You are not a saint. You are not a hero. Youâre barely even a living person, because living people have lives that extended beyond work and their apartment. But youâre not quite nobody, either. Youâre too much, and not enough, and just in the shadows with a prayer to be saved that isn't genuine and secrets that mean nothing.
They shouldâve meant nothing.
Yet here you are. In more danger than usual, being threatened by Hydra without knowing why, and being assigned a security detail you donât want by Captain America.
Bucky Barnes is good at his job. Youâre not going to die.
But you might end up strangling him before Hydra gets to either of you.
In the early 1930s, your path crosses with a young, bright eyed boy who doesn't seem to know the pain of the world. You ask him to wait. He does with a smile. Through time and war, you love him with the burn of all your heart. Across oceans and between worlds, he loves you so much he swears he could never forget.
One-Shots
âŠIt's Been Calling Me â€ïžâđ„đđđ𧥠- You've had these⊠dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams. So sure, until you're not.
âŠLook Behind You đđđ§Ąâ€ïžâđ„ - You've made a mistake. You've been reckless and fallen in love with Bucky. There's only one way to deal with this. Make a list.
âŠA Long, Long Time đđđ§Ąâ€ïžâđ„ - The truth doesn't hurt. It's not freeing, either. It just sits in your chest, until it's pried out, and you're looking it the eyes with nowhere to run, and Bucky knows you love him. But he's not running either.
âŠAlong the Line đđ§Ąâ€ïžâđ„ - After you get hit with a chemical on a mission, Bucky has to take care of you. But he won't do the one thing that will fix it, no matter how much you want him to. And he wants it too. Maybe more. And, at some point, something has to break.
âŠIn Uniform - Request! â€ïžâđ„đđ - Bucky brings you a surprise, and fulfills a fantasy.
âŠFeelin' Good â€ïžâđ„đđ - It's been a long, rough day, and it's easy to sink a little lower into worse feelings. Luckily, Bucky is always there to pick you back up.
âŠThese Nights đđâ€ïžâđ„ - Bucky gets home late, and you take care of each other.
âŠI Must Have Missed it in the Rain đđ§Ąâ€ïžâđ„đ - You're, somehow, the best person for this undercover mission. The one where you have to pretend to be Bucky's girlfriend. You don't know why he agreed to it when he can't stand you. But you love him. So you'll get through it, if only to play pretend for one night.
âŠLay Me Down đđ§Ąâ€ïžâđ„đ - All you wanted in a roommate was someone not insane, who didn't shift anything in your life who didn't drive you out of your mind. You didn't get either of those things. You got Bucky Barnes
âŠI've Been Waiting (And So Have You) - Request đ§Ąâ€ïžâđ„đ - You've been in love with Bucky Barnes since you first saw him. You've waited for him, even when you knew it was pointless. Then, when you finally decide to move on, you ask him for help. But he doesn't seem to be putting his all into helping you find a relationship. And you can't seem to give yours to getting over him, at all.
âŠDon't Stop Haunting Meâ€ïžâđ„đđ - You and Bucky have a (sort of) quiet arrangement. He takes care of you, and you return the favor. And you've gotten pretty good at pretending you don't want more, but after the Halloween party, it's suddenly a lot harder to pretend. Good thing Bucky is feeling the exact same way.
âŠHow to Let Go - Request đ§Ąâ€ïžâđ„đ - After you meet Bucky at a gallery, he slowly, but certainly becomes a part of your life. An important one. One that could mean something. And you don't know how to do that. How to just be loved. But Bucky doesn't just walk away. And together, you learn.
âŠCan You Feel It (through you) đđâ€ïžâđ„ - After you meet Bucky at a gallery, he slowly, but certainly becomes a part of your life. An important one. One that could mean something. And you don't know how to do that. How to just be loved. But Bucky doesn't just walk away. And together, you learn.
âŠCold Eyes, Warm Hands đđđ§Ąâ€ïžâđ„ - You know Bucky hates you. He's not secret about it. He hates you so much, he can't seem to stand you even getting along with an agent on a mission, and can't help but rush to your side when you need him. That's what hate is, right?
âŠHis Favorite Gift đâ€ïžâđ„ - On Christmas, the only thing Bucky needs is you.
âŠTipping Pointđ§Ąâ€ïžâđ„đ - You agree to friends with benefits, knowing Bucky already has your heart. Knowing that he's so blissfully unaware of it, that there's never any hope to be anything more. Which makes it strange, how possessive he's getting after you're flirted with at a party.
âŠThe Strawberries - request!đđ - Bucky keeps you secret from his team, but your effect on his life might not be something he can hide.Â
âŠIf You Care đđđ - Affection and relationships are the ruin of many a good woman. You're very careful, not to fall into that trap. Unfortunatly, Bucky might be the only one who can make you... stumble a bit.
Mini Drabbles
âŠWhen He Gets Back From a Missionâ€ïžâđ„đđ
âŠHis Handsâ€ïžâđ„đ
âŠThe Caring of Bucky Barnes' Hairâ€ïžâđ„đđ
âŠSit Down, Doll - Requestâ€ïžâđ„đ
âŠBite Your Lip - Requestâ€ïžâđ„đđ
âŠTemptationâ€ïžâđ„đ
âŠWreckâ€ïžâđ„đ
âŠKeep Still â€ïžâđ„đ
âŠMine - Requestâ€ïžâđ„
Look at this treasure trove of fics!!! Don't mind me, I live here now. I will make my way through your compiled works and leave a bread trail of ineloquent but kind comments.
âŠBucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on a03!âŠ
âŠsummary: Affection and relationships are the ruin of many a good woman. You're very careful, not to fall into that trap. Unfortunatly, Bucky might be the only one who can make you... stumble a bit.âŠ
âŠwarnings/tags: thunderbolts!bucky, no use of y/n, soft and yearning Bucky, no description of reader, fluff, light angst, love confessions, thunderbolts stay silly, smut (fingering, dirty talk, praise kink)âŠ
âŠwc: 8.9kâŠ
âŠAuthor's Note: I love silly romcom tropes like they're so important to me. EnjoyâŠ
You love Bucky Barnes, and it is none of his goddamn business.
Itâs not a small kind of love. Itâs the love that lives in your eyes, searching every room to see if heâs there. Your hands that canât help but linger when youâre allowed to touch him, every brush of his skin electric against yours.
Itâs in the steam of the shower and your bedsheets, who know every fantasy youâve made up in your head. All the ones where youâre allowed to be with him, and it makes sense, and your whole life doesnât blow up horribly because your heart beats simply too fast at only the sound of his name.
âDo the tie again.â You tell him, standing in the doorway of his dressing room. Your palms are already sweaty. You blushed at the sight of him.
You need to get it together.
There are all kinds of these events. Valentina drags the team around to parade like her own person diamonds, and you make sure the diamonds donât stab or shoot anyone while being paraded.
Youâve already confiscated three guns, two knifes, and Johnâs shieldâwhich you told him not to bring five fucking timesâand you havenât even seen Yelena or Bob yet.
Bucky, of course, is making your life stupidly easy. Heâs smuggled no weaponsâalthough you look at his arms, and his chest, and heâs the weapon, and that shouldnât make you feel so fuzzyâand heâd been waiting obediently for you to come in, hands on his hips and a small smile on his face.
âYou look nice.â He offers, and you laugh.
âThe handler at the zoo does need to look presentable for the show.â
Buckyâs lips twitch a little higher, and you point your pen at his neck.
âTie.â
He grunts, and gets to work in a second. The tie was fine. Heâs just too perfect, and you needed to find something wrong for your sanity.
âAre you just hovering?â He asks, watching you carefully, and you shrug.
âIâm wherever the night needs me to be.â
âHm.â His tongue flicks over his lips, and he turns back to the mirror. âNone of us like these things, you know.â
âI donât like them either-â
âAnd sometimes.â He drawls. âThey make us feel like meat-â
âBucky.â You say firmly, and he meets your gaze in the mirror.
Drawls your name, an amused smirk on his face.
Your heart does a stupid little fumble, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Hard, to stop yourself from drooling.
The only person who must know about your⊠situation is Valentina. You donât know how she knows. What she thinks of it. But she must be punishing you for being such a fool by making Bucky look like that.
Edible. The suit is too tight on his arms, perfectly fit on his torso, his hair long and soft and his eyes glimmering with teasing light, and you feel a little dizzy- Â
Bucky says your name, sounding a little more concerned this time.
You pinch your wrist behind your backâfucking get it togetherâand stand a little taller.
âIâve talked to her.â You say lightly, glancing over your shoulder to check no oneâs in the hall. âI canât try again too soon, sheâll get angry.â
Bucky grunts. âLet her be angry-â
âNo. Not-â You take a steadying breath. âAngry, angry. Like If you canât get them in line, I can start looking for someone who will.â
You echo Valentinaâs words, a thin chill running up your spine. Buckyâs gone still, his hands hovering at his tie, and you wonder if he cares.
If the threat means nothing to him where it means the whole universe to you.
You need this job. Youâve worked for it, you survived brutal application process, the training period where the New Avengers were treating you like a rotten au pair they wanted to drive out of the house, the public scrutiny and surprising amount of foul press about your body, your hair, your personality and relationships.
Valentina threatens to fire you every month. You think itâs her way of saying she likes you.
But youâd gotten close to the team. They tell you their problems like youâre going to wave a magic wand and fix them, and you havenât helped yourself by actually doing that.
From their point of view, they go to you and complain about something trivial. Alexei wants more missions in snowy areas, they remind him of Great Mother Russia. John needs everyone to stop calling his hat stupid. Ava thinks the tea in the kitchen tastes like ass, and would like it corrected, please.
Usually, you have to tell them to say please. The only ones who always say please are Bob and Bucky, and they barely ask for anything anyway.
But if you get that please, you wave a magic wand.
You research until you uncover a drug cartel in northmost Alaska for Alexei. You make threats and ambush column writers on the street for John, even run a fucking propaganda campaign to make his dumb beret come back in style. You rewrite a whole contract with the tea company for Ava, and barely get a thank you in return.
But youâre not magic. And even if you were, thereâs one wish your magic wand canât grant.
Changing Valentinaâs mind.
Bucky had asked you to talk to her about the events. He asked because they send him for the big request, like heâs their fucking dad or something.
And you tried. You did.
Valentina said no. And her threat wasnât a playful, look at how amazing I am for hiring you joke. It was real.
She wonât bend on it. And now you look at Bucky hopelessly, begging him to understand.
âI can try again in a few months.â You mumble, shifting on your feet. âBut- Not now.â
âNo, itâs fine. Theyâll survive, but-â Bucky frowns, turning around from the mirror. âAre you okay?â
You blink at him, a lump building in your throat. Something is stinging behind your eyes, your head spinning, and you nod weakly.
Bucky says your name, taking a step forward.
You take a step back.
You are not a damsel or foolish civilian girl for him to comfort. You are a grown woman, who can handle being in trouble with her boss alone. Buckyâs reaching out like heâs going to try and catch you, his eyes so strangely soft, and your stomach does a flip.
You donât need his pity.
You donât need him.
âIâm fine, James.â You snip, and Buckyâs hand freezes. âFix your tie.â
âI- Uh-â He glances down. âAlready did?â
You shrug, raising your chin. âThen fix it again.â
You turn on your heels before he can say anything else, and march out of the dressing room.
Itâs one of the rules you have for yourself. Youâre not supposed to be alone with him. Not for more than ten minutes. Your hands get all sweaty, and he sees right through you, and it jeopardizes everything.
You canât be in love with Bucky. You are, but you canât be.
It puts your job at risk, and your job is your life. Itâs getting you out of college debt, it gives you health insurance, it paid for your parentâs house and your siblingâs college, and soon itâs going to pay for you to have a home, which is almost unheard of in your generation.
Loving Bucky is a distraction. A pipe dream through a straw, flimsy and pointless. You will not risk your fucking life just so that the pretty, sweet, strong man will like you back.
Your dumb body and heart get all giddy in his presence, but you know better. You are better.
Love like thisâmind numbing, world moving loveâis for schoolgirls. Youâre stronger.
Bucky does not need to be privy to the fact that you love him. Heâs lucky he knows you like him. If you loved him a little less, you mightâve been able to pretend you didnât care about his existence at all.
Youâd tried that, when you felt the love start to bloom. There had been a whole week, where you ignored him entirely.
It had made you sick. Literally. Youâd lost sleep and stopped eating, your thoughts entirely devoted to just missing himâhis dry humor, his smile, his small, silent acts of kindness and his face, oh his faceâand it had gotten so bad youâd called out with the flu by Friday.
Then you went to the doctor. And you didnât have the flu. You just missed Bucky.
Heâd visited you on Saturday, while you lay in your bed like some Shakespearian heroine, lamenting and tormented by your devotion. He brought you soup, his Maâs recipe, because he hates you.
âCan I ask you something?â Heâd said while you devoured the soup straight from the container, your stomach deciding to cooperate in his presence.
Youâd hummed around a noddle, and his lips had twitched.
In the light, heâd been looking at you like you mattered to him. Like you were cute.
Buckyâs hand had flexed on the mattress, as you blinked up at him. Heâd looked away, tongue darting over his lips, and spoken low words.
âDid I do somethinâ to you?â
Youâd choked on a noodle. âWhat?â
âJust- before you got sick. We hadnât been talking.â Heâd sighed. âYou left the room, when I walked in. And if I did somethinâ, that make you uncomfortable or whatever, Iâm sorry.â
That had been the moment. The out. If you were smart, you wouldâve told him you needed space, or that he did make you uncomfortable, and it was best if you just didnât speak for a while.
But heâd looked so sad. Almost nervous, his lips in a tight line and a flush on his ears.
So youâd shaken your head.
Because youâre weak, and so in love with him itâs pathetic, and if he asked youâd open up the sky with your bare hands, no please required.
âNo. Weâre okay.â Youâd offered him a small smile. âJust really wasnât feeling well.â
Bucky had nodded, and grinned. The kind of grin that lit up in his eyes and make your whole chest sing with delight. You made him happy. You made him smile.
âAlright. Good.â Heâd kissed your sweaty brow, and lightning had sparked through your body.
Youâd leaned into the touch, just barely.
Bucky, by a small mercy, hadnât noticed at all.
âFeel better, doll.â Heâd said before he left, his tone something close to tender and hopeful.
You had within the hour.
It had been the last straw.,
You were in love with him. There was no outrunning it or stomping it down. But you donât stay alone with him for too long. You donât give him special treatment. You tell no one, and deny any accusations.
Jealousy isnât allowed. Heâs not yours to be possessive over.
That doesnât stop the sting, as you watch him talk to some rich lady across the room. Sheâs dressed like a bird, all feathers, her lips more like a beak, long nails like talons. You fight off a sour expression, when she reaches up to brush something from his shoulder.
Thereâs nothing there. You pressed his suit, and heâs a clean man.
You could rip her talons off her fingers and feed them to her. That would be a nice lesson.
That youâre not allowed to teach.
Heâs not yours.
You turn back to the bar, taking a heavy breath through your nose and ordering another drink. The only upside of these parties is that youâre allowed to get wasted. Youâve got the team trained on good behavior, the worst that happens anymore is Alexei trying to grab the bandâs microphone so he can tell a story. You can handle that drunk or sober.
Right now, itâs going to need to be drunk. When you turn back to watch the party, Buckyâs still talking to the bird.
You down your glass in one gulp, and push off the bar. You wonât fall into this trap. Itâs not her fault she got his attention. Not his fault heâs entertaining it.
It is entirely your fault, for daring to look and letting your heart tell you heâd stay silently loyal to a love he doesnât even feel in return.
