#I feel like I’m forgetting something though

[vunblr]

The Price of Silence

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk.

Summary: Porn with a little plot, what can I say.

Word Count: 9k.

notes: None. Just filth.

The world had shifted after the Blip, mutated into something unrecognizable. Bucky had learned to survive in chaos, but survival wasn’t the same as living. His government-mandated therapy sessions had been a performance. A carefully crafted facade to prove he was “reformed,” that the Winter Soldier was no longer a threat. It worked. The government gave him the pardon he’d been promised and promptly forgot about him.

Finding a job had been the first hurdle. The Blip had flooded the workforce, and employers weren’t keen on hiring a man with his history, no matter how clean his record now appeared on paper. The rejection became a pattern, confirming what he already suspected, there was no place for him here.

But the construction site didn’t care who he was. They didn’t ask questions when he showed up looking for work. His enhanced strength made him an asset. Moving steel beams, hauling concrete, cutting down hours of labor with what he could do in minutes. He worked silently, head down, invisible among the noise of drills and heavy machinery. On Fridays, he got his paycheck and a little extra for the tasks only he could do.

The city still treated him like a ghost. People stared, whispered, or crossed the street when they recognized him. He didn’t hide his arm anymore; he let the matte black vibranium gleam under the sun. Let them look, let them flinch. It didn’t matter anymore.

The tattoos had started as a cruel inner joke. The red star below his clavicle had been his first, an ironic reminder of the weight he carried. It hurt like hell, his serum-enhanced skin required tebori, the old Japanese hand-poking technique, to get the ink to stick. The pain didn’t bother him. If anything, it made him feel alive, comforting him in ways the therapy never had. Over time, more tattoos joined the collection, sprawling over his arms, chest, and back. A physical map of what he’d endured, what he wanted to forget, and what he knew he never could.

The nose piercing came on a whim. A flicker of rebellion against expectations, though no one had any for him anymore.

The monotony of construction work became his new routine. It was predictable. Safe, in a way. Until one Monday, the foreman sent him to pick up the crew’s lunch order, a task usually assigned to Stephen, who was out sick. A small errand, a minor inconvenience.

He didn’t expect it to change anything. But then again, nothing ever went as planned.

----

The bell above the door jingled softly as Bucky stepped inside. The smell hit him first: fresh bread, sugar, and butter mingling in the warm air. It was... comforting. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the dimmer light of the bakery after the bright glare of the sun outside.

The place was small but welcoming, with neatly arranged baskets of bread on shelves and a glass display case showcasing pastries that looked too delicate for his rough hands. He pulled off the working gloves he’d forgotten he was still wearing, shoving them into the back pocket of his worn jeans. His vibranium fingers glinted faintly in the soft light, but he didn’t care who noticed.

Behind the counter, she looked up from where she was restocking some pastries, offering a bright smile the moment she saw him. “Hi there! What can I get for you?”

He froze for half a second. People didn’t usually smile at him like that. Don’t usually smile at him at all. Period. He cleared his throat and glanced around, suddenly unsure of how to navigate this. “I’m here for the construction crew’s order.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “Right, the sandwiches,” she said, moving behind the counter to grab the large paper bag already packed and ready. “Stephen’s usual pick-up, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“No,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the countertop. “He’s out sick. They sent me instead.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, sliding the bag onto the counter. “You’re working on that new apartment building, right?” Her tone was bright and conversational. “Big project”

He nodded, unsure of how to respond. People avoided small talk with him, and he was usually glad. His appearance purposely did much of the trick but she was treating him like a normal customer, with no hesitation, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Do you want anything for yourself?” she asked suddenly, leaning her hands on the counter. “Coffee, maybe a juice? It’s on the house for you guys, you are spiking out incomes.” She winked.

He blinked, caught off guard. “No. I’m fine.”

Her smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened, like she could sense his discomfort but didn’t want to make a big deal of it. “You sure? You look like you’ve been out in the sun all day. Hydration’s important, you know.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile, though he didn’t let it form. “I’m fine,” he repeated, less harsh this time.

“Alright,” she said, stepping back with a small shrug. “If you change your mind, let me know. No rush.”

That threw him even more. No rush. No expectation for him to hurry up and leave. He picked up the bag, mumbling a gruff, “Thanks,” before turning to go.

But something made him glance back before stepping outside.

Fuck it. He wanted juice, and she offered. Also, she was nice to look at. “Actually, yeah. I could drink some juice before heading back if the offer’s still on,” he half-smiled.

Her head tilted slightly, and a playful look flashed in her eyes. “Of course! What kind of juice do you like? Orange, apple, maybe something else?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck with his metal hand. The hoop in his nose glinted under the bakery’s light as he shifted slightly. “Uh… orange?”

She set the bottle in front of him. “There you go.

He nodded, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. The cold, tangy juice was a welcomed sharp contrast to the sweltering heat outside, and he found himself relaxing just a fraction.

“You guys must be working like crazy out there in this heat,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning casually on the counter. “I mean, you’re probably used to it, but still, it can’t be fun.”

“It’s work,” Bucky replied simply, glancing at her. He expected her to press and ask more questions, but instead, she nodded like she understood.

“Well, here’s hoping Stephen feels better soon,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “But if they send you back, I wouldn’t mind. You’re a lot less grumpy than him.”

That caught him off guard, and his lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a grin. “I’ll let him know you said that.”

Her eyes widened in mock horror, and she let out a warm, easy laugh. “Oh, no, don’t you dare! I can’t handle more of his attitude. He’s bad enough already.”

Bucky tilted his head, leaning one elbow on the counter, the edge of a smirk ghosting across his face. “Maybe you could persuade me to stay silent,” he said, dropping his voice slightly.

She froze for half a second, her brows shooting up as the teasing in her expression turned to something a bit more curious. Then she leaned forward, resting her hands on the counter, playfully. “Oh, really? And what exactly would that take?”

Shit. His brain stalled. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the way she was waiting for him to respond. His mouth opened, then closed again, his thoughts scrambling for something -anything- that wouldn’t sound like the mess of half-baked flirting swirling in his head. Finally, he muttered, “Uh… garlic bread. That might do the trick.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and for a second, she just stared at him like she was trying to decide if he was serious. Then, she burst into laughter again, her head tilting back slightly as the sound filled the space between them. “Garlic bread, huh? That’s the bribe of choice?”

He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck as the tips of his ears burned, pretending to fuss with the juice bottle. Yeah, maybe he really did need to work on his social skills.

The thing was, he usually didn’t have problems getting laid. A bold woman with a venturous streak might approach him at a bar or whatever dimly lit hole-in-the-wall he happened to be in, probably looking for an anecdote to share later: I hooked up with the Winter Soldier. And he didn’t care. He wasn’t a monk. If a touch on the arm, a whispered suggestion, or a couple of drinks got him laid, he went with it. The bar’s bathroom, a dark alley, it didn’t matter. It was impersonal, and mechanical.

Was he a manwhore? Probably. But after everything they did to him, every time his body had been used for someone else’s agenda, he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Sex, when it happened, was more transaction than connection. An itch scratched, and nothing more.

This was different. This wasn’t the haze of dim lights and alcohol. It wasn’t the brazen touch of someone who wanted something from him in a questionable pub. It was broad daylight, with no pretense, and she wasn’t throwing herself at him or giving him a shortcut to the finish line. She was throwing the ball back in his court, expecting him to make an effort, to do the work.

And his brain? It shut down. Completely.

He stared at her, watching the way her laughter softened into a teasing smile, and her hands rested lightly on the counter as if she didn’t realize she’d just short-circuited every social skill he thought he had left. She wasn’t avoiding his gaze or putting on a mask of bravery. If anything, she was waiting. Waiting for him to say something, to do something.

Instead, he just stood there like an idiot, gripping the juice bottle like a lifeline. Luckily -or not- the bell above the door jingled, cutting through the charged silence as another customer entered.

Her eyes flicked to the door, and her expression shifted quickly. “Duty calls,” she said lightly, tilting her head toward the counter as if to excuse herself. And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing there like a misplaced piece of furniture near the small counter where the juice bottles were displayed.

The man who walked in looked like he belonged somewhere with air conditioning and private elevators. His tailored suit practically screamed money, and the glossy sheen of his expensive shoes didn’t have so much as a speck of dust on them. He pivoted past Bucky without sparing him a second glance, as if he didn’t even register the scruffy guy in worn jeans and a tank top standing there.

“Muffin,” the man greeted her with a tone that was just a hair too familiar.

Bucky noticed the subtle shift in her body language instantly. The confidence she’d carried moments ago was gone, replaced by stiffness in her shoulders and a forced smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Matt,” she replied, politely but devoid of warmth. “The usual?”

‘Matt’ smiled -a smarmy, self-satisfied smirk that made Bucky’s fingers tighten on the juice. “I’d add your delicious buns, but usually…”

Wait. Was this asshole actually implying-?

Her response was immediate, cutting him off before he could finish. “Yeah, as per usual, they’re not for sale,” she said, deflecting with a practiced ease. “Anything else, Matt?”

“I’ve been thinking, Muffin,” he drawled, leaning casually on the counter like he owned the place. “Maybe one of these days, you and I could share a coffee. I’m sure there’s more to you than just your delicious baking skills.” He smirked, trailing his eyes just a little too long to be anything but suggestive.

Something in Bucky snapped. Maybe it was the fact that she was uncomfortable, or perhaps because he was -horrendously- flirting with her first, maybe it was his stupid confidence, the heat, or just his crappy week. So he stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “Hey,” he said in a low tone, looking directly at the man in a suit. “You holding up the line or something?”

Matt blinked, caught off guard by the interruption. His eyes flicked to Bucky, narrowing slightly as he took in the scruffy man standing there, all broad shoulders and quiet menace. “Excuse me?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, and his gaze became cold and unwavering. “Just saying, some of us have places to be. Thought maybe you’d want to keep it moving.”

Matt scoffed, straightening his tie like it would help him regain some sense of control. “Maybe you should mind your own business, pal,”

Bucky didn’t even blink. His tone didn’t rise, didn’t waver, but the edge on it sharpened. “See, that’s the thing. You embarrassing yourself in front of the clerk here is my business since I’ve got an order to pick up, and you’re wasting my time.”

The room felt smaller somehow, the tension thickened the air as Matt stared at him, clearly debating whether or not to push his luck.

Bucky just stood there, unflinching, with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was daring him to try.

“Fine,” Matt muttered, grabbing his order from the counter with a sharp motion. He threw a glance at her, his tone clipped. “I’ll see you around, Muffin.”

“Sure thing, Matt.”

The bell jingled sharply as he stormed out, leaving the tension lingering in the air like a bad aftertaste.

Bucky turned his gaze to her, and his expression softened slightly. “Sorry if I overstepped,” he said gruffly, holding her gaze for a moment longer than he intended.

She exhaled, easing the tightness in her shoulders as she offered him a small smile. “Don’t apologize. He’s been like that for years; he is the owner’s cousin.” Then, with a hint of humor, she added, “Thank you. That was... satisfying to watch.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said, dryly but with the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Now I can brag I’ve been saved by the Winter Soldier,” she teased, playfully.

He froze, and the smirk vanished instantly as his eyes darted to hers, startled. “What?”.

She shrugged, utterly unbothered by his reaction. “It’s hard not to notice. You’re not exactly hiding it.” She said, looking towards his vibranium arm. Then she nodded toward his shoulder, where the red star tattoo was starkly visible against his skin. “Nice touch, by the way.”

He blinked, caught off guard. Well, yes, he’d never intended to hide it. Hell, he wanted people to see it. But hearing her point it out so openly about that, caught him off guard. “Thanks,” he muttered, in almost a grumble, absently brushing his hand over his foreshoulder.

He shifted the bag of sandwiches in his grip, glancing toward the door. “I should probably get back,” he commented gruffly, as the air suddenly felt too tight for him.

“Of course,” she said, stepping back to give him room. “Wouldn’t want you getting stuck saving anyone else today.”

That earned her a faint twitch of his lips, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “See you around,” he muttered, already heading for the door.

-----

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. She served the usual customers, greeted the familiar faces, and kept herself busy with the daily rush. But in the quiet moments when she was restocking shelves or wiping down the counter, her thoughts drifted to him. He was barely recognizable under the layers of tattoos, the nose piercing, and the rough, scruffy demeanor. Nothing like the man she vaguely remembered seeing on TV years ago. Yet, the arm was unmistakable.

She found herself daydreaming about their brief encounter more than once, imagining the sharp blue of his eyes focused on her, like a storm always brewing just beneath the surface.

---

By Thursday, Bucky couldn’t resist the pull. He’d spent most of his life denying himself anything remotely indulgent, always practical, always keeping his head down. But this time, he decided he could allow himself a little something, a treat from the bakery.

Well, if he was being honest, it wasn’t really about the pastries. The thought of seeing her again crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. There was something about the way she spoke to him, the way she smiled like he was just another guy standing at her counter, not a former assassin with blood on his hands. It unnerved him, but it also intrigued him.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. She was at the counter, chatting with a customer who was just leaving. When she glanced up and saw him, her expression brightened.

He felt his chest tighten slightly at the sight. Damn it, what the hell was he even doing here?

“Hi! Already coming to collect your bribe?” she teased, her tone laced with playful mischief, a brow arched as she leaned her elbows on the counter.

For a moment, Bucky just stared, caught off guard. Right. The garlic bread. His pathetic excuse at flirting. He shifted his weight while his mind scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. Manning up, he found his voice.

“Yeah,” he said in a lower, rougher tone. “Came to collect what’s mine.” He let the words hung in the air, deliberately, with unmistakable implication.

Her eyes widened slightly, but not with hesitation. No, she didn’t back down. Instead, she quirked a brow, twitching her lips like she was fighting back a smirk. “Well,” she began, “I was just about to take my break. Perhaps…” She leaned forward just slightly, resting her forearms on the counter, “we can discuss the terms of your payment in the back? You know, the bread and... whatever you have in mind to assure your cooperation.”

For a moment, he froze, caught completely off guard. There was no way he was reading this wrong. Was there?

She tilted her head, waiting, the amusement flickered in her eyes as if daring him to make the next move.

Bucky cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of himself and his surroundings. The way his fingers gripped the edge of the counter, how his tanktop clung to his sweated skin, the hum of the refrigerator behind him, even the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the bakery air. “That so?” he managed, trying to sound unfazed, though he wasn’t sure he pulled it off entirely.

Her half smile widened, and she straightened, grabbing a small set of keys from behind the counter. “It is,” she replied simply. “Back door’s that way.” She gestured toward the far end of the shop, where a narrow hallway led to what he assumed was the staff area.

He hesitated, trying to gauge if this was really happening or if she was just messing with him. But there was no sign of mockery, no indication she was about to laugh at his expense. Instead, she turned and walked toward the back, throwing him a glance over her shoulder that felt like a challenge.

His legs moved before his brain could catch up, following her lead. Whatever was about to happen, he figured he’d see it through.

After the door closed behind him with a soft click, Bucky became painfully aware of the contrast between them. She stood there in her neat uniform, the pale beige fabric brushing just above her knees, paired with the frilly brown apron tied snugly around her waist. Her scent hit him, something warm and sweet, like vanilla and sugar, mingling faintly with a subtle hint of floral perfume.

And then there was him. Sweaty from the day’s work, his tank top clinging in spots, jeans dusty from the site, boots worn and scuffed. His hair was slightly damp from the heat, sticking to his neck in unruly strands, and the only thing remotely clean were his hands. He always made a point of washing them before leaving work, some ingrained habit of not wanting to spread the grime of his life any more than necessary.

He stood there, awkwardly shifting his weight as she set the keys on a small table by the wall, looking entirely at ease, like this wasn’t strange at all. Meanwhile, his heart was thudding against his ribs, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t fazed by the walking disaster in front of her.

“So,” she began, leaning against the edge of a small table, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tone was light and playful. “Shall we discuss the terms of your so-called payment?”

He cleared his throat. “You sure about this?” he muttered, gesturing vaguely to himself. She tilted her head, and a spark of amusement flashed across her face. “You mean to tell me you braved the heat, the dust, and possibly your dignity to come in here, and now you’re getting shy?”

His lips twitched despite himself, and the ghost of a smirk formed on his lips. “Not shy. Just... considerate.”

Her laugh was soft but genuine. “Well, aren’t you a gentleman,” she teased. “But if I had a problem with the way you look, I wouldn’t have let you back here, now would I?”

That threw him for a loop, and he found himself momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing to the side as if searching for something to say. “Guess not,” he finally muttered.

“Good,” she said, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “Because I don’t mind sweaty construction workers who like garlic bread.”

He blinked, caught somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “That right?”

She nodded. “That’s right. Now, tell me. What’s the real reason you came back here?”

Her boldness disarmed him, but in a way that made him want to keep going, to see where this would lead. “Figured I’d try my luck,” he admitted, meeting her gaze.

“Well,” she said, softening her tone “seems like your luck might not be so bad after all.”

The way she looked at him then, confident, like she saw right through him and wasn’t the least bit fazed left Bucky feeling more exposed than any of his tattoos or scars ever could. He wasn’t used to this, to someone holding his gaze without hesitation, without fear or judgment. It stirred something deep in his chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

“Guess not,” he muttered, rougher than he intended, and he stepped closer without even realizing it. She didn’t back away.

She tilted her head, a playful quirk to her brow. “So, does this mean we’re negotiating now? Or are you just going to keep brooding at me until I hand over the garlic bread?”

