LORENZO ZURZOLO And LUDOVICA MARTINO In Under The Amalfi Sun (2022)

New Tricks

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: After your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him, instead

What unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular. 

Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin.

Warnings: first kisses, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, big brother!steve, college!bucky, shy bby bucky, mutual pining, swearing, pet names, huge ton of reassurances, lots of praise, big hints of subby bucky

Author’s Note: beta’d by my baby @rookthorne

Okay, so where to start with this… the idea for this fic sprung from a certain someone 👀 and I just had to write it. Thank you to my girl for being a huge support through this, I love you 💗

These two have my whole heart and who knows? Maybe more will come of them 😌 for all my playlist lovers, you’re welcome - new tricks playlist ❤️

I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve loved creating it 🥹

Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, your impatience starts to wane thin. For ten whole minutes, you have been waiting for Steve to open up. And knocking like a crazed woman is beginning to get old; so is waiting on the doorstep to his front door. 

“Oh, for–” You grumble, and you lift your arm up to bang against the door for the umpteenth time,  when your hand misses it entirely, owing to the fact it swings open to admit you with such enthusiasm, it creaks and threatens to bounce back off of the wall.  

Bucky — your brother’s roommate, best friend, and your crush — sheepishly smiles and scratches the back of his neck. 

The line of his shoulders slump when he lowers his arm, and you notice (and appreciate) just how broad and muscled he is. He must have just been working out, or you interrupted him — nonetheless, you’re thankful for the sight before you, and how it makes the crush you harboured for the brunette for years roar to life all over again. 

Excellent, you inwardly sigh.

“Buttercup,” Bucky says — the affectionate nickname born from his sappy personality always makes you swoon, and his hesitant smile morphs into a wide one. You’re left fighting  internally to keep your giddiness at the sight of him to a respectable level.  “Hey, you. Sorry I didn’t hear you; I was listening to music.” 

Your gaze continues up to his hair, finding it tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck.  Oh, how you wished you could run your hands through–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows. 

Embarrassment floods you and you realise far too late that he probably has asked you a question, or several, while you were daydreaming. “Sorry, Buck,” you squeak, praying that the heat crawling up your neck was not as obvious as it felt. “What was that?”

His soft, puppy-eyed expression brightens when you meet his gaze. “It’s fine, doll. Everything okay?” 

No matter how badly you want to stand and unashamedly stare at your brother’s best friend and roommate, your true intention behind your visit comes to mind. 

“Can I come in?” you ask, lifting the bag of snacks you brought up higher. Bucky’s eyes glance down at the bag, and then back up to your face. “Stevie planned our movie night and he isn’t answering his phone — I told him I was on my way and I asked him if he wanted anything else.” 

The confusion that creases Bucky's brows and downturns his lips in a small frown makes you narrow your eyes. 

“Surely he didn’t forget,” you accuse, still staring into Bucky’s face. “I make the trip down from campus every two weeks. It’s been two weeks.” A sudden, encompassing guilt fills Bucky’s eyes, and he starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth — a sight far too hard to ignore. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Um– I just–” Bucky stutters, and you watch as his fingers twitch and fidget — a nervous tic. If he didn’t look cute while stumbling over his words, you would feel sorry for being so blunt. “I just thought that– Uh, I thought it was cancelled. The movie night, I mean.” 

You step forward slightly, and Bucky opens the door wider. A wordless invitation. 

Bucky rushes to clear a space on the entryway coat rack for you, when he suddenly says, “You know, because of his date, an’ all.” His words falter at the look you shoot him. You stop taking off your coat, and you drop the bag of snacks to the floor, ignoring the crinkle and rustle of plastic. 

“What do you mean date, Barnes?” The use of his last name causes a flush of deep red to pattern his cheeks, but you don’t let up. There’s music playing from down the hall of the apartment – right where Steve’s bedroom is. “What’s going on?” 

Bucky skittishly fidgets and glances around the apartment, before meeting your heated gaze. “I– Look, I didn’t know–” 

You silently mouth a curse, beyond frustrated with your older brother, and with yourself for taking just a second to indulge and admire just how sweet Bucky is when he is unsure. “Fine,” you huff, and you turn to walk straight towards the source and to investigate it yourself.

Bucky’s frantic footsteps behind you don’t deter your haste. “Wait, stop — Buttercup, wait!”

Forgoing a courtesy knock — having had enough of banging on his front door — you barge straight into the room with as little as a greeting call or warning. 

“What the shit–“ 

The door to Steve’s bedroom slams against the wall, and you come face to face with the blond in the middle of a dance off with himself in the mirror. “Sis! Hey,” he gasps, holding his hand over his heart in fright. “What’re you doing–?” 

In lieu of an answer, you cross your arms and stare at him, unimpressed and exasperated with his antics. “Don’t you hey sis me.” The fear in Steve’s eyes as you stomp towards him almost vindicates your indignation of being uninformed. “What do you mean you’re going on a date? It’s movie night!” 

Steve has the decency to look ashamed. “Flower, I swear, I’m sorry,” he rambles, and he takes your hand, directing you to sit down on his bed. “I would’ve called to let you know but everything was so last minute.” 

The grip he has on your hand is firm, assuring you of his true intentions, even when he turns the Roger’s charm up to an eleven to worm his way back onto your good side. “I swear sis, I wouldn’t bail on you without a good reason.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his face — still not wholeheartedly convinced of his graces. A line of questioning is in order, you decide. “So, who is this good enough reason?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” The dreamy, love-struck sigh that leaves Steve’s lips after her name is uttered has you reluctantly trying to hide your giggle; the righteous anger and frustration slowly leaves your body in his admittance.  

The fact that he has been obsessed with the college’s most popular redhead since forever, was a balm to the annoyance. You truly did feel happy for him underneath it all. 

And, in the end, it’s how you decide to let him off the hook — though not without teasing him, first. “No way, the Natasha Romanoff? How the hell have you managed that one?” 

Steve pushes your shoulder, and the force of his shove knocks you sideways onto the covers of his bed. “Fine,” you grouse, sighing heavily and resigning yourself to a night on your own. “I’ll let you off this time.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Flower,” Steve promises. And you believe him. He has always kept his word; ever since the two of you were kids. 

“Good,” you say, smiling softly. “I expect an apology at my door in the next few days, though.”

Laughing, Steve nods, and then he stands from his bed. 

“I’ll leave you to it then, I hope you have fun, bro.” 

It is an impossible task for you to hide your dejected hurt from Steve, though. Clever and perceptive as he is, he detects the subtle sombre undertones underlying your reassurances, narrowing in on them like a dog to a bone. 

You get to your feet with a quiet sigh, and as you move, you miss the thoughtful expression on his face; the perk of his ears at the almost indistinguishable shuffling of feet just outside of his bedroom. “How about you have a movie night with Bucky, instead?” 

You stop in your tracks, frozen in shock at the sudden and downright surprising suggestion. “Stevie,” you admonish, “Bucky does not want to waste a Friday night with me–“

“I don’t mind!” Bucky shouts eagerly from the doorway, and you spin around to face him. The nervous fidget of his curls his fingers and hands around one another, over and over. 

Had he been listening that whole time? 

Guilt begins to flood you. Imposing on any plans Bucky  may have made was a burden you did not want to bear,  and you couldn’t fathom who would want to spend the night with their best friend’s little sister. “Thank you, Bucky, that’s really sweet of you,” you placate, smiling at him. “But I know you’ve probably got better things to do on a Friday night than be with me.”

Bucky seems to swell in the doorway, his chest puffing up and he sets his jaw, a determined glint in his eyes. “Actually, Buttercup,” he retorts, crossing his arms in a decisive move. “A movie night with you sounds perfect.” 

The confidence in his tone takes you by surprise, and you flounder for a second while you stare into his steel blue eyes. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

His words, and charming smile, ultimately win you over.  

With your attention wholly focused on Bucky as he begins to talk about what movies to watch, you miss the knowing, victorious smirk that curls Steve’s lips.  

“Okay,” Steve calls from the doorway, looking back at the two of you, and you can’t help but be frustrated by his stalling. “Be good and behave while I’m gone. Oh, and, no staying up past your bedtimes — Bucky, her bedtime is ten o’clock sharp.”

The scowl on your face only serves to make him laugh, and you huff your exasperation before your hands grip his biceps; the only way to get him out the door is brute force. “Get out, Stevie,” you grunt, pushing with all your might, but it is to no avail. Steve is as immovable as a statue made of marble. “Don’t you have to go see Natasha?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and you hear the rustling sound of fabric. “Don’t you?”

Instinct tells you to duck, and you do so, just in the nick of time to avoid the pillow Bucky launches across the room from his place next to the couch. The pillow hits Steve square in the face with a comical thump. 

You burst into laughter at the stunned look of disbelief on Steve’s face, and you look over at Bucky, who is leaning against the sofa; a smug grin pulls his lips up and scrunches his nose.  “Get the hell outta here already, punk.”

With Steve distracted by Bucky’s betrayal, you take the chance to shove him out of the front door and watch delightedly as he stumbles in the hallway. “Hey–!” The door slams shut behind him, cutting him off. 

Giggles shake your shoulders as you put your back to the door, leaning against it with all of your strength as Steve turns the handle — evidently not finished in the war of quips. 

Bucky’s laughter from his place by the sofa makes your stomach flutter, and he walks closer, just as Steve stops attempting to break down the door. 

With the end of Steve’s attempts to forcefully open the door, you turn and face the wood and peer out of the peephole. A blond mop of hair is just within view. “Bye Stevie!” you call through the door, “Have fun, wear protection!”

Steve’s reply is muffled by the wood, and he flips you off before walking away.  

Shaking your head, you turn back to face the living room, and you see Bucky fussing around the sofa and coffee table. The strong aroma of a sweet, spicy scent fills your senses and you inhale deeply, letting the tantalising smell fill your lungs, before you ask, “Bucky, what are you doing?”

He sends you a furtive glance before looking back down at the snacks laid out on the coffee table, neatly placed next to two already filled glasses of drink. A bag of popcorn threatens to spill from his arms. “I’m, uh– I’m setting up? For the movie–?”

You could not help but notice how fast the bravado and confidence he displayed in the presence of Steve vanishes when he was with you, and you alone.  

“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, walking closer. “I thought we could watch the movie in your room, instead of out here. It’ll be more comfortable, at least, and we can spread out. Is that okay?” 

The popcorn bag that threatened to spill from his arms bursts instead, scattering the popped kernels all over the floor, making him yelp. “Ah! Uh– Okay, we… We can if you want?”

You nod once. “Absolutely. I’d rather be in your bed any day, then out here,” you tease, amused by the way Bucky’s eyes bulge and his cheeks flush. Then you look down at the popcorn all over the floor, and add, “But first, let’s clean this up.” 

Bucky starts to clean up the mess, and he tells you to grab the movies you agreed upon from the collection in the bookshelf. 

The selection to choose from is packed, as it always is. “Why don’t I grab a couple?” 

“Sure,” Bucky answers, sweeping the popcorn into a dustpan. “I mean, why not? May as well go all out.”

You grin and grab a couple of cases. “Do you need some help–”

“No, I’ve got it, Bubs,” Bucky interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him to see the blankets bundled high in his arms, and before you could protest and insist you help carry them, he shuffles off in the direction of his bedroom. 

Then, you glance down at the coffee table to see that the snacks and drinks are missing. “Did you grab the snacks?”

“Yeah!” Bucky calls back, muffled by the walls between the two of you. 

A fond sigh falls from your lips and you follow after him, DVD cases in hand.  

The tension in the air of his bedroom is charged with something you could not quite describe, and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life for it. You square your shoulders, and smile through it. “It’s no different, it’s no different,” you mutter under your breath; a mantra for confidence. 

Though, it is short lived. 

Bucky throws the blankets onto his bed with a grunt, and both the TV and DVD player switch on, ready to accept one of the disks you held in your hand. 

A shuddery breath falls from your lips, and you make your way to the player to place the first disc in. It whirrs to life as you turn to look at Bucky, who is placing the snacks on a tray table, his tongue between his teeth as he works. 

“Okay,” he hums, turning to face you, a shy smile on his face. “You ready, Bubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he walks past you to the light switch, his index finger poised to flip it off. 

