#HE. WAS. SMILING. HE WAS ACTUALLY SMILING LIKE WHAT

[joemama-2]

throughout the entire ceremony and reception, gojo can’t keep his eyes and hands off of you. maybe it’s the excitement of finally being husband and wife, or the sheer thrill of what’s to come afterwards.

because everyone knows, the after party is always better than the actual event.

you just look so beautiful, so enchanting, so….his. it’s a pain to just opt for making out in the back of the limo on the way back to your hotel because he’s forcing himself to wait. wait until you two are finally alone. wait until he can just finally show you much of a good husband he is.

there’s rose pedals, a glass of champagne, a huge heart shaped bed, dim lighting, a spacious suite, a beautiful balcony that overlooks the darkened tokyo skyline. it smells like warm sugar.

everything is perfect.

well, not as perfect as seeing you lay down on the bed, still in that expensive, but memorable white dress. your hair down and slightly messy from the dancing and alcohol. cheeks flushed and a dopey smile on your face. he mirrors your expression, his own inebriation coming into play because you weren’t the only one who drank more than you could handle.

he’s unbuttoning his white button up, freeing his broad chest. working next on the belt of his slacks that are too tight to hide his growing tent. all the while, he’s keeping his eyes on yours. stalking towards your figure on the bed. he starts by raising your ankles, your heels having been discarded already.

planting kiss after kiss, the tip of his nose being shoved against your skin as he inhales your scent deeply. he’s working his way up from your white, manicured toenail to your tempting cleavage, then to the crook of your neck, the top of your hair, and finally…your lips.

it’s a sweet and soft kiss, one that lingers and one that further solidifies the new union of love between two souls.

it’s only when he pulls back, breath mingling with yours, eyes glued to each other, his hands paused on your thighs, body slotted between them, that he realizes…

you’re his wife.

it’s his wedding night, and you’re here as his wife, his life-long partner. the woman who he’ll stay with through sickness and good health, and vice versa. the woman he’ll have children with. the woman he’ll grow old with. the woman who he’ll be buried with, his skeleton cradling yours until enough time has passed on earth where you two are nothing but a faded memory for your future generations.

his wife.

his wife who’s currently laid out in front like an offering to him.

yeah, he’s breaking the bed.

[dollishmehrayan]

# “WOULD YOU DO ANYTHING FOR ME?, BUY A BIG DIAMOND RING FOR ME?” ── .✦ ( how batboys act when they’re engaged w reader )

dollish note ౨ৎ: I lowkey crashed out over losing Americans on tiktok but this woke up to post on tumblr but hey, also can we talk about how trump used that as a pr stunt && thought we wouldn’t notice wtf like omgg the way many americans caught on, alsoo please leave some motivation for me because I just kinda lost motivation for this app after the tiktok thingy went down 🫠 tags: (batboys x engaged!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Over the moon and not afraid to show it. Dick tells everyone the second you say yes. Alfred? He knows. Random stranger in the grocery store? The metro security guy?, Yep, they know too. He’s got that goofy, lovestruck grin plastered on his face 24/7.

Wedding planning enthusiast. You thought you’d do most of the planning? Wrong. Dick’s fully invested, showing you Pinterest boards of venues, color schemes, and “Do you think Nightwing blue (dollish note: I think ‘#3366CC’ perhaps?) would be tacky for the napkins?”

Gets sappy at random times. You’ll catch him staring at you with a dreamy look, and when you ask why, he just shrugs. “I’m just thinking about how lucky I am.”, “Dick calm down you only proposed like 2 weeks ago.”

Brags to the Batfam constantly. “Guys, I’m going to be a husband! Can you believe it? Me! Richard Grayson!” Bruce pretends to be joyful a bit but he’s done hearing it for the 777x time but even he cracks a small smile when Dick won’t shut up about you.

Practices saying his vows in the mirror. You walked in on him once, and he was mortified. “Okay, but you didn’t hear the good part yet!”, “You literally finished the whole paper !!”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Acts like it’s not a big deal, but it’s huge for him. He’ll play it cool at first, saying something like, “It’s just a ring, babe.” But deep down, he’s nervous, excited, and trying not to let it show.

Keeps the engagement low-key. Jason’s not one for flashy announcements or grand gestures. He wants this to be something special between you two, not the whole world.

Protective x10. Now that you’re officially going to be his spouse, Jason is extra watchful. He’s already looking into ways to keep you safe and makes sure you’re never caught in the crossfire of his vigilante life.

Wants you to be 100% comfortable. He checks in with you constantly about the wedding plans. “We don’t have to do anything big, okay? Just say the word, and it’s done.” He’ll let you take the lead but secretly loves when you include him.

Teases you with the whole “fiancé” thing. “Hey, fiancée. Can you grab my coffee? Oh, did I mention you’re my fiancée now?” It’s his way of hiding how excited he really is.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Nervous wreck but totally in love. Tim overthinks everything after proposing. Did he pick the right ring? Did he say the right words? Is he even ready to be a husband? But every time he sees you smile, it calms him down.

Keeps it practical. Tim doesn’t want a huge engagement party or a grand wedding. He’s more focused on what your future together will look like your shared goals, finances, and making sure you’re both on the same page.

Researches marriage like it’s a mission. He has books on successful relationships, listens to podcasts, and even makes a checklist for wedding planning. You find it adorable when he starts using color coded spreadsheets.

Loves when you call him your fiancé. The first time you said it, he blushed so hard he had to look away. Now he’s low-key obsessed with hearing it. “You don’t have to keep calling me that… but don’t stop either.”

Gets emotional when he thinks about the future. You once caught him staring at the engagement ring on your finger, looking teary-eyed. When you asked what was wrong, he said, “I just can’t believe you’re actually mine.” (I would’ve smacked the shit out of him for that, I don’t do romance 🙄💪)

[clockwayswrites]

Birds birbs birbritch - Part 29

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

“Well, there’s the my horde of children,” Bruce said, glanced to Steph, and added, “and otherwise.”

“Hi B,” Steph said with a large smile that was just a little too much tooth, “and hi Danny!”

“Hello Stephanie,” Danny said. His wings were pulled tight against his back, as if he could hide them from view.

He couldn’t.

“Sorry B,” Dick chirped with his most innocent smile, “we were in the middle of a Mario Kart battle and you know how those can get!”

“At least tell me nothing is broken,” Bruce said, sounding entirely resigned about it all.

“Nothing is broken. Yet.”

“Well… good enough, I suppose.” Bruce said. “Though everyone had better sit though before Alfred comes in and fusses.”

“Too late, Master Bruce,” Alfred drawled as he came into the room with serving tray in hand.

They all appropriately scrambled for seats.

What with Danny being there, the normal seating (not that it always stayed exactly the same) was thrown into complete disarray. Mostly this was because Damian insisted on sitting next to Danny while Cass took the seat across from him and Tim next to her. Dick tried to stuff back him smile, but Jason caught it and rolled his eyes at his brother.

Still, it was sort of nice, in a weird way like when big cats have a service dog, to see Damian having someone out of the family that he felt the need to look over and protect. The suddenness of it all was what bothered Jason. Cass meets the guy and he’s invited to the ballet. Tim sleeps in his office. Damian wants to protect him. Even Bruce was at ease earlier with Danny sleeping on his lap. It was just like Danny belong there in with the rest of their family.

Jason didn’t trust it.

He especially didn’t trust it because it seemed to be having an effect on him too. He hadn’t snooped nearly as much as he could have in Danny’s apartment. Hell, the revelations down in the Cave that they had just had didn’t bother him as much as they should have.

Jason looked across the table to Duke, who was squinting a little at Danny. Jason kicked Duke lightly under the table and tilted his head in question.

Duke rolled his eyes, but pulled out his phone and sent: He’s got, like, an aura about him.

Jason frowned, typing back quickly: Did he at the ballet?

Duke gave a little shrug, but shook his head.

Well, that was very interesting. Jason wished that Duke had seen Danny when he was in full bird form so that they could have had a full comparison, but this was something at least. Danny had admitted that he was a Meta, but was he a meta like Wally was or more like Duke or even Kori? The odd language certainly pointed more towards Duke or Kori.

Dick nudged Jason with his pointy elbow. When Jason glared at him, Dick just looked pointedly down at Jason’s plate and back up.

‘Eat,’ he mouthed.

Jason rolled his eyes, but dug into the meal. It was a vegetarian pasta of some sort. Salad and garlic bread were also on the table. Basically a nice, carb heavy meal to have after a long, hard day. Jason had to wonder if Alfred would even let any of them out tonight. None of the ‘kids’ for sure. Tim, Damian, and Steph were all certain to be grounded. Dick, Jason, and Cass could probably make a good argument to go out and get started on this Mad Hater thing, but Cass might prefer to stay close. Jason couldn’t really blame her for that if she did. She deserved to get to be close to her family.

Jason caught Dick’s gaze again, raising a curious brow with a little head motion down towards the Cave. Approximately.

Dick nodded, a seriousness in his eyes.

Okay, guess they had a plan.

-

Bruce found them as they were suiting up. He leaned against the Batcomputer and watched as Dick and Jason bickered and hindered each other actually being able to get dressed for patrol. It was good to see them able to be brothers like that again. Therapy with Harley had really been helping Jason and Bruce knew that Dick was seeing someone, even if he hadn’t pried into who. Bruce didn’t think it was fair too when it had taken him as long to start seeing help.

It was something he wish he had done far earlier.

Had pushed for all of them to do earlier.

“What are you brooding about over there, old man?” Jason called out. He’d finally wrestled his gloves back from Dick and was pulling them on.

“I can just be somewhere without brooding,” Bruce said.

Bruce sighed. “I was thinking how proud I am of both of you for making good of the therapy that you’ve been doing.”

There was a long silence before Jason mumbled ‘sap’ and ducked his head. Dick just grinned back, a faint blush on his cheeks. As old as they two were, they were still his kids.

“If I stay in tonight, will you two be fine out there?”

“Doubting us?” Jason asked. His voice changed part way through as he put on his mask and the modulation kicked in.

“Never,” Bruce said, which seemed to make Jason freeze again. “Just asking you want me out there as back up.”

“Stay in with the others,” Dick said with a little shake of his head. “I know they’ve brushed it off, but Dami and Tim have still been through a rough day. And Danny too. You should be around if anyone has issues in the night.”

“Let us go out and start investigating,” Hood added. Even with the mask, here was a softness to his voice. “We’ve got this.”

Bruce nodded. He knew they did. “I’ll keep a comm if you need me.”

“Sure. Just make sure to get some rest, old man,” Jason said and headed towards the bikes. Nightwing followed with a little wave.

Bruce stayed in the Cave until they were gone and then grabbed a communicator to slide into his ear, just in case.

[reiding-writing]

Cold!reader who defends Spencer when’s someone’s making fun of his autistic traits, and the teams like “what?????”

STAGNANT — SPENCER REID!

why would someone ask spencer a question if they didn’t want to hear the answer?

spencer reid x cold!reader | 1.2k | fluff? | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — the cold!reader roster i have atm has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair, stay tuned

You step into the cramped precinct in a town that barely makes the map, the smell of stale coffee and old paper immediately hitting you.

The air hums with tension—murder cases tend to have that effect on a room. Your team disperses, each member diving into their respective tasks like clockwork.

You stay near Spencer, keeping an eye on the board he’s already scouring, his sharp mind undoubtedly miles ahead of everyone else’s.

It doesn’t take long for the local officers to start asking questions. You’ve seen it before: their curiosity morphing into disbelief as they’re confronted with Spencer Reid in full form.

This particular case involves a peculiar type of soil found on the victim’s shoes, and when one officer, a grizzled man named Officer Moore, offhandedly asks about its significance, Spencer lights up.

“It’s fascinating, actually,” he begins, his voice picking up with enthusiasm. “The soil contains traces of montmorillonite clay, which is common in areas with volcanic ash deposits. This specific type is unique to the western side of the county, and based on the composition—” He gestures to the samples bagged on the table, oblivious to the officer’s quickly fading interest.

Spencer continues, lost in his explanation, his words flowing like water over smooth stones. You watch the officer shift uncomfortably, his expression hardening into impatience. The moment Spencer pauses to breathe, Moore cuts in, looking at you with a smirk.

“Is he like this all the time? Never shuts up, huh?”

You freeze. The room, bustling moments ago, seems quieter now. Your team is too far off to hear, but you’re right here. Close enough to feel the sting of the comment.

Spencer doesn’t notice. Or maybe he pretends not to. Either way, it doesn’t sit right with you. The dismissive tone, the condescension dripping from the officer’s words—it sparks a heat under your skin that you don’t bother to hide.

“Are you stupid?” Your voice is sharp, like a knife scraping metal. Moore’s smug expression falters.

“Excuse me-?”

“You heard me,” you continue, stepping closer, your gaze fixed on him. “If you can’t keep up with what Dr. Reid is saying, that’s your problem. He’s giving you answers—solutions—that you clearly wouldn’t find on your own. So maybe try listening instead of running your mouth.”

Moore blinks, taken aback. His hand hovers near the cup of coffee on the table, forgotten. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did.” you interrupt, crossing your arms. “And for the record, if he’s too much for you to handle, then stay out of his way, you’ll murk his IQ into single digits.”

The room is quiet now, the subtle hum of computers and distant voices the only sound. Spencer finally looks up, his expression unreadable. There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes, but mostly he just seems... confused.

Moore mutters something under his breath and stalks off, clearly not willing to press the issue further. Good. You watch him go, your blood still simmering.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Spencer says softly, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

“Yes, I did,” you reply without hesitation. “He was being a jerk.”

Spencer tilts his head, studying you. “People say things like that all the time.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” you counter, your tone firm. “And if you wont put your foot down about it then I will.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, as if trying to decipher some hidden code in your words. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles—small and fleeting, but genuine. It feels like a victory, however minor.

—

Later, when the team regroups, the tension in the precinct has eased, though you can still feel a few lingering stares from the local officers.

Hotch gives you all the rundown of the next steps, his voice steady and commanding as always. You nod along, but your focus drifts to Spencer, who’s scribbling something in his notebook, seemingly unbothered by the earlier incident.

As the team breaks off to get to work, Emily sidles up beside you, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “So,” she begins, drawing out the word. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

“That little showdown with Officer Grumpy Pants earlier,” she says, smirking. “Word has it you tore him a new one,”

You shrug. “He was being disrespectful.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “To Reid?”

“To all of us, honestly,” you say. “But yeah, mostly Reid. He didn’t deserve that.”