That pulled a chuckle out of him, low and brief, but genuine. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to getting what I want,” she said simply.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her mouth for half a second before he caught himself and looked away, focusing on a random spot on the wall instead. “You’re bold,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Hmmm I’d say you like that,” she countered, her tone light but her eyes sharp, like she was testing him.

And she wasn’t wrong. He did like it. Maybe too much. It was the kind of boldness he wasn’t used to anymore, the kind that didn’t come with an ulterior motive or veiled fear. It was just... her, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, it had him drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. She didn’t look away, didn’t fidget or try to fill the gap with empty chatter. She just waited, giving him space to make the next move.

“I’m not good at this,” he finally said.

“At what?” she asked like she could sense he wasn’t just talking about their little back-and-forth.

“Any of it,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Talking. People. This.”

Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. “Lucky for you, I don’t need you to be good at anything. Just honest.”

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hadn’t quite shaken.

“Well,” she said after a beat, stepping just a little closer, “if it helps, I think you’re doing fine so far.”

Bucky's gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there a little longer than he should have. The temptation to lean in, to close the distance was maddening and he swallowed hard.

Her voice cut through his thoughts, teasing and sharp. “Deciding your price?”

His eyes snapped back to hers. For a moment, he was thrown, like she’d read his mind and decided to call him out for it. Her expression wasn’t mocking, though. “Maybe I am.” the words left his mouth before he could overthink them.

She leaned a little closer, just enough to shrink the space between them. “And? What’s the verdict?”

For a second, all he could do was stare at her, at the way the corner of her mouth tilted up, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. His brain scrambled for something to say, anything that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.

“You’re making it hard to think,” he admitted finally, a dry edge to his tone that made her laugh softly.

“Good,” she shot back, tilting her head. “Means I’m doing my part in this negotiation. And you still haven’t named your price,” she said, dropping her voice just a fraction.

That did something to him, something that made his chest tighten and his palms itch. She was bold, fearless, not afraid to meet him where he was. Hell, maybe even a step ahead of him.

“Maybe it’s not something I can name,” he muttered, almost testing the waters as he took a slow step closer to her.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the playful glint in them softened. She didn’t move back, didn’t shy away. Instead, she held her ground. “Oh?” she murmured, her gaze never leaving his. “Then how are we supposed to settle this… negotiation?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, “I guess that depends on what you’re willing to offer.” he said, noting neither of them was willing to break the tension first.

Her answer came in the form of a step forward, closing the remaining gap between them. She tilted her up, and her voice dropped as she said, “I think you’re the one who needs to make the offer. After all, you’re the one collecting a bribe.”

That knocked him off balance for a fraction of a second, and he just stared at her.

Her laugh was soft, almost a hum, as she leaned back slightly, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “You don’t seem like the type to play coy,” she teased.

He felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck, though he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I’m not.”

"So?" she asked, flicking her gaze to his lips, her tone was challenging but soft, like she already knew the answer and just wanted to hear him say it.

That did it. His resolve snapped like a taut wire. Slowly, deliberately, he cradled the side of her neck with his vibranium hand, firm but careful, while his other hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

"So," he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough, "I think I'll just take the rest of my payment. And then... maybe some more."

He closed the remaining distance, capturing her lips in a kiss that was neither tentative nor tender. It was demanding and unapologetic. Everything he couldn’t say in words poured into the connection.

She let out a small gasp, and her hands instinctively found their way to his chest clutching his tanktop. He took that as permission, deepening the kiss. The faint scent of flour and sugar mixed with something distinctly hers, made him a little dizzy, a little reckless. And for once, he let himself take what he wanted.

When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead lightly against hers, he caught the sight of her lips, slightly swollen, and her uneven breathing as she looked up at him. He wondered if he should stop there.

Then she did it. Her hand slid upward, fingers threading through his hair before fisting it lightly, pulling him closer with a confidence that sent a spark down his spine. She pressed herself against him, soft curves meeting the unyielding hardness of his chest, and that was it, he lost it.

A low, guttural sound escaped him as he claimed her lips again, this time with less restraint. The backroom faded away. No shelves, no counter, no lingering scent of baked goods. Just her. Her body, her warmth, her lips moving against his like she was just as lost in this as he was.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, her eyes were half-lidded as she stared up at him. She wetted her bottom lip. “Not bad.” she managed to breath.

“Still think I’m underpaid,” he shot back.

"Oh, I don’t take advantage of hard workers, sir," she said, low and teasing as her lips skimmed along his stubbled cheek. Her teeth nipped at the rough skin there, sending a sharp jolt through his body that went straight to his cock.

Her hands moved to the buckle of his belt, working the leather with an almost infuriating slowness, like she was daring him to stop her, or daring him not to. “By no means are you going to be left underpaid,” she murmured with mock formality as her gaze flicked up to meet his.

He couldn’t help the low chuckle that rumbled from deep in his chest. “That so?” he rasped as he let his hands slide from her waist to her hips, gripping just tight enough to feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her uniform. “You always this generous?”

Her fingers hovered just above the waistband of his lowering jeans, brushing the bare skin with a maddening lightness. Then she smiled at him, slow and deliberate. “Only with hot sergeants who gave a lot to this country.”

Something snapped. His hand darted down, grabbing hers where they lingered teasing his skin. His fingers closed over hers. Not harsh, but firm, the rough calluses of his palm contrasting with her softness. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he growled low in her ear, rougher now, deeper, his restraint fraying with every word.

“Why not?” she whispered, with a tone laced with defiance, though her breath hitched ever so slightly as he stepped closer.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dipped his head, trailing slow kisses on the curve of her neck. Her breath shuddered as he worked his mouth thoroughly, and his stubble scraped along her sensitive skin. His free hand slid lower, gliding over the fabric of her uniform until it reached the curve of her ass. Without hesitation, he squeezed, digging his fingers just enough to pull her flush against him.

Her hands, now pinned between her body and his waistband, flexed slightly, testing like she was still daring him to see how far he’d go.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured against her neck, as he pressed her harder against him.

She tilted her head slightly, giving him more access, curling her fingers into the hem of his tank top. “Good thing I don’t scare easy,” she replied breathlessly, and his grip on her tightened, molding his vibranium hand to the curve of her ass as he pressed her harder against him.

Without breaking their connection, he moved with fluid determination, gripping her hips and spinning her so that she faced an old counter. The sudden shift elicited a breathy laugh from her, laced with surprise and excitement.

He leaned in, brushing his chest on her back as his lips found her neck again, suckling and nipping her skin. She arched instinctively pressing herself against him, bracing her hands on the surface counter. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

His flesh hand slid down her side, curving over her hip before venturing beneath the fabric of her uniform. His fingers splayed against her bare thigh, pushing the hem up inch by inch, grazing her skin with agonizing slowness.

Her breathing hitched as his hand roamed further, the metal of his fingers creating a stark contrast against her heated skin. He squeezed her again, this time directly over her bare flesh, eliciting a sharp, involuntary intake of breath.

As his hand traveled upward from her hip along her spine, her dress bunched around her waist, exposing her to him. He relished the sensation of her bare skin beneath his fingertips, trailing higher to the small of her back. Her shiver told him everything he needed to know.

Her head tilted back, her breath coming in soft, shallow gasps. “James” she whispered, half warning, half plea.

His lips curved into a smirk as he bent closer. “Bucky” he rasped, his stubble brushing her ear. “What’s it gonna be, doll? Should I stop?”

Her answer came in the way she pushed herself back against him, reaching behind to tangle her hands on his hair. He grinned darkly against her skin, sliding his hand along her back as his lips continued their descent, tasting every inch of her exposed neck and shoulder.

Bucky’s hands continued their ascent, his fingers trailing over her heated skin until they slid under the fabric of her bra. He cupped her breasts, his palms rough and warm, squeezing with a pressure that made her gasp: firm enough to send a thrill through her body, but not enough to hurt. She arched into his touch, responding instinctively, and a soft sound escaped her lips spurring him on.

“Like that, huh?” he muttered, as he pressed himself harder against her back. Her hands gripped his hair tighter for balance as he shifted closer and his solid, muscled frame blanketed hers. Then, with deliberate intent, he slid one thick thigh between her legs, pressing it firmly against her pussy. The friction made her knees weaken, and she let out a breathy moan, rolling her hips against him instinctively.

He growled low in his throat. “You’re making it real hard to keep this...civil,” he rasped, though the way his hands kneaded her and his thigh pressed against her left little room for civility.

She turned her head slightly to meet his gaze, eyes dark with need and amusement. “You know, if you keep things civil like this, I might... stain your pants. How are you going to present yourself tomorrow to work, all messy?”

Bucky froze for half a second at her words, tightening his grip on her hips as her teasing tone penetrated his brain. His gaze darkened, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a smirk that was anything but innocent.

“You think I care about that?” he murmured, roughly, sending shivers down her spine.

Her head tilted slightly, exposing the curve of her neck to him. “Mhm,” she hummed, her breath hitching when he shifted his stance, pressing her harder against him. “Just trying to save you the trouble of explaining… why your responsible worker pants are a mess.”

Bucky let out a low growl, dipping his head to her neck. His stubble scrapped deliciously against her skin as he nipped at her pulse point, making her gasp. "Luckily for you, muffin, it's been a long time since I give a fuck about other people's opinions, let alone explaining myself. So you can get my damn pants wet like the naughty girl you are to your pussy's content.

The brazen bluntness of his words sent a pang directly to her needy clit. “Oh,” she exhaled, with a trembling voice. “Is that so, Sergeant?”

He leaned in closer, as his vibranium hand tightened on her hip, grinding her harder against his thigh. “Damn right, it is,” he growled, and the deep rasp of his voice vibrated against her skin. “Now stop stalling and show me how messy you can get me.”

She let out a soft moan as she pressed harder against him, and her movements became more erratic, more needy. “You mister-” she gasped, her words catching in her throat as a wave of pleasure made her pussy clench deliciously, “are a fucking tease.”

“And yet,” he muttered, curving his lips into a wicked grin against her skin, “here you are, soaking my damn pants just like I told you to.”

Her laugh came out breathless and broken, “Cocky bastard,” she managed to say before nearing the precipice. "F-fuck, Sarge," she mewled, as her voice broke on a high, desperate pitch while her hands gripped at the counter for dear life. "I’m gonna-"

Bucky’s grip on her tightened, and his vibranium hand slid up to press flat against her tummy, anchoring her firmly against him. “Do it,” he growled into her ear, in a hot and ragged breath. “Let go for me, muffin. Make a mess, cream my fucking pants.”

Her body tensed, and her thighs trembled as she ground herself harder against his thigh, chasing that final push over the edge. “God, Bucky,” she whimpered, her head falling back against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear as he coaxed her along, keeping her steady with his hands as she fell apart. "Good girl."

The sound she made was half a sob, half a moan as the tension inside her snapped, pleasure crashing through her in waves that left her gasping and shaking in his arms. She clung to the counter as her body jerked uncontrollably, and her breath came in short, desperate bursts.

He didn’t let go, keeping her firmly against him, grounding her body as she rode out every last second of her orgasm. When her movements slowed, and her body went slack against him, he pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to the back of her neck.

“You okay?” he murmured, with a mix of roughness and softness as his hands remained firm on her hips.

She turned her head slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder with a dazed, dopey smile that made something inside him twist. “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, languid and satisfied. “That was such a nice ride, Sarge.”

A soft squeeze at her hips reminded her where his hands still were, and she placed hers over them, giving them a light, playful press. Then, with an ease that made his pulse quicken, she turned around to face him.

Her fingers grasped the hem of his tank top, deliberate but unhurried as she tugged it upward. “But,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, “I still owe you the price of your silence.”

As she pulled his tank top up and over his head, her eyes immediately fell to his chest, and her gaze widened for a beat. The light from the room caught the silver gleam of the bars piercing through his nipples, hard to miss against the expanse of ink and scars that marked his skin.

Her lips parted slightly, and a playful grin broke across her face. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” she murmured teasingly. She reached out without hesitation, grazing her fingers over one of the piercings. “Naughty, Sarge. Very naughty.”

He let out a short huff of laughter. “Don’t act so shocked,” he muttered. “Thought you’d figured out by now I’m not exactly by-the-book.”

She tilted her head as she thumbed over the cool metal, sending a shiver through his body that he didn’t bother to hide. “Guess I have a lot to learn about you,” she mused, tracing her fingers over the lines of his chest, pausing now and then to admire the ink and scars.

His smirk deepened, and he tugged her closer “Plenty of time for that, Muffin.” He conceded.

Her hands roamed freely now, mapping the hard planes of his chest, alternating her touch between featherlight and deliberate. She flicked the tip of one of the piercings with her thumb, earning a sharp inhale from his lips.

“Sensitive?” she teased, glancing up to meet his gaze.

His jaw tightened, and the way his hands gripped her hips told her she’d struck a nerve. “You tell me,” he rumbled, edged with a warning that didn’t quite mask the rough undertone of arousal.

She laughed softly, a low, breathy sound that made his cock twitch. “You’re full of contradictions, Sarge. All gruff and serious, but with these…” she said, lightly tugging on one bar with a wicked grin.

“Careful,” he warned, tightening his grip as his eyes darkened.

“Or what?,” she quipped, with a sultry voice, her confidence growing with every reaction she pulled from him.

His patience snapped. In one smooth motion, he shifted, lifting her effortlessly onto the counter behind her. She gasped, bracing her hands against his shoulders as he stepped between her thighs, crowding her.

The edge of the counter bit into her legs, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the heat between them, the way his hands gripped her.

His fingers moved to the buttons of her dress, deliberate but unhurried, each undone clasp exposing more of her soft, skin. She shivered beneath his touch, and a quiet hum escaped her lips as her hands slid down his sides, tracing the lines of his ribs before settling at his hips.

The dress slipped further down her body, pooling at her waist, leaving her exposed to his piercing gaze. His eyes darkened as they swept over the rise and fall of her chest, and the slight tremble in her thighs.

"Damn," he murmured, roughly, almost reverent.

Her cheeks heated, but she held his gaze with a playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "What, you don't see this every day?"

"Not like this," he growled back, deftly unhooking her bra with a kind of precision that made her blink in surprise. The garment slid down her arms, and he caught it in one hand, tossing it over his shoulder without so much as a glance. It landed somewhere behind him with a soft thud, but he didn’t care. His gaze flicked down, lingering on her newly exposed skin.

He leaned down and trailed his lips through the curve of her neck, gifting heated kisses downward her skin until his lips latched one of her nipples. His tongue flicked, quick and teasing, as his hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the hem of her uniform skirt and gripping her bare thighs.

Her hands flew to his shoulders for balance before sliding up to tangle them in his hair. Her body was already pliant, sensitive from her release, but he wasn’t slowing down. His teeth scraped lightly, sending a shock through her system, and she arched instinctively against his mouth.

"Turn around," he murmured against her skin, almost a growling. His hands gripped her hips, spinning her gently but firmly until she was braced against the counter. She barely had time to catch her breath before she felt his fingers hook into the waistband of her drenched panties, tugging them down and letting them pool at her feet.

His jeans had already been shoved low enough to free his aching cock, and she could feel it, hard and insistent, pressing against her rear. “This okay?” he rasped against her ear, as his length drenching her buttocks with precum spoke volumes about his intent.

She nodded quickly, breathlessly.

Bucky didn’t waste time and his vibranium hand gripped her hip, as his flesh one guided himself inside her in one smooth, deliberate thrust. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest as her tight heat clenched around him, and her gasp of pleasure sounded like music to his ears.

“Fuck, Muffin,” he muttered, leaning over her, breathing hot against her ear. “So tight. Feels like you’re made for my cock.”

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the counter, instinctively pushing her body back to meet his thrusts. He set a slow, grinding pace at first, making her feel every inch of his thick cock, savoring how she trembled beneath him at every drag. One of his hands slid from her hip, trailing down her thigh before slipping between her legs.

“You’re dripping for me,” he observed roughly as his fingers found her clit. He rubbed slow, lazy circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. “Such a greedy pussy, doll. Pulling me in like you can’t get enough.”

She let out a breathless moan, her body arching against him as his words sent a rush of heat through her system. “Bucky-”

“That’s right,” he cut her off, almost mockingly as his fingers pressed harder against her swollen clit. “Say my name. Let me hear how much you love being fucked like this.”

Her response was a broken cry, her hips bucking against his hand as he picked up his pace. He grinned, sharp and wolfish, sliding his free hand up her back to fist her hair, pulling her head back so he could press his lips to her ear.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasped, as his thrusts turned harder, sharper. “I can feel it. This pussy’s squeezing me so tight. You gonna come all over my cock, Muffin? You gonna soak me, cream my dick like the good girl you are?”

She could barely think, the pressure building inside her reaching a fever pitch as his filthy words and relentless touch unraveled her completely. Her moans grew louder, and her body trembled as her release washed over her, clenching her walls around his throbbing cock.

“Fuck,” he growled, as the sensation tipped him over the edge. His hand tightened on her hip, and his thrusts turned erratic as he followed her into bliss, spilling inside her with a low, drawn-out groan.

He stayed buried inside her for a moment, resting his forehead against her shoulder as they both caught their breath. His fingers gave her clit one last, gentle stroke, making her shudder before he finally pulled back, steadying her with his hands as her legs wobbled.

“You okay?” he asked, rough but laced with an unmistakable note of satisfaction.

She nodded, glancing at him over her shoulder with a blissed-out smile. “More than okay.”

He smirked, brushing his hand over her lower back as he stepped away. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not done yet, little Muffin.”

