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thecheckeredchaser · 1 month

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An assistant takes notice of her bosses gain and sees the perfect opportunity to let him know she appreciates his changing body.

Insured Gains

Chapter 1- Jake Andrews

Alexis dutifully updated Mr. Andrews’ schedule, with the fuel of a perfect temp cup of tea. Tuesday: investors briefing all day. Wednesday: 10:30 meeting with Cedar Pines Realtors. Friday: 8:00 Divorce Attorney. “Happy Friday,” she muttered. She got up from her desk and peeked into the window, through the large “Andrews and Gibbs'' gold frosted lettering. He did not appear to be on a call. She lightly peeked the door open and stuck her head in.

“Come in,” Mr. Andrews called.

Alexis had been working at A&G Insurance for 5 months, just one month shy of the probationary period. She had just recently been promoted to assistant, after the last was fired for stealing time. She felt incredibly lucky to have gotten the assistant job, as it seemed to be an absolute heist to go in and take care of random stuff for an insurance executive. When she thought of the amount of money being transferred in and out of the building, it seemed criminal that she was getting a slice. And not a bad one. She wasn’t really doing much with her English degree, but it got her a seat at the table. It was her best job yet. Not to mention she was ridiculously attracted to Jake Andrews. In fact, she'd probably work more hours for nothing at all, if it meant more time with him.

“Hello Mr. Andrews,” she said brightly. He smiled at her, relaxed. She could melt onto the carpet. “I was wondering if you were using your schedule book. I could quickly copy it in. I know you like it in both places.”

“Oh, that would be great Alexis.” He grabbed the moleskin book and handed it to her from across the table. She savored the smell of his cologne and fought to repress the fantasies that called to her. His thumb brushed against her hand in the pass, and she saw a sudden shift in his expression, as if he felt the same jolt. Alexis had been conducting a case study on Mr. Andrews since her first day. She was his assistant. That was essentially what it was all about. He was very laid back and hardly made a move that wasn’t calculated. That flash on his face was new. He cleared his throat. “I do love the way you write everything out. I appreciate the Google Calendar, but” he began.

“You like both,” she said, knowing what he would say.

“You know,” he said smiling. She hurried out to copy the schedule so she could hurry back in. She took her time to make everything look absolutely perfect and clean, exactly how he liked it.

She was 26 and knew Jake was at least 40 years old. Considering he was an executive and she worked directly under him, she understood that it was a guarantee to be disappointed to even dream about him. It simply couldn't happen. And yet. It was not possible for her to refrain from thinking inappropriately about her boss every other thought.

Mr. Andrews had the kind of hair you wanted to get your rings caught in, his curls succulent and neat. Shaved shorter on the sides, accentuating the hint of salt and pepper creeping up. He was broad shouldered and at 6”2 was an imposing presence in any room. He had played sports every season in high school and a little in college, but had since developed a soft coating on his sides and middle. Alexis, strictly as part of her case study, had noticed Mr. Andrews was coming back from the weekends a little thicker each Monday. It was subtle, but she couldn’t help but think he was coping with his divorce with binging on the weekend. Alexis had already noticed an increase in requests from him to get snacks during the day, and he didn’t want snacks she could get at the machines in the building. She had to drive to his favorite café 5 minutes away, or to the deli on Wetmore. He had a few spots. This was of course on top of and separate from the lunch she got for him daily, as long as he wasn’t at a luncheon with a client. Their company loved to take clients out to lunches. Alexis loved to see Jake come back, having clearly overeaten at the lunch, attempting to carry on his business as if he had no regrets. She would pop in extra, coming up with petty excuses just to catch him rubbing his belly under his desk.

She had a nagging fear that he was not into her at all. She had been alone with him enough where he could clearly have made any kind of advance. She tried to remind herself that coming from him would be considered wildly inappropriate, and he was not that kind of man. He took his job very seriously. He could laugh and joke, but at the end of the day he was going to be excellent and you better too if you're associated with him.

Alexis was fairly confident that most men would find her body attractive. She was fit, but busty and had a tight and plump butt. She supposed he could be absolutely not into redheads, but she doubted that. She certainly got attention from other males in the office, and she went out of her way to dress semi-modestly. There were certain outfits that her body couldn’t help but make sexy. She supposed her eyebrow ring could be off putting, but was also never getting rid of it.

She waited until she saw him hang up the phone again, then waited 45 seconds, before returning the schedule book. She slipped into his office and mock tiptoed to his desk. “You do not have to tip toe,” he said, chuckling.

“How did the morning treat you Mr. Andrews?” Alexis asked, putting the book on the corner of his desk gently.

“Can we skip to the part where you call me Jake. I’m getting a little ‘Mr. Andrewsed’ out these days.” He looked a little extra tired that day. "And thank you," he said earnestly, bringing the book over and looking over her work approvingly. "All this talk with the lawyers, you know."

“Absolutely Jake,” she said, trying it out. He smirked and looked up at her. She waded in the blue green sea that was his eyes for a few seconds before she was blushing. She noticed the clock behind him, and it was almost 1 o’clock. He had not given her any lunch request yet. “Was there anything you needed me to get you for lunch?” She offered. He looked down at his own fancy watch and seemed genuinely surprised.

“Well! I didn’t realize it was that late. I guess I am pretty hungry.” He sent her with the business card to pick him up some Chinese food. She was absolutely giddy because he offered her to join him for lunch. He instructed her to order a few specific things, but gave her freedom to get anything she had wanted. She wondered if he was inviting her to spend more time with her, or if he was compensating for having her wait until this late for lunch. She could technically eat whenever, but it was generally understood that she took lunch when he did. She typically ate at her desk, as she preferred to work and eat, instead of sitting in the breakroom with the interns. She would get to have lunch in the meeting room if she was taking minutes, but that was not even close to one-on-one time with Jake. She really hoped this was not an ambush working lunch where he had to complete a task by a deadline. He had only done this to her twice, and had been very apologetic each time. Truthfully, she did not mind either of those times, because she was able to sit around in Jake’s office until near 10 pm. He had taken his tie off, which she found very hot. But if she was to have it her way, it would be a very friendly and not work related lunch.

She returned with the food and walked through the lobby toward the big elevator. She smiled at Gina, the front desk secretary, who responded with a smirk. She was close in age to herself, and they would chat and gossip from time to time. Alexis stopped, smiling more nervously. "Everything okay, Gina?"

"Oh yea Lex. I just can't help but notice you almost exclusively come in through that door with food. Who are you working for again? Gibbs?" She chuckled. This was most likely a joke as Mr. Gibbs was quite healthy even if he was pushing 60. She blushed.

"You know I work for Jake."

"Are you gonna tell him he needs to slow down on the junk, or should I? He and I love our friendly exchanges, but I might have to stop. He's getting way too fat." Gina shook her head in disbelief. Alexis felt a little annoyed by her. Most primarily because she was fat shaming her gorgeously thickening boss, but also insinuated that she was flirting with him. And maybe he was flirting back?

"It's not really either of our place, Gina," she said matter of factly. Alexis shrugged her shoulders, said bye, and made her way to Jake's office.

Mr. Andrews greeted her with a smile. She brought the food in and set it on the corner of his desk. He immediately began taking items out, slipping a golden crab rangoon in his mouth while he did so. He passed her her order of chicken and broccoli and questioned a few other items. "Yours too?" He asked.

"I thought some bonus sides would be nice to split. Do you like gyoza?" She asked, pulling the chair on the other side of the desk closer.

"I like everything," he chuckled. They began eating, having light and friendly conversation. Alexis slowly grazed, while it seemed like Jake was powering through his lunch. He didn't seem rushed, but as if he was completely used to eating quickly. He was enjoying the bonus sides too, which made Alexis feel extra warm inside.

They talked about movies and interests. Jake was very much into football, American and what the rest of the world considered football. He expressed that he had been an even better soccer player than a football player in school. But in college soccer was the first sport he dropped. "It was constant running," he complained. "After my freshman and sophomore 25, I was too out of shape," he said, a hint of disappointment coming through. "I thought I'd be in shape the rest of my life. Pretty silly, huh?"

"I think everyone's "in shape" is temporary."

"That's a comforting thought. Your genes are still going strong," he said, blushing at the compliment he let slip out. Alexis blushed too. He did notice her in that way.

"I just try to eat clean and stay active."

"Probably don't eat take out everyday or spend as much time sitting as I do. I really should make some changes." Alexis did not want their first casual lunch to divulge into Jake's "time to get in shape" epiphany. Not before she had a chance to make her feelings known.

"Mr. Andr- sorry, Jake. It's not a crime to have some meat on your bones."

"Tell my soon-to-be ex wife that. She missed that class. Just one of our many issues." He scraped the bottom of the container for its last morsels.

"There are plenty of women who are unphased by a little extra weight," Alexis said, hoping not to give too much away.

"A little sure. These days I've got a lot." Alexis' face went hot, and Jake seemed to notice. "You don't want to listen to me complain about my problems with food. I'm sorry. It's been on my mind so much lately." He finally put his fork down, with an absent minded groan. He had finished his order of boneless spare ribs and fried rice, two egg rolls, an order of wonton soup, and most of the dumplings and crab rangoon. "I think it completely slipped my mind in the past hour. I'm stuffed." He put a hand to his belly, and stifled a belch with his fist.

"It's a really good place. I'll be sure to keep it on the list," she offered. She didn't want to push her luck or give any reason to not invite her again. "Did we not get the chinese donuts? They are my favorite." Jake inspected the bag again and pulled out a wax paper package with 4 sugary dough balls inside. He went to hand them all to her, but she took one from the bag.

"To share," she said. He didn't need any encouragement from her. He put two away before she could finish her one. She saw him look longingly at the last and willingly offered it to him. He accepted, though seemed a little ashamed to have taken most of her favorite thing.

"Those are dangerous," he said. He finished his can of coke and became that exact shade of red when a huge burp escaped him. "Excuse me! I'm so embarrassed." He looked at Alexis very apologetically.

"Don't be," was all she could muster. She was trying not to play the scene over and over in her head.

"I appreciate you being so kind and for joining me. I didn't realize how lonely lunch in the office had been getting. I do apologize for making myself out to be such a glutton. I'm working on it." She caught a glimpse of his bloated gut pushing the buttons on his blue shirt tight. She wondered how it would feel the touch it. She wanted to be close to his scent, and pressed completely to his skin. She wanted to be all over his stuffed belly. She had to actively pull herself from her thoughts.

"Jake I'd be more than happy to join you again. You are fabulous lunching company."

"You are welcome to join anytime I'm in the office. Might be nice to get to know each other better." He smiled a bit dreamily at her. "Professionally," he stammered out, off balance. Alexis felt she had to disarm any and all mental blocks Jake had to being interested in her.

"I mean, isn’t a personal assistant a bit more personal than professional Jake," she said, a hint of suggestion in her voice. He swallowed hard.

"You probably have a point. Well I do have to run to a meeting with Gibbs." She gave a knowing look. "Of course you know. It's a Monday. Thank you again for your company." He had a steady appointment to meet with Gibbs every Monday around 2:30.

He grabbed his laptop and hurried out of the office. Alexis began to gather the food trash, and turned to see him as the elevator doors closed. He looked very deep in thought and very full, his jacket hanging open, and his belly pushing forward. All the food had been eaten, to Alexis’ delight. She was happy he wasn’t put off by the amount she had purchased. He had only asked for the crab rangoon and his meal. He just happened to be offered most of the other 3 items she ordered. She remembered how he had taken the teriyaki chicken from the skewer and pushed the whole piece in his mouth, nothing short of moaning at its flavor and tenderness. His plump lips smacked as he licked them. She encouraged him to have another and assured him she only wanted one. She giggled at the memory and the fact that he was surprised how stuffed he had gotten. She had watched it all unfold before her.

She tried to refocus on one of her tasks at her desk. She responded to a couple of emails, and after about 20 minutes, she had gotten one from Jake himself.

"Alexis,

Please bring me the ledger documents in the black folder on my desk. ASAP.

Thank you!"

She jumped right up, grabbed the folder, and headed up to Gibbs' office. She was excited to see him again and moved as quickly as she could. She tried to steady her breathing while she waited on the elevator. She went directly to the meeting room and knocked before going in.

"Good afternoon Mr. Gibbs," she cordially greeted her boss' business partner. She handed Jake the folder, instantly eyeing the half eaten cupcake and the wrapping paper of a cupcake long gone, all while he watched her chest that was still heaving lightly. He maintained his composure, no doubt due to the presence of his colleague. "Mr. Andrews," she said.

"Thank you Alexis."

"Please take a cupcake. They were for…," Gibbs paused, forgetting, looking at Jake for assistance. He snapped his fingers in an attempt to summon the thought.

"Daniel in accounting," Jake said, proud to remember.

"Ah yes. Daniel! But please help yourself. Andrews clearly couldn't help himself." He laughed heartily at Jake's expense.

"I would love one," she said taking one, not wanting to comment on Jake's indulgence, primarily in fear she would say something revealing. Like, "You don't get to be the big boss by saying no to a cupcake", or "He probably just wanted to top his lunch off with something sweet." She then remembered he had finished lunch with the chinese donuts. She turned and left, giving one last smile to them both, lingering microscopically with her boss.

She went back to her desk and got back to work. Jake returned around 4 and stopped at her desk. She looked up at him pleasantly. "Thanks so much for running that up. I had it right there." He noticed her giving him a funny look. "What," he said self consciously.

"You have chocolate frosting on your mouth," she said, motioning to the corner of her own mouth. He popped his finger in his mouth and rubbed at the corner, popping the finger back in.

"You try to have a secret elevator treat," he joked. Alexis reflected on how it wasn't that long of a ride and began envisioning him scarfing down the cupcake to conceal his weakness to the dessert.

"They were pretty great," she said positively. His eyes washed over her and she squirmed under his gaze.

"You are incredibly kind and accepting. I feel like I've been utterly out of control all day with bad eating, and you have not only looked the other way, but gave me assurance. I appreciate that. But please don't feel like you have to be so nice, just because I'm your boss or anything. My behavior today was outlandish."

Even when expressing deep embarrassment, he came off as self assured and strong. Alexis didn't know what the right thing to say was. She pulled her hair behind her ear and cleared her throat.

"Jake, I appreciate your vulnerability. I am certainly not being pressured to be any way because of your position." She paused, before continuing. "And I just wasn't bothered by your behavior. You don’t have to be so self conscious in front of me." He looked at her, not looking sure. She looked into his eyes and felt herself melt. "And honestly, I find it kind of cute," she said, absolutely not intending to. She pursed her lips in surprise. Jake stared back at her perplexed, but also a light shade of red.

"Cute," he stated doubtfully.

"I'm so sorry. That was not appropriate," she said, lowering her head.

"Don't worry about it. I haven't had a weird compliment in a while. I think its clear you didn't mean to say that." Though Alexis agreed, she sensed he had resolved that she didn't mean what she said, which was woefully incorrect. She just nodded. "Well I'm going to head out. Want to walk out together?" She smiled, the awkward moment dissipating quickly. He grabbed his shoulder bag and waited for Alexis to shut down her computer.

They chatted to the elevator and in the brief pause, as the elevator made its way to them from the ground floor, Jake looked over at her interestingly.

"Cute," he chuckled.

"What?" She questioned.

"Don't ask me. That's what you said," he retorted smugly, stepping out the way for her to step inside. She rolled her eyes, and they landed on his thick belly. "I suppose you've been stealing glances at me because you find me so cute," he joked. She didn't respond, and he shot her a look. He stopped as they went into the parking garage. "Alexis," he said, stopping. She turned and looked at him."Are you genuinely interested in me?" He asked confused.

"I'm very interested in keeping my job, so I think I should just say goodnight and see ya tomorrow." Jake seemed to be contemplating her response. He looked surprised but landed on a pleased smile.

"I like mine too. Goodnight and see you tomorrow, Alexis," he said, resting his hand on her arm. Her fingers reached up to connect with him too, and were resting on the side of his belly. He shifted slightly but met her eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, and she felt a sudden urge. The next thing she knew, she was leaning into him and putting her lips to his. His lips were still sweet from the cupcakes and absolutely perfect. She heard him make a small moan. She pulled away.

"See you in the morning," she said quickly . She nearly ran to her car. She heard Jake unconsciously mirror the send off back, certainly still wrapped up in the moment. She was half dreading and eagerly awaiting the next day.

Ch 2

#bhm fiction #bhm wg #ffa bhm #chubby fat bhm #wg fiction #embarrasment #long reads #stuffing #stuffed feedee #teasing #burp kink #workplace romance #bhm ffa fic

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

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Choices! Series Part Three: Fair Trade - Nestor Oceteva x Reader (feat: Miguel Galindo)

Warnings: Brief mention of rape

Tagging: @annetje @anime-weeb-4-life @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @annetje @mysoulisasunflower

Part One: First Date (NSFW) - Nester and you have an unusual first date.

Part Two: Familia - (Feat: Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus discovers your relationship.

You’ve never liked Miguel Galindo but then again, you don’t like a lot of your clients. The first job had come as a referral through Marcus. Galindo had been appreciative of your handiwork, there was a skill in it that he admired or so he said. Either way you’d ended up with more assignments. That was the nature of being freelance, make an impression and they remember you.

Today you stood before that swimming pool of his, your gaze on scenery beyond. It really was a beautiful view, the plush greenery in a land that was barren of everything else. It was like an oasis in the middle of a desert. A fucking mirage build on blood and death.

“We don’t usually meet at your home.” You said, turning to face the man in question. “And we don’t usually meet alone.”

He was seated on one of the ornate garden chair, his sunglasses shielding his eyes. His jaw was lined with that stylish, neatly trimmed beard of his, as usual he was immaculately dressed. There was a manilla file in his lap, his manicured fingertips drummed upon the surface of it.

“I thought it was time for a change.” Galindo told you, gesturing for you to take a seat across from him. “I have a proposal.”

“Don’t you always?” You countered before doing as he suggested.

He smiled at you with that easy grin of his, the one that sent women to their knees and commanded the respect of other men. It was predatorial, a rabid wolf, hiding amongst the pack.

“This one is a little different.” He said tossing the file on the table between you.

“Consider my interest piqued.” You said reaching for the folder and flicking it open.

For a moment it felt like the world had stopped, you couldn’t process the image in front of you. The man looked tall in the photograph, taller than you remembered and leaner. The years had given way to a salt and pepper beard and a full head of silver hair. He would have been attractive if you hadn’t heard the rumours of what he was capable of. The watch on his wrist was an Omega, the gold glinted in the light from the sun in whichever country this was taken in. The private mercenary business appeared to pay well.

“He has some intel that I want.” Galindo told you.

“It would be easier to get blood out of a stone.” You told him closing the file and pushing it back towards him. “He won’t talk.”

“Actually he’s willing to trade.” Galindo said removing his sunglasses for the first time since you’d gotten here. “The intel, for you.”

“You planning to hand me over?” You asked him half seriously. Galindo leaned forward his eyes meeting yours as his fingers laced together.

“Yes.”

“Good luck with that Mr Galindo.” You said raising to your feet.

“He looks like his brother, doesn’t he?” He said as you turned your back on him and you froze, because for a moment it all came rushing back.

Those fingers digging into your throat as he raped you, squeezing just enough to let the tiniest molecules of oxygen through your windpipe, enough to keep you conscious, to make sure you felt everything as he stole away your fucking dignity.

The Major was dead but his brother…

He’d been hunting you for years.

“He knows who you are.” Galindo tells you, putting his sunglasses back on against the glare of the light. “It’s only matter of time before he works out where you are and if he does there’s going to be come collateral damage. Marcus, Izzy, maybe even little Tessa. He’ll take away everything you love, just so he can see you bleed.”

There was a threat there, thinly veiled. Everybody was disposable to Galindo even his right-hand man.

“I’ll play the bait.” You tell him. “But I want Marcus there.”

Galindo tilted his head to one side.

“You don’t trust me?”

You meet his gaze; you want him to see the distain in your eyes, the fury of being forced into this position.

“No Mr Galindo, I don’t.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Nestor didn’t understand at first. Miguel had sent him and Marcus out on some bullshit task, something that usually would have been beneath their attention. It’s only when they get back that he realises it’s been a ruse. Miguel wanted Marcus out of the way to talk to you alone. He doesn’t know what’s been said but Nestor sees the change in you. You look desolate as you sit on the couch in the living room with your hands pressed between your knees, like you aren’t there with the rest of them. It scares him to see you like that. To Nestor, you are bright and vivid, a force of nature. The woman he sees now colourless, devoid of emotion, you look like you’re barely living.

It's Miguel that explains the plan, an exchange.

You for the information he seeks.

This is bigger than the rest of you, he reminds Marcus. This is about playing Potter at his own game, getting the boot off the neck of the cartel, helping the resistance in Mexico to flourish. It’s a double cross, as soon as Miguel has the information, they take out the other party. They don’t usually work like this; a man is only as good as his word, but this other organisation is a threat. Nestor hates it but he understands the play, he just doesn’t understand why you’re so effected.

It's Marcus’s reaction to the photograph in the folder that tips him off. A muscle in his cheek tics and his nostrils flare just for a moment before he closes it over and he takes a seat on the couch beside you, his hands clasped together. He’s close enough for you to feel his presence and Nestor watches the discussion from his position behind Miguel. He can’t hear the words that are being said, but he hears the tone of voice. Marcus’s quick snaps of Spanish, and your bereft response. There’s a fire in his eyes as he looks at Miguel.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” He tells the other man.

Miguel’s expression doesn’t change. He simply leans forward, meeting Marcus’s fierce gaze with one of his own.

“I do.” He says resolutely and that seems to infuriate Marcus even more. “And she’s already agreed.”

Love Nestor? Get added to his tag list!

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#nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor mayans #nestor oceteva #nestor #mayans fx #mayans mc #mayans

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ezlebe · 1 year

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I’m not sure what but Tom and Greg trying roleplay?

Tom first catches the man only a few steps into the club, beyond the throng of bodies, while still getting his bearings with the low lights and gentle thumping bass. It’s nothing like lightning or a divine sign, not really, but that he is simply tall, even taller than Tom, dressed in a green button down with slim slacks and looming in a corner near the center of the room over a group at a table. He doesn’t seem to draw any inordinate attention, no overly turned heads or peering whisperers, so not in possession of the room, not like how it should be, if you asked Tom.

He drifts around the floor, a bit, checking out the stage and listening to the music, but he finds soon that the path only leads him to the man. It’s easy to get close without him noticing, quietly loitering against a shadow until he hears the man make an order at the bar; a soft, fumbling tenor asking for a…

A Tom Collins. Evidently.

“Let me get that,” Tom interrupts, swallowing a snort and pulling out his card, before the bartender can take any payment.

The man jerks, glancing over his shoulder with a wide blink. “Oh!” He stares at Tom for a beat, as a grin lights up his face, though he seems to be trying to hide it. “Like, u-uh – really?”

“No problem at all,” Tom says, looking away, toward the bartender, before the smile that he can feel at his own lips gets too unwieldy for the occasional. “I’ll get a whisky and Dr Pepper.”

The bartender quirks a brow. “…Sure, Mr Wambsgans. You two opening a tab?”

“Yeah,” Tom says, looking toward the man at his side with a quick flick of his lashes. “Why not?”

The man ducks his head with a brief hunch, but it appears to be largely a nod, and the soft muscle of his arm up into his shoulders is evident through the shimmery emerald of his button up. He is pretty up close, eyes round and stormy blue, mouth soft and heart-shaped, and altogether perfectly put together just a few inches above Tom.

“So,” Tom says, leaning into the bar at the elbow and tilting his head, hoping it conveys some significance. “What’s your name, my stranger in strange land?”

“Oh, Greg, or, uh – actually, Gregory,” Greg says, sweeping his fingers across his ear, as if he once sported longer hair and hasn’t quite forgotten the habit of brushing it from his face. “Is my name.”

“I’m – ” Tom pauses for a beat, then only barely suppresses an urge to roll his eyes. “Tom.”

“Not Thomas?” Greg asks, brow gently furrowing while offering a tilt of his head.

“No, not Thomas,” Tom says, glancing toward the bartender pouring Greg’s drink from shaker to glass. “Thomas is a dirt farmer Okie suffering from brown plague.”

“I like Thomas,” Greg mutters, somewhat markedly arch, as he looks down at his fingers trace a spiderweb of granite on the bar. “Nice, uh – noble? I guess, sort of name.”

“Uh-huh,” Tom intones, sucking at the inside of his cheek to quell a threatening bark of laughter.

The bartender glances between them, quirking a brow, as the drinks are placed on the bar top. “Let me know if you need anything else, you guys.”

“Thanks!” Greg chirps, picking up his glass with a lift to look through at the lemon slices along the inside of it. “Huh.”

“Would you like to sit?” Tom asks, sweeping his empty hand toward a stand of plush furniture and tables up a level just a few yards from the bar. “Maybe we could… get to know each other?”

“Oh, sure-definitely,” Greg says, looking away from his drink, fumbling it between his hands, as he moves to look at the lounge. “VIP?”

Tom doesn’t respond out loud, simply reaching back and sweeping a hand down Greg’s forearm, gently squeezing the arm beneath buttery-soft silk. He takes a chair, once they’ve reached the corner overhanging the dance floor, and leaves Greg to the loveseat, watching him slump and settle into the suede cushions.

Greg looks up at Tom and then to the empty space at his side, but doesn’t question it any further. He switches his glass between his hands, then rubs at his neck, leaving it to shimmer somewhat in the flashing lights after the evident attempt to cool down.

“So, um, what do you do?” He asks, straightening his spine in an odd sort of square of his shoulders. “I – I, uh, work for Waystar Royco, as a junior executive.”

“What a coincidence,” Tom says, leaning forward in his seat with a tap at a slim thigh, and lingering a little, perhaps, with his knuckles along the inside of a knee, but Greg doesn’t seem to mind the attention. “I’m a senior.”

“Oh! Oh, so… Um,” Greg says, as he takes a breath and sweeps his hand across his ear, again, and his eyes shyly settle in some middle distance between them. “It may impress you that like I am part of the family, too, like – like, maybe even really the only member whose still doing actual work in the firm.”

Tom rolls his lips tight to help swallow a reflexive burst of laughter. He does nod, somewhat curious at the abrupt claim, furrowing his brow with a tight lean between them. “But Gregory, you’re… You’ve got to be a foot taller than all of them.”

Greg opens his mouth, then seems to pause to really think about it. “Not my grandpa, though – oh, or Connor? I – I really am actually a Roy.”

“‘Actually a Roy’,” Tom repeats, allowing himself a sharp taunt, raising his brows while taking a drink from his glass, then gesturing outwardly with it. “What a bold pickup line. Is that what you usually use to entice a particular sort of stranger, or just the ones on payroll?”

“Oh, uh… no?” Greg says, dropping his eyes in a way that’s somewhat rolling them, but seems to give up on arguing his bloodline to any further depth. He tips his glass, plucking a piece of square ice from the top. “Like before, uh… I mean, I usually mention I have weed and I’m like very practiced in the art of fellatio.”

Tom does cough at that and nearly spews pricy whisky and cheap soda across the narrow space between their respective knees. “Greg-Gregory, you’re killing me,” he says, briefly lifting a hand across his brow in exasperation. He exhales hard through his nose, shaking his head, “I refuse to… You don’t need to tell anyone how pretty your mouth is. It’s already on your face.”

Greg sounds like he laughs around the piece of ice he’s worrying along his tongue.

…Oh, so maybe he is a little clever.

Tom slowly drops his hand to see that Greg is quietly, steadily staring at him, and feels heat crawl up his jaw. “Have I got something on me?”

“It’s just like – like, this is fun?” Greg says, sweeping his hand behind his head with a glance away, leaning into his palm. “Being here. Tonight.”

“Yeah,” Tom says, as he takes a few seconds to simply take in Greg, too, dropping his voice a little and softening his smile. “It was a good idea.”

Greg turns a grin down at his drink, taking a sip of it, only to plainly, somewhat violently choke on it. He covers his mouth with another wheeze, eyes widening down at his lap.

Tom promptly raises a brow. “You good there, Greg-ory?”

“Yeah, I –” Greg clears his throat with another cough and a nod. “Uh, I just saw my cousin?”

Tom freezes himself, drink halfway to his mouth, then slowly finishes the movement without giving in to the urge to look. “…Anyone I might know?”

Greg blinks widely, then narrows an eye, lifting a hand to gesture with a curved pair of fingers between them. “You want to like keep –?”

“It would be funny,” Tom says, lifting his voice, as he takes another, smoother sip. “Yeah?”

Greg agrees with a huff of a laugh and a twitchy sweep of his eyes over Tom’s shoulder. “Sure, yeah.” His looks back to Tom, as his unoccupied hand clutches in his seat. “Fuck, he’s… ” He hastily puts his drink down, lifting both hands up to fumblingly catch a thrown cushion across Tom’s shoulder. “Roman, come on –”

“Greg,” Roman answers, his voice a grating, weedy tone.

“What are you, like – even doing?” Greg says, shifting sideways in his seat to set the cushion aside, as he squints and blinks up at Roman. “I didn’t really expect you here tonight?”

“Yeah? I never expect you,” Roman sneers, as he glances down, blinking at Tom with a tilt of his head. “And you. Hey, hey – are you fucking ignoring me?”

Greg clears his throat, gesturing between then with an awkward turn of a hand. “This is, uhm – is Tom? He works at Waystar, too? Isn’t that a-a – “ He stutters through an evident croak of laughter. “Like, a serendipitous coincidence. Tom, this is my cousin, Rome-ah, Roman Roy.”

Roman visibly comes up short, pausing his snide posturing to simply frown down at Greg, then makes a production of turning his whole body to better peer down at Tom. “What?”

“Nice to meet you,” Tom says, putting on his brightest smile and nearly choking on a wheeze crawling up his throat. “What brings you out tonight on this fine day, Mister Roy?”

“Are you fucking with me?” Roman puffs his chest out, hands lifting onto his hips.

“Whatever could you mean?” Tom asks, affecting a bit of a taunting Mid-Atlantic accent, setting his drink down, as he turns his head and furrows his brow to express concern. “We’ve only just met.”

“That’s a really rude thing to say,” Greg adds, while badly hiding a truly enormous grin behind his drink. “Like I-I know you’re impolite… but.”

Roman bounces between his feet, not unlike a windup toy. “What the fuck are you even doing here?”

“Meeting someone new?” Greg says, tilting his head toward Tom, then making an odd gesture that might mean pity, or something similar. “Don’t like want to be alone on a holiday like this, you know? Sort of… just sad.”

Roman blinks rapidly while he shakes his head. He puts out a hand, taking a step away, “Whatever. Don’t talk to me; I don’t want anyone here thinking I know you fucks.”

“We’re like in a lot of the same pictures?” Greg says, lifting his voice, and it has to be intentional with the way Roman promptly peeks around the lounge area. “And that Newsweek?”

“And you came over here,” Tom says, taking a sip from the edge of his glass. He picks out his toothpick, eating the luxardo cherry with a slide of his teeth. “Didn’t he, Gregory?”

“Oh yeah,” Greg says, looking up at Roman, scratching at his chin with a following glance behind him, as if looking for people who might watch them. “So are you sure you don’t like want people to think you know me?”

Roman looks back and forth between them, jaw setting and looking like he’s eating out the ass of a lemon. “Fucking Benedict Arnolds.”

Tom lifts a hand up to his mouth, carefully muting a weak, coughing sort of chuckle. He keeps his eyes a few inches to the left of Greg, as he does it, knowing he would just break into hysterics if he looked him in the face while Roman storms off. He takes a deep breath, as his chest loosens, still staring across the lounge. “You were in Newsweek?”

