until you changed the subject.

“Come on. Let’s go celebrate. You earned it.” You slipped your hand into his and pulled him towards the festivities. An hour later, you had drinks in your hands and the jacket around your shoulders was his. Tom kept sneaking glances at you all night, unable to stop thinking about the kiss. Even if it was just on the cheek, it was uncharted territory for you guys. He couldn’t stop thinking about what it meant and why you did it. Most of all, he thought about how much he wanted it to happen again. He really wanted to kiss you back, and not just on the cheek this time. You caught Tom looking at you and gave him a fond smile that almost gave him the confidence to kiss you. Before he could, he lost his nerve and the moment ended.

The following week, Tom asked you to join him at his celebrity golf tournament. The two of you got ready in his tent before the game started and put on the matching outfits you had brought. Tom watched you twirl around in front of the mirror in your white tennis skirt and shirt that had Tom’s last name on it and couldn’t help but smile.

“Golf skirts are so cute. I wish the sport itself wasn’t so boring so I could wear these more.” You said as you admired the way the skirt moved in the mirror. Tom was admiring it as well while feeling guilty for looking at his best friend that way.

“You know you could just wear them without playing golf.” He chuckled as his eyes followed the way you twirled.

“No I can’t. Everyone will know I’m not a real golf player.” You whined and turned away from the mirror.

“I believe the term is golfer, love.” Tom laughed again.

“Not for me it isn’t.” You sighed. Tom looked at the skirt again and gulped loudly. You suddenly noticed the way he was staring at you and you made awkward eye contact with each other. You both quickly looked away as Tom’s face turned pink.

“Are you excited to get out there and play?” You said to change the subject.

“I was when I woke up. I just didn’t realize how many people would be watching. The pressure is kinda getting to me now.” Tom admitted as he peaked his head out of the tent.

“Don’t worry about all those people. You’re gonna do great out there. You love golf. Which I really don’t understand because honestly I can’t imagine anything more boring than silently hitting balls towards holes in the ground but for some reason, it makes you happy. So don’t go out there and think about all the people watching. Think about how you get to do what makes you happy for a great cause.”

“Thanks. You always know what to say.” Tom smiled softly at you as he made he way over to you.

“Every now and then I do.” You laughed shyly, still flustered from the way he had been looking at you.

“No. You always do.” He corrected you while looking anywhere but in your eyes.

“I think you’re the only one who thinks that. But thanks for saying it.” You smiled fondly at him and finally met his gaze.

“You’re welcome.” He said in a quiet voice, practically a whisper. You stared at each other for a moment, only breaking apart when Tom’s name was called.

“Holland? They’re ready for you on the course.”

“Okay. Guess I better go.” Tom said and picked up his golf bag. It was a similar situation to the last time you kissed his cheek and he hoped you realized that too. He’s been yearning for another kiss every second since the last one and hoped this would prompt you to give him one.

“Good luck.” You smiled and gave him two thumbs up. You didn’t try to kiss his cheek again, which made Tom frown.

“Here I go.” He said and nodded towards the exit of the tent.

“All right. I’ll see you out there.” You laughed awkwardly, not sure what he was doing.

“Uh huh. I’m going now.” He repeated, making one last attempt to drop the hint that he wanted a kiss.

“Are you?” You teased him and the dropped the act. He started toying with the straps of his bag so that he didn’t have to look at you.

“Remember how the other day, before I gave my speech, I was feeling really nervous? So you kissed me on the cheek to wish me luck?”

“I remember.” You said quietly, feeling nervous now that he brought that up.

“Well it actually really calmed me down. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like you have calming powers in your lipstick or something.”

“Maybe I do. But then again, maybe not. Maybe it’s mabelline.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just you.” He smiled shyly at you. “So, um, I was wondering -only if you want- you could maybe possibly do it again?”

“You want a kiss on the cheek?” Your face lit up when you realized why he was acting so strange. You’d been worried about the kiss, thinking you had crossed a boundary, only to find out he had liked it.

“Yes. But only for good luck. No other reason.” He clarified as his eyes darted to the side.

“For luck? But I thought it calmed you down?” You tested him while walking towards him.

“It did both. It calmed me down and that’s why I was able to give a good speech.”

“I see. So you want another good luck kiss? For your nerves?” You raised and eyebrow and stood directly in front of him.

“Yeah. For my nerves.” He lied, heart pounding now that the kiss might happen again. Sure enough, you playfully rolled your eyes at him before going up on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek. This one lasted longer than the last but his face blushed just the same.

“Good luck.” You said sincerely once you pulled away. Tom’s entire face melted as he looked at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen on him.

“Thanks, darling. I’m sure to win now.”

Before you could say anything else, Tom was called again and had to go this time. You watched him play from the sidelines (are there sidelines in golf idfk) and cheered him on whenever he hit the ball into the hole. Golf was a quiet sport (I’m just guessing at this point) so you were the only one cheering but you didn’t mind the looks you got. You only cared about supporting Tom. Tom ending up winning the tournament or something idk how golf works lolz he scored a three point shot in the hole woop he won yay. He met you back at the tent afterwards with his trophy/metal/golf prize and scooped you up in a hug.

“Congratulations! That went pretty well, right? I still have no idea how golf works. You wanted the least amount of points, right?” You said once he put you down.

“Darling, that was the best game I’ve ever played. Your kisses are like magic.” He exclaimed, making your face feel warm.

“I’m glad you think so.” You said in a quieter voice.

“I know so. I bet if you ever kissed me on the mouth, I’d get like, real superpowers or something.” Tom blurted. You both looked at each other, unsure who was more surprised that he said that. He normally wouldn’t have been so bold, but the high of winning had gotten to him.

“Yeah. Who knows what would happen?” You laughed to break the awkward silence that had settled. You looked at each other again and ever so slowly started to lean in. Before anything could happen, the moment was interrupted.

“Tom, you’re wanted outside for an interview.” Someone popped into your tent to say.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed. “The press is here.”

“Don’t be sorry. Go celebrate. I’ll be here when you get back.” You told him, equally disappointing that the moment was gone.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave you. Or if I could take you with me. There’s a lot of people out there and having you by my side makes these things a little easier. I don’t know. I guess you just make me brave.”

“Tommy, you got this. You don’t need me to make you brave. You just won the whole tournament tournament. If you can do that, you can totally talk to a few journalists.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” He nodded but didn’t seem convinced. You wanted to calm his nerves but it seemed like words weren’t working. Without thinking, you pulling him down by his shirt and kissed both of his cheeks.

“Both cheeks?” He smiled shyly when you leg go of his shirt.

“Extra luck.” You shrugged. “Not that you need it.”

“Thanks.” His smile widened as he touched his cheek.

After the golf tournament, Tom had a few weeks off from his usual busy schedule. While he usually welcomed time to himself, he couldn’t help but be disappointed that he had run out of opportunities to get you to kiss him again. He looked over at you after stopped to get gas and decided that if no opportunities presented themselves, he had to create them himself. He looked at the gas pump before sheepishly looking over at you.

“What are you waiting for?” You wondered when Tom didn’t get out of the car.

“Did you know that sometimes people put gas in their cars and blow up?” Tom said very matter of factly.

“Is that true?” You asked skeptically.

“Maybe. Who’s to say? Anyways, I’m kinda nervous it might happen to me right now.” He said as he looked at your out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re nervous you’re gonna put gas in the car and it’s gonna blow up?” You asked, catching on to what he was doing.

“Yes.”

“Ah. I see. And I’m guessing you want a kiss for good luck? In case you blow up?”

“In case I blow up, yes.” Tom nodded and looked at you hopefully.

“You’re too cute.” You chuckled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. He beamed in excitement before getting out of the car to pump the gas.

“Did you blow up?” You asked once he got back in.

“You would’ve known if I did.” He mumbled, making you laugh.

“I don’t know anything anymore, Tommy. Things I thought I knew have become the things I wonder about.” You sighed and looked out the window. Even thought he knew he shouldn’t, Tom thought into this. He’d been thinking a lot lately about your friendship and if it would ever move past platonic and he wondered if that’s what you’d been wondering about too.

“What do you mean by that?” He asked you, noticing the way you stiffened.

“I don’t know. Just like, things I thought were one thing are starting to look like they could be other things.” You shrugged. Your vague answer made Tom even more determined to unearth your true meaning.

“Interesting, interesting. And what if you elaborated on that?” He asked you.

“What if you drove away from this gas station and let the people in line behind us fill their tank?” You laughed and pointed to the cars behind you. Tom quickly put the car into park and drove away but didn’t stop thinking about what you had said.

A week later, Tom forced you to go to an Urgent care after spending the last few days feeling under the weather. You didn’t feel like you had to go, but went to put Tom’s Kim’s at ease.

“What’s taking them so long? I feel like we’ve been waiting for hours.” He asked as he paced the floor.

“It’s been three minutes.” You pointed out before blowing your nose.

“Longest three minutes of my life. What’s taking so long?” He whined and checked outside of the door again.

“The doctor said it would take at least 15 minutes to run the test. Just be patient.”

“I can’t. I can’t relax. Not until I know you’re okay.” Tom shook his head and started to chew on his nails. You felt bad that he was so worked up, so you pulled his hand out of his mouth and pulled him down to kiss his cheek.

“I’ll be okay, okay? You don’t need to worry about me.” You said in a soft tone.

“I’ll always worry about you, darling. Can’t help it.” He said with a pout. You smiled at him and patted his cheek just as the doctor came in.

“Oh thank God. Is she okay?” Tom asked the doctor.

“We got the results-“

“Oh God. It’s cancer. It’s cancer, isn’t it?” Tom cut her off.

“No. We didn’t even test for that. We were just testing for strep. Which she doesn’t have.” The doctor said flatly.

“What? So what’s wrong with her?”

“She’s fine. She just has a viral infection in her sinuses.” The doctor explained and handed you the lab work.

“A what?” Tom asked and took the lab work from your hands.

“Your girlfriend just has the sniffles.” The doctor sighed. You gave her an apologetic smile as Tom read your results.

“Oh. Okay. That’s not so bad. We can handle sniffles.” Tom nodded and put his hand on your back.

“I’m prescribing amoxicillin. You can pick it up in an hour at your pharmacy.” The doctor said as she wrote something out on her prescription pad. She held the prescription out and Tom took it.

“Thanks, doc.” He smiled gratefully at her.

“No problem. Feel better. For mine and your boyfriends sake.” She winked at you before leaving the room.

“This is such a relief. I really thought you were gonna die.” Tom sighed and pulled you into his chest.

“Why? My only symptom is a runny nose.” You chuckled.

“And crusty eyes and a cough and you haven’t heard anything I’ve said for the past few days which means clogged ears.”

“That’s just because I’ve been ignoring you.” You teased him. Tom playfully rolled his eyes at you before looking down at the prescription again.

“Did, uh, did you hear the doctor call you my girlfriend?” Tom asked coyly without looking at you.

“I didn’t hear anything with these clogged ears.”

“I definitely heard it. She also called me your boyfriend. Weird, right?” He forced a laugh but watched carefully for your reaction.

“So weird. I wonder why she thought we were a couple?”

“Maybe because you kissed me right before she walked in. Since you’re so infatuated with me and what not.” Tom shrugged before cracking a smile.

“Please. You needed that kiss. You were about to spin out and only these luscious lips could reel you back in.”

“Those luscious lips probably just gave me a sinus infection.” Tom laughed and wiped where your lips had been.

“Oh no. I got my sickness all over your cheek.” You pretended to pout while you wiped your hands all over his face.

“Ew. Get those germs hands away from me.” He laughed and swatted your hands away.

“I thought you liked me all over you.” You said, creating yet another awkward silence to fill the room. You exchanged awkward looks until Tom cleared his throat.

“Come on.” He said. “Let’s go get your medicine so I can finally have some peace.”

Tom had to wait until you weren’t contagious anymore before he could work up the nerve to ask for another kiss. He watched you struggling to open a jar of pickles for a while before deciding to test his luck with you.

“I can’t open this.” You whined and tried to open the jar again.

“Oh, I see. You need a big strong man, don’t you?” Tom said and flexed his biceps for you.

“Yeah. Do you know any?” You teased him as your eyed his biceps.

“Give it here, love. I’ll open it for you.” He winked at you and took the jar. He flexed for you again and you threw your hand over your forehead and pretended to swoon. Tom smiled shyly before trying to open the jar. He paused suddenly when he got an idea in his head.

“Before I do, how about a kiss for good luck?” He asked with a cheeky smile.

“They used to be for good luck. Before you started abusing their power.”

“This is for good luck.” He insisted. “I need the luck incase I cut myself on the lid.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him before kissing his cheek. Tom smiled to himself before opening the jar for you.

As the weeks went on, Tom slowly got more comfortable asking for kisses and was soon asking for them nearly every day. They started off as infrequent kisses for good luck and soon became a daily occurrence any time Tom could think of an excuse to ask for one.

“Can I have a kiss before I go?” He asked before going to set.

“Wait! Come back! Kiss me!” He called after you when you got off the couch during a movie night.

“Gimme a kiss. Please? Just a little one?” He whined when you walked away from your cart at the grocery store.

