Sunbeams: Deleted Scenes: Why Steve calls you "Tiger"
Series Summary: These are deleted scenes from my work Sunbeams. Most are prequels to the main story.
Chapter Summary: You and Steve, only second-graders, walk home from school together, and some older boys make trouble.
Words: 363
A/N: I got to thinking about why Steve calls the reader in Sunbeams "tiger" all the time, and well, this little drabble popped out. Enjoy. I give e-cookies for likes and comments. :)
Chapter warnings: none, they are just precious
Series warnings: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended. This is not written for profit.
Sadie Hawkins Dance
Bucky was out sick today, which meant it was just you and Steve walking home together. The two of you talked about school as you went, not paying attention until you were already right next to them.
Three fifth-grade boys. Bigger. Older. Trouble.
Steve immediately shifted, putting himself between you and them, even though he was barely any bigger than you were. That alone made them snicker as they fell in step behind you, tossing out comments and laughing.
You both tried to ignore it. That lasted all of thirty seconds. One of them grabbed Steve’s backpack.
"Hey! Give that back!" Steve snapped, reaching for it.
They did not. Instead, they closed in, shoving him between them like it was a game.
You narrowed your eyes. And then you did not think.
You kicked the closest one hard in the shin, then went for the next, nails raking across his face as he yelped and stumbled back. The third boy froze for half a second, completely thrown.
It was all you needed. You grabbed Steve’s backpack, caught his hand, and yelled, "Run!"
The two of you bolted, not stopping until you ducked into an alley, pressing back against the wall as your lungs burned.
Steve was already struggling to breathe.
You did not panic—you just moved, digging through his bag until you found his inhaler and pressed it into his hand.
He took a puff, then another, shoulders slowly lowering as his breathing steadied.
Just in time for the boys to run past the alley without noticing you.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
Then—
"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Steve says, half breathless, half laughing.
You blink at him. "Why?"
"Because apparently you maul people." He grins at you, a little wild, a little impressed. "Tiger."
Heat rushes up your neck. "Shut up."
He just laughs. And looks at you like you are something a little extraordinary.
After a minute, once you're sure the boys are gone, the two of you head home like nothing happened.
You never tell anyone.
But Steve never stops calling you "tiger."
At first, it is teasing.
Later… it is not.
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Summary: You meet Mary Adler in a college math class and become friends despite your age difference. You've noticed how handsome her uncle is, but you try not to care. She invites you to spend Spring Break with her when she finds out you don't have anywhere to go. With so much time around Frank, what's a girl to do?
Words: 12,758
Status: Complete
A/N: I was working on the next chapter for Sunbeams, and Frank just wouldn't leave me alone. I swear I tried to make this a sweet, cute story, but Frank and the Reader had other ideas. Sorry, not sorry. This one also got away from me a little because I put a lot of myself into the reader's story.
Warnings: Frank Adler x fem! Reader, Swearing, Explicit Sex, Fluff and Smut, Age Difference
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended. This is not written for profit.
You met the young, gifted Mary Adler in a college calculus class, and despite her being only fourteen to your twenty, the two of you hit it off right away. It was obvious Mary was a prodigy in math, and just as obvious she had no interest in literature—which was hilarious to you, considering you had been a published fiction author at her age, making you a fellow prodigy.
It started one day after class when you noticed her lingering in the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, waiting to be picked up. Not wanting the smart little girl to be stuck there alone, you walked over.
“Hey, is your ride home late?” you ask with a small smile.
Mary shrugs, already a little irritated. “My Uncle Frank isn’t usually late, but apparently he is today.”
“It’s nice outside,” you say, nodding toward the doors. “If you want, I can wait with you.”
She hesitates for a second—quick, thoughtful—then follows you out, and the two of you settle on the steps in front of the building.
“What was your name again?” she asks.
You tell her, then tilt your head. “It was Mary, right?” She nods. “Do you just take classes here, or do you go to a regular school too?”
She looks at you, surprised. “I do both. How’d you guess?”
A grin spreads across your face. “Because when I was your age, I was taking literature classes like you take math classes and doing everything else at a public school.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
You nod, a little amused. “Have you published anything yet?”
Mary shifts, a faint blush creeping in. “Yeah. Earlier this year. My first paper.”
You smile, genuinely impressed. “That’s amazing. I published my first book when I was fourteen—people still won’t shut up about it.” You roll your eyes, and she laughs, bumping your shoulder lightly with hers.
“What did you write?” she asks.
You shrug, offering a self-deprecating smile. “A fictional satire on teen life. It did well—critics liked it a little too much.” You glance at her. “I can bring you a copy if you want.”
“Wow, yeah, sure. I mostly read mathematics texts, but I would be curious to read something written by someone my own age.” Mary beams at you just as a man—gorgeous, a little disheveled, and clearly in a hurry—comes jogging up and bends over, trying to catch his breath.
Mary gives you an amused look and gestures toward him. “My uncle.”
You laugh, ignoring the way your stomach flips when you look at him. “I guessed.” You glance him over once—quick, contained—then lift a brow. “Are you going to make it?”
He waves you off, still catching his breath, then looks straight at Mary. “Sorry, kiddo. I got stuck on a repair and didn’t realize what time it was. My phone died, so my alarm never went off.”
Mary rests a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I made a friend while I was waiting.”
His bright blue eyes flick over to you—brief, but not nothing.
You give him a small, polite smile, then deliberately turn your attention back to Mary. She’s the one you were talking to. She matters more here. You make that clear—to him, to yourself.
“Sit next to me in class next time,” you tell her lightly. “So we can argue over answers. Even if I know you’re probably right.”
You give a small wave and start to walk away before you can linger.
“Make sure to bring me a copy of your book!” Mary calls after you.
You glance back over your shoulder, smiling. “Promise.”
Behind you, you hear him. “What book?”
Mary just shakes her head. “Come on. Let’s go. I’m sure Fred’s hungry.”
There’s a quiet pause, then the sound of him taking her hand.
You don’t turn around again.
Since that day, you started getting to class a little early—just enough time to sit and talk with Mary, who was always already there. You brought her a copy of your book the next class like you promised, and she devoured it, immediately peppering you with questions the second she finished. You answered all of them, then handed her your next book without much ceremony.
When she asked why you were going to college instead of just writing, you told her it was for the same reason you finished high school—you wanted the experience. The knowledge. The things you didn’t get the first time around.
That stuck with her.
The two of you ended up circling the idea more than once, coming at it from different angles—the pros and cons of being around people your own age, of actually being part of something instead of just moving past it.
Every once in a while, you exchanged a quick greeting with her uncle after class. Nothing more than that. It was obvious his focus was Mary, and you respected that about him—it made it easier not to think about anything else.
With spring break around the corner, you found yourself back on the steps with her after class. This time, she was already there, like she had been waiting.
“Frank’s at a parent-teacher conference today,” she says with a shrug. “He’s going to be late.”
You do not question it. The two of you fall into your usual spots, conversation picking up like it never stopped.
Leaning forward on your elbows from the step above, you glance down at her. “You got any plans for spring break?”
Mary smiles, shaking her head. “Mostly just hanging out with Roberta and Frank. What about you? Going to see your family?”
Your gaze drifts out across the stretch of campus greenery for a moment before you answer.
“No,” you say, quieter but steady. “I don’t have any family. I grew up in the foster system and aged out.” A small shrug follows, like it is not a big deal—even if it kind of is. “I usually just take a trip somewhere. Haven’t decided where yet.”
Mary’s expression shifts immediately—soft, confused—and she reaches out, placing a hand on your arm. “Where do you live if you don’t have a family?”
You push a hand through your hair, offering her a sheepish smile. “I live in the dorms on campus. I don’t really have a permanent home anywhere.” You wave it off with a small shrug. “It’s a life choice.”
Her brows pull together for a second as she thinks—then her whole face lights up.
“Why don’t you come stay with me for spring break?”
You cannot help but smile. She is, unfortunately, very convincing just by existing. You pull her into a quick side hug. “That’s really sweet, but you should probably talk to your uncle about that first.”
She shakes her head immediately. “I’m sure he’d be okay with it. Really.”
“What would I be okay with?”
You don’t even have time to brace before Frank walks up behind her.
Mary turns and hugs him quickly, then looks up at him with her most dangerous expression—the one that clearly works more often than it should. “Can she come stay with us for spring break, Frank? Please?”
His eyes—those eyes—shift to you.
You lift your hands in surrender, taking a small step back. “This is all her.”
He exhales, already halfway to saying no. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, kiddo. I’m sure she’s got family she wants to—”
“No, Frank, she doesn’t.” Mary cuts in, hugging him tighter. “Please.”
The shift is immediate.
His expression falters, something like realization settling in, and his gaze flicks back to you—sharper now, more careful.
“Sorry,” he says, quieter. “I didn’t know.”
You wave it off quickly. “It’s fine.” It is. It is not. You are used to it.
He studies you for a second longer than necessary, then sighs, looking back down at Mary. “Fine. But only if she actually wants to.”
Mary spins back to you, already glowing with expectation.
And really—how are you supposed to say no to that?
You huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah. I’d love to spend the week with you guys. Thank you.”
Mary beams and throws her arms around you before you can reconsider, then immediately grabs Frank and starts dragging him off, already talking about plans.
You stand there for a moment after they leave, then turn toward your dorm, exhaling slowly.
“…What did I just get myself into?”
Spring break comes faster than you expect, and before you know it, you are on a bus headed to St. Petersburg, Florida.
After getting off at the stop, you make your way through the quiet streets toward the address Mary gave you. When you reach the house, you notice immediately that Frank’s truck is not out front.
Not a great sign.
Still, you knock just in case. When no one answers, you settle onto the front steps, tug your laptop out of your duffle, and open it to start outlining ideas for your next novel. You have barely gotten a few thoughts down before you feel eyes on you.
Looking up, you spot a woman stepping out of the neighboring house—older, elegant, and watching you like she is already deciding whether you are a problem.
You smile and give her a small wave. “Hi.”
She does not wave back. She walks over, measured and direct. “Can I help you?”
You stand, brushing your hands off instinctively. “Hi—you must be Roberta.” You offer your hand, which she takes after a moment, still clearly assessing you. “I’m a friend of Mary’s from her college classes. She and Frank invited me to stay for spring break, but we never really nailed down a time, so I’m guessing they’re at the marina. I don’t mind waiting.”
Her expression shifts—just slightly.
“You’re a friend of Mary’s,” she says slowly, “not Frank’s?”
That makes you laugh, quick and unfiltered. “Oh, no. That old man and I barely exchange pleasantries. But I adore Mary.”
That does it.
Roberta huffs a laugh, some of the suspicion melting away, and gestures for you to follow her. “Come on. You’re not sitting out here all afternoon.”
You tuck your laptop away and follow her inside. Tea appears, conversation follows, and within minutes you understand exactly why Mary talks about her the way she does. Roberta is sharp, warm, and entirely too good at reading people. You like her immediately.
The time passes faster than you expect.
A few hours later, the sound of a truck pulling into the driveway cuts through your conversation. Roberta glances out the window, then nods. “That will be them.”
You both head outside.
Mary spots you first and immediately takes off running. You barely have time to stand before she crashes into you, arms wrapped tight. “You’re here!”
You laugh, hugging her back just as tightly. “I told you I would be.”
Behind her, Roberta greets Frank, and you feel his attention shift toward you a second later. You ignore it. Mostly.
When Mary finally lets go, Frank’s gaze drops to your duffle bag, then lingers like he is waiting for the rest of your things to appear.
They do not.
“Hey, kid,” he says, a little uncertain. “Is that all you brought?”
You give him a flat look. “My whole life fits in that duffle, thank you.”
He does not quite know what to do with that.
Roberta’s expression softens in a way you pretend not to notice, but Mary just shrugs it off like it is nothing, already grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the house. “Come on, I want to show you my room.”
You let yourself be dragged inside.
After a while—after talking, laughing, settling in—there is a knock against the doorframe. Frank leans in, one hand braced against it. “You two want pizza?”
Looking between him and Mary, you shake your head. “Nope. I’m here as a guest, so the least I can do is cook for you two.”
Mary giggles immediately, and Frank—very noticeably—goes a little pink. That tells you everything you need to know about the state of this kitchen.
Smirking, you glance at Mary. “I’m sensing we need a trip to the store first, hmm?”
Frank opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off with a quick, firm “Ah—” and a pointed look. Mary laughs harder.
“Just get your keys, mister,” you add, already moving. “We need a ride, and you don’t get to complain if I’m the one buying and cooking food for the week you’re letting me stay.”
He makes a low, disgruntled sound but does not protest again, just follows the two of you out to the truck like he has already accepted defeat.
Smart man.
The store turns into chaos almost immediately. You and Mary dart up and down aisles, tossing things into the cart, doubling back, arguing over ingredients like it is a competitive sport. At one point you nearly collide with a display, and Mary laughs so hard she has to grab onto you to steady herself. A few other shoppers glance over, smiling despite themselves.
Somewhere along the way, you catch Frank watching the two of you—half amused, half something else—like he is not used to this kind of noise filling his day. When your eyes meet his, you look away first.
By the time you are done, the cart is overflowing.
Back at the house, the three of you unload everything together, filling the fridge far more than it probably has been in a while. You start setting out ingredients without hesitation, already slipping into a rhythm you know well.
“Alright,” you say, turning toward him and pointing lightly. “Go invite Roberta.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You heard me,” you reply, already moving again. “Four people, not three. Go.”
Mary snickers, and Frank shakes his head like he does not know how he lost control of his own house this fast—but he goes.
With Mary at your side, you start cooking—nothing overly complicated, but warm, intentional, the kind of meal that fills the space as much as it feeds people.
For a moment, it almost feels like something steady.
Frank heads next door, feeling vaguely like he has lost control of his own house somewhere in the last hour—and unable to do anything about it.
A home-cooked meal will do that to a man.
He knocks.
Roberta opens the door already smirking. “You running away from that sweet girl already?”
