#Community Clothing Mission

[fogaminghub]

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[missglaskin]

“You’re such a perv!” 

Aka DC Superheroes as pervs; Dick, Jason, Tim, Roy, Wally

Please don't put a community label on this (it will only shadow ban it)

Surely your friend and confidant is not some peeping tom right?!

Warnings/tags; SMUT, female reader, vigilante!reader, Perv shenanigans, panty stealing, masturbation, dirty thoughts, corruption kink, invasion of privacy

Dick Grayson has always been your closest friend; he's the leader, the guy that everyone either wants to be like or wants him for themselves. But the boy wonder had his eyes on you, his oblivious friend. He has always been there, aiding you in missions; always saving the day, or praising you for a job well done. So how could you ever possibly know of his intense desire just for you. Dick knows his actions are downright disgusting, that small voice inside his head filling him with guilt, but his desire is just stronger. 

Missions with you are the worst. Watching you be so confident and just kick ass has him feeling all sorts of ways. Trying to turn away from your line of sight so you won't see his hard-on, his cock rubbing uncomfortably against his suit. Dick will use any excuse to get away, jerking off on the side of a rooftop, a hand against a wall and another stroking his cock, while he imagines it was your hand instead, and that alone pushes him over the edge. 

He'll find a way to make you want him too, Dick knows you're not immune to his charms. Will it be too obvious that when he goes for a hug, it's a little too tight. Is it when he places a hand on your waist pretending to keep you in place, daring his fingers to go further down. Will you push away the hands that place themselves on your thighs to pretend he's comforting you. You won't. Just as you refuse to shove away the fingers that inch closer and closer between your legs. Is it really so bad if you want him too.

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

Jason Todd knows he's a sick fuck. What kind of friend is he to even think of such things. But they are just thoughts, right? As long as he doesn't do anything creepy that is. Surely anyone dreams of fucking their best friend-that is, imagining your lips wrapped around his dick while he fists your hair, forcing you to take all of him. The guilt returns when your voice reaches him, asking him if he heard you, interrupting his brief moment of fantasy. He's relieved that the mask doesn't allow you to see how intensely he's staring at you.

It becomes a line he knows he crossed. When Jason found himself staring at your apartment window - he didn't intend to, he was just patrolling and happened to come across your apartment. Knowing you were safe and well should have been his reason to leave, until you started undressing. Seeing your tits exposed made the blood rush to his cock and when you bent slightly to remove your panties, Jason was sure he could have come right on the spot. 

You went to take a shower as Jason entered your apartment. Surely you must know to keep your window locked. Finding himself creeping toward the bathroom as if you were beckoning him in, instead, he stopped and stood over the disregarded clothes; reaching for the panties. Jason would have beaten anyone to a bloody pulp if they had done that, but it was his own reflection staring at him. He is a sick fuck, he thinks as his finger brushes over the damp spot and how he shoves it into his pockets. He's not sure if he should return your panties later, given that he eagerly rubbed his cock with it, leaving it cum stained.

-----------

Tim Drake is a wolf in sheep's clothing; he is the one person you never suspect of thinking such perverted thoughts. Tim is aware he can never justify the things he's doing. He just tells himself that he merely lacks the courage to approach you, not that it's a good reason, but it's enough for him to maintain that tiny sliver of morality. There are moments when he wishes he could just concentrate on his patrolling to keep you off his mind, but you are always there, at the back of his mind. 

Tim realizes he just can't get off without thinking about you. Tim tries watching some porn, but he keeps imagining your face instead of the actress, and he hates how it helped him reach his orgasm. Or in the mornings, when his boner is becoming too much of an issue and he's in the shower trying to rid of it. His thoughts wander to picturing you in front of him, bare and wet, with your back against the glass walls and you moaning his name. 

If there was ever a time that Tim was made known that he was really sick was that day. Him laying in bed stroking his cock and seeing the phone ringing in the corner. It's you. He ought to have just let it ring or decline, but Tim didn't know what possessed him to answer the call. Your voice is heard as he bites his lip to not let his whimpers be heard, tasting copper on his tongue. Tim moves the phone further away when he reaches his high, cum covering his hands and stomach as he continues the conversation, hoping you don't hear his ragged breath.

-----------

Roy Harper was the one person you could always confide in. He had a way of cheering you up, your tears dried as your laugh echoed throughout the room. How you consider him to be your closest friend and best partner in crime as you speak to him, while Roy thinks of how the low cut of your shirt gives him a good view of your tits from an angle. When you call his name to get his attention, Roy gives you that smile of his as he uses an excuse to use the restroom. 

Roy loves taking pictures of you. You knew Roy had them, just never imagined he would have them in his sights while he jerked off. Pictures of you with a skirt had Roy fantasize about wearing em while he's railing you from behind. Your face pressed against the pillow while you bubble nonsense, too drunk on his cock. Pictures of you looking up, had him fantasizing of you staring at him with those eyes of yours as you use your mouth, bobbing up and down on his dick.

Unaware too Roy had 'private' photos, all thanks to a few hacking tricks. Roy was occasionally tempted to send you a nude photo of himself, see how you react, and cover it up by saying it was a 'mistake'. Would you perhaps return one or get jealous wondering who it was intended for. Roy gets up, cleaning himself as he’s planning to you meet you later that day. He eyes the slightly crooked tile above his ceiling, storing all the belongings he's taken from his visits to your place. Roy thinks when the two of you are official, he should hide it in a better place.

—-----------

Wally West had plenty of opportunities to hint at his feelings toward you. He liked making flirtatious comments, complaining when he wasn't paired with you during missions, and placing an arm over your shoulders. But you just assume it's Wally's typical self, not noticing his hurt look when you claimed to be "just friends". Then again you never noticed his hurried departure and quick return, where he avoided making eye contact at all costs.

Wally feels the guilt the most. He could have just confessed to you like a normal person. Guilt consumes him when he sees your gullible smile, unaware of the horrible things he did behind your back. It's not his fault really; he was invited to your place and was simply looking around until he found a certain drawer. Wally reassures himself it's not that bad if he only takes one. But it gets to a point where you're complaining to Wally about how your clothes disappear (not telling him which kind).

A point comes where Wally reaches his breaking point. The sneaky pictures, lying on your bed when you weren't around, face in the pillows to inhale your scent could do so little. As he stares at you speaking, Wally makes a move expecting to be rejected, but you kiss him back. He was in heaven, the dreams he had in every waking point coming true. He was where he wanted you to be, on top with you full of his cock, your eyes nearly blacked out as he slams his hips repeatedly into yours. Can you blame him for moving too fast when he has been holding back for so long. 

[yueebby]

Dying thinking about gojo literally pinning and hardcore simping for reader, literally showering reader in praise, flattery and gifts because he no longer gives a damn about hiding his feelings, almost proposing to reader whenever he can and reader's just... completely clueless about it💀 and she thinks it's just gojo being friendly. Poor man would be absolutely devastated when he goes one day "[name] i'm in love with you" and she just goes "me too, i love all my friends!" 💀

she loves me, she loves me not! — gojo satoru x fem!reader

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo (what’s new), highschool!gojo, he’s pathetic but in love your honor, oblivious!reader, ooc gojo i got carried away soz

notes. anon, when i first read your ask i literally started giggling and kicking my feet. that. is. so. gojo coded.

“please reject gojo and put him out of his misery,” utahime implored, taking hold of both of your hands. you think she’s asking, no, begging you to. beside her, shoko nods vigorously. 

“but why?” you furrow your eyebrows, perplexed by their sudden request. “i can’t reject someone who doesn’t like me.”

shoko giggles at your comment. her laughter only wanes when she notices the dead serious look on your face. “... you seriously have no idea what we’re talking about?”

“not really,” you shrug, criss-crossing your legs to find some comfort on the hard wooden floor in shoko’s small dorm. it was late, past midnight, and the three of you had a shared mission tomorrow, but for some reason your two friends managed to rope you into their drinking circle.

utahime and shoko exchanged a significant glance, their unspoken communication raising your curiosity. utahime takes a long sip of her beer. 

“hopeless. they’re both hopeless,” your short haired brunette friend lamented, pinching her nose bridge. it leaves a faint pink mark.

intrigued, you lean in closer towards the two, “care to elaborate?”

“you’ve never once questioned satoru’s borderline inappropriate behavior?” shoko asks you earnestly. you ponder for a moment, trying to recall any moments in the two years you’ve known the snow-haired boy.

“satoru is satoru…” you mumble, shaking your head in denial. 

utahime’s eyes bug comically. she slams her can of beer harshly on the ground. you wince at the loud noise of the metallic can hitting the floor.

“you’re kidding. even i can see through that jerk!” utahime’s black pigtails sway wildly. 

“[name], how about what happened in shinjuku last week on our day off?” shoko quietly reminds you of last weekend when the two of you along with satoru and suguru decided to empty your pockets in one of tokyo’s largest entertainment wards. 

utahime’s head whips back and forth from her best friend to you, “eh? what happened?!”

from behind the dressing room curtain, you voiced your concerns, “shoko, i don't think we can afford designer clothes on our student budget.” the cream-colored silk dress you wore clung to your body, its price tag undoubtedly surpassing a year's worth of your student earnings.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” shoko’s voice carried a knowing smile. “just come out and show me the dress!” you think satoru’s carefree attitude is rubbing off on her.

with a nervous sigh, you emerged from the dressing room. the dress fit like a glove, accentuating your body in just the right places.

bright flashes from shoko's phone startled you, and she chuckled deviously while rapidly typing. she tossed her phone onto a luxurious cushion, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exposure.

“you look so sexy. even better than the model.” she gives you two thumbs up, eyes roaming your figure. you feel flushed at her praise.

“as flattered as i am, there’s no way i can afford this,” you look down at the dress, lips downturned. “i’d be in debt for life.”

“no need to worry,” shoko winked, leaving you confused. given that her income was similar to yours, it didn't make sense for her to be able to even dream of shopping designer.

a soft thud interrupted your conversation. you turn around to see a blue lollipop rolling on the expensive carpeting of the store.

“suguru, are my eyes deceiving me or is that an angel?”  satoru's mouth is wide open as he shamelessly checks you out. he takes one of his hands and places it over his heart, gripping the fabric of his white shirt. the windbreaker he is wearing rustles at his dramatic movement.

“i think… i’m experiencing a heart attack! shoko help!” he kneels in the middle of the store dramatically. shoko shares an unamused look with suguru. the pair nod before simultaneously kicking satoru.

during all of the commotion, you stand awkwardly in the million yen dress. 

“satoru, are you okay?” you watch him take the two blows from your friends, concern evident in your voice. he grunts softly before gently taking ahold of your hand.

“no,” he croaks with a playful glint in his eye. “i’m wounded and there’s only one way to fix it.”

you look at him, your gaze heavy with concern.

“i’m afraid you’ll have to kiss me for the pain to go away.” he added, blinking at you expectantly with his blue eyes.

 you lightly shove him away from you. “you’re an idiot.” satoru laughs loudly.

“that’s what love does to a man.”

“yeah, yeah. i’m going to change out of this dress, don’t get into any more trouble while i’m gone.” 

 satoru’s grip on your hand strengthens, halting your actions.

“how much?”

“excuse me?”

“the dress. how much for it?” he stands up to his full height, reminding you of the obvious height difference between the two of you. 

you're at loss for words. gojo was crazy, but definitely not crazy enough to spend a million yen on a silly dress.

shoko happily chimes into the conversation. “one million yen. it’ll be two million yen with the rest of my purchases though!” 

suguru’s calm demeanor is replaced with shock. the black haired male’s jaw drops, “two million– satoru, you’re seriously not thinking about–”

“hah? who said i’m paying for your stuff?” gojo makes an ugly face at shoko.

she raises her hands innocently, “it’s not my fault the dresses come in a set. if you want to see your beloved [name] in that dress you’ll have to pay for mine as well.”

you watch shoko and satoru engage into a silent argument. the tension in the fitting room section is so thick, you think it’ll take a special grade weapon to slice through it.

trying to alleviate the mood you tell gojo, “satoru, you really don’t have to–”

“i’m buying you that dress.” 

“o-okay.” 

half an hour later, satoru happily strolls out of the store with an arm around your shoulder like he’d just won the lottery.

perhaps gojo is just naturally flirty, you had tried to reason to shoko and utahime.

it’s been a week since the eye-opening conversation with the two and you’ve found yourself on cleaning duty with said snow-haired boy. it was a miracle that satoru even showed up. he had a tendency to skip his turns, often resulting in a long lecture from yaga.

as the two of you worked silently in the empty classroom, you couldn't help but admire the setting sun. its golden rays painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything. unknowingly, while you gazed at the sky, gojo's gaze was firmly fixed on you.

breaking the silence, he asked, "have you ever thought about getting married?"

his question caught you off guard, causing you to momentarily pause from wiping the windows.

“not really,” you replied, biting your lip gently. “unless my family decides to arrange a marriage. you know how unforgiving the world of jujutsu sorcery is.”

gojo's grip on the broom tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with a newfound intensity.

"we should get married y'know," he blurted out.

the piece of cloth you were using slipped from your hand in shock. surely, he couldn't mean what he was saying. after all, the two of you were only second years.

“what?”

“i’m saying i think i’m in love with you.”

“oh.” 

silence engulfs the room once more before a soft giggle escapes your lips.

satoru can only watch, entranced.

“that’s good to hear! i love you too– and suguru and shoko! perhaps the four of us should all just get married.” you chuckle into your hand.

satoru can't help but stare at your hand in envy. perhaps if he were the palm of your hand, he’d be able to feel the touch of your lips.

but he couldn’t. he was cursed as a man with an overpowered innate technique, and despite it all he couldn’t even gain the one thing he desired. gojo satoru watched you, eyes filled with a mixture of longing and defeat.

his devastation does not go unnoticed by you.

you were under the impression that he was grumpy because yaga had forced him into cleaning with you.

"cheer up, satoru! if we finish early enough," you continue, your tone highspirited, "we can go to the new crepe shop that opened last week. my treat!" you winked, and that immediately caught his attention.

“like a date?” his eyes sparkled with hope.

you shrug, a smile on your face. “i suppose if you look at it from a certain perspective…”

“great, it’s a date!” 

good things come to those who wait, satoru thinks, humming happily as he starts to sweep the room at an inhumane pace.

maybe in ten years time the two of you will be happily married with eight kids, he smiles to himself.

[sweetmodel]

If you feel like giving up on shifting, here's a list of the highs and the lows I've experienced only thanks to shifting:

-Being with someone I liked in my original reality but couldn't have;

-Having fairy wings and flying, feeling the air flow between your hair, body and the rush of adreline the higher you go up;

-Using my magic for the first time, connecting with all sort of living beings (plants, animals) and being able to communicate with them and feel things in a deeper way;

-Having a group of friends in my dorm and becoming united and tight;

-Using futuristic technology;

-Reading really ancient magical books;

-Seeing our solar system in space;

-Actually, being inside a spaceship and seeing space FROM space itself! You think everything is huge and distant? You won't realize how true it is until you're there;

-Connecting to different types of elemental magic all around you, from fire, to water, to more complex things like light and space itself;

-Using magic to make your life easier. Bed? Just use your magic to make it. Clothes? Just spin around and you're ready to go. Bad hair? What's that? I know too many beauty spells to have bad hair;

-Using both dark and light powers, truly understanding the meaning of emotions, even the ones considered ""negative";

-Having an actual arch-nemesis, somehow and someway being so different yet so similar;

-Meeting all sorts of humanoids, from demons, angels, dryads, androids, fairies... and the list goes on;

-Actually belonging to those groups!

-Buying all sort of clothes and accessories, imagine something that doesn't exist here, you can actually wear it now;

-Being sent on mission on another planet;

-Studying on another planet! Waking up and seeing the rings of Saturn, while the sun is just a little tiny dot far away in the sky;

-Being away from Earth and knowing magic is real while the entirety of humanity doesn't;

-Being cast for the first time in your first role!

-Opening a bank account and seeing the cash flow;

-Being loved and appreciated for your talent and the things you do;

-Barely staying on social media to avoid all sort of hate that might get to you;

-Travelling around the world to sing on stage;

-Being able to basically buy anything, without any limits whatsover;

-Big numbers everywhere, from views, to followers, to money;

-Meeting celebrities whom you once liked and being like... "Hey, this person is just like me";

-Celebrities being starstruck for you instead of the other way around;

-a majority of your roles being your main realities;

-Buying your first house! Despite actually living there only for two months max since you're always around the globe;

-Falling in love with people you shouldn't;

-Your ex in your fame reality playing the role of your actual ex of another reality (this one took me out you guys I didn't even do it on purpose)

-Having professors that aren't humans. One of my professor is a victorian frog (If you know you know);

-Being sent all over the cosmo to stop the big bads from taking over;

-While also having to return to class like everything is fine!

-But it totally is... I guess this is the new normal now?;

-Finding out the big villain who's been terrorizing the whole town is your boyfriend's dad and breaking up cause it was too much for you (If you know you know part 2);

-The responsability of the town's safety weighting on you, wondering if you are fit for the role despite winning so many times;

-Starting an investigation on campus because some shady stuff is happening;

-Becoming popular, actually being sucked into popularity and the superficial part of you coming out;

-Your friends being mad at you for it and then remembering what's truly important, them;

-Fighting in battle. You get hurt A LOT if you aren't careful;

-Your arch-nemesis confessing their ACTUAL crimes to you and keeping it a secret because you don't want to get caught by the law;

-Meeting the same people in different realities and realizing how deep people (and also you) are, and how complex life truly is;

I'm sure there's waaaay more since I spent so much time in my realities, but oh there are the ones that came up right now. Hope you guys like the list!

[traveler-at-heart]

Miss Communication

Summary: Natasha is avoiding the feelings talk so you use the only thing that seems to be working: jealousy.

A/N: This request and entire plot is from @happychopshoppenguin so all credit really goes to them. I just put into a few more words.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Stealthy, precise, lethal.

Well, what a load of crap. All Natasha Romanoff is, is a coward. There.

You’re so pissed off, all you want to do is open up her file and write “committment issues” under weaknesses.

But that’s not your job.

No, your job is intelligence and data analysis. Go over information, read endless reports and make a summary that the Avengers can understand, because they don’t have the time to sit around and do it themselves.

And now, you’re here, talking about a new terrorist organization with Steve. Natasha should be here, as second in command, but for reasons unknown to you and Captain America, she has failed to show up.