She turned slightly, lifting her brows in surprise as a sly grin curled her lips. “Not done yet?” she asked, breathless but laced with intrigue.

Bucky’s smirk deepened as he took her hand, gently turning her around to face him. His eyes roamed over her glistening skin, mussed hair, and the marks his lips and teeth had left trailing down her neck. He loved how wrecked she looked, and knowing it was all because of him, sent a thrill coursing through his veins.

“Not even close,” he murmured, sliding his hands to her thighs and effortlessly lifting her onto the counter.

She gasped as the cold surface met her bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by a soft moan when he stepped between her legs, spreading them wide. His cock, still hard and wet, pressed against her slick heat, teasing her entrance.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he muttered, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “But I think you’ve got one more in you, Muffin. Don’t you?”

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him, desperate for more. “You really think I can take it?” she asked, playfully.

Bucky chuckled darkly, ghosting his lips over her jawline as he pressed the head of his cock against her pussy, not pushing in just yet. “Oh, you’ll take it,” he purred, gripping her hips firmly to hold her in place. “And you’re gonna love every second of it.”

He surged forward without waiting for a reply, parting her inner wallsin one deep thrust. Her back arched, and a loud moan spilled from her lips as he set a brutal pace right from the start, holding nothing back this time.

His hands roamed over her body, one sliding up to knead a breast while the other dipped down to find her clit again. “Feel that, doll?” he growled, his voice barely more than a rasp. “Feel how perfectly you take me?”

She nodded frantically, digging her nails into his shoulders as her body rocked against him, the counter beneath her creaking slightly with the force of his movements. “F-fuck, Sarge, I-”

“You gonna come for me again?” he interrupted as he worked her clit with expert precision. “Gonna soak me like the naughty little thing you are?”

Her answer came in the form of a choked cry as her body tensed, her third climax hitting her harder than the previous ones. She tightened around him, pulling him deeper, and deeper, and he groaned low in his throat, thrusting erratically as he chased his own release.

“Goddamn, you feel so fucking good,” he growled, gripping the back of her thighs and spreading them wider as he buried himself one last time to the root, erupting in long spurts of hot cum that filled her up and overflowed between them, pooling on the floor.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their ragged breaths being the only sound in the room. Slowly, he pulled back, steadying on her hips as he helped her sit upright, locking his eyes on the mess between her legs. His jaw tensed as he drank in the sight of her pussy, utterly wrecked and glistening from everything they’d done. He reached out, parting her swollen, slick folds with his thumbs with a deliberate, almost reverent care.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, thick with desire. “Look at you.”

Her cheeks heated, and the burn rose fast as she felt his gaze fixed on her. Her instinct was to press her thighs together, but his firm grip on her leg stopped her before she could move.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, brushing his vibranium thumb against her inner thigh as his other hand traced the outline of her puffy, sensitive lips. “Let me see you.”

She whimpered softly, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself as his fingers continued to explore, brushing over her clit just enough to make her hips jerk.

“Fuck, this pretty little pussy of yours, completely ruined… because of me.”

She inhaled deeply, with embarrassment and lingering arousal. “Bucky,” she managed, her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in his name.

He glanced up at her, quirking his lips into a cocky smirk. “What? Embarrassed?” His thumbs teased her again, pressing lightly on either side of her clit, enough to make her tremble. “Don’t be. You’re perfect. And you’re mine to mess up like this.”

His? Her thighs shook at his words, the low growl in his voice sparking something deep inside her chest.

Bucky leaned in, and his stubble grazed her inner thigh as he pressed a kiss there, lingering his lips as he muttered, “Maybe I should take a picture, so you know how fucking incredible you look right now.”

Her head fell back with a strangled, embarrassed moan. “Don’t you dare,” She protested, without much conviction.

He chuckled, finally easing up on her overstimulated nerves. Then, he pulled back, standing tall as he licked his bottom lip. “Good thing I’ve got a photographic memory. I’ll be thinking about how fucking incredible you look dripping my cum on the floor when I’m at home later, getting all needy.”

The heat on her cheeks spread down her neck and chest. “My god, Sarge, you say your prayers with that mouth?” she asked, her tone trembling with exhaustion and disbelief.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he pulled back to meet her gaze. “It’s been a long time since I stopped doing that,” he admitted, carrying an edge of cynicism that matched the wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

He couldn’t help but admire the sight before his eyes. Her disheveled state, the pristine uniform now wrinkled, pushed up and open, her lips swollen and glossy from everything they’d just done. For almost a second, a pang of guilt flared in his chest. Almost.

The notion of her going back to work in this state, dripping with his cum while she smiled and served customers, stirred something deliciously darker in him. The guilt was quickly overtaken by the way his cock twitched again, the lingering pull of need frustrating him as much as it excited him. He muttered a low curse under his breath.

“Here,” he said after a moment, offering his hand for her to stand up. “Let me help you look all pretty so you can carry on with your day.”

He grabbed her crumpled uniform and smoothed it down over her thighs, brushing his fingers on the soft skin under it as he worked to put her back together. When he reached her collar, he buttoned the top slowly, deliberately taking his time.

“You’re gonna walk out there,” he said, adjusting her apron with a hum of satisfaction, “looking just like you did before I got my hands on you.”

Her lips parted as if to respond, but the words didn’t come out. He leaned close, brushing his pierced nose against hers, mingling his minty breath with hers, before stepping back with a low chuckle. “So much better than the garlic bread.”

He stepped back, bending to retrieve his tank top from the floor. Without hesitation, he slipped the shirt over his head, dragging it down on the hard lines of his inked chest. When the fabric caught over his pierced nipples, he hissed through his teeth. He adjusted it with a slight tug, smoothing it over his abs, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t in any rush to leave the moment behind.

His gaze flicked to her form and a dark glint sparked in his eyes. His tone dropped into something deeper, more dangerous, as he added, “If anyone gives you trouble...”

He paused, letting the weight of his words linger between them. “You know where to find me.” It wasn’t just a statement; it was a subtle reminder of where he worked, down at the construction site.

Before she could gather herself enough to respond, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door. As his hand rested on the handle, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, his blue eyes filled with a hint of satisfaction.

“Enjoy the rest of your shift, Muffin,” he drawled, before disappearing out the door leaving her breathless and utterly wrecked.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[roordismo]

Top Bins - Alexia Putellas

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word count: 690 | summary: late night practice

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Alexia always did after-training practice whenever team training wrapped up, it became a habit after she had rehabbed for so long, an extra push to get back to the level she used to be at. You teasingly called her an ‘overachiever’ for it, even though you’d sometimes tag along with her.

The two of you spend countless nights just doing something extra to keep your form up. Tonight was no different, planning on spending your time with Alexia as you always did. It had gotten quite a bit darker outside as you walked out on the same pitch you trained on less than an hour ago. The pitch was completely cleared of all training equipment by the staff, though they were kind enough to keep the lights on. As you looked down at your phone, Alexia came walking out on the pitch, putting her stuff next to yours. The both of you agreed on practicing free kicks this time.

After a few decent attempts you put the ball down again, adjusting it so it stayed in the ‘perfect spot’. “Míra esto Putellas, top bins, I can feel it.” You said confidently with a smug grin on your face. She chuckled at your confidence, “Yeah? Are you gonna put your money where your mouth is?” Giving her a glance as you lined up to take your shot, you responded, “Absolutely, I always back my statements up.” The ball went flying over, not even remotely close to the crossbar, hitting the fence behind the goals with a loud thud. “So that was supposed to be top bins?” She raised an eyebrow, mocking your confidence from earlier. “Era una broma, you didn’t think i was serious did you?” You asked, trying to cover up your shitty attempt, even though you were embarrassed not being able to follow up your words. “Oh this isn’t your best? Maybe I should've waited before judging you then, go again.” She dared you as you picked up the ball from the goal and put it back in the same spot around the 16-yard box. You watched the ball fly through the sky, only for it to land on the roof of the net. “Es esto todo lo que tienes? Are you sure you’re not aiming for the wrong bins?” She chuckled, pointing at the top corner of the goal. “Whatever smartass, let me do this perfectly now.” You lined up again, as she called out, “Don’t overdo yourself, tryhard!” “Third time's a charm they say.” You shouted right back at her before taking the shot. The run up was perfect, you hit the ball perfectly this time and drove it right into the top corner Alexia pointed at a minute ago.

"And how’s this for top bins Ale? I told you I could do it” You added cockily, a big grin spreading across your face as she rolled her eyes. “What did I say, you’ve doubted me the whole time.” Going on about the fact you just hit top bins, forgetting about all the previous misses. “So now you’re an expert of course, it was a lucky shot!” She teased, putting her hands up in the air as she chuckled at your response. “A lucky shot? It was pure skill! I’m the next Ballon d’Or winner for sure!” You went on, “You’re really full of it tonight.” Giving you a little shove at all your bragging, stepping closer towards you. “You’re just jealous you didn’t-” Alexia shook her head, tugging your collar firmly before pressing her lips down on yours, catching you by surprise.

A small smile appeared on her face after she pulled away. “I’ll give you something to brag about.” she said proudly. “Hm yeah, this might be better than hitting that shot.” you responded, grinning like a child. Then she moved away from you, leaving you clueless on what was going to happen next. She put the ball back down, right before effortlessly sending it into the left corner of the goal. There she stood, laughing whilst looking at you. “Fine, you win Alexia…” you jokingly sighed. “Someone had to show you how it’s done."

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first time in forever again, any errors lmk x

[chocobje]

How I like to characterize Sprout is that he’s great talking with the ones he’s close with (Cosmo, Astro, etc.) But incredibly socially awkward with others. He comes off as brash, but he’s trying his best.

What guidelines do you try to follow when writing Sprout? I’m just curious.

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to yap about one of my favourite characters hehe..

You asked for guidelines I gave you a character analysis instead.

(Don't mind the images I didn't want this post to look naked)

ALSO NOTE THAT AT THE END OF THE DAY THIS IS MERELY MY INTERPRETATION OF HIS CHARACTER. EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN!! Don't take my post as a mandatory guide to follow.

Let's talk about what's canon:

I like checking the Wikipedia for his dialogues every now and then to make sure he's not too out-of-character.

Sprout comes off as blunt, he does not sugarcoat his words when he has something to say.

Not even an excuse or a reason as to why he doesn't want to join Teagan for tea; It was straight up a "no" until Teagan told him Cosmo will join them too. (Also I want to point out he doesn't immediately say yes when he's told Cosmo will be there, so for all we know he'd still decline even if his best friend's joining Teagan).

Dandy's dialogue when you purchase Sprout. I think about it a lot. Out of all the character dialogues, the one with Astro is what I feel like is an example of his overprotectiveness coming across as "pushy".

He'd definitely be the type to scold his friends. Especially after Gardenview's shutdown with all the Twisteds wreaking havoc and whatnot. I don't think Sprout is fond of going on runs, but only does so he can watch over everyone and keep them safe. He makes sure everyone is focused and on high alert, he doesn't want anyone to be reckless.

He prioritizes safety over answers. His dialogue with Rodger shows that. Maybe he's also curious as to what has happened, because in Vee's dialogue he tried talking to Dandy only for Dandy to walk away. I assume Sprout just wanted to check up on him rather than knowing what's going on with Gardenview and the Twisteds.

Another thing I don't really see often is how Sprout is actually pretty forgetful and impulsive.

For a Toon who's constantly keeping watch on everyone he surely does not apply the same kind of attention to himself.

He talks before thinking about his words, but once he realized that he immediately apologized to Vee. I don't think he always notices when he comes across as rude though.

I actually think he's actually quite reckless when he bakes. I obviously can't show it in this post but if you look at that animation with Cosmo and Sprout baking they're not even measuring the ingredients. I mean what. 😭

The way he bakes feels so impulsive and it just looked like they were winging it. Somehow despite that their baked goods still end up great and that's honestly impressive.

Okay now for that dialogue between Bobette and Sprout, I was getting there-- I've never made a gingerbread house but from what I've seen from other people it requires a lot more patience and carefulness.

Sprout is neither.

According to him, his gingerbread house fell apart immediately and then he stopped trying afterwards. It's honestly funny.

I feel like this also shows through his stats. Both his extraction speed and skillcheck is 2 stars. His stamina and speed is way higher. He prefers running around, probably to make sure he can watch over everyone during their runs. That or because he has long legs.

Anyway to recap; Sprout in canon is blunt, pushy, overprotective, and impulsive. But he genuinely has good intentions and means well. He cares for his friends, which is why he scolds them because he wants to make sure they're safe.

Now for some headcanons:

Okay this is the part where I make stuff up. So it's just my take;

• He has ADHD.

I'M STARTING WITH THE NEURODIVERGENT HEADCANON.

This is not a unique headcanon. I've seen so many people who headcanons this too so it's relatively popular. Personally, I only see him with ADHD. (I'm projecting).

He's forgetful, impulsive, and quite socially awkward in a way aswell. He's easily distracted. He keeps forgetting about the oven. He's impulsive when baking. I'm a very impulsive and reckless person myself, I constantly make mistakes when I draw, yet somehow they end up okay 😭. When I'm not able to draw something right, I give up immediately. (I projected this onto the gingerbread house thing earlier).

• He comes across as intimidating.

You know in Kids' birthday parties when there's a mascot a lotta kids go run and hide? I based it off of that. I remember when I was like, 6 or 7, when a mascot came in I cried and hid under a table. They were tall.. <\3

I feel like there was a concerning number of kids who were actually afraid of him, despite how friendly he appears both in person and in the show. Maybe it's the RBF when he's not smiling..

I also like to think he's taller than some of the kids who comes to Gardenview which plays a factor to the whole "intimidating" thing. The way Sprout deals with this is giving the kids cupcakes or other sweets. Once the kids actually talk to him they're immediately comfortable.

• He was one of the very first to become "Twisted".

I don't have a concrete idea on how the story of the game goes, but I always imagine the Mains being the first victims. Sprout is a healer and he keeps an eye on everyone, so he had to go first.

–

Okay, I think that's all now. If you read all of that wow thanks, this took me hours to write 😭. I love overanalysing characters.

[carnalcrows]

DETECTIVE - JUNHO

pairing: junho x top male reader

synopsis: Your boyfriend returns from work all stressed and pent up. You decide to relieve him of his troubles.

content warnings: 18+, bottom junho, unprotected sex, breeding, creampie, junho gets a little cock drunk.

word count: 1.0k

A/N: had fun with this request!! tysm anon <3

Jun-ho stumbled into the apartment, the weight of his investigation etched deeply into his tired features. His tie was loose, his shirt half-untucked, and his hair looked like he’d run his hands through it at least a hundred times that day. You were sprawled on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine, but the moment you heard the door creak open, you shot up to greet him.

“Rough day, detective?” you teased lightly, offering him a grin as he kicked off his shoes with the enthusiasm of a man who had been on his feet for far too long.

“Rough doesn’t even cover it,” he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’m chasing ghosts, and every lead either disappears or ends up dead.”

You frowned sympathetically, stepping closer to slide your arms around his waist. “That’s why you’ve got me,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “To make you forget all about those pesky ghosts.”

Jun-ho gave a weary chuckle, his hands finding their place on your hips. “You always know how to make me feel better,” he murmured, though his shoulders remained tense.

“Well, that’s my job, isn’t it?” you quipped, gently pulling him toward the bedroom. “Come on, Mr. Detective. You need to relax, and I’ve got just the plan.”

The bedroom was dimly lit, a few candles casting a warm glow across the room. You pushed him gently onto the bed, your hands working at the buttons of his shirt before he could protest. “You need to stop overworking yourself,” you scolded playfully. “I can’t have my boyfriend turning into a stress zombie.”

Jun-ho sighed, letting you slide the shirt off his shoulders. “Easier said than done,” he mumbled. “This case… It's like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The scale of it, the cruelty—”

“Shhh,” you interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. “No work talk. Just you, me, and forgetting all about whatever’s out there.”

He looked at you, his dark eyes softening as a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you love me,” you replied smugly, leaning in to kiss him.

What started as a gentle kiss quickly deepened, the tension in his body melting away under your touch. Your hands roamed his back, coaxing him to relax as he let out a quiet, contented sigh. His lips moved against yours with increasing fervor, and you felt his earlier exhaustion being replaced by something far more passionate.

Your hands slid down his waist, settling at the hem of his pants, gently tugging them off.

“ ‘M gonna take care of you tonight,” you mumbled before pressing a kiss to his shoulder, before trailing them all the way to his happy trails.

You slightly nipped at his boxers, before pulling them down with your teeth, making him shudder.

“Fuck– just put it in already,” he mumbled, to which you merely smirked before picking up the packet of lube you had kept near the bedside and ripping it with your teeth.

The cool liquid slid down your fingers, and you took one and prodded at his home, before slowly sliding it in.

Jun-ho moaned at the intrusion, it had been a while since the two of you had done anything together.

You slid another digit in, followed by a third one. Three fingers were pumping in and out of the man, eliciting the most beautiful noises you had ever heard in a while.

Deeming him prepped enough, you removed you fingers, and replaced them with your hardened length, groaning as his hole clenched around the tip.

Jun-ho let out a loud moan, feeling filled to the brim. You slowly slid all the way in, stopping when your pelvis was reading against his ass.

“Gonna move now baby,” you uttered before pulling out all the way to the tip before slamming back in. His back arched, eyes going to the back of his head.

You showed no mercy with your thrusts, every single one hitting his prostate.

Jun-ho was clinging onto the bed sheets with a desperation, his legs tightening their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer into him.