He rolls his eyes. “No. I’m actually here to invite you to dinner—but if you don’t want to come…” He gestures like he is about to turn and leave.
Roberta laughs, stepping out and locking her door behind her. “Oh, boy. Pretty, young, and she cooks too.”
Frank exhales through his nose. “No. She’s Mary’s friend. And she’s too young. We barely even talk.”
“Mmhmm.”
The sound Roberta makes says she believes exactly none of that.
He does not bother arguing as they walk back toward the house. The moment they step inside, the noise hits him—laughter, something that might be singing, the clatter of dishes. It is louder than he is used to. Warmer, too.
He pauses just inside the doorway.
You are in the kitchen with Mary, moving easily like you belong there, like you have done this a hundred times before. Mary is laughing at something you said, bright and unguarded in a way he does not always get to see.
And you—
Yeah.
He noticed that already.
But it is not just that you are beautiful. It is the way you fit into the space without asking permission. The way Mary gravitates toward you without hesitation.
That is the problem.
Even if you were not too young—
(You are.)
Even if you were not Mary’s friend—
(You are.)
This would still be a bad idea.
So he does what he always does.
He draws a line.
After you and Mary finish cooking—cleaning as you go—Roberta and Frank set the table, and before long the four of you are sitting down to eat.
“This is so good,” Mary gushes, already halfway through her first few bites. “You’re an amazing cook.”
You smile, shrugging it off. “You helped, so you are too.”
Mary beams and goes right back to eating, and Roberta turns to you, asking about the recipe. The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, trading cooking ideas while Mary jumps in every so often with a question or comment.
Frank mostly stays quiet, leaning back in his chair, listening and watching.
You talk to Mary like she is an equal—like her age does not matter, like her mind is the only thing worth paying attention to. She lights up under it, and he notices.
He also notices something else.
Your eyes never quite land on him. Not really. They move easily between Roberta and Mary, engaged, focused—but when they pass over him, it is quick, skimming, like he is not part of the conversation at all. Like he does not belong in it.
At first, he writes it off. He is not exactly making an effort either.
But then it keeps happening, and it starts to feel intentional.
That bothers him more than it should.
You laugh when Fred hops into your lap mid-meal, shifting easily to make room for him while still managing to eat. You scratch behind his ears without breaking conversation, and the cat settles like he has already decided you belong here.
Frank notices that too.
Of course he does.
After dinner, he clears his throat. “I’ll do the dishes.”
That finally gets your attention. Your eyes lift to him—actually settle this time—and for a second he thinks—
“Thanks,” you say, soft but polite.
Then you are already looking back at Mary, like that moment never happened.
Roberta catches it. Of course she does. She gives him a look over the stack of dishes—amused, knowing—as she starts helping clear the table.
Frank takes the plates and heads into the kitchen, his jaw a little tighter than before.
Mary barely notices any of it. She is already pulling you back toward her room, the two of you talking like you have known each other for years instead of weeks.
Later, as Roberta takes her leave, Frank lingers a moment before stepping down the hall and knocking lightly on Mary’s doorframe.
“I’m going to head out,” Frank says, lingering in the doorway. “Give you two the house for the night.”
Mary raises an eyebrow at him, but he waves her off before she can say anything.
You look up at him and smile—warm, easy, unguarded in a way he has not gotten from you yet. “Okay. We’ll be fine. Just a movie and then sleep. Traveling kind of wiped me out.”
And there it is—your full attention, all at once.
Frank swallows, nodding a little too quickly. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll—uh—I’ll see you two in the morning.”
Smooth.
Mary stands and hugs him goodbye like nothing is off at all. Frank turns and is out the door a second later, moving just a little too fast for it to be casual.
He tells himself he just feels like getting out and does not question it too hard.
The night air hits him, and he heads straight for Ferg’s Sports Bar & Grill. Not his usual night, but he is not about to argue with the sudden need for space.
Back inside, Mary turns to you with a crooked, knowing smile. “I think you make him nervous.”
You laugh, tipping your head back. “Not likely. I think he just doesn't know what to do with a woman who doesn't pay him any attention.” You wrinkle your nose at her and stick your tongue out.
Mary giggles, completely delighted.
The moment passes easily after that, the two of you settling in to pick out a movie. Conversation fades into background noise, then into quiet, and long before Frank makes it home, you both end up asleep on her bed—half tangled in blankets, the TV still playing softly.
The next morning, you wake early—habit more than anything—and gently pull the covers up to Mary’s chin before slipping out of her room.
The kitchen is quiet when you start breakfast. Bacon hits the pan, biscuits go into the oven, and for a little while it is just you and the steady rhythm of something familiar.
Then you hear footsteps, followed by a very feminine gasp.
You bite back a laugh and lift a hand, waving over your shoulder without turning. “Don’t mind me. I don’t give a crap who that old man screws.”
“Excuse me.”
Frank.
He sounds somewhere between offended and deeply regretting his life choices.
You wince slightly, then glance over your shoulder, a faint blush creeping in. “Whoops. Three or four?”
He blinks at you, confused for half a second—then it clicks. “Three,” he answers quickly.
You nod once, turning back to the stove like that settles it.
Behind you, there is a low exchange—whispered, tense. It takes about ten seconds before it turns into an argument. You catch something that sounds like “you’re a complete ass” before the front door slams.
Silence.
A moment later, Frank steps into the kitchen, looking both sheepish and stubborn. “Old man?” he repeats.
You glance at him, smirking. “Oh, come on. What are you—twenty, twenty-five years older than me? I’m allowed.”
He huffs, muttering something under his breath about not being old, which only makes you laugh again.
He pours himself a cup of coffee, lingering this time instead of hovering at the edges, watching you.
Then he asks, “What’s your story?”
You glance at him briefly but do not answer right away.
“I mean,” he continues, a little rougher now, “you send Mary home with books all the time. You know she’s fourteen, right?”
That does it.
You pull the skillet off the heat and turn the burner off with a decisive click. Then you turn—fully this time—arms crossing, weight settling into one hip as you look straight at him.
“I send her home with books I wrote,” you say evenly. “And yes, I’m aware she’s fourteen.”
“She’s also more grown up than most people twice her age because she’s brilliant. I was like that.” Your voice sharpens just slightly—not loud, but steady. “A kid in an adult world, publishing books, being picked apart by people three times my age.”
He does not interrupt.
Good.
“I would have given anything to have someone tell me I wasn’t strange. That I wasn’t alone just because my brain worked differently.” Your gaze does not waver. “Mary doesn’t have to wonder that. Not if I can help it.”
The tension lingers between you.
Then you lift a brow, just enough edge returning to your voice. “She’s an incredible kid, and I’m lucky she calls me a friend. Anything else?”
Frank studies your face, something softer replacing the earlier edge. “What happened to your family?”
You look away, eyes drifting to the window over the sink, your jaw tightening before you answer.
“I don’t really know.” A small breath. “I grew up in the foster system. Moved around a lot.”
When you look back at him, your expression is steady again.
“Do not get me wrong—I had it better than most. But no one really knew what to do with me.” Your fingers tap lightly against the counter. “I started writing at thirteen. One of my teachers helped me publish, and after that I was taking literature classes at a local college on scholarship.”
“When I aged out, I packed a duffle and just… kept going.”
Frank’s brows pull together. “That sounds rough. I can’t imagine Mary having to deal with everything on her own.”
You turn back to the stove, flipping the bacon like the motion alone settles something in you. “She doesn’t have to,” you say, a faint smirk tugging at your mouth. “She’s got you. And Roberta. And she mentioned a teacher from when she was younger, too.”
He nods, leaning back against the counter. “Her first-grade teacher. Bonnie Stevenson.”
The way he says it makes you glance at him sideways.
He catches it immediately, a faint blush creeping in as he rolls his eyes. “I might’ve slept with her once. We’re still friends.”
You laugh, sliding the bacon onto a plate. “Do you ever take any of your women seriously?”
He chokes on his own breath a little at that, clearly not expecting it. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” he mutters.
You shrug, a quiet laugh slipping out. “Not really.” You glance at him, just long enough. “And you’re deflecting.”
And, you realize, it is a little more fun than it should be.
Frank exhales, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling for a second before answering. “I stick to passing relationships because Mary is too important to me. My life revolves around her, and I don’t want to put her through getting to know someone who’s just going to leave.”
You give that a moment, then reach for the eggs, cracking them into the pan. Butter sizzles softly.
“What happens when Mary turns eighteen and goes to college for real?” you ask, almost casually. “You won’t have that excuse anymore.”
“It’s not an excuse,” he says, a little sharper this time—then reins it in. “And honestly… I don’t know what I’m going to do when she goes. I’ll be forty-six and still a boat mechanic.”
You glance at him as you start scrambling the eggs, your timer going off just then. You pull the biscuits from the oven, the warmth filling the space between you.
“That sounds lonely,” you say simply. “And if anyone knows lonely, it’s me.”
He narrows his eyes at you. “No wisecracks about the job?”
You give him a look—like you already know more than he expects. “Please. Mary told me you used to be a professor in Boston.” A small shrug. “This is a choice. Just like me not having a home outside the dorms is a choice.”
That lands.
You do not press it. You just keep moving—stirring, plating—like none of it is a big deal.
And that might be the problem.
“You’re the first person,” he says slowly, “other than Roberta, who doesn’t question it.”
You nod toward the cabinets. “Plates.”
He moves automatically.
“It’s not really my place to judge,” you add, softer now. “And you’re clearly taking care of Mary. That’s what matters.”
You say it like it is obvious. Like he does not need to defend himself. Like he never did.
Something in his chest shifts—quiet, but not small.
He does not like what that probably means.
Mary appears right on cue, drawn in by the smell of food before anything else. “What smells so good?”
You turn to her immediately, your expression brightening without effort. “Bacon, eggs, and biscuits. You hungry?”
“Absolutely.”
She slides in beside you for a quick side hug before grabbing a plate. You hand it over with a small smile, then turn to pass one to Frank—
—and catch him already watching you.
Not casually.
You hold his gaze for half a second, just long enough to register it.
Then he looks away, taking the plate like nothing happened and turning toward the table.
You do the same, shaking off the strange little feeling settling in your chest. You pour orange juice for yourself and Mary and follow them to the table.
A few days later, you find yourself walking through town with Mary, listening as she talks about her eighth-grade classmates and her fellow Girl Scouts. At some point, you start noticing a pattern—specifically, how often a boy named Justin comes up.
You glance at her sideways, a slow, knowing smile forming. “So… are you and Justin just friends?”
Mary goes wide-eyed immediately, color rising in her cheeks. “Yes. What does it sound like we are?”
You slip an arm around her shoulders, smirking. “It sounds like you want more.”
She flushes deeper, and it is the first time you have ever seen Mary genuinely flustered. Her hands twist together in front of her. “I—I mean… he doesn’t see me like that.”
You duck your head slightly, catching her gaze. “Hey. It is completely okay to like a boy your own age.” Your tone softens just a little. “And don’t sell yourself short—why wouldn’t he like you?”
Mary looks ahead again, fidgeting, chewing on her bottom lip. “I think I intimidate people sometimes. Kids my age, I mean. Not that I don’t have friends—I do.” She hesitates, searching. “But the math stuff can make me feel… I don’t know. Hard to reach?”
“Inaccessible?” you offer.
She nods quickly. “Yeah. That.”
You ruffle her hair lightly. “I get that.”
Your expression shifts, just slightly more thoughtful.
“When I was about your age, there was this boy I liked. Danny.” You huff a quiet laugh. “He was a year older, and yeah, all the girls liked him because he was cute—but I liked him because he was kind to me.”
Mary glances up at you, listening closely.
“I was already publishing, already taking college classes,” you continue, “but he never made it weird. He treated me like I was just… another kid.” A small smile tugs at your mouth. “Sometimes I could tell he didn’t really get the writing stuff, but he never made me feel bad about it.”
You bump her shoulder gently. “That only made me like him more.”
She smiles a little at that.
“I never told him, though,” you add, something softer slipping into your voice. “He always felt a little out of reach.”
“Do you regret it?” Mary asks, studying your face.
“Sometimes.” You exhale softly, eyes drifting up to the clouds. “He graduated the year before me, and I ended up dating a boy in my class.” Your jaw tightens just a little. “I still remember the look on Danny’s face the first time he saw me with my boyfriend.”
“It was like I broke his heart a little—and I knew, right then, I should’ve said something.” You glance back at her. “But it was too late.”
Mary watches you carefully.
“Every now and then,” you add, quieter, “when I’ve got too much time to think, I wonder what would’ve happened if I had.”
She chews on her lip, thoughtful. “Do you think you would’ve been happier?”
You shrug lightly. “I don’t know. It could’ve been a disaster.” A faint smile tugs at your mouth. “Or we could still be together. There’s no way to predict how something like that plays out… or what it does to you long-term.”
You nudge her shoulder. “Doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.”
Mary sighs. “I just don’t want to lose my friend.”
You squeeze her shoulders gently. “I know. I think it comes down to what you can live with—whether it hurts more to say nothing or to risk it.”
Your gaze drops briefly to the pavement.
“I could tell you you’ve got all the time in the world to figure this out,” you add, quieter now, “but you and I both know that’s not always true.”
Mary nods slowly, eyes flicking over your face. “What happened to Danny? Do you still talk?”
You shake your head, offering a small, uneven smile. “No. I don’t really talk to anyone from high school.” A shrug follows. “I was more of a loner than you are. Last I heard, he moved out of state. Got married.”
You roll your eyes at yourself, just a little. “I make acquaintances easily, but real friends… those are harder for me. I’m kind of an oddball.”
Mary bumps her shoulder into yours. “I like you. Roberta likes you. And I think Frank’s starting to, too.”
That makes you smile—soft, genuine. You squeeze her shoulder. “Thanks. Really. I’m glad we’re friends.”
She beams at you, then her expression shifts again, a little more serious. “Do you think I should tell him? Justin, I mean.”
You shrug, a small grin returning. “I think if you get the chance to follow something that could be good… you should take it.”
