#He’s always trying to make them get along

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Updates! So far, six of the eggs have hatched; it's unlikely that the other two will at this point, but the Facebook OP is still hoping.

All three parents are very busy feeding the babies and keeping the nest clean! The OP briefly thought there might be another male coming by, but checking the markings seems it's just the one dad for the two moms, lol.

The mamas are getting along a little bit better - they're having to deal with the fact that a full nest makes it harder to stack at night, so they try to find different ways to get comfortable on the nest together without squishing the babies.

Also, the Facebook OP has put a hanging basket filled with nesting material below the nest, and a mattress on the ground, in case there's any falls or if the babies get too big to fit into one nest. The mattress actually saved two eggs when they got accidentally knocked out - she put them back in the nest, and they hatched a few hours later.

BTW, for those who wondered how you can tell the difference between the sexes, or saying the females don't look like certain artworks of female robins - no, you can't always tell adult robins apart. Though usually the males have slightly darker heads and slightly brighter chests, with more contrast between head and body, and the females have more white on their chests. In this specific case, the two moms both have a distinctive "brood patch", a featherless patch of skin on the lower abdomen that helps deliver the most heat to the eggs and/or babies. The daddy bird does not. He also doesn't sit on the nest, but he's a very attentive food-bringer.

Also, the OP just had an amazing article written up about her and the robins:

It's a great read, has even more pictures (if you don't have a FB account to check out the posts yourself), and the Audubon Society even found an article from the 1940s describing another robin throuple!

“During incubation both of the birds were frequently observed sitting on the nest together,” Howell wrote. “Sometimes one female would be on the back of the other, but more often they sat side by side. Usually both birds spent the night on the nest.”

As for these robin moms, a scientist at Cornell says:

Bailey said that there’s likely a simple explanation here: polygamy. “The typical relationship would be one female and one male for a breeding season,” she says. “But in the case where there might be a shortage of males, the females might have to just accept that they need to share this mate and their breeding territory. And if they’re going to do that, it makes sense to put the nests close together so that the male can feed both pretty close together or defend them more easily than if they were in two different spots. “But it does sort of make sense,” she says. “If you have to be polygamous, you might as well share a home.”

And they were roommates...

[luza-wayne]

who fell in love first.

pre-timeskip!

characters: kageyama, suna, kuroo, tsukishima, sugawara, tendou, kenma, sawamura, oikawa, aone, atsumu, atsumu, ushijima, iwaizumi, osamu

will try to make kny and knb vers!

you.

man is canonically a pretty boy with no weakness except studying and animals hating him.

he just happened to know of your existence when he, along with Hinata, were searching for someone to tutor them. (You tried to volunteer, because you didn’t want to waste the chance.)

most definitely, you.

he's the type of guy who will consciously make you fall in love with him as a joke.

but, also the type to unconsciously fall in love with you while in the process of making you fall for him.

of course, you.

his charismatic aura is enough to be drawn to him.

maybe you'll only notice that you are head over heels for him if one of your friends will point it out.

this dork is also the type to tease you by flirting with you so that you make sure to return the favor by flirting back with him.

definitely him.

but, this big ass tsundere will never admit that he fell for you even before you did.

he'll annoy the hell out of you to make you notice him, though sometimes it turns into bickering between the two of you that will make you think twice whether you're falling in love with him or not because sometimes you just want to kick him in his guts.

it was suga first.

i see him as someone who would fall for people who excel in academics, doesn’t need to be at the top, but he’s attracted to someone who cares deeply about education.

he’s definitely the type to tell his friends about his crush as vaguely as possible, but his actions and how he acts when he’s close to you basically screams who it is.

maybe he was just a few steps ahead of you when it comes to realizing it.

when he realized he was in love, he made a mission that will indirectly tell you that he's infatuated with you.

but, those were the times when you've already realized your feelings for him too.

‌he fell first.

‌but! he won't notice until his friends will tease him about how he treats you differently from others.

at first, he'll be like "don't be stupid.", but then will also be super bothered by it and will ask himself whether he does fall for you or not.

i love him so much, but he definitely won’t be the first one to fall in love.

he’s canonically oblivious (in haikyuu-bu! man’s was stressing me)

does the most gentlemanly, most romantic, best actions to make you fall in love, but still wouldn’t realize that people might just develop feelings for him because of that, so yeah, it’ll be you.

‌yes, it's you.

‌let's be real. no matter how annoying he can be (though you also love it about him), the way how passionate he is when doing the thing he likes will most probably be the reason you fell into the hole of love.

‌but, since he's popular, it might take you a bit of time and courage to confess.

not sure who it will be.

because, you might fall in love with him by seeing how his demeanor is completely different from his personality or how he might fall in love with you, just by being yourself.

but, he might confess first though. could be because of futakuchi's plan to get him to confess, or just koganegawa's big mouth.

yeah, you, no doubt about it.

another canonical ikemen.

will not notice if you’re not close with him or any of the inarizaki players, but if it’s otherwise, then be prepared to get teased by suna or osamu, sometimes he’ll even join in if he enjoys how you react.

‌it might be you.

because, there can be a possibility where you have heard his name and saw how good he is and that'll be the deciding factor, but you know how dense he can be, so confessing is a difficult task.

though, if he realized he's captivated by you, he might just walk up to you and tell you straight about his feelings.

you.

the ace of the boys’ volleyball team that is always in the finals, truly the school’s pride, so who doesn’t know him in your school, that includes you.

his attentive nature— how he’ll notice that you always watch their games and practice might be either a hole to make you fall deeper for him or finally take notice of you.

i’m not sure, but i’m getting the feeling that it’s him.

he’s the type to be secretly in love with you for a long time and only his closest friends would know.

osamu’s the person to fall for people who have the same preference about food with him, he thinks it’ll be easier to get along and hang out with them if they share something in common.

if you'd like to support me, you can tip me here! ❤︎ ྀི˖ ko-fi. ❤︎ ྀི˖ patreon.

i hope you enjoyed it!

[elbiotipo]

First time I heard about an ancient "race war" between Neanderthals and Homo Sapiens was in an X-men comic, when it was argued that just as they couldn't get along and one of the groups had to be eliminated back then, today humans should do the same to the mutants before mutants do it to them. Which is extra funny because the argument is wrong about the fictional mutants, but it was also wrong about the historical Neanderthals.

but it seems to be a pseudoscience fact weirdly popular in the United States (weirdly, sometimes the Neanderthals are portrayed as victims that were eliminated because of their inferiority, and sometimes they're portrayed as super strong savages that destroyed themselves for being too violent)

I think there's a lot of sensationalization about Neanderthals in particular because they were a different human *species*, but species, especially with ancient humans, is a very fuzzy concept. Neanderthals were highly specialized, one could argue, but the evidence that reaches us is that they had complex tool use just like us, social structures just like us, and so on. There seem to be more similarities than differences. And of course, there's the fact that they interbred with Homo sapiens.

I think that the most "wow" part of Neanderthals, the fact that they interbred with modern humans, is in fact the thing that most desmistifies them. Because think of it this way. If Neanderthals and Homo sapiens had children, and those children also had children such as they actually left traces in our genome, it means that someone must have raised those children so that they reached adulthood and transmitted them the cultural customs to survive and indeed have friends and partners (because try surviving the ice age alone). So certainly neither was so alien to the another that this couldn't happen.

The question is always posited "where Neanderthals human" and my answer is to me is that certainly, for Homo sapiens and Neanderthals, they didn't seem to make much of a difference themselves.

Now, I'm not claiming that there were harmonious equal families of Neanderthal and Sapiens around in a romance story (but they coexisted for thousands of years, it must have happened more than once), it was certainly a brutal time to survive. But somehow, in those times, you had to raise the next generation, and they did. If this happened, it must have mean that those people were part of their societies in one way or the other.

It's also worth thinking about how much of the physical differences between sapiens and neanderthals, and between many archaic human species indeed, are because of diet and the harsh environment. Certainly modern skeletons in an age of agriculture have differences with pre-agriculture humans, as well as differences between populations. Would you really separate a medieval farmer from a neolithic hunter just based on that, though? I doubt it. There's plenty of debate about how significant the differences were between ancient humans, and some are indeed between the range of a population such as modern humanity.

That's the arguing between "lumpers" and "splitters", are we more similar or more different to our ancestors? What would happen if you saw a Neanderthal in modern times? If you saw someone like below in the street, would you say he's a different species, or just a guy with a bony face?

(a model from the Neanderthal museum in Mettman, Germany)

[piratefalls]

saw fun ideas floating around of a buck/athena roommate era and it got me thinking

thinking about the first morning after buck moves in the last of his belongings. of athena waking up and smelling coffee brewing downstairs, listening to soft humming and sizzling bacon, basking in the sunlight shining through the window, trying not to think about who's not responsible for the sounds and smells coming from her kitchen.

thinking about athena finally pulling herself away from her bed, walking downstairs to find buck's back to her. telling herself that if she squints a little, tilts her head just right, that it's almost like bobby is there in his uniform fresh off a shift. that instead of lying down and resting he's making sunday breakfast like he used to when all four of them were still under the same roof. 

thinking about her shaking off the memories, reminding herself that it’s not sunday. that she doesn’t have to call the kids down to eat, doesn’t get to walk up to the man stood at her kitchen counter and wrap her arms around him, lean her weight into the strong body in front of her and find comfort. won't get to hear the way morning, baby pours from his smile, sweet like honey. the fact that bobby will never get to cook here in the kitchen he dreamed about for months. all of it sits like lead in her stomach.

thinking about buck turning around and smiling at her. it doesn’t fully reach his eyes, but they're not nearly as empty, his smile less brittle than it had been in the weeks immediately following bobby’s death. it doesn’t always feel like it but she's been getting better, too. they haven't talked about it, but it helps to be near someone who has a similar bobby shaped hole in their life. he gestures for her to take a seat at the counter and pushes a cup of coffee toward her, followed by cream and sugar.

“wasn’t sure how you took it. figured it would be a bad start to assume.”

thinking about athena nodding in thanks, shooting him a small smile as she sits down. that he turns back to dish out food and she notices that there’s far too much for just the two of them, huffing fondly because it’s such a bobby thing to do. she watches him portion out eggs and sees so much of her husband’s influence: the laser focus, the pride on his face when something turns out exactly the way it was supposed to, the joy of sharing it with others, it's all so bobby that it makes her heart ache.

that watching buck in this kitchen is another reminder that they'd loved him differently than the others, she and buck. the 118 had lost its captain, its members a dear friend, mentor, and loved one; but bobby was - had been, would always be - her husband, her person, her forever. with buck, bobby had filled a paternal role in his life that had been less gaping hole and more infected wound. bobby had helped heal so much in both of them, and now here they are, healing after him.

thinking about buck putting a plate of bacon, pancakes, and eggs in front of her. of athena reaching for the syrup and an old memory flashing before her, an offhand comment maddie had made in their ride-along what feels like a lifetime ago: that buck had made her eggs with shallots, but hadn't made her anything else because bobby’s lessons hadn’t yet gone beyond breakfast. that with a shaky smile, she tells him thank you. that he nods and, after a quiet moment, picks up his fork.

that bathed in warm sunlight, looking out at a yard that’s both old and new, they eat breakfast, and they miss him together.

[schrionplays]

The thing they never tell you about magic, is how easy it is.

Sure, on the surface, Magic is a complicated series of formulas that make up every aspect of reality, but once you understand Magic, you have it quite easy.

I had spent years, studying the body, a devout of my church, to increase the healing capability of my magic through understanding. I had even gotten far enough along in my studies that, if I were quick enough and the body not too damaged, I could even drag the soul back.

This, was not one such moment. My friends laid broken, dead or dying. The light of my magic faltered, spent on this endeavor, this fight had proven to be more than simple combat, they had snuck into our camp, and started the fight while we slept.

The foes laughed and jeered, looking down at me, believing me to be beyond any magic at this point, two of them began to trudge towards me.

As said before, magic is quite simple really, once you have an understanding of it.

Magic is simple rules and numbers, people have said differently, but that's how it's always been for me.

In this moment, Magic is no longer numbers, magic isn't the formulas I practiced, in this moment, magic is all of my rage, all of my grief, all of my hatred for these bastards now.

The Black that spills forth is simple in idea, same thing one used to rejuvenate plants and flesh. Just replace the numbers with grief.

I scream as the Death pours from my body, and when the two touch me, they recoil, their hands boiled with necrotic magic.

The next spell is my hatred, one used to knit bones back together and replace lost blood. I grab one of their legs, and it breaks instantly, he howls in pain as the blood in his body begins to overflow, spilling from eyes and pours.

I am looked at with sudden fear, and they try to run from me. I will not allow them to run.

The final spell I cast, the one that allowed me to grab the soul, and bring them back if they aren't too gone, be ones my rage.

I raise a hand and point at the leader, the one only one dressed in finer armors and weapons, the one who asked for our help on an endeavor, and the one we put out trust into. He gets the full assault of my rage, as his body begins to convulse, gasping as, rising from his mouth, his immortal soul, ripped free.

The trembling soul is pulled into my grasp, and I feast on his essence, the soul is pure magic, and my second wind has cost me much. He screams as he is ripped asunder, and as I stand, renewed, I begin to hunt the rest of them down.

You were the healer—the last light of your party. But now your final ally dies in your arms, and there’s no one left to save. The enemy jeers, calling you useless. You look up, eyes hollow and black. The light is gone. The Void answers. You're no longer a cleric. You're something far worse.

[seumyo]

husband!kageyama taking care of your nails for you.

“You know, when you told me you were going to clip my nails, I didn’t think you meant it seriously.”

Kageyama gave a small grunt, not looking up. “I always mean it seriously.”

“That’s what worries me a little.”

He blinked, pausing to glance at you. “Why?”

“Because you have your ‘actual game face’ on. Like you’re about to hit the ball through someone’s soul—my poor finger’s soul.”

His brow furrowed. “This is delicate work,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I have to focus. And I’m careful.”

You laughed, watching him lift your hand like it was a precious object. He took a long moment to examine your fingers—turning them slightly, his thumb brushing along your knuckles in slow circles. It’s gentle and careful, and it warms your heart to see your husband so loving like this.

“You have a hangnail here,” he muttered, frowning. “Were you picking at it again?”

“I got nervous during that meeting yesterday.”

He clicked his tongue quietly. “Stop doing that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t know I’d be getting a full checkup afterward!”

“You don’t need to be nervous. You’re… good at what you do.” His voice dropped a little as he said it, like it embarrassed him to offer praise so directly. “I’ve heard you on the phone. You’re smart. And brave.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Your smile softened. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said all week.”

