#I had to stop writing this when I was almost done for something and I came back and it wasn’t at the top of my saved drafts

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ rafe accidentally finds out about your praise kink.

warnings — none, really! praise + praise kink, sexual tension.

cherie's note — i was inspired by a tweet on twitter and i knew i had to write it for rafe omg... this is your sign to get your license if you don't have it yet ˵ •̀ᴗ•́˵

a perfect stop.

the infamous black truck idles in his driveway, your fingers gripping against the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary, heart racing.

you glance over at rafe, the boy sat comfortably in the leather seat of his passenger side, waiting for the inevitable commentary. his leg bounces absentmindedly, giving you a small nod of approval — a job well done. not that you had gone far — riding down the dirt marsh roads out of sight from any other vehicle and back, but it was something.

"well?" you ask, a little too eager, a little too nervous.

he doesn't answer right away — lets the tension build between them in that egotistical way he always seemed to do. rafe had a way of making people uncomfortable, he knew that. he watches you for a second. you look flushed — focused and proud and still kind of buzzing from the adrenaline.

"you did good," he remarks, popping the seatbelt out of the lock, "proud of you, kid."

it lands in the silence like a dropped match.

your entire body reacts — shoulders stiffening, breath catching, and your eyes very pointedly avoid his. like if you stare straight ahead long enough, he won't notice how your cheeks had just gone pink — how the heat had crept up your neck, and tinted your ears a shade of red.

but rafe notices everything.

he tilts his head. "...what?"

"nothing."

his brows furrow, confused. just minutes ago, things had been good between you both — normal. but now, you shift uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze while sitting in his driver's seat, flustered and itching for relief from the mortification.

but you look almost... shy — bashful, like his comment had struck something deep inside of you, something not even you were certain about.

"you good?"

"i'm fine," you mutter, eyes darting out towards the window in a hopeful attempt at escape.

oh.

it clicks in his head, the silence between you cracking open just wide enough to let the truth push through. the conversation replays in his mind, each word now laced with meaning he'd missed before. his lips twitch — not with malice, but with something far more dangerous.

a knowing grin spreads across his face like wildfire. he shifts, slow and casual, slinging an arm over the back of your seat, fingers just brushing your shoulder. warmth trails where his skin almost meets yours. "no fucking way..." he breathes, eyes locked on you, "you like being praised."

the words hang in the air like smoke, thick and stifling.

you freeze. the heat rushes to your face, flooding down your neck, settling in your gut like liquid fire. his tone is cocky — but it lands like a challenge. you can't seem to meet his gaze.

"i do not!" you fire back, weakly, the protest wilting on your tongue even as it leaves your lips. you sound unconvincing — it sounds untrue to your own ears. because it is.

a low, triumphant laugh rumbles in his chest. he leans closer, "that's why you always get all weird when i say that shit — compliment you. i thought you were just shy." his voice dips, an octave above a purr, all too pleased with himself. "but — damn."

you cover your face with your hands, wishing you could melt into your seat to avoid the embarrassment brewing in your chest. "can we please talk about something else?"

but he's watching you too closely now — every twitch, every breath. his expression is unreadable, but the look in his eyes is anything but innocent.

and for a second, he looks like he had decided to drop it. finally.

"hey," he says, after a pause. his voice is quieter now, closer. there's something softer beneath the teasing edge.

"what?" you murmur, reluctantly glancing over at him. your eyes shine — with embarrassment, with frustration, with shame.

"you did good today, baby."

it hits harder than it should. like a punch to the stomach and a hand to the threat. you groan, half a protest, half a plea, and shove at his arm — weakly, pointlessly. his laugh fills the truck, deep and unfiltered, vibrating through the close air.

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Hiiii! ✨

I love your work, especially the grumpy sunshine troupe of Bucky and reader. Could you write one where reader takes Bucky’s favorite/go-to hoodie or sweatshirt and he wants it back (but not really, because he loves when she wears it) and she refuses so he tickles her to pieces? 👀

Thanks in advance girlie pop! 🤭

Mission: Hoodie Heist

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: When you steal Bucky Barnes’ favorite hoodie and refuse to give it back, a chaotic battle of tickles, cuddles, and reluctant (not reluctant) affection unfolds. Unfortunately for Bucky, Sam now has photo evidence.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 

Warnings: Fluff, comical violence, teasing, flirting, stolen hoodie crimes, cursing, weaponization of puppy eyes, domestication of a deadly assassin <3

Author’s Note: There were two requests that were kind of similar in prompt, so I combined both ideas :)

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Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Bucky Barnes walked into the compound’s common room, and his eyes locked onto you instantly. You were curled up on the couch, sipping a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and marshmallows. 

Wearing his hoodie. 

His favorite hoodie.

The one that was a little faded, soft from many washes, and smelled faintly of cedarwood and Bucky himself.

And here you were. 

Drowning in it, sleeves hanging past your hands, hood pulled over your head, the hem nearly to your knees. Looking way too smug for someone who had committed such a heinous act.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” Bucky stated.

You glanced up with your puppy dog eyes. “Am I?”

He scowled. “You know damn well you are.”

“Wow, language, gramps.”

He groaned and took a sip of coffee, muttering something that sounded like “fucking menace to society.”

“I’m not a menace,” you chirped, settling deeper into the couch cushions. “I’m curious and stubborn, but not a menace, Mr. Barnes.”

“You almost got hit by a cab yesterday because you crossed four lanes of traffic to pet a cat.”

“I needed to pet that cat. His name was Meatball, and he had pretty toe beans. It was an emergency. I did what had to be done.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “That hoodie is mine.”

“It’s mine now,” you said sweetly. “Finders keepers.”

“I live here.”

“And yet, you didn’t guard your hoodie very well, did you?” You flashed him a grin. “Rookie mistake, Sarge.”

He stared at you in silence for a long moment. The corner of his mouth twitched, just a little. If you blinked, you would have missed it. You always managed to pull a smile out of him. “Give it back.”

“No.”

“Doll.”

“Make me, Bucky.”

He set his coffee down.

Your eyes went wide, the exact moment you realized you might have made a tactical error.

“No no no no no…”

Too late.

Bucky launched forward, snatching the blanket off you. You squealed and tried to roll off the couch, but his metal arm was faster, wrapping around your waist and hauling you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

“NO! BUCKY!” You shrieked, already laughing as he pinned you with one arm and used the other, traitorous metal fingers and all, to attack your sides.

“You asked for this!” He didn’t even try to hide the smile in his voice now.

Your laughter turned into squeals of protest. “NO—STOP—I’M GONNA—BUCKY I’M GONNA DIE—”

“You’re not gonna die.”

“I COULD!”

“Pretty sure you won’t, sweetheart.” He was grinning now, fully enjoying himself as you kicked your legs and tried to wiggle away, completely failing.

“UNCLE!” you gasped, flailing.

“I ain’t your uncle, sunshine.”

You giggled at his joke and squirmed. 

“TRUCE!”

He paused, squeezing your cheeks together. “Say it, sweetheart.”

“I surrender.” You whispered. 

He let up slightly, though his hand was still resting on your hip, ready to tickle you again.

“And what do you say?” he asked smugly.

“I say… that this is my hoodie now,” you panted, not able to help yourself in stirring the pot.

He blinked.

“You little brat.”

But before he could start round two of tickling, you twisted in his lap and kissed his cheek. 

It was a quick, soft press. Featherlight, barely there, but it made him freeze.

And turn a little flushed.

“You can keep it,” he muttered, eyes avoiding yours.

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“You look cute in it,” he said gruffly, as if it physically hurt to admit. “Like too cute. It’s nauseating.”

Your eyes sparked brightly. “Awww, Bucky!”

“Don’t make this a thing,” he warned, pointing a finger.

“Oh, it’s already a thing,” you sang, grinning like you’d just won a war.

You snuggled deeper into the hoodie and his lap. Bucky sighed, letting his hand rest on your back.

“You’re exhausting,” he murmured.

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

You were the human equivalent of a cat in a sunbeam.

Content, warm, curled up right in his lap like you belonged there. 

Because, obviously, you did.

He didn’t seem to mind, either. His fingers traced gentle, idle circles along your spine while you flicked through movie options on the TV.

You smirked, peeking at him with that sunshine and mayhem gleam in your eyes. “Hey, Bucky?”

“What now.”

“Okay, hear me out,” you said, glancing up at him with that sparkle in your eye, the one that always made him feel like he was about to be talked into something insane. “We watch Howl’s Moving Castle, again, and you let me explain for the sixth time why you’re totally Howl and I’m Sophie.”

He gave you a look. “I don’t have magic.”

“You do too have magic,” you said, booping his nose. “Grumpy charm magic.”

He sighed, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smile. “Fine. One movie.”

You gasped like he’d handed you the moon. “You never let me pick the movie. What’s wrong with you today?”

“I’m letting you pick so you’ll stop talking.”

“Oh, Bucky,” you said sweetly. “You love when I talk.”

He groaned in annoyance, but kissed the side of your head. “Just press play, sunshine.”

So you did. 

You happily pressed play, then curled deeper into his chest, cheek resting over his heart. He smelled like cedarwood, coffee, something specifically like Bucky himself, and warmth. 

Despite all his usual icy demeanor, Bucky Barnes ran warm, and you took full advantage.

You made it all of a few minutes into the movie before your voice piped up again.

“Hey Bucky?”

He grumbled in acknowledgment. 

“If I ever get cursed by a witch and turned into an old lady, would you still love me?”

He snorted with laughter. “You already act like a grandma sometimes. You carry mints in your pocket and yell at people for not wearing seatbelts.”

“That’s called caring, James.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

You grinned and cuddled closer. “So…you’d love me even if I were a raisin too?”

His hand slid up to gently cup the back of your head. “I’d still love you if you were a literal raccoon, as long as you stopped climbing into dumpsters.”

“That happened one time,” you muttered.

“It was last week.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he pinched it gently. 

Click.

Both your heads snapped toward the sound at the same time.

There, standing in the doorway, was Sam Wilson.

Grinning.

Triumphant.

“Awwwwwwww,” Sam cooed in a high-pitched voice. “Look at you two! Bucky’s got a cuddle buddy!”

You blinked.

Bucky’s entire body stiffened under you.

Sam tapped his phone screen. “This one’s going in the ‘Grumpy’s Gone Soft’ folder. Nat’s gonna love this.”

“You take another picture and I swear to god.” Bucky started, voice already low and dangerous.

But it was too late. Sam had already hit the shutter again.

“Barnes has a cuddle bunny,” he egged on Bucky.

Bucky arms released you gently, settling you on the couch.

“Uh-oh,” Sam muttered.

And then?

Bucky lunged.

Sam yelped and bolted, laughing like a madman.

“You’ll never catch me, old man!”

“WATCH ME.”

You scrambled up to your knees on the couch, watching the chaos unfold; the only missing thing was popcorn.

Just before Sam could reach the hallway, Bucky snatched him by the back of his shirt and yanked him backward like a rag doll.

“Bucky! Come on, man! It’s content! People eat this up!”

Bucky wordlessly grabbed the phone, held it up, and chucked it.

Hard.

It flew beautifully through the air and landed in a nearby potted plant with a satisfying thud.

“MY PHONE!” Sam yelled.

“Get a new one,” Bucky muttered, releasing him.

Sam glared at him. “You’ve got issues, man.”

“You’ve got boundary problems.”

Still grumbling, Sam retrieved his poor, slightly dirt-covered phone and slunk away, muttering about “romantic drama and dictators with metal arms.” You peeked over the back of the couch as Bucky stalked back over.

“You didn’t have to throw it that hard,” you teased.

“He took a picture of me smiling,” Bucky muttered, reclaiming his seat. “That’s blackmail material.”

You smiled and plopped right back in his lap without missing a beat. He grunted, but his arms found their place around you like they’d never left.

