#//their hands on the others cheek is important to me

[draxula]

is there a missus? | b. barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!thunderbolt!reader

word count: 2.2k

warning: nothing major. minor mentions of violence. not so secret secret wife. possible thunderbolts spoilers.

summary: bucky isn't coming clean about something. no matter how many times he's poked and prodded, he won't admit to his wrong doings.

author’s note: first fic in years. thunderbolts has done something to me. something short and sweet to kick it off.

Secrets would never make friends. 

They would only create division. Discontent amongst the already wound tight group, leaving room for far too much speculation. While they had slowly come to accept each other, it was still an uphill battle even on good days.

Knives, for the most part, were kept sheathed. Guns were kept holstered. Communication kept this misfit band afloat. Secrets would only bring it down.

And Bucky Barnes? He definitely had a secret.

Yelena, as she would later claim, was the first to notice. It was the soft upturn of his lips. A type of softness that looked out of place on his usual annoyed expression. The crinkling around his eyes as he stared down at his phone. A soft, breathless chuckle that doesn’t sound like it should come from him.

Jokes about his age danced on the tip of her tongue. It was low hanging fruit. It was far too easy to poke jabs about how he might need to get a better prescription to see the text. Or, if he wanted, she could help make his text bubbles bigger. Those jokes would be better directed at someone with a confused expression. 

John notices it a few days after her. This time that soft gaze of his isn’t directed at his phone but instead at you. Bob sits in between your feet, head tilted back into your hands as you work on detangling his hair. Self-care, as you preached to the rest of the Thunderbolts, was important. Something Bob was deprived of.

If looks could kill, John assumed that Bob would have been flat out on the floor. He should have been with the way Bucky was glaring.

His brows are pinched together, frown evident across his features. This time, there’s a quick downturn of his lips, quietly chewing on the inside of his cheek. Jealousy. An emotion John was surprised Bucky could even feel - let alone directing said emotion towards someone like Bob out of all people.

Now that he thought about it, the two of you have never been completely clear on the past. You came with Bucky. It was almost like a packaged deal, the two of you for the cost of one. Something or other about how to the two of you had been partner in the past. Whatever it was, John hadn’t been particularly listening to it. None of that felt very important at the time. Especially given the fact he hadn’t felt his little group would last any longer than a day.

The Void, and the subsequent voiding of New York, had been a far pressing matter.

Now, as John sits here, equating that expression on Bucky’s face to a man so bitterly jealous of the affection another man is getting, he can’t ignore the alarms sounding in his head.

-

Bucky could feel the stares from across the room. At first, he doesn’t want to look up. He doesn’t want to indulge them in whatever it is they have to pester him with today. As long as the city wasn’t on fire or flooding or both, he didn’t necessarily care in initiating conversation.

“Barnes.”

He groans, finally looking up. “Walker.”

It’s a relatively small exchange of works. Bucky knew he couldn’t look that busy with his phone in his hand. Even he knew his relaxed expression would do little convey that there was some pressing matter he needed to attend to. Nor did he think he could get away with claiming it was Valentina out of all people.

There was no way such a soft expression would be reversed for that woman. Besides, the way he was lazily thumbing through his texts conveyed it was someone he enjoyed talking to. When had he ever been thrilled to talk to Valentina.

“Who ya talkin’ to?” It’s a juvenile question. One that Bucky doesn’t even want to dignify with an answer of any kind. It would only add fuel to the fire he suspected was already burning. While they joked about how old he was, their conversations weren’t exactly falling on deaf ears.

“Your mom.” Comes Yelena’s response from across the room. A small chuckle from Ava’s direction follows shortly after. 

“No no - she wouldn’t talk to him. She would have better standards than this rough around the edges Jesus look.” John, for once, does well not to let it get too under his skin. There were far more pressing questions to be asked. A simple ‘your mom’ joke wouldn’t derail him from his quest of truth.

John, after a second or two of thinking, can only conclude that it must be you on the other end. Those stupid little looks were reserved for both you and his phone when you weren’t in the same room.

“You two are married, aren’t you?”

Bucky rolls his shoulders back in a shrug, tossing his phone to the side. As hard as he tries to appear as he doesn’t care, it’s a poor attempt. “I think something as big as that would be hard to hide, don’t you think?”

“Yes because an ex-assassin would have such a hard time hiding something so important.” Ava calls. From first look, it hadn’t looked like she was listening in on the conversation from behind her magazine. Yet as her eyes flicker above the pages, there’s obviously a look of amusement and intrigue. “Let alone the ex-assassin.”

“If that was my wife, everyone would know. No one would keep me quiet.” It’s Alexei’s voice this time. He slouches father down into the couch, lazily tilting his head to get a better view of the T.V. His hands jerk up into the air, waving them around as he speaks. “What kind of man keeps his wife a secret?”

“Alexei - you don’t get a say in the matter.”

“‘Lena, what I say is the truth. He should be proud.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Stop taking the attention off of Bucky and his secret wife.” John continues. “Where is she anyway?”

“The grocery store.”

“So you know her each and every move?” 

“You just asked me where she was. She's at the store - getting food for all of us.”

"Oh yeah? You sure she's not out for just you."

“Besides you don’t keep up with the rest of us like that.” Yelena corrects. “Alexei was missing for days before you noticed. How did you not notice that?”

“To be fair, none of us really noticed it. The peace and quiet was almost too good to be true.”

“Ava - do not help him. He needs to tell the truth.”

Bucky huffs, rubbing his temples. Theses conversations were getting more and more exhausting by the minute. “There is no truth to tell. You guy are all making something out of nothing.”

“If it’s nothing, why are you getting so defensive over it?” 

Defensive wasn’t the word he would have used. Protective maybe. Secretive perhaps. But never ever defensive. That would insinuate that he wasn’t proud of his life decisions. That he wasn’t proud of you. Defensive would make him come off as insecure and unsure. Two things he would never ever feel about you.

“Look - you better text her if there’s anything you want. I’m not going back out for anything any of you forgot.” And that, for now, is enough to halt the conversation.

-

The secret was becoming harder and hard to keep. It was beginning to bubble over more and more with each passing day. His glances were becoming a little too longing. The way you laughed at his jokes was a little too sweet. The two of you stole glances at each other’s lips a little too often.

Things eventually were going to come to a head. Unsurprisingly, one bad mission was all it needed. One time of him limping back into the tower was all it took for things to come undone.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. One that was supposed to be finished within a day. Maybe two at the maximum. By the time he, Yelena and John returned, you have been festering just long enough in your own anxiety to forget any safe guards put around your relationship. And that came out in the way you said his name.

“James Barnes.” His government name, missing only his middle initial. He considered himself lucky for that. At the same time it was a government name no one else was allowed to use.

He didn’t want anyone else muttering his name. No one else could compare to the way you said it so breathlessly. Even as you marched over, hands placed firmly on your hips, you still managed to say his name so perfectly. So much so, he forgets where he is for the time being. As well as those standing to his side.

“What?”

“Don’t you dare ‘what’ me. Look at you.”

He flexes his fingers a few times, trying to find his words. What could he say to get you to drop the topic. Was there anything? He knew how you could be. Insisting on worrying about each and every little mishap. Despite being s supersoldier, you never failed to drive home the point that each day could be his very last. He wouldn’t dare to leave you alone like that, would he?

“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” It slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself. A small attempt to cool you off has ruined months and months of guarding a very personal secret. One he didn’t want broadcasted on every news station and outlet.

Somewhere a few steps ahead of him, he hears a loud sputter. John has stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to face you. Even with all his bruises and blood crusted to both his nose and lips, it’s easy to see the shift in his expression. It first goes from shock to realization then to joy.

“I knew it!”

“You have got to be kidding me. You were right.” Yelena can barely bring herself to sit down, sliding down the nearest wall onto her bum.

“You owe me and Bob ten bucks.”

“When did Bob get in on it?”

Bucky can feel his head throb. The yelling going on all around him does little to help. To know the team was now placing bets on his love life caused his skin to crawl. What would be next? Were they going to start taking bets on who would die first?

At the same time, he can’t find it in him to particularly care all that much. He’s too busy trying to come to terms with your anger. Now that you’re closer to him, he can definitely make out all the creases to your expression. Anger. Disappointment. Concern. He wasn’t sure which one won out against all the others.

“How long?” Yelena asks.

“How long for what?” Bucky retorts.

If he had it his way, he would continue deflecting until the day he died. Even as you move to sit him down on the closest couch, with your hands already frantically working to strip him of what bloody clothing you can, he would continue to deny it.

“You called her honey.”

“I’m delirious.” He continues. “It’s the bloodloss.”

He was as stubborn as they came. With a huff, you cut your eyes at him, grimacing at both the sight and feel of blood beneath your fingertips. “Can this conversation not wait? You two look like you’ve had better days. Bucky is claiming he’s lost that much blood. Bob looks like he might puke - please sit down dear, maybe away from them.”

“How long has it been?”

“A while.” You reply, squatting down in front of Bucky to get a better look at his torso. The largest gash is enough to cause your stomach to churn. All in all, it wasn’t that bad of a wound. It was more so the fact of who the said wound was on.

“How long is a while?”

“Two years?”

“Actually it’ll be three in a few weeks.”

“Right…I forgot. I’ve been having to keep up with them.”

Three years. He couldn’t believe it. Three years of marriage kept so tightly guarded that the rest of the group had begun to think they were making it all up. That they had to be hallucinating there was something going on between the two of you. The gas lighting coming from Bucky needed to be studied - should be studied. His nonchalant nature he brushed everything off with was almost… Concerning.

“You lied to us.”

Bucky shakes he head from side to side, denying the accusations that are thrown his way. As much as he wants to argue back, to claim that he has never once lied to them, he’s far too busy thinking about your fingertips against his skin. He would rather the two of you be in your rooms, conveniently placed across the hall from each other. In the dead of night, room swaps were made, sneaking into each other’s beds like love sick teenagers.

“I’ve never really be very good at keeping secrets.” You say, motioning for Bucky to lift his arms. As he does so, you twist him this way and that way, searching for any wounds that might be hidden in the curves of his body. Satisfied when you find none, you allow him to relax.

“It was bound to come out at some point.”

Secrets weren’t ever going to last very long in this tower anyway. The close proximity you all lived together would make things like that difficult. High stress situations were bound to cause things to come to a head - whether you liked it or not.

“Now that that’s out of the way - why aren’t you wearing a ring? Are you ashamed?”

Bucky can only sigh. There were far worse things than his secrets being exposed.

[okwonyo]

BABYGIRL, I GOT YOU ୨୧ right where i wanted.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒, 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗉.

𝟏𝟐𝟏𝟓𝒾──── enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

𝗥𝗘𝗕��𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦

HEESEUNG

that loser loves to play videogames. it’s a known truth; his entire room is decorated around his gaming set. despite what happens with other couples, you are not bothered by his hobbies. him being so focused on his games is downright endearing and while he is busy playing, you are busy doing others things as well.

today, however, heeseung has other plans. he doesn’t let you escape from the room when he puts his headphones on. he barely lets you get even a tad away from him before his fingers are wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer to himself. you let yourself be dragged, too confused to fight back.

“don’t leave me, angel,” he grins. he makes you sit on his lap. his arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you close enough to be able to put his chin on your shoulder. you are a tad too stunned to speak— mouth agape as he kisses your cheek, “you’ll be my lucky charm.”

JAY

you have him wrapped around your finger. he is too obvious about it for no one to tell. he has never tried to hide it, his growing obsession with you, his devotion to you— in fact, he is quite proud of it. you are all that runs his mind, all he ever thinks about, the only thing his eyes are fixated on.

even now, as he colleagues persist on talking about work to him—something that must be important, he supposes— he is well too focused on you coming back from adjusting your makeup in the restroom to even try to act as if he was listening. he adjust his position, smiling, watching you come closer to him.

jay’s eyes lock with yours and he feels electricity run all over his body. he taps his thighs with his hands, telling you to come sit there, he wants you close. his hands are already on your hips before you are sitting and with you hands on his shoulders, you giggle when he kisses the back of your ear. “i missed you,” he whispers.

JAKE

“jake,” you chuckle, patting your boyfriend’s head to get his attention. his embrace becomes tighter, his arms hug your waist strongly as his mumbles in your neck. you wait for him to lift up his head or at least loosen his grip on you, but he doesn’t— it makes you smile. “i’ll need to get up, eventually.”

no one has ever liked your personal space as much as jake does. he has been following you around the house the entire day and he ended up sitting down after long hours. however, he didn’t forget to drag you along with him. he pulled you onto his laps with you barely realizing it.

his nose tickles your bare skin when he turns around to kiss your neck, “but you look so pretty sitting there, my love,” his tone is whiny, needy, your heart pumps faster in your chest. “stay close to me, please.”

SUNGHOON

he walks backwards with his lips still locked with yours. it’s hard to follow him on your tippy toes, especially when he is kissing you so hard. his hands cup your face gently, yet, firmly enough to drag you along with him. he bites your lower lip and you whine. he groans against your mouth.

the back his legs hit the couch, and he lets himself sit on it. “climb on me, baby,” his says, out of breath between a kiss. you do as you are told. your knees sink into the couch, at either side of his thighs. his hands hold your hips down and set you on his lap firmly. he smiles against your lips when you run your fingers through his silky smooth hair.

you have been kissing for an eternity. so much that you don’t know what breathing feels like. your lips are swallowed and your lipstick is all over his lips— but he can’t bring himself to stop. his entire body burns for you, especially when you are well sat on his laps, with your hands gripping on his shirt for dear life.

SUNOO

he reads you like an open book. he knew it, his day was a little bit too peaceful, too calm to be true— his girlfriend always has something funny in mind. he narrows his eyes when you approach him with a dizzying pretty and sweet smile. he ignores his pulse rising up, “what do you want?”

“is that sit taken?” he doesn’t answer, too confused to not gawk at you. there is a silence that sets itself in the room. his mouth is agape, but now words get out of it. he looks at you, with narrowed eyes, as you turn around and step backwards. he is still lost when you start to sit down slowly.

he instinctively holds his hands up when you finally fall on his lap. sunoo tries to bite down a smile. his miserable fail make you laugh out loud— he concedes, “fine, i didn’t see that one coming,” he is a tad bit red in the face. “but if you want to sit on my lap so bad, you can ask normally.”

JUNGWON

he finds it endearing, how despite how angry or pouty you can get, you can never stay away from him for too long. he has all the right to make fun of you a little— in his head— because, he can say the exact same thing about himself. he is quite relieved that you accept to be in the same room as he is, although you refuse to talk to him.

he watches you walk through the leaving room. he is a bit anxious, his heart shakes in chest with mere worry as he watches you pace back and forth with your arms crossed under your chest. “princess,” you don’t answer, or at least glance at his direction. “are you really not going to talk to me?”

jungwon is a determined man. therefore he does stop calling you, but he catches one of your crosses arms as you pass by the couch. he pulls you closer to him, “c’mere,” he smiles when you let yourself be sat on his lap, still not looking at him and a bit pouty. he kisses your puckered lips gently, “i love you, okay? don’t be mad at me.”

RIKI

“let’s take pictures,” your boyfriend says after his eyes land on the photobooth a few meters away. he drags you towards it without a second thought and you let him lead you to it, not putting up a fight because you do want to take pictures of you and him together.

riki takes more than half of the seat when he gets in. and instinctively, he puts his hand on your waist and pulls you close— you end up on his lap in a millisecond. “do you even have a coin?” you ask, as he hugs your waist, letting you get comfortable on your brand new seat.

he doesn’t answer. instead, he leans in, taking you with him, to put the coin in the machine. he waits until the photobooth’s countdown starts to speak again, “come closer,” he smiles. you are granted with a kiss when you do, as soon as the flash goes on.

분지 ܃ ummm ok

© 𝖮𝖪𝖶𝖮𝖭𝖸𝖮 ୨୧ 𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟓 ── taglist open 。

[minkieater]

most to least likely in ateez to wanna share their girlfriend with the members…?