You look down at your body, the warm outerwear you had thrown on to get to Steve’s apartment suddenly becomes scorching hot against your skin, and an idea comes to mind — flustering him has given you a rush of confidence before… 

“Almost,” you say, a hidden smirk on your lips. The layers of warmth are soft in your hands while you take them off, and you’re left in a thin tank top and soft, cotton shorts. “Now I am.”

A faint choking noise comes from the doorway behind you when you place the warmer clothes on Bucky’s desk chair. Inwardly, a coy smirk lifts the corner of your lips; outwardly, you look over to him, concerned and ever curious. 

His face, normally soft and kind whenever he looked at you, is taut with embarrassment; blotchy and red. His eyes are frantically looking anywhere, and everywhere around the room but at you. 

“Buck?” you say, getting his attention. His eyes meet yours. “You okay?”

The fidgeting is your first clue that he is struggling with something, and it is a battle to keep the teasing smile off your lips when his hands run constantly through his long hair and or come to a stop in the pockets of his grey sweats. 

Patiently, you watch while he repeats the same actions several times, each pass of his hands only serving to make him even more flushed. “Yeah. Yep,” Bucky coughs. “Mhm. Just great, thanks.” He looks up to the ceiling and gulps loudly. “You’re really wearing those? Uh– Just those, I mean?” 

You thin your lips to try and hurriedly fight off a smile as you grab your warm, fluffy socks from your bag. “Of course, silly,” you tease, shaking your head once. “I always wear my comfy clothes on movie night.”

The room turns deathly silent when you bend at the hip to pull the socks up your feet. 

Peering up from your task, you see Bucky staring at your legs, evidently thinking he hadn’t been caught and his eyes begin to trail upwards, towards your chest. The slackjawed expression amuses you, though you feel the beginning sparks of your own shyness come to life.

“Buck?” A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest, and you play with the hem of your tank top at the heat in his gaze. “Bucky?” you try again, “Are you ready?”

“Uh– Yeah, yes,” he rushes, quickly flicking the light off so his face is cast into shadow. You could have sworn he looked like a kid getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar — wide eyes and a deepening blush that spread down his neck.  

Bucky had always been a little shy in your presence, this you knew. Whenever you come over to visit Steve, or you bump into Bucky on campus, you always notice a remarkable difference in his normal, unwavering charm that he had in familiar company. 

This lack of swagger gives you the impression that you unfasten the young, boyish version of him; the one ruled by nerves, and hindered by a severe lack of confidence. 

Sure, you enjoy spending time with him here and there when you hang out at your brother’s apartment, but never before have you been this close to him, and alone. 

“Why don’t we–?” You gesture towards Bucky’s bed, and before he could either protest or agree, you jog to the edge and jump onto the plush mattress with a squeal of laughter. The blankets cover you easily as you roll yourself in them. “This is perfect,” you sigh, happy and content. 

“And where am I meant to sit?” Bucky laughs, appearing in your eye line with a bright, amused expression. “You blanket hog.”

“Fine,” you drawl, and you disentangle yourself from the cocoon of blankets. 

“Why, thank you, madame,” Bucky says, extending his hand in a mock salute, and he sits down in the now available spot, before sidling up the mattress, to rest his back on the headboard.

The broadness of his shoulders don’t leave much room between the two of you, and you decide to snuggle up to his side in a bid to get comfortable. You feel him tense with the proximity, but he doesn’t push you away or say anything.

“Are you ready now?” you ask, reaching for the remote. “For the movie?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he rasps, nodding quickly.

Despite his initial nerves, Bucky settles comfortably in your presence — half of the movie goes by undisturbed with only the occasional shuffling to get comfortable after getting a snack, or a drink.  

That all changes the moment Bucky becomes restless,his leg twitching against yours constantly, and he repositions himself every couple of minutes. From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth opening and closing; the courage building within him to speak up. You bite your tongue against the urge — let him speak first, you chided yourself. 

“So,” Bucky eventually says, his voice quiet. “How are your classes going, Buttercup?” 

You take your eyes off the screen and face Bucky, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes bright from the glow of the TV. 

“They’re going good,” you reply, just as quietly. “Yeah, they’re busy — hectic, even, but good.” 

The fabric of the comforter ruffles as you turn your body towards him — your shorts ride up with the movement, and your bare thighs brush against his sweats. Bucky tenses while you settle in and only relaxes when you stop shifting in place. “This time of year is always busy, the coursework and exams,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “But I’m managing okay, thanks.” 

Bucky nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, all those art projects you’ve gotta finish, it must be tiring.” 

Shock slackens your features and you reel back — you could not recall telling him what you studied. “How do you know what major I’m taking?”

“I– um,” Bucky stutters, suddenly overwhelmingly shy. “I hear you talking to Steve about it. Y’know, when– When you come over, on movie nights, and other nights.” 

You can sense Bucky is not done explaining; he licks his lips and stares at his lap, where he fidgets, again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, he continues, “I see you lugging your big canvases across campus sometimes, too. From class, and– And from the window, when I’m actually studying.”

Warmth creeps up your neck again and you blink rapidly. You hadn’t noticed that he took so much notice of you before now, and you couldn’t help but feel endeared over it. 

Desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, you blurt, “How’s, uh– How’s training going for football season this year?”  

Bucky freezes for a second, then trips over his words, “Oh, it’s good– Yeah, it’s great. Coach says I’m progressing well, so I’m doing alright, I guess.”

“So modest, Buck,” you tease. It was common knowledge on campus that Bucky is the star player of the college football team, while also being scouted to join the professional leagues. You place your hand on his arm and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, lending him a bit of your confidence. “Don’t you sell yourself short, I’ve seen you play — you’re amazing!” 

He inhales sharply and grimaces, an expression that contorts his handsome face. “You really think so?” 

“Bucky,” you say slowly. The tense line of his body is obvious as you shuffle closer, but you are determined to prove your point; assure him of his talent and abilities, for all of a shy puppy that he is.  

“Listen to me, honey,” you continue, and Bucky refuses to meet your gaze, instead focusing on his hands. “Everyone can see it, all of us — all of the women in the crowds, all of the kids that watch you from the sidelines. We’re all screaming for you.”

His skin is warm under your palm, but you don’t remove your hand. Instead, you grip his arm and shake it a little. “You’re amazing.”

Bucky stays silent — contemplative of your words, and you take the opportunity to think over the reason why Bucky chooses to stay in on a Friday night. 

There is no questioning the fact that Bucky Barnes could pull anyone he wanted, whether it was to party, or to fuck, but to your recollection — and from what Steve had slipped in the past — no one has ever witnessed Bucky bringing anyone home, drunk or otherwise. No partner he could call his own, either, and he didn’t brag about the obvious charm he held over the many women on or off campus. 

Cautiously, you venture towards the subject of your curiosity. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be going out on dates on a Friday night, like Stevie? Surely you’ve got tons of girls lined up for you.”  

Bucky’s silence turns deafening, unnatural. His body becomes stiff and he looks to be barely breathing. 

“Buck?” You sit up and look into his face. It’s pulled taut with what you could only guess as shame, but that made no sense, and with a mounting, swelling horror, you realise you may have pushed him too far; teased beyond the point of what is acceptable between friends. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry–”

“No! No– I… fuck.” Bucky throws his head back against the headboard and covers his face. “Oh, God,” he groans, muffled by his hands. “Shit.”

“Bucky–” You hesitate, unsure of what to do or what to say. You’ve never seen Bucky behave like this, so anxious and uneasy. “I– I’ll go, it’s alright, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, and you start to shuffle off of the bed when you hear his muffled voice say something behind his hands. “What was that, I didn’t–?”

A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders, and they slump back down as he exhales. “Ihaventevenhadmyfirstkissyet.”

“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, and you shift back towards him. The curtain of hair he’s so fond of covers and conceals his eyes from view, but you refrain from tucking it behind his ear. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.” 

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, looking up at you with a great effort. “I– uh.” His hands land on his thighs with a finality not unlike the final siren at his football games, and he utters a reluctant, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” 

His bedroom is quiet enough you would hear a pin drop. The TV had long powered off, since the movie finished while you talked, and the tension was palpable; a living, breathing encumberment that could not be cut with a knife. The flickering light from the still burning candle on his bedside drawers makes shadows dance across Bucky’s face. 

Okay, you think privately, so what? 

Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone before. It was justifiable — too busy with life, training and keeping up his GPA. You didn’t have to make a big deal out of this. “That’s okay–” Then the reality of the situation hits you, and your mind screeches to a halt. 

If Bucky hasn’t had his first kiss… “Does– Wait, does that mean–?”

“Yes.” Bucky squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to look at you — it is obviously a painful confession, yet he still forces himself to spit it out, putting voice to the doubt in your mind. “I’m a virgin.”

Now that catches you off guard. 

Bucky… is a virgin? 

Bucky, the star football player; built like a Greek god with the charisma to match. 

Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks like he is about to bolt from the room in his fear, and you realise all of your thoughts had shown in your expression. 

“Oh,” you manage, blinking slowly. The hand that was gripping his arm had moved without you realising, and you hastily place it back on his bicep. “Oh, Bucky.”

No other words come to mind. 

When you came to visit Steve for movie night, a calm, easy tradition in your routine, you never expected to end up in this kind of situation; on the other side of a confession that has left you speechless with shock, all while a strange confliction brews deep within your guts. 

You had been there once, and what you wouldn’t have given to have the opportunity to experience it with someone you trusted wholeheartedly — like you did Bucky, your mind supplies not-so-helpfully. 

The realisation hits you harder than you expect, and you gasp quietly, still gripping his arm to reassure him. 

Bucky moves his hands to cover his face again, and his chest rises and falls with a sharp hitch. The nervous pants for air that part his lips bring you back down to earth and away from that revelation. You know he’s embarrassed; ducking his head to his chest and glancing up as though you had scolded him. The entirety of his toned body is rigid with fear, each muscle clenching and poised to run, to save what dignity he feels he has left after such a confession. 

It’s difficult not to stare at the veins that line and bulge from his forearms down to his deft hands,  and you almost feel guilty for it; he’s in distress, fretting over the reveal of his lack of sexual prowess, but you cannot help the lingering gaze over his body. He just looks so pretty. 

From the get go, ever since you had met the star football player, you have always fantasised about him. The silent crush on Bucky had developed into such a deep attraction you almost couldn’t bear it any longer. 

Having convinced yourself of the non-existent reciprocation kept your tongue at bay, in the past.  And while Bucky’s virginity is a surprise, it did not hinder or lessen your feelings for him, quite the opposite; the heady weight of it settling over your mind like a blanket. 

What was stopping you now? What would be the harm in testing the waters?

To hell with it, you decide. The springs of the mattress creak as you move to shuck the blanket off of your body, then your legs. 

Bucky audibly gulps behind his hands when you move closer, and he positively freezes, like a deer in headlights, as you lift your leg up and over his thighs to straddle him. The soft brush of his sweatpants over your legs sends a shiver up your spine, and you sit down, settling your body comfortably on his thighs, just above his knees. 

“What– What are you doing–?” Bucky whispers, and his words are muffled behind his palms. You grin, unseen by your quarry, and you shuffle up his thighs to his hips, your clothed cunt just below the seam at his crotch.  

The sound of Bucky choking on his own spit is comical. 

You pull his hands away from his face, the urge to kiss each palm overwhelming; feather-soft brushes of your lips against the soft skin sends the pulse in his throat racing. “Buttercup, please– This is embarrassing enough–”

“Bucky,” you whisper, cutting him off. “Look at me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, and you pour all of the unspoken words between you both in your soft gaze, willing him to feel the yearning. “Kiss me.” 

“But–” He hesitates, a fish out of water again. His mouth hangs slack from the shock of such a bold request, and you place your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him before he can carry on protesting. 

You pout, placing a hint of pleading in your tone, “Please?”

He looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “I– What, I mean,” he flounders, arms hovering at his sides, hesitant to touch you — terrified of taking it a step too far. “I don’t know–“

“Aw, Buck,” you coo, smiling softly. Carefully, you shuffle further up his lap until your knees brush against the headboard of his bed. Gently, you place your palms on Bucky’s toned chest, just above his beating heart hammering away — not wanting to frighten him. “I’ll show you, okay?”

“Yeah.” The tremble in his voice makes your heart ache, but you smile encouragingly.

“Here we go,” you soothe. He smiles weakly back, eyes still wide with shock. “I’ve got you.”