Again, coward.

Fine, if she doesn’t answer your texts you’ll find her anywhere she’s hiding in this big ass building.

“Hey, Y/N” Sam greets as you walk down the hall.

“Damn. Is it allowed to have guns in the kitchen area?” you smile mischiveously, used to flirting around with the team. He looks around, clearly confused and you reach out to touch his bicep. “I mean, what are they feeding you, Wilson? You’re as buff as Steve”

“Hell, yeah” he smiles, flexing and putting on a little show. You’re laughing and making small talk when someone magically appears, glaring.

Natasha is fuming and you don’t know if the anger is directed at you or Sam. Looking directly at her, you laugh and place a strand of hair behind your ear, as if Sam just said the funniest thing ever.

She can’t answer a fucking text but feels jealous? Well, good. At least you know she cares.

“You’re annoying her, Wilson” Bucky joins you, leaning against the kitchen island and giving you a crooked smile. “Hey, doll”

“Hi, handsome” you place your hands on each side of his face. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah” he says, practically drooling.

“I think you’d look really good if you cut your hair”

“I’ll think about it” he promises.

“Move aside, I’m taking Y/N out for lunch” Sam says, pushing Bucky.

“Oh, sweetheart. You can’t handle all of this” you tease. “But I won’t say no to lunch”

“That’s good enough for me” he agrees, offering his arm. You take it, winking at Bucky and walking away.

Natasha is already planning six different ways to make Wilson disappear, and Bucky goes to his room.

“Gotta get a haircut” he mumbles.

Oh, like hell.

Neither one of them can touch what’s hers.

—

Natasha: How was lunch?

Y/N: Oh, NOW you text me?

Y/N: We need to talk. Call me.

—

Natasha throws the phone across the room, feeling like screaming into her pillow. It still smells like you, which makes her heart ache.

If only she hadn’t been so stupid to ruin whatever it is you two had.

You were on top of her, riding her strap, as you had done so many times since you started your situationship. Hands on Natasha’s abdomen, feeling how her muscles worked to pump in and out of you.

“I love your tits” Natasha said, breathless. You nodded, bouncing harder, moaning desperately. “I love your pussy, it’s perfect for my cock”

“Baby, I’m so close” you whined, so desperate you barely registered her next words.

“I love you”

Eyes wide open, your movements stopped for a second. Before you could answer, Natasha flipped you and you were face down, ass in the air as she entered, pounding harder.

And you really wanted to ask what the fuck and if she really meant what she said, but you were so close that all you could do was moan her name and come hard around the strap.

You barely registered when Natasha pulled out. You felt empty and confused and so stretched.

“Nat? Babe, wait”

“I have to… I forgot a mission report, I’m sorry” she muttered, putting her clothes on and leaving in a hurry. She ran out of her own fucking room before owning what she said.

And now, she couldn’t even look at you. She couldn’t stand the idea that you would reject her.

The little hope that lingered in the back of her mind was the most painful feeling of all.

All she wanted was to be loved by you.

—

Call me means fucking call me.

It means don’t pretend nothing happened.

God, she’s so infuriating. And hot. And good at sex.

But mostly infuriating.

Now you’re back in the Compound, determined to get her to talk to you. Which is why you decided to wear your low cut dress and push up bra.

She said she loves your breasts, right? Well, here they fucking are.

You carry a bunch of binders that need filing, and they help cover your boobs as you enter the living room. Natasha is sitting, and you think she is almost ready to approach you when Sam beats her to it.

“Here, let me help you” Sam offers. The minute your cleavage comes to view, his eyes widen.

“Hey, doll” Bucky greets and you turn around. His mouth flails open, but all you can do is admire his new look.

“Buck, oh my God! You actually listened to me?” you run your hands through his hair, making it impossible for him to look away from your chest. “You look absolutely stunning. Good boy”

“Yeah, uh… I…”

The interaction annoys Natasha, but she knows you won’t even entertain the idea of doing anything with those two.

Her mood quickly changes when Carol appraches you. She's a whole different story.

“Carol, it’s been ages since you’ve been here! All I read are your mission briefings” you say, hugging her tight.

“Well, how bout I tell you everything I’ve been up to over dinner?” she offers with a smile.

“Y/N” Natasha finally snaps. “I missed this week’s report. Mind filling me in?”

“Sure thing” you pull away, reluctantly. “Be right back, Danvers”

Natasha leads you to the conference room and pushes you against the door as soon as you enter.

“Why must you be such a brat?” she whispers against your ear, biting down your earlobe.

“It's the only way to get your attention, Natasha” you protest, trying to sound upset.

You’re torn between lust and anger, but she’s such a good kisser that her lips make you forget everything that’s happened in the last few days.

“I should punish you” she threatens, going down your body and pulling the dress up. Who is she kidding? Her mouth is watering at the thought of tasting you. “Bet you’d love that”

Love.

The word pulls you out of your trance. Natasha is about to take your panties off when you stop her, pulling her away by her hair.

“We’re going to talk”

“You don’t make the calls here”

“Natasha, stop it. I’m serious”

You really don’t want her to stop, but you can’t keep wondering if she meant it.

You want her to mean it.

“Are you seriously gonna make a big deal about it?”

“Ugh, you drive me insane, Natasha. Why can’t you just admit what you said and whether or not you meant it? Do you even care about what I want?”

She stays silent and you groan, pulling up your dress and fixing your clothes.

“I really wanted to be more than just fuck buddies” you admit before going out. “But if the thought of loving me is so embarassing for you, then forget about it. I won’t force the feeling out of you”

Natasha stays behind, wondering how she got it all wrong.

You wanted her.

By the time she comes to her senses, you’re long gone. But Carol does meet her in the hallway, smiling.

“Hey, do you mind telling Cap I’m skipping our meeting? Y/N and I are having dinner”

“Sure” Natasha nods, feeling her stomach drop.

Now it’s too late and she lost you.

—

The second anniversary of the Sokovian Accords comes and goes in a flash. Natasha really wanted to skip it, go find you and apologize.

And yet, here she is, in the Quinjet, flying back to the Compound after two days of exhausting diplomacy.

“Why couldn’t we stay a few days in Paris?” Sam laments for the third time.

“New recruits are in the middle of their training” Barton says from the pilot seat. “At least they got a break these last couple of days”

 “No, they didn’t” Wanda says. “Y/N is training them. Maria asked her to do it before we left”

“Y/N?” everyone says, looking at each other.

“But she’s a data analyst, not a field agent” Sam says.

“And the sweetest person ever” Bucky adds. He holds Natasha’s glare and smiles. Oh, he knows what’s up.

“Well, let’s make sure we put them back into shape when we get there” Steve slaps Bucky’s arm.

Boy, are they all wrong. When the team goes back to the Compound, you’re in the middle of a training session. A guy runs out of the gym, his shoulder crashing against Sam’s as he bolts for the exit.

“She’s fucking crazy, man” he says to himself, looking terrified.

“What the hell?”

Steve pushes the door to the gym. And there you are, in the middle of sparring. With one swift motion you kick the guy to the floor, and he puts his hands up, as if begging for mercy.

“Oh, we have company” you taunt, walking confidently around the students. “Anyone want to fight the Avengers? I promise you they’re not as hard to beat”

“Who is she and what has she done to Y/N?” Barton whispers.

Natasha has to hold back a moan. You look cold and deathly, having kicked all of their asses without breaking a sweat. That also explains why you’re so… bendy.

“Fine. Since none of you could even land a hit on me, you’re running ten laps. Don’t come back here unless you’ve thrown up or cried once”

All the recruits scramble to their feet, relieved now that they can get away from you. You turn around, giving the Avengers a challenging look.

“What? Wanna give it a try? I’ll go easy on you” you say. “Maybe not on Natasha, though. She hasn’t been a good girl”

“Ew” Wanda says, leaving the room. Between that and Natasha’s bendy thought, that was so loud she might as well have screamed it in the middle of the gym, she’s had enough.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got” Barton is the only one that steps up. You nod, evaluating his approach. He throws the first punch but it never lands. You move out of his way at record speed, keeping the contact at minimum while you kick the back of his legs, making him fall on his knees. Another three blows and Clint is face down on the mat.

“Pass” Sam says when you turn around to see who’s next.

“I’ll take my chances” Natasha says, stepping up. You smile in a way that makes a chill run down her spine.

Natasha thinks you can never go wrong with a classic move, so she throws her legs around your neck. But you block the movement and make her land on her back, hands pinned abover her head.

It happens at least three different times, each position becoming more sexual.

“I think we should leave” Bucky says.

“In a minute”

“Come on, Wilson” he forces him out the door, closing it for good measure and hoping you keep your clothes on before the recruits come back.

If they even come back.

“I promise you, you’re not gonna win this time, Natasha” you say, out of breath for the first time. Her eyes travel to your lips and you lean forward, stopping inches away from her mouth. “And I sure as hell ain’t letting you go without talking about that thing you said the other day”

“Please…”

“Now you’re polite. Now you say please. I’ve been chasing you for a fucking week to know if you like me for more than my tits and ass” you finally give in, kissing her for a few seconds. She whines against your mouth, trying to create friction. But your hold is too strong and she can’t move an inch without your permission.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I was scared you’d reject me and then everything would be ruined forever between us. I love you, so damn much it scares me” Natasha finally breaks, surprising herself with the way she’s pouring her heart out to you.

But that’s how much she loves you and how much she needs you.

Her words leave you breathless and you smile, going back to being your usual self.

“Natasha, I love you so damn much, it drives me crazy. Please don’t ever doubt that, sweetheart”

She nods, her nose rubbing against yours and you finally do what you’ve been craving all week. You kiss her, gently at first, and then more passionately, your hands dropping from hers to let her hug you.

You moan against her mouth, Natasha’s tongue slipping inside.

“Fuck, baby, I need you” you moan, going back to being submissive for the redhead.

“What does my pretty girl want? My mouth or my fingers?”

“Just you, anything, please”

Thinking back to the last time she almost had you, her mouth waters and she decides to flip you on your back and travel down your body, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses and pulling down your shorts and underwear.

“All of this for me?” she asks, running her fingers up and down your slit, collecting your juices and sucking on her digit. “I missed your taste, princess”

“Nat, please” you cant your hips up, hoping she takes the hint. You’re too far gone to form a coherent sentence.

Natasha darts her tongue out. She moans at the taste, and snakes her arms around your thighs to keep you in place. Her tongue goes up and down, then deep inside you and you shudder.

You would almost feel embarrassed for lasting so little, but it’s not your fucking fault she was hiding for a week.

When you remember that, your hands go to her hair and you pull her closer. Natasha enjoys the roughness, her movements speeding up and pushing you over the edge.

You come, crying out her name and trembling. As you struggle to catch your breath, Natasha moves up, letting you taste yourself in her mouth.

“Hey, baby”

“Hey” you say, smiling.

“Can I take you out to dinner tonight? I’d like to make it up to you”

“Yes to dinner. And give me a couple more of those orgasms and we’ll call it even”

“That sounds like a deal” she smiles against your lips, eager to make up for the lost time.

[wanda-widow]

Post-Mission

Grumpy!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 832

Summary: Bucky has always been one to try and pull away from people who care about him. However, you're always one to be insistent and care for him anyways, no matter what he says.

18+ MDNI

Warnings: slight angst, implied smut if you squint your eyes, fluff

Like and reblog if you wish 💗

Hearing footsteps shuffle down the hall along with the sound of a dragging duffle was all you needed to know that Bucky was back from his week long mission. Hopping off the bed and peeking your head out of your shared bedroom, you saw Bucky scrub a weary hand down his face. You instantly frowned, worried as you hurried over to him, taking the duffle out of his hands. 

“How was the mission? Are you hurt anywhere? We should get you some food, you look exhausted” you said while rushing back to the room to unpack his gear as he let out a sigh, silently chucking off his boots before face planting on the bed. 

“Bucky?” came your worried voice after you put his boots into the closet, sitting on the bed next to him and poking his shoulder. “Bucky, get up. Shower, eat, and then rest.” you urged, poking him again when his vibranium hand shot out to grip your wrist.

“Let me sleep” he said gruffly before shifting on the bed so that his back was turned to you, leaving you rubbing your wrist softly. You knew he wasn’t too responsive after missions since it took so much out of him, not that he was one for words or self care anyways. Still, you took it upon yourself to make sure he was cared for. 

“Please? I’ll make you plum croissants tomorrow if you just shower and eat” you tried again, scooting closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder as you felt him sigh again before sitting up.

“Eat and then shower” he said, running a hand through his hair as he made his way to one of the compound communal kitchens, sitting down on one of the stools as he waited for you expectantly. 

“Grilled cheese?” you offered, slotting yourself in the opening between his thighs, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he nodded, fingers trailing down your arm as you pulled away. You could feel his gaze follow you as you bustled around the kitchen to make his food. “Go shower and then you can eat after” you said softly, turning around to look at him as he frowned, reaching out to tug you by the wrist back into his proximity.

“Thought you would shower with me” he said softly, letting his walls down while no one else was around. You felt his hands come to rest on your waist, forehead between your breasts as he pressed a kiss through your clothes. 

“Another time, I promise” you laughed softly, letting your hands run through his hand before stopping at his shoulders, letting one hand trail down his vibranium arm. He let out a quiet whine before getting off the stool, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. You watched as he went back to the room to shower before turning back to the sandwich, humming softly.

20 minutes later, Bucky was freshly showered and seated at the counter once more, gaze still fixed on you as you plated his sandwich and sat next to him. He ate in silence for a while as you observed the new wounds on his back. Finding some gauze and neosporin, you began to bandage them gently.

“They’re shallow but-” 

“They’re nothing” Bucky cut you off but made no move to stop you from patching him up. After placing the last piece of medical tape, he turned in his stool to face you, the both of you exchanging silent conversation before he got up to wash his plate. 

“If you keep going on long missions, you’re just gonna keep destroying yourself, Buck” you said quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. It became more apparent that the past couple months, he just drew further into himself with each mission, determined to block out the pain with endless fighting. 

“I’m just helping the team” he said tersely, putting his dish in the drying rack before he walked back to the room, expecting you to follow behind him. You stood there for a moment, willing for the emotions to fade, to appreciate that he was here. 

Your legs moved in habit, walking to your shared bedroom and flicking off the light before sliding under the covers with him. You could still hear his breaths, short and controlled. He wasn’t asleep.

After a long moment of silence, he spoke up again. “I don’t mean it, doll. The rudeness, the violence. I’m trying.”

“Bucky…” you started quietly but stopped when you felt the bed shift, a heavy weight now resting across your waist, shallow puffs of breath ghosting across your collarbone. 

“I’ll take a month break, spend time with you?” he half offered, half begged, the grip on your waist tightening.

“James…” 

“Only time with you. No one else unless really needed” he whispered, his leg shifting to now rest over yours, lips gently sucking at the base of your neck, smirking when he felt you cave. 

“How does Bali sound?” 

[solbaby7]

Calypso

pairing: azriel x reader

warning: swearing, mentions of being beaten, violence, murder, probably typos, based off a tiktok i saw (pretty sure this is based off a play or something along those lines)

summary: The sweetest member of the Inner Circle shows the Autumn Court the true extent of feminine rage.

—

“Something is wrong,” Azriel couldn’t stop pacing, heart thumping so hard in his chest he was sure there was an imprint beginning to etch its way onto his skin. A hand absently rubs at his chest, clothes feeling too tight and his brothers don’t miss the rigid raise of his wings. Shadows cloak his form, curling around his ears and tugging on his clothes in their own way of communicating the same thing he had. “Something is very, very wrong. She should be back by now.”

Rhysand try’s to remain reasonable—to regain control of the rapidly escalating situation but you were supposed to have been back nearly four hours ago.

At first, the High Lord had thought it was a good idea; that you’d be a pleasant change from Az’s domineering brood or Cassian’s incessant need to mouth off but the longer they waited the more Rhys considered that maybe he made the wrong call. “She’s gone on missions to Autumn alone many times before, Az.”

The shadowsinger nods in agreement but his stance doesn’t relax even a bit. “Sure but she’s never once been late getting back home. Never.” Saying the words seem to be confirmation enough, waiting one second—two before he’s retreating from Rhysand’s office and saying fuck it to any of the consequences that he would surely face if he got there and something had happened to you.

��Az,” Cass shouts from down the hall, bounding steps sounding against the polished floors as he falls in stride with him. “Just wait for one second.”

“If it was your mate, would you wait?”

“Of course not but we just need two minutes to assess the situation before just barging inside—this is Autumn we are talking about here.”

“I don’t care.”

Fingers rake through shoulder length hair, honey eyes clocking Azriel’s determined stride, the hard brow and strong set of his mouth. “I understand that but if it gets her killed—”

“Us waiting might get her killed,” Azriel snaps, nearly growling the words free; shadows stiffening at his shoulders in agitation. “I won’t risk it. I won’t lose her.”

There’s no room for fighting; not when Rhys and Cassian were too busy trying to keep up with Azriel’s brutal pace to cross the wards. Winnowing in a rush never did well on the stomach but the unease that churns in Azriel’s gut the moment they arrive at Autumns borders is anything but normal.

“This isn’t right,” Cassian insists, following behind with a watchful eye; every muscle in his body tense as awareness prickles to life. “Where are the guards? The hounds?” It’s too quiet, the sky too dark and yet Azriel continues on a path of his own making; following the pure string within to draw him back to his other half.

The spymaster rips through the trees, shoving aside offending branches with little regard for the noise being made. It works in his favor, stumbling at the right place at the wrong time judging by the frazzled guards and a High Lord soaked from the waist down. Complete silence fills the space; not even a bird chirps, no rustling of woodland creatures, no crackling cadence of crawling cicadas. “Where is she?” Azriel demands, voice dangerously low as he searched deeper within the bond; scrambling for further direction, desperate for the confirmation of your safety.

Beron Vanserra looks too smug, a devilish smirk crafting in the corner of his mouth. Auburn hair falls from its neat styling, clothes ruffled and Azriel knows he can’t be the only one who notices the petrified expressions plastered on the guards faces—the fact that none of them make a move to comment on Night Court breaching another’s borders without permission. “Where’s who?”

“You know who,” Rhysand says your name carefully, casually pressing forward until he stood before Azriel, serving as a barrier between a male withholding answers and another male willing to carve the world to pieces in order to obtain them. “Your meeting with her should’ve ended hours ago.”