“You smiled for me,” you murmured.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You like me.”

“Regrettably.”

You tilted your head up and kissed his jaw. “Still letting me keep the hoodie?”

He rolled his eyes but his mouth curved again, that quiet little smile that only you got.

“Yeah,” he said. “Keep it.”

You beamed.

Bucky sighed into your hair.

“Sunshine,” he muttered.

“Grump,” you whispered back.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings @barnesb420 @Suffereroflife @pigeonmama @yes-ilovetowrite

[saatorus]

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either. 

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

[f1samcro]

New vs Old

Based off this ask from @bear-ink

Hi, I love your writing. Please could I request Jax Teller ? Jax and reader are co parenting, and Tara isn’t making it easy for them with her jealousy, but she is the mother of jax’s child and he stands by her over everyone else, as he never stopped loving her.

You and Jax had loved each other, really. You'd been there after Tara had first left, held him and let him cry. And once he stopped being upset, you let him hold you close and take you out on dates. By the time you were 23, after being together for three years, you got married. Life was good. You two were good. Until you weren't. You couldn't really remember when, it wasn't a sudden change. It started with Jax coming home a little later, not much, but enough for you to be almost in bed. Then you both stopped talking so much, stopped leaning in for random kisses when you walked past each other. You two tried. Tried counselling. But it was staring you right in the face, you and Jax just didn't love each other like that anymore. So, you split after seven years of marriage.

You were supposed to move out after you found some footing. That was the plan, but you had to skip out on an apartment showing due to illness, and Jax had decided to stay and look after you. (You really weren't well.) After a few days, he insisted that you go to the doctors. That's when you found out. Pregnant. Three months. The only thing you could think of was you and Jax's 'one last time'. He insisted you stay in the house, so you did.

On the 25th of August 2008, Abel John Teller was born. You and Jax found your rhythm. Gemma had practically applauded you two for your ability to co-parent. Until Tara showed back up. It was bound to cause problems when you swung the door open to see her during Abel's first birthday party. To his credit, Jax did loom over your shoulder when you didn't come back quickly, and he had told her to go away. Then he slammed the door closed, planted his hands on your shoulders, and pushed you back into the kitchen just in time for cake.

But after that, Tara was around a lot more. You and Jax had found it easier to co-parent a baby in the same home. You agreed you would move out when he started school. But for now, if Jax wanted some alone time or time with a woman, he would stay at the club for the night and be back home by lunch. A kiss to Abel's head, hand running over it softly, and a kiss to your cheek. But then that stopped. Because when he'd open the door, Tara would follow him in. He kept the small ritual for a while, until you heard a nasty-sounding argument between the two. Then he stopped. And Tara kept trying to mother Abel. Would push you out as much as she could. You let her more than you should've, trying to keep the peace between Abel's father and his girlfriend. But this was your last straw. You were taking Abel to the park, and Tara tagged along. And then she took Abel from your arms, the second she saw people she knew. Introduced him as her son, and you as the nanny.

The second you got home, you rounded on Jax. Snatching your baby out of Tara's arms, "If you don't sort her the fuck out, I'm leaving. And I'm taking Abel with me."

"Woah. Hey. C'mon, let's not overrea-"

"Don't finish that sentence, Jackson. If anything, I'm underacting. I've let your stupid bitch walk all over me. I'm done. Sort her out, or I'm gone."

Jax furrows his eyebrows, looking over your shoulder at Tara, who was fuming. "The hell did you do, Tara?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. She's not threatening to take my son away, jus' 'cos you did 'nothing'."

She narrows her eyes at him, watching as he tilts your face up and leans forward to kiss your forehead, whispering something. You nod and turn, walking to Abel's room to put him to bed.

Jax stares his girlfriend down until you return, you sigh softly and look at him. "I took Abel to the park, and she tagged along. Saw her friends, how she got the-"

"Stick to the story, darlin'."

You huff, crossing your arms, "Snatched him outta my arms, introduced him as her son. And me as the fuckin' nanny."

Jax runs a hand over his head, "What the hell, Tara!"

She straightens her back, "What?"

He narrows his eyes, "You think I haven't noticed? Not the first time you've pulled this shit. And we've discussed it. Multiple times. You're not Abel's mother. She is. And you'll show her some goddamn respect."

Tara scoffs, "You're taking her side?!"

"Why wouldn't I? She's the mother of my child. I'm always gonna take her side. 'Specially when she's not the one in the wrong."

Tara glares, "Always. Right. And if she was wrong?"

"Then I'd be havin' this discussion with her." He looks over at you, and then back at Tara, "I think you should go."

She blinks, "What?"

"Get. Out."

She shakes her head, "C'mon, Jax. I love-"

He cuts her off, "I don't. I won't love someone who's tryin' to tear my family apart. So get out. Don't come back."

She sneers, turning to you, "You stole him from me!"

Jax scoffs, "Wasn't ever really yours. Not when you couldn't respect my family."

"I was supposed to be your family!"

Jax tilts his head, scrutinising her, "You could've been. But you can't understand that she's my family. I need-"

"Her. You need her! You still love her!"

Jax nods, "Maybe I do. Can't exactly blame me, can you? You expect me to sit here and watch her be the best mother my son could ask for, and not fall back in love with her?"

Both you and Tara pause, watching each other. She turns abruptly and storms out of the house, door slamming behind her. You look over at Jax, who shakes his head, "Movie?"

You nod slowly, "Movie it is."

[unlimitedlust]

Video Games - Dad!Bill Skarsgard x Reader

(The images above do not belong to me, all credits belong to their owner)

Author’s note:

Hello darlings, this story was requested by an Anon, I loved the idea of creating a dad!Bill scenario because he gives off such a big and loving dad vibes, so here you go.

Masterlist

The request:

And for the Anon who requested it, I tried to keep your concept, I hope it lives up to your expectations!

Spoiler: this story will have a part 2 in the future, stay tuned!

Disclaimers: No disclaimers! Fluffy content only!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

Bill Skarsgard is a real person, but nothing in this story is, it was all made up in my head.

I hope you enjoy this story, requests with Bill are always open so if you have any ideas I’m all ears!

Please feel free to leave a comment, like and/or reblog the story, I really appreciate it and your feedback is what gives me the fuel to keep writing ❤️❤️❤️

End of Author’s Note

The sun was high up in the sky when Y/N and her toddler, Leo, arrived in Malibu Beach. The breeze carried the scent of sea, salt and sunscreen, gulls cried overhead, their wings cutting across a sky so blue it looked like a canvas.

“Can I go run in the sand, mommy? Can I?” Leo asked, his voice bubbling with the kind of joy only a three-year-old could muster at eight in the morning.

Y/N smiled, crouching down to apply him some sunscreen. “Alright, but stay close to mommy, okay?”

The moment she finished, Leo was off, charging into the warm, golden sand like it was a new planet. He ran in wide circles, laughing, arms stretched like airplane wings. Y/N couldn’t stop watching him, this perfect little boy they’d made, who somehow carried both her gentleness and Bill’s spark in his tiny frame.

She slipped off her sandals and wandered after Leo, letting the cool tide wash over her toes and the breeze sweep through her hair. Bill should be somewhere nearby, since the location wasn’t far from where his personal assistant had secretly informed her he’d be during his takes that day.

Secretly because she hadn’t told Bill they’d be visiting him. There was something kind of magic about the idea of showing up unannounced, of giving him a small taste of home when he least expected it. Especially considering that Bill was away for almost a month for this new project.

“Mommy, look!” Leo was holding up a seashell like it was a treasure, beaming.

She laughed and walked over, scooping him into her arms. “You think daddy would like this?”

Leo nodded solemnly. “We can give it to him when we see him.”

Y/N kissed the top of his head and held his free hand, heart already swelling at the thought.

“Yes,” she said quietly and checked the time on her phone. According to his assistant, he should have a small break in a few minutes, long enough for them to reach the set location on foot. “Let’s go surprise daddy.”

They followed the curve of the shoreline, the set slowly coming into view. From a distance, Y/N could already see the crew gathered around large reflector panels and cables, the haze of cameras pointed toward a man walking barefoot through the shallows.

Leo spotted him first.

“Daddy!” he whispered, eyes wide with excitement.

Y/N’s heart stuttered. She gently tightened her hold on his hand.

“Wait, sweetheart,” she said softly, crouching beside him. “Daddy’s still working, remember? We have to be quiet until he’s done, okay? We’ll say hi as soon as he's done.”

Leo nodded like his mom had just given him the most important mission in the world, bouncing on his toes, barely able to contain the joy thrumming through him. His tiny fingers squeezed hers tighter while he clutched the small seashell in his other hand, his whole body tilting toward the set, trying to make her walk faster.

They took slow, quiet steps across the sand, staying just behind the edge of the crew’s camp. No one had noticed them yet.

Bill stood at the center of it all, barefoot in the tide, soaked to the knees. The camera was rolling. In his character, Bill moved with intention, a quiet intensity in his expression as he shot the scene, delivering what seemed to be a serious line to the actor beside him.

Y/N held her breath, watching him through the lens of something deeper than just pride. He was so in it, so transformed, and yet still entirely him. The man who left her flowers and notes in her coffee cup. The father who stayed up rocking Leo through sleepless nights when he was a baby. The love of her life.

She could feel Leo’s excitement rising beside her, his small body trembling in anticipation, but he stayed quiet, watching, waiting, hand glued to hers.

Then finally the director called: “Cut!”

The moment the word left his mouth, Leo couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Daddy!”

His voice rang out over the sand like a bell, bright and high and impossible to miss.

Bill turned instinctively, scanning the set until his eyes landed on them. For a second, he didn’t move.

Seeing Y/N standing there, under the golden morning light, hair fluttering in the breeze and the soft pink fabric of her sundress dancing around her legs, looked like something out of a dream, heartwarming and terrifyingly beautiful.

And storming off from her side came Leo, his shining green eyes radiant as he sprinted towards him.

Bill’s face cracked into the brightest and most stunned smile.

“Leo?” he breathed, already stepping forward to meet his boy.

The crew turned to look, whispers rippling through them. Everyone knew Bill was married, that was sort of public record, but no one here had ever seen his family. He kept that part of his life under lock and key. Quiet and untouched, away from the spotlights.

And yet here they were.

“Daddy!”

Bill met him halfway, scooping the boy into his arms and lifting him high into the sky before pulling him close, pressing kisses to his cheek and temple, only to then bury his face into the warm crook of Leo’s neck, taking in the familiar scent of baby shampoo that brought him so much peace.

“I missed you so much, buddy,” he said, voice rough with emotion.

Y/N approached slowly, a smile tugging at her lips, heart pounding hard in her chest. When Bill looked up and their eyes met, it was as if the whole world stopped.

Even after all those years together and all the memories made, in that moment it still felt like the first time, that same sudden rush, the flutter in her chest and butterflies in her stomach. Just one look and she knew she was his forever.

Bill reached out and pulled her in with his free arm, burying his face in her neck for one long, grounding moment, before giving her a soft kiss on her lips. “You’re really here.”

“Surprise,” she whispered.

Leo squished between them, giggling at being caught in the middle of something so big and soft and warm.

The director walked towards them, a curious expression on his face, but whatever reprimand of outsiders getting into the set he might’ve had, dissolved as soon as he saw the scene in front of him.

He gave a crooked smile and said, “Let’s take five.”

As Bill held Leo close, the little boy wriggled slightly, then pulled back just enough to reveal the small seashell still clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes were bright with pride as he held it out. “Daddy,” he said, serious and beaming all at once, “I brought you a present.”

Bill blinked and looked down at the tiny treasure resting in his son’s palm, tiny and white with faint pink spirals. “You found this for me?” he asked, as if it were a priceless gem.

Leo nodded proudly. “It’s special. I found it with mommy.”