You slowly and steadily move closer to Bucky’s face. A shudder racks through his whole body when he feels your breath against his neck, and you peck his stubbled cheek before sitting back upright to face him.

“Okay,” Bucky shakily says, fisting the blankets in his hands. “Okay. That was okay.”

“See? It’s not so bad,” you tease, and you tilt your head to the side, sticking out your cheek. “Your turn.” From the corner of your eyes, you watch his eyes sweep across your face, still hesitant and nervous, but a slither of curiosity now shining through. 

Broad, strong shoulders lift in tandem with his deep, grounding breath, and he steadily leans in before he second guesses himself. He resolutely does not touch your body, but he manages to find the confidence to gently press his lips against your skin, kissing your cheek. 

This time, he sits back and looks up at you for direction and reassurance. 

You consider it, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. His touch was sweet, but polite; a kiss on the cheek that you would give a friend after such a long time apart. And, in the end, you want Bucky to gain more confidence and actually enjoy kissing — he shouldn’t have to be ashamed to want it. “Good, that was good,” you say, keeping your tone mellow so as to not spook him.

He is making good progress, and gentle encouragement is the way to ensure it continues, you reason with yourself. “Now, I want you to do the exact same thing, but start gradually moving towards my lips.”

“Oh– Okay, okay,” he breathes, and his eyes widen slightly before they dart down towards his lap. 

That needs to be rectified immediately, before he shuts down, you hastily think, and you react swifty, your hands roaming from his chest and up to the sides of his neck, adding a little pressure to bring him back down to earth. 

There was an innate need for him to know that he could trust you; that you would treat him with the respect he deserves. 

Gently, you lift his head up, forcing him to look at you, and the downturn of his lips makes your heart ache. All you want to do is soothe the fear and rid the worry from his pretty eyes that pierce you, even through the strands of hair that have fallen in his face. 

“You’re okay, Buck,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his warm, rosy cheeks. The movement and assurance seem to do the trick. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

A minute passes, and you watch as the confliction flitters across his face; an inward battle to assemble his courage to bridge the gap between you both.

There is another minute of silence, when he slowly advances, leaving his palms flat on the covers of his bed as he kisses you on the cheek. 

“That’s it,” you praise, sitting still in his lap, but smiling softly in encouragement.

Bucky hesitantly returns the smile, and he doesn’t move away, rather, he decides to stay close. “You did good,” you say, still smiling, and he takes you by surprise when he moves forwards again to place another tiny kiss even closer to your lips. “Oh–”

The soft brush of his lips makes you freeze, and he takes his time, building his confidence with each peck he makes. 

Finally, he reaches the corner of your lips, and he stalls; confidence wavering and faltering with the daunting task. You go to part your lips to speak on instinct, to encourage him, when he suddenly moves even closer to your face, making you hastily shut your mouth and brace for what was to come; willing for your heart to slow down the tattoo it beats against your throat.  

“Okay,” Bucky whispers more to himself, and he clears his throat before licking his lips. “Okay, okay. Just–” His lips connect with the curve of you own, the brief and fleeting connection enough to tell you that his lips are plump; ripe to swell and redden with a passionate make out session. 

Hastily, Bucky withdraws, but not all the way back — he lingers and only allows the tiniest space between your faces.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you coo, keeping your voice low. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Th– Thanks,” he stutters, and the rosy blush he sported turns a splotchy crimson. Interesting, you think.  

You turn your head to look at him, and the proximity of his face makes both of your lips brush against each other. The intoxicating softness consumes you, and you cannot deny the reality that Bucky is there, he is right there. A torture that intensifies in the billowing silence, while a burning, reckless spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins.

“Do you want more?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence and shattering the tension. 

A harsh breath falls from Bucky’s lips, and he presses forward to kiss you properly for the first time. 

Whatever you had been expecting for a first kiss from the inexperienced, sweet, charming man beneath you, flew out the window. Your lips slot perfectly over his, a chaste kiss that held enough need and want to be something far more; it could not hold a candle to the sex you had with past flings.  

The kiss, unexpected as it was, lasts only for a couple seconds longer before Bucky pulls back from it, panting lightly — puffs of air fanning over your slightly parted lips. He lingers, bumping his nose into yours to keep close. 

But eventually, Bucky pulls all the way back to rest against the headboard. 

The silence is not deafening — not like it was before, and you open your eyes, blinking slowly. 

Bucky is already staring at you. His eyes are glazed over with hunger, and he's out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest faster than before. 

You fare no better. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but it still feels like it’s lodged in your throat. No words are spoken between the two of you; just an invisible string that keeps you entwined to one another. 

It’s difficult to find the words to say, especially after something so raw and vulnerable; so new and budding. You want him to feel safe, like he had done good, though; you want to tell him he has nothing to worry about, not with you. 

And just as you open your mouth to speak, to praise him for how well he had done, Bucky slides his hands up your thighs, over your waist, and up to your neck, cupping the back of it in his large palm. “I want–” 

To your utter shock, he drags you closer, his lips greedily slotting over yours for a far deeper kiss.  

Bucky can’t get enough of you; already addicted and demanding more. You can’t be mad for it, not when he’s a sensational kisser — he’s good, far too good. The basics have you dizzy with want, and you decide on a whim to challenge him, to push him a little further and test the boundaries. 

You part your lips as Bucky pulls back, and before he could kiss you again, you tentatively tease your tongue against his lips. The sensation makes him sit rigid again beneath you, and he chases your tongue, the surprised moan he lets slip vibrates into your mouth.

The power of such a move has you smirking into the kiss. 

You only plan to stoke the fire by pushing him into the deep end a little — the prospect of overwhelming him too risky, but when you feel the effortless slide of Bucky’s tongue entering your parted lips to dance with your own, it leaves you physically stunned and unable to move. 

Bucky compliments you perfectly, as though he is a natural, and someone so timid should not be capable of that — it’s dangerous. 

It escalates — tongues dance and lips clash, and Bucky’s breath is heavy on your lips, as yours is on his, when he pulls back for air. There’s a pull that you can’t ignore, not any longer, and you bring your hands up from his neck to his hair, threading your fingers through it, making him moan quietly against your lips, “Bu–”

Your nails scrape against his scalp while he speaks, and you squeak in shock as Bucky’s hips surge upwards, forcing his hard cock against your clothed cunt. “Oh, fuck–” he gasps, and his body turns rigid with fear again while he pleads for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Bubs– I–”

Quickly, you place your index finger over his lips. “Hush, you. It’s alright. I loved it,” you reassure, and suddenly, it turns into a game for you — you are desperate to see how Bucky plays along, how close to the edge you can get him. “Let it go, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s breath hitches as you grind down hard against him, and his hands rush down from your neck to grip your waist. The unabashed moan he lets slip is sinful; a delight to be the cause of, and a Cheshire Cat grin splits your lips. You’ll be damned if you don’t get more from him, you decide.

“Fuck,” he grits out, the grip of his hands on your waist turning painful. “Fuck, yes.” 

You moan and allow him to move your body where he wants it — predictably, he perches you straight on his crotch and his hands wander, slipping beneath the tank top you wear to brush against your skin. 

The resolve he had held onto so strongly is starting to slip, and you inwardly scream with joy at the dilation of his pupils, the heavy pants of his breath — a poor, virtuous man is melting into a puddle at your feet. 

The position of your body gives you an impression of just how big Bucky is, and with his cock hard, you can feel the girth and the size of him against your cunt  — a crime, you think, that it wasn’t inside you.

Your motions of grinding down into him have the tip of his cock catching on your clit through your shorts, and the thin material has no pretence of protectiveness, and you greedily lap every single, last sensation up while shamelessly taking more.  

“Bucky,” you whine against his mouth, and in turn, he nips at your swollen bottom lip before sucking on it. “Fuck– S’good.”

“Buttercup, baby,” Bucky slurs, and his fingertips dig into your skin, unknowingly marking you in his lust-fuelled haze. “Fuckin’ feel good, please,” he whimpers, unable to keep kissing you with the way his moans and litany of quiet cries fall from his lips, longing for more; too far gone, he can’t help himself anymore. “Need more, please.”

You’re all too pleased to listen to his cries for you; begging would taste so much sweeter, though. Next time. “Okay,” you soothe, pecking him on the nose. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart.”

The bed creaks as you shuffle up Bucky’s lap, and you move your hands to grip the headboard. “Don’t keep quiet on me,” you warn. 

“Wha– Fuck!”

You pant as you grind down on Bucky’s cock, the effort of making your hips work this hard and fast steals your breath, but the sounds — oh, the sounds falling from his pretty lips make it all worth it. 

The added friction of your lace panties against your soaked clit only amplifies the pleasure for you, and it’s all you can do to keep going.

Bucky throws his head back and groans to the ceiling, but you follow him, leaning over and panting into each other's mouths and kissing messily, barely able to put anything behind them as you work the both of you closer to release. 

You pull back to look at him, and the slope of his neck is too tempting to leave alone — the  loose strands from his hair are sticking to the sweat gathering on his skin, and you watch a bead of it roll down a curve of corded muscle. 

Of course, you weren’t going to let it go — you want him to crack.

Bucky moans, his breath stuttering as your tongue chases the bead of sweat, and you latch onto his skin, sucking steadily at his pulse point. “Baby– Baby, please, fuck,” he babbles, forcing his head back further to expose more of his neck. 

You oblige, all too willingly and with a giddy enthusiasm; the bow of your lips trace over his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone, where you bite down gently. 

“Shit, shit,” Bucky suddenly exclaims, his words slurring together. “No– No, please, I ca– Can’t,” he begs, and you pull away from his neck, brows furrowing in concern. “Please, I don’t want to– To, shit–”

Words seem to be out of his grasp, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts while you watch the thread of his restraint wearing thin, so close to snapping when he’s this overwhelmed with the pleasure you are giving him. 

You can’t have that, though. 

Bucky was torturing himself, not allowing himself the pleasure of giving into his base desires - what he needs. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” you ask. “You can’t cum?”

Bucky nods his head frantically, his eyes widening. You consider him, the sweat on his brow and upper lip, the way his eyes plead for something more; he’s so desperate to not cum, to let go. 

It’s plain as day that he is holding himself back, when you knew deep down that he is itching to relinquish control and give in. 

You decide then to push, to throw caution to the wind and make him take it. “Why not?” you whine, grinding back and forth, back and forth, over his painfully hard cock. “Doesn’t my pussy feel good, baby?” 

Bucky whimpers and scrunches his face up, cock throbbing as he grows closer to finishing. You don’t think he realises how he rambles to himself, “Fuck, yes! It does—fuck, it does baby.” 

“Think for me, sweetheart,” you say, leaning close to his face. “Just think for me, how good being inside my pussy would be.” The lure of being inside your cunt cracks the last of his resolve; control slipping through his fingers before he can grasp hold of it.  

You smirk, watching how his brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. “Just think, Bucky,” you repeat, “How wet and tight I’d be for you. How I would scream for more; beg for more of your cock and what you give me.” 

The sound Bucky makes is close to a wounded animal, and his grip on your waist is sure to leave bruises. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, mouthing softly up his neck until your lips brush over the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”

Something snaps within him. 

The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall as Bucky tumbles over the cliff, his restraint long gone, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, curling them around your waist to hold you impossibly close. You feel something wet on your neck, and you realise belatedly that Bucky is crying silently, overwhelmed with the pleasure. 

To reassure him, you thread your fingers through his hair again to scratch at his scalp. You feel his lips move up and down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin “Are you okay?” you ask softly, careful to not move in his hold. “Bucky, baby?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, and he buries his face further into your neck, nodding frantically. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

A victorious smirk pulls the corner of your lips up. You know you have him — Bucky’s too far gone to come back down now, and he won’t be able to stop. 

“Go on,” you purr. Bucky hungrily grinds up into your heat, seeking it out and forcing a gasp from your lips with the pressure. “That’s it,” you push, and your last deadly blow has the dam breaking, once and for all: “Cum for me then, pretty boy.”

“Oh, oh, fuck– Baby–” Bucky moaned, but you keep steady pressure over his cock, and his hips start to stutter in rhythm. “Shit!” 

“That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart,” you coax, just as a damp patch stains the crotch of his sweats, and his legs tremble under your thighs. There’s a loud thump as his head hits the headboard of his bed. 

