kat

25 years old. Just here to read

[loveshotzz]

I promise no one’s watching

steve harrington x fem!reader friends to lovers

Being ‘just friends’ with Steve is easy until it’s not.

wc: 5k

warnings: 18+ | season five steve, flirting, tension, semi sneaking around, semi public unprotected p in v smut in The Squawk, praise kink, big dick steve talking you through it, cream pie, a little rovicki angst with the beginnings of ronance. steve slandering Beetlejuice because i know he would hate that movie.

author’s note: i don’t know what to tell you, this is pure smut. my ovulation has turned me into a rabid animal.

It was hard not to notice Steve Harrington. Everyone did.

Especially when he’s sitting across from you in the studio on a worn down rolling chair, legs spread wide in tight fitting denim. His big hands work the rubix cube with the utmost concentration, forearms flexing underneath the pushed up sleeves of his worn-in WSQK sweater. Every flick of his wrist stretches the fabric over his broad shoulders with each movement, as long deft fingers move rapidly to solve the puzzle in small clicks of plastic. Concentrated eyebrows furrow under that one swoop of hair that won’t just stay back, as he very badly pretends to listen to Robin’s regaling of another fight with Vickie about Nancy for the third time tonight.

The air around him has always rivaled the kind of humidity that suffocates your skin on the hottest Indiana summer day. A palpable energy that's buzzed around the two of you since Robin introduced you at one of Rick’s parties a few months ago. It’s the kind of chemistry that’s recently become very hard to ignore as introductions turned into third wheeling late night shifts at the squawk, and regular invitations to movie nights at their shared apartment. The biggest culprit of them all though? Steve’s incessant need to always drive you home. It doesn’t matter to him how late it is, or out of his way it is, even if it’s a blizzard or a torrential downpour — walking or catching the bus is never an option. Not if he has anything to do with it.

The quiet conversations that happen inside his BMW are always easy, even a little bit flirty when Robin isn’t around. On those nights, he makes it a point to rest his hand on the stick shift so close to your thighs they search for each other, squirming in his leather seat. Those are the ones that always end with him parked in front of your place for hours. Both of you losing track of time talking about anything and everything while learning those little things about each other that turn into something bigger over time. Unfortunately for you, that time feels a lot like now, and the silent promise to never act on whatever this is starting to feel nearly impossible to keep.

Steve’s eyes flit towards you for no particular reason, catching you staring, sparking something inside of them that warms deep in your belly. Something unmistakably dangerous.

Forcing yourself to look away, embarrassment blooms on your cheeks as you clear your throat with a shake of your head. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to find their way back to him because it’s all they seem to want to do these days. With one side of his mouth tugged up, his full attention is on you now while his fingers don’t stop their mission to finish the puzzle he’s solved a million times before. Something about that has you biting the fat of your bottom lip, shifting in your seat perched on the side of his desk.

The whites of his teeth shine in a playful flirty grin as he rocks back in his chair, spreading his legs wider, earning that roll of your eyes he was looking for. Fast clicks of the rubix cube catch louder in your ears as all of the colors line up perfectly in his hands, and that grin on his stupidly handsome face turns into a proud beam like its the first time he’s accomplished this feat.

”Still got it!” He winks, tossing the toy up casually before catching it.

”Were you even listening to me, Dingus?” Robin hisses, smacking the cube out of his hand and you try not to giggle at the dejected look on his face that quickly turns into its factory setting of annoyance.

”Yeah, I was listening to the story you’ve told me three times today.” He snaps, leaning over to grab the toy off the ground, almost falling when the chair threatens to go off kilter. “Maybe, just maybe there’s a reason Vickie keeps getting mad.”

You’ve watched them have this conversation at least once a week for the past month where Steve tiptoes around getting Robin to admit her inconvenient crush on Nancy Wheeler.

“Hey! Who’s side are you on here?” She snaps, with a glare that wrinkles the top of her forehead.

Steve opens his mouth to reply but she quickly cuts him off before he even has a chance.

“You know what, no. No! I can’t be here, I need to go.” Robin deflects like she always does, grabbing her messenger bag she storms out of the soundproof room, and right out of the station’s double doors. Leaving you and Steve alone.

He scoffs, staring out the glass after her, a silent argument with himself on whether he should follow or not evident on his face. He runs a hand through his hair with a bouncing knee, taking a deep breath through his nose before bringing his gaze back to you, that rogue strand flopping back across his forehead.

“I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.” He groans defeated with eyes that plead for some kind of reassurance. “Should I go find her?”

“I think she just needs a minute.” You reply softly, legs dangling. “If she does have feelings for someone else, that’s gotta be overwhelming. She’s new at this, ya know?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, jaw ticking taking one last look outside before you see him visibly let it go with a sag of his shoulders.

”Always am.” You tease with a smile, doing your best to lighten the mood.

His eyes shift back to you, that dangerous thing from before returning ten fold twinkling in the gold specs inside of them. Suddenly the realization that the two of you are alone consumes the entire room, air turning thick with something that feels inevitable, that small little joke of yours working too well.

“Now don’t get crazy.” He scoffs, using his long legs to roll his chair towards you.

Something swoops in your belly, fingers curling around the wooden edge of the desk while you try to keep your composure, watching his Nike’s close the space.

“Name one time I’ve been wrong.”

Your challenge comes with a tilt of your chin, and an arch of your brow. The smirk you get in return has your teeth digging into your bottom lip, thighs closing the small gap between them. It still isn’t enough to stop the warmth between them from spreading, especially when he stops right in front of you. His face aligns with your knees from his seat, sending your body humming with his proximity to the place that’s wanted more of him for months now.

”How about when you said Beetlejuice was a good movie?” He snorts, meeting your gaze from under his lashes, something baiting inside of it.

”Are you kidding me? It’s an incredible movie! Tim Bur—“

”It was weird.” He cuts off with an irritated face, like just the memory of it is enough to annoy him.

”You’re weird.” You retort immediately, glaring with a scrunch of your nose.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, before his narrowed gaze trails slowly down the length of your body. It lingers on your exposed thighs that he’s started to see a little more frequently thanks to warm spring days, and he’s never been more thankful to Mother Nature or your sun dresses. You swallow hard seeing him lick his lips, heart skipping a beat at the glazed over look in his eyes that makes your chest ache.

You have to leave.

”I — uh, I should go.” You stammer, starting to wiggle off the desk but Steve doesn’t let you get very far.

”Wait! Don’t — “ Standing up, the rest of that sentence fades as his hands find your knees, electric currents running through his finger tips that spread them apart so he can fit his hips between your thighs. His eyes hold you inside of them, hooded and begging before finishing it in a whisper. “Don’t leave.”

The two of you sit there unmoving, mouths so close it feels like you’re breathing each other in. His hands inch up your bare thighs, goosebumps pebbling along hot skin as his fingertips brush the bottom hem of your dress.

”Steve.” You manage to murmur, somehow finding your voice. “It’s a bad idea and you know it.”

The protest sounds weak leaving your mouth, especially when the backs of your heels hook and pull him closer. Your hands grip harder at the edge of the desk, needing something to anchor you while the tip of his nose runs up the bridge of yours. The spice of his cologne wraps around you, and the hint of cinnamon mixed with the amber is new.

“What’s so bad about it? Give me one reason.” He mocks your previous challenge with a flash of his teeth, grabbing at the soft fat under his palms.

”Robin.”

“Well she doesn’t have to know.” He snorts like it’s obvious, wandering hands sliding up higher.

”Okay, then what happens if this blows up in our face and we end up hating each other?” Your argument would feel more valid if you weren’t straightening your spine, getting so close to him that your chests touch.

”You really think you can hate me?” He fake pouts with a furrow of his brows, that infamous swoop of hair tickling your forehead.

”Steve! I’m being serious.” You whine a little defeated because you know you’re about to give in, and because all you want is for him to just kiss you already.

You think he knows that too.

He exhales a breath through his nose, one hand finally becoming bold enough to slip under your dress to wrap around your hip, while the other cups the apple your cheek. The pad of his thumb tilts your chin up to keep your gaze on him, lips so close that they almost touch.

”And what if it doesn’t blow up in our face?” He challenges, letting his top lip graze your bottom. “What happens if we end up really liking each other? What then?”

Your lashes flutter, feeling his warm breath kiss your skin, butterflies rioting inside the crevices of your ribcage. Your fingers let go of their death grip on the edge of the desk, and spread over his stomach. He inhales sharply at the contact, his grip on your hip tightening as your palms work their way up his chest before sliding along his neck and into the thickness of his hair at the nape of it. Steve tugs you closer as your legs wrap around his waist, the tip of your nose nudging his warmed cheek.

”Because I don’t know if you can’t tell or something but I already really like you.” He confesses hot against your mouth with the softest brush of his lips. “I have for a while. And you know what I think?”

”Hmm?” You manage with lust clouding your vision and fingers curling into his roots.

”I think you like me too.”

You don’t bother giving the answer he already knows, instead you close what little distance is left. It takes Steve a moment to realize what you’re doing, that this is actually happening but when he does, he takes control of the kiss immediately. His lips feel hungry moving against yours, devouring you like it’s been a craving, claiming your mouth like it’s already his.

A deep groan rumbles from his chest at the feel of your tongue swiping along his bottom lip. The blunt ends of his nails dig into the soft skin of your hip when he opens up for you and they finally meet. They massage each other moving languid and slow, relishing in the feeling. Back bending, your fingers curl deeper in his roots, somehow needing more.

As if he can read your mind, the pad of his thumb tugs at the corner of your mouth, opening you up more. He explores every inch of you like he’s trying to memorize it, swallowing all the sounds that are somehow better than his imagination. Your hips rock against him, the thin cotton of your panties leaving hardly any barrier. A breathy gasp escapes the back of your throat feeling just how big he really is.

Steve takes this moment to catch his breath, pulling away with a heaving chest. He presses his forehead against yours, eyes taking in your flushed cheeks and kiss bitten lips.

“You know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He sighs, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek. That permanent teasing edge to his voice is absent for the first time tonight.

His confession erupts across your body that bends for him, silently asking for more all on its own. Holding his gaze in the depths of yours, the pointed roll of your hips is slow enough to feel the entire length of him pressed against his zipper. It twitches underneath the metal, the pressure against your clit only covered by a thin pair of cotton earning him a quiet whimper.

”I think about you all the time, Steve.” You say in a low voice, looking at him from under the thick hood of your lashes, rolling your hips again.

“Honey.” He hisses through his teeth, his grip on you tightening hard enough to hold you still. A shiver ripples through him as he desperately tries to find his self control. “We should stop —“

Your hands untangle from his hair, sliding down his jaw that you hold in your palms. The pad of your thumb traces the curve of his full bottom lip that you want nothing more than to feel between your teeth. He inhales another sharp breath watching the way your eyes darken, his thick lashes fluttering kissing the tops of his cheeks like he can read your mind.

”What if I don’t want to stop?”

All you’ve ever done with Steve is hold yourself back. And now that you’ve had him, you don’t want to do it anymore. You can’t do it anymore.

”I’m tired of not getting what I want.” You reaffirm, tilting your head to meet his eyes, brushing your lips against his kiss bitten ones before whispering, “aren’t you?”

He holds your gaze down the slope of his nose, the hand on your hip moving to wrap around the small of your back pulling you close, while the other trails down to cup the side of your neck. The pad of his thumb rests at the hinge of your jaw, a flurry of emotions swirling inside his stare as he takes everything in, making sure he’s not misreading any signs. It’s not until he feels the quiet way you say his name against his lips that he comes back to his body, snapping out of his nervous lapse in judgement of what’s happening.

”You have no fucking idea.” Steve growls, finally capturing your mouth without anything holding him back anymore.

This kiss is different from the last one, his lips move against yours with something possessive behind them — greedy. Your tongues don’t wait for permission, tangling together with an intensity that has your teeth scraping together. Completely lost in months of late nights and lingering stares, his hand slides down your neck, and across your shoulders bringing your dress strap with it. He finishes his path joining his other hand under your dress, both of them meeting and curling around the apple of your ass. Squeezing harshly, he pulls you closer with a hard slam on the wood of the desk.

Moaning into his mouth, you tug at the collar of his sweater, silently urging him to take it off. He catches on quickly, but struggles to break himself free, obsessed with the taste of you — the feel of you in his hands. It’s the whine that peels itself from the back of your throat and the way you push yourself closer searching for friction that he finally pulls himself away with a suck of your bottom lip. Letting it go with a loud pop, the pout on your face turns his lovesick grin cocky as he plucks the collar of his sweater from the back and tosses it to the side of the studio in one fell swoop.

Your lids grow heavy, eyes glazing over at the thick smattering of hair on his chest. Throat drying up at the sight of his permanently sun kissed skin dotted with mini constellations of freckles and moles that your fingers itch to trace. He runs a hand through his hair, drinking in the sight of you too. The wild look on your face with your dress rucked up around your hips, legs spread revealing the wet patch in the middle of your panties that he’s the culprit of. Both straps dangle loosely off your shoulders, leaving just the red ones of your bra, the swell of your breasts teasing him.

“Jesus, I knew you were gonna ruin me.” He mutters to himself in disbelief, slowly walking back to his place between your legs.

His hands trail up your thighs, squeezing at the soft dough under your dress appreciatively with lick of his lips, before curling his fingers around the elastic. It’s the only thing left keeping him from a part of you he’s thought about more times than he’d ever admit.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathes against your lips, brows furrowed with need.

Your fingers find their way to his belt, expertly undoing the gold buckle before popping open the button and tugging down the zipper of his jeans. He hisses at the release as you lift your head, capturing his mouth in something so sure there’s no room left to argue, pulling away just enough to whisper.

”You.”

That’s all Steve needs, yanking your panties down in one swift motion, capturing your lips as he does the same with the straps of your dress. It pools around your lap, just like his jeans do at his feet. Kicking them off along with his shoes, he grabs one of your legs hitching it over his waist, pointedly running his hard covered length along your wet seam. You both moan into each other's mouths at the contact, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him as he licks into you, rolling his hips again.The way your slick instantly wets the fabric of his briefs makes it feel like he’s teasing himself too.

”I don’t — I don’t have a condom.” He murmurs, using all of his strength to pull away with panic set in his eyes like maybe he’s ruined this whole thing.

Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you let one of your hands slide down his chest, greedily scratching your nails along the dark hair there, before following it down his happy trail. The muscles in his stomach twitch, along with his cock that only grows bigger when you cup it, and the feeling of just how thick he is has you squirming at the thought of making it fit.

“I’m on birth control.” You admit quietly, your fingers dipping into the waist band of his underwear, the tips of them running along his pelvic bone.

”Jesus Christ.” Steve’s eyes pinch closed, the grip on your leg tightening to something almost bruising.

”Is that okay? Do you want to —“

“Yes, yes, god yes, that's okay.” He interrupts with an enthusiastic nod of his head.

Bend bending down, he claims your lips again as your greedy hands push his boxers past his hips. Your touch is tentative wrapping around the weight of him, but the moan you get in return is loud enough to echo off the glass encasing you, encouraging you forward. The first pump has him shuddering underneath your palm, a big hand grabbing your chin, using it to tilt your head to the side. He takes your slow torture out on the base of your throat in the form of open mouthed kisses, dragging his teeth along your pulse point that jumps for him.

“Steve you’re so - you’re so -“

He flattens his tongue, licking a path that has your eyes roll back, killing off the rest of that sentence by latching onto that sensitive spot behind your ear and sucking hard. It’s replaced by a breathy whine that comes out at the same time the pad of your thumb swipes against his leaking tip. He grunts into your neck, hips bucking into your touch.

“I know baby, I know.” He murmurs into your ear, nipping at the lobe before enveloping it into the heat of his mouth, letting it go with a loud pop. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

The endearment has your legs spread wider in a silent plea to keep his word. He smiles wide against your skin, sneaking his hand between you to replace yours that go back to their new home in the hair at the nape of his neck. You decide it’s your favorite place. He pulls away enough for your noses to bump, blown out wild looking eyes meeting yours before they drop down to a view he’s only ever imagined. His mind didn’t even come close to doing it justice.

”Fuuuuck.” He groans to himself, face twisting into something tortured, swiping himself through your glistening folds with another shudder ripping through his spine. “You’re so wet, honey.”

Steve says the last part almost like he can’t believe it, like there’s no world where you’d want him just as bad as he wants you. But when he does it again and you mewl in a way that sounds just as desperate, he knows it's true.

“You’re not the only one who’s wanted this for a long time.” You confess a little shy despite your current position, softening his features with the kind of smile that feels a lot like he’s already smitten.

The pad of his thumb on the hand still wrapped around your hitched leg traces circles on the goose pebbled skin underneath it.

“Yeah?” He sighs, eyes turning heavy bringing himself close enough to fit at your entrance. “Let’s make up for lost time then.”

Your fingers weave tighter in his hair, forehead pressing to his with a slack jaw at the first stretch of your walls. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling you so much as if he has nowhere else to go even though he’s only half way in.

”Oh my god, Steve, you feel — holy shit.” You pant, pulling at his roots so hard you know it hurts as he pushes himself to the hilt with one final stroke.

”You’re doing so good though, look at you.” His praise comes out against your lips, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheek. He feels the way his words tighten around him, a new wave of arousal coating every ridge and dip.

Steve gives you a minute to adjust to the size, only starting to move when you lean forward to steal a messy kiss. Desperation evident in the encouraging swipe of your tongue. He starts off slow, rolling his hips in languid strokes that match the way he licks into your mouth basking in the little noises escaping from the back of your throat. It’s not until you nip at his bottom lip that he lets go the way he really wants too.

Breaking away from your lips, he brings his attention to your face, needing to see the way it twists up when he pulls nearly all the way out before slamming himself back in. Your eyes go wide at the feeling, the silk of your walls fluttering, begging him for more that he gives without any hesitation. His palm finds it way back to your cheek that has to be searing against his skin, collecting your mouth again with a hunger that’s easy to lose yourself in.

He keeps a steady pace, hiking your leg further up his hip, somehow going even deeper. The tip of him hits the spot that no one else has ever been able to find, earning a loud moan of his name that he thinks sounds best when it comes from you. Using the opportunity that presents itself to him, he starts a path of open mouth kisses down your jaw, along your neck, gently pushing you back to lay against the desk, peppering them across your collar bone.

The new angle has you trying to cover the scream that's begging to fill the empty studio, and Steve keeps going. Tugging down your bra, sucks your pert nipple into the heat of his mouth. Your back arches, nails dinging into his shoulders when he brings his attention to the other one with a flick of his tongue.

“Perfect, you’re perfect.” Groaning his praise against your skin, he licks a stripe up your sternum before nipping at the curve of your breast.

Steve stands up straight, bringing his hands to your hips stretching you out even more. His eyes take in your heaving chest, dark eyes, and skin shining wet from the work of his mouth and he thinks he might cum right now.

”You ready for more, pretty girl?” He coos with the softest grind of hips, lips twitching at the way your eyes hit the back of your head because of it.

”Please.” You beg, finding the strength to look at him from underneath your lashes.

Your stare breaks any self control he might have left, the first snap of his hips pushing you further up the desk, sending some of the eight tracks clattering to the ground.

“Oh my god.” You cry out, grabbing onto his forearms. The blunt ends of your nails digging into his freckles when he does it again.

”You feel so fucking good.” He grits out between his teeth, the grip on your curves turning bruising as his head rolls back lost in the silk of your walls that keep sucking him in every time he tries to leave.

His praise makes your hips meet the next roll of his, sending another flurry of cuss words spilling out of his mouth, that turn into your name the more you keep up with his pace. Tugging you back to the edge of the desk, he folds over you, palms finding purchase on either side of your head.

That swoop of hair tickles damp against your forehead, his face contouring into something dazed watching the way you try to catch your breath. The quick grind of his hips punches the air out of your lungs with every thrust, the thick thatch of hair at the base of your demise rubbing against your clit with just the right of pressure.

You know you're not going to last much longer as the heels of your feet dig into his ass pushing him deeper. He grunts into your mouth, collecting a sloppy kiss rolling his hips in a circle, the tip of him pushing right against the spot you need him most.

“Come on, honey, let go. I know you want to. Let me finally make you feel good.” He murmurs encouragingly, grabbing both your wrists and pinning them above your head, sending a notebook and some pens flying to the ground.

The new position tightens the coil deep inside your gut tight enough to snap, your walls constricting around him as you tumble over the edge with nothing but his name spilling from your lips. Seeing something he’s only ever daydreamed about in the dead of night sends him flying right after you. He lets go of your hands catching himself on the desk, body shaking with a loud groan rumbling from his chest painting your insides with months of wanting you so much that it aches in his chest.

He keeps up the slow grind of his hips until you both come back down, with goofy love sick smiles twisting up your lips. You giggle when he nudges his nose with yours, getting a blinding flash of his white teeth in return.

“What?” Amusement dances in his eyes, brushing the apple of your cheek with the back of his hand.

”This just isn’t where I imagined it would finally happen is all.” You grin, leaning into his touch. “So out in the open.”

”It’s not like anyone’s here —“

”Steve, look, I’m sorry.” The sound of Robin’s voice echoes out through the empty station.

”Oh fuck me.” He yells in a whisper, wide panicked eyes meeting yours before dropping to the ground out of sight. You try your best to adjust your bra and dress into place.

“You know I hate when we figh— oh.” Robin stops in her tracks in the common room, confusion painting her features taking in your disheveled look and the lack of Steve in the room.

“H-hey!” You squeak out, voice cracking and she narrows her gaze at it.

”Where’s Steve?” She asks, the question coming out slowly in that suspicious kind of way.

”Uh - he uh - he went to the bathroom.” You offer, scratching the back of your neck while the man in question scrambles to get his clothes back on at your feet.

Tilting her head to the side, she squints at you clearly not believing a word coming out of your mouth. Realization dawns on her features, annoyance replacing any confusion that was left.

”You have got to be kidding me!” She throws up her hands, “Steve I know you’re there. You guys suck at lying.”

”Shit.” Steve mutters, pulling on his shirt before slowly standing up, buckling his belt with a sheepish smile.

”Hey.” He waves, running a hand through his damp hair.

So much for not telling Robin.

[cumkissed]

❛ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 PRETTY ❜

01 . ⠀⠀ ˚ ﹒ ૮ ⠀⠀⠀━╋⠀⠀𖤝 summary :: ben only meant to use the bathroom, but walking in on you half bare with a razor in your hand changes everything. what starts as an accidental interruption quickly turns into something filthy, mean, and completely shameless when ben decides you need to be punished for trying to shave what he thinks should be left exactly as it is || 10k

02 . ⠀⠀ ˚ ﹒ ૮ ⠀⠀⠀━╋⠀⠀𖤝 content warnings ::⠀⠀dad’s best friend!ben . age gap . power imbalance . rough sex . bathroom sex . bush kink . pussy worship . daddy kink . degradation . mean dom!ben . punishment kink . face slapping . spanking . clit pinching . oral sex . face fucking . spit . messy oral . cunnilingus . mirror sex . manhandling . praise kink . humiliation kink . unprotected sex . creampie . risky setting . dirty talk

navigation . kofi

BEN NEVER KNOCKED because Ben had known your family for too damn long and walked through the house like every hallway had his name on the deed. He came down the hall with that heavy, arrogant stride of his, belt already half loosened, muttering something about needing to take a piss before the game came back on.

The bathroom door swung open before you had any time to react, and suddenly there he was, broad shoulders filling the frame like he belonged there. You were sitting on the closed toilet seat with one leg propped against the edge of the bathtub, razor in hand, shaving cream smeared messily along your inner thigh.

Your pussy was exposed between your parted legs, soft hair still damp from warm water and soap, your skin already flushed from the awkward position you’d twisted yourself into. For one frozen second, neither of you moved. Ben’s eyes dropped before he could pretend they hadn’t, and the sight hit him hard enough that his jaw locked instantly.

He saw the spread of you, the softness, the wet shine where embarrassment and heat had already started betraying you. His cock reacted before his brain caught up, hardening so fast beneath his jeans that he had to shift his stance.

His thoughts about you had never been clean, not once, no matter how many times he’d told himself you were off limits. Now you were right in front of him like every filthy idea he’d ever swallowed down had crawled out and sat pretty between your thighs.

“What the hell are you doin’?” he asked, voice low and rough, but his eyes didn’t leave you. You should’ve snapped your legs shut quicker, should’ve screamed at him like this was horrifying, should’ve thrown the razor at his head for walking in without knocking.

Instead, your thighs only shifted halfway together before hesitation caught you because the way he looked at you made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t pretend was fear. “Ben,” you breathed, clutching the razor like it could save you from your own body. “Get out.”

The words came out too soft to be serious, too breathless to mean anything close to rejection, and both of you knew it the second they left your mouth.

Ben’s mouth twitched like he heard the lie in them immediately. “Yeah?” he said, stepping farther into the bathroom instead of leaving. “That what you want, sweetheart?”

Your lips parted, but no answer came out. His gaze dropped again, openly this time, shameless in a way that made your pulse hammer. The bathroom suddenly felt too small, too warm, too full of him and the heavy drag of his attention across your bare skin.

Ben pushed the door shut behind him with one hand, the quiet click of the latch making your whole body tense. He didn’t lock it, but he didn’t need to for the sound to feel final. “Put the damn razor down,” he said. It wasn’t loud, but it was unmistakably a command. Your fingers tightened around the handle once before loosening, the razor settling against the counter beside you with a tiny plastic tap.

Ben’s eyes followed the movement, then dragged back down to your lap. He looked at the shaving cream on your thigh, the soft hair you’d been about to remove, and the exposed heat of your pussy with an expression that bordered on offended.

“You were gonna shave all that off?” he asked, voice dropping lower. Your face burned so badly you thought you might actually pass out from it.

“I was going to,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed and failing horribly. Ben’s jaw ticked, and his cock throbbed hard in his jeans as he stared at the part of you he had no business wanting this much.

“Don’t,” he said flatly. You blinked at him, stunned by how serious he sounded. “Excuse me?” Ben took one slow step closer, boots heavy against the tile, eyes dark and unashamed. “I said don’t,” he repeated, like you were testing his patience on purpose. “Hair adds personality.”

The words were so obscene in his mouth that your pussy clenched before you could stop it. Ben saw the tiny twitch of your thighs, saw the way your stomach pulled tight, and his expression sharpened with satisfaction.

“Well, goddamn,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You liked that.” Your breath caught hard enough to make your chest rise visibly. “You can’t just say things like that,” you whispered. Ben gave a low, humourless laugh. “Honey, I can say a hell of a lot worse than that.”

You hated how badly you wanted him to. You hated how your body had gone hot all over, how the cool air against your exposed pussy made you feel even more aware of how open you were under his gaze. You hated that he hadn’t touched you once and yet you could already feel wetness gathering, slick and humiliating, making you ache.

Ben watched it happen with the kind of attention that made you feel stripped past naked, like he could see every thought you’d ever had about him. He looked older, rougher, meaner than any fantasy you’d let yourself have, broad and smug and so full of himself it should’ve disgusted you. Instead, it made your thighs tremble.

“You always this mouthy when you’re sittin’ there with your pussy out?” he asked. “Or is that just for me?” Your breath stuttered. “Ben,” you warned, but it came out weak and needy. His eyes lifted to yours, and the amusement there was cruel enough to make your stomach drop. “Don’t use that tone unless you’re askin’ me to fix it.”

The worst part was that you had imagined him fixing it too many times to count. You had thought about Ben when he leaned over you in the kitchen to grab something from a high cabinet, smelling like whiskey, smoke, and expensive cologne.

You had thought about him when his hand brushed your lower back as he moved past you at family cookouts, careless and brief, but enough to make you throb for hours afterward. You had thought about the rough sound of his voice saying your name, thought about him catching you staring, thought about him knowing exactly what you wanted before you had to admit it.

At night, alone in your room, you’d dragged your dildo from the drawer with shaking fingers and pushed it between your thighs while imagining it was him. You’d ridden it slowly at first, knees planted in the mattress, one hand braced against the headboard while the other rubbed messy circles over your clit.

You’d pictured Ben beneath you, big hands gripping your hips, mouth twisted into something mean as he watched you struggle to take him. Sometimes you’d bounced so desperately that the toy slipped against that sensitive spot inside you again and again until your legs shook.

Sometimes you’d buried your face in your pillow and moaned his name into the fabric, terrified someone might hear and secretly wanting them to. More than once, you’d come with Ben’s name on your tongue, your pussy clenching around silicone while your brain filled in the weight, heat, and cruelty of him instead.

Sometimes, when the fantasy got too filthy to stop, you’d whispered Daddy into your pillow and pretended it was his hand in your hair forcing you to say it louder.

Ben didn’t know the details, but he knew enough from the look on your face. He saw recognition flicker there, saw guilt, saw the exact kind of shame that only came from being caught wanting something you’d already touched yourself to.

His cock pressed painfully against his zipper now, thick and hard, the ache making his patience feel thinner by the second. He had tried not to think about you like this because your father was his friend and because there were lines even he understood he wasn’t supposed to cross. But he’d thought about you anyway.

He’d thought about your mouth when you laughed too hard at his jokes, your legs when you crossed them on the couch, your ass in those tiny shorts you wore around the house like you didn’t know what you were doing. He’d thought about bending you over the kitchen counter while everyone else was outside, about pressing a hand over your mouth and making you stay quiet.

He’d thought about how pretty you’d look crying from too much pleasure, how quickly your attitude would disappear once he got his hands on you. Seeing you now, wet and exposed and pretending you weren’t leaning toward him, snapped something ugly and hungry inside him.

“You’ve thought about this,” he said, voice quiet and dangerous. Your eyes widened. Ben smiled without warmth. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, but the denial wouldn’t come. It sat uselessly behind your teeth while his gaze pinned you in place. “I didn’t say anything,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to.” Ben moved closer again until his knees nearly brushed yours, his shadow falling over you in the cramped bathroom. “Your body’s runnin’ its mouth just fine.” Your thighs pressed together on instinct, but the movement only dragged your wet folds against each other and pulled a tiny sound from your throat.

Ben’s eyes dropped instantly. “There it is,” he said, mean satisfaction cutting through his voice. “You’re wet.” Your face burned so violently you had to look away. He reached down and caught your chin, fingers firm enough to stop you from hiding but not painful.

“No,” he said. “You don’t get shy after sittin’ here like this.” Your lashes fluttered, breath trembling under his thumb. “I didn’t know you were coming in.” Ben leaned closer, his voice dragging rough against your skin. “And now that I am?”

The question hung between you, filthy and heavy. You should’ve said something smart, something sharp, something that made you feel less exposed. Instead, your gaze dropped to the front of his jeans. The shape of him was impossible to miss now, hard and thick behind denim, straining like the sight of you had ruined every bit of control he thought he had.

Ben noticed you looking and gave a low laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s your fault.” Your lips parted softly, heat blooming through your stomach at the accusation. “Mine?”

“You’re sittin’ there with your legs open and that pretty little cunt out, and you’re askin’ if it’s yours?” His fingers tightened slightly at your jaw when you shivered. “Don’t play stupid with me.”

A shaky breath escaped you, and your pussy clenched again under the weight of his words. Ben watched your reaction like it fed him. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You really do like it mean.”

You did, and that was the problem. Your old partners had always tried to be sweet, careful, soft in ways that made you feel restless instead of wanted. You’d wanted rough hands and dirty words and someone who didn’t ask you five times if every breath was okay when your body was already begging.

You’d wanted someone who could look at you and know you needed to be handled. Ben looked like exactly that kind of man. He looked like the kind of man who would take your attitude apart one cruel sentence at a time and enjoy every second of it. He looked like the kind of man who would call you pretty and pathetic in the same breath.

Your stomach tightened as his thumb dragged slowly along your lower lip, and you had to fight the urge to open your mouth for him. “What are you thinkin’ about?” he asked. You shook your head faintly, cheeks blazing. Ben’s expression hardened with impatience. “Use your words.”

“I’ve thought about you,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. Ben went very still. The room seemed to shrink around both of you, the hum of the bathroom light suddenly louder overhead. His eyes darkened in a way that made your pulse stumble. “Yeah?” he asked. “How?”

Your fingers curled against your bare thigh, nails pressing tiny crescents into your skin. “At night,” you whispered, voice shaking. “When I’m alone.” Ben’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, and his cock jerked visibly in his jeans.

“Doin’ what?” Your throat worked around a swallow. “Riding my toy.” His nostrils flared, and the grip on your chin turned more possessive. “Moanin’ my name?”

Your silence answered before you could. Ben’s laugh was low, nasty, and pleased. “Course you were.” The humiliation of it made your eyes squeeze shut, but he shook your chin once, forcing your attention back to him. “Eyes open.”

You obeyed instantly, and the satisfaction on his face made you ache harder. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me how you do it.” Your heart pounded so hard you could feel it between your thighs. “I sit on it,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “Slow at first.”

Ben’s gaze dropped to your pussy like he could already see it happening. “Then?” “Then I move faster,” you breathed, the confession pulling heat through your whole body.

“I ride it until I can’t keep quiet.” Ben’s jaw tightened again, hunger turning the line of his mouth cruel. “And you say my name while you’re fuckin’ yourself on it?”

“Yes,” you whispered, and the word came out like surrender. Ben’s breath left him in a rough exhale. His hand fell from your chin, but only so he could brace it against the counter beside you, caging you in without touching anywhere else yet.

You could smell him now, smoke and whiskey and something masculine enough to make your head swim. “Filthy girl,” he said, and the insult landed like praise. Your pussy pulsed openly, wetness slicking between your folds while the shaving cream melted farther down your thigh.

Ben’s eyes tracked everything, taking in the swollen shape of you, the soft hair framing your pussy, the shine of slick gathering where your body had given you away. “You were gonna shave this,” he said, almost offended again.

“This pretty little mess.” Your breath hitched as his knuckles brushed the inside of your knee, not quite touching where you needed him. “Don’t,” he said again, rougher this time. “I like it like this.” Your thighs trembled apart another inch. Ben saw it and smiled. “Good girl.”

The praise made you nearly dizzy. It was worse because it came from him, from Ben, from the man you’d imagined being cruel enough to make you cry and pleased enough to kiss the tears afterward. He crouched slowly in front of you now, still too close, still not touching your pussy, his eyes level with what he had walked in on.

His cock was so hard it looked painful, straining against denim while he balanced one forearm on his knee. “Spread your legs,” he said. You hesitated for half a second, not because you didn’t want to, but because the embarrassment was almost too much to survive. His eyes flicked back up to yours.

“Don’t make me ask twice.” Your knees parted wider, slow and shaky, exposing yourself fully beneath his gaze. Ben inhaled through his nose, controlled but heavy. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Look at you.” Your pussy clenched around nothing as he stared, swollen and slick and framed by the hair he’d just ordered you not to remove. He noticed every bit of it. “Bet your toy doesn’t look at you like this.”

“No,” you breathed before you could stop yourself. Ben’s smile sharpened. “No, what?” Your stomach twisted because you knew what he wanted. “No, Ben.”

His eyes flashed at the sound of his name from your mouth in that tone, breathy and obedient and already ruined. “There she is,” he said. “That’s the voice you use when you’re ridin’ that dildo thinkin’ about me, isn’t it?”

Your hands gripped the edge of the toilet seat, and you nodded faintly. “Say it.” “Yes,” you whispered. “I think about you when I ride it.” Ben’s cock jerked again, and this time he didn’t even try to hide the way he adjusted himself roughly through his jeans.

“You think about me fillin’ you up instead?” he asked, mean and direct. Your body answered with a visible shiver. His gaze dropped, and his voice went darker. “Dirty little thing.”

The bathroom felt unbearably hot now, the mirror faintly fogged from the shower you’d taken before deciding to shave. You were still exposed under the ugly overhead light, one leg braced awkwardly near the tub, shaving cream drying tacky on your thigh.

Ben looked at you like none of it mattered, like the mess only made him want you more. His eyes were hungry, but not gentle. There was nothing soft in the way he studied you, nothing hesitant in the way his attention dragged over your pussy and made you feel owned before he ever laid a hand there.

“You want me to leave?” he asked suddenly. Your pulse jumped. He wasn’t asking because he wanted to leave. He was asking because he wanted to hear you choose the opposite. You stared at him, lips parted, face flushed so hot it hurt. “No,” you whispered. Ben’s smile turned wicked. “That’s what I thought.”

He stood again slowly, towering over you in the little bathroom until your breathing turned shallow. One big hand came to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair just enough to pull your head back and force your eyes up to his.

The grip wasn’t gentle, and the shock of it made your pussy clench hard. Ben’s gaze narrowed. “You like being handled too,” he said. It wasn’t a question. You made a small sound, something between a whimper and a confession, and his mouth twisted with approval.

“All this time walkin’ around this house actin’ sweet,” he muttered. “Meanwhile you’re upstairs bouncin’ on a toy moanin’ my name.” Your face burned again, but his hand in your hair kept you from ducking away.

“Does your dad know what a filthy mouth you’ve got when nobody’s listenin’?” You shook your head quickly. Ben leaned down until his lips hovered close to your ear. “Good. Because that’s mine now.”

The words punched through you, sharp and wrong and so hot you nearly whimpered out loud. Ben pulled back just enough to look at your face, and whatever he saw there made his expression go even darker. “You want mean?” he asked quietly. “You want me not to hold back?”

Your body trembled under the question, and for once you didn’t try to pretend otherwise. “Yes,” you whispered. His grip in your hair tightened. “Then quit pretendin’ you’re embarrassed.” You nodded, but he clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “Words.”

“I want you mean,” you breathed. “I want you to not hold back.” Ben’s eyes dropped to your mouth, then to your open thighs, then back up again. Your lips trembled before the last word slipped out soft and needy.

“Daddy.” Ben went completely still for half a second, and then his smile turned downright cruel. “Careful, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough with lust. “Daddy’s real good at givin’ spoiled girls exactly what they ask for.”

Ben’s hand stayed buried in your hair for another second, keeping your head tipped back while he looked down at you like he was deciding exactly how much trouble you’d earned. “Daddy,” he repeated, voice low and rough, the word sounding filthy in his mouth, like it had dragged every last decent thought out of the room with it.

His eyes dropped again between your thighs, and his expression hardened the second he saw the razor still sitting on the counter beside you. “All that pretty hair,” he muttered, almost disgusted, “and you were gonna scrape it off like it didn’t belong there.”

His hand left your hair only so he could grip your thigh and spread you open wider, rough enough to make your breath jump. You whimpered immediately, fingers tightening against the edge of the toilet seat while your pussy clenched under his stare. Ben saw it and gave a short, mean laugh. “Look at that. She knows she did somethin’ wrong.”

Before you could answer, his palm came down sharply against your pussy.

The sound cracked through the bathroom, wet and obscene, and your whole body jerked from the sting. Pleasure burst hot and sudden beneath the pain, your thighs trying to snap shut before Ben caught one and shoved it open again.

“Uh-uh,” he said, voice hard. “You don’t get to hide now.” Your mouth fell open around a shaky moan, face burning because the slap should’ve shocked you more than it turned you on. Ben’s eyes darkened at the sound, and the front of his jeans strained harder as he stared down at you.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, palming himself roughly through the denim with one hand while the other kept your legs spread. “Knew you were a dirty little thing, but this?” His palm landed against your pussy again, hard enough to make your hips buck off the seat. “This is fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Ben,” you moaned, the name slipping out before you could stop it.

His face changed immediately.

Not anger, exactly, but something meaner and more possessive, like you’d disappointed him on purpose just to see what he’d do about it. “What’d you call me?” he asked softly. Your breath hitched, eyes wide, thighs trembling around the ache he’d slapped into you.

“Ben,” you whispered again, weaker this time, and the second it left your mouth, his hand cracked sharply across your face. Not enough to hurt badly, not enough to scare you, but enough to turn your head and leave your cheek stinging hot beneath the bathroom light.

The shock punched a broken sound out of you, but it wasn’t fear. It was a moan, loud and helpless, your pussy clenching so hard that Ben saw it happen. His jaw tightened like the sight had nearly ruined him. “Try again,” he said.

“Daddy,” you whimpered instantly.

Ben’s hand flexed against his jeans, rubbing the hard shape of his cock through the fabric while his mouth twisted into a cruel little smile. “There she is.” Your cheek burned where he’d slapped you, heat blooming under your skin while your whole body seemed to pulse with the humiliation of how badly you’d liked it.

He watched your face for a beat, making sure you were still with him, still wanting it, and the way your thighs stayed spread for him answered before your mouth could.

“You’re gonna learn real quick,” he said, voice dropping into that rough, old-fashioned arrogance that made your stomach twist, “that when Daddy tells you to keep somethin’ pretty, you don’t go reachin’ for a damn razor.”

His fingers slid down between your thighs then, not gentle, not giving you softness after the sting. He pinched your clit between two fingers, sharp and sudden, and your body jolted so hard your heel scraped against the bathtub. “Oh my god,” you gasped, grabbing at his wrist even though you didn’t pull him away.

Ben clicked his tongue, clearly unimpressed by the way you were falling apart already. “No, no. Don’t grab at me like you’re not spread open beggin’ for worse.” His fingers pinched again, controlled and cruel, enough to make your hips twitch up into his hand while your eyes watered from the intensity.

He palmed himself harder through his jeans as he watched you, breath coming heavier now, his own restraint fraying in the sharp line of his jaw. “Look at you,” he said, dragging his gaze over your pussy, swollen and wet and framed by the hair he’d decided belonged there. “Gettin’ all messy because I punished this pretty cunt for misbehavin’.”

Your face went hotter, but you couldn’t stop the needy little sounds spilling from you every time his fingers pressed and released. He noticed each one. He fed off them. “That’s it,” he muttered. “Cry about it a little. Makes you prettier.”

“Daddy,” you moaned again, louder this time, the word shaking out of you like a confession.

Ben’s expression went hungry.

He leaned closer, broad body crowding yours until all you could smell was smoke, whiskey, and him. His thumb brushed over your stinging cheek with a mockery of tenderness, almost sweet if his other hand wasn’t still between your thighs, keeping you trembling and exposed.

“Now you remember,” he murmured. “Had to slap some manners into you, huh?” Your lashes fluttered, and you nodded before you could stop yourself. That made him groan under his breath, rough and pleased, his hand rubbing over his cock through his jeans with less patience now.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, voice thick with lust. “You’re gonna be a real problem for me.” Then his eyes dropped once more to your pussy, and his mouth curved into something wicked. “But first, we’re gonna make damn sure you don’t forget who told you not to shave.”

Ben’s smile stayed cruel for one more second before he finally stood to his full height, towering over you in the cramped bathroom like he owned the damn place. His hand dropped from your hair, but the loss of contact didn’t make you feel free. If anything, it made you feel more exposed because his eyes kept you pinned harder than his grip ever could.

The bathroom door was still unlocked behind him, not even fully latched right because he’d shoved it closed in a hurry. Anyone in the house could’ve walked past and heard the low scrape of his breathing, the tiny desperate sounds you kept failing to swallow, or the sharp metallic clink when Ben touched his belt.

He didn’t care. Not even a little. He glanced toward the door once, almost lazily, then back at you like the risk only made him meaner. “Ain’t gonna save you by lookin’ at it,” he said, voice rough and smug. “Door’s right there, sweetheart.”

Your thighs trembled around the ache still pulsing between them. Ben’s hand moved to the buckle at his waist, and he looked down at you with that old-fashioned arrogance that made your stomach twist. “Now be useful and undo it.”

Your mouth went dry as you stared at him, sitting there with your pussy still exposed and your cheek still warm from his hand. Ben didn’t move closer at first, just waited with his head tilted slightly, like patience was a punishment of its own.

The leather belt sat heavy around his waist, dark and worn, the buckle catching the harsh bathroom light. You reached for it with shaky fingers, and his eyes dropped to your hands immediately. “Look at you,” he muttered, almost amused. “Shakin’ already.”

“I’m not,” you whispered, but the lie sounded pathetic even to you. Ben gave a low laugh that made your pussy clench again. “Sure you aren’t.” Your fingertips brushed the front of his jeans, and you felt him hard beneath the denim, thick and straining, hot even through the fabric.

He hissed softly through his teeth when you touched him, jaw tightening like he hated giving you the satisfaction. “Careful,” he said. “You wanted Daddy mean, don’t go actin’ delicate now.”

You swallowed hard and worked the belt open, the metal buckle clicking loudly in the quiet bathroom. The sound made your pulse jump because it felt too real, too close, too far past fantasy to pretend you hadn’t wanted this exact moment. Ben watched you unthread the leather with dark, greedy eyes, his chest rising slower now like he was forcing himself not to rush.

The belt slipped loose in your hands, heavy and warm from his body, and he let it hang there for a second just to watch you stare. “Jeans,” he ordered. Your fingers moved to the button, clumsy from nerves, and he clicked his tongue in irritation.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you ride a damn toy moanin’ my name but can’t work a zipper?” Heat flooded your face, but the shame only made your body react harder. You popped the button open, then dragged the zipper down slowly.

Ben’s cock strained immediately against the fabric beneath, the shape of him obscene and impossible to ignore. “That’s it,” he said, voice dipping. “There’s the smart girl.”

He shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself, and the sight of him made every thought in your head scatter. Ben was thick, heavy, and flushed dark at the head, the skin pulled tight and hot from how long he’d been hard watching you.

He wasn’t neat or pretty in some soft way. He looked obscene, masculine, and demanding, the kind of cock that made your stomach dip before you even touched it. A vein ran along the underside, standing out more when his hand wrapped around the base and stroked once for his own relief.

Pre-cum already glistened at the tip, gathering slowly before slipping down the swollen head. Your lips parted before you could stop yourself. Ben saw it and smiled like he’d caught you stealing. “Yeah,” he murmured.

“That’s what I thought.” He tapped the head of his cock against your lower lip, smearing the first wet streak across your mouth. “Been thinkin’ about this too, haven’t you?” You nodded before pride could stop you. “Say it.”

“I’ve thought about it,” you whispered, voice shaking so badly it barely sounded like you. Ben’s hand moved to your jaw, thumb pressing into one side while his fingers held the other. “About what?” he asked, because of course he wanted to make you say it. Your eyes flicked down to his cock, then back up to his face.

“About your cock,” you breathed. Ben groaned under his breath, a low, filthy sound that made his grip tighten. “Good girl.” The praise hit you hard enough to make your thighs squeeze together. His gaze dropped and caught the movement, and his mouth curled with satisfaction.

“Still tryin’ to rub that needy little cunt together?” he asked. “Greedy thing.” You whimpered, and he dragged the wet tip of his cock across your cheek before you could answer. “Mouth open.”

You obeyed instantly, lips parting around a shaky breath. Ben didn’t let you take him yet. Instead, he dragged his cock slowly across your face, smearing pre-cum over your lips, your cheek, and the corner of your mouth in a hot slick line.

The humiliation of it made your eyes flutter, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. You wanted him too badly, wanted the weight of him, the taste of him, the proof that he’d stopped pretending he didn’t want you back.

Ben watched your face the whole time, his expression cruel and fascinated, like he wanted to memorize exactly how ruined you looked before he even got inside your mouth.

“Look at that,” he muttered. “Pretty face made a mess already.” He rubbed the head of his cock against your lower lip again, smearing more pre-cum there until your mouth felt wet and swollen. “Tongue out,” he said. You stuck your tongue out immediately, and his eyes darkened. “Fuckin’ hell.”

Ben leaned over you, keeping one hand on his cock while the other gripped the counter beside your head. For a second, you thought he was just going to push inside your mouth. Then he spat directly onto your tongue. The wet heat of it landed heavy and humiliating, and your whole body shivered violently.

Ben smiled like the reaction pleased him. “Don’t swallow,” he said. Your tongue stayed out, trembling slightly, the spit shining there beneath the ugly bathroom light. He dragged the tip of his cock through it slowly, smearing his spit and pre-cum together over your tongue in a slick, filthy glide.

Your eyes watered from how badly you wanted him to stop teasing and just use your mouth already. Ben saw the desperation immediately. “Christ,” he said, voice rougher now. “You really are made for this.” He rubbed himself across your tongue again, hips pushing forward just enough to make your throat tighten in anticipation. “Daddy’s gonna ruin that mouth.”

The first push inside was slow enough to make you feel every inch. Ben’s cock stretched your lips wide, heavy on your tongue, the taste of pre-cum, spit, and warm skin filling your mouth all at once. Your hands went to his thighs automatically, gripping the denim bunched low around them for balance. He hissed sharply when your lips sealed around him.

“There you go,” he murmured, voice already darker. “Knew you’d look good with a mouthful of cock.” You made a soft sound around him, and the vibration dragged a rough groan from his chest. His fingers threaded into your hair, not gently, not sweetly, but with control that made your scalp sting in the best way.

“Don’t use teeth,” he warned. “Unless you want me to get real mean.” Your eyes flicked up to his. He smiled down at you. “That’s what I thought.”

You tried to start slow, lips sliding carefully along his length while your tongue pressed against the underside. Ben let you for maybe three strokes. Then his grip tightened in your hair, and he pulled you forward until the head of his cock pushed deeper against your tongue. “No,” he said flatly. “Not like that.”

Your breath stuttered through your nose as he held you there, the weight of him filling your mouth more completely now. “You don’t get to tease after what you almost did to that pretty bush.” He dragged you back slowly by the hair, then pushed in again, deeper this time.

Your throat fluttered around him, and his jaw tightened hard. “Fuck,” he groaned. “That’s better.” He looked down at you with blown pupils and a cruel little twist to his mouth. “Open up.”

You forced your jaw looser, eyes watering as Ben pushed farther in. He watched every tiny reaction, every blink, every shaky inhale through your nose, every way your hands tightened on his thighs. His cock was thick enough that your lips burned around him, and the stretch made your head feel light. “That’s it,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction. “Take it.”

He pulled out just enough for air to rush into your lungs, then pushed back in before you could recover fully. The rhythm made your body jolt, and your pussy pulsed wetly between your thighs. You were painfully aware of it, of how exposed you still were, of the soft hair Ben had forbidden you to shave framing the slick mess your body had become.

He was aware too. His eyes dropped once toward your open thighs, and he actually groaned at the sight. “Still drippin’,” he muttered. “All because Daddy’s using your mouth.”

The words made you moan around him, and Ben’s grip in your hair went brutal for half a second. “Yeah?” he asked, breath roughening. “You like hearin’ that?” You nodded as best you could with his cock in your mouth, and he gave a short, nasty laugh. “Course you do.”

He started moving his hips then, shallow at first, fucking into your mouth with controlled little thrusts that made your eyes water more with each one. The sound was obscene, wet and muffled and trapped in the small bathroom. Your cheeks hollowed instinctively, and Ben cursed beneath his breath.

“Goddamn, sweetheart.” His free hand came down to your cheek, thumb smearing the pre-cum already drying there. “Look at you.” He pushed deeper suddenly, making you gag softly around him. “That’s it. Let me hear it.”

The gag made him throb against your tongue. You felt it and whimpered, humiliation and arousal twisting together so tightly you couldn’t separate them anymore. Ben’s breath came heavier, his stomach tightening beneath his shirt each time your throat tried to take him. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t slow out of sweetness. He just watched you with cruel hunger, fingers locked in your hair while he used the grip to set the pace.

“You wanted this,” he said, voice low and harsh. “Don’t forget that.” Your nails dug into his thighs, and he looked pleased by the desperation. “Been upstairs ridin’ that toy thinkin’ about me, right?” He thrust again, rougher this time, making your throat flutter.

“Now you’ve got the real thing, and you’re still actin’ surprised.” A tear slipped down your cheek. Ben wiped it with his thumb, then smeared it into the pre-cum across your skin. “Pretty when you cry.”

Your body went hot and weak at that, thighs squeezing uselessly around the ache between them. Ben noticed the motion and laughed again, cruel and breathless. “Poor thing,” he said, though there was no pity in it. “Mouth full and still worried about your pussy.”

He pulled out until only the tip rested against your tongue, letting you breathe for one shaky second. You gasped softly, lips wet and swollen, chin messy. Ben looked at your mouth like it belonged to him now. “Say it,” he ordered. You blinked up at him, dazed.

“Say whose cock you wanted when you were ridin’ that little toy.” Your voice came out broken and wet. “Yours.” His eyes narrowed. “Try again.”

“Daddy’s,” you whispered.

Ben’s whole expression changed.

The word hit him like a match to gasoline, and his cock jerked hard in his own hand before he pushed back into your mouth. “There you go,” he groaned. “Now you’re learnin’.” He fucked your mouth harder after that, no longer pretending he was patient. His hips snapped forward in short, rough strokes, each one forcing your lips wider and your throat tighter around him.

Your hands gripped his thighs as tears gathered faster now, not from fear, but from the overwhelming fullness and the ruthless pace. Ben watched them spill with obvious satisfaction, his mouth parted, his breathing rough and uneven.

“Take it,” he rasped. “That’s a good girl.” You moaned again, and the sound came out muffled around his cock. “Fuck, that mouth.”

The unlocked door sat behind him like a dare the whole time. You could see it in brief, watery flashes whenever your eyes drifted past his body, the simple twist lock untouched, the hall beyond hidden but not distant enough. Ben didn’t even glance back. If anything, he angled himself wider in front of you, broad shoulders blocking most of the room while his hips kept moving.

“You nervous someone’ll hear?” he asked, voice thick with amusement. Your eyes widened around him, and that was answer enough. “Too bad.” He pushed deeper, holding you there long enough for your throat to tighten around him.

“Should’ve thought about that before callin’ me Daddy with your cunt out.” The shame made you whimper, and Ben’s cock pulsed heavily against your tongue. “There she is,” he muttered. “Loves being scared of gettin’ caught.”

He pulled out fully for a second, letting his cock drag wetly over your lips. You coughed once, soft and breathless, saliva clinging between your mouth and the flushed head of him before breaking. Ben gripped his cock at the base and slapped the heavy length lightly against your cheek. “Messy,” he said. “But you can do better.”

Your lips trembled as you looked up at him. “Please,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. His brows lifted. “Please what?” Your face burned. “Please use my mouth.”

Ben stared at you for half a second, then laughed in a way that made your stomach fold in on itself. “Now that’s a polite little slut.” He tapped the tip against your tongue. “Open.”

You opened for him again, and he slid in with less resistance because your mouth was already wet and stretched from him. This time he didn’t bother building slowly. He buried one hand in your hair and braced the other against the wall beside the mirror, hips driving forward until your throat tightened around him.

The bathroom mirror caught the angle of him above you, jeans shoved low, shirt rumpled, jaw clenched, eyes dark with lust. He looked like he’d walked straight out of every forbidden thought you’d ever had and become worse in person.

Meaner. Larger. More shameless. Your own reflection flashed in the corner of the mirror too, knees parted, face messy, mouth full, eyes wet. Ben saw you notice and grinned. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Look at yourself.”

You did, because his hand in your hair gave you no choice. Your face was smeared with pre-cum, spit, and tears, lips stretched around his cock while your mascara had started to blur at the edges of your lashes. Your body looked wrecked and exposed, pussy still bare under the light, the soft hair between your thighs damp with slick.

The sight made you moan around him without meaning to. Ben groaned immediately, hips stuttering once before he corrected himself. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Don’t do that unless you want me to finish early.” He pulled out abruptly, leaving you gasping, and wrapped his hand around himself at the base.

His cock was slick from your mouth now, shining wet, the head darker and more swollen than before. Pre-cum leaked again, thick and clear, slipping from the slit despite the way he held himself back. “Not in your mouth,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Not yet.”

