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roosterforme · 2 days

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Aim for the Sky Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Somehow the timing was just right, and Bradley's arrival meant he could join you for your appointment. He'd find out if he was having a son or daughter in person, with you. The enormity of Bradley's affection seemed to grow every day now, just like the Nugget he loved so much.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, swearing, pregnancy

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Bradley," you gasped, head tipped back against the pillar that was pressing into your shoulder. "Your duffle is here. I can see it." Actually, it was just going around and around on the conveyor belt while Bradley sucked gently on your neck and slowly bunched the fabric of your dress in his hand over your bump. And just like that, once again, your focus drifted away from the bag as soon as he spoke.

"I'll get it in a minute," he murmured next to your ear. "I'm a little busy."

You were getting side eye from a woman, and a random man was outright gawking at you, but you didn't really care. The airport was busy, but it wasn't enough to make you pull your fingers from Bradley's soft hair or tell him to stop kissing his way back to your lips. His bristly mustache made you sigh when he reached his destination once again, and you let him taste your tongue before you pulled away slightly.

"Roo. We're kind of on a tight schedule." When he just grunted in response and headed for your lips again, you laughed. "Daddy! Let's go see the Nugget."

He seemed to snap out of it a little bit, the desire in his eyes giving way to excitement. "Right. Let's go. I can taste you everywhere at home later."

When he took you by the hand, you had to dig your heels in. "We need your bag!" you said with a smile. Then he led you in the opposite direction and snatched his massive duffle up like it was nothing and tossed it over his shoulder. You had to hustle along next to him as he exited the airport through the sliding doors and headed for the parking garage. It was like he knew you parked near the spot where he totaled your beloved little Honda when he finally got you pregnant on his birthday. You felt your cheeks grow warm as you recalled the details.

He must have seen his blue Bronco in the last row, because he picked up his pace a little bit more. "I don't think we have time for reunion sex yet," he muttered, glancing at you and letting his gaze dip down your body. "But I'll take care of you later. You got along okay without me?"

You let out a little squeak as he tossed his bag in the back and headed for the passenger side door so he could unlock it for you. "Honestly? I haven't been as insatiable since the first trimester ended," you told him, leaning closer to inhale the scent of his deodorant. "At least... I wasn't until right now."

He pulled you close again and tilted your chin up so you were looking at him. "Listen, I'm a little keyed up, and I don't think I can be quick. Can you wait until later?"

"Oh, God," you whined, your skin tingling at the thought of how long he might last for you and how good he would feel. "This is just as exciting as when I felt the baby moving on Halloween."

His brown eyes went wide, and his lips parted in surprise. "You felt the Nugget?!" When you nodded, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

You just gaped at him. "Seriously? You had your mouth all over mine! How was I supposed to tell you anything?"

"Shit," he hissed and handed you the keys before his hands settled on your belly, drifting around, trying to feel something. "You drive," he said, slowly guiding you to the other side of the Bronco. "I need to work on feeling a kick."

As he buckled you in behind the wheel, you didn't have the heart to tell him that the baby wasn't even moving around much right now, or that it would probably be weeks before he'd be able to feel anything externally. He was too adorable when he was this excited, and you watched him run around the hood and jump inside like an overgrown golden retriever who had been offered a treat. His eyes were wide as he got himself buckled before placing both hands on your belly.

"Okay. I'm ready to go," he informed you with a nod.

"You sure?" you asked, smirking as you put the key in the ignition. "A minute ago, you looked like you were ready to have parking garage sex again, and now you're all over me and the Nugget."

You shifted into gear, and he whispered, "I'm ready, Baby Girl. I'm so fucking ready to learn what we're having, and if I feel a little kick on the way, it'll be like a cherry on top of the best day."

You paid the parking fee and pulled out onto the main road as you realized you only had about twenty minutes to get to Dr. Morris's office on time. "Don't get your hopes up," you said while Bradley felt you all over. "You probably won't be able to feel anything. It's still early for that."

"Hey, not to be rude, Sweetheart, but I'm actually going to need you to stop talking."

"What?" you asked, so startled you laughed a little bit. "Did you just ask me to be quiet?"

He kissed your cheek while you drove and whispered, "It's just that I can't tell if it's the vibrations from your voice or the baby moving. Please? I love you." Now you were laughing even harder as his big hands moved all around on you. "No, no, that's- see you're actually moving more when you laugh though." He kissed your cheek again as you rolled your eyes and smothered your laughter. "That's better."

When you pulled into the parking lot of the medical complex, your husband's fingers were stroking your belly gently, and when you parked again and looked at him, you saw a few tears in his eyes. "You okay?" you asked softly.

"Yeah. I'm good. Like really fucking good."

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Bradley was forever wondering when his luck would run out. His life just seemed too good to be true. He was holding hands with his hot, pregnant wife in the waiting room, just buzzing with excitement. In a few short minutes, he was going to find out if he was having a son or a daughter. He wondered if this was how his dad felt in 1984. He wondered if Nick Bradshaw ever wanted to randomly get on his knees for his wife for no reason.

"They called us," you whispered, kissing his cheek before you stood up. Bradley jumped to his feet as well, so deep in thought, he hadn't heard anything. He'd never admit it to you, but this was probably more exciting than the day the two of you got married.

He pressed his sweaty palm to yours and walked past the reception desk at your side. Three short hallways later, and a nurse led you into a large, dimly lit room with huge computer monitors on one wall. "I'm so fucking excited, I might pass out," he said, voice deep and raspy.

The nurse eyed him cautiously. "Perhaps you should have a seat while Dr. Morris performs the scan?"

He nodded, intercepting the cotton gown before you could take it from her. "That's a great idea. I'll do that."

Once she was gone, Bradley turned to you and started unfolding the gown while you stepped out of your boat shoes. "Are you really going to pass out?" you asked him as you started to pull your sinfully snug dress up your legs.

"Let me do that," he grunted, kneeling on the floor and pushing the fabric up and over your belly. He kissed your tattoo through your underwear, and then he kissed the spot next to your belly button where he always imagined the Nugget was hanging out. "I love you," he whispered before getting to his feet again and pulling the dress up and over your head. You weren't wearing a bra, and your breasts looked so fucking incredible, he wanted them in his mouth.

"You're staring at me," you said, reaching for the gown as you shifted back and forth in place like you were getting cold. "I know I look different. I gained like eight or nine pounds while you were gone once I stopped throwing up all the time."

Bradley let you take the gown from his hands. "Jesus Christ, maybe I really should sit down," he muttered, dragging a chair over next to the table where you'd be sitting in a moment. "And I was just staring at your tits, Baby Girl. You don't look different, you look fucking hot pregnant. God, this is more exciting than when you let me fuck you in the ass."

And that was the exact moment when Dr. Morris entered the room and cleared her throat. "Lieutenant Bradshaw," she said, reaching out to shake his hand as he hovered awkwardly over the chair before standing up again. "It's so nice to have you back with us." You were cradling your head in your hand in embarrassment as he shook hands with your obstetrician.

"Dr. Morris," he murmured. "I only missed the last appointments, because I was deployed. There's nothing else that could have kept me away, I swear."

She laughed and looked between the two of you and said, "Well, we do like a supportive and adventurous partner."

"Roo," you groaned softly as you started to climb up on the table. Bradley turned to help you, and you let him.

"She's a doctor, Sweetheart," he whispered. "She's heard it all."

"That's true," Dr. Morris said as she washed her hands, and you gave Bradley a bland look as you settled back on the table which was bent at an angle that would let you see the monitors. He was so excited, he just kissed your forehead a bunch of times while Dr. Morris asked, "Are we ready to get started?"

"Yes!" he practically shouted while you responded in a much calmer tone. He eased himself down into the chair and looked up at you as he reached for your hand.

"This is it," you told him with a nervous smile. "Any final guesses?"

He shook his head, his attention drawn to the monitors as they came to life. "I don't care one way or the other. I just want to know everything I can about the Nugget."

Then he took your hand in both of his bigger ones and brought your fingers up to his lips as you said, "Me, too."

Bradley's heart skipped around as Dr. Morris spread the warm gel on your belly, and he had to press his lips together to keep quiet. He'd imagined himself holding a son, and he'd imagined himself holding a daughter. He had thought about names he liked for both. He considered what wild colors he might one day paint the bedroom walls, and he looked forward to it. He thought he'd be good at being a basketball dad or a dance dad or a cheer dad or a soccer dad. And that's why it didn't really matter what Dr. Morris said today. It didn't really matter what his kid was into or not into, because the Nugget was going to be an extension of the two of you. Somehow that equated to perfection in his mind.

"Let's count some little toes," Dr. Morris said, and then Bradley squeezed your hand as two tiny feet appeared on the screen.

"Holy shit," he whispered. There were ten perfect toes on his perfect baby, and he had to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand as you laughed softly in awe. The Nugget would be smart and confident just like you were. Bradley would get the attic taken care of, and he'd put together the jungle gym. He would do every single thing that needed to be done to make a perfect home for this child. He would take care of you every day right now until he was taking care of both of you.

"Now let's check on the fingers."

Ten tiny fingers, attached to the cutest baby he'd ever seen in his life. Bradley took a deep breath and let his forehead rest against your arm as he tried to get himself under control. "Oh my God," he whispered, knowing he'd be able to count those toes and fingers in person next year. He could tickle them and send piggies to the market. He could kiss them and watch them toddle across the living room floor after Tramp.

"Let's just get a look at the heartbeat and a few other things here." Dr. Morris was taking her time, which Bradley appreciated. He liked a thorough doctor, but the anticipation was killing him.

The heartbeat on the screen had you mesmerized when he looked at your beautiful face, but then you turned to look at him. Once again, he had no idea how he ended up this lucky. "I love you, Roo."

His already blurry vision just got worse as he sucked in a deep breath. "I love you so much."

This time you brought his fingers up to your lips and kissed him as Dr. Morris added a little more gel to your belly and smashed it down with the ultrasound paddle. "Are you sure you want to find out the sex?"

"Yes!" you said, smiling at Bradley like you fucking knew you were his whole world. Like you didn't mind sharing him with the Nugget from now on. "We want to know!"

Bradley watched your face as you watched the monitor. His fingers on your wrist told him your heart was racing just like his was, and you were licking your lips in anticipation. You were perfect. His life was perfect. His baby was going to follow suit, no doubt about that. A smile found its way to his lips, and his shoulders relaxed, knowing that the next words he heard were going to be perfect, too. How could they not be?

"Congratulations. It's a girl."

The feeling inside his body was something he never knew before. He felt as much love as he had when he listened to you read your wedding vows, but this was something more. He was going to have a perfect little girl. Tears filled his eyes as he realized he was going to get to love and take responsibility for raising a daughter.

"Roo!" you sobbed, reaching for him, and then he was on his feet and kissing you.

"A girl," he said even as he mashed his lips to yours. "A daughter."

He wasn't sure if he felt his own tears or yours on his cheeks as you pressed your forehead to his and asked, "Are you happy?"

It took him a few seconds to get control of his voice as he held your face in his hands. "I'm living the life of my dreams."

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Bradley had tears in his eyes and ultrasound images clutched to his chest as you led him outside to the Bronco. His free hand was clasped tight with yours, and you'd never seen him look so happy in your life. "A little girl," he said, handing you his keys once again, and you already knew what he was going to do when he buckled you into the driver's seat. "We're having a girl," he whispered, brown eyes wide as he kissed your wedding rings.

You nodded and wiped your thumb along his cheek. "It just makes sense somehow."

"It does," he agreed, kissing your lips before leaning down to kiss your bump through your dress. "I love this Nugget," he whispered. "My daughter."

You whined his name as he said those words, and when he looked up at you, all you could say was, "You're going to be the best Daddy, Roo." You thought about it all the time. The way he'd carry the baby around and read bedtime stories. The way he'd always be patient and sweet. You weren't sure if you'd always imagined a little girl or not, but it made so much sense right now.

"Let's go home," he rasped, kissing his way up from your belly until he got to your tender breasts. Technically you were supposed to work this afternoon, at least that's what you'd told Bickel. As Bradley ran around to the passenger side, you dug your phone out and texted your boss, letting him know that the baby was fine, and you'd see him on Monday.

"What's wrong?" Bradley asked as you tossed your phone aside and started the engine.

"Nothing. Everything is right. I'm taking the rest of the day off so we can spend it together," you replied softly as his hands found their way back to your belly. It had been too many weeks since you'd been touched, and it felt so good, you had to press your lips together to keep from moaning. "I want to spend it with you."