“It never started,” Beron waves a hand dismissively, his clothes drying with the motion. Guards surround him, leaving a gap for visibility but their security is subdued; trembling with fear and eyes glistening with guilt. “She never arrived.”

Azriel’s grip tightens around the hilt of Truthteller, golden irises narrow to slits and his voice is but a hiss. “You’re lying.”

A brow raises, the overwhelming scent of whiskey and cinnamon muddled by sea salt and ocean spray; a confusing combination laced with a distress that did not belong to the High Lord of Autumn. “Do you have proof?”

Shadows creep up Azriel’s form, silently reminding its master of their presence and willingness to eliminate the threat no matter the outcome but before his lips can form words—an unnatural noise cuts through the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stands at attention, golden eyes surveilling every inch of dense foliage. “What was that?”

Its eerie and drawn out, almost like song but the melody held no comfort, no warmth.

“What did you do?” Azriel swallows thickly, shoulders uncomfortably tense as the humming continues, layered feminine voices piercing their ears like the sirens Cass always talked about around a crackling fire after too much to drink.

“I did nothing.” Beron shrugs, voice even and sure but the fear that settles behind his eyes isn’t equally well hidden. His body language betrays him, subconsciously shuffling closer to the readied guards that flank every side of their High Lord.

“Vanserra.” Your silhouette is barely noticeable when cloaked in the night and Azriel’s brow raises at the tears in your gown, the healing split of your lip—and where were your shoes?

Rhys calls your name, taking only a single step before Cassian’s iron grip curls around his arms, swiftly tugging him back and behind him. A general protecting the leader of his court as the scene before them became horribly apparent. “Impossible,” Beron whispers, not bothering to hide the disbelief—the horror. “You died.”

Azriel’s stance faulters, the stony expression unable to hide the unbridled pain that etches its way onto his features at the words.

But, you don’t seem phased.

In fact, you don’t seem much like yourself at all.

The soft glow of your light is replaced with a murky darkness; soiled by anger and the bubbling desire for vengeance and all of it is directed towards the copper haired male with a heart like coal and a soul filled to the brim with ash. “Get in the water.” You command.

“I am immune to your witchcraft, demon.” Beron scoffs your way, attempting to deflect the shake of his voice with the accusatory finger pointed to the High Lord of Night tucked safely behind his brothers. “Control your bitch or I will.”

Azriel pushes back the need to retaliate, golden eyes sliding from the male to the woman he loved; a woman who exuded unbridled feminine rage the longer you allowed such power to flow through you—power you always kept so bottled up, so contained. Soothed into submission by your kindness and grace, the love you shared with friend and stranger alike; all unleashed from the conclaves of their confinement. Az’s grip on Truthteller tightens and it’s a true test of will to tear his gaze away long enough to address Beron once more. “What did you do?”

The Autumn Courts High Lord goes still. The air seems to thin, the water bristling against the rocky shore; howling, shouting, demanding to rise—to bend at your will and follow out the revenge you seeked. “Tell them,” Your voice ebbs through the space between you, unnaturally controlled, unusually low and unbearably empty. “Tell them what you did to me and maybe I’ll show mercy.”

“I did nothing.”

A guard sucks in a shaky breath, sweat lacing his brow and it takes no more than a second before he’s released hold of his weapon and drops to the ground on his knees. “Forgive me.” He begs, hands pressed together as if he were praying. “I-I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.” Cassian regards Azriel with a sharp look, crimson Syphons brewing with power as every cell in his body screamed that something terrible was going to happen—that something terrible had happened and they were too late. Forced to stand by, frozen as you were molded into a woman they could hardly recognize. The pretty blue dress you’d left in is torn, ruined fabric sagging in ribbons, showing off collarbones covered in bruises shaped like fingerprints, in cuts that healed before their very eyes. Soaked hair hangs past your shoulders, dripping down your back as the wind whipped through what remained of your clothes. “I beg of you, please, have mercy.”

The apology does no good and before Cassian can work up a plan to get Rhysand as far away as possible, you’re already wrapping them in a dome of water so crystal clear it’s like glass; shielding them from your rage while providing a front row seat to the events long since forged in stone. “Rhys, can you get in her head?”

“I don’t have to,” Rhysand responds barely above a whisper, violet eyes so pale, pupils so pinpricked as the events were shoved at him at an upresendented speed. You, arriving as planned, joining the High Lord privately for dinner when the two sips of wine began to have your body feeling like a whole night of binging at Rita’s with the girls. The images project onto the other, Cass and Az watching with bated breath as they looked through your eyes, felt your disorientation, the fear, the disgust when hands roamed over your body. It took everything for Azriel not to break, to unleash horrors upon Beron Vanserra and every male involved as he watched you beg for them to let you go. Your shoes left in a hallway in your struggle, soft skin and prettily painted toes marred by the rough tugging, the crude remarks and sick promises to kill you quick.

Cassian’s stomach churns, food curdling from within when he feels you strain against the water, as they held you down and left you there long after your hands went limp.

They could feel the power within you, pumping back life into the tiny sliver of hope left, expelling the water from your lungs and replacing that beacon of light with something the High Lord of Autumn better understood. “Get in the water,” You say once more, stepping closer and the crashing waves seem to move with you, lapping at your bare feet, salving over aches and bruises.

“Or what?” He spits, struggling to grapple into whatever control he had left but his vile tone holds no weight in comparison to you and cold expression settling into your eyes.

“Or I’ll raise the tides so high, all of Autumn Court will die.” There’s no bite in your words, only pure promise; steps strong and filled with an uncapped power so strong it seemed to throb. The bustling waves behind you climb higher and higher, so high the skyline is blocked; so high that nothing else existed behind you but such torrential oceans filled with its creatures that thrashed and snapped their jaws to do as you pleased. “Say the words, Beron. Tell them what you did to me.” Azriel’s feels it before he sees it; the bubbling emotions, the swelling power inside of you coming to a head and begging to explode. “Say it!” You demand so furiously the same guard on his knees visibly flinches, thick streams of tears trailing down his aged face as his back bows in submission before their very eyes.

He sings like a canary, confessing to following their High Lords orders of sending the Night Court a message for foolishly in believing in peace. The male professes how one of the cooks were told to lace the wine to subdue her. He musters up the decency to spare the shadowsinger a pleading glance, spilling out useless apologies and promises to never do it again—how disgusted he felt harming a female; one who was so sweet and gentle but orders were orders.

No one speaks, the other guards eyes are as wide as saucers, mouths parted in utter shock as they await the repercussions of the confession; trembling like branches in the wind under the suffocating pressure of your power.

Beron doesn’t pay the sobbing male swathed in armor any mind. Instead, he’s trained on the fellow High Lord—borderline desperate in his command. “Control her. Please.”

“It’s all about control with you, isn’t it, Beron?” Each step closer has your nose curling in disgust, lip quirking in a snarl. “I should fix that.” Wind whistles around furiously, snatching through auburn hair and ripping the overly expensive cloak right from his shoulders. True terror sets root in cruel eyes and the hairs on the back of Beron’s neck raises; primal instincts warning him of impending danger—of inevitable doom. “I’ll make tidal waves so profound that both your wife and your sons will drown.”

“Seize her,” Beron spits, snapping out the words so fiercely that spittle shoots free but even his own protection detail realizes who’s really in control here and not one of them moves to appease the order. “Threatening a High Lord and his family is punishable by death.”

Birds screech their caws of great displeasure, wings fluttering furiously against the trees in such a frenzy that leaves fall free; taunting the end of one reign and the beginnings of another. You don’t feed into his poor attempts of deflecting, his words entering one ear and flying out the other. “You mistake my threats for bluff,” Swords clatter to the ground, Autumn soldiers sharply turning on the balls of their feet with full intent to run—to rush back to their wives and children for the false feeling of safety. You allow them a few strides as a kindness before unleashing the torrential downpour upon them; sweeping each one clean off their feet in their fancy armor. “You have lived more than enough.” Shades of deep red and burnt orange fight uselessly against the angry seas, rough tides swallowing up the soldiers garbled screams and washing them away.

Beron chokes on the salty water, legs pumping furiously against the current, his eyes burning and lungs filling with the catastrophic affects of your anger. “Stop!” His cheeks turn red, the veins in his neck straining against tanned skin and you find yourself fixating on the way his hands claw at his throat—fighting for the slightest gasp of oxygen.

“Did you stop when I begged?” The oceans cover land with ease, seeping past the borders with full intent to make good on your promises on destroying every inch of Autumn territory. “When I screamed for you to just please let me go?” Deep red shifts to an unusual shade of purple, water seeps from his nose and his eyes all but bulge out of the socket.

Choked noises sputter from Beron’s lips, an arm desperately clutching around the base of a tree to keep from being washed up. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” The water parts for you, allowing you a perfect path to the High Lord and you take your sweet time watching his struggle—his disarray. He looks so utterly boyish this way, his hair soaked over his forehead, lashes dark and clustered together under the force of ocean spray smacking at his cheeks like a million microscopic needles. “But, you will be.”

Eerie voices sing their song, layering over the other in a plethora of different pitches until Beron’s head snaps from side to side, eyes searching frantically for the source but he realizes too late.

Water wraiths and their siren sisters cut through the cool waters like a sword through the wind, their webbed fingers eager to grab at the deviant of a man responsible for savagely murdering countless of their brothers and sisters in cold blood just for sport. One of them pause, the features of her face rippling with the tide but there’s no mistaking the respectful nod of her head—one that you return.

You don’t linger to watch the rest, your anger fizzling out and all that’s left is the desire to go home and spend a whole week hidden in the sheets with your mate. If he’d still have you after all this. Bare feet trudge against the ground until you stand before your family, the barrier lowered. You can’t meet their eyes, the wounds too raw and their pity too palpable but the familiar comfort of cool shadows drape over you, evaluating and assessing before relaying their findings back to their master. “I—“

Azriel’s body collides with yours before the whole sentence can even form, strong arms wrapping you up and tugging you as close as he could. His hands go over every inch of you, muttering under his breath about how he’d never let you out of his sight again. “You’re okay,” His shoulders visibly relax, when he can’t find a hint of damage on you—not even a bruise. “Thank gods you’re okay.”

Your eyes slide past him, lips pursing as you prepared yourself for whatever came next. You’d killed a High Lord—there’s no chance anyone would just let that go. “Rhysand, I—“

“You didn’t do anything,” He swiftly cuts in, regarding you fondly even if his stomach swells with guilt at the thought of being the one who put you in harms way in the first place. “You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

For now.

[harmonysanreads]

Thinking about being shared between Yandere!Dr Ratio and Yandere!Aventurine.

But instead of being locked up in one room, they let you roam free—or at least, as free as two of the most overbearing men will deem fit. These two have no disagreement in terms of their intentions concerning you and can communicate almost seamlessly in this regard. Be not mistaken though, neither of them are particularly fond of this arrangement, but they'd much rather shake hands on the fact that their cooperation will be mutually beneficial instead of partaking in pointless feuds.

And their theory on this is quite credible ; Aventurine is more spontaneous and inconsistent with his affections while Ratio is more grounded. Albeit, Aventurine's job contributes to this, being out on missions and tasks when the IPC demands it. As such, when he does have you all to himself, his pent up frustrations and adoration rain down all at once. He's the most susceptible to your whims, just mention the name and he'll present it to you through any means. Never forget to thank him with a kiss or something similar within the first hour though, does he not deserve it?

Consequently, you end up spending most of your time with Ratio. He prefers to keep you in his vicinity at any given moment, though hardly do you end up conversing about menial topics. If his work involves sitting down for a prolonged time, it is a rule that you must perch atop his lap and remain still. If he's heading to a bath, you must accompany him, regardless of which hour of the night it is.

You're either seen silently sitting by the side in Ratio's lectures, serving as damage control if his temper has been tested beyond limit ; or, hanging by Aventurine's arm as he flaunts you as his ‘lucky charm’ in casinos and parades you around in shopping malls.

You are not a mediator in their arguments, for you do not match their heights in intellectual factors. You do not have the final say in your cuisine or clothing if you're going out with them, though they might ask for your opinion once-in-a-blue-moon. You're constantly tossed back and forth, but you're not allowed to have a favorite, even if they may entertain the idea in playful moods. Behind one another's back, they slyly lure you to vent about how suffocatingly the other has treated you. You'd be wise to understand that it is nothing but a trap.

It's not so bad, if you have no problem being treated as a pampered pet more than a human being with autonomous thoughts, that is.

tldr: the crack image i have of this au is reader sitting very still while ratio tries to make a sculpture of them and aventurine showering money on them to piss off ratio

[nyxwoodstone]

Televangelism | Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Simon offers Johnny a place to stay the night after a deployment, and Johnny gladly obliges. Much to his surprise, there's more to Simon Riley's home life than he previously thought.

TLDR: Soap doesn't know that Simon has a wife...he finds out when he goes to his Lt's house. :)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, female reader, pregnant!reader, Simon and reader already have a toddler..., maybe a little OOC Ghost but allow it, no smut all plot, still MDNI I swear to God, idk like minor swearing but if you're from the COD fandom I feel like you should know that, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: if you saw this previously posted to another account, no you didn't :) I don't really know what to call this type of fic, it is a Ghost x Reader, but it's got quite a bit of self-reflection and characterization from Soap. very little beta, but msg me if there's any horrendous spelling or grammar issues. i'm not American, hence the spelling differences. let's just ignore the fact that Ghost inviting Johnny to sleep at his house is more than a little too friendly for special forces guys, let's just ignore that plz!!!!!

Dictionary: SO - superior officer Civvies - civilian clothing NOD's - them night vision goggle thingo's Padre - colloquial name for Bristish Army Chaplains

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

It was done.

Another successful operation. A difficult operation.

The entire squad had returned with just minor scrapes and cuts, and more shit to compartmentalise. Not that there was much compartmentalisation these days, the missions just rolled into each other. Sometimes there was a week break in between, sometimes a few months. Never enough time for Soap regain his footing in civilian life. Never enough time to get past the 'disruption' phase of reintegration that the chaplains were always talking about.

Every time he flew back to base, he'd get the same bleeding rundown from a different Padre. Every. Time.

"Now, there are five stages of reintegration after deployment, Sergeant."

"I know that."

"Humour me."

He'd fight back the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes, he'd just do it. The chaplain would continue.

"Pre-entry, you've done that already, psych evals and such. You know the drill. Then, reunion, you'll see your family again-"

Shit. He needed to call his sister.

"-and take some time for yourself. Next is disruption, you'll realise not everything is the same as when you left it, people will have new routines, new hobbies, it's normal to feel resentful during this stage-"

And they'd go on. Tell him about communication, then normalcy. But he never got that far. He'd go home to his apartment, visit his mother, go to coffee with his sister (she worried about him, always did), and then he would be off on his next operation. He'd get a visit, or a call, and he'd be off, with little word to family. There was never enough time. Soap wondered why the task force needed the same spiel every time they returned, it wasn’t as if this was new. It was old. This runaround was old now: United Kingdom, to some forsaken country, to back home, with more memories and less connections. It was what he loved. But it was also what he despised. 

"Johnny."

Most of the squad had dispersed, each finishing psych evals and heading off to the on-base housing,  their cars, or the mess hall. He didn't actually know if the mess was open at this time of night, he supposed it was only the wee hours of the morning, but God-knew. Johnny had just finished his packing, and was heading towards the unremarkable block of small apartments on the far side of the base. It was a fair hike, but he'd do it. There wasn't another choice, but his flight wasn't until tomorrow, and he staunchly refused to stay awake all night. He'd sleep tonight, then go to debrief, then go the fuck home.

"Johnny."

It was Ghost, in civvies, hands in his jacket pockets. Mask gone. Johnny supposed that was just the way it ought to be, he couldn't wear it everywhere, and wearing it in civvies would certainly give any onlookers, soldiers or not, reason to be curious. Attention was not what men in their position needed. Still, seeing his face was…almost unsettling.

"Lt.?"

*************************************

Simon hung up the phone and tucked it in his back pocket. He felt God-awful calling at this time of night, but he had to do it. He'd sworn to, every time he got back to base, he had to call. Johnny was staring out at the quiet base, the parade grounds just a few hundred metres away, still lit up in the night.

"Johnny."

He'd never really thought about where Johnny must go after operations, he didn't even assume anything, once they were back on the ground, once they were out of the shit, it wasn't any of business, or any of his concern.

"You're allowed to like the men you work with, love." His wife's voice rang in the back of his mind.

He did…like them. They were good lads. Got the job done. Stitched each other up. Didn't leave each other behind. But liking them outside of work? Their job was far too dangerous to make close attachments like that. In his younger days, when he wasn't in the special forces, he'd made…’friends’ wasn't the right word for it. He'd made…acquaintances with some of the soldiers on his unit, they'd go out for drinks, egg each other on in the pub, take each other home after a long night out. But special forces were another world. Here, everything mattered. Every little thing mattered. And perhaps he was just older now, he'd matured more. Back then, he hadn't had anything to lose. Now, though-now he had everything to lose. A family, a home - a life.

But despite all of that, he had grown to appreciate Johnny. He was a good man, in the shit, and out of it.

They'd talked a few times about their lives outside of the army. Nothing important, nothing below surface level. Soap had a mother who had health problems, and a sister who worked in a hospital (he hadn't told Simon what she did, or even told him her name), and who worried about him constantly. Johnny joked that she would end up a patient one day if she kept stressing so much. Simon had told him that he lived far enough from the base that he wasn't constantly thinking about work, he'd told him that he played football as a kid; that was it. Not a lick more.

Johnny gave up far more information willingly than Simon ever could. But they got along. That was enough.

The Scot stood across from him, still staring out at nothing. 

"Johnny."

Soap turned his head.

"Lt.?"

"Going home?"

“Sleeping on base tonight, sir, then got a flight tomorrow night.”

On base? After that operation? Simon sighed inwardly and observed the bent hunch of his subordinate's shoulders. He knew that feeling. Finishing a mission alive, but with more red in his ledger. That was all good and well, but the final fucking straw was those damned prison cages that the military called bedrooms. It took a moment to debate, no longer.

"Mine’s 15 minutes from the airport.”

Soap’s eyebrows raised at the Lieutenant’s offer.

“It’s alright, sir, I’ll survive here.”

“After that shit? You need a real bed, Johnny.”