You glide through the crowd, putting as much distance as you can between yourself and them. You can get through this. Youâve done it a million times before, and youâll do it a million times again.
âYouâre allowed to have fun at these, you know?â
You sigh, giving Yelena a flat look.
She materialized at your side. Youâve gotten used to it.
âI am having fun.â
That gets an amused smirk. âYou look like someone kicked your puppy.â
âIâm tired-â
âWe are all tired. That is why we drink.â She clinks her glass against yours. âBut you are sad drunk. Be happy drunk.â
âIâm trying.â You grumble under your breath, taking another large swig, and Yelena laughs.
âYou know what your problem is?â
âNo.â
âYou are angrier than Barnes at joy.â She points Bucky out in the crowd, and you bite your tongue until it bleeds.
You never lost track of him in the crowd. You donât think you could if you tried. But it still feels like youâre being ripped open, to see that heâs letting the bird touch him. Sheâs tracing her finger over his tie, tilting her head and smiling like a wolf ready to eat him alive, and youâre going to fucking throw up-
âAt least he is letting loose.â Yelena hums, and you force your face back into an indifferent mask. âEven if it is with a woman dressed like a duckling.â
You choke on your drink, covering your mouth with your hand. Yelena looks up at you with delight in her eyes, watching you try to wipe the bit of champagne that escaped your lips.
âShe laughs! I have never seen you laugh, it is weird. Disturbing-â
âShut up.â You mutter, wiping the last drops from your cheek. âYouâve heard me laugh before.â
âHave I? I think I would remember the witch experiencing joy.â
âI am not a witch-â
âYou are magic and mean.â
âIâm not mean-â
âNot to us.â Yelena shrugs, grabbing some cheese off a wandering server. âBut to everyone else. Bucky Barnes says you tried to talk to Valentia about these dummy parties.â
You swallow. âI did, but- Yelena-â
âIt is okay. He says you tried, and though he is untrustworthy fool, I believe him.â
You nod, taking the cheese Yelenaâs offering you, then frown. âBuckyâs not untrustworthy-â
âNo. About most things.â She takes her cheese in one bite, speaking through the mouthful. âHe will not be going home with duck-woman tonight. We will see you in the morning?â
âYouâll see me in an hour, Iâm going back to the Watchtower with you-â
âHm. No you are not.â Yelena smiles knowingly. âTurn on your location. It is safer.â
You gape at her, unable to get another word in before sheâs walking away. You donât know why youâre surprised she knows. Of course she does. Sheâs Yelena.
But it makes your fingers curl on your glass, your eyes darting back to Bucky and the duck.
Sheâs draped herself over him, cooing and batting her eyelashes. Heâs barely looking at her at all.
Buckyâs scanning over the room, a tight frown on his face. Then, for a split second, your eyes meet.
You rip your gaze away, downing what little was left of your champagne. Yelena was right.
Thereâs no way youâre going home tonight.
Some would call it unhealthy. You call it a survival technique.
âAnother one?â The bartender asks you as you return, nodding to your empty glass.
You smile and giggle, leaning over the counter, making your voice all airy and high. âYou remember me?â
The bartenderâs smiler widens, and you twirl your hair.
Heâs nothing bad to look at. Rich skin and deep, gentle eyes. Nice, thick arms. Short hair. Smells like some thick, amber cologne that wonât give you a migraine.
Heâll do just fine.
By the time heâs done, youâll still be thinking about Bucky. Youâll probably picture him, as this sweet bartender fucks you like an animal. Youâve gotten good at not calling Buckyâs name, too, so you can probably squeeze out two or three rounds.
Itâs a band-aid on some internal bleeding. Itâs a show that fixes nothing, but at least the illusion makes everyone else see what you need them to.
You donât care about Bucky at all.
And you certainly donât look for him one more time before the bartender takes you home. Â
The bartender is the latest in a long, long line. Itâs nothing youâre ashamed of, nothing you bother to hide.
Even if only Yelena will say it, the rest of the team certainly knows. Fuck, even Valentina and Mel know. Last summer you went to a conference, and Mel joked that youâll tear your way though half the crowd before midnight.
âDo you think Iâm some kind of slutty Cinderella?â Youâd joked, and sheâd smiled.
âIs it bad if I say yes?â
Youâd laughed it off, and you know those kinds of jokes are supposed to hurt, but itâs barely even a paper cut. You know why you sleep around, and if people think youâre just a whoreing man-eater, thereâs more power and mystique than being a starry-eyed, lovelorn idiot over one old man.
The system works. You fuck around, and no one even thinks you might be interested in romance.
In a life with Bucky, where you roll over and heâs always on the other side of the bed. Where morning sex is slow and loving, drizzled in honey and adoration, rather than just one more quick fuck before you march out the door.
Heâd be soft. Gentle. Youâve seen how he handles fragile object, how he arranges everything so meticulously and touches everything he finds important with such care.
Youâd like to be something he finds important. Youâd like to be the most important thing in his life. His doll, smiling at him and leaning your chin on his shoulder, listening to all his problems and sitting in his lap to whine about your own. Finding yourself under him in bed with your arms pinned up, giggling while he kisses all over your neck then gasping when he moves to your breasts.
Thatâs the move Bartender pulled last night. And it felt fine. Nice enough. Youâd moaned a little louder than you needed toâonly slightly over-performingâbut you really hadnât hated it. Hadnât hated him.
Eventually, youâd gotten sick of it and flipped him over. Pinned his hands and rode his cock until you came with a tiny, pleasant shiver, then jerked him off until he stained your tits.
âCall me later?â Bartender asks, and you give him a sweet smile, looking up from your shoes.
âSure. Bye!â
âWait, you donât have my number-â
Youâre already out the door. Fixing the straps of your dress as you walk down the hall, calling your ride without a glance back.
Nobody says anything when you get back to the tower. Alexei high fives you, but thatâs the only reaction at all.
Bucky isnât there, though.
Why isnât Bucky there.
âWhereâs Barnes?â You say, causally as possible, and John grumbles.
âThought being the keeper was your job, not ours-â
âHeâs in the gym.â Ava drawls over John. âHeâs been there all morning.â
You nod, grabbing your coffee, and mutter that youâre going to go get changed. Youâre not going to check on him wearing the clothing. Heâs not your top priority.
Thatâs the whole illusion.
You take a long, hot shower, and the Bartender really was good, but youâre still aching.
Youâre thinking about Bucky.
About him in they gym all morning. How even a super soldier gets sweaty after a while, even if he doesnât lose stamina. How heâs going to be panting and grunting, his hair stuck to his brow and neck, maybe his shirt will be off and youâll get to see his broad, thick chest-
Your fingers had wandered between your thighs, and youâve pressed yourself back up against the wall. Angled your hips up, your legs spread shamelessly wide, short moans falling from your lips as the water pelted against your clit. You slide two fingers in and out of your pussy, picturing Bucky in the shower with you.
âNeedy fuckinâ baby.â Heâd murmur in your ear, body folded over yours. âYouâd be soaked without the water, wouldnât you. Ready for me when I so much as look at you, my perfect little slut-â
You moan him name into the shower, and the Bucky in your head chuckles.
Heâd graze his lips over your jaw, crook his thick fingers deep inside your weeping cunt, start to brutally rub on that gummy, sensitive spot. Youâd call his name again and heâd kiss you, rough and deep, and your legs would give out as you came all over his hand-
You slump down to the floor, turning your head to avoid the fall of the water. Your clit throbs, your body still shaking, and you squeeze your eyes shut.
Fantasies help too. The tend you over, stop you from doing something stupid.
But they can be dangerous too. Because you get dressed and go to find Buckyâwhich is normal, because itâs your jobâand find him twice the mess you pictured.
Heâs shirtless alright. Shirtless and wearing loose shorts. Thereâs a feralness, to the way heâs punching the bags, a wild glint in his eyes and his hair flying around his face. He hasnât even bothered to put it up, and with how his chest is heaving, heâs been at this a while.
All morning. Ava said.
You swallow the drool, letting your eyes rake over his flexing muscles, his shining skin, his sharp, clenched jaw. Christ, how youâd like all that brutal attention turned on you. He could throw you around like that punching bag, rearrange your guts and grab you until you bruised, just as long as he kissed the bruises after.
Youâre supposed to be doing your job.
Just for today, you let yourself stare for more than a second before dragging yourself together and clearing your throat.
Bucky catches his punching bag, turning to you immediately. You smile at him, and his jaw flexes.
âYouâre home.â
âObviously.â You shrug, glancing at the bag. âAva says youâve been here all morning.â
He grunts, releasing the bag and slowly pulling off his gloves.
Bucky never wears gloves. Not when itâs just a workout. Youâre surprised the bag isnât broken.
âCouldnât sleep.â He mutters, and you frown.
âNightmares? I can get another appointment with Dr. Indira-â
âNo. The meds are fine. Just-â He sighs, giving you an unreadable look. âCouldnât sleep.â
You blink at him, tilting your head slightly. Buckyâs spent years getting back to a tolerable sleep schedule. You helped with every appointment, with every new med and strategy. It took months to get right, and if itâs not working anymore-
âIâm fine.â Bucky repeats firmly, and you scowl.
âI didnât say anything.â
âCould hear you thinking, doll.â
You stick your tongue out, digging your nails into your arm. âShut up.â
He chuckles dryly, unhooking the bag from the ceiling. âYou back for the day?â
âIâm always back for the day, itâs my job-â
âYou werenât doinâ your job last night. Maybe youâre seeinâ the guy again.â
You flush at that, turning your chin up to hide it. When Bucky turns to look at you, you glare at him, and his mouth twitches.
He raises his brows in silent challenge. You canât help yourself. Itâs Bucky giving you the bait.
âI donât see people twice. You know that.â
He snorts. âYeah. I do.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean-â
âNothinâ. Iâm agreeing with you-â
âYou didnât say it like you were agreeing with me.â You snap. âYou said it- You- Yeah. I do.â
You drop your voice to mimic his sardonic, dismissive tone, and Bucky gives you a look of almost mocking delight.
âYouâre not good at impressions, are you?â
âIâm not- You just said it like an asshole-â
âYou think Iâm an asshole?â
âI think youâre like an asshole.â You sneer, and Buckyâs grin widens.
You donât know whatâs gotten into him this morning. Youâve been sleeping around for almost two years now. If he had a problem with it, heâs never so much as glared at you after.
Heâs barely even looked at you. Everyone else teases or lets it go, but Bucky doesnât even turn your way. Because youâre nothing but a friend to him, just like heâs supposed to be to you.
But now heâs taking a large step forward, looking at you with a strange glint in his eyes that makes your heartrate jumpstart. You take heavy breaths through your nose, trying to keep it together. You can keep it together.
Even with Bucky towering over you, all muscle and intense, blue eyes, you have to keep it together.
âThat hurts my feelings, doll.â He mutters, leaning slightly down.
Youâre not touching, but you can feel the heat rolling off his body. Itâs almost an aesthetic, making your head empty and mouth hang slightly open.
Keep it together.
âThen stop being like an asshole.â You manage to snap. âAnd Iâll stop hurting your feelings.â
He laughs again, a low, deep sound that lights a fire in your gut. âWouldnât it be nice, if it were that damn easy.â
You blink at him, for once completely lost in the conversation. âWhat?â
âNothinâ.â He shrugs, leaning in a little closer.
His breath is warm and minty on your face. He takes up your whole vision, demanding every ounce of your attention, and all you can try to do is keep your breathing steady. Buckyâs eyes rake over your body like an inspection, landing near your throat.
On a hickey, youâd forgotten to cover with makeup.
You open your mouth to make a lame excuse, but heâs already moving.
Bucky reaches up his metal hand, and drags his thumb over the mark. Over your collarbone, then your sternum, then your neck. His touch is feather light and taunting. Your breath catches, your eyes fluttering against your will. Bucky hums, his hand wrapping fully around your throat. Your body reacts like a magnet, leaning into the touch.
He drags his attention back to your slack, hopeless face, your parted lips and glossy eyes.
His hand is just resting on your throat. His tongue darts over his lips, but you canât imagine what heâs thinking. Why heâs doing this to you, when heâs never once looked at you like he is now.
Like youâre something tantalizing he needs to taste.
Like heâs hanging onto himself by a thread, and isnât sure if his grip will slip before the string just snaps.
You try to say his name, to make him realize what heâs doing. How close heâs gotten, how your knees are threatening to give, if he doesnât look away now. But it just comes out a shaky exhale, and Bucky looks hungrier.
Bucky doesnât do this kind of thing. Not to you. Heâs your friendâyou cling so desperately to the fact that at least heâs your friend, at least he doesnât hate or desire you, at least youâre the only one being brokenâbut now his breath is fanning over your flushed face, his eyes blown out like heâs just as stranded in the dark as you are, his fingers digging into the nape of your neck like heâs trying to leave a mark.
All youâd have to do is lean a little forward and your lips would meet. Every secret fantasyâin the dead of night, until the shower so even the walls donât hear your shameâwould be real.
You canât let this be real.
Buckyâs eyes flick down to your lips. His nostrils flare, moving slightly forward until your knees and chests bump.
With every bit of resolve youâve got, you move a hand up to his chest.
He goes rigid. Frozen like heâs waiting for you to shove him or drag him closer. Your fingers curl in the cloth of his shirt, as his grip slackens on your neck.
âBuckyâŠâ You whisper, not even sure what youâre begging for.
He makes the hard choice for you.
Bucky lets go of you, stumbling back as if repelled. He frowns, blinks at you once, then just⊠leaves.
Walks out of the gym without another glance in your direction, swaying and stranded in the room.
Alone. Just like you wanted.
The air around you so, so cold.
You donât stop thinking about it.
A week passes. Work resumes like normal, and Bucky behaves as if nothing happened at all.
Technically it wasnât anything. Nothing HR would care about, at least. In a workplace of assassins and mercenaries, getting choked is more of a donât be such a fucking pussy thing.
Which isnât amazing legally. But Bucky didnât hurt you. If youâd shoved him, youâre sure he wouldâve let go.
But you hadnât shoved him. Heâd just stared at you with that lookâthe one now seared into your memory, that makes your thighs press together and thoughts work overtimeâthen left.
On missions heâs treating you the same as ever. Small grins and low, sarcastic jokes that make you both smile. Once in the kitchen he taps your shoulder and passes you tea without a word. John walks in a second later, shouting about how he wants a better parking spotâwhich is ridiculous, you donât have parking spots, itâs a limited garage with two hundred parking spots and like eight people who use themâand Bucky puts a firm hand on your shoulder before you can stand up and start fixing it.
âMake him ask.â He mutters, low enough for only you to hear. âYou gotta start makinâ them say please.â
You snort, breaking off a piece of your muffin. âYou ever teach a toddler raised by wolves manners?â
He frowns. âChildren donât get raised by wolves-â
âThey do in stories.â
âWhat stories-â
âThe Jungle Book. Phineas and Ferb, but- Those are ocelots.â
Bucky hums, tongue flicking over his lip. âYâknow I met an ocelot once-â
âYou met an ocelot-â
âIn 19⊠86?â
You snort. âOld man.â
âShut up.â He nudges your knee with his, and the whole world stops for a second. âBut yeah, I met one. Reminds me of someone.â
âYeah?â You give him an expectant look, and he smirks.
âWalker.â
You giggle.
Like a fucking ditzy idiot, you giggle, and John cuts off his rant to look at you like you just vomited.
âWhat was that sound.â
âShe laughed, John.â Bucky says dryly, taking a long drink of his coffee, and John frowns.
