#reader loves an idiot

[witchywithwhiskey]

the alpha next door

pairing: alpha!steve rogers x omega!female reader

summary: you and your neighbor are harboring feelings for each other, but both of you think the other is too sweet. then, things take a turn when your first heat since moving in hits, revealing the depth of your feelings for the alpha next door—and his for you.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), omegaverse AU tropes (heats, knots, purring, mating, scenting), piv sex, breeding kink/pregnancy kink (reader's on birth control tho), accidental voyeurism, masturbation (m + f), dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, size kink, pet names (baby), mutual pining, idiots in love, dual pov

word count: 8.9k

a/n: here's my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420's Cum Together Extravaganza!!! i used the A/B/O AU and breeding kink prompts—and this is my very first omegaverse fic!!! so uhhh please be kind because i don't know what i'm doing 😅 also loosely inspired by "too sweet" by hozier!! anyway, this ended up a lot longer than i thought it would be....whoops!! hope y'all enjoy!!!

When you first moved into the little pink cottage next door, Steve Rogers decided that you were too sweet for an ex-soldier alpha like him. An omega like you was filled with sunshine and gentleness, and you deserved an alpha who would treat you like the precious thing you were. 

The kindest thing Steve could do for you was stay away. The thoughts you inspired in his alpha hindbrain had him hating the rough and greedy animal side of himself. He wanted to dig his fingers into your plush hips and bend you over, make you present your pretty little body in the way the alpha in him craved. 

But he reminded himself you were too sweet. Too sweet for the obscene thoughts that plagued his mind. Too sweet to be defiled by a big alpha like him. Too sweet to be swollen and round and glowing because you were carrying his child…

Still, you were his neighbor and Steve couldn’t avoid you entirely, even though everything he saw only reaffirmed his belief that you were too good for him. 

The little pink cottage beside his house had come with a front garden filled with pink roses and all manner of other pink flowers that Steve couldn’t even begin to name, but you tended to them like you’d planted them yourself. Steve would get home from work, park his truck in his driveway—which had a perfect view of your front garden. He’d watch you from behind his tinted windows as you took care of your flowers, looking like a garden fairy come to life.

When Steve eventually grew uncomfortable with how long he’d been watching you, he would get out of his truck and call a gruff hello to you as he made his way inside. Your melodic voice returning his greeting would follow him into his house, where he’d close his door and lean against it, panting like he’d just escaped a warzone while his cock strained against his jeans. But Steve wouldn’t stoop to jerking himself off to the thought of you—at least not while you were just outside. 

On weekends, Steve would work in his backyard, mowing the grass and tending to the shrubs that ran along the line separating his property from yours. When the weather was nice and pleasantly warm, you would sit out on your small back porch, curled up in a wicker chair reading some book or another.

Steve would offer to mow your lawn, just for an excuse to stay outside longer, and be a little bit closer to you. You’d let him, and thank him for his efforts by giving him some ice cold lemonade, smiling up at him while he drank it. Steve wasn’t the least bit surprised the lemonade was more sweet than tart. 

As the weeks and months passed since you’d moved in, Steve couldn’t help but feel his desire for you growing, becoming a living thing curling around his heart, making it beat for you. You were the sweetest and prettiest omega he’d ever met, and he’d be lucky to be your alpha, but he kept his distance, certain you could do better than him.

That is, until your first heat after moving in next door changed everything.

That was when Steve learned you were far more than the innocent little omega he’d determined you to be—you were a creature of sex and desire, made to take an alpha’s knot and be pumped full of come in the hopes that their seed would take root in your womb. When your heat hit fully, your keening wails echoed from your cottage, and they were a siren song that called directly to Steve’s alpha heart.

But he kept himself away. After all, there were polite ways of going about these things, and he’d never even asked you out on a date, so he certainly wasn’t going to assume you wanted his help to get you through your heat. Besides, you hadn’t asked for him to join you, anyway.

That didn’t stop Steve from keeping an eye on you, though.

He’d noticed the slight change in your scent a few days before your heat truly set in, his cock reacting even more to your perfect omega body than normal. Steve felt like he was walking around with a constant bulge in his pants after getting a single whiff of your scent, but he ignored the niggling feeling telling him he needed to be close to you and did his best to hide his reaction. He knew you had other things to worry about than the comfort of the alpha next door. 

Even though something in him compelled him to go to you, Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk over to your cottage. It occurred to him that even if you didn’t want him to help you through your heat, he could offer to go to the store to get the food and provisions you’d need. But he didn’t. He was worried about what he’d do if he looked into your home and saw your nest and smelled your sweet perfume. 

So Steve kept his distance, watching you from his truck and the windows of his house as you brought home a week’s worth of provisions—protein bars and sports drinks that would keep you nourished enough to make it through your heat. Steve wished he could carry the heavy-looking bags into your home, but his cock was pitching a tent in his sweatpants, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with the way his alpha body reacted to your omega scent. 

Finally, as your heat drew closer, you locked up your cottage, closing all the windows and drawing all the curtains. Steve couldn’t help but notice, though, that you left the skylight in your bedroom cracked open a tiny bit. Steve’s alpha hindbrain itched at the thought that you’d only left it open because you couldn’t close it yourself, and he had to hold himself back from going over to your cottage to offer to close it.

Steve knew omegas liked to keep their nests dark and warm and locked up tight. They wanted to keep all the scents created during a heat trapped in their nest, at least until their heat broke. So it was curious that you’d left the skylight open, even a little bit. 

But when your heat hit in earnest that evening, your pitiful whimpers and desperate moans filtering through the open window and directly to Steve’s ears—through the window of his bedroom that he’d thrown open the moment he’d heard you��he forgot about what omegas typically wanted. Instead, all the blood in his body rushed to his cock, making him harder than he’d ever been in his life. 

Steve stood at the window of his bedroom, which overlooked your cottage, his eyes glazing over as he listened to you pant and whine and cry out for an alpha that wasn’t coming. Because of course Steve had noticed that no alpha had arrived to help you through your heat. He assumed you were using any number of the toys that were sold precisely to help unmated omegas get through their heats without an alpha’s help. 

But it meant you were alone, in your nest, riding out your heat on some silicone knot. That thought nearly made Steve storm from his house and barge into your cottage to demand you let him help you, but he reminded himself you were too sweet, too sweet, too sweet for him. So instead, he fisted his cock and listened to your raspy pleas fill the night sky.

“Need your knot, alpha, oh god, please,” you babbled, your voice beautifully melodic to Steve even when you were desperately begging for something he knew he shouldn’t give you. “Fill me up, daddy, I need it—need your knot, alpha—daddy, daddy, alpha, please, please, please!” Your moans grew louder and Steve could only imagine the thick silicone knot that was filling you up the way he should be filling you.

One of Steve’s hands gripped the frame of his window tightly, using the feel of the wood digging into his palm to keep himself grounded as he physically fought with his alpha instincts. He wanted to break into your cottage and rip your toys away from you so he could help you through your heat. Like he was meant to. It should be him inside you, sinking into your warm, welcoming cunt while you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours.

Steve’s other hand gripped his cock, pumping his hard, stiff length with a fist so tight, it was nearly punishing. It helped a little, but his fist was a far cry from your perfect cunt, which would be gushing with wetness and so hot, Steve would feel like he was sinking into heaven and hell at the same time. And when he came, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as emptying his balls right against your cervix, pumping your womb full of his seed while knot locked your bodies together so it would be almost certain he’d knock you up. 

That is, if you weren’t on birth control. Which most unmated omegas were, Steve reminded himself.

Still, the alpha in him was a beast barely caged—he wanted to breed you. 

Steve wanted to see you impaled on his cock and his knot, so bloated from how full you were with his come that he could see it in the way your belly bulged, giving a preview of what you’d look like growing with his child. He wanted to knock you up, he wanted to see you swollen and round with his pup. 

He wanted to keep fucking you even as you carried his child, watching you bounce on his knot, your tits swollen with milk and your belly big and round while he tried to fill your womb with another before you’d even popped out the first. Steve wanted to keep you pregnant all the time, your pretty little omega body always ripe and swollen with his pups, taking his knot and his come every moment of the day so he could make sure you were always glowing with the radiance of motherhood.

It was that image of you—beautiful and knocked up, your eyes hazy with pleasure that came only from being impaled on his cock, and being locked on his knot—that made Steve come. 

He grunted as the pleasure of his fist and his thoughts of you finally became too much, wrapping both his hands around his thick length, one squeezing his knot while the other pumped the rest of his shaft. His come erupted from the tip, streaming over the windowsill and dripping down to his bare feet on the wooden floor of his bedroom.

A growl tore from Steve’s lips while he came, a deep, dark part of his alpha hindbrain responding furiously to the fact that he was wasting his seed. He should be emptying his balls deep in your fertile cunt while your slick walls gripped his knot and milked every drop of his seed into your womb, where it belonged. 

Steve’s release seemed to last for ages, longer than he’d ever experienced before, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his head finally started to clear when it abated, he would’ve been worried he’d gone into rut. But finally, Steve surfaced from the depths of his pleasure, and winced when he remembered the thoughts that had made him come.

Steve was appalled by the direction in which his imagination had gone, and felt guilty for imagining you in such a state as pregnant and bouncing on his cock—even as the reminder made his cock leak one last spurt of his release. Cursing and castigating himself, Steve moved away from the window to clean himself up and wipe down the spot where he’d been standing. 

The entire time he was cleaning up after himself, Steve felt off-balance. He’d never felt such a pull toward an omega before you, and he’d never been so close to going into rut just from listening to an omega whimper and moan. If he didn’t know better, he would think you were his mate—the one omega in the whole world who was perfect for him. 

But Steve pushed that thought aside and reminded himself you were too sweet for an alpha like him. You might’ve sounded desperate and needy while you suffered through your heat alone, but you deserved better than an alpha who could think of nothing else besides pumping you full of come and knocking you up with his child.

Steve felt disturbed all over again when he thought of the vivid, obscene things he’d imagined while he’d jerked himself off. He’d never been the type of alpha to get off on the idea of breeding, let alone pictured anyone swollen with his kid while they were impaled on his cock. Steve felt so far out of his depth, he swiped his clean hand down his face to try to regain the equilibrium that had been shattered by your pretty omega sounds.

Thankfully, you’d gone blessedly quiet at some point when Steve had been coming all over his windowsill. He tossed the rag he’d used to clean up his mess into the laundry and flopped down on his bed, knowing he wouldn’t be getting any rest that night. It was a good thing he’d called out of work on heat leave.

Even as Steve lay in his bed, the refrain that you were too sweet for him repeating in his mind, he couldn’t help hoping that you were getting some much-needed rest. He’d never been one to worry over much about whether someone was sleeping or eating, but he wondered if you’d had a protein bar and drank a sports drink before falling asleep. He knew you needed to keep up your strength if you’d make it through your heat. 

His thoughts spinning around in his mind, Steve fell into a light, fitful sleep, his alpha hindbrain remaining alert and attuned to the sounds coming from your cottage. Little did he know, it wouldn’t be long before everything would change. Something would happen that would force Steve to finally give in to the connection between him and the omega next door.

When you woke on the second morning of your heat, it was to a burning need cutting through your core, urging you to roll onto your knees and sink down on the silicone knot toy that had slipped from your pussy while you slept. Unbidden, the face of the alpha next door, Steve Rogers, popped into your mind and you sobbed through another wave of aching desire, wishing desperately that he was with you to help you through your heat.

You hadn’t met the alpha until after you’d moved into the little pink cottage next door to his much larger home, and you were instantly smitten with the former soldier. He was big—so much bigger than you—with broad shoulders and bulging biceps that were barely hidden beneath the tight t-shirts he always seemed to wear. But it was Steve’s thighs that were always so distracting to you, so thick they made you want to ride them until your slick was drenching his jeans.

A pitiful moan fell from your lips as you reached between your thighs, grasping blindly for the toy you’d discarded in your sleep. With your face still shoved into a pillow and sleep still clinging to the edges of your consciousness, you slid down on the thick silicone cock, pretending it belonged to Steve. 

The alpha next door was just so…sweet. 

It hadn’t taken you long after moving into your cottage to learn your neighbor’s schedule, and you made sure to always be working in the garden in front of your home when he got back from work. You lived for the growly greetings he would call to you, and the faint blush that would graze his cheekbones, like he was shy around you, his harmless omega neighbor. 

And on the weekends, when you knew Steve wasn’t working, you sat on your back porch reading—though you were more often ogling the fit alpha’s shoulders and arms as he worked in his backyard. The sun would shine on Steve’s blond hair and make him look like a golden god, with sparkling blue eyes that would occasionally flick in your direction, though you didn’t think he was really looking at you.

Of course, when he’d offer to mow your lawn, you’d let him. Then, to show the alpha your thanks, you’d make him some nice refreshing lemonade. If that meant you could watch him quench his thirst while you imagined his sweet mouth on your body, drinking your slick as eagerly as he drank your lemonade, then that was just a bonus to being a good neighbor. Right?

It had become abundantly clear to you that you harbored a crush on Steve, and it was nearly excruciating living next to him when he didn’t seem interested in making a move on his omega neighbor. After all, it had been months, and he’d been nothing but friendly and respectful and sweet. 

It was obvious, at least to you, that Steve was too sweet for you—too sweet to be the rough, dominant alpha you craved. Too sweet to bend you over and impale you on his thick cock with one stroke. Too sweet to shove his knot into your cunt and make you come so hard you saw stars. Too sweet to knock you up over and over again, filling up that big house of his with pups that you’d created together. 

You’d told yourself it was for the best that Steve kept his distance. If he couldn’t be what you needed, then you didn’t want your crush to develop into unrequited feelings. But your heart didn’t listen, so you kept putting yourself in situations where you’d get to see your neighbor—working in your front garden when he got home, sitting on your back porch while he was in his backyard. 

Then, you began to feel your heat coming on, and your thoughts about the alpha next door only worsened. It wasn’t uncommon anymore for unmated omegas to ask alpha friends or acquaintances to help them through their heats, but the prospect of asking Steve for his help, getting to come all over his knot for days on end, and then trying to go back to the way things were sounded torturous. 

Instead, you went about your heat preparations as you always did, gathering supplies from the grocery store and stocking up the minifridge in your bedroom with sports drinks while you piled your bedside table high with protein bars. You closed and locked all the doors and windows of your cottage, drawing the curtains tight to keep out the sun. 

You knew you were a bit of an odd omega, and you didn’t like total darkness in your nest, which was why you had been the only one interested in the little cottage. It had a skylight in the bedroom that any other omega would want closed and covered during their heat. The window itself was covered in a film that dampened most of the direct  sunlight and you enjoyed the natural light, even when you were deep in your heat, so it was perfect for you.

It occurred to you, as you were preparing your room, that if you cracked open the skylight, the sounds you made during your heat would filter out from your cottage. Your desperate cries for a knot might even be heard by the alpha next door…

Later, you’d blame your decision to leave the skylight open on the dangerous combination of your pre-heat brain and the exquisite agony of your crush on Steve. But by that time, the little decision you’d made in the urgency of your heat preparations would’ve irrevocably changed your life—for the better—and you wouldn’t give a thought to regretting what you’d done.

Still, on that second morning of your heat, when you were woken by the need to be knotted and flooded with come, you didn’t even remember that you’d decided to leave the skylight open. So you had no idea whether it was working or not, whether Steve could hear you—but he wasn’t far from your thoughts as you rode your silicone alpha toy, trying to slake the need that burned through your body. 

Your heats were always a little hazy, like most omega’s, with desire and need pounding through your blood so insistently, you couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. Your mind could only focus on getting a cock inside you, then a knot and, if you’d had an alpha to help you, the gush of their come. Since you were so mindless, you uttered words that you’d forgotten the second they fell from your lips.

The first night of your heat, when you’d had a moment of clear-headedness enough to gulp down a sports drink and scarf a protein bar, you’d hoped you hadn’t cried out anything that would embarrass you—like Steve’s name. You’d had a vague memory of calling out for an alpha, which was normal for an unmated omega, and a daddy, which was normal for you, given your desires when you weren’t going through your heat. But you’d breathed a sigh of relief when you didn’t remember calling out for Steve specifically. 

You couldn’t imagine what would happen if you cried out Steve’s name while in heat. But you were about to find out.

The silicone toy in your cunt wasn’t cutting it. It had been just fine that first night, though you hadn’t felt as satisfied as you normally did, and you hadn’t slept as long as you typically did in between waves of your heat. Something about this heat felt different. You weren’t just desperate for an alpha’s knot and come, you wanted more…

You wanted a pup. You wanted an alpha’s cock shoved deep in your cunt, unloading their come against your cervix, filling your womb with a seed that would take and knock you up. You wanted to be bred—and not just by any alpha. You wanted the alpha next door to breed you.

Steve. You wanted Steve. You needed Steve. 

“Please,” you gasped, the word leaving your lips as you thought of your big, sweet alpha neighbor. His face came easily to your mind, those sparkling blue eyes and soft lips, that strong jaw and the way a blush turned his cheeks the most perfect shade of pink. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need your come,” you whined, speaking to the image of Steve in your mind.

You pushed yourself up onto your knees, grabbing one of the many pillows from your bed and shoving it between your thighs, forcing the silicone alpha cock deeper into your cunt. Still, it wasn’t enough, even as you tried to make due. 

You rocked your hips, trying to replicate the feeling of fucking yourself on an alpha’s cock, but it paled in comparison. A desperate whine worked its way up your throat, filling your room and slipping from the skylight into the morning air.

“Please, daddy, wanna have your baby,” you cried, your hands going to your tits and tugging on your nipples so roughly, pleasure and pain swirled through your body, creating a tornado of sensation that only fed the need burning in your core. “Wan’ you to knock me up, alpha, wanna give you pups, wan’ you to suck on my milky tits while you fuck me, daddy.” You groped your breasts, pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself, the sensations making your cunt gush slick all over the toy inside you. 

The pleasure was gathering in your core, making you more desperate to reach the pinnacle of your climax. Your hips worked, humping the pillow and cock between your thighs, shoving yourself down against the knot at the base of the toy, knowing it was what you needed to come, but your pussy was still too tight to take it. 

“Oh god, I need it, alpha, I need it, I need it,” you babbled mindlessly, fucking yourself furiously on the toy and still wishing it was Steve’s cock. 

You pictured him beneath you, his cheeks tinged pink, not with a blush, but with the flush of his desire for you, his blue eyes nearly black from his pupils blowing wide as he stared up at you. His soft mouth parted as he groaned, his thick cock buried in your tight cunt, twitching as you squeezed him.

It was with that image in your mind that the fateful words spilled from your lips. You cried out desperately, “Knock me up, daddy, gimme your pup, please—please, breed me, Steve!” 

So close to the edge of your release, you barely heard the distant crashing sound that echoed between your little cottage and the house that belonged to the alpha next door. All you heard were your gasping breaths and mindless moans, the toy shoving into your cunt making low squelching noises that only managed to turn you on more. 

It was only when a much closer smashing sound preceded the swirl of cool morning air infiltrating your home, and flooding into your nest, that you were able to drag your attention away from your own desperate frustration. Your omega instincts were going haywire, part of you telling you something was wrong, while another part unfurled and shifted, like a flower blooming toward the sun. 

Blinking your eyes to clear away the haze of your heat, your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ of surprise at the sight of the alpha in your bedroom doorway. 

Steve’s big body filled the doorway, his hands clutching the wooden frame while his chest heaved with heavy breaths. It looked like he was trying to hold himself back, his grip so tight on your doorframe that a distant part of your mind worried it might splinter beneath his palms. But you couldn’t think too closely about that, not when your neighbor was staring at you with a crazed look in his eyes, like he wanted to fill you with his knot as badly as you wanted to be filled.

Your too sweet alpha neighbor’s mouth—which was normally curved in a soft, friendly smile—was twisted with ferocious lust, and when he spoke, his voice was a rough growl like nothing you’d ever heard from Steve. 

“Invite me into your bed,” he rumbled, the order clear in his voice even if he didn’t use his alpha command. “Ask me to help you through your heat, tell me you want me here,” he went on through clenched teeth, an edge of desperation in his tone that called your heart—and your cunt. “Tell me you want me, omega.” His fingers gripped the doorframe tighter, and you heard the wood creak beneath his strength. 

Your pussy spasmed and your heart lurched when Steve called you by your designation, but it was when his scent hit you that you felt something inside your being shift and lock into place. Steve smelled like home—like safety and security and love. He smelled like a future of wrangling children together and making love together and sitting on a porch swing together and growing old together. 

In that moment, you knew what your instincts had known from the moment you met Steve—he was your mate. He was the one alpha in all the world who was meant for you, just as you were the omega meant for him. And once you knew that, it was the easiest thing in the world to part your lips and beg him to join you in your nest, in your bed, and help you through your heat.

“Please, Steve—please, mate, please help me,” you begged, your voice breathy with need and excitement, tears of joy shining in your eyes. 

Something shifted in Steve’s expression when you called him your mate. You watched as he took a deep breath, scenting you the way you had him. A riot of emotions swirled in those beautiful blue eyes of his—disbelief, acknowledgement, acceptance, satisfaction, pride. You saw the moment he realized what you’d only just discovered, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

“My omega, my mate,” Steve growled, finally letting go of the doorframe and launching himself at you.

Finally—finally—Steve was coming to you, closing the distance between you, and you’d never been happier in all your life. The alpha next door was your mate, and you hoped that meant he would be more than willing to knock you up and breed you like you needed.

Steve had woken from his fitful sleep to the sound of your sweet cries that morning, though they sounded much more desperate to his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but you sounded less than satisfied with whatever toy you were using and Steve slid a hand down to his already hard cock, thinking you should’ve been riding him instead of some silicone dick.

He’d lazily stroked his cock, trying to restrain himself from coming all over his stomach, while listening to your increasingly desperate cries. Steve had fisted a hand in the sheets of his bed, hoping it would be enough to hold himself back from storming over to your cottage and taking your heat into his own hands. 

Then, Steve heard you cry out his name and something in him snapped. Before he even knew what he was doing, he’d thrown on some boxer briefs and stormed out of his bedroom, leaping down the stairs and throwing open the front door of his house so ferociously, he’d ripped it off some of the hinges. 

Not even caring that he was leaving his door open, Steve charged over to your cottage, taking a little bit more care with your front door when he broke the lock and pushed it open, flinging it closed behind him. He knew it was likely stuck closed thanks to the broken lock, but Steve only cared that it would prevent anyone else from getting into your home. He’d deal with getting out later. Much later.

Finally, Steve got to the doorway of your bedroom, your nest, and he’d stumbled to a stop at the sight that lay before him.

You were perched in the center of your big bed, a pillow wedged between your thighs, the knot of a toy barely visible while you humped futilely on the fake cock. Your delicate fingers groped your tits, squeezing your soft flesh and pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself—that thought making even more blood rush to Steve’s cock. Desperate whimpers and whines fell from your lips, more pleas to be knocked up and filled with pups, and they were nearly his undoing.

At the last second, Steve gripped the doorframe, holding himself back from pouncing on you, as he tried to remember why he shouldn’t be there. You were an unmated omega, in heat, and he hadn’t gotten permission to be in your nest, let alone help you through your heat. And you were too sweet for him…

God, you looked sweet, though. Sweet enough that Steve’s mouth watered with the thought of how slick you were, how good you would taste on his tongue. Even from the doorway, he could see the way your wetness had soaked the pillow between your thighs. He wanted to taste you, to scent you, he wanted you. 

Steve was seconds away from launching himself at you when your gaze finally landed on him. It was the delighted surprise in your eyes that urged him to ground out a desperate plea for consent to enter your room and help you through your heat. Blessedly, you seemed coherent enough to answer—but you didn’t only answer and beg for his help, you called him your mate.

That word struck a chord in Steve’s chest, his heart pounding even harder at the impossible prospect that you were his mate—that you were meant to be his. But he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of you and opening himself up to the possibility that you were his. 

You even smelled sweet, like the pink roses in your front garden—or, rather, the peace Steve felt when he came home to find you tending to your flowers. You smelled like the warmth of a gentle fire and the giddiness of butterfly kisses. You smelled like life, like the time unfurling before the two of you, years and decades spent with each other, making each other happy. 

It was as if Steve truly came alive for the first time when he scented you, and the last tether of the self-restraint holding him back from you snapped. 

“My omega, my mate,” he rumbled in a low purr, a voice he’d never even heard himself use before. But he didn’t have time to think about that too closely—he only knew he needed to get to you. 

As quickly as he could, Steve surged into your room, tearing off his boxer briefs—the only clothing he’d had the presence of mind to put on, and he was thankful for it, since it saved him the grief of a public indecency charge—in the few steps it took to get to your bed.

By the time Steve tackled you into the tangle of blankets and pillows, he was naked as the day he was born, his cock throbbing with need and brushing against swaths of your soft, bare skin, leaving his precum behind. The alpha cradled your body in his strong arms as he rolled you beneath him, his narrow hips slotting perfectly between your plush thighs, his hard length resting against your mound. 

But there was something in his way, something that shouldn’t be inside you and Steve couldn’t help but growl, “Get that fucking toy out of my cunt, ‘mega.” He softened the fury in his voice with light, fleeting kisses to your cheeks and temple and forehead, greedy to taste the sweetness of your skin.

“Yes, alpha,” you gasped, fumbling between your bodies to wrench the silicone dick from your tight hole. 

The sweet submission in your voice was too much for Steve—he had to taste it. Slanting his lips to yours, Steve kissed you for the first time, groaning into your mouth at the wondrous feeling of your mouth beneath his. You tasted better than you smelled, like radiant sunshine bursting on his tongue and casting a golden glow over his entire body. 

Deepening the kiss, Steve plundered your mouth, stroking his tongue against yours and nipping at your lips until you were gasping and panting beneath him. Your entire body trembled with unslaked need, your fingers clinging to his bulging biceps as you cried out for him, all of which stroked Steve’s alpha ego so much, his cock twitched and leaked against your belly.

“Please, Steve—daddy—alpha—I need you inside me,” you wailed in a broken voice and Steve’s instincts took over.

He shifted his hips back, the tip of his cock finding your slick hole and he pushed forward, sinking his hard length into your cunt with one thrust. Steve’s entire world realigned, his heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your tight heat consuming him, overwhelming him. An animalistic groan left his lips, and he buried the sound in your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried not to come immediately.

With Steve’s cock finally buried inside you, he felt your body relax beneath him, your moan of pleasure dissolving into a sigh of relief. Steve’s hindbrain felt a deep satisfaction at the way you melted in his arms, your submission to him apparent in the loosening of your muscles. Finding your lips again, Steve kissed you sweetly, cherishing the moment of calm before your heat urged the two of you to move.

“Thank you, alpha,” you whispered, your voice soft and blissful and the most content Steve had heard it since your heat began in earnest the day before. “The toys weren’t working.” You pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek on your way to burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing so deeply he could hear your inhale, making his cock twitch in the depths of your pussy. 

Then, your words pierced through the haze of pleasure in Steve’s mind and he purred, smiling into your neck when you relaxed further beneath him, responding to him.

“You needed your mate, didn’t you, baby?” Steve cooed, lavishing your neck with kisses until you were whining and squirming beneath him. “Needed your daddy to pound your needy little cunt like only your alpha could, huh?” He started rolling his hips in tight circles, grinding into your cunt, his knot rubbing your clit in a way that had you clenching deliciously around him. “Needed me to pump your sweet little womb full of come, huh, needed me to give you a pup?” 

As soon as the heated words fell from Steve’s lips, he wished he could take them back. He’d heard you beg him to breed you, but that was when you were riding a silicone alpha dick, not when you were seconds away from taking Steve’s knot. 

Mentally, Steve chastised himself for letting his mouth run away from him so soon. He’d barely gotten his cock in you and he was already talking about knocking you up. He didn’t want you to think he was that kind of alpha, one that only wanted an omega to pump out babies for him—even though the thought did make Steve rock hard.

“Sorry, ‘mega,” Steve mumbled, shifting his arms beneath your body so he could cradle your head in one hand, holding you still while he rocked his hips into yours, kissing your cheek and jaw and neck and anywhere he could reach. 

“Sorry for what?” you asked on a gasp, hooking your legs around Steve’s sides and clinging to him so you could grind on his thick cock. 

Thankfully, you didn’t seem turned off or scared by Steve’s breeding talk. If anything, the way you arched your spine and shoved your cunt down on his dick made him think you liked it. But surely that couldn’t be true.

“Didn’t mean to mention pups so soon,” Steve said gruffly, hiding his face in your neck so you wouldn’t see the blush that he knew was turning his cheeks pink. 

“Oh god,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing Steve’s cock as your body writhed beneath his. “Wanna give you so many pups, alpha,” you cried, humping up from beneath Steve’s big body, riding his cock harder than you’d been riding your toy when he’d walked in. 

Steve went cross-eyed at the assault on his senses. Between the perfect heat of your slick pussy gripping his cock, teasing his knot every time you rocked against him, and the sound of your sweet voice confessing you wanted him to knock you up, Steve’s body shuddered with the effort it took not slam his knot home and flood your womb with his seed to give you exactly what you wanted.

“You like that idea, huh?” Steve rumbled, hungry passion and desire coursing through his body and urging him to move faster, to fuck you harder. He pulled out of your fluttering pussy and slammed back inside, relishing the desperate cry that left your lips and the way your fingers dug into the muscles of his arms. “You like it when your alpha tells you how much he wants to breed you?” 

Despite his best efforts, Steve could hear the thread of insecurity in his question, and he wasn’t surprised when you cupped his face and moved his head up so you could look into his eyes. What he didn’t expect was the sheer amount of pleasure and desire in your hazy gaze, or the mixture of sweetness and depravity in the little smirk you gave him.

“I do, daddy,” you said, your voice breathy but no less firm in your resolve. “I want to hear everything you’ve thought about doing to your little omega—want you to breed me, alpha.” 

Everything else in the world melted away as Steve focused on you—his omega, his mate—and the fact that he was going to try his damndest to give you what you wanted. After all, that was his duty as your alpha. You were his to take care of, to provide for, to protect, to cherish—to fuck and to knot. 

You were his to love—you were his to breed. And Steve planned on loving you and breeding you plenty.

You’d never felt anything so good as Steve sinking his thick alpha cock into your weeping cunt, and you nearly sobbed in relief as the edge of aching, burning need finally abated. This was what you needed—not a toy or any alpha’s cock, but your mate’s. Your body and omega instincts had known something was wrong, and it had taken a slip of your tongue to fix it. 

Even if it had been an accident to cry out Steve’s name, you couldn’t feel embarrassed about it, not when you finally felt something like satisfaction. The need of your heat still burned bright beneath your skin, but for a moment, you could revel in the feeling of being so intimately connected to your mate, your Steve—the alpha next door. 

The words of thanks had slipped past your lips before you could stop them, and you loved the teasing way he responded. But then you felt a shift in Steve. He’d seemed to feel guilty for mentioning pups, but even his apology turned you on, making your arousal burn hotter. Your body had been unable to still when you needed him so badly—needed to give him pups, needed to grow round with his child and know that he had claimed you in the most primal way possible. 

Your brain had short-circuited when Steve had said he wanted to breed you, but you’d still heard the anxiousness in his tone and you’d guided his head up so you could look at him. The uncertainty and guilt in Steve’s beautiful blue eyes nearly broke your heart. He was too sweet for words, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with even the words he said in the heat of the moment. 

Between one breath and the next, you fell in love with Steve Rogers. He wasn’t simply the alpha next door, he was your mate, and he was yours. A fierce possessiveness filled your chest as you smirked up at your alpha, determining to show him exactly how much you wanted everything he’d said.

“Want you to breed me, alpha,” you begged on a moan, your hips rising up off the bed to meet the brutal thrusts of your mate. “Fill me up with your pups, daddy, please, I need it!” You held Steve’s gaze, letting him see the pleasure on your face, hear the genuineness of your words. 

You saw the moment Steve’s insecurity and guilt melted into desire and determination. His blue eyes darkened and his face twisted into a mask of sinful resolve. He looked like a fallen god, with his golden hair and tanned skin, framed perfectly in the little bit of morning light filtering in through the skylight above your bed. Your pussy clenched around his cock, fluttering as he thrust inside you, teasing your hole with his knot.

“Don’t worry, ‘mega,” Steve rumbled, ducking down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that left you gasping for breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your eyes. “We’re making a baby today.”

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, spreading your legs wider in an effort to let Steve fuck you deeper. He grinned, shifting his hands to your thighs and pushing them up against your chest, folding you in half and pounding you into the bed. 

“Gonna fill up your perfect cunt with all the seed in my balls, and if it doesn’t take today, ‘m gonna fill you up until you’re overflowing with my come—until your belly’s bulging with it,” Steve growled, rutting into you with a ferociousness you never would’ve expected from your sweet alpha neighbor. But Steve’s sweetness was never far from the surface, and he proved it by lowering his voice to a deep rumble that you felt in your belly, asking, “Mm, ’s that what you want, baby, want daddy to give you a pup?”

You were pinned beneath Steve, his cock fucking you so hard, your room was filing with the wet squelching sounds of your soaking cunt and the sharp rhythm of your alpha’s thighs slapping against your own. But still, it was his words that seemed to have the most effect on you, turning you into a writhing, needy creature who’d only be satisfied when Steve emptied his balls deep in your cunt. 

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, your fingers clinging to Steve’s shoulders, digging into his warm, golden skin while he fucked you into oblivion. “Want you to knock me up, wanna give you a pup, wanna grow big and round with your child and feed you both from my milky tits,” you babbled, throwing your head back and screaming when Steve’s cock hit against your cervix, pleasure and pain swirling like an inferno in your body. “Please, daddy, god, I need it, I need it—knot me, breed, me, Steve, please!” 

“Baby,” Steve groaned, capturing your lips in another kiss while he rutted into you faster and harder, his knot pressing against your tight hole with every thrust and teasing you with the stretch of it. “You’re gonna get a pup, alright,” he growled when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna pop out a kid for me and then I’m gonna fill you right back up.” Steve moaned, his body shuddering and you knew he was close. “Wanna watch you bounce on my cock with your belly ripe and swollen with my pups, your tits heavy with milk—the prettiest mommy and mate an alpha could ask for.” 

“Steve,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, kissing him and thrusting your hips up to meet his. “Please, make me a mommy, alpha—wanna be a mommy, please, daddy, daddy, please!” Then your lips were too preoccupied with Steve’s, kissing him messily in between desperate moans while he fucked you hard and fast. 

Finally, Steve pulled back and thrust forward with so much power, his knot pushed inside your tight cunt and you screamed in pleasure, the feeling of his thick bulge stretching your tight hole sending you over the edge into the most earth-shattering release you’d felt in your life. It was a transcendental experience, coming on your mate’s cock, your alpha surrounding you and filling you up in every way possible.

As your body squeezed Steve’s cock, he groaned loudly in your ear, burying his face in your neck while his hips stuttered against yours, trying to fuck you with his knot but unable to move because your bodies were locked so tightly together. Then, with a moan of, “my mate,” you felt the moment Steve began to come. His cock twitched deep inside your cunt, a warmth filling you as he shot rope after rope of come against your cervix, filling your womb.

For a long time, the two of you stayed locked together, riding out your releases in each other’s embrace. Giggles and moans filled the room, each of you kissing the other wherever you could reach while you basked in your pleasure together. You breathed in the scent of Steve, your lips dragging up and down the column of his throat while he kissed your neck and shoulder and just beneath your ear, making you shiver. 

Eventually, when the squeezing of your cunt was reduced to a flutter and your body had milked every last drop of seed from Steve’s cock, the two of you settled. Your heat had abated for the moment. Though need still burned low in the core of your body, reminding you it wasn’t over just yet. 

But you had a bit of a respite, and you took the time to revel in you newfound mate. Turning your head, you pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, which was flushed pink with pleasure.