You looked up at him, dazed and needy, throat aching and lips parted. Ben saw the disappointment flicker across your face and laughed under his breath. “Don’t pout,” he said. “You haven’t earned that.” His thumb smeared over your bottom lip, dragging saliva across your mouth before pushing lightly against your tongue.

You sucked it without thinking, and his jaw clenched so hard you saw the muscle jump. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re trouble.” He stepped closer again, cock heavy in his hand, still hard and slick and flushed from how close he’d nearly gotten. “Hands behind your back.”

You obeyed immediately, folding your hands behind yourself while still seated and exposed. Ben’s eyes dragged over you, pleased and mean. “Good. Now you’re gonna sit there and let Daddy decide what he does with you next.”

He rubbed the head of his cock over your lips again, not letting you take him, just painting your mouth with more slick while you fought to stay still. “This is what happens when you try to ruin somethin’ I like,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

“I make a mess of you instead.” Your pussy throbbed visibly beneath his gaze, and Ben’s mouth twisted. “Still wet,” he murmured. “That poor little cunt’s got no shame at all.” You whimpered, shoulders trembling with the effort not to reach for him again.

He dragged the underside of his cock across your cheek, then down over your chin, smearing your own spit back across your skin. “Gonna remember this every time you see that razor, aren’t you?” You nodded quickly, eyes wide and glossy. “Yes, Daddy.” Ben’s smile sharpened. “Damn right.”

He pushed back into your mouth one last time, slower than before but somehow even more possessive. Your lips closed around him, and he gave a deep groan that vibrated through the quiet room. He didn’t thrust immediately.

He just held himself there, heavy on your tongue, making you feel the weight and heat of him while your eyes stayed fixed on his face. “See?” he murmured. “This is useful.” Your throat worked around him, and his cock twitched hard. He hissed and pulled back before he could lose control.

“Fuck.” His hand tightened around himself again, stopping the orgasm that had clearly started to build too fast. He looked angry about wanting you this much, which only made him look hungrier.

“Not yet,” he said, voice wrecked but firm. “Daddy’s not done teachin’ you a lesson.” You gasped softly when he withdrew fully, mouth empty and aching. Ben looked down at you, cock still hard in his fist, and smiled like the night had only just started.

You sat there exactly how Ben had told you to, hands tucked behind your back, shoulders pulled slightly open because you weren’t allowed to hide from him anymore. Your breathing came back in uneven little pulls while your chest rose and fell too quickly, tits bouncing faintly with every shaky inhale as the bathroom light made every inch of you feel exposed.

Your mouth was still swollen and wet from him, lips parted as you tried to steady yourself, but Ben’s eyes weren’t on your face anymore. They had dropped lower, dragging over your bare chest, your trembling thighs, and the slick mess between your legs with the kind of shameless hunger that made your pussy clench again.

He stood over you with his jeans still open, cock hard and flushed in his hand, the head wet from your mouth and still leaking despite how tightly he held himself back.

The bathroom door stayed unlocked behind him, quiet and dangerous, but Ben didn’t even glance at it. He looked like he wanted the risk. He looked like he wanted you to remember every second.

“Hands stay there,” he said, voice rough and mean, his accent thicker now that he was worked up. “You move ’em, I stop.”

Your thighs twitched at that, and his mouth curled like he’d felt it somehow. “Course that gets your attention,” he muttered, stepping closer until his knees nearly brushed yours. “Mouth full of cock, cunt all wet, still sittin’ there like you’re the one bein’ tortured.” He dragged his gaze over your pussy again, slow and deliberate, taking in the soft bush he’d already decided belonged exactly where it was.

“Look at this,” he said, almost under his breath, like he was still pissed at you for nearly shaving it. “Pretty little thing, all soaked and puffy, and you were gonna take a razor to it.” Your face burned, but you didn’t close your legs. You couldn’t.

Ben dropped slowly to one knee in front of you, then the other, big hands landing on your thighs with a grip that made your breath hitch. “Since you wanted to be stupid,” he said, spreading you open wider, “Daddy’s gonna remind this pussy why it doesn’t need fixin’.”

The first rough pull at your bush made you gasp sharply. Ben’s fingers tangled in the soft hair between your thighs, tugging just enough to make your hips jerk and your clit throb. “There,” he said, voice low with satisfaction. “See? Personality.”

Your pussy looked wrecked beneath his stare, swollen from arousal, glossy with slick, the lips flushed darker and parted around the wet ache he’d worked you into without even properly touching you yet. The hair framed you messily, damp near the center from how wet you’d gotten, and Ben looked at it like it was something he wanted to ruin and worship at the same time.

His thumb dragged through your folds once, slow and rude, spreading your slick before he pressed the pad of it against your clit. You whimpered, shoulders trembling as you fought to keep your hands behind your back. Ben watched your face with cruel amusement. “Don’t start cryin’ yet,” he said. “Haven’t even put my mouth on you.”

Then he leaned in.

The first drag of his tongue through your pussy made your whole body jolt against the toilet seat, a broken sound spilling out of you before you could swallow it. Ben groaned into you immediately, the vibration rolling straight through your clit and making your thighs shake harder beneath his hands.

He didn’t eat you gently. There was nothing delicate about the way he opened you with his thumbs, pulled lightly at the hair to angle you how he wanted, then licked into you like he was angry at how good you tasted.

“Fuck,” he muttered against you, mouth wet and rough. “That’s why you were actin’ so dumb, huh?” His tongue pushed inside you suddenly, hot and firm, and your head tipped back against the wall with a helpless moan. “Daddy,” you gasped, already shaking. Ben’s hands tightened on your thighs. “Yeah,” he growled into your pussy. “That’s what I thought.”

He tongue fucked you with filthy, impatient strokes, pushing in and dragging out just to feel the way you clenched around him. Every time your hips lifted, he shoved you back down with one hand and tugged at your bush with the other, keeping you spread open and helpless under his mouth.

“Stay still,” he snapped, but there was a rough smile in his voice. “You wanted to be a big girl and shave this pretty cunt, didn’t you?” His tongue circled your clit before he sucked it into his mouth, and the sudden pressure ripped a loud cry out of you.

“Ben—” His hand came down hard on your thigh, not your face this time, but the warning was clear. He pulled back only enough to glare up at you. “What’d you call me?” Your chest heaved, tits bouncing with the effort of breathing. “Daddy,” you corrected quickly, voice breaking. Ben’s expression softened into something meaner. “Better.”

He went back down like he’d been starving.

His mouth sealed over your clit, sucking until your legs tried to clamp around his head, but his shoulders forced them open again. The scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs made everything sharper, rougher, dirtier, every pass of his mouth leaving you more sensitive than the last.

He kept making those low, approving sounds into you, like he couldn’t decide whether to punish you or praise himself for getting you this messy. “Look at you,” he mumbled between licks, his lips shining with you. “All wet for your dad’s best friend.”

The words made you moan so hard your hands twitched behind your back, and Ben noticed instantly. “Don’t you fuckin’ move those hands.” You froze, breath catching. He smiled against your pussy. “Good girl. Learnin’.”

You were shaking so hard now that staying upright took effort, your back pressed against the wall, knees spread wide, hands locked behind you while Ben worked you open with his mouth. His tongue pushed inside you again, deeper this time, the wet obscene sound of it filling the bathroom while his nose brushed against your clit. You moaned his title over and over, each

“Daddy” softer and more ruined than the last, and every one seemed to make him rougher. He dragged his tongue up to your clit and flicked it fast, then sucked, then pulled back just to spit on your pussy and smear it in with two fingers.

“Messy little thing,” he muttered, rubbing the spit and slick over your swollen clit before replacing his fingers with his mouth. Your body lurched forward, but he shoved you back again with a hand on your stomach.

“No. Sit there and take it.” His other hand pulled at your bush again, possessive and cruel, making you whimper from the sting and the pleasure tangled together. “This stays,” he said against you. “You hear me?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you sobbed.

The answer made him groan like it satisfied something ugly inside him. He licked you harder after that, mouth dragging over every wet, swollen inch of you while his hands held you open like he owned the view. Your orgasm started building too fast, violent and hot, gathering low in your stomach until your thighs trembled uncontrollably around his head.

“I’m close,” you gasped, voice shaking. Ben didn’t pull away. He only looked up at you from between your thighs, eyes dark and mouth slick, and the sight nearly finished you right there. “Then come,” he ordered, voice muffled against your pussy.

“Cum on Daddy’s tongue.” His tongue pushed back inside you at the same time his thumb found your clit, rubbing tight, cruel circles that made your whole body seize. You cried out, hands straining behind your back as pleasure finally snapped through you.

You came hard against his mouth, hips bucking despite his grip, thighs shaking so violently that Ben had to hold you down. He didn’t stop. He licked you through it, tongue dragging through the slick rush of your orgasm while you sobbed his name wrong once and then corrected yourself into a desperate “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy” that made him growl into you.

Your pussy clenched around his tongue, swollen and soaked, every pulse making your body jolt in sharp little waves. Ben drank it in with a filthy kind of satisfaction, sucking and licking until you were writhing away from him because it was too much. Only then did he finally pull back, lips and chin wet, breathing rough as he looked up at you.

“There,” he said, voice wrecked but still cruel. “That’s what this pussy needed.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then grabbed your thigh hard enough to make you whimper. “Not a razor.” His eyes dropped to the soft, damp hair between your legs, and his mouth twisted with smug approval. “Me.”

Ben didn’t give you time to come down properly before his hand was back in your hair, hauling you up from the toilet seat with a roughness that made your knees nearly buckle. Your body was still shaking from his mouth, thighs slick and trembling, pussy swollen and wet enough that every step felt obscene.

“Up,” he growled, like he didn’t care that you were boneless and breathless and barely able to think. His grip stayed firm at the back of your neck as he turned you toward the sink, crowding behind you with his open jeans brushing against the backs of your thighs.

The bathroom mirror caught everything immediately, your messy mouth, your flushed cheeks, your tits rising and falling too fast, and Ben behind you looking huge and mean and completely gone on you. “Look at yourself,” he said, voice low against your ear. “Look what Daddy did to you already.”

Your palms hit the counter as he bent you forward, the edge of the sink pressing hard into your hips while your legs shook beneath you. Ben didn’t let you close them, not even for a second. He shoved one thigh between yours and forced your stance wider with his own legs, spreading you open until your pussy was exposed to him in the reflection.

“There,” he muttered, one hand gripping your hip while the other dragged down your spine. “Much better.”

Your eyes flicked to the mirror and immediately tried to drop, humiliation burning through you at the sight of yourself bent over the bathroom sink with your thighs parted and your slick still shining between them. Ben caught your chin from behind and forced your head back up. “No,” he snapped. “You wanted this. Now you watch.”

Before you could answer, two of his fingers shoved into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue until your lips closed around them automatically. “That’s it,” he said, sounding disgustingly pleased. “Drool on ’em.”

Your eyes watered as he pushed them deeper, your mouth stretched around his fingers while saliva gathered fast and messy. He watched you in the mirror, jaw tight, pupils blown, his cock dragging hot and heavy against your soaked folds from behind.

The tease of it made your hips jerk back despite yourself. Ben laughed under his breath, mean and breathless. “Greedy little thing. Mouth full and still tryin’ to get fucked.”

Then he lined himself up and thrust into you hard.

The stretch stole every bit of air from your lungs. Your moan came out muffled around his fingers, broken and wet, while your hands scrambled against the sink for something to hold. Ben cursed behind you, low and rough, his grip on your hip turning brutal as your pussy clenched around him immediately.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead dipping briefly against your shoulder. “Tight little cunt’s been beggin’ for this all night.” He didn’t give you time to adjust for long. He pulled back halfway and snapped his hips forward again, shoving himself deep enough that your knees nearly gave out. “Look,” he ordered, fingers still pressing into your mouth. “Look how pathetic you are takin’ it.”

You forced your eyes up to the mirror, and the sight nearly ruined you. Your lips were stretched around Ben’s fingers, drool slipping down your chin, eyes glossy and blown wide while his body crowded yours from behind.

His cock disappeared into you with every rough thrust, your pussy wet enough that the sound filled the bathroom, filthy and rhythmic beneath both of your breathing. Your slick coated him instantly, creamy and clear around the base every time he drove back into you, making a messy shine where your bodies met.

Ben’s hand left your hip suddenly and came down hard across your ass, the slap echoing off the tile. You cried out around his fingers, clenching violently around him. He felt it instantly. “Oh, you liked that,” he said, voice sharpening with cruel amusement. “Course you did. Dirty little slut likes bein’ bent over and used in the bathroom.”

Your pussy tightened harder at the words, and Ben groaned like it pissed him off how good you felt. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, spanking you again, harder this time. “You’re squeezin’ me every time I call you what you are.” His fingers pressed deeper into your mouth, making you drool more, making the reflection even messier.

“That what you needed?” he asked, hips snapping into you with mean, steady force. “Needed Daddy to talk to you like some needy little whore so this pretty cunt would behave?” You whimpered around his fingers, nodding before you could stop yourself. His mouth twisted in the mirror. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Ben fucked you harder after that, like your body had given him permission to stop pretending he had any restraint left. One hand stayed in your mouth, keeping you quiet and messy, while the other alternated between gripping your hip and landing sharp, stinging slaps against your ass.

Each one made your body jolt forward against the sink, and each thrust dragged you back onto him again. “Look at that,” he rasped, eyes locked on the reflection of where your bodies met. “Taking Daddy’s cock like you were made for it.”

Your walls fluttered around him, slick and hot and clenching every time his voice dropped into that cruel, possessive tone. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, hips stuttering for half a second before he caught himself. “This pussy’s dangerous.”

You tried to say Daddy, but it came out as a wet, muffled sound around his fingers. Ben’s expression darkened at the attempt. “What was that?” he taunted, thrusting deep and holding there until you squirmed. You drooled around his fingers, eyes pleading in the mirror, body shaking from how full you felt. He pulled his fingers out just enough for you to gasp. “Say it.”

“Daddy,” you cried immediately, voice wrecked and breathless. Ben slammed back into you so hard your hands slipped against the counter. “Good girl,” he grunted. “Say it again.”

“Daddy,” you moaned, louder this time, and your pussy clenched down around him so hard he swore through his teeth.

His hand came back to your hip, fingers digging in as he chased that reaction again and again. “That’s it,” he said, voice rough and breaking at the edges now. “Keep squeezin’ me like that.”

You could feel how close he was getting, the way his thrusts turned less controlled, deeper and harsher, each one punching little broken sounds from your throat. Your own orgasm built fast, too fast, pressure tightening low in your stomach until your thighs were shaking against his.

Your cum started slicking him even more before you fully tipped over, wetness gathering thick and messy around his cock, smearing down your inner thighs, making every thrust sound wetter than the last. Ben saw it in the mirror, saw your pussy getting sloppy around him, saw the creamy ring of your arousal coating the base of him. “Don’t you look away,” he ordered. “You’re gonna watch yourself cum on Daddy’s cock.”

The command snapped something inside you. Your body seized against the sink, pussy clamping down around him as your orgasm hit hard enough to make your vision blur. “Daddy,” you sobbed, shaking violently while pleasure tore through you in hot, helpless waves.

Your cum soaked around him, slick and messy, your pussy pulsing so hard it pushed wetness down over his cock and onto your thighs with every clench. Ben groaned deep behind you, his grip turning almost painful as your orgasm dragged his out of him too.

“Fuck,” he rasped, hips driving in once, twice, then holding deep as he came with a broken, furious sound against your shoulder. You felt him spill hot inside you, thick pulses filling you while his cock twitched hard through every wave. The heat of his cum made you whimper, your overstimulated pussy clenching around him again as if trying to milk out every last drop.

Some of it pushed wetly around his cock where he stayed buried, mixing with your slick until both of you were messy and trembling in the mirror. His body pressed hard over yours, breath hot at your neck while both of you shook through it together. After a long moment, Ben laughed softly against your skin, rough and breathless. “That’s one hell of a lesson, sweetheart.”

© CUMKISSED ♡ | EST. JUNE 2026 ˎˊ˗ all original content found here belongs to me. canon material belongs to its respective owners. don't repost it, don't feed it to ai, don't translate it, don't archive it elsewhere, and definitely don't pretend you wrote it. ♡

[ahsokaismyqueen]

Orange Juice Pairing - Tyler Owens x Female!Reader Summary - When it's time to interview a group of storm chasers for your new book, you get sent back to your hometown. You never would have guessed one of the people you'd be interviewing would be your ex boyfriend. And you might still be a little in love with him. Word Count - 13k my god I'm sorry Playlist Warnings - 18+ ONLY. Tyler Smut. Language

Everything looked the same, but somehow different. 

You hadn’t stepped foot in this town in ten years, and you were nervous as hell to be here now. This town held a lot of memories and people that you hadn’t visited in a long time. If your agent had told you where you had been going before putting you on the plane, you probably would have asked if there was somewhere else, some other storm chaser group that wasn’t based in Arkansas you could interview. She believed that she was doing a nice thing, surprising you with a trip to your hometown. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it may be your hometown, but it also was home to your worst memory. 

A sigh left your lips as you pulled up to a familiar gas station, and pushing the memories out of your mind, you put the car in park. 

The Tornado Wranglers. That was the group of chasers you would be talking to. Your agent had insisted that they were the best of the best. Apparently they had a very large YouTube following, and their leader was, “charismatic and oozed charm”, according to your agent. He was also the hottest cowboy she’d ever seen. 

Those words brought a faint smile to your face, and you pulled out your phone to text her. 

Landed, and am currently waiting at the gas station. 

A few moments later, a response came through. Any sign of hot cowboys yet? 

You let out a laugh. Not yet, but I’ll keep you informed. 

Your fingers settled on the door handle. There was no reason to put this off anymore. You were here, and you were going to have to face what was out there, for better or worse. You opened the door and climbed out of your car. 

It smelled the same. The gas station had been updated to be more modern, but the faint scent of gasoline and rice from the farms remained. Walking inside, you found little had changed. There was an updated register, a few more products offered, but that was about it. When your eyes caught sight of your favorite candy, a grin spread across your face, and you found yourself reaching for them, even though you hadn’t had them in years. 

You didn’t recognize the cashier, which you were grateful for. A part of you had almost expected everyone you knew to pop out of nowhere as soon as your feet touched the ground. Now you realized how ridiculous that was. In fact, you might go this whole trip without setting eyes on a single person from before. Thanking the cashier, you made your way back outside right on time to see a large red truck turning in followed by a camper that was blaring a Tanner Adell song. You couldn’t see the driver of the truck because of the cowboy hat and sunglasses that partially obscured his face, but the guy in the passenger seat recognized you at once. “Hey! That’s her!” You could hear him say it since his window was open. 

The guy pulled to a stop, and the one in the passenger seat ran around the front of the car. His hair was dark and shoulder length, but covered with a baseball cap, and the bottom half of his face supported some facial hair. He was dressed much like you expected a tornado chaser to dress, shirt and shorts in different shades of dark green with a bandana around his neck. “Hey, I’m Boone.” He said, holding out his hand for you. “I gotta say, I’m a big fan.” He said the last part in an almost whisper, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear him. 

Which, considering you wrote romance books, he probably didn’t. Not the first man to say something similar to you, you nodded with a sincere smile, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. You guys are the Tornado Wranglers I’m assuming?” 

“Yeah, that’s Dexter and Dani.” He said pointing to two people that were exiting the camper behind them. “There’s Lily.” He said, pointing to a girl getting out of another car that you hadn’t even noticed. “And this is our fearless leader, Tyler.” 

At that moment, the world around you slowed down. In fact, you were pretty sure all the air was sucked out of your lungs. It couldn’t be him. Out of every person in the world you could be working with, it couldn’t be the one . . . But he took off his cowboy hat, and even though it had been ten years, he was unmistakable. You would know that face anywhere, after all, you saw it all the time in your dreams. 

For a moment, you thought he might not recognize you. It had been ten years, you’d both changed in that time, but the moment his eyes landed on you, he knew exactly who you were. He said your name, pure disbelief in his tone as he took a step forward. 

You nodded, unsure of how to respond. The two of you hadn’t left on the best of terms, but there were so many years before that. So many beautiful memories that you’d never be able to forget. Half of you wanted to run and hide, the other half (okay maybe more like three fourths) wanted to run into his arms. How could you do that though when you were the one who left? 

Tyler didn’t hesitate though. You watched as a slow grin formed on his face that turned into a bright smile, a smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat, and the next moment he was hurrying towards you. Within seconds you were wrapped up in a hug so tight your feet weren’t even on the ground anymore. 

God it felt good. You slid your arms around his neck, hugging him back just as tight, and let out a little laugh as he spun you around. Your eyes closed automatically, and you realized at that moment while you may have written about the way Tyler made you feel, it was nothing compared to the actual emotions. You remembered how his arms always felt like home, and it was no different now. They must have some sort of magic, because no matter how long it had been, they brought your mindset right back to the teenager who was crazy in love with her boyfriend. 

After what was probably too long, Tyler put you back on the ground, slowly and a little too intimately for the strangers his team thought you were. In fact, he didn’t even fully let go of you, keeping his hands on your hips. You found yourself unable to let go of him too though, your hands resting on his forearms as he stared at you in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“I can’t believe you’re here.” You said, squeezing his arms. “You’re a storm chaser?” It made perfect sense when you thought about it. Tyler had always had such a good instinct for weather. You couldn’t count the amount of times during school when he told you football games were going to get canceled because it was going to storm. He was never wrong. You just never expected him to quit bull riding. 

“Yeah, got a meteorology degree from U of A and everything.” Tyler said, and your breath caught in your throat. Not just because his thumbs had started stroking your hips, but because of his words too. 

Tyler had done it. He had done what you had always known he was beyond capable of doing. The shy smile on his face, the love, care, and pride you still, and always would have for him rushed to the surface. Overwhelmed with emotions from the past, you felt tears fill up your eyes as you looked at him. “I’m so proud of you, Ty.” You told him, and you meant every word. 

There was no other way to describe it. He was beaming, and god you had forgotten how beautiful that smile was. It was like the sun, almost too bright to look at. 

“I get the feeling you two know each other?” 

You had forgotten that little aspect of being with Tyler. How everything else would disappear the moment he looked into your eyes. You took a step back from him, letting go of his arms even though every part of your body wanted you to keep touching him. His hands lingered on you for a moment, but then he let go as well. “I guess you could say that.” Tyler said, “this is the girl that broke my heart ten years ago.” 

“Wait,” one of the girls, you were pretty sure it was Lily, stepped forward. “I thought that girl’s name was-”

They knew your name. Tyler had talked about you enough that they knew who you were. “That is my name. My writing name is a pseudonym.” You admitted. Heat rushed to your skin, but there was no malice in Tyler’s voice or face. He was just looking at you with a fond smile, as if lost in the same memories you found swirling around in your mind. 

“So, you’re a big time writer now, huh? You always did tell the best stories.” Tyler said. 

“Man, you should read them. In fact, now that I think about it, one of the main guys kinda reminds me of-” Boone started to say, but you cut him off. 

There was no way you were ready for that conversation. “So, um, where did you guys want to talk?” You spoke up, trying to change the subject as subtly as you could. 

The look Tyler gave you said he saw right through your bullshit, but he didn’t comment on it, just grinned mischievously at you. “How about Frankie’s?” 

Of course he would suggest Frankie’s. It was the bar that the two of you used to go to all the time after rodeos. There were a lot of memories of playing pool, laughing with friends and dancing to whatever band was playing there. While you weren’t sure you were ready for all those memories to hit again, the draw of going back there with Tyler was too much. “Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll meet you guys- ”

“No need for that. You can ride with me.” Tyler said, patting the large red truck. 

Being in an enclosed space with your ex boyfriend definitely didn’t seem like a good idea. “Oh, that’s not-”

“It’s really cool. You’ll want to take a peek. He customized it all himself and everything. This baby can drive straight into a tornado.” Boone said while Tyler continued to grin at you. 

“Research is what you’re here for right?” Tyler asked you. 

Yes. That was a good reminder for yourself. You were here to learn about the essentials of storm chasing for your next book, not to spend all your time thinking about how good Tyler looked after ten years. “Right,” you agreed, and then watched as Tyler walked all the way over to the passenger seat and held it open for you. 

“Well, in that case, right this way ma’am.” 

————————

To your slight surprise, Tyler kept everything professional in the truck. He showed you all the features, and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it all. It was impressive, not only what he had thought of, but had attached himself. “Is this normal? I mean do a lot of storm chasers have vehicles they’ve rigged up?” 

“Nothing like this.” He said with pride in his voice as he grinned over at you. “I spent years putting this thing together.” 

“When you do something, you always go big.” You teased, smirking at him. “Remember that time in high school when we just wanted to fill the principal's office with ducks, and instead you said we should fill the whole school?” 

Tyler scoffed. “Of course I do. I got a month of detention for that because Belinda ratted me out.” 

“You did stand her up for a date.” You reminded him. 

“Yeah well,” Tyler glanced over at you again. “You needed me.” 

Your cheeks heated as the memories of that night flooded your mind. It hadn’t been long after your Dad had passed. You had gotten stupid drunk at a party that he hadn’t wanted to go to. You had been walking home, stumbling home really, when a familiar truck pulled up beside you. It turned out that Tyler had been waiting nearby for at least an hour after feeling like something was off. 

He held you in his arms in that truck for hours while you cried, letting out emotions you’d been holding back for months. Then he took you home and snuck into your bedroom to hold you some more. The next morning you told him you didn’t want to be just friends anymore. He told you he hadn’t wanted to be just friends for a long time. 

The two of you were inseparable from that moment until the day you left. Almost as if he could sense where your mind was, a palpable tension filled the truck. 

You weren’t ready to talk about it though. 

Thankfully you were saved from any further discussion as your phone went off with a text. It was from your agent, checking in again. 

“Boyfriend?” Tyler asked. 

You shot him a look, trying to bite back a smile. “That’s not very subtle of you.” 

He sent you a look right back. “Wasn’t trying to be.” 

“Agent.” You answered, choosing to ignore his response. “Who I now have to awkwardly tell that the ‘hottest cowboy she’s ever seen’ is actually my ex-boyfriend.” 

“So you really had no idea?” Tyler asked. 

You shook your head. “Not a clue. I didn’t even know where I was going until I got to the airport and she sent my travel information.” 

“Gotta say . . . I’m surprised. I never thought you’d step foot in the town again.” He said, pulling into the small parking lot. 

Glancing up at the building, you bit your bottom lip. “I wasn’t sure I would either.” 

Frankie’s was exactly what you would picture when you hear the words, “small town bar”, but as soon as you walked in, you couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity. It was big for a small town bar, featuring bars on both sides of the room, plenty of tables, as well as a couple of pool tables, and a stage with a small dancing space in front of it. Most of the furniture was wooden and looking a little rough, but they kept the lighting dim enough that it wasn’t very noticeable. There weren’t a whole lot of people, but there was no band playing, and it was a weekday night. It put you a little more at ease. 

“This place hasn’t changed a bit.” You said, looking around. 

Tyler shook his head in agreement. “That’s why I love it so much. Feel like I’m right back into my early twenties when I walk back in here.” 

“That was a long time ago for you.” You teased. 

He clutched his chest, scrunching his eyes at you and giving you a wounded look, but there was a playful edge to it. “Ouch. So you do still have some bite to you.” 

You smirked at him. “You bring it out in me.” 

Tyler’s frown turned to a grin as he placed his hand on the small of your back, sending chills down your spine. “Let’s grab a booth for everybody.” 

The next several hours consisted of you asking the Tornado Wranglers crew every question you wrote down as well as thought of. They not only answered honestly, but never talked down to you like you were stupid for not knowing something either. You loved the relationship that they clearly had with each other. They treated each other like family, with their own strengths and weaknesses that the other members of the team either supported or built upon. You knew immediately it was something you were going to want to include in your book. Not only that, but they were hilarious, and since they knew who you were, they seemed to be ribbing Tyler extra hard. 

“All right, you know damn well that was an accident.” Tyler said, pointing a finger at Dexter who was laughing hysterically along with the rest of the table. 

“I don’t know, it doesn’t sound like an accident to me Tyler.” You said, raising your eyebrows at the man sitting next to you. 

Tyler narrowed his eyes at you and bumped your knee with his under the table. “Now don’t you start.” 

“Hey, don’t be rude to our guest.” Dani said. 

“Too late for that. He hasn’t even gotten her a drink yet.” Lily spoke up, shaking her head at him in disappointment. 

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

Tyler shook his head. “No, they’re right.” He started sliding out of the booth. His hand reached up and gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I’ve got you.” 

“I notice he didn’t ask you what you wanted to drink.” Dexter said with a little grin after Tyler made his way to the bar. 

You bit your bottom lip. You hoped he remembered. “We’ve known each other a long time.” 

“Okay, now that he’s gone.” Boone leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. “One Last Rodeo. Theo. He’s based on Tyler isn’t he?” 

Heat rushed to your face. So Boone definitely had read your books. Looking back on it, it was pretty obvious that your first book had been based on Tyler. You were heartbroken, and trying to find a way to get it out on the page. The book was your way of coping with your breakup and how you wished it would have ended instead of the way that it did. By the time someone wanted to actually publish it, you realized how obvious the similarities were, and it was one of the reasons you wanted to write under a fake name. Since Boone had read your book, and now knew that Tyler was your ex . . . It couldn’t have been hard to put together. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it outloud. “A writer never tells her secrets.” You said. 

They were all grinning at you though. “Oh, look how flushed her face is.” Dani said. 

“It’s definitely about him.” Lily said. 

You opened your mouth to deny it, even though it seemed pointless, but before you could you were interrupted. “Here you go,” he said, sliding back into the booth and putting a glass filled with an orange drink in front of you. 

“What is that?” Boone asked, “some kind of tropical-”

“Orange juice.” You answered, smiling over at Tyler. “You did remember.” 

Tyler gave you a look of disbelief, like he was insulted. “Of course I did.” When he saw the confused looks of his friends he explained, “she doesn’t drink.” 

“Twelve years sober.” You said. “Not something I’m against anyone else doing, it’s just not for me.” Tyler slung his arm over the back side of the booth closest to you, and you had to fight the immediate urge to lean back into his embrace. The rest of the team was smirking at you, and you lifted the glass to your lips to take a sip. “So I’ve just got one more question for you guys.” You said trying to change the subject. 

“Fire away.” Dani said. 

“Why do you guys do it?” That was what you really wanted to know. “I grew up here. I know how dangerous, how scary these things can be. Why do you guys willingly risk your life for something that seems to have no real reward?” 

There was silence around the table for a moment, and you made sure to avoid Tyler’s face. When you had written these questions, you had no clue he was one of the ones you’d be asking, and this question hit a little too close to the reason for your breakup. You didn’t think you could look at him if he answered. 

“We like to help.” Lily said. “That’s a factor. We sell these shirts, and we use the money to get people stuff like food and water.” 

“Then there’s just the beauty of it. Yes, it’s dangerous and destructive, but there’s also something incredible about it as well. There’s so many factors to tornados we don’t understand. Seeing them come together in person is . . . Indescribable.” Dexter added, while they all nodded their heads in agreement. 

“There’s the adrenaline too.” Boone spoke up with a grin. “I’ve never felt more alive than when we’re chasing.” 

Your body tensed at his words, memories of your last argument with Tyler trying to invade your mind. Once again, you felt sure he could sense what you were thinking as you felt his gaze on the side of your face. 

“It’s hard to put into words without actually seeing it.” Tyler said. “You should come on a chase.” 

That made you look at him, your eyes wide in shock that he would even suggest it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” Tyler leaned towards you. “Scared?” He asked with a smirk. 

“Yes.” You answered honestly. 

“Ah, you’d be perfectly safe with Tyler. He’s got a knack for these things.” Boone said, and you looked over at him to find him grinning at the two of you. “You’d barely be in any danger at all.” 

You didn’t doubt that, but heading straight into something that could be so destructive had never been your thing. Hell, you hadn’t even gotten on a horse until Tyler talked you into it. “Still, any danger is too much danger for me.” 

Tyler shrugged. “The offer is there if you change your mind.” Tyler said, and you knew him well enough to see the flash of disappointment on his face. 

Weirdly, you felt a little disappointed in yourself too. 

————————

For the past hour, you’d been pacing around your motel room. Tyler had driven you back to your car, then followed you to the motel that funnily enough, him and the rest of the Wranglers were staying at as well. It was the only motel in your hometown, but knowing that Tyler was a few doors down from you made you anxious. 

God, seeing him again had been your worst nightmare and best daydream all rolled into one. It was so easy to think that after ten years you were over someone. Then you see them again, and everything comes flooding back. All the beautiful memories and all the mistakes you wish you could take back, and there were a lot of mistakes you wished you could take back with Tyler. You’d never loved anyone the way you loved him, and you didn’t think you ever would. Seeing him again had reminded you of that. 

Letting out a sad sigh, you sat down on your bed. Then there was Tyler’s invitation and disappointment. You hated disappointing him almost as much as you hated disappointing yourself. It had taken several years of therapy and hard work to not be so scared of ending up with the same fate as your father. You had grown though. You had learned about yourself and the things that caused those reactions. While getting close to a tornado was definitely dangerous, you knew that Tyler would take care of you. You also knew that you didn’t want to miss out on any more experiences in your life because you were afraid. 

You stood up, not allowing yourself another moment to try and talk yourself out of it, and left your room, knocking at the one three doors down. 

Tyler answered, clad in his white t-shirt and jeans, and smiled when he realized it was you. “Hey, what’s up?” 

Good lord was there ever a moment when this man didn’t look incredible? You swallowed, then nodded. “I changed my mind.” 

He leaned against the doorway, eyebrows raised in confusion. “About what?” 

You took a deep breath. “I wanna go on a chase.”

Tyler beamed. 

————————

It took three days for a storm to come through that Tyler felt good about. They had done some chasing in that time, but Tyler hadn’t brought you along because he said they hadn’t been the “right one”. The wait made you anxious, but you trusted Tyler’s instincts, and every night they were back at the motel ready to tell you about their day. You thought that they might eventually get bored of all your questions, but they were not only great, but amazing storytellers as well. You could see why their YouTube channel was so popular. 

Not that you spent a whole day watching it while they were gone or anything. 

Finally though, the day arrived and you found yourself standing outside by Tyler’s truck waiting for the team to join you, your heart pumping a little faster than normal. “Morning!” A voice called, pulling your attention away from inspecting Tyler’s truck again, and you saw the man in question heading towards you with a paper sack in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. “Haven’t talked yourself out of this yet?” 

You shook your head. “Nope. I’m doing this.” You smiled as Tyler handed you the coffee and bag. “Did you seriously get-?”

“Your breakfast sandwich and coffee? Yes, you need fuel for the road.” Tyler used his now free hands to open the door for you. “Hop on in, and let’s get going.” 

“Wait,” you said, glancing around. “Is everyone else meeting us there?” 

Tyler leaned against the door, and you watched as he looked at the sky behind you, then turned his gaze back to you. “Nah, I gave them the day off. I didn’t want you to have to deal with pressure from them if we get there and you decide not to do this.” 

You bit your lip. He was always so thoughtful. Back when he knew you, he would have had to drag you to this truck kicking and screaming, which he never would, and the fact that he wanted to save you some embarrassment in case you decided not to do this was just like him. Unable to help yourself, you reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you.” You said sincerely. 

“Well,” you inhaled sharply as Tyler took a little step closer to you. “I’ve got to admit, getting you alone for the day also played a factor.” 

Your eyes widened and a shy smile formed on your face even while your mind was spinning. Over the past few days there had been brief moments where you thought Tyler might have been flirting with you, but you talked yourself out of it. Now though . . . Was there actually a chance this man still wanted you? He couldn’t. Not after how you had treated him. It didn’t make sense. “You might end up regretting that, you know?” You told him. 

Tyler reached up, and your whole body froze as he brushed some hair behind your ear. “I’ve never regretted a moment I’ve been with you.” 

His response took the breath from your lungs. “Ty . . .” You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was beating so fast it hurt. How could he possibly not regret that night? The night that you broke his heart? 

“I’ve missed you calling me that, you know?” He smiled at you, and then took a step back. “Come on, let’s get going.” 

Once again, you wanted to say something, but what? Nothing sounded right in your mind. So instead you hopped up in the truck and watched as he closed the door behind you. 

————————

“Can I be honest?” You asked him several hours later. 

“I didn’t realize you ever weren’t.” Tyler joked, sending you a smirk. 

You swatted at him playfully. “I didn’t expect all the waiting. What happens if nothing comes?” 

“Oh, something’s gonna happen.” He insisted, looking at some clouds in the distance. “Don’t you have any faith in me?” 

While he was kidding, you didn’t stop the serious words that slipped past your lips. “You know I have all the faith in the world in you.” 

Ty’s smile turned from something joking to something genuine. “Even after all these years?” 

You smiled at him. “It never stopped. I always knew you were destined for great things.” You admitted, and it was the truth. In fact, you’d never been more sure of anything in your life. 

“Just not riding on the back of a bull.” He replied, and though he winked at you, the mention of one of the reasons from your breakup filled the air with tension. 

Then the question that you had been dying to ask since you first saw him burst from your lips. “Why did you quit?” 

Tyler looked at you then, and you knew that look well. He was reading your expression, your eyes, your body language. He’d always been able to tell what you were thinking simply by looking at you, and this time was no different. “It wasn’t because of you.” He said, reaching over to place his hand on top of yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I mean, you were part of the reason, but it was more about me realizing you were right, and I could do more with my life.” 

He knew you had been carrying that guilt of wondering if you were the reason he quit something that he had loved so much. He told you that you weren’t, but you still frowned, looking out at the darkening sky miles away. “I wish I’d said it differently.” 

There was silence for a moment as you two watched the storm, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt more reflective, and your thoughts were only confirmed when he spoke up. “Do you ever wonder where we’d be now? If you’d stayed?” 

If only he knew . . . “I guess that depends.” You bumped your shoulder against his. “Would you have proposed by now?” You teased, but a part of you wanted to know the answer. 

Tyler grinned at you, an adoring look on his face. “Oh definitely.” 

A flush heated up your face as a pleased smile fell on your lips. “Then I guess we’d be married and driving each other crazy.” 

“Not to mention being driven crazy by the kids.” Tyler added. 

You let out a laugh. “After ten years, you still want three kids?” 

“Three is a good number.” He defended. 

You rolled your eyes. “You know I have this friend now. She just had her fourth. Going over to her house almost makes me not want any at all.” 

“That’s because she has four. Three, perfect number.” Tyler said, holding up three fingers. “Four?” He added a finger. “Now that’s just asking for trouble.” 

“Especially if they were your kids.” You added, grinning over at him. 

“Ah, we could handle them.” Tyler said with a wink in your direction. 

A vision formed in your mind of what he was describing. Three kids, all of varying ages, but in your mind it was two boys and one girl. The boys would be almost an exact copy of Tyler, blonde hair and blue-green eyes, dimples and charming smiles. Troublemakers, but also sweethearts who cared deeply and loved life to the fullest. Then the little girl. She definitely had a majority of your features but with Tyler’s smile. She would have Tyler so wrapped around her finger it would almost be embarrassing. Then there’d be Tyler and you, watching all the craziness unfold from your back porch with a glass of sweet tea in your hands. You were happy. You were loved, and you were home. 

At that moment, you realized you never wanted anything so badly in your life. You wanted it so badly your chest literally ached with it. Looking over at Tyler made it hurt worse. You thought being away from him would make the love you had fade, but it turned out, the opposite had occurred. In fact, seeing him watch the sky with a content smile and talking about what could have been made you realize you loved him more now. You had loved him in high school, you’d loved him in his early twenties, but this was different. You were different and so was he. 

The question was . . . Would he take you back if you tried? You knew you didn’t deserve it. You were the reason the two of you broke up. If you were in his shoes, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. Tyler had always been a better person than you though. 

Was it worth a shot trying? 

“Hey,” Tyler pulled you out of your thoughts, lifting your hand and pointing it to something in the distance. “Do you see those clouds?” 

You looked out to where he was pointing your hand and frowned. Those definitely looked dark, and they were . . . “Are those spinning?” 

“That’s the updraft, and it’s cycling.” He told you. 

“And that means . . .”

“That means-” Tyler stood up, put his baseball cap back on his head, and held out his hand to help you off the bed of his truck. “We’ve got a winner.” 

————————

You were going to throw up. At least it felt like you were. Not five minutes after you guys reached the storm did a tornado touchdown. Tyler said it was rated for an EF1, so it would be safe to drive into. Well, as safe as driving into a tornado could be. As fast as your heart was pounding, and as sick as you felt you might be, you leaned forward to get a better look out the window. You couldn’t deny the beauty in it. “I’ve never seen something so amazing and scary at the same time.” You admitted. 

“It’s incredible isn’t it?” 

As nervous as you were, the look on Tyler’s face made you smile. God you hadn’t seen him this excited since he had been on the back of a bull. “It is. Especially when it doesn’t look like it’s going to kill me.” 

Tyler laughed, and he pulled to a stop. “Nah, this is just an EF 1. This and the truck are going to keep you completely safe.” Tyler said, reaching to tug at the harness he had secured so tightly to your body that you felt like you couldn’t take a deep breath. 

As you watched the tornado race forward, you felt your heart rate start to kick back up and took a deep breath. “And you too right?” You asked, biting your bottom lip. 

He parked the truck and faced you, a rare serious expression crossing his face. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” 

At that moment, you realized you did. Tyler would never willingly put you in danger. He cared about you too much. If he said it was safe, it was. “I do.” You agreed, taking a deep breath, well, as much as you could in this harness. “Let’s do this.” 

The grin came back to his face full force as he started pressing buttons on his truck, anchoring it down into the ground as the tornado got closer and closer. “You’re gonna love this.” 

”Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Even though you knew you were safe, there was nothing quite like a tornado heading straight towards you while you’re stuck in place. “Tyler . . . This is crazy.” 

It was getting closer and closer. Only yards away, and your heart was pounding harder and harder in your chest. You didn’t even think. Your hand reached for his, gripping it tightly as the tornado hit the truck. 

Tyler gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, “look up.” He called over the wind, and you did as he asked, leaning towards your side of the car to see out the window. 

It was the most incredible thing you’d ever seen. You could see all the way up the funnel to the clouds above as the vortex passed over you. You’d never seen anything like it in your life, and a laugh of disbelief left your lips as you watched it pass over you. When it was done you looked over at Tyler, shock all over your face. “Was that real? Did that actually just happen? Did I just see inside a damn tornado?!” 

Letting out a chuckle at your questions, Tyler nodded. “You sure as hell did.” 

You let out another laugh yourself and started unbuckling all of your straps. You needed one last look to convince yourself that you had done it. Once you were free, you hopped out of the truck, running around the back to watch it keep going through the field behind you. You heard the truck door close again, but you didn’t turn around, still mesmerized, until you felt Tyler’s hand on your shoulder. 

“So, how do you feel?” He asked. 

His question was loaded for so many reasons. Years ago, he never would have gotten you close enough to even see a tornado, much less let it speed over you. You were so proud of yourself for doing this, but also sad. How many other life experiences had you missed because of how your father’s life choices had traumatized you? There was no good way to answer his question, so you just did what you wanted to. You jumped up, latching your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist. 

Of course he caught you easily, laughing as he spun you around and held you close. One of his hands rested on your back, while the other cradled your head against his shoulder. After a moment, he let out a content sigh. “I’m so proud of you.” 

You clutched tighter to him. He had no idea how much those words meant coming from him. Tyler had seen you at your absolute worst, when you had no one but him. You had clung to him then, leaning on him more than was healthy until you knew that you couldn’t anymore. It made you want to cry, knowing how far you had come and that Tyler could see it. You pulled back to look at him so he could see your watery smile too. “I’m proud of myself.” 

The butterflies in your stomach were doing somersaults as he looked at you. His fingers tightened in your hair, and you felt his arm muscles tense against your back. There was tension in the air, no doubt about it, and you found your eyes drawn to those familiar soft lips. You wanted to kiss him. A part of you wondered if it would be the same, or even better because you both were older. You weren’t sure, but either way, you wanted to find out. When you saw his eyes glance at your lips too, you knew he was thinking the same thing. Unable to help yourself, you let your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling yourself the slightest bit closer to him until your noses were brushing. 

Then his phone rang. 

Whatever spell the two of you had been under broke. Tyler slowly let you down to the ground, but reached for your hand, tangling your fingers with his and keeping you close. “Hey, Boone, what’s up?” 

You glanced down at your hands with a soft smile. Tyler’s hands were big and calloused from work and bulls, but they felt nice. You brushed your thumb on the outside of his palm, and he gave your hand a squeeze. 

“Yeah, we got one. She handled it like a pro.” Tyler told him, grinning over at you. There was a bit of silence for a moment as the phone conversation continued. “Let me ask her, and I’ll let you know? All right, sounds good. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone and tugged you a little closer again. “Feel like celebrating seeing inside your first tornado?” Tyler asked. 

————————

Three hours later you found yourself in new clothes, freshly showered, line dancing between Dani and Boone. You were almost crying from laughing so hard, and your face hurt from smiling so much. It blew your mind that two weeks ago you were sitting in your apartment in South Carolina feeling alone and stuck with writer's block. Now you were back in your hometown, having a blast, writing faster than you had in years, and desperate to get back together with the man who was watching you from the booth, an adorable smile on his face. Feeling a little bold after your almost kiss, you sent him a wink as Boone spun you around, causing his smile to widen. 

“You guys are disgustingly cute.” Dani said as the song slowed down and the three of you started to exit the floor. 

Heat rushed to your face, and you found yourself asking the question you’d been wanting to ask for days. “Why have you guys been so nice to me anyway? Tyler’s your best friend, and I’m his ex. I broke his heart, but you’ve been nothing but kind to me since the start.” 

Boone and Dani exchanged a look. “Yeah, you’re right. If it had been another one of Tyler’s exes we probably would hate you.” Boone said, shrugging his shoulders. 

“But you were the one who got away for Tyler, and he’s never said anything but great things about you. Plus,” Dani reached out and patted your shoulder. “It's kinda obvious the two of you are still in love with each other.” 

The words hit you like a truck, and then you felt stupid for not realizing it before. You looked at the man sitting at the booth again. This time he was talking to Dexter, his expression animated, and his hands moving wildly with his words. Of course you still loved him. You never stopped. You buried it, hid from it so you could try to better yourself. When you left, you knew you weren’t good enough for him, you probably still weren’t, but now you knew you could love him like you were supposed to. If he was open to it. Boone and Dani made it seem like he was. He had given you signs that he was at least interested . . . The only question was how could you show him that you wanted it too? 

An idea hit, and a small smile formed on your face. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute okay?” You said to their confused faces and headed to the DJ stand. You gave him twenty bucks, which he gladly took, and promised your song would be next. By the time you’d made it back to the booth where everyone was seated, Never Leave by Bailey Zimmerman was playing. 

You approached Tyler, who was looking at you curiously as you held your hand out to him. “Dance with me?” You said, biting your bottom lip. 

A surprised, but happy smile formed on his face. “Yes ma’am.” 

It was not your and Tyler’s first dance. Probably wasn’t even your hundredth, and dancing with him was as effortless as remembering how to ride a bike. One of his hands rested on the small of your back while the other took yours. You placed your hand on his bicep, giving his arm a squeeze. You didn’t want to say anything. The lyrics of the song could do all the talking for you. Tyler led you around the floor with ease, and as the song went on, you could see the moment the words started to sink in. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against yours,  and he whispered your name so reverently it made you close your eyes.

“Just listen,” you said softly, tightening your grip on his hand, letting the song say the words you wanted to. Tyler’s arm pulled you even closer until it was almost hard to dance, your bodies pressed against each other. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it against his chest, but you didn’t care anymore. You were laying it all out there now. 

As the song ended, you felt Tyler’s lips against your forehead, soft and lingering. Warmth exploded throughout your body, and you pulled back to look up at him. 

“Come back to the hotel with me?” You asked, your thumb caressing his arm, almost pleading with your voice. 

Tyler’s hand reached up to cup your cheek, and you immediately leaned into his touch, your whole body craving it. “Are you sure?” He asked. 

You nodded. There was nothing you were more sure about right now.

He took a step back from you, grabbing your hand and tugging you back to the booth where everybody else was sitting with knowing eyes. He told them that the two of you were leaving. You tried to ignore them, but you couldn’t help but grin when you saw them giving you a thumbs up or silently cheering as Tyler had his back turned. 

The ride was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was more filled with tension, and the two of you kept glancing at each other and smiling. He never let go of your hand either until he parked at the motel and came around to open your door. Before you could get down though, he stopped you. “This is what you want right? I don’t want to misinterpret what I think is happening here or pressure you in any way-”

You placed your hands on his face and leaned closer, interrupting him with your first kiss in ten years. 

For a moment, he didn’t respond. It was clear you had surprised him, but then his hands gripped your hips, and he was kissing you back. 

It was even better than you remembered. It had been good back in late high school and your early twenties, there was no doubt about it. Something about now was different though. Maybe it was because you were older, maybe it was because it had been so long, or maybe it was because you felt healed. Whatever it was, kissing Tyler now blew every kiss you’d had before out of the water. 

It was a short kiss, chaste, just to reassure him that you did want him, but when you pulled away the two of you were still breathless. “Am I crazy or was that incredible?” You asked, your hands sliding down his face to his chest. 

Tyler laughed, but nodded, his own hands dragging down your thighs and resting on your knees. “It was,” he replied, but then a smirk fell on his lips, “but we can do better.” 

Not one minute later, you were trying to open the door to your room, Tyler’s large hand low on your stomach as his lips left soft kisses on your neck from behind. You could barely concentrate as heat pooled where his hand rested, and you could not get the key in the door as he kissed a certain spot on your neck. “Ty,” you said through an exasperated laugh. “If you keep doing that I’ll never get us in this room.”

He took the key from your hand, but didn’t stop kissing your neck. You closed your eyes in pleasure as he did, letting him take over the door situation, and in a frustratingly short amount of time, you heard the door knob turn. Your eyes snapped open, turning in Tyler’s arms to find him smirking at you again. 

“How the hell did you do that so easily?” You asked, weaving your arms around his neck as he carefully backed you into the room. 

He shrugged, shutting the door behind him. “Guess you were just too distracted to focus.” 

You playfully glared at him, “I was not-” but you let out a gasp as he suddenly spun you around, pinning you to the door with his body. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just smiling at you as his hands rested on your hips, his thumbs brushing under your shirt to touch heated skin. “You were, but it’s okay. I liked it.” 

Well he had certainly become more confident in the years apart. Not that he ever wasn’t, but you could definitely tell a difference. However, you had gained a little bit of confidence too, and you smirked at him. “Oh, I can tell.” You replied, pushing your hips forward to press against the hardness you felt. 

Tyler bit his lip at your movements, his hands gripping your hips harder. “We don’t have to do anything. I want you to know that.” 

It drove you crazy, how he could go from being sexy and confident to sweet and respectful within a minute. You slid your arms up his chest and around his neck, tugging his head down to yours. “I want to.” You told him. “Do you?”

He let out a breathless chuckle, “You have no idea how badly I want to.” Tyler said, “I’ve wanted to since the moment I saw you at that gas station.” He told you, his nose brushing against yours. 

Tyler had been wanting to get together with you for that long? Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest, and you let out a sigh as his warm hand slipped up the back of your shirt pressing you against him. “You know, I don’t look the same as I did ten years ago.” You admitted, a little bit of insecurity leaking out as you thought about the last time the two of you were together. 

He shook his head, and his hands left a trail of heat as they slid down your back to grip your thighs. “You look better.” 

Your hands slipped into his soft hair. “Now, I know that’s not true.” 

You let out a nose of surprise as Tyler used his grip on your thighs to lift you into the air with his body, smirking up at you. “I think you’re forgetting . . .” His lips found a spot on your neck that he had always kissed, a spot that made chills explode over your body and made a soft moan leave your lips. “I know this body better than anyone.” He whispered in your ear. 

Tyler was right. He had been with you more than anyone else, seen every part of you bare. So what if you didn’t look the same as you did in high school. You were sure he didn’t either. Based on what you felt against your body though, you didn’t think that was a bad thing. You let your hands trail from his hair down his neck and to his chest, noting how his body flexed under your touch. “I think I might need a refresher on yours.” You teased, biting your lip as you played with the buttons on his shirt. 

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk on his lips. “Oh, is that what you need?” 

With fingers that were much steadier than what you felt, you unbuttoned a couple of the top buttons from his shirt. It wasn’t much, but enough to slip your hands into and touch his heated skin. It was the first time you had touched him, really touched him, in so long, and it made you ache for so much more. You pressed your forehead against his, “Right now I need everything you’re willing to give me.” You admitted honestly. 

“Well then,” Tyler’s hands slid down to your ass, holding you close as he started carrying you to the bed. “It’s a good thing I’m willing to give you everything.” He said as he placed you gently on the bed. 

His words made your heart stop for a second and a huge swell of affection for him filled your heart. You wanted to tell him that you still loved him then. That you wanted to give him everything too. The words wouldn’t come though. Not yet anyway. 

So instead, you tried to say them with a kiss. You sat up, grabbing his face in your hands, and tugged him down to meet your lips. The first time you had surprised him, and it took him a moment to respond. That was not the case this time. He kissed you back at once, moving your lips in a dance the two of you knew well. While the first kiss had been sweet, this one was full of passion and tenderness. You let out a little sigh when his lips parted and attempted to pull him closer. It had been so long since you had gotten to really touch him, and you didn’t want to waste another second not doing it. 

He complied, climbing into the bed on top of you, settling between your thighs and letting out a strangled groan as you pushed your hips up into him. He pressed his own against yours and you let out your own moan at the delicious friction. 

The sound made him pull away however, and you frowned, since that was the opposite of what you wanted right now. You watched him as he sat up, his gaze traveling over your body with such intensity you could feel your face heating up. Tyler’s hands rested on your stomach finally, tugging up your tank top so slowly it made you want to just yank it off yourself so his hands could be all over you. Waiting turned out to be worth it though, because as soon as your shirt was off, he started kissing down your neck. Your eyes closed as his lips went lower, and you arched your chest against his mouth as he got closer to one of the spots you wanted his mouth the most. 

“Have you been with other guys?” 

That made your eyes snap open. Those were not the words you expected to come out of his mouth when he was about two seconds away from putting his mouth around you. “W-What?” You said breathlessly. 

But he didn’t seem upset or anything, just genuinely curious. In fact he was grinning at you, his hands resting on your bare hips. “It’s been ten years. You have, right?” 

“Is now really the time for the, ‘how many people have you slept with since me?’ conversation?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. 

Tyler leaned down, pressing his lower body against yours again as his lips hovered over yours. “I don’t care about the number.” He said, shaking his head. “I just want you to know I’m about to kiss the memory of anyone else from your body.” 

His words took your breath from your lungs, but you tried not to let him see how much they affected you. Your arms slipped around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. “You’re talking a lot of game for someone who hasn’t initiated a single kiss.” You teased. 

He chuckled,close enough that his lips brushed yours for the briefest moment. “Isn’t it better if you have to wait for it?” 

A soft smile fell on your face then as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Ty, you haven’t kissed me in ten years. Haven’t we waited long enough?” 

He leaned back so he could look at your face, smiling at the look you were giving him. “Yeah. I think we have.” 