“How about a kiss right here?” He asked and tapped his cheek when he stopped at a red light. You playfully rolled your eyes before leaning over the console to kiss his cheek.

“You really like being kissed on the cheek, huh?”

“From you, I do.”

“So no one else? Just me?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Only you, darling. If someone else tried to kiss my cheek, I’d kick them into the head so hard they saw the curvature of the earth.”

“Damn.” You laughed. “You could just move away.”

“Yeah but that wouldn’t send the message, would it?” Tom smiled as he looked over at you.

“And what is the message exactly?”

“That these cheeks belongs to another.” He said suavely and looked over at you. You laughed at his joke but kept your eyes on him as he continued to drive. When Tom noticed you staring at him, he felt his face flush and looked at you. He got so caught up in your eyes that he nearly ran the next red light.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked as he stopped short.

“You almost ran that red.” You chuckled and looked away, pleased with the effect you had on him.

“Because you were staring at me like that scary picture of Miley Cyrus.” Tom said, making your smile fall.

“I wasn’t. I was just thinking.” You replied and playfully swatted his arm.

“About what?”

“You and me. Us.” You shrugged and turned to stare out Tom’s passenger window. Tom did a double take at you and struggled to keep his eyes on the road.

“Us?” He squeaked.

“Yeah. Us.”

“What about us?” He asked as his heart pounded in his ears.

“I don’t know. Do you ever feel like we’re more than friends?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, yeah, we’re friends. But we also do things that I would never do with my other friends. The number one example being kissing your cheek. But there’s a lot more than that, do you know what I mean? I feel like we’re always doing things that I would never do with any other of my friends. Only you.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” Tom smiled softly as he looked over at you.

“You do?” You asked hopefully.

“I do. I do feel like we’re more than friends. I know we’re not dating, but I also know that-“

“We’re not just friends?” You finished his sentence for him. He looked over at you again and nodded with a fond smile.

“Yeah. Exactly.” He replied. He turned his eyes back to the road but you continued to stare at him. Tom soon felt you put your hand on his left cheek to pull his face closer and kiss his right cheek.

“What was that one for? I didn’t even have to ask.” Tom blushed and touched his cheek.

“That was for understanding me.” You smiled and put your hand on his knee. You exchanged another fond look before driving in comfortable silence.

As the weeks went on, Tom continued to ask for kisses for random things and you continued to give them. What started as a sweet gesture for good luck became a common occurrence between the two of you. You often thought about the conversation you had about being more than friends and wondered what would happen if one day, you moved the kiss just a few inches over. These are the things you thought about while you waited for Tom to get out of his trailers bathroom so you could walk with him to set.

“All right. Come on. You’re first on the call sheet so you can’t be late.” You said as you knocked on Tom’s bathroom door. He opened it up and gave you a grumpy look until you handed him a cup of coffee. He gave you a grateful smile before slipping an arm around your waist to pull you closer and kiss the side of your head.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Tom said through a yawn before sipping his coffee. You grabbed his scripts and a book to read while you waited for him on set before going to the door. Tom’s feet shuffled behind you but stopped once he reached the door. You went to open the trailer door but he reached over you and shut it.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna be late.” You turned to ask him.

“It’ll be fine. Before I go, can I have a kiss for good luck?” He asked with a cheeky smile.

“Good luck for what?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just in general. For my day. Don’t you want me to have a lucky day?” Tom teased you and turned his face to the side so you could kiss his cheek. You looked into his eyes and thought about the conversation you had had with him the day before. If you were ever going to fully cross over from friends to something more, somebody had to make the first move. That move came in the form of you you cupping his chin between your fingers to turn his face towards yours. Tom looked confused so before you could overthink it, you pulled him down to kiss him. Tom’s eyes flew open before fluttering shut, tickling your face as they closed. He stepped closer to you and wrapped an arm around your waist to deepen the kiss. When you pulled away, he looked stunned for a minute, then smiled.

“Wow. It really was-“

“If you say it was your lucky day I’m gonna knock you out.” You cut him off.

“Psh. I wasn’t.” He scoffed and looked down at his fingernails. He thought about the kiss again and looked up at you with the biggest smile in the world.

“Okay, I was.” He admitted. “But how lucky am I? The loveliest girl in the world just kissed me.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words before slipping your hand into his. You walked hand in hand to the set and went up to the director.

“Oh, hey Tom. Good to see you again. Who’s your friend?” The director smiled and pointed to you.

“Friend? Oh no, you just be mistaken.“ Tom smiled suavely as he wrapped an arm around you. You rolled your eyes with affection and wrapped your arms around his torso.

“See you after?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Yep. Good luck out there.” You replied before leaning up to kiss his cheek, just for old times sake.

“Psh.” He scoffed playfully. “Who needs luck?”

Tag list 🏷️

@awesomebooklover17 @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling @serendipitous-amor @tom-hollands-wifey @20fandomfangirl

@lavender-writer @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@letsloveimagines @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @justcallmehitgirl

@jackiehollanderr @mara-twins @maryjanee23 @geeksareunique @emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland @flixndchill @sovereignparker @thisisthebiplace @every-marveler-ever

@undiadeestos @caelestii-e @eridanuswave​ @itscaminow​ @fiantomartell @solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant @illwritetomorrow

@thehappygrungelife @saysomethingspiderman @smilexcaptainx @quaksonhehe @kelieah @seasidecrowbar @lovelessdagger

@electraheart-3174 @unbelievableholland @yourtypicalhotmess @horanxholland @thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @heyheycharlatte @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie @tomshufflepuff

@maybemona @alexxcorona113

#tom holland fanfic

[irelandking]

hold your horses! (t.h)

tom holland x reader

summary: rumors fly during an interview leading to a shock announcement for tom and his girlfriend

a/n: inspired by a tiktok i saw months ago and have not stopped thinking abt since i literally could not think of one panel-type event that wasnt comic-con i am so sorry flsjsjksjs

・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

Tom shifts in his seat, running one hand through his curls as he tries to keep his face animated and stop his eyes glazing over. he's been sat on a vaguely uncomfortable chair for the last hour or so at Comic-Con, promoting his latest movie and as much as he loves his job and the fans, all he wants to do is crawl into bed and curl up next to you for a good twelve hours.

"Tom?" prompts the interviewer.

"I- I'm so sorry, what was your question?" he asks, flushing in embarrassment at being caught zoning out.

"Is Y/N here today?" repeats the interviewer patiently.

Tom grins at the mention of your name and he sits up taller, eyes scanning the crows until he finds you, hoodie pulled up over your head to hide from eagle-eyed fans.

"She is, yeah. I basically dragged her here so we could kind of spend time together, as an apology." he admits.

"An apology?" the interviewer says. "What did you do, Tom?"

"Yeah, what did you do, Tom?" echoes one of his co-stars, laughing.

"I fell asleep during our movie date." Tom admits sheepishly, shaking his head at the roar of laughter from the crowd. "Twenty minutes in, I was out cold."

"You didn't!" laughs the interviewer. "What did she do?"

"She was the absolute best, of course. She just held me and stroked my hair and wrapped me up in a blanket and then stayed on the sofa with me all night." he says, eyes crinkling at the general "awww" from the crowd.

The interviewer's eyes glint mischievously as Tom tells his story, clearly sensing a way to divert the interview to The Good Stuff™.

"So speaking of Y/N, there's been a lot of talk about you two online recently." he starts. "Specifically, engagement rumors? Is there any basis, any truth to these rumors?"

Tom shifts around as he stalls for time until he can meet your eyes in the crowd, raising his fluffy eyebrow ever so slightly to silently ask if you're okay with him talking about your relationship. You give him a tiny nod, encouraging him to go on.

"No, we're not engaged." he says. "But we've honestly never been happier than we are right now. She's so creative, and caring, and funny, and gorgeous. There's no one else I'd rather spend my life with."

You can't help but feel slightly choked up as he gushes, resisting the urge to throw off your hoodie and run up to the stage, crushing him into a bear hug and never letting go.

"WHEN ARE YOU PROPOSING?!" yells a particularly enthusiastic fan, rousing cheers from the rest of the crowd and the cast members on stage.

Tom laughs as he winks at you again.

"When I'm sure she'll say yes."

This, of course, results in almost hysterical screams (affectionate).

You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on Tom's contact and typing out a message. He's watching you of course, so when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket he pulls it out, cheering like an excited seven year old, "I got a text! From Y/N!"

Y/N 💗: i'd marry you in a heartbeat baby <3

He blows a kiss in your direction, grinning from ear to ear. As he's distracted, gazing at you lovingly, a co-star leans over his shoulder and reads the text.

"Holy shit!" they laugh. "Did Tom Holland just get engaged?"

The screams reach an all-time record and you wince slightly, bringing a hand up to your ringing ear. Tom snatches his phone closer, rolling his eyes.

"Hold your horses!" he laughs. "Let me check."

He balances the microphone in his left hand as he types out a quick message.

tommy 🤠: Did we just get engaged??

Y/N 💗: we will be when you give me that rock hidden at the back of your sock drawer 😳

Tom's soft brown eyes crinkle around the edges as he grins all but leaps up from his chair.

"Is this interview wrapping up soon?" He asks cheekily. "I've got to go get engaged."

・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

tysm for reading! comments and reblogs are always super appreciated. i wanna thank you guys for all the love on my blog, you're the best <333

#tom holland fanfic

[irelandking]

Praise You Like I Should (CEO!Tom Holland) 18+

Summary: You were always a people-pleaser, desperate to do right by everybody no matter what they asked. Being an intern, your boss Jackson exploited your people-pleaser tendencies in a very unprofessional manner, and CEO Mr Holland wasn't happy about it... Themes: smut! little bit of fluff and angst, dom!tom and sub!reader, oral (m+f), major praise kink, sir kink, overstimulation, masturbation (alone) , slight jewelry kink w/c: 10k+

MASTERLIST

You look over the dimly lit hall before you, tables decorated to the nines with hand-folded serviettes, silver-ware suited for royalty, gleaming as they sit on a fresh white linen table cloth, surrounded by tall plum-coloured cushioned chairs. There’s about twelve tables dotted around the hall identical to one another, waiting to be filled by guests in about an hour or so. The room sparkles with the metallic colouring of birthday banners and balloons floating around the room, illuminated by the dancing, multicoloured disco lights. 

The surprise birthday party you were instructed to organise is for Mr Holland’s business partner, Taylor. They’re each other's yin and yang, mixing together like oil on water but somehow they make it work. The informal Taylor bases his relationship with his employees on friendship and a sense of mutual equality, where the formal Mr Holland prefers professionalism and respect on top of trust. Nevertheless, both are equally respected as bosses and businessmen in their own right. It doesn’t necessarily mean you all prefer one over the other, but if you had to make a choice as to who you would rather hang out with, the answer is an obvious one.

As an intern, it isn’t exactly part of your remit to organise and host birthday events, but your boss, Jackson, ordered you to do it. Jackson’s notable within the workforce for several reasons; he’s outgoing, social, ambitious, confident, and is unofficially Taylor’s kiss ass. He appointed himself (ahem, you) with the responsibility of organising Taylor’s surprise party, not because he thinks he’s capable, but because he’s looking for recognition. What people don’t know is that he’s actually a lazy guy who has gotten himself drunk with the taste of superiority, abusing you as his own personal slave for favours both big (entirely consequential and out of your depth) and small (worthless and petty). Unfortunate to be his first intern, you’ve realised how gluttonous he’s become with you at his disposal how and whenever he pleases. However, being placed at the bottom of the pecking order, you’re not at liberty to say no. 

Jackson’s not your favourite boss by any means, but by God he keeps you busy. It tooks weeks for you to organise the venue, the catering, the entertainment, the decorations, the invitations, most importantly the cake, and the little oddities that everyone forgets about like hand-written name tags and having straws at the bar. You’ve been working relentlessly and after weeks of stress, late and often sleepless nights, numerous phone calls and emails, cancellations and rebookings, tonight is the night that all of that can end. The curse of being a perfectionist and a people-pleaser can finally release its hold on you.

Just as you finish clarifying the itinerary with the hotel’s bar staff, you notice a dark figure walking through the entrance. Your eyes trail nervously from the black patent shoes to the white shirt peeking beneath the black suit of which belongs to Mr Holland. He has his tortoise shell glasses perched perfectly on his nose, reflecting the colours of the disco lights as he walks towards you, stoic and poised. A silent ‘fuck’ crosses your mind. 

Being the CEO eight floors above you, Mr Holland’s face isn’t one that you see as consistently as Jackson’s. He’s at least 6 tiers above you in the pecking order, one of two to take superiority over a long line of directors, specialists, managers, supervisors and assistants before you. So you can hardly blame yourself when you start to feel nerves gathering in your chest, despite how well-respected he is amongst the workforce. 

His eyes finally find yours and he clarifies your name. You can appreciate that he’s at least taken the time to learn your face. “You're Jackson’s intern, right?” 