Bill took it with reverence, turning it between his fingers. “It’s perfect, I love it. Thank you, buddy.”

Y/N smiled, heart full as she watched them. The little things always got her, the way Bill crouched lower so Leo could stand on his own, the tenderness in his hands, the way he looked at their son like he still couldn’t believe they’d made something so incredible together.

They wandered a bit down the beach until they found a quieter spot, away from the cameras and crew. Bill laid a towel on the sand for Y/N, then sat beside her, tugging her gently into his side as Leo ran in chaotic zigzags in front of them, chasing seagulls and splashing at the edge of the water.

For a long, quiet moment, they just sat there, Y/N resting her head on Bill’s shoulder, his arm around her, the shell still clutched in his hand.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” Bill said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She smiled against his shoulder. “You’ve been working so hard. We just wanted to remind you what’s waiting for you when you come home.”

His fingers found hers, lacing them together. “You’re my whole world, you know that?”

“We know,” she whispered.

Leo shrieked with laughter as a wave chased him back toward them, his small footprints scattered across the wet sand.

Bill watched him with that stunned kind of wonder he always had when he looked at their son, like every time was the first time and everything was a new discovery.

Then, he turned to Y/N and pulled her in for another kiss, this one slower and deeper. His tongue dancing against hers in their own rhythm, like a song only they knew.

And in that very moment, with the sun warming their skin, the sound of the ocean in their ears, and their son’s laughter ringing through the air, there was no script, no spotlight, no audience.

Just the three of them. And it was everything.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenever

Tagged by @skyrim-forever and @sulphuricgrin thanks for sticking with me. tagging @vehksfingerguns @firefly-factory @moriche for no pressure things.

I've been up and down a lot lately health wise so writing and painting has been difficult, but I decided I wanted to share both Joshi's half done tattoos and a snippet between him and Erra that I wrote a few months ago and haven't shared.

He's getting there. I'm really liking this portrait so far.

Writing under the cut since i'm shoving in 2000 words because I just really wanted to share this scene. I understand if its too much to tackle.

“I see Nanaya’s taken a shine to you, Agent.”

Teldryn jumped, almost falling off his seat at the sudden appearance of his guide. He had thought the mer was still fast asleep. Or he had been, last he checked…how long ago was that now? He had no idea.

Gods his chest hurt.

Erra folded his arms and leaned against the table Teldryn had been sitting at. He looked better, though incredibly tired. The colour had returned to his cheeks at least. He’d pulled his hair into a low, messy tail at the base of his neck, the hair, though knotted, rested over his shoulder. He’d clearly just woken up then. For a moment, Teldryn worried that he’d been too loud. He hadn’t recalled making any noise, but he tended to hum if he was busy.

Then he noticed Erra eyeing the plate full of sweets between them. He hadn’t recalled the mer eating much in the last few days…

“I mean if your sister-in-law wants to keep making me this ‘chak’ stuffthen I won’t complain,” Teldryn smiled a little as he pushed the plate a little closer towards his guide, “You want one?”

Erra nodded, reaching for a handful of the sticky treats and shovelling them into his mouth, “Thank you, I am starving!”

Teldryn looked up at him, his hands resting on the table, “When was the last time you kept something down, anyway?”

Erra shrugged, swallowing his food before answering him, “I do not quite remember, maybe before we left Maar Gan. I do not recall if we stopped on the way?”

Teldryn leaned back a little, raising his eyebrows, “Yeah, that’s three days, Erra. I—”

He shook his head and held his hand up, Teldryn took it as a sign to shut his damn mouth. Erra sighed and rubbed at his temple, “I apologise, I did not intend for this to happen. I know that you are on a tight schedule and I—”

“Aye, I don’t think you control whatever that was, yeah?” Teldryn interrupted, the last thing he wanted was to have his guide apologising to him over something that Teldryn most likely caused, “If anything, I should be apologising to you.”

“You have already apologised to me,” Erra stated flatly. He tilted his head and folded his arms, “It is not because of you that I had an attack… well, not just you.”

Teldryn swallowed, reached for the bottle of matze he’d taken from his pack earlier and took a sip. He was confused, nervous, unsure…being out of his element like this was doing a number on his anxieties.

“But I contributed to it, yeah?” Teldryn asked, his voice cracking again, “I’m apologising for that. I ah…”

“I told you that this was all…complicated?” Erra sighed, looking away from him, “I do not return here often, and such reunions are… Wobbly?” He raised his eyebrow at Teldryn and rocked his hand from side to side.

“Awkward?” Teldryn added.

“Yes, that is it,” Erra smiled, their eyes finally meeting again, “It is awkward to come back here.”

“Things seem okay between you an your brother, though?” Teldryn mused as he took another sip of matze, “I mean I don’t know what you’re saying but it didn’t seem too hostile?”

“It is not my brother or his wife that I have conflict with, agent,” Erra sighed, “There are others who would not be— pleased to see me.”

“Is that why we skirted the camp when we arrived?” Teldryn asked, placing the now emptied bottle on the far corner of the table.

Erra nodded, “I was not quite prepared to introduce you officially to the tribe. It is—”

“You could barely speak, Erra,” Teldryn interrupted, leaning back in his seat, “I get it.”

Erra exhaled and reached over for the plate of sweets again, “I do not make it a habit to leave my clients alone for so long.”

Teldryn shook his head, “How about we call it even, aye? Besides, I’ve been fine keeping myself occupied.”

Erra’s gaze switched to the mess of papers, scrawlings and charts that covered the table he was resting on, his eyes widening a little, “I can see that. What is it, if you do not mind my ah…”

Teldryn smiled and reached for the charcoal rubbing he’d made of the tablet, “I’m copying down stuff from this.”

Erra reached for the rubbing, his eyes darting from one side of the image to the other, “There are scribbles on it.”

Teldryn nodded, standing so that he could better explain what he was doing to his guide, “See how it’s all in lines, yeah?”

Erra nodded, his eyes following Teldryn’s finger as he pointed at the more visible lines of Aldmeris, “The scribbles are organised?”

Teldryn blew a shock of air through his nose in an attempt to stifle laughter. He nodded at Erra, a wide smile still spread across his face as he noticed the other mer blush. He hadn’t expected to be detailing his research to his guide but the prospect of sharing what he’d found out excited him. He figured indulging his own excitement might be okay.

“See the top line here?” Teldryn pointed to the first line of text at the very top of the rubbing, “And then that one underneath it?” He pointed to the next line, watching as Erra’s attention moved as he directed, “These are two different writing systems that say the same thing… I think.”

Erra furrowed his brow, “Why would you need two writings to say the same thing?”

“Two separate languages, sera,” He explained, tapping the top of the page again, “See this more flowy one up here?”

Erra nodded, his gaze focused on Teldryn’s finger.

“I know what these letters say, yeah?” Teldryn grinned, moving his finger down to the more geometric symbols that sat underneath the Aldmeris, “But no one can read these more square ones. I’m hoping that I can prove that the bottom line is a Dwemeri translation of the top line. We already know that they started writing in Aldmeris as their empire declined. Wouldn’t surprise me if there were like documents and stuff written in both.”

“So, you’re copying down the one you can read?” Erra asked, his voice a little soft.

He nodded, “Yeah, then I copy the Dwemeris underneath an try to find letter matches. It’s not a one-for-one, if it was I’m sure someone would’ve figured it out ages ago.”

“So that is what all these notes and drawings are?” Erra asked, pointing at the pile of papers to Teldryn’s immediate right. He nodded and reached for the page he’d just been scribbling on.

“I think I’ve managed to find a letter S,” Teldryn grinned, tapping the paper in his hand, “It doesn’t come up much but I’m seeing it repeated consistently enough to draw a conclusion, I think. Though I also think maybe it’s making a Z sound. I don’t know…”

“You also drew a scrib…” Erra smiled.

Teldryn felt his cheeks grow a little hot as he glanced back down at the page, a small doodle of a scrib eating a flowed sat in the corner, “I ah… Helps me think.”

He quickly put the paper to the side, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He was embarrassed by it, some childish thing that he’d never quite grown out of. Drawing helped get his thoughts out, he just found that he could better break a cypher if he drew a small mushroom at the bottom of the page or whatever.

“It is cute,” Erra smiled, “Writing is not something that is common here. I did not learn it until I had moved west.”

“I think Hassour mentioned something about you guys not really being into it,” Teldryn mumbled, reaching for one of the last chaks in the bowl, “So what made you learn?”

Erra sighed as he readjusted his position so that he was sitting on the table’s corner, “You cannot sell your services as a guide to outsiders if you cannot formally ask for payment it seems. One’s word is not binding.”

Teldryn sighed before taking a bit of his dessert, “I suppose that makes sense.”

“It is not as if we do not write,” Erra explained, placing his hands on the table as he leaned back a little, “it is just that why we write and who is taught how to is a little different.”

“You mean Ashlanders don’t keep meticulous records of public latrine usage hour to hour?” Teldryn joked.

Erra chuckled and shook his head, “No, but sometimes I think that might be a useful reason to write. No, writing amongst Ashlanders is usually restricted to seers. They write upon chitin and throw it in the hearth to ask questions of the ancestors.”

“You use it for magic?” Teldryn asked, folding his arms. He noticed that his splint was feeling a little loose, and he moved to tighten the knot in his bandage.

Erra nodded, “Magic is done differently than how you have been taught. It is more—” Erra exhaled sharply and bit down on his lip, “I do not know the word, but it is how we worship our ancestors.”

“I wouldn’t say I was taught all that much,” Teldryn scoffed, “So writing an magic are religious things?”

“They are one and the same, yes.” Erra sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little.

“So, you guys don’t use it in battle or—”

“That, Agent is where it gets a little complicated,” Erra smiled, his gaze falling to the floor, “Those who have magic belong to our seer casts. A small group of these seers are what your settled people call ‘battle mages’ but they still revere the ancestors before battle in a way that is proper.”

Teldryn nodded, “So it's stratified?”

“Stratified?” Erra furrowed his brow in confusion, “I do not—”

“I mean like it’s grouped,” Teldryn clarified, “So your mages do only mage things an—”

“Yes,” Erra nodded, “In a way, certain clans do certain jobs within a camp. My clan are seers and warriors.”

“So, you’d have experience with writing then?” He asked, raising his brow.

Erra waved his hand from side to side again, “Somewhat. I was trained as a warrior, my brother was trained as both since his magic flows freely. Mine requires that I use enchantments.”

“Flow freely?” Teldryn asked, “Haven’t heard that term used to describe magic users.”

“I think it is not a problem outside Ashclans,” Erra sighed, “We have…made it so that free-flowing magic is more common amongst the women in our clans. Warriors who are born with free magic we only teach ash magic that— ah it is not important.”

Teldryn took in a deep breath, obviously, Erra was trying to fill him in on custom as Cosades had instructed. A part of him had forgotten that Erra was here on business, “So how would I conduct myself about camp? Since I’m a mage with a prick.”

Erra looked a little taken aback by his language and he realised he was being a little forward. He sighed and shook his head, “I mean with all this hospitality stuff, I don’t know shit about it.”

“Clan restrictions should not apply to you,” Erra replied with a heavy sigh, “You are not a part of the tribe, so these restrictions are not of your concern. Well, not until you are named clanfriend at the very least.”

“Clanfriend?” Teldryn tilted his head, “What’s that?”

Erra sighed, “It means what you think it means. You would be allowed to move freely within the clan, but you would also be subject to our laws and customs just as any full member would.”

Teldryn nodded, his shoulders tensing a little, “So…?”

“It will not matter unless you can speak with the Ashkhan,” Erra continued, “And you cannot have an audience with my uncle without first getting permission from his Gulakhan.”

“Uncle?” Teldryn smirked at the mer, “The Ashkhan’s your uncle?”