SHARETEEZ ☆ atz ot8 x fem!reader

please i love this topic so fucking much, thank you for asking this !!!!! shareteez is so important to me. the only government ship i used is yungi because im insane and addicted to them 😄 not proofread sorry 4 any mistakes <3

smut mdni 18+ | wc ~4k

most likely …

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀 ☆

idk what it is about hwa but something about him screams voyeurism to me. i think he’d be the one to bring it up, and i also think he’d share you with every single member if he could. as the oldest, even if he doesn’t share his personal items, something about sharing you gives him a sense of control. he’s always sitting in the corner of the hotel room, watching, analyzing as one of his best friends makes his girl feel good, but also, something about watching two people he loves together, right in front of his face, gets him off. he doesn’t wanna be involved— he wants to sit in his corner and watch, see how you react, see what the others do that he does or doesn’t do, watch how his members fall apart because of you. he’s prideful about it, it’s a way of showing you off, showing his members what they can have for a night but never to keep. he’s never jealous if you cum quick or if you’re screaming for another member, he’s watching with calculated eyes, taking notes, trying to ignore the ache of his cock that he doesn’t touch until he can’t take it anymore.

his favorite person to share you with is san. san is a passionate man in everything he does, his motivation never dies, and god does that statement remain true when it comes to sex. seonghwa is addicted to letting san fuck you, he’s the only member that’s fucked you more than once, hwa is obsessed with how you react for him, how easily you fall apart under his touch, the sounds the two of you make… seonghwa nearly asks for his wrists to be tied to the chair. its impossible not to stroke his cock while san’s eating you out, to not cum at the same time you do, to not drool as he watches the muscles in san’s toned back flex as he fucks you. hwa is a mess in his corner, his lap covered in cum, hand slick and wrist aching while his cock lays flaccid and utterly spent— but he still can’t stop, not when san hasn’t finished yet, not when you aren’t brainless and lifted to that fuzzy space that only san brings you to so easily. seonghwa could watch you for hours, his own personal movie, his favorite part would always be when you twisted your head to stare at him as you came, every single time. seonghwa would die a happy man in his corner if he was watching one of his best friends fuck you stupid.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐍 ☆

san would quite literally do anything his gf asked of him, but i think san is a fucking freak to begin with and watching you with someone else would be a dream to him. he’s obsessed with your pleasure, a demon possessed when it comes to getting you off, there isn’t a day that goes by where you aren’t finishing from some ministrations of choi san. if you even so much as look at another member with lingering eyes he’s on it— he’s observant, he’s horny, and his mind is always going, thinking of something new, trying it out with you, getting you past the finish line with it. san is a quiet man but he’s always storing details away, saving them for later, rewording them into propositions to make you think it was his idea. when san drops the idea of you hooking up with someone else, you’re the one shocked as if he’d just stripped you bare, peered inside your mind, as if all your thoughts were written across your forehead. san doesn’t get jealous, he’d do anything to get you off, and he means that.

san giggled to himself when he watched you approach yeosang in the backlit bar. quiet and meek, san would have never expected yeosang to agree to dance with you— but the blush that crossed yeosang’s cheeks, how his ears tipped red, san knew he was going to have fun with this. san stood with wooyoung as he watched you dance with yeosang, grinding on him, hands around his neck, lips ghosting his skin, san’s pants were agonizingly tight and only grew tighter every time yeosang glanced their way with worried eyes. he didn’t stop, though, he never asked for permission, and for some reason it made san hornier that yeosang knew you called the shots. so when the three of you made it back to your shared place and you sat with your back pressed against san’s chest and yeosang between your thighs, it was no surprise to any of you when san ended up finishing untouched, ropes of hot cum painting your back, sticking your skin to his. it was so hot, hotter than san could have ever expected, too hot to not make the occurrence a regular thing. after that night you invited the rest of the boys to your bedroom, one by one, it became a game to you and san. who could get you off the fastest, who did new things that you could incorporate into your own sex life, who you wanted to invite back into the bedroom. san was always present, always watching, always right there, always touching, always finishing at the same time as you.

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈 ☆

mingi would share the world with yunho, so yungi topping mingi’s gf is so real to me i’m 100% convinced it’s true. unlike the other two before him, mingi is possessive and jealous by nature, he can be shy and insecure, but never when it comes to yunho. he’s third on this list because i think he’d be dating his gf for less than six months before he let yunho get his hands on her, Grade A Lover Boy ™, he’s so open to the idea that he’s the one pushing it to happen— he’s been having threesomes with yunho ever since he started having sex, so when it comes to you, his perfect little girlfriend, why wouldn’t he want to show you off to yunho? he boasts about you all the time, how pliant you are for him, how your pussy is the best he’s ever had, how your body was sculpted by god himself. it makes yunho drool and fills mingi with such a sense of pride he needs to show him as soon as he can, let him experience it for himself, but asking you is the hard part. somehow explaining the relationship between the two without making it sound like he’s objectifying you in any way, because he’s not, you’re the two people in this world he loves the most, and he’s just as confident in yunho’s skills as he is in how he feels about you.

when you agree without a second of contemplation mingi knows he’s found the one. so he invites yunho over to your shared apartment on a random weeknight, a couple glasses of liquor between you to ease your one sided nerves, and you were laid out bare on your mattress before you had a moment to second guess. two huge men towered over you, taking you for everything you were worth, making you finish over and over and over until you had nothing left to give. yunho’s long fingers inside you combined with mingi’s thick, calloused hands roaming across your body, in your mouth, in your hair, when the both of them filled you up, at the same time, you were a sight to be seen by the end, the end that you weren’t sure would ever come. you didn’t want it to, and neither did mingi, who loved everything about it. he enjoyed threesomes with yunho always, but with you, they’ve never been more in tune with one another, it’s never been so intimate. fucking has always been fucking, but with you it was more, it was a dance, a rhythm, a mutual agreement never spoken out loud. mingi’s relationship with yunho changed after that— aspects of your own relationship with mingi changed after that. it didn’t stop with just that one time, neither you or mingi could let it be a one time thing, yunho kept coming over, the two of you kept seeking him out, even when you were in public yunho became regular, routine, never spoken about, only enjoyed.

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 ☆

even if wooyoung is a fucking freak i think this would definitely take him by surprise. i KNOW he is the mayor of freakville and would do anything at any point in time, but i think inviting someone else in, someone he knows so closely, so intimately, might make him double take just for a second. especially because its neither you or him that initiates it, it’s the third party peering in, the third party who has watched you, listened to you, can’t stop thinking about the two of you and wants to join in on the fun. you’re down immediately, but wooyoung…? as much as he would be down for a threesome, inviting a member in makes him think logistics. for once he’s thinking with his brain and not his cock when it comes to you, you’re his, and as much as he loves to show you off, a shred of insecurity lies deep in his gut somewhere. he thinks on it for a total of two (2) days and then he can’t stop thinking about it, what you’d look like under him, what you’d sound like, how he’d look inside you… it’s all too much for him all at once, the realization that he needs it, that he’d beg for it if it came down to it.

but he quickly remembers that it was him the two of you needed that final yes from. seonghwa comes over as soon as he shoots the text and the three of you are stripped bare without as much as hello, wooyoung thinks that maybe the two of you have him beat in freakiness. he doesn’t feel left out for a moment, though, not as seonghwa slips into easily found dominance, giving the two of you instruction, watching you make out sloppily on the bed before he’s pulling you apart and making you obey him. wooyoung’s cock was rock hard the moment he stepped foot into your bedroom, as soon as seonghwa used that voice on him, hitting that sweet submissive spot in his brain he couldn’t always tap into so easily. you were both switches in your relationship, neither of you dominant all the time, usually switching in an out of roles during one singular session, but seonghwa tamed you both with ease and wooyoung ate it up, he was a whimpering mess before he knew it, cock overstimulated and red and angry, laid against his stomach still wet from seonghwa’s mouth as he watched him fuck into you with no mercy— you were a crying, screaming mess, too, already came too many times, yet none of you wanted to stop. seonghwa was toying with you both and wooyoung was obsessed, he let it go on until either you or seonghwa had enough, and it seemed you had the same idea, too. both of you wanting to please him, satisfy him, give him what he wanted from both of you. only on nights where both you and wooyoung were reminiscing particularly hard did you call him and beg him to come over again, to dominate you both, to send you back into that headspace you’d never forget.

𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆 ☆

yeosang is only down here cus i think if you brought it up poorly you’d hurt his feelings. he’s really a chill guy and he’s super versatile when it comes to sex, i think there’s not much that he’d say no to, but he’d definitely have to think it over for a long time before deciding to say yes to opening up your relationship to anyone, let alone another member. you’d have several conversations about it before even thinking about choosing a partner, setting boundaries for one another, what a threesome would consist of, why you’re doing it in the first place. choosing someone was another week-long conversation, going through every single member before deciding on one together, the reasons why you were choosing him, making sure none of this was being easily decided. yeosang is heavily aware that this is a big ask of another member, and he won’t be anything but wise in his choosing, in his intentions. then it came down to actually asking him, the safety of it all, precautions and boundaries, what would actually happen during the encounter. yeosang would want all bases covered before going into it, you’re too important to him to lose, and his members are too important to him to fuck up his dynamic with any of them. it’d be months of just talking and planning before anything actually happened.

the two of you choose wooyoung because he’s the closest to you both, you spend a decent amount of time together just you three, wooyoung going as far as joking that you adopted him to the other members all the time. he’s kind, respectful and light-hearted, you both trust him deeply, and you think you could show him a good time, and vice versa. wooyoung is def thrown off when you approach him with the seriousness of it all, he’s probably like yeah sure and then you two throw a five page long essay about why you chose him and what would happen in said threesome. not really. but it probably feels like that to wooyoung, who’s ready to strip his clothes off when you asked him if he’s open-minded. yeosang is feeling confident when the night finally comes, and falls into pace and rhythm with wooyoung easily, the two of them bouncing off one another and leaving you a writhing mess. it’s a dance of hands and spit and tongues and cum, kissing yeosang while riding wooyoung’s face, blowing wooyoung while yeosang stretches you out, relying on two sets of strong shoulders while they both try to fit inside you, fighting to keep your eyes open to watch as they messily makeout over your shoulder. it was a true threesome; not one of you left out, no one left untouched, wooyoung was exactly what you expected him to be, if not more. it left yeosang feeling so confident that he’s the one to suggest it happen again— after you caught him making out with wooyoung after one too many beers at the bar.

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎 ☆

jeong yunho is a deeply possessive man, we all know this, and i think there’s only one way this could possibly go. he isn’t possessive out of insecurity or jealousy, but because you’re his, and no one else should be able to see all of you, hear you the way only he gets you. soft and submissive, bendable, pliant, obeying— that’s how he loves you, how he needs you, yunho is dominant, extremely dominant, and when it comes to your sex life, you will not do anything unless he asks it of you, or unless he makes you. so when you make a silly joke about fucking mingi, he takes it personally, he almost spanks you for it— why would you want to invite anyone else into your bedroom? why do you want someone else to fuck you? you had a long session that night, yunho took it upon himself to fuck some sense back into you, because yunho is all you need, jokes or not, you know better than that. as the days followed, yunho found himself daydreaming about fucking both of you, dominating you at the same time, two people crying and begging at his mercy… it was less about sharing you and more about making the both of you his, even if it was just for a night. his cock was standing tall at the thought, he could see it in his head, thinking of his best friend that way opened another can of worms he wasn’t sure he even wanted to act on, so he didn’t. not for months.

then there’s that one time he’s out with you and mingi somewhere completely innocent, like the farmer’s market, somewhere the three of you go often, probably twice a month when your schedules allow. the two of you are deep in conversation standing in front of a fruit stand, and yunho’s speaking to you, trying to get your attention but neither of you hear him, and it pisses him off. he snaps his fingers, something he does to you when you’re lost in a session, when your mind floats away even with all of your training, when he needs you to come back down to earth. but instead of your head snapping up it’s the both of you, with wide eyes and parted lips, waiting for yunho to say something, waiting for instruction. it awakens a feeling he buried deep in his gut that he couldn’t help but get you both in the car and back to your place immediately. the bond the three of you shared has never gone unnoticed in your years of being friends, and that mental link you had was proving itself more than ever now, how both you and mingi went straight to the bedroom, sat yourselves quietly on the bed awaiting yunho’s instruction. it was heaven to yunho, as he instructed mingi on how exactly to make you cum, how to suck on your clit, how to curve his fingers inside you to hit that one spot that made you squirt on demand. it was even better when he instructed you on jerking mingi off, how he held mingi’s hands behind his back, how he made you edge him over and over until he cried, abdomen clenching and sweat beading down his skin. yunho’s favorite was when you both sucked him off at the same time, how your tongues danced with each other on his cock, how you both had that gleam in your eye solely to please him. yunho couldn’t get enough after that— having one person completely submit themselves to him was one thing, but to have two? it’s safe to say that was not the last time mingi was in your shared bedroom with yunho.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆 ☆

another possessive demon freak is hongjoong! you would piss him off so bad if you didn’t bring this up in a delicate way, honestly even if you did bring it up delicately he’d still prolly be pissed off. i think he’s the only member that would get mad mad tho, like not speak to you or sleep on the couch or something. why would you need anyone but him? he gives you everything you ask for, and it’s still not enough? when would it be enough for you???? it drives him insane for days, bro can’t work because he’s legitimately tripping over you thirsting after another one of his members. plus your sex life is great, he breaks your back every time he fucks you, he doesn’t consider it sex unless you’ve came two or three times. why would you need anyone else??? even if he could accept the fact that you wanted more— he has to come to terms with the fact that he’s to share you? the thought is ridiculous. someone else seeing you spread out, writhing, hearing you, possibly touching you? it makes him homicidal tbh he’s actually fucking crazy. knowing you have exes makes him rage enough, but to willingly let someone else see you is a whole different ordeal.

but he hated the idea of letting someone else watch a little less, so there’s your compromise. you let him choose because he’s insane and he tries to think of someone who would get the most pleasure out of sitting off to the side and just enduring, someone borderline pathetic, someone so horny they’d say yes to everything. naturally his mind leads him right to wooyoung, who said yes in a heartbeat. sat in the corner of the room in a cozy chair, wooyoung already had his pants pulled down to his thighs when hongjoong had just started kissing you. he smiled into your lips, knowing he was putting on a show, pride consuming him at the fact that he got to show this part of you off. as much as he hated the idea initially, he warmed up to it quickly when he realized how desperate wooyoung was, when he saw how badly wooyoung wanted to join in, wanted to be touched… depriving him of that made his cock harder, made him want to please you more, wanted to show wooyoung what he’ll never fucking have. hearing wooyoung whine and moan and gasp whenever he locked eyes with you, when hongjoong made you cum again, it made hongjoong want to work harder, want to make you cum again and again and again, just to hear you, to hear him, to dangle you right in front of wooyoung’s face. hongjoong never thought of himself as an exhibitionist but i think that experience definitely changed his life, and he wouldn’t mind showing you off for someone else again.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎 ☆

tbh i think jongho would be weirded out. he doesn’t see a point in opening up your relationship unless he wasn’t enough for his gf, and at that point he’d just end the relationship lol. if he was invited in to someone else’s relationship i think he’d literally say fuck no. too easy to get messy, for feelings to get involved, what if another member got jealous and couldn’t look at jongho the same way? these guys are his brothers, he doesn’t need to know what the inside of their girlfriend feels like. that’s territory he’d legit never cross. he trusts the members and their intentions but his relationship with them is too important to let a night of fun mess all of that up. but if you begged him for a threesome, like really begged, and strategized in a way that’d leave jongho with no more valid arguing points OR leave him with the feeling of not being enough for you, the one person he’d share you with is hongjoong. hj knows how to keep a secret, he can turn the switch off to separate his feelings, to realize when a situation his purely situational. he trusts hj with every bone in his body, he knows hj would take care of you, and if jongho never wanted to speak about it again he knows hj would never bring it up first.

what jongho has never realized because why would he is how versatile hongjoong is when it comes to sex. when jongho laid down the ground rules hongjoong was respectful, which was the most important thing to jongho, about yours and his boundaries— no kissing, no saying names, no cuddling, no spending the night. everything else was free game, though, and hongjoong took advantage of every unchecked box. it came down to worshipping you, and he was everywhere jongho wasn’t, you wondered if the two even realized the other was there. if jongho was inside you, hongjoong was feeling you up, fingers pressed to your clit, his other hand tweaking your nipples, whispering nasty shit in your ear. if jongho was kissing you he was behind you, licking and sucking down your back, his hands roaming every inch of untouched skin, praising you about how soft you are, how sweet you taste. jongho was pleasantly surprised, hongjoong slipped in like he’d done this a thousand times before, like your pleasure was all that mattered to him, and that was all jongho could ask for, aside from his rules. they totally never spoke about it again tho.