His brain had gone haywire, you cock filling the empty space. It was all he could think about– if he could even think, given the situation.

Without warning, he came– painting both his and your torsos. You didn't stop however, merely speeding up your thrusts, making him whine from the overstimulation.

His hole clenched around you tightly, and you felt yourself release, coating his insides with your seed.

Jun-ho whined when you pulled out of him, feeling empty. You got up and grabbed a washcloth, wiping him down before cleaning yourself up. Throwing the cloth away, you tucked him into bed, laying down beside him and letting sleep take you over.

Hours later, Jun-ho was fast asleep beside you, his breathing steady and peaceful. You watched him for a moment, a soft smile playing on your lips as you brushed a strand of hair from his face. He looked so serene, so trusting.

And then your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, grabbing the device and stepping into the other room. You glanced at the screen, your stomach flipping when you saw the name: Front Man.

You hesitated for only a moment before answering. “It’s done,” you whispered, your voice calm and controlled. “He’s completely distracted.”

A deep, distorted voice replied, “Good. Keep him that way. We can’t afford any interference.”

Your lips curved into a smirk, your eyes flicking back toward the bedroom where Jun-ho slept soundly. “He won’t suspect a thing. I’ll make sure of it.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then the voice said, “You’ve done well. Don’t forget where your loyalties lie.”

“Of course not,” you replied smoothly, ending the call and placing the phone back on the counter.

As you returned to bed, sliding under the covers beside Jun-ho, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something—was it guilt? Regret? It didn’t matter. You’d made your choice long ago, and there was no turning back.

You wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close as he unconsciously leaned into your touch. “Goodnight, detective,” you murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

And as the night stretched on, you lay there with him, your mind already calculating your next move.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[itsnesss]

Please could you do something with Junho meeting readers ex-boyfriend?? 💌

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | fluff, tension

word count | 0.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You’re standing in front of the window of a small bookstore on a quiet street in the center. The rain falls gently, creating a peaceful echo that contrasts with the swirling thoughts in your head. Junho is beside you, holding an umbrella over both of you, though you’ve noticed that he’s more exposed to the rain than you. He always puts others first, especially you.

“Are you going to go in, or just keep looking?” he asks with a small smile.

You turn to look at him and notice the playful gleam in his eyes. Junho has this ability to make you feel light, as if problems don’t exist for a moment.

“I was thinking about it. But I don’t want to wet the books,” you joke.

“You could soak all the books and they wouldn’t stop loving you,” he replies without thinking, and although he tries to act casual, you can see the color rise in his face.

Before you can respond, a sound behind you catches your attention. Turning around, you feel a twist in your stomach. It’s someone you didn’t expect to see, someone who represents a part of your past that you left behind.

There he is, your ex, standing a few feet away. He wears a black coat that barely hides his imposing presence, and his eyes seem to find yours immediately. The smile you once found comforting now feels unsettling.

Junho follows your gaze and, with just one look, understands.

“Do you know him?” he asks softly, without taking his eyes off the man who’s approaching.

“Yes,” you reply almost in a whisper. “He’s… someone I’d rather not see.”

But it’s too late to avoid it. Your ex is already standing in front of you, with that confidence he’s always had. His eyes shift from you to Junho, quickly evaluating him.

“Wow, I never thought I’d run into you here,” he says, addressing you as if Junho isn’t present.

“I’m fine,” you reply coldly, trying to keep your composure.

“And who’s this?” he asks, nodding toward Junho.

Junho steps forward, subtly positioning himself between the two of you.

“I’m Junho,” he says firmly, extending a hand that your ex takes with some reluctance.

The handshake lasts longer than necessary, and you can feel the tension between them. Your ex has always been territorial, even when he no longer had the right to be.

“I see,” he says finally, releasing Junho’s hand. “So now you have company.”

The insinuation in his tone irritates you, but before you can say anything, Junho speaks.

“She doesn’t need company. She knows how to take care of herself.”

Your ex lets out a low, almost mocking laugh.

“I know that. But it’s not bad to have someone looking out for her. Right?”

You shudder hearing your name come from his mouth, but you maintain your calm.

“I don’t know what you want, but I have nothing to say to you,” you say, trying to end the conversation.

He raises his hands as if surrendering.

“Relax. I just wanted to say hello. Looks like things are going well for you. That’s good.”

You know it’s not sincere. His tone, his posture, everything about him screams that he’s testing the waters.

“Thanks. You can leave now,” you reply firmly.

For a moment, it seems like he’s going to insist, but then his eyes shift toward Junho, and something in his gaze changes.

“We’ll see each other soon, I’m sure,” he says finally, and without waiting for a response, he walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

Junho remains silent, watching his figure until it fades. Then he looks at you, with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” you respond, though you’re not entirely sure it’s true.

“Do you want to talk about him?” he asks cautiously.

“There’s not much to say. He’s someone from my past, someone I don’t want in my present,” you admit, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion.

Junho nods, giving you the space you need. He’s always been like this, never pushing you, but his steady presence is enough to make you feel safe.

“I won’t let him bother you again,” he says suddenly, with a firmness you didn’t expect.

You look at him, surprised, but on his face, you only see determination. Junho isn’t someone who looks for conflict, but when it comes to protecting you, he seems willing to do whatever it takes.

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling the tension in your body start to dissipate.

“Always,” he responds, and this time the smile he gives you manages to make you let out a small laugh.

[cuteandhughesy]

I’m Talking Nonsense | Mikko Rantanen

summary: everyone in the avalanche social media room knows that getting mikko rantanen to participate in content was a lost cause—that is until you showed up.

4.3k

warnings: flirting | lil bit of pining | mature themes | lil hot and heavy kissing | allusions to sex but no actual smut | read at your own discretion

a/n: okay…so obviously I started writing this before the trade—because nobody in their right mind was expecting mikko to get traded. but I digress, anyways! I originally wanted to post this on valentine’s day but in this moment of sadness, I knew all the mikko girls (myself included) needed this pick me up ❤️ to all you liking my old mikko fic—I see yall and we got this.

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mikko rantanen didn't hate social media — actually, no he did hate it. the finnish native always knew it to be invasive and impersonal, and he'd rather not have to look at fake happy, posed pictures and videos that make his life feel less than. and that's coming for a guy living as a professional athlete.

so when tiktok started gaining more traction and other nhl teams were making accounts for their respective teams—mikko was dreading it. he thought there was a level of privacy that should be respected, and having a camera shoved in your face is totally breaching boundaries. the thought of the avalanche making an account was just not something he wanted.

after a shitty practice—hell even a good practice—the last thing he wanted was to be asked if he thought he could land a plane, or if he believes in aliens...mikko just wanted to go home.

and mikko understands that the social admin was simply doing their jobs, but he couldn't help but fill with irritation anytime they'd approach him with the phone and mini-microphone and/or question cup. it was the quickest way to piss him off.

it didn't help that the avalanche fans were always in the comments asking about his noticeable absence. they wanted to see more of their assistant captain outside of gruelling post-game interviews and game highlights—they wanted the real and fun side of mikko they very rarely had the chance of seeing.

but that didn't change mikko's opinion of social media—he'd avoid the admin team at any costs, especially when he saw that stupid tiktok phone and various props he knew he'd hate to use.

that is, until you showed up.

the first time mikko saw you—standing behind the usual admin suspects with a nervous gaze and fiddling hands—he didn't think much of it. sure, you were pretty, but mikko thinks a lot of girls are pretty.

but then as the months past and your surprisingly warm and bubbly personality began peeking through your hard exterior shell, mikko begin feeling intrigued. you are always smiling, even if someone is giving you a hard time—when he is giving you a hard time—and you're constantly trying to bond with the players. you remember who these athletes are at their core—human, which a lot of people in your job description seem to forget.

the team quickly grew fond of you, and when they saw it was you in the hallway with a cup of questions, or in their locker room with that stupid tiny microphone—the energy would shift. that's just how you are though—vibrant and welcoming, and the guys feed off that energy and turn into a fun group of giddy boys.

even nathan mackinnon, who was almost as turned off by social media as mikko, enjoyed your company, doing silly things for tiktok's he'd never even dreamed of.

it had mikko's own exterior beginning to crack. before he'd be more apprehensive to the idea of participating in social media trends he had no clue about, but you and your grin had him changing.

—

lina, your co-worker looks at you over the top of her laptop, analyzing your soft face as you work on your own computer—editing a tiktok that needed to go up today. you're left with very minimal time, as the avalanche practice finishes in 5 minutes. which means in 15 you both have to head down for some more content.

it's the third time in the past minute lina as looked at you—you can feel her eyes burning through the middle of your forehead. slowly, your eyes trial up and meet hers, a questioning pull to your furrowed eyebrows. "you okay?"

she huffs—not in annoyance or impatience, but rather curiosity. lina flicks her red hair over her shoulder, and then crosses her arms—her gaze never leaving yours. "i'm trying to figure out how you do it."

you're even more confused now. "do what?"

lina snorts like it's obvious. "you've been here five months, y/n. it's been five months of watching you work with the guys and more specifically, getting mikko to work with you."

your lips contort into a confused pout—any more confusion and your head will begin to pound. you're not sure what lina is trying to imply, because as far as you know all the guys on the avs are extremely good with you and have never given you a hard time—that's just how they are...right?

"mikko is great." you hum dismissively, your fingers resuming their place on your keyboard as you continue the code in your side bar to enable the audio change in the clip—attempting to remove ross' loud voice from the background so you can better hear cale's answer.

"that's the thing," lina starts, eyes full of amusement as she leans over the table. "he's really not."

you pause. "what?"

"before you showed up, mikko was always turning a blind eye to me and nick. if we even attempted to talk to him the way you do—well, it never ended how we wanted it to." her face contorts as if she's reliving it.

one of your brows raise in question. "did he like...sentence you to a guillotine or something?"

lina disapproves of your humorous tone, sending you daggers across the meeting room table. she shuts her laptop, resting her elbow atop the logo as she puts her chin in her palm. "ha ha."

satisfied with her pointed response, you get back to work. but, lina isn't done. "he hates this kind of stuff."

"no he doesn't," you retort quickly. "mikko seems happy when I have questions for him. in fact, yesterday he came over to me and asked for one—said something about how they 'make his day bright'" you mimic mikko's deep accent to the best of your abilities, but you sound more like a drowning troll rather than the 6"4 winger.

lina's eyes widen comically—she can't believe what's she's hearing. "anytime I even point the phone in his direction he scowls and walks away. so what are you doing to get him to cooperate?" she eyes you quizzically for a moment before a devious lightbulb goes off in her head, expression morphing into a playful, teasing one. "are you fucking him?"

you squeak, and your cheeks heat up to an undeniable level of embarrassment. "no!" and it's true—of course you're not sleeping with mikko.

she raises her hands in surrender, but her smile doesn't let up. "I wouldn't blame you if you were, y/n. he's hot—like stupid hot."

"okay," you huff, covering your burning cheeks with your hands. "maybe you should sleep with him then."

lina snorts. "trust me—if I could get near him I would."

"you know," you start, "I really don't think what you're saying is true. maybe mikko didn't like it in the past, but I think he's changed his option on the social media stuff."

she raises her brow—almost challengingly. "think so?"

"yup." you hum.

"let's test it, then." lina chimes. "today i'll go up to mikko first, and ill do exactly what you would do when approaching him. and when he sends me away—which he will—then you'll go up to him, and we'll see what happens."

it's tempting—mostly because you're certain there won't be a difference in the way mikko acts towards you then he does lina. sure, mikko isn't always the most sunshine and rainbows when it comes to his personality, but he's always been compliant with you.

so although he's broody and definitely not in love with the idea of having a camera in his face—you're sure he's not going to turn lina away.

"you're on."

it's not 5 minutes later you're both packing up your respective things, preparing to make your way down to the locker room where the guys are surly anticipating your and lina's arrival.

the room is bustling with people—half dressed hockey players and pressing reporters fill the locker room, which creates a slightly hectic environment—but you're used to it by now. so neither of you seem suspicious, you ask a few of the other avs players your selected questions for the day. questions you and lina had argued about for the entire morning—she thought most of them were stupid, you thought they were was hilarious.

plus, the reporters are still swarmed around mikko's stall—the finnish native standing in the middle with a deadpanned look on his face, barley listening to them as they ask the same repetitive questions as usual.

you and lina get some good content from ross colton and josh manson, both players giving you ridiculous and enthusiastic responses to the absurd questions you'd earlier shoved in the alumni silver cup.

lina's mischievous look is back as the sea of middle aged reporters move onto their next victim—cale makar—leaving mikko by his lonesome. "i'll be back." before you can react, she plucks the phone out of your hands, effortlessly making her way through the room until she's in front of mikko.

you strain your ears, but it's no use as the chatter in the locker room is too overpowering, and you're unable to hear lina or mikko. miles wood gives you an odd look—eyeing the way you stand ridged beside his stall, gnawing your thumb as you watch lina talk to the blonde winger—but you don’t notice.

it's only a moment before lina turns around, her grin even wider than it was before as she makes her way back towards you. "your turn." she chimes, thrusting the phone back in your palms.

"what happened?" you question.

lina raises one her brows, pushing you in the direction of mikko's stall. "he didn't want to answer anymore questions."

"okay," you draw. "so maybe I shouldn't go over there."

lina continues guiding you in his general direction. "no it's actually exactly why you should go over there."

you don't get to argue any further as you're suddenly right in front of mikko—almost too close, and if you take another step towards him you're thighs will bump his knees.

speaking of thighs—mikko's are on full display. the huge, muscle carved limbs spread wide as he manspreads in his stall. the expanse of smooth, hard skin making you feel flustered and suddenly intrigued. your eyes flicker upwards, finding the icy blue ones of mikko looking back at you.

you swallow, a heat rising to your cheeks. "hi, mikko."

"hi, y/n." he says your name playfully, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. "you okay?"

you nod too quickly and immediately curse yourself for acting so uncool. you've never been this nervous around any of the avs, especially not mikko, but lina's comments about his looks earlier are lingering in your mind—leaving you flustered.

because obviously you are aware mikko is hot, but now you can't help but be really aware of the fact. damn lina.

"yeah," you clear your throat, clutching the cellphone tightly in your hand. "I was actually just wondering if you'd answer a question for tiktok? for me? promise it'll be quick."

his eyes flicker over your warm, hopeful face, and after a beat he sighs gently, a quick nod following. "yeah I can do that for you."

you can't help the way your eyes widen at his agreement. mikko seems oblivious to your shocked state, removing his remaining elbow pad and tossing it towards the back of his messy stall.

you catch a whiff of his intoxicating scent, and even with the sweat lingering across his forehead and soaking his branded undershirt, mikko smells so good. he's always been enveloped in a cloud of clean laundry and something slightly woodsy, and even though you're extremely professional, it never fails to make you falter.

you clear your throat and your head. "really?"

mikko runs the damp towel previously hung around his neck through his messy curls, making the appearance of them even more fluffy and soft. his eyes twinkle with amusement, a matching half smile blossoming on his lips. "yeah, really. why do you sound shocked?"

you make a tiny noise of confusion in the back of your throat, shooting a glance to lina over your shoulder. she sends you a triumphant look, brow raised like she knew that she was right.

she is right.

you look back at mikko quickly, "I just thought..." you trail off, brows pulling tightly as you think about the excuse he gave to lina—you're so confused. you've never noticed before if mikko had a certain favouritism towards you over lina, or even nick. I mean, you never paid attention to anything like that—but now you feel like you should be more aware, because this doesn't make sense.

"you thought..?" mikko raises one eyebrow, waiting for the second half of your sentence.

"nothing." you blink quickly, adjusting the phone in your hand. "sorry, let's just get to it."

you're still in some sort of shock for the rest of the day—the pieces of the puzzle in your mind loose and turned upside down as you try and understand mikko's dismissal of lina, or better yet, his compliance with you.

it had you further trying to solve the mystery. does mikko just prefer you? does he like your voice over your co-workers? maybe you smell like his favourite desert? does he like you? does mikko want to fuck you?

you're not sure where to pinpoint the source, but you're also determined to find the answer. with some help for lina, and even a little input from nick, you conjure up a plan—which lina finds the upmost entertainment in.

but you mean nothing but business. for the next few weeks it's only you who works with mikko rantanen—it's you asking him questions and having him participate in stupid games. and without fail, every single time you ask him, mikko complies.

so you get crazier with it. whether it's a questions about my little pony—a show mikko has never even heard of—or having him lift you onto his shoulder while a sabrina carpenter song plays through the tiktok recording—he is participating without complaining.

every. single. time.

it has your good friends, but ever so annoying colleagues theorizing.