“I said you looked pretty yesterday.”

“You said I ‘looked rested.’”

“…Oh. Well, you look even prettier today.”

You laughed, and it made his ears turn pink.

He clipped your nails gently, his hands steady, fingers long and precise. He held each of yours securely, guiding you through the process like a practiced routine. It wasn’t rushed; Kageyama took his time, carefully aligning the clipper, checking the angle twice before making a cut. After each nail, he paused to brush the trimmed bits into a little ceramic bowl they kept nearby.

“Do you do this often?” You asked after a long pause. “For yourself, I mean?”

He nodded once. “Every few days. I have to. My fingers are everything. If I don’t keep my nails short and clean, they can catch on the ball or split. It’s stupid how much one little crack can mess with your whole game.”

You gave him a look, eyes wide with something like quiet awe. “You take this so seriously.”

“It’s part of taking care of myself,” he said, and his gaze lifted to yours. “And now it’s part of taking care of you too.”

Your breath caught for just a moment. How did you ever get so lucky to snag this man?

Kageyama picked up the small file next and began to smooth the edges with slow, even strokes. The motion was rhythmic and tender. You watched the way he focused so intently on the task—the slight pinch in his brow, the way his lower lip pressed into a thin line when he was trying to be especially careful.

“You always do this when you’re nervous,” you said softly, brushing your free hand against his hair.

“Do what?”

“Zone in. Like the world disappears except the thing you’re trying to control.”

Kageyama was quiet for a moment, then exhaled. “That’s… true.”

“Are you nervous right now?”

He hesitated. “Not nervous. Just… I want to get it right.”

“Because it’s me?”

He gave the tiniest nod, eyes still trained on your thumbnail. “You’re important. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his for a beat. “You won’t.”

The silence between you grew comfortable. The kind of quiet that speaks in glances and gentle touches. After he filed the last nail, he gently ran his thumb across each fingertip, checking for snags, tiny splinters, anything he might have missed. Then he reached for the cuticle oil and unscrewed the little bottle with a slow, almost reverent motion.

“I’m going to massage this in,” he said, almost shyly—yet still determined.

You nodded, watching him carefully as he dabbed a small dot of oil on each nail, then rubbed it in with soft, circular motions. His touch was warm, so warm, like the atmosphere during mornings in a bakery. The way he held your hand wasn’t just careful—it was reverent. As if your hands were something sacred. Something worth protecting.

“I like your hands,” he said suddenly.

You scrunched your nose, barely. “Really?”

“They’re soft. And warm. And… I know them.” His voice dropped lower, murmuring. “I know the way you hold my wrist when I’m anxious. The way you press your palm to my back when I come home late. How you run your fingers through my hair when I can’t sleep.”

You swallowed. Your chest ached in that lovely, terrible way when someone says exactly what you needed to hear without knowing it.

“I want to take care of them,” he added, brushing his thumb along the side of your pinky. “Because they take care of me.”

“Tobio…”

He looked up then, eyes a little wide like he was afraid he’d gone too far. But you leaned forward before he could pull back and kissed him softly. When you pulled away, your voice was barely a whisper. “You are the gentlest man I’ve ever known.”

He shook his head, a breath of laughter escaping. “I’m not.”

“You are. Maybe not with words. Or… you know, strangers. But with me? You’re gentle in all the ways that matter.”

You sat like that for a long moment—hands still entwined, foreheads nearly touching, the world outside fading into white noise. Then Kageyama cleared his throat. “I could… maybe paint them next time? If you want?”

Your eyes lit up. “You’d paint my nails?”

He gave an awkward little shrug. “If you like it. I’d have to practice.”

You hummed, pulling him forward into another kiss, lingering and full of affection. “You’re already perfect.”

Kageyama flushed from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears once again. He’s so easily flustered—it’s almost illegal to be this cute, you think.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[peachdues]

Sanemi doesn’t think masturbation is a worthwhile use of his time.

For one, it’s a distraction. There’s a million things he’d rather do, most of which center around killing every damn demon he can get his hands on, and he can’t do that if he’s wasting time keeping his hand down his pants. Besides, the few seconds of watery pleasure is never worth the cleanup that comes after. Rarely is he ever left satisfied.

But, Sanemi is a man, and unfortunately, his cock sometimes has a mind of its own. Particularly when he’s frustrated and pent up, and left without much in the way of options to deal with it.

When the mood strikes him, he approaches it with the same utilitarianism as he does with everything else. So, today, when his frustration is tightly coiled in his stomach like an asp waiting to strike, and he finds he can’t focus on anything — not his training, not the handful of missions he probably could take, not even the battered practice dummy in his garden, begging to have his fist shatter its face — Sanemi knows there’s only one way to relieve his tension. Fast and quick.

Oh, he grumbles about it all the way into his Manor, though no one is around to hear or care. But bitch he does, all the way down the hall and to his bedroom, his hands jerking irritably at his belt.

The blankets on his futon are rumpled and unmade, but Sanemi doesn’t care. Probably for the best, given that he’ll have to wash everything once he’s done, anyways.

Belt loose and pants unfastened, Sanemi flops down into his bed. He’s half-hard already, which means he’s really on his last thread. All the more incentive to get this the fuck over with.

Except. He can’t fucking focus; not on this, not on anything. He’s too strung out, yet he’s unable to concentrate enough on this base need of his, and that only pisses him off more. His touch is too rough, his fingers, too calloused to be enjoyable.

Groaning, Sanemi throws an arm over his eyes and tries to let his limited imagination run. He pictures a faceless woman, shrouded in shadow, but her touch is softer than his, more certain. Fingers slide up the burgeoning length of him, turning over his head before trailing back down to take him in hand and slowly, Sanemi begins to pump at himself. Steady, even strokes, quick and efficient, like everything else he does. He will work through this frustration and then he will go back out and train until his limbs give out and he has to drag himself back inside.

Behind his eyelids, Sanemi tries to give the woman a face. He always does, and he always comes up woefully empty, even when his spend is smeared across his lower abdomen. He doesn’t know why; it’s not like he’s never seen a beautiful woman. He just didn’t notice them. Not enough to remember them, it seems. Not enough to make it count during these shameful moments of weakness.

Exhaling forcefully through his nose, Sanemi pumps harder at himself. If he could just peel back the curtain in his mind, see a face that looked at him not with fear or disgust, but want, sensual and heady. Then, he could finally finish this salacious act and get back to what mattered. Training; becoming stronger, faster, deadlier —

A familiar scent creeps in from the recesses of his conscience, sudden and unbidden. A memory of flowers and honey, first smelled on a distant training yard only a few weeks before. At first, this association confuses him; he knows that faint perfume — it belongs to a certain, pain-in-the-ass Kinoe whose sole mission in life has been to drive him up a fucking wall. He hasn’t seen you since that last training, so he sure as fuck doesn’t know why you’re trying to invade his thoughts — his bed — now.

But, does he stop?

No. No he doesn’t.

A few, hesitant strokes along his shaft helps the picture in his head grow clearer. He sees familiar hair tickling his cheek; hands smaller than his roaming his chest. Those immaculate nails raking across his skin, over his nipples and down his abdomen.

A feeble moan escapes past his lips and Sanemi’s hand tightens around his cock, now stiff and aching. His fantasy runs wild faster than he can reel it back in, and he finds himself unwilling to try. Because now, now he pictures silky skin against his own and one of your shapely legs curled around his hips, rocking him against you. Reflexively, his own hips buck up into empty air, desperately chasing the friction you withhold from him in his dreams. Teasing; taunting. Daring him to follow you down, down into the futon with that challenging tilt of your brow, the very one that always set his stomach twisting with anticipation.

He’s close, now; dangerously close, and the knot behind his navel is tighter than ever. Whatever it is mounting inside him is unlike anything he’s ever felt. It’s precarious and frightening, yet he still cannot stop chasing it. Cannot stop chasing you and those lips, those gorgeous, plump lips that part with a breathy moan that is not his. It’s yours, and your voice a siren’s song that he is too happy to drown to.

The coil in his stomach seizes as your face blooms in his mind, sharper than any photograph. Your eyes glisten with the same need burning in his chest, and there’s a flush in your cheeks that deepens when he bucks again. Somewhere, over the broken moan that vibrates in his throat as he spills fast and hot over his fist, Sanemi swears he hears you sigh his name. His true name, whispered like a prayer rather than a curse.

Every muscle in his body tenses, his body tauter than a live wire. Your face whites out under the punishing force of his high as it ricochets through him, starting low in his navel. His fist turns sticky and the grip he has on himself becomes sloppy. But he only comes harder, and he’ll be mortified in a few seconds when he realizes he can’t tell whether he’s coming to you or for you.

Sanemi gives himself a last, few languid pumps before he collapses against his futon. Spent yet not sated, and scowling at the mess he’s made of himself and his bedding.

Part of him scowls too at you; at the way you so easily invaded his secret space. But his annoyance is quickly tempered by the guilt that wells up inside him, creeping up his throat. Who is he, to think of you in that way? Sanemi Shinazugawa has a better chance of getting ripped apart by some low rank, bastard demon than ever touching you the way his dreams demanded. Not to mention hell itself would freeze over before a woman like you ever wanted him, stripped and bare and vulnerable.

Sanemi doesn’t know how to be a lover, and no one would be stupid enough to ask him to try. He knows this.

Yet, he cannot get the memory of your perfume out of his head any more than he can silence that alluring call of his name reverberating around his skull. And he finds himself hardening again, as he imagines what you might look like bent over or — fucking hell — on top of him, and Sanemi realizes he’s not going back to training. Not any time soon.

divider credit to @strangergraphics !

[ducksido]

Hi! I wanted to request a fic with Jade. Perhaps one where Yuu/The reader is starting to avoid Jade because their friends(the first years) have doubts about his intentions and whether he is sincere or not, seen as the tweels walking red flags. So Jade's partner wants to kind of break it off with him, because they are getting insecure and think that they're being played with and only seen as 'fun' for a short time which will get dropped later on when he gets bored, and Jade notices. How would he react and would he try to save his relationship and how? (Some other plot is fine too!)

Thanks a lot!

(Lowkey was debating how to go with this request if i wanted it angst or not and ended up with this)

“You're Not Just Amusement to Me”

Jade wasn’t oblivious. Far from it.

He noticed the hesitation in your step before you entered the Mostro Lounge now. The slight turn of your shoulder when he reached to brush his fingers along your back. How your laughter, once genuine, had become thin and polite. How your eyes darted to Ace and Deuce during lunch, searching them for silent confirmation whenever Jade spoke to you.

He didn’t need to ask. Jade could smell doubt. It clung to the edges of your words like brine on seaweed.

He smiled anyway. He always did.

But deep beneath that calm, gloved exterior, something ancient and sharp stirred in the deep currents of his heart.

You didn’t mean to pull away. Not at first.

You had tried to ignore it. Tried to drown out the words the others kept echoing, like waves lapping against the same weak rock:

“You really trust him?” “C’mon, it’s Jade. He’s always messing with people.” “I mean, the guy makes people eat mushrooms for fun.” “Doesn’t it ever feel like… you’re just a passing hobby to him?”

And what scared you most was that a part of you—a tiny, hollow part—started to wonder the same.

Was that all you were? A curiosity? A ‘pet project’ to pass the time?

Because he was beautiful. Mysterious. Clever. And you were just… you. Someone who fell too fast. Felt too much. Who reached out with your whole heart like it wouldn’t be snapped shut in a bear trap.

You couldn’t help but feel like you were the one playing a dangerous game with someone who had never even told you the rules.

So lately, you’d been keeping your distance. Less texts. Less touches. You even skipped your daily visits to the Lounge.

It was only fair to give him space before he dropped you first.

It was a cool evening when Jade cornered you. Outside the greenhouse. Of course it was. That was his sanctuary, his temple of stillness and secrets.

“Ah. Prefect.” His voice was low and quiet. Gentle. Too gentle.

You froze mid-step, hands curled around the straps of your bag. “...Hey.”

Jade tilted his head, eyes gleaming beneath the low moonlight. “I noticed you haven’t been stopping by. I was beginning to think you’d grown tired of me.”

Your stomach twisted.

He always knew what to say. That was the problem.

“I’ve just been… busy,” you said lamely.

“With classes?” he prompted.

“With… thinking,” you admitted. And it just tumbled out, ugly and breathless. “Thinking if this is—if we’re even real. Or if I was just something new to keep you entertained.”

The silence that followed felt too long. Like the sea had stilled.

“I see,” Jade said at last. “So the whispers have finally reached you.”

You blinked. “What—?”

“Ace. Deuce. Jack, Epel… Even Sebek. All fond of you in their own ways, but terribly uncreative. I could tell from the moment they started glaring harder during lunch.”

“…You knew?”

“I’m not blind, Prefect,” he said softly. “Nor am I so dull as to miss the shift in your gaze. I simply hoped you trusted me enough to ignore them.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

He stepped forward. Not looming—never looming—but near enough for you to smell that faint foresty tang of earth and old water.

“I won’t lie to you,” he continued. “There was a time when your presence did… amuse me. Your reactions were delightful. So quick to fluster. So stubborn when teased. But it didn’t take long for my curiosity to turn into affection.”

You looked away. “And what happens when that amusement fades?”

He said nothing. Just reached out—slow, careful—and gently touched your cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“When I enjoy something,” he said, “I cultivate it. Tend to it. Study it. Care for it so that it thrives. That is my nature. I have no intention of abandoning what I cherish.”

“Even if I’m just… ordinary?”

He smiled. But not the usual sly, calculated one. This one was soft. Honest. And maybe a little sad.

“You are anything but ordinary to me, Yuu.”

You shivered. Maybe from the wind. Maybe from hearing your name in that rare, raw tone of his.

He pulled his hand back. Respectful. Distant, if you wanted it. “But I won’t force you to stay. If you’ve truly decided I’m not worth the risk, then I will let you go. But I will grieve. Quietly, perhaps. But deeply.”

You stared at him, heart thudding like the heavy pulse of a ship’s engine underwater.

“…Do you even get scared?” you asked softly. “That maybe this could fall apart? That I could leave you?”

Jade’s gaze flickered.

“Yes,” he said.

That startled you.

“I do not love easily,” he murmured, “but when I do, it is… consuming. I can picture a hundred ways this could end badly. But I still chose you. And I will choose you again, if you’ll let me.”

A beat of silence.

Then you stepped into him. Slowly. Carefully. Like testing the water again after nearly drowning.

Your hands found the fabric of his uniform jacket. His hands hovered above your back, uncertain, until you nodded—just once—and he held you.

You stayed there a long time. Just breathing.

