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mf-despair-queen · 5 years

Text

Sweet as Chocolate - Dylan O’Brien

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Dylan O’Brien/Reader

Word Count: 11,022

Summary: Work puts a damper on Valentine’s Day. Luckily, Dylan O’Brien is the sweetest boyfriend in the world and makes the day unforgettable.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Unprotected Sex, Oral (both receiving), Kitchen Sex, Side Sex, Bondage, Multiple Orgasms, Use of Food in sexy ways

Notes: This took forever :’) but Ha[y Valentine’s Day?

“I’m sorry you had to work today, baby. Kind of ruins the Valentine's Day plans when you have to put in overtime for that stupid boss of yours,” his sweet, voice boomed through the speaker of your phone into your ear, the melodic sound ringing through your brain. The smile on your face couldn’t be stopped, the hand casually resting in your lap as you sat in a secluded area of the office, curling into a fist against the tight pencil skirt that lined your waist.

“I should be the one apologizing, Dyl. It was my job that kept us from being together today. On Valentine’s Day of all days.”

Dylan could hear the pout in your voice, chuckling deeply. “I mean, it’s just another day really. We see each other nearly every day anyway. I sleep with you nightly.”

“But it’s the day of romance,” you huffed at him sadly. “I just wanted to have a cute date with you since we haven’t had one in a while. The last thing I wanted was to see my coworkers for the longest eight hours of my life.”

“Cheer up, sweetheart,” Dylan cooed through the phone. “It’ll blow by before you know it. Don’t let yourself get down.”

You sighed, playing with the frills on your blouse aimlessly. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” you asked rhetorically. “Of how great a boyfriend you are?”

“You have, but I never get tired of it because it means I get to hear your beautiful voice even more,” was his cheesy remark, making you blush lightly and laugh. “And as much as I could lay in bed right now listening to you talk all day, you need to get to work missy. Otherwise, your boss is going to chew you out.”

You laughed again, nodding despite his inability to see your response. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” you hummed. “Don’t do too much in that bed alone, alright? Save some for me for later, won’t you?”

“I can’t make any promises,” was his quick retort. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to force you to do anything if you are tired. I know it’ll be a long day for you.”

“That makes it even sweeter in the end,” you laughed. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was nearing your start time. On the other end of the line, Dylan was yawning too, his quick wake up to call before work beginning to show. You could just picture his drowsy expression, the phone slipping from his grasp as he tried not to fall asleep talking to you. His hair was probably ruffled from sleep, his lower half tangled in the sheets. He would most likely be laying on his stomach, bare torso exposed to the air of your shared home, but the delicious patches of dark hair would be hidden by the bed. It made your heart race just thinking about it. “I love you, Dyl.”

“I love you too, Y/N. Have a good day.”

“No guarantees.”

After bidding him adieu, you made for your desk, clocking in on your way. Just as you plopped down at your desk, powering on your computer and stashing your purse away, your phone dinged with a text message. Dylan’s silly contact image popped up, his silly duck face making you smile. Clicking on the message, your smile grew wider.

[From Dylie: Remember, Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. I promise I will make sure you have a good day. Just you wait ;) and remember to keep smiling always. Because your smile is beautiful, just like you. Love you! <3]

He always knew just how to make you smile. You didn’t bother to reply, locking your phone and setting it aside before your boss could make his rounds of the office, his mouth parted as he squawked all sorts of remarks and complaints. Dylan wouldn’t expect you to reply - he just wanted you to smile. And that’s exactly what you did.

Smiled and grit your teeth to survive the day with your annoying boss and coworkers instead of spending much needed time with your boyfriend of five years, Dylan O’Brien.

The morning seemed to trudge on, a headache setting in within the first hour as people complained about everything they could. The time seemed to tick in slow motion, your eyes glue to the hands of the clock on the wall across from your desk when you had nothing to do for brief periods of time. They seemed to freeze under your gaze, the tick of the seconds hesitating before moving to the next notch.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You were ready to slam your head to the desk before lunch had even hit. The papers were slowly piling up. Your computer had tried to crash a handful of times. Your feet were hurting from the heels on your feet, your boss constantly asking you to walk to the only working scanner in the building - furthest from your designated seat - to make copies for god knows what. Everything seemed to hit at once, your mood declining rapidly. All hope for a good day had diminished, the light at the end of the tunnel snuffed out by eternal darkness.

“Excuse me,” someone called, the door of the office cracked. The young man had a red hat on that read Fabulous Floral, a clipboard in his hand. “I have a delivery for a miss…” he paused to check his papers. “Y/N L/N?”

You blinked your eyes in confusion, feeling the dozens of hawk-like stares on your back. Apprehensively, you approached the male, attempting to ignore the piercing looks people were giving while snooping in your business. Their noses were upturned, waiting to see what the young lad had to say. Their nosy behavior was irritating, your blood running hot.

“How can I help you?” you offered after a short breath.

“I just need you to sign here,” he smiled happily, holding out the clipboard he had when he arrived. Your brow rose, but you took the pen he offered anyway, scribbling your signature on the appropriate line. “Thank you very much ma’am. I hope you enjoy your flowers! And have a wonderful Valentine’s Day!”

Your jaw dropped at his words, eyes widening the same amount when his coworker walked inside with a large vase of red roses. A pink ribbon with red trim was wrapped around the neck of the vase, tied in a neat bow. Amongst the roses were colorful plastic hearts and shimmering strings of foil hearts. You gawked at the floral arrangement as it was placed on your desk. The two men thanked you before leaving, the door clicking shut behind them.

Your coworkers were whispering about what had happened. They were still watching you eagerly when you approached the flowers, pulling the small card from the roses. Taking a short moment before daring to open the envelope that was decorated with your name neatly, you breathed in the scent of the roses, relishing in the sweet aroma they offered. Your fingers grazed the many petals, the smooth texture against the tips of your fingers offering you some relief from the stress of the day. The thorns had been removed so you weren’t at risk of pricking your finger and the sharp edges. Each rose you touched, every bit of fragrance and elegant touch you got from their beauty, made your heart thump. A smile rose to your face, shyly staring at the roses in awe.

Your hands trembled anxiously as you opened the envelope that sat in your sweaty palms. The writing was messy, yet had a neat joy about it. The clear words that were written across the card inside portrayed such a short message, but the meaning gave the butterflies in your stomach a reason to flutter around wildly. The words were red in color to match the tint of the roses in the vase before you, each one written precisely.

A dozen beautiful roses for a beautiful girl. Yet, a dozen isn’t nearly enough to express how the number of things I love about you. -Dylan

His normal scrawl made the note even more meaningful. Holding it close to your chest, you let out a hefty sigh of happiness, your smile gleaming largely. The whispering around you died away as everyone returned to their seats, still sparing a glance or two in your direction.

Carefully, you moved the flowers to the side of your desk, taking your place in your rolling chair. Fingers were placed to the keyboard of your computer, eyes flickering to the flowers as you began typing away once more, mood considerably brighter than it had been earlier in the day.

At precisely two o’clock, the door opened again, a young woman in a grey shirt and khakis holding a clipboard in the frame. The embroidered signature on her uniform read ‘Edible Arrangements’, telling you what was about to enter your office. Who it was for, there was no telling. The man making the delivery with her was holding the arrangement of fruit behind her, waiting for the cue to hand it off.

“Hi. I’m looking for a Miss Y/N LN?” the girl cheerful spoke, bouncing on her toes.

Your face flushed again, slowly getting up from your desk. Chatter resumed again in the office, shocked twice as much for the deliveries you were receiving. Signing your life away for the second time in the time span of a few hours, you took the fruity bouquet from her assistant. The pair gratefully thanked you before leaving, the door clicking shut.

A card was nestled amongst the various fruits, all your favorites arranged in a gorgeous array of sweet design. Strawberries, varying from regular, chocolate dipped, and even ones that were stripped further with white chocolate, were intermingled with mango that was cut into the shape of hearts. A perfectly tempered chocolate heart was in the middle, white chocolate cursive spelling out ‘I love you’ in the center and luster dust making it shimmer in the light. Flecks of edible gold dotting random fruits. The vase the arrangement was sat in was red with two intertwining white hearts, a bear dangling from a small handle on the side. It was holding a fake chocolate dipped rose with a precious smile sew into the snout.

Another handwritten note sat between your fingers.

I figured you would need something sweet to get through the day, but I assure you - the fruit isn’t nearly as sweet as you. - Dylan

It felt like your heart was ready to burst from your chest with how hard it was pounding. Your legs felt weak from the overwhelming bliss that was raining over you. Your heard was spiraling, the shower of gifts causing your face to burn and your mind empty of anything but extreme elation.

Picking a strawberry from the bunch, the taste of the sweet juices entered your mouth after one bite. Chocolate stained your tongue in milky lusciousness that made your mouth water. A squeal of excitement made your throat rumble, turning into a pleasant moan from the delicious taste. Others flocked to your desk to partake in the fruity treats - all outcomes similar to yours.

The snack break to indulge in your gift was short lived, people returning to work before your boss had a fit that things weren’t being done in a timely matter. But with each hour that ticked by, you were happy to sneak another strawberry that made every ounce of your taste buds tingle.

At five, people were buzzing around, bags rustling and stuffed with papers. Low chatter filled the air, sighs of relief that the day was finally over the noise most often heard. You joined in the silent cheers that the unfortunate day at work had concluded. You could finally go home, curl up on the couch - hopefully with your boyfriend - and watch some cheesy rom com to relax and destress. Your stomach grumbled, ready for any meal you could get, whether it is a quick fast food meal or a simple sandwich from the fridge at home.

You just wanted to be home in the arms of the man you loved.

