#(they were fine for the system i know but we can do better)

[delicateperspective]

https://www.tumblr.com/delicateperspective/782767157576679424/hi-ive-noticed-theres-a-lot-of-debate-about?source=share

But isn’t it true that Sony sabotaged Louis’ career for a long time? That’s why people criticize Harry for being so close to Columbia/Sony and for staying with them, like he's just not working with them, they seem like friends (or at least that's what we see). Sorry, I just want to understand some of this better.

Hey anon, that’s a really good question!

I think a good place to start is by remembering that Louis Tomlinson is a complex human being, like anyone else. There’s the part of him that’s the scrappy, stubborn, working-class kid from Doncaster (the one who used to steal sandwiches and has always had a “fuck you, I do what I want” streak). But there’s also another side: the smart, strategic, deeply passionate artist who’s always loved music and performing and who understands the business better than people give him credit for.

And humans are allowed to be both. They can want freedom and still play the game. They can be pissed off by the industry and still choose to stay in it — because it’s the only way to do what they love.

It’s also really important to remember that what we see from the outside is rarely the full story. There are smiling photos of me with bosses I’ve had issues with. I’ve gone to events with them, hung out at their homes, and still had major frustrations under the surface. A job is a job (whether you’re someone like me, or someone like H). The difference? I could walk away from my job tomorrow and probably be fine. H couldn’t. Not without risking everything he’s worked for.

Also, H didn’t just randomly “choose” C*lumbia out of nowhere. 1D was signed to Syc* in the UK and C*lumbia in the US, which means that when the band went on hiatus, those companies likely had what’s called “first right of refusal.” That means that before an artist can sign with another label, the current label gets the chance to match or outbid that offer and keep them. So chances are, H had to stay with C*lumbia unless someone came in with a better offer — and clearly, C*lumbia was invested enough to make sure they kept him. In the same way, Syc* held onto Louis, and it seems they had very different plans for him.

2015/2016 Was Messy, Let’s not forget how chaotic that time was and all of the different gears that were spinning for all of them. Around then, S*ny execs (including R*b Str*nger) allegedly wanted both of them. (L to stay behind the scenes, writing songs while H became the face.) And at the time, that probably made sense to them — L was most proud of his songwriting credits in 1D more than anything else, and H had already been getting the solo star treatment.

But L didn’t do what was expected. He didn’t choose songwriting. He didn’t choose to manage acts under Sim*n. He chose to make his own music — and in doing so, he pissed off a lot of powerful people who expected him to play a different role. That’s when things started to get really difficult for him.

Now, whether or not R*b Str*nger (or anyone else at S*ny) actively sabotaged Louis — that’s something we may never fully know. But let’s say, hypothetically, he did. Should H have walked away from C*lumbia? (and lets be clear, he couldn't have until he gave them three albums - at least - and the contract could have also included what is called "options" which would mean he still might owe them more under the first contract. So, his first oppertunity to walk way would have JUST happened.)

Honestly? I don't think so. Harry snubbing R*b Str*nger publicly would be career suicide. Like it or not, Stringer is one of the most powerful people in the music industry. Ghosting him or switching labels in protest wouldn’t just hurt H — it could hurt L, too. Both H and L know how this system works. H staying close to C*lumbia/S*ny isn’t necessarily a betrayal. It’s playing the long game. It’s making sure he still has the platform and the power to make the kind of music and statements he wants to make.

TL;DR:

L is complex. He made a choice that went against what S*ny & Syc* wanted — and it made his road harder.

H’s connection to C*lumbia/S*ny isn’t just about loyalty — it’s about business, contracts, and survival in a cutthroat industry.

What we see (smiling photos, friendly interactions) doesn’t always reflect the full truth.

Criticizing H for staying with C*lumbia is easy from the outside, but the risks of leaving would have been far bigger than people realize.

Hope that helps clear some of it up, anon. If you want a deeper dive into L's journey and how it relates to R*b, I'd suggest these posts from @fookinhellcurlyyy.

[ruvviks]

PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS YOUR OWN OC OR PAIRING.

Nathan and Ruben share a bond more powerful than most; mutual understanding through past experiences no one should ever have to go through, and through past actions so horrible they cannot be spoken of. Their grief and the blood on their hands binds them to the STEM technology they created, which has alienated them from the rest of the world— but they give each other the comfort they have both longed for so desperately for years, and that is all they need. They are each other's counterpart; you cannot imagine one without the other, like two sides of the same coin. Through their pain, their grief, their desire, and their regret, they have become one.

anna akhmatova, the guest // bones; equinox // 'i won't become' by kim jakobsson // agustín gómez-arcos, the carnivorous lamb // by oxy // achilles come down; gang of youths // czeslaw milosz, from 'new and collected poems: 1931-2001' // 'extended ambience portrait from a resonant biostructure' and 'migraine tenfold times ten' by daniel vega // a little death; the neighbourhood // marina tsvetaeva, from 'poem of the end' // by drummnist // katie maria, winter // 'nocturne in black and gold the falling rocket' by james abbott mcneill whistler // micah nemerever, these violent delights // body language; we are fury // 'the penitent' by emil melmoth // chelsea dingman, from 'of those who can't afford to be gentle'

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

[voidimp]

we need more zelda games with toon link i miss that little freak

[nexus-nebulae]

so like. madd system shit. we love having music in the background when we're wandering paracosm, like movie and game soundtracks that fit the mood (our playlists are So Large) and since we've had our paracosm so long, a lot of the time we end up reusing songs that were already associated with other scenes. so like nowadays we'll be in the middle of daydreaming completely unrelated scenes with entirely new headmates in the front rotation but someone will always stop in the middle of certain songs to go "that's jimmy's theme :)" "oh that's the Dawn echo's theme" "thats one of the songs for helios' lab" its very funny

[randompiecesofwriting]

Wrong Name

Summary: Reader visits her partner Jack in the ED to drop off his lunch catching the excited attention of all of his colleges much to his chagrin

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None! Just super cute fluff

Author’s Note: My first Pitt Fic! Basically, a short simple grumpy x sunshine reader cause I had the idea. Everyone in the Pitt loves the reader and Jack pretends to hate that, but everyone knows better. Again my first Pitt fic so any and all feedback appreciated and I hope you enjoy!

Check out part 2 here!

To say Jack was surprised to see you at Dana’s desk was an understatement.

He had just left you a little over an hour ago, a silent kiss to your temple, a murmured I love you into your hair, a cup of coffee left in his wake on the countertop so it was cooled down by the time you got up, the same as every day. You were still asleep when he left could you have woken up with something? Did he miss something last night?

His head was so full of the hypothetical he didn’t take the extra second to acknowledge how at ease your body language was as you leaned against the tall desk, a soft smile on your lips as you nodded along to whatever Dana was saying.

Instead, he immediately crossed the ED in a few steps, sliding a hand to the small of your back to grab your attention, cutting of Dana’s story without a second thought.

“Hey what’re you doing here are you okay?”

Your eyes flickered briefly to his, the corners of your mouth pulling up slightly at his appearance as you grabbed his bicep and gave it a small squeeze. “Yeah don’t worry I’m fine” before immediately refocusing on Dana, silently signaling her to continue.

Dana, however, as she normally does, knew better, a look shared between the two women as she stayed silent and instead focused on Jack, the man himself having not moved his gaze from your form for a second.

Pinching your shirt at the waist softly he gave it a small tug, physically pulling your attention back to him as his eyes scanned your face “is it that headache you had the other night? Is it back? I can bump you up the CT line”

“Honey” you cut him off with that small laugh that always had his chest warming “I promise I’m fine I texted you like an hour ago to meet me in the parking lot, you just forgot your lunch”

He could physically feel the relief hit his system at your words, his shoulders dropping as he finally took a deep breath, his next words tumbling off his tongue before he could put any thought to them “you didn’t have to-“

But just as he knew you would, you cut him off with a shrug and the same words you always used when he tried to dodge being taken care off “I know but I wanted to”

He couldn’t have fought the fond smile off his face if he had tried, something he knew he was going to get shit over from Dana and inevitably Robby later. “Why didn’t anyone tell me you were here have you been waiting long?”

“No I’ve been talking to Dana” And it was so entirely you the way you stated it like it was obvious. As if this little act of kindness in going out of your way to get him food hadn’t hijacked your entire morning. He was nearly overwhelmed by the desire to pull you into him, barely registering the way you pivoted back to Dana at the mention of her name.

“A conversation we absolutely will be finishing” spoken like a threat that had the charge nurse chuckling, “drinks later? Location and time TBD?”

“Sounds good kid”

And maybe it was a little selfish of him to want you just to himself in that moment, to pull you out of the Pitt to get even just two minutes of you alone. But Jack had found over the past year that he liked being selfish when it came to you “Oh and Langdon was looking for you earlier if you haven’t seen him yet”

“You spoke to Langdon too” he’ll admit to only faking part of the exasperation in his tone that had you giggling.

“He’s got a new puppy” you protested with a grin “what was I supposed to do? Not ask to see photos”

“You’re right ridiculous question” he conceded easily, “now aren’t you supposed to be at work”

And Jack relished the way he knew what your exact reaction would be seconds before you made it, the way your eyes widened almost comically before you reached for his arm, pulling his watch specifically into your line of sight, Jack using the momentum to press a quick kiss to your temple before he could think any better of it.

“Shit I’m gonna be late” You groaned softly, Jack chuckling at the action.

“I mean it, you didn’t have to bring my lunch in today”

“Please we both know you wouldn’t eat anything if I hadn’t” you brushed him off thoughtlessly before brightening and exclaiming “oh before I forget”. Suddenly you were pulling back from him, reaching deeply into your bag and rummaging slightly before pulling out a fistful of protein bars “give these to Dennis”

“To Dennis” he repeated with a raised brow as you pushed them into his chest.

“Yeah Dennis, well except for the chocolate ones”

“You want me to give these to my med student” he repeated with another exasperated sigh.

Again you responded exactly like he hoped you would, a giggle and a teasing push against his chest “yes except for the chocolate ones he doesn’t like those he likes the fruit ones. He won’t tell you that though, he’ll gladly take them all but he’s just being nice about it because he doesn’t want to offend you”

He couldn’t help but appreciate how well you seemed to fit into his life. How you’d forged relationships with each member of the Pitt’s team that existed wholly outside of him. It was tough now to believe there existed a time when he had been hesitant to introduce you to the chaos of the Pitt given how you now had seemed to adopt each member of his chosen family on your own.

His train of thought was effectively cut off as he watched your gaze suddenly deviate from him to something behind him, the corner of your mouth ticking up as you took one of the bars back from his grasp and yelled across the room “Dennis”

The poor kid looked terrified for a brief moment as he spun around before breaking out into a relieved grin once his eyes landed on you.

That was all the acknowledgement you needed before you were throwing the bar at him, Whittaker to his credit only looking panicked for a brief moment before he was effortlessly catching the bar, grinning down at his new snack appreciatively once he had it “Thank you Mrs. Abbot”

“Not my name” you corrected breezily with a wave “but bug Jack if you want more I’m giving him the rest”

“Great now if you’re done upsetting the natural order of my ED don’t you have work to get to” Jack cut in with fake exasperation.

“Natural order of the Pitt” you scoffed “that’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one”

Your comment had Dana snorting as she didn’t even bother to try hiding the fact that she had been eavesdropping on your conversation up to this point.

“Yeah yeah now get out of here” he rolled his eyes with a fond smile “one of us has to make sure our bills our paid this month”

“I’m going I’m going” you groaned with a matching eye roll, pushing up slightly onto your toes and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, pulling away much too quickly for Jack’s liking with a whispered I love you.

Then you were gone, headed back the way you came leaving nothing but the soft scent of your perfume in the air around him as Jack forced his eyes down to the chart in his hands, pointedly ignoring Dana’s gaze.

Just when he thought he was going to be trapped in the inevitable teasing of his charge nurse Dr. King came running up to the station, Jack more than happy to turn his attention to her and ready to distract himself with whatever case had her moving so fast.

Instead, however, Mel’s expression with brimming with barely contained excitement, her gaze searching everywhere around Jack but never properly landing on the man himself “Was that Y/N I heard? Is she here?”

With a disbelieving huff, Jack went back to his chart “you just missed her”

“No she’s by the door with Robby” Dana cut in with a smile, enjoying the way Jacks neck nearly snapped as he whipped his gaze across the ED to where you now stood with Robby, talking animatedly about something while the older man listened with  a smile on his face and hands in his pockets, looking much more relaxed than the two of them usually saw him within the department.

Mel peeled off without a second word to either of them, the pair watching the way your expression lit up once more as you recognized her as she approached.

“You gonna correct that” Dana nodded vaguely in your direction, her and Jack leaning onto the counter of the nurse’s station from opposite sides watching you give Mel an enthusiastic high five over whatever story she had rushed over to tell you.

“Probably talk to everyone at some point” Jack shrugged in response “the Pitt can’t afford to come to a screeching halt every time she so much as walks in the doors”

“No dumbass” Dana admonishes with a dramatic groan “it’s good the way everyone brightens up when she’s here. God knows we could use some positivity around here. I mean Whitaker’s comment about the wrong name”

“I mean she’s already told him to call her by her first name but I could talk to him-“

Dana silenced Jack with a glare, the attending turning his attention back to you from across the room as you eagerly talked to Mel and Robby.

“Was thinking about asking Robby to go ring shopping with me this weekend” he admitted softly “Scale of 1-10 how bad of an idea is that”

“Not where I thought this story was going but love is love so I support-“ now it was Jack’s turn to silence Dana with a glare, the charge nurse enjoying way too much the way the tips of his ears colored at the admission.

“a seven” she mused with a shrug, turning her attention back to you as you finally said goodbye to the two doctors “maybe a six” she let the silence settle around them and watched as Jack eyed her with a skeptical glare from her periphery “invite me along and I can keep it below a three”

Jack studied her for a second, crossing his arms over his chest before nodding softly “done”

Dana fought to keep the grin off her face as Robby finally started to make his way towards the two of them, Jack catching him slipping an awfully familiar looking protein bar into the pocket of his sweatshirt “Jesus how many of those does she have”

Robby shrugged with a chuckle, eyes casting up to the board above the desk as he did so “she mentioned something about having extra chocolate ones”

“I saw her slipping Santos bags of trail mix earlier if you’d prefer that” Dana chimed in with a smirk as Jack huffed dramatically.

“did everyone get to talk to her but me this morning?”

“You get her every day, stop being so selfish” Robby clasped his shoulder with a smug grin, giving it a soft shake.

 “Selfish” Jack repeated under his breath with a shake of his head, eyes going up to the board to pick out his next case as he did so “god forbid I want to spend time with my future wife”

He hadn’t even realized he said it out loud until the Pitt around him seemed to go unnaturally quiet. Casting his gaze back down he caught Robby and Dana sharing pointed, amused looks before turning their teasing grins back on him.

All he could get out was a simple “no” before he was storming off to the closest room, refusing to acknowledge the way Robby yelled out a threat after him “We will be talking about this later”

[honeypiehotchner]

Juno (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Hello again! This goes from zero to 100 in two seconds flat don't @ me!! Sabrina's new album came out and reawakened something in me (everyone say thank you Sabrina) (also this is not beta'd I wrote this in a short n' sweet haze)

Summary: Aaron is working from home but what paperwork he needs to do is the absolute last thing on your mind.

Warnings: smut! 18+ only! this is so filthy! in no particular order: multiple orgasms, cockwarming, choking, brat tendencies, stoplight system, unprotected sex, breeding kink (briefly), face fucking, overstimulation

WC: like 3,400 I lost my damn mind clearly

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you. Blame it on period hormones (probably) or the fact that Aaron looks absolutely delicious right now in his tight black t-shirt (most likely), but you’re going to go insane if either of you have clothes on for another five minutes. 

The problem is, Aaron is trying to focus. It’s one of his days where he works from home, an idea you gave him when you realized how easy it would be for him to do the same paperwork just from the comfort of your living room. It was a brilliant idea at first. You got to see him more, and were able to do your own thing around the house while he did his work. You got to have lunch together, and offer a genuine mental break in between his mountain of paperwork. 

Now, though, you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck about whatever needs to be signed, who needs to clear what, and what phone calls he still needs to make. 

“Honey,” you call sweetly from the kitchen. You watch him from over the island, your thoughts going all sorts of ways -- namely, deep into the gutter. “Want to break for lunch?”

You see Aaron shake his head, still typing furiously on his laptop. “It’s not even noon yet.”

“Brunch?” you try again, walking out of the kitchen. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest in the way you know he loves because of the view it gives him of your cleavage. And you’re wearing a v-neck shirt today for that exact reason, too.

Aaron still doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry honey, maybe in an hour?”

