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nicb0723 · 4 years

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Find Your Worth

John Wick x Reader

Summary: You meet John in an unconventional way.

Notes: Depression trigger warning

Word Count: 11,754

Read Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Before work you go grocery shopping and run some errands. You clean up a lot and wonder how the hell John’s personality will fit in your tiny apartment. He doesn’t say much but he can be so intense. You can’t imagine the two of you together, alone, in this tiny space.

In the bathroom you hesitate as you pick up your prescription. The doctor thought it would take the edge off your anxiety, and make the depression manageable. She also made sure you were seeing someone for therapy. For now, the pill once a day does work. You can breathe. You can function. You’d be a fool to think all of your problems would disappear overnight. You still have a long road of recovery ahead, but this makes it less overwhelming. You place the little plastic container in the medicine cabinet, somewhere John won’t see it. You wouldn’t put it past him if he snooped, but in a way you're proud that you were able to talk about your problems and get some help.

At work Sam is with you and currently making fun of your limp after you tell him why there’s a bruise on your foot. He’s asking if you want him to go buy you a cane when John waltzes in, hair slicked back and suit jacket blowing from the wind. How someone can look like a model in a gas station you’ll never know. He stares until you go to him and ask what the hell he’s doing here.

“Getting gas.” He answers and reaches for his wallet.

You don’t say anything and ring him up, glancing outside to his car parked in spot one.

Sam is watching you two interact and he has the biggest grin on his face. Is that your boyfriend? He mouths behind John’s back and you cough in shock. No, and yeah right, like you could ever get a guy like John in a million years.

“Hello!” Sam says loudly and teasingly bumps your hip with his behind the counter.

John raises an eyebrow and glances to you first, then nods to Sam. “Hi.”

“John, this is Sam my co-worker and Sam, this is John my um… friend?”

True surprise flickers in John’s brown eyes and he looks pleased, a slow small smile spreads on his lips.

“She’s actually my boss, but nice to meet you.” Sam says and his attention is drawn to the classic car outside and the gushing begins.

You let the two of them talk until you hear John offer to show him the engine and they both move to go outside. “Hey, I’ll see you later?”

Sam smirks and you nod at John, wondering how he knows where you live. It’s a little weird that he broke into your place just to fix a leaking faucet and he was in your apartment without you even knowing. In the back of your mind, you think that it’s actually pretty thoughtful. You mindlessly wonder why he would waste his time though. Why he would do any of the things that he did. He said that he would help anyone in the same situation as you, but you’ve been thinking about that question since the day at the lake, and you’re too scared to ask him. You’re scared to see the look on his face, the look of pity because that’s all you can think that he’ll say.

You hear John’s car peel away and Sam comes back inside, still grinning like an idiot.

“What?” You ask, not really wanting to know.

“Nothing.” Sam hops up on the counter and he knows he’s not supposed to sit there. “I think he likes you.”

“And what makes you say that.” You deadpan, pushing at his butt with the tip of your pen.

Sam slides down and knocks over a display of gum. “He told me to look out for you.”

“Oh yeah? I can see you’d be very threatening.” You point to the packs of gum all over the floor.

He bends down and starts to pick up the mess. “What’d you need looking out for anyway?”

“Nothing, he's just being protective I guess.”

Sam looks at you with concern. “From what?”

“Nothing. I promise, okay?”

For the rest of the night Sam shows you his karate moves and chops up air until closing time.

John is folded up in the corner of your couch with his legs crossed at the knees and his black leather shoe tapping your coffee table. He’s reading one of the old magazines you have laying around.

“How was work?” He asks, folding the magazine shut, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

You check the locks on your door to see if they’re broken, but they’re not. You turn the handle again to make sure the door is shut all the way.

“I should probably give you a key if you’re going to let yourself in.”

John shrugs. “If you want.”

Tossing your purse on the kitchen table you make your way to the living room and sit on the chair across from the couch. John looks so out of place, but you can tell he’s trying to blend in, make himself belong in your little apartment.

“Who’s taking care of your dog while you’re here?” You ask, kicking your feet up.

“Pooch? The little girl next door. She loves him.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually named him Pooch. I don’t even think that’s an actual word, I think my grandma made it up.”

John shrugs again you can tell he’s definitely not a man to waste any words. “It stuck. It’s... cute.”

“Cute? I can’t see you thinking anything is cute.” You grin and stand up to take your jacket and shoes off to get more comfortable. You can hear him mutter something under his breath, but can’t catch it. “So do we know if Max is officially out yet?”

“No, I’m waiting for the call though. I’ll know as soon as it happens.”

You don’t have any doubt. “Do you want something to eat or drink?” You open the refrigerator for some juice. ”I usually have a snack when I get home. Feel free to take anything you want.”

John tries to settle back on the couch but he seems stiff. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You can take off your tie and your jacket at least. You’ll probably be here for awhile.” You call out to him, your head sticking in the cupboard looking for the popcorn you put in there earlier.

John doesn’t move and you gesture for him to get up as you crawl back in your chair with a bag of food.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes of course I’m sure. Why would I not be sure?” You look at him like he’s crazy as he slowly stands and oh… that’s why.

The suit jacket comes off and he carefully lays it over the side table. His slender waist is circled with a large utility belt with three guns, two clips, and probably a knife. The sight makes your eyes widen. He stares at you as he slowly unfastens the buckle and gently places it on top of his jacket.

“Don’t go near that.” He points sternly and sits back down, this time more comfortable. He takes his cell phone out of his pocket and sets it on the couch next to him.

“Definitely not. Are you planning on using any of that?”

“Scare tactic.”

Silence fills the room as you crunch on your popcorn and you’re actually feeling pretty tired. You’d like to go to bed, but you’re not sure what John’s plans are exactly.

“So how is this going to happen?” You ask. “Are you going to come to work with me too? Are you going to run my errands with me? I mean, I’d love the company but I don’t see you wandering around Target for an hour.”

“I don’t mind going to Target with you.” His voice is so serious you can’t help but smile. “I don’t think he’ll come around during the day though. He wants you alone. Scared. Vulnerable. And I have my cop friend keeping an eye on you at work. It’s on his beat anyway.”

“Okay.” That all sounds reasonable. Dread and doubt suddenly take hold of you. “Look, maybe I’m wrong? Maybe he won’t bother with me and we can just forget about it? Maybe there’s nothing to worry about at all.”

John shakes his head. “I read his record. It’s not good.”

Well, crap. You don’t want to talk about Max anymore and you don’t want to ask the one question that’s been hounding your mind. You’re still too scared to know the reason John is here, so you ask something else. “Are you ever going to sleep? You can’t stay up all night waiting.”

“I’ll sleep until I know he’s out.” John says easily. “Then after that I have motion detection alerts on my phone from the camera outside your floor.”

You blink at him. “There are cameras on the door of the elevator?”

“There are now.”

“How’d that happen?” You’ve never noticed any security cameras anywhere.

“I talked to Francis, the apartment manager. He’s a nice guy.”

You blink at him again. “I know, but he only speaks Russian. How’d you talk to him?”

John smirks and says, “Bez truda.”

It’s all a little too much and you get up, shaking your head in disbelief. “How is this my life right now? How do I get myself into these things? I have an assassin in my apartment… I’m going to take a shower!” You announce after a minor anxiety attack. “Feel free to turn on the TV, get comfortable, whatever you want.”

The water feels good as you scrub away the day. It relaxes you until swarming thoughts of John sitting on your couch make you hurry out of the tub and wrap yourself in the flannel bathrobe you always wear. Before you lose your nerve you walk back into the living room and find John where you left him, now looking at his phone.

“They’re just starting to process paperwork. That means it’ll be a few hours.” John’s talking, but doesn’t look up. You start to brush your wet hair out and twist it loosely on top of your head for the night. Usually you’d smear face cream all over but that obviously is not going to happen.

“Look, John. I know we hardly know each other, but you can sleep in the bed, okay?” You start to turn off the kitchen lights and check the front door one more time to make sure it’s locked. “It’s plenty big enough and I would just feel better.”

He’s looking at you with warm eyes now, his mouth open but nothing is coming out. It’s like his brain turned a switch and decided something important. Whatever he’s thinking must be big because his whole demeanor changes. You can’t quite figure it out, but he seems content to be here with you, where just a few moments ago he had a guard up and was struggling with something on his mind. Somehow and unknowingly, you sense that you’ve just started to break down his wall. You have no idea what you did, you’re just being yourself, but for the first time John is vulnerable. He’s blinking slowly, as if he’s seeing you for the first time in a new light, or finally giving himself permission to really see you.

It doesn’t matter though, because you know you look like a complete dork in your bathrobe and suddenly you feel incredibly stupid. Shame floods your stomach and you almost feel sick. Of course, this man wouldn’t want to be in the same bed as you. He’d probably rather die. You can’t believe you even suggested it. Also, your therapist would be terribly disappointed in you for talking down to yourself like this.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He stands up and grabs a small leather bag you hadn’t seen by the widow. “Yes. If it’ll make you feel safer.”

No. No. That’s not how you wanted it to happen. You wanted John to want to sleep in the bed, not because you asked him. “Listen, I didn’t mean… I’ll take the couch, okay? You probably don’t want to share the bed with me, I totally understand. And you’re doing me a favor and I just want you to be comfortable.”

Utter confusion crosses his handsome face. He scratches at his beard with long fingers, trying to make sense of what you want. “What good would that do? With you sleeping on the couch?”

You stammer and can feel a flush develop on your cheeks. “I just thought… I don’t know.”

“If you rather, I can book you a room in a hotel for a few nights. I won’t… do anything to you. I can promise you that.”

Oh God. This conversation could not get any worse. You’re horrified that he thinks something like that and you try terribly to explain. “No, no that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to go to a hotel. I just meant that um, you probably don’t want to share a bed with someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

The flush is creeping up to your neck as you become more embarrassed. You point at your bathrobe and general dorkiness. “Yeah, like someone… not… exactly… uh… cute?”

He seems to realize what you’re trying to say and laughs a little. “Well it’s a good thing there’s no one not cute in this apartment. I don’t know how I could ever sleep.” He walks towards you and gently tucks the hair that had fallen in your eyes behind your ears. It’s very intimate and you feel yourself start to smile. “Can we go to bed now?” He moves his arm out for you to lead the way and you feel silly. John is a nice guy. Even if he really didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as you, he probably still would because it’s what you wanted.

“Yeah, sorry.” You mumble and walk into the bedroom with him following. There’s not much clutter and it’s pretty bare besides the newly bought self help books on the nightstand and regular girly stuff littered on the dresser. John throws his bag on the floor and you grab some pajamas for yourself, heading to the bathroom to change.

When you come back John is wearing a white t-shirt and soft blue sleep pants. He’s incredibly adorable and you can’t believe your luck of having him in your room right now. He must’ve grabbed his phone and weapons because they’re both on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

He looks you up and down in your tank top and shorts as you plop on the mattress, quickly getting under the covers.

“This okay?” He asks and points to his own clothes. Was he expecting for you to want him to sleep in his suit?

“Yeah of course. But... can you fight in pajamas?” You wrinkle your nose and tease him. “That’s not very assassin-y.”

He barks out a laugh and lays down, but he doesn’t get under the sheets. His feet are bare and long, and you keep peeking at his toes. “I think it’ll be fine.”

You roll over and face him. He’s looking up at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his head.

“I can’t believe you’re here right now.”

He doesn’t move. “Why?”

Your eyes start to become heavy and you watch his chest move up and down in slow rhythmic breaths. “People don’t usually do nice things for me. I’m used to being on my own.”

With that he shifts on his side, towards you. His hair falls in his eyes and you long to brush it away. “I can tell.”

“I don’t like asking for help.”

“You never asked me for anything.” John points out. There’s plenty of space between the both of you and flop your arm towards his side, pointing at him teasingly.

“Oh, I distinctly remember asking you to do one very specific thing and you failed.”

He squirms from the quick stabs of your pointer finger at his ribs. “I don’t know, I think things turned out pretty perfect.”

You scoff and roll to your stomach now, sliding your arms under the pillow. “Perfect? Yeah right, I’m sure this is the last place you want to be.”

“It is perfect. This bed is very comfortable.” John finally gets under the blankets and you giggle sleepily. His cologne is stirred by his movement and you savor the spicy smell.

“It’s new. I got a raise at work. I’m an assistant manager now.” You tell him proudly, even though you know it’s not that big of an accomplishment.

“Oh excuse me, Miss Assistant Manager.” John smiles and acts extremely impressed. “Congratulations, by the way. I should take you out to celebrate.”

You have no idea if he’s serious or not so you just laugh and snuggle down more into the bed. After a minute you ask, “Do you think Max will come tonight?”

John pauses, thinking. “Hard to say. He doesn’t have a good past. He has friends in high places who will probably help him. How’d you meet a guy like that anyway?”

“How is that you know my name, where I live, my phone number, where I work, what car I drive… literally everything about me and you don’t know that?”

John brushes the hair from his eyes and you can see the tan line around his ring finger has started to finally fade. “That’s just part of the job.”

“Fixing leaking water faucets is part of being an assassin?” You ask, teasing again.

A sweet pink flush spreads on John’s cheeks. “Shush.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He pretends to glare. “Maybe it is. You don’t know.”

“You’re right, I don’t know.” You yawn and let your eyes fall close. “Can I tell you tomorrow though? I’m gonna pass out.”

You hear the click of the side lamp turn off and you want to stay awake, to soak in this moment a little more but sleep is overpowering and you drift off into a peaceful rest.

Until about two o’clock in the morning, and then you start to toss and turn. You swear there’s a noise out in the living room but you also know you’re probably being paranoid. You can see the shape of John’s body just a few inches away and you want to reach over to him.

“Hey.” He whispers and his voice startles you still. “Are you okay?”

“No.” You sit up a little and look towards your bedroom door. There’s a stream of light from the street lamps coming in through the window, but other than that it’s dark. “I thought I heard something.”

“It was just the air kicking on. You’re fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You feel John’s palm rest on your arm and squeeze. “Positive.”

“Is he out? Did you get a text or anything?”

“Hey, don’t worry about anything, okay? I promise you’re safe.”

You fall back on the bed with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

You're wide awake and this whole situation is baffling. John Wick is in your bed, squeezing your arm and comforting you.

“Isn’t being an assassin illegal?” You blurt out, the darkness giving you courage, and you instantly regret asking the question because he pulls away.

“It’s the only thing I’m good at.” He says quietly. “Trust me, I tried to retire and I got sucked back in somehow. People seem to want only me for really hard jobs.”

“Couldn’t you get arrested or something if you got caught? Could I get in trouble with you being here?”

“No. Sometimes cops need bad guys to go away too. You won’t get in trouble.”

“Oh.”

“Feel better now?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I just don’t always get myself into the best situations. I feel really safe with you, I just…” You don’t meet an assassin everyday. You have no idea what it really means.

“It’s fine.”

“I don’t want to offend you.”

He laughs softly and his fingers brush the back of your arm now. “Nothing you ever ask will offend me. It’s actually quite refreshing. I just hope…”

You wait for him to finish, but he seems to be gathering his thoughts and you don’t want to rush him.

“I hope you can think of me as a friend before an assassin. And I hope that I don’t scare you.”

“I don’t scare easily.” You mumble and yawn, glancing back to your bedroom door. You ignore the friend comment because you feel like you’ve already been through hell and back. You don’t know if you could consider John as a friend and then lose him someday. It might break you all over again. But then you think of how far you’ve come. “I could probably take Max. I could get him to leave me alone now that I have my mind straight.”

“You think so?” John is sincere and you can hear he’s happy at your mental growth.

“Yeah maybe. As long as he’s clean and not hopped up on something. Then it might be harder.”

“I guess we’ll see.” John checks his phone and puts it down again after looking briefly at it. “Are you going to be able to get back to sleep?”

“Yes. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Stop apologizing.” He shifts to his side, with his back to you.

It’s a strong, solid back with his shoulder blades poking out from underneath his t-shirt. You stare until your eyes feel heavy again. You feel safe.

The next time you wake up the sun is blaring from the window and John is gone. His leather bag is still by the bed though, but his suit jacket and all of his guns are gone too.

You start to go about your business, not believing John would leave you alone if you were in any kind of danger. It’s almost creepy how your phone alerts a few seconds later with a text, like he knows that you’re up.

No need to worry. I know where he is. I’ll see you later tonight. Let me know if anything happens.

You text back sounds good and John tells you to have a nice day.

It just so happens that you have the next two days off from work and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your foot still hurts from the baseball bat incident so you zone out in front of the TV for a while, trying to forget all of your problems. That doesn’t really work so the next best thing is to venture through the kitchen. You have snacks but not much else. Maybe it would be nice if you could fix John a nice dinner or something, for hanging out with you and like, protecting you from a shitty ex boyfriend.

Some nice meat might do the trick. A nice steak with a potato and veggies. One thing grandma did that was awesome? Was to teach you how to cook. Wanting to actually cook was a different story for the last few years, the thought making you ill when you were practically a walking zombie, but now the thought excites you. It’s also different to cook for someone than just yourself because it’s usually not worth all the hassle.

Quickly, you get dressed and head out to the nearby grocery store. It's quiet and you take your time walking down the aisles with your cart, wondering what sorts of things John likes to eat. He probably stays healthy but a part of you thinks that he might have a sweet tooth. You grab everything you need, including some pie for dessert and head back home to get started.

There’s a ton of food so you text John to come over hungry and don’t eat any dinner.

He doesn’t reply back immediately and your stomach starts to sink. What if this is too much? Is this weird? It’s just dinner, right? Friends have dinner together. John has to eat sometime.

He eventually texts back a simple okay and you take it for what it is. There’s nothing you can do about it now, and since you’ve never really cooked in this kitchen before, if it turns out terrible you can always order pizza.

It doesn’t turn out terrible, in your opinion, and you’re actually impressed with yourself. There’s a knock on the door right when you're finishing setting the table and John scolds you for not asking who it was before opening the door. He’s still in the middle of his speech when he gets a whiff of steak and sees that the table is set nicely.

“What’s all this?” He asks, smoothing down his expensive silk tie.

You pull out a chair for him to sit down. “It’s just a little thank you.”

He doesn’t look happy with that answer.

“It’s me making my friend dinner… randomly?” You try again.

He laughs and nods, accepting that instead and removes his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. “Do you mind if I…” He points to his waist and waits for you to nod before unclipping the belt, putting it in the bedroom for the night.

“Wine? Beer?” You ask, debating which you want.

“Usually I would, but…”

You understand that he’s working, even though he’d hate it if you said it aloud, and put them both away. “How about some ice tea?”

“Sure.” John sits and folds a napkin in his lap. He’s watching you and when you bring over a plate full of food there’s an unmistaken gasp. “Wow, this is amazing. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” You sit down too and pass him the salt and pepper. “I forgot how much fun it is to cook. I haven’t made anything since grandma was sick and I stopped eating. But today it was like she was in the kitchen with me.” You stop and close your eyes, embarrassed. “Sorry, that was weird to say.”

“Not the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He reminds you hesitantly, but with a small smile.

Heat warms your cheeks and you have to chuckle in agreement. “True. I feel like that was so long ago though. I’m like a different person now. You must’ve thought I was crazy.” You don’t say that you’re grateful you accidentally gave your phone number to a police informant. That it was John who showed up that day. That it wasn’t some crook who could’ve used a few hundred dollars.

“I didn’t think you were crazy.” John takes a big bite of steak and moans a little. “This is really good. I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a long time.”

“You don’t cook much?” You ask, waiting for him to make another noise of pleasure.

“I hate cooking for just myself.” He says, but otherwise he is disappointingly quiet.

You take a bite of vegetables and nod in agreement, trying to hide your swelling of excitement. Well, that’s that. He is single. No big deal, you tell yourself to calm the hell down in your head. It doesn't matter anyway. It’s not like anything would ever happen. “So, you didn’t think I was crazy? What did you think?”

