#somehow this is my first x files painting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedgito · 1 year

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summary | a new place, a new job, and new problems arise soon thereafter. javier manages to weasle his way under your skin in more ways than one. the first—stealing your designated parking spot. (7.5k+ words)

pairing | javier pena x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, subtle pining/suffering on javi's part, very little reference to narcos plot (so, readable if you've never watched), strangers to enemies to...whatever this is, fingering/oral (f receiving), sex & subtle aftercare, open ended, using my very limited knowledge of spanish (pls feel free to correct me)

author's note | translations are spread throughout. this is my first dip into any character outside of my norm so this is mostly just for fun, but to anyone reading, enjoy!

You liked to think you were as level-headed as they came, always seeing the best in people, always giving them the benefit of the doubt, even here in a place that feels foreign, fresh off the job of a position you were hired to a few weeks ago. Not even a month yet and you were already on the precipice of your first problem.

A situation, perhaps.

You extensively remember paying for the specific parking spot correlating to your apartment number. It was simple, you paid for it, so by those laws, it was yours.

Yet somehow, there’s always a car parked in your space.

The first time isn’t a problem, opting to fill the blank spot next to it that is assigned specifically for visitors anyways. How could they have known?

It’s not a big deal. Until it happens again.

Same car, same color. That Jeep Cherokee was turning into your arch-nemesis, one more day of stealing your parking spot away from your keys digging into the paint of the driver’s side door.

Well, you weren’t that evil. But, you were definitely thinking about it. And maybe part of the problem was how unexpectedly stressful your job actually was, working alongside a bunch of macho, testosterone filled DEA agents with a severe lack of manners and time-management outside of catching the bad guys.

It always left you with a mountain of paperwork to deal with, not to mention that ridiculous errands and goose chases you were sent on for a file, or a can of fucking coffee beans because no one had the sense to replace them when they ran out.

And maybe if the car stood out more you would’ve clocked it earlier, but it doesn’t.

There comes a point where you can’t take the blatant disregard any longer, poised to catch the culprit in the act as you lean against the front hood of the car, jingling your apartment keys around your finger, rehearsing your supposed speech to scare off whoever owns the car.

But, that falls dead on your tongue the moment the owner descends the stairs, appearing from the same floor your own apartment resided on, eyes widening in disbelief.

It was a miracle you both had avoided each other this long.

“Javier?” You spit out, like a bad taste in your mouth.

Javier eyes you weirdly, still speaking calmly, “Hola, hermosa—I think. You live here?”

You nod slowly, wondering why he seemed so calm, so unbothered.

Ah, right. He wasn’t the one worrying about a parking spot, rather, he was the one stealing it.

“Yeah, por un par de semanas.” (for a couple of weeks)

Not that it mattered to Javier.

He laughs under his breath, fiddling with his own keys as he reaches for the handle. You push away from his car, standing steady on your own two feet, arms crossed over your chest and rubbing against the buttons of your blouse, still dressed up from work.

“You’re parking in my spot, Javier.”

Javier eyes the surrounding area, seeing nothing amiss.

“Where’s your car?” He asks, avoiding the accusation entirely.

“Right there,” You point at the car parked beside him, eyes narrowing at his lack of reaction, “beside my parking spot. You know, el que yo pago para.” (the one I pay for)

“Cariño,” and if there was a word that could make your blood boil quicker, it was that, the same condescending tone he always used, “I’ve had this spot for weeks.”

“But it’s mine now, Peña.”

“And mine sucks,” He admits, “this is the only shaded area around the building, it’s fuckin’ hot out, my car—“

“Isn’t my problem!”

He’s never heard you shout before, feeling the frustration radiating from your frame.

It was yours, rightfully so. But, that did change the fact he’s been parking there for weeks now, stubborn as he is. Javier isn’t budging either.

“What’s wrong with that one?” He asks, motioning toward your car beside his.

“I’m not paying for that one. I’m paying for this one.” It really is that simple, but you’re starting to think he had rocks for a brain, nothing rattling around up there besides catching Escobar and cheap sex he could catch on the regular with a bit of cash.

Yes, you knew—most of those men were one in the same, bachelors with a yearning to get off but not enough game to score it for free.

“No te soporto,” It’s a soft mumble under your breath, something meant for yourself, even if it was aimed at Javier, before looking at him, “fuck this, keep it.” (I cannot stand you)

Javier stares for a while, a moment too long in fact, his eyes lingering on the stretched fabric of your shirt, pulled tight over your chest where your arms cross, quickly traversing their way back up to your face, watching his entire trail of eyesight with annoyance.

“That’s it?” Javier definitely expected more of a fight, but you rolled over and keeled so fast he almost wishes you would’ve fought harder. He’s feeling gracious today though, so extends whatever metaphoric branch he had to give.

“You clearly don’t give a shit,” He’s leaning against the side of his car’s front hood now, diagonal to you as you take a few steps back, crossed arms moving until your hands met your hips, “but I’m the one running errands for you dumbasses all day, so we’ll see how long this lasts.”

In most cases that would come off as a death threat, but to you, it just meant smuggling sugar into his coffee instead of straight black like he usually enjoyed—just enough to fuck up his morning a little, throw him off kilter and enjoy the look on his face when it turns up in disgust, amongst other things.

“Eres malvada,” Javier comments amusingly, “are you trying to start a war?” (you are evil)

You shrug, “What’s one more to the one we’re already dealing with?”

You find it as a reason to get under his skin, drive him mad. But, Javier has a different reason in mind, luckily he loves a challenge—he wasn’t giving in that easily.

The office is sticky, the scolding, dry Bogotá heat feeling like you’re sitting in the center of a fire that ignited overnight—and the AC was out, meaning the tiny, measly little fan on your desk had to do.

Somehow, Javier seems unphased aside from the line of sweat on his forehead, shirt unbuttoned enough that you can see the start of his sternum, tanned skin hidden behind the baby blue fabric. His tie was laying on his desk beside his coffee—safe from you, for the time being.

Steve is close behind, not surprising, those two chasing each other’s tails like eager puppies. But, Murphy was sweeter than Pena, that much was clear.

He wasn’t holding your parking spot hostage.

“Hermosa,” Javier nods, tapping his fingertips against the patchy spot of wood on the front desk, “good morning, I hope?”

Not in the slightest.

Your eyes flick up wordlessly, stapling the stack of papers with more force than necessary before sliding it into his other hand, his fingers moving in time to catch the stack as it slides forward.

“Trouble in paradise?” Steve jokes, smiling as the words leave his mouth. “She looks like she’s ready to gut you.”

“She is,” It’s a confirmation that has Javier’s face turning up in annoyance, “can I do anything else for you? More paperwork, more coffee—“

“Actually—” Javier starts, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Good,” You turn away, picking up the large stack of files to head toward the filing closet, “ve a atrapar a tu el malo.” (go catch your bad guy)

His eyes linger as you walk away, Steve’s muffled voice coming into focus as you fade, rounding a corner as the click of your heels become softer.

“You managed to piss of the nicest person here,” Steve comments, whistling lowly, “I’m not gonna ask how you fucked that up, because it seems pretty obvious already—“

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Javier asks, throwing his head over his shoulder as he looks at Steve.

“Either bad sex or you’re just being an asshole,” Steve suggests, wiggling two fingers out suggestively, pushing his index down to flip his partner off, “easily both but I’m guessing it’s probably the second one.”

Javier shoved his hand away, forcing the file into Steve’s chest.

“She wants me to give up a parking spot I’ve had since I got here,” He explains, “not happening.”

Steve squints slightly, eyes narrowing on Javier. There was more to the story, but Javier was conveniently leaving that out.

“I didn’t even know she lived there,” Javier adds, somehow trying to convince himself he’s in the right, “it’s a good fuckin’ spot.”

“Pissin’ her off for it?” Steve shakes his head in disapproval, “Can’t be that good, Javi.”

The week drags on, miserable in the heat and with working piling up by the day, it feels never-ending.

And somehow, Javier always manages to make it home before you, even when you both leave at the same time.

As frustrated as you are, things get a little easier when you start getting under Javier’s skin.

Steve bothers you for a cup of coffee one morning, insisting that you always make it better than him—it’s just a matter of overloading it with milk and sugar, knowing that Steve likes it sweet even when he doesn’t want to admit it.

Most of the men drank it black, out of solidarity or whatever—Javier just enjoyed the bitterness. How convenient.

So, his hesitancy when you hand him a cup is warranted.

“You fuck with it?” He asks suspiciously.

“Steve asked for a cup,” You shrugged, pressing it into his hesitant, waiting hand, “I’m just being nice.”

But, one sip from the cup ensures that you weren’t being nice at all as he quickly spits it back into the cup, much to the amusement of you and Steve, who sips happily from his own mug.

“I lied.” You grin triumphantly, sliding his unfinished paperwork in front of him, “Nos vemos, vecino.” (see you, neighbor)

Steve chuckles under his breath, watching the interaction unfold. When you finally leave, Javier is staring at his desk, cup forgotten.

“Like I said,” Steve repeats, “can’t be that fuckin’ good.”

“Shut up,” Javier replies, chair screeching in protest as he stands, “who fucks with someone’s coffee?”

“A seriously pissed off neighbor, apparently.”

And if looks could kill, Steve would be dead.

And Javi thinks that the coffee incident would annoy him the most, but even more, it’s the blatant disregard of his presence on most instances, holding a complete conversation with Steve in his company, not a single greeting his way.

He still greets you every morning. All the same aside from his occasional switch up of endearment.

Cariño, Hermosa, Querida when he felt particularly snarky—but just as you hoped it would get under his skin, Vecina slices like a knife. You dared to use it first, but the tone of his is nothing but feigned fondness.

That and when he opts for your name instead, sickeningly sweet as it rolls off his tongue.

Either way, he notices your effort to ignore him.

Taking out the trash and running into him in the hallway? It’s like you walk right through him.

Running into him at that market down the road from your complex? He’s practically a stranger.

And work? It was harder to ignore him, but you did your damndest to make him feel less than.

It was working great, until it couldn’t.

It’s dark out by the time you see him again that day, covered by the orange of the streetlight overhead and kicking yourself as you stare at the contents under the hood, not having a single clue what you were looking at, what the problem was or what it could be.

“Staring at it won’t fix anything,” Javier startles you, nearly jumping out of your skin as he approaches, shoulder bumping against his chest at his close proximity ,“woah, easy, vecina. Just me.”

Somehow that was worse.

“Car trouble?” Javier asks.

“Among other things.” You snark back, but your voice doesn’t hold the venom you think it does. “Don’t tell me you know shit about how to fix this.”

“I don’t,” He admits with ease, “heading out?”

You sigh, deep and tired as you finally give up and close the hood, wiping your dirty hands on your jeans.

“Not anymore,” Javier takes a quick look at your outfit, jeans and a low-cut top that shows off the curve of your breasts, soft skin of your chest and a small amount of your midsection where your shirt pulls up as you shrug your shoulders, “what, Peña? What’s that look for?”

Javier shakes his head, rubbing his thumb along the tide of a spare key, “I’m meeting Murphy for drinks.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling you this, but he is—well, he does know. He’s hoping you might tag along, put an end to this back and forth between each other. He didn’t want to be the first to cave, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him to see you despise his existence every day.

“Sounds miserable.” You comment, throwing a warm smile for good measure, it’s so fake that even Javi can’t help but feel a little more offended than usual. “Tell Steve I said hi.”

Javier doesn’t get the chance to ask if you want to join before you’re sulking away, riddled with yet another inconvenience.

Javier catches you in the same position the next morning, dressed for work and shoulders slumped as you stare down blankly at the engine.

“Get in,” He orders, walking beyond your piece of junk and to his car, one hand resting on the hood, other resting on the door handle until you finally acknowledge him, “I can drive you to work.”

“Vete a la mierda,” You groan, “I don’t want your help.” (fuck off)

Javier doesn’t budge, yellow sunglasses perched on his nose, his thumb tapping against the car, “Get in the car.”

And he’s not against standing here until you were both late, but he’s already on the edge of getting his ass chewed out most of the time and he’s done with this—it, whatever game you two were still playing at.

“Think about it,” Javier jokes, “it’s almost like you’ll finally be putting that spot to good use.”

Okay, that might’ve been too much.

“Look, I’ll give you the fuckin’ spot if you stop looking at me like they and get in the damn car,” Not that it mattered now, with that hunk of metal sitting unmoving and useless beside it, "please?”

Javier’s not the type to beg, but the look on your face is soft, resembling defeat, and he wants to help.

“Why didn’t you just bring it up with management?” Javier asked, fist tightening around the wheel as he pulled to a stop. "If it bothers you that much."

“You mean Theresa?” You laugh to yourself, eyebrows furrowing in amusement as you cross your arms over your chest, “She’s pushing 80–don’t tell me she could actually intimidate you.”

Javier shrugs, “She’s got her moments.”

“Messing with you was more fun,” You shrug decidedly, “but it lost its momentum when you stopped being bothered by it.”

“So?”

“I’m stuck with a shitty parking spot, an even shittier neighbor, and now my car doesn’t work, so.”

The silence spoke for itself.

“I don’t mind driving you.”

“You’re missing the point,” He was just as dense as he was attractive and you hated it, “the least you could do is fuckin’ pay me.”

Javier gives you a wild look behind his shades, Jeep lurching forward as he continues the drive.

“For the spot, Javier. If you want it that bad.”

“Oh,” He nods, “Yeah, I can do that.”

That was…easier than you anticipated.

Things improve slightly after that, still giving Javier the cold shoulder on most instances, born out of your own stubbornness.

But he always greets you with a smile, one that you try to return. Plus, you were in better spirits today now that the building had working air and it wasn’t absolutely miserable trying to get work done.

“Here,” Javi pulls you from the chart on your desk, eyes connecting with the small wad of cash, “for what I owe you and then some.”

And you shouldn’t feel guilty taking the money, but you do.

He lowers his voice slightly as you pocket the cash, palms pressed against your desk as he leans in, “I need a favor.”

You sigh through your nose, threading your fingers together and resting them between his outstretched arms, challenging him with a steely look in your eyes.

He slides a small wad of paper he had hidden in his palm toward your hands, “I need those files, can you get them for me?”

You glance at the list of names, looking up at him incredulously, his face not moving an inch. It seemed serious, but it still didn’t justify the fact that he’s absolutely lost his mind.

“I could get fired for taking these out of the building,” You argue in a hushed whisper, “first you want to take my spot and now you want me to risk my job?”

His eyes soften slightly.

And then there’s that word again.

“Cariño, please?”

“How badly do you need them?”

He gives you another silent look of pleading, the tip of his tongue licking at the corner of his mouth as he nods to Murphy several feet away, looking just as desperate. If it wasn’t for Steve, you probably would’ve said no.

“You’re lucky I like Steve,” You admit, shoving the paper into the same pocket the money was stashed away in, “and that you’re down the hall from me.”

His fingers wrap around your wrist firmly when your arm resurfaces, posture instantly stiffening at that movement. His eyes are wide, staring through you almost.

“Thank you.”

And you can see that he means it.

It’s a strange look you haven’t seen before but it’s real.

“You owe me, Javi,” Under the context of what, you weren’t sure, “I mean it.”

The softness you add to his name is enough for Javier to realize that whatever anger you held toward him was slowly disappearing.

The last thing you’re expecting when you exit the sanctioned filing room is a solid chest to the face, and a surprisingly soft hand gripping your shoulder to steady you.

“Hey, Javi sent me,” Steve says lowly, glancing around the corner to check for an all clear—the place was mostly deserted due to the unexpected raid Javier was leading on a few of Escobar’s men, nothing huge, but enough to need backup, yet somehow Steve got shafted, “he’s caught up in something and my place is on the way.”

“Is he okay?” It feels foreign to ask, but given he’s also in a slightly disturbed state, breathing faster than normal like he’d ran here.

“Yeah, yeah. Peña’s always good. Don’t worry about him.”

“And you?” You inquire, sliding the files behind your bag, keeping them out of view, “Why aren’t you with him? I thought you two were partners.”

“My wife, she’s had this date planned out for weeks,” Steve nods toward the front, asking for you to follow, “Connie, she’d skin me alive if I tried to cancel on her, again.”

“Sounds justified.” You shrug, flashing him a polite smile.

Steve nods knowingly.

“And about Peña—he’s difficult, I know.”

“Understatement of the year, Steve.”

“I’m just trying to say that he’s really involved and sometimes that stress kinda…transfers over outside of work.”

And somehow you find yourself at a stand-off with Steve, talking through the open windows of his car.

“So he’s an asshole, but it’s okay because work is a little hard on him?”

“That’s not what I’m sayin’,” Steve scratches at his forehead in search of the right words, hoping they’ll come to him, “I don’t even know why I’m trying to defend him but he’s surrounded by this shit all day, some of us can leave it here—it’s hard even for me some days—“

“Steve,” You bring him back, urging him toward the point, “is this going somewhere?”

“Javi is this job— but you are the one thing I catch him staring at beside our desk and the gun in his drawer. I don’t know, maybe he really does hate you that much, but I’ve known him long enough to realize that if he’s gonna let anyone’s fuck with his day to day, and his coffee, it would be you.”

“If you’re trying to suggest Javi’s in love with me, I’m going to assume you’re insane.”

“No—god, no. I don’t think Peña’s capable of that shit but maybe he’d ease up on being a hard-ass if you didn’t give him as much shit over the parking spot. Also, not sayin’ he’s in the right but is it really that important to you?”

You sling your bag into the passenger seat, following suit as Steve climbed into the car, “At first, yeah. It’s my first time out on my own, dealing with my own shit, and Javi already acts like he’s above it all so seeing that it was him, it set me off.”

Steve shrugs, turning on the ignition. “I think you two have too much in common, honestly. Maybe just…level with him? Have you two ever had a normal conversation outside of work?”

A subtle shake of your head is all Steve needs, then he’s laughing to himself, pulling out of the parking lot.

“What?”

“It’s nothing—“

“Steve.”

“It’s just—I assumed you two hooked up and Javi was a bad time because you went from mildly annoyed to out for blood overnight.”

“Doesn’t seem that far-fetched.” You admit, earning an even deeper chuckle out of Steve.

“See?” Steve boasts, “Don’t give him the time if you don’t think he deserves it, but I’m tired of him sulking around all the time. It’s miserable to look at.”

“And you think I can fix that?”

“Oh, I know it.”

Two hours and a shower later and you find yourself at Javier’s door wondering if it was already too late to try and knock or if you should just stuff the files underneath his door and leave, ignoring that fluttering feeling in your gut that told you to stay.

But, he’s yanking the door open before you can lift your hand, wondering if he heard you on the other side. He’s half dressed, jeans buttoned around his hips but his chest bare, towel hung over his frame signaling that he, also, had just finished up a shower.

The circles under his eyes were a little darker, the color in his eyes a little dull, and his knuckles looked bruised—whatever he’d been pummeling and knocking away at must’ve packed a punch.

“Hermosa, hey.”

Yet somehow he seems relaxed at the sight of you and you offer him the first real smile he’s seen since you met.

“Uh, got the files.” You force them out of your hands and into his, feeling like if you held onto them any longer they would burst into flames. You weren’t sure of the validity or importance of them, but you didn’t want to hold the responsibility any longer. “Everything…okay? Steve said—“

“Yeah. Bad info.” Javier says simply, “Doesn’t really matter.”

You nod slowly, fidgeting with your fingers behind your back, “You know,” and here was your attempt, “when Steve pulled up I joked about how this has to be the first time I’ve seen that parking spot empty since I’ve been here. Too bad my car is a piece of shit and I couldn’t even move it to take it back.”

Javier opens his door wider, bare feet sticking wetly against the wood floor as he moves. He clears his throat, a small chuckle that feels like a giant victory. But, he seems eager—no, antsy, ready to flee.

“Shit, you were going out, weren’t you?” He notices the quick glance you give to his frame, never lingering for too long on one spot. “Bebidas, chicas—that’s how you guys usually celebrate, right?” (drinks, girls)

“Nothing to celebrate,” Javier replies nonchalantly, “they all went home, so.”

“Oh.”

Javier glances back inside his apartment briefly, wallet and keys resting on the countertop, shirt thrown over the barstool by the island.

You both speak at the same time, his head turning back when he hears your voice.

“Goodnight, Javi—“

“Did you want to come inside for a minute?”

You pause, watching his hard exterior melt further.

“Um, sure.”

Thus, the deafening click behind you as you step inside, watching as he tossed the files along the island, before disappearing briefly and returning without a towel, still also without a shirt.

He looks perplexed, glancing over the files briefly.

“Do I wanna know?” You ask curiously, stepping alongside him before wandering a little further, glancing around his space.

It was polished, covered in dark furniture and normal amenities, perfectly plain. It looked half lived in, blanket thrown over the couch and a pillow shoved up against one side. Yet the open door down the hall showed a perfectly made bed. You don’t pry, but Javier can feel the judgment from a mile away. He switches the subject before it arises.

“It’s just work. Do you want something to drink?” He asks casually, sifting through his fridge, “Tento agua, jugo, cerveza…” (I have water, juice, beer)

“Beer is fine.”

Javier slides the beer into your hand a moment later, “So, what did Steve tell you?”

“Huh?” You ask, startled by his straightforwardness.

“I mean how much did he tell you about the, uh—the raid?” Javier implores casually, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Oh, nothing really. I asked why he wasn’t there and he told me, but I didn’t try to pry.” You tell him honestly, “The less I know the better, right?”

“And here I am pulling you into that mess for the files,” He jokes, “thank you for that, cariño. Seriously.”

You leave out the extensive conversation you had with Steve about the man standing in front of you, and you hear the words haunting you, nagging at the back of your mind like a bad itch.

You take a long sip of the beer, half dried hair falling over your shoulders as you tip your head back. Javier watches with careful eyes, arms leaning against the island, files pushed further aside.

And suddenly, he seems normal.

In fairness, you’ve never seen him in this environment. His home, his safety, but it’s a juxtaposition to the man you see at work everyday, walking past you with a smirk glued to his face.

Maybe it was only ever really directed at you, but there was always that urge to knock him down a peg. But, not here.

Blame it on your softness, your willingness to want to see the best in people, and how Javier was somehow the end all, be all of gorgeous men in Bogota—he sees the switch too.

The first bad decision was taking the job at the DEA office.

The second? Letting Javier Pena get under your skin so easily.

And between you both, there were enough bad decisions to keep you talking for a week.

What was one more?

He says your name, a dangerous word to leave his mouth at a time like this.

“Javi.”

It’s a warning. An opportunity, his last chance to back away before you both did something stupid. He trashes his empty bottle as he makes his way to you, slipping your own from your grip and onto the nearest flat surface, some mantle or shelf, Javier isn’t sure.

“Do you still hate me?”

It feels like the most ridiculous question to ask, but he needs to hear the answer. Because if you did, he’d back off immediately, walk you back to your apartment, and apologize for ruining your life more than he already had.

But, the other part is praying, hoping that you don’t.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you always know it was me?” He asks softly.

You huff out a short laugh, “What?”

“The car—I mean, I drove it everyday. I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, letting him invade your space, a hand ghosting over your hip, under your shirt carefully, fingertips dancing along your hip.

“You’re not the only guy up there who drives that car, Javi—how was I supposed to know? Are you saying you were doing it purposefully, hoping it bothered me?”

“No,” Javier answers honestly, “but it’s a little fascinating to see you so angry.”

“You should probably elaborate on that unless you feel like seeing it up-close.” You tell him out of pure annoyance, perturbed by the game he was playing.

If he wanted to fuck you, he should just say it.

“You smile all day at those guys, even when they make comments about you in front of your face.” And you’ll hand it to Javier, he’s never been that disrespectful. He appreciates women, and he can be severely pissed off with one, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to trash her in front of anyone else, especially not in front of her. “But, I see it—that little scrunch in between your eyes when they piss you off.”

“It’s my job to be friendly.”

Javier watches the expressive lines between your brow start to form.

Javier shifts you slightly, back pressed to his bare chest as his fingertips settle against your skin, just under the ends of your shirt, and despite the ongoing conversation you can’t help but melt against him.

“I saw it that day when you were standing by my car,” Javier continues, “es linda.” (it's cute)

“Javier,” It's a sigh of discontent, of impatience, and he feels the twitch in your body as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, feeling like you were seeing him as a completely different person, yet still somehow the same, “we really don’t have to drag this out.”

He hums softly, pressing a slow kiss against the side of your neck, the soft thrum of your heartbeat against his lips as he stays there, lingers.

“I’m not mad anymore , I’m not upset,” It feels like rambling, but you needed to clear the air, “Just—fuck, I can’t do slow, Javi.”

Slow meant more time to overthink, to feel, and you didn’t want any of that.

“Looks like I didn’t need to leave after all,” Javier laughs against your skin, “tengo a mi chica aquí.” (I have my girl here)

And fuck if you weren’t eager to throw every rule and inhibitions out the window for him.

His bed is just as pristine and untouched as when you entered his apartment, his fingers digging into your thighs firmly, keeping you in place where you were spread out over his lap.

Javier’s thrown off kilter for a moment as you grip his chin, tasting the wide expanse of tanned skin, biting playfully at the sharp edge of his jawline, right by the spot under his ear that has him fighting to stay focus.

Game recognize game, Javier had really met his match.

“Gatita mala,” He tuts, the warmth of his palms spreading over your back, top bare as his thumbs eventually meet the underside of your breasts, rubbing gently until he sees you keen into the touch, “more?” (bad kitty)

You nod eagerly, his eyes never leaving you, not even as he leans forward, mouth at your breasts until he finally takes the leap and licks, nipple pebbling underneath his tongue, bottom lip dragging against the flesh until he can take you into his mouth fully.

The warmth spreads like a flood, twisting at your insides, begging for something more.

“Javi,” You release on a sigh, fingers drifting through the hair at the back of his head as he hums, a soft noise of acknowledgment, “I need you to fuck me.”

“You sure?” He murmurs, mouthing up the center of your chest, latching onto your neck gently before pulling away, his teeth grazing against your chin as he bites. “Tu quieres esto, bebita? (You want this, baby?)

“I don’t need you to be kind, Javier.” You tell him forthright, staring down at him through your lashes, his hands still rubbing a hot pattern into your skin, whatever remnants of your sleep shorts that were left already pushed high up your legs. “You weren’t trying this hard before.”

“What are you saying then?” He asks, following your lips as you pull back, eying you inquisitively as you find his gaze, pulling him in.

Your eyes darken under the light, the streetlight outside of his window flickering faintly, “We don’t need to act like we’re friends,” You explain, “we’re not.”

There’s a long, lingering moment of silence as your thumb rubs along his bottom lip, soothing the natural pout he always held.

“We want the same thing, right?” You ask softly, feeling his hands settle against your lower back, a soft nudge as he presses you against him, not enough contact to satisfy but it stalls you a moment, watching him calculate a response.

Everything he feels like he needs to say never comes, only a nod of confirmation, a clear switch in his eyes as you drag yourself down to his level, pushing him even further, deeper into the back of his couch.

“Good,” You speak to him, lips grazing against his own as you speak, “because getting those files was a pain in the ass and I deserve a lot more than a thank you.”

You soon realize that this version of Javier is hard to deny something when he works for it, pulling at the short strands of his hair as he descends down the couch, to the floor, leaving wet kisses along the way, feeling your body quiver as he reaches your inner thigh, face pinching together in conflicting frustration as you shake your head.

“Javi, you don’t need to,” You quickly assure him, yanking his head away gently, his cheek resting against your thigh as he stares up at you, big brown eyes fixated on your face, “I’m not—“

“Humor me?” Javier counters, flashing you a tired smile, barely recognizable under this light.

You sigh heavily, mostly to release the tension of your anxiety-ridden nerves, gasping as his tongue meets your clit with no preamble.

It forces out a small laugh, involuntarily, his tongue lapping through your center before pressing a kiss against the inside of your thigh, fingers replacing his mouth for a beat.

“Tan dulce,” Javier comments absently, working you up easily, moving his fingers at an angle that even you couldn’t reach with your own hands, spine curving up as you pressed your palm out flat behind you, the grip in his hair tightening as he welcome the soft sounds you made, rubbing his thumb along your clit in a slow circle, “como el azúcar.” (So sweet, like sugar)

Your response is feeble, a throaty moan that has Javi’s cock straining against his jeans, reaching down to relieve the pressure as he unbuttons them.

“Why deny this?” He asks curiously, crazy enough to try and hold a coherent conversation with you while his face was buried in your cunt. “It’s the best part.”

He spreads you wider then, thick hands coming up to force your thighs over his shoulder, supporting the lower half of your body entirely as he devours, growling against your cunt.

The sound has you fluttering around his tongue and Javier feels it, bookmarking that for later.

“Fuck me,” You gasp out in a rush when you start to feel the edges of your orgasm creeping up on you, “god, Javi—“

But, there’s something unspoken there as he pulls away, the subtle shake of your legs, not wanting to feel selfish and even a little embarrassed for coming like this, so easy and quick under his touch. Be it experience but he knew what you needed even more than yourself, everywhere to touch, squeeze, linger for just the right amount of time.

“Look at me,” He demands, eyes flicking toward his without question as he slowly pushes a finger inside, filling the loss from earlier, thumb working against your clit until he feels it, “fuck, you like that?”

And as much as you wanted to deny it, he already knew the answer.

You nod quickly, body feeling feverish as your leaned your weight into your hands, steadily pressed behind you as your hips rock up involuntarily.

“That’s right, hermosa.” Javi encourages softly, almost like a purr as the crest of your orgasm rises, flushing over you in waves as you gasp, reaching your hand forward to dig your fingers into his forearm, silently begging him to slow down.

Eventually he does, pulling out gingerly but not before slipping the finger past his own lips, covered in the sweetness of you. He doesn’t make a big show of it, but it’s a small gesture that has your heart fluttering in your chest, a pain that aches deep. He does catch your gaze after a moment though, lazily explaining himself.

“What? I don’t lie.” He shrugs, thumb grazing against your bottom lip until you jerk your head away in frustration—coming here for nothing, but somehow twisting yourself up in the sheets on his couch, his solid figure tucked between your legs, and god, he’s not even wearing anything underneath his jeans. He rises up on his knees, denim hiding everything but the short patch of trimmed hair leading to his still, unfortunately clothed cock.

“Get on your knees.” He jerks his chin upwards and you’re moving without question, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as he moves behind you, shuffling around as he digs in a drawer beside his couch, shifting his jeans down until he can kick them the rest of the way, settling his hand over your hip in a comforting gesture, if anything, as he rips the foil packet with his teeth, pumping himself languidly.

He situates himself behind you, one knee pressed into the cushion while his other leg is planted against the floor, finding that once again, his hands couldn’t stop exploring your body, admiring every curve with us fingertips as he nudges you down and into the opposite cushion, palm pressed against the flat of your back as he lines himself up, pushing inside in one fluid motion, an audible groan breaking from his chest as he finally satiates his own desperate need for pleasure.

He enjoys sex this way, prefers it, fulfilling that need to take and consume and fill his partner with pleasure, tell that it was okay to give up control. It's what Javier enjoyed the most, controlling the situation. But, even as he enters you, he feels at a disadvantage.

“Bebita, talk to me.” Javier speaks up from behind you, his gruff, gravely voice cutting through the silence. “Let me hear you.”

You gasp on a sharp thrust of his hips, the wet sound of your slick as it coats him, feeling perfectly stretched by the size of his cock, grip tightening on the cushion in front of you as you feel his hand explore higher, squeezing at the back of your neck to force you deeper into the surface, head turned enough that you catch his expression for a brief moment.

He’s admiring you with a heated, half-lidded gaze as his eyes wander the expanse of your back, settling over the point where you two meet, watching as he sinks into you again and again. But, it’s the grit of his teeth that drives you insane, fucking you with a ferocity that carries so much more than just needing a release.

“Hablas demasiado, Javi.” You groan, feeling the soft pad of his thumb as it rubs at your jaw, earning a low chuckle in response. “You always talk this much with them?” (you talk too much)

He doesn’t need to pry to understand what you’re referring to—and he could act like it hurts his ego, and maybe it does, but he bites back at you just as quickly.

Your name graces his lips in a curse, a prayer, something akin to heavenly as he grips your hips tight, “You’re not them, bebita.”

It feels like a confession, but for your own sake, you ignore it, nodding blindly at his response.

“Fuck,” He growls, dragging a hand along your body until he settle it in the curve of your shoulder, pulling you back against him until you can’t stifle the sounds anymore, moaning out his name for the first time that night, “otra vez, let me hear it.” (again)

You gasp sharply at the sudden change in position, pulled tight to Javier’s chest in a similar position to earlier when you were standing in his kitchen, ultimately more intimate this way, with his mouthing at the shoulder that isn’t currently occupied by his hand, his arm slipping under yours and around the flesh to keep you in place while his mouth sucks at the skin on the opposite side, his name falling from your lips freely as he brings you to a second orgasm with no preamble, a quiet sound leaving you as the high is a little less intense, his fingers rubbing against the small bundle of nerves until you’re begging him to let up.

His breathing is short, hurried as his own orgasm is right there, free arm wrapping around your waist as he hugs you against him, mouthing at whatever parts of you he could reach.

“Gonna cum, bebita,” He warns, tracing a soft line under your breast with his finger until he’s squeezing the mound of it in his hand, “right here, can I?”

If you weren’t so drunk on your own pleasure you would’ve questioned it, but even then you weren’t sure you could deny him. You nod jerkily, feeling him unwind himself from you and guide you around with a steady hand, tapping at your side until he’s got you where he needs, kneeling a little lower, head lolling into his outstretched hand as he supports the weight, rubbing at the soft, tender spot behind your ear as he strokes himself quickly, head thrown back as he comes, moaning brokenly as the feeling overtakes him, spilling carefully onto your chest, your own eyes threaten to shut out of exhaustion but not daring to deny yourself the sight of him, neck outstretched and straining, veins protruding on the side as he swallows hard, gasping as he finally comes back down.

He feels you move to stand but urges you back down, “Stay,” He tells you softly, “I'll be back.”

And he’s not gone more than a few moments before he’s returning with a small towel, wearing a pair of sleep pants he must’ve grabbed from his room first, taking long strides to meet you as he cleans up the mess quietly, his face a little perplexed as he does so, watching as you move to grab your discarding clothing in the process.

“Any chance this convinced you to give me my spot now?” You joke lightly, catching the grin that spreads across Javi’s face, unconstrained.

“You wish, cariño.”

The silence settles as you redress yourself, mindful of Javier’s heavy gaze as he ascends back toward the work in his kitchen, giving you the space you needed.

“Same time mañana?” Javier asks suddenly, gaze landing on you as he scratches at his cheek, examining a paper within the stack of folders. (tomorrow?)

And you’re mentally cursing yourself for the small moment of hesitation you have in answering before Javier’s grin is growing again, releasing a short laugh in amusement at your obvious confusion.

“I meant for work,” He clarifies, “do you need a ride?”

“Oh—yeah,” You shrug indifferently, “I guess.”

The stare that Javier holds is mesmerizing, the type that freezes you in place and holds you hostage.

“Good,” He nods, “—but you know the other offer still stands if you want to.”

“Goodnight, Javi.” You reply with an eye roll, an empty response that holds no hatred.

Javier steps forward in your path, a subtle smirk on his face as he presses a kiss to the side of your head, a gesture that comforts you more than you’re expecting.

“Goodnight, gatita.”

Gatita = kitten

Cariño, Hermosa = both mostly terms of endearment (ie. beautiful, sweetheart)

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #pedro pascal characters #javier pena fic #narcos x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you

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rottenrosethorns · 1 year

Text

Promise | Part One

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

Genre: Friends with Benefits AU, Smut

Synopsis: You and Leon had a strictly professional work relationship and strictly physical personal relationship. But recently, you start to notice more affection from Leon little by little. With his upcoming mission, will you be able to confront him before he leaves?

Warnings: 18+ SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI, vanilla, oral sex (mutual), throatfucking (receiving), choking (receiving), cum swallowing (mutual), hair tugging (giving), public oral, physical restraint – hand wraps used (received). Please inform me if I missed anything!

Word Count: 5.6K

A/N: this is my first leon fic and im very, very new to the RE fandom but not new to writing, so i apologize if some parts/personality is non-canonical! im still working on learning more about the universe. also, this is my first fic ive written since a year so…if this is bad, im so sorry, working hard to get my writing back to better as well <//3 also there might be a part 2 but might not??? depends idkkkkk, if this goes well or not lolll

.....

- masterlist -

- part two -

.....

You don’t remember how it started. All you knew was that somehow, it became routine for you both to spend Friday nights together after work.

At first, it was every few months, nothing structured really. A stray text, here and there. A brief "My place or yours?" or "Are you up?" sufficed whatever cravings either conjured during the quieter nights.

If he needed to be satisfied, you’d be there. If you needed to relieve stress, he’d be there. And that, for the longest time, was the determination of the relationship. There wasn't really much need for anything else. Leon was always out on missions, fighting off whatever offspring the latest virus variant had mutant and you were diligently cooped up in your tiny office, researching past strains, tracking patterns for the next possible mutations, and investigating outbreaks.

Even though you both worked at the same company, albeit in different departments, crossing paths with Leon was not uncommon. Despite the frequency, every interaction was conducted as if you both were strangers. Partly because nobody at work needed to know the personal agendas you both occasionally shared as well as the work dynamic between your titles and ranks. It didn’t matter anyways, nobody would ever catch on that a DSO agent and a researcher would intermingle in bed anyways.

But eventually, those seldom visits became monthly, always being on the first Fridays for convenience. It was weird to keep a schedule like that, especially when the appointment was solely for sex, but it’s what worked best for the both of you and neither of you had any complaints. Almost like a regular wellness checkup with your family doctor except none of you suffered from any illnesses.

Then, monthly became weekly. Both of you needn’t ask to come over anymore, practically leaving work together on Fridays. You clean up whatever case you were working on, pack up, and head towards his apartment. This was routine.

So, it was obvious what your plans for tonight were.

“L/N.” A few knocks accompanied your colleague’s voice. She was Poppy, a sweet girl from a few doors down. One of the only co-workers that was near your age.

Your desk was a mess, papers skewed everywhere from the recent case concerning a missing girl filled every square inch surface of your office. Briefly glancing up from the disarray of files, you caught a glimpse of her with her light coat and bag on, “Clocking out?”

Poppy cheered, “Yup, my shift at the bar is starting. Care to join me and the rest of the agents?”

“I’d love to, but I have plans for tonight already,” A mental image of you sitting yourself on Leon’s throbbing dick painted into your mind. Or perhaps maybe you’ll let him take the lead tonight with him pinning you down on all fours, “Maybe Saturday, if you're not hungover enough.”

“I’m always ready for a good time, hungover or not! If you change your mind, come find us downtown,” Admittedly, that’s what you liked most about Poppy. She was always cheerful, a great change of pace in the gloomy environment of your job. Not that you were overly pessimistic, you were just very logical and had a job to do. A job to find a missing girl and investigate the T-virus. So, you both exchanged goodbyes before you sighed and continued to review the deadend clues for the nth time.

“You have plans for tonight?”

You raised your eyes in surprise, sure that you were alone in the office, having this time of evening to been way past normal work hours as well as the rest of the floor supposedly at the bar. Well, everyone but him now.

“I have plans every Friday, Kennedy.” You blinked innocently, keeping your facial expression neutral as you initially reference your workload; however, the sight of him in the cursed tight t-shirt underneath his jacket immediately shifted your tone into a sneaky innuendo.

Leon was fairly well at keeping his composure, speaking nonchalantly without skipping a beat as he leaned up against your office door frame, “More important than catching up with the crew?”

You caught on to his dismissal, not willing to embarrass yourself with desperation to fix your sexual desire. Thus, you mockingly tapped your files as if Leon couldn’t see the plethora of papers for himself, “I have a case.”

“You’ve been on that case for weeks now,” As if to taunt you with silent temptation, he crossed his arms, defining his biceps. Damn him, you thought. Although you couldn't see them underneath his jacket, you could tell just by the strain of wrinkles folded in the fabric. Damn his shirt too, you thought.

You shook your head, motioning towards the bulletin board of cold trails, “I’ve got to find a lead.”

“It’s one night, you can get back to it on Monday,” Leon pushed off the doorframe to welcome himself further into your office. You thought he’d make his way to inspect your bulletin, only to be surprised when he placed himself directly across from the other side of your desk. He bent forwards, placing each hand on the edge of your wooden desk and leaning his face close to yours. Even without words, you knew he wanted you to take a break.

“I have to find the missing girl.”

“One night,” Leon sighed before taking one hand to take the files out of yours and shutting your laptop closed, “It won’t kill you.”

“It could be enough to kill the girl,” You argued.

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that to save yourself a glare from Leon. A moment of silence passed before you sighed, not in frustration but in defeat, “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Since when did it become so hard to say no to him?

.....

“So, you decided to come after all!” Poppy cheered with a slight slur in her speech, already moving to pour you a drink, “I knew Leon would convince you.”

You gave Leon an accusatory look to which he dodged by moving to greet another colleague, “You-”

“Cheers!!” Poppy all but screamed into your ear whilst practically shoving the glass of alcohol to your lips. You quickly reacted, taking in the liquid in a few large gulps.

“Damn girl, you practice that?” Poppy scrunched her eyes playfully, suggesting that you practice with more than just drinking alcohol in your down time.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a ghost of a smirk appear on Leon’s face before disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Regardless, you shot him a dirty look.

“Take a seat!” Poppy beckoned, sluggishly taking your coat and bag.

There was only one spot left located on the far side of the table. Just as you were about to make your way, Poppy’s voice halted you, “Hey, move it, will you?”

Poppy’s question was more like a demand towards another colleague, “What? I’m already sitting here. Why should I move?’