“…Do you want me to talk to them?” he asked eventually. “The first years?”

You snorted. “What, scare them into silence?”

“I was thinking more… a demonstration of sincerity.” He smiled slyly against your hair. “Maybe I’ll let them see how flustered you make me.”

You chuckled, nudging him. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple, “you’re still here.”

Bonus (the next day)

Ace: “Hey, Yuu, you good? You’ve been quiet since lunch.”

Yuu: “Jade came over to the Ramshackle garden this morning. With a picnic.”

Deuce: “A picnic??”

Epel: “Aw, that’s kinda cute—wait. Did he give you mushrooms?”

Yuu: “No. He just told me the Latin names of flowers and how each one reminded him of me.”

Jack: “…He’s weird. But… maybe he does like you.”

Sebek: “Hmph. Still don’t trust him.”

Yuu: “I do.”

And that was the end of it.

[mymindisneverhere]

You Forgive Me?

Summary: Bianca is a stay at home wife who eventually gets tired of being home. However, planning a day out with the girls on Terry’s off day ends up causing a small disagreement. But Terry does what he can to make it up to her… happy wife, happy life. 

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, a little angst, shower sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, daddy kink. (Forgive me if I missed any.) 

Author's Note: This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks. I haven’t written anything in a while but I hope you guys enjoy it! (If they won’t be together in real life, they'll be together in my world 🙃)

Bianca softly hummed along to the R&B music that played from the in-house speakers. The sweet melodies of Jodeci filled the home as she searched through the cabinets for seasoning. She was trying out a new recipe after flipping through pages of yet another new cookbook. A way to keep herself busy. 

Rasta Pasta was on the menu tonight and although she’d had it a few times in the past, she wanted to try and prepare it herself. She was adding the last few touches to the meal when she heard the house alarm beep a few times, alerting her that her husband was finally home from work. 

“Baby?” Terry called out to her from the front door. 

“In the kitchen!” She yelled. 

She lifted a finger to her iPad to lower the volume of the music then returned back to the stove without missing a beat. 

Terry’s heart fluttered once he entered the kitchen. He could smell the savory aroma as soon as he stepped foot inside of their home so he knew she was whipping up something good. However, the sight of her made him feel like he was experiencing her for the very first time all over again. 

“Damn it smells good in here.” He said, placing his keys on the counter. 

“Thank you.” Bianca smiled, still stirring the sauce for the pasta. 

Hugging her from behind, Terry placed a small kiss in the crook of her neck. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” She giggled a bit, mostly from the feeling of his goatee against her skin. The fact that she was so ticklish didn’t help her at all. The feeling of the thick hairs always caused her to wiggle more than she wanted to. 

“Stop Terry, you’re gonna make me spill this food.” She laughed, trying to wiggle her way out of his grasp. 

“Whatever.” He placed one last kiss on her cheek before releasing her. “How long before it’s ready?”

“About 10 minutes.” She replied, reaching up to grab two plates from the cabinet. 

“Cool, I’m about to go shower,” Terry started. “and my plate better be on the table with a strong drink next to it when I get back.” He finished, smacking her ass as hard as he could before hurrying out of the kitchen. 

“You better hope I don’t put something in that damn drink!” Bianca yelled, rubbing her left cheek hoping it’ll help the sting fade faster. “He plays so damn much.” 

While Terry showered, Bianca went ahead and set the table. She placed both plates down onto the glass table that sat in the window of the kitchen. Since it was only two of them she figured they’d eat at the smaller table instead of the larger one in the formal dining room.

She sat the plates right in front of the chairs that faced each other. Quickly making her way back over to the cabinets, she grabbed a short drinking glass for Terry and wine glass for herself. 

Terry was a simple man all the way down to how he preferred his drinks. 

“Two shots of Jack, a splash of ginger ale and a lime.” Bianca recited to herself, as if she didn’t have his favorite drink down to a science. 

She poured herself a tall glass of white wine, one that had been gifted to her from her best friend. Grabbing both glasses, she carefully walked herself over to the table and placed both drinks down just in time for Terry to return. 

“I know you’re down here, I smell your body wash.” Bianca said, not bothering to turn to fully acknowledge him. 

“I was just admiring you, that's all. I can’t do that?” Terry walked over to the table and pulled her chair out, signaling for her to have a seat. 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” 

The couple sat down and began sharing the details of their day with one another. As usual Terry said a mouthful. Everyday was a busy one for him, from creating the perfect blueprints to consulting with contractors to hiring constructions workers. The only downtown he was guaranteed was at home with his wife. 

However Jamie’s answer was always the same. After being married for just a year, she realized that being a stay at home wife wasn’t what she expected. They had no children so the house was always empty when he was gone. In the beginning she’d find herself constantly renovating their home and gardening to give their lawn a beautiful look. 

But after a while everyday started to repeat itself. Spending over three hours on the phone with her best friends who had finally convinced her that she needed more hobbies, she agreed. Staying at home and cleaning all day just to wait until her husband got home was gonna be the death of her. So she booked a few classes with her girls and hoped that this would be the start of a new life for her… one outside of just being Terry’s wife. 

“I have a workout class in the morning and then I’m  going out to brunch with the girls.” Bianca responded, taking a sip of wine. “I might do a little shopping at Michael’s afterwards, I think I wanna get into crafting.”

Terry looked up at her a bit disappointed. “But I’m off tomorrow, I want you to stay home with me.” 

“I don’t wanna be home though T.” She started. “Plus I won’t be out all day. I’ve been home all week and I’m getting tired of walking around this big ass house looking for something to do all day.” 

“I’ll be here though so it’s not like you’ll be bored.” Terry said, trying his best to get her to change her plans. “I already had plans for you to be here so you can just do the workout class and then come back home.”

Bianca looked up at him in disbelief. He nonchalantly returned back to his food. It was as if what he said was final. There was no way she was hearing him right. After everything she’d just told him, he was still insisting on her spending most of her day in the house, again. 

“I’m not changing my plans. You’ll see me when I’m done hanging with the girls.” Her tone was nothing less than stern. 

Terry’s eyes looked up to find hers already on his. They had a short stare down that seemed to last longer than it did. 

“I had my mind set, B.” He stated, taking a long pause in between saying her nickname. 

“Well no one told you to plan my day for me, T.” Bianca stated, slightly mocking him. 

He sat back, slightly frowning.  “I’m not planning your day, I just want you here while I’m here.” 

“I already told you I’ll be here once I’m done with everything and I don’t wanna talk about it anymore please. It’s ruining dinner.” Bianca said, stabbing her fork into her plate. 

Terry continued staring at her, shifting his gaze back and forth between her and her plate. He really wasn’t trying to piss her off but he did want his wife home with him on his first day off in a while. 

“I’m not hungry anymore.” The sound of her fork dropping into her plate caused his head to jerk back. She stood up and began to walk away from the table but Terry caught her arm. 

“Wait baby, I wasn’t trying to upset you.” He pleaded with her, grabbing her hand to pull her toward him. “I’m sorry. I’ll be here when you’re finished having your day out. No complaints, nothing.” 

The hold he had on her caused Bianca to lean against him unwillingly. She kept her gaze forward, avoiding his eyes as best as she could. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to forgive him so quickly. It always took a while for emotions to pass and Terry knew this. 

“Okay.” Was all she could say at the moment. 

He placed a kiss on her shoulder before asking, “Can you sit back down and finish eating dinner with me please?” 

Bianca stood from his grasp and walked back over to her chair. She picked her fork up and twirled it a bit, still not completely over their conversation. Terry tried his hardest to change the subject, get her to laugh, ask her questions about her shows she watched throughout the day. But Bianca was still pretty annoyed, answering him with the shortest answers and the driest tone she could muster up. 

Next day 

“When are you gonna answer the phone?” Francesca, one of Bianca’s best friends asked as they slowly walked down each aisle of the craft store. 

“When I get ready.” Bianca’s phone rang twice every hour and buzzed even more. Terry was trying to do his usual check up on her, just to see if she was okay. However, Bianca was still in her feelings about last night. 

“I’m not gonna tell you to stop being mad at him but girl he just wanted you with him. If he didn’t love you, he would’ve been pushing your ass out the door!” Francesca said, reaching up to grab a bundle of fake roses. 

“It’s not that, Ches,” Bianca started. “It’s the fact that he tried to blow off the plans I had for myself because he wanted the day to go his way. I told him how much I was getting tired of being home everyday and that I finally found some things I wanted to try. You know, to keep myself busy.’

‘He pretty much was just like ‘well you can do one of those things but fuck the rest’.” 

Francesca stopped walking and stared blankly at her friend. “He did not say that.” 

“Well in so many words he did.” Bianca rolled her eyes. 

“Did he apologize, B?”

“Yeah but...” Bianca trailed off. 

“But?” 

“I’m still mad at him so I don’t care.” Bianca said, lifting her phone. “And look, he’s not even calling anymore so he doesn’t care either.” 

“That man has to have the patience of a damn disciple to deal with your stubborn ass.” Francesca said, continuing to walk down the aisle. 

“Whatever.” 

Bianca pulled into the driveway of her home and noticed Terry out in the yard. He was down on one knee, sweat dripping from his forehead as he pulled chunks of dirt from the ground. He was dressed in a white tank top and denim overalls which automatically told her…

“I know he is not fucking with my plants.” She mumbled to herself. 

So caught up in her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed him stand to his feet and walk toward her car. She immediately sat back in her seat and pretended to look for something in her purse. 

*Knock Knock* 

Bianca’s head turned to her window to see Terry leaning down a bit. Pushing the button on the door, she cracked the window and tilted her head to the side. 

“What?” She asked. 

Terry just stared at her with raised brows. He knew she was trying her hardest to stay mad at him which was why he refused to match her energy. 

“I saw you staring at me when I pulled in, why you acting like you didn’t see me coming?” 

“I didn’t.” She lied. 

“Unlock the door.” He said, standing up straight. 

“No.”

“Bianca stop playing and unlock the damn door.” 

Another stare down, only this time Terry hadn’t looked away which meant he wasn’t walking away from the car until she did what he asked her to do. 

*Click* 

The sound of the car doors unlocking at once caused Terry to pull the door open. Peeking his head into the car, he looked in the back seat only to find a few shopping bags and a yoga mat. 

“You still mad at me?” He asked, turning his head to face her. 

“What do you think?” 

“I don’t think you are.” 

“Okay so why’d you ask?” She said, cocking her head to the side. 

Terry chuckled, trying to ignore the smart remark. 

“Do you want me to be mad?” Her brows lifted a bit, hoping she’d get the answer she wanted. 

“No Bianca.”

“Then why are you frowning?” 

“I’m frowning because it’s hot out here.” Terry responded. “And because I didn’t see my credit card in my wallet this morning but I see bags in the backseat. You took my card to go shopping?”

“Duh.” She said, before pressing the button to shut off her engine. “Can I get out of the car please?” 

Terry took a few steps back as Bianca stepped out of the car, pushing the door back purposely to make Terry step back even further. She opened the back door and grabbed her things before slamming it shut. Terry stood there still holding onto the driver's door as if she was about to get back in the car. 

“You wanna have a staring contest or you gonna close my door?”

Terry chuckled again, this time looking off to the side as he pushed the door shut. She was testing him and she was doing it on purpose. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he looked back down at her and motioned for her to hand him the bags. 

Bianca lifted them to his hands and dropped them before stepping around him to walk into the house. Right as she reached the front door she looked down at her plant bed. 

“Why are you pulling up my plants?” She asked, frowning a bit from the sunlight. 

“I was pulling up the weeds, I didn’t touch your plants.” Terry responded. 

Bianca rolled her eyes, not bothering to say thank you. He was clearly doing her a favor, a way to try and get back in her good graces. But stubborn is as stubborn does. She walked into the house and made her way to the kitchen.

“I brought you some food from Texas Roadhouse if you want it. It’s in one of those bags.” Bianca dryly stated, retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Thank you baby.” He placed the bags onto the counter and walked over to her. He stood there waiting for her to acknowledge him. 

“What?” She eyed him up and down. 

“Can I have a hug?”

“No. You’re sweaty and you stink!” She replied, taking a step away from him. 

“You love me unconditionally though, right?” Terry said, grabbing her and hugging her anyways. 

“Terry stop! You get on my nerves!” Bianca put her hands up to his chest, pushing him as hard as she could but he didn’t budge. 

“Tell me you love me and I’ll let you go.” 

“Get off of me!” Bianca yelled. 

“Say it.” Terry smiled, laying his head on her shoulder to rub more of his sweat on her. 

“I love you now move!” 

He released her, laughing at the face she was making as she wiped his sweat off. She tightened the top on her water bottle and threw it at him, cursing him for playing too much yet again. 

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

Bianca walked into their bathroom with a towel draped over her arm. Not noticing Terry in the conjoined closet, she turned the knob and stood back as she waited for the water to pour from the shower head. 

When she turned around she met Terry’s gaze, that same smirk from earlier across his face. 

“I need to shower.” She said dryly. 

“You just wanna shower with me.” He said, walking out of the closet with nothing but his briefs on. 

“Boy please.” 

Bianca looked down briefly before returning her eyes to his. She tried to act as if she didn’t notice the bulge in his pants but the breath that caught in her throat gave her away. He licked his lips as he used his thumbs to push down his shorts, never breaking their gaze. 

With a swift motion, his dick sprang out. Only semi hard but still a sight to see nonetheless. Bianca rolled her eyes as she brushed him off, trying her hardest to keep her eyes leveled with his. 

Terry stepped into the shower, reaching for the knob on the far left and turning it up so the water would run hot. He stood just an inch under the shower head, as he let the water flow down his body. He chuckled to himself knowing Bianca was watching him. 

Unapologetically, she was. Trailing her eyes down the length of his back to his tight ass. She was trying so hard to stay in her feelings but she wanted him inside of her as soon as possible. 

Not wasting any more time or water, she quickly tossed her workout clothes to the floor and stepped under the shower head to the far right. The two of them stood quietly, only the soothing sounds of water splashing filled the room. 

Bianca closed her eyes, appreciating the warm water that soothed her. Her hands danced around her body. Running her fingers over her stomach, down to her thighs and back up to her chest. She was so caught up in her own trance that she didn’t notice Terry stepping away from his side of the shower. 

Planting a kiss on the nape of her neck, he gripped her waist gently. Bianca’s eyes snapped open, almost forgetting she wasn’t alone in the bathroom. 

“Terry, you're still dirty.” She said, only verbally protesting. 

“I‘ve been in here longer than you.” He said in a low tone, still placing kisses on the back of her neck and shoulders. 