He grunted and kissed the side of your neck as you pulled out of the parking lot. "I'm not letting my girls out of my sight all weekend."

"Bradley," you whined, feeling so much desire for him. The two of you could start talking about nursery decor and girl names and when you wanted to break the news to everyone else. You could do all of those things this weekend now that he was home. But you were also just needy for him.

You made a little noise as you tried your best to go the speed limit, and you knew that your husband knew what you needed. "I'll take care of you, Sweetheart. Don't worry about that. I'll take care of everything."

He was tracing hearts along your belly, and you turned to look at his slightly lovesick eyes when you stopped at an intersection. "I know you will." You delighted in the fact that you were having a little girl who would get to share all of his love with you. The enormity of Bradley's affection seemed to grow every day now, just like the Nugget, and pretty soon she would be showered in it too.

When you pulled into the driveway and parked in the tight spot next to your red Bronco, Bradley eyed the pallets of jungle gym pieces. "I can't fucking wait to build that thing. I've been dreaming about it for so long." Then he was jumping out the door as you shifted into park, and he was around to your side in an instant. "Been dreaming about this day for ages," he whispered as you climbed down and into his arms. His hands found your lower back as he added, "Been thinking about you and the Nugget since I left."

You smiled up at him. "You know what might be fun, Daddy?"

"What?" he asked, keeping his eyes on yours as he started to lead you up to the porch.

"If you start building the Nugget's playset tomorrow, and you get all sweaty and let me watch," you said, your voice turning into a soft whimper at the end.

Bradley jammed the house key into the lock, and shoved the door open. He hooked one arm around your waist and pulled you inside with him as Tramp started jumping around like a maniac. "Hey, buddy," Bradley told him with a smile. "I missed you, too. But I need some time with my girls first."

"It's okay," you said as you closed the door behind you. "He probably won't calm down until you play with him a little bit."

But Bradley was pushing you back against the door even as Tramp ran around in circles. "Wait right here," he commanded softly, and lust rippled through you at the sight of his pupils blown wide. "Don't move an inch."

You felt like you were barely even breathing as you stood very still and watched Bradley lead Tramp past the piano and out the back sliding glass door. "I promise I'll play with you next. I just desperately need to fuck my wife." Then he made his way back to you, his lips set in a determined smirk, and his movements beyond sexy. "I promised I wouldn't leave you hanging."

You closed your eyes as his palm came to rest on the wooden door just next to your head. His warmth was so close, but he wasn't touching you yet as you whispered, "You always take care of me."

His fingers started to pull up the hem of your dress as he crooned, "Why don't you go ahead and tell me how much you missed me."

You tipped your head back until it met the door, and you kept your eyes squeezed closed as you whined, "Couldn't go another day without you." When his lips met your cleavage, your eyes flew open. His lips grazed your nipple through the thin fabric as he slowly knelt in front of you, and you told him, "Your daughter and I missed you terribly."

When he looked up at your face, he pulled your dress up and said, "I'm so in love with you." He ran his lips along your bare belly. "And you." Then he pressed the bunched up fabric against your ribs, and when he said, "Hold this for me, Baby Girl," you did exactly as you were told.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Fuck," he grunted, rough hands on your thighs as he kissed your belly button. "Do you have any idea how perfect you are?" His eyes met yours again. "You asked me if I was happy. I've been happy since I met you. Since you gave me a purpose. Since you let me love you." His hands found the scrap of your white lace underwear and started to pull it down your thighs. "God, I missed this," he murmured, pressing his lips to your pussy as soon as you were free of the lace which slipped all the way down until your panties hit your boat shoes.

"Bradley," you croaked, the second syllable sounding much longer than the first as he licked his way up your slit to the patch of hair that you kept neatly trimmed. He licked along this same path again, this time pressing deeper with his tongue. The third time, he separated you a little more, and then he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked gently. All the while he kept his big hands on the swell of your belly. "I really missed you."

He responded by kissing your dainty rooster tattoo and burying his face in your pussy. Bradley gently nudged your legs further apart so he could taste you everywhere, and each time you started to buck, he pushed your hips back. You were gripping your dress so tight in both hands, you were afraid you might rip the fabric, but he just kept going in a smooth up and down stripe until you could tell you were dripping wet.

"Yeah, you missed me," he grunted, kissing your tattoo one more time. "I can taste how much."

"Roo."

He got to his feet and cupped your pussy below the swell of your belly, circling your opening with the tip of one finger as he leaned in close. "Will you let me take you to bed and show you how much I missed you?"

Your voice shook as he pushed his finger inside you, just a promise of what was to come if you agreed. "Please!"

Barely ten seconds later, you were on your back in bed, your dress pushed all the way up, exposing your breasts and belly to him. Your soaked pussy was already clenching as the cool air hit your skin, and you watched Bradley wrench his shirt off and unzip his pants. But he didn't penetrate you yet. He pushed on the backs of your thighs so your knees got a little closer to your shoulders, and you whimpered his name.

His eyes were a little wild as he said, "Yeah, I'll take care of everything, Sweetheart." Bradley wrapped his hands around your thighs and leaned down to kiss at your furled nipples, his mustache leaving you squirming, searching for release. "Your fucking tits are huge. My God. And so warm."

He nuzzled himself against your breasts which were in fact getting to the point where your bras were fitting a little too tight. He sucked and swiped his tongue along, and you let your fingers sink into his hair as he brought you close with his mouth wrapped around one nipple then the other. "Oh my God," you panted, just spurring him on. Because next, his mouth trailed back down to your belly where he whispered and worshipped you.

"I love my girls," he crooned, spreading your legs open wider as you tugged on his hair to keep yourself grounded. "I love you so much."

"Please," you begged softly, and he finally put that mouth back on your soaking wet core. You were about to come, grinding against his lips and his nose, his name falling from you like a depraved prayer. Eventually he paused before filling you with his cock instead. You cried out as he stretched you fully for the first time in so long, and almost immediately he was fucking you to completion. You came hard, your back arching off the bed as you grabbed at his shoulders, but you knew he wanted his share, too.

Bradley fucked you through your orgasm, lips pressed to your ear so you could hear every word he said and every deep rumble at the back of his throat. "You were made for me, weren't you, Baby Girl? And I was made to worship you."

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By the time Bradley came, he was sweaty and babbling like a lovesick idiot. Everything he cared about most was right there in his arms as you took him deep, always welcoming him into your sweetness. The relief he felt was incredible as he finally rolled onto his back, pulling you a little closer as he went.

"I'm gonna be a girl dad," he said with a smile as he looked at the ceiling through his post orgasm haze. "I can't wait."

The slick friction from his cum teased at his leg hairs as your pussy rested against his thigh, and you snuggled up against his chest. "Me too, Roo. I'm so excited to meet her."

Your fingers teased along his abs, lulling him ever closer to an afternoon nap. He knew that one of you needed to let Tramp back inside, and he was going to have to scrape together something for you to eat soon. But right now, he didn't want to move.

"What happened with your deployment?" you asked softly as he yawned. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now when he knew you were carrying his little girl, but he should have known you'd have questions.

"It fucking sucked. Being away from you gets harder and harder each time now. They kept tacking on more weeks of these random bombing runs, and the weather was miserable. We had to fly in the rain half the time."

He listened to you hum, contemplating what he said. "It was so scary when you got called to action in the middle of talking to me over FaceTime. I couldn't stop crying. And then it was weeks before some random guy in personnel called me to let me know you were on your way home."

It was hard to believe he was on that flight back to San Diego just a few hours ago. "Honestly, in all of the excitement today, that already feels so distant in my mind," he told you, kissing your forehead as he thought about how long he had been away from you. "We didn't really know we were heading home until it was happening. And it was so late here when we got released, they told me they'd have someone reach out so I didn't have to wake you up again. Then there was only one seat left on the first flight home, and once Payback and I were being airlifted to Hong Kong, they told us to decide who was taking that spot. He gave it to me, no questions asked. Told me to get home to you and the Nugget."

You gasped and murmured, "Reuben is the sweetest."

Bradley chuckled as his fingers grazed along the side of your bump. "Yeah, well, you actually owe him three dozen chocolate chip cookies. That was the only stipulation for the deal."

Your laughter made Bradley's smile grow. "Totally worth it. Actually, since you made it home in time for my appointment, I'll make five dozen for him."

"No wonder everyone thinks I'm spoiled," he told you, tugging on you until you were straddling his hips and looking down at him with your hands braced on his chest. "Fuck. Just look at you."

His sticky cum was matted in your pubic hair, and your tits looked delicious. There was no way he'd be able to keep his hands away from you now that he'd seen and felt your little bump in person. His daughter was growing in there. He smiled and ran his palm gently over your skin, stroking you with his thumb as your pretty gaze stayed transfixed on his.

"I'm happy you're home, Roo."

He nodded, eye lids growing heavy from jet lag and the time zones, and he simply didn't argue when you kissed his cheek and said you were going to let Tramp inside and then take a nap with him. Soon enough, Bradley was snuggled up in bed with his head resting next to your belly and your fingers tangled in his hair. Your sweet voice lulled him to sleep for the best afternoon nap of his life.

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This has been a very emotional day for Bradley. He's home with his hot wife, and now he gets to start planning for the arrival of their daughter in a few more months! Thank you so much for reading about the Nugget! More to come soon, including the first wedding anniversary! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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duuhrayliegh · 2 days

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equal and opposite (consequences, pt. 2)

a/n: first of all, yall really showed out with the comments and reblogs on the first part of this so THANK YOU SO MUCH like i haven't written anything that i felt was good in months so to have such an overwhelmingly positive response to that post felt amazing!!!!

if you haven’t read part one, i highly recommend checking that out first!!!!

anyway, i hadn't originally intended for this to go anywhere else, but as i've said before bartender!bucky & peanut just wouldn't go away so here we are!!! i hope this lives up to the expectations and if we want more PLEASE LET ME KNOW I LIVE TO PLEASE

“Can you please just sit down? I don’t understand what’s happening to us!”

“That’s the problem!”

He throws his hands above his head out of exasperation. They land on his hips as their new resting place and he levels you with a frustrated glare. A glare. Apparently, you’re not worth the energy it takes to filter the emotions from his tone or expressions. That luxury must be saved for his plethora of mistresses.

“You don’t understand me anymore!”

“Understand you?”

Going home has become harder and harder. Despite desperately wanting to fix your marriage, it seems your efforts might have been in vain. No matter how hard you try, your husband has made every effort to avoid having a real conversation with you. To say you’re at your wit's end would be generous.

“Yes! Coming home to you is too stressful for me. I’m in the office all week and then I come home to a wife who doesn’t put in any effort to make herself desirable for me.”

Your jaw dropped, as did the wooden spoon in your hand. His words float through your head on repeat. That voice you used to love, the same voice that vowed to always love and cherish you in his wedding vows. Now, you’re cooking for a man you don’t know.

“Then why stay with me? If I’m so clearly not what you want, why stay?”

There’s a drawn out silence that is accompanied by softly heaving breaths and the simmering pot of homemade spaghetti sauce.

“You’re what I want in a wife. You just don’t understand my needs in the way that Shelia does.”

Your blood boils. Shelia—the latest girlfriend in a string of girlfriends. How dare he? You turn to the stove and begin clicking everything off. You fume while gathering your purse and keys to a home that you no longer feel welcome in.

“This is why I didn’t want to get into this. You’re too emotional and I knew you’d play the victim whenever I’m suffering too!”

You roll your eyes, refusing to engage because you’ll only hurt yourself more. Instead, you pry the door open and slam it shut before trekking off down the hallway.

You don’t have a plan, all you know is that you need to get out. You’re lucky that you were wearing a hoodie and jeans whenever you started getting into it with John. It’s not the first time that you had to get out, so you’ve learned over the past few months.

Wind whips against your cheeks when you exit your apartment building. You pull your hood over your head and start walking aimlessly. You reach for your phone and dial the first number you think of.

You never stop walking, street lamps lighting the sidewalk with a pale yellow light. There’s an irritating sting starting behind your eyes that you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t have to listen to the trilling of the phone line for long before it’s interrupted.

“Commando’s. How can I help you?”

The music in the bar is loud enough that you can clearly make out Steve’s divorced dad rock playlist. A rush of relief shoots down your spine and you breathe a sigh while enjoying the subtle ambiance through your phone speaker.