“Just move!!” Poppy pretty much shoved the poor man out of his seat before turning towards you with a soft smile and gesturing you to sit. For a moment, you’d forgotten how this sweet girl could become a special agent, but with that display, you remembered just how tough she could be under that kind smile.

“Thanks,” You laughed nervously, not wanting to be on the other end of her wrath. You wondered why sitting here was such a big deal until you realized it wasn't where but who you were sitting next to. With a seat so hidden in the corner and a private room full of many people, you were sandwiched between Leon’s sturdy torso and the wall. From where you were, you had to ask Leon to grab any drinks or food for you.

“Want something?” Leon looked at you, ready to grab anything that you wanted.

You nodded and thanked him. You did feel bad for making him grab all the things you wanted – especially since you were known to be a menu hog – but you really didn’t have much of a choice. It was either use him to do your bidding or climb over his lap in front of everyone. Just as you were about to ask for your desired dishes and drinks, Leon already knew what to bring to your plate without you needing to tell him.

Since when did he know your favorite foods?

.....

“You’re going on the missing girl mission?”

Leon nodded, persona instantly switching to serious. His jaw tensed, brows furrowed as the tiny wrinkles creased between them. This was usual, almost like a pre-mission ritual of his to get in the mindset of gore, bloodbaths, and bioweapons. Afterall, nothing can prepare a man for the horrors that go on during those missions. Not even you. You've investigated countless missions, earning lead researcher in many strain cases, yet whenever it came to Leon being the leading agent you suddenly had so many questions, overly irrelevant and useless.

Will you be okay? How long will you be gone? What’s your mission? Will you come back alive? Are you going alone? Is it dangerous? What if you get sick? What if you don’t come-

“Y/N!”

“Huh?”

“I asked you a question.”

“Oh, sorry,” You slightly winced, holding a hand towards your head and checking to see if you were ill. It was unlikely of you to get distracted so easily. Forcing out a cough, you cleared your throat to compose yourself, “What was your question?”

“Are you okay?” Leon shares a look of worry, placing a warm hand over your shoulder as if to comfort you while his other hand replaces the one on your forehead, “You don’t seem to be burning up.”

You gulped, tongue and mouth agonizingly dry as your eyes flickering towards his touch. As much as you wanted to shy away, his touch was warm and you craved his heat. It was unlikely of him to be in such near proximity to you, especially when you both could be seen through the glass walls of the briefing room. You averted your gaze, shakily looking at his baby blue eyes so it wasn’t obvious you were fixated on his hands, “Was that the question?”

“No,” Leon admitted with a small frown painting his sharp features, “You just don’t look so well.”

“Just thinking, I guess.”

“About?”

“Your mission.”

A half-lie, half-truth. Sure, you were concerned about his mission. You're highly paid and trained to be worried about these missions, but moreso, your concerns focused on him. In actuality, you didn’t really need to, he always came back safe. On the brink of death sometimes, yes. But, still alive nonetheless.

He gave a curt nod, “I’ve got training soon, but can I swing by later to get your debrief? It’s your case, you’re the expert. I need all the help in order to save the girl.”

“Of course, how late are you staying at the office?” You brought up your schedule, double checking if there were any meetings you still needed to attend.

“Actually, I was thinking we could go back to my place?” Leon nervously smiled, eyes squirting slightly, “Um, you know, because I got to sharpen my knives before I go.”

“You want me to debrief you at your place while you sharpen your knives?” The tail end of your tone stretched to be high pitched in your confusion. Was this a joke?

Leon let out an airy chuckle, “Yeah?”

You followed suit, letting out a laugh to ease the confusion, “Sure, I guess, wanna order in?”

“Yeah,” Leon smiled, “Pizza would be nice.”

“I'll see you then.”

Since when did Leon come up with excuses to see you?

.....

“Pizza’s here!”

Leon leapt up, putting his knives and sharpening tool on the wooden coffee table and rushing towards the doors to retrieve the pizza, “Thank god, I needed a break.”

You flipped through the debrief packet, only having gone through the first few pages of the hefty pile, “It’s a lot, these people – uh zombies? – are dangerous and fucked. Better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’ll save the girl, promise.”

Leon set the pizza box and wings on the table, careful not to let the grease seeping through the cardboard touch the mission materials and quickly left to grab plates and drinks. Meanwhile, you had continued to read aloud whatever essential background information he’d need to understand the nature of this mission. You hadn’t realized you were so heavily engaged in your notes to notice Leon plating two slices and setting a drink for you before helping himself. So, you continued until you heard the sound of Leon’s soft chewing.

Looking up, you finally noticed that Leon moved to sit on the floor and rest his back on the legs of the sofa. Putting down the packet, you followed him and moved to sit next to him, “I got a bit carried away, huh?”

Leon shared a smile, showing no signs of disdain, “Just a bit. Take a break, we can get back to it later.”

You held back a yawn, disguising it as you sipped your water and started devouring your pizza. You hadn’t realized how hungry you’ve gotten. You suppose you shouldn’t be skipping lunch anymore, but you knew that you’d probably forget that change in habit the next day. You both ate in silence. Normally, you found silence comfortable, but alone with Leon? You despised it.

“You look troubled,” Leon scanned your face, “Wanna share?”

You pressed your lips together, indeed you were troubled. The sight of his sharpened knives had invoked the bombardment of concerning questions again. They burned on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken.

“It’s...” You hesitated.

Leon didn’t speak. Not because he didn’t have anything to say, but as if to encourage you, letting you know that all of his attention was on you and that he had no intention of interrupting you.

You sighed, “I’m just worried.”

“About the mission? I’ll save the girl. When have I ever failed?” Leon smirked.

For a moment, you laughed as well before becoming solemn again, “Not that, more about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Why?”

Without thinking, you split all the questions you’d been brewing since earlier. Pizza forgotten, you didn’t realize you’d been rambling until you’d run out of breath. Yet, Leon never interrupted you, letting you vent out.

“Sorry,” You looked away embarrassed, shoving the slice of pizza to prevent you from speaking, “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sure you will take care of yourself.”

If it had only been a couple of seconds, it felt like excruciating hours had passed from Leon’s silence. The room felt stuffy, the lights felt like they were shining too bright, and the sweat was sticky on the palm of your hands. The voice in your head was begging, crying for him to say something, anything. You didn’t care if he laughed in your face or reassured you. You just needed to hear something from him, so that you didn’t drown in your own thoughts. You had a tendency to overthink.

You shrinked back, heavy under the gaze of Leon. You didn’t know what to do, so you made an excuse of needing to use the restroom to escape the invisible chokehold. You hovered over the sink, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths to calm yourself. It didn’t help much, but it at least eases your heartbeat back to a normal range. Eyes now open, you pathetically look at yourself in the mirror and internally berate yourself for your foolishness. Has Leon made you lose all your self control now?

A brisk knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. As much as you didn’t want to face Leon, you couldn’t hide in his bathroom forever.

“Leon, I-”

Leon doesn’t wait for you to fully open the door, pushing his way in and pulling your body flush against his. His lips find a way to your neck, sucking and licking at the fragile skin. You were sure they left marks in its wake. Your words are cut off with a quick moan, your hand coming up to cover your mouth in shock. You weren’t sure what made him act this way, but you definitely weren’t complaining. If this is what’s going to distract him from the previous conversation, then you were more than willing to satisfy him. Plus, today was Friday. This was routine.

Leon’s hands trail all over your body as the both of you stumble back into the living room and fall onto the couch. This was quick, this was sloppy, this was like two horny teenage virgins having sex for the first time. But you were with Leon, so all of that didn’t matter. You didn’t even undress fully, only having discarded your shirt before you got off Leon’s chest and kneeled on the floor to face him as he sat up. Greedily, you pushed up his shirt midway, half-hazardly exposing his tense abs before clinging your hands around the waistband of his sweats and briefs and tugging him free in one motion.

“Excited there, big boy?”

Leon’s cock twitched, slapping against his lower abdomen in anticipation. His length was impressive, but his girth was even more breathtaking. His tip glistened under the lights, heavily leaking with precum. You snickered internally with a silent smirk blooming across your face and eyes twinkling with mischief, amused at Leon’s erection from being untouched.

“Watch it,” Leon’s voice was serious, tone stern and authoritative with his eyes narrowed as he watched you lick your lips at the sight of him. He was always serious and demanding during sex, yet always attentive of your needs. It was one of the things that you loved about him. You had a knack for power imbalance and an even bigger knack for defiance.

You kissed his thighs, starting from his left knee upwards, skipping his begging cock and back down to his right knee. Leon grunted with displeasure, rolling his eyes at your cheekiness. Just as he was about to get impatient, you moved forward, lips barely brushing against his shaft. He could feel your hot breath, twitching in anticipation once again. Yet, you didn’t want to comply, having too much fun teasing him with your antics, “Watch what-”

Leon narrowed his eyes into slits, annoyance clear on his face and clearly ran out of patience with you. Wordlessly, he dug his large hands under your arms, lifting you up and throwing you roughly where he sat on the couch. Stunned and turned on from the sudden manhandling, there you laid upside down with your head slightly hanging off the edge of the cushion. All you could get out was a squeak of surprise before Leon grabbed your head on both sides to support you and shoved his dick in your mouth and roughly throatfucking you. Immediately, you gagged from the unexpected rough entrance, but loved his abrasiveness with you. Leon watched as you took all of him, throat bulging with every thrust. He basked in the disposition of your bobbing Adam’s apple and the lewd squelches echoing off the living room walls. Leon was normally attentive to your limits; however, he had a habit of getting carried away during oral, leading to you tapping his thigh twice and pushing him off. Instinctively, you spit out your cum mixed saliva as it slowly slid down the side of your cheek and sticking to your hairline. It’d be a bitch to clean later, but you could care less at this moment.

Eyes opened, you took a deep breath in as you gasped for air. With his left hand, Leon continued to pump himself, slick hands rubbing along his length to keep his high going. With his right hand, Leon caressed your cheek with his thumb rubbing your cheekbone.

“I’m sorry. Safeword?”

You shook your head, chest heaving, “I’m good, just give me a sec. Don’t worry, I liked it, just haven’t done this in a while.”

Leon nodded, eyes softening with slight guilt although you showed no signs of being upset, “I’ll make it up to you. Promise you’re okay?”

You kept your hand on his thigh as if to tell him that you were okay. Still with one hand, Leon took off his shirt and used it to gently wipe your face. You laughed, finding the delicate gesture humorous as he still stroked himself.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

“Nothing.”

You smiled innocently before replacing his hand with yours and sticking your tongue out to accept his length again. Leon hissed out your name, eyebrows crinkling with pleasure. You slurped him one, twice before humming in acknowledgement. The vibrations only elicited another hiss-like moan out of him. Feeding off the noises he was making, you kept at your bobbing head, licking, gagging, and kissing all along him. You took him out of your mouth, cold air blowing against his shaft causing him to shiver. He was close, and you both knew it.

“Choke me.”

It was a simple demand, but it was the green light that Leon needed to resume throatfucking you. You put your hands down, using one to sneak into your pants and circle your aching clit. You hummed against Leon, earning a satisfied grunt from him, “Keep that up and you’re gonna have to swallow.”

He released his hold from you, letting you have a moment of air. You looked up at him, challenging, “Good thing I like the way you taste, Kennedy.”

Leon responded to you with a short grunt, but you didn’t fail to miss the slight flush on his face before he thrusted himself back into your awaiting mouth. His thrusts were much more forceful and rough, basically pushing your body deeper into the plushness of the couch. Your fingers switched from rubbing your clit to inserting your fingers inside yourself. Leon’s hold on your waist kept you pinned to the couch before moving to pull your pants down to view the sight of you finger fucking yourself. He never liked it when you touched yourself when with him, but at least he could watch you while you did. Must be a pride and ego thing, you thought.

He also didn’t like when you had too much clothes on. Albeit you were definitely no less than conservative at this moment, Leon just noticed you had your bra on the whole time. He didn’t like that. His hands swiftly moved from the dip of your waist to push down the straps of your bra and expose your jiggling tits. Moments like this, Leon became obsessed with every curvature of you, latching both hands on your breasts to hold as he pounded rougher into you.

“Almost done,” He choked out like he was the one out of breath. Borderline whimpering and whining at this point, begging for release.

You encouraged him by using your free hand to grab his hip and guide him. Three thrusts later, Leon’s hips stuttered and knees fell slack as he released his hot, thick ropes of cum into your mouth. You pulled away, lapping up every ounce he gave you.

“Still okay?” Leon asked, breathless.

You nodded.

“Say it.”

“I’m okay,” You confirmed, moving to sit upright.

“Need a break?”

You shook your head, greedily bringing his hips towards you. He looked down towards your slit, messily covered in your slick, “Who’s excited now, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing, “Shut up, Kennedy.”

He smirked, teasing you, “Don’t want it now?”

You sighed in defeat, needing to cum more than needing to save your pride. You gave Leon your best pleading eyes, brows creasing in desperation, “I do want you. Please, I need you. I need you to make me cum.”

“There we go,” Leon cooed, “How would you like me? You have to tell me what you want.”

“Please, please, I want your tongue,” You sighed, “I want to cum on your tongue.”

Thoughts about begging Leon to get to it and rail crossed your mind; however, you couldn’t resist the opportunity to beg him to eat you out. Not that it wasn’t often, it was just a special treat and you were always the type to take advantage of your situations. You’d been missing his tongue, and you craved his expertise and enthusiasm despite the snarky comments that came with it.

“Copy that, agent,” Leon smirked, bending down and lifting your legs over his shoulders to bury his head in between your legs and licking a long stripe up your cunt, stopping to engulf his lips around your clit.

You sighed with bliss, curling your fingers into his hair and giving a taught tug to his blonde locks. Leon released his hold, blowing on your clit as he gripped your thighs tighter and spread them further, “Behave.”

He went to delve his tongue back into you until the shrill sound of his ringtone echoed, taking you out of the steamy atmosphere. Leon shook you off as you tried to push him away, “Ignore it.”

“But-”

“I said leave it.”

The ringtone ceased, leaving the sounds back to being Leon’s tongue pushing in and out of your hole. Only a moment later, the ringtone came back to life and now taking the both of you out of the steamy atmosphere. Leon threw his head back with a frustrated groan, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You bite your lip, can’t help but hold back your curiosity, “Who is it?”

“The President.”

.....

Leon was leaving. Leon was leaving for Spain. Leon was leaving for Spain to fight against an infected cult to save the President’s daughter in an hour.

Arguably, you were more nervous about his departure than him. Actually, you were more nervous than he was. All your questions from the previous night flooding your mind again. So, you took it to the company gym to let out your worries. A researcher usually doesn't occupy the training room, but you need the stress relief. Why? Because your other stress reliever was leaving the country!

“You’re hurting yourself,” Leon leaned against the door frame, clad in his tight tactical gear. Hip pouches and combat knife strapped securely on his sturdy figure, combat boots tightly tied and double knotted, and most importantly his handgun safely holstered along his belt. Although you hated the reason why he was in his uniform, you can’t help but drool over him.

You’d known you pushed yourself past your limit a while ago. The sting of your knuckles along with the faint patches of blood staining the fabric of the punching bag made it obvious. You’d been bleeding through your wrap for a while, but you didn’t care as the pain helped you forget about your worries. Technically, this was equally helping as it was hurting you.

Meanwhile, Leon pushed himself off the wall, steadily walking over towards you and grabbing both your wrists. You glanced up through your lashes, staring a bit too long in his baby blue eyes, “Shouldn’t you be gone already?”

Letting go, Leon panged fake hurt from your words, “Want me gone already?”

“You know what I meant, Kennedy,” You continued throwing punches, despite Leon’s disapproving looks. Regardless, you were thankful that he didn’t try to stop you.

“Flight leaves in an hour or so, just doing my last double checks on equipment and saying my goodbyes.”

You raised a sweaty brow with doubt, freezing mid punch and fist never meeting the punching bag, “You don’t say goodbyes.”

“I don’t.”

“So, what are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to be here?” Leon perked up, knowing that he would overturn you in any conversation. You stared at each other in silence, challenging the other person to say something first. Sighing, you broke eye contact, going back to punching, “You should bring a jacket. I heard the weather is pretty bad over there. Plus, you don’t look very inconspicuous.”

“Outfit screams “On my way to save the President’s daughter from contagious B.O.W.s,” right?” Leon laughed, “But, what’s on your mind?”

You half shrugged, “Just got some stuff on my mind.”

“Like?”

You.

“The mission.”

Leon nodded, face turning stern as if he were calculating battle tactics in his head already, “Same.”

Silence fell over the both of you again, but this time, awkward. You cleared your throat, turning away from Leon to grab at your water bottle, “Nervous?”

“Not really,” Leon’s demeanor switched to devious, “Honestly, just want to get this over with. I got some unfinished business.”

“Unfinished business?”

Leon’s eyes held a glint in them, patiently waiting for you to catch on.

Unfinished business. Your unfinished business. You never got to finish.

You slapped Leon on his upper chest with a hiss, “You can’t be serious!”

“But, I am.”

“We’re at work!”

“And?”

You gawked at him in complete disbelief, “And? Um, I don’t know, we could get caught, we could lose our jobs!”

Leon shugged, smiling confidently, “There’s no cameras.”

“Someone could hear us!”

“Only if you’re loud.”

You hated the smug look on his face, knowing that you were pretty vocal. It was only until your eyes followed his as he watched you subconsciously squirm and press your thighs together. Leon gently grabbed your shoulders, pressing soothing circles on your skin, "Do you trust me?"

The look in his eyes was so fierce, your lips quivered, "With my life."

Leon's hands slid down your arms and snaked them around the curvature of your ass before supporting the back of your thighs, "Jump."

And, you did. Instantly, Leon's lips peppered your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You cringed, thinking about the accumulated sweat from your workout session, but Leon didn't seem to mind. He'd make you sweat even more pretty soon anyways. You sighed with pleasure, running your hands along his arms and feeling the firmness of his biceps under your fingertips. Whilst distracted by the heat of his touch, Leon took his chance and backed you up towards the Smith machine.

“Leon, what are you-”

He hushed a whisper in your ear, causing a shudder through your spine, “You trust me, right?”

Leon looked at you, pausing all movement until you spoke a soft, “Yes.”

“Good,” Leon glanced at you through the mirrors spanning across the entire wall of the gym, “Remember to be quiet.”

Leon unraveled your blood stained hand wraps, lacing them together over your wrists and over the bar while effectively tying your hands tightly against it. Once finished, Leon gripped his hands over the ridges on the bar, unhooking it and effortlessly lifting the bar onto a higher post on the machine. You definitely didn’t miss the bulge of his biceps. Through the mirror, your arms were outstretched way above your head with the soles of your shoes firmly touching the ground.

Leon moved in front of you, back now facing the mirror while keeping eye contact with you the whole time. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

He pulled down your pants, noticing the lack of undergarments. He raised a brow and teasing smile itched to bloom across his quivering lips.

“Shut up, it’s easier to workout in,” You huffed, a bright blush rushing across your face.

Leon hummed in satisfaction, “It’s easier to eat out too.”

“Hey-”

Your scolding fizzled out into a loud moan as Leon repositioned your legs and dove under you with his tongue flicking your clit. His hands traveled up and down your legs, taking the time to squish your plush thighs. Leon kept his rhythm for a moment before pausing, “I thought I told you to be quiet. Unless you like the idea of being caught.”

You involuntarily clenched at his teasing, jaw tightening from your lack of composure, “Hurry, you don’t have that much time yet.”

“Don’t need that much anyways.”

Leon uses his hands to push away your legs, running his fingers up and down the skin of your thighs. He grips them every so often before sliding his hand around, cupping the crease just below your ass, and firmly tugging you forward with his tongue stuck out along your slit. You choked out a sigh, careful not to be too loud as you threw your head back in pleasure. With the guidance of Leon’s hand, your hips began grinding on Leon’s tongue as he licked and lapped your dripping sweetness. The sight of yourself through the mirror was lewd

“I’m- I’m almost-”

“Hold on for me.”

Leon meant it metaphorically, wanting to show off the skills of his tongue and mouth just a bit more. But he also meant physically as Leon hoisted your thighs upon his shoulders, carrying most of your weight with the help of his arms hugging you secured around your lower back. Regardless, you’d instinctively grabbed the metal bar, flexing your arms to hold yourself up. Half not to crush your weight on Leon, and the other half in need of something to grip while waves of pleasure ruined you.

You thrust your hips forward, needing more of Leon as you ached for him, “Please, almost there.”

Leon pushed you closer towards him, hoisting you higher so that his face was centered at your core. Leon pushed his tongue deeper into you just as you reached the apex of your climax. A deep sigh of relief came over you as you ground the last of your ecstasy onto Leon and just in time for his flight departure. Gently, he set you down, pulling your pants up for you and untying your restraints. Without saying anything, he took off your hand wraps entirely, blowing cool air on your scratched knuckles, “Take care of this later.”

“Take care of your mission.”

Leon nodded, switching back into his agent persona. You watched him begin to walk away before he hesitated right as he passed through the door frame, “Hey.”

“Yeah?” You cast him a longing look.

“I’m going to come back, okay? Promise.”

Since when did Leon make promises?

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h-c-u · 1 year

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Summary: Hangman has a huge and unprocessed mommy kink, but he's too afraid to ask for it directly. Fortunately, happy accidents happen.

Pairing: dom!Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x switch!fem!reader x sub!Jake "Hangman" Seresin

W/C: 8.6k

Rating: +18, voyeurism, dirty talk, praise kink, threesome, marking, dom/sub, oral sex, anal sex, double penetration, rank king, mommy kink, a sprinkle of a breeding kink

TWs: Mentions of regular bodily fluids that are present during adult encounters

A/N: I blacked out, honestly and it just appeared in my file. The reader here is very comfortable with her sexuality and doesn't give a fuck about what anyone else thinks. Even though there is a clear dom/sub dynamic, dom is definitely of the 'pleasure' kind. Age of the reader is not stated, but I've intended for her to be around Hangman's age. Also, I know that on the gif Mav is young, but the fic he's definitely not, but I just didn't have the energy to find a more fitting one... Maybe later.

You were never that much into committed relationships, and honestly, you kind of view them as selfish and narcissistic... The conviction that you'll be able to satisfy your partner in every area of your life, and expect the same from them, sounded exhausting, especially with different love languages and full-time jobs. That's why when you discovered that something like polyamory and open relationships existed, you jumped on that train immediately. It was something that fit extremely neatly into the life you've made for yourself here. People came and went, some stayed for a time and then left, some were always there, but sometimes closer and sometimes further away. And somehow your needs were always met and you did your best to give your partners a safe space to relax and forget everything that was happening outside of your studio.

It was as if you were the Sun... A center of the galaxy, with planets circulating around you at different distances, and with comets sometimes entering your peripheral. You were there to warm them, to give them energy, and they kept you company; a perfect exchange.

That's why when you heard that some of the old familiar faces would be coming back to the academy, your plans for the afternoon immediately changed. It didn't take you long to get ready, and you even managed to squeeze in a thorough shower. You chose a loose yellow sundress which for once wasn't covered in paint drops. Or maybe at this point, you just stopped seeing them everywhere...?

As soon as you got into Hard Deck's parking lot, you were swept into the strong arms of the naval aviators, who patiently took their sweet turns greeting you. All of the interested people knew exactly what was needed and expected while entering your orbit, and they either could say yes or no; you would never pressure someone into something they were uncomfortable with. But with pilots - or rather soldiers overall - with all their deployments, training, sudden moves... A lot of them enjoyed the simplicity of someone who cared about them without feeling guilty about leaving you alone. Plus some of them REALLY made up for their long absences in your life when they finally started orbiting closer.

After grabbing a beer from Penny and playing some billiards, Jake was the first one to sweep you away, which was not that surprising, because that man was needy as a newborn kitten when given a safe space. That's why you were currently laying in the backseat of your car, one leg over his shoulder and the other seeking support on the car floor. He was kneeling on the outside; one of his arms tightly wrapped around your thigh, pulling you even stronger into his tongue. And the things he did with his tongue... divine... he already made you come once, and now he was alternating his attention between stimulating that bundle of nerves on the outside, sucking on your lips and biting them gently from time to time, submerging his tongue between your folds as deep as he could, barely reaching that sweet spot inside while his nose was crushing your clit and leaving hickeys on the inside of both of your thighs... If you didn't know he's a pilot, you would have had to guess that he's a marine, because the time he could go without taking a breath was truely impressive.

It was hard for you to keep quiet, but fortunately singing from the pub drowned most of the louder ones. You knew that something like that might happen even before you got ready, that's why you've parked almost behind the bar, with the passenger door facing the wall, so even if someone somehow took a stroll in the cool air of the evening to sober up, they wouldn't be able to spot anything that was happening inside of the car. What you didn't predict was the fact that someone would unceremoniously open the other door, but fortunately, you knew that face as well.

- Hi PeEEHEEeeet... - your inhale mixed with a loud moan when Jake sucked harder on your clit, looking up. - Don't you dare stop. - you've said harshly when you felt that he slowly started to move away from you. He immediately stopped in his tracks, but he was still unsure.

- You've heard the lady... - Mav said with a cheeky smile, and it was enough for Jake to dive right in, forcing small gasps and moans from your mouth. - Hi princess... - the older man squatted in front of your face, took his aviators off, and kissed you hungrily, which was not an easy endeavor for either of you because you were basically upside down. - Slow down, Seresin... Enjoy her... - he instructed the younger man, and Jake immediately followed his instructions. Pete was able to tell what you needed and what was being done to you, just by looking at your expression and listening to the sounds you made. After all, he spent hundreds of hours studying every inch of your body in the past. - How's he doing...? - Mav asked, his gaze still intently focused on your face.

- He's being such a good boy... - you whispered, reaching back over your head, and placing your hand on the back of his neck. - So obedient... So eager to please... - you continued praising the man between your legs loud enough that he wouldn't have trouble hearing you and that worked as intended because even if he didn't pick up speed, the force of his movement increased, squeezing a loud moan from your mouth and Pete was right there to drink it directly from your lips.

- If only he was such a good boy during exercises... - you knew that tone well, and it did fit perfectly in this growing dynamic. - Do you think he deserves to feast on you...? - you couldn't help but smile when he said it directly to your ear, his forehead resting on your cheek.

- He's been good to me today... Captain... - Pete growled and bit your earbud, while Jake was doing his best to get you closer to orgasm without increasing the tempo because the dynamic indeed shifted, and he was surprised to find himself in this new role with his cock stiffer than it ever was.

- Faster, Seresin, make our princess come... And you... Again... - that was enough for the younger man to speed up as if his life depended on it. He moved his tongue so quickly that you could have sworn it was vibrating against you, and the added pressure from his nose on your clit was just enough for you to forget how many people were near. You knew that Mav asked you to do something, but it took you a second to process it with Jake slurping your juices with a passion.

- Yes, captain, I think he deserves that... - you whispered. It didn't matter that you were in the parking lot of a local bar; the intimacy tightened between you two, and all he did was rub your foreheads and cheeks together, wanting to be as close to you as possible when you'll finally reach the peak, and you were getting there faster and faster with Jake's every move. It was easy to lose yourself in the moment mostly filled with loud, heavy breathing and your soft moans against Maverick's stubble.

It wasn't long before your heel dug deeper into Jake's back, trying to pull him even closer, but in such a tight space, it was simply impossible. At the same time your back arched and your fingernails dug deep into Pete's neck. You've registered that he said something to Jake, who was slowly cleaning your juices with a huge smile on his face.

- There you go, princess... - Pete placed a soft kiss on your forehead and started to pull away, but your hand didn't allow that. You still needed him close to come down from that high... Your breath was heavy, and your heart was trying to jump out of your chest.

- That was hot... - you've finally whispered, your pussy still twitching from time to time, with Jake cleaning it with short, gentle licks. Not enough to stimulate, yet still incredibly intimate. - Thank you, Jakey... You did really well... He did, didn't he...? - the last part was directed to Mav, who smiled devilishly.

- He did... He made you moan so prettily, princess... - you saw the younger man's eyes melt a little bit. - And you've said he did it twice...? Mmmm... That might even deserve a reward, what do you say...? - Pete just knew you two were on the same page because it wasn't your first rodeo with someone else, but Jake...

- I agree... - you smiled, getting up just a little bit, supporting yourself with elbows against the backseat, and Maverick's face was just next to yours. You both looked at Lieutenant who was still in between your thighs, unsure what else was allowed. - Do you want to get a reward, love...? - corners of your lips curved in a devilish smile. There was a second of hesitation on Hangman's face.

- Yes, I would like that very much, ma'am. - he finally said with confidence; it was still there, just stripped from all the usual cockiness and arrogance. Both you and Mav smiled at this sweet boy, who just needed... well, to be needed.

- Well, gentlemen, I'm too fuck out to drive... The keys are in the ignition.

- I'll drive... - Mav said almost immediately. - Seresin, upfront. - it was perfect that way, because you technically didn't even have to change positions, and you could rest, if only for a bit, but you would definitely need it before the rest of the night.

Getting to your apartment didn't take long, and when you got there, Mav shot you a questioning look, and you replied as wordlessly as he asked. You wouldn't mind if he helped you, but there was someone who needed it more.

- Jake, be a dear and come help me get out... - you said with a smile, and he just materialized next to the open door, grabbed your extended arms, and pulled you up. Without saying a word he grabbed your sandals from the car floor and gently slipped them onto your feet. It was a bit weird seeing him so quiet, but you suspected that he was still processing his emotion. - You know that we can stop at any time, right...? - you knew that he knew that. Sometimes hearing that reassurance out loud was needed, but in this case, he only nodded and helped you get out of the car. You suspected that if you didn't grab his arm, he would sheepishly follow you to your apartment. It was on the top of the old building without an elevator, but you wouldn't change it for anything else. It was the tallest building in the small town with two walls made completely out of giant windows. Someone in the past compared it to an aquarium, but with a one-way foil strategically placed on the glass, you weren't afraid that someone would peek inside. Besides - because of the angles - they would have to be on the other tall building, and entry there was restricted. So your whole apartment was basically a sunroom with plenty of plants.

- Right... First - shower... - you decided. Technically you knew that this effort will be ruined during further activities, but you'd much rather lick a skin that didn't taste like alcohol and cigarettes. - Jake, do you want Mav to wash your hair...? - he froze like a deer in headlights, but he honestly contemplated the answer and looked at his captain unsure what his answer should be, and how the older man will react, but Maverick only smiled gently.

- It's your decision... - he said softly. Theoretically, the situation here should be uncomfortable and anxiety-inducing, but somehow... it just wasn't. Sure, it definitely required some getting used to, but this was a safe space to explore anything that needed to be explored.

- Yes, please... - if you were taller, you would place a kiss on his temple, but instead, you pressed your cheek against his bicep.

- I'll get everything ready and join you in a moment... - Jake went into your bathroom first, but before Mav followed, you grabbed his wrist and whispered. - Be super gentle, I've never seen him so deep into his subspace, ok...? - you didn't have to explain exactly why exactly Jake went there so easily, because your request was enough for Mav to follow it to a dot. He nodded once and went to the bathroom, leaving the door open.

You sighed quietly and smiled just a little. You knew how intense the rest of the night will be, both physically and emotionally, so ahead of time you prepared water to drink, hid a few chocolate bars and wet wipes in the nightstand, got fresh towels from the closet, and finally headed to the bathroom, where Pete was finishing rinsing the rest of the shampoo from Jake's hair.

You placed the towels on the washing machine, undressed, and joined them both under the hot stream of water. The shower was almost bigger than your bathtub, but it was designed especially for you - you wanted a place where you could lie down and feel the water fall onto your whole body from the ceiling, simulating rain, which was incomparable to anything, especially during hot summers. You turned that option on the dial and allowed the water to cover your body.

- Do you want to wash our princess, Jake? - Maverick asked, and Jake nodded enthusiastically. It was so nice to be pampered from time to time, and tonight you were getting it all. Your muscles were relaxed to a point of mush, you've had two gorgeous men in the shower with you, and the night ahead... You simply couldn't wait.

You leaned against Pete's body behind you, allowing the younger man to gently wash first your arms, then your breasts, and when he focused just a little bit too much on your nipples, you sighed while Mav just let a soft "tsk, tsk, tsk...".

- Captain, I thought we've established that Jakey deserves a reward... - there was a huge smile beaming on your face, even though the lieutenant moved from your breasts as soon as Mav disapproved.

- Indeed... So the sooner we'll get out of the shower, the sooner he'll get it... - Pete laughed against your neck, not even trying to hide the fact that his cock twitched as soon as you called him 'captain'; you both knew exactly which strings to pull, to get a desired melody from each other, but that's just what almost 8 years on and off will do to you. - So please, love, hurry up... - it was hard not to notice the giant blush that flowered on a younger man's face when Mav used a pet name. You suspected that for a few days, their relationship in Top Gun might just be a little tense, and you would lie if you said you didn't want to see that happening.

But he indeed hurried up, carefully washing your abdomen and still sensitive pussy. He was careful not to lose himself in you this time, and it wasn't long before he was scrubbing your feet while kneeling on the floor in front of you.

- Look how well-behaved and thorough he is... - you cooed, pressing your cheek into Mav's shoulder. He was holding you tightly, so you wouldn't slip standing only on one foot. - Such a sweet boy we have here... - There was a shadow of a smile on Jake's face, for the first time in a good moment; he was slowly getting more comfortable, accepting that he needed something entirely different. And watching him come to terms with that was... just something else. And you knew that Pete also caught it because he hummed in agreement.

- Come here, love... - Hangman was sitting on his heels when you said that, but he rose up a bit, to meet you in the middle when you leaned down to kiss him softly, holding your hand under his chin. It was different, kissing him now. Usually, he was hungrily devouring everything you were giving him, but now... he was much more gentle, letting you completely control the intensity and speed because he was confident that you will give him exactly what he needed.

Mavs hands gently squeezed your hips, letting you know, he'll be turning off the water, since all of you were clean. One of the things you loved about your relationship with Pete was how seamlessly you communicated without words. He wasn't the only one, but it was definitely nice to have someone who understood and anticipated your moves, because everything you did together became a dance, and right now you had someone joining your pair because Jake was quickly catching up. You put just a little bit of pressure under his chin, letting him know, he can get up now, and he did. You took your time drying his body with a fresh towel, spending an absurd amount of time on his hair because he seemed to melt whenever you did anything near them, so he was kneeling again in front of you again, apparently really comfortable with that dynamic, while you were gently massaging his scalp through the soft material. He was so lost in that sensation, that he tilted his head back and rest it on your belly.

You were happy that he felt safe in your company to give in to what he needed deep in his heart, but at the same time, you couldn't help feeling sad, because it was painfully obvious that there was no one in his life that was giving that to him.

When you've finished, you placed a small kiss on his forehead to which he reacted with a smile; it was nice to see him settling in.

- Bed...? - you didn't have to ask, but yet you still did, trying to maintain just a little bit of structure. You saw Jake hesitating before he got up and you knew just what he needed. - Do you want to be a good boy and crawl to bed...? - you asked, but you already knew the answer, even before he nodded. - Go on then...! - you encouraged him and he slowly leaned forwards, exposing his backside to the both of you, and slowly, a little bit unsure started going on all fours to your bedroom.

- Did you...? - you quietly asked Mav when Jake disappeared around the corner because you weren't sure if you saw what you thought you saw.

- Didn't have to, he was already prepped. - this time you growled deeply. - Maybe he thought mommy would peg him tonight and got all nice, stretched out, and clean, just for you...? - Mav teased and bit you harshly on the shoulder forcing a small gasp from your mouth. Hard enough to leave a mark, but not hard enough to break the skin. Seeing how Jake behaved... It wasn't that much out of the realm of possibility. And you were sad that you didn't catch it earlier.

- Let's not keep him waiting. - you smiled, harshly pulling Pete away from your skin by his damp hair. You knew that there will be a bruise there tomorrow, but you definitely didn't mind that. - And you better behave, because if not... Well... Let's just say that mommy might come up with something you wouldn't be exactly happy with. - you easily played into his comment. Without releasing his hair from your fist, you playfully snapped at him with your teeth, as if you wanted to bite him, but for you, it was more of a game than anything else. You didn't mind being covered in hickeys and bitemarks, but you personally preferred to leave other types of marks.

It was really easy to fall back into the relationship you had with Maverick, even if you haven't seen each other for over a year now, but with the right people - you just worked like that, as if no time had passed.

When you came to your bedroom, Jake was patiently kneeling in front of your bed, with his legs spread and hands behind his back, as if not entirely sure if he was allowed on the bed. He was so polite, almost as if someone in the past trained him well.

- So good for us... - you praised him with a soft voice, and his posture immediately changed. He wasn't unsure, shoulders slumped; he straightened up and puffed his chest and of course his smile... It was really nice seeing it reach his eyes this time. - Perfect little boy, even when he knows he's already earned a reward... - you added, closing the distance between you and taking his face in between your hands. Mav also got closer and got onto the giant mattress first. He positioned himself right next to the headboard and you knew the exact position he had in mind. It was going to require some work, but it will definitely be worth it.

You kissed Jake gently, turned both of you around, and pulled him onto the bed with you. You slowly moved backward until you felt a warm body welcoming you from behind.

- So hungry for your taste, princess... Do you think he wants to taste your delicious juices again...? - Mav said, pulling you just a little bit higher. He also hooked his ankles under your knees and spread them just a little bit more.

- I'm not sure I'd be up for anything else after that. - you laughed quietly in between your kisses.

- But he's been so good, such a perfect sweet boy... You've said it yourself... - he teased and his warm breath danced on the back of your neck. - You can go lower if you want to, love... - but before he did, the younger man stopped and looked at you, silently looking for your permission as well, which you gave with a single nod, and it wasn't long before he was focusing all of his attention on your nipples. - Even when he should be the one being pampered, he still focuses on you... - Maverick almost purred, intensely observing how your skin stretched when Jake sucked on one of your nipples a bit harder. - Tell me how it feels, princess... - a simple request, but apparently it did something to Jake because suddenly he started working his tongue even faster as if he wanted to prove something to both of you.

- It feels really good, captain... - you've reached with one of your hands behind you, placing it on Pete's neck, pulling it closer, while your other hand found its way into Hangman's hair. - He's quickly circling the top with his tongue, and when he sucks it a bit more, my pussy clenches... - you described what was happening to your body, even though the older man already knew how it reacted, but he just love to hear it from your own mouth, especially with the soft gasps interwoven with your words.

- Bite on it gently and pull it with your teeth, love... - the request was followed immediately this time, forcing a loud moan from between your lips. - You hear that, love...? Mommy here enjoys it a bit rougher in that area, so don't be afraid to give it to her... - he advised, and you looked at Jake, curious how he'll react. He stumbled for a second, the word catching him by surprise so much, that he released your nipples. But before either of you was able to add anything more, he dove right back in, with even more ferocity... Sucking, stretching, biting, pulling, and abusing your nipples so much that you were melting into the body behind you. You could feel how wet you were getting from all that stimulation and all your moans were somehow motivating Jake even more. - Such an eager boy, doing his best to please mommy... - your fingers dug into Mav's skin after a particularly hard suck, and you were almost sure that you drew blood this time, but you couldn't help it, your body reacted without your permission.

- Stop. - Pete said abruptly and Jake indeed stopped, even though you knew he didn't exactly want to, but the need to please was much stronger. - Look at her, really look at her... - a simple request, and you smiled widely seeing how Jake was hungrily devouring you with his eyes. - See how quickly and deeply she's breathing...? That means you did a good job and got her all ready and flustered. It also means that mommy is ready for more... Are you ready for more, love...? - he asked, gently rubbing his cheek on your head, and you just gave into that; your muscles were slowly turning into mush again; you needed a moment to collect your thoughts, but Jake was already nodding enthusiastically. - Gently spread her pussy and dip your finger in... See how wet you've made her... - when you felt his soft touch, you couldn't help but twitch, and if Pete's legs weren't holding your own, you would definitely hook them behind Jake. Your reaction drew a deep hum from Mav's chest and you could feel almost vibrating behind you.

- Now take your cock in your hand, and slide just the tip through her folds... Spread her juices all over you, but no dipping yet. - now that was just cruel. Not for any of the men, but for you... Because when Jake's dick was sliding in between your lips, it also stimulated your clit, drawing a sweet whimper from you with every slide.

- You're doing soooooo good, love... - you've said in between deep breaths, your voice containing more air than actual soundwaves. - So good for mommy... - it was extremely easy to lose yourself in all the pleasure he was giving you, and even if you didn't share that specific kink, you definitely didn't mind accommodating his needs. And that was enough for him... Hearing Mav calling you that was one thing, but hearing the word from your own mouth was something else and it sent him into a frenzy.

He slammed into you with one sweep move, not caring that he technically didn't get permission to do so from either of you. He was chasing something primal, something he couldn't quite describe. His left hand dug deep into your hip and he leaned forward, hooking his right arm around your shoulder to find more leverage because he just had to be as deep inside you as possible. With every move, he dragged along that sweet spot inside you, drawing moan after moan from your lips and making you arch into his body, not leaving any space between you two, and by doing so, you got a bit further away from Pete, but his legs were still holding yours spread open, allowing Jake to do whatever he needed to you.

Pete started slowly stroking his cock, observing the two of you with intensity, analyzing your every move, and making himself remember every moan, every twitch, every gasp that you shared. But at the moment, you truly didn't give a fuck what he was doing, because that beautiful boy was disassembling you into smaller and smaller pieces, but you knew you could cum just yet... You had to give him one more thing...

- Cum in me, baby boy... Fill mommy to the brim... - You put your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and allowing him to suck on your skin again. You've felt his moves become more erratic, more desperate with every second until he finally slammed into you one last time and bit your skin so hard that tears appeared involuntarily in the corners of your eyes. You did your best not to yelp from the pain, your own release getting further away, but that wasn't important, not now.