The sergeant ran a hand over his face and dropped his shoulders.

“Y-yeah, alright, Lt. If that’s alright with you.”

“Let’s go,” Ghost turned on his heel and began towards the car park, taking out his phone to shoot off a quick text.

'One of the boys needs somewhere to stay. He's a good man.'

****************************************************************************************

'One of the boys needs somewhere to stay. He's a good man.'

You groggily shot back a text.

'Get home safe, love you."

Simon had been due back for a few days now, but you'd been trying to get used to the unpredictability of his work schedule.

This was nothing new, though. You knew exactly what you were signing up for when you got married to him. He had sat you down when you had first gotten serious, and showed you his will.

That had been an aggressive wake-up call. You knew how dangerous his job was. No one on the planet Earth was foolish enough to think that special forces meant 'safety.' You knew he could die any time he went away. But the long-term reality of that fact didn't set in until you sat beside him and scanned your eyes over that document. You didn't feel connected to your body. It was as if you were peering in on some other person's life, quietly staring through the looking glass to see some insane woman who was desperately in love with a man whose life meant very little up against the interests of international security. To your credit, you hadn't cried when he showed you. How badly you had wanted to. But you didn't. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists. He could die at any moment. So you had better make the most of every second you had with him.

You'd told him as much and he had accused you of not taking his job seriously. A method of self-preservation you recognized from your years of being with him. You had told him he wasn't going to push you away so easily. He had left in a huff and came back the next day with an apology on his lips, and a ring in his hand.

There was no pomp about it, just simple, and practical. So very Simon Riley. 

Simon had never been a particularly romantic man, and God, was he difficult to read. But he loved you. He did. And you adored him. And you'd made it this far, a few years of marriage, one kid in, and one on the way; you'd done it. You would keep doing it until the day you dropped cold. So would he, he'd told you so hundreds of times. 

No, he was not romantic, but he showed you in other ways. He would rub your back when you were tired, he would open doors for you, or kiss you gently when you needed it. Simon Riley was a man of few words, but frequent action. You loved him for it.

The first time you'd met him, you'd nearly gone weak in the knees. Cliché. He teased you for it endlessly, you never should have admitted that to him. But how were you to help yourself, he was a handsome, well-muscled man with a scowl that you found endearing. You still found that deep scowl endearing today, and on more than one occasion, you had gently pinched his cheek when he pulled that face. He would always chuckle and bat your hand away, biting the inside of his mouth so there was no looser skin for you to pinch again.

Simon Riley was, in your (biassed) opinion, the most handsome, most incredible, most loving man to ever live. And he was yours. Whenever he came shopping with you, or took you out somewhere, it was impossible to escape the stares that other women gave him. Part of you despised it, part of you basked in it. You'd lean in to whisper something in his ear, or pat him gently on the chest, anything to mark him as yours. See this man, he's mine. He'd swear other men did the same to you, but you didn't believe him. He certainly believed himself though, placing a hand on the small of your back or tucking a piece of hair behind your ear whenever he thought he saw eyes on you. It was sweet.

You two had this little…thing. This cocoon for just you two. The comfort and safety that flowed between the both of you had been years in the making, and had taken many, many arguments and discussions to solidify. And you had argued, sometimes into the night hours, going back and forth about trust, and patience, and understanding. You had often had to fight for his agreement, or for his trust, but you had never had to fight for his love. That had come without question, but you'd had to fight for him to show it to you, for him to allow himself one good thing in life. He was different now, all those years of being with you, and working on himself, and all the absolute hell that he had been through. He was different, and you loved the man he was, and the man he had become. No one at his job knew how gentle he could be, the softness he was capable of. No one.

Although, you supposed that was about to change. He was bringing 'one of the guys' to your house, to stay. You had told him before that you had absolutely no problem with him bringing his friends - he wasn't a fan of you calling them that - over. If they needed somewhere to stay, you were more than willing to house them, they were strong men facing down the worst of the world's threats, they deserved somewhere to feel safe, if only for one night. He'd told you he might - although you'd always suspected that he wouldn’t - allow one of his squad mates into his home, and you'd encouraged him to do so if it was necessary. Tonight was the night.

Simon had called you as soon as he could, like he always did.

"I've landed, love, I'll be heading home soon."

"Good. How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"Hungry?"

"Just ate here."

"Alright, I'll be in bed, please wake me up."

"Will do. I love you."

"I love you too. Drive safe."

He sounded exhausted on the phone, nothing out of the ordinary though, he was always tired when he came home. You were remiss to admit to yourself that you were tired too. You ran a hand over your stomach. It had swelled up in the time that Simon had been gone. What a difference just a few weeks made. You'd had to attend your scheduled scan alone, and had the photos in the drawer next to your bed, ready to show Simon when he got home.

This baby had been something of a surprise. Not an enormous one, though. Simon and yourself had been significantly less careful in the months leading up to when you found out, and you'd talked about it: another kid, the whole thing. He had been apprehensive to say the least, so you had waited without resentment. He needed time, and God knew, you needed time, so you had both taken time. It had taken a year or so of discussions, he was terrified to become his father. He would never be his father, never. He was nothing like him, nothing. And he had come to his own decision. Being a father would be new, terrifying, different, but he put an ounce of faith in himself, and-

- And then you were late.

You wished you could be like those women in movies who have no idea, and have a whole revelation about being pregnant. But you were not stupid, you were practical, it was one of the things Simon often told you that he loved about you. So practicality it was. You were sure you were pregnant. Three positive pregnancy tests later, and that sealed the deal.

Then you'd burst into tears in your bathroom.

God, who were you to think you could do this? He was due to leave for a three-week operation in two days. You'd be alone in your first few weeks, with a young toddler as well, who's needs were more important than your own.

You didn't hear Simon come home from his run, you'd hardly heard the jagged tone to his voice when he pushed the door open. What a sight it must have been for him. You, curled into the bathroom wall, crying hysterically and hugging yourself. He did well to hide his panic, the soldier in him must have taken over for a few seconds. He scanned the bathroom floor, then checked you over for injuries, asking what was wrong the whole time. Then he'd scanned the bathroom counter and found the three tests lined up. He knew what they were, but bless him, he didn't know if they were negative or positive, the lines meant nothing to him.

"You're pregnant?"

You'd barely managed a nod and to his absolute credit, he did not clam up. He did not shut his mouth, or grit his teeth, or sink back onto his heels. He had reassured you, pulled you into his lap on the floor and talked you out of your hysterics. He'd waited patiently until you could talk. And you had been fine. You loved him, he loved you, and you both loved this baby. You would be fine. It had never been so hard to say goodbye to him as he left for his next mission. You'd never been so panicked whilst he had been away. You had to call your friend to come and stay with you for the time he was away, so she could help you stay out of your thoughts and help with the little toddler who was always asking where her Daddy was.

But all of that panic always subsided when he came home, when he lay beside you and breathed quietly as he slept. Everything was better when he was there. And he would be in an hour or two, so you allowed yourself to get some rest until you heard his tires in the drive.

************************************************************************************************************** 

Every few seconds, the car was forced into the dull yellow shine of the street lights. Soap wanted to ask how much longer they would be travelling, but for lack of better words than ‘are we there yet,’ he remained silent, watching identical rows of darkened townhouses amble by. It had been a long drive though, long enough that Johnny had glanced at the clock on the car's electronic display once or twice, just to make sure he wasn't losing his mind.

Suburbia was not quite what Soap had imagined when he thought of his lieutenant's home, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he thought Ghost might live. Far from base was all the information he had to guess from. Everyone has to stay somewhere, right? Guiltily, John realised he hadn’t much considered that Simon did in fact, live a civilian life. For weeks or months at a time. The task force wasn’t on duty 24/7, but Ghost, as a normal person? Someone you might see crossing the street? Carrying groceries? It hasn’t crossed his mind.

Strange.

Strange to think of such a deadly man in such a domestic sphere.

They were the same though, he supposed. Just as deadly as each other. Just as domestic, too.

The low rumble of a flight path ahead served to calm Soap, so used to noise as he winded down. Silence was deafening, silence was dangerous. Deep down, although he struggled to admit it, the long string of silence that met him in his own home terrified him. The emptiness, the void that greeted him when he first entered his flat, before the click of his fingers on the light switch, before he turned on the industrial fan beside his couch and before the kettle started to whistle. The silence would grip him around the neck, trying to pull him into his thoughts.

Close-knit housing soon dropped off into plots of land, with sparser houses and longer driveways. The expected pricing of these blocks didn’t escape the sergeant.

Another hour or so later, when the modern street lights had long since faded out into antiquated street lamps every hundred metres, the car began to slow.

“We’re here.” Ghost ripped the quiet in two with the gruff edge of his voice, turning off onto a lined driveway. In the dim light, the house stood modestly. Perfectly normal. Far enough away from other houses to be private, but close enough to be watchful of the neighbours. How fitting.

The ignition rumbled to a stop as Ghost turned the key and exited the car.

Boots hitting the stone, Soap immediately felt at odds with this house. It wasn’t his. It was Ghost’s, a man he knew very little about. It wasn't enemy territory, perhaps this was worse: friendly territory. Too friendly territory. A peaceful space, one that he shouldn't be encroaching on.

He followed said man to the door, crunching quietly up the drive and swinging his bag over his shoulder, a more comfortable hold for his exhausted muscles.

Ghost grunted quietly as he unlocked and pushed the door open, swearing and muttering something about getting it fixed.

“Boots off.” He spoke rather quietly and Soap responded immediately, shrugging out of his boots and sitting them next to a few others at the door. His first sign that something was…amiss, was that there were a few pairs of shoes far too small for Simon, stacked neatly on a wooden shelf next to the door.

He was greeted with a long hallway as he followed Simon through the quiet house. His second sign that something was amiss, was that this house smelled, to put it kindly, feminine. It did not smell like an empty house, nor one that was inhabited by a lone man. Unless of course, Simon Riley had a penchant for vanilla-scented candles. Soap suspected he did not.

A few photographs and decorations adorned the walls but they were impossible to make out in the dark. Soap’s fingers twitched towards his head a split second before he was pulled back to reality and realised that there were no NOD's to help him out here. A stupid instinctual move that he found himself doing more and more these days.

Compartmentalisation, his ass.

Ghost pushed a door to his right open, it creaked quietly in the silent house.

“Spare room’s in here, bathrooms to the left-“

“Thanks, Lt.”

“Take a shower, but keep it down, the missus’ll be asleep.”

And as if he hadn’t just flash-banged Soap, Ghost left, turning on his heel and heading further into the house. 

Next Part

[tbaluver]

Look At Me- Sanemi x Reader Smut

tags: MDNI, smut, mirror sex, curse words, afab reader!

a/n: i miss my man so i had to write a smut abt him obv

any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy! <3

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You've spent a significant amount of time recovering from the injuries sustained during your last mission. The battle was intense, and a final strike against a demon had left you unconscious and in a coma for weeks. As a result, you missed the recent Hashira meeting and relied on updates from your crow and Shinobu for information. You learned that a couple of the Hashira's have been assigned to train Corps members and you also volunteered to help assist in the training once you're back on your feet. Before you dive into your new responsibilities, your determined to visit your lover.

As you walked entered his estate, your gaze is drawn to the chaotic scene before you.

"You're fucking pathetic! Are you even trying to train or are you just looking for a way to get yourself killed?" Sanemi didn't hold back with the trainees.

They were all drenched in sweat and breathless. Each one bore a mark of intense effort whether it was dirt-smeared faces, ragged clothing, or just exhaustion etched into their expression. He moved among them like a storm, not giving them a second to even react and knocking them down.

Sanemi scans the training grounds, noting that all the Corps members have collapsed from exhaustion. His gaze finally settles on you. For a brief moment, the harshness in his eyes softened.

"Alright you guys can have a break." You can hear the Corps members sigh in relief.

"But I better not see you guys get fucking comfortable. We're using real swords by the time I'm back."

It had been some time since you last saw him in person. Your only communication at long distance had been through messages sent by your crows, until the day you were struck down and fell into a coma. Shinobu had informed you that he had visited often, staying for hours in hopes of seeing you wake up. But however his visits became less due to the surge in demon attacks in many towns and he was here to help train Corps members.

He guides you to the farthest room in his estate and you follow, closing the door and locking it behind you. He takes you into his embrace before gently pecking your lips. You kiss him as you throw your arms over his shoulders and leave them there as your lips continue to kiss him. He kisses you back in the same hungry manner, lost in the soft plushness of your lips not daring to pull away. You let go as he guides you to the vanity in the room. He faces you to the mirror as his chest presses against your back.

"Look at you. Still as beautiful last time I saw ya." He whispers, his chin resting on your shoulder. One hand is wrapped around your waist while the other goes down, slowly reaching your thigh.

"I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you so much too. I need you baby." He whispers into your ear as you bite your lip so you can keep your voice steady. He looks at you in the mirror and lets his hands run up and down the sides of your waist. He presses soft kisses to your neck and bends you forward, your hands resting against the vanity.

"So pretty for me baby." He slips a finger into you and you squeeze your eyes shut. He pulls his fingers out, "Eyes open for me, if you close them, I'll stop." You flutter your eyes open again and he slips another finger back inside of you. He starts pumping it slowly as you shiver, letting out a choke moan. He pulls his fingers out and presses the tip of his cock to your entrance.

The feverish drag of his cock and hands that gripped your hips made it hard to focus on anything besides that way he made you feel. He grunts into your ear, arm wrapping around you chest to pull your back against his chest, "Just look at how beautiful you're taking my cock."

You whine in response, taking in the sight of the mirror. "Keep looking baby. Want you to see how good you make me feel."

A louder moan rips from your throat when his fingers toy with your clit. Flicking it over it and pressing deliberate circles as your rock back against him, keeping your eyes locked on the way he looked in the mirror.

Jaw clenched as his hips move forward again and again. Your gaze lowers down to where your bodies connect, his thick cock in you, stretching you out.

"Sanemi-" You whimpered, the bubbling pleasure in the pit of your stomach becoming too much as you reached your hand back to tangle his hair. "s'good...." It was almost a moan-ish sob as your other fingers dug into his clothed thighs, his moans vibrating against your back.

"Gonna cum in your pretty cunt." He cups your breast with his free hand as his fingers continued to work at your clit. Your body tenses and legs quivered when his bulbous tip fucks into the rough patch at the back of your cunt. His mouth leaving sloppy kisses along your shoulder as you rocked your hips back with every snap of his hips.

"M'gonna come-" You open your mouth to answer but instead a series of gasped out moans and whines as he falls forward. His hands placed firmly beside yours as his pace went to a rough grind against the swell of your ass. Swollen head pressed tight to a sweet spot that always had your eyes rolling back. You chanted his name as he coats your walls in white.

His hips moved at a languid rhythm, carefully riding the aftershocks that sparked in both of you. He places another kiss on your shoulder, "Stay here. I'm gonna kick out those idiots. I'm not done here with you just yet."

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost is forced to dress up as Santa for the day and talk to kids.

You’re ordered to tag along as his Elf and do some damage control if necessary.

———————————————————————

You lean against his armchair, watching the chaos in front of you. Children are crying, tugging at their parents’ clothes, shouting both in excitement and fear, all while looking at you. A young boy keeps waving at your lieutenant, desperate to get his attention, but Ghost is too preoccupied with coming to terms with his new reality to notice.

You return his wave with a smile.

“Try to stay still, Santa,” you remind Ghost as you nod towards the boy. “Kids are watching.”

He snaps back into focus and redirects his attention to the queue. He stretches one last time, pushing on the armrests, before settling into the chair.

“Try not to tell me what to do,” he murmurs and waves back at the child.

You straighten up and tweak your green hat, triggering the bell at its tip to jiggle in your ear. You feel for him; you really do. He’s not supposed to be here; he’s not built for this. Unfortunately—for him or the kids, you haven’t decided yet—the “real” Santa broke his hip at the last minute, and your military base stepped in to provide a new Santa for the local community.

And what better replacement than Ghost, you may ask? Well, literally anybody else.

Dressed in a red costume with white faux fur trim, the lieutenant looks nothing like the man you experienced on the battlefield. His shoulders threaten to rip through the rented outfit, and the seams at the back hold onto each other for dear life. Since his belly wasn’t big enough to simulate Santa’s, you asked him to stuff a pillow under his uniform. Surprisingly, Ghost complied almost instantly, leaving you to wonder if he was using the pillow as Kevlar, a barrier between him and the kids or if he was secretly enjoying this.

You also convinced him to ditch the balaclava for the time being since he would now have plenty of props to conceal his face—a wig, a long beard, glasses, and a red hat with a white pom-pom, to be exact. Additionally, you attempted to trick him into applying some blush on his cheeks, but he side-eyed you and told you to ‘be careful now’—ironic for a man who paints his face daily.

You rub your temples, trying to keep calm amid the chaos of the mall as you prepare for what’s about to happen during the next few hours. You have no idea why Price chose him to be Santa, but you didn’t question it either. Ghost seems to be the least qualified for the job out of everyone in the base. It feels like a last resort, so to speak—a ‘that’s all we have left in the store’ solution.

On the other hand, you know precisely why the captain chose you to accompany him. “To monitor the situation,” he said—“To make sure we don’t get sued,” you heard. And, under normal circumstances, you’d be happy to tag along with Ghost—be it on patrol, on missions, or even transporting confidential documents. But in this situation? Acting as a troubleshooter rather than a teammate? You’d rather be anywhere else than here, with anybody else than him.

You take another look at him while he sits on the chair. He’s tugging at the uniform, scratching his head, and instinctively pulling the beard to his nose.

“Stop doing that,” you whisper. “It’s a beard, not a balaclava.”

“Price would have been perfect for the job, for fucks sake,” he spits. “He has the fucking moustache for starters.”

“Stop with the ‘fucks’ and the ‘fucking’ Ghost; you’re about to talk to kids! And, as for the captain, he said he couldn’t do it.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, lifting his hands from the armrests. “And what makes him think that I can?”

“I wish I knew, to be honest, but we don’t have time to go through this again,” you murmur, looking at your watch one last time. You approach the barrier, unclip the rope from the stanchion, and turn over your shoulder.

“Operation ‘Santa’ begins now,” you declare. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” He replies, shrugging, and gestures for you to proceed.