Erra groaned and rolled his eyes, “Great Uncle, to be more precise.”

Teldryn relaxed his shoulders again and leaned backwards in his chair, his hands clasping behind his head, “So what does that make you then?”

“Nothing!” Erra clipped back as he got to his feet, his hands balled into fists by his side, “Forgive me, I must go speak with my brother. Can we speak again once I am… a little more rested, Agent?”

Teldryn swallowed, his heart sinking at his guide’s sudden change of tone. He hung his head and nodded, letting Erra slip away and leaving him alone in their silent tent. The winds of the ashlands lightly lapped at the surrounding canvas that he had learned was brimming with sound-dampening enchantments and wards.

He had been enjoying his conversation with his guide, though it was obvious that, just like before when they were travelling the ashwastes, Erra was keeping details from him. He wondered just what it was that put his guide so on edge. He had let slip that his relationship with his clan was complicated and Teldryn drew the conclusion that whatever bad blood had passed between Erra and the clan was none of his business. He was no stranger to the complexities of navigating one’s own blood. It was not his favourite topic to discuss either.

Teldryn had resolved to keep his mouth shut on the matter. He would do his best to follow Erra’s instructions, gather the information he needed, write his dumb reports for Cosades and then go from there.

Ideally, he’d like to be rid of this Nerevarine business as soon as possible. He was still finding Cosades’ revelations to be laughable. The notion that he, of all people, would fit the constraints of the Nerevarine prophecies was fucking ridiculous! The fact that this was even being entertained was fucking stupid!

And yet had the Emperor not hallucinated Teldryn’s face in a dream, he might still be wasting away in his cell in the Bastion. It was stupid, there was no doubting that but that same stupidity was why he had some modicum of freedom.

Teldryn groaned and reached for his cigarette tin, he’d go outside and try to clear his head. Forget that he was essentially spying for the fucking Empire for five fucking minutes.

[fernslivers]

this is soso longwinded so i apologize in advance but i’m brainrotting lol

I think a lot about a reader x mizu where the reader is taigen’s younger sister/sibling, and just is vehemently bothered by how her brother bullies mizu. like they had very few interactions as children because taigen wouldn’t let them near each other, but reader actually was just interested in learning about mizu more.

reader being a bit devastated that mizu disappeared off to master eiji’s because she was getting so close to giving her brother the slip and actually having a conversation with them. i’d imagine there’s like at least one situation where reader tries to make taigen stop that would make it so they remember each other relatively well(?)

they end up running into each other because reader’s been sent to live with taigen so he can find her a marriage candidate, and she gets to be friends with akemi as well. reader is probably equally not into being pushed into marriage, etc, probably has a pretty contentious relationship with her brother even though she has to pretend otherwise.

HEYYY GUESS WHO LOVED THIS AND GOT SUPER INSPIRED

I hope this is close to what your were envisioning, it was so extremely fun to write, I loved the idea so much.

Taigen is a real fucking asshole in this one, be warned.

He/him pronouns used for Mizu bc of her disguise.

TW: physical abuse, use of slurs, threatening language, violence (nothing overly graphic or beyond canon-level)

“Taigen, stop!”

Your cry rang out, the familiar childish wail of the younger sibling.

Your brother paused, rock in hand, still kneeling over the cowering figure on the ground. His hesitation lasted just long enough for you to bowl into him from the side, knocking you both into the mud. Winded by your weight, Taigen groans, curling up in the fetal position for a brief moment, while you scramble up.

“Are you okay…?” Worriedly, you reach out a hand to the other boy. Despite him being a couple years older, he weighs almost nothing, and you pull him up easily. His eyes are wide as you grab his hand; the clearest, cleanest blue you've ever seen. To you, they look like something rare and valuable, like the gemstones you once saw winking in the ears of a rich lady passing through Kohama.

He doesn't reply right away; he looks shocked by your actions, even more so when you smile at him. His eyes scan your face, as though searching for the signs of a trick. He looks over your shoulder; his eyes grow even more wide with alarm.

Behind you, a child’s angry growl warns you that said dearest brother has recovered. Taigen’s expression is thunderous, sending a shimmer of terror through you. Taigen can be creative with his revenge. Both you and the blue eyed boy back away fearfully; without thinking, you reach out and grab the boy’s hand, squeezing it tight.

Taigen sees this, and his eyes flare even wilder.

“Don't touch my sister, round-eyes!” he bellows, his voice cracking, and you see his hand raise, the rock flying… You move without thinking, stepping in front of the boy, and the next thing you feel is a blinding pain in your head, your shriek of pain splitting the air. You crumple, wailing; you’re still only a little girl, and it hurts.

Gentle hands touch the tender spot. The blue eyed boy bends over you first, looking at the distinctive y-shaped cut now forking through your eyebrow. He looks utterly unsure how to help you. You never get a chance to know what he would have done, because a second later a hard shove knocks him away from you.

“Look what happened because of you!” Your brother shouts at him, his face contorted with rage.

A bright glow of light suddenly splits the sky above you; the ground rumbles terrifyingly as something streaks past you faster than anything you've ever seen. The other boys scream and scatter; Taigen, looking just as afraid, seizes your arm and drags you to run away with him.

Over your shoulder, you can see the boy vanish, too.

You never see him again in Kohama.

~~

“Taigen!”

Glasses raise all around you; you keep your eyes fixed firmly on the table in front of you. You're the only girl in here that isn't hired to be here, the rest of this little “engagement party” are all men. Dojo students, the wastrel sons of minor local lords and merchants that Taigen has charmed–or settled feuds for.

You're here because, as Taigen put it, “dad sent you to me to get you properly married, and tonight, this room is going to be full of rich men horny enough and drunk enough to overlook your little deformity”. He's referring to your scar, the forked one carved deep across your eyebrow.

When the prostitutes had arrived, you'd protested, bravely catching his sleeve to mention Akemi. He'd brushed you off with the explanation that this was a man thing, something you just simply couldn't understand; it was about potency, virility, something or other… You tuned him out quickly.

When you looked unconvinced, he struck as fast as a snake, fingers grabbing your arm in a fierce grip. “Keep. Your mouth. Shut. To Akemi,” he growls, close enough to your face that you can feel his breath. You gasp in pain at the bruising force on your forearm; Taigen was already terrifying as a child…now, as a master swordsman, you don't dare to cross him.

You're stewing in the corner now, watching him nuzzle a girl’s neck and trying to figure out how to tell Akemi anyway–she's too good for him, and has been so lovely to you every time you two have met. She's the most beautiful woman you've ever seen, and yet she still tells you that you're perfectly pretty, and that Taigen is just looking out for you by scoffing, like all brothers do… You highly doubt that, but you appreciate that she loves him, and you don't want to burst the bubble of her joy.

Just when you're noticing one of the men eyeing you a little too interestedly, the door slides open.

“Taigen! Come quick. We have a problem.”

It's that haughty bastard, Mr Mystic Tengu, as you think of him to yourself after hearing him rant about them at every opportunity. He's not looking so haughty now, with a heavy bruise streaked directly across his face in the shape of a bokken.

As Taigen extricates himself, you hear Old Tengu raving to him about some intruder, a man with “blue eyes… like a demon!”

Your heart starts to race. You've never forgotten your blue-eyed boy.

Everyone else is too drunk to notice as you slip from the room, following your brother from a safe distance. It can't be… right?

But then…

“You're from Kohama village…” The strange man murmurs. You don't need to see his eyes, then. You know.

Your first feeling is elation–that the blue-eyed boy is alive! Alive, and here! As if fate had decreed that your paths would cross.

Your heart drops though, when you hear Taigen’s threats, watching them both drop into a fighting stance, manhandling each other across the dojo. You've seen Taigen fight, you know he's good, even if he's arrogant about it.

You don't even realize that you've got both your hands clapped over your mouth to stop yourself crying out in protest as you watch from around the corner. You pray to whatever gods are listening that Blue Eyes can somehow survive this. Your scar throbs, a reminder of what happens when you interfere.

That harsh conditioning is put to the test when Blue-Eyes’s glasses come off, and you finally see his face properly, for the first time in decades. He's…beautiful. The sleek lines of his blade-sharp features, the perfectly sculpted mouth, and those eyes… still like perfect gems, like a glowing spring sky.

The words kill him turn your chest to ice.

Taigen�� Please… don't do this… it takes every ounce of your focus not to plead aloud; you have a myriad of remembered bruises to know exactly what will happen, and this time would be worse; to humiliate him in front of the dojo, when he's half-drunk… you don't need another scar. Your forearm is still aching. But your heart seizes in your chest at the thought of losing Blue-Eyes as swiftly as you found him again.

You trail behind everyone to the door to watch, your heart in your mouth. While nobody is looking, you scurry to pick up Blue-Eyes’s hat and glasses; you wouldn't put it past any of the still-conscious students to stomp them into shards out of angry spite.

The sing of Taigen’s blade unsheathing makes you want to vomit, especially when you see it pointed at Blue Eyes. You've seen many fall to that blade. You see it again, more horrible than ever before.

It's over in a matter of seconds; with a cry, Blue-Eyes crumbles to a knee, blood seeping through his haori, Taigen’s blade at his neck.

“Death comes for everyone,” Taigen starts, his voice dripping smugness. “For you…today–”

“No!!”

The cry slips from your lips unbidden; everyone turns in startlement, not realizing you had even been watching. For a half-second, you recognize the young boy you once knew, as Blue Eyes gapes in surprise; he clearly doesn't recognize you, is just startled at your interference. Old Tengu looks furiously at Taigen, whose face darkens. He turns his back on Blue-Eyes, kicking him aside, and stalks in your direction like a tiger.

“You–stay out of this,” he snarls. “How dare you speak out against me like this. I’ll teach you respect on the flat of my blade–”

Thump–thump–thumpthump.

The clank of metal into snow draws attention from you; you're too shocked to be relieved, as Blue-Eyes rises slowly, his cuffs left behind on the ground.

He moves like a blur.

For once, it's Taigen you fear for, as he's flung like a rag doll, flopping hard into the packed snow, a blade at his throat.

You might have screamed out another plea, but this time a male voice rings out instead, and you shuffle into the shadows as the master himself steps out.

All that for a simple question, as it happens. You're watching Taigen, the humiliation dawning on his face. A shudder of dread runs through you, tuning out the conversation. He isn't going to forget your interference. He will blame you for this defeat.

You need to get out of here.

A crunching footstep recalls you to the present.

Your heart stops to find Blue Eyes staring at you, only feet away, at the base of the steps. He looks…guarded, wary.

“Those are mine,” he tells you flatly, pointing to the accessories you're still holding. You jump, and then push away from the pillar and patter down the steps. The rest of the group watches with naked hostility as you hold them out to him quickly.

“S-sorry,” You stammer, watching him putting them back on, re-concealing his eyes. “I just didn't want them to get crushed by someone.”

He pauses in his re-dressing. Looks up, his brow scrunched in confusion at your kindness. Behind the tinted lenses, you see him study you more closely, his eyes drifting up to the scar in your eyebrow. Recognition dawns in his eyes, his lips parting.

You smile, hopefully–does he remember your shared moment, so long ago?

"You’re still. A dog."

You see the moment those blue eyes freeze over into cold fury. Like quicksilver, he moves so fast, so terrifyingly fast. When the spray of snow clears, Taigen spouts no blood, but beside him on the ground lies a dark bundle. His chignon.

Blue Eyes steps back, the moment between you gone in a flash at the reminder of his reputation, his hat once more concealing everything as he turns his back.

He's not the only one. As Blue Eyes’s steps recede, Taigen looks up to see the Shindo masters turn their backs, until only you stand near him.

The look he turns you sends your blood to pure ice. There's only one person here that he can blame, that can't fight back. You feel your stomach clench with dread as he staggers to his feet, his teeth bared with rage.