Wow. He knows you more than you thought. “Yes sir. Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“No, thank you. I was just coming to take a look around. I’m normally part of organising the celebrations but this year I’ve been too busy.” He wordlessly waves a hand before weaving in and out the tables, reading each name tag as he passes by. You watch nervously as he inspects the room until finding himself in front of what you call The Shrine with folded arms, almost bursting at the seams. More simply, it’s a collage of photos of Taylor taken over the years pieced together in a mosaic standing on an easel, gathered and no less arranged by you, of course. Next to it stands an empty corkboard, waiting to be filled with pictures from tonight's celebration, provided by the pop-up photobooth beside it. 

“Whose idea was this?” There’s a warm smile on Mr Holland’s face.

“Mine, sir.”

“And the handcrafted name tags?”

“Also me, sir.”

“I love it. It’s very creative.” You exhale loudly, relieved. The people-pleaser inside you starts to buzz, fluttering wildly at Mr Holland’s praise. “Did you…” His eyes squint narrowly, honing in on you. “Did you organise all of this?” 

“Yes, I did. The venue and catering took some negotiating but once that was planned, the rest came with time.”

“Impressive.”

You’re about to thank him but you're interrupted by the obnoxious calling of your name in a voice that booms from the entrance of the hall. Jackson marches towards you and you stand a little straighter. He doesn’t notice Mr Holland standing in the corner of the room next to the shrine. Instead of Mr Holland announcing himself, which is what you expected him to do, he sinks his hands into his pockets and quietly observes from afar. 

“I need a rundown--” Please, that would be great. “--and for the love of God where is the present I was supposed to get Taylor?” Thanks for getting me a present for him, I’ll pay you back.

Your answer is succinct and to the point. “I’ve left it in your hotel room; it’s a dinner reservation at Keens Steakhouse in New York. As for tonight, the bar will be open for guests when they arrive at 6:30pm, Taylor will arrive between 7:00pm and 7:15pm for his surprise, the buffet will open at 7:30pm and cake will be served at 8:30pm. Last orders are at 11:30pm and the curfew is midnight. Everyone has checked in and has their hotel room key, although Kelsey couldn’t make it tonight, so her room is spare.”

Jackson gives a gruff nod, mumbling something intelligible under his breath. He cautiously looks to the bar, then narrows his eyes at you with a pointed finger wavering in your face. “I need tonight to be perfect so I need you to be sober. No alcohol. Got it?” In other words, I can’t be bothered making sure everything goes smoothly so I need you to stay sober while I get shit-faced. You nod, pursing your lips angrily as he walks away from you without a final word.

With Jackson no longer in sight, the tension finally deflates and your shoulders relax. You hate that every interaction with Jackson is a test of your skill and knowledge, caught in a vicious cycle of having to prove yourself worthy time and time again. 

As Mr Holland emerges from the corner of the room, it’s an observation he also confronts having finally witnessed Jackson’s true authoritarian nature. His eyes are fixated on the golden doors in a stare so firm it could burn holes through the metal, and just when he steps into the brighter lights of the bar, his overall demeanour changes. 

His jaw ticks when he finally faces you. “Jackson’s keeping you on your toes tonight it seems.” 

“He always does, sir.” You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, recounting the numerous occasions his brutal demands have worked you to the bone.

“I don’t think I appreciate the way he talks to you.” 

“Oh I’m used to it by now.”

“So he talks to you like that all the time?” Shit. In truth, Jackson would never have spoken so harshly to you had he known anyone was in the room let alone Mr Holland, but that was his mistake. One you’re not sorry for. “Well, if he isn’t going to tell you what an amazing job you have done, I will. You should be proud of organising all of this by yourself, it’s not easy. Well done.” 

Your chest swells with pride as Mr Holland pats a gentle hand against your upper arm. Finally, your first taste of positive reinforcement. “Thank you, sir.” 

Mr Holland’s smirk quirks at the edges. His hands find themselves deep within his pockets once again as he coolly and oh-so-calmly exits through the doors. 

~~~~

You are insomnia personified. As relieved as you are that the night is going exactly to plan, with the nervous anticipation over, you just cannot wait to get to your bed knowing that the stress is over. You have hours of sleep to catch up on, a stone of weight to put back on and friends and family to respond to, and without a single alcoholic drink to lift your spirits, you’re finding it harder and harder to keep the exhaustion at bay. Beyond the exhaustion, however, there’s a sadness hidden deep within your conscience and while you glance over the decorations you hung up as the melodic singing of ‘happy birthday’ rings in the air, it spreads. It’s clear that people are oblivious to what makes you so downcast on a celebratory night as they pass nothing more than a glance your way, but in all honesty, you much prefer it to be that way. You wouldn’t want anyone to see the tear building in the corner of your eye. 

For now, you thrive on the compliments you’ve heard about the venue, the decorations, the drinks and the food, each and every one of them satisfying your perfectionist mindset. Okay, so what no-one knows you organised the party, and sure, you can oversee the fact that none of the compliments are directed to you in particular, because in the end, you’ve gained Mr Holland’s approval and that’s enough for you.

Well, it was enough until Taylor took to the stage for a speech.

“...and a special shout-out to Jackson for putting this all together for me. This is absolutely amazing, I couldn’t have asked for more.” 

Your heart sinks in your chest and your ears instinctively drown out the clapping and cheering of the crowd around you, eyes set in stone as they watch Jackson accept the dedication so graciously that it makes you sick to your stomach. It takes every ounce of energy you have left in you to suppress the wobble in your lip at the sight of Jackson soaking up the glory like a sponge. Jackson taking the credit for your hard work was something you should’ve expected from him. After all, he is lazy and will never be willing to admit it, definitely not in front of Taylor. Still, the chase for recognition was always going to be a losing battle for you; you’re an intern for fuck’s sake, you are merely just a name and a face for most, unfulfiling of the protagonistic arc the people here want in their stories. Jackson, the kiss ass, makes much more sense being the hero than an underdog intern. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, accepting defeat. 

You claim an empty seat at an empty table in a dark corner of the room, far from the crowd mingling on the dance floor and you remain there as the party continues into the night. The glass of tepid water looks pitiful in your hands, its lack of taste offering no respite from your sorrow. 

With fifteen minutes until last orders, you begin counting down to the moment you can retire to your bed which you know won’t arrive until after you’ve cleaned up the hall. You’re jealous of some of the guests who have already decided to leave the party.

The chair to your right suddenly scrapes across the floor and you’re slightly taken aback when Mr Holland sits close beside you and abruptly rests an elbow upon the table, blocking your view of the crowd and demanding your attention. A cedarwood scent silently announces itself and you inhale it deeply, finding sanctuary in its presence despite how startled you are by it. Your breath is simply taken from you when he shuffles himself closer. He isn’t wearing his usual attire; something a little less formal, but likely to be just as expensive. With that expensive taste comes his expensive appearance: clean, styled, decorated admirably and booming with authority. A warmth starts to take a hold of you. 

His movements are harsh and his body moves with brute intention, but behind those curls, his eyes hold sympathy, knowing what is upsetting you before it even spills from your lips. You try to fake a smile but he can see right through it. 

“I thought it was you that organised the party,” he calmly states. 

“I did. But because Jackson instructed me to plan a party means he takes responsibility for it.” 

Mr Holland doesn’t waste a single second. “It isn’t right. It’s one thing to speak to you so rudely, but it’s another to take credit for your hard work, and I’m starting to believe that Jackson doesn’t value you as an intern as much as he values the superiority that comes with it, am I right?” 

Anxiously, your eyes catch Jackson lazily hanging over the bar and demanding another drink. If Mr Holland were to know the truth, it would get Jackson in a lot of trouble and the people-pleaser inside you is screaming at you to just deny it all. Your skewed perception of professionalism means skipping over these things, something about snitching just seems so petty and childish, and that’s not the impression you want to give Mr Holland of all people.

Mr Holland’s stern voice brings you back. “You’re not answering to him now, you’re answering to me. Am. I. Right?” 

You gulp. “Yes, sir.” 

“I intend to have a word with Jackson--” 

“Mr Holland, it’s okay, really--” You try to protest but he quickly rests his hand on top of yours, his warmth enveloping it completely, and your mind halts. Your heart flutters the moment his fingers curl just the little bit tighter, a compassion that says more than words could. It’s genuine, caring, but firm in a way that’s supportive, pledging to do right by you. 

“He will apologise to you and let everyone know the truth.” 

“Please, I don’t want to cause a hassle or stir anything in the office, I just want to do well. And what would it change if people knew the truth? It doesn’t bother me that much, honestly. Besides, you know the truth. That’s all that matters to me.” Desperately and without thinking, you twist your hand and your fingers interlock, returning the squeeze with a soft smile. Mr Holland tries his best to return the sentiment but you can tell the whole ordeal still troubles him and sits discontented by your side, a regretful sigh heaving through his lips. Soon, after a silent plea to let it go, he eventually sits level with you with a brighter sparkle to his eyes and instantly, the mood is lifted. You notice how his hand doesn’t leave yours. 

“You at least deserve a drink.” 

“I shouldn’t, I’m closing up tonight and I’m working early tomorrow.” 

He scowls for what seems like the hundredth time tonight, facing issue after issue the more you expose Jackson’s true nature. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, you should be having a day off.” 

“It’s laughable you think I get a day off,” you chuckle. The sad thing is, he thinks you’re joking. Jackson often sends you his overdraft of reports to complete over the weekend and has the cheek to deem you lucky that he gives you so much wisdom and experience. You can’t imagine Mr Holland being aware of this…

“Don’t be silly darling, everyone is entitled to days off. Even Taylor took a day off today for his birthday.” 

Again, your scathing laughter meets his ears and he tilts his head, that skewed eyebrow lifting high into his forehead. “No offence sir, but with his position, he can afford to. I don’t think interns have that same benefit--”

“Of course you do, it’s company policy that everyone is entitled to a day off on their birthday.” Before you get a word in, he’s already pulling out his phone from his suit pocket. “Tell me when your birthday is so I can make sure you get it off, and I know when to get you a birthday present. Taylor too--”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.”

“We do it for all our employees, regardless if you’re an intern or not.” His calendar flashes to life before his eyes. “So when is it? June? July?” 

Your mouth suddenly goes dry and it gawps like a fish, not a usual response to such an easy question. Your fingers knead together on your lap as the sadness once again materialises and Mr Holland quickly senses something is amiss.

“It’s…it’s today. My birthday is…was today.” 

Mr Holland’s eyes widen with horror. It’s no less than a minute later that he finally replies. “And Jackson has you working?” 

“Since 7am this morning. I had asked for my birthday off two months ago because I did actually read the company policies, but he said interns can’t request holidays because they’re not permanent. I didn’t think anything of it.” 

“What?! For fuck’s sake…” Mr Holland twists his chair violently, its legs colliding with the table as he tries to face you more directly and leans forward, your knees slotting into the space between his. The wave of his anger has rolled back even higher in its tide and now, unlike before, there’s a vein popping at his temple. “Let me just make this clear, okay? Correct me if I’m wrong. You’re telling me that Jackson has knowingly denied you of your birthday holiday entitlement and instead had you plan someone else’s birthday just so that he can take credit for it, make you work through it and clean up after it as well?”

God. In his words it sounds so desperately sad. Up until this point, you were able to distract yourself from getting caught up in the tragedy of it all, but now there’s nothing stopping the gates from opening and wallowing in self-pity. Although your blurring eyes tell of your true emotions, the forced smile on your lips does everything it can to convince both you and Mr Holland that you’re not bothered by it. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Mr Holland’s heart inevitably sinks. In that moment, he thinks of the cruelty behind Jackson ordering you to buy and wrap his present for Taylor when you have none to open. He thinks of you, alone, buying the candles of the birthday cake you wouldn’t be blowing out. He thinks of you, just hours ago as the crowd sings happy birthday to another person, blissfully ignorant of your sorrow. He thinks of the hours you spent working when you should have been with your friends and family. It’s all of the things you truly deserve, but have been robbed from you. 

He reaches once again for your hand, now resting on your lap, and the tips of his fingers graze your thigh. You would be a fool to miss it. “Darling,” he sincerely murmurs, almost as quiet as a whisper. “I’m so sorry.” 

The fake smile takes lead and the rebel tear is wiped away. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault--”

“But it’s not okay. You…you didn’t even get to have a drink.” Damnit, your cheeks are wet again. “Did you at least get a break today?” Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO.

In fact, you spend so much time failing to not cry that Mr Holland assumes the worst. He takes in a long, deep breath and lures you into his embrace with a hand creeping up to the back of your head, and the second your forehead hits his shoulder, the dams break.  

“I’m just so tired,” you sniff. 

“You’ve been overworked, darling, that’s why.” His hand passes over your hair, gently cupping the curve of your head as he takes in every hiccup. His breath flows past your ears smoothly, broken up every few seconds with whispers of comfort. You feel horribly embarrassed, crying into the expensive suit of your CEO at the party you organised on your birthday: definitely not the definition of professionalism you are chasing. 

“I’m sorry. I promise I’m not usually like this.” You retreat from his shoulder but the hand cupping the back of your head prevents you from travelling too far and you’re stuck, just inches from Mr Holland’s pitying eyes. He keeps you concealed from the crowd, but it’s not enough to hide from the burning glare of Jackson, his eyes drawing daggers at you from over Mr Holland’s shoulder. He’s somewhat frozen in a stupor, scarily steady for a man who was flailing over the bar minutes ago, but anger is a quick cure for intoxication. 

Mr Holland’s voice sidles quietly into your ear. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Get yourself up to bed, I’ll deal with Jackson.” 

“But--”

“I will not take no for an answer. Now go.” You shiver at the stern tone, appearing only as he turns to lock eyes with Jackson who’s faring a guilty look upon his face. As Mr Holland brings you both to a stand, he gently encourages you towards the golden doors and although you should be indulging in the relief of finally being let off, you can’t pull your focus away from Mr Holland’s cold stare that refuses to stray from Jackson. In the few seconds that it takes to walk from your chair to the doors, a clear, obvious shift in mood transpires, one that is felt by the entire room because now it isn’t just you that notices Mr Holland’s sudden decline in temperament. Evidently, everyone is quick to sense the tension. The crowd’s lively dancing now settles into an awkward shuffle and the singing dulls into hushed whispers because they know to never underestimate the seriousness of Mr Holland’s anger. It’s uncomfortable and intimidating, even more so if you’re the reason for his vexation and if that’s the case, you should be on your knees begging for his forgiveness. It’s the one power Mr Holland holds that Taylor, his business partner, his equal, doesn't possess. This is your first time seeing him exercise this power and it’s incredibly daunting. 

The beat of your heels clicking their way up the staircase is a quick one, not daring to hang around the unease any longer. The fresh smell of washed cotton that greets you in your room winds you down and you don’t spare a second of reflection before you strip yourself of your stiff dress, blister-inducing heels, thick make-up and the heavy stress. You slip right between the sheets, ready to drift asleep. 

The lights are switched off, your eyes are closed and your body properly relaxes. Yet inexplicably you can’t settle into your bed no matter how much you toss and turn. Rationale convinces you that it’s because you’re in a bed different from your own, that the mattress doesn’t have the mould of your body imprinted on it, and although it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, your inner conscience is telling you something else…

Flashes of memories made just half an hour prior spring to the surface and suddenly you’re watching yourself converse with Mr Holland again. But it isn’t exactly how you remember it.

For example, his hand is on your lap, gripping the curve of your thigh with his heat scorching through your skin when you know that, in reality, it was nothing more than a soft sweep. And when you both stood, you know he guided you with a gentlemanly hand, yet your dream sees his hand curving down the slope of your ass and squeezing the flesh. You have to refuse the idea of you shivering with arousal from hearing Mr Holland’s stern growl because truthfully, it was nerves. 

Or…was it both? 

You try to ignore it, but the seed has already been planted. Now all you can visualise is his fleeting touches, his soft voice praising you and calling you darling, the twinkle in his eyes as he sympathised for you, the caress of his hand through your hair as he comforted you, the way he cared for you, and fucking hell, the exhilaration of seeing him protect you so defensively when no one else did. His taut jaw, his clenched fists, his dark eyes, the pulsing vein at his temple, his eminence that commanded the room, the list is endless. 

“F-fuck,” you stutter, succumbing to the pleasure of your own fingers toying with your clit. You don’t quite remember the exact moment your hand slipped beneath your underwear, too caught up in your fantasy of Mr Holland to realise. Regardless, the movie in your mind continues to play out and by now, none of it reflects any real events from tonight - it’s all purely fictional.

His hand slides up between your thighs. He dons a devilish grin because he knows there’s a whole crowd blissfully unaware behind him. An innocent gasp slips from your lips and it lures his eyes to your mouth, panting as he traces the letters of his name over your covered cunt as a sign as to who it belongs to. Overrun with anticipation, you bite your lip, feeling the pad of his finger slip beneath your thong and…

“Oh my god! Shit!” Your body seizes, curling into itself as your fingers dull to a small twitch between your clenched thighs. There’s a blissful moment where you ravish the hot rush of blood pulsing at your pussy, letting it bubble until it slows to a simmer, and only when you come down from your high minutes later do you fully realise what has just happened. Eyes split wide open, you rise from your bed.

You just masturbated fantasising over your CEO. 

What in the hell have you gotten yourself into? 