“Hello?”

It’s only then that you realize you’ve been on the phone for the past thirty seconds without saying anything.

“Bucky?”

“Peanut?”

“Hi, uh--I didn't have your number and I didn't know who else to call."

"Hang on, Peanut. I'm here, hang on." Suddenly the music is reduced to a bouncing bass line. "Are you okay?"

You continue walking, breathing in the stale air of the city as you debate your answer. For the most part, sure, you're okay. You’re not physically harmed in any way, just a deep emotional hurt that persists through the stark cold of the air around you. But if someone looked twice, or you spend more than half a second around someone you're comfortable with, that answer wouldn’t hold water.

"The wheels, Peanut, I can hear them. I need you to answer me. Are you okay?"

Bucky's voice is soft and grounding. Your heartbeat starts to match the steady baseline of the bar's music.

"I'm okay?"

Bucky's soft laugh echoes through the phone speaker, "That sounded like a question more than an answer, Peanut." He then pauses and sighs, "What did he do now?"

You suck in a sharp breath, debating on how to answer his question. The lead weight that had previously settled in your stomach begins to lessen as you hear Bucky’s voice.

On the one hand, Bucky has become the person you feel the most comfortable with. You don't have anyone close to you in the city because you moved out here to support John's career. Your family is on the other side of the country, and it's not like you've had a whole lot of time to build a support system here.

On the other, Bucky didn't sign up for this. He didn't sign up for a broken wife that isn't even his! You have no connection to him outside of becoming a regular at his bar and forming a possibly misguided attraction.

“Peanut? Come on back to me."

“Sorry, Buck. I just—“ you trail off, not entirely sure how to handle yourself.

“Don’t worry about it, Peanut Butter.” You laugh softly at the lengthier version of your nickname while he continues talking. “Look, how about we meet somewhere so we can talk?”

“Aren’t you working tonight though? I can just come to the bar.”

No matter how appealing Bucky’s offer is, you don’t want him to risk his livelihood for you. You aren’t worth that, not really.

“Not anymore, Pea. You’re more important to me. The guys here can handle the bar while I leave to take care of my Ps and Qs.”

You giggle again, unsure of where he comes up with these iterations.

“There she is.”

The words are murmured low, as if he was just speaking to himself. As if it’s a remark not meant for public consumption, just a murmur of his adoration.

“There’s a little hole in the wall on 115th and North. It’s called Winnie’s. Meet me there and you can talk for however long they’re serving coffee.”

"Don't diners always serve coffee?"

"They sure do. And Winnie's is a 24-hour diner. Which means," There's a loud shuffle on his end of the phone and then his voice cuts through. "you can talk to me for as long as you want, Peanut."

"Thank you, Bucky." You aren't as loud as you meant to be, but you know he hears you when he hums before you end the call.

Shoving the phone in the pocket of your jacket, you search for street signs.

And now you stand in front of Winnie's, a sixties diner straight off a movie set. Bright neon illuminates the street below, bathing you in a turquoise light that you're sure is not at all flattering. The front door is encased in chrome and vinyl covers the seating throughout the restaurant.

You push through the front doors and spy a large jukebox on the left side of the building. There's no host stand, so you peer around the seats in search of your bartender.

"Welcome to Winnie's. hun! Just take a seat, we'll be right with ya!"

An older woman yells from behind the bar top. Her graying hair is pulled into a neat bun at the base of her neck and you're just about to read her nametag when you hear a familiar voice.

"Peanut! This-a-way!" Bucky stands from a booth in the corner, grabbing your attention and everyone else in the restaurant.

A bright blush colors your cheeks as you make your way to his booth in the corner. The linoleum floor of the diner becomes increasingly interesting the closer you find yourself to Bucky. To be completely truthful, you've never seen Bucky outside of the bar, so this is a jarring, but welcome experience.

He's still wearing those annoyingly large boots and tight white shirt that never fails to distract you when you're sitting on the twirly bar stools. His metal arm is on full display, the gold in-lay catching the light as he twists a straw wrapper into a tight spiral.

Bucky stands to greet you once you reach the booth, leaning toward you and wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your breath catches at his sudden body heat, but you waste no time in curling your arms around his torso.

"This might be the dumbest and most obvious question, but," he pulls back from the hug and gestures toward the seat across from him, "how’re you doing?"

A stifled laugh escapes as you settle into the worn vinyl seat. Instead of answering, you pull a less-than-convincing smile that you know Bucky can see right through. Evidenced by the fact that he laughs sarcastically at the look of it.

"Yeah, thought as much."

"It's just all becoming too much, I think."

An older woman brings two coffee mugs to the table, gripping a half-full coffee pot in her other hand. You stop yourself before you divulge anything in the presence of strangers. You don't need to burden another random stranger with your problems, Bucky is more than enough.

“Who's your friend, Jamie?"

Bucky smiles while introducing you to the woman. He extends the same courtesy to you, placing the name of the woman in front of you.

"Peanut, this is Winnie. She's the owner and operator of Winnie's diner."

Bucky pours a healthy dose of sugar into your coffee mug and then drops a spoon into it before pushing it across to you. You're in the middle of taking a large sip of the hot drink when Bucky continues talking.

"She's also my mother."

“Oh!"

He laughs as you sputter, completely phased by his nonchalance about introducing you to his mother. To be fair, you don’t really know Bucky outside of him being a great listener and mixologist. Winnie laughs and talks with the both of you before politely excusing herself to take care of her other customers.

“Your mother?”

Bucky leans forward and locks eyes with you.

“I’m so sorry. She wasn’t meant to be working today, but you would have met her one way or another.”

There he goes again, that dizzying nonchalance that bleeds into every word he speaks. Your mouth opens to speak, but you're still in a state of stunned that has you stumbling on your words.

"I'm just kidding, Nutter Butter." Bucky laughs and you hum while picking at your cuticles.

"Sorry, just took me by surprise."

"Clearly."

Bucky glances at your hands that are resting on the table and shifts around his side of the booth. There's a brief moment of silence as you mull over what Winnie has said.

"Did she call you 'Jamie'?"

Bucky lets out a loud laugh. One of those laughs that sounds like the feeling snuck up on everyone, including the person laughing.

"That's what you focused on, Peanut?"

You're smiling more in the past five minutes with Bucky than you have in the past five months with John. Bucky stops shuffling and then removes his coffee cup from the saucer it sits on. He slides the tiny plate toward you as you talk.

"Thank you for meeting me, Buck. Like I said, I think I'm just getting too tired of his bullshit. He really came at me today with the attitude that this is all my fault." Bucky nods as you continue speaking, "As if I'm the one who asked for an open marriage."

Bucky reveals a Ziplock bag and dumps the contents of it into the saucer in front of you. You're just about to start a rant when he nudges a salty shell into your hands. You glance down for half a second before getting the ball rolling.

"John asked for this! He's the one that's causing all this... this turmoil in our relationship. I haven't gone on a single date! I haven't caused a single issue. All I've been trying to do is understand things from his point of view, but he won't even give me the time of day to do that. I can't even suggest something like marriage counseling because he runs out the door the second he sees me enter a goddamn room."

You stop to take another long sip of your coffee while Bucky sits back and lets you rant at him across from yet another counter. You can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, clearly holding back from saying something.

"I don't even know what to do anymore!" You huff and shove your hair over your shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Do you want my honest opinion or do you want me to just be here for you?"

"I want you to be you."

"Okay." Bucky nods, you crack open yet another peanut and place the shell on a napkin next to the plate. "I think you should start considering divorcing ol' Johnny boy."

"I can't do that."

Your response is immediate. Too quick to be healthy really. The shell of the peanut cracks between your fingers, revealing the salty perfection inside.

"Alright, divorce is off the table. How do you feel about separation?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It goes against everything I was raised to believe. I was brought up under the idea that the person you marry is the person you stick next to no matter what."

"Even when that person isn't extending the same courtesy?"

"I just--" You sniffle, peeling open yet another peanut. "I just want to be loved, Bucky. I don't understand what I did to make him look for love and affection from someone other than me."

Bucky reaches across the table and covers your hand with his, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles soothingly. You found yourself in this same position three months ago. It was when Bucky first told you of his interest in dating you.

To be perfectly honest, you were about two slow blinks away from folding into his arms then. Nothing's changed. You're still half a second from completely melting for the man before you, but you can't get over the fact that you're married.

"Peanut, you may never understand his reasoning. Especially when he won't sit down and explain anything to you. I think you should do what's in your best interest. If you don't want to divorce or separate, then you need to surround yourself with people who will give you that love and affection that you need."

A soft lull coats the pair of you and you allow your eyes to lock with Bucky's. What you find there shocks you.

Pity is something that you never, ever want to experience, but with a shitty situation like your marriage, you've come to expect it. Every time you glance in a mirror or catch your reflection in a store window, or even a puddle of water, you find your own eyes layered with that sickening sadness that accompanies self-pity.

However, in Bucky's clear blue eyes, you find nothing but determination. Determination for what is the question you're now faced with. In all reality, Bucky has no dog in this fight. He has no reason to be helping you the way that he has. Bucky's expressed interest in you, sure, but that doesn't constitute going to the lengths that he does.

"I just want you to be happy."

"Do you think you could make me happy?"

"Absolutely."

You nod while popping the last peanut into your mouth and wiping your hands off on your jeans. You stand unceremoniously and then hold your hand out to Bucky. He stares at your outstretched hand in half-baked shock and then jumps at the opportunity.

"See ya later, Ma! Love ya."

"Will you be home for family dinner?"

"Nope, gotta take my Peanut to the ballgame!"

Bucky rushes you out of the diner and pulls you to a heavy-looking motorcycle. You laugh as he pries open one of the saddlebags on the bike. He reveals two helmets, one white and one black. Both have sleek features with a face cover that reflects Bucky's sharp features.

"What?" His laugh that follows is full of nervous energy as you continue to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"It just--" You snort quietly, "You would drive a motorcycle."

"Oh yeah? And why's that, Peanut Brittle?"

You wave your hand as if you're circling his whole body and shrug while smiling your ass off.

"You just gestured to all of me."

You both break into a fit of laughter, only for Bucky to break it off and unclip the chin strap of the white helmet.

"Well, does safety also fit with..." he does the same gesture as you, "all this?"

Bucky gently rests the helmet on the leather seat of the motorcycle and then leans over to you.

"You might want to pull your hair back. Trust me I love your hair down, but whenever you're riding it's easier in the long run."

"Oh, okay." You begin to pull your hair back when you remember that your hair tie is on the counter at your apartment. "Actually, I think I'll suffer the consequences."

Bucky glances at you and then asks, "You need a tie?"

He prompts you to turn around and he quickly coaxes your hair into a neat ponytail at the base of your neck. You turn back to him with wide eyes, your hand reaching back to check the hairstyle.

"Come on. I've got plans, Payday! I've got ideas to romance ya!"

You laugh while Bucky beams and puts the white helmet over your head. Once it's secured, he swipes the visor up and boops your nose. You scrunch it in retaliation and he shakes his head at you. He grips the sides of your helmet and tilts your head to the side. A loud Bluetooth signal sounds and a robotic female voice informs you that the device has been connected.

"So, basic rules of the bike. I lean, you lean." He taps on the side of the helmet he just fiddled with. "This is a microphone, so we'll be able to communicate without the visors being up. Don't be afraid to squeeze if you feel a little wobbly. I promise I can handle whatever you give me, Peanut."

You flush at his words, thankful that you're already wearing the helmet so he isn't privy to the bright red coloring overtaking your cheeks. Bucky slips on his own helmet and mounts the bike in one smooth motion. His hands glide to the handlebars and then he turns to face you and jerk his head in the opposite direction.

You release a deep breath and give yourself a mini pep talk before placing your hands on Bucky's shoulders. The difference between them keeps you grounded as you swing your leg over the back of the motorcycle. His voice shoots into your ears, a breathy fuck me that wasn't meant for your ears.

"You ready?"

This question is at a normal level, and you respond in kind. The bike roars to life beneath you and you jolt toward him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist tightly.

"Hold on tight, spider monkey."

You giggle and interlock your fingers above the waistline of his jeans. Now, you can feel every breath he takes, every minuscule contraction of his muscles from every movement he makes to control the beast between his legs. You try to take steady breaths in order to control your heartbeat and match Bucky's, but the faster he goes, the faster your heart beats against his back.