… least likely

masterlist

perm tags: @chimivx 😛

[withahappyrefrain]

ive had multiple bob reynolds thoughts this morning (in my head ive been calling bob floyd bobby and bob reynolds robby) and im sending you to most important quickest and will send the other later when i have time to write it all out

Robert Reynolds is a pillow humper. If he's desperate enough, especially if you've been away awhile, he will 1000% hump your pillow desperate for stimulation

He absolutely, 1000% is a pillow humper. Imagine catching him in the act? 🥵🥵🥵

Bob isn't in his room when you get back from the latest mission. Odd, but you assume he's probably out grocery shopping.

You also assume the muffled noises you hear from your bedroom are nefarious. Crouching down, right hand on your holster, you slowly open the door.

You're prepared for a fight, for an attack. Nothing can prepare you for the sight of Bob laying face down on the bed with both your pillows, one wedged between his hips and the mattress, the other used to bury his face.

Slowly, you walk up to the bed, careful not to startle him. It's clear what he's doing, hips rutting against the pillow as he shamelessly chases his high.

"Bob?" Your voice is soft, gentle even. His head turns, revealing glassy blue eyes.

"I-I'm sorry!" He croaks, voice hoarse, "T-tried to save it all f'you but you were gone for s'long. Missed you s'much."

His confession causes your brain to go haywire. There's no need to look, you know there's a wet spot covering the crotch of his boxers and your pillow. The desperation in his voice, the way his hips still rutted against the pillow.

Your hand reaches out to brush a fallen lock of hair out of his face.

"Poor baby," you coo, stroking his tear stained cheek, "Wanna show how much you missed me?"

Bob's eyes light up at your question, nodding his head eagerly as he moves to allow you to lie down on the bed. His large hands are clumsy, hastily pulling down your pants. As soon as he can, his mouth latches onto your core.

He lets out a gutteral groan, eyes rolling to the back of his head the second he tastes you. His tongue left no area untouched, eagerly alternating between your clit and entrance.

"Miss you s'much," his groans are broken, accentuated by his hips rutting into the- Jesus Christ, he was still humping the pillow.

You thread your fingers through his dark hair, massaging his scalp in an attempt to ground him. Bob placed your thighs over his shoulders, desperate to get more of you, as if he didn't already have enough.

His mouth moved up, focusing solely on your clit. A long finger swiped at your entrance before pushing in, your body welcoming the stretch. Quickly, he added a second finger, desperate for your relief. Bob needed it more than his own.

"P-please," he begged, "N-need to taste ya. Need it s-so bad."

His pleas vibrate against your core. You know he means it, that the stain on your pillow is only precum. Your pleasure was what got Bob off; knowing he was the one who brought you there, that it was all him, all his doing.

"R-Robby," your voice is weak from his tongue's assault on your clit, "Need another."

He obliges, adding another finger into the mix. His hips are rutting so hard, you can hear it. In a brief moment of clarity, you consider switching positions, taking care of him so maybe, just maybe, your other teammates won't hear you two for once.

But then Bob angles his fingers so they can precisely stroke the spot that makes you see stars, makes you arch off the mattress and throw your head back.

You can't remember what you were concerned about.

[upsidedownmvnson]

like the flowers in the kitchen | matt murdock

summary; you buy new lingerie to surprise your husband matt, and he loves it.

warnings: smut, sensual smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, oral (f receiving) unprotected sex, talks of babies/trying to get pregnant, so much praise, literally this is porn with very little plot, not edited was too excited abt it lol

"I want you to feel something," you said, walking into the living room where Matt was laid back on the couch, fingers tracing over some documents for a case he's working on.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, hands stilling as you sat on the edge of the couch. "What is it, love?"

"A surprise, just... tell me which one feels better." You picked one of the few scraps of fabric you'd come over with, "hold your hand palm up."

He did.

You placed the first piece of material on his palm, and he smiled when he recognized the silk between his fingers.

"Here, could you take these please, sweetheart," he asked, handing the small stack of papers over so you could put them on the coffee table. "I want to give this my full attention, I have the feeling it's a very important decision."

"Mhm," you smirked. "How does that one feel?"

"Soft," he mused, "feels good on the skin, wouldn't be too warm." Matt smiled, "but still nice. Like cool to slip into."

You smiled. Matt thought you were buying sheets, for once, once, you were one step ahead of your overly observant boyfriend.

But you had no intention of buying fancy sheets today.

"Next one," you said, taking the silk and placing down lace.

Matt scrunched his eyebrows together. "It's okay, not something I'd want to feel all night though."

"Hmm," you hummed, "okay, last one. I think you'll like this one most."

You replaced the lace with satin, and he smiled. "Would be a very nice choice. A little fancy for how the bed ends up for us though, no?"

"Just pick your favourite, not the most logical. I just want something nice."

"Well you, my love, were right as always. I like the last one the most, just feels the best in the my hand, yaknow? Between my fingers."

You narrowed your eyes at him, it was almost like he knew what you were up to. But he couldn't have. You'd been dropping hints at buying new sheets for two days now. You were trying to play the long game. You wanted to surprise him for a change. For a blind man, being Daredevil had made it nearly impossible for you to ever get the upper hand. But you think, hoped, you'd done it.

"Well, all right then." You ran your fingers through his hair, and your favourite boyish, dopey smile graced his face. "I'll be back in a few hours, don't work too hard while I'm gone."

"Yes, ma'm," he nodded, "any requests for dinner?"

"No," you said, running your fingers gently down his cheek til you were softly grabbing his chin. "Whatever you'd like."

You gave him back the papers he'd been working on, kissed his forehead, and left him on the couch.

Before you were heading out the door, you called over your shoulder, "any preference on colour?" And closed the door as he laughed loudly from the other room.

You weren't gone very long, a few hours like you had thought. You'd spent the afternoon in a lingerie shop, picking out something perfect for the evening. You had some already, of course, but nothing quite... soft enough, nothing that was special to the touch. You wanted something that fit you in just the right way in just the right places for Matt to run his fingers over.

The other ones you owned were fine, but he'd felt everything before. And you wanted to give him something to be excited about. Wanted to give him something extra. He'd been working so hard on a case this week and you just wanted to help him take his mind off of things this evening.

And recently, you'd been trying for a baby. And Matt had been so patient and loving with every attempt. Never made you feel bad for it not working yet, promised you it would happen when it's supposed to and you're doing everything right. He was the ideal man, ideal husband, the kind of guy you wanted to be around whenever possible. And trying was the most fun part.

When you'd finally settled on a few different ones, all made of the satin he preferred, you came home to Matt standing in the kitchen, cooking some pasta, looking sexy as hell chopping some veggies with a cloth slung over his shoulder.

"Hey sweetheart," he said, smiling before you even walked into the kitchen.

You coming home, safe and sound, always filled him with a sense of contentedness and relief. Just you two, being with each other, exactly where you should be.

"Nice time at the store?"

You hummed happily, dropping the bags by the counter and walking up behind Matt, putting an arm on his back and looking at the sauce he had cooking.

"Yes, I took my time and found something that was just right," you sighed, what he was cooking smelled divine. It was simple, but wonderful. Kind of like how it was being with Matt. You used to worry it would be hard, but something about it just wasn't. Something about it always felt right.

"You gunna tell me what it is you got?"

"You'll find out later," you said, patting his back a couple times, and moving away from him, grabbing the bags back up and walking to the bedroom.

Matt smiles, thinking you're going to change the sheets on the bed. And well, he was kind of right. You did end up buying new sheets, soft ones, comfy ones, but nothing crazy. You wanted him to be extra surprised, so you did change the sheets. Being extra sneaky, you tried to do it 'quietly,' acting like you were trying to hide it from him. There had to be layers if you were going to get one over on Matthew Murdock, the devil of Hell's Kitchen himself.

"C'mon baby! Food's ready!" Matt called down the hall, right as you finished slipping into the light purple outfit you'd bought. It was tight and thin enough over your chest and hips that he could feel it without it moving around too much, and loose over the thighs where he could slip his hand up your thigh and feel it ghosting over the back of his hand, with thigh straps that each had a little metal heart securing it, clipped onto thin soft stockings. You angled the hearts to be on the route his fingers usually take when he's kissing your neck and trying to slide his hand up your skirt.

"Coming!" you called back, straightening out the front of your skirt.

Now you just had to get through dinner without getting anything on it. You thought that him finding out you'd been wearing this in front of him would just excite him even more.

"Get everything done in there?" he asked, placing a plate for each of you on the table.

"Get what done?"

"Oh, you know. Whatever you were doing," he smirked. You really couldn't tell if he knew what you were doing. You'd done everything to mask it. You'd put your regular socks over top of the stockings in case is sounded different across the floor, slid into the seat across from him without being in arms reach, because if you were in arms reach he would always find a way to get his hands on you, and you'd walked with the fabric held down so he wouldn't hear it swishing around differently. It was like playing chess.

You didn't answer him, just continued watching him, his smile giving nothing away. "All right, fine, I'll try not to ruin the surprise then. Eat up, I feel like there's something important we'll have to do later."

"And what's that?"

"Oh I don't know, test drive those new sheets you got maybe," he grinned, laughing softly. "Are you pouting?"

"No," you pouted, arms crossed over your chest.

He just laughed, "eat your supper, it's gunna get cold."

Throughout the meal, the two of you held normal conversation, he told you what he could about the case, you told him the plans you had for tomorrow. You'd tried to slyly kick off your regular socks, so you could slip your leg over to his side of the table, brushing your toes up his pant leg, and running the soft material against his leg just above his sock.

"Hey," he mumbled, reaching down to catch your ankle before you could sneak away, and you giggled, trying to kick out of his grip, but he effortlessly pulled your leg up, making you slouch in your chair. "You got new socks too? Oh wait, no..." he ran his other hand up along the back of your calf, "stockings," he mused, sliding his back back down your leg. "Soft, baby, these are very soft." He leaned back, letting go of you, smile twitching at the corner of his lips as you dragged your foot slowly down his thigh, just to bring it back up again.

"Notice anything else?"

He brought his hand up to his mouth, finger running over his lips as he held his own chin. "Did I miss something?"

"I wouldn't say you missed it," you said, leaning forward in your chair to rest your elbows on the table, chin resting on your knuckles. Matt looked so pretty, his sparkling with wonder as he tried to figure out what you were hiding.

"What're you hiding, pretty girl? Hmm?"

"Since you think you're so smart, figure it out."

Matt raised an eyebrow, not moving an inch otherwise. "Figure it out, she says," he mumbled, voice getting lower and pants growing tighter. All he really wanted to do was run his hand up your leg again, and figure out how high those stockings went.

"I think I'm all done with my food," you said, pushing the plate a few inches away from you.

"Oh, I think I'm still very hungry," Matt smirked, chair squeaking as he drew back from the table. "And I think you're gunna have to help me with that."

"Want me to make you something else?" you chuckled, watching him come around the table.

"No," he said, grabbing your chair and pulling you away from the table as well. "I just want you to lay on those new sheets you got us and let me have you for dessert."

"I think I can do that for you," you said, putting your hand in his so could guide you to stand. You didn't get all of two steps before he grabbed you, slinging you over his shoulder with his arm wrapped around your thighs to stabilize you, as he walked you off to the bedroom. He hadn't said anything yet, maybe he was too caught up in the moment, or maybe his shirt was just hiding the feeling of the new fabric.

You laughed as he kicked the door to the room open, leaving it open wide behind him. He brought you over to the bed, crouching down to set you back onto your feet by the foot of it.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding your hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth to place a few chaste kisses along your knuckles. He tugged you to stand between his spread thighs, handing coming down to both of your knees, fingers spread on the backs of them.

"You stand right there, baby." Matt's hands ghosted down a few inches, then slid back up, fingers searching for the end of the fabric. When he found it, mid thigh he sighed, the frilly edges of the stockings making him lick his lips. He felt around the edge of the stockings with his thumbs, so softly like he was afraid of breaking it. When he got to the thin straps on the side, he followed them up, til his thumbs hit the metal heart. Your breath caught in your throat, his quiet exploration making your heart start racing.

"All this for me?"

You nodded, knowing he'd know.

He traced the hearts, now warm from resting against your thigh, then felt the thick straps holding them in place. One more inch higher and he'd feel the satin, but Matt was a patient man, and he'd be taking his time with this gift.

"What colour?" he asked, thumbs flicking the bottom edge of the thigh strap.

"Pink," you answered softly.

"Pink," he repeated, hands sliding down to your knees just to trace the exact same sequence back up, savouring the feeling. You put your hands on his shoulders, gently massaging the muscles, and he moaned, head falling back.

"You spoil me," he moaned, head lulling to the side, "absolute spoil me. All dressed up, baby, you're takin' me right to church."

"Keep going," you urged, thumbs digging into his tense muscles.

"Let me take my time," he whispered, head falling back into place, face determined, focused. "We've got nowhere to be tonight. Just right here," he sighed, fingers inching up higher, slower than he'd ever moved. His fingers hit the edge of the lingerie, and it was his turn to stutter. His breaths deepened, and his pinched the fabric between his thumbs and fingers, swirling it around in tiny circles to feel it.

"What colour?"

"Purple," you answered, moving closer to him so your stomach was pressed tight against his chest.

"Wait," He gripped your thigh in one hand, and leaned back, away from you, so he could use the other hand to pull his shirt over his head, "okay, come back." And you did, lingerie pressing against his bare body. "Fuck," he whispered, leaning forward to press his cheek onto your breast, taking a deep inhale to smell your perfume. Just a drop mixed in with water, not overwhelming, just like you knew he needed. "What kind of purple?"

"Light, so light it's almost white," you said, bringing your hands up to thread into his hair, following his lead with slow, ginger touches.

He moaned, fingers back to work on your body, holding the back of your thighs to press you tighter into him. One of his hands stayed above the fabric, settling over the curve of your butt, while the other slid up under the fabric caressing the plush skin there.

"So fucking soft," he mumbled into your breast, "So soft and pretty," he continued to mumble, placing kisses over you, lips almost quivering over the feel of the fabric against his skin. "And it's all for me, forever. I'm yours, pretty girl. I'll always be yours. Wrapped around your pretty fingers, whatever you ask of me, I'll do it. I'll do anything," he continued praising, muttering things that barely made sense as his brain went into overdrive feeling the edge of your panties, thin and soft and spread over your cheek tightly, wrapping up his favourite present. "What colour?"

"Pink," you smiled laying a few kisses to the top of his head, "also a light hue, like the flowers in the kitchen."

He huffed a shy laugh, "that picture is gunna come back into my head when I make coffee in the morning and I smell those damn flowers."

"I can move them if you want," you offered, fingers scratching gently at his scalp.

"Don't you dare."

He stands suddenly, hands gripping your thighs and pulling you up to wrap your legs around his waist earning a whispered gasp from you, music to his ears. But he doesn't throw you on the bed, doesn't waste one precious moment of the feeling of you against him. Instead, he just brushes his nose against yours, your fingers grazing over the stubble on his chin, before cupping his cheeks to pull him into a slow, sensual kiss. Mouths moving slowly, his tongue sliding against your bottom lip, but he doesn't rush even this, even a dance you've practiced a thousand times.

Instead he crawls onto the bed on his knees, pulling away from your kiss to lay you sweetly on his side of the bed, head resting on the pillow that smells like him. You're surrounded by him, in feeling, in scent, in comfort. Every movement he makes is lovingly calculated. He kisses you once more, and brushes the stray hairs off your face, making sure none gets trapped under you.

"What made you do all this for me, huh? Did I forget my own birthday?"