And so it begins. Your first ‘customer’ arrives, and many more follow. You guide one family at a time into the enclosure and escort them to Ghost, who handles the rest. Some children are hesitant, peeking out from behind their parents’ legs, while others are much more direct with their intentions as they scream in horror at the sight of him.

On the other hand, Ghost is neither your typical jolly Santa nor the irritated lieutenant you’d expect. He appears to be... understanding. He reassures parents that it’s okay and there’s no need to force their children onto his lap if they feel uncomfortable. He initiates conversations with the kids from a respectful distance. He smiles with his eyes and hunches his shoulders to appear less imposing. Sometimes, he lures the shy ones into a handshake, a fist pump, or a high five by lowering his gloved hand to their level.

And then there are those other types of kids: the curious ones, the social butterflies. The ones who look forward to sitting on Ghost’s lap, diving into full-blown conversations with him. That’s when you stiffen up and switch into damage-control mode to ensure he won’t lash out at them. You begin hovering above them, listening, jumping into their conversations and sometimes interrupting Ghost and replying to the kids instead of him.

You would have thought he’d be grateful to have you managing the situation. Ghost, however, seems more irritated by you than by the little girl who’s currently playing with the pom-pom on his hat.

“Oi, Elf!” he says calmly, yet visibly annoyed. “Emma and I are chatting about how she spilt tomato juice on her Elsa costume and wants a new one for Christmas. Could you please falala off and go wrap some presents?”

“B-but I need to know because I’ll be sewing it for her,” you reply, smiling at the little girl. “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

And, although Emma nods her head, more out of necessity than agreement, you get his point. He’s doing surprisingly well with those kids, even without you. Actually, he’s doing remarkably well, especially without you.

More kids come and go, and Ghost slowly adapts to his new persona. He starts making bets with you, predicting which kids in the queue might ask for a PlayStation or an iPad and even speculating who might wipe snot on his costume. You, in response, adopt a more laid-back approach and let him do his thing. After each child’s visit, Ghost turns towards you, whispering in your ear about their Christmas wishes, as if he’s indeed Santa, and keeps logs.

“My man wants a full-sized car wheel,” Ghost murmurs as the young boy leaps off his lap, “can you believe him?”

“What did you say to him?” You ask, stifling a laugh.

“I told him I’ll get it for him,” he shrugs. “What else should I do?”

“Alright, but what did you really want to tell him?”

“That his dad already has four of them screwed in his car.”

As the day winds down, and the final announcement for the day echoes through the speakers, parents and children walk past you and towards the exit. They wave at Ghost and occasionally at you. The parking lot empties, the stores shut their doors until tomorrow, and the holiday lights that decorate the inside of the mall switch off one by one.

You stretch your back and tap on his shoulder, signalling that both of you should pack up and return to the base.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, grasping your wrist with one hand and tapping his thigh with the other. “You didn’t tell me what you want for Christmas.”

You’re exhausted but still manage to smile as you comply with his request. You sit on his lap, and he leans back to take a better look at you.

“Let’s think about it another way,” you say. “What would you, as Santa, give me for Christmas?”

“Coal,” he replies. “And a muzzle, so you don’t interrupt me while I’m talking. What was that all about?”

“Was afraid you’d say something bad,” you explain. “But you were pretty good with those kids.”

He shakes his head and plays with the fur trim on his sleeve. “Nah,” he murmurs. “I’d never say something bad to a kid.”

“Speaking of bad and coal,” you say, combing his fake beard, “you never asked the typical ‘have you been a good kid’ to any of them.”

“There’s no bad kid in the world, love,” he whispers. “All kids are good, even the naughty ones.”

You smile at him, but he doesn’t look back at you. He’s examining his uniform as if trying to find something else to discuss. He finds some crumbs a kid left on his suit and brushes them off.

“Ready to head back to the base, Lieutenant?” You ask, tapping his thigh before standing up. You extend your hand to him, and he gladly accepts it, helping him rise from the chair he’s been sitting in all day. You begin walking towards the exit, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. You reciprocate by hugging his waist.

You walk up to the parked military vehicle that brought you here earlier, still discussing the day. He opens the door but pauses and turns to look at you.

“Resilience,” he declares. “That’s what I would gift you for Christmas.”

“Why?” You ask, turning to look at him. “You think I need it?”

“We all do,” he replies softly, just like when he used to talk to those kids. “Since I can’t protect you from every obstacle life throws your way, I might as well give you the ability to recover from them.”

“That would make me very happy, Lieutenant.” You say, smiling.

He smiles back at you and reaches for your hat to fix it better on your head. His hand moves to your forehead, and he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“It’s Santa to you.” He replies.

———————————————————————

A/N: Bruh, I was so tempted to make the reader pull off a Mariah Carey and say, “All I want for Christmas is you,” when Ghost asked what they wanted, but my gag reflexes kicked in every time, and I was cringing galore.

So, there you go: resilience. That’s what I would like to gift you as well. I wish I could shield you from whatever has troubled you in the past or is currently doing so. To protect you from future worries and make everything ‘falala off’. Unfortunately, I can’t do that, neither for you nor for myself.

But this is why comfort characters and stories exist—so we can imagine, when no one is there for us, that someone actually is.

Just like Santa. Just like Ghost.

[itostea]

rings (gojo x wife! reader)

in which you want your arranged husband to finally give you a ring

warnings: arranged marriage au (part of the gojo's wife series), gojo calls you his wife, suggestive bc gojo is a menace, reader lowkey downbad, i'm back after 4(?) months oops & lmk if i’m missing anyone for the tag list

There’s a gentle breeze that escapes from the open windows of the cafe you sit in, the quiet chatter blending in with the bossa nova jazz that plays from the speakers. Only a few people reside in the building–some of which include students, friend groups, or strangers just hoping for a nice cup of coffee. 

Your eyes flit to Utahime using a straw to make circles in her drink. She was the one who recommended this cafe, referring to it as an “underground” location–a phrase that you would’ve not expected her to use. Correctly at that. 

“How are you doing with that idiot,” your other friend, Shoko asks. “Do you guys still sleep in separate rooms?”

You watch her reach for a cigarette and frown, your hand slapping hers lightly. “There's a ‘no smoking policy’ here. And to answer your question, no we’re not. We’ve been sleeping in the same room for a little over a month now.”

“On the same bed?”

“Yes?”

“And that’s it?” She drawls, arching an elegant brow as she puts her box of cigarettes away–taking another sip of her black coffee. “Nothing else? You know, like clothes gone, french kissing–”

“Yes that’s it! Keep it down here,” you hiss, shooting another glare at Utahime who stifles a laugh by pretending to drink her tea.

Shoko rolls her eyes, taking another sip of her coffee–this time narrowing her eyes at you. “So why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Yes you are,” she retorts and you frown when you hear Utahime agree. They’ve always been so sharp. “Something’s bothering you so tell us.”

You purse your lips, gripping your cup a bit tighter as you heave a sigh. You’re avoiding their gazes, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s stupid.”

“We’re not gonna judge you,” Utahime gives you a reassuring smile, nudging Shoko who tries to take out her cigarette box again.

“Okay,” you start. “Something feels like it’s missing. Not that it’s ‘Toru–”

“You call him ‘Toru?” Shoko laughs quietly, rolling her eyes when you narrow your eyes at her. She sighs. “Continue.”

“There's nothing wrong with ‘Toru and I feel like I’m expecting something from him. We’re making progress with the whole husband and wife thing but I guess I just want,” you pause. “I guess I’m just wondering when he’s gonna give me a ring…”

They both blink at you, with Utahime making a sound with her throat. “There’s no way that idiot’s that stupid.”

“But that makes sense. The wedding just happened on paper since the elders wanted Gojo to get married quickly,” Shoko adds. “So? What are you gonna do? Drop hints?”

“That’s not really my way of doing things…”

Shoko rolls her eyes for the nth time, frowning at the lack of coffee in her cup. “Things would be a lot easier between you two if you just communicated,” she says, holding a hand up when you’re about to respond. “But I say give him some time. Gojo might be a lot sharper than he lets on.”

You replay your friend’s words in your head as you dice the carrots mindlessly–throwing them in a bowl with chopped up potatoes. Ever since Gojo told you that he hardly has any time to cook with the sudden rise of curses, you’ve been wanting to surprise him with a home cooked meal: curry rice. After all, you were finally granted some leisure time after a mission so you were more than happy to set up a surprise.

Not that it was much of a surprise since he was home earlier than usual–not that you were mad since it was rare for him to arrive home just a little after you did. You perk up, catching a glimpse of his boyish grin that seems to spread across his face. “Oh? What’s this?”

You clear your throat, feeling a bit bashful at how pretty his smile was. “I’m making dinner for us since we haven’t been able to have a home cooked meal in a while.”

“Well, aren't I a lucky guy?” He ruffles your hair as if it were a habit of his, his eyes as soft as his voice the moment he leans down. “You mind if I take a shower first? I promise it’ll be quick.”

“Your shower’s are never quick,” you comment, giggling at how he acts as if he’s been caught. As he leaves, you feel yourself getting giddy at how wide his grin had been when he saw you. You wonder if he always looked at you like that and you have to mentally calm yourself down by reminding yourself to not get too excited. 

By the time you set the plates down, you already hear the padding of his feet against the marble floor. He’s dressed comfortably in a pair of sweats and a pullover, sitting in front of you. He smiles again, murmuring a low “hello” as if somewhat shy. 

You smile in return, observing him as he takes a bite of the food you made. Your heart stops for a few seconds, gauging his expression for any sign of disgust–feeling it explode in your chest when he eats it like a starved man. “Is it good?” 

“So good,” he answers without hesitation, flashing another grin at you–the same grin that makes you feel warm inside. “My wife’s so talented.”

“It’s just curry rice,” you respond, feeling a bit sheepish at how easily he sings praises to you. You realize you’ve been watching him eat for a little over than a minute, your hands reaching to the utensils to try your own food. 

The conversation takes off naturally. He’s asking about your day at work and you do the same; he teases you and you shoot another remark at him. It’s all good-natured until he pauses, looking a little hesitant. “Listen (Name),” his voice is lower, nervous. “I know I should've done this before but it really didn’t cross my mind…”

Your reaction is instantaneous as much as you try to hide it. The ring. Was he going to give you one? Your eyes flit to his furrowed brows and the way he pokes the inside of his cheek. If he’s this nervous, then it should be pertaining to a ring right? You’re already answering before he can finish. “Yes.”

He blinks, peering directly at you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, your smile wide as you lean a bit closer to the table. 

He breaks out in a large smile, breathing a sigh of relief. “Wow I didn’t know you liked Netflix so much.”

All of a sudden, the delusions you’ve been building up topple like dominos. Your voice’s stuck in your throat as a wave of bemusement hits you. “Huh?”

“I was gonna give you my Netflix account! I completely forgot to give you it for a while and the kids have been on my ass about it.”

“Y-Your Netflix account?” You murmur in disbelief, wondering if sharing a Netflix account was a golden rule couples had to obey. 

It was Gojo’s turn to be confused, his pretty blues blinking at you. “That’s what we’re talking about right?”

Disappointment drenches you from top to bottom but you quickly mask it with an easy going smile. “Yeah! I love Netflix…”

You breathe a sigh of relief, mentally applauding yourself for not mentioning anything about a ring. You take another bite of your food, not noticing the way Gojo looks at you–gulping as if hiding a secret of his own. 

“I want to give you something,” your husband’s voice is gentle, velvety as he pulls you towards the couch. 

He smells good, you think to yourself–earthy and fresh. It’s faint yet it’s enough to make you dizzy. “Something?”

“That’s right,” he coos, grinning down at you from the couch. Again, you have that undeniable feeling of hope choking you, trying your hardest not to show your excitement as he reaches in his pocket.

Yet, instead of a small, round object, you’re faced with a card. A black card. Not a ring. Your lips part in shock as the initial disappointment becomes surprise. “I can’t take this!” 

You’re left with more disbelief at how his expression seems to fall dramatically. “Why not…?”

“Because I just can’t!” 

“But you’re my wife and I wanna spoil you,” he tries to reason and you have to try not to swoon how he calls you his wife even though you already know it. You clear your throat, shaking your head rapidly. 

“I can’t ‘Toru–”

“Yes you can,” he huffs, his lips falling into a pout that you would’ve found funny if he didn’t just hand you his card. “Trust me on this one. You’ll make me happy if you use it. So treat yourself, alright?”

You frown, murmuring another protest and stopping when he glances at you from under his shades, his lips curling into a coy smile once he sees the guilt in your eyes–his mind piecing things together. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” He ruffles your hair once more, making your heart do another jump. “Just take it. Please?”

You think he’s doing it on purpose–the way he looks at you as if you’re a diamond among rocks. It’s hard not to say no when someone looks at you like that–harder when it’s Gojo. You sigh. “Fine. But I’m not gonna use it often.”

He grins that smile you like again, his thumb grazing your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

You avert your eyes at his binding smile, ignore how he seems to enjoy teasing you a bit too much. You sigh, ignoring the way your heart flutters all over again. And with the way he watches you, you think his stomach’s doing somersaults as well

It’s early in the morning, dark in the room you share with Gojo–the sun barely awake just as you were. There’s the sound of quiet shuffling, the spot next to your empty. It must be one of those missions, you think to yourself.

You hear him murmur a low curse at the sound of something dropping, feeling amusement at how he tries to quietly put the item back in its original place. You think of falling asleep again but your gut tells you to stay awake, still listening to his quiet pacing. 

You feel how the mattress slightly dips, his cologne filling your senses–luring you to sleep. Out of sheer willpower, you try not to react as his fingers reach down to graze your cheek–try not to open your eyes to see what kind of expression he wore. You wonder if he did this every time he had a mission so early in the morning, feeling an unfamiliar feeling tug at your heart. 

His voice is barely above a whisper as he leans down. “I’ll be back home by dinner today. I promise.”

Part of you debates on falling asleep and it wins, until you feel him shuffle a bit closer. And just like that, you feel cold metal slip on your finger–your ring finger. The material fits perfectly around your finger and your hand twitches as you hear him stand up to leave. 

It hits you a bit later than you’d expect and you would’ve never thought realization would sound like the front door opening. You scramble out of bed, tripping on the blankets as you smile so hard it hurts. 

“Toru?! Wait! Don't leave yet! Toru come back!” 

And like you hoped, he looks back, the metal of a ring similar to yours greets you.

tags:

@maliamaiden, @dookiemeshibear, @icarusignite, @padsgrlly, @katiaesmeralda, @mooncleaver, @jcrml, @istanuwow, @stilinskispjo, @hjjjbb, @delulusuga, @hellogoog, @scrumdillyyumyumpurr, @wordskeeper, @rampagingroses, @demiwizardvampire145, @haikyuusimpsblog, @esmeensheep, @msunknown911, @saebeary, @mysuperrainbow, @scarletevening, @tedbunny333, @tulips-ss, @primapoppy, @realboysrdumb, @ems-tumbo, @a-cloudy-dreamy-day, @evalynanne, @kaiisers, @trisisbasic, @luna0713hunter, @arisucat, @honili, @dovahkiinsbitch, @porridgesblog, @siennahsteaparty, @dee-dreams-and-stuff, @satoruskitchenrag, @moonmalice, @junglewoos, @thisbicc, @heartsoji, @mysticmyth, @phoenixforgotten, @sillygoosegoose, @the-mad-hatress, @kairuthewriter, @batmansleftfoot

[daycourtofficial]

Your Love is My Drug

Summary: This is very similar to Love Potion No. 9, but flipped. You get drugged while on a mission, and the side effects are… interesting. Azriel takes care of you, causing your feelings to bubble to the surface.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, dry humping(which is super under appreciated btw). MINORS DNI

Author’s note: this is my first time writing smut, so I hope it turns out okay!

Entering into Keir’s study took your breath away. Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, and you came up to the Hewn City to look for some papers Keir might have hidden in his study, which you and Feyre are about to search as Cassian and Rhys stay with Keir.

The walls were lined with tons of vials of potions, brews, and mysterious liquids. Syringes loose with unknown poisons inside, ancient books open, every surface covered.

“Keir gives me the creeps,” you tell Feyre, shuffling through the desk, skimming all the loose papers for what you need.

“He gives everyone the creeps,” she laughs.

After several minutes of searching, Feyre finds what she needs, holding it up in the air like a trophy. “Let’s go,” she says, reaching out for you, when a guard makes his presence known behind you by jabbing a syringe into your neck and pushing down.

You push him off of you, as Feyre runs for you, grabbing your hand, and winnowing you two away.

You arrive in the townhouse, and Feyre is clearly communicating with Rhys while she tries to check you over for injury.

Her prodding questions slightly annoy you, you telling her you’re fine and you just need some water. You feel a little fuzzy, a little unsteady, but overall very happy.

Feyre returns with some water, and in the moment of her absence, your demeanor has changed drastically.

“Thank you, Feyre darling!” You giggle, toasting the water to her, “so pretty, so sweet, such a good friend.” You mutter, your hand touching her cheek. You gulp down some water and continue, “Rhysand is very lucky to have you, you have spunk kid.” You end your statement by booping her on the nose and leaning against her.

Cassian and Rhysand winnow in to see Feyre holding you up, as you giggle into her hair, “when you shapeshift, what happens to your clothes? Do they stay under your fur? Or do you have to get new clothes?”

Cassian wants to laugh, it was a fair question, but all he and Rhys knew is that someone drugged you before you all quickly escaped. After dropping Cassian off, Rhys had winnowed away again in search of Madja.

“Cassian!” You yell, forgetting about Feyre and moving to embrace Cassian. Despite your state, you had quite the grip on him now as you embrace him.

“Cassian, you’re so funny,” you pull his face down so you can look at his face, “and you have very nice teeth,” you say, opening his lips so you can see his teeth. You pull his lips up so he’s smiling, “such a nice smile.”

“What is happening,” Cassian asks through the smile you’re making him wear.

“I don’t know,” Feyre responds, coming over, “we came in and she slowly got loopier and loopier.”

“Cassian,” you look at him with such intense sadness he’s terrified of what you have to say, coming closer to his face as you drop your voice,“do your wings get cold when you’re flying up high in the sky? Especially during winter?”

Cassian can’t help the laugh that erupts from him, the seriousness of your face, the concern in your tone, and the absurdity of the question make him lose it.

“They get a little chilly,” he admits, looking down at your adorably concerned face, “but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

You look at his wings, “you could wear a scarf around them.”