You let out a huff that you know he hears because he finally looks up, eyebrows raised just so. It’s a look that you love. Curious, veering toward that playful annoyance that you can’t seem to go a few hours without his undivided attention. 

Which, you can, by the way. You’re more than capable. It’s just that right now, it’s a crime that his eyes have been looking at paperwork when they should be looking at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and there’s some hesitation in his voice. You know he’s assuming the worst. That you’re not okay mentally, and that’s why you need him to take his lunch break now or maybe for the rest of the day. He’s done it before on your darker days.

But you’re okay. You’re perfectly fine. You’d just be even better if he put the damn laptop away and put his fingers to use somewhere else.

Which is exactly why you come to a stop in front of him and reach forward, tilting his screen down and down until it closes. He lets you.

He lets you take his laptop and put it on the table beside the couch. He watches you, his fiery brown eyes taking in every second. He lets you straddle his hips, your arms circling his neck.

“I see now,” he smirks, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist and squeezing lovingly. “By ‘lunch break’ you mean…”

“Put a baby in me,” you blurt, rocking your hips against his.

He stills, his hands making you stop your movements, too. His eyes are darker now in a way you haven’t seen in a while. “What?”

“Please,” you say, leaning your forehead down onto his, trying to move your hips again. “Need you.”

“Honey, we can’t have--”

“Yes I know the semantics, Aaron,” you mutter, now annoyed and lifting your head to glare at him. He has a vasectomy, you get that. “I mean fuck me like you’re putting a baby in me.”

His hands squeeze again. “I see.”

You frown. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” he smirks, one hand leaving your waist to stroke your cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re horny.”

You roll your eyes, peeling yourself off his lap. He lets you go, albeit with a curious look. You turn and head for the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he calls out after you, still with that damn smirk lacing his words.

“To get myself off,” you reply in a deadpan. “Since someone--”

You don’t have a chance to finish your sentence before Aaron is right behind you, hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him. That look full of fire is back again, stern this time.

“Did I say you could do that?” he says in a low tone.

“Did I ask?” you retort, backing out of his grasp and darting into the bedroom. 

Now there’s a smirk on your lips. It’s quickly approaching shit-eating grin territory, which you know will only egg Aaron on further. This little game of cat and mouse happens to be your favorite, and he knows it.

You’re barely two steps into the bedroom when Aaron is attached to your back yet again, this time wrapping his arms around your waist, locking you in.

“Color?” he whispers, his lips right at your ear, sending shivers straight down your spine.

You groan. “Green. Neon green. So green, I need you to--”

He spins you again, this time backing you into the wall and attacking your lips. Finally, you think, though you know you’re in for it now. The thought has a grin crawling up your lips, and you’re unable to stop it.

“What’s so funny, hm?” he scolds, moving his lips to your neck instead, to the exact spot he knows makes you weak in the knees. Like clockwork, he has to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you upright, your knees buckling when he bites down just so.

“Nothing,” you manage through a moan, tipping your head back onto the wall. “Shit.”

“You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know,” he says, but he’s smiling against your skin. “Can’t let me focus on work because you need me to fuck you.”

“In my defense,” you try, your hands scrambling for his shoulders, for something to ground you. “You didn’t fuck me this morning.”

“I fucked you last night,” he reminds you, as if you needed the reminder. It’s the reason you slept so soundly. “Was that not enough?”

You can’t help it; you laugh. 

He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. The same question as before on his lips.

“Sorry, I thought you were joking,” you say. 

“You’re insatiable.” 

“Guilty,” you grin, grabbing his face and pulling him back in for another kiss.

You make out against the wall for too long like two teenagers behind the bleachers at school. You hook one leg around his hips, pulling him in and grinding against his obvious erection. It’s enough to have him groaning into your mouth, pressing you against the wall with renowned vigor. 

You can feel how wet you’re becoming and fuck, neither of you have even taken a single article of clothing off yet.

Aaron notices, one hand traveling south without you paying attention, too busy relishing the way he licks into your mouth, stealing your every breath. The kissing becomes increasingly sloppy when he works his hand into your leggings, under the waistband of your underwear, and into you.

“Oh my god,” your back arches against the wall, pushing his fingers deeper. He doesn’t bother with one, starting right away with two, curling them when you grind harder.

“You’re soaking my hand,” he practically growls into the next kiss, adding a third finger after only a few thrusts. Your body accepts it willingly, always ready for him. “Jesus.”

“More,” you gasp, pushing him deeper. “Aaron, more, I’m serious--” Your words break off as he scissors his fingers, making your eyes roll back instantly.

“I can feel you already,” he smirks against your cheek, pressing a kiss there, an action so sweet and gentle compared to what the rest of him is doing. “Come on, honey. You’re cumming as many times as you want.”

That makes you inch closer to the edge at a frightening speed. He says you can cum as many times as you want, but what he means is he’s going to force as many orgasms out of you as he can. Until you tell him to stop or he decides you need a break. 

The thought of being an overstimulated mess in his embrace later has you climaxing against his fingers, your head falling onto his shoulder as his movements never cease, milking every last wave out of you. 

You lift your head in search of his lips again, which he willingly gives to you, his fingers slowing to soothing strokes as you whimper into his mouth. You’ve only had one orgasm and you already feel ruined. He can tell the way you tremble against him, so he checks in once more.

“Green?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

You nod. “Green. You?”

He smirks. “Absolutely.”

He picks you up into his arms, inelegantly tossing you onto the bed behind you. You giggle as you bounce on the mattress, tugging your shirt over your head as he does the same to his. His hands move for his belt and you practically jump to the end of the bed, swatting his hands away.

“Since when is that your job?” you frown up at him, unbuckling his belt without looking.

He laughs, petting your head gently. “So sorry, you’re right.”

“What was that?” you tease. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you smirk, pulling his belt out of the loops and tossing it somewhere. You don’t wait for him to reply before you unbutton his jeans, yanking them down with his boxers.

There’s just something about his dick. You hate that you love it, or maybe you don’t hate it at all. All you know is you need it in your mouth right now.

So, you do that, without any warning. Aaron thrusts forward into your mouth on pure instinct, not expecting you to wrap your lips around him so soon. You slide down the edge of the bed onto your knees, pulling him back to you by his thighs. 

You take your time, pushing his jeans and boxers down further. When you pull back for air, he steps out of them and kicks them elsewhere, returning to you quickly, knowing better than to keep you waiting. 

You swallow him down again, moaning around him in the way you know he loves. It takes all of two seconds before he gently holds the back of your head, asking silently for permission that you were already about to grant. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes as you squeeze his thigh twice. Go ahead.

The thing about Aaron fucking your face is that it took a while for him to do it as hard as you really wanted. He’s always so gentle, a quality that drew you to him initially. You love how gentle he can be. But you love it equally as much when he is rougher with you.

Like now, when he has you pinned against the bed, one hand on the back of your head as he fucks into your throat. It’s blissful, quite frankly, the way he feels, and you thank the universe every time for your lack of a gag reflex. 

He holds you there with a deep groan, and you feel him twitch in your throat once before he pulls you off entirely. You frown up at him, once again not getting what you wanted, but he doesn’t have any time for that.

He picks you up by your armpits, hauling you back onto the bed. Your leggings and underwear are gone in a single second, along with your bra. He’s crawling up your body and crowding your space before you have a second to protest that he wasn’t down your throat for near as long as you wanted him to be. 

All frustrations leave your mind the second he pushes inside of you, immediately sliding home, his hips flush against yours. 

It’s a feeling you’ve grown to love, the way he hits you so deep. Another thing it took him a while to be comfortable doing.

He’s not average sized by any means, and you’re the first to admit it made you salivate the first time you saw. The first time he fed himself into you and worried that he was hurting you, meanwhile you were clawing his back because you wanted more. It hurt for a moment, only an uncomfortable pressure because he was bigger than your vibrator, but as soon as you were used to the size of him, you wanted all of him.

He stays there, deep in you without moving for a moment, grinding against you. His lips attack yours again before he pauses to lean his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath.

“You drive me crazy,” he says on a shaky exhale.

You wrap your legs around him, thrusting your hips up to take him a little more. His hips stutter, pushing in the way you wanted him to, the way you know you can make him do involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he bites out, turning his attention to your neck again.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging. “Exactly. So why aren’t you moving?”

He nips at your neck. “Because if I move, I will cum right away.”

“Who said I only want you to cum inside me once?”

He groans again, fingers digging into your hips as you circle them, though he doesn’t try to stop you. “Greedy” is all he says, but he finally moves.

The thrusts are slow at first, Aaron clearly trying to pace himself. You can’t say you’re doing the same, already chasing your second high as he slams his hips into yours. Your hand reaches down to rub your clit, but is promptly smacked away by Aaron’s hand as he glares at you.

“Since when is that your job?” he echoes you from earlier, only this time, there’s more heat to it. He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head to stop any other temptation. “Not this time.”

His thrusts pick up speed and depth, his body moving against yours in the exact way that makes you fall apart. It’s not often that he doesn’t let you cum from added clit stimulation -- not that you can’t without it; it just makes the high feel that much better -- but sometimes he does. It’s an ego trip for him as much as it is for you.

It also adds an unpredictable nature to it, which is why your second orgasm takes you by such surprise. You seize against him, your hands doing all sorts of squirming to try to break free of his grasp, but he doesn’t let you, and he doesn’t let up. You don’t realize why until you feel the warmth spreading into you as he reaches his own peak. 

You’ve clearly worked him up as much as you worked yourself up because his thrusts barely slow down, and he doesn’t soften inside of you. 

Instead, he pulls out only to flip you on your side, sliding in behind you and pulling your leg up and back over his hips. The action causes some of his cum to spill out of you, but you don’t have any time to focus on that before he fucks back into you. 

You’ve ceased to have any coherent thoughts as Aaron whispers dirty nothings into your ear, one arm wrapped around your body to keep you pinned against him. The pleasure doesn’t stop and at one point, you question if your second orgasm stopped at all or if it has continued this entire time.

Aaron reaches underneath the pillow where he knows he’ll find one of your vibrators because he heard you using it this morning. No, he didn’t fuck you this morning, but you fucked yourself, and truly, at 8am, he should’ve known you’d end up like this by eleven. 

Your mind doesn’t register what the sound means until the vibrator is pressed against your clit. Your body jerks, scrambling for some grounding, your hands finding it in wrapping them around his arm. 

He switches hands on the vibrator, so one hand is free to wrap around your throat. Your eyes roll back as soon as you feel the gentle pressure, your body practically going limp against him. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs directly into your ear, his thrusts slowing to deep strokes. “You’ve got a couple more in you.”

“A couple?” is all you manage to say, your hand squeezing his wrist so he knows to squeeze your throat a little more.

“Mhm,” his voice rumbles in your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. “Is it too much?” His question is laced with just the right amount of pity that makes you shake your head against him. “I thought so,” he replies, switching the vibrator to a higher setting.

It sends you into your third orgasm instantly, squirming violently against him as he pushes into you deeper. He knows how much you love that, and loves how much you squeeze around him as he slides inside, fighting against your muscles that threaten to force him out. You’ve done it before, a mesmerized look on his face and yours when you both realized what happened. Since then, you told him you liked it more when he fought to stay inside. 

He takes the vibrator away as you calm down, his hips also pausing, keeping himself deep inside you. The pressure is soothing, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. His palm falls away from your throat, instead propping underneath your cheek.

It takes a few seconds before you feel yourself spasming around him. He chuckles against your back, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Still?”

You nod dumbly, rocking your hips again. “Yeah. I don’t know, I just-- Need more.”

“I’ve got you,” he soothes, pulling out again to roll you onto your stomach instead, one of your favorite positions.

You’re floating as you settle into the pillows, letting Aaron manhandle you wherever you need to be. You groan in your happy, blissed out state as he slides home again, draping himself over your back.

He is gentler now, knowing that’s exactly what you need at this point. The last orgasm he pulls from you is just as gentle, and he pushes deeper into you, letting you ride it out. 

He pulls your hips up and thrusts once, twice before he’s spilling into you. You didn’t realize he was that close again. The warmth is soothing this time as it spreads through you. 

Aaron leaves you only to settle behind you, spooning you once again. Your hand reaches behind you to find him, and he catches your wrist. 

“You need to rest,” he chides softly.

“I know,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck as he slides in again, still half-hard, but it’s enough. You settle down as soon as the weight of him is tucked inside you again. “Better?”

“Mhm,” you sleepily nod, pushing back into him so he holds you tighter. “Do you have to go back to work?”

He chuckles against you, sighing. “No, I’m done for the day, I think,” he says. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”

That makes you laugh. “We need a better excuse.”

“Or I need to go back to working in the office.”

You roll your eyes. “Like that’ll make a difference.”

He shakes his head, his mind remembering the same memories that you are. The many lunch hours when you went to eat with him, and ended up with your back pressed into the couch, his tie stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer. “I’ll make us lunch when we wake up.”

“Perfect,” you smile, nuzzling into him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” he says, pressing little kisses to your neck and cheeks, wherever he can reach. “Now sleep.”

You’re already halfway there. The combination of him nestled inside of you and the post-orgasm exhaustion is enough to lull you into a restful sleep.

[leaderwonim]

❀ DEFINITELY NOT MY CROWD.

pairing. frat!jungwon x shy!fem!reader

genre. romcom, american college au, strangers to enemies to lovers (bye??), angst, fluff, mature

synopsis. when your friend drags you out to a frat party a week before the holidays, you didn’t expect to fall into the graces of yang jungwon, one of the fraternity boys at your university. One accidental kiss with Yang Jungwon and a viral post later, you wake up to a text from your sister: “Bring your new boyfriend to Christmas dinner!” Now, you’ve got one week to turn this chaos into a holiday miracle—or a romcom disaster.

“Hey, wake up.”

Madeleine taps on your shoulder, and when you only respond with a mhmm, she takes both shoulders and shakes you violently.

“What the hell Mads!” You say, getting up in a hurry. “What can you possibly need now?”

“Oh shut up, you’re making it sound like you despise me.” She throws an arm around your shoulder. “Will you come with me to Luca’s party?”

“You know I don’t do frat parties.” You say, already brushing off her suggestion. “They’re just loud and people make out in every corner.”

“But you never go out!” Madeleine slumps her body against yours, practically trapping you on your own bed. “Please.”

“Mads I love you, but no.”

Except here you were, in front of Alpha Delta something—was it Alpha Delta Pi? You didn’t know.

All you knew was that the music was way too loud for it not to have a noise complaint from the neighboring houses, and that there were too many drunk college students stumbling everywhere on the grass out front.

“I’m soooo glad we decided to do this!” Madeleine swings her arms around your shoulder, leading you inside the gigantic frat house.

“Madeleine!” A guy comes up to the two of you, his cheeky smile never leaving his face. “And who’s this?”

“Y/N, my roommate I told you about!” Madeleine smiles at you, “you remember Will right? From Econ?”

Will. Will. You’re trying so hard to remember him, until you realize he’s the blonde in front of you, his hockey gear always taking up half of the space.

“This is my girlfriend, Kallie!” Will puts his arm around the girl next to him. “Well it’s nice seeing you Madeleine and Y/N, have a good night!”

Even though he was notoriously loud in class, he was a bit of a sweetheart, and it made you feel a bit better about being here.

“See, that wasn’t so bad right?”

You nod, letting her guide you throughout the house to the kitchen.

“Do you want Pink Whitney or Tequila?”

You decided on Pink Whitney.

“Oh shit—I’m so sorry.” The guy who bumps into you turns around, his pupils dilated and red. He’s clearly very drunk.

“It’s fine.”

“I’m Jungwon!” He smiles at you brightly, dimples showing ever so proudly.

It seemed like everybody at this party was all about smiling tonight.

“Oh Won! You’re here!” Madeleine slides you your shot, and you down it in one go, silently cursing yourself for not taking a chaser beforehand.

“Yep, kinda have to because this is my frat.”

Now that he’s not stumbling over his own foot, you come to realize he’s actually pretty cute. His brown hair is messy and he’s wearing some plain navy blue hoodie that makes him look more attractive than he actually should be.

“This is Y/N, my roommate!”

Jungwon slips his hand into yours, shaking it in a hurry. “Nice to meet you Y/N, wish it was under better circumstances.”

His joke earns a playful shove from Madeleine, who raises her eyebrows at you, already hinting that you should talk to the boy.

“Well I gotta go talk to Luca, catch you two later!”

You don’t have time to pull Madeleine back because she’s already gone, leaving you alone with Jungwon.

“Hey.” He says, now suddenly closer to you. “Wanna kiss?”

It’s a straightforward almost humorous ask, one that a stranger who’s just known you for five minutes shouldn’t ask. But because the alcohol already entered your system and you have nothing better to do; you nod.