You were gently playing with his hair allowing him to ride his own orgasm to the fullest, with his face still buried in your breasts. You were hugging him when you felt his body starting to shake, which he tried to hide from you.

- None of that, sweet boy... - you've said, pulling his face away from your body and forcing him to look you in the eyes. His own were filled with tears and he held you so strongly in his arms as if he was afraid that you'd disintegrate if he won't be crushing you. - You were so good, and I'm not going anywhere... I could never leave you... - you placed a soft kiss on his forehead and pulled him closer to your chest again.

Pete put his hands on your shoulders and pulled you back, so you could lean on him again. It was hard not to notice how hard he was, but now there was no time for that and both of you knew it. Jake eventually had to work through that trauma and currently, there was nothing more important than that, so you allowed yourself to melt into Pete's body again, with the younger man still buried deep inside you. But you didn't mind that one bit and started whispering sweet nothings into his ear, while Mav gently massaged your shoulders.

It took some time, but Jake finally started to calm down, with your arms still embracing him and rubbing the skin on his back. His quiet sobs stopped and he relaxed in your arms a little bit.

- 'msorry... - he finally whispered, when he realized how hard he bit you. His voice was deep and raspy from all the crying. There was already a deep crimson mark forming on your skin. He softly traced it with his tongue and gently blew on it, trying to ease the pain with cold.

- Now none of that, love... - you've said and placed a soft kiss on the top of his head.

- No, I bit too hard... I should have controlled myself better. - his voice was dripping with guilt.

- It's ok... You were processing something and I'm happy I was able to be here for you... - you reassured him, still gently rubbing his back. - And just so we're clear - I'm not going anywhere, you understand...? - you forced him to look you in the eyes and he finally nodded. You didn't know if he was dealing with losing someone, or maybe being abandoned, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he had a safe space to release his bottled-up emotions. - You're good, we're all good... - you continued whispering when you felt Mav humming in agreement from behind you. - And take all the time you need, we don't have to do anything else tonight, I know how exhausting that type of emotional release can be. - you were glad he became verbal again but hearing him blaming himself for basically allowing himself to feel strong emotions was... heartbreaking.

Mav finally unhooked his legs from under yours, and you felt him reaching for something, and then you heard a sound of a bottle opening, and you were so grateful to have him here with you tonight. He handed you the water and you took a sip. It was still so pleasantly cold and refreshing...

- Face up, love... - you've said, and when he followed your instructions, you pressed the rim of the bottle to his lips, allowing him to drink. - You look beautiful, being so vulnerable with me like that... - you've complimented him, and he almost choked, but you've felt his cock twitch. - Gorgeous... - and there it was again... - Absolutely divine... - you've enjoyed the effect your words had on him, especially when he was trying so hard not to show it, but he was brutally betrayed. - And so ready for the next round... - you laughed gently, finally taking the water bottle from his mouth and wiping the remaining wetness from his cheeks with your thumb. You meant it when you said that you didn't have to do anything else tonight, even considering the fact that the captain's erection was currently leaking precum on your lower back; after all, he was the only one who didn't get to come today, but you knew he understood what was happening because he was in a similar position in the past. - Are you sure you're ready to go again...? - you asked after taking one more sip and passing the bottle to Mav.

- Yes, ma'am... - he simply replied, and started moving as if he wanted to slip out of you, but you stopped him. Since he was already inside, there was no need to change that, so instead, you leaned forward and bent your legs, so you were able to put your weight on your knees and his thighs and started gently grinding, not moving much at first because you didn't want him to slip out of you completely. Plus feeling him fill up inside you was... curiously pleasurable. But even though you didn't move much, his cum started leaking from you, and you could feel it slowly spreading on your thighs.

- Such a sweet boy, letting mommy use his body for her own pleasure... - you've tested the waters with that word, and it still was affecting him more than he cared to admit. He didn't lose it this time, not even a little. He just leaned and embraced you stronger, barely giving you room to move.

You felt the weight on the mattress shift behind you, and within a few seconds, you felt Pete's hands on your ass, kneading and spreading it gently. You couldn't help but smile at his idea, because it was something you didn't have the occasion to do for quite a while now. His hands disappeared for a moment, and before he touched you again he warmed the lube between his fingers.

He was kneeling right behind you, with his left hand gently resting on your breast and his face hidden in the nook of your neck, while his right hand was gently stretching your hole, preparing you as best as he could. You knew he was able to feel Jake through the thin wall inside you, and you caught the moment when the younger man realized what was happening. For a very short second, there was panic in his eyes, but seeing how your body was reacting to that assault, he instantly relaxed and let you ride him. Thanks to your own movements, Mav didn't have to do much, because you were slowly impaling yourself both on Jake's already hard cock and his fingers. With every fall you were getting more and more frustrated, but you didn't change the tempo, because you didn't want to finish too quickly, and with constant pressure against that sweet spot inside you, it was extremely difficult to remain composed.

It took a few minutes (definitely more than you wanted) of your gentle movements for Pete to be satisfied that you'll be able to take him without any issues. He let you know that he's ready by placing his hand on the small of your back, just where his precum was smeared from before. You gently pushed Jake backward and leaned over him, making space for Mav to move even closer behind you and line himself up with your entry; leaving the rest up to you.

When you started leaning backward and slowly but surely sinking into his hard cock, his arms were waiting for you and he embraced you with his whole body, while you welcomed him inside you.

You had to stop for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of all of it. Everything was happening both too fast and too slow, while you were stuck in that hypersensitive state in the middle, aware of everything that was touching your body. You just felt so... full...

You've rested your forehead on the top of Jake's head, trying to catch as many breaths as you could, but you just weren't able to get full lungs of air, catching only short, shallow gasps, as if the two men buried inside you forced the air out of you.

- You alright, princess...? - He said so quietly that you barely heard him. Or maybe the loud hum of blood rushing through your veins somehow muffled outside sounds.

- 'mfine... Just... Intense... - your own voice betrayed you by coming out almost broken. Neither of them rushed you, patiently waiting for a moment you'll be able to move again, and when you did, you couldn't help but moan so loud, that you almost startled yourself. - Fuck it feels so good... - you added when you rose again, and when you sank yourself onto them, the cry of pleasure that came from your mouth was caught directly by Jake's lips. With every move, you felt them drag and push all the right spots, slowly turning your muscles into mush to the point where you were barely able to get up after you unceremoniously dropped onto them again.

You've felt Pete's hand reaching around you and stopping on your bulged stomach, feeling the movement inside you through your skin, and when the younger man realized what was happening, his own hand followed Mav's, and you couldn't help but join them, covering both of them with your forearm. You've put your right hand on Jake's shoulder, trying to find more leverage, and it helped for a while, but with every move, you were getting more and more lost in the pleasure, so when you felt Mav placing his right arm below your thigh and Jake doing the same with your left side, you sighed with relief, because even though you were still doing most of the job, you didn't have to rise on your own, they were there to help you in any way they could, and you could go much faster thanks to that. You even rest your elbow on Jake's shoulder and pulled his head closer to your breasts, letting him know that they were all his if he wanted. And oh, how much he wanted them... Even though he still felt guilty for leaving such a nasty bitemark on your skin, he almost instantly started sucking on your nipples, biting them, and pulling them just as you liked it, and that was enough to pull you to the top of your release, but what pushed you over it, was a rough bite from Mav on your left shoulder. Pain mixing with pleasure drew a loud scream from you, and without anyone to drink it from your mouth, you didn't doubt that someone definitely heard it. Your nails dug deep into Jake's skin, and you weren't fully registering what exactly was happening because you were still lost in that blinding light in your brain.

You slumped down, officially unable to move anymore, and while you felt a second load of warm cum inside your pussy, Pete was still hard as a rock. Damn, that man had both patience and stamina...

- Love, would you like for the captain here to fuck you while you're still inside mommy...? - you asked. - I know you were a good boy and you got all stretched and ready for me... - your tone was gentle and sweet because you didn't want to force him to do anything he was even a little bit uncomfortable with.

- I would like that very much, ma'am. - you smiled softly and pulled him higher, so you could kiss him properly.

- You heard our boy... - you didn't have to repeat yourself, because Pete was already slipping out of you. But before he moved behind Jake, he placed a few small kisses over the bitemark he just left on your skin, making you smile.

You didn't even have to move much, because your bed was more than big enough to accommodate the change of position. You leaned back, essentially laying down with your left leg hooked around the younger man's hip and your right one laying flat in the bed. You felt him adjusting his position, and when you opened your eyes, you saw that it was Mav maneuvering his body as if it was made out of clay. He helped him bend his knee, so it was almost under you. His second leg was placed over your stretched one, giving Mav more space to move freely behind him. Plus being intertwined like that meant that even if Jake remained soft inside you, he wouldn't slip out, keeping you nice and plugged.

You saw Mav pushing him down, so his face was yet again in your breasts, not that you minded, although the skin there was already covered in deep red hickeys, bitemarks and your nipples were so overstimulated that even the lightest touch, resulted in a mixture of pain and pleasure, which you loved.

Even though Jake was technically already stretched, Pete took his sweet time, making sure of that. Because it's not like all that slow attention was an excuse for the fact that he loved teasing his partners.

It wasn't long before he started moaning into your skin, while you were gently playing with his hair with one hand, and tracing unrecognizable patterns on his back with the other.

- Tell me exactly what your captain is doing and how it feels... - it wasn't a request, and you couldn't help but smile devilishly when Mav caught your gaze; after all, it was more for him than for you. He returned the smile and went right back to massaging Jake's walls from the inside, this time not breaking eye contact with you.

- He's so meticulous, and doing everything so slooooOHly... It's driving me crazy... - It wasn't hard to tell when Pete rubbed his fingers against the prostate. - He has two fingers insiiiihide me and is spreading them... - his moan sounded so delicious and for a quick moment he sucked on your nipple before he continued describing to you what was being done to him. - I think he's gonna add another finger, mommy... can you please tell him to add two...? - it was the first time when Jake... slipped...? He was careful not to use the word himself, but he was so desperate that he didn't even notice.

- Captain, please don't be mean to our boy, he was so well-behaved today... - you finished the request with a huge smile on your face, and Mav bit his lower lip, even though he would much rather prefer to close his mouth around something else. He only hummed in response and indeed sunk four of his fingers into the lieutenant's body, drawing a loud squeal from him.

- Well, love... You got what you wanted from the captain... And what do we say when someone gives us what we want? - you were maintaining eye contact with Pete, and you just knew he was going to fuck you so hard next time, you'd feel it for a week because you were riling him up so well.

- Thank you, captain... - Jake mumbled from around your nipple, not even bothering to release it from between his teeth.

- Now, now... It is rude to speak with your mouth full, isn't it...? And you don't want to be rude, right...? - you were playing all the right strings and it was a pleasure to hear the melody.

- Noo... - he sighed heavily and turned his head around. - I'm sorry, captain... Thank you, captain... - he mumbled and as soon as he finished talking, he went straight to your other nipple. You couldn't help but wonder if he'd be even more interested in your breasts if they were filled with milk... But that definitely wasn't a conversation for today.

- Such a sweet boy... - you've said more to Mav, than to Hangman, who was giving his full attention to your breasts.

- He is so good... Next time you should be the one to fuck him, princess... - he replied and you hummed agreeably in response. You noticed that he removed his fingers from Jake and was getting a condom on and rubbing lube over his member and you couldn't help but stare just a little from over the younger man's head. He knew he didn't have to do that with you, you established that boundary a long time ago. But he still respected it with other people, even in a heat of the moment.

- Can you ask nicely for the captain to fuck you, love...? - Jake looked you in the eyes, suddenly unsure, but not about the action itself... He shook his head, unsure of your response, but you just kissed him on the forehead. - It's ok, love... You don't have to say anything... Would you like mommy to tell him to be good to you...? - he nodded, more confident than a second ago.

- You heard that captain... - huge grin sprawled on your face. - Make our boy feel really good... - you knew that even if you didn't say anything, he would do that without missing a beat. You didn't see exactly what was happening, but you still felt a sharper suction on your skin, so you assumed that Mav dipped his tip. You saw how gently he moved, how his fingers held Jake's hips, not even making any dips in his skin, exactly what the younger man needed. You felt how Pete's moves affected him, not only because he sucked your nipples harder, whenever Maverick dragged his tip against his prostate, but because every time that happened, he became just a bit harder inside you. How the hell both of them were able to get it up so quickly...? What did they feed them in the academy...?

- He's getting hard again... - you informed Mav and his huge grin matched your own.

- Goooood... - he almost purred, and you bit your lip at that sound. - Do you think you can handle it a bit faster and rougher, love...? - he asked, and Jake nodded his head enthusiastically, You saw that Pete grabbed his hips harder, pulling Hangman closer to himself, but when he snapped his hips forwards, you were the one that moaned a little in surprise, because he was essentially using Jake to fuck you, and your moan finally broke the spell that was hanging over the younger man's head. His eyes instantly became more clear and more aware, and he started moving his hips on his own, meeting Mav's thrusts and then entering you again. He was trapped in the most delicious sandwich he'd ever witnessed and he did everything he could to help get you both off.

Mav leaned forward and moved one of his hands to your hip, trying to pull you closer to Hangman whenever he was thrusting into you. Finding a good rhythm took you all a good moment, but it was all worth it because as soon as it happened, none of you really cared about all the noises either of you made, all that mattered was selfishly chasing that orgasm. Jake was the first one to finish... You weren't sure if he actually had any sperm left, but his whole body twitched and collapsed heavily on top of you, while Mav was still pounding into him mercilessly, turning him into even more liquid jelly.

- Im gonna be back, love. - you whispered directly into Jake's ear and swiftly got away from under him. Mav observed your movements, focusing his gaze only on you, and understanding what you were doing, quickly got out of Jake and took off his condom, while you quickly straddled him and guided his hard cock into your ass, since he was already there before. Being extremely horny didn't mean that you were open to vaginal infections from unsafe sex.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you in one place while he was slamming again and again into you with a strength that could have been scary under any other circumstances. You didn't give a fuck about how loudly you were moaning and screaming, because he was making you feel so good, that you forgot about the rest of the world.

You felt him getting closer and closer, and when you finally were sure he was going to cum any second, you whispered a simple four words in his ear... "Come for me, captain..." and he spilled all over your insides, holding you tightly in his arms and digging his teeth into the soft muscle on your right shoulder, one of few places on your torso that was without any marks. That was until now. And that was enough to push you over the edge for the fourth time today. You weren't sure what came over you, but you bit him harshly as well. In the place where his neck met his shoulder, so you knew it would be painful, but he only squeezed you tighter in his arms, as if he was afraid that you would disintegrate if he dared to let go just for a second.

When you finally started climbing down from cloud nine, you realized that your breaths and heartbeats synchronized, because you could feel his through his skin, and you were sure that if you realized that, he did as well.

- Hi, captain... - you've finally said, still trying to calm your breathing down.

- Hi, princess... - he replied and kissed you gently. You gave yourself a few more seconds just the two of you, embracing each other bodies, pressing your foreheads together, so there was no space for anything else in between you. That small moment of intimacy was exactly what you needed before both of you came back to Jake, who was still basically high on what happened tonight.

- Wipes in the nightstand... - you've said to Mav since he was closer to them, and you snaked one of your arms under Jake's head, so you could hold him close. You hummed in surprise when you felt Mav pulling your leg up and putting it on his shoulder, while he warmed a wet wipe in between his hands, so it wouldn't be so cold on your skin and started wiping the mess that all of you made. Fortunately, the wipes were of good quality and didn't have any trouble taking care of the mix of your own juices, lube, and cum. They definitely couldn't replace a good shower, but for now -they were more than adequate. Mav also leaned over you and gently cleaned the mess that was left on Jake's body, and the younger man tried to growl in response, one squeeze from you, and he was behaving again.

After cleaning both of you, Mave pressed and opened the water bottle to your lips, making sure you'll drink enough, and after a moment you did the same with Jake, who was still coming down from his high. It was adorable how fucked out he was and after you returned the water bottle to Mav, you hooked one of your legs on the younger man's hip, pulling him just a little bit closer to you.

- Can you please open the window...? - you requested quietly and Mav obliged. During sex you didn't mind how hot your bedroom was, but after... It was a different conversation. It was still hot outside since it was the middle of July, and with two radiators-aviators in your bed, it was bound to get even hotter, in the literal sense, because you knew from experience that both of them radiated extreme temperatures, so you knew no matter what, you'll wake up drenched in sweat.

But before Mav joined you, he gently removed a messy top sheet, trying not to move either of you too much.

- Just leave it anywhere, and c'mere... I'll wash it tomorrow... - you said with your eyes closed. You were slowly dozing off, but Mav obliged before you were completely gone and lay behind you, wrapping his arm around you and gently resting it on your breast. It wasn't sexual, more of a comfort thing, and it made you smile.

- Pervert... - you whispered jokingly and he chuckled in response, pulling himself closer to you and placing a soft kiss on the bitemark closest to his mouth, but this one you haven't felt, the exhaustion finally catching up.

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pennyserenade · 7 months

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new beginnings

i wrote this quickly for mulder’s birthday. i’ve never written any x files fics before, not really, so i guess you could say this is my first. it’s set in season one, unbeta’d & a product of a spur of the moment decision.

———

twelve & thirty-two feel miraculously similar and yet monstrously different to mulder.

even though it’s his birthday, he celebrates for samantha. he goes to work early, clicks around in emails, pours over files with flickering interest and sips away at too many cups of coffees as he waits for scully. while uneventful and bordering on macabre, his gift to her is a brand of brotherly devotion. he doesn’t know where she is, just that she is, and he works with the same dogged determination that landed him in this basement today, the same as any other.

later, when he chances a glance at sam’s photo, tucked away into a manilla folder, he starts to smile a half grin. he misses her so badly. it’s the kind of missing that is half nostalgia and half staggering grief, so he’s got to tuck the photo back away and try hard not to think too much about how badly he misses her.

in another month it’ll be her birthday but it will hurt a lot more to celebrate her then. he probably won’t. doesn’t usually. one year, after sam disappeared, their mother got their birthdays mixed up and he learned that it was easier that way. somehow it seemed if sam could absorb his birthday, take it, what happened seemed less awful because then at least she would’ve had more time being eight. he had felt like he was giving her something back, for all the times he was mean or awful. for all the times he had been unaware that their time together as children was drawing to an end.

sam was always so happy to be getting older, loved reminding him that the day she would be able to watch herself was getting closer and closer. he had hated that; she’d been so bratty about it. so adolescent. he wishes more than anything to hear that snotty whine of hers again. he celebrates her in this way, too: missing her, remembering her. if she has to exist in the liminal space of his mind he likes to make sure it’s familiar to her, painted with as much memory as he can offer.

lately it’s been easier. he’s hesitant to admit why, but he knows why: a certain red headed agent. the odd familiarity comes from her, her inclusion into this world of his. at twelve he didn’t know loss yet. he turned twelve, like he had turned eleven, and ten, and every age before it. at twelve mulder never thought this much of his kid sister in his life, not even when she was pestering him.

scully is not samantha. not at all. he doesn’t think of her in that way, isn’t looking for her to fill that spot. but she does fill a spot, a curious place he hadn’t known was even missing, really, until she’d walked in and taken it. mulder feels like he’s sharing samantha again, as if scully is a friend he’s invited over for dinner and not an assigned partner, and that’s…helpful. he hasn’t told scully much about her, but what he has told her is indefinitely more than he ever expected to. sometimes it feels like he won’t ever have to tell her more, like she will just understand, maybe even learn on her own, as if sam is hers too. not a memory, but a real kid.

what makes today most odd is the way he feels, though: lighter, buoyant. he knows this has something to do with scully too. he tells himself it’s nothing more than a schoolboy crush, that it happened because she’s young and pretty and he’s been stuck in the basement for far too long. he doesn’t go out enough. any man is likely to get a crush on a girl if she’s the only girl he’s seen - aside from the occasional naughty video - in months. he’ll say anything, but he knows there’s only small truths to any of it.

when she comes in, hours after him, she’s wearing a bright colored suit and her hair is down, same as usual. her lipstick is dark today, like she might know it’s his birthday. she can’t but the thought is nice. she smiles when she sees him. he takes off his glass and smiles back.

“you’re in early,” she notes and he nods. he rises from his seat and takes the projector remote in his hand. it’s obvious he’s been waiting for her. it’s my birthday, he wants to tell her, but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know why he wants to tell her so badly (except he does: because he likes her, & wants to tell her everything.)

“there’s this case,” he begins as explanation. already he can see an amused glimmer in her eye. she makes a soft sigh that’s meant to signal defeat, but it’s not defeat. from anyone else this would be a betrayal but from her it’s camaraderie. he wants her to do this with him forever.

he laughs, successfully egged on. she turns off the lights for him and a picture that doesn’t pair well with breakfast pops up. scully’s unflinching and he thinks: my god. nothing about it is improper, not dirty but longing. he wants to ask her to hold hands, maybe even make a blood pact. it’s innocuous, really. with scully suddenly he’s twelve and he’s not in that room, but a different one altogether. samantha is there but she’s happy, a nuisance. and it’s his birthday.

“mulder,” scully says, voice incredulous. the presentation is over and he’s smeared his thoughts on crop circles all over the room. she’s been patient and so has he; he has awaited her scientific mind all morning and like a present he can’t to unwrap it. maybe it is a present. “your theory is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

he smiles. “c’mon scully, go easy on me this morning. it’s my birthday.”

suddenly it’s out. he’s thirty-two and he’s twelve and he doesn’t mind remembering he’s having a birthday this year.

“happy birthday, mulder,” she says. “i didn’t know.”

her eyebrows furrow like they do sometimes when he’s giving her something to think over. a piece of evidence. a body. today it’s just him. he likes being her object of study.

“you do now. hopefully it’ll make packing for this all the easier,” he tells her, shutting off the projector. “i’ve got a feeling about this one, scully.”

“but mulder—“ she interrupts, beginning her earnest counter argument. as he listens to her try to debunk those crop circles he had compiled and worked out into an entire case, he can’t help but think: this is the best birthday i’ve had in decades.

#fox mulder #dana scully #msr fanfic #msr #x files #x files fic

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maryannecrimsworth · 1 year

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Sweet Dreams

gif belongs to @tvandfilm

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Guide for tormented hearts

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Selective Mute! Reader

Warnings: flashback in italics, violence, mention of past trauma,

Summary: Having a sleepover in Wednesday's room was stressful enough, but having a sleepover with her and Enid was...you don't even had a word for it. Somehow, you ended up being interviewed by Enid. And, somehow, you felt Wednesday's hands involving yours in the middle of the night.

Some reader's characteristics: R has anxiety disorder, selective mutism, and is a really unique type of outcast. Reader's background it's derived from my Wednesday fic, The Hunt.

The picture shown to you was deserving of an award. It was theatrical, poetic, medieval. It showed a boy hooded, half naked, with his exposed skin painted red with the letter "A".

Any normal teenager would associate it with a popular series, and fear the one who pranked the hooded boy. However, the few who knew the true meaning behind the letter, knew that it was a punishment.

Surprisingly, Enid belonged to the second group, and her gossip blog was used to share the truth about the pranked boy — there weren't files or proof of what he had done, you didn't leave any on the scene. You know that the rumors about why a popular jock was hanged and mocked like this would ruin him — that's why you did it. Still, Wednesday complained about how merciful you were. For a second, you thought she was the one who told Enid to post about all the truth about the boy, but Wednesday seemed as surprised as you with her sudden arrival.

"OMG!" She gasped, running over to you both. "Did you guys see this? I still can't believe it!" The she-wolf showed you an Instagram post with the photo of the boy hanged. "Don't pity him though, Divina knows the guy and....well, let's say someone was really angry at him."

You couldn't help but chuckle.

"Do you think it's funny?"

Yes.

You said nothing, but Wednesday did.

"It's silly. I doubt anyone understood it."

"They will." Enid added right away. "I made sure of it and also...the guy felt so humiliated that he started to confess!" She was a bit too excited about it. "He bullied some kids from Nevermore too. Hank will be very busy because of him." Wednesday's eyes widened. "A bunch of older victims gathered the courage to accuse him too!" Enid cheered. "It's a bad guy paying for his crimes." The she-wolf seemed too happy about it, and both you and Wednesday watched in her silence for a brief moment. "We should know who did it."

You stepped away immediately, and Wednesday’s gaze followed you.

"Why is that?" She asked Enid, her eyes still on you as you walked away.

"Well, first, they committed a crime too, so the police will be looking for them." She argued, voice more steady and controled now. "Second, they deserved an award for their courage! I mean, it was a great idea! Efficient, cruel just enough." Enid suddenly stepped towards Wednesday. "Please don't tell anyone I said this."

"Do I look like I'd?"

Enid rolled her eyes and finally directed her attention to you. "Y/N!" She called you. "What do you think?"

It was hard for you to keep a blank face. In a dangerous act, you tilted your head in Wednesday's direction and smirked.

"No!" Enid jumped over to Wednesday. "You did not!"

"How dare—" She tried to hiss at you, but Enid grabbed her shoulders.

"How did you know it?" The she-wolf inquired. "OMG! You gotta tell me everything!"

"I'll kill you." She roared at your direction while Enid walked her to her colored side of the room.

"Please, please, I have to post it!"

"No."

"But—"

"I'm offended by your belief that I truly made such a harmless plan." She shoved Enid away with a cold glance and walked towards you slowly, following you by the room as you kept trying to flee. "I'd have done worse. Much worse." She finally cornered you. Wednesday stood so close to you that you weren't able to see Enid anymore. You weren't able to seek help anymore. "Y/N did it."

You held your breath instinctively — if you breathed wrong, Wednesday could kill you. And if you looked at her wrong, she would kill you.

Your gaze was locked on hers; you could not dare to contemplate the smirk on her lips or the freckles on her cheeks; you could not dare to follow the trace of her jawline or watch how softly her bang moved. If you did it right now, you did not know what the consequences would be.

However, Wednesday wasn't so cautious. Her gaze fell to your lips immediately, and her smirk grew wickedly as she watched your features twisting in stir and confusion.

"Please tell me everything!" Enid pumped up beside you and you jumped in reflex. Your eyes finally left Wednesday's. "Please! I promise I'll leave you anonymous but I have to know everything about that guy." Enid held your hand and pulled you away from the goth girl. "I want everyone to know what he had done."

You glanced at Wednesday for a brief second, not trying to get allowance, but to know why she did it, why she revealed you.

She wanted you to be friends with Enid too? Or was it a little revenge for your silly action?

Either way, it despaired you; You were sweating under Enid's careful touch.

She was glancing at you with expectation, and part of you knew Hank would never approve it.

But Hank didn't approve anything.

So you shook your head.

The interview with Enid turned out to be a slumber party. While she giggled and gasped at your short responses, Thing helped her to build...something. A fortress, you guessed, made of colorful blankets. Half of it was pink and yellow, the other half was black and white. You stood in the middle, unsure of where to go.

"So you found him drunk in the street and took your chance?" She asked after laying on the padded floor. "It was spontaneous like that?"

You shook your head, but it was Wednesday who replied. Your surprise by her voice was so great that you stepped back and watched her carefully.

"Y/N told me about the plan before we found him."

"So you found the douche in the street together?"

"Yes." She replied, unaware of where Enid wanted to get.

You were.

"So you were walking together? Like a date?"

You stepped away once again. You didn’t want to stand between the two girls right now.

"We spent the night together." Enid gasped, but Wednesday went on. "Investigating."

"I thought Hank was your partner in crime."

"Not anymore."

Not anymore. So you were. You were her partner.

You clutched your hands and grabbed your own arms, scratching yourself at distance from them both.

"Are you done with your questions?"

"No."

Wednesday stared at Enid, but the she-wolf didn't back away.

"Does Hank know about it?"

"Hank's a suspect."

You could no longer hear them. Your nervousness and excitement turned to anger in less than a second; you stormed out of the room with silent steps.

"What?"

"He's been lying to all of us."

Wednesday could only hear you closing the window to the balcony. Enid, Thing, and Wednesday watched you walking purposely and climbing over the rail.

A chill ran over Wednesday's body for a moment; she froze, and her chest stopped beating with the thought of what you could do. But you remained motionless, simply sat over the parapet, fingers tapping the concrete nervously.

You knew he was a suspect — it was obvious — you had no reason to react like this. No reason at all.

Still, you ran away from her like you did after arguing with Hank. Like you were angry and offended, upset. Why would you—

"Wednesday." Enid's voice stopped her train of thought. She glanced at the she-wolf abruptly, her expression flushed and confused like her roommate had never seen. "Go talk to him."

Silently, Wednesday followed the advice and walked to the balcony with loud steps. Behind her, Thing started to sign to Enid with hushed gestures.

"Y/N"

"What's your family like?" You shot at her; You didn't give her the chance to approach you, you didn't even turn to talk to her. She walked towards you before answering.

"Smothering and embarrassing."

"So they love you." Your voice didn't sound affected, nor angry. It sounded distant. "They love you." You whispered, and Wednesday wouldn't have listened to you if she hadn't just sat by your side.

Your head was turned to the sky darkening, your feet moved in the air as your fingers tapped the rail.

Where were you?

"I could say it's my dream." You said suddenly, low voice and eyes on the heavens. "To have a family like this."

"You don't know them."

"I know you." Your head dropped, but you didn't look back at her. "And I....I think..." Your voice was disappearing. "I think you are..." Wednesday noticed how red your face turned one moment before you shook your head and moved away from her. "I had a family too." You said with more strength in your tone. "After my father, I found Hank and...Rachel." You smiled weakly, and finally turned to Wednesday. Her skin mingled when she saw the sadness in your face. "Hank is not a suspect. He cannot be." Your gaze dropped as your fingers stopped tapping. Slowly, your whole body and countenance seemed to be turning off. "Not after he had done to Rachel....for me."

"I saw your poem." Wednesday told you, voice colder than you wished. "He took you back to the camps."

"He made a deal with the devil. He surrendered in order to keep me alive."

"He gave up. He killed Rachel. He locked you. "

"He—" you choked. "He kept me alive...from her." Your hand unconsciously touched your right rib. "I got hurt when we first escaped and Rachel...wanted to use it. Use me."

Wednesday frowned at your downcast expression.

You were betrayed too.

How were you not angry?

"But in your poem you blame him. You say you miss her."

"I do." You whispered. "She was desperate, and I still think she didn't mean it. But Hank...He became one of them that night." You wiped a tear away. "He's still my family, but he's bonded to them too."

"How?"

"Through blood." You swallowed dryly. "Now he owns a camp too."

"He's guilty too."

"Y-yes." You turned to her, eyes gleaming with tears. "I don't know what to do."

"He deserves it, Y/N."

"He was used!"

"He made a choice." She retorted firmly. Mercilessly.

You widened at her, lips suddenly clued in a straight line.

She would never have mercy for him, or for anybody. She was not like this.

"He's my brother." Your grunt made Wednesday frown. You sounded, probably for the first time ever, upset. "My family."

"I cannot let him—"

"I know." You cut her off. "I'm only asking for a chance. For a doubt." You felt her hand suddenly; you didn't intend to hold her, nor reach her, but she was sitting closer than you thought. Your skin brushed against her only for a moment. Only before you ask: "Could you?"

"You're naive."

You shook your head, slowly and lazily. It was the response: no, she could not.

She would never have mercy on Hank.

You accepted defeat with a hard swallow and turned your head to the stars again. With her intervention or not, you'd protect Hank.

But you preferred to have her by your side.

"Yes." She said, and you turned to her so quickly that you almost lost your balance. "Only one." She repeated strictly.

And then she saw that smile again, the same when she said you were friends, ecstatic and electrified. Alive, more than ever, so energetic it made her feel it too. And what she felt made she look away, but she could still hear your happiness when you said:

"Thank you."

Fear has become something you got used to: since you first left your father's farm, on the day he took you to the festival, you were afraid. You were afraid because you didn't know what you'd find outside your little world — but you loved it.

Then you felt afraid again, a few years later, when you had the chance to walk around the forest by yourself. You felt afraid when you understood that the toy in your hands — the very same one the L/N's gave in order to conquer you — was stained with your father's blood.

You were afraid the night after, when you were completely alone in the camps — and you felt afraid every single night since then.

Fear guided you, drove you: it made you hide, and it kept you alive this far. You hate it.

But, tonight, you felt none of it — just like the night before, when you counted the freckles on Wednesday’s hands. When you felt the warmth of her closeness, and the hitch of her breath as she read your writing. Somehow, despite being haunted and hunted together, you felt no fright, and you knew she was responsible for it.

She was brave like no one you've met before — and maybe, just maybe, some part of her courage has rubbed off on you. Just like she was learning to write poems from you, you were learning bravery from her.

And it was your brand new courage that made you look for her in the middle of the night.

"Wednesday?" You whispered in the dark, not sure if she was awake. As comfortable as you were, laid down on the blanket fortress, you didn't seem able to fall asleep. "I must tell you something."

"Do not thank me again." She hissed, way louder than you. Surprisingly, the she-wolf was still asleep. Her snoring was still louder than yours and Wednesday’s voices. "It's unnecessary and distressing."

"No." You felt your face heating. "It's not that."

"Then say it." Her words were met with silence: suddenly, from her side, Wednesday heard and felt nothing but your shaking breathing. You were closer than she expected, and she was surprised when you moved slightly away.

"That night…" She could feel the sheet slipping under her as you spoke. "When you saw m—the Alp." You corrected yourself hushedly. "It got inside your head."

Wednesday turned her face to you: her features moved fast, attentively in the dark, but she couldn't find you. She could only hear your hoarse, low voice, whispering the last words she wanted to hear.

"I saw what he did." You paused. If Wednesday could see you, she wouldn't stand the expression in your face, nor understand it: the frowned eyes, scrunched nose, twisted lips. She wouldn't recognize your anger — she had never seen it, after all — but it disturbed your face as much as it burned your body. And she would never comprehend how it did not affect your voice. "And I must tell you that…" Her hand reached you in the pitch dark. "You're wrong." Wednesday's touch made you gasp the words; for a brief second, your tone failed, but you went on, no matter how hard her grip was.

"You're not unlovable." You held her instead of fleeing: that was what she expected you to do. To shy away from her, from her touch — that was what she wanted to do. "You're not detached."

Her fingers left your skin and you shook. You trembled in the complete dark. But you had to finish.

"You have a heart that overwhelms you and I—" Your voice cracked. "I…" You closed your eyes and said, "I want to know it."

Wednesday remained out of your sight, and the room suddenly went silent — you saw nothing and heard nothing. Not even Enid's roars.

"Please" You whispered last. "Would you let me know your heart?"

Coldness involved your burning face as you felt something suddenly coming closer — the dark was not enough to hide Wednesday now. Her hands were on you, and could watch her eyes, only inches away from yours, targeting you. Not with rage, not with determination, but with an unknown gleam that shone even in the darkness.

And those same pitch black, yet bright eyes closed as her breath engulfed you.

"Guys?" Enid moaned, her claws stretching out and reaching Wednesday's blanket. The Addams girl retreated immediately, and the sound coming from her gritting teeth proved that she was more annoyed than startled. "You fine?"

"I'll kill you." Wednesday roared.

"Oh" Enid yawned. "Sweet dreams for ya"

Sinclair's snores restarted, and your heat finally felt like ceasing. But the coldness didn't leave your skin, then you realized Wednesday's hand was still covering yours.

"You need to sleep." You felt her grip pulling you in her direction.

"I don't want to." Either way, you obeyed, moving slowly over the blankets. "I don't want her to end this."

'This' , Wednesday thought again, 'what was this?'

"I won't let it." She spoke before her mind could silence her: her rationale told her she should not, but the heat coming from your body, now laying so close to hers, confused her. Her hand was still on your skin, and she was the one pulling you closer. "I won't let her."

She felt your hair trickling her skin, and she smiled; the smell of dew and old books mingled inside of her lungs. Suddenly, her whole body was filled by your scent, and an uncontrollable smile grew widely in her lips.

You could only see a glimpse of it and, yet, it was the most beautiful image you have ever seen: Wednesday, laid by your side, smiling blatantly at you. Because of you.

You intertwined your fingers with hers, and her slow breathing soon helped you to relax.

You were smiling too, and enjoying her closeness with serenity: your hands were glued together, as your heads brushed softly. You were close enough to keep each other at safety, at peace. At fondness.

At warmth and rest.

"Sweet dreams, Wednesday."

You whispered, almost in her ear, before closing your eyes.

"Sweet dreams, Y/N."

"You don't understand what she's like." Rachel hissed in a desperate whisper, running after Hank as he paced over the room, looking for as many remedies as he could find. "We cannot stop now. She'll find us. She'll find Y/N if he—"

"If he doesn't sleep, he'll die." Hank argued back, picking a bottle of alcohol and gathering it with the others medical equipments. "It's out of discussion."

A sob of pain grew louder as they approached you: the bed was soaked with your sweat , and your gritting teeth could be heard from meters away. You were grasping the sheet as if they were your life — your freedom. And in some certain way, they really were; if you blacked out now, the Alp would rise, and the Hexe would find you all.

If you stayed awake, however, such as you were trying so hard to be now....maybe you wouldn't make it.

"If he sleeps, we all die." Rachel repeated, in a stronger and deeper voice. "We need to let him, Hank...It's him or us."

"What?"

"Your heard me." Rachel sobbed. "We can come back later, with policemen and weapons. We can free everyone and end this!" You grunted: only a few words made sense to you, but her cries forced you to look up. To look at her. And to notice how painfully she avoided your gaze. Her eyes were locked on a distant figure: Hank, then agitated and reactive, now was quiet, motionless. Rachel watched his back, his almost unnoticeable breathing. She went on: "We can, I swear we will, but only if we survive now!" The boy didn't move. He stood in the dark, completely silent. "Hank, please!"

What happened next was hard for you to understand: you saw a bright flash of blue light, you heard a roar — maybe Hank's, maybe your own — and you felt a weight. A grip, claws cutting deep into your skin as you tried to scream.

But it wasn't Hank. Your widened eyes glanced at the creature that made you winch: an werewolf. Rachel's transformed. Her claws and teeth engulfed* you as the blue light approached — your flesh was pierced apart, and when you thought that the cut on your rib would knock you down, the pain coming through your chest awakened you.

"STOP!" A voice, trembling and low like fire crackling, took over your ears — your mind. The presence of the devil dominated your mind before you could actually see it. The Kigatilik was in front of you, white and curled as always, long claws and fingers being raised as the blood emerged, soaking your clothes.

You blinked, slowly, painfully: the scene didn't make sense for you; You only recognized the inuit, and its broad, monstrous back covered every glimpse of the werewolf. Hank — now in his devilish form — stood between you and Rachel. He— it forced the beast away, marching over to her until the roars became barks. In the middle of the dark, in the middle of the night — the monsters were fighting over you. Sweat and blood sprinkled over you, mingling with your own.

You couldn't see much, you couldn't hear much; all you could do was breathe: it was hard and painful, but you managed to — you had to.

The last thing your understood was:

"Take me." The plea came from a hoarse, sobbing voice. It came from below, from the devil crawling on the floor, on the pool of blood. "Not him. Take me." There was a shadow standing above him. You saw: you knew it. You could see the gleam of its eyes shining in the dark. Like the shadow itself was watching you.

Like a nightmare observing.

Like the Mare.

The Hexe said "Yes."

And it all went black.

#wednesday x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday x male reader #selective mute #original character #wednesday fic #german folklore #enid sinclair

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nerdieforpedro · 7 months

Text

Just like I Imagined

Marcus Pike x plus size female reader

Fanfiction (teens and up) Entire blog is 18+ MDNI

Masterlist /Marcus Pike Masterlist

Summary: Marcus has gotten to know you over these last six months.

Warnings: Fluff, Marcus’s POV mainly, Marcus being anxious and a tad possessive, reader is in denial a bit, angst

Notes: I was really happy to finally finish this piece of fluff to add to the Pike Pool. I did proofread it but there may be mistakes, my bad. 🥸

Marcus always stopped by your apartment after work. It was part of his normal routine now for the last six months, he always brought food and he knew to bring you some Smirnoff ice or some other fruit flavored alcohol beverage. You were not a wine drinker so he brought his own wine and you two would eat whatever food he decided to pick up from somewhere because he somehow knew all the food places.

The two of you would become fast friends after you were leaving the office one day late and smelled something delicious. You wondered if maybe the janitor was eating something really good, but you followed the smell and saw Marcus sitting in his office eating some delicious smelling lo mien and asked him where he got it from. He was startled that someone else is at the office, but the agent told you where he got it from and said you were open to have some because his colleagues had left him with the case files because they were tired and couldn’t be here all night.

Sitting down and eating with him actually did offer some good insights into the art crime. He was looking at the wrong perp. There was some juvenile douchebag trying to spray paint paintings at the Smithsonian. It wasn’t the normal severity of art crime they usually had Marcus assured you, normally it’s more international. Your laugh is what caught him after your intelligence, the little snort you did was cute too. He asked if you normally take your lunches at work or offsite and which department you work in. Financial crimes, and that you normally take it in the little green area on the right-hand side of headquarters. It didn’t look like much from the windows, but when you’re down there the air is fresher and there was a pond with some koi and a few flowers. You rambled a bit, Marcus didn’t mind at all. He liked listening to your voice, you had been keeping a measured tone, but your pitch creeped up the more you spoke about the greenery. Your hands waved around the longer you talked and your soft knee bumped his as you weaved side to side in your chair. He was fine with you bumping him and wanted to lay his head across your full thighs and maybe nuzzle his face into your squishy belly, he may make you laugh again if he did that. You could look down at him, smile and call him silly for doing so. Maybe patting his head while you did it.

The pair of you missed your fist few lunch meetups. The art crimes agent then remembered that he had not asked for your number, a rookie mistake. By the end of the first week, he met you, he had made the trip up to the tenth floor where the financial department was and took you away to lunch his treat. Your cubicle mate had numerous questions for you that you declined.