City lights blur past as you find your rhythm behind Bucky. The more comfortable you get, the looser your grip becomes around him. He takes you through downtown with all the newer, hipster restaurants inhabiting the busy streets. Bucky begins to slow and you look up to see his profile illuminated under the bright red of the traffic stop.

His feet rest on the ground beside the bike, holding it upright while it rumbles idly. Bucky leans back into you, his hands moving from the handlebars to your thighs. He traces the skin that's exposed by the rips of your jeans. The loose material allows just enough space for his fingers to burrow beneath and trace meaningless patterns into your skin.

Butterflies make themselves known in the pit of your stomach, along with another slightly less prominent heat building at his touch on your skin.

"We're almost there, Peanut Brittle." Bucky's voice is melodic through the microphone. You could fall asleep listening to him read a phone book.

The bike thunders to life again as Bucky releases the clutch. More buildings fade as he continues to steer the two of you down the less traveled streets.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere fun!"

He laughs at your little groan. Surprises aren't necessarily your favorite thing, but if it's Bucky, maybe it'll be tolerable.

Suddenly, Bucky drops his right hand from the bars and indicates his next turn. The pair of you lean in that direction slightly as he slows into a parking lot of a roller rink. The sign for the Rockin' Roller Rink has a bright yellow arrow blinking toward the building at the base of its billboard.

He rolls into a parking spot near the entrance and pops the kickstand out to steady the bike. You peel yourself off of his back and rest your hands on your thighs while taking in your surroundings. Bucky slips his helmet off and then turns his torso to face you.

"As much as I love you on my ride, Peanut, you have to get off first."

You flush red beneath the visor and quickly dismount. However, in your rush to get off, you don't realize how unstable your legs are as they bear your full weight after the ride. Bucky's hands shoot out to your waist as he remains on the bike, a wry grin on his lips.

"Sorry, should've warned you about that." He stands in front of you and dusts off your shoulders before deciding that you're okay. "It's because of the riding position when you're on the bike. If you aren't used to that, it can be a little jarring the first few times."

He takes your helmet and then removes the keys from the ignition. Bucky bends at the waist and hooks his key carabiner to your belt loops.

As he straightens to his full height, he remarks with a wink, "Plus, the vibrations don't help much either."

You squawk unattractively and smack his chest with the back of your hand while he belly laughs. His metal hand hovers over your lower back as he guides you into the double doors of the roller rink. While he pulls open the door for you, you think about all the times that your husband has failed to do even that act of basic decency.

You shake your head as you walk in, determined to put him out of your mind. That is until you remember the one stipulation of your open marriage--you both have to disclose when you go on dates. Your mind drifts to all the unanswered texts he's sent you about his various dates. Little quips that accomplish nothing but remind you that your husband sees you as less than. A relationship that he no longer has to put effort into and hasn't for some time now. You take your phone from your back pocket to shoot John a quick text, a sour look overtaking your face as you do.

On a date, be home later. You’re quick to swipe your phone onto do not disturb and shove it back into your pocket. You aren’t ready to face the hypocrisy that John will manage to cook up.

"You okay, Peanut?" Bucky's voice clears everything. All the swirling doubt, the immense turmoil that you feel when you think of John, everything negative is wiped when you focus on Bucky.

Perhaps that's also an issue. Maybe you need to be single instead of dating. Maybe you need to love yourself before anyone else can effectively love you. What if that's the real issue? The real reason why John had to seek affection outside of your marital bonds. Maybe it was because you were so unloveable to the point that it was more effort to work through your issues than find an effortless partner somewhere else.

A cold finger taps your temple causing you to blink harshly and refocus on the man before you. This man who's become your safe haven, your harbor in this horrific storm that is your marriage. The man who brings peanuts to his mother's diner because you called him to meet up. The man who knows you better than your husband who you've known for half your life.

"The wheels," your bartender reminds you as he pulls you to the side of the room. His arms envelop you until all you can process is biceps, one cold and one warm. Bucky's cheek rests against your head and you can't find it in yourself to stop from melting into his touch. "How about this," he shifts away from you just enough to meet your eyes, "you just take it one hour at a time?"

"One hour?" You ask, brows furrowing skeptically at the concept. You've never been someone who just focuses on the thing in front of you. Your whole life you had a plan--get married, have kids, and secure a stable home life. Although, now that you think about it, your way isn't really that effective. What has your way got you? A decaying marriage, no kids, and a job that you tolerate at most.

"Just one at a time. Nothing can be that daunting if it's one at a time." He smiles big and leans forward, "And let's face it, your first hour is going to be spent watching me almost bust my ass on rollerblades."

You giggle and look at the ground, only for Bucky to lift your face up with a finger on your chin. He stares deep into your eyes, making you think if you stare long enough, you'll meld into one. His grip changes so that most of his fingers cup your jaw, allowing his thumb to trace your bottom lip. His metal finger tugs downward on your lip, releasing it from the hold between your teeth.

"That's definitely one of my current favorite noises you make." He struts off to the front counter, you trailing behind with a confused look on your face at his dopey smile. The implications of his comment seeping into your bones causing a deep heat to light in the pit of your stomach.

As you approach the teller, Bucky's already disclosed his shoe size for the rental pair of skates. The teenager behind the counter makes a bored grunt at the instruction and turns to you, waiting for your size before they trot off to fill the order. Once again, you're left alone with your bartender.

You lean against the raised platform, shoulder digging into the overhanging lip of the counter. During this brief moment of solitude, you take your time taking in Bucky. He really is a mountain of a man, coming in at six-foot-five inches of corded muscle and steel, he's really nothing less than impressive.

His hair just brushes the top of his broad shoulders, though you hardly ever see it down. He always manages to have it tied securely at the base of his neck. However one time, you remember walking into the bar only to see Bucky behind the bar, as usual. Except his hair was bundled on the top of his head. Little wisps of hair fell from the looser hold, framing his forehead and neck. On top of that, he was wearing a red henley that was at least two sizes too small with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his differing forearms in the dim light of Commandos.

It's safe to say that during those few hours you spent with Bucky looking like that, you were a little slower to respond. What's interesting though is that Bucky looks nothing like John. You always thought that John was your ideal man. Based on who you married, you would have assumed you'd be more attracted to Steve than Bucky. Instead, you find yourself lacing up a pair of rental roller skates, that might give you athlete's foot if you're not careful, with the imposing dark-haired man next to you.

"Why bartending?"

The question floats between you as you take the floor. Glistening hardwood reflects the bright neon of the strobe lights and your image beside Bucky. You watch as he glances down at you before refocusing his attention on the path in front of him.

"Well, if I'm being honest, I kind of stumbled into it." He wobbles dangerously as he speaks, hand jutting out to grasp yours in an act of safety. "Shit, sorry." He apologizes sheepishly but makes no move to drop your hand.

You giggle beside him, butterflies awakening from his act of self-comfort, a feeling you haven't felt since your relationship with John began. Bucky squeezes your hand, straightens his back, and pulls you around the rink.

"When I was discharged, it wasn't so much as bartending as it was the ownership of the bar. It gave me a chance to gain some semblance of control back." He stares off into the distance as he speaks as if he's reciting words he said time and time before. You peer up at him, waiting for the rest of his explanation.

Even though you've known Bucky for as long as you have, neither of you has really delved too deep into your pasts. To say you know next to nothing about Bucky's time in the military would be generous. You hum while you ponder his answer.

"Does that need carry into other aspects of your life?"

It's a genuine question, something to move the conversation along because you honestly want to know more about the man beside you. The double entendre of the question doesn't process until you see Bucky blushing beside you with a wry grin. Your eyes bulge, words stammering out of your mouth without finding their full forms.

"Oh-- uh, n— that's not wh--" Your eyes drop to the ground beneath you, the sleek wood reflecting the neon disco of the roller rink lights.

Bucky chuckles beside you, slowly rubbing his thumb against the knuckles of the hand he still holds. He steers the pair of you to the side of the rink, locking you against the slightly sticky bannister with his strong forearms. You quickly level him with a questioning stare as he leans forward and takes a deep breath, undoubtedly getting a strong whiff of your soft vanilla and cherry perfume.

“I’m trying to be very good for you, Peanut. So I’m going to say this once and then we’re going to continue with our date and it isn’t going to come up again until you bring it up yourself.” Your nod is almost imperceptible, but considering how Bucky continues without consequence, you figure he was just mentally preparing himself for his next comment.

“I am enamored with you. I want to have sex with you. I have fantasies that revolved exclusively around you. However, I’m not putting any pressure on this relationship or you. I understand that you need time to process your grief and your marriage, but just know that I’m more than happy to help you through the process and I certainly hope that I’m the first one you go to once you get to a place when you feel confident enough to explore your sexuality.”

You flush at his words, a hot streak racing up your spine before settling in your cheeks, blossoming them into a heavy shade of crimson. Bucky’s left hand comes up to your forehead, brushing away a strand of hair out of your face.

“But not only that, I want to have a relationship with you. I want the late night cuddles. I want the early morning breakfasts. I want to come home from the bar and take a shower with you. I want to wash your hair. I want you to massage my shoulders after a long day. I want to host Saturday barbecues with you for my family and our friends. I want to drive you to the bookstore and regret driving the motorcycle after you get so many because I just can’t say no to you.”

Bucky’s hand drifts down your arm, tracing the soft skin, taking his time to lace his fingers with yours. He pulls you away from the ledge, leading you two into the hustle and bustle of the roller rink. A smile stretches across his features as he tugs you along, a slow steady silence backed by the bumping base of the house music. You fumble with who to respond to him, but you eventually decide that no words are necessary. You know that yiu’ll be able to discuss things further later, you allow yourself to fall into the comfortable company that is your favorite bartender.

Time passes by at a rate you aren’t able to fathom. One moment you’re skating circles around Bucky, laughing as his arms jut out to his sides, steadying himself as he sways and wobbles. You flit out of his reach for a beat only for his arms to wrap around your waist, bringing you to his warm front. You squeal as you clutch his arms, the difference in temperature providing a level of comfort that you’ve been craving for months now.

You tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, his long hair tickling the apples of your cheek. Soft puffs of air hit your face as he peers down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. He remains stoic, only his eyes giving you any indication that he wants more out of your current embrace.

“Attention all Rockin’ Roller Rink patrons, the rink will be closing in ten minutes! Please return all skates and other rentals to the front desk before leaving.”

The voice over the loudspeaker startles you causing you to jump in Bucky’s embrace. He tightens his hold on you, ensuring that you don’t topple over on your wheels. You breathe out a heavy sigh creating a slight distance between you.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Bucky is quick to follow you to the benches on the side to you could change your shoes so you can return the skates. You’re sure to take out your phone from your back pocket before sitting down. Against your better judgement, you swipe across the screen to turn off the silencing option. The screen illuminates and dozens of notifications flood the screen and you cringe. You shouldn’t feel bad, yore only doing what constitutes an open marriage. You sent the text, that was all that was required of you, and let’s be honest even that was more than what John deserves. Bucky leans back, shooting a glance at your now busy phone.

“Wow, he sure doesn’t miss a beat, does he?”

“Yeah, I’m sure everything he’s texted me the past two hours has been entirely supportive and not at all condescending or hostile.” Sarcasm bleeds into your words, making Bucky chuckle under his breath.

“Oh, ol’ Johnny boy? Nah, he’s nothing but a big old softy who knows that he’s only getting it as good as he’s giving it.” You huff at the comment just as your phone begins to buzz on the tabletop.

A groan leaves your mouth, slipping out before you can filter it. Bucky eyes you as your finger swipes the call button to accept. You haven’t even gotten the phone to your ear before John’s voice carries through the speaker, shouting expletives and derogatory remarks about you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re on a fucking date right now? I can’t believe you!”

Your whole body cringes, and you rush to shove your shoes on to take the call outside. You leave without saying a word to Bucky, unable to look him in the eye while the supposed love of your life berates you over the phone.

“John, I don’t know what you’re upset about.” You tried to remain calm while he carried on. “I followed the single rule that you set in place.”

Bucky takes your free hand and leads you to his bike, leaning against the seat while he watches you pace in front of him. Your once smooth features are now ridged and tense, worry lines aging you ten years the second you get on the phone with John. Your forefinger and thumb find home on the bridge of your nose, pinching the bone there to prevent the sudden headache. You finally stop in your tracks, stomping your foot out of exasperation and then steel your voice.