Jungwon leaves no time for you to take a breath before sweeping in, closing the gap between yours and his mouth. You can hear hoots from his frat brothers as the kiss grows more intense.

You’re sure you’ve become the very same people that you used to make fun of—the ones who would make out at the corner of parties and act like they had no decency or self respect.

But who cares, right? This was the one time you were out, and finals had been stressing you like a pounding headache, why would a kiss from some random frat guy affect you after the party?

You were clearly very wrong.

-

The next day, you’re awaken to your annoying alarm clock, groaning as you tap aggressively on the snooze button.

“Oh shit,” you say, feeling lightheaded when you try to get up. “What time is it?”

From the corner of your eye, you can see Madeleine’s blonde hair spread out on every part of her bed, her limbs tangled in her blankets.

You try to rub your eyes as you reach for your phone, and when your vision clears, the first thing you do is let out a shrilling scream.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

“What? What’s wrong?” Madeleine’s head pops up, her hair messy and all over her face.

Madeleine stares at you groggily as you toss your phone at her. She fumbles to catch it, squinting at the screen before her eyes widen.

She slaps a hand over her mouth, though the giggles that escape are anything but subtle.

"Why is there a video of me kissing Jungwon everywhere?!" You groan, flopping back on your bed as the stress headache from finals makes a sudden comeback.

"It's not just a video," Madeleine says, scrolling furiously. "You and Jungwon are, like, the new talk of the frat. You know how frat boys are like. The sorority girls might even be jealous."

"I'm going to die," you mutter into your pillow.

"You are not going to die, Y/N."

You groan, yanking the pillow off your face just as your phone vibrates again. Madeleine hands it back to you, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

You don't even have to check the screen to know who's texted you. You sigh and unlock it.

[annoying older sis]: Bring your new boyfriend to Christmas dinner. I’m serious. Mom’s already setting the table for him.

You sit up so fast you almost get whiplash.

"No. Nope. No way. This cannot be happening." You turn to Madeleine, holding your phone out like it’s cursed. "My family thinks Jungwon’s my boyfriend. What am I supposed to do now?!"

"Bring him!" Madeleine chirps, far too enthusiastic for this godforsaken situation.

"Are you insane? I barely know him! He’s probably already forgotten who I am."

As if the universe is mocking you, your phone buzzes again.

[Unknown Number]: Hey, it’s Jungwon. Can we talk?

You stare at the screen, heat rushing to your face.

"Is that him?" Madeleine practically screeches, leaning over to read the text. "Oh my god, Y/N, he’s texting you first. This is fate!"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing her away as you type back:

Sure. Where?

The response is almost instant.

[Jungwon]: Can you meet me at the campus café in an hour?

Madeleine screeches in excitement yet again.

-

An hour later, you’re already regretting your life choices as you walk into the café, spotting Jungwon sitting at a table near the window. His hoodie from last night is gone, replaced with a clean black sweater that somehow makes him look even more attractive.

When he sees you, he grins, those stupid dimples making your stomach flip for reasons you refuse to acknowledge.

"Hey," he says as you sit down across from him, awkwardly tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Hey," you reply, wondering if it’s possible to combust from secondhand embarrassment.

"So, uh…" Jungwon rubs the back of his neck, looking almost as nervous as you feel. "About last night…"

You brace yourself for him to tell you he doesn’t want anything to do with you, that the kiss was a mistake, and you should forget it ever happened.

But then he says: "I wanted to apologize. I don’t usually, like, kiss random strangers at parties. I was kinda drunk, and I just… yeah, sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

You blink, caught off guard by how genuine he sounds. "Oh, um, it’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t terrible or anything."

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. "Wow. 'Not terrible.' High praise."

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "Sorry. I’m awkward and shy and bad at this."

"I noticed," he says with a chuckle.

When you peek through your fingers, you find him smiling softly at you, his eyes warm and kind.

"Anyway," you say quickly, dropping your hands. "I’m sure you’ve seen the video by now."

"Yeah," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck again. "That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. People are, uh, kinda freaking out about it. And my fraternity brothers keep calling you my girlfriend."

"Funny you should mention that," you say with a dry laugh. "My family thinks you’re my boyfriend too. My sister wants me to bring you to Christmas dinner."

His eyes widen. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah. And I don’t know how to tell them the truth without ruining Christmas, so I was thinking…"

"You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?" he finishes, tilting his head.

"Just for a week!" you say quickly, holding up your hands. "We get through Christmas, and then we go our separate ways. No one has to know it wasn’t real."

Jungwon looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he says, "Okay. I’ll do it."

You blink. "Wait, really?"

"Sure," he says with a shrug. "It sounds kinda fun. And honestly…" He leans forward, his voice dropping to a soft, almost teasing tone. "I need to get out of my frat house. They have yet to let me live down this moment."

Your face flushes, and you look away, muttering, "Frat guys are ridiculous."

"Maybe," he says, grinning.

This was going to be a disaster. You could already feel it.

-

The rest of the week feels like a blur of planning. Between texting Jungwon to coordinate your "backstory" and surviving Madeleine’s endless teasing, you barely have time to process what’s happening.

"How do we even explain how we met?" you ask Jungwon during one of your brainstorming sessions at the campus library.

"We could just tell the truth," he says, leaning back in his chair. "That we kissed at a party."

You give him a look. "Do you want my family to hate you?"

"Fair point," he laughs. "Okay, how about we say we met through Madeleine and just… hit it off?"

"Sounds fake but okay."

You decide to meet again the next day after class to properly establish some backstory for your "relationship." Jungwon shows up late, looking like he just rolled out of bed.

"Nice of you to show up," you say sarcastically, already in a foul mood from a pop quiz from your professor.

"Sorry, I was busy," he says, completely unbothered.

"Doing what? Beer pong practice?"

"Actually, yes," he says, grinning. "Gotta keep the skills sharp."

You groan. "Unbelievable. How am I supposed to convince my family you’re my boyfriend when you’re this… this frat boy?"

"Hey, being a frat boy isn’t a personality flaw," he says, feigning offense. "Besides, you’re the one who dragged me into this. If you wanted someone polished, you should’ve asked that guy from your bio class—what’s his name? Eric?"

"First of all, Eric has a girlfriend," you retort. "Second, I didn’t drag you into this. Madeleine did."

"Same difference," he says with a shrug.

You glare at him, but he just smiles, annoyingly relaxed.

This was going to be a long week.

-

You figure a visit to the Christmas market downtown might help you get some convincing couple photos. But of course, Jungwon treats the whole thing like a joke.

"Hold still," you say, holding up your phone.

Jungwon drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer than necessary. "Come on, you gotta sell it, Y/N. Look like you’re in love with me."

You shove his arm off. "I can’t do that when you’re being this insufferable."

"Insufferable?" he repeats, feigning offense. "You wound me."

"You’ll live," you mutter, snapping a photo.

He peers over your shoulder at the screen. "That’s terrible. Here, let me."

Before you can protest, he takes your phone, tilts his head toward yours, and snaps a selfie. To your annoyance, it actually looks good.

"There," he says, handing the phone back to you. "You’re welcome."

You stare at the photo, trying not to notice how natural the two of you look together. "You’re so annoying."

"And yet, here we are," he says with a grin.

“Whatever.”

-

"Why do we need so much food?" Jungwon complains, trailing behind you as you push a cart through the grocery store.

"Because my family eats a lot," you say, scanning the shelves for the specific brand of cranberry sauce your mom insists on.

He picks up a box of gingerbread cookies and examines it. "Why don’t we just bring these? No one’s gonna care."

"Are you serious?" you ask, snatching the box out of his hands. "We’re not showing up with store-bought cookies. My mom would have a heart attack."

"Wow," he says, leaning against the cart. "You’re really committed to this whole 'perfect daughter' thing, huh?"

You glare at him. "Unlike you, I actually care what my family thinks."

"Touché," he says, holding up his hands in surrender. "But for the record, I think your mom would survive."

You ignore him and toss the cookies back on the shelf.

Later that night, after spending hours wrapping presents, you find Jungwon lounging on the couch in your apartment, scrolling through his phone.

"Do you ever do anything productive?" you ask, flopping down next to him.

"Define 'productive,'" he says without looking up.

"I don’t know. Something that doesn’t involve your phone or beer pong."

He smirks. "You’re obsessed with beer pong. Did someone beat you at it once or something?"

"No," you say defensively. "I just think it’s a ridiculous way to spend your time."

"Noted," he says, finally putting his phone down. "So what do you do for fun, Miss Holier-Than-Thou?"

"I read. I bake. I actually contribute to society," you say with a smug smile.

"Wow. Thrilling," he says, but there’s a teasing glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, he leans his head back against the couch and lets out a deep sigh.

"Okay, seriously, though," he says. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"A little," you admit. "My family can be… a lot."

"I’ll survive," he says, turning to look at you. "But what about you? Are you gonna be okay?"

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. For once, he’s not teasing or joking. He’s just… Jungwon.

"Yeah," you say softly. "I think so."

"Good," he says, smiling at you. "Because no matter how terrible this dinner is, I’ve got your back."

And just like that, the walls you’ve been trying so hard to keep up start to crack.

-

By the time Christmas Eve rolls around, you’re a ball of nerves. Jungwon picks you up in his car, looking annoyingly calm and way too good in a dark green sweater and tailored coat.

"You ready?" he asks as you slide into the passenger seat.

"Absolutely not," you reply, clutching the tin of cookies you baked as a distraction the night before.

"You’ll be fine," he says, flashing you that same dimpled smile that’s starting to become your undoing.

The moment you walk through your parents’ front door, you’re greeted by your sister, Addison.

"There she is!" Addison exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug that feels more like a performance for whoever might be watching. "And this must be Jungwon!"

Jungwon smiles politely, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Addison looks him up and down, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her champagne glass. "Wow. Y/N really outdid herself this time."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Your older sister has always had a way of making everything about her, even when it’s not supposed to be.

"Where’s Mom?" you ask, desperate to change the subject.

"In the kitchen,"s she says, waving a dismissive hand. "But don’t worry about that. We need to get a picture of the happy couple for Instagram."

Before you can protest, Addison drags you and Jungwon to the living room, posing you in front of the tree like a pair of dolls.

"Smile!" she says, her phone already snapping away.

Jungwon leans in closer, his arm sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You stiffen for a moment before forcing a smile, trying not to think about how warm he feels.

"Perfect," Addison says, scrolling through the photos with a self-satisfied smirk.

Dinner is somehow both better and worse than you expected.

Your mom keeps asking Jungwon about his family, his major, and his plans after graduation, while your dad mostly nods approvingly between bites of turkey.

Your sister, however, spends the entire meal subtly (and not-so-subtly) comparing everything you’ve ever done to her own achievements.

"Oh, you’re studying business, Jungwon? That’s cute. My fiancé, Ryan, just got promoted to VP at his firm," she says with a laugh that grates on your nerves.

"That’s impressive," Jungwon says politely, but you can tell he’s unimpressed.

"And Y/N," Addison continues, turning her attention to you. "It’s so nice to see you with someone. I was starting to think you’d be single forever."

The table goes silent. Your mom tries to awkwardly steer the conversation elsewhere, but the damage is done. You feel your cheeks burn, and you suddenly lose your appetite.

After dinner, you excuse yourself, slipping out onto the back porch to get some air. The cold bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You just need a moment to breathe.

You’re staring at the snow-covered yard when the door creaks open behind you.

"Hey," Jungwon says softly, stepping outside. He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders before you can protest.

"Thanks," you mumble, pulling the coat tighter around you.

"You okay?" he asks, leaning against the railing beside you.

"I’m fine," you lie, though your voice cracks on the last word.

Jungwon gives you a look, the kind that makes you feel like he can see right through you.

"She always does this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Addison. The perfect sister who has to be better at everything."

"You’re not supposed to do that, you know," he says lightly, gesturing towards your cigarette.

You roll your eyes and lean against the railing, lighting it with a practiced flick of your lighter. "I don’t. I barely smoke. But, you know, desperate times…"

Jungwon chuckles, his breath fogging in the cold air. "I get it."

You exhale, the smoke curls around you, rising into the frosty night. "She just knows how to get under my skin. It’s like she’s made a career out of it."

Jungwon leans next to you, resting his elbows on the railing. "I don’t know. Sounds like she’s just jealous."

You laugh humorlessly. "Of what?"

"Of you," he says simply.

You blink at him, caught off guard. "Are you serious?"

"Completely." He reaches over and plucks the cigarette from your fingers, taking an awkward, experimental puff before immediately coughing.

You burst out laughing as he doubles over, waving a hand in front of his face. "What—what are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out what the big deal is," he says between coughs, his cheeks turning pink—though whether it’s from the cold or his failed attempt at smoking, you’re not sure.

"You don’t have to join me, you know," you tease, taking it back from him.

He straightens up, giving you a sheepish grin. "I just wanted to see what you like about it."

"It’s not about liking it," you admit, tapping the ash against the railing. "It’s more—I don’t know. It gives me something to do when I feel like falling apart."

Jungwon is quiet for a moment, watching the snow-covered yard below. Then he says, "You don’t need this."

You glance at him, surprised by the softness in his tone.

"You could just… talk to me instead,” he says, his eyes meeting yours.

Your heart does that annoying flip thing again, and you quickly look away. "Talking doesn’t solve everything, you know."

"No, but it helps." He pauses, then adds with a teasing smile, "And it’s probably better for your lungs."

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. "Fine. Next time, I’ll talk to you."

"Good."

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels rare and precious. The cigarette burns down to a stub, and you flick it into the snow, watching the ember fade out.

His presence is warm and steady, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel so overwhelmed.

"Thanks." You say softly. "For agreeing to this. I don't even know what I was thinking suggesting it. Addison just texted me and I freaked. I guess there was always a part of me that wanted to impress her."

Jungwon hesitates for a moment, then says, "You know, you don’t give yourself enough credit."

You glance at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—you let people like Addison make you feel small, but you’re not. You’re kind, and funny, and you care about people. That’s more than most people can say."

You stare at him, your throat tightening. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because it’s true," he says, his voice soft but certain.

You shake your head, looking down at your hands. "You don’t even know me that well."

"I know enough," he says.

There’s a long pause, and then, almost too quietly to hear, he adds, "I love you."

Your head snaps up, your heart pounding in your chest. "What?"

"I love you," he repeats, looking right at you.

"You’re insane." You say, voice barely above a whisper. "You’ve known me for a week. I'm awkward and I wouldn't make a good girlfriend. You'd be ashamed of me, you know."

"I love you, Y/N."

You're not too sure what to say, not expecting him to stand his ground so firmly.

"I didn’t expect this to happen. I thought this would just be some silly, fake thing. I don’t care if you think you’re awkward or shy or anything else. I love you exactly the way you are."

You take a shaky breath, your chest tight with emotions you don’t know how to name.

"I don’t know what to say," you admit.

"You don’t have to say anything," he says gently.

You nod, your heart still racing as he steps back inside, leaving you alone with the snow and the stars and the weight of his words.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, his cheeks pink from the cold, his eyes full of warmth and sincerity.

And then, before you can overthink it, you rise on your tiptoes and kiss him.

This time, it’s not for show. It’s not for anyone else.

It’s just for you.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

I’ll Take Care Of You

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: sick Lando, smut

You weren't supposed to show up at the Las Vegas GP because you had your own business commitments, but knowing the state Lando was in, you decided to drop everything and come with him. You knew he needed you there and there wasn't a second of doubt in your mind whether or not to go with him when you saw how sick he really was.

After Brazil, Lando was not feeling well mentally. He couldn't sleep, he wouldn't eat or drink, his mood was at zero and all of this affected his immune system which resulted in him falling ill just before the Vegas GP.

Your heart ached seeing him like this because you knew there was nothing you could do except be there for him until he got through it. The only good thing about all of this was taking the pressure of being a world champion off his shoulders until next season at least.

Before the Vegas race, Lando could barely function, to be honest. His nose was blocked, his head was pounding, and he could barely hear in one ear.

As you closely followed the race in the garage, it no longer mattered to you which place he would take, you just prayed that he would finish the race safely and successfully so you can get him out of there.

So once the race was finally over, you were relieved, and so was he. When he got out of the car and took his helmet and balaclava off his head, he immediately looked for you with his eyes.

"Baby.." You looked at him sadly, approaching him and extending your arms towards him. "Are you alright?"

"Hey, love" His head fell onto your shoulder as he buried his face in your neck, pulling you closer to him. "I feel so sick" He sighed quietly and you immediately put your palm against his forehead to check his temperature.

"Lan, you're burning"

He was exhausted, so tired he could barely keep his eyes open and head up. He desperately needed to rest and all you wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Go get changed and we're going to the hotel, okay?" You tell him.

"No, I don't wanna go to the hotel, I wanna go home." He says.