Finally, he leaned forward and kissed you, setting your whole body on fire with the intensity of it. Your lips parted almost immediately, and his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring you thoroughly. His hands did the same, heat trailing after them everywhere he touched. 

You knew then, as the two of you kissed and your body, and heart, felt close to combustion, that this was it for you. You had been with other men in your time apart, and none of them had ever come close to making you feel like this. Back when you and Tyler had first started dating, you thought he might have been the one, but now you were sure. So no matter what happened tomorrow, or even after that, you knew that Tyler Owens was going to be it for you. 

To your shock and surprise, you didn’t find that scary at all. 

A breathless sigh left your lips as he slowly pulled away, and he smiled down at you, brushing some hair out of your face. “God you’re beautiful.” 

You had always remembered what he was like in bed, how sweet he could be, but hearing it again was a different story. He had always made you feel so comfortable and sexy, you were so glad to know that none of that had changed. “I missed you.” You blurted out, heat rushing to your face at the confession. 

But his smile just widened, leaning down to press a kiss against your jaw. “You’ve got no idea . . .” He started kissing down your neck again. “How much I’ve missed you,” he said, and you couldn’t help but squirm a little as he kissed down your stomach, your breath coming a little faster as his kisses got lower and lower. Your hands tangled into his hair, biting your bottom lip and arching up into his hand as he started unbuttoning your jeans. 

You lifted your hips as he slid your jeans and underwear down the rest of your body, casting them aside somewhere in the room. You didn’t really care where. Tyler kissed back up your body, pausing for a moment on your bra, the last article of clothing you were wearing. After giving him an encouraging nod, he unclasped it, tossing it somewhere too, leaving you completely naked. 

He stared at you, and you felt heat following everywhere his gaze went. His gaze didn’t make you uncomfortable though, it made you feel . . . Desirable. While his eyes looked you over, your eyes watched his face, biting your lip as your hands slid up and down his arms. “You know you’re wearing too many clothes.” 

Tyler grinned down at you. “You wanna help with that?” 

You sat up then, returning his smile. “I would love to.” You took your time, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and taking in every bit of skin that was revealed. Tyler had been fit when the two of you were dating, but now? He looked like he’d come straight out of a magazine. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, you let your hands trail down his chest as you leaned forward to press a kiss to his neck. You felt his whole body relax as your hands slid back up his hard muscles to push his shirt off him, and you trailed your lips across his shoulder and down his arm. 

As soon as his shirt was off him, you made your way back up his arm, pressing gentle kisses every few inches until you reached his face again. He was smiling at you, and you couldn’t help but press a peck against his lips, then another until he had his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you against his warm chest. Letting out a sigh, you kept your forehead against his for a second, soaking the moment in. 

“I never thought we’d be here again.” Tyler said, shaking his head as his hand dragged up and down your bare back. 

“Me either.” You admitted, letting one of your hands comb through his soft blonde hair, “but I’m glad we are.” 

Tyler didn’t say anything, but leaned forward to meet you in a kiss that said everything he needed to. It told you how much he missed you, the familiarity of his lips moving in rhythm with yours. It told you how badly he wanted you when his tongue slipped into your mouth to caress your own. Then his lips weren’t the only thing showing how much he cared as he gently laid you down on the bed, never letting your lips disconnect. 

It was illogical, but you hoped his lips never left you again. You were drowning, no, floating in him, submerged but safe in the warmth of him as his body laid on top of yours. Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips, and a moan left your lips as the two of you came into contact. 

Tyler pulled away then, but he didn’t go far, leaving kisses down your chin and neck. “You keep making noises like that, and this is not going to last as long as I want it to.” 

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging at his hair. “The noises are your fault, Owens. You’re the one with no-” you let out a gasp as his lips found your breast, pleasure burning straight to your core. “-Self control.” You panted. 

He gave your nipple a gentle bite, causing you to whimper, before he pulled away to look up at you. “Sorry, what was that about self control?” Tyler asked with a smirk playing on his lips. 

“That you have none.” You said, arching your hips up to rub against him for a moment, making him groan against your skin. “But I don’t think I have any either when it comes to you.” 

His smirk turned into a smile, and his lips found your breast again, immediately shooting even more pleasure through your body. 

Nobody really talks about what it’s like to have sex with someone you used to date years ago. Tyler knew your body so well, he knew exactly how you liked to be touched, and what spots would drive you crazy. It was so easy to fall back into it. On top of that though, the two of you had been with other people in the last few years, and you had more experience and confidence than the kids you used to be.

There was no hesitation in Tyler’s hands as they explored your body, and none in yours as one dragged down his back and the other tangled in his hair, holding him against you. You let out another moan as his hand moved from your inner thigh and a finger slid inside of you. 

He let out another groan as he discovered how wet you were, and leaned up to press his forehead against yours as he added a second finger in. “Are you already ready for me, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, bumping your nose against his. “Do you have a condom? I wasn’t anticipating-”

“Having sex with your ex-boyfriend in a motel room?” Tyler grinned as he reached into the back pocket of the jeans you forget he was still wearing and pulled out his wallet, reaching in to take out a condom. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m always prepared.” He said with a smirk. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, but secretly you’d never been more thankful. If the two of you had to stop now to run out and buy condoms, you might’ve lost your mind. You slid your hands down his well defined chest, biting your lip at the muscles you felt there before stopping to rest on the belt of his jeans. “You’re still wearing too many clothes though.” You reminded him. 

“Weren’t you supposed to be helping me with that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you started undoing his belt. “It’s not my fault you distracted me with how hot you are.” 

He laughed, moving your hands out of the way to get his jeans off faster. “Why do you think I got your clothes off so fast? Can’t get distracted if they’re already off.” 

“Guess I’ll just have to remember that for next time.” You teased, sliding your hands back up his chest to rest on his shoulders. It was only when his body froze that you realized what you said. The two of you stared at each other, and you had no clue what to say about your implication of a next time. You didn’t even know if he’d want a next time . . . 

Tyler didn’t let the moment linger though. He shoved the rest of his clothes off and leaned down to kiss you, hard, and all consuming in a way that erased every thought from your head except how much you needed him. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you let out a gasp as your hips came into contact. 

You had forgotten how big he was. 

Almost as if sensing your thoughts, he pulled away slowly from your lips, barely leaving a centimeter between them as his finger trailed up and down your slit for a moment. “You can take it. You’ve done it before.” He whispered, and then slipped three fingers inside of you. The sudden intrusion sent your nails digging into his shoulders and heat exploding across your body. “If you can take that, you can take me.” He assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

He was going to ruin you. Part of you thought he already had, since every other time you’d had sex, he was always on your mind, but now you were sure of it. Nobody was ever going to get you more turned on than Tyler Owens. You nodded, because it seemed like he was waiting for an acknowledgment, and attempted to pull him closer with your legs when his fingers slid out of you. “It’s just - it’s been a while.” You admitted.

Tyler gave you a gentle smile. “For me too.” 

His words shocked you for a second, but then you realized they shouldn’t have. Tyler had never been a one night stand kinda guy. As confident as he was, even before the two of you had started dating, he’d only ever dated girls he felt a genuine connection with. The fact that he still felt that with you enough to want to do this had emotions clogging up your throat. You let your hands trail down his body again, taking the condom from his hand and slipping it on him, your gaze never leaving his face as you enjoyed the sight of his reaction to you touching him. “Then let’s not wait anymore.” You said, guiding him towards you. 

He didn’t need any more encouragement. He pressed forward, and you let out a sigh as he slipped inside of you, your head falling back against the pillow. It was a tight fit, there was no doubt, but he moved slowly, showing, once again, how well he knew your body. Any time you tensed up, he paused, though you could feel by how tense his muscles were how much he was holding back. “That’s right,” he would tell you when your breath started to come faster. “Remember how well you take me?” 

Oh God you did. He fit inside of you like no one else. Even years later he filled you up just enough to not be painful, but more than enough to be satisfying. Another gasp of air left your lips as he pushed more inside of you, and you could tell he was almost completely in. 

“You’re doing such a good job.” Tyler said, leaving another kiss against your skin. “Made just for me.” And while his voice was soft, it was also strained from effort. 

You opened your eyes as you felt him push forward again, and dug your nails into where they had rested on his shoulders once more as he pushed completely inside of you, letting out a sigh of pleasure as he did. 

There was nothing like this. Absolutely nothing. You moved your eyes from the ceiling to find him looking at you like you’d just hung each star in the sky for him alone. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” He said breathlessly. 

Did he really expect you to be able to think right now? You couldn’t think enough to have a filter if you opened your mouth, and you knew that was partially what he wanted. So you let the words slip from your lips. “I’m thinking about how no ones ever felt as good as you do.” He rewarded your words with a little thrust of his hips that had you gasping. “I’m thinking about how you’ve ruined me for anyone else.” Another thrust, this one harder, and you tightened your legs around him. “And I’m thinking about how much I missed you, Ty.” You said softly, letting out a whimper as his hand slid up to your breast, cupping it and letting his thumb caress your nipple. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just watching as your hips jerked against his, desperate for the pleasure only he could provide, his eyes locked on your face as if he was committing it to memory. “Would you believe me if I told you I was thinking about all those things too?” 

You didn’t have to think about it. You nodded, moving your hands from his shoulders to tangle in his hair. “I know.” 

Tyler leaned down to meet your lips in a bruising kiss as he thrust inside of you, starting a slow and steady pace that continued to pick up speed with every passing minute until you couldn’t keep up the kiss any longer. Your head fell back against the pillows, and your eyes closed in pleasure as his warm, calloused hand traveled down your body to where the two of you met. “Eyes on me sweetheart.” He said, and pressed his thumb against your clit. 

“Fuck, Ty!” Your eyes snapped open and your chest arched into his, tugging on his hair at the overstimulating sensation. His hips stuttered for a moment as you felt yourself clench around him, but he kept up the movement of his thumb, tracing circles around it. The pleasure was almost too much. You could feel it building inside of you, desperate for release, and you clung tightly to him. “I can’t- I’m-” You couldn’t even get the words out, too overwhelmed with feelings. 

“It’s okay, you can let go.” He said, “I’ve got you.” He assured you, never ceasing his pace or his finger. 

His words triggered your release, almost as if you’d been waiting for permission and you moaned out his name as it washed over you. You clung to him like he was a liferaft, holding you in above water as you clenched around him. You heard him groan your name, saying how good you were, and within seconds you felt his body tense, falling over the edge with you. 

As the pleasure faded from your body to satisfaction, you didn’t want to let him go and groaned in discontent when he pulled back and out of you. He chuckled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back.” 

You sighed, opening your eyes as you watched him head into the bathroom, unable to believe that you had just had sex with such an attractive man, even if he was your ex. He was more than an attractive man though, or just your ex. He was Tyler. The boy you gave your heart to ten years ago who never gave it back. A tender smile was on your lips as he came back to you with a damp washcloth and started gently cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” He asked, the hand that wasn’t cleaning you up resting on your thigh and rubbing the skin there. 

“I will be once you get back in bed.” You replied, and your smile widened at the pleased expression on his face. You let out a laugh as he tossed the washcloth aside and hurriedly climbed into bed, spooning you against his back. 

He nuzzled into your neck, leaving kisses against your skin as he made himself comfortable against you, and shivers exploded across your body as his hand rested on your stomach. “Comfortable?” Tyler asked, pressing another kiss to your cheek. 

Being in his arms again? Comfortable didn’t even begin to describe it. As cliche and embarrassing as it sounded, for the first time since you’d come to your hometown, you actually felt like you were home. “Perfect,” you replied, scooting back even more into him. 

And you meant it. 

————————

You woke up cold, but oh so satisfied. Part of you wondered if last night had been a dream, but you knew that your body couldn’t lie like that. You definitely had the post sex ache. You stretched your limbs out and rolled over, wanting to curl back into Tyler and maybe sleep for a few more hours, but you were met with nothing but sheets. 

Frowning, you opened your eyes, letting your fingers drag across the fabric. It was cool, so he’d been gone for a while. It was only when your eyes drifted up to the pillow did you notice the scrap of paper. 

Stay. 

It was written quickly, almost as if an afterthought, and you frowned at it. Did he really think that he had to ask? You got out of bed, and found a tshirt in the floor. Slipping on your underwear and the tshirt, you sat down at the small table and grabbed your laptop. You’d been writing like crazy lately on a new book, and you’d definitely woken up feeling inspired this morning. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there typing. It was a great distraction from your thoughts, and when you got into the zone, it could be hours before you realized you hadn’t stood up from your chair. You weren’t so in the zone though that you didn’t hear the doorknob start to turn. 

Tyler entered, once again looking entirely too good in his dark brown button down, jeans and cowboy hat. He carried a familiar brown bag and cup of iced coffee in his hand and held a cautious smile as he looked at you. “Brought you some breakfast.” 

You held out your hands to take it from him, eagerly sipping at the iced coffee as he sat down at the seat across from you. “Thank you, I needed this.” You said, leaning back against your chair. He was watching you, that cautious look still on his face making you nervous. Was he regretting last night? Was he trying to figure out the polite way to tell you it had all been a mistake? 

“What are you thinking?” He asked, and the sudden question threw you off, you didn’t even have the chance to think about throwing up a filter. 

“I’m thinking that I hope you’re not regretting last night. I’m also thinking that you’re too far away.” You admitted, frowning at the distance between the two of you. 

His whole body seemed to relax at your words and the smile that you knew and loved fell back onto his face. He held out his hand to you, and without hesitation you took it, returning his smile as he tugged you out of your chair to sit sideways across his lap. You buried your face in his neck, letting out a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you, and held you close. “Better?” Tyler asked, one of his hands tracing up and down your outer thigh. 

You nodded, tightening your arms around him. “Much better.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments. You knew the conversation that needed to be had, but you had no clue how to even begin to start it. Should you blurt out how you feel? Should you ask him how he was feeling? Tyler beat you to the punch though with a statement that stopped your mind in its tracks. 

“I read your book.” 

Your body froze as your brain took a moment to process his words. Once they did, heat rushed to your face, and you pulled away to look at him. “How did you even-”

“Boone. He gave me a copy pretty much right after you showed up.” He said, and his hand gave your thigh a squeeze. “I noticed some . . . Similarities.” 

You bet he did. More than enough to be embarrassing. You bit your lip, knowing the question that he wanted to ask, and decided to go ahead and give him the option to ask it anyway. “What do you want to know?” You finally said. 

For a moment it wasn’t the new Tyler that you’d been getting to know over the past couple of weeks that was looking at you. The confident, caring, intelligent tornado wrangler. It was young Tyler, the bull rider who wanted nothing more than to ride his fears and bring you along for it. “I guess I’m just wondering why they got their happy ending, and we didn’t.” 

Just because you anticipated it, doesn’t mean it hurt any less. “Ty . . .” You placed your hand on top of his, gripping it in yours. “I wrote that book two years after our breakup. I wasn’t ready to be her then. There were . . .” You took a deep breath. “A lot of things I was still holding onto.” 

“But if I had quit when you asked me to-”

You were shaking your head before he could even finish his sentence. “I never should have asked you to do that.” You let go of his hand to take his face in your hands to encourage him to keep his eyes on you. “Tyler, our breakup had absolutely everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you.” This confession had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for years now, and you finally had the courage to say it. “I looked at you, riding those bulls, and all I could see was my dad. It scared me.” You admitted, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “Drunk, constantly concussed, and soon to be dead either from one or the other. I know that’s not you now, and I should’ve known it back then, but I was too damaged.” 

Tyler looked sad, his hand still caressing your skin. “I would have fought for you.” 

“I know.” You said, and you did. You knew that Tyler would have fought to stay by your side until the end if you hadn’t pushed him away. 

“You were everything to me back then.”

God it hurt. Remembering the look on his face when you had walked out that door. You still had nightmares about it, but like you had struggled to learn, there was nothing you could do about it now. The two of you sat there for a moment before you finally got the courage to ask the question you’d been wanting to. “What about now?” You asked. “Think we can make it?”

A small, disbelieving smile formed on his face. “Is that an option?” 

You nodded. “At least I hope it is. That ball’s in your court Tyler Owens. I’m the one that broke your heart.” You said, sliding a hand down to rest over his heart. “So . . . is that an option?” You asked, biting your lip as your heart started thumping heavily against your chest. God what if you’d just said all that and spent the best night of your life with him for Tyler to say it wasn’t worth the risk? That’d you’d done damage beyond repair? 

Tyler didn’t give you time for your thoughts to get any more out of control. “Oh, it’s definitely an option.” He said, and his bright smile had your heart fluttering. “In fact, I’d say it’s my preferred option.” 

You could barely believe it, even after last night. “You really want to give me a second chance?” You asked in disbelief. 

His smile turned soft, and his hand covered your own on his chest. “Sweetheart, I’d give you all the chances in the world.” 

And then, because you didn’t know what else to say, you leaned forward and kissed him. 

Once again, everything was the same, but somehow different. A better different.

[rhaenyratargcryen]

you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this 

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian. 

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch. 

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump. 

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him. 

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government. 

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris. 

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head. 

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours. 

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze. 

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head. 

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more. 

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head. 

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head. 

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you. 

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once. 

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans. 

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated. 

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here. 

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

[barnesonfilm]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

she/her! 18+ only! ♡ new writer, lifelong reader. my hyperfixations wax and wane. scorpio rising, gemini sun, & pisces moon btw. 

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[kaittalkstoomuch]

Arms Around a Memory: Chapter Eighteen

TW: more talk about trauma, mention of possible kidnapping,

“Steve, I don’t know why you bother to follow me to my room. What would my dear old father think?” I ask with my hand on my chest, pretending to be shocked.

“I came in here to make sure you were alright. And to ask what just happened? I woke up to you and your father screaming at each other.” I can’t help but to laugh. “I couldn’t sleep… I needed a drink… Clearly Tony did too.”

Steve examines me. Reads me like a book that needs to be studied. “I know your father can be alot-” “Oh trust me. Being raised by him was no joke.” I can’t help but to laugh again. “You probably think I’m drunk. I have to tell you, Steve, I’m great. It’s what trauma and being trained like a weapon does to you.”

“So, they didn’t give you serum?” “Nope… from what I remember in the Red Room, they had this compound that they would use on the girls. To control them. While Bucky, and the other Soldiers used serum, that’s what they used on us. I, of course being Tony’s daughter, took orders wrongly at times. Dreykov would be brutal.” I shake my head to clear it.

“Anyway, other than that, I had to start obeying him to stay alive. That’s where Bucky comes in. He centered me. My ‘moral’ compass. He was a great man, outside of his conditioning. However, when he was on missions, he had that mask. A mental one.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” Steve asks as I pat the spot on the bed next to me.

I shake my head, actually smiling at the thought of him. “God, no. He protected me. Bucky would tell me about the war and how you were out there as Captain America. He also knew Howard… my grandfather.”

“Hm.” Steve hums. “A great man.” “That dad hated for whatever reason. Any time I try to bring him up, dad gets into a mood where he shuts off. Mom tries to explain it the best way she can, but even she can’t explain him. So, I have to go with what I know. Did he really create your shield?”

“You researched everything you know about him and that’s what you ask?” Steve teases me. I roll my eyes. “It’s a trick question, goofball. Of course I fucking knew that.” He eyes me. “Yeah, yeah. I know, ‘language.’” We both laugh.

“Steve… Thank you for having my back in there. I know it wasn’t easy at first to trust me. Given that I was used as a weapon to assassinate you all. Thank god that failed miserably.” “You’re really thanking the man upstairs for everything you’ve been through?” “Okay, fine. Thank the Gods for what I’ve been through.” Can’t forget Thor. Or the Nordics. Truly anything, after everything I’ve read and witnessed.

“On a serious note, always. I really didn’t know you that well back then. Then… I heard about you in that Battle from Nick and Natasha. I remembered hearing how scared you were for your life. I vowed to protect it. In any way I can.”

Something coils in my gut. “And thank you for not mentioning I’m kind of like Bucky. I don’t think I want dad to know about him until I know where he is.” Even if I have that feeling in my gut.

“He can’t know about him.” I say, getting serious. “Because Bucky killed your grandparents.” I startle for a second. I look at him in shock. “How do you know?” “When everything with Project Insight going on, Nat and I went to New Jersey and I learned through a file. Where did you learn that?”

I don’t mince my words. “Rumlow told me when he was torturing me.” Steve looks at me shocked from my nonchalance. “It was to get a rise out of me. Probably to start something between Bucky and me. Clearly, it didn’t work. I wasn’t mad at him. He was brainwashed, just like I was. With the shit we were in, we had to do what we had to do to survive.”

Steve takes this all in. “I’m so sorry, Clare. You never deserved any of this.” I nod. “Me too. But, it’s only made me stronger, as cheesy as it is.” “Well, I’m glad to see it.”

I pull him in for a hug. “I’m still feeling good, remember.” I say laughing as he hugs me back. “Speaking of feeling good, how’s it going with… What’s her name? ‘Sharon’? Yeah! I saw her at S.H.I.E.L.D. the other day!”

“That’s enough, Clare.” He says while laughing. “No, I’m serious. You two would be great together.” Steve laughs nervously. “Okay, fine. I’ll stop talking about her. I just thought she’d be good for you.”

“Tell me a little more about Bucky. I mean, your story with him.” He lightly smiles. I curl up in a ball like I’m a teenager again. “Well, what exactly do you want to know?”

“When did you start trusting him?”

I definitely do not hesitate when I say “It was when I first got into the Red Room. I was so out of it from the compound they gave me. I had just gotten done with a ‘meeting’ with Dreykov and a scientist. Female, I think. I remember laying my eyes on him and it was a bit daunting at first. He definitely looked very different than how he did during the war. I was too drugged up to be scared. I felt I couldn’t show weakness in front of any of them. That’s also what Dreykov wanted.”

I clear my throat while recollecting my memories. “So, because of that, I was partnered with Bucky. It wasn’t long before we had one-on-one training. That was when I knew I could trust him. He knew my grandfather, and of course, you. He was aware of me being kidnapped. I knew he was dangerous, but I felt safe with him. We started dating in secret not long after. Sneak into each other’s quarters. On missions, it was free game. We went by ourselves, most of the time. Occasionally, I’d have another widow with me.” Yelena Belova.

“We’d often talk about deflecting. Getting the hell of those organizations. We almost escaped. It was with the help of that scientist and widow I was ‘close’ to. Actually… Nat might know them. Anyway, Yelena helped steal a jet while Melina showed me how to properly break my nose basically to deflect from Drekov’s control. Of course, I have Tony’s genes, it wasn’t hard.”

We both laugh. “But nothing went past Dreykov… and I wanna say that was when I met Pierce. Still, nothing stopped me from going after Dreykov from running his mouth. Bucky snuck in this vial of this dust that took me out of Dreykov’s control. It felt good to actually hurt him. Then… the rest is history.”

“Did you see each other much in Siberia?” Steve asks.

“Only when Bucky got to knock everyone out, including our buddy.” I feel the mood darken. My mood in particular.

“Say it.” Steve says. “You’re not gonna like it.” I say almost sounding darkly cold just like the man who trained me.

“I want to kill Rumlow. Brutally and slowly. I want his blood on my hands. I don’t want to poison him like I had to on my missions in the Red Room. I had to do things to get out of doing things. Things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. He is the only one left alive that took everything from me. I want the satisfaction he had when torturing me. For torturing Bucky. I’m going to kill him.”

Steve can’t help but to smile. “I think your father wants the honors.”

I can’t help but to smirk. “Too bad he won’t get what he wants for once.”

“You really are your father’s daughter but definitely Howard’s granddaughter.”

“Brilliant.”

**************

I’m now sitting in my therapist’s “office” in the Compound. I told her I’d come see her after the mission. The mission I still feel like I failed.

My dad left earlier, not wanting to even speak to me. Or, rather, that’s what I think. I was maybe a little too hard on him last night. I can see that now. My tolerance to alcohol is still top tier though. Still doesn’t feel good I won taking all that tequila.

“How was the mission?” She asks as she looks at me attentively.

“Well… I thought I would totally ace it. Capture Rumlow and give him hardcore injuries, but… I failed.” “Clare, you didn’t fail. You saw your abuser and you flinched. It’s really okay.”

I groan. “Is it though? ‘Cause all I felt was fear when he was choking me to the point where I almost died. In case you couldn’t tell by my bruises.” I gesture to my bruised neck. It was quite gnarly to wake up to this morning.

“And I felt defeated. I still feel like he still had that power over me for a very split second. For a split second, I thought I was going to die… Then…” Then anger comes in. “My father swoops in to save my life. You’d think I’d be grateful, but if anything, I’m pissed. I’m pissed he came in.”

She jots down her notes. “Because he tried to steal your chance to hurt Rumlow.” No, to kill.

“You could totally put it that way… But, it was like.. A murderous feeling. While I felt that fear, I felt so ready to kill him. But, I need to bring him back in one piece… Nobody said I couldn’t injure him.”

I laugh. “I remember everything now. I guess my anger is from everything. Being taken an advantage of. So many fucking times. Seeing everything that’s been taken away from me. It feels exactly like that. My dad swooped in. I wanted that chance to prove myself right. That I am good. I am not a victim.”

But, I am.

“It just sucks. And then I find out that I’ve had everything.” I gesture to my uterus, ovaries, everything. “It just added fuel to the fire.”

“How do you feel currently?” I laugh a bit. “Like I want to avenge everything.”

She laughs with me. “You’re not a failure. You have to keep trying. I’ve worked with you for nine months and you’ve been doing amazing. That one tiny ‘failure’ isn’t your fault. Yes, that was a father protecting his daughter, but that wasn’t on you. You are getting stronger everyday. Tell that Imposter syndrome to go fuck itself. You are Clare Stark. You are who you see yourself ass. Who you fight for.”

I smile at her sentiment. “I am Clare fucking Stark.” “Yeah!” “Yeah!”

She can’t help but to smirk. “Yes?”

“I wanna talk about what you remember. Bucky? It used to be the “Winter Soldier’ menacingly. Now, you were kind of beaming when you said you want to avenge everything.” I get shy. “Don’t get shy with me Clare. I’m your therapist. This is completely confidential.”

“Okay, fine.” I say lightly smiling. “I do remember everything… Thanks to Wanda. She had to take my memories of him away as my punishment. If I didn’t obey Strucker and be his little ‘Madame Rouge’. I was very resistant, until I couldn’t anymore. I was actually sent to assassinate him, to see if I was actually loyal… Wanda altered that memory. Thank God.”

“So, he’s still alive.” “Yes.” And safe in Romania, I hope.

“Do you still have the letters and the journal HYDRA never saw?” “Yep! I’m still surprised they never found the journal… with how many letters were in there.” “Bucky was wise.” “That he was. I mean, he did train me after all to be a deadly weapon.”

We both laugh. “What’s your favorite memory of him?” “oh honey, I have a ton… He was an amazing lover… But… There’s this one mission that we went on. We, as cliche as it is, were in Paris. The city of love. We were done with it. We told each other that once we were done, we could do whatever we wanted… so, we actually explored the city. It was beautiful, being there with him. Being loved by him.”

That familiar anger returns.

“That love was taken away from me. He took care of me in the Red Room. He was there for me when obviously no one was. When nobody could. He risked it all for me. He knew as much as I did when it came to being in captivity. We were each other’s rock. Even in Siberia, I’d get his little letters and then he truly risked it all one night before we were sent to wreck havoc on S.H.I.E.L.D. and make sure Project Insight went through. During that, we were thrown together and it felt like one last time. It was a mind game to them. It was actually so sick.”

“Were y’all together?” “Yes. They let us sleep in the same quarters… Then we were torn away. I was sent to Sokovia… It’s so beyond fucked.”

“And then the first time you saw each other since was on that mission to kill him. That’s…” “Psychopathic. I know. The one thing Wanda so graciously took from me that I’m actually so happy she did. I don’t know what would’ve happened…” “Strucker would’ve either killed you, anyone you cared about, or made you kill everyone you loved.” Exactly.

“Now, moving forward and knowing everything, I have many things I want to do.” I say as I smile over the thought of seeing Bucky again. “First, find Bucky, of course…. But…”

“But….”

“There was this little girl at the Smithsonian who I saw so much of myself in. Her name is Violet. I was in so much shock from being in the same proximity as him, I didn’t fully realize how much she possibly idolized me. And, that almost terrified me. I was made into a monstrous weapon. Her and her friends call me the ‘Iron Widow’... She’s also getting severely bullied… and possibly being targeted for so much worse.” “The Red Room…”

I nod solemnly. “I… I want to talk about my trauma. Bring awareness to it. I want to make a difference in people's lives. I want to use my power for good. Show the abusers they have no power over me… Or Violet… Bucky… Anyone.”

My therapist nods. “That’s amazing Clare. Do you think you’re ready?”

“Yes.”

**************

Walking into the kitchen, I see a very happy Wanda cooking in the kitchen.

“Hey Wands, whatcha making?” I ask as I sit at the bar. “Just something from Sokovia. Did you want some?” “Please?” I watch as she puts paprika in the dish. “God, that smells amazing.”

“Thank you. It was a family recipe growing up. I figured you were hungry after therapy. How was it?” “As good as it can get talking about my father.”

I give her a small smile. She hands me a mug of what I presume is tea. “Thank you.”

A scent of chamomile wafts through my nose. Mmm.

“Did you talk about Bucky?” “I did. It was so great to not talk about him in a fearful way. I talked about everything I now remember about him. The good… The bad… and the honestly what the fuck is going on.”

We both laugh at how ridiculous that sounds.

“And how my father absolutely ruined my chances of capturing Rumlow.” “You will get other chances. Just don’t tell him.”

I huff out a laugh drinking my tea.

“Right…. “Cause anything would get past Tony fucking Stark.” “I mean… He did leave in the middle of the night.” “Yeah, after our drunken fight.” “Yeah you two were very loud.” “... Sorry.”

I’m also kind of sorry for how I was last night. I mean, the sentiment was there. The way I acted… That’s a very different story.

I text my dad to see if he made it home safely, but it appears he beat me to it, of course.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m sorry for last night and leaving without saying goodbye. We both just got too heated. I love you.”

“Oh…” Wanda says as she lets the family recipe from Sokovia simmer. “This came for you.”

She hands me an envelope and we both look at it intently.

“What could this be? A secret admirer?” I joke as she giggles.

I opened it noticing it didn’t have who it was from. That’s odd…. That is until I see what it says.

Hello Doll, I’m so happy you’ve made it out safe. I’ve been thinking about you, my love. I need to see you. See if you’re in one piece. I’m right where you told me to be. Bucharest is lonely without you. I love you.

- Bucky

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Series - Babylon the Great

There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.

There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.

It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.

And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.

But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.

And you find your way back, again and again.

Key ❤️‍🔥 - Smut ❤️ - Seasons 1-7 💛 - Seasons 8-15 💚 - Post-Series 💙 - Pre-Established Relationship 💖 - Fluff 🖤 - Angst (with a happy ending)

Mini-Series - Willing to Break ❤️‍🔥💛💖🖤

With the Mark of Cain getting out of hand, you and Sam convince Dean to try something different. A spell that won't fix the Mark, but will change it. Make Dean crave good things, things he likes, instead of death and blood.

It doesn't exactly go according to plan.

Mini-Series - Death On A Holiday ❤️‍🔥💚💖🖤

This day has happened before. So did the one before it. And the one after it. You're sure of it.

Small things change, but it's always the same, and it always resets the same way, and you can't find a way out.

It's perfect torture, and you don't think there's a way out.

Mini-Series - Don't Change The Channel ❤️‍🔥💚💖🖤

You and Dean are trapped in a world of TV and movies, with one simple demand from every show to get you out. It's pretty obvious. Let's see if either of you figure it out.

Series - Bad Performances And Bending Light ❤️‍🔥💖🖤

The first time you see him, you fall for him. Easy and quickly. But Dean quickly becomes your best friend, and you're not willing to risk that. Is he?

My Personal Quest To Give Dean A Happy Family

✦Every Day That You Want💚💖💙 - You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

✦Still You Want Me - Request!💚💖💙 Dean's fought the worst evil in the world, but only one thing has really managed to scare him. His pregnant wife.

✦In Sweetness - Request!💚💖💙 Preparation for hunts and battles where the fate of the world hinges on his shoulders are easy. Preparation for a baby might be the most complex thing Dean's ever done.

✦Something To Believe In💚💖💙 - You and Dean become parents.

✦Keep Me Warm (And Touched)💚💖❤️‍🔥💙 - Your body has changed. Dean still loves it all the same.

✦There's Peace After💚💖❤️‍🔥💙 - Request! A life without pain suits Dean. Comfort, and happiness, without any shadows in the closet and only imagined monsters under the bed. And he spends that comfort taking care of you, in more ways than one.

One-Shots

✦To Need Somebody🖤💛💙 - After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing

✦I Could Have You❤️❤️‍🔥🖤 - Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

✦Falling Into Me❤️❤️‍🔥💖🖤 - You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you. You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

✦Hold You Tight In My Mind❤️❤️‍🔥💖🖤 - You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

✦Just Giving In💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 - You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

✦I'll Crawl Home💚💙💖❤️‍🔥🖤 - You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

✦What You Do💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 - This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this. But the asshole is still going to try.

✦No More - Request!💚💙💖🖤 Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them. And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

✦Where Do You End Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt.3 - Request!💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, and your bodies keep trying to do what they always do.

✦I Can Be A Virtue💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 - You're so careful about keeping your emotions in check with Dean. You make rules, and keep score, and hold yourself together. But something always has to give.

✦Only I Can See - Request!💚💖❤️‍🔥🖤 Dean knows you. He knows you better than anyone, better than you know you, better than he knows himself. He'd lay down his life for you in a heartbeat, and knows you'd do the same, even if it's not in the same way. But something's… different.

✦The Heat Grows - Request!💛💙💖❤️‍🔥 It's unfair that Dean can look this good just sitting in traffic. That he can be doing nothing at all and you'll crave him more than oxygen. It's amazing that you can prove that to him, though.

✦The Flood Brings Clearer Days - Request!💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 You're not cursed. You don't feel anything wrong. If anything, you feel better, because there's a weight lifted off your tongue that lets you say whatever you want. And most of what you want is Dean.

✦There Comes A Breaking Point - Request!💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 Sam drinks a truth potion, and you and Dean have to deal with the consequences, and very painful and beautiful revelations.

✦I Never Want It To Be Enough - Request!💚💙💖❤️‍🔥 You and Dean have a date night, and it ends exactly how you wanted it to.

✦How Do You Know - Request!💚💙💖 There are different levels of Dean being drunk, and you've seen all of them. Or at least, you thought you'd seen all of them.

✦If You Need To Hear It - Request!💚💙🖤❤️‍🔥 After a tense case, Dean decides to remind you of what you mean to him on the roof of the Impala.

✦It's Early, Baby - Request!💚💙❤️‍🔥 A slow morning gets heated fast.

✦Along the Line - Request!💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 Friends with benefits doesn't work. You fall out of line and fall in love, trapped in Dean with no hope of escaping. But he might never want you to leave.

✦Been Keeping It Down - Request!💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him. Almost as much as he might love you.

✦And In Health Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Request!💚💙💖 Making Dean rest when he's sick is a Herculean task. You are more than up for the challenge.

✦Hold Me (More Like That) - Sorta Request!💛💙💖❤️‍🔥 Dean takes a second to pick up on what you want, but doesn't disappoint once he starts to play your game.

✦Only Us - Request!💛💙💖❤️‍🔥 After Dean gets back from a long hunt, the only thing he wants to do is see you.

✦It's Between The Words💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 - One sided love hurts. Burns. Eats you alive. But it might not be one sided. It might just be hard for Dean to say he loves you back.

✦The Best Part - Request!💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 Dean's been avoiding you since he stopped being a demon, and it's not for the reason you think.

✦All The Time - Request!❤️❤️‍🔥💖🖤 Dean gets sent to the Endverse, and is forced to reckon with his feelings for you.

✦Don't Let This Pass - Request!💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 Dean is your best friend, and nothing more, no matter how much you want that to be different. But he's trying to tell you something. And when you get trapped together for a week, he finally gets the chance.

✦Can This Feeling Haunt You Too?❤️❤️‍🔥💖🖤 - When you and Dean are hit with a love spell that doesn't work, you have to confront some feelings.

✦ A Little Push - Request!💛❤️‍🔥💖🖤 Friends with benefits means no claim. Dean can do what he wants, and so can you. But you don't. And when you start to, it makes Dean have a realization.

✦ you have to know (you gotta fight for it) 💚❤️‍🔥💖🖤 - After you and Dean have a massive fight, you try to give him space. But it might be a lot more space than he needs. More space than either of you want. Everything might be better if there was never any space at all.

✦ Here Comes The Light 💚❤️‍🔥 - Lately Dean's been removed, whenever you're in public. You finally build the confidence to ask him why. 

✦ Bad Performances And Bending Light ❤️‍🔥💖🖤 - It's a hard life to lead, when you're in love with your roommate and bestfriend and you know you're never going to be able to have him. But when Dean asks you to be his fake-girlfriend for his brother's wedding, you start to see things you'd never seen before.

✦ Open The Door💚💖🖤 - Dean is known for never forming attachments. Never doing more than a night, never leading on, just loving and leaving. It's better like that. Safer. But for you, he can't stop himself from coming back every time.

✦Heated 💚💖❤️‍🔥🖤 - Dean's refusing any help to get over his sex curse, no matter how many women you find for him. If only he'd just tell you why.

✦Truth Or Dare - Request!💛💖❤️‍🔥 a late night game with Dean turns into something more.

✦Prove It💚💖❤️‍🔥🖤- Dean says he can't be with you. That he's too much of a risk, too old, too tired, too whatever. But then he doesn't stop acting like he wants you. It’s probably because he does.

✦sweetener💚💖❤️‍🔥🖤 - everything was fine between you and dean until you moved into the bunker. everything is tolerable until you get hurt on a hunt. dean loses his mind. and when you try to apologize, dean tells you exactly why. 

✦green light💚💖❤️‍🔥🖤 - dean kisses you while he's drunk, and then the world keeps spinning. all you want to do is figure out if he remembers, if he meant it, and if he feels what you do in return. but he's not making it easy, until he does.

✦don't fall - request!💖❤️‍🔥🖤 dean is strictly off limits, for so, so many reasons. It's a shame neither of you seem to care.

✦take what you want - 💚💖❤️‍🔥🖤 you and dean hate each other. there isn't a moment you aren't fighting, just like there isn't a moment you don't wish he'd love you back, and there isn't a single second he doesn't want you more than you can imagine.

Minis (Drabbles and Headcanons) ✦When Dean Works on The Impala💙💖❤️‍🔥 ✦When He Gets Possessive 💙🖤❤️‍🔥 ✦In The Mirror - Request!💙💖🖤❤️‍🔥 ✦Touch Starved - Request! (ft. Sam, separate headcanon) 💖🖤❤️‍🔥 ✦Overload - Request!💙💖🖤❤️‍🔥 ✦After Dark💙💖❤️‍🔥 ✦Makeup - Request!💙❤️‍🔥 ✦sexting dean❤️‍🔥 ✦dean's obesession❤️‍🔥 ✦in public❤️‍🔥 ✦slow mornings - request!💖❤️‍🔥 ✦riding dean's abs💖❤️‍🔥 ✦save a cowgirl❤️‍🔥 ✦come around💖❤️‍🔥 ✦dummy ❤️‍🔥 ✦true love💖❤️‍🔥

[lilacgrayskies]

༄.° where's everyone going? bingo?

!!WORKS MAY INCLUDE NSFW CONTENT!!

have an idea for me? submit a request ⋆˚𝜗𝜚

— love and deepspace

— jujutsu kaisen

— resident evil

— blue lock

— final fantasy vii

© lilacgrayskies on tumblr

dividers from @/pixopix

[lilacgrayskies]

☁︎⋅ (18+) rookie!leon is insatiable

“leonnn, I c-can’t-,”you sobbed, tears streaking your face. 

your head rolled back into the pillows as leon thrusted deeper. he had you on your back, his arms holding your legs apart. his cock was buried to the hilt inside your puffy pussy. 

he hasn’t stopped thrusting. not after your pussy clenched around him like a vice the first, or third time. not after your nails clawed into his back, guaranteed to leave marks. not even after you started crying.

“no no no no, baby, please,” he whimpered, burying his face in your neck. “I wanna cum- baby, please, I’m so so so close!”

poor thing. your pussy was spasming violently around him, desperate to milk his cock. it wasn’t until a gush of squirt splattered against his lower abdomen that he slowed down.

leon whined, high and needy, watching as you made a mess on his cock. he leaned up, his eyes hooded as he looked down to where your pussy was stretched around his cock. your clit was twitching. “you made a mess,” his voice cracked. 

as if his cock wasn’t enough, his thumb reached down to rub your clit. small circles pressed against the swollen pearl. “messy girl…” he murmured. “I’m doing good, huh?”

his hips moved slower, but god, he was going deeper. his cheeks were flushed a soft pink as he fucked into you. “you like it, baby? you gonna cum again?” he moaned.

“nghh…! yes, I like it!” you cried out. his large hand rested against your lower stomach, right over the bulge of his cock.

“fuck, you can see it right here,” he said, his thumb tracing the imprint of his cock in your womb. “look, baby, you can see me inside you.”

your cunt betrayed you, clenching and gushing all over again. a creamy ring of cum formed at the base of his cock. leon winced, your pussy feeling tighter this time. he bit his lip, his thrusts faltering.

“f-fuck…!” he whined. one final thrust before he held you against him. hot, white ropes of cum filled you up. heavy breathing filled your ear.

leon pulled away, pulling his cock out to watch his cum drip out of you. you whimpered, feeling it glide down your inner thighs. 

“think you can take one more?” he smirked at you.

masterlist

© lilacgrayskies on tumblr

{dividers from @/cursed-carmine}

[aklaustaleteller]

hey can you do one where the reader kind off changed klaus for the better he quit most of the killing shit a ultimately became a better person over all, and the news was all over that klaus mikealson had gone soft, so one of his (many) enemies decides to kidnap or hurt the reader as they think he had gone soft and he goes all hybrid on everyone to remind them of what he is capable off

Vontade

Y/n and Klaus had settled in the English Countryside, living in an isolated mansion that was settled under thick mist on most days. But what happens when Klaus leaves for a little, and things take a sinister turn for Y/n?

Warnings - I'm not joking when I say I have a list (right here). I'm begging on you on my knees -- please read the list before diving into the fic!!

Word Count - 10.2k (don't ask me about it)

Masterlist | please reblog the fic if you like it!

EVERYONE CALM DOWN THE OCTOBER FIC IS FINALLY HERE!!! Wait let me calm down first. It's been so very long but I hope you guys will find the wait worth it!! This is the longest fic I've ever written, and probably the darkest too! The amount of research that went into this is mind boggling but anyways, I really really really hope you enjoy your time reading!! (the fic is divided into 2 parts, both of which are in this post itself!)

Thank you, anon, for requesting this and waiting so long! I might've taken a completely different route than what you asked for but I hope you won't mind too much <3

And I'm so sorry if I raised anyone's expectations too much!! If there one thing you should know about me, it's that I'm a disappointment. So expect the worst, thank you!

And please, please, please share your thoughts with me -- give feedback and reblog! It'll genuinely increase my life span ajshfjjakgds. (If you hate this fic, don't tell me I'm faint hearted, okay? okay.)

Holding the curtains to the side, Klaus gazed out of the window, the ghosts of the past not so visible anymore in the heavy mist that sat upon the empty acres of land that held nothing but dead grass as well as the dead, gone and buried.

It was so early in the morning that it felt like early winter, and the moon was still visible, looking so soft that its sight took all the weight of grief off the watcher's heart.

The collar of his cotton shirt ruffled as a gust of wind passed him by and touched the cold skin of his wife who lay in bed, gazing at him with the tired eyes that didn't catch a blink of sleep in the centuries that they have shown her the terrors and the romanticised of the world.

He smiled, already turning to walk over to her side of the bed. He knelt on the hardwood floor, ignoring it's creaking as he leaned in to press a kiss to her ear lobe, one that chased her mouth.

More of the wind rushed inside the room but neither of them paid much mind to it, for the cold didn't bother them much. Y/n kissed him back, giggling because it seemed that his mouth was eager to wander to places that might be more sinful than the true existence of their kind.

"When do you have to leave?" Y/n asked, breathless as Klaus intertwined his fingers with hers, and saddened because of the inevitable.

"In a few hours," Klaus suggested as he raised the skirt of her night gown while he himself slipped lower and lower until Y/n had to raise the sheets with her hand to look into his eyes as he bit into her thigh close enough to her heat to make her eyes to roll into the back of her skull.

Her palm traced the valleys of his face, feeling the highs and the lows to keep herself from transcending somewhere else while his mouth traced and lapped at her sweetness that was mentioned instead as poison in one of the books that she'd read in some of her earlier days.

"Klaus," she heaved his name as he quickened his pace, his eyes boring into hers, putting on a veil of innocence that they had lost even before they'd been first witness to the world.

Y/n believed that she'd lost her innocence the moment her mother had died while giving birth to her.

Air escaped her lungs all at once as she felt herself release and her hands clutched the unruly curls on the top of Klaus' head. Her hips lifted off the bed, meeting and escaping his mouth at the same time while a certain kind of dizziness took over her, making her feel like a leaf drifting slowly and slowly, off the tree, towards the earth.

Her mouth instinctively kissed back his lips, and she turned the two of them, so she was sitting on top of him. A grin took over her mouth, her eyes crinkling on the corners as she kissed up his chest and wandered off with her trail sideways.

Y/n inhaled softly and deeply upon his neck, sinking her cunning teeth into his hardened skin until she felt some warmth gush into her mouth. His blood coated her tongue like a thick syrup, sweet and addictive.

She sucked and more of it came flowing. In fact, so much of it came that she felt some slipping down the corners of her mouth. So, she backed away, licking the edges of her mouth with her head thrown back, letting the air fill her lungs and kick back in her senses.

The soft caress of Klaus' hand on the back of her head made her look down again, at his face that had her saying she knew what an angel looks like.

The black oblivion in his eyes that promised her a soulmate to spend the rest of eternity with sucked her in. Soon she was turning into corner after corner in a labyrinth, beginning to race in the fear that she was being chased until she found herself leaning against a wall while Klaus pulled on the laces of her corset, pulling hard enough to make Y/n suspicious that he just intended to pull her into him.

She looked into the mirror and caught a glimpse of his smirk, squinting at him when he met her gaze in their reflection.

"I really wish you could accompany me on the ride to the masquerade," she whispered, closing her eyes when she felt his fingers tap their way to the clasp of her necklace and lock it properly.

"I am your escort at the ball, love," he sighed, kissing the back of her head. "Have trust in me, you'll be fine," he murmured against her hair, smelling the faint scent of white Lilies and apples.

Far from the smell of the decaying bodies that he'd have to pass on his way to the city of New Orleans in a short while, though.

Y/n shut her eyes, wanting to protest that nothing when she's left behind, all on her own, stays fine. Instead, she gave a tight nod and turned to cup his face in her palms.

"Miss me," she grinned against the deep maroon of his lips, her laugh echoing when he kissed her passionately. And then she sighed, feeling the silage, her hand tracing the impression made in space where Klaus was once standing; now gone.

Sighing, she trailed down the stairs noiselessly -- it was an art she'd perfected during her time in the isolated estate.

She lit a lantern because despite it being daytime, not even a ray of light fell to the dead ground through the heavy fog that seemed to have settled on their property overnight.

Y/n shook her head, forcing herself to get out of her head and to fix the ragged rhythm of her breathing. While at that, she noticed a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling, instantly making a mental note to get Klaus to clean it up. She'd never felt an attachment to the spiders, though she respected their talent of weaving so masterfully and passionately.

Not enough to not ruin their work, though.

With faintly trembling hands, she picked the lantern off the dining table that could host an entire committee. She turned to walk back over to the main door, eyes settled on the minute details carved into the mansion's main door frame.

Forgetting the keys on the hook screwed to the wall, she looked closely, like she did every single day in the hopes of finding something new. Something tugged at the corner of her mouth when she caught a rose with a dagger stabbed through its middle, designed intricately into the door’s handle.

Smiling in satisfaction, she backed away and – the keys were gone. Y/n had seen them hung on the corner-most hook out the five, but now all of them were empty.

"The house spirits don't want you to leave," whispered her grandmother.

Y/n's head snapped to her side, the door was closed, the air still.

"Leave out some honey for them, perhaps, you can negotiate," she chuckled dryly, and Y/n scrambled to do as told before something more precious was taken from her; even though her grandmother has been dead for centuries and only talks to her when she's alone.

Almost dropping the plate in her hurry, Y/n slid the honey filled utensil in the middle of the table before rushing out of the door.

She exhaled sharply, almost choking on her own saliva as she raced away from the mansion, unable to calm herself down as the image of the keys hung on the hook right before she shut the door with her eyes widened in fear, flashed across her mind.

Klaus had only been away for a half an hour and already things were beginning to take a sinister turn. She took a shuddering breath, forcing her mind to focus on Klaus so that the stone inside her chest doesn't burst into a million tiny shards and she ends up dead because of a thousand cuts.

She brought up the lantern to her eyesight and sighed -- the flame had gone out somewhere amidst her rush.

But she had been in the woods before, she knew her way like the patterns in Klaus' hair. Smiling to manipulate herself, she strolled forward, eyes settled on the trees.

The acres of land on which the mansion stood like a ship on ocean waves, was tucked away under the thick fog when Y/n turned around to see it. But even in the dark blurriness, Y/n saw the tiny flowers dotted throughout the open fields. They were going to die soon, she sighed and walked on.

Then she began to run to catch a leaf that the wind plucked off of a tree.

Some dead, some changing colours, some still green while others had already transitioned into shades of orange or brown. All of the trees would all be lifeless soon, with no leaves or flowers on them, and Y/n will once again find comfort in the death that will encapsulate everything around her.

Maybe eat some of the pomegranates off the trees that will still be bearing some happiness in order to taunt her existence.

Far away in the distant, Y/n could see more huge estates. They seemed abandoned, worn, lived in by ghouls and frustrated spirits. She wondered if sprites and pixies ever giggled away nights in the unkempt properties, but she stole her gaze from the architectures before they could lure her in.

To spend her time alone feeling as normal as she could, she began to think of the love of her life, of Klaus and of how they came to be. And it began something like this...

It was the year 1047 in Russia, and the colour in Y/n's face had settled so deep that there was no life left in her skin.

She traced her cheeks, eyes widely aghast as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. There was nothing under her skin, except for an unsettling silence. There was no rush of blood, or thrumming of her anxious heart so loud in her ears that she felt like she was going to die, instead of smiling at the reminder that she was still alive.

She wished now though, that she had celebrated when her heartbeats came to stutters because she couldn't breathe. Because now, as she tried to find a pulse, she slipped her hand from her neck to the skirts of her gown.

There was nothing in her to prove that she wasn't a living corpse. Her skin was cold, hardened and ridden of all colours.

This couldn't have been. She wasn't a human anymore, and the more she saw of herself, the more rumours about Vampires echoed in her mind. If she was a vampire, then she quickly needed to find another one to survive. And she needed to flee town in order to escape her father, who would probably not even realise her absence in the misery of remembering her late mother.

So, with erratic breathing, she'd rushed back to her room and pulled out the one big handbag she had. She threw in as much as she could, including a large shawl, her night clothes, her warm woollen as well as her silk hood. She rolled two of her dresses somehow to fit, and ran to steal a bottle of her father's brandy and some camphor. He wouldn't know until he would run out of his current bottle, and Y/n won't be there to blame or to conspire with then.

Chanting under her breath for God's mercy, she ran into her bathroom and gathered all of her essentials such as tooth and nail brushes, soap, hairbrush, hairpins, her handy mirror and a towel off the hook.

Hungry because of her state of extreme breathlessness and panic, she packed some crackers and the sandwiches she had made earlier in her lunch and closed the chain of the bag. It was going to be hard to run with it on her arm, but she knew that what would be more hard was death.

She was going to be seen as the thing at the feast or at the sacrifice, and then, she wasn't even going to be seen because people would either burn her or bury her alive. And there was a possibility that she could take one wrong step, and the rumour that was a vampire's existence, would become more of a reality – which would lead to mass murder, of the hiding vampires and likely some innocents who had done no wrong in life but suffer at the hands of it.

She ran through the streets in the middle of the day, where everyone was too busy or too ignorant to be concerned about her. Her house was fairly close to the state of Kievan Rus' and she cried tears of joy for God's blessing as she ran, surprisingly not out of breath.

She ran with the wind throughout the day and night, as silently as she could, not wanting to draw any attention until she reached her destination. And it was on the third morning that she finally came to a stop on the land of Kyiv Koenugarr, the capital of the state that stood on the Dnieper River, the one that flowed to the Black Sea.

For the first time in three days, she smiled. Her breaths came to a faint pace as she stopped by in one of the guest houses to clean up. She knew that she needed to look good enough to convince the one person she had hoped in her heart would help her escape.

She didn't need to rest to get even a blink of sleep, but just out of old habit, she lay down on the soft bedding and shut her eyes to stop the racing of her mind. She could think when she wasn't so much on the edge regarding the fact that she didn't even feel burnt out after so much.

The corners of her eyes moistened as she realised that she wouldn't be missed back home. Maybe the little boy who lived next door would be saddened, but he would forget her too. He was too small to remember disappearance, Y/n hoped. She should have said goodbye to him at least, but maybe that was supposed to be her life's regret.

When the sun came back up, Y/n pulled out the one dress she had laid under the mattress during the night in hopes of getting it a bit decent and dressed herself. She put colour on her mouth and on her cheeks, and kohl on her eyelashes while hinting some of it on the line above.

She needed to look good for this, in case she had to do some convincing or begging. She hoped that she could just threaten, but she wouldn't do that to him who she essentially considered her brother.

She rubbed the one herbal mixture that she had on herself in some places and the fragrance of Saffron, Rosemary and Musk hit her senses all at once. Centering herself, she packed her bag again and began her stroll to find a cart, to where she knew he would be.

"I need to go to the docks!" She shouted over the harsh wind at the man, and he urged her to climb into the cart. "Thank you," she said now that she was behind him.

He nodded and began to move forward, going faster with the help of the forceful wind. It didn't seem like the man minded silence too much, so she kept quiet much to her liking and began an inner monologue to decide how she was going to ask him.

The time passed quicker than she could come to a conclusion though, so she stepped off and handed the man a kuna with a gentle nod for a thank you. She hoped she could find a mirror to maybe fix her hair a bit but she was found too soon for that convenience.

"And what in the world are you doing here?"

He asked, a frown and a smile adorning his features at the same time.

Happiness surged through her body like a gust of wind at seeing his face. It felt like he'd almost lifted her spirits.

"Nikolai!"

She rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could. She giggled when he began to swerve the two of them from side to side.

"You're clearly here for a reason so how about you tell me before I set off?" He said, nodding his head towards the awaiting ship.

A worry settled deep in her stomach. She began fidgeting.

"Will you take me with you?" She asked in a whisper because she knew how absurd this might sound to him.

He gripped her shoulders a little tighter.

"The ships are full of Vikings, Y/n. Don't be a fool," he gritted, his fingers leaving a wrinkle on the puff of her dress' sleave.

"But you are going to be with me, so I'll be fine!" She insisted.

Nikolai pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

Sighing, he began, "why do you want to go to Europe all of a sudden?"