~~~~

The morning comes surprisingly quickly and the hotel's thin curtains don't fully shield you from the sun's glare. It’s bright, directly in your face and if you didn’t know any better, you would think that it’s spotlighting you because it knows what you did last night. As if you forgot…

The guilt still ruins your conscience and you feel nothing but regret; fantasising and sexualising Mr Holland’s kindness is just the pinnacle of everything you disagree with and it doesn’t exactly define the sort of professionalism you strive for. 

Shaking it off as best you can, you refresh yourself with a shower and a harsh splash of cold water to your face, and by the time you open your laptop it’s 9am. There hasn’t been any emails from Jackson so far which you’re not too sure if you’re shocked by. It’s typical on a Saturday morning for Jackson to send you multiple reports with deliberately vague instructions that you would somehow have to decode and translate for yourself. But regarding last night’s events, perhaps he’s heeded Mr Holland’s words and decided to honour your weekend entitlements. 

The white screen stares back at you, watching you nervously bite your nails as if you’re expecting a red notification to pop up, attached to an email from Jackson with hungover words. A minute or two passes by and alas, nothing. Not a word. In all honesty, you don’t have an issue with it, not at all, but it means that your routine is completely disrupted and you’re struggling to decide what to do with yourself. And without work, you have nothing to distract you from last night’s sin while it plagues your mind. 

A new sweat arises and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, and that’s the part you think is the worst. Why did it feel so fucking good?

What brings you out of your self-loathing is three quick, quiet knocks echoing from your door in quick succession. Curious, you open the door and when you see who stands there in all his formal glory, you wish you hadn’t. Your heart immediately jumps to your mouth. 

“Oh, Mr Holland--hi. I wasn’t expecting you…” Your words fade into a soft whisper when your eyes spot a small pink bag, its ribbon handles hooked daintily onto his fingers. Surely that can’t be what you think it is…?

He’s painfully quiet, a small smile painting his lips at what he sees; he’s never seen you dress so casually before and he wants to take a good long look at you, unsure of when he’ll see such a sight again. The weight of his stare burns holes through you, heating you from within.

Not a second later, he holds out the pink bag towards you and you forget to breathe. 

“Happy belated birthday,” he gently voices. Your fingertips graze each other as you take it from him. For such a small, delicate bag, it’s certainly weighty and your stomach drops thinking about how much money he’s stupidly wasted on you…

“Thank you sir, really. You didn’t have to do that.” A nervous chuckle escapes your dry mouth. “How…how did you get this so quickly? It’s barely past 9 in the morning.”

“I have a few contacts who owe me a few favours. And I just felt so guilty about you missing your birthday. Sorry you couldn’t celebrate it like you should’ve.”

 “Like I said, it’s okay--” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly but surely, a taunting smirk begins to form. “Am I going to have to give you the same ‘talking to’ I gave Jackson last night to make you realise that it is definitely not okay?”

Yes, yes, yes, fucking yes. “No, no, of course not. Sorry, I suppose that’s just the people-pleaser in me.” 

Mr Holland stands stoic before you, his head slightly tilted and his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes are watching you endearingly, drawing you into him, but everything else about him oozes something that makes you want to swallow a little harder. His confidence in himself is mildly intimidating and you wish you could feel the same. Just his being here creates a dizzying effect on you that you just can’t shake. 

“You can think of this as a congratulations of sorts too.” 

You tilt your head. “Congratulations?” 

“Mh-hm,” his eyes flit over your confusion, a devilish, haunting smirk gracing his wet lips. “Congratulations on becoming a permanent member of Taylor and I’s company.” 

Mr Holland admiring you be damned, you find yourself taking a step back in shock. “Are you…are you serious?” 

“Of course I’m serious, do you think I would lie to you?” 

“Not at all, I just, I thought it was going to be Jackson’s decision. I am his intern.” 

You aren’t a fool to miss the way his jaw ticks at the mention of Jackson’s name and all too quickly, a ferocious fire consumes his eyes. A small shiver cuts through your skin. “You don’t work for Jackson anymore because Jackson no longer works for me.” 

“What?!” 

“What did you think when I said I was going to deal with Jackson? That he was going to continue working for me even after finding out he was treating you badly? Or finding out that he orders you to do his work over the weekends? Or even when he blackmails you into doing jobs beyond your remit? How could you possibly think that I would let that sleazy bastard feed off my pay when I know he isn’t capable of the job? You’re far more deserving of the position than he is, far more deserving of the appreciation and beyond capable.”

“Sir, I…I can’t thank you enough. I’m very grateful. I won’t let you down, I promise.” 

“I know you won’t. Although I do sometimes wish you would’ve told me or Taylor about Jackson’s behaviour sooner. I don’t tolerate that kind of exploitation, not even for a second and you shouldn’t have either.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was just so caught up in wanting to do well that I would’ve done anything to please the company.”

“Maybe you should stop spending your time trying to please other people, and focus on pleasing yourself.” His face gravitates just a hairsbreadth towards yours and in quieter, darker words, he whispers… “You were certainly capable of pleasing yourself last night.” 

You take a timid step back, mouth agape. You can’t think of anything to say, not when the ringing in your ears starts to resonate louder and louder. Shame swells like a disease and you can feel the bile rising in your throat. You are almost certain you didn’t hear anyone outside your room last night, how could he have possibly known? 

“I…um…I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

He smoothly leans against the door frame, his wicked grin tells you that he doesn’t believe a word you say. Nevertheless, he explains, not to worsen how mortified he knows you already feel, but to reminisce of the surge of adrenaline and lust that coursed through him last night. 

“I came by late last night to drop off your present. I didn’t think you would still be awake so I planned on leaving it at your door, and just as I bent down to place it there, I heard just the softest of moans—“

“I think you must be mistaken—“ An uneasy chuckle barely covers your tracks, leaving you just as compromised as before. 

“I thought you might’ve been with someone, but I then didn’t hear any other voices, so I assumed you were by yourself.” 

“Sir,” you squeak, intending to finish your sentence but you just don’t have the words nor the confidence to deny him of what he already knows. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights, exposed and vulnerable without the faintest idea of how to get yourself out of his commanding presence. 

A million and one emotions rage through you and drown you in a fluster. Your feet shuffle nervously beneath you, slowly inching your way back into your hotel room as you sense yourself losing control over the conversation. With a mouth drier than the Sahara desert, there’s not much else you can do or say to avoid falling victim to both Mr Holland’s taunting and your own taunting; last night’s images playing out before you more vividly now that he resurrects them. 

The subject finally diverges, but it doesn’t mean you're any more comfortable with it. “Do you know you’re the only one that addresses me as ‘sir’?” 

You shake your head, eyes inevitably averted. You didn’t know that, you just thought it was professional. 

“You never corrected me.” 

“I didn’t want to.” 

“Why not?” 

“I liked hearing it. Just as much as I liked what I heard last night. But I need to know,” he takes a step to cross the threshold of your hotel room. “Was there anything…anyone in particular crossing your mind?” 

“There was…” His jaw ticks furiously and you instantly get the notion that denying him is simply not a choice here. 

“Who?” He demands in that stern voice you’ve heard only once before. 

One word sits on your tongue and you know that as soon as it breaks the silence, the professionalism you worked so hard to build up will crumble before you. But the risk is entirely worth it. 

“You.” 

Mr Holland’s lips part and releases a snicker as if he knew, and the curl of his smirk becomes dangerous. He lets the singular word ring out into the air, and the tension envelopes you both in a suffocating bubble until he finally speaks. “You…what?” 

“You, sir.” 

His chest rumbles with approval and you even feel its vibrations fluttering low in your stomach. Desire consumes you; a desire to know what he’s thinking, to know what he’s planning to do with that compromising information, to figure out whether he’ll respond to it in a way that satiates your more promiscuous desires like the ones that distracted you last night. You would give anything to see what’s going on inside his head. 

Inexplicably, he nods towards your pink bag, easily brushing over your last conversation like it was nothing to him and it completely throws you off. “You should open it.” 

It takes a second to drag your eyes away from him. You actually forgot you’re still holding it in your hands. The tissue paper rustles loudly as you reach in-- “Inside.” Mr Holland urges. With a short nod, you lead the way, allowing him to slowly close the door behind you with a gut-wrenching squeak and a thunderous boom.

The second the door shuts, the air becomes taut, strained and harder to breathe and you dedicate all your efforts into ignoring your last conversation just as easily as he had, but he’s standing right behind you and the warmth of his breath skates past your ear and it’s all you can think about. Even without disclosing what he now knows, the presence of Mr Holland alone would bring about such unnerving effects, so you don’t find yourself at fault for struggling to keep it together. 

From the pink bag you pull out a small white and gold box, wrapped with yet another ribbon. Inside is a silver chain, light and dainty, but the pendant it carries is nothing alike. The reflection of the sun hits the circular-cut diamond, becoming iridescent as it hits your eyes. The stone is slightly on the larger side, bigger than any other necklace you own, but it sits perfectly in the balance of being flashy yet classy. Expensive yet tasteful. It’s a piece that you can’t price and that exact thought scares you. 