“I refuse to allow you to speak to me this way, John. You’re the one that opened our marriage, I’m simply following the precedent that you set. I honestly have no idea what your issue with this is.” Your eyes dart to Bucky, “Now, I don’t feel comfortable coming home when you’re speaking to me like this over the phone, so don’t wait up. I’ll come home when you cool off.”

Tears begin to rim your lash line as John continues to shout his lungs bloody. You refuse to meet Bucky’s eyes as you lower the phone, thumb hovering over the end call button. A dark metal palm extends your way, a silent ask for the phone that you don’t have the strength to deny. Bucky watches you as he brings the phone to his ear, listening to your husband’s rant.

“This is completely fucking ridiculous! You’re my wife and I demand you come home and we talk this out like adults. You’re being so unreasonable, right now. And the fact that you think it’s acceptable to text me you’re on a date instead of asking if you could go on one? Who the fuck do you think you are? It’s best you remember who you belong to. You’re so in for it whe—“

Bucky laughs, your head shoots up, eyes locking with his for the first time since you’ve evacuated the roller rink. The laugh is a short, sardonic laugh. One you’ve never heard him make before, almost as if he’s using it as a throat clear. Your breath catches in your throat, knowing how John reacts to being challenged in any capacity.

“Now, I don’t know who you think you are, talking to my Peanut the way that you are. But I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure, you aren’t going to be speaking to her that way ever again.”

It’s another thing about Bucky you’ve never experienced. His tone. It’s dull, lifeless, but full threats that made your skin grow cold and your spine stiffen. You knew Bucky would never cause you harm, but those who hurt the people he loved? The same respect isn’t extended.

“And who the fuck is this?”

“I’m the guy.”

He’s eerily calm, the type of calm you’ve never seen him. You’ve been a distant onlooker while he deals with rowdy bar guests, having to throw out drunk customers who reached their limit and then some. But this… this was something else. John is still yelling, sure to be disturbing your neighbors earning you yet another noise complaint, possibly the one that gets you evicted from your apartment.

“What guy?”

“The guy that’s going to rip your spine out through your throat if you threaten my girl again.”

The world stills. The noisy streets of Brooklyn fade as you search Bucky’s eyes for any semblance of a joke. His eyes have darkened, latching onto yours with a depth that you’ve never seen in them. He reaches for you, pulling you in between his legs by your belt loop. You can hear the stammering on the other end clearly, John’s never had anyone stand up to him with such sincerity.

“If you’re done being a pussy, I’m a little preoccupied. If you’d like to continue this conversation, you may do so anytime at my bar. Howling Commandos. You can Google it and me in your free time. Right now, I’m on a date and you’re interrupting it and disturbing my girl.” Bucky’s hand snakes around your waist, pressing his chin to your chest while maintaining eye contact with you. “Now, apologize to her.”

He switches the phone to speaker mode, allowing you to hear the weakness invading John’s voice. All the while, Bucky’s eyes never leave yours. Your body melts into him, his warmth something that you didn’t realize you were craving. John stammers on his end of the phone, eking out excuses as to not apologize. Bucky clears his throat once more, the action causing his Adam’s apple to bob against your breasts.

“Apologize, Johnny boy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Three monotonous beeps echo out into the silent parking lot. Wind whips against your cheeks, igniting a shiver through your body. He shoves your phone into his front pocket before wrapping his other hand around your waist. Bucky shifts again, pressing his forehead into your stomach instead of staring up at you. Your arms come up around his shoulders, burying your face into his soft hair.

“Thank you.”

Bucky says nothing in return, squeezing your middle before pulling back to meet your gaze.

“Let’s go, you can stay at mine.”

He pushes against your hips so he can reposition himself over the bike. You’re quick to stop him, remarking something about him just taking you to a hotel for the night. He cuts you off before you can fully finish your sentence.

“I’m sorry Peanut, but you surely don’t think I’m about to let you spend the night at some sketch hotel by yourself. And I’m certainly not going to let you go back to that apartment with that temperamental skeeze of a husband you have.”

“Let me?” You back up, resting your hand on your now cocked hip.

“Peanut.” Bucky stares up at you, “I didn’t mean it in that way. I’m sorry. I’m only saying that I want you to be safe and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you in either of those environments. I would be much for comfortable if you came home with me so that I could protect you.”

You shoulders relax, in the back of your mind, you know that he didn’t mean anything by it. John always sets you on edge, and it’s unfair of you to put those emotions onto Bucky.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just… John.” Your sentence trails off, no ending really needed because you know that Bucky understands.

“Come on. Get on, Peanut Butter. We aren’t far from my place.”

You mount Bucky’s bike, his left hand immediately going to your thigh, his fingers threading themselves between the rips of your jeans to feel the soft skin of your knee. The ride to Bucky’s apartment is quiet, the rumbling of the motorcycle beneath you is powerful and steady. Every chance he got, Bucky would slip his fingers into the rips of your jeans, aching to be close to you in every way possible. You lean forward, resting your helmeted head against his back while he drives.

If there was one thing that you never would have guessed, it’s that Bucky Barnes would have pale green wallpaper in his apartment. Not just a pale green, he proudly declares that it’s agate green, the color he spent weeks painstakingly debating between that and nurture green. You giggle as you toe your shoes off at the front door, quietly taking in his personal space.

The exposed brick melds with the dark countertops in a way that’s almost soothing. The pendant lights above the island cast a soft glow over the open floor plan. Bucky turns to face you, peeling off his leather jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the door. You catch his eyes, only to be distracted by the wall of bookshelves on the far end of his apartment.

“Oh my god, Bucky I had no idea you were so interested in reading.”

He laughs, shoving his hands in his front pockets while walking behind you as you approach the stacks of books he has scattered throughout his home.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading. When I was deployed there wasn’t much to do other than read. I had my Ma send me all different kinds of books, from new releases to her favorite classics to stuff my little sister was reading in school.” He stands beside you, shoulder to shoulder as you glance up at him. “Guess I never kicked the habit, though there are worse vices that a person could have.”

You hum, refocusing your attention on the books, but only for a second as Bucky reaches his hand out and leads you up the stairs to the lofted bedroom. Bucky’s comforter matches the green walls that sits behind his TV. Not only that, but his pillow cases vary from overly fluffy to soft silks. The mixture of textures and fabrics is almost too much for your brain to comprehend. You’re about to question it when Bucky returns to your line of sight, a dark Henley in one hand and a pair of boxers in the other.

“I don’t have any pajamas for you, but you can wear these.”

He’s almost sheepish as he presents you with the clothes, a light blush casting over his cheeks. It’s so interesting to interact with him. At times, he’s the most suave man you’ve ever met, and at others, it’s like he’s a lovestruck teenager who’s just got their first girlfriend.

You thank him and follow behind him as he leads you to the en-suite bathroom. Just as Bucky begins to explain where everything is, he bends down to the bottom cabinets and retrieves a spare toothbrush.

“Planning for extra company, huh?” You joke while poking him in the side as he stands next to you in the doorway.

Bucky’s tongue peaks out of his mouth, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he stares down at you. His eyes do that thing again, the same thing he did just before he laid out his feelings for you earlier. Your breath catches in your throat, is he leaning closer? Are you inching toward him? What are you doing?

“Bucky,” the tension breaks, a dam of emotions behind held back by your dedication to your marriage. “I feel like I should explain.”

His hands rest on your shoulders, quick to silence your worries. He leans forward, dotting a quick kiss to your forehead. Bucky lingers, the soft press of his lips shoots warm and fuzzy feelings through your bones.

“Tomorrow. You’ve had a long night. We can talk about everything in the morning.”

A weight of anxiety lifts from your shoulders as you watch Bucky begins descend the stairs, lush blankets and pillows in hand. You turn back to his room, allowing yourself to sink into his private space.

You peel back the duvet and sit on the edge of his mattress, unsure if you should fully dive into his being. If you’re quiet enough you can hear Bucky downstairs, shuffling on the couch in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

Your eyeline floats over his bedside table, the lamp atop it casting a pale yellow glow over the entire room. The surface next to you is covered in items that are unequivocally Bucky—a worn copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth, a leather bound journal, the few gold rings that he something adorns his digits with while bartending. His rings clink against each other as your fingers drift over the cold metal.

Among his assorted objects is your phone on his charger. The light pink case is slightly out of place, but not enough to be obnoxious. You smile to yourself while lying back in his sheets.

You really do owe him an explanation. Bucky deserves more than some broken woman who’s in a shitty marriage. He deserves the world and then some. All you can offer is a somewhat clear thought process.

You think on John’s actions today. He really showed you his true colors. You start to wonder if he really cares about you or if just cares about having a wife. If it’s the second one, why does it have to be you?

You flip to the other side, now facing the back wall of windows. Your mind is about as calm as the city right now. New York is never quiet, even this far out in Brooklyn. You’re never safe from the light pollution that constantly blocks out the beauty that is the natural night sky.

It makes you long for your hometown, the wide open spaces with vast fields of nothingness that stretch for miles on end. Maybe it’s time you pay it a visit. It would be nice to escape the hodge podge of a life you’re currently living.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you force yourself to slow your breathing. Distantly you can hear Bucky begin to snore, a low monotonous sound that you cling to. For the first time in months you feel secure. Your muscles decompress, your brow unfurls and you allow yourself to truly relax.

With everything that’s going on, Bucky deserves more. You deserve more, but that can all wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow. That’s a good thought.

#bartender!bucky x reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bartender!bucky x peanut!reader #bucky x peanut #consequences #ray's writing #bartender!bucky barnes x peanut!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #bartender!bucky #bartender!bucky barnes x you #bartender!bucky barnes x y/n #bartender!bucky x you

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nocturnowlette · 2 days

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do you have any hypnosis audio files youd recommend?

Honestly, the answer is a "maybe".

In my opinion, in my 8 years of listening to files, not even 1% qualify as something I'd consider well made. The vast majority are nsfw, and the vast majority of those just throw any actual hypnosis away for a sake of roleplay. That being said, here are some files that, in my estimation, are at a minimum decent.

And always, read the description of every file before listening, even after reading my descriptions.

There's puppy ones at the bottom, by the way.

First, not an audio file, but an itch.io game.

brainwasher_program by sleepingirl (18+)

This is the most competently made thing I will be showing. Sleepingirl is someone I would consider a good hypnotist skillwise.

There is also test hypnosis game1 and ithinktherefore, also itch.io text hypnosis games/sessions.

Next, to my knowledge, the best file I've personally stumbled on (though it still didn't quite wow me),

Failing to Resist by Jack Drago (18+)

This file is a trance trainer, as in a file meant to use the ideas of resistance and turn that idea against you. It does a passable job, and you might find it quite powerful and helpful if you have some stubborn tendencies as a subject.

Next is another passable trance trainer,

Mind Melt by LilithUnleashed (18+)

This file uses arousal to bring about a specific philosophy of trance, one you might find more conducive to effectiveness: enjoying trance for the sake of trance itself, not just using it as a means to an end. There is no wakener at the end.

Next, a twin pair of files,

The Call of the Void and Hypnotic Acceptance by LilithUnleashed

The Call of the Void is a sort of run of the mill hypnosis file meant to be looped, and designed to condition you to trance and specifically to Lilith to some extent. Hypnotic Acceptance is a conditioning file meant to be played out of trance and doesn't bring you in to it. It's a nice idea that can have some small potential benefits, it's also relaxing.

Lilith, in general, is a competent hypnotist, if not a bit... much... at times. That's more of a taste thing, though. She does a good job, and these files are good.

There is also this conditioning loop file by her which is also nice, as well as this one.

Next is one for the pups,

Collared Obedience by LilithUnleashed (18+)

This one is, at a minimum, a very enjoyable time. It creates a mental collar and links it with actual collars if you wish and have the means. It forms one made out of various concepts relating to obedience. The suggestions didn't stick for me, but I'm a tad stubborn.

Obedience 101 - Welcome to Class! by FlowLikeTea

If you haven't noticed, I like trance training files. It's primarily because they're some of the only ones that aren't trying to just do erotic roleplay with the facile idea of hypnosis and hypnotic aesthetics. It reminds me of the ASMR sphere in that way.

Anyways, this file is just nice. Not much else to mention.

Slow and Gentle Hypnotic Induction by GoddessSoft (NotSoftForWork)

Thank you, Ms. Soft, for making an actually competent SFW hypnosis file. Soft is quite the competent hypnotist, and we'll be showing a few of her files coming up, but this one remains my favorite. It's simply a very well done relaxation file by someone who knows her stuff and has a good understanding of most aspects of audio trances.