Just as you were grabbing your purse from your desk drawer, the door opened. Initially figuring it was someone leaving the office, you didn’t bother to glance up, making sure to drop all of your belongings in your bag before preparing to leave. Only when one of the girls nudged you did you look up, your purse slipping from your hands at the sight before you. Your mouth was dry and your eyes were wide. The shutter of phone cameras clicked behind you, taking advantage of the scene at the door. A once in a lifetime opportunity to see this - all because of your boyfriend really.

Tyler Posey, the hot main character of the MTV show Teen Wolf, stood in the doorway of your office. Posey was a close friend, the two of you clicking instantly the first time Dylan introduced you to each other. He was like the big brother you never had - always willing to help but still tease you when he could. The fact that he stood here now not only shocked you, but what he had made you flustered.

The tattooed young man was dressed in a suit, which wasn’t much of a surprise really. He always had loved being neatly dressed, almost as much as he loved his shorts and tank tops with backwards baseball cap. Tucked under one arm was a massive teddy bear, probably larger than you, that was holding a heart that read ‘Be Mine’. In his other hand was a neatly wrapped box, the paper a pale pink and the bow, white as snow, curled perfectly.

“Tyler, what are you doing here?” you asked, glancing around at your coworkers that were still snapping pictures.

“I came to pick you up!” he chimed cheerfully. You simply blinked in confusion, Posey’s smile never faltering and his bouncing persona making his body vibrate. His feet moved forward, holding out the bear first. “I was sent to deliver this overly large, fuzzy bear for you.”

“Ok?” you squeaked unsurely. “Um, thank you?”

Taking the bear, Posey had not lied. It was the softest thing you had ever touched. The second it landed in your grasp, you were hugging it to your chest, wanting to find the closest couch to curl up and cuddle the large animal until you fell asleep. You were ready to snuggle it nightly, burying your face in the fuzzy fur. Your smile mirrors the one you received with every unexpected gift through the day, your heart fluttering joyfully.

“I’m glad you like it and all,” Posey chuckled, narrowing his eyes on your thrilled form. “It was a bitch to get in my truck too because that thing is huge, and I don’t get why he had to spoil you with that. But a guy has to please his girl for Valentine’s day I guess. So… here.”

He held out the box. Glancing between it and the face of your friend, you placed the bear on your chair, taking the box. “What is this?”

“Don’t be dense,” Posey laughed, shaking his head. “If you haven’t picked up on it yet, my best friend - your lovely little boyfriend - has sent me to deliver gifts and to pick you up to take you to a mysterious location. He told me to tell you that he loves you very much and that he wants to treat you to a wonderful night since you couldn’t spend the day together. You need to take that box into the bathroom and change before we can get going.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know I love you, sis, but think about it,” Posey laughed again. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Your boyfriend bought you a bunch of gifts. And I’m taking you to him.” You stared at him. “Oh my god.”

Giggling, you shook your head. “I get it, Pose. Thank you for the help.” Pushing up on your toes, you placed a kiss to his cheek, earning a toothy grin from the man. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Tyler. Did you spoil Sophia?”

“Of course.”

“Good answer,” was all you said before taking the box and retreating to the bathroom, all the while knowing that Posey was bound to be bombarded by your coworkers that were gawking at the actor in their office.

Placing the box on the sink, the ribbon was uncurled and loosened. The paper covering the box was torn and discarded. Tissue paper lined the inside when you lifted the top of the box off., crinkling under your touch. Your heart nearly stopped on the contents inside. Resting on the top were a pair of low heels, the color a soft pink. The toes were covered and there was a strap that would wrap around your ankle. Two straps covered the top of your foot, starting from the center of the toe to the strap around the ankle. They weren’t the highest heels, making you breathe a sigh of relief that you wouldn’t break an ankle with wherever Posey was going to be taking you.

Under the heels laid a neatly folded pink dress. It was strapless with dazzling rhinestones lining the collar that hugged around the neck. A shimmering silver belt lined the middle of the dress around the waist. The skirt of the dress was pleated and flared out cutely. Sliding it on, replacing your work clothes, the dress ended around your mid-thigh. Your work clothes were placed in the box instead. Doing one last spin, checking yourself out in the small mirror, you left to return to your friend.

Posey stood instantly, pushing past the girls trying to talk to him. His eyes twinkled, the man ruffling his hair as he approached you. Placing the box aside, you allowed him to wrap his arms around you, the musk of his cologne wafting into your nose. “You look beautiful, sis,” he whispered.

“Thanks, Pose,” you replied.

Backing away, his hands ran up and down your arms. “Now, let’s get you to your man.”

You carried the large bear to Posey’s truck while he carried your other belongings. The man was a gentleman, opening the door for you and helping you in before climbing into the driver’s seat. You managed to make small talk as he drove, destination unknown to you. It was nice to catch up with Posey, the man having been busy with his band recently to be seen.

As he drove, he dug in the door for a sleep mask, holding it towards you. “Unfortunately, as we get close, I can’t let you see anything.”

“Seriously?” you pouted, taking the mask.

“Don’t blame me. Blame your boyfriend,” he chuckled. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Fine,” you whined, placing the mask over your eyes, your vision going dark. “I swear though If you are secretly taking me away for me to die, I will haunt you. I know where you live, Tyler Garcia Posey.”

“Damn. You ruined my plans!”

You waited until the truck stopped, the engine killed. Posey slipped from the truck, leaving you alone for a second before your door opened. The air was chillier than before and smelled of salt. In the distance came the subtle crash of waves, signifying the location you were at. The beaches of California were one of your favorite spots, the sun setting in the distance making your body warm with comfort. The door behind you was slammed shut, Tyler leaving you by the truck as he disappeared briefly.

Jumping when he returned, one of his hands on your back and the other taking your hand, he led you forward. With your vision obscured, your steps were tentative, the heels clicking against the asphalt with every footfall forward. Posey would tell you when to step, making sure you didn’t trip or fall as you moved forward.

Finally, you sunk into the sand, the grainy feeling cold and refreshing. It was hard to stumble forward with the heels still on your feet, and your legs were already beginning to burn from trudging through the sand, sinking under your body weight. The splashes from the waves was growing louder, the sound of voices far in the distance. You were virtually alone with Posey on the beach, unsure where Dylan was or what he was planning.

Finally, you were stopped, Tyler’s large hands on your shoulders. His breath hit your ear as he spoke. “Happy Valentine’s Day, you lil shit. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, but make sure to have fun tonight.”

You were left alone in the darkness. When nothing happened after a minute, your curiosity got the best of you. The eye mask was removed from your face, eyes blinking to adjust to the setting sun. Your arms dropped to your sides, the mask slipping from your grasp and landing in a heap in the sand. The scene before you was straight out of a movie: the sun setting in the distance beyond the oceanic horizon, mixing the sky with reds, oranges, and pinks. The water glowed, twinkling beautifully. In the sand, just out of reach of the waves that crashed to the shore, were two intricately drawn hearts that interlocked. In on heart was your initials, while the other had the unmistakable initials of your boyfriend: DOB. Under the hearts, it said I love you, making you heart race.

Something soft touched your hand, but you didn’t need to look at the source. Your fingers intertwined together, the larger, rougher one giving a reassuring squeeze. A pair of lips met your temple, your eyes fluttering closed at the soft touch. Your body turned and crash into his chest, being hugged close to his warmth. His cologne was soft and subtle, but made your mouth water at the sweet aroma. Your nails clawed at his back, gripping at the shirt he was wearing.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he whispered, voice deep and husky.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dyl,” you replied just as quietly, finally glancing up to meet his sweet honey-colored irises. He smiled at you, placing a short, tender, but always loving kiss to your lips.

He looked beautiful under the glow of the setting sun. But, realistically, when didn’t he look gorgeous? The jeans he had on were dark washed and neat, but he stepped up the game with a dark blue button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his veiny arms. The veins travelled all the way down to his hands where his thumbs smoothed across your knuckles, keeping his grip firm in yours. His hair was quiffed, sticking up to the sky, and he had trimmed his beard, leaving it a short stubble against his jawline.

You would remember this for the rest of your life, just this image.

“I hope you enjoyed all of the gifts,” he hummed, swaying your hands left and right. “I wanted to give you something to cheer you up since you were stuck at work all day. Since we couldn’t spend the day together, I had to find another way to keep you happy.”

“They were wonderful, Dyl. You really didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to. And now, we can be together. So, I hope you like the idea of dinner and wine on the beach.”

“Two of my favorite things,” you giggled. “Food and alcohol.”

Dylan pouted playfully walking backwards towards a small table that was set up, two wine glasses already filled with Moscato, the bubbles trickling to the top of the liquid. “What about me? I made my mom’s chicken parm for you.”

“You’re still in the top five, honey,” you teased, placing a kiss to his lips. He still pouted into the kiss; you could feel it when you backed away just enough that your lips still brushed as you spoke. “You’ll always be my number one.”

“I better be,” was his smug remark. His arms wrapped around you, fingers trailing up and down your back soothingly. Your arms wound around him in return, clutching at his shirt. The tender touch of his lips to your forehead made your face heat up with a bright blush, a smile curled on your lips. “Now, let’s eat.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The dinner was one of the most romantic things you ever had ever encountered. The delicious homemade food made your mouth water. The refreshing wine sliding down your throat, arms jokingly interlocked as you tilted the glass back, the rim on your lips. It was hard to sip the liquid when he made funny faces at you as he drank his own wine, soft giggles escaping your mouth every time. After eating, you relaxed on a blanket in the sand, listening to the waves crashing against the shore. Leaning against Dylan’s broad chest, you could hear his heart beating rapidly and unevenly - just like your own. His arms hugged your waist, your fingers tangling together in an array of digits, toying with each other’s hands. Together, you watched the sun set in the horizon, the sky turning a dark black, the rainbow of colors vanishing in a blink.