Emily studies you for a moment, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Awe how sweet,”

“Don’t start,” you warn, but there’s no real bite to your words. Emily laughs, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, no judgment,” she says. “It’s just... very human of you.”

“I’m not a robot.”

She gestures vaguely toward you. “Oh hush you know what I mean,”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you glance across the room at Spencer, who’s now deep in conversation with JJ and Rossi. The earlier exchange seems to have rolled off him, as if it never happened.

But you know better. You’ve seen the way comments like that stick, the way they fester in that moment f hesitation before he speaks. You’re not sure why it matters so much to you—why he matters so much—but you don’t dwell on it.

—

The case drags on into the evening, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. By the time the unsub is in custody and the team is preparing to head back to the jet, exhaustion hangs heavy in the air.

As you gather your things, Morgan claps a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, Ice Queen,” he says, his tone teasing. “You did good.”

“Thank you? I was doing my job.” you reply, shooting him a bemused look.

He chuckles. “Not with the case, sweetness. Word is you went full gladiator on one of the locals earlier.”

“Word travels way too fast in this team,” you mutter.

Morgan grins. “What can I say? We’re a nosy bunch. But it’s nice to know you haven’t lost your bite now you’re saddled up to boy wonder.”

He gestures with his head towards where Spencer was sleeping on the jet’s couch, wrapped in a cheap blanket like baby.

You fight back the urge to smile.

“I never changed,” you say dryly.

Morgan laughs, but there’s a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Sure you did,”

“No I didn’t,”

He nudges your shoulder, a whisper of “You’ll admit it one day,” before he walks off.

[finelinevogue]

Hi I just read your work bigger than all of them and I loved it sm!! Wondered abt a follow up fic where one of the girls let’s slip that they talked abt it to the boys and Cass and Rhys are like upset that Az is the biggest maybe? Idk just thought it would be funny ❤️❤️

this is so funny yess of course!!! this is only short but… hope it’s worth it!! tysm for reading <33

word count - >500

pairing - azriel x mate!reader

[ part 1 here ]

It was family dinner night.

Everyone together for a lovely meal, cooked by Elain and Mor since they were the best chefs the family had to offer. Cassian would pretend he chipped in, but realistically he only licked the pudding bowl after it had been finished with.

“Pass me the sauce please, Az.” Rhys asked, holding an arm out for his brother to pass him the sauce pot.

“Feyre are you seriously ogling Rhys’ arms at the dinner table?” Amren snorted.

“They’re right in front of me what do you expect?” Feyre blushed and everyone laughed at how easy it was to wind her up.

“We know what to expect, don’t we little miss High Lady.” Mor raised her eyebrows, which caused Feyre to go all shy and dip her head into Rhys’ body for protection.

“Did we miss something?”

Cassian, the ever oblivious male, asked.

“You certainly did.” Nesta smirked.

Each of you girls began to catch each other’s eyes from around the room, trying your best not to snicker or expose yourselves.

Mor looked at you and held her hands up in front of her, palm facing palm. She slowly dragged them from a centimetre apart to about nine inches.

Your breath hitched as you remembered what she was implying - how her actions related to the other night - and now it was your turn to blush.

“Oh..” You sighed awkwardly.

“What?” Azriel asked from beside you.

“Nothing, nothing.” You smiled, using your face to stuff a potato in your mouth so you wouldn’t have to answer any more questions.

Curse Azriel to be so perceptive though.

He looked over to Mor, who was still holding up her hands the exact same way. She held eye contact with Azriel and then switched to looking at the gap between her hands, before looking back at him with an impressed look on her face.

If it weren’t for the well-known fact that Mor’s mind was constantly horny then he wouldn’t have a clue what she was doing. But because of that fact, plus Azriel being so clever, he put it all together.

Azriel coughed subtly, before taking his hands away from his cutlery and holding out his own hands. He held them slightly further apart than Mor’s.

“It’s actually more like this.”

Mor’s jaw went slack.

She could not believe that quiet, shy-boy, Azriel had just said what he said and did what he did.

You watched the whole thing and sunk further down into your chair.

“Please stop.” You mumbled.

The girls started squealing again, meaning that they’d seen the little dramatic too. You’d been too busy focusing on Azriel and his hands to notice though.

It was his fault he was too distracting. You often told him his beauty would one day get him in trouble.

“That’s….” Feyre gawked.

“Big!”

“Huge!”

“Oh Mother above… Y/N how are you still alive?”

A flurry of comments from the girls made you go cherry red. This was worse than the wine evening itself. Now under the spotlight of your mate too, it only increased the embarrassing situation tenfold.

Cassian stopped eating for a minute to find that Rhys looked very unimpressed by his giggling mate. Nesta and Elain were fanning themselves like they were in heat. Mor looked like she was majorly impressed by something. You looked like you wanted the Mother to swallow you whole and Azriel… well he looked like a the cockiest Illyrian he had ever seen.

“Wait?! Did I miss something again?”

[cherrygirlfriend]

⟡ ₊ . ༄.° safe in your arms

pairing: dean winchester x reader synopsis: reader wakes up from a nightmare and dean comforts her tags/warnings: smut, oral (fem. receiving), fluff, MDNI! wc: 1.4k a/n; not only does dean eat box, but he eats it backwards, forwards, sideways, on his knees, on his tippytoes, in the morning, in the evenings, at night, in the middle of the day, in the bunker, in the impala, in- you get the gist. thank you to babycakes @gibson-g1rl for giving me the idea w the panties holy lordy ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

dean was never the kind to be a deep sleeper. when you first got together and started sharing a bed, every little thrash you'd made in your sleep was enough to startle him awake, and the first few times it happened, the man had reached under his pillow for his gun.

overtime, though, he got used to you sleeping in his arms, managing to sleep through nearly anything, your movements, squirming around in his arms, the small whines and snores you let out in your sleep, even the occasional times you'd start talking in your sleep about the peanut butter monster.

so, it was odd when he was startled awake in the middle of the night, your warm body nestled in his arms, dean's heart racing. he looked down, smiling fondly at you as his heartbeat started settling down. he sighed, pressing a soft kiss on top of your head, only to realize that the noises you were making weren't the normal whimpers you'd make in your sleep.

your little whimpers were a higher pitch, your breathing was heavy and he could make out soft mumbles of, 'help' as well as his own name leaving your lips.

"sweets?" dean said softly, gently shaking you, "baby, wake up."

after a few more shakes, you were startled awake, your eyes flicking open as you sat up in bed, looking at him with wide eyes, heavy breaths leaving your lips as your heart raced against your chest. you brought your hand to your heart, as if willing it to calm down.

"sorry..." you sigh, your voice still heavy with sleep "did i wake you?"

"don't apologize, silly." dean looked at you with furrowed brows, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "did you have a nightmare, baby?"

you nodded as you settled back into his arms, starting to draw small patterns on his bare chest, a small shiver running down his spine at the contact as he kissed the top of your hear, "you wanna talk about it?"

"just..." a small sigh left your lips, "you were nowhere to be found. that... scared me. It made me feel like you were... actually gone." you swallowed, looking up into dean's eyes as if you were searching for something in the small yellow flecks surrounded by a sea of green, "i don't know what i'd do if you were. i'm so... used to your presence in my life."

his lips twisted into a small smile and he let out a small tut, eyes following his calloused as fingers as they traced the chain of the necklace he'd gotten you for your birthday, "well, sweet girl," he started, looking up into your eyes, his eyes crinkling, "good thing i'm not going anywhere."

"promise?"

"promise." dean pressed a kiss to your lips that was all too fleeting, it always feeling like no matter how many times he pressed his lips on yours, it would never be long enough. his hand traced the strap of your nightgown, "you know what i hear helps with nightmares, sweets?"

"oh? and what's that?"

"orgasms."

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head, "and where'd you read that?"

"oh, it was... some science-nerdy magazine thing sammy had laying around. you wouldn't like it. so, wanna give it a try?"

"mmm... who am i to decline some scientific research?"

dean grinned and knelt down on the bed, watching you with a gleam in his eyes as you settled back in bed, your brows raised as if you were challenging him, egging him on.

one thing about dean was that he never rushed when it came to you, and especially when it came to pleasuring you. one of your legs was hooked over his shoulder as his lips made their way up from your ankle at a tortuously slow pace, until they met your knee, one of his hands holding onto your thigh as he drew small, slow circles on your inner thigh that had you clenching around nothing.

from your knee, he kissed up your inner thigh, and it felt like your entire body was clenched in anticipation, each hot press of his lips against your skin making you feel like you were going to die if you didn't feel him right at that moment.

as dean's lips got closer and closer to where you needed him the most, he pushed up the hem of your nightgown until it rested rumpled just over the hills of your breasts. the hand that had pushed your nightwear up kneaded your breast for a moment, your nipple pebbling under his rough hand.

you arched into him once you finally felt his calloused fingers pressing on the damp spot in your lace panties, the man letting out a soft chuckle against the warm skin of your inner thigh, his thumb drawing circles on your puffy clit through the lacy fabric.

"fuck, sweets..." dean groaned as he pressed his nose right at the darkened spot he'd caused, breathing in the scent of your arousal, "she's always so needy for me, huh?" he chuckles, increasing the speed of his thumb.

he flicked his tongue out to taste the patch of fabric with a hum, causing a shiver to run down your spine, "dean..." you whined, as he firmly pressed the fabric of your underwear against your pussy, watching as your arousal started to soak through the fabric. dean ran his finger through your lace-covered slit over and over again until it was practically molded to the shape of your lips.

darting his tongue out, he ran it up the length of your cunt, causing you to let out a gasp as his long fingers teased your entrance through the lace.

"taste s'damn good even through these things..." dean groaned against your pussy, pressing kisses on your clothed folds, "but i think we should take 'em off, huh?" he chuckled, "these must be ruined to all hell, dont'c'ha think?"

"mmhm..." you hummed, your half-lidded eyes watching as dean practically peeled your soaked panties off, slowly sliding them down your legs, looking at the pair with a grin before discarding them, "those are definitely ruined, sweetie."

this time, dean didn't even take a moment to get to where you were aching for him, his eyes glossing over as he looked down at your cunt, practically glistening from how much you needed him. he laid down between your thighs, his muscular arms wrapped around your thighs as he presses a kiss right next to your clit, his stubble tickling your inner thigh, "s'good..."

you let out a surprised yelp when dean immediately started to lap up some of your arousal with his tongue, swirling his tongue around your clit. your hands went to his hair, gripping onto it for your own sanity.

he sucked the puffy bud into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, two of dean's fingers teasing your entrance, gathering some of your wetness before pushing the long digits into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch.

dean thrusted his fingers in and out of you until he finally found a pace that was good for him, one that caused you to grip onto his hair even tighter, that made your legs shake.

you arched into his mouth; you had no idea how he did it; how he managed to touch you in just the right way, to bring you to the edge so easily. every touch made you wish it could last forever, while also knowing that you couldn't take it any longer.

"dean..." you whine, feeling yourself starting to clench around his fingers, "dean, i'm gonna-"

"shhh..." he mumbled against your clit, as if he was too enamored by the taste of you to detach himself from it, to detach himself from you. "just let it happen."

and as you finally felt the pleasure that he'd been building up drop, you let out fervent moans of his name, your hand tugging him closer to your core, the pace of his fingers slowing down as you clenched around them, causing the man to let out a tsk.

after you had finally come down from your orgasm, dean licked a few more stripes up your pussy, mumbling something about 'cleaning up', before his face was right above yours, his lips and chin covered in your arousal as if he had just eaten the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, his lips twisted up into a grin.

"so, think that'll help you with your nightmares, sweets?

[aajjks]

Wifey and Groceries (m)

synopsis. Another day, another shenanigan. Going grocery shopping with your nightmare of a roommate who really wants to fuck you, can’t be that much of a struggle, can it?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: crack, 18+

warnings: grôcêry stôre shênânîgâns, flïrty jungkôôk, ôbsêssêd jungkôôk, ts��ndêrê yôû, împlîcît sêxûâl jôkês, ânnôyîng jungkôôk whô wôn’t stôp bâbyîng yôû, lïkè îf yôû thïnk lâûghîng îs flïrtîng.

note. I never imagined receiving so much love on stuff like this but thank you- thank you so much for sending so much love on stuck with you and loving our horny roommate jaykay so much. 😵‍💫🥺 so on high demand here is another part. If this flops like I’m expecting well- umm but anyways I hope you guys enjoy this but please share your thoughts and feedback and if this also becomes a hit, I will write another part and I will really make this a series!! ENJOY!

“Jungkook, I swear to God, put that back.”

What did you do so wrong in your past life to deserve this kind of torture in the human form of your roommate, Jeon Jungkook?

You cannot believe this.

You glare at the ridiculous amount of instant ramen he’s just dumped into the cart, your fingers gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles are white.

It’s the third time he’s done this, and you’re this close to losing it in the middle of the aisle.

“What? We’re gonna need it,” he says, all faux innocence, holding up one of the packs like it’s a sacred artifact. “You never know when there’s gonna be a ramen emergency.”

“There’s never going to be a ramen emergency, you idiot,” you snap, shoving the packs back onto the shelf. “Stop acting like a child.”

Jungkook gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him. “Wow. You’re so mean to me. Is this what married life is gonna be like?”

“Married life?” You look at him like he’s grown a second head. “We’re not even—why are you like this?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,”

he smirks, leaning casually on the cart. “We’re grocery shopping together, picking out ingredients for our future home-cooked meals. Pretty much married already.”

“Jungkook, I’m going to kill you.”

“Whoa, whoa, Mrs. Jeon, let’s not resort to violence,” he teases, pushing the cart forward as you glare at him. “Not when we’re still in our honeymoon phase.”

MRS JEON???? What the fuck is he barking about?

You shove the cart to a halt, ignoring the way he laughs at your frustration. “Stop calling me that. And stop putting random crap in the cart!”

“I’m not putting random crap in the cart.” He points to the giant stuffed bear sticking out of the basket. “This guy’s coming home with us. He’ll be perfect for our couch.”

“Jungkook, we don’t even have a couch.”

“Yet,” he says, grinning. “But when we do, he’s gonna look great. You’ll see.”

You groan, turning your back on him to grab the toothpaste you actually came for. But before you can even decide between mint or charcoal,

Jungkook sidles up behind you, way too close for comfort.

“Why are we even looking at toothpaste,” he murmurs, voice low, “when your smile’s already perfect?”

Your jaw drops. “Are you serious right now?”

“Always, babe.” He smirks, leaning casually against the shelf like he’s in a photoshoot. “You should get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck with you?” You scoff, shoving the toothpaste into the cart. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t need to. You do it for me,” he fires back, trailing after you like a lost puppy as you head toward the produce section.