"maybe he's got a thing for girls with her hair colour? can't resist them." nick chimes, sipping some piping hot coffee from an avalanche branded mug.

you roll your eyes, pulling open the microwave to grab your shitty frozen meal.

lina's laugh echos through the staff room, "mhmm...or maybe her eye colour." she sends you a teasing look before slurping some saucy noddles up into her mouth.

before you can respond nick pipes up again, "he definitely wants in her pants."

you take a seat beside lina—across from your male coworker—and send them both a slightly amused, but deadpanned look. "are you guys done?"

despite your attitude towards them, you can't help but wonder if their theories are correct. sure, mikko seems sweet enough—towards you anyways—but with the way you're barley pushing him into participating in stupid little tiktok's, has you pondering. mikko is nice...but not that nice.

is he just trying to get into your pants? and then forgot about you? the thought has you feeling angry, because you're not just some girl who he can treat nicely until he gets what he wants—absolutely not. and you're not going to let him treat you like a fool, just because he wants his dick wet.

the following day you’re determined to get answers and put your mind at ease. you like mikko—he’s a great guy—but you don’t want to feel like you’re being used. there was a team meeting and breakfast today, without the pressure of practice or a game—essentially an off day for the guys.

as the chaos of the dining room begins clearing out, only a few lingering athletes and staff members at some of the tables, you make your way across the room with a determined step, looking for mikko.

you catch the broad expanse of his back and blonde hair sticking out from underneath his beanie just as he slips out the door. you grumble to yourself, speeding up in hopes to catch him before he leaves the facility.

pushing open the rather heavy door to the hallway, you’re immediately greeted by his familiar laugh and gabe landeskogs smooth voice—spewing some dad joke that only mikko would find funny.

before you can sike yourself out, you march up to the two european teammates. “rantanen, I need to talk to you.”

they pause in their slow steps, conversation halting abruptly as both men turn to look at you. the sight of your hard expression and pointed gaze has mikko swallowing roughly, eyeing you with confusion.

gabe snickers quietly, the sound missing your ears, and pats mikko’s shoulder sympathetically. “last name, huh? good luck.” with that the avalanche captain stalks off, disappearing down the quiet hallway.

you cross your arms defensively, looking up—way up—at him, tone rough and determined. “are you trying to fuck me or something?”

“whoa whoa, just hold on a second.” mikko’s eyes widen, looking around the hallways quickly to ensure you were alone. even though he doesn’t see any physical bodies, mikko can’t be too sure—especially when he can sense the conversation is going in a direction that doesn’t need to be overheard.

he gently takes ahold of your wrist, guiding you towards the open meeting room directly across from the kitchen. the censor lights flicker alive as you step into the empty, quiet room—illuminating the once dark space.

mikko lets go of your arm, shutting the door with a soft click before turning back to you. he analyzes your face, eyes flickering over your still pointed eyes and the angry pull to your mouth. confused, he steps towards you. “are you joking with me?”

you raise your brows. “do I look like i'm joking with you, mikko?”

he shakes his head gently, like he’s trying to come up with a reason for your sudden coldness—you’ve never acted this way around him, and seeing you so irritated is rather strange. “why are you asking me that?”

he’s referring to the first question you’d asked him—rather angrily may he add. mikko is unsure what brought on the rather sexual outburst of a question, only because it’s so unlike you. in fact, one time ross colton tried to make a sexual innuendo with you, and you just about turned the colour of a ripe apple.

mikko thinks he must’ve done something—or said something to make you not only think like that, but ask him about—without so much as a blush on your face. you were serious.

you cross your arms again, defensive walls still built high. clearing your throat, you look away from mikko and towards the navy blue patterned rug covering the floor. “ why are you so nice to me?”

you practically whisper, timidly running your foot along the worn out carpet.

mikko blinks. “what?” he’s even more confused now—because why wouldn’t he be nice to you. you’re sweet, and respectful, and funny, and beautiful, and you’re you.

you meet his eyes again, expect this time there’s more emotion swimming in them, and you’re slowly coming down of your flurry of anger—left with fear and your own confusion. “like..,” you start unsure, “you only do the media stuff when i'm the one asking you to. are you only being nice to me so that like, you'll get in my pants?”

you’re right, he thinks. he only does media when you ask, but it’s not because he suddenly wants to if you’re the one asking, it’s because he can’t say no to you. mikko never wants to see you sad—he never wants to see the current look on your face when he can help it.

mikko shakes his head, slow and steady. “no. that's not why i'm nice to you.”

“no?” you parrot, the tiniest hint of disbelief in your tone.

“no.” mikko repeats firmly. “i'm nice to you because I like you.”

“like as a friend?” you gulp, arms falling to your sides as you’re no longer strong enough to hold them around yourself.

mikko doesn’t see the point of hiding his true feelings any longer. the thought of you thinking he had ulterior motives with his kindness literally makes his stomach hurt, and he can’t have you believing he’s trying to use you for his own benefit.

so with a gentle sigh, he takes another step closer to you, eyes softening as he takes in your hesitant gaze and red cheeks. “more than a friend.” mikko admits gently.

your face falls, “oh.” you’re in some sort of shock, looking up at the winger with parted lips and wide eyes. the way mikko is looking at you, so raw and real, has any lingering hesitance falling away, and your expression quickly shifts.

“yeah, oh.” the corner of mikko’s plump lip slides upwards, the beginning stages of a lopsided smirk growing on his flushing face.

he reaches towards you, slowly, hands enveloping the sides of your head as he holds you in his palms. mikko’s hands are so warm and big, completely covering your cheeks and ears—the feeling itself has you turned on.

your breath hitches as mikko’s rough thumbs begin running over your cheekbones, stroking your warm skin absentmindedly.

his tongue licks along his bottom lip, moistening the skin slowly. mikko swallows gently, not once taking his gaze off your flustered face. “but like, just so there’s no confusion, I would eat you out on the table until you’re crying if that’s what you wanted.”

you inhale sharply, stomach dropping with excitement and adrenaline. your body flutters at his words, “mikko.” you whine in a whisper, hands reaching out and resting against his hard pecks. you have no control of your hands, the need to feel him under your palms too strong. you begin running over his covered chest, his muscles tightening and nipples hardening under your deliberate touches.

mikko huffs shakily before he comes down, kissing you with as much passion he can manage. his lips are surprisingly soft and smooth, enclosing and teasing yours in a messy, hard way. the feeling has your stomach swooping further, toes curling in your shoes as the kiss grows harder—needier.

suddenly, mikko’s hands run down your body, passing over your ass with a firm squeeze. you moan into his mouth as his hands find the backs of your thighs, picking you up.

you gasp as he lifts you effortlessly, sitting you on the table like it’s nothing—mikko smirks at the sound you make, and he can’t help the way his dick twitches in his pants. his wet lips trail off your mouth, travelling over your jaw and down your neck where he continues giving you hot, and hurried kisses.

reluctantly, your eyes flutter open, running a hand under mikko’s beanie, gripping the base of his hair between your trembling fingers. “we can get in a lot of trouble for this.” you breathe.

despite your words, your hips rolls against his hardening length, your cores at the perfect angle with you sitting on the table to grinding together deliciously.

mikko pulls back, eyes glazed with lust as he grins. “I know. so we'll just have to be sneaky.” his words are husky, sending your blood pumping and head swirling with need.

he leans back in, giving you another eye rolling kiss. you push his hat off his head completely, giving yourself free reign of his messy curls, tugging the blonde strands as your heart desires.

mikko pulls you closer on the tabletop, further bumping your clothed heat against his. his large hands slide underneath the back of your top, running over your spine and fiddling with the edge of your lacy bralette.

you sigh trembly, disconnecting the kiss. “i'll have to stop asking you questions though. because now I really won't be able to control myself around you.”

the admission has mikko smirking, biting his lip seductively. one of his hands round to your front, groping your tit over your bra. “I turn you on baby?” he already knew the answer to his question—your hardened nipples and shifting hips giving him all the information he needs.

you laugh through a breathless exhale, and you gently hit his shoulder. “be serious. you'll have to tolerate lina, and start saying yes when she asks you to do things.”

“no promises.” he chimes playfully, hands running back down your torso—leaving goosebumps in their wake.

you give him a soft, serene smile, which as mikko following suit—looking at you the way he always has. “I really like you, mikko.” you admit gently, one of your hands running over his building bicep before sliding around to rest on his shoulder blade.

for a moment, his smile remains admirable, looking down at you like you’re the only thing that has ever mattered. mikko has been dreaming of the day you say those words, and actually hearing you speak them is just otherworldly.

but because he’s a boy, and you’re his dream girl with his spit coating your plump lips—he can’t help himself. mikko’s hand rounds to your front, dipping underneath the waistband of your leggings and sliding over your underwear. he thumbs your clit over the thin material, and your mouth goes slack at his touch.

he breathes, smirking at the feeling of your arousal soaking through your panties. “yeah I can tell.”

“shut up.” you huff, pulling him back in to continue your desperate kiss.

[waiting-foratrain]

> ‘your body remembers what your mind forgets,’ or, i think nona being as loved as she was should fuck harrowhark up a bit.

hello! i have a migraine and too many feelings, thus, as promised, im here to have feelings about tlt! (to preface, this is just a thought i have, it very well might not correlate w/ the text. i’m not fact checking x)

(NONA THE NINTH SPOILERS, I ASSUME)

to begin with, we need to talk about memory. specifically, we need to talk about somatic memory, or the physical sensations of trauma that remain in the body even when the brain itself has repressed the memories of said trauma (sound familiar? it should!) — nona, an amnesiac soul in someone else’s body, almost perfectly embodies this concept.

then, please remind yourself that the body that she’s in is belongs to harrowhark nonagesimus.

nona doesn’t remember drearburh, she doesn’t remember being 200 dead children, she doesn’t remember rolling away the rock, or harrows parents suicides, or any of the casual trauma of harrowharks upbringing… but her body does. then, in ntn, we watch that same body that is now experiencing care on a scale it has never comprehended prior.

forgotten trauma is still healable, and though the trauma that nona retains from having been alecto is still very much present and we see it affect her as she remembers more, simply experiencing the level of love and care that the people around her are giving- pyrrha, camilla, palamedes, even crown, aim, we suffer, etc, in their own ways (not to mention the people at the school)- is something that i think should start to sink into her body, even if she doesn’t have the words or the memories to process that anything is happening. it might not help with the somatic memory around nona being the soul of the earth, but i think it should affect harrow, after nona leaves her body.

nona is someone who is fundamentally kind, fundamentally loving, and fundamentally easily open to connection without so much as a whisper of the layers of guilt and shame harrow was brought up with in place between herself and others. nona doesn’t freeze or move away from touch; she constantly turns towards love, towards affection, towards being taken care of

(also, i think there’s something to be said for the lack of love alecto received vs the magnitude that nona did and the affect that has on the way they both turned out, but that’s for another post-)

anyways, here’s the thing: that sticks.

healing isn’t linear, and it’s certainly not instant, but the way nona treats harrow’s body, the way she lives in harrow’s body? i think that has sincere potential to start rewiring the way it responds to the world. so by the time we get to harrow in alecto? nona is gone, yes, but i think that the care she was shown, and the care she accepted should have started affecting harrow on a level she doesn’t even understand.

nona didn’t just exist in harrows body- she taught it, via experience, what it’s like to be loved... and i think that personally, harrowhark should have to deal with the after affects of that physically. (and emotionally. but this post is about physically)

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

Hey! I was wondering if you could write sequel to selfish or something similar because im the mom/therapist to most of my friends and that one shot was greatly loved by me! no rush tho I absolutely love all the stuff you've made

okay. thanks for the kind words too (❁´◡`❁) ----- SELFISH PT 2

You’ve been standing in front of Alastor’s bedroom door for a good ten minutes. On one hand, you craved his company, on the other hand, Alastor was a sadistic manipulative sociopath with extremely violent tendencies. Logically the answer was to walk away. You didn’t. Though you didn’t knock. You didn’t know if you wanted to knock.

You were so tired.

So tired you just couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. You sighed and took a step backwards, preparing to turn and walk off when the door opened. Alastor stood there, his head cocked to the side.

“Did you need something, dear? I assume so saying you were standing there for quite a while.”

You stared at him. Any words you had planned leaving you to your own devices. Your feet moved on your own accord, stepping up to the Radio Demon and you slumped, resting your head against his chest. Alastor didn’t move or respond. Perhaps you were slumping against the wall and imagining it was Alastor. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Alastor let out a heavy sigh, his warm breath fanning over your head. A wave of self-conciousness overwhelmed you. Taking a step back – Well, you were going to take a step back. Force a smile, apologize, then meander off to deal with your problems solo. Instead, as you went to move, Alastor hooked one arm under your knees and another across your back and picked you up bridal style with all the ease in the world.

“Do I weigh anything to you?” You said with a small smile.

“Weight is not a relative measurement, dear.” He hummed as he carried you into his room.

“It kind of is? Depending on the planet, or even on Earth it can depend on the alleviation.” You rambled mostly to yourself.

“Relative from person to person.” He clarified.

“Aw.”

Alastor dropped you onto his bed without ceremony, laughing as you flailed about in surprise. You shot him a glare he ignored and decided to just curl up onto your side, your back to him.

“Sorry for bothering you.” You muttered, eyes drooping.

The bed creaked as Alastor put his weight on it. One clawed hand gently ran through the hair on your head. You melted at the gentle touch.

“You’re never a bother.”

“Oh, that’s such bullshit.”

“Ha! Okay, fair enough.” Alastor snorted his amusement “The amount of bothering you are doing is inconsequential, is that better?”

You chuckled at the bluntness “Yeah. Thanks for being honest.”

The silence lingered. You closed your eyes, feeling overwhelmed by ….. feeling overwhelmed. Your body felt heavy, your heart felt constricted, your mind felt like cotton. All the while Alastor stroked you head, humming gently.

The peaceful quiet was broken by a harsh, cracking sob. Alastor’s humming stopped the same moment his hand froze. You coughed harshly and curled in tighter on yourself. You felt pathetic.

“I’m sorry-“ You said, trying to stifle your sobs “I-“ This was too much, too embarrassing. You got up quickly and headed for the door “I’m sorry- please forget this happened, I’m…. Sorry!” You ran off, not looking back at Alastor. He didn’t say anything and didn’t stop you.

You ran back to your room, slamming the door shut behind you and pressing your forehead to it as you took long, shaky breaths. What were you thinking? You shouldn’t have bothered anyone with your emotions. Let alone Alastor. He already helped you once, going out of his way to comfort you. Asking for more was just selfish. The Radio Demon no doubt had other things he could be doing and you had no right to interrupt them just because you were sad.

“I’m so pathetic.” You whispered to yourself, pulling away from the door. Wiping your eyes you went to your bed, kicked off your shoes, and collapsed onto the covers. The best thing to do was wait for it to blow over, then you can go back to helping the others. They all had their own problems to deal with, so you shouldn’t be bothering them with yours.

At some point you must have fallen asleep. Because when you opened your eyes again, you were tucked in under the covers, surrounded by overly fluffed pillows, soft jazz was playing from somewhere, and Keekee was sleeping on your stomach.

“Good Morning, dear!” The familiar staticy voice rung out. Almost swaddled in soft things, it took you a moment to wiggle free enough to look at Alastor.

He was sitting at the foot of your bed, reading some novel or something with his legs primly crossed and a cup of coffee in one hand.

Keekee let out a disgruntled meow and you relented and started stroking her back gently. The cat settled again, purring her satisfaction. Silently you looked at Alastor, tilting your head in your unvoiced question.

“Coffee?” Alastor said, motioning with his mug for emphasis.

“Er…No thanks.” You said “Alastor, what’s going on….?”

“I asked if you wanted coffee?” He said it like it was obvious, head tilting at an unnatural angle.

“No, I mean….This?” You motioned vaguely at your bed.

“Haven’t the faintest idea!” He hummed “You didn’t come down for breakfast so I trotted along to check on you and here you were!”

You glanced at the clock on your bedstand. “…Breakfast isn’t for another hour.”

“Clearly that clock is behind.” Alastor said flippantly, sipping out of his mug.

You mocked fear “So someone broke into my room and moved me in my bed?”

Alastor stiffened a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “…Yes...”

“That’s freaky as hell.” You said, gripping your blankets “We need to tell Charlie or Vaggie that someone is sneaking into the guests’ rooms at night-“

“Oh goodness gracious, you know it was me.” Alastor huffed. You dropped the act, letting yourself have a good laugh.

“Yeah, I know.” You wiped a tear out of the corner of your eye. “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.” Alastor hummed, turning his attention back to his book.

“…Why did you-“

“I believe I said think nothing of it.”

You stared at him. Replaying the events of the previous night, a horrifying realization dawned on you. “I’m sorry, Alastor.” His ears flicked in your direction, his eyes darting to stare at you. You fidgeted “You didn’t have to do this- I was just- Oh geez, okay I just mean I shouldn’t have bothered you to begin with you don’t have any obligation-“

“Since when do I do things on ‘obligation’?” He said, his grin straining “My dear, I only do things if I desire to. It was not for obligation, or guilt because I know that would be your next conclusion.” Alastor tapped one claw gently against you nose “It was simply because I felt like it.”

You focused on Keekee purring on your lap “….why?”

“Think nothing of it.”

A small smile found its way to your face. Think nothing of it…? You chuckled quietly “Oh, Alastor…”

“Yeeessssss?” He said, craning his head backwards towards you and twisting it 360 on his neck.

“AH! Don’t do that it’s creepy!”

“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.” He responded, spinning his head again in the opposite direction.

You threw one of the pillows at him. Alastor cackled maniacally.

=============

BONUS:

After you ran off the night before….

Alastor: “NIFTY HOW DO YOU MAKE A PERSON LESS SAD.”

Nifty: “Soft things and a happy cat!”

Alastor: “Understood-“

Nifty: “Not Husk.”

Alastor: “…Keekee?”

Nifty: “Keekee.”

Alastor: “Got it. Tell no one about this conversation!”

Nifty: “Yessir!