You helped Dylan clean up, walking hand in hand to his car. Halfway through the sand, you paused, noting the lack of Tyler Posey and his truck. “Where is Pose?”

“He headed home to have dinner with his other half,” Dylan hummed.

You blinked, cocking your head. “But my stuff was in his truck.”

“It’s in my car,” Dylan chuckled.

“What?”

“I had everything planned, babe,” Dylan mused playfully. “Ty has my spare car key right now. He put your stuff in my car while we had our romantic little getaway.”

“That sneaky little bastard,” you scoffed under your breath, earning a rowdy chuckle from the man beside you.

“He was a great help,” Dylan told you, unwinding your hands so he could sling his arm around your shoulders. His touch warmed you, goosebumps from the night chill and thrill from his hold popping up on your arm. “Plus, he promised not to cockblock us if he was allowed to help.”

“That fucking Posey,” you laughed.

“I’m grateful that he was so forceful with wanting to help me do something special for you this year,” the man chuckled. “I never get to do something special for you for Valentine’s Day because of work. So, when he said he wanted to help, I was all for it.”

“You really didn’t have to, Dyl.”

“I know,” he hummed, kissing the side of your head. “But I wanted to. I wanted you to know that I love you more than anything and I wanted to do something that would make you happy. I want to spoil you because you deserve it. I wanted nothing more than to give you a day to remember.”

He unlocked the car for you as you arrived, placing everything in the back seat. The door slammed shut, his back leaned against the side of the vehicle. You inched between his legs, the two of you easing into each other before trying to rush home.

“Dyl,” you murmured, resting your chin on his chest, glancing up to meet his honey eyes. They glimmered staring down at you, crystal clear against the dark, cloudless sky behind his head. His slender digits stroked their way through your locks, pushing the strands from your face. “If I have to be honest, every day is a day to remember with you. I look forward to waking up. I look forward to every adventure. I look forward to hearing your voice. I look forward to seeing your face when I fall asleep at night. I look forward to every day of my life with you because you make every day memorable. And, I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“You’re going to make me cry,” he sniffled playfully.

“Good,” you teased, placing a soft kiss to his lips. “All according to plan.”

“You evil little minx.” Dylan hugged you close, pushing off the car to spin you around. He grinned at the laughter you let out. “And I thought that I was the mastermind with the evil plans today.”

“Keep thinking that, baby,” you toyed, patting his cheek. “We know who wears the pants in this relationship.”

“We’ll see about that,” his smooth, sultry voice cooed coyly. Opening the passenger door, he handed you the bear that sat in your seat. “Now, get in the car so we can head home.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “Rude.”

“So, you say now,” he chuckled. “But soon, you’ll realize just how sweet I really am.”

The car ride home was filled with laughter and horrible singing, short kisses shared at red lights. The roads were surprisingly empty, most people probably having a romantic meal with their significant others. Dylan held your hand tightly as he drove, winding through the streets of Los Angeles to get you back to your shared home. Occasionally, he would let go of your hand, placing it on your thigh instead. His fingers would tinker with the end of your dress, teasingly pushing his fingers under the hem without seeking a destination.

He was starting to get you a bit hot and bothered.

You were shocked, and yet ecstatic, pulling into the driveway. The porch lights were on, shining on the grass of the front lawn. On the face of the green leaves were multiple hearts of white powdered from left to right, all sizes displayed before you. Dylan chuckled at your gawking expression, kissing your cheek. The flour dusted hearts on the lawn made your own heart thump wildly, hand flailing at your boyfriend.

“Haven’t you done enough?” you whined, allowing him to lead you through the white hearts into the house.

“Oh, no. Not at all,” he grinned, opening the front door for you. “We haven’t even had dessert.”

“Seriously?” you whined with a pout. “I’m going to kill you.”

“But, I made cupcakes,” he whimpered, leading the way to the kitchen after the door was locked and your shoes were discarded. On the table was a tray of cupcakes, chocolate in flavor. The frosting was piped in neat rosettes, edible gold flecked on top. A bowl of strawberries was to the left of the cupcakes with a bowl of melted chocolate to the right. A spare bottle of chocolate syrup rested on the table, the Hersey label staring daggers are your chocolate-loving soul. And to top everything off, literally, was an unopened canister of whipped cream.

Dylan rushed forward, striking a match to light a few candles, the glow from the flames licking the walls and highlighting his face. They added to the romantic aura of the night, the sensual vibe radiating around you. The handsome gentleman before you pulled out a chair for you, extending a hand while bowing to aid you with moving to your seat. Plopping in his own seat beside you afterwards, your legs tangled under the table, allowing your bodies to get cozy, nuzzling together. A veiny hand reached to grab a chocolate cupcake, Dylan feeding you the succulent sweetness.

In movies, you always saw the romantic dates where the couple would feed each other in the most erotic way, lips slowly parting while food was placed between them, mouth watering as they bit into it. It was always in slow motion too - your eyes glued to the way their eyes would close and they would enjoy every second of the food, the taste sweeter than normal from the sexiness of their significant other feeding them. Never once had you expected to do it yourself.

And, not once did you expect the feeling to be as phenomenal as it was.

Dylan would feed you the delicious cupcakes he made, the sponge soft and velvety, the frosting sweet and smooth. His fingers would always grace your lips, allowing you to lick them clean when he fed you the chocolate covered strawberries between cupcakes. His nose flared with heavy breaths, watching you suck his slender digits clean, a groaning grumble trapped in his throat. When there was chocolate lathered on your lips, he used that as an excuse to lean forward and kiss you, cleaning the sweet substance with his tongue before igniting a brief, yet always heated, kissing session.

Feeding him was equally as passionate - and ten times sexier. You were addicted to the way his plump pink lips would part as you tore a cupcake apart, placing it into his mouth. The corners of his lips curled upwards every time with a smile that could break hearts, your chest constricting with rapid heartbeats. Every bit of food you passed his way, he would leave tender kisses to the tips of your fingers, cleaning them of crumbs or chocolate coating. You were forced to wiggle around in your seat, heat pooling between your legs from the romantic, candlelit dessert you were sharing with your boyfriend.

The plate was cleaned of all the cupcakes, the bowls dotted with dark specs from leftover chocolate and the strawberry stems. The whipped cream and spare chocolate syrup were untouched, but you didn’t care. You were focused on the man beside you, his hand stroking the side of your face, curling a strand of hair around his finger before pushing it behind your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, inching closer until his lips were nearly upon yours. They never connected, his lips detouring to your cheek instead, trailing down your jaw to your neck. You head tilted away, mewling softly at the way he peppered your neck with kisses, sucking softly at the most tender parts. “I love you.”

“I,” you started, gasping for air when he sucked harshly. “Fuck, I love you too.”

Dylan smiled against you skin, pulling away from your neck. His hands cupped your face, pulling you into him, connecting your lips together with a heated smack. Your arms instantly slid around his neck, your body pushing into him as best as it could.

The kiss started speeding up quickly, heads tilting to the side to allow for the maximum amount of space. Lips parted so tongues could twist and tangle with each other, tracing the inner linings of the opposite party’s mouth. Dylan pulled you from your chair eventually, your legs on either side of his waist as he sat in his chair. Your hands roamed his shoulders as his ran up and down your back, eventually slithering under your dress to rest on your backside. Your bodies rocked together, your pussy growing wetter by the second. You were throbbing - aching for him, craving his attention and touch.

The kiss broke long enough for him to push the dress up your hips to your waist, finally pulling it passed your breasts and over your head. A shiver ran up your spine, your form bare apart from the panties that hugged your waist. Your nipples were perky from the chill of your home, breasts directly in front of Dylan’s face. However, his eyes moved up to yours after a brief moment of admiring your body, bringing your lips back together.

He stood from the chair with you still in his arms, your butt placed on the table. The kiss was broken, your swollen lips left vacant when he pulled away. A soft whimper left your lips, but the only reply you got from the noise was a single finger telling you to wait, the man rushing to move the china from the table. The chocolate and whipped cream were left where they were, making you skeptical to what kind of game was about to be played.

He was back before your eyes before you could blink, his eyes closed and his lips sealed against yours. A muffled moan rattled inside your throat, your hands first gripping the sides of his face to lure him in closer mid-kiss, before descending south. Rubbing at his shoulders, his posture sunk, relaxing into your touch and pushing himself closer. His pelvis knocked the table, the kiss broken momentarily for a burst of laughter. Slowly, our hands began to work at his shirt, each button undone with exact precision to reveal the collarbone, that was laced with kissed once exposed, to his stomach, that your hands gladly traced along, feeling his abs flexing under the tips of your fingers.

The man shrugged his shirt off completely, your hands already beginning to work on his pants. You only succeeded in undoing the button and drawing the zipper down before your heated kiss was broken, husky pants leaving his parted lips. You were pushed back onto the table, Dylan rounding the side to get a better look at you. He was mute, hungry eyes trailing along your form while a devilishly sneaky hand sought the chocolate syrup. Your eyes were wide and your mouth was dry, watching him hold the bottle between lanky digits. You quivered with excitement, ready for whatever was coming your way.

A loud moan left your lips shamelessly, head falling back onto the table with a thunk. Your back arched, your chest and stomach slathered in the chocolate syrup that Dylan poured from high above. Each drop rained upon you, creating lines of dark brown against your skin - circling your breasts, zigzagging across your stomach, and finally ending at your core, your pussy covered in thick chocolate. Dylan’s eyes were dark, almost the same shade as the chocolate that he had just covered you in. They were filled with hunger, his inner animal raging for a meal. He was salivating, a trail a drool dripping down his chin that he was forced to wipe away.