“I don’t smell soap.” 

Terry ignored her and continued kissing her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“I’m not even clean yet.” She stated, still trying to stop him… barely. 

“A little salt never hurt nobody.” His tongue ran across her shoulder, sending a quick chill down her spine. Terry never gave a damn about her being sweaty or even hairy. If he wanted it, he was gonna take it however it came. A man. 

Eventually her head fell back, allowing him more access to wherever he wanted to lick and kiss. 

His hand traveled down in between her legs while the other toyed with her nipple. Her hands followed his, rubbing his forearms while her eyes slowly closed. Steam traveled past the glass doors as his fingers slipped in between her lower lips. Dipping his middle finger slightly into her hole, he used her juices to tease her clit. 

Terry’s lips never left her neck. He knew they couldn’t be too long because her hair would eventually begin to revert which meant more maintenance for her. So he purposely tended to her spots, heightening her arousal. Her hips fell into a rhythm with his fingers, rolling them as her ass pressed against his now rock hard dick. The friction from her ass against his length made him let out a deep moan. 

“Fuck me.” She breathed bluntly, two words he was waiting to hear. 

Without thought he walked her forward a bit, until her palms hit the wall. He reached down and gripped his dick, positioning it right in between her legs. He thrusted his hips a few times, using her pussy to wet his tip. Pulling back a bit, he pressed against her opening and entered her without any resistance. 

Bianca’s back arched, trying to position herself so that she could feel every inch of him. He instantly gripped her hips and pumped in and out of her. Loud sounds of her ass slapping against his skin echoed throughout the bathroom. The water continued to run down Terry’s back as he rammed her, chasing his much needed nut. Her cheek pressed against the wall, eyes rolling into her head while she chewed her bottom lip. 

Terry had never been a minute man but he was always a considerate man… sometimes too damn considerate. She knew how much her husband loved being inside of her and she loved feeling him slide in and out of her. He was thrusting into her with so much passion but she didn’t want him to cum so soon. 

“Slow down baby, not yet.” She moaned.

“But your hair...” Terry said, never ceasing his movement. 

“I don’t care about that, I wanna feel you.” And he knew exactly what she meant. 

Always following her orders, he slowed up. Pulling his hips back until he could slightly see the head of his dick, he pushed back into her slowly. He kept his strokes long and deep, waiting to hear her hum of approval. She licked her lips, smirking a bit from the feeling of his thick dick filling her walls. 

“Yeah, like that daddy.” A blend of a whine and moan as she closed her eyes. 

He tilited his head to the side to watch her face as he fucked her. He bit his lip watching her expressions change, slapping her ass a few times just to hear her hiss from the pain. He looked down to watch the length of his dick gradually become coated in her cream. He quietly cursed to himself before placing his gaze on her again. Watching her bottom lip slip from her teeth, her eyebrows curled upward and when her jaw dropped he knew what was next. 

“Yesssss, oh fuuuuuck.” She cried as she felt her orgasm build. 

His pace increased, pounding her and gripping her hips tighter. His ass cheeks clenched with every pump in an effort to get an even deeper dig into her.

“Cum on that dick baby.” Terry said, licking his lips as he watched his dick go in and out. 

She called out his name a few times, eyes rolling into her head as her orgasm strengthened. She tapped the wall a few times hoping he’d let up just enough for her to catch her breath but he didn’t. The feeling of the tip of his dick pressing against her cervix caused her to bring her body forward, trying to run from him. She’d inch her body closer to the wall and he’d take a step forward right along with her. 

Bianca lifted onto her tiptoes a bit, cursing again and again until he finally pulled out with another hard slap to her ass. 

She let out a deep breath, licking her parched lips and dragging her hands down the wall.

“Come here.” Terry pulled on her hips causing her to face him. 

Without warning she was lifted off of her feet, her arms naturally wrapped around his neck while his arms snaked beneath her thighs. Gripping her ass, he lifted her just enough then lowered her down onto his dick. He watched her face closely as her eyes rolled closed. Lifting her up and down effortlessly, he grunted as he felt her tighten around his dick. 

“Relax baby, I got you.” He said. He could feel her grip on his neck loosen just a bit. Her bun eventually fell into a ponytail that bounced up and down along with her. Dropping his eyes down to watch her titties bounce as well, he slammed her down onto his dick over and over again.

“Fuck daddy, yes!” She yelled, gripping the back of his neck tighter than before. 

Her nails dug into his skin but the pain went unnoticed. He was so focused on the mess she was making, the white mess that was settling at the base of his dick. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” She chanted with every thrust. The sounds of her whining as she came wouldn’t allow him to let up until she was damn near begging him to. He could feel her grip loosen again which let him know that she was getting ready to tap out. 

Terry pressed her back against the wall, placing his palms flat on the tile. With her knees pinned to her sides, there was no room for her to wiggle or run from him this time. Finally lifting his eyes back to hers, he pushed his hips forward, digging into her as he studied her expression… it was his favorite part of fucking her. 

Her brows were lifted a bit and her eyes were low. She hadn’t quite bounced back from her second climax but that was a good thing for Terry. Keeping his momentum, he wanted her to remain slightly out of it. Her moans were always music to his ears when she was like this, so raw and unfiltered. She whimpered and whined, trying to speak but forgetting her words. Her mouth sat slightly open as her eyes met his. The soft green irises stared at her so intensely, she damn near wanted to break eye contact. 

“You still mad at me?” He asked, never changing his pace. 

“No…” She cooed with a stuttered exhale. 

“You forgive me?” 

“Yes!” She moaned, nodding her head. 

“Yeah?” He nodded along with her. “Tell me.”

“I forgive you daddy, I forgive you!”

He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, kissing her while she repeated herself like a broken record. 

She was cumming again, this time unable to hold on to him which was fine because he didn’t plan on dropping her. The gushy sounds of her pussy seeping was turning him feral. She could feel him biting at her jaw, moaning as he fucked her without remorse. 

Her eyes finally opened, landing on the mirror that had lost its fog long ago. She watched his ass tighten with every thrust, the amount of stamina this man had was beyond her. The muscles in his back flexed as he kept her pinned tightly against the wall. 

His head lowered to the crook of her neck where he continued to nibble at her skin. The growl that escaped his lips let her know that he was close. 

Able to come to her senses for a split second, she encouraged him in the best way she could. 

“You gonna cum in my pussy daddy?” 

A shuttered moan left his lips. He was ready to fold and although she’d witnessed it a hundred times in the past, she never got tired of it. 

“Fill this pussy up baby.”

“Oh shit.” He moaned. 

Bianca’s eyes were locked on him in the mirror. The visual of his body flexing over and over again as he fucked her had Bianca thanking God for that damn mirror. 

Bianca turned her head slightly and dipped her tongue into his ear. Still staring at their reflection in the mirror, she smirked to herself as she watched his hips twitch.

“Fuck!” Loudly escaped his lips through gritted teeth as he locked his hips in place, pressing himself against her body as closely as he could. She could feel his dick twitch inside of her as cum oozed from his tip. 

“Mmmmm.” She hummed in satisfaction, loving the feeling of his warm seed inside of her. 

Bianca’s walls contracted out of habit which caused Terry to pull his now sensitive dick out of her. He reached down to turn the shower knob, cutting the water off completely but still keeping Bianca pinned. The only sound in the bathroom was their breathing, loud and heavy. 

Bianca placed kisses on his neck, rubbing the back of his head as he caught his breath. Silent curses left his lips as his shoulders lifted and dropped in pattern with his breathing. 

“We have to shower now, baby.” She said, still kissing him. 

“I wanna go to bed.” Terry mumbled, head still buried in the crook of her neck. 

“After you shower.” She tapped his shoulder, signaling to put her down on the ground. 

Carefully removing his arms from under her legs, he placed her down and wrapped his arms around her waist. Still struggling to catch his breath, he dropped his head back down to her shoulder. He was damn near dropping all of his weight onto her. 

“Terry.” She said, trying to get him to stand up straight. 

“Give me five minutes.”

Bianca kissed her teeth, giggling at his sudden exhaustion. Reaching behind him, she turned the middle knob that controlled the waterfall shower hanging directly above them. The water rained down on the two. Snatching the rubber bands out of her hair, she left the waterfall directly onto the top of her head down to her feet. 

‘Fuck this ponytail.’ She thought. 

The two lovebirds spent the rest of the time bathing one another and cleansing each other's hair. 

Finally stepping out of the shower to prepare for bed, they both threw on their night time clothes. After lathering her body with lotion, she walked into her bedroom to ask Terry if he wanted her to heat his food. 

When she heard the sound of soft snores she smiled, amazed at how tired he really was. Laying flat on his back with an arm thrown above his head, the other across his chest, he didn’t even get a chance to tuck himself in. 

Pussy put him to sleep… I guess. 

(They water bill bout to be high as hell… Please excuse any mistakes. 🩵)

Taglist: @notapradagurl7 @saturnville @kykylovesblog @ovohanna24 @saltburnsworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @blackmoonchilee @blckblossom @kaylaahisthebestest-

(I added those who were on my last taglist, let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.)

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Cupid's Arrow

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: You and Joaquin don't get along. He doesn't take things seriously and he think you don't loosen up. Well now you two are paired up on a mission and, well, it doesn't go well.

prompt #1457

“Have your eyes always looked like that?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the purple color… and like the pretty specks? I’ve never seen someone with eyes like you.”

“You think they’re pretty?” from @writers-are-writers

Warning: mentions of experimentation on a minor

Joaquin Torres Masterlist

Like many enhanced individuals, your backstory isn't sunshine and rainbows. You were a teenager when you got sick and you dad was desperate. After losing your mom, he couldn't bare to lose you. So when someone at the hospital said they could help you for free, your father immediately jumped at the chance.

Turns out, they were rogue doctors messing with otherworldly substances, trying to create the ultimate cure. They injected you with the "cure" and, while it did take away your sickness, it gave you purple eyes and dangerous powers.

The doctors convinced your dad to let them keep you, under the guise of making sure your sickness doesn't come back. In reality, they started to train you. They poked and prodded and pushed you to your limits until you couldn't take it anymore.

When you finally escaped, you tried to look for your father. Turns out, he was killed because he saw and knew too much.

"He was collateral damage," one doctor rasped out before you snapped his neck with your mind.

Now you're an adult. You've done some pretty shitty things in order to live, but now you're making up for it. Hence why you're now working with Captain America and his sidekick, The Falcon.

"Amethyst, you and Joaquin take the lower levels. I'll take the upper levels."

"Copy that," you grumble through your comms and follow Joaquin up various flights of stairs, checking each floor for any hostages or hostiles.

"I think I know why they call you Amethyst."

"Oh really?" you ask in a deadpan tone.

"It's 'cause of your eyes, right?" you don't answer him, instead keeping your dagger filled hands up in defense, "That's totally it right? I mean, it's kinda obvious now that I think about it. Originally I thought it meant you would should like crystals out of your hands or something. But then I read your file-"

You snap your head towards him, your purple eyes practically glowing in the dim light, "You read my file?"

He shrugs, "Background checks," he says nonchalantly as he inspects every room on the left.

You continue to search the rooms on the right, "So you saw the notes about how I was experimented on as a kid and trained to use my powers for evil?"

"I-Yeah."

"And did you see what the project was called in regards to me?"

"...Was it Amethyst?"

You pause and look and look at him, "It was. Because of the amethyst colored liquid they pumped me with that gave me my powers and changed the color of my eyes. If you're going to read up on me, at least read everything. I'd rather have that than you come up with shitty theories." You continue to search, eventually reaching the end of the hall.

"I was just trying to make conversation."

"It's not the time for that, Torres. Read the fucking room. We're trying to save lives and you wanna do ice breakers?"

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood!"

You scoff, "That's the problem with you! You never take things seriously! You always make light of a situation!"

"Maybe because you're so fucking serious that it dampens everyone's mood!"

"Well sorry for being so serious when it comes to people's lives! At least one of us cares about them!"

"And there you go, twisting my words to make me sound like a dick!"

"Because you are one! And you-"

Something whizzes past your ear and lands in Joaquin's chest.

"Shit!" you cry out and immediately turn. Your eyes glow a bright purple as you lift the assailant with your mind and throw them up to the ceiling and let them fall.

They groan and you lift them to the ceiling, letting them fall again. This time no sound comes from them and they remain still.

You turn back to Joaquin and assess him. A pink and red arrow is sticking out from his chest, "What the fuck?" you murmur to yourself.

A sheen of sweat is forming over Joaquin's face, "What's your verdict?"

You immediately call Sam on comms, "Sam? Sam! Joaquin's hit. A hostile got the jump on us."

"Shit, is he okay?"

"He got shot in the chest with...a pink and red arrow."

"What? You know what doesn't matter. I'm on my way. Hang tight."

"We're on level three."

"Copy that. See you in a bit and keep Joaquin awake."

"Got it," you clear the comms and put your attention back on Joaquin, "How're you feeling?"

He gives a lazy grin, "You called me Joaquin."

"That's your name."

"Yeah, but you always call me Torres. My name sounds good coming from your lips."

You cock a brow at him, "Uuuhh okay?"

“Have your eyes always looked like that?” he asks, slowly pointing to them.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the purple color… and like the pretty specks? I’ve never seen someone with eyes like you.”

“You think they’re pretty?”

"Yeah. Like you. You're...so pretty."

You immediately call Sam back on comms, "Where the fuck are you? Torres is getting delirious!"

"Incoming!" Sam yells as he flies through a window. You shield yourself and Joaquin from any glass.

Sam retracts his wings and rushes to Joaquin, "Oh shit. How are you feeling, kid?"

Joaquin looks up at him with a sort of hazy look in his eyes, "Isn't Amethyst pretty? Her eyes. Her smile."

"See what I mean?" you gesture to the fallen Falcon.

"Alright, c'mon, kid. Let's get you looked at," you help Sam bring Joaquin into his arms.

"Don't touch the arrow. It was probably laced with some sort of drug."

"Right. Got it. Let's go. Redwing cleared the other levels. We're good. The others will take care of the rest."

You follow him out of the building and the waiting med truck that take him and rush him to the nearest hospital.

___________________________

Even though you and Joaquin don't get along, you still worry for him. You hoped the arrow didn't hit anything vital, you hoped whatever drug that was in his system didn't kill him. You hoped he'd get out alive because, sure, he was annoying and happy all the time, but it was a little refreshing. Refreshing to see someone not drowning darkness and despair like you are.

You're in the waiting room with Sam sitting in silence. Your leg is bouncing and your mind is all over the place. When you start to spiral, things in the room start floating and Sam has to nudge you to bring you back.

"Sorry."