You ignore him, but it’s impossible when he suddenly grabs a cucumber and holds it up like a microphone.

“So, tell me,” he says, pretending to interview you, “what’s it like to be out grocery shopping with the man of your dreams?”

“Man of my nightmares, you mean,” you mutter, snatching the cucumber from his hand and tossing it into the cart.

“You wound me,” he says dramatically, clutching his chest like you’ve just shot him.

Then he grabs a pack of strawberries and holds it up.

“What about these? Strawberries for my sweetheart?”

“Your sweetheart isn’t here, Jungkook,” you deadpan.

He’s really testing your patience right now.

“Sure she is.” He winks, tossing the strawberries in the cart before you can protest.

By the time you reach the checkout line, your cart is a chaotic mix of actual groceries and Jungkook’s ridiculous additions, including the giant stuffed bear he refused to leave behind.

He’s a big man child.

As the cashier starts scanning your items, Jungkook casually drapes an arm around your shoulder.

“By the way,” he says, flashing his signature grin, “this is my girlfriend. Isn’t she pretty?”

Your brain short-circuits. “What—no, I’m not—;”

“She’s just shy,” Jungkook interrupts, squeezing your shoulder.

“But yeah, she’s the love of my life. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Why is your heart fluttering?

You slap his arm off you, your face burning as the cashier tries to hold back a laugh. “Jungkook, shut up.”

Just shut up before I shove my fist up your mouth.

He just laughs, that loud, obnoxious laugh that makes you want to scream and smile at the same time.

As you drag him out of the store, he’s still grinning like he’s just won the lottery. “Admit it,” he says, nudging your shoulder.

“You had fun.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, twitching up into a reluctant smile. “You’re insufferable.”

He really is insufferable and you’re constantly suffering.

“And yet, here we are,” he teases, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Wanna grab ice cream on the way home, wifey?”

You groan, but you don’t shove him off this time.

[rissouu]

I KNOW IM YOUR FAVORITE, gojo satoru ཐི♡ཋྀ

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ in which: he may be your ex, but that doesn’t mean you can just move on.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ wc: 2.9k words.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ warnings: lots of angst, dark content (not really), sexual content, pussy!drunk gojo, stalker!gojo, heavy possessiveness, mentions of violence, pet names, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, baby trapping (but y/n wants it), gojo sucks ur feet for literally 1 second, yandere gojo (ehh), cunnilingus, overstimulation, toxic!gojo (barely), ex!gojo, and etc.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ notes: okay look this shit is very freaky, and it’s loosely based on the song hold me down by daniel caesar! and gojo is a stalker y’all, this is your only warning babes.. please leave now if you’re uncomfy! he is kinda crazy in this but in a lovingly way.. y’know? not proofread either so not too much on me!

when you walked into your apartment you couldn’t help the exaggerated giggles you let out. it was embarrassing actually, acting like a school girl in junior high all over again. the reason for your happiness was pretty simple— you just had your first date.

your first date since you broke up with your ex, gojo.

that was about a year ago now.. a year since you and the love of your life parted ways. up until recently you’ve never had the guts to put yourself out there again, always scared that one day you’ll just end up hurt again.

but your whole view on dating changed when you met this guy at a grocery store. he offered to pay for your entire cart, and it was well over $300 worth. you found the gesture sweet, and from there you two exchanged numbers.

he was no gojo of course, but you had to move on at some point. it’s already been a year, if gojo didn’t reach out yet, then maybe that meant he’d moved on too.

well.. so you thought.

you were so caught up in the excitement from how well your date went, you barely even realized you were still in pitch black.

“fuck i got so distracted i forgot to turn the lights on.” you chuckled to yourself, flipping the light switch on and hanging your purse on the door.

you didn’t know why but you had a feeling you weren’t alone, like someone was watching you— or better yet breathing right down your neck.

the house was eerily quiet, so quiet you could hear the drop of a pen. but something felt off about your apartment, and you were never one to ignore your instincts.

just as you were about to retreat and run out the door, a familiar voice had you stopping in your tracks.

no. fucking. way.

“where were you?” the achingly familiar man smiled, trying his best to hide the dangerous aura oozing from his body. he knew exactly where you were, and always have. you didn’t know it yet— but he’d been watching you for a while now. ever since you dumped him which was more than a year ago now.

technically it was stalking.. but he didn’t like to call it that. in his mind, he was more of a guardian angel— just making sure you’re okay and still breathing.

how else would he check on you since you blocked him on everything else?

the white haired man was sitting on your couch with his head tilted— clearly waiting for an answer although he already knew where you were to begin with. it was pretty easy to keep tabs on you.

you stared at him, a small frown forming across your face. you were feeling weak in the knees. the first thing you wanted to do was jump on him and tell him how much you missed him.

but you knew you couldn’t do that, not anymore. the two of you just didn’t go together, or at least that’s how you felt a year ago. you couldn’t get back with him, you wouldn’t. no matter how much it hurt.. it was better than dealing with his unstability.

“what are you doing in my house, gojo?” you folded your arms— staring back at him with the same expression he was giving you. that’s what he loved about you, you weren’t easy.

with the blink of an eye, he was up from the couch and coming closer towards you. the man easily towered over you so to say he was intimidating was an understatement.

instead of answering your question he just stared at you with a blank expression— and you did the same exact thing. this was common with you two, just staring at each other in silence until one of you dared to speak up.

about five minutes later, gojo finally cracked. you silently praised yourself for being able to last longer than him.

with a low chuckle, he shook his head— slightly licking over his lips. “i think im the one asking the questions here, hm? so answer me.”

you scoffed at his arrogance, seems like some things just never change. “i was on a date if you must know, now get the hell out of my house.”

as soon as you got your words out he couldn’t help but to laugh. honestly, gojo didn’t even know what was so funny, maybe it was the way you said it.. you really thought you held some type of authority?

“and now you’re laughing at me? what’s so funny?”

that only made him laugh more, truth be told gojo wasn’t even trying to laugh, but you trying to be somewhat “mean” was taking him out because you were nothing like that.

you were one of the kindest people he’d ever met, so this little act you had on was amusing to him.

“shit, im sorry!” he clutched his stomach, letting one last chuckle out before continuing. “it’s just.. you really think im falling for this little act of yours?”

your face was quick to scrunch up— finding every bit of his words disrespectful. but it was gojo, so what could you really expect? his bluntness would probably be the death of him.

“excuse me? need i remind you, we are not together anymore gojo!” your voice came out a lot shakier than you’d hoped for it to. what the hell was going on with you?

“well clearly i know that, or else i’d go and kill that fucker you were out with tonight.”

throwing your hands in the air you muttered a strand of curse words, it’s impossible to get through to someone as hard-headed as him. “please just see yourself out.”

before he could respond, you walked off toward your room. you didn’t have the energy to deal with him or his childish antics, he’d already managed to ruin your entire mood. all this did was remind you why you keep your heart locked away— because of arrogant assholes like him.

“there’s no need to be rude, y’know? i just wanna talk to my favorite girl.” gojo followed you to your room— just like you knew he would. god, he’s so annoying.

it looked the exact same as the last time he was here except for the empty wall where the pictures of him used to hang. he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his chest heavy, and heart pang in sorrow. could you really have been done with him for good this time?

“whatever, just don’t get on my bed.. i don’t know where you’ve been.”

‘stalking you’ he chuckled to himself before completely disregarding your request, and plopping down on your bed anyways.

you decided not to scold him for doing exactly what you said not to do. that’s just who gojo was, no one could boss a man like him around.

you weren’t even being serious either. in hindsight, you really did enjoy having him around. as much as you hated to admit it.. it reminded you of the old times, when it was just you and him against the whole world.

“i missed you, y’know? you just up and left without a word.. and next thing i know im blocked.” even though he tried to hide it you could hear the pain in his voice. losing you was like losing a piece of him too, he couldn’t stand it. he couldn’t stand the way you made him feel.

the only reason the man was able to keep it together was because he was watching you, ensuring you weren’t completely out of his life.

it sounded crazy. hell— it was crazy, but when it came to you he’d do anything.

“i know.. & im sorry for the way i handled that. i just felt like we needed to move on, try new things…”

“i don’t want to try new things!” he scowled, quickly sitting up from the bed to face you. “i want you.. just you. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

the air was thick, and the room felt like it was caving in. your body was practically on fire listening to him say the words you’d been craving to hear.

“and about that date of yours..” he cooed, running his hands up your thighs and slowly spreading them. “we won’t be worrying about him anymore, will we?”

that little date was never a threat to gojo to begin with. both you and him knew that, but he took manners into his own hands just to mark his territory.

gojo made sure to corner the poor guy as soon as your date was over, and needless to say.. a few threats were all it took. you should be happy he didn’t do worse, it ran across his mind to kill the poor guy at first.

“i..if we do this then no more bullshit okay?” your soft hands gripped his chin as you forced his beautiful blue eyes to meet yours. “none of that childish stuff this time. we’re both grown so we need to act like it, we’ve had a whole year to fix ourselves.”

every time the two of you got back together it turned into complete chaos. gojo wasn’t the best man out there, and you weren’t the best woman. both of you had your own flaws regardless, but you two needed each other.

that was well established the first 10 times you guys broke up, and unsurprisingly you always ended up back in each other’s skin.

gojo’s gaze on you was heavy, almost as if he was trying to study your every breath and blink. all of the dumb, childish expressions on his face from before were far gone.

“yes princess, whatever you want.” he softly spoke as he sunk his head into the skin of your stomach, littering you with soft kisses. “i’ll do whatever you want..”

gojo spoke so gently— his voice softer than ever as he pushed you on your back, wrapping your legs around his shoulders.

you stared at him intently, waiting to see what he would do next. one thing about gojo was he always had something up his sleeve, and part of you knew where this was headed.

when his rough hands gripped the waistband of your flimsy skirt, you didn’t complain. actually you found yourself wanting more, longing for more.

“y’gonna let me get a taste baby? missed her s’much,” soft lips trailed up your thigh— leaving small bite imprints on the flesh. this was his way of staking his claim on you, marking you as his and only his.

you couldn’t stop the shaky sigh that fell from your lips, or the silent nod you gave to your ex-boyfriend for him to continue.

the grin that spread across his face was taunting almost, and intimidating. when that skirt of yours was out of the way, gojo moved on to the black-lace panties. his personal favorite.

“so what, you wearin’ these for other people now?” the fucking nerve of you, he couldn’t believe this. to stoop that low.. well that just won’t do. it seems like he had a few things to correct now that he was back. “fuckin’ answer me. be a good girl for me, yeah?”

your eyes locked with his and all you saw was silent fury, you could tell he was pissed. “not wearing them for anybody toru. just didn’t have any clean ones,”

a lazy grin covered his face at the remembrance of his old nickname, the way it fell from your lips so softly always managed to send heat straight to his dick.

he finally got his girl back.

faint kisses to your cunt had your legs shaking in anticipation— and the soft gasp that left your lips did nothing but egg gojo on as his tongue met your aching clit.

“pussy’s still fuckin’ pretty as ever,” with a low voice his eyes were closed shut, in hopes to savor every last bit of you. when his hands came up to your thighs he couldn’t resist the urge to spread them even further.

the man wanted to explore every inch of you since it’s been so long. so so long since he’s spent some personal time with that pretty pussy of yours.

“w..wait- fuck toru!” you whined when his lips found their way to your pulsing clit, folding his tongue up and down the gooey slit.

his assault to your pussy didn’t stop there. next his thumb was sliding down your sticky folds, not stopping until it was past your tight walls.

your mouth fell open at the intrusion. his thumb wasn’t long but it was thick, causing a bigger stretch than you’d expected.

“so good. taste’s s’good princess,” gojo mindlessly babbled, every word sending vibrations straight to your pussy.

gojo felt like he was out of his body. out of his mind, and he hadn’t even been inside you yet. just what the fuck were you doing to him?

finally fed up with the throbbing ache in his pants he latched onto your clit for a third time, giving it one last kiss before pulling away.

the man couldn’t wait any longer— he needed to be inside you, and he needed it now. before you knew it he was sliding off his sweats and everything underneath it, leaving him completely exposed.

your pussy throbbed just from the sight of him.. you didn’t know how much longer you could wait either.

“don’t worry mama, im ready for ya’.” a low chuckle left his throat when he saw you were just as desperate as him. “you ready for me?”

his blue eyes met your low ones when he slapped his tip against your folds. next he was sliding inside of your pulsing hole with ease, forcing your mouth open.

“o..oh my gosh!“ you winced at the familiar stretch, your walls involuntarily clenched around his dick— trying to push him out.

“n..no- fuck. none of that, y’hear me?” gojo whimpered at the feel of being squeezed, he couldn’t even move you were squeezing him so tight.

the man hovered over you, lips grazing your ear as he coaxed you. “let me in baby, you can do it. i know you can,” he whispered, wrapping his hand around your neck and resting it there.

his words of encouragement had you opening up quicker than he expected, and with every second he was inching deeper into your pussy. gojo felt like he was in a dream— or better yet, on cloud 9. after all that time you still feel the exact same, heavenly.

his strokes were gentle at first, but they sped up when he realized how long he was away from you. a whole year.. never again.

“n..never ever gonna let you keep this shit from me again.” gojo groaned with an edge in his voice that you couldn’t recognize.

your shaky hands wasted no time sliding under his shirt, feeling on the happy trail that covered his v-line. “not gonna take it away toru, ‘s all yours!”

gojo grinned at your words as he pressed onto your lower stomach. with his free hand he gripped onto the back of your thighs and brung your freshly done feet up to his mouth.

his lips wrapped around your toe— eyes locking with yours as he sucked on it. his strokes only got deeper, and you whimpered at all the different sensations at once.

“‘m not gonna pull out,” he admitted as he switched from sucking to leaving small kisses on your foot. “gonna cum so deep in this pretty pussy. never gonna leave me again.”

you were so out of it. drool everywhere, hair messy, tear stained cheeks.. anything gojo said went in one ear and out the other. the man could do whatever, you didn’t care.

“mm yes, don’t pull out. want it s’bad, fill me up please!” small whines filled your throat when you felt a familiar pressure in your abdomen, your pussy wrapping around him even tighter than before. how was this even possible?

gojo’s pace got faster, strokes sloppier.. he was slowly but surely losing all the sense of control he once had before. “f..fuckk ‘m gonna cum toru, so close!”

you gasped when his thumb flicked your clit, looking up at the blue eyes that never left your frame. your legs shook in overstimulation and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold it in.