“We have work and food in common. Calm down.” You had told them. You weren’t wrong, those just weren’t the only things.

Slowly your lunches became dinners after work as well. It was you who suggested that Pike stop by your place for some dinner. He was overjoyed, finally able to see your apartment. It would look similar to his in that most of the agents stayed in the provided housing, but he was curious to know how you made it your own. His nose was greeted to the calming scent of eucalyptus, he remembered smelling it in your hand lotion you used as well. He had made a trip to Bath & Body works to find that lotion to remind him of you if he was called away to those more important, he had mentioned. He also gifted you a bottle as well, stating that it was a just because gift. Your home was cozy like you were, a few pillows on your loveseat, a small dining table, a bookshelf that was overflowing with not only books but little knickknacks and things you called funkos. He would have to look that up later. Last night’s lasagna tasted better than yesterday because of better company you had told him. If he could have burst, with glee Marcus would have. The night ended with ice cream on the couch and watching Golden Girls, one of your comfort shows. When Marcus brought you to his apartment the following week, his comfort show was Scrubs, you made the joke that the two of you may become besties like JD and Turk. Pike put on a smile, but his heart sank, that wasn’t what he wanted at all, maybe a few weeks ago but not two months in. He swallowed his disappointment with his wine.

Marcus enjoyed your friendship in the subsequent months, and it was very welcome after his failed engagement, and several very poor first dates. For you, just nice talking to someone and you appreciated it too because it was a guy who was not one of your brothers talking to you. It was also a relief because the two of you had never discussed becoming anything more, it was comfortable. Well for you, not so much for the poor art crimes agent. He had slipped in between bites of shrimp fried rice as the two of you ate your lunch in the small garden if you had a boyfriend. He told you about his broken engagement and would answer any questions or rumors you may have heard around the building. You kindly shook your head, thanked him for being so open with you and told him that you hadn’t dated for a bit. You found it difficult to deal with others' expectations of what a relationship should be and your body. It relieved him that you weren’t attached but he wondered how he could display his affection for you and have you take it seriously. Not think he was mocking your or becoming like your favorite TV bromance.

You and Marcus would alternate which apartment you hung out at on the weekends to watch the movies and TV. While at Marcus’ place, every once in a while, he would try to get you to watch basketball. He was trying desperately to get you into the sport, but you weren’t that into it. You had learned some of the rules despite Marcus laughing your explanations of what was going on during a game. You were trying to learn, however slow going it was, it endeared him to him immensely. He liked watching your round cheeks puff as you cross your arms angrily or under your belly, and just turned away from him, but more than that he just like spending time with you, learning your little ticks.

One weekend, Pike convinced you to go to a local fair and there he saw you in a dress for the first time in your three-month friendship. The agent’s eyes dilated drinking in your shapely thick legs in a green dress as it hugged your curves. You bounced toward him, nervous at being in a dress, being out, it had been years since you’d been to a fair. Marcus felt his chest swell, happy that he was the one to take you and not someone else, he realized he may be getting a bit possessive but not really, you were still friends at this point, right? He suggested you try some final cake or maybe play some of the games. Marcus was ecstatic that he could give you another good memory, he wanted to provide you with so many more so that you would consider keeping him in your life.

Walking around the fairgrounds together, he suggested that you hold hands because there are a lot of people, and he didn’t want to get separated. All true, but he he wondered how soft your hand was after only grazing it the last few months. You looked nervous, but agreed and didn’t let go, and he prayed desperately that his hands would not get sweaty or clammy while holding yours your soft little hand. Eventually, you found a dart game, it looked fun so you tried it but your aim was poor. Marcus was able to actually get the dart in the middle of the board three times, the man running the game was pissed so he told the two of you to pick a prize and go away. Pike left the prize choice up to you, which meant that now he carried a four-foot caramel colored teddy bear. Marcus knew you were fond of stuffed animals though he was hoping not one quite that big. You told him it’s a good memory the day.

At first Marcus was happy to see the bear in your apartment for it made him recall the fair, your green dress, smile and soft hand. He came to loathe that bear, sometimes it would be sitting on your bed, where the agent wanted to be. Other times you’d set in on the floor between you two as a fluffy divider or worse on the loveseat. It same to a point when Marcus would get up to use the bathroom or get something from the kitchen, he would punch that bear because that bear got to be with you more than he did and that pissed him off. Pike was conflicted about his feud with a teddy bear.

Five months in and he felt like he was going insane. Marcus had met your friends, they were nice. He disliked that you said he was a friend too but not your boyfriend. He needed to find a good way out of this close friend more. Pike liked your friends a little less when they set you up on a few blind dates. Thankfully you said no most of the time as you stated that you did not want to be bothered and you felt they were pushing what they thought you needed on you. Your love of comfort extended to not watching to get dressed up for fussing over yourself like you would need to for a date. The agent was please about this and read it to mean that when the two of you went out to dinner, a movie, small conventions for your fandoms, when you would wear different outfits, it was for him, maybe he could get his hopes up about that.

Month six is when it happened.

He stopped by and you were not at your apartment. He normally didn’t text ahead because you had each other‘s keys, he had proposed it as a safety measure, though to be honest, he relished that he had your house key. He liked to think he was the only male outside of your family that did. His plan was to surprise you with the same lo mein you had eaten in his office six months ago. He would give you a silver pair of studs as he knew you didn’t like too much jewelry and tell you how he felt. His stomach sank when he called you and you texted him that he couldn’t talk. Had your friends finally hounded you enough?You were on a date to which he just texted back you know have have fun and stay safe and went into your bedroom to sit on your bed.

Instead of punching the bear, whose name was now JD, Marcus hugged it, brought it out with him and waited in your apartment on the couch. Watching some movies and put put the food away that he brought over because you could have it as leftovers. The teddy bear smelled like you, soft cotton and eucalyptus. Marcus ended up falling asleep on the couch, his tears wet the bear’s fur.

Your date was okay. He was on time, dressed well, smelled nice, looked cute, but didn’t feel right. He tried to casually put his arm around your shoulder, and you flinched, explaining that you don’t do too well with touch until you get to know someone. The two of you saw a movie first then ate dinner. Your date was surprised that you picked an action movie, shrugging your shoulders as you handed him his ticket and entered the theater, not really speaking to him. You agreed to this date so your friends would stop hounding you about Marcus, your Marcus, they called him. You told them that he didn’t belong to anyone and that he’s not even looking for a relationship that you know of. The man’s fiance never came like she said she would. They said that he was looking for a relationship with you, dumbass. You scoffed, you were just friends, great friends close even, but just friends. You were fine with that, could process that. Being more than friends with Marcus was…a thought that you made sure not to entertain. In your mind, he was a kind man that needed to not feel used by a woman. Maybe then he might heal, yes, you would help him heal.

Dinner wasn’t much better, the man kept talking about himself and your mind wandered in between agreeing with what he said and acting surprised. You didn’t let many people in, kept your circle small. It seems you’ve let Marcus in though, he has a key to your apartment, has been in your bedroom. Seen you dressed up and in your pajamas as you’ve seen him. You’ve shared so much with him and after two months of knowing the man you not only held his hand and hugged him as he left your apartment. From then on you normally hug him, it’s something you didn’t think about. After listening to your date talk about his Rolex for the third time, you said that your stomach felt upset, and you had to go home.

Marcus was spread out across the couch with JD on his chest, his stomach was poking out of the bottom of his shirt. You snapped a picture on your phone and put a blanket over the two of them. Your proximity caused Marcus to stir and he reached up and grabbed your hand.

“Wait, uh, how did your date go?” He asked groggy from waking up. You shook your head and sat down, pulling your black dress down over your knees, it popped back up though. Marcus had first seen that dress at a after-hours cocktail party the art crimes division had thrown. He noticed some of his colleagues peering at your cleavage that the deep v-neck offered. He in fact loved the dress on you and did not think whoever your date had been deserved to see you in it.

“I went on a date like I promised my friend, but I don’t think I’m cut out for it. It was so weird.” You hadn’t enjoyed yourself at all. He wasn’t that man sitting next to you. He was not Agent Pike who you had lunch with almost daily.

Marcus set the bear down on the floor and took both your hands in his. Can he do it? Now would be the perfect time to tell her. She’s not cut out for it with someone else. Only with you. Stop being afraid.

“You know I think the same thing most days too. If we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, maybe we should get married then?” He regretted it as soon as he said it. Why of all things a marriage pact?! Why did he even plan? Marcus could only look at her hands, rubbing his thumbs on the back of them. He heard you chuckle and agree. “What?” His eyes wide as his face rose to meet yours.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll still be single by forty so why not? At least I would be married to someone I know and trust. I could do a lot worse than you Marcus.” You told him, you had a way of making him feel so special and so lonely at the same time. He gave you a fake smile and nodded as he handed you your bear and stood to get the food to heat up. He needed a few deep breaths in the kitchen.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Another movie, more food, though you did sit closer to him and set the bear beside you. Agonizing, but he was still happy to feel your soft shoulder against yours.

Saturday was when you were going to meet your friends, presumably to talk about your date. Marcus busied himself by cleaning that apartment, his car, even went by the office to clean that too. But it reminded him of where he had first met you, heard your voice, laugh and saw how open of a person you are. It was then that he took a whiteboard home and started planning. Treat the issue like a case, you had already promised him eternity after forty, what was a few years earlier? Use the gift he already bought you and put a ring pop in there, he’d need to figure out your ring size later. Dessert would be brownies with chocolate marshmallow ice cream after the lo mien that neither of you had finished yet. The agent would keep it casual, opting for his blue Henley shirt that showed off a bit of his chest and his favorite pair of jeans. He had overheard a conversation between you and some of your female colleagues about how his ass looked like ripe peaches in his jeans. You had agreed and took it further saying that you had to make sure to look up so you wouldn’t stare because friends don’t stare at each other in that manner. Marcus also knew he needed to actually plan what he was going to say to you instead of just winging it. That was a disaster.

At lunch, you told your friends how your date went, boring and that you didn’t want to have anymore right now please. The nodded and finally seemed to get that you were not going to keep entertaining dating just because. The same one who called you a dumbass before asked if you could see yourself with Marcus in the future. Taking a long sip of your mojito, you nodded and finally said the words aloud: “Yes I could. I just…don’t want to pressure him. He’s always been so sweet and accommodating with me and my weirdness.” All at the table shook their heads, assuring her that she wasn’t weird, it just took her longer to open up to people. The encouraged you just to talk to him, assuming takes his choice out of things.

Agent Pike texted you to say that he was stopping by tonight. You had showered after you came home thank goodness, and we’re dressed in one of your house dresses, it ran to your mid-thigh with thin straps that let your bra peek out from under it. The scoop neck showed the tops of your breasts when you bent over. You were nervous for the first time in months since Marcus had started coming to your apartment. Pacing back and forth while holding onto JD the teddy.

Marcus knocked at your door. He hadn’t done so since the first few times he had been to your place. He was holding two bags, one with ice cream and the other with your gifts. You opened the door for him and invited him in, the air heavy with things unsaid. Marcus smiled and put the ice cream in the freezer and set the gift bag on the kitchen island. The bear formed a barrier between yourself and your agent. He asked you to put the bear down and look at him directly, that it was important. You hugged him as you couldn’t make eye contact with him, Pike didn’t mind, he was enveloped in your softness, he hoped not for the last time.

One hand traced the outline of your bra and the other rubbed the back of your neck, a small sigh left your lips at his warm fingers. You took a step back but Marcus didn’t let go, his hand held your cheek, a thumb outlined our cheek. You didn’t flinch from his touch, your eyes closed, still fine, not panicked at all. You feel safe, like he sees you, accepts you, and does in fact care about you. Pike went to speak but you shook your head. He kissed your forehead and spoke away.

“I need to tell you. I have to tell you. I don’t want to wait until we’re forth. Not that I wanted to be married now and not that I don’t want to marry you later I…” Marcus was rambling. He did have a speech, he practiced it, why does it never come out right!

You shook your head again and leaned forward to put your lips to his, they were as silky as you hoped. Your tip-toes hurt so you leaned back and flashed a smile at him.

“Marcus stay with me, won’t you? We don’t have to get married now. I’m happy with you, happiest I’ve ever been.”

Pike couldn’t believe what just happened, not only a kiss but a promise of a future together. He would worry about the bag later because now he had you in his arms as he had aspired to for months.

The Tag list:

@fhatbhabie @morallyinept @pedritapascal @pascalsanctuary @nissaimmortal @grogusmum @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @goodwithcheese @iamasaddie @psychedelic-ink @modernperplexity @pamasaur @pedrodascal @marcus-is-my-muse @clawdee @mintypossum @trulybetty @perotovar @joelslegalwhre @josephquinnswhore @mandoisapunk @awilderi @deviinci @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime @tessa-quayle @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @magpiepillsjunior @intoanotherworld23 @beabliss

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list. 🤗

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #Marcus pike x plus size reader #marcus pike fluff #Marcus pike possessive #Pike pool #the mentalist

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reader6898 · 2 months

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Self care

Pairing: Tup x female reader

Summary: you and Tup have a self care day when he comes back from a mission

Warning: just cute fluff. Can be seen either as platonic or romantic

A/n: having a self care day with any of the clones would be amazing

You were puttering around in your room trying to clean up when your door slides open and Tup walks in. He lies down face first on your bed and you smiled as you folded up some clothes. "How was the mission? Successful I hope?" Tup mumbled something about the general and the mission going wrong as usual and you laughed a little. You walk over to Tup once your clothes are put away and lie down next to him in your small bed. Tup pulls you close and buries his face on your hair. How he's missed the scent of your fruity shampoo.

"Hey, I have an idea." You stand up and walk into your fresher to grab what you need. Once you find all the supplies you walk out and sit back down next to Tup. He looks over at what you have and looks at all of it with a curious look. "What is all of that stuff, mesh'la?" You throw your hair up in a ponytail and give him a smile. "You and I are going to have a self care day." Tup raises his eyebrows as he sits up. "What's a self care day?" You giggled as you moved behind the clone and fixed his bun. "You pretty much dedicate the day to yourself and can do anything you want. Go shopping, seeing a holo movie, eat at a restaurant, anything you want. In our case it's face masks, painting our nails, and if you're up to it braiding our hair. We can even put cucumbers on our eyes and relax with one of my soothing meditation tapes. It'll be like a little spa day."

Tup listened to you explain everything and by the time you had finished he liked the idea. "I like it. It sounds really fun, mesh'la." You clapped your hands and grabbed your supplies with everything needed for a manicure. You rummaged through your basket and found your nail file. You took one of Tup's hands and started on his nails. While you gave him a manicure Tup looked at all your nail polish and decided on a color. "Can you do that color. I want it to match my armor." You looked at the color he was holding up and smiled. "Of course. It's the perfect color." Tup puts the blue colored nail polish on top so that you could access it and let's you get back to work.

A few hours later the rest of torrent company were on the hunt for Tup to see if he wanted to join them at 79s and they had a hunch that he was with you so they made their way to your room. You two were inseperable and even though they made of fun of their brother for it they found it cute that Tup was spending time with someone that wasn't one of them.

"We should invite her too. Maybe she could get us drinks that aren't the free stuff." "Shut it Fives. last time she bought us drinks you ran her dry and she ended up having to work twice as hard to earn back all those credits." Fives rolled his eyes at Kix. "That was one time." "Just keep walking you di'kut." The group of men made it to your room and knocked. They heard a sigh and once you told them to come in your door slid open and they stepped inside.

"Tup, we wanted to.." "What the.." "Tup'ika?", Fives asked. "What are you doing?" Jesse, Hardcase, Dogma, Fives, Kix, and Echo stood there as all of them looked at the two of you. You and Tup were sitting on your bed with face masks, cucumber slices on your eyes, your hair braided, and your nails freshly painted in 501st blue with your calming music going, and you had somehow managed to sneak a difuser on board which sat on your nightstand and had that on as well with your room being filled by the smell of jasmine.

"What does it look like? We're relaxing." All of them look at the two of you with weird looks and you move one of the cucumber slices to look at them. "Did you need something boys?" Echo cleared his throat before speaking. "We just wanted to invite the two of you to 79s but I can see that you are currently occupied." You smiled at Echo. "Thank you but maybe later. Oh, and close your mouths. all of you look stupid. Have you never seen someone relax before?" The men close their mouths as they had nothing to say and they quickly make their way out of your room as they mutter goodbye to the two of you.

As soon as the door slides shut you lie back against the wall and put the cucumber slice back on your eye. "Dik'uts." "I'll say." Tup turns up the music and the two of you get back to your self care day.

Tagging: @anxiouspineapple99 @techs-stitches @moonlightwarriorqueen @trixie2023 @523rdrebel @cw80831 @multi-fan-dom-madness @rexxdjarin @the-rain-on-kamino @the-bad-batch-baroness @deejadabbles @sunshinesdaydream @wings-and-beskar @wizardofrozz @sev-on-kamino @cloneloverrrrr @starrylothcat @dystopicjumpsuit @eternal-transcience

#star wars #tup x reader #tup x female reader #the clone wars #clone trooper jesse #clone trooper echo #clone trooper fives #clone trooper kix #clone trooper dogma #clone trooper hardcase #female reader #clone trooper tup

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heygerald · 2 years

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OLD HABITS DIE HARD - Part 1

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x oc

After years away, Lt. Zoe “Buzzard” Preston is back in Miramar as a candidate for a top secret mission. She’s excited for it, ready too. Her entire career has been building up to this moment. What she’s a little less excited for is a reunion with a starry eyed, smart-mouthed pilot who had broken her heart the first time around. Maybe, just maybe, this time she’ll be able to finally put him in her rearview mirror. Or maybe she’ll be forced to face the things that she preferred to keep in the dust.

Keep reading here: ... / part 2 / part 3 / *bonus chapter* / part 4 / part 5 / *bonus chapter* / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / *say yes*

Five years. Ten months. Give or take a handful of weeks. A number of days.

A shit load of time.

And yet, very little changed at Miramar during it. Sure, The Hard Deck had gotten a new owner who brought out all the bells and whistles; model plans and mugs hung from thousands of hooks in the ceilings. A new wave of steadfast patrons had filed in since the first glimmer of sunset on the California coast. New beer on tap left the old souls searching for something hoppy but cold, delicious but traditional. The parking lot had gotten a new coat of tarmac. The beach had gotten some new nets for volleyball and an array of food trucks. The base had gotten in a new era of plans, a change in CO a few times over, and the barracks had a fresh splattering of paint on them.

But, as Lieutenant Zoe Preston stared up at the open doors with sandy feet and sunkissed skin, she could still hear the familiar crow of laughter and insults and egos that somehow managed to float above the Jukebox.

Not much had changed, she figured, not where it mattered.

A group of sailors whistled at her as she strode by. Familiar faces from her stint at Miramar half a decade earlier mixed with some unfamiliar faces that she wouldn’t care to remember come morning.

“Boys,” she winked.

One of them, a mechanic named Mason who had spent more than one weekend trying to buy her a drink, tipped his beer at her with a devious smirk.

“Back so soon, Preston?”

“You know me,” she gave a lofty glance at the blinking sign. “I could never say no to a little bit of trouble.”

“Yeah, well, trouble is already waiting for you inside. I think you’re the last to show up,” he noted.

He held the door open as she stepped inside, took a deep whiff of sandalwood and spilt beer, watched as the crowd swept around her like she was a buoy out at sea. Penny wiped down the bar top with a rag while chatting amicably with a dark haired man that looked a flicker too familiar from his side profile, but her gaze quickly moved on to the crowd at the pool table just beyond.

A crowd that she knew too well, bickering with a tone that she would never quite forget.

“I’m surprised that you made it here at all, Bradshaw.”

“Why? Didn’t think I might be in your tail wind?”

“Thought you might run out of jet fuel before you made it to the shoreline,” Hangman shot back. There was the familiar wisp of a smirk on his face as he rattled the pool balls with a swift flick of his wrist. Zoe didn’t need to know whether he was stripes or solid to know that he was winning—it was, afterall, the one thing that he did best in life.

Maybe the only thing he did well.

“You know, considering that you always burn your fuel instead of making a decision,” came the punchline of his cloying insult; barely loud enough to be heard above the crowd.

Rooster shook his head. A few sun-streaked wisps of hair bounced on his forehead, and Zoe bit back a smile as she drew closer. Time away had done him good; it had bronzed his skin and made him look a little bit more like the Bradshaw that she knew rather than the one people whispered about when they realized who his dad was.

“I don’t need you to worry about me, Bagman. I made it here all on my own.”

“That’s not entirely true, is it?” Hangman pointed his pool stick at Rooster before turning back to the table with a snicker. He smacked the cue ball once more, sending several balls into their designated pockets, before grinning at anyone who would give him their attention. Meandering—more like prancing—to the other side of the table where the cue ball laid in waiting, he tutted, “Phoenix over here was practically begging for you to show up. She needs someone to keep her tail up, afterall.”

“Fuck off, Bagman,” Phoenix clipped, arms loosely crossed over her chest.

“It’s Hangman. And it’s true. Not to worry though, you got Bob now. That should be great for your skillset. I’m sure he’s worthy of your time.”

The WSO in question—one Zoe didn’t recognize but could already tell that he might be the brunt of everyone’s humor if his stunned silence was anything to go by—twisted a little uncomfortably at the side of the group, spectacles perched on the top of his nose as he glanced between his new pilot and the man who had just taken a pool stick out of his hands. He hadn’t even put up a fight for it; just let the betrayal happen while remaining respectful to all parties involved.

Phoenix pulled her lips tight as Hangman lined up his last shot, retort coming.

Zoe, not for the first time, delighted in beating her to the punch.

“Considering that fact that Phoenix had a better run score than you did, Bagman, I thought you would have grown a little bit more appreciative of her skills after all these years.”

Phoenix spun on her heel. Hangman jerked his wrist, sending the cue ball wildly spinning into a pocket on the opposite corner of the table, missing the eight ball entirely. Yale grinned as Zoe stepped forward into the group; laughter lighting up his eyes as he looked her over.

“Holy shit,” Phoenix crowed. “Buzz! In the flesh!”

“What’d you expect?” Zoe quipped back, arms still crossed as she grinned at the room.

“I expected you to be in a metal grave by now,” Harvard taunted. Though, when she narrowed her eyes in his direction, his face loosened into the flicker of a smile. Odd friends, even odder enemies, she supposed. “Guess the name still fits, though, huh?”

“Yours doesn’t. You’re still the stupidest fucker I know.”

The ones who didn’t know Zoe watched the scene carefully. The ones that did know Zoe let her insults wash over, taking them as seriously as a grain of salt knowing that she was always quick to snarl but slow to bite. Yale snorted as he patted Harvard on the shoulder, earning a glare from the former, but then laughter, true and hearty, broke through the tension. Phoenix cut through the space the quickest to pull Zoe into a bone crushing hug. They knocked boots so hard that the pair nearly went careening down to the floor, and if it weren’t for Rooster propping her up with a warm hand to the shoulder, they might have made real asses of themselves.

“I should have known you would be here,” Phoenix muttered into her ear.

When she let go, Rooster was quick to pull her into a looser, if not warmer hug that made Zoe’s face crack open with a happy smile. It had been too long since she saw them; too long since her and Phoenix were tearing the tarmac up during Top Gun and since her and Rooster were getting drunk at the local bar.

“You think I’d miss this shitshow?”

“Shitshow?” Hangman echoed, offended almost.

His face was tight as he looked her over; green eyes scouring every inch of her. She looked the same, she knew, but different in the best of ways. Like how her hair was longer, skin was healthier, and bones were stronger. If he noticed, though, he made no indication. Just let that stupid smirk of his draw his features as he leaned onto the pool table with the cue stick in hand.

“I think we’re in trouble if that’s all this is,” he told her half-heartedly. “Though, I get it. The talent is a bit lacking.”

“Self retrospection, Seresin? How progressive of you.”

He snorted. Sorta. It was more a mix of a startled laugh and then an annoyed grunt when he realized she had gotten a laugh out of him at all. Zoe figured that was pretty on par for him, though.

The way his smile seemed to tighten at the edges, however, wasn’t.

“Always quick with the quips, Preston,” he returned to the table. Somehow, despite his mess-up upon her arrival, he was still winning. It wouldn’t take him long now to sink the eight ball into the corner if he was anything like the guy she knew. “Hopefully, you’re just as quick with the maneuvers.”

“Scared?”

“Bored and looking for a good competition.”

The group rolled their eyes in unison at that. Phoenix, maybe, the hardest. Her and Hangman had hated one another since day one when he insinuated that she shouldn’t be a pilot just because she lacked the balls (both physically and metaphorically) for the job. Of course, he had shut up about that as soon as Zoe shot him down during an exercise. Still, the wound had never fully healed over their years apart. It seemed that the distance had only left the wounded ego to fester even further.

She turned her back on him to face Rooster and Zoe.

“Were neither of you going to tell me that you were back in the states?”

They shared a look.

“You want a beer?” Rooster asked Zoe, not even attempting to seem like he was avoiding the argument at hand. She smiled back. “Yeah. I’m gonna get us some beers.”

He disappeared into the crowd. Phoenix put her hands on her hips.

“Coward!” she shouted after him.

“Big words from a little lady like yourself, P.”

“You’re such a dick,” she said, but the insult was clearly lacking malice. Instead, as the two women stared at one another, they both found themselves laughing at the idiocy of it all. Phoenix shook her head before pulling two other pilots into the conversation. “Fanboy, Payback, meet my sister from our early days at Top Gun. Zoe ‘Buzzard’ Preston. Buzz for short.”

“You two were in the same class?” Fanboy asked.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Phoenix laughed at the memory as Zoe winked at the boys in succession. “We were the best there was. Other than Bagman, of course. Buzz was almost number one, too; would have been if it wasn’t Seresin’s tendency to leave everyone else out to dry just for the sake of being an asshole.”

Payback laughed. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that vibe.”

“Just wait till you get to know him a little better,” Zoe said.

She wasn’t exactly bitter about the whole second place thing, not anymore anyways. But she still was a little hurt—no matter how much she wanted to believe that she wasn’t—that he had so carelessly tossed their relationship into the trash over such a trivial little thing as a medal. Second place was fine by her, anyways. She got a good station and a successful career to boot. One that brought her back here of all places; right alongside him.

First place couldn’t mean all that much, then, could it?

“I’d recommend never expecting him to be your wingman,” she snarked.

Perhaps, maybe, just a little bit, bitter. But who could blame her? She deserved to have a little bit of bitterness even after all this time. Hangman seemed worthy of it seeing as how his ego had yet to be reigned in after all these years.

“In a bar or in the sky?” Fanboy asked.

Phoenix laughed around the neck of her beer. “Either,” she told them.

The boys shared a look; a silent conversation passing between that could only truly exist between a pilot and his WSO. No one bothered to ask what the conversation itself was about. The girls didn’t care enough to inquire, nor did they want to have a peek into the pair’s head just hours before their first training exercise.

That could all wait till tomorrow when it really mattered.

“So, what sort of name is Buzzard, anyways?” Fanboy asked after a moment.

“I don’t know. What sort of name is Fanboy? You a Belieber or something?”

Payback guffawed into his drink, earning a hard elbow to the gut from his WSO. He winced, but didn’t apologize. Just wiped the spilt beer off his chin with a smile and said, “during flight school, he was always ending up in the nursing bay for one thing or another. We joked that it was to make his fans happy. The nurses all had heart eyes for him at one point or another.”

“You accident prone, Fanboy?”

“Just like to please the ladies when I can,” he shot back. Phoenix faked a gag while Zoe rolled her eyes humorously. Not one to let it go, though, he turned his gaze back to her to ask again. “But, seriously? What’s with all the bird names around here? First there’s Phoenix, then Rooster, now Buzzard? I mean, I know that you two are birds and all, but Rooster doesn’t exactly fit the bill.”

Payback snickered. “Well, Rooster fits it better than they do seeing as he actually has a co--oof!”

He keeled forward at the waist, moaning in dramatics from where Phoenix had sent her elbow swiftly into his stomach. A little green in the face, he held his hands up as if to offer an apology, while mumbling, “alright, geez. Sorry, Mom. It was just a joke.”

“Her name has nothing to do with her genitals,” Phoenix tutted, almost proudly.

“A weird way to defend me, but still true,” Zoe snarked at her friend. When she got the tail-end of Phoenix’s glare, however, she stepped far enough away that she wasn’t in reach of the woman’s elbows. It sent her backing up into Bob who quickly apologized—as if it was his fault in the first place—before moving to her opposite side so that Zoe had the free space next to the pool table. “How does anyone get their nickname, Fanboy? I didn’t pick it. It was given to me. Take it up with flight school, yeah?”

“There has to be some sort of meaning.”

She harrumphed, knowing damn well there was a meaning. “Well, it’s—”

“It’s because when everyone else is dead,” a smooth voice cut through the fold. The four turned to find Hangman standing over their shoulder, bent over the edge of the pool table about to take his turn. He blinked up at the group, green eyes burning a line down her face, before swiftly turning away. “She’s the only one left circling the bodies. Earned the name in the early days when she was somewhat good at training exercises. More so that she just knows how to run away without getting shot, though.”

He punctuated his statement by throwing his arm forward. The cue ball clacked against the eight ball, sending it into the corner at the far left of the table, leaving Yale and Harvard to groan about losing to him so quickly. Ego stocked, she watched Hangman stand to his full height with a smirk.

“Isn’t that right, Preston?”

There was something suave about how he spoke, a staccato that Zoe had missed in their years apart, but something burning and sharp and deadly all the same. All those years ago she had been convinced she was in love with him because of who he was beneath the moonlight when no one else was around, but years apart had made her realize that she was really just addicted to the adrenaline of him. It was no different than the job. Her hands twitched and her brow would pool sweat and her heart would thump a rhythm in her chest that made her feel more alive then she would ever know anywhere else when he fixed her with his attention.

But then just as quickly when he moved his attention elsewhere, she would return to the tarmac, her head would clear, and she would be forced to remember that who he was in the moonlight wasn’t the real him. Not really anyways. Who he was in the moonlight was just the version of him that she was attracted to; the soft side, the caring side, the side that made her feel seen.

And what good was all that when his prominent side was like this. A total dick.

“Well, you would know,” she shot back. “You were dead all those times, afterall.”

His smile twitched a little, eyes darkening, before he got his footing.

“Still got number one, though.”

Her smirk became a little less of a smile and a little more of a snarl. It was so easy to fall into this quibble with him, fall back into dangerous patterns, and if the bar was a little bit shittier and a little less packed, Zoe might have thought that no time had passed at all.

But it did.

And she was glad for it.

“Still don’t have anyone to watch your back, though. Do you?”

For the second time that night, she watched his smirk twitch a little at the side. Almost as if what she was saying actually broke through his exterior to leave a mark on the man beneath. She doubted that was the case; quickly scolded herself for thinking that he was capable of having a hurt pride at all, let alone from someone like her.

Old habits die hard, she supposed, but they do die.

Hangman cracked his mouth open to make a retort, no doubt rude and egotistical, but before he could the music from the jukebox cut off. The bar groaned, heads turning left and right to figure out what had happened, before someone started keying up the piano. Zoe heard the first notes of a familiar song, and turned to Phoenix with a knowing grin.

“Leave it to Rooster to sniff out a piano.”

“Are you complaining?” Phoenix grabbed a few of the boys; Fanboy, Payback, Coyote, and even Bob, before ushering them excitedly towards the other side of the bar. “I guess you’re not getting that beer any time soon.”

“Probably shouldn’t have expected anything less. Rooster is so cheap sometimes.”

Phoenix threw her head back with a laugh before disappearing into the crowd. The pool tables were suddenly much less crowded as the bar patrons slowly started to be pulled to where the music was. Hangman stood amidst it all, cue stick limp in hand, gaping in confusion.

“What the hell happened to the jukebox?” he asked.

Zoe snickered. He blinked at her with a small frown. She just arched a brow in retort before grabbing his beer off the side of the table to take a swig.

“Rooster might not be an egomaniac like you, but he still loves to sing,” she said as if it were a simple truth. “Besides, you have a shit taste in music.”

“I—I don’t,” he said. Then his frown deepened into a scowl as he snagged his beer back out of her hands. Despite not having qualms when she insulted him earlier, he didn’t seem to be excited about how she was jumping to Rooster’s defense so easily. “What’s with you two, anyways? You fucking or something?”

She rolled her eyes. “As if I’d ever date a pilot again.”

“Doesn’t mean that you’re not fucking.”

“Alright,” she narrowed her eyes in turn, mouth pinching a little bit at the unpleasurable turn of conversation. She forgot he could sour things so effortlessly. “No. We’re not fucking. Not that it’s any of your business if we were.”

“Then—?”

“What’s the saying, Bagman? Birds of a feather tend to stick together?” she said with a forceful loftiness, enjoying his misery a little too much for anything else.

“He’s a dickhead.”

“And you’re an asshole.”

“He can’t fly.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Jake pinched his mouth tighter, gripped his beer a little harder. “He’s a total tool.”

“Careful, Seresin,” she quipped, enjoying his bad attitude even less now that the conversation was beginning to reach murky waters. Still, a smirk and sarcasm were as good as duct tape in a situation like this; able to manage today what she could worry about fixing tomorrow. “You almost sound jealous of him.”

He went stiff beside her.

“Please,” he scoffed as if the entire idea was ridiculous. Though, when his eyes darted to the crowded piano on the far side of the bar where the crowd was now raucously joining in on singing, she caught the briefest flicker of uncertainty. “I’ve heard all about Bradshaw through the rumor mill. He isn’t half the pilot he thinks he is. He’s more likely to stall out than to make a kill.”

“What? Like you?”

“I have the record for a reason.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” she muttered.

“Maybe if someone else here had made a kill, I would. But, I doubt that will happen anytime soon. Especially not when they select me as team leader. I make the shots; both the kill and the instructions.”

Zoe sighed.

Yeah, she thought with a brief flicker of misery, things really didn’t change.

“Glad to see that you’re still the same after all these years,” she rolled her eyes. She watched his eyes brighten, mouth quirking upwards, but before he could let the insult be taken as a compliment, she added, “You’re still an asshole who cares more about being number one than anything else. Like, you know, the fact that not everything is about being a pilot.”

The brightness froze in his eyes instantly, before he was frowning at her, eyebrows knit tightly in the middle of his forehead. It was, perhaps, the most genuine reaction he had given her yet.

“That’s not true.”

“And you’re still a shit liar, Seresin.”

He stared at her. Gaped, almost. Green eyes somehow both dark and bright as they swept over her features, looking for something, though she wasn’t sure what. She simply stared back, looking for something, though she wasn’t so sure of what that was either.

“Look, Zoe, I—”

“Jesus Christ, Buzz, what the fuck is going on here?” an amused voice cut through their staring contest like a knife through water.

Zoe turned to find Dylan ‘Stitch’ Chutsky looming over her with damp hair and glistening skin, the curl of a smile burning a line across his pale features as he glanced around the bar. It was easy for him to do given the foot of height he had on Zoe, and not for the first time, she found herself relieved in her WSO’s presence. He had a uncanny habit of showing up at the worst of times with his endless snark and pointed insults.

Right now, however, as she let out a breath of tension that she didn’t even realize she had been holding, wasn’t one of them.

Stitch arched a sharp brow with an equally sharp grin before asking, “are we on American Idol right now or is everyone in the bar just really fucking drunk already?”

She laughed, allowing her shoulders to lose a little bit of their stress.

“Rooster found a piano,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Stitch nodded as if it did. “The jukebox is out? I thought Penny would have replaced that old shit box with one that worked properly by now.”

“Something like that,” she simpered with a glance at the blonde beside her. She could tell that Hangman was trying to keep that damned smirk of his plastered in place, but as she poked a little more at Rooster’s musical talent, it flickered at the edges. “He always did like the attention, though.”

Stitch hummed. “I forgot he could do that.”

“Sing?”

“Make an entire bar of people fall in love with him because he knows how to play a few keys on a piano.”

“I wouldn’t say that they’re in love with him. He’s just playing a song that everybody knows,” Hangman argued, a little hot for the easy conversation that had been passing between the pair.

They both turned to look at him. Stitch, blinking as if he only just recognized his presence, didn’t seem all that bothered by his acrid tone. Zoe, on the other hand, felt a headache forming when she noted the way his gaze swept over Stitch condescendingly.

“Who are you?”

“Stitch.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me? I’ve never heard of you.”

Stitch let out a bark of laughter; not entirely amused, but certainly not unamused. He always did walk that fine line, enjoying a little bit of chaos in his life as if hurtling around enemy air space inside a jet wasn’t enough. “I’m her WSO, asshat,” he shot back. His tone was just as acrid, but the easy going smile on his face made it seem a little less so. “Who the hell are you?”

“Hangman.”

“You’re Hangman?”

“Heard a lot about me?” Jake stood a little straight, puffed out his chest.

It deflated almost as quickly when Stitch just belted out another mean laugh, shaking his head while sharing a look with Zoe that certainly couldn’t have been construed as complementary. “Nothing you’d want me to repeat. I got to say, though, that you’re a lot smaller than I expected. With all those rumors flying about, I would have thought your shoulders would have been bigger. Y’know, to withstand the weight of your ginormous fucking head.”

Hangman’s smile turned icy, harsh. “Why don’t you dial it back a bit, buddy. You’re not even a pilot.”

“As if I haven’t heard that one before.”

Hangman floundered for a moment at Stitch’s apparent inability to take insult no matter how insulting someone could be. Shaking his head, his eyes darted to meet Zoe’s. She tried to stifle her smile when he did so, but, if she were being honest, it was hilarious to watch Stitch ding Hangman’s vanity without even breaking a sweat.

Especially when she had spent the better part of their first two years together telling Stitch about all the different ways that Jake ‘Hangman” Seresin had broken her heart to smithereens.

“What happened to Nantucket?” Hangman asked her after a moment.

“He got reassigned,” she shrugged. They had been through a hell of a lot back at Top Gun, but almost immediately after he got himself reassigned for losing his temper one too many times. She had been sad to see her partner go after so much blood, sweat, and tears together, but Stitch had been the best replacement anyone could ask for. Now, five years after the fact, she hardly ever thought about her former WSO. “Stitch has been with me ever since.”

Hangman harrumphed. “I liked Nantucket,” he said; the implication was clear.

“Well, I’m sure you would, Nantucket never had a problem with you abandoning us during the training exercises because of his little man crush on you. Stitch has a bit more of a backbone. Makes it a lot easier to like someone when they actually have your back up in the sky.”

There was that flicker again in his eyes, the tightness of his smile.

She ignored it to nudge Stitch towards the piano.

“C’mon, let’s go sing. Rooster is gonna want to talk to you, anyways. You still owe him money from that bet, remember? Back in Miami.”

Stitch threw his head back with a groan. “Fuck! I forgot about that. You think he’d take a lap dance as payment? I have, like, ten dollars in my bank account right now. Apparently buying stock in Blockbuster isn’t as lucrative as one might have expected.”

She shoved him forward with an incredulous laugh. The things that he said were always so out of pocket that it was almost impossible not to laugh at him, but clearly he didn’t think his financial woes were as humorous as she did, and in response he flashed her a scandalized look over his shoulder.

“I’m serious, Buzz,” he huffed. “I might need to start panhandling for money soon. Or, worse, I might have to move in with you. Imagine the impact that will have on my sex life.”

“Just go,” Zoe gave him another shove, another laugh, and was about to follow when a hand circled around her wrist; gentle but firm, warm but ice cold.

“Buzz.”

Zoe turned to find Hangman staring at her with a look that she couldn’t quite place; a look that she wasn’t sure she had ever seen him wear. Was that regret? Or disgust? Longing? Or was he about to tell her to keep their former relationship to herself because he didn’t want to give the other pilots any sort of leg up on him during training?

She used to think that she knew everything about him. Every quirk, every smile.

But that wasn’t actually true. And it certainly wasn’t true anymore.

“I—” he paused, floundered a little bit, eyes darting around the packed room as he took a deep breath. She furrowed her brows at him with a glance at the hand circled around her wrist, not liking the way her skin still smoldered under his touch after all these years. He noticed her gaze, and a moment later Zoe watched as he settled back onto his heels while licking his lips, hand dropping from her wrist. “Be careful trusting Rooster up there. The kid tends to freak out when he’s under pressure.”

Zoe frowned, bewildered.

It seemed like he wanted to say something more, but he never did, and she had grown tired of waiting for something from him that would never come.

Why did she always expect so much from him?

Shaking her own head, she shot him a winning grin that was as acidic as it was bitter along the edges. “I think you’re the last person that gets to lecture me about trust, Bagman.

He frowned at the use of the nickname that everyone had shoved upon him for his behavior up in the sky. And it did hurt a little to say; hurt when she knew how much it actually bothered him. But then she reminded herself that she didn’t care—couldn’t waste her time caring, not again—and quickly started shoving her way through the crowd. Rooster had finished his song now, but there were yells for him to sing something else, and by the time she got to a free spot at the piano, he was already banging another tune onto the keys with his shoulders thrown back.

Phoenix smiled at her, then glanced over her shoulder, and asked, “you good?”

“Sure,” she shrugged.

“Hangman’s an asshole,” the brunette replied, as if that could fix everything from the past. It wouldn’t, they both knew, but it wouldn’t be the last time that Phoenix tried to remind Zoe of that fact either. “Don’t worry about him, though. Bob and I got your back. Right Bob?”

The bespectacled WSO glanced between the woman in confusion. “Uh, right. Yep. Yes ma’am. That’s the job, anyways. I got your back.”

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about, do you?” Zoe asked with a wry smile.

He hesitated.

Laughing, Zoe forgave him as soon as she threw a hand over his shoulder. “You and Stitch are gonna get along great. Maybe a little too, well, actually,” she said while rustling his hair. “In fact, don’t ever offer to do him a favor no matter how charming he might seem. You seem a little too nice to end up in the county jail for that idiot.”