“Yeah!” Greg says, earnest, voice cracking with a laugh. “They let me keep the suit, hah.”

“You know, I was in Forbes this last year,” Tom says, raising his brows with a considering tilt of his head to finally look back at Greg. “We’re a real pair of success stories, aren’t we?”

“Mine was, like – about my family, really?” Greg says, leaning into the arm of the loveseat with a scrunch of his nose. “My cousin ran for president.”

“That cousin?” Tom says, emphasizing a gasp with an exaggerated lean and look back across the floor.

“No, but he, like – ” Greg exhales a wheezing laugh, then promptly rolls his lips together to plainly pretend at a stern face. “He’d have had a better chance at winning?”

Tom snorts and briefly lifts his fingers up to press at his forehead. He feels a buzz in his pocket, and glances down, pulling it from his slacks and feeling a tightening in his chest at a familiar name across the screen. It loosens considerably when he actually reads the message; the truce seems to be holding rather fast.

9:59PM Are you messing with Roman to ruin my night?>>

Greg leans forward in the loveseat. “Is there a, uh… a problem?”

“Oh, no… just, you could say, a friend of mine,” Tom says, looking up from the screen with a slow drag of his teeth along a lip. “I’ve offended her brother and he’s making it her problem, because that’s a thing when you share a womb.”

Greg leans over his drink with with a puffy laugh and a glance in a telling direction.

Tom stares at the screen, tapping at the edge of the phone, contemplating how much he really wants to involve in the text. It’s not a hard decision, in the end, and his thumb quickly starts to move across the keyboard.

<<I don’t know what you’re talking about :) I’m having a nice conversation with a nice man I just met at a bar. 10:02PM

10:02 He said it was you and Greg?>>

10:03 Are you doing a threesome with fucking GREG?>>

<< That is the nice man I met at the bar, yes, his name happens to be Gregory 10:04PM

Tom lifts his chin when he doesn’t get a response for a pair of minutes, leaning into his elbow on the loveseat. His brows go up, as the message pops in, exhaling a bark of a laugh.

10:07PM Fuck you almost choked on Perrier all over someone >>

10:08PM Funny >>

“What, like – ” Greg exhales a low, somewhat disgruntled hum. “What did you tell her?”

“Oh, how I’m just having a nice drink out with a man I just met,” Tom says, looking up while slipping the phone inside his jacket. “Called Gregory.”

Greg brightens and breathes out a huff. “Really?”

Tom hums a pitchy note of agreement.

“Oh,” Greg intones, brow furrowing, as he cocks his head to a shyly curious angle. “She didn’t… like mind? Like today?”

“She would never say so,” Tom says, flatly, as he rolls the idea around in his head and comes up bemused that it’s even a question. “But un-fucking-likely.”

“Sure,” Greg says, dropping his head in a nod while his lips press in a line.

Tom picks his drink back up from the table. “She’s no fun like this, either,” he says, then clears his throat, trying to seem breezy, “I’m a lot happier to be out tonight and found you.”

Greg blinks rapidly and ducks his head, a bright grin stretching his face that he seems to be trying to hide, like he had when he first saw Tom at the bar. “Oh, uh, I – uh, wow. Thanks.”

Tom takes a sip from his glass with a glance across his shoulder at the dance floor. He lets the liquor roll across his tongue for a beat, then swallows, and stands to lean over to the loveseat, with more practice than he should probably have, to angle Greg’s chin back up for a brief press of a kiss.

Greg twitches but doesn’t quite startle, leaning up into the attention with an uneven hum. His hand presses against Tom’s wrist, as a chilled glass knocks with a clatter of ice into Tom’s elbow, and he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss with little apparent hesitation.

Tom scratches his fingertips into the hair behind Greg’s ear. He pulls away, sparing a gentle bite against a plush lip, and huffs a laugh between them. “Oh, so you agree, or you’re just easy?”

“Ye-yes,” Greg says, tilting his chin up and plainly angling for another kiss. “Both, could be said.”

Tom breaks into a louder laugh. “That’s right, isn’t it? You said you usually open with how good you could –”

“I meant that – I-I wasn’t that blunt,” Greg insists, voice pitching, leaning out of his seat, then slumping back into it. “But only that I –”

“Oh, how could I forget the blunts,” Tom interrupts, lowering his voice to a taunting lilt, as he leans down again to press a last heavy kiss to Greg’s jaw. He manages to pull himself away, then, with a last tug on Greg’s hair. “Must show off that slutty mouth.”

Greg scrubs at his face, curved hand not quite hiding the flush to his cheeks nor his crooked grin. “What, like – what’s your normal way, then?”

“Oh, normal way?” Tom repeats, widening his eyes somewhat with a slightly overstated turn of his head. “What’s that mean?”

Greg wets his lips, glancing down between them with a wince. “You know, I mean – just –”

“Razzing you, buddy,” Tom says, scoffing under his breath and rattling the fancy bamboo toothpick in his glass. “And I’ll have you know it’s just what happened; I buy the drink, because I know it’s what you like, or I might even for a whole group to show off.”

“What about –?” Greg pauses, rubbing his knuckles into his lower lip. “Is that what happened with your, uh – your friend?”

“…My friend? Oh. No, we started making fun of the same people at a party,” Tom says, glancing down to the phone with an awkward cough of a laugh. “Ken-Her brother and his soon-to-be ex-wife were being blatant about their issues right out in front of god and their dad, plus everyone was dressed so tacky because the theme was an island thing; I didn’t even know who she really was until she told me.”

Greg nods a few times, sticking his nose in his glass and practically speaking to the ice. “So like, not your – uh, your normal way then, either?”

“Firstly, I can’t possibly imagine what you mean by either, Gregory,” Tom says, narrowing an eye in a pointed look. “Secondly… I guess not, no. Maybe normal isn’t what sticks very long.”

Greg raises his brows. “Except this time?”

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” Tom says, spreading an arm across the back of his seat with a tilt of his head, as if he needs to look Greg over. “You seem like a real Subaru-driving u-hauler; I take you home tonight, I risk waking up tomorrow morning and finding out you already live there.”

Greg blinks twice, then scoffs quiet with a sharp upturn of his lips. “Sort of rude, Tom.”

“This real ugly Subaru, too, salt-rusted out and languishing in parking,” Tom continues, sweeping a lifted hand out in front of him, as if slowly revealing something beyond his minds’ eye. “And you open the door, and you’d swear it’s got an air freshener labeled reefer.”

“That’s like really specific,” Greg says, rolling his head back to look at the sparkle-lit ceiling.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m a bonafide psychic,” Tom says, as he leans forward, affecting an awed, conspiratorial voice that must barely break through the music. “That’s how I know your tiny cousin back there is only out tonight because he’s having some kind of an affair with the Baba Yaga, but she’s about as committed as a turnip.”

Greg outright fumbles his empty glass, hunching into his shoulders while bringing his knees up to curl into and hide his laughter. “Tom, sh-shut up.”

Tom downs the rest of his whiskey to hide his smug smile, then sets the glass onto the table. He leans out and grabs Greg’s drink before it can fall, putting it beside his own, as he reaches out and gently forces those long legs apart to peer down into Greg’s rosy-tinged face. “You know what my psychic powers are saying now?”

Greg raises his brows. “Do I, like – I want to know?”

Tom ignores the cheek, as he leans down to mute a couple of following, hiccuping giggles with his own laugh. He leans back and whispers against Greg’s mouth, rubbing against his throat with a pair of knuckles. “You want a big boy Shirley Temple with extra cherries.”

“You’re like a-a super on-the-ball psychic,” Greg agrees, all but batting his eyelashes while he responds with an earnest look.

Tom slaps at Greg’s thigh with his opposite hand, as he stands up. He regrets leaving him for the bar, crowded as it is with other guests in line, rather than flagging down a server, but the decision pays off when he can wave a familiar, competent bartender over from the other side.

“Mr Wambsgans,” Zoë greets, lifting her chin, a bland smile flickering across her mouth. “Round two?”

Tom leans into the bar with both hands. “A glass of maraschino cherries garnished with a Dirty Shirley and…” His eyes narrow at a small menu board. “A Clover Club?”

“Raspberry, egg white, lemon, and gin,” Zoë says, peeking at the specials, as she reaches for a grenadine pour. “It’s pink.”

Tom grunts a vague assent, then finds his eyes drifting, as a sparkly server passes with what look like goo-filled strawberries for a group above the bar.

“Chocolate-dipped strawberry Jell-O shots – prosecco, not vodka,” Zoë says, leaning forward, as she shakes a drink above a glass. Her eyes dart up, over Tom’s shoulder, then back down. “Someone else was eying them, too.”

Tom glances toward the sofas and catches Greg looking at him, rather than anything on his phone, and turns back to Zoë with a cough and a spin of a finger. “Tray it all up.”

“Yes, sir,” Zoë says, offering a somewhat blatantly mocking salute.

Tom is certain he just got up-sold, but it’s not too big of a deal; he’s in a good mood, feeling the night going well like a warm glow behind his sternum, and the grin that Greg offers him while he slides into the seat beside him, rather than across, distinctly hits the spot. “I was hoping we could share,” he says, feeling a little silly, as he slips his arm across Greg’s back, smoothing his thumb down a wrinkle in the silk along his opposite shoulder. “Now we’ve got ourselves a bit more acquainted?”

“I would agree that it is certainly welcome,” Greg says, lifting a hand and then promptly putting it back down to clutch at his own in his lap. “Nicer to, uh - to be closer.”

Tom dances his fingers across the back of the loveseat, sparing a look down at Greg’s hands; is he acting shy, now? “I got you a surprise.”

Greg markedly glances downward on Tom, brows pinching, then hurriedly lifts his eyes to look around with a suck at the bottom of his lip. “Already?”

“What a dirty mind on you,” Tom says, around some impression of a leer. “No. It’s an actual surprise.”

“What if I’m, uh –” Greg says, peeking toward the bar with a wide turn. “I’m allergic to it?”

Tom frowns for a pair of beats, then clicks his tongue, curving his hand in to tap against Greg’s opposite shoulder. “I’ll remember that for the next person I pick up.”

Greg makes a distinctly froggish face.

The tray arrives a few beats later in a flourish, delivered by a pink-sequined server, who sets out their drinks first, then cream in dollops flanked by berries in wide coup glasses. Tom offers a thankful hum, as the server takes the empties, reaching for his pink, fizzy drink, then turns to Greg in the curve of his arm. “So are you allergic to chocolate, dear Gregory?”

“No, nope,” Greg says, reaching out and plucking one of the cherries from his glass by the stem, then dipping it in the cream.

“Wait, are you…” Tom stares for a beat, feeling his mouth twist and purse in thought. “You’re not allergic to strawberries?”

“What?” Greg asks, reaching forward like he’s thinking about digging out another cherry from between ice cubes.

Tom lifts a brow.

“Oh!” Greg diverts and picks up a strawberry with a shake of his head. He pops it in his mouth, talking around it with a hand against his lips. “I-I just really like the cherries? I could eat maybe a jar of them?” He nods, as he reaches for another berry, quiet until he swallows with a lift of a shoulder. “But this is good, yeah – like, an edge? But not bubbly.”

Tom huffs through his nose and pulls his arm off Greg to reach for a half, dipping it into the cream. He takes a bite from the end and has to admit that maybe he should have asked, as the artificial edge of strawberry lingers, though not too terribly, on his tongue. “Are you to anything?”

Greg blinks in brief confusion while he finishes another berry, then shakes his head, again, as he tilts it to his shoulder in a shrug. “But I’ve maybe, uh – maybe a time or two thought about saying so?”

Tom scoffs out a breath. “Oh, really?”

“Like, yeah?” Greg rolls his lips together, visibly biting into his cheek to keep a straight face. “You know.”

“I do not,” Tom says, primly, taking a sip of a drink that he’s never had before, somewhat to prove a point, and is quietly glad that it isn’t at all terrible – not too gin-y, and even a bit creamy around the tart edges of the raspberry. “That’s just plain unadventurous, I think.”

“Not even with, um…” Greg hums a pointed lilt of a tune. “Something like a melon, maybe – like, a honeydew melon?”

Tom slowly narrows an eye, as he bites decisively down on the next strawberry.

“Because like, you know,” Greg says, taking a shallow breath through his nose, as he tilts his head with downcast eyes, and lifts his shoulders with a noticeably mocking sort of turn. “If someone were allergic to one thing, in like, for example, a fruit salad… they couldn’t eat any of it?”

Tom feels his mouth flatten. “Maybe this hypothetical person… only has a sensitivity.”

“Could be?” Greg says, drawing out the words in a vague, plainly dubious lilt. “Seems like really unlikely.”

Tom inhales shallow and, very sternly, chooses a fork in this path that will lead him down the most enjoyable destination for the night. “Eat your strawberries, I got them special,” he says, urging Greg to slide down a bit with an elbow, then tucking him closer until he’s under Tom’s arm and pressed into his chest. It might be a little too intimate for an acquaintanceship, but there’s no protest for it. “And your cherries. Before I find someone around here that won’t go around debating about the tragic compromises we make in deli food.”

Greg plainly only finds humor in the threat, hiccuping a laugh. He does eat the berries, looking up a time or two at Tom, and maybe trying to be a bit slow and teasing, then scoops at an oversize portion of leftover cream and drops it into his drink. It’ll be no surprise if that’s how he ever asks for one from this moment onward.

…Or so Tom can assume, anyway, since they’re perfect strangers.

He should probably initiate some conversation to that effect, or something, a thin excuse to get to know Greg a little better in their settled corner under music and lights. It’s a difficult plan to get off the ground, though, when it’s so easy to watch the dancefloor below them, leaning on each other while sipping their drinks. It’s a simple sort of complacent; he’s got a hand rather indulgently scratching through Greg’s hair, sometimes brushing the equally soft silk of his shirt collar, while Greg alternates between tapping at his phone and plucking at nonexistent lint on Tom’s slacks.

“Hey, um – so I can do this thing?”

“Hm?” Tom intones, glancing over, away from the dancers and the lights, just to watch Greg eat the last of his cherries, stem and all. He furrows his brows, after Greg doesn’t continue, then raises one high a beat later. “Yes?”

Greg just keeps chewing, face twisting, until he halfway spits out the stem.

…Or, wait.

Tom stares for a solid beat in actual disbelief, then croaks out a laugh. He shakes his head, plucking the stem from between Greg’s teeth with two fingers, feeling a delighted bark burst from the depths of his chest at the knot in the middle. “You are truly the most amazing thing to step in this club.”

Greg laughs through his nose in a huff, color crawling up his neck that’s obvious even in the flashes of the lights. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tom assures, smoothing his knuckles down the plane of Greg’s cheek, and positive that the look on his own face is drifting toward something soppy. He leans in those few inches for a kiss, tasting chocolate and grenadine, as it quickly deepens, and basks in the solid feeling of Greg’s hands eagerly clambering across his waist.

The angle is a little awkward, the danger of kicking out, upending their table, ever present, but it keeps them tighter together. It gives them no other opportunity than to get closer to each other, and it would be too easy for them to become one tangled mess across the loveseat. It tragically does, too soon, get too much, racing to a point that they have to stop before it becomes a danger of becoming exposed, and that is emphasized by a particularly thick swell in the charcoal slacks under his palms.

“We could do to get out of here,” Tom says, somewhat raspy, as he shifts a spare inch or so to speak between them. “Unless that’s… too forward, or something?”

“What about the, uh –” Greg takes a breath, as his hands drop heavily further southward, while bodily curving in closer to Tom with a tight turn at the waist. “Uhm, the u-hauling?”

Tom curls his hand more solidly against Greg’s nape, squeezing at it with a panting laugh. “That train has left the station.”

Greg leans his head sideways to set it heavily into Tom’s bicep with a pair of wide, plaintive blinks. “Are we taking the train?“

“Couldn’t risk the indecent exposure change,” Tom says, sweeping his unoccupied palm down the impressive length of Greg’s thigh with a lingering at the knee. He’s simultaneously wondering and trying very hard not to about how boldly Greg is groping at the inside of one of his own thighs. “Plus I have this crazy feeling you’re always hitting your head on the door.”

“Mmhmm?” Greg hums, absently, as his hand now crawls distractingly up near Tom’s zipper fly, then along his waistband. He wets his lower lip, looking up under his lashes at Tom with a blink. “Might be… quicker, though.”

“Never would’ve guessed you were an incorrigible sort of exhibitionist,” Tom says, somewhat dry, while pressing his tongue to the insides of his teeth. He feels Greg actually go further, now outright cupping the growing semi under Tom’s slacks, and lets his eyes drop for an instant, then promptly lifts the hand from Greg’s knee to tighten around his wrist. “Uh-uh.”

“But I, um – I could be really anyone, you can’t just take a stranger to your house?”

Tom takes a slow breath, and feels his core tighten, as Greg’s long fingers stretch to reach his zipper. He risks another peek down, swallowing a groan, as a particular epiphany comes over him. “You sneaky little fuck,” he coos, despite himself, endearment at the edge of his voice. “I cannot believe you – it’s just not happening, no matter how well we don’t know each other.”

Greg exhales a throaty whine. “But – ”

“Gregory Hirsch,” Tom says, leaning forward, forcing his voice low and stern into Greg’s ear. “If someone wants to give me a handy in public, it should not be in any club with his grody-ass cousin present.”

Greg near immediately seizes, excepting a harsh inhale. “I-I, like – I f-forgot,” he stutters, tense all the way, it seems, to the very tips of his toes; they’ve never really talked about it, but Greg’s particular pervert streak seems to involve all the thrill at sneaking around in the open, but nothing for really being caught. “Is – uh, is he around?”

“I don’t know, babester,” Tom says, kissing against Greg’s temple with a squeeze against his shoulder. He pulls away, carefully, trying not to exacerbate the arousal strongly urging him to throw caution to the wind. “I’m only looking at you.”

Greg looks up with a deepening pout. “That’s like, uh – like nice, but not really helpful?”

“Come on,” Tom says, reaching down, grabbing Greg by the elbow to pull him up from the loveseat. “Gosh. Gawrsh.”

“Can you like not do Goofy?” Greg says, eyes rolling up, then away, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“I cannot be nursing chub to pay the bartender,” Tom says, sternly, then allows himself one final scoff at this farce of a situation. “Zoë suffers enough.”

“Zoë’s here?” Greg says, craning his neck over everyone to scan over the crowd. “Oh.”

“Another reason not to tug me to completion in our very favorite club,” Tom says, patting Greg on the ass, then reluctantly leaving him to shove through and get them squared away. He can feel a flush lingering in his face, and hopes it can be excused by being with a lover on Valentine’s, but not… being with a lover on a Valentine’s.

Greg is still sulking by the time they push their way to the exit, jackets snug over their shoulders and car texted with a quick ETA. His sighs truly speak in the loudest of all volumes; a book could be written on their varied meanings and interpretation.

“You are a…” Tom swallows a somewhat hysterical giggle. “How about we readdress this in some place, like – ” He throws his hands out, palm up, as they take the side exit to the alley. “Like goddamn Berlin, you big goose.”

“I guess,” Greg sighs, again, so cartoonishly disappointed as he is at his foiled scheme.

Tom rolls his eyes and briefly takes a beat to glance at the papered wall, down the alley, then promptly takes advantage of their closeness to take a step sideways that unbalances Greg, then twists and shoves him with some practice into the nearby building. The car can wait an extra minute; it’s not like they don’t pay them for it.

Greg groans in an audible breath, as his back thuds into the wall, hands coming up against Tom’s chest and twisting into his shirt. His head tilts down, meeting the kiss with barely a pause to get any bearing even for balance.

Tom smiles with bite, as he feels a laugh hum across his mouth, pressing Greg firmer against the brick, spreading his hands along the soft surface of the shirt through his jacket. “You know I just love this look,” he says, breaking away just far enough to speak, plucking his fingers along silver buttons down to the tucked waistband. “My fancy pretty boy out cruisin’, huh?”

Greg pants some spare breath of a sentence that surely means more to him than Tom can understand.

“Not sporting anything more sparkly, though,” Tom muses, leaning back further and sweeping his hands along Greg’s arms to the bare, unadorned wrists bent into his chest. “Character choice?”

“You, uh…” Greg stares with lidded eyes down at Tom. “You got all that for me.”

Tom hums a winding note from deep within his chest. He sweeps his thumb flat and wide against Greg’s cheek, then leans up for another kiss, nipping sharp at Greg’s mouth. “Come on. Let’s find the car - you’re not getting my cock out here, either, you goon.”

~~*~~

“Okay, so should – like, I guess it starts now?”

“Why am I the pursuer, Greg?” Tom says, as he steps out of the car with a nod backward at the driver. “What if I want to be pursued?”

Greg goes quiet for a few seconds, and the dull roar of the club behind him grows loud for a brief moment in the receiver. He coughs lightly, causing it to fade back to him. “Because, um… it was my idea, I guess?”

Tom rolls his eyes up at the sign for the club. “Are you going to tell me what you’re wearing?”

“Uh, no? I don’t think that would be like in the spirit of not knowing each other?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to find you?” Tom demands, as he pulls out his wallet for the door.

“I’m like taller than most people here,” Greg says, voice briefly fading, then lifting again into the receiver. “Maybe everyone?”

“Probably not everyone,” Tom says, though it could be true, all things considered, as it certainly has happened before. “Sasquatch might be having a night out – are you making level eye contact across the room with anyone unusually hairy?”

Greg huffs but it sounds a little forced.

“I’d like to reiterate my stipulation for this little outing,” Tom says, pitching his voice stern, for the third or forth time since Greg pitched this idea, of how much this is an absolutely inarguable condition: “If we somehow improv into an argument, like this is fucking therapy, we still fuck.”

“Oh, yeah,” Greg says, tone lowering, “Like… obviously? I mean, eventually.”

“Tonight,” Tom counters, as he taps his card with a wag of fingers at the bouncer. “This is the date night – ”

“You’re so horny, Tom,” Greg mutters, cutting to the cruder heart of the matter.

“I’m not going to ‘separate bed’ for you.”

“I, uh – ” Greg exhales a breath of a hum. “I can’t like predict anything, so I would like to call dibs on the bedroom,” he says, voice pitching with a legitimate request hidden in a sort of joke. “Mondale’s bed is like just a queen.”

Tom rolls his eyes, as he steps into the club. “Hanging up now.”

#tomgreg

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parkerpenny · 10 months

Text

you said forever and ever (who knew?)

Summary: "If someone said 3 years from now, you'd be long gone, I'd stand up and punch them out, 'cause they're all wrong."

Staring out at the still water, Penny felt as if she was being mocked. How could something be so still, so peaceful, when she felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out? Penny has known loss, sections of her life, all land-marked by grief. Standing by the lake, at Tony's funeral, she refuses to face reality. A reality where she came back to life and Tony Stark didn't.

But while Penny grieves her father-figure, Pepper makes sure that Penny knows she hasn't lost a family.

Word Count: 3.4k

Relationships: Penny Parker & Pepper Potts, Penny Parker & Tony Stark, Penny Parker & May Parker, Penny Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Penny Parker & Happy Hogan, Penny Parker & Morgan Stark, Tony Stark/Pepper Potts

Read on AO3

Title from: Who Knew? - P!nk

________________________________________________

Staring out at the still water, Penny felt as if she was being mocked. How could something be so still, so peaceful, when she felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out? She remembered how it felt to turn to dust. Her whole body tried to fight it, tried to stitch itself back together. Tried to prevent the inevitable. It hurt like hell, feeling yourself crumble. Somehow, this hurt worse.

Penny has known loss. Her whole life has been marked by loss after loss. It defines her now. Sections of her life, all land-marked by grief. She isn't sure she would know herself without it. Her parents, her uncle Ben...

Tony.

A hand on her shoulder brings her back to the present. She wishes it hadn't. She wishes she was quite literally anywhere else, anywhere but where she was. The lakehouse... Tony's lakehouse...

Tony's funeral.

She half-expected herself to break down, waiting for clarity to pierce through her veil of blissful ignorance. It didn't. Truthfully, Penny wasn't entirely sure she was even in control of her own body. Maybe it was a trauma response, her brain's way of protecting her from what would likely be her undoing. She knew if she lingered on it for too long, she would have to face reality. A reality where she came back to life and Tony Stark didn't.

She turns her head slowly, glancing at the owner of the hand on her shoulder. Rhodey. The man looked as if he had aged about 15 years. He held a deep pain within his eyes, but the look of resignation on his face was enough to tell Penny that he had been mentally preparing himself for this day years before she ever knew him.

"Hey, kid. I'm glad you came. Tony would've wanted you here." Rhodey looked away for a moment, his eyes shining in the afternoon sunlight. "You meant the world to him, Pen. I hope you know that. He loved you so much."

Penny knew these words were meant to comfort her. She racked her brain, trying to remember how one is usually expected to respond to these types of things. Instead, she just blinks, mumbling a barely audible "thanks." Rhodey looked at the young girl with a sort of sadness, one that Penny couldn't decipher. She realized belatedly that she didn't care.

As Rhodey walked back towards the cabin, Penny took a brief look around at the crowd that had gathered while she was off in la-la land. All her childhood heroes gathered in one place, and she couldn't bring herself to feel anything other than the emptiness that had consumed her since she left the battlefield. All of her heroes, except one. The only one she wanted to see.

Images of that final battle flash in front of her eyes, and the girl doesn't waste her time trying to blink them away. She can't run from them any more than she can run away from the tragedy that seems to cling to her like a plague. The portals, the aliens, the bodies.

Mr. Stark.

She had run to the man, unable to believe that it had really been 5 years like the wizard had said. She barely had time to take in his appearance, but a quick glance at his face proved that time had indeed gone on without her. His hair had taken on more grey than she had seen, as well as a few new wrinkles. None of that mattered to her, not when she hardly had time to get a word in before the man had wrapped her up in a tight embrace.

Tony had hugged her as if his life depended on it, and maybe in some way it had. The way he looked at her as if her very presence was a miracle, as if he thought he would never see her again. He held her close, like a father would his own child, kissing her cheek and cupping the back of her head as if she would fade away from within his arms, telling her how much he loved her.

When she closes her eyes, Penny still sees the look in Tony's eyes. When he had the gauntlet on his hand, the flashes of inconceivable pain, the rage, the fiery determination. She also sees the aftermath. The blank, faraway stare that should never be associated with a man as full of life as Tony Stark. The way she knelt at his side, whispering to him, begging him to be okay, The way his lips tugged up into an almost unnoticeable smile as he heard her voice.

Nothing could drown out the haunting echo of Tony's heartbeat, slowing down steadily until it came to a stop. Penny didn't think she would ever go a day without hearing it.

Footsteps approached her where she stood by the lake. She could tell without looking that it was May. "Pepper is asking for you, honey, They're ready to start the service." May said gently, tucking a strand of Penny's hair behind her ear. Her aunt wrapped an arm around her shoulders comfortingly as she guided the girl towards the cabin where everyone had gathered.

Somewhere in her mind, Penny was screaming, crying, for a father that wasn't even hers. For the man who took care of her, who loved her like she was his own flesh and blood. On the outside, Penny looked like the poster child for indifference. She had run out of tears to cry, resigned to the cold feeling of numbness. She was so far away, she wasn't even sure it was worth her time to try and fight her way back to the present. It was as if she was watching her own life on a TV screen. She had no control. Penny decided to just surrender to it, and let her consciousness drift as it pleased.

She had done this before, she knew the drill. Funerals weren't an uncommon occurrence in the life of Penelope Parker. As she looked around, though, she spotted a small figure, clutching the hem of her mother's dress. Morgan Stark. Tony had had his own daughter in the time Penny had been gone, and Penny couldn't even bring herself to care. She felt for the little girl, who looked alarmingly like her father. The same curious, brown eyes and dark brown hair. She knew what it was like to lose a parent at a young age. She couldn't help but feel responsible. There had to have been something she could have done differently. Something that would have made sure Tony was standing here himself, right now, comforting his daughter.

As Pepper and Morgan walked through the group towards the lake, carrying a wreath with Tony's old arc reactor in the center, Penny felt nauseous. She didn't even get a chance to say a proper goodbye to Tony. Just like her parents. Just like Ben. Maybe it was the Parker Curse. Penny never having the chance to tell her parental figures exactly how much they meant to her before they were cruelly ripped away from her. She realized with a startling clarity that she barely remembered her own parents. Morgan was about the same age as she was when her mother and father died. Would Morgan even remember Tony? Would she remember his face? His voice? His laugh?

Tony deserved a happy ending, more than anyone else standing around. After everything he had been through, everything he had seen, he still managed to put everyone else before himself, while always taking the brunt of everyone else's blame and frustrations. She felt bitter. What right did Captain America have to be upset about Tony's death? Or any of his friends for that matter? Steve almost killed Tony in Siberia. Penny had seen the aftermath of that. She had seen the haunted look in Tony's eyes. The way he never seemed to fully let his guard down around them even after the Rogues were pardoned and moved back into the Tower. She saw how it had affected him, and Steve had the nerve to offer condolences to his grieving widow and daughter? When he could've prevented this from happening?

Penny ignored the burning hatred simmering in her chest, and focused instead on the water. As Pepper and Morgan set the wreath afloat, she didn't bother to watch it. She instead paid attention to the way the water rippled, the smooth, glassy surface of the lake disrupted.

The reflection of the trees began to warp, and Penny couldn't help but relate to that feeling. She felt as if everything was warped, because surely this was all just a bad dream right? She would wake up any minute in her bedroom in the Tower to the smell of Pepper's pancakes, listening to Tony cursing up a storm because she wouldn't let him have his 3rd cup of coffee at the ripe hour of 10am. Penny would smile to herself and make her way into the kitchen, a day with her found family ahead of her. Maybe her and Mr. Stark would work on her Spidergirl suit in the lab. Maybe they would order Thai food for supper. Maybe they would invite May over, and Happy and Rhodey, for a family dinner. Maybe they would end the night as they usually do, watching some sort of movie while Penny curled into Tony's side, drifting off as he combed a gentle hand through her hair.

But this wasn't a dream, and Penny wasn't that naive.

As the crowd of mourners began to disperse, Penny didn't budge. She didn't even react when Happy pulled her into a hug. She didn't move when countless Avengers gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. She did flinch as she heard Pepper's voice from her side.

"Penny, sweetheart, would you like to come inside? There's something I'd like to show you." The woman said in a soft tone, reminding Penny of how gentle the woman would be with her whenever she stayed at the Tower. Pepper became a second mother to her, and she hadn't had the courage to be alone with her for more than a few minutes since her return. Looking around slowly, Penny noticed Morgan's absence. She must've had a curious look on her face, because Pepper assures her that Morgan is with Rhodey, feeding Gerald, who Penny would later learn, to her surprise, is an alpaca.

Penny, unable to formulate a coherent sentence to refuse or get away from the situation, stays silent as Pepper guides her toward the lakehouse. Pepper doesn't say anything as she shields the girl from the other guests gathered in the living room and kitchen, but instead steers her up the stairs and into the hallway. They pass a spare room, a room with a child's drawing on it and a sign that says "Morgan" in what Penny assumes is the little girl's own writing, and a larger door that she assumes is a master bedroom.

They come to a stop in front of a door at the end of the hall, just beyond Tony and Pepper's room. The door is plain, but a small spider symbol next to Penny's name in that same child's writing has her heart hammering in her chest. She turns to Pepper, confusion lacing her expression. Pepper smiles encouragingly, nodding towards the door. "Go ahead, open it." She says quietly.

Penny lifts a shaking hand to the doorknob, turning it slowly. She opens the door, revealing a fully decorated room. A bed sits in the middle, decorated with a dark duvet and several Spidergirl and Iron Man plushies. There is a desk in the corner, a fully stocked bookshelf, posters lining the walls, Lego sets waiting to be built. It looked like it was all ready for someone to move into.