You felt Steve’s smile against your skin and then he was rising up so you could see the full blush that tinged your alpha’s cheeks. He looked so sweet and ruined, his blond hair a mess, his blue eyes bright with satisfaction, a deeply smug smile on his plump lips. 

“Feeling better, ‘mega?” he asked, though there was so much male satisfaction in his tone, you were certain he already knew the answer. 

Still, you liked seeing this side of Steve. Typically you didn’t like cocky alphas, but Steve looked so hot when he was confident, your pussy fluttered around his knot at the sight of his smirk.

“I am, daddy,” you said softly, smiling up at your alpha, enjoying the way his smirk deepened as you confirmed what he knew. You couldn’t help but stroke his ego a little more. “Now that you’re here to take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he pressed a heated kiss to your lips. “Good,” he said when he pulled away. Then his arms were wrapping around you and he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were splayed across his broad chest, your bodies still locked together by his knot. 

It would deflate soon enough, but you reveled in the feeling while it lasted, snuggling into Steve’s arms. Sleep called to you, but Steve was still moving and you when you opened your eyes, you found him reaching for your stash of provisions on your bedside table.

“Gotta eat and hydrate, baby,” Steve murmured as he unwrapped a protein bar and began feeding it to you. Even though you were exhausted, you knew he was right and you let him feed you, only sitting up when it was time to gulp down some of the sports drink he offered you. “Good girl, ‘mega, doing so well for your alpha,” Steve said, praising you while you ate and drank.

When you were done, Steve tossed the empty wrappers and bottles back onto your bedside table and relaxed into the many pillows on your bed. You settled down on his chest, your body sated in every way possible, muscles going loose when your alpha began to purr. 

“Thank you, alpha,” you mumbled, the urge to sleep more insistent since you were fed. Steve’s hands smoothed down your back, tracing your spine lightly with his fingertips in a way that made you melt even further into him. 

“Don’t need to thank me,” he grumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. “You’re my mate, ‘m gonna do everything I can to take care of you—and our kids.” He added the last bit like it was an afterthought, but you knew Steve meant it, and your heart warmed at his protectiveness. 

You smiled into Steve’s warm skin, nuzzling into his neck beneath his jaw, breathing in the scent of him—the scent of home—but his words made you remember something you should tell him. 

“Steve, ‘m on birth control,” you murmured sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the thick column of his neck. “Thought you should know.” You snorted a little, laughing at yourself for the silliness of your last statement, even though it was true.

The rumble of Steve’s purr changed as he chuckled, his strong arms tightening around your waist for a moment before he grabbed a blanket and pulled it up over your cooling bodies. “Figured, ‘mega,” he rumbled, his voice so warm, you could hear his smile. “Doesn’t mean ‘m gonna stop picturing you round with my pup, even if it’s a while before that happens.”

“Mm,” you hummed in acknowledgment, then pouted as you processed his words. “As long as it’s not a long while,” you muttered, hardly listening to what you were saying because you were so close to sleep.

Steve chuckled again, his hands squeezing you lightly. “It’ll be as long or as short as you want, baby,” he assured you in a gruff voice that was thick with just as much tiredness as yours. “I’d give you a pup today if I could.” 

You smiled, your heart filling with emotion, and pressed your lips to your alpha’s neck. You might’ve been exhausted, but it didn’t stop you from murmuring the words your heart urged you to say, “I love you, Steve.” 

Steve’s purr deepened, and he held you close, no hesitation in his voice when he said, “I love you, too.” Your alpha brushed a kiss to your cheek and smacked your ass very lightly. “Now rest, omega, we still have to get through the rest of your heat.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face, feeling safe and protected and satisfied in the arms of your mate, your bodies still locked together by Steve’s knot. You never would’ve expected anything to come of your crush on your neighbor—and you never would’ve expected he’d be a perfect fit for your desires, let alone your mate. 

But, you knew the two of you were going to live a happy life together—and you couldn’t wait to spend every moment of it with the alpha next door.

#CT 2024 raffle entry #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #alpha steve rogers #alpha steve x omega reader #steve rogers au #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #mutual pining #idiots in love #omegaverse #witchywithwhiskeywork

[honnelander]

tart

HERE WE GO EVERYONE. the long awaited jealous!Sanji fic!! AKA a prequel to the main go fish! storyline!! this fic takes place before the main events in go fish! but after they met at the Baratie. and don't worry, part 3 for the main series will be on the way. enjoy!! request: i was wondering if you’d consider making a lil imagine/blurb about sanji being jealous of someone flirting with the reader? like imagine zoro and the reader just talking and then zoro suddenly leans closer and whispers to her “it seems we’ve got an audience” or smth like that

WARNINGS: none

word count: 3.7k

pairing: jealous opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: Sanji watches Zoro and reader talk and gets jealous. Nami tries to calm him down but fails.

go fish! series: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @mischiefmanaged71 @smolracoon25 @smol-book-nerd @shuujin @amanda08319 @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @whiskeypowder @jovialcat123 @nimtano @xtigerlily @shadowwolf1864 @quixscentsposts @guidingstarsstuff @ateliefloresdaprimavera

“Reading that garbage again?” a voice called out. 

At hearing the question, you glanced up from your well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, your favorite book, only to see a calm Zoro casually stroll over to you with a hint of amusement on his face.  

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Don’t knock it till you try it, oh great sword master,” you playfully jabbed as you shook out the book to him as he leaned his back against the ship’s front railing, resting his elbows on top of it. “The almighty Zoro isn’t allergic to reading, is he?” 

Zoro snorted, glancing down at your cross-legged position on top of a crate before returning his sights to the Going Merry’s deck and the open ocean. “Yeah, I am allergic,” he agreed. “Allergic to reading that monstrosity you call a book.” 

“Ooo, ‘monstrosity’. That’s a mighty big word for a non-reader like yourself, Zoro. Good job,” you teased as you marked your page before closing the book and joining your friend in looking across the deck and out towards the ocean. 

The green-haired swordsman crossed his arms. “I read.” 

“Mmhm,” you hummed, not convinced. “Sure you do.” 

“I do,” he defended in a gruff voice. 

“Oh yeah? Here, I’ll make it easy for you: tell me about one book you’ve read.” 

Zoro scoffed. “I can tell you about way more than one.” 

You couldn’t help the surprised noise that came out of you. “Oh, yeah? ’More than one’?” you asked with a raised brow and glanced up at your fellow straw hat, trying to wipe off the grin on your face.  

You were certainly surprised that Zoro has read more than one book in his lifetime, but you weren’t surprised that he took your earlier question as a challenge. Classic Zoro, you thought in amusement. The guy could never pass up a challenge, no matter what it was about. 

So, you repositioned yourself on your crate, making yourself comfortable for the discussion ahead. “Alright, come on,” you said and sat up straighter, urging Zoro on, “let’s hear it. Tell me all about them.” 

From the back of the ship, on the upper deck above the kitchen, a certain chef took a long drag on his cigarette as he watched you and his least favorite swordsman be engrossed in conversation. Sanji removed the butt of his cigarette from his mouth with his thumb and index finger, keeping the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could, before slowly exhaling the smoke from his nostrils, his eyes never leaving the two of you. 

“Daaamn, Sanji,” Usopp drawled as he messed with the sails on the ship’s mast nearby, glancing at the chef for a second before returning to his knots. “You look like a smoking dragon. All ferocious and mean. And....extra smokey.” 

Sanji’s gaze didn’t budge, Usopp’s words not fazing the cook in the slightest. “Oh yeah? And what of it knot-boy?” he asked with a slight edge to his words, taking another drag on his cigarette and exhaling through his lips. 

At Sanji’s snarky question, Usopp recoiled and looked back at Sanji more closely with a confused expression. It was rare for Sanji to lose his cool or be in a bad mood for no reason, unless he was going back and forth in an argument with Zoro but even then, the blonde chef usually took those in stride with a smile, much to Zoro’s annoyance, so this was new. 

“Aren’t those things supossed to calm you down?” Usopp asked as he nodded to the cigarette in the cook’s hand. 

“I am calm,” Sanji rebuked a little too quickly to be true.  

Usopp then noticed how intent Sanji’s stare was towards something at the front of the ship and raised an eyebrow. Whatever he was staring at must be pissing him off because the chef’s gaze looked absolutely lethal. What the hell could be making him so mad? Usopp followed Sanji’s gaze, looked towards the front of the ship, and saw....y/n and Zoro talking? 

To Usopp, it looked like they were just having a normal conversation, but when he saw y/n laugh at something Zoro said, hitting his arm with a grin and Zoro having a slight smile, he heard Sanji scoff loudly in disgust and mutter something under his breath. 

And in that moment, it dawned on Usopp what was up, and it was hard for him to contain his shit eating grin: Sanji was jealous. Sanji was jealous of y/n and Zoro. To Usopp, it looked like a completely normal conversation between friends since he knew of y/n’s affections for the blonde cook. But to Sanji? It probably seemed like a complete flirt fest, and he was jealous. 

Up until this point Usopp had thought y/n’s crush was only one sided. Sure, he’s had his suspicions ever since Sanji seemed to stare at y/n more often than not, but Usopp was still just a guy at the end of the day, so he never considered if Sanji might actually have feelings for y/n too.  

But now? Oh boy- Usopp was all caught up to speed and he couldn’t wait to meddle in their budding relationship and tease the heck out of them both for it (when the time was right, of course).  

Usopp looked back over at Sanji and wiped off his grin as best he could. “You say somethin’ Sanji?” he asked innocently, knowing damn well the chef said absolutely nothing. “I thought I heard you mutter something.” 

Sanji flicked the ashes off his cigarette. “No.” 

“Oh. Must just be the wind then...” 

Suddenly, y/n’s laughter could be heard from the ship’s front and Sanji nearly snarled in disgust and shook his head. “What the-” Sanji started but let out an exasperated sigh. “He’s not even funny,” Sanji complained before taking another hit on his cigarette. 

Usopp couldn’t help himself, he had to poke the bear. “Who, Zoro? I think he’s funny.” 

The blonde chef let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, funny looking.” 

He also had to twist the knife. “Well, y/n seems to think he’s funny.”  

Sanji chuckled to himself and stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating Usopp’s words. “You know what? It doesn’t matter,” he muttered and took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out and immediately lighting up a fresh one. 

Unbeknown to the cook and slingshot fighter, standing underneath them and near the tangerine trees was the Going Merry’s orange-haired navigator, who had heard their whole conversation. 

------------- ----- 

“Zoro!” You laughed loudly and hit your crewmate on his bicep. “Reading books on how to dismember your opponents doesn’t count as real reading!” 

A ghost of a smile appeared on Zoro’s face as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Says you. Can you tell me fifty different ways on how to cut up a body? No? I didn’t think so.” 

“Fair enough,” you relented good naturedly with a small laugh as you shook your head. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.” 

A comfortable silence fell over you both as you let out a small sigh, watching the waves crash. 

After a few quiet beats, however, you felt Zoro lean into your personal space as he lowly murmured, “Don’t look now, but it seems like we have an audience.” 

You blinked in confusion as your eyebrows pulled together. “What? An audience? Where?” Completely disregarding Zoro’s instructions, you immediately started looking around the ship. “Watching what?” 

“Us,” Zoro said simply and returned to his full height. 

You shook your head in disbelief. “What? Us? Now who would be watching-” you started to say but the rest of your sentence died in your throat when you saw piercing blue eyes staring right you both. “...us?” you finished slowly.  

Sanji? Sanji was your audience? But- why? What? You were so confused. Even from this far away, you could tell something was off with him. His posture was stiff and the usual smile that adorned his features whenever he saw you was nowhere to be seen.  

“When did he get here? I didn’t know he was on deck...” you trailed off, about to move to hop off the crate and make your way over to Sanji to see what the matter with him was when something stopped you.  

Before you could hop off the crate, you saw Sanji put out his cigarette and make his way off the deck and head down into the kitchen, not sparing you another glance. As you made your way across the deck, about to follow him into the kitchen, Usopp quickly called out to you from up on the ship’s mast, asking for your help with knot tying since ‘yours were so much better than his’. You agreed with a small sigh, not wanting Usopp to struggle by himself, so you made your way to the mast and started climbing, but not before sparing the entryway to the kitchen one last glance. 

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Sanji flittered around, grabbing random ingredients he saw at first glance. Mushrooms? Grabbed. A block of cheese? Sure. Corn? Ok. Tomatoes? Sure, whatever. 

As he looked down at the growing pile of ingredients on the counter, he stopped for a second to examine the pile, putting his hands in his pockets. What the hell was he supposed to make out of this? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think straight, and it was bothering the absolute hell out of him. The kitchen had always been his sanctuary, a place where he could always rely on to decompress and escape from his thoughts as he got swept away in the act of cooking that came so naturally to him. Usually. 

But today? His natural instincts weren’t there. He felt his chef’s mind drawing up a blank on how to mix all of these items together and the longer he stood there, the more ticked off he became. On a normal day, he’d have thought up of 15 different dishes he could make and already have been busy at work making one of those ideas come to life. But now? There was nothing. No ideas swirling around in his head, nothing.  

He could feel his face twist up in irritation the longer he was standing there until finally, he let out a short, brusque sigh, muttering, “Now what the fuck am I supposed to do with all this?” 

“You’re the chef, aren’t you supposed to figure that out or something?” 

The blonde chef glanced up from the pile and saw Nami casually strolling in from the deck and up to the counter opposite of him, hands clasped behind her back, with a curious eyebrow raised.  

Instantly, to cover up his sour mood, the cook plastered on a fake smile. “Well, it seems my mind is a little blank at the moment, Darling. Why don’t you come over here and help me come up with an idea or two?” he offered with a wink, taking his hands out to lean against the counter. 

But Nami saw right through him. “I’m good, thanks,” she declined bluntly. Nami wasn’t sure when she had become the Going Merry’s pseudo-therapist, especially since this crew hadn't been together for more than 3 months at this point, but someone had to be, and she figured the only way to get Sanji to talk right now would be if he was doing something he loved: cooking. “Actually,” she started offhandedly, “I have a request for you.” 

Now that immediately got the cook’s attention. “Oh?” he asked with a raised brow, straightening up as he dropped the fake flirty persona. 

“Yeah,” she said aloud, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself that she actually had a request for the cook. From behind her back, she pulled out a couple of tangerines. With a slight smile and raised brow, she said matter-of-factly, “If I remember correctly, I believe I was told I could ask for a tangerine tart anytime I’d like?” 

A genuine smile came across Sanji’s face at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he laughed with a nod. “The Madam is correct.” He took the fruits from Nami’s hands and placed them on the counter, pushing away his bizarre pile of ingredients to make room. “One tangerine tart coming right up,” he said and started bustling around the kitchen with purpose this time, pulling out the necessary ingredients, a far cry from his movements a couple of minutes ago. 

Seeing Sanji occupied, Nami took a seat at the table, sitting where she had left her charting journal and reading glasses from breakfast that morning. She opened her journal back up and put her glasses on, flipping through the pages and resuming her sketch of her latest map.  

Both of them worked in silence for a few minutes, both engrossed in their respective activities until Nami broke it. Before speaking, she snuck a glance at the chef, making sure he was preoccupied before she started prodding and sure enough, he was. Perfect. 

“You know, I never told anyone this before,” Nami started, laying the groundwork for Sanji to open up, creating a tit for tat sort of thing, “but I actually love tangerine tarts.” 

Sanji huffed slightly with a slight smile, not looking up from his work. “Oh yeah? Well, be prepared to fall in love with them all over again.” He started pouring heavy cream into a separate bowl, adding sugar before whisking it all together. “Even Zeff used to say I made a mean tangerine tart.” 

Nami hummed. “Maybe you can make Zoro fall in love with them too,” she said casually, sneaking a quick look at Sanji, only to see him press his lips together in a firm line and start to whisk the cream harder at the mention of the swordsman. “Or y/n,” she added quickly. “I don’t think she’s ever had one either.” 

At the mention of you, Sanji’s face and motions relaxed slightly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I...think you’re right about that.” 

The orange-haired girl rotated her journal ninety degrees. She decided to prod a little harder. “I think I saw them talking earlier.” 

Sanji simply hummed in agreement, cracking eggs into a bowl, staying silent. With the third egg, however, he cracked it a little too hard on the counter, causing the raw egg contents to splatter everywhere and onto his black blazer.  

“Ah- fucking hell,” he muttered in disgust, throwing the broken eggshell into the trash before cleaning his hands off in the sink. 

Nami looked up from her work and quirked an eyebrow at her crewmate. “You good?” 

The blonde cook shook his head once with a sardonic smile. “Never better,” he quipped. 

Ok, she couldn’t do this dance anymore. Nami closed her journal and took off her glasses, looking straight at him. “Alright, you want to tell me what the hell is going on? You’re acting weird, even for you.” Sanji opened his mouth to protest but Nami spoke before he could. “And don’t lie to me.” 

Mouth still open, Sanji exhaled slowly and deflated. “I- I’m fine.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Sanji-” 

Upon hearing his name, Sanji blinked and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Nami rarely called him by his name.  

“Cut the bullshit,” she continued. “I heard your conversation with Usopp and you certainly didn’t sound ‘fine’.” 

Sanji was caught red-handed. With what exactly? He didn’t really know but he did know he was caught in a lie because he definitely did not feel fine. He shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words. “I...” he sighed and took off his ruined blazer, draping it over the back of an empty chair, rolling up his sleeves as he avoided Nami’s expectant stare. He grabbed a dirty rag and started cleaning the egg off the counter. “I don’t know...” 

“Sanji, you can barely crack an egg.” 

That brought out a short bark of laughter from the chef. “Yeah,” he relented. “Obviously.” 

“Is this because of your jealously over y/n and Zoro?” 

“My- my what? My jealously?” he sputtered and scoffed, still not looking Nami in the eye. “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why on earth would I be jealous over that stick in the mud?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nami played along, tapping her temple, pretending she was deep in thought. “Maybe because you saw and heard them laughing from all the way across the ship?” she pointed out. When Sanji tried to wave off her accusations with an unconvincing smile, Nami decided to just go in for the kill. If Sanji wasn’t going to admit his obvious liking towards her female crewmate and friend himself, then she’d have to do it for him. “Maybe....maybe because you might have a little crush on y/n?” she offered with a raised brow, staring right at him. 

“Wh-what?? A crush?” Sanji quickly rebuked, jerking his head back. “What are we? Little kids?” 

From her spot at the table, Nami could swear she saw a faint dusting of pink appear on his cheeks. She smirked to herself. She got him. “Well,” she shrugged, “it doesn’t matter how old we get, we all get crushes from time to time.” 

You? A crush? Sanji shook his head as he resumed making the tangerine tart. Labeling whatever feelings he had for you as simply a ‘juvenile crush’ didn’t feel right to him. You were more than that, and you didn’t deserve to be labeled as such. “No, she’s not a crush.” 

“Oh, so you like-like her?” Nami said like it was obvious. “You like her as more than just a friend.” 

“I-” Sanji started but stopped himself and sighed, feeling his irritation grow the longer this conversation went on. Now even the kitchen wasn’t bringing him peace? First, smoking and now this? What was next? “Why does it matter? All of a sudden, my love life is interesting to you and up for debate? I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” 

Nami watched his jaw tense and his body become stiff as he started zesting the tangerines. Clearly whatever feelings Sanji was dealing with, he wasn’t ready to openly talk about them, so she decided to back off.

She put her hands up in surrender, slumping back in her chair as she said, “Hey, I’m...I’m sorry. You’re right.” Deciding to give the chef his space, she gathered her belongings and stood up, making her way to the counter. “If you ever need to...talk or anything, I’m here,” she offered quietly. In a normal tone, she added, “Let me know when the tarts are ready. I really do want y/n and Zoro to try one.” 

Speaking of the devil, you came into the kitchen from the deck, eyes lighting up at the sight of Sanji cooking. Seeing Sanji cook was one of your favorite things and you always loved to guess what he was making. “Sanji! Ooo, what are you making?” 

Nami watched as Sanji’s whole demeanor change at the sight of you, like a switch being flipped on. She couldn’t help but smile knowingly between you both. “I’ll be in my room,” she announced before making her way out of the kitchen, leaving you both alone. 

Sanji had a wide smile, shoulders relaxing as his eyes lit up. “Why don’t you guess? Give it your best shot.” 

“Oh! I love this game. Ok, let’s see,” you said as you surveyed the ingredients laid out before you. “I see flour, sugar, butter and tangerines...are you making a tangerine cake or something?” 

Whatever jealousy or anger he had been feeling all day just instantly disappeared once he was with you. He felt like himself again, all carefree and lighthearted as he chuckled at your guess. “Not quite, Missus. But nice try,” he said as he looked into your eyes with a crooked smile. 

Missus. You felt your heart skip a beat at the nickname and you felt your insides became all warm. You hoped your face didn’t give away your swooning. He's never called you that before and you hoped to God that he would never stop. 

“Ah, my bad,” you laughed embarrassedly. “What are you making then?” 

“I, am making a tangerine tart,” he proudly stated as he grabbed another egg, perfectly cracking it this time. “At the request of the ship’s navigator.” 

A wide grin broke out across your face. “No way!!” you squealed eagerly, causing Sanji to laugh. “I’ve always wanted to try one!”  

The blonde chef nodded. “Yes, she did mention that actually.” After a beat, he added, “I hope you like it.” 

“Of course I will,” you said without hesitation. “I know I haven’t known you for that long, but it seems like everything you make is phenomenal. You’re the best cook I know.” 

Normally, nearly everyone compliments his cooking (except for Zoro) and he never really thought anything of it. He knew was the best cook in the East Blue and someday, the whole world when he found the All Blue. But hearing that compliment from you? How you said it so easily and with such certainty? He felt a funny, warm feeling deep within his chest and when he looked at you, just like how you knew for certain that he was the best chef around, he knew right then that you really were the most beautiful woman he’s ever known. 

So, yeah. Nami was right. He guessed he did have a little crush on you, or ‘like-liked’ you- whatever she was saying.  

“Do you mind if I watch?” 

Your question broke the little staring trance he was in, blinking and tearing his gaze away from you as he tried to refocus on the task before him. He truly had to make sure this was the best tart he’s ever made. 

He nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. God, he was probably acting like an excited puppy, but he couldn’t help himself. “Of course you can,” he agreed with a small smile. 

As you pulled up a stool to sit on the opposite side of the counter, Sanji realized something: him cooking in the kitchen with you sitting nearby? That’s something he could get used to and get used to very quickly. 

#sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji x y/n #opla!sanji x reader #sanji #sanji fanfiction #sanji vinsmoke #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece live action #opla!sanji #opla fanfiction #fluff #jealously #mutual pining #idiots in love #go fish! au #friends to lovers

[brairslair]

(i debated whether or not to ask this anonymously)

so yknow how eddie has a W.A.S.P pin on his vest? can you plz write an eddieXreader scene inspired by their song

Animal (F*** Like A Beast) ?

😅😊

i absolutely love this reqqq, tysm for letting me run with this! hope you like how it turned out @nerdyhooker

Like an Animal - E.M.

18+ ONLY (minors please dni)

a/n: finally figured out an idea i liked for this, and i think it turned out pretty good! although i may have gotten a bit carried away lmao. not sure if this is as rough as you might have had in mind, but i tried to pull as much from the lyrics as possible! i hope you like what i ended up with <3

wc: 5.8k

cw: eventual smut, fem!reader, bartender!eddie + english teacher!reader, kinda fuckboy eddie vibes?, enemies to lovers vibes, light bondage (handcuffsss), p in v sex, unprotected sex (do not do this), oral (fem receiving), pet names (princess, sweetheart, honey, baby), technically drinking and driving, smoking (cigs + i don’t smoke so idfk what i’m talking about), brat reader but she gets super subby, kinda mean but soft dom eddie?, light dacryphilia, these idiots have been head over heels for each other since high school and neither of them knew it bc they’re stupid and stubborn, extremely vague mention of aftercare, not proof read, lmk if i missed anything!

don’t forget to like, reblog, follow, and comment to support my work! it always makes my day, mwah

“well if it isn’t the little princess”

Just like that, nine months down the drain. You massage your temples as you recall the past few days. The countless arguments between you and your, now ex, boyfriend form a persistent migraine between your eyes.

In hindsight, you really should have seen it coming. Your relationship had been rocky for months, but you were so busy with other obligations that you hadn’t had the time to confront any of it head on. Fortunately for you, he was more than willing to step up to the plate.

You wouldn’t let yourself admit it out loud, but you almost felt relieved with his absence in your small apartment. That was until you remembered the loss of his half of the rent.

Everything happened so fast, it was hard to process any of it. It all felt like it was swirling around and around too quickly for you to pick any one thing out. Your solution? Alchohol.

You grabbed your keys and hopped into your polished, clean, mint green beetle, setting off for the local dive bar. You could only recall one other time you had been to the small bar, having been dragged there by colleagues in the name of “bonding” after a particularly long day at work.

Drinking wasn’t something you did often, reserving a glass of wine for holidays and special events. Tonight, you decided you needed to make an exception.

As you parked and stepped out of your car, you felt nerves twist in your gut. The place was undoubtedly busy, which wasn’t shocking for a Friday night. People were smoking and talking out front, and you couldn’t help but notice how out of place you must’ve looked.

A knee length grey skirt fell loosely over your hips, paired with a rose colored, ruffled blouse, and a pearl necklace with matching earrings to top it off. Not a single tattoo in sight, and certainly no cigarette in hand. Your heels clicked against the pavement, smoothing down your skirt as you made your way inside.

The second you enter, you’re hit with a haze of smoke and the overwhelming smell of alchohol, nicotine, and sweat. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before you head for the bar.

You shuffle your way over to an empty stool at the front and take a seat, plopping your beaded purse on the counter. As you wait for the bartender to make their way to you, you take a better look at your surroundings. The place felt oddly cozy for being in such a frumpy looking building, and a band was playing some sort of aggressive rock song you had never heard before. Despite it being a little too loud, and a little too cluttered, you were already starting to relax a little.

“Hey there, what can I get for ya?”

You whip your head around at the voice, and your stomach instantly falls into your shoes. It would be impossible not to recognize the dark mop of curls that you got so used to seeing bouncing about the halls you shared all those years ago.

Although now it was pulled back into a sloppy bun at the back of his head, loose curls falling around his face. You’d hate to admit it, but he looked really nice.

“Well if it isn’t the little princess.” he laughs, and you feel your fists clench at the old nickname. “Didn’t think this was really your scene.”

“Well that would be a correct assumption, Munson.” you bite, bouncing back from the initial shock, “Unfortunately, it was the closest bar to my apartment, and I wasn’t in the mood to drive across town.”

Your grumbling makes you feel like a petulant child with a grudge, but you can’t help it. Eddie just always has getting on your nerves.

“I didn’t know you worked here, or I would have made the sacrifice.”

Eddie smiles his big, toothy, infuriatingly smug smile, and shakes his head, “You haven’t changed one bit, huh princess?”

“Don’t call me that.” you demand through gritted teeth, holding on to every ounce of restraint you have not to scream at him to just get you a drink.

He leans forward on the counter with a lopsided, goofy sort of expression, invading your space and ignoring your little outburst. “So what brings you in here tonight, princess? Boy troubles?” he mocks with a pouty tone.

You glare daggers into his skull, and he knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “Just a beer will do.”

He gives a small salute before leaving to get you your drink of choice.

The rest of the night is spent drinking, wallowing, and actively avoiding any and all interactions with the familiar bartender. The minimal interaction you did have involved him pushing every button in sight, and you fighting to maintain an ounce of self control.

Any time your eyes made their way over to him, of their own volition, his eyes were already on you. He had this look, like he knew something you didn’t, and it infuriated you. Oh how you hated him.

It had always been this way, ever since high school. He made it his mission to push you to your limit, and you always had to one up him somehow. It became almost like a game. You weren’t surprised to see he hadn’t changed after all this time. It was almost comforting in way, if you thought about it long enough.

As the night went on, the activity slowly started dying down, and the atmosphere got quieter. You were on your second beer of the night, trying to let the cold liquid take the edge off. Even still, you felt your fingers tap against the counter with anxiety.

How could he leave you to fend for yourself at the drop of a hat? After nine months? Did your relationship hold that little of value? How were you supposed to afford next quarter’s rent? There’s no way you could afford to live in your current apartment. You would have to move. How would you find somewhere decent to stay in such a short amount of time? You were screwed.

“Hey sweetheart, we’re gettin’ ready to close up.”

You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up to see the one person you wanted to see the least right now. His expression was soft. Softer than you’ve ever seen it aimed in your direction. It made you want to dig your nails into his skin.

“You alright?”

The question takes you aback, your brows furrow at the uncharacteristic behavior. “Fine, thanks.” you mumble, taking another gulp of your drink.

He looks at you with what can only be described as sympathy, and you feel your chest tighten. “Wanna step out for a smoke?”

You mull over the words for a moment. The answer should be so simple. You don’t smoke. In fact, you’ve never smoked once in your life. Why would you ever agree to smoke with him of all people?

But then his hand is outstretched across the bar for you to take a cigarette, and his eyes look so… kind? You’ve never thought of that word to describe him before. Maybe it was the alchohol, or maybe he put some sort of curse on you, because suddenly you’re taking the cigarette and following him out front.

You can’t help but watch as his thumb flicks at the lighter, putting it up to your lips before bringing it to his own. You follow his lead inhaling the smoke, and then you’re instantly coughing and spluttering it back out of your lungs.

He laughs lightly as he cooly blows the smoke to the side to avoid getting it in your face. “I take it you’ve never smoked before? If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, Munson.” you spit out, face heating up with embarrassment as you make another attempt, ignoring the burning in your throat.

It’s silent for a while, before anyone decides to break it.

“So,” he starts, “You a big time writer now?” he asks, staring at the pavement.

He remembered you wanted to be a writer? You didn’t even think he knew that about you. “English teacher, actually. Hawkins High.”

He looks at you then, dropping the butt of his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. “You stuck around that hell hole? No wonder you’ve still got that stick up your ass.”

You scoff bitterly, “Well I guess some of us are more academically inclined than others.” you glare, “I actually enjoy my job, shocking as that may be to you.”

“I'm sure you do, sweetheart.” Eddie replies smugly, causing you to grit your teeth as he leans against the brick wall of the building. "Gettin' to boss people around all day must be a dream come true for you." The parking lot is almost completely empty at this point.

Of course his civility was just a calm before the storm. You mentally pinch yourself for your momentary lapse of judgement. “God, you are such a-“

“Comedian? Kind soul? Sight for sore eyes?” he offers dramatically, eyes twinkling at your grimace.

“I was going for obnoxious, conceited, prick.” You hiss, stomping out your cigarette, “and I do not have a stick up my ass!” you shout, turning on your heel to leave.

Eddie rushes to catch up to you, laughing boyishly in a way that makes you speed up. “Aw come on, princess, don’t be like that. I was just teasing.”

“I said not to call me that-” You whip around to face him, and suddenly you’re practically chest to chest, craning your neck to meet his eyes. You’re so close you wonder if he can feel your heart racing behind your ribs.

Then he’s looking at you with that look. The one that makes your insides bubble over with fury. The one that makes you feel like he knows some sort of deep secret about you. It makes you want to slap him in his smug face. Yet, for some reason, you can’t seem to look away from his gaze.

Finally, you pull yourself away, and march over to your car. Just as you open your door, you hear a retreating shout of, “Next drink’s on me, princess!” and then you’re out of there faster than you can process your heaving chest and shaky hands.

After that, you somehow end up back in that same bar every Friday. Some sort of force, unbeknownst to you, seemed to draw you in like a magnet. As promised, the next drink was on him… and the next, and the next, no matter how many times you tried to refuse.

No matter how much you tried to talk yourself out of it, you always ended up sitting on the same stool, at the same time, with the same drink in your hand. Every week, without fail, you would leave the bar a fuming, heated mess with only one thing on your mind. Eddie fucking Munson.

This week in particular was different. You were absolutely swamped with assignments that needed to be graded, and you spent all of Thursday night and Friday working on getting them done.

It wasn’t until you woke up the next morning that you noticed the hiccup in your routine, and for some reason it made you sad. It wasn’t like you were obligated to go every weekend, but a part of you had grown to enjoy your Friday nights at the bar. Then some sick, twisted part of you wondered if he had noticed your absence, but you shoved the thought away as soon as it surfaced.

As the day went on, you convinced yourself it wouldn’t hurt to just go tonight instead. After all it was a Saturday night, and you had already cleared your workload for the week, so it’s not like there was any real harm in it.

Alternatively, it was a Saturday night. Eddie’s band performed Saturday nights. You didn’t want him to think you were there to see him, because you most certainly were not. You just didn’t want to miss out on your weekly drink, that’s all. Nothing more.

Still, it was a Saturday night. It would do you some good to look a little nicer, right?

You start to regret it the second you park your car. The shift in the air is blatantly obvious as you enter walk towards the crowded space. Men out front whistle at you as you walk to the door, and you can feel eyes practically digging into your skin as u head for your usual seat at the bar. Your leg bounces with nerves at the attention. You've never worn this dress before. Never had a reason to. You don't allow yourself to wonder why you chose to wear it tonight.

You ask the bartender for a long island iced tea, and catch yourself checking the small stage in the back of the room. You internally scold yourself and glue your eyes to your drink.

It isn’t long before cheers are heard around the bar, pulling your attention up to see Corroded Coffin walking out on stage.

“How’s everybody doing tonight?” Eddie’s voice booms out of the speakers, causing people to whoop and holler in reply. You feel your leg begin to bounce.

He continues talking to the small crowd while his band finishes setting up, and you can’t stop yourself from ogling at him. You desperately want to pull your eyes away, to look at anything else, but you can’t.

He’s wearing an old band t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off his arms, chest, and a sliver of his waist. Your eyes trail across the exposed skin, noticing he has quite a few new tattoos littering it, and your stomach twists. He has leather and chain bracelets decorating his wrists, curls falling wildly around his face, and you notice light bouncing off of his signature rings still adorning his fingers. You definitely don’t remember him looking like this in high school.

As he moves around the stage it’s abundantly clear how confident he is up there. His stage presence is truly impressive, and his voice is really something. It's gotten deeper since the last time you heard it. You subconsciously wet your lips as you watch his fingers move around the neck of his guitar. He’s come a long way since the last time you saw him perform. You can’t help but smile as you watch him in his element.

Then the smile is wiped clean off of your face when he makes direct eye contact with you from across the bar. You freeze, feeling like you suddenly have shards of glass lodged in your throat. Has he known you’ve been sitting here the whole time? If he saw you smiling you might have to run into oncoming traffic.

Then you notice what he’s singing.

“I'm on the prowl and I watch you closely I lie waiting for you I'm the wolf with the sheepskins clothing I lick my chops and you're tastin' good”

Your stomach flips and you can feel your whole body heating up. Something tells you he notices too, which makes it a million times worse. What the hell is wrong with you?

“I do whatever I want to do ya I'll nail your ass to the sheets A pelvic thrust and the sweat starts to sting ya I fuck like a beast”

You shift in your seat, the eye contact becoming far too overwhelming. You opt to look down at your lap for the remainder of the song to prevent yourself from doing something embarrassing.

Soon enough the set is over, and the band starts breaking down their set up. You’re so deep in your own thoughts by the end of it that you fail to notice the man approaching you, until his arms are caging you against the bar.

“Well hello there, pretty lady.” You gasp at the familiar voice speaking directly into your ear, feeling his shirt graze your back. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” He beams down at you, watching you huff and roll your eyes as you turn to face him. Your fingers wriggle with the efforts not to hit him.

“It was an impulsive decision.” You mutter quietly, eyes briefly darting to his toned arm beside you before snapping back to his face, “I didn’t come yesterday.” You concede, unsure of what else to say.