She swallowed. "To start over, you know? And it sounds nice over there, a change would be good," she shrugged.

Y/n knew that he could sense her lying but when he didn't press her about it, she took a breath of relief.

Nikolai turned to walk, but just because of her nature, she gripped his arm from behind.

When he turned with intrigue, and saw worry settled in her big eyes, he hugged her again.

"I'll take care of you like my little sister, Solnishko (sunshine)," he whispered against her hair, and Y/n shut her eyes to force herself calm down. She had known him since her childhood, and she knew deep down that she trusted him more than she trusted her own father.

Backing away a couple steps, she let him take her bag from her hand. Squaring her shoulders, Y/n nodded, which Nikolai copied.

They shared a glint of excitement and nervousness in their gazes and passed each other a wide grin before making a run for the ship that was going to leave any minute now.

Y/n hadn't realised that while deep in her memory, she had come to a halt in front of the frozen lake. So when she heard the crunch of leaves, while she stood alone and completely still, her head whipped to scan her surroundings.

No one, in sight. Y/n knew better than to not trust her intuition so she focused in on all of her senses, there was no smell of blood, no sound of a beating heart, no sight of anyone, no feeling other than of being watched and nothing to touch but her own cold skin.

It had to be a vampire, if anyone.

With an unease, she started on her walk back home. She knew she could face whoever it was and get it over within seconds. But when she reached home unharmed, she felt like she might've just been going insane since she was alone.

She felt insane a lot of the time that she was alone, so with frustration settling deep in her belly, she went over to the room that she had locked the entire oblivion in. The library room.

Most of the books were read there, but when Klaus returned from his entrepreneurial ventures, he always brought back with him some new ones that he just had an instinct she was going to love. And she did mostly end up loving the stories so much that it felt as if they’d claimed a part of her – she'd never tell that to Klaus though, since he might just destroy all literature in the mansion in order to keep her all to himself.

Her eyes glanced at the two stopped clocks in the room and she shook her head because of the reminder that they might as well be haunted since she can't get them to work right for more than two sunsets.

As she sank in the deep green sofa with a worn hardback in her lap, a deep melancholy took over her. Her body felt so weak to the bones that it could've decomposed right there on the expensive furniture.

Suddenly, her grandmother, dressed in all black appeared at the doorway of the room. Y/n thought she had closed the door behind her.

The old woman walked in like she was silently praying on a child in a game to catch her, and stopped right in front of Y/n whose eyes felt hooded and a little too heavy. She took her hand and dropped something from her fist into her open palm.

Y/n brought it back to see for herself, and a gurgling sound escaped from her throat. She choked back on her saliva as the word 'MONSTER' was beginning to slowly be engraved in her palm, the inscription cutting her skin so deep that she fell off the sofa in pain, gripping her hand tightly as she tried to escape, and ended up falling on her bed.

With heavy breaths wreaking havoc inside her lungs, Y/n wiped the cold sweat on her skin on the bed sheets as she turned to lie on Klaus' side of bed. Inhaling deeply, she kept her eyes shut while her entire body shook in tremors and her mind began to show her the flashes of her sweet, well cherished moments spent with her head tucked away in Klaus' chest.

She really wished she could have a drop of his blood, then. Saliva pooled on her tongue, but she swallowed thickly, not allowing herself even the thought of taking a sip from the bottle that he always left behind for her.

—--

It was the 18th century, and Y/n didn't know quite know how to feel when the Pope declared her species as fallacious fictions of humankind. She had sighed deeply, breathing out the tension in her frame as she prepared herself to live a life without chewing her fingers ever again – not because people had potentially known of Vampire's existence, but because she was too paranoid to not fear somehow getting wound up in the theories and be burned on the stake only for her ashes to be fed to some sick family man considered bitten by a vampire.

But she'd also felt her lifeless heart be struck by sadness upon the realisation that she might not ever be accepted by anyone apart from her own species -- who had the foul habit of keeping itself so secretive that Y/n began feeling lonely even in a room full of people.

Then the 19th century rolled around, arguably the worst time period for a human to be alive according to Y/n. She seemed to have a realisation that if this century was going to be associated with one thing, it would be diseases and deaths.

Everyone in the town was always sick and someone was dying each hour. The ones who weren't actively dying, were so obsessed with the notion of death they essentially manifested it in their fate.

Tired of the ongoing death streak, Y/n ran away to the English Countryside. But because she was too lonely and had too much of the torturous time on her hands, she began to despise the fact that she was never going to have the peace that came with death, with the end – ever.

Feeling like she was going to kill herself if she spent another fleeting second in her own company, she found herself back in the main city, preoccupying herself among the aristocrats.

Then years later, the last Vampire Scare occurred in the late 19th century. While people weren't quick to put labels, the town affairs spread in whispers sounding similar to the fluttering wings of a Goldfinch.

But then, when the horrors of Vampires finally bit the dust, being declared as nothing but a myth blew out the one final flicker of hope inside Y/n's chest that longed for connections where the humans would tell her about their history and their folklores themselves instead of her having to read their biassed books in which they painted a portrait using their best colours.

No matter how much she hated being a myth, Y/n loved reading stories about the blood-sucking Roman vampires, and the German Nachzehrer, who harmed the living through "sympathetic magic" from afar.

Y/n loved to debate with Klaus just like humans did with each other, upon who were the English Vampires most like -- The Romanians or The Germans. All because it seemed to be a hot topic among the historians, folklorists, theologists and who not, that like Romanians, New Englanders "were looking for liquid blood in the vital organs, not evidence of shroud chewing." The anti-vampire remedy of "cutting the heart out, burning it to ashes and feeding the ashes to the sick ones" was also something that was practiced in Romania.

But what quite disgusted Y/n was the fact that the sole reason humans even knew of Vampires was because they were brainless and attracted diseases like flowers honey bees during springtime; and also because they feared the said diseases and desired to have control over it in some way, or at least to feel like they did.

Since then, whenever a new resurgence of ‘Vampires are real’ rumours flowed, Y/n chose to ignore it. Because in the current day and age, the resurfacing of the supernatural was simply because of its glorification and romanticisation in the literature; and of course, just an human’s itch to dig into the past.

—--

The music echoed throughout the mansion as Y/n's fingers danced across the keys of the grand piano. There weren't any notes sitting on top for Y/n to read from, she was simply playing what she'd known and what was coming to her as she played.

Moonlight poured in through barred windows that stood on the grounds and touched the ceilings. Something in the back of her mind was telling her that someone was watching her, but she ignored the warning sign, tired of her hallucinations and tired of trying to decipher between what was real and what wasn't.

Her own mind playing tricks on her wasn't something she dealt with very well. It felt like a betrayal, by whom, she couldn't tell. But it was unfair, that not everyone had to constantly decipher their experiences as real or not.

In the moment, all she knew was that as long as the music was flowing and she was hitting the notes remarkably well, she and everything surrounding her was real. Though she'd been told that her playing could bring the dead back, she tried not to think about it.

Frustrated because of the nagging thought of having a watcher, Y/n wondered if the pressing of her fingers on the keys will ever not be soothing for her. Gradually, she felt something rushing within her, something taking over her senses as the sounds hit the tall walls and reverberated back into her ears with violent vibrations that she hated to feel – she felt overcome.

Her fingers started to move on their own, quickening the pace when she reached the beat drop and realised, the answer was yes.

She pulled herself back from the grand piano like it had electrocuted her. Wild eyes and frantic breathing, Y/n waited for the silence to settle and encapsulate her.

Standing up, she took hold of the candelabra that had been sitting on the top of the piano, and climbed up the stairs in the candle's unreliable, flickering light. There was no light in this part of the mansion, the moonlight didn't reach in the back and Y/n felt a breath down her spine as she opened the library room's door.

She didn't walk in right away though. She spared a wry glance to her right, at the other room’s door that was locked. It was night time and she didn't want to be flooded with the horrifying memories of her past that was withheld in that room. But still, the images of Klaus draining bodies in that very room flashed in front of her eyes – causing her to clench them shut and skip inside the library without a second thought.

Picking up the book she'd dropped on the floor earlier, she shut the door quietly and held the skirts of her dress in order to make a run towards the master bedroom. She felt safe in the company of the candle's flame that hadn't gone out in her hurry and she sat in her bed, no longer scared and no longer around; transported into a realm where she was a little human girl skidding through the forest wearing a red cloak, on the way to her grandmother's home when she comes across a sly wolf!

—--

Y/n was standing just outside the door, hiding behind the wall with a cloth to her mouth. Sobs threatened to leave her mouth similarly to how the tears were escaping her eyes, sliding down her cheeks and falling into pools on the ancient flooring.

Sounds of mouths biting into necks, tearing through skin and splintering bones echoed through the chambers. The halls of the mansion were built like those of Cathedrals, tall in order to make a sound boom and echo.

She clenched her eyes shut when another body fell to the ground, lifeless. Daring to peek inside despite her fragile heart, Y/n's mouth fell open as the scene unfolded in front of her.

Klaus was sitting on the one and only chair in the room, looking nothing less than a king sitting on his throne. In front of him, the rest of the hall was full of vampires – sucking on each other.

Some had bitten into another's wrist while they were being fed upon at their neck. Every single soulless body standing in the room had its teeth bared, looking for a life to take whilst theirs was already being drained away by one of their own.

"Faster!" Klaus roared and everyone began to draw blood from one another as if their life depended on it.

Which it did according to what Y/n heard next.

"Remember puppies, if you wish to live, you'll have to drain as many bodies as you can!" He spoke loudly, a wide malicious grin on his mouth.

Y/n sank low upon the grounds, frozen until her eyes met with one of the vampires.

A blood-curdling scream escaped her throat and Y/n felt like all of the blood was rushing to her head. She clutched it, lowering further into the ground in hopes of diminishing the pain but her vision began to fade instead.

She saw Klaus watching her, held for ransom by fate as Y/n fell to the ground, her last sight being of the vampires still feeding like they were at a feast.

When she woke up, Klaus was sitting at the foot of the bed. A book in his hands but not a word was he able to utter when she asked him what the book was about.

He shut it and tossed it across the bed, holding the bridge of his nose as Y/n looked at him through hooded eyes.

"I asked you of one thing," he began. "I asked you not to walk by the room until dusk."

His teeth were clenched, and Y/n could tell by the waver in his voice that he was trying with all of his might to not smash the furniture in the room.

She hoped that he would keep trying, that she wouldn't have to see the black in his eyes represent the devil rather than the peaceful oblivion she saw in them because she wanted to spend it with him.

"Then why, tell me love, were you there?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child," Y/n croaked out, stealing her gaze from him to look away.

"But what you did was childish!"

"And you were a monster!" Y/n shouted, now sitting up in the bed with her fists clenching the mattress.

Klaus stood still for a moment, then scoffed.

"I'm the monster?" He asked, his voice so light it sent a wave of regret through Y/n's chest.

"Klaus --"

"No, Y/n," Klaus swallowed, now pacing across the room. "They tried to steal you from me and I'm the one being called the monster for doing to them little of what they deserve for the horror they put you through."

"Klaus, you didn't need to take the blood on your hands. I would've taken my revenge, and you know that," Y/n said.

"Alright then. Fair enough," nodding, Klaus came to a halt. "Let's put it this way – I took my revenge because I love you and I thought I lost you. That thought pained me to the point of no comparison so I took my revenge," he shrugged.

"If you desire, you can take your revenge. I'm sure they are still alive with the speed that they seemed to have lost," Klaus gestured back towards the room.

Y/n clenched her eyes shut. "Lock the room, Klaus," she asked him.

With a faint nod of acceptance, Klaus locked the door to the room where most of the vampires had fallen to the floor, dead. The last ones sucking raced when they saw Klaus and fell to the floor with a thump once the last drop of blood was drunk from their bodies.

Drawing the doors shut, Klaus put a humongous lock on the door and took a step back. He knew what Y/n was going to ask of him when he 'd return, so with a final breath, Klaus decided that among those vampires, Klaus had also locked his own demons inside.

Y/n's head rose when she saw him stroll back into the master bedroom.

"Promise me that you'll never take a life ever again," she whispered.

Klaus nodded, looking into her eyes with honesty so bright it could've blinded her.

"And if you do, do it after you take mine," Y/n spoke stiffly. "Or I'll take yours."

Klaus dropped to his knees beside her side of the bed to hold her hand.

"You have my word," he spoke hoarsely, leaning in just enough that Y/n had to come the rest of the way to meet his mouth.

"I love you," she whispered against his mouth. "I cannot lose you to your demons."

"I love you, too,” Klaus said, stopping when his voice wavered. “And you know that you are my only reason," he smiled, letting her push him back on the bed.

—--

Y/n woke up with excitement fluttering through her entire being. It was brighter than the previous day, she noticed. But all of the mist was still sitting around so Y/n drew her curtains apart and opened the windows.

The cold wind carried with it the smell of pomegranate flowers, making Y/n smile.

Squaring her shoulders, she looked into the void outside, wishing Klaus was beside her to experience the beauty of dragonflies dancing around on top of the flowers sprinkled throughout the fields.

Orange and red scenery was not unmet by her eyes when she squinted. A lot of the trees had turned now, and Y/n wondered why they decided to turn just a little earlier than usual.

She wrapped herself in her robe and walked throughout the house, opening all the windows and drawing curtains to let the light pour in. She felt calm, especially since the past couple of days had been extraordinarily troublesome for her.

Back in her library room, Y/n picked up the neat letter that had been sitting on her desk. It was the letter of the ball invitation sent via the Salvatore Sons, and Y/n was more than giddy to finally meet Klaus there.

Most humble citizens of the realm, You are hereby requested to attend a masquerade ball in honour of the thirtieth marriage anniversary of our dearest Lilian Salvatore and Guiseppe Salvatore, the radiant couple -- also respected members of the founder's council of Mystic Falls. Costumes and masks will be strictly required for entry, and each couple must bring a gift. This sophisticated affair will be a tantalising and stylish celebration with a feast, dancing and competitions. You all will delight in the wondrous, safe atmosphere of Castle Harrowgate. The gates of Castle Harrowgate shall be opened at first dusk in two days' time, and you are expected to be punctual. Dictated but not read Damon and Stefan Salvatore.

While Y/n wasn't one for gatherings, she could appreciate a ball every once in a while. She felt a bit of dread pooling inside of her at the thought of meeting the Salvatores, who had known of her and Klaus while she hadn't known of their mere existence.

Still, she walked across the mansion and picked some flowers the whole morning. In the afternoon, she wrote a poem and read some chapters of her current read that was of her beloved genre, gothic horror.

Once the sun had begun getting tired, though, Y/n slipped into her room and sat in front of her vanity. It still felt a little foreign to her, she wouldn't lie. That doesn't mean she didn't find it infinitely convenient.

She applied rose water on her face first and then rubbed some cream on the skin in order to make her skin look just a little more alive than a corpse's. It brought a certain shine to her face, she thought.

Then she dabbed some light coloured starch on her face in order to even out her complexion, though she didn't quite need to. She was simply following a makeup routine she had learnt from a lady while she had been out in the towns a few months ago, when the sun was overhead and blinding.

She smiled a little tightly as she put some maroon powder on the top of her cheeks, making her look like she had a heart and blood circulation under her skin. Smiling genuinely at her reflection in the mirror, she looked away just before she could begin to point out her flaws.

Lastly, she dabbed some lip tint on her mouth in a way that made her lips look bitten rather than painted.

Tying her own corset for her dress was troublesome enough that she had broken a sweat whilst she'd been at it. Patting cotton all over her face in annoyance, she fixed the ruffles of her dress for the last time.

The colour of the dress was similar to that of the darkest emerald out there, and upon it were drawn complex patterns in all shades of green that went best with the gown's colour.

She had her hair in a low bun sitting on the nape of her neck, the lowest of her hair strands falling out into coils just a couple inches lower. A flowery crown sat on top of her bun like a crown made out of golden oak leaves, the crystals reflecting the sunlight all over the room.

Anxious that she was likely forgetting something, she took hold of her purse and carried in her other hand the gift she had chosen to give – a thick and rich blanket, along with other trinklets and fruits and nuts. She'd also added a tobacco pouch or two in there.

She rushed out of the mansion and sped to the main street, where she accepted herself in a carriage. Once she was sat, she took a deep breath.

Although gradually she realised that the cold sweat she'd broken earlier wasn't because she had been racing around.

It was because subconsciously, she felt like there was a stone sitting inside her chest, one other than her heart. It was heavy, and sharp too. Something was going to go wrong, her guts screamed. She had an instinct that she was going to die that evening, but she ignored all and focused on the dying scenery around her as the carriage raced further.

It was a masquerade ball, surely she'd be able to fool death if it happened to be there as well. 

When the carriage turned into a lane, and Y/n saw the mansion; a shiver ran down her spine. It was eerily quiet there, no one in sight and no sounds of a gathering filling the atmosphere.

The castle’s walls stood tall, with tinted windows. It looked like a secretive fortress, with its additional dark towers and iron gates.The sun light didn’t reach the estate very well, and it was all shades of dark – with not even a barren tree in its circumference. 

Had she come too early, she wondered and checked her pocket watch. She was just a few minutes late, actually. Maybe people weren't so punctual anymore, she shouted back at her alarmed instincts.

She looked up at the sky which was darkening as the sun was setting. But it was full of heavy clouds drifting slowly, waiting for the right time to bring hell on land.

In the time that she came face to face with the castle, she tried to focus on her hearing. But she couldn't hear any heartbeats, nor any quietened gossip floating around. It was more silent than Y/n had noticed it was underwater during the summer.

Clutching her shawl in clenched fists, she stepped off the carriage. Handing the man a couple pennies and thanking him, she waited as he backed away until out of the sight.

Then she finally turned her gaze onto the Castle Harrowgate, and as she began to feel like it was all a trap, she realised that might as well already be in one.

Klaus had told her that he would meet her by the time the ball would start, to accompany her for the dance since he couldn't imagine sharing with another man the pleasure of dancing with his wife. And upon checking the watch once again, Y/n remembered that the gates must have been opened about half an hour ago.

So, to see no footprints outside the muddy path covered with cobblestones stood out to her. She squinted her eyes, unsure if she'd be able to make a run for it now.

Y/n was better than that though, she could fight an army of vampires if she wanted to with her original strength. But to be wearing a gown and heels, with a gift bag in one hand and a purse in the other, Y/n wasn't sure if she wanted to get blood sprayed all over herself.

Sensing eyes on her, she searched the windows to see even a shadow. But there was none. It was the same feeling as the one she'd gotten when she'd been in the forest a couple days prior, feeling like she was being preyed upon.

She gulped dryly, praying to a god she didn't believe existed that the cowards behind this plan would be willing to talk this through. She didn't wish to be anyone's death, nor did she wish to die herself. She did, occasionally, but now as she felt like death was breathing down her neck, she felt like taking another sip of life before going to bed.

As she walked further and crossed the threshold of the castle, she felt wind move behind her before she could've seen past the open gates.

She screamed but a hand was covering her mouth and as she tried to remind herself that she was a vampire and didn't need to be frightened, her vision began to fade inwards until she could see nothing but the death's cousin – that is sleep.

When she gained back her senses again, she knew that she was in a lot of trouble. She still couldn't see, but she could smell the vampires who had probably noticed her consciousness by now. She could hear them bickering that had come to a sudden halt. She could feel someone standing right beside her in a second and she could touch the chains that she'd been tied up with.

It was raining heavily outside, probably so angrily that it would feel like there were millions of needles being dropped on your skin, all at once, if one happened to be out in it. 

Her arms were stinging since they'd been tied up on the two sides. She was on her knees, bent over because of weakness. At least she hoped that's what they thought she felt. Her hair was falling on her face and over her shoulder – how had it slipped out of a tight bun, she wondered and came to the conclusion that it must have happened when she'd struggled against the man's chest while he'd had her in a chokehold with vervain held right over her nose.

Had she been in his place, she'd have burned the skin off the captive's face. She smiled at the kindness these people had shown her.

"Glad you'll finally be put out of the misery of living your immortal life?" Someone spoke from across the room, a man. Likely middle aged, she assumed.

"Glad to finally meet you, Guiseppe," Y/n smirked when the man's breathing stuttered just a bit. "Though I wish it hadn't been this way."

"A lovely mouth you've got with a lovely face," said a younger voice. "Too bad that all the fortune would go to waste."

Y/n chuckled, then choked because of the dryness in her throat. "Mark my words when I say that this will be the very mouth that'll rip your throat out, Salvatore" she shrugged, unsure whether it was Stefan or Damon that she was talking to.

"C'mon, you can't possibly be delusional enough to hope you're going to get out of this one!" Said the same voice, quietened by a clearing of the throat.

The window shutters were rattling, and a couple of animals were howling outside. 

"Damon, bring a chair for me, will you?" Said Guiseppe.

Y/n laughed at that; her head was thrown back. "Since when do you care so much that your child might witness a murder?"

"Oh, trust me hon, death doesn't even bother me no more," Damon joked and Y/n grinned. It would be a petty to shut that humourous mouth forever six feet deep into the ground.

"Damon, go," said a handsome voice.

It was silent for a moment and all of Y/n's senses were working relentlessly. But the most she could hear was the ongoing storm outside, thunder rolling like death was on its own carriage, coming down to take Y/n with it.

The thought of whether she had served her purpose in her life was fleeting. But then she began to ponder, if only humans were allowed to deal with existentialism, and whether it was satirical for her to even be thinking that she might just have a meaning to her life.

But then she drifted off to think of her immortality. All her life, she'd never dared to ponder over it – afraid she might begin to have the urge to kill herself. Had she made anything out of having a life that'd never end?

Did she need to do that? Did she really need a reason or a purpose to live? Or since being an immortal, she had to pay the loan by giving this world her all?

But before she could start to lose her mind, she was snapped back to reality.

“I only saw you from the back, in the forest and from outside your mansion,” said the same handsome voice before he chuckled. Y/n’s breathing came to halt – she had been right.

“But sweetheart, you seem like the devil carved you himself – so dangerously beautiful,” he whispered under his breath. 

When Y/n didn’t say anything, wanting for him to continue admitting all that he’d done, the young one laughed. 

"We aren't going to kill you, by the way,” said he who Y/n was beginning to assume was Stefan.

"Too bad that I will, once I'm out of these shackles."

Y/n genuinely was disappointed. She wanted to cry because she hadn't even thought about this possibly being a trap, and she hated herself for it. And she also hated the fact that these people found it so entertaining, the way they'd played her.

Feeling pathetic, she manipulated herself to turn her sadness into ferocious rage. She couldn't let these men take advantage of her.

Someone laughed, and Y/n smiled. She wanted them to believe that she couldn't help herself out of the chains.

"We just want Klaus," Damon said as if he was bored out of his wits. "You see, he loves you. Surely, he'll trace you here. Then we'll capture him, toy with him, kill him and ponder what to do with your beauty."

Y/n wasn't feeling too sarcastic anymore. She wanted to skin these men alive and hang them upside down to be eaten alive by the crows. But she contained herself with a deep breath.

"You've seen so much of my beauty, it'll only be fair if I got to see yours," she proposed and waited in silence as someone walked over and removed the blindfold from her face.

Squinting, she saw Guiseppe, who looked like he wanted to kill himself. Then she saw Damon, who looked exactly like he talked and Stefan, who was as handsome as his smooth voice.

"Handsome, you two," she nodded at the younger men. "Surely you've got your looks from your stunning mother," she added.

Damon snickered and Stefan glared at him.

"You know, since Klaus met you, his heart has clearly grown quite faint. And we have been sitting, bored, for too long now. It would be nice to have somethings stirred up, yea?"

Y/n shivered as the dark room lit up when lightning stroked the sky.

"Oh, you don't play games with the wily devil," she cautioned, lowering her voice just to exaggerate although everyone in the room was on edge, knowing she'd spoken nothing if not the utter truth.

"Too late to back out now, though," a glowering voice came from right outside the locked doors of what Y/n could only assume was a dungeon or a chamber of some sort.

She grinned, quickly scanning the three men's faces to relish in their fear. Damon's sharp eyes were now wide open, waiting for his death to come any second now. Stefan was standing in a stance, ready to fight although he knew he didn't stand a chance.

And Guiseppe had broken cold sweat, his breathing was so heavy Y/n almost missed the erratic beating of his heart.

Klaus was here, she could imagine him standing behind the door solely for the suspense, fully capable of breaking down the door into shambles.

He kicked once, and the doors came falling inwards, Damon stepping back just in time for the wood to splinter on the floor in front of him.

When Y/n's eyes met with Klaus', she urged him to turn around. But then she flinched when Klaus missed her indication and was hit by a vase on the nape of his neck.

He fell to the ground. crouching for only a second before he'd disappeared.

The three men searched frantically, turning and twisting in distress.

Y/n saw him racing towards her and she opened her arms, letting him carry her. He situated her on the floor above, behind the railings.

“Are you alright?” He asked frantically, searching her over for any signs of injuries. But Y/n cupped his face and kissed him, reassuring him that she wasn’t wounded.

"Don't look," he asked of her earnestly, knowing the effect it could potentially have on her later on. "For me," he breathed.

Y/n pecked his mouth, then. Resting her lips on his until there was only Klaus' scent in front of her instead of him. She stumbled back and slid down a wall, sitting down and burrowing her head in her knees.

"Prepare your riffles!" Guiseppe shouted at the group of men filling the room urgently.

Guns were cocked and sat on men's shoulders, their fingers on the triggers, ready to shoot to kill.

"Where's --" Albert was cut off by a gust of air, during which he disappeared. He was one of the men, the most determined of them all and still the one with the most thirst for life.

Damon turned and saw for himself the chains to which he had tied Y/n, now lying on the grounds, wrapped around Albert's throat. His eyes were wide open, not a sparkle of life left in them.

Swallowing, Damon knocked his elbow into Stefan's ribs. When he hissed in response, Damon shut him up by pointing towards the dead body.

Both of the boys were now looking towards their father with the same hatred they glared at him with every day. He was going to be the reason behind their deaths. They thought of fleeing at the same point, unaware of each other's notions but both were too full of pride to die a coward.

They knew that if they ran, they had a higher chance of dying.

It was silent again, the only sounds in the room being rapidly beating hearts being interrupted by the rolling thunder outside.

Someone pulled the trigger, and when everyone saw, the bullet had passed through the middle of his own forehead. It was Frank, the one who had come to fight quite reluctantly.

Many men were thinking of fleeing now.

"You didn't tell us that the vampires could do this!" Bert gritted near Guiseppe's ear. He was now hopeless for he was never going to get to take walks near his favourite lake ever again.

"You'll be more responsible for our deaths than these goddamn monsters," shouted young James from across the room. He has just gotten married and wanted to have children, raise them up to be as strong as their mother.

Guiseppe was getting more and more frantic now, he could see his death waiting around the corner for him. The sweat rolling down his back was too cold, and his heart felt like it was going to burst inside of his chest.

Nothing was going how he had planned it.

James also disappeared then, and upon noise, everyone saw that his body was hanging off the humongous chandelier, the blood from the open wound on his neck dripping down on men's faces and on the floor. The sound of the blood pooling was ringing in everyone's ears and they all moved out of the way quickly, wiping off the blood on them with the cuffs of their shirts.

Metallic scent of the blood was beginning to suffocate everyone. Choking sounds were heard before William was thrown to a wall, also dead. He was a master at playing cards.

"Run everyone and set the room on fire!" Shouted Bert, but then his head was smashed off his shoulders and his body was swaying around, before it fell to the ground, writhing a little more before going still.

Now only Damon, Stefan and Guiseppe were left alive in the room. The two younger ones looked at each of the lifeless bodies, then at each other.

"God, I want to kill you two before they get a chance!" Guiseppe roared and bent to steal the gun from Bert's hands.,

But before he could pull the trigger, his head was pulled back and a knife sliced his throat.

The two boys howled in agony and covered their faces when Guiseppe's blood sprayed all over them.

When nothing more happened, they opened their eyes and saw Y/n still holding onto their father, the knife still in her bloodied hands.

Dropping the body then, Y/n looked at them regretfully.

She had to come out since Klaus had to take a second to keep his wolf at bay and the old twat was going to shoot his sons. She didn't mind witnessing the three men's deaths at all though. Surely, they must've prepared themselves for it when they'd been planning the entire betrayal.

"Sorry you had to see that," she muttered, stealing her gaze from their horrified ones. Or maybe from Klaus' eyes that shone golden from where he was standing right behind their backs.

She knew the two brothers' fates before they could've even battled whether to try and negotiate a deal or not.

One of the chains which she had been tied to earlier, was wrapped around Klaus' fist.

In the blink of her eyes, both of the brothers had begun choking. The same chain wrapped around their throats; their backs pressed together. If one tried to pull the chain away from their neck, the other brother would choke to death.

Damon was coughing out his spare breaths, panic widening his eyes so much that Y/n feared they might pop out of their sockets. His mouth was beginning to lose colour just like his skin. Still, there was the beg for another chance reddening his eyes, but Y/n switched her gaze onto Stefan.

He was wheezing heavily, his throat making loud creaky noises that Y/n, unfortunately, could recognise anywhere, at any time. He was dying faster than Damon, and his eyes were set on hers when they stopped moving.

As his body began to fall forward, the chain around Damon's neck tightened so tightly that his tongue protruded out of his mouth, eyes staring into the void, lifeless.

Y/n took a shuddering breath, then looked at Klaus.

"I'm sorry you had to do this," she whispered, crossing over the two dead bodies to cup his face.

It had been hard to have him feel solace with his existence without having the urge to kill. Almost like trying to get him clean off of a drug addiction.

This had been a relapse, then. And Y/n's stone-cold heart was trembling inside her chest in fear of losing him to the coping addiction again.

But then the golden rim of an eclipse melted like honey into the moss of his eyes, and they crinkled at the corners. He leaned in and rested his forehead on hers.

"This did not happen because of you, remember that," he whispered. "I needed to do this, or I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."

Y/n nodded solemnly. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"I love you," she sobbed, her body shaking as she pushed herself further into Klaus' chest, wanting to hide away from all that was surrounding her. "You are the remedy of all things."

"Always and forever, my love," Klaus smiled, wrapping his arms around her.

"Let's go home," he muttered into her hair and bent down to pick her up like he had on their wedding day.

"No carriages, since the driver will surely take us to the authorities upon seeing us doused in blood and have not a single wound at the same time," he grinned, laughing when she hit his chest.

"I was really excited for this ball," Y/n sighed. "I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"Me too, love," Klaus said, preparing to race through the small town along with the clear wind.

"But it was evanescent, wasn't it? This rage, this murderous urge – it was fleeting?" Y/n asked nervously, hopefully.

Klaus nodded faintly. "I'm offended you'd think I have such low control," he teased, and Y/n breathed a sigh of relief. “My love, this thirst has gone as quickly as it’d come,” he reassured her. 

"Didn't want to kill again but I'm guessing it was for the better, since no one would dare to forget about what the hybrid is capable of for a long time now," smirking, Klaus looked around at the mess he'd made.

“Now let’s go back home,” he smiled and Y/n’s eyes watered as she nodded. 

When Klaus had suspected foul play, he'd felt vontade; a strong desire to do something. So powerful had been his inner drive to remind everyone of his terror that he couldn't have helped himself. The thought of losing Y/n had been petrifying enough.

So, he kicked someone's decapitated head out of his way and strolled outside, already annoyed upon the realisation that in the morning, he’d have to hear about the harrowing news of the horrors found inside the Castle Harrowgate. 

[flwrsuh]

[1] picture you - e.m.

୨୧˚- pairing: eddie munson x best friend! reader. no use of y/n, reader is occasionally referred to by she/her pronouns.

୨୧˚- synopsis: you and eddie have been best friends for years, doing everything together. lately, though, things have started to feel different between you two. [1] [2] [3]

୨୧˚- warnings: slow burn best friends to lovers, no smut in this chapter but i have plans for the future hehe, mutual pining (they’re oblivious), light swearing, use of nicknames (sweetheart, babe, sunshine), maybe slight oc eddie, reader is basically female eddie, 18+ mdni.

୨୧˚- a/n: thank you for reading!! i’m currently working on a part two for this as i’m planning on making it a series! i should have chapter 2 up within the next few days! if you like this, please consider reading my other works or sending an ask <3

୨୧˚- lowercase intended, not edited, 7k+ words.

ೋ✧ my masterlist

ೋ✧ send requests here

: ̗̀➛ listening to ; picture you - chappell roan

eddie, sprawled out on his bed, stared up at the popcorn ceiling as metallica’s ride the lightning lowly filled the room. his bedroom was a chaotic mess of old comic books, empty coke cans, and dirty clothes. with a dramatic sigh, his eyes wandered to the clock on his nightstand. it was already nearing four pm, you were usually over by now.

you barge into his room moments later, not even bothering to knock. you have your eyes covered by your hand just in case, there had been a few times over the years where you’d seen something you didn’t need to, things that stuck with you despite your attempts to forget them. “you decent?”

eddie jolts slightly at the sudden intrusion but immediately relaxes when he hears your voice. he props himself up on his elbows, grinning as he watches you cautiously enter with your hand blocking your vision.

“oh come on, when have I ever been decent?" he laughs, tossing a crumpled-up sock at you. “yeah, yeah, I'm good. no horror shows today, promise. unless you count my laundry pile, that's pretty scary."

he rolls onto his side, gesturing dramatically at the mess around him before patting the space next to him on the bed. “what’s up, sunshine? you look like you’re on a mission."

you uncover your eyes, plopping down beside him on the bed like you owned the place, which at this point, you basically did. there wasn’t anything eddie wouldn’t let you do.

“i got keith from the arcade to promise me free tokens if i pretended to be his girlfriend for like, an hour for his weirdo friends. didn’t i tell you about that?”

eddie chuckles softly, shaking his head as you flop down on the bed. he can't help but find it amusing how comfortable you always were in his space, claiming it as your own and never looking back. he nods appreciatively at your scheme, knowing first hand how keith can be.

“you did tell me about that, yeah," he says, grinning widely. “and i have to say, genius move, sweetheart. getting free tokens and toying with keith’s emotions all in one go, that’s what I call multitasking."

he leans in closer, playful smirk intact. “so, how long’s this little ‘relationship’ gonna last? just till keith’s ego inflates enough, or are we talking full-on arcade royalty status?"

“dude, no. it was a one and done deal.” you scrunch your nose up in mock-disgust, keith wasn’t the worst ever, but he certainly wasn’t what you would consider a good time.

eddie clutches his chest dramatically, rolling onto his back with a loud gasp.

“sweetheart! you heartbreaker!" he throws an arm over his forehead like some swooning victorian heroine. “poor keith’s probably out there right now, sobbing into his pac-man machine, wondering where it all went wrong. did he not score enough for you? was his joystick technique lacking?"

he peeks at you from under his arm, grinning. “at least tell me you got, like, a ludicrous amount of tokens out of it, enough to bankrupt the whole arcade economy.”

“guess you’ll have to come with and find out for yourself, huh?”

eddie raises an eyebrow, instantly perking up at the invitation. he sits up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“you had me at ‘free shit,’” he exclaims. he jumps off the bed and begins rummaging through his closet. “give me ten minutes to make myself mildly presentable, and then we’re out of here.”

“gonna need more than ten minutes, babe.” you used that nickname frequently for all your friends, but he couldn’t help but feel a slight flutter in his stomach every time it was directed at him.

eddie freezes mid-shirt-grab, turning to glare at you, though the effect is ruined by the pink tinge creeping up his neck.

“excuse you," he huffs, tossing the shirt over his shoulder dramatically. “i’ll have you know my natural charm transcends hygiene, but fine, fine, twenty minutes, max… and only because i refuse to let keith think he’s competition."

he starts aggressively shrugging his leather jacket over his band tee, grumbling playfully. “‘babe,’ my ass. next thing i know, you’ll be trading me for tokens."

“i’d trade you for less than tokens.”

eddie clutches his chest, feigning hurt.

“ouch, sweetheart. that one stung. can you remind me why we’re still friends, again?” he playfully glares at you, but his eyes betray a hint of affection. he throws on his faded denim vest over his jacket and rummages through the pockets for his wallet and keys.

“hm, because you love me and you’d be nothing without my friendship? or something like that.” you respond, a cute grin plastered across your face. this teasing, the lightheartedness, it had always been so comfortable between you two.

eddie rolls his eyes affectionately, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “yeah, something like that, i guess." he finally locates his keys and wallet on the nightstand, shoving them into his jacket pockets before turning to you. you’re sprawled out casually on his bed, and for a moment, he can't help but appreciate the scene, the familiarity of your dynamic, the way you just seem to fit perfectly in his space.

“alright, alright. let’s go bankrupt this arcade, shall we?" he gestures towards the door. “after you, oh token queen."

you laugh at the voice he puts on, hopping down from the bed and leading him down the short hall to the front door. “hey, you know if buckley’s working today? might stop in for a sec to see her, if that’s cool.”

eddie shakes his head as he opens the door for you, his hand instinctively finding its way to the small of your back as you step out of the trailer.

“beats me, but i wouldn't be surprised. that girl practically lives in there."

his gaze travels to you as you make your way to his van, his tone returning to its usual teasing tone, eddie never being one to stay serious for long. “trying to snag a rental deal from your favorite video clerk, huh? i see how it is."

“believe it or not, eds, i do have other friends,” you shoot back playfully.

“say it ain't so!" he gasps, eyes wide and comically pained. “you mean to tell me i’m not the center of your universe? i’m crushed. devastated, even." he makes a show of swooning, pretending to collapse against the side of his van with his hand on his forehead.

“dork,” you can’t ever seem to hide your smile when he’s around. climbing into your seat in the passenger side, you immediately starts rifling through his tape collection, which is fittingly a bunch of cassettes thrown haphazardly into an old shoebox that he kept in the van.

eddie watches you with a mixture of amusement and mock annoyance as you start going through his tapes. he slides into the driver's seat, shaking his head fondly.

“you know, you could always ask before digging through a man's personal belongings. it’s called respect," he says, though there's no real sharpness to his tone.

he glances sidelong at the shoebox you’re flipping through and can't help but feel a twinge of affection. you were the only person he'd let get away with that, you both knew it.

you glance up, narrowing your eyes in his direction. “since when do you have boundaries?”

eddie snorts as he starts the van, the engine roaring to life with its usual cacophony.

“fair point," he concedes, flashing you a grin. “guess i should just be grateful you're not tossing 'em out the window this time,” he shakes his head, remembering past instances where you’d dramatically ejected tapes mid-drive because you 'couldn't handle another minute of that whiny-ass guitar solo.'

he leans over, nudging her shoulder playfully. “just don't lose my black sabbath tape again. took me three weeks to find it last time, turns out it was under your seat, you little gremlin."

“it’s your fault for feeding me after midnight,” you joke with a slight smirk, popping whatever metallica tape he had in the van’s cassette player out and replacing it with a dio one you picked from the shoebox.

eddie groans dramatically as you swap out his tape, though he can't help but feel a flicker of affection at your choice of replacement. dio was his second favorite after all, and the fact that you knew that felt oddly endearing.

“you have no respect for the classics, you know that? 'master of puppets’ was revolutionary, a masterpiece of thrash metal, and you just... tossed it aside like yesterday's garbage." he mock-pouts, his tone entirely playful.

“and we’ve heard it a million times by now. broaden your horizons, my friend.”

eddie can't argue with that, so he huffs in faux-irritation instead. “fine, fine. have it your way, musical tyrant."

he looks over at you, unable to keep the smirk off his face. “but i get to choose next, alright? can’t have you hogging all the airtime.”

he reaches over, messing up your already tousled hair playfully before turning his attention back to the road.

once eddie pulls into the arcade parking lot, you hop out of the passenger side, already making your way to the family video in the shared lot.

“i’ll meet you over there, get my tokens from keith pleaseeee,” you call out from where you now stand on the sidewalk. eddie leans out the driver’s side window, squinting after your retreating form.

“oh, so now i’m just your token-fetching lackey?" he calls, shaking his head but already stepping out of the van. he shoves his hands in his pockets, shouting after you, “fine, but if keith tries to bond with me over his ‘broken heart,’ i’m charging you emotional labor fees!"

with a dramatic sigh, he turns toward the arcade, muttering under his breath with a grin, “little menace, i swear.”

the bell above the door at family video dings when you enter, moving straight to the counter where steve harrington sits rewinding tapes, looking bored out of his mind.

“harrington, buckley in today?” you ask, leaning on your forearms on the counter.

steve glances up from the rewinding machine, flashing you his trademark ‘king steve’ smirk, though it’s lost some of its old cockiness over the years. he leans back in his chair, arms crossing.

“munson’s better half graces us with her presence," he drawls, nodding toward the horror section. “robin’s wrestling with the vhs display. again. pretty sure ‘poltergeist’ is eating her alive as we speak."

he eyes you with playful suspicion. “you here to actually rent something this time, or just to corrupt my employees with your… questionable tastes?" he gestures vaguely at your outfit, grunge-chic, complete with a homemade hellfire t-shirt.

“okay, rude, and after i’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

steve snorts, rolling his eyes affectionately.

“oh sure, you're a dream,” he counters, sarcasm dripping from his words. “you and munson, terrorizing this town since middle school. real angels, the both of you."

his smirk softens a bit as he glances over at the horror section again, seeing a flash of robin's shoe disappearing behind a shelf.

“seriously though, she's back there somewhere… probably buried in a pile of tapes by now."

“thanks, harrington! a pleasure, as always,” you scurry off to the horror section, catching a glimpse of the messy bun of wild hair pulled up on robin’s head. as you round the shelves into the horror section, you find robin with tapes scattered around her, doing her best to re-alphabetize them all.

“hey, sunshine. you look absolutely thrilled to be here.”

“oh yeah, i’m having a grand ole time over here," robin replies wryly, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “just living the dream, trapped in a sea of movies. it’s the life i always wanted. why are you here?”

“stealing you, it’s arcade night. harrington gave you the go ahead to leave early.” steve’s voice carries from where he still sits behind the counter, “did not!”

robin perks up at that, the prospect of skipping the rest of her shift lifting her spirits already. you just shake your head at steve’s response, signaling for robin to ignore him. robin starts gathering her things quickly before steve can stop her, stuffing her vest under the counter and booking it towards where you wait at the door.

“i could kiss you for that,” she pauses, looking you over with a smirk. “nice shirt, by the way.”

your eyes narrow slightly at her last comment. “you’re still on this?” you didn’t have to specify what you meant, robin had been trying to tell you that eddie was obsessed with you since like, middle school, though, you never paid it any mind. you were friends, nothing more, nothing less.

you push open the door, walking ahead to the arcade as robin follows suit. “i mean, seriously, rob. you know it’s not like that.”

robin grins slyly, raising an eyebrow at your reaction. she knows exactly what button to press to get under her friend's skin.

“oh come on. you can deny it all you want, but the shirt speaks for itself." robin teases, gesturing at the obvious hellfire club logo on the shirt. “he might as well have embroidered 'property of munson' on the back."

she steps closer, nudging you playfully.

“face it, you two are practically attached at the hip."

you roll your eyes, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “oh, you mean the shirt that everyone in the club wears? super telling, you got me. and besides, we’re best friends, so what if we hang out all the time?”

robin rolls her eyes dramatically, throwing her hands up in mock surrender.

“sure, sure. whatever helps you sleep at night," she says, her smirk widening. “just know that everyone else sees it. you two are basically hawkins' most obvious slow-burn romance."

once you two enter the arcade, the lights are bright, draping the room in neon while sounds of various games fill the air. eddie's leaning against the ms. pac-man machine, waiting for you. his eyes light up as he spots you and robin approaching. he straightens up, pushing himself off the machine with a lazy grin.

“hey there, trouble,” he greets, nodding at robin before his gaze shifts to focus on you, as it always did.

you subconsciously move right to his side, tucking yourself against him easily, right in between him and the machine.

eddie tenses slightly when you slide into the space beside him, close, too close, but he doesn't move away. instead, he adjusts his arm almost instinctively, letting it drape loosely over your shoulders in a familiar, possessive gesture.

“got your tokens," he murmurs, shaking the paper cup of arcade coins in front of your face before pressing it into your hands. “keith looked devastated, by the way. you monster."

his smirk is playful, but there's something softer in the way his fingers linger against yours as he passes the cup, brief, almost unnoticeable, but robin notices it. of course she does.

“oh yeah? well, if you’re interested, i heard he’s newly single.”

eddie snorts loudly, pulling you closer against his side in a playful half-hug, though his grip lingers just a second too long to be casual.

“hard pass," he drawls, wrinkling his nose. “unless we're talking about stealing his high score on dragon's lair, then maybe i’ll consider it."

he leans down slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper just for you: “besides, i have standards, and they start and end with not smelling like stale nacho cheese."

you hum in response, a smile curling your lips, “hey, look at you with standards. i’m proud of you, never thought i’d see the day.”

eddie lets out another snort, giving you a playful nudge.

"ah, you know me," he says with a shrug.

he stops abruptly, eyes lighting up as he spots the rows of pinball machines a few feet away.

“hey, you think they fixed that one with the busted tilt yet?" he asks, already starting toward the machines. he glances back at you, raising an eyebrow when he sees you and robin already following. “bet i can beat your record on medieval madness."

“oh, please. you wish," you fire back, tossing a token at him, deliberately missing his head by inches. “remember the last time you tried? you literally flipped the machine; the attendant still glares at you."

robin snickers, falling into step beside you. “yeah, munson. maybe stick to games that don’t involve your temper."

“the disrespect in this arcade is unreal, truly,” he responds dramatically, but he’s already slotting the token in, rolling up his sleeves with exaggerated determination. “prepare to bow before the pinball king."

you lean against the pinball machine, watching eddie with an amused smirk as he jabs at the flipper buttons with unnecessary aggression.

“careful, your majesty," you tease, “wouldn't want another royal meltdown."

robin cackles from beside you as eddie's ball immediately drains between the flippers. he slaps the machine dramatically, earning a harsh look from the older woman whose job it was to ‘respect the machines’ or whatever it was that she yelled at him last time.

“rigged! this is bullshit—"

you laugh, shaking your head as you step in to take your turn. you drop in a token with practiced ease, fingers hovering over the buttons. “watch and learn, munson."

the machine lights up as you send the first ball flying, settling into a rhythm, smooth, calculated, effortlessly racking up points. eddie watches, arms crossed, but there's no hiding the proud grin tugging at his lips.

“yeah, yeah...show-off."

robin glances between you two, shaking her head. "hopeless."

eddie leans his elbows on the machine beside you, chin propped in his hands as he watches you effortlessly rack up points. his grin is equal parts exasperated and awed.

“okay, seriously, when did you get so good at this?" he huffs, nudging your shoulder with his own. “are you secretly training at, like, arcade boot camp while i sleep? is there a pinball dojo i don’t know about?"

robin, meanwhile, has already started wandering off to the concessions counter, calling over her shoulder: “give it up, munson! you’re never gonna beat her!"

eddie flips her off half-heartedly, but his attention snaps back to you as you nail a perfect combo, the machine erupting in flashing lights and fanfare, lighting up your features. he whistles low under his breath.

“alright, that’s it. i’m officially demoting myself to cheerleader." he throws an arm around your shoulders, shaking you lightly as he whoops, “go, sweetheart, go! destroy the capitalist machine!"

his laughter rings loud and bright over the arcade chaos, untamed, unguarded, utterly, stupidly happy.

"capitalist machine?" you snort, still focused on the game but leaning slightly into his side, close enough that you can feel the rumble of his laughter. “real revolutionary of you."

the ball finally drains, your score flashing high above the leaderboard. you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, smirk sharp. “and now you wanna cheer for me? where was this energy when i was wiping the floor with you?"

eddie opens his mouth to retort, but robin suddenly reappears, tossing a handful of popcorn at them both.

“get a room," she deadpans, jerking a thumb toward the skee-ball lanes. “i’m stealing your tokens for actual competition."

eddie flips her off again, but his arm hasn’t moved from around your shoulders. "jealousy’s ugly, buckley!"

you just laugh, nudging him toward the lanes, “c’mon, cheerleader. let’s go whoop some ass in skee-ball."

you fall into an easy rhythm as you take your places at the skee-ball lanes, your banter flowing as effortlessly as your throws. your focus darts between the targets, your aim steady and precise. eddie’s right behind you, his tongue caught between his lips as he tosses balls into the higher-scoring slots, and somehow, accidentally hitting the ones near yours every single time. why he chose to team up with you instead of choosing his own lane, you’d never know.

you roll your eyes, turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “you do know this isn’t team skee-ball, right? you don't have to hog my targets."

“oops," he drawls, the picture of innocence, but his smirk says otherwise. he steps closer, leaning over your shoulder as he lines up his throw. “my fault, guess my aim just tends to...drift sometimes."

his voice is low, tinged with a hint of mischief as he casually rests his chin on your shoulder, close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your ear. a strange rush of something warm and unexpected flutters in your stomach, but you ignore it, focusing on your throw and purposely hitting the lowest slot.

eddie straightens abruptly, blinking at the measly points you just scored. “the hell was that?" he demands, gesturing at the board like you’ve personally just betrayed him. “you were literally hitting the 50-point slot five seconds ago… did my presence short-circuit your motor skills or something?"

robin, mid-throw from the next lane over, cackles. “oh my god, you two are insufferable."

you just shrug, suddenly very interested in examining your chipping nail polish. “hm? must be losing my touch."

eddie squints at you suspiciously, then, like a switch flipping, grins, slinging an arm around your neck and tugging you into a noogie. “bullshit, you’re tanking to make me look better. admit it."

you yelp, shoving at him, but he doesn’t let go, just laughs, bright and unrestrained, and suddenly the arcade feels ten degrees warmer.

“i am not tanking, you paranoid lunatic—" you’re laughing as you try to push him off, but his grip is too tight, and you both devolve into a brief scuffle right there in the middle of the lanes, your breathless laughter echoing off the cheap plastic surrounding you.

you finally manage to break free, backing away before he can grab you again. “stop it, you weirdo! i’m winning this game!"

“like hell you are,” he smirks, already loading up another throw. “i see right through your tactics, sweetheart."

you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you line up your own shot, but you’re struggling not to smile, the warmth from earlier creeping back up your neck, spreading through your body. “you've seen right through me, genius. i guess it was inevitable."

you throw effortlessly, the ball landing perfectly in the 100-point slot. you turn to him, eyebrow quirked, and can't help a little triumphant grin, “what was that about my motor skills?"

eddie throws his hands up dramatically, the remaining tokens in the cup jingling as he staggers back like he's been shot.

“betrayal! sabotage! you were playing mind games this whole time!"

robin watches the show, too distracted by eddie’s dramatized loss to notice her own game ending. “you realize normal people just play skee-ball, right? without the dramatic monologues?"

eddie groans at robin’s teasing without looking at her, eyes locked on you, challenging, bright, alight with that competitive spark you know so well. “alright, hotshot. best two out of three. no holding back this time."

he steps up to the lane beside you, shoulder brushing yours deliberately as he drops his token in. the machine lights up, casting his grin in neon.

and for once, you don’t mind losing, not when it means watching him celebrate like an over-caffeinated puppy, not when his laughter drowns out the arcade chaos, not when his hand finds yours after, tugging you toward the next game like he'd forget you if he let go.

soon after, the two of you find yourselves leaning over a brightly colored claw machine, various stuffed animals scattered about inside. you watch as eddie fishes around in his cup for more tokens, you were already running low. “god, you don’t have to keep playing these scams, you know," you protest, “they rig them so you can't win."

he just grins, dropping another token into the machine with a dismissive wave. “oh, ye of little faith. i’m gonna win you something, even if it takes all night."

eddie jams the joystick with excessive force, tongue poking out in concentration as he maneuvers the claw over a particularly goofy-looking stuffed frog, “c'mon, c'mon..."

the claw drops, snags the frog, lifts—

“yes! ha!" eddie smacks the glass triumphantly as the frog tumbles into the chute. "undefeated champion of bullshit arcade games, baby!"

he bends to retrieve his prize, shoving it proudly into your hands. “for you, m'lady. a majestic frog... prince? whatever. it's ugly as hell, just like you." his smirk softens, just for a second, as his fingers brush yours. “…told you i’d get you something."

“thanks, loser,” you turn the stuffed frog over in your hands, grinning down at his silly little face. “i’m naming him ‘splat.’”

eddie raises an eyebrow, feigned outrage flashing across his face. “splat? splat?" he shakes his head vehemently, as if personally offended by the choice. “we can't name our son splat. that's a horrible name, sweetheart. we have to make it cool, something badass."

he ponders for a moment, stroking his chin dramatically, and you can't help but laugh, anticipating the ridiculousness.

“how about...gargantua? that sounds, i dunno, epic, right? and it suits his...uniqueness.”

you hold up the frog to his face, ignoring his idea for a name change, and tilt your head a bit to get a better look at them. “he has your eyes.”

eddie squints at the frog, then down at you with faux-offense. “he does not have my eyes," he insists, but his protests are half-hearted at best. he can’t keep the smile off his face.

he takes the frog from you, inspecting it with exaggerated seriousness, turning it every which way with a thoughtful hum. then, suddenly, “actually, yeah, i see it. he’s totally got my eyes.”

“that roadkill stare.”

he steps back, dramatically cradling splat against his shoulder. “don't worry, kid. i'll protect you from your cruel, vicious mother."

you roll your eyes, but you can't hide the amused smirk tugging at your lips, especially when eddie whispers to the frog, “yeah, she's mean, but we love her anyway."

you laugh, shaking your head, you’re trying to keep her expression neutral, but eddie’s antics make it impossible. you reach out to snatch splat back from him.

“yeah, yeah, keep mocking me. just remember," you wiggle the frog between you two. “he’s your legacy now."

robin, who’s been watching this whole interaction with an exasperated but fond expression, tosses her hands up. “i’m getting a soda. when you two are done with… whatever this is, meet me at dig dug."

eddie salutes her with a grin, then turns back to you, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “so, where does splat sleep? my place or yours?"

you shove him lightly, but you’re still grinning. “oh, he’s definitely your problem."

eddie clutches splat to his chest, gasping in mock horror. “you’d abandon your own child? cold. ice cold."

and as he throws an arm around your shoulders, frog squished between you, laughter bouncing off neon-lit walls—it feels, for once, like something more than just friendship. something neither of you dare to name yet.

after robin gets her soda, you all three meet back up at the dig dug machine. you get there slightly before eddie, sliding in next to robin right as she loses. she groans in annoyance at yet again not being able to beat keith’s high score, backing up to give you a try at it. you jokingly put splat over the controls, grinning over at eddie. “look, eds, baby’s first dig dug.”

eddie’s entire face lights up, his grin splitting ear-to-ear, eyes crinkling at the corners, as he watches you press splat's tiny frog hands against the dig dug joystick. his heart does something dangerously close to a backflip.

“oh my god," he breathes, voice thick with fake awe, “he's a natural. look at him go!"

he crouches down next to the machine, pointing at the screen like an overenthusiastic parent at a little league game. “see that, robin? that’s my boy! he’s got the vision!”

robin, mid-sip of her soda, nearly chokes. “you two are disgusting,” she wheezes, but she's grinning too.

you’re still laughing, fingers curled around splat's little arms as you ‘help’ him play, and eddie can't tear his eyes away. the arcade lights catch in your hair, your smile bright enough to outshine every pixel on the screen. his chest starts to feel weirdly tight, almost painful.

eddie leans against the dig dug machine, trying to hide his smile in his sleeve, but he can't help his shoulders shaking with the force of his suppressed laughter as the game flashes ‘game over’ on the screen.