"When we were drawing up the plans for this house, Tony refused to build it unless we built it with enough rooms for the whole family. A room for us, a room for any guests, a room for Morgan, and a room for you." Pepper said, not bothering to cover up the emotion in her voice.

Penny looked at her questioningly, her ears ringing with the implications of what Pepper was saying. "I- What?"

"Well, we couldn't build a house if we didn't have enough rooms for both of our daughters, now could we?" Pepper placed a hand on the girl's back, rubbing circles in a practiced and comforting motion.

All Penny could feel was shock, and fear, and disgust with herself. "Ms. Potts, I- No. I can't- I can't stay here. You can't possibly want me to stay here." She said, her tone weak but bitter, avoiding eye contact with the woman.

"Of course I do, Penny, why wouldn't I? You're family. Tony always thought of you as the daughter he never had. So did I. Then when Morgan came along, the only thing he talked about was how much you would've loved her. Morgan grew up with stories about her sister Penny. You are just as much our daughter as Morgan is." Pepper said as if she was simply stating facts. Facts that Penny refused to let herself wrap her own head around.

The teenager could only think about Morgan having to grow up without her father. Knowing that Penny was the cause of it. Knowing that if Tony had never tried to invent time travel to get her back, Morgan would still have a dad. That thought brings in a new wave of nausea, and Penny isn't sure how much more of this she can take.

"You don't understand! This is all my fault! Morgan is going to grow up without a dad and you've lost your husband and it's all because of me! If I was faster, I could've grabbed the gauntlet from him. I could've been the one to-"

"Penelope May Parker, don't you dare finish that sentence, do you hear me?" Pepper cut her off with a steely edge to her voice, holding the girl in place by her two arms. Penny stared at her wide-eyed, shocked, but reminded of the way Pepper would sound on phone calls when using what Tony had called her "CEO voice."

"Yes, Tony invented time travel because he thought it would give him the chance to get you back. Yes, Tony knew that doing so would possibly cost him his own life. But Penny, you have to know how much he loved you. He would've moved heaven and earth if it meant getting the chance to see you again, to give you the chance to grow up to be the amazing young woman we both know you would be. And he did. He did what he did fully aware of the possible consequences."

"He wanted nothing more than to be here with you. To watch you be a big sister to Morgan, to watch you graduate high school and go off to college and lead a new generation of great minds. He wanted to see you change the world like he knew you would. But if he had to give up the chance to see it for himself, to make sure that you would have the chance to do it in the first place? Well, that was a no-brainer for him." Pepper said firmly as Penny continued to stare at her, tears welling up in her eyes.

The woman sighed before continuing. "Penny, you and Tony are so much alike it scares me. You're both crazy smart, you're both kind souls, but the two of you also have the most outrageous selfless streaks I've ever seen. I won't sit by and watch you drown in guilt and regret over this, and you know Tony wouldn't want that either. So yes, I do expect you to stay here. Whenever you want. You can visit on weekends, school breaks, hell, you can move in tomorrow if you wanted to. But May needs you, too. So I will be as patient as I can and wait for your visits whenever you feel like coming up, okay? Do you understand me, Penny?" Pepper finishes softly, cupping Penny's cheeks and wiping a stray tear from her face.

Penny struggles to form a sentence, so she does the next best thing. She wraps her arms around Pepper, hugging into her tightly and crying in earnest into the woman's black dress. Pepper rubs a soothing hand up and down her back, holding her gently and whispering words of comfort to her. As Penny's tears taper off, Pepper guides the both of them towards Penny's new bed, sitting them down on the foot of the mattress. She brushes Penny's curls away from her face and smiles softly.

"You know, when Morgan was born, we only had a first name picked out for her. Tony and I decided that we would choose a middle name when we saw her." Pepper said as the younger girl remained tucked into her side. Penny smiled softly, the image of Tony and Pepper holding their newborn baby heartwarming. She always knew they would make the best parents, after all, she had spent so much time wishing that they were her parents before she had been dusted.

"What did you guys decide on?" The girl asked. Pepper glanced down at the girl in her arms and smiled. "The minute Morgan opened her eyes, Tony started crying. I thought something was wrong, but he just looked at me and said that her eyes reminded him of yours. He said they were the same chocolate brown. We decided pretty quickly after that what her middle name would be," She paused.

"Morgan Penelope Stark."

Penny sat up so fast she almost fell off the bed, tears immediately springing to her eyes as she looks at Pepper with shock. "You- you guys- you named her after me?" She whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Pepper smiled and nodded. "Yeah, sweetheart, we did. We named her after her beautiful big sister. We told her stories about Spidergirl, and more importantly, the brilliant and kind young lady behind the mask. Her favourite bedtime story was one that Tony would tell her about Spidergirl and Iron Man's adventures in the big city. You can't even imagine how excited she is to meet you. I asked her to give you some space at first, until I had a chance to talk to you."

Penny didn't try to stop her tears from falling this time. She couldn't even explain how she was feeling. Tony and Pepper had truly loved her, they really did think of her as their kid, so much so they named their own daughter after her. They built her a room in their house even though they thought she was dead. They carved out a place in their new lives just for her, knowing that she may never have gotten the chance to even take that place.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a hesitant knock at the door. Happy pokes his head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but Little Miss wanted to say hi." No sooner does he finish his sentence, when a small face peeks through the gap in the door.

Pepper looks at Penny, an unspoken question on her face. Penny understands, and nods. Pepper turns her attention towards the door. "Morgan, you can come in sweetie."

Morgan pushes the door open and toddles in slowly, looking up at Penny. "You're Spidergirl, right? You're my sister?"

Penny glances up at Happy, and back to Pepper, who has tears in her eyes. Penny turns her focus back to the little girl, and nods. "Yeah, I am. I'm Penny. It's nice to meet you. Morgan."

Morgan doesn't take long in jumping into Penny's arms, clinging to her like a koala. Penny wraps her arms around the young girl and a strange warmth fills her entire body. She knows, in that split second, that she loves this little girl. That she would do anything in her power, anything at all, to protect her. She imagines this is how Tony must've felt about her.

"I'm so happy you finally came home, Penny. Mommy and Daddy missed you a lot." Morgan said innocently.

Penny saw Pepper wipe away a tear out of the corner of her eye. If Penny tried hard enough, she could almost see Tony standing in the corner of the room, gazing softly over at his two girls, right where they belong. With each other. She makes a silent vow to Tony, wherever he may be now, that she will keep Morgan safe.

"I'm happy too, Mo. Really happy."

And somehow, she can tell that Tony already knew.

21 notes · View notes

copias-thrall · 2 years

Text

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

You're looking for a Daddy, and you get a Papa.

For coldinlifesthroes (9.4K)

(oral sex; vaginal sex; spanking; edging; brief horror elements)

Then

A lot of Daddies talked a good game, sure.

Promises of designer this and charge card that…

…only to take you to Outback (gross) wearing Men’s Warehouse before handing you an Amazon gift card.

Please.

Your hair: glossy.

Your nails: on point.

Lips: pouty.

Makeup: flawless.

You were looking for a game to match.

And then he walked into your life in Louboutin boots. His custom gloves adjusted the stylish cravat that was tucked into his Tom Ford jacket. Not quite a silver fox, but an innuendo of salt & pepper.

Oh, yes.

You sat up from where you waited, fixing your posture and tossing your hair, and the movement caught his eyes—mismatched eyes that seemed to see into the very depths of you.

“Ah, scusi…are you…?”

You put your hand out. “Your sugar baby, Daddy…” And arched your eyebrow at him. “…maybe.”

“Sí, sí.”

He reached for your elegant outstretched hand with his own, then hesitated before dropping it and reaching with his other. “Erm…” He seemed to reconsider, switching again, before deciding his original hand was the correct offer.

The corners of your lips twitched up, but the buttery material of his gloves was warm to the touch on your skin, and your bemused smile gave way to parted lips of satisfaction when he delicately pressed his to your knuckles.

“Incantevole.”

His eyes flicked up to catch yours, and as his white eye pulled you into his gaze, your saucy response fell heavy on your tongue.

The two of you may have remained like that if the maître d' hadn’t spotted you and ushered “Mr. E. Meritus and Guest” to his usual table.

Part of you had already decided that unless Mr. E. was an axe murderer, you were going to accept this arrangement, but the other part argued strongly for going through the whole spiel. It was there for your satisfaction and safety.

As you outlined your terms and expectations, he’d leaned forward to take your hand…and knocked over the carafe of still water. You’d put a hand to your mouth to hide your smile as he’d jumped up to dab the spill with his napkin.

“Quanto è maldestro!” he’d muttered, face coloring.

You’d run a light trail of your fingertip across the sliver of exposed skin between his glove and shirt cuff. “It’s ok, Daddy. I usually enjoy it when someone makes me wet.”

He’d blinked at you, saying, “Ah, ah…yes,” before chuckling and tapping his nose (and what a nose! It had you thinking of…other things). Easing back into his seat, he'd relaxed, a self-deprecating grin hanging off his face.

When the server had appeared, Mr. E. ordered for you only after asking you what you wanted—and then asking again if that’s what you really wanted—and you found his use of Italian-accented French endearing. But it was his story that had you fully on board: a tale of one man’s tireless rise to the top position of his industry ("Let us say I am in music, yes?”)—the sacrifice and single-mindedness of his climb—and the loneliness of being in power even when surrounded by other people…including lovers.

“It is my…erm…vocation, see?” he’d said as he smoothed his hair back. “Lots of expectations. Many, ah…seekers of attention. This—” he’d gestured between the two of you “—would be being for the peace of mind. Crystal expectations and defined…intentions.”

It was then you really saw his face past the intense gaze—the dark circles under his eyes hidden by the distinctive makeup and lines creased in his face not just from age but also tension. You’d scooted your chair closer, wrapped an ankle around his own, and snuck pointed nails under his sleeve.

“When do we start, Daddy?”

His look of surprise had morphed easily into one of delight before he narrowed his eyes suggestively.

“Immediatamente. And…call me 'Papa'.”

You didn’t keep looking for other Daddies.

***

You could have given up some sugar that night—Copia certainly looked good enough to eat, but this was still an arrangement.

And you knew better than that.

The two of you went over terms, and you were pleasantly surprised at one addendum; it was really the first indicator in what would become a long line of green flags that made you feel secure in your decision.

He'd pointed to it with his pen.

"Oh, I took the liberty of updating your LLC."

You'd read it over, then looked over at him.

"Why?"

He'd shrugged.

"Yours was O.K. Mine is better. Harder to 'suss' out."

If he was trying to impress you, it was working.

It was only once the ink was dry and once you had a copy in your safe deposit box (and the clean STD panels) that you allowed Copia to book the penthouse suite to consummate the deal.

He greeted you at the door, first leaning in for a hug, then halfway through turning it into air kisses.

“I…erm…hello.”

You smirked at him and offered your hand.

“Hi, Papa.”

With practiced grace, he brought your hand to his lips but didn’t quite press them to the back of your hand—his eyes gazing up at you the whole time in a smolder. You smoldered right back, and the adorkable man seemed to switch into one who knew exactly what he wanted, straightening and gesturing to the bedroom.

“Shall we, my little ghouleh?”

He waited for you to move, and then he placed his warm hand lightly on the small of your back.

Once in the room, he took your face in his hands.

“You are very beautiful, bambina. Papa is very lucky.”

You blushed even though you knew you were (Papa’s attentions just had that effect on you), and he thumbed your cheeks lightly. You thought he might capture your lips, but he stepped away from you, his eyes glinting with want as he appraised you.

“Strip,” he commanded, and you reached for the button at the back of your neck, but he made a tetching noise, wagging his finger. “Me,” he rumbled.

Smiling internally, you stepped forward, sliding your hands first down, then up his chest. His eyes watched you as you popped each button on his waistcoat slowly and deliberately. Once the sides of it parted, you smoothed your hands over his shoulders, and despite his little potbelly, you could feel the solid muscle of his back as he shrugged off the garment.

Next, you slid your hands into the waist of his tight pants, and he made a pleased rumble before you untucked his shirt. You held his eyes while you yanked the sides of his shirt apart with an “Oops!” as buttons went skittering everywhere.

“Mmm, naughty ghouleh. Did you want Papa’s punishment?”

“Mmmmmaybe,” you purred as you ran your pointed nails down his bare chest until you encountered the button on his pants; you flicked that open with a playful gasp. “What’s my punishment, Papa?”

Your hand snuck into his pants—and you thrilled when you realized he was going commando (was that always or just for tonight?)—and wrapped your hand around his hot cock. It was half hard and rapidly filling as you pulled it free.

His eyes closed as he let out a shuddering breath, swaying into your expert touch. You rubbed your thumb around his cockhead, smearing around the bead of precum you found there. Jaw dropping while he panted slightly, his eyes popped back open as a hand came up to cup the back of your head.

“I was going to taste you…but now I think you should taste me, yes?”

You quirked your lips because this was far from what you’d consider a punishment, but you thought he already knew that.

Sinking to your knees, you positioned yourself properly before slipping his tip between your wet lips.

He moaned, his fingers tightening reflexively in your hair, and that was before you started massaging the tip with your tongue.

“So good,” he breathed as his hips twitched. “More, per favore.”

You slid your lips down his hot length, and you felt the vein pulse against your tongue; you took him all the way down, and he grunted out in pleasure as his cock slid down your throat.

“May I fuck your face?” he rasped.

And ok, you had a whole technique you were going to perform, but this was good too, so you made a sound of assent.

Using the tight grip he already had in your hair, he held you in place as he began to thrust in and out of your mouth. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either, and each little glup you let out as he hit the back of your throat seemed to make him harden further, and it made you throb between your legs. He pulled you off before you’d needed to tap out, clearly no amateur.

He looked down at you, eyes glazed and lips wet.

“Your mouth isn’t where I want to finish.” He titled his head. “Tonight, anyway. Up on the bed, please.”

Papa held out a hand, and you took it graciously to help yourself off your knees before arranging yourself on the bed appealingly. The way his gaze devoured your form had you feeling smug, and you crooked a finger at him. He crawled on after you, kicking his pants off as he went (and it was struggle city for a few minutes as he fought to get them from bunching at his calves), and then his mouth was devouring yours. Moaning, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and the two of you rubbed against each other in a delicious grind.

When he broke the kiss, it was to crawl back down your body, but not before making a detour to roll your peaked nipples through your dress with his lips; it was only once you were flushed and gasping did he continue down further. He pushed the ruffled bottom of the material up around your waist and pulled your lacey panties down with his teeth. They came away sticky, and he inhaled from them deeply.

“These are mine now,” he growled, and you let out a short little laugh, saying, “I’ll put it on your tab.”

Your giggle was short-lived, however, as his tongue made contact with your clit. Arching off the bed, you cried out his name, and he pulled you closer into his mouth by your thighs.

“I want to smell you on me as I’m fucking you,” he said in a husky voice before diving back in.

And if his adept tongue was enough to have you carrying on for real, the finger he slipped in to curl into your G-spot had you fisting the high thread count sheets. His tongue didn’t waver, it swirled and lapped and flicked, and soon you felt yourself pulsate, your orgasm just there…

His tongue flicked faster and his finger pressed harder, and you finally crashed over the edge, bucking off the bed and gasping out in quick breaths and moans as the shockwave rippled through your body. He licked you through each pulse until you relaxed, boneless, back into the sheets.

Smiling lazily, you blinked up at him as he raised himself on his knees, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“Put this on my tab as well, sí?” he said right before he ripped your dress down the middle.

“Papa!”

And then he was sliding into you, and you couldn’t help it when your eyes rolled back into your head—the man was thick.

You’d assumed he’d been done in minutes—his age and your previous activities were stacked against him—but he fucked you with an even steady pace, sometimes leaning down to suck your nipples, other times rubbing a thumb over your already sensitive clit.

He made you cum again—and you loved the feeling of clenching around his cock—before he flipped you over so he could pull your hair as he fucked you from behind.

“Sí—arch the back for me, my beautiful ghouleh. Please your Papa, yes?”

And when your arms began to tremble from more than just the great dick, he shifted you into his lap so you could lean your head back onto his shoulder as he fucked up into you.

“I want your delicious pussy to clench around me once more, per favore. Can you cum one more time for Papa? Like a good bambina?”

His finger flicked over your hardened clit, and you let out a little mewl as you contracted and spasmed once more, the warmth of your climax rushing through your veins. Papa grunted, and that was the only sign he gave that he too was finding his release inside your tight cunt. You were still jerking against him with each aftershock as his hips jerked into you.

When your pussy stopped popping and his cock stopped kicking, both of you were flushed and sweaty; he lowered the two of you onto the bed and urged you to face him. Brushing your hair behind your ear, he said,

“You are even more beautiful like this, cara. Glowing and satisfied. Papa will have to make sure you always look such, eh?”

You ran your hand down his sweaty back.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

***

There was a lot you expected—an allowance; gifts; more mind-blowing sugar—but this man, this Papa, gave you so much more.

He set you up in a penthouse with lots of natural light.

“This way you will not be being at my ‘beck and call,’ no?” he’d explained as he’d nervously twisted his gloves. "I will be visiting you in your own space."

He gave you a black Amex.

“Allowance…I know not of these things, eh?” He’d waved away the concept like an offending gnat. “You will use this instead, yes? For…whatever.”

And, well—who were you to argue?

Once you moved into the space (your space), he had his staff—a quiet group wearing silver demon masks (you didn’t ask)—come in and take your measurements to fill your closet with all designer pleather, lace, and corsets you’d ever sighed over.

When he’d asked for a fashion show, you’d thought it was just to get you undressed, but he appraised each outfit, each look, with a discerning eye; some made him hum in approval while others had him clicking his tongue as he noted where adjustments could be made. A few had him running the material through bare fingers wistfully.

You’d known exactly when to glide over to him so you could take his head in your hands and tell him to roll your sheer thigh highs off you. (And if his teeth had put a run in the material? Well, he knew where to send the replacement.)

Copia was a deceptively skilled lover, and sometimes you found yourself wondering if you were pleasing him, or if he was pleasing you (especially when you found all the modifications he'd made to the four-poster bed). But the same man who would tell you to sit, to stay—and sometimes to beg as he restrained you and held a wand to your clit—could be shy about his own body. You found his little potbelly inherently kissable, but it was the way he hunched in on himself once disrobed, the slight shrinking and the hesitant look in his one depthless eye, that was a reminder of why he needed you.

He set up a grocery delivery every week with your dietary specifications, though he had made one of his deal breakers that his employees ("The Ghouls—that is what we call them on account of the masks.” He'd gestured at his face. “An endearment you see, yes?") be the ones to receive the delivery and put each item away. It was a bit odd, sure, but it fit his whole schtick, and you’d just gotten used to it over time.

***

The first few weeks, he took you out to fancy dinners when he was in town, and you’d outfitted yourself in vinyl and lace and ruffles while spritzing yourself with Rose 31. He spoke in oblique terms about his work—and its pressures—and you listened attentively while ordering anything you wanted on the menu.

Perhaps you were pushing boundaries, testing him to see if this was too good to be true…. But the only thing he even batted an eye at was your sneaky fingers under his cuff. The only time he stuttered was when you’d tried to creep a stocking foot under his pants…and found they were vacuum-sealed to his leg.

“Oh, s-sc-cuse,” he’d said as he blushed, but you’d just laughed and plucked at the tight material on his thigh.

“How’s your baby girl supposed to get you out of these, Papa?”

After that, he’d handed his card to the server, not even bothering to ask for the bill.

Sometimes he insisted on cooking, and you quickly learned that the man could burn water (literally: the saucepan was reduced to char) but that he would gladly consume anything you asked him to, uh, eat.

One night, he stumbled in—face painted, but smeared, clothes finely tailored, but askew—and his weary eyes met yours.

You were in tight everything and heels so high they all but screamed VIP box.

“Apologies, cara. I cannot take my bambina out tonight. It has been…” he'd rubbed his face, further smearing his paint “…a shit day.”

He'd plopped onto the couch and slumped, burying his head in his hands.

Yes, the whole look had taken you hours, but you were all too happy to submit to his needs. The shoes were always going to give you blisters, anyway.

You'd kicked off the heels and slid in behind him. He'd flinched in surprise as your hands expertly massaged his shoulders despite your talons, and you'd leaned in close to whisper into his ear.

“It’s ok, Papa. You just tell me what you need, mmkay? We’ll set you to rights.”

He'd been silent for a moment before saying quietly, “You are too kind to an old man.”

“Pshhh,” you'd said while giving him a light, playful slap on the shoulder. “Don’t let your haters get to you. They’re just jealous of your game.”

He'd huffed a chuckle, and you'd wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Besides…didn’t you know? You’re only as old as the person you feel.”

“Do you not mean—”

You'd licked the shell of his ear.

“I mean: I’m young enough for the both of us.”

He'd stilled for a minute before turning his head, and you'd seen renewed vigor glinting in his eyes.

“Well then, cara…” he'd rasped, “why do you not make me young again?”

And then he'd proved just how much stamina he still had by fucking you into the headboard. He'd told you that if you were a good girl and kept your palms flat until he'd said, he'd let you cum. Then he'd punched into you, making sure to drag his thick cock over your G-spot as much as he could; his thumb had teased your clit in slow circles—just enough to make you quiver but never enough to push you over.

When you'd pressed your forehead into the mahogany, he'd wrapped your hair around his palm and pulled your head back.

"Be a good little ghouleh and keep that nice line for Papa," he'd purred, but you could hear the rumble under it.

You were sweating and shaking with need, and then he'd reached under you and pinched your nipples. It had made your pussy throb, and you'd jerked back into him.

"So good for you, Papa!" you'd cried out. "I want to cum so bad! Can I cum?"

“Say please,” he'd growled as he thrust into you, his hips sliding against the wetness all over your thighs.

“P-please!”

“Please, what, bambina?”

“Please, Papa!”

“Okie dokie.”

His hand had slipped in between your folds, and a finger slid over your hardened clit. He'd held it there, letting the exquisite sweetness build until the pressure broke in a swirl of colors behind your eyes. You'd bucked and jerked and jolted against him and into the headboard as you moaned in staccato bursts. He'd pulled you to him by your waist, thrusting a handful more times before finishing with a grunt.

When the both of you had finally flopped down into the tangle of sheets, it was you who was panting, not him.

“So good for me,” he breathed. “So perfect for Papa.” He'd petted down your hair. “Papa’s little ghouleh.”

You'd shuddered, basking in his praise, letting him whisper and caress you until his blood slowed.

Later, once the two of you were pink and clean, you'd pulled his head into your lap and ran your fingers through his tousled hair.

“Would it help to tell me, Papa?”

He was silent for a moment before sighing.

“Uh, perhaps.”

When he didn’t continue, you'd said, “We can stay like this, too.”

But he'd shook his head as much as he could with it pillowed on your thighs.

“It is just…where to be beginning.”

“Anywhere you please.”

He'd thought about that, a finger trailing up your calf.

“Well…O.K. So my, ah, boss…”

Copia went on to tell you of deadlines and wayward employees and unrealistic expectations due to his promotion that you only vaguely followed…. But you made the right noises at the correct times and smoothed his hair comfortingly, and soon the man was curling around you and drifting off.

After that night, he was more comfortable letting you know if he didn’t want to be “on,” and you had assured him you were here for his peace of mind, as he'd stipulated, and not his rock ‘n roll lifestyle.

And with a no-limit credit card? You could party on your own time.

***

And you did.

You dressed yourself in the fine clothes from your walk-in before strutting out on the town, and Copia said nothing.

(Well, he had said, “Hmm,” as he'd plucked at the pom-poms hanging off your negligee.

And you had said “Do you not like this one? I can always find one more to your liking, Papa.”

But he’d just responded with, “I liked you as you were, ghouleh.” His eyes—sparkling with mischief—had flicked up to meet yours. “A feast for the eyes that way, yes?”

So, you’d ditched the nightie and upped your hot yoga.)

You treated yourself to lunch at every fancy restaurant that had ever made you drool.

Not a peep from him.

You bought tickets to every rock show you ever wanted to go to, and when Copia remained mum about the bills, you pushed again—you bought your friends clothes and lunch and those overpriced tickets for that band’s reunion tour.

And Copia still said nothing.

You bought a 20-ft skeleton to hang out in your living room, and all Copia said was, “And what shall we name him, eh?” (Bob.)

Tentatively, you started using your black Amex (blamex? amack?) to finance whole gofundmes and other pleas for assistance.

Nada.

Emboldened, you branched out to include bigger charities that had more reach.

Your heart had stopped the night Copia had bright you that highlighted bill, but he'd merely wanted to cross-reference the line items for his taxes.

“Oh, were you thinking I’d be mad, bambina? My, ah, employer has a—fund—for good works. You are doing us a favor, sí? Deductions and shit at tax time.”

You'd kissed the corner of his mouth before disrobing in a trail of tulle toward the bedroom.

“I’ll keep the receipts moving forward, Papa.”

He'd let the papers fall to the couch as he followed you.

“Hmm…perhaps Papa should punish you, anyway.”

He'd circled his finger at you, settling on the settee as he watched you disrobe. You always made it a show, reveling in the way his eyes tracked you and his pants bugled.

Once you were finished sliding off sleeves and wiggling out of low-cut panties, he'd patted his thighs, and you'd laid over them with a sigh.

“Naughty ghouleh," he tsked. "Papa will be giving you 10 on each side.” He'd leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “And then however many more with my hips, bambina.”

He'd straightened up again, smoothing over the cheeks of your ass with his gloves.

“Now, count for Papa.”

The first crack made you sigh in pleasure as you breathed out, “One.”

Crack

The fifth had you arching.

Crack

At ten you were biting your lip with an Mmm.

Crack

Fifteen had you squirming at the pleasant sting radiating outward.

Crack

By the last one, you'd been panting in a good way, and Papa had pulled you up and settled you into his lap before wiping away the reflexive tears. He sucked one into his mouth, his eyes holding yours the whole time.

“Hmm…these do not taste like contrition. I do not be thinking you learned your lesson." His eyes had been hungry. "This is why there is a round two, eh? Hands palm down on the bed, bambina.”

“Yes, Papa.”

You'd positioned yourself over the bed while Papa had taken off his clothes.

When his bare finger had slipped into your slit, you'd gasped as the pad slid over your throbbing clit.

“Ah! What a good little ghouleh. Already so wet—this pleases Papa.”

You'd moaned, and then you'd felt the pressure of his cock right before he'd pushed into you.

“Perhaps this will be teaching you that lesson, sí?” he'd said, his voice husky.

He'd curled one arm around your waist as the other braced himself on the bed next to you, and then he'd done as he promised he would, his hips slapping into your pinked ass as he fucked you into the mattress.

***

You were at lunch with a friend—your treat, obvi—happily consuming the exquisite meal and telling them about your latest “date”, when they said,

“But he’s still a job, right? You’re on-call for him.”

You stilled, fork midway to your mouth because while their statement wasn’t incorrect, it missed context, and frankly, you found it condescending.

So, you lowered your utensil and looked them in the eyes.

“Why are you assuming I’m not perfectly happy with the arrangement? Look around you,” you made a sweeping motion with your arms, “I’m living my life—not working some soulless job just to be exhausted at the end of every day. And—” you flipped your hair “—I’m looking good while doing it.”

“But the sex…” They said it almost conspiratorially, as if you'd lean in and confess that yeah—that part was pretty ick.

“What about it?” you retorted instead as you raised an eyebrow.

Copia definitely had good dick game (and tongue…and fingers…), and you didn’t appreciate the implication that it was a trial to be endured and not something you thoroughly enjoyed. (Begged for…)

They scrunched their face as if they'd caught you in a lie. “He’s old.”

You rolled your eyes and finally took the bite off your fork.

“He’s distinguished.” You raised your chin, your lip curling into a smirk. “Experienced.”

You thought of the bashful, tired man who liked it when you ran your fingers through his hair as he talked about the trials of his day and the intricacies of his craft.

“But honestly, I don’t think he’s really paying me for the sugar.”

***

Life was good.

It was really good.

Dinners out on the town were good, and nights in making the tension in his shoulders disappear were good.

The indie shows you attended were good, as were the stolen moments in the kitchen of that hipster pizza place he knew where you could enjoy a specialty slice.

Everything was so good, in fact, that he started taking you to industry events.

Well…kind of.

“So,” you’d drawn out the word, “I’m going but not as your date?”

You'd been smoothing out your undergarments in preparation for slipping into the dress with the slits up both sides he liked so much.

He was on your bed, watching the show, and he’d sighed.

“It is…political. My boss…she dictates who is on my arm for these.”

You’d pulled a look at him.

“For a record release?”

He’d hummed.

“You’d be surprised at the deals that go down in dark corners, cara.” He’d waved his hand. “But that is of no importance, yes? I would like you there, even if you cannot be clinging to my arm.”

You’d arched your eyebrow at him.

“How dark are those corners, Papa?”

He’d licked his lips.

“Dark enough, naughty ghouleh.”

The events were more or less what you’d expected them to be: shiny people trying to out-schmooze each other, try-hards—well—trying hard, coke in the bathrooms, fancy hors d'oeuvres, and other babies keeping their Daddies and Mommies on lock.

And you saw right away what Copia had meant. Politicians skulked about looking for either a good time or a connection; the Ghoul employees were there as both servers and muscle; and Copia’s manager gave orders in short, clipped commands that showed she was used to being obeyed.

But you could read a room almost as well as you could read people, so you stuck to the walls and the cocktail tables, watching. Maybe for some, this was a party, but for Copia, it was a job; so for you, it was a job.

The galas all followed the same pattern—a woman in sequins on his arm looking just as bored to be there as he did to have her on his arm; a lot of talking to old white men; and Copia hunching further and further in on himself until you find a dark corner to pull him into.

And yeah, this was why you were here—this was why you had no-holds-barred access to the blamex—but that didn’t mean you were unmoved. When he was allowed to just be, Copia was a gentle soul who wanted to be kind, and you actually kind of hated seeing him so distressed half the time. So, sure—you were here to relieve his stress, but you also wanted to…and honestly, you didn’t think you’d be here if Copia thought your motives just as mercenary as Sequined Lady #27.

You’d wait until the crowd ebbed away from him before moving from the spot where you held up the wall. He’d smell your perfume before feeling your hot breath in his ear, and you’d swear you could see him unhunch just a little.

“Come here, Papa,” you’d whisper, and he’d shudder.

He’d follow your swishing form as you led him to whatever dark nook and cranny you’d scoped out—not that you’d have to fear unwanted discovery anyway since his personal Ghouls always closed rank at a discreet distance.

And sometimes he’d press his nose into your neck, push up your dress, and fuck you against the wall quick and dirty—he couldn’t be missed, after all. But other times, he'd let you ply your talented tongue.

You’d take his hardening cock out of his—always—tight pants (and you were beginning to realize the man never wore underwear), before teasing the tip between your lips.

“Oh—so sweet, so good…my good little ghouleh,” he’d moan, and as your tongue laved around his sensitive head, you’d show him just how good.

You’d flatten your tongue and lick the vein, thrilling when it throbbed against you as he’d groaned with the need to have your hot mouth around his entire length. But you’d tease him some more, giving his tip short, shallow bobs.

“Please,” he’d beg, but you weren’t someone who could be rushed.

Humming, you’d tap his cockhead against your tongue as you looked up at him, pleased when he’d look down at you with unfocused eyes. And you knew he wouldn’t rush you, wouldn’t shove your head down, because you were always good for it. So, you’d lap each side of his cock, letting him feel the innuendo of wet and heat, delighting every time his breath hitched.