He smiles, seemingly amused. “I know. Your seat was empty all night.” he says lowly, face so close to yours that you can feel his breath against your lips. For a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, and then he’s pushing off of the counter to head back behind the bar and help clean up.

So he did notice. Did he miss you? Was he saving your seat, or is it just a coincidence?

You feel dizzy with a million questions. Why did you let him get so close? Why were you going to let him kiss you? Why does he look so good. Why do you care so much? You should have said something, anything.

You finish your drink in silence, watching Eddie as he flits around tidying up the place, and then the bar is closing. You feel your gut twist at the thought of going home, and you don’t quite understand why, but you blame the alchohol.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Eddie jogs up to you as you grab your purse, arm outstretched and offering a cigarette. His hair falls prettily around his shoulders, and you only now notice that he takes much better care of his curls now than he did in high school.

“Care for a smoke?”

His charm must be cranked up to 100 tonight, because, once again, you agree with less hesitation than you would have liked.

You stand out front, Eddie waving goodnight to Garret as he heads to his car, and you watch as the last car whirs out of the lot. Then you are alone. Just you and Eddie. Your heart hammers in your chest.

“How’d you like the show?” he asks, exhaling a puff of smoke in the process.

You handle the burn better this time, holding back a cough from erupting as you take a drag. “It was… good.” You say hesitantly.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, “Just good? Wow, then we really need to get our shit together if we're gonna-“

“You were amazing.” You blurt out, unsure of why you felt the need to boost his ego. You clear your throat before amending your statement, “It… The show was amazing.”

Eddie hums in satisfaction, smile tugging at the corners of his lips around his cig. “You know, you didn’t have to dress all fancy for lil ol’ me.”

You wore a tight, low-backed, black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, sheer black stockings, black boots, and some dainty silver jewelry. Nothing too crazy, but definitely much different from how you would normally dress. Admittedly, you felt a little self conscious.

“Well good thing I didn’t dress fancy for you.” You huff, starting to feel a little silly for trying so hard to fit in. God, did he always have to be so cocky?

“I mean, I’m not complaining.” He starts, pushing off the wall to step towards you. “You look fucking incredible. Of course, you always look incredible.”

Smug bastard.

“Thank you.” You feel yourself flushing at the words, immediately getting sick to your stomach at how much you care what Eddie Munson thinks about how you look. “Glad I got your seal of approval.” You quip sarcastically, desperately trying to pick a fight. Anything to stop you from feeling whatever it is that you’re feeling right now.

Why did he always find a way to get under your skin? No one else makes you feel as utterly frustrated as he does.

He’s absolutely unbearable.

You force down another inhale of smoke as you watch Eddie slowly make his way closer to you. The way he’s looking at you makes your mouth go dry. You can’t tell what he’s thinking and it’s driving you up the wall.

“You know, you don’t always have to be such a brat.” He exhales casually, pausing in front of you. Your heart stops. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to me every once in a while.”

“It might.” You rasp out curtly, just now realizing how out of breath you suddenly feel.

He laughs, and the sound makes your insides flip.

“You have such a big fat crush on me, don’t you sweetheart?” He smiles down at you wolfishly, and it almost makes you shrink under his stare. You suddenly are acutely aware of your surroundings.

You scoff and cross your arms defensively, “I most certainly do not have a crush on you, Munson.” You spit out venomously. How dare he even suggest such a thing? It couldn’t be farther from the truth. You loathe him.

“Oh yeah?” he challenges, taking a stride closer to you, making you step backwards.

“Think I don’t notice how you stare at me? How you sit up a little straighter when you see me?”

Your back hits the wall.

“You aren’t subtle, princess.”

You feel like a fucking deer in headlights.

“Staring and glaring are two very different things.” You pant, desperately searching for oxygen. Anger burns in your throat at his absolute audacity, and your skin feels like it's buzzing.

“Is that so?”

You can feel his chest press into you as the brick digs into your shoulders. He takes a long inhale of smoke, and your head is screaming at you to push him off of you and curse him the whole way home, but you can’t bring yourself to move.

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as he grabs your chin, and then, unexpectedly, he‘s pulling your jaw down to part your lips. All you can do is stare at him and his cocky fucking smile at your compliance. You feel like you’re in a trance.

Before you can even think, his lips are pressed against yours and pushing smoke past your lips. You gasp at the contact, effectively inhaling the smoke and sighing against his lips. Your brain short circuits and goes completely numb. His lips feel like the cure to a disease you've been plagued with for years.

For a moment, you almost forget who you’re with, until he pulls back to look at you.

“Well if you hate me so much, then why are you squeezing your thighs together?”

You immediately rip your legs apart, not even realizing what you were doing until it was too late. You can feel steam pouring out of your ears at this point.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

He’s right. For some reason, you do love it. Something about him makes you crave more, and you’re starting to believe he may be an incubus. It’s making you go insane.

So you finally wave the white flag.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Munson.”

So he does. Again, and again, and again, until somehow you end up back at Eddie’s trailer with your wrists handcuffed to his bed frame and your clothes thrown around his room.

Hard rock music plays faintly in the distance, and the room smells vaguely of incense and weed. You feel like you've been transported to an alternate dimension.

His lips feel like they’re everywhere. Your mouth, your jaw, your neck, and then he’s leaving sweet little kisses on your tits, making you whine and arch your back towards him.

“Gotta teach you how to let loose, yeah?”

He gently tugs on one of your nipples and you gasp, and Eddie can’t help but laugh as he kisses his way further down your body.

“You’re fucking adorable when you’re not being a pain in the ass, you know that?”

You groan as he spreads your legs open, kissing and biting at your thighs. “Shut up, Eddie.”

“Oh I’m Eddie now?”

Your hips buck up in frustration, glaring down at him with a scowl. It feels like he’s been teasing you for forever. “Eddie” you whine out, “Stop teasing.”

He slowly starts kissing closer to where you need him most, but not quite close enough. “You don’t think you deserve it? Why do you think your wrists are locked up then, sweetheart?”

You wiggle and writhe beneath him, but don’t answer. Eddie moves his face closer to your cunt, and you finally think you’re going to get what you want, and then he blows on your clit. You whimper and clench around nothing, flinching away from him. It's absolutely pathetic, getting so worked up when he’s barely even done anything yet.

“I asked you a question.” Eddie tries again, rubbing soothing circles into the back of your thigh while he waits for a response.

“My wrist’s are locked up because…” You take a deep sigh and force yourself to just spit it out so that he’ll touch you already. “because I was being a brat." you grumble. He’s lucky your wrists are locked up right now, you think.

Eddie kisses your thigh in approval, “That’s right, and bratty girls don’t get to call the shots. Right?”

You huff and pull against your restraints once more, before ultimately complying. “Right.”

You figure it won’t do you any good to act out, especially given your current position.

“There you go, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Eddie grins up at you, before finally leaving a gentle kiss right on your clit.

You throw your head back into the pillows, immediately feeling relief at the small touch. He then runs his tongue up your slit, swirling it nice and slow around your little button, making you sigh and melt into the bed. His curls tickle your thighs where he works diligently.

It quickly becomes apparent that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and that makes you wonder how many other women have been in this exact same position. The thought makes you dig your nails into your palms, but the it’s is quickly forgotten when you feel him slide a finger into you.

"See?" He starts, words muffled by your folds, "Just needed someone to put you in your place, huh? To take the reigns?"

You flutter around him, and every fiber of your being wants to say something snippy in response, but all you get out is a blissed out sigh. He hums happily.

His fingers are much thicker than your own, calloused from his years of playing guitar. Looking down you notice he took all his rings off and set them next to you on the bed. He never takes his rings off, ever, you remember that. For some reason the simple act makes your heart leap out of your chest.

He pulls his face back from your slick for a moment just to watch the way you suck in his finger, and he moans at the sight of you. The sound makes your brain feel like static. “Fuck, baby, you needed it bad, huh? You’re fucking dripping all over my sheets and I've barley started.”

All you can do is nod your head and hum in response, and your jaw drops open with a soft moan as he slides in a second finger with ease.

“How long have you been wanting me like this, sweetheart? Be honest.” He asks, never faltering in his pace.

You whine at the question, embarrassment flooding your features as you turn your face to hide it in his pillow. He quickly kisses up your body, gently turning your head back to look at him. “You can tell me. No need to be embarrassed.”

You take one good look at his face, and you know that he already knows. He’s giving you that look. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Mm… Since-” you hesitate to finish your sentence, and then a particularly hard thrust of his fingers does it for you. “Since fucking high school! Christ, Eddie-”

A groan erupts from the back of his throat as he kisses you hard, licking and biting at your bottom lip, and then suddenly his mouth is back on your clit and you feel like you’re floating. He picks up the pace, eating you out like a man starved, flicking his tongue in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

You feel your hips start to move against him, and he groans into your pussy making you cry out. “Yeah, that’s it.” He mumbles against your core, “Ride my face, honey.”

You can’t control the plethora of sounds that escape you, and your body seems to have a mind of its own. You writhe on the bed as Eddie devours you, holding your thighs over his shoulders. He searches for your sweet spot with every thrust of his fingers, and he knows he’s found it when your eyebrows pinch up, a high pitched whine reverberating throughout his bedroom.

You can feel him smile against your cunt, continuing his assault against that spot that makes you see stars. He never stops looking up at you to watch your face contort with pleasure. His already dark eyes are now fully eclipsed with lust and need.

“Oh my god-” you gasp out, heaving for air as your legs begin to shake around his head.

He can tell you’re close from the way you’re squeezing his fingers and writhing under him. He doesn’t speed up or change his pace, he keeps doing exactly what he’s doing, moving the flat of his tongue back and forth against your clit and curling his fingers up into you just right.

“Eddie, mm… i’m so close-”

The second the words leave your lips, he pulls off of you. His mouth and fingers are completely gone in an instant, and you feel like you’re about to cry.

“What the fuck?!” You shout at him, voice weak with tears threatening to spill, “Why did you stop?”

Eddie grins from ear to ear, lips and chin glistening with your slick, “We talked about this, remember?” he says cockily, leaning down to lick a bead of sweat from your chest, “Brats don’t get to call the shots. You’ll take what I give you, won’t you sweetheart?”

You grumble and kick your legs out in frustration, but he kisses you to make it better. You slowly let him melt you back into putty in his hands, tasting yourself on his tongue. He presses his knee directly against your puffy cunt, groaning at your wetness against his skin as you sigh into his lips. You go to move your hips against him but he quickly stops you, moving his hand up instead to push down his boxers, his dick already hard and aching to feel you.

“Promise I’ll make you feel so good, just gotta be good for me first alright?”

You nod your head frantically, completely and utterly at his mercy. He looks like sex personified, and you just want to feel him. “Please, Eddie-”

He smiles sweetly at you, kissing your cheek as he slides the tip of his cock through your folds. “Awh, look at you and your manners.” he taunts, but this time you can't seem to care. In fact, you realize, you kind of like it.

You like hearing his voice.

You like it when he’s mean.

He pushes just the tip against your dripping hole, and you’re practically sobbing. “How can I say no when you asked so politely?” and then he’s sliding all the way into you, and you’re already a wreck.

“Holy shit- you feel so fucking good” he groans and huffs as he starts to slowly pump in and out of you, making sure you feel every drag of his cock inside you.

You’re already panting, stretching your hands against the cool metal to try and grasp for anything that can ground you, but you come up empty. He’s so much bigger than you expected him to be, and the stretch is practically making you drool.

“Eddie, fucking- god”

“That’s it, keep screaming my name just like that baby.” He encourages, kissing and biting at your collar bone, sure to leave marks, “You sound so goddamn pretty when you say my name.”

Eddie adjusts your position, pulling your leg over his hip and pushing it against your chest. The new angle has your back arching off the bed, a whimpering mess as you claw at the handcuffs.

Eddie leans his head to rest in the crook of your neck, panting and whining into your ear. “Shit, princess-”

Your cunt squeezes him at the nickname, and the moan that slips past your lips is guttural. “Oh, fuck-” He clamps his eye shut with a deep groan, gripping your thigh so hard it’s sure to leave little bruises.

That’s the first time he’s used that nickname since you started, and he knows it. He did it on purpose.

He lifts his head to look at your blissed out face, a goofy, lopsided, fucked out grin on his lips. “I knew it.” he gloats, thrusts getting harder, “Look at me.”

You muster up the energy to flutter your eyes open and look at him. The pretty smile on his face makes your legs shake.

“You like it when I call you that,” he beamed, “That’s why you hated when I used that name for you in public, huh. Cause’ it made you fuckin’ soak your panties?” he laughed meanly, watching tears fill your waterline. He leans down to brush his lips against yours, voice lowering into something sweeter. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you practically scream. He looked so pretty, and he felt so good, and you wanted him closer. It was all too much, you needed to hold something, anything. You needed to pull yourself back down to reality.

“Eds- Eddie, please can I touch you?” your fingers twitch where they’re held above your head, “Wanna feel you- please, i’ve been so good-”

Eddie whines at your sweet pleas, but maintains composure. He wanted to stick to the plan.

“Oh, honey, no” he pouts out at you mockingly, watching the way you strain for anything to grasp and his dick twitches inside you, “No, you gotta give me one first. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Too fucked out to formulate a simple response, you simply sob and nod your head. Your hips start to rock up into his thrusts, but Eddie grabs your hips with one hand and pushes them back down into the sheets. You feel like a live wire.

Then he brings his thumb down to your clit, gently rubbing circles on it, and your eyes clamp shut. He kisses your open mouth and you try your best to kiss him back, but he’s moaning into your mouth, and he’s touching you, and fucking you, and Eddie Munson is fucking you, and it’s all so good that you just can’t.

“Eddie, i’m gonna-” you babble, almost incoherent, feeling the knot getting tighter and tighter, “Please please please don’t stop!”

He puts more pressure on your clit and leaves sweet little kisses on your neck, “I’m not got stop, it’s okay.”

You’re so close you feel like you’re about to explode.

“You can cum for me, princess”

That’s all you needed to see stars, black clouding your vision as he rides out your high, not once stopping or slowing down his pace. You can vaguely hear him talking you down, but nothing registers past your ears ringing.

Then your wrists are released and he’s flipping you over so that you’re on top, straddling him, and your hands and lips are all over him in an instant. In this position he hits your g-spot perfectly, and you can’t help but sob against his chest at the overstimulation.

“Just one more for me, I promise.” he soothes, gently rubbing your hip as his guides your hips back and forth on his cock, making you both cry out. You start to set your own pace riding him, leaning back against his legs to give you the perfect angle.

“You’re so perfect.” He mutters, breathlessly, “My pretty girl- fuck.”

Eddie was now moaning and whining louder and more freely than before, you can tell he’s getting close now too, and you’re already reaching your second climax of the night.

“Wanted you for so long,” Eddie admits, gripping your hip tighter, “can’t believe this is real.”

You whine at the confession, leaning forward to press your lips to the shell of his ear. You make sure to let your pretty noises and praises flow freely, just for him. Your fingers gently brush hairs from his forehead before scratching your way down his chest.

“You fuck me so well, Eds”

“Oh my god- you feel so good”

“Please, Eddie, I wanna feel you cum”

He’s an absolute mess, wrapping both hands around your hips and bending his knees up so that he can fuck you down onto him. “Wanna cum with you sweetheart. Want you to give me another one.” He rambles against your chest, and your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving little red marks behind.

“I’m so close, honey, c’mon. You can give it to me."

You bite and claw at his skin, so close to tipping over the edge.

"Soak me.”

You collapse forward as tears of overstimulation fall onto his inked skin, and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder to ground himself while he paints your walls white. You ride out your highs, clutching each other like a lifeline. When you’re both back on planet earth, he cleans you up nice an gentle, and whispers pretty little praises into your skin as you fall asleep with your limbs intertwined.

“Knew you had a crush on me, princess.”

Let’s just say you no longer have to go apartment hunting!

asks are open!

#brairslair #brairs fics #eddie #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things smut #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #smut #angst #fluff #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #idiots in love

[queenofterrasen418]

Cruel Fates (Part 2)

Pairing: Azriel x f!Reader, little Eris x f!Reader

Summary: Azriel is your mate but only you know it. You are very aware that he has eyes for someone else and thus you decide not to hide it forever. After all, what could go wrong right?

Warnings: Angst (I don't think I can ever stop myself from writing angst.)

Based on this ask.

4.1K words

Previous part

You found yourself aimlessly wandering along the banks of Sidra after storming out on Rhys. The ambient noise enveloped you—the rhythmic splashes of the river against rocks, the bustling chatter of the market, birds chirping in the background. Everything felt mundane, yet strangely comforting. Ignoring your problems wasn’t a solution, as Rhys had pointed out, but it was undeniably easier than facing or even acknowledging them. Nevertheless, you had resigned yourself to the current state of affairs.

Using distraction as your shield, you returned home burdened with bags filled with new books, clothes, and other unnecessary items. As you entered the elegant two-story building you called home, a sense of familiarity and solace washed over you. This palace had become a sanctuary, a reflection of your own essence.

Closing the door behind you with a soft thud, you were greeted by the familiar scent of citrus and jasmine. Setting down the bags, you kicked off your shoes. The silence of the house stood in stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of the market. Just as thoughts of Azriel slipped from your mind, your senses sharpened, recognizing the subtle hum of shadows.

"Ah, the shadow singer. Ever heard of knocking or privacy?" you quipped, though you didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

"I'm a spymaster; it's not in my nature," he replied with his customary soft smile.

Refusing to let your gaze linger on him for too long, you busied yourself by fetching a glass of water.

"How can I assist you, Azriel?" you inquired as you filled the glass in the kitchen beyond the hall where he stood. You still felt a distance from him, not quite comfortable enough to address him as Az like your sisters, Feyre or Elain, did.

"Can't I simply enjoy your company?" he teased, his voice gentle.

Turning away, you closed your eyes for a moment, mentally reminding yourself to compartmentalize. "He's just being polite," you repeated to yourself, trying to drown out the nagging voice in your head that reminded you of Elain's constant talk about him. "He treats Elain the same."

You scoffed, hoping it didn’t come across as too rude. "Yeah, sure. Now, what brings you here?"

"We're expecting Eris to arrive in a few hours, around sunset. Rhys wanted me to ask if you've changed your mind."

Ah, you had forgotten about the impending meeting with the prince. You sighed. "And Rhys couldn’t ask me himself because?" It was a rhetorical question, but Azriel seemed unaware.

"He mentioned that you two had a disagreement, and he wasn’t sure if you'd be open to talking."

"Of course, I'll talk to him. I’m not a child," you replied, your brows furrowing. "And yes, I still intend to attend that meeting."

Azriel nodded, his expression unreadable as always. "Good to know. In that case, he asked me to inform you that you’ll have to deal with this meeting on your own, there are some crises with an Illyrian camp that he had to attend to, and he is running late.”

“Oh,” A part of you was glad that Rhys let you handle this, “It’ll just be me then?”

The spymaster shook his head, “Of course not, I’ll accompany you.”

You nodded as you were unsure of the right response, “Is there anything else I should know before I meet Eris?”

Azriel paused and started slowly, “My shadows tell me he wishes to overthrow his father. But it’s difficult to know what’s the truth.”

“Ahh, that’s why Rhys put me on this.”  you realized as Azriel nodded in response.

You wondered why Rhys requested you accompany him to a meeting with Eris. The powers you got from the cauldron were unique. Your ability ranges from slowing a person's pulse to snatching the air from their lungs as long as the target must be in your line of sight. You can command human organs and regulate emotions by releasing certain chemicals in the body. This allows you to induce suffocation by removing air from someone's lungs, controlling blood flow, causing heart attacks, dictating heart rhythm, and slowing healing. Aside from being extremely valuable in a battle, you can also act as a living lie detector, by monitoring a person’s physiological response.

“Alright, I’ll be there, is there anything else?” 

Azriel looked like he was about to say something before he muttered a no.

“You know better than to lie to me, what is it?”

He signed before he finally asked, “I knew that you and Rhys got close in a short time but I didn’t realise you were close enough that he trusted you to handle a meeting alone. That too with Eris.”

“Honestly, I didn't know either.” you said, “Rhys and I connected so quickly that it felt like I had known him for years, he is the older brother I never had. I am glad that he trusts me to handle this.”

You noticed a strange emotion flash in his eyes for a quick second before he gave a soft smile “I am happy for him, I am glad he found a friend in you, y/n. Cassian and I may be his brothers but he still doesn't confide in us completely, he is too afraid to burden us. Feyre and you are good for him.”

You returned his smile, “We all need someone to lean on.” 

“Well, Is there anything you need assistance with before then?", he asked.

You shook your head, dismissing any further conversation. "No, I'll manage. Thank you, Azriel."

He lingered for a moment, as if debating whether to say something else, but ultimately turned to leave without another word.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. It wasn’t directed at Azriel, but rather at yourself for the walls you had built, preventing anyone from getting too close. Yet, at the same time, you couldn’t bear the thought of letting those walls crumble, leaving you vulnerable to the possibility of rejection. Aside from that, even if he did feel the same way, how long will it last? That too with your newly immortal lifespan? You have witnessed true love fall apart in a short time in the human lands. How would it not end in anything but pain in the life of an immortal? If there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that to love, is to destroy. Not telling Azriel was the best option for yourself, you were not going to invite pain to your doorstep.

With a heavy heart, you retreated to your room. You knew that sooner or later, Azriel would find out but for now, you allowed yourself the temporary respite of distraction. 

Later that day, the anticipation of Eris's arrival hung heavy in the air as you prepared for the meeting. Despite your best efforts to focus on the task at hand, thoughts of Azriel and the unresolved tension between you lingered at the edges of your mind.

As the sun began its descent, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, a knock at the door signalled Eris's arrival. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you made your way to the entrance, your heart pounding in your chest.

Opening the door, you were met with the sight of Eris standing tall and imposing, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a striking shade of amber, sparkled with mischief as he took in your appearance.

If you were to describe him, you'd call him the living embodiment of fire. 

He was the light to Azriel's dark, they were opposite in every way possible.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't the infamous Y/N," he drawled, his voice smooth like silk. "I must say, you're even more captivating in person."

You rolled your eyes at his flattery, though you couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement that his words stirred within you. "Save the charm, Eris. It won’t work on me."

He chuckled, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you, the air between felt charged, "You wound me, darling. I assure you, my intentions are nothing but genuine."

Before you could retort, Azriel appeared beside you, his presence like a sudden gust of wind that left you breathless. Though his expression remained neutral, you couldn’t shake the feeling of tension radiating from him.

You did miss how Azriel's heart rate was unusually increased, while Eris' remained stable calm and genuine, just like he mentioned before. 

“Eris," Azriel greeted with a nod, his voice devoid of warmth.

"Az," Eris replied, his smirk widening as he used Azriel's nickname. "Always a pleasure."

The air crackled with unspoken tension as the three of you made your way to the meeting room. Eris's gaze lingered on you, his eyes flickering with a mixture of curiosity and desire that sent a shiver down your spine as you all took your seats.

“Imagine how surprised I was when my high lord told me that you had requested a meeting with the night court.” you began holding the prince’s eyes.

“I had requested to meet Rhysand but I am not complaining. You are far better to look at.” Eris said with a smirk that never seemed to leave his face.

“I'll inform him that you were pleased by the arrangement.” you replied with an earnest smile.

Maybe this could be fun, you thought.

Maybe you found Eris fun.

As Eris seemed to give another flirty retort, Azriel spoke.

“Why are you here?

“Ugh! You are no fun Azriel. It’s not like you don't know already.”

You raise your brows at him, asking him to elaborate. 

Eris obliged, “I want to…” he  seemed to pause choosing his words carefully, “relieve my father from his duties and be the high lord of Autumn court.”

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh at his words, “‘relieve my father of his duties’? My, my, whatever happened to daddy's loyal boy?” 

You caught the slight upper tilt of Azriel's lips just as your powers detected the slight rise in the pulse of Eris before it slowed down again.

“Apparently he's not as loyal as you thought.”

“How can we trust you?”

“Who are you kidding, princess? I'd be a fool not to know about your interesting powers.”

“Fair enough, what does the night court have to do with this?”

“Help me, to get rid of my father, support my claim as the high lord.”

“Why would we do that? We’d then be replacing one monster for another.” you shot back.

If your words affected him, he showed no signs of it, physically at least, but the small spike in his cortisol levels and the drop in his pulse told you your words hit their mark.

Eris's smile tightened ever so slightly, but he maintained his composure, leaning back in his chair with an air of practised ease. "I can see why you might think that, but I assure you, I'm not my father. Unlike Beron, I see the value in alliances and mutual benefit."

Azriel crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "Convincing words, Eris, but words are cheap. What do you have to offer in return for our support?" 

You couldn’t honestly remember when was the last time you had heard him speak this much, or if you had ever interacted with him for more than a few words.

Eris's gaze flickered to Azriel, then back to you. "Information. My father is planning something that could have catastrophic consequences for all of us. He's been working with a human queen—one who has a vested interest in starting a new war between our realms."

Your heart skipped a beat, a sense of dread settling over you. "Which queen?"

Eris's expression grew grave. "Queen Briallyn. She's amassed a formidable army and is working with my father to create a weapon that could tip the scales in her favour."

You exchanged a glance with Azriel, whose stoic expression betrayed a flicker of concern. "What kind of weapon?"

"One that can manipulate the very fabric of magic itself," Eris replied, his voice low and serious. "It could render even the most powerful High Lords and their courts defenceless."

Azriel's eyes darkened. "And you have proof of this?"

Eris reached into his coat and pulled out a small, intricately carved box. He placed it on the table and opened it to reveal a collection of documents and maps. "These are the plans and correspondences between my father and Queen Briallyn. Everything you need to verify my claims is right here."

You leaned forward, scrutinizing the documents. The meticulous detail and undeniable authenticity left little room for doubt. 

You sighed passing the letters to the shadowsinger. "Just when we thought Prythian had a moment of rest."

Eris met your gaze, his expression was earnest. "Our courts need to work together."

You considered his words, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. It was a risk, but the potential consequences of inaction were too dire to ignore. "Assuming we agree to help, how do you propose we go about it?"

Eris's smirk returned, though there was a determined glint in his eyes. "We can meet regularly and update eachother with what we know and proceed from there."

Azriel's gaze remained fixed on Eris, his expression unreadable. "And what guarantees do we have that you won't betray us once you have what you want?"

Eris leaned forward, his amber eyes burning with intensity. "You have my word and the knowledge that if I betray you, I'll be signing my own death warrant. Beron would kill me in a heartbeat. I need this alliance as much as you do."

You took a deep breath, weighing the risks and benefits. Finally, you nodded. "Alright, Eris. We'll discuss this with our high lord and get back to you. But know this—if you betray us, there will be nowhere in this world you can hide."

Eris inclined his head, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "Understood. Now, I've always been curious about your powers," he began, his tone light but laced with genuine interest. "I've heard rumours, but I find that firsthand accounts are always more... enlightening."

You arched an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a guarded expression. "Have you now, Eris? And I’m not in the habit of revealing my secrets to just anyone." Your powers were not publicized much, you and Rhys decided it was more advantageous to keep it quiet. But they weren’t a secret either.

Eris chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "Ah, but I'm not just anyone, am I? People talk about you being able to control the very essence of life itself. Now, that sounds rather impressive, don't you think?"

You chuckled softly, crossing your arms. "Rumours tend to exaggerate. I'm sure the truth is far less exciting."

Eris took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Is that so? From what I understand, you can manipulate the body on a molecular level. Imagine the possibilities... and the danger."

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Dangerous, perhaps, but only to those who give me a reason to use it."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Fair enough. But tell me, how does it work? Do you just think about it and—poof—someone's heart stops beating?"

You gave him a sly smile. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you. Or at least give you a nasty headache."

Eris laughed, a rich, warm sound that filled the room.

Eris's expression grew more serious, though his smile remained. "You know, Y/N, there's something else I've been thinking about.”

You looked at Azriel and joked, “Look at that! You have certainly been thinking a lot recently, haven’t you Eris? Looks like you’ve been having a lot of thoughts.” You were surprised that Azriel gave a small smile from the way he had tensed this entire meeting, waiting for a chance to pounce on the Autumn prince.

Eris widened his smile at your comment as he continued, “Here’s my proposal, this alliance between us... it could be more than just a political arrangement."

You tilted your head, intrigued despite yourself. "Oh? And what exactly are you suggesting, Eris?"

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm suggesting a union between our courts, a marriage of sorts. Think about it—together, we’d hold so much power." 

Azriel lost all his self-control as he whispered in a deadly calm tone, “You have gone insane.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. Your powers silently rush to soothe Azriel before he does something reckless, "You certainly don't lack ambition, I'll give you that. But why on earth would I consider such an arrangement?" 

Eris's gaze softened, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes. "Because I believe we could be unstoppable together. You're powerful, intelligent, and, if I may be so bold, quite captivating. With your abilities and my resources, there's no limit to what we could achieve."

You felt a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe even the faintest hint of intrigue.

“Too bad you were already mated, if only he knew”, you thought to yourself.

A slow thought crept into your mind, “So what if you were mated? Nothing was going to come out of it anyway.” 

"Captivating, am I? You do know how to charm, Eris. But you'll have to do better than that to convince me."

Eris's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Consider it, Y/N. Imagine what we could accomplish together. The Autumn Court and the Night Court united as one. We could bring peace, prosperity, and a new era of cooperation to our people."

You studied him for a long moment, weighing his words. There was no denying the potential benefits of such a union, but there were also risks—trusting Eris was a gamble, and one you weren't sure you were ready to take. Thoughts of what he did to Mor screamed in your head.

“I didn’t forget your past with Morrigan, Eris. You still expect me to agree to this?”

His eyes narrowed at that, “Morrigan knows the truth of what happened that day. Ask her for the entire truth.”

Confusion bloomed inside you at his words but you did not have time to sort through lies now, Azriel was too agitated and you were left with an important choice to make.

"I'll think about it," you finally said, your tone careful. "But don't get your hopes up, Eris. I'm not so easily won over." you slipped a mask of playfulness again.

Eris chuckled, rising from his seat with a graceful fluidity. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Y/N. Just promise me you'll keep an open mind."

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'll keep an open mind. But remember, Eris—if you cross me, you'll regret it."

He inclined his head, his expression earnest. "I wouldn't dream of it. Until next time, Y/N."

With that, Eris turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The idea of a union with Eris was both tempting and daunting, and you couldn't help but wonder what the future held for the two of you—and for your courts.

The room settled into an uneasy silence. You could feel the tension radiating from Azriel beside you, a stark contrast to his usually calm demeanour. His jaw was clenched, and his shadows seemed to writhe and twist around him with a life of their own.

You turned to face him, concern etched into your features. "Azriel, what's wrong? If I hadn’t calmed you Mother knows what you’d have done to him!"

Azriel’s eyes, usually a cool and controlled shade of hazel, now burned with a fierce intensity. "What's wrong? Are you seriously considering his proposal, Y/N?"

You blinked, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction, you have never seen this side of him.

 "It's not as simple as that, Azriel. We have to consider all options if we want to ensure the safety of Prythian."

He took a step closer, his voice low and filled with barely suppressed anger. "Eris is playing a dangerous game. A union with him? You can't seriously think that's a good idea."

You met his gaze, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. "I'm not saying I'm going to marry him tomorrow, Azriel. But we can't dismiss his proposal outright. There’s the potential benefit—"

Azriel cut you off, his voice rising. "Potential benefit? He's manipulating you, Y/N! He wants power, and he’ll use you to get it. Do you really believe he has anyone's interests at heart other than his own?"

You felt a surge of defensiveness, your own anger flaring in response. "And what if he does? What if this alliance could actually bring about the change we need? We can’t afford to let personal grudges cloud our judgment. He meant everything he said today, not a single ill-intended thought!"

Azriel’s expression darkened, his shadows growing more agitated. "This isn't about personal grudges. This is about trust, about loyalty. Eris has proven time and time again that he can’t be trusted. And now he's proposing a union with you? He’s trying to bind you to him, Y/N. To control you."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "I know it’s risky, Azriel. But we need allies. We need every advantage we can get if we're going to take down Beron and stop this war."

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And what about your own safety? What about the risk to you? I can't stand by and watch you put yourself in danger for a power-hungry prince who will betray you the first chance he gets."

Your heart ached at the raw concern in his voice, hope threatened to manifest in you but you shoved it aside and held your ground. "Why do you care, Azriel? I can take care of myself. I’m not making any decisions lightly. I just need to consider every option."

Your words cut through the air like a sharp blade, and for a moment, Azriel seemed taken aback by your response. His gaze softened, his expression filled with a mixture of frustration and hurt.

"Why do I care?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because you are like Rhys’s little sister, you are one of us. Because I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you."

Though a part of you was glad he cared about you you scoffed in disbelief, “Right. Because I am important to Rhys. Well, this decision is mine to make and I will discuss it with Rhys as it concerns his court. I’ll be sure to take what you feel into consideration. Thank you for your input, Azriel.”

His gaze hardened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Fine. If that's how you want it. But have you ever stopped to consider the possibility that you might have a mate, Y/N?"

The question hung in the air like a heavy weight, the implication sinking in with a sickening certainty. You felt your breath catch in your throat, the blood draining from your face as you struggled to comprehend his words.

"What if you have a mate out there, waiting for you?" Azriel continued, his voice soft but filled with an undercurrent of pain. "What then?"

You recoiled as if struck, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. The truth, the painful, unbearable truth, threatened to drown you in its depths. A dry, joyless laugh came out of you.

"I don't have a mate," you spat out, your voice trembling with rage. You lied without a second thought. The ease of it scared you. "And even if I did, it's none of your damn business, Azriel. Stay out of my life."

With that final, venomous retort, you turned on your heel and winnowed out of the room, leaving Azriel behind in a cloud of anguish and regret. 

As you fled down the empty corridors of the townhouse, your heart ached with a pain you couldn't name. 

You opened Rhys’s study door without a second thought and sighed in relief as you found Feyre and him.

Realization of what truly happened spread through you like a bolt of lightning hit you. Both of them were quickly at your side, worried and asking you questions. A single tear slipped as your voice broke,

 “Not telling him was one thing, but lying to him? Oh cauldron, what have I done?”

Taglist: @sidthedollface2, @a-courtof-azriel, @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog, @acourtofsmutandstarlight,@katherinejess, @mybestfriendmademe, @landofpetrichor, @isa1b2h3, @anuttellaa, @cherryinsalemverse

Let me know if you want to get added to the list or if I missed someone!

#Is it too late to make this into a eris x reader fic #these two are idiots and i love it. #azriel x reader #eris vanserra x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel #azriel angst #azriel/reader #azriel x you #acotar #rhysand #eris vanserra #eris x reader #azriel spymaster

[jerrythecrow]

I can't get drawing astarion out of my head, the idea is he finds ur sketchbook full of drawings of the places you've visited, various people and things but he doesn't recognise a man u have drawn, covering multiple pages.

He has an inkling that he's met the man on the paper before but can't place where, he becomes jealous and pouty because why are u drawing this random man whats so important about this person, is this why you've never shown him your sketch book.

Only later for you to confront him about why he is ignoring you and why he is upset. He ends up learning it's him that you'd been drawing. Makes a quip about how only he could make himself jealous. End up sitting there in silence with you taking in the sketches of himself.

#bg3 x reader #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #balders gate 3 #bg3 tav #fluff #angst #idiots in love #astarion mirror scene #drawing astarion #astarion x tav

[feralforfrank]

EVERYTHING WILL BE JUST FINE.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER

summary the aftermath of the mission that almost causes the loss of your life.

cw description of a panic attack (reader has one), canon codmw2 violence & mentions of it, feeeeeeelingssssss, hurt/comfort, atp mutual pining & idiots in love. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER. TELL ME IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!!!

a/n some people asked for part two, sooooo!!! i delivered :)

masterlist | taglist

When you opened your eyes, it was because of the horrid images that haunted your eyelids. You woke with a gasp and a ripple of pain spreading through your whole body. The room was dark and cold, but you felt the soft mattress underneath you begging to swallow your exhausted body. 