“let it out mama, you’re okay. gimme all of it- shit.” he hissed as his dick twitched at how tight you were squeezing. “fuck fuck fuck, you’re gonna be such a pretty mama. s..such a pretty wifey, all f’me.”

you threw your head back as chills covered your entire body. the both of you were completely out of touch with reality, not caring about anything but the feeling of one another.

“‘m cumming toru! mhmm ‘m cumming,” you exclaimed, bringing your hand to his stomach. it wasn’t long before the built-up pit in your stomach finally snapped, coating his dick in a ring of your juices.

gojo was close behind you, a whimpering mess as his stomach tightened. before he knew it he was filling you up— spilling his load inside of you, not a drop to be wasted.

“f..fuck yeah. take it mama, it’s all yours. all for you.. gotta give you everything.” he chanted praises as he gave you one last stroke, pushing his cum even deeper into you where it belonged.

your voice was shaky when he called you, so shaky that at first you thought you wouldn’t be able to respond. but even so, you did.

“you’re never leaving me again, understand?” the edge in his voice was back, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your stomach do flips.

“yes toru, i understand.”

if there’s anything you learned from this at all.. it’s that you could never leave a man like gojo satoru.

©rissouu 2025 (this one’s for dulce y’all so thank her, it took me forever *sigh*)

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Missing Puck

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Little hurt/comfort because Quinn isn't perfect, but he has good intentions and it's a fluffy end

Summary: It's the Hughes Bowl...and you're missing your usual warmup puck from Quinn. You think he's forgotten, he most definitely has not, but he didn't think this through. Fuck.

Notes: Sequel to The Collection

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Another home game for Vancouver meant another puck ready and waiting for you fresh from the ice. Or it should have.

You were waiting glass side for the teams to come out for warmups, today the Canucks would go face to face with the Devils and like always you are both excited for Quinn to get to see his entire family and sad that at least one of the Hughes brothers has to lose tonight's game. You expect to see Quinn make a beeline for you like he always does with a puck to throw over the glass for you. When it doesn't come and he skates past you with a smile to go warm up you just assume he'll pick one up for you nearer the end of warm ups, not too bothered at first by the missing puck that should have already been in your hands. Even fans around you gave you a look, so familiar with the ritual that was Quinn Hughes giving his girl a puck.

When the puck fails to come at the end of warm ups, when you watch him skate off the ice at the end of warmups without passing you your puck, the puck he's given you every single day since the very first game you attended, you try to justify it as he's distracted. The Hughes' Bowl, as people called it, was a high stress time for Quinn, the desire to win competing with the desire for his brothers' to win, mixed with concern that either of his brothers might get hurt by his own teammates. It was natural for him to be a bit distracted, for him to forget. It was just a puck.

You try not to let it ruin your night, to not distract you from the game, but you can't help it. You just feel...sad, forgotten. Quinn has never forgotten to get you a puck. In the 135 games that you've watched, he has never forgotten to get you a puck. Even when it's an away game you can't come to he's always come back with a puck from each, a thought about you that he's had written on each, sometimes arriving back to the apartment with 6 or 7 pucks in tow.

You try your best to watch the game, cheering when either the Canucks and Quinn score or Jack or Luke do, you can't really help but support your boyfriend's brothers, even if you want Quinn to ultimately win the game. Still, your cheers are definitely lack lustre and there's a heavy feeling in your chest that just won't disappear.

Even the Canucks' win doesn't make the feeling disappear and you berate yourself all the way to locker rooms about it. it's so silly to be worked up over a puck of all things, you've got over a hundred of them, what's one less? It's not like he forgot your birthday or left you at an event, forgetting to take you home. It's silly that you feel so upset about something so...so unimportant, or that's what you tell yourself anyway.

Deep down you know it's not silly to be upset about it. This was a ritual, a special thing that the two of you had been doing long before you were official. He'd never forgotten to give you a puck before and the idea that there would be a gap, a game missing from your collection? A day missing from the story you'd been cataloguing in bits of vulcanised rubber? It wasn't silly to feel forgotten. It wasn't silly to be happy for Quinn's win while deep down feeling like he'd let you down.

He actually hates it. Watching the way your face falls when he simply skates past you with a smile during warmups, he hates the way you stay right up at the glass the entire time, biting your lip, like he might remember in a minute...As if he ever even forgot.

It's hard for him to focus on the game, to be perfectly honest, for the first time in a while he can't keep from searching for you in the crowd. He can't help but hate the glimpses he gets, the way you cheer half-heartedly after his goal, the way your shoulders are slumped. He feels like an asshole and maybe he could have planned this whole thing better? Maybe he should have given you two pucks rather than waiting, waiting, waiting to give you the one...he just hopes that you forgive him for the torture he's put you through and forgive him for being a complete and utter idiot about it.

He really didn't consider that by planning to give you the puck after the game you'd feel forgotten, he didn't consider that he'd always given you a puck at the start of warmups, never at the end, never after and certainly not after an entire game. Yeah, he was an asshole and he thinks he'll be lucky if you give him the answer he wants tonight. It makes anxiety buzz so hard in his stomach that he feels sick for most of the 2nd and 3rd periods.

He doesn't waste time getting off the ice once the game is through and he doesn't even get out of most of his gear in the locker room, just his skates, gloves and bucket. He's rushing as he picks up the puck he scored with that night, but tries to calm his shaking hands when their rookie, Sasson, passes him a metallic gold pen to write across the puck's surface. There's both a deep need to be quick, to find you as soon as possible, and a deep need to do this correctly, to take his time. Not write a scrawling mess across it that you won't even be able to read.

He almost walks out the locker room without the final piece to the whole thing, but it's Kiefer that tosses him the little black box from his things before he embarrasses himself even more than he already has that night. He barely hears the good lucks from the rest of the guys, so focused on what he needs to do and trying to salvage this whole situation.

You look so small in the hallway outside, arms crossed over your chest as if you're trying to protect yourself from the world, eyes downcast to the ground. You feel small, a heavy weight of disappointment on your shoulders that doesn't ease much when you hear footsteps across the carpet and look up to see Quinn rushing towards you.

He's still in most of his gear, hair tousled and messy, moistened from sweat. His cheeks are flushed red and he's practically stumbling over his words the moment you're in ear shot, rushing towards you like a runaway train.

"I'm so sorry, this is not how this was supposed to go and I completely didn't think about how you'd feel an-" He's talking so fast that you're simply filling in the blanks, of course he's apologising for forgetting the puck and the one in his hand is clearly one from after the game. It shouldn't disappoint you more, it should make you feel better, that he's remembered now, even if later on in the day.

"It's okay, Quinn...it's just a puck..." You try to reassuring him, but he's shaking his head. Quinn's eyes go wide at the realisation that you think he forgot when he most certainly did not and he is not having you think he forgot when this was all part of the plan, a fucking stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless.

"That's not...I didn't forget the puck, I promise, I didn't forget the puck, baby." He sounds so absolutely desperate, so horrified that you believe him. Even, if it confuses you even more.

"But...but you always give me the puck at the start of warm ups?"

"I know...I...I thought if I did this after the game it would be better and I could have it all prepared, but I didn't really think about the fact you'd be expecting it at warms ups and I'm fucking inconsiderate asshole..." Half of what he has to say is a rambling mess that you can't really comprehend, so you latch onto the last thing he says that rockets your anxiety through the roof because giving you a puck later in the day is certainly not something which makes him an asshole even if it set your anxiety off and made you sad.

"Quinn, you're not an asshole, it's okay!"

"No, not it's not! Because...because I've messed this up so bad and if you don't want to say yes I completely get it..." Quinn almost looks ready to cry and he feels like it, in his head he's catastrophising. You're going to say no because he was too big of an idiot to think about the routine he'd made with you, the expectation you would have, the anxiety he would be putting you through for 3 hours.

You stop for a minute, processing his words as he stares at you horrified, scared, worried, all of the above and every synonym for them under the sun. The silence is so dreadfully loud and broken by the softest whisper of your voice, "Say yes?"

Quinn's scared, certain he's going to have a heart attack in that moment but still he forces his hands to move, toss the puck in his hands lightly to you and watch as you twist it right side up.

He has to stop himself from rambling further as he gets down on one knee in front of you, shaking hands opening up the little black box Kiefer had given him. The ring inside is perfect for you, the right gem, the perfect colour, the correct metal and shape. The epitome of someone knowing exactly what you'd find most desirable in a ring, but you're not looking at it, your eyes are fixed on the puck in your hands.

It's the usual beat up puck, although not a warmup puck this time but an official game puck, a goal scoring puck. Across the surface in gold lettering Quinn's handwriting stands out. The date is scrawled across the surface and underneath? Oh, underneath might be the most beautiful sentence you've ever read in your life and you can't help but feel tears well up in your eyes as you read them.

'Will you marry me?'

It all makes sense now. His rambling on about you not saying yes, his insistence that he'd messed up. He's scared, you can understand it now. That this absolutely amazing, wonderful man, thinks that something as simple as not giving a puck to you earlier is going to make you say no. When in reality very few things could ever stop you from saying yes, saying yes felt as natural as breathing.

"Give me a pen..." Your voice is wobbly and quiet as you request a pen, puck shaking in your hands as you look up at him and he's certain you're going to say no to him, so certain he takes a moment to process what you've asked for. Blinking at you blankly.

"Pen?"

"Give me a pen, Quinn." You reiterate until he seems to process your words and then he is scrambling, fumbling around as if he even has pockets in his gear which he doesn't. He almost drops the ring in the process and it is so utterly endearing to see how absolutely he wants to make this right and please you, as endearing as it is heart wrenching that he seems to think you'd ever say no.

He stumbles around, forgetting he's left the pen in the locker room, cursing this whole mess until Jack is leaning over his shoulder dangling it between two fingers with a soft smile. Luke just stood off to the side behind him. He supposes it would be par for the course for his brothers to be present for his imminent rejection and humiliation. Better them than anyone else.

He passes you the pen with shaking hands and can't take his eyes off you as you write something underneath his own words.

When you toss it back to him he's so certain that he's going to see a big no underneath that it takes him a minute of staring to actually comprehend what he's seeing, the puck shaking in his hands. Your handwriting lays so neatly underneath his, but its the unfathomable word that hits him with warmth and a bright spark of happiness straight to the chest.

'Yes -`♡´-'

Quinn's eyes pan up to you slowly, wide and bright as his lips part in shock. Glancing back down and up again as if he has to read the word a few more times to just make sure.

"Of course I'll marry you, you absolute idiot...why would I not?" You're smiling at him through the tears that slip down your cheeks, happy tears this time, not the disappointed ones you had supressed earlier in the evening. These tears are a combination of every feeling of affection and love you have for Quinn and the hopes you have too.

"Be..because I...I mess it all up..." He looks so utterly startled, so taken off guard and it hurts that he can't understand why one mistake wasn't really the end of it all. He's overthought the whole thing, just like you did. Two peas in a proverbial stressed out pod.

"Quinn," You close the remaining distance between the two of you, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks softly. Palms pressing against scratchy stubble as he looks down at you so softly, "I love you...messing up a little bit isn't going to change that, not when your intentions were so so sweet, baby..."

"So...you'll marry me?"

"I'll marry you." You confirm, grinning up at him as his mind works so hard behind green eyes. Little by little the doubt, confusion, starts to fade away to joy, to love, the way it should be after a proposal.

"You're going to marry me." You nod your head in confirmation, thumbs brushing across his cheeks in soothing circles, "We're getting married."

"Just put the ring on her, you idiot!" Luke calls from behind Quinn's shoulder and your gaze shifts to see the younger man grinning at the two of you, hands in his pockets and shaking his head. Jack is grinning equally as hard, the two brothers watching their older brother lose that calm, capable edge he always seems have. Both knowing they're never going to let him live this down. Ever.

"Shit!" He fumbles for the box, passing you the puck as his hands shake as he takes your left hand in his and slips the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly and it's beautiful, truly, what you imagined your engagement ring would one day look like.

He can't really comprehend it, that it's the ring he's given you on your finger, that he hasn't completely fucked this up. That you're going to be his wife.

It's you that pulls him close, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It's so soft and sweet that he isn't really sure what to do with himself for a moment and just stares down into your eyes.

"I love you, Quinn Hughes." You mumble against his lips, you're still grasping the puck in your right hand, even now. If anything your grip on the physical memory of this moment has grown tighter, scared it might fly away if you don't grasp it tightly.

"I love you too...thanks for saying yes." He sounds a little dumb, endearingly dumb.

"Quinn!" You lean back with a laugh, but don't get vary far before Quinn's arms are wrapping tight around your waist and pulling you back into his body. The closeness is appreciated not just because of the giddy high you're riding but because of how much distance there had been in the confusion of the day and Quinn's proposal.

"Am I not supposed to say that?" He grins down at you for the first time that night and it's the first moment where it feels real. He just asked you to marry him and you said yes. You're going to be Mrs Hughes.

"You generally don't thank your fiancé for agreeing to marry you, no. But you're welcome." You smile into the kiss he presses to your lips, losing yourself in the scratch of his stubble across your cheeks and the soft but firm press of his lips against yours. You let yourself just enjoy the feel of Quinn's hands gripping your hips and forget for a moment that you're in a corridor, a public space with your fiancé's brothers stood nearby.

"So drinks?" You're pulled away from the moment by the sound of Jack's voice chipping in. You pull back from the kiss, forehead pressing into Quinn's chest with a groan as he snaps at his brother lightly.

"Jack!"

"What we've got to celebrate right? Quinny can go get all cleaned up and then we'll go to a bar and celebrate this one becoming our new sister!" When you look up Jack and Luke have matching grins on their faces, cheeks pulled so high you're certain their faces must be hurting. Jack's grin is the more mischievous of the two, no doubting wondering how drunk he can get Quinn tonight, no doubt planning on using the special occasion to get Quinn to break from his health kick this season.

"Ugh, I forgot I'd be getting you two in this deal...can I change my mind?" You pretend to be put out, pouting at the two boys who you'll end up calling your brothers in short order.

You and Quinn turn to face them, Quinn tucking you under his arm and close to his side. He smiles down at you with what can only be called loving stubbornness.

"Not on my life, baby, you're stuck with me and stuck with Tweedledee and Tweedledum, sorry!"