“oh man, too bad," he drawls, a mock-sympathetic tut to his tone as he ruffles splat's froggy head. “better luck next time, kid."

you glance at him, the ghost of a grin still on your lips. “he's got potential, though, he was really feeling the rhythm for a second there."

he nods solemnly, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “the raw talent is undeniable. maybe he takes after his old man."

robin groans, tossing her now empty soda cup at them. “i’m gonna lose my mind if i have to witness this frog parenting arc any longer."

eddie catches the cup mid-air, grinning. “sorry, buckley. you’re stuck with us and our emotionally complex amphibian son."

you nudge him with your elbow, but you don’t argue, just begin adjusting splat’s lopsided limbs with exaggerated care, as if he’s a prized heirloom. eddie watches, chest warm, and thinks that this might be the best night he’s ever had.

the arcade lights flicker as the three of them fall into an easy rhythm. robin groaning at eddie’s terrible dig dug skills, you loudly coaching splat through another doomed game, eddie stealing sips of your soda when you’re not looking. the tokens dwindle, the scores climb (or don’t), and somewhere between the neon glow and the sound of quarters rattling in the change machine, eddie realizes—

“shit," he mutters, glancing at his watch. “wayne’s gonna kill me. i was supposed to help him fix the damn water heater like two hours ago."

you laugh, adjusting splat’s floppy arm around your shoulder like a proud parent. “tell him it was an emergency. parent-teacher conference for splat.”

eddie snorts, but he’s already reaching for his jacket, fishing his keys from the pocket. he hesitates, glancing at you and robin. “you guys good to get home? i can drop you—"

robin waves him off. “please, go. before your uncle grounds you or whatever."

you shift the frog toy to one arm, nudging eddie toward the door. “yeah, yeah, get out of here. splat and i will be fine."

eddie lingers for a second, just long enough to flick the frog’s ear and grin at you, something soft and unreadable in his expression. “take care of our kid," he teases, backing toward the exit. “i’ll see you tomorrow."

and then he’s gone, ducking out into the cool hawkins night, but the arcade feels warmer, somehow, even after he leaves. you look down at splat’s lopsided face and roll your eyes affectionately.

robin sighs, leaning against the machine. “you’re welcome, by the way."

you blink, “for what?"

robin just smirks, popping another token into dig dug. “for not mentioning how obvious you two are—"

“don’t.”

robin’s smirk sharpens, she knows she touched a nerve. “what? in denial?" she asks casually, focused on the game, but you know there’s nothing casual about it.

you roll your eyes, fidgeting with splat’s ears. “we’re just…friends. always have been. that’s it." but your words sound weak, even to your own ears, and robin shoots you a knowing look, one eyebrow raised, “you trying to convince me or yourself?”

you exhale sharply through your nose, refusing to dignify that with an answer. instead, you turn the frog’s dopey face toward robin like a tiny, fabric jury.

“splat agrees with me," you declare, petulant, stubborn, entirely unconvincing. “right, buddy?"

robin doesn’t even glance at the frog, just keeps playing the game, her smirk audible in her voice: “mmhmm, real convincing when you’re using a stuffed animal as your wingman."

you chuck a stray token at her, which robin easily dodges, cackling, and splat, ever the silent observer, says nothing. though, if he could talk, you doubt he’d back you up anyway, there was no denying the presence of something between you and eddie tonight, whenever it may mean. “i’m going home. come on, son, let’s get outta here.”

robin watches as you hurry past her, splat clutched to your chest. she shakes her head, exasperated by her friend’s stubbornness. “run away, just don’t expect to outrun the truth forever!”

“i’m not running!” you call back as you push your way out the glass door of the arcade. the irony in your actions isn’t lost on you, but you’d be damned if you gave robin the satisfaction.

the cool night air hits your face as you step outside, the glow of the arcade fading behind you. splat dangles limply from your grip, his stupid little frog face judging you silently.

“don’t you start," you mutter, readjusting him under your arm.

but the truth lingers in the air, heavy, undeniable, as you quickly walk home under the hawkins streetlights, heart racing faster than your footsteps.

as you near your place in forest hills, you spot the old trailer in the distance, the familiar beat-up van parked in the driveway. you stop by the curb, staring at the faint light spilling from the window.

a part of you wants to turn around, a part of you wants to keep walking, keep running, never face the truth, but a bigger part of you—the stubborn, hopeful part you thought you’d lost, somewhere along the way, stops you.

“screw it," you whisper. “let’s get this over with."

you take a deep breath and march up to eddie's trailer, splat clutched tight under your arm like a tiny, ridiculous security blanket. before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, harder than necessary, the sound sharp against the quiet night.

the door swings open almost immediately, like he was waiting. eddie leans against the frame, grease-streaked shirt and slightly mussed hair, eyes widening a bit at the sight of you showing up so late. “sweetheart? you good?"

you shove splat against his chest before he can finish. “here. you forgot your kid."

eddie blinks down at the frog, then back up at you; confusion, amusement, or something else entirely flickering in his gaze. “uh. thanks?"

you cross your arms, chin jutting stubbornly. “and robin’s being annoying."

his lips twitch, “so, a tuesday."

you glare at him, but there’s no heat in it, just exhaustion, frustration, the weight of everything unspoken between you. eddie sobers abruptly, studying your face. then, gently, knowing something was bothering you, “wanna come in?"

you hesitate. splat’s beady eyes seem to bore into your soul. finally, you exhale sharply. “yeah. yeah, i do."

eddie grins, bright, real, and steps aside. “cool. munson family reunion." and just like that, the running stops.

the trailer smells like oil and burnt popcorn, but it’s warm, warmer than the empty street outside. eddie kicks a pile of laundry off the couch with one foot, gesturing for you to sit. you collapse onto the worn cushions, splat tumbling from eddie’s grip onto the coffee table. he lands with a soft plop, staring blankly at the ceiling like a tiny, tragic martyr.

eddie snorts, flopping down beside you. “damn. kid’s seen some shit tonight."

you bite your lip. the silence stretches, not uncomfortable, but charged, like the air before a storm. eddie picks at a loose thread on his jeans, then clears his throat.

“so, robin?”

you groan, tipping your head back against the couch. “ugh. don’t—"

“what?" he grins, nudging your knee with his. “she say something weird? shock me."

you peek at him sideways. his smile’s easy, but his fingers are drumming restless against his thigh. you recognize the tell—eddie munson is nervous. it was rare for him to show it.

you swallow, “just… typical robin stuff. you know how she is."

eddie hums, studying splat like the frog holds the answers to the universe. “yeah. yeah, i do."

another pause; the clock on the wall ticks on, filling the silence.

“sweetheart,” his voice is quieter now, serious. “we’re… good, right?"

your chest tightens. you glance at him, really look at him; the way his brows pinch, the way he’s waiting for your answer like it matters, like you matter. something in you cracks.

“eds." you reach over, flicking splat’s dumb frog foot. “we have a child together. of course we’re good."

eddie’s laugh bursts out of him, sudden and bright, tension shattering like glass. he slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, the press of him against you warm and familiar.

"damn straight," he murmurs, squeezing you tight. “munson family values."

you roll your eyes, but you don't pull away, just lean into him, letting him ground you to the beat-up couch, the worn carpet, the familiar clutter of the munson trailer.

as you settle against his side, you can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat. familiar, something you didn't realize you'd missed until it was there again. something warm and terrifying blooms in your chest.

for a minute, you don't talk. you just exist in the space between the clock-ticking, eddie's arm around you, splat staring at the ceiling.

"hey, sweetheart?"

you blink, “yeah?”

eddie's fingers are tracing circles on your shoulder, absently, like he doesn't even know he's doing it. “promise me something."

you lift your head to look at him, eyes searching his face. it's serious, but a tiny, teasing grin still tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“depends," you counter, trying to match his light tone, trying not to let your heart jump at how close you are, how easy it would be to lean in. “what kind of promise?"

his hand still moves gently against your shoulder, tracing a lazy path up to your collarbone. “no matter what… we stay friends, right? no matter what anyone says or what happens, you and me, we’re good."

his eyes are locked onto yours, something almost frantic in them, like you're a line he can't afford to lose.

it’s an easy answer, “of course," you whisper. “always, you and me, munson." you hold out your pinky finger like a little kid, waiting for him to hook his around it.

he stares down at your outstretched pinky for a moment, something flickering in his eyes. then, a slow smile spreads across his face, and he hooks his pinky around yours, squeezing hard.

“always," he promises, his voice quiet. “me and you."

you let the moment stretch, the room warm and soft around you, then, slowly, reluctantly, you pull away. you lean back into the couch, putting some space between you.

the distance feels too wide suddenly, the couch too big. eddie exhales, sharp, unsteady, and scrubs a hand through his hair.

“okay, cool. cool. just—" he gestures vaguely at splat, abandoned on the table. “so, uh. joint custody, then? or—“

you snort, kicking his shin lightly. “shut up." he grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

he drops his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them now, looking away, at anything but you. it's suddenly too hot in his vicinity, like all the oxygen's been sucked from the room.

you clear your throat, fingers curling against the worn cushion. “you… ever think about the future, eds?"

his head jerks up like you've hit him, wide-eyed, almost startled. he stares at you for a second, then laughs, but it sounds forced.

“what, like, college and shit?"

you shrug, picking at a loose thread on the couch, anything to avoid his gaze. “yeah, or i dunno just… what comes next?”

eddie’s quiet for a beat, when he finally speaks again, his voice has a softness he rarely used, “i think about it," he admits. “mostly when wayne starts asking if i wanna take over the garage someday." he rubs the back of his neck. “but… i dunno. feels like the future’s this big, weird thing that’s just gonna happen to me, y’know?"

you glance up, his expression is unreadable, half-shadowed by the dim trailer light, half-open in a way that makes your stomach twist. “what about you?" he asks. “got any grand plans?"

you hesitate, the truth sits heavy on your tongue. “i think… i just wanna be happy. whatever that means.”

eddie’s eyes flicker, something raw flashing through them, before he grins, nudging your knee with his. “yeah. yeah, that’s a good plan."

eventually, you push yourself off the couch, stretching. eddie watches you, eyes tracing the line of your back, the slope of your shoulders, the way your shirt pulls tight against your skin.

his fingers twitch, as if he wants to reach out. then he clears his throat, shoving them into his pockets. “you, uh, leaving?”

you hesitate at the door, splat dangling from your fingers. the quiet between you is thick with everything unsaid, the ghost of eddie's pinky curled around yours.

“yeah," you say finally, forcing a smirk. “someone’s gotta tuck splat in."

eddie leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, but his grin doesn’t reach his eyes this time. “right. parental duties."

you take a step back, the night air cool against your skin as he pushes the door open for you. “see you tomorrow?"

he nods, thumb hooking into his belt loop like he’s anchoring himself. “tomorrow."

and as you walk away, splat swinging at your side, you pretend not to hear the way eddie’s voice cracks when he calls after you,

“hey, wait—“

you turn, he’s silhouetted in the trailer light, all wild hair and restless hands. “we’re gonna be happy."

it’s not a question. it’s a vow. you smile, small, real. “yeah, eds. we are."

the walk home is quiet, just the hum of distant streetlights and the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot. splat swings gently from your hand, his button eyes catching the glow of the moon. the night feels endless, like you're suspended between moments, between past and future, between friendship and whatever this other thing is, pulsing under your ribs.

[writteninkat]

Man On a Mission | Daryl Dixon x Reader

synopsis: You took Daryl’s virginity thinking it would be sweet, slow, and maybe a little awkward. What you didn’t expect was to awaken the most dangerous creature alive: a touch-starved man with stamina, a mouth, and zero shame when it comes to getting you alone. Anywhere. Anytime.

w/c: 5.5k

warnings: horny daryl, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, semi-public sex, semi-exhibitionism, oral!f&m receiving, fingering

a/n: enjoy :)))

navigation

Your back hurts.

As well as your thighs, arms, shoulders—hell, every single part of your body aches like you’ve just gone a few rounds with a pack of walkers. You groan softly, shifting on the mattress with all the grace of a creaky door hinge. The moment you roll over, the sunlight slices through the thin curtains and straight into your squinting eyes like some divine punishment.

“Mmm… five more minutes…” your boyfriend mumbles behind you, voice gravelly and thick with sleep. His chest rumbles as he speaks, the vibration pressing warm and low into your spine. Without even lifting his head, he tightens his arms around you, dragging you flush against his body. His heat bleeds into you, wrapping around you like a second blanket.

You frown, glancing down at your bare body and the constellation of bruises blooming across your inner thighs. Deep red turning into a light purple. There’s more, too—faint, raw marks on your chest and shoulders, no doubt mirrored on your neck and probably in a few other places you can’t even check without a mirror. You blink slowly, your body catching up to the memory your brain is only now processing.

“Baby—” you start, voice low and suspicious as you slowly lift yourself up, trying to peel yourself out of his hold. “What the hell did you do to me last night?”

Daryl groans into your back, refusing to move. His lips brush your skin as he speaks, voice muffled and lazy.

“Ya really wanna ask me that?” he drawls, a smirk tugging at his words. “Maybe you oughta be askin’ what you’re doin’ to me.”

Before you can respond, he rolls his hips against your ass, grinding his very much awake erection into your cheeks. You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as your body heats all over again.

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” you tease, amusement lacing your voice.

Before he can answer, there’s a sharp bang on the bedroom door that startles you both. Rick’s voice comes through loud and clear.

“C’mon, lovebirds! We got a whole day’s work waitin’. Let’s go!”

You sigh, already reaching for the nearest piece of clothing—Daryl’s shirt, of course—and tug it over your head, not bothering with your bottoms. You give his shoulder a pat, like waking a stubborn dog.

“C’mon,” you say, finally slipping out of his grasp. He groans again, louder this time, dramatically flopping onto his back like you just took a piece of his soul with you.

You make it to your feet, stretching with a hiss, and start toward the door. But before you can open it, you glance back. Daryl’s lying there under the thin sheet, staring up at the ceiling like it personally insulted him.

“Problem?” you ask, hand on the doorknob.

He looks at you like you’re the idiot—like there’s something blindingly obvious and you’re just not getting it. He doesn’t say a word. Just holds your gaze for a beat… then drops his eyes meaningfully to the tented sheet barely covering him.

You raise an eyebrow, slowly. The silent question hangs between you: What the hell do you expect me to do about it?

He lets out a low chuckle and smirks like the devil himself. “C’mon, babydoll… don’t leave me hangin’.”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “No, you come on,” you snap back. “Help me with breakfast.”

And with that, you stomp off toward the kitchen, the hardwood floor cold against your bare legs. You start brewing coffee on autopilot, reaching into the fridge for prepped ingredients. There may be undead clawing at the gates of Alexandria, but you will have your avocado toast. You will sprinkle your chia bowl with banana slices and a drizzle of honey. The world might’ve ended, but your standards haven’t.

Daryl, of course, gets bacon-wrapped hotdogs. Because he’s a gremlin.

As the bacon starts to sizzle in the pan and the scent of roasted coffee fills the space, you let out a soft sigh. Mornings like this are rare—quiet, domestic, a little absurd.

Then you feel him.

Strong arms snake around your waist, slow and heavy, pulling you back into his chest. He dips his head, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, then another along your neck, up behind your ear, each one slower than the last.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, voice thick and husky.

“Good morning, baby,” you reply, feeling him twitch slightly at the petname. He hates them—claims it ain’t his style—but as long as you don’t use them around other people, he lets it slide.

For now.

“You want hotdogs?” you ask, turning slightly toward him. “Not that it matters. They’re already in the pan. And if you start actin’ like a spoiled brat again, I swear to God I’ll hang you by your nuts.”

You feel his grin against your neck more than you see it. He doesn’t even bother looking at the food. Instead, he just buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in deep.

“Mmm…” he drawls lowly. “Do you want hotdogs?”

And just like that, he presses his hips forward again—grinding his now fully clothed erection into the curve of your ass. Your hands shoot out, gripping the edge of the counter just to stay upright.

“Daryl,” you warn.

He doesn’t answer. Just chuckles, warm and low, before muttering against your skin:

"One last time?"

You feel like an idiot believing his pretty little lies. He had pushed the edge of his shirt up, exposing your bare ass before lightly slapping it once—twice, three times.

"Fuck, can't believe this' all mine..." He sucked in a breath before squeezing your hips, simply admiring your ass. Before you could complain, he had pushed two fingers inside you. A soft whimper slips past your lips at the feeling of his fingers immediately being coated in slick.

"Ya really kept me inside you? Didn't even wash up?" He whispers, pumping his fingers softly as his cum from last night lubricates his digits. "Mmmm, that's so fuckin' hot."

You arch your back at him, throwing your head back onto his shoulder as your breathing turns labored, eyes tightly shut and hands squeezing the cold counter.

"Turn off the stove." He commands, you immediately follow his order before he's pulling you to the side, harshly pushing your torso down on the counter.

"Fuckin' love it when my bitch is obedient." A deaperate moan slips past your lips, feeling his fingers pumping faster and harsher inside you.

Early in the morning, before the clock even struck eight, you're already nearing a soul-shattering orgasm. What the hell is up with your boyfriend and why is he getting so insatiable?

Before you could jump over the edge, he pulls his fingers back, earning a needy whimper from you. You're met with a chuckle as your leg is being lifted up, knee resting on the counter.

You're left with no time to think about what comes next when Daryl pushes himself inside you, moans slipping past both your lips. Well—slipping from yours. Daryl grows like he's angry he even pulled out.

Hips squeezed and cunt fill of him, the both of you take a moment to just feel each other. Him with your warm, slick walls and you with his hard, thick, pulsing member. And then he moves, still tightly squeezing your hips. And then he moves again. And again. And again, and again—

Skin slapping fills the room as he grabs onto your shoulder, driving deeply inside and out of you. Daryl's grunts join the noise, until the both of you are moaning the walls down, desperately trying to claw at your orgasms.

"C'mon, baby. Fuck—c'mon," He breathes out, thrusts becoming more desperate, more erratic as he chases his own high. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you push yourself up, leaning against his chest as he bites and nips on your neck, for sure leaving marks.

"Oh yes, fuck yes!" His moans come from his chest, deep and rumbling. His hips shake as he bottoms out inside you, digging his nails onto your hips, finish his load. The simple act of him giving you a creampie has you reaching your own high, walls clamping down on his throbbing member.

"Fuck, yer' squeezin' me too well babydoll..." He pants, thrusting inside you laborously one last time before pulling out, letting his load drip down your thighs.

"Fuck yeah." He slaps yout ass before kneeling down to press a kiss on it. "Come on, let's get you fed."

You glare at him, buy his stupid flushed face makes you break character, a smile slowly stretching across your face.

By 10 a.m., you’re in the storage room, crouched beside the weapons locker with a clipboard in one hand and a pencil tucked behind your ear—just like Michonne asked. You’re doing inventory: logging the number of guns, the different models, their calibers, matching them with the right ammo, and counting every last knife, machete, and crossbow bolt in the room.

It’s your favorite task.

Mostly because it’s quiet. No chatter, no drama, no one breathing down your neck. Just you, the scent of gun oil, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You take your time with it, relishing the rare peace Alexandria offers these days.

Which is exactly why, when the door creaks open behind you, your shoulders stiffen in annoyance.

“Who is it and what do you want?” you call out sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation.

“’S me.”

That voice. Your lips curve into a smile before you even see him.

Daryl steps around the corner, eyes already on you, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s about to do. “And I want you.”

“Babe,” you giggle, not even trying to sound scolding, “I’m busy.”

That doesn’t stop him. He takes three long strides across the room and wraps himself around you from behind, pressing hot kisses along the side of your neck. His hands settle low on your waist, pulling your back tight against him, his breath warm at your ear.

“I oughta hit ya in the head for leavin’ all them marks on me,” he mutters, nuzzling into your skin. “Carol saw ’em.”

You tilt your head to the side anyway, offering more of your neck to his mouth because you’re hopeless. His lips graze your pulse, followed by a bite that makes your knees weaken just a little.

“One more,” he breathes, already palming you through your pants, fingers moving with intent. Desperation radiates off him, thick and unmistakable. You know it’s stupid—dangerous even. This room has one door. No lock. Anyone could walk in.

But Daryl smells like sun, and leather, and sweat, and something feral. His breath is ragged, and his hips are already grinding against your ass like he doesn’t have it in him to wait another minute.

“You said that exact same thing less than three hours ago,” you moan, smirking as you glance over your shoulder. “You lyin’ to me, Dixon?”

He looks you dead in the eye, voice low and rough. “Ain’t that I like doin’ it, sweetheart. But it sure as hell ain’t simple keepin’ my hands off ya.”

You narrow your eyes at him, biting back a grin. You fully turn to face him, crossing your arms—but it doesn’t help. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever craved.

“Less than twenty-four hours ago,” you remind him, “you told me you were a virgin. And now you’re actin’ like you’re in heat.”

Daryl chuckles, low and throaty. “Pardon my language, sweetie, but any man in his right goddamn mind would have a real hard time keepin’ his hands off ya once he’s had a taste of this,” he mutters, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “And this.”

His hand cups you between the legs again, firmer this time. You suck in a breath, hands already finding their way to his neck, tangling into his messy hair at the nape.

“I have a busy day today,” you whisper, even as your fingers fumble to undo your belt. “So let’s make this fast.”

Both sets of hands are shaking and impatient as the both of you help strip each other, the redneck clearing the table of the knives as he sets you on top of the cold aluminum.

"You're picking them all up." You pant before pulling him into a deep kiss, letting his tongue guide yours in a dance of dominance and passion. He sucks harshly on your lips as he pulls your shirt off of you, fumbling multiple times with your bra before he's pulling it off of you too.

Once the cups touch the ground, his lips travel downwards, taking his time with each areola as his hands busy themselves with pulling your pants off. Once naked, you're undoing his belt and jeans, slipping your hand inside his pants, giving him teasing pumps.

"Yer touch's too perfect, doll." He breathes out, pushing his pants down, petting them pool at his ankles.

"If Rick finds out about this—"

"He'll gimme a high five at most." He looks dead into your eyes as he strokes himself slowly, "Rick shouldn't give a fuck how I get my dick wet. Why're you so concerned with him anyways? Got a thing for him? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes at his words, pulling him closer as you lay on the cold table. "You gonna keep being a jealous dick or are you gonna ruin me for the next man?"

You see how his feature steel at your joke, his eyes hardening, jaw clenching, and corners of his mouth pulled slightly downwards in disapproval. His fingers find their way on your neck, squeezing lightly.

"'M gonna make ya regret that, little girl." Was all he said before he pushes himself inside you, the table scraping on the floors as you arch your back towards him.

Daryl's arm snakes around your waist, pilling you closer as his hips snap with unrelenting force. His thrusts are deep and punishing, your cunt squeezing him greedily as he uses you for his own pleasure.

Your moans bounce of the walls as your boyfriend's grunts fill your head, keeping it high and light as you focus on your nearing orgasm. Daryl's drive to pleasure you before himself is the biggest turn on ever. Last night, he refused to give you a break.

He ate you out until your legs shook, fucked you until you left scratches red and bleeding across his back, and fingered you until you had ti push him away, eyes teary and heartbeat in your head.

Even then, he gave you a maximum of thirty seconds before he begged to fuck you again. And you let him. Cause he looked so good when he begged. Too good.

Daryl's hands move from your hips, down to your thighs, pulling them apart to give himself more room in between them.

"Yer little cunt's heaven, sweetheart." He moans, craning his head back.

You love seeing him like this—using you for his own personal pleasure, greedily taking from you. And you can't help but give anything and everything to him. Can't help but let him take from you.

His teeth on your nipple pushes you out of your own world, the pain electrifying. Pleasure zips up your spine and you can't help but push your breasts into his face, rocking your hips, grinding onto him.

"Fuck 'm close." He hisses, one hand grabbing onto the table. Grabbing at it—why? You have no idea, but looking down at his hand, you're thankful he's squeezing the table instead of you. His veins are prominent, obvious he's holding himself back.

"Come in me." Your little whisper is all it takes for him to blow his load inside you. He doubles over on you, gasping pathetically in your ear, fingers flicking at the sensitive nub of nerves in between your legs.

It doesn't take long before you're pushing him off of you, thighs squeezing together as your cunt grips and throbs around him, forcing another orgasm out of him.

"Fuck!" He groans, filling you up a second time, his thrusts slowing down as he comes down from his high. Daryl rests his forehead on your collarbone, breathing heavy and nape starting to sweat before he slowly gets off of you.

He pulls out, thumb parting your lips and seeing his load slowly drip out of you before he pulls your underwear back up.

"Daryl—" You start, watching him pick up your fallen clothes and slowly put them back on you. First your underwear, then your pants, then your shirt. "Daryl I gotta clean up—"

He ignores you, buttoning-up your pants before he starts with your belt. You place a hand on his, stopping him. "Daryl." He finally looks up at you. "I have too much to do today."

He holds your gaze, tilting his head to the side as he tightens your belt. "Then get back to work." He mutters before pulling you off the table and on your feet, pressing a deep kiss on your lips before he pulls away. Without another word, he bends over to pick up his shirt before walking out the storage room, as if he hadnmt just rocked my shit in under ten minutes.

By lunch time, you and Daryl are in the confines of your own home, and he's eating his favorite thing your mother made.

You.

Back arching, fingers digging into your living room coffee table, and noises you're sure are prominent outside. He's lapping up at you like a man starved, unable to quit you.

"Fuck, fuck!" You whine, hands flying onto his full head of hair. You tug and squeeze and pull at him, wanting him closer but needing him to stop.

Your legs are shaking, your back incredibly wet and your cunt sensitive from the overstimulation. Tears wet your face as nonsense and babbling leave your lips.

"No, no, no more!" You beg, pushing him off of upu but the second he stops licking to start sucking, you're pulling him closer to chase after your own pleasure. "God, yes! Yes!" You scream, grinding your cunt all over his face.

He sticks his tongue out, flat, as he moves his head from side to side before he resumes making out with your sensitive cunt. The second he begins to suck once more, your orgasm rolls over you, like a tidal wave taking over your body.

You open your mouth to moan but no sound comes out as the orgasm washes over your body again and again, leaving you euphoric and light-headed.

The second the feeling subsides, Daryl leaves wet kisses on your inner thighs before he stands up, helping you put on your clothes.

"Dare—" You gasp, "You know I'm not an actual meal, right?" You're lightheaded and probably don't understand half the things that left your mouth.

"Yeah, you ain't makin' sense right now." He wraps his arms around you, picking you up.

He brings you up to your bed room, laying you gently before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Get some rest, doll." Is the last thing you hear before darkness takes over you.

You’re jolted awake by sharp, insistent pounding on your front door.

It’s not the kind of knock you can ignore—the kind that demands your attention, frantic and full of panic. Your heart immediately kicks into overdrive. You sit up, blinking sleep out of your eyes, instincts taking over before your brain can catch up.

You glance out your bedroom window. The streets of Alexandria are quiet. Too quiet. No walkers. No screaming. No fires. No reason, at least on the surface, for someone to be knocking like the world’s ending—again.

Still, your gut twists.

You grab the pistol from your dresser drawer, clicking the safety off with muscle memory. Barefoot and tense, you creep toward the front door, your heart hammering in your chest as you lift the gun and take a steadying breath.

Then—one swift move—you swing the door open, weapon raised and ready to shoot.

“Hey—oh shit!”

Glenn stumbles back, hands shooting up instinctively. You drop your aim with a shaky exhale, jaw clenching as the adrenaline crashes into your bloodstream.

“Jesus, Glenn,” you snap, lowering the gun to your side. “You tryin’ to get yourself shot? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I—I know, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, eyes wide, breath shallow. “But you need to come with me. Now.”

You stare at him for a beat. “What time even is it?”

“Two a.m. But listen—” he swallows hard— “I think it’s about Daryl.”

Your stomach drops like a stone. Your mouth suddenly feels dry.

“What happened to him?” you demand, voice sharper than the edge of your blade.

Glenn raises his hands again, trying to keep you grounded. “He’s fine. Carol’s with him, she’s patching him up but—”

You don’t wait to hear the rest. You slam your gun against Glenn’s chest, gripping his shirt with your free hand, rage and fear boiling up all at once.

“Where is he?”

Glenn doesn’t argue. He just nods toward the clinic and turns on his heel.

You follow him like a storm, armed and ready to burn down the whole damn town if it means finding Daryl. When you reach the clinic, you’re barely restrained—you shove past staff, weapon drawn, demanding answers from every nurse and doctor who crosses your path.

They take one look at your face and get out of your way.

You reach a door near the end of the hall and push it open hard enough to rattle it on its hinges.

Rick and Carol are inside, both standing beside the bed like sentinels. And on that bed—

Your heart cracks.

Daryl’s lying there, bloodied and pale, eyes half-lidded, chest rising in slow, heavy breaths. His shirt is gone, his torso wrapped in thick bandages. There’s dried blood on his skin and fresh gauze on his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” you demand, voice shaking as your eyes snap to Rick.

He runs a hand over his beard and sighs like it’s nothing. Like Daryl being shot is just another Tuesday. “He went out with a crew. Emergency at the south wall. Some teenagers—new ones—thought he was a walker. Took the shot before anyone could stop ’em.”

Your fingers curl into fists, white-hot rage pouring into your bloodstream. You start looking around the room, eyes wild, looking for someone to blame. Someone to bleed. You don’t know who these “kids” are, but if you find them—

“Who—”

“Sweetheart…”

His voice stops you cold.

You turn toward him. His voice is weak and low, rougher than usual, but it’s him. Still him. Still breathing. Still yours.

You rush to his side, dropping your gun on the floor without a second thought. Your hands cradle his face gently, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as your eyes search every inch of him. He looks rough—too pale, too still—but he’s alive.

Your voice cracks. “Jesus, baby…”

He just grunts, smirking the tiniest bit. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle, darlin’…”

You look down at his shoulder, eyes drawn to the blood seeping through the gauze. Carol’s voice cuts through the haze beside you.

“It was a shallow hit,” she explains, voice calm. “Bullet went clean through, but he lost more blood than we liked. They took too long getting back.”

You hear her—but you don’t really listen. Not anymore.

You press a soft kiss to Daryl’s forehead, breathing him in. He’s clammy and warm and smells like antiseptic and blood and sweat, but he’s here.

“I’m fine,” he mutters again, eyes slipping shut for a moment.

You don’t move. You don’t look away. Your fingers gently run through his messy hair, brushing it away from his face.

Then you speak, soft but firm: “Everyone out.”

No yelling. No snapping. Just enough command in your tone to let them know you’re not asking.

Carol gives Rick a look, and the two of them quietly exit without another word. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone with him.

You keep stroking his hair, heart slowly beginning to calm now that the adrenaline is fading.

“I hate seein’ you like this,” you whisper. “Hate it.”

He opens his eyes again, looking up at you with that sleepy, stubborn gaze. “Didn’t mean to scare ya…”

“You didn’t scare me,” you lie, smiling faintly through your tears. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Daryl chuckles weakly, one corner of his mouth curling. “Guess I owe ya flowers or somethin’, huh?”

You lean down, kiss his cheek. “Flowers and breakfast. And you’re not going on another run without me, I swear to God.”

“Deal,” he mutters.

He shifts slightly, groaning at the pain, but his hand finds yours under the blanket—big, warm, calloused fingers squeezing yours like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he’s the one needing reassurance now.

You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you whisper again.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I’m right here, baby.”

You rest your head gently on his chest, mindful of every breath he takes. The steady rise and fall under your cheek is reassuring, but you’re still afraid of hurting him. Your fingers trace slow, featherlight circles along his uninjured arm, your touch soft and careful.

“How can I help?” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes.

He smirks the second your eyes meet his.

“Well, uhh…” he drawls, the sound lazy and familiar. His hand drifts from your shoulder, down the length of your arm, until his fingers wrap loosely around your wrist. Slowly, deliberately, he guides your hand from his chest, down his torso—his eyes sparkling with mischief the whole way.

You shoot him a look as he settles your hand over the very obvious hardness beneath his pants. “Seriously? Daryl, you’re injured.”

He shrugs with his good shoulder, completely unbothered. “Ain’t like I gotta move much.”

You hold his gaze, deadpan. He just grins at you, that smug, teasing glint never leaving his eyes. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Like he always does.

You glance back at the bandages on his shoulder, sighing in disbelief.

“What is going on with you?” you mutter, more to yourself than him. “Ever since the other night, it’s like you forgot how to not touch me.”

He hums, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Have you seen yourself, sweetheart?” he murmurs. “Prettiest damn girl in the world.”

And just like that—he’s in your head again.

Daryl Dixon, with a bloody bullet wound and a busted shoulder, somehow still manages to make your knees weak without even standing. He looks at you with that quiet hunger, that low-burning intensity like you’re the only thing worth worshipping in this godforsaken world.

You look into his eyes, and there’s so much want in them—so much raw, aching need—you can feel your resolve cracking by the second.

God help you.

He knows how to get into your head.

He also knows exactly how to get into your pants.

You sigh, dramatic and defeated, but your fingers are already moving. Already working on the buckle of his belt. Already sliding down the zipper.

How bad would it really be to fuck a patient, anyway?

Because with the way Daryl’s watching you right now, like you hung the moon and lit it on fire—you’re already pulling his pants down.

Daryl's cock is already standing in attention by the time his jeans are pooling at his knees. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight of his curved member, tip oozing with precum.

You begin with a soft kiss on the tip, tasting his salty drippings. Then your tongue darts out, lapping at his member, tracing his veins, pushing at his tip. Your lips suck on his sides, bobbing your head up and down before settling on his balls, taking one in your mouth, sucking before taking the other one on your tongue. Upu suck softly, batting your lashes up at him as he groans, breathing labored.

"Fuck—just fuckin' fuck me, woman!" Daryl groans out, head falling back onto the pillow. You quickly get on your knees, crawling up at him before undoing your jeans and pulling them off. You stop right where his cock meets your clothed folds.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Don't tease me like this..." He breathes, his good hand squeezing your thigh. You pull your panties to the side, exposing your soaked cunt. "Lemme feel that sweet cunt, c'mon... 'Ve had the worst night, help me turn my mood around, yeah?"

His desperately pathetic smile has your hips moving on their own, lowering until his member is pushing inside you, filling you up. You throw your head back, closing your eyes as you completely bottom out, taking all eight inches of him.

Daryl whimpers and curses under his breath, smiling at my expression. You raise yourself before quickly lowering yourself back down, drawing out a pained expression from him.

"Yeah? You like that?" You pant, riding him while you take your shirt off. Your fingers make quick work of undoing your bra, throwing it on the floor.

"God, I love watchin' yer tits bounce." He grits in between his teeth, taking a handful, squeezing it. Moans slip past the back of your throat, your thighs and hips moving faster and faster. The hospital bed creaks under the pressure of two people, scraping against the tiled floor.

"Fuck yeah, ride that cock sweetheart." Daryl's breathing is laborous as he nears his peak, gaze stuck on your breasts as you bounce on him.

You change your angle, leaning forward as you wrap a hand around his neck. Your hips snap back and forth quickly, heavy breathing filling the air as you chase after your orgasm.

"Oh God, oh God!" You chant, right at the edge. And by the way Daryl is gripping you, you can tell he's right there with you as well. But something's missing. Something to make your orgasms...better.

"Dare, the doc said to- what the fuck." Rick drops the many pills he was holding, eyes on the both of you.

Everything happens in slow motion for you. The moment Rick's eyes fall on both you and Daryl, the way Daryl turned to him—his eyes widening, and the way your orgasm just explodes. Your cunt greedily clamps down on Daryl and the man, God bless him, looks at you with curiosity for a moment before joing your orgasm. He spills his seed empty inside you as you slowly rock your hips back and forth, riding out your high.

"I–I'll just..." Rick starts, backing up. He doesn't even bother picking up the fallen medicine. He doesn't say anything else and instead exits the room, leaving you with Daryl panting heavily underneath you.

You turn to your boyfriend who already has his eyes on you. Your eyes widen, basically seeing the wheels turn in his head.

Daryl narrows his eyes at you, thumb moving back and forth on your hip. "Wanna talk about what the hell that was?"

You part your lips, ready to say something—anything, but you're left with silence. You have no idea what to say to him, you have no idea how to say it. Daryl comes to uour rescue, sitting up and pulling you close by your nape. He presses your lips together, kiss filled with such warmth and love.

He pulls away, looking into your eyes, down to your lips, before looking back up into your orbs. "Let's talk to him first, hm? See what he thinks about it."

Your cheeks and ears burn, but you don't try denying it. You simply nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, trailing kisses up and down his neck.

"You know, I've been thinking..." You start, "I feel like I've ruined you."

Daryl gives you a side eye, raising a questioning brow at you.

"Well, I just—I just thought that...you were never this..." You swallow thickly, unsure if you have to watch your mouth with him. "...horny." You force out, "Before we had sex. Did—did taking your virginity...change anything?"

Daryl stares at you for a moment before chuckling, pressing a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"Let me tell you this, instead..." He starts, your shoulders tensing with anticipation. "Ever since we saved your ass in that highway, my hand's been working overtime."

Your eyes widen at his confession, heat pooling once again in your lower belly. "Really?" You ask, curiousity piqued.

Daryl smiles, nodding his head passively.

"Can I..." You start, licking on your lips, "Can I watch?"

Daryl's smile is wiped from his face, lips parted and features cool. He looks down at your hips slowly rocking, your cunt grinding on his thigh. He looks up at you, smug, before his hand wraps around his hardening cock.

"Of course, princess."

[writteninkat]

Man On a Mission | Daryl Dixon x Reader

synopsis: You took Daryl’s virginity thinking it would be sweet, slow, and maybe a little awkward. What you didn’t expect was to awaken the most dangerous creature alive: a touch-starved man with stamina, a mouth, and zero shame when it comes to getting you alone. Anywhere. Anytime.

w/c: 5.5k

warnings: horny daryl, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, semi-public sex, semi-exhibitionism, oral!f&m receiving, fingering

a/n: enjoy :)))

navigation

Your back hurts.

As well as your thighs, arms, shoulders—hell, every single part of your body aches like you’ve just gone a few rounds with a pack of walkers. You groan softly, shifting on the mattress with all the grace of a creaky door hinge. The moment you roll over, the sunlight slices through the thin curtains and straight into your squinting eyes like some divine punishment.

“Mmm… five more minutes…” your boyfriend mumbles behind you, voice gravelly and thick with sleep. His chest rumbles as he speaks, the vibration pressing warm and low into your spine. Without even lifting his head, he tightens his arms around you, dragging you flush against his body. His heat bleeds into you, wrapping around you like a second blanket.

You frown, glancing down at your bare body and the constellation of bruises blooming across your inner thighs. Deep red turning into a light purple. There’s more, too—faint, raw marks on your chest and shoulders, no doubt mirrored on your neck and probably in a few other places you can’t even check without a mirror. You blink slowly, your body catching up to the memory your brain is only now processing.

“Baby—” you start, voice low and suspicious as you slowly lift yourself up, trying to peel yourself out of his hold. “What the hell did you do to me last night?”

Daryl groans into your back, refusing to move. His lips brush your skin as he speaks, voice muffled and lazy.

“Ya really wanna ask me that?” he drawls, a smirk tugging at his words. “Maybe you oughta be askin’ what you’re doin’ to me.”

Before you can respond, he rolls his hips against your ass, grinding his very much awake erection into your cheeks. You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as your body heats all over again.

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” you tease, amusement lacing your voice.

Before he can answer, there’s a sharp bang on the bedroom door that startles you both. Rick’s voice comes through loud and clear.

“C’mon, lovebirds! We got a whole day’s work waitin’. Let’s go!”

You sigh, already reaching for the nearest piece of clothing—Daryl’s shirt, of course—and tug it over your head, not bothering with your bottoms. You give his shoulder a pat, like waking a stubborn dog.

“C’mon,” you say, finally slipping out of his grasp. He groans again, louder this time, dramatically flopping onto his back like you just took a piece of his soul with you.

You make it to your feet, stretching with a hiss, and start toward the door. But before you can open it, you glance back. Daryl’s lying there under the thin sheet, staring up at the ceiling like it personally insulted him.

“Problem?” you ask, hand on the doorknob.

He looks at you like you’re the idiot—like there’s something blindingly obvious and you’re just not getting it. He doesn’t say a word. Just holds your gaze for a beat… then drops his eyes meaningfully to the tented sheet barely covering him.

You raise an eyebrow, slowly. The silent question hangs between you: What the hell do you expect me to do about it?

He lets out a low chuckle and smirks like the devil himself. “C’mon, babydoll… don’t leave me hangin’.”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “No, you come on,” you snap back. “Help me with breakfast.”

And with that, you stomp off toward the kitchen, the hardwood floor cold against your bare legs. You start brewing coffee on autopilot, reaching into the fridge for prepped ingredients. There may be undead clawing at the gates of Alexandria, but you will have your avocado toast. You will sprinkle your chia bowl with banana slices and a drizzle of honey. The world might’ve ended, but your standards haven’t.

Daryl, of course, gets bacon-wrapped hotdogs. Because he’s a gremlin.

As the bacon starts to sizzle in the pan and the scent of roasted coffee fills the space, you let out a soft sigh. Mornings like this are rare—quiet, domestic, a little absurd.

Then you feel him.

Strong arms snake around your waist, slow and heavy, pulling you back into his chest. He dips his head, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, then another along your neck, up behind your ear, each one slower than the last.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, voice thick and husky.

“Good morning, baby,” you reply, feeling him twitch slightly at the petname. He hates them—claims it ain’t his style—but as long as you don’t use them around other people, he lets it slide.

For now.

“You want hotdogs?” you ask, turning slightly toward him. “Not that it matters. They’re already in the pan. And if you start actin’ like a spoiled brat again, I swear to God I’ll hang you by your nuts.”

You feel his grin against your neck more than you see it. He doesn’t even bother looking at the food. Instead, he just buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in deep.

“Mmm…” he drawls lowly. “Do you want hotdogs?”

And just like that, he presses his hips forward again—grinding his now fully clothed erection into the curve of your ass. Your hands shoot out, gripping the edge of the counter just to stay upright.

“Daryl,” you warn.

He doesn’t answer. Just chuckles, warm and low, before muttering against your skin:

"One last time?"

You feel like an idiot believing his pretty little lies. He had pushed the edge of his shirt up, exposing your bare ass before lightly slapping it once—twice, three times.

"Fuck, can't believe this' all mine..." He sucked in a breath before squeezing your hips, simply admiring your ass. Before you could complain, he had pushed two fingers inside you. A soft whimper slips past your lips at the feeling of his fingers immediately being coated in slick.

"Ya really kept me inside you? Didn't even wash up?" He whispers, pumping his fingers softly as his cum from last night lubricates his digits. "Mmmm, that's so fuckin' hot."

You arch your back at him, throwing your head back onto his shoulder as your breathing turns labored, eyes tightly shut and hands squeezing the cold counter.

"Turn off the stove." He commands, you immediately follow his order before he's pulling you to the side, harshly pushing your torso down on the counter.

"Fuckin' love it when my bitch is obedient." A deaperate moan slips past your lips, feeling his fingers pumping faster and harsher inside you.

Early in the morning, before the clock even struck eight, you're already nearing a soul-shattering orgasm. What the hell is up with your boyfriend and why is he getting so insatiable?

Before you could jump over the edge, he pulls his fingers back, earning a needy whimper from you. You're met with a chuckle as your leg is being lifted up, knee resting on the counter.

You're left with no time to think about what comes next when Daryl pushes himself inside you, moans slipping past both your lips. Well—slipping from yours. Daryl grows like he's angry he even pulled out.

Hips squeezed and cunt fill of him, the both of you take a moment to just feel each other. Him with your warm, slick walls and you with his hard, thick, pulsing member. And then he moves, still tightly squeezing your hips. And then he moves again. And again. And again, and again—

Skin slapping fills the room as he grabs onto your shoulder, driving deeply inside and out of you. Daryl's grunts join the noise, until the both of you are moaning the walls down, desperately trying to claw at your orgasms.

"C'mon, baby. Fuck—c'mon," He breathes out, thrusts becoming more desperate, more erratic as he chases his own high. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you push yourself up, leaning against his chest as he bites and nips on your neck, for sure leaving marks.

"Oh yes, fuck yes!" His moans come from his chest, deep and rumbling. His hips shake as he bottoms out inside you, digging his nails onto your hips, finish his load. The simple act of him giving you a creampie has you reaching your own high, walls clamping down on his throbbing member.

"Fuck, yer' squeezin' me too well babydoll..." He pants, thrusting inside you laborously one last time before pulling out, letting his load drip down your thighs.

"Fuck yeah." He slaps yout ass before kneeling down to press a kiss on it. "Come on, let's get you fed."

You glare at him, buy his stupid flushed face makes you break character, a smile slowly stretching across your face.

By 10 a.m., you’re in the storage room, crouched beside the weapons locker with a clipboard in one hand and a pencil tucked behind your ear—just like Michonne asked. You’re doing inventory: logging the number of guns, the different models, their calibers, matching them with the right ammo, and counting every last knife, machete, and crossbow bolt in the room.

It’s your favorite task.

Mostly because it’s quiet. No chatter, no drama, no one breathing down your neck. Just you, the scent of gun oil, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You take your time with it, relishing the rare peace Alexandria offers these days.

Which is exactly why, when the door creaks open behind you, your shoulders stiffen in annoyance.

“Who is it and what do you want?” you call out sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation.

“’S me.”

That voice. Your lips curve into a smile before you even see him.

Daryl steps around the corner, eyes already on you, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s about to do. “And I want you.”

“Babe,” you giggle, not even trying to sound scolding, “I’m busy.”

That doesn’t stop him. He takes three long strides across the room and wraps himself around you from behind, pressing hot kisses along the side of your neck. His hands settle low on your waist, pulling your back tight against him, his breath warm at your ear.

“I oughta hit ya in the head for leavin’ all them marks on me,” he mutters, nuzzling into your skin. “Carol saw ’em.”

You tilt your head to the side anyway, offering more of your neck to his mouth because you’re hopeless. His lips graze your pulse, followed by a bite that makes your knees weaken just a little.

“One more,” he breathes, already palming you through your pants, fingers moving with intent. Desperation radiates off him, thick and unmistakable. You know it’s stupid—dangerous even. This room has one door. No lock. Anyone could walk in.

But Daryl smells like sun, and leather, and sweat, and something feral. His breath is ragged, and his hips are already grinding against your ass like he doesn’t have it in him to wait another minute.

“You said that exact same thing less than three hours ago,” you moan, smirking as you glance over your shoulder. “You lyin’ to me, Dixon?”

He looks you dead in the eye, voice low and rough. “Ain’t that I like doin’ it, sweetheart. But it sure as hell ain’t simple keepin’ my hands off ya.”

You narrow your eyes at him, biting back a grin. You fully turn to face him, crossing your arms—but it doesn’t help. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever craved.

“Less than twenty-four hours ago,” you remind him, “you told me you were a virgin. And now you’re actin’ like you’re in heat.”

Daryl chuckles, low and throaty. “Pardon my language, sweetie, but any man in his right goddamn mind would have a real hard time keepin’ his hands off ya once he’s had a taste of this,” he mutters, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “And this.”

His hand cups you between the legs again, firmer this time. You suck in a breath, hands already finding their way to his neck, tangling into his messy hair at the nape.

“I have a busy day today,” you whisper, even as your fingers fumble to undo your belt. “So let’s make this fast.”

Both sets of hands are shaking and impatient as the both of you help strip each other, the redneck clearing the table of the knives as he sets you on top of the cold aluminum.

"You're picking them all up." You pant before pulling him into a deep kiss, letting his tongue guide yours in a dance of dominance and passion. He sucks harshly on your lips as he pulls your shirt off of you, fumbling multiple times with your bra before he's pulling it off of you too.

Once the cups touch the ground, his lips travel downwards, taking his time with each areola as his hands busy themselves with pulling your pants off. Once naked, you're undoing his belt and jeans, slipping your hand inside his pants, giving him teasing pumps.

"Yer touch's too perfect, doll." He breathes out, pushing his pants down, petting them pool at his ankles.

"If Rick finds out about this—"

"He'll gimme a high five at most." He looks dead into your eyes as he strokes himself slowly, "Rick shouldn't give a fuck how I get my dick wet. Why're you so concerned with him anyways? Got a thing for him? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes at his words, pulling him closer as you lay on the cold table. "You gonna keep being a jealous dick or are you gonna ruin me for the next man?"

You see how his feature steel at your joke, his eyes hardening, jaw clenching, and corners of his mouth pulled slightly downwards in disapproval. His fingers find their way on your neck, squeezing lightly.

"'M gonna make ya regret that, little girl." Was all he said before he pushes himself inside you, the table scraping on the floors as you arch your back towards him.

Daryl's arm snakes around your waist, pilling you closer as his hips snap with unrelenting force. His thrusts are deep and punishing, your cunt squeezing him greedily as he uses you for his own pleasure.

Your moans bounce of the walls as your boyfriend's grunts fill your head, keeping it high and light as you focus on your nearing orgasm. Daryl's drive to pleasure you before himself is the biggest turn on ever. Last night, he refused to give you a break.

He ate you out until your legs shook, fucked you until you left scratches red and bleeding across his back, and fingered you until you had ti push him away, eyes teary and heartbeat in your head.

Even then, he gave you a maximum of thirty seconds before he begged to fuck you again. And you let him. Cause he looked so good when he begged. Too good.

Daryl's hands move from your hips, down to your thighs, pulling them apart to give himself more room in between them.

"Yer little cunt's heaven, sweetheart." He moans, craning his head back.

You love seeing him like this—using you for his own personal pleasure, greedily taking from you. And you can't help but give anything and everything to him. Can't help but let him take from you.

His teeth on your nipple pushes you out of your own world, the pain electrifying. Pleasure zips up your spine and you can't help but push your breasts into his face, rocking your hips, grinding onto him.

"Fuck 'm close." He hisses, one hand grabbing onto the table. Grabbing at it—why? You have no idea, but looking down at his hand, you're thankful he's squeezing the table instead of you. His veins are prominent, obvious he's holding himself back.

"Come in me." Your little whisper is all it takes for him to blow his load inside you. He doubles over on you, gasping pathetically in your ear, fingers flicking at the sensitive nub of nerves in between your legs.

It doesn't take long before you're pushing him off of you, thighs squeezing together as your cunt grips and throbs around him, forcing another orgasm out of him.

"Fuck!" He groans, filling you up a second time, his thrusts slowing down as he comes down from his high. Daryl rests his forehead on your collarbone, breathing heavy and nape starting to sweat before he slowly gets off of you.

He pulls out, thumb parting your lips and seeing his load slowly drip out of you before he pulls your underwear back up.

"Daryl—" You start, watching him pick up your fallen clothes and slowly put them back on you. First your underwear, then your pants, then your shirt. "Daryl I gotta clean up—"

He ignores you, buttoning-up your pants before he starts with your belt. You place a hand on his, stopping him. "Daryl." He finally looks up at you. "I have too much to do today."

He holds your gaze, tilting his head to the side as he tightens your belt. "Then get back to work." He mutters before pulling you off the table and on your feet, pressing a deep kiss on your lips before he pulls away. Without another word, he bends over to pick up his shirt before walking out the storage room, as if he hadnmt just rocked my shit in under ten minutes.

By lunch time, you and Daryl are in the confines of your own home, and he's eating his favorite thing your mother made.

You.

Back arching, fingers digging into your living room coffee table, and noises you're sure are prominent outside. He's lapping up at you like a man starved, unable to quit you.

"Fuck, fuck!" You whine, hands flying onto his full head of hair. You tug and squeeze and pull at him, wanting him closer but needing him to stop.

Your legs are shaking, your back incredibly wet and your cunt sensitive from the overstimulation. Tears wet your face as nonsense and babbling leave your lips.

"No, no, no more!" You beg, pushing him off of upu but the second he stops licking to start sucking, you're pulling him closer to chase after your own pleasure. "God, yes! Yes!" You scream, grinding your cunt all over his face.

He sticks his tongue out, flat, as he moves his head from side to side before he resumes making out with your sensitive cunt. The second he begins to suck once more, your orgasm rolls over you, like a tidal wave taking over your body.

You open your mouth to moan but no sound comes out as the orgasm washes over your body again and again, leaving you euphoric and light-headed.

The second the feeling subsides, Daryl leaves wet kisses on your inner thighs before he stands up, helping you put on your clothes.

"Dare—" You gasp, "You know I'm not an actual meal, right?" You're lightheaded and probably don't understand half the things that left your mouth.

"Yeah, you ain't makin' sense right now." He wraps his arms around you, picking you up.

He brings you up to your bed room, laying you gently before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Get some rest, doll." Is the last thing you hear before darkness takes over you.

You’re jolted awake by sharp, insistent pounding on your front door.

It’s not the kind of knock you can ignore—the kind that demands your attention, frantic and full of panic. Your heart immediately kicks into overdrive. You sit up, blinking sleep out of your eyes, instincts taking over before your brain can catch up.

You glance out your bedroom window. The streets of Alexandria are quiet. Too quiet. No walkers. No screaming. No fires. No reason, at least on the surface, for someone to be knocking like the world’s ending—again.

Still, your gut twists.

You grab the pistol from your dresser drawer, clicking the safety off with muscle memory. Barefoot and tense, you creep toward the front door, your heart hammering in your chest as you lift the gun and take a steadying breath.

Then—one swift move—you swing the door open, weapon raised and ready to shoot.

“Hey—oh shit!”

Glenn stumbles back, hands shooting up instinctively. You drop your aim with a shaky exhale, jaw clenching as the adrenaline crashes into your bloodstream.

“Jesus, Glenn,” you snap, lowering the gun to your side. “You tryin’ to get yourself shot? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I—I know, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, eyes wide, breath shallow. “But you need to come with me. Now.”

You stare at him for a beat. “What time even is it?”

“Two a.m. But listen—” he swallows hard— “I think it’s about Daryl.”

Your stomach drops like a stone. Your mouth suddenly feels dry.

“What happened to him?” you demand, voice sharper than the edge of your blade.

Glenn raises his hands again, trying to keep you grounded. “He’s fine. Carol’s with him, she’s patching him up but—”

You don’t wait to hear the rest. You slam your gun against Glenn’s chest, gripping his shirt with your free hand, rage and fear boiling up all at once.

“Where is he?”

Glenn doesn’t argue. He just nods toward the clinic and turns on his heel.

You follow him like a storm, armed and ready to burn down the whole damn town if it means finding Daryl. When you reach the clinic, you’re barely restrained—you shove past staff, weapon drawn, demanding answers from every nurse and doctor who crosses your path.

They take one look at your face and get out of your way.

You reach a door near the end of the hall and push it open hard enough to rattle it on its hinges.

Rick and Carol are inside, both standing beside the bed like sentinels. And on that bed—

Your heart cracks.

Daryl’s lying there, bloodied and pale, eyes half-lidded, chest rising in slow, heavy breaths. His shirt is gone, his torso wrapped in thick bandages. There’s dried blood on his skin and fresh gauze on his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” you demand, voice shaking as your eyes snap to Rick.

He runs a hand over his beard and sighs like it’s nothing. Like Daryl being shot is just another Tuesday. “He went out with a crew. Emergency at the south wall. Some teenagers—new ones—thought he was a walker. Took the shot before anyone could stop ’em.”