It all came to you slowly. The mission, the men trying to escape with your team's hidden car, you leaving your post and sneaking behind them, fighting them, and managing to get stabbed two times. The pain in your side was becoming more and more apparent now.

A flash of Ghost holding you in his arms makes you tense. He'd come to your rescue. Called you darling. Held you in his arms and reassured you that you'd be okay. You're fine. Nothing that can't be fixed. I can fix it.

Your heart fluttered, and your gaze blurred with tears. It wasn't right to have a crush on your superior, but you couldn't help yourself. Everything about Simon Riley fascinated you—from his continuous silences and intense glares to his very attractive build. You didn't need to see his face to know he was drop-dead gorgeous. The mask was one of the things that made Ghost even hotter. 

But it was wrong. Ghost's your lieutenant, your superior, and there was no way he'd ever feel the same way about you anyway. You doubt he could feel love sometimes. He cared for his team, that's for sure, but this line of work didn't allow deep and romantic sentiments. 

The jiggle of the door handle snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped, causing your wounds to throb. A poorly contained whimper escaped your lips. Your heart sped up in fear, and your left hand tried to look for the knife strapped to your left thigh.

Fuck, it's not there. 

The silhouette slips in, and you swear your heart feels about to leap from your throat. A tear slides down your cheek as the man approaches your side. Shit, he's here to kill you. Finish you for what you did to his companions.

In your panicked haze and blurred gaze, you don't hear Simon calling your name. You see him set down a tray next to your head, and fuck—he's going to torture you first? Where the fuck is Ghost? Soap? Gaz? 

"K-Kyle?" You try, but your voice is hoarse and not as loud as intended.

Your gaze falls to the door, and you call Johnny's name. Then Simon's. You plead, but it's still not loud enough. More tears slide down your face, your ears ring, and your body shakes under the blanket.

"—ocus! Focus on me, Owl! You're safe here!" The man calls your name. "I'm not gonna hurt ya, darlin'."

Darlin'.

Darlin'. Darlin'!

Ghost.

And suddenly, the ringing in your ears subsides, and panic isn't bubbling hot in your blood. You feel his hands now, touching your bare shoulders—cold fingers touching scorching skin—shaking you to pull you out of your living nightmare.

"It's okay, lovie. S'alright. You're alright." He shushes you, sitting next to your feet.

"Help me up," you whisper.

Ghost reluctantly helps you sit up, gently touching your wrists. He towers over you to adjust the thin pillows on your back. Your gaze never leaves him. He's rid himself of the tactical vest, only wearing his tight-as-shit shirt, pants, and of course, his balaclava. Thank fuck, it's not the skull one. You melt at how he cares for you, despite you having fucked up the whole operation.

He grabs a bottle of water from the tray, and you have to remind yourself that it doesn't carry torture devices. The man in front of you is Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, not the enemy. You gulp the water greedily like you've been walking in the desert under the scorching heat for hours.

"Want another one?" He asks. You shake your head.

There's a pause. The silence isn't tense but not comfortable. The nagging guilt—from both of you—holds you back from being truly open with each other. 

You should've never left your post. The team would've been able to escape without the car anyway. Your thoughts are never-ending.

Simon wants to punch himself. He shouldn't have had to carry you to the car. The guilt of letting you get hurt punctured a hole in his chest. 

A sniff brought him back. "I'm sorry."

He looks at you. Stares at you with those emotionless eyes, and you hate it. You hate that you can't guess what he's thinking. You'd fucked up that much is true.

"Fuck—" You hiccup and look away from him. "I didn't mean to. I panicked. I thought—I don't know what I thought. I'm sorry, Ghost, truly—"

"What're you sorry for?" His hard tone startles you.

You look at him, confused more than ever. "I fucked up the mission. Got hurt in the process too. We would've been in base by now had it not been for my fuck-up."

"You protected the team."

"No, I put my team and this mission in jeopardy."

"You took care of a threat, Sargeant." His tone was final. "You did your job. Greatly."

You inhale deeply, your eyes meeting Simon's. His gaze is like stone, but you can see the glint of pride he has for you.

"I was so scared." Fuck you for tearing up again. You felt weak.

You look down at your hands. The light slipping through the open door allows you to see the dark colour they have. Your blood—God, you hope it's yours—stains your palms and reaches up to your wrists.

"I told you I'd fix it," Simon says, and you melt at his words. "Fixed you up pretty good, all things considered." 

It makes you laugh. The timing isn't great, but the chuckle escapes before you can stop it.

"Thank you, Ghost. I owe you big time."

He shakes his head. "Don't mention it. I'm your Lt. I'm supposed to keep you safe and alive."

Lt. 

I'm your Lt.

It stings. You want him to call you darling and lovie again. You purse your lips and nod your head, feeling awkward thinking such thoughts with him present.

"Thank you." You pause, looking for something to ask Ghost—so he doesn't leave. You can't be alone right now. "Where are we?"

"Deep in the woods. They can't find us here."

Pursing your lips, you nod, feeling relieved. The silence returns, and Ghost exhales. "That's soup and meds for the pain. Not much, though. I don't want you passing out."

He stands to leave, and you jump, completely forgetting about the stitched wounds. "Where are you going?" Simon stills at the fear in your voice.

"Leaving?"

It comes out as a question—not what he'd intended. He was fighting the urge to show you how scared he'd been—and still is—after almost having you dead in his arms. The sentimental feelings toward you are growing stronger every second he spends with you, and it's dangerous. He has to stop permitting himself to feel. To hope that one day you'll feel the same for him. God, he feels like a teenager just thinking these thoughts.

But how can he not hope? When you look at him with wide, terrified eyes, swimming in unshed tears. When you're gripping the bowl of soup, he made carefully just for you, silently pleading with him to sit a tad bit longer.

He can see your lips tremble, but you hide it well by pursing them. The words are on your tongue, but you can't bring yourself to ask him to stay because fuck. How much more can you ask from this man? He saved you, patched you up, made you food, and now you wanted him to stay, purely out of fear. It's embarrassing to request this, especially in your line of work.

So, Simon decides to do it for you. "Unless you want me to stay?"

Your expression is shocked, but you eagerly nod before he can change his mind. You scooch to make room for his big frame on the small bed, and he actually manages to lay next to you, a hand draped on the bedframe to pull you closer.

You feel safe. Simon tends to make people feel this way. It's not only his large frame but how he carries himself and shows affection to the people he cares about. It doesn't matter if you talk or stay silent—he prefers silence—Ghost's presence is relaxing enough for you to eat your soup and drink your meds.

And when you finish, he grabs the bowl and places it next to him. When you start to drift off and snuggle closer to steal his warmth, he forces his tense shoulders to loosen and pulls you closer. He kisses the top of your head, and your hair tickles his cold nose even through his balaclava.

He knows his back will ache from the uncomfortable position he's sitting in, but he doesn't care because you're alive. Alive and safe. In his arms. And it's all that matters right now.

previous | next

—

[ taglist: @master-amidala, @darklordofthesimp (i'm finally writing for this fandom! ]

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty: modern warfare ii #cod mwii #simon riley angst #simon riley fluff #angst with comfort #hurt/comfort #idiots in love #fluff #frank writes

[daniswoso]

You like me?

Grace Clinton x Reader

Summary: Grace likes you, but you don’t know it; you also like her and you’re sure you have no chance.

Warnings: some swearing, not much else.

*********

“You asked her yet then?” Ella asks, her, Mary and Alessia sitting down by your side. You shake your head solemnly and look out to where Grace was messing around on the training pitch with Beth.

It was a sunny day and the way the light reflected off her simply gorgeous eyes made your heart skip a few beats. “Not yet, I’m not even sure she likes me man.” You groan, sagging against the comfortable sofa.

“Jesus- Y/N, we’ve been over this. She’s so into you! Anyone can spot it from bloody miles away.” Alessia grumbles, scrubbing a hand over her face with an exasperated sigh.

“Y’know what, if anyone had told me I’d be helping two lovesick kids figure out their feelings for each other in Spain? I’d tell them to fuck off. But here I am. So c’mon,” Mary claps her hands and drags you to your feet. “get a move on. Tell her.”

You glare at her and defiantly sit back down, folding your arms. “We’re not kids, grandma. We’re adults, I’ll have you know. I pay taxes.”

“Okay, yeah sure whatever. Just piss off and let us do our puzzles.” Mary pokes you in the sides as you yelp, your sliders nearly falling into the pool as you practically leap off the giant chair.

“Dickhead! Youse lot sat down next to me!” You shout over your shoulder as you walk off, nervously approaching Grace. You’re about to ask when a ball comes flying at your face and you find yourself flat on your ass and dazed, barely aware of the small trail of blood making its way down your chin from your nostrils.

“Jesus, Clinton! You’ll damage the poor girl if you carry on!” You hear Beth shout as you blink back to reality.

Grace hoists you up, murmuring apologies and taking you to get cleaned up, dragging you to her room and into the bathroom.

After a minute of silence you speak up, “I could’ve walked you know?”

“What?” Grace asks, stopping and looking up at you from where she’s knelt down on the floor.

“I could’ve walked.” You repeat again, chuckling and helping her look for a first aid kit, cold cloth still firmly pressed against your nose.

“Oh, uh yeah. Sorry, you just, I-“

“Clinton, mate, it’s fine. Don’t sweat it.” You chuckles, triumphantly pulling the first aid kit from the cupboard with a grin, unaware of the utter heart eyes Grace was sending your way.

Eventually, you’re patched up. Not quite sure what to do, however, you sit there awkwardly while Grace cleans up the plethora of cloths and bandaids she’d gripped from the medicine cabinet to get the first aid kit.

“Hey, Clinton?” It’s then when you remember Alessia’s words,

“She’s so into you! Anyone could spot it from bloody miles away!”

“I like you.”

“I like you too, Y/L/N.”

“No, I like like you. Like… Like like.”

“Are you fuckin’ concussed?” Grace chuckles, but she’s somewhat concerned as she starts gripping your face softly in her hands, urgently but with the utmost care, her thumbs widening your eyes manually to check your pupils.

“No. I’m not. I like you, Grace. Mums.” You breathe out, the fear of rejection gripping your heart with enough force to squeeze it in half.

“Y/N… Shit…” She begins, and you’re sure this is it. The whole “but we can still be mates!” routine youd heard from many girls in the past. Until you feel her lips against yours, soft and tender and moving against you in a way that makes you convinced her lips were made to be against yours.

“I like you too.”

“You? Like me?” You ask, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. Her appearance mirrored yours in a way, although she looked considerably more pretty in your opinion.

“Yeah. Quite a lot actually, and for a while.”

She barely has time to finish her sentence before your lips are against hers again, and when you part you rest your forehead against hers, breathing heavily with the biggest smirk on your face.

“Buzzing.” You breathlessly say.

“You’ve been hanging out with Lessi too much.” She chuckles, making you slap her shoulder softly.

*******

A/N: Small one, but hope it’s enjoyed nonetheless.

#woso #football #futbol #woso fanfics #woso imagine #footy #woso x reader #futból #writer is not english #fluff #tottenham women #grace clinton #grace clinton x you #grace clinton x reader #idiots in love #reader is oblivious #grace is not as oblivious #but still oblivious #swearing #dni if swearing bothers you #lionesses #lionesses x reader

[reiderwriter]

The Lightbulb Moment

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff but a little bit suggestive at the end.

Summary: You want Spencer all to yourself for the first few months of your relationship and he's only too happy to comply. Unfortunately, you're two dumbasses who can't keep their hands off one another.

Word Count: 4.8k (I love idiots in love...)

Warnings: secret relationship, mentions of hickeys, kissing and heavy petting but no actual smut (a little suggestive and fade to black). Minor character is a misogynist prick and gets his nose broken, though.

A/N: I need everyone to know that this is absolutely inspired by the very first episode of OHSHC. I don't think I will elaborate further. This is also my first fluff, so if you want to see more like this my requests are open!~

My Masterlist✨

Walking into the BAU’s Quantico offices was a simple part of your daily schedule. You usually drove your car from your house to the parking complex, took the elevator up to your floor, put your bag down on your desk and moved immediately to the office kitchen to make yourself an appropriately large mug of coffee. Today, however, you drove your car from Spencer’s apartment, after quite the pleasant night together. The two of you had agreed weeks before to keep your relationship as private as you could.

Which meant that you were now in the office, trying your best to hide both your hickeys and your micro-expressions in a room that was about to fill up with extremely observant FBI profilers.

The turtle-neck sweater was a classic but effective aid, and when paired with the piping hot mug of coffee you were making yourself, you were hoping to feign an oncoming cold of some kind to escape any scrutiny. Spencer had left an hour earlier than you, knowing that it took him longer to commute alone on the metro than it took you in your car, which was probably the best thing for the two of you right now, as after last night, you wanted the whole undivided attention of his hands and his mouth on you.

Taking one last deep breath you walked into the office, and were greeted by the sight of two more new arrivals, your beautiful boyfriend and SSA Derek Morgan. Thankfully, the marks you’d left on Spencer's back the night before were easy to hide under his usual sweater-vest-shirt combo, as he'd probably have a harder time explaining those away. You wrapped your work blazer a little tighter around you and made your way to your desk.

“That’s a big cup of coffee you got there, angel. You have a long night?” Morgan says as you sit down in your seat, trying your best to look at anything but Spencer.

“A long night with a bottle of nyquil and three layers of blankets, if that’s what you mean, yeah.” You shoot back, praying he takes the bait.

“Aww, that sucks sweet-pea. If you need anything, let our resident Doctor know, I’m sure he’ll do his best to make sure you're in peak physical condition once again.” Morgan mocks the younger male, before walking off to his desk.

You happen a glance over at Spencer, and he’s sporting the cutest little blush you’ve ever seen, not needing to hide his embarrassment at the insinuations of his friend.

The two of you share a quick glance, but don’t have to say much else when Hotch walks out of his office announcing there’s another case.

“Meeting room in ten, wheels up immediately after, we've got a serial in Washington State that requires our attention.”

You sigh in relief knowing that a case will be a great way to distract you from somehow messing this up and you grab your stuff and head to the meeting room. Before you can get there though, Rossi cuts you off at the door.

“A word of advice, if I may,” he says, letting your other team members pass in front of him on their way into the briefing before grabbing your attention.

“Sure, why not?” You reply, curious about what the man has to say.

“I’ve never heard of a cold that causes bruising behind your ear. I’d suggest you take yourself and your make-up bag to the bathroom to cover that up.”

You feel yourself grow hot. You’d thought you’d got them all covered with the turtleneck but you had a limited range of vision. Cursing under your breath, you tried to explain to your senior coworker but again he cut off before you could.

“No, I’m not gonna say anything else. Just tell the kid to keep it classy next time, if your gonna wine and dine a lady, you don’t need to make her neck dessert.” You blanched now, all of your previous redness running out of your body.

“You know?”

“I’m very good at my job. However, whatever this is is none of my business, so please, don’t make it my business again any time soon, okay?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll just go down now. Could you-” you gestured vaguely to the meeting room where all your close coworkers were taking their seats, and the older man smiled back at you.

“Consider it done.” You thanked your lucky stars that it was Rossi who had spotted it first, and made a mental note to send Spencer a quick message before you got on the jet.

Y/N: Busted by Rossi. Next time, don’t go full vampire on me. Okay Doc? That was like getting the talk from my dad, but somehow worse.

–X–

After a week in Washington, you wrapped up your case fairly quickly. The flight was long, so you were very much looking forward to finishing the documentation for the case and heading back to your apartment for some much needed alone time with Reid.

The entire week you’d been in the field interviewing witnesses and suspects, and he’d been stuck inside making geographical profiles and aiding Garcia with undigitized file information. It hadn’t helped things that you’d ended up stuck sharing rooms, you with Emily and JJ in one room and him sharing with Hotch, of all people, so you couldn't even sneak out at night to meet each other without arousing suspicion.

It had taken all of your strength not to climb onto the long bench next to him on the Jet and just melt into him, letting the long journey ahead lull you into some much needed sleep. You forced yourself to the other end of the jet, picking up a blanket you’d stored there previously and forcing yourself to shut your eyes.

When you landed, you practically launched yourself off the plane, so eager to get back to your car and drive all the way to your house. But fate had other ideas.

“Everyone, take the rest of the day off, but I want to see you bright and early monday morning working on the required paperwork. Reid, Y/L/N, can you stick around for an extra ten minutes? I just have some supplementary questions I need to ask you.” Hotch announced to the team and you felt your freedom escaping from you once again.

You made it calmly to Hotch’s office, following both your boss and your boyfriend, unsure of where this conversation was going to go.

You sat down on the sofa, and watched as Hotch pulled out two sets of documents.

“I’m not asking questions, and frankly I don’t want to know. But this is standard for all workplace relationships, so I need you to fill out these forms and submit them back to me ASAP.” He said the words calmly, but you felt the panic rise in your chest.

“Did Rossi say something to you?” Spencer managed to recover quicker than you could, neither confirming nor denying your entanglement to your boss.

“No, actually…” Hotch seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure of whether to continue or not. “You talk in your sleep, Reid. You talk quite loudly in your sleep.”

Your head snapped up to your boyfriend and you came face to face with a look of mortification. You heard him mumble a curse under his breath, before he grabbed the papers from Hotch, handing you one quickly.

You filled them out in silence as quickly as possible, trying to not let the blush on your face deepen, and entirely grateful that Hotch was busy ignoring that the conversation had ever happened now, back at his desk filling out his own paperwork.

Spencer grabbed your papers from you when you were finished, put them together with his silently on the older man’s desk, grabbed your hand and swiftly walked you out of the office.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Y/N, I’m used to sharing the room with Morgan and you know he sleeps like the dead.” He apologised, but the look on his face was so cute, you couldn’t help but tease him.

“I’ll forgive you on one condition,” you smirk up at him. “You have got to tell me exactly what that dream was about. I'm very curious”

–X–

After both Rossi and Hotchner had guessed at the nature of your relationship within the space of a week, you were a bit on edge around the office. But a month of busy cases (and thankfully no more room sharing incidents) had restored your confidence in your lying capabilities. You almost felt guilty now, hiding the best part of your life from some of the most important people in your life. But you chose to keep being selfish, knowing that the side of Spencer that you were witnessing now was yours and yours alone.

Basically, you grew over-confident, and when you grew over-confident, you grew sloppy.

After coming back from a particularly rewarding case, a stalking case that you managed to solve before the unsub could turn from attempted murderer to murderer, you went out to celebrate with the team. Hotch and Rossi had begged off again, and Morgan had excused himself because he was giving a self-defence talk the next day at Quantico and didn’t want to show up still suffering from the night before.

So, at the behest of Emily and Garcia, you found Reid was swiftly uninvited, and the team celebration turned into a Girls’ Night Out. It had been a while since you’d been able to let loose, having spent practically every weekend between yours and Reid’s apartments, so you were determined to make the most of the night.

You blame Garcia really. JJ had survived two rounds, but had retreated back to her husband and child when she saw the drinking getting out of hand. Emily had been on virgin drinks the entire night, because she’d drawn the short straw and ended up the designated driver.

Which left you and the wonderful Penelope Garcia going toe-to-toe, or more realistically, tequila-to-tequila as you not so healthily egged each other on. By 1am, Emily had to make the executive decision to put Garcia in a taxi, knowing she would at least be able to function on her own, whilst you were sat like a little mess in the other woman’s arms.

“Emillleeeee!” You giggled as the brunette helped you into her car. “You’re sooooo strong, Emileeeeeeeeee. I love you, y'know.”

“Yeah, Y/N. I gathered that the last time you told me.” She laughed back at you, knowing that she was going to absolutely let you know everything that was said and done that night in the morning.

“Wanna know whoz also realllllllly strong?” You giggled and slapped your hands over your mouth like a schoolgirl talking about her crush.

“Oh, yeah? Go ahead and tell me.”

“Ssspencer,” you said his name and your entire face flushed, “Spencie is really strong.”

Emily rolled her eyes at you, assuming for the time being that you were too drunk to understand what you were saying.

But her reaction obviously didn’t satisfy your drunk self enough, because you pouted a little and then continued.

“Sss true! He’s so strong when he lifts me up and holds me against the wall, it’s so fuckin gooood, Emilleeeeee.”

“Y/N! You're talking about Reid here, I doubt the boy could even hold a girl's hand without breaking a sweat. Let's go get you to bed." She shot back in disbelief.

“You don’t believe me? He is strong, look I can show you the bruises he left on my hips the last time we-”

“OH MY GOD, please stop talking.” Emily cut you off before she heard something she really didn’t want to hear. Still half in disbelief, thinking you were just so far into your cups you’d reached the horny level of alcoholism, she pulled into your apartment complex and quickly helped you out of the car.

“Emilleeeee, don’t leave me!!” You giggled out as she practically frog-marched you to your front door, having commandeered your keys earlier. Before she had the chance to use them however, the door was swinging open, and there was Spencer, in the door, realising he’d just made a huge mistake.

"Would you believe me if I said I were explicitly for work purposes?" He stuttered hopefully, seeing the shell-shocked look on his coworkers face.

“Oh god, she wasn’t lying, was she?” Emily managed to eke out in horror, the thought of the man who was practically her little brother doing anything sexual with anyone sending shivers down her spine.

He didn’t have to reply, however, because you chose that exact moment to launch yourself at your boyfriend wrapping your legs around his waist as he did his best not to tumble over, as your mouth started working its way down his throat.

“Shit,” he grunted out, still unsure about how to handle the situation. “Emily, let’s just pretend you never saw this, deal?”

“Yeah, okay, I think I can do that.” She turned away swiftly, but turned back to add on one final statement, looking almost impressed.

“You know I really didn’t think you were strong enough to do all of that. Huh, wonders abound.”

–X–

Your devastating hangover the next day saved you from the embarrassment of reliving the more scandalous details of your Girls’ Night adventures, but on the parts that Reid filled you in on, you were mortified to say the least.

“I fucked up so bad,” you groaned in pain the next morning in bed with Spencer.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he did his best to reassure you, but you silenced him with one look. “Okay maybe it was that bad, but Emily isn’t going to say anything. So we just continue as usual, right?”

You groaned again, but said no more and burrowed your face further into your partner's chest, hoping that the painkillers he’d bought you earlier that morning would take you out of your misery soon.

But there is no rest for the wicked and not even an hour later you find yourself in an FBI vehicle heading to a police station.

Your sour mood is noted by every single one of your coworkers, but evidently not some of the locals that you’re working with on the case in question. You notice them gawking at the female members of your team almost immediately as you walk into the precinct, and once again you wish you were back in bed away from these creeps. Can a girl not get some peace and quiet on a Saturday morning?

One of them in particular seems hellbent on making his harassment of the three of you a full time fucking job. He gives up on JJ quickly when she mentions her son (“asshole,” you think to yourself), and when he realises that Emily is a bit too dominant for him, he quickly loses interest in her too (“coward”). Which leaves him with all the time in the world to dedicate his energy to you.

“Hey, sweetcheeks, anything you need a big strong man to help you with?” The officer smiles down at you, practically begging you to punch him in the face.

Luckily, his sleeziness doesn’t go unnoticed by both Reid and Morgan, and they make sure to keep you within earshot the entire day, the three of you reading up on the victims' backgrounds whilst your other coworkers head to the crime scene.

“Sorry, chump, if I needed the help of a strong man, there's about five people I’d call before you - and two of them are women.” You shoot back, unwilling to stomach the bullshit of a uniform when you’re trying to do your job.

“Easy now, pretty lady, very high tension today, aren’t we?” He smirks down at you, hand on your chair, almost the perfect distance away for you to headbutt, but you choose to ignore him looking back down at your work. He backs off slightly before trying again.

“Come on now, I’m sure I could do something about that. Maybe fuck that tension right out of you?" And that’s your last straw.

Morgan almost prides himself on having the foresight to grab you before you can launch yourself at the man, ready to scratch his eyes out if he takes it even one step further. What he didn’t see coming at all was Reid throwing the punch first, connecting directly with the chauvinistic officer's nose and flooring him.

“Son of a bitch, I'm not sure I know any woman who'd want to touch you with a ten-foot pole, much less my fucking girlfriend." He seethes out, and Morgan is almost too stunned to speak. He releases you from his grip, and you run to Reid, making note of the way you instantly slot into Reid’s arms, like you were meant to be there.

“Damn pretty boy, nice hit,” is all he can get out, still a little shocked that the two of you had managed to hide this from him for so long.

“You bwoke my noise…” the officer rolled on the floor in pain.

“You’re lucky it was me and not her. And for the record, she's only 'high-tension' because we got interrupted this morning to come and help your sorry ass with a case,” Spencer seethed at the man, only now noticing that his knuckles weren’t faring too well either.

“As entertaining as this is, that's enough, Reid. You take your man and clean him up, Y/L/N, I got this one here, okay?” Morgan swiftly gave you orders, and you let out a sigh of gratitude, knowing that Morgan was going to make sure you got minimal reprimands for this.

“Oh and by the way you two,” he smirked at you a little as you made your way out. “Congratulations.”

–X–

In the name of keeping your relationship to yourself, the two of you had, so far, nearly gotten suspended, filled Emily in on some of the raunchier parts of your sex life, and accidentally shared some of those same details with your Unit Chief to boot. Your only saving grace was that, because you’d sworn everyone to secrecy, and they all seemed to pride themselves on smuggly keeping the information to themselves, they hadn’t started using you as an office-wide conversation started just yet.

All-in-all though you’d needed some time out of the office to relax for a bit, so when JJ came to you at the last minute with a plea for help asking for you to possibly babysit Henry the next night, you’d gladly accepted. Babysitting may seem like a lot of work, but seeing that little angel's face only brought you peace of mind, despite his mother’s protestations that he was only that well behaved for other people.

You were honestly looking forward to spending the night playing with the kid, and you decided it was about time you showed him some classic kids movies, as you packed both Toy Story and The Lion King ready for a fort film night! You were so excited, in fact, that you forgot your previous arrangement with Reid.

“Hey, Y/N, about ready to go? Thanks again for agreeing to carpool out with me tonight, you know how crowded the metro gets on friday nights.” He winks at you, using your regular cover for your biweekly date night, as your stomach drops.

“Oh god, Spencer I totally forgot. I told JJ I’d watch Henry for her tonight, so I’m heading there straight after work so I can watch him whilst she gets ready for dinner with Will.” You guiltily look up at the man whose face has fallen into the most adorable pout you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, hey, no problem, it’s okay, tell Henry I said hello.”

Overhearing this, and seeing her friend's obvious disappointment, JJ jumped into the conversation quickly.

“Hey, why don’t you come over as well, Spence? Henry’s been saying he missed his Uncle Spencer, and I was going to order a pizza for Y/N anyways, if you want that?” She suggested, looking between the two of you.

“I bought movies as well?” You added, hoping desperately that he’d say yes, even if you weren’t acting the most subtle about your feelings for him.

“Sure, thanks for that JJ. Let me just grab my jacket.”

Four hours later and the two of you were all played out. You’d entertained incessantly for the first hour, Henry desperately excited to show both of you each and every toy he’d acquired since you’d last been at his house. When the doorbell rang and the pizza arrived, he hadn’t lost steam, and it took you putting on the first of your movies of the night to get him to drop his toys and focus on the pizza and the plot.

And of course, you’d gone and promised him two movies at the beginning of the night, so after wrestling him into pyjamas and making him brush his teeth, you were finally resting again on the sofa. Reid sat at one end, you at the other, with Henry’s sleeping head in your lap, you stroking the little guy's hair.

“I think, and don’t quote me on this, that he’s asleep now, Y/N.” Spencer whispered to you over the movie.

“I know, he just looks so comfortable I don’t want to move him.” You pout at him, looking down at the sleeping angel in your arms.

“Hey, it’s not fair he’s getting all of your attention.”

“Spencer Reid, are you telling me you're jealous of a child right now?” You asked him in a mockingly shocked tone as he stood up from his side of the couch and came closer to you, placing one hand on the arm rest beside you and the other on the couch cushion behind you, effectively boxing you in.

“If I say yes, will you stroke my hair like that?” He smiled down at you, closing the distance between the two of you and giving you the softest sweetest kiss you could have asked for.

When he pulls back you find your lips following his, wanting more, but he just laughs at you and pulls Henry out of your arms, cradling him softly as he carries him upstairs to bed as you think to yourself that you’d do anything to see that scene every night of your life.

On Monday morning, JJ pulls you aside to thank you again, bringing you some of the chocolates she knows you like to show you her appreciation.

“He was a little angel, JJ. A bit energetic and excited but he was so sweet and sat with me the entire way through the movie before he fell asleep.” You gushed about the baby, happily holding your gift.

“You know that little angel did ask me something pretty interesting at breakfast the next morning.” JJ smiles at you, and you encourage her to keep going.

“He asked me if mommy and daddy kiss because they love each other, and so of course we said yes, that we love each other very much, and you know what he said after that?” She laughed a little, and you could feel your cheeks getting hot as you knew you’d been busted once again.

“He said that he was happy because that meant Uncle Spencer and Auntie Y/N must love each other a lot, too.”

You covered your blushing cheeks, not even trying to stammer out a response, knowing that JJ had probably interrogated little Henry about what he’d seen when feigning sleep the weekend before.

“Relax, Y/N, no harm done. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re good for him. He seems a lot,” she paused to think of the right word before continuing, “a lot more like himself than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

You try to hold in the tears that threaten to spill from the touching words, as you stammer out a small thank you.

Another team member knew now, but that had to have been the most successful way you'd revealed your relationship to date.

--X–

This had to have been the worst way you’d revealed your relationship to date.

It was a slow day of office work in the BAU with no consultation case coming up just yet. And with the majority of your paperwork done, you really were just trying your best to stay entertained around the office before you could clock out and go home.

So when you received a message from Spencer that read “copy room down the hall, five minutes,” your interest was piqued enough to make you run there immediately, not even waiting for the appointed time.

You opened the door slightly and a hand shot out and pulled you in so quickly that you almost lost your balance, your hands pushing up against Spencer’s chest as he slammed the door shut as quietly as possible.

“And what are we doing here, Doctor Reid?” You smirked up at him as you felt his arms tighten around your waist, his hands trailing up and down your back before coming to rest a little lower than before.

“Thought you could use a midday pick me up.” He smirked back leaning down to connect your lips, slowly at first, but gaining a feverish speed.

You were only so happy to give back just as you gave, your hands finding their way up to his hair, pushing your chest forward and up against his own, needing to feel closer to him than you had all day.

He gave your ass a swift slap and used your resulting gasp to force his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His mouth not leaving yours for even one second, he walked you backwards until your back hit the makeshift file shelving in the small storage closet. Lifting your leg around his waist he pressed closer into you, and finally removed his mouth from yours before swiftly returning it to your neck to continue his ministrations. He removed one hand from your ass, and worked his way underneath your top to your chest beginning to massage you there as he made to push your bra away from your now aching nipples.

Before he could do so however, the door swung open:

“Reid are you in here- oh holy mother of god.” As soon as the door opened to show the figure of Penelope Garcia standing in the door the two of you jumped away from each other like randy school kids just caught clumsily making out on school grounds. Which you supposed you technically were.

“Are you and your lady friend decent, Doctor, can I remove my hand from my eyes now and live a long and healthy life?” She squeaked out, in surprise, her hands firmly blocking everything from view.

She hadn’t seen you just yet, but there was no getting around this.

“Yes, Penny, you can open your eyes,” you almost winced after you straightened your clothes quickly.

“Y/N!?! With Reid?!” She quickly squeaked out, gaining the notice of a nearby Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss who came rushing in as soon as they heard the frantic tone of their favourite tech analyst's voice.

“I can explain, Pen, please let’s just get out of this closet,” you tried to reason but she was still so shocked she wouldn’t listen.

“Derek, Y/N and Reid!” She motioned vaguely between the two of you.

“I know baby girl, I know.” He tried to reassure her but he couldn’t quite keep the amused look off of his face.

“You KNEW? That Y/N and Reid are getting all hot and heavy in the supply closets now? Emily, are you hearing the words coming from this beautiful man's mouth because I think I have walked into an alternate dimension and I need someone to please bring me back to my real one.” She gasped out.

“Actually, Penelope, I knew too. I think we all did actually.” Emily softly explained.

“You traitors!” she spun around to face the two of you again, and now that she’d calmed down a little, you’d found yourself gravitating towards Reid a little until he’d pulled you into a shy side hug.

“Look at them! They’re canoodling all happily in one of my supply closets, and they didn’t think to share the happy news with me!” She groaned out in faux anger. “Why did you tell Mister Action Man and Little Miss Faked Her Death here before me! Come on, I'm not that untrustworthy!”

“Actually, we didn’t technically tell anyone.” Reid managed to finally get out between Penelope’s moans of anguish, that stupid little smirk you loved so much playing on his face.

“Yeah,” you agreed, turning back to face your three coworkers. “I guess they all just had light bulb moments, and realised themselves, right?”

“God, stop being so cute and in love, it’s making me want to forgive you too easily.” Penelope joked, and you all let out a quiet laugh before deciding to remove yourself from the situation.

“Okay, I’m fine with being the last to know about this, but you better make Aunty Penelope the first in line to hear about any future Baby Geniuses, do you hear me?”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #dr spencer reid #spencer reid drabble #idiots in love

[lovelybarnes]

Flirting and Football- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.

She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises. 

You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.

She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.

“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”

You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.

“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.

“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”

You nod. “Wow.”

“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”

Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”

“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had to do something.”

“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”

“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.

“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.

“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.

She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.

It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.

“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.

“What? What did I do?”

“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”

“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.

“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”

“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”

“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”

“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”

“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.

“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”

“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”

“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Bruce confirms.

“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.

“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”

“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.

“Hey Wanda, Piet.”

Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.

“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.

“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.

“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”

“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”

“We?” you echo.

“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.

“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.

Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”

You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”

“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.

You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”

“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.

You frown as the siblings grin.

“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.

Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.

“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”

You mutter incoherently.

“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.

-

“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.

Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.

You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.

The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.

Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”

You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”

There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”

You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”

You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.

“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”

“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”

“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”

His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you. 

You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”

Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”

You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.

He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”

“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.

“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”

“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”

Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”

-

The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.

Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.

The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.

You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.

Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.

“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.

You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.

“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”

“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”

Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”

Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.

“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.

“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”

“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”

You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”

Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.

You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.

“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”

Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.

“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.

“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”

Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”

Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”

“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”

Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”

“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”

Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”

You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”

“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.

“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.

You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.

“Based off of what?” You counter.

“Anything.”

“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”

Pietro clears his throat loudly.

“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”

“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”

You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”

“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”

“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”

“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.��

“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.

-

Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.

You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.

Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.

“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.

“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.

“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”

“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”

You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”

There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”

Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”

“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”

You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”

“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”

You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.

“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”

“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.

“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.

You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.

“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.

“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”

Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.

“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”

You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.

“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.

“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.

“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.

“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.

“Not the same thing. Not even close.”

You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.

“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.

“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.

“We talk.” You shrug. 

“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”

“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.

“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.

“It will,” Bucky says.

For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.

He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.

You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.

Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”

“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.

-

The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.

He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.

The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.

You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.

Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.

“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.

“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.

“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”

“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”

“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”

“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”

“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.

You snort. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.

Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.

His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”

“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains. 

“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.

“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.

“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.

“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.

When he comes back, you’re gone.

The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.

-

You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.

You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.

“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.

“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.

“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.

“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”

“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.

“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.

“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”

“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”

You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”

“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”

“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”

“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”

“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”

“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

You laugh quietly. “Sure.”

“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”

You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”

“Sorry?”

“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”

“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.

“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.

Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”

“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.

You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”

“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”

“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.

“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”

“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.

“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”

“I will know all of that,” he pledges.

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”

A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.

-

You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably. 

It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.

James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.