Bob didn’t seem too convinced. “Sounds good to me, ma’am.”

Zoe laughed again. There was something entirely too sweet about the little man tucked beneath her arm. Something endearing that would likely get spit out if he didn’t also know how to piss people off.

Maybe Hangman could teach him a thing or two about being upfront with people.

As if knowing where her mind went, Phoenix added, “I don’t know what you ever saw in that guy, by the way. Once you get past the rakishly nice face, you see that everything else is a total shitstorm.”

“Since when do you call Hangman rakish?”

“Since I have a pair of eyes and the sunset lighting seems to make his skin glow. Plus, I saw the way you looked at each other, as if no time had actually passed,” Phoenix told her with a knowing look. Zoe scowled a little. Particularly when Bob’s gaze darted towards the blonde in question upon learning that little nugget of information. “It’s hard not to, really. I’m just trying to play along with it so that you’ll finally listen to me this time. No dick is worth that.”

“There’s nothing there, anymore, P.”

“That’s exactly what you said last time too.”

“Yeah, well, this time I mean it,” Zoe rolled her eyes. She shot Bob a scowl when he raised his brows at her from beneath his glasses, clearly not convinced despite not even knowing the majority of her story. He blushed at being caught, but didn’t apologize. Groaning at them all, she said, “I’m serious! Hangman is a has-been. I’m onto better and brighter things now.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

“Don’t make me kick your ass, P. It’s early in the night but I will.”

Her brunette companion grinned. “As if you could.”

Zoe let out a noise of incredulity, but before she could make good on her threat, Stitch was inserting himself into the equation with a beer in each hand. Sometimes, she swore that he had a sixth sense about when to interrupt conversations. She minded a little bit less when he offered her one of his beers—half empty already, she noted, but said nothing—before he was sucking down the other with a curious glance at the trio.

“What’d I miss?” he asked.

Zoe glared at Phoenix, daring her to bring up Hangman to her WSO. Wisely, she said nothing. That left Bob to clear his throat and say, “uh… something about shots?”

Stitch didn’t even question it. Just threw his head back with a wild grin.

“Shots!” he shouted.

Phoenix laughed as she followed him to the bar, Bob in tow, leaving Zoe to shake her head after them with a hearty laugh. When she did follow, she ignored the pair of mossy green eyes that followed her towards the bar, and when she threw her shot back with a cry, she definitely didn’t think about how that has-been still tended to make her feel.

#jake hangman seresin #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #top gun maverick #top gun imagine #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin imagine #angst #fanfiction #i tried?#more to come #old habits die hard

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multifandomweirdo11 · 1 year

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Hello! This is my intro post for this Blog! 🎄🕎

This post will cover the fandoms I’m in and what I post on here.

•DNI ❌•

Zoophiles, MAPs, Proshippers, Xenophobes, Racists and Homophobes/Transphobes

• INTERACT PLZ 🫶•

Fandoms of these types of media;

YTTD — I LOVE YTTD. ONE OF MY FIRST DEATH GAME HYPER-FIXATIONS. (KeiSara and KaiSara shippers, especially, DNI.) WOULD LOVE TO DIVE DEEPER INTO THIS GAME, BUT SPOILERS SO.

Amphibia — I love this show SO much! The dynamics between Sasha, Anne and Marcy are immaculate and play off of the frogs, toads and newts so well; you have to watch this show if you haven’t yet. This goes for the whole list BTW. ^^

Owl House — I love this show, but I feel less of a connection than Amphibia because I watched Amphibia first ;-; THE BEST thing about this show is the characters. Amity, Raine, Hunter, Luz and Gus are the best characters IMO.

Deltarune — OMIGOSH PLZ TALK TO ME DELTARUNE FANS. TELL ME ALL OF YOUR THEORIES AND HC’s. If you cannot tell, I love Toby Fox games. Especially this one. I am Noelle (real) /j. Love all of the characters in this game. Not one I don’t like. (Maybe King -7-)

LOVE UNDERTALE. Don’t think I have to say that since they’re probably connected, (sorry Toby i just don’t trust you when you say that they aren’t ;u;) I will post about Undertale when we get news relating to the game!

Walten Files — Woah, if you’re reading this part this probably means you at least know what this is. Yeah that analog horror videos on YouTube. Also TW if you watch this… Uhh, used to be really into this one, but my interest has faded. I will be all over TWF4 whenever it comes out, but until now I’ll be posting about it scarcely. (SOPHIE AND JENNY KINNIES I SEE YOU OUT THERE.)

Disventure Camp — YES, THIS IS BETTER THAN TDAS, TDPI AND TDA. And yes, that was my opinion ofc. Anyway, more about Disventure Camp… ALLY, TESS AND HUNTER ARE ALL IN A POLY-RELATIONSHIP. Again, my opinion, but it makes so much sense! I’ll ofc respect your opinions. Also Aiden and James all the way.

Also I will interact with some Total Drama content, but not heavily. (Dave, Cameron and Sky IRLS DNI.)

Danganrompa Another — SORA AND YOUROKO IS MY COMFORT SHIP. Respect to Weeby Newz (YT) for getting me into this amazing fangan. So much better than the Source material. I recommend this fan-game for everyone but HUGE TW for the first game and a even bigger one for the sequel. We all meme on Mitch here. (Anyone glorifying Mitch Higa without being ironic DNI)

Danganrompa Edens Garden — OOH THE PROLOGUE LOOKED SO GOOD. If you’re looking for a alternative from the problematic air around the Main Danganrompa games, look no further than this game. ME AND JETT DAWSON ARE LITERALLY DATING. but … if I can’t have him cause he’s not real … he can date Mark. BUT I WONT BE HAPPY ABOUT IT. /j (I’m also a MarkDawson shipper so <: )

Inanimate Insanity — POSSIBLY MY OLDEST AND FIRST HYPER-FIXATION?? Bright lights forever! Anyway,,, Plot and Pacing: 2nd Season. Quality: 3rd Season. Sorry not sorry, the First season is problematic and unfunny. Anyway Cabby can marry me. (/hj) This animated YouTube series is so good!

I also do like other Object Shows! BFDI and ONEhfj are some I love. the ones I will post about will probably II and TPOT

Dead End: Paranormal Park — I NEED THE BOOKS AHHH. Love this show for the amazing Rep alone. THAT ALSO GOES FOR THE OWL HOUSE AS WELL. The story is great. It’s somehow Realistic and Supernatural at the same time!!?!

Omori — I like this game! The story is intriguing and heartbreaking </3 My Omori phase is passing away, sadly.

More Info About me:

If you’ve scrolled this far, you prolly wanna know more.

I’m Gay (MLM) and use They/it/he pronouns ofc!

I’m into Graphic design and MIGHT be getting a vinyl sticker printer soon!!!

I draw on paper and IBIS Paint X. I do have a drawing tablet, however it’s difficult to set up, it doesn’t help that I have a pitiful dell computer that’s on the edge of deaths door ;^; xd

anyway, like just ask to talk! Always open to that. <3

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grandhotelabyss · 11 months

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—Jason Farago, "With Hannah Gadsby’s ‘It’s Pablo-matic,’ the Joke’s on the Brooklyn Museum"

Gadsby's desire to rape Picasso, like the anti-fascist's desire to purify the polis of human pathogens, is another one for the "anti-[X] is [X]" file we've been developing this week. (My fullest reflection on this topic comes in my essay on Thomas Mann's "anti-fascist" classic Mario and the Magician—an ironical novella about how fascists should be slaughtered because, basically, when you think about it, they're Jewish, African, and queer! It made for great reading in the Trump years.) Also compelling is this from Farago:

Most bizarrely, the routine rested on a condemnation of art as an elite swindle, and modernism got it particularly hard. “CUUU-bism,” went Gadsby’s mocking refrain, to reliable audience laughter. (As it is, Picasso’s own Cubist art appears at the Brooklyn Museum through a single 6-by-4.5-inch engraving.) The sarcasm, from a comedian with moderate art historical bona fides, had a purpose: It gave Gadsby’s audience permission to believe that avant-garde painting was actually a big scam. “They’re all cut from the same cloth,” Gadsby told the audience in “Nanette”: “Donald Trump, Pablo Picasso, Harvey Weinstein” — and the art you never liked in the first place could be dismissed as the flimflam of a cabal of evil men.

Not long ago, it would have been embarrassing for adults to admit that they found avant-garde painting too difficult and preferred the comforts of story time. What Gadsby did was give the audience permission — moral permission — to turn their backs on what challenged them, and to ennoble a preference for comfort and kitsch.

Here is a distinctly 21st-century problem crossing the whole political spectrum; here is a problem that has afflicted the entirety of American artistic culture pretty much since the publication of The Corrections the week before 9/11. (Franzen wrote the bestselling novel out of a Gadsby-like hostility to modernist experiment and preference for "story," though he was a good deal more ambivalent about the implications, as his later contretemps with Oprah would prove.)

I've written before about how I wish "the CIA funded modern art" hadn't become such a meme, since it gives philistines of all ideological persuasions a political excuse to dismiss what they don't understand—as if Pollock or Rothko were not discovering actual latent potentials in the form of painting. On the other hand, I live in the 21st century, too, and I judge some extremes of 20th-century avant-gardism to have been dead ends, to have led to machinic wastelands with no human presence.

There are syntheses available here, to us, but none of them involve taking some spuriously politicized pride in our own ignorance. I am somehow better about resolving these crises in my fiction than in my criticism, so I will give you, for free, an excerpt from a late chapter of my novel-in-progress for paid Substack subscribers, Major Arcana:

“I’ve learned a lot, you know. ‘That Diane, what a dumb slut’—I’m sure that’s what you all used to think. Christ, even Ashley thinks that half the time. People are going to think whatever they want. Fuck ’em, that’s what I say. I’ve been painting every single day since Ashley went to college, and I’m starting to learn what the whole thing is about. When Ashley saw that last one”—here Diane del Greco pointed her paintbrush at the canvas to the right of the door, the hot colors in their sea of black—“do you know what she said? She said, ‘Mother, you’ve seen to the end of painting.' It was the first time in her whole life she ever sounded impressed with anything I’ve done. It scared me, to be honest. I’ve seen to the end of painting? Does that mean I should stop? I thought about it, though, and I realized that I could keep painting if I carried the lessons from the end back to the middle. At the end of painting—whatever she meant by that, she really is the strangest girl, Ellen—I stopped wanting to paint a picture of anything. I just wanted to push the paint around, see how the colors looked next to each other. That’s the end, but it’s also the beginning—a little kid smearing food or dirt around with her fingers to see how it feels, see what develops. In the middle, you want to turn it into a picture of something real. I said to myself, what if you try to keep the two feelings together: the feeling where you want to smear the colors around and the feeling where you want to make a picture of what something looks like. You know I didn’t go to college, Ellen, I’m just ‘that dumb slut Diane,’ but I believe this is called romantic realism. Now hold still.”

#hannah gadsby #pablo picasso #jason farago #modernism #avant garde #painting #literature #art criticism #art theory #literary theory

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dyinglikenarcissus · 2 years

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Let’s Try Something New…

Steve Rogers x black female super powered reader x Bucky Barnes

Steve is a virgin and you’re inexperienced but you’re both ready to take the next step in your relationship. You’re just not sure how.

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, lingerie, blind folding, sensory play, porn, oral sex (male and female receiving), double penetration, anal, breeding kink, threesome, language, and hopefully that’s all

Please don’t copy or repost my work, thanks! Plagiarism is rude

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated ☺️

19k words

I wrote this a long time ago but I was rereading it and it’s pretty decent so I figured I’d post it. My writing has thankfully improved. Also this was pre-making my reader exclusively black in content so take that as you will.

America’s couple.

That’s what they called you.

“Mr and Mrs America” even though you insisted you weren’t married.

Before you even met, the masses insisted you’d be a perfect couple simply based on your star spangled uniforms and overbearing need to protect the idea of freedom.

He came from Brooklyn. You, Silicone Valley. A program gone wrong somehow managed to merge an virtual privacy beta program with its creator. Your beginnings had eerily similar ties to another Avenger who didn’t make it out so lucky. But you got to keep your good looks and didn’t change colors when you were angry. In fact, you rarely got angry at all. You were calm and analytical and you irritated a certain billionaire to no end until he finally invited you to a charity event at Stark Tower.

You would’ve been flattered if you didn’t already know that his girlfriend was making him do it.

The very thing you were trying to eliminate was your power. As soon as you got within hitting range of a piece of tech, you could read, unencrypt, transfer, and delete files at a twitch of you finger.

You hated it.

But it meant a lot more people understood just how much their technology knew about them. Tony was an open book. Now. But his competition had a lot of secrets that you were unwilling bringing to the surface everyday. To the competition, it looked like he had an in with the newest super hero. In reality, there wasn’t much of him to expose that he hasn’t already.

That lead to your first meeting with Stark. He immediately hated you. He wanted you to ease up but every time you learned of a company embezzling from some poor old lady or of a family displaced by new development, you had to stop it. You couldn’t help it.

He remarked that you’d get along with a certain goody two shoes he was housing in New York. Well, you hated New York so you doubt you’d ever meet this man.

There were more scheduled sit downs with the billionaire, play boy, philanthropist than you care to think about until he finally asked you to this gala.

The people, they love you. The billionaires want to see you on the next mission to Mars. They hope Thor would take you away with him next time he was on earth. But he didn’t come and you kept playing modern day Robin Hood.

Pepper hopes to paint you in a better light. It just a matter of time before someone with unlimited money and resources attempts to put you in your place. You almost welcome it. The only crime fighting you do is with actual computers and they don’t pose much of a challenge. But you bite. And you get a pretty dress. And you go to this party to be paraded around and shown you aren’t a threat.

And paraded around you are.

It was the worst experience you’ve even encountered. So much information to process. So many men who hurt so many more innocent people all in one room. You wish you could hollow the place out. But someone noticed your discomfort and led you away from it all. A purple giant who looked like a man but you could read like an open book.

“An android?” You question as he leads you to a corner of people sitting, drinking, and talking quietly as though none of the other party goers are there.

“Synthezoid,” he corrects. “I researched your powers. This must all be terribly distressing.”

“I’ll have a migraine taller than this tower by the end of this.”

“There she is! Tony’s newest charity case.” You knew all of them from news outlets but mostly from Tony’s visits. All of their files were sorted in the back of your mind. The one who addressed you was Clint Barton.

You smile and nod and introduce yourself.

Steve Rodgers pats an empty spot next to him. “Vision warned us about your power. This is a tech free zone.”

You sigh and take a seat before closing your eyes. “Natasha Romanoff didn’t get the memo,” you mutter.

“Nat,” Steve sighs.

“What? I wanted to see how sensitive her powers are,” she insists before tossing a burner phone in the air. It disintegrates into dust when you blink at it.

“Cool trick,” Sam Wilson whistles.

“There was nothing on it but I hope you weren’t attached,” you apologize to the red head.

“Nope, just seeing how sensitive,” she smirks back at you. You genuinely smile for the first time in months. It’s easy here. Surrounded by enhanced super beings, spies, and specially trained soldiers.

“Well, guys, I don’t think Tony’s freak show is working,” James Rhodes laughs watching a man scream at a guard about having millions of dollars siphoned back to people he scammed.

“I can’t help it,” you whisper.

“Did you just do that?” Steve asks leaning forward. You nod sheepishly. “I like her,” he grins.

“I can’t stand these rich pricks,” Clint sighs. “Do whatever you want to them. They have it coming.”

“Half of you are living under one of those rich prick’s roof. You need to be grateful,” Rhodes insists.

“Some of us are being kept here,” Wanda Maximoff sighs.

“You would like to be let out?” You ask. “I can disarm the security.”

“Don’t even think about it,” you hear Tony command from behind you. You close your eyes at the onslaught of digital information that attacks your senses. “You couldn’t behave for one night?”

“Hey, she’s doing what’s right and if your rich friends didn’t get there honestly, that’s what they have coming.” Steve defends you so easily. Even your own friends have reservations about how you use your powers, no matter how noble they may be.

“Told you he’d love you,” Tony sighs and takes an empty seat. “So, everyone else hates you. I tried my best to make you look good and if I can’t do it, no one can. You wanna join my band of misfits?”

You glance around at the circle of Avengers, earth’s mightiest heroes. “I hate New York.”

Bruce Banner laughs at your comment. “She’ll fit right in.”

And you did. You split your time between California and the east coast. You got a lot of backlash from the ones who initially supported you for joining America’s private task force but you continued doing what you always had and suffered through Tony’s lectures every couple months. But your behavior caught the attention of a certain Avenger. Steve and Tony’s moral compass were often a point of contingency in the group and you always sided with Steve. Sam was another one that constantly stayed in his camp but Sam didn’t have an ass and breasts.

And it was Steve that normally stuck up for you when you butted heads with anyone else. Mostly because your intentions were always pure but your intentions between each other tended to wane in their purity.

After a lot of heated glances and lingering touches, he finally asked you out. It was the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

He spent a week trying to get what your favorite flowers were out of you, your favorite food, favorite activities. One Friday evening, he brought a terrarium of beautiful succulents, then took you out for a movie and tacos. You missed the food trucks of California but he managed to find pretty a comparable place. It wasn’t even in his search history so it must have been an actual recommendation.

It all made you feel so special.

It became the norm: he’d ask you out Friday night and you’d do something either of you enjoyed or something you’d never tried before and it became your thing. Someone would ask Steve’s opinion on something and Sam would quickly interject that it’s date night. “He can’t think about that when he’s got a pretty little thing on his arm.” You’d smile at the comment and continue on to bowling or the carnival or a play and, with all the restaurants around New York, you decided to try a new country’s cuisine every week.

It was a very slow relationship. Your first kiss took almost two months to happen. Your first make out session another 3 weeks later. But you didn’t mind. You were his first actual girlfriend and he was only the second man you’d been in a relationship with. You didn’t really know what you wanted in a man but if you had to choose, it’d be Cap all the time.

You loved how his big hands covered your entire waist when you kissed him and how his tongue was so ridiculously skilled in your mouth and how he always asked permission before doing anything. It was little hot when he was dirty with it. “Can I kiss you here?” “Can I touch you here?” “Can I suck you here?” Your answer is always yes. Except when it wasn’t.

Sex came even slower. Again, him; a virgin, and you; woefully inexperienced. But you enjoyed his touch and he enjoyed yours. Whenever he got too excited he’d calm the situation down but you lacked that kind of willpower so you constantly tempted him. You were both under the impression that it would naturally happen and when it didn’t you expressed it to each other and fell into a fit of laughter at your naivety.

“Ok, I think the first step is to study. If we know what we’re doing, it’ll be easier,” Steve expresses while the two of you lounge across his bed. Everyone else in the tower thinks you’ve been rutting each other’s brains out for the past three months but they had no idea how wrong they were.

You lie with your head dangling off the edge of the bed enjoying the feeling of lightheadedness while he spoke. it was date night and you decided to order take out and watch a movie at home because of the cold weather. But now you were both full and restless, giving each other longing glances, touching, tickling, pinching. But now you were here. Staring at his upside reflection in the mirror across the room.

“Are you suggesting we-”

“Yeah.” He didn’t let you finish your sentence because he 100% knew what you were going to say.

“I think I’ve seen all the porn ever made,” you laugh and sit up to face him, enjoying the fuzzy feeling of your blood rushing back down your body.

“Then what do you want me to do to you?” You think for a moment then shrug. It all seemed like mindless sex viewing it. You knew from what you felt when he touched you it wasn’t but you had no preference because you had no experience to go off of. “What do you want me to do to you?” You counter crawling across the bed to sit in front of him, hands resting on his knees.

“I don’t know what my options are,” he husks glancing at your lips then back to your eyes. You’re doing something to him but you aren’t even aware of it and neither of you knows what to do about it. It was something else to date a man with very little female experience and didn’t grow up with the internet. So pure.

You nod and move to sit back on your heels but he catches your chin to kiss you deeply. Your hands slip up to his shoulders and you sit on his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“I want you so bad but I don’t know what to do with you if you won’t tell me,” he sighs against your lips. You pull back slightly and nod before accessing your memories for the only porn that made you relatively bothered.

When you look back up at him, he gives you a quizzical glance.

“Where were you, sweetheart?”

“Accessing something.” You kiss him again letting yourself fall into him. The smell of him. The feel of him. Your fingers trace his chest and he groans at the feeling and starts to pull away. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Keep going until you get stuck.” He nods and pulls you back to him. You press against him, hips rolling to grind against his crotch.

“What now?” He asks breathlessly pressing his forehead against yours.

“Take off my shirt.” You instruct.

“You sure?” You nod. He’s seen you in your underwear but not like this. He always blushed and looked away quickly, waiting for you to cover yourself. His fingers brushed against your bare waist as he blindly searched for the hem. You moaned at his touch and leaned into it. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“I wouldn’t have told you to do it if it wasn’t,” you assure him. He lifts the cloth over your head. You lift your arms to help and that blush you know so well coats his cheeks. “Hands,” you request after he drops the shirt somewhere behind you. He gives them to you limply and you place them low on your hips. “Is this okay?” You ask. He nods and you put your hands back on his shoulders. “Steve, I’m yours. You do what you want with me then let me know when you get stuck.” He nods again and you kiss him once more. It takes a moment but his hands start moving lower until they cup your ass. You prop it up slightly to give him full access to it. He grasps it tentatively, always asking for approval, and you moan letting him know you enjoy it.

His fingers toy with your waistband. “I want to take these off of you,” he whispers. You sit up on your knees giving access to your jeans’ buttons. He makes quick work of them before sliding them down your hips but he holds the back of your thighs, kissing along your chest all the while kneading at your bottom with his fingers. Your arms wrap around his head, pulling him closer. “You taste so sweet here,” he mutters against your skin.

“Must be my perfume,” you reason and tug at the back of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

He nods and lets you remove his shirt. Despite getting the male pass to be shirtless, he doesn’t take it very often. Always preferring extremely tight t-shirts that leave nothing to the imagination. You revel in at how smooth his chest is, fingers gliding along the taunt skin, flicking at his nipples making him gasp.

“Was that okay?” You ask quickly, pulling your hands from his body.

He catches your hands and places them back on his chest before looking up at you. “Sweetheart, I’m yours. Do what you want with me and let me know when you get stuck,” he smiles mimicking your words. You giggle softly and massage his pecs then down to his hard abs, exploring his body. He does the same to you, hands squeezing your breasts through your bra, fingers exploring under it grazing your now hard nipples. You moan and feel your core clench

“Can I take this off of you, doll?” Steve asks, palms fully under your bra’s cups fondling your breasts. You nod and press closer so he can unhook it. He presses his face into your now naked breast, licking and sucking the skin. “Can I kiss you here?” He asks centimeters from your nipple. His soft breaths blowing over it and making your core go haywire.

“Uhhuh,” you confirm biting your bottom lip. He kisses. Then he sucks. Then he bites. And you become a moaning puddle in his lap. He takes almost your entire breast in his mouth and fondles your nipple with his talented tongue. “Oh, Steve,” you moan. You feel wetness soak your panties and he hasn’t even touched you there. His free hand massages your other breast before he moves on to attach his mouth around that one. His hands are back on your ass and they grip ever so slightly closer to your core before he stops.

“Baby,” he whispers pulling away from you, “you’re wet down here. Is that normal?”

“Very,” you giggle. “In fact, it's a good thing.”

“You didn’t-“

“No!” You quickly deny. “Its different. Natural lubricant. Female bodies produce it when they’re aroused.”

“You’re aroused?”

“Very,” you grin.

“Good. Because I am, too.” You glance down at his jeans, a bulge the size of your forearm is present and the overwhelming need to strip him over takes you.

“That looks painful. Can I take those off?” Steve smiles in relief and nods. “Do you ever take care of yourself?” You ask undoing his jeans. He lifts his hips so you can pull them off and push them off to some unknown location. Your focus is solely on the enormous dick on display in front of you.

“What do you mean?” You make a jacking motion above his now free cock. “Oh!” He blushes and rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “Yeah, of course. Sometimes I think of you in the shower or before bed. How I wish you were with me. How I want to bury myself in you but I want to do it right. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

You smile. “Don’t worry about hurting me. The female body was designed for much worse. As far as ‘doing it right’, that’s why we’re doing this.” He nods. “So, do you want to take those off of me?” You ask referring you your panties. They were the only bit of clothing left on either of you and last bit that needed to be off to accomplish your goal. He nods and hooks his fingers around the red, white, and blue boy shorts you’re wearing as if you knew today would be the day and drags them down you hips.

You whine as the air reaches your uncovered and extremely sensitive pussy. Steve lifts his hand to touch you there but you stop him. “Now we study,” you instruct and sit back on your heels.

“But-“ You stop his protest with a finger.

“You want to do this right, right?” He pouts but nods. “Alright. I know you haven’t been in the age of the internet long but you’ve been in it long enough to know what porn is.” That blush comes creeping back. “So, I want you to share what makes you horny and I’ll share what makes me horny and then we’ll discuss.”

“Discuss?”

“The possibility of making it come to life,” you smile. Steve falls into deep thought for a moment before agreeing.

“Ladies first,” he insists as his fingers tuck a wild strand of hair behind your ears. You lean into his touch with a hum, sorely missing having his hands all over you but you two needed to focus.

Your media is actually written. A story about a woman who likes to be touched and teased blindfolded because it heightens the senses. Of course you’d never experienced anything like that. So you read the story word for word from your memory stores and Steve listened with rapt attention. He memorized how the love interest touched the woman, kissed her, satisfied her and imagined you there, blindfolded, naked across his bed, pleasuring you until you couldn’t feel your legs.

“She felt his strong arms wrap around her body and that was the last thing she remembered before falling into the best sleep she’d ever had,” you conclude and return the present moment on the bed with Steve and you cheeks heat.

“Welcome back,” he smiles, flushed. You grin sheepishly. “Is that what you want?” You nod and look away. Why was it suddenly so embarrassing to have your kink out on full display? But you remember how much you two need this. You need some kind of kink to get yourselves started or else your entire relationship will be adventurous dates and heavy petting.

“Your turn,” you whisper and slide away from him to give him some space to grab his phone or computer but he instead reaches into his bedside table.

“Bucky and I used to collect these when we were young,” Steve sighs and sits up with a collection of tiny books. “We called them eight pagers. Little erotic comic strips.”

You smile up at him. So pure. You take one and flip through it taking note of the lacy lingerie every seemingly irresistible cartoon woman hid under her clothes. “I think we can do this,” you muse.

“Yeah?” You nod and kiss him softly.

“Let me make a quick wardrobe change.” He nods and watches you crawl out of the bed. You snag his shirt from where it’s been thrown and cover yourself to walk out in the hall to your own room. You don’t have much in the way of lingerie but something tells you that you should invest in some. Was underwear just fancier back then? You could look it up but you didn’t bother as you rolled a pair of thigh highs up your legs and slipped on a garter belt. There was a matching bra with this set that you debated on. It wasn’t exactly era appropriate but you’d gotten this far already. You slip his shirt back on and sneak back through the halls.

“It isn’t exactly what you're expecting,” you warn. “I’ll have to do some shopping for you but this is what I have.” He crooks his finger at you and you get close enough for him to pull the large shirt over your head.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers in shock at your cupless bra and crotchless thong. “It’s perfect,” he whispers and a grin splits his face.

“You sure?” You ask coving yourself slightly but his strong hands catch your wrists.

“Don’t,” he whispers and moves your hands to his waist. “I found some things, too. Do you want to see or do you want to be surprised?”

“Surprised,” you smile. He grins and kisses your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips. His tongue slips into your mouth and you pull him closer, pressing your chest against his, his penis pulsing against your core. He pulls away long enough to slip a tie over your eyes before pulling you back into him. His lips never leave yours has he lays you down against the pillows.

“Comfortable?” You nod and smile. “Good.” A feather light touch ghosts down your chest to your stomach and all yours senses light up as you feel you skin constrict with goosebumps. “You’re so beautiful,” Steve whispers then blows across your nipples. You can’t stop the gasps from jumping from your throat this time.

Something soft and light trails up your body from you calf and slips over your sensitive clit. You whine and spread your legs hoping for more but Steve finds one of your hands and tangles your fingers together as the sensation travels up to your breasts. It circles one nipple and then the other before traveling up your throat. It tickles under your chin making you giggle while your core clinches in need. And the feeling leaves. Steve’s thumb massages the back of your hand and you barely register the soft feeling on the inside of your thigh. You hum in appreciation and roll your hips attempting to get it closer to your core.

“Impatient,” Steve tuts as he continues to play with you.

“Want you,” you whine.

“Not yet. We’re studying,” he states calmly. Your hand squeezes his. Look who’s teasing now. Something tickles your throbbing clit and you come undone with a loud gasp. “Are you holding something back?” Steve asks as you snap your legs closed in an attempt to get some friction to ride out this premature orgasm. You hear the smile in his voice. He must be smiling because he tugs your legs apart and keeps them apart by placing his body there. “Let me see what you’re hiding, beautiful.” You moan and he finally makes contact with your soaking pussy.

A finger slips into you. It must be a finger because you know his girth will rip you apart if he tries to push that into you with out some coaching. And it curls up against your walls.

You cry out and arch your back against the bed. “More,” you moan.

“Not yet,” Steve denies. “This is probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I want to savor it.”

Your hips squirm and his thumb fondles your clit. Your teeth grit together so hard, you’re scared they’ll crack.

“Relax. Let go,” he instructs keeping a steady pace in your pussy. He adds a second finger and a third. And then he’s using his whole hand to destroy you.

“Steve, I’m gonna-” but a gasp escapes you before you can finish your sentence.

“You’re gonna what, sweetheart?”

“Ah!” Is all you can manage and he chuckles and removes his fingers. “Steve,” you moan. You were just on the crest of release.

“Are we done studying yet?” He asks while you writhe under him. He lifts your blindfold and a perfect eyebrow arches at you. You've never agreed to anything so quickly in your life. Steve pulls you up to sit on his lap and lets you control how quickly you take him. It hurts as it stretches you but you cum again from the new friction before he’s even all the way in. You stop at the increased pressure your body puts on him and he watches you writhe on top of him.

“Beautiful,” he whispers and reaches up to kiss you. “So perfect.” His hand massages your lower stomach trying to relax the spasming muscles while both your arms and core squeeze around him. You moan feeling everything at once all of the sudden and pull yourself closer to him not completely registering it. “Calm down. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Give it a moment to pass,” he mutters while butterflying kisses across your cheek and jaw. You try to slow your breathing and your eyes flutter open to look at him. “There’s my girl,” he smiles. You can tell it’s taking everything in him not to thrust, to keep himself still while you come down.

You smile up at him and press your lips to his.

“Can you do the rest?” You ask pressing you forehead to his.

“You trust me?” You nod and he lays you down under him. Hands holding his body up on either side of your head. He gives an experimental roll of his hips and when you don’t protest, he keeps going. Deeper and deeper until, “Shit,” you breathe adjusting your legs around him to give him more space. “Are you all the way in yet?”

“Language,” he frowns making you smile breathlessly. “And no. Almost. Breathe. You’re taking me so well.” You clinch around him at his words making his eyes widen slightly then smirks at his revelation. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. You feel amazing around me. Fits like a glove.” You bite back a moan and roll your hips, pressing him in further. Steve groans as he starts to pull out and you whimper feeling the loss of him. He presses slowly back into you. He’s so careful. So gentle. You appreciate it as he works himself up to speed. You seem to be in sync with each other as he begins to speed up, press slightly harder, get a little rougher; all of it in perfect time. He bends to his elbows so his lips can trail across your neck and chin and then the very corner of your mouth. You smile at the contact and press your forehead against his.

Watching him is a marvel. Every muscle honing in on thrusting into you. Poised to make those perfect waves against your body. Expanding and contracting in a way that looks like he’s expending absolutely no effort. He was built for this. For you.

“You’re sure you haven’t done this before?” You ask breathlessly as you run your hands across his chest feeling the hard contours of muscle working so precisely.

He chuckles softly. “Positive. Just doing what feels right.”

“You must have been some kind of sex god in a past life,” you whisper then moan when he hits a particularly sweet spot.

“Nope. Just a scrawny kid from Brooklyn.” You giggle and cling to him. He hits that spot again and you clench around him. “You like that, sweetheart? Is that your soft spot?” You can only moan at the pleasure it’s bringing you. He’s surprisingly vocal which makes you want to be too but you naturally aren’t. No harm in trying

“I like that,” you moan thrusting up to meet his hips. And then you can’t stop his name from tumbling very unceremoniously from your lips as his finger massages your over stimulated clit. “Oh god, Steve,” you moan on the cusp of another orgasm. How many has this supposed virgin pulled out of you? Three? Four? You’re on the verge of tears as it starts to coil tighter.

“You’re so tight, sweetheart,” Steve groans but his thrust never falter.

“Baby, I’m cumming,” you cry as everything releases again. Everything feels limp and tight as your walls flutter around him spastically.

He groans and speeds up his efforts. “I’m close,” he grunts. “One more,” he begs using a hand to direct your gaze to his. “I need you to give me one more.”

“Can’t, Steve. Too much,” you whine and try to press away from him.

Steve shakes his head and rolls you on top of him holding your hips in place. “You can take it,” He grunts as he thrusts up into you. You cry out feeling him impossibly expand inside you and clench. “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me more of that. You doing to good. Just one more.” You moan at his praises and your body reacts on instinct, attempting to hold onto him but he’s far stronger than that. You nails claw at his shoulders, attempting to keep him close but wanting him far far away.

And then it releases.

And he releases.

Oh God does he release. You’re fill to the brim as his seed spills out around his cock and leaves a sticky puddle at your core and on his stomach and you love it. You don’t want him pull out for fear of losing this sensation.

“Baby, you made a mess,” Steve smiles pressing you to sit up so you can lean back on his propped knees.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper sheepishly.

“You’re so beautiful.” You giggle and shake your head sharply. You were probably a mess: make up smudged, hair tousled. He moves you both closer to the nightstand to grab a few tissues to wipe himself off. He flips you down on the bed and finally pulls out of you. You whine but his plants a kiss on your lips to quiet you. “Don’t move.” You nod because there’s very little you can do anyway. You groan as you pull your legs up in your chest and cradle yourself as your muscles readjust.

Steve returns with a warm damp cloth and he gently wipes you down before kissing your forehead.

“Hey handsome,” you smile and meet his lips.

“You feeling alright?”

You sigh and pull him close. He climbs back in the bed on his side and wraps his leg over your hip. You turn to face him and run a hand over his smooth jaw. “I think I’ll be pretty sore in the morning but right now I feel amazing.”

He smiles and kisses you again. “I’m feeling pretty amazing, too.” You grin and press your foreheads together.

“I’m so happy we finally did this.” He hums affirmatively and pulls you closer. “Steve?” He hums again. “Are you hard again?”

“You’re just so perfect and soft,” he argues.

“I’ve created a monster,” you giggle. You untangle his legs from yours and lift yours over his hip to slip him back in your core. “Be gentle,” you instruct. He grips your hip and presses all the way into you. He groans softly and you tuck your head against his neck kissing at the delicate skin there. You suddenly set a goal to find all his delicate spots because you were sure they were few and far between. He grunts softly and the sound does something to you. You clinch around him making him groan from the pressure.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You ask into his neck.

“So perfect,” he groans and thrusts particularly roughly. You cry out and he stops immediately.

“Don’t stop,” you plead. He nods and keeps moving in you and you roll your hips against his. “You’re so big, baby. You make me feel so good. I don’t want you to stop.”

“Never,” he whispers. You cling to him as he pumps into you. Both of his hands grasp your bottom and he controls your pace.

“So dominant,” you mutter and kiss whatever skin you can reach as you’re bucked against him.

“I like to be in control,” he laughs. “Can you blame me?”

“Of course not, Captain.” He pauses and twitches inside you. “Oh?” you smile. “That did something to you.” It’s not a question.

“I’m not sure. Try it again and see what happens.”

You grin and bite your lip before pulling back to see his face. “Yes, Captain.” You don’t feel the twitch this time because he’s rolled himself on top of you, making waves into you with his hips.

You moan out his name and hook your legs around his hips once again. Who would have thought you’d be back here twice in one evening?

“Oh, God, Steve,” you whine and wrap your arms around his waist. He spanks you suddenly making you gasp.

“What was that?” He asks darkly, cocking his head to the side to watch you.

Once the initial shock wears off, you grin up at him. “Oh, God, Captain,” you purr.

He smirks and presses one of your legs up to your chest to reach deeper into you. “That’s right, sweetheart.” You whine and cling to him. One of his hands reaches to massage one of your breast then tickles you down to your core. A finger circles your clit and your breath hitches.

“I can’t!” You cry. “I’m gonna-“ but as soon as the words exit your mouth, he removes his fingers from your core.

“Not yet. I want to cum with you.” You whine and roll your hips against him, trying to get that friction but he halts your hips and gives you a stern look. You can’t help but smile. How does he switch to that so fast?

“How can I help you, Captain?” You breathe.

“That’s better. Hands and knees, sweetheart.” He pulls out of you making you groan from the lack contact.

“How do you even know about this position?” You ask positioning your backside to him.

“You’ve never looked into my internet history, have you?” Your eyes widen at the comment and the feeling of him suddenly filling you back up.

“Oh, Captain! Right there!” One hand steadies you at your shoulder and the other squeezes your ass roughly. You whine and throw your head back. Steve moves that hand on your shoulder to the back of your neck where he massages your tense muscles.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart. I’m getting so close. You’re doing this to me, sweetheart,” he grunts and increases his pace.

“Please touch me, Captain,” You beg. His big hand slides down your spine to play with your clit while the other grips your hip tightly. You whine and claw at the edge of the bed feeling your own fall close upon you.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he mutters firming up his grip on you.

“Yes, Captain! I’m so close.” His thrust get deeper and rougher, the sound of slapping skin echoes through the room punctuated by the occasional grunt and moan.

You cry in unison as you both fall off the edge. You collapse under him, ass up chest flush to the mattress. He slides out of you and caresses your shoulder and hips.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks before lifting you from you contorted spot to cradle you in his strong arms. You nod and bury your face in his shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he insists and carries you to the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bathtub with you cradled in his lap as the water warms kissing your neck and shoulder gently.

“Steve?” You whisper taking his hand. He hums and kisses the back of your hand then your palm. “Stay with me?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He eases into the tub with you pulled against his chest.

You reach up to kiss his cheek. “Our first bath together,” you smile.

“First of many,” he assures you. “Should we make this part of the date night tradition?”

“You destroy me then butter me up by giving me a bath?”

“I did not destroy you,” he chuckles.

“Got pretty fucking close.”

“What’d I tell you about language? And you can handle it. You’re a tough cookie.”

“That’s what every woman wants to hear after having sex: you’re a tough cookie,” you chuckle and sink further into the water.

“I’m sorry. I was born in 1918. What do dames like to be called now?”

You just giggle and fully submerge yourself under the water.

And so began your new routine. You go on an adventure, something you’ve never done before, then try the local cuisine from the next country on your list. Then you go home and share some new study material that you do your best to recreate. And you end the night cradled in each other’s arms after a long bath. It was a new normal that you absolutely loved despite everyone else claiming you were the most vanilla couple in existence. Maybe you were. But you were also “America’s Couple” and America liked vanilla.

Until Steve brought you something that was very not vanilla.

“I’m not telling you ‘no’,” you insist as you walk down the hall toward the kitchen. It was late. You pulled yourselves from Steve’s comfortable bed to get some water. “It’s just a ‘I don’t know who we can ask’.”

“So who gets to decide who we can ask?”

“It should probably be a joint decision.”

“Then what about Sam?”

You your face heats instantly at the thought. “I don’t think he’d be into it.”

“What wouldn’t I be into?” The Falcon himself asked walking out of the kitchen as you walked in.

“Nothing,” you both chirp at the same time.

“We thought everyone would be asleep,” Steve smiles and you nod in agreement.

He glances between you with a lifted brow. “You’re both terrible liars.”

“One of them is incapable of lying,” Tony announces walking into the kitchen. You hear Steve huff out a breath of air. You know full well that he can lie but he gets a terribly guilty look that gives him away every time.

“Mr. America, do you know what your wife did last night?” Tony asks stepping into the kitchen while you slip out of the arm Steve has wrapped around you.

“We’re not married,” Steve denies opening the refrigerator and pulling out two water bottles. You sigh knowing exactly what’s about to happen as Steve cracks one open and hands it to you.

Tony drops a manilla folder on the counter and looks at you. “You wanna tell him?” You close your eyes and run a hand down your face.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” you insist. “He was here and you know I can’t help it. Just don’t bring these people here and it won’t happen.”

“Oh yeah. I’ll just vet everyone who enters my tower. You’re a genius,” Tony throws up his hands.

“Calm down, Tony,” Steve sighs and steps in between you two.

“I am calm,” the genius insists. “Your girlfriend bankrupted Pepper’s main financial backer for her south side revitalization project.”

“Well, now the south side is revitalized,” you insist with a straight face. Tony sighs and rubs his temple. “He stole that money from those people. I gave it back.”

“Look, Robin Hood, no more solo ops. And you,” he points to Steve, “need to put a leash on this thing.”

“It’s hard stop her from doing something she does with her mind,” Steve exhales.

“You’re Captain America. Make an amendment or something.”

Steve sighs again as Tony walks away.

You step in front of your boyfriend. “You’re mad at me?”

“No. Never,” Steve insists. “I’m irritated that Tony knows you live here but still insists on testing you.” You fall into his embrace. The two always had a shaky relationship and you didn’t want to come between it. A snarky thought comes to your head.

“What about Tony?”