“Fuck–” Your own climax begins to mount, the tension of it unbearable, and just the band snaps, you cry out to the ceiling, “Bucky!”

The room is full of pants for air, the synchronised rise and fall of your chests in tandem with the twitching muscles of your body; the rushed gasps for breath a symphony to your ears.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, and you finally look at Bucky — only to be taken aback with the awestruck expression on his handsome face. His lips are stretched wide in a dopey grin, and his eyes, while normally so bright and soft, are glazed over with post-orgasm bliss. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers. You feel the brush of his fingers over your waist and thighs, a soothing touch that in combination with his words sends another wave of heat up your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smile nervously, suddenly speechless with the earnestness and fondness in his voice. Instead, you shuffle down his thighs to rest your arms on his shoulders more comfortably, and you play with the hair on the nape of his neck — the soft locks damp with sweat. 

The two of you stare into one another’s eyes, then, you rest your forehead on his to whisper, “Well, handsome, not so bad for your first kiss.”

Bucky starts to laugh, then giggles take over as he faceplants into your chest, nuzzling himself against your tits in shyness. 

After a while, Bucky starts to shift in place, and you start to rise up off of his lap, when his sudden stiffness alarms you. “Bucky? What’s the matter?”

“I— I don’t, I didn’t mean to—“ He stutters, looking down at his crotch. You follow his gaze, utterly confused — there is nothing abnormal, only the wet patch of cum staining the material. 

Your confusion only increases, and you look back to Bucky’s face. It’s blotchy and red from embarrassment. “Bucky?”

“I– Oh, goddamnit,” he mutters, and he looks down at his lap again pointedly.

The realisation washes over you; a lightbulb suddenly going off in your head. He was embarrassed over coming in his pants. “Bucky, sweetheart,” you say, moving to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. “Listen to me, okay?”

Blue eyes meet yours, his gaze pensive. You muster the warmest, kindest smile; no judgement apparent in your own eyes as you stare at him. “There is no need to feel ashamed.”

“But–” Bucky tries. 

“No, listen to me,” you interrupt, and you lean in closer, bumping his nose with yours before reassuring him, “There's no need to feel ashamed, sweetheart.”

His pure, innocent gaze doesn’t fail to make you swoon even more over him. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course not, you know why?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide and intent to listen to anything you have to say. Your lips hover over his as you whisper, “Because I love you making a mess for me, baby.”

The weekend passes by swiftly, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs; kisses and fleeting touches that turn into passionate embraces. 

It was only when Steve came home on the Saturday night did he kick both you and Bucky out of the apartment with a yell of, “Bye! Have fun, kids!”

You decided to take Bucky back to your dorm-room — an easy decision when you get to watch how his eyes trail over your body as you walk down the halls holding hands. 

And on Sunday morning, bright and early, a series of knocks on your dorm-room door wakes you out of your slumber. “Damn,” you grumble, blinking slowly into the dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn, but a slither of gold peeks from behind the fabric; right over Bucky’s face and the mess of his hair. 

You sigh and tiredly throw the covers off you, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed, but before you can get up, two arms curl around your waist and tug you backwards into a muscled chest. The warmth of the embrace makes you sigh contentedly.

“No,” Bucky groans before burying his face into your neck and smothering you with his body; trapping you with his arms and winding his legs around yours. “Dun’ get up.” 

You giggle as he starts kissing your shoulders and nibbling at your neck — the stubble of his jaw tickling the soft skin while his lips soothed over it. “I have to,” you say quietly, and you grab his arm to pull it off, only– 

“Nuh-uh. Where y’think you're goin’, Buttercup?” The deep rumble of his morning voice has you inner self trembling, memorising your antics of your weekend together. “Can’t leave me.” And to solidify his claim, Bucky clings onto you like a koala. 

“Bucky, you big goof.” You slap his arm, but he just grunts his protest, clinging to your body tighter. “Come on,” you say, wriggling — it’s met with no success of him releasing you. “Get off of me so I can answer the door.”

But you should have known that he is far too stubborn to let up that easily — a stubborn puppy that refused to give up his treat. “No. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Fine.” Your only hope is an attempt to bribe him, you decide, and you look at him to find he’s staring at you through a half-lidded eye, the other eye obscured by his pillow. “How about you let me go, and I promise to give you unlimited cuddles for the rest of the day, no moving whatsoever?” 

That gets his attention, and he perks his head up to lean closer to yours. “I wan’ unlimited kisses, too,” he negotiates, pouting his lips and narrowing his eyes. 

You cannot help but chuckle. “Deal, handsome.”

Bucky plonks backwards onto the bed, star fishing in his sulking — the treat now successfully taken away. 

With your newfound freedom, you sit up and stretch, ignoring the grumbles and quiet whines of, “Bein’ left alone ain’t right,” and, “Tell whoever it is to fuck off, I mean it.”

The bedsheets rustle under you when you scoot to the edge, the warmth of Bucky’s body and the softness of the covers already sorely missed, especially when you stand up and slip into your fluffy, warm gown and slippers. The brush of Bucky’s shirt over your skin makes you smile, the fabric soft and worn but oh so perfectly Bucky. 

“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he calls after you as you walk slowly out of the room. “Please—don’ leave me too long.”

“Drama queen,” you whisper, quiet enough he wouldn’t hear. The knocking comes again and you curse the cause — if it’s your friend from class asking to borrow your notes again, you were going to slam the door straight back in their face. Aloud, you say, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t bust the hinges.”

You prepare the speech to scold your friend as you walk to the door, and you grab the hand;e — the metal of it cold from the chill overnight. The door swings open with a loud creak, and you start saying, “What are you–”

The lack of a presence, or anyone at the door, stops you short — not even a shadow of someone running away down the hall.  “Fucking door dashers,” you groan, and you turn on your heel to go back inside when the toe of your slipper bumps into something on the ground. “What–?”

A gift basket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates and scattered gift cards to your favourite stores, is innocuously sitting there. In the middle of the basket, poking its head out next to a bouquet of your favourite flowers, is the head of a stuffie Golden Retriever, the fur irresistibly soft and the eyes bright — much like Bucky’s. Its mouth held a note scrawled in messy cursive. 

“Okay,” you mumble, and you kneel down to look at it closer, worried that there had been a mix up or confusion of a dorm number. As you near the letter, you realise that the messy scrawl spells out Flower. “Wait.” 

That meant only one person was responsible. 

Your fingers tore open the letter and unfold it; the messy scrawl continues on the inside, too.  

Flower, I’m sorry for bailing on our movie night. 

I know you’re pissed, but I hope this and the beefcake attached to your back makes up for my mistake. 

Love ya squirt, 

Your big bro.

“Stevie,” you say, eyes darting over the lines of script. “You sneaky bastard.” There is a post script just below his sign off, and you continue to read.

P.S. Date went well, tell you all about it on movie night next week? I’m sure we’ll have guests joining us x 

Shaking your head in amusement, you place the note back with the stuffie, and pick up the rest of your basket. “What am I going to do with you,” you mumble, stepping back into your dorm to place the basket on the entry table to admire it again. 

“Wha’s happenin’?” a voice rasps behind you, and sure enough, the aforementioned beefcake in the letter from Steve plasters himself to your back; arms around your waist and his face tucked into your neck again. “Back to bed, c’mon.”

Bucky drags you backwards, chuckling deeply at your squeal of laughter that echoes down the hallway to your bedroom. “You made me a promise,” he grunts, and he pulls you back into bed and underneath the covers, intent on making sure you fulfil your end of the bargain. 

Loved person

Hello everyone 🩷 I saw this video on Instagram, and it inspired me to write this little thing. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. The end is a bit rushed, but my fluffy side stopped working at some point 😂

Theme: Fluff

Words: 1.5 k

Mason just got home when he received a call from his sister. He immediately answered, excited to see his little nieces faces and to talk with them for a bit.

As soon as Summer's face appeared on the screen his face lit up.

“Hello uncle Masey”she screamed excitedly.

That was all he needed to make a hard day better “Hi little munchkin, how are you? How was the nursery today?”.

“It was good uncle Masey, is y/n with you? I need to ask her something but mummy doesn't have her phone number” Mason immediately started wondering why she would want to talk with you. Your relationship was a fresh one, you had met his family a couple of times but obviously it was too soon to say that there was a bond between you and his niece.

“No baby, she's not here, she is away because of her job. Why did you need her?”.

“Oh” her face immediately saddened “is she coming back soon? I need her on Monday” she said and her voice was full of hope.

“Oh munchkin, no, she is coming back on Wednesday because she is visiting her family for a few days once she's done with work. But why did you need her? Can I help you maybe?”.

“No you can't, we can invite one of our loved people to have lunch with us at school on Monday and I wanted y/n here with me” Mason’s heart clenched at her confession, he was expecting her to care that much about you, but hearing her words made him happy.

He immediately saw how Summer's lower lip was babbling, signaling that she was ready to cry so he tried to ease it for her “You know what? I'll call her now and ask her if she can come back earlier ok? I'll tell her that she can't miss a perfect lunch made by the cooks of your school, does this sound good?”

She immediately nodded, a smile was now adorning her little face again “Yes, thank you uncle Masey, I'll go to play now, talk with mum, bye, love you”.

“I love you too little one” he said laughing at her behavior.

Once he closed the call with his sister Mason sent you a little text not wanting to disturb you by calling.

As promised one hour later you were calling him.

“Hi Mase, how are you my love?”

“Hi baby I'm good. How are you?”

“I'm good too, but what did you want to tell me? I'm nervous tell me please” you said giggling.

Your nosiness was one of the first thing he noticed about you, you hated not knowing things and it was one of the characters he love the most about you. It always made him laugh how it felt like you couldn’t live if you didn’t know what was happening.

“I love that side of you. You know?” You immediately blushed, still not being used to his compliments “by the way, it's about Summer. She has some sort of lunch with a loved one af school, and she wanted to invite you”.

“Are you serious?” You immediately asked, not believing his words.

“I am yeah, but there's a little problem. It's on Monday, and I know you're going to visit your family that day. Don't feel like you need to come back or something similar. I wanted to tell you, just in case you could make it”.

“I'll be there. I can met up with my family another time. I'll book the ticket. I want to be there for her”.

“Baby, I love you. But I don't want you to feel like you have to give up on seeing your family for this. There's going to be plenty of occasions to spend time with her”.

But you weren’t listening to him, you had made your choice and weren’t going to change it “ Mase, do you think you can pick me up if I get in Manchester at 11 pm on Sunday? This way I can see you and maybe we can drive to Portsmouth together, since you'll have a few days off?”

“Tell me you aren't already looking for plane tickets”

“You know me too well Mount, can you answer me please”

“I swear you're my favorite human being “ he said with a fond smile “of course I'll pick you up, and yes I would love to go to Portsmouth with you. I'll be finally able to show you all the places I grew up in”.

“I can't wait” you whispered.

…

Sunday fortunately came fast and you were finally back into the arms of the man you loved the most. You hadn’t told Summer you'll be there, the little girl was convinced her mum was going to be with her at the lunch but in reality you were going to show up there.

The drive to Portsmouth didn't feel as long as it really was, you and Mason took turns on who was driving and spent all the time chatting about all the things you've done in the week you spent away.

As soon as you were outside Summer's school you felt anxious, you didn't know how she was going to react. She thought you weren't going to be there and Mason had said to you that she was really sad when he told her that you couldn't make it, so would she be happy to see you?

“Baby, breath, she'll be the happiest ever. She really wanted you here and that's the best surprise she could have asked for,ok?”

You nodded, he was right, she wanted you there “You're right, I'll go. You're coming to pick us up later, aren't you?”

“Yes, I've planned an ice-cream date for the three of us later, if she's in the mood I'll take Mila with me too” he said and after a quick kiss you said goodbye to each other.

As soon as you got inside the school one of the teachers led you to Summer's classroom. She was playing with a few other kids and didn't notice you immediately, but when one of the kids screamed a loud hi to you she turned around and immediately spotted you.

She was frozen in place, you were the last person she was expecting to see today, but when you opened your arms for her to run into she made her way to you and squeezed you with her little arms.

“Hi! You came” she said haply.

“Of course I came, little one, I couldn't miss this. I'm so happy to be able to spend some time with you. And especially that you chose me for this, it’s an honor”

“Thank you, I'm happy now” she said and then kissed your cheek sweetly “come, I'll introduce you to my best friends”.