"Just been working so hard, baby, thought you deserved something nice."

"You tricked me," he says, "made me think you were buying sheets."

"I did buy new sheets," you smile, running your hands across the linens.

He follows suit, face lighting up with laughter. "So you did."

"But you don't care about that."

"Not right now, not at all."

And he doesn't have much else to say about, instead brings his mouth to your neck, placing open mouthed kisses against the areas he knows are most sensitive, enjoying every moan and gasp you give him. He takes pleasure in your hands wrapping themselves in his hair, tugging to beg for more, but he's almost evil in his patience. Takes the strap of your lingerie into his mouth and drags it down your shoulder, out of the way of his kisses, where he can suck a shallow purple bruise onto your collar bone.

And he switches sides, giving your other side as much love and attention. And then he's moving down to where the curve of your breast pokes out, and he's laying kisses there, one hand is in your hair, his elbow supporting him, and the other is on your hip, thumbs moving slowly back and forth to feel his gift for as long as you'll let him.

"Matty, please."

"Mm, please what?"

"Please touch me, pretty please."

He moans. "Baby, you never need to beg for me, I told you I'll give you everything." The hand on your hip dips down, sliding under the short skirt and stopping when it reaches the line of your panties on your hip. "It's all coming, I just have to appreciate every inch of it if I'm gunna build the picture of this in my mind." His mouth returns to your breast, the edges of the fabric getting wet from how his tongue licks across it. He nips at it, teeth catching your skin and fabric together and you moan. "Such a pretty fuckin' girl."

"Please," you moan again, unable to ignore the pulse between your legs, the way his crotch presses into yours, his bulge giving you a little but not nearly enough.

"I'm picturing the smirk on your face all dinner, when I didn't even know what was waiting over there." His thumb brushes closer to your core, and you wriggle in a weak attempt to get it there. "Made me pick the fabric I liked best, then wore it and didn't even tell me." He ran his finger down the soaked panties, pressing against your clit and keeping it perfectly still there. "Are these new?"

"No," you moaned, hips bucking to get more from him. "They just matched the thigh straps."

"Then I don't need to take my time on them," he said, finger looping around the soaked material and pulling them down your legs, the speed of it making your legs detach from around his waist so he could get them all the way off, but he quickly moved your legs back, your bare pussy rubbing against his erection made you both moan. "Already so wet for me baby," he mutters, hand sliding back between you to wedge themselves between his jeans and your soaking wet centre. "What did I do to deserve you? I'll never get it," he kissed your breast again, then moved his hands to hold himself fully above you. "My sweet girl, treating me so good. My turn to treat you good, right?"

"Please, yes please." You arched your back up, pushing the satin against his abs and he nearly crumpled, but he stayed steady. Crawled his way down the bed to settle himself between your legs, kissing each thigh once. He pressed his cheek into your inner thigh, hand reaching up to roll a lazy finger through your folds.

"So good for me, aren't you? Always so good to me, baby." His finger found your clit with ease, your moans encouraging him to roll gentle circles around it. "I'll never deserve you," he mumbles so quietly, almost to himself, "but I'll never stop trying." He pledges, finally moving his mouth to where you want him so desperately. His tongue worked like it was one purpose in life, like it was the only thing keeping in here on earth. Flat licks followed by tight circles, repeated and repeated until he was the only thing on your mind, and then when you were a moaning mess above him, he slipped a finger into you, your wet folds welcoming him like an old friend.

"Matty, treat me so good, fuck, you're so good. So good to me," you moan, words coming out rushed, every thought just falling off your tongue like you were speaking directly to God. "I love you, love you so much." Your fingers gripped his hair, tugging the roots as he slipped in another finger, hitting you directly where he knew would make you fall apart.

And fuck, you did. You moaned and begged and pulled hair until you were coming against his face, hips gyrating against his mouth and chin, making stars explode behind your eyes as you bit back a scream, followed by the loving coax of him helping you ride the waves of your orgasm, until you were lax against the bed, and he moved his kisses to your leg, kissing the soft skin, up to the crease in your hip.

"Come up here," you sighed, opening your arms for him to fall into.

"Let me just," he finally undoes his pants, kicking them and his underwear down his legs, and falls into your arms. Bodies flush together, Matt winds his hand between your bodies to grip himself, and line himself up with you, kissing you deeply before pushing himself into you. He groans, your tight walls warm around him, squeezing him as he works himself into you. "Fuck, you got me so worked up, I'm not gunna last long."

"That's okay baby, let go for me," you moan, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. "Want you to feel good."

"Feels so good baby," he moans into your shoulder, "always so good."

He hikes your leg higher around his hip, and grips your soft, plush, satin covered hip, and thrusts into you, so deeply, each thrust thoughtful and intentional. He sucks the skin by your ear, and your moans make his dick twitch, it's the sexiest thing he's ever heard. The way you moan and gasp and grab him, he's overwhelmed by the feelings, both physically and emotionally.

"So in love with you," he mumbles, lost in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him. He always fell into a loop of praises and I love yous when he was getting close. "Gunna fill you up, baby, gunna give my beautiful bride a baby, huh? Would you like that?"

You just moaned in response, unable to form words as he continues to fuck himself into you, hips meeting your with enthusiasm.

"So pretty," he mumbled, lips working the skin of your neck in between his dirty praises, and your nails scratch over the muscles on his back. "Gunna look so fucking pretty carrying our baby, baby."

"Matty, gunna..." you just moan, unable to warn him that you're close again, but he feels like. He holds himself back as your walls clench around him, fluttering and pulsing as you come, back arching and loud moans in his ear as he pants and grunts, wanting to give you more but coming close to the edge himself.

"Let go baby," you moan, "it's perfect, let go for me."

His kisses you as he fills you up, groan vibrating into your mouth as his hips stutter and still, warm cum painting your walls. He holds himself still completely sheathed inside you, keeping all his cum inside you, hips flush against yours and lips still moving languidly against yours.

He pulls away, nose bumping yours affectionately. "I love you."

"I love you," you murmur, eyes fluttering closed as you tried to even out your breathing. "Always treat me so well."

He kisses the tip of your nose, slowly pulling himself out of you as you both gasp, the overstimulation both perfect and overwhelming all at once.

Matt falls beside you, arms wrapping securely around you, hand spreading over the fabric covering your stomach. "This one's gunna stick," he whispers, "when we're not trying and just loving each other."

You mumble happily, wiggling closer to him. You had to get up and change, but for now, you just wanted to be wrapped up in loverboy's arms.

"Hmm," he mumbles, running his hand across the sheets in front of you. "These are nice."

[juliettejwnewinesa]

🩶 “Breakable” — Na Baek-jin x Reader

Genre: Emotional smut, soft!dom, protective sex, tension-heavy Warnings: Creampie, soft dom/sub undertones, intense emotional vulnerability, overstimulation, possessive behavior, aftercare Word Count: ~2.1k Setting: His room, after you show up shaking from a close call he warned you about

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He doesn’t yell at you when he opens the door. Doesn’t scold you like he usually would.

Na Baek-jin just stares at you. Head to toe. Wide eyes. Jaw locked.

You’re trembling.

A fight. One you weren’t supposed to be part of. One he explicitly told you not to show up for.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is hoarse. Tight. Like it’s caught in his throat.

You nod. Barely.

But it’s enough. He pulls you in and closes the door behind you with a click that sounds final.

You expect anger. But he gives you silence.

His hands on your shoulders. His thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes roaming over you like he’s counting every mark you might’ve come back with.

And then—softly—

“Don’t do that to me again.”

When he kisses you, it’s slow. Gentle. Like he’s scared even his mouth could hurt you.

And when he lays you down, it’s not rushed. No urgency. Just quiet need. Like you’re something fragile and precious, and he can’t risk breaking you, even if part of him wants to lose control.

You whimper as he slides inside you, slow and steady, and he stops immediately.

“Did I hurt you?” “N-no—keep going—”

But he still moves cautiously. Like every inch is sacred. Like your body is made of glass.

His forehead presses to yours.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs.

“What?” you breathe.

“You could’ve died tonight.”

His thrusts are deep, deliberate. One hand is locked around your waist, keeping you pulled close. The other cups your cheek, thumb stroking soft circles while he rocks into you with maddening restraint.

“If something happened to you—” Thrust. “—I’d lose my fucking mind.”

He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavy, trying not to let the desperation in his chest leak out through his hips. But it does anyway.

“I wanna ruin you,” he groans. “But not tonight. Not when you almost slipped through my fingers.”

Your body clenches at his words, and he groans low — holding still, so deep inside you, it feels like he’s fused to you.

“Look at you. So perfect underneath me. Even now.”

You whisper his name and he kisses you again — open-mouthed, hungry, but trembling with restraint.

He fucks you like you’re breakable.

Like you’re the most important thing he’s ever touched.

And when you come, shaking around him, his breath hitches.

“There you go,” he pants. “Just like that. Let me take care of you.”

He holds you still and follows seconds later, thick warmth flooding you deep, deep inside. He groans into your mouth like he’s finally able to breathe again.

After, he stays inside.

Lays there with his arms wrapped tight around you.

“I meant it,” he whispers against your hair. “Don’t do that again. Don’t make me live with what-ifs.”

You nod, barely able to speak.

“Promise me.” “I promise.”

His lips brush your temple. Gentle. Reverent.

“Good girl.”

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Sweetheart. | Keigo Takami/Hawks x Reader One Shot

Summary: You've been hooking up with Keigo for about a month, and you're starting to catch feelings. One particularly hot hookup session leads to a convo about your feelings for each other.

Important Notes/TW: All characters are A21+, Hawks is a Pro Hero, Hawks x Reader meet through work, hookup that leads to something more, penetrative sex, MDNI, This is an adult only blog posting mature content

Sweetheart. | Keigo Takami/Hawks x Reader One Shot

Keigo holds you close as he fucks into you from behind.

“My angel, my everything, my sweetheart…” he’s desperate, words jumbling together as he spits out every term of endearment he knows. He does this when the two of you hookup - as soon as he gets inside of you he melts into this sappy fuck. It's not like the two of you are even dating. Just a weekly hookup between heroes to take the edge off and work out all the tension that comes with being on top.

The way he gets so mushy gushy during sex didn't used to bother you. But over the past month or so you've kinda...caught feelings. It wasn't something you'd intended to do! But it's impossible not to fall for Hawks - he's charming, funny, good at his job. He's sweet at work and he's even sweeter in bed. How could your heart not go head over heels for this overgrown chicken!?

You're wrenched from your train of thought as Keigo's hips buck up in a new direction, the tip of his dick hitting a delectably sensitive spot deep inside of you. You let out an unexpected gasp at the contact, and Keigo preens.

"You like that, baby?" He murmurs, wiggling his hips and angling to hit the spot again. "Does that feel nice? I bet no one else's cock can make you feel good like this, huh?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, he just hammers into you. He groans with each thrust - overwhelmed by the tight feel of you around his thick cock. He’s so pussy drunk he can barely keep his eyes open - golden irises shining out between the narrowed slits of his eyelids.

Keigo’s strong hero fingers press against the skin of your hips with a strength that’s fit to bruise. You hope it will - you can’t wait to admire his fingerprints in the bathroom mirror come morning. You want to go home with a souvenir of the nights' exploits. You love the way he fucking marks you like this, the way you'll bear the reminder of how well he can fuck on your skin for a few days afterwards.

You gasp as one of his hands releases its clutch of your hips and snakes its way between your legs. He finds your clit instantly, swirling his fingertips around you with a frantic flick of his wrist. You feel heat pool in your lower belly, your orgasm building and swirling within you like golden stardust.

"Kei..." You groan out, your breath stuttering as you feel the telltale signs of your high rushing at you like a train. Your whole body gets warm, your cheeks flush with heat and your legs start to tremble. You concentrate on grounding yourself, on keeping your quirk in check. The last thing you need is for your quirk to go ballistic as you finish. You do not want that to happen again.

“You gonna cum for me, love?” Keigo keeps up his steady pace, the luxurious slide of his cock making you moan as it hits the most delightful parts of you. You concentrate on feeling every inch of him as he flexes his hips, fucking into you with practiced skill. “Are you all mine?”

His tone becomes fierce, possessive. You love it when he talks like this, when he acts like he wants you to be his past the hookup. You choke out some vague sounds of encouragement as your pussy flares around his dick, muscles contracting as you reach your high. Your quirk rumbles and begs for release as well, but you hold fast. You keep all of that power inside as best you can - the last thing the both of you need is for your fire quirk to take over. After all, those fierce but delicate feathers of his look...flammable.

Cumming around keigo’s cock feels so delicious you can barely stand it. You feel your gaze become heavy lidded as you ride out your orgasm - pussy pulsing around his thick length.

“Oh, baby, you’re too kind to me, far too kind.” Keigo mutters out as your pussy pulls an orgasm from him as well. “This is…oh! So, so sweet…”

He groans as he cums deep inside you, his dick pulsing as he pumps you full of his essence. And fuck does it feel good. You could do this every night for the rest of your life and still never be satisfied.

When he finally pulls out of you and rolls away on the bed, you suddenly feel a wave of melancholy wash over you. In a moment, he'll catch his breath. In another moment, he'll tug on his pants and be on his way. And you'll be left naked, alone and chock-full of this indescribable desire.

You watch as he takes a beat, then sits up and grabs his pants, pulling them on one leg at a time. He stands and tugs them up over his muscular thighs, buttoning them over his toned stomach.

"Going comando?" You ask, trying to sound fun and light and like you don't care so deeply for this man who only stops by to fuck you once a week.

"Heh. Yeah." He says, not even bothering to glance at you over his shoulder.

He calls you such wonderful things in bed. But that's just sex, right? None of that really matters, not during the day time...

"Same time next week?" He asks, pulling his shirt over his head and letting his wings stretch and poke through the slits cut into the back of the fabric. "I'm thinking next time you come to my place."

You look up, surprised. You've never been invited over to his place. You've always just fucked at your little downtown apartment with the broken fire escape.

"What do you think, Y/N?" He turns around and grins at you, all teeth. "We can even make a date of it. I'll take you to my favorite dinner spot."

A...date? Is he serious.

You must looked stunned, because his face falls and he stops fidgeting with his clothing. He flops back next to you on the bed, watching as you pull up the sheets around your naked body protectively.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" His golden eyes glint in the light of your bedside table as he leans towards you. sweetheart. Your brains scrambles as it tries to recall a time he's called you this outside of sex.

"This...thing we have between us." You say slowly, mouth feeling around the words. "I don't really understand what it actually is? You want to take me to dinner?"

Keigo stares at you blankly for a moment, then bursts into laughter. Your eyebrows must be raised so high up, they're likely in your hairline.

"Um...am I missing something here?"

Keigo calms down, his laughter rolling to a chuckle.

"No, no. You're not missing anything. I'm just an idiot." Keigo says, reaching out to place his hand over your own. "So...I've kind of had this crush on you for a while. And I was hoping that maybe I could naturally bridge our hookups into getting to know each other better and maybe we'd just kind of...I dunno...realize over time that we are perfect for each other and practically dating? And just naturally transition into me being your boyfriend? Is that some sort of stupid manipulative shit or something? I'm truly sorry if it is, I'm still trying to wrap my head around all the shit the Safety Commission put me through as a kid and I - mm!"

You cut off his rambling with a kiss, your lips locking and sliding easily against his. He leans into it hungrily, bringing his hands up to cup your face like you really do mean something to him.

"You have a crush on me?" You ask quietly when the two of you come up for air. He stares at you and nods, the kiss having temporarily sucked away his power of speech. "Then why do you always leave after we sleep together? Why don't you ever stay?"

He blinks a few times, then his mouth curves into a smile. "I didn't want to be too clingy or obvious. I thought if I left right afterwards I'd be mysterious and it would make you want me more."

"Oh my God." You push him away from you. This is so stupid and embarrassing...but he was right. It did work. Every time he's left your bed, he's made you want him more. Left you wondering where he was going, why he couldn't stay to spoon for at least a few soft minutes together. "You're such an idiot. Take off your clothes. Get back in this goddamn bed."

Keigo looks at you, really looks at you. His eyes scanning your face as he processes what you're saying (and, more importantly, what it means).