[elryuse]

Hi can I request for a wonyoung x reader fluff smut where reader confidently put the ring when wonyo was sleeping because they know she will like it, and accepted their proposal too 🥹 I hope this gets accepted thank you 🫶🏻

Unexpected Proposal

Wonyoung X Male Reader

Tags : Vanilla Sex, Fluffy Fluff, Marry, Proposal, Love, Romance, Lovey Dovey, Couple Words : 6,506 Words

I Hope You Enjoyed This Fic My Friend. Keep Those Plots up Everyone. I've Been Enjoying Reading Your Request So Far

The clinking of plates and the sizzling sound of hot oil fill the small fried chicken restaurant in the heart of Seoul. It’s a quiet afternoon, a lull between the lunch and dinner rushes, and you’re stationed at the counter, wiping it down for the third time in an hour. The uniform feels a little too tight, the visor a little too crooked, but it’s a job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills.

The bell above the door jingles, signaling a new customer. You glance up, prepared to give the usual polite greeting, but the words catch in your throat.

She walks in like a scene from a movie, her long black hair flowing softly over her shoulders, her figure framed perfectly by the sunlight streaming through the windows. She’s wearing a light pink sweater and a pleated skirt, exuding a youthful elegance that somehow makes the dimly lit restaurant feel brighter. Her eyes sweep across the room, searching, and when they land on you, your heart stumbles over itself. You quickly look down, pretending to focus on the register, but it’s too late. She’s seen you.

“Excuse me,” she says, her voice soft and melodic. You look up again, this time meeting her eyes. They’re warm, with a glint of curiosity. “Do you have any recommendations?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak. The question hangs in the air until your brain kicks into gear.

“Uh, yes,” you manage, clearing your throat. “Our crispy fried chicken is really popular. You can’t go wrong with that.”

She smiles, and it’s like the world shifts slightly on its axis. “I’ll take your word for it. Can I get an order of that? And maybe a cola?”

“Coming right up.” You punch her order into the register, hands suddenly feeling too big and clumsy. She steps aside to wait, and you can’t help but steal glances at her as you prepare her drink. She pulls out her phone, scrolling through it absentmindedly, but there’s something about the way she holds herself that keeps drawing your attention. You’re not sure if it’s her confidence, her beauty, or the inexplicable sense that she’s meant to be here, in this moment, with you.

When her order is ready, you carry the tray to her table, even though it’s against protocol. “Here you go,” you say, setting it down carefully. “I hope you enjoy it.”

She looks up at you with a surprised smile. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

You nod, trying to play it cool, but inside, your heart is doing cartwheels. You retreat behind the counter, stealing glances at her as she eats. She seems to savor every bite, occasionally closing her eyes as if committing the taste to memory. You’re entranced, watching her in a way that’s probably borderline inappropriate for a customer-employee dynamic. But you can’t help it. There’s something magnetic about her.

When she finishes, she brings her tray back to the counter. “It was delicious,” she says, her smile lighting up the room again. “You were right about the crispy chicken.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” you reply, feeling a surge of pride as if you’d personally cooked it.

She hesitates for a moment, then says, “Do you work here every day?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It’s not the most exciting job, but it’s steady.”

She tilts her head, studying you. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s nice to see someone who takes their work seriously.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just nod. She seems to realize she’s lingering and steps back, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe you will,” you say, and before you can stop yourself, you add, “I’d like that.”

Her blush deepens, and she gives you a small wave before heading out the door. The bell jingles again, and just like that, she’s gone. But the memory of her lingers, her presence filling the small restaurant long after she’s left.

Over the next few weeks, she becomes a regular. Her name, you learn, is Wonyoung. She’s a university student studying fashion design, with a dream of one day launching her own clothing line. She’s passionate, driven, and unfailingly kind, always taking the time to chat with you when she stops by. It’s not long before you start looking forward to her visits, counting down the hours until she walks through the door again.

“You know,” she says one day, tapping her finger against the counter, “you’re always so focused when you’re working. But I don’t know much about you. What do you do when you’re not here?”

The question catches you off guard. No one ever asks about your life outside of work. “Oh, uh, not much,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m taking a few night classes. Trying to figure out what I want to do, you know?”

“That’s great,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “What are you studying?”

“Business,” you reply. “I’ve always thought about maybe starting my own thing someday. Like a café or a restaurant. Something small and cozy.”

Her face lights up. “That’s a wonderful idea. You should do it. I can already tell you’d make an amazing owner.”

Her words stay with you long after she leaves, planting a seed of determination in your heart. You find yourself working harder, saving more, and dreaming bigger. And every time Wonyoung comes in, it feels like she’s cheering you on, even if she doesn’t realize it.

It takes months of stolen glances, lingering conversations, and moments that feel like they’re straight out of a romantic drama before you finally work up the courage to ask her out. It’s a quiet evening, the restaurant nearly empty, and she’s sitting at her usual table, flipping through a magazine while waiting for her order.

“Wonyoung,” you say, approaching her with a mix of excitement and nerves. “Can I ask you something?”

She looks up, her eyes curious. “Of course. What is it?”

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “Would you… would you like to have dinner with me? Outside of work, I mean. Just the two of us.”

For a moment, she just stares at you, and you’re convinced you’ve made a terrible mistake. But then she smiles, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “I’d love to.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Really?”

She laughs, a soft, melodic sound that makes your heart flutter. “Yes, really. You’re sweet, and I’ve been hoping you’d ask me for a while now.”

The world feels like it’s spinning faster, the edges of reality blurring into a dreamlike haze. You manage to stammer out a response, promising to text her the details, and she gives you her number before leaving with a wave and a smile that you’re sure will haunt your dreams.

The night of your first date arrives faster than you expected, and you’re equal parts nervous and excited. You’ve chosen a small, cozy Italian restaurant not far from the fried chicken place—a spot you’ve heard good things about but never had the chance to visit. When you arrive, Wonyoung is already there, waiting by the entrance. She’s wearing a simple yet elegant dress, her hair styled loosely, and the sight of her takes your breath away.

“You look amazing,” you say as you approach, unable to hide the awe in your voice.

“Thank you,” she replies, her cheeks tinged with a soft pink. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

The evening goes better than you could have hoped. Over plates of pasta and glasses of sparkling water, you talk about everything and nothing, learning more about each other with every passing moment. You discover that Wonyoung has a playful sense of humor, a love for classic movies, and a soft spot for stray cats. She, in turn, learns about your dreams of owning a café, your favorite books, and the little quirks that make you who you are.

By the time the meal is over, it feels like you’ve known each other for years. Walking her home, you find yourself wishing the night would never end. When you finally reach her doorstep, she turns to you with a shy smile.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” she says softly.

“Me too,” you reply, your heart pounding as you muster the courage to add, “I’d love to see you again.”

“I’d like that,” she says, her smile widening. And before you can overthink it, she leans in and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, watching as she disappears inside, your hand absently brushing the spot where her lips touched your skin.

From that night on, your relationship blossoms. You and Wonyoung become inseparable, spending your days exploring the city, sharing your dreams, and supporting each other through life’s ups and downs. She becomes your biggest cheerleader, encouraging you to chase your dreams, and you become her rock, always there to listen and offer a shoulder to lean on.

As the months turn into years, your bond only grows stronger. You celebrate her successes in fashion school, marveling at her talent and determination. She, in turn, celebrates every milestone you achieve, no matter how small, always reminding you of how far you’ve come.

And through it all, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world, knowing that the girl who walked into that fried chicken restaurant years ago has become the most important person in your life.

It’s a quiet evening, and the buzz of the dinner rush has faded into a comfortable hum. You’re just finishing up your shift, untying your apron and stretching out your sore arms, when the door chimes. You look up to see Wonyoung walking in, a bright smile on her face and a neatly wrapped container in her hands.

“Hey,” she greets, her voice as warm as ever. “Perfect timing, huh? I caught you before you left.”

You smile back, feeling your heart skip a beat as always. “Yeah, just wrapped up. What brings you here?”

Instead of answering immediately, she holds up the container. “I made this for you,” she says, her cheeks dusted with the faintest blush. “Thought you might be hungry after a long day.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You cooked for me?”

“Of course,” she replies, a playful pout forming on her lips. “You work so hard; it’s the least I can do.”

The two of you settle at one of the tables, the restaurant now quiet and empty. She unwraps the container to reveal an array of delicious-looking dishes—kimchi fried rice, bulgogi, and some side dishes that look straight out of a home-cooked meal advertisement.

“Wow, Wonyoung, this looks amazing,” you say, genuinely touched. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she says with a giggle. “Now, try it! I want to know what you think.”

You pick up a pair of chopsticks, a little nervous under her expectant gaze. Taking a bite, you’re immediately hit with a burst of flavor that makes you hum in delight. “This is incredible,” you say honestly. “Seriously, you could open your own restaurant.”

She beams at your compliment. “I’m glad you like it.”

What happens next catches you completely off guard. She picks up a piece of bulgogi with her chopsticks and brings it close to your mouth. “Here,” she says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Say ‘ahh.’”

You hesitate, your cheeks heating up, but her teasing smile melts away any reluctance. You open your mouth, and she feeds you, laughing softly as you chew.

“Why are you blushing?” she teases, leaning her chin on her hand. “It’s just food.”

“Because it’s you,” you admit quietly, avoiding her gaze.

Her laughter dies down, and she looks at you with a softness that makes your heart ache. “You’re too sweet.”

As you finish the meal together, the conversation drifts to more personal topics. Wonyoung starts opening up in a way she hasn’t before, telling you about her childhood, her aspirations, and her life outside of these quiet evenings with you.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says after a moment of hesitation, her tone turning serious.

“What is it?” you ask, setting down your chopsticks.

She fidgets with the edge of her sleeve, as though unsure how to phrase it. “You know how I said I’m studying fashion design? That’s true, but… there’s more to it. I’m also… an idol.”

Your mind blanks for a moment. “An idol?” you repeat, trying to process her words. “Like, a K-pop idol?”

She nods, watching your reaction carefully. “I’m part of a group called IVE. We’re pretty well-known, I guess.”

You blink at her, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Wait, you mean that IVE? The one with all the hit songs and music videos? The one everyone’s talking about?”

“That’s the one,” she says with a sheepish laugh. “I didn’t mention it before because… well, I didn’t want it to change anything between us.”

You take a moment to absorb this revelation. It’s a lot to take in, but as you look at her—this kind, talented, and humble person who’s shared so much of herself with you—you realize it doesn’t change how you feel about her.

“Wonyoung,” you say softly, reaching out to take her hand. “Thank you for telling me. And honestly? It doesn’t change anything. You’re still you—the amazing, thoughtful person who brings me homemade meals and makes me laugh. That’s all that matters to me.”

Her eyes glisten with emotion, and she squeezes your hand. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, your connection feeling deeper than ever. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, Wonyoung scoots closer to you, resting her head on your shoulder.

“You’re really something, you know that?” she murmurs.

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “Takes one to know one.”

Later that evening, as you’re walking her home, she surprises you again.

“Hey,” she says, stopping in her tracks. “How would you feel about meeting my members?”

“Your members?” you echo, slightly startled.

“Yeah,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I think it’s time. They’ve been dying to know who’s been making me smile so much lately.”

You’re not sure whether to feel flattered or nervous. “Are you sure? I mean, what if they don’t like me?”

She laughs, her hand slipping into yours. “They’ll love you. Trust me.”

Before you know it, you’re standing in front of a sleek, modern dorm building. Wonyoung leads you inside, her hand still firmly holding yours, and your nerves spike as you approach the door to her unit. She punches in the code, and the door swings open to reveal a cozy living space filled with warmth and laughter.

“Guys, I’m back!” she calls out.

Within seconds, you’re greeted by a group of bright, smiling faces—her fellow IVE members. Each of them exudes a unique energy, but they all share the same curiosity as they look you over.

“So, this is him?” one of them asks with a grin. “The mystery guy?”

“Be nice,” Wonyoung warns, though there’s a playful tone in her voice. “Everyone, this is—” She pauses, glancing at you with a smile. “This is the person who makes my days brighter.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, and as her members pull you into their circle with welcoming smiles and lighthearted teasing, you realize something important: being part of Wonyoung’s world, as daunting as it might seem, feels exactly right.

And as the night unfolds—filled with laughter, stories, and the beginning of new friendships—you can’t help but feel that this is just the start of something even more beautiful.

One year had passed since you and Wonyoung officially started dating, and your relationship had flourished in ways you never thought possible. The two of you had grown even closer, and as a natural extension of your bond, you also became good friends with her group members. They were a lively and dynamic bunch, each with their unique quirks that made every hangout memorable.

Yujin, the leader of the group, was often the loudest cheerleader for your relationship. One day, as the six of you sat around a cozy café enjoying a rare day off together, she smirked and leaned forward.

“So, when are you going to marry Wonyoung?” she teased, her tone playful yet laced with genuine curiosity.

Both you and Wonyoung froze, the question hitting like a bolt of electricity. Your cheeks flushed crimson as Wonyoung let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it off. “Yujin!” she protested, swatting her playfully on the arm.

Yujin just grinned, clearly enjoying your flustered reactions. “What? It’s a valid question! You two are like, disgustingly perfect together.”

Rei, ever the foodie, giggled from her spot across the table. “I’m just saying, if you do get married, please let me help choose the menu. I have some amazing ideas. Think about it—wagyu, truffle pasta, and a dessert bar with endless options!”

Gaeul leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing smile. “I think Rei’s more excited about the food than the actual wedding.”

“Obviously,” Rei shot back, sticking her tongue out.

The rest of the group erupted into laughter, and even Wonyoung couldn’t hold back a giggle. She glanced at you, her smile radiant, but her cheeks still tinged pink. “They’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head fondly.

“I think they just really like the idea of us being together,” you replied softly, and for a moment, your eyes met hers, and everything else seemed to fade away.

As time went on, the marriage jokes didn’t stop. If anything, they became a running gag within the group. Every time you joined them for a meal or an outing, someone—usually Yujin—would find a way to slip it into the conversation. Wonyoung, despite her initial embarrassment, started to play along, her giggles becoming a regular soundtrack to the banter.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you and Wonyoung found yourselves sitting on the rooftop of your apartment, a blanket wrapped around the two of you as you gazed at the twinkling lights of Seoul. She leaned her head on your shoulder, her hair soft against your cheek.

“Do you think they’re serious?” she asked quietly, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and thoughtfulness.

“About the marriage thing?” you replied, chuckling. “I think they’re just having fun with it. But…” You hesitated, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “What about you? What do you think?”

She lifted her head to look at you, her eyes searching yours. For a moment, the world felt still. Then she smiled, a smile so full of warmth and love that it made your heart ache in the best way.

“I think…” she began, her voice soft, “that I wouldn’t mind. Someday.” Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but she held your gaze, her sincerity shining through.

Your breath caught, and you reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together. “Someday,” you echoed, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement.

And in that moment, with the city lights shimmering around you and Wonyoung by your side, you knew that someday couldn’t come soon enough.

The following months were filled with joy and quiet moments of contentment. Your relationship with Wonyoung continued to deepen, and the members of her group became like a second family to you. They were always there to tease, support, and celebrate the little milestones in your relationship, their love and enthusiasm infectious.

Yujin, true to form, kept dropping hints about marriage every chance she got. Rei started experimenting with wedding cake recipes, even going so far as to ask for your preferences in flavors. Gaeul and Liz would occasionally chime in with suggestions for venues, while Leeseo, the youngest, would giggle shyly and talk about what kind of dress Wonyoung might wear.

Wonyoung, for her part, took it all in stride. Her confidence and playfulness grew with every joke, and you could see how much she enjoyed the idea—even if she tried to play it cool. And as for you, every time the topic came up, you couldn’t help but imagine it: a future with Wonyoung, filled with love, laughter, and the unwavering support of the people who meant the most to both of you.

It wasn’t a question of if anymore. It was just a matter of when.

It has been 3 years, and Hearing those constant push up from the girls suddenly put a weight on your mind. You really wanted to marry her, right? The question kept appearing in your head, as slowly you started to think deeply of it. You indeed wants to marry her. You want to spend the rest of your life with her. Even in death and life, You'll be there, for her. With this newly found courage, You brace yourself and buy an expensive looking ring, as you wanted to give wonyoung your very best.

You wanted to suprise her, by coming to her dorm late night, and propose to her. You called Yujin, Asking if you can crash, When Yujin heard that you're proposing. She immediately cried, as she said yes. Of course you can come. Yujin also sternly asked you, To keep her safe, to always love her. You chuckled as You agree. The journey to her dorm was rough, Your heart was beating in an abnormally high rating. You've never experienced something like this. Was it the Thought of you and her maarying? Was it the fear of her rejecting your proposal. You didn't really know.

As Yujin opened the door, She immediately rushed in and hugged you. You were definitely suprised.but hearing her cry, means that she was proud of wonyoung, and proud of you. You immediately pat her back, as you thanked her and the rest of the members for being here for You and Wonyoung. Yujin giggles, as she wiped her tears slowly. She then thanked You, for always being there for Wonyoung, even through all the hardships that they've gone through. You cleared your throat, as you also realized, It was hard, to stick to her, It was never easy to date an Idol.But here you are, standing away from her bedroom door.Your heart began to beat uncontrollably,as you took a deep breath and gently knock on the door.

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the gentle rhythm of Wonyoung’s breathing as she slept. Her dorm was familiar to you by now—the soft pink décor, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the way her bed was always slightly messy, as if she’d just rolled out of it. It felt like home, and so did she. You stood there for a moment, just watching her, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurt.

Her members had let you in with knowing smiles, their eyes twinkling with mischief. They’d been in on your plan for weeks, and now, as you stood there holding the small velvet box that contained the ring, your palms were clammy, your pulse racing. This was it. You’d been waiting for the perfect moment, and somehow, this one felt right—quiet, intimate, just the two of you.