Before Cassian can explain how scarves would make his street cred go down, Rhys winnows with Madja.

“Rhysie!” You say, loosening your grip around Cassian, turning to confront another victim to your ramblings, until Cassian wraps his arms around your waist, holding you in place.

“Let me go,” you say, trying to get Cassian to release you. “Let Madja look over you first, then you can attack Rhysie poo,” he replies.

Rhys gives his mate and his brother confused glances, speaking internally while Madja looks you over and you babble to Madja the whole time.

They tune back in to hear you telling Madja she’s really good at her job, and however much money Rhysand is paying her he should double it.

“Okay, Madja,” Rhys interjects, “what do you think?”

“I think,” Madja says, ending her examination, “if what you say is true, then she got incredibly lucky. I’m not sure if it’s because the potion was old or because of her body reacting to it, but this potion is nothing more than an intense drunken state. She’s very loopy, and she’ll need close watching. Her impulse control is way down, and anything that seems fun she might just do without thinking.”

As her sentence tapered off, Azriel’s shadows carried him into the room, alarm on his face. Clearly Rhys had asked him to come back at the first sign that something was wrong with you.

Azriel’s entrance caused Cassian’s arms to slacken around you, and you took off racing for him yelling, “Azzie!” Before launching into his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Oh my gods you won’t believe what happened we were looking through Keir’s stupid ugly office and it had like tens of millions of potions and Feyre found the paper we needed and then this big mean guy came in and stabbed me right in the neck like a vampire but he wasn’t a vampire he was just ugly and then when he stabbed me something went into my blood but I’m all better now it’s gone.”

Azriel stood, looking between Rhys, Feyre, and Cassian, while you clung to him like a koala. He wasn’t even holding you up, you were just clinging to him, not taking a second to breathe during your story.

“She is not all better now,” Madja told him, looking at her pointedly. “She’ll be fine eventually, but until this potion exits her system she needs to be closely monitored.”

“I feel fine watch if I wasn’t fine could I do this?” You ask, pulling your hands from Azriel’s neck. What you planned to do he had no idea, but you started to fall so he had reach out wrapping his arms around you quickly before you fell.

Whatever you were doing with your hands, he couldn’t see, but he heard Cassian ask, “what is she trying to do?”

Rhys turns to the healer, “do you have any guesses as to what potion this was?”

The old healer grins, catching Rhysand by surprise, dropping her voice conspiratorially.

“I’d be willing to bet anything that it’s a love potion. Bet anything again that you won’t be able to pry her away from your shadowsinger. Sometimes when love potions get old, things become a bit muddier between platonic and romantic love, hence her jumping between the three of you.”

The four of them turn to look at you and Azriel, the two of you engrossed in a conversation Rhys thinks is about snails, but isn’t sure.

She lowers her voice, drawing their attentions again, “Once someone is under a love potion, though, they get very upset when away from the object of their affections.”

“And you think it’s him?” Feyre asks, even though they all know it’s a stupid question.

Madja gives her a look, rolling her eyes so hard she might strain herself, “only a fool wouldn’t recognize her devotion to him, and vice versa.”

Madja starts to leave, speaking louder for you and Azriel to hear, “again, she’ll be fine, you just can’t let her out of your sight until it’s gone. She is, essentially, a drunk toddler.”

-

The five of you convened in Rhys’s office to give a full report of what happened. Even though Azriel wasn’t there, he was still in attendance due to 1) his desire to know what happened and 2) your insistence that he be there. You hadn’t left his arms since jumping into them, just babbling away while he carried you to Rhys’s office, and now you were curled up in his lap, your head tucked into his neck, playing with one of his siphons.

“She’s actually quite adorable like this,” Cassian mumbles. They all turned to look at you, enthralled by the siphon as Azriel makes it glow and dim. “Can we keep her like this?”

“As adorable as she may be, she can’t stay like this forever,” Rhys replies. You lean across Azriel over to Cassian, grabbing one of his siphons too.

Feyre giggles, watching you hold the two up to the light, watching how pretty the look. You grab one of Azriel’s other siphons and start juggling with them. Cassian lunges forward for his siphon, but you are surprisingly very good at juggling and keeping Cassian’s siphon away from him by planting your foot on his chest.

“Where do you keep the other ones when you don’t need them? Do you have a jewelry box for them?” You ask, not taking your eyes off them as you throw them around.

“Essentially, yes. They’re kept in special boxes.” Cassian replies, still nervous you’ll break one.

“Can anyone use your siphon? Like could Cassian use yours or vice versa?” You poke your tongue out in concentration, no idea that you’ve disrupted their discussion.

“No, siphons are picky, they pick their masters,” Azriel replies.

You catch all the siphons, ending your juggling routine with a little bow of your head.

“Anyway,” Rhys drawls, “we need to set up a schedule to watch her - considering her state I don’t want to leave her with servants. Feyre and I have a dinner to attend tonight-“

“I can watch her,” Azriel’s words cut Rhys off, “don’t worry about it.”

“Brother-“

“If I need help, I’ll ask Cassian. My shadows can help me keep an extra eye out.”

They all peered at you, having nestled back into Azriel’s chest and fallen asleep in the moment they took their eyes off of you, clutching the siphons to your chest as your chest slowly rose and fell. Rhysand looked at his brother, the two continuing their discussion telepathically.

Are you sure you can handle this alone? We don’t know how long it will last. It could be flushed out by the morning or could stay in her system for a week.

If you think I can’t handle taking care of one drugged girl then why am I your spymaster?

Because we both know she isn’t just some girl to you.

Azriel sighs mentally, causing Rhys to smirk.

Look, I’d be watching over her anyway. Do you really think I would leave her alone with Cassian in this state? She’d trick him into letting her run out the door within five minutes.

And you think you’re immune to her charms?

Azriel gives him a look, and Rhys decides to back off, changing the topic of discussion.

They had stayed in Rhys’s office for about an hour after you had nodded off, discussing what to do about Keir now that he likely knows what was stolen. A few minutes after you nodded off Rhys got you a blanket, the outfit you wore to the Hewn City not nearly enough to keep you warm. You had slept through most of the meeting, waking once to move your leg and taking the opportunity to swipe another one of Cassian’s siphons while he wasn’t looking. You had settled back onto Azriel’s chest, and he heard you whisper, “so cozy, so warm,” before nuzzling back into him and falling back asleep.

-

You’re not sure how long you were asleep when Azriel gently nudged you awake. He smiled at you sweetly, “come on, you need to eat and bathe before going to sleep.”

You groan, nuzzling further into his neck. “Don’t wanna, too sleepy,” trying to sound mean and intimidating so he’ll leave you be, but it just comes out adorable instead.

You hear Cassian chuckling, causing you to tighten your grip on the siphons you forgot you were holding. You peak out from Azriel’s neck, looking to Cassian, “what are you laughing at, bat boy, can’t even get your precious siphons back from a sleeping lady.”

Everyone but Cassian laughs, as he launches over to you, arms outreached to get them back. You squeal, “Az, save me,” ducking back under the blanket.

Suddenly the room is very quiet, and you peak your head out to find that Azriel has winnowed the two of you into one of his chairs in his room at the House of Wind.

“Thank you,” you say, “now you’re an accomplice in my thievery. Partners in crime, we are.”

He laughs, “we’ll hang together.”

You laugh, suddenly becoming sad, “if we hang together, will you hold my hand until the end?”

“Anytime,” he says. You take him up on this offer, and reach out to hold his hand then. You hold his left hand in both of yours, examining the entirety of his hand, before planting a soft kiss on the palm of his left then his right hand. “So pretty,” you murmur.

Azriel’s stunned into silence, but you fill the void with your voice, “I love your hands. The scars are beautiful. I think about your hands a lot - the things they’ve endured, the things they’ve done. They are still beautiful, they’re a part of you, and you are the most beautiful of all.”

You turn in his seat, grabbing his face in your left hand, tracing his face with your right. “You’re so beautiful, scars and all, demons and all.” Your eyes trace his face, as if committing this poximity to memory. “I could look at you forever and never feel restless.”

He is stunned, unsure if this is the drug making you think he’s someone else or just making things up in your mind, when he says, “you’ve been drugged, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I don’t know what I’m saying, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be true.”

Your words sound incredibly sobering. Azriel can’t let this conversation keep going, he needed you aware and 100% into it to have this conversation. Besides, this is a conversation he’s accepted should never happen to preserve your friendship.

“Okay, do you want to eat or bathe first?”

You laugh, your moment of lucidity over, “can I take the siphons in the bath?”

-

Azriel prepared a bath for you with the special soap that makes the water bubble up. He helped unzip your dress, then looked away as you got into the bath. He would have let you bathe alone, however there was a slight concern you might drown or slip when you got out.

He heard you sink into the bath that was practically overflowing with bubbles. “Can I look now?”

“You could have been looking the whole time, silly.”

Since your confession while holding his hands, you had become much flirtier than usual. When he unzipped your dress you made a dirty joke that made his cheeks flush.

“Azzy,” the nickname rolling off your tongue, a nickname he usually doesn’t care for, but coming from your lips sounds divine.

“Sweetheart?” He asks, as he turns around to look at you in the bath.

“You have something on your face,” you tell him, giggling as he comes closer. When he’s close enough you grab his shirt and pull him into the tub, water spilling over the edge of the tub, coating the floor.

He’s spluttering as his head emerges, trying to breathe from the shock of the sudden dunk. He looks at you, annoyance with just a hint of amusement covering his face.

“Well, I had asked if you’d join me, and you said no,” you giggle, scooping up some bubbles into your hands and blowing them in his face.

Azriel concedes, unsure of what you’d do if he left the tub, so he settles in across from you, his legs surrounding the sides of your legs. Your very naked legs, hidden by the bubbles. This bath was excruciating for him, knowing that the only thing covering you were bubbles that would be gone in about fifteen minutes was actual torture.

“Okay, you got me in here, now what is your plan?”

You squint, thinking. You raise your hand, signaling with your finger for him to come closer. He leans closer, and you grab some bubbles, sticking them to his face.

“Bubble beard!” You exclaim while laughing. “You look like a pirate.”

-

You spent the remainder of your bath trying to get him out of his clothes, telling him how weird it was he was bathing fully clothed. Having you naked in his tub was already hard enough for him, removing his clothes as well? He’d lose all restraint on keeping your advances at bay.

The whole bath you kept whining, wanting to be in his lap again, or just having more contact than his legs touching your legs. You started rubbing your hands up his calves, and he has never wanted to rip off his clothing to feel someone’s touch quite like he had in that moment.

Your touch on his legs, the way you were looking at him like he was the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen and like he was a meal, the loss of bubbles giving him a better view of your breasts through the water. It was all too much.

Azriel jolted out of the water, standing in the tub and starting to put his legs over the edge to get out. You laugh at all the water that rushes over the sides of the tub, “what’s wrong Azzie?”

That nickname, your body in the tub, his disruption causing a lot of water to leave the tub, leaving your breasts exposed for him.

He was about to leave, about to get out before he did something he regretted, when he smelled it. He could smell your arousal, so sweet and so hot he practically moans at it.

“Sit, please,” you say, grabbing his hands and pulling him down to sit back in the bath. He complies, his brain making him think of sirens luring men to their deaths in the sea.

As he sits, wings splaying over the rim of the rub, you keep your hands in his, but you stay much closer to him, practically sitting in his lap. Keeping your eyes on his, you tell him, “a bath is no place for clothes.”

He shivers, as you trace your hands up his thighs. “Sweetheart, we can’t. You’re drugged.”

“I might be drugged,” you say, unable to keep yourself away, crawling into his lap, “but I can assure you I dream of you in every way imaginable. Sexual, romantic. I want to give you the moon.”

At this point you’re straddling his waist, starting to grind against his hard cock still in his pants. The bath water sloshing in the tub at your gentle rhythms. Azriel has to grip the edges of the tub to ground himself, remind him that this is real, not a dream.

He tips his head back, about to tell you no again, when you start attacking his neck with your mouth, littering hot, needy kisses up and down the column of his throat.

The coordinated attack of your faster rhythm and your mouth on his neck might actually cause Azriel to burst right into his pants, and then you start speaking again and he’s sure he’ll come undone in this bath.

“Think about you all the time.”

Bite.

“Think about how good your cock would feel inside of me.”

Suck.

“I touch myself almost every night thinking of what you could do to me.”

Moan.

It was all so much for Az. The confinement of his cock, the feel of you on him, he let go of the edges of the tub, opting to place them on the sides of your hips, helping guide you across his clothed length.

Azriel had never seen you so in command, so confident, and it made him want to devour you.

“I’ve always wondered how well the soundproofing on the rooms is because every night I am moaning your name, hoping you’ll come and actually make me moan.”

He digs his fingers into your sides deeper, finally able to remember his voice, “believe me, sweetheart, if I heard you moaning my name I’d burst through the door and have you moaning it all night.”

His left hand reaches up, grazing over your right breast. He’s gazing at you like you’re a recently discovered piece of art that hasn’t been seen in centuries.

“Can I hear it now?” He asks, thrusting up against your wet heat.

You moan his name, and he thrusts harder. You two are going faster, your hands roaming his body, his hands roaming yours. What’s left of the water is sloshing furiously, most of the water landing on the floor.

“I think about your hands exploring every inch of me.”

Both of your moans are echoing through the bathroom, a chorus of pleasures creating an erotic symphony.

“Azriel” you moan, practically vibrating from your climax, your mind going blank except for thoughts of him, but still moving because you need him to finish too.

The way you said his name drove Azriel over the edge, the two of you finishing together, in a practically empty tub.

Chests heaving, the entire floor coated in water, the euphoria fades entirely too quickly for Azriel’s liking with the weight of what he’s just done.

He took advantage of you. You’re drugged, you have no idea what’s going on, you probably have no idea who you just dry humped into completion.

He gets out of the bath, you still curled up to his chest. He pulls his wet pants off and grabs each of you a towel. He slings his towel around his hips, and sets you down so he can sling a towel around you as well.

You accept it, nuzzling back into his chest and he feels his heart lurch knowing that once your potion wears off, you’ll never be able to look at him again.

He braids your wet hair, despite your protests, and he goes with you to pick out some pajamas from your room, under your insistence.

As he gets dressed he has his shadows check the whole house. After getting the all clear, the two of you scamper down the hall, him in gray sweatpants and you in nothing but a towel.

Your room is neat and tidy like his, but you have much more decor around the room. Stacks of books, little framed photos, snow globes even.

He can’t help himself from snooping as you find a nightgown, and he spots a box on your vanity that seems to lure him, almost calling his name.

He opens the lid to find every note the two of you have passed during boring meetings or whenever the two of you do paperwork in the library and pass notes back and forth.

He smiles, the one top from him stating “if Cassian doesn’t stop chewing his bubble gum like that I might kill him”.

You cough, startling him. “I’m ready!” You say.

He spins around, closing the box, hoping you didn’t catch him snooping. If he thought the bath was torture, your nightgown is even worse. Flimsy straps, one of which has already fallen off your shoulder, midnight black, a small bow between your breasts. It barely covers your ass, for Mother’s sake.

He was in for a long night.

-

After much fighting and whining and convincing, you convince Azriel to sleep in the bed with you, promising you’ll keep your hands to yourself, except to cuddle. Azriel didn’t realize just how much you would use that stipulation to be practically on top of him all night.

It surprises him a bit, how easy it is to lay in bed with you, his left wing underneath you, pulling you towards him.

He’s decided you’re going to hate him whenever the drug wears off no matter what, so he’s all in on getting as much of you as he can.

The weight of your head on his chest, your arm draped over his stomach, your slow breathing as you dream. It’s more comforting than he’d expect, and before he can stop it he’s fallen asleep.

-

You woke the next morning, opening your eyes only to make direct eye contact with Azriel, sitting in the chair next to his bed.

“Good morning,” he tells you, a smile crossing his face. He’s anticipating silly, loopy you who is incredibly bold. Instead he watches your eyes widen, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as the memories all come back.

At first the memories were a little embarrassing, but easily written off. The more that come back to you, the more your cheeks heat.

Jumping on him, sitting in his lap, straddling him, forcing him into your bath.

“Oh my gods,” you stammer, shuffling in the bed to sit up. “Azriel, oh my gods I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that.”

Azriel’s moved to sit next to you on the bed. “No, I’m sorry. I was lucid, and I took advantage of you in a vulnerable moment. I completely understand if you want nothing to do with me.”

He starts to rise to leave until you dart out a hand around his wrist, “you? Taking advantage of me? I held you down and made you cum! I assaulted you! In a bathtub!” You’re not sure why the only part of that you whispered is ‘bathtub’.

“Look Az, I was pretty lucid, I just had no reservations. No impulse control. All I ever want to do is jump your bones and you were taking care of me and being so nice I couldn’t stop myself.” You fall back on the bed, putting your hands over your face, wanting the shame of assaulting the man you’re in love with to consume you.

He reaches out, removing your hands, “you want to jump my bones all the time?”

He’s smirking. The bastard is smirking at being assaulted.

Him holding your hands means you can’t hide, and you’ve already done something unforgivable so might as well put it all out there.

You sit up straighter to look him in the eye as you say, “Okay, fine, yes, I’ve already ruined our friendship by assaulting you, fuck it I’ll completely annihilate it! I spend an ungodly amount of time thinking about you, I haven’t even considered going on a date since I met you, you have probably ruined other males for me, and I am hopelessly and desperately in love with you!”

You practically shout the last part at the stupid smirk that won’t leave his face.

“I’ve ruined other males for you?”

You roll your eyes, “yes I expect them all to be as loathsome and annoying as you are.”

His smirk is somehow still growing as he eyes you up like a predator stalking his prey, “oh none of them are as loathsome and annoying as I am, and none of them are as hopelessly and desperately in love with you as I am.”

His smirk is replaced by a beaming smile as you process his words. He releases your hands from his grasp, cupping your face with them instead.

“You’ve ruined every female out there for me. I’ve been on one date since I met you, stupid busybody Rhysand set it up, I think in hopes to get me to confront how I feel about you.”

You’re about to ask about it, but he cuts you off, “it lasted 20 minutes. She was one of the teachers at Nyx’s school, nice, but she wasn’t you.”

He laughs, the memory lingering in his eyes, “Rhys was right, unfortunately. We went out and all I could talk about was you. I told her about you, how afraid I was to say anything.”

You move forward, deciding to straddle his lap for this conversation. His hands still on your face, he continues.