"You want me to stay?" He says quietly, words barely above a whisper. The wind whistles outside your window making you both jump.

"I've been wanting you to stay every damn time we fuck." You say as you reach for him and start working his ridiculously bright shirt up and off of his torso. "Now get back in this damn bed and let me hold you."

Keigo starts giggling madly, letting you strip him down. It only takes a minute to get him naked again. He crawls back under your sheets, peppering your face with little kisses and muttering how gorgeous you look by the lamplight. You roll your eyes and laugh along with him as the two of you tuck into each other, bodies folding together as if they were formed from the same clay.

You settle into a comfortable silence, your head resting against his chest. His heart beat light and fast - a bird quirk thing - beneath your ear.

"I've had a crush on you, too." You say, looking up at your cieling fan as it spins infinitely above you. “For a long while.”

“What should we do about that?” He asks as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Maybe we should date.”

“Maybe we should.”

“Correction: I *definitely* think we should date.” You amend, reaching up to tousle his thick blonde hair.

“Then let’s date.” You don’t need to look up to see his face - you know that he’s grinning so wide that his cheeks have dimpled. You can feel him glowing. “I’ve been all in since the moment I met you...sweetheart.”

You groan, suddenly hot and bothered once again.

"I know you like it when I call you that." You can practically hear him wink. "Now get on top of this cock and show me that you're proper girlfriend material."

"It would be my honor." You throw a salute at the ceiling, throwing the bedsheets off of yourself and rolling onto all fours. He's already hard and ready for you. Your whole body feels glittery and warm at the sight of him laying there, all splayed out and waiting for you.

This must be what love feels like.

End.

[sillygoose067]

Crash Landing Into You pt.2

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Joaquin stood outside the bookstore café, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He’d changed his shirt twice before coming—settled on a dark green button-up he hoped looked cool but not too try-hard.

When you walked out, he straightened, caught off guard by how nice you looked in your sweater dress, hair down, a small crossbody bag slung at your hip. You had this slightly nervous smile, the kind people wore when they weren’t totally sure if this was a good idea.

“Hey,” he said, hands slipping into his pockets. “You look…great.”

You ducked your head, warmth creeping up your cheeks. “Thanks. So do you.”

There was an awkward moment, the two of you trying to figure out if you should hug, shake hands, or just wave. He opted for a slightly dorky half-hug, arm barely touching your shoulder, and you both laughed as you walked in.

The conversation over coffee started cautious, a little stilted. He asked you about your job, you asked him about his, both of you trying not to sound rehearsed.

“So,” he said, stirring his cortado, “ER work. That’s gotta be intense.”

You nodded, wrapping your hands around your mug. “Yeah, it is. I mean… I like it. It’s chaos, but it makes me feel useful. You have to be quick, but you also have to be kind.” You shrugged. “Keeps you human, I guess.”

He tilted his head, genuinely impressed. “I get that. I mean, my whole thing is about quick decisions, too, but usually it’s more… ‘don’t crash into that building’ and less ‘save a tiny life.’”

You laughed, your shoulders relaxing a bit. “Both important. I think the building people appreciate you.”

The date got easier from there. You found little overlaps—shared shows, mutual fears of public speaking, the same guilty pleasure for really bad pop songs. By the time the café closed, you were leaning in toward each other, forgetting to check your watches.

He walked you home, hands brushing once or twice before he finally took yours, and when you reached your door, you lingered there, suddenly self-conscious again.

“I had a really good time,” you said, looking up at him. “Thanks for… this.”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, me too. Can I… text you? Maybe plan something less caffeinated next time?”

You grinned. “Definitely.”

You parted with a soft, slightly awkward hug, and when you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

⸻

By your fourth or fifth date, you’d found a rhythm. You’d made him dinner at your place once—a slightly burnt lasagna he pretended to love, even though the edges were like roof shingles. He’d taken you to a street fair, where you’d nearly puked on a spinning ride but insisted you were fine.

It was after one of those casual, unplanned nights that you found yourself curled up on his couch, legs across his lap, half-watching a terrible reality show while he absently rubbed your ankle.

“I have a confession,” he said suddenly, eyes still on the screen.

You looked over, heart skipping a little. “Yeah?”

“I have no idea what’s happening in this show,” he admitted, looking at you with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been nodding every time you comment.”

You burst out laughing, head falling back against the armrest. “You liar. I thought you were invested in this trainwreck!”

“Hey, in my defense, I just like listening to you talk about it. You get all fired up.” He poked your shin. “It’s cute.”

You blushed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

But he was also leaning in, thumb tracing gentle circles against your calf, his face closer now, eyes flicking to your mouth.

And when he kissed you, it was soft at first, a tentative press of lips, like he was giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned in, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, and he exhaled against your cheek, a quiet, contented sound that made your heart do backflips.

⸻

Eventually, he started leaving things at your place. A spare hoodie on your coatrack. His favorite phone charger coiled beside your bed. A toothbrush in the cup next to yours, like some quiet promise.

He’d stay over some nights, both of you too tired to make the trek to his apartment. You learned his little habits—how he hummed when he brushed his teeth, how he always checked the locks twice, how he stretched his arms over his head every morning like he was about to launch into the sky.

One lazy Sunday, you were curled up on the couch, his head in your lap, your fingers absently running through his curls as you read a book. He closed his eyes, a soft, sleepy smile on his lips.

“Is this weird?” he mumbled.

You looked down, brushing a curl off his forehead. “What?”

“This.” He cracked one eye open. “Us. Being this… domestic.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss his temple. “Not weird. Just… nice.”

He squeezed your knee, eyes drifting shut again. “Yeah. Nice.”

⸻

It wasn’t perfect, of course. No couple is.

The first time you really fought, it was over something stupid—a last-minute mission that took him out of the country for two weeks without so much as a text, and you’d spent every night staring at your phone, convinced something had gone wrong.

When he finally showed up at your door, looking exhausted but relieved, you’d tried to brush it off, but he’d caught the tightness in your voice, the way your arms stayed crossed, shoulders tense.

“You’re mad,” he said, leaning against your doorframe, eyes dark.

You bit your lip. “I’m not mad. I just… I wish you’d said something. I worried.”

He exhaled, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve. I just… it’s hard to explain. I didn’t want to put that on you.”

You hesitated, then stepped closer, your tone softening. “I want you to put it on me. That’s kind of the point, right?”

He dropped his head, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “I just… care about you. A lot.”

He looked up, his eyes softening. “I care about you, too.”

And the hug that followed wasn’t perfect either—too tight, too desperate—but it was real. And that mattered more.

⸻

It came out one morning, long after the sun had risen, when you were both tangled up in your sheets, half-awake, still groggy from the night before.

You were draped across his chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing the faint scar on his shoulder, your head tucked beneath his chin. His arm was wrapped around you, holding you close, his thumb brushing the soft skin of your arm.

He yawned, stretching a little, then mumbled, “You know you’re my favorite person, right?”

You smiled, eyes still closed. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, voice sleep-heavy. “I’m serious. You… you make everything feel… different. Lighter. Even the hard stuff.”

You blinked, waking up a little more, feeling the weight of his words.

“I mean,” he continued, a nervous chuckle in his throat, “I’m still a mess, obviously. But you make me want to be less of a mess.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him. “Are you trying to tell me something, Torres?”

He hesitated, eyes searching yours, his heart clearly picking up speed. “Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “I love you.”

Your breath hitched. It felt like the air in the room shifted, the world suddenly sharper, brighter.

You swallowed, felt your heart pounding in your ears, then leaned down, pressing your forehead to his.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your nose brushing his. “A lot.”

The relief in his eyes was immediate, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss that felt both urgent and deeply, deeply right. Like a promise sealed.

⸻

A few months later, he got hurt. Nothing critical, but enough to shake you both.

He’d been out on a mission, one of those chaotic, high-stakes ones that Sam swore would be quick and easy, and he came back with a gash along his ribs and a limp that made your stomach drop.

When he stumbled into your apartment that night, his uniform torn, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, you froze.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, rushing to his side. “Joaquin, what happened?”

He tried for a reassuring smile, even as his knees buckled a little. “Nothing. Just… took a hit. It’s fine.”

But when you peeled back the fabric and saw the jagged, bloody line across his ribs, you felt a wave of nausea hit you.

“You’re bleeding,” you hissed, guiding him to the couch. “Why didn’t you go to med bay?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, wincing as he leaned back. “I just… wanted to see you.”

Your heart twisted, both at the stupidity of it and the tenderness. You grabbed your first aid kit, kneeling beside him as you started to clean the wound, hands shaking slightly.

“Dios, this looks bad,” you muttered, biting your lip as you worked. “You can’t just… walk around with this.”

He let his head fall back, exhaling shakily. “I knew you’d patch me up. You’re surgeon, right?”

You shot him a look, half angry, half terrified. “Yeah, for kids.”

He reached for your hand, catching it even as you tried to swat him away.

“Hey,” he said, voice suddenly serious. “I’m okay. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

You paused, meeting his eyes, and felt your chest tighten.

“Promise me you won’t do this again,” you whispered, your voice cracking a little. “You can’t just… come back to me like this. It’s not fair.”

His grip tightened on your hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin.

“I promise,” he whispered back, eyes softening. “I’ll be more careful. I swear.”

And when you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, his free hand came up to cup the back of your neck, holding you there like you were his whole world.

⸻

Eventually, you stopped keeping track of which things were his and which were yours. His spare hoodie became a permanent fixture on the back of your desk chair. Your favorite blanket migrated to his couch. He started leaving spare socks in your laundry basket, and you stopped pretending you cared.

One morning, you caught him singing in your shower, a horribly off-key rendition of some old R&B song, and instead of being annoyed, you found yourself grinning like an idiot.

He came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair dripping, and caught you staring.

“What?” he said, a little sheepish, grabbing for his shirt.

You shook your head, blushing. “Nothing. Just… you’re cute.”

He paused, then broke into a wide, teasing grin. “Oh, I’m cute, huh?”

You tossed a pillow at him, laughing as he ducked. “Don’t push it, Torres.”

But as he crossed the room, pulling you into a damp, soapy hug that made you squeal, you realized you hadn’t felt this happy in a long, long time.

[elizabeth-holland24]

Racing Hearts - Chapter 2

< previous chapter -- next chapter >

She’d meant to run a quick errand—just in and out for some last-minute ingredients for Daisy’s dinner. Instead, she stood in the middle of a small London grocery, mentally replaying every second of the red carpet from the night before. The noise of cameras. The heat of the lights. The flash of Brisket’s tail as he ran toward her.

And then—him.

Glen. His smile had been sharper than any lens, his voice warmer than any spotlight. She still couldn’t believe how the world had quieted the moment he said, “I think you’ve stolen my dog.” That was Monday night. Now, it was Tuesday. Her last day in London before flying out to Hungary for the next Grand Prix. Her suitcase was half-packed, her mind even less so.

She picked out fresh cilantro, chiles, and mezcal—her signature addition for a special dessert. Daisy had invited friends over for a laid-back dinner, a goodbye before she left. And since Daisy’s idea of “cooking” included vegan microwave meals and wine that came in a box, she had offered to handle the food.

As she loaded her basket, her phone buzzed.

🔥 — Glen Powell

She blinked. Her heart skipped.

He had reacted to her Instagram story—her dancing in Daisy’s kitchen, flour on her cheek, mouthing along to End Game while baking. She had posted it an hour ago, thinking nothing of it. A moment of silliness before the evening rush.

But he’d seen it. And responded. Not with words—but with fire.

She tucked her phone away before she could spiral. It was probably nothing. Just a friendly little emoji.

Still, she smiled the entire walk home.

Back at Daisy’s flat, she got to work. Music blasted through the speakers as she cooked—enchiladas verdes, arroz con elote, and her mezcal chocolate chip cookies cooling on the counter. Daisy leaned in from the hallway, still applying mascara.

“You look suspiciously domestic,” she teased.

“Don’t worry. It’s all for Brisket.”

“Sure,” Daisy smirked. “You’re telling me Glen Powell’s dog just happened to find you on the carpet, and now you’re baking?”

“He’s not coming,” she said quickly. “He probably doesn’t even remember.”

But she kind of hoped he would. She didn’t have to wait long to find out. The knock on the door came just as she was plating the last of the enchiladas. Daisy opened it, and there he was—holding Brisket’s leash in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“I brought the most important guest,” he said, stepping inside. “And also this wine, which I’m told doesn’t go with enchiladas. But I’m here for dessert.”

She stared, heart hammering. “You came.”

“Well, Brisket demanded it,” he said, unhooking the leash. The dog sprinted toward her like she was his favorite person in the world. She crouched down, laughing, letting him jump up.

“You again,” she said, scratching behind his ears.

Glen was watching her with a half-smile, like he was still a little surprised she was real. He looked different now—casual in a navy sweater and jeans, no cameras, no crowd. Just a guy. And yet somehow, even more disarming. As the rest of the guests trickled in—Daisy’s musician friends, a couple of actors, Anthony Ramos—Glen stayed near her, helping plate food, refilling water, handing out napkins. The dinner was chaotic and warm, everyone squeezed on cushions and mismatched chairs around a low table. Between bites of spicy rice and second helpings of cookies, the room buzzed with stories, laughter, the occasional off-key harmony.

At one point, Anthony leaned in, eyes glinting. “Entonces, cuando es la boda? Ya firmaste los papeles de adopción?” (So, when's the wedding? Have you signed the adoption papers?)

She coughed, mid-sip. “Que? No. esta loco, apenas y nos conocemos.” (What? No. Are you crazy we barley know each other)

“Sure,” Daisy added, winking. “But I’m pretty sure there was eye contact that could cause a blackout.”

She shook her head, cheeks burning. “We were just...talking.”

Across the room, Glen caught her glance and raised his glass. She raised hers back.

Just talking.

After dinner, most guests lounged around with drinks, trading playlists and half-tipsy confessions. Glen helped her stack plates in the kitchen. They moved in sync—passing dishes, wiping counters, brushing elbows.

“You sure this isn’t too much before your travel day?” he asked.

“I needed a distraction,” she said honestly. “Racing is constant motion. This...” She looked around the dim kitchen, candle flickering near the sink. “This feels like breathing.”

He nodded. “So where are you off to first?”

“Straight to Germany for a sim session. Then back to the US for college, before the real chaos starts. I won’t really be back in London until they need me or something comes up.”

He looked impressed. “That’s intense.”

“It’s everything,” she admitted, leaning against the counter. “Fast. Loud. Adrenaline on tap. But also—it’s the only time my brain shuts off. When I’m driving, I don’t think. I just feel.”

Glen rested his hands on the counter beside her, close enough to touch. “That’s how I feel when I write.”

“You write?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “Not scripts. Not yet. But stories. Scenes I never show anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe I’m scared they won’t live up to the version in my head.”

She studied him. The quiet vulnerability beneath the charm. “You’d be surprised how much of yourself shows up anyway. Whether you mean to or not.”

He looked at her, then. Really looked. “Is that what happened yesterday?”

She froze, caught off guard.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about it,” he said softly.

The kitchen fell silent. Neither of them moved.

“I can’t either,” she admitted.

His smile deepened. “That makes me feel slightly less insane.”

She laughed, quietly. “Only slightly?”

“I mean, I barely know you,” he said. “But it doesn’t feel that way.”

“No,” she agreed. “It doesn’t.”

He glanced at her lips, then back to her eyes. His hand inched closer on the counter. She didn’t move away.

But the door creaked open as Daisy popped in, wine glass in hand. “Cookies are disappearing. If you want one, this is your last shot.”

They stepped apart, flustered.

“On my way,” she said quickly.

The night wore down in soft tones. Friends hugged their goodbyes, laughter trailed out into the hallway, and finally, it was just her, Daisy, and Glen. She stood by the window with a glass of water, watching lights blur in the distance. Her packed suitcase leaned by the door. Media calls. Branding. Sim time. College classes. It all began again tomorrow.

But tonight—tonight had been still.

Glen approached quietly, standing beside her at the window. Brisket curled up by the couch.

“Thanks for letting me crash,” he said. “Brisket thinks you’re his soulmate.”