âNo, Iâve heard her laugh, she laughs like a swamp witch-â
Your mouth falls open. âI do not-â
âYes, you do, itâs all-â
âWalker.â Bucky grunts, giving John a silent, firm glare.
John scowls. âWhatever. Stop flirting with her so she can fix my damn parking spot.â
You flush, the usual biting tactic not working at all. Beside you, Bucky doesnât even talk. He excuses himself as soon as John starts asking why Yelenaâs scooter even needs a spot over his bike, leaving the space next to you just as empty and cold as before.
He probably just didnât want to listen to John. You donât either, youâre just being paid a disgusting amount of money that depends on going to Yelena and buying her five cakes in exchange for her moving her scooter five feet to the left.
Bucky mightâve already forgotten about the gym. Everything would be easier if he did. No complex conversations or dynamic. Just your livelihood safe, and Bucky not thinking about you.
Which is fine. Everything, as always, is perfectly fine.
You go out that weekend. Thereâs a club several blocks over where you know the bartenders and you usually get free drinks. You just need to not be in the tower. To not be near him, and remember that you are, in fact, capable of surviving silent love.
âYouâre dressed up.â Bucky mutters as you stand at the elevator, and you laugh.
âLook at you, being observational.â
You only get a grunt in return.
âI wonât be out late,â you sound like a fucking mom, sliding on your heels and giving instructions about how to care for four grown adults. âBob might forget where his meds are, in the new spot-â
âTop right cabinet.â Bucky mutters, and you nod.
âDonât let Yelena drink coffee past seven, sheâll be up all night. Switch her to tea. If Alexei is looking for me, tell him I rented all the movies on the TV, and tell John I ordered his gun part-â
âWeâve got an event tomorrow.â Bucky says suddenly. âSave the seals. In Philly. We gotta leave early-â
âNo, we donât.â You grab your bag, not looking him in the eyes.
That always makes you want to stay. Forgetting Buckyâthe point of this whole thingâis impossible when you look in his stupid, beautiful eyes.
âI got us out of it.â You tuck your phone in your bag, rolling out a crink in your neck. âAnd it was Save the Sea Lions.â
Bucky doesnât respond. You usually donât let yourself look back, but then he says your name.
âWhat time are you gonna be home?â
You swallow. His eyes are shining on yours. Thereâs a pull in your chest, that hurts to ignore.
But youâre good at it. And if you drink enough, you wonât be able to feel it at all.
âI donât know.â You shrug. âDonât wait up.â
You turn and walk away. He canât be allowed to call you back. Youâd always return to his side.
The night is just as awful as you expect. You drink too much, and find someone with blue eyes that can artificially feed the love ringing in your ears. Itâs under the beat of every song, and on the tip of your tongue as they fuck you into a mattress.
You leave long before dawn, and far after midnight. Call a car and fix your hair in the backseat, like anything matters at all.
When the elevator dings, you touch the wall to keep yourself walking steady.
Thereâs a lamp on, in the living area. You poke your head in to check itâs not Bob.
Itâs not.
Itâs Bucky.
He looks you up and down, taking in the disaster like itâs a book. You smile at him. He doesnât smile back.
His eyes land on a hickey near your jaw. His tongue flick, his brows knit.
And you thought you were good. That even after the gym, you were good.
But Bucky stares at you like youâre nothing. Not gutter trash or a buzzing fly.
Just thin air heâs trying to look right through.
He turns off the light, and walks past you again. Your shoulders brush, and the world shakes.
And youâre alone again. Which isnât the end of the world.
Your heart is doing this strange, boiling roll about how it is the end of the world. Burning and howling like youâre flaying it alive, when it is perfectly fine.
Everything, even as your chest starts to absorb that cold, hollow space, is fine.
Itâs not fine on the roof.
Everything is all in itâs perfect place, and then⊠the roof.
You go up there to listen to the city. To lean over the edge and watch the lights blink, and wonder if youâre really this small. Itâs where you get dramatic, and listen music and pretend youâre important. Where you cry when you need it, your tears carried away in the wind. Where you whine to the sky about how much you love Bucky, and how pathetic it is, then go back inside and go about your business.
Itâs a good thing you hadnât quite gotten to that last stage yet, when you heard the door close behind you.
Thatâs where everything started to crumble apart.
Bucky says your name, and you glance over your shoulder, not hiding your surprise.
âWhat are you doing here?â
âLooking for you.â He shrugs, holding up his phone. âCalled three times.â
âOh. No service-â
âYeah, figured that out.â He stops at your side, leaning over the wall. âBut youâre here.â
âIâm here.â You pause. âWhere did you think I was?â
âDonât know.â
âDid you need something-â
âNot really.â
âBucky-â
âJust wanted to know where you were.â He mutters, glaring out at the city. âDidnât know that was a crime.â
You donât have anything to say to that. You try, opening and closing your mouth, but everything you can think of is mean. You donât like being mean to Bucky, not when something in the air feels raw. Looking at his shoulders, itâs like heâs about to snap. You want to help. To make it better for him.
For this, youâre not sure how.
âYou like it up here?â He asks, and you nod.
âI- I like seeing the people.â
âCourse you do.â He mutters, dragging his gaze up to the sky.
âWha-â
âThere used to be more stars.â He cuts you off, brows knitting tight. âYou woulda liked that too.â
You stare at him. If you didnât know better, youâd think he was drunk. âI like the stars now just fine. All three of them.â
That gets a low laugh, even if he shakes his head. âNah. In the 40s, it was different. You woulda loved that.â
âThe 40s? Where I wouldâve been property-â
âNot that part, but- The sky. The water was cleaner, the air-â He sighs, looking back down to the city. âNever mind. Forget it.â
You swallow, trying to make your voice softer. âDo you ever want to go back?â
âTo the 40s?â He snorts. âFuck no. There are just- Some things. That I think that you wouldâve liked.â
âOh.â You watch his jaw clench in the dark, fidgeting with your fingers. âWhat would Yelena have liked?â
Bucky shrugs. âI dunno.â
You blink, lost for words again. Bucky takes over the silence first.
âYou really never see any of them twice?â
âAny- Huh?â
âYour⊠people.â He clarifies, a bitter look on his face. You frown.
âMy hookups?â
He grunts, and you shake your head.
âNo? I donât even get their names.â
âBut you fuck them?â
âOh- Um-â You flush, looking back out to the city. âYeah?â
âHm. Seems unsafe.â
âI share my location with Yelena, and Iâm pretty sure Valentina put an implant in me, so I think Iâm safe.â
Itâs a joke. Bucky doesnât laugh. âWhy donât you bother to date âem?â
You feel his gaze burning into you. Itâs hard to speak in an even voice. âI- I donât know-â
âThey gotta have something for your attention.â He mutters, but it sounds like itâs mostly to himself. âThe hell are they doing that isnât up to your bar? What is up to your bar?â
Itâs impossible not to look at him now. His gaze is demanding, and your heart starts to flutter under the attention.
âWhy do you care?â You try to snap. It sounds weak.
Bucky chuckles to himself. âWhy do I care, doll? You got the fix for everything.â He leans a little forward.
Your lips are inches away. His forearm is pressed against yours, and the sky is so big over your head but itâs all narrowing down.
Itâs Bucky. Just Bucky. So close, closer than before, close like he wants to be touched. Like that could be allowed.
His eyes shining on yours in the dark.
His voice, deep and mocking and enchanting you like a bee to flowers.
âWhatâs my fix for this?â He looks back to your lips, his tongue flicking out. âTell me what Iâm supposed to do, âcause I feel like Iâm losing my goddamn mind.â
You stare at him, voice small. âBucky, I- I donât know what youâre talking about-â
âI know.â He sighs. âJust- Tell me no.â
âNo-â
He reaches up, thumb brushing over your lips, and your whole head goes quiet.
âTell me to walk.â He mutters, gaze dragging back to yours. âNow. Please.â
You should. If your brain was working, it wouldâve given him what he wanted.
But every thought but Bucky has left the building. And now itâs just your heart, singing his name.
You kiss him. Itâs a movement like a wave, rising up until your lips are comfortably pressed together, every movement so natural youâd think youâd kissed a million times before.
Bucky cups your face, return every bit of passion in a second. You melt into him, your bodies moving like you were made for this, the heat spreading from his touch and taste straight to your core.
You grind forward, and Bucky moans your name.
It flips a switch. Youâre not just a flame, kindled and alight in his arms.
Youâre not supposed to do this.
You pull back, and Bucky freezes. You open your mouth, trying to find an apology, to beg him to convince you that this is a good idea.
But Bucky just lets you go.
You both stare at each other. You take a small step closer, asking him to catch you.
Itâs not fine. You canât breathe, if he walks away. Youâre supposed to be stronger than that, but the world is going to fucking end, if Bucky leaves you here alone again.
âWhy.â He rasps, and you shake your head.
âBucky-â
âIf youâre not- If this isnât what Iâve been reading-â
âNo, itâs-â
âYou kissed me-â
âI know-â
âAnd you-â
âI know!â You scream, taking a stumbling step back. âI know, Bucky, I know- I just canât!â
âCanât what?â He takes a step forward. âJust tell me youâre not interested, I told you Iâd walk-â
âBut-â Your hands wring, unsure what to do if theyâre not allowed to touch him. âI donât want you to walk.â
âBut you shoved me-â
âI know.â You whisper. âIâm sorry.â
Bucky just stares at you, and you bow your head, hugging your chest tight. Heâs going to walk. This time, heâs going to walk away-
âCan you give me the reason?â He mutters, and when you risk a look up, heâs hunched into himself like a kicked puppy. âI mean- I can try and help work it out, maybe change something-â
âNo, itâs not-â You swallow. âYou donât need to change anything Bucky.â Tears prick at your eyes. âYouâre perfect.â
He nods, then mutters, âBut you donât want me.â
âI just- Itâs-â You take a shaking breath, looking up to the sky before you speak. âIâm negotiable, okay. I worked really hard to get where I am, and I- Iâm not like you. Valentina can find another version of me, who doesnât fall in love with her superheroes, and then everything- everything- That I have worked for is gone.â
You give him a pleading look, begging him to understand.
Bucky looks like you shot him. You donât realize why until itâs too late.
âYou love me?â His voice is rough, and your heart drops to your stomach.
âI- Thatâs- That wasnât my point-â
âBut you do-â
âIâm trying to say I shouldnât-â
âBut you do.â He mutters. He says it like itâs a miracle, and not your greatest curse. âYou love me.â
âWell, donât fucking say it like that.â You snap. âOf course I- Youâre you.â
âAnd youâre you.â He counters, taking a step forward.
Your legs canât seem to will themselves to step back. âYeah. Thatâs my whole point-â
âItâs allowed.â He mutters, and you blink.
âWhat?â
âUs. Dating.â His eyes might be searing into your soul. âI checked.â
âOh- Okay.â You frown slightly. âWhy did you check?â
âBecause.â Buckyâs hovering over you again. Both of you clear under the open sky, the heat from his body radiating onto yours, his hand slowly rising up to trace your waste. You want to murmur his name, but you canât remember how words work.
Again, itâs all just Bucky.
âI canât survive another hour.â He mutters, tracing a hand over your face. âPretending I donât need you like oxygen.â
Your mouth falls open. Bucky presses closer.
âIt kills me, doll. Beinâ your friend kills me, âcause Iâm lucky youâre just nice enough to pretend weâre better than a pack of feral animals with muscles and powers, but then youâre strong and kind and always so goddamn pretty, and Iâm your friend but youâre my whole damn world.â
âBucky-â
âI donât ask you for anything.â He mutters, leaning down until your lips brush. ââCause thereâs nothing I want from you that I got any right to have. I want all your smiles, doll. Those cute snorts and glares, when youâre sad and hide it like itâs not making the whole place feel wrong, when youâre getting lost and you need someone to hold onto, hold onto me. Anything you need, Iâd get. Anything. Iâll even let you keep fucking around with all that asses that canât keep you satisfied for more than a night, if thatâs what you need. But,â he drops his brow against yours, voice thick. âI want your mornings. Please.â
You canât think enough to speak. If you do, youâll break the moment and you want it to last forever.
âWe can keep it secret.â Heâs sinking down. Getting on his knees. âOr if Valentina threatens to sack you, Iâll threaten to walk. Just-â
âBucky.â You whisper, because thereâs only one answer you can give.
He stares at you desperately, your fingers combing through his hair. Youâre tired of being alone.
And his body, pressed against yours is so warm.
âOkay.â You whisper, and his throat bobs.
âOkay?â
You nod, and smile.
Bucky smiles back.
And youâre under open sky, but you donât really care who knows.
You fall into him, just as he rises into you. And this is even better than the kiss. This is hungry. Urgent and made of a fever youâre finally just letting sweep you away.
Bucky grabs at your hips, one arm sliding around your back as the other cradles the back of your head. Your arms wrap around his neck, your leg hiking up to his hip, and your kisses are urgent and sloppy. Open mouths pressed over each other, tongues tangled together with moans, Buckyâs hand dropping to your ass as your nails dig into his neck.
He squeezes, and you canât stop the moan. Your fingers scramble to tangle in his hair, and he grunts at the pull, picking you fully up off the ground.
Heâs getting hard, against your core. You grind down, trailing kisses over his jaw and trying to spur him into action.
Bucky moans in your ear, squeezing your ass again.
âDoll, youâre startinâ something-â
âGood.â You whisper, nipping at his throat. âWant it. Want it so bad, Bucky, wanted you forever-â
He groans, grabbing your jaw and slamming your lips back together. You make a high noise of delight, grinding faster and faster, the fractured pressure winding you tight like an electrical coil about to snap.
Bucky stumbles blindly back to the door, his mouth never fully leaving yours. His grip on you is possessive, and he stops every few feet, to kiss you deeper, squeezing your ass again. His hand slips further down, his fingers brushing over your core through your pants, and you whine into his mouth.
You barely make it into the stairwell.
Bucky kicks the door closed behind you, pauses for a split second, then whirls around and pins you against the wall. You start to pull at his shirt, but heâs got a single mind.
His mouth slots over yours, swallowing every single breath and gasp of his name. One hand grabs your wrists, pinning them over your head, and the other starts to tease down your body. Over your collarbone, up and down your sides, under your shirt to palm your breasts.
âBuckyâŠâ You whine against his lips, and he only grunts, pinching at your nipple. âNo- No teasing-â
ââM not teasing.â He kisses the corner of your mouth, dragging his hand back down to your waist. âIâm takinâ my time, doll. Thereâs a difference.â
âIt- It just feels-â Stars spark behind your eyes, when he switches to the other nipple. âGod, Bucky-â
âFeels what?â He mocks, leaning back just enough to watch your expression. âGonna use your words like a good girl.â
You try to snap back, but Bucky pinches the sensitive bud and your mouth falls stupidly open. Your breathing is coming short and fast, your head spinning with desire, and Buckyâs just playing with you like his favorite toy.
But God, being his favorite anything is paradise.
When heâs done with your breasts, your short breathless pleas for more completely ignored, he starts to kiss you again.
You just think he wants to taste your moan, when he finally shoves down your pants.
âFuck.â He groans, dragging his fingers between your pussy lips, your head falling back against the door with a squeak. âYouâre soaked. You always walk around this soaked for me, baby? Always wondering when Iâll finally be the one to take care of this pretty fuckinâ mess, fuck you so dumb you canât even remember how to stand?â
You nod, straining at his hold on your wrists. This is the best torture youâve ever experienced, bare to his whims and exposed, but you need more. You need him to fuck you like an animal, for the cool, metal fingers brushing teasing touches over your clit to just get inside of you, to let the release boiling over inside of you explode. They way youâre reacting to his light touches, youâd think you were a blushing virgin. You certainly feel like one.