The best part was always keeping him guessing—would you suck him down right away? Would you make him wait until he was trembling? Would you fake him out with a seemingly quick bob and then make him choke on a moan as you slid him down your throat?

But the point was that you would.

Finally, you’d take his full length, press your nose into his thatch of curls, and hold for as long as you could while he jerked and grunted above you.

His hand would cup the back of your head—petting slightly before tangling his fingers in—until you needed to pop off for air, coughing wetly, but smiling up at him wickedly as you jacked him.

“My perfect bambina. So perfect for your Papa,” he’d whisper even as his hand gripped tight in your hair. “Per favore, suck me more, ghouleh.”

And you would, of course you would, bobbing your head down on his length as your hand worked up the base before you deep-throated him.

After that, it wouldn’t take long.

You'd start sucking him in earnest, and—having worked him up until he was the one gagging for it—it would only serve to catapult him toward his climax. He’d start panting and jerking, and you’d suck faster, making his cock sloppy with spit until he let out a groaned Ah! right before you'd taste his release on your tongue. Then, you’d massage him slowly with your lips until he sighed out an, “Enough, cara”, before helping you to your feet and kissing you soundly.

“Hmm…I think my bambina deserves a reward, no?” he’d say right before he pushed you flush with the wall.

And sometimes he’d kneel, licking you in expert swirls and laps until you were riding his face, begging to cum. Other times, he’d finger you slowly, the pad of one circling your clit and tapping at it as you whined and he whispered how good how perfect you were for him, and could you make that sweet little whimper again, per favore?

***

Now

It’s hard not to fall for Copia.

It’s not that he treats you like a queen—although that certainly doesn’t hurt—and it’s not that the sex is mind-blowing, which doesn’t hurt either. It’s the soft way he talks to you when you’re not fucking, and the shadows around his eyes you see some days that only you seem to chase away; it’s how he’s never once treated you like he owns you (except when you’ve asked), and how he’s so very, very serious about everything that goes into his stage productions.

He loves seeing you take joy in all the purchases you make on his dime, and you find it endearing that he feels comfortable coming by if only for a few hours of peace and quiet while you exist on the couch together.

It doesn’t matter that this is, at the heart of it, a contractual arrangement.

You love how he can be confident one moment, and then completely bumbling the next.

You love the little furrow between his eyebrows when you make a joke at his expense before it hits him and he says, “Oh—you’re teasing Papa. Good one, eh heh heh.”

You love that when he’s soft in bed, he calls you his “little ghouleh,” and you try not to think that he has someone somewhere else whom he calls the very same.

And sometimes…sometimes you catch him looking at you, and you think maybe you see your own wants reflected in his eyes—that maybe he too has fallen for you…

But it could also be wishful thinking, so you put the feeling in a coffin and bury it under the earth at the bottom of the sea.

***

Maybe the two of you would have gone on like that forever.

Maybe you would have confessed your feelings and ruined everything.

Maybe he would have eventually grown tired of you.

But fate seemed to have other plans for you…

***

One day, as you’re flipping through a music magazine (there’s an article in it about Papa’s “Ghost Project” being one of the top 50 new hot bands to watch out for) with your fresh set of nails—your manicure needs to look immaculate wrapped around his cock—the sound of the key card shifts and clicks. You don’t think too much of it even though it’s not a grocery day. It’s infrequent but not unusual for a Ghoul to stop by to putter with something or drop off a package, so when one enters, you greet them without looking up.

“Hey.”

They don’t answer, which again, isn’t unusual, and you stopped trying to make polite conversation after Papa got tetchy about it and you’d had to suck his brains out of his cock to get him to settle down about it.

Don’t talk to the help, apparently—got it.

You’re arranged on the couch in your tailored satin loungewear because you’re always on brand, so when the Ghoul approaches, you look up at them, surprised—usually they go about their business and leave.

“Oh…did you need—”

Your question is cut off when they lunge at you, letting out an inhuman snarl.

They manage to get close only because you’re caught off guard and boxed in, but you’re not docile. You’ve had years of self-defense classes, kickboxing to keep your legs and waist shapely, and—while they are baroque—sharpened nails.

Sure, there’s real fear—especially since the teeth below the mask look equally sharp—but you land a kick into their stomach as you swipe out in their general neck area. They yelp in surprise, stepping back as you scream out,

“What the actual fuck?!”

They smile.

“I can see why you’re special to him. Nothing personal, babe.”

You’re scrambling across the couch, trying not to slip and slide, so you can get your feet under you, and that’s when your door breaks open. A part of you screams not to take your eyes off the offending Ghoul, but it’s a reflexive action to look. More Ghouls barge in, and for a moment your heart falls into your stomach, but then Copia strides in—hair wild and eyes burning with rage.

“Fuck,” says the Ghoul, and then the others are on them.

You see…well, you’re not quite sure. Gray skin and horns and claws you aren’t so sure are acrylic. But then Papa is there pressing your face into his soft chest and wrapping his arms around you.

“Don’t look. Don’t look, bambina. Papa has you.”

And yeah, you’re relieved you didn’t have to recreate some kind of horror movie end-battle scene, and it’s nice to be snuggled into Copia’s arms because you always like to be snuggled into them, but.

You half wonder if the "not looking" is for your benefit or his.

***

He’s led you into the bedroom and hands you a glass of water—which you accept but don’t drink.

“Are you ok, my brave little ghouleh?” His mismatched eyes search you up and down for injury. “Anything your Papa can kiss and make better, mmm?”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, but you smile anyway.

“I’m fine, Papa. Just a little…startled is all.”

And confused.

He kneels and kisses the tops of your knees.

“If anything had happened…”

He rubs his forehead against your legs, and out of habit, you card your fingers through his hair. You know he’s saying more words of contrition, but all you can hear is the clip-show of images in your head of the Ghouls.

“Papa,” you say, and when he cuts off mid-sentence, you realize you interrupted him—but he still looks up at you expectantly, so you continue. “What…what just happened?”

Rocking back on his haunches, he gets up with a practiced ease that reminds you that just because he’s older and soft around the middle doesn’t mean he isn’t fit. Rubbing his mouth, he wanders over to the wall-to-ceiling window, brushing the curtain aside. It’s clear he’s gathering his thoughts, but when a handful of minutes goes by in silence, you prompt him again.

“Papa.”

He turns and gives you an unreadable expression. His mouth opens. Closes. The furrow between his brows appears, and he gestures with his hand, only to immediately curl it back and shake his head.

Finally, he exhales through his nose.

“I have been wanting to explain…but it is…. How can one explain the unexplainable, eh? I shall show you, sí?”

You nod, and he proceeds to open the bedroom door before signaling to what you assume to be one of his Ghouls. A tall woman comes in—one who you’ve seen in passing with Papa at gala events, but who has never to your knowledge been here—and stands at attention.

Copia looks at you.

“Prepare yourself my brave ghouleh. Cirrus, will you remove your mask?”

There’s only a slight hesitation in the woman’s stance before she reaches up and pulls off the metal. You see, and you understand, but you don't comprehend.

Gray skin. Sharp teeth. Curled horns.

You look at Copia.

“Why the monster SFX?”

Cirrus huffs.

Copia’s lips quirk, and you watch him swallow his amusement.

“No, cara. Cirrus is a Ghouleh.”

Jealousy, hot and sharp, twists in your gut.

“She’s another girlfriend?” you say, more acidly than you’d intended.

“Gross,” scoffs Cirrus.

“I—no…” he rubs his face. “I am not explaining this properly.”

“For Satan’s sake, boss. This is just painful.” Cirrus trains her intense gaze on you. “Ok, buttercup, you’re about to have your worldview irreparably altered, but the sooner you suck it up and accept it, the sooner we can all stop living out this ‘will they or won’t they’ drama.

Copia grimaces, and your mouth drops open, even if some small part of you decides you like her.

Cirrus points to her face.

“This? Not makeup. I am 100% au naturale, no filter, dearie. That’s right! A beast from Hell—or a hellbeast, whichever you prefer—summoned from The Pit to serve the Dark One by aiding his army topisde. Which for me entails keyboards and vocals.”

You blink.

“Satan Lucifer, Cir—we should be easing her into it, no?”

Cirrus jabs a…claw…at him.

“I’m tired of this crap, boss. Bring her into the fold or let her go—Ren wasn’t acting alone.”

“Yes, yes, sí. Send the Gremlin in, then.”

Cirrus gives an ironic bow, and Papa waves her away dismissively.

Your head swims as you try to cram all the information that's been shoved into it over the last 15min, and what comes out of your mouth is,

“Papa—are you in the mob?”

His head turns to you, his look incredulous.

“What.”

You're about to repeat yourself, but a slight Ghoul saunters into the room, and you would’ve called him small, except you notice that he’s got an inch or two on Copia. He also has the whole…hellbeast…look going for him, but whereas Cirrus had an ethereal presence, this one looks like the one momma warned you about.

“Hey, pops. Heard we could ditch the metal.”

“You know you are supposed to be keeping it on at all times.”

"Whatever.” He looks at you. “Hey, doll. S’up? Those claw marks on Ren yours?” He looks down at your hands. “Yeah, they are. Up top!”

When you make no movement to high-five him, he just shrugs.

“Dew.” Copia pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What? It was a good showing!”

“Will you…show her…?” Papa makes a phfew noise and wiggles his fingers.

“Yeah—bet, bet.

Dew gives you a wide grin; his entire set of teeth looks sharp, and all you can think is what his dentist must go through. He snaps his fingers on one hand, and a flame appears; even as you’re craning your neck to find the hidden lighter, he snaps the fingers on his other hand, and a trail of flames erupts across the line of his shoulders.

Again, you see the flame, and you understand what it’s doing…but you don’t comprehend.

Hellbeasts, your brain supplies helpfully.

You put your fingers to your temples and press.

“Aww…not even a little gasp?”

“Out, you Gremlin. And put your mask back on.”

“You never let me have any fun!”

Copia kneels again.

“What can I do, bambina? How can Papa help?”

Shaking your head as if that will clear it, you point a finger in the direction of the living room.

“Ok. I’m gonna need a bit of context.”

***

It takes several hours, a whiteboard, and a couple of existential crises, but Copia manages to give you a high-level explanation.

He’s not just the lead singer of a stunt metal band—apparently staffed with literal hellbeasts—he’s the newly-appointed leader of a Satanic Church. No, not that one—one that’s ordained by Satan himself, and it’s Copia’s mission to spread the Bad Word and recruit new members.

He lives at the Abbey (the main Church in Sweden with his Congregation), but there are satellite Churches everywhere—his was in Italy—and a lot of high-ranking officials are placed in high-level government positions everywhere. Slowly, but surely, they are infiltrating power structures everywhere to take over the world in the name of their Dark Lord, nemA.

It’s odd because as much as you still think this is some elaborate hoax, your brain is connecting pieces: vagaries of Copia’s rants that now have context; little remarks from others at galas…

You’re special to him. Nothing personal.

Bring her into the fold.

“So, this Ghoul, this ‘Ren’…he came here to abduct me because he thought he could…what?”

Papa sits next to you on the settee, one hand clasped in yours.

“Cara, the Church is like any other human organization—not everyone agrees on its direction. Leadership can be, ah, fleeting if one is not successful.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

He turns your head to his by your chin. His eyes glint and a thumb sweeps across your cheekbone.

“Because I am a foolish old man. Who cares more than he should. Who became sloppy.”

Your heart gives a loud thump, one you’re sure the entire building heard.

“You…care for me, Papa?”

His thumb trails over your lips.

“Forgive me, bambina. I know it is…against the rules. But: sí.”

When you flick your eyes up to meet his, they shine with feeling.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

Looking down at your joined hands, you bring them up to your mouth to kiss his hand.

“Me, too.”

He blinks.

“Eh…scusi?”

“Super unprofessional.” You place a kiss on each knuckle. “But I care for you too, my Papa.”

His mouth flutters like a fish, and his blinks go rapid.

He turns his ear toward you.

“Eh? Papa is not hearing you correctly, bambina.”

So, you slip into his lap and wrap your legs around his waist.

“We’ll have to…update our terms.”

You quirk your lips at him, and when the wonder bleeds from his face, you think you’ve misunderstood, but he presses his forehead against yours.

“You are very distracting, my little ghouleh. Papa would love nothing more than your carnal pleasure right now, but…there is more we should be discussing.”

And he is hard.

Sighing, you can’t help but slide a hand over his bulge as you scoot out of his lap.

He rumbles and gives you a dangerous look.

“Papa will be punishing you for that later, bambina—that’s a promise…but for now we must be discussing your…Initiation.”

Copia explains to you that if you really are choosing him, you can no longer remain outside the protection of the Church. There are too many who know who you are and what you mean to him. Your glamorous lifestyle in the big city must come to an end: you must either pledge your loyalty to the Church—to him—or you must assume a new identity elsewhere.

The third option is certain doom.

And it’s a big decision, of course it is. You love your life, and—as much as you care for him—you don’t know how happy you’d be living as a…Sister of Sin in relative austerity. But…you don’t know how happy you’d be living elsewhere in luxury without him.

“I shall give you time to think, cara.”

He leaves you in the master suite to your thoughts, but he doesn’t leave the condo. None of them do.

And maybe that was a calculated move on his part or maybe he really was just thinking of your safety—but you…like it.

The Ghouls take some getting used to—even the most couth of them can be a bit feral—but it’s clear that they’re family. And yeah, Copia orders them about, but you watch all the little ways he cares for them. You watch the way they torment each other affectionately, and it gets you thinking that you could be a part of this. You and Cirrus could get your nails done together before you and Cumulus got your hair done; you and Swiss could play video games together, and you’re sure Dewdrop would sneak you out to shows.

You’d be losing, but you’d also be gaining.

***

“If I said yes,” you start carefully, “what does that mean for this?” You gesture around your space.

“The condo? It is Churched owned so—”

“No. I mean…I don’t really do 200sq feet and a uniform.”

Papa’s eyes sparkle and his lips tilt.

“No, bambina.” He places a hand over his heart. “And Papa would never.”

His fingers trail lightly over the fishnet and corset combo you’re sporting.

“Most Siblings prefer the habit, but—outside of official ceremonies and mass—you may be wearing what you desire.” His eyes track you up and down before clearing his throat. “And you will be not in a first-year room. Some will bitch and moan, but fuck ‘em, eh?” He leans in, his lips barely on yours. “You are Papa’s special girl.”

When he leans back, you can’t help chasing after his lips, and he chuckles.

“The suite won’t be as big as this, but it will be a suite…. And it will have…easy access.”

He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you laugh.

“Then I will follow you, Papa.”

This time, when he leans in to kiss you, you place a hand on his chest and wag your finger at him.

“But…I want everything in writing.”

You’re in love. Not stupid.

***

Epilogue

You’re in your habit (and ok: you have found a certain charm to it, especially after you’d raised the hemline and caused Papa to walk into a wall the first time he glimpsed you in it) in one of the private conference rooms.

Copia had fast-tracked your orientation, but you still were required to complete Initiation. (Not that you were complaining.)

And there’s something about Papa in his full set of robes that has you ready to kneel and accept his unholy communion, but for now, you wait patiently as he intones the rite.

A Ghoul—one you don’t know—sits in the corner, flipping through a book, bored with the whole process, but required as a witness.

You ignore them, and they ignore you.

You’d always felt pretty sex progressive, but being at the Abbey has really opened your world to just how laissez-faire mostly everyone here treats “lustful activities.”

“Kneel,” says Copia quietly, and you do. He makes a sign over you, his eyes locked on yours. When he says, “You may rise, mia bambina,” you do, practically slithering up his body, parts of your habit snagging on the jewels in his embroidery.

“Do you accept this body as proxy?”

“I do, Papa.”

“Then lie down.”

The bed is only shaped like an altar because, “Satan doesn’t give a fuck where we fuck, eh? Heh heh”, and you’re glad because: hard, cold stone? Ew.

While you arrange yourself to best effect, the Ghoul helps Papa out of his formal wear, and you smolder at him when you see he wasn’t wearing anything underneath them.

Typical.

“Naughty Papa,” you purr, and his white eye flares. He crawls over you, and the glint in his eye turns predatory.

“The only naughty creature I see is you, little ghouleh. Papa should be fucking that attitude out of you.”

“Papa can try.”

“Let’s start with this.” He tugs at your habit. “How unkind of you to tease your Papa.”

You’re jostled slightly, and then you hear the rip of fabric. You gasp, but it’s in delight as the torn fabric reveals your own nakedness. At once, his hot mouth is on your nipples, a firm hand pressed to your back to steady you.

“Oh, Papa!”

His tongue laves at one as the fingers of his free hand roll the other before he switches. You try to buck into him, but he rumbles in warning: Stay. His mouth and tongue and fingers work you until your skin flushes prettily and your pussy throbs.

Seeming to sense your heightened arousal, Papa’s mouth finally leaves your skin; his hair is wild from where you’d apparently been grabbing it, and his lips are puffy. Dilated eyes pin you in place as he yanks off his gloves with his teeth.

“Don’t. Move,” he growls as two fingers ease into your slit; using the ample wetness they find, his fingers slide easily over your pulsing clit, down to press at your hole, then back to circle your nub.

You cry out and jerk, but a warning grunt from him has you locking up so you can be a good girl for your Papa. Still, his other hand comes up to clasp the back of your neck to hold you in place as he fingers you. Over and over he brings you high before backing off again, and when you mewl, all he says is, “Today when you cum, it will be for Lucifer.”

It’s only once you’re shaking, sweat coating your body and slick coating your thighs, does he lay you down. You hadn’t even realized you’d closed your eyes until he says,

“Look at me, ghouleh. Yes…” His hand loosely strokes his weeping length. “Do you accept Satan’s cock?”

“Yes, Papa,” you pant.

“Eccellente.”

He doesn’t so much slide into you as he slides you onto his cock, gripping your hips hard.

“Oh! So good!” he gasps, as his head lolls back. His hips jerk and don’t stop jerking until they turn into steady thrusts.

You’re crying out and scrabbling at the sheets, and he grunts every time he hears the wet squelch between your bodies.

You know Initiation is supposed to be more or less a perfunctory rite—a symbolic claiming and giving over—but Papa seems to have forgotten to make it quick.

And that’s just fine with you.

By the time he’s shaking with the need to cum, you’re biting the pillow with your own need. You’ve been a throbbing mess since before he started fucking you, and by now, reaching that sweet crest is all you can think about.

You know—for Satan.

The thumb that slides over your pulsing clit is unexpected, and it immediately hurtles you toward climax. You gasp out, back arching, as you feel your blood pool and your pussy tighten right before the intensity of each orgasmic wave wracks your body with convulsions.

When he cums, it’s with a violent thrust into you and a softly grunted Latin prayer—fulfilling the terms of the Initiation rite. He doesn’t quite collapse onto you, but it’s a near thing, and the two of you lie in a sweaty heap, panting and blindly petting each other while you wait for your hearts to slow and sync.

“FucK,” he says, and you giggle.

When the Ghoul comes over to hand him the signed witness form, Papa subtly shifts the sheets to cover you, and the small gesture warms something deep within you.

“Well now, little ghouleh. Welcome to the Congregation.”

***

Your habit: short.

Your rooms: luxe.

Man: locked.

Game: matched.

#sugar dating #papa iv #f!reader #n/sfw #my writing

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howaboutalittlehelpneos · 1 year

Text

Round 5, Match 2

Match 2 is here! The mother of Michio the food themed duelist, or the mother of Arc-V's protagonist, Yuya! Which one of them has your vote? If you need any help or just want a refresher on who these women are, look no further.

Mrs. Mokota: Appears in episode 16, where she livestreams Michio's duels to her husband so that he can watch their son while he cooks.

...That is basically it, other than being a cheerleader for her son's duel, she really doesn't get to do much. We see at the very beginning that she's very protective of him and is willing to fight the principal over the duel between Michio and Yuya taking place in the first place because she finds it unfair when her son's already qualified, but that really is the most we get to see of her. The rest of her lines are all her talking up her son, and then one brief disappointment near the end when her son loses.

Yoko: Appears in episode 1 during Yuya's duel against Ishijima Strong, the guy his father was to duel several years ago, before he disappeared. Yoko has been shown to be incredibly supportive of her son, making several appearances at his duels in season 1 to support him (and has never once done the exact opposite of that alright it didn't happen we don't talk about it.)

Her house is full of cats and dogs and Sora because she can't resist taking in strays, she makes the best pancakes in the world as far as anyone who's had her cooking is concerned, and she used to lead an all girls' biker gang before she met her husband and became a housewife, which is pretty cool if you ask me. She even duels her own son on a motorcycle (the 5Ds cast would be so proud).

This is unfortunately the last cool thing Yoko will do, as the entire rest of the show that takes place after this duel happens in every dimension other than Standard, and we don't get to see her again until the last few episodes. She sure did make an impact in season 1, at least!

#yugioh arc v #ygo arc v #yugioh tournament #yugioh moms #mrs pepper #mrs mokota #yoko sakaki #poll

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sharathpai · 2 years

Text

Incident No. 1 - 'THE CURIOUS CASE OF LIFE SIZE PHOTOS OF ADVOCATES AT THE MRTP COMMISSION, NEW DELHI'

In my junior days (circa 1998), I was entrusted the task of assisting a designated Senior Counsel (having a rip roaring Supreme court practice in those days) before the MRTP Commission in a high stakes matter. The Senior Counsel had on account of my Bombay senior's repeated requests agreed to appear before a lower court albeit for a triple fee.

A local Delhi based company claiming to be India's leading manufacturer of heart pacemakers having an office at Paharganj with no factory, had addressed a handwritten postcard to the MRTP Commission allegating that a world leading Fortune 500 US Company manufacturing heart pacemakers and mitral valves was preventing any other competitor from selling heart pacemakers to leading hospitals in India and the alleged act on the part of the Fortune 500 US Company was nothing but a monopolistic trade practice which practice ought to be deprecated and put an end to immediately failing which Indian Companies based in Paharganj, New Delhi would suffer at the hands of foreign infiltrators.

The contents of the postcard had been converted 'SUO MOTO' by the Commission into an official Complaint and a copy of the Complaint had been dispatched in a pale brown envelope with government of India postage stamps to the Fortune 500 Company's headquarters in the US. The envelope also contained a show cause notice directing the US Company as to show cause as to why their operations ought not to be banned in India. The notice dispatched by the Commission had sent shivers down American spines.

How the envelope and its contents promptly reached US shores still remains a mystery to date. Those were the days when having an internet connection was a matter of great prestige and every reputed law firm had a fax machine.

For all legal mavericks practicing today, MRTP Commission was formed by the Government for the purpose of restricting monopolistic trade practices in India and the MRTP Commission has now been replaced by CCI also known as the Competition Commission off India.

Coming back to the incident at hand, I was to meet the Senior Counsel in the Bar room meant for Advocate members of the local bar - (Advocates regularly practicing before the MRTP Commission)

I entered the bar room and promptly sat myself on a chair, as the Senior Counsel had informed me that he was stuck up in heavy traffic. The act on my part to directly make myself at home and sit on a Learned member's chair was not taken too kindly by other members.

When you are a junior there are times you can get away with anything by feigning ignorance. No one said anything although I received dirty disapproving stares from everywhere.

The bar room was simple room with a noisy air cooler inside. Nothing fancy. The room was adorned with life size photos of Advocates and these photos accompanied the photos of Gandhiji, Dr Ambedkar, Mrs Indira Gandhi and Pandit Nehru. There was even a framed photograph of our ex-President Giani Zail Singh, for reasons best known to the bar. I was informed later on that Sardar Advocates at the bar also wished to be represented by someone important from their community. One more photograph on the wall would not make a difference i guess.

Just at that moment, an Advocate with salt and pepper hair walked in and screamed at his junior - 'Papers lao bhai. Nashta nahin kiya kya?' The junior traced out the papers from countless papers and briefs dumped on the table and managed to somehow save his job.

To my utter shock and surprise, one of the life size portraits on the wall of the bar room was that of the same Advocate with the salt and pepper hair. I started sweating profusely and Mr .Tulsi Ramsey came to mind. (For readers who do not know who Tulsi Ramsey is - please Google it).

As Advocates started walking in, i compared their faces to the life size portraits on the wall. Most of the faces matched.

In my mind, if a person's LIFE SIZE photo is right up on the wall then I would presume the person to be dead.

Garnering up the courage I asked an Advocate - 'Sir, what do these life size portraits adorning the wall mean?'

The Learned Advocate replied - 'Bhai, ye sab MRTP commission ke bar members hain. Jitne bar election hua utne photo lag gaye' deewar pe.

Not able to contain my curiosity further, I spoke my mind . I told him - Sir in Bombay if my photo is on a wall it means i am dead'.

His reverberating reply to me which I remember to this day was - "Bhai tum Bombay Wale bewakoof ho. Advocate marne ke baad photo lene aur lagane ka kya fayda. Sab Advocates ka photo court ke deewar pe lagao. Agar woh Advocate mar var gaya toh uske photo PE phool ka haar chadao. Simple'.

Upon hearing him, my mind which had automatically presumed it had seen ghosts of Advocates walking by in the bar room calmed down. I finally started counting the photos with garlands and they were merely a dime a dozen.

The matter was called out and the Senior Counsel never made it. He still remains forever stuck in traffic to this day and is a SUPER SENIOR these days.

I decided that the best way forward would be to donate my life size photo with a garland to the MRTP Commission bar association as i was confident the client would kill me if no future date was given by the Honourable Commission on account of the Senior Counsel's non availability on that fateful day.

Luckily for me wise counsel prevailed and by God's grace i managed to convince the respected MRTP commission members to grant me a date obviously at the client's costs 😜.

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distractedhistotech · 5 years

Text

Before MSA + 1: Practice

It took a surprisingly short time to set up the first faux investigation at Lewis’s house.

“We have a limited number of cameras for recording video so we have to determine the best locations for them. Where would you say the activity is the most concentrated?” asked Hiro.

“My room, but that’s probably just because it’s my room,” said Lewis.

Hiro nodded. “A bit iffy, but reasonable. We can leave a camera in there, but I’ll need permission from your parents for it to run overnight.”

“Don’t forget the basement,” suggested Frigg from the kitchen. “Whatever’s down there is unpleasant enough that we put off going down there until Sydney’s around.”

“I knew it,” muttered Sydney.

“Was that where the bodies were prepared?” asked Hiro.

Frigg shrugged. “I’m not sure. We’re not the first people to live here, and one of the former occupants must have cleared everything out.”

“We’ll place one or two cameras in the basement and save the last in case we find something notable during the investigations,” decided Hiro. “You can also set up a few things ahead of time. I like stretching very fine and fragile thread across doorways and laying out a layer of powder on the floor, usually flour. We won’t be doing that this time, as I don’t think Lewis’ parents would appreciate the mess, but can anyone tell me what purpose these serve?”

“Should I answer?” asked Vivi.

“Let’s wait and give the others a chance to see if they can come up with anything,” said Hiro.

“To trip people?” asked Sydney.

“Bit of the opposite,” said Hiro.

“Ghosts would go through the thread, but people would break it?” asked Arthur.

Hiro nodded. “Correct. It will help you figure out if any activity in the room was due to a ghost or a human. Now, what do you think about the flour?”

“Footprints?” suggested Lewis.

Hiro nodded. “Yes. Humans and animals leave footprints. Ghosts don’t. In addition, air currents could shift them letting you know that there is a draft or something similar. You might learn or come up with additional tricks to help you out. There are all sorts of techniques.” Hiro paused to pull out a large sheet of paper, which he unfolded to show a complicated looking circle with various symbols and kanji along it. “This is a protective circle. It’s a good idea to set one up so that if you run into something particularly nasty you can retreat to a safe location to regroup. They aren’t full proof though. It’s best to find some way to escape.”

“Why is it so small?” asked Sydney.

“Because this is the biggest piece of paper I could find,” deadpanned Hiro. “They’re normally a lot larger to fit several people inside.” Ben barked. “And animals as well.”

“Not a lot of investigators use animals,” said Vivi. “But we’ve got Ben.”

“Animals are much more sensitive to spiritual presences than most humans, and dogs are often protective of their family. They’ll do whatever they can to keep you alive,” explained Hiro. He nodded to Lewis. “You’re at least as sensitive, probably more so, but the rest of the children can’t detect anything on their own yet.”

Sydney perked up. “Yet?”

“Ah. My family has a history of spiritual powers that manifest in our teens or early adulthood,” explained Hiro. “I have some sensory abilities myself, and I expect Vivi will someday as well.”

“It’s taking forever though,” muttered Vivi.

“There are also items I suggest you keep on you at all times: Holy water, salt, smudge sticks, pepper spray. That incudes you Sydney. We don’t know how your power works exactly, so I would rather you be safe rather than sorry.”

Sydney nodded. “So, now what?”

“Now, I show you how to set up the cameras.”

The quick demonstration and lecture went a bit over Sydney and Lewis’ head, but Arthur seemed to understand the procedure.

“Now, usually, you would have one member of the group watch the monitors for anything out of the ordinary.” Hiro nodded to Sydney. “No offense meant Sydney, but since you seem to scare away ghosts you would likely be the one on the monitors a good portion of the time.”

“Aw…”

“But not tonight,” continued Hiro. “This is just for practice, and we already know the house and cemetery are haunted. No reason to try and draw ghosts out.”

“Is that something we have to do?” asked Arthur.

“Don’t worry. It’s only small things,” said Hiro. “Asking if anyone is there, saying you mean no harm, simple nonthreatening things to catch their attention.”

“It’s harmless,” added Vivi.

“Usually. Which is why you have to watch what you say,” said Hiro. Couldn’t have her thinking there was no risk. He wanted her to have a long life. “Now, we’ll be moving to the cemetery. Everyone has their religious symbols?” The kids held up necklaces with religious symbols, mostly Christian and Shinto. “Good, always keep them on you during an investigation. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep them on hand during daily life as well.”

“Dinner will be ready before too long,” interjected Frigg.

“We won’t be gone for too long,” reassured Hiro.

Five minutes later, they were in the cemetery. Hiro could see the ghosts watching them curiously. “Usually, you wander around a bit, maybe focusing on any graves belonging to known ghosts or having a connection to the investigation.”

Lewis raised a hand. “Um, a lot of them look haunted to me.”

Hiro nodded. “They probably always will. You’ll need to do some research beforehand to determine which gravestones to focus on. I usually start by asking locals, looking up newspaper articles to determine how accurate their accounts are, and going through records to see how possible it is.”

“That’s a lot of homework,” said Sydney.

Hiro had to chuckle a bit at that. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it.” He took out a camera. “Now, we’ll take a few pictures as we walk around since ghosts sometimes show up in photos.”

Arthur perked up. “Oh! That’s a pretty new model!”

Hiro nodded. “I prefer digital cameras. Some insist film works better, but personally I feel the two are equally effective, but digital cameras provide certain advantages. You can take more pictures. This is important because I recommend taking at least three pictures in quick succession. If the same odd phenomena appear in all three pictures with trackable progression, it’s probably a trick of the camera or a light reflection. It it’s only in one, it could be supernatural. You’ll need to examine it further to be sure. If you do use up all the space on a camera, you can go back and delete any that you’re sure have no supernatural evidence. The only downside is that there are no negatives and skeptics might claim you photoshopped something. Not much you can do about that.”

Hiro took a moment to take three quick shots of a grave where a young man’s ghost was floating. “Now, let’s see what we’ve got.”

All three photos were completely normal. Lewis looked between them and the ghost in confusion. “I had some warning,” said the ghost.

Hiro nodded. “Ghosts can prevent photo artifacts if they concentrate.” Hiro wasn’t entirely sure how they did this.