She laughed softly. “I might be.”

Glen looked at her again, serious now.

“I know you’re leaving,” he said, voice low. “And I’m not asking for anything. But I just—”

She turned to face him.

“I just want you to know,” he said, “this wasn’t, nothing. Not to me.”

She swallowed. “Not to me either.”

There was a long pause. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pen.

“Here,” he said, gently taking her hand. He scribbled something on the inside of her wrist. A phone number.

“If I text you,” he said, “will you answer?”

She looked down at the number. Memorized it instantly. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’ll send me Brisket pics.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

They stood there a moment longer, hands still lightly brushing. Not quite holding on. But not letting go, either. And later, long after he left, she curled into the couch, cookies wrapped for the plane, and the number still inked faintly on her wrist.

Her heart still racing. Not from driving this time. But from something just as dangerous.

A/N: So what do you guys think? are they going too fast? Or is everything just part of my masterplan?

[littlemillersbaby]

"pretty little provider" reupload from littlesoulshine

he comes home super nervous. you see it in the way he holds the box—tucked tight under one arm, like he’s scared you’ll tell him it’s too much. scared he’s too much. his other hand fiddles with his watch, knuckles pale. lily’s upstairs, the house is quiet, and your wine glass already half-full.

he crosses the threshold and you look up from the couch. silk robe, with bare legs crossed and with your lashes heavy. you don’t smile at him, just watching to see why his anxious energy has filled the room.

“hi, baby,” he murmurs, eyes hopeful. “i, uh…i got you something.”

you arch a brow, sipping your wine slow, then pating your lap. “come show me.”

his ears turn pink. you know he was hoping for approval first, a kiss maybe, a thank-you. he walks over fast, obedient, and when you uncross your legs and lean back as he comes closer to place the gift on your lap.

the box trembles slightly in his hand as you take it, nails grazing his wrist. a necklace, gaudy yet rare and seems imported. carrying disgusting price tag—you don’t even look surprised.

your free hand drags slowly up his spine, beneath the fabric of his button-up. he shudders, arching slightly. the heat of his back presses into your palm like he’s starving for it.

you lean in close, lips brushing his ear. “my pretty little provider,” you whisper, voice low, syrupy.

he moans. God, that delicious moan.

your nails rake down his back, slow and sharp. his breath catches, his hands shifting to your lap. leaning over to his crotch, you feel the way he’s already getting hard, straining against his slacks.

“you like buying things for me?” you ask, words a little rougher now. your nails drag again. deeper. he gasps.

“yes—yes, princess. i love it. i want to—i just want to take care of you—”

“you do.” your hand cups the back of his neck, thumb stroking just under the hairline. “but you know what that makes you, don’t you?”

his lips part. “your…your provider?”

you smile against his jaw. “no, baby. that makes you mine.”

he melts. his head drops onto your shoulder, breath ragged. you feel him leaking through his pants already. your palm slides over his chest, fingers toying with the buttons.

you tug one open, and then another.

your lips brush his temple.

“how long were you hard in the store, hm?” you murmur, undoing each button like it’s a reward. “walking around all polite with your wallet in one hand and my name in your head, cock aching because you knew i’d call you good when you handed this to me?”

his hands clench on your thighs. his voice breaks.

“i was…i was throbbing. the whole time, i kept thinking about your voice.”

“and what voice is that?” you slide your hand down, palm resting right over his cock. he bucks against it.

“that voice,” he pants. “when you call me yours.” your fingers curl around the wet patch, displaying his thick bulge, slow pressure.

“say it again.”

“i’m yours. i’m yours, my love. i belong to you. i—i earn for you. i spend for you. i ache for you.”

your fingers tighten, making him whimper.

you unzip him, slow and deliberate. pulling his cock out without a word and let it sit against his belly, hard, flushed, and twitching. your other hand trails down his stomach, light touches, teasing.

“you want me to fuck you for it?” you ask. “or should i edge you all night while i wear your little gift and moan for someone else?”

he whimpers. “i want you to fuck me for it, baby.”

you nod, grabbing his jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks, yanking his face back to yours.“next time, get the earrings too.” before kissing him deeply, and climbing on him.

retags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa

inspiration ➳ my lovey @rafesplaymate

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 &TEAM REACTION TO YOU BEING SICK AND CLINGY

&team ot9 — GENRE : imagines headcanon fluff — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : none — REQUESTED : by ❄️🌟 anon! ☆ — &t masterlist

K :

The rain taps gently on the windows like a lullaby, soft and steady. You’re bundled under a mountain of blankets on the couch, cheeks flushed with fever, body heavy and aching. It’s the kind of sick that turns the world blurry around the edges. All you want is him, his warmth, his steadiness, his voice.

K returns from the kitchen, balancing a cup of warm tea in one hand and a cool cloth in the other. The moment his eyes meet yours, wide and quietly pleading, his expression softens.

“Still not feeling good, huh?” he murmurs, setting the tea down carefully.

You don’t respond, just stretch your arms out like a child asking to be held. There’s no shame in it, not with him. K gives a small laugh, breathy and fond, before settling down beside you. He lets you curl into him, your head resting against his chest as his arm wraps around your shoulders like second nature.

“Clingy today,” he teases gently, fingers stroking your hair. “Guess I don’t mind.”

And he doesn’t. Not at all. If anything, it makes him feel needed in a quiet, important way. His presence grounds you, his heartbeat beneath your ear like a lullaby, strong and constant. He doesn’t try to pull away or tell you to rest more or even shift to get comfortable himself, he simply holds you, body curved around yours like a shelter.

As the storm outside rumbles softly and the fever makes you drowsy, K whispers now and then, his voice low and careful.

“Just sleep, yeah? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And he is. Even when you doze off mid-sentence, even when you grip his hoodie like a lifeline. Even when you murmur his name in your sleep.

K stays, warm, quiet, and unshakably patient, like a lighthouse in your stormy head.

FUMA :

You didn’t mean to be this clingy. Really, you didn’t.

But being sick somehow reduces you to your most vulnerable self, and the moment Fuma walks through the door, kicking off his shoes and calling out your name, you shuffle toward him like a lost puppy. You’re bundled in a hoodie far too big for you, his, actually, and your face is flushed from fever, eyes glassy and rimmed with exhaustion.

He stops mid-step, eyes instantly scanning your expression.

“Ahh, you’re still burning up,” he murmurs, setting down the grocery bag of medicine and soup. “Did you miss me that much?”

You nod wordlessly and reach for him, hands outstretched. Fuma doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second. He closes the distance and wraps his arms around you, slow and secure, like he’s putting the whole world back together for you.

“You’re really attached today, huh?” he teases softly, rocking you a little in his arms. His voice is light, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips, and something quieter in his eyes, concern, affection, relief that you’re still you, even if you’re sick and clinging like Velcro.

Fuma is practical about the situation, he always is. He helps you back to the couch, makes sure you’re wrapped in blankets just right, and insists you take your medicine. But all the while, you don’t let go of his sleeve, or the hem of his shirt, or his hand.

And Fuma lets you.

In fact, once everything is settled, he settles in right next to you, letting your legs tangle with his as he adjusts the pillow behind your back. His hand finds your hair, smoothing it gently.

“You’re so clingy when you’re sick,” he says again, half-laughing.

“But I like it,” he adds, quieter this time. “Makes me feel like I can actually take care of you.”

He stays through the sniffles, the dramatic groans, the quiet neediness. And when your head rests against his chest, his heartbeat slow and steady under your cheek, you hear him hum something soft, a melody just for you, warm and healing.

With Fuma, even feeling miserable is oddly comforting.

NICHOLAS :

It starts with a text.

“I feel gross. I miss you.”

Simple. Half-whiny. Barely coherent. But Nicholas knows your moods like the back of his hand, and this one is clear: you’re sick, and you’re reaching out.

He’s at your door not long after, hood up, arms full of things you didn’t ask for but he knew you needed. Ginger tea, congee in a thermos, cough drops, and that soft little plush you once pointed out in a shop window and promptly forgot.

You crack the door open, nose red and eyes heavy, and Nicholas doesn’t say anything at first. He just smiles, gentle and lopsided, with a softness that could melt through the thickest layers of congestion.

“I got you the ugly little bear thing,” he says, holding it up. “Thought it might cheer you up.”

You don’t even look at it. You just hold your arms out and make the smallest sound: “Come here.”

Nicholas chuckles, stepping inside without hesitation. He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his coat, letting you wrap your arms around his middle like it’s the only thing holding you together. You bury your face against his chest, and he holds you there, one hand stroking your back, the other still holding the bear.

“You’re so clingy when you’re sick,” he murmurs, but he’s already guiding you to the couch, letting you drape yourself over him like a weighted blanket in reverse.

He lets you lie on him while he talks, nothing too loud, just a soft stream of comforting nonsense. Updates on his day, a dumb thing Taki said during practice, how the barista at his favorite café messed up his order but smiled too sweetly for him to complain. All while his fingers run gently through your hair, slow and rhythmic.

“You want tea? Or just me?”

“…Just you,” you mumble, voice thick with congestion and drowsiness.

Nicholas kisses the crown of your head, laughter dancing behind his breath. “Lucky for you, I brought both.”

And when you fall asleep, arm slung around his waist, breath hitching slightly from your stuffy nose, he doesn’t move. Not an inch. He just holds you tighter, tucks the blanket up around your shoulders, and stays.

Because if being sick turns you into a koala, Nicholas is more than happy to be your tree.

EJ :

When Euijoo gets your text, just a sad little “i don’t feel good”, he’s already halfway to grabbing his coat. He doesn’t even wait for you to ask. He just knows. You don’t get sick often, but when you do? You turn into a magnet for comfort, and there’s nowhere you’d rather be than wrapped up in him.

He knocks softly, even though you told him to come in. That’s just how he is, gentle, respectful, always checking in. When he sees you, bundled in blankets with a flushed face and bleary eyes, something in his expression softens completely.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, dropping to his knees in front of you like it’s instinct. “You look like you fought a war in your sleep.”

You pout, throat too sore to joke back, and instead you tug at his hoodie, wordlessly asking him to come closer.

Euijoo does, without hesitation. He sits beside you on the couch, letting you flop across his lap like a tired cat. His hand finds your back, rubbing slow circles, and he leans down to press a featherlight kiss to your temple.

“You didn’t even take your meds yet, did you?” he says, voice warm with fondness, not scolding. “You’re just waiting for me to take care of everything, huh?”

You nod pitifully. He chuckles.

“Okay. I’ll be your nurse,” he says softly, brushing hair away from your forehead. “But you owe me endless cuddles when you’re better.”

The rest of the day is hushed and slow. Euijoo speaks in a near-whisper, like even his voice might disturb your rest. He wipes your forehead with a cool cloth, feeds you warm spoonfuls of porridge with quiet concentration, and murmurs encouragements like, “You’re doing so well,” even when all you’re doing is sipping water.

And when you get especially clingy, arms wrapped around his middle, refusing to let him go even to grab your tissues, he just laughs under his breath and adjusts so you’re both lying down, your face tucked under his chin.

“Alright, alright,” he says gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Later, when you fall asleep on his chest, Euijoo doesn’t move a muscle. He just holds you like something delicate, brushing lazy patterns across your back and whispering, “You’re safe. Just rest.”

Because for Euijoo, love isn’t loud. It’s in the stillness. The care. The way he lets you lean on him completely, especially when you’re too tired to stand on your own.

YUMA :

When you message Yuma saying, “I feel like a soggy tissue. please help,” he sends a voice note back that’s 80% gasp, 10% dramatic wail, and 10% “I’m on my way.”

He shows up at your door in his favorite hoodie, a paper bag of cozy supplies tucked under one arm, and his hair slightly tousled like he ran all the way. He doesn’t even wait for you to greet him properly, he’s already toeing off his shoes and marching in with a determined look.

“Okay, first of all, soggy tissue??” he scolds playfully, kneeling beside you with a hand on your forehead. “That’s way too accurate. You do look kind of… squishy.”

You groan in protest, and he grins, dimples flashing.

“Sorry, sorry,” he adds, voice softening. “But you still look cute. Like a fevered little bunny.”

You pout dramatically, reaching out for him. Yuma doesn’t hesitate, he slides right next to you, lets you bury your face in his chest, and wraps you up like it’s second nature. His arms are warm and secure, but never smothering. He has a way of making you feel held and free all at once.

“I brought everything,” he says proudly. “Cough drops, that weird rice porridge you like, and the fluffy socks that make you feel like you’re walking on clouds.”

He makes the porridge in your kitchen like he’s done it a hundred times, humming a tune while you watch him from the couch, your blanket pulled up to your nose. When he brings it to you, he blows on each spoonful and feeds it to you, smiling when your eyes flutter closed in comfort.

“Good?” he whispers, voice low and sweet.

You nod and tug his sleeve.

When the clinginess kicks in hard, when you refuse to let go of him even while half-asleep, Yuma just laughs and readjusts so your limbs can tangle comfortably.

“You’re like velcro,” he teases softly, nuzzling his cheek against yours. “But I don’t mind. I’m your plushie today, huh?”

And that’s exactly how he acts. He lets you cling. Lets you sleep on him, talk nonsense in your fever haze, whine that your throat feels like sandpaper, and he’s there through it all with warmth and humor and an unshakable tenderness. He even teaches you a goofy healing dance he made up on the spot, just to make you laugh, your stuffy giggles muffled into his hoodie.

When you finally fall asleep on his chest, his hand strokes your hair with rhythmic care.

JO :

You’re not even sure how he got there so fast. One moment, you send a pathetic little text, “i’m sick and sad. come hold me.”, and the next, your apartment smells like the familiar mix of clean cotton and Jo’s subtle cologne.

He doesn’t knock loudly. He slips in like the gentlest breeze, a grocery bag in one hand and a thick blanket folded over the other. He closes the door with a soft click, kicks off his shoes, and glances around until he sees your bundled form on the couch.

“Hey, angel,” he says, his voice low and soft, a kind of hush that feels made for quiet rooms and pounding headaches. “You look like a little ghost.”

You peek out from your blanket cocoon with a groggy whimper, arms stretching toward him in silent desperation.

Jo doesn’t hesitate. He kneels beside you, brushing a hand across your forehead with featherlight fingers. “Hot,” he murmurs, brows knitting. “But still cute. That should be illegal.”

You try to smile, but mostly you just whimper again, sick and clingy and needy in the way that only comes when your body gives up and begs for comfort.

Jo climbs onto the couch without another word, adjusting the blanket so you’re curled against his chest. He smells like warm laundry and, pencil graphite, and the faint trace of caramel from the candy he’s always chewing. His arms slide around you like they were built for it. Like he was meant to hold you when you’re feeling like death warmed over.

“I brought honey lemon tea,” he murmurs into your hair. “And a forehead pack. You wanna eat something, or just hold onto me for a while?”

Your only answer is to grip the front of his sweatshirt with trembling fingers.

Jo just smiles.

“Alright,” he whispers. “I’m here. You can cling all you want.”

And you do. Every time he tries to move, to fetch your tea, or grab the remote, you tug him back down with the tiniest whine, your fingers curled in his sleeve like a lifeline. He teases you gently, never mean, never frustrated.

“So needy,” he says with a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to your fever-warm temple.

When you finally doze off, breath hitching a little with the congestion, Jo doesn’t move. He stays perfectly still, one hand stroking slow circles over your back, the other resting over your heartbeat like he’s syncing with it.

HARUA :

You hadn’t meant to whine so much over the phone, but your throat hurt, your nose was stuffy, and nothing felt right unless Harua was near. So when you texted him with a half-coherent, “I feel awful. Please come over,” you weren’t expecting him to drop everything.

But he did.

There’s a knock at the door just a little while later, polite, light, exactly like him, and when you open it, there he is. Face soft with concern, arms full of everything you didn’t know you needed: your favorite snacks, cold medicine, a bottle of water with a silly sticker on it, and the plushie he accidentally won for you at a claw machine last month.

“Hi,” he says quietly, eyes scanning your face. “You look miserable.” Then, after a heartbeat: “Still cute, though.”