You crept closer, the floorboards creaking softly under your weight. Wonyoung stirred slightly, her lips parting as she let out a soft sigh. You paused, holding your breath, but she didn’t wake. You knelt beside her bed, your fingers trembling as you opened the box. The ring caught the dim light, the diamond shimmering faintly. It was simple but elegant, just like her. You’d spent months saving for it, imagining what it would look like on her finger.

Carefully, you reached for her hand, gently lifting it from where it rested on the blanket. Her skin was warm, her fingers delicate as you slid the ring into place. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your heart pounding in your chest.

I did it.

But then, she stirred again, her eyelids fluttering open. Her gaze was hazy at first, confused, but then she looked down at her hand and froze. Her eyes widened, her lips parting in a soft gasp.

“Wha—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t give her a chance to finish. You leaned in, capturing her lips with yours in a kiss that was soft but full of everything you couldn’t put into words—how much you loved her, how much you wanted this, how much she meant to you. Her hands flew to your shoulders, her fingers gripping you tightly as she kissed you back, her lips warm and yielding.

When you finally pulled away, she was staring at you, her eyes shining with tears. “Is this…?” she began, her voice trembling.

You nodded, your own eyes stinging. “Do you like it?”

She let out a laugh that was half a sob, looking down at the ring again. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Then her eyes met yours, and she smiled, a smile so full of love and joy that it took your breath away. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long, and I just… I couldn’t wait anymore. I want this. I want you.”

She threw her arms around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it almost hurt. You buried your face in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her, your heart racing. She pulled back just enough to kiss you again, this time deeper, more urgent, her hands tangling in your hair.

“You’re really doing this?” she asked between kisses, her voice barely audible.

“Yes,” you breathed, your hands sliding down her back. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

She let out a soft moan, her lips trailing down to your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. “You’re crazy,” she whispered, but her tone was full of affection.

“Crazy for you,” you replied, your voice husky.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?”

You cupped her face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

She smiled, leaning into your touch. “Then yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Her words sent a jolt of electricity through you, and before you could think, you were kissing her again, your lips moving against hers with a hunger that took you both by surprise. Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You let out a low groan, your body responding to her touch in ways that left you breathless.

She pulled away just enough to tug your shirt over your head, her eyes dark with desire. “I want you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“You have me,” you replied, your voice rough. “Always.”

You leaned in to kiss her again, your hands sliding down to the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms, letting you pull it over her head, leaving her in just her bra and pajama shorts. Your breath caught at the sight of her, her skin glowing in the dim light, her curves soft and inviting. You kissed her collarbone, your lips trailing down to her chest, and she let out a soft moan, her fingers tangling in your hair.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured against her skin, your hands sliding down to her waist.

“So are you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You kissed her again, your hands moving to the clasp of her bra. She shivered as you unhooked it, letting it fall to the bed, and then your lips were on her again, exploring every inch of her. She arched into you, her breath hitching as you reached her breasts, your tongue flicking over her nipple. She let out a soft cry, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

“You make me feel so good,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I want to make you feel even better,” you replied, your voice husky.

You moved down her body, your lips trailing kisses over her stomach, until you reached the waistband of her shorts. She lifted her hips, letting you slide them off, and then she was completely naked, her body trembling beneath you. You kissed her thigh, your hands sliding up her legs, and she let out a soft moan, her hips shifting restlessly.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice urgent.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You kissed her again, your hands sliding between her legs, and she let out a soft gasp as you touched her. She was already wet, her body responding to you in ways that made your head spin. You kissed her thigh again, your tongue tracing patterns on her skin, and then you moved lower, your breath warm against her.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

And then your lips were on her, and she let out a soft cry, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

The room seemed to glow with the warmth of your love, the air thick with emotion. You couldn’t resist kissing her again, your lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made your heart ache. She responded eagerly, her hands roaming your body as if she couldn’t get enough of you.

“I want you,” she whispered against your lips, her voice husky with desire.

“You have me,” you replied, your hands sliding down her back to cup her hips. “Always.”

She let out a soft moan as you pulled her closer, your bodies pressing together in a way that made your head spin. You kissed her neck, your teeth grazing her skin, and she shivered beneath you. Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingers tracing the lines of your muscles, and you groaned, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Wonyoung,” you murmured, your lips trailing lower, “you’re so beautiful.”

She arched into your touch, her breath coming in short gasps. “I need you,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “Please.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You kissed her again, your hands sliding between her legs, and she let out a soft cry as you touched her. She was already wet, her body responding to you in ways that made your head spin. You kissed her thigh again, your tongue tracing patterns on her skin, and then you moved lower, your breath warm against her.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

And then your lips were on her, and she let out a soft cry, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. You took your time, savoring every moment, every sound she made. She was so responsive, so sensitive, and it drove you wild. You could feel her trembling beneath you, her body arching as she got closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh god,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “I’m—I’m—”

She came undone beneath you, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure washed over her. You held her through it, your lips pressing gentle kisses against her thigh as she rode out the aftermath.

When she finally caught her breath, she looked at you with a dazed smile, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. “You’re too good at that,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe.

You chuckled, crawling back up to lie beside her. “I aim to please,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She rolled onto her side, facing you, her hand resting on your chest. Her fingers traced lazy patterns across your skin, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. There was only the two of you, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” she said, her voice soft and dreamy. “Getting married. It feels like a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” you replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s real. And it’s going to be perfect.”

She smiled, her eyes closing as she snuggled closer to you. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth.

“I love you too,” you replied, your arms wrapping around her. “More than anything.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Wonyoung’s room. She stirred beside you, her hand instinctively reaching for yours, her fingers brushing against the ring you’d slipped onto her finger the night before. A small, sleepy smile tugged at her lips as she stretched, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than ever,” you replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “You?”

“Mmm, like a dream,” she said, her smile widening. She looked down at her hand, the ring catching the morning light. “I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you assured her, your heart swelling with love as you watched her admire the ring. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

She giggled, a sound so light and carefree it made your chest ache. “I feel like I’m floating,” she admitted, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “I should probably get up and start the day, but I don’t want to move just yet.”

“Stay,” you said, pulling her back down into your arms. “We have all the time in the world.”

She sighed contentedly, nestling against you. “You’re right. We do.”

The two of you lay there for a while, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence. Eventually, Wonyoung sat up again, stretching her arms above her head. “I should probably go get ready,” she said, though there was a hint of reluctance in her voice.

“Need any help?” you teased, watching as she playfully rolled her eyes.

“I think I can manage,” she said, standing up and walking over to her dresser. As she opened the top drawer, something caught her eye. Her smile faltered for a moment, and she reached in, pulling out a small, leather-bound notebook.

“What’s that?” you asked, sitting up with interest.

She hesitated, her fingers tracing the cover. “It’s… something I’ve been working on,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to show you yet.”

Curiosity piqued, you stood up and walked over to her. “Can I see?”

She bit her lip, her eyes darting from the notebook to you and back again. Finally, she nodded, handing it to you. “Just… don’t laugh, okay?”

You took the notebook from her, flipping it open. Inside, you were greeted by pages filled with sketches, color swatches, and notes written in Wonyoung’s elegant handwriting. It was a wedding scrapbook—a detailed, lovingly crafted vision of the wedding she’d been dreaming of. There were sketches of dresses, ideas for bouquets, and even little notes about what kind of music she wanted to play.

Your heart swelled as you flipped through the pages, each one more beautiful than the last. “Wonyoung… this is amazing,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “When did you start working on this?”

She blushed, looking down at her hands. “A while ago,” she admitted. “I… I wanted to be ready, just in case you ever asked. I know it’s silly—”

“It’s not silly,” you interrupted, pulling her into a tight embrace. “It’s perfect. Just like you.”

She buried her face in your chest, her arms wrapping around you. “I was so scared you’d think it was too much,” she confessed, her voice muffled. “But I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been dreaming about this for so long.”

You kissed the top of her head, your heart aching with how much you loved her. “You don’t have to be scared,” you reassured her. “I love everything about you, and this? This just shows how much you care. It’s beautiful.”

She looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “In fact, I think we should start planning together. This is our wedding, after all.”

A smile broke across her face, brighter than the morning sun. “I’d love that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The two of you spent the rest of the morning flipping through the scrapbook, adding your own ideas and notes to her already detailed plans. The more you talked, the more excited you both became, the weight of the future settling comfortably around you.

As the day wore on, the conversation turned to more intimate topics, the excitement of the wedding giving way to the warmth of the present moment. Wonyoung leaned into you, her head resting on your shoulder as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” she said softly, her fingers intertwined with yours. “But I also don’t want to rush this. I just want to enjoy being with you.”

You smiled, kissing the top of her head. “Me too,” you said. “We have all the time in the world.”

She looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of love and longing. “I love you,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I love you too,” you replied, pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving nothing but the two of you and the love that bound you together.

The kiss deepened, their bodies pressing closer as the warmth between them grew. Wonyoung’s hands found their way to his shoulders, her fingers gripping tightly as if afraid to let go. His hands roamed her back, pulling her even closer until there was no space left between them.

Breaking the kiss, Wonyoung looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. “Promise me we’ll always be like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I promise,” he replied, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “No matter what, we’ll always have this.”

She smiled, her heart swelling with love and reassurance. “Then I’m ready,” she said, her voice firm. “For everything. With you.”

He kissed her again, this time with a tenderness that spoke volumes. “Together,” he murmured against her lips. “Always.”

As they held each other, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them wrapped in the warmth of their love and the promise of a future filled with endless possibilities.

[peachversace]

[ sfw ] — fluff ; bakugou katsuki x reader

“You’re cleaning that up,” you say, fixing Katsuki with your best exasperated look as you gesture to the mess in the bakery kitchen. Flour is scattered across the counter, eggs are cracked on the floor, and the sugar jar looks like it exploded in the crossfire. The chaos is entirely Katsuki’s fault—of course it is. Only your boyfriend would think it’s a good idea to try and put you in a headlock while you’re focused on baking a cake for tomorrow morning’s lineup.

He stares at the mess for a moment, and for a second, you think he might apologize. But this is Katsuki, and instead of contrition, his sharp crimson eyes flick back to you, and he grins, wide and mischievous. Before you can register what he’s about to do, he leans in and bites your cheek—not hard, but enough to make you yelp.

“Katsuki!” you exclaim, laughing despite yourself as you push at his chest. But he’s got that feral, playful energy that only comes out when he’s really relaxed, and he just tugs you closer, burying his face in the curve of your neck as his shoulders shake with laughter.

You squirm against him, trying and failing to escape his iron grip. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but your words don’t carry much bite. He’s warm against you, his laugh rumbling low in his chest, and even though you’re trying to look annoyed, a grin tugs at your lips.

He doesn’t let go, and you can feel the smirk against your skin when he growls out, “Sh’ddup, Mimikyu.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, but your heart squeezes in your chest. Katsuki has a way of making you feel like you’re standing at the center of a whirlwind—chaotic and overwhelming, but also safe, because it’s him. You’re pretty sure no one else on earth could wrestle with you in a bakery and make it feel like home.

“You’re being annoying, Typhlosion,” you shoot back, your voice laced with mock irritation. You try to wiggle free again, but his arms tighten around you, holding you steady.

“Yer lucky I’m so damn cute when I’m annoying,” he fires back, his voice low and smug, and the way he’s grinning against your cheek makes you feel like a puddle of cake batter.

The flour dusts the air, the scent of sugar and vanilla is thick, and the warmth of his embrace feels like the sea breeze from Ikema Island—soft, salty, and full of life. For a moment, you forget about the mess on the counter, the eggs on the floor, and the ticking clock that reminds you the cake still needs to be finished. All you can focus on is him, the way he’s holding you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, and they’re sparkling with mischief, but there’s something else there too. Something softer. It’s in the way his grin softens just a bit, the way his thumb brushes against your side absentmindedly. Katsuki doesn’t say things like I love you often, but he doesn’t have to—not when he looks at you like this.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice lighter now. “Fine. I’ll clean up. But you’re buying me dinner tomorrow.”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, his grin turning cocky. “Dinner? You’re gettin’ takeout at best after the stunt you pulled tryin’ to fight me off.”

You shove at his chest again, and he catches your wrist, tugging you forward until your forehead bumps against his. “You’re such a little shit,” you mutter, but you’re smiling.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, smirking. “But you love me.”

He’s right, of course. You do. Even when he’s got flour in his hair and he’s ruining your perfectly planned night, even when he’s dragging you into his chaos, there’s no one else you’d rather have by your side.

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, you win. But you’re still wiping up the egg.”

He scoffs, releasing you but not before planting a quick, rough kiss on your temple. “Yer lucky I even put up with you, Mimikyu.”

“And you’re lucky I don’t fire your ass from my bakery,” you retort, already grabbing a towel and tossing one at him.

As the two of you get to work cleaning up the mess (well, you’re cleaning, and he’s grumbling about how he’s a Pro Hero, not a janitor), you can’t help but think about how this is what life with Katsuki is like. Messy, chaotic, a little annoying at times—but it’s also warm, full of laughter and love. It’s everything you never knew you wanted.

[rrezshifts]

𝓻𝙚𝙖𝖑𝙞𝙩i𝙚𝙨 𝙞’d 𝙡o𝙫𝙚 t𝙤 𝙛𝙞n𝙙

this is a list of realities i compiled from three lovely people’s dr ideas posts: ellysdreamworldd, deminetly, & lalalian. this post is a way for me to clear out my likes without having to keep track of the realities i’m interested in shifting to in a notebook i’ll lose or forget about . . .

a retro high school/college reality. this could be a reality from any decade where retro still fits. the original poster wrote 70s-00s. i feel like i partly already have this with my twilight reality, it’s set in the early 2000s. but it’s definitely something i could be interested in shifting to outside of that reality

2000s victoria’s secret angel reality. see this is weird because i am a trans man. and like . . . the parts of my body that are inherently feminine and ideal for an angel, i don’t like. however, it can be what i like so put my ideal masculine but twinkish form in some lingerie and call it a day!!

professional tourist reality. a reality where i have all the money in the world and travel the world with no responsibilities seems SO fun! but like an ideal and bigotry free world. and also i get to bring someone with me!!

vampire reality. tbh i already have a few of those . . . but i’m not in love with them. that and they’re from pre-existing media, and i want one that i can really play with and make my own and just fall in love with my own mind and life through it, yk??

royalty reality. this could be so so incredibly fun. but i fear the way i view and picture a royalty reality in my mind at the moment . . . it’s off putting. i’d need a new perspective to look at these type of realities from before trying any world building or i may genuinely give up immediately

summer camp reality. as the counselors of course. like imagine being a counselor with other hot people your age and just bouncing from counselor to counselor all summer as we all sneak around camp after curfew and just go crazy!! though i technically have a reality like this already . . . my the quarry reality is basically this because i removed all the horror game elements. i should think about it more though for sure, that why i put it here

mermaid reality. like genuinely the way the original poster described it as a the little mermaid kind of romance plot almost makes me not scared of the deep ocean aspect of this reality. but i love marine biology and marine animals so like i would realistically love this too. this is another one though, that i would need a perspective shift because right now the idea of this reality is off putting to me as well

magic university reality. quite literally just hogwarts in my marauders reality. but i haven’t scripted shit and i need to get on it. so i’m adding it in hopes that’ll change. it won’t lol

small town shop owner reality. the original poster said it was a flower shop. but the idea of it being like a small business of my choice, for example a metaphysical shop, and falling in love with the small business next door’s owner?? bonus points if it’s a tattoo artist i fall for, because why can’t fanfic tropes come to life!!

planetary romance reality. described as exploration of different planets with romance specifically with aliens. and you know what . . . i’m not gonna lie. the romance with aliens is what sold me!! call me what you want! (it’ll probably be true) but this genuinely seems like such a fun reality to get to workshop!!

eco-metamorphosis reality. described as a world being colonized by aliens but instead of rejecting them you welcome them with open arms. and i was thinking this could be so fun to imagine a world that has coexisted with aliens for generations now, a good many years after, and how that looks and what daily life would be like

that’s all of them!! please look at their posts if you liked any of these and want to see what else they have shared!! i’ll tag them here so they know i used their posts for a sort of form of content @ellysdreamworldd , @deminetly & @lalalian !! thank you for the great ideas 🙏

[fairytaleendingss]

I really like the way you write James ❤️ no specific request but would love to see a fluffy James x reader

Love-Struck

Summary: You and James can’t keep your hands off each other after a few too many drinks with your friends at a party.

CW: Alcohol consumption, reader having hair long enough to tie up.

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Sorry that this one is kind of short. Tbh fluff isn’t my strong suit. I’m more used to writing angst or hurt/comfort. But hopefully this satisfies your need for soft!James (I love him too). Also sorry that it took so long to get to. Enjoy!

—

You couldn’t contain your giggling as you stumbled through the doorway of your apartment, James having missed the keyhole three times while trying to unlock the door.

You eventually made it in, tripping over yourselves as you clung to his arm and refused to separate, as though the two of you had been glued together.

It was a cool night out and James’ cheeks were flushed from the cold wind. His glasses sat askew on his nose and a few dark curls had fallen loose around his forehead.

He looked so precious, you just wanted to throw your arms around him. And so you did.

With a heave, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down towards you in a sloppy kiss. His large hands came to rest across your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He tasted like tequila and you were sure you probably did too.

He pulled away after a moment, smiling goofily as his eyes traced over you face, as if he was trying to make note of every single one of your features so as not to forget them.

You grinned back, brushing a strand of hair that had escaped from your ponytail, behind your ear.

“What was that for?” He questioned. His voice was raspy and the scent of alcohol clung to his breath.