“It’s beautiful,” you softly murmur. The chain cascades elegantly across your fingers, almost mesmerising to watch. 

Your eyes catch his movement in the mirror in front of you and steals your attention away from the necklace. He holds out his hand by your side, soft but firm. 

“May I?” You almost flinch as his words hit your ear, the ripple of your shiver continues for long after. As the chain pools in his hand, he is equally gentle, handling it with expertise while he lifts it carefully over head and rests the pendant tenderly in the dip between your clavicles. Its icy cold touch seers your skin, heat radiating with each grazing touch of his fingers as they clasp the chain together behind your neck. Once secure, you admire the way it shines brightly against your skin tone, eyes momentarily lost in your image until you realise that yours are the only pair looking back at you. Mr Holland remains engrossed with the curve of your neck, his proximity close enough to be counting the beats of your pulse as it thumps beneath your skin and for all you know, it’s elevating, thrashing harder and harder while you watch with wide eyes as Mr Holland presses his lips against it. 

The second his lips meet your skin, his hands find your hips, holding you steady to prevent you from buckling. A numbing tingle shoots through your nervous system at the feeling of Mr Holland swiping his tongue across the reddening bruise he’s leaving behind. Every kiss is with purpose, targeting each and every sweet spot as if he had a map to each of their location: the peak of your neck that connects to your jaw, the sensitive spot just millimetres below your ear, the slight curve of your shoulder that sits beneath the chain. He instantly claims you, and you show no sign of resistance when you find yourself voluntarily tilting your neck, begging for more.

You finally meet his eyes in the mirror, realising how cavernous his blown-out pupils are; that if you search too far you’ll become trapped. “This…” he whispers, planting another kiss to your ear, his hands beckoning to the chain, “is the only thing I’ll allow you to wear while I fuck you.” 

A shameless, breathless mewl whines from your throat and a rampage of endorphins consumes you. As the first piece of insight to his mind, you don’t get nearly enough time to let it process in your head before his clawing hands are tugging at the drawstrings of your joggers. 

The small nip to your neck is a wake-up call. This is real and this isn’t a fantasy of yours, only that it will be a recreation of what had you orgasming last night. 

“You know, I can be a people pleaser too.” His hand slips beneath your joggers, but refrains from slipping beneath your underwear. “I can please you in so many ways.” As a testimony to his words, his fingers trace over the silk of your underwear, catching your bud in its travels and a silent gasp bursts from your lips. “But not without earning it. Do as you’re told, and I’ll do exactly that.” 

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, words vacant, eyes rolling. 

“Are you listening to me?” The hand on your hip squeezes harshly and you jerk in his arms. You have never agreed to something quicker in your life.

“Yes, sir! Oh—” 

“Good. Then you can start by closing those curtains over there.” 

His hand slips fluidly out of your joggers when you force yourself away from the subtle torment. The light dims a little, however you think it’s more for privacy than for light. When your back turns once again, Mr Holland sits himself on the edge of the bed, legs spread and leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Whatever it is about him in that single second triggers something in you; attraction, lust, sex appeal, or all of the above. Whatever it is, it compels you to give yourself in to him.

A messy mixture of want, need and unrelenting desire brings you to your knees before him. His eyes sweep over your face, examining, analysing, translating every desperate twitch. He can even see your lips parting where he spots the remnants of teeth marks from when you had nervously bitten them in hidden moments. Smoothly, the pad of his thumb brushes over your lip, tugging it into a pout because that’s what he wants to see; you, desperate, pouting, begging for him. It soon pops back into place, his hand now curling around your chin and pulling you closer. His own lips are nothing more than a breath away from yours and you think he’s going to finally kiss you, but annoyingly, he only allows you to feel the shape of the words as he whispers them to you. 

“So what is it about me then, hm? What do I do that turns you on?” 

“It’s…it’s stupid.” 

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Let me rephrase.” The grip on your chin tightens and your noses collide. “Tell me what it is about me that turns you on.” 

“Last night at the party, you were the only one that…cared. You made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.” 

“What else?” 

“You stood up to Jackson for me - you just looked so determined like you were unstoppable.” 

He tilts his head in the other direction now, leaning in just as close, your breaths mingling together. You’re so desperate to feel his lips on yours. “And?” 

“When…when you touched my thigh--”

“You were burning.”

“I was nervous--” 

“Because of me.” 

“Of course because of you. I was scared of disappointing you.” 

A small snicker escapes him and leaves behind a wicked smirk. Two hands now firmly cradle your jawline and you think the moment has finally come. Why else would your heart be thumping in your chest? 

“Not possible. I always knew you were a good girl. And I think you like being told that, don’t you? You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it. I saw that coy little look on your face the first time I told you how impressed I was. It was obvious that no one else had praised you like I did - you couldn’t keep yourself together. And I bet if I kept telling you how fucking sweet you are, and how much of an perfect angel I know you are for me, the second I slip my fingers into your tight little pussy, you’d be an absolute mess.” 

Well, he’s not wrong. You’re already soaked. 

“Please, sir,” you whimper. “Please just kiss me.” 

Finally, finally, he pulls you in for a long, languid kiss, his tongue takes lead to taste every part of your bitten lips as they slot perfectly in between his, lingering longer with each time he captures them. The blood rushes so quickly through your veins you think you might implode, overwhelmed by just how good it feels that your hands suddenly grapple onto the cuffs of his shirt. 

A satisfied hum buzzes against your lips, twisting your own into a small grin that unbeknown to you, Mr Holland could actually feel. 

“Let me see you,” he demands, his hands plucking at the hem of your sweatshirt. When you don’t do it right away, a tight grip coils around your neck and stops the gasp leaving your mouth. “Do. As. You’re. Told.” 

You’re baring your all for him (all except a diamond necklace) in a matter of seconds, standing before him as he leisurely leans back against the bed, resting on his elbows. Those predatory eyes roam your body, mapping out the shape and details, and imprinting them to memory. 

“So fucking pretty…” He deliberately watches for your reaction and you crumble under the praise resulting in a mirthful laughter to shake his chest. His arms reach for your waist, luring you in with the tight grab of your hips until his lips sit just below your ribs. The heat from his breath hitting your skin makes you involuntarily wriggle, but he doesn’t allow for any movement from you, not unless he permits it. You feel his lips suddenly, trailing across your ribs and up your chest. “Do you know what good girls like you do for me?”

“What?” You breathlessly murmur.

“They get on their knees,” Mr Holland pauses to let you act on it. Now you’re looking up at him as his knuckle ghosts over your cheeks and he mingles closer. “They look at me right in the eyes and they beg me to give them a taste, to let them suck me off because they’ll do anything for a reward, even if it is just a few words of praise. So let’s hear you, pretty girl. I want to hear you beg me with that sweet, innocent voice of yours.” 

You take a cautious breath. “I want to taste you so badly, sir. Please. Will you let me?” 

“Hmm.” He purses his lips. Shit. It isn’t good enough for him and he spots the panic in your eyes. All of a sudden, you begin pleading in such a desperate, childish tone you didn’t know you were capable of. Even your lip begins pouting as the need to please him becomes so overwhelming that, unexpectedly, your eyes water, like you’re facing life or death. And he is the decider. 

“Wait, wait, no, please, I want to make you feel so good, so, so, so good. I can do it, I promise, and I can be good for you if you let me. Please sir, I really need it. I’ll do anything.” 

Mr Holland smiles and gently kisses you with approval, just the shortest of pecks of reassurance before he leans back and nods towards the zipper of his suit trousers, tented with the erection that’s pleading to be satisfied. You waste no time in unbuttoning, unzipping and pulling free his hard cock that almost dwarfs your hand and you stare at him with such bewilderment, a stare that is returned by a certain smugness, a confidence that has you licking your lips. 

There’s a surge of instinct coursing through you and your brain convinces you that there’s nothing else you should be doing, that your whole purpose at this very moment is to do as you promise; to please him, to make him feel good, so when you hear his moans the second you wrap your lips around him, your heart flutters with fulfilment. It’s a sensation you keep chasing, growing stronger the longer you bob your head up and down his cock, every time his praise seeps from his lips, and you just about lose it when his fingers comb through your hair. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. Not too little, not too much. Consistency is key. 

You’re not sure how much of an idea he has about just how dedicated you are in your mission to prove yourself to him, that you’re desperate to show how capable you are by what you’re willing to do; perhaps a horrible side-effect of having to constantly prove yourself to Jackson with each conversation, but with Mr Holland, there’s an element of belief and confidence: a contradiction between Jackson’s ‘I don’t believe you until you prove it’ versus Mr Holland’s ‘do it because I know you can’. 

Mr Holland’s head falls back, his eyes closed, and falls into an eerie silence. If it wasn’t for his hand still combing through your roots, you would’ve thought he wasn’t satisfied with you. Still, you keep going, running your lips and tongue down his shaft and returning slowly back up again where you get a teaser of the bitter-sweet taste you’re vying for. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you’re undecided of whether you’re doing so well that he’s speechless, or you’re not doing enough that’s worthy of his praise. It’s hard to tell with his head tilted back, and you begin to lose faith. You’ve become so drawn into his voice and words that you feel lost without them.

‘You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it.’

“Sir,” you meekly voice, leaving a beat to suck on the head of his cock. “Am I making you feel good?” 

The depth of his growl sends a spike of arousal straight to your clit. He spits out his words in a manner that’s uncontrollable. “Fucking incredible.”

His head finally lifts and his eyes pin on you, fully blown and dilated. “Look at you - oh fuck - taking me so well. Knew you’d be a good girl but f-fuck, I don’t know if I can hold it in any longer.” 

You reply with a wanton mewl, your dopey, tear-stained eyes saying the words your mouth can’t. You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto the carpet, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens. 

Mr Holland swings forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath. It's slightly tense and panic-inducing but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you have proved yourself. 

“Fucking hell,” Mr Holland pants. His grip loosens around you and your lips release him with a pop. The instant your lips are free, he claims them, humming into them with adoration. “That was…” A soft, tender kiss. “The best goddamn…” Then another. “Blow job I’ve ever had.” He kisses you for a final time with a smile laced through it, and rests his forehead on yours to give himself some time to catch his breath. “So good…” he breathes. “So, so, so good. Sweet angel. My sweet angel.”

There isn’t anything to describe the burst of achievement that swarms your chest when you hear those words and your cheeks inevitably heat under his hands. You’re smiling, obviously smiling and no matter how hard you bite your lips to hide it, the pull is too strong. You make yourself far too goddamn easy to read so when Mr Holland catches a glimpse of your reaction, he smirks, clearly amused, and simultaneously reaches down the length of your body until his hand finds sanctum between your thighs. 

“Hmm, you’re soaked, darling. Don’t you think we should do something about it? After all, you’re earned your reward, and I’m dying for a taste of that messy, little pussy of yours.” 

You release a shaky breath when his fingers start exploring. “Yes, oh god, yes.” 

“Yes…what?” 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Better. Let’s not make that mistake again.” 

“No, sir.” 

“Good. Now--”  In a vice-like grip, Mr Holland encircles your waist and your body burns against the rough cashmere of his suit. It’s surprisingly stimulating as he casually hauls you off your feet, but you would much rather the heat of his skin. Nevertheless, your back soon meets the soft cotton of your sheets as he lays you to rest on the bed, remaining shadowing above you basking in the sight of your naked, wanting body. The diamond that nestles deep into the base of your throat twinkles obnoxiously in his eyes and he almost grows jealous of the way it hugs your neck. However, it's a jealousy he can overlook as his eyes wander over the peak of your breasts and your glistening cunt, because he knows that they are all for him. 

Mr Holland promptly sinks to his knees, placing his head in between your thighs, his eyes never straying from your cunt. There isn’t a moment of hesitation when he swings his arms to cross over your hips, dragging your legs effortlessly over his shoulders and diving, tongue first, into your cunt. It’s a complete invasion of his touch, his tongue immediately swirling around your clit with a careful, consistent pressure that deep down, you know will end you in minutes. The gasp is telling of your struggle to keep composed, gradually crescendoing into a moan as that amorous tongue descends down your slit, licking you up in long, fat strips. An urge in your hips begs for attention, wanting to raise higher to ease the tension building deep in your stomach, but you're trapped, locked in place with no routes of escape and you have to tell yourself that you just have to tough it out. 

But it’s harder said than done when he begins slotting his tongue into your hole, tasting and caressing every inch of you he’s capable of reaching. Digging deeper and deeper, his mouth consumes the entirety of your cunt, humming into it to push you further over the edge. He knows you’re hanging on by a thread, but it doesn’t mean he’s willing to slow down. And just then, an evil, malicious thought spawns in his mind which he voices immediately. 

“You’re not cumming until I say so. Understood?” 

The feeling of you clenching to stop the impending orgasm has him chuckling. He knew you were close. 

“Such a sweet, little angel. So obedient too, right?” He blows a gentle breeze onto your clit and you simply whimper in response. “Right?”

“Y-yes, sir.” 