"Hey!" "We're great!" The two protest and in that moment it all feels like the first day of the rest of your life. The man you love giving you his name in the sweetest and most chaotic way possible. The two men in front of you becoming your brothers in name not just actions. The moment when it is cemented firmly that you're not going anywhere and neither is Quinn. That you're stuck with each other.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

When you get back to the apartment that night, after a few drinks, Quinn avoiding being drawn into unruly behaviour by Jack, Quinn watches from the bed as you pull the familiar and now incredibly full box of hockey pucks out of the closet and place the new entry right on top. He smiles as you pat it gently before putting the box back away where you'll reach for it when he's away on his next roadie.

Watching you in that moment Quinn thinks he's the luckiest guy in the world to get the girl who still said yes even as he stumbled through a proposal that should have been perfect, but was far from it.

A girl that forgave him for a missing puck.

[yukioos]

"Probably write a part 3????" BABY I NEED A WHOLE SERIES! This is SO good and I can't wait to see where you take it xx

BETTER IN THE DARK

SUMMARY: hwang in-ho x wife reader // after voting, the majority decides the players will stay in the game for at least one more round. after you’re served dinner, two men come up to you and flirt with you. when you don’t answer, they try to pick a fight with you. once it gets too intense, in-ho steps in and saves you. he brings you back to the group and gives you a kiss goodnight.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! i’m probably gonna turn this into a series bc i like writing about this. hope u guys r okay with that! there are 1.8k words in this. here are the links to part 1 part 2 ALSO THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 600 FOLLOWERS I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH

WARNINGS: not proofread, violence, cussing, thanos and nam-gyu are dicks

TAGS: @annasnape7 @watasinekoru @namelesslosers @sxmmerchxldblog @lisaannwalterlover @gracesworks @vkeyy

after the majority vote was to stay in the games, dinner was served to the players. you stood in line behind your husband, who tried not to glance at you once he walked away. a circle guard held out a metal container for you.

you gently grabbed the cold container, smiling and mumbling out a “thank you.” before stepping out of line to your bed. you opened the container to see rice, a fried egg, beans, anchovies, kimchi, and some sort of sausage. you sat on the stairs for a couple of minutes as you ate, before a crowd began to swarm gi-hun and a man next to him.

when you looked closer, you realized in-ho was leading the group. the ‘o’ group was asking about the next game, and the former player replied, explaining how dalgona was to be the next game, and the shapes to choose. however, gi-hun couldn’t have been more wrong.

his friend asked, “so, of those, which was the easiest one to do?” and leaned in close, the ‘o’ group copying him, listening intently to gi-hun’s next words.

he replied, “the triangle.”

player 390 then asked, “and which was the hardest one?”

gi-hun answered with one word, not caring to say anymore, “umbrella.”

in-ho scoffed, “umbrella?” he rolled his eyes, laughing, “what— players actually picked umbrella?” he stood up, “they had no idea what the game was so i bet they were totally screwed, right?” the crowd agreed, nodding their heads and murmuring to one another. player 456 stared at your husband, eyebrows pointed upwards, ashamedly.

you paused your chewing and giggled to yourself, knowing in-ho loved to get on people’s nerves, and he did so successfully. player 100 suggested no one should tell anyone else to pick the triangle for the next game, as he wanted more prize money to be added. gi-hun immediately refused, explaining he wanted everyone to survive. the crowd walked away, but your husband stayed, probably trying to interrogate the former player.

your husband sat down next to player 390, and began to ask why gi-hun came back to the game, opposing every answer he gained. once they’d argued long enough about players voting ‘x’ and players voting ‘o,’ the former player’s friend intervened, and began to talk about how they needed to win the next game. the conversation began to get boring, so you returned to slowly eating your food, missing all the activities back at home.

after almost finishing half of your meal, a boy with black shoulder-length hair came to your bed and leaned against it. he stared at you for a few seconds before leaning his arm against the metal pole. you stared back with intensity, attempting to appear unapproachable and rude. he asked, “what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a shitty place like this?” and gave you an uncanny smile, causing your stomach to twist uncomfortably. the words would’ve been better if they were from your husband.

you continued to stare at him, not yet answering him. a sinking feeling fled into your chest, you might’ve needed to eventually fight him if he continued giving you trouble. player 124 continued, “come on, why aren’t you talkin’? i’m not gonna do any harm.”

footsteps began to approach your bed, almost caging you in. a man with purple hair and painted nails, player 230, placed his hands above a metal beam. he inquired, “hey, why aren’t you answering him? you scared? he’s a good guy, promise.” you still kept your legs crossed, and looked down at your white sheets, wishing they would go away. deep down, you knew they wouldn’t.

in your peripheral vision, you saw the two of them give each other a knowing glance, causing your stomach to churn. you quickly swallowed your food, anticipating something odd to happen. a hand suddenly grabbed your jacket and threw you to the ground. as your knees hit the hard floor, you sighed, knowing this was to happen.

as you slowly pushed yourself onto your hands, your hair dangled in front of your face, making it difficult to see anything. a fist collided with your face, causing your head to bang to the ground. people all around the room gasped at the scene, which unfortunately, included you. before you could get up, player 230 grabbed you by the neck and put his face close to yours, “why the fuck didn’t you answer him, huh? he was tryin’ to be nice, and you ignored him.” he chuckled, “now this is what you get—“

before he could continue, you balled your fist up and punched him square in the jaw. as in-ho watched the scene unravel, he knew eventually, the two would team up on you and overpower you somehow. his breathing became erratic, his eyes were as sharp as knives. he clenched his fists and ignored a question of worry from player 388.

maybe acting weaker would be better. or would acting stronger be better? you knew you could easily win these games against everyone in this room, including the creator himself, but you didn’t know how to show yourself to others. how the hell were you supposed to appear as? timid? confident? polite? intimidating? rude? god, you didn’t know, but you began to occasionally fight the men back, wanting to appear as someone who isn’t one side of anything, but the middle. swing a punch or kick every so often, but enough to let them get a couple hits.

fuck, that was not a healthy mindset. in-ho would never let you take shit from anyone.

player 001 stood up and strode over with confidence and anger. he asked, “hey kids, what makes you think you can hit anyone like that? it’s disrespectful to her, and everyone surrounding you. it’s bad manners, “not to mention, it’s two against one.” he hoped your body would be feeling well enough to play the games properly.

as the men started to walk away from your body, which was laying on the ground, the two of you felt a wave of relief. you knew in-ho would be able to take them down easily, he was specially trained to fight like hell with little effort. the purple-haired man ran his mouth, causing your husband to grab him by the neck, immediately feeling a tugging hand around his wrist. player 124 walked over, attempting to stop in-ho, “hey, get your fucking—“ he was immediately kicked in the shin a numerous amount of times before he fell to the ground, weakly holding his knee.

all the pain in your body disappeared as you stared in awe at your husband. you couldn’t believe he was yours, but you were so proud. he barely broke a sweat as he fought those men to protect you.

the group groaned, some even covered their mouths in shock. your husband let go of his neck, almost throwing him multiple feet away. the rapper mumbled and attempted to make a swing at the older man, only getting hit in the stomach as a response he hunched over in pain and gasped, “wait— wait a minute—” but was treated with no mercy. in-ho grabbed the man’s outstretched hand and twisted it, making you wince once you heard bones cracking.

he fell to the ground and groaned as he was kicked in the chest and face multiple times, trying to pathetically back away. he mumbled, “i’m sorry, sir—“ as in-ho held his hand tight against his neck. he let go, still fuming and warm. the purple-haired man coughed, and the players erupted with cheer and compliments to your husband. he awkwardly glanced around and fixed his hair, not used to all the attention. he remembered the reason why he was fighting in the first place, because of you. he quickly turned around, wide eyes darting everywhere until they landed on your body, sitting on the ground. you nervously glanced up at him, and he placed his hand in front of you, wanting you to take it.

you stood up with his help and bowed, “thank you, sir, i don’t know what i would’ve done if you didn’t step in and save me.”

he replied, “please don’t thank me, miss. it’s the least i could’ve done for you.” you shyly smiled and averted your gaze, causing him to teasingly tilt his head in the way you were looking. he wanted your eyes on his again.

he loved feeling your soft hands against his. in-ho was in deep, as he was feeling uneasy without you even after an hour of not talking to you. in-ho stated, “how about i walk you over to a group? one of the players has participated in these games, so we’ll have a high chance of winning if we stick together.” you nodded and he guided you, asking you questions about yourself as if he didn’t know you like the back of his hand. once the two of you sat down and he introduced you to the other players, he sat down close to you, but not close enough to be knee-to-knee or shoulder-to-shoulder. he asked, “do you feel okay? you took a lot of hits back there.”

you nodded, and he and his group continued to fill you in with what player 456 knows about the game. you had to admit, it was difficult playing as someone you weren’t. it was even harder to act like you didn’t know your favorite person, your husband.

hours passed, and before you knew it, it was around time to sleep. as you were about to leave to walk to your bed, a hand stopped you, gently grabbing your arm. in-ho suggested, “how about you sleep here? player 456 recommended we stay close together, so we’ll be safer.”

he pulled that lie out of his ass. gi-hun didn’t say anything about staying together at night.

you thought for a moment and grinned, “sure, why not,” and laid down on a mattress, pulling the sheets over your body. you laid on your side and mumbled, “night, young-il,” as in-ho ordered you to call him, as it was an alias. he turned his head to you and smiled, muttering a soft ‘good night,’ when you heard those words, you immediately passed out.

in-ho took a moment to himself and glanced around, making sure no one was looking before he walked to your bed. he kneeled down and gently placed his rough hand on your cheek, rubbing it as he whispered praises into your hair. he kissed your forehead, as he always did after you fell asleep.

he was so glad that you were okay.

[whorelaud]

reader crying to drew about tiktok getting banned, and him comforting her about it  warnings fluff!!! hurt/comfort (?), cringe, reader being dramatic & drew being chronically offline

Drew wasn't typically a social media person. Sure, he posts from time to time, but that's only to promote stuff when it's required, or sometimes when he wants to show you off. Other than that, the boy chose to live by the book, letting his manager take care of the business, and keep his fans updated only from time to time. 

Therefore, when he was suddenly startled out of his slumber to your muffled cries, of course he was confused, swiftly blinking the sleep out of his eyes, as he rubbed comforting circles to your back. 

"What's wrong, baby?" He muttered through a yawn, squinting one of his eyes closed. "Did sometbing happen, why are you crying?" 

"What do I do?" You cried out loud, attention fixing on your tear soaked phone. "It's actually gone." 

"What's gone?" He asked, gaze following yours. "Tell me what's going on, you're scaring me." 

"Tiktok's banned," you sniffled, gesturing towards the screen, where it loaded the information regarding the ban. "What do I do with myself now? I hate instagram, it's scary!" 

"Tiktok's banned?" Drew asked, grabbing the phone from your side. He eyed it with puzzlement, reading over the statement displayed on your device. "Since when?" 

"You clueless old man," you muttered under your breath, snatching the phone from his hold. His eyes trailed back to you with confusion, pupils glistening with innocence that had your heart skipping a beat. "They've been talking about it for a whole two weeks now! I thought it would be like all the other times, but they actually did it, and now it's gone!" 

"Okay, it's alright, baby." He reassured, cupping your face in between his fingers. "It's not worth all those tears, yeah? Don't want my precious girlfriend crying over a dumb app." 

"Shut up," you shyly shoved the touch away, merely for him to dodge the gesture, stilling his hands around your cheeks. His thumb rubbed soothing motions to the curve of your jaw, lips breaking into a sheepish grin, one that had you smiling like a fool. "I'm actually sad, what about my Drew Starkey edits collection?" 

"What do you need the edits for?" He chuckled, pecking your nose, then the corner of your mouth, trailing light, open-mouthed kisses all over your face, till he eventually plants a soft kiss to your lips. "I'm right here, you can look at me all day." 

"Still..." you trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. "They were good edits." 

"Yeah?" The corner of his lips tugged into a teasing smirk, tone filled with amusement. "Want me to recreate them?" 

"No, yeah, I'm no longer sad." You joked, playfully rolling your eyes. Your lips pursed into a thin line, merely to supress the smile forming around your lips. 

"See, you're smiling!" Drew giggled, pulling you into a hug, as you practically melted in his embrace. "Let's jus' sleep, I'm sure they'll have things figured out soon." 

You nodded in silence, burying your face in the crook of his neck, instantly intoxicated by his scent as it filled your nostrils. 

Although it was an idiotic thing to cry over, Drew didn't shame you for it, choosing to comfort you instead, no matter how stupid it truly was. 

And that alone was enough reasons to take your last breath with him. You couldn't ask for a better, chronically offline, partner. 

–

My love ❤️: yo nvm everything is good tt is back up 😇

Drew: 🫤

a/n i live for silly and cringe content idc :'c

[bthemistake]

They're Just Babies Leading Babies

Psst!

While you're here, pls consider donating to the Palestine Children's Relief Fund <3

[Image Description

Fanart of the characters Damian Wayne al Ghul and Maya Ducard, specifically from the Robin, Son of Batman: Year of Blood and Dawn of the Demons, in black and white.

Maya is hunched over, carrying Damian in a piggyback, with a wide smile on her face. Her outfit is her Nobody suit; a sleeveless white bodysuit with black accents, the main being a stretched wide V shape on her chest, with full gloves reaching almost entirely up her arm. Her black hair is loose and messy as it grazes her shoulders, kept out of her face with a plain white headband.

Damian is displaying the opposite of Maya's joy and sits on her back with a stoic and forced-emotionless expression. He is pointing 'onwards' to direct her, likely what Maya is actually laughing at. He is wearing his Robin costume; a long black cape with a yellow lining, a red sleeveless tunic, with a dark undershirt. His boots and elbow-high gloves are a matching green.

The drawing is rather simple and rushed, mostly a warm up to keep me from going rusty.

End of Image Description.]

[yurinaa-world]

2# —"𝓝𝓸 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓮!"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Anaxa, Mydai, & Phainon x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: giving and receiving so many kisses

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫Part one: 💫“𝒩𝑜 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒!” (with Gallagher, Sunday, Aventurine, & Boothill)

💫𝒜𝓃𝒶𝓍𝒶 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒜𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓈"

He wants to feel you, every part. Evening going as far as to have you like this: your body straddling on top of his lap, his arms around your waist holding you in place—and even pressing your bodies.

His face was right in front of your neck. They can’t resist himself from utterly smothering you—which is exactly what he’s doing in this movement. His lips land on your neck, and in some places, he gently taunts you with the sharp ends of his teeth with warm breath ringing your neck—making you shiver and gasp.

“Anaxa…” you gasp his name.

"Say it again," he murmurs his voice a low, velvety growl that sends a shiver down your spine. His hands trail slowly up your back, the roughness of his fingertips against your skin igniting sparks with every touch. His lips pressed heated kisses along your collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. 