He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.

He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.

You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.

Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.

You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.

It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.

A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.

Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.

A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”

“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. 

Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.

“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.

Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.

“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.

It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.

You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously. 

“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”

“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.

You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.

“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”

Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.

“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.

“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”

“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.

You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”

He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.

He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”

You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”

Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.

“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.

You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”

You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”

He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”

The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”

“You have to invite me in,” he explains.

“What, like a vampire?”

He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”

You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.

“It's cold out here,” he reminds.

“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.

His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.

“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.

He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”

-

It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.

You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.

His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.

It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”

His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”

You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.

“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”

You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.

“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks. 

You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?” 

Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”

It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” you begin.

“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”

You nod along. “Right.” 

He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.

You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.

“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.

“Yup. One more week, he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”

You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.

Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”

“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

You nod. “Can we?”

“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.

Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.

“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons. 

You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”

A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”

“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”

“‘Thought it was weeks?”

“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.

He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”

He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.

Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.

“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.

“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.

You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.

You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.

-

Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.

No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.

He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.

You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.

He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.

He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.

He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.

You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.

Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.

“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.

He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose. 

“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.

“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.

“I can pay. It’s my food.”

“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”

You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.

Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.

Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.

“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.

You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.

“Yeah?”

Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.

“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”

You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.

“I have to go.”

“What? We just got here.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.

“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”

You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.

Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.

“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”

“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”

“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.

Bruce stares at you.

You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”

“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”

Your shoulders drop.

“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.

“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.

Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”

“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”

His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”

“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.

You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend. 

-

For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.

The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.

Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.

You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.

You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.

The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.

Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”

Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.

“What? Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”

“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path. 

You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.

“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.

You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”

Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”

Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”

“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.

You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.

He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”

As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.

He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.

You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.

You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.

-

You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.

The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down. 

Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.

It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.

Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.

You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.

Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.

Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.

Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.

“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh. 

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”

“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”

You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”

You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”

“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.

“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”

“B-both of us.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”

There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”

You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.

There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.

You need to get home. You can’t move.

You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.

Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”

It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.

He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.

“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”

It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.

You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.

You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back. 

Bucky pulls you back in.

“Will you take me home?”

His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.

Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.

Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.

“Why?”

You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."

“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”

He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”

His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve. 

“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”

“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.

You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”

His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”

-

Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.

The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.

With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.

Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.

It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.

You’re not worried.

Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.

So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.

Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.

You’re not worried.

Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.

“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.

“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”

It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”

“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”

“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.

“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”

Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.

Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.

“I told you,” you tell her.

“He’s limping,” she points out.

“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.

He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.

You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.

It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.

Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.

“Hey, what’re you—”

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.

“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.

You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.

“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.

“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”

“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”

“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.

He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”

“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”

His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”

You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”

“Not yet!” he proclaims.

You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.

“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.

-

You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.

He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.

He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.

If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.

He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”

You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”

Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”

“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.

“No.”

“Not even guys you like?”

“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”

“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”

You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?

I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”

Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”

“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”

Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”

“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”

You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.

Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.

“Why do you care so much?” you ask.

He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”

You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”

“I try.”

You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”

You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”

“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”

The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.

You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.

“Will you?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”

“Give it a chance.”

You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.

You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.

Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.

-

You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.

There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.

It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.

It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.

You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.

You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.

You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.

He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit. 

Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.

“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.

When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.

“Yeah?” he responds finally.

“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.

“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”

You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.

“See?” You say accusatorily. 

Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”

That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can. 

“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”

“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”

“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”

She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”

“You talk about me to your friends?”

You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”

“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”

You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”

“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”

You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.

“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”

You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.

“Thank you.”

You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.

You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.

“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”

“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.

You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability. 

You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.

Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.

“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”

He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.

Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.

Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.

“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”

“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.

He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”

He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.

“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”

“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.

Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”

“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.

“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”

“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.

“Yes. It was a good day today.” 

You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.

You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.

Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”

Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be different.”

“How?” His brows are furrowed.

You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”

“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.

“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”

The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.

His skin flips green.

You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.

It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.

He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.

You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”

He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.

“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues.  “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”

He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.

You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.

“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”

And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.

He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.

He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”

You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.

“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”

“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.

“I'll go out with you.”

His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey

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𖦹 part of the “dancing with our hands tied” collection. main masterlist

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇... Luke discovers the three times he denied his feelings for you, and the one time he accepted them.

W.C: 5K

Incident One: The Nurses Station

Luke knows that you’re annoyed with him, it was written all over your face. You wouldn’t say it aloud, of course not, you were too sweet, but you had no concept of a poker face.

He thought it was cute, the way your eyebrows knitted and your shoulders tensed. The way you avoided looking at him because you knew he could see right through you.

You suck in your bottom lip as you waltz over to him with a pack of bandages and alcohol. You sit on the stool in front of him, knocking his knees open with your own so you can roll yourself between them, the wheels screeching a little as you do.

You stare at him with an intensity Luke has only ever seen from you once, and it’s when he was in an all too familiar situation with Lance Tenning.

The situations were all too eerily similar- both involving something being said about you. It didn’t matter if it was to your face or behind your back, Luke just couldn’t tolerate it. He couldn’t listen to your name get thrown around in the mud because you rejected the Ares child, not when you were so sweet and kind.

So, of course when Luke heard Lance whisper to his dimwit friends about how, “That bitch just can’t stop slutting herself out for Castellan,” he had to intervene.

And it’s not Luke’s fault that Lance got all defensive, and it’s not Luke’s fault that Lance pushed him, and it definitely wasn’t Luke’s fault when Lance ended up on the ground with a fresh black eye.

Luke can’t help but grin as the sight of Lance writhing beneath him replays in his mind, and you glare up at him with that knowing look in your eye. “I don’t know what you have to be smiling about right now.” You spit.

Luke furrows his brows, allowing you to inspect his bloody knuckles, before he grins and uses his free hand to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m here with you, why wouldn’t I be smiling?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “Right, of course.”

“It’s true!”

You don’t say anything, just beginning to clean his knuckles. The sting is so familiar to Luke that he barely even reacts, just placing his other hand behind him and leaning back.

It’s weird, because Luke knows you’re mad at him. But you still handle him with so much care, so much gentleness- as if he’s fragile and the slightest movement could shatter him to pieces. It’s sweet, and just another example of how much you care.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve a friend like you.

Luke can see you itching to ask him something, from the way you keep glancing up at him and the constant gnawing on your lip. And Luke knows you won’t ask- not be your own volition, anyway. You didn’t like confrontation, in fact, you made it a point to stay as far away from it as possible, so unless Luke said something, you never would.

“What’re you thinking about in that pretty head of yours?”

Luke notices the way your breath hitches at the word pretty, but he doesn’t think anything of it. You’d always been particularly sensitive to compliments, not just the ones from him. You let out a brisk sigh, finally able to let out the question you’d been holding in.

“Why did you do it, Luke? Again? After I already told you to just leave it alone?” Your voice waivers slightly, and he can see the obvious distress in your eyes. It made him almost… regretful. He never wanted to be the reason you felt anything other than happy, but he knew you wouldn’t understand it. You were so quick to let people walk all over you- let them treat you like shit and then say it was all fine and dandy.

Luke couldn't do that, though. He’d honestly rather die than watch you break yourself for people who didn’t give two-shits about you.

His lips thin, and he watches as you avert your gaze from his face and back to his hand, beginning to wrap a brown bandage around it.

“You didn’t hear what he said about you, Sweetheart. I couldn’t just listen to those awful things and pretend it wasn’t happening!” He sucks in a breath, waiting for your response.

You tense slightly, eyes darting between his face and his hand. “I never asked you to do that. I can handle myself-”

Luke snorts, interrupting you abruptly, “Can you? Because the last time this happened, you were going to let him get away with it. And that time he’d said it straight to your face!”

You finish tying his bandage swiftly, immediately dropping his hand and practically sprinting as far away from him as you can get.

You run the bridge of your nose, “Because I don’t want to start any problems! Lance isn’t just going to stop because you hit him a couple times, so there’s no point to it!” You scoff out a laugh, running a hand through your hair. “I mean, why do you care so much anyway?”

Luke goes silent at that. You were his best friend, of course he cared, but…

Why does this feel different? He wouldn’t beat someone for any of his other friends. Hell, he’s not sure he would do that for anyone. So why did he do it for you?

The answer is on the tip of his tongue, itching to be said and confessed, but he just can’t figure out what it is, and it’s driving him mad.

“‘Cause you’re my best friend!” He says it with a wince, like the words are foreign and wrong. And you flinch back at the phrase too. It makes him nauseous.

He watches as you swallow, hard. Eyelashes fluttering as you blink back the glossiness forming in your eyes. “I know that.” You mumble, “I’m just so sick of watching you hurt yourself and other people for me. I’m not worth getting kicked out of camp.”

Luke’s heart breaks a little bit when you say that, because he couldn’t believe you would even think that. To him, you were worth everything. Getting kicked out of camp, getting exiled by the gods, fuck- you were worth the world. All you had to do was say the word and Luke would be on his knees in front of you, praising the altar that you so graciously allowed him to admire.

He risked taking a step towards you, and he let out a small, relieved sigh when you didn't take a step away. “Do you seriously think that?”

Your eyes trailed his body, all the way from his lower stomach to his eyes, and Luke couldn’t help but shiver as they did. He closed the distance between you until you were nearly chest to chest, your breathing slowed and eyes wide. You were so goddamn beautiful, it was almost painful.

“Do you really think… I wouldn’t betray the fucking Gods if you asked me to? That I wouldn’t do anything for you?” His voice was low and husky, fingers grazing your arm and trailing up to your cheekbone. “I would rather I got kicked out of camp before I let some piece of shit like Lance Tenning speak a single word about you.”

You were nearly speechless, unable to move as the space between you got smaller and smaller. “Luke..” You whispered. And Luke felt it, that familiar twist in his gut, the one he couldn’t name.

And just as he was about to understand it- to accept it- some little kid ran into the room, crying about a cut they got on their hand. You didn’t even spare Luke a second glance as you rushed over to them and whispered sweet nothings in their ear, crouching down and kissing their hand better.

But, even as he excused himself and began the walk back to his own cabin, the strange feeling never really did leave him.

Incident Two: The Lake

Percy Jackson is the most oblivious person Luke has ever met.

It was seriously obvious to anyone with eyes that Annabeth was in love with him, especially after their quest last year. Her lingering touches, smiles a bit too wide, eyes glued to him anytime they were within ten feet of each other. It was completely obvious.

Even now, as Annabeth and Percy chase each other in the lake, hair sticking to their skin and water dribbling from their eyelashes, Annabeth's crush is noticeable in the way she looks at him.

Luke thinks it’s cute, honestly. He wants his little sister to find someone that loves her just as much as she loves them, and Percy Jackson was definitely that guy. He just needed to stop being an idiot and realize it.

“Hey, Luke?”

Luke’s ears perk up at the sound of you behind him, and he looks away from the two teens and towards you.

You and your light pink one-piece swimsuit. You and the little bow in your hair, watching intently as you tug it loose and let your hair cascade down your shoulders. You and your perfect lips and nose and-

“Can you help me tie this, please?”

You turn your back to him, and Luke swallows hard once he realizes your swimsuit is open back, which allows him to see the curve of your spine and the pretty freckles and moles that dot your skin like stars.

He watches as you struggle to tie the bathing suit strings around your neck, fingers moving around with zero coordination.

So, despite the obvious burning in his cheeks and the unexplainable feelings that brew in his stomach, he says: “Um, yeah. ‘Course I can.”

His breathing slowed as you whispered a quiet thanks, allowing Luke to softly brush your hair over your shoulder and take the strings from your fingers.

He tied it effectively, probably taking much longer than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. Not when you were so close and he could smell your perfume- lemons and vanilla. It was honestly the most intoxicating thing he’d ever smelled.

He tightened the bow around your neck, touch lingering on your back as his hands ghosted over your skin. He sucked in a breath, watching as his fingers trailed to your shoulders, as if they weren’t his own. And maybe they weren’t.

Slowly, he placed a small kiss on your shoulder, relishing in the way your breathing hitched and your spine shuddered.

And then there was that feeling again, the one he doesn’t quite understand. The one he just can’t place his finger on.

You turn around as Luke’s plush lips leave your shoulder, eyes a bit wide and lips parted, like there’s a question you’re dying to ask but you don’t allow yourself to.

You giggle nervously, glancing at Luke’s pink cheeks and tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear, the way you always do when you’re nervous. “I, uh, thanks. For tying it! Not for… anything else. Obviously.” You ramble.

Luke just nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was no problem. I mean, what else are friends for?”

He pretends he doesn’t notice the way your eyebrows furrow and your shoulders deflate a bit at the word friends. Because, that's what you were, right? That’s all you were. Luke couldn’t understand why you’d ever be disappointed because of it.

You blink a couple times, doing your best to hide the way your voice shakes. “Yeah. Friends.”

Luke grins, happy that you’re both on the same page, and gently taps your arm. “Good. Look, I have to go make sure nobody drowns, but I'll see you later, alright?”

You nod, waving him off with a small mhm. But, even as Luke walks away and the smile returns to your face as you greet one of your sisters, the disappointment that lingers in your eyes doesn’t leave his head.

Why would you be dissapointed? And… why did he feel the same?

Incident three: The Bondfire

Luke wasn’t one to get jealous. He had no reason to be, he was perfectly content with where he was in his friendships and he didn’t have any girl he was involved with.

So why did the sight of you giggling with an Aphrodite boy make his blood boil?

The boy, Carter Rhodes, was notorious around camp for dating around. Almost every girl had a story with him, and Luke had thought you knew that, so why were you talking to him?

He watches as Carter leans into you, his lips inches away from your ear. You throw your head back and laugh. Actually laugh. Not the fake giggle you usually give people, no. It’s the laugh you give Luke when he visits you in the nurses station. Or when you spend the night with him. Or even when you’re just with him!

It's his laugh. So why were you letting Carter fucking Rhodes hear it?

“Uh, Luke, are you okay?”

Luke’s head whips to Percy, who’s giving him a disturbed look. It’s then that he notices he was gripping his plastic cup so hard, it had crushed in on the sides.

Luke swallows, blinking a few times to try and clear his mind, but the image of you and Carter doesn’t leave. “Uh,” He sniffles, eyes darting between you and Percy, “I’m all good.”

Percy nods, a sarcastic uh-huh falling from his lips. His blue eyes trail to you, and a smirk creeps onto his face.

Sure, Percy was oblivious when it came to his own love life, but yours and Luke’s? He was basically an expert.

Percy takes a seat on the log next to Luke, watching as the brunette boy struggles to keep his eyes on the ground and not on you. It’s amusing, honestly, the fact that Luke thinks he’s anything but obvious with his feelings for you.

“I get it, man. It’s hard watching the girl you like flirt with other dudes.”

At first, Percy’s comment doesn’t register in his brain and he agrees that, yes, it is hard watching the girl you like flirt with other dudes. And then he think real hard.. the girl you like..

“What? I don’t like her! I mean, I do like her as a friend but, I don’t like like her.”

Percy watches with amusement as Lukes cheeks turn a shade of pink and he trips over his words, practically shaking as he tries to shut down the accusation. The blonde sighs, shaking his head with a tut. “Oh, Luke. Sweet, innocent, Luke.” He claps a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it obnoxiously. “You are absolutely whipped.”

Luke scoffs and shrugs Percy off of him, shooting him a glare. “Right, like you’re any better. I see the heart eyes you and Annie give each other. But, me and Y/N aren’t like that! We’re just- just friends.”

The word feels like poison on his tongue, practically burning as he forces it out. It was true, you’re his friend! So why did he hate saying it?

He thinks back to that odd feeling he gets in his stomach when he’s with you, wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to Percy’s words.

But he immediately shoots the idea down. Even if Luke did see you as anything other than a friend, you’d never feel the same. You’d seen Luke at the lowest point in his life, right after his quest. You’d seen him angry, you’d seen him cry. How could you ever love someone so… unloveable?

Percy goes a deep shade of red, eyes widening as he immediately deflects. “Annabeth and I are not like you and Y/N! I don’t even- even like her. Gods, gross..” He pretends to gag, but Luke sees the way the blondes eyes immediately trail to where Annabeth sits talking to her siblings.

Luke lets out a chuckle, standing and ignoring the pop in his knees. He claps Percy on the back, “Keep telling yourself that, Lover Boy.” And swiftly finds his way over to you.

It’s ridiculous, yes. Luke knows that, but he wasn’t doing this out of jealousy. No, it’s because he’s worried- just like he usually is. He can’t help it! You’re just so naive and trusting, someone’s gotta be there to make sure you don’t get hurt!

Carter spots him first, and Luke pretends the immediate frown that falls onto his face as he does doesn’t make him proud. Like Carter knows that as soon as you see him, whatever bullshit he was trying to do with you would immediately be discarded.

Luke walks up right behind you, placing both hands on your shoulders and rubbing them just the way you like it. “Hey, Sweetheart.”

Your neck cranes as you look up at him, a wide, toothy smile on your lips. “Luke! Where’ve you been?”

He shrugs, sitting on the log next to you and continuing his massage on your shoulders. His thumbs move to rub circles into your back, on the places he knows you get tense the most, and you let out a low moan of approval, eyes falling shut. “‘missed you.” You breathe.

Luke chuckles, watching as Carter pretends to not be as angry as he really is. “Sorry, baby. Had to give lessons to some of the younger kids today.”

He doesn’t miss the way goosebumps rise into your skin despite the warm fire, or the way your spine goes completely rigid at the nickname. A proud smirk spreads onto his face as he finished his work with a chaste kiss to you shoulder, making sure to let it linger for longer than he normally would.

When he comes up, he pretends to finally notice Carter, putting on his best shocked face. “Oh! Carter, my bad, I didn’t see you. How’ve you been?”

Carter gives him a mean mug, jaw rippling as he nods. “Sure you didn’t, Castellan.”

You look at Luke with confusion, and then back to Carter, obviously being able to sense the thick tension between them. “Carter, what’s wrong?”

Carter blinks a few times, before his face relaxes and the sultry smooth smirk returns. “Nothin’ babe,” He places a gentle hand onto your thigh, thumb tracing small circles into it. “Just can’t believe how pretty you look.”

Luke doesn’t miss the wink Carter throws his way, or the way your cheeks flush as you giggle nervously. It was nearly unbelievable the audacity Carter had! To touch you right in front of him- to make you blush and giggle like a schoolgirl in love?

Luke sighs, leaning close and whispering in your ear. “Let’s go back to my cabin, yeah?” Immediately turn to him, and Luke knows he’s won. Honestly, did Carter ever even have a chance? It was almost cruel to let him think he had.

You swallow, eyes trailing Luke as he stands and offers a hand to you, a casual grin on his face. You say a quick goodbye to Carter without even sparing him a glance, and take Luke’s hand.

You let him lead you away, but Luke looks over his shoulder and smirks at Carter’s look of disbelief. He sends him a wink just as he did earlier, and then turns back to you.

You're looking at the ground in front of you, lips parted as you glance towards him. Your hands stay connected the whole way back to his cabin, but no words are exchanged between you.

He's not surprised to find the cabin empty, instead he relishes in it. The Hermes Cabin had so many residents, moments of solitude in it were hard to come by. So when they did, he always made sure to enjoy them as much as he could.

He drops your hand as soon as the door closes behind the two of you, plopping onto his bed with a sigh. He watches as you wrap your arms around yourself, maintaining a large distance between the two of you which he finds strange.

Normally, you always join him on his bed, allowing him to play with your fingers or hair and having deep conversations that he always enjoys. But, no, tonight you’re looking at him like there’s a question you want to ask, like it’s practically burning in your throat and you need to spit it out, but you don’t. You let it burn, gnawing on your lower lip.

His eyebrows furrow and he stands, walking towards you. You don’t move back, but you don’t look at him either. Not until his hands are on your upper arms, holding you in place gently. He tilts his head slightly, “What’s the matter?”

You suck in a breath, finally looking up at him through your lashes, and then your gaze finds the floor again, as if it hurts to look at him for more than a second. You stumble a bit as you talk, “Is there a reason you were being so weird back there? I mean, you’re never… never really that touchy when we’re with other people.”

Luke thinks back, remembering how he’d rubbed your back and shoulders, called you baby, kissed your skin… and he realizes that you’re right. The most he ever does in public is give you a quick kiss anywhere but your lips before he leaves you, and that’s that.

He doesn’t call you pet names, doesn’t touch you. So why did he do it now? His mouth goes dry, but he makes sure to keep his cool and calm exterior, dropping his hands from your skin, and shrugging nonchalantly. “Uh, no, not really. I just missed you.”

You snort, and squeeze your arms tighter around yourself. Finally, you look up at him, and Luke can’t help the way he basks in it. Your look, no matter if it’s angry or happy or sad, leaves butterflies in his stomach that he can’t explain.

“So, that’s all? You just missed me?”

He nods, “That's pretty much it.”

He doesn’t miss the hurt that flashes in your eyes. You never were good at hiding your emotions, no matter how hard you tried. It’s something he lov- liked about you. Something he liked.

Your arms fall to your sides, nostrils flaring a bit as you scoff. “Really? It’s not because you were- were jealous that I was finally talking to someone who might like me?”

Luke couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. Did you really think Carter wanted to be with you for anything outside of another two week fling? “Please,” He sighs, “You had to know Carter was just flirting with you to have sex with you!”

You stare at him with wide eyes, jaw hanging open as tears well in your lash line. He doesn’t understand it- why were you being like this right now? Couldn’t you see he was just looking out for you like he normally did?

“What if I wanted that too, huh? What if I wanted to stop waiting around like an idiot for someone who will never see me as anything more than a friend!”

There’s that word again, but this time it’s like a punch to the gut. It’s like bitter poison falling from your mouth, like the wrath of the Gods had finally caught up to him. It hurts more than he’d like to admit.

He risks taking a step closer to you, but you take one back, maintaining distance between you. “What are you talking about, Y/N?”

The question hangs in the air like smoke, filling up his lungs and leaving him unable to breathe. Because deep down- he thinks he knows. Deep down, the answer shines like a light in the middle of the darkness, begging to be seen. But he doesn’t want to see it yet- can’t let himself see it yet. He doesn’t deserve to.

Your head turns to the side, arms crossing over your chest once more. “Nothing. I have to go.” You murmur, beginning to walk away from him, but in a desperate attempt to get you to stay he snags your wrist.

You tug at him, something you rarely ever do, and it leaves him nearly speechless. Still, he persists, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You freeze, but Luke doesn’t miss the way your voice waivers as you whisper, “If you can’t tell, then I won't be the one to tell you.”

With that you break from his hold, slamming the door shut behind you and leaving him completely alone. Now, that solitude he’d reveled in feels like snow creeping into his skin, encasing him in an endless chill.

Incident Four: The Apollo Cabin

Luke knows that you know it’s him knocking on your window. None of your siblings, with the exception of maybe one, have people sneaking in at late hours of the night.

He also knows that you’re not asleep. There’s no way- not after what was said between the two of you barely two hours ago. That's why he continues his knocks, coming up with new combinations, partially out of boredom and partially to annoy you enough to force you to open it.

And it works, he watches with a shit-eating grin as the window rolls open and you glare at him. “What?” You growl, glancing behind you to make sure none of your siblings woke up. “What do you want?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, gesturing for you to move back as he makes the familiar crawl through your window. He lands softly, so familiar with the environment that he knows where to step so he makes the least noise. “Couldn’t go to sleep knowing you were mad at me.” He mumbles.

You deadpan at him, a hand on your hip as you shake your head. “I’m not mad. Will you go back to your own cabin now?”

He shakes his head, eyes lingering on your messy hair and bare face. You never wore a lot of makeup, there was no point when the sun would melt it right off, but seeing you like this- unfiltered and completely real, he’s not sure you’ve ever looked more beautiful.

“You’re mad, Y/N. I know you are.” He sighs, and you swallow, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking to the side. “No, I'm not.”

He likes your stubbornness. Likes the way your lips pucker out slightly and your skin prickles with goosebumps when a breeze slips through the open window. He likes everything about the way you look at him, even when you’re angry.

“Yes, you are. And you have every reason to be. I was.. being selfish. I shouldn’t have dragged you away from Carter because I was mad you were talking to someone outside of me. It wasn’t fair.”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes shine a little, biting on your lower lip in thought. “Luke-” You start, but he doesn’t let you finish. “You’re allowed to do what you want. And.. if you want to have sex with Carter then, you know, you can do that.”

You chuckle, shaking your head with a sniff, “I don’t want to have sex with Carter.”

He can’t help the relief that floods his veins as you say this, letting out a small groan of approval. “Oh, thank the Gods. You are way too good for that douchebag.”

You grin, stepping closer to him. Luke inhales as your familiar scent fills his nostrils, and it smells like home. Like something he was always meant to know.

“Yeah, wherever. Will you stay here with me tonight?” You ask, though Luke knows you already know his answer. Still, he amuses you, nodding dumbly and allowing you to lead him into your bed.

You settle under the covers, which smell like you, and he feels your limbs tangle together and your head find his chest, like a lock and key molding together in the form it was always made to be.

Your body is warm, warmer than his anyway, and your skin is so soft. Years of handling medicine has done you justice, a huge contrast to the roughness of his own, years of training has left him battered and scarred.

Still, you trace lines into the skin of his stomach, ear flat against his chest giving you full access to the beat of his heart.

“Luke?” You murmur, and he hums, running a hand through your hair, gently brushing out the knots. “Yeah, Sweetheart?”

You’re silent for a moment, before finally you softly say, “It’ll be us forever, right? No matter what happens?”

Luke is almost shocked how fast the word yes fills his thoughts. He hasn’t ever thought about what would come after camp, after you both left and your lives changed and you grew up.

Would you be there for that? Would you want to be there for that? He hopes your answer is yes.

“Forever.” He whispers, kissing the top of your head and pulling you tighter against him, “I promise.”

You sigh happily, closing your eyes and drifting to sleep. It’s then that Luke realizes what that feeling in his stomach is. The one he can never name, the one that begs to roll off of his tongue like hot acid.

Because , while Luke knew he himself was unloveable, with his trauma and scars, did that mean he was unable to love? Did he even deserve to feel that?

He's not sure, but right now, with you laying on his chest like it’s just the two of you in the whole world, he thinks he accidently let it happen.

He fell in love with you without ever even knowing it, and he’s not sure he ever wants to stop.

taglist: @apolloscastellan @ddarling-ddearest-ddead

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell #fanfic #fluff #three times one time format #dancing with our hands tied #idiots in love #pining

[coralinnii]

Just thoughts.

Kind-hearted Yuu!Reader getting so frustrated with the boys not taking care of themselves or causing trouble that they absorbed leftover overblot residue and overblotted themselves. But, instead of harming them, it just turns Yuu into a stronger, more aggressive caretaker with no sh*ts given.

In short, Overblot!Yuu being a hot angry SFW(?) service dom and the NRC boys are surprisingly into it.

Overblot!Yuu trapping Idia sitting his gaming chair kabedon-style with their new powers and threatening him to "slam him onto his bed until he gets adequate sleep"

Idia.exe stopped working

Overblot!Yuu who will straddle Leona on the ground with a plate of vegetables in hand, demanding him "EAT. YOUR. VEGETABLES"

Leona, ignoring his excited tail whipping: ...make me

Overblot!Yuu grabbing Azul by his uniform scarf, pulling him close as you tell him how perfect he was just the way he is and will stand here YELLING this at him until he gets it through his stupid sexy brain. Cue Overblot!Yuu now yanking Azul out from his octo pot while Jade and Floyd laugh in the background

Overblot!Yuu kicking Floyd down and stepping on his back to stop him from squeezing another student during one of his bad moods, sick of Floyd getting himself into trouble with the teachers for his brawls.

"Stop it or I will tie you to a f*cking pillar"

"Yes, please~"

Overblot!Yuu making Ace kneel in front of you and holding his jaw so they could properly brush his teeth since they caught him sneaking some midnight snacks. Glaring and berating him while still gently holding him and brushing his teeth.

"Damn spoiled brat. At least you can't mouth off to me like this"

Ace can't hear you, he's too far gone.

#Overblot!Yuu having magic to overpower and protect her idiots #strong yuu who will beat love and care into these boys #just thoughts #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst yuu #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst x reader

[honnelander]

go fish! part 2

guyssss i did NOT expect this little series to blow up. y'all are amazing! i'm turning into a Sanji writing blog and am i mad about it? no lmao i received a couple of requests and i'll work on them as soon as i can. i'm really in the zone rn so i'll ride this wave as long as i can. if you want to be a part of the taglist for whenever i post new Sanji content, lmk. i hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: none

word count: 2.8k

pairing: opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: after being humiliated by Usopp earlier, reader stays in her room to decompress. however, she gets a visitor.

prequel part 1 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @smolracoon25 @mischiefmanaged71 @jovialcat123

Mortified. That’s how you felt. Still. 

Ever since you ‘forfeited’ from finishing your Go Fish card game with Usopp a couple of hours ago, you had taken your glass of water that Sanji had poured for you and boarded up in your shared room with Nami, refusing to come out due to “heat exhaustion”. 

Poor Luffy, ever the golden hearted captain, was immediately worried for your wellbeing as soon as he heard that but after multiple reassurances from you and getting up off of your hammock multiple times to prove you were in fact, just fine, he relented from wanting to stop by the nearest island so he could find a doctor for you. Usopp had managed to convince him as well that all you needed was some water, alone time, and that you would be fine by dinnertime. 

You rubbed your eyes as you let out a sigh, vowing to yourself that the next time you wanted some time by yourself, you should just take a bath or something, since any other excuse would cause someone on the crew (Luffy) to lose their mind at the thought of someone not feeling well. 

You readjusted yourself, sitting more upright, as you downed the last of your water, it being warm by this point since it had been poured by Sanji hours ago. 

Sanji. Ugh.  

Your heart fluttered once again at the mere thought of him, but that flutter was immediately replaced by a wave of crashing embarrassment at the thought of the afternoon’s sequence of events. What had happened earlier wasn’t even anything that groundbreaking or special, but to you? It was everything. It wasn’t common practice in your life for the object of your affections to be so kind towards you, so thoughtful, to read and anticipate your needs before you even knew they were even there. But Sanji? He was all of that and more. And you didn’t even know him for that long! You’ve all been a part of the straw-hat crew for 5 months at this point and it felt silly to admit to yourself that you had developed a crush on one of your crewmates in that short amount of time. 

And having feelings for your crewmate? Someone who you literally couldn’t get away from since you all were trapped on a ship together (not that you would ever want to be away from him or anyone else for that matter, besides Usopp, but still), it felt morally wrong. You guys were all a team. Sure, you all were off to sail around the world and chase dreams, but achieving all of that required teamwork and trust, and that was hard to do if two of those people were caught up with matters of the heart every hour of every day. 

Like, what if things didn’t work out in the end? Would you really want to put the crew’s dynamic at stake just because you thought the blonde guy was cute? No, you wouldn’t. It would be selfish so you would never dare to put yourself or Sanji in that position. No matter how much you liked him. 

So as much as it pained you, you could never tell Sanji how you feel. You would never cross that line of being a ‘professional pirate’ into something more, like a pirate wife. Or a pirate chef’s wife. 

It definitely didn’t help that freaking Usopp of all people on the crew knew about your affections for Sanji. Ugh, you groaned. He was the absolute worst person to know about it too. Why did he have to figure it out? Why did he have to be the one that had put two and two together to equal four? That your random bouts of awkwardness and shyness plus ‘heart eyes’ and blushes whenever Sanji was around equaled to you having a forbidden crush on the crew’s chef? It was embarrassing. And complicated.  

He loved to stir the pot too, so whenever he could tease you for it when you both were alone or in front of a clueless Sanji, he would. You remembered the kiss he had shared with Kayla back when the straw-hats had acquired the Going Merry, so you definitely jabbed him right back when you had had enough, since part of you felt guilty for it since Kayla was thousands of miles away and Sanji lived on this ship with you. Your situations were slightly similar but completely different.  

Also, completely different in the way that him and Kayla were basically dating at this point, albeit long distance, and had shared a kiss while you could barely sustain eye contact that lasted more than 5 seconds with Sanji. 

You were hopeless. 

“Knock, knock,” a familiar accented voice came through the closed door. “Y/n? Are you awake?” 

"Sanji?” you blurted out in complete surprise.  

Shit. You weren’t mentally prepared to see him just yet. At all. You were still replaying the interaction you both had earlier in your head, your overthinking mind going over every minute detail to figure out if Usopp’s careless teasing had given away your affections.  

Usopp, you mentally ground out. You were going to kill him. Sanji had never stopped by your room before so what on earth was he doing here now?  

Suddenly, a thought struck you like a bolt of lightning and made your stomach drop fifty miles below sea level: if Sanji had specifically stopped by your room just to gently let you down, that no, in fact he did not feel the same way about you, that he only thought of you as a member of the crew and nothing more....then yeah, you were definitely going to kill Usopp and throw him overboard. 

Before you could mentally plot out more details on Usopp's murder, the door opened and the straw-hat chef’s blonde head appeared. His eyes quickly scanned Nami’s empty hammock on the room’s left side before turning his head to the right, his blue eyes immediately finding your surprised ones, a (relieved?) smile lighting up his face at the sight of you. 

“So, I take it you’re awake?” Sanji asked in a light, teasing tone but not making an effort to move himself away from the doorway. 

“Uh, y-eah,” you stuttered out in surprise as you just stared at him dumbfounded. You still couldn’t figure out why he was here. 

Sanji continued to lock eyes with you, making your cheeks flush the longer you both stared at each other, and your palms sweat as the silence stretched on, making the tension in the air become thicker by the second. He blinked, his eyes darting to the side in confusion, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “May I come in?” 

“OH! Yes, of course- sorry,” you stuttered as you waved him inside, sitting up in your hammock and mentally face palmed yourself. Of course, Sanji was waiting on you to invite him inside. Like always, he was acting like a true gentleman. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Sorry, that was rude of me. Make yourself at home.” 

Sanji stood up to his full height and walked into your room with an easy smile and a small laugh, closing the door behind him. “Ah, don’t ever apologize y/n. You could never be rude to me,” Sanji rebuttalled and waved off your apology as he looked around and took in your very plain and basic shared room with Nami.  

Your room, or side of the room more specifically, wasn’t much to brag about considering you really didn’t have much to your name but for now, it was home to you. Your side consisted of your hammock, a wooden barrel next to it to act as a makeshift nightstand that housed your only book, a journal, and a lamp, along with an empty wooden crate to act as a makeshift seat and another to hold some of your other clothes and small travel bag. Nami’s side was similar to yours but had a touch more personality as she hung up some maps she found at various markets and drew up herself on her wall. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a tad self-conscious about the lack of things in your room considering your current guest was dressed, as usual, to the nines in his signature black suit and blue and white striped shirt complete with a skinny black tie. “Sorry for the sad state of my room-” 

“Sad?” Sanji stopped admiring your room and snapped his gaze to look at you. His eyebrows pulled together as another confused smile adorned his features. “Why would you say that? Your room isn’t sad, I like it. It’s a reflection of you,” his next words came out softer, “and I think that’s beautiful.” 

You could feel heat crawling up your neck at his words as you busied yourself with placing the empty glass in your hand on your barrel nightstand. There was no way Sanji was calling you beautiful, he was just commenting on your room. With Nami. On your shared room that owed any ounce of ‘personality’ to the ship’s navigator because it was obvious you literally brought nothing special to this room whatsoever.  

You stopped yourself from spiraling into ‘I don’t bring anything special to the straw-hats, I don’t know why they keep me around’ thoughts because now wasn’t the time to think about any of that. Those dark thoughts were reserved when you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night.  

As you placed the glass on the nightstand, you asked, “So, what brings you all the way to my room? Aren’t you usually prepping for dinner around this time?” 