Satisfied, Mr Holland has your cunt in his mouth again, salivating over its taste as he suckles on your clit, your folds, your skin, anything to lure out what he knows he’s going to get eventually, but it makes it twice as appetising when he knows your orgasm is only at his command. 

Meanwhile, your heart stammers in your chest with each tug of his lips. Whatever sanity you have left to cling onto, you claw at it with desperate hands, fighting to hold up the wall that blocks the blood rushing to your cunt, holding your breath to stop the bubble from bursting, because fuck, you are ready to snap. You can’t help but notice how he’s taken a page from your book, pleasuring you at a steady consistent pace, not too much but not too little. Unsurprisingly, the result is the same but the conditions are far worse.

“Oh my god, please let me cum, I can’t hold it anymore.” 

His grip only tightens, his tongue moves faster and his mouth gets hotter. 

Your hands, of a mind of their own, decide to condemn your obedience and push at his arms around your hips in an attempt to get away. Despite his obvious strength, you somehow manage to get a microsecond of respite, but his mouth only sucks you back in again, murmuring only one word that runs laps around your head.

“Obedience.” 

“I can’t, sir, please, I can’t h-hold on. Fuck!” 

“Oh dear.” 

“NO! No, no, no, no, okay, okay, I’ll do it, I can hold on. Just…please go slower.” 

His dark cavernous eyes meet yours from behind his arms, unmoving even as he relishes the taste of your slick, challenging you for only a second before he thankfully listens to your wishes. Weakened, your head flops back onto the bed with a small bounce, eyes drifting shut as the feeling in your stomach calms and a small relief hugs your heart. It’s a small price to pay to lose the feeling of euphoria that was going to course through you…only if Mr Holland had let it or if your people-pleasing traits had failed you, none of which had actually happened. 

The feeling deflates but the pleasure still lingers.

“You taste so delicious, darling. I could eat you all day.” Arousal jumps to your clit like a flash of electricity. “And you’re doing so well for me, how could I ever stop?” This time, it’s his tongue, soft and caressing. “And this pussy; so pretty, so fucking pretty, I could just play with it for days.” His finger begins circling your clit not too long after he spits into it. By now, you realise what he’s doing. He’s feeding into your need for praise that, along with the small touches and sweeping licks, builds you up just as quickly and suddenly as before, and once again you’re struggling to cope. “I know you can be such a good girl for me, I know you can do as I say, and you have no idea how much it turns me on when you do.” 

“Sir…” You warn. He instantly recognises the desperation. 

“I’ve got one last instruction for you, angel.” He sucks on your clit for just a couple of seconds, just to get you closer and closer to falling apart. “Cum for me. Cum in my mouth.” 

“Fuck!” You scream as an endless stream of euphoria consumes you, hitting you in a sudden white wash of heat that riddles your entire body top to toe. You can feel your cunt clenching erratically, between homing an orgasm and suffering under Mr Holland's continuous lashings, it can't, not for one second, rest until either relent. You feel your own slick, hot and bothered, trickling down your ass but before it gets the chance to meet with the white sheets beneath you, Mr Holland sweeps it up expertly with his tongue, partnered with a primal growl of pleasure.

By the time Mr Holland has finished cleaning up every inch of your cunt and ass with his tongue, he proceeds to kiss his way gently up your body, not forgetting to leave your tits untouched and pinches your buds between his lips. You have just enough energy to cradle his head, allowing yourself the pleasure to run your fingers through his hair, moving with him while he leaves sharp kisses to your chest, your collar bone, your neck, ear and jaw, until once again, those hungry lips claim yours.

Still somewhat recovering, you purr quietly, content with the overall sense of pleasure, both of your sexual and people-pleasing needs.

Your lips slowly part. The kiss ceases but your noses brush off one another gently, still basking in the blissful, intimate aftermath of what's just happened. Your CEO above you remains, hovering over you with admiration in his eyes, running over your features as if it is the first time he's seeing them, adoring them all over again.

There's two words sitting on the tip of his tongue, hidden behind a smirk because he knows what he'll see when he speaks them.

"You're beautiful."

Of course, his prediction comes true. Your cheeks redden, your eyes roll away and your teeth sink into your swollen lips, muttering incoherently about it not being true but thanks him incessantly, but Mr Holland is too caught up in your coy modesty to rebuttal. It's just like the first time he complimented you, and he realises then and there that he's addicted to being the person that makes you shy, blushed, diffident.

Being a CEO, he does indeed posses significant power in the palm of his hand, obtained by hard work, dedication, commitment and sacrifice, but for him, there isn't a power stronger than the one he has over you and all it takes is a few, simple, praising words.

"We still have another three hours until check out."

Your eyes and ears perk up. "Sir?"

Cautiously, he shuffles above you, innocent until you feel his cock sliding into you and he relishes the catch in the back of your throat at the sudden pressure forcing its way fluidly into you. You're simply speechless, questioning if it'll ever end as he pushes every inch of him inside you, breaching and stretching the boundaries of your walls. Mr Holland snags your bottom lip between his teeth, harshly biting as a relief for the tight grip that surrounds his cock.

When your ass eventually meet his hips, you both release a groan in unison, breaths mixing and mingling until Mr Holland breaks the silence.

"You're gonna look even more beautiful when you're all fucked out and dumb for my cock, all with a diamond wrapped round your neck."

His hips snap back at a frighteningly fast pace and thrusts in even more aggressively. The pain is immeasurably exhilarating. Your thighs squeeze his waist, mouth agape without a single breath escaping.

"Think of this as a second birthday gift." Like before, he draws back and slams into you without mercy. "Do as you're told and you'll get your third on Monday in my office."

Somehow, your gut tells you that you won't have a problem with that. Not at all.

#tom holland fanfic

[irelandking]

well oiled machine

summary | you can’t seem to face bucky after crashing one of his cars

pairing | beefy!mechanic!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warning | angst, car accidents, fluff ending

word count | 1.0k

The shock blanket that was wrapped around you, wasn’t helping with your shock.

You kept muttering curses under your breath, your eyes wide, the adrenaline still rushing through your body. 

The entire intersection was blocked off, numbers of officers and paramedics were at the scene. The one ambulance held you, one of the paramedics, patching up the gash on your forehead from the impact causing you to hit your head against the steering wheel.

The other was for the man who crashed into you. Your light had just turned green and as you started to cross the intersection to keep going straight, a truck tried to pass his light before it turned red, not getting in time, running the red, and driving straight into the side of your car.

Well Bucky’s car, not yours.

Your car had been leaking, and Bucky brought it into his shop to figure out the problem and let you borrow his car for the day, his Camaro that he worked so hard to restore. And you finally realized you hadn’t called him.

Trying to grab your bag, you were pulled back, the paramedic scolding you for moving while they tried to get the stitches in. 

Still not seeing the car, being surrounded by paramedics and police you never saw the damage. A tow truck came onto the scene, and you prayed it was the other car that was going to get wheeled on. 

Fear struck your face when you saw the Camaro being wheeled on, the entire passenger’s side destroyed, the mirror just gone and the door barely hanging onto the hinges.

You felt tears cascade down your cheeks finally seeing the damage that happened, Bucky poured his heart and soul into the car and you wrecked it within a second. 

The medic was still tending to your wounds when you heard the shouting.

“Where is she, Y/n! Y/n!”

Your heart flared, hearing the familiar through the crowd of people, looking over the shoulder of the paramedic to see your boyfriend flow through the way of officers and firefighters.

He had been held back by two police officers, seeing the three of them argue before they let go under the tap, watching him run closer and closer towards you.

“Thank god.” Bucky muttered when he saw you sitting in the back of the rig. The medic had just finished with you, placing another piece of gaze over your forehead before going off in a different direction.

His eyes were frantic, his eyes searching over your body for any more injuries. “You were just going out to the bank and you were gone too long so I went to check and I saw the accident and the car.”

The moment he mentioned the car, your eyes started to water and your bottom lip started to quiver.

“Hey it’s okay.” Bucky thinking you were hurt, holding you gently.

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed, resting the side of your head on his shoulder. “I should have been looking more carefully, I could have seen you coming before I drove across and now your car is destroyed and you put some much work into it.”

Bucky furrowed his brows, looking back at the car then towards you again, opening his mouth to speak before you cut him off. 

“I’ll pay you back.” You gasped. “I a few hundred dollars saved up, I know it’s not enough but-”

“Baby.”

“I’ll put my paychecks towards it-”

“Doll.”

“And hopefully maybe-”

“Y/n, stop talking.” He finally got his word across. “I don’t care about the car, I don’t care about you paying you back.”

“But-”

“Stop.” He said loudly. “I thought I almost lost you.”

His voice started to quiver. “I saw the car, and everything flashed before my eyes and no one was telling me anything so I had to go out and figure it out myself. You don’t understand how happy I am that you are right in front of me in one piece. You’re okay. I can replace the car, I can look for more parts, I can’t do that with you, I can’t replace you.”

Bucky didn’t know he was crying, until you used the edge of your sleeve to wipe the tears that were on his cheeks.

“I’m-”

“You better not say you’re sorry.”

“I love you.” You said instead, smiling softly. 

“I love you too, so much.” He sighed.

-

Standing in the garage of Bucky’s shop, the two of you stood in front of the car.

Bucky was able to get the camaro back from the tow truck, happy that the two were close enough for him to get it back so easily.

You didn’t understand why he was restoring it, he had endless cars, another camaro but he just said it was okay.

“Should be good, test it out baby.” Bucky smiled through the window. Turning the key, hearing the sound of the engine start, he smiled. Turning the engine back off you got out of the car seeing how giddy he was.

“Why are you so happy?” You teased.

“Because I got your birthday gift.” He smiled, “Surprise.”

You didn’t understand at first looking around before you turned back to the car.

“Your car.” You said in awe. “B, I can’t take this.”

“You will.” He insisted. “Registered in your name and everything, it’s all yours.”

Squealing, you wrapped your hands around his neck, hugging him tightly. His arms naturally wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into his stomach. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You smiled ear to ear.

Bucky returned the gesture, turning you around so both of you were facing the car, his arm still wrapped around your waist.

“What do you say about taking it out for a little test drive?” He smirked. “Test out the waters.”

“I don’t know.” You muttered, you were still cautious since the accident a few months ago, Bucky kept explaining to you how it wasn’t your fault and you were a good driver.

“Hey, I’m right here.” He reassured. “We’ll be okay.”

Your hands gripped on the steering wheel as you continued to get closer and closer to the accident sight, Bucky noticed the distress, wrapping one of his hands around your thigh, squeezing it lightly..

“See.” He said. “We’re good.”

You smiled, giving me a quick look before turning back to the road, the two of you riding downtown together. 

fin.

#bucky barnes fanfic

[irelandking]

Not So Forbidden | Bucky Barnes

Summary: You were upset after a mishap that happened so your favorite bodyguard came to comfort you with good news.

A/n: I watched a movie called First Daughter and got inspired to write something cute and soft. It's kinda ass tho so beware.

Category: Bodyguard!Bucky x President’s Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Reader is 23, Bucky is in his late 20s/Early 30s, some crying on the readers part, the ending is rushed cause my creativity ran out lmao

Word Count: 1.8k

♡♡♡♡

“Care Bear secured.” One of your many bodyguards called into the mic that hid in the sleeve of his blazer as you crossed the threshold to your room, slamming the door behind you.

Just moments ago you had been dragged from an outing with one of your very very few friends as your bodyguards thought there had been an opposing threat. Turns out, there was just a loose dog running the streets and had scared a few people, but they had refused to take you back to your friend and continued to drive you back to the oversized house that you had been calling home for the last eight years.

You missed having the freedom you used to have before your mom decided to run to be President of the United States and won. It was like everything changed in the blink of an eye for you. Once a little girl who could run amok outside without a care in the world to a girl who had to be the perfect child for her mothers sake. Of course before, you were happy your mother was chasing her dreams and doing what she had always planned to do when she was growing up, you just wish that you knew that it’d come with sacrificing your public and private life.

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts, wiping your tears and clearing your throat, “I said I wanted to be alone.”

“It’s me.” The voice called. You recognized it immediately.

James Buchanan Barnes or as you would call him, Bucky. He was the head of your security team and ironically, one of your best friends. Bucky had been at your side nearly every day for the last five years when he got promoted to head bodyguard. In your opinion, he should have truly been a bodyguard for your mother. He had always done a superb job at keeping you safe, neutralizing threats and knowing when it was actually time to pull you from somewhere that may have started to get dangerous or too crowded.

Walking over to unlock the door, not even bothering to open it because you knew he already had his hand on the knob just waiting to push through. Shutting the door behind him, he watched as you walked over to your vanity, still trying to dry your eyes.

“What happened?” Bucky asked, slowly approaching up behind you.

“Oh, your buddies didn’t call it out to you?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “Apparently a stray dog running the streets is a threat to my safety now and they whisked me out of there, leaving my friend behind and all.”

“They were just doing their job.” He tried to reason with you, but he knew how much you hated not being able to do the simple things in life without stuff like this happening.

Turning to look at him, you furrowed your eyebrows at him, “Right, so where were you? Where was the knight to save his damsel in distress from a damn dog? Isn’t that your job? To be by the helpless princess’s side twenty-four-seven?”