Good Puppy Clicker Training by GoddessSoft (18+)

This is a beginner-centric clicker training file by Ms. Soft. It's thorough, long, and pleasurable. If you haven't noticed, I have not recommended files intended to make you finish in any way. I don't like them. They do not work for me. You'll have to ask someone else. That being said, GoddessSoft's page on the link has many different puppy files to listen to. Most deal with that.

Puppydog Fractionation by GoddessSoft (18+)

Another not-specifically-nsfw-focused puppy file from Ms. Soft. If I recall right, the sound balancing might be a little iffy on this one, though. Fair warning.

That's all I remember for now, but I might have more recommendations in the future. I hope you enjoy, and be sure to tell me how you respond to some of them. Enjoy!

#owlette #hypnosis #puppy space #puppy sub #puppyposting #dogposting #puppy brain #dog brain #dumb puppy #mind control #mind conditioning #mind break #hypnok1nk #brainwashing #hypnoposting #hypno pet #hypnosis advice #hypnosis files #brain drain

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engie-ivy · 2 days

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(Inspired by @wolfstarmicrofic 's Alternative Universes theme! A sort of combined Performer AU and College AU🙂)

1058 words

Sirius Black's emotional break-up songs are topping the charts all over the world. But hearing those songs everywhere he goes, Remus is about to reach his breaking point.

With His Song

Home is where the heart is,

But it's not the concrete, nor the stone,

Not the room you sit in,

But the smile that lights it up.

Not the bed you sleep in,

But the heartbeat besides your own.

Home is where the heart is,

But it's not necessarily a place,

Sometimes, it's tracing the scars on someone's hand,

Sometimes, it's counting the freckles on someone's face.

It's been so long,

Coming home to you,

And did you know,

I could easily move on?

But the truth is,

I just don't want to.

If home is where the heart is,

Then baby, could it be,

That your home is still with me?

Mary lets out a sigh that seems to be coming from somewhere deep inside of her. “My god, I'm going to listen to that song on repeat for the rest of the week,” and after a moment she adds “potentially the rest of my life.”

“Then you're gonna have to get some headphones,” Remus says. “Because I'm already getting sick of hearing it.”

Mary gasps and clutches her chest. “Blasphemy!”

Remus gives her an unimpressed look. “I don't think you're using that word right.”

“‘Irreverence toward something considered sacred or inviolable’,” Mary states unfazed. “So yes, the perfect description of you insulting Sirius Black's music.”

Emmeline nods emphatically.

Remus sighs. “I'm not saying it's a bad song,” he says. “Just that I'm getting tired of hearing it everywhere, all the time.”

Mary opens her mouth to retort, but Emmeline interjects.

“I do sort of relate. It has gotten a painful tinge to hear the song, now that I know I won't be seeing Sirius Black perform it live…”

“You didn't get tickets for his show?” Marlene asks.

“No,” Emmeline sighs miserably. “I'm on the waiting list. Number 329.”

“Not as bad as Hestia. She's number 1550 or something.”

Emmeline shrugs. “In the end, it makes no difference. 329 or 1550, neither one of us is going to the concert. I mean, 329 people will have to die, and I don't reckon I'd be that lucky…”

“Emmeline!” Lily scolds.

“Well, that's the only excuse for not going to a Sirius Black concert, literally being dead,” Mary says. “I'd actually skip my mum’s funeral if I could see him live.”

“Mary!”

“No, no, Lils,” Emmeline says. “You don't know Mary's mum. If Mary were to miss out on seeing Sirius Black for her funeral, she'd actually come back from the death to haunt her.”

Mary nods. “She's a huge fan. Not going to a Sirius Black concert would be disrespecting her memory.” She glances over at Remus. “She might have some things to say as well if she hears that my actual roommate has openly disrespected Sirius Black’s music.”

Remus sticks out his tongue. “Sue me.”

“As soon as they create a law that makes depreciating Sirius Black illegal, which they should, I will!”

“Anyhow,” Emmeline says. “I haven't heard Sirius Black's voice for almost five minutes and I'm getting withdrawal symptoms,” and she reaches out to put the record back on.

Remus gets up to his feet. “That's my cue to leave.”

“You don't have to, Remus,” Lily says quickly. “If you really don't want us to, we won't put on his music. We value your company more than listening to Sirius Black.”

“Says who? Ow!” Emmeline rubs her shin where Lily kicked her.

Remus smiles at Lily. “Thanks, Lils, but it's okay. I have a paper I need to work on anyway.”

The moment Remus closes the door to his bedroom, he lets out a sigh that seems to be coming from somewhere deep inside of him.

Then, almost without thinking, he takes out his phone and punches in the number by heart.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line sounds surprised and, dare Remus think, hopeful?

“You have to stop doing this,” Remus hears himself say. “No,” he then corrects himself. “You don't have to do anything. I'm asking you. Please stop doing this.”

“Remus, what are you talking about?” He seems to be walking away from something– A promo event? A fancy dinner? An exclusive party?– as Remus can hear the voices in the background grow softer. Remus feels a brief hint of satisfaction; no matter how big the event he's at, how important the people he's with, when Remus calls, he gets up and walks away to talk to him, but Remus quickly corrects himself, because it's not like that anymore.

“It's killing me,” Remus admits, pressing a hand against his forehead. “I understand, but… God, it's killing me.”

“Rem,” Sirius, because of course it's Sirius, says gently. “You're still not making much sense. What are you trying to say? Why are you suddenly calling me? Why… Why now?”

“Your latest releases,” Remus says, as he starts pacing the room, though he can barely take two steps before he reaches the opposite wall. It's rather telling of the difference between them, he can't help but think. Sirius undoubtedly in some grand building surrounded by dozens of people who would fall over themselves to cater to his every whim, and Remus hiding out in his eight square meter bedroom cluttered with textbooks and scribbled notes. “I get why you do it. I'm probably terribly biased,” he lets out a brief laugh. “But I think the songs you wrote when we were together, and even after we just broke up, are your best songs, so I get that you would want to release them, to share them with the world and show everyone once again just how bloody talented you are. And you have every right. They're your works, your creations. But gods, Sirius, I can't pretend anymore.”

“Pretend,” Sirius repeats, his voice almost a whisper, and Remus lets it all out.

“I can't pretend anymore that hearing those songs everywhere I go all the damn time doesn't make me want to die! That it doesn't just break me, to hear your voice sing those words, knowing what they once meant, and knowing that they don't mean that anymore! That you don't mean that anymore.”

“Remus,” Sirius interrupts sharply, and Remus immediately stops talking as Sirius speaks. “Do you really think I could sing those words like that, if I didn't still feel that way?”

And Remus’ breath catches in his throat.

#famous sirius black #singer sirius black #post breakup #academic remus lupin #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius

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valsdelulucorner · 2 days

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Mammon head cannons <3

We all know mammon is tsundere, loving to bottle up his emotions towards his loved ones and put on a act. However whenever you two are alone, his tough guy persona melts away completely and turns into your shy demon boyfriend. He both hates and loves that you have that power over him

He loves to collect little trinkets. Hey, no he didn't steal them!..... most of them. I like to think that he has some really sharp eyes so even if something is really well hidden, he spots it a nicks it. He loves showing off his collection to you, talking a million miles a hour as he holds onto your sleeve and boasts about his new tiny thing

If you were to come down to devildom as a welder or a Jewler, oh lord he will try to marry you on the spot. He absolutely loves to watch you work on your creations, even subjecting little ideas he comes up with for you to make. Sure, at the start he tries to steal your creations to sell them but once he gets closer to you, he absolutely loves bringing you his little trinkets to wield into rings and bracelets

Absolutely loves making nests with his pillows and blankets, spreading his body out on top of his nest in his full demon form. He will act all shy if you find him like this on his nest but when he realizes your not making fun of him, buddy, you are in for a long night of cuddles and deep conversation.

Ok hear me out, when mammon cuddles you, he lets out soft snores that sound like a mix between a purr and the sound a crow makes when its happy. He will hide his face in your neck while cuddling as his arms wrap protectively around your waist, subconsciously purring his little heart out in his sleep as his wings cover you in a protective hold

After having you literally die in his arms that one time, he realized how easily it was for you to slip from his fingers so this man does HEAVY research on humans. What humans cant eat, what irritates their skin, what's best for their health, what food will make them live longer, what temperatures they can withstand, the whole 9 yard. He will always give you a bottle of water at morning, noon, and night and will refuse to go anywhere unless you drink some. If he finds out you haven't been drinking through the day, he will genuinely get scared you will die and beg you to drink. He might have missed a few things but he loves you dearly

He gets bad nightmares about loosing you and those dear to him, they started happening more often after he held your dead body in his arms. He would usualy wake up in a cold sweat and go find lucifer, making sure to poke his head into his little brothers rooms to make sure they are ok before going to find comfort in Lucifer. But with you? He would cling to you and thank anyone who would listen that you were still alive, still next to him. He would hide his face in your neck and quietly cry himself back to sleep, being woken up to immediate comfort from you

He mindlessly doodles when he is bored or if he is focused on something else, like you for example. He likes to admire you during class so sometimes when he's supposed to be taking notes, he will start to subconsciously doodle you in his notebook. He will turn bright red if anyone points this out and he will throw his notebook into the wall, just like that video of the guy throwing his laptop into the wall. Poor guy wont get a break

My man will 100% steal you away from his brothers and just go for a walk with you, it doesn't need to lead to anywhere, he just likes talking and being with you

He calls you his little treasure, his jewel, his first, and most likely a nickname of your actual name. They roll off his tounge so easily, he will accidentally call you these Infront of people. "Stay away from my treasure!" ..... "your what?" " D...DONT AVOID THE QUESTION!"

"I wouldn't trade you for all the grim in the world treasure, you mean more to me then money"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I absolutely love Mammon, he is my favorite character but i dont think this was written to the best of my ability. I might come back to this in the future but until then<3

Who should i do next?

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seraphiism · 14 hours

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𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ┊ 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄

( tomorrow / either i will murder you / or you will rinse the knife in water )

chara : arlecchino fandom : genshin impact quote cr : garous abdolmalekian ; ashwarya a/n : i haven't played genshin in forever, this is all based off her character trailer + wiki

act one : BUT THE STAIN OF A CURSED EXISTENCE IS A TREACHEROUS BEING : HIDEOUS , HORRIFYING , HUMANIZING.

the first time you witness the black that adorns her skin is the first time your heart beats in vast terror. a battle gone wrong, tattered clothes and gloves, and then the reveal of the truest & highest self of a harbinger.

you do not know what to do, what to think. you are unsure if it is the adrenaline of survival that makes the life in your chest ache violently so, or if it is the fear and wanting of the unknown.

arlecchino stands before you, yet you do not dare cast your gaze upon her. you swallow hard, eyes following the drips of sanguine that fall from wretched claws. oh, dearest, how they sink into the hollows of the world, forever fragmented into existence in remnant of death. the blood is too much. it's too much-- the way it splatters across her skin, nearly drenching all black until it is an ocean of madness and crimsons and massacres.

your hands tremble. your stomach churns. you look elsewhere, searching for refuge, but the blood follows, and somewhere in its meaning is the death of those it once belonged to, and that makes your heart beat faster and faster until you feel your mind on the verge of break.

"stand."

the blood is too much.

you listen, but still, you do not look. you are afraid, but you are unsure of what.

a sharpness digs into your face, sudden. harsh. her claws press into your skin-- not light, but seldom hard enough to draw blood. you know very well that she could harm you if she desired, yet she doesn't. she jerks your chin up, forces you to meet her gaze.

"it's ill-mannered to not look your savior in the eye."

your mouth runs dry. something unfamiliar gnaws at your humanity.

"i... am thankful that the blood on your hands is not mine."

and in the abyss of black and red, there's just the faintest trace of amusement in the echoes of apathy.

"a simple thank you would have sufficed."

act two : BUT THE STAIN OF A CURSED EXISTENCE IS A TREACHEROUS BEING : FRIGHTENING , FOREIGN , FATED.

you do not know what draws you to her, this harbinger. it has been a long while since your first encounter, and still, you have remained by her side. you do not know why. you do not know why she agrees to your companionship. you question it more often than you'd like.

she is a complexity of things you have yet to unravel, and truth be told, you doubt you will ever understand her, her past, or who she truly is, and maybe it's better that way. that's what you'll tell yourself, anyway, even if it might hurt.

because she is both safety and danger to you, and you wish that frightened you, but it doesn't. you wish that it would drive you away, but it doesn't. she is no sanctuary, no haven, and though she is lined with cruelty, there is not always a coldness in her heart. you know this.