Sanji’s eyes followed your hand and lit up when he saw the sole book on your nightstand. “Oh, a book? I didn’t know you liked to read.” His megawatt smile lit up a couple of notches as his eyes sparkled, he looked like he had just learned one of the universe’s greatest mysteries as he took a seat near you on an empty crate. “What book is that?” 

“Oh, that?” You mentally deflated at the fact you now had to tell Sanji about your favorite book, “It’s Pride and Prejudice.”  

You weren’t ashamed of having that book specifically, you loved it and it was your favorite book of all time, you had lost count at how many times you had read it at this point, but it was the fact that you now had to share this part of yourself with the guy you fancied. Guys normally scoffed and turned their nose up at romance book and romantic things, so you were bracing for Sanji to scoff and laugh at you like all the other guys did (like even Zoro and Usopp did when they first saw you reading it) but it never came. 

Instead, Sanji’s smile remained bright. “Ah, so you’re a lover of classic romances? Pride and Prejudice? Romeo and Juliet?” 

Immediately, you smiled, finding yourself instantly comfortable suddenly whenever you got to talk about one of your favorite things. “Absolutely. I don’t think there’s a problem big enough out there that love can’t solve. Family backgrounds? Wealth and status? At the end of the day, none of that stuff matters. What matters is if two people love each other.” 

Sanji stayed quiet for a moment, looking into your eyes with a twinkle of an emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, never breaking eye contact. “I agree.” 

You swallowed. “You like this stuff too? Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” 

Sanji blinked and that indescribable emotion he had in his eyes was gone. His smile remained, however, and became sheepish as he held up his hands, “Ah ok, you caught me. I’ve never read the full thing, but I know the main parts of the story. My favorite part that I did read though, was the first dinner with Mr. Collins and he complimented the Bennets on their ‘excellent boiled potatoes’.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head slightly as you teased, “I should’ve known that the chef of the Going Merry’s favorite part of the book is when food is discussed!” 

The blonde cook held his hands up again with a good-natured laugh, “Ah, you got me!” His face softened as he asked, “What about you?" He nodded towards the book. "What’s your favorite part?” 

You paused for a second as you mulled the question over. “Well, I'm not sure if you know about this part since you never read the book...” 

“Try me,” he encouraged softly. 

Your face turned to the side, your eyes looking at the wooden wall to your right, unable to bring yourself to look at Sanji as you told him your favorite part of your favorite book. You took a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves, your voice becoming quiet as you told him, “My favorite part is...when Mr. Darcy barges in on Elizabeth for the first time, while she’s at her friend Charlotte’s house writing a letter. He had come to practice ‘conversating’ with her since he admitted that it wasn’t something he was good at and she had told him to practice it. So, Mr. Darcy just barged in and they had one of the most painfully awkward conversations ever...and he did all that just because he loves her. He did something he hated and was bad at, and opened himself up to embarrassment just because he wanted to improve and be better for her. It’s so romantic and beautiful.” 

The air was quiet after your mini monologue and for a moment, nothing could be heard except for their quiet breathing and the occasional crash of the ocean from outside your small window. 

Part of you worried that your little rambling had bored Sanji, so when you finally looked at him, imagine your surprise when you found him leaning in towards you, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees and his eyes watching you, completely engaged. It was like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Sanji scanned your face for a moment, the corner of his lips curling upwards as he said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not familiar with that part in the book,” and before you could open your mouth to bring yourself down, he continued, “but, that doesn’t mean your answer is wrong.” He leaned back and slapped his hands against his thighs, “Hell, it’s a much more insightful answer than mine!” He laughed. “I just liked how they were poking some fun at boiled potatoes.” 

You laughed with him because yes, that part in the book also made you laugh as well. But at the mention of food, you realized that you still didn’t know why Sanji was here in the first place. Wasn’t he normally prepping for dinner at this time? He had to be running behind schedule at this point. 

“Why are you here, Sanji? Isn’t it almost time for dinner?” 

“Yeah, it is actually but I heard you weren’t feeling well so I wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re feeling alright and see if you have any special requests for dinner?” 

You couldn’t help the slight smile that overtook your face, trying to hide the blush at the fact that he was kind enough to check in on you and offer to practically be your own personal chef for the evening. 

You hummed for a moment, acting like you were deep in thought before asking with a raised eyebrow, "And what would you say if I requested some boiled potatoes?”  

The smile that lit up the chef’s face was priceless. He had never looked more beautiful. “To that, I would say ‘Absolutely. If that’s what the missus wants, then that is what the missus will get.’” 

Missus. There it was again. You felt all warm inside whenever he called you that, it made you feel like he was your husband and that you were his wife. But that wasn’t the case. Sanji definitely must have called other women that before. You weren’t special to him, he was just being polite.  

You swallowed down your emotions, putting your sudden wave of sadness away for later, putting on a small smile. “Then that sounds perfect. I would like to formally request some ‘excellent boiled potatoes’ as a side for dinner, please.” 

If Sanji noticed your sudden change in mood, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned as he said, “Excellent choice, Madam. Boiled potatoes, coming right up.” As he stood up and made his way towards your door, Sanji did one of the most unexpected things that nearly knocked the wind out of you. With his left hand on the doorknob he said, “And don’t worry, Madam. I’ll sprinkle in a little bit of extra love in there,” he turned and winked at you, “just for you.” 

With that, Sanji left your room, gently closing the door behind him, leaving you completely dumbstruck in your room, your mouth agape and body frozen. 

Did Sanji just say he loved you? 

You shook your head, because there was no way he did, right? He said he’d ‘sprinkle in some extra love’ into your potatoes, not 'I love you". You weren’t a chef, maybe that was a euphemism for something. 

You sighed.  

Those better be some good boiled potatoes. 

#sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji #sanji x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #sanji fanfiction #one piece live action #sanji live action #sanji vinsmoke #one piece #opla #opla!sanji #opla!sanji x reader #fluff #mutual pining #idiots in love #friends to lovers #basically 2 fics in a day?? crazy #i wanted to write more one shots so they were shorter and take less time but idk how to stop once i start oops lol #sorry not sorry #i think i'm gunna make a tag for this “universe/timeline”? #idk what it would be tho #the #go fish!timeline #? #maybe the “idiots in love” timeline #i'll workshop it #go fish! au

[floswife]

“MAKE ME”- H.J.P x READER

Warnings: fluff, rivals to lovers, idiots in denial that they’re in love, Harry being stupid bc why not

Pairing: Harry James Potter x reader

Author’s Notes: idk I just felt a little silly 🤷‍♀️

Summary: Harry can’t seem to keep his mouth shut around Y/n

Harry and Y/n never really got along. Why? Godric knows. It’s been going on for as long as anybody could remember to the point that the origins often varied amongst everybody.

“Oh! It was because Harry accidentally hexed her hair to be snakes.”

“It’s because she struck him by lightning to match his scar.”

“He got a bludger thrown at her during one of their quidditch practices!”

“She dressed up as you know who for a costume party once!”

None of those reasons were the actual origin of their feud, though they were actual events that had occurred.

The irony was that they should’ve gotten along perfectly well together on paper, both being in Gryffindor, both on the quidditch team, both hated by Snape (though Snape hated almost everybody except for green eyes redhead Gryffindor girls) and they both had many mutual friends between them.

They were just constantly at each others throats, it was like it was a game for the two. They definitely did always argue with a wide smile on their face.

Take today for example, it was quidditch practice and like usual, they were arguing.

“Potter, I swear to Merlin I’ll bat this bludger at you!” Y/n pointed her bat threateningly at him. The rest of the team had learnt to ignore them at that point, learning that they just work better motivated by their frustration at each other.

Harry just threw his arms up, “do it, l/n, we all know it’s an empty threat anyways because you’ll miss my face again.”

She gave him a scandalised look, “again?! Who said I ever missed your face, scarhead?”

“Ron! The last time I went to the hospital wing.” Harry grinned triumphantly as she glared at Ron at his spot by the goal to which he just observed the sky with mild interest.

“Do you know how vague that is? You’re in the hospital every other day, attention whore.” She huffed and crossed her arms.

It was then that they got shouted at by Wood to actually partake in practice to which they finally listened.

After practice where everyone was going to the changing rooms, Harry trailed after her and spoke in a sing song voice behind Y/n, “you missed me.”

She turned around with a light scowl on her face, “shut it Harold.”

He had his stupid smirk on his face that often found it’s way there when he was around there as he stepped closer to her, she stayed still, “oh yeah? Make me.”

His emerald eyes flitted to her lips and she felt her heartbeat pick up at the decreasing amount of personal space between them, “bet.”

His smile widened at her response but not for long as she pulled out her wand and wordlessly did a spell to seal his mouth shut.

In a moment of pure panic she just rushed into the changing room, did i seriously just hex a boy after almost kissing him?

As anybody would after hexing a persons mouth shut after almost kissing them, Y/n avoided Harry. Dodging him in hallways, quite literally jumping into random classrooms (though that was a one time thing after seeing a couple of seventh years exchanging spit in there).

Later in the common room, she was curled up in the corner with her knees to her chest, reading a book to calm her nerves, while also covering her face with said book.

This half assed disguise clearly did nothing for her because Ron sat right on the chair next to her.

“Y/n! My dorm now!”

She gave him an indignant look, “Ronnil Wazlib! Me and you need to have words about what you spilled to Harold you little rat!”

Ron just shook his head at her exasperatedly.

“Don’t shake your head at me like I’m your nan with dementia, I will tell ‘mione about your undying love for her!”

His eyes widened and he clasped a hand over her mouth, “just shut up and go up to my dorm.”

She threw her hands up in surrender and got up to go to his dorm, she walked into his dorm first and as soon as she turned to ask him what he wanted to talk about, the door shut in her face, she tried to open it but it was locked. She tried to magically unlock it, but it didn’t work.

Her blood ran cold when she realised her mistake, Harold.

She turned to see him sitting on his bed and he wordlessly patted the spot next to him.

She furrowed her brows but listened all the same as she sat down next to him, “that’s a little too much effort to just talk to me, Potter, just say you love me at this point.”

He gave her a deadpan stare and she then realised he was still hexed so she pulled out her wand and undid it. She gave him an apologetic look.

“Why did he try so hard to get me in here with you?” She asked curiously.

Harry seemed to contemplate what he was gonna say before he finally said, “well I’m not gonna say I’m in love with you but I can say that I like you. A lot actually.”

She gave him an incredulous look, “Excusé moi?”

He just nodded, “you’re brilliant and beautiful and smart and funny and I like you. And I think- no I know you like me too.”

She furrowed her brows, “how can you be so sure about that?”

He pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face and kept his hand cupping the side of her face, “because I know you.”

For once she didn’t argue against him and when he leaned in this time, she let their lips touch and she melted into the kiss. His lips were soft against hers and although they spent years with such animosity towards each other, it seemed to now just turn into blind affection as they naturally sank into each others arms.

When they pulled away with soft smiles still on each others faces, she spoke, “and you tried to get on my case for missing you in the hospital wing?”

Harry’s face lit up even more if that was possible, “so you did miss me!”

She rolled her eyes, “that was not new knowledge, get over it!”

He laughed and she decided to shut him up for the second time that day, except not with magic this time, but with another kiss.

It was then that Ron decided to burst in to the room, “have you guys killed each other ye- Merlin!”

He gasped at them as they jumped apart from each other. Harry looking proud while y/n looked slightly ashamed.

She threw a pillow at him as he ran off shouting for everyone saying he had money to collect.

#harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x fem!reader #harry potter fluff #harry james potter #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #idiots in love #idiots in denial #enemies to lovers #harry james potter x reader #harry potter blurb #daniel radcliffe gif #daniel radcliffe #daniel radcliffe x reader

[loveliestdagger]

ask (bucky barnes x f!reader)

part one of THE MISSION REPORTS

read it on ao3 | go back to the masterlist

summary: when, after a mission, the reader needs Bucky's help tending to her wounds.

word count: 1227

warnings: blood and injury, stab wound

a/n: feedback is always appreciated, especially since i'm thinking about writing another chapter. anyways...enjoy!!!

I hold onto the doorframe, putting as little weight on my leg as possible. the open wound stings, deepening into consistent pain jolting up the thigh and reverbing in my brain. I feel the blood dripping down my freshly washed body.

The nightgown is purposefully too short, showing the extent and severity of the cut. It starts mid thigh trailing down almost to the knee. It's deep too. Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, boots undone. His hair clings to his forehead with the same sweat that makes his bare chest glisten just as hard as his metal arm. If I didn't feel like dying I'd drool.

He takes note of my presence as soon as I open the bathroom door, straightening up. I can feel his eyes on me, burning in the raw flesh of my thigh. I register a millisecond of surprise and then his eyes raise to meet mine.

I don’t move. I should. I swallow in dry, returning his stare. My vision blurs and the hand that isn’t supporting me tremors uncontrollably – the only visible sign of my distress. He gets up, walking close enough that I can distinguish his eyes through the haziness. 

Sam had once joked every time I got injured I acted like a wounded animal. Unwilling to accept help, let alone ask for it. Running away to lick my wounds and coming back when everything is fine. 

Bucky stands in front of me, his lips pressed into a line. He analises me, knowing me too well already. "You need me to stitch it up." 

It’s not a question or a statement. It's the iteration of what I need to say but can’t. All I can muster is to not avoid his gaze, as my face burns and my knees falter.

Still, my eyes avoid his when I speak.

"I wouldn't ask if I-"

"You haven't." 

I let out a heavy breath, frustration intensifying the hot flashes surging through me as I retreat back into the bathroom. I'm going to bleed to death because I can’t bring myself to ask for help. Real mature. But his hand grasps mine, our fingers bruising almost intertwining before he settles his grip firmly on my wrist. When I decide to look back at him his gaze has softened.

"Ask." It’s a quiet, breathy sound. I’m tired and hurt and he's leaning into me, his warmth far more comforting than — could me. And I find myself holding onto his heart, the steady beating underneath my fingers. He draws circles on the inside of my wrist. The other hand rises to cup my cheek and I lean into it, shuddering breaths as his skin makes contact with mine. "Talk to me."

I crumble like a statue made to wait too long. 

"It hurts." I croak through the lump in my throat. It’s not what he wants me to say but it’s the truth. It’s the most sincere I’ve been in a while.

"I know baby." He says softly in my ear while his fingers brush the ends of my hair.

"I need help." I mutter.

"Then let’s get you some help." He guides me back inside the bathroom, his hand resting on the small of my back. The tactical gear is in a pile on the corner, along with blood soaked undergarments. Even the tiles underneath have a reddish hue to them, messily wiped in a pained haze. 

He motions for me to sit on the edge of the bathtub, leaving the room only when he’s sure I won't fall over. The lights are too bright and I'm suddenly very cold. When he comes back, with a medical kit that had to have taken up half of his bag, I’m gripping the edges of the tub.

He kneels in front of me, laying out his supplies. I watch him work, slowly, methodically and when he gazes back at me he looks unsure. His thumb trails the extent of the wound, gliding in the blood that keeps on pouring out and he watches me. His eyes roam my face in search of something. Then he looks at my thigh again, eyebrows knitted together as I hold my breath. He's looking for pain. And I'm sure I look pained. The edges of the wound are jagged and I can feel where the knife nicked the bone. It’s a dull ache, deep inside the leg. Incomparable with the searing pain of the cut itself which I feel burning at the edges like it's trying to knit itself back together.

"Just do it." I exhale. It’s when I notice I'm panting, my body so heavy I have to make a conscious effort to sit upright.

"I'll make it quick, I promise." His eyes crease with a sympathetic smile. His hand sliding to massage my calf. I manage a nod, my eyes threatening to close. 

I can’t resist the urge to lean over him, a content sigh escaping my lips as my forehead meets his bare shoulder and rests there. I register the sharp sting of disinfectant. Then I feel the pressure of his fingers on the edges of the cut, clenching my teeth as he pinches the skin together and whimpering when he draws the needle through it. And he does it again. And again.

"Are you still with me?" he calls out after a while. I somewhat nod, not feeling the strength to lift my head. "We’re almost done. Just a little bit longer, okay?"

"I feel awful." I confess, just as he drags a wet towel softly across the stitches. 

"You lost a lot of blood. I’m actually surprised you’re holding out so well."

"What can I say? I’m a natural." 

"I'd prefer it if you weren’t a natural at getting stabbed." I feel scolded, as he finishes wrapping my leg, the pressure bringing immediate relief. 

He grabs my shoulders, straightening me up. He brushes damp hair out of my face, like it’s a curtain separating him from gazing at the view, looking so intently into my eyes I think he might actually get a glimpse into my soul. 

"You did good." And there’s his eyes, and his mouth. And I'm sure I will say something but I can't hear myself. I can’t think. And his eyes. His eyes, shiny and caring, full of such honesty and tenderness I don’t know if my knees are weak for him or because of blood loss. And I don’t care because he carries me and lays me on the bed. He covers me and his fingers stroke my cheek as he asks if I’m okay.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning in my direction I feverishly think he might kiss me. I wonder if he wants to. I’m sure I would like it, he seems like a good kisser. With his pretty pink lips and his soft skin.

"I have to check in with Nat." He says hesitantly, his hand still on my face. "I'll check on you when I get back."

" I should go too" I squirm, trying to free myself from the bedsheets. Having a drink at some dirty bar with Natasha sounds nice for once. And I have a lot to debrief

He pushes me back down. "You’ve done enough for today."

I try again and I’m met with the same fate. 

"Sleep."

read bonus chapter | read part two

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #mutual pining #idiots in love #mission fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #avengers #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson #winter soldier #the winter soldier #fatws #angela writes #the mission reports

[feralforfrank]

NOTHING'S GONNA HURT YOU, BABY.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER

summary reader gets injured while looking out for the team and simon riley worries.

cw descriptive scenes of reader getting injured, cod canon violence, stab wounds & blood loss, worried!simon riley. angst!!!!! hurt with tiny bit of comfort (from simon to reader) NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER. tell me if i missed anything!

a/n is this deserving of a part two? does it feel rushed? is THIS really how i want to enter the cod mw2 fandom!?!! so many questions.

masterlist | taglist

"Ghost," you spoke his name in a hushed tone, mainly to hide from the enemy but also to hide the shake in your voice.

"I'm here, Owl. I'm coming to get ya." You could hear Ghost running, and you tried to focus on the sounds he made instead of the stinging pain on your thigh and side.

It was your fault. All of it. You were supposed to be on the roof, not on the goddamn ground. You're a sniper, for fuck's sake. But being above ground, you spotted two men making their way to where the team's getaway car was. You weren't allowing them to steal your vehicle, but if you shot at them, it would alert the others, and your position would've been compromised.

You knew how to fight. Although you never liked engaging the enemy face to face and your eyes were better used above ground, thus why you were a sniper and why they called you Owl, Ghost and Soap trained you to take down men as big as them. 

The first man went down quickly, he was skinny, and you surprised him. He was gurgling on his one blood in seconds. The second guy pinned you to the wall. You took your second knife from your right thigh strap and pierced his stomach twice. He was slipping from your grasp when you felt the knife you'd used on him puncture your thigh. 

You screamed. A shriek left your mouth before you could stop it. Your thigh throbbed as you landed a final blow on the side of the man's neck. You stumbled off the wall, blinking the tears and black dots away. You heard someone call your name through comms, but you didn't have time to answer.

The third man came behind you. He must've heard you scream. He circled his buff biceps around your throat and squeezed. Fight and flight kicked in. Andrenaline was pumping in your bloodstream, and, without thinking twice, you bit his bicep. Hard.

He cursed and moved away from you for a split second, and you got a chance to suck in a breath. You stumbled forward, but he caught you, spinning you around and pulling you so impossibly close. 

At first, you didn't feel it. A shot rang out, and his body slumped forward, distracting you. The man was dead in your arms, and his blood had splattered on your face and continued spilling on your shoulder. Your head shot up to your station—that's where the gunshot had come from. Gaz asked you if you were okay. You tried to nod, and that's when you felt it. 

Your ears started ringing. You stepped back, the man falling completely from your grasp and onto the ground. You choked on your breath. Your hand instinctively fell to your side and then rose in front of your face. You were bleeding from two places now.

Gaz called for you again, but you didn't answer. You felt dizzy, and as much as you tried blinking those black spots away, they just wouldn't go. You leaned against the wall. Ghost ordered your whereabouts, and Gaz answered him hurriedly, adding that he could see you losing consciousness. So, that's who shot from your position. Ghost confirmed that he was coming your way.

And that's how you ended up in this position.

"Please, hurry." Your cry of pain made the lieutenant's pace pick up.

Ghost always had some sort of a soft spot for you. Your kind-hearted, friendly nature and bubbly personality didn't help his growing infatuation. You were too sweet for your own good, and he swore your sarcastic comments directed mostly at Soap always managed to melt his heart.

The guys weren't oblivious—they could see how Ghost always stared at you. His hard eyes seemed to soften when looking at you. Actually, his whole posture changed when you were around. Ghost was always near you, a soft hand placed on your lower back and guiding you when you were in the dark during missions, and glances were thrown at you when you were too quiet to make sure you were doing okay.

Soap and Gaz had joked about his fascination with you, asking him why he never made a move. He'd shut them down and called them inappropriate before lowering his head to hide how flustered he felt. He thought burying those teenage sentiments at the very back of his mind would be the best. He's never been good at expressing his feelings, and for fuck's sake, he was your superior.

But as he heard your breath come out in gasps and Gaz telling him to hurry up through comms, he felt panic inside him. His steps became more urgent, and his grip on the gun tightened. He was almost there.

"Don't move. I'm coming to get you." Ghost's voice was filled with utter panic and anxiety, and he took a breath to get rid of the shake in his tone. "I'm almost there, darlin'."

Fuck. 

He hadn't meant for that to slip out. He heard your breath hitch. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

He turned the corner, and there you were, slumped on the wall, holding your side with your palm and breathing heavily. He placed his gun in its holster and ran toward you. You collapsed with a groan, your forehead touching his vest.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I'm so sorry. They were—They were trying to escape with our c-car, and I couldn't let—I couldn't let them—" You gasped for breath as Ghost looked around at the dead bodies.

It was dark, but he could make out three silhouettes, definitely larger frames than yours, and they all lay dead in a puddle of their own blood. 

"It's okay, it's alright, love. I'm here now. I'm not goin' anywhere." A soft whimper escaped your lips, and he felt your body give in to the fatigue caused by the blood loss. 

Ghost picked you up, requesting the rest of the team to meet him at his location. The car was unlocked and untouched, and his heart swole with pride. You'd taken out three soldiers to protect the team and secure their getaway transportation.

You mumbled his name as he placed you in the backseat. He quickly got in, and pulled you in his arms again, one palm pressing on your wounded side and the other on your bleeding thigh. 

Soap slipped in the driver's seat, Gaz following right behind him. "How's she doing, Lt.?" The former asked, glancing behind him once.

"She'll be fine if you move this goddamn car!" Ghost's tone was sharp, but Soap didn't take it personally.

"Where to, Ghost?" John asked.

"The safe house. Make sure no one follows us. As soon as we're in the clear, Gaz, you call Price. Tell 'im to send evac." Gaz nods curtly, followed by a yes, sir.

"Simon." You shift, snuggling closer to his body.

The frown on your face deepens. Simon looks down at you. His heart hasn't stopped its rapid beating, and worry mixed with panic is still swirling in his blood. He wants to tell John to hurry the fuck up, but he knows the soldier is going as fast as possible.

You whine in distress, your eyes blinking ever so slowly. Your ears ring, your gaze is unfocused, and your eyes are glassy with tears ready to fall. 

"Shh, it's alright, love," Simon whispers. "You're goin' be okay."

"Am I dying?" You speak in hushed panic.

Simon shakes his head quickly from side to side as if your words burned him. "No, you're fine. Nothing that can't be fixed, okay? I can fix it." He's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to convince you.

"Are they after us?" He shakes his head again. "So, we're safe? I'm safe?"

"Nothing's gonna hurt you. As long as I'm here, no one's hurting you again, ya hear me?" The finality in his voice is the reassurance you need to soothe you.

You feel your eyes drooping again, and the ringing in your ears finally fades out. "Thank you, Simon."

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#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty: modern warfare ii #cod mwii #simon riley angst #simon riley fluff #angst with comfort #hurt/comfort #idiots in love #fluff #frank writes

[wardenparker]

New Year's Surprise

Jack Daniels x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 18.7k Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, internalized fatphobia, self esteem issues, pining, meddlesome friends, unwanted attention from a male coworker, light spanking, praise, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Jack likes being scratched up, reader is described as having fingernails long enough to scratch (no specific length given), the love is requited they're just idiots. Summary: Ginger has a plan to get you and Jack to admit you have feelings for each other. She did not anticipate just how well it would work... Notes: Happy almost New Year everyone! Enjoy a little more winter seasonal smut and fluff from us to you 🥂🍾✨

"You're sure it's not too much, Ging?" Turning in front of the full-length mirror in Ginger's apartment, you inspect the glittering black cocktail dress that your friend helped you pick out at the mall during all those after-Christmas sales she promised you that you would find something at. She was right, like she always is, but now that the dress is on you, you're wondering if you haven't made a mistake. If it's not too revealing, or too short, or too tight.

Whoever in HR came up with this insane Cowboys and Flappers theme for the company New Year's Eve party deserved to have their head examined. You're not the femme fatale agent that gets sent out to seduce men and collect their secrets. Few men out there in the world are ever really seduced by the chubby girl in any given scenario, but it did tend to make you invisible. Invisible women can slip in and out of buildings in literally any kind of uniform and get through security without ever being harassed, and that works to your advantage on almost every case. Unfortunately, it also means that for the five years you've been a Statesman agent, you've also been fairly invisible to the man you've developed feelings for.

It’s perfect.” No matter how many times Ginger Ale tells you that you are sexy just the way you are, that insecurity gets the best of you. “I’m telling you, you will have every eye in the place.”

“I doubt it.” You sigh in the mirror and smooth your hands over the sequined dress one more time. “But that’s okay. I don’t want every set of eyes…”

“I know what set of eyes you want on you.” Your taste in men is your own, and Ginger won’t fault you for it, but she wonders why Jack. “It might do the man good to know that he’s got competition.” You don’t believe her when she says that it’s more telling that Jack doesn’t hit on you, but it’s the truth.

“He doesn’t, though.” Shrugging, you turn away from the mirror and decide to just go on with the night. Wishing won’t make it real and Jack Daniels barely looks at you. Even though you’ve partnered on cases, spend time together in and out of the office, and are arguably friends in every true sense? You’ve always wanted more with him. The only person who knows is Ginger, though, and you prefer to keep it that way since Jack will never return your affection. “And that’s…it is what it is. Even if you’re the only person I dance with tonight, it’ll still be fun.”

“Wearing that dress?” Ginger snorts as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ll have the faith for both of us, how about that?” She knows that Jack won’t be able to resist you tonight, not when she’s lined up a few of the junior agents to dance with you already. It’s time that Jack settles down and finds some happiness, and what better time than the New Year?

******

While you easily could have had the party at Statesman considering the size of the grounds, Champ wouldn’t hear of it. He’s hosting the damn thing himself come hell or high water, in his favourite suit with his wife dressed to the 9’s in her flapper dress, and more caterers than you’ve ever seen in your life all making his early twentieth century coal baron’s mansion look as resplendent as the day it was built. The place is palatial, with a ballroom so big that the band he’s hired looks tiny in one corner despite being six-men strong. It’s music and liquor and appetizers passing by on trays when you and Ginger walk through the door, and you gasp at how nice it all looks.

“I know he does it every year,” you sigh to your best friend. “But the theme is always different and I swear somehow the house always looks better on new year’s.”

“Champ does know how to throw one hell of a party.” She agrees, snagging two glasses of champagne from a waiter as she walks by. Her own sleek flapper dress is a vivid purple, making her beautiful skin glow and for tonight, she’s wearing contacts. Her short hair is perfectly styled, a cap like illusion, highlighted with the crystal headband she’s picked. “To a New Year we will never forget.” She hands you one glass and adds, “or regret.”

“You’re certainly optimistic.” You flash her and grin and tap the rim of your glass against hers. “Finally going to talk to Alicia or is this just positive vibes?” It’s been two years since Ginger started crushing on the woman who supervises Statesman campus tours and visitor experience, but she hasn’t made a move yet. Being frozen in place with someone you care about is something the two of you have in common.

“Positive vibes.” She huffs, rolling her eyes and trying to change the subject. “Look! There’s Tequila!” She waves the younger agent over to where you are standing. “You made it! Didn’t think you were ever gonna get back from Brazil, or if you wanted to.” She adds with a grin.

“Those are two very different questions.” Tequila agrees with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. Did he have to come back? Sure. But did he want to leave the comfort and luxury of that beautiful woman’s bed? Not at all. “But I would not have missed dancing with you ladies for the world,” he adds with a wink. He’s very much in on Ginger’s plan, after all, and is looking forward to the fireworks it will bring.

You fluster slightly at his words, but Ginger knows that you don’t have your cap set on Tequila. You just don’t handle compliments well. “You’ll have to get in line.” Ginger warns him with a smirk. “As good as Rye looks tonight, every man in here is going to want a dance. After I dance with her first.”

“Well I reckon I’ll have to be second, then.” Tequila puts in a playful pout. “But only because I would never deny Miss Ginger Ale gettin to be first.” He smiles again and tips his hat, having opted to wear his best Stetson with an elegant Kingsman suit. “You don’t have to,” you insist, knowing Tequila always has more choices of dance and bedroom partners than he could ever feasibly make his way through. “I’m sure you have other people you want to dance with tonight.”

“No one important.” Tequila smirks as he drags his eyes up and down your outfit and whistles slowly. “And no one nearly as pretty.” He promises.

“Liar.” Though you roll your eyes at him, you don’t protest anymore than that. He’s your friend, after all. And if he wants to waste his time dancing with you, you’ll just enjoy it. Tequila’s a fantastic dancer, after all.

“Never lie to you, honey.” Tequila croons, taking your hand and lifting it to his lips. “Lie about what?” The voice comes from your left and all eyes swing that way.

“Jack!” Normally you know he’s coming. The smell of earthy, expensive cologne and the tap-click-shuffle of his boots on polished floors. The soft humming he gets up to when he’s pleased with himself, not quite melodic but endearing because it means he’s happy. But you sensed none of that just now, too caught up in the band playing and the fragrant flowers and the tickle of bubbly in your nose and throat. “Nothing. We were just talking about dancing…” He looks like a dream, and it makes you sick to your stomach and elated all at once. Another night of watching him fawn over every woman but you is what you’ve resigned yourself to putting up with, but it’s just rude of him to look so damn handsome in that black velvet double breasted suit and sleek black Stetson while he does it.

“Dancing, hum?” His eyes narrow slightly at the grip Tequila has on your hand and he wants to reach out and slap it away, but he just shoots everyone an easy grin. “Ready to cut a rug tonight, eh?”

"I guess so." The shyness that threatens to shoot straight through you is knocked off kilter by Ginger, who hoots in response. "She's got her dance card all filled up already, Whiskey. Should've gotten here earlier," she tells him with a smirk.

His mustache ticks, it’s the only change to his facial expression. “I’m sure Rye can squeeze me in.” His dark amber eyes slide over to you and swipe up and down your body. “Can’t you, sugar?”

"Of course." You'd throw over the whole goddamn list for him. Besides, you have no idea what Ginger could possibly mean by saying your 'card' is full. One dance with her and one with Tequila isn't a full anything. "Of course I can."

“Good. Then how about I refresh you ladies’ drinks?” Jack asks, slapping Tequila on the back a little rougher than necessary. “Come help me with that.”

"Sure." Tequila grunts, throwing you a confused expression like he can't figure out why the hell Jack needs help getting champagne when waiters with trays are everywhere, but he shoots Ginger a secret smirk before following Jack into the next room where the open bar is set up.

“Tonight will be perfect.” Ginger predicts with a smug grin as she watches the two men walk towards the open bar. .

“What the hell are you doin’, flirtin’ with Rye?” Jack’s easy grin falls away and his brows knit together as soon as his back is turned to you. “You know that girl ain’t your type.”

"I can't be nice to my friend?" Tequila asks, pretending to be positively aghast that Jack would suggest he's up to anything else. One hand ever goes to his chest with a dramatic gasp.

Jack’s eyes cut towards the other agent, a frown on his face. “It’s one goddamn thing to be nice, it’s another to flirt.”

"When did I flirt?" The younger agent counters, knowing full well that's what he was doing but not about to admit it because he wants to make Jack stew.

“You were flirtin’ the second you can outta your momma, but you gotta learn there’s certain girls you don’t do that shit with.” Jack growls, stopping in front of the bar and holding up two fingers. “Double 62 Triple Barreled.” He orders, wanting one of the rare whiskeys that Champ had broken out tonight. “And two champagnes.”

"Now, why is that, Jack?" Tequila hums, looking down at his friend. Jack isn't too much shorter than him, but just enough to annoy the older agent on occasion. "Why is Rye one of those girls?"

“Because…” that’s where his argument ends, because there’s not really a reason beyond his own feelings. “It’s…unprofessional.” He decides. “She’s an agent for Christ’s sake.”

Tequila snorts at this string of logic, accepting his drink from the pretty bartender with a wink and sliding a large bill into the tip glass on the bar top before looking back at Jack. "That's a load of horse shit and you know it, Daniels. You fucking know it."

He does know it, but he snatches his own drink up and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He hates that his stomach twists and he wonders if you had been flirting back. Looking over his shoulder at where you are standing, he clenches his jaw at the tassels that are swaying every time you move. “Don’t get her damn hopes up.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “We both know you ain’t gonna fuck her.”

"Nor does she want me to." This is gonna be a hell of a lot easier than he and Ginger thought, if Jack is always so fuckin wound up over you and he only just arrived for the night. "I ain't the one she has her eye on and everybody with eyes knows it."

Jack ignores that, huffing to himself as he tries to hid the fucking jealousy that curls in his gut at whoever you do have your eye on. Lucky son of a bitch. “No fuckin’ talkin’ to you, hardheaded S.O.B.” The champagne glasses are in front of him and he downs the rest of the drink to slap the crystal glass down and snatch up the flutes. Turning around without another word and stalking across the room towards you and Ginger.

It's only one room he has to cross, but by the time he gets there, Agent Brandy has sidled up beside you and Ginger and has his fingers ever so subtly on your elbow while bends his head and puts all his focus directly on you.

Halfway across the room, Jack jerks to a halt and growls, shaking his head as he resumes the walk and forces a moderately friendly smile on his face. “Didn’t think you’d be back from Korea, Don.” He interrupts as he arrives back at your group.

"Two days ago." Brandy flashes a smile in Jack's general direction but keeps his focus on you. "Glad I made it back in time, too. Champ throws a hell of a party."

His eye twitches but Jack nods. “Yeah he does. Shoulda brought that little gal you were seein’. Brandy. Brenda right? Or was it Bambi?” He shrugs. “Maybe all of them at once, knowin’ you.”

"Now don't be unkind, Jack." Brandy's eyes cut over to the older agent and Brandy offers what could be considered a modestly dramatic pout. "Or Rye might think the worst of me and throw me over for that dance I just got promised."

Jack seethes beneath the smile on his face. “Would hate for that to happen.” He lies, handing Ginger one of the glasses and then offers the other to you.

The glass is offered with a smile and you thank Jack, savoring even the tiniest moment of contact between brushing fingers as he hands it over. It's probably bordering on pathetic, how long you've carried this torch for Jack, and it seems like Ginger is really trying to encourage you tonight to come out of your shell tonight but you just don't know. As nice as everyone is being, it doesn't feel right. The only thing that feels right is when you're around Jack. It's just a damn shame that he doesn't feel the same.

It’s almost painful how the simple, innocent touch affects him. Now visceral his reaction is. Only the training that Statesman has given him keeps him from showing anything. “Well,” he hates to tear himself away, but he can’t be around you for too long. “I better go talk to Champ about some cases he wants worked tomorrow.” He offers.