Mary says your name, drawing your full attention again. “Thanks. I can talk to my other friends about my crush, but they mostly just tease me.” She smiles faintly. “It’s nice having someone who actually gets it.”
You hug her lightly, tapping your head against hers. “Happy to help. And hey—if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. I know you’ve got Roberta and Frank, but… I mean it.”
By the time you finish, you have made your way down to the marina and over to the boat Frank is working on.
Mary gives you a quick smile before calling out, “Frank! We’re here. Are you almost done?”
A muffled string of curses answers her before Frank pops up from below deck—slightly disheveled, a little flushed, and, annoyingly, looking far better than he has any right to.
You shut that thought down immediately.
“Hey, old man.”
He shoots you a disgruntled look on instinct, which only makes you smirk, before turning back to Mary. “Almost. Just need to clean up, then I’m all yours, kiddo.”
She waves him off. “Take your time. We’ll walk the dock.”
And just like that, she is already turning away, dragging you with her before he can argue.
You fall into step beside her, the two of you wandering the length of the dock, pointing out boats, watching the water, letting the quiet settle comfortably between you.
By the time Frank calls you back, nearly half an hour has passed. The three of you head to his truck, then back to the house, the routine already feeling easy. Familiar.
Inside, you head straight for the kitchen without thinking, pulling out ingredients and pans like you have been doing it your whole life.
“You’re spoiling us,” Mary says, bumping her hip into yours. “It’s going to be rough going back to how we usually eat after a week of this.”
You laugh, already moving. “Hush. You and I both know Roberta—and half the neighborhood—keep you fed.”
Mary waves that off. “It’s not the same as having a meal cooked in your own house.”
“We do just fine, Mary,” Frank cuts in, hovering somewhere between defensive and amused.
You glance at her and wink. “I think you’re just trying to keep me around.”
“Of course I am!”
Her immediate answer makes you laugh again, even as Frank lets out a quiet, half-hearted protest from across the room.
By Friday, you know Mary and Roberta are up to something.
Roberta joined you for dinner again the night before, and the two of them spent half the evening whispering while you and Frank did the dishes. On top of that, Mary has been texting more than usual and acting just a little too… deliberate.
Suspicious.
When Frank comes home early from the marina around midday, it only makes it worse.
Mary turns to him like she has been waiting. “Oh—I almost forgot. I promised Hannah and Stephanie I’d spend the night at Danielle’s with them.”
Frank’s expression immediately shifts—confused, then narrowing. “I don’t remember us talking about that.”
She huffs, rolling her eyes like this is a him problem. “Of course we did. Go ask Roberta. She’s literally making cookies for me to take, like she said she would.”
That is… suspiciously specific.
Then Mary turns to you, all innocence with just a hint of apology. “Sorry. I totally forgot this was already planned. You don’t mind, do you? I mean—” she gestures vaguely toward Frank, “—he’ll still be here to keep you entertained.”
You snort softly. “Nah. I’ll just write. It’s not a big deal.”
She shifts—just slightly.
And that is all the confirmation you need.
Oh, this is absolutely a setup.
You decide immediately that if she is going to orchestrate this, she is going to work for it. Tilting your head, you add casually, “Isn’t this Frank’s usual night out?”
Mary freezes, then slowly turns to look at him like you just suggested something criminal. “You wouldn’t leave a guest here alone, would you?”
Frank pinches the bridge of his nose, already tired of this—which means he has absolutely caught on too.
All three of you are suddenly very aware of what is happening.
He exhales. “When are your friends supposed to pick you up?”
Mary brightens instantly—too instantly. “In about an hour.”
Of course it is.
Speechless, you and Frank both turn to look at each other—
—and then the knock comes.
You do not even have to guess who it is.
Frank exhales through his nose and heads for the door. When he opens it, Roberta stands there with a container of cookies and a smile so sweet it should be illegal.
He gives her a look.
She gives him one right back—saccharine and entirely unapologetic.
“I just wanted to drop these off for Mary,” she says, stepping inside without waiting. “For her sleepover.”
Of course.
Mary lights up, greeting her warmly and taking the cookies with a quick thank you. Within seconds, Roberta is ushering her toward the bedroom, already talking about making sure she has everything she needs.
You watch them go, then glance back at Frank, amused. “They do this to you often?”
He drags a hand over his face, letting out a quiet, reluctant chuckle. “More than I’m willing to admit.” He looks at you, a little apologetic. “Sorry. I have no idea what they’re thinking, but… we might as well play along.”
You hum, nodding once. “Yeah. Can’t let all that effort go to waste.”
By the time Mary and Roberta reappear, Mary has a packed bag slung over her shoulder and an entirely too-innocent expression on her face.
You almost laugh.
She crouches to hug Fred goodbye just as a car pulls up outside. Voices drift in—her friends, one of their moms. There is a quick round of introductions, a lot of energy, and then she is gone as fast as she came.
Somewhere in the middle of it, Roberta disappears too.
Of course she does.
The house goes quiet.
Frank runs a hand through his hair, looking at you like he is still catching up. “Well… that just happened.”
You smile at him. “Really, I can just go sit with my laptop and write. You don’t need to entertain me.”
“I know that,” he says easily, “but like you said—they put in all that work.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Come on. We can walk the beach.”
You follow him, a little thrown, sliding into the truck beside him.
You are not entirely sure what is happening.
It is not like the two of you avoid each other—you talk most mornings while you cook, easy and familiar. But this feels different. Intentional.
And from the look of it, Frank knows exactly what is going on.
What surprises you is that he is not fighting it.
He parks near the beach, and the two of you head down toward the water, falling into step beside each other. For a while, neither of you says anything. The sound of the waves fills the space instead.
Eventually, you glance at him. “Care to clue me in?” you ask. “I mean, I get that Mary and Roberta want us to talk, but… we already do.”
He snorts softly. “You’re not going to like it.”
You give him a flat look that clearly says try me.
He exhales. “I warned you.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, gaze drifting out over the water instead of at you. “I’m pretty sure they set this up like it’s a date.”
You stop short.
“What?” You turn toward him, completely thrown. “Why?”
He glances at you, faintly amused, like it should be obvious. “Mary doesn’t connect with a lot of adults. Most of them treat her like she’s seven instead of fourteen going on forty.” A small shrug. “She already cares about you like family.”
That lands.
“And I don’t exactly warm up to people,” he adds. “But we get along. You take care of her. You cook for us.” Another glance your way. “So, yeah. In their minds? Two plus two.”
“Equals four,” you mutter, exasperated, dragging a hand over your face.
He chuckles under his breath, then bumps his shoulder lightly against yours as you start walking again.
“I know you think I’m an old geezer,” he says, “but I don’t see anything wrong with us being friends.”
You roll your eyes, but a smile slips through anyway. “You’re not that old. I just like giving you a hard time.”
That earns you a laugh, low and easy, before his expression shifts—curious again. “Can I ask you something?”
You nod, gesturing for him to go on.
“You’re obviously more of a creative type,” he says. “So why advanced calculus? Doesn’t seem necessary for your degree.”
You take a second, thinking it through before answering. “I like it. Math, science—there’s something about the logic of it.” A small shrug. “I might lean more right-brained, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the other side. Honestly, I think it makes me a better writer.”
He nods slowly, then follows up almost immediately. “Is that why you’re in college at all? You could’ve skipped it.”
You huff a quiet breath. “Mary asked me the same thing.” You glance out over the water. “I did the split thing too—public school and college classes at the same time. And even though I was… kind of a loner, I liked being around people my age.” A small pause settles in your tone. “I guess I just wanted something that felt normal.”
Frank studies you. “You don’t come off like a loner.”
That makes you laugh. “You don’t see it because you see me with Mary. I don’t connect with people easily. It’s not really a choice—it just… doesn’t happen. Most people don’t stick around past surface level.”
He stops walking.
You take another step before realizing, then turn back toward him.
“That’s bullshit,” he says plainly. “You don’t see yourself very clearly, do you?”
Your mouth opens, then shuts again. You look away instead, jaw tightening as you stare out at the waves. “Maybe. All I know is no one ever sticks around. Not friends. Not boyfriends.” You cross your arms, shoulders pulling in just slightly. “Everyone finds a way to leave eventually.”
Your voice drops, quieter. “So I just… don’t hold back. I put everything into it while it lasts. Because I know it won’t.”
Silence stretches between you.
Then Frank steps closer. “Or,” he says carefully, “maybe you’re the one creating the distance.”
That hits.
You turn sharply, something between hurt and anger flashing across your face, and start to walk away—but his hand catches your arm.
You go still, teeth clenching.
He lets go immediately, his voice steady—just enough to carry over the wind. “I’m not trying to piss you off. But you’ve got more walls up than you think.”
With tears pricking at your eyes, you look back at him. “I bounced from house to house for so many years… I just learned it’s easier to keep things close to the vest.” Your voice wavers, but you keep going. “I know I’m a people pleaser. I’d rather be what someone else needs than expect them to meet me halfway.”
A breath that does not quite steady.
“That way I never feel like a disappointment.”
The tears fall before you can stop them.
Frank does not hesitate. He pulls you into a tight hug, one hand steady at your back like it is the most natural thing in the world.
You go rigid at first—instinct—but it does not last. The moment stretches, and the pressure in your chest finally gives way. Slowly, you wrap your arms around his middle, holding on just as tightly.
Your breath stutters.
You have not done this in a long time.
When you finally pull back, you swipe at your cheeks, a little embarrassed, a little raw. “I’ve never told anyone that.”
Frank looks at you differently now—softer, but not pitying. His hands settle on your arms, grounding, steady.
“You don’t have to hide all the time,” he says quietly. “Mary doesn’t let people go easily.” A small pause in his tone. “Neither do I.”
That lands somewhere deep.
“We don’t need you to be anything but yourself.”
You stare at his chest for a second, pulling yourself back together, then let out a shaky breath before meeting his eyes again.
“I’m not very good at this,” you admit. “Being vulnerable.” A faint, uncertain smile tugs at your mouth. “But I’ll try not to hide so much.”
“Mary’s worth it.”
Then, softer—like you are testing the words as you say them—“And so are you, Frank.”
Something in his expression shifts.
He smiles—really smiles this time—and drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in as you start walking again. “Come on,” he says, a little lighter now. “We’ll head back. I’ll let you have a drink with me tonight.”
You glance at him, amused despite everything, and nod. “Yeah. That sounds like a plan.”
A few hours later, you and Frank are a couple beers in, talking like you have known each other for years.
He tells you about his sister, Diane, about Evelyn—his mother. You tell him about the different foster homes you bounced through, the chaos, the strange little moments that somehow stuck with you more than anything else.
Somewhere along the way, the distance between you disappears.
By the time the light outside starts to fade, you are both relaxed—comfortable in a way that sneaks up on you.
Then there is a knock at the door.
Frank groans under his breath but pushes himself up anyway, heading to answer it.
You hear a woman’s voice—familiar, easy—and then she steps inside like she belongs there.
She stops the second she sees you.
“Oh—sorry.” Her gaze flicks between you and Frank. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
She is pretty. Brunette. Composed.
And the way she looks at him—
Yeah. That tells you everything.
Frank shakes his head. “It’s fine. This is Mary’s friend—from her college class.” He gestures toward her. “This is Bonnie. Mary’s first teacher.”
Ah.
That clicks.
You nod once, already stepping back. “I can go see Roberta if you two want to catch up.”
Frank shuts that down immediately. “No. She just came by to make sure I hadn’t died since I wasn’t at my usual spot tonight.” A quick glance at Bonnie. “I’m a creature of habit.”
You give him a look—teasing, pointed—as you push yourself up from the couch. “Well, in that case, I should probably start dinner.” You gesture lightly toward him. “Let her check your pulse.”
He huffs a laugh, waving you off as you head for the kitchen.
Behind you, Bonnie’s voice lowers just enough. “She’s making dinner?”
There is something in the way she says it.
Frank sighs, already defensive. “It’s not like that.”
You pause just long enough to hear the rest.
“She’s staying with Mary for spring break,” he continues. “She insisted on cooking while she’s here since we’re putting her up.” A brief pause. “Pretty sure she figured out I can’t.”
Bonnie hums softly, unconvinced.
“You say that,” she replies, unimpressed, “but Mary isn’t here, Frank.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “No, she isn’t. But I’m allowed to be friends with her friends.”
Bonnie studies him, clearly not buying it. “Friends, huh? She’s very pretty… and a little young to be one of your friends.”
Frank huffs, rolling his eyes, sidestepping it. “Did you come over here for something else, Bonnie?”
That lands wrong.
Her expression shifts—surprised, a little stung—and she straightens. “No. I guess not.” She turns toward the door, sharper now. “I’ll leave you to your dinner with the college girl.”
The door shuts a little harder than necessary.
Frank exhales and heads into the kitchen, where you are already back at the stove, humming softly like nothing happened.
“Sorry about that,” he says.
You shrug, glancing at him with an easy smile. “No problem.” A pause, then a teasing tilt of your head. “But are you sure it was just once? She seemed a little… invested.”
He groans, dropping onto the counter. “Yes. It was just once.” A quick breath. “Am I aware she might want more? Yeah. Doesn’t change anything.”
You laugh softly, reaching out to pat his thigh. “Relax. I’m just teasing.”
You turn back to the stove—but your ears are warm now, and you know it.
“I get it,” you add lightly. “You’re an attractive guy. Must make having female friends complicated.”
That gets him.
His brows shoot up. “That from the girl who calls me ‘old man’ every five minutes?”
You glance at him, then—because apparently you have no self-preservation—stick your tongue out. “What? Just because you’re twice my age doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes, Frank.”
There it is.
The second it leaves your mouth, you feel it.
He goes still for a split second—then looks entirely too pleased with himself, something shifting in his expression.
“Really now?” His voice dips, quieter. Closer.
Your face heats instantly.
You grab a knife and shove it into his hand, along with a cutting board and vegetables. “Shut up and cut these.”