Steve pulls away from you to give you a stern look and you can’t help but grin back. “You can’t be serious?” You only giggle and lead him back to his room

Little did you know that relationship was about to get a lot shakier when one James Buchanan Barnes arrived in your otherwise peaceful lives.

Shit really hit the fan. People took sides. People got hurt. And apparently this James Barnes killed Tony’s parents.

Scandalous.

In a matter of days you were kicked out of you New York home, fought the people that had become your family, and ultimately jailed.

All because of Tony’s guilty conscience and hurt feelings.

You were pretty sure you were close to having an aneurism from rolling your eyes so much in such a short span of time.

But your trauma was nothing compared to what your boyfriend was going through. His best friend from seventy years ago was alive and well and being used as a weapon of mass destruction. Steve eventually came for you, of course. He came for all of you. But he was different. Darker. He grew a beard that you still weren’t sure about. He wore darker clothes which you really weren’t sure about. But you offered his now homeless half of the team the empty space in your San Francisco townhouse.

Vision and Wanda took up the basement rental apartment. Sam got the spare room. Natasha came and went but she always had a place on your couch. Clint happily went home and you forced Scott to go home especially because his house was on the other side of the city, thirty minutes away. And James took over your home office.

James insisted that he go back into cryo but Steve wanted him to try to stay out in the world at least for a little while. Just to try it out. If he couldn’t cope, he’d find a solution.

He wasn’t adjusting well in your opinion.

Being the extremely liberal city that San Francisco is, you were virtually untouchable. A sanctuary city . Your neighbors loved having the Avengers next door. And they’d never give you up to the government agents that were constantly looking for you. They would wave as Mr and Mrs America went on their morning jog. Sam volunteered at the local veterans center falling right back into his old position. You forget Wanda and Vision were there most of the time unless you catch them going out for date night or when they come up to ask for a cup of milk or flour.

Everything was great except for one James Buchanan Barnes.

You couldn’t believe this was the same man Steve talked so highly about. He was quiet and moody. And no one was getting any sleep with his regular night terrors. Your neighbors would glare and give him a wide berth but he honestly didn’t go outside too often.

Almost every night at 3am on the dot, he would start screaming and thrashing. He knocked a hole in your wall and you would’ve cried if you didn’t have such a strong hold on your emotions. Steve quickly moved into Bucky’s room leaving you alone at night. He was violent when he woke up; punching, kicking, and the choke holds were the worst. Every few mornings, you’d find Steve in the kitchen holding an ice pack to his face. He’d act like nothing was wrong and kiss you good morning then join you for a jog. You never said anything. This was his best friend. If it was your best friend you’d do the same. But your best friends were all scrawny computer nerds so taking a punch from them would be a lot less traumatic but still you’d do it for them in a heart beat.

But you were so tired of sharing!

Can Bucky watch the movie with us? Can Bucky join us for dinner? I think Bucky would love to come on a hike.

Every request you smiled and nodded and acted like you were happy to have his quiet moody friend come along and stare into space while you tried to have a romantic time. But you never complained. Sometimes you’d stare at him while he stared off in the distance just to see if he’d notice. It was like your own game. Steve never noticed and if James did, he never said anything. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive. In a grungy unwashed way. A hair cut and a shave would work wonders for him but he never wanted to go to the barber with Steve and Sam so no one fought him on it. He’d stay with you, basically alone and stare out a window or at a wall and you’d just ignore him. He didn’t seem like the type to engage first and you certainly weren’t going to talk to him so you actively ignored each other.

“What are you watching?” You almost jumped when the voice interrupted you out of nowhere. You turn to see James, hair in a half bun, frowning at your phone propped on the counter.

“Cooking video,” you answer shortly.

“Are you making something?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to make me ask what you’re making or do you just not want to talk to me?”

You sigh and try to ease the tenseness that suddenly invaded your shoulders. “No. To the second thing. I think. I want to make homestyle potatoes and I’ve never made them before and Steve likes them so I thought I’d try.”

“You got potatoes?” You nod holding up the bag. “I’ll show you.” You cock your head at his offer. “I know how Steve likes ‘em anyway. Just try not to stare too hard,” he smirks and you blink at him stunned.

He did notice.

“I didn’t mean to stare, well, I did but you were staring and-“

He holds up a hand to stop you with an amused look. “It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable,” you say resolutely.

“Like I said, it’s fine. It’s been a while since a pretty girl stared at me.” You stare back at him blankly then remember you’re staring and shake yourself before pulling out all the cooking instruments he’ll need while he raids your spice rack. “What are you making with them?”

“Salmon?” You ask. You’re not sure why you’re asking. Maybe for his approval. Maybe to see if he’d like that, too.

He frowns and opens the refrigerator. “You got a roast in here.” You stare blankly at him. “You should make a roast.”

“Ok.”

And just like that, you’re cooking together. You don’t say much to each other but once the roast is in the oven he pulled you over to show you how make the potatoes. He was very to the point. A nice change from the food bloggers who had to explain the first time they had the potatoes and talk about their trip to Ireland and how many different ways you can cook this dish and end up with the exact same results.

“That’s all there is to it. Leave it like this for ten minutes then stir and put a lid on it.”

You nod and he starts to walk away.

“Everything should be ready in, like, thirty minutes.” You call after him. He waves a hand behind him and goes on to the living room.

Steve and Sam return, freshly lined up, ears lowered, and grinning. “Hey, handsome men,” you greet with a smile and give them both a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re in a good mood,” Steve laughs and pulls you close.

“James helped me cook.”

“There’s food?” Sam grins and walks straight to the kitchen.

“Bucky helped you cook?” Steve asks with a grin.

You contemplate his face. “Did you put him up to that?”

Steve holds up his hands innocently. “I promise I didn’t. He did mention he wanted to get to know you better.” You quirk an eyebrow at him but accept his explanation. “I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

You nod. “Hurry back.”

It was your date night after all. With Sam and James. Of course.

After your normal shared bath, Steve went to James’ room and you curled into your bed all by yourself. It still smelled like Steve from your exploits less than an hour ago. Normally this helped but tonight your mind was racing.

You find yourself staring out the window at the ocean and the near by Golden Gate Bridge. “He’s rubbing off on me,” you mutter to yourself after shaking your head and pulling out your phone to find something to distract you.

‘Not this again’

You’re back in that cell surrounded by information on inmates that have committed far worse crimes than you. Vivid images of mass murders, terrorist attacks, and genocides fill your mind and you can’t make it stop. You constantly find yourself falling down rabbit holes of crime and waking up crying. This time it was yet another man Tony wronged somehow. That list was endless and it just added to your anger against him. But this one was different. It wasn’t factual which is how you know its a dream.

You’re stuck until it plays out; the rational computer part of your brain that normally controls your waking hours reminds you of this over and over but the human part is terrified. No amount of rationalizing could convince it to calm down.

And of course you wake up alone. Drenched in sweat. Confused. Why are you alone? You haven’t slept alone in over a year.

“Steve!” You call before your logical brain reboots.

He’s with James. If he’s not there with James, James wakes up screaming, and your neighbors get mad.

You instantly regret calling for him because you know he’ll hear you and come running.

And the door opens confirming your prediction. Damn super soldier serum.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He takes one look at you before crossing the room to pull you into his arms. You must look like a wreck because this response is a little excessive. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“It was just a nightmare. I didn’t mean to call you,” you whisper but accept the closeness.

“Tell me about it?” He asks tucking your head under his to pull you closer. You shake your head sharply not wanting to burden him with it and he chuckles. “You’re so much like Bucky its ridiculous. Tell me what happened. That’s an order.”

You purse your lips and push away to watch him. He’s got his Captain America face on compelling you to spill your guts.

“I was back in that prison and this man was trying to kill Tony and Tony almost died but that happens to him a lot but he really died in the dream and this guy got his suit and dismantled the Stark Corporation before I got a chance to.”

“That is a nightmare. There’s only one Robin Hood and its you, sweetheart.” You smile and snuggle into him. “Just don’t kill Tony.”

“You know I could never. Though disabling his suit requires almost no effort.”

“It’s too late for ‘what ifs’. You need sleep.”

“So do you,” you sigh and run your hand across his scruff. He meets your eyes in the dim moonlit room. You lift yourself to meet his lips and he kisses you back earnestly, hands roaming to your hips to make you straddle his lap. You pull away and press you forehead against his. “I miss you.”

“You never said anything.”

“Because he’s your best friend and you love him.”

“I love you, too.”

“He needs you more than I do.”

Steve sighs and runs his hands up and down your sides feeling you for what feels like the first time in months. “When did you get so muscular?” He smirks.

“Spending too much time at the gym working out my frustration.” He quirks and eyebrow at you.

“We haven’t had a proper date night in so long,” he sighs.

“I’m getting tired of vanilla sex, Steve.”

“Well, you told me ‘no’ so I’m having a hard time finding a new kink.”

“I didn’t tell you ‘no’! I told we have to agree on someone.” He hums dubiously giving you a face. “It’s not like either of us have been looking.” He runs a hand up you spine and back down.

And then the screaming starts.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Steve apologies as you climb off his lap.

“Can I come, too?”

“What?”

“Maybe I can help? If anything, I’m sure he’s sick of talking to you all night.” Steve can’t help but chuckle and extends his hand for you to follow him.

You enter the room to see the dark soldier trashing around his makeshift bed on the floor next to the futon you brought from Ikea just for him.

“Bucky!” Steve hisses. He was much quieter than the screams James was emitting but you knew the serum running through their veins enabled him to hear it just fine. “Bucky! You have to wake up! It’s just a dream. Wake u-“ before the words escape his lips, James’ metal arm shoots out to wrap around Steve’s neck. Steve sucks in a deep breath as your hands fly to your mouth. But you notice James’ eyes are wide open registering everything going on and he immediately lets go.

“What did I tell you about attacking with the metal arm first?” Steve whispers massaging his neck.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Steve,” James exhales harshly. “You ok?” “I’ll survive,” he sighs and sits on the futon. “Want to talk about it?”

James’ eyes fall on you now that you’re visible to him. “Hi,” you smile.

“Did I interrupt something?” James asks glancing at Steve.

“No, of course not,” Steve yawns and kicks back across the futon, making himself comfortable. “They were passing out nightmares tonight apparently,” he jokes.

“You wanna talk about?” James asks you. You shake your head making him chuckle. “What brings you to my dungeon?”

“Steve said you wanted to get to know me. What better time than now?” You smirk.

“Sit down. You’re making me nervous,” James sighs and leans back against the wall.

Today was the most you’re ever spoken to him despite living with him for over a month. You sit next to Steve on the opposite side of the futon from James.

“What do you want to know, James?”

“Bucky, please.”

“What do you want to know, Bucky?” You correct.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Black.”

“That’s a shade. Not a color.”

“Grey then.”

He sighs. “You know ROYGBIV? Which one of those do you like?”

“I like all of them equally.”

“Is she always this irritating?”

“She’s analytical,” Steve mutters and rolls over to face the wall making himself comfortable.

“Analytical, huh?” He stops and thinks for a moment. “Which color is most useful?”

Oh? That’s a good question. “Red, yellow, and blue.”

“Pick one.”

“No. You pick one.”

“Red.”

“That was easy.”

“I’m not scared of offending colors.” You giggle at his comment and lay on your stomach across Steve’s hips to face him.

“What else you got?”

“What do you do?”

“Like power wise?”

“Nah, Steve told me all about that. What do you do that you can afford a home on the water with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge?”

“I develop apps. Well, I did before. Do you know what apps are?”

“I was in service for the past seventy years. Yes, I know what apps are. Did you design a game or something?”

“No. I’m in internet security.” He lifts an eyebrow at that and turns to watch you.

“You don’t seem like the type.”

You just shrug. “I still own all the rights and licenses so I can afford a pretty comfortable life.”

“Tony must hate you.”

“He does. But I think we’re all on his shit list right now.”

“Language,” Steve warns.

“But Bucky got to,” you whine.

“He’s older.” You roll your eyes before giving him a smack on the butt. “Don’t make me send you back to your room.” Bucky grins at you.

“What drew you to this punk?” Bucky asks. “Besides the obvious. You do know he used to be five nothing.”

“I do,” you smile. “When I joined the Avengers, there was kind of a divide when it came to me. I was a technological nightmare and everyone thought I’d be in their personal business. But Steve always stood up for me. He always understood that I couldn’t let an injustice get away if I could help it. Tony wanted to keep an eye on me because he thinks I’m a threat. Steve wanted me because he thought I’d be genuinely helpful.”

“And because he likes your butt,” Bucky smirks.

“Stevie,” you gasp playfully. He reaches up to squeeze the object in question making you scramble off of him.

“You’ve got a nice butt. He should like it.”

“Bucky,” you exhale whipping your head around to face him but he’s just got this knowing smirk on his face that you can’t help but smile back at.

“He’d be a hundred year old virgin if it wasn’t for you.” You giggle laying on your side to face your conversation companion.

“I’m sure he would’ve found someone.”

“You’re good for him.”

“You are, too,” you whisper. Bucky gives you a sad smile. “He told me how you took care of him after his parents died. He’s repaying the favor. Let him.” Bucky nods and slumps down into his makeshift pallet while you cover your mouth to yawn and scoot closer to your boyfriend.

“You should get some sleep, doll,” Bucky insists and pulls the forgotten blanket over your shoulder. You nod and turn over to spoon Steve who long since fell asleep.

“Who said you could call me ‘doll’?” You mutter into Steve’s shoulder.

“I call all the beautiful dames with nice butts ‘doll’.”

“You could build a house with all the brick I got,” you mumble sleepily only to hear Bucky chuckle. You smile and snuggle closer into Steve’s warmth before falling asleep.

You catch up to Steve and Sam during your morning jog the next day completely out of breath as usual. Steve stretches on front of your stoop as if he hasn’t even broken a sweat while Sam is sprawled out on the steps gasping for air. Why do you two insist on trying to keep up with him?

“Finally made it?” Sam breathes as if he didn’t finish just a couple minutes ahead of you.

“Shut up,” you bark and slump against the stair rail. Steve steps around both of you for the door and you practically crawl up the steps after him

“Come on. Team work makes the dream work,” Sam sighs and wraps your arm over his shoulders so you can help each other into the house.

“Good run today,” Steve grins and places a bottle of water in front of both of you once you reach the kitchen.

“Yeah. Great,” Sam huffs and snatches his bottle and drinking half of it before stumbling up the stairs.

“I don’t know why you two insist on keeping up with me,” he sighs and lifts you onto one of the bar stools and pressing himself between your legs.

“Pride,” you exhale and take a sip of water making him laugh. “Hey, I was thinking.”

“You do that a lot,” Steve chuckles and rubs his thumbs along your sides tickling you.

You swat his arm softly before continuing. “What about Bucky?”

He wraps his arms around you, resting his head on top of yours.

“I think he’s still a little too volatile for that, sweetheart.”

“He seems perfectly well adjusted while he’s awake,” you argue.

Steve sighs and rubs his hands across your lower back. “If you can get him to agree to it, I’d love to share you with Bucky.”

You smile and kiss the center of his collar bone. “He just needs a gentle touch,” you assure the blond.

He hums and buries his face in your hair. “I could use a gentle touch, too.”

“Oh, could you?” You smirk as he bends to kiss you. He hums affirmatively and lifts you to carry you up to your room.

You spend the night with Steve in Bucky’s room. It’s a wonder he sleeps on the floor because this futon is probably less than half a step above just curling up on the floor. You bring your memory foam pillows and have Steve tote your weighted blanket as he trails behind you.

“You’re back,” Bucky smirks when he sees you.

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“She brought her whole bed room with her so you better not mind,” Steve smiles and drops the weighed blanket on the futon with a thud.

“What are you watching?” You ask crawling across the makeshift bed to see what Bucky’s playing on his tablet.

“News,” both Bucky and Steve reply at the same time. So this is a ritual? You frown as the other half of the Avengers preform some death defying feats at the command of the government.

“You like murder mysteries? You like makeup? You like Mondays?”

“What?” Bucky mutters as you pull the tablet out of his hand and find a video that fits just that. “This is what you watch?” Bucky asks as you place the tablet back in his hands as a woman starts talking about a serial killer from the ‘90s while applying foundation.

“The news is sad,” you explain and make yourself comfortable so you can see the video, too. “This is sad, too, but at least you get to watch pretty makeup.” Bucky chuckles and leans closer to you while Steve wraps himself around you. You know he’s asleep as soon as he gets comfortable, spooning you from behind, legs tangled in yours. You smile at his closeness and wonder what Bucky is like to sleep next to.

“Is he always this tired?” Bucky asks glancing up at the man behind you.

“He’s been through a lot lately. I think it’s catching up to him. And he’s old,” you giggle.

“I’m old, too. You don’t see me falling asleep as soon as I lay down.”

“Because you’re not comfortable,” you insist and take the tablet from him to click on another video.

“I’m fine,” he grunts in a very ‘I’m not fine’ way. You both fall asleep shortly afterwards.

Groans wake you up. You feel Steve’s strong embrace from behind you. You wench your eyes open unwillingly to see Bucky writhing on the floor next to you. You sigh and move to wake up Steve. He’s not screaming yet, though.

You crane your neck to see the clock on the wall. 2:58. Okay. You steal yourself to try something new. You slide a hand out of the blanket and touch his arm softly. He stills.

You reach further down, sliding your hand down his arm until you reach his hand. “Please don’t throw me,” you whisper as you tangle your fingers in his, prying open his fist. “Please don’t break my hand. Please don’t rip off my arm.” You continue to chant pleas against any possible violence but he stays still under your touch.

Then his fingers grip around yours.

“Please don’t throw me! Please don’t break my hand! Please don’t rip off my arm!” You hiss squeezing your eyes shut preparing for the worst.

“You’re a bold little thing, doll,” he rasps.

“You’re awake?”

He groans and turns over to face you, never releasing your hand. “I won’t rip off your arm. Promise.” You smile and rub the back of his hand with your thumb. “I might throw across the room to teach you a lesson in self preservation,” he smirks making you giggle. “Keep this pretty little hand somewhere safe so Steve can put a ring on it one day.”

“It is somewhere safe,” you smile glancing at its place in his hand. He smiles back at you. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can I keep this?” He asks squeezing your hand. You nod and scoot closer to the edge of the bed.

You woke up with a stiff shoulder but it was worth it.

You find yourself staring at another recipe on date night. Sam and Steve were at the gym, dating each other, while you slaved away to make another one of your boyfriend’s favorite meals.

“More makeup and murders?” A voice asks from behind you making you jump. You spin to see Bucky leaning against the counter. How does he move so quietly?

“No,” you whisper clutching your heart.

“Don’t want to talk to me again?” He smirks.

“No. I’m making baked macaroni because Steve likes it but I’ve never made it before.”

“This again?” You smile sheepishly up at him. “You got macaroni? You got cheese?” You nod holding up the two ingredients. “I’ll handle that. What are you making with it?”

“Shrimp?” You ask. He rolls his eyes and opens the refrigerator.

“You got chicken in here.” He glances back at you but you’re staring at his butt through his black sweat pants. “Make some chicken, doll.” You nod and take the chicken he hands you. You prep that and place it in the oven and wait for Bucky’s instructions on baked macaroni.

“This one is easy. It’s like lasagna. You ever made lasagna?” You shake your head ‘no’. “What do you make?”

“Fish and rice and vegetables. I’m not much of a carb eater.”

“Such a 21st century dame. Come here.” He lifts you with his metal arm and places you on the counter next to him. You watch him prep intently, eyes traveling up his large arms every once in a while to watch how he biceps fill his tight t shirt. You have to shake yourself and focus a couple of times.

Just as he’s putting on the final touches, Steve and Sam walk in. Sam still looks like he’s been through the ringer of your boyfriend’s grueling workout while Steve looks like he just frolicked through a field of flowers. Probably because of the flowers he was holding.

“Welcome home,” you smile and accept the bouquet he hands you. “Did you two have fun?”

“Fun is one word for it,” Sam grumbles and trudges upstairs.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour,” you call after him.

“You got Bucky in the kitchen again?” Steve asks standing between your spread legs and gripping your hips.

“He’s helping,” you explain.

“Your definition of helping might need some tweaking, sweetheart,” Steve smirks and places a quick kiss on your lips. “Thank you for taking care of her, Buck.”

“We’re taking care of each other,” the brunett smirks and lifts a pinch of shredded cheese for you to eat. You open your mouth for him to feed you. He drops the cheese in your mouth, hand hesitating just long enough for you to lick the tip of his finger before pulling to whole thing in your mouth to suck the remnants of cheese off of it.

Steve smirks at you then at Bucky before you release his finger. “I’m gonna go shower,” he mutters before kissing you softly but your gaze hasn’t left Bucky’s stunned one.

“Okay, baby,” you mutter and accept his kiss.

“Keep an eye on her, will ya, Buck?” Steve calls over his shoulder and heads up the steps.

“What was that?” Bucky frowns as soon as Steve is out of ear shot.

“What was what?” You feign innocence. “Doesn’t that need to get in the oven?” You point at the casserole dish he just finished preparing.

“Fuck that. What’d you do that for? And why was Steve so cool with it?”

“Language,” you mutter and take some more cheese from the bag. “Come here.” You tug his arm so his standing where Steve just was in front of you, between your legs. You squeeze your knees around his hips holding him there but not trapping him. He can leave whenever he wants. “Here.” You hold up the cheese for him but his frown only deepens. “Come on, Bucky. Use that super brain of yours. You know exactly what’s going on.”

He bites his lip before opening his mouth to speak. “Steve is cool with this?”

“He suggested it. But I suggested you and you should’ve seen how happy he was.” Bucky glances away from you towards the dining area behind you and, probably, out the window. “What are you thinking about?”

He works his jaw and it’s one on the most attractive things you’ve seen this man do. “Is this a one time thing?”

“No.”

“Are you gonna make me ask what it is?” He asks irritably.

“It’s a relationship.”

“Between three people?”

“Between three people,” you confirm.

He works his jaw again, still not looking at you but you feel yourself clench. “I’ll think about it,” he finally mutters. The computer part of your brain nods but the human part wants a better answer than that. As if he reads your thoughts, he lifts your hand and sucks the shredded cheese out of your fingers. “You’re still gonna sleep over tonight.” It’s not a question. “I’ve gotten the best night’s sleep in almost a century with you.” You smile sheepishly and he turns to put the macaroni in the oven.

Steve destroys you that night. You can barely walk before your cuddling soak in the tub and your legs are jelly after it. He carries you bridal style down to Bucky’s room while you kiss and nip at his neck the entire time.

“Did she hurt herself?” Bucky asks tugging back your weighted blanket as Steve tucks you in.

You look at each other and share a laugh. “No. I did all that damage.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Bucky groans and rest his head on his arms on the edge of the futon. You run your hand down his face, scratching lightly at the scruff on his cheeks. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

“She’ll probably fall asleep on us,” Steve sighs and pulls you into an embrace.

“She told me what you wanted. Us?”

“Yeah?”

“I told her I’d think about it.”

“What’s to think about, Buck?”

“He doesn’t want to get hurt,” you sigh and take his hand before snuggling up against Steve.

“Your computer brain tell you that?” Bucky scoffs but rubs circles into the back of your hand anyway.

“Didn’t need it to. I’m going to sleep.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Steve kisses your temple and pulls you tighter to him.

“You suggested this?” Bucky asks letting you get comfortable before laying down attempting to keep your hand in an optimal position.

“Yeah. After everything I’ve been through, I want some back up with her. Just to know she’s being taken care of if I can’t be there.”

Bucky hums and you feel his metal hand brush down your face. “You don’t think she can take care of herself?”

“Of course she can. But she needs someone in her corner. She gets a lot of flack for what she does. There’s a very thin line to cross for her to go rogue.”

“You think she would?”

“No. Not on her own. I’m just scared that someone might push her.”

“Enough,” you mutter. “I’m right here.”

“Well, you need to hear it,” Steve sighs.

You only grumble and attempt to turn over but your arm is trapped. “My shoulder hurts,” you whine. “Bucky, just come up here!”

“There’s no way I’m going to fit with you two, doll,” Bucky chuckles at the fit you’re throwing.

“Then let’s go to my room. Please.” You frown at the brunett, sitting up slightly so you’re above him.

“You heard the woman, Buck. We’re changing locations,” Steve grins and lifts you up. Bucky only stares at both of you as if you’d each grown an extra head.

“My blankie,” you whine, grabbing at the ornate weighted blanket left on the futon.

“Alright. I got it. Take her, will you?” Steve asks holding you out for his best friend. Bucky continues to glare between you two

“Bucky,” you mutter looking at him with wide eyes.

“Okay,” he sighs and gets up. He holds you like a child with his metal arm and grabs your pillow with the other.

“She’s more human when she’s tired,” Steve smiles. “Why don’t you ask her her favorite color now?”

Bucky steps into the hallway ahead of Steve and you tuck you head against his shoulder. “Alright, doll, what’s your favorite color?”

“Purple,” you answer with zero hesitation.

“Purple, huh? Explains why your office is lavender.” He’s quite as he reaches the top floor landing and opens the door. Steve isn’t right behind him so he closes it to a crack and sits on the side of the bed with you still cradled to him. “Why him?”

“He was the only one to see the human in me.”

Bucky stays quiet for a moment pulling you tighter against him. “Why me?”

“You’re the only one who treats me like a person.” He hums and you glance up at him. Then his lips and back at his eyes.

“Doll, can I kiss you?” You nod but instead of leaning in he looks up at the figure in the door way. “Stevie, can I kiss her?”

“I trust you,” Steve smiles and sits next to you.

You look back at Bucky and he brushes his nose against yours, tilting your head back to the perfect angle for your lips to meet. His kiss is all calm, minty, relaxing. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him closer. Deeper. His hand massages the back of your neck while you lift yourself to straddle his lap. He holds you right against him, hand rubbing along your sides, lifting your thin nightshirt just enough that he can graze your bare skin. You gasp as a third hand comes to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to the man whose lap you’re on.

“Her lips are so soft, huh Buck?” Steve whispers. You feel his other hand pull back the collar of your shirt so he can kiss your shoulder and neck. “They feel amazing wrapped around your dick.”

“Language, Stevie,” both you and Bucky reprimand at the same time. You pull back and smile at the man currently holding you. He tickles your sides making you giggle then fail to hold back a yawn.

“I’ll have to hold you to that. You’re exhausted, doll.” You nod and crawl out of his lap to plant a kiss on Steve’s lips before crawling up the blankets. You reach to grab Bucky’s hand to spoon him while Steve curls up behind you.

“Comfortable?” You ask the brunett, tangling your fingers with his.

“Yeah,” he whispers and snuggles into your embrace. You can’t help but smile as the big man curls into you like a child.

“Goodnight, Bucky. Goodnight, Steve.”

“‘Night, doll.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“You two seriously only have sex on Fridays?” Bucky asks as you roll out of bed Friday morning, already excited about tonight. You’ve been fending off Bucky’s advances all week for the sake of tradition. Steve claimed you were torturing him but you had a routine and you didn’t like breaking routines.

“Penetrative sex,” you clarify as you bend down to kiss the man still curled in the bed, unable to keep the smile off your lips. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you close, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of your head.

“So I could’ve been fucking that cute little mouth of yours all this time?” Bucky smirks and nips at your bottom lip.

“Let her go. We have to go running,” Steve grins as he steps out of the bathroom.

“It’s finally Friday. I’ve been waiting all week for a piece of this girl,” Bucky argues holding you tighter.

“She likes her routine,” Steve insists. “Come running with us.”

Bucky groans and falls back in the bed. “Come on, Buck. It’ll be fun. Sam and I try to keep up with Stevie and fail miserably,” you giggle as if it's the highlight of the morning.

Bucky hides his face in the pillow beneath his head. “How about I have some breakfast waiting for you three when you get back?”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve grins. “Come on, Sweetheart. Go get ready.” You sigh and pull away from Bucky, leaving one last kiss on his lips.

You return to a huge spread of breakfast food in the kitchen that even Wanda couldn’t pass up and dragged Vision along with her.

“Now there’s a man that can give you a run for your money, Cap,” Sam smirks gesturing to Vision.

“I’d pay to see that,” you smirk in agreement. “Where’s Bucky?”

“Right here, doll,” the Brunett grins carrying the nice plates to the table.

“It looks amazing. Thank you!” You kiss his cheek tangling your fingers with his. “We’ll be back down in a second.” Steve throws you over his shoulder and spanks you on his way up the stairs.

“Stop teasing that man,” he commands over your startled screams.

“I’m not teasing anyone,” You insist as he drops you on the bed. Steve bends down to kiss you.

“You can do whatever you want to him tonight but he’s going to retaliate if you don’t stop.”

“Is that a promise?” You bite your bottom lip watching as your boyfriend pulls off his sweaty shirt. Christ, that body!

“Trouble with a capital T,” Steve mutters and disappears into the bathroom.

“Alright, doll face, which one of the punk’s favorite meals are we making today?” Bucky asks while you clean up the kitchen after breakfast. You place another dish on the drying rack when a pair of arms trap you at the sink. You bite your lip and pick up another dish, scrubbing the debris from it before wiping it off one last time and rinsing it.

“Actually,” you whisper, “I was hoping to make something you like tonight.”

He hums and steps closer, his chest pressing against your back, the vibrations tingling through you from your toes to the back of your neck. His chin rests on top of head as his hands leave the counter and find your stomach. “And what do you think is my favorite dish?”

“Well, I’ve asked Steve about it.”

“Oh? You got inside insider information.”

You nod with a smile. “I have my sources. So, you don’t get to help.”

“What?”

“It has to be a surprise.”

“I don’t want it to be a surprise. I want to cook with you.” You spin in his grasp and see the actual pout on his face.

“You really want to cook with me?”

He nods. “I want you to put on one of those cute little aprons with nothing under it while I show you exactly how I like my food.”

You giggle and reach up to kiss him. “Should I get Steve to take Sam on a date?”

“Actually, Sam’s going to be at the Vet center all day,” Steve announces stepping into the kitchen with a few more plates.

“So we have the house to ourselves?” You ask pulling off your gloves and laying them on the edge of the sink so you can wrap your arms around Bucky’s shoulders.

“Yup. They’re having some kind of community event. He’ll be home late.”

You light up and glance between your two men. “You mean we’re actually going to have a real date night?”

“Looks like it, sweetheart,” Steve grins. “And I believe Bucky made a request. Hop to it.”

“Yes, Captain,” you purr and rush upstairs.

“Captain?” You hear Bucky question but you don’t hear the rest, you’re too excited to have your men all to yourself for the evening.

Steve’s really into role play so you’ve amassed a bit of a costume collection since dating him. You pull the frilly white apron from your Little Red Riding Hood costume and tie it around your naked body. A bit of make up and a little hair tousling and-

Oh! You snag those red stilettos Steve loves just to add a little something and head back down stairs.

Steve is perched on a bar stool while Bucky leans over the counter talking quietly so he’s the first to see you.

“Shit, doll,” Bucky breathes standing up straight.

“Language, Buck,” you and Steve laugh at the same time.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” Steve sighs pulling you close for a soft kiss. “Now, get in that kitchen and make me something,” he commands, swatting your ass.

“Yes, Captain,” you giggle and join Bucky in the kitchen.

“What are we making, doll?” Bucky asks pulling you close, both hands cupping your ass making your core clench from his touch.

“Well, I was going to start with some homemade ravioli with steak.” Your fingers reach up to cup his cheeks as you struggle to think straight.

“Good start,” Bucky grins.

“And Steve said you love dessert-“

“Best part of the meal.”

“So was thinking a homemade apple pie.”

“Ambitious,” Bucky whistles. “Good thing we have all day.”

“You don’t trust my cooking abilities?” You frown.

“I’ve seen you cook first hand. You’re gonna need all the help you can get,” he chuckles. You huff and attempt to wiggle out of his grip but Bucky’s metal hand finds your jaw directing your gaze toward him. “Thank you for this, doll. It all sounds delicious.” You smile and reach up to kiss him. You go to find the pie ingredients first while Bucky preheats the oven.

“Stevie,” you smile up at the blond, “you gonna help, too?”

“Nah, I’ll just be in the way.”

“Not a question, punk.” Bucky smirks and drops a bag of Granny Smith apples in front of him. “Get to chopping.”

Steve groans and mutters a soft “jerk” under his breath as you place a knife and cutting board in front of him with a smile.

Both men are so tame while Steve chops apples and Bucky rolls out pie crust while you make the rest of the filling. They watch intently as you create a delicate lattice design on top of the pie before crimping the edges. Bucky brushes on an egg wash and when the oven is nice and hot, you bend over to place it on the center rack earning two sharp inhales from the men behind you.

You stand back up to see two sets of blue eyes staring intently at you. “What?” You whisper fighting the urge to back away as two men of pure muscle gaze at you like hungry predators.

“Do that again,” Steve commands.

“Slower this time,” Bucky mutters.

“Do what again?”

Bucky grabs your hand, pulling your back against him, and bends you over at the hips. “This,” he whispers in your ear. You whimper and brace your hands against the counter.

“Look at that. She’s so beautiful,” you hear Steve whistle.

“The only flower I’ve ever wanted to eat,” Bucky chuckles. You wiggle your hips impatiently at being held in the position and receive a harsh smack from a distinctly metal hand. The force makes you gasp and your core clench, your body instantly showing how much you enjoyed that. “Be still,” the brunett commands switching into Winter Soldier almost as quickly as Steve switches into Captain America.

“She likes that,” Steve comments.

“You’re ruining my routine,” you whine but keep still lest you be punished again. Your feet are unceremoniously kicked apart and you have to use your grip on the counter to keep balance in your heels.

“Who said I’m going to fuck you? I just want to taste you. Be a good girl and let me see what I have to look forward to.”

Bucky falls to his knees behind you holds your hips in place with a cold metal hand while the other plays with your spread lower lips. You bite your lip and moan at his touch. You press back into him but you’re held in place by that unrelenting grip. A finger presses into you and forces a long whine from your mouth. He’s got some big fingers. He shifts positions and sucks your clit into his mouth making you clench around his fingers.

“Oh God, Bucky!” You cry gripping the counter. Your pants fill the quiet and the occasional whine for more escapes your lips.

“Sweetheart, you look absolutely beautiful like that,” Steve compliments. You bite your lip knowing he’s stroking himself to you being eaten out by another man. Bucky adds another finger into you and bends them to make you scream out his name. “That’s it, sweetheart. Show Bucky just how you come undone.”

“Y-yes, Cap-“ you shriek again as Bucky pumps his fingers into you at a punishing speed. “Oh Bucky! I’m gonna-“ He sucks your clit particularly roughly and that coil tightening in your stomach finally springs loose. You cry out as your orgasm rushed through you and pours into Bucky’s waiting mouth. He laps you up as you lose feeling in your legs. They buckle and fall onto Bucky’s shoulder, his face still buried in your core as he begins to work you again.

“No more!” You cry but it’s no use. He’s steadily stroking at that spot he found in you keeping every nerve on edge while you fight another building orgasm. “Please, Bucky. I can’t.”

“You can,” Steve encourages and steps around the counter. His giant raging hard on rests in his large hand, twitching at the sight of your watering lust blown eyes. He smirks and catches your quivering chin in his hand. “Hey, Buck, you want me to keep her pretty little mouth occupied?”

Bucky pulls away long enough to mutter “Please” into you thigh, his stubble making you shutter.

“Open up, sweetheart,” Steve commands. He holds you loosely by the throat so you can drop a hand to allow him between your arms. You wrap mouth around his tip and taste the salty bead of precum waiting there that leaves you moaning at the taste. You lick down his shaft then suck at the sensitive skin all the the way back up to his tip, gathering saliva as you go. You’ve never been able to fully take on Steve’s cock but it never stopped you from trying. Your lips devour his tip once more as one hand pumps at the rest of his length that you can’t reach. Steve grips your hair and neck lightly while you suck him off, moving you at the pace he sets. All the while Bucky is working you like it’s his sole purpose in life. His big fingers pump into you while his tongue expertly circles your clit. You moan around Steve’s dick and from far away you hear him grunt from pleasure. His grunts alway get to you. You clench around Bucky’s fingers as another orgasm rolls through you. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy as your jaw goes slack. Steve takes full advantage of your prone position and thrusts deeper into you. You attempt to relax your throat until he’s palming himself through the thin skin of your neck.

“Sweetheart, you feel so good,” Steve grunts above you. “Look at you taking on my whole dick. You look so beautiful absolutely ruined between your men.” His praises barely reach you as you struggle to breathe and another orgasm starts to build in your belly. Does that man ever quit? You shouldn’t have teased him so much. “I’m going to cum down your throat, sweetheart. I want you to cum with me. One more time. Let Bucky make you feel so good.” You can’t feel anything but the pressure on you core and, God, was there pressure on your core. You don’t even know if you have one more in you but if you do, the super soldier at your heat can get it out. You feel Bucky remove his fingers from your core, all the while still lapping at it with his tongue, and press those very same fingers to your ass. You can’t help the scream that escapes you around Steve’s cock but it only comes out as a high pitch moan. One of Bucky’s fingers teases your ass hole pulling the most explicit noises out of you. Words that if Steve could hear them, you’d receive a swift spanking from him which only excited you more. You clench and the muscles spasm as you release and Bucky takes that opportunity to press a slick finger into you. The cries get louder and more frantic as you attempt to escape Bucky’s grasp and your final undoing right before you’re almost drowned in cum.

You swallow and swallow and Steve’s dick twitches and gives you a little more leaving you completely full.

Steve gently pulls you from his dick while holding up your upper half. Bucky dislodges himself from your legs using one hand to hold you up and the other to help roll himself off the floor. Steve pulls you to standing but all of your weight is on him unable to balance or keep your legs together. “Sweetheart, you did so good,” Steve coos and kisses your forehead, cheeks, lips, where ever he can reach until you feel another set of arms pick you up bridal style.

“You alright, doll?” Bucky asks, his face completely wet with your essence. You smile weakly and nod, reaching a hand up to pull him closer into a soft kiss. You can taste yourself and he can probably taste Steve and you feel content with that fact for whatever reason. “My strong girl,” Bucky hums when your lips leave his and he presses his forehead against yours. “I knew you had it in you.”

“Your girl,” you repeat and kiss him again.

“Our girl,” Steve smirks pulling you from Bucky’s lips and onto his own.

“What are you, a communist now?” Bucky laughs making you giggle.

“Boys, play nice,” you warn and gesture to be put down. He sets you down while holding you steady. You right your heeled feet on the tile floor but your hips protest against holding you up. You groan as you attempt to fight it but another set of hands lifts you.

“I don’t think it’s going to happen, sweetheart,” Steve chuckles and places you on his hip like like a child. You pout like one, too.

“But what about dinner?” You whine wrapping your arms around his shoulders despite yourself.

“I’ll finish up,” Bucky smiles pulling you into a kiss.

“But it was supposed to be your surprise,” you mutter against his lips.

“I am surprised. Surprised you planned to do all this for me. I love all of it.”

You smile and kiss him again before curling into Steve’s embrace.

Steve moves to the couch in the living room where you still have a view into the kitchen and you can watch as Bucky expertly rolls out pasta dough and chops tomatoes from the comfort of Steve’s lap.

“I feel like this was a long con to trick you into cooking,” you smirk glancing up from your phone when Bucky comes to sit beside you.

“If it was, I appreciate it. It’s nice to focus on something outside of my head,” he mutters and takes your phone. “Food’ll be done in about thirty minutes. You got anymore of those makeup murder mysteries?” You smile and crawl into his lap to find a video. Steve moves closer and rests his head against Bucky’s shoulder, still enthralled by the book in his hand.

You thought what you and Steve had was the perfect relationship but as Bucky slips an arm around your waist and props your cell phone on your thigh while Steve’s hand lazily caresses your hip you realize this is exactly what you need. You look up at Bucky focused on the woman setting up the scene for this weeks murder mystery then at Steve brow furrowed at whatever hijinks the upper east siders were up to and smile yourself before focusing back on the video.

After dinner, Bucky keeps his arms around you while you do dishes, one hand massaging your breast and the other keeping your hips firmly against his, brushing against your sensitive clit every once in a while to keep you as unfocused as possible. He claims that he’s helping by keeping you grinding helplessly against his erection. Steve thinks it’s hilarious as he leans against the counter next to you drying the dishes as you shakily hand them to him.

“Told you he’d retaliate,” Steve smirks as Bucky drags yet another whimper out of you.

“I thought making me cum three times in his mouth was retaliation,” you whine attempting to squirm against his hold but you don’t move an inch in that super soldier grip of his.

“Not anywhere near done with you,” Bucky mutters against your ear before nipping it softly making you moan.

“Did you do your homework for tonight, Buck?” Steve asks catching the plate that you drop before it can hit the floor.

“Thank you, Stevie,” you moan halfway blitzed out from the man behind you.

“I sure did,” you hear Bucky grin.

“Please be gentle,” you beg almost crying at your need to be filled.

“I will be if you behave.” Behaving wasn’t exactly in your wheelhouse.

“You know she doesn’t know the first thing about behaving, Buck,” Steve jokes and directs your face toward him.

“Good thing I’m here to teach her.” Steve pulls you into a searing kiss that almost brings you to tears as you grind against Bucky. “You want me to teach you how to be a good girl?” Bucky whispers against you as you groan into Steve mouth.

“Answer him,” Steve orders pulling away just enough to talk.

“I want to be a good girl for you,” you whine. “Both of you.”

Steve beams down at you like a proud parent but when Bucky turns you in his grip you see the sinister smirk that graces his lips and you’re dripping at the mer hint of what he’s going to do to you.

He tosses you over his should and you’re amazed that this is your second time in this position today.

Bucky unceremoniously tosses you on the bed. There’s little in the way of clothes for them to remove from you so you watch as they unbutton and tug off their shirts. You’re almost salivating at the wall of muscle they create in front of you, squeezing your legs together to stop a puddle from forming where you landed. “You like this, sweetheart?” Steve asks watching your bite your lips as he undoes his trousers.