You had one of the best days of your life, Summer was visibly excto have you around, she showed you all her favorite toys and never left your side. At lunch time she sat next to you and you ate the lovely food they had prepared for you.

When it was dessert time the teachers collected all the kids and went into the kitchen telling you they had one last surprise.

All the kids came back with a little plate in their hands and when Summer came to you, you noticed that there were some biscuits on it. But what caught your eyes was the little writing on them “auntie”. She never called you that, and she didn’t know you were coming…

“Auntie, I made this for you. I was meant to make this for my mummy since she told me she was the one coming today, but I wanted to make this for you in any case. Do you like them? Mrs Taylor helped me to write it, I chose blue cause uncle masey told me it's your favorite color”.

You were surprised and your heart was full of love for the little human being in front of you “I love them Summer, thank you so much”.

After a tight hug you enjoy the rest of the time you had with her.

As soon as the clock hit 3 pm, you and the little girl made your way out,ready to spend the rest of the afternoon with Mason and Mila.

Once you were all reunited at Mason's parents house, Summer asked the latter to help her to fall asleep, so they went together into the room she was going to sleep.

Once she was all tugged under the fluffy blanket she started talking.

“Uncke Masey, I really love auntie y/n, you know? When are you going to marry her? I'm sure she is the perfect princess for you”.

“I really love her too Summer. But it's a bit too soon to get married, we don't want to scare her away, do we?”

The little girl just managed to slowly shake her head and after a few minutes she fell asleep.

When Mason came downstairs he snuggled up by your side, because the realisation of you being the right woman for him had his him hard after today and he wasn’t willing to ever let you go.

“What is this?… Hello? Anyone there? Who were you talking to? No one? I’m just… it’s me” *starts fixing his hair*

📹tonicowanbrown

This is the cutest thing I’ve ever read please read this! It’s super cute and beautiful! I’m in tears!🥺😂🥰

OOOOOO, I really like your writing and u asked for prompts. So, maybe u could do a really shy!reader or mute!reader with peter? I think that be cute! Or you can do it with tom since u said once that you like writing for tom more :)

secret language

Pairing: Peter Parker x Mute!Reader

Synopsis: a study in the silence that comes when two people understand each other

Masterlist

You sat alone at on a bench on your first day of kindergarten, feeling intimidated by the noise and spectacle of it all. You hugged your backpack to your chest, wishing the day could go faster so you could fo home.

Then he came up to you.

“Hi. I’m Peter.” A curly haired boy pulled the seat out next to you and sat down. You waved at Peter and put your backpack on the table, deciding to give him a chance.

“Do you have a name?” Peter asked, and you nodded your head. You took his hand and laid his palm flat, carefully writing your name with your finger.

“Wait, do it again.” Peter requested, watching your every move intently. You wrote your name again on his palm and he titled his head, staring at his hand like the word would be written there.

“Y/n?” He looked up at you once he figured it out. “Am I saying it right?”

You nodded happily and pointed to yourself before giving him a thumbs up. Peter smiled proudly and looked at his hand again.

“Do you not talk?” He wondered, making you shake your head no.

“That’s okay.” Peter shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t like to talk either.”

Peter began to swing his legs, looking around the classroom in awe before his eyes fell on Aunt May, who was talking to the teacher.

“Is your mommy still here?” He turned to you to ask. You nodded and pointed to your mom, who was laughing with one of the single dads.

“She’s pretty. Her shoes are so tall!” Peter exclaimed as he pointed at her high heels. You laughed silently, smiling to show that you agreed. Peter smiled back at you, several teeth in the front row missing. His smile faded suddenly as he looked down at his lap.

“My parents just died.” He confessed to you. “Uncle Ben said they’re in heaven. I tried to look for Heaven on the map on the subway, but I couldn’t find it. Do you know where it is?”

You shook your head and Peter sighed.

“Me either.” He said, pouring a little as he slumped in his seat. You sat in silence for a moment until you heard a little noise from Peter.

“I miss my mommy.” He said quietly, his voice sounding weak.

Your eyes filled with sympathy for Peter as you stuck your bottom lip out. Peter watched you curiously as you reached out your hand, taking his little one in your own and squeezing it three times. Peter gasped a little, looking up at you with wide eyes as you gave him a gentle smile. It reminded him of what his mother used to do when he was scared, three squeezes to say three words.

I. Love. You.

Aunt May didn’t know about their little ritual, so when Peter squeezed her hand three times as they lowered his mom into the ground, she didn’t squeeze back. It made Peter wonder if anyone would tell him they loved him in the secret language ever again. But here you were, squeezing his hand to let him know it was okay.

“Thank you.” He smiled, his eyes no longer glassy. “I love you too.”

You smiled at him and he noticed that were missing teeth too. Peter pointed to your mouth and laughed before pointing to his own. You both doubled over on the bench (I was over on the bench) in a fit of laughter, as if you had reached the very apex of comedy with missing teeth and gaps in your smiles.

You and Peter spent the day together, communicating though words written on his palm or on a piece of paper. He found it very easy to understand you, even when you didn’t speak. He liked your quiet company far better than the loud children in the class, knocking over blocks and crying over toys. You were different, and Peter liked different.

At the end of the day, Peter saw his family and grabbed your hand, running towards them with you in tow.

“Aunt May! Uncle Ben! I made a friend. She’s a mule.” Peter proudly presented you to his aunt and uncle. You smiled politely at them as they shared a confused look.

“What sweetie?” Aunt May asked as she crouched down a little. In the mean time, your mother had spotted you holding hands with Peter and made her way over.

“Mute. Y/n is a selective mute.” Your mother explained as she came up behind you. “Hi, I’m her mother.”

“Like on a remote!” Peter cheered as the adults shook hands. “Can she come over?”

“Is that alright with her mommy?” Uncle Ben looked at your mother for permission.

“Sure.” Your mother complied. “If you give her a piece of paper, she can write some words down. I’ll give you my number just in case.”

“She doesn’t need paper.” Peter shook his head. “We can already talk, look.”

Peter held you your enjoined hands and squeezed yours three times. You squeezed back, making him grin.

“See? She said she loves me.” He exclaimed, letting your hands drop back to your sides.

“That’s so cute. I was so worried about her making friends. She stopped speaking after her father passed.” Your mother quietly explained to May and Ben.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Peters parents just passed as well.” May said sympathetically while Ben watched the two of you. A complicit smile sat on his lips as he saw his nephew genuinely smile for the first time since his parents died.

“My condolences.” Your mother touched May’s arm kindly.

“Thank you.” May put her hand over your mother’s. “It’s been really difficult for him. It’s been so long since he-“

She was cut off by Peter laughing loudly at something you didn’t say, but conveyed. Tears brimmed in her eyes as you wrote something on Peter’s palm, something that made him light up like the forth of July.

“Since he’s been happy.” She finished.

“Lucky they found each other, huh?” Your mother smiled fondly as she watched you and Peter play, earning a nod from May.

And lucky you were.

Over the next few years, you and Peter developed a secret language entirely comprised of soft touches, expressive looks and squeezes. It was a dialect that only existed between the two of you, and that was how you liked it.

“Welcome, students, to your first day of high school. My name is Mrs. Ingrid, I’ll be your english teacher this year. I’d like us to go around the room and say your name and what you did this summer.”

You looked at Peter with panicked eyes as tired groans echoed around the classroom. It was your very first period of your very first day and you were already freaking out. Peter gave you a gentle smile as he reached across his desk and took your hand, giving it three solid squeezes.

“It’s okay.” He assured you. “I got you.”

“Mr. Parker.” Mrs. Ingrid said suddenly. “Since you’re talking, would you like to go first?”

“O-Okay.” Peter stuttered as he stood up from his desk. “My name is Peter Parker. This summer I watched all the Star Wars movies in a row without breaking to sleep.”

“Thank you for sharing.” She nodded curtly and turned to you, as you were seated next to Peter. “Ms. L/n, you can go next.”

“This is-“ Peter began.

“I believe she can speak for herself.” Mrs. Ingrid snapped, narrowing her eyes at Peter. You looked at Peter with eyes full of guilt as you unintentionally made him get off on the wrong foot with the teacher. You expected Peter to be scared, but his face showed that he was perfectly calm.

“Actually she can’t, ma’am.” Peter said politely. “This is Y/n L/n and she’s mute. She also spent her summer watching the Star Wars movies but she fell asleep sometime between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith.”

Surprised murmurs swept though the crowd at the mention of the word “mute”. It was something the students hadn’t been exposed to yet and you felt the individual pricks as they sunk their teeth into it. Knowing the pantomime spotlight was being shone on you, you turned to the class and gave a weak smile.

“My apologies.” Mrs. Ingrid said shortly. “I forgot we had a disabled student this year. Thank you, Peter. And welcome Y/n.”

She turned her back to the class to hide the flush of embarrassment as a student called her out, but Peter had more to say.

“It’s not a disability.” He spoke up, shrinking in his seat when everyone’s eyes went to him.

“I’m sorry?” Mrs. Ingrid turned around with an unamused grin.

“Well, Y/n is mute because of an anxiety disorder.” Peter explained. “She physically has the ability to speak, but she mentally feels like she can’t. She doesn’t see it as a disability.”

“Did she tell you that?” Flash, a boy with his name stitched onto the pocket of his shirt, asked from somewhere behind the room, making the whole room laugh at you.

The whole room except Peter

Peter turned around in his seat and glared at Flash, armed and ready to defend you if needed.

“Yes, she did.” Peter stated. “She tells me everything.”

Flash snickered and rolled his eyes as Peter turned around in his seat. Other students continues to gawk at you, as if your mutism could be seen on the outside. Your face flamed red until you felt Peters hand on your shoulder, squeezing it three times to calm you down.

“I apologize, Y/n.” Mrs. Ingrid smiled at you. “Would the next student like to go?”

You walked home once the day had ended with Peter by your side, quietly thinking to yourself as he talked about his science class.

“Anyways.” He paused time catch his breath as he finished his story. “How was your day?”

You looked at him sideways before grabbing his hand and writing an “E” on his palm.

“Come on. English wasn’t that bad.” He insisted, grimacing a little when you glared at him. You made a gesture of a circle before sharply pointing at yourself.

“I know. But I bet everyone had a moment today where they felt like everyone was staring at them.” Peter tried to assure you but you rolled your eyes.

“Tomorrow will be better.” Peter said decidedly. “That Flash kid is so annoying though. How many classes do you have with him?”

You held up three fingers and Peters eyes widened in sympathy.

“Three?” He gasped. I’m so sorry. Hopefully he was just trying to show off for the first day.”

You shrugged a little and pantomimed popping your collar, to which Peter laughed.

“Right?” Peter exclaimed. “Why does he dress like a mobsters son?”

Your shoulders moved up and down as you silently laughed with him, nearing your apartment building now.

“We should do something to celebrate our first day.” Peter decided. “What do you want?”

You looked at him and raised your eyebrows, a smile appearing on his face as he caught your drift.

“You read my mind.” He sighed happily and he shifted the weight of his backpack to his other shoulder. “Coffee ice cream and Impractical Jokers it is.”

You put your hands over your heart and made a dreamy expression, to which Peter let out a groan.

“Stop it.” He laughed though a whine. “You’re the only one who thinks Sal is hot.”

You shoved him playfully as you entered the lobby of your building, making a face he knew all too well.

“I’m not having this argument with you again.” He wagged his finger in your face as he pushed the elevator button. You pouted and took his hand, writing out an expletive on his palm.

“Don’t use that tone with me young lady.” Peter feigned a gasp as he held his hand to his chest. You gave him an unamused look as he laughed at his own joke.

“Hey. “ He said suddenly as he took your hand. “Happy first day.”

You reluctantly smiled at his newfound sentimentality and squeezed his hand three times, for for each word.

~

“Mrs. Ingrid.” Flash’s hand shot up one November morning. “When we present the projects tomorrow, can Brian present mine?”

“No, Eugene.” She sighed, a snicker coming from the class as he used his first name. “Every student must do their own presentation.”

“Then how come Y/n doesn’t have to do one?” He asked spitefully, making everyone look at you. You looked to Peter for help, who was already turned in his seat to face Flash.

“You know why she doesn’t.” He said dully, tired of Flash’s unjustified vendetta against you.

“Well I don’t think it’s fair that she gets special treatment.” Flash short back, making some students “ooo” and agree.