Ben walked over to a seemingly random grave and started pawing at it while the ghost floating about it pet him. Hiro took a few more pictures. “Ah. Looks like I got something this time.” He lowered the camera so the children could see the wisps of smoke in one of the pictures. “It’s not very impressive, but most ghost photos aren’t. If you get a clear figure, then there’s a good chance it’s a fake. Not that there aren’t genuine ghost photos that manage to capture clear figures, but that’s pretty rare since they usually require a powerful ghost or a ghost willingly expending large amounts of energy, which most won’t do for the sake of self-preservation.” The children nodded along. Good.

They spent another few minutes wandering around taking pictures and using a recording device to hopefully record answers to harmless questions such as ‘What is your name?’ or ‘Why are you here?’ “I think that’s enough,” declared Hiro.

Arthur looked relieved (Not that Hiro could blame him. Several of the ghosts had decided to follow him around.). Lewis and Sydney looked happy enough with their activities. Vivi looked annoyed. “That’s it? We hardly did anything!”

Hiro shrugged. “It’s not a real investigation. We’re not trying to figure anything else. You’re just learning the basics, and your friends are younger than you and will have to go to bed at an earlier time.”

“I miss our sleepovers,” muttered Lewis.

“Besides, the Peppers looked like they were almost done cooking, and I’d rather we didn’t keep them waiting,” finished Hiro. The mention of food caught Vivi and Ben’s attention. He knew that would work. The two ate so much it was next to impossible to not distract them with the promise of food.

Thankfully, the Peppers had produced enough food for an extra dozen people…and had made a few servings of less spicy food. Arthur was visibly relieved. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. We know not everyone enjoys spicier food so we’ve learned to make less potent portions when we have guests over,” explained Frigg.

“I think I will be taking some of that as well,” said Hiro. He didn’t mind spicy, but this smelled overwhelmingly so.

Ben was trying to beg food from Savina. “No.” She was completely unmoved. Looks like Ben was going to be sneaking food away. Hiro hoped he’d be able to come up with an excuse for the missing food.

#Mr. Yukino #Vivi Yukino #Lewis pepper #arthur kingsman #sydney scoville jr.#Mystery the not-Dog #Belle is sleeping #Mr. and Mrs. Pepper make a brief appearance #msa #au #msa + 1 #grrlpowercomic

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perpetuelledaydreaming · 2 years

Text

Cruel Intentions | prologue

summary: being hangover is no fun and less when you have to ruin someone’s reputation while fighting with Tony Stark, your father. You wish Peter Parker good luck and he’s indeed gotta have it when Harry Osborn decides to make a wager.

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex.

listen to: Brutal - Olivia rodrigo | Daddy Issues -The Neighbourhood (playlist here)

word count: 4.7k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on ko-fi

You pinched the bridge of your nose, attempting to stop the throbbing in between your eyes. The room was almost dark, but the rays of sunlight started to shine underneath some curtains and through the gaps in between them. You tossed in the bed for a second, until your eyes fell on Frankie Richards sleeping peacefully on the bed, while you simply sighed as you recalled the events from last night. Frankie was conventionally attractive, taller than most and so convincing, he could tell you anything and you would believe it right away. Which was why you had a soft spot for him and part of why you wanted to kiss him senseless, and so there you were with just your underwear underneath the sheets as you looked around for your phone while Harry Osborn blew it.

You had your last final of the semester and Harry wanted you to help him with some points, and he wanted to have enough time before the final so you knew you had to be there on time.

Quickly, you peeled back the covers and pushed yourself to your feet as you started to collect your clothes from the floor. You gave a brief look around as you finish arranging the skirt you’d worn the night before and realized how messy his room was after last night's activities even though when you’d arrived it was pristine. You started to walk out but before you gave the last view and on his desk, you found the book with the little white powder on it. Carefully you took it in your hands and placed it perfectly on the bed, next to him, and took a picture for good measure.

Now, your work here was done.

You started to climb down the large stairs of the mostly white and beige apartment, it was way too clean and too pristine, too sterilized, too perfect, too unlike what your life looked like.

You felt out of place.

You shuddered as you walked down the stairs and saw yourself in the mirror. What was left of your make-up was smudge around your eyes, the purple bags under your eyes were prominent as well. You tried your best to clean up the make-up and your hair but suddenly, you heard a soft voice.

“Y/N, darling?”

You turned around to see Sue Storm Richards in front of you, looking as perfect as she always did at the parent-teacher conferences where you first met her when you were younger. Sue Storm was always a badass in your eyes and mostly, one of the few moms in your school that didn’t give Pepper a headache or that didn’t throw themselves at Tony.

“Hi, Mrs. Richards,” you said with a tight smile as she stared you down with a slight hint of disgust on her face as she locked her hands.

“So, what are you doing here so early?” Sue asked with an even tighter smile than yours. “I didn’t even know you and Frankie went to the same school!”

“We don’t, I go to Columbia and he’s in Empire State,” You intervened quickly and passed your hand through your hair with a slight proud smirk. You were aware that Sue had begged Frankie to go to Columbia but he’d decided Empire State was a better fit for him, which you agreed but Sue didn’t really.

“Oh, that’s great so were you just…”

“Having fun,” you stated curtly at her with a smirk as you saw her eyes open like plates. “I just really like him, you know? I had a crush on him since school so why not?”

“That’s great,” Sue lied as she crossed her arms in front of you and you nodded happily. “I always thought you were such a brilliant girl when you were in school and you won all the awards but I’ve not heard a lot from you since…”

“Yeah, just too much pressure,” You cut her off as you felt the goosebumps on your skin appearing at the mention of your past situation. “But Frankie helps me take my mind off that,”

“Aw,” Sue almost sang with her silvery voice. “Yes, he’s such a good kid, right?”

“Yes, he’s so fun and you should’ve since him last night with his nose full of it” You laughed as you pointed to your own nose.

But Sue Storm froze at your words and her face completely dropped, she went white, enough for her to even be transparent and you almost burst into laughs at her reaction. This wasn’t planned exactly like that but you were happy to speed the process of the scheme.

“What?” she stated, her voice trembling.

“Oh, you know?” you said nonchalantly. “Because of all the drugs” If you were going, to be honest, you could’ve sworn she was going to vomit.

“Well, I have to go Mrs. Reed but thank you so so much for your hospitality!” You said as you walked past her without a care in the world and you quickly got into the elevator of their penthouse. You situated yourself at the center of the elevator and just as the doors were closing, you could’ve sworn you heard her screaming.

A flash of guilt tugged on your heart for a second but you tried not to mind as you arrived at the lobby and quickly hailed a cab. Stark Industries wasn’t far away but with whatever small time you had to go and get ready, you knew you couldn’t walk and Harry’s texts didn’t make it easier either. Harry had stated in multiple texts that you were late for your usual coffee date and that if you weren’t going to be there, he would go and pick you up. You texted him back that it would be a while before you arrived but that he could wait for you in the lobby if he was so desperate.

Before you knew it, you were walking through the lobby of Stark Industries as people stared down at you and your outfit, some even took pictures but you didn’t have it in yourself to actually care about it. You just wanted to get some fast breakfast and get out before the hard part of your hangover started.

And especially before Tony or Pepper could ask you any questions.

Not that you could really avoid it anyway as you enter the large kitchen to find them sitting together at the table as Tony fed Morgan while Pepper read some documents.

Before you announced yourself Morgan snapped her head towards you and started giggling excitedly as she saw you.

“Y/N,” she giggled as you made your way towards her with a big smile on your face. “I missed you!” She was already one year old and she was already speaking as if she was three, even a bit earlier than you.

“I missed you too baby!” You stated loudly before Morgan burst into laughs as you kissed her neck. If there was one thing that made your life better, you were beyond sure that it was Morgan. She was everything to you and after the last three years that you’d had, you were so happy to finally feel like you had a family.

And yet, Tony was there to burst your bubble.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Tony stated silently and you backed away from Morgan and continue your path to the fridge, hoping to find something there like your organic yogurt but before you opened the fridge Pepper answered your question.

“There’s no yogurt, but Jarvis made you a smoothie,” Pepper stated without even looking up from the documents and you sighed contently.

“Thank you, Pepper,” you stated softly as you walked towards the blender and poured the smoothie into the glass in front. Although Pepper always said it was Jarvis that had helped with your smoothie but you were sure it was Pepper who had prepared it. She always had it ready for you when you hadn't slept in and you appreciate it.

“Where have you been?” Tony asked but you refused to answer as you looked at your phone, realizing Harry hadn’t answered your texts and writing him back.

“Y/N?”

You ignored him again.

“Y/N this weekend we want to go to the house upstate and we would like you to come,” Tony stated but you continue to ignore him, nonetheless you snorted softly at his request and decided that leaving was your best bet.

But as soon as you were crossing the frame, you heard Tony smacking his hand on the table which startled all of you, including Morgan.

“Damn it, Y/N!” He screamed as you turned towards him, your eyes narrowed as they linked with his. He was truly angry, you could see it by his dilated nostrils and clenched jaw. “We are a family and -”

“Oh, are we?” You snapped at him, leaving him without words as you glared at each other.

The thing was that Tony might be angry at you for your behavior but you had years of festering the resentment that grew in your chest a bit more every day after everything that had happened.

And he knew it. You could still see the glimmer of guilt on his eyes, the same one as he had when you were both at the airport, the same one that he had when he was in the hospital bed with you, the same one that he carried each day with him when he realized he was betraying you and the family you had.

Before any other word could come out of Tony’s mouth you walked away as fast as you could towards your room, trying not to mind the farther whispers that he and Pepper were exchanging in the kitchen. You tried not to mind because you knew that it didn’t matter, now they believed the worst of you, and the more you thought about it, they might be right.

The door to your room was opened so you simply slammed it for good measure before asking HAPPY, your AI, to lock it, just in case either Pepper or Tony wanted to follow you. You felt your head was starting to pound even worse than before and rapidly you knew you had to take a shower. You quickly took off the top and decided you would throw it to your bed so you enter farther into your room to find Harry sitting on the bed as he texted.

You shriek at him and he lazily raised his head from his phone with an uninterested look, he then smirked as he stared at your current situation while you covered your chest with your arms.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you asked him as you felt your cheeks burning.

“Oh, maybe you were too busy fighting with Tony to even let him tell you,” Harry stated as his eyes focused again on his phone, clearly not paying much attention to you.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Fuck you,” you spatted before walking towards your bathroom, dropping the shirt on the floor and wrapping your body in a towel.

“You wish,” you heard him say and you could’ve sworn you heard his smirking, you cursed him mentally before going out and glaring at him.

If we were being completely honest, you knew it was true. You’d known Harry Osborn your entire life, since being the child of a millionaire or billionaire wasn’t exactly a position to have many friends. It was always close circles and your dad and Harry’s dad always were on the same ones. Nonetheless, when Tony and you moved back to New York, it caused you to become friends, and then Norman Osborn’s death in the months following your move only brought you closer. You had a crush on him when you first started to get close and although you’d never told him anything at the moment, it was obvious you had feelings for him because he was smart and handsome, he was a good person to talk with and although he wasn’t very nice, he was nice to you. Nonetheless, nowadays whatever attraction was residing, it was just a matter of pride because of the fact that he didn’t want to fuck you when in reality everyone wanted to.

Growing up the daughter of a genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist was already attractive, but then inheriting some of Tony’s attitude and intelligence, and how you looked, you were a catch.

And yes, you’d play the field, especially since the incident, but you were very careful of who got to play with you since you knew you couldn’t completely trash your reputation, and although Harry would be a perfect name for your list, he didn’t want to.

“Wait for me and don’t even think of peeking in,” you stated before turning back towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah” Harry muttered without paying much attention as you closed the door.

You showered as fast as you possibly could, although if it was on your hands, you would’ve stayed there all day. The water felt so good against your skin and you could feel within a minute the hangover subsiding and your swore muscles started to relax.

But as you let the water wash over you, you realize your phone was vibrating insistently and you knew it was only one person who would be texting you at this time that wasn’t Harry. You quickly turned it off and wrapped the towel against your body before unlocking your phone and as you saw the texts, you smirked.

Before you’d even gotten to dry your hair, you got out of the bathroom and quickly threw your phone at Harry who was still laying on your bed.

“Your welcome,” you stated with a smirk before going to your closet as you pulled out underwear and some clothes.

“Oh shit,” Harry stated as he continued to read the messages and chuckled louder and louder as the seconds passed while you rolled your eyes. “I owe you one,”

“Yeah, think more like a thousand,”

“Now, I don’t have to worry about him going after Kamala when we go to Ibiza,” Harry cheered with a laugh as he lay in your bed throwing your phone to the side, his smile was brighter than usual and his green eyes had a glint of mischievous. “Hey, did you actually do cocaine with him?”

“Is that actually a question?” you asked with a frown as you took your clothes to the bathroom to get ready, you didn’t bother to actually close the door all the way

“Well, I know you don’t really like it,” Harry groaned as he pushed himself out of your bed and walked towards the door of the bathroom.

“Yeah, well I didn’t do it, I just drank with him. He was pretty excited and wanted it all for himself,” you answer honestly as you pulled your pants up and started to put some make-up on to not seem so hungover.

“He’ll be so done,” Harry stated as he opened the door of the bathroom and stared at your body without a shirt and bra, but you glared at him as soon as he did it and quickly put on the sweater you had chosen over you.

“I’m ready, come on,” you grumbled pushing him out of the way as you look for your bag and your phone. “We need to pick something on our way”

You didn’t bother even drying your hair before heading downstairs to the labs with Harry by your side. Many people believed you hadn’t gone back to your lab after what happened with you and Tony but that wasn’t exactly true, although you liked to keep them believing that which is why you would only enter when it was way too late or when no one was around.

Hence, Harley’s and Tony’s disbelief as they saw you walking in the hallway between labs, but you tried not to mind their inquisitive stares as you enter your lab fast with Harry and sat down as the documents you needed to download. Precisely today was the only day you’d forgotten something in there that you actually needed, and so you groaned as soon as you saw Tony walking towards the lab.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked as he leaned in the frame of the door, Harley close behind.

“Left some makeup here when I wanted to show off the lab that you’d gifted me to a friend,” you answered with the fakest smile you could.

“A friend?” Harley asked as his eyebrows quirked up slightly at that, showing you that he was listening to your conversation.

“A friend,” you answered with a glaring look at him as he snickered at your reaction.

But as Tony was going to ask anything else, Harry interrupted.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” He said excitedly as he walked towards Tony. “I heard that you’ve started to experiment with nanotechnology, that’s so cool!”

Tony smiled and nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled at Harry. “Yeah, well we’ve been having some advantages with the technology thanks to Wakanda and their advances,” he stated and continue to explain to Harry something about his newest suit, and yet you couldn’t bear to keep listening.

Harry was obsessed with your dad. See, Norman Osborn wasn’t very kind to Harry from the moment he was born and then with Harry’s mother dying so soon after she gave birth to him, Harry truly never had any trace of love from a parent. Norman was very hard on him and always told him it was to make him stronger but yet he never recognize his son, in any way. Therefore, working alongside Norman in his projects was always a hard task to endure for Harry, he hated it if he was being honest and then you brought him to Stark Tower and to your lab, and he saw you working along with your dad. Hence, why since forever Harry just wanted to intern and work for Tony and although Tony appreciated Harry’s input and would spend hours with him talking about some part of a non-confidential project, he would never ask Harry to be involved.

Which Harry hated and why he was always looking for your father’s approval and to be asked to work with him but Harley already had that place and as much as Harry hated it, Harley already occupied that place.

And you did as well when you still worked with your dad.

“Mr. Stark?”

A voice broke your train of thoughts as you looked up to see a tall and lean boy behind Tony, wearing a jean and a simple white t-shirt that clung to his rather fit form. His thick chocolatey curls were a mess but they looked good on him, especially by the way the sun was hitting them, you could see some golden strands on them. He was pale and had a constellation of freckles dotting the skin below his eyes and then you saw his eyes, his eyes were a mix of hazel and brown just like his hair.

And you couldn’t help but smile as you took in his expression, noticing his ‘deer in the headlights’ persona, immediately his eyes fell on you.

You felt your breath cutting off as your gazes linked.

“Oh underoos, I was already wondering if you were going to be late,” Tony said as he placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder with warmth, you knew that those were the first types of affection Tony would give someone he really appreciated.

He didn’t look away from you immediately, instead, it felt like he had to peel off his eyes from you before looking at Tony and you could’ve sworn your cheeks turned a bit pink as you return to your business only to realize that your documents were already downloaded.

“I- I’m sorry there was some uhm, traffic on the way,” he said with a sigh as he nodded.

Tony only smiled as he turned to Harry. “Harry, meet Peter Parker he’s our most recent intern and he’s been working with me since-”

You snorted at his statement.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are capable of working with someone else that isn’t Harley?” you asked as you put the drive on your purse before standing up and crossing your arms over your chest while you look at your dad.

“I was surprised too,” Harley said as he walked towards his lab.

“He’s a special kid,” Tony admitted as he placed his hand on Peter Parker’s shoulder again and shook him a bit. Again, another weird demonstration of affection comes from your dad.

Your eyes fell on Peter again and you could’ve sworn now his cheeks had retained their pinkness from how he was running to get here but now his ears now were adding to the deepening flush.

So you offered him a kind smile. “Ah,” you muttered as you walked towards your dad and pass in front of Peter Parker, you swore he smelled like cinnamon by how close you were but you still made your way to the elevator. “Let’s go, Harry,”

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Tony yelled at you from the entrance to your lab as you pressed the button from the elevator hoping it would be faster than your dad’s questions. “You’ll be home tonight?”

“I don’t know!”

“Harry, can you make sure she’s home tonight?”

“Oh, yes Mr. Stark,” Harry agreed with a nod as he enter the elevator next to you. Your eyes narrowed at his more than submissive tone.

You turned to see Peter Parker still looking at you from afar, a glimmer of something in his eyes.

So you stopped the elevator.

“And Parker,” you yelled from where you were to Peter with a smirk. “Good luck,”

Peter simply blinked, his cheeks flushing a bit pink as he proceeded to nod at you as the elevator doors closed.

“He’s a dipshit,” Harry stated curtly as you rode the elevator.

“Oh, someone’s jealous,” you muttered.

“Do you see how he interrupted us?”

“Oh, someone’s jealous, jealous,” you replied as the elevator doors opened to the garage where you picked one of Tony’s cars to drive.

Honestly, it was the same one always, a 1956 Jaguar XK140, the one you almost never used before but now was your favorite thing, god it was heaven.

“Stop,” Harry grumbled as you took the car keys and entered the car.

“You are so jealous that my dad’s paying more attention to that intern than to you,” you continued while you grinned in satisfaction at Harry’s whole annoyed expression. “You’re so transparent,”

“Fuck you.”

You snickered at Harry’s words as you started to drive through the streets of Manhattan towards Columbia. If there was something that Harry truly disliked, it was when he felt inferior to others and you knew that it all came from his insecurities with his dad.

“He seems like a virgin, he’s a loser at best,” He continued after a few minutes of silence.

“Whatever makes you feel better,” you answer, not truly in the mood to continue with the conversation.

Harry went silent for a few seconds as you drove, hoping that he would get past whatever feelings he was having so you could focus on your test, and then give you the free time you needed for your other activities.

And yet, you couldn’t have been any more wrong.

“I need a favor,” Harry stated and you gave him a look.

“No,”

“Whatever,” Harry said as he crossed his arms over his chest, clearly in a bad mood.

“Yeah, whatever,” you insisted as you continued to drive.

“Yeah, as if you had a chance,” he stated with a bit of poison in his words and you lost it.

You fully hit the breaks, without paying any mind to the cars behind you that automatically started to horn at you. You snapped your head towards him to find Harry smirking at your reaction, you were fuming and with good reason.

He thought you couldn’t fuck him?

“Care to make a wager?” you asked him as you raised your eyebrows defiantly.

“You have to simply fuck him,” Harry shrugged and you continued to drive, waiting for him to say anything else that might’ve interested you. “By the looks of it, you’ll have a hard time since he seems like the time that would cum if you touch him”

You frowned at his words.

“Yeah, and what else?”

“Nothing, you’ll leave him so broken that he wouldn’t even want to go back to Tony leaving the space for me,” Harry answered with a smirk, as he already picture whatever shape Peter Parker might be in after you were done with him.

And yet how you were feeling wasn’t exactly triumphant as Harry was picturing, you started to feel your stomach sinking at the thought of what he was saying.

“Yeah, and what do I get in exchange?” you asked him as you tried to take your mind off that awful feeling in your gut.

“You’ll be able to fuck me,” Harry stated seductively as he turned towards you. “Like you’ve always wanted.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, those terms and conditions are not the best. I don’t win anything by only fucking you.”

“I’ll fuck your brains out,” Harry replied rapidly and he placed his hand on your thigh and started to climb up your leg.

“Not good enough,” you replied as you took his hand off your leg.

Harry stated in silence for a few seconds and you knew he was already trying to manipulate you, you were ready again to say no until you heard him.

“I’ll put in a good word with your dad and see if he’ll let you avenge again,” He stated as you felt as if someone had taken out all of the air in your lungs.

You hadn’t been able to avenge since Steve and Tony had broken the Avengers off, three years before. You were, to put it correctly, prohibited to do so at least how you’d been doing it before when you’d built your first suit alongside your dad. The Avengers were the only family you knew other than Tony and Pepper, which wasn’t always as stable as you’d wished but then the Avengers got together and you felt safe with them.

You spent most of your days on the Compound and although people were always going in and out there was a feeling of warmth and tightness to it. Steve and Natasha would train you daily, while you could run to the labs to find Bruce there working on something with your dad. Clint would come from time to time and you would enjoy a nice game of chess while Sam and you always played pranks on Vis until Wanda would get back at you with her powers, all in good fun. Weekly you would have these amazing movie and music nights that you loved and that would have a purpose to make Steve love newer films or music he had missed. The best nights were when Thor visited you and you would have these bigs and grandiose dinners that would last until morning as you discussed everything and anything.

It was everything for you.

And it all fell apart in a couple of hours.

In a couple of hours, Thaddeus Ross was at your door, then a couple of hours later you knew about the bomb in the UN, then you were running away from the Compound with Wanda and Clint, a few hours after that you were in an airport in Berlin fighting your own dad and soon you were in a comatose state for over a month.

To only find out that your family was gone and that your whole life’s mission was taken away from you.

And you wanted it all back.

“You got yourself a bet, baby”

***

authors note: lmk what you think and I always always appreciate feedback. I'm really into this concept so it's fun to see how you react and simply coming back for spiderman and peter parker for a second time.

feedback is always welcomed

donate: help me with my laptop?

also maybe soon available on wattpad?

656 notes · View notes

unwrittenlibrary · 3 years

Text

my arms will hold you

summary // you and bucky are having your first child. [established! bucky barnes x fem!reader]

words // 7.7K (wowza)

warnings // pregnancy, birth, brief mention of religion, excessive use of the nickname pretty girl, depiction of labor, post endgame, post tfatws. steve didn’t go back in time but no other changes to endgame ending. i hate the word belly so it’s literally not used at all sorry, it’a majority fluff!

notes // this got away from me, it was supposed to be short lol check out the iconic song you’ll be in my heart by phil collins! from the tarzan soundtrack! i researched a lot for this so hopefully it makes sense & works well!!

replies & reblogs are greatly appreciated 💞

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

7 Weeks

You hope they have his eyes. Bright, blue and sparkling. You stare down at the three tests before you, all clear and unambiguously positive.

A laugh bubbles out of you, full of joy and absolutely thrilled as you think of how long you’ve been trying and waiting for this. How happy Bucky will be. How happy you are.

You hear your front door open and close which immediately makes you pick up one of the positive tests. “Bucky!” You call out in pure excitement, unwilling to wait and tell him the news any other day.

He barely has the chance to put his bag down before you’re jumping into his arms. Your legs wrap around his hips as his hands come up to grip your thighs and hold you up.

“Pretty girl.” He laughs as you pepper kisses across his face. “What’s got you so happy? I was only gone for three days!”

You pull back to look him in the eye. He’s watching you with a bemused smile which makes you giggle. He has no idea of the test in your right hand or the other two sitting in your shared bathroom.

“I’m pregnant.” You breathe out. His eyes trace over you as you bite down the smile threatening to break out on your face. You wrap an arm around his neck as you pull the hand holding the test in between the two of you. His eyes immediately snap to the test and you’re sure he can’t actually read it in this position, but you’re too excited to care.

He shakes his head in shock. “You’re pregnant?” He asks softly. There was a happy lilt to his tone that lets you know his silence isn’t anger or nerves but just him struggling to figure out if this is real.

You nod your head rapidly and can no longer hold back your smile. “Three tests. All of them say yes to there being a baby Barnes in eight or nine months.”

His smile appears slowly, but it’s beautiful and bright as he gently places you back on your feet. “Fuck.” He laughs before pulling you into a kiss.

It’s all smiles and one of the messiest kisses you’ve ever had, but definitely one of the best too. When he pulls back, he’s breathing heavily and he rests his forehead against yours. “I love you.” He whispers.

His look is full of unadulterated love and affection, a look you’re sure you’re returning tenfold. “I love you more.”

His hands move to your waist and he hoists you up again. “Not fucking possible, pretty girl.” He mumbles into your neck as he begins to press soft kisses to your skin.

10 Weeks.

Your foot is shaking anxiously on the edge of the exam table as your eyes filter around the room. You had been in this gynecologist office many times, but today you can’t help but feel anxious as you wait for your doctor. The nurse had already come in and done your pre-physical checks; Weight, blood pressure, and some questions.

Bucky leans forward and wraps his hand around your ankle gently. “Relax, pretty girl.” He’s pulled up the guest chair so it’s next to you as you two wait.

You chew on your nail nervously as you stare down at him. “What if I got your hopes up? What if it was a false positive?” You can’t help but feel like maybe you had jumped the gun in telling Bucky the day you had taken the test.

Bucky’s hand moves up your leg until it’s resting right above your knee. “Then I’ll take you home and we’ll try again. I have no problem with trying for babies with you, pretty girl.” His hand slides further up and you laugh as you push it away.

“Buck! I’m serious.” You groan. You hear footsteps outside your door and freeze before they fade away. “What if-“

“-Stop.” He says firmly. “I’m serious too. Then we try again. Maybe it’ll hurt for a while, but we'll get through it together.” He reaches up and pulls your hand away from your face before wrapping it in between both of his. “And I’m no doctor, but I’m sure three false positives is pretty rare.”

Your heads snap up as the door opens and your doctor steps in along with a nurse. She turns to you both with a bright smile as the nurse shuts the door softly.

“I hear somebody thinks they’re pregnant!” The nurse sits by the computer in the room as she comes to stand beside you.

You nod slowly. “Me.” You shake your head in embarrassment. “Obviously. I’m the one with the vagina.” You flinch, but can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “I took three tests and they all came out positive. He says false positives are pretty rare, but he’s also not a doctor or scientist. He didn’t even go to college-“ You’re rambling on out of nerves. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I love you.” You say quickly glancing at Bucky before looking back at your doctor.

Bucky laughs as she watches you with amused eyes. “He’s right though! False positives are far rarer than false negatives.” She pulls the stool towards your table and sits down next to you.

You let out a deep breath. “That’s good to know.” Bucky squeezes your hand gently in a relax, I told you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Barnes. I’m Dr. O.” She reaches her right hand across you, Bucky glances at you nervously before holding out his left hand to meet her. She doesn’t acknowledge the vibranium hand, just turns to look at you once the handshake is over. “I was so happy when my receptionist told me what your appointment was for, I know you two have been trying for awhile now.”

“We’re just going to ask a few questions, then determine the best course of action for finding out if you're pregnant. Depending on how far along we think you are we’ll either do an ultrasound or blood test.” She explains as she leans away from you.

You nod. “Sounds good.” It’s weird to have another person in the room besides your doctor and nurse, but Bucky’s presence is welcome. His hand in yours and thumb gently rubbing circles into your skin helps relax you as Dr. O talks.

“Let’s start with when you took the tests.” She looks over to the nurse who nods, hands ready to take notes as you speak.

You nod. “Around three weeks ago?” You look over at Bucky who nods. “We were out of town for a few days visiting a friend, so I booked the first appointment available after we got back.”

“Where did you go?” She laughs when you furrow your brows at her question. “I’m sorry! I’m nosy.”

You laugh gently at that. “Oh it’s fine! We went to Louisiana! One of Buck’s best friends is down there and we just love the area.” You explain.

She nods. “What made you take the tests? Mention anything like a missed period, morning sickness, any other symptoms.” She explains.

“I originally thought my period was late. I didn’t think anything of it until we reached the second month and then I realized it wasn’t late, I had missed two periods.” You explain as you think back to what made you get the tests that day. “But what really made me get the tests was I was planning on cooking for Buck, he was getting home from a work trip that day, and when I pulled out some of the ingredients I just felt so sick. It’s my favorite dish! The smell never bothers me, nothing in it bothers me, I was just so confused until I put two and two together and thought I should buy a test just to check.” You’re a little breathless as you finish and she’s nodding along as the computer keys clack away.

“That sounds like you’re anywhere from nine to eleven weeks!” She stands up. “We can definitely try a transabdominal ultrasound. We should be able to get a clearer date and maybe even hear a heartbeat.”

“Really?” You ask softly. You hadn’t expected to come in and hear or see your baby. You weren’t even sure if there was one. “We can… We can see the baby today?”

“If your dates are correct, then yes!” She gives you an excited smile as she pulls the small machine towards your bedside. “Or we can do a blood test. It’s up to you.”

“Oh, can we try the ultrasound? I would… That would make me feel better.” You admit, squeezing Bucky’s hand tightly. “Of course.” She agrees.

Bucky pulls his hand away from its resting spot on your stomach, but doesn’t release his grip on you. You pull up your shirt with one hand as she and the nurse move around the room. “This will be cold. Try not to move around too much.”

You flinch as the gel touches your stomach. “That is cold.” You murmur to Bucky as she pulls the wand towards you. He smiles up at you and it makes your cheeks warm.

“Okay.” She hums as she moves the wand around your stomach. You wait with baited breath in hopes of hearing a heartbeat come through. Your grip on Bucky’s hand gets tighter and tighter as the seconds tick by, but he doesn’t say a word in complaint.

Then there’s a loud thumping sound and Dr. O turns to you with a bright smile. “There we go! A nice, strong heartbeat.” She turns the screen so you and Bucky can see it clearly.

You and Bucky look at each and it’s like everything has fallen into place.

Bucky Barnes had never allowed himself to dream of this life. A wife, a house of his own, a baby; Bucky Barnes had never imagined his own family.

“Oh!” Both of your heads snap around the look at the doctor. “There’s two heartbeats.” She moves the wand around again and then there’s another steady thumping sound. “Baby A and Baby B.” She moves the wand back and forth so the two of you get a clearer picture.

When you look back at Bucky his eyes are brimming with tears, but there's a smile on his face that makes your heart race. So big that his eyes crinkle and you’re positive his cheeks hurt, but it makes you smile too.

“Twins.” You whisper to him. Everything else fades into the background as you two stare at each other. He nods and pulls your hand to his lips so he can press a kiss to it. “Twins.” He whispers back.

“I’ll print out some photos for you two.” Dr. O says quietly.

And… Bucky Barnes didn’t know if he still believed in God, but he would thank Him everyday for this miracle of a life he’s been granted. He would go through hell and back again if it meant he still got this life with you.

16 Weeks

“Do you think it’s a boy and a girl? Two boys? Two girls?” Your now nursery is painted white with one forest green wall. Bucky is sitting on the floor in the middle of the room working on the matching cribs as you lean against the door jam. “Should we have waited until we were further in to start all this?”