“You stupid fucking girl, you ruined everything. I'll kill your for this–!”

Before you can take more than a step back, his hands grasp your throat– but they never even get the chance to tighten. There's a sudden blur of blue, a sickening crack, and your brother collapses, crumpling under a blow to the back of the head.

Shocked, you lift your gaze to Blue Eyes.

“Come on,” he says grimly, catching you by the arm. "I owe you a debt, and will repay it." You flinch at his touch, and he looks down, seeing the bruises there on your arm, the way they almost match his hand, as if another similar grip had created them. His mouth tightens. He lets you go, jerking his head for you to follow instead.

You hesitate, looking back at your unconscious brother. Blue Eyes scoffs.

“Stay, if you want. But you'll be lucky if he just sells you to a brothel.”

You know he's right. Biting your lip, you bend down and pick up Akemi’s comb, tucking it in your pocket, before hustling to catch up to Blue Eyes.

Now that you're alone together, walking back down the path away from the dojo, you're not sure what to do. You shuffle along beside him in your kimono, and notice that he's adjusted his stride to match your shorter steps. You warm to him even further; handsome and kind.

“What… what's your name?” You ask; the most vital piece of information that you never got to know, so long ago.

“Doesn't matter.” His voice is dour, cutting the conversation short. But he notices you wilt in disappointment, and his eyes flick back to your scar again. He heaves a sigh.

“Mizu,” he says shortly. His face grows pink in the cold when you beam with delight.

“Mizu…I like that.”

[midnights-afternoons]

Kyle didn't really talk much about his life before the army. He enlisted when he was very young and didn't have much of a life before. Some puppy crushes and failed career paths didn't make for good stories anyway. So, on the rare and offhand chance he mentioned something, he tended to leave out the time he thought he could make it as a model. Kyle Garrick had always been pretty, but in his late teens he was downright stunning. He had grown fast, his muscles already quite defined beneath his perfect, tan skin that seemed more like molten gold and copper, it was no surprise when a scout for a modeling agency invited him over for a photoshoot. His modeling career was short lived, even though he'd still get some odd jobs in between deployments after he enlisted, but he stopped years ago, right around the time he was placed with the 141. Modeling and the military didn't really mix, even though both tended to expose the dark underbelly of society, be it their own self-destruction or the destruction of others. He also wasn't keen on being teased for it, especially when he was trying hard to make it as a respectable sergeant. Still, Soap had no idea just what he would find when he absentmindedly flipped through some old magazines left behind in the safehouse they were currently occupying, flashes of barely dressed men and women provided little distraction for his tired and stressed mind - until he was surprised with a face he knew too well. Johnny looked up, watching the other sergeant resting against a wall on the other side of the room, he looked down again, the same face meeting him with a sweet smile and bare torso. Fuck, he was aroused. It wasn't hard to excuse himself to the dirty and barely lit bathroom. He, on the other hand, was very hard. In his horniness he failed to notice the knowing glint in his lieutenant’s eyes. Johnny flipped through the dust-covered pages like a hound searching for his prey, palming his erection over his pants as he focused on the soft brown eyes looking at him through the old pictures. Touching himself to pictures of his mate was a bad and dirty choice he'd rather not think about, John McTavish was nothing if a bad and dirty man, but even he could see how attractive his mates are, especially Garrick, - if he could scratch that itch through pictures in magazines, how was he expected to say no? He was fisting his bare cock now, hard and fast, the callus on his hands almost hurting the sensitive skin, he looked at the pictures again and imagined that smile under him, he came faster than he’d like to admit, being careful enough to avoid spilling over the glossy pictures, shame filled his chest when he realized the truth he’d tried so hard to avoid, this could never be a one-time thing. With a flimsy dirt rag he cleaned his hand and body, dressing up again to join the rest of the team blissfully unaware of what he had just done, that’s what he thought at least, but when the crack of the bathroom door revealed Ghost, smoking alone staring at what now consisted of very flustered, very ashamed Soap, he knew he had been caught, but under those knowing eyes Johnny saw something he didn’t quite expect, was Ghost amused by his predicament? “Keep them,” his superior officer said, “I’ve got more of them back home.” And with that he turned his back on the stunned soldier, still holding the magazines opened at the pretty pictures of their teammate, and, just then, Soap realized, every single one of the issues he found had a different picture of Gaz.

———————————————————————————

Guys, I did a thing… this is the first piece of writing I’m sharing, so please be kind; also it’s short, but I had to get this idea out of my head and out to the world, sorry not sorry. Also, English is not my first language, but I’m quite proud of this.

[alwaysthebiggerbear]

i want better for you...what's better for you than me? - 1: For Better or For Worse...Pretty Sure This Is Worse - Jensen Ackles x Female Reader

Story Summary: Your heart is broken and you’re currently going through a divorce that didn’t have to happen. Will you give Jensen the chance to explain everything that came about from that one night in Rome when you weren’t there? Chapter Summary: A phone call from your apologetic soon-to-be ex-husband is just the icing on the crap cake of a day you're already having.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Divorce Attorney!Female!Reader; Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader Series Masterlist A/N: I was working on something with the Kim vs Kanye special thing from HBO playing in the background. Some things they discussed about that situation just struck a chord with me and before I knew it, this kind of came flying out onto a doc in the form of a little catharsis in a fictional story I guess. I did not start out with the intention of writing this as a Jensen RPF story, but that's where it ended up. 🤷‍♀️ For story purposes, Jensen is a not a parent here. All unbeta’d. Songs listened to while writing: Hummingbird - Carly Pearce; None Of Your Concern - Jhené Aiko Warnings: heavy angst; mentions of infidelity; drinking; language; a healthy dose of snarkiness Word Count: 5596 dividers by @firefly-graphics

You had just managed to get in the front door, a feat that a moment ago you didn’t think would be possible. You were bogged down with grocery bags, dry cleaning, and the bulkload of mail that would most likely turn out to be eighty five percent bills. Despite being set up to auto-pay everything, you still received a healthy stream of bills in your mailbox every week. You didn’t get it. 

So you had already been carrying a heavy load while you managed to stick your latest Amazon package under your arm and the straps of your handbag and briefcase were on the other. Not to mention your dog was urging you to open the door after peeing on your lawn for the fifth time this week and he ignored your pleas for him not to. Somehow you did all of that and still got your key in the door. Milo, being the young spry German Shepherd pup he was, naturally almost mowed you down in his rush to get inside before you, but you survived the canine tornado and still stood strong. You weren’t patting yourself on the back but you definitely deserved some kudos. You had always been laughed at in the past for attempting to do all of this in one shot without any assistance, but you proved you could. Every single time. Considering you now had an eager and energetic four-legged companion who lacked patience (and a tiny bit of discipline if you were being honest) to contend with, kudos were definitely in order.

You slowly put down the grocery bags and package, laying the dry cleaning on your thin table in the foyer, dropping your keys and mail into the giant bowl on a shelf underneath, and placed your other bags to the side of the structure. You heaved a giant sigh of relief and turned to close the door, wincing when Milo barked from the living room. “Hush, Milo. Give me a minute to breathe, please.”

The second you secured the lock, you sank tiredly against the door. You were home and now you could begin to relax. It had been a long day and you were looking forward to changing into something more comfortable and starting the process of unwinding. And as if the universe wanted to foil that plan, your cell phone rang on cue.

“No,” you whined, placing your forehead against the wood of the door for a moment. “What is it now?”

One of your clients had the brilliant idea of doing an impromptu live stream in the wee hours of the morning to discuss their upcoming divorce, in full detail, in a bid to get their estranged spouse back. As a result, your phone had not stopped ringing since 4:02 this morning and you had done your best to do damage control. It didn’t help that this particular client had 20.4 million Instagram followers and the mainstream media alongside TMZ had already picked up the story by the time you were woken from a sound sleep to a panicked phone call from one of your client’s publicists. A press conference had taken place a few hours later and of course, you were front and center, which you absolutely hated but had no choice in. So, today was not a good day by any means and you desperately needed some recharging time.

You huffed out an aggravated breath and spun on your heel, digging through your handbag to grab your cell. When you saw the name on the screen, you tensed up. Oh, your day was going to get even better apparently. Why hadn’t you just called out sick today and stayed in bed? Content to hide under the covers and pretend the world wasn’t exploding around you again ? Because that worked so well for you last time. You pressed your lips together at the snarky thought. Shut up, brain. 

Deciding that it was best just to see what he wanted and to get it over with, you swiped green and put the phone to your ear, forcing yourself to give a cordial greeting. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“I know.” You grabbed the dry cleaning and turned towards the hall closet. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to…” You heard someone talking in the background and it made you freeze. Was that who you thought it was? Sure enough, he spoke again in a quieter tone. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“How do you think I’m doing?” You snapped as you shoved the hook onto the bar and slammed the closet door shut, smirking in satisfaction when the sound echoed throughout the foyer. You knew he had heard that. “Is that her? Are you really calling me right now while she’s in the room?”

“What? No.” His voice always went an octave higher near the end of a sentence when he was nervous. “No, of course not.” You could hear the sounds of the person talking in the background fading as he presumably moved away from them. “No, Y/N, that’s someone from my team. We had a pitch meeting and we’re taking a break.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” you hissed, picking up the grocery bags and moving towards the kitchen.

“It is.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, pulling packages of ground beef and raw steaks out and placing them in the refrigerator and freezer respectively. “I should expect nothing less.”

A sigh came down the line. “Y/N, I told you, I didn’t—”

“What did you call me for? I’m pretty sure I made it clear the last time we saw each other that I never wanted to hear from you again.”

Silence reigned for a moment while you continued putting your groceries away. Perhaps that was cruel but it was nothing but the truth. You had told your soon-to-be ex-husband that when he tried to speak to you outside the conference room as you and your lawyer attempted to leave the contentious meeting that hadn’t brought about any resolution. You were both trying to avoid going to court, wanting to settle this as soon as possible, but his lawyers were intent on playing hardball. Which was oh-so-hilarious considering he made more money in a single month than you did a year. And he had sat back, letting them come for your jugular, as he kept glistening green eyes fixated on you, urging you to look at him which you did not. When you told him you wanted nothing more to do with him, he appeared stricken and you felt sick seeing it, not just because you said what you’d said but also because you had meant it. You had trusted him, let him come in and sweep you off your feet though you kept insisting you didn’t want anything romantic to develop between you, but he had pushed for a relationship, you ended up giving in, and then he had crushed you underneath his boot heel without a second thought. He had told you he loved you over and over again, touched you as if he truly meant it, and then stabbed you right in the back. Just like your friends and everyone you knew who had a brain had warned you he would.

“I saw the press conference and I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he quietly admitted.

You couldn’t help but flinch. Great, he had seen you artlessly dodge the question about your own divorce and the catalyst behind it. And if he saw it, then that meant so did she. Great, just great.

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. So thanks for checking in but not necessary. Go back to your meeting and have a great rest of your day. Great rest of your life really. Ciao.” You were about to end the call when you heard him speaking suddenly.

“Don’t hang up. Y/N! Please. Can we just talk for one freaking second? Please.”

You flipped the call over to speakerphone and placed the device on the counter, crossing your arms and waiting. Sometimes it was truly hard to believe that you had been so in love with this man that you had shared a life with him once. That you had smiled when he would call you, that you had craved to hear his voice even. And now…now you had a knot in your stomach the size of Texas and you despised the owner of said voice.

When he didn’t say anything after a minute, you prompted him. “Well?”

“Please, can we just talk? You know, like we used to. We were friends once, weren’t we?”

You took two steps forward and bent at the waist to make sure your voice was as close as possible to the phone. “Like we’re friends? Are you for real? And let me just tell you that if you’re calling me to talk about your new relationship , you’d better think again. I will hang up and I will immediately contact my attorney and seek a no contact order.”