Frank’s eyes are still bright with amusement as he hops down and joins you. The two of you fall into an easy rhythm in the kitchen, moving around each other like you have done this a hundred times before.
It is comfortable.
Dangerously so.
When dinner is ready, you set two plates on the table. Frank grabs a couple more beers, pops them open, and takes the seat across from you.
For a while, you just eat.
“So,” he says after a moment, “how’d you learn to cook? Thought you lived in a dorm.”
You finish your bite before answering. “Basics came from one of my foster homes.” You shrug lightly. “In the dorm, I’ve got a couple hot plates and a toaster oven. I make it work.” A small smile tugs at your mouth. “I think I like the structure of cooking more than actually eating.”
He nods, studying you. “Well, you’re good at it. If the whole writer thing doesn’t pan out, you’ve got a future as a chef.”
You take a sip of your beer, then lick your lips without thinking. “We all need a backup.”
His gaze flickers—quick, but not quick enough to miss—dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes.
You pretend you did not notice.
“I’ve read the books you send home with Mary,” he says, quieter now. “You’re a good writer.”
That catches you off guard.
You smile, a little shy despite yourself. “Thanks. You’d think I’d be used to compliments by now, but… genuine ones still surprise me.”
“I’ve noticed,” he replies. “You don’t take them well.” A brief pause. “That’s about how you see yourself, right?”
You shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening around your glass before you set it down. Your teeth catch your bottom lip for a second. “Yeah.” A small exhale. “You’re not wrong. It’s not really about my work—it’s just… me.”
He nods once, like he expected that answer.
Then—without overthinking it—his hand moves across the table and closes gently around yours.
You still.
“You’ve got no reason to think that way,” he says, voice steady. “You’re smart. You’re kind.” A pause, just enough to make it worse. “And you’re beautiful.”
Your breath catches.
When you look up at him, a little stunned, he just smirks—soft, not teasing—and gives your hand a small squeeze.
“Like you said,” he adds, “the age gap doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes.”
Heat floods your face, spilling down your neck before you can stop it.
For a second, words do not come.
So instead, you turn your hand over in his and squeeze back—small, tentative, but real.
And that says enough.
The mood shifts—quiet, warm, and a little fragile.
Neither of you pulls away.
You finish eating like that, hands still loosely intertwined across the table, trading small smiles instead of words. Afterward, you clean up together, falling back into that same easy rhythm. It should feel normal.
It does not.
Not anymore.
When you move to the couch, there is a small space between you at first—just enough to pretend this is still the same.
It lasts about five seconds.
Frank exhales softly, then lifts an arm and settles it around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You go easily, fitting against him like you belong there.
Your heart is beating a little too fast.
You tilt your head up to look at him, biting your lip—this time not out of nerves, but anticipation.
His gaze lingers on your face, slower now. More deliberate.
He gives you time.
Every second of it.
And when he leans in, it is cautious—like he is still giving you the chance to stop him if you want to.
You do not.
Your eyes fall shut just as his lips meet yours—soft, warm, exploratory. It is not rushed, not overwhelming—just enough to make your breath catch and your chest tighten in a way that feels new and familiar all at once.
It lasts a few quiet seconds.
Then he pulls back.
His hand lifts, brushing a piece of hair back from your face, fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary.
“I do not want to rush this,” he murmurs. “Okay?”
You let out a breath you did not realize you were holding, your forehead nearly brushing his as you nod.
“Slow is good.”
He brushes his nose against yours, then kisses you again—slower, more certain this time. You could still stop this.
You do not.
Feeling brave, you part your lips for him, and swiftly his tongue slides into your mouth to dance with yours. His hand on your shoulder moves to your waist, and with a groan muffled by your lips, he hauls you over flush against him to straddle his lap as he deepens the kiss.
There’s a split second where you register how far this is going—then you lean in anyway. Breathlessly you kiss him back, your arms wrapping around his neck as your head spins with desire for the man beneath you.
After trading several heated kisses, he pulls back as you both breathe heavily. You are not dizzy from him—but from the fact you are choosing this.
Leaning his forehead against yours, his lust-blown eyes meet yours as his free hand cards through your hair. "You're not making it easy for me to take it slow, sweetheart."
Chuckling, you give him a coy look. "Am I supposed to?" If he asked you to stop right now, you do not think you would.
He lets out a breath and under his breath says, "Fuck it." That is the moment the line disappears.
Then his mouth is on yours again, his tongue licking into your mouth to expertly devour you, making you mewl into his mouth. Frank's hands slide down your back to cup your ass as he begins to guide you to rub your overheated core against the length of him straining against the zipper of his jeans. The friction is delicious and exactly what your lust-addled brain wants. You have spent years holding pieces of yourself back—this is not one of those times.
Soon you are grinding against him all on your own as his hands slide up under your t-shirt to slide along the soft flesh of your back. You are not reacting anymore—you choose him right back.
Frank's mouth slides from your mouth to let you take in some much-needed oxygen, but he is relentless, trailing a blaze of fire over your jaw and down your throat with open-mouthed kisses, making you whimper and slide your fingers into his hair.
"Tell me to stop, sweetheart, otherwise I don't think I can." His voice is husky with lust and desperation even as his hands drag your shirt up and over your head.
No one has ever meant that when they said it to you. You shake your head at him and twist your arms behind you to unclasp your bra and let it fall from you. "Don't stop Frank." And for once, you do not second-guess yourself.
He lets out an almost whining moan as his head dips down to capture one of your strainingly hard nipples into his mouth and presses you closer to him. You gasp at the sensation as he laves both your breasts with the attention of a starved man.
Soft sounds of pleasure drop from your lips as he continues to kiss your skin, driving him wild and making him desperate to taste your mouth again. Quicker than you can blink, he stands up with you in his arms as if you weigh nothing, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as you kiss while he walks the two of you into his bedroom. Somewhere between rooms, this becomes something else.
Gently he drops you on the bed, only letting you lie there alone to grab the back of his shirt and pull it over his head before he joins you on the bed, kissing you wildly again. His large hands slide down your sides, and he pulls back to look in your eyes as he pops the button on your jeans. He is still giving you a way out—and you do not want one.
Only when you give him a nod does he slide down the zipper, and hooking his hands in the sides of your panties, he pushes both garments down your legs.
He follows the motion with his mouth, kissing down your throat, across your sternum, then your stomach, to your hips. Hands sliding up your legs, he swears as his fingers find your folds glistening and wet for him. "Christ, sweetheart, you're so wet for me."
When his fingers dip in to circle your clit, you moan and roll your hips towards him as his eyes, nearly blown completely black with desire, look up at you. "Shh, I'll take care of you just like you need."
You do not thinking about what after. That is what makes this dangerous. Your head falls back and you grip the sheets tightly as he licks a strip up your weeping slit. With gentle laps followed by firmer, quicker licks, he begins to drive you wild with his tongue.
As your hips rock against his face with the coil low in your belly tightening with every pass of his tongue, he pushes you over the edge by pushing two fingers into you and curling them to hit that spot that makes you see stars. For once, you are not bracing for the end before it happens. With a gasp of his name, you come undone against his mouth and fingers.
He works you through your orgasm, extending your pleasure as much as possible until you lie panting and spent against the sheets. With one last kiss to the apex of your thighs, he slides back up your body to give you another drugging kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips.
Letting you breathe again, Frank hovers over you, his body taut with restraint. "Last chance to tell me to stop, sweetheart."
Fire in your eyes, you move quickly so he does not have time to react and flip you both over to where you are on top of him and he looks up at you in surprise. With a smirk you whisper in his ear. "My turn." First, you nip his earlobe, and then your mouth is on his throat, tasting his skin and making him close his eyes and tilt his head to the side to let you have more access.
Frank's hands slide over your back as you leave nips and licks across his chest. He hisses in pleasure as your nails rake over his sensitive nipples, leaving faint red marks in their wake. When your mouth reaches the waistband of his jeans with nimble fingers, you undo them and then push them off with his boxer briefs.
You lick your lips when your eyes land on the long, hard length of him straining up against his stomach now an angry red with precum weeping out of the tip. He swears again as you wrap your tiny hand around him and stroke him. Dipping your head down, you lick the slit, tasting his precum, and his eyes fly wide open to watch you wrap your lips around his head and suck, making him moan lowly.
You surprise him by sinking your mouth down and relaxing your throat so you can press your nose to his pelvis, taking him in completely as you suck and lick his cock. His hand tangles in your hair as he pants. "Fuck, sweetheart, you're killing me here."
With practiced motions you begin to bob your head up and down his length, and just to drive him further towards the edge, you hum, and the vibrations have him tugging at your hair.
Sounding completely wrecked, he pleads with you. "Sweetheart, you've got to stop, or this is going to end way before either of us want it to."
Letting him out of your mouth with an obscene pop, you let him pull you back up his body to kiss you frantically. He moans into your mouth as your legs slide to either side of his hips and your molten, dripping sex rubs against the hot length of him.
He reaches for his bedside table but pauses when you shake your head. "I'm on the pill; we don't need a condom."
Nodding, he moves that same hand between your bodies to guide the head of his cock to rub between your soaked folds. "Ride me, sweetheart. Want to watch you loose yourself."
Sitting up to hold yourself up with hands on his abs, maddeningly slow, you sink down onto him, making you both let out long moans of pleasure.
"You're so fucking tight, sweetheart." Frank looks as ruined below you as you feel while your body learns to accommodate his thick length.
With a soft whimper you test moving and your head falls back. "Fuck, I'm so full; just sitting here feels so good."
With a strangled noise, Frank's hands find your hip, guiding you to move on top of him. You moan with the motion, and soon enough you are using your hands on his body for leverage to bounce on his cock. Your breasts sway hypnotically with each motion. Once you find a good rhythm, Frank's hands leave your hips to cup your swaying breast and roll your hardened nipples between his fingers. "That's it, sweetheart; use me to find your pleasure."
Moaning in response to him, you shift, and the new angle has his cock hitting you in all the right spots, making pleasure wash through you with every thrust like you never knew was possible. Gasping and moving faster on top of him, you push both of you toward the waiting blissful oblivion.
Frank's hands return to your hips with bruising pressure as your pussy flutters around him so close to the edge. And all it takes is his voice, harsh and demanding, "Cum for me, sweetheart," for the coil inside of you to snap and you are flying with the euphoria as your walls clamp down on him in a vice-like grip, sending him spiraling over the edge with you, spurting streams of white-hot cum deep in you, claiming you in the most primal way possible.
Still floating, you collapse against his chest while you both try to catch your breath. You wait for distance that does not come. When you finally come down from the clouds Frank's hands are stroking your back, and he is nuzzling your sweat-dampened hair with his lips at your temple. You do not realize how tense you have been your whole life until this moment lets go.
When you shift to lie at his side, letting him slip from between your legs, you both groan at the loss. It feels like more than just physical space. His arm curls around your waist, holding you to his side as he kisses your forehead. "Rest, sweetheart. You've earned it." Relaxing into his side, you let your eyes drift closed. If this ends, it is going to hurt more than anything before it. You fall asleep anyway, content in the warmth of Frank's arms.
As you drift off, Frank watches you for a few moments, marveling at the complete trust you put in him tonight.
His brain is panicking—he did not hesitate nearly as much as he should have. You are so off-limits, and he just crossed every line he set for himself like they were finish lines. And you are so far from another one-night stand.
That is the part that sticks.
His heart, on the other hand, is already fifteen steps ahead, building a future he never thought he deserved.
He reaches out, pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear, slower this time, more careful. She trusted him. Completely. And he does not take that lightly—even now.
He tells himself this cannot happen again.
He doesn’t believe it.
Eventually, his breathing falls in sync with yours, the steady rhythm pulling him under until he slips into sleep beside you.
Sunlight filters through the curtains as you bury your face into your pillow. Except pillows are not usually this warm—or this solid. Your eyes open slowly, your brain taking a second to catch up with what your body already knows. You are still draped across Frank, bare skin against his, his arm heavy and warm where it rests around you.
Memory hits all at once, and you flush. Right. That is how you ended up here.
For a second, you go still, caught between wanting to move and not wanting to break whatever this is. You do neither.
Lifting your head slightly, you look at him—really look at him. Without the usual tension in his face, without the weight he carries when he is awake, he looks softer. Younger. Before you can stop yourself, your hand lifts, brushing his hair back from his forehead, your fingers trailing down to his cheek.
He leans into the touch in his sleep.
Your chest tightens.
Then he starts to stir, and you pull your hand back quickly like you have been caught. His eyes open slowly, and when they land on you, there is no confusion. No distance. Just warmth.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough, his hand already moving along your back.
“Hi.” Your voice comes out softer than you meant it to.
It only makes him smile. “Come here, sweetheart.”
His hands guide you closer, and when he kisses you, it is slow and easy—nothing like the night before. No urgency. No edge. Just warm and certain.
You are not sure what you expected this morning to feel like.
But it was not this. Not this soft. Not this steady. Not this real.
That realization settles somewhere deep, quiet and dangerous.
Breaking apart, you smile down at him. “I’m going to go make breakfast. You can rest a little longer if you want.”
Frank answers you by kissing you again. “I’m awake now. And I like our morning talks.”
Grinning, you bury your face in his neck for a moment, and he tightens his arms around you like he is in no rush to let go. You stay there a second longer than you should, just… feeling it.
Then, reluctantly, you push up from the bed and pull on his discarded shirt and your underwear.
He follows a second later, dragging on a pair of sweats that hang low on his hips as he trails you into the kitchen.
You fall easily into motion, starting breakfast like you have every other morning this week—but it does not feel the same.
Not when he is right there.
Not when he keeps finding reasons to touch you.
He steals a kiss from you as you move past him, soft and quick, like he cannot help himself. His hand lingers at your waist a second too long after.
You pretend you are not noticing.
Mostly.
You press a cup of coffee into his hands and nudge him toward the table. “Sit. You’re distracting me, and I’d rather not burn the house down.”
He chuckles and gives in, dropping into his usual seat, but his eyes stay on you—tracking every movement like he is still trying to figure you out.