You want to touch him. You need to touch him-
âHey.â He spanks your pussy, and your whole body rushes with heat. âAsked you a question-â
âYes.â You moan, giving him your best, doe-eyed stare. âPlease, Bucky, fill me, I- I need it- Need you-â
That does it for him. He groans, and two fingers tease at your entrance. Bucky watches your reaction carefully, your legs spreading in offering, eyes still soft and pleading on his.
âBet youâre gonna taste good.â He mutters, smearing your arousal all over your pussy, knuckles grazing your clit. âThink when Iâm done with this, Iâll sit you on my face. Let you ride it until Iâm drowning in it. You can touch me all you want, like that. But Iâm not lettinâ you up until youâre begging.â
Bucky slides one finger in, slow and taunting. You squeeze around him, and he groans.
âGoddamnit, babydoll, youâre perfect.â He kisses all over your face, your lust glazed eyes unable to do anything but flutter with desire. âMy pretty girl, mine-â
Another finger. Then a third. He starts to pump slowly, and you make a sound like his name.
âI know.â Bucky kisses your cheek, the pace picking up. âI know, but youâre takinâ it so good. Jesus, look at you.â
He yanks his hand out, spanking your pussy before shoving them back in, and you scream with pleasure.
âThis fucking dumb on my hand, youâre gonna be drooling on my cock. Iâll fuck that smart head empty, keep you all pretty and relaxed in my bed for a month-â
You moan again, dropping your brow against his, and Bucky chuckles.
âOh, you fuckinâ like that. Like the idea of beinâ nothing but a pretty slut for me, spending every day being fed and stuffed full of cock. You can put in your mouth, doll, take it how ever you want. Touch yourself in front of me, jerk me off, just get on your hands and knees and Iâll take you, just spank your pretty fuckinâ ass until youâre begging for me to fuck you-â
His fingers are drilling into your cunt now, the wet sounds echoing through the stairwell. Heâs going faster than a machine, abusing your pussy until itâs fluttering and dripping down your thighs, slamming against that deep spot and driving you right up to the edge. When he chuckles the sound rolls through you, and when his cold thumb starts to rub furious circles on your clit, you open your mouth in a silent scream.
âThatâs it, baby, there you go. All relaxed and happy.â He kisses you gently, and you whine.
Bucky smirks, twisting his fingers as his pace hits an impossible, skin-slapping high.
âCome for me.â He mutters in your ear, thumb working your clit into a frenzy. âGive it to me, baby, câmon-â
Your release hits your with a scream. Your body goes limp as the stimulation turns into a blinding rush of pleasure, your pussy clenching wildly around Buckyâs fingers and a hot, wet gushing sound hitting your ears as your grind onto his hand.
Bucky pulls out slowly, keeping your hands above your head.
Then he cleans his fingers, holding your gaze the whole time.
Your hips buck, your fingers itching to hold onto more than just his wrist, and he grins. Leans down to kiss you sweetly, his lips tasting of your own arousal and making the heat in you spark up even faster than before.
âMy room?â He mutters, and you nod.
âItâs closer.â
He hums, drawing back just enough to look you in the eyes. âAnd youâre staying the night?â
Thereâs the weight in his words. The silent promise, that heâs asking for.
Itâs so easy to make it. There will be things to deal with, in the morning.
Youâd rather deal with them, having Bucky at your side.
âYeah.â You whisper. âI am.â
âŠEnd note: She's a woman in a male dominated field folks.âŠ
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Alfie Solomons, Tommy Conlon, Johnny Davis, Harry Da Souza and Eddie Brock
Five stories following Alfie, Tommy, Johnny, Harry, and Eddie as they each attempt, in their own flawed ways, to make Valentineâs Day special for their loved one.
It was February 11th, 1924, three days before Valentineâs Day, and you sat on the edge of the armchair, with your hands clasped tightly in your lap, watching your husband. Alfie lounged in his favourite leather chair, with a glass of whiskey balanced on one knee.
Youâd been working up to this conversation all evening. Valentineâs Day had always been a silly, secret fancy of yours, even before you married him. As a girl, youâd dreamed of red roses and chocolates. Now, as Mrs Solomons, you wanted just a taste of that whimsy.
âAlfie,â you began, carrying the pleading note you knew he pretended to despise. âLove, have you thought about what we might do for Valentineâs Day? Itâs only a few days away.â
He didnât look up from the newspaper spread across his lap. âValentineâs Day?â he rumbled. âWhatâs that got to do with us, then?â
You leaned forward, placing your elbows on your knees. âCome on, Alfie. We could make a night of it. Dinner out, perhaps? Or I could cook something special here. Maybe even a little gift exchange. It doesnât have to be grand⊠Just something to mark the day.â
He folded the paper and set it aside on the side table. His eyes finally met yours, and you could see the amusement flickering in them. âA gift exchange? For Valentineâs Day? Nah, nah, pet. That ainât our style, is it?â
âBut why not?â you pressed, sliding closer until your knee brushed his leg. âItâs just one day. A bit of fun. I saw these lovely chocolates in the window of that new shop down the avenue, they were shaped like hearts! Or flowers. Roses, Alfie. You know I love roses.â
He took a long sip of his drink, as if he needed the alcohol to go through this conversation. âRoses, yeah? And what, a card with some soppy verse? âRoses are red, violets are blue, I run a bleedinâ distillery and so do youâ?â
You reached out and laid your hand on his arm, feeling the wool of his vest beneath your fingers. âItâs not about the soppiness. Itâs about celebrating us. You and me, against the world, remember when you used to say that?â
Alfie set his glass down with a clink and leaned back, putting deliberate space between your enthusiasm and his reluctance. âCelebratinâ us? Right. Well, I celebrate us every bloody day, donât I? Wakinâ up next to you, sharinâ a meal, shagginâ you every night, thatâs celebration enough for any man. Donât need some frivolous holiday cooked up by the Christians to tell me when to show my love.â
There it was, you knew it was coming⊠the moment he made this about religion. âI know itâs a Christian thing,â you said quietly, squeezing his arm. âI know it doesnât mean anything to you, Alfie. But this⊠this is just a day for lovers. It doesnât have to be religious. It could be ours. Something we make our own.â
He raised one brow, piercing you with his gaze. âOurs, eh? Nah, love. Valentineâs Day is a con, innit? Shopkeepers rubbinâ their hands, sellinâ overpriced tat to fools who think a box of sweets proves their love.â
âBut it means something to me,â you said, raising your voice just enough to betray the frustration. You stood and began to pace in front of the fire, trying to burn off the ache building inside your chest. âNot the con part, maybe, but the gesture. The thought that youâd go out of your way just for me. Because you love me. Isnât that what marriage is? Doing things that donât make sense to you, but make the other person happy?â
Alfie watched you move, his expression softening for the briefest moment before it hardened again. âLove you? Course I do. More than life itself, yeah? But I show it my way. Remember that necklace last month? The sapphire one? That wasnât for no holiday, that was âcause I saw it and thought of your eyes. Or when I closed the bakery early to take you to the seaside? Thatâs love, pet. Real love. Not this manufactured bollocks.â
You stopped pacing and knelt in front of him, taking both his rough hands in yours. âI remember all of it, Alfie. And I cherish every moment. But why canât we have both? The everyday love and the special days? Iâm not asking for the moon. Just one evening. A candlelit dinner, maybe a card.â
He sighed and brushed his thumbs over your knuckles. âYouâre a persistent one, ainât ya? Always have been. Thatâs why I married you, keeps me on my toes.â He paused, searching for your eyes. âBut no, love. I canât do it. Not Valentineâs Day. Itâs not just frivolous, itâs⊠Itâs not us. I donât need a calendar tellinâ me when to be romantic. And frankly, I ainât bowinâ to some saintâs day that ainât mine. If I start now, whereâs it end? Easter eggs next? Bloody Christmas?â
The words landed like stones. You felt the disappointment, yet you understood. Alfie didnât bend on principles, and maybe asking him to celebrate a holiday that clashed with who he was felt like asking him to be someone else.
âAlfie, please,â you whispered, your voice cracking even as you tried to keep it steady. âFor me. Just because you love me. It would mean the world.â
He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your fingers. His beard tickled your skin in that familiar way. For one heartbeat, you thought he might give in, but then he shook his head. âNo, pet. I love you too much to pretend. Weâll make our own days, yeah? Better ones.â
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and stood. Valentineâs Day would come and go without fanfare in the Solomons house.
The morning of February 14th arrived quickly. You woke up that morning, and for a moment you lay still, staring at the ceiling, expecting the day to pass like any other. No roses. No chocolates. No soppy gestures.
Then the door creaked, you turned your head, and there he was. Alfie was balancing a wooden tray as if it might fall if he moved too fast. Two slices of bread toasted unevenly, a smear of butter already melting into the craters, a couple of fried eggs, and a mug of tea.
He stood at the foot of the bed in his vest and braces, with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, looking like a man whoâd just lost a very personal war.
âHappy fuckinâ Valentineâs Day,â he ground out through clenched teeth.
You sat up so fast the blankets pooled around your waist. âYou changed your mind.â
He didnât answer right away, just set the tray across your lap with exaggerated care. Then he straightened, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared down at you, not angry, exactly, but with the exasperation that only came out when heâd done something he swore he never would.
âI have an infuriatinâ, stubborn wife,â he said, each word bitten off. âWho happens to be so bloody good at gettinâ under my skin that I wake up at five like some lovesick fool and stand over a stove burninâ eggs because apparently thatâs what it takes to shut her up for five minutes.â
Your mouth parted, and a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. âAlfieââ
âDonât,â he warned, pointing one finger at you. âDonât start with the eyes and the smile. Iâm already regrettinâ every second of this.â
But he wasnât done, he turned, reached behind him to the dresser where heâd clearly hidden everything, and came back with three things: First, a small bunch of red roses, six of them, the stems wrapped in brown paper. Second, a flat red box tied with gold ribbon, inside there were the heart-shaped chocolates youâd pointed out in the window two weeks ago. And third, a card. You opened it with trembling fingers.
To my wife,
who is maddening, beautiful, relentless, and somehow still the only person Iâd ever do this for.
Donât get used to it.
Happy Valentineâs Day, pet.
â Alfie
You looked up at him with stinging eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders like he wanted to disappear into the floorboards.
âHereâs all you wanted,â he muttered. âThe fuckinâ roses. The chocolates. The card with the soppy words. Happy now?â
You didnât answer with words, you set the tray carefully on the bedside table and then launched yourself at him. He caught you with a grunt and a half-laugh, as you wrapped arms and legs around him like you meant to climb inside his skin. Alfie carried you both back onto the mattress, making the bed groan under the sudden weight.
He landed on his back with you straddling his hips, your nightgown rucked up around your thighs, and he took his big hands automatically to your waist.
âYou bastard,â you whispered against his mouth, crying as you laughed. âYou absolute, beautiful bastard.â
âLanguage,â he rumbled, but his voice had gone rough in that way that always made you clench your thighs. âThought we were beinâ romantic.â
You kissed him then, greedily, and Alfie kissed you back like a man whoâd been starving for it, sliding one band up your spine to fist in your hair, clamping the other possessively over your ass.
You broke away just long enough to yank his vest over his head. The braces snapped against his shoulders as you shoved them down. His chest hair was coarse under your palms. You dragged your nails lightly down it, watching the way his stomach flexed.
âFuckinâ hell,â he breathed when you rocked your hips down against the growing hardness beneath his trousers. âSlow down, woman, or thisâll be over before it starts.â
âNo,â you said, already fumbling with his buttons. âIâm not waiting. Gonna give you your gift right now.â
You freed his thick cock, already leaking at the tip and making your mouth water at the sight. Next thing, you shoved your nightgown higher and moved your underwear to the side. With trembling hands, you lined him up and sank in one slow slide, the stretch making you both groan.
Alfieâs head fell back against the pillow. âChrist almighty.â
You braced your hands on his broad chest, lifting yourself until only the swollen head of his cock stretched your entrance, before sinking back down in one long glide. You savoured every inch of him, dragging along your slick walls, the way he throbbed inside your cunt, pulsing against that spot that made your thighs tremble.
Alfieâs breath hitched, a low âfuckâ rumbling from his chest as he jerked his hips up involuntarily, chasing more friction from your tight walls. Emboldened, you picked up the pace, moving faster and harder, slamming down with rolls of your hips that ground your clit against his pelvis on every thrust.
He roamed his hands possessively, squeezing your breasts, flicking his thumbs over your stiff nipples until you whimpered, then sliding down to grip your waist, your hips, finally clamping onto your ass with force. He spread you open wider, digging his fingers into the flesh as he guided you, urging you to fuck him deeper, like he couldnât get enough of the way your cunt clenched around him.
He thrust up brutally to meet every downward slam, driving himself impossibly deeper. His heavy balls were smacking against your ass, and the slick squelch of your drenched pussy taking him again and again echoed in the room.
âLook at me,â he growled when you fluttered your eyes shut. You obeyed. âYou wanted Valentineâs Day,â he rasped. âThis what you had in mind, eh? Ridinâ your husband like he owes you money?â
âYes,â you gasped, grinding down harder, chasing that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. âGodâyesââ
He sat up suddenly, banding his arms around your back and crashing his mouth into yours. The new angle drove him deeper, and you cried out against his lips. Alfie slipped one hand between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with this thumb.
âCome on, pet,â he murmured against your throat, grazing your pulse with his teeth. âGive it to me. Let me feel you.â
You shuddered, clenching and soaking him as you shook apart on top of him. He followed seconds later, a curse tearing from his throat as he emptied himself inside you, jerking and holding you down so tightly youâd probably have bruises tomorrow.
For a long minute, you stayed like that, with your foreheads pressed together and your hearts hammering in tandem. Then he huffed a laugh. âHappy fuckinâ Valentineâs Day,â Alfie muttered again, but this time there was no teeth-clenching.
You smiled against his mouth and kissed him softly. âHappy Valentineâs Day, Alfie.â
Tommyâs Valentine
You stepped onto the porch after a long shift, with your keys already in hand. The porch light was on, and there he was. Tommy sat on the top step, a small bouquet of grocery-store daisies gripped in one scarred fist. His hoodie was up, but not enough to hide the fresh split above his left eyebrow, blood already drying in a thin line down his temple.
You stopped short. âWhat are you doing here, Tommy?â
He looked up with eyes red-rimmed. He stood slowly, and held the flowers out between you like an apology.
âI missed you,â he said. âI fucked up. I know I fucked up.â
The tension from last week still sat between you. Him pulling away again, disappearing for three days after swearing he was all in, after whispering things against your neck that made you believe it this time. Youâd finally said enough, and this time youâd meant it.
You stared at the flowers, then at the blood on his face. âYouâre bleeding.â
âTraining,â he muttered, touching the cut like heâd only just remembered it was there. âCaught an elbow. Itâs nothing.â
It wasnât nothing, you could see the swelling starting. You sighed, already losing the battle with yourself. âCome inside. Let me clean that before you bleed all over the steps.â
He followed without a word. You flicked on the kitchen light, pointed to the chair at the table. He sat, still holding the flowers like they were evidence he was trying.
You grabbed the first-aid kit from under the sink, wet a clean cloth with warm water, and stood between his knees. He tipped his head back obediently while you dabbed at the cut.Â
âHold still,â you said, as your fingers shook a little.
He didnât. His hands found your waist, first gentle, then tight, digging his fingers in like he was afraid youâd vanish if he let go, like he couldnât help himself, he needed to touch you.