“Say my name again…”

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, staring down to meet his eye.

 “Anaxa…”

You’ll actually be the death of him

💫𝑀𝓎𝒹𝑒𝒾 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒜𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓈"

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, maybe even indulging too much.” 

Teasing Mydei was what you loved to do especially relating to indulging him with your love—which was constantly kissing him till he couldn’t think—but if you actually thought it would work, you are sadly mistaken.

Mydei’s lips curl into a sly grin, his amber eyes glinting with amusement as he leans closer, his face mere inches from yours while his arm around your waist pulls you right against him. "Oh, is that what you think?" he murmurs, his voice a smooth, velvety caress that sends a shiver through you. "If anyone’s indulging, it’s you. You can't seem to stop, can you?"

"And what if I don’t want to stop?" you counter, your voice steady, though your heart is racing. A smirk plays on your lips, daring him to make the next move. You press a little closer, your fingers tracing the line of his smile. "Then you’d better be prepared for the consequences," he says, his tone dropping to a low, teasing rumble. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you firmly in place as if to prove his point.

"How cruel, I just want to show my love and here you are threatening me," you whine, feigning innocence as your fingers slip into his hair.

Mydei's grin deepens in response to your comments, a sharp gleam in his eyes melting. He moves in even closer, his forehead almost brushing against yours, his breath warm on your lips. "Cruel?" he says, his tone low and playful. "If this is cruelty, then maybe I'm spoiling you far too much."

You scoff. "Are you going to spoil me? That's rich coming from the one who won't let me go," you respond, your fingertips playing with the tips of his hair

"And why would I let go?" he asks, his tone dangerously—he's about to eat you alive. 

"You keep walking into these traps, teasing me like this. I'm simply giving you exactly what you deserve."

💫𝒫𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑜 𝑜𝒻 𝒜𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓈"

 Phanion is a sly one. 

He’s got quick hands, slipping himself through your defences and leaving you with an agape mouth—He finds it quite adorable whenever he takes something from you, watching your hands touch and eyes skim around your body to see what is missing. When you did find what was missing you would immediately start complaining as he held the thing in his hand high, teasingly.

Maybe he likes this even better than the causal swiping he does.

Your face lies red as you gaze up at him with that cute face while he takes advantage of you even more—his lips land on each part of your face, You're so cute! Honestly, those feelings that adults get when they see a child and they just want to smother them with love are the same type of love he feels for you now.

He feels and sees you break beneath him, creasing your cheek with a thump, before leaning in to kiss on the lips. Even when you try to push him away from embarrassment he gently moves your hand to the side before planting another kiss place on your face with his lips.

“Don’t be like that, let me love you till you can’t think anymore.” Giggling even more so when you just shatter into little pieces.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his tone softer now, almost reverent. “I’ll take care of you, even if it means stealing every bit of composure you have.”

[syoddeye]

simon doesn't pursue people, he operates more like a one-man strike team. his approach to human connection is transactional, pragmatic, a matter of logistics.

on the rare occasion he's looking for company, he wants someone easy, who won't fuss when he introduces them to a thin motel mattress. won't ask what he does for work or try to make plans for the morning. won't bother him about 'next time'. nothing long-term. no strings.

he doesn't have a 'type' so much as a protocol: pick someone malleable, pliant, and preferably on the pill.

then you start working at his local.

the first time he sees you, he doesn't notice much beyond the basics: efficiency, attentiveness, pouring pints and bantering with the regulars with aplomb. by the second or third time, he's paying closer attention. you're not just good at your job—you're quick, always three steps ahead of the chaos. you give out smiles left and right, but it's more muscle memory than genuine warmth. and you're clever, too. funny, even, when someone manages to earn your attention for longer than a transaction.

you could probably keep up with his humor. go toe-to-toe.

you're off-limits, though. that's the rule. bartenders are switzerland—neutral territory. don't shit where you eat. it's a system that works, so long as he doesn't let himself think too much about the view when you lean over the counter or the lilt of your voice when you ask what he's having tonight.

then one evening, you take another man's number. some leering idiot, too comfortable with inserting himself into your space, grinning like he's cracked your code because you haven't humbled him. simon doesn't react, not outwardly. he nurses his drink and watches as you smile, slip the napkin into your pocket, and turn back to the bar.

but that's when you become a problem.

he tells himself it doesn't matter, that it's nothing. he doesn't want a number or a date. but the thought of someone else having you—someone who doesn't know what to do with a woman like you—it's a splinter buried just deep enough to keep him thinking about it. irritating, prone to fester.

how to approach you, though? he can't be as direct as he'd like, can't pin you down with a look or crass words. no way to corner you when you're safe behind the counter, or disappearing through a staff door. hanging around until you're off would be pathetic. dog behavior, he thinks, with a twinge of contempt for the mental image. he's got too much self-respect for that, at least.

no, he's got to actually make an effort. use his words.

the next time he comes in, he waits. no more corner tables or watching from afar. he sits close, pretends not to notice how your hands look slicing a lime. he orders his usual and tries not to overthink your tone when you set it down in front of him.

"you alright?"

you reach for his card, fingers pinching the plastic, but he holds on, smirking when you tug and then huff.

this is the moment. his moment. the one he's been building toward in his head for days. but there's a hitch, a blip in his usual confidence, and he fumbles. he blames your perfume.

"so…you come here often?"

not what he meant to say, but not the worst.

the shockwave of his nuclear-level failure doesn't register until your lips twitch, and it finally sinks in. his eyes widen a fraction as the realization lands. oh, he's fucked it. all his rehearsing, for nothing.

"…yeah," you say, voice flat, a single brow raised as you gesture vaguely toward the bar around you. "i work here?"

his mouth dries, but his face doesn't change. he doesn't fight it when you pull the card out of his grasp. there's the barest glint of something in your eyes—amusement, maybe, or pity. he's not sure which is worse.

you turn away to ring him up, but when you glance back, he's gone.

[not-magdi]

-rompers, strollers and so much more / lando norris

Warnings: none just some fluff

Words: 907

Reading Time: 3 min 37 sec

A/N

This could be seen as a part two to the first story but this can also be read as a stand-alone.

Part one (if anyone is interested)

Hope you enjoy reading it !

The golden Monaco sun bathed the cobblestone streets as Y/N and Lando strolled hand in hand toward the boutique baby store. Y/N’s free hand rested instinctively on her growing belly, and she couldn’t help but smile at how real everything was starting to feel. At five months pregnant, her bump was pronounced enough to draw gentle attention from passersby, and she wore it with quiet pride.

Lando gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his other hand occasionally brushing against her belly as though he couldn’t resist making a connection with their little one. “Our first official baby shopping trip,” he said, grinning. “Big day, huh?”

“It really is,” Y/N agreed, her eyes sparkling. “We’re actually buying things for her. It feels so… real now.”

“It does,” Lando replied, his grin widening. “Let’s spoil her a bit, yeah?”

When they stepped into the boutique, the pastel paradise of tiny clothes, plush toys, and elegant strollers greeted them. Y/N’s gaze darted around in awe. “This place is adorable,” she said softly, her eyes catching on a display of baby shoes no bigger than her palm.

“And overwhelming,” Lando added, scanning the room. “Where do we even start?”

Y/N laughed. “How about clothes? That seems like a safe start.”

Lando nodded and followed her to a rack of tiny onesies. He immediately pulled one out and held it up. “Okay, how about this?” he asked, showing her a white onesie with “Daddy’s Little Champion” written in gold script across the front.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re already dreaming of her racing career, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, pretending to puff out his chest. Then, turning toward her bump, he crouched slightly and spoke to it. “What do you think, baby girl? You’d look great in this, wouldn’t you? It’s got a winning vibe.”

Y/N chuckled, running a hand through Lando’s curls. “You know she can’t actually answer you, right?”

Lando looked up with a playful pout. “Not yet, but I’m practicing. She’s probably nodding in there.” He kissed Y/N’s belly lightly and straightened. “We’re getting it.”

Y/N shook her head with a smile but let him toss the onesie into their shopping basket.

As they sifted through the racks, Y/N picked up a soft pink romper with tiny bunny ears on the hood. “Lando, look at this. Isn’t it the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”

Lando reached over to feel the fabric. “That’s soft,” he said, then crouched again to talk to the bump. “What do you think, little one? Wanna be a bunny for Dad and Mum? I think you’d look pretty adorable.”

Y/N placed a hand on her bump, feeling a faint flutter of movement. Her smile widened. “I think she agrees with you.”

“See?” Lando said triumphantly. “She’s got great taste already.”

By the time they moved on from the clothes section, their basket was already brimming with pastel onesies, patterned leggings, and a knitted blanket Y/N couldn’t resist.

In the toy section, Y/N picked up a soft plush giraffe and pressed it to her cheek. “Do you think she’ll like this?”

Lando took it from her, holding it up in front of Y/N’s belly. “What do you think, baby girl? A giraffe for your room? We could name it Gerald. Gerald the Giraffe.” He made the giraffe “walk” along the shelf, pretending it was racing another toy.

“You’re such a child,” Y/N said, though her laughter betrayed how much she loved seeing his playful side.

“Hey, I’m practicing for playtime,” Lando replied, tossing the giraffe into their basket. “You’ll see. She’ll love it.”

When they reached the stroller section, they were met with rows of sleek, high-tech options. “Who knew strollers could be so complicated?” Y/N murmured, reading one of the tags. “This one says it has an all-terrain suspension system. Are we planning on taking her hiking?”

Lando crouched down to inspect the wheels. “You never know. Maybe we’ll need to get her to the track over gravel or something.”

“Of course,” Y/N said with a roll of her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress a smile.

After testing several models—and after Lando insisted on pushing each one in a short lap around the aisle to test its “maneuverability”—they settled on a sleek grey stroller that folded easily and looked modern and practical.

“This is the one,” Lando declared, patting the handle. “What do you think, baby girl? Does it pass the test?” He crouched one last time, resting a hand on Y/N’s belly. “You’ll be cruising around Monaco in style in this bad boy.”

“She’s not even born yet, and you’re already making her sound like a diva,” Y/N teased, though her voice was soft with affection.

“She deserves the best,” Lando said simply, standing and slipping an arm around Y/N’s shoulders.

As they approached the checkout counter, Y/N leaned into Lando, her hand resting on her bump. “This feels so real now,” she said softly. “Like she’s already a part of our lives.”

“She is,” Lando said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “And I can’t wait to meet her. She’s already got me wrapped around her little finger.”

They left the store with bags in hand, their hearts full as they walked down the bustling street. Every tiny onesie, every plush toy, and every little item they had picked out felt like a promise to their baby girl—a promise of love, care, and the beautiful life that was waiting for her.

---------

Don't forget to leave a note if you enjoyed it, feedback is always welcome !❤️

[vunblr]

Toy Soldier (part 3)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims)

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 6.8.k.

notes: This chapter includes flashbacks to non-con situations. Please be mindful of your media consumption and take care of yourself. Passages containing this content are marked with ****** at the beginning and the end, in case you wish to skip them.

Previous Chapter

The next days passed uneventfully after the brawl at the bar. Every location listed in the government-provided intelligence was either empty or completely inconsistent with the reports. It felt like chasing ghosts, a frustrating pattern that left them all on edge.

By the end of the week, they were on a military plane heading back to New York. Sam leaned back in his seat, glancing idly at the other two. It didn’t take him long to notice that they were... talking.

Not in the awkward way of the first days, or the strictly mission-related conversations that followed. In fact, it wasn’t the body language he’d expect from two people who barely knew each other. Bucky’s body was more relaxed than Sam had seen in years while interacting with someone, and at one point, he caught a faint smile on Tinman’s face, a real smile.

What the hell happened between those two?

Asking Bucky directly wasn’t an option. The guy was like a human wall when it came to personal questions. He had learned long ago that pushing him only made him clam up more.

No, if he wanted answers, he’d have to go to the other source. She might be more willing to spill the details, especially if he caught her in a casual moment.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back in his seat. He’d find a chance to ask her soon, maybe over coffee. Whatever had happened on this mission had clearly done the impossible: it got the Winter Sulkier to actually drop the act.

His attention was drawn back when he noticed Bucky tense slightly, as his expression shifted while she asked him a question. She leaned toward him, perched on the edge of her seat, focusing on the phone he held in his hand. Sam, feigning a search through one of the nearby bags, edged closer to eavesdrop.

“See, you just tap here,” Bucky said, oddly patient, something Sam would’ve thought impossible coming from him. “Then swipe left to go back, or hit this button if you want to-”

“Wait, wait,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “So anyone can message me, or is it just the guys I pick if we... match?” Her brows furrowed, her tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Sam’s eyes widened slightly. Is he teaching her how to use a dating app?

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Just the ones you match with,” he replied evenly. “But... don’t expect much. Most of these guys don’t know how to hold a conversation past ‘hey.’”

She snorted. “That’s it? No effort at all?” Then she tilted her head. “How’d it go for you, then? Using the app, I mean.”

Bucky shrugged, with a carefully neutral expression. “Tried it a little. Didn’t stick with it.”

She narrowed her eyes and the corners of her lips twitched in amusement. “You ‘tried it a little,’ huh? Because you seem to know a lot about it for someone who barely used it.”

He shot her a quick look before deadpan. “You pick things up.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she studied him. “Come on, you are handsome, you can’t tell me you didn’t get one match.”

“I got a few,” he admitted reluctantly, blushing slightly. “Didn’t go anywhere.”

“Why not?” she pressed.

He hesitated, and his discomfort was more noticeable now. His gaze quickly darted to Sam and then went back to her. “It’s all surface-level. A few pictures, some vague descriptions, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Her teasing expression softened at the shift in his tone. “Okay, fair. But isn’t that the point? It’s just supposed to be an icebreaker, right?”

“Maybe,” he muttered, leaning back in his seat. “But I’m not great at... small talk. And that’s all this is. Small talk that leads nowhere.”

Sam, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up. “You’re not really helping her case, you know. You’re making this app sound like a deathtrap.”

Bucky shot him a glare. “It’s not a deathtrap. It’s just... not worth the hassle.”

She raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I won’t know until I try it. Maybe I’ll get luckier. How different could it really be once you meet in person, like a traditional meetup?”

Before Bucky could respond, Sam chimed in from a few seats over, a mischievous smirk on his face. “Well, you should also know that you might receive some... unwanted pictures.”

She tilted her head, frowning. “Unwanted pictures? Like what?”