Or maybe he already has.
And you do not think too hard about what that might mean.
Frank says your name softly, pulling your attention back to him. “Would you want to live here when your classes are out?”
You blink at him, caught off guard, needing a second to process. “I’m sorry—I think I misheard you.”
He shakes his head, that same easy, affectionate look on his face. “No, you didn’t. It’s just an offer. Not a demand.”
You bite your lip, turning back to the stove more out of habit than necessity, giving yourself a second to think before glancing at him again. “You’re sure? Because that’s… kind of a big jump from whatever we’re calling last night.”
Frank pushes up from the table and crosses the space between you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as his arm wraps around your waist. “All I know is I want you in my life.” His voice is steady, certain. “And we’ve got time. You’ll still be in the dorms until the semester ends—we don’t have to figure everything out right now.” A small squeeze at your side. “Just think about it.”
You relax into him, the tension easing out of your shoulders. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
Then something occurs to you, and you tilt your head up to look at him. “What do we tell Mary when she gets home?”
Frank does not let go, but his hand drags through his hair—a nervous habit you are starting to recognize. “Well… she did set us up,” he says, a little wry. “So I don’t think she’ll be mad.” A brief pause. “And she’s too smart for us to hide anything anyway. I’d just rather ease her into it.”
You nod, brushing a quick kiss to his cheek. “That sounds reasonable. I’ll follow your lead.”
Something in him visibly settles at that, like you just took weight off his shoulders.
“Thanks,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what she’s already got planned in her head, but… we’ll figure it out. Together.”
That makes you smile.
A spark of mischief flickers in your eyes. “But we’re still allowed to tease her a little for setting us up, right?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Frank grins, stepping in behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist as you turn back to the stove, settling into the easy rhythm of cooking together.
Mary’s friends drop her off around noon, and instead of bounding up to the house like usual, she slows her pace, dragging it out so she does not accidentally walk in on anything.
Roberta meets her halfway down the sidewalk, already smiling like she knows something Mary does not.
“Well?” Mary asks immediately, barely containing herself. “How do you think it went?”
Roberta shrugs, far too calm for Mary’s liking. “They went out for a bit after you left, but I haven’t seen either of them since.” A small pause. “No shouting, though, so I’m not too worried.”
Mary makes a face. “That’s not helpful.”
“Patience,” Roberta says, amused.
Then the back door slams.
Both of them freeze.
Frank calls your name, his voice sharp enough to stop them cold.
Mary and Roberta exchange a look—wide-eyed, immediate panic—and take off around the side of the house without another word.
What they find stops them both short.
You stand a few feet from the back door, arms crossed tight over your chest, your back rigid, facing away from the house. Behind you, Frank storms out after you, the door banging open again, his expression dark, jaw set, anger rolling off him in a way neither of them has seen before.
“Hey, I’m talking to you, brat!” Frank snaps as they round the corner.
You whirl on him, eyes blazing. “Brat? Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”
Before either of you can escalate, Roberta steps between you, and Mary rushes to Frank’s side. He is practically vibrating with barely contained anger, but the moment he notices her, he clamps his mouth shut.
“What in the world is going on?” Roberta demands, looking to you—because Frank is clearly past reasonable conversation.
You throw your hands up, rolling your eyes. “Ask him. He’s the adult here.” The last word comes out sharp, almost bitten off.
Mary and Roberta both turn to Frank, wide-eyed.
He scoffs. “You bet I am—and you’re just proving how childish you are, throwing a tantrum like this.”
Your eyes flash. “Tantrum? I’ll show you a tantrum, you ass—”
You lunge forward, but Roberta catches you, her grip tightening as alarm finally sets in. “Hold on—everyone just needs to breathe,” she says, though even she sounds thrown.
Mary reaches for Frank’s arm. “What happened? You two were fine yesterday.”
Frank does not look at you—just at Mary. “That was yesterday. Before we spent way too much time alone together and I figured out who she really is.”
He lets it hang for half a second.
“A bratty child.”
The words hit like a slap. Mary and Roberta both go pale.
You make a sharp, frustrated sound and slip past Roberta’s outstretched hands, barreling straight into Frank. He stumbles back under the impact, and the two of you go down hard, hitting the grass and rolling as Mary and Roberta both shout in alarm.
Frank recovers fast—of course he does—using his size to pin you beneath him, hands braced, breath a little rough as he looks down at you.
“Had enough?” he growls.
And that is it. You break.
Laughter spills out of you—bright, uncontrollable, completely at odds with everything that just happened.
Frank freezes for half a second—then grins. He drops his head to your shoulder, his body shaking with quiet laughter as it catches up with him.
Behind you, Mary and Roberta stand frozen, staring at the two of you like they have completely lost the plot.
“What?” Mary shrieks, while Roberta’s eyes narrow, trying to make sense of the two of you tangled in the grass, laughing like you did not just try to tear each other apart a second ago.
Frank rolls off you, landing beside you in the grass, propping himself up on his elbows with a smug look. “Well,” he says easily, “we figured if you two could set us up, we might as well give you a little of your own medicine.”
Roberta lets out a disbelieving huff of laughter.
Mary does not. She storms over and starts swatting at Frank’s arm repeatedly, which only makes him laugh harder. “You scared me!”
He catches her wrists and pulls her into a quick hug, still chuckling. “Yeah, yeah, I can see that.”
You push yourself up, sitting beside him with a grin still tugging at your mouth.
Roberta walks over, shaking her head, and offers you a hand. “We might have deserved that.”
You take it, letting her pull you to your feet. “More than a little,” you say, smiling as you brush yourself off.
Frank stands, and Mary immediately leaves his side to hug you instead.
He gives her an offended look. “Why do I feel like I’m the only one getting punished here?”
Mary doesn’t hesitate. “Because I like her more.”
You laugh outright at that while Frank mock-pouts.
Taking pity on him, you slip an arm around his waist and lean up to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
He glances down at you, something softer flickering there, and winks.
That is all it takes.
“I knew it!” Mary practically shouts, eyes lighting up as she points between the two of you.
You roll your eyes and reach out to ruffle her hair. “Yeah, yeah. We know.”
Roberta watches the two of you with a deeply satisfied smile, and Frank groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”
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summary: After a hard work day, his girlfriend and a warm shower await Steven at home.
pairing: Steven Grant x Reader
warnings: fluff, nakedness, boob touching
words: 722
a/n: first, you can thank @graveyardcannibal for the boob touching scenes❤️ second, steven is so cute and innocent he deserves the whole world and a very tight hug (from me lol :)
MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES
He is late again. Yet (Y/n) is waiting for Steven, sitting on his bed and reading a book. Her heart aches for him, knowing that he will be exhausted but unable to fall asleep. The moment she hears the door unlock, she jumps from the bed and towards her boyfriend.
Steven is relieved to be finally at home, the inventory wore him out. In the arms of his beloved girlfriend, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. (Y/n)s significant scent greets him, and he wraps his arms tightly around her waist.
"I missed you", Steven whispers into her neck. Her sweet laugh reaches his ears. They saw each other last this morning, still the nine hours at work felt way longer. After a quick kiss on (Y/n)s cheek, Steven closes the door and sets his bag aside.
"Come with me, honey", (Y/n) tells her boyfriend and reaches for his hand to drag him through their little apartment and to their bathroom. She ignores Stevens complaints about taking off his shoes first. When they enter the bathroom, he widens his eyes. Two towels are already resting on the warm heater, as well as some cosy clothes. Even the mirror is hidden behind a cloth.
These sweet gestures mean so much to Steven. He pulls his girlfriend close to his chest, places a hand on her cheek and kisses her. Sometimes he doubts all this is real, that (Y/n) is only part of a dream, but these moments show Steven that she is real and loves him. They both laugh into the kiss, only parting to take shaky breaths.
Before helping Steven out of his working clothes, (Y/n) caresses his face with her thumb and presses one last kiss to his soft lips. She kneels in front of him to take off his shoes first. Then she pulls his jacket off his shoulders, followed by his shirt. While (Y/n) fiddles with his belt, Stevens hands wander under her shirt and enjoys the feeling of her warm skin.
Finally, he is only in his boxers and helps (Y/n) out of her own clothes, which are only panties and one of his older shirts. Steven lets his hands wander further upwards and his fingers massage her boobs. They give him some kind of comfort.
Naked as they are, they enter the shower and start the warm water. Both close their eyes and enjoy the moment, feeling the other so close and unwinding after another stressful work day. Steven stands behind his girlfriend so that he can easily hug her and hold her boobs at the same time. There is nothing sexual about that, just the couple relaxing.
“This feels nice“, Steven groans as the warm water eases up his sore muscles. With a smile on her lips, (Y/n) turns around in the arms of her lover and reaches for the body wash. They wash each other, laughing at the weird foam in their hair and sharing many kisses.
The bathroom is filled with fog when they exit the shower. Steven reaches for the warm towels and wraps one around (Y/n)s shoulders first, kissing her forehead, then wrapping one around his waist.
“I love your hair like that“, (Y/n) admits, taking a step closer to her boyfriend and combing her fingers through his wet curls that now rest on his face. Steven smiles. Whilst his girlfriend towels herself, his gaze wanders to the mirror hidden behind the white cloth. (Y/n) did that, she probably noticed his anxious looks towards every mirror in their apartment.
“Are you alright, honey?“, (Y/n)s concerned voice reaches Steven, and he rips his gaze from the mirror. He nods and takes the clothes from (Y/n). They walk to their shared bed and fall on top of the mattress. Steven wraps his arms once again around his girlfriend, one of his hands resting under her boobs. He buries his face in her shoulder, her scent calming him. Both fall asleep with a smile on their lips.
Next to the bed has the cloth fallen from the small mirror. Marcs eyes focus on the sleeping couple. He is happy for Steven to have finally found someone who values him. Still there is jealousy inside him. He wants what they have. He wants to feel loved too.
summary: Blood loss causes Marc to switch alters randomly when his best friend takes care of his injuries.
pairings: Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader, Jake Lockely x Reader
warnings: angst, blood, dark Khonshu, fluff, jake being a flirt
words: 1562
a/n: feels weird to be back but I'm glad it's with the moonknight fandom <33
(left for a whole year, might do it again, don't tempt me :))
MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES
The hard knocking at her front door tears her out of her dreams, startling her so much she falls from her bed, falling face first on the floor. With closed eyes, (Y/n) manages to pave a way through her apartment, living here long enough to know even the darkest corner. For her own safety, she checks the peephole, expecting either a robber or her best friend. The sight that greets her is not what she expected: Marc, leaning against her door, blood covering his handsome face. Carefully, (Y/n) opens the door, not wanting Marc to hurt himself any further, instead he stumbles straight in her arms, breathing heavily.
“What the fuck, Marc?“, (Y/n) exclaims, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulder while keeping a firm hold on his waist. Marc feels heavier than she remembers, having him startle her on one too many sparring sessions during their time as mercenaries. His weight slows her down, yet she places him on her couch with a swift motion. His eyes are closed, but (Y/n) is sure he is still conscious, because of his incoherent mumbling.
“Where is Khonshu? He can heal you“, she asks, concerned for her friend, examining every inch of Marcs body. Besides some bruises and cuts on his face, there is an alarming wound on his abdomen. To stop the blood loss, (Y/n) tears a part from his shirt and takes Marcs hand to push said cloth to his injury. She has to leave him for a second, to get her medical supplies from the bathroom. “Keep pressure on the wound, okay?“
There is no response coming from Marc except for a pained groan. (Y/n) moves on her own, nothing on her mind except what she needs to make sure Marc survives this night. There is no space for emotions and worries, her military training taught her that a long time ago. The hidden feelings she has for her best friend would only distract her from the task at hand, and that is treating this injury.
Leaving red blood marks on her bathroom tiles in search for bandages and disinfectant, (Y/n) ignores the mess she is making. What causes her to falter in her movement is a scream coming from her living room. It sounds nothing like Marc.
“Please…oh my God…“, Steven cries, forcing (Y/n) to gather all her medical supplies against her chest and run back towards him. Although she met Steven only a few times, she knows he is the one fronting. The way he is pressing his face against a pillow while squirming like a wounded animal, tells her enough.
The bandages and patches fall to her feet because (Y/n) has to calm the scared man first before she can come close to him with a tweezer and a needle. “Hey, Steven. You will be alright, I promise.“
Hearing her soft voice, Steven tries to sit up, but (Y/n) pushes him back into the cushion. There are tears in his eyes, fear and pain taking over his whole expression. The only thing keeping him sane right now is the sweet face of his alters best friend.
“Please“, he begs, grabbing one of her hands, the blood thick between their fingers. The movement causes Steven to moan in pain. This really is not what he planned for the night, he would rather sit in his cozy apartment, read a book and drink some warm tea.
“I will take care of you, alright?“, (Y/n) suggest, letting go of his hand and sorting through her medical stuff. With the disinfectant in one hand, she reaches for the cloth pressed to his wound with the other hand, removing it slowly. Steven hisses, biting his lower lip to keep himself from screaming. The sight of the gory injury alone causes him to faint.
“This reminds me of the time you stitched me up in the middle of the Egyptian desert“, Marc whispers, leaning his head against the backrest of the couch as if he were having a casual chat with his best friend. There is a cocky grin on his lips, yet his body still appears rather miserable, his shaking hands betray him.
“Shut up, Spector, or I will shove this inside your cheeky mouth“, (Y/n) returns dead serious, throwing the bloody piece of his shirt at his face. Then, without any warning, she purrs the disinfectant over the deep cut on his abdomen. Marc flinches despite his otherwise cool and stubborn behavior. His posture changes once again.
“Please, it hurts so much“, Steven whines, trying to get away from the clean bandage (Y/n) is now holding against his side, but there is no escape. The glare coming from her is enough for Steven to stop winding. The pain feels overwhelming to someone who even panics because of a small paper cut.
“You are doing a great job, Stevie“, (Y/n) reassures the dazed man in front of her. Her voice brings some comfort, but what soothes his erratic breathing is her moving from the floor to sit next to him on the couch. Her warmth against his thigh is everything Steven focuses on - until he catches a glimpse of the needle in her hand.