Bucky looks up at you and notices you chewing on the skin around your nail nervously as your eyes flicker around the half finished nursery. The walls had been painted when you had been gone for the day so you could stay away from the fumes. Bucky had started the cribs first, boxes of blankets, mattress pads and other small items were piled in the corner of the room.

“I thought you wanted it to be a surprise.” He puts down the screwdriver in his hand to focus his full attention on you. “And your doctor said the first twelve weeks held the highest risk for anything happening.”

You look down at him. “I know… I do want it to be a surprise… I just want to know what you think we’ll have. I think it’s boys.” You look down at your small, but there, bump. Your doctor had informed you that twins would most likely make gaining weight more likely and quicker than a single baby. You guess you just hadn’t expected the bump to show up so soon.

You hear Bucky stand and watch as he stumbles over all the spread out pieces of the cribs. “Listen.” He tilts your chin up towards him. “I can’t promise you this will be perfect, but I can promise you I’ll be here every step of the way.”

You reluctantly nod. Logically you knew he was right, you had taken all the necessary steps and precautions your doctor had suggested. You felt good, despite the uncomfortableness of growing two humans. “I know I’m being, like, anxious or whatever. I just… I want this so bad. I don’t know if I could survive if something happened.” You admit quietly, almost ashamed at the weight this feeling had left on your shoulders.

“Pretty girl.” Bucky murmurs sadly. “If anything ever happened, I would be here every step of the way. You’ve got my heart. You’re my life.” He rubs reassuring hands up and down your arms. “And if you ever felt like you were too far gone, I’d be there to pull you back.”

You feel your eyes tear as you look up at him. “Tell me what you think they’ll be. Boys. Girls.” You wrap your arms around his waist and step forward to rest your cheek against his chest. “Please.”

He wraps his arms around you in return and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I think we’re going to have girls.” He says softly, “And they’ll be beautiful like you. I hope they are. Your eyes, your hair, your pretty smile.” Bucky presses another gentle kiss to your forehead, you hum in response and he takes that as a hint to keep talking. “And smart like you too. I just want mini yous, pretty girl. If I could live my life surrounded by my girls, I would be content.”

His soft words and the steady sound of his heartbeat in your ear pressed against his chest has you calming immediately. You take a deep breath before pulling back to look at him. “I love you, Bucky. I am so lucky that you’re my husband.”

You can feel Bucky’s laugh and it makes you smile. “Pretty girl, I’m the lucky one. I never thought I’d have this. Buying a house and building cribs and picking out baby clothes.”

“Buck-'' You try to interrupt him, but he shakes his head and you shut your mouth. Instead you smile up at him softly as he continues speaking.

“I never thought I could be loved like this.” He leans down and gently nudges his nose against yours. You close your eyes and do the same. “But I’m so happy I have it.”

You have to admit, when Bucky Barnes had come into your life with harsh stares and an intimidating presence, you had never imagined this would be the life you would have with him.

“I love you pretty girl.” He declares, voice strong and full of love, before dropping to his knees in front of you. You laugh as his hands land gently on your stomach. “And I love you, babies Barnes.”

“Babies Barnes?” You ask with a small smile. “That’s what we’re calling them now?”

Bucky looks up at you with a shining smile. “We’ll talk names later, I think Babies Barnes sounds good for now.”

You rest one of your hands on his and run your other hand through his hair as he talks quietly to your stomach. “What about the Barnes Babies?” You murmur. “Sounds better.”

20 Weeks

“Bucky.” You call from your spot on the floor in the center of the nursery. You were in the middle of folding clothes. Most of the items were matching and you had been slowly but surely separating them out and into the two separate dressers. “Bucky!” You call again, raising your voice just a little more.

There are heavy footsteps as Bucky rushes up the stairs. “What? What’s wrong?” He asks from the doorway while his eyes flicker around the room panicked. You feel a little guilty when you notice his shoulders relax at the sight of you fine on the floor. “Why are you down there?’

“I’m organizing the baby clothes.” You answer in a matter of fact tone. Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off already knowing what it’ll be. “I’m fine down here! I’m not in any more danger down here than I am sitting on the couch.” You look around the almost finished nursery. “You’ll just have to help me up later.” You look back up at him a little embarrassed.

Bucky comes and kneels down beside you. You let out a relieved sigh as he runs his knuckle against your cheek gently. “What did you need, pretty girl?’ He asks with a knowing smile.

“I’m starving.” You throw your head back in an overdramatic groan. “I would kill for some oreos…” You think for a moment. “Do we still have the kraft macaroni and cheese?”

Bucky scrunches his nose up in disgust, but nods. “Please don’t ask me to mix those together.”

“I wasn’t!” You slap a hand against his chest. It makes him shake a little in his kneeling position, but he stays upright. “I want them separately. But I do want both. Please, Buck? You always make the macaroni and cheese so perfectly! I always mess it up.” You put on your best puppy dog eyes and pout your lips.

He throws his head back in a laugh. “You don’t need to do all that, pretty girl.” He snorts. He kisses your cheek before standing up. “I would do anything you asked me to.”

“Even bring me a glass or cherry Dr. Pepper with it?” You weren’t a huge soda person normally, but you had tried a sip of the drink when you and Bucky had gone out to dinner and it had become one of your biggest cravings.

“Especially that.” He grins at you before spinning on his heel to retreat back downstairs. “Thank you!” You call out. “Call me if you need me!” He yells back and you smile to yourself. You place a hand on your stomach and look down.

“That was your daddy.” You say softly. You rub gentle circles over your loose t-shirt. “He loves you two so much already. We love you two so much. We just can’t wait for you to get here.” You admit. Talking to your stomach has become a habit of yours. Your doctor had explained babies will usually respond to noise when they can start hearing and while she had assured you kicking with twins may take a little longer, you were desperate to feel them move around.

You glance at the door before looking back down. “He’s been so much help. I’d read horror stories about husbands who are never home or who don’t take up cooking and cleaning. But your daddy just… does it all for me.” Your voice has taken on a tone of pure love as you talk to your babies about Bucky. “He built your cribs. Rubs my feet. Cooks me disgusting children’s food.” You giggle quietly. “I’m so happy I get to build you two a home full of love and-” You jump when you feel a gentle kick against your hand. “No way.” You whisper.

“Bucky!” You yell out shakily. “Bucky! Bucky! Bucky!” You don’t think of the panic you could be making him feel as you stare down at your stomach with happy tears in your eyes. Bucky’s by your side in an instant, his hand coming to rest over yours and his eyes observing your face in a frenzied panic.

“What’s wrong? What hurts?” He asks anxiously. You shake your head and move his hand so it’s resting underneath your own instead of on top. “What? Christ, pretty girl! Is every-”

“Just talk to them.” You say quietly. “About anything.” Your urge.

Bucky looks at you questioningly, but settles next to you when you nod. “Okay…” He says quietly. “Um,” he glances at you, “I’m so excited for you two to be here.” He starts a little nervously. You squeeze his hand in reassurance. “I never thought I would have my own baby, let alone twins, with such a knockout.” He laughs when you roll your eyes. “I never thought I could love anybody this much, then I met your mom. Then she told me she was gonna have you guys and I… I knew that I would do anything if it meant I got to keep all this love in my li-” He cuts himself off and looks at you with wide eyes.

“Did you feel it?” You ask softly. Bucky moves his hand over a little and lets out a wet laugh. “That’s... That’s fucking amazing.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “You’re fucking amazing.”

The two of you can’t stop staring at each, certainly looking like some smiling fools, until Bucky’s eyes widen and he yanks himself away. “You’re macaroni and cheese!” He yells as he stumbles out of the room leaving you doubling over in laughter.

26 Weeks

“When she said twins,” You pause as you take a deep breath, “I didn’t think she meant everything would be so much worse.” Bucky laughs as you settle on the couch next to him. He holds his arms up as he waits for you to rest your feet in his lap.

He immediately begins to rub your feet as you turn the movie on. “What hurts?” He asks softly. His eyes trail over you like he expects a wound, something easily fixable, so he could better help you.

You give him a gentle smile. “My feet. My back. I’m just uncomfortable, Buck.” You explain. You knew he felt bad that there wasn’t much he could do besides sit next to you and rub your feet and legs. “I don’t think I realized how fast things move when it’s two babies growing inside you instead of just one.”

“I wish I could do more.” He says quietly as he massages your left foot. His vibranium hand is cool against your skin and offers some relief from the heat you felt was taking over. You know he’s unsure of what to say or do to help and that he didn’t want to say the wrong thing, but, “All I need is this, Buck.” You poke his thigh with your right foot.

When he looks over at you questioningly, you smile. “I’m gonna be totally honest with you here, Bucky. There’s not much you can do to help me now, or the next few months, except keep rubbing my feet, helping around the house and keep calling me pretty girl.”

He pinches your ankle. “For years you’ve told me you didn’t like that nickname.” There’s no malice or annoyance in his voice. Bucky knows as well as you do that although you may roll your eyes or laugh when he calls you that, you hate when he calls you anything else.

Especially now. “Makes me feel good.” You shrug as nonchalantly as you can. “I’m gaining weight like crazy. I’m swollen and cranky, it’s nice to know you still think I’m your pretty girl.” You admit shyly.

“I always think you’re pretty, my love.” You feel your neck heat at his words and his hand coming to rest on your thigh. “But… fuck… I don’t know if there’s anything as beautiful as watching you grow our children. I’m in awe of you everyday, pretty girl.” His eyes are lit up with passion. You laugh as he moves towards you. “I am so in love with you, it’s crazy. I just... I can barely keep my hands to myself half the time.”

You cup his jaw with your hand and your nails lightly scratching at his beard. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Bucky Barnes.” You murmur as he leans in towards you. “Cause I’ll make you follow through.”

He groans before pressing a kiss to your lips. “Come on, pretty girl. Come to bed. I think I know a way to make you feel a little better.” He whispers against your lips. You nod with an excited giggle as he stands and holds a hand out to you.

32 Weeks

“I appreciate you guys coming out to see us.” You press a kiss to Sam’s cheek before moving to hug Wanda who was trailing into your house behind him. “We didn’t want a huge baby shower, but we did want to see some of our closest friends and it means so much you all came out!” You gush.

Wanda presses a kiss to your cheek before standing back and looking at you excitedly. “Oh, you look beautiful.” She says kindly, her eyes trailing over your now much larger bump. “Twins.” She murmurs wistfully as your hands grip hers tightly.

“Oh, Wanda…” You trail off, suddenly feeling guilty for your pushful invitation to your closest friends. She shakes her hand with a bright smile. “None of that! I’m so excited for you and Bucky. I’ve never met two more deserving people.” She presses another kiss to your cheek as she moves past you. “Now where is your husband?”

“In the backyard!” You laugh. “He’s working on grilling. We have drinks and snacks out there!” You push her and Sam towards the sliding door in your kitchen. Steve slips through your front door next, a bright smile on his face when he realizes it’s you who’s greeting him.

“You look lovely.” He says kindly as he leans down to press a kiss to your head. “Bucky has spent hours on the phone talking about how beautiful you look, but still didn’t do you justice.”

“You charmer!” You squeeze his arm as you laugh. “He’s outside. I’ll give you fifty bucks if you say something just as sweet to him.” Steve shakes his head with an ill-suppressed smile. “Come on! I’ll add an extra twenty if you kiss him too.” You plead. You and Bucky had been so busy with preparations, neither of you had seen your friends in a long time. You were in desperate need of a laugh with everyone.

Steve shakes his head, but he turns to you and winks when he goes to open the sliding door, which makes you smile largely.

You greet a few more friends; Rhodey who comes with a gentle smile and gifts from Pepper despite your warning against them. He has a nervous Peter Parker in tow, who adored you but was still terrified of Bucky despite it having been years since their fight.

“For you.” He smiles sweetly. He’s gotten more handsome as he’s gotten older, more confident too, but he still turns red when you press a kiss to his cheek as you thank him for the small box he has handed over. You laugh as he rushes after Rhodey, face down in an attempt to hide the blush.

You were unsure when the Avengers had become your family too. Bucky had brought you around eight months into your relationship and they had taken you in easily. Bucky says your light filled a void after all the darkness they had suffered. You shook him off, but the words always made your heart soar. If you were even just a small piece of their healing, you were happy.

An arm wraps around your waist and you smile when you smell Bucky’s cologne. “Funny joke with Steve, pretty girl.” He whispers against the shell of your ear.

“I thought so.” You shiver. “Did he kiss you too? Please tell me he did!” You turn and look up at him with pleading eyes. Bucky laughs before reluctantly nodding. “That’s incredible.” You move away from your spot in the entrance and hold onto Bucky’s arm as he leads you towards the backyard. “Give him seventy dollars sometime today, please.”

“What?” Bucky stops in his tracks, making you freeze too. “For what?”

You look up at him innocently. “For making your severely pregnant wife laugh.” Bucky slides the door open with a shake of his head and gestures for you to go out first. You smile gratefully and step out.

Your friends are spread out in the small yard. Sam has taken over the grill, while Steve is deep in conversation with Rhodey and Wanda. Peter chatters away as Sam nods along his eyes glazed over.

“Thank you for planning this.” You slip your hand into the crook of Bucky’s elbow as the two of you make your way into the group. “I didn’t realize how much I missed everyone with how busy we’ve been.”

“Anything for you, pretty girl.” He says softly. “Everyone loves you, it wasn’t hard to convince them to make the trip to come see you.”

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” You tease. Bucky laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek before going to join Sam at the grill. You meet Steve, Wanda and Rhodey with a smile.

“We were just talking about names.” Steve quickly stands up from the chair he had been lounging in. You shake your head with narrowed eyes. “Sit down.” He orders, it’s not harsh, but he’s taken on a completely different tone of voice that makes you giggle. You glance at Wanda with comical, wide eyes before taking the seat.

“I like it when you use your Captain's voice.” You glance at Wanda in thanks when she hands over a glass of water. “I never got to hear it. We met after you retired!” Steve’s cheeks turn a bright shade of red as Rhodey and Wanda laugh. “Anyways, tell me about the names!”

Wanda starts. “Bucky told us you two wanted to find out the gender when you give birth, so we each came up with two names for each of the three scenarios. I was given the one girl, one boy scenario.” She explains quickly her hand waving around in front of her excitedly.

“And what did you come up with?” You ask in amusement, but also with a little curiosity. You and Bucky had briefly discussed names, both floating around ideas when they appeared, but nothing had been chosen yet. Maybe one of your friends would have a good name idea.

Wanda claps. “I chose Oliver George Barnes if it’s a boy! Oh, I think Oliver is such a lovely name. And then the baby has Bucky’s dad’s name too. A little bit of old and new.” She explains and you nod along. “And for a girl, Elena Rebecca Barnes.”

You furrow your brows at her. “How do you know so much about Buck’s family’s names?” A light blush colors her cheeks. “I may have visited the Bucky Barnes page on the Smithsonian website in preparation.” She admits.

“Okay Rhodey, hit me!” You turn so you can look at him. He sits up a little straighter. “For two girls. Baby girl number one, Olivia Rose Barnes” You scrunch your nose up at the middle name. “And for girl number two, Eloise Ann Barnes.” Your eyes widen at the suggestion. You had expected him to just repeat your name back to you.

“I… I actually kind of like Eloise.” You admit after a moment. “Little El.” One of your hands comes to rest on your stomach. You look up at Steve with a smile. “Hit me with the two boys' names, Rogers.”

Steve glances over at Bucky and Sam before stepping towards you conspiratorially. “Samuel James Barnes and Theodore George Barnes.” You look over at Bucky and your eyes meet his. You smile softly when he waves you over.

“Those are lovely, Steve.” You hold your hand out for him and he helps you stand. “I… I will tell Buck about all of these names. I love them all.” You say gratefully before slowly making your way towards the grill.

Bucky’s arm wraps around your waist as soon as you’re beside him. “What are you four whispering about over there, pretty girl?” He asks quietly as Sam and Peter begin to bring the plates of food over to the table Bucky had set up earlier.

You glance back at Sam to make sure he’s out of hearing distance. “Baby names! Buck, Steve came up with Samuel James Barnes. I just love it.” Bucky’s already shaking his head with a frown. “What?” You ask.

“I’m not naming our son after me and Sam.” He glances back at the group who has come together at the table. Wanda and Steve wave you two over and you hold up a finger in response before looking back at Bucky. “What were the girls names?” He asks.

You shrug. “Olivia Rose, Eloise Ann, and Elena Rebecca.” None of the names hit a particular chord with you, but you could admit they were all very pretty. “I like Eleanor, I think.” You admit as Bucky mulls the names over.

“That’s a pretty name.” He says softly. “Eleanor Rebecca Barnes.” He adds on and a smile breaks out on your face. You lean up and he meets you halfway in a gentle kiss. When you pull back he rests his forehead against yours.

“Did we just pick a baby name?” You whisper in shock. Bucky’s eyes crinkle as he smiles excitedly. “I think we did, pretty girl.”

38 Weeks

At first you think they’re just kicking. They’d been doing it more and more the further along you got. You groan and shift around in bed as quietly as possible trying not to wake Bucky.

You take a few deep breaths as you try to drift off into sleep, but a shooting pain hits you and your arm whips out and your hand grips Bucky’s shirt.

You gasp. “Bucky.” You pull at his shirt in an attempt to wake him. You whine in pain and begin to pull harder. “Bucky!” You say a little louder.

You feel him begin to wake under your palm. “What’s up, pretty girl?” He mumbles into his pillow, still not looking over at you.

The pain rips through you again and this time you yank at his shirt violently. “James Buchanan Barnes if you don’t get the fuck up, I will murder you.”

That has him turning to look at you with wide eyes. His eyes scan over you and pause on the hand sitting on your stomach before they trail up to your face scrunched up in pain.

“Oh shit.” He stumbles out of the bed and comes around to your side. You turn to look up at him with pleading eyes and notice the pure panic in his. “Um- Okay.” He stands up straight and takes a few deep breaths.

Another contraction hits. “Take your time.” You grit out as you try to breathe through it. “Not like I’m having a fucking baby here.”

“Shut up.” He laughs as he leans down to gently grip your arm. “Did your water break?” He asks as he helps your stand.

You look down at the mattress then the floor before shaking your head. “Not yet, but these really hurt I-“

“Don’t have to explain yourself to me, pretty girl.” He helps you around the room and into the bathroom and helps you sit on top of the toilet lid. “You don’t have pants on, what should I grab for you to wear?”

You glance down at your bare thighs, you hadn’t really realized. “A dress! Just grab a dress, I can slip into it.” You murmur as you rest your forehead against the tiled wall next to you.

Bucky disappears and you count to yourself as you breathe through your pain. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” You murmur. They were early, two weeks early, but Dr. O had warned you that multiples liked to make surprise appearances.

“A dress.” Bucky stands in front of you with one of your maternity sun dresses. He helps you stand again and you take it from his hands.

“Go put on pants, I can get the dress on myself.” Bucky looks hesitant at the suggestion even though all he’s got on is a t-shirt and boxers. “Buck. Please. The sooner we’re both ready the sooner we can go.”

He nods and sprints out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. You slide the t-shirt you had fallen asleep in off and pull the dress over your body. You let out a sigh of relief at the fact that Bucky had chosen one of the stretchy cotton dresses and not one of your nicer maternity ones. You brush your teeth quickly and splash some water on your face.

“Bucky.” You cry out when you feel the rush of water between your legs.

“Let’s go.” Bucky appears in the doorway with sweatpants and his jacket pulled haphazardly over his shirt. He freezes when he notices your problem. He doesn’t say anything, just disappears then reappears with clean underwear for you. He helps you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom again then helps you change again. “Let’s go.” He says softly with a gentle kiss to your temple.

It’s all a blur from there. Bucky’s grabbing your go bag, leading you to the car and driving you to the hospital.

“She’s having our babies.” Bucky blurts out to the receptionist once the two of you reach the neonatal ward. She smiles pacifingly at him before looking at you with concern. “Sit her down, sir.” She orders and Bucky helps you sit in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.

“She should be in a bed right?” Bucky asks worriedly looking back and forth between you and her.

“One of the nurses is going to bring a wheel cheer so we can bring her to her room.” She explains kindly. “I just need your names and your doctor’s name.”

You block Bucky’s voice out as another contraction hits. “Fuck, fuck fuck.” You cry. “B - A - R - N -E-S.” Bucky glances back at you at the sound of your cry. “Her doctor is Dr. O.” The woman hums as her fingers fly across the keyboard.

There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder that makes you look up. “I’m Natalie.” The woman smiles kindly. “I’m gonna bring you to your room, okay?”

You nod slowly with tears in your eyes. You’re tired and uncomfortable and the pain keeps getting worse and worse. “Let’s get you up, mama.” She helps you stand slowly and guides you to the wheelchair waiting by the doors.

You glance back at Bucky, who’s still talking with the receptionist and scribbling answers on the clipboard she had slid over to him. “My husband. I need Bucky. I-“

“They’ll bring him back as soon as he’s done with the paperwork.” She rubs your shoulder calmingly. “I promise all we’re gonna do is get you in bed.”

You take a deep breath as she pushes you down the hall and away from Bucky. “I can’t do this without him.” You’re breathing heavily as the contractions hit you. “I need him. Please. Can’t he do paperwork later? It’s not like I can leave!” You cry out.

She gently moves you from the wheelchair to the hospital bed. “We’ll wait until your husband, Bucky, right?” She asks as she pushes you back so you’re laying down. You give her a teary eyed nod. “We’ll wait until Bucky is here to help change you into your gown.” She murmurs reassuringly.

There’s a knock on the door and then Bucky is rushing in with another nurse trailing after him. “I’m pretty sure half the answers on that paperwork are illegible but…” The nurse trails off with an amused smile.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Bucky pushes back the stray hairs that are sticking to your sweaty forehead before giving you a kiss. “I’m here. What do you need?”

“It’s up to you, mama.” Natalie places the hospital gown on the edge of your bed. “If you want us or your husband to help you into the gown.” She gives you a knowing smile.

“Can we…” You take a deep breath. “Can we have a moment?” They nod and leave the room. You look up at Bucky with teary eyes. “I don’t think I can do this, Buck.” You admit.

He helps you sit up while shaking his head. “Yes you can, pretty girl.” He murmurs reassuringly. He lifts your dress so it scrunches up at your hips and waits until you raise your arms so he can take it off completely. He picks the pink gown up and slides it over your held out arms.

“How do you know that?” You wipe hastily at the tears streaming down your face as Bucky moves around the tie the gown in the back. He helps you lay back down before slipping his shoes off and crawling in beside you.

You moan in relief when he starts rubbing gentle circles over your stomach and as his warmth envelopes you. Bucky presses gentle kisses to your neck and jaw. “I know because you are the strongest woman I know.” He whispers. “You have been growing these humans in your uterus for almost nine months. And you’ve done it without flinching. This isn’t gonna be what takes you out, pretty girl.”

There’s a gentle knock on the door and your nurse comes back in with a soft smile, followed by Dr. O and two more people. “Who’s ready to have some babies?” Dr. O asks with a bright smile.

You look up at Bucky, who can’t do anything but stare at you in awe, then nod. “We are.”

Twelve and a Half Hours Later

“I don’t think I could be any more in love with you.” Bucky declares as the nurses dance about the room, cleaning your crying babies up. “Shut up.” You murmur tiredly. “I wanna see my babies.” They’ve been checking and cleaning for what felt like forever.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.” The two nurses come over with little bundles in their arms. “You have two healthy babies, a boy and a girl.” You look up at Bucky with bright eyes as the nurse hands him the blue bundle.

Your eyes move away as the pink bundle is gently handed over to you. “Hello.” You whisper softly at the fidgeting baby. You can’t stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks as you down at your baby girl. Completely healthy and absolutely beautiful. “Eleanor Rebecca Barnes.” You murmur, running a gentle finger over her cheek.

“Pretty girl.” Bucky’s voice is wet and you look up to see tears on his cheeks too. You scoot over and make room for him to sit beside you again for the first time in hours. He sits as slowly as he can and then looks over at the baby in your arms as you glance at the baby in his. “Hello, Eleanor.” Bucky whispers to the little girl.

There’s a knock at the door that has the two of you snapping your heads up. You see the balloons first and then Steve and Sam behind them.

“Boys.” You whisper happily. Bucky nods them into the room. They come to stand in front of your bed as quietly as they can. “Meet Eleanor Rebecca Barnes and,” you and Bucky glance at each other with soft smiles, “and Steven Samuel Barnes.” He finishes for you.

Their eyes snap to you two in shock. “What?” Sam asks after a moment of silence. “You… You said you would never name a baby after me.” He’s getting choked up as he stares at Bucky in betrayal.

“Yeah, well.” Bucky shakes his head. “You’re uh… You’re one of my best friends.” He looks over at Steve. “You’re both some of my best friends. And uh… I wouldn’t.” He sniffles and you lean your head in his shoulder in an attempt to give him comfort.

He presses a kiss to your hair before he looks back at the boys. “I wouldn’t have all this if you two hadn’t stuck your necks out on the line for me. If you two hadn’t kept looking for me.”

“Buck, you built this life all on your own.” Steve says gently.

Bucky shakes his head fondly. “I know that, punk. I got the girl and the house and the babies all on my own. But I wouldn’t have even had the chance without you two so…” He trails off before looking back down at the babies you two held in your arms.

“Can I take a picture?” Sam asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket. You two nod excitedly and look up at the camera with tired but thrilled smiles. “Beautiful family, Buck. You two should be proud.”

“Oh, Steve, grab a nurse or someone in the hallway please!” You plead. “I want a picture of all of us!” He obliges without a fight. although you’re sure right now nobody would pick a fight or say no to you.

One of your nurses comes back in with him. “Okay! Just a couple pictures then I gotta kick you two out. Mama needs her rest.”

You all nod in acceptance as Steve and Sam come to stand on either side of you and Bucky. “One...Two...Three!” She snaps the picture and turns the phone around to show you.

Your heart all but jumps out of your chest at how sweet it looks. “I love it. Thank you.” She hands the phone back to Sam and ushers the two men out. Sam calling over his shoulder, “We’ll come back tomorrow!”

You and Bucky laugh. “My heart is so full right now.” You whisper.

“I love you, pretty girl.” Bucky whispers in response. “I love our family.” You can’t do anything but nod. “I love you too. I love our family.”

The two of you sit in silence as you bask in the glow of your family.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

notes // i really enjoyed writing this. it’s so happy & made me so happy. thank you to the anon who requested it! i really hope you all enjoyed this because it’s probably one of my favorite pieces now.

if you did enjoy it, replies & reblogs are greatly appreciated 💞

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes onshot #bucky barnes one shot

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unprofessional-bard · 3 years

Text

Chapter 15 - The Result

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter (TBA)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: smut: oral sex (m! receiving), unprotected sex, joel breeding kink go brrr; talks of depression, anxiety and PTSD, detailed descriptions of bloodshed/death.

Summary: The confrontation the reader had been waiting for finally happens.

Word Count: 5.771

Author's Note: I apologise for the repost y'all!! The chapter didn't appear on the tags and I didn't notice it soon enough!! If this doesn't appear as well...

Enjoy!

The last heatwaves of summer started coming in with full force as September approached– a final storm before the calm. It wasn't completely intolerable, but it still messed with a lot of people: even you and Joel had to stay away from one another during the nights due to the heat making everything more sticky and irritable. It was annoying as hell, given that you had Joel all to yourself for a whole week now.

That certainly didn't stop you two from having sex before his departure, of course.

It took you some time to anchor yourself back to reality after what happened with Ward – the first three days were the worst with the episodes and attacks, but you don't think you could've made it this far in such a short time without Ellie and Joel. This was practically nothing compared to when you had first arrived in Jackson... if you had them both with you when–

Doesn't matter now. It took you months and it wouldn't have mattered if it had taken more– you made it. At the end, you got through it.

You and Joel talked about things, too. A lot of it mostly surrounding Kiki and Ward, of course. Things were cleared out, feelings were gotten off of chests and apologies were made: One day, after going out to get groceries while you chopped some vegetables for dinner, he put the sacks on the counter island and approached you, wrapping his hands around your waist.

"Smells delicious," He murmured into your ear and placed a kiss on your cheek, then put his chin on your shoulder, ever so slowly –with minimal movement– swaying you to the smooth jazz playing in the living room.

"I didn't cook anything yet?" You raised a brow and smiled at the way his beard scratched at the side of your face.

"Didn't mean the food," He whispered and kissed the back of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as you chuckled. He then moved down the line behind your artery, peppering kisses there, each and every single touch of his lips sending a rather pleasant feeling between your legs.

You slowly leaned your head back against his shoulder as he took your hands in his, making you put the knife down and let him sway you to the wordless tune playing in the background.

He eventually stopped when he reached your collarbones and turned you around to face him: "Mrs. Miller..." Your smile grew at the name: "How're you on this fine evenin'?"

"Just fine, Mr. Miller." You grinned and mimicked his accent. He placed one hand on your waist while the other grabbed your hand. He smelled so wonderful and looked so good–

"Would ya fancy a dance, m'lady?" His teeth showed when his smirk grew wider, your faces were almost touching.

"Ain't you a dandy and a charmer?" You chuckled, your lips brushing against his and chests pressed against each other.

This? This was everything. All of your problems and worries gone even just for a moment or two– you'd do anything for him.

The small dance you two had going on lasted another minute before the track ended softly. Joel finally stopped teasing your lips and pressed a gentle kiss against them, which you returned with more hunger and passion.

"A little dance got you all excited?" Joel chuckled when he pulled back for air, noticing your hands had already unbuttonned his shirt halfway.

"You got me all excited," You beamed at him and dipped your hands under his shirt before reaching the last two buttons, feeling his warm skin under your fingertips and sighing into his chest. "We haven't done it in awhile..."

"Tsk," Joel shook his head with a soft grin, licking his lips as his pupils dilated the longer he thought of the last time you had sex, which was when he came in you for the first time. It had him weak in the knees, and would definitely do it again if you let him. He then softly leaned in and placed a wet kiss on your neck, making you sigh and close your eyes.

His hands placed themselves on your waist as he pushed you against the counter island, lightly marking your neck as he went: "Should'a done this a few days back, would'a marked you red and blue since y'ain't goin' out..."

You quietly moaned as he trapped you in place, lightly pushing your shirt up and massaging your sides as he did. You took the opportunity to place a kiss on his neck in return, hearing him growl softly, so you did it again, and again, and again...

Sex with Joel never ceased to satisfy you: He always managed to get you all giddy and excited like a child given a reward. His movements gained some speed as soon as his hands cupped your breasts, immediately taking your shirt off and kissing your lips hungrily. His arms closed around your waist and back as he moved down to your jaw and neck, biting and licking his way to your shoulders.

"Joel... the food..." Your chuckles mixed with moans the more his beard and lips caressed your skin. At your words, he picked you up and placed you on the counter, hooking his fingers through the waistbands of your shorts.

"I'll be full in a few," He smirked and started kissing down your breasts as he slowly dragged your shorts down your legs. His tongue worked wonders on your nipples while your fingers made their way through his hair, giving him soft hisses and quiet moans whenever he lightly bit on the skin.

Moments later, he was on his knees, caressing and kissing your inner thighs, not pulling back on leaving hickeys where he knew your shorts would cover to spare you the embarrassment; although that didn't keep him from lightly biting on the skin that showed too.

He then spread your legs and started giving tiny licks along your slit, making you slowly lean back onto your elbows, only to suddenly land on your back when he pulled you forwards by your thighs. You gave a brief chuckle as he feasted on your juices like a man who hadn't eaten in weeks.