“It’s not special treatment. Y/n is mute, Flash. You, on the other hand, have made it very clear that you are not.” Peter sassed, making the class laugh. Flash’s face turned red in embarrassment as he looked around the room for help.

“Selective mute.” He emphasized. “That means she can talk if she wanted to. You said so on the first day, Penis Parker.”

“It’s not like a light switch she can turn on and off, Flash. She doesn’t feel like she has a choice. Leave her alone.” Peter barked, getting up out of his seat now.

“If she wants me to leave her alone, she should tell me herself.” Flash snapped, getting up as well. You looked between the two boys with fearful eyes, tugging on Peters sleeve to get him to back down.

“What’s your problem?” Peter asked angrily. “What are you, jealous because she’s never spoken in this class yet still outperforms you?”

The class laughed at Peters insult, only making Flash angrier.

“I’d like to see how well she’d do without you as her interpreter.” He yelled as he pointed a finger at Peter.

“That’s enough.” Mrs. Ingrid slammed her hands on her desk. “Both of you, sit down. Y/n will be doing a power point presentation. End of discussion.”

“Yeah, that’s enough Eugene.” Peter hissed as he took his seat.

“That’ll be all, Peter.” Mrs. Ingrid narrowed her eyes at your best friend. “If this continues, I’ll have to request that the three of you be separated and put into different classes.”

“Why should Y/n and I be separated just because Flash is a dick?” Peter asked, eyes widened when he realized what he said. The students laughed at the sound of a curse word, even if it was one the uses on a daily. You looked at Peter scornfully and tapped his desk twice, communicating with him to calm down.

“Mr. Parker. I’ll be seeing you in detention.” Mrs. Ingrid stated. “Everyone, take out your textbooks and turn to page 117.”

You put your textbook on your desk and looked at Peter, giving him a sympathetic pout for getting him in trouble. You reached over and took his hand, squeezing it twice to apologize.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered to you. “Detention is a small price to pay for getting to call Flash a dick to his face.”

You squeezed his hand again and tilted your head to the side, making him shake his head at you.

“No, it’s not your fault.” Peter insisted.” It was mine. I interrupted the class, not you. Don’t worry about me.”

You sighed and brushed the side of your nose with your thumb, causing Peter to smile.

“I know.” He said softly. “I always worry about you too.”

~

You found Peter waiting for you at your locker at the end of the school day, bouncing with excitement to tell you a story from his algebra class. You listened intently as you collected your books, linking your arm through his once you were done. You walked past Mrs. Ingrids classroom and heard someone clear their throat, making you both stop in your tracks.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Parker?” She asked as she appeared in the doorway, arms folded and glasses perched on the lower part of her nose bridge.

“Shoot. I forgot I have detention.” Peter groaned before turning to you. “Do you mind waiting?”

You pointed behind you with your thumb and shrugged as Peter chewed his lip nervously.

“Are you sure? What if somebody asks you for directions?” He worried, not liking the idea of you walking home by yourself. You looked at him like he was silly and pointed your finger in both directions, signally that you could just point someone in the right direction of the asked.

“Well what if the directions are really complex?” Peter added, coming up with any excuse he could think of. You made a gesture that Mrs. Ingrid didn’t understand, but seemed to make all the sense in the world to Peter.

“You’re right. You don’t need a babysitter.” He agreed. “Do you want to meet back in my room at 4?”

You nodded and took his books from him so you could drop them off in his room.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He promised as you took his hand and squeezed it three times.

“I love you too.” He smiled, giving you three squeezes before walking in the direction of the detention room. Mrs. Ingrid watched him until he disappeared around a corner, turning to you once he was gone.

“You and Peter, are you two together?” She questioned, making you shake your head. She smiled a little, looking amused as she took off her glasses and rubbed them on her shirt.

“Someone should tell him that.” She chuckled, sliding her glasses back on her face. You put your hand over your heart and rubbed it in a circle, the first gesture Mrs. Ingrid understood.

“I see.” She nodded. “You have a nice day now, Y/n. Get home safe.”

You smiled in appreciation at her before waving goodbye, walking out the doors of the school and towards your building.

You tucked your thumbs under the straps of your backpack as you walked, taking every precaution to step over the cracks in the sidewalk as you approached them.

“Hey, Hellen Keller, wait up.”

You froze for a moment when you heard Flash’s voice behind you before quickly picking up your pace. Unfortunately, he had the same idea and ran to catch up with you, grabbing your arm and forcing you to turn around when he got there.

“I was talking to you. Are you deaf too now?” He snickered devilishly as you pulled your arm out of his grasp. You kept walking, but he fell into a stride right beside you.

“So how does it work? Can you and Peter read each other’s thoughts? Does he ever think about me?” Flash batted his eyelashes but you ignored him. You swallowed nervously as you began to wish you had just waited for Peter.

“Come on, Y/n. You should take my interest in you as a compliment.” Flash smirked, making you roll your eyes. “I wanna hear you speak.”

Your unbreaking silence woke up something animalistic in Flash, making him grab both your arms and pushing you into a vacant alley. He pressed you against a wall, gripping both your arms so tight, you were sure they’d bruise.

“Didn’t you hear me? Say something.” He bellowed, getting right in your face as he screamed. You turned your face away and grimaced, fidgeting to get out of his grasp.

“Fine.” He laughed in a way that made your blood turn cold. “You don’t want to talk? Then I wanna hear you scream.”

Your eyes widened as he threw you to the ground, your body skidding on the pavement as you moved. He stalked up to you like a Brute, towering over you as you held up a hand.

“Where’s your little boyfriend now?” He asked, raising his fist above your head. A scream ripped through your throat as his fist came down, never making contact with your face. You opened your eyes slowly and saw him wiping his hands, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“That’s what I thought. See you tomorrow. Can’t wait to see your PowerPoint.” He quipped, spitting on the ground next to you before leaving. Once you were sure he was gone, you sat up. Your hands went to your elbow first, as you felt blood tricking from an open wound. It wasn’t anything serious, just a scrape and a friction burn. Your hands then traveled to your neck, fingers resting over your vocal chords. You hadn’t heard a sound come from your mouth in 10 years, not even a laugh. The scream that came from your mouth was different from screams you’d heard in movies. It was deeper and hollow, as if it came from an animal. Tears stung your eyes as you got up, body aching from hitting the ground. You looked around the corner before continuing your way home, looking over your shoulder every so often out of fear.

You cleaned your elbow up in Peters bathroom, sticking a few Paw Patrol bandaids to the cut as you waiting for him to come home. You ended up falling asleep on his bed, only waking up when he came in a quarter last five.

“Hey sleepy head. I’m sorry I’m late.” He spoke in a hushed tone as he knelt beside his bed. “Mrs. Ingrid made me write on the board 100 times like Bart Simpson. Did you get back okay?”

You nodded as you sat up, slowly opening your sleep heavy eyes. Peter smiled as he smoothed the hair that was sticking up on either side of your part, smile fading when he took a closer look at your face.

“What happened? Have you been crying?” He worried as he cupped your face, turning it slightly to get a better look. Taking a deep breath to brace for Peters reaction, you held out your arm. He caught sight of the bandaids almost instantly, looking at you in disbelief before gently examining your arm.

“Who did this to you?” He demanded as he carefully twisted your arm to see the full extent of the wound. You weakly pantomimed a popped collar, seeing the anger in Peters eyes grow as he understood.

“Fucking Flash.” He stood up abruptly and slammed his hand on his wall. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone.”

You got up and went over to him, shaking your head sympathetically.

“I did too have a choice.” He disagreed. “People skip detention all the time. How could I let this happen?” He asked, more so to himself as he sat on the bed. He put his head in his hands, hiding out of the shame he felt. You took a seat beside him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders while resting your head on his body. You tapped his leg four times, making him bring his head out of his heads to shake it.

“It is my fault.” He told you. “I provoked him in English and that’s why he went after you. I should’ve been there. I’m so sorry.”

You pouted and took his chin between your fingers, squeezing his arm twice with your free hand.

“It’s not okay!” He yelled. “He’s been targeting you since day one. I bet he planned this. He’s probably been waiting to get you along. Did he hurt you anywhere else? Oh god, did he touch you?” Peter could barely see past his disgust long enough to get the words, turning a little green as the worst case scenario played in his mind. You frantically shook your head and Peter calmed down just a little.

“He’s lucky. He’d be a dead man if he did.” Peter stated assertively. You tilted your head and gave him a disapproving look that he read in seconds.

“How am I overreacting?” He asked. “You’re hurt! He hurt you! Screw this - I’m gonna kill him.” He got up again and heading towards the door. You sprung up from the bed and threw your arms around him from behind, stopping him in his tracks. You squeezed his tightly, resting your chin on his shoulder as you held him back. He struggled to break out of your grasp until he heard a strangled sound emit from your throat. As distorted and muffled as it was, Peter knew was you were trying to say.

“Stay.”

He hung his head in shame, knowing it scared you when he raised his voice. He put his hands over yours, which had been resting on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, keeping his eyes down. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. You know I worry about you.”

You slowly withdrew your hands and turned him around, taking his face in your hands and making him look at you.

“I know you don’t need me to protect you. Is it wrong that I still want too?” He smiled weakly as he leaned into your palms. You shook your head and moved your hands down to his shoulders, shrugging a little to tell him you didn’t mind.

“I’m walking you home tomorrow.” He promised as he pulled you into a hug. “And everyday for the rest of my life.”

You patted his back four times, making his body shake with laughter.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Sounds good to me too.”

~

You entered Peters room a little over a year later after receiving a frantic text. The text contained exactly one word, “ouchie”, and the rest was gibberish. Peters wise eyes met yours and you smiled at him, smile fading as your eyes trailed down his body. He was clad in nothing but his boxers and one single sock, glistening with sweat from head to toe. Your best friends lean and scrawny body that you has seen hundreds of times since your childhood was replaced with broad shoulders and solid muscle, features that made your face burn all the way to your ears. That wasn’t what shocked you, though. What shocked you was the series of papers, pens, shirts, and granola bars that were sticking to his body as if adhered with glue.

“Whats happening to me?” He screamed, tugging at a Nature Valley bar sticking to his nipple. You held back a laugh when you saw how scared he looked and approached him slowly like a deer in the woods. You reached out a hand but he backed away as if you might burn him.

“Don’t.” He croaked. “You’ll stick too and I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

You waved your hand in dismissal and reached out again, placing a cool hand on Peters burning cheek. His eyes shut in tranquillity as he leaned into your hand, letting your touch calm him as it had done so many times in the past.

You peeled a shirt off his shoulder and plucked a pencil off his thigh as his breathing slowed down. You cupped his face in your hands and looked at him, wordlessly asking him to tell you what happened.

“I went to Oscorp yesterday and this spider bit me and I woke up really sweaty - and I mean really sweaty - and then I got super hungry so I went ham on granola bars - and I’m talking ape shit Y/n I didn’t even chew I just went feral on those crumbly bitches - and then things kept sticking to me and I don’t know what to do and-“

You acted on a whim and pulled Peters face towards yours, kissing him firmly on the lips. The only noise in the room was the sound of pens and granola bars hitting the ground as they slowly unstuck from his body. Peter places a gentle hand on your face as he kissed you back. You pulled away, feeling his eyelashes tickle your face as his eyes fluttered open.

“And you just kissed me.” He laughed slightly, pace significantly slower now. You gave him a knowing look and shrugged a little, making him laugh.

“You’re right.” He realized. “You didn’t stick.”

You wrapped your arms around Peters neck and pressed your forehead against his, letting silence fill the room as he held you.

“I don’t know what this means. I’m…I’m scared.” He whispered as he nuzzled against you. You shook your head a little, telling him he didn’t have to be scared. Moving your head up to look at you, you took his face between your hands and kissed his lips three times in a row. After the third kiss, a cheeky smile lingered on Peters lips.

“I love you too.” He told you, grinning widely before kissing you again.

~

You laid on Peters chest, a few years out of college now. His shirt was riding up a little, exposing bare skin that served as your canvas. A shy smile made on a home on your face as you traced letters on his skin.

“What was that?” He asked when he felt your touch but couldn’t make out your words. “Say it again.”