“No, please, no“, Steven begs for his life, leaning away from (Y/n) although he really likes being this close to her. There appears a small smile on her lips at his childish act, yet she shakes her head and tells him the cut is too deep, and she has to stitch him up. For some reason Steven nods, straightens his back and accepts his fate.
“He really hates needles“, Marc says with a monotone voice. Now, (Y/n) understands why he gave in without further resistance. She laughs under her breath as she fiddles with needle and thread, and Marc watches her in awe. His mind might be a bit clouded by the blood loss, but he has never seen her more gorgeous than right now - except for the last time she tackled him to the ground during their first trainings together, or the time she saved his life with the cleanest sniper shot he ever experienced, or when she accepted his dissociative personality disorder and therefor Steven without a second thought.
“Thank you“, Marc speaks without even realizing he opened his mouth, so he is as surprised as (Y/n) who is staring at him with confusion in her eyes. To show her he really means his whispered words, Marc reaches for the steady hand holding the needle. His fingers feel cold against her skin, yet she feels some kind of spark run from his touch right towards her heart.
“I guess Khonshu wants to teach me a lesson. Stay loyal or bleed to death“, Marc explains why he knocked all bloody and miserable at her door in the first place. The sigh coming from (Y/n) tells him everything, remembering how many times they already discussed this matter. Khonshu took advantage of him the night he was closer to death than ever, in that cave with nothing but hopelessness in his heart.
“Stupid bird“, (Y/n) mumbles, recalling the day she met a twisted version of her best friend, after Khonshu took him in as his avatar. To this day, (Y/n) hates herself for not being there that night, even though not even her capable hands could have saved him from the Egyptian god of the moon.
There is nothing else she can say, so (Y/n) stays silent just like Marc. His hand wanders from her wrist to her thigh, resting there as a small reminder that he is grateful for everything she is doing for him; and for Steven. With precision, she moves the disinfected needle to his still bleeding wound. As she stitches him up, his hand tightens on her leg.
“Puta madre“, Jake groans not in pain but more in excitement. His gaze lies on the pretty girl in front of him, knowing her through the eyes of his alters. She is the one both Marc and Steven have a crush on.
“So you are the other one“, (Y/n) states without taking her eyes off the injury she is fixing with needle and thread. There is nothing that could surprise her anymore about Marc, not even a third alter speaking Spanish and apparently flirting with her.
“Madre mia, now I understand why Marc and Steven are head over heels for you“, Jake realizes as he takes a better look at her, noticing how close she is to him, letting his hand rest against her warm thigh, but also the stoic way she forces the needle through his flesh. Nothing in her expression changes despite him telling her his alters have feelings for her, but her heart skips a beat.
“Not even I can withstand you, mi corazón“, Jake flirts shamelessly, feeling some tightness in his abdomen the moment (Y/n) finishes stitching him up. At last, their eyes meet and Jake realizes that moment he is as far gone as Marc and Steven, he would do anything for this girl who just saved his wretched life.
“Shut your mouth and wash that face of yours. You look like a crime scene pretending to be an idiot“, (Y/n) commands with the needle raised to his bloody face. Jake can only laugh at her negative behavior, knowing she will fall for him sooner than later.
@cristian_mungiu: “I am thrilled to return to Cannes with this important and timely story about family, and the erosion that it can suffer in the hands of clashing cultural values. Working with a master filmmaker like Cristian Mungiu on a Romanian story and with a lovely international crew, has been one of the greatest privileges of my career and one that I’ve dreamed of for years. I can’t wait to share this film with audiences at the prestigious Cannes film festival and beyond.” Sebastian Stan @imsebastianstan
Series Summary: You wake up and cannot remember anything except a blonde angel talking to you as sunlight streams down. This man named Bucky tells you he is your fiancé but you do not remember him or even yourself.
Chapter Summary: More fallout, this time with Peggy. You also learn a little more about your former relationship with Bucky.
A/N: This was a difficult chapter to write for some reason. Your author lives for comments and likes. Any errors are my own.
Chapter warnings: Amnesia. Swearing.
Series warnings: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader; Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader; Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter; Eventual SMUT
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended. This is not written for profit.
Part One Part Two
Steve had just barely made it home from spending the day with you when there was a knock at his door. Not sure who it could be; he heads for the door and is surprised but happy to see Peggy on the other side. He steps aside for her to walk into his place and closes the door behind her. "Hey love. I thought you'd be working tonight."
Peggy shrugs, looking anywhere but at Steve for a moment. Then she takes a breath and looks into his eyes. "I called off. I needed to talk to you."
He tenses; those are never good words. "Is this about me taking care of her?"
"Yes." Peggy's jaw clenches. "You didn't even talk with me about it, Steve. She suddenly remembers you, and that is supposed to make it okay for her to live with you when we've been talking about moving in together for a while now?"
Sighing Steve leans against the door. "Look, you know my friends are like family to me. Especially her and Bucky. What was I supposed to do? Just let her twist in the wind, not knowing where she would live or be stuck with people she doesn't recognize?"
Rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up, Peggy turns, places her hands on the back of the couch, and leans forward. "You could have at least made sure I was okay, Steve. You just let me walk out. Like she is more important to you than I am."
Pushing off the door, Steve shakes his head frustratedly. "It had nothing to do with you, Peg. It wasn't about who was more important, or whatever. My decision had everything to do with being there for a dear friend who needs me."
Peggy turns around, leaning her hip on the couch now. "But I am your girlfriend, Steve. That should mean we're partners, and a big decision like this should be one we make together. She has other people who could be there for her, you know, like her fiancé."
He runs his hand through his blonde hair, looking down. "When it comes to being there for my friend, I guess I just assumed you'd understand. Besides, she broke things off with Bucky today, so I don't think she's going to be leaning on him too much."
"What? So now a single girl is going to be staying here with you helping her take care of everything? And you honestly think I would be okay with that?" Peggy's voice rises as she gets angrier with every word.
Steve gives her a deadpan look. "There is nothing but friendship between me and her. If you can't trust me with my friends, then maybe I'm better off finding out now."
Peggy reels back as if struck. "Seriously, Steve? Are you determined to do this, take care of her, no matter what I say or how much it hurts me?"
Wincing Steve shakes his head. "I don't want to hurt you, Peg. But am I determined to keep my word? Absolutely. If I start backing out on my word because someone doesn't like it, who am I, Peg, huh?"
Closing her eyes against the sting of the tears Peggy walks to the door. She stops as she reaches for the door. "I hope she's worth it, Steve."
He stands there in the middle of the room for a long moment even after the door closes behind Peggy's retreating figure before Steve whispers to himself. "She is."
Steve left when Natasha, Wanda, and Pepper came by later that day, and they were all curious about your new memories and if they were included.
"It's weird; I can tell sometimes other people are around in the memories, but everyone but Steve is all fuzzy, like they're out of focus." You shrugged apologetically.
Wanda hugs you then. "Well, just remembering one person is a big deal after not remembering anything." She rubs your back as Natasha and Pepper hum their agreement.
Natasha smiles but then bites her lip. "How is Bucky taking it? I mean, he seemed fine on the phone, but you know."
Sighing, you shook your head. "Not well. Especially since I kind of broke up with him earlier today."
The other three were quiet and shared a collective look. Pepper was the first to speak again, and she looked more concerned for you than mad. "You broke things off? Why?"
Licking your lips, you looked away. "I can only take so much of hurting someone who cares about me. I may not know Bucky, but no one deserves to be strung along when I don't know if I will ever remember him or even feel the same when I do."
Wanda hugged you, then seeing the turmoil in your eyes. "Sweetie, I can't imagine how hard that was." She pulled back. "But are you sure it's really what you want?"
Pepper chimes in, "Did it have anything to do with you deciding to stay with Steve when you're discharged?"
"Not exactly. I mean, Bucky wasn't thrilled with the idea, and neither was Peggy, of course." You lean your head back, looking up at the ceiling. "Honestly, I keep getting these weird twinges of something. It feels like annoyance, but I can't be sure it's about even being with Bucky before, but I can't ever quite grasp the memory or emotion that goes with it."
Again they share a look, almost like they were expecting this, and Pepper sighs. "Even though Tony can be a major flirt, he never does it in front of me like Bucky sometimes did with you. I was always surprised you said yes when he asked you to marry him."
Your eyes go wide in astonishment. "What?"
Natasha is the next to sigh, "Bucky is a good guy, but before you he was a complete player, and I think that was hard to kick completely. But he loved you, anyone could see that, and no one was ever willing to say anything as long as you were okay."
Quickly Wanda jumps in. "Not that anyone ever thought he'd cheat on you or anything like that, but Bucky was always handsy with the girls."
Breath leaving you in a whoosh, your eyes dart between the three of them. "So you're saying that you didn't think we would have lasted even if the crash hadn't happened?" They all give you this sort of resigned look, and you know you are right. You roll your shoulders trying to relieve some of the tension.
Pepper takes your hand and squeezes. "We might be wrong. No one knows how a relationship is really going but the two people in it."
You nod and think you definitely need to read your journals to see what things were really like for you and Bucky before.
Sunlight streams down, and you can hear the pleasant buzz of nature all around you when suddenly you know you are dreaming because your blonde angel is back. But it is not some shapeless face now; it is Steve looking down at you with a smile, telling you something you cannot quite make out. You know somehow that it is something he has said before a thousand different times, a thousand different ways. You also know this is not a memory exactly, more like something he said while you were in a coma.
When you wake and find Steve sitting in a chair near your bed looking out the window for a moment, you still think you are dreaming. When you clear your throat, you know you are back in the real world as his head snaps to you and he smiles.
"Hey, morning, tiger? How're you feeling today?" Steve's voice is soft and calming, but the look in his eyes is far more troubled than the rest of his demeanor.
You smile softly at him. "I'm okay. You don't look like you are, though."
He gives you a self-depreciating smile. "Never could keep anything from you." Steve sighs and walks over to sit on the bed, looking at you. "Peggy and I had a fight. I think I might loose her."
Biting your lip, you take his hand. "Is it because of me? Is that why you fought?"
Closing his eyes, Steve nods. "Yeah, she's mad at me for not consulting her about me taking care of you when you're discharged. Which maybe I should have, but I already said I would."
You swallow hard. "I'm sorry. I don't want to come between you two. If you need me to find other arrangements…"
"No." Steve cuts you off before you can even finish the sentence. "No, you are my best friend, and I am happy to do anything I can to help out. If Peggy doesn't understand that, maybe she doesn't know me as well as I thought."
"Are you sure? I know how much she means to you, Steve." You search his face, concerned but also touched that he is still determined to be there for you.
Steve leans his forehead against yours with a smile. "I'm positive. You mean a lot to me too, tiger. Whatever happens between me and Peggy is not your fault at all, okay?"
"Okay. I just don't want to be a burden." And you mean it; you are worried that at some point Steve is going to hate you for needing him so much.
Pulling you into a bear hug, Steve shushes you. "Tiger, you're no burden. It's my pleasure to be here for you, and it always will be."
You cling to him tightly for a moment before pulling back, your eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thanks." Steve just smiles at you. "Not to change the subject, but the girls told me a couple things about me and Bucky. I'm kind of wondering if you ever noticed anything." Steve looks away, and you lean forward. "Tell me, please."
Steve closes his eyes, clearly uncomfortable, but finally looks back at you. "You were thinking about breaking things off, at least the night of your crash you were. You saw Bucky with a girl that night; they were just flirting, but you overheard them, and, according to you, he called her "babe," and that just set you off because it was what he always called you. We were on the phone talking about it, and you were headed to see me because you were so upset. Bucky doesn't know."
Looking down at your lap, you try to process all the information that he just gave you. "Why was I there? Wherever I saw them, I mean?"
He scratches the back of his neck. "That was the bad part. They were at his place, just outside in the front lawn, and you were just going over to surprise him. I've never asked him about it. Watching him be so devastated when he found out about the crash, I thought…" Steve pauses and lets out a breath. "…I thought that maybe it was just best to let it go until you could say something. Then you woke up without your memories, and I just couldn't put that in your head before you made a choice for yourself."
"I need my journals; that way I can figure all this out. Even if that night isn't in them, I have a hard time believing it was the first time." Your heart is in your throat even as you try to push off without assuming anything. Steve looks away almost guiltily, and you know once again you are right. "When, Steve?"
He wets his lips before speaking. "Before Peg and I got together, Bucky used to hit on her pretty hard. He always acted like it was nothing and that it was just because he knew she would blow him off, but it almost seemed like a game between them sometimes." He shrugs. "I could have just been projecting and jealous, though."
"Do you honestly believe that, Steve?" You give him a look that makes him look away again.
"No, but nothing ever came of it, and personally, I just decided to let it go. You, on the other hand, I think it bugged you every time Bucky flirted with someone else no matter how harmless." Steve squeezed your hand. "Maybe when you get your memories back you can talk with Buck about it."
You nod absently. "Maybe."
Before the two of you can delve any deeper, Dr. Martins comes in. "Morning. How are we feeling today?"
Taking a breath to shift out of the melancholy. "About the same doc. What are we doing today?"
Dr. Martins gives you a smile. "Today we are discharging you."
Blinking at him owlishly, you pause. "Wait, really?"
The doctor smiles again. "That is if Mr. Rogers is ready to take you home today."
Steve laughs. "It sounds like I'm deciding if I can take home a puppy."
You nudge him. "Hey, I'm a damn cute puppy." That only makes Steve laugh harder.
The doctor clears his throat as Steve's laughter petters out. "I'll take that as a yes. I'll get the paperwork started." With that, he walks out, leaving you and Steve alone again.
Steve turns to you with a smile. "I guess we need to swing by the storage to at least get your clothes out. Not that I mind sharing, but I think most of my clothes would swallow you whole, tiger."
Blushing at the very idea of wearing Steve's clothing, you nod. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Do you have access?"