“So sweet,” he murmured, placing a swift kiss to your lips before travel down your body. His tongue roamed around your form, licking off the chocolate that stuck to your skin. His smile was obvious against your skin. “Mmm. Definitely sweet.”

You wanted to retort, but your words were caught, a moan leaving your mouth instead. The man was ravaging you, beginning his assault on your breasts, licking and sucking your body clean. The way his tongue traveled along your form made you shiver, feeling the tip of it lapping at the sensitive skin of your chest. His lips preferred to wrap around your pert nipples, sucking them until they were hard peaks, taut to the ceiling. His lips tugged at them with harsh kisses, red blotches from his mouth replaced the sticky substance that you were coated with. Each breast got equal treatment, Dylan loving your chest just as he always did.

He continued down, cleaning you as he approached your aching center. Your breathing picked up, heavy pants leaving your lips. You stared down at him, staring passed your body to see him sliding between your legs. Veiny hands pushed they further apart, his warm breath fanning across your sticky, wet pussy. Dark caramel eyes flashed your way with a mischievous glint before he sunk to his knees, only his hair in your view.

A loud moan filled the kitchen, your back arching from the table from the pleasure you felt. “Oh, Dyl!” you screamed his name, one hand reaching down to tangle through his hair. His lips were assaulting your core in the most wonderful way, kissing and licking off the chocolate that touched your clit before sinking his tongue into your wet core, swirling it around happily. He lapped at your released juices, slurping at each drop noisily. His moans of satisfaction were prevalent in the silence.

His mouth didn’t relent, attacking your core and your clit without remorse. His lips would tug at your swollen nub before his tongue flicked it around. His swallowed every drop that escaped your throbbing pussy, massaging the inner walls as he did. Your hand tugged at his hair restlessly, pleading for more, seeing stars from every action he did. Your stomach was clenching, the knot tightening with the threat of unraveling at any second. Your body was on fire, ecstasy on high.

Disappointment filled you. His presence between your legs vanished, leaving you cold. Your whimpers were silenced by his lips, the distinct clang of his pants hitting the floor when he wiggled free from them falling on deaf ears. Your body was filled with warmth without warning, your whines morphed into pleasurable sounds.

He filled you completely, his thick cock sliding into your moist core with ease. He stretched you wide, but it was something you were used to - something you enjoyed. His cock pulsated, traveling through your walls and into your veins. He stilled once fully sheathed, laying countless kisses to your lips. Your arms snaked around his neck, nails clawing at his muscled back before he could even start pleasing you more than you already were.

His thrusts started slow, his lips still loving your face. Hips bucked into each other, the table scratching at the floor when it shifted with your weights. You moaned for him - loudly. His name rolled off your tongue like a mantra, urging him to speed up, to go harder. And he did. The distinct clap of your hips against each other mixed with the noises you made and heavy breathing. The slap of skin on skin reverberated off the walls.

His cock slid in and out of your pussy quickly, his shaft covered in your essence every time he emerged from your depths. The tip sought your sweet spot whenever he sunk into you, finding its treasure easily. It was obvious when he found it, the loud screams you made as he thrust into you making his blood boil.

“Oh, fuck! Dylan!”

He grunted, signaling that he was pleased with the sound. He pounded you into the table, not caring about the strain you were putting on the wood. He only cared about pleasing you, making you cum, and even filling you with every drop he had until you were dripping, his cum spilling from your folds when he pulled out. He watched your breasts bounce with every hard thrust into you. He stared at your face, grinning at your closed eyes and swollen lips, parted with heavy breathing.

One last powerful thrust made your vision go black for a second, your juices spilling around Dylan’s erect cock. He groaned at the warmth you provided, cock twitching a few times before spewing his load into you, strings of white filling your womb. Your walls hugged around him, milking him for all he had - but it was only the start.

He pulled you up after he stopped thrusting and your body slumped against the wood grains. Your arms were around his neck, scratching at his back that was already lined with red marks from before. His arms hug around your waist, his cock still deep within your core. He pulsed inside you, your walls responding by squeezing at him. Soft kisses were placed to your lips, the smack prevalent in your ears. His lips were a drug; you wanted more.

“You know,” he hummed, pecking your lips repeatedly. “That chocolate is sweet, but I think you’re sweeter.”

“If that so?” you teased, resting your forehead on his when he nodded. “Well, I think the sweet one here is you, Mr. O’Brien.”

“Really?” he mused deeply. His tone was gruff, the husk making you shiver. “Care to prove it?”

You grinned, reaching behind you for the whipped cream that tipped over at some point, barely managing to stay on the table. You hummed playfully, placing the nozzle to your lips before squeezing, the white foam on your tongue. Dylan shifted inside you, grunting loudly. “I think I can do that,” you quipped.

Dylan pulled out of you, lifting you off the table wordlessly. You squealed, laughing as he trudged away in the direction of your bedroom. Your heart fluttered when you walked in, finding the bed covered in rose petals, your normal blue sheets swapped for a satin red. You were thrown onto the bed with a laugh, the bed creaking with the bounces from your body. He pounced - landing on top of you to share a kiss before rolling off of you.

Dylan laid at your side, one had draped over your stomach while the other kept him propped up. His eyes twinkled while staring down at you, glistening with a range of emotions - primarily love. The man took a handful of the petals around you, letting them rain over your form. The silky petals cascaded over your form, Dylan relishing in the laughs you let out while being covered in the red curls of passion and romance.

A slow kiss was left to your lips, growing fiercer by the moment. What started as a passionate connection turned heated, tongues tangling and hands roaming limbs. Legs tangled together in a heap at the end of the end, toes curling into the plush sheets that clung to your bodies from sweat that was already beginning to layer your forms. Hands wove through hair, messing up the chocolate colored locks that covered the top of his head. His larger, veinier hands caressed your sides, the sensation his fingers left making your skin crawl with excitement.

If Dylan had his way, he would be buried inside you again already, thrusting wildly with your legs bent over your head while you screamed his name at the top of your lungs. He would be pounding you into the mattress, the warranty on the mattress appreciated whenever he slammed you down and fucked you into oblivion because the wear was growing obvious. He would be filling you with his cum repeatedly, watching the cream ooze from deep inside you while your fingers spread yourself open. He would have it all; he would never stop.

But, that wasn’t the case.

He found himself on his back, grunting, groaning and moaning at the tender touches of your lips that flit down his body, leaving obvious red marks on his neck and chest. Your teeth nibbled at his skin, the scrape making his skin tingle. You were nearing your destination - the painfully erect cock that stood straight up, poking your stomach and seeping the glistening precum that made your mouth water. The tip was red and swollen, built back up for another orgasm, his thoughts of cumming inside you rushing the process.

He frowned when your lips left just prior to making contact. His eyes followed as you grabbed the can of whipped cream, spaying a bit of your tongue to coat your mouth in the milky substance. The man shuffled under your weight, cock twitching up and down with arousal just from watching you lick the white foam from your lips slowly. He didn’t utter a word, waiting to see what you were going to do.

Swirls of the white were left on his body - covering his pert, pink nipples, outlining every bit of his abs that were built from American Assassin, and around the base of his cock, running along the shaft to the head. He looked like the perfect sundae - just lacking the cherry on top that would be placed at on the tip. It was a good thing the head was already red.

A load moan ripped from his throat, his Adam’s Apple bobbing when he swallowed. This throat vibrating with the prolonged moans, his head falling back with eyes screwed shut. You started at his nipples, licking the whipped cream clean from his skin, sticking around to toy with the sensitive bud on his chest. He always claimed to hate when you focused on them, his body squirming with some form of discomfort from the sensitive touch. But, you knew the truth - he loved when you sucked at him, played with them. Sure, they were sensitive, but it made the man moan. It made your boyfriend groan. The hardening of his shaft against his leg was a perfect indicator, growing stiffer when you moved across his chest, stopping to twirl your fingers around the bundle of chest hairs he had, to the other nipple.

He watched through half lidded eyes when you traveled south, playfully cleaning off his stomach, kissing every spot you cleaned. He was eager to have you at the final spot, your mouth filled with his shaft. And as sexy as it was to watch you lick and kiss at his stomach, highlighting his well-earned muscles, he urged you down with a shove of the top of the head.

Getting a blow job was one of his favorite things. His head fell back just from your mouth around the head, cleaning the whipped from around him. The taste was a mixture of precum and cream, a sweet saltiness in your mouth. His mouth parted with a moan, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. His hand dragged through his hair, pleasure beginning to fill his body. You sucked at the head of his cock, tongue circling the sensitive head happily, smoothing over the slit.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, biting his lip. “Just like that. Suck my cock, baby. God, I love when you suck me off.”

His words encouraged you to do more, cleaning most of the remaining whipped cream from his length. You began to bob along his shaft, cheeks hollowed for a tighter feeling. Your nose dipped into the whipped cream around the base, but that didn’t stop you. You were too busy savoring the taste of his sweet cock between your cheeks, your tongue tracing up and down his shaft as your swallowing him whole. Your mouth watered most of all from the throbbing vein you always found on the underside of his length, your tongue pressed flat to it as it pulsed on your taste buds. Tracing the prominent vein along his cock made him moan loudly, your body beginning to quiver and ache for more.

To clean him of the rest of the whipped cream, Dylan was thrilled when you began to deep throat him. It wasn’t something you did very often, but when you did, he was in heaven. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You took every ounce of him into your mouth, nose buried in the dark hairs that curled at the base of him. Your tongue licked the remainder of the creamy substance from his skin, not daring to stop running along him. Dylan felt bad at the few gagging sounds you made, choking in his large erection that was stuffed down your throat, but you never ceased what you were doing.