You chuckled a little at his phrasing, and he did too. In accordance to his request, you wrote your sentence again, taking your time with the curve of each letter. Peter furrowed his eyebrows a little as he propped himself up on his elbows, a little annoyed with himself for not being able to decipher what you were saying. He prided himself on being fluent in your secret language, so the only possible answer was that whatever you were writing now was something you had never written before.

“Wait, do it again.” He asked, determined to crack the code. You sat up on your elbow as well, looking at him through your lashes as you traced the words again.

“I’m convinced this is gibberish.” Peter shook his head through a chuckle, looking at curiously to see if you were messing with him. You let out a tiny whine as you stuck your bottom lip out, patting his chest twice to tell him to try harder.

“Fine, fine. Try again. But go slowly.”

You sucked in a breath and held your fingernail to his skin, slowly tracing the first word.

“Will?” He asked, grinning when you nodded and continued to write.

“You?” He looked to you for confirmation. “Will you?”

You nodded again, feeling butterflies now and you moved to the next word.

“Many?” He questioned. You shook your head repeatedly, anxious for him to figure it out. You wrote it again and saw it click for him.

“Ohh. Marry.” He smiled, proud of himself for getting it. His eyes met yours and all at once, he understood why he couldn’t figure it out before.

No one fault really, you just never proposed to him before.

“Wait.” His lips curved into a smile as he cupped your chin with his hand.

“Do it again.” He asked, unable to contain his excitement as you repeated your actions.

“One more time.” He pleaded, eyes filling with tears now. “I know what it is, I just want to feel it again.”

You wrote it again, writing it on every exposed part of his body now. You proposed on his arm, his chest, his leg and his bicep, a man excited squeal leaving his throat each time you did it.

“Give me your hand.” He fully sat up now, wrapping his arms around you and taking your hand in his. He opened your hand and flattened your palm, bringing his finger to your skin.

“Y-E-S.” He spelled out loud as he wrote on your palm. “Yes. I will marry you.”

~

Smoothing your dress with a shaking hand, you turned to your mom for last minute adjustments before you walked down the isle. She smiled widely as she touched up your hair, handing you your bouquet once she was satisfied.

“Are you ready?” She asked. “That’s a dumb question. You’ve been ready for this since kindergarten.”

Nodding at your mothers words of encouragements, you nervously clutched your bouquet of sunflowers and roses, yours and Peters favorite flowers.

“You’re so lucky to have found each other.” Your mother smiled fondly as she dusted off your shoulders. “To understand someone the way you do, it’s rare. Your father would be proud.”

Emotion overcame you as you pulled your mother into a hug, thanking her the only way you could for getting you that far. The vamping of the organ signaled to you that it was time to go, all your nervously butterflies turning into petals of excitement. Your mother gave you an assuring smile as she slipped her hand into yours, both of you facing forward now as the doors opened.

Everyone turned to look at you, a welcome gesture this time around, as you made your way down the isle. You made eye contact with Peter, who had a hand clamped over his mouth to hide his emotions. He wiped tears from his eyes as Ned patted his back, silently willing you to come faster down the isle. In his mind, you couldn’t walk fast enough. He was not interested in spending one more minute as just your boyfriend. As you got closer to the alter, you waved at the Avengers who had put on their best suits to attend your big day.

And finally, you made your way to Peter.

You whole life had been about making your way to Peter, and now, dressed in white, you had arrived. You handed your bouquet to your mother and accepted Peters hand to help you step onto the alter. Peter sniffled a little as he took your hands in his, overwhelmed in the moment by your beauty.

The priest began to speak, but you didn’t hear much. All you could focus on was your childhood best friend, soon to be husband. Your palms sweat as the vows approached, an unfamiliar tickle resting in your throat.

“And now, the vows.” The priest handed the baton to you and Peter.

“Sunsets, flowers, and you. Three beautiful things that don’t make any noise. I believe some of the most wonderful things a human being can experience happen in silence. I believe that because of you.” Peters voice cracked momentarily. “I stand before you today as someone who is permanently subscribed to your silence. I look forward to a lifetime of knowing looks and written messages on the palm of my hand. I never knew how much could be said through three simple squeezes of my hand, but it feels like my entire life has happened since the first time you touched me and the last. Though your voice has never fallen on my ears, I’m confident I could identify it anywhere. You and I have created something incredible rare, a silence that only comes when two people truly know each other. And I know you. I am blessed to say I know you. I have never heard you speak, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hear you. I hear you in the early hours of the morning when the birds begin to chirp. I hear you when the blood rushes to my face because you looked at me in a certain way. I hear you when the music swells in my favorite song, and I hear you in every beat of my heart. I won’t tell you I’ll love you until death do us part, because even the jaws of death couldn’t end my love for you. I will just find you in the next life, and the one after that. Nothing could keep me away.”

You touched delicate fingers to your under eyes as you dabbed away tears, squeezing Peters hands three times to thank him for his beautiful words. Now the spotlight had once again returned to you and this time, you were ready.

“Peter.”

Peters eyes widened in astonishment before brimming with tears as your voice fell on his ears for the very first time. It wasn’t perfect after so many years of being unused, but it was yours. That’s what made it Peter’s favorite thing in the world. He bent over and rested his forehead on your enjoyed hands, almost like he was bowing to you. He stayed there for a moment before standing up again, his face full of emotion. You knew he was composed enough for you to continue, so you did.

“I shut my mouth when I was 5 and I didn’t think I was going to open it ever again. But then I met you.” You broke into a smile. You spoke slowly, taking deep breaths every few words. “There is no other way I would want to use my voice than to tell you that I love you. I have always loved you.” You sucked in a deep breath as you got emotional. “My mom worried that I wouldn’t make any friends my first day of school, and I didn’t. I made a partner for life. It is one thing to be loved and another thing to be understood. You give me me both in three small squeezes. I love you, Peter.” You finished, punctuating your vows with three squeezes of his hands.

“I love you too.” He whispered, a steady flow of tears streaming down his face now.

“I love you more.” You said, verbally for the first time.

“Peter Parker, do you take Y/n L/n to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold in sickness and in health, till death do you part?” The priest asked.

“I do.”

“Y/n L/n, do you take Peter Parker to be your lawfully wedded husband? To cherish and honor, for better or for worse?”

“I do.”

“Oh my God.” Peter gushed, making the crowd laugh. Peter was still recovering from the fact that your first word was his name, and now you had said the two sacred words he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.

“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” The priest smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”

Peter wasted no time in taking your face between his hands and kissing you, smiling with joy into the kiss as you officiated your marriage.

“You did so good baby.” He whispered against your lips as the crowd clapped for you.

“Thank you.” You giggled, proud of yourself for what you did. “I’ve been practicing with my therapist since the proposal.”

“It was amazing. That’s was the greatest surprise anyone’s ever given me. Even if it was just for today, I’m so happy I could hear your voice. I love you so much.” He told you before pulling you into a hug. You rested your head on his shoulder and held him tightly, thanking God that he came up to you that first day of kindergarten.

“I love you too.”

Tag List 🏷

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Hey idk if you want to, feel free to ignore this request- but can you maybe do a part 2 to the showering after surgery? I rlly loved the fic🫶🏻🫶🏻

Showering after surgery p.2

First part

You tried to forget about your conversation with Gavi from yesterday night.

It's true that you were nervous to see Gavi naked for the first time, but he was Pablo Gavi. Everyone knows that he is beautiful.

He's been an athlete for so long, of course that his body was breath-taking.

But when he suggested that you two shower together, you weren't even nervous anymore. You were just scared.

A lot of what ifs were coming into your mind.

The truth is that you won't be the first girl he saw naked, and the other girls all had model type of body. What if he considers you ugly?

What if he finds you that ugly that he breaks up with you?

You imagined a lot of similar scenes until Gavi finally woke up.

You couldn't sleep all night, and he could see that something had bothered you.

"You okay?"

He seemed truly concerned about your health.

That's it. An idea came into your mind.

"Just a bit sick. I kinda have a headache." you lied.

"I'm sure a bath will help you. Let me get it ready for you-"

Oh shit.

"No, no, it's okay-"

"We had to shower together this morning anyway."

He got up from the bed and walked himself to the bathroom to prepare you the bath.

You've got all anxious by now and tried to find any reason for you not to shower.

"You just showered yesterday night and it wasn't easy for your knee. You'll be in pain, Gavi"

"Anything for my girl."

"Gavi, be for real now."

"What?"

He then suddenly realised. Or he thought that was the reason.

His face immediately got sad, and he stopped.

Now you didn't understand what was going on anymore.

He walked himself back to his room and opened the TV.

"So we won't shower anymore?" you asked surprised and also really confused by his actions.

"Well, you don't seem to want me. That's for sure."

"What!? No, Gavi-"

"No, please. I don't want to argue with you, ok?" he said in a sweet tone.

"Me neither, but it's not what you think."

For some seconds neither of you said anything.

"Ok, get up. We're going to have a bath together." you said while trying to help Pablo getting out of the bed.

"I'm too tired now."

"Gavi!" you shouted. "Please.."

When you were both in the bathroom, you were the first one to get your chlotes off.

You wanted to fasten things up so that he won't get to see you naked that long. You were really embarrassed and shy.

He stopped his movements and then looked at you.

"Y/n, y/n." he then holds you. "Tell me what's bothering you."

He looks into your eyes with so much love and adoration that eventually made you blush.

He smiled seeing your red cheeks and then kissed your lips shortly.

"You know I love you, so tell me."

You try to find the courage to look into his eyes, but you fail, so he helped you while moving your chin up.

"It's just.. you are Pablo Gavi and-"

"Well that's good to know." he starts laughing.

"Please, don't laugh. " he immediately stopped, knowing that this was something serious .

"You are Pablo Gavi and I'm just a normal girl-"

"Which I love with all my heart.." he continued.

"That's so sweet of you, but please don't stop me, otherwise I won't tell you."

He nodded, clearly understanding.

"You are Pablo Gavi, and I'm just a normal girl, and you've been with so many other beautiful women and I'm really really shy and scared that you won't like my body that much and that you will judge me."

He wanted so bad to interrupt you, but he knew that you had to take it all out of your heart.

So you continued.

"And I don't wanna sound dramatic or something, but even yesterday when I saw you all in front of me, I just couldn't realise that you chose me out of all those gorgeous girls. Because you are so, so beautiful. "

He started to tear up and hugged you tight.

"Bebé.."

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" you asked him.

He then took off all your chlotes and smiled.

"You are more than beautiful."

From your face, he knew that you didn't believe him so when he undressed himself too, you got into the hot water together.

He was holding you in front of him.

"I've been with many girls, that's true. But no one felt like you. You aren't just beautiful, you are sweet and kind and a really nice company. I chose you because I love you. Your body fits perfectly with mine." he kissed your left cheek. "You are the one that is now with me at my worst. Not them. You are the one who takes care of me. Not them."

You kissed his lips lovely, before helping him shower again, because the boy was in a lot of pain because of his knee.

After you were done with him, he helped you wash your hair, massaging it.

Everything felt so good.

"Do you still have that headache?"

He laughed, knowing that you lied.

You showed him your tongue and smiled at him.

"I love you" you said, hugging him tight from behind. "And I'll make your recovery easier. I promise."

"I know you will."

one of my favourite tweets ever😭

So proud of you h! I can’t imagine how it must felt to let it all out! Im so supportive im bi and use she/her but sometimes if someone says they/them I don’t care! But be proud of her you are! And for my fans please be sure to check their account out its fantastic! <3

if you guys could start using she/they pronouns for me + only call me ‘h’, i would really appreciate it !!! thank you !!! 🌻

Lees verder

Guilty as Sin?

Helllooooo!!! I am back with another smutty trainwreck of a fic. This writing thing is still pretty new to me so I hope this isn’t horrible.

I hope you enjoy it <3

Warnings: Female Body Descriptions, Smut (like a lot), Anthony likes 🐱

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton X Female! Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

As always, 18+ Minors DNI

———————————————————————

Anthony lets out a low chuckle, his hand sliding upwards to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. "I thought you liked my teasing, love." He said with a playful smile, his fingers brushing against your arousal with a calculated touch. "But I suppose you have waited long enough." He added in a seductive whisper, his mouth capturing yours in a deep and passionate kiss.

With a devilish smile, Anthony begins to trail kisses down the length of your body, stopping at the edge of the sheets as he hovered over your center. His hands caressed your thighs, gently pushing them further apart as he settled between them. His breath ghosted over your core, warm and teasing, as he let out a soft chuckle, amused by your growing anticipation.