"It's a party," you remind him, smile flickering as he steps back. Obviously the small touch that you'll be savoring for the rest of the night has had the opposite effect on him. But there's no need to show that. Not when it's fully expected that he doesn't want to be around you when there are plenty of other people to talk to and women to dance with. "Don't work too hard, okay?"

“Never do,” he nods at everyone and turns around and skedaddles over to Champ like his pants are on fire.

"Come on," Ginger loops her arm through yours and lends Brandy a smirk that you don't notice — you're too busy trying not to look after Jack. "Let's go dance, honey. The night is young and we are looking far too good not to show off."

Champ eyes Jack as he stops by his side. “Figured you’d have a gal in your arms by now.” He huffs as he reaches out to shake Jack’s hand. “Losing your touch?” Jack snorts. “When have I ever lost my touch?” He asks, pointedly refusing to look back over towards you. “Just surveying my prospects.”

"And how is Agent Rye this evening?" Champ doesn't even have to look to know that that's where Jack has just come from. He blew into the room so quickly that it's the only explanation for the fire in his heels.

“Don’t you start with me.” Jack groans, shaking Champ’s hand and huffing. “Far as I know, she’s dandy.”

"Why should I not start?" Champ knows damn well why not, but he enjoys riling up his friend. "Somebody beat me to the punch?"

“Every-goddamn-body here tonight is actin’ like they’ve never seen the woman in a dress.” He snorts, complaining about it even though he has already memorized the way the damned sequined dress clings to your curves and enhances them in ways that should be criminal. “It’s damned ridiculous and borderline workplace harassment.”

Smirking, Champ pours two glasses of his preferred Statesman 1972 Select, savoring the smoked cherry notes from that particular year. He hands one cut crystal glass over to Jack with his tongue set firmly in his cheek. "You know you'd be a hell of a lot less mad if you just asked the lady to dance your damn self."

The glare Jack cuts Champ is withering and he turns his head as he takes a sip, refusing to rebuff the remark. It seems like everyone is taking the piss with him tonight as Eggsy would say. (edited)

"She's allowed to have fun, ya know." Champ goes on, humming the thought as though the glare Jack just shot him wouldn't have struck a lesser man dead in his tracks. "Damn shame she hasn't set her cap on anyone. Big family dreams, that gal has. Always has. It'll be a damn shame when she finally decides to hang up her pistols and have a family, but I won't let her get farther than the training ring. Too good of an agent to just let her retire."

“Is there a point to your ramblings?” Jack grumbles. “Or are you just spouting shit tonight?”

"Do what I want in my own house." The older man chuckles heartily and claps Jack on one shoulder. "Got a couple of jobs to start the new year with. Come see me tomorrow and we'll figure out which one's yours."

He’s being dismissed and since Champ is also giving him hell, Jack quickly nods and walks off. Trying to walk around the ostentatious ballroom without looking at you. “Hello handsome.” A perfectly manicured hand drapes itself over his shoulder and the scent of gardenias and sandalwood fills his nostrils. “Tiffany.”

Like a bloodhound on a trail, you spot it from across the ballroom without even trying to. Twirling around with Ginger, your eyes catch sight of the gorgeous, skinny, leggy blonde who has let herself drape over Jack's side and you sigh. Deflate is probably the right word, but you remind yourself it was never going to happen anyway and just hold on to Ginger as the song comes to an end.

“What’s a tall, dark, handsome drink of water like you doin’ all by your lonesome?” She purrs, making him hide the wince he had at the put on accent of hers. She’s as southern as tofu and yet she tries to make it sound like she’s grown up around here. Still, she’s a distraction and the best part about it is that there’s no emotional strings. “Looks like I should be buyin’ you a drink, darlin’.”

"I wish you would," she puts on a too-high giggle and bats eyelashes heavy with mascara and augmented with false hairs. Laying it on thick, she pushes in even closer and lets her body fit against his with nothing left to the imagination.

Jack doesn’t feel anything but he paints a cocky smirk on his face as he turns to her. “Then let me go get something for you, what do you want, darlin’?”

“Champagne, of course,” she simpers, never once considering the fact that she’s at a party for a whiskey distillery. Hell, she hadn’t even dressed for the theme.

Tiffany hangs out at the bar Statesman regularly hangs out at. A groupie because she knows everyone there makes good money. He’d bet his bottom dollar she conned Scotch into bringing her.

“Some party.” Is her attempt at conversation, putting more effort into showing off her cleavage than completing sentences. “You distillery boys sure know how to treat your gals.”

“Of course we do.” Jack’s smile is wicked, but it’s a part of the persona he adopts when he is working a target, it’s not real. “Any gal of mine deserves to be treated right.”

“Is that an invitation?” She knows who Jack is. Knows the civilian job title he’s been at Statesman Distillery. Even if she knew what it was all a front for, she likely wouldn’t care. She might just try harder if she knew the real wealth being flung around between a lot of these people.

“Now sweetheart, I’m good for a night or two.” Jack drawls. “But I’ve got a lot of leavin’ left to do.” He hums, quoting the country song.

The pout on Tiffany’s face is both dramatic and pronounced, but seeing that he’s immovable in that point — and knowing his reputation — she makes a small sound of frustrated disgust before flouncing away. Apparently annoyed at having wasted her time on a line cowboy.

The huff that Jack lets out is one of pure relief. Happy that he won’t have to deal with her again for at least half the night. She might make her way back around depending on successful she is. It’s shameful to say, but most of the agents here have dallied with her, including Jack. However, he had only taken her home to satisfy a physical need. He slowly makes his way back to the bar to order another drink, not champagne.

His line of sight is unfortunate as he saunters back toward the open bar. Looking back out to the dance floor, he can see Tequila twirling you around and the two of you laughing as the younger man holds you close and mock-sings along with the band.

Jack’s frown is deep, furrowing his brow as he cuts his eyes away in a jealous huff.

It goes round and round like that for most of the night. One dance partner after the next sweeps you across the dance floor but never the partner you want. One beautiful woman after another sidles up to Jack and bats their eyelashes but none are the woman he actually wants at his side. It’s a three-ring-circus. A whirlwind. But you never seem to get close enough to each other to see that neither of you is actually having any fun.

It’s easy to have an arm around a woman, easy to smile and flirt. His eyes continuously find you on the dance floor. Ginger had been right apparently, you had a damn dance card that was slap full. He hisses under his breath, wondering how many of those men knew you bit your thumb when you were working out a problem or that your eyes changed to a lighter shade when you were feeling slightly bashful.

There isn’t a single night of your life where you’ve gotten this much attention from this many different men — or this many different people period — and while it’s fun in a whirlwind sort of way, you do find yourself clock-watching. Wondering why your fellow agents all seem to be paying you so many compliments tonight and why you sort of feel like Cinderella at the ball without a hint of the real Prince Charming, the closer it gets to midnight the more you’re thinking of just going home. The last thing you want is to glance across the ballroom at midnight and see Jack tangled up in a midnight kiss with some petite redhead or statuesque model with perfect curls. You’ll be happier skipping out early and being in your pjs with a book at midnight than you will be witnessing that.

It’s fucking infuriating to have so many people come between him and you. Every dang time he untangles himself to break in on your dance with some partner, Ginger, Tequila or Champ waylay him. He’s never had such a hard time getting to chat with you and it’s making him slowly unravel his temper. “Ah Jack, there you are.” He sighs and paints on a smile when Champ claps his back and shoves a drink in his hand. “Forgot to mention somethin’….” His eyes slide away from you laughing as you are spun around, bitter to be stonewalled again.

“Well if it ain’t the gol’dern Belle of the Ball.” The voice you hear behind you is the one person you were hoping to avoid tonight, and as you’ve just finished dancing with one of the guys from the technology department who you didn’t even think knew your name, there’s no escaping. Agent Vodka is one of those older men who doesn’t realize that James Bond is just a character and that no one drags that persona into their everyday life. He routinely ‘flirts’ with you like he’s bestowing you a huge goddamn favor for even looking in your direction, and you were genuinely hoping to avoid him tonight.

Vodka is handsome in a classical sense, some would say a silver fox, if he had a better attitude. As it stands, there’s a confused tilt to his Stetson adorned head and he rakes his eyes up and down your body in a very calculated gaze. “You musta cleaned up for hours. Getting ready for a good night.”

“Sure. I guess so.” You nod, tone polite but dismissive. Vodka has a tendency to interpret friendly as begging for hands to be put on you, and the last thing you want to do is encourage him. “Happy new year, Vodka.”

“Seems like Whiskey and I have been the only ones not with you tonight.” He intones, smirking slightly. “Guess you was savin’ the best for last, huh? Since Jack’s hangin’ all over the ladies, I’ll step in and claim this dance.” He doesn’t ask for permission, just stepping up to you and grabbing your waist.

“That’s really okay.” Reeling backward, Vodka is strong but your self-defense training is a hell of a lot better, and you twist in his grip to make sure he can’t get a solid hold on you no matter how hard he tries. “Appreciate the offer,” you huff, trying to push him away. “But I was just heading home.”

“Oh don’t be that way.” Vodka huffs and manages to pull you close. “Believe me, dancin’ ‘s just a prelude to what we can do later.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t want to dance with you.” You push back against him again, leveraging your elbow against his side to loosen his grip with a sharp shot to his liver. This has gone too far and is hovering on ruining the night — which has been fairly fun despite its lack of your favorite cowboy and coworker.

“Jack-“ Ginger doesn’t bother apologizing as she taps his shoulder and points out to the dance floor. “Why don���t you go save Rye?” She huffs.

At this point it’s obvious that it’s a struggle. People are giving you extra space on the dance floor as they realize what’s happening but for whatever godforsaken reason, no one has stepped in yet. Probably because they’re too shocked that Vodka has finally crossed the line into being physically inappropriate instead of just saying uncomfortable things.

“Sugar, I’m sorry I’m late for our dance.” Jack slaps his hand down on Vodka’s shoulder and digs his fingers into the fleshy muscle. Getting satisfaction from the immediate change in the man’s stance. “Don’t mind if I interrupt, do ya?” His tone is friendly, but there’s a warning woven in the words. Dark eyes turn towards you as you quickly step back from the other man’s grasp.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d keep a dame waitin’.” Vodka mumbles, all sheepishness and apology now that he realizes he’s infringed on another man’s territory.

Jack doesn’t rip into the man like he wants to, everyone else is starting to relax and resume the party. “You probably need to lay off the liquor.” He tells the other agent, not really caring for the man either.

“You forget who we work for, Daniels?” Vodka huffs, giving Jack the stink eye. “Not like you go easy, either.”

“Last time I checked, I took no for an answer, Robbins.” Jack turns his back after letting Vodka go and sweeps you into his arms, effectively dismissing him.

The room damn near erupts into applause, chattering all around you erupting out of uncomfortable silence, but you don’t hear it. You don’t even see Tonic and Champ escorting Vodka out of the ballroom with the utmost immediacy so the dressing-down can be vocal and private. All you see is Jack, and all you hear is Jack. Even as quiet as he is, the huff he gives as he scoops you up and twirls you away speaks volumes. “Jack, you—you didn’t have to—” Of course, if he hadn’t, you’re not sure you could’ve gotten away so cleanly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t think a thing of it, sugar.” Although he has a few harsh words rolling around for everyone who didn’t step in. It’s like they were waiting for something. Alcohol’s done made their brains addled. “Although my own apologies for manhandling you to get you outta that sticky situation.” Even though he’s apologizing, he starts to lead you in a dance.

“I really don’t mind.” And that is the understatement of the goddamn year, as you instinctively melt against Jack the second he starts to move.

“Still…..” There’s finally a bit of happiness to the evening and he smirks down at you. “Now you can say your dance card has been filled.”

“Could’ve left Vodka off it completely,” you grumble lightly, but you still end up smiling. When Jack looks at you in almost any way you just light up from the inside. It’s instinctual.

“Don’t know what got into him.” Jack huffs, even though he’s saved you from encounters like that before.

“His namesake, most likely.” He had smelled like it, at least. A fact which added no charm whatsoever to your encounter. “Really, Jack. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Jack nods. “Sugar, you know that I know you are a capable agent. You coulda mopped the floor with him, but I’ll always give you whatever help you need.”

“I prefer not to bring hand-to-hand combat to Champ’s front door if I can help it.” If you let yourself really chew on the fancy, you could imagine Jack as rescuing you like a knight in armor. Like you were his to protect. “Not sure how much he’d appreciate that, regardless of how capable I am.”

“I think you’d find Champ more forgivin’ than you think.” He snorts, reminding himself of his own major fuck up just a few years prior. Champ had forgiven him and allowed him to regain the trust and confidence that he had destroyed through his own bling grief and rage.

“Maybe.” Jack certainly knows your boss better than you do even after several years with the agency, so you’ll differ from him. “But I’m glad to not have to find out. And…” The rest of the thought gets swallowed, and you cut your eyes away from him in embarrassment. There are some things better left unsaid and normally you’re so good at keeping your mouth shut.

“And?” Jack frowns slightly, not liking that you are holding back with him. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“It’s nothing,” you promise him, shaking your head and acting like it isn’t the biggest, most honest confession in the world from you that sets your cheeks on fire and makes you even more bashful around him. “I’m just…glad I got to dance with you. That’s all.”

“You didn’t think you were going to dance out the old year without ole Jack now, did ya?” He sounds pouty that you would even think that.

"Honestly?" Shrugging slightly even with one of his hands splayed across your back and the other holding yours tenderly against his chest, you wonder how ever you ever manage to keep a damn thing to yourself with him around when your mind just sort of seems to melt in his presence. "I was going to split and ring in the new year in my bed with the book I've been reading."

Jack frowns and shakes his head, not agreeing with your plans in the slightest. “Now that seems like a waste.” He draws. “Mighty fine night to spend readin’ a book. You should be doin’ other things.”

"Not a lot of other options to pick from," you mumble, trying to force your mind away from immediately conjuring the mental images and repeated daydreams of doing just about everything under the sun with — and to — him.

Jack wants to protest that, but the song starts to close out and you almost stop in your tracks. Obviously believing that he will end the dance now that Vodka is gone and the set is done. Instead of dropping your hands, he pulls you tighter against him. “Is that why you wore a dress like that, sugar? ‘Cause you didn’t have any options?”

"Ginger picked it out." Wrongly assuming it to be an indictment of the choice, you frown reflexively and wonder why he's still holding on to you. The trouble is over and the song is done. Shouldn't he be finding someone better to spend his time with? "I know it's...it's not right. Flapper dresses are designed for women who look the opposite of me. But she insisted on sticking to the theme."

“Opposite of you?” He makes a face of utter confusion. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout? Dress looks good, fits you.” Maybe you have a shit ton of pins in the dress? His sweet wife would always have to pin her dresses to get them to fit right. Nearly every night they went out, he was helping her pin it just so.

Skinny is what you meant, but instead of saying so you just chew your lip and shake your head. Voicing that out loud would really just cement the ruination of the night and you don't want to do that. "Never mind," you insist instead. "I'm glad you like it." Even if he's just saying it to be nice, which you're sure he is, it's still nice to hear.

There’s something bugging him about the way you continuously quit talking and get around what you mean. The next song starts to play and Jack moves to that slightly faster tempo. “No one’s breakin’ in yet, sugar. So I’m keepin’ you unless you need a break?”

"No." Not from him. You would never, ever ask for a break from him. "No, I'm good." In fact, you've been so distracted by the rescue that you haven't noticed midnight creeping ever-closer. "I don't want a break."

Jack smiles, not the cocky smirk he adopts or the charming playboy facade that he uses on women like Tiffany. This is a genuine smile, one that makes his dimple show with a flash of white teeth and the crow’s feet around his eyes appear. “Then let’s dance, sugar.”

Champ chuckles when he sidles up beside Ginger with a fresh glass of champagne for each of them and his wife on his other arm, all ready to lead the midnight countdown after this song is over. "Took all damn night," he laughs to his co-conspirator. "And ya had to pull out the big gun with Vodka. But look at 'em."

“Man huffed and puffed at being used.” Ginger rolls her eyes and curls her lip. “But I promised him the Antarctic assignment. It will seem like punishment to everyone else and apparently he’s romancing one of the scientists down there.” Personally, she doesn’t see why anyone would be romanced by Vodka, but to each their own.

"It's for a damn good cause." Champ stifles a guffaw and even his wife looks amused at the way everything went down. "Everybody deserves to be happy, don't they? Even Vodka." It earns another snort from the older man and he aims a smirk at Ginger. "So what's the plan from here, Ging?"

“If Jack will get off his ass, there should be a kiss at midnight.” Ginger grins. “And maybe, just maybe, the dumbass will realize that it’s okay to want her. She wants him too.”

"Of course she does." Everybody knows that. Everybody with eyes and sense in their head, anyway. "He's just been stuck in the whole of his own grief for far too damn long. It's about time he broke free. Which is exactly why I went along with this plan of yours."

“I’m glad you did. Jack’s felt so guilty about actually developing feelings for Rye that he’s convinced himself that it’s wrong to flirt with her.” She takes a sip of her champagne. “When he breaks, it’ll be entertaining.”

"Entertaining for all of us." Grinning, Champ holds his glass out to his partner in crime in salute. "I sure as hell hope it happens right here for all of us to see."

Unaware that he’s being plotted against, Jack continues to hold you in his arms, taking you around the dance floor and trying to keep from asking too many questions that would potentially ruin his easy relationship with you. “Have you had fun? Other than Vodka? Your feet have to be killin’ you, all the dances you’ve been movin’ to.”

“It’s alright, I’ll have a hot bath and soak them. Aside from the one little interruption, everything’s been so nice.” This is the best part, without a doubt. Attention from other people is a novelty, the compliments and laughter a kind change of pace. But any time spent with Jack will always out do any other experience.

“A nice hot soak and a drink is always good to unwind.” Jack hums. “If other activities aren’t available.” The comment is warm, almost suggestive as he twists you around and then pulls you close again, feeling your softness against him and enjoying it.

It’s the worst kind of gut punch, hearing a comment like that from Jack, and your eyes are downcast when you curl back into his arms. It’s too unkind to be deliberate, but at the same time it’s such a careless comment that you just want to scream. He would never be intentionally cruel to you but the flirtatious tone of the comment is too much. “Maybe I should’ve gone with Vodka, then.”

Jack stiffens, frowning immediately and his blood pressure rises in anger. “What the fuck?” He hisses, the moment making him grip you tighter, almost the point of hurting you. “Why- you?” He’s at a loss for words right now.

“Well it’s the only offer I’ve gotten in…a year? Maybe more?” You shrug dismissively but his grip on you doesn’t allow for it, making your tone turn even more bitter in the process. He doesn’t get to get mad about who offers when he has no interest in himself. “Definitely more than a year, now that I think about it.”

“That wasn’t a goddamn offer.” He snorts. “It was a cowboy playin’ grab ass when his partner wasn’t willing.” He reminds you, dark eyes flashing angrily. “Otherwise known as assault.”

“And yet it’s still the only time any man has looked at me twice in more than a calendar year,” you hit back, practically hissing under your breath as embarrassed tears sting at your eyes. “Nobody’s exactly lining up to spend time with the fat girl except tonight which is Ginger’s doing. I know it is.” (edited)

The two of you are hissing back and forth, so preoccupied with your emotions that neither one of you are aware of the fact that the countdown for midnight has begun. The crowd around you starts to chant down from ten but Jack's too busy growling at you in anger. "Why are you so fuckin' quick to insult every goddamn person who decided to dance with you?"

“Because I know I’m right.” The two of you have never once torn into each other like this and while it breaks you’re heart, you’re so angry that lashing out is happening by instinct. It hurts so much more to be doubted by him and you can’t even express why. It’s devastating. “Do you even know what assignments they give me, Jack?” You hiss back, not hearing the shouts around you. “The ones where they need someone to be invisible! If they need someone plain and ignorable, they come straight to me. Do you know how much that fucking hurts? Because I’m good at it and that’s even worse than them just assuming. I’m excellent at not being noticed. At not being desired. It’s my fucking superpower. So no, I don’t think for a second that any of these dances were genuine moments of interest or offers for literally anything else. Because why would they be?”

His heart breaks and he's simultaneously enraged that you view yourself that way. "Five! Four! Thr—" He reaches up and grabs the back of your neck to yank you forward so your nose is less than an inch from his own. "You want a goddamn offer?" He snarls, losing all sense of reason when it comes to you and ready to prove how wrong you are. "Here's your fuckin' offer." Without another word, he drags you forward to plaster his lips against yours in an angry kiss.

It should feel terrible. It should make you so angry you slap him. It should make you feel a hell of a lot of nasty things, but instead what you feel is the undeniable melting of your own self against him, finally getting the only thing you’ve wanted since the day this infuriating cowboy sauntered into your life. Jack is firm under your hands, burning hot and intoxicatingly inviting in the way he does not pull away. You must have gotten so mad you blacked out, because this is impossible.

When you don’t push him away, when you don’t slap him, Jack growls. Using the soft sigh that you give to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth with another groan as the cheers and sing of Auld Lang Syne happens all around the two of you.

Either you’ve burst a blood vessel from being so angry and ashamed or this is the best dream you’ve ever had. Jack wraps both of his arms tight around you and you cling to him, fists dig into the arm of his suit jacket and the hair on the nape of his neck as you silently beg this hallucination never to end. You can live and die in this moment and tell yourself that it was more than a dream. You can imagine this is exactly how fiercely Jack kisses when he really wants to. When he wants someone.

The kiss has turned from an angry mashing of his lips against yours to a passionate mingling of your breath and tongues. You whimper and his entire body tighten with need. Overriding the portion of his brain that is screaming that this is a bad idea, that he is bad for you and continuing to kiss you as everyone else has moved into dancing now.

Neither one of you has realized that his hat has been knocked off, or that he’s drawn you so close your back has bowed, or even that you’ve entirely given up on needing to breathe in order to never have to stop kissing him. Years of repressed desire and soul-crushingly unrequited love are just being poured into every second you spend drowning in this impossible fantasy.

“Well damn.” Champ chuckles from his position on the dance floor with his lovely wife. “Didn’t expect that long of a show. Boy don’t stop soon, he’s gonna devour her right there in the middle of the floor.”

“That’s what happens when you repress your feelings for six goddamn years,” Ginger snorts in amusement. “Should I go interrupt them?”

“No.” Champ decides with a shake of his silvery head. “Leave ‘em. Don’t want the boy to get spooked before he makes up his mind what’s gonna happen next.”

“And he will.” Ginger agrees with that completely. Jack spooks faster than a newborn foal.

“He would, where she’s concerned. Boy has his heart in it and he’s been fightin’ it.” Champ agrees as his wife chuckles. “He will figure it out.” She promises. “Rye won’t let him walk away from this with a smile and a handshake.”

“I think she’d rather die than let him go, at this rate.” The smile on Ginger’s face is soft. Glad that her friend is finally getting everything she — you — have ever wanted. It really is only oxygen that makes the two of you pull apart, panting for breath with fingers curled into each other’s flesh and clothes like you’re hanging on for dear life.

Jack’s eyes are dark and searching as he looks at you. Looking for the answer to a question and when he finds what he’s looking for, he grabs your hand and starts to drag you off the dance floor.

“Jack?” The realization that that really just happened ignites a small panic in your chest and a riot in your mind, and the fact that Jack hasn’t let go of you or run off in disgust is only confusing you more.

He doesn’t speak, he can’t speak right now. The people on the floor just seem to part, moving out of his way as he guides you off the floor. He does squeeze your hand though.

“Jack?” The longer he goes without saying anything the higher the panic rises, but you cling to his hand all the way to the front door of Champ’s house where the front room has been transformed into a coat closet.

Jack doesn’t answer and spins you around to press you up against the wall, kissing you again. “Get your fuckin’ coat.” He demands roughly.

It’s a much briefer kiss but it leaves you breathless all the same, and the determination in his eyes makes you shiver and rush to obey. If this is what you’re going to get with him — just a few demanding kisses before he decides it was a mistake and turns you away? Then you’ll take it.

His hat is missing, Jack realizes when he goes to readjust it and frowns. Patting his head and looking around to see if it fell off around here, but it’s nowhere in sight. It’s a small price to pay, but he runs his hand through his hair as you rush back to his side. “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t seem angry, but for the life of you there is no version of tonight that goes any further. Not in your mind. A conversation about how you shouldn’t have kissed him — or at least kissed him back, since you have a dim memory of his hand pulling you to him right before your mind went blank — or at least about how it was a mistake is bound to follow.

The second your hand is in his again, Jack is dragging you through the doors and down the stairs of the house to his Bronco. He’s parked close, thank god and he can barely get the door open before he’s grabbing your waist and practically throwing you up into the seat.

It shouldn't be a thrill to be lifted up and tossed around as though you weigh next to nothing, but there is something in Jack's singular determination and focus that tells you not to question or fight it. If he wants to manhandle you a little before whatever uncomfortable confrontation is bound to happen? Well, it's not as though you haven't literally fantasized about that scenario. At least now you have a frame of reference.

He’s holding onto his control, barely. Racing around the front of the vehicle and jumping in beside you. He can’t even talk to you as he starts the engine. Thankful that his place isn’t too far away as he throws the Bronco into gear and slings gravel as he spins out.

The most surprising part might be that he reaches for your hand as he drives. His fingers curl through yours and hold onto you on top of the gear shift, not letting you do your usual thing of shifting away or curling in on yourself in uncertainty.

There’s only two miles left to go. He grunts as he slows down to make the turn and your hand moves the shifter with him, making sure that he doesn’t squeeze it too hard as he goes through the gears.

He's driving to his own house. You've done this route yourself more times than you can count for a thousand different reasons. The apartment that you rent with your ample Statesman salary is well on the other side of Louisville and Ginger lives closer to you than to Jack, so it's not like you have any doubt where he's headed. When he pulls the Bronco down his long and winding driveway toward the large farmhouse he's called home for a decade already, your hand tightens slightly in his, nervous and wondering what will come next.

When he cuts the engine, there’s a half a second before he opens the door. Almost speaking but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s climbing out to walk around the truck to open the door.

"I wish you would say something." Even if he's helping you out of the car and holding onto your hand, you can't figure out what's going on in his head. Not having any clue is making you a little panicky the longer it goes on.

Jack stops, two steps away from the path to the front door. “Do you want to come inside?” There’s a fear that you don’t want this. That you are not on the same page as he is.

He's not angry. Or upset anymore, that you can tell. But the determination in his gaze is still there for something that you can't quite put your finger on. "Yes," you decide, nodding as you step toward both him and the house. "I do." Whatever happens, you're hopeful it won't be bad.

You said yes. Your words spur him on again and he’s off like a shot, dragging you behind him. The biometric lock is a godsend. There’s no fumbling for a key at the door as he hustles you inside and slams it behind you both, pressing you against it as he attempts to devour your mouth once more.

This was not the reaction you expected. Not in any way. Not even when he had kissed you twice at Champ’s house before hauling you over to his place with the fires of hell scorching his toes. Anybody else might have read the signals, but not you. Not with the surprised squeal you let out or the soft moan that follows it — both completely outside of your control.

You’re alone now and this time, Jack doesn’t keep his hands on your waist. Both hands grab firm handfuls of your delightful round ass and squeezes as he presses into you. His painfully hard cock grinding into the soft pouches of your hips.

Because of the complete blanket of disbelief you're living under, it takes you longer than you're proud of or will ever admit to realize what is pressing against your hip. It's the first throbbing twitch from under his perfectly tailored suit that has your eyes flying open and both of your hands pressing firmly on his shoulders, breaking the kiss as you gasp in surprise.

“What- I thought-“ Jack’s frown is one of utter confusion as he drops his hands and steps back from you. Hating the feeling of rejection and suddenly wondering if he’s made a fucking fool of himself by getting twisted in knots by a woman who doesn’t actually want him. “‘m sorry.”

"Why?" The incredulous question is out of your mouth before you can stop it, and the confusion marring both of your faces makes you suck in a deep breath. "I—I just—I'm surprised," you admit, as damned foolish as that makes you sound. Fucking shocked is what you are, but you don't want to be labor the point and ruin whatever is happening.

He feels foolish and embarrassed, like he’s been caught with his hand in a candy jar. Reaching up and running his hand through his hair, he blows out a breath. “You said you wanted to come in.” He reasons. “I- what did you think would happen?”

"I—I don't know," you admit, feeling even more ridiculous than he does. Your back is still against his front door, crying out loud. "I ruled out you still being mad at me after you kissed me again but I didn't think..." Gesturing at him lamely, you blow out a breath and rub at the back of your neck. "I'm not saying I want to stop, I was just surprised." If this is the only chance you're going to get with him? You're going to take it and run with it as long as it lasts.

He frowns again, wondering how you could want him and yet be surprised when he wants to take you to bed. “So what do you want, sugar? Because I’m feeling like a penny at the bottom of a pan, rattled.”

The expression cracks the tension, at least for you, and an unexpectedly bright and beaming smile graces your lips as you reach for him boldly and find to your own delight and continued surprise that he doesn't draw away. "What I want is...a long shot." It's more than that, but you're downplaying your own fears to a rather extreme degree right now. Trying to be brave. "But...what are the odds you were thinkin' about taking me upstairs?"

“House odds.” Jack rasps out, knowing that the odds are always in the house’s favor when playing at a casino. “Pondered the idea of strippin’ you down right here and making you squeal against the door, but then tossin’ you over my shoulder and haulin’ you to my large, luxurious bed also has its merits.”

You genuinely have to shut your eyes to steady yourself, exhaling long and deep and praying you aren't actually moaning out loud like you are in your head. As it stands, both images he paints have your knees weak and your body shivering. "Eith—um—either one," you manage to stammer out, eyelashes parting so hesitantly that they flutter like wings. "Either one is good."

“Sexy as you look, sugar….” Now that he knows that you are on the same page as him, a little bit of the cocky swagger is back. “Thinkin’ it’d be a goddamn shame not to spread you out.” Despite your stature, Jack tucks his shoulder and scoops you up over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, bolting for the stairs.

"Holy hell, Jack!" A nervous shout and a squeak escape you when he picks you up, and you cling to his jacket as he carries you through the house you've visited innumerable times before.

Chuckling, Jack slaps your ass with his free hand as he ambles up the stairs easily. “Don’t be nervous, sugar, I won’t drop you.”

This time you definitely do moan out loud, too taken by surprise to stop the sound or swallow it before it can come out of your mouth and you know Jack heard.

He grins to himself, slapping your ass again and is rewarded with another moan. “Mmmmhm.” He chuckles. “Rye likes a little bit of light spanking. Noted.”

"Pretty sure I'll like anything you do," you admit ruefully, though you're quickly feeling the constraints of embarrassment fall away as he reaches his bedroom door. This is real. This is really happening.

"I'll keep that in mind when I hogtie you to the bed and lick whipped cream off your body." He teases, kicking open the slightly ajar door and striding into the room to toss you down on the bed like a character in a romance novel. Right now, he doesn't know if he's supposed to be the hero or the villain, feeling a bit like both as his rough handling of you as him immediately reaching for your ankles to pull off your shoes in his eagerness to see you naked in his bed.

“See?” You huff at him, heavy breathing coming from nothing but an undeniable surplus of desire. “That actually sounds sexy coming from you.” Everything does, but his quick fingers are divesting you of your shoes and that reminds you how your Spanx is part of this undressing process — which is the single least sexy thing in the world.

Jack rips off his tuxedo jacket and tosses it down on the floor. Climbing up onto the bed and over you to press against you fully, pinning you down to the bed with a groan. Quickly capturing your lips again in a frenzied kiss.

It makes no damn sense to you, but you’re not going to question it anymore. If Jack could have literally anyone in the world but for tonight he chooses you, then you’re just going to make sure he doesn’t regret it. That decision on your part sort of pulls you out of your nervous shock, and all at once your hands are pulling open his tie and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt with enthusiasm.

“There we go.” Jack groans when you stop acting shocked and start acting. Your hands on his body makes him shake and he can’t help but rock his hips forward. “Sugar.”

He could probably call you whatever he wanted and you would just go with it, but hearing him call you Sugar — that sickly sweet name he favors so much yet seems to bestow on you so rarely? It feels like you might melt so deeply into his plush mattress that you will never get up again.

Moving from your lips takes sheer willpower but he wants to explore more of you. One hand bracing on the bed and the other sliding up to squeeze your breast as he kisses down your chin and to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat. “Driving me crazy, baby girl.” He coos, voice rough and lusty. “So goddamn pretty.”

No one who has ever met Jack would be surprised to learn how mouthy the cowboy is in bed. He’s mouthy in every other aspect of his life so frankly it would be pretty strange if this was the exception. Still, to hear those words said to you is beyond your wildest dreams. It’s surreal in the most sensational of ways. Even when you had dreamed of being with Jack, you had never dreamed of him praising you.

He groans when your fingernails bite into the skin on his chest as you hastily push the shirt opened. “Tigress, huh?” He growls, squeezing your tit again, a little harder this time and his hard cock pulses against your inner thigh. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’m just as goddamn eager as you. But ‘ole Jack likes a bit of wildness.” He bites down on your shoulder as he chuckles. “We’ll have ourselves one hell of a rodeo tonight.”

If you even knew where half this boldness came from, you might be a little embarrassed. But given the fact that you never thought this would happen, it mostly just feels like you're telling yourself not to waste the chance. Lightning never strikes the same place twice and this is your lightning strike, so you're going to lean into the whole thing if that's what he really wants. Your nails strike a path down his chest but get caught in his undershirt, a fact which makes you huff in frustration and search blindly for the hem to tear off that layer of clothing as well.

Jack groans and finally decides to give you what you want. Pulling back long enough to finish pulling his arms out of the shirt sleeves, he tears the undershirt off and throws it off the side of the bed to reveal his chest. Unable to resist pulling your dress down to pop your breast out and diving back down to wrap his mouth around a nipple.

"Oh fuck." It's a move you weren't expecting, but your back arches off the mattress instinctively to push your chest up and invite him to take and take and take — just as much as he wants to. If you were coherent enough to suggest it you would try to start wiggling out of your dress but as it is the only thing you can focus on is the heat of him surrounding you and the way every place he kisses you seems to catch on fire immediately at the press of his lips.

He suckles, bites and then licks the hard nub in his mouth like he’s gorging himself on you. Because he is. Hands searching for the zipper to your gorgeous dress. It’s beautiful, but it needs to be beautiful on his floor.

"If you want it off, you have to let me sit up," you manage to huff out, barely able to do more than pant at the way he's clearly trying to devour your tits first.

Groaning in protest, his lips are twisting in a pout as he pulls away. Panting breathlessly as he itches to launch himself at you again. “Hurry up, sugar.”

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the zipper, pulling it down and carefully undoing the clasp at the top before letting the heavily sequined cocktail dress slip off of your arms so you can maneuver it over your head. Half-naked in Jack's bed with panties so soaked you could probably wring them out is not how you expected to end this night, but here you are.

“Fuck.” Jack frowns at the tight shapewear he’s met with. “My present’s a little too wrapped for my liking, baby girl.” He hisses, curling his fingers under the layer to start stripping it off of you. “Want you naked.”

"It was the only way that dress was gonna look halfway decent," you mumble, shifting under him and definitely avoiding looking him in the face while he peels the Spanx off of you. It's a little bit too intimate even for the man you've wanted to be intimate with for years — to the point of making you feel completely naked even when you still have your bra and panties on.

He scoffs, nearly ready to whip his knife out and start slicing the material. “Bullshit.” He huffs, happy there’s just the bra and he uses two fingers to flick the four hooks open. “You don’t need nothin’.” Instead of explaining, he’s diving back into your tits while one hand dips into your panties.