“What new relationship? I’m not in any relationship.” 

“Fuck buddies, then. I don’t care what you call it.”

“That’s not—” He let out a groan of frustration. “ Nothing happened, Y/N. Nothing. I keep trying to tell you that but you won’t listen!”

“Oh, so those photos and videos were just doctored then? Someone used PhotoShop or AI, right? All 62 people at the scene? They’re all lying? That’s what you’re telling me?”

You heard another sigh, this one sounding heavier, a mixture of exhaustion and defeat. “No, I’m not saying that. But I am saying that nothing—”

“Then we have nothing more to talk about.” 

You were about to hang up when he pleaded again for you not to. “Would you please just listen to me for a second? I know I screwed up, I do. But nothing happened between me and her. I swear.”

“So the interview she gave to Vanity Fair where she implied how close you two were and the sources that told US Weekly about your incredibly passionate weekend in Rome last year when I couldn’t make the trip — with full detail of your very public displays of affection I might add — that was all a lie?”

“I never had a passionate weekend with her, Y/N. I called you that night, because I knew you would still be up working that case. We even—” He suddenly lowered his voice a little. “We even were intimate if you remember.”

Just when you thought all of this couldn’t hurt you anymore, that you shed every single tear your body was capable of creating, that your heart could no longer break because it was a pile of dust somewhere in this house, you felt the resurgence of a pain that you wished you didn’t know existed. A pain that stabbed into you over and over again, forcing you to feel every fresh wound along with old ones, nearly overwhelming you and making you feel like you would never get away from it. You remembered the night he was talking about all too well.

“No, that was the previous year. It was our anniversary,” you choked out, the age old lump forming once again in your throat. One you swore you wouldn’t allow back.

“What? No. Baby, I’m sorry but you’re wrong. It was that same night, I’m telling you. I know it was because I left the restaurant early to go back to my room so I could call you. I even texted you on the way there. I know I did.”

You closed your eyes as the pain washed over you once more. If you weren’t about to break for the thousandth time since this whole thing started, you would have reminded him what you’d told him when you’d agreed to date him. Never lie to a lawyer about anything because they will find out. He had simply smiled, told you that neither of you would ever have to worry about that, and leaned in to kiss you. If you didn’t feel a sudden burning in the corner of your eyes, you also would have reminded him that he had tried to tell you this story once before and you had easily debunked it. And he had the nerve to speak to you like that as he lied to you once again, as if you were still happily married? As if he had the right to call you baby? No, this was too much.

“I’m hanging up now,” you forced out.

“Honey, please. Can’t we just talk this out? I know I fucked up but I promise I didn’t—”

“Don’t call me again. If you need something in the future, have your lawyer contact mine.”

“Y/N, wait! Baby, please just—”    

You disconnected the call, took a deep breath, and went back to your task. Your phone immediately started ringing again and seeing your ex’s name once more, you pushed the call to voicemail and then turned your phone off. You had enough for today; you deserved some quiet time. And the last thing you wanted to deal with was the cause of the void sitting inside your chest where your heart used to be. Though that empty space didn’t seem to prevent the tidal wave of pain you were currently under. You continued taking deep breaths until you felt you had yourself fully under control and there was no longer any threat of you breaking down in sobs.

You heard the clicking of nails on the tile and turned around to see Milo sitting down, watching you intently and letting out a whine. 

“Don’t you dare take his side,” you whispered, afraid if you spoke any louder that you might finally shatter into a thousand pieces after everything today. You were already going to be indulging in a liquid dinner as it was. Alcohol would be the only thing your stomach would be able to handle right now. “He left us , remember?”

The dog simply tilted his head in response and you snorted. “Right, I keep forgetting. All dogs stick together, don’t they?” He didn’t understand your snarky comment and he just continued watching you, not making a sound. It reminded you too much of your husband for some reason, giving you those infamous sad puppy dog eyes of his as he begged you to give him a chance to explain when you played a video on your phone that had been sent to you. You bit your lip and focused on pulling a bottle of wine from the undercounter cooler. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t make him do what he did. I didn’t lie or cheat or…anything else he did. Okay?” Still no response. “It’s not my fault. I’m not the bad guy here.” Still nothing. Not that you were expecting a response but the longer the silence lasted, the more pain you felt. “Fine, you want to blame me? Go right ahead. Everyone else in the world does, why not you, too?” 

You passed him by and you heard another whine, but you ignored it. You clenched your jaw, making your way back into the foyer to remove your shoes and jog up the stairs to change. You pretended that the sudden blurriness in your eyes was your exhaustion from the day and that the tears rolling down your cheeks were just from allergies, nothing to do with the pain you were feeling hearing his voice again — the voice of your cheating ex-husband. Not at all.

You were bored, channel surfing, as Milo laid next to you, his head on his paws. Both of you stared at the TV screen but you weren’t really seeing the constantly changing images. Instead, you had your head in your hand, turning his words from earlier over and over in your mind. 

“Nothing happened, Y/N.”

“I promise I didn’t—”

“Nothing happened between me and her.”

If only there wasn’t physical evidence to the contrary. If only he hadn’t lied and was still lying. You reached for your glass from the side table and took another sip. You had foregone the wine in favor of something with a little more kick. You intended on drinking until you became so drunk you would have no choice but not to care. You had already let your assistant know to clear your morning appointments before your second drink; you were now on your fourth.

So when an hour later, you were watching some wildlife documentary on BBC and you saw a female bear running from a male bear who was intent on mating with her, you slammed your glass down and sat up, causing Milo to lift his head up. “That’s right, run!” You yelled, slightly slurring your words. “Fucking run! Don’t trust him! He’ll tell you whatever you wanna hear just to get you on your back! Or your front or however the fuck you bears do it! But then he’ll wander off to find some other bitch to mount when he’s done! Mark my words! So you fucking run and you don’t look back! Fuck you, Baloo! Bare necessities, my ass! RUN!”

The female bear did run and she definitely put the male through it but eventually, she allowed him to catch up with her and gave in. You groaned loudly and threw the popcorn you had been munching on at the TV. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! I told that bitch to run! Doesn’t she realize he’s only going to screw her and then really screw her? Nobody listens to me!” Milo jumped down to eat the stray pieces and when he turned to look at you, you shook your head. “I’m tellin’ you, buddy. Dogs. All o’ya.” He tilted his head curiously, his eyes laser focused on the bowl in your lap. You blew a raspberry at the TV when the narrator said the female bear would eventually give birth to cubs in months’ time. “You just wait until he takes a trip to Italy, I’m tellin’ ya. You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me then.” For a reason that wasn’t quite clear to you in this state, you threw more popcorn at the screen when a pair of mated penguins appeared next, waiting for their egg to hatch. You blew another raspberry and Milo immediately went on a popcorn rampage, all too happy to act as the cleanup crew. 

You sipped more scotch from your glass and you loved the trail of the burn it left from your tongue to your stomach. This was an excellent decision on your part. You needed a break from your chaotic everyday life, your broken heart, and…memories. 

Memories like him sitting on this couch with you as you watched Working Girl for the 4,085th time. 

It was one of your favorite movies and even though he was sick of it, he indulged your need for the familiar comfort it provided. You had a rough day at work, you and your mother had gotten into yet another argument over the phone, and your doctor had pretty much told you that your getting pregnant would be an impossibility. You were devastated and you were working up the courage to tell him, already not having told him about the existence of your appointment. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted kids but you did; you had always wanted a little girl. So you both eventually compromised that you would give it a shot and if it happened, great. If it didn’t, then you would cross that bridge when you came to it. That was the deal. But when you failed to get pregnant the past few months despite you both doing everything in your power to make it happen, you’d grown concerned and decided to get an official medical opinion on you first before asking him to. Sure enough, the news had been crushing. At some point over time, after all of the monthly hell it put you through since you were thirteen, your traitorous reproductive system had decided to clock out and refused to clock back in when it was needed. 

So when you finally felt brave enough to tell him what you’d been told, that you wouldn’t break down in tears as you said the words, you noticed he wasn’t paying attention to the movie at all or you. He was on his phone and even when you called his name, trying to get him to look at you, he barely spared you a glance. When you asked him what he was doing, he said he had gotten some texts he was responding to, still not really looking at you. When you asked who they were from, a strange look fleeted across his face before he powered down his screen and slipped his phone back into his pocket. 

He had then turned a reassuring smile on you. “Just work stuff.” He laid a hand on your shoulder and tenderly rubbed his thumb in soothing circles. “So what is it you want to tell me?”

You arched a brow over at him. You hadn’t said you wanted to tell him anything.

He inclined his head towards the screen. “Working Girl? For the second time in two weeks? Something’s up.”

Dammit, he knew you too well. Something that had always been a plus in your relationship, especially since you two had shared a close friendship first. But while you had been finally ready to tell him your heartbreaking news, something about that look and his evading the question of who he had been texting now had you clamming up though you had no idea why. Or maybe you did but you didn’t want to think about it or look at it too closely. “Nothing,” you answered quietly, glancing back at the movie. “Just a rough day at work.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

You shook your head and bit your lip. “No, I’m good.” 

He studied you for a moment and nodded, accepting your answer before getting to his feet. “Alright, well, I’ve already seen this seventy eight times and that was before our first date.” He chuckled at his own joke. “So, I’m going to jump in the shower and then head to bed. Come up when you’re finished?” You forced a smile and a nod. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head before leaving the room. 

When he was gone and you heard the sounds of the shower upstairs start up, you sat frozen. You told yourself you were overthinking things and it made sense that if he thought something was bothering you, he wouldn’t want to start going into detail on a work-related project that either might be going great or not going so well. Not until he knew what was going on with you first. But you were also a divorce attorney and a woman — you knew the signs. You didn’t want to think that your husband — your best friend — would do that to you, especially knowing how much of a dealbreaker it was for you. You’d been very vocal about it before agreeing to date him. He wouldn’t really do that to you, would he? 

You’d shrugged it off, telling yourself you were being ridiculous, and turned the movie off before heading upstairs to bed. And when he scrolled through social media before sleep, smirking at the screen and typing something when he thought you were already out, you told yourself you were overreacting. And when a brief look of relief flashed in his eyes when you finally told him your doctor’s verdict a week later before he pulled you into a hug, you ignored your hurt and told yourself it was only because he had been up front with you about not really wanting kids at this stage of his life. That he had only compromised on trying to begin with in order to make you happy.

You should’ve known then what your instincts had been screaming at you. Just like that damn bear should have known. What this goddamn penguin should know. You blew another raspberry for good measure when the narrator said the male was attempting to attract the female by building a fucktastic nest. You weren’t exactly sure that’s what the narrator said but it was all the same shit to you. “Run, girl. That’s how they getcha,” you muttered, your slurring somehow worse as you sifted through popcorn. “He’s only trying to get in them panties. Trust me. Fly away — or waddle away very fast.” You laughed at your own joke and threw Milo a few pieces. He snatched them in mid-air, impressing you and making you clap happily for him. His tail wagged a thousand miles an hour as he waited for more snacks. 

And then someone decided to ruin your little pity party. Milo’s head snapped in the opposite direction and he suddenly took off for the front door, barking like crazy and making you jump. A moment later, the doorbell rang and your cell phone chimed with the Ring notification. You glanced at the time on your screen; who the hell would be at your door at this hour? You quickly checked the Ring camera, your heart rate accelerating slightly as Milo’s barking didn’t let up. Were you about to be attacked? Broken into? Scammed? Given the Good Word and a talk on how to achieve your salvation? What? And you were drunk — fffffuck.

You waited for the screen to pop up and when it did, your heart was pounding for a whole other reason. You could feel the fury racing through your veins like wildfire. You’d know that set of shoulders and ball cap anywhere. Was this for real?