“Dicks,” Sam deadpanned, his expression unflinching.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why would someone... Is that supposed to attract me? Like they think, ‘Oh, I’ll send her a dick pic, and she’ll say, sure, John, let’s go feed the ducks at the park?’”

Sam doubled over laughing, while Bucky shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “Yeah, uh... I forgot to mention the unwanted pictures,” he muttered.

She quirked a brow, and her lips twitched with amusement. “How is it for the guys? Did you get unwanted pictures too? Like, ‘Hey, handsome,’ and bam! Wet nipples pic?”

Bucky froze, his eyes widening slightly “I- what? No,” he stammered, his usual stoic mask cracking under her teasing.

Sam burst out laughing, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, man, you broke him.”

Bucky shot Sam a death glare, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “It’s not... That’s not how it works.”

“Oh, come on, someone must’ve tried.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, clearly wishing for the conversation to end. “No,” he said firmly. “Guys don’t get stuff like that. Not usually.”

Sam wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all week.”

“Glad I could entertain you,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, fixing his gaze firmly on the floor.

Sensing his discomfort now that Sam had jumped into the conversation, she decided to redirect the attention. She leaned slightly toward Sam, with a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

“Speaking of unwanted pictures,” she said casually, “remember when that agent flashed us his brand-new Prince Albert in the Rome safehouse? Because he thought it was infected and wanted me to take care of it?”

Sam choked on his laughter. “Oh, man, that guy! How could I forget?” He shook his head, still grinning. “I got traumatized. The guy showed it off like he was proud of it. Even with the swelling and all. And you…you just stood there like it was any other Tuesday.”

She shrugged, her expression deadpan. “What was I supposed to do? He dropped his pants before I even knew what was happening. First of all, you might find it hard to believe, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve seen a dick, and second, I’ve seen worse things over the years.” if he only knew how much worse.

Bucky’s frown deepened, snapping his sharp gaze at her. His jaw tightened, and there was a flicker of something in his expression, something dark and protective. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, coldly.

She glanced at him, startled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “What?”

“That guy,” he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dropping his pants like that. You’re a lady, for God’s sake.”

Sam burst out laughing again, “I hate to break it to you, but modern life’s not exactly full of boundaries, Buck. Especially when the dude thought his dick was going to fall off.”

Bucky ignored Sam’s laughter. “Still doesn’t mean it’s right.”

His gaze drifted, growing distant, and she knew exactly where it was traveling. The countless times Hydra had forced her to touch him in clinical detachment, to treat his groin marred by shrapnel, burns, and other injuries she’d long since pushed to the darkest corners of her memory. Also, that time when…

She clapped her hands suddenly, trying to steer the conversation away.

“Anyway, about the app-”

“Wait,” Sam interrupted, leaning forward with interest. “About that, last time I talked to you, you said you were dating some dude from the library. Some kind of meet-cute.”

Bucky’s attention snapped back to the conversation, as a strange, twisted feeling settled in his gut.

“Clearly, if I’m asking about the app, I’m not seeing him anymore,” she replied, with a certain edge.

“What happened?” Sam pressed, furrowing his brow. “You seemed interested in the guy, and it sounded like he was into you, too.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “It just... didn’t work out.”

Sam gave her a pointed look. “That’s not a real answer.”

She groaned, leaning back in her seat. “Fine. Over the weeks, it was like everything he said he liked about me at first became an issue.”

“Like?” Sam prompted, tilting his head.

“Like preferring to stay home instead of going out all the time, it bored him. Or how he’d tell me he loved my cooking but would complain about his sweater smelling smoky after I’d make something. Little stuff like that.” She paused. “Then one day, I knit him a scarf. And do you know what he said?”

Sam raised a brow. “What?”

“He said, ‘I have a grandma who can do that,’” she said flatly.

Sam let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. “What a jackass.”

“Yeah,” she said with a humorless chuckle. “That was the last straw. Especially since he was the one who said he’d love it if I made something for him while flirting.”

“Oh my God, Sarah would’ve shoved the scarf through his ass, crochet hook included. And… uh did you two, you know…” Sam made a wave with his hand implying intimacy.

She couldn’t stop herself from briefly side-look at Bucky, who was staring at the ground. “No. I mean there was… but no. I don’t know, maybe that’s why suddenly everything started to annoy him.

Bucky felt a sharp surge of anger toward the faceless man. His fingers flexed against his thigh as he tried to push it down, but it stayed there. Sure, things had changed over the decades, he’d seen that much already. But memories of Rebecca knitting gloves for her sweetheart by the window, or his ma stitching clothes for them during the Depression, flooded his mind.

He knew what it meant to make something with your hands, the time, care, and thought behind every stitch. For that man to dismiss it like it was nothing, to compare her work to something anyone could do... it was a slap to everything he’d grown up valuing.

“That guy was an idiot,” he muttered, with irritation. “You took the time to make something for him, something personal. That matters. If he couldn’t see that, he wasn’t worth it.” The look on his face betrayed rage, the kind that made it clear he’d have no problem to physically teach the guy a lesson if he were standing in front of him.

She felt warmth rise in her chest at his words, “Thank you.”

Sam, who had been watching the exchange with growing amusement, leaned back in his seat with a knowing grin.

----

A couple of days had passed since they returned to New York, and she sat on her couch, biting her nails absently. The soft ticking of the wall clock felt louder than usual.

It was almost time for the doorbell to ring.

When they landed, Bucky had set her aside hesitantly and asked her if it was alright for them to talk. He’d made it clear that there was no pressure, no expectations. If she didn’t want to, he’d leave it alone. The last thing he wanted was to cause her discomfort.

She’d promptly agreed, “We can talk at my place if you are okay with that.” the offer had spilled from her lips before she could even think it through.

Her house was small but cozy, cluttered in a lived-in way. Books and plants filled old wooden shelves, the soft glow of a lamp in the corner painted the room in warm tones, and the faint scent of lavender lingered from a candle burning on the coffee table. She’d baked cookies and tidied up, in an unconscious effort to keep herself busy.

The doorbell finally rang, startling her.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she stood quickly, smoothing her hands over her shirt before heading to the door. When she opened it, there he was. Red henley, dark jeans, and a stuffed paper bag in his hand, standing on the threshold with a casual but guarded expression.

“Hi,” she managed to say, calmer than she felt.

“Hi,” he replied, nodding slightly before extending the bag toward her. “Um, for later. I figured it’d be rude to come empty-handed.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have” she said, clearly pleased, stepping aside while taking the bag, gesturing for him to come in. “Make yourself comfortable”.

Bucky hesitated momentarily before stepping inside, flicking his gaze briefly over the room. It felt... welcoming, familiar. He sat on the couch stiffly, resting his hands on his thighs.

She followed him, putting the paper bag on the coffee table and taking a seat across from him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“So,” she began, breaking the silence, “what did you want to talk about?”

His eyes met hers, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh his words carefully. “I just... wanted to say I’m sorry,”.

“For what?” she asked, puzzled.

“For everything,” he said, dropping his gaze to his hands. “For what Hydra put you through because of me. For being part of the reason you were stuck in that hell.”

Her breath caught, and she shook her head instinctively. “What- Bucky, you weren’t the reason-”

“I was,” he cut her off gently, lifting his eyes to meet hers again. “I might not have had a choice in what they did to me, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t pay the price for it.”

She swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “You’re not responsible for what they did.” she said softly. “Neither of us is.”

“Objectively I know,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it is.”

The air between them felt heavy, charged with unspoken pain and understanding.

She sighed. “They abducted me because of my mutant powers, Bucky. They eventually assigned me to be your… maintenance tool because you were their most effective asset, Hydra’s fist. But even if you have not been there, there were others. For one reason or another, I would have ended up there anyway.”

The others.

******

Her words triggered memories he didn’t want but couldn’t avoid. The unending hours of hand-to-hand combat, training the newly enhanced assets. His missions didn’t end when he returned from the field; Hydra had repurposed him to mold their next generation of tools.

The rules had been clear: restrict his strength, take the blows, and avoid permanent damage. These trainees were expensive investments, after all, and he had the privilege of having his Tinkerbell next door to sprinkle some powder to fix him anew after every session.

Was in one of those travels to the neighboring cell when Soldat’s brain used the gray zones in the rules for the first time.

As he opened the heavy door, his gaze landed on the stretcher. She wasn’t alone. The asset bending her over the surface, fisting her hair, was making sure of it. His other hand fumbled, trying to place his excuse of a cock inside her, as she twisted helplessly beneath him.

His jaw ticked.

His fist connected with his target’s jaw in a blur of silver and crimson, sending him flying against the nearest wall with a sickening thud. The orders were to restrain himself while training. Her cell wasn’t meant as a place to train.

The asset groaned, attempting to push himself upright, but Soldat was already on him. In two long strides, he closed the distance, seizing the man’s throat with a crushing grip, lifting him up as if he weighed nothing. The asset’s eyes widened in panic as his legs kicked futilely against the air.

“Soldat!” a voice crackled through the speaker overhead. The handler’s voice.

He froze momentarily, loosening his grip just enough for the asset to suck in a ragged breath.

“Stand down,” the voice ordered, laced with the unmistakable threat of consequences.

His gaze flickered toward the camera in the corner of the room. He knew they were watching, assessing every move. But as he looked back at the asset, his grip tightened again.

She was still there, trembling against the stretcher, her wide, teary eyes locked on him. Her lip was split, and her arms were wrapped tightly around herself as though trying to hold her shattered pieces together.

A flicker of something broke through the red haze in his mind.

“Soldat,” the handler barked again, sharper this time. “Release him. Now.”

His hand twitched, and the hum of his arm vibrated faintly as if resisting the command. Slowly, deliberately, he dropped the man to the ground. The asset crumpled in a heap, coughing and clutching his throat.**

He walked toward the stretcher where she sat, frozen in place. Without a word, he leaned on the edge, reaching for the clasps of his upper vest and unfastening efficiently. The vest came off, revealing his beaten torso. His skin was mottled with bruises, and a sickly shade of purple spread across his ribs, the uneven swelling at the zone was a clear indication of fractures.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint static from the intercom and the asset’s wheezing on the floor.

He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze in a silent request. Her hands shook as she reached for him, steading when they met his skin.

“Soldat,” the handler’s voice snapped through the intercom. “Report back to the training room.”

He didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on her, unwavering, unyielding. His hand twitched again, resting lightly on his thigh as though restraining himself from reaching out.

“I said, report back.”

******

“-cky… Bucky…” her voice broke the trance, bringing him back to the present.

He blinked, as his focus returned to the present. He saw her now, not trembling inside a depressing cell but sitting across from him in her living room, looking at him with concern.

“Sorry,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. The words felt inadequate, but they were all he could manage at the moment.

She sighed, leaning back in her seat. “It seems we still have a lot of shit to unpack,” she finally said. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her shirt as she continued, flicking her gaze back to him. “For some reason, you feel responsible for my captivity, and on the other hand, I feel responsible for prolonging your torment.” Her lips quirked into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Maybe we need to do some couple’s counseling.”

The joke was light, silly, considering what they’ve been through. Still, Bucky’s lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile.

Grabbing onto that tiny smile like a lifeline, she seized the opportunity to steer the conversation toward something more pleasant. “So, what’s in the mystery bag you brought?”

His gaze flicked to the paper-wrapped goodies on the coffee table. “Some... pastries,” he admitted, almost self-conscious. “Figured you might invite me for some coffee.” He quirked a brow, the faint hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It was my intention, yes,” she replied, leaning back in her seat, “Also, I might or might not have baked enough cookies to feed an army to go with it.”

“That so?” His smirk deepened slightly.

“Well, for starters I know your metabolism screams at you to inhale calories even in your sleep, and... I was kind of nervous before our meeting,” she confessed, almost murmuring toward the end.

He blinked, caught off guard by her honesty. “Nervous?” he echoed.

She shrugged, brushing an imaginary lint off her pants. “Yeah, nervous. I mean, it’s not every day you have a sit-down heart-to-heart with someone you...” She paused, searching for the right words. “...went through hell with.”

He didn’t respond immediately, fixing his gaze on her. Finally, he nodded, “I get it.”

For a moment, they sat in a silence that felt lighter than before, and then she clapped her hands lightly and rose from her seat.

“Well,” she said, “How about we see what kind of pastries you picked, and I’ll grab the cookies and make the coffee?

“Seems like a plan.” He agreed, standing and following her into the kitchen.

She grabbed a tray and began arranging the pastries he’d brought, their golden crusts promising a delicious treat. Beside them, she added a generous pile of cookies she’d baked earlier. The hum of the kettle heating the water filled the small space.

Bucky’s eyes drifted to the counter as she prepped. He hummed in appreciation when he realized she was setting up for brewed coffee, and the familiar sight of a pour-over filter caught his attention.

“Don’t like coffee makers,” she remarked, noticing his gaze. “Tastes like dirty water to me.”

He smirked faintly. “I couldn’t have expressed it better. There’s a machine for almost everything now, but some things...”

“...are better the old-fashioned way,” she finished, flashing him a small smile.

Bucky nodded toward the tray. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” she said, motioning to the cookies.

He reached for one, and before he realized it, his hand kept returning to the tray. They were warm, buttery, and just the right amount of sweet, a huge contrast to the food he’d grown accustomed to over the years.

“You bake like this often?” he asked between bites, in an almost casual tone.

“Not really,” she admitted with a chuckle, leaning against the counter. “I had a lot of nervous energy before today. Figured I might as well channel it into something productive.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “They’re good.”

She grinned. “Glad you approve.”

By the time the coffee was ready, most of the cookies were gone. She blinked at the near-empty tray and arched a brow at him.

“Seriously?” she teased, pouring two mugs of coffee. “I don’t think the cookies were supposed to be dinner.”

Bucky shrugged unapologetically, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Couldn’t stop. They’re better than anything I’ve had in a while.”

“Well, I’m taking that as a compliment,” she said, handing him a mug.

He took it, warming his hand with the cup. “It was.”

They settled at the small kitchen table, with the tray of pastries and the few remaining cookies between them. The conversation flowed easily, and their laughter mixed with the freshly brewed coffee aroma.

At some point, Bucky’s fingers tightened around his mug, lowering his gaze to its content. He hesitated for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line before he spoke. “When you asked me about the dating app the other day... how long... when did you feel you were ready to, you know…”

He trailed off, cursing himself inwardly for the clumsy phrasing and lack of subtlety.

She tilted her head, “Well, you mentioned it as a joke, and then I took the opportunity to ask since, you know, I was curious about them.” She chuckled lightly. “Not that my attempts at normal dating have been anything to brag about. As you heard on the plane... pretty pathetic.”