“Fuck, Jack!” Instead of a tight reaction of shock, this time he’s rewarded with a moan and your legs falling open for him as the fingers of one hand dig through his thick hair to scratch along the base of his scalp. If he wants you to be bold, you’ll be bold. You’ll be whatever Jack wants as long as you just get to be in his bed for one night.

Jack moans against your tits, incredibly turned on by the pure moxy he’s always loved in you. Despite your utterly untrue view on yourself, you are sassy, sweet and sexy. That’s why he’s unable to resist now that he’s tasted you. Once he’s teased one breast enough, he switches to the other. “Gonna eat you up, sugar. Devour you whole.”

"All yours." It's sort of unintentional, the vow-like nature of the thing, but you're just being honest. You've really been Jack's since the day you met him. Even if it's taken so many damn years to get the two of you into this situation together, it's still the truth. "Whatever you want, handsome."

He groans, fingers sliding through the sweet slick that is covering your folds. “Want you.” He mumbles as he starts to slide his finger deeper, pressing against your entrance.

It's not even in your mind to ask why when he's splitting you open on two thick fingers like that, and you swear if that's how this night is starting you might actually ascend directly to some higher plain if you get to actual sex. "Ha—fuck— you have me."

“Mmmmmm.” He licks your nipple “Not yet.” He pouts, pulling his fingers back out of you to plunge them in again. “But I will, sugar. Cum for me and then I’ll have you like I’ve been dreamin’.”

The curse you groan out is nearly incoherent, more of an agreement than anything else but you'll be damned if you let this moment be anything less than memorable for both of you. Jack hovers over you and you wind your arms around him to encourage him to continue sucking on your tits while his fingers piston in and out of your pussy with determination. You know it won't take too much longer before your legs start to shake, and as if Jack knows it just as intuitively, he curls his fingers inside you and you gasp out a moan of his name.

His teeth nip at your sensitive flesh as he hisses. Feeling how tight your pussy squeezes his fingers and imagines his cock inside you. Tight and fucking scorching hot, just like he had imagined with his hand wrapped around his cock in the shower. “That’s it, pretty girl.” He coos before he sucks on your nipple again. Moaning when you arch up, writhing under him and making the prettiest, most desperate sounds he’s heard in a long time.

No one who has ever been in this bed has ever left it with any remaining doubts about Jack’s skills as a lover, and while you knew that before? Now you understand it oh-so-very deeply. His fingers pump into you mercilessly, curling at just the right angle to make you cry out in pleasure in every pass, and yet somehow he’s managed to keep the angle of that curl perfect while still holding them apart — stretching your eager pussy open and making sure you’re ready to take every inch of him. All of those intricacies combine with the dedication attention he is lavishing on your tits, and when the tense coil of restraint in your belly snaps it explodes into a thousand white-hot stars behind your eyes as you cum for him.

You’re gorgeous when you fall apart, just like he knew you would be. Keeping his fingers moving, he watches, enthralled with you as you cry out his name in a pitch that has his cock throbbing. The hot gush of your pleasure makes his fingers squelch inside you and he groans out your name while he starts to slow down the rhythm of his hand, letting you float down from your orgasm, drawing it out for you.

“Holy hell…” When your eyes open again you’re completely boneless beneath him, giggling softly at the light-as-air feeling in your body that never ever feels lighter than anything.

Dragging his wet fingers out of your cunt is his own personal kind of hell, but the urge to taste you is too great. Watching you with dark eyes as he slips his two fingers into his mouth with a lusty groan.

“Take your pants off.” The way you groan it is nearly an order but you definitely meant it to be begging, though at this point you don’t care. Especially when he arches an eyebrow at you and smirks. “Take your fucking pants off, Jack.”

Chuckling, he shuffles off the bed to oblige you. “Never let it be said I don’t follow orders, sugar.” He winks as he kicks off the tuxedo pants and hooks his fingers into his boxer briefs. “These too?”

“The fact that you even wear underwear is a shock,” you tease, motioning for him to continue stripping and trying — but probably not succeeding — to not stare.

He smirks. “Had to contain the beast for once.” He winks as he drags the tight material down. “Don’t wear ‘em normally.”

The Beast is probably as good a name as any, and you have to swallow a groan when he frees his throbbing cock — already damp with precum. It’s a wonder he can contain it, and you’re caught in between wanting to bend forward and taste him or just lying back for him to have his way with you. Curiosity and a curtain of lust win out on the short struggle, and you lean forward to take the purple head of his cock in your mouth just after he climbs back onto the bed.

“Fuck!” Jack moans out loudly and pushes your head away gently after a moment. “Baby, baby…” he pants. “You keep that up and this rodeo will be over before it starts.”

“Sorry…” Embarrassment burns your cheeks, and you shift back to get under his blankets. “I just had to know…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Jack huffs. Kneeling on the bed and pulling the covers away as you hide your body away from his eyes. “Just don’t want to embarrass myself by blowing my load because of your pretty mouth before I can hear you scream my name.”

“I already have,” you remind him, a softness in your tone belied by the heat in both of your eyes. “Guess I might have to be a little louder this time.”

“Only if it’s right in my ear.” Jack wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it as he reaches for your thigh. “Buried deep inside that little cunt and feeling like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

It goes without saying that you’re both clean. All Statesman agents are required to have clean bills of health in order to be on the roster for missions and you’re both active agents. “I—have an IUD.” Is what you tell him instead, shivering a little at the reality of what is about to happen.

Eyes lighting up in delight, Jack’s lips curl up. “Oh sugar, it’s not my birthday yet, why are you showerin’ me with presents?” He coos, sliding his hand up and down your ample thigh. “Pretty as a damn picture.”

The real answer is that you’re desperate to feel him, but you just smirk instead, not wanting to get your heart more involved than it already is. “Because I don’t have a condom and I’ll be damned if we stop now because of it.”

“If you want me to get one…” Jack motions back to his pants. “I have one in my wallet.”

“I don’t want the barrier,” you admit, biting your lip at the extremely vulnerable nature of that confession. “If it’s okay with you.”

His smirk turns into a wicked grin. “You read my mind, sugar. I want to feel all of you.”

You could make a joke about how much of you there is to feel, but just this once you stifle the urge. Opting instead to reach out and gently cup Jack's cheeks in both of your hands before pressing a soft, earnest kiss to his lips. "Then what are you waiting for, Cowboy?”

As you lean back, Jack follows you. Climbing up your body and groaning as he settles between your thighs. “You want to cum again, pretty girl?”

"Not without you this time." The reality of Jack is better than anything you thought so far. Since this miracle is surely once in a lifetime, you want it to be as amazing as possible.

Jack groans your name, pressing his lips to yours in another hot, wet kiss. Passionate and consuming as he pushes an arm underneath you. “I’m right here with you.”

As impossible as it seems, he really is. He is right there with you, taking you in his arms and making you feel delicate and desirable for the first real time in your entire adult life.

He doesn’t rush, although he wants to. Every kiss is slow and thorough. Reaching down between you to take hold of himself to notch at your entrance. “Hold on, sugar. See if we can ride for longer than eight seconds.”

“I’m not gonna buck you, Jack.” You can promise him that, because you know damn well you’re going to hold onto this moment for dear life and not question the gift that it is. This one little shining moment is just for the two of you and you’re never going to forget a single second of it.

His eyes are watching, burning into yours as he starts to slowly rock his hips forward. Breaking you open with the first inch of his cock and swooping in to kiss you again when you gasp.

The world slows down, motions stretching into time and blending together in ways that you can’t quite wrap your head around so all you know in this moment is Jack. Every time he thrusts forward again your moans get that much deeper, until on the final experimental rock of his hips, he is seated fully inside you and you feel so spellbound and grateful for the moment that you’re all but sure you could cry. Instead you pour yourself into kissing him, rocking your own hips slightly to take him more comfortably and adjust to the weighty feeling of having him inside you.

“Fuck, baby girl.” Jack inhales sharply, stealing your breath as he tries to rein himself in, throbbing violently inside you. If it weren’t for the fact that he had promised you a rodeo, he would be cumming, overwhelmed by how hot and tight you are. You’re perfect, just like he always imagined. “You be a good girl and take my cock, m’kay?”

Good girl is another one of those sticking points for you just like getting your ass slapped, and if Jack had no idea before, he certainly does now, from the way your cunt just spasmed around his length and you moaned like you were coming all over again.

“Ohhhhhh.” Jack’s eyes nearly cross and he gives a particularly sharp thrust when you clamp down around him. “You like that.” He pants out. “You’re my good girl?”

“S’not fair,” you huff, throwing him a playful pout that gets cut by another shaky moan. “You’re finding all the buttons I like pushed way too easily.”

“You haven’t - fuck - figured out my buttons yet, sugar?” Jack ducks his head down and slides the arm not underneath you down your hip and thigh to pull it up higher. Sinking deeper into you with a moan of your name.

“Liking to have your cock sucked doesn’t—fuck!— count,” you tell him, back arching as he hits a new angle inside you.

He chuckles and licks at your pulse before he nips at your skin with his teeth. Fingers digging into your pillowy flesh and groans when you clench around him again.

Finding a rhythm is as easy as breathing. Being with him is so much more natural and intuitive than you dreamt it would be. Your natural tendency to be a little rougher is equaled by his enthusiasm for making the bedroom a loud and raucous experience. There’s no hiding from each other or demurring, not once you get going. It’s like something inside you has finally been unlocked after a lifetime of waiting — waiting for Jack to come along with the key that would open you up.

If it surprises Jack that you are wild in bed, it’s probably the best goddamn surprise he’s ever gotten. His back burns from the raking of your nails when he hits deep. He fucking loves it. Your wildness makes him go absolutely feral over you.

It’s the opposite of who you are in everyday life. A version of you just for him. A version of you that leaves your worries outside the circle of your bodies and embraces sex as something carefree. Which, if you’re honest, isn’t really how you’ve felt about sex with anyone besides Jack. (edited)

His lips and teeth map every inch that he can reach as he pumps in and out of you frantically. Trying to keep the pace hard and fast because every time your cunt clenches, his hips stutter from how fucking tight you are. “Fuck, my good girl.” He growls. “So fucking tight.”

“So fucking big,” you give back, starting to pant heavier and more unevenly. There’s a whine forming in the back of your throat that you can’t hold back and you bite down on the juncture of Jack’s shoulder as your legs threaten to shake all over again. You’re so close to cumming but you don’t want this to end.

Jack changes the tempo, slowing down and grinding his pelvis against your clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby girl?” He rasps out. “Cum on Jack’s big ‘ole cock and soak me?”

"So—oh, fuck—close, baby." The way you feel right now, you might actually fall apart at the seams when you cum again, but it will be worth it. It will be worth just knowing first hand how gorgeous Jack looks when he follows you over the edge. "Don't stop. Don't fucking stop, Jack."

“Never.” Jack growls, smashing his teeth together and hissing at the way you claw and writhe under him. It’s like taming a feral cat in a pillowcase and he loves it. Your thighs are crushing his hips and all he can do is imagine them around his head. “Cum for me.”

A half dozen thrusts later, your cunt is clenching down on his cock and pulsing with a fierce orgasm that has your thighs tensing at his waist and your back bowing off the bed. Everything seems to be happening at the top of however it possibly could, and that includes the way you cry his name into the night before collapsing back into his sheets with your arms and legs still around him, willing him to follow you to bliss.

Jack moans your name, pants it again against your lips. His brow knitted in concentration as he tries to last. His body tightening and tensing as his pleasure builds to that almost painful precipice. His heart pounding, but not because of the physical exertion, but because of the almost loving look on your eyes. “Love you.” He moans, right as his lips crash against yours and he breathes it into your mouth again. “Love you.”

You freeze under him, but Jack is too caught in his bliss to tell. Like a bucket of water has been splashed over the bubble of this night and popped that shell keeping you separate from the world. Did he just...? There's no way. There's just absolutely no way at all. You must have imagined it. Wished for it so desperately that you hallucinated the words. Because otherwise you're not quite sure what you'll do — because Jack has never lied to you. But he's also never given you any reason to think your feelings might be requited.

Caught up in his orgasm, Jack rides wave after wave of complete bliss as he empties himself into you, metaphorically and physically. Giving you every bit of himself as he finally acknowledges the truth of why he has always kept you at arms length. His love for you terrifying him, but right now, he’s flying. Collapsing into your arms and panting out your name as he catches his breath.

There's nothing you can do with this shock except bury it, holding him and gently stroking his hair while he catches his breath with his head on your chest. You imagined it, you remind yourself silently, blinking back tears at how much you wish it was true.

The whiskey, the emotions and the exertion have Jack cuddly and sleepy as he comes down from his orgasm. “Fuck, baby girl.” He hums, kissing your neck as he slowly pulls out of you and shifts to your side to roll you over with him. “Wore me out.” He chuckles. “But gave a hell of a ride.”

He tucks you into his arms to be his little spoon, not letting you get away for even a second. Any other time? This would have been thrilling. "Get some sleep, baby." Returning the pet name seems innocent enough, and you reach back to run your fingers through his hair gently. "You earned it."

His eyes are closed when he shoots you a sleepy grin. “Talk when we wake up, sugar.” He promises, fingers stroking your skin softly.

That promise might be why you sleep so fitfully in the night to follow. Why you're so wound up that when your Statesman issued phone chirps from your purse on his floor around 6:30 in the morning, your eyes open immediately. Jack has turned over in the night, sleeping on his back now with one arm still around you but not so tightly that you can't extract yourself to answer the message. That phone is used only for missions and confidential communication, meaning you absolutely cannot ignore it. Incoming Message: Agent Rye report immediately for mission briefing. CODE BLACK. Code Black. You curse under your breath, careful not to wake Jack, and rub one hand down your face in dismay. That level of secrecy in a mission assignment means you can't even wake him up to say goodbye. You're supposed to speak to no one, just proceed immediately to the nearest Statesman branch for your mission briefing. With a sigh and another, more colorful curse, you shake your head and glance back at the bed where Jack is sleeping soundly. There's nothing to do but get dressed and Walk of Shame your ass into the office. You just wish you could wake him up to say goodbye.

It’s been years since Jack has slept so well. Deep and dreamless, none of the nightmares that often plague his rest. The soft scent of you surrounding him and soothing him like nothing he’s had in a long time. When his eyes open, he’s feeling like he’s had the best sleep of his life. Frowning when he doesn’t feel you next to him. Calling out your name softly in case you were in the bathroom. “Rye? Sugar?”

There's no trace of you anywhere. He may as well have come home alone last night, except for the scent of you in the air and the scratches on his back. It's almost an insult when he sees a fallen sequin on the rug where your dress had been tossed.

“Fuck.” Jack’s slipped out of plenty of beds, ducked out and kept walking. The walk of shame was never shameful when there was a little bit of pep to his step, but right now, he’s pissed. Pissed you didn’t have the fucking balls to wake him before you slipped off like a thief in the night. Snatching up his pants, he digs into the pocket for his phone, dialing your number and ready to have it out with you.

"Hi! Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I'm able!" Your voicemail message is insultingly chipper when it picks up right away, almost taunting him. Like you aren't willing to talk, when nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Fuck!” Jack shouts, throwing the phone and scowling angrily. Pissed that you aren’t here, that you apparently don’t want to talk to him. “Fine, you regret it? Fuck you too.” He growls and stomps into the bathroom to shower. If you wanted nothing to do with him after he had let down his walls last night, he wants nothing to do with you either.

******

"What's got you all chewed up and spat out today?" Tequila raises an eyebrow at Jack when he comes huffing into the office, a little late and a lot pissed off. He had expected Jack to be in a stellar mood.

“Not a goddamn thing.” Even though his feathers are ruffled, Jack practically refuses to even think about you. To the point where he had thrown the sheets and the costly Tom Ford tuxedo away. “Whadda we got?” Desperate to concentrate on a mission, he jumps straight into business.

"Wingman prep." Tequila tells him, tapping the folder on his own desktop. "Somebody got tapped this morning and Champ wants us to comb some old mission files to prep for an extraction. Plan B sorta shit." And since all of the mission-ready agents on the Statesman payroll are top notch with years of experience under their belts, anyone potentially needing an extraction from a mission is a big fucking deal.

“Who got tapped?” Jack asks, grabbing a file and flipping it open with a frown on his face. “Scotch?”

"I thought you'd know already." Tequila's eyes snap back up to Jack in concern. "It was Rye."

Jack freezes and slowly lifts his eyes from the file to find Tequila frowning at him, confused by how he doesn’t know. “Why would I know that?” Jack asks after a moment. It explains why your phone was off, but you had still slipped out without saying a fucking word.

"Because...you went home with her last night?" Everybody knows that you and Jack left the party. Absolutely everyone. There was a whole extra celebration after you left. "Figured you woulda known by her getting up this morning and all."

There’s a split second where Jack wants to snap that you had left him to wake up alone, but he doesn’t. What comes out of his mouth instead, is to deny the whole thing. “Took her home.” Jack shrugs, lying easily as if he couldn’t care less. “She wanted to soak in a bath and read some book.”

The frown on Tequila's face deepens measurably, pure confusion marring his usually chipper face. "Bullshit," he huffs, leaning back in his desk chair. "I saw you kiss her. No way."

“Believe what you want.” Jack snaps flatly. “Where are we in planning the back up plans?” The hurt is soothed slightly by you being called away, but it doesn’t make it nonexistent. You hadn’t even left a goddamn message for him. He could have seen not waking him if you had left some sign that you didn’t regret the night even happened.

"Early stages." Knowing better than to poke the dragon when he's mad about something, Tequila defers to work like Jack clearly wants. "Tell me what you think, but I think me on the ground and you in the Silver Pony is the best bet." Whatever happened between you and Jack, the man is clearly hurt, and Tequila makes a note to go and talk to Ginger when he gets his next chance. If you had said anything to anyone, it would be to her.

“Whatever.” Jack practically rolls his eyes and shrugs. Usually he loves the opportunity to fly and show off in the Silver Pony, but he’s so worked up over you that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Guess that’s the plan. If needed.”

“If needed.” All Tequila does is nod, but damn he really needs to talk to Ginger.

******

Jack holes up in his office, barely answering the phone and not leaving it all day, not even for lunch. Catching up on paperwork that is normally never done as he works through not being at home. Not remembering how you tasted and sounded last night. He’s even refused to pull up your camera footage, not wanting to see what you are doing. He’s miserable and is determined to stay that way.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Champ’s gruff voice cuts through the silence long after everyone else has gone home for the night. He knew exactly where Jack would be. Especially after Tequila said the senior agent was out of sorts. “Come up to my office, Jack. We’re gonna have a drink.” It’s not a suggestion or a request. This is a direct order from this commander, and Champ turns around and heads back down the hall knowing Jack will follow.

Jack sighs and sets his pen down, ripping the reading glasses off his face and tossing them down on the folder. He had stayed cooped up in his office so he didn’t take his bad mood out on anyone so he doesn’t see why he needs to be called out onto the carpet. Still, he pushes back from his desk and follows the older man to the conference room Champ preferred over his official office. The bar cart in here was better stocked.

“Pick your poison.” Champ tells him, motioning for Jack to sit down at the conference table as he strolls over to the cart to grab a bottle and two glasses.

“Whatever your havin’.” Jack wonders what this is about, but he doesn’t ask. Just waits patiently for his boss to get to the reason in his own sweet time.

Champ grunts slightly, grabbing a bottle of ‘74 Reserve, and brings it to the table. He pours two fingers in each glass and slides one over to set in front of Jack before sitting down beside him and taking a sip from his own glass. “You’ve been hidin’ today,” he assesses after a moment of silence. “But I hear you damn near took Tequila’s head off this morning when you got in.”

“Can’t have a bad day?” Jack asks, picking up the whiskey and staring at it before taking a sip. “Woke up wrong, that’s all. I’ll apologize to the crybaby later.”

“He’s not a damn crybaby,” Champ huffs, covering his own amusement with a scowl. “I walked by your damn office, fool. And when he did come talk to me about it, it was because he was worried about you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jack scowls and shakes his head. “I had a bad morning. I’m fine. Not gonna go off and try to kill all the drug users again.”

“Not saying you would.” Holding up his hands in a show of innocence, Champ leans back all the way and stares down his nose at Jack for a second longer before he shakes his head and shrugs. “But between you and me just these walls? Just thought you might wanna know that Rye got sent off Code Black, is all.” He isn’t supposed to say. Black is black. It’s too priority and top security. But you’d been so torn up this morning and Jack’s been so out of sorts in his own way that Champ has rightfully assumed that something fairly big must’ve happened after you left the party.

His jaw nearly drops. Champ never gives information away like that. He frowns, looking back down at his glass again and feeling relieved. If you had gotten a Code Black, you couldn’t wake him up. It would have been against protocol. He swallows and finally nods. “Good to know.”

“Just don’t want you stewing over it.” The older man says, watching carefully as he sips from his glass again. “You wanna be upset with anyone, it’s me. Not her.”

“Right.” Jack drains the rest of the whiskey and the crystal hits the table slightly harder than normal. “Anything else?”

“Nah. That’s it.” There’s nothing more that Champ can really say, and now Jack needs to process. That’s just how these things work. “See ya in the morning, Daniels.”

Jack stands. “‘Night, Champ.” He walks out of the room and back down the hall towards his office, looking down at his feet as he goes.

******

It’s two weeks before Tequila and Jack are given a stand-down order and told their rescue mission won’t be necessary. Mission success, they’re told with authority, even though it took longer than expected. They don’t get more than that, though, and Jack is walking past Ginger’s lab on his way out of the office late that night when he hears your voice again for the first time in weeks. It’s tired, and quiet, but unmistakable. “Can we just get this over with, Ging?” You ask your friend quietly, knowing that decontamination and a full physical are extremely necessary considering where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. But you want to get the hell out of here and finally go talk to Jack.

He would never admit it, but he’s been living at Statesman. Barely going home to change and often refreshing the outfits that he keeps in his office for unexpected late nights. On call the entire time in case you needed him. Now you are here and Jack feels like running away. So much self doubt had built up over two weeks, he’s driven himself crazy over every little thing. Obsessing over the details of New Years.

“Once you have a clean bill of health, you go storm the ranch or whatever it is you’re going to do.” Ginger teases, full of warmth. “But I would try his office first.”

Jack frowns slightly and wonders what the hell Ginger is talking about, storming the ranch. He almost pushes the door open, but he doesn’t. Just wants to see what you will say if you know that he’s not listening.

“It’s been two weeks, Ging.” The pops and hums and beeps of her equipment punctuate your voice from inside the lab. “Every single second I haven’t been thinking about this mission I’ve been reliving that night. And I could kill Champ for sending me away Code fucking Black before I could even tell Jack how I feel about him.”

“I know it was bad timing.” He hears Ginger sigh. “But hopefully it gave you some time to think about what you’re going to say?”

Jack’s stomach twists and he feels nauseous. Wondering if you’ve decided that it was a mistake. He swallows harshly and whirls around, not wanting to hear how you plan on letting him down or friend zoning him.

“I’m going to tell him the truth,” he misses hearing you say. “That I’ve been in love with him for six years, and that I’m done being a coward about it.” This mission so easily could have killed you every single day that it became something of an eye opener. Getting back to Jack had become the most dominant and driving force in your mind at times.

Walking down to his office has Jack twisted in knots. He’s never been a coward before but he damn sure feels like running. Playing back that night in his head over and over had made him realize what he had said. More importantly, what you hadn’t said back. Walking over to his bar cart, he pours himself a heavy double and bolts it down. He’ll get wasted after you crush his hopes but that was needed so he doesn’t beg like a pathetic wretch. He needs to keep his pride somehow.

It’s twenty more minutes before he hears footsteps in the hall and hears your tentative voice calling his name. “Jack?” There’s nerves in it, anxiety hovering around you despite your triumphant mission. But you appear in his doorway looking worried and chewing your lip. “Hey…you’re still here.”

“Work’s never done.” Jack huffs, plastering on a friendly but not too friendly expression. “Haven’t seen you around in a few weeks. Mission go alright?” It’s painful to see you in that doorway, looking tired and beautiful. Reminding him of how you looked before he had fallen asleep and lost you.

“I’m home and in one piece.” It’s what you always say, but at least it’s true. He doesn’t exactly look happy to see you, though, and that makes you falter a little. Not enough to shake your resolve, but your optimism that he’ll respond with joy cracks right away. “Do you…can we talk a little?”

“Sure.” He takes off his reading glasses and stands. Moving over to the alcohol again. “Want a drink?” He asks, not looking over his shoulder at you. He sees the worry on your face and knows you are concerned about your working relationship. What he will do will be accept your wants, wish you well and promise that he will not let what happened affect your professional relationship. Then he will demand a transfer to the New York office, permanently. You nod and he pours out two drinks. “What’s on your mind, Rye?”

“Well…you are.” It seems like such an obvious answer that it almost feels silly saying it, but he won’t even look you in the eye so staring at the beginning seems like a good idea.

“Oh?” Turning around is hard, but he manages to look curious instead of sick to his stomach. “Now why would I be on your mind, sugar?” The endearment slips out and he nearly bites his tongue as he carries them over to the small sofa area.

The message is loud and clear: it really didn’t mean anything to him. Regardless, though, you have to power through. If he really didn’t mean what he said and has no interest in being with you, you’ll request a permanent transfer. Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles — anywhere but here or New York. Swallowing a sigh, you accept the glass from him but just hold it in your hands while you gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before I had to leave,” you start, trying not to let the warmth and proximity of him get under your skin so easily. But you can’t really help it. “I did the best I could for a message to let you know what had happened, but it wasn’t much. And I’m sorry for that, too.”

His facade cracks, the scowl as quick to vanish as it appears and he scoffs. “Message received, Rye. A lone sequin on the floor. Practically like it was a dream, except for that.” He tosses back the whiskey. “Can you just get to the part where you tell me it was a mistake, you don’t want to ruin our friendship or work relationship? Or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve settled on to tell me you regret it?” His eyes are dark and pained when they finally land on you, barely resisting the urge to flee.

“On the floor?” Your brow furrowed instantly, a frown painting itself on your lips, and you set the glass in your hands aside to shift closer to him on the little couch. “Jack, I left a sequin on your nightstand.” The choice was even more horrible than you had worried it would be, apparently, because he looks so hurt he could actually cry. A fact which makes you instantly want to cry as well. “A black sequin was the best I could do for a signal. It—it must have…blown off. Stupid fucking flapper dress with all that fringe. It must have gone flying when I left the room.” There was no other breeze, no window open or fan blowing. Only you could have sabotaged yourself like that.

He doesn’t believe you and shakes his head. “Why would you leave a black-“ he trails off when it hits him. Black sequin - Code Black. Trying to tell him that you had wanted to leave a message but couldn’t. Champ had broken protocol by telling him about the Code Black and apparently you had tried to signal the same thing. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You shake your head in resignation, blowing out a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want to leave. Especially not after…” Another shaky breath leaves the rest of you shaking in turn, and you shove your hands under your legs on the couch. This is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever asked a person in your entire life. “Did you…mean it? What you said?”

Jack bites his lip, wanting to ask you what you’re talking about but he can’t do that. You look distraught that he had thought you had just disappeared. “Yeah.” Jack admits quietly. “Look, I know that it’s not something you were expectin’ ta hear, and you don’t feel the same.” He rolls on with the emotions that he needs to get out. “I won’t be mad, or take it out on you. But that night….fuck.” He blows out a breath. “I got to touch you. Just like I fuckin’ dreamed of. And I couldn’t just let you think it was a heat of the moment thing for me.”

“Why do you think I don’t feel the same?” With your heart beating wildly and your shakiness only increasing, there’s a sort of explosive quality in your mind and body that you can’t quite figure out how to control. Like all you want to do is launch yourself at him for a kiss but you know you need to talk first. To get it all out in the open. To be honest with each other. “I—I honestly had no idea you thought of me as anything but a friend. I was…well…shocked is a bit of an understatement.”

Jack snorts. “I know my reputation. Hell, I crafted it. But I couldn’t flirt with you. It’s too- shit- you had me from the first time we met. I was fucking hooked and it wouldn’t have been right. You were a junior agent and -“ he shakes his head. “I was running from the kind of commitment you were made for.”

“Your reputation was built by a man who had loved his wife so deeply that he couldn’t bear the thought of loving and losing again,” you remind him quietly. You sure you hadn’t known that right away, but when you had learned about his wife and son, you understood implicitly. “But it…it never stopped me from falling in love with you. Even when I thought I’d never be more to you than an acquaintance. I considered myself damn lucky to eventually become your friend. I just thought…I thought the fact that you never, ever flirted with me…meant that it was unrequited. So I made myself okay with it. Until two weeks ago.”

“I respect you, Rye.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I didn’t want to make it seem like you were everyone else, because you weren’t.” It’s backwards and twisted, but no one ever said that he had defeated all his demons. “When I broke- I gave you everything.”

“More than you know.” A soft huff of a laugh escapes you and you shake your head again, willing your nerves to calm down even a little. “Just…please understand, Jack. That I’ve been in love with you since the second I met you. And the only reason I didn’t say it back the night we slept together is because I was so shocked to hear it from you in the first place. I thought I’d hallucinated what I wanted to hear, and then before I knew it we were asleep…and then I woke up to a Code Black.”

“I was upset.” Jack admits quietly. “Really upset.” He flushes slightly. “May have been thinkin’ some not-so-polite things until Tequila told me it was you who was slated for the mission.” He won’t tell you that Champ had broken the rules. “Convinced myself that you had run off to go save the world so you wouldn’t have to tell me that you’d had too much alcohol and that’s why you let me take you home.”

“Not at all.” Taking a chance, you reach for his hand and practically sigh in relief when he slots his fingers through yours. “I pretty much thought I’d died and gone to heaven, if I’m honest. I just kept thinking…if this only happens once, I never want to forget a single thing.” You squeeze his hand gently, wishing you could have said all this two weeks ago. “I’m sorry my message didn’t work. That’s…you have every right to think nasty things about me. I’m so sorry.”

“No I don’t.” Jack protests. “Not if you meant to be here. Not if you wanted to be here the next morning. Then it’s just a bad misunderstanding and I’m sorry.”

“Then I guess we’re both sorry.” He’ll never know that you cried all the way to the office that morning at having to leave him, you decide right now. It would only make him feel even more guilty and he doesn’t deserve that. “But I’m not sorry about what happened between us.”

“You aren’t?” He tightens his grip on your hand, relaxing slowly as you talk and he understands that this was one giant cluster fuck. He’s used to those, he can handle those. “That’s good, sugar. Because New Years was probably the best night of my life.”

“God, I hope you mean that.” Your shakiness is for more than one reason, although you needed to have this conversation first. Whatever the two of you decide will happen next is a decision made by both of you, not just you alone. “Because…Ginger couldn’t clear me…after my physical. I can’t go back on the list.”

Jack frowns, brows pulling together. “Why can’t Ginger clear you? What’s wrong?” There’s a number of things that can be fixed by Statesman tech and he’s worried that it’s something bad.

Your stomach churns with worry, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. The unmistakable advances of Statesman tech can do things that most doctors absolutely cannot, thanks to Ginger Ale, and you’re not sure whether to thank her or curse her. “It’s not that something’s wrong, technically,” you admit, giving another worried squeeze to his hand. “But we probably ought to have used that condom…”

Jack’s eyes widen and they drop to your stomach, discerning the meaning of your comment. You aren’t a liar and Jack would believe you if you said you didn’t sleep with someone else, but he’s confused. “Sugar- how?” He chokes out. “I got snipped when I joined Statesman.”

“When was the last time you had your sperm count checked?” You had made Ginger do the test three times, but the result was always the same. Your birth control failed and Jack’s second kid is already growing, if very slowly. “The chances of a vasectomy failing are less than one percent, but it can still happen.”

Jack frowns and then rolls his eyes and groans. “The chamber.” He remembers. “When I got shot and then- uh, put back together.” He shakes his head. “Ging said I might need to get it checked but I dadgum forgot.” He bites his lip and tries not to freak out over the fact that you are pregnant after your one and only time together. “What do you want, sugar?” He asks.

“Not more than you’re willing to give freely.” The answer is that you want all of him. Every single bit. Love and a life and a family. But you know that even if Jack does love you, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved his wife. And losing Maria nearly destroyed him, so he may not be willing to take that chance again. “But I…unless you really object…I’m keeping the baby. Even if you don’t want a commitment or anything. I just…you’re right about me. I want a family and if this is my only chance I don’t want to give that up. Especially not if I get even the littlest piece of you with it.”

“You think I would-“ he shakes his head. “No, I would never force you, one way or the other.” He frowns. “I was asking if you wanted to have a baby. And if you think I’m gonna sit back and let you raise it by yourself, you must have hit your dadgum head.”

“I want this baby.” It had only taken about ten seconds after learning it existed to determine that, even if you’re still grappling with the reality of it. “And I want you.” You inch closer to him on the couch. “However you want to be together. That part is up to you.”

“It’s been a long damn time since I’ve thought about being a daddy, sugar.” There’s a slight smirk on his face but he doesn’t make the obvious crude joke. “But I’m pretty traditional when you break it down. I’m not gonna want to be apart from you and our baby.”

He might not have made the joke but you still laugh, having made the sugar daddy connection in your mind easily enough. “I know it’s a lot, Jack. And we didn’t plan it. But…” All you can do is shrug your shoulders slightly, looking up at him with such obvious hope and even more obvious water behind your eyes. “But, I love you.”

“I meant it, baby girl.” He promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek and then cup it. “I love you. I love you so much, sugar.” Licking his lips, his eyes drop down to yours. “Can I kiss you?”

"I wish you would." practically beaming at him, you lean in and let the moment wash over you. Jack's lips against yours. His hands on your skin. His baby - your baby - is already starting to grow.

Jack pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours and groaning softly. “Sugar, you’re gonna have my baby.” He whispers against your lips in awe. “Just the one time, one time between your thighs and you are carrying my baby.”

“One time is all it takes.” You can’t help the broad way you smile, giggling softly against his lips as you steal another kiss.

“I don’t regret it.” He promises. “I don’t regret you.” He smiles as he kisses you again. “We really did shake things up for New Years, didn’t we?”

“Just a little bit.” Another laugh escapes you, and you lean into his side only to be rewarded with Jack’s arms encircling you and holding you close. “I don’t regret any of it. Except maybe not making my message a whole lot clearer.”

“We’ll get better at communicatin’.” Jack promises with a smile. “We’re partners now.”

“Do you want to go get dinner, maybe?” The end of a mission can be crazy even when it’s successful, and you just want to try to relax tonight. Especially with everything changing in your personal life too, apparently. “My treat?”

Jack scoffs and shakes his head. “You ain’t paying, sugar.” He huffs. “Not while you’re with me. If you want dinner, we can go out, or I can take you home and throw some steaks on the grill.”

“I kind of want to celebrate,” you admit, feeling silly about it even though it’s the truth. “If that’s okay?”

“Then we’ll go out and celebrate.” Jack promises before he frowns at something you had said. “Why would you have thought I would never be interested in you?”

“Because…” It feels sillier than the celebration thing now that you know the truth. Silly and even a little pointless, but he asked so you’ll tell him. “Because you flirted with every woman in the world besides me. Which Ginger said is how she knew you were interested in me. But I didn’t believe her.”

“You know you’re wrong, don’t cha?” Jack asks you. “When you said that you get sent on assignments to be invisible? You’re sent on the assignments you are given because you get the job done. Champ knows that if he gives you a task, it will be done.”

“Whatever the reason is, he’ll have to do without me for about a year.” It isn’t worth having a debate over your lack of self esteem with him right now, and you especially don’t want to ruin the mood by crying anything other than happy tears, so you just redirect the conversation altogether. “This baby is my top priority.”

“Our top priority.” He corrects you. He’s nervous, terrified really, but there’s no one he’d rather have a happy accident with than you. “Our New Year’s baby.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack Daniels x plus size reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Kingsman Golden Circle #new years eve #new years fic #idiots in love #pining #the love is requited they're just dumb