"It's okay...honestly, it's good to see you worry about him. Thought you hated him," Sam says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, "I don't hate him. I just...find him annoying sometimes...and too cheery, and so unserious. Honestly-"

Sam holds a hand up, "I get it. He can be a lot sometimes, but give him a break. He's young."

"So am I."

"True, but not all of us are hardened by our hardships."

You snort, "Not yet. You're getting there, though," you playfully nudge his knee with yours.

"Captain?" a doctor calls for Sam and you and he stand.

"How is he?"

"He'll recover, from the wound at least. It didn't penetrate deep or hit any vital organs or arteries. But whatever that arrow was laced with, it's something we don't have in our database."

"Did you save the arrow?"

"Yes," the doctor hands Sam the bagged arrow.

"Thank you. Are we free to see him?"

"Yes, but we'll keep him here for a seventy-two hour hold just to make sure whatever he was laced with doesn't give him lasting affects." The doctor then looks at you, "I'm assuming you're Amethyst?"

You look at her suspiciously, "Yes, why?"

She chuckles, "He's been asking for you. I'm sure he'll be very happy to see you."

"Oh, uh, thanks," you give her a polite smile and follow Sam down the hall to Joaquin's room.

Sam enters first and you stay by the door, "You get knocked down and you get back up again. Maybe we should change your name to Phoenix instead of Falcon. Always rising from the ashes."

Joaquin chuckles, "Nah. I'll stick with Falcon." He turns his head towards you and his smile grows, "Hey gorgeous. What're you doing all the way over there?"

You let out a tired sigh, "And the drugs haven't worn off yet."

"What drugs?"

"The drugs that are making you talk nonsense."

Joaquin frowns, "I'm not talking nonsense. You are gorgeous. You're also smart and witty and-"

You interrupt him, "Joaquin, we don't get along. We can barely stand being around each other for a minute without arguing."

He shrugs, "All couples argue."

You laugh in disbelief, "We aren't a couple."

"Oh...wanna be?" he gives you a smirk and a cocked brow.

Sam holds in a laugh, "Alright, Romeo, why don't you rest up and heal first before you go all Mr. Romantic?"

Joaquin looks at you with hopeful eyes, "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

You really want to say 'no'. You're tired and sweaty and don't think you can stand hearing Joaquin flirt with you more. It's so...unlike him. But then Sam gives you a look that basically says, 'You better say 'yes' or else', and it makes you grit your teeth.

"Fine," you murmur and Joaquin settles further into the bed, "Awesome."

It takes two hours for Joaquin to fall asleep. Despite you wanting to leave earlier, you feel bad for doing now. So you decide to stay back and keep him company throughout the night.

______________________

When you wake, you see Sam standing over you with arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.

You groan as you sit up, stretching your arms and legs, "Don't. I just felt bad leaving him."

"Whatever you say," he responds with a chuckle.

Joaquin eventually stirs awake, "Hey."

You stand up and get some distance to stretch out your body. Sam takes up your spot, "How're you feeling, Casanova?"

Joaquin looks at his mentor confused, "Casanova?"

Sam chuckles, "Yeah. You were hit with Cupid's Bow and was trying to wine and dine, Miss Dark Cloud over here all night."

You roll your eyes, "Leave him alone, Sam. He was drugged. He didn't mean anything by it."

Joaquin sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "What'd I say?"

"You were calling her pretty, asking her out. Really laying on the charm."

"Oh...sorry," he says, shyly looking at you.

You shrug, "I know you didn't mean it."

"I...But I do think you're pretty," he looks at you, no hint of sarcasm or joking behind them.

You suddenly feel very warm, "Oh, uh, thanks. I-I guess." You look away, "I'm going to get the doctor so they can check up on you," you hastily exit the room, trying to calm your racing heart. Just yesterday, you would've scoffed and told Joaquin to fuck off. But...But now why are you suddenly okay with him thinking you're pretty? Maybe you got some of the drug in your system through second-hand or something....

Joaquin slumps in his bed, scolding himself for making you uncomfortable, last night and now. He sighs and looks at Sam, "So...cupid's arrow? That's what you're calling it?"

"I mean it was pink and red and it made you all lovey dovey. Tell me, what else would you call that?!"

[mallory524]

Hi! I have this idea of reader trying to get Bob to watch a horror movie and him being kind of hesitant because maybe he's scared or horror just isn't his thing idk. But eventually reader convinces him and it ends up being cute and funny.

movie night :)

bob x reader

summary- Bob doesn't really want to watch a scary movie, but he'll do anything if it means spending the evening with you

tags- thunderbolts* spoilers, sort of established relationship, holding hands, kiss, thunder/lightning, Void mention

word count- 1176

notes- yayyy i love getting requests, plz keep sending them in you guys

Bob feels sort of silly about how much this movie is getting to him. It's not really the kind of thing he usually watches, but of course he'd watch anything that you want to watch. Yeah, he almost didn't, but he eventually agreed to this. He will take any and every opportunity to spend some time with you.

The two of you have gone out a bunch of times... or at least, Bob is pretty sure that's what happened. It's not always clear what really counts as "going out", but you've gotten plenty of meals together, seen a few different movies and plays, and Bob almost always tags along when you go to the grocery store. He loves hanging out with you, no matter what you're doing. You have a really comforting presence to him.

This afternoon in particular, it's pouring rain, and it has been all day. The tower isn't filled with that same lovely natural lighting it usually is, but it's still beautiful in a way. You lit a few candles to add to the very important vibe. Bucky is convinced you're going to forget to blow them out and burn the place down.

The group is just taking a lazy day, and everyone's hanging out in their own rooms, except for you and Bob in the living room. You were doing a jigsaw puzzle to pass the time when you suggested watching a scary movie.

Bob was sort of hesitant at first and you practically had to beg him. "Oh come on, please," you had said, trying to pout to look extra sad, but you couldn't stop giggling at how ridiculous you knew you looked in that moment.

Bob kept shaking his head and softly laughing, too. "Nuh uh. I really don't do scary movies". He was trying to make it sound less cowardly than it was, but he was definitely worried that the movie would be too much for him.

"Come on, Bob," you said in almost a singsong kind of way, "It's dark and scary and stormy out... It's the perfect time for this kind of thing."

The idea of curling up under a big blanket with you in the dark was definitely enticing, but he still wasn't sure.

"Hey, hey. I'm just messing around," you tell him, smiling and gesturing at the puzzle, "I really don't mind if this isn't your thing. We can keep doing this." You were always so nice to him. You got him to do things that were out of his comfort zone, but you never forced him to do anything if he really didn't want to. You'd always just tell him it was fine with that warm, comforting smile. You could probably convince him to do anything when you looked at him like that, even if you weren't trying to...

"You know what? Sure."

"Yay!!"

Now you're sitting on the couch together and watching some obscure horror movie he'd never ever heard of. You told him it wasn't that scary, and now Bob's wondering what you do consider scary because goodness-

Bob is so on edge, and the conditions outside aren't helping. Since you originally sat down to watch the movie, day has turned into night, and so the only light in the room is coming from the tv screen and the candles. The weather is somehow getting even worse, with huge cracks of lightning lighting up the dark sky every minute or so, and then you both jump at the ensuing thunder every. single. time.

You subtly glance over at Bob. He really is such a sweetheart. The man is bulletproof. You watched him tear Bucky's vibranium arm off and then proceed to turn into a vicious physical manifestation of darkness that engulfed New York City. Now, he's wrapped up in a blanket, grimacing at all the cheesy fake blood and gore on screen. Occasionally, he jumps and sends his popcorn flying up just a little, almost comically.

He's a cool guy and he wasn't kidding: these kinds of movies are really not his thing.

He catches you looking at him, and he turns hesitantly to meet your gaze. "What is it?"

"Nothing, it's just... I... hope you've had as good a day today as I have, hanging out with you."

Bob practically glows when he hears you say that, but he wants to play it cool. He tries to look back and forth between you and the movie, trying to show you that he cares about this thing you care about.

"Thanks. I really did have a good day. To be honest, I like ... I like doing stuff with you," he says with a shy smile.

Before you can say anything in response to his sweet words, there's another loud sound from the movie, and Bob instinctively reaches for your hand. Neither of you make any move to pull away from the small embrace.

"Hey Bob," you say, playfully smirking at him, "Are you scared?"

It's barely even a question. Of course he is.

"Well I guess it is a little much, I mean I uh- I like the story I guess, and I know it's all fake but it is freaking me out a little..." he starts to ramble, but you gently squeeze his hand and that's enough to pull him back into the moment. He trails off and you lean a little closer.

Looking right into his eyes, you quietly suggest, "Well maybe don't look at the movie anymore."

Bob notices your eyes fall down to his lips, and he knows what you're thinking. He leans just a tiny bit closer and stops so that, if he had somehow misread this, you'd have the opportunity to cut him off right then and there. Of course, he didn't and you don't.

Right as your lips are about to touch, the loud thunder startles you both and you stop short. He expects you to pull away and move on, like how the characters always seem to do in every cliche movie he's ever seen, (not unlike the one you're watching now), but of course that's silly. You just laugh quietly and lean back in to give him a proper kiss.

After that, you lean on Bob's shoulder and, in spite of the awful loud screaming and tense music blaring from the tv, you both fall asleep. You may have missed the last 20 minutes of the movie, but you got what you wanted tonight. You got to play into the fun, creepy vibe of the evening, you got Bob to spend an hour and a half with you, and you got a kiss. Bob's happy, too, because it is now abundantly clear what the nature of your relationship is.

Bucky was right; you absolutely did forget about all those candles you lit. He ends up walking around the tower and blowing them out himself. When he finds you and Bob on the couch, fast asleep in each other's arms, he just smiles to himself, turns the tv off, and goes right to bed.

[vunblr]

A Hand in the Dark (#3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Hurt/Comfort. Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Suicidal thoughts (neither Bucky nor Reader). Canon-Typical Violence.

Summary: In a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice. And some choices echo across time, shaping the future in ways no one could predict.

Word Count: 5.1.k.

notes: More tags will be added in the future.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

The pills went down with a scratch in his throat, caught for a second like they didn’t want to be there. The Gatorade was warm now, too sweet, but his body wanted it. Needed it. He could feel the burn of the heat in his skin, the pulsing ache where she’d stitched.

He stared at the blister pack again. Paracetamol. 1g. A simple anti-inflammatory. Fever reducer. She wasn’t trying to burn out his thoughts or dull his mind.

She wasn’t trying to sedate him.

Not yet.

He glanced down at his hands. No restraints. Just trembling fingers and the heat of the infection deep in his muscles. She had stitched him. She had approached without force. No gloves, no commands with venom behind them.

Maybe she was trained.

Maybe she’d been embedded, meant to recover him in the chaos of what happened. HYDRA didn’t always pull from within. When she spoke, her voice had slipped into something just firm enough to obey without thinking.

No shouting. No touch. Just… an order dressed like a request.

Just a quiet line in the air: I need you to take it. So you can get better.

He hadn’t understood that part.

Why did she need him to feel better? Was he meant to protect her? Perform for her? Was there a mission coming she hadn’t yet named?

Some of the handlers had never set foot inside a base. He remembered bits: Waking up in unfamiliar kitchens, basements, and laundry rooms, watching as faces changed, voices changed, but the orders remained.

No one helped the Soldat just to help it.

Maybe this was one of those occasions. Where other services would be required.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

He'd passed through hands that hadn’t precisely needed his combat skills. A different kind of usage. They’d stripped him like an object, and then used him like one.  

After all, he only knew how to comply.

And yet-

I won’t touch you. Not unless you ask me to.

If this were another mission, she played it unlike anyone else he remembered. And if it wasn’t… he didn’t know the rules.

He coughed once, shallowly, catching it behind his teeth. He was soaked in sweat. Still feverish. But the pressure behind his head had shifted. Not much. But enough.

----

Once the door to his room had clicked gently shut behind her, she let herself sag against the wall.

Ok. He was in the spare room now. Installed there like a volatile machine, wounded, half-operational, with uncertain wiring. And hopefully, hopefully, medicated.

But he couldn’t stay in those boxers. Not in this weather. Not with how filthy they were, grime soaked into the seams, blood crusted along the waistband. And she wasn’t about to toss that shredded tac suit into the washer for him to use it again.

No. He needed clothes.

So she grabbed her coat and keys and changed her slippers to a pair of sneakers. She hesitated with her hand on the doorframe.

“I’m going out,” she said, loud enough to carry down the hall, soft enough to sound like she wasn’t afraid of startling him. “Just to a store. I’ll be back in a bit.”

No answer. Not even the creak of floorboards, a cough, a footstep. Just silence.

Still, she waited a beat longer. Just in case. Just in case his silence meant no, or wait, or I’m not okay. Even if he didn’t know how to say it.

Nothing.

So she left, locking the door behind her with soft fingers.

----

The store was dimly lit and half-stocked, exactly the kind of place that sold underwear in zippered plastic and plain black sweaters for five dollars. She grabbed what she could fast, two pairs of sweatpants, two long-sleeved shirts, a hoodie with a stupid logo, and a pack of boxers and socks that proudly proclaimed value size on the label.

Cheap. Soft. No tags. Nothing he could read as a uniform. Nothing too tight, stiff, or binding. Just warm fabric. Just comfort.

She added a small bottle of shampoo, a travel toothbrush, and a stick of unscented deodorant, because, well, because it felt right. Because if he stayed another night, he might need something to remind himself he was allowed to exist as a person. A real one. A clean one.

She paid in cash and walked back quickly.

When she opened the front door again, the apartment was -unsurprisingly- quiet.

She called out gently, “I’m back.”

No reply.

Still. She didn’t push. Just walked to the threshold and gently set down the plastic shopping bag beside the door to his room. Close enough to be seen, far enough not to breach the invisible line he’d drawn. She hesitated, then cleared her throat.

“There are clothes in the bag,” she said, trying for casual. “For you. New. Clean. They might be a little big, but better too big than too tight, right?”

No answer. She didn’t expect one.

She shifted her weight, rubbing her palm against her thigh, in the way she always did when she had more to say and didn’t quite know how to say it.

“I don’t usually work on Saturdays,” she added, speaking a little louder now. “But I’ve gotta cover the afternoon shift. My coworker’s out sick for a few days.”

Still nothing. Just the quiet beyond the door, heavy but listening.

“You’ll be alone,” she continued, softer again. “Use the time to take a hot shower. Put on the clothes. It’s too cold to be in, well, what you’ve got on. You’ll feel better. I mean… not just from the fever.”

Her fingers curled against the hem of her sweater, gripping it tight for a moment. Then she made herself let go.