Dylan thought you’d return the favor from before. You normally were the vindictive type. If he didn’t let you cum, you normally did the same to him. If he denied you food, you did the same. If he stole your seat on the couch, you’d steal his spot in bed. After the events in the kitchen, despite the wonderful orgasm you had from him fucking you senselessly, he figured you would stop, leaving him hung out to dry with an exploding dick. He hadn’t finished you with his tongue - so, why should you?

Yet, you didn’t stop. You sped up, pumping his shaft when you weren’t deep throating him. Your eyes were closed and your cheeks were puffed out around him. He had to push your hair back to see your beautiful face properly. The sight made his stomach churn, the knot that had been slowly tightening throughout the entire process finally at its breaking point. The threads were tearing and unraveling, splitting at the seams. His toes were curling and the muscles in his chest and arms were flexing. His eyes strained to remain open to watch before he finally burst. A blissful release swarmed his body, his cum spewing out to fill your mouth. Your mouth slowed to a stop, your hand used to pump every last drop onto your tongue, the sticky saltiness waterfalling down your throat where low moans were trapped. You drank up every last drop he hand, cleaning the tip with your tongue.

“Fuck,” he panted, pulling you up to his level. You tasted like him when he placed a tender kiss to your lips. “That was amazing.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” you mused, giving him a sweet eskimo kiss. “I always knew you were the sweetest.”

“I still think it’s you,” he laughed. “But, you know. I’m still hungry.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he murmured huskily. You saw his eyes darken, a sly grin on his speckled cheeks. “I think I’m ready for dessert.”

Rolling onto your sides, facing each other, Dylan planted a firm kiss to your lips, hands slowly descending the length of your body. Your groins rubbed against each other, the friction from the grinding making you wetter. Your leg was draped over Dylan’s waist carefully, your lower halves even closer than before. His hand found its way to the small of your back, pushing you flesh against you, your breasts smashed to his chest.

Low moans left your lips together, barely separating from his as his cock slid deep into your core. Dylan’s deep grunt rang in your ears, the slow push of his shaft between your walls - filling you to the brim - prolonging the noise. Once fully situated, he stilled, tilting your chin up to kiss your lips repeatedly. Your nose flared with uneven breath, pushing into the kiss as much as possible. Lips dragged against each other, the distinct smack from the connection bouncing off the walls around you.

The thrusts started slow, gradually picking up until Dylan was ramming himself into you wildly. Your leg and foot that were draped over his waist were flailing around with each push of his hips, heel slamming into his backside. Hips clapped together noisily, sweat making your bodies stick together before peeling apart. His long cock, covered in your arousal, emerged from your core, slamming back into you without remorse.

Your hands wound around his neck, fingers lacing through his hair. Giving it soft tugs, your mewls of happiness pushed him harder. You both panted, the bed shaking under your shifting weight. Short kisses were shared, Dylan leading the charge to please you.

You were shocked, yet delighted, when he rolled you onto your back once more. Still buried to the brim in your moist pussy, cock throbbing and pulsing against your walls, his hands reached for the straps that were forever connected to the headboard at this point. Not long after you being sexually active with Dylan, you had discovered the man’s kinky habits - one being the desire to bind you as he fucked you relentlessly. After a trial run, the straps were simply left where he could easily access them at any point.

That’s how you found your wrists bound above your head, unable to touch the flawless skin of your boyfriend. You were left helpless, under his ever-watchful eye. You were under his control, only able to scream as he pleased you. You submitted yourself to him, letting him pound you into the mattress.

“Oh god, yes!” you screamed, head thrown back. Your nails dug into your palms, unable to hold him and scratch along his skin like you wished. The thrusts were powerful, shoving your body deep into the bed. Dylan’s gaze swapped between your face and his cock, watching the way he slid out and the way it made your face contort in happiness. “Just like that, Dyl. Fuck me, just like that!”

“God, I love when you moan my name,” Dylan groaned, leaning back to adjust your legs.

Your knees were bent back, making your core tighter for the man pleasing you. His hands sat against the backside of your thighs, pushed them back and himself upright. Supporting his weight on his feet and knees, his thrusts became more abrasive, quickly and strongly pushing into you. The tip found your g-spot every time he slammed into you, the length of his cock sliding heavenly against your walls that clung to every inch of him desperately.

Your moans were dirty and loud, screaming his name incessantly. Dylan grinned widely, licking his lips. “That’s right, baby. Moan for me. Moan and scream my name like the dirty little girl you are. I want to hear you moan until you are cumming all over my cock again.”

“Oh god,” you whimpered, screwing your eyes shut. The husky from his voice and the seductive words he uttered made your stomach churn. It had already been tight with the coil that began to form when he first slid his cock into you, but you were on the verge of snapping. The way his cock slid in and out of you, the way he pressed into the spot that made stars appear before your eyes, the warm touch of his hands on your skin as he held you in place while making you his personal fuck toy.

You were done for before you could even utter it.

Uneven breaths left your lips as you came, spilling your juices around him. Your walls closed, hugging around him as you released everything you had along his cock, making it somewhat easier to slide into you. The warmth and moisture of your pussy, as well as the tightness, made the man gasp in pleasure. His thrusts grew sloppy, losing control quickly - but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop until you were through your entire high and he had cum inside you once more.

He watched you writhe under him through your entire orgasm, your breasts bouncing with his thrusts, going from left to right as you wiggled through your high. Your hair was splayed across the pillows, rose petals twisted between the strands. Your body was glowing, partially from sweat and partially from bliss. Dylan loved the way you looked under him, left helpless at his pleasurable hand.

You let out a pleased mewl that overshadowed Dylan’s grunts when he came shortly after your orgasm had passed. His seed spilled out into you, white strands shooting from the tip and filling your core completely. His juices mixed with your own, warming your lower abdomen. His motions slowed, becoming a slow push that lasted until every last drop had been milked from him, the tip of his cock still dripping slightly when he pulled out. He was glistening thanks to the juices you left along his skin, the man admiring the outcome.

He left you tied up while rushing to the bathroom, returning to clean you of the mess he had made. The towel was casually discarded on the floor afterwards, your arms released. Dylan curled up in his normal spot, dragging the blankets over your sweaty forms. You curled into his side, nestled into his neck, ready to pass out from the exhaustion that was settling into your body.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, pushing your hair back and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I hate you,” you mumbled, cracking one eye open to see him. “You gave me all of this. Now I feel bad.”

“Why?”

You pouted, huffing in childish annoyance. “You did all of this for me. Made us a romantic evening. And what about me? All I got you was a new picture frame and this little handmade jar of reasons I love you.”

“And I will appreciate it no matter what because it came from you,” he hummed with a smile. “For now, just sleep. You need it after your day.”

“Fine. But we aren’t done talking about this.”

“Fine,” Dylan laughed, holding you close as you fell into a deep sleep.

The smell of pancakes woke you up the next morning. Squirming in the bed, the spot next to you were vacant and cold. A low groan escaped your mouth while rolling out of bed, finding a button up shirt in Dylan’s closet that you swam in. It draped to your thighs, buttoned to your collarbone. You didn’t bother to find some underwear or a bra. You left the room in search of the sweet smell of food.

You stopped to admire the view in the kitchen upon entrance. Leaning against the door frame, you were greeted with the bare buttocks of Dylan. The only thing the man was wearing was an apron that said ‘Kiss the Cook’, the bow neatly done around his back. He was humming happily while flipping some pancakes. You could already picture the bright grin plastered on his face. The table was already set, bacon, eggs and cups of orange juice prepped for consumption. Plates were covered with napkins, and some fresh flowered sat in the normally empty vase in the center of the table. Your face flushed slightly at the sight of the table, remembering the ruckus that was made on it only hours previously.

He must have heard you walking towards him because he didn’t seem surprised when your arms encircled his waist, burrowing your face between his shoulder blades. A deep chuckle rumbled from within him, making you smile. He could only spare one hand placed on yours, the other carefully removing the last of the pancakes from the pan.

“Good morning, my sweetest,” Dylan hummed happily.

“Good morning, my love,” you replied, kissing his back. “I see you made breakfast.”

“Of course,” Dylan cooed, turning the burner off before turning around, your head now resting on his chest. “Nothing is complete after a romantic night together until you’ve had a fulfilling breakfast with the most beautiful girl ever.”

“Is that so?”

“It is,” the man mused, kissing you lightly. “Now, go get settled at the table while I finish the pancakes just the way you like them.”

“Chocolate, fruit and whipped cream?”

“All the things we just used last night for the best night ever,” was his response, shamelessly reminding you of the things you did together. Your face lit up, smacking his chest with your open palm. “Sorry, sorry! I can’t help but remember it!”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

Sharing a short kiss, you shuffled your way towards the table, taking your normal seat. You watched Dylan from the corner of your eye drizzling the pancakes in chocolate syrup, cheeks burning at the reminder that he had just covered you in said chocolate, licking it off every orifice of your being. The proceeded with some chopped strawberries, and lastly, grabbed the can of whipped cream that was unopened in the fridge. Your mind was racing seeing the can, picturing the man nude in bed, dotted with the white cream.

Shaking your head quickly as he approached with the plate of pancakes, you grabbed the napkin from the plate, preparing to spread it over your lap. But you stopped. Under the napkin, on the plate, was a small black box. Staring at the box, your mind was racing with a million jumbled thoughts, none coming together coherently. The napkin slipped from your grasp to the floor, blinking at it.

“Dyl?” you started.

“Yes, my sweet?”

“What is this?”

Dylan looked to where you were pointing as he placed the pancakes on the table, his grin widening. “Why don’t you open it and look?”

Your mouth fell open. “You didn’t get me another gift, did you?” you whined. “Dyl, you got me enough already!”