Your fingers curl into fists, white-hot rage pouring into your bloodstream. You start looking around the room, eyes wild, looking for someone to blame. Someone to bleed. You don’t know who these “kids” are, but if you find them—

“Who—”

“Sweetheart…”

His voice stops you cold.

You turn toward him. His voice is weak and low, rougher than usual, but it’s him. Still him. Still breathing. Still yours.

You rush to his side, dropping your gun on the floor without a second thought. Your hands cradle his face gently, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as your eyes search every inch of him. He looks rough—too pale, too still—but he’s alive.

Your voice cracks. “Jesus, baby…”

He just grunts, smirking the tiniest bit. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle, darlin’…”

You look down at his shoulder, eyes drawn to the blood seeping through the gauze. Carol’s voice cuts through the haze beside you.

“It was a shallow hit,” she explains, voice calm. “Bullet went clean through, but he lost more blood than we liked. They took too long getting back.”

You hear her—but you don’t really listen. Not anymore.

You press a soft kiss to Daryl’s forehead, breathing him in. He’s clammy and warm and smells like antiseptic and blood and sweat, but he’s here.

“I’m fine,” he mutters again, eyes slipping shut for a moment.

You don’t move. You don’t look away. Your fingers gently run through his messy hair, brushing it away from his face.

Then you speak, soft but firm: “Everyone out.”

No yelling. No snapping. Just enough command in your tone to let them know you’re not asking.

Carol gives Rick a look, and the two of them quietly exit without another word. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone with him.

You keep stroking his hair, heart slowly beginning to calm now that the adrenaline is fading.

“I hate seein’ you like this,” you whisper. “Hate it.”

He opens his eyes again, looking up at you with that sleepy, stubborn gaze. “Didn’t mean to scare ya…”

“You didn’t scare me,” you lie, smiling faintly through your tears. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Daryl chuckles weakly, one corner of his mouth curling. “Guess I owe ya flowers or somethin’, huh?”

You lean down, kiss his cheek. “Flowers and breakfast. And you’re not going on another run without me, I swear to God.”

“Deal,” he mutters.

He shifts slightly, groaning at the pain, but his hand finds yours under the blanket—big, warm, calloused fingers squeezing yours like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he’s the one needing reassurance now.

You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you whisper again.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I’m right here, baby.”

You rest your head gently on his chest, mindful of every breath he takes. The steady rise and fall under your cheek is reassuring, but you’re still afraid of hurting him. Your fingers trace slow, featherlight circles along his uninjured arm, your touch soft and careful.

“How can I help?” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes.

He smirks the second your eyes meet his.

“Well, uhh…” he drawls, the sound lazy and familiar. His hand drifts from your shoulder, down the length of your arm, until his fingers wrap loosely around your wrist. Slowly, deliberately, he guides your hand from his chest, down his torso—his eyes sparkling with mischief the whole way.

You shoot him a look as he settles your hand over the very obvious hardness beneath his pants. “Seriously? Daryl, you’re injured.”

He shrugs with his good shoulder, completely unbothered. “Ain’t like I gotta move much.”

You hold his gaze, deadpan. He just grins at you, that smug, teasing glint never leaving his eyes. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Like he always does.

You glance back at the bandages on his shoulder, sighing in disbelief.

“What is going on with you?” you mutter, more to yourself than him. “Ever since the other night, it’s like you forgot how to not touch me.”

He hums, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Have you seen yourself, sweetheart?” he murmurs. “Prettiest damn girl in the world.”

And just like that—he’s in your head again.

Daryl Dixon, with a bloody bullet wound and a busted shoulder, somehow still manages to make your knees weak without even standing. He looks at you with that quiet hunger, that low-burning intensity like you’re the only thing worth worshipping in this godforsaken world.

You look into his eyes, and there’s so much want in them—so much raw, aching need—you can feel your resolve cracking by the second.

God help you.

He knows how to get into your head.

He also knows exactly how to get into your pants.

You sigh, dramatic and defeated, but your fingers are already moving. Already working on the buckle of his belt. Already sliding down the zipper.

How bad would it really be to fuck a patient, anyway?

Because with the way Daryl’s watching you right now, like you hung the moon and lit it on fire—you’re already pulling his pants down.

Daryl's cock is already standing in attention by the time his jeans are pooling at his knees. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight of his curved member, tip oozing with precum.

You begin with a soft kiss on the tip, tasting his salty drippings. Then your tongue darts out, lapping at his member, tracing his veins, pushing at his tip. Your lips suck on his sides, bobbing your head up and down before settling on his balls, taking one in your mouth, sucking before taking the other one on your tongue. Upu suck softly, batting your lashes up at him as he groans, breathing labored.

"Fuck—just fuckin' fuck me, woman!" Daryl groans out, head falling back onto the pillow. You quickly get on your knees, crawling up at him before undoing your jeans and pulling them off. You stop right where his cock meets your clothed folds.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Don't tease me like this..." He breathes, his good hand squeezing your thigh. You pull your panties to the side, exposing your soaked cunt. "Lemme feel that sweet cunt, c'mon... 'Ve had the worst night, help me turn my mood around, yeah?"

His desperately pathetic smile has your hips moving on their own, lowering until his member is pushing inside you, filling you up. You throw your head back, closing your eyes as you completely bottom out, taking all eight inches of him.

Daryl whimpers and curses under his breath, smiling at my expression. You raise yourself before quickly lowering yourself back down, drawing out a pained expression from him.

"Yeah? You like that?" You pant, riding him while you take your shirt off. Your fingers make quick work of undoing your bra, throwing it on the floor.

"God, I love watchin' yer tits bounce." He grits in between his teeth, taking a handful, squeezing it. Moans slip past the back of your throat, your thighs and hips moving faster and faster. The hospital bed creaks under the pressure of two people, scraping against the tiled floor.

"Fuck yeah, ride that cock sweetheart." Daryl's breathing is laborous as he nears his peak, gaze stuck on your breasts as you bounce on him.

You change your angle, leaning forward as you wrap a hand around his neck. Your hips snap back and forth quickly, heavy breathing filling the air as you chase after your orgasm.

"Oh God, oh God!" You chant, right at the edge. And by the way Daryl is gripping you, you can tell he's right there with you as well. But something's missing. Something to make your orgasms...better.

"Dare, the doc said to- what the fuck." Rick drops the many pills he was holding, eyes on the both of you.

Everything happens in slow motion for you. The moment Rick's eyes fall on both you and Daryl, the way Daryl turned to him—his eyes widening, and the way your orgasm just explodes. Your cunt greedily clamps down on Daryl and the man, God bless him, looks at you with curiosity for a moment before joing your orgasm. He spills his seed empty inside you as you slowly rock your hips back and forth, riding out your high.

"I–I'll just..." Rick starts, backing up. He doesn't even bother picking up the fallen medicine. He doesn't say anything else and instead exits the room, leaving you with Daryl panting heavily underneath you.

You turn to your boyfriend who already has his eyes on you. Your eyes widen, basically seeing the wheels turn in his head.

Daryl narrows his eyes at you, thumb moving back and forth on your hip. "Wanna talk about what the hell that was?"

You part your lips, ready to say something—anything, but you're left with silence. You have no idea what to say to him, you have no idea how to say it. Daryl comes to uour rescue, sitting up and pulling you close by your nape. He presses your lips together, kiss filled with such warmth and love.

He pulls away, looking into your eyes, down to your lips, before looking back up into your orbs. "Let's talk to him first, hm? See what he thinks about it."

Your cheeks and ears burn, but you don't try denying it. You simply nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, trailing kisses up and down his neck.

"You know, I've been thinking..." You start, "I feel like I've ruined you."

Daryl gives you a side eye, raising a questioning brow at you.

"Well, I just—I just thought that...you were never this..." You swallow thickly, unsure if you have to watch your mouth with him. "...horny." You force out, "Before we had sex. Did—did taking your virginity...change anything?"

Daryl stares at you for a moment before chuckling, pressing a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"Let me tell you this, instead..." He starts, your shoulders tensing with anticipation. "Ever since we saved your ass in that highway, my hand's been working overtime."

Your eyes widen at his confession, heat pooling once again in your lower belly. "Really?" You ask, curiousity piqued.

Daryl smiles, nodding his head passively.

"Can I..." You start, licking on your lips, "Can I watch?"

Daryl's smile is wiped from his face, lips parted and features cool. He looks down at your hips slowly rocking, your cunt grinding on his thigh. He looks up at you, smug, before his hand wraps around his hardening cock.

"Of course, princess."

[baseballbitch116]

Mrs Dixon - Daryl Drabble

Prompt: Patrick calls you Mrs Dixon

Word Count: 775

Warnings: Flufffffff so much fluff omg this melted my heart

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"What's up, Doctor S!" Daryl walks over to where you and Carol are standing.

"Hey Daryl!"

"Mornin Daryl!" At least two different people call out from different directions. He is momentarily stunned, looking around briefly, surprised these new people knew his name, let alone going out of their way to speak to him. He looks back to you, and you smile.

"Good morning, Daryl," you singsong, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He looks down, clearly embarrassed.

"Smells good," he says, referring to the food Carol was passing out.

"Good morning to you too," she teases. "Just so you know, we liked you first."

"Stop," the archer blushes, takes a bowl and scooping up some food with his fingers dramatically, plopping it in his mouth. You chuckle at his childish behavior, knowing the attention made him uncomfortable.

"Hey Carol, he's mine," you playfully poke the older woman and she grins at you.

"Ima leave," he threatens half-heartedly, but coming to stand beside you. "Sleep good?" he asks you, and you nod, feeling your inside warm up. He didn't get to bed til pretty late, long after you had, as he was on watch last night.

"Once you were there I did," you utter quietly as to not embarrass him too much, but still having your fun. He looks down again, his long hair falling into his face.

"Mm," he huffs, taking another big scoop into his hand, this time moving closer to you, leaning in and dramatically eating off his hand.

"You animal!" you laugh, playfully shoving his hard chest.

"Hey, Patrick," Carol greets the young boy who has just come up.

"Good morning, ma'am. Morning Mr. Dixon, Mrs. Dixon," he greets both of you. All three of you stop in your tracks, stunned into silence. Your eyes are so wide they almost pop out of your head and Daryl looks like a deer in headlights.

"I-uh, uhm..." you start, unsure how to respond. You are flattered, and have absolutely no issue being referred to as Daryl's wife... However... The archer's face is beat red and stunned, just staring at the boy. "Uh, you can just call me Y/N, Patrick. I'm not much older than you," you try to make light of the immensely awkward situation. He seems unaware of why you are all suddenly awkward and silent, but nods.

"Uh, Mr. Dixon? I just wanted to thank you. That deer you brought back yesterday, well, it was a real treat. And I'd love to shake your hand, sir." He outstretches his hand and Daryl continues to stare at the younger boy, still dumbfounded. You give him a little nudge and he clears his throat, before popping each of his food covered fingers into his mouth and slapping his hand into Patrick's smaller one, giving him a firm shake. Patrick grins before walking away and Carol continues to stare between the two of you, unsure what to do now.

"Well... I'm just gonna... get back to it, then," she mumbles, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the food.

"Sorry..." you mutter finally, looking up at Daryl.

He chews on his thumb for a moment, before saying: "Why?"

"For...that. I know that kinda stuff makes you... uncomfortable."

He thinks for a long moment, studying you.

"Wha? Ya don' wanna be my wife?" he teases, shoving you with his shoulder lightly, starting to shuffle away from the crowd.

"I-uh, I... What?" you stammer and he chuckles.

"Relax, I 'on't care. Was funny, s'all," he shrugs. You finally relax and laugh.

"Oh so you do know how to joke!" you tease.

"Better watch yer mouth, Mrs. Dixon," he mutters the last part more quietly, but gives you a teasing smirk. You blush wildly and try to hide it in your hair.

"Daryl!" Rick shouts, motioning him over from by the fence where they are getting ready for a run. Daryl lets out a huff and sets down his bowl.

"I'll see ya later?" he asks, and you nod. He hesitates for a moment, but seeing you smiling up at him, he can't help but lean down and give you a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek, close to the corner of your mouth, taking his time pulling away from you.

"Be safe," you mutter, your face still close to his, soaking him in.

"Always am," he assures, grabbing your hand and giving it a little squeeze before starting to head toward Rick.

After a few paces he turns around, walking backwards, saying: "I'll see ya soon," the corner of his mouth raising in a brief smile, silently telling you he loved you.

[zomquette]

Bites and Scratches

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sneaking around with your secret relationship with Daryl proves harder and harder with each passing day. It wasn't that you were ashamed or embarrassed of each other - you just didn't want the others knowing that part of your lives when so much was already in the open. However, after a particularly rough night and awkward post-morning, the cat's out of the bag. But not in the way you'd hoped.

Main Masterlist

warnings: Sex injury, suggestive dialogue, smut flashbacks, graphic smut (blowjob, m!receiving), injury, swearing, probably. Kenny is an antagonist character I made up, which is basically a prob lol.

You woke to warmth. Not just the kind that came from the scratchy blanket tangled halfway down the bed, but the kind that breathed against your bare skin, slow and steady. Daryl’s arm was slung low across your waist, rough fingertips ghosting over your stomach in lazy, unconscious strokes, his breath brushing the curve of your shoulder. His leg was half-draped over yours, anchoring you to the mattress like he didn’t trust you not to up and leave.

The guard tower wasn’t exactly luxury living, but it had two things you both craved more than a decent mattress—privacy and a lock. After three days of him being gone on a hunting run, privacy had become very necessary.

Your thighs ached. So did your hips. And your voice, judging by the way it cracked the second you tried to clear your throat. Jesus.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open before Daryl stirred behind you, his mouth pressing sleepily to your shoulder blade, then lower—across your spine, trailing kisses like breadcrumbs. You shivered.

“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice all gravel, the low drawl rumbling through your spine as his hand slid up under the blanket to cup your breast—slow, possessive, and so damn familiar it sent a shiver down your aching thighs.

His thumb dragged over your nipple, coaxing it to a hard peak with infuriating gentleness. You sucked in a breath, your body twitching under his as his knee slid between your legs like muscle memory, his hips already starting that lazy grind against your ass.

“Daryl—” your voice broke off in a strained gasp as his teeth found your shoulder, biting down just enough to make your hips jerk. “Oh, fuck—baby…”

He groaned into your skin, rolling his hips again, slower this time, deeper. “One more time, cmon…”

You didn’t have the heart to stop him at first. The heat in your stomach lit fast—your body wanted him, wanted to forget how sore you were and let him take you again just because it felt so good to be under him, with him.

But your thighs trembled, already overworked, and there was a dull, nagging throb in your hip from how hard you’d gripped him last night—maybe from when he’d half-dragged you back up the wall after you’d collapsed around his fingers, begging for more.

“Daryl,” you rasped again, twisting to catch his face with your hand. His eyes were hazy, already half-lost in the feel of you, pupils blown wide as he kissed a slow line down your neck. “I can’t baby—I’m too sore.”

He froze mid-motion, forehead resting against your shoulder, panting quietly. You felt the exact moment guilt settled over him like a wet blanket.

“Shit,” he muttered again, softer this time. “Sorry. Didn’t mean—I thought…”

“You thought right,” you said with a breathless, teasing smile. “I want to. I just physically can’t.”

His face flushed as he leaned up, cupping your jaw to kiss you—slow, apologetic, worshipful. “M’sorry. Just—got home and you were already waitin’ in bed, lookin’ at me like that…”

“I was naked,” you reminded him, laughing weakly.

“Exactly.” He kissed your cheek. “What was I supposed to do? Be a gentleman?”

You laughed again, softer, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed down your chest, nosing at the curve of your breast like he wasn’t ready to let go of the idea just yet.

You turned your head just enough to catch his guilty expression. “Don’t apologize,” you rasped, still half-smiling. “Just… maybe gimme a day to re-learn how to walk.”

You gazed at him then; his hair was a mess—flattened on one side, sticking up on the other, the kind of disaster only deep sleep (and other activities) could make. Yours… probably matched. Longer, wilder, and currently hiding most of your face when you peeked up at him.

“I really thought we were gonna break that bed frame.”

“We did.” He grinned into your skin. “You didn’t hear it snap when I—?”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah.” He pressed another kiss between your breasts, slow and warm. “Totally worth it.”

His voice softened then, the humor fading just slightly. His lips brushed over the faint bruises he’d left on your ribs, fingertips moving with featherlight reverence like he could soothe the ache from the outside. “You really hurtin’?”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, combing your fingers through his tangled hair. “A very sexy, grunting truck that doesn’t believe in pacing himself.”

He snorted, the sound muffled against your belly. “Told ya I missed ya.”

“I missed you too,” you said, threading both hands into his hair and tugging gently to guide him back up. “But I swear, if you even look at me with that face right now, I’ll kick you in the balls to even the score.”

He grinned, and gave you one last, lingering kiss—soft and slow, all lips and breath and whispered apology—before finally pulling back and reaching for your shirt. “Alright, alright. You win. But tonight?”

“Tonight I sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t even think about waking me up with your dick.”

His expression was utterly unrepentant. “I’ll be gentle.”

“You never are.”

“Takes one ta know one,” he muttered against your skin. “I ain’t never seen you like that. Was like you were tryna kill me last night.”

“I think we both tried to kill each other,” you murmured back. “Four times.”

“Five times,” he corrected. “You don’t remember the time where you bit me?”

You blinked, confused. “Bit you?”

He leaned up, pulling his hair back with one hand to reveal a faint purpling crescent just under his jaw. You stared at it.

“I don’t remember that.”

“Oh, I do,” he said with a crooked grin.

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. “Oh my god I’m so sorry.”

“S’fine,” he said grinning.

Faint now—barely a shadow of purple—but when his fingers brushed that mark, fresh out of bed and still hazed in the best possible way, the memory hit like a fuckin’ freight train.

He could still feel it. The pressure of your teeth sinking into that tender spot where his neck met his shoulder. Not sharp. Not cruel. Just desperate.

You didn’t mean to. You were barely there.

One minute he’d had you on your stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow, hands curled into the sheets like they were the only things keeping you tethered. He was over you, in you, grinding so deep and slow it was less a thrust and more a claiming—rhythmic, relentless. Sweat dripping off his skin onto yours. His thighs snug to the backs of yours, his hand gripping your hip so tight his knuckles ached the next morning.

Your body was boneless, trembling, oversensitive from everything he’d already done to you. He’d taken his time—fingers, mouth, words. Wrecked you soft first. Had you sobbing into his chest with nothing but a hand between your legs and his voice in your ear telling you how good you were, how sweet you tasted, how long he was gonna take his time tonight.

And then he’d flipped you.

And then he sank into you.

He hadn’t even meant to go that deep. But your hips arched into it, seeking more without words. Your mouth had fallen open in a soundless moan. Your hands fluttered—reaching for him, for the pillow, for anything—but settling on nothing. It was like your body couldn’t decide what to hold onto because it was too busy falling apart.

You didn’t say his name. You whimpered it.

And he’d lost it.

“Yeah, baby,” he’d growled into your hair, the tip of his nose dragging along your scalp. “That’s it. Doin’ so good. Attagirl.”

Your only answer was a sob. Not from pain. From need.

And then it happened.

Your head tilted. Just barely.

And your mouth latched onto the side of his neck.

Not hard. Not deep. Just enough to bite. To mark him. To hold onto something solid while your brain turned to static.

It startled him. For half a second, he paused—not his hips, not the thrust—but in his mind. That flicker of shock. Of fuck.

But then he groaned. Deep in his throat. Low.

Because it was you. Biting him like that. Because you were so far gone, so soaked and soft and open for him, that you needed your teeth to ground yourself.

And he couldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t stop.

Your cunt clenched around him like a goddamn vice and he drove into it like he was trying to become part of you. His hand slid up to the base of your neck, not to push you away, but to hold you there. Keep you close. Keep you biting.

You moaned against his skin, mouth still open, teeth still sunk into him like you didn’t even realize what you were doing—like it was just instinct. Just need.

His rhythm picked up. Harsher. Filthier. The slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, your muffled cries against his neck.

“You want it that bad?” he’d rasped, eyes shut, trying to keep himself from blowing then and there. “That gone already, huh baby?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but bite down again, just a little tighter, and whimper something that didn’t even sound like language.

He felt you break around him right there.

Felt the way your whole body tensed. The way you gasped against his neck. The way your walls fluttered around his cock like your body was trying to keep him, pull him deeper, own him.

It undid him.

He buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name into your shoulder, chest caving in with the force of it. It was one of those orgasms that left him shaking—like his body didn’t know how to hold itself up anymore. It felt like it went on forever, the way he kept filling you—

“Daryl?” you mumbled, voice raw and sleep-rough, laced with that hoarse rasp that hadn’t quite left since last night. “You good?”

He flinched, blinking hard—ripped clean out of the memory, the phantom feel of your teeth still tingling beneath his skin. His hand dropped immediately, and he turned slightly, eyes darting anywhere but your bare, tangled figure behind him.

“Yeah. M’fine,” he muttered, clearing his throat a little too fast, a little too loud, like that’d somehow cover up the very obvious problem still tenting the blanket.

You stirred against the sheets, shifting slow and ginger like every muscle ached. “Where’re my clothes?” you croaked, trying to sit up before groaning and falling flat again. “Oh my god. I can’t feel my spine.”

Daryl still couldn’t look at you directly. Not yet. Not while his dick was throbbing against the fabric like it had plans.

Your eyes fluttered open, searching blearily for him. “Daryl?”

He glanced toward the window to avoid the sight of your completely naked body spread out like a goddamn painting—and that’s when he saw it.

Your bra.

Swaying gently from where it had somehow ended up hooked on the balcony railing, one strap dangling out into the open air like it was waving good morning to the world.

He stared at it.

Then blinked.

Then let out the quietest “shit” under his breath.

“What?” you asked, brow furrowed.

He didn’t answer right away. Just scratched the back of his neck and nodded toward the open window. “Uh. Found it.”

You followed his line of sight.

Saw it.

And groaned like someone had punched you in the soul. “Oh no. Tell me that wasn’t out there all night.”

“Dunno,” he muttered, already moving toward the door. “Wind must’a caught it or somethin’…”

“Or you threw it,” you countered, burying your face into the pillow with a muffled scream. “Oh my god.”

He got up, throwing off the blanket and stepping out completely naked without a care in the world, grimacing slightly as the morning sun hit his bare chest. He grabbed the bra and yanked it off the railing like it had personally offended him, muttering, “Least it didn’t land in the fuckin’ tomato patch.”

You saw the moment his mind wandered. He paused there, bare back rising and falling with each deep breath, cock hard and heavy between his legs, bobbing faintly as he stood in the sun.

You watched him cross the tower, completely bare and unbothered, like the sunlight wasn’t striping every muscle of his back in gold. His steps were loose, fluid, still heavy from sleep and the kind of night that left you both bruised and breathless.

Your body ached—hips sore, thighs humming with the kind of exhaustion that edged into satisfaction—but your mouth; that still worked just fine.

And you moved.

Blanket slinking off your skin, your knees dragging slowly over the cold cement floor, crawling towards him like some animal, naked and hungry. You knelt behind him, letting the early light warm your back, and reached around him with both hands—one to steady yourself, the other to wrap around the base of him, hot and pulsing in your grip.

He twitched.

You leaned forward and kissed the tip. Soft, reverent. He didn’t say a word—just braced his palms on the railing and let you have him.

Your lips parted and you took him in slowly, dragging your tongue along the underside, feeling him swell in your mouth as his breath hitched, chest tightening. You worked him deeper, steady strokes of your hand matching the hollow of your cheeks, spit glistening as it slipped down your chin, but you didn’t care. You loved him like this—quiet and coiled, trembling under your touch, too focused on keeping still to remember how to breathe.

And then—

“Daryl?”

The voice struck like a match.

Rick. Of course.

You froze. Only for a second.

He didn’t.

His hands flexed hard on the railing. You felt every muscle in his thighs tense, the sharp pull of his stomach, the way his cock jumped against your tongue.

But he didn’t push you away.

“Yeah?” His voice cracked and he coughed, tried again. “Y-Yeah?”

You didn’t stop. You licked a stripe from base to tip, then sealed your mouth around him again and sucked slow, just to see if he’d twitch. He did.

“What’re you doin’ up there?” Rick called. “Ain’t your shift.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched. You could see it even from below. One hand stayed planted on the railing. The other dropped down to your head, fingers threading into your hair, not to guide you—just to ground himself. You weren’t sure if he was about to come or pass out.

“Laundry,” he said gruffly. “Flew up here.”

You grinned around him. He could feel it.

There was a long beat of silence.

You slid down further, taking him deeper. Your nose bumped his skin, your tongue pressed firm and flat, your hand twisting in rhythm just below your mouth.

“You alright?” Rick’s voice again. “You sound winded.”

“I’m fine,” Daryl bit out, throat straining. “Hot up here. Sun’s right on the damn glass.”

You moaned, low and thick, letting the vibration hit the base of his cock like a shockwave.

His breath stuttered. His hips jolted forward.

And you felt it—the shift.

That sharp tremble that raced up his legs, through his stomach, into his hands. He was close. Fighting it. Losing.

Rick’s voice droned on in the background, something about the southern fence line, something about wood supplies, but Daryl wasn’t listening. Couldn’t.

His grip in your hair tightened—not rough, just desperate. His body hovered on the edge, every muscle locked down, trying to stay still while his cock twitched in your throat.

And then—

Rick turned. Walked away. His boots echoed down the pavement. The sound faded.

Gone. Finally.

And Daryl broke.

He came with a groan that shook loose from his chest like it had been trapped there, hips jerking forward as his release spilled hot and fast down your throat. You took all of it—held him deep, swallowed hard, one hand still moving, coaxing every last twitch from him until he was sagging against the balcony like it was the only thing holding him up.

His breath heaved in ragged gasps, body gleaming with sweat, legs shaking.

You pulled off him with a slick pop, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and kissed the sharp jut of his hip.

He looked down at you like he couldn’t decide whether to collapse or kiss you stupid.

You were already smiling.

Still on your knees. Still wrecked from the night before. But pleased. So fucking pleased.

You arched a brow. “Still hot up here?”

He swallowed thickly. “You’re an evil woman.”

You got up, snatched the bra from him, feeling his eyes on you as you walked away. “That’s why ya love me.”

He mumbled in response, something in between a a hum of agreement and ‘shut up’.

He gave you an exasperated look before shaking his head. You just sucked him off and you're acting like it's just another Tuesday?

"It is Tuesday," you said, still smirking.

Had he said that out loud!?

“We didn’t sleep,” he said with a shrug, tugging his pants on. “Ain’t my fault.”

“You’re the one who kept saying ‘just one more time.’”

“Yeah, well…” He looked down at you and gave the softest smile, all warm and wrecked and adoring. “I missed ya.”

You stared up at him for a long second, eyes soft, before reaching out and curling your fingers around his wrist. “I missed you too, Dixon. Just… maybe tonight we try sleep instead of cardio?”

“No promises,” he muttered, bending to kiss you once more—slow, sweet, and maddeningly deep.

He bent to grab his shirt from the chair, the morning light catching the planes of his back — and your breath caught mid-inhale.

“Oh… my god.”

He half-turned, brows drawing together, but you were already moving.

“Turn around,” you murmured, low but firm, your hands already finding his hips and guiding him to face away from you.

The sight made your stomach tighten — angry red lines raked across the breadth of his back, some shallow, some deeper, all raw against his skin, with the faintest shadow of a bite mark blooming at the base of his neck. You stepped in close, the heat radiating off him soaking into your bare skin, your palms smoothing over his sides before trailing up his back, fingertips skimming the raised welts like maybe your touch could erase them.

“Baby… oh my god, does that not hurt?” The words came out soft, almost guilty, your hands still roaming over his skin like you were cataloging every mark.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he said with a shrug, but that casual dismissal only made your chest tighten more.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, stepping around to face him fully. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palms, before you hid your face behind them. “I didn’t even realize I—god, that’s embarrassing.”

Before you could retreat, his larger hands closed gently around your wrists, pulling them down until your face was bare to him again. One hand lingered, cradling your jaw, his thumb stroking along your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’,” he repeated, quieter now, like he wanted you to believe it.

You huffed, half-guilty, half-bewildered. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

His other hand slid from your wrist to your hip, holding you close enough that the warmth of his bare chest pressed against yours. “Didn’t wanna,” he muttered, eyes darting away.

Your brows lifted.

“Not ‘cause it hurt—” he rushed to add, gaze skimming over your shoulder, “just… means you were feelin’ good.”

A slow smirk tugged at your mouth, and your hands smoothed up into his hair for just a second before you pulled away toward the shelf.

“Where you goin’?” he asked, following you with his eyes.

“Still getting the aloe,” you tossed over your shoulder.

He scoffed under his breath, but didn’t move — and you caught the faintest hint of a smile, like he wouldn’t mind if you came back and fussed over him some more.

⸻

The midday sun beat down hard against the metal fence as sweat slipped past your temples, soaking into the collar of your shirt. The walkers had been pressing harder against the perimeter lately, enough that the mesh was starting to bend inward, groaning under the weight of too many rotting bodies with just enough instinct left to keep pushing. Reinforcements were long overdue, so the plan now was brute force—wedging thick wooden beams against the metal at key points to keep the wall from collapsing entirely.

“Kenny,” Daryl grunted, his shoulder wedged up beneath the weight of the log, “if you drop this damn thing, I swear—”

“I’m not gonna drop it,” Kenny shot back, clearly straining. “This thing weighs more than a truck.”

“Then maybe you should’ve stayed with the tomato plants,” you muttered as you crouched low, ducking beneath the beam. “Hold it steady—I gotta mark where we need to dig.”

“Yeah, yeah, just make it quick,” Kenny puffed, the whites of his knuckles visible as he shifted his grip.

You dropped to lie down on your back in the dirt, fingers dragging through the dry soil as you carved out a rough guide with the blade of your knife. Daryl’s boot was inches from your head, the edge of his shirt hiked up just enough to expose the shallow curve of his lower back—and the faint red streaks etched into the skin there. Your scratches. Last night’s scratches.

And then there was also the very noticeable bite mark which he had tied a bandana around, which had now shifted to reveal it.

Kenny’s eyes landed on them.

The bite. The scratches.

And then everything went to hell.

“Holy shit—is that a bite?” he barked, his voice slicing through the air like a gunshot.

You didn’t even have time to react. The beam jerked violently in his grip, and before Daryl could rebalance it, the weight tipped sideways—crashing down hard onto your ribcage.

The sound that tore out of you wasn’t quite a scream—it was a crack, and then a wheezing grunt as the air got knocked clean out of your lungs. You folded instantly, body trapped awkwardly beneath the log, head lolling back into the dirt as pain shot like lightning in your torso.

“Shit!” Daryl bellowed, his voice already ragged with fury. “Get it off her!”

A blur of boots surrounded you—Rick, Maggie, Tyreese—all rushing to help. Hands grabbed the beam and heaved, straining against the weight until it finally lifted just enough. Daryl dropped to his knees and yanked you free, cradling your body to his chest like it weighed nothing, like you were made of feathers instead of broken bones.

Kenny staggered backwards, pale and jittery, eyes locked on Daryl. “I—I saw scratches, man! Guys, he's got scratches and a bite!”

“You dropped it on her—’cause of that?” Daryl’s voice was pure fire now, a sharp growl ripping from his throat as he lunged.

Kenny stumbled, tripping over his own feet. “I didn’t mean to—!”

“Daryl!” Rick barked, intercepting just in time, shoving a firm arm across Daryl’s chest before he could close the distance. “That’s enough! Where’d the scratches and the bite come from?”

Everyone froze. All eyes were on him.

Daryl’s jaw was clenched so tight the tendons in his neck stood out, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them now that he wasn’t throttling someone.

You sucked in a shallow breath from the dirt, ribs screaming, and rasped out, “It was me, alright?”

Confusion rippled through the group.

You forced yourself upright with a grimace, brushing Daryl’s hand off as you tried to sit but failing miserably. You collapsed halfway again, coughing, and Daryl was immediately back beside you, kneeling so close his thigh pressed against your hip.

His voice dropped to that soft gravel only you ever seemed to get. “Hey. You good? Look at me.”

You turned your face toward the sound, your expression pinched but dry-eyed. “Might’ve cracked a rib,” you muttered, only half-joking. “Feels like something’s doing jazz hands in my lung.”

His hand cradled the back of your head gently, fingers weaving into your hair as his thumb brushed along your cheekbone, eyes scanning your face like he needed to memorise every twitch and wince.

“Lemme see,” he murmured, already tugging your shirt up slowly, carefully, as if touching too fast might break you further.

The collective silence behind you stretched long. You were aware of every set of eyes watching as Daryl pushed your shirt up to reveal the angry red welt blooming across your side, his palm skimming up the bare skin of your waist to brace you steady while he looked.

And that was the moment it all clicked—for everyone.

Daryl’s hand was on your bare skin, thumb moving slowly, reverently over the rising bruise like he could soothe it just by touch. The way he held you—tender, intimate, like someone he loved—left no room for confusion.

You caught Rick’s glance toward Maggie, the slight raise of her eyebrows, and Tyreese's shuffling.

Daryl didn’t care.

“You should’ve stayed back,” he muttered, still crouched beside you, still holding your shirt like he hadn’t noticed half your stomach was on display. “Told ya I’d do the damn marking.”

“Yeah, well.” You winced, leaning into his touch. “Didn’t wanna make Kenny feel useless.”

“Think he managed that all on his own.”

“Still gonna punch him?” you asked, breathless but smirking through it.

Daryl’s jaw flexed, his voice low and flat. “Later. Let’s get ya to Hershel.”

Before you could protest, his arm slid around your waist, hauling you up from the dirt like you were weightless. His palm stayed warm and steady at your side, guiding you away without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

The three still by the fence just stared at Kenny.

“What?” Kenny said, holding his hands up. “Hey, how was I supposed to know those were not walker scratches?!”

“Because he got them while he was in the watch tower, dumbass,” Rick muttered.

"But the bite-"

"He would have gotten a fever by now," said Maggie.

Kenny blinked, then his eyebrows shot up like the penny had just dropped. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, a grin spreading. “Ohhh. So that’s what that was. Damn, Dixon—”

From up ahead, without turning around, Daryl growled, “Shut up, Kenny.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, leaning a little heavier into Daryl’s side. “Guess the secret’s out,” you murmured.

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, but his hand on your hip didn’t loosen one bit.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

choose me

✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦

✦summary: bucky isn't your boss, but he's still off limits. and even if he wasn't, there's no way he'd ever go for someone like you. weird that he matched with you on a dating app then, isn't it?✦

✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, modern!au, ceo!bucky, no use of y/n, mutual pining, virgin!reader, dating apps, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, kinda boss x secretary, plot to earn porn, feral level smut, (fingering, teasing, stripping, soft dom!bucky, dirty talk, mean bucky but you're into it, teasing, possiveness, mutual masturbation, pussy spanking, praise kink, manhandling, dumbification, big dick bucky, p in v sex, creampie), soft!bucky outside of smut✦

✦wc: 13.9k✦

✦Author's Note: this one is for all my wound up "want love but afraid of intimacy girlies". we go through it. Enjoy!✦

Bucky Barnes is ruining your life, and he doesn’t even know it.

You wish you could blame him. Slash his tires and scream in his face, maybe drain the oil from his bike or mess up his lunch order. But he wouldn’t deserve that, and you’d just end up homeless on the street. You’d have to sell your body, but you’ve never been that good at sales, and begging Steve for your job back wouldn’t get you anywhere when you’d just given his best friend food poisoning.

And Bucky wouldn’t deserve that. He’s perfect. He’s a mountain you’d love to scale, if you hadn’t always been horrid at climbing. You’d dig your nails into his chest, and maybe just keep him at eye level forever. So you could watch that quiet joy that only shines for the people he really, truly likes.

You’re a member of that rare club. It’s taken years of small kindness’ and lingering in Steve’s shadow to get there.

Even if you wanted to, you’d never risk ruining that just because of some schoolgirl crush. Not when Bucky might make your heart stumble and your face heat, but he hasn’t taken away your wits.

The same wits that tell you, it’s not worth the risk.

It will never be worth the risk. You worked too hard to get where you are. It’s too good a job, to burn up because you have a few fantasies. Steve Rogers famously went through assistant after assistant, before you. When you’d asked Natasha why—Steve’s a perfect boss, he lets you take hour long lunches and use sick time as PTO, as long as you don’t tell HR—she’d just shrugged.

“It’s not Steve that’s making them quit.” She’d hummed, like you were supposed to know exactly what that meant.

You hadn’t. You still don’t. Best guess, he thinks that everyone can keep up with him and forgets to slow down and match pace. But you can keep up with him just fine. Without breaking a sweat. Sometimes you out-pace him, and that earns you a loud, approving laugh and small smirk from Bucky.

Bucky.

James. You’re trying to call him James, in your head. It’s more formal. Creates a larger gap, between private fantasy and reality.

In fantasy, Bucky is a hazy voice that creeps into your dreams and rough stubble that brushes over your cheek. You tangle the sheets and blankets between your legs in bed, and pretend he’s there, holding you tight. Dreams and scenarios play out before you go to sleep, where he backs you against a wall and declares that he’s loved you since he first saw you. Or he shows up at your door in the middle of the night, pleading because he can’t take being away from you anymore. Maybe all his stares at conferences and meetings finally amount to something, and he grabs your jaw and kisses you so brutally you both just fall onto that soft couch in his office.

But Bucky doesn’t just stare at you. It’s one of his weird little quirks that Steve calls just Bucky, and Sam calls creepy and weird, he’s lucky we love him.

You do love him.

Bucky’s perfect. When you’d met him, he’d seemed as if he’d fallen out of a silver screen or leather-bound book. You’d never understood fantasies about powerful men, until one with the brilliance of fifty suns had been adjusting his cuffs in front of you. You’d barely been able to breathe, and it’s only gotten harder since you’ve known him.

At first look, Bucky’s a sharp jawline, dark hair, and eyes that follow you into your sleep. He’s cold and standoffish in that annoying way that makes the fool in your heart babble about how you could melt him. He snaps and orders and doesn’t waste time on things that don’t matter, and you’d like to hear how his voice could go soft, if you could make it.

That fool in your heart is loud. It tends to get the better of you, until the object of it’s fleeting obsession shatters the illusion by itself. Most of your crushes take a sledgehammer and destroy the heroic visage you’ve made of them in a second. You just have to wait for it, and they save you from themselves.

But Bucky likes to ruin your life.

It’s been a year, since Steve hired you. Fresh out of college, nervous, and with what Natasha called doe-eyes.

You love Bucky more than you did at the start, and it’s incredibly rude that he won’t just cut it out so you can focus.

“How’s your mother?” You ask one night, when it’s just you and Bucky.

James. When you’re alone in a room with him, and the white sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to show off obnoxious muscles, it’s important to remember you should be calling him James.

“My… Mother.”

He’s staring at you like you’re crazy. Heat floods your cheeks, but you just nod. He doesn’t get to win.

“You said she was moving.” You shrug, and Bucky’s tongue flicks over his lips.

“I did say that.”

“Yeah. I know.” You pretend to turn over a paper. “I was there.”

Bucky snorts, and it’s enough to yank your attention up. He’s shaking his head with that tiny curve of a smile, and it makes your heart do something that might resemble overdrive.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”  

“What-“

“My mother’s doin’ just fine.” Bucky says, staring at you across the room. “She loved those muffins you made her. Got me and my sisters in a lotta trouble, for not bothering to make her a housewarming gift.”

You swallow. “Oh, I- I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Bucky—James, but it’s impossible to remember when he looks at you like that—smirks. “I’d want you over me every time, too.”

There’s no possible response you can think of, to that. Not one that makes sense, and isn’t humiliating. You look back to your papers, mumble a thank you, and try not to let Bucky’s low chuckle pool heat between your thighs.

You don’t succeed.

But that’s a problem for your vibrator to worry about, when you get home.

Because that’s where the fantasy. And the reality is always starker. Harder to escape.

Bucky is a mountain of a man, but you’ve never climbed anything at all. Not a tiny hill, not a slope, not even a bump in the road. The most basic things, that most people get out of the way in middle school, you’ve never even brushed against. Not on purpose. It’s just… Never happened. And you’re certainly not going to start doing anything now. With your older pseudo-boss and sort of friend. You don’t have a death wish, and you’re certain that rejection will kill you with the humiliation alone.

So in reality, you’re never going to risk anything. You’ve never had health insurance this good before. Steve buys you lunch every day—technically he buys himself lunch, but you’re allowed to get whatever you want—and you got to move out of your rundown apartment with the landlady who kept getting mad you dared to have trash, but refused to fix your broken heater. In New York.

You haven’t had freezing fingers in a year. Because now, you could afford gloves. And in the harsh cold of reality, no dick is worth more than a nice pair of gloves.

Bucky’s might be. Bucky and his smile and low laugh and nobleness and silent kindness and-

No.

Nothing’s worth it. Not when Bucky wouldn’t even want you anyway.

You’d rather have the gloves.

“You get a plus one to this event, you know?”

You look at Steve over the desk, frowning slightly. “Huh?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “You get a plus one.”

“Okay?”

“Wasn’t sure you knew.” He shrugs. Your frown deepens.

“Of course I knew. I send out all the invitations.”

“Hm.”

“What’s hm? What does hm mean?”

“Just hm. Do you have the numbers, about-“

“They’re in front of you, Steven.” You narrow your eyes. “What’s hm mean.”

“Told you, nothing-“

“What.”

Sam says that there are only three people Steve is afraid of. Natasha, Bucky’s mother, and you. At the time, you’d laughed it off and rolled your eyes.

With how his throat bobs and he avoids your gaze, you’re starting to think that last part might be true.

“You’ve just always had that plus one offered.” Steve mutters, looking at the reports like they’ve suddenly turned into something interesting. “Noticed you never used it. Wanted to, uh- Make sure you knew.”

“I knew.” You snap, and Steve sighs.

“Yeah, I thought you did.”

“Then why’d you ask-“

“You wanna get lunch?” Steve’s voice raises, and the conversation is clearly over. “I think I could go for some sushi, or- Mexican. Maybe acai?”

Those are three very different things, and it is your job to figure out which one he really wants. But you can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

You have never used your plus one. You’ve never needed to.

There’s never been anyone worth using it on, except for one, dumb, handsome man who already has his own invitation to every event, and never has a problem finding his own date. You’ve spent dozens of nights lingering at Steve’s side—because he can tell you all he wants to enjoy yourself, you’ll slack when you’re dead—and glaring daggers at the model hanging off of Bucky’s arm. Giggling at everything he says and trying to drift closer than the polite, respectable distance he keeps them at.

He lets you sit closer to him than he lets them. And they are all a little younger, so maybe he wouldn’t mind that you’re not experienced and-

You stamp those thoughts under your heel. Not worth it.

But is Steve’s noticed how you never bring anyone, maybe he’s noticed how you stare at Bucky as well. And if he’s noticed that, he might start looking closer. And if he looks closer, he’s going to realize that you’re in love with his best friend, and he’s going to tell Bucky, and you’re going to get fired, and lose your cool apartment and fuck, you aren’t emotionally prepared to be a prostitute-

You need a date.

It’s the safest, most logical conclusion. You study Steve across the room, and quickly decide against asking to be set up. That might get back to Bucky, and you don’t want him to know for reason that defy common sense. You can’t ask anyone at work, but all your friends are your co-workers. You could go out to a bar, but that sounds dangerous and exhausting, and you’re not even sure where you’d find the time.

Which leaves one option.

Dating apps.

There are millions of them. You know from college friends and social media that there are about five worth having. You download all of them, and spend the rest of your lunch setting up your profile. You’re by no means ugly, and you’ve got plenty of pictures in exciting locations thanks to Steve being unable to get through any work event without you there. You put down that you’re not sure what you’re looking for, because you’re really not. You lie about your job, because when you tell people you’re Steve Roger’s personal assistant, they usually get weird. You settle just secretary, even though Steve and Natasha would shout at you if they saw.

They won’t see. None of them will see.

And you’ll get a nice, boring date to the next event, and everything is going to be fine.

“You never tell me about your family.”

Bucky’s words are so low you almost don’t hear them. You look up at him in surprise, and hope the dim lighting hides your flush.

“You never ask.”

His lips twitch down. “I’ve told you about my family.”

“So?”

“Usually.” He mutters, glaring at his papers like the did something to personally offend him. “When you tell someone about yourself, it’s an… Exchange of information.”

“An exchange of information?” You snort. “Is that a CIA thing?”

“Not everything I do is a CIA thing.”

“Everything Natasha does is a CIA thing. And you were in the CIA together.”

“Nat was better at it than I was.” He grumbles. His brow does a tight-knit wrinkle thing, when he’s frustrated. For a grown man, it’s always rather adorable. “I’d like to know about your family.”

“I…” You blink at him, your brain turning fuzzy and useless.

He’s staring at you. Saying those words like they matter, and you can barely understand them at all.

“Why?”

“Because. We’ve worked together a while. I know… A lot about you.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, giving you a strange look. “You know about me.”

“Uh huh. That’s usually how being friends works.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, well. You’ve met my mother. She adores you.”

“She doesn’t adore me-“

“She adores you.”

He says it like it’s really not up for debate. You flush. “Oh- Okay.”

“Everyone you meet adores you.” Bucky grumbles, like that complete lie of a statement infuriates him. “And I tell you everything about me.”

You don’t think that’s true either. You know a lot about Bucky, but not everything. Steve says Bucky’s just like that—not big on sharing—so you hoard every bit of information he offers you like a dragon with gold, but it’s far from everything. “Bu- James-“

“Bucky.” He corrects, and you sigh.

He’s not making that part easy, either.

“Bucky.” You say, smooth and careful. “You know everything about me that Steve knows. I- I can tell you more. But I’m not all that interesting.”

“I disagree.” He mutters. “You’re impossibly interesting.”

You can only hum, pressing your thighs together as he just keeps staring at you. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that. It makes your brain slow down and all your thoughts turn honeyed and gooey. His hands are right in your eyeline, and he’s got those big, deft fingers that you’ve imagined tracing over your hips and lips, and he’s giving you compliments. Compliments like they’re just breathing, like he doesn’t even have to think about them because you could be all he sees.

“What do you want to know?” You mumble, desperate to move the conversation away from this. If you offer yourself too much of his attention, it’s going to drag you under like quicksand.

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?”

“My favorite flower-“

Bucky grunts, nodding tightly. You take a deep, slow breath, careful not to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

Bucky grunts. “Well, what kinda flowers have people gotten you before.”

“I- I’ve never been given flowers.”

“You’ve never-“ Bucky cuts himself off, and you risk a glance up to see him scowling. “Ever?”

You can hear the what about that he won’t say. What about a boyfriend.

If he’s not brave enough to ask it—although you don’t understand why he’d care—you don’t have to be brave enough to answer it.

“No. Never ever.” You mumble, and you might dissolve into a mist of humid humiliation and confusing arousal.

You have Bucky’s attention, and you both wish he’d take it back and never want him to stop pushing. You’ve never had someone poke at you this much. It makes your core ache, and you’d rally rather not explore what that means right now.

“You need to sign these.” You shove some papers across the desk, staring at Bucky’s hands again.

They’re curled in fists. You’d like them inside you-

You mentally slap yourself, and force a smile onto your face, nodding to the papers. “Steve told me not to let you go home, until you did.”

Bucky chuckles at that, though there’s still a strange look in his eyes. “Not let me go home, huh.”

“Yes, sir.” You drawl.

Bucky’s knuckles go white. You could swear his voice gets lower.

“And how would you stop me from gettin’ home, kid?”

“With lots of talent.” You shrug, giving him a tiny smile. “And my body.”

Bucky coughs, and the desk jerks suddenly. His knee must’ve slammed against it. You shoot to your feet, ready to check on him, but he waves you quickly back down.

“Fine. I’m fine.” He scowls, scooting forward in his chair. “Papers.”

He makes a beckoning gesture, and you just stare at him.

“James, are you-“

“Bucky.” He grunts. “Papers, sweetheart.”

You nod stupidly, shoving the papers into his hands. You’re not sure what’s happening. Your thoughts are all still made of candy-clouds and goo, so you don’t want to overthink it.

It’s only when you get home, that you realize what he called you. I

Sweetheart.

You can’t blame him. He can’t know what that does to you.

You really need to find that date.

It happens in the middle of work. The worst possible place for it to happen.

Steve’s on a conference call, and you’re lying on his couch, swiping through dating apps. You’re only there in case he forgets something, and you don’t have to pay much attention for that. The voices of old, annoying men drone on and on and on in the background, and you have everything memorized so well that when Steve calls your name, you answer without even realty paying attention to what you’re saying.

The call is three hours for no good reason at all. You get bored.

Hence, the dating apps.

It’s almost as mindless as the call itself. All in all, the experience is turning out to be more of a fun game than an actual method to find a date. The next gala is creeping up, though. You refuse to give up.

But you’re also picky. And you keep comparing every profile you see to Bucky, which is deeply counterproductive.

Michael is handsome, and the exact same height as Bucky, but he’s built with corded muscle instead of the softer, thicker strength you’ve seen straining through Bucky’s suit. Henry has a picture of himself with kids—his sister’s, according to the caption—but you look at it and just think of when Bucky and Steve went to the children’s hospital, and Bucky had become such a soft and approachable person you’d been worried you’d get pregnant watching him.

Leon has nice eyes, but they’re not as pretty as Bucky’s. Cal is in the military, but he’s beaming about it in a way that makes you think he joined so he could run around with a big gun, while Bucky joined because his family needed the healthcare. Jake has a sweet smile, but it doesn’t make you feel bubbly like Bucky’s. Asher and Kyle both have high paying jobs—all their photos showing them driving Maserati’s and drinking expensive whiskey—but one of the things you’ve always loved about Bucky is how he doesn’t brag. His suits are less expensive and more well-tailored. His watch costs $150—he always grumbles that he just needs it to tell time—and he drives a motorcycle that Sam says he built from scratch.

You squint at Damien’s profile, and he’s got a motorcycle too. His caption says that he built it himself, and you don’t know anything about motorcycles, but you doubt he built it as well as Bucky did.

You swipe left with a sigh, and go onto the next profile.

James. 41. Business Manager. You give the picture a quick glance—beefy, shirtless chest that makes you drool a little, only the sharp, bearded jawline of the owner visible in the photo—and squint at the bio. Wealthy bachelor looking for his Queen.

You snort, and scroll lazily down. James’ Interests include music, cars, technology, dancing, family. No kids, but wants them. Looking for casual fun—you can’t be causal, or have fun, but it’s always nice to pretend—located thirty feet away, pet cat, smokes and drinks socially-

Located thirty feet away.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You sit up suddenly, rapidly scrolling back up to the photos and main bio. James, 41, Business Manager.   

Fucking- Fuck-

You click frantically through the photos, somehow burning alive and freezing to your bones all at once. James’ next photo doesn’t show his face either, instead displaying a fluffy white cat on his bare chest. You know that cat. You’ve fed and pet her, paying her more attention than Bucky himself whenever he brings her to the office. Alpine adores you. You have more photos of her on your phone than you do of yourself.

Next photo.

Bucky drinking at that Italian place he, Steve, and Sam always go to for celebrations. In the background, you can see Natasha flirting with the bartender. You remember that night. She’d taken him home, and you’d heard far too many details about how hot and submissive he was in the morning. You’d been happy for her, and sick with jealousy. You’d spent all of that night standing next to her, trying not to stare at Bucky while he and Steve drank.

Which means-

You pinch in on the photo, feeling a little sick when you find it. Shrouded enough in the background that you can only see it if you look, but you can definitely fucking see it.

Your lovelorn, sad expression as you stare at Bucky like he’s made of stars.

He’s seen this photo. Everyone who’s been on his dating profile has seen this photo.

You feel sick. You unpinch the photo, ready to maybe just fall back into the couch cushions and have them swallow you whole, and then it fucking happens.

Your thumb drifts a little to the right.

You swipe yes on Bucky’s profile.

And a little heart graphic overtakes your screen, the bolded words It’s a Match! Shoved into your face.

You scream, and throw your phone across the room.

Steve looks at you like you’re insane. You feel insane.

“Are you-“

“I need to go to the bathroom!” You shout, and Steve opens his mouth, but you’re already running.

You have to pass Bucky’s office—right next to Steve’s—to get to the bathroom. You pause to stare at him, unable to form any coherent thoughts but fuck and Bucky.

He’s on his phone. Reading something with a knit brow. You might actually be about to throw up.

Like he can sense you, he looks up.

Your eyes meet.

And you run away, as fast as you fucking can.

Steve is a lovely boss. When you tell him you need a week off for vague personal reasons, but that you can still work remotely, he tells you not to bother and just take the time without work.

“But- I can help-“

“I know. I’m telling you not to.” He gives you a small smile. “You’ve earned the break.”

“Steve-“

“You’re allowed to just rest,” he says your name kindly, and you shake your head. No. You’re not.

“Please give me something to do.” You plead, and Steve sighs.

“Kid, you don’t have to prove something-“

“Please.” If you don’t have anything, you’re just going to stare at your match with Bucky the whole time. And that’s a harrowing, deadly prospect of a way to spend your week.

Steve sighs, and gives in. You get a bunch of emails to send, and they’re just enough to distract you.

Barely.

Sometimes, you still manage to falter, and open up the app. Stare at the you matched with James three days ago! Banner at the top of the screen. Maybe he hasn’t seen it at all, and you’re hiding for no reason. He could be someone who never even checks who he matches with unless they message first, because he just gets so many matches. Jealousy stabs through your heart, sour and sharp, and you sigh.

It’s your best hope. That he’ll just never know.

But he matched with you, too.

He could just swipe right on every girl he sees. That’s a thing you hear men do.

Bucky’s not the type to do that.

He’s also not the type to be looking for his Queen. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.

But you’re pretty sure you do.

This is making your head hurt.

Your real best bet is that someone’s been catfishing as James Barnes, but there’s no real hope of that with the bar photo. You’re going to have to quit your job and change your name. Maybe Steve can reference you to another similar job if you apologize enough. Maybe you can move to Alaska and learn how to be a fisherwoman. You’re not very patient. And you’re not going to be able to afford your nice gloves anymore. Maybe you should just die. The best option might just be dying-

Your phone buzzes.

Message from James.

You throw your phone again. He knows.

Death is looking lovely right now.

Your days off turn into a week off. Steve checks on you, but doesn’t push you to come back. If anything, he’s still trying to convince you to just take a real vacation.

“It’s going to help more than… What you’re doing right now.” He stands in the middle of your apartment, gesturing at your ice cream and the mess of clothing on the floor.

“This is helping plenty.” You mutter. Steve sighs.

“Look, I’m really not mad about you taking the time. I know you. You wouldn’t take it if you didn’t need it.”

“But?” You give him a pointed look, and his jaw ticks.

“But I wish you’d tell me what was goin’ on.” He says, sounding more sad than annoyed. “So I could help.”

You give him a tight smile. “Steve-“

“Anything you need. If I can’t get it, I’m sure Bucky or Nat could-“

“Steve.” You don’t want to hear about how Bucky can help you. Not when he knows perfectly well why you’ve gone into hiding. “I- I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve frowns, but lets it go. In the Steve way, where he keeps asking every time he visits, but always takes the no in stride.

“Can you at least tell me what I should be saying to everyone else?” He asks after a week. “People are noticing I’m missing my brain.”