He nods. "Yeah, I got the keys from your parents the day we agreed you would come home with me."
"You talked to my parents?" You had seen them a few times since you woke up, but every time was strained and awkward.
Steve smirks and winks at you. "Of course I did. Your parents love me."
You roll your eyes at his teasing. "God, you're a cocky little shit sometimes."
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Summary - When you applied for your new role, you never expected your life to change so drastically.
Warnings - 18+ Only! Mature themes including SMUT. My warnings are not extensive so enter at your own risk.
Series Masterlist
You woke up after a restless nights sleep, full of anxieties about the day ahead. It was the day you would be leaving your home, for 3 whole months, to start a new job, if that's what you could even call it.
You had responded to an add on a BDSM forum, that simply stated someone high profile was looking for a submissive. It's a role you had fulfilled before and one you were eager to fill again, needing to satisfy your own needs and urges. The thing you didn't expect, was all the other requirements the role entailed.
About a week after filling out the application, you received a call from a woman who said she was calling on behalf of her client and that she wouldn't be able to reveal the name of the client until a contract had been drawn up along with an NDA. You were intrigued so asked her to proceed and she began to fill you in on everything the job entailed.
The position required you to leave your home and move in with the client in New York for the duration of the contract so that you could be at his beck and call whenever he required. This would also mean you travelling alongside him whenever he left the country.
You would be provided with your own room and anything else you needed such as food and clothing, as well as a weekly payment for giving up your life and current job while you fulfilled this role.
You would be present alongside the client in public settings, however you were to be under the guise as his assistant PA. The only person outside of the two of you that would be aware of the true nature of your relationship was his PA, Natasha, who was the woman you had spoken too.
The contract itself was for 3 months, after this time you would be free to resume your normal life. The client never entertained anything longer, or renewed contracts to ensure that he would not grow attached or accustomed to having anyone around long term, which seemed completely sensible.
It was a big decision and you had to think it through carefully and so you left the conversation there and spent around another week before you ultimately came to my decision.
Leaving your life in your small town didn't seem so hard, you worked at a retail outlet for a man who knew little about clothes and instead spent his time being inappropriate to the staff and throwing his weight around. Staying there was only necessary to afford your rent and other bills as jobs were few and far between where you lived.
What you would miss, was your home comforts. You were never really into the party lifestyle, instead you preferred a cosy night on the sofa with a glass of wine and a few girl friends.
Your friends wouldn't be a problem, you'd simply tell them that you had taken a temp job as a PA in New York and you knew they would be too excited for you to pry any deeper.
As for romance, well, when you live in a small town like this, your options were very limited, which is one of the reasons you preferred Dom/Sub style relationships. You'd go to another town for the weekend, get all your needs met and then come home and continue your life as normal, not much else was expected of you in-between visits. It was perfect. It had been a few months however since your last agreement ended and you were ready for a new one.
Once you had finally made the decision to go for it, a lengthy exchange of communication with Natasha began, making sure all the small details of the contract were settled. It took around 4 weeks to complete, going over everything it entailed from the living arrangements and payments, down to the nitty gritty ins and outs of the Dom/Sub agreement. You had to admit, it was unusual going through all of this with someone other than the Dom himself, you had begun to wonder just who this guy was.
You discussed at length the boundaries and details of what would go on during your encounters, including punishments you were happy to receive, things you would like and dislike and most importantly, your aftercare requirements. After a lot of back and forth, all these details were agreed and everything was ready.
All that remained was for you to sign the NDA, after that you would be informed who the client was, along with a few photos to ponder over and he would receive the same. If both parties agreed, the contract would be signed and a date agreed for it to begin.
That was 2 weeks ago. You'd never been through such a long winded process in all your life. It was almost excruciating. All the while you had not been looking for anything with anyone else as you were too focused on getting everything done that was required of you, so that you could move forward with this, meaning you were being constantly nagged by your aching pussy. Self care had become your best friend during that time, although it definitely didn't scratch the same itches.
It was a nerve wracking time, waiting for the phone call to find out who you would be working with. You dreaded to think of all the time you had wasted if you had gotten to this final stage only for neither of you to be happy with the other. You weren't exactly the most confident with your appearance, but also weren't hard on yourself either, knowing that you had attractive qualities but that in the sea of the world, you weren't a top contender, at least not in your opinion any way.
When the phone call finally came, you felt a flutter in your stomach as Natasha revealed the name, Steve Rogers.
You'd heard of him of course, the eternal bachelor as he was called in the gossip mags, highest paid CEO on the east coast. If you'd heard of a successful business, chances were they were somewhere along the line in partnership with Rogers Investments.
You recall finding him attractive when you'd skim the magazine pages, but you'd never really thought much else of him. Natasha swiftly sent over a few candid shots and your stomach somersaulted immediately. He was definitely a superior specimen, sunkissed hair and ocean blue eyes, clean shaven, a toned muscular body and a tall figure.
You were feeling very flustered at the thought of him standing over you, telling you that you were a good girl, throwing you around with those toned arms and teaching you a lesson. Your vagina throbbed and with that you let Natasha know you were happy to proceed.
You sent over your photos, a few similar candid shots and then a few of you lounging in your lingerie, just a little sneak peak of what could be expected.
After they were sent, you wondered how long it would take, how long you would have to battle the anxiety turning in your chest that threatened to turn into vomit at any moment. You were incredibly surprised however when she got back to you after a matter of minutes to let you know Steve was happy to proceed and that was that.
Now here you were, your suitcase packed with some clothes and lingerie, wearing a simple yellow sundress that lay just below your bum and was held up with two thin straps as well as a pair of white trainers, waiting outside your front door to be collected by some car and driver you'd never met and whisked away to New York.
The contract was due to start the following day, but it was agreed you could travel up a day early so you had a few hours to explore the home, meet Steve and get your bearings before you would begin.
The drive was long and boring, the driver barely spoke a word as he whisked you away from you small country town, cruising on road after road until you hit the city. It was bigger than you could even have imagined.
Every building was a tall as three at a minimum, every street was littered with people and just when you thought you may hit the cities end, it would sprawl on even further. Your heart began racing with each passing minute, you knew it wouldn't be long now.
Eventually you pulled onto a street with several large houses down either side. Each one had an obnoxiously large front door and boasted at least 3 floors from what you could tell. You approached the house on the far left, coming to a stop at the large stone steps leading up to its own large black door. The knocker was painted gold and the large door knob was brass and delicately patterned.
"If you'd like to make your way up Miss." came the voice of the driver, "I'll collect your bags for you."
You nodded in response and took a few slow, deep breaths, steading yourself before stepping out of the car. You climbed the steps carefully, looking up at the large windows that lined the front walls and seemed to be intimidating on their own. As you reached the door you paused.
"Come on, shake it off" You muttered to yourself as the nerves were taking hold. You lifted your fist and proceeded to knock loudly, three times in unison.
Master List | Steve Rogers Master List | Series Master List
Previous Chapter
Pairing: Alpha!Steve Rogers x OFC | Word Count: 5727
Warnings: none
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Lizzy rode along at Steven’s side on her pretty chestnut mare. They’d decided they would take the horses and carriages as Constance’s wing would keep her grounded. While she and Natasha shared the coach driven by Jarvis, Lizzy enjoyed the peaceful morning from the back of her rarely used but much-loved mount.
A second coach driven by a few of the Landed servants followed behind, loaded down with their luggage and the first of Lizzy’s trousseau. It was highly unlikely she would be returning to Iron Hall after her visit to the lair of her Golden Devil, and had put the servants together packing up her clothing and the items from her bedroom. She’d worried for her library, but Aunt Pepper had assured her they would see her books and papers packed and brought along when the Starks attended the Earl’s ball in a weeks time.
The rattle of the bit and snorting of Steven’s mount drew her attention. The big black gelding had a fire in him and was fighting the bit, wanting to run and burn off his energy until the weight of Steven’s Will set down upon him, causing the horse to snort and whinny before settling into a calmer pace.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do that before,” Lizzy murmured in amazement.
Steven patted the gelding’s neck. “It is a common practice in the Army. Certain alphas can soothe an anxious team or quiet a barking dog.”
“Men make the moral code and they expect women to accept it. They have decided that it is entirely right and proper for men to fight for their liberties and their rights, but that it is not right and proper for women to fight for theirs.”
Summary: It’s not your fault he decided to regrow his stubble, leave his hair long, wear a suit and lean back in his office chair as if you weren’t about to suck the Congress right out of him for being such a devoted and understanding husband. Your pregnancy hormones are OFF THE CHARTS.
Warnings: This is straight up Smut. Pregnant Reader who just WORSHIPS her husband in his office, Oral (m!receiving), Work place sex, like 1 second of Bucky being a munch (sorry), unprotected P in V.
Word Count: 4.3k
(Uhggg guys, the procrastination monster has got me😔)
꧁──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ──────꧂
It had been one of those unfulfilling mornings where the Sun didn’t hit quite right and the world seemed to be too loud. Traffic was too close and waking up seemed too early for Bucky to consider last night to be called ‘sleep’.
Any-day he had to start without you was a day not worth starting. He hated that his job entailed him leaving your side, hated that he had to tolerate unbearable people when all he wanted was to be cuddled in bed with you- talking nonsense about what enormously dangerous animal they could win in a fight against and what coloured M&M they’d be if they were M&M’s.
Why do you have to look so breath taking this early in the morning? Messy hair, leg thrown lazily over his thighs, pregnant belly resting on his side and hand splayed unconsciously over his chest where his heart beats. He will never get over this view. Never understand how a man like him came so lucky to win you- to find you in such an unforgiving world.
He has more photos of you asleep then he can count- just so he can scroll through them in his office at work and send them to you, telling you how you definitely snore and how you murmer for him in your sleep and that it definitely isn’t sweat on his chest in the mornings- but your drool.
You make it so hard for him to leave by the way you curl closer when he shifts to hop out of bed- the way you whine in your sleep and your brows furrow as if you know he’s gone
It’s only 5am and the last thing he wants to do is to wake you up after a night full of a your bladder constantly needing to be relieved and the baby kicking, refusing to let you sleep. Along with your sensitive body aching in places you wouldn’t have ever imagined. He was up with you through it all, feeding you chocolate custard and rubbing your back until it was bearable enough to fall asleep
But- he also can’t just…leave you now, can he? Not when you so clearly need him as your personal pillow, not when your wedding ring shines brighter then the sun and when you mumble his name in your sleep, reaching for him even while unconscious
“I know, doll” He whispers, nose brushing your jaw, sighing softly against your skin, eyes fluttering closed with the kiss of your warmth and comfort
His hand trails to your stomach, smiling against your cheek at the soft curve and the way it feels against the palm of his hand, the way it’s been growing for seven months now and is now really starting to outgrow both of you, something he didn’t really prepare for but he welcomes with open arms.
The baby seems to recognise his voice and makes a tiny flutter against his hand, his heart races with love and excitement as it always does whenever the baby gives him the time of day.
Perhaps a ‘good morning dad’ or a ‘fuck you for leaving me’. Either way, he’s happy to know his touch enlightens the baby to do anything at all as long as it doesn’t hurt or disturb you, because that just won’t do.
“I know, I know, daddy’s a douchebag” He murmurs to your belly with one last kiss to your cheek before he untangles himself from your sleeping form, frown immediately forming on his face
The loss it one that hits every-time. Cold. Detached. His heart aches and his chest doesn’t feel so fuzzy anymore, just his brain and his empty palms that miss touching you
He takes you in when he stands, the way you curl into his pillow, the way you smile because it smells like him- the way you unconsciously kiss it- thinking it’s still your husband
“You’ve made me the toughest soldier” Bucky mutters to the ceiling “You put me though Hydra, Through Congress- but this? Making me leave this?” His voice raises gently, gesturing to the bed where you lay “Cruel, utterly cruel” Are his last words as he sadly makes his way out of the room, closing the bedroom door behind him with a soft click
Some may call him dramatic, or a man gone soft, but deep down- he’s a husband and a soon to be father
Nothing will ever be harder again than leaving his family. Even just for a day at work.
-
Three hours later, clutching Bucky’s pillow and noticing the blanket tucked under your belly is definitely not his abs or thighs- you realise that your husband is gone
The feeling hits you quickly as you sit up, pushing your hair from your face, rubbing your stomach as you check the time
8:35am
The picture of you and Bucky on your wedding day beside the alarm clock makes your heart flutter as you yawn and stretch, immediately needing to pee
You pull one of his shirts on and walk slowly to the bathroom, staring down at your changing body and belly now fluttering with kicks as the baby welcomes you into the new morning
“Morning Bub, I know- I know- I miss daddy too” you mumble tenderly as you finish up and wash your hands, staring at yourself in the mirror with a sigh- how your body feels so empty without him there to warm you
You wonder how long Bucky spent staring at you this morning before he left. He loves to do that- look when nobody else is watching, like his time is precious and sacradly his to use. Because truely- even when you’re down on yourself- he loves you like the air he breaths, you’ve never doubted that- not ever.
The baby seems to agree with you as it does a particularly large kick the moment you step foot into the kitchen making you clutch the kitchen island for a moment to recover, staring down at the round bump with a huff
“Grumpy baby huh? No nice ‘gentle kicks and flutters’ Baby today?” You ask as you open the fridge, smiling at the sight of a pre-plated fruit salad and some pancakes neatly wrapped and cut into semi neat shapes of hearts- with a sticky note on top saying ‘Only need to be heated up, enjoy your breakfast beautiful’ with a heart at the end.
Tears fill your eyes before you can even react to the note- he always has a way of tugging at your heartstrings. Always knowing what you need before you know yourself.
You sniffle and shake your head in amusement, especially when you see that he’s already got the coffee machine pre-filled with coffee and your mug out so you don’t have too reach up to grab it
The one thing he unconsciously adapted to during the pregnancy has been- well, the pregnancy.
You’re not embarrassed to admit that you have a bit of a case of pregnancy brain- forgetting obvious things and feeling more than thinking, your body has changed sure- but your brain? The way you react? Completely different, your first thought will always be the baby and anything else really comes second to mind.