"i did not save you with the intention of keeping your presence." she tells you one day, and you cannot help but smile.

she washes the crimson off her hands. an all too common sight you have grown to adore. you watch in fascination every time, searching the bright red that fades into an everlasting black.

"yet you do not push me away, arlecchino."

she does not respond. she stares at the bloodied waters, the hazy red a familiarity. in her muddled reflection, there is nothing but vacancy.

"no, i don't."

( she doesn't. she should. you both know this. )

act three : BUT THE STAIN OF A CURSED EXISTENCE IS A TREACHEROUS BEING : ADORED , ADMIRED , ANTAGONIZED.

the world is not meant to be viewed in good and evil, but how it is deeply desired so. it would make things simpler, wouldn't it? the truth would be so easy, the war between logic and emotion dissipated into black and white and seldom gray.

that's what you'd like to imagine, anyway. because even in a world full of good and evil, you do not know where you stand, nor do you know where arlecchino stands. your heart beats dearly for her, but you do not know whether it is with love or infatuation or with warning of the end to come.

perhaps it will be a happy ending. perhaps you will not be in it, whether in death or other means.

you are unsure.

you sit before her, staring at the translucent water in the basin. it has yet to be disturbed by another, pure. your reflection is curious, though you are unable to study it for long. your gaze shifts elsewhere as she grabs your jaw; it is a familiar feeling, the way she forces you to look at her.

it's a dark nostalgia, you think. the blood on her claws, the digging sensation in your face, though much gentler than before. you aren't afraid this time. she stares at you, visage empty. she waits.

your lips curve, subtle. there is a strange exhilaration in the mourning of it all, and one day, you will understand it.

"i wonder," you begin, hand wrapping around her wrist, "when it will be my blood on your hands one day."

something in her expression changes. you barely catch it, but even then, you cannot read it. she leans forward, closes the distance between you, her lips just inches away from yours.

"will you be thankful, even then?"

her grip on your jaw tightens, but still, the claws do not draw blood. you wish it did. you grin.

"of course." you answer, and slowly, you press your lips against hers. "i will always be thankful."

#genshin impact x reader #arlecchino x reader #genshin impact #arlecchino #gi x reader #this was supposed to be a fluff/comfort fic but then i was like . so what if there was blood. what if they were insane. wh #.: writing

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longlivechips · 2 days

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A drabble on what if Arthur repealed the magic ban while Merlin wasn't there. I like the idea of Arthur thinking Merlin will be mad, he said magic has no place in Camelot afterall. And Merlin being like shit I'm gonna have to start telling the truth.

A fic where Merlin goes to visit his mother for a few weeks. It's Yule and he misses her.

While he is gone a child comes to trial. Hardly 12 and clearly terrified. She had been caught using magic.

She swears she didn't mean to, that it just started happening one day and she was so scared of what was happening to her.

The law says she is to burn.

But Arthur just can't seem to make the call. He can only think of the girl Morgana used to be when he looks at her.

He speaks to Gaius and Geoffrey about what Camelot was like before the ban. How people square magic. He learns, for the first time, more than his father had ever let him.

He's thinking of......well not reversing the magic ban. But this girl can't be evil surely.

He wishes Merlin were here, his advice is often quite sound. But Arthur is unsure if Merlin, who has been so outspoken against magic in the past, would agree with such loose laws.

But it comes down to this. Arthur cannot in good conscience kill that girl. And he can not have her as an exception. So he changes the law.

Merlin hasn't spent this long in Ealdor since before he left. He finds it quite lonely without Will to cause trouble with.

But he finds he is not ostracized like he was when he was a boy. In fact, more often than not he has to dodge mothers pushing their daughters onto him as prospects.

He is in his mother's house trying bundles of herbs to be dried and taken back to Camelot when his mother rushes in.

She stairs at him for a moment. Eyes wide, something clearly about to spill off her toung.

"Mother?" Merlin says moving closer, " What's wrong what happened? Has goodie meridan gone into labor?"

"Merlin. My boy. We just received news from Camelot. Gaius sent a letter. I....." Her face is flush. She doesn't look scared but Merlins heart drops anyway

"Arthur...." Merlin starts

"He's fine, he's fine" Hunith walks towards her son, cupping his face in her hands.

She laughs. Full belly and full of joy, her hands on his face strong, they almost hurt.

"He repealed the magic ban Merlin. Oh my boy by royal decree"

Merlins knees nearly give out.

"Surely you aren't serious....." Merlin gasps. "Do you have the letter?"

She hands it over and he reads frantically.

My good Hunith.

I write you instead of Merlin for reasons that will become obvious.

I also just request more of that dried lavender you sent last time, it does not smell the same from the north.

How is your neighbor Gregory fairing with his leg? My tonic recipe helped I hope, I would like to hear how it went.

There is news from Camelot. You might have heard, it will make fast news I'm sure.

A girl was brought to court for magic. Hardly 12 summers, she swears she did not train for magic, that it came naturally and she has no control.

Arthur was hesitant to burn her, despite the law, and tasked me with examining her.

I explained my findings, you know my friend how truly common it is to have magic as the girl does. Arthur listened well, and I sent the king off with what recommendations I could.

There are few books left on the subject but he spoke to Geoffrey. I assume he found some enlightened reading.

The next day, his verdict was as follows.

"The law of the land, as set by my Father King Uther, is that magic has no place in Camelot. I quite agree. Magic is dangerous, it has raveged my family.

But I can't help but think these laws might create more enemies. I cannot kill a girl for a crime she did not willingly commit. But I cannot banish her and create an enemy."

The council spoke on formal matters and specifics but Hunith, it is looking well. I feel hope I haven't had in decades.

Arthur has repealed the magic ban, in part. There are specifics to be worked out, and it is unclear if it would apply to Merlin. It certainly wouldn't apply to myself.

I will write again when I have more details.

I wish I could see the boy's face when he hears the news. Give him my love

Gaius

Merlin reads it. Than again. The third time he skims it he is tearing up. Looking desperately for any sign that Gaius tells a lie.

When he finds none, and there is no answer but that Gaius's words are true.

Merlin weeps. He falls to his knees and weeps.

Hunith cradles his head, spilling some tears of her own.

"oh my boy" she says. "What news. I knew Arthur would be a good king." She presses a kiss to her son's head.

Merlin cries, and wonders why he feels more scared than ever.

#merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #fanfiction #drabble #just had to get it out.

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shiki-jin · 22 hours

Text

YOUR CELESTIAL MAJESTY • SAGAU

(part 0 here)

was listening to TruE on loop while writing the last part of this, it's genuinely such a good song ugwvdya

also can you spot the contradiction ;D it's plot relevant i promise

not proofread, dont bully me ill write a thesis on why youre a meanie

—

you had long deleted genshin, since you had other things to do. you had wanted to go back to the game for a while now, now that you were less busy, but there was just one little problem.

it was now taking up nearly triple the amount of space that it was when you uninstalled it. around 300 whole gigabytes.

jesus christ, what phone can even handle this???

your phone, apparently. because as you opened the game to see if maybe a miracle would happen and that if maybe they would just, like, remove half of the things in the game, it just… kinda loaded?

no installing new files, no checking for anything, no nothing…. just an immediate pan to the gates of celestia.

you decided to check if it was the right genshin since this was just way too weird, but countering your judgement, every link you found led you to the same game, leading you to believe it not to be a bootleg or an illegal version.

guess i’ll trust it then.

you clicked on the gates which opened smoothly, and your screen turned white. then, the symbols of the seven elements appeared in gray.

and then the game just… opened. no loading time, once again. no getting stuck on the geo symbol, nothing. nada. just a smooth entrance into what you had to assume to be teyvat — but your surroundings didn't really support that claim.

the grass was brown and just looked off, the sky was gray. a darker shade than, say, mond’s walls, but it was like one of those game crashes.

well, except you could still move around.

you moved your current character around (the traveller? since when were they the only one in your team?) and decided to open the map after not figuring out where you could possibly be.

hold on, this is springvale? since when?

eveything looked dead, like it had been rotting for a century. you tried to ignore it though, and teleported to the inside of mondstadt. surely this was just some glitch, right? one that would fix itself if you teleported?

maybe the world loaded incorrectly, maybe the fact that nothing took time to load meant that it couldn't load, maybe this or that, maybe…

maybe this really was how the game looked normally. you hadn't done any quests though, so you wondered if it could be restored.

you took a screenshot of the your surroundings — the stone, worn down and dirty. the houses which looked to be in a horrible state, and… the npcs, all sickly and pale, like they were starving.

you went to reddit (yes, reddit), and posted the screenshot, asking if it was normal.

you closed the game and decided to take a nap, too tired to really deal with this shit any further.

while you slumbered, people replied to your post.

╰┈➤ lol me too anon, me too

╰┈➤ isn't the game closed or wtv? how'd you get this wtf

╰┈➤ they're trolling

╰┈➤ o makes sense oops

╰┈➤ So we’re all still mourning huh

╰┈➤ jokes aside that's a super impressive edit ngl

you remained unaware of the truth, but you'd find out soon enough.

actually, you'd find out now, apparently…

what the fuck?? why is my bed so hard now?

you groaned and forced your eyes open, seeing a dark, nearly black sky.

the only light was a single star, lingering right above you.

“since when was i outside...?"

a voice spoke to you, answering your question.

“you always have been, have you not? but would you like to head inside, my lord?”

... huh? i recognize that voice...

—

p.s. place your bets on who it is, i’m thinking of one specific character but if there's a fan fav i'll make it them instead since i haven't written anything beyond this point (⁠・⁠_⁠・⁠;⁠)

p.s.s. don't expect updates to this series too quickly, i wish i could write as quick as i think of ideas but sadly that's not the case orz

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #sagau #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yippie #genshin self aware #genshin self aware au

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sykostyles · 2 hours

Text

melodies | 1.0

summary: he's the most powerful & ruthless mafia boss in the city, and she's just a music store owner. but once he hears her singing voice, he wants nothing more than to hear it for the rest of his life..and she's not so sure about that.. he'll do anything to change that. wc: 3.1k

warnings: none this time around!

a/n: hi babies! I disappeared again but I swear I'm here! I won't lie to you all, I lost momentum for a bit but my dear love @gurugirl gave me the idea of repurposing my jjk fics for Harry! so this is my first attempt at that. I hope you all enjoy!

Harry had been renovating his new estate for about a year now. Deciding on only the best of the best, but when it came to musical items that he wanted placed variously around his house; he wanted something more lived in. More story holding. Something that looks like it had been used and loved by many. That’s where he found you and your little shop “Encore Records” in the heart of downtown.

He wanted a grand piano, but he didn't just want any grand piano. He wanted the grand piano you had on display in your store. The one your grandfather left to you from his touring days. Your grandfather was a traveling artist, carting this piano around to every city, every country. It’d been more places than you. It sat dead center in your shop, surrounded by records, plants and various instruments customers could test out before placing orders. The only thing unavailable to order was the piano. It served as a centerpiece that you played fairly often, especially while customers perused the store and Ellie ran the cash register.

Harry had been stopping in probably two or three times a week to try talking you into selling him the piano for his home; not taking no for an answer. Sometimes Ellie would have to fend him off while you were working in the back. Ellie would then always dash to the back to tell you what happened before another customer would walk in.

“That big mafia guy was in here again!” she says, tapping you on the shoulder.

“Huh?” you ask, pulling one of your earbuds out., slightly startled from the touch.

“You know, the tall darkhaired one who’s hot as fuck, and defintely thinks the same about you,” Ellie says, motioning to your frame, giggling at your disgusted look. “The one with the huge hands,” she winked at you.

“Ellie, he wants the piano, not me.”

“Girl, he wants both.” she chuckles, “You’re allowed to be proud of yourself,” and she's leaving you alone. Proud of yourself for what? For some Yakuza man coming into your store every day, possibly scaring off possible customers? Not everyone wants to come in here when there’s a guy with a gun strapped to his chest, followed by three other men who are also armed.