You laugh softly. “I’m sick.”

“But you’re not.”

Not visibly. Your heart feels sick. Bucky’s sent you two more messages on the app, one into your personal number, and none on Teams, and you’ve read none of them. You don’t want to hear his gentle rejection, because it’s going to crush you into fine, little pieces.

“We’re worried about you.” Steve says. “And again, no rush to come back, but I don’t know how to work my own schedule and Bucky’s started pacing whenever I try to do your job, so-“

“Bucky’s pacing?” You blurt, and Steve blinks.

“Yeah? Think he misses you, too.”

You swallow, and glance at your phone. The unread messages.

Bucky only paces when he feels like something is wrong. Really wrong.

And you don’t want to know. That he’s been thinking about. That he’s been pacing. Because it all ends the same anyway.

“I’ll be back soon.” You mumble, flipping your phone face down. You don’t want to know. “Just- A few more days.”

Steve looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe you.

But you’re a big girl. You can survive a little rejection, and it doesn’t have to be anything at all.

You’re going to keep going, and this won’t have to have been anything at all.

Nobody asks, when you get back to the office. Nat and Sam check in that you’re okay, and Steve lets you pick lunch three days in a row—and you think he’s blaming himself for everything, which at least tells you that Bucky hasn’t snitched about anything—but the only thing waiting for you is a phone full of voicemails and a crowded calendar.

And Bucky.

Bucky, who almost acts like nothing even happened at all.

Almost.

He’s staring more than he used to, and he’d always stared quite a lot. When you’re left alone in a room together, he stares until you look up at him, before immediately coughing and looking back to his own papers. He lingers outside of Steve’s office until you ask if he needs to talk, and he shakes his head and runs off like a teenager caught trying to buy drinks. Nat shouts at him after two meetings where he wasn’t paying attention, and he mutters that he was distracted.

“What?! What could you possibly have been so distracted by that you missed every cue Sam gave you, five times in a row?”

He just shrugs, and you can feel his gaze burning straight into your heart. You bow your head, and pretend you don’t see it.

You still haven’t looked at the messages. You’re not going to. And he hasn’t brought it up, so it’s like nothing ever happened.

Like nothing ever happened.

But it happened. The world ended, but it also just kept spinning, and now you’re suspended in a world where Bucky doesn’t even treat you like a friend anymore.

Steve notices. Of course he does. Asshole.

“Did something happen?” He asks softly. “Did Bucky… Say something to you?”

You look up with wide eyes, mouth going dry. “Wha- What? No, Bucky- James and I, it’s fine.” You laugh, high and nervous. “Everything’s fine.”

Steve hums, and he doesn’t believe you. You can see it, shining in his eyes. “You know… I’ve known Bucky a long time.”

“I know. I’ve read the about page.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I mean, yes, but-“ He sighs. “Bucky’s not good at… Talking. When something matters to him, he shows it.”

“Okay.” He’s shown you nothing but silence and stares.

“And he, um- He’s a good guy-“

“I’m aware.”

“I know you are, but-“ Steve sighs, slumping in his chair. “Just, if Bucky ever says something to you, or asks you to do something, and you don’t want to, don’t. I’d rather you piss him off then feel pressured. Not that he’d pressure you,” he adds quickly. “But if there’s ever… Anything. And I’ve been wrong about… Stuff. Just know you’re as valuable as he is.”

He’s speaking in riddles. This has been a long few weeks. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Steve nods, taking in a deep breath. “And is there… Anything you want to tell me? As my friend?”

It’s a mean card to play. You almost want to. Steve’s kind, and he gives good advice, and you believe him. You know that if you confessed your silent, raging love for Bucky, Steve would just support you.

But you don’t need someone to support you right now. You need someone to smack you in the face and tell you to stop being a baby about your crush not liking you back.

“No.” You give him a strained smile, and it hurts on your face. “Why, is there something you need to tell me?”

Steve stares at you for a moment, then slowly shakes his head. “No. Just… You were missed.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Steve clears his throat.

“By everyone.”

You nod, useless tears stinging at your eyes, and look back to your work.

Later that day, Bucky goes into Steve’s office and they talk for two hours. You want to eavesdrop, but that would be a new, pathetic low.

You stare at Bucky’s head through the glass, and chew on a pencil until it snaps in half.

When Bucky leaves the office, he stops in front of your desk and lingers. You can feel the heat from his body, and you’d like to fall into it. He clears his throat, and you look up like he’d grabbed your chin and demanded it.

His eyes are shining on yours, and you’ve never seen his jaw clenched so tight. As if he’s disgusted, just from the sight of you.

“You look nice.” He rasps, and you can’t tell if you’re glowing or burning out.

“Thank you.”

He nods, looking up to the ceiling, then back to you. “We all missed you.”

“I’ve been told-“

“I missed you.” He says those words firmer. They sink into your core, molten and demanding, so overwhelming you’re not even sure what to do with yourself.

You’ve been staring at him too long. Words are failing you, thoughts are failing you, and-

“I, uh- I’ll leave you to it-“

“You too.” You breathe out, and Bucky stumbles back like you hit him. “I- I missed you too.”

He blinks. His nostrils flare, and he gapes at you with a red face. For a second, you don’t see the calm, collected man you know and adore so well. You see something closer to a teenage boy, fumbling and gaping and unsure what to do with his own strength.

You like him, just as much as you like the rest of Bucky. Love it.

Endlessly and uselessly love it.

Bucky turns on his heels, and almost runs back to his office. Your nails dig into your palms, and you force your attention back to your work.

It will pass. All of this, like every storm, is going to have to pass.

You get a night off. Steve has a date, and it’s the one part of his life you have and want nothing to do with. You were going to use the evening to catch up on more voicemails, until Sam shooed you out of the building like a bird. Go rest, woman.

You are resting.

By catching up on emails.

There’s a knock on your door, long after anyone should be out doing anything. You don’t move from the couch at first, because you think it’s a mistake.

Then the knock repeats. Louder than the first time. And someone shouts your name, muffled through the door.

Not a mistake.

Bucky. That’s Bucky’s voice.

You fall, trying to get up. Your knees feel like jelly, and you haven’t even seen him yet, but he’s already doing that thing where his attention makes you feel like you’re made of electric static. Sensitive and empty-headed in the best and worst way. You can barely stand it. You can’t really stand at all.

When you finally—somehow—make it to the door, Bucky’s standing on the other side like he’s awaiting inspection. Tall and silent, shoulders squared and arms behind his back, looking at you like you’re holding his life in your hands.

You stare at him. He stares back, and you can measure your every breath in heartbeats. Louder and louder in your ears.

“Hi.” You finally say, shifting on your feet, and his throat bobs.

“Hey.”

“What’re you-“

“I wanted to check on you.” He blurts, and you freeze. “And- Talk.”

You ignore that last part. It’s the last thing you want to do. “I’m fine.”

Bucky’s pretty lips tug down. “You took two weeks off.” He mutters. “You don’t even take sick days.”

You swallow. “I- I was trying to take care of myself-“

“By working the whole time?” He looks past you again, and you follow his gaze.

Right to your laptop, open on an email draft.

“You’re supposed to be takin’ tonight off too.” He says, a little scolding, and you stiffen.

“You’re not my boss.”

Bucky chuckles. Low and deep, shivering up your spine. “Trust me, doll. I’m fully aware of that.”

Oh. That does something nice to your core. You think you might be getting a fever.

“James…”

“Bucky.” He grunts, and you take an unsteady breath. Staring at his chest seems to be the most effective way to speak to him.

“Bucky, I- I’m fine, really-“

“I brought you flowers.” He says suddenly, and his hands shoot out from behind his back.

He’s holding out a large bouquet of roses and lilies, each in about three different colors. It’s a stark contrast to his black suit and neatly pressed white shirt, petals spilling and little bits of yellow pollen clinging to the stems. To the cuffs of his sleeves.

Bucky clears his throat, pushing the flowers a little further forward. You take them with shaking hands, a little worried they’ll dissolve the moment you touch them. They don’t. And Bucky clears his throat.

“I, uh- I gave you options, and-“ He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I come in? Please?”

You can’t think of a good reason to say no. You don’t even think you’d get out the words, if you tried. So you nod, and step to the side.

And now Bucky’s in your apartment. Looking around at your things and licking his lips, nodding slowly. He fits into it, like a puzzle piece being slowly slotted in, and-

No.

You can’t think like that. It’s not going to help anyone, not by far.

He brought you flowers.

To apologize for breaking your heart.

Bucky looks back to you, bracing his hands on his hips. You swallow, hugging yourself tight, and neither of you dare to move. Bucky takes a ragged breath, looks to the side, and back to you with the strangest, most anguished expression you’ve ever seen on his handsome face.

“Tell me if I’m steppin’ over the line.” He starts, urgent and pleading. “You gotta tell me if I’m steppin’ over the line.”

“Bucky-“

“We both know why I’m here.” He takes a step forward. You take a step back.

Bucky freezes, and you take a shaking breath, staring at his shoes.

“I- I’m sorry.” You mumble. “I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t?” Bucky cuts you off, and you glance up to see him frowning. “At all?”

You blink. “No, I- I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you meant it?”

You nod, and Bucky’s jaw works tight.

“Could you?”

“What?”

“Could you mean it?” He rasps, and your mouth falls uselessly open.

“Ja-  Bucky.” You shake your head, stepping further back. If this is a trick, you’re too fragile to fall for it. “I- I don’t know.”

“Why not?” He takes a step forward, your eyes trapped together. “Is it me?”

“Is it you?”

“Yeah, I- I mean- You don’t really date.” He clears his throat. “And Stevie’s never told me why, ‘cause- I’m not your boss, but I’m not not your boss- ‘s what Sam says-“

You’ve never heard him ramble. Never heard him speak like he’s not sure of the next work. It’s just as endearing as the display at the desk, but you’re even less sure what to do with it. “Bucky-“

“If it’s just me that you’re not- That’s the reason.” He’s standing over you now. Bowing his head. “Then that’s fine. I’m not gonna be an ass about it. But…” His shoulders slump. “If it’s not that. Then I- I’d like to…”

He trails off, giving you a hopeful look.

But you’re lost. Nothing he’s saying is making sense, and you’re almost being dragged under by the current of his words.

“What?” You repeat, more pleading than before. Bucky sighs.

“You never answered my messages.” He mutters. “Figured I’d need to ask in person. Needed to hear it.” He clears his throat, lips twitching. “Even if it’s a no.”

“Even…” You frown. “Even if what’s a no?”

His head shoots up, and his frown deepens. “I’m… Asking you out. On a date?”

Oh.

What.

Your surprise must be written all over your face, because Bucky looks bewildered. He can join the club.  

You just keep staring at him stupidly, and he says your name, slow and measured.

“You read my messages, right?”

You shake your head, and he groans.

“I- I’m sorry-“

“No, it’s- It’s my fault.” He mutters. “Nat told me you were oblivious-“

You cut him off indignantly. “I am not oblivious-“

“We matched on a dating app.” He drawls, lips twitching slightly. “And you’re shocked I’m askin’ you out.”

You scowl, hugging yourself tighter. “I thought you made a mistake.” You grumble, and Bucky chuckles.

He takes another step forward. Close enough that you can smell him, smell his cologne and aftershave and something deeper that’s just Bucky. You step back more out of fear that you were about to fall forward.

Bucky follows you.

Suddenly your pinned against your counters, Bucky’s arms braced on either side of your body. You swallow. Bucky’s tongue darts over his lips, and you think you did drown in his everything. You’ve been swept out to sea, and there’s no hope of being dragged out to shore.

And with how Bucky’s looking at you, you’re not sure you’d ever ask to be saved.

“You.” Bucky reaches up, brushing hair out of your eyes with a small smile. “Are not a mistake. And if someone’s been tellin’ you that you are.” He leans down, until your lips are almost brushing. “They’re damn lucky you’re lettin’ them make it.”

Dear God. You’re not strong enough for this.

“James…” You breathe out, and his brows knit. “Bucky. Don’t.”

He tenses around you. “Don’t?”

“Don’t.” You whisper, eyes dropping to his lips. They look so soft. “Don’t do this.”

Bucky leans a little back, but doesn’t pull fully away. “Why not? I told you, if it’s not ‘cause of me, we can work it out-“

“Bucky-“

“I’ll quit.” He says suddenly, and you gape.

“You’re the boss, you can’t quit-“

“There are like, four bosses.” Bucky waves you off. “Five if we’re countin’ you, which I am, and you do twice the fuckin’ work. I’ll just quit, and you can have my job, and we can-“

“Bucky.” You grab his shirt, and he falls silent immediately. “Just- Stop. You can’t quit, you shouldn’t-“ You take a deep breath, trying to focus on speaking instead of crying.

Bucky says your name softly, and big hands thread through your hair as you start to sniffle. It’s so pathetic, but you’re tired and overwhelmed and you can’t take him doing this to you twice. You’re not the kind of girl Bucky Barnes is going to want. Not for real. Not for long. And you can’t handle him pretending you are.

“It’s not nice.” You whimper, even as he tugs you into his chest.

Pressing your face into his chest is just as amazing as you’d always imagined. You wish you weren’t crying when it finally happened.

“What’s not nice.” Bucky prompts gently, and you swallow.

“You.”

“Me?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his torso. Bucky pets the back of your head, words low and cautious.

“What about me isn’t nice?”

You shake your head, hugging him tighter. You can’t stop. It’s like a reflex. “You can’t- You can’t say that stuff. ‘S mean.”

“Me tellin’ you I’d quit for you is mean?”

“You don’t mean it.”

Bucky tenses. “I do mean it-“

“No, it’s not- I’m not-“ You swallow, breathing him in. “I don’t just wanna be…”

You trail off. Bucky prompts you softly. “Be what?”

“Be fun.” You mumble. “I can’t do fun, you know than, and- And if you’re not serious, then-“

“I’m dead serious.” Bucky grunts, and you swallow.

“James-“

“No. Listen to me.” He picks you up without a warning, sitting you on the counter so you’re at his eye level. You grab his shoulders, and he keeps his hands planted on your hips, almost holding you under his words.

Forcing you to hear them, as he watches you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

“I am serious about this. About you.” He grabs one of your hands, holding it between your bodies. “I have wanted you since I met you. Don’t look at me like that,” he squeezes your hand when you give him a doubtful frown. “I have. You are beautiful and smart and bossy, and I’ve been obsessed with you so much, Nat’s slapped me about it twice.”

You swallow, closing your eyes tight. You can’t look at him right now. “Your profile said looking for casual.” You mutter, and Bucky snorts.

“Last year, Sam made that thing for me. ‘Cause I was obsessed with Stevie’s new PA, and I needed to get under someone to get over it.”

“Hm.” You peek at him. He looks sincere. “Did you?”

“I got under many someone’s.” He shrugs. “Didn’t have Sam’s intended effect. Think I just wanted you more, after every time.”

You swallow. That does explain a lot about the profile, in hindsight. Those were all very Sam things to say.

“I want you.” Bucky murmurs, pressing a little closer. Your noses are bumping, and he’s still not looking away. “You’re in my dreams, and days without you are nightmares. Just- One shot. It’s all I need. Please.”

And God, you want to give it to him. More than anything. You want to tell him that he doesn’t even need his shot, he hit a bullseye a year ago and you’ve just been waiting for him to realize it since.

But-

“I’m a virgin.” You blurt, and Bucky blinks.

“Okay-“

“I can’t do what others can. For you. And I- I don’t know how anything works- Well, I know how sex works, I got an A in health class, but everyone got an A in health, but I got an A and paid attention, and-“ You’re rambling. “I just don’t know how dating works, or- Or relationships, and I’m not- You’re very- You.”

You gesture over his everything, and Bucky’s lips twitch.

“That a problem, doll?”

“No. God, no. You’re perfect, I’m just- Not? And that’s not really fair to you-“

Bucky grabs your face, and your cut off in a kiss.

You’ve seen kissing in the movies and on TV. Read about it a million times. It’s always all sweet and romantic, with swelling music and breeze and passion.

And nothing has done it justice at all.

Kissing Bucky is awkward for a second—his lips slotted over yours, your whole body frozen as it shuts down, then reboots—and then it’s like breathing. Your hands fly back to his shoulders, your legs spread so you can lean further forwards, and your lips move without a thought. Pressing against Bucky’s, moving in a dance he seems more than happy to lead, chasing at the slight chance that you could have just a little more.

One of Bucky’s hands finds this back of your head, and the other grabs your waist. Dragging you further forward until your chests are pressed tight, massaging the softness there in rhythm with his lips. You sigh, breathy and content, and Bucky presses further down. He’s all you can feel, muscle under your hands and love pounding in your heart. You nails scrape his neck, and he groans into the kiss.

The sound vibrates against your spread thighs. His hand on your waist flexes, fingers digging into the softness, and you gasp.

Bucky pulls back too fast, and you follow. Tugging him back, unwilling to let him go just yet. He follows for a second, tongue tracing over your lower lip, then yanks himself back.

His brow presses against yours, and you both breathe raggedly.

“I like you.” Bucky almost growls. His thumb presses over your swollen lips, palm cupping your cheek, and you melt further into him than you already were.

“Bucky-“

“You’re what I want.” He leans forward, demanding and pleading all at once. “Your body.” He pushes his hand under your shirt, rough fingers dragging against sensitive skin. “Is a bonus.”

You shiver, whimpering softly. You feel pliant. Dizzy, in a way that no flirting or video has ever rendered you before. You think Bucky might’ve sucked your soul out with that kiss. You’d like him to do it again.

But when you try to lean up, Bucky pushes you gently back down. You whine, and his lips twitch.

“You like me too.” He mutters, watching you like he’s somehow still unsure.

“Mhm.” You say, and he stands a little taller.

“How long-“

“The same.”

“Oh.” He grins. “Good. That’s- Good-“

You slam back up, kissing him with an open mouth and sloppy need. Bucky responds immediately, and heat is starting to build between your thighs. It’s not just going to go away with a little touching and petting. It’s almost painful. You need him.

Bucky pulls away again. You’re going to punch him.

“Jesus.” He mutters, staring down at your desperate expression. “You gotta slow down, baby-“

“Don’t want to.” You breathe, pulling at his shirt. “Want you, Bucky. Want you now.”

His throat bobs, eyes darkening, but he remains composed. “You… You’re a virgin-“

“Then show me.”

Bucky says your name, and now he’s the one begging. But you’re not letting him off this easy.

“Show me, Bucky.” You rest your chin on his chest, giving him your best pout.

He grabs your face between big hands, chest heaving as he stares at you. You offer a sweet smile, and his nostrils flare.

“Please.” You whisper. “Anything. I just want to feel you.”

“Feel me.” He echoes, like he can’t believe it. “You wanna feel me?”

You nod, and he presses his brow over yours his, his eyes squeezed shut.

“And you want me to show you.” He rasps. “All the different ways I can make you feel good.”

You nod frantically, almost clawing at his shirt. Bucky’s eyes shoot open.

“Yeah?” He grunts, and you whine.

“Yeah. Yes. Please-“

He grabs your jaw, grip hard and unyielding, folds over you like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. His lips move, harsh and hungry, and his hand on your hip starts to knead the skin like he’s trying to leave a mark.

“Wanted this for so long.” He grunts, dragging his hand down to squeeze your ass. “Wanted you. So fuckin’ bad.”

You moan into his mouth, and Bucky sucks on your lower lip. You can’t have enough of him. He’s warm and leaves little fires everywhere he touches. You’d like them to sweep through you, overtake you and send you higher.

“So gorgeous.” Bucky’s hand moves lower, resting on your upper thigh. “Thought about you all the time, hated bein’ in a room and not getting to touch you, was so sure I was going to lose my damn mind not havin’ you be mine.”

“I- I wanted you too.” You breathe out, almost delirious from his kisses. “Always wanted it to be you, never- Oh-“

You lose your ability to speak for a second, when Bucky starts to kiss under your ear. Your body goes pliant and soft, and his growl against your skin sends a shiver up your spine. He’s holding the back of your neck now, guiding it to offer himself better access. You tug on his hair and he moans. It makes your knees wobbly.

“Never anyone else,” you breathe, and he seems to like that. The massive hand on your thigh shifts slightly, so Bucky’s thick fingers are grazing your core through your clothing.

It’s a perfect pressure where you’d been craving any of his attention, and it’s a promise of more later. Your legs give out, eyes fluttering as your brain short circuits with arousal.

Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as he sits you on the counter, back arching as he captures your mouth in another kiss.  

“No one else.” He mutters, hand on your neck slowly, possessively moving down your spine. “Never gonna be anyone else, doll. Not for you,” he nips at your jaw, hand on your thigh teasing the sensitivity under your shirt. “Sure as shit not for me. Been no one else since I started thinkin’ of you.”

Your breath hitches, and you lean back with wide eyes. “Bucky, you don’t have to-“

“I’m not lying.” He says firmly, dropping his brow against yours. You try to lean back, but he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes back together.

You blink at him hopelessly, grabbing at the collar of his shirt like you’re looking for balance. Bucky gives you a tiny smile, pressing his lips sweetly over yours. Another, softer promise.

“No one,” he murmurs. “Was ever gonna live up to you. First few months I’d fuck a girl and feel sick the next day. Like I’d done you wrong.”

“You- You didn’t-“

“Yeah, I did. We coulda been doin’ this a lot sooner.”

You flush, looking down to where your bodies are pressed so tight together. Bucky’s dress shirt and hidden muscle, both hard and gentle all at once. Your sleeping clothes and bare feet, swinging off the counter. You lean a little further into him, suddenly feeling rather small.

“What if I’m not…” You take a deep breath, frowning at the floor. “What if I don’t-“

Bucky says your name, concerned and caring, and you shake your head.

“What if I’m not the fantasy, Bucky.” You look back up with your best pleading eyes. “What if that- That idea of me isn’t worth what you thought?”

His brows knit tight, and you try to shirk away as he studies you. You can’t tell if you like it or not, but you know you feel bare. And you both want him to look away, and never go where you can’t reach him again.

Bucky’s lips twitch. He leans forward slowly, kissing each corner of your mouth before taking it fully under his. The kiss is hot and commanding, almost forcing your brain to slow back down. You dissolve into it, your thoughts a nice haze of Bucky. He guides your legs a little further apart, and takes both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them behind you.

“I love you,” he mutters. “I told you. And remember,” he pulls back with that lovely, secret smile. “I’m helpin’ you through it, right?”

You nod, and Bucky leans back forward, bumping your noses together.

“Trust me?”

“Yes.” You breathe, and he grins.

“Good girl.”

Heat floods between your legs, and oh. You like that. You’re shaking a little bit, you like it so much. Want it so much. Want Bucky.

Like he’s reading your mind, he rasps against your lips. “You enjoyed other things before?”

You nod, unable to tell if that’s another flush or just how turned on you are, and Bucky smirks.

“Like what?” He kisses your cheek, massaging your thighs. “Tell me what you like, sweetheart. What you want.”

“I- I want to be under.” You whisper, and you think his hands might be magic. Pulling answers out of you that you would’ve rather died with an hour ago. “Want you over me. Tell- Telling me what to do.”

Bucky hums, nosing at your neck. You close your eyes, forcing on.

“Tell- Tell me how good I’m doing. And- Other stuff.”

He leans back, and your core throbs at the shine in his eyes. Like he’s going to eat you alive. “Other stuff?” He rasps, and you nod weakly.

“If you can- Can do that.” It’s hard to focus, between his piercing gaze and the hand wandering between your legs. Teasing your inner thigh, until you’re voice is high and breathy. “Do that, and- and be-“

“Be a little mean?” He coos, thumb pressing over your aching button. You swallow, and nod.

“A little mean.” You echo, and Bucky grins.

“Yes, ma’am.” He kisses you again, slow and romantic, and you barely notice his hand moving away. “Think that’s enough outta you for now.”

“Wha- Bucky-“

He steps away. Without warning, Bucky just backs up, and you almost fall off the counter trying to chase him. He laughs, and pushing you back into place in a second, then moves away again. Where you can’t follow.

“Bucky, come back-“

“Nope.” He grins, like he knows you’re already too lost to chase him. He probably does. Asshole. “You want me to show you?”

You scowl. “James-“

“Call me whatever you want, baby. You ain’t gonna be able to talk at the end, anyway.” He braces his hands on his hips, raising a brow. “Want me to show you.”

He won’t come back until you answer, so you just nod, crossing your arms like a scolded child. Bucky grins, and you’re hoping for another good girl and kiss, but he doesn’t even lean closer.

“Alright.” He stands a little taller. “Strip.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Strip.”

“Like, completely?”

“Hm.” He pauses, raking over your body in a way that really shouldn’t make you feel more turned on. “Yep. All of this, off.”

He waves to your body, and gives you a silent, challenging look. Like he’s expecting you to go back, and ask for that date first.

But at this point, you’re going to explode if he doesn’t make you cum. And you’ve never backed down from him before. You have no interest in starting now.

Slowly, you peel off your sweater. Your shirt. The cold air hits your bare chest, and not wearing a bra was the right choice. Bucky’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, the evidence of your effect on him straining through his pants.

Your nipples are peaked, and you awkwardly palm at them the way you’ve seen in porn. Bucky shifts on his feet, hand flexing like he’s trying not to reach for you, so you repeat the motion again.

“Pants.” He grunts, and you smile sweetly.

“Please?”

Bucky chuckles, like he can’t believe you. “Jesus, woman-“

“It’s polite-“

“If you don’t take your pants off.” He grunts, giving you a firm look. “I’m gonna rip off your pants and fuck you on this counter right now.”

You swallow. That doesn’t sound all that bad, but-

Something foolish and lovesick inside of your chest demands that tonight be special. So you move on from your breast, but give Bucky a nervous smile.

“Next time?”

He softens slightly, and nods. “Next time. Pants.”

You smile, and he smiles back. But the expression quickly shifts back into desire, as you shuffle out of your pants. You take your underwear down in one motion as well, leaving you completely exposed. At Bucky’s mercy.

And he’s just watching you.

Watching you and rubbing his crotch, where an erection is demanding attention. The lewd sight makes you fuzzy in all the right places, your own legs spreading a little wider apart.

You need him so bad it hurts. Your fingers dip into your wet pussy, clumsily rubbing your clit, and Bucky groans.

Suddenly he’s back against you, staring at your hand between your legs and panting like a dog.

“Look at you.” He groans, dragging his gaze back up your naked body. “Better than a dream.”

“Thank you.” Your hips buck up against your own, suddenly flimsy and useless hand. You’ve touched yourself before. With Bucky all around you, it’s simply not enough. “Bucky- You-You need to touch me-“

“I know.” He grunts, lips ghosting over yours. “Need you to be ready, just-“

His throat bobs as he cuts himself off, his hand on his own hard dick suddenly pressing against your pussy. A spasm shoots through your body, and you almost fly off the counter.

Bucky presses further down, attaching his lips to your neck and collarbone. His tongue flicks against a pulse point as he spreads your pussy lips. Rubbing up and down while his thumb circles around your clit, working you up and up and up. You’re panting in his ear, vulnerable and dazed, and Bucky hums against your skin.

“Shirt.” He grunts. “Get my shirt off.”

You nod, and it should be a simple task. But Bucky’s relentless. He suckles on your neck, leaving possessive bruises on your skin all while working your pussy and drawling in your ear.

“I know exactly how I want you, pretty girl.” He mutters, flicking your clit with his thumb. “Told you I’ve been thinkin’ about it forever. ‘Bout every single way I’d take you if I got the chance. And I’m gonna show you all of them,” he kisses over a bruise, teasing two fingers against your fluttering core. “But tonight, we’re takin’ it easy.”

You whine, fumbling with just the top button of his shirt. “I- I don’t want easy-“

“I know, baby.” He presses just the tip of his finger into your cunt, and you clench around him with a whine. “But you’re so sensitive.”

If you had the power right now, you’d hit him for saying it like that. All mocking and syrupy. Making you try to fuck your hips down onto his fingers. But Bucky just pulls fully out, moving his attention back to your swollen clit.

“You need to take care of the buttons.” He whispers, pushing down hard on the bundle of nerves. “They need a little extra attention.” He rubs his thumb back and forth. “Before we get goin’.”

“Fuck- Bucky-“ You breathe, almost slumped against his chest. Your fingers are shaking, desperate to just hold onto something as thighs spread as wide as they can go. “Fuck you-“

He chuckles, kissing the side of your head as his thumb picks up speed. “We’re getting there, needy girl.”

You scrape at his forearm, one hand still trying to pry his shirt open with no real resolve at all. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, the asshole. Driving you insane with the teasing over your exposed entrance, never fully offering relief. You manage to get the top button open, but then Bucky pushes down hard on your clit, and an open moan falls from your lips as you double over.

“That’s it.” Bucky laughs, low and dangerous in your ear. “Doesn’t that feel good, baby?”

You nod, watching him move on you. “Bu- Bucky-“ You pull on his collar. “Help…”

“You’ve got it.” He says simply, spreading two fingers and dragging them between your pussy lips. “Just keep tryin’.”

There is no world where you have it, but Bucky’s words are enough for you to keep grasping fruitlessly at the fabric. Your head drops onto his shoulder, as you paw at his shirt. He laughs, rumbling through his chest, and slows his pace on your clit.

“All the ways I’ve pictured havin’ you.” He mutters. “This is the prettiest. Got you nice and ready, barely even touched you.”

“You’re- You’re touching me-“

“Not like I could touch you.” He says, a deep promise in his voice. “Told you, I’m going easy on my best girl. But if I wanted…”

He chuckles, kissing the side of your head. Pushing on your clit as your body starts to wiggle, trying to find more relief. “Bucky-“

“Every time I’ve seen you, layin’ on the couch.” He presses further forward, his bulge against your thigh. “I’ve thought about putting my hands all over your perfect fuckin’ body. Touching these tits,” he ducks his head, and your breath hitches as he kisses over the curve of your breast. “Touchin’ this sweet little pussy.” He plays with your clit like it a toy. “And makin’ you squirt all over Stevie’s nice cushions.”

“I’d look at you.” You gasp, holding onto his shirt for dear life. “In your chair. Wanted to sit on your lap.”

Bucky groans, hips jerking slightly. “Shit, I’ve thought about that too. Pinning you on my cock ‘till you’re sobbing, fucking you over my desk- Christ, whenever you’d bend over I’d just want to drag your ass back and fuck it ‘till you were drooling.”

“Fuck, yes.” You’ve given up on the shirt.

Your hand is wandering down between your bodies, and you rub against Bucky’s crotch, trying to return some of the favor. Bucky moans into your ear, pressing his hand flat over your cunt.

“Shit, you- Can’t just fuckin’-“ Bucky grunts your name, and you roll your hips against his hand.

“Need it. Need it, Bucky- Just- Your fingers, please-“

“No.” He mutters, his own voice gravelly as you squeeze him. “Can’t be patient, can you, sweetheart? Want this cock so bad you’re just grabbin’ for it, wasn’t even able to get my shirt off-“

“It’s a mean game.” You breathe, and he laughs, pushing his lips back over yours.

“You started it.” He brushes the hair from your face, easily moving you backwards until you’re just groping for something of him to hold onto.

“Why can’t you just- Just fuck me-“

“Because you wanted to be a good girl.” Bucky’s kisses are turning slow. Lazy. He’s groping your pussy again, but with far less purpose.

Just spreading your arousal and teasing everywhere you need him, driving you up to an edge you think might take away your mind. A mind you’d be happy to lose for him, if he’d just take it.

“And I want to show you.” Bucky rests his thumb over your entrance, his free hand pushing on your abdomen. Forcing you to stay still. “But you’ve got a greedy pussy, sweet girl. Think you need a little break?”

You shake your head—you do not want a break—but Bucky pushes his thumb a little harder, and you squeak.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“Look at me.” He orders, and you don’t have another choice. His voice is magnetic.

With just the top button exposing his sweaty collarbone and his erection evidence that he cares about this as much as you do, all of Bucky is magnetic. Gravitational. And it makes you feel so unbelievably good, just to be seen by him.

Being fucked by him might kill you.

It’s a risk you’re willing to take.

“Hi.” He smiles, and your lips wobble with need.

“Hi.”

“You still in this?”

You nod, and Bucky’s throat bobs.

“I’d like you to say it-“

“Yes, sir.” You can’t help yourself from saying it.

It’s supposed to be mocking. But your voice is still high, and Bucky looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” He shakes his head, tone something between amused and exhausted. “Otherwise you’d be a really fuckin’ brat.”

You flush violently, and Bucky slaps your pussy once. Just enough to make you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning, and mold back into his whims.

“One day.” He drawls, one knuckle pushing up to press on your clit. “I’m gonna get you on my face. Let you ride me, fuckin’ suffocate between your legs.”

You’re shaking, watching him. He’s talking like he’s predicting the weather, but your head is running wild. The image of Bucky under you, forcing your cunt onto his generous mouth. It would be hot and wet, his hands would leave bruises, and, and-

“You’re so reactive,” he mutters, using featherlight swipes of his thumb against your clit. “Think I could make you squirt on me. It’ll be like this,” he starts to move in tiny, rapid motions back and forth. “Like this. But my tongue,” he licks up your neck, nipping at the underside of your jaw. “And your needy clit bein’ sucked like I’ve got some fuckin’ candy.”

He pinches your clit, and starts to roll it back and forth. You can feel a pressure, building and building. It’s almost blindingly good.

“You’re makin’ such nice sounds for me.” Bucky mutters. “Bet you’ll sound even better, coming apart all over my cock.”

You nod, humping into his hand. You need more, but just when you think it’s going to snap, Bucky’s hand moves back down. 

“You feel this, baby?” He circles his thumb against your hole, and you hum, eyes flutters. “She’s ready for me.”

“Yes.” You breathe. “Ready, Bucky, please- Wait-“

You almost whine when he pulls away again, but this time it’s for a good cause. Bucky rips his shirt off, tossing it to an unimportant corner of the room.

He’s a work of art. All thick, tanned muscle and scars from his time in the army. They ripple when he moves, decorate him like earned tattoos, and you want to map each one with your fingers. His arms are fucking tanks, reaching out for you, and you tumble into them without a thought.

Bucky hauls you into his arms, hooking under your ass and dragging you off the counter with only a grunt.

“Legs around me.” He orders, and you obey. It’s nice to be this close to him.

Plus the bonus, of getting to try and ride his chest while he carries you to your room. You stumble and giggle, trying to give him directions. Bucky shoves open your door with his shoulder, and you laugh as he walks backwards to the bed, his knees hitting the mattress and sending you both tumbling down.

“Shit- Bucky!” You shriek with delight as Bucky rolls you over, trapping you under his broad body. “Oh- Ooh-“

Your words fall off as he kisses you into the mattress, settling between your spread legs quickly. Your hands wander over the expanse of his back, and it’s a nice wealth to be crushed under. You’re losing cognitive function again, as Bucky ruts his still covered erection against your wet core. You don’t know how he’s kept it together so long. You feel like you’re going to cry with desperation, and you’re fully at his whims.

This is nice, though. It’s a hot pressure—still far from what you need, but enough to tide you over—and Bucky’s wall of muscle around might be the best things you’ve ever felt. Your tits pressed against his chest, his arms braced by your head as you just make out like teenagers. He glides one hand down, rolling your nipple between calloused fingers, and you gasp softly.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“I’m gonna start slow.” He murmurs, low and commanding. “Then pick it up. Fuck you ‘till you can’t walk, baby. Give you what you deserve.” He drops his hips, forcing you to stop grinding up. “That sound good?”

You nod, blinking hopelessly up at him, and he smiles.

“Good girl.” You get a sweet kiss on your cheek, his beard tickling softly. “Stay down.”

You don’t understand the request until he’s moving again, and suddenly it seems impossible. Being naked in front of him had been one thing. Naked, sprawled out in bed below him, and watching him strip is another thing.

Bucky sits up on his knees, never breaking eye contact as he pulls off his belt. You start to chew on your lower lip, and he moves back forward, stopping you with a gentle press of his thumb.

“Easy.” He murmurs. “Relax.”

You whimper, but try to. For Bucky.

And you think you might be turning into a puddle anyway, under the reverence in his gaze.

Bucky gets his pants off with practiced ease, and your mouth falls open.

His cock is thick and big. Veiny in a way you want to feel dragging against you, the head red and angry. Your breath catches as he starts to stroke it, just watching you wait for him.

Your legs close, trying to rub together for some friction. Bucky grabs your knee, and drags them back apart.

“Let me see you.” His thumb rubs in small circles. In a perfect rhythm, with his hand beating his cock. “Nice and relaxed for me, doll. Need you to be relaxed.”

You hum, watching him under hooded eyes. You can’t stop yourself from glancing down to his dick again. You feel empty, waiting for him. You’ve been waiting long enough as it is.

Bucky follows your gaze, and his lips twitch.

“You just walk around all the time?” He teases. “Waiting for some cock to fill you up.”

You nod, breathing through your mouth, and Bucky’s throat bobs.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You whisper, dragging your gaze back to his. “Need to feel you, Bucky. Pleeease.”

He swears under his breath. “Legs a little wider. Now.”

You listen quickly, and Bucky lowers down. He drags his cock between the puffed, slick lips of your pussy, the head bumping against your clit.

“Dirty girl.” He hovers over you, watching your every breath as he plays with you. “So fuckin’ pretty, should be stuffed with cock all the time, shouldn’t you. Gonna keep you in my bed, fuck you full of me.” He kisses you quickly, his words getting rough. “My smart fuckin’ baby, begging for my cock.”

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“ You mumble, and Bucky grins.

“But you’re so pretty when I do.”

He kisses your cheek, and you feel raw. A live nerve, open for him and almost vibrating with desire. But Bucky’s hands are gentle against you. And you know.

He’s going to treat you well.

“You think you can let go for me?” His question is gentle. Almost soft. “Always workin’ so hard.” He notches himself at your entrance, and your breath catches. “I’m gonna take care of you, aren’t I.”

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

Bucky grins, and kisses your lips. “That’s right. You just gotta take it.”

You don’t get to even nod, before Bucky starts to push in.

And you’re not a blushing nun. You’ve used your fingers, and even some toys. Tried to see what the big deal was. But it had just felt like something was inside of you, and kind of heavy, and mostly just annoying.

This is different.

Bucky splits you open, and it knocks the air from your lungs.

“Breathe.” He grunts in your ear, and you nod uselessly. “Breathe, baby.”

You gasp for air, burying your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck, and clawing at his shoulders.

He mutters your name, and you try to arch your back up, inviting more. You need more. Everywhere he isn’t feels cold and hollow. Bucky needs to smear himself all over you, or you’re going to lose your mind.

“More.” You manage to croak out, and Bucky grunts.

“Are you-“

“Yes- Fuuuuck-“

You moan, loud and shameless, as Bucky presses deeper in. He bullies your pussy open, thick cock pressing deep into you and making your feel more full than you could’ve ever felt possible. Your body feels like it’s singing, a shiver of delight pushing up your spine as he hits that spot inside you that you weren’t even sure was real.

Your pussy clenches involuntarily, and Bucky hisses in your ear.

“Shit- Relax.” His thumb snakes between your bodies, massaging your clit. “Let me in, babydoll, come on-“

The massaging helps. You melt into him with a shaking breath, head tipping back when he bottoms out.

Bucky’s head drops into your chest, his breath hot against your breasts. You’re just sitting in each other, in the sticky, feverish heat that might drive you insane.

“You feel… fuckin’ perfect.”

Bucky’s voice is a rasp, and he sounds like a man ruined.

You might have already lost your mind.

“You too.” You breathe out, and he chuckles.

The sound is a vibration, and you bite your lip as pleasure rushes right down to your toes.

“Oh… God.” You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching again, and Bucky grabs your hips.

“You gotta stop doin’ that-“

“Can’t.” You whine. “’S- You did it, you spent forever working me up, and- And now-“

His muscles shift around you, and that’s enough for your body to keen. Your back arches, pussy squeezing, and Bucky makes a guttural sound from his chest.

You squeak, when he pulls the tiniest amount out and slams back in. Your body goes completely limp, and Bucky pushes up over you, his cock still buried deep inside as he stares down at you.

“For someone who asked me to teach her, you’re bad at takin’ directions.”

“You- Bucky-“ He’s fucking you, shallow and slow. Just dragging back and forth. You might cry over it. “You- You knew that already-“

“I did.” He muses, pressing your hips further down. Forcing you to feel every thrust of his cock against your cervix. “It’s something that I love about you, y’know? So sweet and mouthy, all at once. My dream girl. So far outta my reach.”

He angles you a little up, letting him rut against your g-spot, and any chance of a sassy retort is knocked out of your head.

“Not right now, though.” His lips twitch. “Bet you’d tell me anythin’ right now, if I fucked you nice and properly. Fucked you like you deserve?”

Your head bobs, words slurred on lust. “Any- Anything, Bucky, oh my god- mmmmh-“

His thumb swipes your clit, and it’s like a tiny shock you can’t even react to. Your body jerks, but Bucky just pins you back into the mattress.

“Think I don’t want you to talk right now.” Bucky leans down, smirking as you blink with teary eyes. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we sweetheart?”

There’s something mean and powerful, radiating off of him right now. He really knows exactly where he has you right now. And you have no desire to be anywhere else. 

“Ye- Yes.” 

“Might’ve fucked you nicely, if we’d just talked a month ago.” He raises his brows. “But you made me wait for this pretty pussy. Hurting us both, baby.”

“I- I was-“

“I know.” He kisses your nose. “You are a fuckin’ brat. Bet you thought about this every time you touched yourself.”

“I- I did.” You confess. “Needed your cock, Bucky. You’re- You’re so big-“

You mewl, as he rolls his hips and slams back in. He kisses you, open-mouthed and sloppy, and you can feel your slick need running down your ass. Or just Bucky’s sweat, as he tenses with the effort to hold himself back.

Effort is visibly, slowly slipping.

“You feel that? Feel this dick inside of you?” He fucks a little harder, and your head rolls. “All yours, babydoll. This hard, just for you.”

You whine, and Bucky sucks on a soft spot at the base of your throat.

“You’re a natural.” He groans against your skin. “Made for this cock, made to be my pretty doll, and- shit-“

He rises back up, watching you with a dark, hungry gaze.

“You’re trying so hard, aren’t you. To not choke my dick with your tight little pussy.”

“I- I am, Bucky- Please-“

“You gonna be good and listen to me, now?”

You nod, doe-eyed and cockdrunk, and Bucky hums in satisfaction.

“Hands on my shoulders.” He instructs, and your body somehow finds the strength to listen. “Mouth open. No holding back, wanna hear how you like it. Hear you scream my name.”

He kisses under your jaw, and you moan loudly. Bucky’s lips curve, and he pulls a little further out than before.

“Just like that. Good, isn’t it?”

“So good.” You whine, and Bucky hums.

“Stay just like this for me, doll.” He drags fully out, then slams back in. You think you see stars behind your eyes, and a sound you didn’t know you could make is pulled from your chest.

“Buuccky-“

“I know. Needy girl, wound up so tight.” He sets a slow but brutal pace, his hands bruising into your hips as he holds you down. “I’ve got you now.”

And he does.

Bucky’s got you so good, you’re already ruined for anyone else.

He fucks you the same way he’s been kissing and touching you. Like he’s trying to lay a claim. Make it so there’s no question what he wants, no doubt in your head that this is anything but serious. His hips piston against you, but it’s not rapid. It’s the measured, strong work of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.

If there’s a pleasure point on your body, Bucky’s finding it and using it. You babble, as he abuses your g-spot with the thick head of his cock. His kisses swallow your every moan and plea, and you can’t think beyond his massive body, completely draped over yours. You’re tangled together, his balls slapping your ass and hands wandering over your body like he owns it.

He drags your knees up to your chest, helping him hit even deeper. You’re so wet it’s smearing all over his cock, and the sight of him driving in and out of you is enough to make that pressure in your tummy feel like it’s going to explode.

Bucky’s beyond words himself, hunching over your and taking one of your nipples in his mouth as he grabs at the other. You mewl, eyes glazed over and body overwhelmed with the need to cum. You might scream if you don’t. You’re probably already screaming.

“I- I need- Bucky, please, please, fuck-“

You scratch at his shoulder, so close to toppling over the edge but unable to figure out how to just fall. Bucky grunts, slamming down harder. His tongue swirls your nipple, sucking the peak between full lips before he crashes back up. His kiss is sloppy and open. You’re writhing in the sheet, edged into complete oblivion and on the verge of tears.

“You having some trouble, babydoll?” Bucky teases, throaty and wrecked.

You nod, shaking with the need to snap.  Bucky hums, kissing you too sweetly to be productive.

“Let go for me.” He squeezes your ass. “Just let go.”

Bucky finds your clit, and barely even offers more than a tease before you’re coming with a scream of his name.

Your back flies off the mattress, your hips bucking, and you’ve never cum this hard in your life. The tension in you burst like fireworks, heat pooling down your pussy and your body trembling. Your vision goes white. You might black out for a second, the daze of pleasure clouding your gaze.

There’s nothing but Bucky, still pounding into you. The obscene sounds of it, his guttural moans and the slide of his cock through your spasming cunt. His thrusts are jagged and uneven, his mouth kissing you everywhere he can seem to reach.

He follows you quickly, thick ropes of cum painting your insides and dribbling out of your pussy.

Bucky kisses you one more time, before he pulls out. It’s slower, like he’s trying to memorize you. You reach up to cup his face, smiling against his lips, and he lets out a heavy breath.

“That wasn’t too-“

“Perfect.” You whisper, and he relaxes.

“Good. Good.” He rises back up, brushing away the hair stuck to your face.

For a second, you just watch each other.

And with Bucky looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the universe, you feel like it.

He certainly treats you like it, too. Cleaning you up like you’re a princess, a treatment you never thought you’d want until it was Bucky offering. A warm, wet cloth between your thighs and a glass of water. He carries you into the bathroom, changes the sheets, then brings you back to bed.

He pauses after he sets you down, hovering around the mattress with a frown.

You scoot a little to the side, give him a hopeful look, and his shoulders slump.

He crawls into bed next to you, pressing his face into your breasts and holding you tight.

“We got things to talk about.” He mutters, and you hum, playing with his hair between your fingers.

“I know.”

“I was serious, about all of it-“

“I believe you.”

Bucky looks up at you with tired, but happy eyes. You smile, and they crinkle when he returns it.

It doesn’t matter if you’re the most anything in the world.

To him, you seem to be the world. And that’s more than enough.

“I’d like to take you out.” He says. “On a real date. Then the gala, too. If you-“

“Yes.” You beam. “Yes, please. I’d like that a lot.”

✦End note: bucky on a dating app has haunted me since tfatws. glad to do something with that.✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Goddamn, Manchild

✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦

✦summary: you and Bucky have been at odds since you first met. he can't stand you. you pretend you can't stand him. and if Bucky ever knew how you really felt, you think you might die. not when there's no chance he'd ever feel the same way. right?✦

✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, modern!au, drinking, no use of y/n, mutual pining, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, drunken and sober love confessions, little plot to get to all that porn, feral level smut, (dirty talk, mean bucky but you're into it, teasing, possiveness, pussy spanking, praise kink, manhandling, sex toys, overstimulation, squriting, bucky's packing, p in v sex, creampie, breeding kink), soft!bucky outside of smut✦

✦wc: 13.5k✦

✦Author's Note: i think i got possessed with this one. was barking to myself writing. Enjoy!✦

He’s the kind of beautiful that makes you want to strangle him.

Bucky walks around your apartment like he owns it, laughing all loud and musical, smiling like he fell out of a movie, running a hand through his hair and forcing you to see his sculpted torso and tanned skin. He barely fits in his shirt as it is, there’s no need for him to show off about it.

You’ve pressed yourself right to the corner of you couch, watching him silently. Watching all of them, but mostly Bucky. And his shining eyes and full lips and thick arms. Those things should be classified as weapons, or at least hazards. It’s too easy to imagine him wrapping them around you, pining you to the couch, handling you like a doll but still so gently-

“You’re staring at me again.” He drawls, and you start.

You give him an unimpressed glare, hoping your flush stays hidden in the low light of the room. “Shut up.”

“So nice to me, sweetheart.” He mocks, leaning a little further down. “Bet you dream about me, don’t you. Up all night with that rabbit Nat got you-“

You shove your foot up, slamming it square on his chest. He’d been getting too close. You’d been able to smell his cologne, and it made your head spin like opium. Bucky laughs again, walking away like you’re not even worth the argument. Your heart stings, but you ignore it. It’s an old bruise. You’re usually good at not pressing it, at pretending it doesn’t exist.

But Bucky exists only to torture you. So it never fully heals.

He’d been teasing about the rabbit thing. It had been a gag gift for secret Santa, and after Nat had even gotten you a very nice pair of shoes when you were in private. But Bucky’s clung onto it, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever thought of. You, with a vibrator. You possibly being able to get off, when you’re the uptight little prude. The one who never brings back hookups, never dates, just sits in corners like an ivy, clinging to the shadows and watching everything else live around her.

You’ve never been fun. Never been someone Bucky would’ve chosen to know. He didn’t choose to know you. You knew a girl who worked with another girl, and that girl had a boyfriend who knew a girl who needed a roommate. You needed a roommate. You had good credit—because you’re boring—and the girl interviewing you had taken a liking to you.

Natasha rode a motorcycle. She worked in a job she was allowed to tell you about—something in black ops, that explained all the wigs in her closet—and spoke five languages. She baked calm down, and went to shooting ranges to calm down, and insisted on getting you a gun license so she’d feel more comfortable with all the hidden guns in the house.

“Hidden guns?” You’d asked, feeling your face blanch. She’d just smiled.

“You’ll never find them all. Let’s go, it’ll be easy.”

It had not been easy. But you understood how—to someone like Nat—it might be. She’d never lost patience with you, but she’d still made it look easy. When you’d gotten home and mumbled that you needed to go shower for an hour, she’d just patted your head like you were a bunny and smiled.

She might’ve been your first real friend in a while. Because it’s not that you’re not… personable. You’re just a little mean tongued. And nervous. And boring, and blunt, and you don’t like leaving the house unless someone grabs the scruff of your neck and drags you. You go to work, and you go home, and that’s mostly it. Your closest friends before Natasha had been co-workers. And you’d been really, truly happy with that.

But interesting people have interesting friends.

Natasha had a lot of friends. And they moved in and out of your apartment like they lived there. 

Tony was a tech titan who you used to watch on the news, and now he left crumbs all over your couch. Wanda was a refugee and artist, and Clint worked in that same black ops thing Nat did. Steve had worked in it, but left to start his own non-profit with Sam. They all went far back, to elementary schools and playgrounds and clubs. They had history, but they were kind to you. Treated you like your little bachelor’s degree and normal person job fit in with their grand showmanship and large personalities that had been sucked right off the movie screen.

Most of them treated you like that.

Bucky didn’t.

Before you’d been introduced to him, Nat had described his as basically Steve’s brother, and it had been a striking endorsement. Steve had been kind to you. He brought you to a movie you’d really wanted to see, and never made fun of your stuffed animal collection. No brother of his could be all that bad, certainly not one even Nat described as charming and kind and not bad on the eyes.

Only one of those things was true.

Bucky Barnes is not bad on the eyes. You’d classify as maybe a medicine for the eyes, a miracle for the eyes, a blessing on a weary and tired viewer. He works in security or something, and it shows in his body. Sometimes he lets his hair grow out, and it’s frames his strong jaw and nose perfectly, all while making you want to run your fingers through each lock. You’re sure it would be like petting a very well-kept dog. He cares for it better than you care for yourself.

He’s got those eyes that knocked all the thoughts out of you, the moment you saw him. They’d sparkled and shone with his polite, white smile, and you’d just been swaying there like a lost scarecrow in a tornado. Your brain had been reduced to a fuzzy TV static and loud blaring noise, like you’d lost your own connection. Bucky had flexed his hand, a silent reminder you were supposed to shake it, and you hadn’t been able to get enough control over your body to even smile back.

His hand had been big. Calloused, with thick fingers and a lot of tiny scars. You’d shivered just at the idea of his touch. It might’ve been warm.

Might’ve been.

If Bucky had ever bothered to touch you at all.

By the time you’d dragged control back into your body, Bucky had given up and moved on. His ears had been a little red, in the moments after. You’d opened your mouth to apologize, make any excuse that would get him to offer a hand again.

He’d turned and walked away. Hadn’t looked at you for the rest of the night.

And when he looks at you now, it’s with something sharp behind his gaze. He never looks at anyone else like that. Never teases or mocks them, either. Acting like their mere presence in the room is a plague on his refined, perfect existence. He certainly never suggests they won’t be able to make it up five flights of stairs or asks if they’re sure they want to go out for the night.

You hate stairs. And you don’t want to go out for the night.

There’s only one thing more powerful than your picky little aversions, though.

The petty, blistering feeling at the top of your chest, that refuses to let Bucky win.

“You’re really coming with us?” Bucky calls your name from the kitchen, and you lift your chin, trying to look down your nose at the massive man.

“I was invited.”

“You’re always invited, you never actually get off the damn couch-“

“Barnes.” Nat walks past him, whacking his arm. “Don’t question miracles.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a miracle-“

“Yes it is.” She grabs your arm, hauling you off the couch like you weigh nothing. “I’ve been asking you to do this for years, I’m not letting Bucky frighten you off with his Buckying.”

That makes you giggle, and Bucky frowns. You catch him shooting Steve a look you can’t really read, and Steve just shrugs in return.

“I’m not trying to ruin it.” Bucky says, lofty and bored. “I’m just sayin’ she never comes out with us, and it might be a lot for the little doe to be shoved into the jungle or whatever-“

“You’re a poet.” Natasha says, giving him a flat glare. “Go wait in the car.”

Bucky scowls. “The car-“

“If you act like a dog, you wait in the car.”

“I am not acting like a dog-“

Sam raises his hand. “I caught him humping the furniture this mornin’ when he heard about it-“

“Sam.” Bucky hisses. “Shut the hell up before I knock your teeth out-“

“Steven.” Nat gives him a firm nod, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Bucky and Sam aren’t small men, but Steve grabs them by the collar and drags them out of the room without breaking a sweat. Leaving you and Nat in a suddenly very quiet apartment, a lingering smell of spice and pine still clouding the air.

Another reason you hate Bucky coming over. He’s mean to you, and he’s nice to everyone else, and he questions you then leaves the whole room stained in his presence.

“Ignore Barnes.” Natasha says it like an order, and it probably is.

You smile at her. “I always do.”

You think it comes off airy and convincing. Nat looks at you like she’s trying not to either scoff, or laugh. Before you can insist on anything, she’s grabbing your hand and dragging you into the bathroom. You did promise you’d let her get you ready. When you’d told her you could do makeup and prep yourself, she’d snorted and said maybe, but I’ll do it better.

One of the first lessons you learned was not to argue with Natasha when she’s sure of something. You let her sit you on the counter and sort through your makeup bag, finding everything she deems worthy of being on your face tonight. Your outfit hangs on the door, and you did choose that, but after Nat vetoed three others.

It’s nothing special. A short dress and heels that will blend right in a club. It hadn’t been that different from your other suggestions. But it had gotten a curt nod of approval and smirk from Nat, so it had something. You’re smarter than to question what.

“You should talk to Bucky tonight.” Nat says suddenly, and you blink at her in surprise.

“I- What?”

“Make him apologize. For being an ass to you.”

“That’s- It’s fine-“

“No, it’s not.” Nat gives you a firm look, and you sigh.