You watched as the person at your front door pressed the doorbell again, giving a hesitant wave to the camera. A familiar voice suddenly sounded through the speakers on your phone. “I know you’re home, Y/N. I can hear Milo barking. Can you come to the door, please?”

Oh, he wanted you to come to the door? Not a problem. He was going to regret it, though.

You jumped to your feet, you being the one to immediately regret it instead as you held onto the arm of the couch to regain your balance. When you didn’t fall back onto the couch or onto the floor, you stormed into the foyer — well, you tried to storm into it anyway. Milo was there, half whining, half barking, and glancing back and forth between you and the front door, clearly wanting you to open it. You reached it, flipped the locks, and threw the door open, glaring at the last person you ever wanted to see darken your doorway again. “What the hell do you want?”

Your ex-husband looked shocked for a moment, more by what his assessing gaze took in of you than by your aggressive greeting. “Have you been drinking?”

You snorted a laugh. “You’re going to ask me that? Really? You?” You shot him a meaningful look. 

He had the decency to briefly appear ashamed as he should. Hadn’t that been one of the several excuses he’d thrown your way once his dastardly deeds had come to light? God, you’d lost count of them at this point. “I was hoping we could talk but if…” He gestured to you with a hand but didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to; you knew very well what he was implying and it just served to anger you further.

“Are you kidding me right now? You don’t just show up on my doorstep—”

“Our doorstep.” 

“My doorstep,” you corrected. “Out of the blue, wanting to talk. It’s no longer about what you want, anyway.”

“Y/N, please. Can we just—”

“No! You hear me? N-O. No!” You went to shut the door when he stopped you.

“I’ve been trying to call you all day, you won’t return my calls, you won’t answer my texts.”

“Gee, I wonder why, Cheater McCheaterson,” you hissed, attempting to close the door despite him holding it open.

He let out an irritated sigh. “Look, I just want to talk, Y/N. No lawyers, no third parties, no more phone hang ups or emails not responded to — just us.”

You shoved against the door with all of your might though it proved futile. Why did he have to be so big and why did he have to show up when you were three—four—five sheets to the wind? “Like I’ve said a hundred thousand times before, there is nothing to talk about.” You spun around and pushed your back against the door, trying to shut him out that way. The damn thing still didn’t budge and you were starting to lose the battle with your balance. Milo watched you and you could see the judgment in his dark brown eyes; even he knew the door wasn’t going to close and the man you’d once given your heart to wasn’t going to go away that easily. “You cheated, you lied, you got caught, we’re getting divorced. End. Of. Story,” you grunted as you uselessly pushed against the door. That whole spiel might have sounded more impressive had you not just slurred your way through about ninety percent of it. 

A hand reached around and gently laid on top of yours, causing you to stop pushing and look down. Tears began to build in your eyes when you saw an all-too familiar golden band on the fourth finger, feeling the cold metal against your skin, almost burning you when the memory of you putting it on his hand immediately popped into your head. 

He had graced you with a warm and affectionate smile as you repeated the vows you were told to say. “To love and to cherish, ‘till death do us part,” you finished, slipping the ring onto his finger and joining your hands as practiced. His smile grew and he didn’t even wait for the officiant to finish speaking before he leaned forward and kissed you, causing a lot of ‘awww’s and laughter from the audience. He had then placed his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes and looking beyond happy. As it so often did for you when he did things like this, the world around you faded away until it was just the two of you. 

“We’re married now,” he murmured. “No returns or refunds or exchanges. No take backs. It’s for real.”

“I must have missed that part of the vows,” you joked, wrapping your arms around his neck as your eyes roamed his handsome face. He gently nudged your nose in response. “Yes, it’s for real,” you capitulated. “Not a bad choice for my first husband, if I do say so myself.” You shot him a teasing grin.

He chuckled and your heart skipped a beat; you loved that sound. “You mean your only husband, right?” He growled out playfully before swooping down to kiss you more passionately than before as he wrapped his arms around your waist to pick you up. You laughed into his mouth and you could faintly hear the sounds of cheering, whistles, and clapping somewhere in the distance.   

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from breaking down in tears. How dare he still wear that thing? After he’d pledged to love you for the rest of your lives together, no matter what? To be faithful to you even? You snatched your hand from underneath his and pushed the wood again, grunting loudly. 

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t you dare ,” you hissed.

His face appeared next, a lot closer to you than you had anticipated, and it took everything you had to keep standing. You could see devastation in those green depths that closely mirrored your own, the bloodshot eyes staring back at you along with a hint of dark circles underneath indicating to you that there had been a sleepless night or two very recently. His skin was at least two shades lighter than what it should be and his usually neatly trimmed beard was not as well kept. How dare he? How dare he look so hurt when he was the offending party? When he was the reason behind all of this pain he had caused you both?

“Please, honey,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

Your jaw clenched and you felt a tear start rolling down your cheek. Dammit, you had told yourself you would never cry in front of him, not after what he’d done. You would never give him the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply he hurt you. “I don’t want to talk to you, Jensen.” The pain in his expression intensified but you willfully ignored it. You also ignored the oh-so-ironically timed whine Milo let out nearby. “So just leave already. We’re done and nothing you say is ever going to change that.” You roughly wiped away the tear and ambled down the hall to the guest bathroom, slamming and locking the door shut behind you without once looking back.

Only when you turned on the shower did you collapse on the floor, your back to the tub, and bury your face into your knees as you broke down into sobs. You’d meant what you said; you and Jensen were done, and nothing he said could ever change that. Just when you thought your heart was beyond the ability of being damaged anymore than it already had been, you felt one final crack form as you poured out your anguish into the small tiled room.

A/N: Part 2 coming soon...

[gudvina]

one of the things i hate most about thg as a whole (og trilogy, the prequels) is that sc never NEVER confirms or denies the ethnic background of her characters, not even in her interviews, and this leads to all this fandom discourse and civil wars about district 12 population and now the covey. “the seam is made of poc” “the coveys are meant to be romani” yes okay, but what the author meant with her characters descriptions? why she never answers this questions? and most important: did she really wrote this characters to be poc or she just chose to let the fandom decide for her? because we're in 2025 now, so what's stopping her. the movieverse, where almost everyone is white? i'm sorry, but i'll never fully buy into the notion that she wrote the characters to be poc as a woc myself. yeah, i can see some evidence in the text, but it's not enough (to me). katniss mentions that they're from appalachia and haymitch tells us he's from the mountains but never acknowledges his appearance, not even once he mentions his black hair, “olive skin” and grey eyes. same as lenore dove .. and mind you, i've already seen some fans declaring that whitney peak has her looks. and i'm like: where? where in the text does sc describe her as a black woman? because all i can recall of lenore dove's physical description is haymitch telling us that she has some red in her hair. that's all. and yeah i'm not saying that i'm against peak or unsatisfied with her casting, but sc could have done something great and give us the ethnic background of lenore dove; maysilee, after all, has been described as white both in cf and sotr. and i wanted her to give us some undeniable proof because when i think about the covey i don't see them as romani, but as hippies, the ones from the 60s and 70s (and we could talk about romani representation and how it's done by authors that are not romani and what really is a good representation of them but that's another whole discourse to have) and for the seam .. fans from appalachia says they're melungeon coded and that could mean a lot of different backgrounds and looks and also features because melungeon people are basically a mixed ethnic group with native, black and white ancestry. so who's gonna win the civil wars? apparently no one, because author's too coward to acknowledge race and the meaning she gave it in the books with merchant people being blonde and white and seam people being .. probably poc? and also. why and how come has district 12 come to this racial parting? guess we'll never know!

I do agree with all of this!!!

Now, I think the intention Suzanne Collins had behind the books was to make a commentary that was adaptable to other contexts other than the strictly American one, even though- of course- her book being based in America does not help this. The original trilogy does have multiple physical descriptions that tells us what the characters look like. In fact, I'd dare say that during the three books Suzanne Collins' writing of characters is fairly descriptive; not only does she tell us their looks "bright, dark eyes and satiny brown skin" (Rue) , but also their stature, or their body type (Peeta's stocky build).

In Catching Fire Katniss gives us this description of Haymitch: dark curly hair, grey eyes, strong and "a looker".

But as you have said she has never been brave enough to specify their ethnic/racial background beyond these ambiguous descriptors.

Sunrise on the Reaping, though, is intentionally vaguer. We don't get a single cameo from District 11's Victors, even though it would have been completely justified by what was previously established of Haymitch's character, but the only characters that are afforded an actual physical description seem to be Maysilee and Louella/LouLou. It's true that we already do have a physical description of young Haymitch, but Suzanne Collins omitting Haymitch's looks from the book feels a way to make the character more adjacent to the movie portrayal, and while I did enjoy WH's portrayal of Haymitch I won't lie when I say that the casting of Sunrise on the Reaping upset me very badly.

I think that the Covey problem stems mostly from the fact that, unfortunately, Suzanne Collins has no idea what to do with them. They are based on barebones stereotypes about Rromani people, but otherwise we don't see their culture in its entirety because we never get to see it from the point of view of someone who is actually Covey. The only descriptions of the Covey we get are from outsiders who interact with Covey girls (Snow and Haymitch), and most of these descriptions are... limited, at best.

I feel that the choice of casting Lenore Dove as black, despite the lack of physical descriptions about her apart from her auburn hair, was a way for both Lionsgate and Suzanne Collins to raise their hands in defense to what they knew would be the casting criticism. As far as we know about her character, Lenore Dove's actress could have had a perfectly irish look and it would have still been accurate to the book as long as she had red hair. The retconning of Haymitch's look, who in Catching Fire had been given a more detailed physical description, was already in the plans during the books' writing.

I feel like all of these problems are only accentuated from Suzanne Collins writing new installments, and never truly sticking with a clear vision of anything. And, if Sunrise on the Reaping is going to be followed by others, I am sure the vision is going to get further blurred. The Hunger Games trilogy is a very good series of novel, and its merits and flows balance each other out. TBOSBAS was also a very good installment, though not as balanced as the trilogy. I fear that, with Sunrise on the Reaping, we are seeing the start of the end for the serie as we have always conceived it.

[witless-winion1]

Do you think when Ody comes back, he is so immensely touch starved, like he is constantly walking around the palace fully wrapped around his family, climbing them, just fully around the palace staying as close as possible to them, asking Telecommunications to move back into the room w/ his wife and him so he can hold them both oh so tight so he can believe in his touch that they aren't going to be ripped from his arms, and he's back on a lil raft, alone, maybe even prays to hope like Hermes and Athena come over more often so he can hug them in thanks and like w/ how many friends lost, drags them into a cuddle pile on a surface of some sort (floor? Bed? IDK) so he can trust he isn't alone and those who helped him and those he loves are still there, passing out, and all they can hear is screams (begging for them to not leave please pleASE PLEASE) (I'm coming back for more once I have more ideas, but yeah)

why the hell did this take me so long to answer. Why have I been letting one of my precious few asks rot in the box. I am so sorry my fren, my brain saw the wall of text and activated both the EXCITEMENT and OVERWHELM buttons at the same time. But anyway. Yes.

Odysseus Absolutely clings to Penelope every chance he gets (and she does the same). Remember that comic with his empty throne while he just snuggles up with Penelope on her lap on her throne? I’m a big supporter of that. It’s canon.

He’s a bit more nervous about touching Telemachus, because he doesn’t know his son’s boundaries as well as he knows Penelope’s, but he learns pretty quickly that while is son is mostly unused to constant physical affection, he is very open to it.

In my mind, Telemachus doesn’t sleep with his parents unless it was a bad night for one of them (Tele and Pen suitor trauma, Ody…everything trauma), but they do frequently have cuddle piles in the evening, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they constantly fell asleep like that.