“I’ll leave the front door unlocked. Just in case you… want to leave.” She swallowed. “If you do, please, use the spare key. It’s in the flower pot outside the door. Lock it behind you so no one comes in if the apartment’s empty.”

She stood there another breath longer, like she wanted to say something else. Then thought better of it. Her hand hovered once more near the doorknob, then dropped away.

----

He didn't move until he heard the sound of the front door closing. That was when he finally uncurled from the corner of the room. His legs complained, not used to that position. The blankets were still pooled on the old rug, where he’d dropped them when the heat started to break. Sweat chilled on his skin. The boxers stuck damply to his thighs. His hair clung to his neck in curls gone too long without care.

He stood up carefully and angled his head toward the hallway, testing. Still no sounds. She was gone.

He made it near the door -slowly, soundlessly on the wood floor- and stared at the bolt. It was… open. Just like she said it will. And in the flowerpot, a flash of metal half-buried in dry soil: the key.

A choice.

If you leave…

The rest of her words blurred. He didn’t know what she meant by that. Didn’t know if she meant freedom or a trap. Extraction or abandonment. No one ever gave him a choice like that, not without a leash hidden somewhere. If you disobeyed, you were punished. If you walked away, they found you. If you stayed, you were used.

He didn’t touch the key, instead, he went to the bathroom.

The light in there was too warm. Too yellow. It made his reflection strange, sunken eyes, dull with fever, patchy bruises across his ribs. Hair too long, unkept scruff, dirty with old blood.

The steam built quickly, rising in clouds, curling like fingers toward the ceiling. He waited too long to step in. Even now, the luxury of the action felt… dangerous.

But he did.

And when he did, the water scalded.

Not a hose. Not a punishment. Not a command. It stung down his spine, hissed over healing wounds, and softened the blood-caked threads on his stitches. He didn’t scrub right away. Just stood there, staring down at his hands, at how the water was dripping from the tip of his fingers. Flesh hand. Scarred. Left hand: dulled, but his now. Not a weapon someone else activated.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t know how to anymore.

But his chest hurt.

Years. He didn’t know how many. No soap. No heat. No kindness. Just missions and freeze, freeze and missions, the stink of old sweat layered like armor on his skin.

The water kept running.

And when he finally reached for the soap, he used it like it might disappear if he hesitated. He then reached for the shampoo with unsure fingers, not knowing how much to use. The bottle sloshed too fast when he squeezed, too much at once, dripping down his wrist before he could tame it.

He blinked it out of his eyes, working his fingers through the tangled mess of his hair. It felt wrong, doing this without urgency. Without someone barking a command or watching him from behind a screen.

He dried off with a thick cotton towel that scraped over bruises and caught on the stitches she’d sewn. Each sting connected him to the present. This was real.

The sweatpants were soft. Dark blue, unbranded. Interchangeable. Like uniforms, but meant to comfort, not control. The shirts were equally plain, one black, one grey. He picked the grey. It clung a little at the shoulders, but didn’t feel wrong. The socks were new, too, and warm.

And then came the boots.

Still by the door, caked with dried mud from wherever he’d crawled out of. He carried them to the sink, braced them under the faucet, and scrubbed with his thumb until the worst disappeared. The water turned brown in the basin, swirling into the drain.

He didn’t know why he needed to do that. Only that it felt… necessary.

He put them on last.

When he stepped into the kitchen, the floorboards creaked. The apartment still smelled like whatever she had cooked, something savory, spiced. Not chemically balanced for nutrition. Not portioned for macros. Just food.

A container sat on the counter, sealed tightly. Steam fogged the inside. And a note, short, scribbled.

Eat <3

His body obeyed.

He pried open the lid, and the scent hit him like a punch. Meat. Rice. He didn’t even look for utensils at first, just took a bite with his fingers, too quick, too hot. His jaw stung where a bruise was forming. He didn’t stop. By the time he found a fork in the drawer and sat down properly, the container was already half empty.

The last bite stuck a little in his throat. The animal part of him had quieted. Full stomach, warm limbs, boots on, body clean.

He glanced toward the door.

Still unlocked.

“Just in case you… want to leave.”

He stared. Like it might open on its own, like he might be tested. That someone would be watching for his choice.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t know what to choose.

----

The water steamed again, this time from the kitchen sink. He stood over it, with sleeves shoved up to his elbows, slightly hunched, like his body was still braced for a hit. The container clinked dully in the basin, plastic against porcelain. He scrubbed it with the sponge until the sponge began to fray. Not fast. Not sloppy. Just… thorough. Precise. No trace of food. No film of oil. No mistake left behind to be found later.

Mess meant punishment. Always had. Not scolding, not disappointment. His hair twisted in a handler’s fist until his knees hit the tile. A baton snapped across the cheekbone, the lip, the ribs. A mouthful of copper while someone barked that dogs don’t deserve kitchens.

He rinsed it twice. Dried it with the cleanest towel. Folded that too.

Then he froze. Palms pressed flat on the counter. Breath low, chest tight.

The flowerpot still had the key.

She had said it, If you decide you want to leave.

His jaw clicked as it clenched. That couldn’t be right. That line wasn’t meant for him. Not really. Because there were only two outcomes to that kind of offer.

Either it was a test.

If he touched the key -if he dared to leave- the punishment would be swift, savage, and absolute. And worse, it would be deserved. That’s what they’d taught him: disobedience was betrayal. And betrayal meant reconditioning.

Or.

She meant it. Meant the words just as she’d said them. That she had pulled him out of the street like a broken thing, stitched him back together, handed him a meal and clean clothes and an unlocked door, and expected nothing in return.

He didn’t know which was worse.

Because if it were the first, he could brace for it. He could ready himself for the pain, for the correction. He knew that script. He knew how to survive it.

But if it was the second…

Where would he even go?

There was no next mission. No extraction point. No coordinates in his head. No handler waiting for a report. Just silence. Just fever and stitches and a woman’s voice telling him to eat, to rest, to heal.

He hardened his grip on the counter.

Stay. Stay and watch. Stay and wait. Just a little longer. Just enough to see if the leash ever tightens. If the door stays open.

----

She dropped a stack of paperbacks, and the spines thudded dully on the counter. Her manager didn’t notice, too busy chatting up a regular at the register. Good. She needed the moment.

All the shift her mind had spun like a scratched record, the same thoughts, over and over.

Was he still there, or had he vanished like a ghost?

Was it wise to leave the note as she did?

Eat. Just that one word and a crooked little heart at the end. It did sound like an order. What if he’d forced it down out of compliance, and his body rejected it? He’d looked so pale. Hollowed out. Running on fever and instinct and not much else.

She pressed a palm to her forehead, forcing a breath through her nose as she restocked the romance display. New arrivals, bright covers with women in windswept gowns and men whose shirts had clearly lost a battle. Usually, unpacking shipments was one of her favorite parts of the job. Touching the smooth covers, flipping through pages no one else had yet. But now the titles blurred together -swirling pastel, muscles, corsets, and distant eyes, none of it remotely appealing.

----

The thoughts accompanied her during her bus trip home. The vehicle jolted over a pothole, making her sway in the plastic seat. She clutched the metal pole, blinking past the reflection of herself in the scratched window.

If he’s still there, she told herself again, I’ll talk to him this time. Really talk.

She’d tell him about Granny. About that night at the beach, when he’d thrown himself off a cliff to break the fall, saving her life. About the metal plate of his arm in the little pouch.

Maybe he wouldn’t remember, most likely he wouldn’t, considering what Seth had told her about the memory wipes, but maybe it would still mean something.

Maybe it would help him see she wasn’t a threat.

----

The doorknob turned easily beneath her hand.

Unlocked.

Her stomach flipped. He was either still inside… or he’d gone, and left it open behind him. No trace but the ghost of fever, sweat, and disinfectant.

She shrugged off her coat and hung it, followed by her purse. The apartment was still.

She moved to the kitchen first, needed a snack a while ago. She noticed the sink was empty, and the food container sat clean and drying on the rack.

He’d eaten.

She gripped the counter, just for a second. Okay. Good. Good sign.

She grabbed some yogurt and sprinkled some cereal on it, twirling the spoon idly as she considered what to do. After a while, she thought she heard the barest sound coming from his room. Ok, she thought as she munched the last of the yogurt. Time to talk.

She clicked on the hallway light, and its yellow glow pooled out toward the room. The door creaked under her hand as she pushed it open wider. It was dark inside, quiet. For a breath, she thought she had misheard, and he was gone.

Then she saw it, his silhouette, sitting on the cot, still as a photograph. Clean clothes, more or less combed hair. Staring at her.

“Hi,” she managed, “I… see you decided to stay.”

No response. But he didn’t flinch when she stepped in. That was something.

“I want to tell you something,” she said, slowly. “And then I’ll leave you alone. I should’ve said it this morning, but everything felt like a bit much.”

Still nothing. He just watched her with unreadable eyes, tilting his head the barest inch.

“I know who you are,” she said, quieter now. “What you do… or did. Sort of.”

His shoulders drew higher, tighter. Like a trap snapping shut.

“I found you yesterday behind the building. You must’ve wandered after falling into the river. You collapsed.”

Now his gaze sharpened, narrow and assessing, suspicious.

She raised a hand in a loose, nervous gesture. “It was on the news. You and Captain America. The helicarrier going down, the explosion… all of it.”

His jaw clenched.

“So yeah, that’s how I know. And- also.” She glanced at the floor, then back at him. “I’m not stupid. I didn’t just bring a spy and assassin into my house because he looked hurt and handsome in an alley.”

His expression twisted, something like confusion, maybe insult.

“Well, you are handsome,” she muttered, heat prickling her cheeks, “but that’s not the point.”

His brows furrowed like her words made no sense in his internal lexicon.

“I don’t have a second agenda,” she continued. “I didn’t bring you here to use you, or because I wanted something from you.”

Still no response.

“I brought you here because I owe you.”

That got something. A flicker of reaction across his face, subtle but sharp. Confusion again, but laced now with something else. Disbelief.

“You probably don’t remember. It’s not your fault. I know what… what they did to your mind.”

His metal hand twitched on his knee.

“A long time ago,” she said, softer now, “my grandmother tried to kill herself. She was going to jump off the cliffs near the shore. She slipped. Fell.”

His head tilted forward slightly, as if squinting into the dark of a memory.

“You were there. You jumped after her. Took the fall. You weren’t there when she woke up, but she remembers. She remembers your body breaking the impact. The blood. The way you disappeared.”

He was utterly still.

“She found a piece of your arm, part of the plate, broken off in the fall. She kept it. Hid it in a pouch she crocheted herself.”

His eyes dropped to the arm in question. His brows pulled tight, like he was trying to reach back into a void.

“She never told anyone,” she added. “But she told me. And I knew. When I saw you yesterday. I knew.”

The silence thickened around them, almost unbearable. She didn’t know what he was thinking. What part of him was reacting, the soldat, the wounded man, a mix in the void where memory should have been.

He had no memory of the cliff, or the woman, or her scream as she fell. No image, no sound. But his body knew. Somewhere deeper than thought, beneath even reflex.

He must’ve done it.

He’d let her live. Been seen. Intervened. That wasn’t his mission. That wasn’t his role. And that meant punishment. He didn’t know what form it had taken. Couldn’t picture the cell or the screaming or the blade or the ice. But he knew it had come.

They always made sure it came.

His jaw tensed, and the faint tremble that moved through his flesh hand disgusted him.

The woman wasn’t lying. He’d watched her eyes, her mannerisms. The scent of fear and sweat and courage on her skin. She wasn’t playing. Not like the handlers did. Not like the men who smiled before they put the bit in your mouth and the volts in your head.

He'd hurt himself. For a stranger. Damaged the arm. Let evidence be taken. Metal missing. That was never permitted. That was reportable, punishable, correctable.

He felt it now, just below the skin, the way they trained him to feel it. Every time he broke code. Every time the mission slipped. Guilt and revulsion and a choked, animal panic that curled like smoke in his lungs.

Why?

Why had he done it?

But because it was in him. Somewhere… before them. Some wrong wiring that hadn't been ripped out completely. The remnants of a man who wasn’t allowed to exist.

She said she owed him. That she brought him here because of that. Not because she was an agent. Not because she wanted to barter or use him or send him back.

But it didn’t make sense.

No one did things for nothing. Not in his world. Not in any world he could remember. She was speaking like he was a person. Like he deserved to be repaid for… mercy. But that couldn’t be right. He wasn’t built for mercy.

He didn’t know how to process the words she’d said. Didn’t know what she wanted from him now. But she hadn’t called anyone. She hadn’t screamed at him. She hadn’t ordered.

She wasn’t a threat.

Not yet.

But his chest ached with something worse than threat. Worse than fear. The burning, stupid question he didn’t want to ask himself:

If I saved her grandmother, what else have I done they made me forget?

And -quietest of all-

Who was I supposed to be?

She rose from the floor in one slow, fluid motion, unhurried, deliberately slowly, like someone approaching a wild animal, not out of fear, but with respect for its teeth.

“Wait a sec,” she murmured, mostly to herself, not expecting a reply.

She vanished into her bedroom, rummaged through the dresser with trembling hands. It was in the back corner, where she always kept it. Wrapped in tissue paper, then tucked into the crocheted pouch like a secret.

When she stepped back into the doorway, she made sure the little pouch was visible in her palm, hanging loose for him to see. Her voice was soft. Calm enough, even if her insides weren’t.

“Um- this is the proof of what I told you.”

He didn’t move, not right away, but his gaze found the pouch instantly. Locked onto it. Widened in a way that unsettled her. Not surprise. Something sharper. Like recognition was trying to claw its way up through a thousand layers of programming and pain.

She stopped a few feet from him. No closer than necessary.

“Honey, no offense,” she said gently, “but you know now that I have no power over you. You could kill me the second I step into your reach and I can’t do a damn thing about it.” Her voice cracked on the last word. Not out of fear, just the strain of honesty. “I should be the one scared here.”

He didn’t flinch, but there was something brittle in the air now, something held so tightly it might shatter.

She took another small step and extended her hand, with the pouch dangling between her fingers like a peace offering. Not a weapon. Not a bait. Just history. One he’d made, even if he couldn’t remember it.

He took it.

Slowly, silently, his metal hand rose until his fingers, unnaturally smooth, made a soft sound against the yarn as he pinched the pouch from her hand. She didn’t move. Not even to breathe.

He opened it like someone disarming a mine.

The scrap of metal inside it caught the hallway light, uneven edges where the plate had torn free. Titanium alloy, Hydra-issued, old make. His thumb brushed the surface once, then again. This wasn’t a replica. It wasn’t even just familiar. It was his.