Anthony's tongue gently glides over your core, the warmth of his mouth sending shivers down your spine as he begins to explore your body with a slow and deliberate intensity. He is in no rush, wanting to savor every moment and every sound that escapes your lips, his hands holding your thighs in place as he laps at your core, relishing the taste of you.

Anthony's tongue delves deeper, his mouth working in perfect rhythm as he alternates between long, slow strokes and quick, tantalizing flicks. Your moans and gasps only serve to fuel his desire, his grip on your thighs growing tighter as he hungrily laps at your core. His skilled ministrations are driving you to the edge, his name a breathless moan that falls from your lips over and over in growing desperation.

Anthony lifts his head from beneath the sheets to look at you with a devilish grin, his chin shiny with your arousal as he moves back up your body, propping himself on his forearm beside you. He brushes his thumb over your lips, still glistening with your wetness. "You look breathtaking like this." He whispers, his voice rough and low. "And you taste even better."

“So sweet,” He says licking his lips. “Would you like a taste?” He asks as he move his lips on top of yours. You groan as his tongue pushes into your mouth, tasting the slickness that still coats his lips. He kisses you deeply, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulls away again, his eyes dark with arousal. You can feel his hands in your hair and his body pressed deeply into yours. “Anthony.” You breathe out. “Keep going please.” You moan in between kisses.

Anthony's attention turns back to you as you speak, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "There you are," He murmurs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against your forehead. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd kissed you senseless." He adds with a chuckle, his hand coming up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“No, not yet anyway.” You tease him. Anthony's smile widens into an even more devilish grin, raising an eyebrow in playful challenge. "Is that so, love? Shall we change that?" He purrs, his fingers trailing down your jaw to gently hold your chin, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, his mouth eager and possessive as he claims yours with a fierce heat.

As a moan escapes from between your lips, Anthony can't help but let out a low groan against your mouth, the sound practically a growl. The noise makes your skin tingle, and you can feel his body pressing against yours even more firmly than before, the heat between the two of you growing more intense as his desire for you continues to escalate.

He continues to kiss you deeply and passionately, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you even closer, his mouth devouring yours in a way that leaves you breathless and dizzy with need.

Anthony grins against your lips, his hand sliding up to entwine itself in your hair as he deepens the kiss. His free hand pushed your thighs further apart, his fingers tracing your core in a torturously slow manner. "Of course, darling. I’m not finished with you yet." He purred, the sound of his voice alone almost enough to drive you mad with desire.

You moan softly as his fingers glide across your core, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. Your body arching into his touch, eager for more of that delicious friction. "Anthony..." You pant, your voice a low and breathless gasp as your eyes slide shut, your head tilting back in pleasure.

You can feel his fingers continue to work their magic, gently stroking your core in a manner that is both tender and arousing. He watches you closely, taking in the sight of your pleasure-filled expression with a satisfied smile. "You're so beautiful when you come undone like this, love," He rumbles, his voice tinged with a mix of adoration and pure desire. “And all for me.” He smirks down at you.

Anthony lets out a low groan as he enters you, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment as he revels in the sensation of your body around him. His forehead rests against yours, his breath coming out in short, uneven pants as he gives you a moment to adjust to his size. "God, you feel incredible, love." He whispers, his voice husky and filled with desire.

You gasp at the sudden fullness that comes with Anthony inside of you, your body responding to his touch as a wave of pleasure washes over you. His forehead presses against yours as he begins to move inside of you, his hands gently grasping at your hips and thighs in a possessive manner.

He whispers praises and curses in equal measure, his breath coming out in short gasps as he takes in the overwhelming feeling of your body wrapped around him.

He moves his hands down to rest on your hips, his fingers digging into the skin as he sets a steady pace. His mouth trails down your neck, scattering a trail of hot, wet kisses along your throat, his teeth grazing lightly over your skin. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, a soft, breathless plea for more, and he gladly obliges.

Anthony's movements become more intense, his thrusts hard and fast, each one driving you closer to the edge. His name falls from your lips in a continuous stream, a breathless gasp or moan following it each time he slams back into you. He tightens his grip on your hips, his fingers digging into the skin as he continues his relentless assault, his own release building as he brings you closer and closer to your own climax.

———————————————————————

Your eyes shot open, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as you sat up in bed, heart pounding against your chest. Your body was covered in a light layer of sweat, your breath coming out in short, erratic pants. Your bedsheets feel ablaze with the intensity of your emotions. It was just a dream? It had felt so real.

You feel a strong arm tighten around your waist, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest. Benedict's low voice rumbles behind you, groggy but filled with concern. "Darling? What's wrong?" He asks, his breath hot on your neck as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

Your heart falters as you turn and see your husband. The guilt of what you had just imagined hits you in tidal waves. “Nothing, darling. Just a bad dream, go back to sleep.” You reply giving him a kiss on the cheek.

It’s fine. You didn’t actually do anything wrong. You never actually touched Anthony, and you never would. You loved your husband, so why do you feel as guilty as sin?

Undercover

Angela Lopez x female reader (The Rookie)

“Officer Y/L/N,” Sergeant Grey calls, “Detectives Lopez and Harper want to see you.”

Your eyebrows rise in surprise. “Yes, sir.”

You make your way to the detectives’ desks, swallowing your nerves at the sight of Lopez before standing at attention. “Morning, detectives. Sergeant Grey said you wanted to see me?”

“Morning,  Y/L/N,” Harper greets. “We’ve got a case. We could use your skill set.”

“My skill set? What exactly do I have to offer that you don’t, ma’am? Hard to believe you need a patrol officer’s help. Big case?”

“Don’t undermine yourself,  Y/L/N. You’re smart. You’ve got good instincts. And you know this case inside and out,” Lopez cuts in. You swallow thickly at her praise, forcing the blush off of your face.

“The Tijuana Cartel?” You guess.

Lopez confirms it. “We’ve got an in. You and I are going undercover,” she smirks.

You nod, forcing yourself into business mode. “When are we doing this?”

“Tomorrow night. Which means we have today to prepare you.”

“This isn’t my first undercover op, Detective Lopez.”

“I know. We wouldn’t risk the case if we didn’t have faith in your abilities.”

You nod firmly. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“You’ve earned it,” Harper assures. There’s a glint in her eyes that rouses a curiosity in you. She knows something.

You pull a chair up to their desks and review the case with the detectives. Several hours are spent delving into cover stories and planning before it’s time for a break. As Lopez and Harper bicker over what to get for lunch, you let your eyes trail over to Detective Lopez. Her eyes shine as she smiles at Harper, arguing that they get burritos way too often. Dark hair frames her face as she arches a brow at Harper’s claim that they hadn’t gotten burritos all week. 

“What do you think, Y/L/N?” Harper asks.

“Huh? Oh, uh—I, yeah, I’m fine with whatever.”

“That’s what I thought,” Harper says with a vaguely accusatory look as Lopez shoots you a lopsided smirk. 

“Y/L/N and I will go pick up the tacos,” Lopez says, motioning for you to follow her. You scramble out of your seat after staring for a moment too long, ignoring Harper’s laughter behind you.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. After last time…I can’t mess this up. Diaz needs to go away,” you mumble, remembering the barrel of his gun against your temple the last time you saw him.

“He won’t be there. Don’t worry. We’ll get him. If this op goes as planned, we’ll have enough to issue a warrant for his arrest.”

“Thank you, Detective Lopez.”

“You can call me Angela. We’ll be working together pretty closely the next couple of days.”

“Right, of course. In that case, call me Y/N.” Your eyes meet hers across the center console and your stomach flutters. You do your best to ignore it.

You nervously adjust the black blazer that rests over a lace corset top and black pants. As silly as it is, you’re almost nervous for Lopez to see you in something other than your uniform.

A knock on the door jars you from your thoughts. You open the door and smile in greeting before the grin drops entirely off your face.

Angela stands there in a long sparkly black dress. A deep V-neck and long leg slit leaves little to the imagination. Your eyes get stuck at the top of the slit where the beginnings of her hip are exposed.

She clears her throat and your eyes dart up to hers, finding an amused smirk on her face.

“You clean up alright, Y/L/N. Ready to go?” 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. You ready?”

“Always. Come on. We’ve got a party to attend.”

The two of you were undercover as girlfriends—not that anyone would even notice you at this huge party. Lights flashed and music pounded. A couple was having sex in one corner and a group of guys were playing poker in another.

You kept your arm wrapped securely around Angela’s waist—for the sake of your cover, of course. Her hand came to rest on an exposed sliver of skin on your stomach as the two of you stood near the bar. To anyone else, you looked like a drunken couple lost in their own world. But in reality, it was the perfect vantage point to keep an eye out.

Angela’s fingers pressed firmly into your stomach to get your attention. “There. Carlos. Diaz’s right hand man. Let’s go.”

Quietly, the two of you make your way across the dance floor—getting shoved against each other several times—and make your way down the hallway that Carlos disappeared into. The two of you stop outside the door he went into, leaning against the wood to hear what he was saying.

“Next week’s meeting is crucial. We can’t fuck this up. Anyone strays from the plan and Diaz will gut you like a pig, got it?”

You meet Angela’s eyes as another voice speaks too quietly to make out his words.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of something before you interrupted me. And she was hot.”

Your eyes widen as Carlos’ footsteps approach the door, and you grab Angela’s hand and drag her quickly down the hall. You slow to a semi-casual stroll.

Footsteps coming from the other direction pull a cuss from your lips as you realize that you’re being boxed in.

“Shit, we should call for backup,” Angela mumbles, her eyes darting around in search of an escape. The footsteps are growing close enough to have your heart thrumming.

“Do you trust me?”

“What? Of course I do,” she answers with confusion. Swallowing your nerves, you duck your head down and bring your lips to hers, pushing her back into the wall. She doesn’t kiss back at first, but then she understands your intentions and reciprocates. 

Her hands run down your sides, pulling you closer into her body. The footsteps fade to the back of your mind as you run your tongue over her bottom lip, moaning lowly when she grants access. With one hand against the wall next to her head, the other hand grabs her hip and brings it into your own. Her hand tangles in your hair as she tilts her head, finding a new angle that has the both of you moaning and pushing desperately for more.

“Who are you? You can’t be back here,” a deep, grainy voice cuts in. The two of you break the kiss but your hands remain on each other and your bodies against the wall.

“Uh, sorry, just got distracted,” you tell him with a laugh. “This dress should be illegal,” you add as your eyes rake over it.

“We just wanted some privacy. Only so much you can do before people begin to notice your hands under the table,” Angela says with a smirk. Holy fuck, I’m gonna die right here, right now, you think.

“Well you can’t be here. Get out. Now,” he grumbles.

“Of course. So sorry,” she giggles before pushing off the wall and dragging you down the hallway. You turn around and give the burly man a half-sorry shrug.

The two of you make it back to the car in silence. Adrenaline lights your bodies aflame and arousal has your hearts beating rapidly. Once seated in the car, the air turns thick and awkward.

“Um, I’m sorry if I crossed a line back there. I understand if you need to write me up, or–”

“Stop right there. It was good thinking. If we had been made, we might not be alive right now. Nobody’s being written up,” she promises. “Plus, it was a pretty good kiss,” she adds with a smirk.

“Just pretty good?” You laugh.

“Yeah, not half bad.” Her eyes dart down to your lips and your stomach tightens.

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you again?” You whisper.

“Yes. Definitely. But I think you should do it anyway,” she urges you.

Without hesitation, you lean in and meet her lips once more, sucking her plump bottom lip between yours and drawing a moan from her throat. Her tongue slips into her mouth as your hands roam desperately over her body that's separated from yours by the center console. Her hand dips beneath your blazer, toying with your waistband as her thumb slips beneath it. Her hand moves to the button of your slacks.

“Can I?” she breathes.

You nod, whispering “please” before a knock on the window interrupts your actions. Your bodies jolt apart at a speed that you briefly think might be inhuman. When you see the face that’s smirking outside the car window, your body fills with fear. “Oh no.”

Angela opens the window and Harper leans down, smiling evilly at the two of you. “So. You two have fun? What am I saying? Of course you are. Enough fun to forget that I could hear everything over comms.”

“Nyla–” Angela starts.

“Don’t. Your little secret is safe with me. It’s about time you two stopped making heart eyes at each other and actually did something about it,” she smirks.