Bucky’s lips quirked briefly, but his eyes stayed on the coffee, waiting.

She shifted slightly in her chair, toying with the edge of her mug with her fingers. “As for being ready... I don’t know. It’s been a couple of years since I started feeling the... the need to have someone. Someone who’s more than just a friend.” She paused, and her gaze drifted somewhere far away, before returning to him. “But, honestly, the world changed so much. Dating now is... different. Messy.” She offered a faint smile, “Well if it feels like that for me, I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. You probably grew up around my daddy’s time.”

Bucky’s head shot up, quirking his brow in mock indignation. “Your dad’s time?”

She grinned, catching the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You were probably handing out love letters, not even using a phone.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Hey, we weren’t that old-fashioned.” He paused, “But... yeah. It was different.”

“Guess that’s one thing we have in common,” she said softly. “Figuring out where we fit in a world that’s... moved on without us.”

He looked at her then, somehow the weight of her words made him feel less alone in his own struggle.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I guess we do.”

Gathering her courage, she nodded toward his vibranium hand, “Can I see it? Properly, I mean.”

His body tensed for a fraction of a second, but he saw genuine interest in her eyes. Slowly, he lifted his arm, extending the sleek prosthetic toward her.

She reached for it with both hands, brushing her fingers trough the cool, polished surface. His gaze widened slightly as she turned it gently in her grasp.

“Wow,” she murmured, running her fingertips along the ridges and smooth joints. “The fingers are less edgy than the old one.” She traced a line along his palm. “How’s the sensory feedback?”

Her question startled him out of his momentary daze, and he cleared his throat. Her touch was making harder to stay composed than he wanted to admit. “neuro-connections are more advanced,” he began, in an almost clinical tone. “So I have better control over it. I can feel pressure and temperature more accurately. But that’s... all.”

Her thumbs brushed over the pads of his fingers, “That’s a lot, though,” she said quietly. “It’s incredible. Do you ever... forget it’s not flesh and bone?”

His lips twitched faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Until I catch someone staring at it. Or...” His gaze dropped to her hands, still cradling his. “Until someone touches it. And I remember it’s not real.”

Her grip tightened slightly, an unconscious response. “It is real, Bucky,” she said firmly, lifting her eyes to his. “It’s you.”

“Thanks,” he said after a long pause.

Noticing that she still hadn’t released his hand, she let go quickly, feeling her cheeks warming under his stare. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

He shook his head lightly. “It’s fine,” he muttered.

She grabbed a pastry from the tray and took a bite to occupy herself. The silence lingered before she worked up the courage to ask, tentative but curious. “So... when did you feel ready to date and try the apps and stuff?”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“You asked me,” she deadpanned as she gestured toward him with a half-eaten bun. “Fair if I get to ask you the same.”

He sighed, brushing his fingers over his temple as he scratched it absently. “I don’t think...” He trailed off, then started again. “Last year, my therapist suggested I start stepping out of my comfort zone. Told me it’d help with... things. So... I tried.”

“And?” she prompted, leaning slightly forward, encouraging but not pushing.

His gaze dropped to the table. “I’d be lying if I said it’s been great.”

She remained silent, giving him space to continue.

“It’s just...” He hesitated, his hand curling into a loose fist on the table. “Meeting new people it’s hard. Small talk feels fake, like I’m watching it happen instead of being part of it. There’s this constant voice in my head, reminding me of all the things I can’t tell them. All the stuff I can’t explain. I look at someone across a table, and they’re smiling, talking about their favorite movies or where they want to go on vacation. And all I can think about is how much they don’t know. How much they can’t know.” He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “That I’ve done things... that I’ve had things done to me. And if they ever found out, they’d run away.”

She set her pastry down quietly, folding her hands in her lap as she listened, letting him talk, suspecting he probably hadn’t spoken this much in years.

“And then there’s the other stuff,” he continued, lower now. “The touch. Sometimes, even a handshake feels wrong. Too close, too much. I can’t control how my brain reacts. Sometimes I flinch, or freeze. And how do you explain that to someone on a second date?”

“Yeah. Touching can be... hard if you’re not familiar enough with the person,” she murmured, dropping her gaze to the table.

They both understood why.

The silence stretched. He didn’t need to ask what she meant, and she didn’t need to elaborate. Hydra had ensured they both carried scars that made even the simplest gestures of connection fraught with hesitation.

She straightened in her seat, trying to shake off the heavy mood. “You know,” she said, with a faint edge of humor creeping into her tone, “for a conversation about dating, this has turned into a pretty depressing therapy session.”

He seemed to hesitate, curling his fingers slightly around his mug before he spoke. “It’s not like that with you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Uh?”

“Touching,” he clarified, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were confessing something. “Those days in Poland... I noticed.”

“Oh,” she said softly, as her fingers brushed the edge of her cup while her gaze flickered to him.

He looked down at his hands, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “I’ve been... thinking about it. And the only reason I can come up with is... because you were the only ‘good’ thing in that hellhole.”

She stared at him, unsure how to respond. Then she shook her head slowly. “After everything Hydra made me do to you, how can you feel-”

His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and unyielding. “I don’t blame you,” he cut her firmly. “I’ve told you that.”

She bit her lip, afraid to ask. “But... how much do you remember about-”

“Everything,” he said quietly.

She inhaled sharply, tightening her fingers around the mug and locked her eyes onto his. “E-even...”

“Everything, doll,” he said again, softer now.

She swallowed hard. “I see. And still...”

“Don’t blame you,” he repeated, resolute, as though daring her to argue.

******

It had been two days since they’d injected him with that burning substance, two days of his body rebelling against him in the most excruciating way. The unrelenting ache of the forced erection was a constant, painful thrum, and despite his silence, the slight tremor in his movements betrayed the toll it was taking.

At first, the staff had dismissed it as a side effect of the experiment. But as the hours stretched into days, and Soldat’s body refused to yield, it became clear that something had to be done.

The traditional methods failed. They’d barked orders for him to “take care of it himself,” but he stood motionless and unresponsive. They had thrown him into freezing water, and his body had trembled violently, but the condition persisted. Even a brutal beating did nothing to break the cycle.

Finally, they summoned her.

She’d entered the sterile room, and her stomach churned. He was shirtless, his skin flushed an unnatural shade, and though his expression remained stoic, she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled slightly at his sides.

“You,” the handler barked, gesturing toward him. “Fix the inconvenience.”

Her heart sank. She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to remain composed. “But... he’s not injured, sir. I don’t-”

The sharp crack of a slap cut her off, her head snapping to the side as pain bloomed across her cheek.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, pet,” the handler sneered, his voice dripping with venom.

She bit down on her lip, as she nodded numbly. “Yes, sir.”

Approaching him hesitantly, she reached out and hovered her trembling hand over his overheated skin. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move, just stared ahead, his blue gaze void of anything human.

Tentatively, she placed her hand against his chest, and noticed the heat radiating off his body was almost unbearable. Closing her eyes, she tried to infuse him with her healing surge, willing it to work, to cool the fire that was consuming him.

Nothing.

She retracted her hand, “It’s no use, sir,” she excused herself in a whisper.

“Try harder,” he snarled, sharply.

Before she could react, he grabbed her trembling hand and shoved it between Soldat’s legs. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. He remained still, his lifeless gaze kept fixed on the far wall, as though none of this was happening.

Slowly, reluctantly, she wrapped her hand around him -or tried to-, her fingers barely circling his length. Her heart pounded in her ears as she forced herself to send another wave of her healing surge through her palm.

Nothing.

“S-sir, it’s not...” she stammered, withdrawing slightly.

“Try a different approach,” the handler barked, his patience wearing thin.

Her stomach twisted painfully. “B-but...”

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen a cock in your entire life, slut,” the handler spat with malice. “We both know very well that’s not the case.”

Shame and rage bloomed inside her chest, but she didn’t dare meet his eyes.

The handler’s cruel smile widened, and his next words were laced with venom. “Jerk him off.”

Her body froze. She stared down at her hand, still trembling against the Soldat’s unmoving form.

When she didn’t move, the man stepped closer. “Do you prefer if I order him to fuck your brains out?” he sneered. “I’m pretty sure he’d gladly comply. His fried brain probably can’t even remember the last time he did it.”

The Soldat’s jaw ticked imperceptibly at the words, a flicker of something passing through his otherwise blank expression. A muscle in his temple twitched, so slightly it was almost imperceptible, but she noticed.

“Do it,” the handler barked, his tone icy. “Now.”

Slowly, she shifted her gaze to the side, staring at the far wall to avoid looking at him, at either of them. Her hand trembled as she reached out, brushing against the overheated skin of his abdomen before curling around him again.

The Soldat kept being unresponsive.

Her fingers tightened slightly around him, and she began to move her hand in a clinical and detached way, trying to retreat her mind to a faraway place.

The handler leaned against the counter, and his smug smile made her sick. “See? Was that so hard, pet?”

She didn’t respond, focusing instead on keeping her breathing steady. Soldat remained as a statue, with his gaze fixed straight ahead. But she saw it again, the faintest twitch of his fingers, a subtle clenching of his jaw.

Was it anger? Pleasure? She didn’t know, and she couldn’t afford to dwell on it. She tried to focus on the rhythm of her movements, the hum of the fluorescent lights above, anything to drown out the humiliation.

“Good girl,” the man praised her mockingly.

At some point, the Soldat’s breath hitched slightly, a small, involuntary response. She froze for a fraction of a second, before forcing herself to continue.

The handler’s gaze was fixed on her with sadistic amusement. “See? The horny dog is starting to stir,” he sneered, chuckling darkly. “Keep going, pet. Put some effort into it.”

She kept going, trying to block out the handler’s taunts and the oppressive heat radiating from Soldat’s body.

“I can’t wait to see how this ends,” He stepped closer, and his boots clicked against the sterile floor as his shadow loomed over her. She could feel his cruel satisfaction like a physical weight pressing down on her.

He smirked, tilting his head as if studying a piece of art. “It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? The indomitable Winter Soldier reduced to this.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “And you, pet... always so eager to fix him.

Her hand faltered for the briefest moment, and the handler’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t stop,” he hissed, sharply.

Her fingers resumed their mechanical rhythm, trembling slightly as they moved over the heated skin.

Soldat’s body betrayed him, starting to respond to her ministrations. His chest rose and fell slightly faster, and the faintest sheen of sweat formed along his collarbone. A muscle in his jaw ticked again, and his metal hand twitched at his side, the slightest flex of his fingers betraying the struggle beneath the surface.

She noticed every subtle reaction, every unwilling signal his body sent. It felt like a cruel mockery, this was not a man choosing to respond, but a body manipulated and prodded to betray its instincts.

The handler’s smirk widened as he circled them, amused. “See? The body don’t lie, pet. No matter how much you both fight it, nature always wins.”

Soldat’s breaths were growing more uneven, and his nostrils flared as his chest rose and fell with increasing urgency. For a moment, his steel-blue gaze flicked down to her hand, a fleeting acknowledgment before snapping forward again, returning to the blank void.

The handler leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms, watching with sick satisfaction. “He’s close, isn’t he? Just look at him.”

Soldat’s fingers twitched again, curling slightly into a loose fist. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, a small, involuntary moan escaping his lips. Barely audible but deafening in the oppressive silence of the room.

The handler laughed, cruelly. “There it is,” he sneered, clapping his hands mockingly. “Hydra’s fist reduced to nothing more than a desperate animal. Guess even the strongest aren’t immune to a good touch. Keep going, pet,” he ordered. “We’re almost there.”

Soldat’s gaze flicked down to her hand again, and the faintest flicker of something passed through his otherwise blank expression. Another quiet moan slipped out, broken and involuntary, while his body tensed beneath her touch, and the muscles in his abdomen started to tighten,

The handler licked his lips as his gaze kept glued to the scene before him. “Almost there, loyal pet. Finish it.”

Soldat’s breaths hitched again, and his body betrayed him further as his head tilted back slightly, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. The faint sheen of sweat on his skin glinted under the sterile light, and every detail etched into her mind despite her desperate attempts to detach herself.

And then it happened.

His body went rigid, his metal hand clenched into a fist, so tight it trembled at his side. His breath hitched, and a low, guttural sound tore from his throat, a mixture of release and anguish that echoed in the sterile room.

She froze, retreating her hand almost immediately as though burned. Her chest heaved with shallow, shaky breaths as she stumbled back a step.

Soldat’s body sagged slightly, and his head dropped forward, while his breathing started to slow down, bleeding the tension out of his system. He didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge the handler either, his gaze fixed again somewhere distant,  unreachable.

The handler clapped, grinning wide and cruelly again. “There you go, pet. Good job. I knew you had it in you.”

Her hands clutched at her sides, biting her nails into her palms as she forced herself to stand still, to remain composed even as her world felt like it was shattering.

Sensing her discomfort, he kept his smirk firmly in place. “Now clean yourself up” he said coldly. “You look like cheap whore.”

Then he turned around. “You, take him to cryo,” he lazily ordered to the guards who had been standing silently by the door. “He’s done for now.”

******

“I know what it’s like to not have a choice,” he said simply, “I know what it’s like to be used, controlled, forced into something you’d never choose for yourself.”

Her gaze dropped to the table.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m no saint. I’ve hated a lot of people, doll. Hated myself more than I can say. But you? Not once. You were there, real and raw. And, maybe, is because of that that I trust you.”

She stared at him, and her hands twitched on the table, wanting to reach out, to bridge the gap between them. But instead, she sat there with her heart pounding.

“Bucky, I-”  her voice faltered. The weight of his admission was almost too much for her to bear.

The way he looked at her then, open and bare, broke whatever restrain was keeping her still.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She stood abruptly, scraping the chair against the floor, and rounded the small table.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He didn’t flinch. Slowly, his arms came up to encircle her waist cautiously, as though afraid he might break her. She pressed her cheek against the crown of his head and put her hands around his broad shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his hair.

She felt him shift slightly, dipping his head lower until his forehead rested lightly against her shoulder. His breath was warm against the side of her neck, and the subtle weight of his body leaning into her made her heart ache.

“For what?” he murmured.

“For not hating me.”

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Next chapter

Taglist: @sunshinedayz19 @star-maker-rain-dancer @tumdlrnewb84 @mgchaser @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger @gotminho @kaitlin013106 @startorrent @idontknowhowtonormal @mattmurdock42 @hnnhbananananana @aeriss-at-heart45 @jainaeatsstars @airixaram @seventeen-x @jaxz21 @zizzlekwum @hi172826 @valckenaux