âTommyââ
He pulled you closer in one rough motion, lifted you, and sat you across his lap so you straddled him on the chair, with your knees bracketing his hips.Â
âNo,â you said, placing your palms flat against his chest to push back. âWe need to talk.â
He looked up at you with desperate eyes. âThen letâs talk.â
You felt him, pressing his hard and insisting length through his sweats, right against you. The heat flooded your face all at once.
âTalk,â he repeated, as he dragged you forward in a slow grind. The thick ridge of his cockhead caught right against your clit. âWhat do you have to say?â
âI canât talk with your⊠thing against me,â you snapped, higher than you meant it to be.
A ghost of his old smirk flickered, but it died fast. He didnât let go. If anything, his grip tightened, sliding his thumb under the hem of your work shirt.
âIâm sorry,â he said, quieter now. âFor disappearing. For making you think I didnât want this, or that I donât want you. I panicked. Same old shit. Thought if I stayed gone long enough, youâd be better off.â He swallowed. âI was wrong. Iâm always fucking wrong about that.â
âYou canât keep doing this,â you whispered. âOne day youâre all in, the next youâre a ghost. I canât keep waiting for the next time you disappear.â
You slid off his lap, feeling your legs unsteady on the kitchen floor. The heat was still buzzing between your thighs from where he'd been pressed against you, but the anger simmered in your chest.
You crossed your arms tight over your shirt, glaring down at him in the chair. "I'm still pissed at you, Tommy. Don't think a sorry and some flowers fix everything."
He leaned back, with that infuriating half-smile tugging at his busted lip, roaming his eyes over you like he couldn't help it. "You're adorable when you're angry."
You narrowed your eyes. "You should really watch what you say right now, because I'm this close to kicking you out." You held up your thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Don't push it."
Tommy's smile faded, but his gaze didn't waver. He reached out before you could step back, clamping his hands onto your hips with his strong grip. You gasped, moving your hands to his shoulders on instinct, but he didn't give you a chance to fight it. He pulled you forward in one smooth motion, lifting you effortlessly and settling you back onto his lap, straddling him again. His thighs were solid under you, and you felt him twitch against your core.
"Tommyâ" you started, but he cut you off, sliding his hands up your sides, brushing his thumbs over the underside of your breasts through your shirt.
"Let me take you out for Valentine's. Dinner, whatever you want. Let me make it right."
Before you could answer, his mouth found your neck. His lips moved softly at first, then insistently, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. You tilted your head back without meaning to, a shiver racing down your spine as he grazed his teeth over your pulse point. Tommy rocked his hips up against you, the hard length of him grinding right where you needed it most.Â
"I'm tired," you managed to say with a breathy voice. "I don't wanna go out. And I don't wanna think about how you're gonna disappear tomorrow as if none of this happened."
He paused, tightening his hands on your hips, holding you flush against him. "Let me prove it," he said, locking his eyes onto yours when he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. "How much I'm in this. How much I want you. No disappearing. I swear."
His grip shifted, sliding one hand down to palm your ass, spreading you wider so he could grind deeper, the head of his cock catching and nudging your clothed clit on every pass now.
You searched his face, finding the raw honesty there that he so rarely let show. Your resolve cracked, just a little, but enough. "Tommy..."
You slid off his lap again and turned away fast, too fast, because the tears were already burning behind your eyes, and you didnât want him to see them yet.Â
âHeyââ His voice cracked on the single word. He stood up quickly. âWhatâs going on? Talk to me. Did I hurt you?â
You shook your head because your throat felt too tight to answer. You walked straight into the kitchen, opened the junk drawer where youâd shoved everything you didnât want to look at for the last forty-eight hours. Your fingers closed around the slim white stick. You pulled it out, held it behind your back for a second like it might burn you, then turned.
Tommy stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and searching your face. You held the test out between you, the little pink plus sign stark against the plastic.
âHappy Valentineâs Day,â you said, and your voice came out small and wrecked.
He stared at it. Didnât move or blink. âFrom whenâs this?â he asked finally, barely above a whisper.
âCouple days ago.â You swallowed. âI missed my period. Felt⊠different. Nauseous in the mornings, tired like Iâve never been tired before. So I bought one on the way home from the store last Thursday. It was positive.â You let out a shaky breath. âIâve been sitting with it since then.â
Tommyâs face did something youâd never seen before, it crumpled. His eyes went glassy, he took one step, then another, until he was close enough to take the test from your fingers. He looked at it again, brushing his thumb over the little window like he needed to feel it was real.
You watched his throat work, the way his jaw flexed and released, the way his breathing hitched. Then he dropped to one knee and pressed his forehead to your stomach, both hands sliding to your hips like he was afraid to hold you too tight. A sound came out of him that was half a sob, and half a laugh.
âWeâre gonna have a baby,â he said against your shirt. His voice cracked on every word.
You threaded your fingers into his hair, holding on. Tears slipped down your cheeks now. âAre we? Or are you gonna disappear again?â
He went still, then he pulled back just enough to look up at you. His eyes were red and wet, but steady. âNo,â he said. âIâm not going anywhere.â
You searched his face. âYou say that now. Butââ
âBut Iâm here now. And Iâm staying. You hear me? Iâm staying.â
You wanted to believe him so badly it hurt. He cupped your face with both hands, wiping at the tears you couldnât stop with his thumbs. âIâm gonna be here for every doctorâs appointment. Every late-night craving. Every time youâre scared, or pissed, or whatever. Iâm gonna be here when the kidâs screaming at three a.m. and when theyâre graduating and every shitty, beautiful day in between. I swear it.â
A fresh sob caught in your throat. âYou canât just swear it, Tommy. You have to do it.â
âI will.â He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tight you could feel his heartbeat slamming against yours. âIâm not perfect. Iâm probably gonna fuck up a hundred times. But disappearing? Thatâs done. Iâm not losing you. Iâm not losing this.â
You buried your face in his hoodie, breathing him in, and he kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then lower until his lips found yours. The kiss was slow, salty with both your tears, full of everything heâd never known how to say before.
He glanced down at your stomach, still the same, and something soft crossed his face. He placed one careful hand there. âHey, kid,â he murmured. So quiet you almost didnât hear it. âIâm your dad. And Iâm already sorry for all the times Iâm gonna suck at this. But Iâm gonna try. Real hard.â
You laughed through the tears. Tommy looked back up at you. âI love you,â he said, like it was the easiest thing heâd ever said. âI shouldâve said it more. Iâm saying it now. I love you. And I love this kid already.â
You pressed your hand over his on your stomach. âI love you too,â you whispered. âDonât make me regret believing you.â
âLet me show you how much I mean it.â
He didn't wait for more. In one fluid move, he lifted you like you weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around his waist on reflex, and he turned, laying you back across the kitchen table with surprising gentleness. The wood was cool against your back through your shirt, but before you realized, Tommy's hands were already at your waistband, hooking his fingers into your pants and underwear, tugging them down in one swift pull.
You lifted your hips to help him, and he dropped to his knees between your legs, nudging your thighs apart with his broad shoulders. His eyes darkened as he looked at your pussy, exposed and waiting, and he let out a low groan that vibrated through his chest. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he muttered, more to himself than you, before leaning in.
âYouâre gonna be such a good mom. I already know it.â He nuzzled the soft mound of your pussy, inhaling like he couldnât get enough of you. âThis kidâs so fucking lucky already. Got you for a mother. Got you growing them safe inside you right now.â
His breath ghosted over your inner thigh first, making you squirm. He pressed a kiss there, then another higher up, his stubble scraping deliciously against your sensitive skin. You reached down, threading your fingers into his short hair, but he caught your hand, pinning it gently to the table beside you. "Let me," he said, his voice muffled against your thigh. "Just let me."
You nodded, and he rewarded you with his mouth, finally, right where you ached. Tommy flicked his tongue out, flat and broad, licking a slow stripe up your slit, tasting you like he was starving. You arched off the table, a moan escaping before you could bite it back. Tommy hummed in approval, the vibration sending jolts straight through you, and then he licked you again, slower this time, savoring every inch.
He settled in then, without any rush, like he had all night to prove his point. Tommy sealed his lips over your clit, sucking it gently at first, then harder, circling his tongue with deliberate patterns that had your toes curling. One hand slid up your thigh, digging his fingers in to hold you open, while the other teased at your entrance, circling your hole, and pressing just the tip of his digits inside before pulling back, making you whine.
"Tommy, please," you gasped, bucking his hips toward his face.
He glanced up, meeting your eyes over the plane of your body, while his mouth was still working you relentlessly. "I've got you," he said against your folds, the words buzzing against your clit. Then he dove deeper, thrusting his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in rhythmic strokes. His nose nudged your clit with every push, and the dual sensation was slowly beginning to build your orgasm.
âYou did this,â he said, voice muffled against you. âYou made me a father. Me.â He sucked your clit harder for a second, making your hips jerk. âAnd Iâm never gonna forget it. Never gonna let you down again.â
You gripped the edge of the table with your free hand until your knuckles hurt, as he alternated from delving his tongue deep, then retreating it to lap at your clit, sucking with his lips closed around it until you saw stars. Tommy added a finger, then two, curling them just right to hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur. His pace was unhurried but intense, pumping his fingers and flicking his tongue faster now, building you up inch by inch.
Sweat beaded on your skin, making tour shirt cling to your body. "Oh god, Tommy! Don't stopâ"
He didn't, if anything, he went harder, twisting his fingers, pressing his tongue flat, and dragging it up before swirling around your clit again. The sounds were obscene, his low groans, and loud slurps mixing with your whimpers.Â
Your thighs trembled around his head as the pressure built, higher and higher, until you shattered. The orgasm crashed over you, making you lift your hips off the table and tear a cry from your throat. Tommy didn't pull away, he worked you through it, gentling his movements but not stopping until youâd drawn out every last shudder.Â
You collapsed back, as he finally eased off, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs while you caught your breath. He rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at you sprawled on the table. "Believe me now?" he asked.
You managed a weak laugh, sitting up on your elbows. "Maybe. But you're not done proving it yet."
Johnnyâs Valentine
The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky in a pink and bruised purple. You waited on the front steps of your small house, arms crossed, wearing a black dress with red flowers, and a leather jacket zipped tight.
You heard the deep rumble growing closer. Johnnyâs headlight sliced through the dusk first. The red bike rolled up and stopped at the curb. He swung his leg over the seat, his hair looked wind-tousled already, strands falling across his forehead. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and looked straight at you.
âBeen freezinâ out here long?â he asked.
You shrugged. âLong enough.â
He gave you that small half-smirk, crushed the cigarette under his boot, stepped closer, and lifted the spare helmet from the sissy bar. Johnny set it on your head himself, careful as he buckled the strap. He brushed the edge of your jaw and lingered a second longer than was necessary.
He climbed back on, kicked the starter, and the engine barked awake beneath him. You swung your leg over, settled behind, wrapped your arms around his waist, and pressed your chest to his back. Even through the layers, you felt the heat of him. He reached back once, squeezed your knee, and then both hands found the grips.
âHold tight, sweetheart.â
The town slipped away in smears of light. Johnny rode fast on the empty roads, leaning the bike into gentle curves so your body followed his without thought.
After twenty minutes or so, he slowed, flicked on the high beam, and turned off the pavement onto a narrow gravel lane youâd never seen before. The bike jounced over ruts, and you clung tighter.Â
The trees opened, and the river appeared. Johnny coasted to a stop in a small, cleared patch beside the bank.Â
He killed the engine and stayed seated a moment, then patted your thigh twice. You slid off, and Johnny followed, swung the saddlebags down, and set them on the ground.
You watched him unpack: a blanket first, shaken out and spread across the grass. Then a small cooler and a brown paper sack.Â
âSit,â he said, nodding at the blanket.
You dropped down cross-legged. He settled beside you, close enough that your shoulder brushed his. He opened the cooler and got two beers out, twisted both caps off with his lighter, and handed one to you.Â
He tapped his bottle to yours. âHappy Valentineâsâ
You both drank, and for a while you just sat, watching the river slide past. Johnny dug into the paper sack and pulled out two foil-wrapped sandwiches still warm.
âBennyâs lady made these,â he said, almost sheepish. âTold me if I was gonna do Valentineâs, I better not show up with some gas-station crap.â
You laughed and ate the sandwich slowly, trading bites, brushing your fingers together. When the sandwiches were gone ,he pulled you in closer, settling his arm heavily across your shoulders. You leaned into him, laying your head against his chest.Â
âCold?â he asked after a while.
âA little.â
He shrugged out of his jacket without a word and draped it over your lap. It carried his warmth and his smell, leather and cigarette smoke. You pulled it tighter around you.
âBetter?â he said.
You nodded. âYeah.â
He finished his beer, set the empty bottle carefully in the grass, and then he turned to you. One rough hand came up and cupped the side of your face, tracing the corner of your mouth.
âHappy Valentineâs, darlinâ,â he said, almost quieter than the river.
You didnât answer with words. You leaned in and kissed him. He slid his fingers into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen it. A low sound rumbled in his throat, and when you finally pulled back, you were both breathing harder, pressing your foreheads together, noses brushing.
He reached into the saddlebag again, and his hand came out with a small black velvet pouch. He tipped the contents into his palm: A thin silver chain, hanging from it was a tiny âJâ charm.
âDidnât want nothinâ flashy,â he muttered, suddenly looking almost awkward. âThis way, everybody will know youâre mine.â
You stared at the little âJâ resting in his callused hand.
âJohnnyâŠâ
He cleared his throat. âYou gonna let me put it on you or what?â
You turned so he could fasten the clasp. His fingers were careful and warm against the back of your neck. When the chain settled against your skin, it felt right, like it belonged there.
He looked at it for a long moment, then at you. Something soft flickered in his eyes. âLooks good,â he said simply.
You touched the charm with your fingertips. âYeah. It does.â
The river kept its steady murmur while the moon climbed higher. You sat pressed against Johnnyâs side, youâd been kissing on and off for what felt like forever, lazy at first, then hungrier. Each time you pulled back to breathe, heâd look at you with those blue eyes, brushing your lower lip with his thumb like he was memorizing the shape of it.
He shifted, turning more fully toward you, sliding onto the back of your neck, threading his fingers into your hair. He tugged gently, not roughly, just enough to tilt your head the way he wanted. Then his mouth was on yours again, deeper this time.
You made a small sound against his lips, as you found the front of his shirt, bunching the soft cotton under his open jacket. He groaned, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap, straddling one of his thighs.
His free hand settled on your hip, and he broke the kiss long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the side of your throat. When his teeth grazed the spot just under your ear, you gasped, tightening your fingers in his shirt.
âJohnnyâŠâ
He paused, his lips remaining against your pulse. âYeah?â
You swallowed, feeling your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could feel it. âIâm just⊠We havenâtâŠâ
He lifted his head, searching for your eyes in the moonlight. âI know,â he said simply. âWe donât have to do anythinâ you ainât ready for.â
You shook your head quickly. âI want to. I justâŠâ You licked your lips, suddenly shy even after months of this, rides together, late-night talks in diner parking lots. âIâve wanted to for a while. Just⊠first times with someone are always important.â
Something softened in his face, and he cupped your cheek with his rough palm. âThen we go as slow as you need,â he murmured. âOr we stop. Your call, sweetheart.â
You searched his eyes for a long moment. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, when you pulled back, you whispered against his mouth, âI donât want to stop.â
He exhaled through his nose, a sound that was almost a laugh. Then he kissed you harder, hungrier, as a dam that had finally cracked. Johnny slid both hands under your jacket now, pulling your dress down inch by inch until the cool air hit your exposed breasts. He palmed one breast fully, brushing over the stiff peak in a lazy circle that made your back arch off the blanket.Â
He eased you down onto the blanket, and he followed, bracing himself on one forearm so his weight didnât crush you. His fingertips traced the underside of your breasts, making you arch into his touch, and he made an appreciative sound as he lowered his head, kissing a slow path down your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. He took a nipple into his mouth without warning, flicking his tongue, then flattening to lap broadly.Â
Johnny switched sides, grazing his teeth over the stiff peak, and then soothing your nipple with another long and filthy lick. Spit glistened on your breasts when he finally pulled back, strings of it connecting his lips to your nipple for a second before snapping.