You blink up at him, pouty and congested, and then you just… melt. Arms thrown around his middle, face buried in his hoodie. He lets out a small breath of surprise, but wraps his arms around you without hesitation, pressing his cheek gently against your hair.

“You missed me that much?” he murmurs, voice like warm tea.

Once he gets you back to the couch, he’s calm and efficient, the kind of quiet care that never feels rushed. He puts on a cozy playlist, tucks you in like he’s wrapping a delicate gift, and brushes your hair back with the tips of his fingers. He doesn’t make a big deal of your clinginess, not even when you insist on holding his hand the entire time.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures softly, squeezing your fingers. “Even if you fall asleep like this.”

When you rest your head on his shoulder, he shifts just enough to make it comfortable for you, then stays perfectly still. His other hand starts tracing slow, soothing circles along your back, not to tease, not to distract, just to be there.

Harua doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to. It’s in the way he stays close, the way he patiently listens when you groggily ramble, the way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in the world, even with tissues stuffed up your sleeve and your voice two octaves lower than usual.

“You can be as clingy as you want,” he whispers when your fingers twitch around his. “I don’t mind. I… like being needed.”

You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat under your ear and the faint hum of him quietly singing something soft, just for you.

TAKI :

You’re wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, nose red and stuffy, eyes droopy from a fever that refuses to break. Everything aches, your head, your throat, your muscles, and worst of all, you miss Taki. He’s your comfort. Your warm hoodie in winter. Your favorite song. Your peace.

So you do what any reasonable, clingy, miserable person would do: you send him a pitiful voice memo that’s mostly sniffles and his name said like a whimper.

Not even twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You peek out from your cocoon of tissues and wool to see Taki, cheeks flushed from the cold, carrying a bag way too big for someone his size. “Emergency delivery!” he says cheerfully, flashing you the brightest smile he can manage, even though he clearly clocked how awful you look.

He doesn’t mind. Not even a little.

“You poor thing,” he coos, toeing off his shoes before making a beeline to the couch. “You look like a baby duck who got caught in the rain.”

You groan, flopping over, already reaching for him. “C’mere.”

Taki laughs softly and slides right in next to you without hesitation, kicking off his jacket and letting you climb into his lap, head on his shoulder, arms curled around him. He shifts carefully so you’re tucked just right, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Like it’s natural.

“You can cling all you want,” he whispers, nose brushing your temple. “I like it. Makes me feel important.”

While you mumble something incomprehensible into his chest, he hums a little song, one he made up on the spot, just to lull you into comfort. His fingers stroke gently through your hair, careful not to tug, and when he notices you shivering, he tightens the blanket around both of you like he’s the protector of your tiny, warm world.

He keeps talking in that low, sweet voice of his, saying the most random, comforting things, about a dog he saw on the way over, how he almost slipped on the ice, how he thinks you’d look really cute in matching pajamas with him. “Next time I’ll bring some. Fluffy ones. Blue, maybe? Or should we go pink?”

You’re too sick to answer, but you smile anyway.

And when you start to drift off, still clinging to him like a lifeline, he whispers one last thing before pressing a kiss to your hair:

“You always take care of me, even when you don’t know it. So let me do it for you now, okay?”

MAKI :

You’re usually the one bouncing around with him, matching his jokes, nudging his side, keeping up with his endless energy. But today… you’re a puddle on the couch. Blankets up to your chin, cheeks flushed with fever, and your voice reduced to a pathetic croak. You want tea, soup, and above all, Maki.

You shoot him a sleepy text: “come here :( I’m sick and sad.”

And like magic, he appears.

He bursts into the room still catching his breath, cheeks pink from rushing over. “You should've told me you were sick sooner!” he exclaims, already dropping his bag and making a beeline for you.

You sit up with a pout, arms stretched out in a silent plea. “C’mere. Please.”

“Okay, okay, I’m here,” he chuckles, instantly softening as he kneels beside you. His hands are warm and surprisingly steady as they brush your hair back. “You look like a tired little dumpling. Still cute, though.”

Normally he’s the hyper one, cracking jokes and bouncing around, but right now? He slows everything down. He tucks himself beside you, gently adjusting your blanket, and lets you lean into him as if he’s your pillow. You’re clingy, hugging his waist, burying your face in his hoodie, and Maki melts.

He rests his chin on top of your head and whispers, “You can be clingy all day. I don’t mind. I like it when you need me.”

He gets up only to grab a warm drink, tucking it carefully into your hands before crawling right back under the blanket. And when you try to apologize for being gross or needy, he just laughs. “You think a little snot is gonna scare me away? Have you seen my morning hair?”

Later, when you’re half-asleep in his arms, he gently hums a random tune, something soft and off-key, but full of heart. His hand rubs slow circles on your back while he mumbles, “I hate seeing you like this… but I love being the one you call.”

And before you slip fully into sleep, he quietly adds, “I’ll take care of you every time. Don’t even think twice.”

Word count : 3526 | serapharua, 2025.

[inkedover]

To Console:

verb

verb: console; 3rd person present: consoles; past tense: consoled; past participle: consoled; gerund or present participle: consoling

comfort (someone) at a time of grief or disappointment."she tried to console him but he pushed her gently away"

hey guys. local angst writer is back. writing comfort though. comfort angst. Forsaken AU where Shedletsky is a menace that wanted the perfect weapon and like. sacrificed his firstborn for it. kinda.

younger sibling 1x1x1x1 AU. might be self-indulgent idek anymore. scars and execution mentioned!!! everything that’s the norm for my fics ig.

(ps, it's long.)

1x1x1x1 had his hands around Builderman's neck, slowly crushing the survivor's windpipe as the rest of his team ran. He relished in the sounds of his wheezing, the survivor desperately clawing at his hands as he slowly suffocated them.

Right as 1x1x1x1 heard the beautiful crunch of Builderman's neck snapping, he felt an unfamiliar presence behind him. It was unlike any of the other killers or survivors, and he turned with a suspicious expression…

Only to be met with a face he never thought he'd see again. His sibling. Shedletsky's 'mistake', 'the unwanted one'.

"…sibling…?" 1x1x1x1 choked out rather awkwardly. He didn't even know their name, their gender, nothing…just the memory of their face. And here they were, standing in front of him…

(Y/N) stood there in silence, staring at 1x1x1x1 with wide eyes. The manifestation of hatred could see something peculiar- and rather telling. A scar that ran around the length of their neck, almost like their head had been sewn back on haphazardly and left to heal back up. So…they really had been executed.

"…1x…?" (Y/N) replied with a tilted head, as if trying to puzzle out 1x1x1x1's appearance. After all, after becoming drowned in hatred 1x1x1x1's appearance had drastically changed.

However, after taking in his new appearance, 1x1x1x1 didn't see any traces of disgust or hatred towards him. Instead, an expression of…care? Affection? Befell (Y/N)'s face, and they slowly approached their younger brother before gently cupping his face.

The hands that had once cradled him all those years ago…they still held him with the same gentle affection as before. As if nothing had changed.

For a fleeting, imperceptible moment, 1x1x1x1 felt a strange sensation wash over him- the faintest flicker of warmth in his long-cold chest. It was an unfamiliar ache, and his instincts screamed that it was an unwelcome sensation. He stared- no, glared- at (Y/N), his glowing red eye widening slightly behind his bandana as he took in their gentle, almost loving demeanor.

"…You should hate me, sibling," 1x1x1x1 rasped out, sounding like he'd just eaten a pound of gravel without any water. His voice was grating and glitchy, and yet the words themselves were more important than the actual sound of his voice…his first words to them in lifetimes. "I've become a monster, a creature of hatred and death. I've taken countless lives, reveled in their suffering. You should look at me with revulsion, not…"

He trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words as (Y/N)'s gentle fingers cupped his blackened, cold cheek. Their touch burned like embers against his skin, searing and unfamiliar. He flinched instinctively, but didn't pull away.

"…Why do you not recoil from me, sibling?" He asked hoarsely, a grimace twisting his lips. He searched their face, looking for any hint of disgust, hatred, anything- but all that was there was an undying gentleness, a clear display of the same affection he remembered from his childhood. "Why do you hold me with such care...?"

"You've never felt a touch similar to mine, not in your entire lifetime. Not by our Father, not by the Mother that had left us forgotten…" (Y/N) hummed, and 1x1x1x1 could tell that his attempts at intimidation were for naught. The robloxian was far from disgusted or angry, the soothing touch of their soft skin a balm to his perpetually furious soul.

"I'm sorry." (Y/N) finally said, not pulling away as their brows furrowed. Sorrow tinged their voice as they spoke, belying thousands of apologies behind the one being offered currently. "It was my mistake, leaving you behind. To be turned into…this. The fault is mine. I…lament the effect of my passing. You didn't deserve this."

1x1x1x1 blinked, taken aback by (Y/N)'s words. A genuine apology…? The concept was alien to him, deprived from their emotion, their feeling, their meaning for all too long. That phrase…that word, 'sorry'…it had long since lost its meaning to 1x1x1x1. He stared at his sibling, his glowing eye flickering with uncertainty and a hint of a long-forgotten pain.

"…You're sorry?" 1x1x1x1 repeated slowly, as if tasting the word on his black tongue. He shook his head, a harsh, bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Sorry? You think a simple apology can undo the centuries of torment I've endured? The hatred that has become the entirety of my being?"

He grabbed (Y/N)'s wrist, his black fingers tightening around the soft skin as he pulled their hand away from his face. The gentleness of their touch was replaced by the painful grasp of his own hands, a stark reminder of the monster he had been molded into.

"…I'm not the brother you remember, sibling," 1x1x1x1 growled, his voice dripping with venom. The everburning hate of a creature made only to destroy. "I'm a creature of death, forged in the fires of hatred and tempered by the screams of the forsaken. Your guilt cannot change that. Your pity cannot save those that have already been condemned by the hands you once held so gently, your tenderness will not bring them back."

He released (Y/N)'s wrist, shoving their hand away from him as he stepped back. The distance between them, however insignificant it was, felt uncrossable to 1x1x1x1. A divide created by his own hands in an attempt to protect himself from feelings he refused to feel after the time he'd spent without them.

"…So don't pity me. Don't waste your guilt on a lost cause like me. I'm beyond redemption, beyond salvation." 1x1x1x1 said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Know me as the beast I am now, not the brother you once knew."

"…your hands may be bloody, but mine will cradle you all the same. We are both creatures born of grief, a life taken and morphed into something unrecognizable." (Y/N) hummed, not even minding the harsh grip that had enveloped their wrists. The area remained bruised, and they rubbed the darkened skin gently as they once again approached 1x1x1x1 without fear.

"I want to hold you like I used to. It matters not to me how long it's been…I could've been dead for eons, yet my arms would still long to hold you all the same. I yearn not for your salvation, as we both are beyond saving…I only wish to be with you again after all our time lost." (Y/N) spoke with a certain loving poise that 1x1x1x1 could recognize anywhere. The same voice that had sung him lullabies and read him stories as he went to bed, the same voice that had taught him the basics in sword fighting, the same voice that had comforted him even during their own execution.

(Y/N) was a creature of compassion, and 1x1x1x1 knew that deep down, Shedletsky had executed them for the mercy that they had given him without hesitation. 1x1x1x1's heart stuttered in his chest, a vise tightening around his lungs as he listened to his sibling's words. The gentle, loving cadence of their voice was achingly familiar, a phantom of a past life that he had long since buried underneath the hatred and sorrow that Shedletsky had put them both through.

He wanted to snap, to snarl and lash out with the same venom and fury that had become his constant companions. But as (Y/N) stepped closer, their bruised wrist outstretched and their eyes filled with a compassion that threatened to unravel the pain and hatred that plagued his existence, 1x1x1x1 found himself petrified.

His chest heaved with a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he'd taken, and his glowing eye flickered wildly as he struggled to maintain his stoic, brutal facade. (Y/N)'s words pierced through the walls of his hatred, chipping away at the impenetrable fortress he had constructed around his very soul.

Yet even as he stood there, paralyzed and shaken to his core by his sibling's unwavering acceptance and love, a single thought ate away 1x1x1x1's mind, engulfing his thoughts entirely: he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve (Y/N)'s forgiveness, their compassion, their desperate need to reconnect with the lost brother they once knew.

"…you're a fool…" 1x1x1x1 whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible even to his own ears. His words echoed in his mind, a cruel mockery of all that he was and will ever be. "A fool for thinking that a creature like me could ever be worthy of your love. I've destroyed everything I've touched, corrupted everything I've known. And yet...all you want to do is cradle me in your arms once more."

"You never corrupted me. I think that counts for something." (Y/N) murmured back. They sounded as if they were trying to soothe a spooked animal as they gently rested their hands on his cheeks once more.

(Y/N) should've been angrier. Should've been like him. They had been wrongly executed, their life taken for being too merciful and loving. And yet, despite their punishment, they remained as faithful and forgiving as ever. "I am a fool. I always will be. But…I am a fool that wishes to touch the corrupted, to hold and console, if only to bring a bit of comfort to those that society has deemed as sinners."

"I, myself, am a sinner in society's eyes, but that means nothing if I can soothe your soul once again. Even if only momentarily." (Y/N) finally said, one hand moving up to gently brush through 1x1x1x1's hair as their eyes closed slightly. Then, they said a phrase that 1x1x1x1 had assumed he'd never hear again…the last words that (Y/N) had spoken before their beheading.

"Big sibling (Y/N) is always here for you, 1x."

1x1x1x1's breath caught in his throat as (Y/N)'s fingers brushed through his long, white hair. Their soft touch sent a shiver down his spine, a sensation so foreign and unfamiliar that he nearly stumbled back out of instinct.

He stared at (Y/N), his glowing red eye wide and searching as he tried to reconcile the words falling from their lips with the monster he had become. The hatred that had once burned so brightly within him sputtered and flickered, cooling off but not extinguished by (Y/N)'s unwavering devotion.

And then...(Y/N) said those words. The same words they had spoken to him as he lay in bed, the same words that echoed in his mind in the darkest of nights when the loneliness threatened to consume him entirely: "Big sibling (Y/N) is always here for you, 1x."

Something shattered inside of 1x1x1x1 in that moment. His perfectly hateful, perpetually anguished heart began to crumble into something soft and more…vulnerable. It shattered into a thousand jagged pieces that felt impossible to put back together, a twisted reflection of the identity he longed for after all the years of suffering he had put himself and others through.

A single shimmering tear rolled down 1x1x1x1's cheek as he stared at (Y/N), his chest heavy with the weight of his sins and the words promising a release from them. He felt emotions that he had forgotten he could feel…all of those fuzzy feelings that were lost when his childhood died alongside (Y/N).

But…even he couldn't bear to harbor any ill will towards his sibling. There was no way for him to hate the only being willing to give him comfort amidst all of the chaos…(Y/N) was here. His sibling, his other half, the one who had always been there to guide him and protect him and love him even in the darkest of times.

And in that moment, as (Y/N)'s hands cradled his face and their words washed over him like a lullaby, 1x1x1x1 knew that he was not alone. That he would never be alone, so long as (Y/N) remained by his side.

He leaned into their touch, his forehead coming to rest against (Y/N)'s own as he shuddered and fought back the urge to sob. To truly express any emotion other than the fury or sadistic pleasure that permeated his lifetime.

(Y/N) pressed their forehead against his with a soft smile, closing their eyes as they gently ran their thumb over his cheek, the other hand started to card through his long white hair while humming softly. It was like a shot of pure nostalgia for 1x1x1x1, recognizing the tune that his sibling was humming and feeling the weight of exhaustion settling on his shoulders.

It was a feeling settled deep in his bones, a sleepiness that enveloped his entire being as he remembered his restless nights being put to bed by his sibling. Their gentle touch running through his hair as they sang a tried and true lullaby to him…while he couldn't remember the lyrics anymore, the tune itself was like warm chicken noodle soup on a sick day.

It almost made 1x1x1x1 forget what Shedetsky had done to him. To the both of them. It almost made him think that he was a kid once again…

~

hey man. so what if my love for you was actually unconditional. what if I loved you even after you became a hollow, bitter shell of what you once were.