“I was in a meeting with your mother.” He stepped closer to you, “I’m sorry, if I was there, that wouldn’t have happened—but you can’t be upset with them doing what they are paid heavily to do.”

“God Bucky, I know, I know. I’m not mad at them, I’m—” You huffed, taking a deep breath as you tried to control your tears, “I’m mad at the fact that I will never have a normal life. Everywhere I go, there’s a group of big beefy men following me around, cameras flashing in my face, news reporters covering every little thing I do. My skirt too short? I’m a slut. I don’t smile in a picture? I’m the president’s stuck up daughter. If I smile too much? I’m faking it for the cameras. Almost every friend I’ve tried to make in those short two years I went to college? Just using me to get popular while talking about me behind my back. I just can’t win.”

Bucky sighed, “I know..”

“No, Bucky, honestly you don’t. Every day, when I walk out of this god forsaken place, I have to put on a smile and a personality that doesn’t belong to me. Everything that I do reflects on my mother and what kind of daughter would I be if I ruined something that she worked so hard for?” You ranted, “I mean, she’s the first female President of the United States. She’s making history and I’m so proud of her, but it cost me everything, Bucky, everything. To the point where I can’t even hold the hand of the man I love in public because he’s my bodyguard.”

“Come here.” He held his hand out which you gladly took as he pulled you into his body, wrapping his arms tightly around you, “I’m sorry, baby.”

You relaxed in his embrace, sighing as you buried your face into his chest, smelling that cologne you bought for him not too long ago, “You have nothing to be sorry for, it’s not your fault.”

Kissing the crown of your head, slowly rocking the two of you from side to side, “I can’t change what happened earlier, I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I can’t change the reality of the life you live, but if I could pull you through a portal and take you to a universe where you were just a normal girl, I would. But there is one thing I can change.

Smiling softly at his words, you pulled back a little to be able to look up into those blue eyes that you loved so much, “Yeah? What’s that?”

He returned the smile, bringing his hand up to cup your face, his thumb slowly stroking your cheek, “Your mother said something similar to me earlier,”

A FEW HOURS EARLIER…

Bucky knocked on the door that led to the oval office after he was requested there.

“Enter!” His boss's voice called.

“Madam President.” He addressed her, keeping his position by the door, “You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Barnes. Please, shut the door and have a seat.”

He followed her wishes, shutting the door and sitting in a chair that was adjacent to her desk, “Is everything okay, Madam President?”

She smiled, moving her stack of paperwork to the side and taking off her glasses, “Everything is fine, James. No need to worry. And please, right now you may call me Diane.” Bucky’s heart was beating out of his chest, was this a set up? Was he being tested? Was she being threatened? A thousand thoughts flew through his head as he thought something was wrong, but before he could ask, Diane spoke again, “You may call me Diane because I didn’t call you here to talk to you about presidential or security reasons. I called you here to speak to you as a Mother to Y/n.”

Bucky gulped, deciding to play it cool, “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

Diane chuckled, “James, do you take me as a fool?”

“Of course not, Madam President.” He answered quickly, playing it safe just in case this was a test.

She sat back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands over her lap, “Five years ago, when my only daughter turned 18, I knew that whether I was president or not, I wasn’t going to be able to keep an eye on her forever. That eventually, she’d want to venture off on her own and I wouldn’t be able to stop her. I needed someone who I could trust to keep an eye on her while she tried to navigate her life. I was talking to your father about you before his passing. He was telling me how dedicated you were to your job, even if you were only guarding a door, so I promoted you to Y/n’s head bodyguard as I promised him that you’d always have a job here as long as I was president.”

Bucky’s eyes glossed over at the mentioning of his father’s passing. It may have been some years, but you’d never truly get over the loss of a parent passing, “I’m not sure If I understand what we’re talking about.”

Diane continued, “James, over these last few years, I’ve been how close you and y/n have grown. Your secret whispers, inside jokes, the looks you give each other when you think no one’s looking, the way you look at her when you think no one is watching. Even sneaking out almost every night.” His head dropped. This was it, he was getting fired. He had broken the number one rule and fell for his boss’s daughter. He went to speak, but Diane kept going before he could, “And I want to thank you for being there for her and making all of this the smallest bit easier for her.”

When Bucky slowly looked up, he saw Diane with probably the most genuine smile he’d ever seen from her, “You do?”

She nodded, “After I was elected President, I knew life for the two of us would never be the same. That we’d always be in the public eye and crucified for everything that we do, which is why in those first few years of my presidency, I shielded her from it. Kept her in the house and out of the public eye for as long as possible and the best thing I could've ever done was make you her bodyguard because you make her happy. She’s sacrificed so much for me, what type of mother would I be if I kept her from being with the only person who makes her feel normal?” She questioned, more so to herself than to Bucky, “Do you love my daughter?”

“More than anything in this world.”

“Then who am I to stand in between love?

PRESENT…

Your eyes were wide and filled with tears as Bucky told you what happened in the meeting with him and your mother. To say you were shocked was an understatement. You were so sure that you and Bucky were being careful enough not to get caught, “She knew this whole time?”

He nodded, “And she’s okay with it. She just wants you to be happy.” You couldn’t stop the smile that took over your face before you excitedly pulled him into a kiss. Bucky gladly returned the kiss, titling his head to deepen it. His hands traveled down to your waist, gripping the flesh to lift you up into his arms. Your legs naturally wrapped around his waist as he carried you to your bed and laid the two of you down on it, “I’m gonna marry you one day.” He mumbled against your lips, “I’m gonna take you away from all this. Maybe move to the country, somewhere far away from others and give you all the normalcy and privacy that you crave today.” A soft sob left your lips as you pressed your forehead against his, “Until then, I’ll be here, right by your side until your mother finishes her Presidency.”

“I love you so much.” You sighed, listening to his words.

“I love you more, baby.”

#Bucky Barnes fanfic

[irelandking]

Trapped

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: +18 for ROUGH SMUT - this is ‘sex pollen’ story!

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the great feedback on my other works! It’s unbelievable and I’m so grateful. I’ll be posting more and a master list during the week.

* * *

“Bucky!”  

You called out as soon as you saw him standing, muscles tense and backed into the far wall. His eyes locked onto something you couldn’t see, but terror plastered across his face kicked every instinct in your body into high ear. You swept the room, gun in hand. No one hid in corners. No bodies littered the floor. The metallic door slid shut behind you. You lowered your gun, but not your guard.  

“Bucky? What the hell? Snap out of it.”

He pushed his back harder against the wall, hands in fists, and wide eyes locked on open glass isolation case in front of him. “Y/N, you need to leave.”

Keep reading

#Bucky Barnes fanfic

[irelandking]

fanfic authors ily so much youre the light of this world

#yes #absolutely

[irelandking]

Bad Day

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N has an absolute shit day at work and Bucky tries to make his girl feel better. 

Word Count: 2,158

A/N: This is honestly about me. Like to the quotes the reader says. It’s pure wish fulfillment. Honestly, I was just really frustrated and needed to write to vent. Because I don’t know what else to do. LOL. 

It’s like Bucky could sense something was off as soon as he heard the apartment door close. Y/N was getting home from work a couple hours later than usual. It happened sometimes. She worked really hard and wasn’t coy about it.

But Bucky knew this wasn’t just another late night as soon as he saw her face. Steve and Sam, seated on either side of him, hadn’t turned their eyes away from the TV yet.

She was frowning. Her usual smile at coming home to him was missing. Her posture was off and she didn’t even look over at them.

Keep reading

#Bucky Barnes fanfic

[irelandking]

Gentle

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N has never seen Bucky be anything but gentle and loving. It’s hard for her to believe her boyfriend was ever the world’s deadliest and most lethal assassin. 

Word Count: 3,333 - One Shot

A/N: I was inspired by the idea of reader seeing Bucky fight for the first time and realizing how lethal he is as a soldier and assassin. 

Y/N couldn’t help but grin at her current predicament. Bucky’s head was resting on her stomach as he was sprawled across her small couch. His eyes were on her TV, but she doubted he was even watching it. She had Bridget Jones’s Diary on. 

When Bucky arrived at her apartment, exhausted from just getting back from his mission, she offered to change it. But Bucky said he didn’t care. He just wanted to be with her. It didn’t matter what was on the TV.

Y/N ran her hands through his hair. There were still a few tendrils that were damp from him taking a shower. She giggled at the feeling.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky sighed, trying to act annoyed but obviously so content.

Keep reading

#Bucky barnes fanfic

[irelandking]

Guard Dog

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Sometimes Steve has to protect his girl from the least expected attacks. 

Word Count: 1,750 - One Shot

A/N: I’ll just be upfront and say this exact thing basically happened to me and this one-shot was my way of just getting it out of my head. 

Special thanks to @kquel12 and @alexabarnes for letting me pick their brain. 

Y/N once told Steve that she missed her family constantly. 

But when she finally came home, a part of her no longer felt like she belonged. The older she got, the stronger that feeling became. She’d taken quite a different path in life than her siblings and childhood friends.

 Yet they still saw her as that little girl they grew up and raised. They either teased her about how much she’d changed or they treated her like nothing had changed and she was still a little girl.

When Steve saw how anxious Y/N got before trips home, he decided he couldn’t keep letting her go alone. So no matter what was going on with the Avengers, he started going with her.

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#steve rogers fanfic

[irelandking]

Blind Date

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Request: It had to be fate when Steve runs into his work crush on a stroll through his old stomping grounds. 

Word Count: 3,756 - One Shot

Once again, special thanks to @kquel12 and @alexabarnes for letting me pick their brain.

Steve walked around the city. It had been a hot summer day and it seemed the people of New York couldn’t escape it until the moon replaced the sun. There was a nice cool breeze that finally made the heat bearable.

Steve had needed to clear his head. So he rode his motorcycle back to the city. He’d spent all day in Brooklyn, familiarizing himself with his old stomping grounds again. He spent the later half back in Manhattan. Now he made his way down fifth avenue after strolling through the The Met.

It was getting late and there were fewer people in the area. The usual tourists had made their way back to their hotels or were out on the town.

Steve was strolling slower than usual, taking in the sounds and views of the city. He’d curiously look into Central Park from his spot on the sidewalk. It was nice to know that the park hadn’t changed hardly at all since his time growing up.

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#steve rogers fanfic

[irelandking]

Shower

Sometimes it's all you can do to breathe. Sometimes you need a little help--even with the basics. Bucky's happy to help.

A/N: This is a completely self-indulgent comfort fic.

Genre: Fluff / Rating: PG

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Themes of mental illness, nudity.

Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

---

If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, you knew this was pathetic: lying on the bathroom floor, nibbling on a half eaten pop tart, and listening to the shower run.

“Not only am I gross,” you think, “I’m wasting perfectly good water.”

You sigh, willing yourself to stand up, to shower, to not eat on the bathroom floor. But you can’t.

Depression is weird like that, taking seemingly simple, inconsequential tasks and turning them into battles. You certainly didn’t lie on the bathroom floor, eating pop tarts, while listening to the shower run when you were mentally well.

The truth was: You just got back from a mission. A run of the mill recon mission. You were in, you were out. You did your job. But now you were sweaty, and sore, and unable to do anything for the benefit of yourself. Helping other people? No problem? Helping yourself? Mission: Impossible.

You groan, pulling your towel under your head for minimal neck support as you stare at the ceiling. You can see where condensation slowly develops and drips from the fan, and if you turn your head, you can see the fogged up mirror.

“I’ve been here a while,” you note.

You pull out your phone, checking the time. 9:04 PM. You don’t know when you got back, when you turned on the shower, when you dropped to the floor. The time tells you nothing.

You groan again, throwing your arm across your eyes. You’re tired, and you’re positive you could fall asleep here on the bathroom floor. You know you shouldn’t, but you could… and you haven’t been sleeping in your bed… and you let yourself drift off.

Banging. You wake to banging. No—knocking. You wake to knocking. As you come to, you realize someone is knocking on the bathroom door. You don’t have it in you to stand and open it. You never undressed anyway, lying on the floor in your tac suit, so you call out “unlocked!” and watch as the doorknob twists and the door is cautiously opened.

“Y/N?” The intruder calls softly with concern lacing each syllable of your name.

You groan in response, letting your arm fall from your face as your eyes flutter open. You look up to be met with the ever so concerned blue eyes of your best friend: Bucky Barnes. As he makes eye contact with you on the floor, eyes drawn downward at your groan, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, he opens his mouth to say something before seeming to think better of it.

“Can I come in?” He asks cautiously after a moment.

You nod and he slips into the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him. He lets himself sink to the floor beside you, pulling your head into his lap both to accommodate his large size in your small bathroom and in an attempt to comfort you. He lets his hand fall to your hair, quietly playing with it. You hum contentedly, eyes fluttering closed again, and you’re grateful he hasn’t begun interrogating you even though you know he’s confused.

Maybe 5 minutes pass in silence. Your mind is finally somewhat at ease from the comfort Bucky brings you, but you know he deserves an explanation as to why he’s on your bathroom floor holding you while the shower runs.