John puts down his fork and looks at you, his chin resting on his hand thoughtfully. “I thought you looked really tired. That you needed help and had nowhere else to turn.”

You gently rub a finger under your eye, where you know there used to be darkened circles. Now your eyes are bright and alive. You blush at his observation.

“What’d you think when you saw me?” He asks, interested again in his steak but keeping an attentive ear to everything you say.

You don’t know why, but you feel a surge of confidence. “I thought I was talking to the most attractive hitman in all of New York and that there was no way I could afford your... business.”

John raises an eyebrow and laughs. “Really?”

Shrugging, you take another bite of food and swallow. “I don’t know what I was really thinking, honestly. It was not my best day. I just wanted to get the conversation over with. I wasn’t in the right mindset.”

“But therapy is going well?”

You’re not surprised that he knew about that, but it does make you pause that he actually asked. “Definitely. It’s going very well. And she’s a fan of you, by the way.”

“Me?”

“Don’t worry, she thinks you're an undercover cop.”

John leans over his plate, trying to get closer to you. “What exactly do you say about me?”

“That’s personal!”

“Fine.” He leans back now in his chair and crosses his arms, fake disappointment in a pout on his lips. “Then I won’t tell you about what I found out today.”

You glare at him. “Isn’t that blackmail?”

“Or extortion.” He shrugs, waiting for you to answer.

“Ugh.” You roll your eyes and sigh. “I told her about all of the nice stuff you did for me, even though it was creepy, and how you probably saved my life.”

He blinks at that, obviously not expecting you to be so forward. “Oh. And what did she say?”

“She said to be careful about you breaking into my place and stealing my car… but that it sounded like I made a really good friend.”

John is suddenly silent and tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks. “Just… just a friend?”

Your stomach does a little flip and you’re not sure where he’s going with this. “I’m pretty sure all I can have is friends right now.” You tell him slowly, trying to get all of your words exactly right. “I need to find my worth, be happy with myself… before I can do that for someone else, you know?”

John nods and his eyes are sad for a brief second but when he looks up at you, he’s proud. “I think that’s great. And I’m happy to help remind you that you’re pretty awesome.”

“Reminders are nice.” You tell him with a small smile. “Especially considering they come from a bad ass assassin.”

John chuckles and finishes his steak. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his dress shirt. He looks a little tired and you wonder what he did all day.

“So what were you going to tell me?”

“Oh, right. Max. He seems to be doing well. He’s living with his mom across town and he was spotted going into an AA meeting.”

You’re stunned. In a good way. “Really? He was always such a heavy drinker. That’s where I met him. At the bar across the street from the hospital. When visiting hours were over and I didn’t have to work, I’d go there a lot. And well, I guess he spotted a weak one.” You think back to those days when he was nice to you at first, which quickly changed into becoming manipulative and controlling. The final straw was when he said that you couldn’t visit your grandmother anymore. You lost it and he raised a hand at you, several times. You never want to be that weak. Ever again. “Well that’s good news, right?”

“Yeah.” John rubs at his beard. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t relapse.”

You stand up and start to clear the dishes from the table. “So you don’t have to stay the night, probably.”

“No, I’ll stay at least one more night. Just to be safe.”

You give him a disapproving look. You really hate to waste his time.

“Seriously, I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I wasn’t here. One more night and I’ll be out of your hair.”

That’s not at all what you meant by giving him a look so you just shake your head. “It’s nice to have the company. I just don’t think my apartment is where you want to spend your nights.”

“And where exactly do you think I spend my nights?”

The sink is full of soap and John stands to clear the rest of the plates and cups. “I picture this really fancy nightclub or rave with techno music and neon lights and beautiful women dancing around you.”

John hands over a plate and looks at you like you’re nuts. “You have a very vivid imagination.”

“Oh, like that’s never happened.” You deadpan.

“Well, I can’t say never... “ John leans against the counter and offers to help you.

“No, I got it but thank you. And also, I knew it. I just don’t see you like… dancing to techno music.” You make a face and stick out your tongue a little. You hate techno.

John laughs. “I don’t go there to dance. If I’m at a club or something it’s usually for work.”

“Ah, I see.” You move to get the dish rag to dry the silverware. “So, where do all the beautiful women throw themselves at you?”

He’s not really paying attention when he answers and he’s looking at something on the ground. “Well lately it’s been at a lake and a local gas station. Is that a bruise?” John bends down and slowly traces the swirls of black and blue colors on top of your foot. The touch stings a little but you hold still.

“Oh uh... “ God, how stupid. You didn’t think it was that noticeable. “Yeah.”

“Your whole foot is swollen.” His eyes are huge when he stands up and looks at you, his hands on his hips. “What happened?” He growls out and you push past him, considerably embarrassed and turned on all at once.

“I did it to myself, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re limping.” He exasperates, but he gently puts an arm around your waist and helps guide you to sit down. You put your foot on the coffee table and it does look worse than it did yesterday, puffy and colorful.

You grimince and don’t want to tell him. “It was just a silly accident. Sam at work already made fun of me, so let’s just forget it.”

John disappears to the kitchen and you can hear ice being gathered. He comes back and sits on the coffee table, slowly moving your foot to his lap and putting a towel full of ice by your toes, where the worst of the purples are blooming.

“You really don’t have to do that. It’s not that bad. I was just on my feet all day and I didn’t think about it. It’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”

His fingers are so gentle around your ankle and you can’t help but to stare at his big hand surrounding your delicate bones. “Hey.” John taps on your skin until you look up at him. “You’re worth being taken care of, okay?”

Well, he got you there damnit. “Oh, that’s a good one.” You’re impressed and you let him hold your foot, sitting back to relax. Your therapist would be really pleased that you let someone help you.

“Are you going to tell me or are we going to sit here all night?”

You briefly tell him how you got the bruise and his fingers stop tracing over your skin long enough for him to laugh. Loudly.

“It’s not that funny.” You scowl at him.

“It’s really funny.” He’s snickering now and you swear there’s a tear at his eye. He moves to wipe it away and mumbles something like, “you are the cutest... “ and then clears his throat and straightens up. “You’ll have to show me your moves.”

“Uh, no, I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for tonight, thank you.”

John rubs at your ankle again, squeezing around your leg lightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be mean to the patient.”

“Exactly right.” You agree and smirk when you think of payback. “You gonna kiss it better?”

Without hesitation John takes off the towel and presses his lips to your cold skin. All you can do is stare at his beard and then at the teal nail polish on your toes. You’re speechless.

“It didn’t seem to work.” John says, disappointment in his voice. “I guess I’ll have to work on my technique.”

He says that last part suggestively and you sit up in the chair, ready to change the subject. “I got dessert. You like pie, right?”

“Do I like pie? What kind of question is that?”

“Can you get it?” You smile sweetly at him. “It’s on the counter.”

He gives you a knowing look but lifts your foot to get up. You can see his reflection in the window as he moves around in your kitchen and you watch him in disbelief. You realize you’ve never had anyone in your apartment. Not even grandma, she was already too sick when you got it. Max always made you go to his place. John comes back with one plate and two forks, a big slice for both of you to share.

“This is the best anyone has ever paid me to do a job.” He jokes and you smile back, taking a fork and scooping a bite for yourself.

You point to an envelope on your desk. “Speaking of getting paid… I know it’s not much, but I did promise you--”

“I was kidding.” John cuts you off. His face is instantly annoyed and hurt.

“John, please.” Your foot is still propped up on the coffee table and you can’t really move. “I just thought I’d offer.”

“Well, take it back.” He says and you put your hands up in defense, silently telling him not to be mad. “And you just lost pie privileges.”

“What?”

He stands up and walks over to the couch, as far away from you as possible. “Yeah that’s right. I’m eating all of this myself.”

You huff and struggle to sit up. “That is a radical punishment.”

“You need to learn your lesson.” He takes another big bite, making a show of it.

“That’s it.” You get up and hobble over to him, practically falling into his side and he lets out a grunt when you accidentally lean into his ribs. You decide to just lay where you are for now, you can’t move if you wanted to. “John, seriously. Pie please.”

He shakes his head with amusement and feeds you a small piece. You take it happily and let your head rest on his shoulder while he finishes and feeds you some more until it’s gone. Both of you are quiet. This is the closest you’ve ever been and you just want to feel his warmth. You know eventually you have to move so you peer up at him and smile. “You have blueberry on your lip.” You tell him, reaching to smudge it off with your thumb. At the same time he licks at it and you both laugh.

“C’mon, cripple. I’m helping you to bed.” He tells you, putting the plate and fork down on the coffee table. You use his thigh to get yourself up and he steadies your waist as you balance on one foot. You’re standing between his legs and he’s looking up at you with the sweetest eyes.

“Thank you for dinner.” His voice is sincere and determined to get his appreciation across.

You put your hands on his shoulders and lean some of your weight on him. “John… thank you. Thank you for everything.” And with that you let yourself drop down and you hug him hard. He pulls you close and rubs his hands over your back. His hair brushes your cheek and you breathe in deeply, his scent rushing to your head in the most pleasant high.

Awkwardly, you push yourself away and he grabs at your hands. “You want me to carry you to bed?”

You shoot him a glare and he laughs, letting you wobble towards your bedroom while he takes care of the dishes and turns out all the lights.

When he’s satisfied everything is in the right place, he walks into your bedroom and stands in the doorway, watching you while you sit on the bed and tie your hair up over your head for the night.

“What?”

John breaks his stare and walks around to the other side of the bed. “Nothing.”

“Do you want to watch TV or something?” You ask, grabbing the remote to the set up you have on your dresser. You tend to fall asleep to sitcoms rather than complete silence with thoughts running through your mind at full speed.

“Actually do you mind if I take a shower?” He asks. “I did a lot of running around.”

Your mouth goes dry and you try to get it together before he notices. “Did you get all sweaty tracking Max today?” You guess, smiling when he looks impressed that you got it right. “See, I could totally be an assassin!” Your smile fades when he points to your foot. “Okay, well I could be an assassin’s secretary. I could like, get all the payments and make appointments and travel arrangements and get your guns cleaned and all that stuff!”

He walks around to his bag and gathers a pair of clean sleep clothes. “And take care of all the dead bodies too?”

You gulp. That’s so disturbing. “Yep. And I could take you to the doctor if you get hurt real bad.” You think back to the bruised knuckles and the dried cut on his face.

He cocks his head to the side and thinks for a minute. “That does sound helpful.”

“Really?”

“Yes and also dangerous. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You stand from the bed to get him a towel. “Um, just to let you know, I’ve seen all the assassin movies.”

“Oh, so you’re an expert.”

Opening your closet, you pull out the softest towel you own. “That sounds very sarcastic.” You push it to John's stomach and he grabs it from you, but you don’t let go and tug it back gently. “I’ll have you know I’m a very quick study, Mr. Wick.”

John briefly closes his eyes and takes a step closer to you. He leans in to whisper, his mouth close to your ear, “You better get off that foot.”

A giggle escapes and you sit down on the bed. “If I didn’t have a bruised foot... then could I be your secretary?”

He walks into the bathroom, and right when he closes the door he stops to tell you no.

Frowning, you crawl back to your pillows. You notice John forgot his pajamas on the bed and you’re about to get up and give them to him, but you decide not to. This should be interesting.

You’re watching TV innocently when the bathroom door cracks open ten minutes later. Steam is hovering around John’s form and you hide your smile.

“Um… I forgot my…” He points to the clothes on the bed and you point to your foot.

“I would help you, but I’m a cripple.” You tell him, now smiling because you can’t hide it anymore. You’re trying not to laugh.

He glares at you when the door opens and you see the towel wrapped around his waist.

“I swear I won’t look.” You tell him, covering your eyes.

“Are we twelve now?” He mocks, stepping out and picking up his clothes.

Your smile fades when you look at him because damn. “No, we are definitely not twelve.” You murmur to yourself, and you don’t mean to gock, but he’s fresh out of the shower, glistening skin and tight muscles, toned and strong. He pushes his hair from his face and notices you watching him.

There’s a smug grin when he turns around and your heart completely skips a beat. All you see are flashes of tattoos, black lines and shading on his back. Maybe on his arms too but it was so fast. If you could only make time stand still.

Now you’re glaring when he comes back into the bedroom a few minutes later. He’s glancing at you very casually. “What?”

“You did that on purpose.”

He laughs and gets under the covers. “What? Forget my clothes?”

“No. Showing off all of your…” You gesture to his body. “Never mind.” You can’t believe this is happening and turn towards the TV, trying to forget the hotness laying beside you. Nope. You can’t. “John, why are you doing this?”

He sits up a little. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you here? Why are you helping me?” There. You finally asked it. Here comes the pity party.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, confused. When you don’t say anything, he asks another question. “Would you help me if I needed it?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes, of course I would.”

“Well,” he lays back down and looks blankly at the TV. “There’s your answer.”

“But you hardly know me.”

He briefly glances at you. “Does it matter? I would want to help anyone. What are we watching?”

You laugh at how simple it was all this time. You should really stop overthinking everything. “Do you want to watch Friends or Seinfeld?”

“Who and what?” He asks, not knowing at all your favorite shows.

You caress his cheek and pet him softly. “You poor, innocent man. I have a lot to teach you about laughing.”

He shoves your hand away playfully. “I watch TV… sometimes.”

“When you’re not doing assassin-y stuff.”

John sighs and closes his eyes. “Yes, when I’m not working.”

“Mmhm.” You don’t really believe him. You figure he reads a lot or studies, or does something really smart. Never really does anything just for fun. “We should totally go to a movie tomorrow!” You say it jokingly, like he would ever agree to something so mindless, but you can hardly believe it when he nods and says okay. “Really? You would go to a movie?”

“Isn’t that what friends do together, right?”

You wouldn’t have any idea. You don’t have friends and you haven’t been to the movies in ages. You hate going by yourself and you never had enough money.

“I think so?” You respond, not really knowing.

He lets out a little yawn. “All of my friends are… well, you know. I don’t see any of them going to a movie.”

“But you would?”

“With you? Yes. You’re not in the business, clearly.”

You throw a pillow at him, but he quickly catches it and puts it behind his head. You mumble to yourself of course and turn off the light. “Just for that, I get to pick.”

He groans and you laugh as you tuck yourself in under the covers. You feel excited for tomorrow. Your therapist was right, you did make a good friend. Even if both of you have no idea what exactly that means.

You’re still in bed when John is getting coffee from the kitchen, looking at your phone for movie times. “Don’t worry, I will not make you sit through a chick flick… or a disney movie… or a musical.”

“Do you take cream and sugar?” John asks, popping his head into the bedroom. You nod yes to both and he disappears again.

“Oh! There’s a new sci-fi movie out. You like aliens, right? It looks scary too.”

John comes back into the room with two steaming hot cups. He hands one to you carefully and you take a slow sip. “Mmm. This is really good, thank you.”

He looks pleased with himself as he gets back into your bed, sitting with his legs crossed under him. His hair is messed up a little and he’s still in his pajamas. The sight is really cute. You’re kind of sad that it was the last night he’s here. You quickly got used to him in your apartment and having someone to come home to was so nice. He already mastered your crappy coffee machine and he does the dishes. But the sleepovers are done and you wish it had lasted a little longer, purely for selfish reasons.

You must be staring at him for too long because he stops drinking his coffee and gives you a small smile. “What?”

Dunking your head, you’re embarrassed that he caught you. “Nothing.”

He grins, like he can read your mind but doesn’t want to ruin the moment. “What time’s the movie?”

“Let’s see…” You tap at your phone, scrolling through the options. “How about this afternoon? Then we could get something to eat or whatever.”

Now he’s really smiling and now he really does call you out. “Wouldn’t this be like… a date? Did you just ask me out on a date?”

“What!” You shriek and put your coffee down on the nightstand, stretching your leg over to try and push him off the bed, but he doesn’t move an inch and just laughs at you. “Oh. My. God. Absolutely not, you weirdo. Why can’t two people just hang out? Jerry and Elaine do it all the time!” You point to the TV in your defense, trying to remind him of the show you watched last night.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” John puts his coffee down too and grabs your foot to inspect the bruise. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”

You roll your eyes, still not being able to fathom John Wick flirting with you. It’s probably all a joke to him anyway so you continue to ignore it. “What’s the verdict, Doc?”

He slides your pant leg up and takes a closer look. “Well, it’s not as dark as it was yesterday. Still a little swollen.”

“Told you it would be fine.”

“You’re welcome.” He cracks a smile and you remember the kiss he placed there last night. “Do you need anything else to feel better?”

“Ugh, gross.” Rolling your eyes even harder. “Your flirting is terrible.”

He grabs at his heart like it hurts. “I take offense to that.”

“Good, that was the point.” You get up from the bed and open the closet, searching for something to wear today. “It’s probably the one thing you’re not good at.”

“I could be good at it.” He says, sipping his coffee again. “I’m just rusty. I need to practise.”

You don’t turn around. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” He repeats slowly, and then horrified, “Wait.. I’m not skeezy am I?”

That makes you laugh and you sit back down on the bed. “No, John. You’re not skeezy. You’re like the opposite of skeezy. You’re too nice to be skeezy.”

“I’m too nice?”

“Yeah.” You get up again and fiddle with your hair that’s fallen in your face. “I know you say these things just to be nice to me. I know it doesn’t mean anything. It’s sweet though, it’s fun. I get it.”

Slowly, he shakes his head, trying to comprehend your thoughts. “So, you’re saying I could never be serious about flirting with you?”

“Ha, not in this lifetime.” You gather your bathrobe and head for a shower. “Don’t worry, I’m not that stupid. I know exactly how far out of your league I am.”

Now John is the one rolling his eyes. You don’t give him a chance to say anything though and close the door to the bathroom, finally able to catch your breath a little. He still makes you nervous, you realize, and you hope the feeling fades the more time you spend with him because it seems like he needs a friend just as much as you do.

You’re brushing your teeth when John taps a knuckle on the door.

“Do you mind if we stop at my place before the movie?”

“You don’t want to wear a suit all day?”

“Not really.” He smiles. “And I have to pick up the dog.”

“Oh right!” You spit into the sink and wash your mouth. “I want some puppy kisses.”

John looks at your lips and then to your eyes. It’s fast, but you still see it. And if you didn’t he mutters, “tease” and leaves to go out the front door.

You grab your purse on the way out and he waits patiently for you to lock the door behind you. He has his bag with him and you’re disappointed it’s not still in your apartment. You wonder if he’s wearing all of his guns and try to sneak a peek under his suit jacket at his waist. You’re not paying attention so you run smack into his back when he stops for the elevator.

Yep, he’s wearing one gun because you feel it hit your stomach. He looks at you oddly and reaches a hand out to steady you.

“Do you always carry a gun when you go places?”

“Usually.”

“Do you ever have to use it?”

“Sometimes.”

The elevator ride down is quiet and you wave to Francis walking by in the hallway. John nods towards him too, like they have some sort of secret understanding.

His car is glistening in the sun and you have to admit, it is a pretty sweet ride. John opens the door for you after he throws his bag in the trunk and you move carefully, afraid you might scratch the paint job. You fold yourself neatly in the seat and stay still.

He smoothly gets in and before you can process about how annoyingly attractive he is, the engine roars to life and he’s speeding out of your complex onto the main road. You have a hard time not watching his hands because his fingers are long and look good around the steering wheel. He drives fast but not enough to make you nervous and glances at you a few times to make sure you’re okay. You don’t say much but it’s a comfortable silence with the windows down. You watch the town go by as you start to relax.

It’s only about a ten minute drive until the car pulls up to the most gorgeous house you’ve ever seen. Of course, this is where John would live. In a house built with huge windows and high ceilings, with a big open yard that’s perfectly manicured.

He parks in the driveway but still pushes a button so the garage door goes up.

“C’mon, I’ll only be a minute.” He tells you and curiosity gets the best of you because you had planned to stay in the car.

“Are you sure? I can wait here.”

“Why?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, obvious that he thinks your question was dumb, and he moves around to open your door again.

“Such a gentleman.” You praise, not being able to help yourself. You can’t remember the last time anyone opened anything for you.

He smiles and leads the way into the house. “Well, I try.”

“This is really pretty.” You tell him, stepping into a long hallway where you can see the living room off to one side and the kitchen off to the other.

“You want the tour?” He asks, throwing his keys into a glass bowl and taking his suit jacket off. There are actually two guns on his belt, the one on his right hip you hadn’t seen.

“No, it’s okay. Just seeing the downstairs is enough to make me depressed about my small apartment.”

John scoffs and opens the front door to let in some air. “I like your place. It’s comfortable there. And the cooking’s really good.”

You laugh and he steers you more into the kitchen, which is huge with a tile floor and what looks like all new appliances. “I’d love to cook in this kitchen. There’s so much room!”

“Yeah?” He stops and looks at you very seriously. “You officially have an open invitation to cook here any time.”

“Ha ha.” You push at his shoulder and walk to the big wood dining table, looking around. There are a bunch of picture frames, but they’re all in a pile on a shelf by the coffee maker. You wonder what kind of pictures he has and why they aren’t on display. You don’t want to be nosy though, so you run your finger over the espresso machine that looks like it cost more than a month of pay. “Marry me?” You bend over and ask it, breathing in deeply the scents of coffee.

John laughs and points at a smaller hallway. “Laundry is through there.” He points at a door. “Basement.” He walks through the kitchen and into the living room, which is sparse but still lovely. You wonder if he decorated this place himself or if he had help.

“Evening entertainment.” He points to the TV even though you see a stack of heavy books on the coffee table, some of them well read. “Upstairs?” He asks, starting for the staircase. You shrug, trying not to seem eager and interested.

The amount of sunlight the house gets is incredible. There are windows everywhere, but you can’t see any neighbors and it’s fairly quiet. This is like your dream house.

“Wow.” It’s all you can say when you enter the master bedroom. A huge bed in the middle that looks so very soft. There’s a sitting couch and table, with a bureau next to the walk in closet. The view is fantastic and you can even see the lake from here. You walk to the other side of his bedroom and almost press your face against the glass. “You live right across from the community college campus! That’s so cool!”

John is in his closet, probably getting new clothes for the day, but you can hear him say, “Yeah?”

“Yeah! You could walk there if you wanted to! Save a ton on parking.” You mutter, more to yourself.

Suddenly he’s right behind you, now in a white cotton shirt with long sleeves. “What do you mean?”

“I applied to go to school in the fall. I want to take some classes, maybe try for a degree or something. My place is far, so it’ll be a hassle but that’s okay.” You tug on the hem of his shirt as you walk by him, throwing your purse on the bed. “What else is up here?” You ask, peering down another long hallway.

He has a proud look in his eyes and he’s still gapping at you a little. “I didn’t know you’re going back to school.”

“Oh, something you finally didn’t know, I can’t believe it.”

“Well, I saw the application on your kitchen table but I didn’t want to assume.”

You laugh because of course he did. “Were you snooping, John Wick?”

“Never. I just observe.”

“Oh, I see.”

He opens the door to an empty bedroom with no furniture. “This was supposed to be a guest room but I never got around to it.”

“What about that room?” You point to the door at the end of the hallway.

“My office.”

“Ooh. Do you have assassin secrets in there?” You smile teasingly and walk back to his bedroom to get your purse.

“No, those are in the basement.”

Laughing, you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. You don’t think he is.

The windows are calling again and you can’t help but to take one more look of the view. “This is just so nice. You have everything in walking distance. The lake, the school…”

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “You should move in here.”

That makes you throw your head back and really laugh. How funny. “John, don’t be stupid.”

“How is that stupid?” He asks, his tone is serious but kind. “There’s an empty room. You can walk to school. You can watch the dog for me when I go on… work trips. You would have a kitchen to cook in.”

This man seems to keep surprising you. “You’ve only known me for like a month. What if I smell bad or something?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “You smell amazing.”

“What if I play loud music really late at night?”

“You can’t keep your eyes open past ten.”

“What if I have parties all weekend long?”

“While you work and go to school? Be my guest.”

“What if I’m messy and leave my clothes everywhere?”

John’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “Did you just pretend to be neat while I was at your place for two days?”

He’s right, you do like a clean house. “Whatever, John.” Hoping that he drops it. “Don’t you have to get the dog?”

“Damn, stay here. I’ll be right back. Their house is just down the street.” He runs down the stairs and you can hear the screen door open and shut.

You look around the bedroom again and take it all in. What a completely different life this would be. Not that you don’t like your apartment. It’s cozy and you’re proud of what you’ve established for yourself. This is too fancy for you anyway. Plus, you like having your space. John would be the weirdest roommate ever. You can’t even imagine.

You jog down the stairs to wait on the couch. You spot some more picture frames stacked nicely in a pile and you’re just about to sneak a look when you can hear them approach the house.

“Puppy kisses!” You cry out and kneel down to gather a happy dog in your arms. If you had any idea this was the dog driving you mad all those nights, you would have taken him for yourself.

“Pooch! Get down.” John’s Alpha voice is hot and both you and the dog stop everything.

He trots over to his doggy bed anyways and plops down. “Cassey, the little girl, wore him out at the park this morning.” John says. “Are you ready to go?”

The movie! You had almost forgotten with all the excitement of being in John’s house.

“Yeah, let’s do it. And don’t worry, I’ll protect you. Don’t get scared.” You tell him, in a bravado voice.

“Can we get gummy bears?” He asks and you crack up on the way back to the garage.

“You’re a grown man, you can get whatever you want.”

John hurries to open the car door for you again. “I meant, would you have any or would you like something else?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, that’s a big decision.” You slide back into the car and think to yourself that you could really get used to the chivalry John is showing. You wonder how long it could last. “I think I have to see all my options.”

John smiles as he starts the car and lowers the garage door. “This is really serious.”

You fasten your seatbelt and get comfortable. “When’s the last time you went to a movie?”

He turns his head to back out of the driveway, putting his arm around your seat. His face is very close to yours and you notice that his eyes are a very pretty brown when he’s not working.

“Good point.”

You grin, breaking the eye contact because it’s making your stomach fill with butterflies that you mentally quiet down.

The theater is busy and you realize it’s a Friday during summer, so all the teenagers are here. John’s phone rings as he parks and tells you he has to take it, so you decide to get in line and buy the tickets. He’s leaning against his car, chatting while looking around at his surroundings and smiles at you when he catches you checking on him.

You quickly see that the movie is sold out and not knowing what to do, you walk back to John and the car just as he’s finishing his conversation. It sounds like he was speaking in Russian, but you can’t be sure. “All set?” He asks, sliding the phone in his pocket and reaching to put his hand on your back. He hardly ever really touches you, but his hand hovers over your body constantly.

“It’s sold out.” You tell him. “Do you want to see something else or maybe come back another day?”

“Oh.” He looks disappointed. “But you really wanted to see that movie.”

“It’s okay, shit happens, right?” You shrug it off easily. This is not the worst thing that could happen. Plus, you’re hanging out with John, so you could be going to the town dump and you’d be happy.

“Hold on. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He takes off towards the theater and leaves you by the car. You watch him go and it’s almost like he’s in slow motion again. You wonder how just his stride oozes that much confidence.

In a few minutes he’s back with two tickets. “Here we go. C’mon.”

“How’d you do that?” You dumbly follow him to the theater doors and he guides you to walk in front of him.

“It’s a secret. What do you want?”

You’re still staring at him in a silent awe as he looks at the refreshment stand. A beautiful young worker comes to help and John’s gaze is just on you.

“Um… gummy bears? Right?” You ask him, trying to snap out of it. “That’s what you wanted?”

He leans in close, dark hair falling into his eyes. “I’m asking what you want.”

You don’t really remember what the hell you say, but somehow John pays and leads you down a long hallway and to your seats. Now he’s really close to you and the smell of his cologne is making your legs weak.

“You okay?”

“Yes!” It comes out too fast but you realize you’re acting weird and need to get with it.

John nods and crosses his long legs, sitting back in the chair and shifting towards you, whispering as advertisements play on the big screen. “I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Do friends hold hands at the movies?”

You close your eyes. “No, John. They do not.”

“Not even when I scored tickets that were sold out?”

You lean in to him and smile. “If you tell me how you did that, I might reconsider the answer to your question.”

“Hmm…” He runs fingers over his beard as he thinks. “I talked to the manager.”

“And?”

“And I paid him.”

“John!”

“What? You wanted to know, so I told you.”

You shake your head in disbelief as the lights lower and the movie starts. “You’re crazy.”

He doesn’t disagree with you, but he does turn towards the screen, still touching your elbow throughout most of the first half of the movie. When it gets really creepy, he covers his mouth every time you jump in your seat, hiding his smile.

You somehow get closer to his shoulder, shielding your eyes and turning into his body when you jump again, grabbing onto his arm. The muscles you feel are solid, and you technically knew they were there, you just never really considered them before. And you are definitely considering them now.

John lets you hold on to him, and even offers to hold your hand when the movie winds down and you link his pinky with yours, not wanting to totally turn him down. He seems satisfied with that and smoothes his thumb down your hand a few times before the credits roll.

“That was so good!” You exclaim, getting up from your seat and stretching. “I forgot how fun the movies are!”

“You were scared.” John teases, playfully shaking your hand with his.

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Whatever, you were scared too.” You tell him, pushing the heavy doors open and heading to his car. The sky is darker now and the wind has picked up, chilling your arms. You wish you had brought a sweater.

“I was definitely not scared.” John laughs, his hand hovering over your back again. You feel it because you stop for a car and his arm is suddenly pressed into your waist. He moves quickly though, opening the door for you to get inside.

He turns on the heat as soon as he can and asks where you want to eat.

“It’s up to you. I could go for anything.”

“Sushi?”

That surprises you and you can’t help but look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just didn’t know John Wick likes sushi. I see you more of an all meat kinda guy.”

“I have a very sophisticated pallet.”

“Oh, my mistake.” You laugh and tell him to lead the way.

He takes you to a really nice place and you talk about the movie and the food all throughout dinner. It’s nice, not forced, and fun. These past two days, even with the weird circumstances, have been really fun. You want to pay for the dinner, but of course John beats you to it without you even realizing until it’s far too late. You glare at him and tell him that friends usually split the check. He apologizes with a sparkle in his eye and you know he’s not sorry at all.

When John pulls up to your apartment you thank him for such a great day.

“Are you sure you’re not going to be scared?” He asks, after telling you he had fun today too.

“Yes, John.”

“I could spend the night again, just to make sure.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll be fine. And you have to get back to Pooch.”

“You could spend the night at my place.” John offers, completely innocent but realizes what he says and adds, “I could take the couch, of course.”

“Good bye, John.” You tell him and he wants you to let him know if you need anything, or if you hear from Max. “I will.” Waving, you open the car door before he can get out and do it for you. The walk up to your apartment is quiet and just a little lonely.

Once you get inside it’s worse, but you try to ignore it. Instead, you lay in bed where John had slept and cuddle the pillows.

He texts you once he’s home, to make sure you made it to the apartment okay.

You didn’t let me walk you upstairs, he texts with a sad face.

Instead of telling him that you’re a grown up or you don’t need his protection, you simply text back next time.

You really hope there’s a next time.

TBC Chapter 3

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x y/n #romance #slow build #find your worth #chapter 2 #keanu reeves

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chickbarber7 · 3 years

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princess-grim · 3 years

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Charlie's and Jack's first met [SCRIPT, ENG/PL]

Alright! So not so long time ago i did a script how Charlie and Jack first met, i hope you'll enjoy it! English ver: (It was a cloudy day, all of this happened in the mental hospital where Charlie usually works and examines his patients. It's 4:30 PM)

Jack: * He is sitting in some room on a chair in front of a small table, waiting for someone to come to check him *

Charlie: * Knocks on the door * Knock knock!

Jack: ... Who's there ..?

Charlie: * Enters * It's me! Heheh! * Closes the door behind him, sits on the chair in front of Jack *

Charlie: Hmmm .. You must be.. * Checks his name on his list * Ah! Jack! Jack Di-

Jack: AGH !! DO NOT SAY THIS SURNAME !! I HATE IT !!!! STOP IT! STOP IMMEDIATELY !!! * He covered his ears with his hands and closed his eyes *

Charlie: Huh? Well .. All right!

Jack: I just prefer people to call me ONLY Jack ..

Charlie: As you wish. And so! Nice to meet you, Jack! I am Dr. sunshine! I'm here to help you fix your mental illness * smiled *

Charlie: So let's get started .. How are you today?

Jack: Why should I tell you?

Charlie: Uhm ... Well, to make you a diagnosis! You know, I need to know how you feel, without knowing about your well-being, I will not be able to fully diagnose you and cure you of the disease or disorder which causes you the emotions that you feel right now, and emotions often lead to various unpleasant actions such as: murder, violence, aggression etc.

Jack: So you're telling me the sick are to blame, right?

Charlie: Oh no no !! I didn't really mean it! I mean-

Jack: Do you realize that mentally ill people commit crimes and other things for other reasons?

Charlie: Yes I-

Jack: Grrr ... I DO NOT LIKE people to think that mentally ill people are just psychopaths who do nothing and they only kill others because they like it so much 'cause of their mental illnesses .. And how others blame THEM for the murder and violence, and not those who caused that they behave this way ...

Charlie: I-I .. Uhm ..

Jack: LOOK AT THIS WORLD! Almost every breathing creature in this goddamn world is rude, mean, ignorant and self-righteous and people who A LITTLE DIFFERENCE become victims of these Normals assholes for being different ... DAMN, HOW CAN YOU NOT GET MENTALLY SICK?!?!

Charlie: I-I understand .. But unfortunately their mental illnesses or disorders do not justify their actions, w-that's why go to therapies like this t-to heal themselves from mental disorders and diseases so they won't hurt others anymore ..!

Jack: ... So we're the only ones to suffer, yeah ..? And they get away with it ???

Jack: If we're being chastised by them, WHY DON'T THEY FEEL IT ?! IT'S UNFAIR!!! HAVE YOU EVER EXPERIENCED THIS PAIN ?! THE PAIN OF BEING LAUGH AT, SHAMED BECAUSE YOU ARE DIFFERENT FROM THE REST OF THESE NORMALS FUCKFACES?! ANSWER ME!!!!

Charlie: YES! I HAVE EXPERIENCED THIS MANY TIMES!!! * Stressed out *

Jack: ... Knew it ...

Charlie: Huh ..?

Jack: You seem ... Different from the rest ... You're so strangely ... Positive ... Nice, polite and ... Good for a psychiatrist ..

Jack: The other psychiatrists I met were too serious and without emotion and no sympathy whatsoever .. I've never met someone like you.

Jack: Apparently you are not a normals .. Though I can see that you are trying your best to be one .. Why?

Charlie: I .. I'm no different! I am a normal person, like everyone else! I just want to be polite to others and that's it!

Jack: Mmmm .. A lie. A simple lie .. I don't like when others lie to me .. And the most I do not like when people try to lie to themselves.

Jack: You are different .. You are .. Sensitive and sympathetic .. I don't meet such people like you .. Almost never. And the fact that you yourself admitted that people treated you like garbage ..

Charlie: I'm not different ..

Jack: If you are not different, why are you trying so hard to tell me that you are not instead of ignoring what I am saying? It looks like you are trying to hide something from me ... Don't hide the fact that you know what I mean ... We are similar to each other ...

Jack: Weak .. Sensitive .. Different ... You can't fool me, doctor ..

Charlie: ... Why are you telling me this ...?

Jack: So that you finally understand that this is not the real you. I know what I'm saying .. Believe me * He smiled widely *

Charlie: ... I think time is up regarding my conversation with you. * Rises from the chair * Time for me, I have other patients to check. Goodbye, Jack.

Charlie: * slides the chair behind him, walks to the door, leaves and closes the door behind him * Polish ver: (To był pochmurny dzień, wszystko to działo się w szpitalu psychiatrycznym w którym Charlie zwykle pracuje i

bada swoich pacjentów. Jest godzina 16:30)

Jack: *Siedzi w jakimś pokoju na krześle przed małym stolikiem, czeka aż ktokolwiek przyjdzie go zbadać*

Charlie: *Puka do drzwi* Puk puk!

Jack: ... Kto tam..?

Charlie: *Wchodzi* To ja! Heheh! *Zamyka za sobą drzwi, siada na krześle przed Jackiem*

Charlie: Hmmm.. Ty musisz byyyć.. *Sprawdza na swojej liście jego dane* Ah! Jack! Jack Di-

Jack: AGH!! NIE MÓW TEGO NAZWISKA!! NIECIERPIE GO!!!! PRZESTAŃ! PRZESTAŃ NATYCHMIAST!!! *Zakrył swoje uszy rękoma i zamknął oczy*

Charlie: Huh? Cóż.. No dobrze!

Jack: Wolę po prostu by ludzie nazywali mnie TYLKO Jack..

Charlie: Jak sobie życzysz. A więc! Miło mi cie poznać, Jack! Ja jestem pan sunshine! Jestem tu po to by pomóc ci naprawić twoje problemy psychiczne *uśmiechnął sie*

Charlie: A więc zaczynajmy.. Jak się dziś czujesz?

Jack: Czemu miałbym ci mówić?

Charlie: Uhm... No po to by postawić ci diagnozę! Wiesz, musze wiedzieć jakie jest twoje samopoczucie, bez wiedzy o twoim samopoczuciu nie do końca będę mógł ci postawić diagnozy i cie wyleczyć z choroby lub zaburzenia które powoduje u ciebie emocje które teraz odczuwasz, a emocje często prowadzą do różnych nieprzyjemnych czynów jak: morderstwo, przemoc, agresja itp.

Jack: Czyli mi mówisz że chorzy są winni, tak??

Charlie: Oh nie nie!! Nie do końca to miałem na myśli! Chodzi mi bardziej o to że-

Jack: Zdajesz sobie w sprawę z tego że chorzy psychicznie ludzie popełniają przestępstwa i różne rzeczy z innych powodów???

Charlie: Tak, ja-

Jack: Grrr... NIE LUBIE jak inni uważają że chorzy psychicznie ludzie to tylko psychopaci którzy nic nie robią tylko zabijają innych bo im sie tak podoba z ich chorób psychicznych.. I to jak inni winią ICH za morderstwa i przemoc a nie tych którzy sprawili że tak sie zachowują...

Charlie: J-ja.. Uhm..

Jack: SPÓJRZ NA TEN ŚWIAT! Prawie każda oddychająca istota na tym cholernym świecie jest nieuprzejma, wredna, ignorancka i zadufana w sobie, a ludzie którzy CHOĆ TROCHĘ się różnią, zostają ofiarami tych dupków normalsów za to że są inni... CHOLERA, JAK TU NIE ZOSTAĆ CHORYM PSYCHICZNIE?!?!

Charlie: R-rozumiem.. Ale niestety ich choroby psychiczne lub zaburzenia ich nie usprawiedliwiają do ich czynów, d-dlatego chodzą na terapie takie jak ta b-by wyleczyć się z zaburzeń i chorób psychicznych, dzięki temu nie będą już krzywdzić innych..!

Jack: ... Czyli tylko my mamy cierpieć, tak..? A im uchodzi to na sucho???

Jack: Skoro my jesteśmy przez nich karceni, TO CZEMU ONI NIE POCZUJĄ JAK TO JEST?! TO NIESPRAWIEDLIWE!!! CZY TY W OGÓLE DOŚWIADCZYŁEŚ TEGO BÓLU?! BÓLU BYCIA OŚMIESZANYM, WYZYWANYM BO JESTEŚ INNY OD RESZTY TYCH ZJEBOMÓZGÓW?! ODPOWIEDZ MI!!!!

Charlie: TAK! DOŚWIADCZYŁEM WIELE RAZY!!! *Zestresował się*

Jack: ... Wiedziałem..

Charlie: Huh..?

Jack: Wydajesz się... Inny od reszty... Jesteś tak dziwnie.. Pozytywny.. Miły, uprzejmy i... Dobry jak na psychiatrę..

Jack: Inni psychiatrzy których poznałem byli zbyt poważni i bez emocji i jakiejkolwiek sympatii.. Nigdy nie poznałem kogoś takiego jak ty.

Jack: Widocznie nie jesteś normalsem.. Choć mogę zauważyć że próbujesz z całych sił nim być.. Dlaczego?

Charlie: Ja.. Nie jestem inny! Jestem normalną osobą, jak każdy! Ja po prostu chcę być uprzejmy do innych i tyle!

Jack: Mmmm.. Kłamstwo. Zwykłe kłamstwo.. Nie lubie jak inni mnie okłamują.. A najbardziej nie lubię jak ludzie próbują okłamywać samych siebie.

Jack: Jesteś inny.. Jesteś.. Wrażliwy i sympatyczny.. Mało spotykam takich ludzi.. Prawie w ogóle. I fakt że sam przyznałeś że ludzie traktowali cie jak śmiecia..

Charlie: Nie jestem inny..

Jack: Skoro nie jesteś inny to dlaczego tak bardzo próbujesz mi wmówić że nie jesteś zamiast zignorować to co teraz mówię? Wygląda to jakbyś próbował coś przede mną ukryć... Nie ukrywaj tego że nie wiesz o co mi chodzi... Jesteśmy podobni do siebie...

Jack: Słabi.. Wrażliwi.. Inni... Nie oszukasz mnie, doktorze..

Charlie: ... Dlaczego mi to mówisz..?

Jack: Abyś w końcu zrozumiał że to nie jesteś prawdziwy ty. Wiem co mówię.. Uwierz mi *Uśmiechnął się szeroko*

Charlie: ... Myślę że czas się skończył co do mojej rozmowy z tobą. *Wstaje z krzesła* Czas na mnie, mam innych pacjentów do zbadania. Dowidzenia, Jack.

Charlie: *Zasuwa za sobą krzesło, podchodzi do drzwi, wychodzi i zamyka za sobą drzwi*

#charlie pakhomov #shinekitai pakhomov #jack dickson #jack #script #eng script #pl script #polish #english #mh #mysterious hatred #mado-racc

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razor-crests · 4 years

Text

Stomp and Grind

Pairing: (Mandalorian/Dyn Jarren x Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT 🛑

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Delirium[ dih-leer-ee-uh m ] - a state of violent excitement or emotion. A Mandalorian walks into a bar, and it's only a matter of time before he ruins your life.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954169/chapters/52391470

Business was booming, so to speak.

The lower city joint was what you considered to be comfortably packed from your own familiar spot behind the bar, tucked decisively away from the thunderous energy of colorful clientele. Every booth, table, and stool was spoken for, with excess patrons clamoring to huddle around large groups engaged in conversation or bravely attempt to wrassle their way toward you to gruffly request an order. Evidently, there wasn’t enough starfire ‘skee in the system to keep these thugs sated.

You couldn’t scarcely remember a time that you’d seen the cantina as packed as this. When you took the bartending job initially, Taris was no better than a ghost town, a rusted broken-down shell of what it once was pre-civil war. Truthfully, the history of the planet you called home was one muddled with class warfare and deception, but Taris proved to be prime real estate for the galaxy’s most morally ambiguous, despite remaining 70% decaying rubble and 30% ocean.

See, the thing about Taris was that it had served as the galaxy’s punching bag for thousands of years for a reason. In its heyday, over 60 billion Tarisians resided on the planet’s surface, whether they were privileged enough to afford upper city apartments or otherwise. It was an almost perfect waypoint between Hutt Space and Coruscant, two other juggernauts of industry. Skyscrapers towered hundreds of stories high, breaching the cloud cover so unremittingly that the naked eye might’ve deemed them towers to the heavens.

Only, unlike any other ecumenopolis, Taris was perfectly stationed within the Outer Rim, which naturally meant that nobody was enforcing shit.

All this made it a haven for bounty hunters and travelers alike, or really anyone who sought to make some quick currency without answering to a higher authority.

To distance yourself from that way of life would be absurd. After all, you weren’t just any run of the mill barkeep. Your status as an informant was well kept, but implied, as many of the businesses in the lower city area were not what they seemed at first glance. The man that owned the establishment had connections to smugglers, Separatists, Galactic Alliance politicians- you name it.

Live music began to blare from the stage, prompting another eruption of movement from the crowd as clusters of people began to siphon onto the dance floor, faces alight with the elation that only a back-alley watering hole could inspire.

You finish emptying out a glass of something neon green and cloudy, handing it swiftly to the worker droid for cleaning, and shift to lean forward against the counter when a silvery glint catches your eye, weaving within the crowd but out of sight in a mere flash. Craning your neck to identify it once more, your attention is forcibly yanked away by...ugh.

“It’s been too long,” drawled a familiar voice from beyond the bar, and you were instantly relieved to have said barrier in place. The speaker was a Balosar gang member that you distinctly remember from the week before, having had the privilege of cleaning up after him when he couldn’t hold his liquor. The ordeal only came after his vehement effort to coax you into a date. For three hours straight.

He was a lanky young thing, fresh off the docking bay from his homeworld. His clothes were disheveled, but only just enough that it was evident he was trying too hard to appear rugged. His eyes were glazed over this time, though, and you could tell he was barely lucid. You couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he’d last if staying in town was part of his MO.

“Not long enough, Bez,” you retort, instinctively. Funnily enough, your second instinct was to casually slide your hand underneath the glossy tabletop to grasp the handle of a blaster you kept at arm’s reach for safety reasons. You wouldn’t need it, necessarily, but perhaps you could chase him away so as to not be doomed to a shift spent babysitting. It was either that or staging a brawl, which sounded like way too much work.

“You know I couldn’t keep myself away for- hey, what the-”

While Baz was presumably gearing up to give his new and improved pitch, you were checking the barrel of your WESTAR-34 while your hip shifted to rest snugly against the nearby pillar.

“Oh, by all means, keep going,” you continue, the faint echo of a smile edging across your cheeks. You were occupying yourself with polishing the hilt using your jacket sleeve, watching the refraction of light bounce erratically from multicolored lamps overhead.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m here to speak to a man named Jigo Delac. Is he here?”

It’s amazing how the specific cadence of someone’s voice can carry such depth and promise, especially if it’s being augmented by a modulator. It was undeniable; your attention was captured in an instant.

You expected Baz to do something idiotic and ask who the fuck this guy thought he was talking to, but he seemed to slink away almost immediately.

Once you raised your head, you understood why.

“Rough timing, friend. You just missed him,” you respond swiftly, adjusting your gaze higher to meet the stranger’s eyes but finding the distinct gleam of a t-visor instead. Of course.

Your shoulders do something funny, not quite tensing up but rather rolling back as your posture shifted. The lone figure was taller than you by a couple inches from what you could tell, seemingly armored in beskar from head to toe. Well, that was what you assumed, given that anything below his chestplate was obscured by your little firewater-filled enclosure.

“But…,” you continue melodically, drawing out the word while simultaneously leaning in his direction until your elbows brushed the tabletop, “He’ll be back soon. You can hang tight ‘till then, if you want.”

Okay, that was a lie, and a pretty big one as well, considering that your boss had left on business two cycles ago and wouldn’t return for three more. It’s just that something was telling you not to let this one walk away so easily. To see the crowd consume him once again and be devoid of alluring conversation for the rest of the night was an unbearable consequence to dwell on.

He wasn’t the first Mandalorian you had the fortune of seeing in person. Their kind was few, practically archaic, and prone to isolation, but Taris was a hub for anyone interested in mercenary work. It was along the Hydian Way as well, previously passing through what scholars referred to as the Mandalorian Road.

You motioned for him to sit with a quick nod of your head and watched the stranger, this Mandalorian, exhibit an apprehensive indication before settling down on the stool directly in front of you. His helmet, though decisively tinted, left room for some expressiveness. Even though you couldn’t perceive any facial articulation, his body language spoke for itself.

Somebody further down the line flagged you down for a drink, and so you shifted into mixology mode, grabbing bottles off the wall. The man’s presence was certainly assertive. It was also strangely serene, as the two of you sank into a comfortable silence over the next twenty minutes.

His stoicism was kind of intriguing you, though. That whole crowd wasn’t really known for their talkative nature. Still, you were growing more intent on picking his brain. A lull in drink orders prompted you to retrieve two short glasses and plunk them down between the two of you.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” he said, and you could sense he was looking at you. If you didn’t know better, you would say he was meeting your eyes.

“Is it uh, because of the…?,” you brought a finger up to trace the outline of your own jaw in an allusion to the helmet which remained on; this was according to religious protocol, you had heard.

“Mostly, yes.”

You nodded slowly, pouring a shot in each glass anyways.

“Guess I’ll pick up your slack,” you respond curtly, proceeding to throw back both of them.

You could’ve sworn you heard a low hint of laughter from under his breath.

______________

“I just now realized that you never told me your name.”

The roar of the late night crowd had all but died out, leaving wide open space at a nearby table. You had happily hurdled the bar as you’ve done a thousand times before, tossing a rag to KO-6D as you went. Hours had passed, and you suspected the moons to set soon enough. If he realized something was suspect, he hadn’t let on, instead choosing to trade stories for a while.

“Most people just end up calling me Mando,” he answered. He seemed relieved to see the labor droid power down fully, and reclined a little further back in his chair.

Your acquaintance, now Mando, had taken the seat opposite you once again. You drew your knees close to your chest, forever unable to sit in a chair correctly.

“Alright, short for Mandalorian. That’s what you are, but not who you are though, y’know?”

“Should I cut you off?” The tone was playful, and you matched his sarcasm with an airy giggle that trailed off with the surety that he was staring at you again.

Silence hung like a star in the sky for 10 palpable seconds before you blurted out,

“I might’ve uh...underestimated Jigo’s penchant to turn an errand into a business trip. I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”

Now you were stressing a little bit. Was he gonna be pissed? Even worse, would he leave?

Unable to cope with the uncertainty, you get up to go hop onto the bar, perched with your legs dangling off the edge in a sort of retreat.

“Yeah, I gathered that about an hour ago,” Mando said, mostly unfazed. He tilted his head inquisitively, as if he wanted you to finish a thought.

“Did I waste your time, though?” The second you say it, you want to groan at how stupid it sounds.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, trust me.”

There was a pronounced softness to that statement, and it brought heat rising to the surface of your cheeks. You were looking very hard at the floor, but you heard a distant shifting from his chair as he went to stand before you, leaving just enough room so that you could get down if you wanted to, but you were close enough to see your own reflection in the helmet.

The courage to look back at him accrued slowly but surely, and you reached for his gloved hand first, as a test.

He allowed you to take it, but did little else.

“I don’t usually…” he trailed off a bit shakily, a surprising display of shyness from someone who spoke with such conviction. You noticed at this proximity that his shoulders, pauldrons or no, were broad as hell. You nodded faintly, finding an explanation needless. Your thumb ghosted over the material covering his palm, and you attempted to tug him closer by the arm.

“C’mere,” is what you could muster, and it worked well enough judging by the way he shifted to settle his arms at your waist. You were drawn in from the get go, but steeled yourself enough to reach for the surface of his chest plating first, letting your hands skim the expanse before landing tentatively on his shoulders.

Effects of the firewater still burned faintly within your chest, swirling around in a vortex of confusion and anticipation and more strikingly, want.

Paying attention to where the beskar plating met twiny, thick fabric, you grasped tighter as if to soothe the tension from his neck. Body heat was radiating from the juncture between his neck and shoulder and you felt the strongest urge to bury your face into it.

Just when you expected it the least, he hooked both of his hands underneath your knees, pulling you closer with ease until he was properly stood between your legs.

You had a bit of a height advantage, situated on the chilly slab of synrock. Thankfully, you’d cleared it off earlier, but broken glass wouldn’t have stopped either of you.

You were caught in a light gasp, suddenly at a much closer proximity. Both of his hands settled steadily on your clothed outer thighs. Clearly, you would be thrilled to be rid of every layer, to feel how rough his palms were from the strain of combat as they dug into your bare skin. It was increasingly apparent, though, that this type of intimacy was already pushing his boundaries. Try as he might to inhibit it, you could detect a tremor in his breaths that you couldn’t resist trying to soothe.

You leaned back briefly in order to shrug the patched bomber jacket off of your shoulders and land on the floor, neglected. All that remained was your black sleeveless top, which was already beginning to ride up on your torso, prompting goosebumps to form.

You were mindful of the blaster at his hip, as well as the blades sheathed along his thigh, but knew better than to think they posed a danger. Nobody had a bounty out on you, surely. Your boss took good care of his charges, provided protection. If you were being tracked, Jigo would be the first to know.

Slowly, you wind your arms around the Mandalorian’s neck until your forehead meets the front of his helmet with a gentle thud. Eyes lidded, you spent a moment just like that, imagining what exactly the galaxy was playing at by bringing this masked bounty hunter to your cantina.

You felt his hands hover at your waist for a beat before one came to grip your inner thigh, and you decided then that this slow burn was no good for your nerves.

“Does a girl have to beg for it?” You ask at a half-whisper, fingers skimming the contours of the helmet.

It seemed like this one was full of surprises. In an instant, he was lifting you and making short work of your pants, which you suspect ended up on the floor as well. Left feeling significantly underdressed and equally aroused, you could do nothing but hold on tight as the hand that wasn’t holding you steady brushed your inner thighs, inching ever closer to where you needed it most.

It didn’t even bother you that his gloves remained on, and you arched into his palm, muttering obscenities while he palmed you over your underclothes.

“Only if you want to,” he retorted, more than a little breathless himself. You made an instinctive reach for the sizable tent below his belt, feeling a jolt of satisfaction when he dropped his head onto your shoulder with a low groan.

You sure as hell didn’t see it happen, but Mando yanked the glove off his right hand and proceeded to continue teasing you.

Whimpering in realization, you understood that he wanted to feel for himself whether you were soaked through your panties.

The answer was yes.

Every part of you was screaming for him, eager to come apart under his hands as he busied himself parting the fabric to give you even better friction. One finger slipped in easily, and two had you keening within his grasp. He was enveloping you, and you felt yourself going mad with it, especially when you inhaled to draw in his scent.

It became apparent that this wasn’t his first rodeo, so to speak. He was crooking his fingers so precisely, kneading the heel of his wrist into your most sensitive area, avoiding any direct contact that would make you flinch or shy away. Within minutes, you were nearing your climax at breakneck speed.

“Go ahead,” he urged, voice alight with the anticipation of witnessing your peak. His hips had been canting against you with his own need, seemingly not of his own accord, and the prospect of getting him over the edge as well made a whimper bubble to the surface of your chest while you spasmed fiercely on his fingers.

All the Imperial troops in the galaxy couldn’t stop you from dropping to your knees after that. One moment, you were mouthing his clothed length, and the next, he was gripping the edge of the table and moaning words of encouragement, even as he came.

It boggled your mind to think that a brief, frankly juvenile sexual encounter could feel meaningful, dare you say...intimate? Living on the lawless side of the systems had its perks, but trustworthy confidants were in short supply; and people that you’d allow in your bed, even shorter.

The two of you spent a good while catching your breath. You threw the bounty hunter a hand towel, exchanging quips like you’d known each other for years. That fondness, the heart-wrenching ease with which he ran his fingers through your hair- that was worth something.

When you parted ways, you were leaning gingerly against the doorway, having had the pleasure of flustering your Mandalorian all over again after standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to the beskar where his cheek would be.

As you watched him take his leave under the heavy shadow of Taris’ moons, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being sentenced to a great deal of waiting. For what, you didn’t yet understand.

There were worse things than that.

#reader insert #writing in second person gave me a headache but like maybe it was that I was shitfaced as well #the mandalorian #this reader has a 🐱and uses she/her pronouns IG #cantina shenanigans #COUNTLESS hours on wookiepedia that I will never get back #but it's canon bongs exist in Star Wars #table sex #thank u if u read it #dyn jarren #baby yoda #Star Wars fanfic

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vergils-daughter · 5 years

Text

V x Reader „Forget me not”

“Today I found your dress –it was lying in the bedroom, as if ready to be put on. It has a beautiful color of cornflowers. I am curious if it suits your eyes, did you choose it to highlight them? I cannot find your photos, so it is only an empty guess.”

“I appreciate the collection of Your books. I took the liberty of gathering them from the floor and putting them in order on the shelf. My mother thought me that one must take care of the books. Sometimes it is the only thing that remains – to look after what is dead, but contains the whole world of memories.”

“Judging by the stuff I found in your closet you are slim but rather short. It is funny, you would merely reach my wishbone. Griffon discerned that I would have to put you on a stool to be able to look you in the eyes and not bend myself too much...

I would carry you in my arms instead.

Forgive me this familiarity. You would surely not wish for it.”

“I see you have quite the collection of various types of tea. I adore it too. Well brew sencha could do wonders, it is any better than coffee. I hope you don’t mind, but I used this adorable cast-iron kettle which I found in the dresser and I spent my afternoon by a teacup. It is so magnificent to feel that smell after so many days of dwelling in raddled houses, filled with the nasty stink of putrescence.”

“I keep writing, even though I can’t be sure you will ever receive these letters. There is no point in this. You may even not be alive anymore. Tomorrow I could stumble across your body buried under the stack of debris. I cannot stop thinking about this.”

„It is... curious. Straight line of nose as though it was made with a single brushstroke, gentle lips only slightly curved in a grin of cogitation. I bet they are soft in touch. The photo is black and white so I still can’t tell what is the color of your eyes. But what I see pleases me. I was gawking at your photo for a long time, too afraid to breath or make mane a sudden move. As though I fear that the whole picture will disintegrate into pieces. The Shadow laid down at my feet and fell asleep. And I am contemplating Your photo. On its back there is a name. Y/N.”

„Y/N, where are you? What fate befell you? Is there a mere chance that you ever read the letters I left here and there? It becomes my obsession. I am returning to this apartment every day, even though I still need to do so many things before I meet with Nero. Gryphon mocks me more than usual, but well, I did give him the reasons to laugh.”

„Your place looks way better now. I supported the bookcase with a peg, but be careful, because it still can fall over. I gathered all the sharp pieces from the broken window pane so one can easily walk around the bed, although there may still be a few smaller pieces lost in the carpet. I changed the linen. Your china did not suffer much damage, as well as the wardrobe. There I stashed all the clothes that were laying on the floor and the couch.

I could not resist. For a short time I was sitting in a chair near the window with your dress pressed to my face, inhaling your scent. I know it is highly inappropriate. Please, forgive me this awful weakness.”

“I think I know what to do. I need to go. Because, you see, my days here are numbered. I can either spend them roaming the city and seeking a way to prolong my pathetic existence – or I can thwart what the former me began. And only by bringing him back to life I have the opportunity to find you. I know it seems like a complete absurd, but I would rather not go into details, all this is way too much muddled.

I must... he must... seek you. Prevent you from being forgotten. Vergil needs to be brought back.

But he shall remember, too. This is why I keep repeating this everyday like a mantra: Your name, Your face, Your house. I hide Your photo in the book to ensure he will find it. This way I am increasing the odds that he recalls it all.”

“Today Nero should arrive in the district. I am setting out to encounter him. The apartment awaits You, as well as my letters. You can come back calm, my Dear.”

Polish version:

„Znalazłem dziś Twoją suknię – leżała w sypialni, jakby gotowa do założenia. Ma piękny, chabrowy kolor. Ciekawe, czy pasuje do Twoich oczu, czy wybrałaś go, by je podkreślić? Nigdzie nie mogę znaleźć Twoich zdjęć, więc to tylko próżna zgadywanka.”

„Podoba mi się Twoja kolekcja książek. Pozwoliłem sobie pozbierać je z podłogi i poustawiać na półkach. Matka nauczyła mnie, że o książki trzeba dbać. Czasami to jedyne, co nam pozostaje – dbać o to, co martwe, a zawiera w sobie cały świat i masę wspomnień.”

„Sądząc po Tych rzeczach, które znalazłem w szafie, jesteś szczupła ale dość niska. To zabawne, sięgałabyś mi ledwie do mostka. Gryf uznał, że musiałbym Cię postawić na stołku by móc Ci spojrzeć w oczy nie pochylając się...

Zamiast tego nosiłbym Cię w ramionach cały czas.

Wybacz tą poufałość. Pewnie byś sobie tego nie życzyła.”

„Widzę, że masz całkiem pokaźną kolekcję herbat. Też je lubię. Dobrze zaparzona sencha potrafi zdziałać cuda, jest lepsza od kawy. Mam nadzieję, że nie masz nic przeciwko, ale skorzystałem z tego uroczego żeliwnego czajniczka, który znalazłem w kredensie i spędziłem popołudnie przy filiżance herbaty. To takie niezwykłe czuć ten zapach po tylu dniach przebywania w zniszczonych, przepełnionych wonią rozkładu domach.”

„Piszę do Ciebie, chociaż nie mam pewności, że kiedykolwiek otrzymasz me listy. To bez sensu. Możesz już przecież nie żyć. Jutro mogę natknąć się na Twoje ciało pogrzebane pod stertą gruzu. Nie mogę przestać o tym myśleć.”

„To... niezwykłe. Prosta linia nosa, jak pociągnięta pędzlem, delikatne usta lekko wykrzywione w grymasie zmyślenia. Założę się, że są miękkie w dotyku. Fotografia jest czarno-biała, więc nadal nie wiem, jaki kolor mają Twoje oczy. Ale to, co widzę, wprawia mnie w zachwyt. Gapiłem się w Twoje zdjęcie przez długi czas, bojąc się oddychać czy wykonać gwałtowniejszy ruch. Jakby w obawie, że ten obraz się rozpadnie. Cień położył się u mych stóp i zasnął. A ja kontempluję Twoje zdjęcie. Z tyłu jest imię. „Y/N”.”

„Y/N, gdzie jesteś? Co się z Tobą stało? Czy istnieje szansa, że kiedykolwiek przeczytasz moje listy, które zostawiam tu i ówdzie? To zaczyna przeradzać się w obsesję. Wracam do tego mieszkania codziennie, mimo że powinienem zrobić jeszcze tyle rzeczy przed umówionym spotkaniem z Nero. Gryf nabija się ze mnie bardziej, niż o tej pory, ale cóż, sam dałem mu powody do śmiechu.”

„Twoje mieszkanie wygląda już o wiele lepiej. Regał podparłem kołkiem, ale uważaj, bo może się przewrócić. Pozbierałem kawałki szkła z rozbitego okna, więc można już swobodnie chodzić wokół łóżka, aczkolwiek jest ryzyko, że parę ostrych kawałków zawieruszyło się w dywanie. Zmieniłem pościel. Twoja zastawa nie ucierpiała, podobnie jak szafa z ubraniami. Schowałem do niej te, które leżały na podłodze i kanapie.

Nie mogłem się powstrzymać. Przez jakiś czas siedziałem w fotelu pod oknem, z Twoją suknią przyciśniętą do twarzy, wdychając Twój zapach. Wiem, że to niestosowane. Wybacz mi tę słabość.”

„Chyba już wiem, co zrobię. Odejdę. Bo widzisz, moje dni tutaj są policzone. Mam do wyboru przeżyć je, włócząc się po mieście i szukając sposobu na przedłużenie mojej nędznej egzystencji - albo udaremnić to, co zaczął mój dawny ja. A tylko przywracając go na powrót do życia mam szansę na odnalezienie Cię. To brzmi absurdalnie, ale wolę nie wchodzić w szczegóły, to wszystko jest zbyt zagmatwane.

Muszę... on musi... poszukać Cię. Uratować od zapomnienia. Vergil powinien wrócić.

Ale musi też pamiętać. Dlatego powtarzam to sobie każdego dnia jak mantrę: Twoje imię, Twoja twarz, Twój dom. Chowam do książki Twoje zdjęcie, by mieć pewność, że on je odnajdzie. Wtedy zwiększam szanse na to, że mu się przypomni.”

„Dziś w dzielnicy powinien pojawić się Nero. Wyruszam mu na spotkanie. Mieszkanie czeka na Ciebie, podobnie jak moje listy. Możesz wrócić spokojna, Kochanie.”

#dmc5 #dmc v #dmc spoilers #dmc v x reader #a letter #do not forget him #he needs love

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pcrcbih · 5 years

Text

Sport and Unity – “Two Cities, One Dream”

The European Youth Olympics Festival (EYOF) that took place last week in Bosnia and Herzegovina, joined two cities - Sarajevo and East Sarajevo in a positive spirit of unity and collective pride to host this remarkable event.

Written by: Paraskevi Peglidou

“Two Cities, One Dream” – this year’s motto of the EYOF, had a deeper meaning for the local communities than simply a multi-sport event. It was an opportunity for cooperation between the two sides and the sharing of a common vision to create hope for building sustainable relationships.

The EYOF also presented the opportunity to gain support and momentum in an area that constitutes an endemic problem in Bosnia and Herzegovina (BiH); smoking. According to The World Bank’s report: Time to Quit: The Tobacco Tax Increase and Household Welfare in Bosnia and Herzegovina (January 2019), over 8.500 people die every year from tobacco-related diseases. This is a staggering number of deaths that can be prevented through the promotion of a smoke-free environment in the country.

The Swiss Agency for Development and Cooperation, the World Health Organisation and the World Bank are working together to encourage citizens of BiH to adopt healthy lifestyles and develop regulations within areas influencing the health risk factors of tobacco and alcohol. ‘Klima Bez Dima’ is the official name of the initiative launched in the framework of the project “Reducing Health Risk Factors in BiH.” A major part of the initiative is a pledge of support for a smoke-free environment in BiH. Last Thursday, ‘Klima Bez Dima’ volunteers joined the EYOF at the ice hockey finals between the Czech Republic and Belarus. They spoke to the public, informed them about the initiative and asked them to actively show their support by signing the pledge.

Overall, there was substantial interest in the initiative and positive feedback. The event was a promising step towards gaining the support needed for the adoption and implementation of effective smoke-free policies. A short video from the event is available here.

Željko Kajtaz, a member of the Armed Forces of BiH who was securing the EYOF event said: "I strongly believe in and support this initiative. Firstly, we should ban public smoking because it affects our health. Secondly, because it affects the environment and stops us from having a good time in public spaces."

While, Saša, a visitor attending the hockey game said: "I was recently in Germany where smoking in public spaces is banned and, truthfully, now being back to Bosnia makes me ill. I've noticed how much environments with smoke affect my eyes and breathing. We need to ban smoking in public spaces for the wellbeing of all our people."

This year at the EYOF, over 1,500 young and talented athletes from 46 European countries travelled to Bosnia to compete in sports ranging from alpine skiing and ice hockey, to figure skating and curling. Their presence in the city spread the values of respect, tolerance and friendship. The potential of youth as a leading and influential force of progress make the significance of this event even greater. Initiatives like the ‘Klima Bez Dima’ are of immense importance as they aim to create a healthier environment for the country’s youth.

The positive impact of sport and its power in bringing people together was echoed by Josef Liba, Chair of the European Olympic Committee CoCom for the Winter EYOF 2019 in his statement: “From the beginning, the main goal behind bringing the EYOF to Sarajevo and East Sarajevo was to show the local people that there is happiness in the world, something we can achieve through sport”.

The unifying power of sport and its ability to bridge gaps by bringing together people from different communities has been proven throughout history. Two recent examples of this were the 1995 Rugby World Cup that brought together a deeply divided South Africa to the 23rd Winter Olympic Games in Pyeongchang, South Korea where athletes of North and South Korea marched together in the opening ceremony. It has been over three decades since the Olympic “flame of peace” was last lit in Bosnia and Herzegovina at the Winter Olympics in 1984. Since then, the nation has been through a series of brutal conflicts and war in the 1990s that have left a profound chasm across the different ethnic communities that are still trying to heal from the scars and look forward.

At the ceremony on January 31st when the city received the Olympic flame, Nenad Vukovic the Mayor of East Sarajevo said in a statement to the Balkan Investigative Regional Reporting Network: “EYOF 2019 sends a message of good cooperation between the two cities and is a project that shows that we can cooperate on the basis on interests when we estimate that projects will benefit both cities”. While, Abdulah Skaka the Mayor of Sarajevo said: “With this project we have succeeded in bringing together politics, economy, culture and sports”.

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inkognito97 · 6 years

Note

Quigon's reaction to the hellhound is shock and anger but then he starts to coo over the three headed puppy. Also what's the hellhound's name? Because I could see it as bezelbub and it's nickname would be bez.

@mostie01

With a groan, Qui-Gon sat back in the uncomfortable kitchen chair. It was about time that he requested new ones from the quarter master. It couldn’t be that his back began to hurt after sitting an hour, controlling homework.

“I hate paperwork,” he groaned once more, rubbing at his temple. It was already bad enough that he and his Padawan were to stay in the temple for an uncertain amount of time so that his ginger haired brat could catch up to his agemates, but the Council - in their endless kindness - had given him a class to teach and supervise since apparently the Master, who usually taught them, was ill. It was not like Qui-Gon did not like to teach, he just hated to correct papers.

He pushed a few strands of his brown hair out of his face. His braid had gotten lose, but he couldn’t bother himself to renew it. He wondered how his Padawan was faring. He knew for a fact that Obi-Wan was making much progress in the material he had missed. It was incredible and astonished the bearded male every time, how easy his student rushed through his lessons. Weren’t this the case, they wouldn’t be able to go on such long and certainly not on so many missions.

A quick check on the chrono that hung on the wall across from him, told the Jedi Master that his charge’s last lesson had ended an hour or so ago. Usually, the ginger haired Padawan went to meditate afterwards, or he spared alone. The hour after lessons was Obi-Wan’s time and Obi-Wan’s alone. It was important for growing people to have freedoms and Obi-Wan was no exception.

“I wonder when he will be back,” the long haired man mumbled to himself. He did not deny that the boy’s mere presence did wonders to his mood. He was a beacon on the Force and he always lightened his day.

As if on cue, did Qui-Gon hear the door to their shared quarters opening. A lot of Obi-Wan’s agemates preferred having their own rooms, but the ginger haired male liked living with his Master. He would be spending most of his time with the older male anyway.

“I’m home,” called Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon didn’t stop the smile that appeared on his features. “Welcome home, Padawan. I trust that you had a good day?”

“Yes,” the boy called from the hallway. “Though I had a strange run-in with Master Tahl.”

“Oh?” a bad feeling arose in his chest. “Why ‘strange’?” he asked.

“That’s hard to explain… I can show you,” the Padawan answered.

Qui-Gon was just trying to decide if it was worth the effort to stand up and meet the boy, or if he should at least pretend to be the proper Jedi Master and be ‘patient’. Eventually he deemed it better to change his sitting accommodation and he made his way into the living room, just in time for his Padawan to enter as well.

Qui-Gon was startled at his Padawan’s appearance. It was not the boy himself that was unusually, but that he obviously had a living being in his arms. He tilted his head. “Padawan,” he started carefully, Tahl already forgotten in the face of this… development, “is this perhaps a ‘pathetic lifeform’ that I see there?” he could not help but tease.

To the boy’s credit, he did not blush, but he WAS fidgeting uncomfortable. “No exactly Master?” The older male raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an explanation. “It is a… gift.”

“A gift?” he wondered. Who would gift his student a ‘pathetic lifeform’ as Obi-Wan always called them?

“Well,” the boy got to his knees, setting the bundle down and desperately trying to unwrap the small being, which was trashing around like a fish out of water, making it hard for the ginger haired teenager. “You see, little Beelzebub - or Belz for short - was a present from Master Tahl.”

He had finally managed to get the towel off of the animal, who rolled over the floor, before getting to his feet.

Qui-Gon was not sure what he was supposed to do or to feel now. There was his natural connection to all living things, but his mind screamed at him to get away from the three-headed puppy as soon as possible. There was definitely something demonic around it.

There was also anger in the Jedi Master, a lot of it in fact. How DARE this woman get so close to his Padawan? It was bad enough that she was spending so much time with him, but since it was part of the deal, it couldn’t be evaded. But hadn’t he made it absolutely clear that she was to stay away from Obi-Wan?

The middle head barked happily, the dog’s tail was wiggling wildly and the creature jumped up and down in excitement. He was a buoyant little thing. The right head turned and started nibbling at the ear of the middle head, which gave a pained yelp and therefore caused the left head to growl in annoyance. Qui-Gon wondered if all head could feel pain if one of them experienced it, but then he quickly pushed that thought aside. He DIDN’T want to know, because he didn’t want to have to do anything with that thing.

The dog however, seemed oblivious to the tall male’s turmoil, for he turned to look at the Padawan. All three heads barked friendly at the boy and when Obi-Wan opened his arms, the creature dashed forward. Qui-Gon was about to yell for his Padawan to get away from that monstrosity, when the dog suddenly stumbled over its own paws, doing a somersault and landing sprawled on the ground before the ginger haired boy.

Obi-Wan chuckled, he too did not seem to notice his Master’s anger at the demon woman. Instead the Padawan reached out and picked the dog up, settling it on his lap and allowing the three heads to eagerly licks his face.

It was in this moment that Qui-Gon hated his connection to the living Force more than anything. His Padawan was happy and the only feelings he could read from the three-headed dog, were happiness, awe and something that felt close to love, which was solemnly directed at the merry Padawan.

“Can we keep him Master, please?” it was rare of Obi-Wan to ask for anything and therefore it was hard for Qui-Gon to say ‘no’.

The Jedi Master in question watched the boy and the dog play on the ground, before he slowly crept forward, kneeling beside his charge. “I don’t know Padawan,” he replied.

“Please?” it was hard to say, who looked more like a puppy in this moment, the three-headed puppy itself or the Padawan with the wide and pleading blue-green eyes.

Something told Qui-Gon - and it sounded suspiciously like both the Force AND his consciousness - that his Padawan would not talk or voluntary spent time with him, were he to say ‘no’.

“Obi-Wan, this is a huge responsibility,” he said carefully. Was he just imagining it, or was there a light bond between boy and dog?

“I know Master and I promise, will take good care of him.”

The long haired Jedi Master was struggling with himself. It was the fact that it had been Tahl, who had given the little creature to his Padawan that bothered him so. He slowly reached out to the dog, allowing all three heads to sniff his hand, before petting the one closest to him.

“Alright,” he sighed. “But you are responsible for him. Train him and take good care of him, or we will have to give him away.”

“I will Master, I promise,” the Force was almost blinding. It reflected the pure joy of the young Padawan and while it was heartwarming, it did nothing to lighten Qui-Gon’s heart. He desperately hoped that he had not just committed a huge mistake…

#star wars #demon au #demon tahl #deal with the devil #hellhound #obi-wan's pet #obi wan kenobi #beelzebub the hellhound #qui gon jinn #poor qui-gon #he doesn't know what to do #worry #anger #padawan obi-wan #happy obi-wan #prompt #mostie01

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pandolfo-malatesta · 7 years

Text

Bez práce nie sú koláče

Zazvor, škorica, nové korenie, muka, mlieko, cukor, vajcia... And a knock at the door.

She dusted flour off her hands before she left the kitchen. “Hey,” Roman said when she opened the door. “I saw your ma on the way up; she said I should come help you.” His expression had been curious, puzzled by her mother’s words, but as he took in her apron light dawned. One corner of his mouth raised.

Hana stepped aside to let him in, then lifted her face for a kiss. He willingly obliged before shutting the door behind them. “Will you really help?” she asked over her shoulder as she headed back into the kitchen.

“Sure.” When he joined her he’d shucked his coat; now, standing beside her with hands on hips, he surveyed the counter. “What’re we makin’?”

To her it was obvious: the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and ginger and sugar; the oven was warming slowly. “Perník.” What else could it be?

“Cake or cookies?”

“Cake. We will have perník na figurky at Christmas.”

He picked up a small tin, levered off the lid, and sniffed deeply. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, wrinkling his nose and closing the tin. Maybe the Roths and Vande Kerks could afford to have cake whenever they pleased; the Kollárs and Kučeras of the world needed a reason, and a good one at that.

“Mama’s name day is soon. Every year I make perník for her.” She’d started one year when Mama hadn’t been feeling well, and had carried on ever since. Now it didn’t feel like autumn had really begun until she’d made the cake.

He nodded, looking over the counter full of tins and jars and bottles, a big wooden spoon at the ready next to an empty bowl, the baking pan already greased and floured. “So what do we do first?”

She stared at him for a moment, considering; apart from carrying groceries home he’d never done anything to instill confidence in his domestic capabilities, and she could make the recipe practically in her sleep. But it wouldn’t hurt if he pitched in. Probably.

“If you are going to help—”

“I said I was gonna, didn’t I?” With his face screwed up in a mock scowl, he crossed his arms. “Besides, your ma told me to.”

“—then you will need an apron. Vest off,” she ordered.

“Tryin’ to get me undressed, Miss Kollár?”

If Mama had told him to come up while Hana was there alone, it was because she trusted that Hana would not be distracted from her baking. Normally she would be right; but the smirking curl of his lips and the way he reached for the top button, sliding it out of the hole deliberately and not once breaking eye contact, were awfully tempting. She turned away to grab Mama’s apron, ignoring his self-satisfied chuckle as he threw the vest onto the chair with his coat. When he returned, rolling up his sleeves, she slipped the apron over his head, then wrapped her arms around him to cross the long strings, bringing them forward to tie at his waist. It was neither surprise nor disappointment that he took advantage of the proximity to kiss her, dropping playful pecks on her cheeks and lips; she dodged them as best she could.

He was laughing at she tugged sharply on the knot. “I must pay attention now,” she warned. “And you must pay attention to me.”

“I am payin’ attention to you. Can’t ya tell?” His hands settled at her waist, trying to pull her closer, but she stood her ground.

“Not like that. You must listen to what I say, Roman. I do not want to make a mistake with Mama’s cake. Rozumieš?”

Something flickered in his eyes before he let her go. “Rozumím.”

And thereafter he did indeed follow her directions, creaming together the butter and sugar in one bowl as she shook flour into the other. He watched what she was doing with genuine interest; for her part, she had to blink away from the movement of the muscles in his forearm as he stirred. “Aren’t ya s’posed to measure that stuff?”

“Not if you are good,” she answered, allowing a self-satisfied smirk. He laughed.

“Somebody’s been spendin’ too much time with Tumbs.”

“Next I will be spitting before I shake hands.” She directed him to crack the eggs into his bowl and beat them in, and then added spices into her own.

“Pauline’ll love that.”

“Now add some milk. A little more...that is good.”

He stirred the milk in carefully, though he kept glancing from the contents of the bowl to the ingredients she’d laid out before his arrival. His eyebrows began to knit together; when she was about to ask what was wrong, he wondered aloud, “No honey? Matka used to make it that way. I think,” he added, his frown deepening.

Though she wouldn’t dare contradict either his mother or his memory of her, this recipe was in its third generation and she would stand by it. “There are many different recipes, as many as there are mothers. This is how my mama learned it from her mama.” A little at a time, she poured her mixture of flour and spices into his bowl, pausing to let him combine the two. “But,” she added, trying not to sound too conspicuously encouraging, “honey goes in figurky.”

Roman didn’t look up from his stirring, but some tension eased from his face. “Maybe that was it.”

“We will make some at Christmas,” she said again. “Do you think Tumbler will help?”

He chuckled. “Help eat ’em, sure.”

She gently pushed him out of the way and finished mixing the batter herself, checking for lumps and eyeing the color. As she did he wiped his hands on the apron and watched—and this time, she could tell, he was watching not what she did but her. “Done,” she announced, as if it had been the former. Though it wasn’t necessary he held the prepared pan steady as she poured the batter in. When she’d scraped the dregs into the pan and spread the batter to the edges she handed him the spoon to lick, and she dragged her finger around the inside of the bowl.

The batter was perfectly fragrant, light and sweet. She licked the last of it from her finger and looked up at him. “What do you think?”

His eyes were on her fingertip and her mouth; then he wrenched them away to blink at the spoon in his hand like he’d never seen it before. He trailed his tongue up the inner curve and a shiver ran up her back. “It’s good,” he said, his voice low. When their eyes met she hoped he’d start paying attention to her the other way again; but he cleared his throat and looked at the pan and asked, “How long’s it gotta cook for?”

“An hour.” She slid the pan into the oven, checked the temperature and then the time. By the time it was done and the kitchen cleaned, Mama or Tatko or both would be home. It was probably for the best.

Roman had stationed himself in front of the sink and was piling it full of the bowls and spoons. “Now this I know how to do,” he said. “I’ll have you know I was trained in dish-washin’ at one of the finest dinin’ establishments in this city.”

“Delmonico’s?” she gasped, eyes wide and one hand at her throat.

His head had jerked up at her startled noise; now he rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’ve been spendin’ too much time with me,” he grumbled, unable to hide a smile.

The bottle of milk went back into the icebox, the dry ingredients into their cupboards. If making the perník had taken a bit longer with him there, cleaning up after it was taking less time than usual, and for that she was thankful. Something made her pause, the jar of flour in her hands, and take in the scene. The kitchen was bathed in late-afternoon light, buttery and soft; the scent of gingerbread and the warmth of the oven had flooded the apartment. From the sink came a gentle plashing as Roman scrubbed, and above that she could just make out his humming. A feeling she couldn’t name crowded her chest, a feeling that was even now expanding, spreading out of her to fill the room. He looked as content as she’d ever seen him, and that it was while doing something so mundane, so quotidian as washing up made her heart clench in sadness and hope at once. She didn’t want to move, to breathe, to do anything that would change this moment; she wanted to feel like this always. Still clutching the jar, she kissed him on the cheek.

Though one dark eyebrow raised he neither stopped washing nor spoke. But a happy noise interrupted his humming, and he smiled.

By the time Mama returned home the dishes had been dried and put away, the cake was on the counter, covered with a cloth, and Roman (again in his vest) and Hana were side by side on the settee, the one reading as the other sewed. She looked up to see Mama sniffing the air with satisfaction.

Roman shut the book. “I’ll get out o’ here now,” he said.

“You must come back and try the perník,” Mama told him. When he protested— or tried to, at least—that that wasn’t necessary and it was her cake, she spoke over him, saying that since it was her cake, she could share it with whoever she wanted, so he and Andy should come try some after dinner on Thursday. To that there was nothing he could do but agree.

As he stood Hana put aside her sewing and made to rise, but he stopped her. “Don’t worry about it; I can see myself out. Thanks for lettin’ me help,” he said, shrugging on his coat.

“Thank you for—” She stopped herself before “helping”; instead she tilted her head a bit and looked up at him with innocent eyes. “For paying very good attention,” she concluded.

He planted one hand on the arm of the settee and the other on its back; when he leaned down she still had to tip her head up to look him in the eye. “I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ how the cake turned out. ’Course,” he murmured, “I already know how it tastes,” and captured her lips, his own spicy-sweet and warm.

Bez práce nie sú koláče = though often translated as “No pain, no gain,” the proverb literally means “Without work, there are no cakes.” Zazvor, škorica, nové korenie, muka, mlieko, cukor, vajcia = ginger, cinnamon, allspice, flour, milk, sugar, eggs perník = bread or cake-type gingerbread perník na figurky = gingerbread cookies (though in my experience, somewhat puffier than I’d expect to find in America) Rozumieš = Do you understand? (SK) Rozumím = I understand. (CZ) Name days are awfully handy. I started writing this and then considered that, unlike me, Hana probably couldn’t really just bake treats for no good reason; but then I looked up Viera’s name day and lo and behold, it falls on October 5th.

#v New Yorku #Hana Kollar #I could have waited a few days to post this #but I just didn't feel like it

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 years

Text

Soft Names, Soft Touches*

Chapter Fourteen (NSFW)

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Bucky X OC | Word Count : 9.5K+ *NSFW* 18+

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, a lot of smut. Russian that may or may not be correct.

Bucky didn’t stop until he was in his room, door shut with the locks engaged. She wasn’t getting out of there anytime soon. Reaching his bed he flipped her up, stripped the blankets from Franki’s body, and carefully laid her across it. He stared down into annoyed silver eyes. “You ran from me.

“I thought I was doing the right thing!”

“You thought wrong!” Shaking his head, Bucky pressed his hands to either side of her and just stayed still. A mountain of unresolved emotions, churning, burning inside him, were waiting to volcano outwards at any moment. He took a deep breath. “You told me you didn’t need to run. That I’d already caught you. But you left. You left me! God dammit, Francessca!”

“Bucky…” she murmured, hating how harsh his voice was, how cold his eyes had become.

“No! No, Franki. Don’t you get it? I can’t let you go! Everything I’ve ever done has been out of duty. Join the war for my country? Check. Choose to stay to watch Steve’s back? Check. Nearly die? Check and fucking double check! Go to Wakanda and get as good as I possibly can because… because… fuck! I can’t leave Steve here to deal with all this shit on his own. But you. You, Francessca, are the first thing I ever looked at and thought, she’s mine. Not for duty or out of some sense of responsibility. Not out of some Hydra fucking bullshit they put in us, but because you are fucking mine! And I can’t let you go! I haven’t wanted anything for myself since before I joined up except you, and I can’t let you leave me! I won’t! Because I love you so damn much that thinking of me without you is like… like…”

“Dying,” she whispered.

“Yeah. And I’ve done that, Franki, or nearly, a couple of times.” He had never felt anything like it before until now. “I don’t like it. It feels like there is a hole in me that just keeps bleeding.”

“Oh, Bucky,” she sighed, and watched his head fall so that the ends of his hair brushed against her.

He’d said he wouldn’t let her go, but she was reasonably sure that if she told him to let her up, and if she found the will to walk out his door he would let her. But with all Helen had said she would be insane to leave now. It wouldn’t change anything, likely only make them both miserable, and even if Hydra had tampered with them did that make them any less happy when they were together? It wasn’t why she loved him.

Closing her eyes, Franki swallowed around the thick lump in her throat before finding the courage to look again at his face.

“Bucky?” Reaching for him slowly, she lightly cupped his jaw. When he finally looked at her, all she could see was pain and despair, all hope gone, and she cried out softly. Sliding her hand to the back of his neck she pulled him down. “YA tvoya devushka. Ty moye solntse. YA ne mogu zhit' bez tebya.”

…I am your girl. You are my sun. I can’t live without you.

Shuddering with her words, Bucky pressed his forehead to hers. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, Franki.”

Tears spilled into her hair. She gasped out harshly, “I do mean it!”

“Then say it. Say it! Skazshi chto lyubish menya!” He gripped a handful of her hair like a lifeline, demanding she tell him the truth.

“I love you!” Franki shouted. Crying softly, she gently tugged his shaggy locks and whispered, “I love you, Bucky. No one but you.”

He pressed fevered kisses to her lips and jaw, groaning, “I need you, Francessca. I need to touch you, hold you, be inside you. I can’t wait any longer. Let me love you. Let me make you mine.”

“Da, snegopad. Make love to me, Bucky.”

He reared back and ripped the thin cotton gown she was wearing straight down the middle, making her gasp.

“I won’t stop, malyutka. Not until I’ve touched every part of you with my hands, my mouth, my tongue. Not until I’ve sunk inside you and tasted you again. I’m gonna sink inside your soul, baby. Brand myself there so that you are as caught as I am.” Her eyes had grown darker, heavy-lidded, and he sank his left hand behind her neck, lifting her up to take her mouth in an act of possession.

His lips caressed hers, and she moaned quietly with the contact. Heat licked at her, little tongues of it that stroked her cells into life and followed the path of his warm fingers where they trailed over her hip and up her stomach. His palm found and cupped her breast, moulded it gently to the shape of his hand, and set her shivering. A gasping breath passed from her to him when his thumb drew over her nipple, and she reached with shaking hands for the buckles on his vest. Soft, velvety lips covered hers, drawing, pulling, teasing, making her mind foggy and her fingers weak.

Pulling on the buckles that refused to give, she finally jerked her head back in frustration. “Sukin syn!” she swore and shoved against his chest.

“Problems, doll face?” he licked his lips, tasting her on them, pulling the bottom one between his teeth to keep from laughing.

Growling, she shoved at him again. “Stand the hell up, Barnes!” She squeaked out a yelp when she found herself upright with him. At times she forgot just how strong he was until he reminded her in such a fashion.

The tattered remnants of her hospital gown fluttered to the floor. She stood before him like Godiva, covered only in her hair. The chestnut locks still contained much of their tight curl from her Halloween costume, and bounced against her, sliding along her smooth flesh in a caress his hands ached to follow. “I told you I wasn’t going to stop touching you, malen'kaya ten'.”

“Touch after. You have too much stuff on!” she huffed, glaring up at his laughing eyes, jerking on the buckles a second time. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was naked, but she couldn’t seem to care. All she knew was she wanted all this gear off him.

Sliding his hands down her back, he let them drop to his sides. “Then take it off, baby.”

Her mind went a little white with the invitation. Take it off? Strip back the layers and peel all his clothing off him? Yes, please, whispered a little deviant voice inside her.

Instantly her hands slowed, steadied, softened. The dexterity she’d lost in her initial rush returned. Slowly, she tugged the strap on his shoulder free. Her fingers drifted to the ones beneath his arm, and she pulled first one, then two, then three loose. With the third one, she let her eyes drift back up to deepening blue. The sapphire pools where shadowed by his thick lashes. She gave the final buckle a firm jerk. It rocked him forwards a little, but otherwise, he was immovable.

Catching the vest, Franki drew it down his arm, letting it fall quietly to the floor. The belt he wore which housed extra clips, knives and grenades were already missing. A fleeting thought had her remembering seeing it hanging from the chair in the infirmary. She reached instead for the holstered weapon on his left hip. Her fingers closed around it, and his hand close around hers in a cool brush of metal.

“Careful, moya zvezdochka,” he murmured, a smirk flirting with his lips. “Wouldn’t want any accidents now, would we?”

A fire lit in her eyes, and the smirk broke free. “Snezhinka,” she scoffed, but a smile was playing with her mouth as well.

Placing her hand on his chest, she urged him backwards, one step, two, before pulling the gun slowly, and laying it carefully on the top of his dresser. Letting the hand on his chest wander over his shirt, she drew it over his abs, down to remove the second and third guns from his hip. Tracing her fingertips up his thigh, she pulled both daggers. Once finished, she brought both hands to rest on his legs, drew them firmly upwards, sweeping for more weapons, before sliding them around his waist, causing her breasts to press flush to his body.

He groaned a wanton sound when her breasts pressed against him. She was warm and the tart bite of her scent, the heady fragrance of the moisture gathering on her thighs, was filling his nose. She made to lift his shirt, and he helped, drawing it up over his head when Franki’s shorter reach failed her.

Slightly tanned skin appeared from beneath his shirt. She almost whimpered. He was just so damn sculpted, and Franki gave in to the long-sealed desires of her heart. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his chest.

Bucky froze, shirt stuck on his head when her lips pressed to the skin between his pectorals. Every single cell inside him came alive with the gentle touch. He shuddered. It was like she’d placed a kiss right on his heart, sappy as it sounded.

Pulling the shirt the rest of the way off, he chucked it somewhere in his room, uncaring where it landed. Franki’s hands were in full wander, stroking in gentle patterns and motions, following paths she’d created once before, down to the waist of his pants. They settled there as she used them to help steady her when she pressed up on her toes and placed soft, open-mouthed kisses along his scars. “Franki.”

“Hush, snegopad,” she murmured, “Does it hurt? Do you hate it? Am I causing you discomfort?” Franki asked, kissing a new mark with each question.

“No to the first two and yes to the third,” he groaned, his cock hard against the zipper that was straining outwards.

“What?” She jerked back only to have her hands captured, and one brought to bear against the stretched material of his pants. Her mouth fell open in sudden understanding. A coy smile flitted over her lips. “Poor, snezhinka,” she teased softly. “That does appear uncomfortable.”

“You…” he grunted when she gave a testing squeeze. “Damn, baby.”

“You think, maybe, I would be shy, da? That I would blush and cover myself?” She smiled and pressed her palm a little firmer against him, stroking the full length, all the way to the tip near the band of his pants.

“Maybe.” Her accent had grown thick, and he could have listened to her talk for hours, but her palm was distracting, and Bucky hissed when she slipped her fingers between fabric and skin. “Francessca.”

“I love how you say that. Just my name. Francessca.” She watched his eyes as her fingers wrapped around the length of flesh straining the front of his pants. A fire burned in them, threatened to burn her, and she was ready to be reborn in flames.

His hands found her waist, held on as she tormented him with her bold, yet, somehow still innocent actions. Drawing his fingers up, they encountered a discrepancy in the smoothness of her flesh. He knew instantly it was her blood, dried to her from before. Reaching for the hand in his pants, he tugged it free and kissed her frowning lips. “Come with me.”

Confused, she followed him to the bathroom, waiting as he turned on the shower. “Bucky?”

“Both of us could use a shower,” he said.

“But… I…” She’d thought he was going to… had he changed his mind?

Seeing the look of confusion shift to rejection, he tugged her closer and turned her to face the mirror. Lifting her arm, he swept her hair out of the way to show her the smear of dark red, dried blood and the sickly brown of the antiseptic wash Cho had poured on her. “I want you, malyutka, but I have no plans on letting you out of my bed anytime in the near future. Best get cleaned up now, so you’re comfortable later, doll face.”

She turned her eyes away. “Oh.”

“Hey, hey, now. What happened to the woman that said she wasn’t going to blush and cover herself?” She’d lost a bit of her confidence somewhere, and he didn’t like it. Sultry silver lifted, and he sucked in air when her nails scratched gently over his ribs.

Sighing softly, Franki dropped her forehead to his chest. “Is not that,” she sighed. “I… avoid looking in the mirror when I have been… injured.”

“Why?” Ignoring the storm of urges in his body, Bucky grasped her chin and lifted her eyes back to this. “Why, Francessca?”

She never should have told him about that. He was going to use it against her now and did her best to ignore the clench of her belly. “The cell they kept me in, the glass on the front was like a mirror. I spent more time looking at myself bloody than I did clean.”

“Tell me the rest.” He could see it flicker like a shadow in her eyes. There was more, and he’d have no secrets between them. “Tell me the rest of it, moya zvezdochka.” Her eyes closed, pain showing on her face, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to her quivering lips. “Ya veryu v tebya.”

… I believe in you.

She trembled beneath the onslaught of his love. He always had been unfailingly in his belief in her. “They never let me get fully clean. A douse with a hose to remove the worst of the blood, but I was rarely clean. Seeing blood on my skin is like… like…”

Her voice broke, and he cupped her face between his palms. “You are not back there, Franki. You’re right here, with me, in my arms.” Her hands closed around his wrists, and he knew she was using him as an anchor, pulling herself out of the memories that continued to haunt her. “That’s right, baby. Come back to me, Francessca.”

Only he could know so well what she struggled with. How the memories could pull her back until it was as if she lived them. Every breath full of the scent of blood and death and the chemical antiseptics they poured on everything. How the space she was in disappeared, and the cell she’d lived in appeared around her until something knocked her out of the past. Gasping softly, she inhaled hard the scent of smoke and snow. “Bucky.”

“Just breath, doll.” She did, slowly, carefully. When the trembling slowed to a stop, the hands around his wrists softened their grip, he released her face to take her hands, and bring them back to his waist. “Take them off, Francessca.”

Stroking her hands over the fabric, she managed to pop the button and slowly drag down the zipper, her knuckles brushing the length of him. They fell with her gentle tug after catching on his nicely rounded buttocks. The tight band of his boxers was next. She slipped her thumbs beneath the elastic, caressing the skin encased with a small sweep of her hand. Slowly, like unwrapping a present, Franki worked the confining fabric over his hips and tried to ignore the rabbit pounding of her racing heart.

She’d never done this before, but Natasha had been nothing if not thorough in her explanation about what to expect, what to do, what not to do, and what the vast majority of men liked and appreciated from their woman. Wanda had been a secondary fount of knowledge, but putting it into practice was always way more difficult than theory.

Bucky watched through half-lidded eyes as she slowly pulled his boxers down. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen or if it was her startling innocence which made her move like that, but he was certainly enjoying the soft touches. She peeled his shorts down, exposing his cock an inch at a time until the heavy shaft finally sprang free to bob near her cheek.

She made no sound of surprise, though her heart jumped once, kicking into an even faster beat. He was large, ridged and veined, and she pulled the boxers down to his calves. Ignoring the beast of a cock which stood proudly between his thighs, she moved her hands to his boots and quickly released the laces. “Step out, Bucky.”

He’d never really understood the whole dominant-submissive thing that played out so prominently in today’s society. The whole phenomenon was a bit of a mystery to him. He would never raise a hand to a woman in the bedroom, couldn’t do it, and with all he’d been through he’d had enough submission to last him three lifetimes. But seeing his Francessca on her knees, her beautify hair cascading down her stunning body, was a whole new form of pleasure. He stepped quickly out of his clothes. But, when she reached for him, he caught her hands, drawing her back to her feet. “In the shower, baby.” He had other plans now that he knew about her issue.

She stepped beneath the warm spray, tilting her face up, lifting her hands to cup a small handful and bring the water to her lips. Her throat had gone dry with her confession, and, though it was warm, it soothed some of the ache.

Bucky shut the door behind him. He stood watching her for a moment. Watched the water soften the curl in her hair, causing it to lengthen until it hung past the curve of her ass. Watched trickling rivulets stream down her skin, over her breasts, between her thighs. The water darkened all her hair, and Snow White once again replaced Red in his mind.

The big stone enclosed shower with its many jets and rainfall head gave him wicked ideas for things to do with her at a later date but, for now, he reached into the shelf that held her bottles of soap, picking up the one labelled shampoo. It smelled mildly of vanilla, and he thought maybe honey as he stepped up behind her. Slowly, he worked the substance into her hair. It lathered pink. He gritted his teeth when patches of white scalp appeared underneath the dried blood but didn’t say anything. It was glaringly apparent that she’d torn out a few chunks of hair at some point tonight.

Unaware of his pique, Franki sighed softly into the sensation of strong fingers cleaning her hair. His hands followed the length, skimmed her back. Skated over her buttocks. It made her shiver, and a moan escaped her lips.

His irritation with her disappeared with the sexy little sound. “Rinse,” he murmured near her ear. She ducked beneath the spray, and he reached for the second bottle.

Again those hands, those heavenly fingers where dragging through her hair, pressing at her scalp, creating tingles of sensation that streaked her spine. It was bliss. She pressed her hand to the wall to stay upright when her knees weakened. He worked his hands down the length, smoothing and detangling as he went, making her wonder vaguely how he knew to do that right before he gathered the heavy mass, and twisted it into a tail he could lay over her shoulder.

Taking the cloth he snagged from the shelf beside the door, Bucky wet it, dumping a generous amount of her vanilla scented shower gel on it. It lathered swiftly between his hands, the heady fragrance filling the space as he swept it gently across her shoulders and down her back. He followed the curve of her spine, slicking the cloth over every inch of skin, around her waist and up her ribs. More bloody lather and sickly yellow antiseptic washed from her body, trickling down the drain in swirling clashes of colour.

When every speck of red, and ever splash of yellowish brown was finally gone, when her back and sides glowed a healthy pink from his attention, he dropped slowly to his knees. Taking the cloth to her legs, washing each sculpted calf, each long, slim hamstring, firm muscular quads. The curve and swell of both cheeks. He listened to the ragged breathing and soft moans that spilled from her lips.

She held herself up against the wall, legs shaking slightly, body swamped in sensation. When he rose up behind her once more, she groaned softly for his hands, landing gently on her hips, pulled her firmly back into his body. The weight of his cock snuggled up against her buttocks, his hands drifted over her hip bones, and the soapy cloth found all new territory. “Oh God, Bucky…”

“Breathe, malyutka,” he whispered tracing small circles over her abdomen. There was a single swipe of brown beneath her breast, and he wiped it quickly away, scrubbing just a little when the spot proved stubborn. “Close your eyes.” She did, and he tugged her fully underneath the spray where he could rinse out her hair, making sure to follow the directions on the bottle he’d read earlier that night. Her hair thrilled him, and he’d curiously wondered what she did to make it seem so soft and shiny. The bottles in his shower gave him a new appreciation for how much work women put into their appearance.

Once he was sure she was as clean as he could make her, he leaned down and pressed his lips to the skin beneath her ear, taking his hands back to her hips. One worked up, the other down until metal caressed mounded flesh and beaded nipple, and flesh skated through carefully groomed curls to pass gently between slick lips.

Franki’s hips gave an involuntary thrust when warm digits pressed to the bundle of nerves between her legs. Moaning, she chased his hands with her own, cupping the back with her palms, needing to touch him in some small way. “Snegopad, mne nrvitsya kogda ti trogaesh menya tam.”

… I like it when you touch me there.

“Where?” he murmured, nipping at her ear. “Here, malen’kaya ten’?” Bucky asked running his thumb over her nipple. “Or here?” His fingers delved deeper between her folds. A soft cry fell from her lips when he tugged at the swelling bud. “I think this is a very good place to touch my girl.”

“Da,” Franki sighed when he did it a second time. “Bucky, please!”

He spun her quickly around, pressing her back against the stones. His mouth was on hers just as fast, sucking on her lips, sliding his tongue between her teeth. He played with her as he caged her against the wall, body heavy, pressed fully to Franki’s. Her hands reached for him, but he was having none of it, quickly capturing them both, twinning their fingers together.

Breaking away to breathe, Bucky lay his forehead on her smooth brow and moaned at the feel of silken skin, soft and giving beneath his own. “You’re so sexy, baby. I just want to devour you.”

“I guess the wolf gets his Red in the end after all,” she said, nipping at his lips, causing their noses to brush together. She arched into him, rubbing gently, sending bolts of pleasure streaking through her with the drag on her nipples. “I feel so… so good…”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, Francessca.” Drawing back he pressed a tender kiss to her swollen lips and freed his hands to place them softly on her hips. Looking into her darkened silver eyes, he whispered, “Don’t forget to breathe, malyutka.”

Her eyes widened when his mouth dropped to her throat, began to nip and suck its way down her chest. Hands of contradicting textures skated up her ribs until both cupped a breast, lifting and squeezing as thumbs and fingers tweaked and plucked her nipples. They were rolled and tugged, making her knees shake, and a soft cry burst from her when a metal hand lifted the right, and hot, moist air engulfed her flesh. A louder crying accompanied a gulp of breath as she threaded her fingers into his hair to grip it tightly, the other hand sank her nails into his shoulder when he bit her gently, pulling firmly on the hard bead until it popped free from his lips.

“Jeez! Bucky! Fuck!” She yelped when he switched sides, lavishing more attention on her breasts.

“Eventually, doll, eventually.” He’d get to the fucking soon enough, but for now, he was more interested in driving her a little crazy. He placed a kiss between her breasts, one that landed directly over her heart, mimicking her move from before. Bucky looked up into silver eyes gone glassy as he slowly worked his way down her heaving abdomen, over the soft muscles of her belly, to place a kiss on her belly button, and settle slowly to his knees. “You with me, doll?” he murmured, sliding his tongue across her flesh.

“Da, always,” Franki breathed out on a sigh when teeth closed on her thigh. “Bucky… please.”

“Shh, easy, baby,” he murmured, dragging his nose across her hip bone and placing a kiss where it protruded slightly. “We’ll get there.”

She wanted him to get there now. The place between her thighs ached so badly for his touch she rocked helplessly towards him. “Bozhe moi!” Franki could feel wetness slide down her thighs. It had nothing to do with the water that steamed the space around them.

Nipping gently just above the trimmed nest of curls, Bucky breathed deeply and groaned. She smelled just so fucking incredible. He knew it was the pheromones Cho had talked about, but he didn’t care. It was so amazing, so good, he wanted to eat her up. “Do you remember how I touched you with my hands, Francessca? How I had this one inside you?” he asked, squeezing gently with his metal hand on her thigh. She nodded, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, “This time, hands-free, baby.” Confusion flashed as he gently lifted her leg to his shoulder.

Understanding dawned in her silver eyes, and he couldn’t look away, watching her as he dipped his head and ran his tongue slowly up the weeping lips of her core. He nearly swore, would have too, if not for the fact that he had no desire to remove his tongue from the heavenly treat he’d been given.

Franki’s head fell back against the stones when he cupped her buttocks and jerked her hips to his face. It was the most sinfully erotic thing she’d ever seen. Her lover with his face between her thighs. The slow, methodical exploration set her moaning, groaning, and gripping his hair with both hands. She wasn’t at all sure what he was doing down there, but she only hoped he never stopped. It was like he was studying for a mission. Touching everything with delicate precision. Learning as much as possible before moving on. A particularly intense sweep of tongue over her bundle of nerves had her crying out and tugging him closer. “Right there! Oh, please! Again, snegopad!” His lips closed, he sucked on her, flicking the pearl with the tip of his tongue and made her cry out.

Her voice echoed, broke on sobs of pure pleasure. Erratic streams of Russian begging had him growling softly against her. Suckling gently on the swollen jewel, Bucky growled a second time when her hands wrenched at his hair. “Careful there, doll,” he rumbled, running his tongue slowly around her opening, pressing it deep. Her leg locked down across his back, and he smirked a wide grin for he’d known she could strangle him with those thighs.

She’d never felt such intense feelings before. Her body quaked with them, and every time he caught her clit with his tongue or teeth, the tightening coil in her abdomen wound further. He went back to sucking and pulling, licking at her with little flicks or full sweeps, and Franki arched into him, trying desperately to get closer and release the tension that was building in her body in the same fashion she had once before. “Bucky, Bucky, please!”

He looked up at her flushed face, heavy-lidded eyes, the small marks he’d left on her skin, the kiss darkened lips, and had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. Shifting to the side, he spread her legs farther apart with the breadth of his shoulders, while pulling against her curls with his flesh hand. The metal one clamped around the thigh that lay over his shoulder. “Tell me, Francessca. Say it. Skazshi chto lyubish menya.”

… say that you love me.

“I love you, Bucky.” His blue eyes fired. She took a deep breath for they were filled with his love for her, and, when he lowered his wet mouth back to her body, Franki closed her eyes, leaned her head against the wall and gave herself over to the waves of lust that filled her.

She was his now. He’d never let her go again and Bucky dove back in, claimed what he’d won, taking his reward in the form of her body. His fingers spread her lips apart. He closed his mouth over her swollen clit, pulling, sucking, flicking it rapidly. Feeling the quaking begin in the thigh his metal hand was clamped around, he drew back to blow a stream of air over her glistening core before lapping at the heavy flow of cream that spilled from her. “You going to come for me, baby?”

Gasping, Franki rocked her hips into his mouth, managing to groan out, “If you’d ever stop playing.”

“You want me to stop playin’, sweetheart?” he drawled, gently nipping her clit and making her jolt. “Then tell me what you want.”

The burn was growing into an inferno that shook her legs and clamped a heavy hand around her womb, but it wasn’t enough. He watched her intently, blue eyes focused and hot, his tongue flicking out to drag over her every few seconds, keeping her right on edge. “I want,” releasing the grip she had on his hair, she stroked her fingers over his scalp, carding through the wet locks gently. “I want you, James. Only you.”

His cock twitched hard with her words, but it was his heart that swelled and turned over. “Baby…” he breathed reverently. “You’ve got me.” Before she could say anything more, he pressed his tongue to her clit, working her up swiftly. Her breathy moans were sweet music that blended with the scent of frost and vanilla, and the heavy steam that surrounded them. It made him fucking nuts. He released the hold he had on her thigh to slide a metal finger deep inside with a gentle thrust.

It was all she needed. Franki screamed his name when everything inside her broke open and poured out. The feeling of being alive swamped her, and she gasped a sobbing breath, hands closing in his hair as he continued to lick and suck gently, thrust that smooth finger in and out, extend the orgasm that caused her legs to shake.

Slipping his finger into his mouth, Bucky growled at the taste of her release. “YA mechtayu o tvoyem tele,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her clit that made her shudder.

… I dream about your body.

“Stop dreaming, lyubov moya,” Franki whispered, caressing his stubble roughened cheek. “I’m right here.”

Her eyes were dark, passion glazed, filled with so much love it ached in his chest with his own rush of emotion. Turning his face into her thigh, he kissed it as he ran his hand down the side, slipping it from his shoulder. Climbing slowly to his feet, Bucky pressed soft kisses to her body as he stood, creating a trail of them that led back to her heart, her throat, and finally her lips. Her arms went around his neck. He stepped back, moving her away from the rough stone before picking her up. Strong legs wrapped his waist, and hot, wet folds slid over his cock when it nestled into the cradle of her thighs.

He could have snarled with how good she felt. How hot and right. He could have shifted her a few inches up, sank into the heaven that waited, but he wouldn’t. Not yet.

Reaching for the tap, he shut the water off, leaving them in foggy silence, shrouded in the scent of sex and vanilla, broken only by the sound of ragged breathing. Holding her tight to him, vibranium beneath her and flesh across her back, Bucky latched into silver eyes, holding her gaze as he pushed open the shower door, and took her back to his bed.

Franki’s mouth opened on a breathless groan for with every step the hot shaft between her thighs, the one pressed thickly to her core, rubbed her clit in a most delicious fashion that had her body firing back into life. “Bucky, ty nuzhen mnye.”

“I need you too, moya zvezdochka. So much. Let me do this for you,” he said placing a tender kiss to her lips as he drew back the sheets, settling on his bed with her. They were both wet, but he didn’t care. There would be more than enough heat between them to dry out his sheets. But he was going to love her, worship her, take her this first time like the treasure she was. “Ty mne doveryayesh'?”

“Da, I trust you, snegopad.” Her legs slipped from his hips. Her hand went to his jaw. Her fingers trailed down to his lush lower lip, and held there for she was caught by eyes of blue so deep, she felt like she could see his soul.

Hungry for her, Bucky rolled into her smaller frame, holding her against his body as he kissed her. Slow, deep, drugging kisses that warmed the blood sent surge after surge of lust through his body. Gently he trailed his metal fingers along her back and hip, down the outer edge of her thigh and back up.

Her skin hummed with every soft touch. Every sip of her lips made them tingle, and when, finally, after what felt like hours of exploration, he pressed her further into the mattress, Franki sank her nails into his back. Drawing them slowly downwards, she smiled as he moaned. She’d barely gotten a taste of all his body had to offer. When their legs tangled together, she used her very special skill set to flip him to his back and straddled his torso.

“Francessca,” he growled, closing his hands on her hips. “What are you up to, lyubimaya?”

She smiled and stroked her fingertips over his chest. “Ty takoj krasivyj. So very handsome. You have such beautiful muscle.” Damp curls fell from her shoulders to slide over his arms when she leaned down and pressed her lips to his chest. “Can you blame me for wanting to touch as well?” Franki said, sliding her tongue over thick, strong flesh to the bud of a perky brown nipple. She flicked it, making him grunt.

He slipped his hands to her ass, the flesh giving beneath his fingers when he squeezed. “Frank… Franki.” Breath hissed out between his teeth when she closed her lips around his nipple and sucked. Strong hands glided over his ribs, skipped to his shoulders, dragged down to his biceps and held him captive. Her knees closed on his waist. Scorching wet core pressed down on his abdominals. “Jesus, woman!”

Chuckling softly, Franki bit gently at his chest. “Big strong man, can’t handle a little teasing.”

“You do nothing but tease, moya zvezdochka.” She giggled, making him grin before her mouth was once again tasting his skin, her pink tongue flicking out every so often as she slowly worked her way down his body. Her hips lifted, and she shimmied backwards, nails dragging down his torso. Teeth nipped at his stomach. Bucky finally had to ask, “Damn, doll. How are you so…” she licked a trail over his hip, down towards his cock, and every thought just evaporated.

“Natasha is very good teacher, da?” Franki chuckled, tracing her fingers over the trail she’d left with her tongue.

Her hand wrapped around his cock, and Bucky’s hips jerked. “Fuck!” He’d thank the redhead later.

The girth of him gave her pause for but a moment when Franki wrapped her fist around the shaft, fingers failing to come together. Still, she drew her palm up the silky skin. It was much softer than she’d imagined, velvet over steel. The wider flared head beaded liquid which she caught up with her opposite thumb. Bucky watched her, deep blue eyes behind thick lashes, as she brought her thumb to her mouth, placing it between her lips.

Bucky felt something in his brain just snap when her thumb, glistening with his essence, passed between her lips. She sat on his thighs, hair damp and curling, falling over her magnificent bare body, completely comfortable in her nudity. But it was the sound which came from her that had him losing it. No different than a kitten who’d had its ear rubbed, his woman purred at the taste, and he was just so done.

She fucking purred.

Rearing up, Bucky yanked her to his chest, metal hand clamping on a fist full of hair to drag her head back and claim her mouth. His lips sealed to hers, demanded entrance. His tongue was dancing through her mouth in seconds. Twisting, twining, fighting a battle he’d already won. He flipped their positions and thrust his knee between her thighs.

She found herself back on her back and gasped. His mouth was hot, seemed to be everywhere at once. Her lips, her chin, her throat. Dragging down her chest to pull at her nipples, skating across her collarbones with an edge of teeth. Closing on the sensitive skin beneath her ear, or sucking hard on the pulse beating in her neck. “Bucky!” she cried out, her knee sliding over his hip. His flesh hand pressed up between her legs, and she whimpered in surprised pleasure when his fingers thrust up inside, sending her flying. “James!” she shrieked.

He pumped into her, the wetness coating his hand, filling the air with her delectable fragrance. Bucky hummed against her skin, shifted his knee to join the other. He grunted when she clamped both thighs around his waist. “Damn, doll…” he muttered.

She was wet, slick with it. Her walls were fluttering quickly around his fingers when he drew them from her. Coating himself with the moisture, Bucky took his cock in hand and rubbed the head over her clit with gentle thrusts. His forehead rested on hers, noses brushing, lips touching, breath mingling.

He felt the pinch of her nails when they closed in his back. “Going to make you mine, but I got to know if you’re on something, baby. Or do I need to get out of this position and go grab some protection.” He had condoms in the drawer of his nightstand, but they weren’t exactly within arm’s reach.

He rubbed over her again, and Franki moaned out, “Good to go, Sarge.” Helen had been a most… efficient doctor when she’d run the first batch of tests a month ago.

A grin broke out on his lips when he looked down into her eyes. “Fuck, I love you, baby!” Bucky sank forwards, his tip pressing between scorching hot folds to stretch her walls. He went slow, knowing he was big and wanting her first time to be good, special. The last thing he wanted to do was surpass her threshold, cause her to tip into numbness.

Franki groaned, arching into him slightly, rocking her hips impatiently at his slow pace. “You won’t hurt me.”

“No, I won’t because I will go slowly, Francessca. You mean everything to me, malen’kaya ten’. I refuse to rush this.” Her hips lifted, and he clamped his hand to her waist as he slid deeper. Panting softly, he kissed her lips, nipping at the bottom one before working it with his teeth. “You feel me, baby? Feel this.” He rocked gently and fell further. Her thighs tightened, and he sank farther into the intense pressure of her squeezing walls. “You feel so good, doll face. So good.”

His voice was husky and deep, laboured. Franki whimpered, voice lost to the pleasure screaming through her body. He was so hot, his body like a furnace, she felt seared both inside and out. Unable to take the suspense, Franki locked her arms around his back, heels over his flexing ass, and pulled. He landed with substantial weight, knocking the breath from her lungs, causing her to release a keening moan when his cock bottomed out.

“Jeez, Franki!” he huffed, but god he was balls deep inside this perfect woman, and the barrier he’d thought he might have to break wasn’t an issue. After all the fights she’d been in before the serum, it shouldn’t surprise him, but he’d wonder with her healing factor and that area, too.

“Oh my…” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he moaned. Heat and wet, massaging walls, and the scent of frost and vanilla made him a little light headed. He groaned when she shifted beneath him and reached for her hip. “Ease up, doll.” Her grip on him was intense.

“Oh!” She blushed, relaxing her legs.

Bucky arched a brow and chuckled, “That’s what finally makes you blush?”

She dug her nails in a little harder. “Shut it, Barnes. Don’t you have something more important to focus on, snezhinka?”

“It’s a good thing your pretty,” he growled against her throat. Sliding his metal hand beneath her shoulder, and squeezing the flesh one against her thigh, he slowly began to move.

Tiny gasps spilled from her lips, little-broken sounds, the only noise she seemed able to make as the length of him pulled slowly out, and his muscles flexed beneath her fingers. Then he was pressing back in, and she knew nothing but overwhelming pleasure. “Sukin syn!”

The explicit exploded from her lips, and he seconded it. Hot. Tight. Wet. His focus narrowed down to the woman beneath him and the body he worshiped. She moaned, and he smiled against her throat. Lust streaked him, filled him up, and he gave himself up to her and her body.

He thrust hard enough to rock her into the mattress, and Franki scrabbled against him. All the sensations were so much, so strong, so overwhelming. They were beyond her comprehension. She clutched at him for he was the only stable point left in her suddenly unstable world. “Snegopad… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” He kissed her cheek, continuing to thrust as he lifted up to look down on her. Pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, he kept to the same pace, retreating until just the tip remained before sliding back through her wet folds. Nibbling on her lips, he murmured, “Yes you can, Franki. I’m right here with you. Feel me, baby. Feel how much I love you.”

Crying out, Franki gave herself over to the heat, to the pleasure, and let go of her fear. The coil inside her was strung tighter than Clint's bowstring, and she revelled in the stroking glide that fired all her nerve endings. “Bucky.”

“Say it, malen’kaya ten’. Let me hear it from your lips as I love you.” Gripping her thigh, he tilted her hip and sank deeper.

She cried out, hands dragging down his back for he’d caught the place inside her that he’d shown her once before. It slammed a bolt of pleasure through her body so strong she was momentarily speechless. “Bucky… I…” He did it again, and she writhed beneath him, struggled, unsure whether she was trying to get closer or get away.

Heaving up onto his metal hand, Bucky took her lips in a bruising kiss, quickened his pace, and jerked her leg over his elbow. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He needed more and took it, increasing the force he was using. Flesh slapped against flesh. Sex scented the air with the sweet undertones of vanilla and ice. Until she’d brought it up, he’d never noticed the scent of snow that hung on him, a strange thing, but with the revelation of the pheromones, he knew it was Hydra’s doing. A side effect of the Winter Soldier project that the group had then turned to their advantage, but it meant little to him in the vast scope of things. She liked it, always said she loved the snow.

“Say it, Francessca,” he coaxed.

Her body burned, her heart ached, and tears threatened when she looked up into sapphire pools that held all the love she could ever hope for. Dragging her hands up his ribs, she moaned quietly, the length of him stroking in and out with speed and force. He was filling her so full, giving her so much, loving her with everything he had. She brought her hands to rest against his face. Drawing him down, she gasped softly with a particularly strong thrust of his hips, eyes closing for a moment before she could catch her breath. She placed a soft kiss to his lips, another to the corner of his mouth, and a third to the dimple in his chin.

“Bucky,” Franki whispered, a quiet cry escaping her, “YA lyublyu tebya. Ty zastavlyayesh' menya chuvstvovat' ... vse!”

… I love you. You make me feel… everything!

“Franki,” he breathed out reverently, “YA lyublyu tebya. With all my heart, moya zvezdochka.”

“Then show me, snegopad,” she murmured against his cheek. “Show me your heart.”

“Francessca,” he moaned. Her hands skimmed over his shoulders and down his back, and he let her leg fall from his arm so he could thrust his hands beneath her buttocks. “Hold on tight, baby.” He felt her tense. Bucky sat up, sat back, and brought her down over his lap. Face to face with her flushed features and hazy, heavy-lidded eyes, lush red lips and messy curls, Bucky couldn’t help but whisper, “God you’re beautiful…”

He rocked into her before she could reply, rocked her hips with his hands, and Franki cried out. He was so deep and hard and hot. She was burning up. Her body on fire and his was the spark, a match to her gasoline. “Please, Bucky.”

Lifting her higher, dragging her clenching walls over his shaft, Bucky growled when he lowered her swiftly to his thighs. The pressure was building in his core, the need to come growing stronger with the surging burn of his blood. It only became more so with her quiet plea. “Are you ready, Franki? Do you want to come, malyutka? Will you bathe me with it?”

“Yes, fuck! Yes!” She loved how he talked to her, deep, dark, a little dirty. “Fuck me! Make me come!” Hands tightened further, and he plowed into her, hearty thrusts that skated close to the edge where pleasure became pain and pain became nothing. It was exquisite in its potency. She threw her head back when he tugged her down to grind his pelvis up.

“Fuck! Franki!” Her hips circled. He snarled before latching on to her throat with his teeth. Right over her pulse as he rocked and thrust and plunged deep, Bucky sucked a new mark, a nice purple one into her skin as silken walls fluttered. “That’s it, baby. Give it to me,” he huffed, panting, sweat gleaming on his body. It matched that which coated hers as they slipped and slid together.

Franki pulled herself into his chest, rode hard, ground down with each thrust to the tightening grip of his hands. “Yes!” she squealed when the coil in her abdomen wound impossibly tight.

“There you go,” Bucky whispered. “There’s my girl. You going to fly for me, doll face?” She moaned, and he grinned. “Come for me, Franki. Let me feel it.”

“Oh, snegopad!” she shrieked, the tight coil snapped, walls clamped down hard on Bucky’s stroking shaft.

Another round of nearly unintelligible Russian fell from her lips as she came, hard, strangling his cock in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. She moaned, hands threading through his hair to draw his head back, sink into his mouth.

Groaning, Bucky tumbled her back to the mattress, giving in to the demands of his body. The rhythm he’d established was shot to hell. He plunged deep with erratic movements, driving her back up as quickly as possible until with the last few thrusts, he paused. A rumble built in his chest that he released as a roar when the coil in his own groin finally snapped. Jets of hot seed erupted, and he pressed her forcibly into his bed until the pulsing slowed to a stop.

Franki whimpered with the action, her body throbbing. Every part of her hummed with feeling, with energy, with life. She held him to her when he collapsed. “Wow…”

Chuckling softly, Bucky turned his face into her throat. “Yeah… wow.” He’d get off her in a second. Once he found a way to put the bone back in his body. “That was intense. You okay, doll?” She hummed beneath him, nearly purred, and he groaned. “Don’t, ‘less you want to try for round two.”

A smile twitched her lips as she stroked her hands down his bare back. “You are too old to do such things. Your heart would not take it, da?”

Rolling over, he took her with him, settling her into the crook of his shoulder. “You tease me after all that?”

The glide of his thick shaft out of her swollen lips made her shudder. “Da. You make it so easy.” In the early morning light filtering around the edge of the blinds on the windows, Franki watched him fight the grin and lose. Resting her hand on his heart, she sighed happily before lifting her eyes to his. “I love you, Bucky.”

Closing his hand over hers, Bucky kissed the crown of her head. “YA lyublyu tebya, Francessca,” he murmured back before reaching for the sheets at the foot of the bed when she yawned big and wide. “Go to sleep, malen’kaya ten’.”

“What? No round two? Such a disappointment. Where is this stamina I hear so much about?” she teased, curling closer, eyes already closing.

“Go to sleep, Franki.” He rolled his eyes, ignoring her teasing, listening to her breathing slow and deepen. Drawing her closer so she could sleep more on his chest than against it, Bucky sighed as he drew her thigh over his. “I love you so much it makes me stupid.”

“Love does not make you do the stupid things,” she whispered, kissing his chest and falling into oblivion.

Grinning like a maniac, Bucky was quick to follow her under. In the soft light of dawn, he’d finally found all he could have ever hoped for.

Hours later, Franki woke to heat beneath her, sun in her face, and someone’s incessant knocking. It was quiet knocking, but it was still knocking. Opening her eyes, she squinted at the shaft of sunlight which hit her in the eyes and looked down at Bucky sprawled out underneath her. He was face down, dead to the world, clutching his pillow.

It was adorable.

Grinning, she peeled herself slowly from his spine, slipping silently from the bed. Hanging off a lamp was his shirt from last night. She pulled it over her head. It smelled of him and gunpowder, had bullet holes in the sleeve, and fell to mid-thigh. It swamped her, but her hospital gown was in tatters. She didn’t have any other options if she was going to answer the door. Besides, she kind of liked it. It was like wearing a piece of him.

Pulling the bedroom door nearly closed, she skirted the couch and muttered, “Alright already. I’m coming.” Yanking on the door, she nearly jerked her arm from the socket when it didn’t even give. “Stupid locks.” A large hand fell against the door frame. Franki jolted in surprise. “Bucky?”

“Leaving, malyutka?” Snaking his metal hand around her waist, he tugged her back against him. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on you leaving my clothes behind.”

She eyeballed him over her shoulder and huffed, “I was just getting the door!”

“Why?” he grumbled, still fuzzy with sleep. He’d been having the best sleep of his life until she’d left his bed. The knocking came again, snapping his attention to the door. “Who the fuck is that?”

“If you would be so kind as to unlock the door, snezhinka, I will find out!” Franki growled.

Grumbling about it, Bucky slapped his hand to the plate beside the door before yanking on the handle. “What?!”

Natasha smirked as she held out the bundle of clothes and looked from Franki’s wild cascade of curls to what was clearly a very naked Barnes, his manly bits hidden only by the woman in front of him who was drowning in his shirt. “I just thought Franki might want a change of clothes, seeing as how she left with only that paper gown on.”

“Thank you, sestra.” Franki smiled, taking the bundle before slapping a hand back against Bucky’s arm. “And you did not want to open the door.”

“Goodbye, Natasha,” Bucky growled, shutting the door in her face, and reengaging the locks. Wrenching the bundle of clothes from Franki’s fingers, he threw them at the couch. “I want my shirt back,” he rumbled against Franki’s ear.

“But… I… you, huh?” She was very confused. He had been very rude to Nat. Then she felt it. The heavy shaft that was pressed up against her buttocks, and squeaked a quiet sound of surprise.

He spun her around, shoving her back into the door, grabbed her by the thighs and levered her up the wall. Holding her there balanced on his thigh, Bucky made quick work of stripping his shirt from her body. “Who said you could leave my bed, Franki?”

His hands were everywhere, stroking, squeezing, plucking, rolling her nipples. Franki blossomed into arousal so swiftly, she gave a needy groan. “Bucky, please!”

He took possession of that sweet, pleading mouth and slid easily, lazily inside her wet sheath only to moan, “God, baby. You’re soaked, and I’ve barely touched you.”

Her head banging back against the door went unfelt as his hips snapped up, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through her. “Fuck! James!”

“I am baby, I am. Going to fuck you so good, Francessca.” She whimpered, and he pressed his mouth to her throat, hips slapping deliciously into hers. Tight walls were clamping down, wringing and choking his cock. He knew with ridiculous certainty that he wouldn’t last long.

Closing her hands at the back of his neck, Franki wrapped her legs around his waist, crying out when he increased the speed of his hips. “Oh god, Bucky. Right there!”

He tilted her hips a bit further and watched her mouth fall open, her pupils blown wide. He growled excitedly when the keening wail left her lips. Her thighs clamped on his waist, and he was forced to use short, sharp thrusts, ones that bumped his head repeatedly to the back of her sheath. It was fucking amazing, and he closed his teeth into the junction of her shoulder and throat.

Franki saw stars, her body lit up, and she screamed her climax to the ceiling.

He grunted with the power of her orgasm, swearing loudly, “Damn, baby. Fuck! You’re killing me.” Her body clamped down on him, forcing his release from him in quick, hard burst of hot seed.

Outside the door, Natasha grinned wide, snickering at the blush that filled Steve’s face. “We may want to switch floors.” Her sister and Barnes were quite vocal.

Wandering by, Sam grumbled, “Isn’t going to help. My place is above his. They had a very good time making up.”

Next Chapter

#soft names #winter #winter soldier fic #winter soldier #marvel #avengers #avengers au #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfiction

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saturdaystories · 7 years

Text

“Masha, wake up.” Simmy’s voice was gentle, her fingers cool on Masha’s cheek. Masha twisted in her blankets and tried to bury her face into her pillow. “Ah, ah, ah,” Simmy told her.

“But I’m still sleepy,” Masha complained.

“Do big girls complain about waking up, or do they simply wake?” Simmy asked her and Masha sighed and sat up, pouting. Simmy laughed and kissed her forehead. “I’m surprised. Last year you were up before I came upstairs to wake you up.”

Masha didn’t say anything. It was true. She’d been very excited for her birthday last year. They’d had a cake for her with yellow sugarplums and she’d eaten so much of it that she’d gotten tired and they’d had to put her to sleep before she’d even gotten to her presents. It wouldn’t be the same this year.

“Up, child,” Simmy told her, and she pulled Masha’s blankets back.

Masha dressed herself—she was old enough to now—and pulled on her shoes and socks, and then took Simmy’s hand and they went downstairs together.

“When do I need to be back?” Masha asked Simmy over breakfast of eggs and toast.

“When you’re hungry,” Simmy shrugged, her usually dull eyes twinkling. “Or whenever you fancy.”

“What if I want my presents now?”

“Greedy girl.” Masha flushed, and plopped more of her egg onto her toast, while Simmy gave the food on her plate to Catch the dog, who was whining at their feet.

Masha finished her breakfast and slid off the tall chair. “Come on, Catch,” she told him, and waved to Simmy and she and the dog went out of the little house.

It was a cold morning. Masha’s birthday was at the end of autumn, and there were no leaves left on the trees. Once she’d found a squirrel that had been dead for so long there was nothing left on its bones. She’d picked it up and brought it to Simmy and told her that the bare bones looked like the trees around her birthday. Simmy had laughed, and pet her hair, and told her how clever she was. “Just remember,” Simmy had told her, “The trees aren’t dead in winter. They’re alive.”

“They look dead,” Masha had replied.

“Not everything that looks dead is dead. The trees come back to life in spring, remember? And Catch—play dead!” The dog had lied down on his back and stuck out his tongue, but he hadn’t closed his eyes, he’d just lay there with his paws in the air and Masha had giggled.

“Catch, play dead!” she told him as they walked down the dirt road. Catch threw himself eagerly onto the ground, and Masha squatted down and rubbed his belly vigorously while he licked her face. Catch was the best friend a girl could have, apart from Simmy.

It was quiet on the road, but it was always quiet. Masha and Simmy lived on the edge of town, and Masha didn’t play in the town. Simmy said she had to wait until she was a big girl, but the woods outside of town were fine to play in, so long as she brought Catch and so long as she stayed within sight of the field.

Masha never went in too deep. She didn’t want to get lost. She didn’t like being alone very much. It’s why she was glad she had Catch.

Masha bent down and picked up a stick, and Catch stiffened, alert. “Are you ready?” she asked him, and she threw the stick as far as her little arm could and Catch raced off. Simmy could throw sticks harder than Masha, but Simmy was a grown up. Being a grown up seemed like it would take forever, but Simmy said she had to be patient. “You’ll miss being a child when you’re my age,” Simmy had said only the night before when she’d tucked Masha into bed. Her eyes had been dull then. There was no twinkle. There was rarely a twinkle. “Enjoy it while you can.” And Masha tried—for Simmy’s sake.

The sky was clear and Masha and Catch walked for ages. When Masha grew tired, they sat down and she stared up at the clouds, or pulled at the dead grass that lay beneath her. There was no snow yet. Masha loved the snow. She loved the way it melted in her mouth, and the way Catch would shake himself and it would sparkle off him like magic.

Simmy didn’t like the snow because it got everywhere, melted, and took ages to dry. Maybe that’s what it meant to be a grown up, not liking magic in the world.

“You like magic, don’t you Catch?” she asked the dog.

Catch didn’t understand, but he let out a bark anyway, and Masha smiled. She looked around. There wasn’t anyone nearby, and no sound but the wrestling of the skeleton tree branches brushing against one another when the wind blew. She didn’t see any grownups anywhere nearby, and she’d given up hope of seeing other children like her ages ago. There weren’t any other ones in the village. It was just her. Her, and Simmy, and Catch. She hugged Catch. He was warm and was very patient when she hugged him. Simmy was her best friend in the whole world, but Simmy didn’t like hugs very much. Catch was warm, and he licked the tears from her face.

“All I want for birthday,” Masha told Catch, “is a friend. A human friend. A child friend. I love you, Catch, but you don’t talk back.” Catch barked at the sound of his own name, and Masha giggled through her thick throat. “I want someone to play with, who’ll see the skeleton trees and the magic snow and…” she sighed. Saying it aloud felt stupid. Masha didn’t like feeling stupid. No one ever told her she was—not Simmy when they were at lessons, or Old Man Cobb when he came to teach her the things that Simmy didn’t know. But sometimes she did anyway, just because she was young. I’m not as young today, she thought fiercely. It’s my birthday. But she didn’t feel any older, and in that moment, she didn’t feel any less lonely either.

Masha got to her feet. “Come on, Catch, let’s go.” And Masha and the dog went deeper into the woods than ever Masha had gone before.

It was nearly dark when they came back to the house. Masha’s big breakfast had carried her through the day, and they’d found a trove of nuts a squirrel had hidden away and Masha had eaten a few of the walnuts she’d found after smashing their shells off with a rock. Masha liked walnuts. Once, Simmy had made a walnut bread for her to eat and it had been the sweetest thing she’d ever eaten—except maybe the yellow sugarplum cake she’d had last year for her birthday.

She was tired and her feet hurt as she pushed open the door to the house, and Simmy was there waiting for her. “I was almost going to worry,” she teased, pressing Masha’s nose. “But I knew you had Catch with you so I didn’t. Do you want to wear that to your party, or do you want to change?”

“Will there be anyone new there?” Masha asked hopefully.

“New? Have you made any new friends in the past year? Have you been a bad girl and played in town without me?”

Masha shook her head. “I’ll not bother changing, then,” she said. Her socks were a bit dirty, but no one would care. “Are we not having the party here?” She looked around the house, but saw no signs of birthday festivities.

“No,” Simmy’s eyes twinkled. “No, we’re going to go to Bez’s. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

Bez’s house was one of the biggest in town. Bez had a lot of books, and a big fat cat named Constable who would jump onto Masha’s lap and purr and bury her face into Masha’s body.

It was fully dark when they went into town, and the shops were closed, or closing. Everyone stared at Masha as they passed, and Masha did her best to put on her brave face. Part of why she was never a bad girl and went into town without Simmy was because of the stares. She was the only child in the town, and her skin was flushed and soft and springy. Everyone else’s skin wasn’t soft or springy, and it was pale and tired like Simmy’s. Simmy didn’t stare, but Simmy was used to her. Masha rested a hand on Catch’s back. Catch wasn’t human, but Catch was a friend, and the rest of town may be nice enough, but Masha felt so alone, so different. The stares didn’t help that.

“Is that the birthday girl?” Bez clucked happily when opening the door. “She’s growing so tall I almost didn’t recognize her!”

“Hello Bez,” Masha said happily, and Bez squatted down.

“Give us a kiss, then?” she tilted her head and Masha leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bez’s cheek. Bez put two fingers under Masha’s chin and tilted her head up slightly. “And growing so pretty, too. Clever and pretty and growing every day.” Masha flushed. “And her cheeks so pink!” Bez pinched one of Masha’s cheeks between her thumb and pointer finger. Her hands were chilly. “So warm. But you run warm, don’t you.”

“She does,” Simmy said and there was something strange to her voice. Bez stood and extended a hand. Masha took it.

“Constable will be happy to see you—if Catch ever lets her near you. He’s a good dog your Catch, and so protective. I’ve a good bone for him to chew on for your birthday as well.”

The house was full of people. Old Man Cobb had come, his face wrapped in his usual bandages to keep his scarring hidden. Simmy said that he’d had an accident years ago and didn’t like people to see him that way. Masha was curious, but ultimately knew better than to pry. Moriah and Dan the blacksmith were there, and Fez the candlemaker and Jules the Carpenter and everyone that she and Simmy saw on errand days except Niles the grocer, because Niles brought things directly to their house and, as far as Masha knew, didn’t live in town. She’d never seen him there. Niles was young enough to still have pink cheeks, and he never stuck around for very long.

Everyone was happy to see her, and when she sat down at the dinner table, Constable leapt into her lap as she always did, kneading into Masha’s lap with her paws and purring so loudly that even Dan and Moriah at the other end of the table could hear her. She must not like Bez’s cold hands, Masha thought as she pet the cat, feeling the cat’s heart pump beneath Masha’s fingers in time to her purrs.

“And here we are for the birthday girl. Are you ready?” Bez asked, and Masha looked up eagerly. It wasn’t cake—not yet—but there was a rabbit that looked as though it had been glazed and cooked on a plate for her, with root vegetables that had been baked in a pretty circle around it. “Simmy says you like hare—that it’s your favorite. Happy birthday sweet little Masha!”

The table echoed Bez’s words and for a moment, Masha stared at the rabbit.

She’d never seen it cooked whole before. She knew of course that meat came from dead animals. She had once tearfully asked Simmy if that meant that when Catch died she’d eat him too, and Simmy had assured her that they only ate certain dead animals, not all. But it was the first time she’d seen it cooked whole like that, and not cut up into meat chunks so that she wouldn’t have known, if she hadn’t been told, that it had once been a rabbit.

“What do we say to Bez?” Simmy prodded gently, and Masha looked up at Bez. Bez’s lips were chapped, and her eyes were glassy and her skin in this light looked more blue than pink. Masha could hear the crackling of fire, the breathing in the room, the purrs from the cat, and the pumping of her own heart loud in her ears. She looked between the dead rabbit and Bez, then at Simmy, then around the table. Everyone was staring at her, and there wasn’t enough rabbit for all of them.

“Thank you, Bez,” Masha managed. “There’s not enough for everyone, though.”

“It’s rude to eat before the birthday girl,” Fez said genially, but they were all watching her as though they were starving, and Masha was suddenly afraid. She twisted her hands together in her lap and could feel her heart beating faster than it should through the skin of her hands.

“Masha?” Simmy asked quietly. They were all staring—staring as though they were everyone else in town and not the people she knew, as though she was some sort of spectacle. “What’s wrong, dear?”

Constable shifted on her lap and Masha took comfort in the cat’s warmth for a moment before turning and smiling to Simmy. “Nothing’s wrong,” she lied, because she didn’t know what was wrong.

“Here,” Bez said from Masha’s other side. “Let me cut the rabbit up for you.” She leaned over Masha and took up her knife and began to cut into the dead meat on the table, and Masha’s head hurt for just a moment. It’s just rabbit, she told herself. You eat rabbit all the time. It’s just dead is all.

Dead like the squirrel bones, dead like the trees outside.

It’s not dead if it comes back to life. She remembered what Simmy had said and she reaches out a hand under the table and finds Simmy’s. Simmy’s hand was cool in hers, and as Simmy squeezed it reassuringly, Masha was sure, quite sure, that she couldn’t feel a heartbeat at all.

#fantasy fiction #fiction on tumblr #fantasy #fiction #creative writing #saturday stories

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