“Just open it, babe,” he said calmly.

You frowned at his tone, taking the small box from the plate. It was velvety to the touch, fitting perfectly in the palm of your hand. It squeaked when you pulled it open, gawking at what was inside.

“Dylan…”

“Yes?” he hummed, almost expectedly.

“Why is there a ring in this box?” you asked, staring at the diamonds glistening back at you. The band was a sterling silver that shone under the lights above your head. There were 4 small diamonds lining the top of the band, twinkling in your irises.

Dylan smiled, hiding it with his hand. “Why else would I be giving you a ring?”

You blinked, staring at the ring before looking up at him with wide eyes. “Are you trying to say…?”

“Yes,” he finished when you didn’t complete you question. The man crouched beside you, taking the ring from the box in one hand and your hand in his other. “I’m asking you, Y/N L/N, if you will marry me. You make me the happiest man in the worst. You are the most unique person I have ever encountered. You are smart and funny and talented beyond belief. You are beautiful and I can never get you out of my head. I have enjoyed every minute of my life with you and I don’t want that to stop. I want to spend every day for the rest of my life with you. I want you to be mine until the day I die. I want to have a family with you. I want to marry you. So, what do you say? Will you marry me? Will you be my wife?”

At this point, you were in tears, the droplets rolling down your cheeks. Your cheeks were hurting from the grin you held, nodding feverishly to answer his question seeing as you couldn’t muster the words. Words came out as croaks, unfinished phrases of garbled mess. The answer was clear, though. Dylan sniffled slightly, holding back his own tears. His hand shook, slipping the ring on your finger until it was in place, perfectly fitting on your finger.

Your hands cupped his cheeks, pulling him into a passionate kiss. He was eager to return it, smiling against your soft, plump lips. “God, I love you,” he murmured into the kiss.

“I love you too,” you laughed. “You know, now we are that cliché couple that got engaged on Valentine’s Day.”

“Day after,” he clarified, giving you one more kiss before moving to his seat.

“Technicalities, my sweet.”

“Hey!” he huffed. “That’s my name for you!”

“Yeah, but I think you are the sweetest thing here after everything you did for Valentine’s day. This will be a day I will never forget,” you told him, flashing him a smile before looking back down at the ring.

“Well, exactly how sweet am I?” he toyed, leaning on the table with a smirk.

“As sweet as the chocolate on those pancakes that you aren’t serving up. Get to it, dude! I’m starving!”

“Fine, fine!” he chuckled. “How many?”

“All of them.”

“Why am I spending the rest of my life with you again?” he asked.

“Because I’m sweet,” you cooed.

“Damn straight.”

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thejamesoldier · 7 years

Text

Bucky & the Beast

Hi all! So this ficlet is for my darling friend Erin’s ( @theassetseyeliner ) AU Writing Challenge! I submitted a request for this prompt on her original post! Please go support her and all the participating authors who worked hard on their submissions :) Now onto the story xxx

Prompt #22: “You were an asshole back in high school but now you’re my boss.”

Overall Tags: a teeny weeny bit of angst, although mostly stifling fluff, some potty mouth language, spicy humor, s l o w b u r n but in ficlet form tho?

Part 1 of 2

It’s not that you weren’t a nice person...on the inside, very very very deep inside. You just didn’t allow any form of slacking amongst your employees.

And seeing as you not only own this multi-billion dollar company but also actively run it, you’re pretty sure you have the right to dictate everything that goes on under your nose when it comes to this business. You drove yourself into the grave to get this company where it is now, and you continue to work yourself down to hell every damn day to keep it as successful as it is.

Of course you know most of your staff views you as a complete tyrant. Of course you know your nickname on all sixty-eight levels of your high rise company building is ‘Bitch’. Of course you know you’re often compared to Miranda Priestly, the star of Devil Wears Prada. Of course you know you’ve been harsh enough to earn some of that resentment.

But you also know you have the undying respect of every major corporation in the world (which wasn’t easy to get since most of them are fat privileged older men who have too many cultural and moral deficiencies to count). The likes of which was solely earned by unignorable success, brutal consistency, and fear. You wished you didn’t have to be feared in order to be respected by some (most) people, but the ways of the world weren’t going to change that fast unfortunately.

It surprised you at first how many people tried to take advantage of you, of your company, of your money, of your weaknesses, of practically everything they could manage to find. You were always pretty blunt and a bit maniacal about perfection even back in high school, but having been beaten by an ocean of manipulative greedy people for years now, wave after wave after wave, you’re pretty jagged and dulled to it. You’ve found the only way to survive in this business world is to always expect the worst of people. It keeps you prepared for every situation even if it is an exhausting way to live.

Sometimes you worry if it is all worth it, but you then remember how much money your company is making and how all of it goes to support people, companies, philanthropies, arts institutions, and schools who need it. If the cost of good being put into this world is your warped personality, then so be it.

“Barnes I need those write ups on the work Ms. Romanoff’s team did this quarter. I asked for final copies yesterday, why are they late?” You question your head personal assistant in clipped efficient sentences as you strut down the long stretch of a modern elegant hallway, the sleek double doors of your main office looming at the end of it.

With your Prada high heels clicking sharply (if not a bit ironically) against the marble floor as you make your way to your gilded office, you scroll through an email on your phone sent from one of your board members while you wait for Barnes to put together an answer. The email consists of a polite reminder that you have a Skype call with Stark Industries this afternoon.

As if you’d forget.

With a punctuated scoff you burst into your glass office, not having to slow down your stride at all as Barnes moved with practiced haste to hold one of the doors open for you. You don’t bother with a thank you (even if you feel the manners your mother ingrained in you cringe and shriek in horror) but instead head nose up to your simple but stately desk. As you situate yourself behind it, booting up your desktop and quickly scanning some sticky-note reminders Barnes left for you the previous night before crumpling them in one ball and dropping them in the waste bin by your feet, you feel the very short leash you have on your patience strain.

Without glancing up at him you bark out, “Well?”

You hear the man clear his throat and know automatically that he’s preparing to take the fall for Romanoff’s team. Barnes always has had this habit to take the heat meant for someone else’s mistake himself, and allow whoever the guilty party is an extra second to fix whatever the problem was. It’s never effected the success of your company, so you’ve always let it slide. If you were being completely honest with yourself you know deep down that that’s why you’ve kept him around so long. James Barnes is the one person (okay maybe besides Natasha Romanoff) who holds the all time record of longest employment in your company. He’s also never been promoted from his place as Head Personal Assistant when you hired him into it a good few years back.

He’s only craftily brought up the issue of never moving up a few times, not wanting to push his luck with you, but other than that there’s never been a word of complaint like other employees you’ve had. One day when you’ve finally been run down enough, when the world has finally sucked all the life from you, you’ve decided that it’s James who you’ll give the company to. Of course no one knows this, but you made the decision quite some time ago.

“Ms. Romanoff had an issue with getting a closure on the deal,” Barnes starts up in his trademark baritone tenor of compassion, “She had all the finished documents written up by yesterday, it was me who failed to pass them to you.”

Still you don’t look at him, but you do silently translate what he’s saying as you open up your email account and start sorting through your inbox for the most important emails. Basically, Barnes is saying:

“Ms. Romanoff had no trouble badgering the client for the final papers, it was the client who failed to turn in everything on time. And since you never blame the client, its professionally Natasha’s fault. So therefore she did not have all the documents written up yesterday but pulled an all-nighter to finish everything and send said polished summary of the transaction to me first thing this morning. I’m lying for her (and probably without her knowledge) because I’m an annoyingly considerate man with pretty eyes and a wicked sharp jaw who is used to your unforgiving nature and shall take the fall for everyone because I am this company’s sparkling hero.”

Resolutely put-off with the very unprofessional way your mental translation ended up going, your mood sours sufficiently from its already foul natural state. You feel your face pinch deeper into its usual dissatisfied scowl.

“It is very unlike Ms. Romanoff to have any delays in her work. Give her one of my warnings.” You say in a mildly bitter tone as you reach a hand blindly over your desk towards Barnes in silent demand, while clicking on an email with the other hand and scanning it halfheartedly at the same time.

A packet of paper is slid gently into your expecting fingers and as you place them on the desk space beside your angled keyboard, you hear Barnes tap his thumbs across his phone as he sends you an e-copy of the papers you were just handed. When the email arrives in your inbox with a ding, it serves as the only acknowledgment that you received the email. It also is simultaneously Barnes’ dismissal.

Only when you hear your assistant sit down at his own smaller desk across the room from yours and start shuffling papers and things around, do you realize that you had automatically begun reading through the transaction summary he sent you. After you triple proof it (even if Natasha has never once made a mistake on her write ups), you forward everything to the cooperation partnering with you on this deal. Your trademark punctuality and promised results the only things that matter to you much these days.

You cut a quick side glance across the room at Barnes hunched over his own pile of work and wonder if you said thank you the next time he held the door open for you, if he’d make a big deal out of it. With an internal scoff you brush your gushy feelings swiftly away and replace them with your self-made workaholic robot.

Bucky’s patience with you is growing shorter and shorter each year, month, week, day, and second he works under you. Outwardly he’s mastered himself, but inwardly he’s been stewing and is quite near his boiling point. As he halfheartedly unclips a review packet from one of the company’s specialty divisions to go over before he hands it to you -- Miss Wicked Bitch of Best -- he wonders if it would kill you to say thank you when he opened the door, or maybe look at him when he talks. Bucky doesn’t even know what color your eyes are because he doesn’t think you’ve ever actually looked him in the eyes before.