As soon as you threw your head back, you opened your eyes to an intensifying sizzling sound, gasping when you saw the pan on the stove: "Joel! The food!"

"Oh shit–" He quickly left your wetness and practically threw himself over to the stove. After that was out of the way, you both stood still and giggled briefly. "Why'd you cook this much food?"

"Ellie asked if she could eat with us," You spoke as you got off the counter. "Said she didn't have time to cook for herself, I said sure. She then asked if Jesse could come too– Wait, what time is it?"

"Five twenty."

"Oh, good."

"Why?"

"Because," You gave him a mischievous smirk as you walked over to him and hooked your fingers behind his belt without breaking eye contact, pulling him back to the counter island. "That means we have at least another half hour before they arrive, but we still gotta be qui– Hmph!"

His lips were instantly on yours as he quickly pressed your back against the counter, but you stopped him before he could go down on you: "Nu-uh. I may be the cook–" You grabbed him through his trousers, making his hips jerk forward: "But I gotta eat too."

He made to protest –he's been going on about how you should take it easy and how your pleasure was more important than his (it was funny how he thought his pleasure didn't add to yours)– but you were already sinking to your knees, trapping yourself between his legs and the counter.

"There we go," You cooed as you got rid of his belt. Joel sighed deeply and closed his eyes, putting his hands on the surface above your head and leaning into your touch instinctively.

You were quick to pull him out of his underwear, pumping his cock a few times before giving it a few licks around the tip, to which he hissed quietly.

It was when you decided to take all his length to the back of your throat at one go that his hands shot to your hair: "Jesus– christ, doll!"

You offered a quiet giggle while you played with him in your hand, then slowly and rhythmically you took him in your mouth, but not even a few minutes later, Joel pulled your hair into a ponytail with both hands: "Can't believe I'm sayin' this but, food can wait."

You gave him a surprised look before he gently grabbed your jaw and lightly pressed your cheeks to make you open your mouth wider, then pushed his cock down your throat. Gagging and moaning you grabbed his hips, to which he responded: "A-ah, no hands Dolly."

You were perhaps too quick to drop your hands to your sides, then lace your fingers behind your back to keep yourself from grabbing him. You let him use your mouth for a few minutes: the sounds of wetness and gagging, plus occasional grunts and moans from him was heavenly for the both of you.

"Fuck– Dolly, up," He suddenly pulled out and leaned down to pull you up. He turned you around and gently, but with rushed movements, bent you over the counter a little. He entered you with one precise thrust, making you bend even more. You moaned simultaneously when he did, staying still a little for you to adjust.

He then leaned down over you, framing your body with his. Your bare back pressed against his naked chest, his hands wrapping themselves around your arms –then wrists– as his chin found its place like a puzzle piece in the crook of your neck. You loved it when he covered you like this, loved when he was so desperate, loved when he couldn't help himself and couldn't get enough of your–

"You get me so– shit," He growled as he pulled back and thrusted in again. He began with a steady rhythm, making you moan softly. You felt your eyes roll back when he nibbled at your ear and kissed your neck.

"Fuck– Joel, fuck–" You moaned, the pitch of your voice rising like it did when you began closing in on your orgasm. You both were aware how you were short on time and had to make this into a quickie, a promise of something more when night time fell and you both were alone in your room, hungry for one another like you were now.

"Want me to– to come in you again? Y'think I put a baby in you the last time?" He moaned at the way you squeezed around him, wriggled under his body and cried out at his words. "Don't matter, we can do it again to make sure– just say the words."

"Joel– ah, ah," You gasped when one of his hands left your wrist to draw circles around your clit, making you thrust back to his rhythm. "Fuck, come inside me, please."

"Shit, (Y/N)," He growled low, almost animalistically, into your ear. He placed kisses over your neck, then went up to your jaw and cheek, finally meeting your lips halfway. "Come on, babydoll, put one leg up for me?"

His other hand left your wrist as well when you nodded, helping one leg up to the counter. He proceeded to lean back and up, grab your hips and slam into you as fast and hard as he could, knocking the breath out of you.

"Oh my god!" You cried out, failing to keep up. The skin slapping against skin had long drowned out most of the surrounding sounds, minus your moaning and Joel's growling. "So– so close–"

"This ain't gonna work," He suddenly stopped, murmuring to himself. He put your leg back down, pulled out of you and turned you to face him. The sight of his cock –erect completely, thick and swollen– made you moan quietly. He lifted you up and sat you on the counter once more, spreading your legs. He grabbed your ass and pulled you forward, to the edge, where he thrusted back in.

You grabbed his face and kissed him hungrily, biting on his lower lip, then shoved your tongue into his mouth, moaning all the while.

"Ah," He broke off suddenly and put his forehead on your shoulder as he slammed, and slammed, and slammed...

Until he grabbed you by your thighs, his voice cracking slightly, and finally emptied his seed inside you, biting on your shoulder quite aggressively; you didn't mind, however, as it was the final stroke that threw you off the edge. You held onto his shoulders as you both trembled in the other's arms, panting as if you'd run all the way from the western gate to home.

His hips involuntary jerked forwards, his cock twitching inside you. He held you tightly in his arms as you came down your high, becoming sleepy all of a sudden. Him coming inside you had a wonderful effect on the both of you last time, it was no different this time.

"Shit," You hissed. "That was– that was–"

"Mind blowing?" He chuckled, reminding you of one of your quickies during patrol before you got married.

"That's one way to put it," You grinned back and claimed his lips in a sweet kiss. "You should come inside me more often."

You felt him tense a little: "Yeah, about that, are you su–"

Knock knock: "(Y/N)?" Ellie.

"Shit!" You jumped where you sat. Joel immediately pulled himself out of you and tucked his softening cock back in his jeans as you collected your clothing and ran to the bathroom.

After dinner, your love-making continued in your chambers. The pace slowed, the air became somewhat more sentimental, and tears were shed– both of you trembled in the other's arms, kissing and wiping away at the other's wet cheeks. You laid together: entwined, side by side, eventually parting because of the heat...

Now, you laid alone.

Alone in the house after that too-good-to-be-true week, you felt trapped and not as up to date as you liked to be about the town, so you asked Maria to sign you up for supply runs, extra shifts– whatever you were kept from.

People were more happy to see you than you thought they'd be– and more worried about you than Kiki. "You underestimate the place you hold in the community, (Y/N)." Eugene had told you with a pat to the back when you showed up to your first patrol in near two weeks. Before setting off for your assigned route however, Maria called you over with a half worried, half grave expression.

"Gonna tell you something you're not gonna like, so try to keep calm okay?" She stared right through you, making you gulp and nod: "Kiki wants to–" She sighed halfway when you scoffed quietly. "She said she wanted to talk to you, sort things out. She seemed pretty calm, maybe she made her peace with it."

"Nah," You shook your head. "She's got some folks riled up against me, they're giving me weird looks. Won't believe she's made her peace 'til that stops."

"All the more reason for you to talk. Her group's gonna wait for yours to arrive at the checkpoint. It's a good opportunity."

"... Alright." You exhaled heavily as she gave you an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Your group was made of just you and Eugene, but Ellie and Jesse asked if they could join. Jesse was already allowed on paired patrols, but Ellie was a matter of debate as Joel still deemed her young– definitely not because he was worried sick over her.

"Ellie..." You made to protest, but your gut told you to let her tag along.

"(Y/N) c'mon, Joel ain't even here," Eugene.

"No, yeah," You blinked, snapping out of your deep thoughts. "I was gonna say yes, sorry. Come on, hurry then."

Once you reached the checkpoint, you asked Eugene to stay back: "What's up, Dolly?"

"Kiki's in there, she says she wants to talk to me," You explained, hands on your hips. "To sort things out– I don't buy it."

"Woah, hold on. She said that to you?"

"To Maria. She says she's made her peace with what I did, but I say otherwise."

"Like hell she did," Eugene agreed. "I heard she's been calling you a–"

"I–" You put your hand up: "–don't wanna hear what that idiot has to say. I see a few people staring at me whenever I go out, some straight out avoid me."

"You want me to–?"

"No– no I'll talk to her, no biggie. This has to end one way or another, but I don't trust her. Be my eyes?"

"Always, (Y/N)," He started walking towards the doors of the checkpoint, but you stopped him.

"Actually, you watch out for Ellie and Jesse. I'll handle this alone."

"(Y/N)–"

"It's okay, she's weak. Squealed to the softest touch when she first came here, remember? She wouldn't try anything."

"But that was when she first came here. Don't underestimate her."

A warning that had fallen on your deaf ears.

As you reached the doors, you saw Ellie and Jesse standing a feet or two from the entrance awkwardly. You took a deep breath and walked through the door with heavy steps and, as soon as you saw her sitting on the couch, you stood across her: "Let's talk," You looked around the room to find it quite small for you to have privacy: "Leave us. Let's finish this."

"Wh–?"

"It's okay, Ellie– Just step outside for a moment, all of you."

Kiki's group, three other people, left the room with your company while giving you dirty looks. You locked eyes with Eugene, seeing him signal you watch, then as he turned around he also signaled you with hand signals. You really were grateful for him.

"Alright," You straightened up: "Let's get to it. I'm done holding back on you, so don't you dare play coy with me and say what you wanna say and get this over with."

"Very well then." She got up and started walking towards you, but you stopped her.

"I can hear you just fine from where you are." You told her not to approach, eyes instinctively scanning your surroundings. She was around 20 feet away from you, the path between you and her were clear of any obstacles –furniture etc– minus the small set of stairs that led up to where you were standing. There was a table behind you that you spied when you first entered the room, otherwise there was nothing near the neither of you.

"Fine. I was here to talk about Ward."

"I guessed that much."

"You do realise what you've done to me, right? You've ruined my life." Her face didn't reflect the words she spoke, not one bit.

"Oh for god's– I know damn well what I did."

"Did you regret it?"

You clenched, then unclenched your jaw: "Why do you wanna know?"

"I wanted to know if I'm talking to a normal person, or a cold blooded murderer."

Your hands were quick to ball up into fists, but you had to keep your cool. Her face and her stance made your shoulders tense even more– despite how she had behaved when you shot Ward, she was quite calm. Let's not jump to conclusions, you told yourself.

You remained quiet and huffed after a moment: "Let me ask you something."

"Ask away." She was ever so slowly inching closer, but you let her.

"Do you regret it? Me, shooting a man who beats you to a pulp, a man who won't–"

"I loved him, of course I do," She scoffed, but there was no love in her voice, just irritation.

"Or was this your plan all along?" You smirked sardonically, trying to keep your anger away from her prying eyes– allowing her to slip up: "You hated him so much, then you saw Joel and me, wanted my place; that it?"

"Clever, very clever," She nodded. "And what better person to kill Ward than you? How is it going between you and Joel, anyway?" She was suddenly too close: "Does he look at you with disgust every time you go to bed, wishing that it was me instead, the poor woman made into a widow by his own wife?"

Your face scrunched up with disgust and fury: "You fucking–"

"I'm right, aren't I?" Her head was tilted forward, giving you one of the most chilling, emotionless smiles you had ever seen.

"No... you're a fucking psychopath, that's what you are," You frowned.

"Ah, you sounded like Ward. Have you also read those psychology books Doctor Katherine had given him?"

Your mind blanked for a moment, but you quickly replied to cover it up: "I was trained to deal with the likes of you."

It was partly true, especially after everything went to shit with the apocalypse and whatnot. You were trained, yes, but you had educated yourself about certain disorders which could help you train and read body language better– you were no expert of course, and you weren't police, or a detective; you didn't deal with people like her up close.

"Likes of me?" She rolled her eyes: "Ugh, you and your husband... In any case, I feel like I can be honest with you now, you're smarter than I imagined."

Eugene was right, you thought: "Decided to be honest, finally? When no one else is around? How brave of you."

"The point wasn't bravery," She looked angrier, but her voice was still quiet. "The point was exactly that– No one will hear this confession but you."

You stared into her eyes, confusion and stress taking over a bit more quicker than you liked, you didn't even realise she was inching closer towards you: "I hated Ward. I didn't love him. He was my means of escape and protection for all those years out there, but I was weak– he was abusive, yes. I was smaller than him in physique and had no training to defend myself, so naturally I was inferior. His love, I assume, was true at one point. Mine never was. And yes, I was aware of how we were the black sheep of the community once we had arrived. I figured, if Tommy, Maria– people who were looked up to, like you, liked us, we'd fit in. I did, more than Ward anyway. And yes, I did want Joel for myself, but I knew it wasn't going to be easy. You– you never really liked me, you had to move out of the picture."

Your stance became defensive as you listened: "Move out of the picture?"

"Joel will move on, eventually, and I'll walk him through his grief. For all of this to work out, you had to die. That's why I am being honest, because I am going to kill you."

You thought you were ready to evade her attack, but not mentally. Her words had made your mind go blank: despite being smaller than you in figure, she threw herself at you, grabbed your hair and slammed your head onto the table behind you. Twice.

"Ah!" You growled and grabbed her wrist in a death grip, however she didn't let out as much as a groan (unlike the first time you had tried something like this with her), even though you felt like her bones were going to crush under your palm. You cursed at yourself for letting her get as close to you as she did, giving her an advantage; your vision was getting blurry from the strikes you suffered.

You growled angrily as you turned your body towards hers again, her hands not letting go of your hair. She had gotten stronger over the time she's been trained in Jackson, but you could still have the upper hand. You landed the hardest kick you could on her stomach. Twice.

"You're not even pregnant, are you?!" You spat when you managed to push her off, but as soon as she backed off, she pulled out a knife and lunged at you again. Before the tip of the knife could pierce your throat, you crossed your arms and blocked her attack, the force bending you backwards across the table.

"I never was, yes," She struggled, voice still stable. "Though telling everyone I miscarried because of your little doing didn't really hurt nobo–"

————

"Eugene, what the hell?" Mike, someone in Kiki's group asked as soon as they stepped outside.

The older man didn't reply, sparing an angry look in the younger man's way as he began looking for a window, an opening, anywhere he could keep an eye on you from.

"Whatever, let's hope (Y/N) doesn't kill her too in there," Jennifer, Kiki's neighbour across the street, grumbled.

"What's wrong with you?" Ellie snapped and turned to her. "(Y/N) protected her!"

"I don't think cold blooded murder doesn't really count as protection," She sneered.

"The fuck did you just–" Ellie started walking towards her, but Jesse held her back.

"Ellie calm down," He spoke quietly, then turned to Jessica. "If it weren't for (Y/N), both Kiki and Paul would've died, don't you understand? Ward beat Kiki to her death, then actually tried to—"

"What do you know? You weren't there!" Jessica hissed at him.

"Neither were you," Jesse replied calmly. "(Y/N) isn't a murderer, she's a protector of this town."

"Her history with FEDRA says otherwise," Mike joined in.

"So you're telling me you haven't killed anyone in the past 20 years?" Eugene suddenly walked over to them. "You think you're so innocent in all this, huh? You're as innocent as the rest of us, Mike. We've all done– forced to do some fucked up shit before Jackson, but this what this place's all about; a second chance." He took a few silent deep breaths, before adding: "You don't know what anyone here has gone through before here, so shut your goddamn mouth."

Both Mike and Jennifer fell silent, as well as Jesse and Ellie as the older man death stared Kiki's group. He started walking back to continue looking for an opening too late however– he suddenly heard two loud thuds, followed by a shout, your shout.

"God dammit!" He ran to the door with everyone else behind him and almost kicked down the door when he reached it.

————

"Kiki, what the hell?!" Eugene came in shouting, the door suddenly opening with a loud crash.

"What's the matter, can't handle me on your own?" She hissed at you, but her grip failed at Eugene's entrance. She had failed, and she knew this too, for her face morphed from ambition and triumph to anger and fear. That was your moment.

You directed her hands to your left with your forearms, the knife suddenly giving in and stabbing into the wooden table: "Oh I can handle you just fine!"

You twisted your arms around hers, grabbed her and push kicked her with all your might, sending her flying down the small set of stairs back near the couch she was sitting on previously. Driven by rage, you pulled the knife out of the table and jumped on her with scary speed. Before she could get up, you reached her and straddled her hips, ready to drive the knife through her throat like she had tried to do to you.

"(Y/N) stop!" Eugene yelled before you could, knife holding hand raised high, the other around her lower neck.

"Tell them, go on!" You suddenly yelled, moving your hand onto her throat. "Confess to them like you did to me."

"Get off me." She spoke calmly.

"Speak!" You yelled and shook her where you had grabbed her by the throat.

"(Y/N)..." Eugene, you realised when he entered your line of sight, was pointing a gun at Kiki's head. He kept his distance, his stance almost professional.

"Get off me," She spoke after awhile of silence. "And I'll tell them what I told you."

For whatever stupid reason, you believed her.

You believed, for a second, that she was actually going to make her confession and try to survive this, somehow. Jackson never took to execution as a form of punishment, so she had higher chances of staying alive that way.

Instead, as soon as you lowered your arm and simultaneously pulled your hand away from her throat, she grabbed you by your shirt's collar.

Everything happened so fast.

You gasped and shouted when you felt her teeth sink into the left side of your throat, dangerously close to the artery. Before she could completely bite off your skin, you embedded the knife in your hand to the side of her neck. Twice.

The tension in your body, the fear and anger you felt– everything came out on her neck. You stabbed her neck reflexively and as soon as she let your neck and shoulders go, you stopped, threw her back on the ground and fell on your back.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You grimaced, panting and holding your neck as you backed away from Kiki where you sat. You stopped crawling back when your back hit one of the armchair across the sofa.

The outside voices started to drown out as you pulled your hand away from your neck to see a mix of blood smeared across your hand. Your head hurt so much; the beating of your own heart, the voice ringing in your ear– too much blood–

"(Y/N), christ!" Eugene knelt beside you immediately, followed by Ellie and Jesse. Mike, Jessica and the other person stood, dumbfounded and shocked, as Kiki gave her last breath.

"No, oh god, what did I do?" Tears finally started rolling down your cheeks as you panted, visions of old memories covered in blood flashing under your eyelids making you hyperventilate.

Joel... Where is Joel...

"You protected yourself, (Y/N), it's okay! Breathe!" Eugene ran a hand through his hair, then held you by the shoulders hesitantly.

"(Y/N)," Ellie spoke worriedly: "(Y/N), you're okay– it's okay."

You put your hands on your ears in an attempt to drown out the noises, tried opening your eyes but the images weren't going away: "I can't– can't breathe," You held onto Eugene's arms. "You're– Is she–?"

Your question died on your tongue when he pulled you into a hug, putting your chin on his shoulder, then turned to the side so you didn't see Kiki's now lifeless body: "(Y/N), we need to get you to Katherine, you're bleeding."

"She was trying to stab her?" Katherine.

"Yeah, then she said she was gonna confess something she had confessed to (Y/N), but bit her nearly in the damn artery instead." Eugene.

"And whose bright idea was it to let 'em talk alone?" Tommy.

"Mine," You weakly replied as you slowly opened your eyes.

"Jesus christ, (Y/N)," Tommy sighed, relieved, and sat to your right. You were back in the hospital, where Doctor Katherine, Eugene and Tommy had been waiting for you to wake up.

"We should put my name up outside," You said stiffly, in an attempt to make a joke. "Seems like I won't stop waking up in this room."

Katherine was sat to your left– she put a hand against your forehead, then the back of it: "I got a fever?"

"You had a mild fever while I was operating–"

"Woah, hold on– operating?" You sat up, holding your neck to find it patched up. "Was it that bad?"

"She almost tore out the meat, that crazy–" Eugene spoke, but huffed with frustration halfway.

"I don't wanna rush you," Tommy put a hand on your shoulder and gave you a worried look. "But I need you to tell me what happened."

You and Eugene exchanged a worrisome look: "Just back there, or right from the beginning?"

"Everything," Tommy said after awhile. You gave Katherine a hesitating look, which she didn't notice, but sighed and began telling everything: from the dirty looks you got, to the symbolism of flowers and the night before Ward's death; then how some townspeople were riled up against you, and finally how she confessed to everything and attacked you, ultimately resulting in her death. Tommy went a little pale throughout, especially when you told him of her confession– Same with Eugene. Katherine looked devastated.

"Some folk ain't gonna believe this," Tommy said with an apologetic look on his face.

"Well, fuck 'em– I believe her." Eugene shook his head from where he was leaning against the windowsill. You offered a brief smile.

"I believe you too, but it just sounds too absurd, no offence," Tommy said, scratching his beard. "A damn maniac and his psycho wife... Then this whole– confession?"

You just sighed and looked down, where you had been playing with your fingernails and tips nervously: "To be frank, I don't owe anyone in this town a goddamn thing, except for maybe Katherine here. I'm not gonna try and convince a bunch of people, who have no place in my business, that I'm right or whatever. I did what I had to– and I have you all, so..."

Katherine took your hand in hers, giving it a soft squeeze: "That you do. We got you (Y/N), you're safe."

You gave them all half a smile, struggling not to cry but you managed to keep your tears to yourself. Tommy smiled, tsked and put his hands on his hips: "Well, now I'm worried about how Joel's goin' to react."

"React to what?" Came a tired voice from the door, the voice of your husband who was supposed to be away at a run.

"Joel?" Tommy's shocked tone mixed with yours, which was laced with both relief and disbelief.

"Tony got injured before we could make it out the county, Earl and I had to bring him back," He said from the door, slowly walking in and taking Katherine's place by your side: "Ran into Daisy, said my lovely wife managed to land herself here again."

He put his hand through your hair and combed it back, giving you a solemn yet soft look, then kissed your forehead and kept his lips pressed there for a few seconds. He then pulled back and gently looked at your neck: "What happened?"

—————

tagging: @spideysimpossiblegirl @sherry-212 @joelsgeetar @peachymelon69 @assinteractions @gizmogurlie41786 @giselatropicana @unfinishedsynopsis @nervousmumbling @thewintersoldierswife @roxypeanut

#joel miller #joel x you #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #tlou x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic

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gavin-plz-call-me · 3 years

Note

i saw you did an nsfw alphabet for wannabe challenge so i was wondering if you could do one for tears of themis? i'd love to see one for artem

Hell yeah, alphabets are the only nsfw stuff I'm good at writing

AO3

Artem NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

-Stills inside/beside you for a moment while you both catch your breath, then he’s combing through your hair, peppering your body with loving kisses.

-Has wet wipes/tissues to help clean you up at arm's length, so if let’s be honest, when you whine about not wanting to leave his side just yet, he can help you clean up.

-If you’re still clingy after a while, this man will carry you to the bathroom to get the rest of the way cleaned up.

-If you find yourself in a more dominant role in the bedroom sub Artem? It’s more likely than you think be prepared to pepper that man with so much love and care.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

-His favorite body part of himself is his eyes. They’re a nice color, but I don’t think he thinks about his appearance too much.

-As for you, would it be cliche to say your brain?

-While your beauty was what attracted him first, your mind is what really sealed the deal.

-Your mouth is a close second, because it helps you voice your thoughts in that beautiful voice of yours and, I mean, if you wanted to give him a blow job too he wouldn’t be complaining…

-Is an ass man.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

-Is hesitant on deciding where to cum.

-He thinks cumming anywhere in/on you would not be a very pleasant experience for you.

-But in the heat of the moment, he’ll probably end up cumming inside you if he’s wearing protection, or on your thighs/ass if he’s not.

-When he cums, whether it be in you or on you, he’s grabbing you a tissue when he comes down from his high to clean you up.

-If you swallow his cum he’ll be a little disgusted, but a lot turned on.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

-Has masturbated in his office after you’ve left on multiple occasions.

-Sometimes the perfume you were wearing was extra enticing, sometimes what you were wearing made you look extra hot, and sometimes your presence alone is enough to get him hot and excited.

-Is mostly ashamed about the times he did it before you two were dating because it felt like an intrusion of your privacy.

-Once Celestine came to his office right after he finished and he was so mortified that she’d somehow be able to tell that he did something. She knew something was up because of how much he was blushing, but she didn’t know what exactly

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

-Big old virgin

-I’m not even saying that to be mean plus being a virgin isn’t bad it’s just true.

-Sure, his lack of experience may be a bit of a hindrance at first, but he’s a clean slate.

-He’s not gonna be doing some weird thing with your clit because a girl he was with before liked that.

-Train him to perfectly pleasure you, and, trust me, he’s a fast learner.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

-Your first few times together he only did missionary, because, while he knew there were other options, he didn’t know how to initiate them.

-As he got more experience, however, he grew to absolutely love doggy style.

-Loves your ass, so it’s an obvious choice. Plus, if he’s extra flustered, he can easily hide it.

-Grips your ass extra hard while kissing your neck and back. If he’s feeling extra brave, expect a few whispers about how good you feel.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

-He has his goofy moments, but most of the time he’s 100% serious.

-Whether it be because he’s concentrating on learning how to pleasure you correctly, or, when he’s gained a bit of experience, just concentrating on both of your pleasure.

-I feel like as you guys get closer, however, an awkward moment may turn into a brief bout of giggles shared between the two of you before continuing.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

-Shaved himself completely when you two started dating.

-Was convinced you’d be disgusted by any hair down there. My poor insecure baby

-When he gets more comfortable around you, he’ll let it grow out, but he still trims it to keep it neat.

-Carpets match the drapes.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

-Is a whore for a sexy, romantic atmosphere.

-I’m talking rose petals, candles, and a couple of glasses of non-alcoholic wine.

-Wanna have the most romantic love-making session imaginable? Set all of that up for him instead of the other way around.

-He’ll be so in love with you at that moment he’ll have no choice but to give you the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

-Before meeting you, he jacked off maybe once or twice a week, and it was more of something he had to do than something he wanted to do.

-When he met you, he thought you were the most attractive person he’d ever seen, so his sex drive and, naturally, his masturbation sessions increased.

-Increased to every other day, maybe every day. He tried to not think of you during these times as he felt it was an invasion of privacy emphasis on tried.

-After finally getting together with you, his sessions have decreased back down to once or twice a week.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

-Likes having sex in his office, but that’s the most public space he’ll do it in.

-Also loves it when you’re slightly dominant on him.

-Doesn’t want to do any of the more kinky stuff, tying him or you, depending on his mood with a tie is about as far as he’ll go.

-But just take charge, he loves it.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

-Can’t go wrong with the good old fucking in bed. It’s easy, comfortable, and you guys can take as long as you want.

-Get him riled up at work by wearing something that beautifully shows of your ass, or make sure he knows you’re wearing that pair of panties you know he loves or, fuck it, no panties at all he’ll polietly ask you into his office so he can fuck your brains out.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

-Loves when you assert yourself, especially at work.

-Get all confident during a trial because you know you’re going to win? That’s all the motivation he needs.

-Does not help his productivity at all, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

-Expect to fuck after a trial, extra hard if you won.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

-No threesomes/group sex.

-It’s not even because he’ll get jealous okay maybe a bit of that but you were his first and only. Everything he’s learned about sex has been about specifically pleasuring you, he wouldn’t know where to begin when having sex with other people.

-He’s more than content with you being his one and only.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

-Not skilled at the beginning like all things sexual, but he’s a fast learner.

-Good communication is key here, as it is in all aspects of sex with Artem. Guide him to where you want to be pleasured, praise him when you really like what he’s doing, and give him some delicious moans and he’ll be a pro at fucking you with his tounge alone in no time.

-Is too shy to ask for you to go down on him, and will insist you don’t have to when you try to initiate it.

-Ignore him and do it, the noises you draw from him are absolutely worth it.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

-Starts off at a weird middle ground sort of pace, not fast and not slow.

-Is fond of slow and sensual when he grows more experienced, but will occasionally get rough with you.

-That usually happens when he gets a bit too jealous of a guy who got a bit too close to you for your liking.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

- doesn’t really have a choice in the matter at the beginning, mr. 30 seconds (sorry Artem)

-For real, he prefers longer love-making sessions, but if you’re teasing him in the office a quickie will ensue.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

-Grows more confident the more the two of you have sex.

-He does like fucking in his office, so he likes a bit of risk, but there being too many people in the office, or the chance of Celestine walking in at anytime, Artem would much rather feign working on a case and take you home.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

-At first, like most virgin boys, his stamina is basically nonexistent.

-Let him take his time, he’ll get to fucking you until the sun rises in no time at all.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

-Has never thought about getting one for himself when his hand does the job well enough.

-Is very open to using toys on you in the bedroom, especially when he’s feeling insecure about his ability to please you which happens often, scream his name and make him forget those insecurities.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

-Not a teaser in the slightest.

-You want something specific in the bedroom? He’s already doing it, you barely have to ask.

-On the flip side, sort of loves it when you’re unfair to him.

-Just barely touch him and stop at the brink of his orgasm, he gets a sick sort of pleasure from that.

-It also helps him gain more control over himself in the bedroom, so it’s a win-win.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

-May try to stay quiet, after all, in all the porn he’s watched which isn’t a lot because I feel like watching it makes him feel uncomfortable the man is always basically silent.

-That does not work out for him, though. He gets so overwhelmed with pleasure that he can’t control what his vocal cords are doing.

-Gains a bit more control over it over time, but he realizes you like his moans, so he stops trying to keep them at bay.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

-Is a total switch.

-Can be pretty dominant at some times see his atmospheric card

-But I can totally see him wanting you to dom him sometimes. Loves seeing you dominate the court, if you bring that energy to bed, oh boy is he like putty in your hands.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

-He’s of average girth and slightly above average length. Has a nice, thick vein that runs the length of his penis.

-Uncut.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

-Has a very active imagination how else would he become such a great lawyer?

-And while that helps him out in his work, anything about you can really set him off.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

-Is out like a light

-Especially the first few times, his body doesn’t know what hit him.

-But even after a while, he works so hard that the moment he has the chance to fall asleep, his body is taking that chance.

-Make sures to stay up long enough to get cleaned off and help you clean yourself up.

#Tears of themis #tears of themis artem #artem wing #tears of themis headcanon #tears of themis headcanons #tears of themis fic #tears of themis fanfic #nsft #tears of themis nsft

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firefly-in-darkness · 3 years

Text

Life on Hold

Pairing → Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters → Marvel Characters

Summary → Y/N is pulled out of retirement by Fury, and Bucky is the one to break the news.

Word Count → 2.8k

Prompt → ‘You must be out of your goddamn mind’ for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Hamilfilm Lyric Challenge

SSB2021 Square Fill → ‘Where’s the fight?’ - @star-spangled-bingo

Warnings → 18+. Fluff, Angst, Smut. Swearing.

Betas → @daydream3r-xo & @fandomfic-galore // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → This is my first time taking part in a bingo card and what better way to kick it off than with our boy Bucky and the trifecta of angst, fluff & smut! Hope you enjoy - comments & reblogs are always adored!

Firefly’s Masterlist // Star Spangled Bingo 2021

Fury entered the conference room at Stark Tower with his usually authoritative, no bullshit attitude and the black leather jacket flowing behind him. The Avengers immediately halted their actions; Natasha and Clint gave each other a knowing side-eye, Bucky and Steve placed down their coffees while Wanda, Vision and Bruce stopped their conversation, mid-flow, to turn their attentions to the director.

“Where’s Stark?” Fury looked around for the billionaire, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A voice came through the speakers, “I’m here. Just not here, here.”

Fury turned to the camera in the corner, “Stark, I suggest you get in here now.”

“No can do boss, I’m a little tied up doing good for the community at the moment.” The Iron Man suit’s HUD display appeared in the centre of the room above the table with Stark’s signature smirk, “I’m listening.”

The holographic display changed with the flick of Fury’s hand; Stark’s face appearing in the top right corner while the other information appeared larger. A selection of blueprints for a fortified base, images of various Hydra agents and satellite footage of the surrounding area. Steve flicked through the same information on the tablet in his lap while the rest of the team continued to look at display or Fury for further instruction.