You nod quickly.

“He asked you a question. Use your words,” Bucky instructs stepping out of his jeans and revealing that huge pulsing cock that was just wedged between your ass cheeks.

“Yes. I want to know what it feels like to be between two men that can physically rip me in half without a second thought,” you answer boldly.

“She is trouble, Stevie.”

“The worst kind.”

“Come here, doll.” You crawl to the edge of the bed and look up at him. He wraps the fingers of his metal hand around your chin holding your face in place. “I did my homework.” He doesn’t let you respond with his grip on your jaw. “I heard you’ve seen it all.” His grip loosens slightly so you can squeak out a quiet ‘yes’ “Well, I’m giving you permission to look into my browser history.” You blink up at him and you mind leaves the room to his tablet discarded on the futon downstairs. News articles, normal research, a SNL video makes you smile, and-oh?

Oh!

“Oh no,” you whisper out loud returning to the room.

“Oh yes,” Bucky grins. “It won’t be all at once. We’ll warm you up,” he promises.

“You knew about this?” You bark at Steve as he sits next to you, one hand massaging the base of your neck.

“Well, I did want a third for a reason. And you apparently want to be ripped in half.”

You glare at both men in turn. “You’re going to get pretty close like that,” you grumble.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“What happened to wanting to be a good girl?” Bucky reminds you. Your glare softens slightly. “Very good, doll,” Bucky coos and releases you.

Steve tugs lightly on the ribbon holding your apron around your waist then again at the one around your neck letting it fall from your body. “Gorgeous,” Steve whispers and kisses your cheek then your jaw and moves behind you to plant kisses on your neck and shoulder. “Tell us what you want tonight.”

You hadn’t forgotten your own homework, either. Tonight was Steve’s long awaited kink come true and Bucky’s was going to require some work. You were the only one left. Bucky sits on the opposite side of you, his arms wrapping around your waist while he rests his head on your shoulder. You bite your nail. This was an open place. No room for embarrassment. When it was just you and Steve, it was a little easier. Your sexual prowess grew together. But Bucky was an unknown. He already proved he knew what he was doing with his mouth. And he knew what he was doing to you pressed against his body while you attempted to clean.

“Come back to us, sweetheart,” Steve begs.

“Do you want to just tell Steve?” Bucky asks seemingly knowing why you were hesitating.

You shake your head sharply. The three of you were a unit now. There was no reason to keep secrets. “Bucky,” you begin at a whisper. He hums indicating he’s listening. “I like being dominated. I want you to tell me what to do. To control me, like Stevie does. What can I call you?”

You feel Steve’s lips quirk up against your skin while Bucky thinks.

“You trust me enough for that?” He asks, his grip around you tightening slightly.

“Yeah, I do,” you nod and intertwine your fingers with his still around your waist.

“You’ll call me sergeant,” he commands.

“Yes, sergeant,” you reply obediently. “How do you want me?”

Bucky smirks and lifts his head to look you in the eye. “I want that pretty little mouth around my cock while Stevie fucks you into submission.”

Bucky stands at the edge of the bed while you kneel in front of him. You run your tongue across your top lip while looking up at the brunett in front of you. He steps closer and you’re practically biting at the bit to get a taste of him. “Is she always this eager?” Bucky asks over you to Steve who’s crawled behind you.

“She’s always challenged herself to take all of me. I think you’re a new challenge.”

“Is he right, doll? Are you going to try and stuff all of me down that throat of yours?”

“Yes, sergeant.”

“Well, get started, doll.” You grin and run your tongue from the base of his dick to the tip, lapping up the bead of precum waiting for you. You flatten your tongue and cover as much of the tip as you can with saliva before closing your mouth around him. He’s slightly shorter than Steve but thicker and fitting your mouth around all that girth was going to be test of determination.

It was a good thing you didn’t give up easily. You wrapped a hand around his base to cover what your mouth couldn't and you heard him groan above you, his fingers palming your scalp and controlling your speed. You moan with pleasure at the feeling of being completely at his mercy as he guides your head along his cock. You feel Steve finally touch you. His big hands splay across your backside as he spreads you open. You still clench almost a year later knowing he can see all of you.

“What a pretty little pussy,” you hear him sigh. “You’re going to love it, Buck.”

“You’re going to let me cum in your girl?” Bucky grits out, biting back a groan.

“Our girl,” he corrects and runs his tip along your slit. “I’m going to get her nice and wet for you.” You gasp as Steve slips into you. Almost chocking on Bucky’s dick as your lips take on a little more of him.

“That’s right doll. Get as much as you can. I wanna cum directly into your belly.” You whine at his dirty talk while Steve starts pumping into you. You try to keep up with your mouth but he’s rutting into you like a man who hasn’t fucked in a year. He knows that’s how you like it; hard and fast. The speed forces you to take in more and more of Bucky until your nose in buried in his pubic hair. Bucky growls at your progress and you feel him twitch in your throat. You’re completely at their mercy now, forced to follow Steve’s grueling pace while Bucky does what he wants with your mouth. Just the idea of it makes you cum.

“Christ, sweetheart!” Steve grunts as he’s forced to slow down from the clamp you’re putting on him. You take advantage of the brief respite gather saliva and pull your mouth almost all the way off Bucky’s dick, swirling your tongue around his swollen tip and marvel at the fact that you took all of this into your mouth.

“Fuck, doll. You’re doing something with that pretty little mouth.” Bucky forces you back down to the base of his dick then almost all the way off, getting all the pleasure that tongue of yours will give him. Then Steve is back at it at full force but now his hand has found your sensitive clit making you cry out.

“Who gave you permission to cum, sweetheart?” Steve asks knowing you have no way to answer. A harsh smack to your ass has you clenching around him. “You don’t cum again until we say so.” You whine around Buck’s dick but Bucky just thrusts into your mouth forcing any complaints to die before it reached your mind.

“Stevie said you like a little extra pressure when you give head.” You hear the smirk in Bucky’s voice and can only imagine what it would feel like to have his hand around your neck and his dick down your throat. His flesh hand wraps around your neck lightly adding just enough pressure. “Shit! I can feel myself fucking you, doll. Fuck,” he groans and rocks his hips in your mouth and you clench around Steve’s dick.

“I’m not going to last much longer,” Steve groans, his thrust only becoming more punishing. You claw at the bed attempting to stay upright as you’re attacked from both ends.

“You ready for this, doll face?” Bucky groans and cums spilling into your mouth. Steve isn’t far behind filling you to the brim with his seed as you attempt to swallow everything Bucky gave you. “All of it, doll,” Bucky encourages with hand under your chin as a little spills from your mouth. You gulp down the last of his load before panting to catch your breath. “Such a good girl.” Steve pulls you back him his lap, cock still buried inside you as he kisses your neck and shoulder. Bucky crawls between your legs massaging your clit while you gently ride Steve’s spent but still hard cock.

“You can cum now, sweetheart,” Steve whispers in your ear as Bucky pulls the most needy whimpers from your lips. “That’s it.”

Bucky plants a soft kiss on you lips while you fall apart, moaning into his mouth. Bucky hums in satisfaction before pulling away slightly. “We weren’t too rough with you, were we, doll?” He asks meeting your gaze. You struggle to focus on him as you shake your head no. “Good,” smiles. “Know you’ve still got plenty in there for us.” He pulls away and leave you to curl into Steve’s embrace, clenching around him so nothing spills out.

Bucky returns with a damp towel and wipes away the bit of cum that spilled out of mouth. “Beautiful,” he mutters before kissing you. “Alright, let go.” You release Steve’s dick, lifting slightly to pull him out, and a trail of cum spills out of you. “Christ, Steve. You did get her wet for me,” Bucky grins.

“You should slide right in,” Steve jokes and presses your stomach causing you to leak more of his essence.

“Can’t wait,” Bucky mutters and kisses you softly before crawling into your arms.

“That was amazing,” you exhale and kiss his shoulder and neck.

“I’m so happy we finally did this,” you hear the smile in Steve’s voice mimicking your words from the first time you had sex. You crane your neck to meet his lips. They were being so sweet and giving you a breather in between rounds but they were ready to go. Steve was already hard, pressing against your ass while Bucky was starting to go ridged against your stomach. You grind softly against Steve earning a sharp groan from the blond.

You’d hate to keep them waiting.

“I thought you’d need a break after that,” Steve chuckles and tweaks one of your nipples.

You bite your bottom lip at the stimulation. Bucky takes the other breast into his mouth, flicking the nipple with his tongue before sucking harshly.

“Sergeant, you gonna fuck me with that big cock of yours?”

“You ready for me, doll?” He smiles nipping at the sensitive skin. You whine, pulling him closer, pressing his face into your breasts. “Want me to pump you full of my babies? Fill up that tight little tummy?”

You cock your head and freeze. “But I’m on birth control.”

Steve starts to laugh behind you, pulling you tighter against him, while Bucky snickers into your skin.

“We’re still working on dirty talk, Buck. Play along, sweetheart,” Steve insists through his chuckles. You search your memory stores for something like this. Oh? A breeding kink? It wasn’t something you’d ever paid attention to but if Bucky wanted it...

“Will I ever get use to that?” Bucky asks Steve while he props himself up to watch you.

“Yeah. It’s just a little unsettling when she does it during sex.”

“I’m back,” announce earning their grins. “Okay. Try again,” you prompt Bucky pulling him close once more.

Bucky smirks and meets your gaze, all amusement but the lust is still there. He repeats his words exactly earning a grin from you. “Yes, baby. I want you to keep me big and pregnant so everyone knows I’m yours.”

Bucky’s amusement falls. “She’s good,” he breathes before crushing you with a kiss.

“The best,” Steve chuckles and pulls you into his lap with your back to his chest, spreading your legs to expose you quivering pussy.

“Alright, doll, you sure you’re ready for this?” You nod panting against his lips. “Use your words.”

“Yes, sergeant. I want Steve to fuck my ass while you fill up my pussy.”

“Good girl. Stevie, you ready for her?” Bucky lifts you slightly so you cling to his shoulders and spreads your ass cheeks. You feel Steve’s head prod gently at the tight hole.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes, captain,” you exhale trying to keep breathing through the pressure.

“Good job, sweetheart,” Steve groans rocking his hip into you and burying himself deeper. “You’re taking me so well. Almost there,” he grunts and pulls you against his chest, taking your weight from the brunett in front of you. Your moans don’t stop at this new form of fullness. Steve rubs your stomach and you start to relax with the new intrusion. “God, you’re so tight, sweetheart.” You clench at his words and he groans, feeling you tightening around him.

“Bucky,” you pant and reach for him. “I need you.”

“I’m right here, doll,” he assures and kisses you softly. “Fuck, we’re going to ruin you,” he smirks against your lips.

He slides into you and you make him wait to adjust to his girth, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re so big,” you breathe and rock him into you slowly, testing the limits of your core.

“That’s right, doll. You love being full of two fat dicks. Stirring up your insides. Making sure no other man can satisfy you.”

“Yes, sergeant,” you whisper. He’s finally seated within you and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Steve rubs your lower stomach gently making Bucky groan.

“She’s so fucking tight,” Bucky moans and the sound makes you clench around them both eliciting further moans of satisfaction. Both their hips rock into you in tandem making you cry out and cling to Bucky’s shoulders.

“You like that, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes, captaaaah!” You cry as they thrust into you.

“Bet you won’t find her sweet spot, jerk,” Steve goads breathlessly and it just spurs on Bucky’s thrusts, exploring your insides with each rut making you whine out hopelessly.

“I bet I can make her scream first, punk,” Bucky smirks making Steve double his efforts. Their hands roam across your body pinching and squeezing, Steve’s lips press into your shoulder, Bucky’s breaths tickle your ear. It’s all so much.

You cry out and press your nails into Bucky’s skin as he presses into the spot that makes you clench around him. “Found it,” he grins and meets that same standard over and over.

High pitched squeaks come out of you with every thrust.

You moan out his name and grip Steve’s hand that’s playing with your breast. Steve shifts his angle slightly making you scream for him. He emits a satisfied hum and continues to hit that point.

“Oh God,” you wheeze. “I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum on our dicks, sweetheart. I’m so close.”

“I’m right here with you, doll. I’m gonna fill you up.”

You let out a sharp cry at your body releases, spasming around the two dicks in you.

“God! So fucking tight.” They continue to thrust, chasing their own orgasms.

“Milk my cock.”

And they flood you. Both pressing as deep as they can reach starting another release from your body just at the sensation and thought of being completely filled with them.

“Fuck, doll,” Bucky groans. “You’re going to make me have to fuck you again.” You groan and pull him against your chest.

“No more,” you breathe.

You see Bucky meet Steve’s gaze over your shoulder. “You can take it, sweetheart.”

“No, really! No more,” you giggle and snuggle into Bucky’s shoulder making them both chuckle. “I think you two have successfully ripped me in half.”

“Then let us take care of you,” Steve mutters and kisses your shoulder. Bucky reaches over to the bed side table and hands him the discarded towel. You feel the cool material meet your backside as he pulled out. All of his essence came spilling out with him and you whine at the loss of fullness.

Steve only hums and turned your face to kiss him. “Going to have to fill that hole more often,” he mutters when you pull away.

Bucky takes the towel and gently dabs at your sensitive pussy after pulling out. “It felt amazing to be completely full,” you whisper.

Bucky smirks at that and leans over you for a gentle kiss. “Won’t be the last time. Promise.”

“Do you want a bath or cuddles?”

“Cuddles,” you decide not wanting to move. Not wanting to disturb the cum still filling you so gloriously. Not yet.

You pull Bucky back into the mess of arms and legs and into a soft kiss. “So, you want a baby?” You ask tangling your fingers in his hair.

“Is that a kink we can fulfill?” Bucky smirks.

“Stevie?” You smile glancing back at your boyfriend.

“Don’t make me tell you two ‘no’,” the blond sighs. “We’re on the run. We’re in hiding. We are not in the position to have a child.”

“What if I was a surrogate?” You suggest excitedly.

“Fuck, Stevie. All the benefits of pregnancy without the kid,” Bucky grins snuggling his face into your neck and making you giggle from his stubble tickling your skin. “Sounds like a dream.”

Steve sighs again. “I’m going to sleep. Don’t fall asleep with all the cum in you.”

“You are no fun at all, Steven,” Bucky laughs. “Come on, doll. Let’s go take a bath without him. Get all soapy and wet. Maybe we can see what else we can slip in you.”

“Yes, sergeant,” you smile and climb out of Steve’s grip. Bucky easily lifts you, cradling you against his chest

“Wait. I want a bath, too,” Steve mutters.

“Come on, baby,” you smile and make grabby hands for him. You spend the next hour squeezed in your tub with two giant men exactly where you want to be for the rest of your life.

Dividers by the amazing FireFly

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black female reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers smut #bucky Barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black female reader #bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky Barnes smut #stucky x black female reader #stucky x reader #stucky x female reader

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scarlvtbitch · 2 years

Text

Jealousy, jealousy

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Tension arises between Bucky and reader when their friendship reaches a rocky road. Will they overcome it or will their bond be broken forever?

“Oh.”

“Oh, what?”

“Looks like Bucky is making a friend.” Sam paused his work and glanced from

the piece of wood he was painting to the deck of the boat. After two missed calls—and twenty texts later, I agreed to come down to Louisiana this weekend. In all honesty I needed to get away from, well, everything. There had been a grey cloud towering over my very existence for a while now. Something was missing from my life. I just fell odd...in existing? Life was a pretty strange thing if I was being honest. Some days—the good days—I felt good about yourself, but then there were the hard days.

The hard days consisted mostly of moping around, drowning in a big wave of anxieties and insecurities. Those were the days I chose to shield myself from the world and everyone in it. Including those I love. Which is the reason I was here in the first place.

Before Sam called, no—tricked—me to come, I was more than content in my Brooklyn apartment. Well, studio, really. I had walls, barriers surrounding me. It felt safe. A fort, that’s what it was. No one could get to me. Or to something far more fragile. My heart couldn’t be shattered by someone’s harsh words. At least not any more than it was. Four days ago, that’s when the incident with my best friend in the whole world broke me in ways I didn’t know could happen.

It was a Monday afternoon in a New York summer’s day. Hot was an understatement for the weather today. It felt like I was being swallowed by Satan himself. There was no better way to describe this heat then being in the deepest, darkest cave in Hell. A cave with no type of air whatsoever. I was sweating in places I didn’t know could sweat. To make matter’s worse, the air conditioner had stopped working. That’s what the cheapest apartment in Brooklyn would get you. Somehow that didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that I was about to be the first human on earth who has melted like an ice cream to death, because the person who was beside me made it more than tolerable and most definitely worth it.

“You need to take your shirt off or your arm’s going to become melted vibranium ice-cream.” We were both lying on the floor, which was the coolest place to be right now. The chilly air from the night had spread over the hard wooden floors like a blanket. Bucky’s body was draped across the middle of the living room, while you I was across from him in the same position. Lying down, gazes glued to the ceiling. Instead of laying beside him like a normal person, I had taken the opportunity to have my lower legs and feet resting on his chest, just to annoy him for my pleasure.

“You just want to see me shirtless.”

“I just don’t want melted metal on the floor. Do you know how hard that is to clean?” That was partly true. I wouldn’t complain if he would expose his gorgeous chest and his gorgeous abs. He was already giving me a free show with his Greek god arms.

“Have you ever dealt with melted metal?”

“No but I guarantee it’s not a trip to Disneyland.” That earns me a laugh, which makes me smile. His large hand is splayed out over my shin, rubbing it up and down. That sends a warm feeling down my stomach, but I shove any of those potential feelings in the file in my brain that reads ‘Forbidden’, put it in the drawer, lock it and throw away the pretend key. I can’t think of him in any way. So I change the topic. “How’s Yori?”

“We went to an antique store today. He got really happy.”

“Aww. I can imagine. That sounds great. I’m happy he’s happy.” I pushed myself off the floor and leaned all my weight against my elbows, glancing in his direction. He was still looking up, but I could still see his perfect side profile. Stubble making its way to the surface, baby blue eyes fixed on the paint patches in the ceiling, and the muscle in his jaw doing the lightest twitch occasionally. “But Bucky, I thought antique shopping was our thing.” I say in a sadder way than I meant to.

“It’s still our thing. I just let Yori borrow it today.” He finally connects his gaze with mine, and I desperately wished I was strong enough to look away. But I wasn’t. He was the first one to look away. Leaning back on the floor, initiating his staring contest with the ceiling once again. I saw a faint twitch on his lips, as if he was debating to say something or not. He remained silent, and I thought he wouldn’t speak again for a while. But then he said, “It will always be our thing.” Then my heart did the fluttery thing that I detested with my entire being. I grinned, feeling satisfied with his answer, and laid back down. His hand had stopped rubbing patterns on my shin.

“I met a girl.” My heart sank. I went from feeling like i could fly to feeling like someone had hit me with the biggest truck possible.

“Oh.” Is all I could comment.

“Met her on a dating app.”

“I thought you hated those.”

“I do.”

“Then why are you using it?”

“I don’t know. I just did.” There’s something else, I could feel it in the way he spoke.

“You don’t know?” I would just keep pushing until he spilled his guts.

“I guess I wanted a distraction.”

“A distraction? From what?”

“From life.”

“From...life.” I deadpanned.

“Y/N...”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Why are you making a big deal out of this?”

“I’m just curious as to why you would change your perception of dating overnight.”

“People change.” Why doesn’t he tell me? He tells me everything, from the sushi he would eat with Yori to the detailed descriptions of his nightmares. My entire mood shifted.

“Right.” The tension piled around us until we were six deep buried in it.

“You sound mad.”

“I am mad!” What I was trying to hold back, exploded into what was a truth bomb. “I’m mad that my own best friend doesn’t want to tell me why he suddenly likes dating apps.” I’m mad that you met someone, that you can potentially marry her and have kids. I’m mad that I can’t be brave enough to tell you how in love with you I am.

“Y/N...” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We are always honest with each other. What changed?” He opened his mouth to speak but I stopped him by holding my finger up and continuing my rant. “And don’t say nothing because something happened. Something changed. Or you wouldn’t be hiding anything from me. You know I don’t like lies, Bucky. We’ve always been transparent, you and I.” The whole time, he was silent. Lips pressed in a thin line. Jaw clenched. Eyes trained on the door, not daring to look at me. I have had enough of this today.

“I don’t feel very good.”

“It’s probably the heat.”

“No, it’s this. I need some space. We’re clearly in a weird thing right now. I think we just need to take a breather from us.” It’s the last thing I wanted but I knew the deeper reason behind is. I was too cowardly to tell the truth. God, I was the worst human on this planet. Here I was, being mad at him for lying to me. This is what I did. When I was mad at myself, for being stupid, I also tended to be mad at the world. If I felt bad, I had to bring down those I loved too. It was a pattern I was more than tired to have.

I was mad at myself for not telling him I loved him. I was mad that because of my cowardice, he would probably marry someone else and abandon me. I was mad that I was upset at him for not telling the truth.

“Okay.” Was all he said before he left. And that was the last I have heard of Bucky this entire week. And I was doing just fine, really. Can’t a girl love being alone without someone offering them their condolences?

It was day three of eating sugary treats, and pizza delivered from the pizza place right in front. Another pattern I had. The list of distancing myself from the world consisted of two things. Number one: read romance books that make me cry. And number two: indulge myself in nothing but junk food. I gave myself a pass of eating anything my heart desired during these days, using the excuse of a broken heart.

I was chewing on a very cheesy slice of pizza and reading “Pride and Prejudice” while the movie soundtrack played on my laptop, when my phone buzzed. I glanced to see who it was, heart drumming wildly in my chest in anticipation. Terrified that it would be Bucky and that I would have to gather enough willpower to confront him.

I let out a sigh of relief when I see Sam’s contact on the screen.

“Hey. How you doing?” I didn’t need to be with him to hear the sympathy in his voice. Bucky must have told him what happened.

“Perfect.”

“Liar.” I roll my eyes and ignore the text. I go back to reading the angst between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth, deciding that I don’t want to get into whatever this is with him. Another buzz.

“I have a proposition for you.” I still don’t reply.

“I need some help down here. We can’t afford to hire any help so I was wondering, if you’re not doing anything, maybe you could come and help out? I’m asking as a friend in need. Don’t make me beg.”

“But I love it when I make Captain America beg.” It’s so hard not to tease him just a little bit. He’s just easy to mess with.

“Y/N.”

“What are the magic words?”

“I have two words for you and they’re not happy birthday.” I sent him the middle finger emoji. “Ok, fine. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Will you please come to Louisiana so you can be a good friend and help me out?” See? Easy.

“Well if you insist. When?”

“Later tonight? I already bought you your plane ticket. I’ll send you the details. Thanks, Y/N. You’re the best.” Motherfucker. I instantly call him. He doesn’t answer. I call him about fourteen more times before all I get is a text that says, “Oh and Bucky’s coming too.” This week could not get any worse.

Turns out, it could. I arrived to Sarah’s house last night. She was kind enough to offer me the guest room. I got there before he who shall not be named. I was very relieved when Sam told me his flight wouldn’t get in until a couple of more hours. I went to sleep around two. Even though I was still upset at this whole situation, I was worried about Bucky. He was flying alone. And he hated flying. You had flown with him a few months ago, for AJ’s birthday party. The first time he came to the small town in Louisiana he had driven his motorcycle all the way from New York.

When he confessed that he was afraid of flying, I tried to reassure him that I would be there and that he had nothing to be scared of. When that didn’t ease his worries, I added, “You do know that driving is far more dangerous than flying?” He threw a sharp look at my way and I pushed down the giggle threatening to bubble up my throat.

My walls went down for the first time in this whole stupid fight. I reached for my phone and started texted him at four a.m. to see if he was alright. Before I could hit send, I heard the front door opening and closing, followed by a deep voice that could bewitch anyone who heard it. I felt like I could finally breathe, knowing he was here and he was safe. I got two hours of sleep last night. Courtesy of Sam and his loud ass voice who should be everyone’s default alarm. He woke me up at six a.m. Something about how we needed to get started early if we wanted to finish early. I whined and argued the entire path from the house to the docks. Two hours had gone by before Sam brought the topic I had been dreading to the table.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

“Nope.” I glide my paint brush side by side, trying to focus on the color of pale yellow. I never really noticed how pretty pastel yellow can be.

“Y/N...”

“Sam, drop the subject. Please.”

“Now who’s the one that’s begging.” I stop what I’m doing and throw a death glare his way. He puts his hands up in defense.

“You’re going to have to talk to him eventually.” He tilts his head upward in a quick motion, pointing across from us with his chin, and then goes back to focus on his painting. I swivel my head around and finally let myself look at Bucky. Because I’ve missed looking at him. I’ve missed hugging him. I’ve missed his cologne. I’ve missed talking to him. I’ve missed when he sees me without makeup and tells me that I’m beautiful with or without it. I’ve missed when he calls me when he has a nightmare and I stay over to make sure he has someone to comfort him. There’s not a single part about him or our friendship that I haven’t missed. I spin around in excitement, hoping that seeing him would give me the courage I need. Then I’m met with something I wasn’t expecting.

“Oh.” One of my hands flies to my stomach as I feel a wave of nausea coursing through me.

“Oh, what?”

“Looks like Bucky is making a friend.” Sam immediately stops what he’s doing to glance at the pair smiling at each other over my shoulder. They were talking real close. Bucky was flashing her a grin so big that I thought his mouth would split open. I only ever saw him smiling like that with me. Sam doesn’t seem all that surprised at the interaction between Bucky and his sister.

“He’s flirting with Sarah. It’s fine.” Liar, liar, liar. My brain yells at me.

“It’s clearly not fine. And he wasn’t flirting with Sarah.”

“I’m completely okay with-what do you mean?”

“He’s flirting with Sarah because I told him to.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted him to get over someone else.”

“Get over who? What the hell is going on Sam?”

“It’s you. I wanted to get over you.” I know that voice. I love that voice, and the owner of it. I’m almost sure the two men beside me can hear my heart beating. Slowly, I turn around. If a random stranger came by, and they saw the speed I was moving in, they would think that I was standing on a frozen lake right now, afraid of ice breaking and being swallowed by the cold water. Once I fully turned around, I was greeted by the face that I loved most in this world. I stand up from my sitting position to face him.

“Clearly I failed. Because you’re still my first thought when I wake up and my last thought before I go to sleep.” I- what?

“What?” Was I dreaming? I had to be. Without him noticing, I pinched the back of my hand three times. He was still there. And he said those words. Apparently he did notice how I pinched myself because next thing I knew he was wrapping his large hands over mine, bringing them up between us. We were standing so close to each other now. I had to tilt my neck back up to be able to look into his cerulean eyes. “No, Y/N. You’re not dreaming. This is real.” He then brought up our joined hands to his lips, kissing my fingers. “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t form words. Usually my brain never shut up. But sometimes when I was too overwhelmed with emotion, it just went blank. This was one of those times.

“Bucky-what?”

“I’m sorry for not telling you about Tinder. I’m sorry for not being completely honest. But I’m not sorry for this.” Before I could ask what he meant, my lips had been claimed by his. It was a hungry kiss, long overdue. Teeth occasionally clashing. Trapping his bottom lip between my own. He tasted divine. I wanted to die buried in his mouth. Kissing Bucky Barnes was just as addictive as I predicted. The question is, how the hell is this happening?

After what seemed hours, he pulled away. Our foreheads pressed together while his arms were around my waist, one of his hands gripping my hip and the other buried in my locks.

“I’m not sorry for being in love with you.” He whispered against my now kiss bruised mouth. We were so close I was sure he could hear my heart about to burst. He pulled back and placed a kiss on my forehead. I just stood there, like a total fool. Mouth agape, motionless.

“I wasn’t completely honest that day. You were right. I was hiding the truth. And the truth is that I’m so in love with you it hurts. I’ve loved you since I laid eyes on you. But I didn’t want to ruin what we had. Our friendship is the best thing that has happened to me. Then I realized it wasn’t our friendship. It was you. You are the best thing that has happened to me. I’ve never been in love. I didn’t know if I should tell you because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I didn’t know if my feelings were reciprocated. So I tried to move on. Sam saw how miserable I was. He suggested I talk with someone else to try and get my mind off it. That’s why I started using those shitty apps. There were some decent women on there, despite all the crazy ones. But they weren’t you, Y/N.”

“They are.”

“What?” One single sentence took him off guard. I took off my armor. His words are the fuel for my courage.

“Your feelings. They’re reciprocated. Bucky,” I took a breath. “You have no idea how much I love you. I’m in love with you too. That’s why I shut you away. I was mad at myself for not being brave enough to tell you. So I made the dating app incident into a big issue. I was hurt that you wouldn’t tell me but I was also being a fucking hypocrite. And I was also upset at imagining you with someone who wasn’t me. I want to be the one that you love forever. I want to have that perfect white picket fence life. I want to have our small house in the country. I want to wear a ring that symbolizes my eternal bond with you. I want to give you a family. I want to grow old together. I want it all with you.” I gasped for air. I had never felt more open and naked; so vulnerable.

By the time I was done talking, his eyes were sparkling. Tears threatening to fall over his cheekbones. When he blinked, a single tear slid down. I caught it and wiped it with my thumb. He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. When he opened them, he gave me a big grin that reached his eyes and made them crinkle.

“You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of hearing that.” My heart did the flutter and my stomach did the flip, this time, though, I let it happen. No running, no tucking away feelings in boxes. I leaned forward and connected my lips with his in a chaste kiss. His lips were so soft it was unfair how perfect he was. I remembered something and pulled away. He started searching for my face if something was wrong.

“Wait. Why were you talking with Sarah though? You seemed pretty happy.”

“Oh, that.” He gave a deep chuckle and leaned down so that his mouth was level to my ear. “We were faking.” He smirked as I playfully slapped him in the chest. A thrill shot through me. I had the love of my life and my best friend in my arms. I had everything I had ever wanted and this was real.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan x reader #marvel x reader

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bonvoyagenoona · 2 years

Text

Pink Toes (M)

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ / Mature / Explicit

Word Count: 11.2k | read on ao3 | Part of the Yoongi 3(0) for 30 series!

Synopsis: There’s a new nail technician at Nouveau Nails. His name is Min Yoongi. And he knows exactly what you need.

Genres | Content Warnings | Themes: Strangers to lovers, some fluff, some angst, some smut (massaging, semi-public sex, and, uh, well, feet)

Author’s Note: Part of my Yoongi 3(0) for 30 series, and based on a real-life, incredibly hot nail technician at my salon that I absolutely have a crush on. The first time he gave me a pedicure, he stopped randomly and paused my manicurist before she started painting my nails. He got up and came back with a different bottle of pink. He switched out the shade of pink she had picked to ensure that it would match the pink I picked for my toes. And the last time I saw him, he gave me an extra few minutes on my massage. I’m too shy to ask for his name, and I go too infrequently to feel like it warrants a standing appointment. But whenever I call to make an appointment, part of the fun is wondering whether I’ll get to see him. He’s… um… very good. And he’s obviously a Yoongi. Come book an appointment with him.💜

Her voice is never the same, but whoever answers always has a bright, cheery tone. You’ve wondered if that was because the entire staff was naturally that friendly, or if the owner was that stingy on sharing tips.

“Is Friday at 3 available?” you ask her hopefully.

“Yes, what would you like to get done?”

Hours are easily spent browsing, but you always end up going with the design that prompts the search. Negative space. Abstract watercolor splashes. Pinks and light oranges on a nude canvas. Matte. “Dip manicure with gel designs, please?” You catch sight of your excited, wiggling toes. “And a gel pedicure?”

“Can I have your phone number?”

You recite the digits clearly and comfortably paced so that you don’t have to repeat yourself, before adding, “Uh, do you still have that punch card thing going on?”

“The loyalty card promo? Oh, yes, and we have your phone number on file to verify that you came in. Do you happen to have the physical card with you?”

Your index and middle finger knuckles flip positions, turning the punch card over from the side with four out of five nail emoji stamps to the side with the Nouveau Nails logo, their address, and, crucially, because you never remember to save it as a contact, their phone number.

“Yes, but do I need to bring anything else to take advantage of the promo?” you ask.

“That’s all, and, uh, also, pedicures and manicures count as one punch each, so you’ll get a new card, if that makes sense?”

“Thanks!” you say, smiling through your voice because it feels like an accomplishment somehow, but then immediately cringing at your own excitement, trying to move on from it by asking, “So, do you need anything else from me?”

“No, just confirming that we’ll see you Friday at 3 for a dip and gel manicure and a gel pedicure, and that you’ll get it at a 20% discount with the loyalty card promo?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

In the keyboard-punctuated silence that follows your statement, you realize that the entire conversation you’ve just had consisted completely of gently crafted questions. What do you want? Can you have it? Is it too much of a hassle to get it in a way that works for you?

“Any additional questions?” she asks, still bright.

“No — thank you!”

“Alright, see you on Friday at 3!”

When you arrive, you immediately wish you hadn’t made your appointment for Friday at 3.

Because Friday at 3 is when spring break apparently started.

And, on Friday, at 3, seemingly everyone in your neighborhood between the ages of 5 and 50 is at Nouveau Nails.

Usually, at this phase of your appointment, you’d be signing in using the tablet perched next to the vase of always-fresh orchids on the front desk, anticipating an hour and a half of relaxation after another hectic week while secretly trying to guess which of the women washing and filing and painting had answered your call. On Friday, at 3, however, each of the women have four times as many hands and feet to buff and polish, and the tablet is four torsos away.

One of the Nouveau Nail staff members cuts between you and the torso in front of you. Her smile is hidden behind her mask, but her eyes, sparkling with apologetic recognition, give her away. “Busy today,” she whispers.

“Good for business!” you whisper back.

She nods happily before reaching out for the nearby table and grabbing a spiraling tower of sample nails with sample colors.

“We can get you started on your pedicure, though!” she tells you. “Have a seat in Chair 4 when it frees up.”

You nod, though it could be mistaken for a groove, as you pull your headphones from around your neck, the closed-back cans slipping comfortably over your ears, the leather worn where it needs to be.

It takes half a song to sign in, but as you do, a sense of normalcy starts to descend. You spend a few minutes admiring the fresh orchid at the desk, largely ignored, but always evoking a quiet beauty appreciated in moments like these, when someone is close to it and paying attention.

The shop can be busy and loud. It doesn’t mean that you need to be.

When you turn to make your way to Chair 4, though, something catches you off-guard.

A new staff member, crouched over the end of the chair, turning on the basin at its foot.

This new person is a he.

A he with black ash for hair, and draped in a cream-bodiced, black-necked sweater that has got to be too warm for the fire-marshall-chastising amount of people stuffed in this salon.

He takes a moment to check the temperature of the water pouring from the basin’s spout before scooping up a small notepad and black marker. He draws something on it. An afterthought. A touch-up to something already fully realized. And when he’s satisfied, he sets the notepad back down under his stool before the basin is even half-full.

Furrowing your brow, you walk toward the chair anyway. You hate to have preconceived notions, but, perhaps even more than this spring break crowd, you weren’t expecting a he.

It probably isn’t very hard to do a simple pedicure, you tell yourself, even though you yourself do the worst job.

“Hi,” you say with a polite smile. “I’m—”

When he turns around, his pout blushing with color and his tired eyes filling with warmth, you forget.

“Uh, I’m… uh…”

“Are you our 3 o’clock?” he asks, smirking a little.

You nod again, though you don’t hear it so much as understand what his lips are curling to say. He says something else, but you can’t make it out. Squinting, you tilt your head and try to replay it in your head.

He points to his ear, and then you realize that beats are still flowing into your brain.

“Sorry,” you say, reaching for your right ear.

Usually, at this phase of your appointment, you’re deep into the third or fourth song in your relaxation playlist, laying down stress and burdens from the week behind, envisioning positive outcomes for the week ahead, manifesting as much success and strength as you can, and reminding yourself of your power through others’ lyrics. But on Friday at 3, you are holding your phone and trying to pull your headphones down at the same time, essentially doing too much with your right hand, to where you almost drop your phone into the basin full of water.

He bends forward quickly to catch it, just in case, but your phone luckily doesn’t fall completely out of your grip.

Nothing ever does.

“Sorry,” you chuckle again, shaking your head at yourself.

You pause your music and stick your phone in your leggings pocket for safekeeping.

Now that he’s sure that you can hear him, he says, “I was saying that I liked your headphones.”

“Oh, thanks. They were a gift. And they’re great.” You grin and tap the label on the right ear cup, laying flat against your collarbone. “Technics.”

“Nice,” he says. “Though I’m more of a Grado fan, myself.”

His arm rises, and his fingers unfurl as his flat palm turns up.

“Have a seat.”

You shove your phone into the pocket of your leggings for safe keeping, and then you slide onto the seat at the right side of the chair, where its arm is up in the air. You take a moment to remove your shoes and socks, and as you swivel in your seat to rest your bare feet on the basin lip, he gets up and walks to your side as you get comfortable.

“Want anything to drink?” he asks. “Water, soda, wine?” He presses his lips together. “The frozen margarita machine is broken after—”

Happy, sugary laughter bursts forth from the group of women in chairs 5, 6, and 7, their nail technicians all exchanging looks.

He turns to you again.

“Well, it’s broken after over-use.”

You smile gently. “Nothing to drink for me. Thanks, though.”

“Of course.” He sniffs. “Gel pedicure?”

You nod.

“What color are we doing?”

“Same.”

You wiggle your toes, and he chuckles.

“OPI Big Bow Energy,” you explain. “It’s my usual.”

He chuckles again. “Alright. Big Bow Energy it is.”

He pulls the arm chair down, wiping clean the button panel of massage chair settings down for you as the arm clicks in place. “Make yourself comfortable,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

He walks off lazily, heading to the back of the salon. You wonder what “the back” looks like. Everyone always emerges from “the back” with a wooden tray containing a small jar of fake flowers and three tiny bowls of neon-colored scrubs and creams that smell amazing and feel divine on your skin. When he emerges, he also has a mask hanging off of his left ear, and a lollipop in his closed mouth, the small round head of candy bulging out of his right cheek.

You wonder what flavor it is.

“Lucky,” the woman in Chair 5 chirps.

When you turn to look at her, Chairs 6 and 7 lean forward. They all have the same, faint waft of frozen margarita floating from their identically frantic smiles.

Chair 5 nods over to your nail technician, who is sorting through the polish rack for your Big Bow Energy.

“We’ve been coming here every Friday afternoon trying to get him,” Chair 5 explains. “So unfair that you just waltz right in and get him on your first go,” Chair 6 adds with a groan.

“Oh,” you comment, “I’m actually a regular custom—”

“It’s been months,” Chair 7 complains, “and each time we’ve come here, we get stuck with other people.”

You can’t help but glance at the team working on their nails.

They are unimpressed.

Suddenly, the Chairs’ eyes grow wide.

“Can I get you ladies something else to drink?”

He catches you off guard, sneaking up at your right side like that. That’s probably why you shudder a bit. It’s not because of the deep timbre of his voice rumbling through the leather of your still-turned-off massage chair.

The Chairs sing a chorus of “no that’s OKs” and “we’re just fine”s and “thank you so much”es.

“Wonderful,” he says.

And then he leans down to you.

“I brought you a water, just in case,” he mumbles, that voice starting to rumble through your bones now, and carrying through your flesh when he switches the massage chair on to its full-body relaxation mode.

As the rollers start to knead into your muscle, you watch him set the small bottle of water down onto the tray on your seat’s right arm before carrying his tray of flowers and color back to his stool.

The Chairs watch in unabashed lust, but you don’t join them. It’s not that you don’t understand what would drive these women to rearrange their weekends to assemble and descend upon the salon. Anyone would savor the way he rolls your leggings up to the knee and lets his hands run down your calves. Anyone would luxuriate in the way he cups water in his hands and lets it trickle onto your ankle to feel out the temperature. Anyone would enjoy the way he, after your slight nod of confirmation, gently picks up your left foot and carefully sets it into the basin.

It’s just that you appreciate the quieter, unexpected things.

Things like how, as The Chairs’ coded but obviously horny chatter is fanned by an awkward but charitable grin.

Things like how he winces at the prospect of more chatter building.

Things like how he catches your eyes with a prescient look and taps his right ear as he squeezes your right foot, signaling to you that you’ll probably have a more relaxing time listening to your music as he softly submerges your right foot into the basin.

You smile at the warm water surrounding you. You pull the right ear cup back on, and you use the controls there to pick up where you left off.

Effervescent, gleaming notes are lofted by a mellow but clapping, exuberant beat. A reflection of the joy that the grind can bring. The song slides into your ears, and it’s only then that you start to feel that it truly is spring break. You haven’t celebrated it as such for years now, but as you look around the nail salon set to this soundtrack, you can appreciate the happiness that you initially overlooked. The shared grins between mothers and daughters at peace. The giggles and elbow-high-fives between best friends. Even The Chairs, who are seemingly having the time of their life despite the fact that he is at your feet.

A slow, crawling pleasure travels up your legs, and you watch as he reaches for the flower and color-adorned tray. he dips his fingers into the first of three bowls, scooping out a bubblegum-colored sugar scrub. He strokes the dollop onto your left leg first, adding pressure bit by bit as he exfoliates your skin, careful to press with the knuckle of his thumb or the pads of his fingers where he can already sense tension. Paired with the rollers swimming into your back and shoulders, you can’t help but close your eyes and soak up the experience. Just for a moment.

You open them again when you feel his fingers sliding between your toes, taking care to loosen up and cleanse even the most unseen of parts.

It strikes you as… odd? Interesting? Maybe even delightful, the way that he smiles as he works. You wonder if he’s smiling because he seems to be patiently entertaining the questions that The Chairs keep flinging at him, or if, like you, he is reveling in what you are sharing.

What he is doing.