“She told me if you were as nice as I said you are, you’d never let my feelings get in the way of our friendship if you didn’t feel the same way. And that if you’re as beautiful and funny and intelligent as I told her you were, someone might beat me to it. And that would hurt worse than the rejection.”

Your hands reach up to cup his face, his beautiful, beautiful face. “And how long ago was this date?”

“It was right before your mission. When I got back I was ready to declare it all to you, but Nesta told me you guys were gone. And then when you came back drugged, I figured I would take care of you and when the drug wore off I’d tell you as soon as you came to.

“But then you ambushed me in a bath tub.”

You can’t help the laugh that bursts from your lips. “Now that I know you wanted it, you really can’t blame me. You looked really hot in the bath.”

Your hips start grinding against his involuntarily, the memory of rubbing against him still so fresh. You’re only in a nightgown and some panties, and you can’t help that he picked gray sweatpants to sleep in.

He grabs your hips, holding you in place, “you couldn’t help yourself? I just looked so hot? You were naked and practically begging me to touch you. It’s a miracle I restrained myself as much as I did.”

You laugh, you really were laying it on thick for him. He releases his hold on you for a second, and your hips immediately start grinding again.

“Oh no, we can’t have that,” he says, and before you can question it a shadow grabs each of your hands, pulling your head back down on the pillows, holding you in place. You start to squirm, about to move your legs, when more shadows appear, holding them down.

You gasp, as Azriel leans in to your ear, whispering, “last night you got to use me for your pleasure, holding me down, now it’s my turn.”

He shifts himself, his upper body between your legs, his face very close to your wet heat. He turns back to face you, and you can feel his breath on you, causing you to moan in need.

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re already so needy.” His fingers begin tracing the inside of your leg, starting at your ankle, moving up to your knee, he slows down while he moves up your thigh, and your breathing practically stops as he approaches your panties.

Your nightgown had shifted up, giving him the perfect view of your lacy, midnight blue panties.

“Do you always wear slutty panties, or only when you know you’ll see me?” He asks, playing with the edges of them, slipping his fingers under the edge to caress your hips.

You flush, embarrassed he figured you out. “I uh wear them on days I know I’ll see you, just in case.”

He chuckles darkly, slithering back up your body, pressing his hard cock against you as he tells you, “If I had known how much effort you put in I would have taken you ages ago.” His hips begin thrusting against you, and you try to hold back moaning but he continues. “Or just how pretty you look squirming underneath me, needing more of my cock. Or how pretty you look in that shade of blue, like you’re already marked as mine.”

He pulls back for a moment, pulling off his sweatpants, but leaving on his boxer-briefs.

“I said I’d return the favor,” he says, sliding back in between your legs, “and if I recall you spent a good amount of time telling me some of the dirty thoughts you’ve had about me.”

His hips continue, still just grinding against your heat, not even inside of you. Gods, you thought, he’ll be the death of me.

“So it’s only fair I tell you all about how I fist my cock wishing I was fisting your hair, keeping your mouth on my cock instead.”

His speed picks up, his hands resting on your throat, your moans drowned out by his mouth colliding with yours.

You open your mouth to let in some air and he takes the opportunity to swipe his tongue in, asserting dominance against your own. Just as fast as he entered your mouth, he left, pulling his mouth from yours. He chuckles at the groan you make at the loss of contact.

“All of Starfall I had to keep leaving because I couldn’t stop thinking about undoing the ribbons holding your dress up. I had to relieve myself at least three separate times.”

You remember the night well enough - you had worn a rather risqué dress by your standards, one where the bodice was made entirely of one strand of ribbon. It was incredibly tedious to get on, but you looked incredible in it, and you were selfishly hoping he would notice you in it.

“Would it mean anything if I told you I picked out that dress, hoping you’d cut the ribbon?” Your words coming out choppy between pants.

Your words clearly meant something to him, because he picked up his pace, grinding against you harder. Some of his curls have fallen into his face, and you move to brush them away, only to remember being bound.

You can feel yourself getting so so close, when he speaks again.

“I’ve spent a lot more time than I’d like to admit imagining what your arousal would smell like,” he begins undoing his leathers, “and now that I know it I can’t help but want to be coated in it.”

At his words, he slips your panties aside and slips inside of you. You moan his name, because at this point he is all you know. His body, his touch, his voice. He is all consuming.

He gently thrusts a few times, stretching you out, before he gains speed, filling you with him.

“Dreamed of how you’d feel around me. I gotta say, the reality is much better than my imagination.”

You’re both on the brink, Azriel thrusting harder, deeper, faster, both of your moans filling his room. You feel him spill into you and that causes you to come completely undone.

Azriel drops onto you, both of your chests heaving against each other. Your breathy pants die down, air coming back to the two of you. Azriel’s head cradled in your neck, his shadows releasing your hands and legs.

“I hate to say it but I am thankful for the bastard who drugged you.”

You laugh as he gets up, gathering his pants to put on.

“Rhys wants an update on you,” he says, smirking, “shall I tell him you’re in perfectly capable hands?”

You laugh, “no tell him I’m in the hands of a deplorable male taking advantage of a sweet, innocent girl.”

He roars with laughter, “sweet and innocent my ass. Tell that to the bathroom floor.” You laugh in response, snuggling back down into his sheets.

You look over, watching Azriel put on the two siphons you had stolen the night before, where they previously were sitting next to Cassian’s stolen siphon. You laugh, trying to figure out how long it’ll be until Cassian comes barreling through the door for it back.

“I imagine,” Azriel begins, following your gaze to the red gem, ���he has been standing outside the room all night like some pervert, waiting for the door to open so he can slip in and take it back.”

He leans over the bed, capturing your mouth in a kiss, threading his fingers through your hair. You sit up on your knees, pressing into him as you kiss him back, putting everything into the kiss.

“I shouldn’t be too long, I’ll tell him you’re still under the influence and maybe I can get us a few more days of uninterrupted bliss.”

[buckyalpine]

Spiral

Bucky Barnes x teacher reader 

Warnings: AANGST Arguments, mean Bucky, break up, make up, fluffff 

listen, don’t eat me alive for this, I’ve been craving some angst (with a happy ending), the type that makes my chest itch so here we are. If this is too toxic for you and you only live for sunshine and rainbows and perfect communication, then this is not the fic for you. He gets mean because that’s what I wanted. So mean. I wanted to feel physical pain while reading. But then my hamster brain got exhausted to write more groveling. So don’t come at me about “she shouldn’t have taken him back, he should’ve begged and groveled more” He groveled. 

-

You sighed, rubbing sleep away from your eyes, trying to get them to focus on the time on the clock. 

2:57 AM

You stretched out some of the kinks from your neck after falling asleep on the couch, reaching for your phone and squinting at the bright screen, all your calls and texts left unanswered. He didn’t respond to one. You sat up hearing the lock click open, some of your anxiety melting away hearing the thud of his bag hit the floor. 

“Bucky?”

“Yeah” He toed off his boots and shrugged off his jacket, heading straight for the bedroom without even looking your way, his shoulders heavy from exhaustion. You followed him to your shared bedroom, taking his bag from him and unpacking it while he stripped his clothes off getting ready to take a shower. 

“What time did you guys get back?”

“Couple hours ago” He grunted, tossing his clothes into the hamper, heading to the bathroom and clicking the lock shut. You blinked, slightly taken aback by his coldness but it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen this side before. Bucky had improved a lot with his stress and how he handled missions but ones that involved casualties or hydra would pull him into deep waves of despair, holding him down till he nearly drowned. 

You swallowed the uneasiness that crept up your spine; now wasn’t the time to ask him why he hadn’t let you know he was back safe or why he had ignored all  your messages. He would have been busy with reports and right now he was drained. You went to grab his Henley and some boxer briefs, laying them out on the bed for him as soon as you heard the water shut off. He emerged out with his towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping from his short locks while you grabbed his clothes, handing it to him before he went to the closet. 

“Here, I already got them out of the closet”

He half mumbled in response, pulling his clothes on and falling into bed, snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. You weren’t a fan of him sleeping with wet hair, grabbing a dry towel and gently patting his hair as best as you could without waking him. He mumbled something again, pulling the sheet higher on himself and tucking himself further away from you, unbothered with his still semi damp hair. You jolted at the sound of your phone buzzing, Sam’s caller ID lighting up the screen. 

“Hey Sam” 

“Big guy get home alright?” 

“He did, why?” 

“Hm” You could hear the hesitation in his voice, “He’s been pretty out of it these past few missions, probably because he’s exhausted. Tony’s told him to sit out a couple of them but he’s there anyway. Stubborn as hell”  

“He really is” You shook your head, frowning at his sleeping form. Usually you found his stubbornness endearing but not when it was taking a toll on his health. 

“We uh...” Sam paused again, contemplating on if he should tell you his next words, deciding facing Bucky’s wrath would be better than losing him all together. “I know he’ll kick my ass for telling you this but we nearly lost him today” 

Your mouth dried up, heart rapidly hammering against your ribcage. You couldn’t get any words out to acknowledge what he’d just said but you heard him loud and clear. 

“Oh”

“It’s a lot, I know. Maybe talk to him. He’s getting reckless, it’s going to get him killed. We’ve tried talking to him but you know how-”

“Yeah” You blurted out, your mind now racing along with your heart, your body feeling hot. You could feel your anxiety sky rocket at the thought of Bucky endangering himself, never coming home to you again. The way your bed would feel empty. The way your soul would leave along with him. You couldn’t speak anymore, humming and mumbling the rest of the conversation. “Thanks Sam” 

You slipped under the covers, sleep not taking over as easily. Your anxiety at an all time high. Bucky used to text you as soon as he got back. Not a single one of your calls would be left unanswered. Running to you the second the jet landed. He’d never leave your side, taking you into the shower with him and making love to you till the sun came up with endless cuddles afterwards. Even after some of his darkest missions, he’d search for you eventually, seeking your comfort and warmth. 

Now?

Nothing. 

You groaned hearing the alarm go off, forcing yourself out of bed and going through your routine, getting ready for work and packing your things for the day. Your movements were shaky, the conversation with Sam screaming in your head while you poured some coffee and got started on breakfast. You wanted to scream and cry so badly but you couldn’t. It wouldn’t be a productive conversation when Bucky was like this anyway. You ended up running on autopilot, thinking about the lessons you’d teach for the day, supplies you still had to order for the classroom, the nagging parent that wanted to arrange a meeting after school. Bucky trudged into the kitchen a few minutes after you, setting on a bowl of cereal, his eyes sullen from a lack of proper sleep. 

“Can I make something for you?” you tested the waters to gauge his mood though you could see from his face he was still mentally elsewhere. He shook his head, huffing in frustration when the utensil drawer jammed, squeezing his eyes shut to collect himself before trying to open it again. 

“Sweetheart, let me get that for you” You set down your things, realizing that his exhausted state made his patience wear thin. 

“It’s fine” He tried to push the frustration he felt down, his teeth gritted as spoke, yanking at the drawer once more. 

“It’s probably stuck, just pull it slowly-”

“I said I got it” 

“But-”

“I’m not one of your fucking students!” He stated louder than necessary, pulling the drawer out with more force than he intended, all the contents inside crashing and clanking to the floor. You yelped in surprise, ignored the shakiness you started to feel coursing through your body, stepping towards Bucky instead, your heart breaking over how lost and worn out he looked. 

“Baby I didn’t say that-

“Why the fuck do you treat me like a child then?! Taking out my clothes, drying my hair, making my breakfast, texting and calling 100 times when I’m away. Do I look like I’m incapable of taking care of myself?” He spat, taking a step back from you when you tried to reach out from him, his brows furrowed, blue eyes glaring at you. You couldn’t help but let your anger bubble over, how dare he yell at you when he was the one carelessly putting his life at risk at risk on a daily basis. 

“Honestly?!” Your composure started to crumble, your eyes boring into his sleep deprived face, “From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it”

Bucky let out a humorless laugh, scoffing while you continued to stare at him. He slammed the drawer shut, not bothering to pick up what had fallen as he started to walk away from the kitchen and back to the bedroom. 

“Fuck this, I don’t need this” He shook his head while you followed him, going straight to the closet to grab his duffle bag he took for overnight missions. 

“What exactly do you not need” You tried to take a deep breath in, not wanting to upset him more when he wasn’t in a good state of mind. 

“You”

Oh.

“I don’t need you or your coddling” He started to grab handfuls of his clothes, shoving them haphazardly in his bag. “It’s suffocating y/n” 

You watched him in silence, squeezing your nails into your palms, desperately trying to hold it together while he continued to pack the few belongings he had. 

“Having someone constantly nag you about your whereabouts, doubt if you can even take care of your basic needs. Its-it’s just exhausting” 

You swallowed away the tightness that constricted your throat, not wanting to aggravate him further even though your own emotions were now thrown for a loop. This wasn’t him, this wasn’t your Bucky. 

“James, all you had to do was just tell me you were safe, you used to answer your messages, I worry about y-

“Well don’t! Because I don’t worry about you. Alright? There. That’s why I don’t message”

You wordlessly stared at him, your mouth dry as if you’d swallowed cotton. Your chest felt like you had been hit by a truck, feeling pain on the inside as your heart strings snapped one by one each time he spoke. 

“I don’t message because I don’t care. When I come back I just-I just want to be left alone. That's why I spend so much time at the compound after. I don’t exactly feel like rushing home”

You wanted to bite your tongue, walk away but the words were falling from your mouth before you could stop yourself. 

“Clearly you don’t care! Is that why the fuck you take on so many missions when you’re clearly worn the fuck out? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job” Bucky growled while you willed yourself to not let him see you cry, your eyes betraying you as tears welled in your lash line. 

“It’s not doing your job if you’re dead Bucky!” Hot tears were now rolling down your cheeks, any resolve you previously had thrown out the door. 

“You don’t know anything”  Bucky shook his head, scoffing and pushing past you while you pathetically trailed behind him, unable to stop this train wreck of an argument.

“What?” 

He finally turned to face you, dropping his bag in the living room, his sullen eyes daring you to try and stop him from leaving. You were about to open your mouth to speak but he cut you off. 

“What the fuck do you know y/n, you get to go in every morning, coddle some children for 8 hours, then you come back home, fucking try and do the same shit with me after like you have nothing better to do, too stupid to realize I can take care of myself. Why would I need you? Huh? Tell me” He challenged, the rational side of his brain kicking and screaming at him to stop but he was too far gone, too deprived of everything to stop the venom he was spitting. “I don’t need you. I don’t fucking want you” 

“Th-that’s how you feel?” Bucky blinked at the sound of your voice cracking, though his ego and anger at the rest of the world not letting him back down. He shrugged, his stomach now churning over your stoic expression but your eyes giving away how much he was hurting you. “Fine” 

You didn’t move a muscle as he grabbed his bag and headed out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Every single fiber in your body wanted to crumble to the floor, wishing it would swallow you whole. You pushed back all the emotions that wanted to crash all over the floor, shakily packing your things up and rushing out the door, hoping your little ones would distract you enough to get through the day.

If anything they made it worse. 

Every one one of your students knew something was off, seeing right past the smile you had plastered onto your face, doing your best to appear normal. You fought off tears as your third graders quietly made you cards to make you feel better during their recess time, a few of them even leaving portions of their snack on your desk, hoping it’d make you smile. You avoided reading any of the sweet little notes, knowing you’d break down into sobs if you read them. 

As soon as you got home, all your pent up sadness turned into rage. Angry tears streamed down your face as soon as you locked the door shut, the soft scent of home, of your Bucky now made your stomach turn. You hated that the whole place suffocated you with him, pictures of you both, his records and books on the shelves, a Henley on the couch. The kitchen was no better, plums on the counter, his favorite coffee in the cupboard, a Captain America mug still in the sink. 

You desperately wanted to shower and crawl into bed but the shared bedroom was the worst of all. You couldn’t stand to be in the space where his clothes were, the sheet still lingering with his soft scent that used to make you feel safe and remind you of home. You didn’t even realize you had broken down into sobs on the floor, all the pent up emotions you had kept in you spilling out all at once. 

The last thing you wanted to do was coddle and suffocate Bucky, his words echoing in your head. 

I don’t message because I don’t care

What do you know, y/n?

I don’t need you.

I don’t fucking want you. 

Fine. 

-

Bucky wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he got home, blinking at the dark house, usually you’d leave at least one light on. He had made it clear he was leaving, he couldn't expect you to be waiting at the front door with open arms. He stood for a moment, wondering if you had perhaps gone to bed early but it was eerily quiet. He didn’t like the cold silence that greeted him, it didn’t take him long to realize you weren’t there.

Yet there was an inkling of hope that maybe. Just maybe you were somewhere around. 

“Y/n?” 

Nothing.

He made his way right to the bedroom, only to be met with more cold silence. Bucky’s mind swirled, regret, guilt and shame constricting his neck once again. As soon as he had walked out, he wanted nothing more than to run back into the house and take it all back, tell you he didn’t mean a word of what he said. He wanted to scoop you in his arms and beg for forgiveness and shower you with love for the way you cared about him so much. He let his feet carry him away instead, not being able to think straight, frustration and pain feeding the caged monster he unleased on you. 

The last person that deserved it. 

Where had you gone?

Did it matter? 

He paced around the room; none of your things were out of place but it was too late for you to have gone on a walk or to grab food. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, feeling nothing but disgust with himself, the image of your sweet fallen face burned in his mind. How could he push away the one person who cared enough to take care of him so tenderly. So gently. So lovingly. 

And to say he didn’t care? Or worry?

How could he let those words fall from his lips when you were the reason he stayed alive. It took everything in him to not smash the first thing that came into his hand, of all the reckless and careless things he had done in this life, this was the worst. This hurt more than anything Hydra had put him though. He almost wished they’d take him away again, wipe his memories, wipe away the sound of your voice cracking, wipe away the way you’d softly call for him. Wipe away the feel of your soft hands touching him and soothing him when he couldn't sleep-

Wipe everything away because he was selfish. 

Unable to exist with he guilt of knowing he’d hurt you so much. 

His hands were working faster than his brain could comprehend, calling the first person he could think of, desperate to know you were at least okay and alive before he purged the city to look for you. 