âYouâre so fuckinâ sensitive. Bet I could make you cum just from this if I kept goinâ.â
You bit your lip, but you couldnât stop the small laugh that escaped. He grinned and went back to what he was doing. Johnny slid a hand down your lower stomach, and you lifted your hips without thinking. He tugged your underwear down your legs, dropping them somewhere on the grass.
Johnny paused, flicking his eyes to yours. âStill good?â
You nodded fast. âYeah. Just⊠cold.â
He leaned down, kissed the inside of your knee, then higher. âIâll warm you up.â
He settled between your legs, and his mouth found you, with slow licks at first, exploratory, learning every hitch of your breath, every small sound you tried to swallow. When he sucked gently on your clit your jerked your hips, and he pressed one of his big hands flat against your lower belly, holding you still while he worked you with steady strokes of his tongue.
âStay still, baby,â he murmured against you, the vibration of his words hummed right through your swollen clit. âLemme take care of this pretty pussy the way she deserves.â
His tongue went back to work, flattening to lap from your entrance all the way up, then curling the tip to circle your clit in teasing rings. Every time you tried to buck he pressed down harder on your stomach, the pressure somehow making everything feel sharper.
âJohnnyâoh god! It⊠It feels amazing.â
He pulled back only long enough to speak, his lips shiny with you. âYou taste so fuckinâ sweet when youâre this close. Gonna make you cum all over my tongue, sweetheart. Then Iâm gonna slide in deep and feel how tight you get right after.â
He dove back in without waiting for an answer. This time he sealed his mouth over your clit, sucking harder, pulsing his lips in a steady rhythm while the flat of his tongue flicked fast underneath. The hand on your belly slid lower, pushing two thick fingers inside you without warning, stretching you open. He curled them immediately, hooking right against that perfect spot, and pumped them in time with the suction on your clit.
You threaded your fingers through his hair, not pulling, just holding on. The pleasure built slowly, until your thighs started to shake. He didnât let up, and when you finally came, it hit you like an overwhelming wave, your back arching off the blanket as you gasped his name.
He kissed his way back up your body while you trembled through the aftershocks of your climax, just soft open-mouthed kisses across your stomach, your ribs, your tits. When he reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply.
You reached for his belt with shaking hands. He helped you until his jeans were shoved down just enough. He was hard, his length thick against your thigh, leaving a streak of pre-cum there. You wrapped your fingers around him, and he hissed through his teeth, dropping his forehead to yours.
âFuck, babyâŠâ
You stroked him slowly, watching his face, the way he clenched his jaw, the way he fluttered his eyes half-closed. He caught your wrist after a minute. âGonna make me cum if you keep that up,â he muttered.
You smiled, a little wicked despite the nerves still fluttering in your stomach. âThen get inside me already.â
Johnny huffed a laugh and shifted, settling between your thighs again. He braced himself on one arm and used the other hand to guide himself, nudging the blunt head against you.
âTell me if itâs too much.â
You nodded, your breath hitching. Johnny pushed in inch by inch. There was a stretch, and a faint burn, he was bigger than the guys youâd been with before. But he went so slow, pausing every few seconds to kiss you, to murmur against your mouth, âYouâre doinâ so good, sweetheart⊠so fuckinâ goodâŠâ so the burning never crossed into pain. When his cock was fully seated inside you, he stilled, breathing hard.
âJesus,â he whispered. âYou feelâŠâ He didnât finish, just kissed you again, letting you adjust.
After a minute, you rolled your hips experimentally, that seemed to be the signal he needed. He started moving with measured thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, digging your feet into the small of his back to urge him deeper inside your hole. The blanket bunched under you, the night was cold, but you were burning up everywhere you touched him.
He found a rhythm, steady without being rushed. Every time he bottomed out, you gasped, and every time he pulled almost all the way out, you whimpered at the loss. He slipped one hand between you, circling your clit with his thumb in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation made your head spin.
âJohnnyâfuckââ
âYeah? Right there?â
You could only nod, all words gone. He sped up just enough, still controlled and careful, but the angle shifted, and suddenly every stroke hit the perfect spot inside your walls. You clenched around him, and he cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering for the first time.
âGonna cum,â you managed to say. âJohnnyâGonna cum again!â
âDo it,â he rasped. âLet me feel you clenchinâ around me.â
You did, harder than before, your whole body locking up as the pleasure ripped through you. He fucked you through it, drawing your climax out until you were shaking and gasping against his neck.
When the aftershocks finally eased, he pulled out, the sudden emptiness made you clench around nothing. Johnny groaned at the sight of you, your legs still spread, your dress bunched up, your pussy glistening and flushed from him stretching you open.
He wrapped one hand around his cock, still slick with you, and stroked himself hard and fast. His eyes stayed locked on where heâd just been buried inside you, watching the way your body fluttered like it was still trying to pull him back in. âFuck⊠look at you,â he rasped. âAll fucked-out and drippinâ for me.â
Two more rough pumps and he came, thick ropes spilling across your stomach. The first stripe landed just below your navel, the next higher, streaking over your belly button. He kept groaning your name, jerking his hips with each spurt like he couldnât stop even if he wanted to.Â
Eventually, he lifted his head, kissed you softly, then reached into the saddlebag for a rag he always carried. He cleaned you up carefully, almost tenderly, before tugging your dress back into place and zipping your jacket with clumsy fingers.
You caught his wrist before he could pull away. âCome here.â
He did, settling beside you on the blanket and pulling you against his chest. His heartbeat was still fast under your ear. After a while, he spoke. âYou okay?â
You nodded against him. âMore than okay.â
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. âGood.â
You stayed like that until the cold finally won. He helped you up, packed everything away, and when you climbed back on the bike, he wrapped your arms tighter around his waist than usual, like he didnât want any space between you. You pressed your cheek to his back and closed your eyes. For the first time in a long time, the night felt exactly right.
Harryâs Valentine
You woke to the sound of knocking, followed by the murmur of male voices. The clock on the nightstand read 7:42 a.m. Valentineâs Day, and as you expected it, the bed beside you was empty, the sheets cool where Harry should have been. You rubbed sleep from your eyes, pulled on your silk robe, and padded barefoot toward the front door.
When you opened it, the fragrance hit you right away, almost making you cough. Three men in dark suits stood there, with their arms loaded with floral arrangements. Roses in every shade from red to pink, lilies, peonies, orchids, probably worth thousands of pounds.Â
âMorning, Mrs. Da Souza,â the tallest one said. âMr. Da Souza sends his regards. Where would you like these?â
You blinked. âAll⊠of them?â
âThereâs more in the van,â another added. âHe said, âfill the house.â We took that literally.â
Behind them, two more men were already hauling in additional deliveries. You stepped aside, dazed, and watched how this SWAT team of florists placed the arrangements on every available surface: the entry table, the kitchen island, the living room coffee table.Â
One of them handed you a small card before they left. Harryâs handwriting read: Not enough flowers in London to make up for the nights I wasnât here. But itâs a start. âH
You pressed the card to your chest and followed the scent of coffee and something buttery toward the kitchen. A man was already there. He didnât look up from the pan when you entered.
âGood morning, Mrs. Da Souza. Iâm Chef Laurent. Mr. Da Souza arranged breakfast. Eggs Benedict with black truffle hollandaise, brioche French toast, fresh berries, and a side of caviar blinis.â
You stared at him, perplexed. âHarry⊠hired a chef? For breakfast?â
âHe was very specific.â Laurent smiled. âSit. Itâll be ready in seven minutes.â
You sank onto a stool and watched him plate everything with precision. The food arrived looking like art, you took one bite and closed your eyes. It was obscene how good it tasted.
Halfway through, your phone buzzed, and Harryâs name lit the screen.
You answered. âYou sent an army of flowers and a chef. Are you dying or something?â
A chuckle came through, the one that still made your stomach flip after all those years. âNot yet, love. Just trying not to be a complete bastard for once.â
âYou know this doesnât fix everything.â
âI know.â His voice softened. âBut itâs Valentineâs. Figured Iâd start by overwhelming you. Dinner tonight. Seven. Iâll pick you up. Wear the black dress, the one with the low back. Please.â
He hung up before you could argue.
The rest of the day passed in a strange haze. The flowers perfumed every room. You wandered the house, touching the petals, rereading the card.Â
At six-thirty, you slipped into the black dress he loved and added the earrings he had given you for your anniversary two years earlier. You stared at yourself in the mirror and wondered if tonight was just another meaningless attempt to make you forget about his absence, or if he actually meant it.
The doorbell rang at exactly seven.
You opened it to find him standing there in a charcoal suit. He looked tired, he always did lately, but his eyes softened when they landed on you.Â
âYou lookâŠâ He exhaled. âFuck. You look unreal, babe.â
âYou clean up nice yourself.â You stepped aside to let him in, but he didnât move.
âGot something for you first.â He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim velvet box. Inside was a delicate gold chain with a single diamond pendant.Â
You let him clasp it around your neck, his fingers brushed your skin, and lingered a second longer than necessary.
âThank you,â you whispered.
âDonât thank me yet.â He offered his arm. âCarâs waiting.â
The restaurant was one you had only heard about. It was private, members-only. Inside, the lights were dim, and the ambiance was intimate. A single table waited for you in the back corner, with candles flickering, a bottle of your favorite wine already waiting for you. The maĂźtre dâ greeted Harry by name and disappeared.
Harry pulled your chair out and sat across from you.Â
âI know Iâm shit at this,â he said quietly once the wine was poured. âThe job⊠it takes pieces. I forget dates. I forget what you need sometimes, even when youâre right there. And I hate it.â
You swirled the wine. âYou think flowers and a fancy dinner change that?â
âNo.â He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. âBut maybe itâs proof I still see you. That I still want this. Want us.â
The first course arrived, something delicate and fancy you couldnât quite name. You ate in silence for a moment.
âI booked the whole place,â he said suddenly. âNo one else here tonight. Just us. No interruptions. No phone. No Harrigans.â
You looked up. âYou shut down a Michelin restaurant for Valentineâs?â
âPerks of knowing people.â He offered you a small, crooked smile. âThe owner owed me some favors.â
You laughed despite yourself. âRomantic.â
He reached across the table and took your hand, tracing circles over your knuckles. âI donât know how to be good at being a husband. But I know I donât want to lose you. Not to my own stupidity.â
When you finally left, the night air was cool. He walked you to the car with a hand at the small of your back. Fifteen minutes later, the car glided to a stop outside the house.
Inside, the house still smelled like a perfume bomb had exploded, the roses and gardenias and lilies were still crowding every surface.
He closed the front door with a click, shrugged out of his coat, and hung it on the hook. You kicked off your heels by the entry table.
No words came at first. Just his hand found the small of your back again, as he guided you toward the stairs.Â
As soon as you both stepped inside the bedroom, you reached up and loosened the knot of his tie, sliding it free.Â
He kissed you then, moving his mouth over yours as though he wanted to memorize the shape again. His tongue traced the seam of your lips until you opened for him. He cupped the back of your neck with one hand and slid the other down to grip your hip.
You walked backward toward the bed, his body crowding yours, guiding you. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, he didnât push, he just let you sink, following until he braced over you on one forearm, the other hand already working the zipper at the side of your dress.
The fabric pooled around your waist, and Harry paused, dragging his eyes over bare skin as though he hadnât seen you in years instead of hours.
âFuck,â he muttered, almost to himself. âYouâre fucking beautiful.â
You tugged at his shirt buttons, feeling impatient now. âLess talking. More touching.â
A low laugh rumbled out of him. âYouâre bossy tonight.â
He let you strip the shirt off him, until he was down to skin and the faint scars you knew by heart. You traced them with your fingertips, and he shivered.
Then, you felt his lips moving down your throat, slow drags of his lips and tongue, as his teeth grazed just enough to make you arch under him. When he reached the diamond pendant, he paused and pressed an open-mouthed kiss right above it.
âLooks good on you,â he murmured against your skin. âKnew it would.â
His hands were everywhere then, sliding the dress the rest of the way off, unhooking your bra with ease, palming your breasts until your nipples pebbled under his thumbs. You gasped when he took one in his mouth, sucking it slowly, flicking his tongue in lazy circles while his other hand slipped between your thighs.
He found you already soaked, your cunt slick and swollen, your lips parted and glistening under his fingers like you'd been aching for him all day.Â
He dragged two fingers through your folds slowly, letting the wet sound fill the quiet room.
âFuck, love,â he breathed. âThis all for me?â
âBeen thinking about you all day,â you admitted, your voice catching as he circled your clit with his fingers. âThe way you looked at me in the restaurant. Seeing you is enough to get me like this.â
He lifted his head. âGood. Because Iâve been thinking about this since I left the house this morning.â
He slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, still working slow circles over your clit with his thumb. You moaned, lifting your hips into his hand. He didnât speed up, just kept that steady, maddening rhythm.
âLook at this mess youâve made,â he murmured, almost reverent. âBeen walking around with your pretty little cunt dripping all day. Thinking about my cock splitting you open.â
You couldnât answer, only whimpered, your thighs trembling as he added a third finger, stretching you wider, fucking into you with lazy thrusts that made your walls flutter and clench.
âThatâs it,â he growled against the shell of your ear, catching the lobe between his teeth. âLet me feel how greedy you are. Squeeze my fingers.â
He crooked them harder, dragging over that spot that made your vision blur, while his other hand slid up to pinch your nipple sharp enough to sting. The combined sensation ripped another broken moan from your throat.
His fingers never faltered, pumping deep until your whole body shook, climaxing under his hands. He kept thrusting his fingers, prolonging your orgasm as much as he could.Â
After you came down from your high, Harry stood long enough to shed the rest of his clothes, trousers, boxers and socks, then climbed back over you, settling between your thighs. His cock was heavy against your stomach, already leaking at the tip. You reached down, wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him steadily. He hissed, jerking his hips forward.
âEasy,â he warned, but there was no heat in it. âBeen too long since I let myself have you like this.â
You guided him to your entrance, slick and ready to take your husband, your folds swollen and parted, glistening with how badly you needed him. He nudged the blunt head of his cock against you, spreading your wetness as you tilted your hips just enough to invite him in.
He pushed in agonisingly slow, letting you feel every ridge as he sank deeper. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, trying to pull him in faster even as he held back. The stretch burned sweetly, until finally he seated himself to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, his balls pressed to your ass, buried so deep you swore you felt him in your throat.
âMissed this,â he dropped his forehead against yours. âMissed you.â
Then he started to move with slow rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive place inside you. Each thrust pulled a broken sound from your throat. He caught them with his mouth, kissing you messily, sliding your tongues together while he fucked you with that same measured pace.
His hand found your throat, not squeezing it, just holding, resting his thumb over your pulse. The other pinned your wrist above your head before he shifted his angle, grinding against your clit with every roll of his hips.
âTell me,â he growled against your lips. âTell me how it feels.â
âSo good,â you gasped. âItâs perfect. Youâre so fucking deepâHarryââ
He groaned your name like it was torn out of him, as he snapped forward a little harder, the careful rhythm fracturing into something rougher. You felt every thick inch of him drive deeper, stretching you open until the blunt head kissed that spot that made your vision spark.