“I just love you,” you told him, your slurred words laced with an intense affection. You couldn’t express it enough. Even after 2 years of dating and six months living together, you heart still raced every time you looked at him, your stomach filling with butterflies and your entire being swam with a feeling of elation you couldn’t quite put words to. He just had a profound effect on you, like you shared two halves of the same soul or something equally sappy.

You used to roll your eyes at people who said things like that. At couples who were so obsessed with each other they couldn’t bear to be apart for even a moment. But now, looking up at James, you understood.

He grinned even wider if that was possible, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I love you too.”

There was a pause.

“I’m going to marry you, you know?”

Your heart swelled.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I knew it from our first date, actually. You’re the love of my life.”

You pulled him forward once more, your lips connecting like two pieces of a puzzle. You didn’t care that you were both still tipsy from Sirius’ party or that it was well past midnight or that you were standing in the open doorway of your apartment, exposed for the world to see. Right then and there, you were the only two people in the entire world. You and your love for each other was all that existed, all that mattered.

You were pulled apart by the sound of a throat clearing from behind you.

You turned to see Mrs Riley, your elderly neighbour, standing in the hallway dressed in a pale pink bath robe.

“Excuse me loves, this is very sweet and all but it’s two in the morning and you’re being rather loud.”

You turned to look at her wide eyed.

“Sorry,” you muttered bashfully. “We’ll go inside now.”

“Thank you. That would be much appreciated.”

With that, she turned and hobbled back into her apartment, muttering something under her breath about “silly love-struck kids.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you turned back towards James. You could tell that he was trying hard to suppress laughter of his own.

Love-struck, you thought, was the perfect way to describe it.

He pulled you in once more, this time only for a soft peck.

“On that note, I think it’s time for bed.”

You nodded. “I think so too.”

And with that, you pulled the door closed, taking hold of your boyfriend’s hand and letting him guide you towards the bedroom.

You smiled to yourself. If this was what it was going to be like for the rest of your life, you’d gladly be love-struck forever.

[nerdycheol]

Hii!! Can I request Vernon + "Is everything a joke to you?"

I'm a killer for angst and I just love crying to it 😭😭

😭 i am a sucker for angst anon, here is your request i hope i did justice to your thought --

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, its rhythm amplifying the emptiness in the room. You sat at the table, a half-melted candle in the center, next to a cake you had spent all afternoon making. Your phone sat beside you, untouched, except for the countless times you had checked it, hoping for a message or a call.

It was your anniversary—three years together—and you’d thought tonight would be different. You’d planned something simple, something special. But the dinner had gone cold, the wine unopened, and Vernon still wasn’t here.

When the front door finally opened, the sound of his footsteps was so familiar that it almost hurt. You didn’t turn around, not at first, letting him fumble with his shoes and sigh as he dropped his bag on the floor.

“Hey,” he said, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just walked in two hours late.

You turned slowly, your face unreadable, though your chest felt like it might cave in from the weight of everything you’d been holding in. “You’re late.”

He blinked, glancing at the table for the first time. His eyes landed on the candle, the untouched food, the cake. “Oh.”

“Oh?” you repeated, your voice calm but trembling at the edges. “That’s all you have to say?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, already defensive. “I got caught up at the studio. I told you it might run late.”

“You didn’t tell me it would be this late,” you replied, your voice sharper now. “And you didn’t even think to call or text?”

Vernon sighed, clearly irritated. “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been late.”

“No,” you said bitterly, standing now. “It’s not the first time. That’s exactly the problem, Vernon. It’s always like this.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You’re overreacting. I didn’t miss anything that important—”

You cut him off, your voice breaking. “Not that important? Do you even realize what today is?”

He opened his mouth, hesitating for a moment, and you saw it—his realization. The flicker of guilt in his eyes. But it wasn’t enough.

“God,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “You forgot. Again.”

“I didn’t forget,” he said quickly, but the lie was too obvious, too weak. “I just... lost track of time.”

“That’s not the same thing!” you yelled, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You always have an excuse, Vernon. Every time. And I always let it go because I tell myself you didn’t mean to, that you’re just busy, that you’ll do better next time. But there’s always a next time. And I’m always the one sitting here, waiting, hoping you’ll finally prove me wrong.”

“Come on,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Vernon?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like I’m the only one trying in this relationship. Is everything a joke to you?”

His head snapped up at your words, and for a moment, something flashed in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or frustration. But it wasn’t enough.

“I’m not joking,” he said quietly, though the defensiveness lingered in his tone. “You’re acting like I don’t care, but I do. I just... I have other things going on, too.”

“Right,” you said, your voice hollow. “And I’ll always come second to those things, won’t I?”

He didn’t answer, and the silence stretched between you, heavier than any words could have been.

You exhaled shakily, wiping at your eyes. “You know what? I’m done. I can’t keep doing this, Vernon. I can’t keep hoping you’ll show up for me, only to be disappointed every time.”

“Wait,” he said, stepping toward you, his voice cracking. “Don’t do this. We can talk about it.”

“We’ve talked about it,” you said, your tone firm despite the tears threatening to fall. “And nothing ever changes. I love you, Vernon, but I can’t keep loving someone who doesn’t love me enough to even try.”

[aetheralia]

Title: Who Gets to Sleep Next to You?

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Romance

It was late—too late for any reasonable person to be debating something so ridiculous, yet here you were, stuck in the middle of a very serious argument.

"I’m the one who gets to sleep next to them tonight," Gojo declared, standing with his arms crossed and a smug grin plastered on his face.

"Oh really?" Geto raised an eyebrow, not even attempting to hide his amusement. "And why would that be?"

Gojo didn’t skip a beat, his tone filled with mock superiority. "Because, unlike you, I don’t snore like a chainsaw. They need their beauty sleep, Suguru."

Geto scoffed, pushing a lock of his dark hair behind his ear. "Oh please. At least I don’t take up the entire bed. You’re like a personal space thief."

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching in disbelief as the two men—who you thought were adults—argued like children.

"Seriously?" you said, trying to stifle a laugh. "You two are acting like kids fighting over who gets to sit in the front seat."

Gojo immediately turned his attention to you, flashing his trademark grin. "Well, I do deserve the front seat, don’t I? I’m the most fun."

Geto rolled his eyes. "Fun doesn’t mean comfortable."

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. This was getting ridiculous. You glanced from one to the other, trying to figure out how to resolve this.

"How about this," you said slowly. "We compromise. We all sleep together."

Both men froze, their eyes widening as if you’d just proposed some outlandish idea.

"Wait, all three of us?" Gojo asked, his smirk returning, though this time there was a hint of playfulness.

"Yeah, why not?" you shrugged. "That way, neither of you has to fight over it."

Geto’s gaze flickered between you and Gojo. "Are you serious?"

You nodded, feeling a bit guilty but amused by their reactions. "It’s not that big of a deal, is it? We can just make it work."

There was a long pause.

And then Gojo’s grin widened. "Fine, I’ll let you have this one, Suguru," he said, stepping closer to the bed. "But if I’m being forced into this situation, I’m picking the best spot."

You laughed softly, pulling the covers back. "Just get in bed already, both of you."

Grumbling under his breath, Geto moved to the other side of the bed, while Gojo practically flopped onto his side, spreading out like he owned the whole space.

"You two are impossible," you muttered, settling between them. But despite the chaos, you couldn’t help but feel strangely content.

The two men immediately seemed to forget their argument the moment you lay down. Gojo slung an arm around your waist, pulling you against him as if there was no room for anyone else. Geto sighed but ended up resting his hand on your shoulder, his fingers warm against your skin.

"Guess we’re all sleeping together," Gojo whispered with a satisfied smile.

Geto hummed in agreement, though there was a touch of reluctant acceptance in his voice. "You’ll regret this tomorrow."

You smiled, feeling oddly comfortable sandwiched between them. "Maybe," you replied, already drifting off to sleep. "But tonight, I’m fine."

And with that, the argument was forgotten, all three of you finding warmth and peace in the same bed—though who actually *won* that night was still up for debate.

[itsnesss]

hi! i read your other works and i LOVE your junho stories! could you write one where reader comes back from the games (maybe everyone voted to leave) and junho has been trying to find them? i love angst but please with a happy ending 🙏🏽

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | angst, emotional turmoil, implied trauma, mentions of running away, themes of guilt and forgiveness, hurt/comfort, fluff ending

word count | 2.1 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You stand in front of your apartment door, breathing heavily. The key trembles slightly between your fingers, and a gust of cold air runs through your body. You've been out longer than you wanted, though the truth is, you still don’t know what to say to him. You don’t know if the words you’ve prepared will be enough. All you have is fear, uncertainty, and a growing sense that you can’t delay this moment any longer.

With one last deep breath, you turn the key and open the door. The familiar smell of the place envelops you, but there’s something different. Something you hadn’t noticed before. A trace of anxiety seems to linger in every corner. The silence of the place surrounds you, and in that instant, everything feels heavier. And there he is. Asleep on the couch. His jacket is wrinkled, his face tired, his hair disheveled, but still as beautiful as ever.

You let out a sigh as you take in the scene. He’s been waiting for you. He’s been looking for you relentlessly. For days, he’s been following your trail, calling your phone, sending messages. But you never answered. You never told him anything. You had left, but you couldn’t tell him the truth. He couldn’t know what had really happened.

You approach slowly, trying not to make a sound. Each step is a small reminder of what you’ve lived through. You sit next to him on the couch, and for a second, you just watch him, his calm breathing and relaxed face. You’d like to think that, in some way, all of this is real, but you know it isn’t. The shadows of what you’ve been through follow you, and the scars of everything you’ve endured are still too fresh.

The sound of your breathing is the only thing you can hear, and that sound seems to make the outside world fade away. The world you once believed in, where everything seemed simple. But now, nothing is as it seems. Everything has changed. Everything inside you has changed.

"Junho..." you whisper softly, not wanting to wake him. But you do. He opens his eyes slowly, confused by the change in the air. His gaze is slightly clouded with sleep, but when he sees you, something in him ignites. Concern begins to settle into his face, displacing the exhaustion.

"Are you... are you okay?" His voice, though raspy, is filled with worry. He immediately sits up, taking your hands in his. His grip is firm but gentle, as if he’s afraid to let you go, as if he fears you might disappear again.

Your eyes drift to the floor for a moment, unable to meet his. It hurts so much to see him like this. You’ve missed him, but the fear of what he might think if he knew the truth about what you experienced in that cursed game is greater than anything else. You don’t want to see him suffer because of you. You can’t.

"I’m sorry..." The anguish is palpable in your tone, but you don’t want to tell him the truth. Not immediately. Not now. The last thing you want is to drag him into your torment.

"I was looking for you everywhere. I didn’t know what had happened to you. I thought... I thought something terrible had happened," he says, his expression a mix of pain and frustration. The worry shines in his eyes. His breathing is uneven, and you realize how much he’s suffered during these days without hearing from you.

The guilt consumes you. Leaving him, making him suffer while you... you were living through an endless nightmare. But the worst part is that you can’t tell him.

"I had... I had some things to take care of," you reply, trying to make your voice sound steady, though inside you’re falling apart. "I didn’t mean to worry you."

A bitter laugh escapes your mouth, as if those words could justify everything you’ve done. He looks at you in disbelief, as if he can’t believe what you’ve just said.

"But I was so scared... why didn’t you tell me anything?" His voice trembles with restrained emotion, a small thread of anguish in his tone. "I looked for you everywhere, sent messages, called you, but... nothing. I didn’t know if I should come find you, if I should keep waiting, or if something terrible had happened—"

You feel like you’re trapped, trapped in a deep pit you don’t know how to climb out of. The truth weighs on you, consumes you, but you can’t tell him.

"I... I’m sorry," you say, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Your hands tremble as they touch his, but somehow, the warmth of his touch comforts you. It’s not enough. It isn’t. But for a second, you feel safe.

Junho stays silent for a moment, watching you. You don’t know what’s going through his mind, but you can see how deeply every word affects him. His face is marked by a mix of frustration, desperation, and pain. But instead of pulling away, he moves even closer, his fingers gently brushing your face. The softness of his touch burns you, and your eyes fill with tears. You sink a little further into that pit. But now, it’s different. You’re not alone anymore.

"Don’t leave me," he whispers, his voice deep, laden with emotion. "No matter what you’ve done, I don’t want to lose you."

And those words pierce your heart like an arrow. Those words are the purest truth you’ve ever heard. But you still feel the weight of what you’ve done, of what you’ve lived through. Of what you’ll never be able to tell him.

"You can’t..." you murmur, your eyes fixed on the floor. "I don’t deserve to be near you..."

Junho takes a step closer to you, his forehead touching yours, the warmth of his body almost merging with yours. He makes you feel a little lighter, as if, for a moment, everything is okay.

"Don’t talk like that," he says softly, but his eyes are filled with pain. "What happened? Why are you so tired? What have you been doing?"

Your eyes fill with tears. In your heart, you know you can never tell him everything that happened. But you also don’t want him to keep suffering because of your absence. Because of what wasn’t. Because of everything you couldn’t avoid.

"It was just... just a rough time, Junho. I don’t want to talk about it now," you say, trembling slightly. You feel his breath near yours, his warmth surrounding you. But inside, you feel broken. What will you tell him? How do you explain everything that happened?

He takes a deep breath, but instead of pressing you, he simply hugs you. His body envelops yours, and he holds you tightly, as if he wants to merge with you, as if he can’t bear the thought of you leaving without a trace. The hug becomes a refuge, a safe place where words don’t matter, where all that’s left is the moment.

"What hurts me the most isn’t not knowing what you did, but how I felt when I thought I’d lost you," he says, his voice breaking. "All I want is for you to be here, with me."

The sound of his voice, filled with such pure emotion, makes you feel something you hadn’t felt in days: peace. Peace amidst chaos.

"I’m here, Junho," you finally say, looking up at him. "I don’t know what else to do, but I want you to forgive me."

He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes so soft they seem to hold everything he feels for you. And in that moment, you know. You don’t need to tell him anything else. It doesn’t matter what happened, what you lived through, what you endured. What matters is what you both have now. And that’s enough.

"I forgive you," he says softly, before moving even closer. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, full of promises. He holds you as if he’s grateful to have you back, and you do the same, giving him everything you have in that moment.

Love isn’t always easy. It’s not always what we expect. But here, in this small corner of his apartment, under the dim light of the lamps, you know that together, you can face whatever comes.

"Promise me we’ll never be apart again," he murmurs against your lips, smiling softly.

"Promise," you reply, letting the tears fall freely now, unafraid.

And in that instant, all the pain, all the suffering, disappears. It’s just you, Junho, and the warmth of his embrace that makes you feel safe again.

[multific]

Curves of Confidence

Vincent De Gramont x Reader

Summary: You believed that no one is truly happy with their body. But with someone like Vincent, it was easier to learn to love yourself.

Vincent De Gramont had a way of looking at you that made the world disappear.

It wasn’t the kind of gaze that burned more than desire, it was deeper, more intense.

His dark eyes lingered on you as though you were a masterpiece in a gallery, something to be admired and cherished.

Like the Mona Lisa herself.

From the beginning of your relationship, his affection had been unwavering.

His support was as strong as his arms.

But your insecurities about your body sometimes did come back to haunt you.

You got used to hiding yourself.

You were often wearing loose clothing, avoiding mirrors, and brushing off compliments.

Yet Vincent refused to let you hide from him.

One evening, you stood in front of a grand mirror in his penthouse, brushing your hair.

He came to stand behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

His hands rested gently on your stomach, and his lips found the curve of your neck.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You gave a small laugh, shrugging off the comment just like you always do.

“You’re just saying that to be nice.”

His grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer to him.

“I never say anything I don’t mean. Look at yourself, Mon Amour.”

You raised your eyes to the mirror once more, looking deeper at the reflection. You smiled at your reflection. Wrapped in the embrace of a man so powerful.

Vincent’s reflection was captivating, as always.

His tailored suit, his sharp features, and that air of elegance only he could possess.

But your gaze hesitated when it fell on yourself.

Vincent’s hands moved, tracing the curve of your hips with such affection and tenderness.

“Every inch of you,” he whispered into your ear, his voice low and seductive, “is perfection to me. These hips, this waist, the softness of it. It’s everything and more than I’ve ever wanted.”

You turned in his arms, your eyes searching his face for any hint of joke or lie. But all you saw was love, so raw and genuine it made your breath stop.

“You really mean that?” you whispered.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“I adore you. Every curve, every part of you. It’s mine to cherish. Don’t ever doubt that. I believe I have spent my fair time proving it to you, between your legs, above or under you, Mon Amour.”

His lips found yours in a kiss that melted away every insecurity, every harsh thought you’d ever had about yourself or every harsh word that someone said to you.

In Vincent’s arms, you felt not just loved but celebrated.

Slowly, you started to believe him, to see yourself through his eyes.

You wore dresses that clung to your curves, held your head higher, and smiled more often.

One night, as you twirled in front of him in a gown he’d picked out, a deep red number that hugged every curve perfectly, his smile was radiant.

“You’ve always been breathtaking. But seeing you like this, so confident... it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”

You crossed the room and placed your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingers.

“It’s because of you, Vincent. You make me feel like I’m enough. More than enough.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, then your shoulder.

“You’ve always been more than enough, My Love. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget it.”

"Thank you." you replied with tears of happiness in your eyes.

In his arms, you had found not just love but confidence that made you shine.

Vincent had worshipped you from the beginning, and now, you were finally learning to worship yourself.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

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