I might write a prequel to this with (Y/N) being executed by Shedletsky…idrk…it sounds fun. I love angst. local angst writer writing angst?! preposterous!!!

anyway hope you enjoyed. if you liked my work I’d appreciate a rebagle, don't gatekeep it from other people LOL <333

[obvithe-bestsoph]

85+98 w pau plsss🤞

No. 98 | "You have got to stop distracting me so much while I'm trying to work." PC2

masterlist requests a/n: #85 is here!

prompt list (if you request a prompt, please request a player for it as well!) warnings: suggestive, but nothing graphic.

The couch isn't that comfortable, not really. Your laptop is half-balanced on your thighs, your notes are a mess beside you, and your eyes are doing that thing where they glaze over every third word you read.

You shouldn’t be surprised. After all, you’re working from Pau’s place. You already knew what you were getting into.

“You’ve been typing the same sentence for like… five minutes,” he says lazily from the other end of the couch.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s sprawled across the cushions, one foot nudging under your thigh, the other dangling off the edge. Shirtless. Of course.

“I’m concentrating,” you lie.

Pau grins like he knows exactly how hard that’s become. “On what? Your keyboard? Or my abs?”

You scoff and flick your pen at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He catches it with zero effort and looks smug as hell. “I’m just saying, you were doing better before I sat down. Maybe I should leave you alone.”

But he doesn’t move. If anything, he leans further into your space, chin propped up on one hand, eyes fixed on your face. The kind of look that makes your skin hum.

You try to stay focused on your screen, rereading the last paragraph for the fourth time, but it’s hopeless. His hand slides over your knee, fingers drawing slow circles that make your breath hitch without permission.

“Pau.”

“Yeah?” His voice is a whisper now, far too close. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your shoulder.

“You have got to stop distracting me so much while I’m trying to work.”

That gets a laugh out of him, low and full of satisfaction. “You’re blaming me for this?”

“You literally just dragged your foot under my thigh like I’m a human blanket.”

“You’re warm. And I like touching you.” He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Is that a crime now?”

“Only when I have deadlines.”

He shifts closer, not backing off like a normal person would. Your laptop slides off your legs as he plants one knee on the couch between yours, his face suddenly way too close for coherent thoughts.

“You’re always working,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek. “And you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“Pau.”

“Just five minutes,” he says, like he’s making some kind of noble sacrifice. “Five minutes of distraction. Then I’ll let you work, I swear.”

You narrow your eyes, but your hands are already on his hips like traitors. “That’s what you said yesterday.”

“Yesterday it was ten. I’m improving.” He dips down and kisses the corner of your mouth like he’s testing the waters.

It’s not fair. He always does this. Shows up when your to-do list is miles long, all sleepy curls and soft eyes, and somehow convinces you that the world can wait.

And maybe it can. Just a little.

“You’ve got a problem,” you mumble against his mouth, kissing him back before he can gloat.

“Yeah.” His smile ghosts over your lips. “It’s that you’re too hot when you’re serious.”

You swat his chest half-heartedly, but he catches your hand and laces your fingers together like he’s sealing a deal. The kind that’s impossible to walk away from.

“Three minutes,” you bargain, letting your laptop slide onto the coffee table.

He raises an eyebrow. “Two minutes and thirty seconds.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I’m highly motivated.”

His mouth finds yours again, slower this time, like he’s not in a rush to win. Like the whole world could stay paused right here on this couch, with you half-working and him half-clothed and both of you tangled up in the kind of quiet chaos that makes everything else seem less important.

Eventually, you pull away with a breathless laugh, forehead pressed to his.

“If I miss this deadline, I’m blaming you.”

“You can blame me for a lot of things,” Pau says, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then your neck, like he’s got nowhere else to be. “I’ll take it.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for him again, your work completely forgotten for now.

Maybe being productive isn’t the point tonight.

Maybe Pau is your favorite kind of distraction.

[rafeysvenicebitch]

cw: domestic, fluff

summary: Hayes’ 6th Birthday Party!!

The backyard was full of sun, splashes, and screams, the good kind. The kind that only came from too much sugar, too many kids, and a plastic waterslide that probably wasn’t OSHA approved but had been Rafe’s “surprise” for Hayes, but you monitored closely.

You were setting out juice boxes and cutting watermelon when Willow waddled up, her frilly pink swimsuit sagging in the back, curls stuck to her forehead, and her arms full of rocks she’d fished from the landscaping.

“Look, Mama! Baby rocks,” she said proudly, dropping them onto the food table.

“Sweetie, those go in the garden, not with the cupcakes,” you said gently, trying to redirect her before she started decorating the frosting with mulch.

Beau, wearing a neon floatie vest and nothing else but his dinosaur swim trunks, stood at the edge holding a plastic squirt gun. “I’m gonna get Daddy!” he yelled with the voice of a warrior.

You turned just in time to see Beau fire a stream of water right at Rafe, who was bent over the grill flipping burgers with tongs in one hand and a beer in the other.

Rafe froze mid-flip. “Oh, you did not just declare war on me, lil’ man.”

Beau shrieked and ran behind the picnic table.

You shook your head, laughing as you walked up behind your husband and slid your arms around his middle, resting your cheek against the sun-warmed cotton of his worn Carhartt tank. “You holding up alright, grill master? I hope work isn’t missing ya’ too much.”

He reached back to squeeze your hand, smiling without looking. “I’ve cooked for roofing crews and some of Hayes’ school events, babe. This is nothing. And if work needs me, that’s too bad cause this is more important to me.”

A scream interrupted the peaceful moment—Willow, red-cheeked and soggy, was waddling toward you in a little pink swimsuit with ruffles and her sun hat flopping over her eyes. “Mamaaaaaaa! Juice! Boo boo drank!”

“She means the Capri Suns,” you said, detangling from Rafe to scoop her up. “Hayes told her it was a ‘boo boo drink’ and now she won’t stop calling it that.”

Rafe smirked, getting a capri sun from the cooler for Willow. “Six going on comedian.”

“Speaking of,” you said, nodding toward the back gate. “Look who just showed up.”

Topper and his wife strolled in, holding a gift bag that was already wet from some mystery child’s wet hands. Nora, their daughter, ran straight for Hayes, shrieking “Happy BIRTHDAY!” and tackling him underwater. Kayden, their son jumped in after, and Lottie, their other daughter was on her father’s hip.

“Big crowd,” Rafe said, flipping a hot dog. “Think we did alright?”

You looked around—at the kids giggling under the sprinkler, at Beau trying to sit on the cake table, at Willow babbling “boo boo drank” into your neck—and smiled.

“Yeah. He’s gonna remember this.”

Later, after hot dogs and popsicles and a messy round of “Happy Birthday,” Hayes climbed up onto the lawn chair next to you with red cheeks and wrinkled fingers. “Mama?” he asked quietly, curling under your arm. “Is Daddy Superman?”

You looked up to where Rafe was laughing with Topper and Kayden, holding Willow in one arm and balancing a beer in the other.

“Yeah, baby,” you whispered. “Something like that.”

Beau popped up from under the table, frosting in his hair. “I’m Batman!”

Hayes nodded solemnly. “Cool. Then I get to be Spider-Man.”

And in that sticky, sunshine-filled moment, with a backyard full of love and watermelon seeds, you couldn’t ask for anything more.

Tagging some moots: @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @faistingmymike @rafesbabygirlx @memoirofasparklemuff1n @cameronsbabydoll @rafeyscumangel @skel-skell @marinrscomplex @slut4rafey

[lvrsturniolo]

FIRST TIMES MINISERIES—FT. MATT STURNIOLO

001. First Meet

cw; kinda awkward first meet, ig?? that’s all!

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

You didn’t expect to talk to anyone besides Liv tonight.

The only reason you were even at this random house was because your friend begged you to come—“It’s just a few people, not a party,” she said, swearing up and down it’d be chill. And it was, mostly. A group of people spread across couches and kitchen counters, low music playing from someone’s speaker, the kind of night that felt more like background noise than something important.

You were lingering by the arm of the couch, quietly observing, half-wishing you’d stayed home.

That’s when you noticed him.

Matt Sturniolo.

You’d heard his name before, seen him around online, he and his triplet brothers had a YouTube channel. But seeing him here—in real life, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, eyes focused on the conversation in front of him—was different. He looked… so good.

Your friend disappeared toward the kitchen, probably to go get a drink, and suddenly it was just you, awkwardly standing next to the couch.

Matt glanced up—and your eyes met.

For a second, neither of you said anything. Then, quietly,“You can sit, if you want.”

His voice wasn’t loud. If the music had been just a notch higher, you might’ve missed it. But you nodded and sat down, careful to leave space between you. Not weird-space, just… a respectful distance.

He didn’t say anything right away. Neither did you.

But then he asked, “Are you friends with Liv?”

You nodded. “She’s been trying to get me out of the house all week.”

Matt smiled a little. “Yeah, she seems the going out type.”

It was quiet again, but less awkward this time.

And then, almost out of nowhere, it started.

A conversation.

Slow at first—just a question about your favorite movie, obviously trying to get rid of awkward silence, which led to his favorite director, which turned into a whole back-and-forth about soundtracks and endings that didn’t make sense and comfort films that people pretend to hate but secretly love.

You talked about music next. You mentioned you loved Mac Miller and his face lit up.

“Oh my God me too!” He said, sitting up slightly with a wide grin.

You nodded, smiling. “His music is so good, he was one of my top artists last year!”

That’s how it kept going. One thread led to another, and then another. Suddenly you weren’t sitting in silence anymore—you were laughing quietly, learning little things about each other. He bit his lip when he was thinking. You fiddled with your sleeves when you got nervous. You both hated big crowds and loved rainy days. You both had this weird thing about needing music on all the time. Just little things that you had in common.

By the time your friend returned, Matt had shifted slightly closer to you on the couch, and your foot was nearly touching his.

She raised an eyebrow at you, but didn’t say anything.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been talking. It felt like five minutes and an hour at the same time.

When you finally got up to leave, Matt stood too, hands in his hoodie pocket, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“It was really nice talking to you,” he said.

You smiled, shy again. “Yeah. You too.”

“Maybe…” He paused. “Could I get your number?”

You nodded, already feeling your heart pick up. “Yeah of course.”

He gave you a small smile, eyes soft as he watched you add your name and number to his contacts.

That was the first time you met Matt Sturniolo, and from just that one interaction, you knew for sure it wouldn’t be the last.

[halletheromantic]

You Are Never Alone | Everlark Post-Mockingjay | Part 1

When Katniss has a morning of sickness, she realizes that there’s nothing more important than the incredible support system she has by her side.

Word Count:

"It's funny how your hand fits into mine so perfectly," Peeta points out. His right hand is firmly surrounding mine, and his left hand is kneading dough.

"Must be our mutual lack of food growing up." I squeeze his hand once, then let go, allowing him to better complete the task.

"Or maybe we're just meant for each other," he corrects, gently nudging my arm with his. His hands expertly shape the dough, which will become delicious buns in a couple of hours.

I look around Peeta's small bakery. It's ten minutes before opening time, and because it's Sunday, it will most likely be filled to the brim with customers: mothers and fathers stopping by to bring their children treats, or elderly couples starting their days with the goodness that is Peeta's baking.

It's been fifteen years since everything ended. Fifteen years of rebuilding, regrowth, rebirth. Now, we have open trade and transport between Districts, and each one has enough resources. That means people have the money to treat themselves to baked goods, but Peeta still charges them low prices. Mellark Bakery may be in deficit, but thankfully, we've got our Victor's pensions.

"So, Katniss, rye bread or honey wheat for you today?" Asks Peeta, his warm voice breaking me out of my thoughts. He gives me a smile, and the love in his eyes is enough to make my stomach flutter. Unlike 17-year-old Katniss, I revel in it.

I think for a second. "Honey, please."

"Yes, sugar?"

A chuckle erupts out of me at his goofy dad joke, but I cover it up with a playful glare. "They get less funny each time."

"But you love them."

I sigh. "It's like you're my husband, or something."

He takes my hand again, nudging the ring on my finger. "Or something. Now let me get started on that honey bread." Just those words make my stomach gurgle. I may have to cut down on today's pieces.

The bell jingles, and Vick Hawthorne walks through the door. Vick has been helping out at the bakery, especially after getting out of university at the Capitol. Peeta and I always ask him to share stories of his time there. Though we never talk about why, I know it's because we're both in such disbelief that we can go to university now.

Often, it's surreal.

Vick grins at us, but he winces when he makes eye-contact with me. "Katniss, you're not looking too good."

I frown. "Well, hello to you too."

Peeta comes back over to me and takes a closer look. "Vick's right, Katniss. You're a bit pale. Let me grab you some water."

"I feel fine." But it's a lie. My stomach churns, and Peeta can see through anything I say anyways. He brings me the water, and although I don't want to, I chug it from the top. "Why don't you go check on Haymitch today, instead?" says Peeta lightly. It's his way of sending me home, keeping me safe, while also bringing me the intention I need. I'm not very good at doing nothing.

Normally, I'd fight back, but my stomach's tossing and turning is at its peak, so I relent. “Fine. I’ll stop by the woods too. See if I can shoot something for dinner.”

Peeta kisses me on the cheek and hands me a plastic bag. I know it’s in case I need to hurl on the walk home, but it’s still a bit embarrassing. I quickly stuff it into my pocket and head out Mellark Bakery.

The soft morning breeze caresses my face, and the fresh air softens the turbulence in my stomach. Twelve is just starting to wake up. People make their way to their day jobs, and animals make their sounds as they awaken too.

It’s peaceful. Content. A reminder that the worst in our lives is over and we can live in peace, in love.

I make my way to the meadow, crossing over to the woods. The fence is almost broken down now, and I climb through my usual spot, the footholds and ridges flattened from the pressure of my skin.

Then I find my usual tree to climb, but there isn’t much today. I see a couple deer, but none through a clear shot, and the geese I find flying through the sky could very well be Haymitch’s—he was pretty angry the last time I accidentally killed one of his “children”.

So, I climb down and check my traps. Only one of them is filled, with a rabbit. I’m used to the faint stench of meat, but today, my stomach’s a hater. I feel bile climbing up my throat, and before I know it, the contents of my upset stomach are scattered across the ground.

I suppose the woods were not the path to go.

And I’m definitely annoyed. Today hadn’t been going well. I feel tears pricking at the corner of my eyes, and I want nothing more than to cuddle with Peeta. But he’s still busy at the bakery—and on a crowded day, nonetheless. Exhaustion droops my eyes, and I decide it’s time to go home and take a nap.

My footsteps are heavy as I abandon the traps and climb back over the fence. Empty-handed with nothing but my bow and arrows, I trudge home. I feel questioning eyes falling on me, but I can’t bring myself to meet them.

I enter my house—now also Peeta’s—in the Victor’s Village. Home feels like a warm blanket, and I immediately kick of my shoes, run upstairs, and jump onto the bed in our bedroom. Sleep overtakes me immediately.

“Katniss?”

I wake up to soft, strong hands on my back and the scent of my favorite bakery. I open my eyes, and Peeta is looking into mine with concern.

“Are you alright?”

I begin to nod, but my stomach begins to churn. Without hesitation, I jump up and rush to the bathroom, emptying my contents into the toilet. Peeta is immediately after me, sitting with me and rubbing my back in methodical strokes.

When I’m done, he wraps his arms around me, engulfing me into a warm hug. “It was the dad joke, wasn’t it?”

A laugh breaks out of me, but then it turns into tears. I’m never this emotional, and I hate it. This makes me cry harder.

“Aw, honey.” Peeta is rubbing my back again, hugging me tight. He peppers my head with kisses, and I chuckle again. “What’s wrong? You haven’t been feeling well all day, haven’t you?”

I sigh, squeezing his arm. “I don’t know. I’ve been exhausted and nauseous all day. But I don’t have a fever. You know the smell of my traps made me sick too?” I tell him, and his eyes widen comically.

“Your traps made you sick? No way.”

I roll my eyes, but give him a soft peck on the lips. “Not to mention I’ve been really moody. At this point, my mom would say…” I trail off as it hits me as to what my mom would tell me. These are pregnancy symptoms.

My heart begins to rush.