You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back, digging into the muscle to pull him in, shameless, urging him to bury himself to the hilt again and again. The angle changed, and he bottomed out with a slap of skin on skin that echoed in the quiet room.
âCum for me,â he murmured, but you could hear the pleading edge in his voice. âWant to feel it. Want to feel you soak my cock.â
Harry slipped his hand between your legs again, finding your clit and rubbing circles while he kept thrusting.
âTake it,â he rasped against your lips. âTake every fucking inch, let me feel that pretty cunt milk me. Gonna cum so deep inside you youâll be dripping me for hours.â
It hit you like a wave. You cried out, arching your back, raking your nails down his shoulders. He fucked you through it, drawing it out until you shook.
He didnât stop. âAgain,â he said, almost feral now. âGive me another one.â
You didnât think you could, but he changed the angle just slightly, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. His fingers never left your clit, and the second orgasm built slower, until it crashed over you in rolling pulses. You clenched around him so hard he cursed.
You felt him throb inside you, impossibly harder, the vein along the underside pulsing against your walls with every erratic thrust. He was losing it.
âFuckâlove. Iâm gonnaâ Iâm cumming.â
He followed you right after, burying himself to the hilt, cumming with a broken groan against your throat. You felt him pulse inside you, hot ropes of cum that painted your insides, leaving you filled with his seed.Â
He finally lifted his head, brushed damp hair from your face, and kissed you softly. âI meant what I said earlier. Iâm not good at this, at being the husband you deserve. But Iâm not ready to lose you. Not ever.â
You tilted your head up to look at him. âThen donât disappear on me again.â
He exhaled, nodding once. âTrying.â
It wasnât a promise, Harry didnât make promises he couldnât keep, but it was close enough.
Eddieâs Valentine
The kitchen smelled like burnt meat and slightly scorched garlic. You were out, running some errands, and Eddie had the place to himself. Well, himself and Venom.
Eddie wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist and glared at the smoking pan on the stove. âYouâre doing this on purpose. I told you to watch the steaks.â
A low rumble escaped the symbioteâs mouth. âAnd I said youâre being a cheap-ass.â
âIâm not being a cheap-ass. Iâm being romantic. Thereâs a difference.â
âRomantic is a dinner reservation. Romantic is someone else doing the dishes. Romantic is not you sweating like a pig while we ruin steak number three.â
Eddie flipped the ribeye anyway, the outside was charcoal, but the inside was still mooing. He sighed, sounding defeated, and slid it onto a plate to rest.
âI wanted to do this myself,â he muttered, reaching for the red wine reduction heâd been cooking for twenty minutes. âShe likes it when I try. She said that last week. âI like it when you try, Eddie.â Direct quote.â
Venom rolled his wide white eyes with disdain. âShe also likes steak that isnât burnt. And a boyfriend who isnât too broke to take her to that Italian place with the garlic bread she loves.â
âIâm not broke,â Eddie snapped, louder than he meant to. âIâm⊠financially responsible.â
âFinancially responsible guys donât get pussy.â
Eddie nearly dropped the saucepan. âJesus, Venom.â
âIâm just saying because thisââ a black tendril slithered out of Eddieâs shoulder, pointing at the wilted asparagus, the lumpy mashed potatoes, the sauce that had separated into oil slicks, âthis is not screaming âI value your vagina.ââ
Eddie swatted the tendril away, and it snapped back like a rubber band and smacked him in the cheek. âStop that.â
Venom retreated the tendril, but not before knocking the salt shaker into the mashed potatoes. Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose so hard his eyes watered.
âOkay. Listen. We have forty minutes. Forty. I can salvage this. Iâve got the backup chicken in the fridge, I can pan-sear it, throw some of that fancy herb butterââ
A black appendage emerged from Eddieâs forearm, hooking the fridge door, and yanking it open so hard the condiments rattled.
The chicken was gone. Eddie stared at the empty shelf. âWhere. Is. The. Chicken.â
Venom let out a satisfied slurp. âI was hungry.â
âYou ate the backup chicken. You absoluteâ!â
âI was helping. You were going to overcook it anyway.â
Eddie slammed the fridge shut. âI swear to God, if you touch one more thingââ
One black tendril oozed out of Eddieâs neck, wrapping itself around the bottle of expensive balsamic heâd bought specifically for the reduction, and tipped it sideways, pouring it onto the counter.
Eddie lunged, but Venom retracted the tendril just fast enough that he smacked Eddieâs cheek instead.
âOW! Fuckâyouâre the worst Valentineâs date Iâve ever had.â
âIâm not your date. Iâm your better half. And your better half says take her out before she walks in and sees you crying.â
âIâm not crying.â
âYouâre looking a little wet.â
âIâm sweating!â Eddie dragged both hands down his face. âYou know what? Fine. You win. Iâll take her to that stupid Italian place.â
The front door clicked open, and there you were, flushed from the cold outside, your keys dangling from your fingers. Eddie stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, with a spatula raised as he pointed it at the symbioteâs head. He looked at you, then at the sad little table with its single rose, then back at you.
âHey,â he said. âYouâre⊠early.â
You kicked the door shut behind you, flicking your eyes over the scene: the slightly crooked candles, the mismatched plates, the pan on the stove with the burnt steaks.
âReally?â you said, lifting your eyebrows with surprise. âYouâll take me to the Italian place? With the garlic bread?â
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. âYeah. I, uh⊠I tried doing something special. With my own hands. Thought itâd be nice. Romantic, yâknow? Butââ He gestured vaguely toward the counter. âIt didnât work. At all.â
You stepped closer, shedding your coat onto the back of a chair. Your eyes softened as you took in the effort, the wilted attempt at asparagus, the potatoes clearly mashed by Venom, the fact that heâd even bothered with cloth napkins.
âThatâs so sweet, Eddie,â you said quietly. âI really value the effort. Like⊠really.â
Eddie exhaled, dropping his shoulders. âYeah?â
âYeah. I love how hard you try for me. It means more than any dinner at a fancy restaurant.â
âIt was my idea,â Venom said as he elongated the black mass of a neck, stretching it closer to you. âI suggested cooking. I said, âEddie, letâs make it personal.â Iâm the romantic one.â
Eddieâs eye twitched with irritation. âYou burnt three steaks and ate the backup chicken raw, you lying sack ofââ
You laughed, patting the smooth curve of his head, making the symbiote purr like a cat. âIâm sure you tried your best, V. Thank you.â
Eddie huffed. âYeah, sure. He tried his best to sabotage the entire night and then take credit for the one part that actually worked.â
Venom flicked his tongue out just once, in a teasing and mocking gesture, before he retracted his neck back into Eddieâs shoulder.
You closed the last step between you, slid your hands up Eddieâs chest, and kissed him slowly. Eddie groaned into your mouth, finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. When you broke the kiss, you stayed close, brushing your nose against his.
âThank you,â you murmured. âFor trying. For all of it.â Then you sank to your knees.
Eddieâs breath hitched. âBabyââ
You looked up at him through your lashes, already working the button of his jeans. âLet me thank you properly.â
He stared down, wide-eyed like he couldnât quite believe the turn the night had taken. His hands hovered uselessly for a second before settling on your shoulders. You tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough until his cock sprang free, already half-hard from knowing what was coming. You wrapped your fingers around the base and gave one slow stroke,
Eddie tipped his head back with a curse. âFuck.â
You smiled against the tip and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss there, then licked a long and wet stripe from the base to the head. You could feel how Eddie tensed his thighs under your palms, and so you took him into your mouth, slow at first, just the head, swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge while you worked the shaft in lazy twists of your hand.
Eddie looked down again. âJesus⊠you donât have toââ
You pulled off with a wet pop, just long enough to say, âI want to.â And then you swallowed him deeper.
He groaned louder this time, sliding one hand into your hair, pushing you softly, encouraging you to take more inside your mouth. You bobbed your head, taking more of him each time, letting your lips stretch around his thickness. Your saliva slicked him up fast, and you used it to stroke what your mouth couldnât reach, twisting your wrist on every upstroke.
Venomâs voice slithered through the room. âLook at her. So good for us⊠so wet already, I can smell it.â
Eddie jerked his hips once, and you hummed around him in answer, the vibration making his lower belly clench. You pulled back until just the head rested on your tongue, then sucked hard, hollowing your cheeks.
Eddie tightened his hands in your hair. âFuckâbaby. Slow down, or Iâm gonnaââ
You didnât slow down. You took him to the back of your throat, brushing your nose against his pelvis, and held there for a long second while your throat worked around him. Eddieâs knees nearly buckled, and a string of curses fell from his mouth.
You pulled off gasping, a thick strand of spit connecting your lips to his cock that you wiped with the back of your hand, grinning up at him like youâd won something.
You went back down, working him fast and sloppy in the best way. You cupped his balls with one hand rolling them gently, tracing the sensitive seam while the other wrapped firmly around the base, pumping in perfect time with the wet slide of your mouth. Eddie jerked forward in helpless little thrusts, he tried to hold still, tried to be polite, but he couldnât. Each shallow rock of his pelvis pushed him deeper, and every time you met him with an eager moan around his length, he lost another piece of control.
Venom rumbled again. âSheâs ours. Look how she takes us. Look how she wants it.â
Eddieâs grip in your hair turned almost painful. âIâm⊠fuckâIâm close. I canât⊠Iâm gonnaââ
You moaned around him, encouraging every desperate twitch of his hips. You sucked harderâhollowing your cheeks and pressing along the underside, and that was it. Eddie came with a broken sound. Hot ropes of cum spilled down your throat in thick pulses, you swallowed greedily around him, trying to take every drop, milking him through it. You didnât pull off right away, just kept your mouth on him until his thighs trembled and his cock jerked with overstimulation, too sensitive now for anything but gentle suction.
You sat back on your heels, looking up at him with that same soft and satisfied smile.
Eddie dragged a hand over his face, still breathing hard. âYouâre⊠unreal.â
You stood, wiped your mouth again, and leaned in to kiss him, letting him taste himself on your tongue. He groaned into it, wrapping his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.
Venomâs voice came quieter now. âTold you cooking was a good idea.â
I hope you enjoy these Valentineâs Day stories. Theyâre not super long or overly detailed since there are five of them, so I tried to keep things short and straight to the point, but I still hope the smut was hot and the fluff was sweet. Iâm sorry I didnât write for all of Tomâs characters I usually write for, I really struggled with inspiration for these and my brain was completely friedđ
Also, a huge thank you to @mapping-out-skies for helping me out with some ideas for the Harry one
PLSPLSPLSPLS WRITE FOR VENOM I WOULD ACTUALLY COMBUST
I meannn... if you insist.
Mine Tonight
Eddie/Venom x Female Reader
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Word Count:Â 2.1k
Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)
Jealousy/angst, established relationship, dirty talk, size kink, spit kink, dacryphilia, mentions of spanking, some sadism, mentions of oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, monster fucking, mentions of anal sex, mentions of aftercare
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A/N:Â I would like to apologize to the monster-fucking community for any and all judgement I may have harbored. I get it now. I so get it now.
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Eddie/Venom Masterlist
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He likes it; likes to hear your frantic fucking screams when he shoves himself inside. Likes to hear and see you cry, watching your body take him. Likes when you wrap yourself around him in your shivering human skin only to fall back down when he presses himself to your chest. The way you move is mesmerizing; he likes to see you crumble and fall apart because of him. Because he knows it's him, it's him.
He's consumed by it, his mind forgetting the part of Eddie that keeps him alive. When he's like this, when you're like this, it's only you, only the two of you. You're the only thing that makes him feel alive and worth it because you're his to attack and wreck and fucking ruin. And at the same time to keep. To keep safe and happy and sane.
"V-Venom," You cling to him, or you try to, anyway.
"Venom." It's a soft word, the way it's spoken, the way your croaking voice breaks when he shoves himself in to the hilt.
Eddie gets jealous. He doesn't like seeing Venom like this, but at the same time, he understands. You're not just his, you're theirs.
"Tiny," He growls, his tongue flailing out before falling onto your face, capturing your jaw and licking up the side of your cheek.
There's drool and sweat and cum, all over your face and neck, your body. You can't tell if it's his or Eddie's but it's likely both.
"Tiny, little thing." He says, the words a low vibrational hum through his chest. "And so very good."
His words make you whine, taking the breath from your lungs, or is it the bulk of him throbbing inside? Your eyes shut, head pressing back into the pillows at the top of your bed. Back arching, Venomâs claws curl around your midsection, holding you up, holding you close. Youâre fisting the bedsheets, the pleasure he brings overwhelming your body.Â
Itâs the flop of his tongue on your face again that prompts your lids to flutter, drunken eyes opening to stare up at him. Milky white orbs, the tears in his head that resemble eyes, cloud your vision. The roughness of his tastebuds drag across the skin of your cheek, the tip of his tongue sliding gently across your lips. And while holding his direct gaze, you open your mouth, welcoming it in. And as soon as it is, your mouth closes, sucking on it.Â
Again, you canât help but close your eyes, feeling his thrusts slow to sensual and deep ruts directly into your pelvis. The growl that emanates from him is ungodly, otherworldly, the rumble of it shuttering through your body.Â
Some days, Eddie wanted you to himself. Other days, they wanted to share you. And just as often, Venom claimed you for his own. This was one of those times.Â
Eddie found himself envious, angry, almost. Even if he allowed his symbiote this time with you, it wasnât always easy. But heâd be damned to deny it didnât turn him on. Watching you react to Venom was breathtaking. Sucking on his tongue the same way youâd suck on Eddieâs cock, your body writhing beneath the bulk of the slick monster taking over his body.Â
Venom retracts his tongue, nudging the smooth slope of his forehead over your cheek. Lowly, he grumbles, âEddie misses youâŠâ
Smiling languidly, your hands find the monsterâs shoulders, nails dragging hard enough to force another noise from him. âDoes he?â
He doesnât answer you directly; Venom also was not immune to jealousy. âYou are mine tonight.â
âI know,â Youâre sighing, but a sharp whine is punched from your throat when he snaps his hips against you. âVenom!â
âSay it,â He demands, handling you roughly once again. âSay it to me - say it to Eddie.â
They were both protective over you. And while they were technically one, they sometimes couldn't help but want you to themselves. Truthfully, you loved it, reveled in it. Sometimes, making one of them jealous was exciting.Â
Grinning widely, you open your eyes, looking up at your enormous lover. And you know youâre looking at Eddie now.Â
âIâm Venomâs tonight.âÂ
It makes Eddieâs blood boil with rage. You can almost feel it.Â
An enormous groan erupts from Venomâs throat, his tongue diving into yours. You feel like you can't even breathe, your body bursting to its limit. And he feels so differently than Eddie. Heâs bigger, thicker, veinier.Â
Youâre gonna fucking break her. Eddie canât keep himself quiet inside Venomâs head.Â
âGood.â Verbally, Venom responds, the word quick to come out. But you whine when his tongue is gone, prompting the dripping wet muscle to slide back into your mouth.