He’d offered you millions of dollars in return for the piano, but no amount of money could replace the memories you have sitting with your grandfather at this piano every night while he taught you how to play. Or the nights you’d gotten to be with him on tour and see him on stage sitting at the damn thing every night. There was no way you were going to give it up. But there was no way he was going to give up either.

It was a rainy Tuesday the next time Harry decided to come in. Another attempt at your piano, but today something in him changed.

Walking in, Harry notices you’d just opened so there weren't any customers yet. You still haven't fixed the doorbell either, another thing he’ll have to chastise you for today. He hears you before he sees you, singing along with the radio playing Forever Young by Rod Stewart through the speakers of your store, as you stand behind the counter on a step ladder rearranging the wall of weekly favorites.

“And may you grow to be proud

Dignified and true..”

Harry can’t believe his ears; the angelic timbre of your voice and how it just rolls right off of your tongue so effortlessly.

“And do unto others

As you'd have done to you..”

He could listen to you all day long. In fact, he just might. He takes a seat on the piano bench, and just listens.

“Be courageous and be brave

And in my heart you'll always stay

Forever young, forever young

Forever young, forever young”

Once the song is over, you turn on the stool to grab something behind you, and you're startled by Harry’s presence.

“Jesus, Styles. Didn’t anyone teach you to knock?” you nearly fall off of the ladder,

“On a business’ door? No.” he smirks at you. “Didn’t anyone tell you to fix your doorbell? Pretty sure I did last week. And the week before that,” Harry counts on his fingers, scolding you, “I’ll just have someone come do it for you.” He snaps his fingers, pointing at the man standing on his right. A tall, broad man with blonde hair. He smiles as he pulls his phone from inside his jacket.

“No, no Styles. Boundaries, remember?” you watch as he strides over to you, offering you his hand to help you off the ladder, but you ignore his gesture; placing your hands on the back of the ladder, stepping down, and turning to face him.

“Birdie, I’m not taking no for an answer. Your safety is at risk, and that’s not okay.” He retorts, the blonde haired man already returning from making the phone call. He looks to Harry, giving him a singular nod, to which Harry nods back. “Repair man will be here soon.”

“Why do you even care? If I died, you could probably get a good deal on the piano.” your eyes involuntarily roll, “And I told you Birdie is reserved for my friends and those fortunate enough to see me naked, and you are neither of those things. Nor are you buying my piano.” Your hands are planted firmly on your hips as the words leave you.

Birdie was a nickname your grandfather gave you when you were young. Always running about singing like a bird. He’d scoop you up and you’d squeal, making him laugh with you. You were just a little birdie that wanted to sing her heart out. It’s what your mother wanted before she passed away. This store was your way of honoring your mother and your grandfather. They both instilled your love of music into you.

Mom loved singing karaoke anywhere she could; praying she’d get recognized by someone who saw potential in her. And oh boy, did she. But she had you and you were her main priority and nobody could deal with that when she’d mentioned she had a daughter to the talent agents. Her heart was broken but watching you grow up was what she really enjoyed. She just made sure you had the same love for music as she did.

“Ouch, you don’t see me as a friend yet? I practically come to see you every day.” he trails his fingertips up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Plus, if you were to die, I wouldn't be able to ask you to sing to me every day.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that. Nobody was,” you mutter. Nobody had heard you sing since before your grandfather passed away. He always begged you to go on tour with him and sing some of his songs with him but you always doubted your ability.

“Well, maybe if your doorbell was working, you could have stopped before I did.” The cocky man stands before you, hands in his pockets as he retracts them.

“Do you like hearing the sound of your own voice? Wouldn’t you rather listen to music?”

“Mm, sometimes. But the only music I want to hear is your voice telling me “I love you” for the rest of my life.”

“Fat chance, Mr. Mafia man. Now, if you’re not here for anything other than to bother me about my doorbell and my piano, please leave.” your hands make haste to wipe the counter off before you lean back on the ladder. “What about a date?” you nearly choke on your own oxygen at his question.

“I’m sorry?” you giggle your response, unable to believe what he’d just said. Maybe Ellie was right.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he chuckles, “I’ll repeat it for you. I’d like to take you out on a date, Birdie.”

“Sty–”

“Harry. I’ve told you to call me Harry.” You don't miss the way his men behind him offer each other uneasy glances. He must not let anyone refer to him by his first name, and you’re not about to start either.

“Styles, that’s not going to happen.”

“You wound me some more,” he dramatically clutches his chest, “I’ll change your mind one day.. Just watch,” he says as he makes his way to the door, his men leaving before he does. “Have a good day, Birdie. See you tomorrow.”

You’re staring into space as he leaves, thinking of the extravagant date he’d probably take you on. He’d probably be able to give you the Pretty Woman moment you’ve always dreamed of. The heels, the long red dress, the lipstick to perfectly match and the updo hairstyle to tie it all together. Harry would probably make the best Edward Lewis in your life. But you’d never admit that out loud.

An unknown amount of time passes before you’re startled again; Ellie’s voice snaps you out of it. “Helloooo, Earth to Y/N!” she snaps her fingers in front of your face.

“Shit, sorry. I was stuck, haha,” you rub your eyes before looking at her face and offering her a smile. She hands you the coffee she had hid under her arm before tucking her belongings under the counter. You went back up the step ladder after grabbing the dust rag you’d gone looking for before you were so graciously interrupted by Harry. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Why did Mafia man just tell me you agreed to go on a date with him?”

“Huh?” you quickly turn to face her on the ladder, the legs wobbling under your jerking movements.

“He walked by me on my way up the sidewalk saying he finally got you to agree to a date and that I owed him the hundred bucks we bet on.”

“HUH?” nearly losing your footing for the second time today, you make your way down the ladder.

“Why are you acting like you don't know what I'm talking about?” she eyes you quizzically.

“Because I don’t know what you’re talking about! What bet?” your hands find your hips again.

“Why are you more interested in my wrong doings? He’s out here lying about you!” Ellie waves her hands back and forth, feigning innocence.

“And my best friend is betting against me!”

“Semantics! C’mon, y’know I'm not actually going to pay him. He’s got more money than any one person knows what to do with.”

“That’s not the point, Ellie. You bet against me! How could you?” you toss the dust rag at her, feigning annoyance.

“Because I see the way you look at him when he’s here!” she tosses it back at you.

“Ellie, he’s literally a yakuza. I can’t entangle myself in that, whether I like him or not,” you’d love to just let him spend a night with you but, a night with him is a night with five other people that go everywhere with him.

“Birdie, you have to live a little. Enjoy the thrill. Plus, he’d probably keep you so safe.”

“While simultaneously putting me in the most danger I've ever been in.

“Okay, but the one with the double buns on top of his head is hot and I want that one so i need you to take one for the team and go on a date with this man.”

“Is that your part of some deal you made?” you jokingly accuse her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, just go on a date with him.”

“You go on a date with him,” you huff and you leave her up front. To which it only lasts about fifteen minutes before she’s coming into the back room telling you some random guy is there fixing the doorbell and isn't taking ‘no’ for an answer..

You just roll your eyes.

Ellie just wants you to be happy, no matter the cost. And you think maybe she’s not weighing the cost as much as you are. Sure, you’d be under protection at all times but the fact that the protection needs to be there at all times means you’re in just as much danger. Which does not totally sit right with you, but he is very persistent. And fairly beautiful. But you have to think with your brain and not your vagina for once.

A few hours later, you’re rearranging the Pop section of records when the phone rings. Ellie picks up with her normal “Encore Records, this is Ellie,” a few seconds pass before you hear her speak again. “Hm, let me ask real fast she’s right here. Hey, Birdie, do you have a piano lesson available tonight at 6?”

“Humm, I think so, check in my calendar. Take it if I do, please!” you go back to putting the Ariana Grande records in order by year. You hear Ellie laugh with the customer on the phone before she hangs up, thanking them for their business. “So do I have a piano lesson at 6 now?”

“Yeah, said his son's name was Niall and that he had been hounding him to learn piano from the lady at the big CD store.”

“His son sounds adorable! I’m looking forward to teaching him.” you smile at the thought.

“You just like the ego boost,” Ellie side eyes you with a laugh.

“You should try shutting up,” you chuckle, going back to arranging your floor inventory; moving to the Metal section.

Six rolls around and you’re pulling the sheet music you have for teaching beginners around on the stand. Ellie makes her way up front to gather her things, reaching under the counter and turning the lights down.

A huff leaves you, “Hey, I still have that piano lesson tonight.”

“I know,” she gives you a look, “Have the best time, Birdie, and she’s out the door.” Uh, okay?

Right after Ellie leaves, the doorbell sounds again and you turn to be met with Harry.

“Styles, I have a piano less–,” you pause, “There is no piano lesson for a boy named Nial is there?”

“He’s Niall,” Harry motions behind him to the man who called about your doorbell earlier. “And I’m the one who’s here for the lesson.”

Seated at the bench next to him, you can't believe you’re actually going through with this. But if he hadn’t put a deposit down over the phone, you wouldn't have. Clearly Harry and Ellie had cooked this scheme up somehow. You almost appreciate the effort.

“You don’t seem to need a lesson,” you remark, watching him mimic your motions without even trying.

“Would you be upset with me if I said I didn't?” He starts playing Forever Young on the piano, making your eyes widen.

“Not upset, confused,” your eyes are glued to his hands, fingers flowing effortlessly over the keys.

“Just wanted an excuse to talk to you for longer than a few minutes.” Harry’s hands keep up the melody.

“You’re not going to let this up are you?” your eyes roll for the millionth time because of this man. He has a way of making your skin crawl in a good way. But again that’s something you’d never admit;

“After I heard that singing voice? Never,” he smiles over at you, continuing to play the song on the keys. “Will you show it to me again? Please, Birdie?”

“If I say yes will you stop asking to buy my grandfather's piano?” fat chance, but you’ll try anyway.

“Scouts honor,” he winks. Huh? That easy? “Or is he just that in love with you?” You can hear Ellie say in your head. Shut up.

As you begin singing along with his playing, Harry’s smile grows in size. His hands and arms move effortlessly across the piano, fully impressing you as you watch in awe. The words flow out of you like they did earlier today.

Once you finish, Harry looks at you like you just told him he’d won the lottery. Not that he needed to win the lottery. “You really have such an amazing voice,” he breathes out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’d call it a good harmonizing voice,” you chuckle. “I sound better with the radio.”

“I’m sorry, was I the only one with ears for the last three minutes? Mitch? Niall?” he makes you chuckle next to him as he turns to the men behind him

“I heard it Sir,” they both said in unison.

“And how did she sound?”

“Lovely, sir.” Niall says, looking over to you with a friendly smile.

“I have to agree with Niall,” Mitch says, without a smile. He seems to be more of a hardass than the other one.

“Ah, so you are the delusional one here,” Harry turns his attention back to you.

“Shut up. Lesson’s over,” you laugh.

“Aw, but I was just getting started. How about a date then? We can take the rest of this time somewhere else.”

“You would love that wouldn’t you?” leaves you in the form of a laugh.

“Certainly. Cmon, Y/N. I know the best place down the road. Whadya say?”

“I say you’re dreaming,” you stand from the piano bench. Walking over to the light switch, you turn the lights all the way up, making everyone wince at the sight. “And now it's time to wake up, Styles.”

“I’ll make it so worth your while. Please, just once chance, That’s all I’m asking for,” he stands and makes his way over to you. “Please, Birdie.” he runs his thumb over your cheek, you lean into the touch before you realize what you’re doing.

“If I say yes and I have a horrible time, can I reserve the right to ask you to leave me alone permanently?”

“Of course. I’d swear on it to never show my face in here again. But I promise we won’t have to worry about that. So tonight then?”

“Not tonight, how about tomorrow? After I close for the night?’

“It’s a date,” He smiles. “I’ll pick you up,”

“You mean you’ll all pick me up?” you motion to the guys behind him.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “They’ll be around, but not with us. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Maybe you should have started with leaving them outside then,” you roll your eyes, “No offense, boys,”

“None taken,” they say in unison again. Harry snaps his fingers and the men leave.

“You didn’t have to do that,” a chuckle leaves you again. You head for the door but Harry softly grabs your arm.

“Leave em, I’m heading out anyways, he slides his grip down your arm until he’s holding your hand, offering a kiss to your knuckles. “Until tomorrow, dear Birdie. He kisses your hand once again, turning to leave.

“B-bye, Styles.”

“Harry,”

“If you impress me, then maybe.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry edward styles #harry styles fic

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