Last week you tried to shave your legs while the cover of the razor was still on. Bucky marched right in and took over while you laid in the bathtub like a pampered princess muttering ‘What did I tell you Doll? My turn to take care of you yeah? I’m right here, use me all you need to’
He was there to hold some of the weight of your stomach when your back ached too much some days. To be your anchor when your nipples became more sensitive and when your boobs became sore.
No complaint ever left his lips. Just praise, love and encouragement.
The moment the idea hits you is when you’re pouring milk into your coffee, about five seconds before accidentally burning yourself with your hand underneath the coffee grinder
Not only has he been your rock through your entire pregnancy- but even when he first met you. Never judgement- only love and devotion, understanding when you thought impossible and a shoulder to cry on through every event
Bucky Barnes deserves a lot more then just your crazy, hormonal sex drive where you jump his bones in the middle of the night because his sweatpants are just a little too low on his hips or his hair is just perfectly framed on his handsome face
You’re going to show him just how much you appreciate him. How much you acknowledge all that he does and how you’ll never take him for granted
And maybe it’s the hormones- or maybe it’s the fact that you ALWAYS crave him, but you just can’t wait until he gets home.
You need to show him now.
-
He can’t believe he’s sitting in his own office looking up Valentina De-Fontaine once again. Researching her company OXE and the criminals she’s been seen- or more so had her assistant meet up with under the record.
He feels like every turn is a dead end. Every time he thinks he’s found evidence- it’s pried from his hands like candy from a toddler.
It’s only his first term as Congressman. He’s gotten more comments about his past then his future from interviewers and the last thing he wants is to be stuck near the basement in a tiny office with a small window behind the only ventilation from the burning smell of coffee from the break room across from his office
He didn’t exactly expect anything grand or perfect. He wasn’t exactly coming into this job with expectations of a god- he knew where society put him on the ladder of status and he knew that freshman congressman had to earn their way to the top
Maybe if he wasn’t so obsessed with taking down Valentina- he could focus on more important things, but the soldier inside of him screams at him to take down another enemy- even when he chose a job away from being that soldier, to be a better man and make a difference in a quieter and less brutal way.
He sighs softly as he hears footsteps on the stairs- assuming it’s another co-worker come to grind the old coffee machine- the sound of laughter and hushed arguments fill his space from his window leading outside, but all he could really hear was his own stupid brain telling him to stop procrastinating and to start working
To prove that he belongs here just like everybody else. That he’s worth more than a tiny office that used to be a storage room.
But…of course, his mind drifts to the woman who happily haunts his dreams. Who is his every reason for living- his every reason for waking up in the mornings and continuing this stupid job.
The memory of this morning flashes through his mind, you laying in bed, so adorable and clingy, the way you softly snored and the way your hair looked all tangled and messy, all he can think about is how slow time seems to go when he’s desperately looking at his watch every minute wanting to rush home to you.
The footsteps approach his office and he keeps his head down, finishing the last sentence on his ‘De-Fontaine’ list.
-
The moment you enter his office- you hear him mumbling to himself about whatever he’s slumped over his desk glaring at
The window is open and the small blind is only half up, his desk is organised with pens, papers, his coffee cup and a picture frame which you’ve seen one to many times in this office before if you on your forth date with a flower in your hair and a wine glass in your hand.
He doesn’t notice you until you close the door behind yourself, leaning back against is menacingly as you lock it while looking into his eyes, a mischievous look glinting across your face
“Did you hear my prayers?” He asks, beginning to get up from his desk. You quickly step forward, coaxing back to his seat “Honey?” He blinks confused “You okay?” He asks in concern
“Good morning” You say as you lean down to kiss him, immediately seeking out his tongue with your own.
He softens instantly. Pulling you carefully onto his lap- metal and flesh hand rubbing your lower back to soothe any pain- to straighten out any discomfort
You pull back only to rest your forehead against his, breath mingling with his as you look into his blue eyes
“Been missing you all day” He admits, kissing the corners of your mouth “Did you eat breakfast?” There’s a few moments that pass between his question and your growing need. You can sense the concern in his gaze as he looks at you, hands faltering slightly on your hips as he tries to pinpoint your facial expressions “Sweetheart-“
You ignore his question as you hop off him slowly, using his chair arms for support as you try to lower yourself onto your knees on the cold, hard ground.
Bucky’s hands fly to catch you as if mistaking your purposeful kneeling for falling. You watch the shock and fear fall across his face as you smack his hands away- confused as to what you’re up too
“Doll, what are you doing-“
“-shut up and sit back” You demand stubbornly, using his knees to lower yourself onto the ground between his legs again
His hands helplessly stay in the air, not wanting to push you away but also not wanting to encourage you as you unbuckle the belt to his pants with eager hands
“Honey I- this is really not- okay then- WOAH!” He lets out a muffled groan as you lean down, kissing over his bulge unfortunately trapped in his boxers “In my office? Really?”
He looks on edge- clearly not knowing what to expect from the moment you walked in to now- trying to figure out what exactly is going on and what’s causing it.
“Where else?” You ask innocently, looking up at him through your lashes “I’ve been craving you all day- all pregnancy- since I met you” You mumble out as you pull his pants down. He shamefully helps you, lifting up slightly
“Wait- sweetheart not here” He pleads softly- weakly. “Especially not with you on your knees when you’re seven months pregnant…” He cups your cheeks with his hands, pushing the hair from your face “Where did this come from?”
“It’s always been there!” You snap, almost desperately as your fingers grip the waistband of his boxers “You’ve just been so…so fucking amazing this whole pregnancy and god I just- my ovaries scream every time they see you”
“Oh, okay.”
“And I want to- to just fucking do something okay? I just want to make you feel as good as you make me feel”
“Sweetheart, my love for you isn’t conditional” He explains softly, eyebrows furrowing with love and confusion “You don’t have to earn it- it’s not a ‘I scratch your back you scratch mine’”
“Bucky?”
“Yeah?”
“Let me suck your cock.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t disobey this time, mostly because he’s a little terrified and honestly? Who the hell would deny a blowjob from their wife “Can we at least do it…where you’re not on your knees?” He pleads softly “Come on, let me help you up and you can sit on the chair”
Maybe it’s because your knees were already starting to throb with pain and your back isn’t really into bending down anymore- but you let him help you to your feet and gently guide you to sit on his chair, smiling tenderly as you lean back into it immediately
“You might have to lower the chair a little” You say making him grin with lust as he bends down- this time between your legs, purposely nudging his chin against your thigh as his hand reaches around to lower the chair “Don’t even think about it. I’m the one doing the pleasure” You warn weakly, fingers gently gripping his hair
He huffs a laugh and stands back up, shaking his head with amusement
Your hands clutch his hips to pull him forward, his fingers moving to run though your hair, you start with kissing his lower abdomen, sighing against his skin, then slowly pulling his boxers down until they thud on the ground
“We gotta be quick doll, I could loose my job for this if we’re caught- or you know…go to jail..” He trails off, but you can sense that he’s getting warmer and warmer to the idea and clearly doesn’t actually think you’ll get caught since nobody ever comes to his office anyway.
You grasp his already hardening cock into your hand, spitting on it and pumping it slowly, watching as his jaw drops a little and his eyes squint with pleasure
“Been thinking about this all morning” You admit, peppering teasing kisses to his tip making him bite his bottom lip in pleasure to stifle his groans
“Woke up extra needy today?” He asks, eyes never leaving yours
“Always need you” You admit before bobbing your head, taking as much of him in your mouth in one go as you can
Fuck foreplay. Not when you’re this desperate to taste him.
Bucky lets out a quiet groan- thighs tightening to strengthen his stance so he doesn’t collapse with pleasure. His fingers gently tighten in your hair, carefully pulling it into a makeshift ponytail at the back of your head and gripping it
“Take it slow sweetheart” He coos, groaning as your hands grip his thighs, squeezing softly as you bob your head up and down
Looking up at him- your core throbs with need and want, the way his arms look like they might pop from his suit, the way his hair falls in his face, the way his throat bobs as he swallows his pleasure- the way he looks concerned that he’s hurting you yet so incredibly wrecked at the same time
It awakes something in you- something raw and greedy, and before you can fully take him to the back of your throat- you’re shoving him further into your mouth until your nose touches his pelvis
He gasps in shock, hands tightening on your hair to stop himself from cumming on the spot- hips spluttering with overstimulation and pleasure
You moan around his cock, ignoring the tears in your eyes and the way you feel a little too full and the burning at the back of your throat- but the look on his face? It’s all the encouragement you need to keep going
“Holy fucking shit-“ He babbles out, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure when you grip his ass, forcing him to slowly thrust into your mouth- hips meeting your face with every slow thrust “Oh doll- fuck sweetheart- be gentle-“
His words are cut off when your hand cups his balls and rolls them around your finger making him shiver with pleasure, a loud groan escaping his lips before he can stop it. His metal hand flies to his mouth as his eyes widen in shock- but you don’t stop.
You pull back only to swipe your tongue along the underside of his shaft, eyes hooded with lust and need, too greedy to care about any consequences
“I need you to cum if you still want time to fuck me” You warn, taking him into your mouth again, fingers stroking the parts of his shaft that you can’t fit
Bucky’s metal hand slowly lowers from his mouth- instead cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek
“You look so fucking perfect like this” He praises, thrusting slowly, eyes drifting to your belly and then back up to your eyes
You moan around his cock once more and it makes him twitch in your mouth with pleasure, you see the look in his eyes and immediately grip his hips to keep him close as he cums in your mouth, his own lips parting with pleasure as his eyes roll back
He pulls back only when you do, panting softly as he immediately picks you up without a struggle, placing you on his desk gently
“What the hell did I do to deserve you?” He asks as he clumsily pushes up your dress, leaning in to kiss your core through your panties making you whine with need “Shh doll, gotta be quiet sweetheart” He coos, pulling back to help you pull your panties off
He leans down, kissing your bump tenderly before gripping your hips
“I’ve been wet all day, needing you” You whine, spreading your legs. Bucky immediately shifts you so you’re laying on your back to make you more comfortable, pushing anything in your path onto the ground without a care
“Sweetheart…” He groans at your words, leaning down to kiss you tenderly, sighing happily into the kiss before pulling back “I always need you. Always.” Your heart and core flutters as his hands find your thighs, gripping them to pull you closer towards his end of the desk “Comfortable?”
“Yeah” You nod, spreading your legs further for him as he settles between them eagerly
Fuck Congress and fuck waking up at 5am to be dragged away from this- from you. This office needed a little excitement anyway- or a new memory for him in it to get him through his work days. And this? Absolutely earth shattering how good of a memory this is.
He slowly sinks into you, both of you moaning in pleasure. His head falls back when he’s fully seethed in you- but he doesn’t move or thrust without your permission
Your hands move to your stomach as you take a moment to catch your breath- then you nod, which is all the encouragement he needs
“My beautiful wife” He praises, hands gripping your thighs as he kisses the inside of your knee, thrusting which makes the desk creak under your weight “So fucking gorgeous, I’m obsessed with you”
You moan quietly at his words, eyes rolling back as the tip of his cock hits you perfectly, the warmth of his hips never leaving yours
“Bucky” You moan his name, hands gripping your own sensitive breasts as you feel yourself clamping already- desperate to cum, so close already from having him in your mouth before
“I know baby, I know” He coos, quickening his pace more, eyes never leaving yours “Let me take care of you sweetheart.” He leans down, peppering kisses along your neck, hands holding your hips to steady you “So fucking breathtaking” He breaths out against your skin, his cock twitching inside you as your arms wrap around his neck to hold him in place
You’re overwhelmed, tears brimming in your eyes from hormones and his sweet words, the way he holds you like you’re his entire world, this pregnancy has only made him love you more- crave you more.
“I love you so much” You choke out, he pulls back to rest his forehead against yours as you cum around his cock. He kisses you as you ride out your waves of pleasure, kissing you desperately as if he has everything to prove and all the time in the world
He pulls back after a minute, looking into your eyes as he slows his thrusts, allowing you to take a breath, the feeling of him inside you still so warm and full. He hasn’t cum yet- though he had to try with every last bit of his strength not to- only because he didn’t want to cause you anymore discomfort by filling you up.
“I love you more then anything else on this entire earth” He promises as he pulls out, hands cupping your swollen belly, kissing it slowly “You and our little one”
“Bucky..” You whisper through tears- he leans up, kissing you softly, hands framing your face as he tastes himself on your tongue.
His soft lips move to your jaw as your fingers finds his length again, stroking it until he cums on his desk between your legs, both of you panting and twitching with aftershock and contentment.
“You okay?” He asks softly, grabbing some tissues beside you to clean you up carefully and then the desk afterwards, throwing it in his bin. He helps you sit up slowly, adjusting your panties and dress for you, kissing your temple repeatedly as your arms wrap around his waist, ear pressing agaisnt where his heart beats
“More than okay. I’ve been wanting to do that for ages”
“We have sex all the time” He teases, but he’s not complaining at all
“Yeah but it’s been a while since I appreciated you like that” You admit as he pulls back only to pull his boxers and pants back on, buckling his belt with a soft smile, eyes crinkling at the corners
“You know what I think doll?” He asks, helping you stand only to pull you into his lap as he sits on his chair, hands moving to your belly while you lean back against his chest “I think you, this baby, Me, and both of our hormones are off the charts”
You laugh softly, turning your head into his neck to kiss his cheek as he strokes your belly lovingly
“It’s hard to be grounded when you always look so fucking edible” You flirt, nipping playfully at his jaw making him grin, his stubble scratching your lips “And treat me so good”
“Off the charts baby” He repeats “My devotion- obsession for you is off the god damn charts.”
Maybe your husband has a small, run down, shitty office. Maybe the two of you are so dependent on each-other that it feels like the world is ending when you’re apart, but this? This love that echos in the silence and only thrives each time you reunite even if it’s after a day at work,
This is endless. This is what he’s always dreamed of.
INFERNO @thejemersoninferno - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