Seeing you give into him like this was incredible, indescribable. Venom loved to hear your cries, loved to feel the slick suck of your cunt when it tried desperately to take him in. After so long, it wasnât as difficult. Not when heâd licked you raw, not when his tendrils slithered up your stomach to pluck at your nipples.Â
You are such a giving thing, such a patient thing, so eager to comply and give Venom what he wants, anything he wants. His size and strength made you wet just from looking at him, how could you not give in?Â
At first, your tears were from pain. Sometimes, it really hurts, fucking stings, especially when heâs pounding directly into your body. But itâs not long before that rush of pain turns into sweet, debilitating pleasure.Â
He doesnât mean to, but he scrapes you, his claws digging in enough to just barely draw blood. Heâll lick them later, caress you with his tongue while he holds you in his arms. After you had sex with Venom, your time with him didnât stop there. Heâd stay out long enough to cuddle you, hold you, care for you. He was always so grateful for this special time he got to spend with you, with only you.Â
Venomâs drool drips into your face, his tongue slithering out of the hot cavern of your mouth. Youâre gasping for air, fisting the bedsheets when heâs too far away to reach. Angling himself downward, the thickness of him splits you apart, his claws holding the bowl of your pelvis up for him.Â
âV-Vee,â Your hand reaches out, palm pressing limply against the bulging muscles of Venomâs lower stomach.Â
Immediately, an extra tendril is on your hand and curling around your wrist. In the blink of an eye, heâs slamming your hand into the bed and away from his inky skin, his grunts becoming more animalistic.Â
âYou know better.â Venom hisses, eyes squinting at you.Â
The first time he fucked you, he was surprisingly gentle, almost timid. He didnât want to hurt you. But now? He loves it; he loves leaving marks on you, stretching you wide around the girth of him until youâre crying, licking your cunt until itâs puffy and raw and reveling in the way you scream until your voice is hoarse.Â
Youâve been with them long enough to know what to expect. Eddie likes when youâre on all fours, using his dominant hand to press your face into the bed. Heâll spank you if heâs worked up enough, but more often than not, he was fairly gentle, and always passionate. Making you cum was a must for him, whether it was on his cock or his fingers, he didnât care. And neither did you. But Venom? Venom was⊠different. After that first time, he was rough, rough like he hated you. Itâs always missionary with him, he likes watching your face crumple with pleasure, your body seizing up around his thick waist and pelvis. This way, he could lick you, too, and he loved to lick your face. It was almost like his version of kissing, his version of admiring you in the most feral way.Â
But when theyâre together, they overwhelm you. Eddie is always between your legs, fucking you brainless while Venomâs tendrils slide between your cheeks. It took a while to open you up back there, but Venom was patient. He always is. And then heâd snake a couple toward your tits, pinching your nipples while another rubbed your clit. And Eddie would kiss you breathless, swallowing your moans while you laid there, suffocated by the two of them.Â
âOhâŠâ Heâs growling, his chest heaving. âCan you hear it? Can you hear it, you little thing?â
âHm?â Youâre whining, gasping when he hisses above you.Â
âListen to it,â And then his tongue is roaming the column of your neck, spit dripping over your open mouth when it retracts. âYour body, itâs opening up for meâŠâ
âVenom,âÂ
In truth, youâre the light of his life, of their life. It would be meaningless without you.Â
âPlease.â
âYou want it, donât you?â The wet noise of your colliding sexes continues to fill the air, the loud squelch of your welcoming walls. âDonât you?â
âYes!â It comes out as a wail, your back arching up from the bed. Using your dominant hand, you lift it over your head, placing your palm against the headboard.Â
Everything feels raw, youâre aching. Heâs been ruining you for hours, literal hours, soaking your bed with every ounce of wetness the two of you have. You can feel him in your stomach, youâre sure you can. Heâs grown in size since the first time, his head constantly tilting down to watch you stretch.Â
After he receives your answer, heâs fucking you like heâs gone mad. Leaning over, he towers above your pliant and sweaty form, slamming himself into the delicate channel between your legs. Youâre shocked youâve been able to withstand him for this long.Â
âVenom, babyâŠâ Smoothing your hands over the bulk of his shoulders, the firmness of his back, you coo to him. âBabyâŠâÂ
Itâs one of his weaknesses, something you like to pull out of your back pocket every now and then. Itâs such a simple word, one used commonly in relationships. But to him, it was special. Eddie was always babe, but Venom was baby.Â
âOhâŠâ Heâs faltering, breaths rough and right beside your face. âSweetlingâŠâÂ
Toward the end, he was always soft with you. When his high finally came, he held you like you were his precious thing, his reason for living.Â
At first, you were extremely curious about this, having sex with an alien. How did that work⊠biologically? But honestly, itâs not much different than any other human. And you suppose thatâs because of Eddie. The way Venom cums is generally the same, his white release spilling into you. He has so much more than Eddie, though, so much so that it leaks out from around his member every single time. Sex with Venom was always messy, always, but you really didnât mind.Â
His body shudders above you, the incredible strength of his arms holding you tight. Heâs licking your throat again, tongue rolling up to your jaw. He can smell the arousal seeping from your pulse points, and it only makes him cum that much harder.Â
Heâd only allowed himself release after giving you yours. But one wasnât enough for him, it had to be at least two, if not three. And he hit that lucky number tonight, his entire pelvis sopping wet from you.Â
The white noise ringing in your ears shields you from the incredible groan he releases, his head resting right beside your own. Grinding himself in to the hilt prompts your legs to open almost as wide as they possibly can, your muscles flexing for him. Youâre breathing out choked gasps, feeling him knock your cervix whenever heâs like this.Â
âOh my go-od,âÂ
Venom groans, his body shivering one final time. But he doesnât leave you, he stays pressed against your body.Â
âMmâŠâ He growls quietly, purring. Turning his head, he knocks his forehead against your jaw; a loving gesture. âEddie is wondering if you are alright.â And then heâs smiling, chuckling. You smile too, exhaling an airy laugh. The way Venom handled you always made Eddie nervous.Â
âYeah Eddie,â Nodding, your hands find either side of Venomâs face, simply caressing him. âIâm okay.âÂ
With a refreshing inhale, you express genuinely, âI love you.âÂ
The connection you have to them canât be broken, it just canât. Youâve been with them for too long, youâve experienced too much.Â
âWe love you, sweetling.â Heâs purring now, the vibration rolling pleasantly through your body. Curling inward, he holds you even closer, his breathing becoming steady. âWe do.â
Day 5 - âI would choose you in every lifetime, every universe.â đ
Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary: You were raised that if you love something you set it free, even if thatâs the absolute last thing you want.
PSA: @wildflowersandvibranium the angst bug got me
Warnings: hurt but mostly comfort, implied to be post sex but no explicit mention, Steve being sweet, reader being insecure, happy ending :)
Word Count: 800
Isla & Pink's Galentine's Event
"You can go if you want." You offer.Â
Steve stops breathing under you, the soft rise and fall of his chest going completely still.
"What?" He asks, and poor Steve genuinely doesn't seem to have a clue.
With a sigh you continue, ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes as you do.Â
"You can go back I mean." You tell him, ignoring how bitter the words taste despite how much you do truly mean them. "I understand."
You're not stupid.Â
When Steve volunteered to return the stones, you saw it.Â
He's had that look in his eyes, ever since him and Tony came back. That wistfulness that only comes with regret and an irrepressible "What if?"
You know it's her. The woman who's legacy you've been chasing since you met him. The one you could never compete with.Â
It didn't used to bother you, it still doesn't truthfully. After all, who can compete with a dead woman?
Who can compete with the chance to go back in time and get it right?Â
"It's okay." You choke out, closing your eyes to stave off the sting of tears. "I just want you to be happy."
Steve is stiff as a board beneath you. The hand that had been tracing your spine stops, hovering somewhere over the back of your neck as he processes your offer.Â
"You want me to go back in time?" He asks.Â
His voice sounds thin, worried almost.Â
"Of course." You try to force some cheerfulness. "I just want you to be happy."Â
You can hear the sheets rustle as Steve shifts. "And you think I'd be happier there?"
The tears well anyway, bubbling under your eyelids and threatening to spill no matter how you tight you squeeze them shut.Â
"Wouldn't you?"Â
Steve is quiet for a long time, long enough for your chest to start to shake as you do your best to stay strong. Heart pounding with nerves as you brace yourself for what comes next.
What comes next is his hands.Â
Slowly, they move you, guiding you flat onto you back so Steve can roll over top of you. A large hand cradles your face, the touch so familiar and comforting it sets you over the edge.Â
A hiccup escapes, then another, just as the first tear pushes past your waterline.
"Where would you be?" He asks.Â
He doesn't acknowledge your tears, but brushes them away, his thumb catching the sad droplets and catching them as they threaten to roll down your cheek.
"Here." You croak, chest heaving with an stifled sob.Â
"Here?" He repeats.
You nod, eyes still squeezed shut.Â
Another one escapes, crashing into the pad of Steve's finger as it rules from the corner of your eye.
"Look at me." Steve tells you, voice steady.Â
You shake your head, petulant and hurting. A girl can only be so mature when telling her boyfriend it's okay if he breaks up with her.
"Please." Steve breaks, barely above a whisper.
You give in, fighting through stuck lashes as you finally peek at Steve's face.Â
He's staring at you like he's afraid you'll break, pretty blue eyes confused and shining with worry.Â
"Why would I go there when you're here?" He asks.
God, is he really going to make you spell it out?
You choke down another sob, releasing an uneven exhale as you try to give him a calm answer.Â
"To be with her." You tell him, "With Peggy."
Steve's reaction is nothing short of shock, his jaw dropping and closing, just to fall open again.Â
"Oh honey." He coos.Â
"Steve stop-" you try to fight him, hand weekly pushing at the one holding your face. "I know you still love her."
Steve shushes you, but not to be mean or cruel.Â
"I don't want that life anymore." He tells you.Â
The tears keep coming anyway, streaming down your cheeks like rivers as he leans in and starts to kiss them away.Â
"I haven't in a long time."Â
You hiccup again, hand holding onto Steve's wrist like you're afraid he might disappear.Â
"You haven't?" You ask, sounding so small.
"No." Steve breathes, pressing his forehead to you. "I like the life I'm building here, now, with you."
"But-"
"No buts." Steve interrupts, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I would choose you in every life time, every universe."
Despite the pounding of your heart, the ache in your chest and the salt of your tears, you believe him.Â
"Then why'd you ask to go back?" You blink up at him, searching for any sign of that regret you swore you saw.Â
Steve laughs, a breathy huff against your lips as he presses a chaste kiss to them.Â
"There's a ring." He explains. "It was my moms and I'm pretty sure I can get my hands on it if I get the timing right."Â
You heart stutters.Â
"A ring?"Â
Steve nods, his own eyes watery eyes as he kisses you again. "Your ring."Â
"Oh."
"My silly girl." He says, nudging his nose against yours. "You're my future, the only one I want."
Prompt: hiding under a blanket to hide your/their blush
Pairing: FWB!Bucky x FWB!Reader
Galentine's Party Masterlist
You werenât supposed to stay, that was the agreement.
No one stays after the deed is done. No strings after all.
But between months of this agreement, some of the rules have flown out the window.
The latest? He didnât wake you.
Didnât kick you out like he normally would. Usually he would have an excuse that he has a mission or some meeting to attend to but instead of waking you up, he lets you stay the night beside him in his bed. And for the first time in years, Bucky didnât have a nightmare.
Now the sun shines from his window directly to your face from where you lay on his chest.
"Five minutes" he mutters, pulling you closer without opening his eyes as you move a little.
He groans, still half-asleep, and rolls you under him to block the sunlight with his body. His voice is rough from sleep. Â
"Five more minutes," he grumbles, nuzzling into your hair like a stubborn cat refusing to move. "The sun's cheating."Â Â
A pauseâthen he sighs as he buries his head further to your hair as he mutters, "remind me to shut the curtains."
"Noted for next time," you mutter as your hand makes its way to the back of his head. "You're heavy," you added but made no move to push him.
He chuckles sleepily, the sound rumbling through his chest and against your body. "And you're not complaining," he retorts, his hand slipping beneath the covers to rest on your hip.
His eyes remain closed as he presses a kiss to your temple, a lazy gesture of affection before he rolls to his side all while keeping you close.
"SoâŠ" you began, needing your questions answered, "why'd you let me stay the night?"
He opens one eye to look at you, his gaze still heavy lidded with sleep. "Do I need a reason?" he asks, his thumb mindlessly drawing patterns on your hip.
He lets out a small sigh, his expression slightly guarded, as if he's not used to sharing his feelings. "I just... wanted you to stay."
You sigh, the feeling of his thumb on your hip making you melt as you look at him with the sun shining behind him.Â
"I mean, we said no staying the night." You mutter but your heartbeat heavy in your chest as you appreciate how beautiful he looked like this makes you wish your curiosity could just shut up.
He chuckles softly, his eyes softening as he looks at you. He seems amused by your comment, but there's a hint of vulnerability in his gaze.
"Yeah, we did," he agrees, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your skin. "But we also broke other rules we set and you didn't complain, what's the difference now?"
Heat creeps up your cheek and you pull the blanket over your nose to hide the blush painting your face, "it just feels a little more personal than the other stuff," you mutter quietly.
The blanket muffles your voice, but Bucky still hears you. He grins, a rare sight in the morning light. Â
"Personal?" he repeats, his voice laced with amusement as he leans over to tug the blanket down just enough to expose your face. "You mean like this?" His nose brushes yours before stealing a slow kissâone that feels more intentional than anything, nothing close to the original agreement.
You meltâof course you doâagainst his lips as he gently kisses you. Nothing compared to all the heated kisses you shared before. Then he pulls back slowly, keeping his forehead against yours.
He lingers there for a moment, his eyes closed, just taking in the moment. He can feel your body pressed against his, the softness of your skin under his touch. He's used to the usual quick kisses and heated encounters, but this... this felt different.
He opens his eyes, his gaze locked on yours, his expression almost contemplative. "It is more personal," he finally admits, his voice soft. "Wasn't so bad, right?"
"But-" you try to say, wanting to remind him of your agreement but he silences you with another kiss, knowing exactly what you're going to sayâthat this situation isn't what friends with benefits normally do.
He pulls back, his gaze searching yours for a moment before he speaks, his voice quiet. "We're already way past 'normal' friends with benefits." He pauses, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw.Â
"You know that, right?"
You hesitantly nod.
He exhales, relief mixing with something unreadable in his expression. His thumb brushes your cheekbone gently.
"Good," he murmurs. "Because I really liked breaking these rules with you." A beat of silence surrounds you both as he studies you like he's memorizing this moment in his head, but it was comfortable as a small fond smile slips his lips.
"You should stay for breakfast."
"You sure?" You asked, voice quiet as if you're afraid to break out of this little bubble you two were in.
His smile softens, his gaze filled with sincerity and a hint of vulnerability. "I'm sure," he replies, his voice just as soft, barely above a whisper. "I want you to stay."
He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. "Besides," he adds with a small smile, "my cooking's not that bad."
You huff a laugh, "that's not what I'm concerned with."
He grins at your response, his expression turning cocky. "Smartass," he mutters, his hand tracing the curve of your hip.
He pulls you closer, his body pressed against yours, and he nuzzles his face into your neck. "You scared you'll get too attached?" he teases, his words muffled against your skin.
"You wish," you mutter despite how much his words got your heart racing. Your hand comes up to scratch the back of his head.
He hums in approval, letting out a small sigh as you scratch the back of his head. He's enjoying this a little too much, the way you're so close to him, the gentle touch of your fingers in his hair.
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," he teases, his breath warm against your neck as he places a light kiss there before nuzzling his head to your shoulder.
"You're gonna fall for me one of these days."
"You wish," you repeat again without heat but say nothing more.
He exhales a quiet laugh, his arms tightening around you just slightly. "Yeah," he murmurs against your skin, "I really do."Â Â
A pauseâthen he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his expression unreadable for once. Â
"Come on, let me make you breakfast."
You watch as he stood up and tossed you his shirt before pulling on his sweats and heading to the kitchen.
The cold floor hits you the moment you get up from bed. As you slip on his shirt to cover up your naked body, you can't help but remember his words.Â
Maybe, you two were already falling. Just too stubborn to admit it.
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