Unmistakably his.

No one could fake it. Not the texture, not the weight. Not the fractured edge where it had been wrenched from him, where something had broken hard enough to do damage even to that.

He clenched it in his hand like it might vanish if he let go. Like someone might rip it away, call him a fool for believing any of this.

Then he looked at her.

Still at a safe distance, with no pressure, no smugness on her features.

He didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know how to match the piece of himself in his hand to the story she’d told. Didn’t know how to believe her. But more than that, didn’t know how not to.

His throat worked around nothing. His brows pressed together, not quite frowning. Searching.

There were no protocols for this. No Hydra script to follow.

He just stared at her. A breath ghosted out through his nose. Quiet. Almost confused.

Still didn’t speak. But didn’t let go of the metal.

“I’ll let you be now,” she said softly, her voice was gentle, careful, like she was backing away from a wounded animal and not a man holding the sharpest piece of his own past in one trembling hand.

“I know what I told you... what you’re going through is too much. A lot.” She glanced at him again, uncertain if he even heard her, but needing to say it anyway. “I’ll go do some things and then, I’ll make dinner. I’ll bring it here.”

She paused in the doorway, resting her fingers against the frame, not looking back this time.

“Is not necessary for me to say, but you can... you can join me whenever you want. Outside.”

And then she was gone, her footsteps a soft sound down the hallway, leaving him alone with the silence, the pouch, and the past clutched in his palm, a memory he hadn’t known he’d lost.

----

A week passed by, and he stayed. That alone felt like a miracle, she was careful not to startle him.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t roam. She left meals by the door on a tray and they always vanished eventually, reappearing rinsed in the sink. He took the medicine, too. Not in front of her -never that- but the blister’s contents shrank, day by day.

He trusted her, in a way. Not with words. Not with eye contact. But as a caretaker, maybe. A non-threat. A fixture of the space he now cautiously shared.

He didn’t come out often. Just the soft click of the bathroom door now and then. No footsteps in the kitchen. No wandering. Until the day the chair tipped.

She hadn’t meant to stand on it, not really, but the lightbulb had gone out again, and it was just one quick reach, and then she slipped. A short yelp, the clatter of wood on tile, the thud of her hip hitting the floor.

She barely had time to curse when he was there. Silent and swift, like smoke, crouching at her side with sharp eyes and purpose.

His hands were careful. He touched her ankles, rotated them in his palm, brows pinched in faint concentration, as if her joints might tell him something her words couldn't.

"I’m okay," she said, managing a weak laugh. “Really. Just startled myself.”

But he didn’t stop. Not until he was sure. His thumb brushed just below her knees, pressing once, twice until he seemed satisfied. Then, he stood and slipped away without a sound. Just a brush of clothes, the creak of the hallway floorboard, and the soft hush of his door closing behind him.

“Thank you!!” she said earnestly, hoping he had listened.

The lightbulb still dangled dead above her head. But she didn’t move. Her skin was sensitive where he had touched her, and her heart thudded a little too loudly in her ears.

----

He stood with his back against the door for a long moment, tense, with his gaze fixed on nothing. The silence inside the room wasn’t peace. It pulsed. Swirled inside the hollow thing his mind had become.

He’d touched her.

Not under orders. Not to silence or subdue her. He’d touched her because she’d fallen. Because she’d looked up at him from the floor with surprise, not fear, and his instincts had dragged his body forward before he could bury it back down.

He sat heavily on the edge of the cot, with his metal hand open on his knee, like it didn’t belong to him. Not a tool. Not a weapon. Just metal and wire and sins.

He couldn’t shake the feeling.

The weight of her legs. The heat of her skin. The throb of her pulse under his palm, her soft voice saying she was alright. That he didn’t have to keep checking. But he had. He couldn’t stop. Not until he’d been sure. Until his fingers traced her shape and found no breaks, no blood.

She hadn’t pulled away.

Even now, that made no sense.

He leaned forward, threading fingers through his hair. The inside of his mind was a bag full of bad wiring: crackling electric thoughts, slippery half-memories, orders screamed into silence. The protocol would’ve punished him for hesitation, for contact outside the objective, disobedience, and softness.

They would’ve punished him for her.

A beat of nausea rolled through his stomach. He clenched his jaw. He remembered the rooms, filthy-white, always white. The bite of restraints, the shock when he misstepped, when he showed weakness. The dark between cryo sleeps, cold so deep it cracked thoughts apart like ice on a lake.

He’d touched her.

He’d helped.

And she’d looked at him like he was a human being.

He stood too quickly and paced. Four steps to the corner. Turn. Four steps back. His titanium hand flexing open, shut, open. Like he could scrub away the warmth of her skin.

She wasn’t afraid.

She should be.

He pressed his back to the wall and sank slowly, drawing up his knees and lowering his head. He didn’t trust himself. The part of him that moved to catch her. What was that? Soldat didn’t know kindness. But some part of him had.

Was that the man? The ghost left behind Hydra’s probing?

He didn’t know. But her voice was still in his head.

It’s alright. I’m okay. Thank you.

Like he wasn’t a thing.

Like he could be something else.

----

She’d sat on the couch long after he disappeared into the room again. Her ankle throbbed faintly, but she barely noticed it. All she could feel was the ghost of his hands on her. One warm and rough, the other cool and smooth, gentler than it had any right to be.

He’d helped her. He had listened to her fall and come out of that room with a purpose. Like something in him had recognized her pain and answered without stopping to ask why.

This time, he had come to her.

And he’d touched her.

It was the first contact he’d initiated.

A signal that he didn’t see her as a threat. That he felt safe enough -no, not safe, not yet- but compelled to leave that room for her.

She kept thinking about his eyes.

She’d seen them every day, in glimpses. Watching her without looking, flitting away if she stared too long. But when he crouched in front of her, inspecting her ankles and knees, the afternoon sun had caught his face just right, and his irises… they weren’t just blue. They were luminous. Like riverglass. Polished by time and weather. No less sharp, but still beautiful.

Even if he didn’t look her in the eye, not yet, she saw it. That flicker. The part of him that wasn’t just survival or training.

She leaned back against the cushions, breathing slowly. He didn’t say a word. He never did. But that action told her something, and she was relieved.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan @escapefromrealitylol @bodhisattva11 @kittieboo @iyskgd @stell404

[goyardgoyangi]

head so good he can't see straight

mdni (18+), read with discretion

He’d grumbled about it for weeks.

Something about how “words keep shrinking on the damn page” and “it’s the lighting, not me” until he finally caved and went to the optometrist.

You’d never seen him sulk like that—the tiny bag from the glasses store dangling from his fingers like it personally insulted him.

“You look so cute,” you said the first time he wore them in bed, all low and teasing, voice dipping into something breathy and dangerous. He raised an eyebrow like he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t take them off either.

He grunted. “I look old.”

“No,” you whispered against his throat. “You look like a problem.”

Now, his problem is you—on your knees, tongue out, licking slow, flat drags up the underside of his cock just to watch him twitch.

Your hands stroke the base, your lips trail lazy kisses along the vein, and every time you look up? His glasses fog just a little more.

You start with slow, kittenish licks. Barely-there swipes of your tongue across the flushed tip of his cock, lazy and deliberate. You flick your tongue in little circles, drag it up the underside of his shaft, pausing just to breathe against the head.

Toji’s chest starts rising faster.

You smile to yourself.

He’s trying so hard to keep it together, trying to look unaffected—but the more you tease, the more the lenses of his glasses begin to blur. A little fog. Then a little more. Your tongue trails a long, wet stripe up the side of him, and that’s when you hear it—

His breath hitching.

“You tryna make me go blind?” he mutters, voice rough as gravel.

You giggle, smug and breathless. “Not my fault you’re so sensitive.”

That’s when the teasing stops.

One big hand tangles in your hair. The other slides his glasses up, fogged lenses resting crookedly on the bridge of his nose as he glares down at you like he’s had enough.

You barely get a breath before he slides deep into your throat, no teasing this time. Just one slow, possessive thrust that forces you to take every inch, your nose pressed to the base, your throat stretched wide. You gag around him, eyes watering.

Above you, Toji groans.

Glasses fog instantly.

“You wanna be a brat?” His voice drops to a growl. “Then take it like one.”

He pushes deeper, watching your eyes flutter as your lips meet the base. You choke, just a little, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes—but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you stop.

“Yeah,” he hisses, jaw tight, chest heaving. “Just like that. Look at me.”

You blink up at him, throat stretched, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth—and fuck, the glasses. They’re completely fogged now, crooked, catching the dim light as he watches you through half-lidded eyes.

“Messy fuckin’ mouth,” he growls, hips grinding just enough to make your vision blur with him. “Always runnin’ it until I shut you up like this.”

You moan around him, and he twitches in your throat.

The sound of his breathing—sharp, shallow, wrecked—mixes with the slick noise of your mouth working him. Steam clouds the lenses, his vision blurring as your tongue flutters even with his cock buried deep. Your hands claw at his thighs for leverage, spit dripping down your chin.

“Shit—can’t see a thing,” he pants, hips rutting faster, harder. “Don’t need to. Don’t gotta see you when I can feel how fuckin’ good you are.”

[paucubarsisimp]

Can you pls make Hector fort imagine

Like him and reader fight and he goes to his mom to complain but reader is already there and his mom is on the readers side (a silly funny fic)

❤️

héctor's mamá

pairing: héctor fort x reader

summary: in which after an argument, you go to héctor's mamá for comfort

warnings: a bit of angst, use of y/n

it started like any other evening. you had planned a quiet night with héctor—maybe dinner, a movie, or just spending some quality time together. you’d been looking forward to it all week.

but somewhere along the way, things went wrong.

he had promised you he’d be home early, excited for your plans. you had picked out a cute outfit, set the table, and ordered your favorite food. but when the time passed and there was no sign of him, your excitement slowly turned to confusion.

you texted him—no reply. then called. still nothing.

hours passed.

when he finally called, it was clear something had gone wrong. “hey, preciosa, sorry i’m running late. we got caught up with practice, and i lost track of time,” he said, his voice a little distracted.

“you lost track of time?” you asked, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “we had plans, héctor. you promised me you’d be home for dinner.”

“i know, i know, i’m sorry,” he said quickly, clearly flustered. “i’ll make it up to you, i promise.”

but it was the way he said it—so casually—that made your heart sink. it wasn’t the first time he had done this. and while you knew his schedule could be unpredictable, this wasn’t the first time he had broken promises.

you felt the frustration building up, but you held it in as best as you could. “okay… just—come home when you can,” you said, trying not to sound upset.

but you were upset. you waited for him, but by the time he walked through the door hours later, you were no longer in the mood for dinner or movies. you were just tired of always being patient, always waiting.

he walked in, looking apologetic, but you could tell he was more concerned about how long the day had been than about your feelings. “hey, amor, i’m sorry i’m late. practice went longer than i thought. i didn’t mean to—”

“you didn’t mean to? héctor, you do this all the time,” you cut him off, the words coming out before you could stop them. “i don’t know how many times i’ve had to make excuses for you with people, or just… deal with being alone when you say you’re going to be here. i get it, your schedule is crazy, but i’m getting tired of being at the bottom of the list.”

his face dropped, and the confusion and hurt you saw on his expression made you feel a little guilty. “you’re not at the bottom of the list,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “i just… sometimes things get overwhelming.”

“but that’s just it, héctor,” you replied, voice shaking. “it feels like i’m just a thing you squeeze in when you have time. we don’t even get to have proper dates anymore, and it’s been so long since we’ve done anything just the two of us.”

you stood up, walking away from him. “i don’t know what you want me to say. i don’t feel like i’m a priority for you, and it sucks. i’m tired of always being patient, always understanding. i need someone who shows up for me.”

there was a long, painful silence, and you could see how badly you had hurt him in his eyes. but you didn’t know how to fix it, not when you felt so unseen.

finally, he spoke up, his voice quiet. “i’m sorry, y/n. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i’ll try to do better.”

you nodded, but the knot in your chest didn’t go away. “i just… need some space right now.”

he hesitated for a moment, then nodded, clearly understanding. “okay. i’ll give you some space.”

he turned to leave, and you tried not to feel like a weight had just dropped in your stomach. this wasn’t what you wanted, but you needed to feel heard.

with that, you found yourself walking to his mom’s house, not really thinking about it. you didn’t even knock, just let yourself in and walked right into the living room.

his mom looked up from the couch, a concerned smile immediately crossing her face. “y/n, querida! what’s wrong?”

you didn’t say anything at first, just sank onto the couch beside her, your face in your hands. “i don’t know what to do, mamá. héctor missed our date again… and i’m just so tired of it.”

she sighed, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, comforting hug. “oh, mi amor. i’m so sorry. it’s tough when you feel like you’re not a priority.”

you nodded, letting her comfort you. “it’s just… i don’t know what to say anymore. i’ve tried talking to him about it, but he always promises it’ll be different, and then this happens again.”

“sometimes héctor gets caught up in his own world,” she said gently, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you. he just doesn’t always know how to show it. but he’s a good man, and i know he loves you. this is a bump in the road. but he’ll come to his senses, darling. he’ll realize that you deserve more.”

you looked up at her, trying to hold back the tears. “i just want him to show up, you know? like he says he will.”

“he will,” she said softly. “but in the meantime, let’s distract you. you deserve some fun and relaxation right now.”

you smiled weakly, appreciating her words more than you could express. “i think i’d like that.”

meanwhile, héctor was pacing outside, guilt gnawing at him. he knew he had messed up. again. he had promised you that he would show up, but practice and everything else had gotten in the way. he could feel the weight of your words, and it was tearing him up inside.

finally, after a few minutes of deep breathing, he walked over to his mom’s house. when he opened the door, the first thing he saw was you, sitting on the couch, chatting with his mom, looking so much more relaxed than when he left.

“y/n…” he began, but stopped when his mom winked at him, clearly enjoying your company.

“well, well, look who decided to show up,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “i was just telling y/n how you owe her a big apology.”

he froze, blinking. “mamá, seriously?”

“you owe her an apology, héctor,” his mom said, crossing her arms. “you’ve been neglecting her, and i don’t appreciate that one bit.”

héctor looked at you, then back at his mom. “i… i didn’t mean to. i really didn’t.”

you turned to him with a soft sigh. “i know you didn’t, but i need more than just promises. i need actions, héctor.”

his mom patted the seat next to her. “now, apologize to her. sincerely. and don’t make excuses.”

héctor sat down next to you, the guilt and love in his eyes clear. “y/n, i’m sorry. i messed up. i’ve been so caught up in everything that i forgot to be there for you. i’m going to try harder, i promise.”

you smiled softly, your heart lightening. “thank you, héctor. i know you didn’t mean it. i just want to feel important too, you know?”

he nodded, squeezing your hand. “you are important. more than anything.”

his mom smiled as she watched the two of you. “see? i knew you’d get there.”

you leaned against héctor, feeling lighter than you had all night. “thank you… for understanding.”

he grinned, pulling you closer. “you don’t need to thank me. i’m lucky to have you.”