“Nat-”

“She’s here” Nat deadpanned, cutting the call immediately after. He knew by her tone of voice, there would be no point in trying to call back. He had no right to see you. No right to come and ask for you to come back. He had no right for anything yet he had already broken off into a sprint. He made it very clear he didn’t want you, very clear you meant nothing, very clear he was the most fucked up idiot in the world, completely undeserving of your love. 

But he was selfish. 

He loved you. 

Bucky didn’t waste a second, hopping onto his motorbike and speeding off to the compound, bounding to the elevators and immediately to Nat’s door. He barely raised his hand to knock, the red head reluctantly opening the door to a disheveled Bucky. 

“She doesn’t want to see you”

“Nat, please-

“Barnes. She doesn’t want to see you” She threw in with a shrug, her green eyes challenging him to argue back. 

“I want to see her” His voice was small, hopeful, only to be met with a scoff and eyeroll, the assassin stepping out of the room and gently shutting the door behind her. 

“So you can tell her you don’t want her?”  Nat crossed her arms while Bucky felt his insides crumble more, his own words taunting him. 

“She told you?”

“Not much because even now, she’s more worried about you instead of how you treated her” Nat glared at the super solider as he hung his head, knowing damn well he had already been spiraling for weeks, his explosion a result of pent up pain and stress left undealt with. “Y’know you could’ve lost it on one of us but not her, she’s always been there for you in ways no one else could” 

Bucky felt his throat tighten, unable to get any words out as he silently nodded and made his way to a different floor to sleep in a guest room. Of course he didn’t sleep, tears staining the pillow, struggling to keep his sobs down. He spent the rest of the night all the way till morning pacing up and down the hall instead, waiting for you to wake up, ignoring the glare Nat gave him when she saw him sitting on the floor outside of her room. As soon as the door clicked open again, Bucky scrambled to his feet, rushing to your side. 

“Y/n-

“Don’t” 

You couldn’t bare to look at him, turning on your heel with your bag slung over your shoulder. Bucky reached for your wrist, weakly grasping it, the undeserving inkling of hope he had slowly dissolving when he felt your muscles tense.

“I’m sor-

“I said don’t. I don’t want to hear it”  You shook your head, tugging your hand away and continuing down the hall while Bucky trailed behind you like a puppy. 

“Angel, angel please wait!” He caught up with you, moving to block your path, but you shoved his chest, pushing him aside, gritting you teeth together till you made it outside. You would not let him see you break twice. 

“No” 

“Angel, I-I need-”

“You made it very clear you don’t need much. I’m not something you need” You cut him off before he could finish, unable to shake off the way the words he cut you deep, tangled around you like barbed wire. Your words cut him right back, his chest filling with even more guilt and regret. 

“That’s not true baby” His voice trembled, looking at your tear stained cheeks and puffy face. He’d never forgive himself over the pain he’d caused you, itching to pull you in his arms but how could he when he made you cry in the first place. 

“Don’t call me that” You scoffed, feeling your throat tighten, your vision cloudy with fresh tears. You kept your eyes trained towards the elevator, hoping to escape before the damn broke. 

“But you are”

“No, I’m not” You shook your head, “You can get the rest of your things today, you won’t have to worry about not rushing home anymore” You didn’t give him a chance to respond, dashing towards the doors as soon as they opened and striding through the compound till you got to your car. The skin on your knuckles was pulled tight as you gripped the steering wheel, breathing slowly till you got home. Everything came crashing down again as soon as you were back in your room; it wouldn’t have hurt this much if you didn’t actually love him

But you did. 

-

Bucky looked defeated as the elevator doors closed, his heart breaking further when you didn’t spare him a second glance. He didn’t bother wiping away the tears that were now streaming down his face as he made his way back to the guest room, ignoring Steve’s concerned glance and slamming the door shut. As expected, there was a knock at the door moments later, blond hair and blue eyes peering inside, unbothered by the death glare Bucky was shooting him. 

“You did something” He cocked an eyebrow, looking at his bestfriends guilt ridden face, staring at his feet like an admonished child. Bucky chewed at his lip, figuring there was no point in lying at this point, if anything he deserved the scolding he’d inevitably get. 

“I messed up”

“That would appear so” Steve nodded, urging him to continue. 

“I said a lot of things” 

“You should apologize”

“I can’t apologize for the things I said” Bucky shook his head, his voice trembling again, “I-I can’t just say sorry. It’s been weeks. Weeks of giving her shit. This just- it was too much. Y-you should have seen her face Steve” 

Steve remained silent, letting him continue.

“Fuck- I-, y’know she goes as far as drying my hair if I try to sleep while its still damp? Even when it’s late? and she has work the next morning” 

“And the problem is? She always takes care of you, I’ve seen it myself”

Bucky scoffed at himself, shaking his head while fidgeting with his hands. 

What was his problem.

He had a girl that actually gave a fuck about him, wanting to know if he was safe and loving him enough to take care of him even when he was broken. 

“I got mad at her for it” His voice was a whisper, dripping in shame, “She’d waited for me to get home, took care of me and I yelled at her”

“Explain” Steve didn’t like where the conversation was going but he wasn’t about to let Bucky off the hook without finding out exactly what happened. “All of it” 

“I-I was tired. I got frustrated when a drawer got stuck and lashed out on her and told her I didn’t want her. Didn’t need her. Had no interest in seeing her. It had already been a long time of me just not seeing or talking to her properly in general”

“Bucky” 

“I know” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at Steve’s face. “and a lot of other shit. And I can’t take it back” 

“No, you can’t” Steve agreed, much to Bucky’s discontent but again, his best friend wouldn’t lie and he had brought this all on himself. “You actually care about her?” 

“I fucking love her” Bucky’s eyes shot up, full confidence in his voice, he, without a single doubt in his soul, loved you completely. 

“Then give her time. You hurt her, Buck”

Bucky nodded, hating that he had no choice now but to wait. He quietly collected his things while you were at work, not wanting to torment you further. 

-

You hadn’t spoken to Bucky for weeks. Every time your missed him, thought about him, picked up your phone to call and check on him, you remembered what he told you. 

He didn’t want you. 

You downed another drink, staying tucked away at a booth while Natasha and Wanda went off dancing, the both of them dragging out out of the house, insisting you had to get out. Even after the break up, they remained close to you. No amount of make up could cover the puffiness and redness of your eyes or mask the way your voice was stuffy from nights of crying to sleep but there you were. On your third glass. 

“Someone looks happy to be here” 

Your eyes searched the crowd for the familiar voice, eventually landing on Sam, his eyebrows playfully wiggling as he slid into your booth.  You relaxed when you saw he hadn’t come with Bucky but you knew based off his face, there was something on his mind. 

“I think you both should talk” 

There it is. 

“There’s nothing to talk about” You shrugged, swirling your drink around with your straw while Sam sighed. 

“You’re both miserable”

“I made him miserable” You countered, nervously fidgeting with your fingers instead.

“You know that’s not true-” Sam started but the scoff you let out let him know that was a pointless road to go down, “Okay fine. Things weren’t great. But it was an abrupt end and he’s been kicking himself and you don’t look like you’re doing so hot either sweetheart” 

“Thanks” You deadpanned while he grinned, giving your hand a squeeze. 

“He’s really trying for you, y/n” Sam said softly, the playfulness in his voice replaced with sincerity. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Talk to him” 

-

You spent the rest of the week contemplating what Sam said but every time you picked up your phone, you dropped it again. You messages would probably be ignored and he likely hated you even more. Which is why you were curled up on the couch, trying not to think about him, having a night for yourself, hoping not to be tempted with your phone though a soft thump at the door pulled you away from the story. You set down the book you were reading, growing nervous when you heard the sound again. You were sure you were just hearing things but this time it was more clear. The second knock at the door made you blink, curious to know who would come by at this time. 

“Bucky?” You gasped, surprised to find him standing on the other side, a small bouquet of flowers in his hand, the stems nearly crushed from how nervous he was, “What-what are you doing here?” 

“It’s-fuck, it’s been hell sweets” Bucky whispered, his knees already ready to give way, the smell of home, the sight of you, all making him feel overwhelmed. “Hell knowing I hurt you” 

You stepped aside to let him in, not wanting to keep him in the hallway. Bucky stayed rooted in place on the welcome mat, not wanting to cross a boundary if you didn’t want him there. He hesitantly came in when you gave him a small nod, his movements shaky as he toed his boots off and followed you to the living room, the both of you standing in silence.  

“You said you didn’t want me” You kept your eyes trained on your feet, tears already threatening to spill over, you could feel the warmth of his body with how close he was, smell the scent of his laundry detergent, his cologne, the leather of his jacket. 

“How could I not want you sweets, you’re one of the reasons I’m alive-”

“Didn’t seem that way” 

“I know baby, but-” 

“Don’t call me that James” You shook your head, your heart twisting hearing his pleading voice, the sweet names he had for you making you weak. 

“No” Bucky shook his head as he felt his stomach drop at the sound of his name coming from your mouth, he despised it, hated it, “ m’not James, m’your Bucky, your Jamie, your baby, please-”

“You’re not a lot of things” You tried to keep your voice steady but it was already beginning to crack, your nails digging into your palms to keep from pulling him into you when he stepped closer. 

“I’m sorry” 

You remained silent, swallowing the lump that made your throat tighter, your vision blurry.

“I’m so sorry doll, please?” 

You could hear the quiver in his voice, now barely a whisper, the sniffle between his words making your lip tremble. 

“Please?” 

The soft sob that slipped past your lips at his pleading voice broke Bucky, his legs giving way, desperate to take away everything he did to hurt you. He was on his knees, his face buried in your tummy, his tears soaking your shirt. His cries were muffled as he tried to burry his face in further, desperately clinging onto you while you hesitantly brought a hand to card through his hair. 

“Why” You still felt like you had so many things left unanswered. 

“It was never you baby” Bucky kept himself hidden from you, his arms hugging you tightly while continuing to rest against your stomach. “I-I kept everything inside and it spilled onto you, I don’t have the words- M’selfish baby. I’m so selfish because I want you, I want to love you, I want everything you give me, I miss you, I missed you, I shouldn’t have walked out, m’sorry”

You hummed, petting his hair softly, the simple action causing him to feel even more emotional. 

“Please, wanna be your Bucky, please, I’m sorry doll” He nervously tilted his face up, his chin still pressed against your stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks. You placed your hand on his scruffy cheek, which he instantly leaned into, your thumb swiping away his tears. 

“I-I’m scared” You said truthfully, every single fiber in your body wanting to pick him up and cling onto him forever but you were nervous. He walked out once...

“I’ll give you all the space you need. Just please give me another chance, it doesn’t have to be today or soon, just- I promise I’ll do better doll” 

You nodded, taking his hand in yours to pull him to his feet, letting him sit on the couch with you. Bucky placed the flowers he was till clutching onto on the coffee table before sitting beside you, mindful to keep some space in between. 

“I-I told Tony to pull me out of missions”  

“What?”

Bucky nodded with a small smile, it was the first thing he did when he realized he had to take care of himself first before coming back to you. You’d done enough of picking up his broken pieces. 

“The missions weren’t good for me. Too many, a lot of them triggering. I needed to pull back but I kept going. Didn’t stop until I ended up hurting you. Figured it was time I spoke up. Even started to see a therapist”

“You did?” You couldn’t help but inch closer to him, knowing exactly how much he struggled with opening up. 

“I did it for me so I could be better for you” Bucky stated honestly; he made the choice to better himself because that’s what you deserved. “You don’t have to take me back right away-

“Come back home” You whispered, meeting his eyes with your teary ones, you’d take it slow if you had to but you wanted to do it with him by your side. 

“Are you sure?” Bucky’s heart hammered out of his chest, not wanting to get his hopes up or make you feel like he was pressuring you, “I’ll wait if you need more time-” 

“Come back home” You cut him off, biting your lip to keep from crying again, clawing into his lap, his arms engulfing you into a tight hug while you clung onto him, burying your face into his neck. He smelled like love, home, your heart. The feel of his arms wrapped around you made you feel safe and whole again. 

“Come home, Bucky” You hugged him tighter while he pulled away, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. 

“Bucky?” He whispered, having missed the way his name sounded, the softness of your voice, the way you fit with him. 

“My Bucky” You nodded, letting your forehead rest against his, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. 

“Jamie?”

“My Jamie”

“Baby”

“My baby” 

“M’never leaving again, angel” 

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @perdidosbucky-yyo @clqrosmgc   @buckybarnessweetheart   @pandaxnienke   @manyfandomsfanvergent  

[reasonsforhope]

"Shopping for clothes is already intimidating. There are so many options and styles to consider, as well as factors like sustainability and ethics.

But for people in fat, disabled, or queer and gender-nonconforming bodies, it’s even more arduous.

Nico Herzetty, Emma K. Clark, and Paul Herzetty wondered: What if there was a way people could shop — not necessarily by color or size — but by measurements, materials, and ethics?

So they set off to create their website: Phoria. 

Here, shoppers can set up a free profile, add their body measurements (and “typical fit challenges”) and peruse over 270 brands. Once these data points are entered, users can personalize their pages with “saved,” “recommended,” or “hidden” brands. 

Pages can be totally private, or shared with the community to connect over styles and brands.

Aside from fit, brands in the Phoria database (which claims to be “the largest database of plus-friendly brands”) can also be filtered as “gender-neutral,” “woman-run,” “small business,” or “natural fibers.” Users can also filter for price, preferred styles, and more.

Pictured: A screenshot of the "Fit Challenges" feature on a Phoria user's profile.

Some brands include popular names like Athleta, Levi’s, and Patagonia. Others are small businesses, like Beefcake Swimwear, or Hey Peach.

“For so many people, it feels too damn hard to find and keep clothing that fits in all the ways that really matter. So we’re doing something about it,” the Phoria website reads.

“Unlike most online shopping experiences, we center the needs of plus-size women, nonbinary, and trans people, and prioritize supporting clothing brands focused on sustainability, ethics, and inclusion.” ...

That team — made up of Clark, and Nico and Paul Herzetty — calls themselves “fat, disabled, and very, very queer.” 

“These are some of the main ways we identify, and they’re qualities that have directly impacted our ability to get dressed every day in a way that feels good,” the Phoria team introduces themselves on the website.

Pictured: A screenshot of Phoria's plus-size clothing brand database.

In addition to catering the user experience to women, non-binary, and trans people, Phoria is also a benefit corporation, or a B corp.

“We’ve legally required ourselves to consider the interests of all our stakeholders — customers, employees, the planet, and our shareholders,” the Phoria website explains.

“Our specific public benefit purpose is to reduce people’s dependence on buying mass-produced items made in unsustainable ways and to use human-centered business models to boldly challenge economic systems of inequity.” 

Right now, in the early stages of the company’s business, it doesn’t make any money.

“We’re focused on building something that genuinely solves plus-size people’s challenges around clothes shopping and supports smaller and more sustainable brands,” Phoria’s website states.

So, spreading the word seems to be of utmost importance...

Additionally, TikTok creators @couplagoofs (a queer couple named Morgan and Phoebe), recently shared a video in which they discovered Phoria. They met the website’s creators at a fat liberation event in their city and were introduced to the tool.

Quickly, commenters responded with gratitude and excitement.

“It is so disappointing to sort through pages of plus size clothes that aren’t even plus size,” a TikTok user commented. “This is gonna be such a good tool!” 

Some even shared emotional responses, speaking to the need at the heart of Phoria’s mission. 

“I’m… gonna cry,” another commenter wrote. “I’ve needed this my whole life.”"

-via Goodgoodgood, November 20, 2023

[bunnyreaper]

ghoap x pregnant!reader--they come back from deployment and you have some news

(18+/suggestive content, pregnancy, brief mention of pregnancy loss)

finally, your boys were home. you'd hated that they had to get the call, at such a crucial time in your pregnancy too.

you'd waved them off with a smile, trying not to let them know how much you were hoping for them to return to a version of you with no morning sickness.

you hadn't been that lucky, them coming home just after a morning spent in the bathroom. your men had of course rushed to your aid, barely out of their work clothes before they tended to you.

after simon has made you all tea and johnny has bundled you into his arms, palms resting on your growing bump, you realise you need to tell them the latest development in your pregnancy.

"we need to talk." you begin, squeezing your eyes shut at how severe your tone is. you're happy, beyond happy, but you have no idea how the men will react. 

every part of this process had taken hours and hours of open discussion and planning and communication. this wasn't a part of it. 

simon takes a seat next to both you and johnny, bringing both of you into his hold. you can feel his concern without even opening your eyes. "yeah?"

you take a deep breath, opening your eyes to see both men's eyes sparkling with worry. johnny's hand curls round your bump protectively, simon joining in too.

"bonnie, you're scaring us." johnny mumbles, words strained as his throat tightens. "are ye mad we missed yer scan?" 

simon rushes to guess what the problem is too. "is the baby okay?"

when you don't reply quickly, he pushes, voice just a touch firm. "lovie." 

no use keeping it inside any longer, you suppose, especially when the guys are getting so worried. you really hope they won't take the news poorly, that they'll be as excited as you were when you first found out.

it had taken everything within you to not call them then and there, risking their mission or interrupting their day just to get through to them.

now you finally get to share the news with them, and hopefully the joy too.

"we're having twins."

"twins." simon repeats back, eyes flickering between yours and johnny's--his expression is impossible to read.

"fuckin' hell." johnny grumbles, and when you look to him, his look is similarly impassable. 

it's hard to tell how either of them are taking it as they stare at each other, then to you, then back again. just watching them makes your throat tighten, not knowing what's coming next.

"ye don't think..." johnny starts, not able to finish as simon knows exactly what he's thinking.

"... one each?" the blonde wonders aloud too.

the two men share a smirk, one that clearly shows their satisfaction with your news. the look they share makes it seem like it's already a foregone conclusion--one baby fathered by simon, one by Johnny.

"it's not likely--" you stammer, but the two men are already making a move. 

johnny's lips fall to your neck, as simon's capture yours in a kiss.

"better make it more likely then, lass."

simon pulls you up to your feet, johnny joining you as they drag you toward the bedroom. their hands roam across your body, groping and teasing.

"better make it a fuckin' certainty." simon growls, pulling you across the threshold of the bedroom and slamming the door behind you.

both men work on lifting you into the air between them, pinning you and pulling at you. 

"that's not how it works!" you squeak, shivering as both men growl into your skin, the two of them going feral at the idea of breeding you--even if you're already pregnant.

"not how it works?" simon purrs, his fingers diving beneath your shorts. "don't fuckin' care how it works."