"Lan, you can't get on a plane like this. You need to get some rest first and then we're gonna go home"

"No, please baby, I just wanna go to our home, please. I really need it. I know I'll feel better as soon as we get home." He whines. You sigh for a moment just looking at him as you ponder if this really is a smart decision. "Please" His eyes plead and you finally agree.

He was clinging to you the entire flight, holding his head in your lap and trying to sleep. He still had a fever so you improvised compresses to put over his forehead.

Lando wasn't sick often, but once in a while when he caught a cold, it would wipe him out. It was the same this time. He was bedridden for a week, and you were there every day taking care of him. He wasn't even exaggerating, he was really sick and you were worried he would get dehydrated or his condition would get worse. You even wanted to take him to the emergency room, but he promised he was fine and just needed you by his side.

Once he finally felt well enough to get out of bed and go further than the bathroom, you felt a pair of arms hug you around your waist as you prepared lunch in the kitchen.

"Hey, baby" Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

"Hey" He smiled nuzzling his head into your neck and leaving a kiss.

"Are you feeling any better?" You asked.

"Mhm. My throat is still a little sore, but I feel much better." He says in a hoarse voice.

"Well, good then." You rise on your tiptoes to leave a kiss on his cheek. "You have no idea how happy that makes me. You really got me worried."

"Thank you for taking care of me" He smiles putting your face between his hands.

"You don't need to thank me for that. I enjoy doing it."

"I know, but that's my job - to take care of you and me."

"You know how they say, 'in sickness and in health'." You both laugh considering you're not even engaged yet, let alone married even though people around you keep asking you about it all the time.

"Do I hear the wedding bells?" Lando asks.

"I don't know, do you?"

"I think I do." He smirks biting his lip before pressing his lips against yours knowing it's only a matter of time before he proposes to you.

Although he felt better physically, he still hadn't mentally recovered from the 'defeat', even though he didn't want to admit it. But it gave him away when you looked for him on his side of the bed in your sleep and couldn't find him.

You squinted at your phone to see what time it was and when it showed 2 a.m. you found it strange that he wasn't there because he usually sleeps all night.

You headed straight for the living room where you found him on the couch in front of the TV. He was lying down in his boxers, watching TV, but his gaze was thoughtful and you knew something was bothering him.

"Lan?"

"Baby, what are you doing awake?" He asks extending his arm for you to lie down next to him.

"I have the same question for you." You say taking a place next to him and leaning your head against his chest.

"Couldn't sleep, I was tossing and turning the whole time. I got up so I wouldn't wake you up."

"And why couldn't you sleep?" You ask, but he stays silent. "Baby, what's bothering you? Talk to me, please."

"You already know what it is" He sighs tracing his fingers over your shoulder. "But I don't wanna talk about it anymore. I really don't, I just need to get through it."

"Is there anything I can do about it?"

"You're here with me. That's all I need." He says placing a kiss to your forehead.

But you were determined to do something, anything, to make him feel at least a little better. And what's better than satisfying him to relieve him of frustration and tension.

Besides, it's been over two weeks since the last time you fucked. You'd be lying if you said you didn't need him in the same way and you thought tonight was the perfect opportunity for both of you so you straddled him and started kissing him gently.

He gave in to the kiss, not yet realizing what you were up to. It was only when you slowly started grinding your hips against him that he smiled into the kiss.

"What's on your mind, baby?" He asked gripping your hips.

"Just wanna make you feel better" You said moving your lips to his neck. He moaned throwing his head back and you felt him starting to get hard underneath you.

You soon positioned yourself between his legs and pulled his boxers down. He quickly got rid of them, throwing them aside, and you began to kiss him around his length.

"Wanna please you" You said between kisses.

He took his cock in his hand and tapped it against your lips. You stuck out your tongue and licked his tip making him groan in response. You teased him by slowly licking him up and down and he was starting to get impatient.

"Baby, please" He whispered stroking himself against your lips.

"Please, what, Lan?" You asked innocently, stopping his hand and cupping his balls.

"Put it in your mouth"

His breath catches as your lips finally wrap around his cock. He collects your hair into a ponytail and tilts his head to get a better look at you taking him all the way in.

You keep taking him deeper and deeper until his tip hit the back of your throat and you gag around him.

"Oh fuck.." He moans while his fingers keep raking and twirling in your hair. Your hand soon replaces your mouth as you spit on his tip and stroke him up and down. You don't want him to cum this way, you want him to cum inside you and you know he's close so you straddle him again guiding his cock to your entrance.

"Fuck, baby, fuck" His hands are pulling your night dress up to reveal your ass and grab it. He lets out a low groan as you slowly sink down on him. Leaning back, he shifts his hips up to adjust how he's sitting.

"You feel so good, so big inside of me" You whine as your rock your hips back and forth.

"Yeah?" His eyes are stuck on you as he grips your hips tighter and presses his lips against your neck.

"Stretching me out so good, Lan, shit" You make special effort to compliment him tonight as you keep on riding him quickening your pace.

He grips your ass tighter pulling you down harder on him. His breath is ragged in your ear and it makes you take him deeper and harder needing him to lose control. And you know what's coming next when you feel him twitch inside you.

"I'm cumming" He chokes out triggering your own orgasm. You clench around him as he fills you up biting his teeth into your skin.

He hugged you tightly, kissing your forehead while you lay leaning against his chest, barely catching your breath from the sweet release you both needed so desperately.

"I love you" He whispers. "I love you more than anything"

[hard-core-super-star]

push me on the counter, call me princess [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: you and wanda develop a connection you definitely shouldn't have with someone in a relationship. unbeknowst to you, it's all part of their plan.

warnings: PURE SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> mentions of cheating! [no actual cheating, though! wandanat have an agreement, R doesn't know about it until things get spicy]; mommy + daddy kink; nipple play; impact play; wanda using her powers to hold R down; fingering [R receiving]; oral [Nat receiving]; twinges of humiliation; degradation + praise; nat's a little mean but we love her for it; use of the term 'slut'; probably more but i forgot

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: so...i'm technically not doing anything official for kinktober this year because school is kicking my butt already BUT i have a few ideas for some very filthy smut fics so i'll be posting them this month. i haven't written for wandanat in a minute so i hope i did them justice. please let me know your thoughts, i hope you enjoy <3

[part two | part three]

* * * * * * *

It was supposed to be a one time thing.

That's what you told Wanda when she pushed you against the farthest wall in some dingy, badly-lit, New York bar.

The two of you had come back from a long, draining, mission and, instead of staying at the Compound and actually resting, you decided to go out and get drunk to let off some steam. The mission had technically been a success, but it had also been a pain in the ass...and in the shoulder, thanks to the knife wound you'd received.

So, yeah, maybe going out wasn't the best idea in the first place.

In your defense, it was borderline impossible to say no to the witch. Mainly because she was very convincing when she wanted to be, but also because of your massive, and borderline ridiculous, crush on her.

To make matters worse, Wanda was pissed off at Natasha for...something and you ended up taking the place of a supportive partner.

It would have been fine had the drinks in your system not made your inhibitions lower significantly, which rendered you helpless against the green-eyed woman of your dreams. Then again, it's not like you were particularly against that idea in the first place.

Maybe that made you a horrible person.

Maybe that made Wanda a monster.

But how could she be one when she whispered the sweetest words in your ear while taking you over the edge and destroying you in the most pleasurable of ways? How could there be anything wrong about her soft caresses and gentle smiles?

A part of you knows the answer. It's wrong because the witch's heart isn't yours. Or worse, because someone else's heart belongs to the witch.

Because for all their problems and arguments, Wanda and Natasha love each other. At the very least, they tolerate each other enough to stay together.

And you don't fit into their relationship.

You shouldn't.

But Wanda isn't a person you can just ignore.

She makes that perfectly clear no less than a week after your little "mistake".

You're in the kitchen at the Compound, eating some leftovers and scrolling through your phone to keep yourself occupied, when Wanda walks in. You don't need to look at her to know she's pissed off. Her energy is way too heavy to mean anything else.

"Hey, Wands," you say, barely looking up from your phone out of fear of falling under her spell once more.

She walks over to you, leaning against the counter and silently watching you for a second. Her silence honestly scares you, but you don't question her yet. You know better than that.

"You've been avoiding me," she says, her voice soft yet not gentle. "Why is that?"

A shiver runs down your spine at the question. 

You know you can't lie to her, she's a freaking mind reader, but you can't exactly tell her the truth. You've both been trying to ignore it since the morning you woke up tangled together in her bed.

A bed she shares with someone who isn't you.

"I've been busy," you reply with a shrug. "Kate's been forcing me to train every day."

Clearly, that's the wrong answer, considering the tilt of her head.

Yup. You're fucked now.

"Is that so? I didn't realize you two were such good...friends."

Wanda pushes herself off the counter, taking slow, calculated, steps until she's standing behind you. If you weren't so focused on keeping your voice steady, you might have been able to guess what her plan in.

"Well, we both love annoying Clint and making Yelena mad."

She hums in response as her arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you back until you're firmly pressed against her. 

The action almost makes you fall off your stool. You somehow stay put, though, even as every fiber of your being tells you to leave. The harsh truth is that you don't want to leave.

You want her so badly that the consequences don't seem to matter.

Nothing matters but her.

Which is exactly what she wants.

"You should be careful with the little archer," she says, her hands not so subtly caressing your sides. "You know she's just going to use you then throw you away when she's bored."

The irony in her words isn't lost on you.

You open your mouth to let her know that when her hands move up and brush against your chest. It takes all your willpower to stop yourself from gasping.

"Wanda," you hiss. "We're in the middle of the kitchen."

"Relax, detka," she whispers into your ear, your body instantly obeying her words. "You know I won't let anyone see."

"Do I?" you reply. "Because it seems exactly like something you'd enjoy."

The witch chuckles despite herself. "That's true but you're not the only trying to keep things a secret."

You know her words should make you feel worse about this whole thing but right now, they only serve to turn you on. As messed up as it is, there's something exciting about the situation. 

About how much Wanda wants you.

So, even though you know you should push her away, you lean back against her, allowing her hands to explore your body however she wishes.

Your obedience (if you can even call it that) is instantly rewarded by the other woman. Her hands sneak their way under your shirt, her fingers drawing teasing shapes on your warm skin as she makes the journey upward.

"You're such a good girl for me, baby," she mumbles almost absent-mindedly. "Letting me use you like this. Letting me play with you whenever I want."

A part of you wants to put up a fight. To show her you have a bigger backbone than she realizes. That you're able to switch the tables on her whenever you want.

Unfortunately, that part of you goes quiet the second her fingers find your nipples. "Look at you, all ready for me, huh?"

"Shut up," you mumble as your cheeks heat up.

Your words of defiance earn you a sharp pinch to your already sensitive nipples. "Watch your mouth, sweetheart."

It's impossible to stop your back from arching as the leftover sting rushes through your system. You'd learned the hard way that Wanda could either be the sweetest or the most unforgivable lover. In a way, it made being with her all the more exciting...and unpredictable.

Then again, you can't pretend you don't like it. If you didn't, you would have never gotten mixed up with her in the first place.

"Sorry," you whisper, not sounding particularly sincere.

If Wanda notices, she doesn't point it out and instead goes right back to playing with your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples as she pleases.

Her actions only serve to make you more and more desperate for her. It's almost embarrassing how good she is at reading you. At knowing exactly what buttons to push to turn you into a shaking, pleading mess.

A part of you knows it's thanks to her powers that she can read your desires so well, but you ignore the thought for now. You could beat yourself up over all this later, right now, you had a very important task ahead of you.

"You're eager today," she teases, her eyes zeroing in on the slight movement of your hips. "Did you miss me that much?"

You're not sure why you're in such a defiant mood today but your mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. "Yeah, Kate was too busy today."

You don't see the scarlet that begins to overtake her eyes since you have your back to her. You miss the warning signs until she uses her magic to bend you over the counter, keeping your hands behind your back.

"You're going to regret talking to me like that," she says, holding you down easily thanks to her magic.

It's obvious you should apologize and yet you remain as composed as you possibly can given the situation. As stupid as it is, you're still mad at her for putting you in this situation.

Out of the two of you, she was the one who was in the wrong. She was the one fucking up her relationship just because she was upset with her girlfriend. And she had the audacity to pull you down with her.

To make you like it.

You couldn't place all the blame on her and yet you did it anyway. As if that would somehow fix the entire situation.

Her hand comes down on your ass before you can make your predicament worse. The sudden sensation makes you jump, the leftover sting taking over your mind.

"Wanda." Your attempt to sound mad falls completely flat since your voice is far too breathless for it to be convincing.

She spanks you again. Once. Twice. Each time striking both harder and faster.

"Try again, detka," she tells you, her voice unforgiving. "And then maybe, I'll go easy on you."

She won't.

You know she won't. But the idea that she could is more than tantalizing enough.

Although, then again, it wasn't like you didn't enjoy calling her by her beloved title.

"Mommy," you whisper, your voice sounding way too loud in the empty kitchen.

You don't need to be looking at her to see the proud grin that takes over her features.

This is the real reason why she wants you. Why she likes being with you. Because she doesn't need to fight you to get you to submit to her every whim.

"Good girl." Wanda's hands toy with the waistband of your pants. "Tell me what you want."

You allow the silence to drag on for a second longer than necessary. You both know you won't deny her, you can't, but that doesn't mean you can't keep her guessing. 

Maybe then she'll grow tired of you and stop using you so carelessly.

"Want you to touch me...please, mommy."

You half expect her to drag the moment out until you can't hold yourself back from begging for more. For her.

She doesn't, though, because unbeknownst to you, she's playing a different kind of game with you today.

Wanda uses her powers to undress you, barely giving you a second to register just how vulnerable she's leaving you. You know no one will walk in on you two, she promised you that much, but that doesn't make it any less scary...and thrilling.

"Look at you," she coos, her fingers spreading your slick folds. "So wet and I've barely even touched you. Such a needy thing, aren't you, sweetheart?"

It's embarrassing how hard your walls clench around pure air from the mere tone of her voice. It's that intoxicating mix between degrading and sweet that you want everything she's willing to give you.

"Yes, mommy," you whimper.

"Oh, I know," she says, pushing the tip of her index finger into your tight cunt. "She's such a good girl, isn't she?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but her powers hold you down and stop you from turning to look at her. Your question is answered before you can even ask it, though, as a certain pair of black boots make their way into your field of vision.

"I'm not sure." The sound of Natasha's voice sends a shiver down her spine. "She looks like a desperate slut to me."

Wanda stops you from answering, thanks to her powers. "Oh, come on, Nat, don't be mean. Look how eager she is to be played with."

The redhead rolls her eyes. "That just proves my point."

The witch laughs, taking the moment to sink her finger deeper into your pussy, relishing the wet sounds that fill the kitchen. You're more than a little humiliated, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. Worse, there's nothing you can do to deny how wet the situation is making you.

How desperate you are for more.

Wanda knows. Of course, she knows. It's partly because of her powers and partly because she knows your body far too well. And because she knows you so well, she gives you a chance to call the whole thing off before it even truly starts.

"What's your color, y/n?"

It would be so easy to say "red" and stop everything. You know there would be zero judgement. That despite whatever agreement they've come to, they'd both take a step back and make sure you were okay.

And yet...you can't seem to form the word.

Because, as much as you don't want to admit it...you want this.

"Green..." you whisper.

Wanda leans in, taking your mind off of Natasha's eyes on you, and peppers soft kisses across your back. The softness of her lips is a stark contrast to her previous demeanor and it helps calm down your speeding nerves.

The Russian steps forward, her hand cupping your face and gently tilting it backward until your eyes meet. "You want this, don't you, darling?"

You don't want to admit it but you can't bring yourself to lie to her. "Yes...I want this."

The sharpness in her eyes fades away slightly. There's still an edge of annoyance in her features but she looks almost as turned on as you feel. "Good girl."

Your walls clench around Wanda's finger and she chuckles before starting to move in and out of your tight heat. "I think she likes you, Nat."

"Shut up."

Wanda adds another finger into the mix, expertly stretching you out and drawing out a long moan from your parted lips. "That's it, just give in, sweetheart. Doesn't it feel better when you stop thinking so much?"

It's startling how right she is.

She doesn't wait for an answer this time, though, she simply speeds up her movements, curling her fingers in the way that drives you crazy. The pleasure slowly overwhelms your mind, removing all other thoughts until all you can focus on is how good it all feels. How much you like submitting to them like this.

"Mommy..." You whine, watching the way Natasha's eyes darken in response to your sounds. "Please...need more."

"Aw, are two fingers not enough for you, baby?" The fake pity in her tone turns you on more than it should. "Does your greedy pussy need more?"

You nod desperately, ignoring the humiliation that lingers in your every move.

All that earns you is another laugh from Wanda and an eye roll from Natasha.

The redhead steps back from you, causing you to whimper, before her hands move to her belt. Her eyes remain on yours as she starts removing her garments, slowly revealing the red strap-on resting between her legs.

Your lips part almost instantly once you catch sight of the full size of it and just how incredibly dominant it makes Natasha look. You shouldn't be surprised considering what everyone, including Wanda, always say about her. Then again, seeing is believing.

"So fucking eager, aren't you?" You know the Russian is technically making fun of you, but you can't help feeling a bit proud of yourself for the grin on her face.

She steps forward, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair and guide you forward. There's something weirdly soft about her movements, about the way she takes her time with you. Maybe, just maybe, she likes you more than she's let on.

You wrap your lips around the head of the dildo, your eyes glued to Natasha's face. You can see the flecks of pleasure spreading across her features, the way she clenches her jaw to stop herself from vocalizing it. It's like you're stuck in a far too arousing competition with her. Each of you trying your damn harderst to break the other.

Unfortunately for you, you also have Wanda working behind you, her fingers restlessly pumping in and out of your soaked entrance. She knows exactly how to wind you up. 

Exactly how to keep you on your toes yet wanting more.

Natasha guides you further down her cock, working the length deeper into your mouth. "You look so much better like this, malyshka."

"I told you," Wanda pipes up, choosing that exact moment to work another finger into your tight heat. "You just wanted to be a party pooper."

"Keep talking like that and you'll be next, Maximoff."

"You're no fun."

You've never heard Wanda like this. So pouty and borderline bratty. It's a stark contrast to the dominant woman you've grown so attached to. To the one that turns your brain to putty with just a few words.

"Don't get any ideas, sweetheart. Mommy's still in charge here."

You moan in response, the sound muffled by the dildo currently stuffing your mouth.

"If you're Mommy," Natasha says, starting to thrust into your mouth. "Does that make me Daddy?"

You try to voice your approval for the title but neither of the women pay attention to you. They just keep talking like you're not even there, like all you are is a toy for them to play with.

"I thought you didn't like being called that."

The redhead shrugs in response. "I don't but now I'm curious."

"I think our good girl would like it."

You wait for Natasha to complain and say something about how you aren't theirs. Maybe make fun of you again for even thinking they'd ever entertain that idea.

She doesn't, though.

All she does is double her efforts as she keeps thrusting into your mouth. 

The kitchen fills with the sounds of your pleasure as they both play with your needy holes.

You feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach getting tighter with each one of their well-timed thrusts. You're completely at their mercy and you love every second of their never-ending show of dominance.

Of control over you.

Wanda's movements speed up and you do your best to ask for permission to cum, knowing all too well the consequences that would await you if you forgot. It's practically impossible to speak, though, considering the way Natasha is still thrusting into your mouth, her hips grinding against the base of the dildo each time she slips the length back inside.

"I know, baby," the witch reassures you. "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

All she gets is a muffled whine in response, your body jerking forward when her thumb teases your swollen clit.

"Go ahead, darling," Natasha speaks up, her voice practically a low growl. "Cum all over Mommy's fingers for me."

You're not used to receiving such a command from the redhead and yet your body reacts immediatly to her tone. Your whole body seems to come alive as you fall over the edge, Wanda's fingers never ceasing in their movements. She expertly draws out your pleasure until you're left shaking and panting. 

The ringing in your ears doesn't allow you to hear the string of moans that leave Natasha's mouth as she watches the scene. The sight of you coming undone so violently causes her to fall apart, her fingers tightening in your hair until you're sputtering for air.

Thankfully, Wanda knows your limits well.

No words are exchanged as she uses her magic on you again. You're barely coherent, your mind still too muddled by pure pleasure and the cotton-filled haze of submission.

She gently sets you down on the couch, wiping down your soaked skin with a wet cloth, making sure to look you over in case their rough movements bruised you up.

"You okay, darling?" The witch asks as she settles down next to you.

You nod in response, shifting a little until your head rests in her lap. "Yeah...just tired."

"You should get some rest, detka. We have a lot to talk about."

Her words make you laugh. "That's an understament, Wands."

"Whatever." She moves her hand down to run her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp as sleep overcomes you.

There's a lot you don't understand, a lot you really figure out, but you feel safe with the knowledge that you haven't ruined anything. That you're not an intruder in their relationship. If anything, you're a welcome addition.

[brunchable]

How's retirement, Bucky? | Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Themes: Funny. Bucky trying to find things to do to kill time, while also being a menace to Y/N and the neighbours. Prequel to 'Ouch, My face.'

Summary: Bucky decides to retire and leave the super hero world behind, but now he doesn't know how to be normal citizen.

A/N: Just another scenario tha rudely popped into my head. . .

Bucky Barnes was retired.

It still felt strange, even after months of settling into a life of quiet mornings and unhurried afternoons. He had fought in wars, spent decades as an agent of chaos, and dedicated years to redemption and healing. Now, here he was—waking up whenever he pleased, making breakfast in a house that didn’t have bullet-proof glass windows or a panic room, and trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his day.

Today, like most others, started off simple enough: a run through the neighbourhood, a cup of coffee, and a lazy scan of the news. He’d even managed to fix the leaky faucet that had been bothering you for weeks, earning a soft kiss on the cheek as a reward.

But then… the day stretched on. There were no missions, no tactical planning, no world to save. Just the quiet ticking of the clock and the gentle hum of suburban life around him.

So, Bucky set his sights on something—or rather, someone—far more interesting: annoying you.

And thus began the saga of Bucky Barnes’ Retirement Phases.

Phase 1: The Handyman Hero Phase

Duration: One Month

Bucky started off strong, becoming the ultimate handyman of the household. Everything was fair game for improvement. Leaky faucets, creaky floorboards, wobbly shelves—if there was a screw to tighten, Bucky was on it like a well-oiled machine.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” you asked one morning, sipping your coffee as you watched him carefully measuring the distance between each picture frame on the living room wall.

“Making sure they’re exactly one inch apart,” he said without looking up, his voice deadly serious.

“Why?”

“Because last night, I noticed this one—” he pointed to a frame on the far left “—was slightly off-center, and it’s been bothering me ever since.”

You blinked. “Bucky, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Y/N. It’s one and a quarter inch apart. Do you know what happens when things aren’t balanced?” He gave you a haunted look, as if you’d just suggested destabilizing the world order.

“Chaos,” you muttered.

“Exactly.”

Within weeks, Bucky had rebuilt half the house, repainted the walls (twice), and installed a state-of-the-art security system that even Tony Stark would envy. You came home one day to find the couch moved three inches to the left, the coffee table completely gone (“I dismantled it; we don’t need it”), and Bucky seriously contemplating whether the kitchen would look better with marble or granite countertops.

“Bucky,” you said slowly, trying to remain calm, “I’m begging you—stop fixing things.”

He blinked at you. “What do you want me to do then?”

You panicked. “Anything. Just—find a hobby!”

He gave a solemn nod, as if you’d just entrusted him with a new mission. “Okay. A hobby. Got it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. If only you’d known what was coming next.

Phase 2: The Google Scholar Phase

Duration: Two Weeks

With his newfound free time, Bucky discovered the internet. And when Bucky Barnes discovers the internet, chaos ensues.

It started innocently enough. You’d come home to find him glued to his laptop, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“What are you doing?” you asked, setting down your bag.

“Research,” he said ominously, fingers flying over the keys.

“Research on… what?”

He glanced up, his eyes wide. “Did you know sharks have been around longer than trees?”

“Uh—”

“And that banana slugs can grow up to 9 inches long?” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a whole website dedicated to weird animal facts. I’ve been reading for hours.”

And so, you were subjected to two weeks of nonstop trivia.

“Hey, Y/N!” he’d shout from the kitchen. “Did you know an octopus has three hearts?”

Or: “Did you know cows have best friends?”

And: “Do you want to hear about the deepest point in the ocean?”

“Not really—”

“It’s called the Mariana Trench, and it’s seven miles down!”

You tried banning Wikipedia, but he just switched to obscure forums. You blocked YouTube, and he found a random chicken fact blog. The worst part? He’d share his newfound knowledge with anyone who’d listen.

“I’m calling Sam,” you muttered one evening after hearing Bucky recite the entire history of the humble potato to the mailman. “You need social intervention.”

Phase 3: The Home Décor Perfectionist Phase

Duration: Two Exasperating Weeks

Denied access to his newfound internet pursuits, Bucky turned to interior design. You were caught off guard one Saturday morning when he asked, “What do you think of paisley?”

“What’s a paisley?”

“Pattern. I’m thinking of reupholstering the couch.”

“Bucky, no—”

Too late. Within days, every room was a different colour. You came home to find polka-dotted curtains in the bathroom, and he’d somehow managed to install a chandelier in the laundry room.

“Bucky, why is there a 10-foot mirror in the hallway?”

“It makes the space feel bigger.”

“Bucky, this is a two-bedroom house!”

He paused, squinting at the living room wall. “I think the polka dots need to go.”

You nearly wept with relief when he announced he was moving on to the garden.

Phase 4: The Amateur Detective Phase

Duration: One Overly Suspicious Month

After redecorating the entire house, Bucky set his sights on the neighborhood.

“Y/N, did you see that guy across the street?” he whispered one morning, peering through the blinds with a pair of binoculars.

“That’s Mr. Henderson. He’s eighty-five.”

“Yeah, and he’s up to something. No one goes to the mailbox that often.”

“Maybe he likes getting his mail?”

“I’m telling you, something’s not right.” He tapped the binoculars. “I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”

And so began Operation: Neighborhood Watch. Every delivery truck was scrutinised. Every dog walker received a full background check. The poor Girl Scouts who came to sell cookies left looking slightly shell-shocked.

The Girl Scout Incident: When Bucky Barnes Met Thin Mints

The Girl Scout incident started out innocent enough—just a kid selling cookies to the neighborhood. But when Bucky Barnes answered the door, things took a turn.

It was a sunny Saturday morning. You were in the kitchen, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when you heard the doorbell ring. Before you could even get up to check, Bucky’s voice echoed from the living room.

“I got it!” he called out, already making his way to the front door.

Curious, you peeked around the corner just in time to see him open it. Standing on the porch was a sweet-looking little girl, no more than nine or ten, decked out in her green uniform, clutching a clipboard and flashing a bright, eager smile.

“Hi, mister!” she chirped, clearly undeterred by the stern look on Bucky’s face. “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies today?”

You watched as Bucky’s expression softened just a bit, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“Cookies?” he repeated, as if she’d just offered him nuclear launch codes.

“Yep!” She held up a laminated chart with pictures of the various cookies, pointing to each one with a tiny, rainbow-colored pen. “We have Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Samoas—uh, I mean, Caramel deLites—”

He squinted at the chart, clearly trying to make sense of it all. “Why would you need to sell cookies?”

You nearly face-palmed. Oh no.

The girl’s enthusiasm didn’t waver. “It’s a fundraiser! To support our troop activities and trips.”

“Fundraiser?” Bucky’s voice dropped suspiciously. “Who’s your troop leader?”

The girl blinked, a little taken aback. “Uh, Mrs. Patterson?”

“Uh-huh. And how many boxes of these so-called ‘cookies’ are you supposed to sell?”

Her smile wavered just a fraction. “Um, as many as possible?”

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “And where does all this money go?”

“Bucky—” you tried to interrupt, stepping forward, but he held up a hand without looking back, eyes still locked on the bewildered Girl Scout.

“It goes to our troop!” she answered nervously, glancing down at her clipboard as if for reassurance. “For badges and supplies and—”

“Supplies,” Bucky echoed, his tone suddenly sharp. “What kind of supplies?”

“Uh… arts and crafts…?” she stammered, clearly starting to get uncomfortable.

“Arts and crafts?” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Or something else?”

You saw the poor girl’s eyes widen, her grip tightening on her clipboard as if she was contemplating using it as a shield.

“Bucky, stop,” you hissed, stepping forward to intervene. But he was on a roll now.

“Who gets the money, huh?” He narrowed his eyes, peering down at her like she was an enemy combatant. “Do you get it?

“Or does it go to some mysterious ‘troop leader’ who’s hiding behind a desk somewhere, raking in profits from innocent cookie sales?”

“M-Mister, it’s just cookies,” she squeaked, glancing nervously at the boxes stacked beside her. “We just wanna go camping this summer.”

“Camping?” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “And what kind of ‘camping’ are we talking about here? Deep-woods recon training? SERE training?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

“Bucky, she’s nine!” you practically shouted, rushing over to save the poor child from what was rapidly escalating into a full-blown interrogation.

“But Y/N, this could be—”

“It’s not a conspiracy, Bucky!” you snapped, turning to the girl and giving her what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Sweetie, how much for a box of Thin Mints?”

“Uh… f-five dollars?” she stammered, still eyeing Bucky like he might suddenly sprout fangs.

You reached for your wallet, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and handing it to her. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” she squeaked, stuffing the money into her pouch with trembling hands.

You shot Bucky a glare. “Apologize.”

He crossed his arms, looking mulish. “But—”

“Bucky.”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Uh… sorry… for, um… asking about your troop leader and, uh… the money laundering?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly not following.

“Bucky!” you hissed, elbowing him sharply.

“I mean, sorry for… for… being weird,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The girl gave a hesitant nod, glancing back at her stack of cookies. “Um… would you like another box, mister?”

Bucky frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe. Which one’s the best?”

“Bucky—” you started, but he was already leaning down, listening intently as the girl launched into a detailed explanation of the flavour profiles of Samoas versus Tagalongs.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky was the proud owner of a dozen boxes of Girl Scout cookies, which the girl somehow managed to upsell him into buying. The look of relief on her face as she walked away was palpable.

You turned to Bucky, hands on your hips. “Really, Buck?”

“What?” he said defensively, clutching his armful of cookies. “I needed to make sure it was legit!”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why we now have enough cookies to feed an army?”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I guess I got carried away.”

“Just… try not to scare any more children, okay?”

“Hey, I was just being thorough,” he muttered, glancing down at the boxes. “Besides… these ‘Samoas’ are actually pretty good.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. Because only Bucky Barnes could turn a simple cookie sale into a full-scale interrogation—and then end up buying out the entire stock.

“Whatever you say, Bucky. Whatever you say.”

He gave you a sheepish grin, holding up a box of Thin Mints. “Want one?”

“Sure,” you sighed, reaching out to grab a cookie. Because, at the end of the day, this was Bucky Barnes: ex-assassin, super-soldier, and now… terrifyingly dedicated Girl Scout cookie connoisseur.

The Girl Scout incident, unfortunately, didn’t mark the end of Bucky’s neighbourhood watch endeavours.

“Hey, Y/N, that’s the third day in a row Mrs. Higginson has gone jogging past our house,” Bucky muttered a few days later, scribbling furiously in his notebook.

You glanced over from your spot on the couch, raising an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” you replied absently, already wondering if now would be a good time to text Steve for a little ‘rescue mission.’ “Maybe she likes jogging?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not natural. It’s a cover for something. Probably espionage.”

“Bucky, she’s seventy.”

“Exactly. No one that age moves like that. She’s gotta be a retired agent.”

“Or she’s trying to stay in shape?”

“Or she’s spying on us.” He narrowed his eyes, peering through the blinds. “Maybe she’s HYDRA.”

“Bucky, she brought us homemade banana bread last week.”

“Which tasted suspiciously good,” he muttered darkly, tapping his pen against his chin. “I’m keeping an eye on her.”

It didn’t stop there. He began obsessively tracking patterns—when neighbors took out their trash, when they left for work, who picked up their mail first thing in the morning. His conspiracy board rivaled the one you’d seen at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, complete with photos, string, and a suspiciously large map of the neighborhood.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

You blinked, looking up from your book. “What’s up, Buck?”

He leaned in, his voice low and serious. “Did you know Mrs. Patterson’s dog peed on our lawn three times this week?”

“I—what?”

“And Mr. Thompson left his house twice yesterday. Twice.”

“…is that a crime?”

“Yes. Who leaves the house twice in one day? He’s clearly up to something.”

“Like… groceries?”

Bucky frowned. “No. Something bigger. I saw him walking to his car, get this—without any bags.”

“Maybe he forgot something?”

He shook his head, eyes narrowed. “It’s a diversion tactic. I’m keeping a close watch on him.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re stalking the neighbours.”

“Of course not!” He paused. “I’m… observing. For science.”

“For science?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Buck. I’m putting my foot down,” you finally managed. “You need to stop this. The neighbours think we’re crazy. You’re scaring the kids and… the mailman won’t come to the door anymore.”

Bucky looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“Because you interrogated him about his route last week!”

“He was being shady!”

“He’s a mailman!”

There was a long pause as you stared each other down, Bucky looking defiant and you looking exhausted. Finally, you sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“Buck… I know retirement is hard. But you need a new outlet. Maybe something a little less—”

“Paranoid?” he offered, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. And a little less terrifying for the neighbours.”

He sighed deeply, like you’d just asked him to hang up his shield all over again. “I was just… trying to be useful.”

Your heart softened immediately. Because that was what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it? The man who’d spent his life fighting wars and doing battle against his own mind was now left trying to figure out how to fit into a world that no longer needed him to save it.

You walked over, placing your hands on his shoulders and giving him a soft smile. “You’re always useful, Buck. Even if you’re not interrogating the mailman about federal postal regulations or… spying on seventy-year-old retirees.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, huh?”

“A little,” you agreed with a grin. “Maybe you should find something else to watch over.”

“Like what?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

You bit your lip, thinking. “I don’t know… Maybe get a pet? You could… I don’t know, babysit a cat or something.”

Bucky blinked at you. Then his eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the Holy Grail of retirement activities.

“A cat,” he murmured slowly, as if testing the word. “A cat.”

“Yes, a cat,” you repeated cautiously, wondering if you’d just unleashed some new kind of havoc on the house. “You could train it to… I don’t know, not scratch the furniture or something.”

“Or… I could train it to keep an eye on the pigeons,” he muttered to himself, looking thoughtful.

“Wait, what?”

But Bucky had already gone inside, the gears in his mind clearly turning. You shook your head, deciding to let him have this one. After all, how much trouble could he really get into with a cat?

Phase 5: The Pet Phase (aka Operation: Find a Feline Friend)

Duration: Ongoing, with Fur Everywhere

You didn’t think he’d take it seriously. Until you came home the next day to find Bucky sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, a small, white ball of fluff curled up in his lap.

“This is Alpine,” he announced proudly.

You stared at the kitten, then at Bucky, then back at the kitten. “Bucky, what… why…?”

“You said get a pet,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I did.”

And that’s how Alpine, the grumpy old woman in a cat’s body, became part of your household. Bucky spent weeks trying to train him (“Sit, Alpine! Sit! … Okay, fine, just glare at me, that works too.”), set up elaborate obstacle courses (“Alpine, jump! No, don’t walk away—okay, you know what, just do your thing”), and spoiled her rotten with toys and treats.

With each phase, Bucky’s retirement became a new adventure. And while it drove you absolutely crazy at times, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Bucky lying on the couch, Alpine curled up on his chest, both looking completely content.

“Retirement isn’t so bad, huh?” you teased one evening, curling up beside him.

He hummed thoughtfully, scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “I don’t know… I think I could use a new project.”

You groaned, but your groan turned into a laugh when he grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh no,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “No more projects, Barnes. You’ve nearly redecorated us out of house and home, scared the mailman half to death, and—”

“Don’t forget the gourmet cookies,” he interjected with a cheeky smile.

You shot him a playful glare. “I’m trying to forget the cookies, thank you.”

“Aw, come on. I think I finally got the recipe down. I’ll just try one more—”

“No!” you practically shouted, your voice echoing through the living room. Alpine, unbothered, merely lifted her head, gave you both a disinterested look, and went back to napping.

Bucky chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. No more cookies. No more redecorating. No more… scaring the Girl Scouts.”

“Or spying on the neighbors.”

“Or spying on the neighbors,” he agreed, still looking a little too amused for your liking.

You sighed, leaning back into the couch and resting your head on his shoulder. “You know, most people take up hobbies like gardening or painting in retirement.”

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, but those aren’t as exciting.”

“They’re not supposed to be exciting. They’re supposed to be calm. That’s the whole point of retirement, Buck.”

He glanced down at you, his gaze softening. “You really think I’m the ‘calm’ type, doll?”

You snorted. “No, not really. But it would be nice if, just once, I didn’t come home to find you plotting to build a moat around the house.”

“Moats are an excellent defense mechanism,” he said matter-of-factly. “But okay, I get it. I’ll tone it down.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up his right hand. The glint in his eye, however, told you he was already planning something new.

“Bucky…”

“What?” he asked, all innocence. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not for a second.”

He chuckled, then pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Alright, no more projects. I’ll just focus on Alpine. She’s a full-time job anyway.”

You glanced at the cat, who was now sprawled out like she owned the place. “You’ve turned her into a diva, you know.”

“He’s just refined,” Bucky said defensively. “He’s got standards.”

“Uh-huh. Like the way he refuses to eat unless you hand-feed her?”

“Refined,” Bucky insisted.

“And how she sleeps on your side of the bed and shoves you off with her tiny, evil paws?”

“Selective.”

“And how she sits on the counter staring at you like she’s plotting your demise?”

“Observant.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’ve created a monster, Bucky.”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug, smirking down at you. “I’ve handled worse monsters. She’s a good one. Besides,” he added, scratching Alpine’s head fondly, “she’s family.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled up at him. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

There was a comfortable silence as you both sat there, content in the peaceful moment.

Then Bucky cleared his throat, and you glanced up to see him shifting slightly, like he was working up the nerve to say something.

“So… I was thinking…” he began slowly.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, hear me out,” he said quickly, raising his hands as if to ward off your incoming refusal. “What if we… I dunno… made a baby?”

You blinked, certain you hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

“A baby,” he repeated, his voice steady, though there was a telltale blush creeping up his neck. “You know, a little human—our human. Someone we can train to take over the world… or at least keep me entertained.”

Your jaw dropped open. “You want to have a baby—because you’re bored?”

Bucky gave you a sheepish grin. “I mean, I was thinking it could be a good project… long-term investment… future troublemaker…”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, placing your hands on his shoulders and staring at him, bewildered. “Are you seriously suggesting having a child like it’s another DIY project?”

He shrugged, looking as nonchalant as ever, but his eyes were soft and serious. “Maybe. But I was also thinking it’d be nice to have something, or someone, that’s just… ours. A mix of you and me. Something that isn’t tied to the past, or fighting, or… all the other stuff.”

You stared at him, trying to wrap your mind around the sudden turn the conversation had taken. “You really want a baby, Bucky?”

He nodded slowly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I do. Don’t get me wrong, Alpine’s great and all, but…” He sighed, his smile turning tender. “I just think it’d be amazing to have something more. I’ve spent so much of my life taking orders or fighting ghosts. But starting a family with you? That’s something I get to build. Something that’s ours.”

You bit your lip, heart swelling at his words. Despite the completely unromantic way he’d suggested it, there was sincerity in his gaze, a yearning for something deeper than fixing leaky faucets or buying out the Girl Scouts’ entire cookie stock.

“And you think you’d be a good dad?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” he scoffed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’d be the best damn dad. I’d teach our kid how to throw a proper punch by age five, dismantle a toaster by six—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “So, what you’re saying is… you want to raise a tiny super-soldier?”

His grin widened. “Hell yeah.”

“Bucky, we are not turning our child into a mini-Winter Soldier.”

He pouted dramatically. “Not even a little bit?”

“Not even a little bit,” you affirmed with a chuckle. You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “But… maybe we could talk about it. You know, actually talk. Not just… plan a tactical baby mission.”

Bucky’s eyes softened as he brushed his thumb along your cheek. “Yeah. We can talk about it.” He paused, then added with a mischievous glint, “After we practice a little more.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh my God, Bucky.”

“What?” he asked innocently, his grin widening. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

You shook your head, letting out a breathy laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love me for it,” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Yeah,” you whispered when he pulled away, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I do.”

You glanced down at Alpine, who was still sprawled across Bucky’s lap, looking utterly uninterested in the conversation. A baby. You hadn’t really thought about it seriously before, but now that Bucky had put the idea in your head… you couldn’t help but wonder.

There was a brief pause as Bucky gazed at you, his expression growing thoughtful. “You know,” he began quietly, “after that whole Girl Scout cookie fiasco… I kinda started thinking… I’d really like to have a daughter.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “A daughter?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softening. “That kid was just so… brave, you know? Standing there, staring me down even though I was being a total idiot. It reminded me of you—fierce and unafraid. I couldn’t stop thinking… what if we had a daughter like that? Strong, smart, and completely capable of putting me in my place when I get out of line.”

You felt your heart clench at his words, his quiet admission making your chest ache. “You want a little girl because she’d keep you in check?”

“That,” he said, smiling softly, “and I think I’d like the challenge. I’ve spent so much of my life dealing with people who only saw me as a weapon. I just… want to prove that I can be something else. That I can be gentle… and kind… and love someone unconditionally. The way I love you.”

You reached up, cupping his face gently. “Bucky, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“I know,” he murmured, his gaze warm and intense. “But I still want to try. And I want to be the kind of dad who isn’t just a protector, but a friend. Someone who’d sit through endless tea parties and help her build pillow forts… and buy all the Girl Scout cookies she wants without scaring anyone.”

You laughed softly, tears stinging your eyes at the picture he painted. “You’d be a great dad, Bucky.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and hopeful.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

There was another beat of silence before Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “So… when do we start?”

You felt your cheeks heat, a mix of laughter and surprise bubbling up in your chest. “Bucky!”

“What?” he asked, his smile as innocent as ever. “I’m just asking. I mean, you know I’m a man of action. Gotta have a timeline.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands as Bucky laughed softly, his arms wrapping around you.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “No rush. We’ll take it one day at a time, sweetheart. But just know… I’m ready whenever you are.”

And somehow, you knew this next phase—whatever it looked like—was going to be the best one yet.

× × × ×

Ten months later

The soft glow of the nightlight bathed the nursery in a warm, golden hue, casting gentle shadows on the pale blue walls. The room was still, save for the quiet creak of the rocking chair as Bucky swayed back and forth, holding the tiniest bundle of joy in his strong, yet tender arms.

His daughter, barely a week old, was nestled against his chest, her small, delicate breaths in sync with the steady rhythm of his own. Her tiny fist curled around the fabric of his shirt, as if she knew just how safe and loved she was in her daddy's arms.

Bucky hummed quietly, the familiar melody of an old lullaby drifting into the air. It was a song his mother used to sing to him when he was no older than his sweet little girl was now. The words came softly, almost whispered, as if they were sacred—meant only for his daughter.

“Darling, you're my bloodYou have my heartbeatYou have my heartbeat, beating loud,”

His voice was gruff, yet softened by emotion as he sang, the gentle rocking lulling his daughter further into her peaceful slumber. His fingers brushed through her soft, downy hair as he looked down at her with nothing short of awe. How had he, of all people, gotten so lucky?

He had been through so much darkness in his life—seen and done things he would never be able to forget—but here, in this quiet moment, everything seemed to fade away. The world outside could wait. Right now, his whole universe was cradled in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes felt at peace.

Unbeknownst to him, you stood at the door, your heart swelling at the sight before you. You had come to check on them both, worried that Bucky might need help with the baby. But when you saw him there, rocking your little girl and singing so sweetly, you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you leaned against the doorframe, content to watch the love of your life in this vulnerable, beautiful moment. 

Bucky was a natural, even if he didn’t believe it. You had seen the worry in his eyes when you first brought your daughter home—the fear that he wouldn’t be good enough, that he wouldn’t know what to do. But here he was, proving himself wrong in the most heart-melting way possible.

The lullaby continued, each note filled with so much love it made your eyes mist over.

"You are my lighthouseA peak of light from the dark cloudsI've lived under my whole life. . .And there's nothing I won't do for you."

Bucky’s voice cracked just a little on the last line, overcome with emotion as he gazed down at his daughter and carefully wiped his tears away. 

She had his eyes—bright and full of wonder, even when they were closed in slumber. He couldn’t help but trace the delicate features of her face with his gaze, committing every tiny detail to memory.

Finally, you couldn’t resist any longer. You stepped into the room quietly, not wanting to startle him. Bucky looked up, surprise flickering across his face when he saw you standing there. His expression softened when he realised you had been watching him.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, his voice low so as not to wake the baby.

“Long enough,” you replied, your smile widening as you walked over to him.

Bucky blushed, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I’m not exactly a professional.”

“I beg to differ, I think you’re the best dad in the world.” you whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple. 

Bucky’s heart swelled at your words. He never imagined he would be here—sitting in a nursery, holding his newborn daughter while the love of his life stood beside him, calling him the best dad in the world. It still felt like a dream.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, looking back down at the baby. “So fragile. I didn’t think…I didn’t think I could love someone I barely knew this much.”

Your hand gently rested on his shoulder as you gazed down at your daughter. “You’ve got a big heart, James. I always knew you’d be amazing as a father.”

He glanced up at you, eyes soft and full of affection. “You’re the amazing one.”

You reached out to gently stroke the baby’s cheek, and Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling more complete than he ever thought possible.

“I never thought I’d have this,” he admitted after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “A family. A reason to feel…whole again.”

You knelt down beside him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You deserve it, Bucky. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

Bucky kissed the top of youe head, holding you close as he continued to rock your daughter. The world outside could be chaotic and unforgiving, but in this room, in this moment, everything was perfect.

× × × ×

Baby at six months

The house was peaceful, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the windows. You were out running errands, leaving Bucky home with their now six-month-old daughter, who was currently kicking her chubby little legs and babbling on her playmat. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she reached for her favorite stuffed bear, the one Bucky had given her the day she was born.

Bucky sat beside her, legs crossed, watching her every move like she was the most fascinating thing on the planet. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. 

“You know, blossom,” he began, glancing over his shoulder dramatically as if checking to make sure Y/N wasn’t around. “Your mom thinks she’s the boss.”

Their daughter let out a high-pitched squeal, and Bucky grinned. 

“Right? Can you believe it?” he continued, keeping his voice low as if sharing the biggest secret in the world. “She thinks she’s in charge around here. But between you and me, we know the truth.”

His little girl giggled again, her tiny hands grasping at the air as if she was agreeing with him.

“See, you and I?” Bucky said, tapping his finger gently on her nose, “We’re a team. We know how to get things done. I mean, just look at us—surviving nap time, figuring out how to stack those weird little ring toys, and we don’t even need to look at the instructions. Meanwhile, your mom still thinks I can’t fold laundry properly.”

He paused for dramatic effect, raising his brows. “Can you believe that? Laundry. I fought in World War II, and she’s worried I’ll mess up the towels.”

His daughter let out a delighted shriek, her little legs kicking excitedly. Bucky reached over and tickled her belly gently, making her burst into even more giggles.

“Oh, yeah, I know you think it’s funny,” Bucky chuckled. “But trust me, your mom’s got some pretty high laundry standards. I tried to fold one towel, just one, and she came over with this look like I’d committed a crime. 'Bucky, that’s not how you fold them!' she said. And I’m standing there like, ‘It’s a towel, not a top-secret mission.’”

He leaned in closer, as if telling her something top-secret. “She doesn’t know this, but I might’ve folded them wrong on purpose so I wouldn’t have to do it anymore.”

His daughter cooed, her tiny hand reaching out to grab his finger, which she promptly brought to her mouth to chew on. Bucky let her, his heart melting at the sight. She was his little sidekick, always hanging on his every word, even if she didn’t fully understand yet.

“And don’t even get me started on the bedtime routine,” Bucky continued, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Your mom’s got this whole plan—bath, story, lights out. Meanwhile, you and me? We’ve got a better plan. We chill, we rock, maybe sing a little. You get all cozy, and bam—out like a light.”

“Bababababa,” His daughter babbled something back at him, her little voice full of enthusiasm, and Bucky nodded seriously. 

“Exactly. That’s what I’ve been saying. We’ve got this figured out.”

He scooped her up from the mat and held her close, her head resting comfortably against his chest as he walked them over to the couch. He sat down, cradling her in his arms, and continued his lighthearted rant.

“And the thing is, she’s always right, which drives me crazy. Like, the other day, she told me you were gonna try to crawl soon. I thought, ‘Nah, she’s too young.’ But then what happens? Two days later, you’re scooting around like you’ve got places to be. I swear, your mom’s a psychic or something.”

Bucky gazed down at his daughter, who was now looking up at him with those wide blue eyes that never failed to melt his heart. She let out a happy gurgle, and Bucky chuckled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You know I’m just kidding, right? Your mom’s the best. She takes care of both of us.” He sighed, feeling a rush of affection as he thought about Y/N. “Don’t tell her, but I’m pretty lucky to have her. She keeps me in line.”

Just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, and Bucky’s head shot up in mock panic.

“Uh-oh,” he whispered to his daughter, his eyes wide with exaggerated worry. “The boss is back. Don’t say anything.”

You appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow as you saw Bucky and the baby cozied up on the couch. “What are you two up to?” you asked, a knowing smile on your lips.

Bucky gave you his most innocent look, bouncing your daughter gently in his arms. “Oh, nothing. Just hanging out with my best girl here. Right, darling?”

The baby let out a little squeal, clearly delighted by the attention.

“Mmhmm,” You said, stepping closer and giving Bucky a playful look. “You haven’t been filling her head with nonsense, have you?”

“Me? Never,” Bucky replied, trying to keep a straight face. “We were just talking about how great you are. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

Bianca, oblivious to the conversation, giggled and reached for you, and took her from Bucky’s arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, if she grows up thinking she’s in charge, I’ll know who to blame,” You teased, casting a glance at Bucky.

He grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Hey, she’s gotta learn from the best.”

You smiled, shaking your head in mock defeat. “You’re lucky she likes you so much.”

Bucky stood and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both looked down at your little girl, now happily nestled between you. “I’m lucky to have both of you,” he murmured softly, kissing the side of your head.

And in that moment, with his two favorite girls in his arms, Bucky couldn’t imagine a better kind of luck.

[ruesol]

Mechanic Sukuna purposely lies about your car so he can see you again.

Notes: not proofread, fem!reader

main masterlist

Sweaty, grimy, and greasy. Three adjectives you’d use to describe the local repair shop. It was always filled with muscled men who always seemed to have a permanent scowl on their face, intimidating anyone who wanted help with their vehicle.

Which is why you always sent your (only) male friend there to order any kind of complicated repair work on your behalf. As a woman, you did not want to be subject to all the scrutinizing stares and intentionally inflated prices for services that would otherwise be cheap or free of charge.

Your car was your baby. A haven if you will. It was much better to take naps in there rather than sit and do homework in the library during the long gaps in your class schedule. It was the best to use in the late months of spring, with the AC blowing right in your face as you dreamt about sleeping on an iceberg.

But alas, it also had to break down when the heat was at its highest and your friend had gone on a trip with his partner.

You were now conditioned to go to the place you dreaded most. You got rid of all your pretty accessories stuck and dangling off of different parts of your car. You were not going to be a victim of chauvinism. Especially not by mechanics- it just hurts more with them of all people.

As expected, all eyes were on you (mainly because you were the only girl in the shop and you looked like you had seen a ghost). All the men there looked like they belonged to a gang- brutish, crass words slipping out of their mouths like it was nothing, grease all over their faces, and regular safety uniforms altered to show off their muscle tank tops.

Your eyes just shifted around the place. You weren’t even sure how the system worked. Were you supposed to walk over to them or did they just come to you? Did you have to get an appointment before arriving like it was a doctors office or-

“I recognize that dump.”

You turned to see who in their right mind had to say that about your ass. You hadn’t been hit on a lot in your life, but you knew how to differentiate between flattery and sexual harassment. The other men were quick to go back to their tasks, not wanting to watch your reaction.

“Excuse me?” You squeaked out with as much anger in your voice as possible (you were more like a yipping Pomeranian).

The pink haired man in front of you looked like the definition of bad news. Stark black tattoos against his pale skin, burn and cut scars all over his arms, and his pink hair was pulled back by a black bandana. With the way him and the other men looked, it seemed like all mechanics had to do a course in ‘Intimidation 101: how to look like a convict.’

“Talkin’ ‘bout your car, sweetheart. Some guy is always comin’ in here with that thing.”

Sweetheart. Passive aggressive prick

“Oh, I’m sorry. That guy’s my friend. This is actually my car and the AC is just not working properly. I think it’s broken.”

You watched as he walked over to your car and examined the interior. “Flaps are fine. I think we might have to open it up and take a good look inside. Might even have to replace the thing.”

He noticed your shifty gaze, probably worried about how much you were going to have to pay for the whole thing. Adorable.

“I know a guy who gives discounts for it. You a college student?” His unnaturally handsome face looks concerned for you. You weren’t expecting it but you welcomed it. With caution of course. You nodded meekly while looking at him. Maybe mechanics weren’t scammy towards women after all.

He clapped his hands and grinned, sharp canines visible in all their glory. The man looked like the human version of a tiger. “Then it’s basically free. Don’t worry about the cost. You can leave your car here. Want me to call an uber for ya?”

He noticed the not-so-discreet glances from his coworkers but kept his eyes trained on your wimpish face.

“I’m alright. Um, thank you. Do I have to leave my number or do you guys have that on file?”

“We do have a number but I’m guessing that belongs to your friend cause he’s always the one to come here and pick your car up after service.”

“You’re right. I think I might have to give mine.”

As stupid as it sounds, he wanted to do a cartwheel, it’s like everything was falling into place. Cute girl with car problems, no boyfriend (as far as he knows), and he gets her number.

He was going to get a celebratory beer after work.

His colleagues could see the pep in his step but didn’t bother to say anything knowing that you were still there- even if you looked like your mind wasn’t present.

He returned with a clipboard and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from scaring you with his beaming smile.

“I’m Sukuna by the way.” He smirked as he noticed the deep blush on your cheeks. You stammered out your name to him and he swore that he could almost envision it on an elegant white card a few years from now.

“See you soon,” he said before walking away with a new air of confidence around his gait.

After you left, his friend, Toji, abandoned the car he was working on to follow Sukuna to the office. “There’s no way in hell you know someone who can install a new AC for free. I paid hundreds to fix mine.” Sukuna didn’t even look at his friend while he was talking. He just kept staring at you through the window while you were getting into your cab.

“There’s nothing wrong with her AC. She just needed to clean the filters.”

__

New serie- who said that? 👁️👄👁️

[autisticrosewilson]

"Oh Steph wouldn't like Jason just because they have similar backgrounds because he kills people/is a criminal/fights the bats!!"

This is in the 90's BEFORE he even tortured her. She doesn't go through with it, but she sees the evil he's capable of and its enough for her to justify it. She only doesn't because it "goes against what Batman taught her" but well.

That's the same man who would let her dad's friends infest her house for MONTHS until BLACK CANARY came to Gotham and handled it

A grown man who would go on to verbally degrade her, withhold the tools he gave everyone else, keep her intentionally isolated and then use her lack of resources against her.

So yeah. I'm sure Steph's faith in Batman and his teachings have wavered plenty. Just because DC casually discarded the way she was treated so she could play happy family with the boys, but she has NO REASON TO. Before she was aged down there was definite tension between her and Tim, and while Babs worked to get that relationship back, Bruce did no such thing. "Oh I'm just as proud of you as I was with the boys" when he thought she was dying doesn't fucking change how he treated her.

And of course, there's her own forray into betraying the family and being a criminal in The Next Batman series.

That's without getting into how she was compared to Jason, the way she watched a murdered east end kid be toted as another violent, reckless, idiot who didn't think and got himself killed.

"Oh but he tried to kill Tim!" First of all, you didn't read that comic. Jason was TESTING him, they were 2 years apart MAXIMUM, and Tim FOUGHT BACK. Jason gave him a little cut and a nose bleed that he slapped a bandage on and was fine. Damian also started his first meeting with Tim antagonistically and even though he was actively hostile to her, Steph still formed a close sibling bond. Her first meeting with Tim she threw a brick at him. He spent a not significant amount of time belittling her and telling her she wasn't cut out for hero work when she came back. This is the same guy who hallucinated Jason just so Jason could be like "Oh I got myself killed don't be like me!" Can we be real she doesn't give a shit. I guess you could count Hush but. I know they retconned it so that was Jason but when the fuck would he have had the time to do that between death, catanoia, the All-caste, and his murder tour.

Stephanie understands better than anyone that desperate circumstances lead to desperate people who do bad things. Stephanie understands being belittled and compared to a rich white boy who never had to fight to survive like you did. She understands being isolated from the hero community. She understands the evil that exists and the ways the system is corrupt, and that the bad guy never STAYS caught. And it's not like she has any big problem with people who kill, Babs said in 90's she would fucking LOVE Joker to drop dead and Dinah has killed multiple times. She literally switched places with Lady Shiva? These are both women Steph looks up to. You don't think Steph would feel any admiration at all for someone who gave Bruce a taste of what it feels like to be shown up? Someone who made Roman's life hell? Someone who made Tim put action behind his shit talking? An alley kid who came back and refused to be another statistic, who showed everyone who spent the last decade calling him stupid and reckless EXACTLY how cunning he can be? None? At all?

I just find it a little hard to believe.

[todays-xkcd]

If they're going to make people ride bikes and scooters in traffic, then it should at LEAST be legal to do the Snow Crash thing where you use a hook-shot-style harpoon to catch free rides from cars.

Urban Planning Opinion Progression [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

Typical urban planning opinion progression [Each panel is connected to a point on a timeline]

Cueball: I wish there wasn't so much traffic to get into the city. They should put in more lanes. Megan: And more parking. Megan: Parking is so bad here.

Knit Cap: I have to go to Amsterdam for work next week. I hear they all ride bikes there. Ponytail: Bikes are fine but people shouldn't ride them in the street! I worry I'm going to hit someone!

Cueball: It would be nice if we had better transit options! Cueball: I tried a scooter. It was fun but I wish there were more bike paths.

Megan: It's funny how widening roads to speed up traffic makes them more dangerous to walk near, making driving more necessary and creating more traffic. Megan: Really makes you think.

Knit Cap: Visiting the Netherlands was cool! Knit Cap: Amsterdam is really neat.

Cueball: We've ceded so much of our land to storing and moving cars, with the rest of us tiptoeing around the edges and making drivers mad for trespassing on "their" space. Cueball: Even though we're the ones in danger from them!

Megan: Those giant trucks with front blind spots that keep hitting kids should be illegal.

Knit Cap: We should be more like the Netherlands. Knit Cap: They design their street to prioritize...

Cueball: The problem is car culture. It's systemic. Cueball: I don't know if we can fix it.

Megan: People approach road planning decisions from the point of view of drivers because that's how we're used to interacting with the city, so we make choices that make it more car-friendly. Megan: It's a vicious cycle.

Knit Cap: Netherlands! Netherlands! Netherlands! Netherlands!

Cueball: Anything that makes a city a worse place to drive in makes it a better place to live, short of scattering random tire spikes on the road.

Megan: Honestly, I think the city council should consider the tire spikes thing.

[mariasont]

One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of —"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him — like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere, no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just, just, slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's — what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then, oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his —

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I — I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[digitaldaydreamm]

Same person from before - I have a req if this is okay! For childhood bestie au :)

Maybe reader being drunk and sad at a party and her girl friends are all trying to help her be less drunk and sad :( and reader really just wants Rafe. (He may have alr been at the party or comes to it from his house) and stays with her to help her feel better and she feels better but becomes a clingy shy drunk for him in front of everyone because she’s embarrassed that she needed him in the first place?

Maybe she’s too out of it to notice but people can clearly see that reader and Rafe have some unspoken thing.

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

| summary | there's nothing wrong with needing your best friend

warnings: drunk reader

a/n: love this concepttttt, clingy reader is me lol. i hope this is what you had in mind!!

masterlist | taglist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

The party was too much. Too loud, too crowded, too overwhelming.

The bass thumped through your skull like a second heartbeat, every laugh, every slurred conversation around you feeling distant, like you were watching it all happen from underwater.

Your head felt light, the alcohol buzzing through your system, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the ache in your chest.

You had barely touched your drink in the last twenty minutes, just turning the plastic cup between your fingers as you sat curled into yourself on the couch, feeling more and more like you didn’t belong here.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Kiara’s voice was soft, her brows furrowed as she knelt in front of you.

You blinked at her slowly, fingers tightening around the cup, but you didn’t answer, afraid your tears would spill out of you like a waterfall. She wasn’t the person you wanted to hear from.

Sarah, sitting next to you, sighed. “It’s Rafe.”

Your stomach twisted at the sound of his name.

JJ groaned from the armrest, throwing his head back dramatically. “Of course, it’s Rafe. What did he do now?"

You swallowed, eyes flicking to your lap.

“We argued before I left,” you admitted, voice small.

It felt stupid now, all of it.

You had pushed him, wanting space, wanting to prove that you didn’t always need him hovering over you like some overbearing shadow. That you could go to a party on your own. Be independent. And now, sitting here with an empty drink and a hollow feeling in your chest, all you wanted was to take it back.

Sarah frowned. “You should’ve known he’d get mad about you coming here.”

“...I know.”

JJ scoffed. “And yet, here we are.”

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling small, your fingers twitching against the cup.

You didn’t want to be here.

You wanted him.

Sarah seemed to pick up on that because she pulled out her phone without another word.

Your stomach flipped.

“Wait—”

But it was too late.

You watched, heart pounding, as she typed. A thousand different worries raced through your head.

Was he still mad? Would he even come?

The thought of seeing him, of facing him after how you left things, made your breath catch in your throat.

But the alternative—sitting here, pretending you were fine when you weren’t—felt worse.

So, you waited.

And it didn’t take long.

The moment Rafe stepped into the party, it was like the entire room shifted.

He didn’t look around, didn’t acknowledge anyone else. His gaze went straight to you.

His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, but his eyes softened—just barely—the second they landed on you.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of your dress, your stomach twisting.

Is he still angry? Is he going to push you away?

You didn’t know, and that uncertainty made your hands tremble slightly as you fisted the fabric in your lap.

He was already making his way towards you, his presence cutting through the crowd effortlessly.

The closer he got, the harder it was to breathe.

When he finally stopped in front of you, towering over where you sat, you hesitated.

Your fingers twitched. You wanted to reach for him.

But what if he didn’t want you to?

“Hey,” you whispered, barely audible over the music. You felt your eyes water once more, the tears now threatening to spill.

Rafe exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping just slightly. And that was all the encouragement you needed.

The hesitation melted away as you moved, reaching for the sleeve of his dress shirt with shaky fingers.

He let you, didn’t pull away, didn’t move.

That was enough.

You gripped the fabric tightly, using it to pull yourself up, but the alcohol made your movements sluggish, unsteady.

Your body tilted slightly as you stumbled forward, and before you could even register what was happening, Rafe’s hands were on you.

One arm wrapped around your waist, the other gripping your hip, steadying you effortlessly. Your breath hitched at the contact, at the warmth of his touch.

Your fingers clenched in his shirt, your face tilting up to meet his gaze, and suddenly, it was impossible to think about anything else.

“I—” You swallowed, feeling your cheeks heat.

Rafe just shook his head, taking in your intoxicated state, his grip on your waist tightening. “Jesus, kid…”

You hesitated for half a second longer before finally letting yourself sink into him, pressing your face into his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso in a way that was almost shy.

He went rigid for a moment, like he wasn’t expecting it.

Then, his hold on you softened, and he let out a slow, steady breath before wrapping both arms around you completely, his fingers pressing into your back.

You felt yourself relax instantly, melting against him, gripping onto his shirt like he was the only thing keeping you standing.

Maybe he was.

You pressed closer, nuzzling against the soft fabric, your voice muffled when you mumbled, “Missed you.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against your back.

JJ groaned from the couch. “Are you serious?”

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of how tightly you were clinging to Rafe in front of everyone. But when you shifted slightly, he just pulled you closer.

You felt his lips brush the top of your head, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t.”

You swallowed. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t act like you don’t need me.”

Your breath stuttered. Because, God, you did.

So, you clung a little tighter, buried your face a little deeper into him, and let him take you home.

[reidmotif]

Check Your Window (He's At Your Window)

Summary: Reader discovers her window faces into the apartment of her very attractive building neighbor, Spencer. She's willing to do anything for his attention. He's willing to reward her for her efforts.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: voyeurism, lingerie, masturbation, slight dubcon (but for like 5 seconds i swear), nipple play, penetrative sex, apartment break-in.

Word Count: 3.9 k

Masterlist

It’s natural to believe you’re safe in your place of residency. You’re given locks, blinds, a security gate- all measures designed to invoke a false illusion of privacy. Of course, there are defects that no one can plan for that have the ability to shatter this illusion. 

Mine happened to be a badly placed window. 

Finding this apartment felt akin to love at first sight. It sounds dramatic, but I’m serious. Do you know how horrific real estate is these days? But when my eyes came upon piano oak flooring, the soft light of the day streaming onto a marble island, and of course, an in-home washer/dryer system, I was sold. 

Due to my inherent awkwardness around meeting strangers,  and lack of overt charm, I’d never been one to initiate introductions with my neighbors. I moved in quietly, packing up my life into neat little boxes and dispersing them throughout the emptiness of my new space. It was only then, when I realized a strangely placed window that seemed to fall exactly where I’d wanted my bed to be. 

And while examining my outlandish situation, I saw him. 

I didn’t want to assume he’d been watching me. I wasn’t paranoid like that. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to give off the aura of, for lack of better words, a creep,  so the quick aversion of my eyes from his gaze felt instinctual. Curiosity won over me a millisecond later, though, and against my better judgment, I quietly peered into the window again, wondering if the man in the glass had slipped away, or had looked away from where our eyes met last. 

What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was to be met with the unflinching stare of his eyes, far from concerned with how he came off, holding his gaze with an almost disconcerting and defiant presence. 

He gave me a subtle nod, before walking away, disappearing from view. I was left feeling.. unsettled. But also strangely thrilled. There was a certain peculiarity in knowing you were susceptible to an audience at any given moment. I vaguely recalled social facilitation as a possible explanation as to why the concept roused me the way it did, but whatever it was, I didn’t feel compelled to attach curtains or any kind of barrier to avoid the phenomenon. 

While my thoughts occasionally drifted to the man, I didn’t actually know anything about him. He lived in the building beside mine, so we didn’t even share so much as a landlord. I truly never expected to gain any insight on him besides the location of his domicile in relation to mine, and the thought didn’t bother me by any means.  I was completely fine with letting our connection stay as severed as it was. 

Fate, on the other hand, had other ideas. 

I found myself a few weeks later, struggling with an overstuffed grocery bag in front of my building, and in a terrible game of mismanaged weight and the flimsiness of grocery-store plastic, my bag gave way, scattering the contents of it across the ground. Further misfortune plagued me, as the bag in question had been holding a good pound of lemons, that rolled quite far from where I’d been standing. I immediately dropped to the ground, trying to gather up the ones by my feet in my arms, and noticed a presence nearby doing the same and bringing the runaway citrus to me. I was thankful, and was ready to express my gratitude to the helpful samaritan, until I saw a flash of recognition collectively pass over our faces as we made eye contact. 

Him. The man in the window. 

“You dropped these.” He says, his voice a little quieter than I’d expected from him, and I nod. 

“Yeah, no. It’s these bags. Not really equipped to hold a pound of lemons.” I say, trying to gather the rest to my chest, our eyes still trained on the other. 

“Can I ask why a pound of lemons?” He asks, a sort of playful lilt in his voice. 

“Lemonade.” I say, almost immediately. 

There’s a bit of confusion that flashes over his face. “Are you making a joke?” He replies, furrowing his brows a bit. 

I realize that my response might’ve come off as too deadpan, and I shake my head to correct his misconception. “Oh, no. I’m serious.” I say, offering a grin.  “I love lemonade. There’s a work party I’m attending, and I offered to make some for the office. Hence, the lemons.” I continued, gesturing at the aforementioned fruit, and feeling myself ramble slightly, but it didn’t seem to offend the recipient. 

“That.. is a surprisingly normal response, given the situation.” The man says, nodding. “I love lemonade too.” He adds. 

There’s a bit of silence as we both picked up lemons together, the man more focused than I on the task. I took the oppurtuinity within the lull of our conversation to truly examine the man, finally no longer separated by a pane of glass, and my observations all seemed to point towards one glaringly obvious conclusion. 

The man in the window was hot.

He appeared older than me, yet his age did nothing to diminish the beauty of his features. His doe-like eyes seemed to shine with the same curiosity that I felt towards him. His hair was a bit longer than I’d expect from a man his age, but it suited him. The smooth slope of his nose had a certain charm to it, and his cheekbones were impossibly sharp. I wanted to run my thumb over the bone, and kiss him senseless until we could barely remember our own names. 

“I’m (Y/N). You’re free to come over.” I say, a little more rushed than I’d wanted to. “For the lemonade, of course.” I add, trying to not drop the ball when it came to inviting this gorgeous man over to my apartment. 

“Spencer.” He replies, offering his name to me. “I'll keep it in mind.” He says, smoothly. He flashes me a kind smile as he places the last of the lemons into my other bags or directly into my hands. 

I’d hoped “I’ll keep it in mind” meant “within the next few days or so” but waiting seemed futile after a certain amount of time had passed. He never came, and I even stopped seeing him as often through the window in passing. In hindsight, it was rather naive to genuinely expect a near-stranger to come to my apartment, on account of an invitation that could have been interpreted as a thinly-veiled proposition.

It felt a bit dull, his lack of interest. I’d had a taste of his attention, and for some reason, I was hooked. It was irrational, and illogical, but I couldn’t help the desire I felt simply at the thought of this man. And in a mixture of perversion, desperation and pure brainlessness, I tried to use the one thing that had rarely failed me in the past. Sex. 

I reasoned by telling myself it wasn’t like it was guaranteed he’d see me. 

And it wasn’t as if I was standing directly by the window, exposing myself for his pleasure, and his pleasure only. So hey, if he saw my figure adorned in lacy lingerie in passing, and felt compelled to act on that in any way he chose, well. No harm, no foul, right? 

So that’s exactly what I did. To my benefit, it was one of the hottest summers D.C had ever had, so the lack of clothing worked in my favor.  I’d always felt quite confident in my own skin, so lounging around in bras, panties, barely-there cover-ups around my apartment didn’t strike me as the oddest thing to do.  I felt comfortable, and in turn, possibly seducing the man in the window. Win-win. 

And “win” I did, in some way at least, because I noticed the arrival of lingerie correlated in a sudden uptick in the times I’d see Spencer taking a longer-than-normal glimpse into my apartment. It was fucking exhilirating, to have his regard in this strange, taboo way. I’d find myself imagining him, surrounded by a sea of sheets and pillows slowly stroking his cock to the images of my scantily-clad body. I had no real way of verifying if this was the actual case, but the fantasy was enough to bring heat to my cheeks and an ache in my panties. 

It started to drive me a little crazy, however, when after a week of this,  literally no tangible reward came from the fruits of my labor. While I’d enjoyed his eyes on my form, that seemed to be all he was capable of. He seemed completely at ease with just watching (to my utter dismay) and it seemed the action I wanted him to take was sorely out of reach. 

Reflecting on his shy, soft demeanor from the one time we’d spoken, I concluded that he might not be as forward as I am. It made sense; he never seemed to have visitors in his apartment and, seeming to be in his 40s without a stable partner, he probably wasn't accustomed to a woman's attention in this way. He didn’t exactly exude “womanizer” anyway from what I knew about him, and I began to connect his lack of initiative to these points.

 It didn't deter me from continuing my attempts though. At best, I was at least providing a lonely middle-aged man some sorely needed imagery in the meantime. I’d always been a giver, anyhow. 

It’s reasonable to assume there’d be some payoff down the road, right? 

Wrong. I continued to wear increasingly revealing lingerie, going as far as just walking around naked once in a while. Nothing. I was a fucking saint at this point for continuing this for him.

It didn’t help that my mind insisted on taunting me with what I couldn’t have, as a moment of spare time in my day would constantly be preoccupied with thoughts of him in my bed, pinning my hands down and kissing up and down my neck. I’d imagine him pounding into me, or bouncing up and down on his cock, bringing us both to the throes of pleasure. I couldn’t halt the depravity of my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried.

What I also couldn’t stop, was the slow descent of my fingers into my panties one night, finding a delectable mess within them, signifying my deep arousal associated with the man. It’d been a long few weeks,  the smell of summer and heat encasing my apartment, and a profound craving I couldn’t resist. I breathed out a sigh of relief as I began rubbing the small nub, alternating between up and down motions, and then a slow, circular rub. Little moans poured out my lips, before I quickly shed my panties entirely, watching a string of arousal stuck to them, kicking them haphazardly to the side, wanting more access to my clit. 

My eyes naturally closed as I found myself lazing towards the precipice of release. Soft sighs and moans filled my apartment as I let my fingers rub a bit more desperately. I could see flashes of him again behind my eyes, his hand on me, instead of my own,  mirroring the actions I was performing. A gasp of his name came tumbling out of me as the image became clearer and clear, my eyes opening almost frantically as I felt myself closer and closer. 

That’s when I got the strangest sensation, and felt a pair of eyes on me. I jolted my head to the left, and saw Spencer, who was clearly watching at this point. His gaze was entirely trained on me, and similar to the first time he saw me, our eye contact didn’t deter him from his observation. 

I refused to let it either, and kept my gaze trained on him. I was entirely exposed. I wouldn’t have been able to stop my actions if I’d had a gun to my head. It just felt too fucking good. A moment more of eye contact from him, and I felt the familiar clench and release from my body, waves of pleasure wracking my body. I let out another moan, but not once did my eyes leave his, as my back arched against my sheets, a silent plea on my part being conveyed.  

Come here. What could you possibly be waiting for? 

I watched him disappear from the window as I finished, both literally and figuratively, and panted, wondering if finally, finally, my prayers and fervent supplications would be answered. 

After about 30 minutes, my anticipation was replaced with severe disappointment when I realized even after then, he wasn’t coming. I could no longer see him in the window, and at this point it seemed a little silly and pathetic to continue expecting him to come. 

Maybe he was just entirely sexually inadept. That could be a possibility, right? How much more explicit could I get than this? I’d masturbated in front of him! Albeit, through a window, but masturbation regardless! Was this seriously all he was willing to do? 

I roll my eyes at the thought. I came to accept that maybe, truly, there was nothing I could do to get this man to fuck me the way I deserved. Fine.

As I closed my eyes to get some necessary rest after my endeavors, I made up my mind that I’d buy curtains tomorrow. Fuck Spencer Reid, and his absolute inability to take any action in his goddamn life. Fuck this apartment. Fuck everything. 

Was I dramatic? Yes. Was I still right? Also yes. 

Despite the sour mood I’d taken to bed with me that evening, my dreams were anything but. The idea of Spencer Reid holding me down, whispering sweet and dirty nothings alike were all still incredibly tantalizing to my subconscious. I could hear his voice in my ear, soft pink lips brushing against the shell of my ear, a deep pressure imprinted onto my body, keeping me in my bed. 

“Wake up, sweetheart.” He murmured, beckoning me out of the peaceful cocoon of sleep. 

I felt a few more wet and warm kisses trailing up and down my neck, the sweetest sensation of pleasure being granted to me with every touch he gave. 

“Need you to wake up, pretty girl.” He mumbles. “You really are so pretty up close.” His voice is slightly patronizing, and it does nothing to help the excitation that was steadily growing inside of me. 

Suddenly, I became incredibly aware that the stimuli I was receiving didn’t appear to be a byproduct of my psyche, but rather- he was here? My eyes opened slowly to realize I wasn’t at all mistaken, the soft brush of his brown hair against my neck slightly tickling me as I came to. 

“Atta girl.” He mumbles, his lips still mapping out every inch of my skin. Out of pure instinct, a slightly alarmed moan came from me, still unsure if I was dreaming or not. Surely I had to be dreaming. I had to be, because how the fuck did Spencer Reid get into my apartment? Into my bed? 

“You want this, yeah?” He murmurs, taking a second to gaze down at me. I realized he’d been on top of me this whole time, and the pressure I’d felt in my dream was his skin on mine, trapping me in between his strong chest and the soft sheets adorning my mattress. “I know you do. Saw your little show and everything.” He breathes out, desperately, almost. 

I know I should’ve thought about it. Perhaps I should’ve pondered on the idea of letting a man who’d just broken into my apartment full access to my body as he pleased, but there was no time. He was here, and how could I have ever said no to that? 

There’s an equally as desperate and breathy, “yes” that escapes my lips, and before I can finish saying the word, he dives down, meeting my lips with his, absolutely devouring me with no hesitation whatsoever.  If I'd thought his previous ministrations were delightful, this was absolutely heavenly. 

I moan softly into his mouth, wanting to tangle my hands in his hair, or latch them onto his shoulders and sink my nails deep into the skin that resided there- anything to show even a semblance of control in this situation, but it seemed Spencer had already thought of that, pinning my hands against the mattress so tightly, I couldn’t have moved if I’d exerted every last bit of strength into it. 

“God, the first time- first time I saw you.” He mumbles in between kisses. “With those lemons. I knew they’d fall. Saw you through the window across the street and practically ran. Wanted to meet you so badly.” 

A small whimper escapes me, and I can’t help but get wetter at the thought. I knew he’d been watching me through the window, but the idea that I captured his attention, outside of my apartment, in the most mundane of situations only served to heighten the arousal I felt, my thighs rubbing together for any kind of relief. 

He notices the movement and grins, planting one last kiss on my lips before slipping down. His hands cup the backs of my knees, forcing me to spread my previously shut legs. 

“You had the prettiest voice.” He breathes out, examining my glistening heat. “Fuck. Couldn’t stop thinking about how you’d sound, screaming my name.” He leans forward, planting a chaste kiss on my clit that caused an incredibly breathtaking jolt through my body. 

“Spencer-” I moan, my head rolling back as I felt it, my back arching slightly. 

“Yeah, just like that.” He mumbles, clearly pleased. “Good girl.” 

His hands traveled upward from where he’d been situated between my legs and squeezed my breast blindly. It didn’t feel like it was for my pleasure, but rather that he was desperate to touch anywhere he possibly could. Anyone else, and I might’ve been annoyed with the incessant touching, but with him? 

 It was so fucking hot. 

“That goddamned lingerie.” He mumbles. “The things I wanted to do to you. Did you know that?” 

I looked at him through hooded lids, unsure what he meant, and he took my diversion of attention to quickly tweak one of my nipples, eliciting another surprised moan from my mouth. 

“I’m so much stronger than this, usually.” His large hands continue to squeeze and grope at my breasts. “But you.” He whispers, a hint of a growl making its way into his tone. “Had to push the limits. Practically begging me to come here and take you.” 

I let out a gasp as I felt his hands trail down my stomach, the cool touch of his fingertips causing the muscles to tense up there. 

“I’m gonna do it.” He whispers, his face only illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open window, but I could still see the dangerous glint in his eye, thrilling me even further. “Fuck you exactly how you want it.” 

Before I’m able to react to the sentiment, he’s grabbing onto my hips and turning me over, a yelp drawn out from me. 

“Hands and knees.” He says, in an authoritative tone that doesn’t leave any room for any disagreement. I comply quickly, much to his elation. 

“You’re so good for me, yeah? Gonna ruin you. Just how you want.” 

There’s a hint in condescension in his tone, like he’s making fun of me for wanting to be fucked this badly, but I can barely pay any mind about it, especially when I feel his cock slotting itself betweet my folds, separated only by his boxers, a shaky moan coming from Spencer. 

I can feel his hands leaving my hips and the slight lean away as he quickly shucks off the fabric, and within the next second, he’s pushing into me, providing me with a stretch and fulfillment that was so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. It doesn’t take him long to set a fast pace, the sound of our skin slapping and the smell of sex permeating the room. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He moans out, and I let out similar noises in tandem. 

I can barely find it in me to stay coherent. I want to scream how good he feels, how big his cock feels in me, how close I was- but instead the only thing I could manage was the borderline scream of his name and loud sobs of pleasure, fully at the mercy of the man behind me. I can feel the way I clamp down on him, absolutely imploring him for as much as he could give me. 

“Gonna come for me, yeah?” He says, feeling the clench of my walls on his cock.  “Come on, pretty girl. Give me what I want.” He murmurs lowly, leaning down closer to my ear. His hand shoots out a moment later, beginning to rub my clit, similar to how I had been doing a few hours earlier as he watched me, and the memory and sensation of it is enough to hurl me off the edge, my walls tightening around his cock as waves of pleasure wracked through my body.

It seemed that was enough for him as well. I felt his hips still, and a sudden warmth at my deepest point. He let out a groan of relief as he thrusted once, twice more, and then pulled out, his cum slipping down my thighs as he plopped down next to me. I’d already collapsed the second he pulled out, panting as I came down from the orgasm. 

“You good?” He mumbles, wearily, and I can feel him moving aside my hair to kiss at my shoulder. 

“Mhm.” I murmur back, a small sigh of relief escaping me. There’s a beat of silence, before he breaks it.

“Tomorrow.” He murmurs. “Wanna go out with me?” 

I raise an eyebrow, turning at him with a playful expression- as playful as I could get in this state anyway. “Where to?” 

“Target.” He mumbles, still stroking my back lazily, his eyes shining with something less intense than lust now, but still enough to turn my stomach over with butterflies.

“Target?” I say, squinting my eyes. “Why Target?” 

“We’re buying you some curtains.” He says, a small grin appearing on his face. “And maybe a stronger lock.” 

I giggle at that, rolling my eyes a bit.  “But then you don’t get to see me anymore. I kind of liked what we had going on.” 

“I did too.” He whispers, his tone slightly vulnerable now. “But I like this a lot more.” 

A small smile plasters itself to my face as I nod.

 “Me too.” I whisper back, biting my lip. 

A mutual understanding passed through the both of us as we smiled at each other in the dark, and for a split second, I imagined myself possibly loving this more someday. 

All in good time. Right now, I was going to sleep, protected by his soft, strong arms. That was enough for now. We’d finally gotten what we wanted. 

woah!! trying to finally get back into writing semi regularly i see. i hope this was enjoyable. this is one of those pieces i'm kind of unsure about, so please, please interact if you liked it! likes, comments, reblogs, anything! or let me know if you didn't! i live for feedback of any kind. thank you for reading anyhow, i am very grateful for it <3

also lol if it wasn’t obvious i listened to “she” for fic inspo lol. linked below