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!

[mywildwritings]

Xaden x OC (One Shot) - The Parapet

Elowen Briar and Xaden Riorson meet at Parapet as they both join the Rider's Quadrant for very different reasons.

The line of candidates, all vying to join the Rider's Quadrant, snake through the courtyard like a long sweeping dragon tail. Ready to swipe away our lives with one swift strike. 

There are hundreds of candidates all hoping to cross Parapet today to become a cadet in Basgiath’s infamous Rider's Quadrant. All want to bond a dragon and become one of Navarre’s greatest weapons. 

I watch as they mingle with each other. They stand around in their rider’s black, all trying too hard to embody the person they all so desperately want to become. They partake in mindless small talk and fluff their tail feathers. 

I ignore them all. I ghost over their faces and drown out their words. When a girl with red curly hair smiles at me I pretend she doesn't exist. People are going to die today and I might be one of them. It is too late for niceties. My attention is instead on the gods. I pray to Zinhal for luck and Malek for a swift death if my time is up. 

“Name,” the roll keeper at the entrance to the tower asks me. He has a purple streak in his hair and a patch sewn to the front of his jacket. A wave. He's a water wielder. Impressive. He cocks his head at me when I don't answer immediately and I smirk. How impatient of him. 

“ Elowen Briar,” I eventually offer the cadet. I turn away from him as he scribbles my name down, on the bottom of the list. My name will be taken twice more. The next at the top of the tower in case I’m stupid enough to lose my life on the way up the the winding stair case and the last when I cross the Parapet. 

“Name,” he asks the candidate behind me as the line moves forward and stops. 

“Xaden Riorson,” he mutters and everyone in our immediate vicinity collectively inhales. They turn to stare at him - to size him up. Eyes drown him. They whisper to each other and draw away from him. One touch and they'll be cursed. 

“As in Fen Riorson’s son,” the cadet bites. His voice drips with disdain. The pen hovers in the air above the list like he’s reluctant to commit his name to paper. 

“The one and only,” he responds succinctly from behind me. His voice is confident. He doesn't shrink from the scrutiny. I can't help it. I hazard a glance behind me to see what he looks like. 

My eyes land on a leather covered torso and I have to angle my head to look up at him. His gold flecked eyes catch my own. They are guarded and they narrow on me. I note the relic. It curls up from under his collar and twists along side of his neck. He’s a marked one. His father was the Great Betrayer but I know better than anyone our parents do not define us.

I stare a little too long and he cocks his eyebrow at me. Even now I can feel their eyes on him. Hundreds of them. They all watch the son of Navarre’s enemy wait in line to join the Rider's Quadrant and they wonder how long he will last. They size him up and ask themselves, who will get a chance to kill him first? 

I turn back around to face the front and swallow back my feelings. Something about the look in his eyes tells me he won't be written off so easily. But the fate of Fen Riorson’s son is none of my business. 

I have my own reasons for entering the Quadrant. My heart twists and strains under the grief and I focus on putting one foot in front of the other as we enter the tower. Thick stone encases me in its wrath and I suddenly feel claustrophobic. I’ve always hated small spaces. 

“Oi Riorson.” The person two steps ahead of me turns around to face Xaden as he looms behind me. He has sandy brown hair and impossibly green eyes. Suddenly I can feel Xadens presence - a shadow crossing my own - and I shuffle uncomfortably. “You better watch yourself - we’ve got bets on how quickly you end up dead.”

I can't help myself. I roll my eyes and he notices. The bastard makes a show of dragging his eyes down the length I me, lazily and then he smirks. It’s pure violence. “I eat girls like you for breakfast,” he tells me. I want more than anything to wipe the smirk of his face. 

“Not interested asshole,” I bite back. “Either is Riorson. Why don't you build a bridge and throw yourself off it - “ I tilt my head at him innocently. “- oh wait we have a bridge. Now all you have to do is jump.”

He snarls and tries to lunge towards me but he’s stopped by the imposing candidate in front of me. Lucky for me he’s a fucking brute. 

“Get a move on!” someone yells from below. Our section falls into an uncomfortable silence and we begin the long trundle to the top of the tower and the Parapet. I look down and watch as the gray stone steps disappear as I pass.

I think about him. The one I lost. The reason I am here. He was hell bent on joining the Rider's Quadrant. He wanted to become a dragon rider more than anything. Now he is gone and he'll never be able to walk the Parapet, climb the Gauntlet or attend Threshing. I will do it for him. To honour him in a messed up way. To feel closer to him.

My foot slips on one of the steps in grief and I falter. Xaden collides with me. His hand lands on my lower back to steady himself and I flinch out of his grip and twist around to face him. “Don't fucking touch me,” I say a little too aggressively. 

He shuts down. For a moment I catch a glimpse inside. I see his vulnerability. Surprise and concern. He shutters himself away and I instantly regret my reaction. I desperately wish I could be as strong a person as he paints himself to be. “I’m sorry - “ I begin to say but he cuts me off.

“Get a move on Elo, you’re holding the line up.” I curl inwards at the nickname and turn back around. Nobody has called me that in so long and my body recoils at the familiar syllables. It shrinks in on itself. 

The staircase opens up into a wide turret and I pause as the rude candidate two in front gives his name to the roll keeper.

“Alric Tauri,” he smiles loudly. He wants us all to know who he is. He’s a cocky bastard but rightly so. He’s a Prince of Navarre. 

“Trust the asshole to be a fucking prince,” I mutter under my breath and the brute in front of my turns around and snorts a laugh. He has a relic too. It peeks out from under his sleeve. Another marked one. I wonder how many there are this year.

Alric turns to face us when he reaches the entrance to the Parapet and I have to stop myself from lunging forward and pushing him off. He makes the mistake of opening his god's damn mouth. 

“Watch yourself Riorson - you’re mine,” and then his attention falls to me and its every bit as arrogant as I would expect from a prince. “I’d stay away from him if I were you. Wouldn't want to see a pretty face go to waste.”

“Enjoy your -” I begin to snap back but I’m rudely interrupted by the marked one in front of me - Garrick - he takes a menacing step forward and Alric steps backwards. 

“Better walk fast princling.”

“Name,” the roll keeper asks glancing past me to Xaden. He's infinitely more interesting than I am. Even without his father's legacy hovering over him like a bad omen he exudes a dangerous energy. I on the other hand wilt. I fade into the background. I am forgettable. 

Garrick turns to look at Xaden when his turn arrives. He ignores me completely like I don't exist. I can't help the shame - it makes a home out of my bones. I’m not even worthy of a glance. “See you on the other side,” he grins. 

I watch as he bounds across the parapet. Hot on Alric’s heels. He bulldozes his way across and I’m jealous at how easy he seems to find all of this. I was never supposed to be here. I may be uncomfortable in confined spaces but I’m terrified of heights.

I take one step towards the exit and hesitate as the world opens up around me. The wind whips loose strands of my hair around my face and I turn back nervously. This was a terrible idea. I’m an idiot for thinking I can do this.

Xaden is standing behind me. He's too close. His imposing presence blocks my exit. His eyes meet mine and he smirks. It's fucking dangerous and I step back involuntarily towards the ledge as if it will save me from the fall.

“Don’t worry sunshine,” he murmurs quietly so only I can hear him. “I’ve no intention of killing you today.”

[thefeverburningalive]

Spencer reid x fem reader

Frinds to lovers

I mean, he is so in love with her

𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢

spencer reid x fem! reader <3

a/n: tysm for the request babes! feel free to send in your requests i love the inspooo. i decided to use one of my favorite billie eilish songs as inspiration since it always reminds me of spender <3. i love writing fics based on songs so also feel free to request song based fics too.

genre: fluff <3

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯•✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

wake up and smell the coffee, is your cup half full or empty?

the smell of coffee hit you as soon as you walked into the break room of the bullpen. after the last case, you’d been having trouble sleeping- which is something that comes along with the grueling job. “good morning y/n, coffee?” spencer’s warm voice flooded your ears. no matter how bad the days got, spencer was the highlight of said days. over the past three months your feelings for spencer have changed. he’d been your closest friend on the team, aside from penelope, since you’d joined. but recently you’ve been wanting to be more than just friends.

when we talk, you say it softly. but i love it when you’re. awfully quiet.

“yes please, thank you spence.” you spoke just as soft back, admiring spencer as he smiled and nodded while pouring some coffee into a mug. not just any mug, but ‘your’ mug. on your first day at the bau, you’d had dropped and broken a mug- and you where so upset and embarrassed about it. the next day, spencer bought a white mug decorated with small flowers, and designated it as yours without saying so. he poured the creamer and sugar into the mug as well, knowing exactly how you liked your coffee. spencer slid the mug next to you, and you picked it up with a bright smile.

you see, the peice of paper. could be a little greater.

two hours later you, spencer, and the rest of the team where sat in the jet. “this is so funsies i never get to come on the jet!” penelope was beaming across from you. “i brought some card games cmon guys let’s play!” so you, pen, spencer and derek played the silly game she brought. as you exchange cards back and fourth and continue the game, you find yourself constantly losing. you’re not a sore loser- but sometimes being on a team full of the smartest people in virginia has its downsides. there are days where you doubt your own intelligence. after the fourth time losing you sigh in defeat as derek re-shuffles and passes out cards. you start to zone out a bit while playing, almost giving up, until you feel a hand over your wrist. the warmth of spencer’s eyes when you look up at him sends shivers down your spine. he gives you a smile before retracting his hand. as you look down, you notice he’s slipped a winning card into your own hand.

show me, what you could make her. you never know until you try it.

a pit of jealously bubbled in your stomach as you listened to derek go on about the two women who continued to flirt with spencer. “boy genius skipped out on not one pretty girls number- but two! man i’m bringing rossi to the next bar i have to interview.” the team laughed and talked while spencer sat looking somewhat uncomfortable. you hadn’t noticed your own silence until you caught spencer’s sight. his eyes looked into yours, his expression unreadable. he mouthed ‘are you okay?’ to you with a furrowed brow. deciding that saying no was unacceptable, you settled on a smile and nod combination. spencer nodded in response with his own smile, despite not fully believing your answer. “so.. why turn them down reid?” emilys question made you snap back into the conversation. “uh well.. i don’t know i guess they aren’t really my type.” for a split second you’re almost sure he looks in your direction as he says that. “or maybe he’s just not looking to be in the dating scene.” jj was the next to speak up during the discussion. spencer shrugged at her comment. “you never know.” was all he responded with.

and you don’t have to keep it quiet.

to say this case had been rough was an understatement. it was taking a tole on the team for sure, but especially you. tears flowed from your eyes as you paced back and fourth inside your hotel room, your mind running a million miles an hour. before you could think about what to do next- you trip over a pair of shoes you’d left in the middle of the room. you fell to the ground ungrateful, managing to knock a few other things over. an exhausted growl/shout escaped your lips. everything was just getting too much for you. the tears continued to fall as you just sat on the floor exasperated. about five minutes later you hear a soft knock at your door. stumbling up- you open it, finding spencer standing there in some lose grey sweat pants and a black tshirt. if your brain wasn’t short circuiting before- it definitely was now. “s-spencer? what’re you doing here..” you tried to quickly wipe your tears but it was pointless. “i heard a bang and you yell.. i just wanted to make sure you were alright.” spencer was reading you like an open book. he had a feeling this case was getting to be a lot for you. more tears welled in your eyes “im so sorry- i-i wasn’t trying to be loud i fell and then i just-“ the feeling of spencer’s arms around you cut off your sentance. he tucked you head beneath his chin, making you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. “it’s okay y/n. you don’t have to hide and be silent. i’m here for you.”

and i know it makes you nervous. but i promise you it’s worth it.

the only thing on your mind the rest of the following day was spencer. the way it felt to be in his arms, the smell of his cologne, the way his thumb traced little circles onto your back. spencer was suffocating your mind. it wasn’t uncommon for you to constantly think about spencer some days- but today was different, because for the first time spencer actually showed a sign of maybe liking you more than a friend. this wasn’t the first time you’ve tried convincing yourself he had feelings for you. but it is the first time there’s actual proof. the line between being best friends and being lovers was growing increasingly thin. as much as you want to be together you feared you were at risk for losing the most important person weapon in your life right now. he was just within your reach. but the anxiety swarmed your mind and your nerves simply wouldn’t let you. no matter if it was worth it or not.

to show em’ everything you kept inside, don’t hide. don’t hide.

“uhm, spence?” the night had been like any other night at your apartment. chips, dips, and sci fi movies that spencer loves to make you watch. as the movie progressed, spencer seemed to get closer and closer to your side by the second. by the time his thigh was up against yours underneath the thin blanket sprawled between yours and his laps. that’s what led you to begin the conversation- that and the fact that the movie had finally ended. “yes?” it was hard to focus on the task at hand when he was looking at you with this big brown eyes. he tilted his head slightly when you didn’t answer at first. “i wanted to uh- well i wanted to talk about… something serious?” you didn’t mean for it to come out as a question; but your brain was already struggling to form the sentences. “of course, is everything alright?” spencer had a tone of worry in his voice. “n-no yeah everything fine i just.. well i’ve been kinda keeping something- from you- and i uhm. i don’t think i want to hide it anymore.” at this point you were looking down at your hands, fiddling with the end of the blanket beneath you. spencer didn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt your thoughts. “i’ve been too shy to say, but i..” you took a deep in-hail. “i like you spencer. in a more-than-friends type of like. a-and i don’t know how uhm- well how you feel but i couldn’t stop feeling like this i tried to hide it or stop it b-but i can’t. i feel so strongly for you and i-i just.. had to tell you. i get it if y-you don’t feel the same.. or if you want to leave .. but i hope you stay.” you felt like all the air had been stolen from your lungs. the words came so rapidly out of your mouth you didn’t even have time to properly think before you spoke- you didn’t even know there were tears in your eyes. you didn’t dare look up at spencer. you were filled with embarrassment and shame. you thought about getting up and apologizing- but before you could finish you felt his hand cup your cheek. the warmth of his hand added to the heat already in your face. his thumb wiped a tear that dared to spill from your eye. “don’t hide away.” that was all he said before his soft lips reached your own.

come out and play.