“I…” you start, trailing off before clearing your throat nervously and trying again. “I know this is weird. I can explain.”

Bucky shakes his head, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t have to, Doll. Lord knows I don’t always explain to you the weird things I do when I…” have an episode, he was going to say. He doesn’t want to call this an episode, though. He’s still not sure what this is. “We all deal with post-mission stress differently,” he says instead.

You huff. “I wish I was doing this because of mission stress.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, just watches patiently as he continues to run his fingers through your hair. He refuses to force anything out of you you’re not ready to share; after all, you never force him to spit his feelings out.

“Bucky, I… I’m not doing well.”

The admittance takes you off guard. You hadn’t even acknowledged to yourself that you weren’t doing well. You’d been avoiding that simple truth, that small detail.

“Yeah. Healthy people don’t generally run up the water bill while they snack on the floor,” Bucky teases gently. You are aware there’s no malice behind his words; he’s just trying to lighten the mood. You cringe, though, when you realize he had noticed the pop tart wrapper and the clear lack of pop tart. Bucky notices you cringe, though, and his light smile drops.

“How can I help, Doll?”

You shake your head. “You don’t have-”

“I want to,” he cuts you off.

You swallow nervously, but nod. You’ll let him help you.

“I, uh. Can you…” you scrunch your eyes, grounding yourself despite your embarrassment. “Can you help me shower?” You choke out the words, hoping he maybe missed them and will leave you on the bathroom floor to sulk.

Bucky smiles encouragingly, not showing any signs that he is bothered or uncomfortable with the request. Instead of running and leaving you to your self-destructive tendencies, he helps you sit up before standing himself, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your own feet. Gently he helps you out of your tac suit that clings to your body uncomfortably from sweat both from the mission and the steamy bathroom. Once your suit is removed, he helps you pull off your sports bra and shimmy out of your underwear. It’s intimate, yes, but it’s not at all sexual. You can’t help but curse yourself for letting the first time he saw you like this be under these circumstances. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You bite your lip anxiously, closing your eyes as you wrap your arms around yourself in a self conscious hug.

Bucky’s gaze is 100% respectful. He keeps his eyes on your face, or the back of your head when you’re turned around, only letting his gaze drop to help you out of your constricted clothing.

He finally helps you step into the shower, pulling the curtain closed as you step in. You let yourself stand under the water, staring at the wall in front of you. Your thoughts are running a million miles an hour and are also nonexistent at the same time. You wish you knew how you could think about everything and nothing at the same time.

You hear a soft clinking sound that you’re sure is Bucky unbuckling his belt. Then you hear the sliding of his jeans down his legs, and the gentle grunt he lets out while he takes off his shirt. You’re not sure because you can’t see, but you’re pretty sure you hear him fold his clothes and yours to set neatly on the counter. Finally, he pulls the shower curtain back a little to step in himself.

He smiles reassuringly at you, keeping his eyes on yours. You force a small smile onto your own lips in response.

He’s still in his boxers, protecting his modesty for your sake. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed but you shake your head, chasing those thoughts out of your mind. He’s just your friend—your best friend—and he’s only doing you a favor. As a friend. Not his girlfriend.

Bucky’s eyebrows scrunch together in concern as he watches you shake your head, obviously distraught.

“Hey, hey. Sweetheart, look at me,” he says, resting his palm on your cheek. You look at him. “Are you alright?” He asks, searching your eyes for any indication that you’re not.

You only nod. He eyes you suspiciously but drops the subject. Instead, he reaches behind you for your shampoo, squirting some into his hand, before letting his hands fall into your hair, slowly massaging the shampoo into your scalp.

Bucky quietly washes you, stepping back only to let you wash your more intimate parts. His hands on your body are intoxicating. His right is calloused and rough from decades of use and his left is smooth and and warmed from the water, but they’re both so gentle as they run along your body. When he finishes bathing you, he lets his arms drop to his side, and you immediately miss his touch. He looks anxious and unsure of himself for the first time since entering your bathroom, and you realize it’s because he suddenly isn’t sure what to do with himself. Without thinking much about it, you give him a new task.

You step forward into him, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your cheek against his chest. The action surprises him, but he almost immediately wraps his own arms around you, holding you close. He plants a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I’ve got ‘ya, sweetheart,” he assures. “I’ve got you.”

#Bucky Barnes fanfic

[irelandking]

steve rogers fic recs

steve rogers x reader

❤️ = fluff 😔 = angst 🔥 = smut

modern cap steve x regular reader

series:

mr. steve - @pies-writes-and-more

part 2 Soulmate AU In a universe where your soulmate’s name is written on your wrist after you meet them, receiving a wedding invitation from her friend is just another reminder that (Y/N) has yet to find her soulmate. But maybe this wedding will be a little bit more exciting, with the help of a tiny child without a filter. ❤️

one shots:

the waitress - @pies-writes-and-more

 Done for a writing challenge // song prompt: “If things get worse, will you still be here?” 405 by This Wild Life. Steve Rogers has finally worked up the guts to ask out the super cute waitress at the diner he frequents… except it’s hard to ask out of a girl when you’re a) already super nervous, b) unsure if it’s rude to ask her out, and c) when you have Dumb and Dumber insisting they tag along. ❤️

vigilante - @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Steve reacts to his girlfriend getting violently mugged. ❤️😔

under pressure - @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Steve still doesn’t know how to talk to women…let alone how to get a first date with one ❤️

boardroom fantasies - @pies-writes-and-more

prompt: “You wanna have sex….here? Now?” Steve can’t help how tight his pants get when (Y/N) is working nearby. While everyone else goes out for drinks, he pulls her aside to show her that the Accounting Guy who keeps asking her out isn’t who she should be with. 🔥

morning wood - @angrythingstarlight

Your new neighbor Steve gives you more than one surprise in the morning. 🔥

perfect - @tempestuous-lush

reader breaks up with steve over insecurities regarding lack of experience. he insists she is perfect, and proves to her just how perfect she is. 🔥

blind date - @invisibleanonymousmonsters

It had to be fate when Steve runs into his work crush on a stroll through his old stomping grounds.  ❤️

guard dog - @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Sometimes Steve has to protect his girl from the least expected attacks. ❤️

agent/avenger reader

series:

start again - @wkemeup

part 2 A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath ❤️😔🔥

embarrassment - @a-confused-turtle

part 2 and part 3 A drunken game of truth or dare reveals what Y/N didn’t want anyone to know. She’d been perfectly and contentedly miserable before her slip up, but the confrontation over her little secret, which she avoids at all costs, quickly catches up ❤️

one shots:

blue - @pies-writes-and-more

Steve in blue is too much to handle whilst sober, (Y/N) decides. So while attending Tony Stark’s birthday party, (Y/N) doesn’t stop to drink her anxiety away making for entertaining company for Steve ❤️

hickeys - @a-confused-turtle

 Y/N wakes up in her boyfriend’s arms and the day begins as it always does, sneaking out of his room, until Tony notices lovebites on shy, quiet Y/N’s neck. ❤️

wallets, keys and bobby-pins - @marvelouscaptainrogers

 Soulmate AU where anything you lose suddenly appears in your soulmates possession, and anything they lose will appear in yours. It usually works swimmingly for everyone else, but what happens when your soulmate is technically around 75 years older than you? ❤️

insubordination - @marvelouscaptainrogers

Y/N likes to be a little asshole and not follow orders, and Steve decides she needs to learn her lesson 🔥

jealous (strong) steve - @pies-writes-and-more

Steve Rogers, the man behind the shield, knows that his strength only came from an injection. He isn’t a Norse god, how could he compete against Thor who seems to have all of (Y/N)’s affections? Steve Rogers is a jealous man. A strong jealous man who just keeps breaking things.❤️

whisper - @redgillan

Natasha and Sam have a plan to make Steve confess his feelings. ❤️

major crush - @redgillan

 Laser Tag brings out Steve Rogers’ competitive side and Reader loves it. 🔥

it's your captain's birthday - @witchywithwhiskey

you're avoiding steve rogers' birthday beach party by relaxing in the ocean, but when he finds you alone in the waves, your captain is sure to let you know how much he appreciates that you wore a bikini in his colors to his party—and things escalate from there. 🔥

the best birthday gift - @witchywithwhiskey

you attend a party at avengers tower celebrating the fourth of july and steve rogers' birthday and make a fool of yourself when introduced to captain america, the man you've crushed on for most of your life. but when you run into him while avoiding the fireworks show, he's more than happy to spend his birthday distracting you from the party.🔥

steve - @assembletheimagines

Steve’s never had a blowjob and could you really consider yourself a friend if you didn’t suck his dick? 🔥

you'll always be the sexiest man alive to me, captain - @witchywithwhiskey

steve rogers is named people's sexiest man alive and his fellow avengers—along with their SHIELD support team—won't let him live it down, but when you make a smartass joke in front of your new colleagues, you catch the eye of captain america himself. turns out he *really* likes it when you call him captain. 🔥

college!steve

one shots:

kissing booth - @viollettes

After Nat volunteers your services at the kissing booth, you find yourself sitting across from you is none other than your best friend. ❤️

the end of the war - @redgillan

Everyone knows you and Steve can’t stand each other, but after he runs into you after one of his fights, he starts to see you in a different light.❤️😔

she calls me daddy - @hertzwritings

Frat-Boy!Steve Rogers x female reader 🔥

oopsy daisy - @whateveriwant

 In order to keep the animal shelter from closing, your sorority holds a car wash as a fundraiser. Besides cleaning cars all day, you have another goal in mind involving a certain football-playing frat member. 🔥

modern au

series:

slow like honey - @heli0s-writes

The gossip that buzzes around in the teacher’s lounge is that sweet, sensitive, divorcé Steve Rogers is hot-for-teacher. His daughter’s first-grade teacher, to be exact. ❤️😔🔥

at your service - @writing-for-marvel

part 2 As your bodyguard it’s Steve’s job to look out for you, when you find him in a compromising position, it becomes your turn to look after him. 🔥

one shots:

a french kiss - @pies-writes-and-more

Y/N came to Paris with a plan: take a photo with a cute man next to the Eiffel Tower, just like how her and cheating ex-boyfriend had always planned on doing, and make that son of a bitch jealous. Thankfully, there’s a super cute blond guy who just so happens to be nearby. ❤️

take a hint - @pies-writes-and-more

(Y/N) literally just wants to go out and have a good time with her girls. So why do guys seem to never take ‘no’ for an answer? To try to prevent more annoying encounters with men who can’t take a hint, (Y/N) slips on two rings onto her left hand and assumes the married life. It’s all well and good… until someone sees the rings as a challenge. Enter from stage right, our hero. ❤️

ask - @angelkurenai

Imagine Steve wanting to introduce you, his fiance, to his friends for a long time  but hesitating because he hasn’t told them something about your past and how you met. You were once his student. ❤️

nature's beauty - @biteofcherry

Your teasing comment about staying home barefoot and pregnant makes something in Steve snap. He’s now eager to turn it into reality. 🔥

lilacs & ink - @witchywithwhiskey

you go in to get your first tattoo and the very attractive tattoo artist steve rogers takes good care of you.❤️

mob!steve

series:

ask - @invisibleanonymousmonsters

part 2 two prompts combined ❤️ 1.  here’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close 37. We’re dating and I didn’t know you were a mobster

biker!steve

one shots:

where he belongs/don't f*ck with the queen - @angrythingstarlight

It’s not often someone challenges your place as Steve’s queen but they only make that mistake once. And Steve knows better than to let anyone think they can take your place. 🔥

#steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #steve rogers au #steve rogers #steve rogers x you

[irelandking]

The Waitress

Word Count: 1,217

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: legit nothing lol i probably swore but that’s normal for me lol

This was a super quick and probably really bad one shot done for @littlemarvelfics and their writing challenge! I hope I did okay - it was based off of this song prompt: “If things get worse, will you still be here?” 405 by This Wild Life. I didn’t get a chance to listen to it but I hope I did okay with the prompt! Thanks so much for letting me write for you @littlemarvelfics!!! <3

Check out the writing challenge here!

(Gifs aren’t mine! Credits to the original creators :))

(Y/N) looked up from the table she was serving at the sound of the bell on top of the front door. She smiled seeing a group of men walk in before turning back to her customers.

“Cup of coffee and a slice of pie then?” She followed up, to which the old man had nodded with a gentle smile. “Coming right up,” she told him before happily sliding behind the counter. 

It had been a shit day. (Y/N) had spilled coffee on herself at least 3 times, she had stubbed her toe badly on the corner of a table, and a customer had yelled at her for forgetting to add extra cheese on their omelette (which she did but the customer is always right apparently).

And yet, even with everything bad happening, (Y/N) was in a good mood. Why? Because it’s Sunday evening and every Sunday evening, her favourite customer comes in. 

Keep reading

#steve rogers fanfic

[irelandking]

fic rec masterlist

bucky barnes masterlist

steve rogers masterlist

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut

[irelandking]

gamer au

bucky barnes x reader

❤️ = fluff

one shots:

reveals - @marvel-fanfic-writer-8675

you had a bad day and really need cuddles, but your boyfriend is streaming ❤️

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff