#I promise it’s not you even my closest friend will be ghosted for days on end if I can’t muster the response | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meshlasolus · 8 months

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Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: Listen… I don’t have any excuse for ditching my other three active series except for tiktok made me do it… That, and the CLM series by @macfrog has ascended me to a new level of crazy and I just needed an outlet for it somewhere. Another shoutout to @theatrelove3000 who keeps putting up with my dbf joel shenanigans, they are indeed insane.

Warnings: girl this whole concept should be a warning but anyways… age gap, some fluff, light smut, uncomfortable situations with readers father… probably some editing mistakes bc ya girl is tired ok its 2am

Please be kind to this chapter, I actually like it, despite the horrors.

Decided on the song ‘Mary On A Cross‘ by Ghost for this one bc it fits ig.

MASTERLIST

Age gap is approximately 15 years or so, reader is over 21 and joel is about 37

"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

It had been almost three days.

You looked out the window to the front of your house repeatedly to try and remember it clearly. The drive home, the kiss, and how abruptly it ended with a promise to see each other around. You thought about it so often you almost wondered if it happened the way you perceived it, if any details had been skewed in your mind simply because you wanted to keep it there, fresh, untouched. Maybe he thought of it differently... but maybe he didn't.

"Did you bring home the stuff I asked ya?" Your dad came into the kitchen with a smile, embracing you with a side hug and turning to help you unpack the groceries.

"Course' I did, Pa," you handed him the bag with the six-pack of bud and the other one full of snacks.

It was the first Rangers game night, and as per tradition, that meant the company of the next-door neighbors. It had been a while since you'd been around to enjoy it, but now that you were back, there were quite a few more reasons why you were on edge to now participate. It would look weird if you came up with an excuse not to be there, and you knew that. You also knrw that you'd gotten into a rather complicated entanglement with your father's closest friend, and weren't sure what the outcome really was.

Had that driveway light not spooked you both apart, and had that little black stray cat not made an appearance, how far would it have gone? Things were pretty heated, but even still. Would he have said something? Maybe along the lines of 'I've known you since you were sixteen, and this isn't appropriate at all.'

You didn't have time to think about it, you were set to work on helping your dad cook dinner for the soon-arriving neighbors. Dinner and a baseball game, once a relaxing and enjoyable time to bond with your dad, now turned into an anxiety fest where you were convinced you'd have to walk on pins and needles around every topic.

"So," your dad piped up from his silence at the stove, stirring the pot of chili he'd been prepping. "Joel told me he gave you a ride 'few nights back."

You knew it was harmless, and that he wasn't asking for any reason, other than that he was probably curious. You hadn't seen Joel in a while, not since two Christmases ago. Your dad had driven up to Dallas to spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas with you last year, and you didn't come home for summer break given an internship opportunity. You must have seemed different to the man in some way. All grown up.

"Yeah, gave me a ride n' saved me at the bar," you chuckled, trying to seem playful and unsuspicious about the encounter.

He seemed to be confused, his brows furrowed and a funny look on his face.

"Whad'ya mean he saved ya?" he of course was continuing to speak all the while dumping his favorite spices into the pot of chili, looking across here and now to keep engaged.

"Just scared off some weirdo who couldn't take no for an answer," you let a sweet and genuine smile fall across your features, but didn't let it get out of hand. Your relationship with your father was airtight, and he could read you pretty damn well. You weren't going to give anything away, not with what was potentially on the line.

"Glad he was there," he replied with a chuckle, sending you a soft glance. "Never thought you'd have grown up so fast, now I gotta carry a shotgun whenever we go places. Fend off the wild beasts."

His jokes were only so funny now, because in this situation, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot Joel if he found out what had happened. All in the nature of protecting you, but it made you sad to think of the situation that way. Joel wasn't just another weirdo following you around at a bar.

"It's only because I'm so pretty," you did your best to respond lightheartedly, making a quip that would soothe the silence. "And I believe that's yours and Mama's fault, givin' me the genes and what not."

You'd finished chopping a nice garden salad by the time the doorbell rang. You ran upstairs to change your shirt to the Jersey your dad bought you for your birthday, claiming it was good luck for the team. Truth be told, you didn't wanna be downstairs when Joel and Sarah got here.

Sarah was here, too. Her, you could easily handle. You were almost hoping that she would be in a rather talkative mood, that way the attention could be swayed to her inconspicuously. You doubted Joel would even try to talk to you, anyway.

"Lovebug, come on down, Millers are here!" Your dad shouted up, even though he saw you run upstairs right when the doorbell rang to change your shirt.

"I'm comin', hold on," you replied sassily while heading for the staircase.

You got to the bottom and had to take a breath before turning the corner into the entryway. Joel stood there with a sweet smile to you, and you tried your best to hold back the one you wore. It was too bright, too happy to see him. All despite your nerves.

You were quickly embraced by Sarah, whom you paid immediate attention to.

"My lordy, girl," you held up your hand by your shoulder to show the height difference, "last time I saw you, you must've been this tall."

"Dad tells me I'm growing like a weed," she tossed a finger over her shoulder to where he was standing, and you gave him a small glance and a smile.

"Us daughters do have a tendency to grow up," you laughed, slinging an arm around Sarah and pulling her along to the kitchen as your dad and Joel did the same behind you.

Why had you been so anxious? Joel is happy to see you. He makes causal conversation with your dad, but he catches your eye every chance he gets. His expression doesn't change, except for the tug of his lips in a smile that's barely there. Joel doesn't smile too often, except apparently when you and Sarah are around.

It doesn't take long for everyone to get situated with their food at the table, playful banter between Joel and your father filling the air as you made less rambunctious chatter with Sarah.

She's doing pretty well since last you saw her. She was always a bright girl, but as she grew it became more apparent that she would probably excel further than anyone in her graduating class. You were sitting across from a future valedictorian, you were sure.

You'd tried to ask her about her out of school interests before your dad interrupted with a question.

"How about you, lovebug?" He watched your eyes flick over to him with a turn of your head. He added context, given you hadn't been listening to them earlier. "Are you gonna look for a summer job?"

You really should, if you're being honest. There's not much work in your aspiring profession located here, but you weren't as lucrative as you used to be, given your educational expenses.

"I've thought about it," you tilted your head back and forth, and your dad seemed to need more from your answer. "I need to earn some cash before I get back to Dallas, but I'm not really sure where to apply."

Sarah seemed to know where this was going before you did. She'd been around the last time your dad was begging Joel to find some help for the contracting team they worked with. But surely your dad doesn't expect you to build houses, does he? Your dream job is to dig holes in the ground, not fill them in and put homes on top.

"We got some spaces to fill, you should come work with us 'few months. The pay's good and you don't have to stay on long, probably just till the end of July."

You gave him a look, and he instantly knew you weren't interested, but you figured you'd try and justify your reasoning. It was an argument either way.

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

Did he just-?

"S'not much more fun than what your dad's been doin,' but at least it's out of the sun, and easier to learn."

You were almost dumbfounded. Your dad offering you a job that potentially could give you heat stroke with your lack of experience seemed like the worst idea in the world... but working on interior projects? With Joel of all people? Well, that didn't sound so bad.

You didn't want your dad to catch on, of course. Being so protestant of his suggestion, but then falling right into it as soon as Joel was the one to offer would be a dead giveaway to some sort of favoritism to his best buddy. It simply wouldn't look right.

"What kinda interior stuff?"

He smirked. The motherfucker was smirking. He knew you'd changed your mind, but couldn't exactly just come out with it. He understood, but it was still slightly amusing to him.

"Flooring, cabinets, countertops... 's things like that," he explained, knowing you really didn't care what all it entailed. He was still happy to play along. "S'not as fun as archeology, but it pays alright."

You nodded, acting as though you were turning the thoughts over in your head.

"Well, if you're sure I won't mess it up, I'd be happy to try it out," was your final response. You figured it left some leeway in case your father became suspicious, but gave a good enough answer to end the conversation on.

"That's my girl," your dad clapped a hand on your shoulder in excitement. Truth be told he would very much enjoy your presence on a work site. "I'll go ahead and call Eddie in the morning, let 'im know I found someone to replace Charlie for interiors."

It was said more to Joel, you figured, because you didn't really know who either of those people were. He'd nodded to your dad, taking a sip of his beer and then looking back to you. You smiled sweetly, nobody catching it but the one it was meant for.

"Game's gonna start soon," Joel spoke aloud, drawing everyone's eye to the clock over the stove.

Sarah cleared her throat before jumping in on the conversation.

"About that," she looked to her dad with the same puppy dog eyes she used to use against you. He was just as poor at saying no to her when she pulled those bad boys out. "Sammy texted me to ask if it's okay to stay over at her place tonight?"

Joel sighed. He knew that no matter the attempts he made for her to like baseball, it wasn't her thing. It was summer vacation, and he had no reason to say no, so he didn't.

"Is she coming to pick you up?" He began, fishing his keys out of his pocket to drive her if need be. The girl lived five minutes away, he'd be back only a few minutes after the game started, but he didn't really want to leave.

"I can ask her," she pulled her phone back out of her jeans, opened her screen, and checked her messages.

"No need, I can take you," your voice rang out, standing from the table and taking your bowl to the sink. It was a genuine offer, but it was also to get out of the house and process what just happened with the job situation.

Joel was the first one to stand up with you.

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine," you cut him off, leaving no room for discussion. It was lucky he liked you, otherwise, Joel Miller might have put up quite the argument for such a small dilemma. As was his way, of course. He huffed, but accepted he had been overruled.

"Thanks, then." It was mumbled, but there was gratitude in it.

"We gotta hop over to ours real quick and grab my stuff," Sarah told you, waiting for you to return from the kitchen before beginning to head out through the front door. You'd grabbed your keys off where they hung on the wall before going behind her.

"I'll be back soon," you called over your shoulder into the house, and got a chirped 'alright' reply from your dad.

You walked out passed your driveway, seeing the light flicker on as you both went passed the censor on the ground.

"Y'know, I didn't think you'd have caved so fast on that job thing." She had piped up once you were almost to her porch. You found it only slightly funny that she chose the exact topic which had been swirling in your mind since it happened.

"Not sure I really wanna do it, but your dad made it sound better than every time my dad's talked about it, guess he just convinced me," you chuckled, playing it off in a way that she absolutely was about to use against you.

"That's another thing," she turned to you as she backed into the house through the door, only turning once she was inside. "Since when are you friends with my dad?"

She said it in a joking tone, but having known a few things she didn't about interactions that occurred between you and her father, you felt constricted to answer seriously. Probably with a lie if need be.

"I've always gotten along with your dad," you gave her a confused look, accompanied after by a playful smile.

She grabbed her backpack and opened it, checking to make sure she'd taken all the school stuff out before starting to shove things in, her charger, headphones, etc.

"Yeah but... you're just all young and cool and stuff," she shrugged, turning around to walk towards the staircase. "My dad is all old and boring and only talks about baseball."

"Thirty-seven isn't old, babe. My dad is two years from fifty, and I don't even think he's old, yet. Boring? Maybe..." you reasoned, hearing her laugh before she sprinted up the stairs, giving you time to think of some answers before she asked any more questions. Had she really caught onto you that fast? You didn't think you'd acted noticeably. If Sarah was able to see it, then maybe your dad did, too. You needed to be more careful, in that case.

Sarah returned a few minutes later, her backpack now stuffed and her pillow under her arm. You nodded out the door and headed back to your driveway to open the door for her, seeing as though her hands were full.

The drive after Sarah had been dropped off felt so much longer. Maybe it was just your thoughts, or maybe you consciously drove slower to avoid getting home too quickly. Your dad was waiting, but above that, Joel was there, too. Probably sitting back on the leather couch, relaxing with his feet kicked out on the floor. He usually leaned onto the armrest with his elbow, and held his face against the hand it supported. You'd noticed it years ago. He only ever spoke up when your dad did, usually in reply to him.

He was content simply watching the game in the presence of a friend. It was endearing.

When you pulled into the driveway, you had come up with an excuse to not remain downstairs for the duration of the game. It was too risky, and you weren't apparently as good with self-control as you'd thought you were.

You went inside and hung up your keys on the hook, immediately passing the living room on the way to the stairs.

"Hey, lovebug, you missed the top of the first," your dad called. He knew you liked baseball, so if you were to lie and say you didn't want to watch, he'd know something was up.

"Y'know, pa, I think I'm just gonna watch it upstairs, I forgot I still got some stuff to unpack," you peaked your head into the room to respond, and saw that Joel, just as you had pictured, was sitting in his most usual position on the couch, feet out on the floor, arm up with a hand holding the side of his face.

"Can't you do it later?" Your dad pleaded, but you knew, seeing as how your father occupied the recliner, you would have no where else to sit but on the floor or next to Joel. You didn't trust yourself with that.

"I could, but I might fall asleep if I wait too long."

He sighed, throwing an arm in your direction and shooing you away. He wasn't annoyed, but he'd admit he missed watching these games with you. It had been like a tradition, but if Sarah wasn't here either, he wasn't gonna make you stick around.

"Sure you don't wanna stick around? We could use your lucky jersey down here," Joel piped up, lifting his face from his hand and giving you a pair of soft eyes. That was exactly the reason you would not be staying. He didn't even realize how much he affected you, but you'd make sure he did at some point. Maybe you could just tease him a little.

"You're right, it would be a shame to take the lucky jersey with me."

You walked behind your dad's chair, out of his sight, and tauntingly stripped the jersey over your head, revealing the tight black tank top beneath it, just like that night at the bar. Joel's jaw clenched and his eyes turned darker, even under the bright light of the flatscreen in the living room. You never took your eyes away from his as you slung him the jersey.

"Hey pa, can I get you anything from the kitchen before I go upstairs?" You leaned over the back of his recliner, looking at him upside down. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to move your hair from obstructing his vision.

"We're all good, lovebug," he spoke in addition to his physical response, his laughter dying down as you stood back up. "Come on down if you change your mind."

"I'll probably be down later," you spewed a half-lie. You weren't sure if you would be or not, especially if Joel was still lurking in the living room.

You gave those brown eyes one last look before heading straight upstairs.

You grabbed your remote and flicked on the TV. It was already on the right channel, so you tossed the remote aside onto your bed and flopped back into it. You didn’t actually have anything left to unpack, but they would never have known.

Your phone buzzed beside you, and you lifted the screen to your face to see a text from an unsaved number:

Missin you down here…

You’d never put Joel in your contacts, because in highschool, your friends thought it was weird to even text or call him regularly, but you had his number for years, always just as a backup. You’d known it by heart, now, and nearly had it memorized back then, too, for the times you needed his help.

I’d come back if there was an open seat.

A bit sassy of a response, maybe, but you were hoping he’d understand the hidden meaning behind it… Although, Joel didn’t usually pick up on those things very easily.

Open seat right next to me

Yeah, that’s why I’m up here…

You huffed, realizing it wouldn’t be that easy. The three little dots indicating his next response was on the way slightly nerved you. Maybe he took the last text you sent the wrong way. You didn’t mean it to sound badly.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Means that I can’t keep my hands to myself.

You quickly rectified the situation, although you might have gone too far. He was taking far too long to answer, now. The little dots that before nerved you would now be your saving grace if it meant he would just fucking respond, already. You dropped the phone on your chest, raising up and down in a scattered rhythm while you wiped your hands over your face. Your phone vibrated over your shirt and you immediately opened it.

I can’t either. Stay up there.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. He was thinking the same things you were, and likely was under more stress for it, given he sat right across from your dad, responding to his comments about the game here and there. Your dad had no idea what was happening right under his nose.

Wasn’t thinking about leavin.

This little back and forth went on, the majority of the game, in fact. It was more-so about the plays then on, because you didn’t have anyone to talk to up here.

Joel thought it a bit funny, your dad would say something oddly specific about one of the players, and then you’d text him right after saying the exact same thing. You’d been a product of watching baseball with your old man for just about ever.

“I’m thinking about gettin’ some tickets over the summer for a game or two. They’re always cheaper in them group packages, you n’ Sarah should come along,” your dad was barely paying any attention to the words he spoke, but they came flowing out anyway, clear and cool. “Could be fun.”

Joel knew that there was only so much group interaction he could handle with you, and you with him. It stands to why you’re upstairs, an he’s down here, fist wrapped tightly around your lucky jersey. All out of your father’s sight, of course.

“It could be. Don’t think Sarah’s much for baseball anymore, though.”

He’d hoped that your dad would drop it. Halfway through his third beer, he hoped the man was a little more than tipsy, and maybe didn’t even mean the words he was saying.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still tag along,” your dad was definitely still sober enough to keep it up, although the way he spoke became slower. Maybe he was getting sleepy.

“I’ll think about it.”

His response was followed by a hum, then a lull of silence that endured the rest of the game. He sat all the while and thought about his predicament a bit more.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was insane… like you’d leeched yourself to the inner workings of his mind and he wouldn’t be able to pull you off without hurting himself, too. You were just upstairs, and had been texting him. You were within his vicinity, and yet… so unreachable.

He’d wished for you to be down here, or for him to be up there with you. Obviously, that wouldn’t go too well with the man sitting next to him, but he’d be asleep soon. If he could just touch you again, just kiss you one more time, maybe his cravings would be satisfied and he could go about his days… but what would happen if he kept feeling the addictive urge to do more? What if he was never satiated enough to quit you?

The game was called, and you’d texted him a small ‘victory’ at seeing the Rangers had won.

It was wrong, and the presence of his friend beside him was a constant reminder that you were his kid, and he would have a final say. Even though you were an adult, he understood this was completely taboo, and you should be off with guys your own age... but he’s made up his mind about the thoughts spinning in his head.

He didn’t respond, though. Your dad stood up out of his chair, his arms stretching outwards with a loud yawn as he took a few steps forwards, clapping his hand down on Joel’s shoulder.

“I hate to kick you out…” your father joked, a low and tired chuckle under his words.

“It’s alright, I got some stuff to sort out anyway.”

They started making their way towards the door when light but fast footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs.

Joel turned quickly, a smile on his lips and in his eyes when he saw you trying to catch your breath after sprinting down here.

“Leavin’ already?”

They both laughed heartily. As if Joel hadn’t been here almost three hours, most of which you spent upstairs. Your heart was beating far too fast for your liking, but there didn’t seem to be a way to stop it. Now that you were present again, in the room with him, you didn’t know what else to do.

“Your dad’s half asleep as it is, if I stay any longer I’ll send ‘im into hibernation,” Joel’s response made you giggle softly, although you withheld most of the laughter, because in all honestly, it wasn’t that funny, and you needed to learn to control yourself.

“He’ll be over next week, we’ll talk about gettin’ you into that job.”

You nodded, turning back to Joel as your dad opened the front door. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t hug him, could you? That’s too much… maybe just wave, or maybe-

He held his hand out… for you to shake it. A hand-shake. Yeah, sure, fine.

You shook it, but he pulled you in half way, tapping your back once and then letting go.

He just bro hugged you. This man just-

He turned and did the same to your dad, giving you one last glimpse as he stepped out the door. Your dad closed it behind him and you were almost clean out of words to say. That had to have been the strangest interaction you’ve had.

“I’m beat, love-bug. I’m gonna head to bed,” he slung an arm around your neck and kissed the top of your head before turning and going down the hall to the stairs. “Don’t be up too late.”

“I won’t, just got a few things to do.”

You waited approximately ten more seconds before running to the garage door, going as quickly and as quietly as you could through to your front yard. Joel was still on his porch when you got out there, but was about to go inside.

You ran out to the sidewalk in font of his house and called out to him, all the while still barefoot.

“Hey Miller,” you crossed your arms, watching him turn around and lean in one direction. “Did you just bro-hug me? Or did I imagine that?”

He stepped closer to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams closest to him.

You slowly walked up to him, tilting your head to side as you observed his stance. he looked rather good. Hair tousled, body adorning a black t-shirt and some dark jeans. He was a sight, even in the dark light of the neighborhood.

“I reckon I oughta’ try again?”

"Seems like the fair thing to do."

“You’re takin’ your sweet time, baby,” he irked, grabbing gently under your elbow and pulling you up onto to porch once you were close enough.

You smiled to him, and wrapped your arms round his neck, over his broad shoulders. He pulled you close, tucking a head into your shoulder. The anxiousness you felt before fell apart, the rapid beating of your heart slowed, because you were comfortable. You felt immense peace in his arms like you’ve never felt before.

He backed away too soon, but still kept you relatively close to him.

“Was that better?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

There was a moment of silence, of contemplation, but it wasn’t stiff, and it wasn’t awkward. It was just there, a nice and pleasant quiet, and you standing still with Joel Miller on his porch.

“You wanna come inside a while?”

Sarah wasn’t home, and wouldn’t be till morning. Your dad was probably passed out in bed by now, leaving the opportunity completely open. You had nothing to lose, no risk to be had.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

He didn’t let you go, he just walked you both backwards until he was able to reach the door, reaching with one hand to open it before stepping slightly to the side to allow you entrance first.

“Ever the gentlemen,” you smiled, walking inside before he followed you in.

“Gotta make up for all that nonsense earlier,” he closed the door, taking your hand and walking to the kitchen. He pulled out a stool at his counter and let your hand fall to your side as he made his way to the fridge.

He pulled out two beers and uncapped them with the tool hanging on the side of his fridge. You think you remember your dad buying it for his birthday one year. You can remember sitting in this exact seat many times before, actually. Never alone, though. Never just you and Joel, and nobody else near.

He slid you one beer an you smiled at him in thanks, taking a sip.

“Last time you had one of these, I didn’t know if you liked it or not,” he gestured to his own bottle, drinking some and setting it down on the counter.

“I don’t know, I think it’s growing on me.”

He looked straight to you, leaning both hands on the edge of the counter. You leaned forward, mimicking his more stern face of features before he said anything else.

“I didn’t wanna say so with your dad around, but you look awful pretty tonight,” he spoke the compliment smoothly, but he had to drop his head after he said it. Seemed that giving you compliments alone in the night was something of a struggle for him, since he was blushing still even when he looked back to you.

“I seem to be feelin’ a lot prettier as of late whenever I’m around you. Think you’re just good for my self esteem,” you paused, leaning back onto the stool to take a drink of your beer. “That, or it's just nice to be complimented by a handsome guy like yourself.”

He didn’t seem to believe you. His scoff was loud and heard immediately after your compliment returned to him.

“You think I’m handsome?”

He’d always thought he was average. Maybe even slightly below. As he got older, that notion grew until he felt that maybe he was beyond trying for a woman on behalf of his looks. Perhaps there were women from time to time that would agree to a date, but there were none since Sarah’s mom who actually stuck around, not until you… but you were different as far as relationships go, because technically, you shouldn’t even be considering one with him.

“Absolutely, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” You were curious, because he was clearly attractive. Maybe you’d spent too much time around the more traditionally preferred young men in dallas, but something about Joel intrigued you that never did with anyone else. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect of what you two were doing, but before that, it was something else. He was rough and rugged, and good looking in a mature way that the boys your age couldn’t mimic if they tried. Those dark brown eyes with little crows feet at the edges every time he smiled were a dead give away to his age, but it was so appealing somehow.

“Don’t know. Guess I’m just old,” he spoke, trying to hide the insecurities that phrasing brought about. He was too old for you, he shouldn’t be sitting here with you you alone and calling you pretty, and yet…

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Too many boys my age are still very immature these days.” And it was very much true. Too young, too immature, and too stupid to see what’s in front of them and really appreciate it. Older men have a tendency to take care of the things they have, because they know that with time they can lose them.

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

“They don’t even realize what their missin’ out on, do they?”

You shook your head in reply. Nope. Not a single one of the younger guys you’ve dated has treated you with the care you know he could. He’s always treated you with care, before… why would that change now?

“They probably figure there’s a million girls linin’ up after me that they can take a shot at,” you raised your eyebrows and drank some more. Maybe it was just a thought of some past experiences, but this beer was tasting better and better to you.

“I pity them,” he said nonchalantly, without really thinking about it.

“Who, the girls? I mean, I kinda feel bad, but other times, I think we all know what we’re getting ourselves into n’ we just try to ignore the red flags.”

It was meant as a joke, but he was being genuinely serious.

“No, the guys. I pity ‘em.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I do,” he nodded, thinking of the right words to say. “They lost you, didn’t they? Biggest mistake of their lives and they didn’t even know. Pity ‘em just for that.”

You didn’t know what to say. You figured the wide smile you wore was doing a fine enough job, but he wasn’t looking like he had anything else to voice yet.

“You think I’m somethin’ special, Joel Miller?”

He set his bottle down on the counter and walked around it to stand right in front of your barstool. He took both your hands and pulled them to his chest, just holding them there and looking to you with the sweetest expression you’ve ever seen from him. He’s so different than what you remember in your earlier years. He used to be so stoic and serious. Sometimes even a little grumpy. Guess time changes things.

“I wouldn’t be gettin’ myself into sum’ this crazy if I thought anything else,” he mumbled it almost, but he definitely meant it. His words rang true in every aspect of the implications they made. This was crazy, it was very unlikely in the first place, but even still, it was happening. Neither of you backed down, neither of you said no.

“If it helps, I happen to think you’re pretty damn special, too.”

He didn’t respond, just leaned closer towards you, nudging his nose against yours, before letting your lips meet in a kiss. it washed rushed and hazy like the last time. It wasn’t forceful or fast or anything of that sort. It was gentle, and it was meaningful. All the years he’d known you, but never like this. You knew this attraction was new, but it was still real. You wondered how many women pined after him over the years, only for you to now gage his attention when clearly no one else did. The man’s been single since Sarah’s mom left, and otherwise, you didn’t know him to be much of a ‘dating around’ kinda guy. Standing here with him, now, you felt such excitement in knowing he’d pursue you, the off limits woman, over anyone else. It was a true victory, or at least you thought so, sitting on a stool in his kitchen while he kissed you softly, his thumbs going over the backs of your hands that still lingered in his.

When the kiss broke, you inhaled deeply, the scent of him so close to you, surrounding you. He was like a warm blanket you just pulled out of the dryer. He was comforting, and soft, and his skin was currently hot to the touch. You could only hope that you had something to do with that.

“Baby,” he breathed, hands letting go of yours and finding a new home at your waist. You left your hands on his chest, feeling his heart rate fluctuating. “Gotta know something before this goes any further…”

You hummed in response, still trying to even your breath intake. He backed away a few inches to be able to look you in the eyes correctly. He’d spent enough time with you in the past to know if you were telling the truth, and he was going to use it just this once to his advantage.

“What we’re doin’, you sure you’re okay with it?” He knew better than to jump into this without clarification. “Don’t want you feelin’ pressured if you’re not.”

“I want this,” you spoke softly, just loud enough that he could hear. “Promise.”

You had thought you’d been the instigator to this, if memory serves you correctly. Even still, you know now that whatever happens, he won’t take it somewhere you don’t want it to go. This show of good faith was something you could put trust in him over. He’s a good one, you always knew that.

And again his lips were on yours, differently this time. It was a bit more hasty and fervent like the first time, but there was still something different from then that you couldn’t quite decipher.

You absent-mindedly opened your legs and he instantly came between them, letting your bodies become flush with one another. His hands ran up and down your sides, every once and a while dipping to your hips and somewhere below on your thighs.

There was a heat between them that you didn’t realize was there until he came so close to touching it. He never actually did, though, and you were both endeared by and upset about it. He was the one making that heat spread, he can’t just leave it there… but he’s testing his limits, and you think it’s respectful that he is.

He doesn’t want to cross any lines… as if this entire entanglement has not already done that. This situation in every sense of the definition, has crossed the line. Him hugging you that tightly on his porch, him inviting you in after dark when it’s only you and him alone, having a beer with some very personal conversation, and now making out with you in his kitchen. They all crossed the line of what should happen between a man and his best friend’s daughter.

“Tell me to stop,” he mumbled against your mouth, almost as if reading your mind. His hand on your thigh drifted between your legs, just barely caressing the heated pool sitting there, waiting for him. It was still very reserved, and you had to buck against his hand for more friction, but at least it was something.

The taste of him somehow made it worse, the feeling growing inside you without an end in sight. The arousal was evident, but you weren’t sure he would be able to do anything about it, yet. You could tell it was weighing on his mind, what was okay for him to do, and what wasn’t. You would beg him if you had to, you just needed more.

He had an idea, one that could allow both of you to explore this dynamic easier, and one that could potentially keep him from overstepping like he was afraid to.

He removed his hands only for a minute, bringing yours up and over his shoulders before he settled his back down below your ass.

“Hold on,” he told you, lifting you from the seat and walking until he got to the living room. From there, he let the space guide him until the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch. He sat almost abruptly, and when you relaxed your weight onto him, you felt the stirring between his legs as well. You moaned into his mouth at the mere size and feeling of it, beginning to slowly grind down onto him. He encouraged your movements, and used his hands to guide your hips as you went, back and forth, getting into a rhythm.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, tearing himself away for a moment to expel his breath from his lungs at the new feeling. Your head fell against his, and suddenly it was the movement of your lower half taking you over.

He let his hands move over your body a bit more freely, now, but still careful not to make any harsh movements, or grab in places he felt he shouldn’t linger too long. He knew you wanted this, but something inside him questioned how comfortable you really felt… that was until you started doing the same, roaming his body with your delicate touch, making him feel like the most important man in the world. You could have sworn you marked the exact moment he snapped, rolling his hips upwards into yours shamelessly. It was so deliciously addicting, the feeling of his body pleasing yours, and vice versa. His rough and sturdy hands, though still gentle, ravished any part of you available to him.

The air between you was hot and thick, and you could swear that by breathing it in, you were drawing even more arousal into your body.

The motions kept going until there was a quickening of pace brought on by you both simultaneously. You couldn’t mark a distinction of when it increased, you just knew that the speed you were going wasn’t where you started. All you could think of was that your spend was fast approaching, and you wondered if his was, too.

“Gettin’ close,” you murmured, barely able to get the words out for the moans that slipped passed your lips. “M’gonna…”

He heard you, and understood. Truth be told, he’d started getting hard since that moment on the porch, so this was just nothing but sweet relief to him. He kept on, trying to meet you at your finish.

“Let go , baby.”

You had no qualms about being told twice when it came to him. You gave it up easily, the muscles in your body contracting when you felt the wash of utter ease through every inch of you. He tensed beneath you, but relaxed with a groan of relief right after, and you could feel his length twitch in his jeans.

You just dry-humped Joel Miller on his couch. Like a horny teenager. What the fuck.

The dawn of realization was cut short by his hand softly coercing the back of your neck, bring your lips back for him to claim as he did earlier. Soft, and gentle, no rush, no heat. Just that feeling between you both that started this mess.… and it was indeed a mess.

“You wanna stay over?”

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buckets-and-trees · 5 months

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Warm Shadows - Carving Through the Dark (3/4)

Fandom: MCU Collection: Warm Shadows [ part one | part two ] Title: Carving Through the Dark Characters/Pairings: established Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader, Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 14.4k

Summary: Worse than a nightmare because it's real, Bucky has to track down his kidnapped omega and the man - the super soldier - who had been his closest friend turned into the dark, rival alpha, Captain Hydra.

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, angst, explicit smut, vaginal intercourse, consensual forced orgasm

Logistical Notes: Shhh - yes this was the final story update I had planned for the Dark Forest Fest and it's the first week of January! But. Well. The word count. But we're here now, okay? Title taken from Hozier's Who We Are.

Additional Notes: Okay, I know that I did a poll asking last month if folks wanted the final chapter split into two parts or just one long chapter and - er - I kind of did both. I did not split this chapter, but a couple of days ago I realized we needed a fourth and final part. Lastly, @biteofcherry has been an absolute lifeline during the composition of this chapter - thank you for putting up with my conjectures and letting me piece together some of the elements. And even a little thank you to @rookthorne for cheering and bullying me over how long this got.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“I can’t help you,” Shuri states, though there’s the flicker of it almost being one final question of it in her eyes.

“No,” Bucky confirms. “No more than you already have.”

He knows she says it as one last opportunity for him to change his mind, but also in acknowledgment that he must do this on his own. They clasp hands and then he turns to walk up the ramp of the aircraft.

“James,” she says when he’s nearly gone. He turns back to look at his friend, one who has seen him at the best and worst of times. “Whoever he is now, he knows Bucky, he knows the Winter Soldier, he will have learned everything about the Soldat from their archives, so you must truly be the White Wolf. She knows the wolf, but he does not.”

He nods and then walks further into the aircraft, leaving Shuri behind.

After you’d been violated and taken from him, Bucky had lain in anguish until just before dawn, raging over the loss of his world and everything he’d worked for, built, found, cherished. He would find you again – when he’d sworn, “There’s no corner of this earth you can go where I won’t find you,” it had been a promise to you as much as a warning to the monster – but none of you three were the same after that night.

To be the White Wolf…

It will take all the tactics he learned in the army, that he was forced to acquire as Hydra’s finest assassin, and since he escaped and then truly reclaimed his freedom. As angry as he is, as desolate as he feels, he holds the emotions at arms’ length, he needs to be at the eye of the hurricane so he can maneuver the way he needs to.

Bucky hasn’t been able to feel you. His desperate hope is that it’s because you’re sedated and unconscious and not … not anything else.

In Wakanda he and Shuri hadn’t been able to find even a sliver of a trace of the jet that had come and gone for Steve to enact his plan. It was a statement that whoever he was now, Captain Hydra was utilizing every ounce of knowledge Steve had and blending it with whatever Hydra hat put in him.

Bucky won’t leave a trail either.

It will take Steve time to figure out how Bucky left Wakanda – on foot, ground transport, or air transport – if he can figure it out. But Bucky was the untraceable ghost over fifty years of missions for Hydra, and he didn’t have the motivation he does now.

Bucky devised that going on the already-scheduled aircraft to the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland gave him the best options. He assumes Steve would have managed to get into the networks used by the Avengers and SWORD, and since he flew an aircraft in and out of Wakanda undetected and Bucky won’t be able to use Wakandan technology to best him either, so landing in Oakland also puts him in proximity to the hardware, software, and network resources he would need to build his own tech. During his convalescence in Wakanda before the Infinity War, it had been days of goats and technology research and development in the most advanced science facility in the world. He is not the expert that Shuri is, but he knows enough. His aversion to much of “modern” technology has always been due to how primitive it was compared to anything from Wakanda.

It takes weeks, but Bucky acquires the hardware he needs, modifies software, creates the network and protocols he needs to start Hydra hunting, and puts it all to work. He knows what to look for – the patterns, the seemingly innocuous inconsistencies – and he knows it because he was running data point for the team of analysts dedicated to Hydra hunting before this. He had taken more responsibility at the base of operations and fewer and fewer field assignments to be home and build his life with you.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate in ignoring any ethical limits whatsoever for his surveillance protocols. When he was working within the system, they had established some lines they weren’t willing to cross.

With seven billion humans in existence and him alone looking for two, lines to cross no longer exist.

He knows he will never get his life back, but he will not let anything prevent him from getting you back.

He puts every piece into play immediately as he builds, sleeps only the bare minimum. Truthfully he had only indulged in more than the minimal sleep a super soldier needed these past years because it was time spent blissfully with you. Without a reason to rest, he didn’t have any problem cutting back to short sleep allotments to keep him operating at peak condition.

In putting his own tap into the Avengers’ database, he studies the work that had gone on while he was gone for his annual retreat away with you. He discovers that Steve and Sam followed leads in Europe.

“Damn you idiots,” he murmurs.

The reports show his two friends go dark after losing comms nearly a month ago. A team went in after them and their debrief says they found only their communication devices. ‘Search ongoing…’

That was a month ago.

He knows the status of Steve.

Sam could be a live asset in play, an asset still being trained and molded by Hydra, their prisoner for torture, or he could have been eliminated already.

It takes him sixteen days from the beginning of his build to finish – he’d been collecting intelligence, but once everything is in play and he continues to hone in on incoming results, things progress systematically, satisfyingly, in a foreign familiarity that evokes memories of this time hunting as the Winter Soldier.

Two more days and he’s got enough evidence in the intelligence to confirm you’re somewhere in Europe. Within two hours Bucky recalibrates calculations based the new findings, conducts new searches, gets confirmation of a face on a traffic camera in Gdańsk that looks like Steve, and when he’s able to piece a clear trail that follows him through the city and then to an aircraft that he’s further able to track until it disappears over northern Italy. He knows this for what it is – a trail tempting him closer to the trap. A challenge, an invitation, but only if he can put together more pieces to find you. How many times did he set beautifully complex traps for some of his prize targets when he was the Winter Soldier? Breadcrumbs to entice, to drive his opponent to work harder, to put their prowess to work, to make them feel confident so he could trick, trap, and kill them in the end.

This monster of a man tricked him in Wakanda. It will be the only time. Expert and intricate traps of this sort are something his opponent has been playing with for a few weeks. Bucky has more practice and expertise, infinitely more motivation, and no distractions.

He travels under cover of transports between Wakandan outreach centers from Oakland to Washington DC, and then from Washington to Bilbao. When he touches down in Bilbao, his information relay device has a new lead based off a visual of Steve in a bookshop in Turin twice in the previous week.

He takes the train to Turin. Within twelve hours he finds the location of the Hydra facility, and Bucky makes enough noise to reveal to Hydra that he’s in the city and trigger the personnel to raise the facility to its red alert security status. He plants a false trail indicating that he’s given up and gone further north, all the while watching every aspect of the base, making plans to infiltrate, and ensuring sure none of the vehicles or teams moving in and out look like they’re transporting you somewhere else. They drop to an orange threat level, and then yellow – standard caution and operating procedures.

Bucky would have been floored that they believed he’d missed them in Turin and moved on to search somewhere else, but it spoke to one of the weaknesses of Hydra’s organization: the arrogance. Instead, Bucky hacks into their base network as well as their external communications channels.

This observation, research, recon, and analysis Bucky does not rush. Everything he cares about is at stake. If he’s going to be successful in getting you back there can be no room for error as he’ll be up against Hydra and the only other super soldier on the planet who could potentially match or outmatch him.

And as the weeks wear on, the other thing he cannot deny, that he’d known from the beginning of this nightmare even if he’d wanted to try to ignore it, it that he isn't in this to rescue only you.

When all is said and done, the reality is he has to get Steve back, too.

Bucky knows the longer it takes, the more dangerously close he gets to your next heat. He knows an omega being in a distressed environment will affect the heat cycle. It could bring it on early, or potentially also push you to the extremes of a dry heat depending on the conditions they are keeping you in, and how you’re feeling. Once he determines he knows enough to start putting together a plan of extraction, he also determines it’s too close to when your heat might hit, and he can’t risk trying to extract you if you’re in heat – it becomes an element he can’t predict and ensure that his plan will still be successful.

His own senses are strained with the tenor of your unease in a way that’s different from before. It’s driving his alpha side mad, and he wants to storm the facility and reclaim you, and that’s one more element contributing to the volatility of the situation. He knows he can’t gamble on so many unpredictable elements.

He must wait.

But when he sees Captain Hydra leave in his jet right when Bucky is certain you are close to your heat, Bucky is stunned.

It might be too damn close to your heat, but clearly you’re not in heat yet or the other alpha would not leave you. This was not his plan, but it is a prime opportunity he can’t ignore – not if he can get to you alone and save you from a heat away from him. His heart can’t deny this unexpected opportunity.

After Bucky had hacked into the Hydra base’s network, he’d discovered that the small jet Captain Hydra had exclusive use of had been excluded from all navigational tracking and that the man only communicated by radio with one individual whenever he left. He’d further discovered that Captain Hydra was a weapon still cloaked from most of Hydra, with nothing about him other than his existence as a new asset available on the network. Even his former identity was not yet disclosed or recorded anywhere digitally.

This means Bucky has no idea where the man is going or when he will be back, but he hears Captain Hydra and his liaison discuss and confirm his time of arrival and his estimated time of return. Bucky must work quickly, but there is a window.

As he had not anticipated infiltrating so soon, he still has to finish putting things together for the actual extraction – like transportation, supplies, and thoroughly planning out three escape routes and destinations – and while he works quickly, he does not rush those final preparations, and so that takes him a significant amount of the window of time he knows he has.

But he only needs long enough to get you out.

He will have that.

He ambushes the delivery truck bringing in the week’s food shipment with no trouble and drives it right into the base as he has all the proper credentials on his person and its still pre-dawn hours, so lack of light works in his favor to get through the first gate.

But of course when he doesn’t follow delivery procedures once he rolls up to the shipping and receiving dock, that’s when his limited time really begins. The first decision he must make is whether or not to take out a man of average height but portly build that approaches the truck – one of the cooks, Bucky has studied the personnel files for everyone registered on this base – and Bucky evaluates as he steps out of the truck. He could kill him, but this man should probably be spared. Bucky doesn’t want unnecessary blood on his hands. So with lightning fast moves and a choke hold, the man goes down. But next are two security personnel, and them Bucky shoots point blank, taking each of them out with single shots. He leans down to lift the comms off one of them, putting the piece in his ear so he can hear everything as it unfolds across the base.

He yanks open the first door and moves down the hallway. And then there’s a frantic message over the comms, “Code Red! Winter Soldier, loading docks, two personnel down, in pursuit!”

Bucky growls and turns back down the hallway and swears when he sees the man putting comms in his ear and squaring up a gun he’d clearly lifted off one of the security guards was the cook he thought he’d put out cold. Apparently the man had more in him than Bucky had accounted for, and so now Bucky takes aim and shoots him once he’s close enough to secure the kill shot, only having to dodge two close but errant bullets himself as the cook had tried to run him down.

Lethal force for everyone it is, he thinks.

He’s irritated he wasted extra time on this man trying to keep down the body count.

He does not make that mistake again, killing everyone who comes across his path. The silver lining working in his favor is that this base in Turin is a science facility, not a military facility, so he has fewer muscle personnel to deal with than other places you could have been kept, and he can hear over the main comms that scientists and researchers are being given orders to shelter in place while there are instructions given over the security comms in Bucky’s ear that prime-level scientists are to be evacuated. It’s the directive he expected, which benefits him as the security personnel are split between pursuing him and evacuating those individuals deemed indispensable.

But dealing with those who are in pursuit of him is simple. When he’s out of ammunition, he makes quick work dealing what should be lethal wounds with his knives. Every man or woman down is one less he will need to contend with while trying to safely get you out, and while he’s reasonably sure he’s dealing death to everyone, there are a few he thinks may survive.

He has studied every aspect of this facility while making his preparations, and he sends a message to Captain Hydra that he was prepared by shooting glances cleanly into every camera he knows he passes.

There’s a flash of fear that ripples through him – it comes from the bond he’s tried to keep dormant between you since you were taken, but this is too powerful, and it’s a barb he can’t ignore. It flares and then dies out, which could be either a good thing or a bad thing. He squares his shoulders and moves more quickly.

As Bucky reaches the quadrant they’ve been keeping you a few moments later, the words, “The Omega is secured, sedated, and ascending to the roof with team Foxtrot, thirty seconds until air evac.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He knows he can’t make it in time, but Bucky still races down the hall to the stairwell, launching through the door and then hurtling up the stairs, taking them three and four at a time. His super speed isn’t enough to scale four flights of industrial facility stairs, and he bursts out on the roof to see the coaxial helicopter already twenty meters up in the air and navigating away to the north.

He wants to shout until his lungs bleed because he was so close, but he knows he can’t afford to indulge in emotions that strong in this moment. Instead, he takes huge gulps of the fresh air, pulls the door from its hinges, and hurls it across the roof before going back down the stairs.

He does not engage with anyone but comes across few through his retreat. Instead, his focus now is decimating what he can of the facility without wasting time or going out of his way as he escapes the base, rigging explosives quickly in key areas on his way out.

While he left destruction in his wake, and he leaves alone, he was precise in how much damage he dealt. He left the area of main logistical operations intact because he didn’t want to destroy their network and communications, eliminating his ties to tracking their next moves.

Bucky immerses himself in tracking and monitoring everything the second he’s back in his hideout with his tech. He sees the Captain return. He watches the final evacuations. They send him to Geneva, and Bucky is ready to follow, knowing exactly where the Swiss facility is located since he’s fully infiltrated the Hydra network of information. He can’t travel as quickly since he doesn’t have access to any Hydra aviation, but he makes it there by sundown.

He wouldn’t risk trying to disrupt your heat now, not with everyone moved and on high alert, it would be dangerous for you. Instead, he works on setting up his new undercover observation point in Switzerland. He fine tunes his information tap into the Hydra system. As he works, he notices the rise of an anxious feeling pulling at his hind brain. He’s felt the press of you trying to reach across the bond while you’ve been apart, but this is different – there’s a frantic, wild tug, and while it’s insistent, it’s more erratic, like the flickering of a flame, as if you aren’t even concentrating on the connection to him.

He knows so much of you that he knows you have to be on the brink of your heat but that you must desperately be trying to fight it. The discomfort he can sense continues to ebb and flow. It morphs. It becomes tinged with more discomfort. Then there’s a lick of desire that is almost imperceptible. That’s followed rather quickly be a flare of adrenaline – or is it fear? Another shift a few minutes later, and tone of this is pure arousal, the feeling he’s shared so much of with you, and the thought that you…

He grits his teeth, shuts his eyes, and abruptly stills every muscle in his body. You are his omega. Another alpha bonded you. Your heat is undeniable. His brain knows that – it’s one of the things he’s been focusing on, acknowledging the various scenarios that could play out for this heat, he just did not want this, nor was he prepared for what it might feel like. And so, with forced, measured breaths, he does everything he can to concentrate on shutting down the connection, to put his alpha side to sleep, because he can not bear this. He has suppressed so much of everything since losing you, only holding onto the faintest tether, but he cannot endure this – not and keep his rationality and do what he needs to do now, which is to formulate the next steps, the things he needs to figure out and watch for now that this cruel game has changed. Emotion will distract him, but there’s also the flow that could go the other way and throw you off, and he swore to keep you safe.

Diving into the network databases of this new Hydra facility, Bucky notices something he noticed in Turin: there are no records that contain any of your names on file – not you, not Steve, not Sam. He thought it was strange before, but he had a theory it could have been the nature of secrecy around all the projects at the research facility in Turin – there were very few data files on the science being explored on that base. But in transferring the Turin personnel out, with a contingent of them going to Geneva, he pours over all the documentation and the only he finds is the transfer of a high-level asset referred to only as Waffe SR4718. He easily knows the German word for weapon, and without missing a beat Bucky knows the letters and numbers are supposed to seem random but clearly refer to Steve Rogers whose birthdate is the fourth day of the seventh month in the eighteenth year of the previous century. It’s innocuous to anyone coming across it, but abundantly clear that it’s specific for those who were supposed to know.

With all Bucky knows of his own time with Hydra, how there were always layers within layers, secrets buried, hidden, withheld, he’s certain the acquisition of Steve and metamorphosis into Captain Hydra is as dark and as quiet as his own existence as the Winter Soldier.

There are quarters assigned to Waffe SR4718, and Bucky tags it track all status alerts – comings and goings, services, requests. He also puts the cameras for that hallway up on a constant feed monitoring protocol with the AI he’s adapted to bring up the imagery if there’s any movement in or out of the door.

Knowing you’re in heat, Bucky concentrates on new extraction tactics and mapping out escape options from this new facility.

But at three in the morning during the second night in Geneva – the second night of your heat – the door movement alert goes off, and Bucky immediately turns his attention to watch as Steve slowly emerges.

Why would he have any reason to leave you during your heat? He knows he could order food, clothing, bedding, medical personnel if absolutely necessary…

A quick check of the log shows that there have been no such requests.

And then he sees the unthinkable.

You’re right there behind him, following as he starts to make his way down the hall, dressed in darker clothing as he is. He has a small tactical pack slung across his back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The question is only uttered out of frustration and disbelief because he could immediately decipher what is happening.

As precarious as it is to interfere with your heat, the two of you are clearly on the move.

The other alpha has no intention of staying at this base.

But why?

His mind begins deciphering even as he’s pulling up security cameras as the pair of you move through the facility, tracking your movements and actions.

The calculated risk is to get out when you’re supposed to be in heat. Bucky did see that status reported on the log – omega in heat. The protocols were to leave alpha and omega Hydra personnel undisturbed unless a priority one situation developed – typically reserved for life or death and rarely anything less urgent or pressing. It meant no one would think to check after the asset immediately. Even if an alpha skipped regular ordering for a meal or two to the living quarters, that wouldn’t be taken as out of the ordinary, merely unnecessary or forgotten due to being otherwise occupied, or deciding to make do with the food already with them.

The movement logically progresses toward the transportation hangar under the building – intending to employ ground transport.

On the way, the two of you duck into a room and close the door. Bucky accesses the schematics to discover it’s a data analytics workspace – cooperative computer sharing area. There weren’t any goons to hide from, so Bucky works quickly, trying to pull up the specific workstations in there. He sees the log in for a science officer. The user accesses the personnel transfer files for everyone from the Turin base submitted due to the evacuation. Four names are brought up on the roster and their locations are changed from Turin to the other the other bases anyone from Turin was reassigned to – a pair of them to Odessa, the other pair to Trondheim.

Subterfuge. He’s displacing security agents – or at least their location statuses.

Bucky frowns.

The rest of your course takes you directly to the vehicle hangar. Moving in the dead of night has capitalized on as few people as possible moving around the base for you to encounter, and it paid off. The other alpha selects a smaller SUV, loads some readily available weapons and supplies from the nearby vicinity into the back and then – faster than lightning – he withdraws something from a pocket near his chest, presses it over your mouth, and Bucky can see you seize up and then slump into his arms. He tucks you in amongst the supplies before throwing a canvas over everything and closing the hatchback.

Clearly you had been cooperating with this escape, so why was it necessary to knock you out?

Then he leaves the vehicle, leaves the hangar, goes back up two floors to the security personnel floor, and knocks on one of the doors.

Bucky accesses the database to see who’s assigned to that room as he watches this man converse briefly with whoever answers the door.

The two names assigned to the room match the two names reassigned to the Trondheim base on the evacuation transfer records.

“What larger game are you playing, Captain Hydra?” Bucky murmurs.

Because it’s back down to the hangar and the SUV with you stashed in the back, but then he waits.

And within five minutes, two men in full tactical gear get in the vehicle as well, and only then does he start up the car and leave. There’s a tracking device on this vehicle, so Bucky starts to pack up his tech, and pulls up the tracking on his smartphone.

He’s about to shut and pack away his laptop when he thinks of doing one more thing. It will take time, and this is why he knows Captain Hydra didn’t do it, but it will be worth it. But after his time in Wakandan labs and building up his own robust systems, within twenty-five minutes, Bucky has gone through the security camera system and successfully removed all footage of you and the captain moving throughout the base, rewriting it with the empty hallways from just before and after, effectively erasing the evidence of your escape. This will buy more time. No one may have thought to look for any movement in and out of Waffe SR4718’s quarters, but now they won’t find it when they ultimately go back and try, extending Bucky’s time to tail you without Hydra in the mix. They will assume the alpha and omega are still in heat seclusion now without any reason to doubt it.

Bucky leaves his temporary Geneva hideout with the essentials he arrived with. He chose this location because it was two streets down from one of the larger private car services in Switzerland. Bucky knows he can pass as a mechanic with his clothing, and the service staff works overnight to keep up maintenance for the large fleet of vehicles that provide VIP transportation, airport pick up and drop off, limousine transfers, corporate chauffeur services, ski transfers, and event chauffeuring. Acquiring a non-descript vehicle is as easy as he hoped, and it’s more than simple to de-activate this car’s GPS tracking system.

Within half an hour, he’s comfortably in pursuit. The vehicle he’s tracking has maintained its course and is an hour out of the city now, but an hour ahead is reasonable.

When the Hydra vehicle is three hours outside of Geneva, it makes its first stop. Bucky presses a button on his phone to pin the location. The stop is for less than five minutes, and then it continues, but Bucky will stop there as well to assess the purpose and glean any information he can.

Bucky is an assertive driver, making up speed, but not at a point to draw attention. When he reaches the pin he’d set on the route for the stop your vehicle had made, it’s on a bridge.

There’s only one reason Bucky can think of to stop on a bridge.

A reason that could make Bucky’s heart stop with devastation, but he must continue to operate under the assumption it wasn’t your body dumped into the river. Anything else wouldn’t make sense.

Unless the other alpha has become completely unhinged and all of this is an elaborate game to drive Bucky beyond all limitations of his own reason.

Within the next two hours, he sees you pass the border into Germany, and then another stop is registered on the GPS tracking near the city of Albstadt. Bucky has made up a significant amount of the head start the other alpha had had. When he arrives in Albstadt, he finds the SUV. It is most likely that this vehicle had been abandoned for another, but Bucky has to stop at this point and tap into security feeds for the city to see whether you’re here or not. He picks a spot that advertises wifi with their sandwiches, refueling his body while setting up his tech in a spot most won’t question him to hunker down for some serious work on a laptop. He gets into the city’s street cameras, sees Steve steal another vehicle, pulls the license plate, and then he programs his algorithm to watch for the number to track the route now. He won’t be able to smoothly follow the route of a GPS-tracked vehicle anymore, but Bucky knew this would grow more difficult. As long as his goal was to draw out the Soldat, Captain Hydra will still leave a trail of breadcrumbs, but it will be scant if he’s trying to evade Hydra.

While Bucky has questions of intent, he has no question that it’s what the Captain is doing now.

Bucky is able to pick up the trail with license plate tracking and route mapping into Stuttgart. All the way to the train station. But this is where the other alpha shows incredible skills for blending in. It’s a busy station. Bucky will have to run thorough security camera assessments of the Stuttgart station, figure out when – or if – they got on a train, and then continue tracking from there. If the alpha and omega got on a train, Bucky can at least narrow his search to that route and its stops for that schedule, but Bucky used train stations to cover his tracks as well, and sometimes that involved never boarding the train but leading anyone tracking him to believe that he had.

With that much information, he writes new coding into his overall system, sends it back to the larger machine he left in Oakland to do the heavy computing so it can start the work he’ll need to fine tune once he can settle in a more permanent stopover, pays for his meal, and then drives to Stuttgart. The hacking into facial recognition has been so enhanced beyond boundaries though – especially because he can tailor it to look for only two faces he knows as well as his own – that he sees the two of your board a train headed west, targets the route, sets up the watch parameters for the schedule, and catches you getting off in Paris.

Another smart move blending into the vibrancy of a large city, but Bucky is sure it’s not the final destination either. But Steve knew enough French to blend into the country, as well.

It takes Bucky and his systems six more days, but he confirms three separate facial recognitions for the other alpha in a town outside of Bordeaux small enough to be off the beaten path but big enough to blend in and go unnoticed by its people.

Bucky travels there as quietly as possible. He does not want to tip his hand. He’s too close now to have you slip through his hands again.

After two more days and with the assistance of satellite imaging, he has found the small house in a forested area outside of the town.

Bucky grips the edge of the small desk he’s been working at, grounding himself. Adrenaline had immediately surged through his veins, but he must keep everything contained. He has practiced so much control and restraint that if his heart betrays him now, he’ll carve it out himself and leave it behind. He cannot compromise this delicate situation.

He drives out to the area and leaves his vehicle well-hidden a kilometer out from the house and approaches on foot, circling at a large perimeter and slowly moving further in, cautiously, taking in everything. He doesn’t want to trip anything the other alpha may have set up to alert him to intruders.

What he discovers is minimal, and all old tactical elements – things they’d done as

Cap and the Howling Commandos back in the old war.

Effectively things that would have worked on anyone from this day and age but that only Bucky would know to look for.

He doesn’t trust it.

This is another trap.

But he has to walk into it and fare as best he can.

That’s what Captain Hydra had said was his plan from the beginning – draw out the Soldat.

The White Wolf would enter the trap but would need to control it and come out on the other side with his omega.

He can’t even think those words without his pulse racing now, and he digs his vibranium fingers into the trunk of the tree under his hand, splintering the wood while he closes his eyes and stamps down everything that wants him to sprint to the house he can see, break down the door, and launch himself into your arms.

He timed his approach when he’d seen the other alpha leave – likely for more food and supplies – but he knew the time alone would be limited.

Bucky takes measured but determined steps to the green wooden front door of what’s essentially a little cottage.

Straining his ears and focusing on his enhanced hearing, he doesn’t pick up anything beyond ambient noises – and your soft, slow breathing.

He takes a deep breath, slowly twists the doorknob, and opens the door.

There you are, curled up in a cozy armchair, dozing, hand pressed up against the spine of a book that has fallen to your chest after you clearly fell asleep reading, and this.

This simple scene nearly knocks him to his knees.

The way you’re there, feet away from him, it’s the most beautiful sight of his entire life.

But still, he is quiet, cautious.

His entire chest aches for you.

He shuts the door softly behind him, then crosses the small living room and kneels next to you. He eases the book out of your hands and puts it on the small side table. He’s done this before so many times. You make a slight hum through your sleep.

Brushing his fingers over your cheek is almost enough to make the nightmare of the last six weeks vanish as if it really had only been a nightmare.

He almost doesn’t dare to breathe.

But the warmth of his hand against your skin evidently reaches in to stir something in your subconscious, because you shift slightly, sigh, and tilt your head into his touch and murmur, “Bucky…”

The stutter of his chest is both painful and euphoric at once, and everything wells up in his chest, everything he’s been holding back.

He drops his hand from your cheek to your shoulder, gently trying to nudge you awake.

Coming back into consciousness, you take in a deep breath before blinking your eyes open. Your gaze drifts to him, and then your body seizes up one moment, and the next you’re scrambling up and away from him, whipping over the back of the armchair you’d been curled up in.

“Bucky?” your voice comes out in a wounded whimper of a tone that pierces him, confounds him.

“Yes, it’s me,” he answers, brow furrowing. He hadn’t allowed himself to think over what this moment was going to be like – he knew the fixation would have been too painful to hope over – but it was not supposed to be this, with you looking at him with caution, with hesitancy, with your guard up.

“Omega?” he questions tentatively, rising from where he’d been crouched on the floor.

You don’t move your position, but you draw yourself up to your full height as well.

Bucky maneuvers around the furniture, wanting to remove the barrier between you, but he changes his position slowly, allowing you time to retreat if you feel compelled to. You hold your ground but do keep yourself squared off facing him as he moves. He does what he hasn’t done since this ordeal began and definitively opens up the gateway of the bond between you, tentatively reaching out, trying to read you.

Your mood is hard, and it doesn’t fluctuate. There’s a steady mix of fear, doubt, and what he thinks is exasperation there.

No, it’s more than that.

“You’re angry with me?”

“I’m more than angry with you!” you hurl the words at him and cross your arms over your chest. “I’m livid.”

“I came to you as fast as I could!” He steps closer, and now you step back. He moves closer again, but with a smaller step.

“It’s not that, I know you worked as hard as you could–“

“Then what else could you possibly be upset about, Omega?” His tone is desperate, earnestly seeking the answer, but also tinged with a warning he can’t help from bleeding into the question.

“I couldn’t feel you.” The anger gives way to let the anguish of your words bleed through, and they sweep over both of you. “You cut yourself off from me. I was desolate and scared and alone, and you withdrew any hint of our connection.”

He steps forward once more, finally close enough to reach for you, and as he continues to close the distance, you unfold one of your arms and backhand slap him. “I needed you!”

Bucky staggers a step back from the raw force you hurled at him, but it only takes him the space of a breath for him to recover enough, and he surges forward and pulls you into his arms, uttering your name the way one pleads in a fraught prayer. You try and push against his chest and squirm out of his arms, but he only secures you more firmly, holding you dearly and desperately to him.

“I needed you,” you sob out. Instead of continuing to try to struggle away from him, to hold your hurt at bay, he feels you stop fighting and the turn as you let everything out. He holds you, soothing you, but not trying to quell any of this yet. He knows everything you’re feeling is warranted, can feel now that you held back as much as he did while you were apart. Endured as much hurt as he did – more in many ways. He won’t tell you to settle down, because the hurt needs to be acknowledged and not minimized.

Once your chest is no longer wracked with sobs, when your crying has abated from steady streams of tears to the small sniffling, he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. Then Bucky decisively nuzzles his face down into the crook of your neck. Slowly, tentatively, he presses his lips to the place he claimed and bonded you as his omega, his mate. You whimper, but your hands clutch at his shirt, and the immediate flood of relief, of love, of devotion, washes over you both. He can feel it, he knows you feel it.

His large hands are planted firmly on your back, one at the curve of your spine, and one between your shoulder blades, pressing you as close together as he possibly can. He plants a longer, more concentrated kiss to the mark, and your right hand slides up to thread your fingers into his hair and press him closer.

The more he kisses into your neck, the more whole he feels. He had ignored the hollow, empty feeling in his chest, had truly rejected all feeling, as cold and empty as he’d operated while being the Winter Soldier. He’s feeling human again. Himself again – or at least it’s all coming back to him now.

He doesn’t even realize when your body has fully melted into him, too caught up in the mending of the connection, but then you’re urging his face up away from your neck, but only so you can press your forehead to his, and you say, “I need you, Bucky.”

He nods, and then you kiss him. In a movement familiar to you both, his hand moves down, curving over your ass and to the back of your thigh, and he picks you up. Your legs wrap around him as you deepen the kiss, nipping at his lips. He carries you across the big open space to where there’s a bed in the far corner.

He sets you down gently on your feet, and his hands are already reaching for the hem of your shirt, and you readily lift your arms so he can pull it cleanly off your body. You’re reaching for his belt, and he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. Your lips eagerly seek each other as much as they can. You push his dark jeans down, and he huffs and sits down at the foot of the bed so he can hastily unlace and yank his boots off, so he can shuck his pants off all the way. When he raises his head, you stand before him in nothing but your simple underwear, one hand pressed against your torso, biting your lip.

You’re so damn beautiful to him, his heart aches again at the sight of you nearly naked before him again after so long torn apart.

He reaches for you, and though you don’t hesitate to take his hand, as he tugs you into his lap, your thighs straddling either side of his hips, he doesn’t miss the slight tremble of your body, and it kills him but there’s a deep part of him that resonates, recognizes the feeling. The separation had been hell on an alpha and omega level, and this is still too much, overwhelming, and altogether not nearly enough to soothe the deep loneliness he had pushed beneath the surface. His arms wrap around you again. While your left arm wraps around his neck, your right hand roams over his bare skin – shoulder, arms, chest, neck, face – questing to rememorize him.

He wants to be inside you, but having your chest pressed into to his chest, it’s like your heartbeats are syncing back together, and he almost needs this more. The side of your face rests against his, and the way he can hear you breathe in and out right next to his ear, can feel the warmth of every exhale, it’s yet another inimitable balm he didn’t know he longed for.

He murmurs your name softly against your shoulder.

“Mmm?”

He knows you can tell he’s working out something to say. Every season you two had been together had been time you had worked to only continually knit your souls more tightly to each other, not only to love each other more, but to understand each other, to work together, to support and lean into each other as true partners.

It had made the separation all the more painful.

He squeezes you more tightly for a moment, then inhales to speak. “I need to tell you why I put up the walls I did.”

He feels you tense slightly in his arms – of course he does, there’s no way for him to miss it any more than there was any chance for you to try and hide it when this intimately entwined. He bestows a soft, light kiss to your bonding mark, and you whimper, but turn your head to brush your lips over his cheek, and then both of you draw back just enough to look at each other.

“I’ll never know if it was the right or wrong thing to do to you, but it felt like the only way I could hope to survive navigating back to you. Immediately I knew I couldn’t allow the anguish of pain and anger I was feeling to flood to you when I knew you were living your own nightmare. When I held that back, the way Hydra had conditioned me to repress all feelings when I was their fist resurfaced, and I knew shelving the emotions would leave me to focus and be more effective in everything I was doing to track you and find you.”

“Bucky,” you start, but he shakes his head slightly, his eyes pleading for you to let him continue. You give a little huff. “Okay.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, and he pecks your lips before going on. “When I was closing in on where they were keeping you, I didn’t want to alert you and have you have to worry about how to hide that.”

“That’s a fair strategic tactic,” you grudgingly admit.

He grins at your tone, but it abates quickly. “I also…”

He pauses for half a beat and takes a breath to steel his resolve because you deserve his raw honesty as it’s still a concern in play.

“Also what?”

“I didn’t know how much of our bond he would feel. I didn’t want to tip him off, but I – I didn’t want to feel what might go the other way and bleed from him through you either.”

“Oh, Buck,” you bury your head into the crook of his neck now, nuzzling against the bonding mark you’d given him. “Our bond is ours, not his.”

“It’s not?”

“No, no,” you press quick successive kisses against your bonding mark on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “You might feel the wake of what I feel from his bond to me, but the ties to each of you are very distinct within me. I’m especially sure of it now that ours isn’t dormant anymore.”

He holds you close while he sorts through this revelation from you. “I didn’t know – and I was worried if I felt him it would either devastate or enrage me and either way make me overrule logic and slip up, do something rash.”

“Now I understand,” you speak right into his ear. “Concentrate though, what do you feel right now?”

He breathes in. Breathes out. Another breath in. Out.

“Only you,” he says, no question.

Your lips drift back down his neck, and you press an insistent kiss to your claim on him this time, then you open your lips and suck over the spot.

Bucky shivers and groans, and you wince and laugh when his arms flex around you so tightly it actually hurts. Because he reacts so strongly, it doesn’t shock him in the slightest that you’re spurred on to seek more, but now he’s ready, so when you’ve satisfied with your initial torment and he feels you slot your teeth over the mark, he bares his neck, ready when you bite down to renew your claim on him, and he shouts – euphoric, flooded and overwhelmed with the way everything opens in such a raw way when a bonding mark is refreshed.

It drives you to rock your hips against him. You’re both still in those last pieces of underwear, but the friction of your cunt against his cock is glorious, and he can’t help the satisfied rumble in his chest in answer to the simple action.

His hand clamps on your plump, round ass, and he pushes you hard against him and holds you there – he doesn’t want the rocking, for a moment he just wants the intense pressure, the reality that you’re here with him.

You crash your lips to his desperately. He slants his head and works his tongue along the seam of your mouth, which willingly parts for him, an open moan passing between you both, your tongue inviting him into your mouth, stroking against his. Both of you fiercely hold onto each other, keeping that close chest to chest contact while you kiss more than you breathe. When you ultimately have to break off from each other to get air back in your lungs, the heaving expansion of your ribcages against each other is such a simple but intense intimacy, breaths mingling – another moment that adds to the replenishment for how much his soul had been depleted without you.

“Need you inside me,” you plead.

He nods while turning and tossing you onto the bed.

As he climbs up to join you, you quip, “No more clothes, Alpha.”

“Bossy Omega,” he chuckles, but complies in pushing his boxer briefs down and tossing them away.

You quirk your lips. “Give me what I need, and I won’t need to be so demanding.”

He growls, but it’s teasing, the feeling in his heart is a light one, a feeling he feels echoed in you, lines of it running through the overwhelming need.

Bucky moves up the bed, hooks his fingers beneath the band of your underwear, and you lift your hips so he can remove them immediately. He leans down and presses a broad flat lick of his tongue over your hip bone, causing you to squirm – desire and a sensitive spot of skin he discovered on your years ago. “I know what you need, Omega.”

“Yes, Alpha,” you nod eagerly, and he flips you over onto your stomach

He hears your breath hitch. He knows you love roughness and to be handled as often as you love softness, but the latter isn’t what you need right now. He crawls up over you and plants his left arm up by your shoulder while he slots himself between your legs. Your left hand finds his, twining your fingers together while he lines up his cock with your slick entrance, and the sigh of ecstasy that escapes you as he pushes his length in sings in his ears. The feeling of your warm channel gripping him is better than he remembered – or at least it feels that way – and he tries to push in as slowly as he can to savor coming home to where he belongs inside you, but it’s not nearly as slow as he wants it to be.

Once he’s fully sheathed in you, he kisses your shoulder, then nips along until he’s at the juncture of your neck, and you keen and bare your neck to him. He licks over his bonding mark, then bites down, reclaiming you, and you cry out, body thrumming beneath him. He starts to move behind you, pulling his hips back before thrusting back in. Your right leg hitches back to tangle up and over his, urging him on. He grips your hip, and then he fucks you. It’s the most primal it’s ever felt with you, the force of it rocking the bed to knock against the wall, and he almost worries about whether or not it’s too much, but you rock back against him, meeting his thrusts as much as you can in your prone position, eagerly taking all of him.

“That’s it, darling, take my hard cock inside you,” he urges you both on.

You sob out a breathless, “Yes,” that makes his chest rumble in satisfaction.

He can feel your cunt fluttering around him, can feel you on the edge of ecstasy, but it also feels like you’re refusing to fall over the edge.

“Come on, darling, let go.”

“No.”

That shocks him but doesn’t slow him down.

He maintains his pace and slips his hand down between you and the mattress, cupping your pussy and finding your clit. “Yes.” He starts to rub quick, concentrated circles over your tight bundle of nerves.

You shake your head desperately. “No, I don’t want it to end,” the words tumble out, and he hears the sound of you crying again.

“Omega, I will give you more. I’ll give you as much as you need, but I need you to give in to this, surrender and fall over the edge with me again.”

“Bucky!” you cry out as you’re unreservedly flung over the edge. Your cunt clamping down on him was the last of what he needed to reach his own climax, and so his shout echoes your own, and he exerts those final thrusts to pump his seed deep within you.

He stays sheathed within you but rolls both of you to your sides, brackets his arm around your waist, and keeps you close, nuzzling into your neck. You sink back against him, resting your arm over his and threading your fingers together.

“That was…”

He nudges your chin for you to turn your head back so he can kiss away the tears that escaped during the emotions that came through there at that end.

“Intense?”

“Yes.”

“We both needed it, Omega. I need you as much as you need me. Do not doubt it.” You shiver in his arms, and he swears, “I’ll make sure you never question it again.”

“Never let me go.”

“Never again.”

You shift and turn over to face him. He’s just as content to wrap you in his arms this way. You tangle your legs with his as you have so many times before. This is so familiar.

You brush your fingers over his face, retracing the lines and angles that define him, and he watches your face as your eyes drink in his features.

“I’m yours, Omega,” he says in a quiet, low tone.

A soft smile lifts the curve of your mouth. Your hand cradles his jaw and beckons him in to kiss you, and he is happy to acquiesce. The kisses he shares with you now are slow, solemn promises of lips and tongues, heated but not demanding.

When you eventually come up for air, you tuck yourself more closely into his chest, humming with contentment. He’s half hard again, and the frantic last moments of the sex he shared with you flashes back to the forefront of his mind. “I promised to give you more. What do you need from me? Tell me how I can please you, how I can love you.”

You reach up and press your fingers delicately against his bonding mark. “Just this. Hold me. I only need to be with you.”

He can feel how true it is as your fingers stroke lightly over the place where you claimed him all those years ago, reclaimed him here in this bed, flooding him with more peace. His brushes his lips over your forehead. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

There’s a little chirp that bubbles up out of you when he calls you sweetheart again, and it makes him just as happy as it does you. He slowly caresses your back, hand moving up and down, up and down, in a soothing motion, soothing himself as much as you.

There is still so much ahead for you both, but this – your connection to each other – he can feel that again so strongly. He never doubted it, but after being deprived, the return of how powerful it is engulfs him. This will anchor him through what’s coming.

“Buck?” you murmur against his neck.

“Mmm?”

“I can tell your brain is beginning to work away from here.”

He sighs. “Can you blame me?”

“No, but talk to me, take me with you if you’re going to think.”

“There’s so much to think through.”

“Start with one thing.”

You’ve done this with him before – late nights, afternoons, mornings, on a drive, on a walk, sharing a meal – you could always feel when he started to get tied up in his brain with his thoughts, and you’d listen, ask questions, sift through with him. He was perfectly capable of sorting through things on his own, but sharing with you made it altogether different. It was one of the best parts of having you as his mate.

“Why…?” He frowns and trails off. “No, nevermind.”

“No, Buck. I worked hard to soothe and relax my alpha. I want this gift of respite with you, however brief it is, and whatever string you don’t want to tug on first clearly is one that’s important.”

He nips your shoulder. “My gutsy omega.”

“Alpha,” you press, also literally pressing a finger insistently against his chest.

“Alright…” His tone turns serious. “Why didn’t you try to escape – especially here where he leaves you alone sometimes?” From the way he’d found you, it was clear this wasn’t an anomaly.

You cluck your tongue impatiently and roll your eyes. “First, how was I reasonably supposed to outrun him, hide from him, and try to find you? I don’t have any of the tactical skills or training you two do.”

“Fair enough. And second?” The first point is obvious now that he’s asked it and heard you answer, but he wants to hear the rest of what you have to say.

“Second,” you continue, your tone altering to something more somber, “he took me to lure you to him, so the most logical thing was to stay and wait for you.”

“Ah,” Bucky nods, the smallest of smiles taking over his mouth. “My smart omega.”

“And third,” you continue, though your words tone is cautious now, and you drop your eyes to his chest.

“Yes?” he urges you to finish the thought.

“He’s my alpha, too.”

This isn’t news – he’s known it from the second he witnessed that bite to claim you, he thought of it frequently while he was hunting for you both, he knew it would be the new reality, you’d even discussed the two bonds together in this bed – and yet having to think about it yet again in this light is still straining on him.

Clearly you feel his unrest, because your hands come up to cup his face and basically attempt to soothe him with gentle but insistent strokes along his jaw. “Bucky, I’m always going to be yours.”

He sighs and angles his head down to touch his forehead to yours. “I know.”

And it’s not jealousy that drives his unrest – it’s the not knowing what this means, not right now and not for the future. He’s started thinking about possibilities, but he’s limited until he can confront the other alpha. So, he decides to concentrate on what it has meant so far.

He makes sure his tone is soft but serious when he asks, “Did he hurt you?”

You’re quiet for a beat, then say, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Bucky starts to sit up, but you pull him back down to the mattress, trying earnestly to soothe him. “What he did hurt us both, and it was meant to hurt. It was absolutely calculated. But they broke him, Bucky. They tortured him and tried to make him comply for weeks. They were experimenting on Sam, trying to pull the science they could from old records on you and what they could pull from analyzing Steve’s blood, but they weren’t having success, and so they enacted their last use for Sam – and they killed him in front of Steve. It destroyed him.”

Bucky’s own chest aches as he listens, throbbing painfully at this reveal, and his vibranium hand fists the sheet.

“And when he was at his most devastated and spent emotionally, what I have been able to piece together is that that’s when he couldn’t stand to feel anymore, shut off his emotions – or his humanity more like, and it’s his humanity that made him Steve. That’s when they were able to take over and mold him into the fist they wanted in Captain Hydra.”

Hurt, anger, the horror of his own past life as the Winter Soldier, it’s surging through his veins, but you continue.

“So that night in Wakanda? That was Captain Hydra at his height of cruelty. I haven’t seen that iteration of him since that night. It’s been slow, but he’s different now. He’s not our Steve, but he’s not Captain Hydra.”

It’s a few moments before he registers that you’re done – at least with that piece of sharing.

He cups your jaw and looks into your eyes. “Do you trust him?”

He sees you clearly put thought into your words before answering, worrying your bottom lip. “The heat he and I shared was intense in every way. It changed things fundamentally between us, but since the heat our connection has still been very tenuous. We’ve both been very guarded with each other. I know he’ll keep me safe, but I’m still wary of him.”

He nods.

“Where is he right now?”

A wry laugh tumbles out of your chest. “I don’t even know where we are right now, Bucky. I know we got off a train in Bordeaux, but then he moved us here while I was in one of my heavy end of heat sleeps. From the food, books, and supplies he’s brought for us, I know we’re in France, but that’s it. There’s not a lick of technology kept in here while I’m alone. We don’t even a radio.”

Bucky grunts at this news. He doesn’t like this, but other than being kept here cut off from the rest of the world and having claimed you and separated you in the first place, it seems you’ve been appropriately cared for.

“Wait, no radio?” He growls. Bucky had looked away to consider the new information, but his eyes snap to you again. “Have you had any music?”

“No,” you groan, and he can feel the pained irritation.

“That won’t do.”

He quickly rolls off the bed to a small whine of protest from you, but it was so rare that he’d ever been in a space with you and there hadn’t been music playing – loud for you to sing, or low in the background keeping you company – and this is something he can fix easily.

He fishes the small communications device he had put together out of the pocket of his discarded pants, then comes back to sit on the foot of the bed and begins typing away. You’re quick to crawl up behind him, and you wrap your arms around his chest and settle your chin on his shoulder while he works. You don’t see the smile that breaks across his face as he feels your excited impatience radiate off you, having figured out what he’s doing. It’s so palpable he wouldn’t have needed your emotional bond as alpha and omega to sense it.

Once he’s modified his device to play music, it doesn’t take him much longer to hack into your music account. He pulls up the list of your most-played songs, picks one that he thinks will be perfect for this moment, and hits play.

You croon with joy and then fall back on the bed, arms spread out in pure rapture. He beams and then crawls up next to you, handing you the device. You hold it close to your chest with one hand and pull him in for a kiss with the other.

You break off the kiss so you can sing along to the chorus, and he laughs. He knows exactly the last time he felt this happy: the last day by the river with you in Wakanda. When the chorus is over, you actually kick your feet in delight, grinning at him. You kiss his nose, scoot your body as close to him as possible, then settle back into the mattress and pull his arm to rest over your stomach.

The two of you talk, sing, and continue to hold each other for a while. A string of two or three softer songs play, and you and up drifting into sleep, late afternoon sun pouring over both of you, its warmth too much for you to ignore after the physically and emotionally exhausting afternoon. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, his hand over your heart, no thought for time. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to take his eyes off you. How did he survive without you for all those weeks?

A flare of light across the room pulls his focus though. It’s a repetitive flashing coming through the window to the wall.

Morse code. His blissful mood evaporates.

C-O-M-E O-U-T-S-I-D-E

The other alpha is out there, summoning him.

He identifies which window the light is being directed into, then pads over, and releases the drape to cover the window, pulls it back, covers it again, and then secures it back in its open state. The other alpha will know he’s received the message.

Bucky has referred to him as the other alpha for so long now, but he’s ultimately about to discover who this man is. You say he’s no longer The Captain Hydra that he was, but not yet his Steve either.

He doesn’t hurry getting dressed. The other alpha isn’t going anywhere. He’s waited this long. He can continue to wait.

Bucky takes a long look at you from across the room before he leaves.

He’s relatively sure he will come back to you. There’s only one outcome that will keep him away, and now that he knows the potential danger, he won’t let this man ambush him ever again.

Bucky stalks as carefully to the tree line where the signal had come from as he had when he’d first approached the little house. He can smell the other alpha on the breeze that rustles through the trees. He tracks him in a kilometer or so – not in the direction Bucky had left his vehicle, but that works fine for him because if he needs to cut and run, he’ll be able to get to you in the house and then continue on to get to the getaway without having to double back and without the other alpha being able to cut off the route.

Bucky will think through every possible scenario as each moment of this unfolds.

His brain got him here.

His brain can get him out.

He will keep you safe.

The scent he’s known nearly his whole life grows stronger, and when he reaches a small pocket of the forest devoid of trees – not quite large enough to be called a clearing – instead of slipping silently out of the shadows, the other alpha steps out unabashedly to meet him.

“What took you so long, Buck?” he has the gall to ask, his voice barely covering notes of anger.

Bucky roars and hurls himself at the man standing before him, taking him to the ground easily, and they scramble against each other. They’re so closely matched in skill, prowess, and power, and the energy they’re both exuding is raw, primal, and angry. Bucky is incredulous that the other man is angry with him.

His own rage lands him a punch. He takes a blow to the ribs, and the other alpha gets a hand on the collar of his shirt, resulting in a tear, but it allows Bucky to grab his wrist, twist him around harshly, and pin the arm behind his back as he decisively thumps him into the ground, pinning him there.

The man beneath him only makes two attempts to struggle and shift out from under his hold, but then he sighs and sags into the tall grass they’ve been tussling in.

Is he feinting?

Bucky honestly doesn’t know.

“Who am I talking to?” he asks – the same line of inquiry Steve used on him in an abandoned warehouse outside of Berlin.

He knows it, letting out a guffaw beneath him. “I’m not him anymore.”

“Not who?”

“I’m no longer their Captain Hydra,” he pauses before adding, “but I’m not the kid from Brooklyn either.”

Bucky knows they’re not going to stay like this forever, and he needs to see this man’s face and look into his eyes if he’s going to be able to sort out any of this, so as swiftly as he can, he releases the alpha, pushes himself up, and takes a wary stance a few meters away.

Steve remains on the ground, but rolls over and sits up, planting his feet on the ground, and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It’s almost a casual.

Bucky will have the advantage of already being up on his feet if the man before him tries anything.

Bucky needs to know how to read whoever this is, so he decides to go with a different line of questioning – things that are more cut and dry.

“When you left the base in Geneva, there were two Hydra security with you. You stopped over a bridge two hours into your journey, and they weren’t with you when you switched vehicles in Albstadt. Who were they, and why the elaborate ruse only to drop them in a river so quickly?”

Rather than being surprised, it seemed he was satisfied that Bucky knew this much about what had played out. “Alright, we can start there. Leaving under the initial guise of a mission on security footage was supposed to be helpful when they started looking for me.”

“And why move the records of their transfer files to other facilities with two others?”

“I’m glad you picked up on that, too. Buying more time for some missing personnel before it was suspect and they figured out they really didn’t know where they were.”

“And why them?”

“Arbitrary.”

“Bullshit. You’ve gone on solo missions as Captain Hydra and you didn’t buy enough extra time by leaving with a two-man team to make it worth the set up only to drop them in the river without a reason.”

Steve’s brows knit together, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering. “One was arbitrary. He just happened to be the roommate of my target. The one I was after? He was part of the extraction team who took our omega out of Turin. Specifically, he’s the one who handled her so roughly she had bruises from his casual brute strength. I watched the footage to figure out who hurt her.”

Bucky cocked his head and studied the man before him.

“I had only been an alpha to her for a month and I was willing to kill someone who harmed her. What are you going to do to me, Buck?”

Bucky turned and paced way, running his hands through his hair. He didn’t want to show this much unrest in front of the other alpha, but he was thinking and feeling so much, trying to read and decipher too many pieces.

He lets out a long exhale and just speaks the truth. He can’t try and take any other angle. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Before all of this, if there had ever been a situation in which Bucky would have needed to trust someone else to keep you safe, Steve would have been his immediate answer.

Steve waits silently.

There are so many questions he wants answers to, and so he starts asking them. The answers don’t shock him, and he can see that even when Steve doesn’t tell him the full truth, it’s a cautious guarding of information, but he detects no lies in any of it. That Steve has some guards up also seems tenuous, possibly temporary, like if he can only ask the right question, the tide will turn.

But it couldn’t be that simple with Steve, could it?

And when did he start to think of him as Steve again?

Bucky deals out one of the questions he’s had the longest, since the very beginning of this. “What you said that night in Wakanda – you did all of this to draw me out. Why?”

Steve lets it hang in the air for a moment, but Bucky can see this is a crux for this conversation with him, too.

“I can’t explain everything that went into that plan – I don’t know if the machine of Captain Hydra was fully in control or if part of the old me was trying to grasp at you as a lifeline, but as the weeks wore on, the strategist in me knew he needed either the Soldat to join him or his best friend to save him.”

Those words sink into Bucky, and he can understand that explanation as no one else in this world can.

“What took you so long?” Steve asks again, but this time it’s tinged only with angst, not anger.

The accusation in it unsettles Bucky.

He’s still not sure how to address the question, but he starts with, “The Soldat is gone. The Winter Soldier? Not who I needed to be to get here either.”

Steve pushes up from the ground but maintains the distance Bucky put between them. “Who are you now then?”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Depends on who’s standing in front of me.”

Steve looks off into the trees for a moment – in the direction of the cottage.

Bucky’s instincts have failed him less than a handful of times.

They’re telling him now that’s where to start, even though he’s not sure exactly where it will end. “I’ve seen a lot of versions of you – my childhood best friend, the punk who couldn’t stay out of trouble, the stars and stripes symbol, Captain America, the target who wouldn’t let me assassinate him and then refused to finish me off in the hellicarrier, the Cap who went against the Accords, Nomad in exile – but always Steve. You’ll never be who you were before – I never was. Doesn’t mean you’re irredeemable.”

Steve scoffs. “It’s not that easy.”

Bucky gives a wry laugh and shakes his head. “I more than know that. But you’re shades of all those men right now in front of me. She sees it, too.”

“God, she…” Steve shakes his head, puts one hand on his hip, and scrubs over his face with the other.

“If you can be you, if you can be Steve, she will have you.” He’s not sure where the words came from, but he himself believes them as he says them.

“I don’t know if I can be.”

“Do you want to be?”

Steve doesn’t answer immediately. Bucky can see him sincerely work over the question in his mind. It’s a simple inquiry, but one that will define everything, and Bucky knows he will be completely behind whatever answer he gives because that is the core of who this man is and always has been – fully committed to his convictions.

When Steve says, “Yes,” Bucky can hear the heaviness in his voice. Bucky nods.

“What about you?” Steve asks.

Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he digs back into himself and where his head, his heart, and his gut now sit with all of this. But the answer is clear enough. “Till the end of the line,” he answers.

“Even after I–“

“Stop,” Bucky cuts him off. “I’ve had little more to think about over the last six weeks than us – all of us. And it felt like my heart started beating again when I found her, but you… Before this I never fully understood why you fought so hard to get through to me when I was trying to kill you in DC all those years ago, why you searched for me for years, why you were a goddamn pain in the ass who wouldn’t abandon me in Berlin and believed in me without question, but now I get it. We are in each other’s bones.”

He doesn’t move, but Bucky sees the look change in Steve’s eyes, and he can practically feel the air alter between them. They’ve always had an acute awareness of each other, and Bucky can feel the tentative return of it, like déjà vu even though he’s still figuring out who this Steve is or who he will be.

“When did you start giving Captain America speeches?” Steve finally asks.

Bucky shrugs. “One of us had to do it.”

“What now then?”

Bucky has sketched out many scenarios for how things play out from here, but every stage of this, every new revelation shifts the direction they’re heading. Even in the last two minutes things have significantly shifted again.

Bucky licks his lips and stares at Steve for another beat before he decides to head down a path he hopes is the right one. “You’re always a man with a plan, so you tell me. Tell me where this started, when it changed, where you think it ends. I figured out a lot, I have theories, and I still have questions.”

“We went to Italy to investigate a lead that came up on our radar. We thought it was an innocuous enough whisper about a couple of Hydra scientists. And don’t,“ Steve pauses to pointedly look at him because Bucky was already opening his mouth to argue. “I already know you’re going to say we should have involved you, I thought of it every day they were holding us captive. I thought it the second I heard their boots. It was a week after you left for Wakanda, and Sam–“

He pauses again, and his shoulders fall just a fraction.

“Sam and I weren’t gonna bother you.”

“She told me about Sam,” Bucky says.

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips together. “I told her enough about what happened, but I didn’t tell her everything.” He opens his eyes and meets Bucky’s again. His face is truly haunted, and Bucky nods, his own chest tight. He knows more than enough about that. He had still had to face the demons of his past, but when he was ready, and he had fought to find his way to do that. Steve would find a way, but it would take time, and not likely be the same journey.

“After they killed Sam, they got a raw version of me, shut down, and they went to work conditioning me, shaping me into Captain Hydra. I was too lost to fight anything. I couldn’t save him. I failed us. I didn’t want to be me. It was easy too easy for them to get the version of me they wanted when I was like that.”

There’s a full shift in how Steve lays everything out – and as he shares, Bucky knows it’s still not everything, but he can feel that it’s everything Steve can bear to tell him.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Steve tilts his head and looks off into the forest. “It was and it wasn’t. It will always haunt me.”

“It will, but less and less.”

Bucky walks to the edge of the small clearing and sits on a fallen log. Steve follows him.

“When I was trying to find you after DC and taking down S.H.I.E.L.D. I read everything they had on record about you, how they conditioned you. They used some but not all the same methods on me.”

“I couldn’t find anything on you, and I found more than enough other hidden monstrosities in their networks these past weeks.”

“I think they got smarter after we were hunting them after exposing them – they couldn’t keep everything off the databases, but they have projects now that they keep paper-only, small teams. There was the team that captured us, but after they put us in a holding cell, we were transferred. From that point through the torture, the breaking point, and the conditioning I only saw four faces – three scientists and one officer who became my liaison. When they sent or let me out into the field, I never went with a team of more than four of their men, always the same four. Two of them I ended at that bridge.”

Bucky nods.

Already his mind is calculating – this means they could potentially contain and eliminate all of the people who knew any specifics about Captain Hydra.

“One of the scientists was killed when you stormed the facility in Turin.”

Bucky raises his brows. Even better.

Steve goes on to tell him about how he was sent on a few missions to test his loyalty before he was given the task to bring back the Soldat.

“I didn’t have a chair, and they were very adamant that my point person was my liaison and not a handler, they gave me a fair amount of autonomy. They didn’t want me to drag you in. They wanted you to join me. I think they felt like an asset who had to be controlled could break free as they saw with you the first time around, and this time they wanted operatives who weren’t giving controlled compliance, but allegiance instead.”

Bucky grunted. “A tether rather than a leash.”

“Yeah.”

“But you knew who I was tethered to.”

Steve’s head drops. “Yeah.”

“And you knew I’d be the most vulnerable and off my guard in Wakanda.”

“I did.”

Bucky lets him sit with that discomfort.

Bucky has replayed that night in his mind so many times.

“But your plan changed that night. I didn’t register it in the moment, but everything about you changed the moment you bit into her neck to claim her.”

Steve doesn’t deny it.

“Before you sunk your teeth into her, you were taunting me, dangling her like something to be smashed and discarded, you didn’t even know if it would work, and I think part of you thought it might even kill her.”

Bucky sees Steve’s jaw tick.

“You were in no way prepared for how a bond would change you fundamentally as an alpha.”

“Obviously it didn’t flip a switch immediately, but yes, it altered what I intended to do,” Steve admits.

He goes on to explain some of the things that happened in Turin – missions he went on, how things had developed with you, the clothes, and the books.

“The books were for her?” Bucky breathes. “I saw security footage of you in the bookshop.”

“I wasn’t worried about exposing myself because you were already taking longer than I wanted you to take, but when you didn’t access any of the Avenger networks, bases, or safehouses, I expected you were underground and untraceably hunting for us.”

“What else did you expect?”

“I wanted you to get foolish in your desperation and tip your hand.”

“Not with her on the line.”

“No.” Steve narrows his eyes. “You never left Turin once you showed up on our radar, did you?”

Bucky scoffs. “Course I didn’t.”

Steve nods. “A ploy to see all the defenses of the base.”

“But you left dangerously close to her heat,” Bucky shoots, the disapproving accusation blatant in his tone.

“And that’s when you made your unsuccessful move to get her back. If you’d killed everyone you’d encountered from the beginning, you probably would have made it to her in time.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“No, I know you do.” Steve sighs. “You know, back in 1945, I thought you were dead when you fell off that train.”

Bucky doesn’t interrupt. He knew Steve knew he knew this. They’d touched on it before. But clearly there was more and a reason for Steve to bring it up again now.

“The thing is, when they found you, I know Zola did what he did to you because of me, your tie to me. When they took me and Sam, they tortured him and killed him because of me, again. You were both people I cared about, and you were hurt for it. I was not going to let it happen to her. The sense of responsibility I felt for her had already been growing and evolving, but when I felt that surge of adrenaline and fear through the bond when you attacked the base and they moved her? It had been a slow melting of ice, what was developing there, but that shattered the ice. When I found out they had moved her, I kept my personal weakness guarded, and I knew I would do everything I could to get her out of their web and keep her safe.”

At this admission, Bucky is quiet. So is Steve. Bucky knows Steve is letting him think. There’s so much to consider there – the guilt Steve has still carried for him for years, the fresh hell of Sam, and the fervent determination to keep you from being another victim by association.

He could think over this for much longer, but there are more pieces he still needs context for, so next Bucky asks, “Why did you leave the Geneva facility during her heat?”

“Best cover for time – alphas are given room to take care of their needs during rut or care for omegas if they’re bonded during their omega’s heat.”

It verifies what Bucky had theorized himself.

“But it’s been eight days since you came here.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“And you’ve just…been here.”

“Yeah.”

This is the piece Bucky has been suspicious of now.

“Explain.”

“When I took her to Turin, yes, it was a trap to lure you. When I brought her here, it was to wait for you to find us. I couldn’t find you when you went underground before, and I couldn’t find you this time, and if I tried too hard, I didn’t want to risk Hydra finding us, but I knew if we stayd in one place and I focused on keeping us hidden from Hydra, you could find us.”

Bucky furrows his brow, frowning.

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that,” Steve confirms.

Bucky studies him for another quiet few seconds, then says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, what now?”

“Her,” Bucky replies simply. “We’ve still got a lot of shit to figure out, but we’ve got to do it with her.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Still with me? This was a lot. I hope I've answered some of your questions, and there are some more that have been brought up, but... we're here. We're this far.

This is the single longest story/chapter I've ever published. You can see where I've left off, and there's clearly more story, but Bucky reuniting with his omega and with Steve were the primary objectives, and both of those elements I didn't want to cheat or shorten as they began to unfold. I hope they've truly done justice to these characters and relationships, and we'll see how they can possibly move forward together in the conclusion. These three still have big things ahead.

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers #bucky barnes fan fiction #captain hydra #aspen wrote something #bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x reader #omegaverse #marvel omegaverse #warm shadows au #aspen's dark forest fest

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corruptedcaps · 10 months

Text

Possessive

Oh, quiet your whining. I'll give this body back to your girlfriend when I've completed my unfinished business or whatever. You think I want to possess your Rebecca’s body? It's so dorky and unathletic. Don't forget that I used to be head cheerleader before I died, so this is a huge step down in my eyes. It's not my fault her body is the only one I could possess.

But let me tell you something, I won't waste this opportunity. Being stuck as a ghost as so dull, and now I get to experience the living again. Sure, her body might not be perfect, but I'll make it work. And hey, I'll even bring some of that cheerleading spirit into her life. She'll thank me later when she's the most popular girl in school. So, quit complaining and let me do my thing. I promise you, I'll give her body back in top-notch condition. Besides, it's not like you have any other options. You want me gone? Help me finish my business, and then I'll leave you all alone. Deal?

How am I supposed to find out my unfinished business if I have to be stuck in your girlfriend’s clothes? That's why I went shopping for clothes more my style. It's not like I can roam around in those frumpy outfits of hers. I need something more alluring and fabulous. More my liking. Her body actually isn’t as bad as I thought. Especially after I hit the gym with it. Only a week in and it’s already more flexible.

So, I hit the stores and picked out some seriously sexy clothes that will make her old wardrobe look like a joke. Picture this: a sleek, black leather mini-skirt that shows off her now toned legs. I paired it with a low-cut, crimson crop top that accentuates her nearly perfect curves. Oh, and let's not forget the stilettos that add a touch of sophistication and make me feel powerful.

But the real showstopper is the crimson lace lingerie set I bought. What a peek? Of course you do. It's daring, it's fierce, and it's exactly what I need to remind myself that I'm still desirable in this world. It may be Rebecca's body, but I'm the one wearing it, and I'm determined to make the most of it.

So, here I am, looking fabulous, ready to take on the world. This unfinished business won't know what hit it once I get started. Oh, and don't worry, I'll return all of Rebecca's clothes to their boring place in the closet when I'm done. But until then, this body is all mine, and I'm going to make the most of it.

I was finding it hard and frankly boring trying to figure out what unfinished business I had so I recruited my old friends to help. I must say, it's been quite entertaining to see how easily I've manipulated them into following me, all without them knowing it's me inside Rebecca's body. It turns out that all she ever needed was a strong personality at the wheel.

My old clique fell right into line, just like the good old days. They can't resist being around the "it" girl that I’ve made Rebecca into. It's amusing to watch them compete for my attention, trying to be the one closest to the new popular girl. It’s kind of hawt making them bend to my will as Rebecca, when only a few weeks ago they were her bullies.

They listen to my every word, take my suggestions as law, and treat me like a queen bee as they should. I've perfected the art of a withering stare and a cutting remark that leaves them quivering in their boots. They want to be me, to be close to me, and they're falling over themselves to earn my approval.

I know you're mad that I've been taking so long, but you can't deny the improvements I've made to Rebecca's life, her body, her social status. Look at how she's thriving now, thanks to me! Besides, it's not every day your girlfriend becomes the center of attention and the most sought-after girl in town, you should be happy.

I get it, you miss the girl you knew, but let's be real, she was never this captivating. With me in control, she's more confident, more assertive, and more irresistible. I may be in her body, but I've taken it to heights she never dreamed of reaching. Never in a million years would she had tried out for the cheerleading team let alone run it like I do now.

Plus you can’t say you’re not happy with how hot I’ve made her. Weeks in the gym has given her an even better body than I had before. Her naturally slender frame was crying out to be whipped into shape. Plus look at the added effect it’s had on these tits, aren’t they glorious?

Tell you what, why don’t you touch them? Hell, give them a good squeeze. Oh fuuuuck yessss just like that. Bet Rebecca didn’t let you do this. You’re getting horny for bitchy little Rebecca aren’t you? Go on big boy, show me how much you love what I’ve done to her by taking out your dick and stroking it for me. Oh my, that’s certainly bigger than I expected from you. Yes stroke it for me baby, stroke it for baddie Becky. Oh you like that don’t you? Becky is a much better name don’t you think. Cum for me baby, cum for Becky.

You can’t be mad at me for making you cum every day this week, I’m just doing what comes natural to me, which is being a hawt piece of ass. Plus I’m not forcing you to do anything. I know you’ve been looking up ways to exercise me from Rebecca’s body to try and soothe your guilty conscience but I’m sorry to tell you babe, I’m never leaving. It’s my body now.

I’ve realized my unfinished business is to live a long and full life as Becky, the ultimate bitch. Come closer, darling. Look into my eyes and see the fire that burns within me. I’m more alive now then she ever was and even more than I had ever been in my own body. Being Becky has been the best thing to ever happen to me and soon it will be for you too.

You see, while you were busy searching for ways to banish me, I was doing my own research. Those books you've been reading, the ones on magic and exorcism, well, they caught my interest too. And I've delved into the dark arts, learning things that would make your skin crawl.

I now possess power beyond your wildest imagination, and I must say, it's quite liberating. I've discovered spells that can bend the very fabric of reality, including one that allows me to remove someone's morals. It's a fascinating little trick, and I believe you'll find it quite enlightening.

Like right now I’m sure you’re feeling all urges to purge me from this gorgeous body I’ve perfected just evaporate from your mind. In fact you feel a deep devotion to me, Becky, your gorgeous girlfriend. As much as I love that dick of yours i need a man to match it but don’t worry, I’ve got that all worked out. I’m a matter of moments you’ll be my handsome, strong and arrogant boyfriend who loves to bully as much as I do. You’ll have no memory of Rebecca or the loser that she was. All that you’ll remember is Becky.

Oh, darling, you know how much it excites me to see you bullying others. It's hard to keep my hands off you when you're radiating that aura of arrogance and charm. Who would have thought that beneath that sexy exterior, there was a deliciously dark and handsome bully? The way you sneer at those lesser souls, mock them, and make them tremble in fear—it's a work of art. Ugh I can’t stand it anymore, let’s get back to your car and fuck, it’s so hawt to hear you yell out Becky!

#f2f #bitchification #evil bitch #female possession #corrupted pov

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thedovesaredying · 2 months

Text

Flames of Green | CoD x GoT/HotD | Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader x John "Soap" MacTavish | Part 1.

Artwork by Elizabeth

You're the heir to the Iron Throne, the eldest child of the current king with the blood of the Targaryens flowing through your veins. Unfortunately, you're due to be married off to a mysterious Northern lord by the name of John MacTavish. At least your closest friend and member of your guard, Simon Riley, will be by your side throughout it all.

A/N: I'm back in my House of the Dragon era, so I'm mixing hyperfixations. The Cannibal doesn't get enough love, he's a nasty bastard and he deserves to cause some chaos. It will eventually be a Ghost x Reader x Soap relationship and likely a bit of a slowburn. Literally just for my own entertainment, but I hope y'all enjoy.

Warnings: None

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

It’s times like this that you mourn the loss of your youth. Forced to sit in silence while discussions are held by old men around a table, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of your future marriage to every potential high lord in Westeros. Your opinion is never considered, let alone asked for by any of your father’s advisors, your compliance expected regardless.

If you had been born a man you could have your pick of any woman in the kingdom to take as a wife, but instead, you’re forced to simply accept whatever man is placed in front of you. Such is the burden of being the princess and heir to House Targaryen. You will be made to give up the right to rule the kingdom to the high lord assigned to you, never to touch the ever-elusive Iron Throne that should have been yours by right.

You had never really taken the prospect of marriage too seriously in your youth, always considering it a problem for the you of the future to deal with. You didn’t care to forge lasting alliances with other ladies and lords, too busy dragging your poor best friend, Simon, through the gardens and dirtying your extravagant dresses.

But those days were over.

Talk of wedding a powerful lord and bringing forth the next line of Targaryen children is all that fills your ears now. You’re forced to entertain every man, young and old, that wishes to gain your favour with a polite smile and feigned interest. You don’t even have your dear Simon to offer you his companionship and a break from the cruel realities of the world. No doubt he would have entertained you with his dry remarks about each man set before you.

It has been years since you last saw Simon. He was taken from the Red Keep by his father and sent to squire for another lord in the hopes of teaching him the art of warfare. Lord Riley was a foul man, constantly berating his son for spending his time with the Princess rather than roughhousing with his fellow boys. He considered the boy too soft and squeamish at the sight of blood to make a good future lord of their keep.

You disagreed, of course, Simon was perfect just the way he was; gentle and kind to all those around him. Your friend couldn’t hurt a fly, but he was still one of the bravest people you knew.

You dread to think just how much he would have hated being drawn into battles, forced to kill other men with his own hands. The letters he occasionally wrote to you always steered clear of depicting the violence you were certain he must have been subjected to, but you’re far from naive enough to hope he has yet to participate in any bloodshed. As the years dragged on, word from him has grown scarce, however, to the point where you can hardly remember when you heard from him last.

What you do know, is that he had been sent to offer assistance in maintaining peace throughout the Stepstones, killing raiders and pirates that would endanger trade routes to King’s Landing.

But that was almost six months ago, and there has been little else to soothe your vexed nerves over his safety. He had made a promise to you the day he left, that once his training was done he would return to your side, this time as a knight who would offer himself to your Queen’s Guard once the time was right. Never again would he leave you, more than happy to forfeit the ruling of his own homeland if it meant he could keep you safe.

You had clung to that promise every day for years after his departure, but with each passing moment it become harder to hold out hope of seeing him again. After all, what is one promise between children in the grand scheme of things?

It’s a blessing when you’re finally relieved from the meeting, escaping from the suffocating air within the council chambers and fleeing to the safety of your room. You don’t even pause to ensure one of your guards is following you, getting straight to stripping from your dress and replacing it with your riding gear.

As the carriage carries you away from the city and toward the Dragon Pit your nerves begin to settle. The constant odour of sweat and excrement quickly gives way to fresh air the further away you get. It’s a beautiful day, with hardly a cloud in the sky and wildflowers blooming all along the road. It’s a genuine shame that your day has started so poorly, otherwise you’d have loved to wander the palace gardens and enjoy the midday sun.

The ground is rocky outside of the dragon pit, and you’re jostled around a bit until the carriage comes to a stop. Although this is your destination, the dragon you seek is not here. Your dragon is far too large to be housed within the Pit.

Unlike your younger sister, you were not blessed by the Gods to have your dragon egg hatch while you were in the cradle. All throughout your childhood you sat next to it and prayed for the hatchling to come forth, promising you would care for the creature and love it more than anything. But the baby dragon never arrived.

Many said that it was a sign from the Gods, that you were unfit to be the heir if even your own dragon refused to hatch for you. It was a heavy sentence hanging around your neck, weighing you down and making you feel as though you are worthless, despite the fact you have more power than most of the people laughing at your situation.

None of them are laughing now.

You see your dragon stretched out atop one of the nearby ridges. He’s so large that his wings and tail drape over the edge of the rocks, entirely unconcerned by the humans fearfully gathered beneath him as he snoozes away in the warmth of the sun. His scales are like coal, absorbing every ray of sunshine that he can.

The Cannibal may not be as large as Vhagar, but he’s far older and, as many would argue, far meaner than the old girl. Where most dragons have vibrant, golden eyes, you’re greeted by a pair of sinister green the moment you draw near. His go-to reaction to most things is aggression, and you’ve seen many people meet their end in a blast of emerald flame for merely disturbing him.

It’s for that precise reason you’re stunned to see someone standing beside the grumpy old beast. There’s only one person other than yourself who could get anywhere near the Cannibal without immediately being swallowed whole. The man pauses his rubbing of your dragon’s scales the moment he sees you, only to earn a displeased whack from the Cannibal’s snout. You bite your lip to force down the grin that’s threatening to spread across your face when the man drops down to one knee, his head bowed respectfully.

“Lord Riley,” you nod, “I do believe that’s my dragon you’re touching.” That earns a groan from the Cannibal, his massive head twisting away from you both, as though already bored of the conversation.

“A thousand apologies, princess,” Simon grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth, “your dragon was growing impatient.” The dragon in question huffs, his tail twitching like an agitated cat.

Simon looks so different from the last time you saw him. He’s both taller and broader, completely filled out with muscles. When he stands again, you’re face to face with the rather intimidating bone mask adorning his face. You’re not certain if it’s real bone, but at that moment you could have cared less, throwing yourself at the large man.

He catches you easily, holding you tightly against his larger body. It’s entirely improper and if anyone other than your guards witnessed such an interaction there would no doubt be whispers abound. Perhaps it’s a good thing Simon decided to meet you somewhere so private.

“When did you get back?” you ask, leaning back just long enough to look him in the eye.

“We docked late last night,” he answers, and you can feel the way his chest rumbles with each word. His deep voice soothes something within you, your stress dissipating like mist at dawn. “We received word that the King’s Guard now has an open position,” he continues, and then much to your shock adds, “I’m here to fill that position.”

You pull away from him almost completely, only your hands still gently curled around his gauntlets, “but I heard that your father was recently taken ill, don’t you need to return home?”

While the mask hides the majority of Simon’s face, you can still see the way the skin around his eyes crinkles slightly, “I made a promise to serve my future Queen,” he takes your hand from his arm and presses the back of your palm to where his lips are beneath his mask, “if you’ll have me, princess.”

You can feel your face burning with the intensity with which Simon stares at you. “I’m certain my father will be delighted to have such a well-regarded warrior in his service,” you smile, gently pulling your hands away from the knight, despite the urge to keep holding onto him.

Before you can continue the conversation, the Cannibal turns his head back to your again, nudging at you with an irritated huff. His breath is scalding against your skin, yet it doesn’t burn you, thankfully. You place your hand against the beast’s snout, feeling the thick scales shift under your leather gloves. “Gīda,” you coo to the dragon, waiting until he lowers his wing to the floor to provide you with a way to climb onto his back. He’s far too large for you to mount the same way you would a younger dragon.

Once settling into the Cannibal’s saddle, you grin down at your friend, “I look forward to seeing you in the keep, my lord.” You only have the time to see Simon’s quick nod, before your dragon is leaping from the edge of the ridge, forcing an end to your conversation. You can feel his clear exasperation through your bond and ensure to give the old dragon a scratch to the neck.

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #game of thrones #house of the dragon #crossover

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rottenrosethorns · 1 year

Text

Promise | Part Two

Pairing: RE4!Leon S. Kennedy x co-worker!fwb!afab!Reader

Genre: Friends with Benefits AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Synopsis: It’s been days since Leon left, the last you heard from him being rumors about the mission. Over the span of those days without him, you start to realize how much you craved Leon’s comfort beyond physical. But, why is he suddenly acting so distant?

Word Count: 9.2K

Warnings: 18+ SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI; mild slow burn?, allusions towards depressive episode, crying, slight depictions of blood and gore, Y/N used once, reader smokes cigarette, reader consumes alcohol, switch!reader x dom!Leon, slight humiliation (reader receiving), slight overstimulation (reader receiving), pet names (love, baby, beautiful), fingering (reader receiving), rough fucking, oral sex (reader receiving), spanking (reader receiving), choking (reader receiving), oil massage (reader receiving), manhandling (reader receiving),mutual aftercare, swearing

A/N: ITS FINALLY HERE!!! A huge, huge thank you for everyone's love for Promise pt. 1. I really hope everyone enjoys the second part. I appreciate everyone’s patience and apologize for taking so long to finish this. I cannot tell you how many times I reconstructed the plot lol

Taglist: @navreads @navstuffs (sry i couldn't tag your side blog)

__________

- masterlist -

- part one -

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You don’t remember the last time you slept. Well, of course you slept, every human needs sleep to recover. Maybe you should say that you couldn’t remember the last time you fully recovered. Regardless, all you knew was that feeling of uneasiness whirling in the pits of your stomach.

Ever since Leon left for the mission, you couldn’t help but worry. The constant feeling of fear consumed your thoughts 24/7 as you daydreamed about what horrors Leon could be facing and whether or not he had the skill and luck to survive. The devil that people call “the little voice in my head” tormented you with narrative images of Leon’s death. Some scenarios were soaked with gushing blood, some were infected with whatever mutated virus, and some – the one you deemed the worst out of all – was simply a missing person, no body to be found whatsoever.

You spent your mornings in bed, laying there for what felt like hours only to fight off the grogginess with some cheap coffee or energy drink before heading to work at the very last second possible without being considered tardy. Normally, you were a very diligent worker, investigating virus cases or testing for possible antidotes. But these days with your mind clouded with Leon’s absence, you often caught yourself stumbling over work. Your supervisor scolded you for simple mistakes, ones that you would’ve never made before. You were slow and sloppy, and Leon was all to blame.

If you thought your performance at work was bad, your personal life was even worse. Once work was over, you’d go home, maybe make a sorry excuse for a meal, watch an episode or two of whatever show you had queued, and get ready for bed. When you entered your apartment, you’d think of when Leon would push you towards the closest wall, pining you with his hips as he grinded his restricted erection into your hip bone. When you cooked, you’d think of when Leon slid his hands down from your waist to pick you up and trap you on your granite countertops. When you ate, you’d think of when Leon bent you over and railed into you from behind over your kitchen table.

Fuck.

You’d hope some TV would ease your mind, but the audio quickly became white noise as your thoughts drifted towards Leon. On a day where you were feeling particularly lonely, you closed your eyes and layed yourself in bed with your hand creeping under the waistband of your pants. You sighed in relief, reaching the spot which craved your attention. With your imagination, you pictured Leon in front of you. His eyes watched as you did your best to satisfy yourself. You listened to his ghost-like whispers as he guided where to put your fingers and how much or little to apply pressure. With your fingers, you tried your best to follow his silent commands, doing your best to imitate his technique. For an hour, you remained like that, pushing and hoping to reach a climax, but even imitation could never compare to the real thing. Nothing could compare to Leon. So, you found yourself cleaning up, although barely lubricated and heading to bed to ignore the pitiful aching between your legs.

You didn’t know when – if – Leon was coming back, all you knew was that somehow, this became routine for you.

“Hello?? Hello???” Poppy waved a hand in your face, “Earth to agent? What’s got you so distracted?”

Startled, you jumped back, not realizing that you’d been staring blankly at your laptop screen for some while. You cleared your throat, finding the almost empty cup of whatever drink left behind and chugging it, “Shit, sorry. Need something?”

Poppy looked at you with concern, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, “I do. I need to know what’s up with you. Are you okay? You’ve been totally out of it these days.”

“I’m fine,” You touched her hand, grateful for her concern, “Just tired.”

“Trouble sleeping? I don’t want to be mean, but those eye bags are killer. Not the good kind.”

Rubbing your eyes, you sighed with the weight of last night’s lack of sleep on your shoulders, “Yeah, something like that.”

“You know I care for you, right?” Poppy softly smiled, “And, that you can tell me anything, and I mean anything, if you need to.”

You nodded, reciprocating her smile, genuinely thankful for her friendship. Although you weren’t ready to share your experience, you were glad to know that you had someone to go to if you ever felt particularly sentimental, “I know, thank you. Just got some stuff on my mind, but I promise I’m okay.”

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself back into work mode, “Did you still need something or just come to visit?”

Only then, you noticed the collection of papers in Poppy’s hands as she gave them to you. Looking through them, your heart leapt to your throat as you instantly recognized Leon’s handwriting on the mission reports. Stunned, you felt like all of time ceased around you as a loud buzzing sound pierced your ears. It was only until Poppy’s soft voice pulled you back into reality, “He’s in the infirmary, the doctors are watching him for any signs of Las Plagas just in case Luis’s laboratory was faulty. We’re supposed to go see him and run some tests as well.”

You were out the door quicker than Poppy could finish, leaving her to trail behind you as you rushed towards the infirmary. You could hear Poppy shouting for you to slow down and wait for her, but your mind was racing with Leon and the need to just see him. You heard a soft crunch, looking down to notice that the reports had been crumpled by your death grip. You felt light headed, out of breath with anxiety, almost like your heart was about to burst through your ribcage. Turning towards Poppy, who just caught up to you, you pleaded, “Which room is he in?”

“The one on the left.”

In your mind, you wanted to dash towards his room, slam the door open, and jump into his arms; however, your legs felt like jelly, each step slower than the previous as you paced to a standstill just in front of the closed door with your hand frozen on the handle. From the little window in the door, you saw Leon laying on the bed, draped in a hospital gown and tucked underneath the thin, white top sheet. Next to him, his bloodied uniform folded in a sealed bag, waiting to be sent off to forensics. With your free hand, you covered your mouth as tears silently ran down your face. The sight before you was freighting, nothing like any type of fear you felt before. Leon, bruised and battered, became your worst nightmare. The image of his dormant figure etching into your memory forever.

“Is he…” You gulped, swallowing down the lump in your throat before taking a shaky breath. It didn’t matter as you couldn’t bear to finish your sentence.

Poppy grabbed your hand, the one that’d been resting on the door handle and pulled you to face her. She cooed at you to take deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling with you. You hadn’t realized you were starting to hyperventilate. Once the heavy pressure on your chest dissipated, Poppy spoke, “He’s okay, just sleeping. His body is recovering from the lack of food and sleep. The doctors are closely monitoring him, and we’re waiting for his results.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and thanked whatever higher being for protecting Leon. As much as you wanted to look back at Leon, you were scared to see him in such condition again. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen him return from a mission, but this was definitely the first time you’ve seen him return so beaten up and in a hospital bed.

A tight hug from Poppy pulled you from your thoughts. You’d meant to ask what she was doing, but her warm embrace reminded you of your lack of social interaction and sent you into another fit of tears. Your lips trembled as you buried your face into her shoulder and graciously accepted her embrace. You mumbled as coherently as you could about how scared you were, how worried you were, and how lonely you’d been without him. Unknowingly, you’d just confess your feelings for Leon.

Poppy consoled you, bringing up a hand to pat the back of your head and caringly brushing your hair, “You haven’t told him?”

You shook your head, “I don’t think I realized until now.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t.”

You pulled back, confused, “What do you mean?”

“Everyone can tell that you two have chemistry,” Poppy laughed to ease the tense atmosphere, “Sorry to say, but you two aren’t so good at hiding your not-so-secret glances at each other.”

You sniffed, wiping your nose with the back of your hand as you blushed, “Damn, I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“It wasn’t, you just confirmed it for me,” Poppy snickered as you scowled. She rejoiced with an empathetic look in her eyes, “You know you should tell Leon how you feel. We almost lost him this time, you might not get to say how you feel about him.”

You pressed your lips together, hesitating before speaking, “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Getting rejected?”

“And, how would you know that? We’ve seen the way he treats you, you both go home after work together, what else do you need?” Poppy reasoned, “How could he say no to you?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” Your voice came out as a hushed whisper, as you looked towards the floor and found the patterns on the tiles more interesting than your answer.

Poppy looked over at Leon’s sleeping body, “You can practice when he’s not listening, and then, when you’re ready, you can tell him how you feel without being scared.”

You followed Poppy’s eyes, once again landing on Leon’s body. Internally, you debated whether or not you should follow Poppy's plan. You bit your lip with anticipation, “What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

Poppy nodded, a brighter smile blooming on her face. She wiped your tears and fixed your hair, “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

You thanked her, giving her one last hug before turning back towards the door. You took a moment to breathe before bracing yourself and entering his room. The hum of the machines buzzed through your ears, blurring the deafening thoughts racing through your mind. Soft yellow hues from the overhead light illuminated Leon’s scratched up face. Slowly, you moved towards him and stood near the edge of the bed. You stared at his hand, a bandage wrapped around what you assumed to be a wound obtained from catching a knife. Hesitantly, your fingers touched the bandage before gently snaking them to hold his hand. A sense of relief washed over you as the warmth of his hand reassured he was alive and well. Although he was sleeping, you felt him grip your hand just a tiny bit tighter once yours was in his, causing your lips to quiver again and slow tears to fall.

“Um, hey,” Your voice cracked, “Sorry. Um, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I really missed you, and I was really worried about you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left. Uh, I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, but I care for you. I want you to be happy, I want you to be healthy, and-”

You gulped, “And…I want to be the one to make you happy.”

“I…” You took a deep breath, “I love you, Leon.”

And, mumbling through his slumber, Leon whispered, “I love you too, Ada.”

…..

It’s been three days since you showed up to work, having a poor excuse of catching a nasty cold. In reality, you were perfectly fine if you considered an aching heart to be okay. Like a teen whose crush just kissed another person, you spend the last three days lazing around in your bed, barely getting up to eat and seldom showering. You basically lived in your bed. But as nice as this was, you couldn’t run away forever. You had a day job, and you didn’t want to risk getting fired. So, you shuffled towards your bathroom and hopped in the shower, not having the confidence to look at your appearance through the mirror’s reflection. Even though it took most of your energy to walk to the shower, you instantly regretted not showering sooner with the relief of the hot water soaking your frail body. You worked through your matted and tangled hair, cleaned up your hygiene, and took some time to think about random shower thoughts. After all, that’s all you’d been doing with your time – thinking. Though no matter how much you thought about it, you couldn’t figure out any answers to your questions: Who was Ada and when did he meet her?

If you recall correctly, you were the only person that had been hooking up with Leon. You confirmed this because he rarely spends nights at others’ places, having preferred to be in the comfort of his own home. Plus, you never saw any indications of other female visitors at his place. So, if you and he had been exclusive for the past few months, that limits the time frame down to Ada being way before your time and not a recent person of interest. So, then the question changes to whether Ada was an ex-girlfriend and whether Leon still had feelings for her.

Who were you kidding? Of course he still had feelings for her, he confessed his love to Ada afterall. Even though he didn’t know that it was you that had confessed to him, Leon subconsciously kept Ada close to his heart.

The only thing to confuse you was why had Leon treated you so nicely beforehand? He was always around you, kept you company, walked you home, memorized your favorite foods, and so on. What was the reason for all of that if he hadn’t been interested? Was he leading you on? Toying with your feelings? Had you over-thought his actions?

You groaned, frustrated at the endless loop of questions in your head. With some new found anger, you stepped out of the shower and started your care routine. You kind of missed having a normal person routine as much as you despised how much effort it took to make yourself deemed socially presentable. Fortunately, your journey to work was uneventful. You did your best to avoid crowded areas, mostly keeping your eye out for Leon. You were not ready to face Leon, knowing that you’d freeze up immediately. You were trying to lay low, keep yourself from being too suspicious.

“What are we looking at?”

Fuck.

You jumped through your skin, nearly having a heart attack. You spun around abruptly, having been face to face with the very person you’d been trying to avoid. You stood there, frozen and mouth agape and you tried to muster up a coherent sentence to speak.

Once he realized you were struggling, Leon popped his brow, “No hello?”

“Hello?”

Leon nodded, slowly, “Hi. So, how’ve you-”

“Um, I gotta go!” And, you sprinted towards your office, leaving Leon staring confused at your retreating figure.

You spent the next few days avoiding Leon like that by running into the bathrooms whenever he passed in the hall, ducking under the table if you both decided to go into the food hall, and sitting on the opposite side of the table in the briefing room for mandatory meetings. You didn’t care if you were blatantly obvious that you were avoiding Leon. You knew he was smart enough to know that, but you weren’t ready to confront him. Thankfully, Leon hadn’t pushed you to meet with him, but he did send you many concerned glances whenever you both were in close vicinity. Until today, at least, when a light knock on your doorframe took you out of your work.

“I thought you said you were leaving early today, Poppy.”

“She did leave.”

Your head snapped up, “Agent Kennedy-”

“Oh so, it’s agent now?” Leon questioned, welcoming himself into your office and closing the door behind him. His eyes narrowed and expression stern, indicating that he was fully serious. Admittingly, he played into your game for a while, but he grew tired of you running away. He too wanted answers to his questions.

You looked away, not liking the way your heart ached when he looked at you with that condescending expression on his face. It made you feel like you disappointed him, “This isn’t very work appropriate.”

“Is there something wrong with co-workers visiting each other?” Leon questioned, sitting himself in your guest chair.

You countered, “It’s after work hours.”

“That hasn’t stopped us before, has it?”

You bit your lip, having no rebuttal against him. Silence cloaked the room as the both of you waited for someone to say something. When he knew that you weren’t willing to give a response, Leon pushed the conversation.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Leon stated blandly, “Why is that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Leon spat, “I’ve seen you run into bathrooms, hide under furniture, and make up lame excuses whenever I’m around. What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing, you don’t have to worry about it,” You buried your face in your hands, already feeling a headache forming from the result of a long day, “Please, Leon, just-”

“What happened to Agent Kennedy?” Leon sassed, his tone indicating that he was choosing to be petty.

You groaned, “Please, don’t make this any harder for me.”

“And, you don’t think it’s hard for me as well?”

You scoffed, “Why would it be hard for you?”

Leon pressed, “Because the person I’m fucking is avoiding me like I still have Las Plagas.”

“So, is that what I am?” You laughed in disbelief, “Just someone to fuck?”

“Isn’t that what we agreed on?” Leon grimaced at his own words, but continued to stand his ground.

“We didn’t agree on anything, Leon. Shit just happened.”

“And what about now? What changed?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. One moment we’re no strings attached and the next moment we’re eating pizza like we’re a couple. You confuse me, Leon. You lead me on, and I don’t know how to feel about you,” You took deep breaths, trying your best not to overreact or become too emotional, but you were failing.

“And, how do you feel about me?”

“For fucks sake,” And, you snapped, “I love you, Leon! Can’t you fucking see that!?”

The cloak of silence engulfed you two again, only the sounds of your ragged breathing piercing through the air. As you caught Leon’s eyes for the first time, you finally broke down with that familiar lump in your throat and blur in your eyes.

“And, I’m fucking heartbroken sitting here infront of you, acting like everything’s okay when it’s not. I feel like my heart is ripping out of my chest, because I confessed my love for you and you don’t feel the same,” You sniffled, trying your best to hold your tears back as they trailed down your face.

“You confessed to me? When?” Leon questioned in disbelief.

“When you came back.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let me make this easy for you then,” You paused, “Who’s Ada?”

Leon’s eyes widened, jaw slightly slacking. He didn’t answer you, just staring at you as he internally debated what was the best answer. But, he didn’t know what to say to you and even more so what to say to himself.

You purse your lips, wiping away your last tears before confidently speaking, “Exactly, so until you figure out your feelings, please don’t talk to me.”

…..

It’s been two weeks since you and Leon last talked – or rather interacted. There were no longer any lingering looks, no hiding behind furniture, and no running into bathrooms. It wasn’t an effort to stay out of each other's lives anymore, it rather came naturally as you both had differing missions. During your time apart, you took much time to think for yourself – healthily at that – and unravel the situation. Beneficially, you were doing slightly better than before such as eating more and sleeping more. But ultimately, Leon was still on your mind 24/7. And, being invited to the President’s gala dedicated towards rewarding and celebrating the researchers and agents who contributed to saving Ashley did you no justice in keeping your mind off Leon.

“Doing okay?” Poppy found you sitting alone in the corner with a large glass of champagne.

“Yeah, just taking a break,” You sighed, craning your neck to loosen up the tense muscles, “I don’t know how much longer I can take people coming up to thank me or tell me how great my research is.”

Poppy laughed, popping some of the table candy into her mouth, “What? Don’t like being the center of attention?”

You itched at your face, skin feeling heavy with the makeup that covered your dark circles, “Not when I have to dress up and act prim and proper all the time. Like, could we have not done this in an email or something?”

Poppy took her flute of champagne and gently tapped the rim against yours, “Cheers to that, I could be home watching TV.”

You both shot back your drinks, relishing in the sweet flavor and bubbly texture. You and Poppy chatted for a moment before she was taken away to meet more people, leaving you back in your lonely corner. Eventually, after sitting for a while, you became bored, having already met with most people or just on low energy in general. You didn’t want to take another flute of champagne, fearful that it’d make you more sluggish than you already were, so you motivated yourself to make your way to the snack table and hoped that something citrus-y could wake you up.

Just as you were about to grab a scoop from the fruit bowl, a voice from behind you caught your attention, “Hey! You’re the agent that discovered that I got kidnapped, right?”

Turning around, you came face to face with Ashley, “I had a bit of help.”

“Thanks, you saved my life,” Ashley smiled, hugging you with appreciation before taking your hand and dragging you towards another part of the gala, “Hey, let me introduce you to my dad!”

“Actually-”

You tried to protest, but you already found yourself face to face with the President.

“Ashley! So, that’s where you ran off to. Who’s this?”

You turned towards the man, body instantly stiffening with formality, “Mr. President.”

Ashley smiled, “This is the agent that discovered that I got kidnapped.”

The President gave you a nod, “Thank you for saving my daughter.”

Feeling awkward in the presence of such high authority, you just smiled and fiddled with your empty fingers. Before you could excuse yourself, Ashley perked up, “Dad look! It’s Leon!”

Fuck. Just what you needed.

The President turned towards Leon and gave him a firm handshake with much more adoration and affection than what he gave you, “I knew I could count on you, Leon. You’re a valuable asset.”

You and Leon connected eyes for a brief moment, his eyes lingering before Leon focused his attention back to the President and acknowledged his words, “I couldn’t have succeeded without my partner.”

Leon and the President continued chatting as you stood there silently, thoughts about your fruit bowl long gone. You choked at Leon’s words, definitely knowing that he was referring to you but not directly. It’s been so long since you’ve heard Leon’s voice and seen Leon’s face, all of your progress of moving on fell back to ground level as your heart longed for him. You stood there awkwardly, having felt like you were very out of place. You were zoned out for most of the conversation or at least until you noticed Ashley inching closer towards Leon. Her laughter was louder, more forced as she clung on Leon’s arm. She pressed herself up against him, causing a sickening feeling to brew in your stomach. But that feeling was nothing compared to seeing Leon do nothing to brush off Ashley from his side.

At this moment, you were glad you never touched the fruit bowl, knowing that it would’ve come up from your front seat view of Leon and Ashley. Unfortunately, the heaps of alcohol were starting to get to you as nausea and fatigue washed over your consciousness. Picking up a glass of water from a passing staff member, you took a few heavy gulps before inserting yourself back into the conversation, “Please excuse me.”

For the most part, you were ignored which you didn’t mind too much, having been able to slip away unnoticed. Briskly walking out of the main room, you found yourself stumbling through long halls, almost identical to the last before somehow locating a low leveled balcony overlooking a large open field of grass and garden. You untangled the curtains and softly closed the elegant door behind you, shielding yourself into isolation as you walked towards the balcony’s edge and leaning your hip against the cold stone. Looking out into the night, you sighed a breath of relief as the rush of cool air enveloped your flushed body.

You lost track of time staring at the stars above you, drunk thoughts floating through your mind. Specifically, thoughts about Leon, then Leon and Ashley, and then Leon and you – or rather Leon without you. At this point, you hated how your thoughts were consumed by him, almost like your entire life revolved around him. You wondered, how did you get yourself to this point?

Groaning in frustration, you fished out a spare cigarette and lighter from your person, pressing the soft paper between your lips and reaching up to light the tip. You rotated the gears of the lighter to ignite a flame; however, the cool breeze of the night prevented the flame from growing high enough. You cursed, trying again and again, but to no avail – until a large hand helped enclose your cigarette and block the wind from extinguishing your flame. You followed the hand’s owner, surprised to see Leon standing before you, having no conclusion on how he made it past the balcony doors without you noticing or hearing him.

You slacked your lips, letting the cigarette slightly fall just enough to let you speak, “I thought you didn’t like smokers.”

“You only smoke when you’re stressed,” Leon shrugged, still cupping his hand near your cigarette.

You didn’t comment, lighting your cigarette and sheathing your lighter. You took a long, deep breath before blowing out the smoke in the opposite direction where Leon stood. For a moment, you did debate whether to blow smoke in his face, but you weren’t that petty. Yet.

“Long night, I guess.”

“Yeah, same,” Leon scrunched his brows, referring to these awful parties that always praised the small number of agents and soldiers that were lucky enough to return home to their families.

Deciding to act civilized, you lightly chuckled, flicking the ashes off your cigarette, “Not enjoying the spotlight, hero boy?”

“Can’t say I do this often.”

You didn’t reply and found no need to keep the conversation going. Maybe it was awkward, but the smell of nicotine helped ease your nerves. You enjoyed watching the smoke as it dissipated into the night air, only to be blown away by the gentle breeze which made you and the garden bushes shiver.

You heard Leon rustling before a bit of heavy weight landed on your shoulders and the residual warmth engulfed your arms and torso. Stubbing out your cigarette, you blow out one last drag before looking over at Leon in his button up and instinctively gripping his jacket around you tighter. You usually brought your own jackets to these kinds of events, but you didn’t expect to run and hide outside for this long.

“Kenn-”

“Keep it, you’re cold,” Leon leaned up against the balcony, “And, call me Leon.”

You didn’t know how to answer him, so you chose not to. You didn’t feel like you could be personal with him, at least not anytime soon.

Noticing your lack of interaction, Leon piped up, “So, what’s on your mind?”

You cringed at the question, shrugging through his jacket, “Things.”

“Like?”

“Personal things.”

Another blanket of silence covered you both, but this time, it was definitely awkward as you no longer had your smoke to distract you with.

“You-”

“I’m-”

You purse your lips, “Sorry, you go first.”

“Please, I insist.”

For the first time since he came out, you and Leon made eye contact as you both tried to read each other's emotions. You debated whether or not to say anything to him, knowing that you had weeks of pent up emotions and unresolved tension. Thinking about Poppy, voices about weighing your pros and cons came back to mind. Pros with talking with Leon were gaining yourself a sense of conclusion, whereas the cons were getting your heart broken – again. Somewhere along the line of thinking, your heart must’ve made the decision for you, throwing logic completely out the question. While gazing into his blue eyes, your pupils shook, causing you to close your eyes and take a deep breath for confidence.

With a small and broken voice, you softly spoke in a volume borderline inaudible, “You can’t- you can’t keep doing this to me, Leon.”

Leon pinched his eyes closed, almost like he was in physical pain, “I know.”

“You’re hurting me,” Your voice quivered.

“I know.”

“I’m confused at your words and actions.”

“I know.”

“And, this whole time I feel like I’ve just been used.”

“I know.”

Suddenly, you grit your teeth in frustration and throwing his jacket off your shoulders, “Fuck, Leon, can you say anything besides I know!?”

You didn’t mean to shout at him, but it just came out like that. You really shouldn’t have yelled. You were never the type to speak out from emotions anyways. Plus, you didn’t need to draw attention to yourselves had there been any unseen party goers straggling in the hallway.

Watching Leon frown from your outburst made your heart ache before his eyes shifted towards something sympathetic. He shifted closer towards you, picking up his jacket and fixing it back on you before placing a warm hand over yours, “I’ve figured out my feelings.”

Tears flooded your vision as the air in your lungs crushed your chest. It didn’t matter what Leon’s answer was, you just weren’t ready to hear it, so you did the first thing that came to mind. You ran away, “No, no, no, don’t do this to me right now, please. I can’t do this anymore, just leave me alone, please.”

With his lightning reaction, Leon caught you by the arms and stopped you halfway towards the door. His grip was strong enough to hug you comfortably in his chest, but nowhere near tight enough to be painful or uncomfortable. Still, you pathetically fought against him, weakly slapping his upper chest; although, a part of you really didn't want him to let you go.

Leon hugged you tighter, holding you closely and consoled your hysterics the best he could, “Shh, baby please, just let me explain.”

You halted your struggling, “Let go of me.”

"You don't mean it," Leon shook his head, "I don't believe you."

"Le-"

“Damn it, Y/N!”

Leon's abrupt outburst killed whatever thought you had and silenced you into submission. Of all the years you've known him, never once has he ever raised his voice at you nor looked at you with such passionate eyes blazing with equal parts frustration and determination.

“I will tell you everything, okay? Ask me anything you want, I’ll give you only the truth. I just want to talk to you, please?”

He continued when you didn't answer him.

“I don’t want to leave you like this, but if you decide that you don’t like my answers or that you don’t like me, just say the word and everything we’ve ever had stops,” Leon looked down at you hopeful, releasing his hold as a sign that he trusts you not to dash away. Instead, he fixed his jacket around you as you didn't realize it was halfway down your torso.

"Deal?" Leon said.

Hesitantly, you nodded. Maybe it was his change in demeanor or thoughtful speech or the smell of his cologne engulfing you – whatever it was, you were compelled to accept the temptations of a devil. And yours was Leon and his sparkling eyes under the moonlit sky.

“Say it, please,” His tone returned back to a soft and gentle level as he cupped your face with one hand and brushed your bottom lip with his thumb.

You gulped nervously, yet determined for answers, “You have one minute.”

Leon let out a sigh of relief before flashing a small, crooked smile and thanking you for giving him a chance.

“Ada was someone I met at Raccoon City. We spent a bit of time together, trying to get to Umbrella’s underground lab. She kissed me, but we had our differences and ended up parting ways.”

“Differences?” You perked.

“I wanted to save the people, but she didn’t," It was a simple answer, but Leon didn't have time to elaborate while on your timer, “Then, I met Ada in Spain.”

"Wait," You paused and rewound the storyline, “I thought only you and Claire survived.”

Leon nodded with a far off look on his face as he reminisced his old days, “I thought so too, I don’t even know how she’s alive or what she’s doing, but she was in Spain.”

“Leon, why didn’t you tell us? She could be dangerous, she could’ve been working for Los Illuminados!” You scolded with a deep frown, wondering how he could've trusted someone like that.

“No, she isn’t," Leon denied, "She’s working for someone else though, I don’t know who.”

Getting sick of talking about Ada and nearing the end of your minute, you jabbed, “I’m failing to see how this involves me.”

“This involves you, because I can’t get you out of my mind! At first, I thought it was all physical, and that was okay with me. But, we started working on more projects together, and I could finally see you for who you are. Like how intelligent you are in the meeting rooms, how your eyes crinkle when you smile at Poppy, and how you always look at me with your sparkling eyes. I didn’t even know when I started falling for you. I looked forward to seeing you every Friday, even if nothing were to happen, I still wanted your company. I wanted to see you for as long as I could, so that’s why I started visiting your office more, inviting you out more, figuring out your likes and dislikes. God, I’m so fucking obsessed with you.”

Without realizing, Leon caged you against the balcony with his hands on either side of your hips and drew soft circles. He ghosted his lips on the nape of your neck before following the shell of your ear and whispered, “‘I’m so fucking obsessed with you, when I look at you I create a future with us. Just me and you, and maybe some little ones later if you wanted.”

You sighed in pleasure as you responded to his kisses, one leg instinctively hooking around his thigh as to bring him closer to you. Leon accepted your beckoning and closed the gap between each other's chests. Face to face, you could feel his breath on your lips as he laid his forehead on yours. There was barely anything keeping you from kissing each other, something you two had never done before while hooking up as it seemed too intimate for friends with benefits to do.

Looking into his eyes, you didn't need to ask if he were sincere. You could see all of him already, and he made sure you knew that he was willing to be a hundred percent and more vulnerable. While observing, you noticed how his eyes darted between yours frantically and how his Adam's apple bobbed in a nervous gulp. You were taking too long to answer.

“Why are you so scared?” You asked gently, placing a hand on his cheek.

He nuzzled into your touch, “I’m scared of hurting you. I didn’t know if I would come back from that mission. I made a promise that I didn’t even know if I could keep.”

“You came back,” You explained, now calm and confident as you said, “That’s all that matters.”

Leon's eyes lit up in delight with a breath of relief. Without any warning, Leon’s lips were all over your face, kissing your cheeks, temple, and forehead. You shied back, embarrassed from his affection. He must’ve known this as well, smirking from seeing the blush surfaced on your cheeks. Palm facing outwards, you partially blocked your face as you looked away, “Don’t look at me.”

“You look beautiful,” Leon gently removed your guarding hand and held it in his with a comforting caress before taking his other hand to guide your chin back to lock eyes, “Can I kiss you again?”

You didn’t answer him with words, opting to crane your neck forward and pressing your lips onto his. Without hesitation, Leon melted into your kiss by sliding the hand on your chin along your jawline and adjusting your angle to deepen the kiss. Arching your back, you circled your arms around his broad shoulders. Leon’s hands moved back to your hips, effortlessly propping you to sit on the balcony’s edge. You gasped in pleasure as you wrapped your legs around Leon’s hips, feeling him pressed against your core. Leon pulled you closer, teasingly grinding his hips against yours.

“Leon!” You hissed, slapping his chest, “We’re at a party. We-”

“- could get caught?” Leon pulled back with a smirk, “Don’t be loud then.”

You scolded him to which he laughed joyously. As much as you were annoyed with his antics, you knew that you’d never be able to forget how big his smile was and how happy he looked with you in his arms. So, you laughed with him with a large smile on your face as well, feeling the most safe and comfortable in this moment.

He held you closely, listening to the beat of his heart, "As much as I want to take you right now, I want us to take it slow. There's so much I want to show how I can treat you. Until then, let's wait until we're both ready."

…..

Leon had gone out of his way to make you feel like you were his world. Every morning, he’d send you a short message even if it were just a hello. If you had time before work, he’d meet you at your apartment and take you out for a quick breakfast before heading to the office. If you happened to be running late, Leon still made sure to drop off your favorite drink before carrying out his own responsibilities. During lunch, Leon would sit extra close to you, enough to indicate to onlookers that something was brewing between the two of you, but distant enough to not make anyone feel uncomfortable. After work, Leon took you out for dinner or walked you home if you were feeling particularly tired. This new found routine eventually became a lifestyle. Leon attended to all your needs and took extra care of you. Although sex with Leon was no doubt amazing, you both found solace in the emotional comfort and companionship. That is until one day you invited Leon over to bake cookies for Poppy’s birthday.

“There’s eggshells in the mix, Leon.”

“Leon, you didn’t turn on the oven.”

“Don’t eat the chocolate, Leon!”

“Leon! How did you get flour in your hair?”

You sighed, realizing a bit too late that the flawless Leon Kennedy actually did not have a knack for cooking. Leon blushed with embarrassment, wiping the back of his hand on his forehead and thus smearing more flour on his messy face. Putting your batch of the cookies in the oven, you glided over towards Leon to brush his face clean before pressing a quick kiss to his lips, "Just get cleaned up, 'kay?

Leon nodded sheepishly, heading over towards your bathroom and showering while the cookies baked. With only your batch of cookies surviving the mixing phase, you modified the recipe to make mini cookies instead. Thankfully, they were done and set to cool by the time you finished cleaning up. Realizing your clothes were dusted with flour, you made your way to your closet to change into one of Leon’s large t-shirts. Just as the shirt draped over your body, Leon entered with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist and water still dripping down his glistening chest.

“It’s rude to stare you know,” Leon teased, stretching his bicep on display as he toweled his hair.

You shuffled your way over to him, teasingly drawing your fingers along the skin of his exposed hipline, “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Leon laughed before sneaking his hands under your thighs and propping you on top of your dresser, “You look good in my clothes. I don’t know how much longer I can resist you.”

You knew Leon liked to tease you, having gotten used to his sly comments by now. But, you’d been waiting so long since you’ve last had him in you, having Leon barely naked in front of you awoke the desires you’d been trying so hard to suppress. Rubbing your hands along his damp biceps, you trailed your hands all over his chest and up to hold his jawline and bring him in for a deep kiss. You broke the kiss, “Then don’t resist.”

Leon went to protest, probably about to spew some nonsense about waiting for the right time or wanting it to be a special moment, but you’d already forgiven him and any moment with Leon felt special to you. You hushed him impatiently, “Shut up and fuck me or I’ll do it myself.”

You knew you won by his stern set features and darkening eyes, knowing that Leon always hated you pleasuring yourself without his assistance, “Like hell you will.”

Without warning, Leon picked you up again and headed towards your bed, tossing you onto the mattress with a small bounce. You yelped, half in surprise and half in excitement as you tried to sit up; however, Leon stopped you by crawling over your lower body and pining your wrists above your head, “You wanna say that again?”

You tilted your head not-so-innocently, “Say what again, Leon?”

With his free hand, Leon wrapped it around your neck and added a small amount of pressure as a warning, “Don’t test me.”

You licked your lips, absolutely loving Leon’s change in demeanor. Sometimes, it was too easy to rile him up, “I said, shut up and fuck me or I’ll do it myself.”

Silence fell between you two as you challenged each other to break first. After a couple moments, you started to believe that maybe you said something wrong by the way Leon had yet to respond or react to you. But this sliver of doubt you held was just enough for Leon to play right into your vulnerability. And with a sly smile, Leon flipped you on your stomach and repositioned your hands to grip a pole on your metal headboard, “Let go and this all stops, do you understand?”

“Wha-”

Your question was interrupted as Leon released your wrists, bundled his shirt towards your shoulder blades, and lightly smacked your ass. You jolted with a gasp, fingers tightening around the pole. You heard Leon throw something, probably getting rid of his towel. You hated that you couldn’t tell what he was doing nor could you see him in his glory, but that added towards the excitement of it all as you guessed what you were going to feel and experience next. Leon hovered above you, lips ghosting around the shell of your ear, “I don’t repeat myself, love.”

You clenched at the pet name, whimpering from the ache between your legs. You felt Leon smirk against your skin as he pressed kisses all around your neck and shoulder. He paused to take a pillow and place it comfortably under your pelvis to prop your hips higher for him. Taking a shaky breath in, you readjusted your fingers to grip the pole even tighter than before, “I understand.”

There was a lack of response as the weight of Leon’s body disappeared, leaving you wondering what was to come next. Through all of Leon’s previous training, he’s perfected stealth movements. No matter how much you closed your eyes to concentrate on focusing, you were well aware that Leon had the ability to exit the room without you even noticing. It felt like forever as your breathing became labored even if you hadn’t moved. The anticipation was killing you, inside and out. Just as you were about to question him, a small pop adjacent to the sound of a bottle opening pierced the air before what sounded like a glop of substance was squeezed out and rubbed between Leon’s hands. You stayed silent, letting your imagination guide you as Leon’s hands finally touched your body. He started at your shoulders, massaging small, pressured circles into the tense muscles. Once he felt you relax against him, Leon moved to give the same treatment along your back, waist, and hips. Although he wasn’t pleasing you sexually, Leon’s hands still felt euphoric as he trailed his hands along your bodyline.

Suddenly, he stopped at your ass, squirting some more oil onto his hands before gripping the flesh and spreading you apart. Instinctually, you buried your face into the sheets and spread your legs as you felt Leon’s lingering eyes on you. Slipping a thumb forward, Leon swiped up and down your pussy lips, “So wet and I haven’t touched you yet.”

You grit your teeth, “Don’t tease me.”

Without warning, Leon slipped his thumb in fully, rubbing against your inner walls as you mewled out in response, “You asked for that.”

“Asshole,” You muttered, still trying to adjust to him. Sure you were no stranger to having Leon’s fingers buried in you; however, it’s been so long since you’ve stretched yourself out.

Leon chose to ignore you, finding your twitching lips more entertaining than your false resistance. He’d gotten used to it by now anyways. Leon explored your tight cunt a little more with his thumb before releasing his hold on you, “Guess we’ll have to do this the long way, not that I mind.”

You heard Leon shuffle before his soft, wet lips connected with your pussy lips. Licking and sucking, Leon teased and abused your already swollen clit. For extra lubrication, Leon spit on you before shoving his tongue into your awaiting hole, causing you to lurch forward. You moaned out his name as he quickly brought his hands up to hold your hips stable. From the lack of sexual activity, you were surprised to find yourself so sensitive to his licks and unable to hold yourself still for him. It was almost like this was your first time getting eaten out.

Your thoughts clouded as Leon pushed his face deeper into you, tongue stretching beyond your tight rim as he fucked you. Shuddering with pleasure, you started to gain a sense of control as you rocked your hips back to push him deeper into you. But just as you did so, Leon retracted his tongue and replaced it with two of his fingers as his lips returned back to your clit. You cried out, confused at how Leon's fingers could make you feel this way when you knew his dick in you would feel even better. Had you gone without him for too long?

You didn't get a chance to dwell much longer as Leon's long fingers curled up and brushed your pleasure point, causing you to cry out even more and subconsciously releasing one of your hands. Leon immediately noticed this, "Calling quits already? I never knew you were so weak."

You hissed out in annoyance which quickly changed into pleasure as Leon continued fingering deeper into you. The way he pumped in and out of you, foamed up your sticky consistency as it dripped all over his hand. With your limited vision, the audio of your wet squelching intensified as Leon quickened his pace.

“Ready for three?”

Leon didn’t wait for an answer before adding another finger into you. At this point, your legs were quivering with delight, barely being strong enough to hold you up. Just as he rubbed your most sensitive part, your legs twitched harshly causing you to give out and slump back into the bed and pillow. Without missing a beat, Leon continued fingering you as his other hand rubbed small circles around your clit. Your moans intensified, legs still shaking from the double pleasuring sensation.

“Wait- Leon- ngh-”

You tried taking deep breaths to calm yourself, but you knew your climax was coming despite the efforts to prolong it. Leon seemed to know this as well as he – again – increased his speed and skill. He shushed you, prompting you to climax, “Come on, love, I know you can do it. Just let go, I promise to give you more. Just give yourself to me.”

Instantly, you clenched around him, feeling yourself cum around the bundle of his fingers as he helped you ride it out. Your loud moans transitioned to deep gasps as you took a moment to catch your breath. Leon flipped you over, giving you a chaste kiss, “Still doing okay?”

“Yes,” You breathed, “Can I let go now?”

You looked up at Leon with a pleading look. Leon debated for a moment before obliging, knowing that your arms must’ve started feeling sore by now, “Fine, but keep your eyes on me. I want to see your face when you cum on me this time.”

You looked away, embarrassed. Leon chuckled, finding your reaction adorable as he took the initiative to pump himself and slide his tip along your super sensitive clit. Leon pushed himself into you with a vice grip on your hips, groaning from how wet you still were, “I should’ve fucked you sooner.”

Before he could fully bottom out, you’d already lifted your hips to indicate to him to start thrusting into you; however, Leon did the exact opposite as he pulled back out just to fuck his tip into you over and over again, “Impatient are we? What’s the rush? We’ve got all night.”

Having enough with his constant teasing, you mustered all your strength to push Leon back as you straddled him with your hands firmly in his toned chest. Power surged through your veins as Leon surrendered himself beneath you. Although you know Leon could easily overpower you and that he probably let you turn the tables on him for his own entertainment, you let your ego fuel your confidence as you took his hardened dick into your hand and guided him inside you as you sank downwards.

You watched as Leon’s face contorted with pleasure, trying his best to contain his reaction despite how good you felt engulfing him with your hot walls. Rocking up and down slowly, you leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “I told you to shut up or I’ll do it myself.”

Placing your hands on his shoulders to hold your weight, you thrust your hips along his shaft, pumping him from tip to balls. Leon’s groans grew louder as he put his hands on your hips to help you increase your speed. With the support of Leon, you postured back up and used your body weight to slam down onto his dick, feeling him reach the deepest depths of you. Your pussy clenched around him, throwing your head back from the pleasure.

A smack to your ass shifted your attention back to Leon as he scowled at you, “I told you to keep your eyes on me.”

Rolling your eyes, you continued to ride him without answering him. Undoubtedly, Leon glared at you, pushing you off of him and pining you back down into missionary, “You asked for it, hope you're ready.”

You went to call out his bluff; however, Leon thrusted himself fully into you. You cried out from the fullness, unsuspecting that Leon would enter so roughly into you. But your clenching cunt revealed that you secretly enjoyed how rough he was with you. With that in mind, Leon thrusted roughly into you, pushing your body higher and higher upon the mattress. Leon intertwined his hands in yours, pinning you down in place as he pounded himself deeper into you. Usually, Leon focuses on the sight of you swallowing him whole, watching as his shaft disappears into you and reappears wetter than before. However, as Leon slammed his hips into yours and elicited deafening skin slapping audio, he was solely focused on you, reading every passing emotion across your face. He was studying you, figuring out what you liked versus what you loved. He’d try different angles, watching and listening to your reactions and changing his technique accordingly. He kept at it until a single harsh thrust had you tightening against his cock, gripped his hands, and moaning out his name. With that information, Leon smiled and monopolized his findings as he fixated on hitting your g-spot repeatedly, “Gotcha.”

Leon pounded into you, harsher and deeper than before as he chased his own high. He guided you, telling you when to wait, so that you could both cum together. You struggled to keep your eyes open from how much stimulation you were receiving. But the look in Leon’s eyes convinced you to keep yours open.

“I’m almost, fuck, I’m almost done,” Leon’s thrusts became sloppy, yet still hitting you where you needed him.

You chanted his name over and over as you began to cum for the second time, “Please- I-”

Without releasing your hands, Leon pumped into you one last time before pulling out and squirting his cum over your lower abdomen. Leon muttered a few curses before lazily falling next to you and kissing you. Leon helped you take off his shirt and wipe his cum off of you, throwing it somewhere on the floor before pulling you closer to him and burying himself in the crook of your neck. You receive his cuddles, lacing your fingers into his messy, damp hair. Leon kissed your neck up to your lips, “Doing okay?”

You nodded with a soft smile, “Help me to the bathroom?”

Leon obliged, lifting you up and placing you in the bathtub to share a bath together. Soaking in the warm water, your back rested against his chest. You leaned your head back onto his shoulder as he wrapped his large arms around your midsection like you’d disappear any second, “Leon?”

He kissed your shoulder, “Yes?”

“Do you love me?” You asked shyly.

Leon chuckled, holding you tighter against him, “Of course, I love you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You kissed him again, “Good, because I love you too.”

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imbeingchokeholded · 9 months

Text

Getting Clean

I need to be put into jail, stupid Scottish bitch.

Anyway this is probably lowkey just gonna be smut completely lmao.

I promise the soap pun titles will end.

Also so sorry this took so long because my mind is an enigma and writing for either the COD fandom or the RDR2 fandom has been deleted out of my mind.

Lets go lmao

WARNINGS!: female reader because im a woman and soap makes me yell real loud (nothing against him being shipped with male readers or 141, good for him what a king), NSFW, fuckin, im so bad at warnings just know its gonna be fuckin happenin, choking?? Voice kink???? Breeding kink for SURE. Just major NSFW basically porn with negative plot. Like... .5 plot.

Scottish slang/words may be inccorect due to using google, so please lemme know if its wrong, I'll happily fix it.

I am so sorry for spelling mistakes i finished this at like 2am

The mess hall seemed way too empty, everyone was out on missions, covert, recon, whatever, and while there was a shit ton of others there on base, without most of the 141 team it just felt....wrong.

You sigh and look at your food. It's not that it's bad food. In fact, it looks delicious, but sitting alone, at this massive table that usually you shared with Ghost, Gaz, Rudy and Alejandro, as well as Soap, just made you feel...down.

They were easily the people you were closest too on base. Working so closely with them it was only a matter of time before it happened. All of you were close friends, it was rare for any of you to stray from the group and talk to anyone else.

So today, sitting in the mess hall, was no different.

You stare at the food a little longer, and poke it around with your fork, that strange foreign feeling in your chest.

"Aye Lass, lookin' at it like tha' cannaé change how it tastes."

You smile and twist your head to look at Soap as he nears the table, a tray of food of his own in his hands.

"Johnny! I didn't know you were here!" You smile wider as he takes a seat next to you, and chuckle as he takes a bite of food from his tray.

"Ah, I jus' got back from a mission not too long ago, Price is givin' me a wei break."

You nod and smile at him, your heart seems a little lighter now, someone who you're far closer to now with you.

Plus it was Johnny, how could you not be happy around him? He was the obnoxious fun loving one of the group, he could be serious yes, but it was rare. Most days he joked, laughed, spat out witty sarcastic comments at everyone who passed.

You supposed that was part of the reason you'd grown to have such deep feelings for him in the first place.

Of course you'd never tell him that, you were far too nervous to do that.

Handsome, sweet, a deep voice, which had a Scottish accent on top of it? You could listen to him speak about nonsense for the entire day.

Sometimes missions with him were absolute hell.

He did his job, he was a good Sargent, he knew what he was doing, trained properly, getting things done the way they needed to, but his commentary....

That damn voice of his, he didn't even need to be next to you, all he needed was that voice and his stupid little sarcastic quips.

Hell, sometimes it wasn't even in comms.

He'd yell out something simple, that shouldn't have been attractive, yet it was.

Something as simple as "Changing mags!" Could make your face heat up and turn a violent red, hell, he basically growled at the end of the sentence whenever he said it. Being near him was almost like having a bomb strapped to your chest. Threatening to go off at any second.

Everytime he said "Steamin' Jesus" you couldn't help but imagine him using it in a far more intimate senario, with a slight change of tone, and that never failed to send a flood of warmth between your legs.

You swore that he knew what he was doing too, like he could sense the tension between the two of you, or see the red on your face, but if he did he never brought it up, and for that you were thankful.

Trying to explain fraternization to Price would not be a fun experience. Not only that but bringing it up would probably make you flustered beyond speaking ablity.

"Hey, Y/N. I been talkin' yer fuckin' ear off, you still listenin'?"

You shake your head and look at him, your face feels hot and you're sure you're crimson.

"Ye alright Lass?"

That stupid nickname makes the blush worsen and you simply clear your throat.

"I'm fine Soap. Thinking."

"You can call me Johnny off duty." He laughs. "You usually do....ya nervous about something? Just a wei bit?"

His voice carries a bit of teasing tone and you can't help but feel a bit if irritation at the smug bastard.

"Not nervous, no."

"Ah, not nervous, yet red in the face....Aye...I got yer number bonnie."

He snorts and then continues to eat.

"Really?" You cross your arms and look at him. "Do you now MacTavish?"

"Pretty obvious if you ask me." He shrugs.

"Okay, so tell me then."

Your face burns at the sudden burst of confidence, and as a smirk crosses over Johnny's face you suddenly feel very foolish about what you've just said.

"Lass...tha's not very appropriate for me to say here, where anyone could hear....now is it?"

That smirk stays on his face as he lowers his voice to a low whisper as he gets the last few words out.

You swallow, and your face burns deeper.

"I don't know what you mean Johnny."

"I'm sure." He offers you a laugh and then stands, the look in his eyes makes your body shiver. "I think I'll head to my room...feel free to...visit, if you'd like."

You watch as he walks off as though nothing had happened and your entire body seems to shiver.

He sticks his hands in his jean pockets as he walks away, which you obviously noticed, because of course you did, with an ass like his.

What the hell are you gonna do? Follow him? How the hell did he figure you out so quickly? Did he mean what he said?

Little did you know Johnny was thinking similarly.

"What the hell were you thinkin'? Saying somethin' like that? Y/N does NOT feel that way about you, you probably just fucked somethin' up, fuckin' idiot."

It takes you only a matter of minutes before you stand from the table and head after Johnny, towards his room in the base.

Your heart is thumping so loudly its the only thing you can hear.

Your body seems to be reacting on its own though, your thoughts, while dirty and definetly in need of some....cleaning....ironically, are wondering what'll happen to your friendship afterwards, but your body doesn't seem to care.

Your mind races with the thought of what would happen if you were caught too, it wasn't exactly professional to fuck your coworker in the military.

When you reach his door you breathe deeply, hesitant as you raise your hand to the door. You stopped for a moment and then, you knock on the door.

Johnny opens the door nearly instantly, only a matter of seconds pass before the door knob clicks and he stands in the doorway before you, leaning against the doorframe as he looks down at you.

"Tha' was quick Lass."

"Shut up, let me in."

"Aw...c'mon now...be nice..." He lowers his voice, whispering the last two words, a smug smirk coming over his mouth.

You feel a rush of heat through your chest and look to your feet, your entire face seems to burn, your ears even feel as though they're burning.

"Please Johnny?"

You feel his hand come under your chin and he lifts your head to look him in the eye, not gently but not rough either.

"Try again Lass, look me in the eye."

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

"Please let me in, you stupid Scottish fuck."

"Tha's not very nice...thought I said be nice..."

You clench your jaw and stare at him, that smug grin on his face somehow managing to irritate you and make you horny all at the same time.

"Please Johnny? Let me in?"

"Ye really do want me, don't ye? Dinnaé know you felt so strongly towards me.." He smirks at you and the moves aside, dropping his hand from your chin to let you in.

You look around his room, staring at all the posters and things he has lined up on the walls. Considering this was Johnny's room....you expected it to be far dirtier, less organized, yet as you looked around at the rest of his room you noticed everything had a place, everything was neat, he didn't even have dirty clothes on the floor.

Neat and organized....despite his very chaotic and uncooridinated nature.

You're busy looking this over, viewing his room when he comes up behind you.

He leans in close.

"So, you were havin' thoughts then?" He smirks, you can feel it without even looking at him. "You? Havin' thoughts...innocent little Y/N always focused on the job Y/N....havin' thoughts like those....and about me..."

His voice lowers, it's nearly a growl, and a hand wraps around your waist, his fingers slide gently under the bottom of your shirt, touching the bare skin of your stomach, only just barely.

"Naughty...naughty..."

You look down, your face is completely red, scarlet, and it burns hotter than you thought possible.

By looking down you didn't really account for the fact that, that would only leave your neck open, and it takes all your will power you have not to make a sound when you feel Johnny's lips agains the skin there.

"I'm suprised it took you this long to notice Johnny." You breathe out, hoping your voice wouldn't give out on you.

He stops, his lips still gently placed against your skin as he speaks.

"Really now....been very noticable has it Hen?"

The nickname sends a shiver though your spine, though you know the word itself isn't the issue.

"I think so..." You breathe. "Can't you tell when my voice changes over comms sometimes?"

"Ye get that flustered...over comms? Ye don't even see me.."

He chuckles and presses another kiss to your neck, you're sure the next one he offers will be brusing.

"Not my fault..." You mumble. You've almost collapsed against him, leaning your body weight onto him, though he doesn't mind in the slightest.

"Really now...now...can ye explain to me what it is on comms that makes things so hard to focus then Hen?"

"Why must you make things difficult?"

"Difficult?"

He laughs at you and then stands up straight, his hand leaving the skin of your stomach.

He moves to his bed and takes a seat, nearly plopping down, he sits with his legs open and slaps both hands on his thighs, leaning forwards.

"It isn't difficult, it's a really easy question now Lass."

You cross your arms and look at him, watching as he leans back a little a simple smirk on his face.

"If ye really want somethin' tonight Y/N, yer gonnae have to tell me."

That smug look doesn't leave his face, rather it seems like it only gets worse as he utters out your name, emphasising it, lowering his voice as he does. To add to this you watch as his hands leave his thighs, palms upwards in a sort of shrug gesture.

He knows what gets you flustered over comms. He knows, you know he knows, but you also know he's gonna make you say it.

"You damn well know what it is Johnny."

"Oh I do, but it'll be much better when it comes out of yer mouth, preferrably with your face all red."

You swallow and look to the floor, keeping your arms crossed as you speak.

"I swear sometimes you do it on purpose. You do those damn jokes, say those fucking statements and you always lower your voice, especially if you know I'm listening. I told you how I liked your accent ONCE and now you use it everytime you can."

"Aye, I do." Again, as before, you can hear that smirk on his face. "I'll admit it. I take every chance I can."

You scrunch up your nose, refusing to look up at him.

Theres silence for a moment and then you hear him shuffle, only then do you look up.

He simply catches your gaze and makes a motion towards himself with his two middle fingers, pretty much beckoning you towards him.

Despite the stubborness you've shown earlier you can't help but follow his silent command.

As you reach him and stand inbetween his legs his hands creep over your thighs, fingers curling around the back of them, squeezing the meat of them, tightly, firmly. Just the right amount of pressure.

He looks up at you, his face a little more serious now, the smirk from earlier still lingers, but it's far less noticable.

"Ye know Y/N, I've thought about having you in here....a lot."

"Really?" You stop a moment, your body tingling, stemming from his fingertips outwards. Your mind seems a little fogged. "I thought....I thought maybe you'd invited me in here today just to...well honestly I thought you were just fucking with me Johnny, but...I couldn't just ignore it."

"Nae, no fuckin'with you, no this time."

"So...does...um...does that mean..." You swallow, struggling with your words. "Look....Johnny I think it's obvious I've liked you for a while now...are...if we're really gonna do this...I...what does it mean? Anything? Just...are we fuck buddies, or something more because...."

Your words trail off, you can't help but cross your arms, a sudden burst of what you can only assume is nearly shame creeps up through you.

Johhny's face changes, subtly, but you catch it, and you don't miss the squeeze he gives your thighs either.

"Hen, once I get a taste of you I don't think I could have anyone else."

He's quick with his movements as he slides his hands up towards your ass, and pushes you slightly closer to himself.

The action he does next is a simple one, yet it sends all kinds of feelings through you.

His tongue touches the skin of your stomach, his hand gently pushing your shirt up out of the way. He licks a stripe upwards, keeping eye contact with you as he does.

"Jesus Johnny...."

He offers a chuckle and grips your hip with his free hand just a little tighter.

"I'm gonna ask this once Bonníe," he looks at you, only a small trace of a smile on his lips. "Are ye sure ye wanna do this? I'll stop if ye say stop, but after this I won't ask again."

Your thoughts swirl in your head for a moment. Wondering if it is what you wanted. If it was worth chancing your friendship, chancing your job, getting caught fraternizing is no small penalty.

In the end your body decides for you.

You nod.

"I do."

That smile of his fits on his face slowly, showing off those pearly whites. His surprisingly sharp canines.

His tongue comes out once more, again licking up your stomach, this time he stands as he moves himself upwards, only bringing his mouth away when he reaches the area just below your breasts, letting your shirt fall back to its original place.

When he finally stands his mouth goes into good use, his lips meeting yours with a feverancy, practically a need. He fists your hair, and darts his tongue into your mouth without any hesitance.

His free hand snakes around your body, finding purchase on the plump of your asscheek.

You let out a moan against his lips which in turn pulls one from him.

Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, grabbing onto any part of him you can.

His hand nestled within your hair offers a tug, pulling your head back, taking your lips from his and exposing your neck to him.

His lips latch onto your throat, open mouthed hot kisses against your skin, making your body shiver, tingle. His tongue licks along your skin, warm, and again...hungry.

"Johnny..." You whine out his name, and your body flames up, a part of you is curious as to how he'd gotten you so needy so quickly.

The other part did not give a shit.

"So pretty when you whine like that Bonníe..."

He smiles against your skin, moving towards your jaw, still dragging his lips along your neck, refusing to leave it.

"Maybe we should see if I can get any more out of ye..."

"Johnny...we have to be careful..." You mumble. "We...we can't be caught-"

"Yer right Lass...that might even be more fun..."

He pulls back to look at you, his eyes seemed to darken with the idea that begins to plauge his mind.

"Let's see if ye can keep from screamin' huh?"

"Johnny-"

He cuts you off as his hand come up around your throat, offering a gentle squeeze to the sides as he begins to push you down to the bed.

"Do yer best for me Love." He gives you that goddamn smirk again. "Stay quiet...Can ye do that?"

You nod, your breathing becoming heavier as he stares down at you, hand still wrapped around your throat.

"Atta girl."

He coos out the words and everything in your body seems to be completely englufed in flame.

"You this charming to every girl you fuck Johnny?"

You breathe out the words, hands moving to his chest as you settle against the mattress.

"Jus' you Lass."

Rough hands slide under your shirt, over your stomach, bringing the shirt along with him.

His thumb glides up the center of your torso, pushing down slightly as he continues his movement, his other hand only leaves your throat when he needs to remove the shirt fully.

Your bra is taken off with seemingly expert practice, your breasts exposed to the air, but quickly they're found by hands and mouth.

A rough palm on one and a wet mouth sucking and licking the other.

It takes all your power not to moan, your back arching up into the feeling.

You hadn't been aware of just how touch starved you'd been.

One of your hands tangles into his mohawk, attempting to hold onto something of him.

He looks up at you, pulling away from your breasts.

"Nae, I dinnae say ye could touch lass."

"Johnny-"

"Shut tha' pretty mouth lass...see if ye can be quiet yeah?"

You nod, swallowing as he reaches for your pants. His fingers hooking under the waistband as he unbuttons them with the other.

With one swift movement he's pulled both your jeans and panties down, leaving you bare to him.

"Would ye look at tha'...such a bonnie sigh', Love..."

He smirks and moves in, hands finding your inner thighs, bringing a sigh from your lips.

Before you can say much else you feel a swipe of his tongue over your heat, already you were slick, this was certain to make the problem worse.

His grip on your inner thighs gets a little tighter as he continues with you, he moves his tongue with expertise, eating you out as though he's a man starved.

"Johnny..."

You can't help but let his name slip out, grabbing the sheets beneath you, squirming your hips against his face.

He looks up at you from his position, and even in his eyes you can see the smirk he'd wear.

It's far too soon that he pulls away, you'd been so close to your climax, so close to having that release, until he'd denied you that.

Again you whine his name, and he moves, climbing over you, grabbing your face with one hand, firmly holding your cheeks.

"Aw lass...wei bonnie...are ye feelin' a wei bit needy?"

You nod, the best you can in his grip, moving your hips against his clothed arousal, hoping for even a little bit of friction.

You give a nother small whine, this one more of a sound than that of a noise, again reaching for him, only for his other hand to pin your wrists above you.

"Ah...I told ye, nae touchin' lass"

You simply look at him, unable to do much in your senario. It's then that he kisses you, deeply, his tongue gliding against yours, the taste of your own slick in your mouth.

He lets go of your face, only to rushedly un button his pants, his problem suddenly a bit more annoying than it had been.

The moment he's free, his pants and boxers disgarded he simply looks down at you, seemingly thinking.

Its then that he grabs you by the hips and easily, effortlessly, flips you onto your stomach, running his pointer finger and thumb down your spine for a moment.

"Ye look so good from this angle love..."

He leans over you, his chest to your back, head angled right next to your ear.

He lowers that damn voice of his again.

"Can ye be a good lass fer me and arch jus' a wei bit... chest down love, ass up."

Of course you do as he asks, or rather tells, like its instinct, pressing your chest further into the bed, raising your rear higher into the air.

He leans back, taking a look at the sight in front of him, his hands going to the flesh of your ass like magnets, squeezing gently, your ass and hips, as though he can't decide which he likes better.

"Look at ye...such an obediant little lass...ye like doin' what yer told do ye? Is tha' why ye like rankin' under me? Enjoy the way I order ye around on the field? Makes ye think..."

You don't answer, focused on the feel of his hands, its only when he moves one of those hands to the back of your neck.

"I need an answer lass."

"Yes, yes I do Sir."

You can nearly feel the smirk on his face, he squeezes the back of your neck a little tighter.

"Sir?"

"Yes sir."

"Oho...I like tha' lass..."

He grabs both of your asscheeks again for a moment before you feel one leave only to feel him push into you.

You let out a groan as he pushes in, as much as you can take, to the base, you feel incredibly full. He's girthy.

"Fuck Johnny..."

You murmer.

"Nae...yer gonna call me sir from now on Love..."

You swallow, waiting for him to move.

"Do ye understand me?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good lass."

He gices you this praise and gently he moves his hips, his hand pushing your spine back into that arch you'd subtly moved away from.

His hips move slow, almost painfully so, and he knows this, teasing you with his hands gliding over your back.

"Ye look so good lass...all this jus' fer me..."

"Johnny please...."

"Aw lass...what did I jus' say?"

"Please...sir?"

"Tha's better....use yer words bonnie...what is it ye want?"

"Faster sir, please?"

You hear the small beg in your voice, sure that by the end of all this you'd be begging a lot more.

"Tha's a girl."

His hand moves to your hip, gripping hard as the other moves to your hair, grasping the roots of it, giving a tug as he moves his hips a little faster, filling you with his size, over and over again.

It's only a minute or so before he seems to loose that idea of torturing you, his pace picking up, hips snapping against yours, that slap of skin on skin, the squelch of your arousal ringing in your ears.

"Fuckkk y/n...." It comes out in nearly a growl, and he pushes your upper half further into the bed.

"Yer doin' so good bonnie...so fuckin' good..."

Another maon crawls its way out of your throat, the others you'd managed to quell, small sounds here and there, but you can't stop this one.

You push your hips against his, letting your knees spread further apart trying to get him in at a deeper angle.

"Please sir, please, fuck-"

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can register what you're even trying to beg for, your figers clench at his sheets beneath you, they smell like him, everything smells like him.

"Y/N..."

His voice is a groan, it's all you hear as he shifts your position, yanking you up by your hair, bringing your back to his chest, thrusting himself upwards into you.

"Johnny...fuck!"

You find your arm going over your shoulder, wraping around the back of his neck, trying to find purchase on something

His lips latch onto your neck as though he's drawn to it, his tongue swiping over your skin and his teeth leaving bites along your throat and shoulders. He breaths hard against you, inhaling your scent.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus..."

He groans, his pace picking up a little further, one hand still brusingly on your hip, the other slides down your front, fingers finding your clit easily.

It brings a moan to the surface of your lips, and rather than being scolded Johnny simply murmers another praise of 'good lass' in your ear, his hips snapping against yours, rythmic.

"Johnny-"

"Y/N..." He huffs, his fingers going faster against your bud. "'M close...need ye to tell me where..."

"Inside Johnny, please...fill me up..."

"Jesus Y/N..."

His voice is breathy, heavy against your skin as he continues, his hips getting erratic, until finally he gives a groan, shoving his face into your shoulder, riding out his climax, the feeling of his cum hitting your inner walls pushing you closer to yours.

He rides out his, moving his hips slightly, much slower than before, and keeps his hand going, trying to keep his previous pace.

"C'mon lass...ye can let go now...it's yer turn..."

He mumbles, breatheless.

It's not much longer of this praising and the movement of his fingers before you do just that, squeezing around him and moaning out his name as you finally reach that high.

As the two of you come down, breathing hard, Johnny still inside you, head leaning against your shoulder, he slips an arm around your waist and offers a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

"Thank ye lass..." he murmers. "Tha' was fun."

"Thank you Johnny."

"Ye ain't gotta thank me...I've wanted to do tha' for god knows how long."

"Maybe we can do it again sometime."

"Oh trust me lass...we will be."

#cod #soap cod #johnny mactavish #cod mwii #john mactavish #soap mactavish #soap x reader

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writersdrug · 9 months

Text

Ghost x Reader x Konig: I Don't Need You (Ch. 2)

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Summary: You and Ghost argue every single day. Things aren't getting better. You're over it and wish Ghost would stop. But he makes a point to fight with you every time you're in his line of sight. Even when you try let it go, he doesn't. And you've had enough.

Chapter warnings: Cursing, VERY small mentions of consensual torture (like for one sentence).

Notes: Two chapters in one day? Maybe?? Don't expect it too often, but I'll finish this one I promise!!

Two months had passed, and the days dragged on mercilessly. The swelling in Ghost’s eye had disappeared after the first week. The depression had passed after the first month, now replaced with anger and hatred. Ghost and I had gone from awkward silence, to irritated glances, to going to extreme lengths to avoid each other, and finally, to having full blown arguments. At first, in a semi-private setting, then later, in whatever place we were in when the fight would start. Our teammates were growing concerned and annoyed with the constant tension. Multiple people had suggested we try to be civil and talk things out, and others said we needed to go to therapy. All of them, of course, never let on that they knew this was about something more than a work-related disagreement. They understood exactly why Ghost and I had been fighting.

Ghost and I, on the other hand, believed that we had done a good job at keeping our “situation” a secret.

Morning had come all too soon; I had managed to crawl into bed after another late night of anger and despair; my mind was busy reliving the moments of the argument Ghost and I had, right outside of my dorm. We had shouted like there wasn’t another soul on base, throwing insults and jabs like they were daggers – and they certainly felt like it. Ghost would typically use the “You should have known better” argument, and I took the “If you had a problem, why didn’t you say anything?” route. He called me insane. I called him a hypocrite. The same jumble of expletives until I would finally slam the door in his face and go to bed, a sobbing mess.

I had skimmed the surface of sleep until my alarm buzzed at 5 AM. I let it drone on for a while, staring out my window, watching the sun just barely breaking the surface. It was going to be a dark morning, and a cold day. Luckily, the day’s agenda for the 141 agents was mostly finishing paperwork from the last mission. I went through the motions of showering, getting dressed, putting my hair back… before I knew it, I was standing in front of my door, empty coffee cup in one hand, files and paperwork in the other, ready to start the day, At least, I looked ready. In reality, I felt like I was being held together with paperclips and thread, about to collapse at any second.

I made my way to the mess hall, claiming a seat with some of the female sergeants before heading to the line. My stomach didn’t like the look of the food, so I instead went to grab a cup of coffee. I wasn’t one for coffee, however, I needed it as a replacement for tea. Since Ghost and I had first fought, I refused to drink any sort of tea – I said it was to help me get over him, but I knew I was just being childish.

Haphazardly, I noticed that there were only two tea bags left by the brewing station. For a second, I thought I should just bite the bullet and make tea, since this would probably be all that was left until the following month. Then, a very petty idea came to mind. I casually glanced around the hall – no sign of Ghost. I raised my eyebrows, suspicious at the coincidence of it all. God, this timing is too perfect. I turned back and finished pouring cream in my coffee. Simultaneously, I snagged the teabags and shoved them in my thigh pocket, then walked back to the table like it had never happened.

When people commend me on my stealth, I can’t help but think of how I used it for dumb shit like this.

I sat down next to two of my closest friends, Skyline and Beth (not all of us chose to stick with a callsign, and Beth was one of those people). I sipped my coffee innocently.

“You’ve got a long day today.” Beth said, weighing my paperwork in her hands. “If you’d let the others get a chance at shanking the enemy, you wouldn’t have so much to report.” She plopped the paper back down with a thud.

“I already got started on it last night.” I muttered. My eyes kept flicking back to the entrance of the mess hall, waiting for Ghost. “Besides, keeps me busy.”

Beth looked at me and huffed. She followed my line of sight to the doors, then looked back at me, disappointed. “Really?”

I shrugged. “What?” I said, innocently taking another sip.

“I told you she’d do something.” Skyline piped in, unbothered as she slowly stirred her coffee. “What is it now, huh? D’you take off his door knob?”

I glanced between the two of them with an offended look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Why didn’t I ever think of that before?!

“You have got to let this go.” Beth said exasperated. “This is the most unprofessional I’ve seen you since I met you.”

That one stung. I looked at Beth, narrowing my eyes. “Are you serious- “

“It’s been over two months now. Yes, I’m serious.” Beth rubbed the bridge of her nose, and Skyline hummed in agreement. Beth continued: “You’re both acting so fucking childish. I’m surprised you even managed to get him to stoop to your level here. But it’s not just a problem for the both of you now, everyone has to deal with your shit.”

“I think your bun’s just pulled too tight.” I replied dryly. I was too busy watching Ghost walk in and place his things on the table next to Soap.

“For fuck’s sake, Bonnie – “ Beth stood up and gathered her tray. “We’re just trying to look out for you. Get your shit together.” She stormed off to find a different table, far away from me.

I watched her walk away, suddenly feeling ashamed. She was right, I was being a child. I was stooping lower than I though I ever could.

Skyline clicked her tongue. “You really should get over him.” She piped up. “It’s holding you back, you’re not focused, you look tired and worn out all the time.” She stood and picked up her tray, heading away to follow Beth. “We just don’t want to see you lose everything over some petty mistake.”

Mistake. I was tired of that word. I watched her walk away, anger bubbling in my mind. I looked back at Ghost, who was now standing by the coffee station, glancing around for the last tea bags. I sighed. Let’s get this over with.

I got up and walked over to him, fishing the tea bags from my pocket. I slapped them down on the counter in front of Ghost. “Figured you need these more than I do.”

Ghost stared at the bags for a long second, then looked sharply at me. His gaze was always intense behind the mask (right now, just the balaclava), but now more than ever, they were filled with hatred.

I shrugged. “I decided on coffee.” I answered his unspoken question.

I left Ghost at the brew station, exiting the mess hall and making quick strides towards my room. I knew the look on his face meant trouble, and I didn’t want to deal with his bullshit. For the first time in a while, I wanted the arguing and face-offs to be over. Beth’s words struck a chord with me, making me realize how much time I was wasting fighting with Ghost. Deep down, I wanted it to end, so I could go back to being the best stealth expert on the team. I had become so distracted and irritable over the past several months, and it was finally crashing down on me.

If I had felt hungry before going to the mess hall, it had faded since then. I just wanted to finish my paperwork in my dorm, go back to sleep, maybe stand in the shower and think… maybe even apologize to Beth and Skyline, telling them they were right – which would be hard. It took a lot for me to admit I was wrong, even to myself. Especially to myself.

I was angry again. I was tired of being angry. I was tired of getting frustrated, getting into fights, and crying after. I was tired of being tired. It was a workout of it’s own. But there I was, fuming again as I stormed away down the halls, muttering curses to myself.

Cutting my thoughts short, I heard Ghost’s angry voice behind me. “The fuck was that all about?” he yelled.

My eyes rolled so hard they nearly got stuck.

“Are you really going to do this over a couple of teabags??” I said, calling the fight before it had even started. “I don’t want to argue with you, Ghost. I decided not to piss you off today, that’s why I gave them back.”

“No, I’ve had enough of you and you’re selfish fucking attitude.” Ghost trailed behind me, fuming. His steps were heavier than mine and his stride slower, yet he easily kept up with my pace. “Every day it’s something new with you; some stupid fucking reason for you to piss me off, and then you go acting all innocent like nothing happened. I’m fucking tired of it.”

“Then go the fuck to bed and leave me alone.” I retorted. This was what I couldn’t understand. Why does he keep following me every day just to get mad? If he think’s I’m trying to annoy him why doesn’t he just ignore me? Why does he have to yell at me every damn day?

“Oh, real mature, real fucking mature, Bonnie. You haven’t changed one bit, you’re still a bloody prick!”

“And you’re still crawling back for more, huh?!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!! This is fucking petty, Ghost!!”

“You think I’m being petty?!” he shouted, defensively, following me around a corner. “Fuckin’ take a look at yourself, acting like a child. Can’t be a fucking adult here, you’re just going t’ walk away like nothing happened, huh? You gonna fucking run every time I try and talk to you? You know, that’s real fucking weak of you!!”

Weak. My mind snapped before I knew what was happening.

I grabbed my knife from my belt and spun a full one-eighty, flinging it as hard as I could in Ghost’s direction. It missed his face by a couple of inches before it collided with the cement wall behind him and clattered to the floor. As the clang echoed throughout the hallway, I caught Ghost holding his breath, a shocked look in his eyes. He knew how good my aim was – he had seen it countless times in combat. I never miss my mark. But this time, he wasn’t sure what I had meant to hit.

“Fuck OFF.” I emphasized the words I yelled though the glare I shot him, before finally turning away. The walls on either side of me seemed to close in, and the end of the hall stretched farther and farther away with each step I took. I knew Ghost was still frozen behind me, trying to figure out if I had meant to shank him or if I had intentionally missed him – frankly, I was just as uncertain as he was.

Finally reaching my door, I barreled through it and slammed it behind me. My head was throbbing from the emotions swimming through it. I didn’t want to cry again, I was so goddamn tired of crying. Yet the stinging threat of tears lingered in my eyes all the same. I stood there, fuming, my shoulders heaving from the breaths I sucked in, trying to wash away the red behind my eyelids. It wasn’t enough.

I ripped my shirt over my head and threw it to the ground. I kicked off my shoes, yanked down my pants, and ripped off my underwear as I stumbled to my bathroom. My head was dizzy as I frantically pulled myself into the shower, cranking it on and to the highest setting. Initially, the water hit my skin like shards of ice, making my muscles tense and shake. Slowly, it turned into a cooling rain, then a comforting shower, before it finally burned.

It felt so good. Maybe not good, but it was distracting. The water felt like a million cigarettes being put out against my skin. I remembered how Simon used to do that, once or twice, placing claims on my skin that no one else would see but us. I told him I never wanted them to fade, but they did anyways. I braced my hands against the wall in front of me and hunched my back. My muscles fought against my brain, shaking with the urge to jump back from the water, as my mind forced them to stay locked under it. My scalp screamed under the heat as small, hot streams trickled down my face. It burned. All of it burned, and it felt so good. So numbing.

Eventually, the water cooled off a bit. The base’s water heater was unable to keep up with what I needed. As the searing pain eased off, the emotions came flooding back – now, as despair and confusion. The void in my chest came back, angry and empty as ever. I had nothing to fill it with. I tried folding in on myself, crumpling to the floor, hoping to fill the gap with my own self. But it didn’t work. Nothing ever worked.

#konig x reader #konig cod #konig smut #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod #call of duty

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blingblong55 · 9 months

Text

Peace- Simon 'Ghost' Riley

A/N: Not much dialogue but I hope you enjoy it:)

GN!Reader, fluff

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Simon knew best, that a man like him doesn't deserve a life with you. Your life is so calm and steady and if he were to walk into it, nothing would be blissful. The dark empty hallway that adorned his soul was met with you, a warm candlelight, calling his name. Come home it said to him and that is what he did. Danger was his closest friend and it even slept on the same pillow as he did, he could never offer you more than danger, for that he did not afford. It all started with a lilac flower that you handed to him on one of his usual gloomy days.

What scared him the most was not death for he had faced it multiple times rather his fear was you, the calm waves after the storm. Skies are clear, brave words said, a bouquet in his calloused hands, shaky words, night terrors and you, that is what he now has. Many times he found himself roaming town alone, wondering if it would be enough if he could never give you peace or all the love this world had to offer. No sanity on his part but maybe here and there he could be sane for you. Tears, whispers, the little kisses you give him, warm hugs and the sacrifices you'd make for him. Peace, a word for those who aren't him.

Many times, during storms or the nights his PTSD got the best of him, That's when he understood you didn't want peace, you wanted the storm, hail, thunder, snow and heavy waves that came with him. Because life is boring without danger, risk and adrenaline. Life is more than peace and warm hugs, for him life is you, all of you. The doubts and the laughs, silly arguments and the talks after said arguments. Honour to be the man you marry, honour to be the one who runs into a gunfight with a knife and comes out victorious, to be a soldier and your lover, that is his life.

Peace, after the argument, the silence when you finally understand the other, the family he made with your family, it's enough.

"R/N," he tries to stop you.

"It's rainy today, let's go out!"

Silly dances, the fall to the muddy ground, the kiss on the bruise he gave you. That is peace even if thunder falls. It's enough. You handed him sunshine and in return held storms in your soft and delicate hands. You built a fire to keep his soaked clothes warm, kissed his scars, all of them and with each one whispered how much you love him. The shaky cry he gave you after, like a mother to his child, is the hug you gifted him. "I miss them, I miss them so much, R/N."

"I know, Simon." A kiss on the top of his head, "Please don't leave me." he requested to which you held him closer. "I could never leave you, my dear," you respond. If he falls, you fall too. Never one without the other, that is the silent promise you gave the other months and years ago. There will always be unspoken words said in the relationship but it's the presence, the actions that say the words neither of you dare to say.

He will never be one to believe in god or any mystical beliefs, but you to him are the greatest divine, the one to bless his brittle heart.

"And now, I pronounce you, spouses for life." His friend from the military, John Price said. He looked into your eyes, his once sad eyes filled with the life you gave, teary but with life, one thing he can brag to his best mate, the Scottish man who was too persistent, the reason you and him now walk down the aisle together.

He was the hunter for so long in his life, running toward the goal, of living life and dying. Now the only goal he has is to grow old with the one who doesn't see right through him. Anyone will walk away but you stayed and kissed all the scars, and bruises and listened through his mistakes. The unspoken words that turned into three hand squeezes, an 'I love you.' a little thing you two made when in public. The once weak love he could offer is now the strongest love the world will ever have. As long as you are next to him, rain or shine, he is a lover, protector, soldier and most importantly, the vulnerable being that you hold close to your chest every night. A world of beauty, one he never had the privilege to afford now in the palm of his hands. It truly is a wonderful life for Simon Riley.

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bokkura · 5 months

Text

I WOULD GIVE UP HEAVEN IF I HAD TO . chapter one

synopsis :: lee heeseung was your first love, if you could count a ghost as a love. he made you feel adored, he made you feel special. all despite the barrier between your worlds. but this all comes crumbling when your death day rolls around, and it’s revealed heeseung had toyed with your heart. being in love with another on the other side the entire time. now you’re stuck heartbroken in the land of the dead, with only a few newfound friends to help you.

and a really beautiful dead ice skater.

pairings :: park sunghoon x fem!reader, brief lee heeseung x fem!reader

genre :: ghost!au, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

masterlist.

you haven’t always valued your life. it was never special, it was never happy. your escapism varied from things as simple as journaling to as extreme as drinking until you passed out.

ironically enough your want to die increased when you met your lover. when you met him in an alleyway on an abandoned street you’d stumbled upon in hopes of getting away from your parents.

you thought he was some other angsty teen, rugged clothes and a beaten up helmet on his head. he had this weird look to him. nothing off-putting at first sight, just a pale translucent look to him. you could see all of his purple-blue veins but just chalked it up to lack of sun in the moment.

it wasn’t until later, days later when he was becoming more comfortable pieces things started falling into place.

others could see him, but this was such a small town, even you wondered where he’d come from. no new neighbors, the town closest to yours was so much livelier only a fool would chose to even visit your rundown one.

when he stepped foot in your room he was ogling strangely at your old laptop, at the lights strung around your room, hell even your phone. that’s when you knew something was a little off about your new friend.

it took quite a bit of coaxing before he removed his helmet, that you had previously always seen on his head. it was quite the gruesome sight. the side of his head was gashed, hair near it coated in dried blood. pulling up his pants leg just a bit showed a large wound traveling from the bottom of his calf to his thigh. even higher judging by how big it was.

he had to explain everything to you.

“i was riding my board down to my friend’s place, some drunk guy came swerving and my helmet flew off before i hit the ground.”

you visibly cringed at the mental image, taking his helmet and carefully placing it back on his head.

“don’t worry,” he chuckles lightly, grabbing your hand and rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “it just means i get to look cool forever and feel no pain.”

that’s how heeseung was. like a puppy, always making people laugh, always kind, always loyal.

but that’s just what he wanted you to see. that’s the facade he had created for you. all because he was so confident you’d never find out what he was hiding.

this relationship with heeseung caused you to be more wreckless. it was an insane thing to say but you started quietly wishing you could die just to spend eternity with him like he had promised.

you’re a little impatient.

not to mention your home life was shit. your social life was nonexistent. you had no one and nothing to rely on but a dead guy who had to leave at certain hours of the day. you just wanted to be able to bask in his comfort always.

but ironically enough, your death was an accident. you weren’t planning on killing yourself, heeseung was hellbent against it. but you weren’t exactly ignoring the idea. but the universe beat you to it.

you had been getting drunk. it was something you had done since you were sixteen. it started off as rebellion. your father was an alcoholic, but threatened you heavily if you were to ever touch a bottle. you did it secretly for that satisfying revenge, even if he would never find out.

but then it became a form of escapism. you weren’t proud of it, but then again you didn’t care.

and that’s when you see it. heeseung is next to you like always when you wake up. but this time he isn’t peacefully sleeping, he’s looking at you harshly. raking his eyes over you with a cold expression.

“did you do it?” his voice is aggressive and you can’t help but feel scared with the once comforting boy.

your voice struggles to come out and at first you think you lost it. then you realize there’s no breath coming from your nose or mouth. you don’t even feel anything until you start to panic, and heeseung d’s warm gaze and touch is back. and you’re calm again.

“do what?”

his eyes solemnly flicker to your hands and you follow his gaze. you watch his hand pick up yours before he presses a small kiss to your knuckles. that same lifeless, gray tint he has to his skin is now on yours. you’re dead.

but it’s not the happy ending you believed. yes you’ve escaped you’re parents, yes you can be with heeseung for eternity, but that’s only because it’s a possibility. not reality.

heeseung wasn’t in love with you, heeseung was never in love with you. you were someone he could fool around with so his little ghost girlfriend wouldn’t catch wind of it. he was a playboy and he was damn good at it.

you wanted to kill him. if you could bring him back to life and choke him to death god knows you would. you were so convinced he was your savior, just for him to stab you in the back and twist the knife. there wasn’t a sorry, there wasn’t remorse more than that chaste kiss he left on your hand.

he was gone just like that, and you were taken to the land of the dead not long after. and word gets around just as fast as in the real world. there isn’t much escaping after all.

thankfully there wasn’t much about the land of the dead that was different from the land of the living. everyone is ghastly pale, you feel no pain, you cannot die, all the things one would assume to apply on the other side.

at first you kept to yourself. most of the people you saw were at least a decade older than you, the age gap not pleasing you despite the fact there was no more aging.

but then you met jay, a sweet boy with an aggressive exterior. he has a sharp look but a soft heart, he was your first friend. and he was very persistent on becoming that.

he knew what had happened, most of the younger ghosts did while the older ones stayed in the gossip circle of their own age group. he even knew heeseung for a while, but some ghosts are still the shitty people they were when they were alive. even when thirty years had passed, in heeseung’s case.

jay then introduced you to his friends, including yunjin and jake. yunjin was your favorite. maybe you were biased just because she was another girl, but she had this comforting aura around her. nothing like the false one heeseung had crafted, she was genuine.

jake had a puppy personality mirroring heeseung’s, just sweeter and clearly innocent and genuine. it didn’t take long for you to slip into their little group. you balanced them out well, being the most level headed besides yunjin.

your perspective on the land of the dead changed once more. it felt homier, people were more accepting. maybe it was because they had been dead so long they had matured, or maybe you just got lucky. it’s much better than home, you knew that for sure.

there was just one thing, one person that caught your eye. he was a loner evidently, something you had planned on being before you were dragged into this circle. you can’t help but notice how beautiful he is. the pale, ghostly look doesn’t take away from his features like most of the others. it enhances them.

he looks cold. not in a mean way, in the way that if the cold were human, it would be him. from the way his face was carved sharply to his icy skin. his eyes had a naturally piercing look, eyes that avoided yours and everyone else’s at all costs.

“what’s his name?” you inquire to your new friends, pointing at the direction of the beautiful boy. the four of you were walking through a meadow, it’s winter time here. there was a constant fog and the air had a slight blue hue to it. but jay says that’s how it always is.

jake kicks a stone, “that’s sunghoon. he doesn’t socialize much. we tried talking to him but after a few tries and a few years we gave up.”

“yeah, he just sticks to himself.” yunjin chimes in, “quite a depressing choice if you ask me. he’s become unlikable due to how untouchable he makes himself. i wouldn’t want to spend forever alone.”

you would.

you bow your head down and remain silent, just nodding along to the voices of your friends as they blend into the background.

“how did he die?” it goes quiet for a moment. you stop walking and turn around, met with their confused faces. “am i not supposed to ask people that?”

jay shakes his head quickly. “no, it’s just like we said. sunghoon is very to himself, no one knows how he died.” you hum in response and the others begin walking again, falling back into conversation you tuned out of again.

you take one last glance at the mysterious ghost boy, just for him to be gone.

taglist: @adoredbyjay

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samantha-rae-velcher · 9 months

Text

Trust is for the Weak

Ghost face!Schlatt x Fem reader

Requested by: none

Warnings: Sexual content! Blood, mentions of death, swearing, Schlatt cuz damn! Knife kink! Jealous!Schlatt, use of marijuana.

A/n: 18+ NSFW! If you don't like the warnings please don't read! PLEASE KEEP MY COMMENT SECTION AGGRESSION FREE!

@goldenstarofthunderclan ❤️

___

October 1999

Y/n sat on her couch watching the news, her best friends all chilling with her in her livingroom. Schlatt beside her, Ted on the floor in front of her, Travis and a couple others on Y/n's second couch.

"Marcus Kent and Susan Gillette were found dead last night on the grounds of Timson highschool, the two students were said to have multiple stab wounds. The murderer has not yet been found, police say they have no leads at this time."

Y/n clicked off the TV, her gaze dropped to the floor and her eyes filled with tears.

"Susan, why did it have to be Susan?" She whispered.

Schlatt slowly wrapped his arm around Y/n and pulled her into a hug, gently rubbing circles against her back.

"Fuck her boyfriend." She sobbed. "That asshole disserved it, but Suse? Why the fuck would someone do this?"

"Shh, it's okay." Schlatt whispered. "They'll find who did this."

Ted turned towards her, setting his hand on her thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Schlatt had to hold back from pushing his hand away and pulling Y/n onto his lap, he hated when other men touched her. Even if it was just a friendly gesture, he wanted Y/n! He was always there for her, he always comforted her when she cried, even if it was over the phone, or he had to drive an hour to be there in person. Schlatt was there for her no matter what.

Y/n pulled away from the hug, giving him a smile and wiping her tears.

"Well, we're out of here." Wilbur said, throwing his arm around Tubbo and walking out the door.

Ted and Travis fallowed after saying their goodbyes, but Schlatt stayed behind.

"You gonna be okay?" He asked, slowly making his way into the kitchen with her.

"I'll be fine, it's just hard hearing that a friend was just killed...you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Schlatt came up behind her, placing his hands on her hips and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm your friend...right?" He asked.

Y/n turned around, a confused look on her face.

"Yes, of course. Why are you asking that?"

"Nothing, Ive just seen you and Ted lately and I'm wondering if something's going on between the two of you."

"Pfft, Ted Nivison? No...but why are you wondering."

"I'm afraid you're gonna start calling him for comfort, instead of me. That you'll look to him in a time of need and I'll just have to watch."

Tears filled Y/n's eyes, she would never push Schlatt aside. He was her best friend and she loves when he's around, being near him always made her calm and very happy. Y/n stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him and planting a kiss against his cheek.

"Id never abandon you like that, Schlatt." She said. "And nothing is or will ever be going on between me and Ted. I promise you that."

___

"So apparently people are saying that the killer is someone who goes to this school." Wilbur whispered.

"And I've heard that there's actually two killers, because there's no way that only one person could've killed Marcus and Susan." Carson cut in.

Y/n rolled her eyes, "Well I heard we have a test on Friday, so we all better get to studying."

"Some say...it could even be the person closest to you."

She gave Carson a dirty look, "Okay, so it's probably your mommy."

The rest of the table laughed as Carson's face turned red.

As the day went on more people started freaking out, they kept saying how the killer is probably someone close to you, or at least someone you know. Y/n was sitting in class, bored out of her mind when the principal came on the speaker.

"I regret to inform you, authorities have found Kristen Oakley dead in her backyard. It appears to have been the same person or people who killed Marcus and Susan."

The class went silent and Y/n clenched her fist, tears threatening to fill her eyes. She knew Kristen, they had been friends for two years. Y/n, Susan, and her had just made plans to go down to the roller skating rink today...but now, that's not happening.

Y/n stood up, grabbing her book bag and walking out of the classroom. She went outside into the cool crisp autumn air, spinning around when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey." Ted said. "You just left and I wanted to see if you were okay...are you?"

Y/n nodded, "Yeah, I just had plans with both Susan and Kristen...and now their gone. Those girls were like my sisters, what the hell is going on!?"

He stepped closer, he pulled her into a warm embrace and rested his chin on top of her head.

"It's alright, what were you guys gonna do?"

"Go to the roller skating rink."

"Tell you what, I'll go with you."

Y/n looked up at him, "What!?"

"Yeah, I'll go with you. I don't think the girls would want you to go home sad."

Y/n smiled, "Alright, we were gonna go at 6 after school."

"I'll pick you up."

Schlatt clenched his teeth, watching Y/n and Ted through the classroom window. His heart was racing, the thought of them getting together was eating at him. Imagining Ted's hands roaming her body as she whimpers his name, made Schlatt want Ted as his next victim.

___

Y/n and Ted laughed, doing spins and dancing on the rink to the song playing. The two brought smiles to people's faces, Ted lifted her and brought her back down slowly as the song ended.

"I didn't know you could skate." Y/n giggled.

"I didn't know either."

They skated till the rink closed, Ted drove her home and walked her to her door.

"I had a great night." He whispered, planting a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"So did I." Y/n's words to Schlatt kept playing in her head.

"Nothing is or will ever be going on between me and Ted, I promise you that."

Y/n lowered her brows, remembering the relieved look on his face.

"I promise you that."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Ted asked.

"Yeah, I'll be at school."

Y/n watched as he went back to his car and drove off, she made her way inside and shut the door behind her just as the phone began to ring. She ran over to the phone on the wall, taking it down and holding it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Did you have a fun time?" A deep scratchy voice asked from the other side of the phone.

"I beg your pardon."

"You and your little boyfriend skating together, that's cute."

A chill ran down Y/n's spine, "Who are you?"

"Funny, that's what Kristen asked before I shoved my knife in her gut."

Y/n's eyes widened and her knees went weak, she leaned against the wall, attempting to stabilize herself.

"Why?" She whispered.

"Cuz she was a mouthy little bitch, thinking she could strut around like a whore. Well she got the attention she wanted, just not from who she wanted."

Y/n slid down the wall, her breath shaky.

"And you killed Susan and Marcus?"

"No, I didn't."

"Who then?"

"Him."

The phone suddenly cut out and Y/n heard her door creak open. She stood up, slowly made her way over to the door and sure as shit it was wide open for all to see.

"Fuck." She whispered, turning and going to the back door and running outside. Y/n made it around the house and peaked through one of the windows, she saw a tall figure with a ghost mask on and a black robe with a hood, and a sharp knife in their hand.

Y/n slowly tip toed up her porch and grabbed her bookbag, shutting the door and running down the street. She pounded her fist against Carson's door, waking him up. He pulled it open only to be nearly trampled by Y/n.

"I need to use your phone."

"Why?"

"I just need to!"

Y/n snatched it off the wall and punched in 911.

"911, what's your emer-"

"Hi yeah, I'm Y/n Y/L/n. I just had to run to a friend's house, but I just got a call from someone claiming to have killed Kristen Oakley. And I had to sneak out of my house because I caught a glimpse of someone in my kitchen with a knife, they were wearing a long black robe with a hood, and they had a plastic ghost mask on. The only thing I could tell you about their physique is that they were at least 6'3 and up."

"Alright, I'm sending a couple cops down there, what is your address?"

___

Y/n came out of the interrogation room after giving a report, she sat down and waited for any sign that she could leave.

"Hey." Schlatt's voice said from behind her.

Y/n smiled, "Hey!"

She threw herself out of her chair, and wrapped him in a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Carson said they took you down to the station so I came over to see if you're alright."

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Ehem, Miss Y/L/n." The sheriff said.

"Yeah?"

"You can leave, but we're gonna have a patrol up and down your street tonight for your protection. Alright?"

"Okay, thank you."

Y/n grabbed her bag, "Could you drive me home, Schlatt?"

"You don't gotta ask twice."

The two walked out of the police station and over to his car, they hopped in and started towards her house.

"I'm glad you're okay, Y/n. I don't know what I would've done if I lost you." He said, his voice rather quiet.

"I might need someone to protect me tonight..."

She gave him a teasing look.

Schlatt's heart raced, he smiled and laced his fingers through her's.

"I'll protect you, my lady."

"With your life?"

"With my life."

They pulled up in front of her house, slowly Y/n opened the front door and stepped though. She grabbed the coat rack and held it like a baseball bat, ready to swing.

"Alright! You son of a bitch! You pull some shit in the genre of killing me, I'll kill you right fuckin back!"

Schlatt let out a laugh, "That's one hell of a threat."

Y/n set down the rack, "Hey, I'll do it too."

___

Y/n's alarm clock rang from upstairs, she opened her eyes to find her and Schlatt snuggled up together on her couch.

"Good morning." She whispered.

"Mmm, good morning. I gotta go home and get ready for school."

"You can get ready here."

"And go in the clothes I'm wearing? No, I can't."

Y/n made a pouty face and crossed her arms.

"No, I can't. No matter how cute you may be, I can't stay."

Once they sat up and he was out the door, Y/n ran upstairs and threw herself together. She was out in time for Wilbur and Tubbo to pull up and honk their horn.

"Hello, luv." Wilbur shouted as Y/n slid into the back seat.

They were almost to school when they saw police lights and caution tape. Wilbur stopped and the three got out of the car, Y/n looked around to see a boy sprawled out on the lawn.

"Mike Thormon." Wilbur said. "That's shit, he was a nice guy. He had a major crush on you Y/n."

"I didn't know him, we just sat next to each other in history."

"Come on." Tubbo said, gripping both of their arms. "Let's get to school."

___

Y/n was walking down the hall on the way to the restroom when she heard footsteps behind her, she kept turning around but no one was there. She pushed the door open and hid behind it, waiting for whoever was fallowing her to come in.

After about twenty seconds, the door opened and in stepped a tall person in that same black robe.

She held her breath and waited for them to walk further into the bathroom.

The door closed and she was right out in the open, against her better judgement she decided to speak up.

"Who the fuck are you?" She asked, startling the person. "You're obviously a guy, cuz of how fuckin tall you are and your body type."

Y/n stepped closer, fear completely slipping away.

"I wanna know why you killed them, it seems to me that you're going for people who I have ties to. Who are you gonna go after next? Ted? Carson? Wilbur? Schl-" She stopped, realizing how many people she could lose.

The man tilted his head, taking a step closer. Y/n took two back and this cycle kept repeating until her back hit the wall, and the man trapped her against it.

She looked up at the masks deep black eyes, searching for any clue of who was behind it.

All Y/n took note of was the scent, she didn't recognize it. But that narrowed it down on who it could be, if she hasn't smelt it before then there are few people in the school who wear it.

"If you get any closer, I'm gonna rip that fuckin thing off your head."

A dark chuckle came from under the mask, sending a chill down her spine.

"Who am I gonna kill next, Y/n?" It was the same voice from the phone. "Ted? Carson? Wilbur?.... Schlatt? That boy likes you, then again so did Mike but you didn't shed a tear over him..."

Y/n kneed the fucker in the stomach, she ran down the hallway and to the office.

"He was in the bathroom! Call the police!"

Once again Y/n ended up at the police station, making a statement. She walked out and got in the car with Schlatt, Ted, Carson, Wilbur, Tubbo, Charlie, and Travis.

"Let's do something." She whispered. "Let's do something like have a fuckin party! We might be dead tomorrow so let's live it up tonight! We're young, so let's do something we ain't ever gonna forget!"

The rest of them cheered and drove over to Ted's, he had the biggest house. The bigger the house the more people, the more people the worse the noise complaint, the worse the noise complaint...the more people are gonna get arrested. So, tonight was gonna be memorable.

Y/n sat on the porch and listened as the music was cranked and people were yelling and singing. Ted came outside and handed her a soda, putting an arm around her and getting close.

"If anything happens, I want you to know that I love you."

Y/n turned to him, shock written all over her face.

"Ted I-"

"How's this party, huh!?" Eric yelled coming out smoking weed. "You two love birds having fun? You gonna start fucking on the porch or are you gonna go upstairs like normal people?"

"Eric." Y/n said. "We aren't together."

He winced, taking another drag from his blunt.

"Ouch, well Ted you just got friend zoned."

With that he turned around and went back inside. Y/n looked down at her shoe and took a deep breath.

"I-"

"It's Schlatt isn't it?" He asked. "I see the way you look at him, but your afraid to say anything because of your friendship. I say you tell him, because he'd kill for you Y/n."

She smiled, "Is he inside?"

"Yep, I'll sit out here all by myself. Maybe if Travis or Charlie come out they'll be drunk and we'll start making out and I'll suddenly realize I'm gay."

"Oh shut up." Y/n giggled, pushing him.

She went back inside to search for Schlatt, she went upstairs and there was nothing. Y/n looked in the kitchen and in the livingroom, but he was no where to be found.

She was about to go into the garage when she heard Ted telling a hord of people to get out of his house.

Y/n went back to the living room to see everyone except her friends were leaving. She looked down and saw Ted's most expensive vase had been smashed on the floor.

"Shit, want me to help you pick it up?" She asked.

"No, I'll do it later. Let's just watch a movie, I'm pissed off."

"K." She said. "I'll make some popcorn."

Everyone else sat down on the couch and popped in a movie while Y/n went into the kitchen. She was about to open a cupboard when she felt some behind her.

She turned around to see Schlatt, he was leaned up against the fridge, a very displeased look on his face.

"Nothing is or will ever be going on between me and Ted, I promise you that." He repeated what she said. "You remember that? You remember when you told me that?"

"Nothing is going on between Ted and I, we're just-"

"Friends?" He asked. "Just friends?"

Schlatt got closer, trapping her against the counter. He leaned in, "Bullshit."

Y/n's eyes became glossy, she moved quick and pressed her lips against his.

"Not bullshit." She whispered, running her hands through his hair. "Not bullshit."

There was a sudden scream coming from outside, Y/n ran into the living room just as everyone else was getting off the couch. They went outside and looked around, Y/n gasped when she saw Carson laying face down by the garage door.

Y/n looked around at the rest of the group that was left after Ted kicked everyone out.

Schlatt, Travis, Wilbur, Tubbo, Charlie, and Ted himself. Now that Carson was dead there's five of them who are innocent.

"Who wasn't in the living room?" She asked.

Travis pointed at Schlatt, "He wasn't."

"He was in the kitchen with me."

"Anyone else?"

"I wasn't paying attention." Wilbur said.

Charlie shook his head, "Neither was I."

"Okay, I'm going back inside to call the police." She said. "Someone go get a car, and someone go to the neighbors just in case the phone lines are cut. The worst thing to do in a horror movie is to split up, but this needs to get done."

Y/n went back inside and looked for Ted's phone, running upstairs and into the master bedroom. She closed the door behind her and picked up the phone, holding it to her ear.

"Oh you're good." She whispered. "You did cut the line."

Y/n ran back downstairs and out the back door, she looked around and went to the garage. Going over to the car and opening the door, she found Travis slumped sideways with stab wounds in his chest.

The sound of those clicking footsteps from the school came from behind her, she spun around to see the man standing there.

"You're not him." She said. "You're taller."

Suddenly ghost face ran at her, knife in hand. She dodged and booked it back to the house. Y/n had to keep herself from screaming when she saw Tubbo covered in blood and laying on the front steps.

She went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, Y/n started back to the livingroom when she heard Ted call her name.

She looked over at the front door only to watch him fall forward with a knife in his back. A sudden tap came from behind her that had Y/n spinning around, it was that same Ghost face from the bathroom only the mask was covered in blood.

Tears ran down Y/n's face as the hand came up and pulled off the mask.

"Schl-...No...No." Y/n dropped her knife and fell to her knees.

"Y-you killed Susan?"

"No sweetie...he did."

Y/n looked over her shoulder to see the taller Ghost face, "And who might you be?"

He pulled his mask off to reveal Wilbur with an unsettling smile on his face.

"I did it for you, Y/n" he said, his voice deep.

"What?"

"You're always so sweet...so loving..." He stalked closer to Y/n, putting his hand out to touch her.

"Always so beau-" a bang rang out and Wilbur dropped to the floor.

Y/n looked at Schlatt, who had a gun in his hand. He set it on the table beside the couch and looked down at Y/n.

"He was gonna take you away from me..." He said. "I couldn't let him do that..."

Y/n stood up and walked up to him, "You didn't have to kill them..."

"Who are you sad about? Carson? Ted..." His voice got deeper. "What has he ever done for you? I was always there for you!"

"Was?" She asked. "You aren't still? You're not gonna abandon me are you?" Y/n was attempting to manipulate him, so he wouldn't freak out and possibly kill her.

"No, Y/n. I'll never leave you." He whispered, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

"I love you, Y/n. I'm not gonna leave you."

She closed her eyes and snuggled her face into his chest, listening to his reassurances.

"You really love me?" She asked.

"Yes, more than anything."

Y/n looked up at him, his eyes were dark and full of lust. She glanced down at his lips when she felt the blade of his knife against her stomach.

"You're mine, Y/n. Not Ted's, Not Wilbur's...you're mine."

The cold steel of the blade running over her skin made her whimper, "I'm yours, Schlatt...no one is taking me away from you.

Her hand came down and palmed against his cock, making him moan. Y/n trailed kissed down his neck and sucked on his sweet spot.

"Y/n I-" Schlatt stopped, they both looked over when they heard something being knocked over outside. A rush of happiness and relief washed over her when Y/n saw Ted was no longer on the porch.

THE END ❤️

I hope you enjoyed

Reblogs are welcome 🤗

#fyp #foryou #fanfic #foryoupage #x reader #smut #requested #lunch club schlatt #schlatt smut #schlatt imagine #schlatt x reader #schlatt #jschlatt x you #jschlatt smut #jschlatt imagine #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x fem reader #jschlatt x female reader #jschlatt x y/n

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typical-simplelove · 5 months

Text

Welcome to New York - M. Barzal

Here's just a little thing I wanted to share!

It’s been years since you’d seen him last. You still remember that final party the weekend before he left for his first official training camp with the New York Islanders, the true real last time you saw him. You remember giving him a small hug, holding him tight as you wished him luck, a promise to keep in touch soft on your lips. He was one of your closest friends and maybe more, but that never happened, and you wished for nothing but the best for him.

Now, all these years later, sitting in your small condo, right along the Long Island Rail Road, easy for your commute into Manhattan each day, you hold your phone, the weight heavy both in your hand and on your heart. You lost touch with Mat during his rookie season, but who blames you or him? He was busy being the rookie sensation he was, and you were continuing your education. Even during the summers when you were home, little to no contact occurred. You saw each other from a distance, but nothing ever came of it.

Now, with a job transferring you to the Tri-State area, you can’t help but think about Mat. His mother thought so, too, because she sent you a text, full of Mat’s contact information, hoping you’d get in contact with him and rekindle that friendship.

How would you even go about reaching out to him? There was no way it should have been this difficult, though, right? It was just Mat. He was literally just some guy, so what was the point in freaking out about it? In the worst-case scenario, you could just brush it off, claiming his mother made you reach out to him.

Without thinking, you sent off a small text. You started with a small “hey,” continuing with your name, and a refresher on how you knew him (just in case), before following up with a,

I recently moved to Long Island for work, so your mother gave me your number. I would love to grab dinner when you’re free and catch up. Let me know!

It took you four attempts to figure out if you used too many formal sentences, a weird amount of exclamation, or had the appropriate tone. By mentioning his mother, it was obvious this was a no-stakes situation.

After an extensive amount of contemplation, you sent the text. Whatever. He could ghost you, for all you cared, but it didn’t matter. The text was sent. If his mother asked, you could say you tried, and it wasn’t like there were any extreme expectations on your part. It is what it is.

That is until your phone (perpetually on silent) lit up, signaling a text. He responded.

Welcome to New York! I’m happy my mom gave you my number because I’d love to catch up. Let me know when you’re free and we’ll figure something out.

You smiled at his words and tried to ignore the warmth bubbling in your stomach.

It sounded like a new soundtrack was waiting for you.

#claudia writes #mathew barzal #mat barzal #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal fic #mat barzal fic #nhl fic #hockey #op: 2024

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nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

to my sweetheart

40s!bucky barnes x f!reader [8.2k] summary: The promise of a weekend home hangs over Bucky's head like the sun used to shine on sweet summer days, illuminating everything in life. It's all planned out in his head: the place he'll take you to, the things he wants to talk about, the hundreds of ways he needs to touch you. It's all planned. A taste of how it'll be when the storm passes—he's ready for it. 📝 this was based on this post. if you like it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. i hope you enjoy this sweetheart saturday, 'cause this will be the sweetest one. 🏷️ established relationship, letters, angst, longing, love delcarations, Steve x Reader (platonic) ⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Unprotected sex, body worship, slow fuck.

masterlist | series masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤJuly, 1943.

My sweetheart,

You're a menace even from far away. How can that be? If I hadn't met you exactly like this, I'd dare say I'm surprised. But I'm not. Little minx. Do you know the lengths of what I had to do to finish your last letter? The effects you have on me, even from far away?

I bet you do. Good god, I can bet you're fuckin' smiling, right now. Sittin' there all pretty with your knees pulled high, so giddy and proud of yourself for what you've done to me. Well—let it be known that this here... this is payback.

First things first, thank you for the pictures.

You're more than I could ever ask for, every single time. One of them is safely tucked inside my uniform. I placed the other one inside my pocket watch. Morita's already laughed under his breath as if I can't fuckin' hear him sayin "you don't let a single hour pass by, huh, Sarge?", so you should be happy to know that, as well. My guys are giggling because of me. Because I'm whipped for you.

Second of all... thank you.

From the bottom of my heart which belongs to you entirely, I'm thankful for you. Knowing Ma has a friend in someone soothes my soul. I got a letter from her a few days ago—she's mad at me for dating you "for almost half of an entire year, James Buchanan. almost half a year and you didn't think to bring her here yourself! You'll count yourself lucky if you go back to the base camp with your ears still intact because when I see you..." and this is a direct quote, by the way. I have her letter right next to me—Ma's mad, and I'm glad that she is. It means she loved ya. As I knew she would.

What did you two talk about? Ma said you played with the girls, too. I think I dreamt of that scene. Did she show you my embarrassing baby pictures? I bet she did. My favorite one is the one that Stevie's got paint all over him; I love that one.

Now... as for the rest of your letter.

What should I do to you, hm?

You can't just tell me these things, you lil' witch. Can't just talk about the things you wished I was doing to you, 'cause I'm not there to do them, and it makes my chest tight, my heart beating faster.

I went to the showers at 2 something a.m. to finish that letter, 'cause I felt your words like caresses all over my skin. Here's a new acronym I learned from Gabe: V E N I C E. Wanna know what it means? I'll tell ya.

It means I think about it, too. Not often, unfortunately, not because I don't want to, but because in here I have very few moments to think about good things, but when I do, that's where my mind goes to—in the sweet minutes I have all to myself, my mind runs back to your presence like a puppy, wiggling its tail with its tongue out, so happy and so excited beyond words because of one single person.

My mind rushes to you, to memories of us, to moments we shared. Most of all, it seems to zoom in on the seconds where we were the closest. I save those memories for the stars, for when no one else's around, for when I can let my brain dive and swim in them.

You said that for you, what comes back when you're alone in the dark is the ghost of my hands.

For me, it's the fathom of your lips.

The way you kissed put a spell on me. Right now, as I write this, I'm sitting alone in a corner of the common showers with my neck sweating just a little bit and my heart beating in my throat, all because of that: the thought of your lips, so present and so sweet, making me ache all over. Should I be concerned, lil' witch? With the way you have control over my body even from far away? As if I were a puppet with strings only you can see, I'm aching for you and you're not even here. I'm hard, painfully so, because your picture and the distant echo of your giggles in my ear are enough to put me in a trance... the way you whisper my name when my hands are searching in menace ways the best path to get under your clothes and imprinted all over your skin... It's so difficult to write like this, sweetheart. Very Excited, Now I Caress Everywhere... d'you get it now? D'you see it?

I'm not there, but I can see you reading this. I can see your thighs clamping together in a pitiful attempt to not think about how I loved to tease the path to my favorite place, with my hands, my lips, my tongue. I'm gonna dream about it tonight, I can already see it. Gonna dream about your little whines, and how excited you got, while always being so good. Never asked for more. Never pushed for faster. Just took whatever I had to offer you, and asked in the sweetest way possible for what you wanted. "Jay." I miss that. The way you call me Jay when it's just us. No one's ever called me that before, and no one ever will again.

So do it, lil' witch. Touch yourself all you want when thinking about me. You had to ask for permission, didn't ya? (It's a rhetorical question. You never have to ask. I told ya long ago that from me, you can take and take without ever asking first, and yet you did, anyway.) I'm the luckiest bastard in this godforsaken and twisted world, all because of you.

I'll be there on the last weekend of this month, only for two days, but it'll be enough.

Just a taste of what'll come for us when all of this is over. A taste of you — that I miss so goddamn fuckin' much, Jesus Christ, sweetheart — and hours and hours of making you smile until it's imprinted in the walls of my brain, secured safe and sound in the labyrinth of my mind.

Wait for me, but never sadly. Keep up your studies, and focus on them just as I focus on work here whenever I have to. Talk to your friends, stay clear of those damn radios that only make you anxious and get you to bite your pretty nails, take Steve out for walks and keep that neighborhood in check, the two of you. I'll be back. I'll always come back to you.

With love in my heart (and because of your menace ways, my hand in my pants), I say goodbye for now,

V.E.N.I.C.E;

always yours, J.B.B.

In a month and a half, Bucky has written and read more than in the past decade, at least.

You'd scold him for admitting such a thing so easily, but it was true.

There are a few letters exchanged by now—the U.S. Postal is doing their best, but can only do so much—but they're enough on their own. More than two, sometimes 3 pages long, filled with more post scrimptums than anyone else rather than you two would care to read and it's probably acceptable, and always signed with a lot of love.

It's a whole new world created between the two of you where childhood memories are shared, secret fears that neither Bucky nor you ever imagined talking about are laid on the table, and all of that written between paragraphs of gossip stories from home or the military base, and dirty dreams and wishes.

A mess. An entire conversation—one with topics that go back and forth since the first letter and short pieces of dialogue you two shared with important people; it's the best conversation he's ever had.

The longest. Deepest.

ㅤㅤㅤ"I love talking to you, Jay. If before I thought we were two peas in a pod, now I'm certified of it the same way I'm certain the Sun rises in the East to set in West. Can you see the same thing I do? Sometimes, it feels as if we're sittin' on our porch, on our living room armchairs, laughing to one another about the sweet memories or silly theories that only we find amusement in."

Through you, Bucky hears things his Ma is saying. Gets news from his two younger sisters, as well as realistic check-ups on Steve.

In one of your letters, you said, "you know, I'm starting to feel calluses. I dreamt of writing dark children's books for so long, and I think this is my punishment, in some sort of way. How in the hell am I having an argument with Steve and you through here? You two are wrong. We talked about this before and I'll say it as many times as needed: this whole 'trip to the future' thing is hiding something bigger, and it's cute that you two think that geniuses and billionaires are just giving us all of their biggest developments. Truly adorable," and it had sparked the favorite topic in his unit: the existence of aliens, or not.

You're there without being there.

Most of them don't even know about you, of course. Bucky's private, and likes to be that way.

Morita, Gabriel, and Dum Dum are exceptions—those tree men proved to be the exact type of company a fella needs when facing an untamed and suffocating darkness.

They teased Bucky about his alone 'poet' time. When the time in July finally came for the soldiers to be dismissed for a weekend home before being shipped to London, Morita bid him goodbye with, "and see if you do something else other than writing back home, eh, Sarge?"

Bucky would.

He barely gets any sleep, waiting for the time when he'll be sharing your presence and counting each minute of it, placing them in the same precious box he kept your words.

With his eyes closed, the smile sets in stone on his face.

To any onlookers that pass him by, Sgt. James Barnes looks at peace.

Everything around him feels sharp and colorful.

Bucky almost feels surreal—his energy is humming underneath his skin, scorching as hot as the star that starts to rise.

He breathes in deeply as he steps out of the train, welcoming the smell of home.

Brooklyn is a hive of noise, so loud and different than anything he'd been used to these past weeks, and he strides in confidence towards his destinies.

For each of his people, Bucky told a story, but all for a good reason:

First, he has to visit his family. If he had told Steve about the time his train arrived, he'd be there without any regard for his sleep and comfort, and Bucky loved him too much to pull him out of bed before the sky had even lost its dark blue tones.

So first, he goes to the Barnes household.

Bringing bread, he steps inside his home almost feeling like the first rays of sunshine itself. Bucky's welcomed by the oldest feeling of attached to being safe and sound when Winnifred's arms wrap around him and she lets out a choked gasp at his name.

"James," is the first name he hears.

He's James during breakfast while he updates his mother to the best of his abilities, and fights the persistent sting in his eyes whenever the light illuminates her dark hairs, shining evidence in her new silver strands. He's James — but in a scolding tone — when his mother hears that he omitted from Steve his arrival time, and he's oh, James when his plans for later tonight are laid on the table in a soft, almost shy-spoken tone.

"I really like her, you know?" his mother tells him.

She's leaning against the sink with her ruby red robe, the soft slippers he bought for her as a present, and her hair held up in a bun. Bucky smiles at the approval, ignoring the heat in his cheeks that blossom at his mother's all-knowing gaze and the glint in her blue eyes. "I'm glad to hear that, ma."

Winnie does no effort to hide how pleased she is, and he has to admit that the teasing face he catches in reflections sometimes came from one person, and it wasn't his father. "Will I get to spend some time together with the two of you, at least?"

According to Bucky's plans, very little, because the time was as counted as their paychecks. "Well—today I'm gonna have lunch with Steve, then the three of us will meet up."

"Right."

"We'll probably hang around Stevie and I's apartment. Then we'll get ready to go to the Stark exhibition."

Winnie's are you serious look reminds Bucky that she never saw the three of you all hanging around together. "Really, James?"

"What?"

"You're gonna bring that poor, sweet boy to chaperone and be a third wheel at your date? Son," the title is another scolding and meant to serve as a tug in his ear.

He can't help it—Bucky laughs. "Mom," he teases right back. "That 'poor sweet boy' will be just fine." He snorted—there was nothing poor nor sweet about Steve. "The three of us are friends."

"And I'm not doubting that for a second. I'm just sayin'. Does he need to be there on the date? Does he even want to?"

"They already argued about this and the final conclusion was, apparently, that yes, he does." Bucky had to bite his lip at those bits in your last letter—even through ink and paper, he could see you and Steve as clear as daylight. "Steve and her are really good friends, Ma. She knows how much I miss him, and she claims that he's been even more annoyin' about stuff, mumbling shit—sorry, mumbling stuff about 'Bucky this' and 'Bucky that', so she ain't havin' it. Plus, it's not like the two of us can't behave. We never made Stevie feel left out."

His mother chuckled. "For some reason I find it hard to believe that you two are not the grossest thing together."

"What?!" his laughter intensifies. "You never saw us together."

"And whose fault is that, hm? Hm?" Winnie's look pierces through him as the last drops of her coffee seep to the cup, and she grabs her cup like a ninja, with eyes still glued on him and her head shaking, no need for a single glance to where her hands are going. His mother sips, and Bucky's laughter subsidies to a smile. "Well, I'm glad you she's generous enough to share ya." Her whole face softens. "Bubba's right. Steve's been missing ya a lot."

Bubba. Bucky forgets how to breathe for a single second. "Bubba?"

The name that his mother calls the girls—Bubs, Bubba, baby.

Winnie smiles behind the cup, and he's not sure if her happiness is directed at him because of how he looks, or at the whole situation. "Yes, James. The woman who's been comin' to my house for two months now, havin' almost daily cups of tea with me to talk about life and the perils of life is, to your surprise and delight, my Bubba. Are you really surprised?" Her next chuckle is as sweet as her coffee must be. "I like her. I told ya already."

"I can see that."

His mother moves to sit in the chair in front of him. "And you haven't answered my question yet, young man." She crosses her legs and offers her coffee for him to sip, which he does. Gods, this woman is a bee. He returns it with a grimace.

"Right, as I was sayin', today we're going to the Stark fair, the three of us. Eat a hot dog, be annoyin' at the square, drink a couple of beers. Then tomorrow, uh—"

"You two love birds will be together all day, yes, I can imagine."

He's thankful his mother saves him from saying the embarrassing bits, at least. "I have to go back on Monday."

"What time?"

"Thirteen hundred train."

"So there's time for breakfast?"

His smile returns. "Yeah, Ma. There's time for breakfast together."

Across the table, his smile seems to be reflected back at him. It looks a little older, with more crinkles around the corners and kissing the side of the eyes, but the same smile nonetheless. "Now I'm happy." She sips the coffee, humming in pleasure. "And what's so interesting at this fair?"

"Was that Bucky's voice?! Ma! Is Bucky here?!"

Ah, that screeching tone.

The second name he hears—Bucky.

Screamed at the top of her lungs by Rebecca, and later by a still sleepy Dorca, Bucky's greets with open arms his young rascals and spins them in the air, so lucky to have their laughter be the only sound he hears once again.

He does his best that whole morning to imprint every second spent with them like a tattoo in the malleable muscle of his brain. He wants Rebecca's slightly nasal and bossy tone to be of easy access when he's far away. He wants to not forget how long Dorca's hair is getting, or how much his mother still has control of this entire house at the tip of her fingers as if she's a powerful spider whose webs are invisible, but stronger than the eyes behold.

Before he leaves, he takes them for ice cream. Bucky asks all sorts of questions, trying to squeeze as much as he can in only a few hours, knowing that no amount of time feels enough nowadays.

Later, there's Buck.

"Hey, Buck."

It's a second homecoming.

This one, it tastes like a little bit of everything. "Hey, Stevie." The tiny frame that fits in his embrace as if it were a puzzle piece, it smells like childhood and teenage years all mushed together. "Glad to see you're in one piece."

It's a jab to the fact that his best friend and soulmate was about to get into a fight just seconds before Bucky finds him, and it was met with an ocean-cold stare. Blue meets blue, and Bucky can only laugh.

"Oh, shut up," Steve rolls his eyes. "I hate that I let them go—fucking bastards."

"Hey, hey; you can't fight 'em—"

"Can't fight 'em all, I know, punk, I know." Steve sighs, but when he looks at Bucky again, his gaze softens. Something clicks, and Steve seems to come back to himself. "You sound like Father Chase," his snorted laugh means it's Bucky's time to scoff.

"Maybe because he had a point?"

"Always did. Doesn't change the facts."

"And what are the facts?"

"The facts, Buck, are that you're a softie," before he can come up with an answer, Bucky's frame is pushed back by the force of it—Steve doesn't go for it, he lunges for another hug, body crashing against Bucky's. "'m glad you're back."

The facts must be true, if only when it came to Steve, at least. "Punk," he mutters against soft blond strands. Bucky hugs back just as hard, and they let go at the exact same time.

A single look is shared, and then they nod.

Secret conversations aren't only spilled in acronyms.

I'm glad to be back, his nod says.

While Steve's says, Now we're alright.

They were. For now, everything was alright.

"You get your orders?" Steve starts walking in the direction that Bucky's heart was tugging in—the direction of your apartment.

He follows, putting one arm around Steve's shoulders. "Sure did. The 107th. Sgt. James Barnes, shipping out on Monday for England."

"Sargeant, huh?"

Under Steve's appraising eyes, Bucky's always felt a little bit analyzed. "Yeah." No inch of him went unnoticed. "I'll do my best to take care of all of them." An artist's eye on you could be an unnerving thing.

It soothed when he smiled. "Of course you will, Buck." Often, Bucky wondered if Steve had any idea of how much power his opinion yielded. "You always do your best." A smile of his alone, and Bucky felt more approved than any superior's highest praise. "I—" he hut himself short, but Bucky knew what he swallowed down. I just wish I could help. "I'm happy for ya."

Always so good, "thank you, Steve." Not a day would go by when Bucky would let it pass the opportunity to thank god for gifting him with Steven Gran Rogers. "Now—" he looked up, seeing your building approach. "You sure she has no idea I'm here?"

Another roll of eyes—Steve could one day get cursed with the sight of his brain forever. "I'm starting to think you're spending too much time with your comrades. You forgot already who's had your six since forever?"

"Awn, Stevie—don't be jealous of my smelly, grumpy men. You'll always be my number one."

"You're ridiculous. Of course she doesn't know. Lady thinks you'll be here on the 4pm train, just like we talked about. She's probably still sleepin' 'cause of her late-night shift."

"Another one?!"

A scoff. "You try to tell Lady what to do and see how it goes. I already know my place of speakin', and it ain't that one."

"God, how on earth did I end up with the two more stubborn people to ever walk this goddamn planet? No, really—"

"Oh, because you're a beacon of flexibility."

"—you two are made from a single mold, and whoever used it on you first, and then her, saw their mistake two heartbeats too late, then broke the damn mold 'cause they knew if they made more, it'd mean world domination."

There's a single second of pause, and then Bucky turns to the amused gaze staring at him. Steve with a hand on his hip and a smirk on his face will always look the same. "You've gotten more dramatic. That's a fuckin' wonder." He turns around laughing to himself and shaking his head. "Go say 'morning' to her. I'm gonna go get tomato sauce, we ran out of it yesterday."

The implication that Steve's been hanging around more registers in all the happy places of Bucky's brain, but everything's washed away by the flood that it's the sight of it—

your window.

Bucky's entire world does the thing: it tunnels.

The same rounded, small rocks that he used on the first date still litter Mrs. Simyl's vase. He picks one, weights it in his hand, and with a heart-thumping loud in his chest, he throws it to your window.

A peck.

KNOCK

Bucky waits: one, two, three heartbeats.

He swallows the lump that rises in his throat.

The sun already rose, but it comes up again.

At least, for him.

When your head pops out in the window, Bucky swears it does.

Like a sniper's barrel, your eyes know exactly where it goes on instinct. They find him underneath your window pulled by the gravity that—with a quick check on his hummingbird of a heart, it's confirmed—still there.

North, meet South.

"Jay?"

"Hi, sweetheart."

Your face disappears, taking everything with you. The light, the warmth, the strenght in the gravitational hold of your beautiful eyes and gaze—as soon as they disappear, Bucky's spell is broken, and his feet gain life.

He knows you're rushing to your door the same way he rushes up the stairs.

He's glad the uniform stayed in his suitcase, safely tucked in his and Steve's apartment. He'd sweat from all the heat he's emmanating, and probably drench you in an ocean before he could get a single kiss.

Bucky's pulled by his North, and when he sees the familiar sight of your door, it's already swinging open.

"Oh, god." There's a breach in time. A break in the fabric of space. One moment, he's a few steps away from you, and the next thing he sees and knows, he has an arm full of you.

"Bucky."

That's him. James, Bucky, Buck, Jay. From all of his names, now's the only time when all of his cells feel slotted into place. Bucky's heard every one of his names, all the ones that matter, and now he is whole.

His voice evades him.

Inside his arms, he's aware that you're shaking, even if the notion takes a moment to register—as it should. He's shaking, too; vibrating, is more like it, because he's here, and now that he can breathe, his body seems incapable of doing so.

He inhales deeply, even if it's all trembling.

Your smell is different from any other. Bucky would recognize in a crowd of millions. He'd find it blindfolded, he was certain of it.

If they made him forget his name, Bucky would be Nobody, but even as Nobody, he would know that this is the scent of his person.

Citrine. Mint leaves. With a deeper inhale, he catches the underlying tone—vanilla. The purest and sweetest form, used in the lotion you put all over your body after showering sometimes, mixed with the unique and personal scent of just you. Vanilla has a taste on you. It's sweet, but not sticky.

It's summer.

Bucky is in love.

When the pull that holds you together seems to loosen its threads, you and Bucky pull back at the same time.

Not too far—neither one is able to go further than millimeters for now, and in the back of his mind, he's thankful that Steve gave the two of you the time you needed.

Just like he and Steve clung to each other like a lifeline for embarrassing minutes that neither one chose to talk about, you two are roped together, and going too far is impossible for now.

The only space is a breath of air separating your heads.

Bucky pulls an arm up, crowding your head inside his forearm. His palm spreads on the top of your head, holding you there.

His eyes find yours, swimming and spilling over.

Your lips tremble when you speak. "You told me you were getting here later," he feels your hand making fists out of his white shirt, resting on the curve of his lower back. After a sniffle, you add, "'m gonna kill you and Blondie," and then, you nuzzle your nose on his.

He laughs. Bucky truly is home. "He was just followin' my orders, lil' witch. No killing, please."

"You two planned behind my back," you go on, sounding small and choked still. His crybaby that never cried before.

Bucky's arm cage around your head got a little tighter, and his arm around your waist pulled you impossibly closer. "Don't cry," he pleaded in a whisper. "It was to surprise ya."

He thinks you're beautiful even with wet, rosy cheeks. "I'm surprised," your laugh came out choked, and you sniffled again. Bucky accepted the tears despite how much his hand itched to wipe them away, and clean your cheeks. Lower, and softer, so much softer than he was used to hearing any voice, you say, "You're actually here..."

The awe in your voice is a sentiment he can understand. "I am."

"I'm not dreaming."

His forehead stays touching yours as he shakes his head, and while it's an uncomfortable angle, but he likes it for now. "No. Seems neither am I." It's the closeness his heart aches for, and achieving it soothes the wrinkles in his soul.

You, on the other hand, seem to need a better angle—your head pulls back against his head, gaining a couple more inches of distance, and his body moves along with yours.

When you're far enough to look at his whole face, Bucky's breath is sucked out of his body.

He's here.

"I missed you, Jay."

And so are you.

Bucky smiles and dives.

Your eyes are closed, lips waiting for his.

If angels sing, this is it. Angels, a choir, or maybe just the white noise of his head subduing, opening up space for this—your lips on his are a single drop falling in a pond, creating ripples until the surface is a still mirror.

Neither one of you moves too much. There isn't back and forth, or any deepening of the kiss. On the contrary.

It is what it is.

A sweet sound of hello. A press of lips, two pieces meeting together, fitting in as one.

When the air he stored runs out and Bucky gasps in your lips, he hears your pleased hum.

You smile, breathing in through your nose. "'m so happy," you inform him.

Bucky laughs. He breathes out, and kisses you again, but messier this time. Rougher. He wants to taste your tongue, wants your oxygen in his veins. He nibbles, bites, sucks on your lips; Bucky finally gets his tongue intertwining with yours, walks you back inside your place, and closes the door with his foot even if somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware that Steve will come passing by any minute now.

The kiss is enough for now.

A single taste—a sip of a galleon he'll drink whole later tonight, bathe himself, drown in; Bucky pulls back and is pleased to note how pink you look and the puffiness in your lips.

You two exist in silence for a moment, just breathing each other in, and then,

"You ready for a day with Stevie and I?" he asks.

Your smile is enough of an answer. "Where's Blondie?"

"Probably comin' right up."

"'Kay. Cool." You press your lips on his again, melting and humming softly; all the little sounds he's missed. The hums, and ahs you make when melting in his arms that he's taking back to the base with him. "'m gonna change."

"Cool. Let's go."

Your laughter as well—he's pocketing that, and keeping it close to his heart. "That wasn't an invite."

"Was it not? Damn, I could've sworn it was, miss. My bad."

"D'you think I can get any 'changing' done with you in the room?"

Although the question is asked amidst laughter, you seem okay with Bucky glued on your back and stepping where you do, channeling his inner cat. "I have no clue. We'll figure it out."

"And if Steve arrives?"

A cackle from him—you're the witch, but Bucky laughs like one at that joke. "I'm sure your new best friend can find himself just fine in your house. Wasn't he here last night?"

"How d'you know that?"

"He said you two ran out of tomato sauce. He went to get some to cook lunch for us."

"You mean for you to cook lunch for us. We're just sittin' there lookin' pretty and talking your ear off."

"Sweetheart, that sounds marvelous to me."

True as he said to his mother, there is no third-wheeling or chaperoning.

In the same kitchen as his two favorite people, Bucky has one of the loveliest afternoons of his entire life. In fact, his Saturday is so good that Bucky marks the date in the calendar in his mind — the 24th of July — as some special daybreak.

He fits right in. Between the jokes that you and Steve now share and he has no idea what the roots of them are, next to your attentive, hawk-like eyes that never seem to leave him, snuggled by the much smaller frame of a friend who still looks up to him as someone good.

It's a pity that Bucky has no superpowers.

He would fit an entire month right there, in the afternoon reserved for the three of you.

By the time the sun is setting down and you three feel the need to clean up for the exhibition, the trio has already covered every base:

The military. Family. Neighbors (both the annoying as well as the good ones). Steve's stubbornness, and then yours. England. Bucky's squadron, with the specifics of each man he claimed to like.

Bucky laughed. He sobered up—those coal, slimy tentacles of war tried sneaking their way to the front.

Impossible to be done with you and Steve present.

When Bucky comments about separating — 'Steve and I can go to the apartment to get ready then come pick you up, whatcha say?' — he gets the same attitude from both.

"Why would I go stay alone at my place?" you ask.

Steve nods along. "Just wait here 'till she picks up her overnight bag and she'll come with us."

"Yeah. Steve never takes longer than ten minutes to get ready, anyway."

"True. I say Lady and I will be ready before you are," Steve adds with a knowing smile.

You laugh with him. "Oh—that's for sure."

"Hey!" Bucky loves to see you two teaming up. It's the kind of thing he'd like to see forever if he has any say in it. "I don't take that long."

To that, he hears many arguments.

"Oh my god, who is he talking to?" you ask, turning your gaze to Steve.

"I don't know. He's actin' like we don't know him," Steve snorts.

"It's crazy. Did he forget the times we had to wait for him?"

"Many times."

You glance back at Bucky, all smiles and daring. "You think you can hurry up tonight, princess?"

It does something to him. He hates that it does—and he sees and hears it in Steve's laugh that it's obvious, too, that the stupid teasing nickname pulls a string or two of his, and he huffs away from you both. "Ungrateful duo of firecrackers, I swear to god."

"Oh, c'mon!" it's you, rushing to catch up to him, laughing the same as Steve.

"Yeah, c'mon—"

"Don't you dare, Steven," he cuts him off before he can use it too, and it gets only more laughter.

"You didn't answer her question, you know," Steve comments when he catches up to Bucky and you.

He rolls his eyes. "I'll speed up. 's not like I have to look my best—not when you two aren't doing anythin' to deserve it."

"Damn, Jay. Not even a little bit of cologne for me?" you pout.

The gall. The audacity. He huffs and puffs, and turns his eyes away from you. "I'll think about it." He's a joke. Bucky's going to spend at least triple the time in the bathroom, but it's okay, because he'll come out to you and Steve waiting for him.

"Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow!"

In his uniform, Bucky feels oddly in place.

He's pulled by the sleeves by either you, or Steve. "C'mon, c'mon, Buck, it's starting!" you squeal.

Willing and pliant, that's his role for the whole night. With a smile plastered on his face, and a giddiness he hasn't felt since he was a kid. Not that he was ever this happy in his childhood—this is a new, shinier form of happiness.

It happens because he's in the right place. With the right people.

Also, he paid very close attention to your eyes when he left the bathroom an hour ago.

When Bucky saw that glint, a very familiar one to him, his body responded. He felt your gaze on him. On his uniform. The tension that for a second became almost like humidity in the air, it hung for a few seconds, and it made Steve go to the kitchen with yet another roll of his eyes.

"I'm... gonna go drink a glass of water. You two—yikes. Be quick. The eye fucking is gross."

"Such a gentleman, Steve," you joked, but the lack of eye contact with him kind of ruined it for you.

Bucky approached you, walking in slow and deliberate steps. He allowed you to look at every inch. Feeling it was good, too—your eyes ranking up and down his body was almost a physical touch, and it made the soft spreading of your palm on his chest warmer.

"You look..." the words left you, leaving your lips parted and pink. "Very nice."

Not often did Bucky feel bashful. "Thanks, sweetheart." A rare gem such as this needed to be polished, even if it was perfect in its raw form. Bucky leaned in closer, barely containing his smile, and with his mouth nearing your ears, he whispered. "I have a feeling it's not my hair and my perfume that you like."

The intake of your breath was loud from this proximity. "Jay..."

That whisper alone was enough for him. He whispered your name back and kissed your temple with a smile. "Save all of those thoughts for later, 'kay? All of 'em. I wanna hear everything that's goin' around on that pretty head of yours."

Breathless, you whispered, "'kay'," and then nuzzled your face against his neck before pulling away. The flush was high on your cheeks. Redder than before, and due to more than just makeup. "You really do look handsome," that whisper made his insides tangle, and he enjoyed it.

"'m glad you think so."

That part was only forgotten when he saw the automobiles.

Even if Steve hid it better than you and Bucky, the reality hit you three all the same. Three nerds in a science fairy served for more than entertainment; it meant a night to be remembered.

Bucky gets lost in hours of conversation.

You three see everything. Even the dance floor is forsaken in the name of reading about stuff, theorizing about what is left out of the exposition, and laughing with each other as the ideas that bounce between you three get wilder each time.

It's almost midnight when you three make your way to the apartment.

Bucky is in a tipsy state. Steve—well, his tolerance is not the best, and mixing sugar with alcohol is a bad idea. It's all good though, because you hate the taste of it, and walking between the two of them like a beacon of balance and normalcy is a thing you did before.

Steve's hand hooks through your shoulder, into Bucky's nape.

He talks about the war. The human condition—Mrs. Georgia, from downstairs.

"She's been cryin' every night or two. It's—sad. Loud. God, I'm so glad I'm gonna black out tonight."

Bucky ends up taking off Steve's shoes while you tuck his sleeping body into bed.

He looks up at you, and sees the strand of your hairstyle escaping the pins, framing your face into something more suited for the faint yellow lights of late-night times and the Moonlight outside. "At least he waited 'till he was home," Bucky reasons.

You smile at him. "At least he didn't puke."

"Touché."

Once Steve Rogers is safe and sound, you turn your body to Bucky, both hands placed on your hips.

Here it comes, thinks Bucky...

"Safe and sound."

He smiles. "That he is." Bucky knew he'd be. It wasn't his first time hearing this.

He extends one hand in the air and is delighted when you catch it.

"Let's go?"

It's barely a whisper.

You nod at him, fitting your body under one of his arms as you walk out of the room. In the quiet magnitude of this hour into the night, you whisper, "I should've let you buy me cotton candy."

Bucky closes the door of the room holding back his laughter. "I'll make you scrambled eggs when we get to the hotel."

"Will you?"

"I will."

"I don't know if I trust your tipsy self to a stove."

Bucky groaned, pulling you even closer to him to bury his nose into your hair. "I'll be a hundred percent by the time we make it there."

The conversation goes on in hushed whispers as you two walk, ignoring all the other rare figures you see walking in the streets too, not on purpose—on the fact that it's a new world, already.

As soon as the apartment door was locked behind him, Bucky's world shifted in its axis; everything becomes you.

He's barely aware of what he's answering.

The only thing he knows it's that you're teasing him—he pays attention to the blush he sees forming on your cheeks once you feel his gaze so locked on your lips. He laughs under his breath when you stutter, and then laughs harder when you poke him in the ribs for laughing in the first place.

He feels how warm you are despite how chill the night has become.

Inside his jacket—his uniform, you've found heat.

The hotel room he located for the night is not far from your house itself, and it's one of the most decent ones still inside his budget. Rooms that are nice and clean, plus a decent breakfast.

It was far from what you deserved, but Bucky had years of work ahead of him before he was able to afford that.

When he enters, you take a little spin around.

Bucky puts both yours and his duffel bags on the floor.

He lets you walk around, and take your heels off, his eyes following you.

When they finally land on him, Bucky can almost see the air that stands between you.

Your voice is as low as a whisper. He hears it loud and clear in the deep quiet of the night. "You're not gonna cook for me, are you?"

He's kicking his shoes off as he shakes his head.

Bucky's eyes are so attentive, that he catches the shivers that run through you.

"Tomorrow," he promises.

Your fingers graze the long sleeve of the dress until it hooks on the shoulder pad, but Bucky hums negatively.

The movement stops.

He takes his steps until he's an inch away from you, and breathes in deeply.

"'m pretty sure that's my job."

It was. One of the best parts of it, now that Bucky paid close attention to it. His hands removed the fabric from your skin, exposing it to the light entering the room through the window, and in those moments, Bucky managed to fit in hours.

Every inch of you being exposed to him, it was like he painted it somewhere in his mind, guarding that canvas in a special slide of his subconscious.

When all your clothes were on the floor, he continued his ministrations of sewing all your measurements to memory.

Bucky's hands — palm spread flat, his fingertips, his knuckles — made work of you, while you removed his clothes in return.

Once naked, he could pass on to the next stage:

"Wanna remember how you taste, sweetheart."

The shaky gasp you let out when his words met your ear was too fast for him to catch, but everything else that followed fell into Bucky's lips.

They were wide, hand-made nets, built only for one purpose: to fish every part of you that was delectable.

Bucky started with close-mouthed kisses and ended up almost devouring you. Swallowing you whole.

There were hours between that first and last stage, though.

At first, everything was slow.

Bucky had been so preoccupied back at the base with whether the first time you two fucked would be the same as the ones from before or not, that he missed the entire point.

It had always been great. The connection between you two always started with more than just physical, and when it got to that point, you two were already lost in each other.

This was immersion.

Hearing your tender, then groaned, and later broken moans of "Jay" counted as his sea.

Your eager touches were current, guiding him in.

This was far from fucking. There was nothing crude about the first time—there was only love.

Bucky never made love before, but he understood why not when your body unfolded in front of him. When your legs open wide and everything blossoms, Bucky has full comprehension of what a feeling can do to two people.

Not just any feeling. This.

Bucky's a drunk man.

It's only his grace that you're as far gone as him. As Dionysus blessed—when Bucky's fingers intertwine with yours to replace your fisted hands in the sheets with his own instead, Bucky's gaze catches yours.

He sees the warm and inviting openness of black in your eyes.

Bucky kisses and leaves his feeling all over his path.

As overwhelming as it is, making love is also beautiful. This type of surrender required a level of trust and blinded faith that he's not sure he even had before, but he finds it right there, in bed with you.

The first time is slow.

Both of you taking your time to marvel at how in sync you are—to marvel at how wet one makes the other, and how unashamed both of you feel in touching each and every part.

He's never had anyone touching him the way you do. Bucky gets your lips leaving prints from his face, his chest, arms, and legs, all the way to the curve above his ass.

As he opens you up with his fingers, Bucky keeps watching all the emotions passing through your face.

The first time you make love, in gentle, long, and agonizing steps.

When he pushes inside at last, he can almost swear he hears violins.

Or maybe it's your nails digging at his back—your pained, blissed whines. "Jay."

He's whining, too—your name spills from his lips as much as air does, and you two move not to reach an end, but to feel what is connecting you at that exact time.

When the words leave his lips, Bucky can see them traveling in the air before being sucked in by yours. "I love you, sweetheart."

Out of his lips, into thick, warm air, and falling...

You gasp, closing your eyes for a moment, and Bucky tastes your tears when he's gifted back with, "I love you too, James." It makes him smile, shaking from head to toe like a leaf. "I truly do."

"I know. I feel it."

"It w-was never like—like this. Never before."

An understatement, if he ever heard one. Bucky could feel your heartbeat as if it was his own; it was more than just his cock buried to the hilt inside of your warm cunt, feeling every construction and high of your pleasure, or the vibrations of your moans and the pleas for his name that seemed to reverberate all through his being—

"This—" he bucked his hips harder, just to feel the waves of pleasure cursing through you, and laughed with his lips ghosting your mouth. "This is—oh—it's making love, sweetheart."

"Jay!"

Bucky was unsure of how long it lasted.

Could've been hours, or just a few, blissful minutes.

From the thick layer of sweat that covered your bodies by the time you both came undone, his guess tips more towards the first.

It's almost like seeing a visible thread being cut—when the orgasms hit your bodies, one right after the other, Bucky collapses his back in the bed, carrying your body along with him.

That's where you two stay, for a few moments longer.

"Were we whispering?" you ask.

He likes when your lips are on his skin. They're warm, and he has their shape memorized now. "I think we were." If he was a better artist, he'd draw them. "D'you want me to cook for you now?" he asks with a chuckle.

You tilt your head up, take a second to think it over, then answer with a simple smile.

So Bucky cooks.

He slaps your hand when you try putting on his white t-shirt laying on the ground, commenting, "No need for that at all, c'mon'," and watches with the same pleased and hungry eyes as you stay leaning on the wall as he uses the small stove for a quick meal.

After that, there are other times.

There's the desperate round, and there's the fucking, and the unexpected, and the lazy, 'we're too tired to move but still horny enough for this' moment where he just lays in bed with his hands between your legs, touching your pussy even if he's not actively doing anything.

Bucky washes you with careful hands and a lot of tenderness in the shower, running the cloth and the soap through your marked, sensitive skin as slowly as his sleepiness allows.

"We're gonna have a good day today," you tell him.

Given the whispering tone and slurred words, Bucky assumes you're almost sleeping, too. "Yup. All day to ourselves. Dinner with Steve. Come back here to sleep well."

"I love you, James."

Bucky would never get tired of hearing those words in your voice. He pulls your body close, kissing even if he'll taste soap and warm water. "I love you more." He whispers your name, kisses you again, and turns off the shower head before cold water sprays on his perfect day.

Nothing about today is cold.

Bucky's warm. While you may carry the elegance and magic of the Moon, you're his Sun.

His North, and his Sun, which would always guide him home, for hot and perfect days like this that remind him of why it's good to be alive and to feel all of this love.

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black-moon-bunny · 1 year

Text

Private Confession

A shy sister decides to walk into the confessional to relieve some weight on her shoulders, she needs to confess the filthy dreams she has been having with the image of her Papa Emeritus the Third and take some guilt off , what she doesn't know it's that Papa himself is taking the confessions today.

Word Count : 4300 words.

Warnings: Smut with plot basically.+18 NSFW Oral Sex (male on female) Unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of praise kink, a dash of Dom!Terzo, a bit of corruption kink he just want to break her mind and shit. Y/N is used, some broken Italian that I took from Google translate sorry if it sucks. Minors DNI. All the pictures were found on Pinterest I just edited them so credits who made them. No betad. today I die like a woman (?).

The cute dividers that I used this time belong to @firefly-graphics 💕

A.N : I promised this a couple of days ago but I never thought that it will be that long, again I just got carried on. The fires are still burning near my city, everything was covered in ashes and smoke so I just locked myself in my home and spent all day writing and playing monster hunter on the switch. I hope you enjoy this filthy piece of work. Take care, drink water, eat your three meals and hug your loved ones. 💕

She was nervous, the last time she confessed to a member of the clergy was years ago, and she wasn't sure if it was ok for her to confess her latest dreams with the new Papa of the church. Papa Emeritus the Third was like a breath of fresh air into the Rituals, he was too charming, too charismatic, too flamboyant. And it was magnetic, since the first ritual she felt pulled to him not being able to keep her eyes out of him during performance, the purple gowns, the modals, the way that he moved and walked on the stage. It was even worse in church and the abbey, the way that he talked with the sisters, and walked around winking his eyes and smiling. That's when she couldn't even look in his direction. After a few months of this martyrdom she began to have the most unholy thoughts of the man in the sheets of her bed, most of the time giving herself pleasure in the process. She felt guilty, he was on another level completely away from her own level in the clergy, she shouldn't be having those lustful dreams with him! So she decided that the best thing she could do about it was going to confess, get the weight off her chest and get some advice in a more private scenario. She greeted without entering the little space of the confessional waiting for the clergyman permission

—Come in, sister. Please.

—Thank you Cardinal...

And the men inside the other side.of the confessional tensed, he was no Cardinal. He was Papa himself, the change in "title" shook him a bit, it had been a long time since someone referred to him as cardinal.

Terzo found himself bored in the abbey so he changed his place at the confessional with Cardinal Copia, he was one of his closest friends in the church so he was always down to help him, after the last ritual he ended up with a raspy deeper voice because his over exigence and that helped him to mask his identity behind the confessional. He wanted to talk to other people, he was tired of only talking to the upper clergy most of the times, he wanted to talk with anyone else besides Imperator and his dad

—What's your name, little lamb?...

— It's y/n , Sister y/n. —He smiled trying to get a look at her to confirm his suspicions, but he was sure that he knew her. She was the soft lamb that always seemed to shiver around him, but was always at the rituals supporting the Ghost Project. She was particularly interesting to him, she seemed to change every time he went on stage, her eyes fixated on him more than any other sister or brother at the rituals. So he was aware of her existence and presence in the church.

— Tell me Sister y/n ... why are you here? What is the thing that lingers in your mind? The burden that you charge...

She didn't recognize the voice...It was not the Cardinal , but she couldn't quite guess, it sounded a bit raspy

— Sister, are you okay? It's okay, this is a private moment, a moment of trust. I'm not going to judge you.

She felt the guilt and the shame in her head but he was right. It was just a confession and besides he was there to help her and not judge her. And most probably he didn't even know who she was.

— I have dirty thoughts... sinful and dirty dreams every night...

— And why do you think it is wrong to have sinful dreams my dear?

— It's not because of the dreams....It's about who I am dreaming in those dreams..

—Why do you feel bad about dreaming with this person?..

—Because he is our excellency, our guide in this place...I'm having dreams with...—She took a breath and let out a sight before saying it. — I'm having dreams with our new Papa. Really nasty and naughty dreams...

Terzo was amused, this cute sister was having dirty dreams with him? How could he be mad?

— Sister, what kind of dreams? Why are they naughty?....You mean sex dreams?...

—Y-Yeah....they begin always the same, Me and Papa talking after a ritual on his back stage...and then I gave him a shoulder massage to ease his tense muscles and...we ended up fucking. It's always the same and...I feel that is wrong! How could I dream such dirty things with someone that I admire...

— Sister....you like what Papa does to you in the dreams?..

— Y-Yes....he feels so good...the way he kisses me, and rubs me, and soothes my skin with his hands, and move me like I was a doll on top of him...

— So, do you desire your dream to become true?

She stood in silence for a moment. She really wanted that dream to become true? Or she just wanted to leave it as part of her dirty imagination?

—...I don't know....he would never look at me in that way! It's almost impossible...

— That is not an answer, little lamb...

— I'm sorry ...I would like to be true ...but I know that it's almost impossible.

— Ah little lamb...who says that dreams do not come true?...—Terzo laughed a bit leaving his spot inside the confessional and opening the door of the side in which she was seated.

She looked at him in utter disbelief, she just confessed to Papa himself that she was having sex dreams about him! . But Terzo did not look angry, he had this flirty expression, that arrogant and sly smirk in his face looking down on her. He grabbed her chin with his fingers and made her look up to him as she was trying to not look him in the eyes.

— What's wrong sorella...are you ashamed that I heard your secret?...—He caressed the skin of her cheek with his thumb slowly, without looking her right in her eyes. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes had this glisten in them, her expression was a mix of fear and excitement.

—P-Papa I'm ...I'm so sorry....

—Don't be sorella....do you think I'm mad at you? I'm amused....you who always shiver when I go near you, you who are always so supporting during Mass or in the rituals...all of this time living with the burden of those dirty dreams with me...Poor thing...did you get your relief after those dreams? You were touching yourself thinking about me?.....

She felt her thighs clench together, her chest was on fire. Her breathing stopped for a moment before answering

— Yes Papa....

—Don't worry my sweet sorella...I know this place is too small for you to enjoy...-He let go of her chin and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the confessional — Follow me...we are going to have a extended talk about your dreams....If you are really repented you are going to show me how did you pleasure yourself.

He dragged her to his room, she felt lightheaded. She sure was having a dream again, because none of this could be part of reality. She was being dragged to Papa Emeritus the Third room to "show remorse" and "talk" about her sin.

He opened the door and guided her into his chamber, seating her on the bed. The luxurious deep purple bed sheets, the soft cushions and mattress, the smell of roses and leather. Everything felt too dreamy to be true. She sat there, waiting for him to say something, waiting for her to wake up from her dream.

—Sorella...tell me...how did you touch yourself?

— I...I....

—Don't be afraid little lamb...we are not going to do anything that you don't want to...but I want to know how did you treated yourself...So I can know where to start your penitence, and don't worry about the old hag...This is our secret of confession ...Now my dear sorella....—He took a seat in front of her, not before removing part of his "working clothes''. He just had a white silky shirt and his black tight pants left as he sat in front of her— Show me, how you enjoy yourself after dreaming with me...

Her pulse was completely messed up, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her eardrum. Her legs spread slowly, shyly she took one of her hands and lifted her skirt showing her red lace underwear.

He felt his cock twitch inside his pants, who would have thought that the shy sister used such sexy lingerie? He was delighted, her soft and embarrassed expression contrasted so well with the sexy red lace between her legs, he could even see the dark spot where she leaked her fluids, he swore that he could smell her in the air.

— Take those off and give them to me...

— Yes papa....—She slid them down her legs and handed them to him, she couldn't do anything more but obey him. She opened her legs once more, but this time showing her exposed core to him, her folds were coated and slick with her fluids, she froze for a bit looking at the darkened and lustful expression in Papa eyes.

— Please continue...show me more, I want to see you give pleasure to that perfect pussy of yours...—He licked his lips, he wanted to go down on her and lick her fluids while fingering but he knew that if he waited the reward was going to be much better.

—.....Y-Yes....Mnhg...— A whimper left her lips as soon as she brushed her clit with the tip of her fingers. She was so sensitive already, she felt her insides twitch wanting something inside to fill them. She gave her clit slow grazes and applying some pressure, his middle finger slid slowly between her folds tempting the entrance of her hole for a bit before pushing it inside. She moaned and cursed herself on her inside for the embarrassing sounds coming out of her mouth. Her free hand was on her right nipple, pulling and pinching the button sending shivers down her spine directly to her pussy.

He was stroking lazily his cock under his pants, the show she was putting for him was completely outstanding. The way she moaned, how her hips moved looking for more contact with her hand. How she squirmed and giggled at the pleasure. He wanted more of her.

— Keep going....show me more, I want to see you fully sister.,..come on, obey your Papa..

— mnhg...ah! No...Papa per favore...

— Oh my little sorella....you know Italian huh? ...—He positioned between her legs, standing over her looking at her trembling body — la mia tentazione dolce e peccaminosa, così bella, solo per me, vero?....—He leaned on her just a bit, touching her face and caressing her skin, looking at her glistening eyes, waiting for an answer — Vero?...

— S-Sí....just for you....

He felt his cock pressing so hard against his pants just by hearing her. It was all the confirmation he needed to make his move. He dragged her to the edge of the bed and kneeled in front of her, taking an intense look at the wonder in front of him.

— Sorella....we are not going to do anything that you don't want, I need you to say it, say that this is what you want....—There was a deep growl inside him trapped, her smell was driving him nuts, she was so wet that it dripped down her ass to his bed , directly into his velvet bedspread leaving a wet spot that grew by the minute.

— Papa please....I want you!.I need you!...are those dirty thoughts enough proof for you?....I desperately need you....—She whimpered and moaned, she was so needy of him. Her sweet and shy demeanor was long gone, she needed him, she wanted to indulge in the sin of Papa Emeritus the Third and never be the same again.

— Lucifero per favore, fammi godere per sempre di questo piacere peccaminoso....—He looked at her, his eyes completely darkened by lust, he began placing small kisses along her thighs, getting closer and closer to her wet impatient core, he spread her folds with his fingers to leave her clit exposed to him, he blew a bit of cold air and she moaned by the feeling.

After a sly smirk he got closer and closer

— Thanks dark lord for this delicious meal....—He gave a long lick to her clit down his folds before completely attacking her clit. Sucking slowly and moving his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands left to her thighs caressing and tracing the skin with the claws of his gloves, her moans sounded like the most delicious choir of sweets sounds.

She was losing slowly her contact with reality, she had never felt something like this before, she had been with boys during her teenage and young adult era, but nothing like this, nothing like the sinful dexterity of Papa's tongue, the feeling of his leather gloves and claws along her thighs as she moved her hips looking for more contact ,her hands playing with her nipples pulling them every time he gave a long lick.

He felt how she was melting under him. He took his gloves off and carefully placed one of his fingers at the entrance of her pussy, pressing slowly letting her suck him inside. She was so wet that his finger slipped inside easily, but she felt tight around it at the same time. He moved one finger and then added another one, spreading her insides preparing her for him.

— Don't try to muffle your voice, my little songbird....—He moved his fingers slightly up inside her, touching that rugged spot over and over — I want you moaning my name...say it....

— Papa....Mngh papa, please made me cum....

— No no....not papa....—He finally released his erection from his pants and underwear , he kept moving his fingers inside her, brushing her clit with the palm of his hand every time he pushed into her, and with his other hand he was stroking himself.

She was about to climax on his fingers, she needed to release the pressure in her belly, she needed to let loose the coil that was about to snap. She moved her hips wanting more. She couldn't say his name, she was going to burst if she heard herself saying his name, no not papa, Terzo.

—Say it...or else I will not let you come, how about that? Enough motivation for you...puttana?....

She whimpered and moan obscenely at the nickname, her hips jerking from the bed moaning out loud his name

— T-Terzo! Terzo please! I need to....I want to...

—....You little filthy sister....—He positioned himself between her legs and without much warning he pushed inside, gasping and moaning deeply at the feeling, she felt the most blasphemous pleasure in the world.

Something inside her snapped after his thrust, her whole body felt like wildfire and she could swear that she was seeing stars and glistens all over the place, with the last part of her coherence she moved his arms towards him, looking for more of his touch, she wanted to feel him completely. He kept thrusting into her while taking of his shirt, he leaned over her and kissed her, her lips were soft and plump, as they kissed her moans got trapped in her throat and left only as breathy whimpers as he moved his hips and his bodies became one sweaty wet mess.

— I can feel you squeezing me so good....such a good girl for your Papa...—He bit her neck leaving marks all over the skin, she scratched the skin on his back and pectorals, she looked at him completely lost in her lustful dream that came true , adoring his expression, his passion and the delicious way in which he was devoted to give her pleasure.

For him, she was a devil that came from hell to make him lust over and over. He already had many affairs under his sleeve, but no one of those compared to the sinful sweet adoration of the sister. Her body seemed to perfectly fit with his, the way her legs hugged his hips, how her breast moved hypnotizing him, the delicious tightness and the way his name sounded on her lips. He wanted more of her, he wanted her for him and only him, this egoist desire of consuming her, of corrupt all if her shyness and all of her politeness into a pure lustfull mess, a fuck doll , a slut just for him.

He stopped for a bit to lift her legs over his shoulders and letting one of his hands wander from her tits to his neck and to his face, drawing the shape of her lips with his finger, looking at her and licking his lips at the sight, she licked the tip of his finger and he slide his thumb on her mouth. She began to suck desperately, her glossy eyes dropping tears of pleasure as he rolled his hips so deliciously over her, her insides twitched with anticipation of a climax that was already there. She was sure she scratched so hard that he bled a bit, but the pain turned him even more. He helped her ride her orgasm and lowered the pace of his thrusts for a minute.

—How was that dolcezza?....—He grabbed her by the waist and placed a pillow under her back for extra support and then proceeded to give her sweet kisses helping her ride the last waves of her orgasm before keep going further. — Are you okay?

— More....—She looked at him blushed, slightly drooling. Pupils fully dilated by pleasure, sweaty and still gasping for air but begging for more. "Such a good girl "terzo thought admiring the sight in front of him , but he needed to make sure she was okay, because after her approval he was going to go full feral on her.

— First, are you okay? Nothing hurts?....I plan to make love to you all afternoon and then at night if you are still needy give you some more but I need to know if you are well...—He brushed some strains of hair out of her forehead and caressed her cheek.

— I'm okay....I want more. Please....

— Mnn...I'm not sure if you are well...—He smiled devilishly moving his hips with one hard thrust — You seem quite agitated and...—He thrusted again — you look too red...—Once again another thrust — and you are gasping for air...

— Mnh...p-please ....ah! Don't....don't tease me....I ...I want more...

— And are you sure that you could...—His thrust were slow but hard and deep, he took his subtle time between thrusts just to make her squirm underneath him —.... take it?..

— I'm sure! I just....please fuck me! I want to feel your cum inside of me!

— Mngh....fucking hell y/n....you filthy puttana...want more of your Papa?....—He lifted her in his arms and sat on the bed with her on top but with her back pressed against his chest , he had her hold by the thighs with the rest of her legs clinging in the air. — Then take me....

After this sentence he began thrusting into her making her almost jump in his lap, her moans were obscene and loud, the wet slapping sound echoed in the room mixed with the moans of them both. His nails dig into her soft skin , her neck and back as his full disposition to bite and kiss , leaving marks all over her skin. He was close, he could feel the tightness in his abdomen. He dropped one of her legs and lowered his hand to her clit pressing and making circles over it as he thrusted, she squirmed and moaned his name over and over.

— Mnhg...y/n I'm...I'm close....you want it inside huh?....You filthy whore....so dumb fucked by your Papa...this is what you dreamed of isn't it?...mnhg! Ah! Fucking Satanás! ...

His hips moved faster and harder searching for his climax , but he couldn't indulge until she came at least one time more.

— Mmngh terzo! Together please....I want to come with you Papa! ...I want to be your personal..ah! Fuck toy! ...

— You sure are a bag of surprises sister...— His gasp and moans reverb on her ear, the praises and filthy remarks made her even closer, with only two thrusts more she came undone over him, squirting hard and wetting his bed, sofa and floor. He felt like he was melting in the caldrons of hell with her, he came with a loud and deep growl thrusting some more before collapsing in the bed with her underneath him. He pulled it off and watched as his cum leaked from her, this filled him with pride, looking at her so disheveled on his bed.

— mnhg...ah....don't leave...

— I'm not leaving....—He brushed some strains of hair out of her face and gave her a sweet peck on the lips as she turned around to be face up on the bed— but I need to prepare something...wait a minute dolce...

He went to his bathroom and prepared the tub for her, he took her in his arms slowly and carefully before letting her down slowly in the warm water. She was dozing a bit.

— You will stay here in my chambers today, and tonight you will make me company at the mass and ritual, then right back here with me si?...

— But...papa....—As she came down from her high the weight of reality became real, she knew that this will probably be a one time thing and she needed to get back to her chores— Sister Imperator is going to punish me if I do not finish my chores...

— It will be arranged as soon as we leave the tub, sí dolce?...—He entered the tub with her and she cuddled instantly on his chest, such a cute sight...

— Are you sure Papa?...

— I'm sure...and do not call me papa when we are alone si? Just terzo...Don't worry about the old hag , she is going on a trip with the old man and my brothers, we are going to be alone all week...Just me and the Cardinale, and of course you in my office all day wearing your cute dresses just for me...—He nuzzled her hair messing with her....

— Oh...I thought that...you know...I was going to be your one day off and stuff...—She looked up at him and he melted again, so innocent and yet so filthy, who would think that about her? He needed to thank his dear Amico later for letting him get in the confessional, maybe she would never had approached him otherwise, and yes , maybe he wouldn't done either . He was glad that Satan put her in his path.

— I know about my reputation sister...

—Just...y/n is fine if I can call you Terzo...just between us ...

— Well...y/n I know about my reputation but that's mostly a ...eh....it's part of the job...and I know that i have my fair share of affairs with a lot of sisters but no more than Secondo did or even Primo in his "prime" — He joke about his lame joke to ease some of her tension — You are right in be suspicious but I'm being honest...I want you for me as long as you are right with it , maybe we could get to know more about each other...I'm a bit tired of the running around with the sisters if I'm honest I'm bored about everything this days that's why I asked Copia...I mean, Cardinal Copia the favor of being on the confessional and that lead me to you, I will take it as a signal from our dark lord..

— So...you are asking me out?...—She smiled, it wasn't a dream right? — I'm not dreaming of this? Please tell me that I'm not..

— You are not ....— He laughed before pinning her slowly against the marble of the bath — But I'm going to make you feel like you are walking on air after this....—He laughed a bit at her expression of sudden lust and hunger— So eager....another round then?...

She used his weight in her favor and the slick of the water and turned around this time pinning him, he felt his dick bounce to his abdomen as soon as she was over him and her tits hanging in front of his face. She rocked her hips back and forth slowly over his cock

— Another round then ....—She took a deep breath and let him slide inside of her in one seat — Mnhg!...fuck...why it's so big?...mgnh....

— Mgnh...y/n ...so eager....—He bit his lip and grabbed her hips to give her more support, she moved wonderfully. She looked like a dark goddess of lust over him. His breast moving up and down with her, tempting him to bite and lick every piece of skin on them and so he did, he trapped one of her nipples between his lips sucking and biting, his hands traveled from her hips to his ass, squeezing and slapping her precious butt cheeks.

— Mnhg...Terzo....—She put her arms on his shoulders for support and started to move harder and faster, moaning his name over and over. The echo in the bathroom made her sound like a choir of devilish succubus filled with pure and primal desire. Her whole body was invested in giving him the biggest pleasure as a way to retrieve the pleasure that he gave her, the way she moved and breathed, how she moaned his name, how the tightness inside her felt. He felt his whole body sensitive, the way the warm water soothes his skin while being in the hot embrace of that marvelous woman on top of him, he moaned her name as a prayer. His wet hair falling on his face, her hair dropping over his shoulder everytime she moved, the heat of both bodies becoming one through the ritual of pleasure and lust.

— Mnhg! Fuck....y/n I'm not....mgnh...you are too...mgnh... damn hot ...I want to feel you more...ah la mia dolce puttana...così buona per me, così desiderosa del mio sperma....

— Sí Terzo please! Fill me with your cum...I'm getting closer...mgnh I want to come all over your dick...

— Mgnh...Sí dolce ... everything that you desire my sweet little devil....—He grabbed her hips, thrusting hard and fast over and over until she came with a high pitched moan. He came shortly after, filling her again with her cum..

— Mnhg ...ah!...don't ...move....—He smiled a bit — Too...sensitive....

— Oh...let me just ...—He plopped out of her and lifted her slowly.

— Mnhhh.....—She cuddles with him again. Caressing his chest and brushing his chest hair slowly. Giving kisses on his shoulder and chest.

— You are so cuddly...—He sighed in relaxation— so warm...

— You...don't like it?....—She asked a but worried of being too much all of the sudden.

— I love it....—He kissed her over and over, making her blush. — Let's get out of here and shower, I will make a ghoul go for some clothes for you and then you can sleep a bit on my bed while I take care of some duties...Don't worry about a thing of your chores, it's all ready....now, let's get cleaned up si princesa?...

They showered and rested on his bed, she fell asleep quickly, he brought his paperwork to his chamber and worked on his desk while watching her sleep, he was sure that it was the right decision following the devil's sign that guided him to her. All of it just for a simple private confession...

A.N : Heeeey! I hope that you enjoyed it, I was in the mood for a filthy sexy smut with our slutty Papa but I could keep the fluff away, I like fluff. If you have comments suggestions or want me to write something specific you can comment something down below or leave and question on the ask me page. 💕 thanks again for reading and I hope you have a great day/night/afternoon etc. 💕

#ghost fanfiction #ghost bc fanfic #ghost the band #emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #terzo emeritus #terzo smut #papa emeritus fanfiction #papa emeritus lll #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo emeritus x reader #terzo x y/n #ghost terzo #terzo ghost #ghost bc fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction

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dalamjisung · 6 months

Text

feel something ❁ lee minho

genre: p u r e a n g s t

word count: 5835

pairing: reader x lee minho

description: he was a habit that was just too hard to break, but you did it. two years ago, you broke the vicious cycle that was him... until he came back.

[to be read as a continuation of Habits of My Heart, but can also work as a stand alone!]

You are in his apartment.

How the fuck did you end up in his apartment?

And is that– yes, that’s his arm, laying heavy on your naked waist.

Fuck, is all you can think, raising your head from the oh so soft pillow while blinking your tired eyes awake. This is not how you planned to spend your holiday, but alas, there you are. Under his soft, striped sheets that, moments ago, you held onto for dear life as you moaned his name so prettily. That, you are sure, is something he would love to talk about once he is up, and that is why you start stirring, slowly moving despite the anxiety rising up your throat having you ready to run. It’s still quite dark, the cold, winter days taking their time with sunrise, but you could see enough with the dewy shine coming in through the sheer curtains. Your underwear is thrown by the end of the bed, and somehow, you still manage enough strength in your legs to drag it up to where you can reach with your hands. Unfortunately, your body is trapped under his weight, half on top of you and half taking every little free space available, and you can’t really move too abruptly or else he’ll wake up and you’ll be forced to face a reality you’re not quite ready to.

You’ll be forced to face Lee Minho.

“Oh come Y/N, are you really back on that dating app?” Sam asks, laughing her guts out over the cup of coffee that has long gone cold. “You didn’t even last the month!”

And she is right– last time you deleted that god forsaken app was three weeks ago, with the promise of taking a break while things at work started to pick up. Cue to now, 21 days later and counting, and you are back on it, swiping left and right whenever you feel the odd tingle of boredom creeping in. It’s an easy distraction, is what you always say; the amount of men in that app giving you a bit of a power high at the opportunity for choice, but the conversations bringing you way back down to the sad reality of the dating world. In between ghosting people and being ghosted, finding ‘the perfect match’ is impossible. For those that claim that they found true love on such places, you simple smile and nod– there is no point in debating your beliefs on modern if they are living their own happy ending. All you can do then is bubble a little in your jealousy, pretending is not big deal.

“Let me see your profile,” Sam is one of your closest friends, and definitely your biggest enabler. “Are you still using that photo of you I like? The one in the red shirt with– yes, you are, amazing.” Her feedback is overall positive, from the pictures, to the prompts, to the profiles of the people you matched with. “Oh! Miss dating app has 23 new likes! Let’s check them out, I’ll swipe– no. No, no, no, no way… right? No way!”

You are not sure what she’s talking about until you catch a glimpse of your phone in her hand. And there he is, that same photo you had swiped right on two years ago. Black and white– a dramatic flair, you’re sure– with him in the centre, smirking in a way that it seems almost taunting. It’s like he hasn’t changed at all, like time stopped when it came to him, and you can’t help but gasp in shock. Your hands are trembling when you grab the phone from your friend, bringing it closer to you in a way that very much so said you didn’t believe your eyes. “Holy shit.”

Two years. “Holy fucking shit.”

Two years without talking to each other. Without seeing each other. Without texting. “Holy shit, it’s Lee Minho.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You mutter like a crazy woman, and it gets on his nerves. It would get on his nerves, that is, if he was awake. Minho likes to tease you; he likes to push you away only to make the pull that much more appealing. And you fall for it, every single time, no matter how many times before you promise you won’t.

The routine is the same, as if you two are following a script. You get to his place– he never have and never will step foot into you apartment– and you text him. It feels oddly detached to ring his doorbell and announce your arrival, so a message is more than enough. The first thing he does is basically roast you for being unable to open his door, and really, who is he kidding? That old thing is so stuck in place you’re a bit surprised he’s able to have guests over. You try to tell him so, but he just clicks his tongue in that condescending way that makes your eyes roll as you follow him inside.

As always, the apartment is impeccable. He might be many things, really, with annoying being one of them, but the man is neat. The floor is clean, the lighting is perfect, the music in the background washes over you like calming waves trying to still your racing heart. Minho has this power over you, making you nervous in a way that no other man ever has, even if this is not your first encounter… by far. But you don’t show. Actually, you refuse to show, purposefully acting a bit too nonchalant about being there at all, loving how you can see it ticking him off by the second.

But before that– before the flirting, before the fucking, before the sneaking around with your underwear in your hands, there was the game. And boy, did you hate playing that fucking game.

Hey :D

What do you want, Minho?

What do I want?

I don’t know! I have a lot of things to say sorry for! :)

So… sorry! I acted like an immature dick back then.

I had other reasons to behave the way I did, but I don’t want to use them as excuses and just wanted to apologize

Apologize? You want to apologize after two years… on a dating app?

Well, okay… Uh, thank you, I guess? You did act like an immature asshole and I appreciate your apology.

But you do have my number, so I’m a bit confused as to why you just didn’t text me?

I do have your number, but… sometimes all we need is a push, you know?

I got this app yesterday and you were literally the third profile that showed up. Seeing your face again felt like a punch to the gut haha

And I thought I’d just say that if I could go back and do it all over again, I’d be better. For you. You were never anything but nice and understanding, and I should’ve treated you better.

So if you ever feel like… trying again… I’d love to give it a shot.

Are you serious, right now?

With all due respect, Minho, you gave me no reason to want to try and give it a shot. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the apology and I hope you are good and happy, but there is no way in hell that I’d ‘try again.’

Just thinking of the messages has you cringing. It was probably the stupidest thing you’ve convinced yourself of– the fact that you wouldn’t fall for his pretty words. It’s like he has a way with them that truly makes you wonder if he’s in the wrong profession. You tell him that, too, saying he should have been a poet or a fiction writer; the pictures he paints to you with his words do look better in your head, after all.

It takes him five days to get into your head… by literally doing nothing. After the conversation dies, with many more attempts of ‘let’s try again’ and empty ‘I miss you’s, you feel like you’re on a runner’s high. You feel like you’re on top, like you’re the winner of this stupid game you two always end up playing. But then he doesn’t text again. No ‘good morning’ or ‘how are you?’. No ‘thinking of you’ and definitely no begging for you wonderful, amazing presence to be back in his life. Now, it’s a little foolish to believe he’d ever do any of those– not even when you two were actually dating, two years ago, did he do that, so why now? What’s different now?

Well, to start, you. You are different, and he knows it. You’re grown now, more mature than you were. You are smarter, too, despite falling for the same words you feel for before. And now, you want different things too– no more silly ideas of a perfect relationship; no more giving your heart away in a whim, no more letting him handle you like a little stupid toy, no more wanting to call him when things get tough. All you want now– more like all you need, really– is some relief. Things have been hard… and that is putting it lightly. Work is hell, the winter is harsh, and life is just… a mess. So yes, safe to say you are desperate for some sort of soothing relief, looking to ease that growing tension on your shoulders.

Hence the dating app.

Going on dates is harder than you remember, when you begin again, but you simply amount the exhaustion to work and push yourself to get past your door, and out onto the street. It’s like you have a schedule for your free time as well as one for work– Hyojoon Friday night at the bar, Juyeon Saturday afternoon for lunch, Mark Sunday evening for an early dinner, and the list goes on and on and on. A few are first dates only– actually most of them are– but the ones that make it to a second or even a third date remain as that. A second or a third. As bad as it is to say, none seem to excite you as much as Minho did. Some are boring, and those are, oddly enough, the ones you try to stick to the most. If they are boring, you think, they won’t surprise you with any hurtful realisations of how you are not enough, or how they are better alone, or how they ‘can have some fun, but otherwise, just don’t have time.’

And it’s one of these boring ones, the ones you want to work so badly, that is the last drop in your very, very full bucket.

“And what do you think of climate change?”

You try so badly to ignore the itch in your hand, making you want to grab your phone and check that useless app again. You have your notifications off as a way to not allow an obsessions to arise but it’s futile and, honestly, quite naive to believe you’re not going to overthink every little thing that man said; and so you check, again and again, to make sure you don’t miss a message you know it’s not coming. It has been two days since he sent you anything and yet, you still check, and check, and check. The funny thing is that you meet Jeongin on the same app that Minho reached you on, but unlike Minho, your first date with Jeongin is one that you count the seconds to end.

“Climate change?” You repeat, eyes wide a bit in surprise. There is a smile on your lips, stiff and so well trained that, at this point, you don’t think it’s even believable. “I worry about it, of course.”

“But you eat meat?” He asks. The glint in his eyes tell you that he finds amusement in caging you against a wall. “That’s not very environmentally conscious.”

“No, I suppose it’s not.”

The close-lipped smile and the way your eyes discreetly check your wrist watch should have been enough, but he still manages to drag you to a coffee shop, running from the rain that poured all over you two as you marched out of the park. Tomorrow is a Monday and you have a presentation to prepare for, but still, he ignores you. And talks, and talks, and talks. By the time you make it home, you barely have any energy left to re-read your slides before passing out in the couch.

Date two isn’t much better, but at least it is a nice day and there are some musicians out playing in the park to keep you entertained as you two sit in complete silence. He’s not a chatty one, and you’re kind of tired of putting so much effort in and getting nothing back, so when you get home after that, you promise to not go out with him again. It’s a bit of an ego trip, how much he tries to contact you for a date you’ll know he’ll silently through, but you keep up with your dedication to your peace of mind. It’s not that deep, once you think about it. All this guy knows about you is the basic stuff– what you work with and how busy it keeps you. You take ages to respond to his message, and yet he still tries, and, at one point, he tries too hard.

It’s more the joke he makes than anything. You are mid report writing when you get a notification about an Instagram account trying to send you a message.

Hey Y/N, found you.

Who is this?

Kai!

Oh! Hi :) hahah how did you find me?

Took me hours lol

After that you just tell him that you’re not really ready to date and that you’re too busy, but it was lovely meeting him. After that, you get scared, and tired, and defeated. It’s like no matter what you did, you still couldn’t feel safe. No matter how many times you went out with them, how many chats over coffee you had, how many slightly intrusive questions you asked… it was never enough. It was still strange and new and unfamiliar and, quite sadly, unsafe. The slight touches have you flinching and the hungry looks make your curl inwards. Dating is hard for you, mainly because you’re not adventurous or fearless, quite the contrary– you are very, and with all the right, paranoid.

So when you text Minho, on your way home, regretting every words typed, you know that despite breaking your heart and acting like a class A idiot, he is, and will always be, familiar.

Familiar. Yes, Minho was familiar— everything about this situation was fucking familiar. The way that you hurriedly got dressed, the way that you walked on your tippy toes in hopes to make less noise, the way that, when you did make noise, you flinched, looking at the door in panic. Waking him up is not an option. Throughout the night, multiple times he tells you about how busy he is; how he has to write a speech for work, and how he has to present in front of a very important crowd, and how he is oh so nervous to do what he always does. And multiple times through the night, you nod and smile and say that ‘everything will be okay’, even if you don’t quite know what you are nodding and smiling about.

Is it because you’re there with him? No, that’s not it. There was a time Minho made you happy; a time in which the aftertaste of him lingered in your lips and you smiled, wide and unabashedly, every time your tongue poked out to lick your lips. A time in which the smell of his cologne that clung to your sweater would make you blush at the memories of limbs intertwined on the couch and whispered words floating in the air. Yes, there was a time in which Lee Minho made you happy. But that time is now long gone.

“Why are you here, then?”

And isn’t that the question of the hour? Why are you there? On his couch, laughing with a cup of wine in hand, retorting every little quip he throws your way. There are quite a lot of them– Minho is a man that likes being right, he likes being on top… in all facets of life. Winning, for him, is extremely important, and you wonder just how much he’s willing to sacrifice for that first place position in a competition with no one else but himself.

Actually, you know how much he’s willing to sacrifice. You know it very well. “I was bored,” You shrug, taking a sip of your glass. “And horny.” It’s no secret why you’re there. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. You know he’s trying to get a rise out of you, as he always does– something about how cute you look when you’re all flustered and annoyed– and you wonder if he knows how cuter you can get when you’re excited and driven. You wonder if he knows how much you can talk about something you love, instead of having to talk about something irrelevant. You wonder if he knows you at all and it’s quite depressing to even question that, chuckling to yourself at the thought.

Of course he doesn’t.

In some odd self-defense against yourself, trying to ease the admonishing conscientious voice in your head, you tell yourself that his laughter is nice. It’s quite loud and free and his shoulder wiggle in amusement, and you like when he laughs. The same way you like when Sam laughs, or when your flatmate laughs, or when your work teammate laughs… the same way you like when anyone you care for or about laughs. And this is not news to you, you’ve always known you care for Minho. His opinion matters to you, and his words, as fake as they can be, still get to you. You might be blinded by youthful impulses and thoughts of immediate satisfaction, but you are definitely not an idiot– you see reality, but you wilfully ignore it for a few hours or so. Minho allows you to do that, and it’s quite a relief to allow yourself to do it, too.

The moment he sits next to you is impactful. The air stills, and it’s more out of expectation than anything else– will he make a move now? Later? There is no dance in between the two of you, as ironic as that sounds, but more of a game of who can surprise who. He enjoys the moment he touches you first, you know he does; it’s the smirk on his lips that gives him away. He adores tugging you closer, even if it ends up with you two crampled up in awkward positions on his couch. And he lives for the moment of the first kiss of the night.

It starts like it always does– a simple touch of lips, a bit of space for reassurance, because Minho is many things, but he is not forceful; and then the lunge. You smile everytime he does it and maybe you’re at fault for how smug he looks about it, but it doesn’t really matter. You like the lunge, you love it, even; it appeals to something inside of you, a need to be needed, to be wanted, that has you putty in his hands with one single move.

There is time.

You convince yourself that you still have time, and that maybe rushing around the empty apartment at 7 in the morning is not needed. Minho sleeps like a log, and unless you break something, he’s not waking up. And even if you break something, he might not wake up… or he might just not care. The later hurts a little, but you’re used to being hurt by him and you accept that you have no one else to blame but yourself… after all, you’re the one that told him you wanted something like this– casual, noncommital, stress free.

All in all, the plan is supposed to be fail proof. It’s that youthful impulsive behaviour, you see, and you are quite embarrassed to admit it, but you are not, in your core, a casual person. You are not noncommital and stress free. If anything, you are probably the most commital and stressed person you know, dedicating a full 110% of yourself to everything you do. It’s why you are always so tired, so burnt out… it’s why you avoid, with everything you have, debates and discussions. You just don’t have the energy to do all that anymore. You are still young, but you’re not stupid, anymore, and that’s what changed.

Sitting on the couch as you pull your sweater down, you sigh. “What the fuck am I doing?” It’s laughable, the amount of times you sat on that couch and asked yourself that exact question. Your friends don’t even want to hear about this anymore; they get annoyed, with you, with the situation, with him, and it’s always the same. 'You’re too good for him' or 'he doesn’t deserve you.' They are not wrong, but there’s only so many times you can try to tell them that you know that. You know; you know better than they ever will, and as much as you embrace their annoyance as love, you’re annoyed too. You want to vent too. You want to laugh about stupid shit Minho does too. You want to make all the mistakes you just weren’t allowed to make when you were supposed to make them, and he is definitely one of them. You want to not have to think about everything al the time, to be right all the time, to make the smart choice all the time. You want to simply not think all the time, and better than anyone else, Minho lets you not do that.

“Arms up.”

It is easy to ignore the bossy tone of his voice when his mouth is working on your neck, kissing, licking, biting. It feels good– it always feels good and, sometimes, it feels too good. Right now, however, it just… feels good. Feels peaceful and serene. It’s like time doesn’t matter when you’re kissing him, like all you have to do is follow his lead and not think and you love that. You love that feeling, even if you don’t love him. “Good girl,” He whispers, smiling as he pulls your sweater over your head.

It’s cold outside. Really cold, actually, and you shiver the moment the air hits your skin, goosebumps littering your arms as you shiver. Minho is on it, though, warm hands touching you all over, spreading a path of fire through your back and stomach and arms and breasts. “Cold?” He asks, and it’s a stupid questions, but it makes you giggle. These are the moments that are okay to pretend… okay to pretend he cares, with his hands tracing patterns all over until your bra goes missing, your pants are open, and his fingers are slowly brushing against your wet underwear. With his voice, mellow and soft, whispering sweet nothings and everythings against your ear, calling you all the names he knows you like to hear. With his restrain, cock hard against his jeans but not rushing or pushing until he knows you’re good and ready for him.

The thing about his house is that, as much as his living room is this sea of mood lighting and comfort, his windows run from the floor to the ceiling. You dream of the day you’d be brave enough to fuck him right there, on the same couch you two always start but never end– but right across the street is a bar, filled to brim every night you’re there, almost as if he had invited a crowd to watch you crumble at his fingertips. “Room,” You gasp, air being knocked out of your lungs just as his fingers tug your underwear to the side, teasing your entrance while playing with your clit. It’s amazing, how he moves his hand in the little space your pants allow him to, but with every push and pull of his fingers inside you, you gasp. Minho knows your body just like you know his– he knows what you like and it just so happens, he likes it too. Likes seeing you like that, breathless and limp; likes kissing you as you moan his name, wiggling on his lap as you make out on his couch. Likes when you beg him, to go to the room, to speed it up, to make you cum. He likes being in power, you assume, as much as he might not like you.

“You wanna go to the room?” He chuckled, speeding up his movements in a way that has you too distracted to event think. “Not a fan of exihibitionism, are you?” You would have laughed if that wasn’t the exact moment he chooses to pull his hand out, fingers dragging up, up, up to your clit for a little tease. A taste of what you can you have if you just let him work. “Come on, let’s go.” But before he can even take a step towards the familiar room, you tug him by the collar for a kiss, filthy and wet, and you basically rip his shirt off of his body. He is soft and hard at the same time, pun intended. For a man, he takes a lot of care of himself, and you envy the clear and soft skin of his chest, feeling self conscious about the blemishes you know you have. It’s an anxious impulse to pick at your arms, and it’s times like these that makes you cuss are your longish nails.

You forget all about it when he moans at the feeling of those same nails scratching down his chest, stopping just below his bellybutton. These moments are rare, you never have a chance to have some resemblance of control in how things unfold between you two, but something about it makes your eyes twinkle… and you want more. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re so hot.” And you are– you feel like you are and that’s all that matters as you pop the button open, making space for your hand to slide down, under pants and underwear, to grab a hold of him. “Oh…”

There’s a draft coming from the room, where he insists on sleeping with the window upen as snow covers the entire street outside in white, and you shiver almost the same way you did last night. Except this time, you don’t have his sweaty, overheated body on top of yours, and it’s not as pleasant anymore. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on that couch, but you do know it’s time to get up and go. At one point or another, Minho will notice the empty space next to him in bed, and you don’t wish to be there to find out if he cares enough to come look for you or not.

You grab your jacket as if it’s made of glass. He hangs them neatly at the front door, which is right next to the room entrance, and you are scared to even step on his wooden floors. If the wood gives you away, then you are not sure you’ll have the guts to face him again. Usually, when you leave like this, doing the classic Irish goodbye and disappearing for a couple of weeks or so until someone falters. To be fair, so far, t’s an equal score. You wonder if there is an unspoken agreement between you two that dictates whose turn is it to text first… last night, it had been him.

“Fuck!” You moan, and just like before, you wiggle in place in a silent plea. Sometimes, in your opinion, Minho takes too long with his teasing, but you know it’s on purpose. Like how he is right now, brushing the tip of his dick between your folds. If it wasn’t for the condom, you’d feel the way he leaks in excitement. But alas, that’s one level of intimacy you are not, and never will be, ready to have with him. Someone, maybe, just not… him. You will never give yourself that fully to Lee Minho, because you did, once upon a time two years ago, and it was a struggle to get yourself back. “Minho, please, please just– oh my god…”

He’s a calculated lover. He knows just when to push and pull, and just then, as you beg and buckle your hips into him, hoping to feel that delicious, burning stretch of him, he pushes. Despite everything, you don’t quite like feeding his ego, and so you try and hold back the whimper that threatens to escape.

The build up of sex with Minho is slow. He pauses, moaning into your neck as he gives you a couple of seconds to get used to the feeling of him. “Y/N, fuck,” He whispers, moving to give you a bruising kiss and that’s when you know your time is done. The way he pulls back and pushes in again, and again, and again starts to build up inside of you, making you throw your head back into the pillow, fingers sinking into his back. You enjoy keeping him close, knees pushed up to his hips trying to feel him deeper, harder. You like the way he picks up the pace little by little, hipbones harsh in how they snap against yours, letting you know you’d be sore for next day with the echoes of his skin on yours. “Minho!” You moan, feeling his harsh breathing on your cheeks. A shiver runs up your spine when he fucks you harder, mouth everywhere until he finds bliss sucking marks on your chest. “Fuck, baby, please, please, please–” At this point, you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just wanting to feel that tension in your stomach explode and tingle everywhere, blanking you out from existence.

It’s not an easy job, making you cum, but he never fails to impress you with how determined he is. Not that he has ever been successful, but as you explained before, it’s not about the destination, but the journey. Sometimes, you think the reason why he keeps calling you back is the fact that you are a challenge. Sure, he had made you cum with his mouth before, those sinful lips wrapping around your most sensitive part as sucking like he was trying to drink you fully. Or those hands– long fingers drawing an orgasm out of you as if he was simply beckoning you to come closer and closer to him. But cumming from his dick, as much as your mind loved the fantasy, is hard. It’s more of a you thing than a him thing, but he is relentless in his mission. He pushes away from you, as much as your grabby hands try to keep him in place, and raises to his full glory, standing on his knees while holding your hips up to match his erratic rhythm. “So tight… feels so fucking good,” He groans, bringing one leg over his shoulder and you can’t handle it anymore. It’s odd, feeling this good yet feeling pain at the same time. Your leg is cramping up, and your hands are holding onto the bedsheets so tightly you might just crack your fingers out of place, and your core… god, your core is on fire.

“Minho, please, just– oh my– cum, please baby,” Your twisting your whole body in a sensation that is foreign to you, and for a moment, everything stops. This is the first time you know it’s coming… you feel it, so close yet so far, and just as you’re about to tip over the edge, that euphoric sensation starting to spread in advance as your stomach coiled tighter and tighter as he pounded into you harder and harder… until he groans, impossibly loud, and his hips slow down to a stop. “You have got to be kidding me.”

What comes after is not that important– mainly because it’s not you, even as he slides his body down the bed, throwing your legs on his shoulders to get to work. If there is one thing Minho excels at, besides driving you absolutely nuts, is coaching you to the brink. It’s a shame, really, that you panic early, never letting him push you off the edge and make you cum so hard you scream his name in that high-pitched tone he loves teasing you about.

It’s a hard relationship you have with yourself, really. On one hand, that’s the only reason you’re there, the sex, the panting, the hours that pass by and you don’t even notice. But then, on the other hand, as much as you chase that orgasmic feeling like a madwoman, you don’t want it to end. No the sex, no– sometimes, all you want is for it to end, because you’re close, so so close to cumming that you might just ruin it all.

You don’t want to lose.

If you cum, you lose. It’s a sick game, and you’re playing it with no one else besides you, but you refuse to lose. This time, you’re on fucking top.

This time, if anyone is getting heartbroken, is him. If anyone is ending up on the floor crying, it’s him. If anyone is desperate for answers, it’s him.

This time, if anyone is losing, it’s fucking Lee Minho.

“Leaving early again.”

Chuckling, you don’t really acknowledge him yet, finishing tying your boots and wrapping your scarf around your neck, your chin, your face. You cover everything his eyes trace, smirking under the soft fabric and enjoying how it brushes over your lips so gently… he’s never that gentle with you, so it’s a welcoming contrast, your inanimate scarf to Minho.

It’s cold out, cold enough for the little skin you have on show to numb. With every step you take away from him, you numb. With every goodbye wave, every nonchalant glance, every uncaring smile– you’re numb to the point of feeling like you’re hypothermic. The cold, you find, opening his front door, only brings you back to a state of being you’re awfully too familiar with.

“What can I say,” You shrug, refusing to admit the defeat that is when he simply leans against the wall, smirking as if he knows what you’re going to say next. “I have nothing else to do here.” And with that, you step out, ignoring the pang in your stomach when the door actually slams shut behind you.

You can’t lost, you remind yourself one more time, marching to the subway station just a block away.

You can’t lose because if you lose, you lose him. And if you lose him, you’re numb forever.

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Hi lovelies!!! Oh my god, this one was a wild ride >.< I hope you guys enjoy it, my little heart needed to write this as a venting session haha

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