And sure you take him to all the fancy business galas and parties and soirees and events and fundraisers, but you always maintain this formal professional wall. Even late nights at the office when it’s literally you, him, and a couple janitors (hell, you’ve both even slept at the office before) you still remain aloof and unapproachable. It’s not like he wants to get to know you, because honestly you seem like a pretty lonely sad bitter person anyway, but it’s downright unnatural how little anyone seems to know about you. Even when he wades through his high school memories, all he can remember about you is vaguely labeling you an asshole. Which really doesn’t help your case.

But if Bucky knows anything, it’s that no one is an unfeeling robot.

Even if they pretend to be, even if they believe themselves to be, there is always something down there. At the bottom of a soul there is always a nugget of brilliance. Bucky knows you’re not oblivious to what people say about you, but he wonders whether you just don’t care or you’ve crafted it that way to wield as a tool. He’s not sure which one is worse. Either way he thinks that you could handle things a bit more considerately and still have the respect you deserve. Because if there is one thing Bucky has to admire, it’s your resilience and unyielding desire to see things through. Your dedication to the company and all the good it brings is your one redeeming quality. You also have never done under the table deals or slipped into black market territory, its one of the reasons Bucky hasn’t quit. This company is clean and good and successful. Which is saying a lot in this economy. You also never under pay or over pay your employees, and you’re brutal but you’re fair.

And as Bucky’s thoughts circle back to stifling aggravation as he watches you type away unfussed and unpleasant as ever at your elevated desk, he goes to curl his hair behind his ear, per habit, to shake himself free of his thoughts, but realizes quite abruptly that he can’t. You had asked (well more like threatened and demanded) him to cut his long hair, claiming it ‘ruined the aesthetic and feel that this company represents’ and finds his aggravation churning into poorly bottled fury. Other people in your employment had long hair, I mean you didn’t really uphold any restrictions on hair, hats, head-dresses, or any type of clothing as long as you were put together. So it literally made no sense that Bucky was singled out.

Little did he know you asked him to cut it because those dark luscious locks were distracting as hell and made him too handsome for you to be able to rationally handle. I mean you were around him practically 24 hours a day, bless your soul. You know it was a horrible play on power, and probably earned you a one-way ticket to hell, but you’d rather come off posturing and domineering than love sick or undisciplined. I mean he was just as good looking with it cut short, but you told yourself the short hair made it easier to ignore him as a man and see him only as your assistant.

But much to your chagrin it really, really didn’t help.

“Barnes close out the rest of this meeting. Summarize it to me in detail on the way to the fundraiser.” You bark after you politely dismissed yourself from the Skype call with Tony Stark, the call on mute as you stand from your chair and crisply motion for Barnes to replace you.

Bucky grits his teeth and nods when you brush past him, trying not to let the fact that you assumed (as you always did) he’d be attending the fundraiser with you tonight and left him to clean up after you with the meeting pleasantries, anger him to the point of hysteria. He wasn’t your maid for Christ's sake, and just because he wouldn’t miss the fundraiser because of the opportunity to meet clients and business partners, why the hell did you always hitch him to your wagon for the evening?

You exit the conference room with a blooming confidence and a rare small smile the second you’re in a private enough area to let the expression soften your face. The itch to go back in there and make sure everything finished okay spreads under your skin like a rash but you breathe and stay rigid with yourself, knowing that in order to properly groom Barnes for your job one day, you had to learn to delegate to him more than you used to. And closing out a deal, especially with one as important as Stark Industries, was major. Barnes is more than capable though, and a small part of you is...proud of him.

You’re not sure when this nugget of utter blind faith in him started to become something much more complicated than trust in an employee, and developed into something dangerous. Dangerous like awe and adoration dangerous. Dangerous like fond dangerous. Dangerous like love dangerous.

The long clean leather seat of the limo separates you two.

You give Barnes your (mostly) undivided attention as he dutifully regales the deal closure with Stark this afternoon. You’re scrolling through your email, then your calendar, then your messages trying to avoid looking up at Barnes. The second you spotted him in one of his gala tuxes, it’s your favorite one of his actually since he rotates through them (I mean you don��t expect him to buy a new one for every event, you’re not that unreasonable), you knew it would be a long goddamn night. The subtle navy shine of the tux catches in the corner of your eye under the dimmed lights of the luxury car no matter how hard you stare at your phone screen.

When he finishes his report you nod your approval knowing that’s all he’s used to getting from you in terms of praise. With a knot of anxiety growing by the second in the back of your throat, making it almost impossible to breathe, you glance up at him from under your lashes. He’s mirroring you across the car, phone out, focus down, and body held with the formality you insisted be constantly upheld between you.

The first thing your eyes land on is his exposed clavicle where his collarbone frames the base of his neck. In this rare indulged moment of weakness you allow yourself to wonder what the hollow of his neck would taste like, what would it feel like against the texture of your lips. With great effort you drag your eyes away from the tempting oasis of his skin to sprawl along the sleek dark navy of his outer coat. The button up underneath is a stark crisp white, accenting the tan of his skin and drawing your gaze back inevitably to his revealed skin. The first few buttons of the dress shirt are undone and the stiff folded collar is laid open in a roguish carefree type fashion.

Since the fundraiser is more lowkey and relaxed, you don’t have the excuse to reprimand him for no tie, to demand he cover up that tease of skin and hint of peck muscles. No, you were doomed to suffer because the tailored pants did little to help either. The clean line of the material hugs his thighs, two long strong twin muscles that bunch a bit when he stands or sits down. You cross your legs as something heavy and hot settles in your core, startling you a bit out of the spell Bucky unknowingly put you under.

A bit desperately you try to find a fault, something to pick apart, some straggling imperfection to prove to yourself that you are uneffected by this man. And you quickly realize you can’t because when you look past his attire, the naked allure of his features takes you by storm. His hair is as rich as ever, styled lightly to allow the slight wave in the coffee locks the freedom to curl away from his forehead and settle in a small wave atop his head. Strong brows stand guard over the softness of his eyes, the glacial blue of the irises protected further by a swath of sooty lashes.The straight nose and full generous mouth sit atop a sturdy chin, a gentle cleft runs down the middle of it adding to his seemingly endless good looks. His jaw as you’ve observed many a time is as sharp and wicked as ever.

“You didn’t shave.”

The observation escapes your lips before you could wrangle it back behind the bars of your clenched teeth. Bucky’s eyes jump up at you like you had yelled at him instead of spoken in a normal tone. But its then you realize that it wasn’t a normal tone at all, it was, you...you spoke to him softly --

“Um no.” Bucky answers a bit uncertainly, not sure where you’re taking this. You never comment on his appearance or attire unless it’s to criticize it. He waits inevitably for the verbal lashing.

When the lashing doesn’t come and you both just continue to stare at each other in throbbing silence, Bucky feels awkwardness lay like a heavy blanket over you two. It’s almost startles him when he sees that you’re looking at him. And not just looking at him, but looking him in the eyes.

“It, It’s just a bit of stubble,” Bucky struggles out, trying to make any kind of sense of the current situation, “I thought since it’s going to be a more, um, relaxed atmosphere I could get away with it. I can go buy a razor and shave it off before we get there if you...want...”

Bucky mentally kicks himself for offering, I mean how pathetic. But the stumbling words were better than the silence because for some reason the silence felt different then usual, it felt dangerous.

“No, no,” You eventually say as your brain continues to churn itself into fluffy goo when Bucky shifts his phone and his bicep pushes up protestingly against the smooth sleeve of his tux. “It’s fine.”

Without another word you lock down the vulnerability you feel leaking onto the canvas of your face and shove your gaze back down to your phone.You will yourself not to blush.

The rest of the car ride passes in tense silence. It’s the most exposed you’ve felt in a while, to say the least.

The fundraiser has been going like all of them do: clinically well. Bucky expects no less when you’re in attendance though. The dinner wasn’t the best he’s ever had but he made sure not to leave anything on his plate weary of wasting food. You sat perched and cool as ever beside him, engaging in the usual articulate oratory games with the clients and business partners seated at your large table.

Why Bucky kept expecting you to act different confuses him. He keeps waiting for something to change, for a small tiny hint that something has shifted in you, or maybe between you and him, he doesn’t know. Just something. And when you make him feel like a fool for assuming such a thing by acting the exact same way you always have, Bucky kicks himself. One weird conversation in the limo and he’s hoping for...hoping for what?

With an internal scoff he tunes back into the conversation, and just in time because you hand the topic reigns to him in that moment and suddenly Bucky is leading everybody into his own oratory arena.

You take a measured sip from your water glass as Bucky effortlessly accepts the responsibility of the conversation and takes it away. Being able to hold a conversation in a small meeting is one thing, but being able to lead an entire table of sponsors, clients, partners, and whoever else into complex discussion is quite another. You try not to let your pride produce too many butterflies in your stomach as you continue to sip your water and listen to the man beside you prove to you how very deserving he is of what you plan to give to him one day.

“Ms. Y/l/n,” Bucky says as everyone starts getting up to dance when the live band plays something easy and fun for the guests. You turn towards him slightly in your seat and bring your glass down from your lips as an indication to speak. “May I go say hello to Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers?”

Your eyes zip over Bucky’s shoulder and land across the reception hall on the table where all your best employees are sitting laughing and enjoying themselves, some of them getting up to dance. For a quick beat you consider keeping Barnes all to yourself but know how selfish and petty that would be. You know Barnes is nearly sick of you.

“Please,” You relent as kindly and professionally as you can manage, motioning with your glass towards his friends, “Go enjoy.”

With a quick (if a little bitter) thank you, Barnes blasts away from you to join the merriment across the room. You heard the hint of potent distaste Barnes had having to ask your permission to leave your side and wonder if you’ve let yourself become to much of the monster you thought you had to be in order to be successful.