What you are feeling.

The track changes, and as if on cue, he reaches for the next bowl, this time painting onto you an electric blue, a soothing cleanse that helps rinse everything away. It matches the soulful song in your ears, one seducing you to submit. Submit to his calm power in how he angles you this way and that. Submit to his skill, as he cleans, trims, and shapes your nails.

He squeezes your right ankle and looks up at you, pausing his work for a moment.

You raise your eyebrows and pull back your right ear cuff.

“Relax,” he purrs, chuckling a little.

“Huh?”

He cradles the heel of your foot, his fingers wrapping securely around your Achilles tendon and resting at the bottom of your calf. “I feel you trying to help me,” he explains. “Don’t move. Just relax.” He squeezes again. “I’ve got you.”

You laugh a little. “Right. Sorry.”

He shrugs and smiles, and before you can hear the next tactless squawk from one of The Chairs, he nods his chin up to your headphones.

You smile appreciatively, eyes crinkling, thrilled at not just the wonderful way that the suds he’s creating are evaporating every residual worry carried in your legs, but in the unspoken way he can sense how to help you rid yourself of every other source of stress.

As the soulful song shifts into its bridge, something spurred on and more calculating than the ballad-like verses before it, you start to wonder just how he has developed this sense. Is it innate? It can’t be something purely derived from training. People who truly know people start not with classes but case studies. Less education, more experience.

It’s been a while since you’ve experienced anything.

What kind of… experience… does he have?

He tugs on the basin plug, releasing the water that has so perfectly cradled you, allowed you to float in this limbo where you neither have, nor crave, any control.

And as the next song plays, you watch as he dries your fresh skin, and reaches for the last of the bowls, a limoncello yellow salve, citrus in smell, citrine in spirit, both of you smiling with joy as you catch each other in a passing glance.

He’s talking again. You wonder what he’s saying, but you also don’t know if the words are really meant for you, anyway. They’re being casually tossed over to his right, to The Chairs.

You don’t know if you want to hear words from him that aren’t meant for you.

What is meant for you, though, is the way that he is caressing your legs, working out every knot, every bulge. What he isn’t saying in words, he’s saying to you in touch, echoes of what he told you before.

Relax.

You close your eyes and fall back into your song, letting its rays wash you now, and enjoying the warmth wrapping around you like the heated towel that he’s now wrapping around your legs.

You lie there and indulge in the absence of just how much weight he has taken off of you.

When the air cools around your legs, you open your eyes again and see that The Chairs have left. Three more people are slowly taking their places, starting with the far end.

You wonder how many of them also attempted to get an appointment for Friday at 3.

Before the new Chairs can usurp the conversation, you slide your headphones off of your ears and sit a little straighter in your chair.

“Enjoying it so far?” he asks you, setting the towel in the empty basin and positioning his stool to face you more directly, now that there’s a little more space.

“Yes, thank you very much,” you sigh. “Feeling… relaxed.”

“Good,” he says, nodding.

He dries your feet and sets the balls of your feet on the pad at the basin lip. And then he takes each of your toes in the towel pinched between his thumb and forefinger, taking care to dry each nail completely.

“Now you’re ready for more of that Big Bow Energy.”

You laugh, and agree. “Don’t make fun,” you say. “I need it if I have any shot at making it through the next week.”

“Not making fun,” he says with a smirk. He looks up at you. “I like your energy.”

You hide a smile, bowing your head and using the balls of your feet to propel you upward in your chair again, as he reaches for the bottle of polish.

He paints shorter, more careful swatches onto each nail. For every toe, even your pinkies, he takes particular note of where the polish might lay uneven, or too transparent.

“You have a stressful job?” he asks.

“What job isn’t stressful?” you point out.

He nods knowingly.

“Is taking on the stress stressful for you?” you ask.

He blows gently on your toes, and you feel tension creep back into parts of you. At your bitten lips. At your frozen shoulders, neck, and back. Your clenched ass. Your clenched sex.

He looks up at you with a wicked grin.

“Oh, wait. This is gel,” he says, with a wink.

You know by now that he knows people. So you know that he can tell that you’re clenching. You know that he knows this is gel. And you know that he knows that you’re loving this.

Did The Chairs get any winks while you weren’t looking?

He reaches over for the UV lamp and presses the 30-second button on it, putting it on top of your left set of toes to cure the first coat.

He straightens in his stool, twisting a little to work out kinks in his back.

“Sorry,” you say.

He tilts his head, immediately curious. “For what?”

“Your back.”

“Not your fault.” Something seems to dawn on him. “Maybe a little your fault.”

You laugh a little.

“But sometimes you just have a crick in your back, y’know?” he goes on.

You nod. “Right,” you say. “Right.”

Amused, he moves the UV lamp over to your right foot while he gets started on the next coat on your left.

“I get the sense that you don’t usually let things just… be,” he comments.

“Sometimes.”

“Mm.”

He flattens the polish brush a little to smooth out the dollop of pink on your big toe.

“There’s fun in that, too,” he points out.

“I know. You’re showing me.”

He looks up at your charmed smile, sparkling with promise.

He mirrors it back to you.

“Good,” he says again.

He switches the UV lamp again, and he gets started on the second coat on your right.

“One more coat should do it,” he tells you, pausing his painting to look up at you and add, “One more coat and your energy supplies will be completely refilled.”

You laugh as you think of your phone’s battery icon, filling up with pink.

This part always surprises you with how quickly it happens. When you think of a pedicure, you think of the color. You always forget the steps before. About how a pedicure can be so much more.

When your toes are completely done, he rolls down your leggings, and when his hands reach your ankles, he gives them a quick squeeze.

“All done,” he says. “Thanks for today.”

“Please. Thank you.”

He releases you and stands. “Stay put. Your manicurist will be with you when she’s done.”

You’re almost sad that he’s leaving.

You look down at the tray by his now-standing feet, and you notice that the typical flower jar holding a fake flower isn’t actually holding a fake flower like all the others.

His jar holds a real flower.

An orchid clipped from the vase up front.

“What was your name again?” you ask, turning back to him as he wipes his hands on a clean, dry towel.

“Yoongi.” He smiles. “And what was yours? You never told me.”

“Is Yoongi available?”

You hate that you have an additional question this time, hoping that when you ask it, it sounds like more of an afterthought than the plan that you’ve had built up in your head for weeks.

“He has an appointment at that time,” she replies, whichever she she is, “but would you like to schedule for his next vacancy?”

“Oh, no, that’s OK.”

You try to say it well enough that your terror doesn’t seep through.

The pause that follows is unnerving. You can hear some chatter. Maybe a hint of his voice.

Keyboard clicks help you calm back down.

“Alright, all set for one gel pedicure and one dip and gel manicure this Friday at 3,” she says, but her tone is even brighter. Like she knows something.

Then again, it seems like the entire Nouveau Nails team probably laughs every time they get a call like this about their new star.

“Great,” you say flatly.

You hate the sound of making your intentions known.

Thankfully, the salon isn’t as busy as the last time you came in. It’s even quieter than your usual appointments had been. It’s well appreciated. Less noise to cloud your already whirring mind. Fewer eyes to hide secret daydreams from.

The eyes that greet you, however, are the most open and enticing ones you’ve seen in a while. Yoongi smiles even before you’ve finished reaching for the door, but he doesn’t actually look at you until the bell rings your arrival. You hate to admit that when he looks back down at the pedicure he’s doing, gripping his client’s ankle with his strong fingers, you feel a little betrayed.

His head is down.

Everyone’s heads are down, busy toiling away.

But you know what to do.

You reach for the tablet, noticing the ever-present fresh bouquet of orchids nearby, and, after shooting a side, confirmatory glance that his current client has a fake flower in her jar, you wonder which lucky soul got the real flower today. Is she cooler than you? Does she have cuter feet? A prettier smile?

A better energy?

“You’re all checked in,” one of the shes tells you. “Chair 7.” She smiles. “Have a relaxing time.”

You fight every impulse inside of you to scream and head over to your designated spot. With the manicure tables in the middle of the room, you won’t even be able to ogle Yoongi’s current chair.

One of the shes, a more matronly member of the staff, heads toward you. As you try to catch her eyes with a welcoming grin, she wiggles her hips to get her apron out of the way to sit on her stool. Her gray streaks are pulled up into an inelegant bun, as purposeful as her words. “Let me get your soak ready, and then I’ll go grab your color,” she tells you, not even sparing a moment for eye contact.

Another member of the staff, quite young, and very quiet, joins you at your side. “Can I snap a picture of the design that you want?” she squeaks, as you eye a pair of trendy, flared jeans that you could have been wearing in high school.

Smiling at the wave of nostalgia, you oblige, unlocking your phone screen and showing her what you’re going for. Multicolored swirls of pink, blue, and purple, marbled together with a glossy sheen.

“Cool,” she says as she inspects the picture, and you smile at her approval.

She goes to grab some colors as well, matching the blue and purple perfectly.

But the pink is a little off.

You hate saying something. You hate saying anything, really. Talking is not your strong suit. Not when it has to do with something that you want or need.

So you wait.

You wait until your pedicurist is done with with you, having massaged your aching muscles just enough to get you through the next week. If that.

She makes no eye contact, but you can see in her gaze that you’re something of twin flames. As you watch her uninterested, impatient hands do their work, you wonder when the last time it was that someone gave her a massage. Does someone have food on the table for her at home? Is someone at home at all? Is that where she’s headed off to, as she switches off the UV lamp and disappears into the back with her tray and flowerless vase?

You wait some more.

You wait until your manicurist is about to finish their first step, too. She’s cut and filed and dipped and buffed your nails arguably into nonexistence, but the result is turning out to be perfect so far. More almond than oval. Something with more sustenance than a simple shape.

As you decide that you’re done waiting, that you’re finally ready to say something, that something being that the pink is slightly off, though you wouldn’t be totally upset if she went with that flamingo-y pink, it’s just that you have preferences, and it’s OK for you to have preferences, that’s why they ask you what color you’d like instead of just assigning you one, and you’re paying for the service after all, though, it is a bit questionable of whether you should be paying for this service, as your money and time could go elsewhere, like to more work, or to something charitable, or—

She gets up and walks away completely.

You furrow your brow and stare at that bottle of pink, cocking your head to one side, letting your thoughts rest there like a flamingo would rest on one leg.

And then, it is suddenly replaced with an unopened bottle of Big Bow Energy.

Yoongi’s fingertips even turn the bottle so that the label faces you.

When you smile at the gentle miracle he’s brought you, he smiles, too.

You look up and find him doing just that.

“Wanted to make sure your pinks match,” Yoongi explains, before taking your manicurist’s seat.

You lift your head and let it rest back against your massage chair. All the thoughts that had shifted to one side have disappeared. Maybe they leaked out of your ear.

“No headphones today?” Yoongi asks, as he adjusts his seat.

You shake your head. “Maybe I was in the mood for some conversation,” you dare to say.

You smirk in anticipation of what he’ll say back.

Embarrassingly, perhaps stupidly, you didn’t anticipate him reaching for your wrist and turning it over to inspect his colleague’s work.

You hope you aren’t blushing at the fact that someone in a nail salon is holding your hand.

“I like that you went with the almond shape,” he says. “It suits you.”

You really hope that you aren’t blushing at the fact that someone in a nail salon is giving you recommendations on your nails.

And you really, really hope that you aren’t blushing at the fact that you’re imagining scratching those almond-shaped, nude nails down his back.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

When he unlocks his phone, you notice that he already has the picture that you had given to the technician who had done your base.

“Thought you were working on another client?” you say.

“Was already halfway through when you came in,” Yoongi answers, picking up a clean, rose gold-handled brush and dusting the remnants of dip powder leftover in your nail beds.

“Didn’t know you did hands.”

“I do a lot of things with hands.”

You bite the inside of your mouth in an attempt to bite the smirk off of Yoongi’s face.

“Switched because you said you wanted a design, and I’m the only one in today who specializes in design,” Yoongi goes on.

He takes your hand in his.

And you swear you see a glint of Big Bow Energy in his irises.

“Ready?” he asks.

Yoongi’s marbled manicure has lasted for weeks.

So has the memory of Yoongi carefully painting it onto each of your fingers, focused on getting every single serpentine swirl in every single shade with as much spirit as the last. The experience was, indeed, spiritual. But you’ve also done your part in keeping those moments alive. You replayed him painting your right index finger last Tuesday while you were making coffee in the break room, as you ripped open a packet of sugar. You replayed him painting your left pinky on Saturday while you were in line at the convenience store, and your cashier was digging into his ear canal while ringing you up. You replayed him painting your right thumb on Monday in the middle of your chicken wing dinner, as you sucked some honey BBQ sauce from your skin.

You savored the taste.

You wondered if Yoongi would have savored it, too.

And you’re wondering now, on Thursday, as you bite your right thumb’s nail and wait for one of the shes to answer your call.

“Nouveau Nails.”

It rumbles through your body like it did when you first sat in his chair. Now, it could blast past whatever blockade the convenience store cashier was trying to dig out. Yoongi’s voice is most powerful when unexpected. When you hear it, your heart can’t help but swell and press against the walls of your chest, and your foot stutters on your returning pace from this lap down the hall, your right big toe digging into the floor and cracking the color.

Squeezing your eyes tight, you manage to hold your pained grunt in, choosing to release it in one long, smooth, silent breath.

“Hello?”

“Yes, sorry, I’m here.” You sound so flustered. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Oh. Hi,” he replies. Softer, now. Reigned in. Through a smile.

Maybe your voice is most powerful when unexpected, too.

You start to make up rules in your head, lest this energy burn unencumbered. One charmed laugh is all that you’ll allow.

“Hi.”

“Need more Big Bow Energy?”

You laugh again, but this time, you really wish you wouldn’t.

“Yeah, uh,” you fight through more contraband giggles, “I-I was just wondering if I could book—”

“Your usual?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say, a bit too eagerly.

“When do you want to come?”

You have so many answers for that question.

“Do you have anything available this afternoon, or early tomorrow?” you ask, as you look down at your stubbed, cracked toe. “Sorry, I realize that’s late notice.”

“Our last slot is open this evening,” he answers. “Is 6:30 too late?”

An hour and a half until their closing time at 8 should be just enough time to get your usual mani/pedi.

“No, that works. Thanks.”

There’s silence on the other end.

“Uh, that’s for a gel pedicure and a—”

“Don’t worry. I know what to give you.”

Your Big Bow Energy might be leaking through the crack, but your toes curl all the same.

“See you in a few hours.” It’s almost like a command.

“See you,” you say softly.

Yoongi’s already seen you in leggings. All the jeans that you own are skinny jeans, which makes rolling them up to the knee somewhat inconvenient. You don’t really own a lot of shorts, and the ones that you have are a bit old and frayed. So, you stroll into Nouveau Nails in your favorite lemon yellow sundress, its halter top tied delicately behind your neck, your strapless bra cinched tight for added definition into your naturally concave waist, your skirt hitting you around the knee, and your nude, open-toed sandals delicately buckled, the ends tucked into the second band with a little more care instead of impatiently sticking out, like they usually do.

You could stand to have new usuals.

And realizing them in a nearly empty nail salon makes them that much better.

Yoongi smirks at you as you join him at the front desk and start to sign in. He smiles even brighter when he catches you trying to count the orchids in the vase.

He nods over to a chair in the middle of the row. A tray is already set there for you, with a bottle of Big Bow Energy.

“Thanks for squeezing me in,” you say, as you type your number into the tablet.

As he catches the numbers you type, his right jaw tenses. “Always happy to squeeze in.”

You’re grateful for the playful quip. Delicious crumbs of the tasty cinnamon roll that you had for a snack found homes in the corners of your lips, and you as you run your tongue through them in response, you catch a couple.

Yoongi’s eyes follow.

Surprisingly sweet.

“Yoongles!” a voice calls from the mysterious back. “You OK to lock up? My daughter’s recital!”

“Yeah!” Yoongi calls back, eyes unwavering.

Your lips curl up into a smile, and he smiles back.

His eyes lock onto yours. “Her daughter plays the clarinet. Some of the team are going to watch.”

“Love the clarinet,” you say.

“Me too,” Yoongi says. “Clarinet recitals, specifically.” He smirks. “You’re in that chair.”

There’s no point in hiding the smile now. But you don’t share all of it. You hate to admit, but it does kinda bug you that your tray holds neither jar nor flower, and that all the orchids are still in place.

“Go get comfortable,” he says. “I’ll just finish up some things here.”

You nod and walk over to the chair, glad that no one is sitting directly next to you. You take a deep breath as you sit. Each of your knees bend in turn as you angle your legs to the side to take off your sandals. They fall the floor with two short clap!s, and your skirt slides with a soft whisper as you lean back in the massage chair.

Yoongi, wiping his hands on a towel, soon joins you.

“How’s your day been?” he asks, as he sits on the stool.

You shrug.

“Let me see.”

He holds out his hand, still covered by the towel.

Your foot rests there instead of at the cushion at the end of the basin.

He frowns, his wrapping his toweled fingers around the ball of your foot.

“Hmm.”

“Yeah,” you say.

“Leave it to me.”

Your smile goes a little funny when he says it.

As he reaches for your other foot and inspects the rest of your toes, he nods over to the side table, which you couldn’t see from the front desk. Waiting for you is a cup holding a frozen margarita. And a jar. Holding a small bouquet of flowers.

Pink ones.

Real ones.

You reach over and take a flower happily, twirling its stem in your fingers and watching its petaled face spin round and round before grinning at him, as he begins the process of removing the polish from your nails.

Your mind wanders for a while, but there are pit stops where you and Yoongi share a gaze. Or he gives you quiet instruction.

Stop trying to help.

Just relax.

Let him do the work.

You look back at the loss of Yoongi’s touch, once he’s set both of your feet on the basin cushion. He’s turned on the water. The bath is starting.

“We’ll do the manicure while you soak,” he tells you, as you nod. “Can I see the design you’d like?”

You grab your phone from your dress’s pocket and quickly close the group chat where you’ve been giggling about Yoongi, pausing all notifications before you open up a screenshot of the design. White swirls on a nude canvas. A minimalist, modern take on a French manicure.

“Cool,” he murmurs, tilting his head and taking note of how each nail’s design looks sightly different. “I like how the swirls look on you. Kinda reminds me of jewelry that wraps around. Like arm cuffs or ear cuffs. Or like the pattern on one of those old barber shop poles.”

You grin. “Is that how you’re so good?” you ask. “Different references in your head? Associations?”

Yoongi’s never thought about that before. He thinks about it now, as he gathers his tools together. Preparing and arranging his cotton and foil on your nails. “Maybe,” he admits, brightening. As you wait for the acetone to do its thing, Yoongi tests out the different sanders and buffers.“I do like to draw.”

You’d already taken note of the ever-present sketchpad under Yoongi’s stool.

“If you’re not working with a client, you’re usually sketching,” you observe.

Yoongi smirks. “Keeping tabs on me?”

You blush. “Oh! Uh— I just, y’know. Noticed.” You clear your throat.

Yoongi’s eyes linger for a moment longer when he glances at you.

“I used to be a tattoo artist,” he says. “But I kinda got bored with it? I noticed I liked doing smaller pieces. More minimalist stuff. And people wouldn’t really come back to me for more designs. So I thought it might be interesting to switch it up a little.”

At Nouveau Nails, and not just on Fridays at 3, Yoongi gets anywhere from ten to one hundred new canvases a day.

“You don’t have any tats yourself?” you ask.

Yoongi smirks, but he blushes a little too. “You’re really keeping tabs on me, huh?”

You roll your eyes and look away. “Just assumed. Haven’t seen anything on your forearms, and that’s the most common place.” You furrow your brow and look at him. “Unless…” You raise your eyebrows. “Do you do have a tattoo?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

You both chuckle as he pulls the foil rings from your first hand and begins to shape your nails. He carefully considers your fast-growing nail beds. He tilts his head for a moment when realizing that that’s probably why you come in so often. But he’s comforted by the act that you’re keeping the yellow ranunculus that you plucked from the jar laying across your lap.

“So what do you draw in your notebook?” you ask.

Yoongi brushes the dust from your fingers and places your hand down on your knee. You smile as he leans over and picks up his notebook. “Flip through, before we get to the dipping and the painting,” he says, as he offers you the notebook. Once you’ve opened it to one of his more detailed pages, he leans forward toward the table, taking the frozen margarita and handing it to you. “Have a couple of sips,” he says, “before we get to the dipping and painting part.

He licks his lips, leaving them parted as he holds the cup to your mouth to let you drink. His eyes leave your lips and move to your throat as your no-longer-frozen margarita travels down your throat. He looks into your eyes as you open wider for more. The corner of his mouth turns up when you grunt at the last gulp.

The other corner of his mouth turns up at the hollow sound of the paper cup hitting the table.

Your eyes widen. “What’s your favorite thing to draw?”

“I dunno. I just like everyday stuff.”

His subjects show it. An customer’s crumpled receipt, on the floor by the trash can. A child’s sneakers, swinging off the edge of a chair from which a stuffed animal has fallen. Legs in line. All drawn from a stool-level view.

You grip a page corner between your ring and pinky finger knuckles and flip to the next page.

And the next.

And then the next.

His subjects become a little more diverse. A dog drinking from a water bowl on a neighbor’s patio. A cup of tea next to a plate of biscuits. Undone laundry.

Later pages even have purple, pink, and orange hues. Splashes of watercolor. Not completely filled in. Painted first, given that they’re behind the lines.

“How did you decide?” you ask.

Yoongi leans forward to see what you mean.

“Oh,” he says, smiling.

He moves to hand you the frozen margarita again, but you shake your head. “Actually, I think that’s enough for me,” you admit, cheeks and neck feeling warm and prickly.

“One more sip,” he tells you. “For shits and giggles.”

You roll your eyes, and he brings the straw to your lips.

You take a sip.

Your eyes latch from the time the last of the margarita hits your tongue, to the moment it’s swallowed down.

He sets the cup down, chest tense. As if holding something in.

After some time, you ask, “So?”

You tap on the page insistently.

Yoongi nods. “I bought these new watercolor brushes and wanted to test them out. But then I noticed I was starting to run out of pages to sketch on. So I just drew on top of them.” He glances over at the page that you’re on. Because he hit that page with purples, he thought to draw mountains. The brushstrokes determined the composition as well. Where there are unfilled lines, he draws the tops of mountain ranges. He turns the white gaps into snow caps. Something he wouldn’t have thought to do otherwise.

“Pretty,” you say.

“Thanks.”

It’s time to bring his brush to your nails. He starts to mimic the white swirls that he took a picture of from your phone. You especially like watching him control the thickness of the lines not by outlining and then filling in, but by adding or releasing pressure on the brush itself. He sketches with marker, after all.

He finishes the design quickly, and deftly.

“Do you share your art?” you ask. “Aside from, y’know.” You wiggle your fingers, and he chuckles.

He takes your hands in his, and you freeze in place, staring up at him with your jaw hanging slightly open.

His hands feel warm, and slippery.

He starts to run some heavenly mix of essential oils up and down your forearms, and then down to your fingers, taking time to massage each and every single one. He even looses your wrists, and your joints at the knuckles, squeezing your palm or your fingers and turning them in small, easy circles.

You can’t help but close your eyes at one moment, and when you open them again, he’s working on the slightly protruding bone on the side of your left wrist, putting slight pressure in the pads of his index and middle fingers as he rubs it soothingly.

He’s smiling.

Proudly.

“Sometimes,” he says.

You had started to wonder what his social media account aesthetic might look like. If you had to guess, it would be just like his sketches on the page. Pure white backgrounds. Thin, not-quite-black lines for borders. Each post would be a section of a drawing. Not the whole thing. Just enough for you to appreciate how talented he is.

“But not widely just yet,” he tacks on, as he lets go of your hands and cleans the oil from his hands with the towel from before.

Now, you imagine him choosing something more intimate. Maybe he doesn’t have social media at all. Maybe he prefers gallery showings. Or even more intimate than that. A series of moments like this one. Sharing his art with one person at a time. Each moment its own little square.

“I like them,” you say.

There’s a bit of a crackle in your eyes.

Yoongi smiles at the sight as he reaches for a new towel from the stack he’s prepared for you. He chooses one of the ones that he steamed, kept warm in a small, metal container. He wipes you down, and you feel so incredibly refreshed already that you nearly forget about the pedicure.

You made sure to shave before arriving for your appointment. You even went back and plucked the thicker, more stubborn hairs on your ankles. The ones that are almost as thick as the strands on your head. The ones that jump up like exclamation points against your fingers when all you’re trying to do is enjoy the little acts of love that you try to give yourself.

Yoongi’s hands run smoothly up and down as he exfoliates, then scrubs your feet.

He feels nothing but your skin.

Your chest tightens when he reaches over for the massage oil.

His index fingers run up the inside of your left foot, curled and squeezing into the different joints within. He takes his time, almost shaking hands with every muscle in your foot in order to get acquainted. To get those defenses down. To get to know you.

He does the same between your toes. He runs his fingers into each gap, and the knuckles at the tops of his palms meet the balls of your feet as he clasps down. He moves his wrist in a lazy oval, helping your ankles do the same.

You carry lots of tension in your ankles. You have a tendency to lock your legs. If he traveled up your leg a little further, Yoongi would feel the knots in your calves, and thighs.

It’s just that way.

Bracing, like that.

Being ready no matter what.

Yoongi leans his body into his massage, almost as if to offer a different viewpoint.

He places pressure on your ankles in other spots, ones that don’t activate when you’re standing. It’s especially delicious when he follows the heel of your foot and pays special attention around your Achilles heel. It helps to even things out. Open up pockets that can take a little more. Let the sentinels that have been hard at work take a bit of a rest.

His hands are slippery when he runs them up and down your soles. He latches on somewhere around the middle of your left foot. His thumbs press into the center. They move in strong yet gentle circles, with the exact amount of pressure that frees your muscles from clinging to one another with such insistence.

He moves slowly, and carefully. And his stool is moving back and forth. His feet are planted flat on the ground as he straddles the basin, but his knees are working ever so slightly, his hips rocking forward and back. The massage oil is getting everywhere, even dripping down his wrist and forearms.

His tongue is resting in the corner of his mouth.

You imagine his tongue moving in circles.

Strong, yet gentle. Slow, and wet.

“OK, Yoongi! I’ve got the front! Night!”

You both look up and see a hand holding a set of car keys waving and disappearing through the front door.

“Night!” Yoongi calls back, before the door settles again in its frame.

You’re surprised at how dark it is outside, but the glass door and windows go completely black when someone pulls the metal gate down outside.

You hear the chain and lock jingling.

You look around the salon.

All the other stations are clean and closed.

Only you and Yoongi remain.

You don’t know when that happened.

“Just have to put on that Big Bow Energy,” he tells you, when your eyes land back on his, as he’s wiping his arms dry.

You smile, and before it’s completely over, you try to savor the moments you’ve enjoyed so far.

His hands are divine.

Even when all he’s doing is painting on the last of the first coat of pink.

“And what do you do?” he asks, as he swipes the edge of your big toe to direct the polish back to your nail. “An office job?”

“Work from home,” you say. “On calls all day.”

“I can see why. You have a pleasant voice.”

You’ll take it. But you wish you had an impressive vocabulary to go with that pleasant voice. You wish you could tell Yoongi about how gorgeous his voice is. Like silk dipped in chocolate.

“Please,” you say. “Have you heard yourself talk?”

Yoongi grins up at you.

“I wanted to be a radio DJ growing up, actually,” he tells you. “I’d record these little shows for my family on my walkman. Handed my parents old cassette tapes before they went to work. I recorded over one of my dad’s mixtapes once, though. He was pretty pissed at first, but then he said he ended up liking the episode.”

You laugh. “That’s sweet.”

Yoongi grins again.

As you chat, he alternates between painting and switching the UV light from foot to foot, careful to make sure your toes don’t touch the top of the inside of the lamps.

“I wanted to be a translator when I was a kid,” you share. “I wanted to learn a million languages and be able to understand what everyone was saying all the time.”

You smile, feeling more and more comfortable as Yoongi turns on the massage functions, the back of the chair springing to life.

“You know,” you say dreamily, “I have this theory that what you wanted to be when you were growing up says something about the experience that you had as a kid. Because when I was a kid, I never felt like I understood what was going on at any given moment. People talked too fast. Said too many things. Most of it didn’t matter. And it’s hard for a kid to figure out what to listen to, and what to let fall away, you know?”

Yoongi nods. But when his eyes flash up to yours again, it’s the first time he’s ever looked hesitant.

“What do you think about me, then?” he asks.

You shrug.

“Maybe you just wanted to be heard?”

Yoongi nods again.

Slowly, this time.

It seems that it has been a while since someone has heard him.

Or noticed him at all.

He reaches over and grabs something you’ve never seen anyone at Nouveau Nails use before. A sealed, white packet with a clean, drawn logo on it. It’s a picture of a blueberry. In Yoongi’s art style.

“Wanna try one of our new treatments?” he asks. “Something we’re still concocting.” He smiles a little. “An after-care lotion.”

“How much is it?” you ask.

He raises his eyebrows. “On the house. Of course.” And then he clears his throat. “Anyway, um, we’re still figuring out the recipes we want to go with. So far, we only have a couple of kinds.” He keeps his eyes on you but tilts his right cheek over his shoulder. “I could go in the back and get the kiwi—”

“Blueberry is good,” you say, wanting to savor his presence. Not wanting him to go anywhere. Not when the end is almost here. “I like the logo design, by the way.”

Yoongi winks at you as he opens the packet.

Globs of a blue, viscous liquid, with bits of what look like dried blueberry in them, empty onto your skin, some of them dripping into the wet but empty basin.

Yoongi’s hands swim in, his fingers staying firm as your feet and calves run through their circles.

Your skin is starting to tingle.

“Oh,” Yoongi remarks, as your eyes flicker with… something. A mix of intrigue and… concern? He helps fill in the blank. “It warms up when you put it on.”

You look over at him.

Your lips give way to your tongue, and your breath is hot when you release it, warmed by whatever apothecarial magic this is.

He bites his lip.

“Does it feel good?”

You nod and lock eyes with him, watching him rub warm and fragrant blueberries into your clean, soft skin, feeling dizzy and happy. Like fresh laundry tumbling in the dryer.

When he’s done, he wipes you down with the last of the clean towels. And you keep holding each other’s gaze, smiling softly with each movement.

You lean back in your chair. It doesn’t matter that the metal rollers hidden by the leather have stopped moving. You still feel so relaxed. Every muscle in your body is almost asleep.

“Happy with the service today?” he asks.

You smile, feeling so peaceful. “Absolutely. Completely and totally satisfied.”

But your stomach gives you away. It gurgles a little, and you move to throw your hands over it, your knees twitching and knocking the yellow ranunculus off of your lap, but catching it before it tumbles to the floor.

Yoongi chuckles as he wipes his hands on the other side of the towel that he’s just used to wipe you free of the last of the blueberries.

“Hungry?” he asks.

You plop the flower back onto your lap. “I guess so,” you say, mortified.

Yoongi smiles at you, about to polish the blue off of his last finger.

“You know, this lotion is all-natural. Edible, even.”

He smirks and licks his finger to taste.

His head gives an approving nod.

“Mm. Pretty good.”

He sucks the rest off of his finger, mind lost in thought. And then he turns to you, swiveling his hips, facing you dead-on. He picks up your heel, noting some bits of blueberry on your now perfect, big toe.

You hold your breath as he raises your foot to his lips, which curl into a smile when he catches the scent of blueberries.

He wraps his lips around that toe.

He sucks.

You gasp.

“Very good,” he mumbles, his voice shaking the empty basin.

Your other knee turns inward in an attempt to keep from other viscous liquids from leaking onto your seat.

Yoongi tilts his head, and you watch as your Big Bow Energy-covered toe re-enters his mouth, his tongue circling around the base, dipping between it and the next toe, before blanketing everything in his warm, wet spit.

You grunt softly.

“This OK?” he asks.

You nod eagerly.

“Tell me if it isn’t,” he whispers.

His breath tickles your other toes, which wiggle with anticipation.

He starts to kiss down your foot, his tongue swiping your ankle, and his lips forming a pout. His tiny, sucking kisses travel up your calf, and you can’t help but sink down in your seat, your skirt riding up the sides of your hips.

You think he’s going to stand. You think he’s going to kiss you.

You hope so badly that he will.

But, ever the professional, Yoongi knows that your other foot needs the same treatment. Like with art, everything must be balanced. He won’t stop until he knows the job is done.

Your muscles are waking now. Tightening. Storing energy that may or may not be released soon.

You hope so badly that it will.

Your calves and knees have both been bathed in equal parts sugar scrub, lotion, and Yoongi’s spit.

You watch as his fingers tease at the hem of your skirt, lightly resting against your thighs.

“Can I try more?” he asks, hopefully.

“Yes,” you say, nervous, but wanting.

He smiles so gently.

He notices the yellow ranunculus still sitting in your lap, being clutched tightly by your thumb and index finger. He pulls the hem of your skirt up and carefully wedges the fabric there too, between your skin, and the green stem.

You hold your skirt up, and Yoongi takes your hips, staring down at the magenta underwear that you have on, a low grumble shaking up through his throat.

“Pink looks so goddamn good on you,” he mumbles.

He takes a deep breath. Not to get ready. He’s been ready. He’s been thinking about you since he first got the impulse to clip one of the orchids to put in your jar. He takes a deep breath out of excitement.

Finally.

He’ll get to find out what your petals look like.

He pulls your panties down and moans at how gorgeous you are. How wet you are for him already.

He dives right in.

You’re beyond thrilled to find out, too. To find out that, yes, Yoongi likes what he’s tasting. That, yes, he’s the type to luxuriate and savor. And that, yes, he’s been hungry for this, too.

His tongue stretches, careful to round every single curve of you. Up your outer lips, all the way to where they meet in front. Down, and in, to find your bud. When he discovers it, he grunts, and you feel that excited breath pushed out through his flaring nostrils and onto your dewy skin.

Something clatters behind him. The stool, you realize, as you watch it roll away, your panties neatly folded on top. Yoongi straddles the basin instead, his ass planted firmly on the foot rest, and yours sliding further down in your seat as he angles you up in order to get more of you.

His tongue broadens, too. It broadens, and flattens, and the tip curves back, making way for the midpoint somewhere near the front to lead the charge instead. The sides of his tongue make contact with your inner lips, and he licks up and down, every part of your massaged as wholly and sweetly as he did with the rest of your body.

When the tip of his tongue flicks forward again, right against your clit, a hiss breaks through your frozen throat.

Something falls into the palm of your hand.

A piece of green.

A part of the ranunculus’s stem.

Your delicate, almond-shaped nails choked it off in your hold.

You gasp in surprise when you feel Yoongi suddenly grab hold of you tighter, and his tongue starts to move faster. Each roller coaster hill that his tongue makes sends your hips bouncing up and down. Soon, you shiver and come, and Yoongi grunts through your inescapable orgasm. The high sends you, laughing, into the clouds.

“Sexy,” he mumbles, his lips buzzing against yours.

“You’re good at that,” you mumble back, glad that when you hear it, it makes sense.

He starts to lower your skirt, placing a kiss on your flesh before rising and placing his right foot on solid ground. “Glad to know.”

“Can I… uh…”

You bite your lip as you watch him rest his weight on his right foot and shakes his left.

“…Can there be more?”

He plants his left foot down.

“You want more?” Yoongi asks. It comes out so nonchalantly, but he’s secretly hoping that you mean what he thinks it means.

“Please,” you whimper, squirming in your chair.

Yoongi nods his head upward and smiles.

You’ve been so caught up in your own relaxing pleasure that you miss how much of Yoongi’s want has been translated into other parts of his body. The sweat at his temples and chest. The streaks of red on his lips, where his teeth have tried to scrape up as much of you as possible. The thick, hard outline of his cock in his pants.

He unzips his pants, unable to keep things calm anymore. Unable to keep things balanced.

He pulls you down further, your body bending more at your lower back than at your waist, your legs splayed over each arm of the massage chair.

It opens you up completely to him.

With your legs split, he can now kneel on the free end of the chair. He rolls your knees in his palms and grunts, eyeing you, sizing up to see if you’re really ready for him. The grunts get heavier, and the strokes he gives his cock get tighter and faster, as he watches you pull the string of your halter top loose, your dress now less a dress and more a needless yellow band around your torso, giving way to the beautiful black bodice of your strapless bra. He rests his left palm on your right knee and curls around it. He leans there, angling so that he can get his pants completely off. When he slides into you at that angle, unable to wait until the last of the frayed ends of his jeans whip past his own big toe, he places his weight on your right knee.

That weight gets transferred to the massage chair button panel.

And the chair springs to life.

It’s like you have four pairs of hands all over you, groping you, twisting you, pulling you into all sorts of sinful shapes.

Yoongi pumps into you, none of his effort wasted, all of it sent right through you, strong, but with know-how, and utmost care. His upper body does most of the work, dragging him along your body.

You’re so tight.

It forces him to go deliciously slow.

It’s all-consuming, his slow, hypnotic, relaxing, but tight rhythm.

Each rhythmic drag ends in a hiss or moan from both of you.

You being so fucking tight makes everything else tight. Tight gasps of air through grit teeth. Tight whines and whimpers through clenched throats. Tight grips of your knee, and his side, and his shoulder, and the back of your head.

He looks down at you, tortured.

And then he kisses you.

Everything until this point has been so delightfully pink, growing into maddening magentas and even reds.

Now, they taste pink, and yellow, and purple, and orange.

And blue.

Usually, first kisses make you excitedly nervous. Like spring break. Slush against your lips too soon when you tilt back your frozen margarita. Ice cubes jokingly tossed down the back of your shirt. Belly flops into the freezing swimming pool on a balmy day.

This kiss, though.

This kiss is a complete surrender.

This kiss wraps you up in blueberry pie. Lavender latte. A different kind of spring break. A winter vista with deeper and deeper purple crags in the distance, sparkling orange and gold glints here and there as the sun sets. Not a belly flop into the pool, but a shared soak in a hot spring.

His tongue moves exactly like it did when it was inside of you.

You moan against him. He does the same. Their timbres shift as you open your mouths, and then close them against each other, around each other, before opening them again, trying to speak and breathe at the same time, filled with too much to convey at once.

When your heads snap backward and away from each other, you realize you don’t need to speak.

Yoongi’s eyebrows rise higher and higher and higher until the drop suddenly, face filled with consternation. He bites down on his lip and moves faster. You turn your head to the right and find your knee hovering close to your lips. You bite down on it, and Yoongi groans at the sight.

He reaches down to pull your strapless bodice down, freeing your breasts and watching them bounce between the inner wall of your chest and the cup of your bra.

He pulls on your hair a little, your neck bending right, and you moan through the burst of tingles at your scalp.

His hand runs down the side of your face.

And when you sense his thumb close to your mouth, just dipping in where your nose meets your cheek, you part your lips slightly and look right into his eyes.

He pushes down into your face a little, and hops up, before tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb.

You nod, and then, you take his thumb into your mouth, lapping at it gently.

Yoongi groans and looks up at the ceiling, before squeezing his eyes shut and then looking back down at you with such force that his hair collects in a V in front of his forehead, and sweat trickles onto your face and chest.

You suck his thumb the same way your body sucks his cock deeper and deeper into you. With as desperate of a need. With as eager of a desire to please. With the exact kind of mind-blowingly delicious, warm, wet tension that Yoongi will absolutely need to feel again and again.

His strokes start to level out now, and you feel him against your inner walls. You almost want him to break through. To split you completely open.

His body rolls even when he’s racing, hips working so deftly. He almost looks proud of them, giving it to you like this, his upper body rigid, heart keeping time, eyes smirking with bravado at how well he knew you. And, almost, suspicion, at how surprising you turned out to be.

You let out a cry and slam your hand down on Yoongi’s hand on your right knee. He angles his wrist back and pulls his fingers out before moving them forward again to lace them into yours. He does the same with your other hand. Balance.

Another warning cry seeps out of you.

Yoongi bends down to kiss you, collecting whatever it is that you want to say with his lips.

“Mmhmm,” he tells you, as your lips are locked.

He pulls away.

“Me too,” he whispers.

You nod quickly.

“Yeah?” he whispers. Urgent.

You nod again, even faster.

He grunts, and bites down on his lip one more time, his hands squeezing yours so tight that they’re turning red.

He growls as he thrusts.

It’s so good.

It’s too good.

When you start to lose it, he loses it completely.

You squeal, which drops into heavier and heavier sobs of pleasure long-fought for. Your breasts quiver with each cry.

Yoongi whines weakly against you, slumping down, his cock sliding out a little and releasing cum into the basin.

He takes a couple of quick, pitter-patter steps back, catching you off-guard and making you laugh.

And he smiles as he lowers himself to you again, resting his head on your breasts.

You wrap your arms around him and kiss the top of his head, as he licks at your nipples and presses kisses into your flesh.

“Holy shit,” you finally mumble.

“I know,” Yoongi says, dazed. “All that Big Bow Energy.”

You giggle, and he takes another taste of your nipples, gently massaging your oversensitive skin. Still telling you to relax.

“Well, safe to say that the new treatments will get rave reviews,” you say, making Yoongi honk. “Tell me if you experiment with more ideas. I’ll try every single one of them out. Especially if they’re on the house.”

When you giggle at your own joke, Yoongi quickly turns to you.

And he smirks.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious, and wondering if you do need to pay after all.

Yoongi takes a couple more pitter-patter steps back, his cock springing out of you. Still hard. Still ready.

He drags his right hand diagonally across his chest and strips his damp shirt off, tossing it behind him. You watch as it lands on the foot of the stool he had kicked away earlier.

And when you look back at him, his toned body, glistening with sweat, he sneers.

“If you’re down for more experimentation,” he says, voice like thunder, “then let’s go in the back.”

Read the rest of the 3(0) for 30 series here!

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