“I know, but- I don’t really care, okay? That’s just- It’s Bucky, right?”

You give her a weak smile, and this one doesn’t even convince you.

It is just Bucky. He’s charming and sweet and handsome, and he hates just you. So you hate him in return, just for being so perfect and deciding you’re the only person in the world not worthy of his attention. It would be easier if he really was a bad man. If you didn’t know he volunteered with kids and Steve’s foundation, if he didn’t advocate for his fellow veterans, if he hadn’t made his ma’s chicken soup when you and Nat had both caught something last winter, and taken the time to drop it off in person.

For Nat.

Because you’re just… Not worth it for him. Not worth his time, not worth his smiling, barely worth anything more than glowering stares and taunting words. And you’re not weak. You fight back every day, and keep all of your desires and affection buried deep in the pit of your stomach and swollen like an infection around your heart.

He never has to know that you think about him all the time. That you feel yourself bloom whenever your eyes meet, then wither when his gaze snaps away. Whenever he presses his body over yours just to tease you, the heat of his body makes your breath hitch. You spend long days daydreaming about how good a boyfriend he’d be, if he didn’t hate you. Attentive and caring and giving.

Every night you think about how giving he’d be. Flowers and coffee like he brings Wanda for galleries, or for Nat or Clint when they’ve been working late night shifts. He likes watching TV, you know, because he spends a lot of time sitting next to you on the couch and loudly making comments until you threaten to force-feed him bleach. But if that wasn’t the blunt and unforgiving knife of reality, you could just lay in his arms forever.

He could pick you up and carry you to bed. The same bed that you put that accursed vibrated between your legs, close your eyes, and dream of him railing you into the mattress. Fucking you until you can’t stand, until you can’t speak or thing, until your eyes are rolling back and your mouth can’t even figure out how to close, so he kisses you possessively or gives you some of those thick fingers to suck on-

“You should still talk to him.” Natasha’s words are blunt. If she’s noticed how you’ve been working yourself up, she doesn’t say a single word. “Before he does something stupid.”

You snort. “Bucky always does something dumb-“

“No. He does a lot of dumb things. Close your eyes.” Nat picks up an eyeliner, and you obey. “But there’s a difference between dumb and stupid. Stupid is harder to take back.”

You grunt, and you don’t think anything stupid Bucky does is going to have anything to do with you. But something scratches at your brain, and it’s green and bitter. Your fingers fidget in your lap, and you shouldn’t ask, but-

“Is he bringing someone?” You blurt, and just the idea makes you sick. Bucky with some model-type, holding her hips while she grinds onto him, all the honey he’d pour into her ears and down her throat while you just hugged yourself in the corner of the room. Her sitting on his lap in your apartment, you trying to hide the ugliness of jealousy but never being able to spare her more than a crude sneer. It’s the only reason Nat would possibly want you to talk to him. You and Bucky’s childish game of pulling each other’s hair and biting without teeth and seeing who breaks first, it ruins his picture of the perfect suitor. If you keep it up, you’ll ruin this for him, and he deserves to be happy but the thought of him being happy while you just sink into yourself like quicksand makes you want to die-

“Jesus, no.” Nat laughs. “That’s- Never mind.” She shakes her head, still chuckling about some secret you apparently don’t get to be a part of.

“What?” You try to push. “I’ve heard about his- You know. Promiscuity.”

Nat snorts. “From who?”

“Sam.”

“Sam’s an idiot.” She dismisses plainly, and you frown.

“Tony’s mentioned it too-“

“They’re both idiots.”

“Bucky’s told me, he said he leaves all his girls satisfied-“

“Bucky is the biggest idiot of all of them. Open.”

You listen again, and find Nat smiling at you with a strangely soft affection. Like you’re some wet kitten she rescued off the street.

“Put on your dress.” She says, wiping the corners of your slightly pouting lips. “Talk to Barnes.”

At the very least, you manage to follow one of those orders.

The dress is a little shorter than you thought it would be. It rides up your thighs, forcing you to pull it down with every step. In the car you cross your legs and stare at the floor, grounding yourself in the bass of Nat’s loud music as your heartbeat starts to pick up. You’re going out. You’re going out. Spiting Bucky was not a good enough reason to do this, it’s going to be loud and you can dance but not in front of strangers, and you’re going to be even more boring than usual and you feel like a fraud.

“Nice dress.”

Bucky’s voice is a low behind you, his breath fanning on your neck. You almost scream.

“Christ, calm down.” He’s grinning when you whip around, leaning forward in his seat to whisper. Sam and Steve are next to him, one very pointedly staring out the window, the other looking at something on his phone and humming like he’s already trying to drown out you and Bucky’s fighting.

“You scared me-“

“You saw me get in the car, sweetheart. Not my fault you’re jumpy-“

“I am not jumpy-“

“You are. Like a bunny.” His grin widens, and you scowl.

The shifting streetlamps make him look like an angel. Golden halo rays behind his head, long shadows that make him look even more rugged than usual. His lips look fuller, softer, eyes glimmering like a floodlight through the dark, and-

“Shut up.” You snap, turning back around. You can’t keep looking at him. It’s dangerous.

“I was just saying your dress was nice.” Bucky’s breath tickles your neck. You wrap your arms tight around your stomach.

“You also called me a rabbit.”

“Called you a bunny-“

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s-“ He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You flip him off over your shoulder, glaring firmly out the windshield. You can feel him retreat, but the closeness had lit up your nerves, and now they’re buzzing with hope that he’ll return.

Stupid fucking body. Stupid fucking Bucky.

You refuse to look at him when you arrive. You stumble a little bit in your heels—Natsha insisted on six inch, which is far too tall for anyone—and Bucky catches your arm, holding you upright. You brush his hand off like a fly and march on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of some other comment about how you’re like a baby deer.

When you get inside, you can smell it. The stench of sweat and alcohol and something fruity they probably use to cover the first smells. You cling to Natasha, letting her guide you through the crowd to the bar. She orders you two shots because you need them, and you don’t argue. Between Bucky and the club, you do. 

You down them both without flinching, and Sam whistles from behind you.

“Damn, you took those like a champ.”

You shrug, and Sam elbows Bucky.

“You see that, Buck-“

“Yeah. I saw it.”

Bucky’s voice is lower than usual. Almost sullen. You’d examine him, try to figure out what’s wrong with him, but you’re not supposed to be letting yourself care. He’s not your problem tonight. You’re here to indulge in fun.

You’re already not very good at that as is. Bucky’s consuming presence isn’t going to help.

Another drink might.

You’re three shots in when Nat brings you out to the dance floor. The liquor is pulling you lose, the frayed knot that’s always in your chest going slack enough to allow you to dance. You’re smiling and laughing like a normal person, almost completely able to forget to check where Bucky is in the room.

Near the edge of the crowd, drinking and talking to Steve.

A fourth shot might be needed.

You’re smiling like a fool now. The room is tilted a little, all the colors neon, but they blind out your usual worried and the tilt helps your worries slide off your body. You’re able to forget about Bucky until you notice a girl talking to him, and you take a fifth shot. A sixth, when he vanishes for nine and a half minutes, and your brain starts to map everything he might be doing to that girl.

Seven, when the first stranger asks you to dance and you’re not drunk enough to forget about Bucky and say yes.

Eight, when he tries to kiss you and you shove him away, because his lips aren’t pink enough and he’s not broad enough for you to every pretend.

Nat tries to cut you off there. You slip past her, and take a ninth. The room is just a blur now. You can’t fully remember who Nat is, and why you’re trying to avoid her. There’s a man with his hands on your hips, and he’s got dark hair that looks too greasy for you to touch. Another man calls you sweetheart, but he says it a little wrong and it makes you want to cry. None of them have the right eyes, and the ones that are closer don’t have the right smile.

You feel like you’re going to cry, by the time you’ve rejected the eleventh man. Or only fourth. Numbers don’t feel real right now. Most everything doesn’t feel real.

Everything except Bucky.

Because your own name is just a sound in your head that sounds foreign, but Bucky says it and you know to turn around.

It’s less because it’s your name. More because Bucky called you.

You smile, swaying on your feet, and you’re not even sure where you are anymore. It’s somewhere with a lot of people. Loud music. It’s dark, but bright at the same time, and Bucky looks like a walking dream as he moves towards you. Your vision swims, but he’s made of clear lines and a stern expression.

He’s mad at you. Your face falls, lip wobbling, and you take a step back. You don’t want him to be mad at you. Your heart is already beating in your ears, Bucky’s anger or distain might make it burst.

“Where the hell did you go?” He snaps, and you bow your head.

“I- I dunno-“ You hiccup, hugging yourself tight.

“Nat’s been looking for you, Steve barely stopped her from trying to make the building go into lockdown, and I-“ He cuts himself off, running a hand over his face, and you blink the tears away.

You’re looking up at him under your lashes, and he’s still angry. Some distant voice in your head tells you it’s your fault entirely. That he must’ve been about to go home with someone when they lost you, and now he’s pissed he had to pause his night to find you. You sniff, wiping your nose with your arm.

Bucky’s frown deepens. He takes a step forward, and you try to step back but balance feels like an Olympic feat right now.

His arm loops around your waist, pulling you right against his chest. You stare up at him, tears streaming down your cheeks from feelings you can’t even name anymore. They’re hollow and big and full and made of a million little cuts. They burn in your heart and through your blood, but also freeze in your throat and muscles. You can’t move. You don’t want to move.

Bucky’s big hand is splayed on your back, and you don’t want to go anywhere you can’t feel him.

That voice from before reminds you that’s not allowed, so you wiggle a little.

Bucky holds you tighter, and you surrender in a split second. His frown deepens, and you think you’re still crying. Your cheeks are certainly burning, and your throat feels oddly tight.

Gentle fingers brush under your eyes, and you hum softly. Bucky’s nostrils flare, those fingers brushing hair from your face before cupping the back of your head, forcing your gaze onto his.

“Jesus, woman.” He mutters, those beautiful eyes scanning over your slack face. “How much did you have to drink.”

“I dunno.” You breathe. His brow furrows.

“Best guess.”

You shrug, shaking your head, and Bucky sighs. You want to shrink and hide from him, from his obvious annoyance and disappointment. It’s nothing new, but it’s raw like this. You can’t figure out anything, let alone how to pretend like his hatred doesn’t bother you. You try to turn and hide your face, but Bucky just pulls it right back.

“Over five?” He prompts, and his voice is so soft. Like he’s trying to coax the answer out of you.

“I- I don’t know.” You whine slightly, and he sighs.

“Yeah. Alright.” Bucky’s throat bobs, and he looks up. Glances around you, his hands never leaving your body.

You stare up at him in the dark. You’re not supposed to be looking at him, but it’s impossible. He’s magnetic, and beautiful, and you’ve never been this close to him without one of you trying to claw at the other.

But your fingers cling to the fabric of his shirt, and it’s not to draw blood. You just don’t think that if he walks away you’re going to be able to stand up.

Bucky looks back down at you, and his tongue flicks over his lips. His thumb drags slowly over your cheekbone, leaving a little trail of fire in its wake. Your breathing gets shallow, your eyes fluttering. Everything feels like a lot. Like you’re so high in the atmosphere the air is starting to get thin. Bucky’s brow furrows, and he works his jaw like he does when he’s thinking.

You’ve always wanted to reach up and touch the lines that form on his face, when he worries. They’re deep, and still handsome, but they only ever mark that he’s stressed. He shouldn’t be. It’s only you, and you’re nothing to him.

He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, his hand dragging down to cup the back of your neck. You tip your head back, waiting for him to do something. Kiss you. Bite you. Slam you back against the wall and relieve the ache, building up between your thighs. Maybe just smell you and let his lips brush over a sensitive spot on your neck, teasing you like always until you’re crying and begging for him. 

Instead, Bucky just sighs. He pulls you forward, twisting you until you’re in front of him. His arms cage you to his chest, and he’s almost herding you down the hall.

“Where’re we going?” You tip your head back, and find him glowering at everyone around you.

They’re all moving so fast, stumbling in your path then scrambling away under Bucky’s glower. His eyes flick down to yours for a second, and maybe it’s the delusions of grandeur and liquor, but you could swear they soften slightly.

“We’re gettin’ you home.” He mutters, shouldering the door open. “You need to sleep this off.”

You wrinkle your nose as the chill of night air hits you. “But it’s cold-“

“Car will be warm.”

“But we don’t have a car-“

“We’re taking Nat’s.”

You scoff. “Nat would never give you her car-“

“Well, she did.” He grunts, voice dropping under his breath. “You’d never give me your car.”

“I don’t have a car.” You snap, and Bucky chuckles dryly.

“Yeah, I know.” He opens the door, giving you an amused look. “Up and in, baby.”

Your whole world stops for a second. You feel like you’re floating, a ditzy smile crossing your face, and you start to giggle because he called you baby. Bucky called you baby, like you matter to him, and he’s touching you.

Bucky sighs when you don’t move, and bends down. He scoops you up and drops you in the car like you weigh nothing. You’re still giggling when he closes the door and walks around the hood, sliding into the driver’s seat. For a second you stop, looking out the club with a frown. The world is still hazy, but you can see the neon sign, and it feels like you’re forgetting things that are very important-

“They’re all goin’ back to our place.” Bucky grunts, and you look over to find him staring at you with one of those stone-faced, unreadable expressions that he only uses around you. “It’s closer, cab will be cheaper.”

You frown. “Why aren’t they riding with us?”

“’Cause we’re going back to yours.”

“Why?”

“’Cause.” Is all Bucky offers. He starts the car before you can ask another question, and puts his arm around your seat to back out of the spot.

Nat has a back cam. He just always does it like this, and you’ve always chalked it up to his big, responsible man thing. Usually when the arm is around you, you glare out the window and pretend you can’t feel how close he is. How his fingers brush your upper arm, or how his smell gets stronger.

Tonight you can’t really remember why you do that. And Bucky does really smell good.

You turn your cheek, pressing it into his bicep. Bucky freezes, the car jerking to a stop, and you can feel his attention. It sparks a tiny fire in your core, and seeps down between your thighs. Your lips graze his skin, and he coughs.

His fingers dip down, brushing near your collarbone. You hum happily, and the car starts moving again.

When you’re out of the parking lot, Bucky doesn’t remove his arm like usual. You’re grateful. If he did, you might have chased it right into his lap.

“You have fun?” Bucky breaks the silence, voice gruff.

You nod, turning to watch him drive. He always does it in a way that’s almost unfairly attractive. He holds the wheel lazily, like he knows it’s under his control. You want him to hold you like that.

Bucky clears his throat. “You, uh- You did good.”

“Good?” You murmur, not fully understanding the praise.

You know it makes you throb, and press your thighs together. Bucky’s eyes flick to the motion, and his throat bobs.

“Yeah.” His grip on the wheel is white knuckled. “Good.”

Silence settles again, and you let yourself stare at him. He’s beautiful. So beautiful it makes you unsure that he’s real. You’d like to trace the line of his jaw, hear his smooth, deep voice again. Hear it say your name, because it’s the only thing that reminds you that you’re real. You can’t remember why you ever deprived yourself of this. Of him, and all his quiet glory. He’s a loud man, but never boastful.

He’s only really boastful to you. When he fixes the shower for Nat or someone brings up his army service, he waves them off and laughs, and you’ve always loved that about him. You love most things about him, even when he’s being insufferable. You sort of love that he’s insufferable, too. You’re not that easy either. And if you wrapped around him, you’re hoping he’d be too chivalrous to cut you off. He could mock you all he wants, you’d just hide your face in his neck and breathe him in. Grounding. Handsome. Impossible to resist.

Your fingers are itching, to touch that sad little furrow. There’s nothing for him to worry about. The world revolves around him.

“Saw you got some numbers.” He grunts suddenly, and you pause.

“Numbers?”

“Phone numbers.”

“Oh.” You reach for you bag, checking that the hard line of your phone is still there. It is. You don’t know what he’s talking about.

“You gonna call any of them?”

“Any of who?”

Bucky gives you an exasperated look, then double takes slightly. His worry lines deepen. It makes you pout, grabbing at your own hands to stop them from reaching for him.

“The guys.” He says slowly, frowning at the road. “That you were talkin’ to.”

Oh. Phone numbers. “No.”

His brows raise. “No?”

You shake your head, and Bucky prompts you with an oddly tight voice.

“Why?”

They’re not you. Even your drunk brain seems to know it’s bad idea to say that. “I didn’t want them.”

“Hm.” Bucky taps his hand on the wheel, shooting you a strange look. “Why?”

You can’t tell him that, but you also can’t think of a good excuse this time. You make a lame, half-hearted sigh, and turn your face back into his arm.

He doesn’t push it. He doesn’t talk for the rest of the drive. His thumb drags little circles on your upper arm, lulling you into a half-sleep only interrupted by the bump of the road. You’re not sure how much longer you’re in the car, and when it stops you can’t really remember what you’re supposed to do now.

Bucky helps. He slides away from you, squeezing your thigh in a silent reassurance before he steps out of the car. Your hand traces over where he’d touched you. Bare skin on skin, hands still light and gentle. He seems to have burned his handprint into you, and it spreads until you’re tingly and weak-kneed.

The door on your side opens, and his voice is low in your ears.

“C’mon, pretty girl.” A strong arm loops around your stomach, pulling you back. “Let’s get you in bed.”

You hum, and let Bucky guide you. You trust him completely, with all your heart and not a single question.

He handles you carefully. Guides you inside, holds you steady in the elevator, takes your keys  from your shaking fingers and opens the door. You’re sent to take a shower, but start to trip over nothing the moment Bucky lets go of you, so he sighs and draws you a bath.

“How am I gonna stand?” You mumble, sitting on the toilet while he runs the water. “Or rinse.”

Bucky grunts. “I’ll help.”

You hum in approval, and start to pull off your dress. Bucky makes a strangled sound, eyes flying up to the ceiling, and you’ve never seen his face so red.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting ready for a bath?” You frown at him, and he groans.

“You- Fuck.” He takes a heavy breath through his nose, closing his eyes. “Just- Keep your underwear on, alright?”

You nod, trying to ignore the heavy sting that he doesn’t want to see you naked. Bucky won’t even fully look at you as he helps you into the tub. He leaves the room while you sit helplessly in the water, barely moving until he returns. You wrap your arms over your chest, suddenly consciously that maybe you’re not pretty enough for him to look at you. You pull your knees to your chest and sniffle, just waiting for him. You don’t even know why he left in the first place. You wanted him here.

Bucky sighs, when he opens the door to find you crying.  

“Christ, I leave you alone for five seconds- Hey, woah-“ He kneels on the bathmat, hand flexing before he reaches out and wipes away your tears. “It’s alright, you’re alright. Don’t cry, sweetheart, you’re okay-“

You bite down a sob and turn your face, pressing it right into his shoulder. Again, Bucky stiffens. His arms hover for a second, breathing shallow, and you think he’s going to shove you away.

But he doesn’t. After that single, million year heartbeat of a moment, he grabs you. Holds you tight into his body, cradling your head and rocking you back and forth. The water flows under you, pushing up on the lip of the tub. A little bit flows over, splashing his pants.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

“C’mon, baby.” He murmurs, slowly starting to rise. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You nod, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. When he gets you on your feet, he stops for a second. His lips brush near your ear, and an electric rush dart through you. Then, fast but certain, he kisses the side of your head.

It’s so quick you’d think you imagined it, if you couldn’t feel the burn of his lips long after he pulls away. You reach up to brush it, when Bucky deposits you on your bed. You watch him move around the room like he belongs there.

He does.

He’d belong with you, if he wasn’t such a massive butt about your existence.

“It’s your fault, you know.”

Bucky glances up from your dresser, fisting a shirt in his hands. “What?”

“You.” You say, because it’s that simple.

He’s the reason you’re drunk. That you didn’t score tonight, that you’d been crying, that you have to be coddled like a baby.

Not that you mind that last one. It’s wonderful, having him touch and speak to you like he cares.

It’s still all his fault.

“What’s me?” He says, and you roll your eyes at the ceiling.

“All of it.”

Bucky says your name, and you wave him off with a dramatic sigh. You can hear him pad slowly across the room, and when he pulls you up gently you flop over his body. A useless ragdoll he’s trying to get a shirt onto.

But the harder you make it, the longer he’ll stay. The longer he’ll be nice, and touch you, and-

“I love you.”

Bucky stills. Your words hang in the air, but you don’t understand why. You’ve said far worse things to him, and he must have known. You know. You’re pretty sure Nat does too, with all the looks she’s always giving you after Bucky teases you and you flush, or you bicker and he marches away with a scowl.

It’s not some grand confession. You love him like the seasons turn and the sun always rises. It’s a deep, mechanical part of you that can’t be rewired, and you know because you’ve tried. But Bucky’s leans back and stares at you like the sky is falling.

“What?”

His voice is a croak, and you frown at him.

“I love you.” You say it slower this time. Maybe you’d slurred the words, and he hadn’t understood. “It’s your fault, because I love you and you’re just… There.”

He blinks at you slowly, obviously still not understanding. You roll your eyes, and flop back down.

Bucky coughs, grabbing your knee as if to steady himself. He’s sitting down, and it’s not like he’s in love. The world is perfectly under his feet. You’re the one suffering.

“I’m here?”

“All the time.” You whine, and his grip on your knee tightens.

“But you love me.”

“Mhm.”

“So why’s it problem that I’m here-“

“Because you never do anything.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “I do things. I do lots of things-“

“You never touch me.” You prop yourself on your elbows, glaring down at him. “You just- You’re there, and you don’t like me and it- It makes me-“

“Makes you what.” Bucky’s voice is deep, his eyes dark on yours, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You don’t get to know.”

“I don’t get to know?” He snorts. “No, you can’t just- You can’t say that kinda stuff then-“

“I wish you’d touch me.” You tell the ceiling.

Bucky grunts. “Yeah, I’ve heard. But-“

“Think I could cum just from listening to you talk.” You hum, your voice sounding like a faraway dream.

Your eyes are getting heavy, and Bucky’s gone completely silent. The words start to float out of you, like steam escaping through windows, into the warm, open sky.

“I’d like to touch you, too. Put you in my mouth, or just- ride you.” You sigh. “I want everything. I’d do- Do anything you told me too if you asked. Anything.” You look back up at him, your lip wobbling again. “But you never ask me. Why don’t you ever ask me?”

Bucky’s gaping at you, and he shakes his head, his voice a low croak. “I, uh- You’ve never-“

He swallows, glancing down, and you follow his gaze.

He’s straining through his jeans, shifting uncomfortably. You giggle, flopping back down. Your eyes start to droop, the room fading in and out. Bucky rises over you with a sigh, pulling the blankets up.

“’S nice.” You murmur. “You. Bein’ here.”

You yawn, and Bucky’s laughs. Under his breath, like an inside joke he won’t bring you into.

“Yeah. I know.” His hand grazes over your cheek, and you hum sleepily, eyes closing.

His lips press to your forehead, and it’s like a spell. The world, slowly and easily, starts to slip away.

“Sleep well, baby.” He mutters, and under that command, you do.

He’s not there when you wake up, and you have to be okay with that.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to face him again anyway. There’s a fog hanging over your brain, but it’s not thick enough that you can’t remember last night.

Bucky saw you naked. He was in your room, and put you to bed, and you-

You told him you loved him.

That you wanted him. That you could cum just from him talking to you.

You have to move. You have to change your name and move as far away as possible. Maybe Siberia, or Russia, or Romania, or somewhere he’ll never find you again. Because you told him you loved him, and now he’s gone.

He left a water on your bedside table. Mocking you with the fact that last night was real.

You force yourself to sit up, rubbing your temples, and take the glass. If you’re never going to see Bucky again, and you don’t plan to, there’s no need to spite him with ignoring it.

When you stand up, it takes a few deep breaths to start moving. Nat isn’t home yet, and she probably won’t be for a while. That gives you plenty of time to wallow before you vanish forever. You can spend the morning moping and cursing yourself, then worry about consequences.

You make cereal and put on coffee. Stare at the little bits floating through the milk, and try not to think about Bucky. If he’s thinking about you.

If he is, you don’t want to imagine what. That you’re a whore for throwing yourself at him, a fool for think he’d be open to such a confession—from you of all people—or maybe just the same as he always did. Maybe he’d known the whole time, and he just thinks you were gutsy to say it aloud when he so clearly wants nothing to do with you.

Nothing at all, but taking care of you while you’re drunk. Giving you a bath and putting you to bed, handling you like something precious and kissing the side of your head.

That could have been just more mocking. The same game he’s always played, accusing you of wanting him then laughing. Like he’d already known.  

But playing that game while you’re out of it isn’t Bucky’s style. He likes you biting back, sometimes he dangles comments over your head and grins when you snap at them. So there’d be no reason for him to play when you weren’t even able to a join him. But then there’s no reason for  him to act like that at all.

It’s too early to be thinking this much. You put all your hopeful bets on Bucky having somehow forgotten everything, so you don’t have to move.

The door opens down the hallway, and you glance up. It’s early for Nat to be back.

But it’s not Nat that calls your name through the house.

“Where’d you- Hi.”

Bucky walks into the kitchen, and you stare at each other. He’s wearing his clothing from last night, his hair mussed, two paper coffee cups in his hands. You swallow, and he coughs, glancing around the kitchen.

“I got you coffee.” He mutters a little bitterly, and you follow his gaze to the rumbling coffee machine.

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to- It’s here.” He puts it on the counter, and you nod, focusing back on your cereal.

You’re both silent for another long moment. There air is thick, like a swamp at the height of summer. You’re not sure how you remember to speak.

“How’d you know I was up?”

“Your door was open.” He mutters. “Made sure it was closed before I went out.”

“Did you-“

“On the couch. Just, uh-“ He rubs the back of his neck, eyes locked onto yours. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone, and- I think we, uh- You said some things. That we should talk about.”

You rip your gaze away as you flush, but if you’d had any hope of pretending you’d been too drunk to retain the night and just hoping he’d leave you be, that ruins it.

Bucky’s eyes narrow. He walks forward, until he’s right at your side. You can feel his presence buzzing through you, and swallow.

“You remember.” His voice is low, and he leans further down before you can protest. “Don’t lie to me. We’ve both been lyin’ way too much.”

You don’t dignify him with an answer. With even a glance.

Bucky leans closer.

“You said you wanted to touch me.” He’s almost growling in your ear. “You said you wanted me in your mouth, that you wanted me to ride you, that you’d do anything I told you-“

“James.” You hiss, twisting to glower at him.

Mistake.

He looks hungry. His eyes are blown out, only inches from yours, his tongue darts over his lips when you look down at them. He’s watching you like a dog that’s finally been told it can have its bone. Your grip on the counter tightens. It’s hard to stay upright.

“Full name.” He hums, the corners of his lips tugging up. “I’m in trouble.”

“You’re being a dick-“

“Yeah, but you like it.”

“I- You-“

“You love it.”

You freeze at that word. The air feels thin now. Your face is burning, and Bucky’s as collected as ever. Like this is all still just a game to him.

“Fuck you.” You spit. It takes everything you have.

Bucky doesn’t even flinches. “Yeah, you want to.”

Your mouth falls open, and he leans in closer.

“You meant it, right? Everything you said?”

Denying seems pointless. You try to anyway, but your lips barely prepare for the word no before Bucky’s giving you a stern look—don’t lie to me—and your voice dies.

He says your name, and it’s the same voice he used last night. Lighter, gentler, man trying to tend instead of force. You weren’t any match for it last night, but that doesn’t seem to be the drink’s fault. You give in just as easily right now.

“Yes.” You breathe.

Bucky’s eyes flash. “All of it?”

“Bucky…”

“Do you want me.” His voice is demanding now, and you try to look away.

He catches your chin, pulling you back. Forcing your gaze onto his, onto those beautiful, enchanting eyes.

You nod, and he hums in approval. The sound settles, molten and warm in your tummy.

“Do you love me?”

His words sound so sincere and taunting at the same time. You can’t look away, so you glare, and he chuckles.

“Come on, baby.” He brushes his lips over yours, his voice becoming something low. Something dangerous.

You don’t even bother to move away this time. You’re breathing in your chest, your stomach filled with too much desire to do much else. The brush of his lips let you taste coffee and mint, and his grip on your chin is commanding. You’re only putty in his hands. A lost cause that doesn’t really want to be found.

“Don’t make me fuck it out of you.”

Bucky’s eyes gleam, and he’s playing again. He knows he has you, that you want to be had.

His hand drags slowly, gently, on your waist. His fingers dip under your shirt, the soft touch making you gasp. You lean forward, and Bucky leans back. He tilts his head slightly, something stern still in his gaze. You blink hopelessly, trying to figure out what, and he squeezes your hips. It’s grounding and electric, and he presses back forward as you go still below him.

“Do you want me to fuck it out of you.” He growls, and your mouth falls open with a whimper.

Permission. He was holding himself on a leash for your permission.

Doubt drains from your head, far down south where a warm, summer storm is brewing between your thighs.

You spread your legs slowly, and grab his hand on your hips. Push it slightly down, until his attention follows.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and his hand on your chin drops. You watch as he moves so tantalizingly slow, brushing the band of your panties before dragging down the seam at the apex of your thighs. He rubs you over the fabric, and your hips buck into the touch.

“Fuck.” Bucky hooks two of his fingers, tearing your underwear in one rip. “You’re so wet. Soaked through the panties, soaking my fucking fingers.”

You moan, pressing your face into his shoulder. Bucky dips his fingers into your heat, smearing the arousal all over your pussy, and you shake.

“Bucky-“

“You got this,” he spanks your pussy, then drags the mess down your inner thighs. “’Cause I’m here? Or just from thinking about me?”

“B- Both.” You mumble, trying to keep still as the broad pads of his fingers find your clit, rubbing in slow, tantalizing circles.

He hums. “You think about me a lot?”

Pressing hard on the sensitive button. Your knees give out, and you’re only caught by his arm around you’re lower back.

“Careful, baby-“

“All the time.” You whimper the confession, looking up at him with big, teary eyes. “Think about you all the time, Bucky, you’re- You’re so- Oh my god-“

Bucky yanks his hand from your pussy, grabbing your jaw and angling it back for a kiss.

It’s slower than you thought it would be, with how he crashed over you. You’d been expecting rough and harsh, all spit and ownership. Instead there’s a certainly behind it—a rough passion that’s demanding and hot—but it’s slow. Bucky doesn’t use his tongue until you open your mouth, and he hums in satisfaction when you grab at his hair, tugging slightly.

He grabs your ass, hauling you up on the kitchen counter. His hands wander your body lazily, tracing the softness of your hips and curve of your spine. He chuckles when you arch into the touch, deepening the kiss. Stars swim behind your eyes, and you realize you’re still grinding up into his torso.

“Bucky.” You plead, and he presses another tiny kiss to your lips, taking his sweet damn time.

“Off.” He tugs at the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms to help him.

He leans back when you’re uncovered, and this time he isn’t trying to cover anything else. He palms one of your breasts, licking his lips before he takes the nipple between his fingers and rolls it. You squeak and his eyes dart up, almost studying how you shiver and blink at him.

“So reactive.” He switches to the other breast, and your fingers dig into the nape of his neck. “Almost came before I even really touched you, sweetheart. If you can’t hold it, you’re gonna be a fuckin’ wreck before I’m even done with you.”

You shake your head, face heating further. “It- It’s been a long time-“

“Yeah, but that’s not it.” He drags his hand down, over your abdomen. Back between your thighs. “You got that little toy keepin’ you satisfied-“

“Not satisfied.” You breathe, head lolling to the side as Bucky resumes his tight circles on your clit. “Not you, Bucky, fuck-“

He groans, dragging you back into a deep kiss. You give him everything you have in return, nipping at his lips and yanking his hair. Bucky groans and picks you fully off the counter, walking you both to your room and kicking the door shut.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy.” He grunts between kisses, his own steps getting a little uneven. “The stuff I wanna do to you, no way we’re covering it in one night. Years to make up for, gotta ration it.”

“Years?” You pull back, and Bucky grins.

“Oh yeah. You’re not the only one who’s not satisfied, babydoll.”

“But-“

“Ah.” He kisses you, lowering you onto the bed. “Nope. Not now.”

You frown up at him. “Bucky, you said we needed to talk-“

“And now I’m sayin’ not now. And if my memory’s right,” he grins down at you. “You’re the one who said she’d do whatever I want.”

You flush, crossing your arms over your chest, and Bucky laughs. He pulls his shirt off, and you almost fall backwards on the sheets like it’s an atomic blow.

There have been glimpses. Moments. You’ve been to the pool with him before, and he’d been shirtless there too.

But he hadn’t been standing over you, massive and radiating power. You hadn’t been close enough to trace your fingers over the scars littering his muscle, remnants from his time in the army. You reach up in a trace, tracing one closer to his pant line, and he flexes under your touch. A low sound rumbles through him, and he catches your wrist with a warning look.

You giggle. “You’re not the only one who’s sensitive.”

Bucky’s eyes flash, his voice dropping impossibly low. “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak.”

Your shift in the sheets, more desire building in your already aching pussy. Bucky’s attention darts to the movement, and his throat bobs. Every muscle in his body strains, and you give him a sweet smile.

“Prove it.”

Bucky makes that deep, growling sound again and grabs your face between his hands. He presses over you, shoving his tongue down your throat, and this is the kiss you’d been expecting from before. Rough and starved, almost marking you as much as kissing you. He bullies you down into the mattress with his weight, and you spread your legs wide to accommodate him.

“You’re so soft.” He mutters, kneading your thighs as his mouth starts to trail hot kisses down your neck. “Thought about touchin’ you like this forever, about how beautiful you’d be under me. And let me tell you, baby,” he nips under your jaw. “Better than I managed to dream.”

You grind up below him, trying to chase a little more friction. You keep meeting the rough fabric of his jeans, and the drag is beautiful, but it’s still not enough.

“Needy girl.” Bucky drags your legs apart, pressing his hips firmly over your core. The sudden pressure does the trick, and you moan, tipping your head back in brief relief. “Yeah, you like that. Feels so good and I’m not even doin’ anything.”

“Bucky, don’t- Don’t tease-“

“But it’s so fun.” He coos, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You get all nervous, makes me want to stuff you up with cock and see how you squirm-“

You make a loud, wanting sound, trying to fuck your hips up into the air. But Bucky’s heavy. You can only claw at his shoulders, and it just makes him tease more.

His rolls his hips, dragging the bulge in his jeans over your burning core. Your mouth falls open, and he kisses you, sneaking and arm tight around your back.

The forced arch of your back makes your legs open widen, giving him further access. He starts to rut against your bare pussy, and it’s perfect torture. Your arms are tight enough around him to choke, but it doesn’t slow him down. Bucky dry fucks you, your pussy throbbing desperately for release, arousal trickling down your ass and every thrust filling you with a burning pleasure.

You hadn’t been lying. It’s been a long time. But that’s not the only reason why you’re already so close to the edge again. Bucky’s body is everywhere around you, his thick arms holding you tight, his lips wandering over your neck and cheeks, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. The friction is everything, he’s everything, and you don’t have enough restraint to fight it.

The orgasm is sudden and harsh, shaking your whole body. You claw at his back, twitching and whining in his ear. You didn’t know you could cum that hard, hard enough to make eyes close from the overwhelming sensation, and it’s just from dry humping.

Bucky groans in your ear and pulls back suddenly. His eyes are lidded, expression lustful, and his palm flexes near his bulge like he’s forcing himself not to rub it. Your breathing is uneven, your pussy still aching, and you reach down to try and rub your clit until he collects himself.

He catches your wrist and pins it to the mattress, shaking his head. “You just fuckin’ came, baby.”

“I- I know- I just-“ You try to turn, and Bucky slaps your cheek lightly. Forces your attention back to him.

“You’re a big girl. Use words.”

You want to glare at him, but something about the slightly mocking order makes your pussy throb. Bucky raises his brows, and you barely manage not to drool.

“Want more.” You mumble, and he grins.

“And?”

“And?”

“You what?”

You stare for a second, then roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”

Bucky smirks, squeezing his hold on your wrist. “’S alright. We’ll get there.”

You stick out your tongue, and he hums.

“That’s not very nice, baby. Think we need to work on your manners.”

“My manners are fine-“

“You’re a brat.” He teases, and you flush.

“I am not-“

“Yeah, you are. You’re a wet, needy little fuckin’ brat.” Bucky starts to move your hand between your legs, and you pretend to try and pull away.

He sees the challenge, and yanks it down. Presses it against your core, making you shake. Your eyes flutter, and Bucky laughs.

“Look at you.

“You really still got that vibrator?”

You nod, and he pulls your hand up. kisses your knuckles, eyes sparkling. 

“Grab it.”

You scramble up the moment he lets go of you, yanking open your bedside drawer and pulling out the pink rabbit. Bucky grabs your hips before you can roll back over, pulling you backward with your ass in the air. You twist to look at him and find his attention entirely fixed on your core. On the mess between your legs.

He’s almost in a trance, as he drags two fingers through your pussy lips. You flutter, overly sensitive from before, and Bucky shoves his fingers right into your pussy.

You go limp, at the sudden stretch. Bucky’s fingers are everything you’d imagined they’d be, and more. Rough in all the right place, deft and thick, crooking right at the edges as he finds your g-spot faster than even you can sometimes. He hums like he’s figured out something interesting and kisses the curve of your ass. He starts to rub the tips of his fingers, massaging that happy, spongey place inside you, and you moan into the sheets.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“You’re tight.” He mutters, kissing between your ass and pussy, the tiny patch of skin that sends a shiver up your spine. “And wet. Gonna feel real good around my cock, babydoll. Got a perfect pussy for me to fill up.”

You make another desperate sound, and Bucky presses further in.

“Oh, that sounds good to you, doesn’t it. Getting stuffed full of my cum, being my pretty cockslut. I’d make you walk around with it after, wear a skirt so I can fuck you again whenever you run out. Fuck you until it’s stained on your legs, until everyone can fuckin’ smell it. ‘Till they know you’re mine.”

Your pussy clenches at the possessive promise, and Bucky groans.

“You wanna be mine, don’t you sweet girl.”

“Ye- Yes-“

Bucky yanks his fingers out of you unexpectedly, and you almost scream in frustration. You try to twist around again to chew him out, but he grabs the back of your neck and shoves you into the sheets. You go limp, trembling as tears prick at your eyes. Bucky arms snakes around your stomach, his thumb resting under your clit. Never touch it, or where your pussy is fluttering, desperate to be filled.

“Say it.” He grunts, and you shake your head. You’re not that easy.

Bucky doesn’t seem in any rush to give up though. He spanks your pussy, and you cry out in a mix of pain and delight.

“Say it.” He orders, and your hands fist in the sheets as he spanks your pussy again. You grind against him, chasing more, and he pinches your clit hard.

You almost fly out of your skin, a lewd, garbled plea escaping your lips as another orgasms rushes through you. This one is shorter, but no less consuming. You clench around nothing, mouth hanging stupidly open, and Bucky sucks near your throat, his teeth brushing and making the pleasure all the more intense.

“Fuckin’ brat.” He mutters, awe almost coating his voice. “I’m a damn saint, making you cum again when you’re so greedy. When you got this hungry little pussy, begging to be stuffed with cock, and I’m letting you go first.”

“Please,” you try to flip over, but Bucky’s hold on you is too strong. “Bucky, please- Please just fuck me.”

“Oh, I will.” He kisses under your ear, voice silken and taunting. “But not now, babydoll. Then we would’ve brought this out for nothing.”

“What’s-“

A buzzing sound fills the air, and your eyes widen.

“Bucky, wait-“

“You know, you get more sensitive after you cum.” Bucky drawls, dragging the thick tip of the rabbit up and down your pussy. You try to focus on your breathing, squeezing your eyes shut as your body starts to get swept away in a wildfire.

“God, fuck-“

“Quiet.” He grunts. “I’m trying to talk, sweetheart. Be good.”

You nod, biting on your lower lip, desperate to listen well. To be good.”

“Like I was saying.” Bucky drawls, shoving the vibrating dildo up against your clit, then yanking it away. “You get more sensitive. And I was thinking all night about your little confession. That you can cum just from listening to me talk.” Bucky hums, dragging the head down to rest right over your entrance. “I like a challenge, but I’m got enough on my hands with you today. And since I’m so nice.” He pushes the thick length a little inside you, and your pussy clenches around it. “I’m gonna give you some extra hands. Extra sensitive,” he gives your clit a series of tiny hits, shoving the rabbit in deeper. “Some fake fuckin’ cock to get you ready for the real thing, and me.”

Bucky drags you back into his lap, right as he shoves the dildo home. You almost scream as the smaller bit presses over your clit, the thicker part driven right against where Bucky already knew your g-spot was.

“Bucky- Holy shit-“

He pulls your face to the side, silencing you with a deep kiss as you shake. You’ve already cum twice. That’s more than usual, and you’re not sure if you’ve got another.

You don’t get to tell him that, though. You don’t think he’d care to hear it right now, and fuck, do you want to see him try.

“I said quiet.” He growls when he pulls away, and before you know what’s happening he’s shoving the same fingers that had been in your pussy into your mouth.

You melt immediately, sucking on them as your eyes flutter. Bucky groans in your ear, moving his free hand to hold the rabbit inside your gushing, oversensitive pussy.

“Good girl.” He drawls in your ear. “Didn’t even have to ask, you just knew didn’t you. Fuck, you suck my cock half this good I’m not gonna be able to last ten minutes.”

You moan, and Bucky kisses the corner of your jaw before continuing.

“I know you’d like that. What was it you said? That you wanted to touch me? When this is done we can get you on your knees. If you behave.” He nips at your sweaty skin. “I’ll let you suck my dick. I’ll even fuck your face if you ask real nice. I hope you’re nice, baby, cause I can imagine it. You crying, lips around me, fucking your fingers while you choke on my cock. My pretty baby, my sweet fuckin’ doll loving me so much.”

You slump back against him fully, hips rolling uselessly, and it’s more subtle this time. The heat building at the bottom of your tummy, winding tight and made of a strange pressure.

“You’re gonna say it.” He coos in your ear, and your pussy starts to fight against the rabbit. Like it knows you can barely take it.

But you can’t lend it much energy. You like this position well enough.

“After you cum for me again, I’ll fuck you. Fuck you properly like the brat that you are.” Bucky groans, pressing his nose into your hair. “Walking around, making me feel like I’m the asshole for wanting you, for loving you when you’re snapping off at me,you’re a mouthy fuckin’ thing, aren’t you babydoll. Lotta bark but,” he pushes his fingers further into your mouth. “Not even a little bit of bite.”

Your eyes roll back, head pressing into his shoulder, and you give him a silent look of pleading that’s only met with a mocking grin.

“So pretty like this, sweetheart. Stupid and quiet, I ain’t even fucked you yet. Won’t clean you up after you’re done, just let you walk around with it dripping. Maybe I’ll fuck you until it sticks. Until you’re mine.”

Your back arches, and you’re so close. You can feel Bucky’s dick twitch against your ass, and somewhere in the distance your thoughts manage to collect enough to tell you that he removed his bottoms at some point.

“Fuck, ‘course you’re into that. Shouldn’t have expected more from you, with how much you love this. You’re close, baby.” His lips tease the shell of your ear. “So close.”

You whimper, grinding down onto him as the dildo vibrates, and Bucky groans. He pins you down to his lap with a hiss, fingers flexing on your stomach.

“Shit- You can’t just-“

He presses his mouth where your neck meets your shoulder, kissing and sucking as his dick throbs against you, and his dirty talk becomes mumbled and deep. 

“My pretty fuckin’ girl, can’t even wait for it, cum for me, babydoll, come on, fuckin’  show me how much your greedy pussy wants my dick-“

The pressure breaks like a flood. Your pussy gushes so hard it pushes out the rabbit, and your head flies back as you grind into the air. Bucky moans, fully moans, and starts to rub your clit back and forth with the palm of his hand. You grab his wrist, spasming and trying to chase it and escape all at once. You whine as it becomes all too much, batting at Bucky’s hand.

He stops, collecting your release on his fingers.

When he presses them against your lips, you open. Hum as he feeds your own juices to you. All you can do is lap at his fingers and look at him under fluttering lashes, and he smiles.

“Good girl.” He coos, and your body seizes up again. You moan around his fingers, and Bucky laughs.

He pulls them out, turning your head for a gentle, deep kiss. You’re boneless and cockdrunk, only able to let him give and give whatever he’s willing. You can’t even try to drag him close.

Bucky rolls you over, making sure your back is pressed into the mattress as he kisses you lazily. He rises up after a few moments, his gaze raking down your body, and you flush. If you had more strength, you’d cover yourself. You’ve never been good at being looked at.

But there’s nothing expect awe and affection in Bucky’s eyes. He traces a hand over your every curve and softer spot, rising slowly on his knees to part your legs.

“You’re a miracle, baby.” He murmurs, pumping his cock in his hands and for once, you feel like one. “Look at what you do to me.”

You do, and you might be about to burst into flames.

Bucky’s thick. Long, but not enough to worry you, and thick. He’s going to drag, be able to get balls deep and make you feel him everywhere.

You’re drooling, and he sees it. He smirks knowingly, and you wrinkle your nose.

“Come on.” He teases. “Say it, and it’s all yours.”

You shake your head, and Bucky hums. Crawls back over your body, notching his cock right at your entrance. His hovers his lips over yours, not quite fully kissing.

“Say it.”

When you find your voice, it’s raspy and broken.

“No.”

“But you know you want to.” He presses the first inch inside, and if you’d had any worries about not being able to take more, they’re knocked away with how good he feels.

You were right. He’s an even bigger stretch than his two fingers, and it perfect. There’s a slight ache, but it’s overwhelmed by the closeness. By how well he fits, how much you need more of this brimming, explosive pleasure already threating to take you over.

“Just say it, pretty girl. Say it for me.”

You shake your head, and Bucky pushes further in, and your hands fly into his hair like they were pulled there.

He groans, rutting into you, and bottoms out. You didn’t know you could feel this good. Be this full. Bucky moans in your ear, and you breath slowly, trying to adjust.

“You feel so good.” He smashes his lips over yours, the kiss demanding and long. “Knew you’d feel this good, always knew you’d feel this good, Christ-“

You roll your hips up, and it makes Bucky jerk. He slams into you, knocking the air from your lungs, and your toes curl in delight.

He barks your name, grabbing your jaw, and you beam at him.

“More.” You breathe, and Bucky’s eyes widen in slight surprise.

He recovers fast.

“Yeah?” He pulls out slowly, then slams back in, his tip kissing your cervix. “You like that? Like being fucked like a toy?”

You moan happily, and Bucky laughs.

“Thought you might surprise me, babydoll, but no.” He taps your cheek, and you open without a thought. “You’re just the pretty cockslut I thought you were.”

He drags all the way out again, but this time pushes in slower. You whine, but he doesn’t even acknowledge you, setting a slow pace that feels good, but is far too much. The roughness made you numb with a good, fuzzy sensation, but this makes you feel it. Bucky’s cock dragging against your gummy walls, the press of him over your g-spot and heat of him, right over your clit.

You can barely take it. You’re already so fucked out from the other orgasms, you’re barely able to hold onto Bucky properly. You think you might be about to black out from pleasure, but no part of you wants him to stop altogether, and how you’re trapped somewhere between paradise and hell.

“Look at you.” He grabs one of your breasts, palming it as he thrusts smooth and deep. “Nobody else does this to you, do they. Makes you feel so good, gets you so stupid on their cock.”

You shake your head, and Bucky taps your mouth again.

“Words.”

“Bucky…”

“Want to hear you, sweet girl.” He kisses your cheek, words pure filth in your ears. “Here you scream for me while I fuck you, hear how much you love it.”

“Can’t-“

“Yes, you can.” He slams a little firmer, giving you a pointed look. “Good girls listen. And when they listen,” he repeats the motion, holding your gaze. “They get filled up.”

You whimper, but nod. Bucky smiles in satisfaction, returning to his torturous speed from before.

“Anyone else do this to you?” He grunts, and you shake your head.

“No- No. Never, Bucky, only you-“

He groans, picking up his pace. “That’s fuckin’ right. No one fucks you like this, I’m gonna ruin you. If you wanna cum you’ll have to find me, I’m the only one who plays this perfect fuckin’ pussy- Shit-“ He groans, jaw clenching as he hits a little deeper than before. “Nobody takes care of you like me-“

“No one.” You echo, and you’re rewarded with another rough slam. “No one, Bucky, only- Only wanted you, needed you- Fuck-“ You cry out, pressing your cheek into his jaw. “You and your thick cock, needed you so bad-“

“I know. I know, babydoll, but I’m here now.” He kisses you quickly, speeding up again.

It’s enough to make you start to feel it again. Not slowly building, but being dragged out. The tip of Bucky’s cock drags through you, and that hot feeling in your core starts to fill up again. 

“Wanted to do this for so long.” He groans in your ear, and a loud moan escapes your lips. “You really got no idea, I thought I was gonna lose it every time I saw you, thought you’d never let me- God-“

You clench around him, and Bucky angles your hips up, allowing him to hit deeper. You moan, and he kisses the back of your neck, sucking a dark mark.

“My girl.” He mutters possessive, and you babble an agreement. “My smart, mean fucking baby, drunk on my cock. Prettiest girl in the world, mine-“

You moan, and Bucky cuts himself off with a groan. He kisses you again, then rises over you. Bracing his arms on either side of your head as he looks to where he’s fucking into you. Your gaze follows, and the warmth in your gut flares at the sight.

It’s the most vulgar, pornographic thing you’ve ever seen. Bucky’s thick cock, sliding in and out of you with ease. Precum and your own need for him shining on the thickness of him, his chest flexing with restraint as he forces himself to keep the same pace. You watch his cock vanish into your body, and feel him deep inside you, and God-

You look up, checking if Bucky’s as strangely moved by that as you are, and find him staring at you. The moment your eyes meet, he grabs your jaw, pressing you back down into the pillows with a rough kiss. You’re unable to do anything but take it all. Bucky’s tongue pressing down your throat, his lips moving expertly over yours, his cock fucking every word but his name out of your head.

“Look at me.” He rasps when he pulls away, and you nod.

His eyes are almost wholly black, and shining. Tears prick at yours, but Bucky leans down, kissing them away before going faster again.

His balls start to slap on your ass, his cock pumping in and out of you until it’s all you can think about. Bucky deep inside you, lighting you up, how you can feel a rush up your spine with his every thrust. A lewd, wet sound is filling the room as he pounds into you. Your pussy burns and spasms every time, but it’s too good to fight.

Bucky’s too good to fight. You don’t know why you tried for so long.

“Bucky-“ You breathe, and he grunts.

“You’re close, sweetheart.” He mutters, and you don’t know how he knows, but he’s right.

You’re about to snap again. To lose it from how he’s fucking you like you’re a doll and the love of his life, all at once. You grab his wrist, squeezing tight.

“Pretty girl,” he teases. “Gonna soak this cock like a good girl, aren’t you. Give it to me, baby, show me how much you love it-“

“Love you.” You breathe out, and Bucky freezes.

Balls deep, he stills. His cock throbs in protest, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

You blink at him, praying you didn’t ruin it. Bucky swallows, and rasps out your name.

“What?”

“I- I love you- Oh.”

He jerks into you when you say it, and you almost fly out of your skin.

“Fuck, Bucky- I- I love you-“

It happens again, but you don’t think he’s doing it to mess with you. He can barely seem to control himself, his attention almost feral as his cock jumps inside you.

“I- I love you- Oh my god-“

Bucky dives over you, kissing you like he’s trying to steal the words from your mouth. Like he can taste them.

“Damn right you do.” He grunts, cock dragging inside you as he starts to fuck you, shallow and brutal. “Love you, love you so much, you’re-“

He kisses you, and somewhere through the floating, hazy dreamworld his cock is fucking you into, you think he’s run out of words.

Bucky’s fucking you like an animal, because there’s nothing left for either of you to say. He pulls your hips back up to that angle from before, returning to that pace from before that pulled the confession out of you. You’re in incoherent, babbling mess, tugging at the sheets and watching Bucky above you like he’s God.

“Good girl.” Is all he’s grunting out, but it’s deep and every word of a noise than anything else. “Mine, my good fucking girl, gonna fill you up, you’re-“ He moans, doubling over your body as his thrusts become short and harsh. “You’re perfect-“

From nowhere, you find the strength to reach up and grab Bucky’s face. You pull it down, kissing him with every word you’re too ruined to say, and he moans.

Bucky slams home, muttering your name against your lips like a prayer. You can feel him everywhere. Hot and sticky, pumping deep into your own heat, coating your walls, dripping out and running down your ass. When Bucky starts to move again, slow and lazy, he presses it deeper, spreads it everywhere.

It’s hot on your clit, and Bucky’s still jerking and spraying inside of you. You’ve never been this full, it’s addicting. Your brain is empty, body alight with the feeling, Bucky’s cum so thick and demanding that you could swear you feel it washing through your whole body.

He reaches between your legs to rub your clit.

You get there all on your own.  

Your vision goes white, as you cum. You’re so out of it you feel it the same way you feel a cool breeze. Light and relieving, washing over the heat inside you and pulling a happy sigh from your lips.

Bucky kisses you, and this time it’s only sweet. All his mean words and taunts so easily dissolve as you reach up, running your fingers through his hair. He smiles against your lips, and you smile back.

“Told you I’d do it.” He mutters, and you shove his chest with a weak laugh.

“Shut up.”

He grins, moving up to kiss your brow, then the side of your face. He’s still buried inside you. Neither of you are in a rush to move any time soon.

“You mean it, though.” He pauses, moving back over your body.

There are those worry lines again. You reach up with a tiny smile, and soothe your fingers over them. Bucky hums, leaning into your touch, and you smile.

“Yeah.” You whisper, and his shoulders sag.

“Thank god.” He presses his face between your breasts. “That would’ve been bad.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair, and he wraps his arms around your body. He’s slid out a little, but you’re still connected to him, and you never want to move again.

“How long?” He mutters against you, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Cause mine was when I saw you.”

You flush stupidly—he’s inside you—and mumble, “Me too.”

Bucky frowns. “But you were always- “

“And were you any better?”

He snorts, leaning up to peck your cheek. “Fair shot.”

“I know.” You snip, then, “You- You meant yours, right? I mean- What you said while…”

You trail off, because you didn’t imagine it. I love you and mine, too sincere to just be dirty talk.

Bucky rises back over you, gently guiding your gaze back to his. He smiles when your eyes meet, and kisses the tip of your nose.

“With everything I fuckin’ got.” He mutters, and you smile.

“Good.”

“I know. I mean, I did really well for myself- I’m complimenting you, woman!”

You’d shoved him, and Bucky grabs your wrists, wrestling them down into the mattress. He looks at you with a rough, fond exasperation.

“You’re a gremlin.”

“You like it.” You beam up at him, and he lower back down, kissing you lightly.

“Tough curse.” He mutters. “But I’m enjoying it.”

You roll your eyes at him, and he grins. Beautiful and all yours.

“Can we stay here for a while?” You ask, just because you want to have this, and sit in it. “Please.”

Bucky nods, and you feel your heart shine like it’s been given new batteries. Beating out of your chest and comfortably all at once, as Bucky rolls you both onto your sides, wrapping tight around you.

“We can do whatever you want.” He mutters, rubbing your hips and kissing the marks on your neck.

You relax, because you believe him. About all of it.

And now, you have him with you for all the time in the world.

✦End note: big fan of that horny old man in every universe.✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