And maybe it’s not just to be successful, maybe you donned a monster’s skin to protect yourself.

You know that if you took away the pretty cool collected skin of that monster, a jagged scared furious soul would be revealed. A sigh and another sip of water is the only outward sign you give that broadcasts your constant inner turmoil.

“Damn! Wicked Bitch of the Best let you go? Impossible,” Nat croons as Bucky plops into the seat Sam offers him as he hurries out onto the dance floor with a chick from accounting.

“Ha ha very funny,” Bucky bites back as he relaxes down into the chair while pouring himself a brimming glass of champagne, chugging it all back in one go.

Steve, sitting on his other side, raises his eyebrow at his friend’s large shot, “I take it business is done for the night.”

Bucky places the glass flute down carefully on the tablecloth and rolls his lips in as he swallows.

“Yep,” Bucky breathes, catching his breath a little, “I believe ‘Please, go enjoy’ were her exact words.” He states in heavy sarcasm as he runs a hand through his hair, pouring himself another glass.

“How generous of her,” Nat allows before standing up and offering her hand down to Bucky, “And now something generous from me.”

Bucky eyes Nat’s hand suspiciously over the lip of his glass. Natasha was pretty nice (if she felt like it), but she never gave out freebies. He follows the line of her arm up to her severe beautiful face. He squints at the look in her eye.

“Dance with me,” She says with a roll of her eyes at his well placed suspicion, “It’s a thank you for covering my ass the other day even though I specifically told you not.” Natasha informs in jesting but fond reprimand.

Bucky smirks at her, appeased, and takes her hand.

“No complaints here then doll.”

Steve laughs as they zip off to the dance floor.

Watching Bucky with his friends, then dance with Ms. Romano -- with Natasha, that familiar haunting feeling that you know is loneliness begins to seep into your bones and saturate your soul. It’s loneliness that is so thick, so inexorable, you have trouble breathing. Trying not to make your movements too jerky as to call alarm you stand and make your way out of the hall. You’re intercepted a few times, making your final formal goodbyes and thanks, before heading out to the street.

You call your driver and have him take you back to the company.

It takes all your self control and dignity to keep from out right running to your floor. When you make it there about a century later, you burst into your moonlit office and shut off all the security cameras in it. That’s when you lose it.

With harsh tears running down your cheeks and ruining your make up you violently through yourself into your desk chair and start going through files of successful projects. You slowly but surely remind yourself why your doing this, why life has to be so hard. All the good you’re giving to the world is worth something, its worth this loneliness...it is.

It’s worth it, its worth it, its worth it, its worth it, its worth it...

You repeat this in your head as you continue to review years old projects and partnerships and lives that you have bettered. Though the tears and throat-wracking sobs never stop, you eventually convince yourself it’s enough.

Bucky was informed first thing this morning by the front desk that the security cameras in Ms. Y/l/n’s office were turned off at about 11:30pm last night and have not been turned back on. Seeing as it’s only you and Bucky who have the codes to do that, Bucky wasn’t too concerned because the other cameras proved it was you who had entered the office last night. Bucky wasn’t quite sure why you felt the need for that much privacy but he shook himself free of the disturbingly instinctual urge to care.

When he gets to the fogged-glass double doors and pulls on the sleek handles only to realize they’re locked, he hesitates in opening them with his copy of the key. Instead he finds himself knocking.

“Ms. Y/l/n?” He calls politely, professionally.

You jerk awake at your desk. Your head pounds with dehydration and the entire right side of your face is stiff and indented with red lines that make up about half of your keyboard. The desktop in front of you is asleep, the large black screen serves as a mirror to reflect to you your less than put together appearance.

Your make up is a crusting mess, your hair is sticking out every which way, and your eyes are about as puffy and red as Rudolph's nose.

“Ms. Y/l/n? Are you, are you alright?”

At the sound of Barnes’ voice on the otherside of the office doors, a horrible twisting flare of panic lights up in your gut. Trying to remain calm, you stand up only to collapse back down into the chair because one of your legs fell asleep.

“I’m fine Jam -- Barnes, just go do the morning rounds, please.” You stutter as you limp like Gollum (sans your heels from last night) across your pristine office to the private bathroom with a closet you keep extra clothes and things in.

Bucky is near speechless and knows something is wrong now. You almost called him James for one, and even more disturbing...you said please. He’s unsure if he should leave you in such an obviously confused state of mind, but figures he’d only earn himself a punishment if he intruded or was somehow wrong that you were indeed having a, a moment.

“I’ll be back in twenty to discuss the profits made last night.” Bucky found himself informing, not sure why he felt the need to give her a time to be ready by.

What an odd feeling to know that for once, you weren’t thirty steps ahead of him. It’s the first sign of humanity he’s seen you display and it’s tripping him out.

You listen carefully as his footsteps fade away down the hallway and you throw yourself into getting ready. Twenty minutes later Bucky knocks and you call him in. You can feel him analyzing you, looking around for something out of place, but you made sure to hide any evidence of a disturbance or weakness.

Bucky finds you pristine and cool and severe as ever, and he realizes that the sinking in his gut is disappointment. Not that he wants to see you struggling, but for a sign you are more than a robot. That you trust him enough to reveal at least that. But you carry on normal and cold and Bucky reminds himself again to stop searching for something that isn’t there.

“Oh god!” You shriek, you shriek, in surprise as you burst into a storage closet intent on finding an ink cartage (since you had Bucky in a minor meeting with the board, you know power delegation and all, and were more than capable of finding ink on your own dammit), and instead find Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter engaging in some...heavy petting.

The two of them share your immense shock and separate like oil in water, cheeks, ears, and necks red as roses. They both wait for you to do something, but you continue to stand there like it was you who was walked in on. Slowly you walk across the small room, thanking every god you could think of that the ink cartridges were on the opposite side of the space than Steve and Peggy were standing in, and retrieve your ink with their eyes guiltily following your every move.

Before you leave you heft a neutral glance over your shoulder and say,

“Rogers those charts better be in four, and Carter if I don’t have those reports in my inbox by the end of the day I’ll be very displeased.” And with your face safely turned back towards the hallway you say with a little smirk on your face, “Excuse the interruption.”

You hear the two collapse into hushed horrified laughter muffled behind the door as you strut back to your office with a poorly concealed smile on your face and the urge to giggle bottled up tight in your throat.

Barnes returns from the meeting with a muted breezy expression on his face which you’ve learned to interpret that meant things went well. You listen to him summarize the meeting for you while pretending to read one of the charts Rogers just sent you on your computer. The memory of finding them in the closet this afternoon hits you hard and you have to cough in order to stop the laugh bubbling along your throat and tickling your tongue.

Bucky pauses thinking your cough was a sign to stop talking, but when you glance side ways at him and raise an eyebrow he hurriedly continues on. It’s not until you both have settled at your respective desks across the room and Bucky gets up and heads to the printer stationed on a desk against the wall, that things start to head down hill.

It’s not until you notice him fiddling with the printer making grumbling sounds of obvious annoyance (which you don’t find adorable, you don’t) that you realize belatedly that you still hadn’t put in the new cartridge. Wordlessly you stand, grabbing the ink cartridge off your desk, and head over to the printer. Bucky moves over and watches you take out the empty cartridge and drop it in the waste bin by your feet. And when you take the new one out of its thin box and plastic wrapping, you feel your resistance to the hilarity you went through to get it quickly dissolve.

You stand frozen staring down at the ink for long enough that Bucky thinks you might not know how to put it in, even if you did just take out the old cartridge.

“Would you like me to do it?” He offers as neutrally as he can, getting all sorts of weird vibes from the expression that keeps flickering across your down turned face.

And you break.

It might have been Bucky’s words, or just the ink cartridge sitting oh so innocently in your palm, but it was most likely the vivid memory of walking in on Steve and Peggy. You start laughing. At first it’s under your breath, but the more you try to contain the sound the more out of your grasp it gets. You look up as your laughter gets more confident, brighter, and you find Bucky staring at you like you’ve finally lost it. Maybe you have because you burst into even louder laughter, the noise colorful and easy, falling into snickers when you need to breathe before returning with a cackling vengeance as you push the air back out.

Bucky doesn’t know whether to be disturbed or entranced. It hits him hard then that he’s never actually seen you laugh, or smile for that matter. And not a business smile but a real one, the one you’re giving him right now. He finds himself smiling to, grinning ear to ear as he watches you collapse into infectious gorgeous laughter.

“Oh god,” You wheeze as you try to mop up some of the tears from the corners of your eyes, but the words only remind you how you had shrieked them earlier and another peel of giggles wrings themselves out of you.

Bucky is utterly speechless. He’s in complete awe. The woman standing before him is alive and vibrant and laughing. So this is what he’s been hunting for inside that cruel robot all these years. This is who he’s unconsciously been holding out for. She’s real. She’s here with him finally.

“What,” Bucky stutters and loses his train of thought as you face him again and he’s left stupefied by the happiness in your face, how beautiful it makes you. I mean you were always beautiful, but in a cruel removed wave. Like you would eat him alive instead of grace him with a smile.

“It’s nothing,” You attempt to recover through another giggle, “I just intruded on some, some frivolity earlier.”

Bucky nods not satisfied in the least with just that, not wanting this moment to end. Not wanting this woman to disappear behind a maze of masks to a place he can’t reach. But the inevitable happens and he watches, silently mournful, as the walls come back up and the monster’s skin is pulled back on. With a sniff you efficiently change the cartridge and turn away without another word, your scowl returned to the throne of your lips once more.

Part 2

And yes it’ll only be two parts...probably. lol. leave a comment in you wanna and your support is always appreciated! I promise to answer all my asks and respond to all my messages soon! xxx

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