“As you can see, we have collected a lot of information about this particular base. The only problem is that we are struggling to infiltrate it. Our agents have explored every possible way to get inside but it’s becoming more obvious that whatever is happening inside that warehouse is something for the Avengers to deal with.” Fury continued as he walked around the room, hands behind his back.

“What attempts have been made?” Steve asked, the stern tone of Captain America coming through.

The Avengers watched the footage that enlarged in front of Nick Fury; a group of agents moving as one through the dense snow-covered forest until they were repelled back twenty feet.

“That’s the issue. We’ve tried to go through it, over it and under it. We can’t get in so I need the best on this,” Fury pointed at the repeated clip of the soldiers being hit with the force field, “Romanoff, Barton; get reading up on those reports, see if you can find anything that stands out. Maximoff and Vision, start looking into what that force field is and whether you remember it from your Strucker days. Stark, I need you back here for the final briefing by 1800 hours.”

The four Avengers nodded at the director and left the room. Stark disconnected and the hologram disappeared. Bucky remained silent, watching Fury’s every move while Steve reclined in the chair, spinning it towards the director.

“And what about us Sir?” Steve asked, his body tense and irritation not going unnoticed by the remaining attendees.

“I said I needed my best.” Fury pressed his hands against the back of a vacant seat, looking straight to Bucky. “There’s only one person that can help us with this one.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened and he barked in response, “No!”

“He’s right, Buck.” Steve turned to him with a small smile, “we’re going to need all the help we can get. Who knows what’s going on down there?”

“You must be out of your goddamn mind.” Bucky pushed the chair back forcefully and walked to the door, yanking it open. He paused looking back at Steve and Fury, “and I guess, I’m going to be the one to break the news, aren’t I?”

The bell above the door chimed as Bucky entered the florist; he was hit with a multitude of colours and smells that were incredible but the one thing that stood out most to him was the woman tucked between sunflowers and dahlias with an older gentleman. His heart raced at Y/N’s beaming smile as she gathered up the flowers and rang up the cost on the register.

Bucky preoccupied himself with the assortment of blooms and the trinkets scattered around the small shop while she continued to chat with the gentleman, he tried not to listen in to the conversation, but he had to gauge her mood before he approached her, not that she didn’t already know he was there.

“Mr Lee, you cannot make those eyes at me when you’re buying flowers for your wife!” Y/N laughed, “send her my best and that I’ll see her on Sunday for the bake sale.”

“You’ll realise that I’m the one for you sooner or later.” The man waved and passed Bucky, leaving the shop with another jingle of the bell.

Bucky had watched the man leave as he thought of how impressed he was with the way Y/N had settled into this town after a few months. He’d always been impressed with the woman that had managed to retire and find her feet so seamlessly.

Without turning around, Bucky knew that she was now behind him and her hands would be placed on her hips, a sideways pout on her lips as she waited for him to pay her attention.

“Seeing as we only saw each other on Thursday, Buck, and if someone had died, you’d have called, what could you possibly need on this wonderful Sunday afternoon? Did you miss me that much?” She giggled but then she saw the seriousness in his face once he’d turned around. “Shop closes in an hour; I’ll be up in a bit.”

Bucky felt guilty for dimming the sparkle in Y/N’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, she was silent with a blank expression as she unlocked the door leading to her apartment. He’d never experienced the receiving end of the anger that was smothering the atmosphere. Of course, he’d witnessed it aimed at others but never at this level towards himself.

Y/N kicked off her trainers and untied her apron, slamming it down on the kitchen table. Her fingers clenched around the fabric, and her jaw ticked before she turned to Bucky. He leaned against the door frame and explained how she needed to come out of retirement for a mission, giving her the details about the force field that the SHIELD agents were unable to penetrate.

Bucky waited for Y/N to speak, he learnt long ago that he had to leave her to process whatever it was that was racing through her mind. Y/N had her back to him, one hand gripping the counter and the other holding tightly onto the knife that she’d retrieved to chop vegetables. She turned around and opened her mouth, only for no words to come out and for her to continue preparing dinner.

The pain and fear that flicked across her features were motivation enough for Bucky to get closer, he strode over and placed his hands on her hips. He felt the tension drop from her body at his touch, a sense of pride swelled as she leant her back into his chest.

“It’s been 113 days since I left. You can’t come here and ask this of me.” Y/N’s voice cracked, and her eyes glossed over as she waved the knife around in front of her, the peppers no longer being diced.

Bucky’s fingers held her wrist to stop the kitchen utensil from turning into a weapon and rest his chin on her shoulder, “I know doll, but you know why I was sent and not Steve or Fury himself.”

“Yeah, ‘cos they know y’all sweet talk me ‘round.” She scoffed and dropped the knife down with a clatter, turning in his arms to look at him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and fingers threaded through the loose strands while a smirk crept up her face, “and they knew that I wouldn’t castrate you either.”

Bucky chuckled and nudged his nose against hers before their lips lightly brushed one another, a soft peck and Y/N unravelled and continued with prepping the food. Stirring the partly prepared sauce heating on the stove, Bucky watched her form soften but he knew that it would be short-lived.

“Where’s the fight?” She whispered, as if she already knew but didn’t want to believe it.

“Poland.” He slipped back and took a seat at the kitchen table, knowing that she would turn around in an instant with another burst of anger.

And as if on cue, Y/N threw a tomato at the wall to her left, the juices staining the neutral paint as it slid down. She whirled around and pointed the wooden spoon at him, “I can’t believe those jerks! They don’t even have the balls to talk to me themselves and instead, they send my lovely, innocent and ridiculously handsome boyfriend to woo me into returning to the field.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call myself innocent.” Bucky tried to lighten the mood, but it had the opposite effect.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Y/N paced the length of the kitchen in a few steps before spinning around and walking back again. Defeated with the inevitable of visiting the country she grew up in, she collapsed on Bucky’s lap. “What about my shop? Do they not realise that I have a business to run? I’m not an Avenger, I'm just an ordinary civilian.”

“You’re everything but ordinary.” His arms pulled Y/N closer to him, her head burrowing under his chin, “It’s okay sweetheart, Diane can run the place in your absence, she knows what she’s doing. We’ll be gone a week at most. I made sure to get a month of vacation off afterwards so we can do this place up.”

Y/N’s head snapped up, bashing Bucky’s chin making him bite the inside of his cheek. The blood filled his mouth, but he swallowed it down and cupped her face at the sight of the unshed tears in her eyes.

“Really? Do you mean that? Because being with you for one night every two weeks is horrible.” Her bottom lip poked out and Bucky wobbled it with his index finger.

“Yes, of course, doll.” He smiled and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

“Hold up!” Y/N pulled away from him, her hands pressed firmly into his chest, “you’re sweet talkin’ me, aren’t you?”

“Nothing gets past you.” Bucky’s head fell back as the laughter rumbled through his chest and Y/N stood up. He swatted her butt cheek, “get a move on with dinner, we have to leave in an hour.”

“James Buchanan Barnes!” She spun around, a feigned look of shock and her hand clutched to her chest. Her agape mouth dropped into a smirk as she leant forward, rubbing her nose against his. “If you’re still into this sweet talkin’ thing…”

Y/N spun on her heel and with a sway of her hips, wandered to the door. She looked back over her shoulder, “well, are you coming or what?”

Bucky was on his feet in seconds, chasing her down the corridor. Giggles filled the apartment as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her into the air. He fell backwards onto the bed, dropping her to his side gracefully.

Both looked at the other, full of smiles and breathless from the short jog. The contrast of cold metal against Y/N’s warm cheek sent a shiver down her spine, and the way Bucky focused on her lips filled her core with want. The laughter died down and desire took over, as their faces inched closer and until they were ghosting over each other’s lips.

“Thought I had to sweet talk you, doll?” Bucky mumbled against Y/N’s parted mouth; his beard scratched deliciously against her.

In retaliation, she pushed on top of him, straddling his waist and feeling the rough texture of the tactical gear hidden beneath the hoodie, “well, what can I see, could never resist a man in Kevlar.”

Y/N ducked down and pressed a light peck to Bucky’s lips. He immediately took control, his hand holding the back of her head and deepening the kiss while his hardening groin rubbed against her clothed sex.

All thoughts of the mission and Poland disappeared with each item of clothing they discarded. Their minds focused on bringing the other to the edge of ecstasy with every kiss, lick, and stroke. Their bodies hummed with desire and need, entangled together above the sheets.

Bucky pinned Y/N to the bed, holding her hands above her head in his grip while he peppered kisses down her neck, and across her now beautifully exposed body. His hold loosened as he neared her sensitive parts, the mewling sounds above him sent repeated shocks of pleasure to his already stiff member.

Y/N couldn’t handle the wait any longer, her hips tilting up towards in demand of his mouth. It was oh so close but still far away from her bundle of nerves, “please Bucky, I need you.”

Not one to disappoint or let his girl beg for too long, Bucky teased her drenched cunt with his fingertips. She whimpered in response, pride swelled in his chest and pushed him to lick a stripe through her lips, tongue swirling over her clit.

“Fuck” Y/N stuttered out; one hand tugged on his locks while the other palmed her breasts.

Bucky moaned, the vibrations pushing Y/N closer to her orgasm. He continued to eat her cunt with ferocity. Bucky always marvelled at how he’d almost cum from the sounds of her moans and the taste of her pleasure. His cock ached as he rubbed the precum across his tip and gripped his shaft to hold off his orgasm until he felt the friction of her tight cunt, until he was deep inside her.

Kisses lightly pressed along her thighs and her stomach; Bucky didn’t miss a single spot, blemish or scar on her body. Her body glowed in the post-orgasmic haze, her fingers softly stroking through his locks as he hovered above her.

Bucky faltered when he saw her eyes glistened with unshed tears and the tremble of her lip, “Doll, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“Oh, sweet man,” Y/N cupped his cheek, his head resting into her palm, “of course not. I’m just scared of going back. Of losing myself to my past. Of losing you.”

Bucky let go of the breath he held, a small piece of him was glad that he hadn’t done anything to hurt the precious person lying beneath him but the rest of him filled with the need to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay. And that is what he did.

He rolled to her side, gathered her up in his hold and pressed soft kisses to the top of her head, “I can’t promise that it won’t be hard. Going back there, to those monsters. But I can promise you that you won’t lose me. I’ll be with you every step of the way, like you have been there for me.”

Y/N clung to Bucky’s waist; her legs entwined with his while she let the tears flow. Her fear subsided with each drop, the caress of Bucky’s fingers along her arm and the sweet nothings he whispered into her ear.

Y/N packed her bag while Bucky returned to the kitchen to fix her something to eat. Even though he had developed incredible hearing, he couldn’t make out the Ukrainian words that she mumbled in between ‘Steve’ and ‘Fury’ or the slams of the bedroom furniture. But what he did know was that they weren’t going to be any terms of endearment to her former superiors.

Minutes later, Y/N had returned with an outfit change and dropped the holdall to her feet. Bucky’s heart thumped against his chest and a blush heated his cheeks as she winked at him. Even after all this time, seeing her in the black uniform always sent his heart racing and Y/N knew exactly how he felt about the uniform.

They ate the meal in silence as Y/N scanned the details on the tablet, both now brought up to speed with the latest developments from Natasha’s intel; alien technology being sold across the black market. What’s new. Bucky rolled his eyes at the information, there was always some bad guy with a bunch of weaponry, that they didn’t understand, trying to use it for evil.

Once again, Y/N disappeared into other parts of the apartment while Bucky loaded his black truck with her holdall and waited for her arrival in the cab. She hopped into the passenger seat and appeared calm, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he should prepare to duck for cover when they arrived at the briefing room.

Luckily for Bucky, Natasha and Clint pulled him aside to go over their new findings. Not so lucky for Steve and Fury, who would have to deal with the wrath of the retired Avenger.

Everything Tag List: @kitkatd7 / @fandomfic-galore / @writerwrites / @thefridgeismybestie / @avantgardium-leviosa*

Marvel Tag List: @natasha-danvers / @little-baby-vixen / @stuckonjbbarnes / @starlightcrystalline / @nekoannie-chan / @hailhydra920 / @vollzeitliebe / @fitzsimmons-is-forever

*unable to tag

If you would like to be added to my taglist then drop me an ask

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Star's Hamilfilm Lyric Challenge #SSB2021 #Bucky Barnes Fic #Bucky Barnes #Sexy times

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

innocence - 37

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst

A/N: aaaa we’re reaching the end in a few chapters and everything is starting to go downhill. hope you enjoy it xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky barely knew Eliza. He knew she was Mr. Powell’s assistant and would mostly keep to herself, being as invisible as she could and only really speaking whenever someone spoke to her. Bucky had said hello to her once or twice, but nothing which he thought would led to her wanting to speak to him in private. It crossed her mind it could be regarding Mr. Powell but Bucky had been fired from being her bodyguard a long time ago and essentially did not pose a threat to him anymore.

Eliza led him to a sheltered corner of the hall, looking around for anyone she deemed recognisable enough but there was no one. Media had been strictly forbidden to attend the trial and everyone else had pretty much left except for a small handful of people which were much further down, so they were pretty much alone. The young woman fished through her purse before taking off a small USB drive which she handed to him. Bucky furrowed her brows, not taking the USB from her.

- Mr. Powell is set to testify against you for punching him on a Halloween party tomorrow. It’s a surprise witness but ... I feel bad letting him testify. He doesn’t have her best interest at heart and this USB proves it.

- What’s in it?

- I ... don’t feel comfortable explaining what’s in it but it’s a video and if presented to the jury, it would make him an unreliable witness. - Bucky took the drive from her, putting it inside his jacket’s pocket. - You cannot tell Y/N, I gave you that ... or show it to her. I am really sorry I couldn’t stop it.

- Stop what?

- You’ll see. - she walked away leaving him to pounder on her words. Surely, it wasn’t anything bad, he told himself.

He shook his head out of his worries, thinking about how much he just wanted to return to his wife. To hold her and tell her how much he loved her and try and make her forget what she had just seen. However, he wanted to see what was on that drive. He wanted to see it. He walked down the court hall and spotted one of the consultation rooms was open.

- Hey Buck, we’re waiting for you. - he turned his head to see Steve walking towards him. - We got some pizzas.

- Close the door behind you. - Bucky told him as he walking into the consultation room, finding one of the computers was on. Steve merely did as he said, closing the door and turning on the light before taking a seat on one of the spinning chair.

- What are we doing? Are you okay? I know that video was rough.

- One of Y/N’s director’s assistants gave me a USB with a video. She asked me not to show Y/N. Sounded weird.

He connected the drive to the computer. For all he knew, this could be some weird way to get his data if he connected it to his laptop besides with Y/N in the house it would be much harder to hide it from her, not that he exactly knew why he had to hide it from her. As the computer read the drive, a folder opened up with a video file titled with a date. Bucky cocked his head to the side, as he opened the video. It was an almost CCTV quality video of what looked like one the trailers at the trailer park where Y/N had been shooting her last movie. Both Y/N and the director were sat on the couch, a rather large distance between them. The sound quality was poor and muffled but he could hear his wife’s voice as he called the man by her side pathetic. Out of the sudden, Powell wrapped his hand around her neck and pinned her to the couch. He saw red. He could see it, he could see her squirming trying to get free from his hold. Bucky wanted to break through the screen, he wanted to help her, he wanted to stop him, he wanted to stop him but he couldn’t.

- Buck ... - Steve said in a warning tone, recognising the look on his face.

Bucky took the driver of the computer and shoved it back in his jacket before leaving the room in a fast pace. Steve tripped over his feet to follow him, watching as the super soldier closed his fist, the plates in his arm moving and whirring and his steps heavy enough they echoed in the hall. Steve ran up to him, standing in front of him and putting a hand on his chest to stop him.

- Get out of my way, Steve.

- You need to calm down, Buck.

- Get away from me, Steve.

- You cannot get in trouble with anyone even somewhat related to Y/N. I know what you just saw is making you mad and we will deal with it once the time is right. You cannot do anything for your wife if you’re in jail. - Steve’s calm demeanor only made him angrier. - This is one less witness you’ll have to worry about. Y/N is fine but you’re under trial.

- Didn’t you fucking see what I saw? He attacked Y/N, he choked her, he could’ve killed her and no one fucking helped her. GET AWAY FROM ME, STEVE.

Bucky twisted Steve’s hand away and continued his strut down the hall until he saw her. Steve continued to run behind him which warned Sharon who put herself in front of Y/N. Did she think he was going to hurt her? The mere thought of it slowed him down.

- How was it with Eliza? - Y/N walked from behind Sharon up to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. - Are you okay, Bucky?

- Yeah ... I’m just great, princess. - he swiped the hair away from her neck, his fingers grazing the skin there. He was supposed to protect her, he promised her nothing had happened. How could he’d let this happen? How could Eliza let this happen? Why did no one help her? He leaned his forehead against hers, his finger tracing the end of her jawline before he kissed her. - I love you so much, princess.

- Are you sure everything is ok? - she held her hand against his face, moving her head slightly to the side wondering why Steve had just ran after him.

- Yeah, I’m just tired ... wanna go home.

- That’s fine, we can go home. I just need to pay Steve for the pizza.

- It’s fine, Y/N. - Steve beckoned. - It’s been an harsh day. We’ll see you guys tomorrow. Call us if you need anything, okay?

- Thank you, Steve. - she left Bucky for a brief second to hug Steve, Sam and Sharon.

Bucky watched that with a sad look. She was so sweet, so kind and no one had done anything. That sadness quickly turned to anger. He was no longer angry at the trial, he was angry that the agency which was supposed to keep her best interests at heart had left her with a director who had treated her that way. She didn’t deserve that, nobody deserved that. Y/N waved everyone goodbye before going back to her husband, her hand immediately wrapping around his metal hand, the warmth of her skin almost giving him feel in that arm. She almost playfully swung their intertwined hands, leaning her head against his shoulder. He always felt safe to her, he always felt like home to her yet Bucky seemed lost in the middle of his mind, ever so often appearing to have no life behind his eyes.

The drive was equally silent with his hand looming on her thigh throughout all of the way yet not in his playful or even lustful way, he kept his hand there as if someone was to snatch her at any moment. She doubted it, she was never really attention’s sweet centre, specially in her business. In all honesty, she was the one who should be possessive of him, not the other way around. Nevertheless, he held a possessive grip on her as if she wanted to escape yet it wasn’t jealousy. At least it didn’t appear as jealousy to her and she couldn’t read exactly what it was. The walk up to the flat was the same as the car and the exit from the court with him holding her hand and ensuring the climbed the stairs in front of him, keeping a firm eye on each and every movement.

Once Bucky closed the door, the possessive and protective aura continued. She held her hands up to his face, cupping it and feeling the slight stubble against her palms before she leaned in to kiss him. It was soft, very soft, the sort of kisses he’d get in the morning from her whenever she had to leave early for interviews. So soft, so warm and filled with love. She was so kind and the world ... the would just ate way at her.

- Y/N ... - he broke the kiss, stepping back. - I need to go shower.

She stood there, perplex at his actions and almost frozen in the spot. She threw her bag onto the coach, forgetting about what she had discovered to go into the bathroom. She took her shoes off at the edge of the door stepping into the bathroom which was already filled with hot steam, the glass of the shower steamed with beads of water running down, yet she could see him. Y/N stripped off her dress and underwear, throwing it onto the laundry basket which laid just below the sink. She opened the door of the shower, seeing Bucky with his back turned to her, head looking down as the shower head dropped water like rain onto his hair. She wrapped her arms around his torso, leaning her head against his back.

- Tell me what’s wrong. - she peppered skins against his upper back and the scars which connected the metal to his skin. - Please, James.

- Nothing’s wrong. - he turned around to hold her, letting the warm water fall upon them both.

- Liar. - it sounded so innocent, sprinkled with that little naughty smirk of hers, still decorated in pink lipstick. - You’re my husband. I know you, Bucky Barnes. I know if something wasn’t wrong I would be pinned against the shower wall tiles but I am standing here. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.

- I promised someone I wouldn’t tell you about something I’ve seen.

- Well, I won’t tell anyone. - her chest and hands were flushed against his, streams of water running down both their skins, leaving wet trails in their path. Bucky looked up, letting out a jailed sigh before looking back at her, his hand pushing her now wet hair away from her shoulders to look at her neck, fingers going slightly up and down the skin. - What are you doing?

- I know what Powell did to you. - he mumbled, almost afraid someone else would hear it. A cold shiver ran down her body and she looked the other way, hand coming up to push her hair in front of her collarbones and cover her neck as if those bruises still laid there. - There’s a video.

- What?

- Eliza gave me the video to use to stop Powell from testifying. It’s not the best quality but it is clear who’s on the tape.

- Oh ... - she didn’t exactly know what to reply to that.

Various things crossed her mind on that moment from if anyone had seen the video, if Powell himself had the video to why Eliza had the video. She wondered why Eliza would’ve given him the video, she wondered how the video had even gotten into her hands but most of it she wondered what he felt like. Her stomach churned and she felt guilty for not telling him. After all, a relationship is all about trust and here she was, having something she had hidden come up. It wasn’t she trusted Bucky, she did, she loved him so much but for whatever reason, one she couldn’t pin point the reason why she did not tell him. Maybe she didn’t want to be a disappointment, maybe she didn’t want him to worry, she didn’t know. She tried to cup his face but Bucky avoided her touch, instead exiting the shower and leaving her there. Her bottom lip dropped as she held in a sharp breathe, turning the shower head pressure up so the noise muffled the few tears that rolled down her face.

She must’ve been there for a long while as once she finally stepped off the shower her skin felt raw to the touch. She put on her bathrobe, swiping the fog of the mirror to see herself. Taking a few deep breathes in, she slide her palms along her jaw before looking to the marble of the bathroom sink.

Bucky was sat on the couch, nursing a cold beer and staring at the TV but Y/N could tell he wasn’t paying any attention. He was in Buckyland as she called it, a place where he’d go, inside his mind, and no one but him was allowed in. Not even her. She went up behind him, resting her chin on the top of his head.

- Talk to me, Bucky. - she kissed the top of his head. - Please, don’t shut me out.

- What do you want me to say, princess? - Bucky sighed, hand creeping up to hold hers. - I can’t do anything fucking right.

- What is this about? - she walked around the couch to sit on his lap, leaning her head against his shoulder and cuddling him. Bucky leaned his head on top of hers. - I’m so sorry, Bucky. I wanted to tell you, I really did but I didn’t want you to worry after that stupid mission. It was just ... insignificant.

- I should’ve been there to protect you.

- You don’t always need to be there to protect me. As I said it is insignificant but ... it’s good for our case, right?

- You are the most significant person in my life. You are my wife, you are all that matters, all the time. I don’t want any man touching you or even breathing on top of you if you don’t allow it much less that man.

- So ... we’re okay, right?

- I didn’t want you to see what they showed in court. I am already a disappointment for the world, I don’t want to be a disappointment to you and after seeing that ... thing ... I just ... - Bucky seemed to return back to Buckyland for a while. - I don’t have anything to offer you. I don’t know if I can have kids, I don’t know if I can give you more than a crappy flat in Brooklyn but I knew one thing, I thought I could protect you. I’m a super soldier, for heaven’s sake.

- Being a super soldier does not give you the ability to be in two places at the same time. - she caressed his chin. - You do know I love you, not what you can offer me. I like you, I like being your wife and I like you being my husband.

- So that’s what you want? Mr. and Mrs. Barnes?

- You say that as if it is a bad thing. I am not married to the Winter Soldier, I am not married to Sergeant Barnes and I am not married to my bodyguard. I am married to James Buchanan Barnes. I am married to you. I am not expecting anything from you other than waking up and falling asleep with you every single day. You’re the love of my life because you are you not because you protect me.

- I should be the one comforting you, princess. - he held her close to him as if someone was to take her away at any point. - God, that just happened to you and I’m here ... whining.

- Just happened? It was weeks ago, Bucky. Besides if I give it the attention it needs, it’ll become a much bigger thing than it needs to be.

- It is a big thing, Y/N.

- I’m an actress, Bucky. It happens ... more than it should but it’s ... fine. Who’d take my word on it even? They won’t even believe me when I tell them my own husband is not harassing me. Imagine them believing a whole industry is.

- You need a better agent.

- Are you offering, Barnes? - she teased, giggling against his chest.

- I’ve been a soldier, a brainwashed assassin, avenger, bodyguard ... I guess I could give it a shot. - he kissed her forehead. - Are you alright, princess?

- Don’t worry. - she looked up to kiss him. - I’ll be fine, Bucky. However, you, Mister, cannot and will not do anything about it while you’re on trial and even when you’re not on trial.

- I promise you that I will do everything I can to make you happy and safe. I can only do that if I’m out of prison so I promise not to go Winter Soldier on Powell. - he kissed her cheek and then her nose, cuddling her closer to him, no matter how closer she already was. - I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to wake up one day and realise you’re ashamed of me.

His eyes softened, brows furrowed creating that little crease just in the middle of his eyebrows and his nose seemed to twitch as if he was telling himself constantly not to cry or look any weaker than he already felt. She leaned her hand against his cheek, finger softly brushing his skin. It was warm, she was always so warm.

- You need to stop thinking those things about yourself. You can’t change what they made you do, you can’t get that past back but you can live the rest of your life just like you want it.

- It’s not that simple.

- It is, Bucky. And if anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll hurt them back.

- You will hurt them back?

- Yes. Sharon taught me how to punch and she said I have a very good aim. I almost managed to punch her.

- Why did you ask Sharon to teach you how to punch and not me?

- Would you have taught me to punch?

- No. You don’t need to know how to punch, you could get hurt, someone could hurt you or worse you could break your hand. I’ll do the punching for you.

- I’ll still do some punching.

- Alright, princess.

The trial was a circus and not only was the whole ordeal a whole unnecessary mess but the press was having a field day covering both of them. Sam had even offered for the two of them to stay with him, Sarah and his nephews until the dust settled down but the last thing any of the two wanted was to destroy their peaceful life by having paparazzi all over their lawn. Instead, the two of them would only come out of the flat for court dates. While Powell had mostly cowered away once their lawyer threatned to expose the video if he didn’t back down as a witness, Hawthorne hadn’t been very happy with it. He’d mostly sent a very heavy worded e-mail to Y/N but she was much too busy trying to find any cohesive way to prove it was him. She knew he did it, she just couldn’t prove it. All she had was photos from the written mirror in her flat and his signature yet no one would take that in. They would just say it was similar handwriting or that she was imagining things to protect her “abuser” husband. Bucky, Sam, Steve and Sharon were all in the dark about it as she had chosen not to tell any of them what was happening. It was just a theory, just a silly theory and if it wasn’t true, she knew Hawthorne would go after all of them and she didn’t want anyone to get hurt. She was already the reason Bucky was in court, being called things that no victim and no person should be called. She was the reason the prosecution was revisiting his choice less past and pinning it on him as a reason to not have a regular life. If she didn’t know better, they were upset about his pardon.

Things seemed to progress fast with court days going on and on until they woke up in the morning of the last one. She knew he was nervous, she’d heard him in the phone with Steve and Sam before yet he put on this strong facade as if things would be ok but she herself had started to doubt it. The jury was biased, that much she knew and after all, the decision was theirs. The court room was silent as the prosecution finished their closing statement but she could read the environment. Everyone’s eyes bore at her husband as if he was a criminal and those who spoke didn’t speak in kind words.

- Does the defence have any closing statements? - the jury asked their lawyer who stood up and faced him.

- No, your honour but the defendant would like to address the jury.

- I’ll allow it. - the jury beckoned and Bucky got up to face the jury. She wanted so much to jump from that bench and hold his hand but all she could do was remain there, watching him and giving him an encouraging smile whenever he looked her way.

- Listen, uhm ... - Bucky scratched his neck, searching for the right words to say. - I know you don’t like me, trust me I don’t like myself either but I love my wife. I would never, ever hurt her and if she hadn’t wanted me then I would’ve been fine with that because ... look at her she’s the most intelligent, kind and warm woman I’ve ever met and I know she deserves better than me. I tried telling her a million times that she deserves the perfect movie man who has a stable job and isn’t over a hundred but for whatever reason she still decided to marry me and I am gonna spend the rest of my life trying to even be half the man she deserves. I would never hurt her even if someone forced me too.

He sat down again and Y/N shimmied to the front of her bench to hold his hand through the wood bars that separated her from him. The judge excused everyone while the jury went to make their decision. Y/N excused herself to go speak to the lawyer while Sam and Steve kept Bucky occupied.

- You know, you do look a lot like your father. - he said as she approached him. - Never thought about going into the family business?

- And deal with my siblings every day? I wouldn’t wish it.

- Is there anything you need?

- I have a question to ask you but you can’t tell Bucky I asked you about it.

- I always have confidentiality with any of my clients so I wouldn’t tell him anything you’d ask me. What is it?

- Do you think we’re gonna win? - she picked at the hem of her dress, stress filling her veins.

- I don’t know. The jury is biased and without any evidence they’ll make their decision based on their opinions. We can always contest it but right now I think you’d do best spending some time with your husband now.

Everything needed to slow down as she walked away from the lawyer and she could hear her heels echoing on the wooden floors. She saw Bucky laugh at something Sam had said yet she couldn’t hear him laugh, she could only see and as she saw it, she looked at the ring around her finger, the same ring he had on his finger too before turning her head harshly to where Hawthorne was standing. Suddenly sound came back and her steps quickened as she approached the head of her agency.

- We need to talk. - she said interrupting his conversation with Miss Olson.

- What about? - he spoke in his collected tone which only further angered her.

- Alone.

She followed him into one of the reunion rooms, hands fumbling with her phone just before closing the door behind her. She realised she didn’t really know what to say, she hadn’t prepared herself for it and she certainly wasn’t a natural. All she knew was to try, try and right now she was gonna try, she was gonna try for Bucky.

- I know you did it. - she tried speaking with an unwavering voice but it came out almost like a wave.

- Excuse me? - he leaned against the wall, mocking her. - Did what?

- Bucky couldn’t have done it, that night in my flat. He was in Brooklyn and then he was stuck in traffic that morning, there’s footage of it. He could’ve never gone to my flat when he dropped me off at 4 AM and then be stuck in traffic. I know it’s your handwriting, it’s like the one on the contract. Besides, no one knew my flat address other than Bucky and Miss Olson and not even Bucky or Miss Olson knew my family address. You did it. You know you did it.

- You’re clearly mental unstable but it’s okay because me and Miss Olson will get you the help we need after we get the marriage annulled.

- Stop. - she said. - You know no one else will believe me so at least tell me truth. Tell me how you screw up my husband’s life.

- Don’t be dramatic, Y/N. It wasn’t to mess up your husband’s life. Do you know how much money we invested on you? For you to destroy your image by going out with an American traitor? You think you could’ve gotten this role without me? You think you could be anything out of your little shows without me? You’re a good actress but take a look at yourself, you’re hardly what men want. You wanna break it into the business? Be hot or have connections and it turns out you can’t do both. That audition you did in London you tried to hide? Who did you think they called to give the news? Oh and if you’re wondering, it was a no.

- Did you do it? - she tried to maintain her cool but she knew she looked meek and she looked pathetic.

- I thought with your Nancy Drew speech you knew the answer.

- Did you or did you not?

- I did but who’s gonna believe you?

- I don’t know. - she opened the door, holding the knob in her hand as she pressed play on her phone, his voice saying he did it playing and echoing in the empty room. - They won’t believe me but they will believe you.

- Don’t toy with me, Y/N. I’ll make sure you never get a single job here or anywhere else. I’ll bring you down.

- Maybe but if I’m going down, you are going down with me.

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