Also now that I’m considering it, I do think Telemachus moved his bedroom to directly down the hall from Penelope when he was a teenager to protect her, just in case. So he stays close even on regular nights. Though he does have to invest in earplugs.

Also, I LOVE the idea of him summoning Hermes and Athena purely to spend time with them.

When he prays to Athena, she’s there in a snap, and is initially rather confused. She’s not very used to physical affection or ‘cuddles’ (a term she does not use), but she finds she enjoys it more in her owl form. Although she refuses to participate in the “physical closeness sessions” when Hermes is there after the first time. She didn’t want him spilling to the rest of Olympus about how, in a sleepier owl form, she started arranging the blankets and pillows of the wedding bed into a nest around the edges of the bed. You know, to keep the chick (Telemachus) from falling off.

Hermes just laughs and dives into the bed, remarking that it’s somehow almost as soft as the ones on Mount Olympus! and playfully sits on Telemachus’ legs and says stuff to get Penelope to whack him with a pillow (or olive tree branch, depending on how bad it was). He also occasionally offers them moly. Odysseus always declines, but Penelope and Telemachus both tried it once out of curiosity.

Penelope then sat down and weaved a tapestry (magnificent enough to make Athena notice and ask about it later, leading to a very fun and intelligent conversation). She then fell asleep (passed out) at the loom when it was done. Odysseus carried her to bed, and she had no recollection of the night before or of weaving the tapestry.

When Telemachus tried moly, he just started mumbling about how he missed Argos. And then he stood up and started rambling about the legends Penelope had told him about Odysseus when he was a young boy. Odysseus nearly cries from both sentimentality and laughter at his son’s clumsy recollections.

But after a while, after some speculation with an old healer in the palace, Odysseus tried microdosing (am I using that word right?) moly in hope of helping with his nightmares, because of every night’s a repeat of “captain”, “but we’ll die”, “this life is amazing,” “waiting,” “get in the water,” “thunder bringer”, etc. He finds his dreams to be more chaotic, but less intense and traumatizing…? Like fever dreams? He decides to only use it on the worst nights, because he’d rather not see Polites and Eurylochus dressed up in winion and lotus-themed drag every night.

[humanjarvis]

caught in a lie

synopsis: when you ignore caleb’s calls, he catches you trying to run from the consequences. you make a false promise to appease his anger, not expecting your lie to unravel. but almost immediately, it does.  

tags: based loosely on caleb's "hidden waves" memory, porn with plot, manipulative!caleb x manipulative!reader, brat!reader, mean(ish) dom!caleb, caleb makes out with your cunt for an hour, reader cries, belly bulge, 3 brother mentions but they’re done ironically/out of spite, humiliation, semi-public sex (caleb makes you call and cancel plans with that friend while he fucks you), lines lifted directly from hidden waves in bold pairing: caleb x fem!reader  word count: 3.9k

a/n: love the scene this is based on bc it reminds me of my favorite book from the wattpad era in 300 BC. also this is my first time writing full-on smut and omfg i don't know how people write like 10k of it u guys are wizards. but the response to this will determine how explicitly i write going forward, no pressure

As the Skyhaven nightscape twinkles around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting something. 

You’d had a great night: Simone had invited you to a cute café, the owners had given you a free muffin, and the raging storm from this afternoon had dwindled into a drizzle. But still, a sense of foreboding loomed over you, threatening to taint the precious memories you’d made tonight.

“...And next week we can go to this new bar downtown! I heard they have the best drinks, and there’s even a puppy mascot they let walk around and play with guests. Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree absently, Simone’s words going in one ear and out the other. “I’ll be there.”

As you walk farther down the sidewalk, the vibrant city atmosphere melts away your worries. People of all ages were out splashing in leftover puddles, trying new food stalls, and window shopping in the strip of stores that lit your path. Gradually, you give up on trying to place your unease, surrendering fully to the comfort of the cool night air.

“Hey!” you exclaim, an idea popping into your head. “Do you want to find a photobooth and take some pictures? I want something to remember tonight by.”

“Oh my gosh, absolutely,” Simone responds. “There should be one not too far from here. I went with my brother a few months back! It was really fun.”

At her words, you stop in your tracks. Her enthusiasm is no match for the dread building in your chest. 

Caleb.

Caleb who’d told you to text him when you got to the café, when you were about to leave, and when you were almost home. 

Caleb was what—or who—you were forgetting.

Slowly, you reach your hand into your purse until you feel your phone, digging it out and staring as if it were a venomous animal. Taking a deep breath, you tap the screen awake and immediately lose the air you’d just inhaled. 

7 Unread messages

4 Missed calls

3 New voicemails

Fuck.

“Uh, actually,” you start, chucking the device back into your bag, “I just realized I didn’t bring a brush! There’s no way I can take pictures without fixing my hair—it’s like a bird’s nest up there,” you ramble, giggling nervously. “Can we end the night here?”

“O…kay?” Simone says, clearly confused by the sudden shift in your mood. “Yeah, we can go back now. Your hair looks fine, though.”

Thanking the universe for giving you such an agreeable friend, you walk back to her car, the quickness of your usually unhurried steps betraying your agitation.

He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, you think. 

As the familiar outline of Simone’s car comes into view, she turns to face you. “Do you want a ride to the train station? I told my girlfriend I’d be home at 1:30—I have another hour.”

“Wait!” you cry, throwing your hands out in front of you. She looks at you as if the intensity in your voice is unnecessary. Which is true, because she’s standing a foot away. Quieter this time, you ask, “Would it be okay if I spent the night at your place? Just this once, I promise.” 

“...If you really need to,” she agrees warily. “As long as you don’t mind cat hair.”

When you reach her car, Simone gestures for you to wait as she walks around to the passenger’s side. “I just need to clean up real quick. The granola bar wrappers build up when you’re constantly called in early for emergencies.” 

But when Simone pulls on the door handle, it doesn’t open. “Weird,” she mutters, wiping raindrops onto her jeans. “I swear I unlocked it.” 

She clicks a button on her keys and tries again. Inexplicably, the door still doesn’t budge. “It’s like some force is holding it shut or something,” she says. At that, an alarm sounds in the back of your mind. But before it can reach your consciousness, she continues. “Well, I have a locksmith on speed dial anyway—I’m always losing my keys. But before I call, seriously, are you ok? The way you asked me to stay over….Is there something scary waiting for you at home? Why do you look so worried?”

"It’s probably because I’m home,” the all-too-familiar voice rings out behind you. 

In an instant, your entire body goes rigid. Your now-pounding heart screams at you to run, but you can’t obey without making a scene in front of your friend. 

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around slowly, as if the longer you took to face him, the more likely he’d be to disappear.  

You had no such luck. Towering over you, umbrella in hand, was Caleb, his normally expressive face a wall of stone. 

Despite his obvious anger, he steps forward to shield you from the downpour and you refrain from taking a step back—against your better judgment.

“Caleb!” you remark, your voice shrill with unease. “What a surprise!”

Ignoring your greeting, Caleb turns his attention to Simone. “Skyhaven isn’t very safe tonight,” he says coolly. “You’d better get home.”

The finality in his words makes it clear: you won’t be joining her. 

“Um, sure,” Simone trails off, wary eyes searching yours. “Will you be alright?”

“...Yes, it’s okay.”

Though your words don’t seem to convince her, Caleb’s penetrating glare does. She quickly walks to the driver’s side and effortlessly pops the door open—surprise, surprise—before jumping in. Giving you one last look, your only chance at salvation drives into the night.

The ride back to Caleb’s house is silent. You scoot as close as you can to the window beside you, paying no mind to the intensifying patter of rain against the glass. All that you notice is how he grips the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

When you pull into his driveway and exit the car, he walks closely behind you, preventing any more last-minute escape attempts. His imposing presence follows you inside and all the way to his bedroom. 

When you both cross the threshold, the air thickens with tension as you stand in silence, unmoving. 

“Well, goodnight!” you call when you can’t take it anymore. But before you can take one step, Caleb swings the door shut with his Evol. Huh, you think. Doors must be his speciality tonight.

“Where do you think you could possibly be going after the night you gave me?” he asks, steely voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Listen—” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“You ordered coffee three times. Burst out into laughter I could hear from outside six times. And yet, you somehow managed to check your phone zero times.”

“If you’d just given me more time, I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Because here’s what I think would have happened: If I hadn’t picked you up, you would’ve gone to your friend’s place, right? Then, you’d message me with an apology. Oh, throw in a cute emoji as the cherry on top,” he snorts. 

“With that done, you’d put your phone away and curl up into a ball to sleep. You wouldn’t even dare to check my response. You’d wait it out and believe I wouldn’t be upset. And once I’m away on a mission or somethin’...you would sneak back into the house and pretend nothing happened. Tell me,” he challenges you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong—not about your habits, at least. 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you snap. “I thought you said you were ‘done playing games’? You don't have to act so big brother-y all the time.”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s head rears back, his eyes going wide in incredulity before he scoffs. 

Alright, you sigh, time to turn on the waterworks. 

Taking a deep breath, you force tears into your eyes. “Caleb,” you begin, “I really didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just having so much fun. S-someone brought their puppy to the café and I got distracted.” The café hadn’t allowed pets, but you needed all the sympathy you could get. You’d have to thank Simone for telling you about that new bar later. “I won’t do it again. I won’t even go out at night anymore—promise.”

As he takes in your pitiful expression, you see Caleb’s resolve start to crack, the twitch in his right eye giving away how much he wants to console you. Maintaining your pout, you internally grin like a Cheshire cat. He could never say no to you. He could never le—

Your phone rings.

You thought you’d turned it off in the car, but your fucking phone rings. Right when you have him where you want him. 

The shrill tone sucks the air out of the room, and with it, any hope for your escape.

“Answer it. Speaker.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Visibly shaken, you fish your phone out of your bag and accept the call. “H-hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Simone. I’m calling to check on you—that guy who took you home was kinda scary. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything. Are you okay?”

At the insinuation that he’d ever harm you, Caleb’s face turns thunderous, his jaw clenching so hard you’re afraid it’ll snap. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Thanks for worrying though, that’s really sweet,” you add, your eyes darting up and immediately back down after meeting Caleb’s glower. 

“That’s great, I really was worried,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Well, before you hang up, are we still on for same time next week at the bar I mentio—”

You hang up as soon as she reveals your plans, throwing your phone so abruptly it bounces off the chair where your purse sits and onto the carpet. But it was too late. There was no sweet-talking the irate scowl off of Caleb’s face. You’d lied. 

Like a deer in headlights, you stand frozen and helpless as Caleb stalks toward you. 

“You almost had me,” he chuckles darkly, squishing your cheeks between one hand. “And I bet you knew it, too. Remind me to thank Simone for being such a good friend later.”

His grip tightens when you try to respond, and he pulls your face closer to his instead. “I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now. No point in hearing it if you’re just gonna lie to me again.”

With uncanny speed, he lifts you by your legs and tosses you onto the mattress. When you attempt to sit up, hoping to crawl away, he captures both of your wrists in his hand and claims your lips in a bruising kiss. 

“Don’t talk.” A kiss. “Don’t move.” Another. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do, and I might not chain you to this bed.” You’re so distracted by his final kiss—the exclamation point—that you barely register when he yanks your loose pants down, baring your cotton panties to him. 

When he spots the wet patch spreading through the middle, he moans, shifting to push his nose into your center. The deep inhales he takes seem to calm him down, and his voice loses some of its earlier edge when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you were keepin’ her from me tonight. Look at how much she missed me.”

He demonstrates by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your panties, tasting you as you leak harder under his tongue. The whimper you let out falls on deaf ears as you remember his command: Don’t talk. 

Licking a stripe up your clothed folds, Caleb sighs into you in contentment. “Gonna see her in a second,” he breathes. “Just can’t give her too much at once, or she’ll get greedy.” 

He’s too far gone, you think, closing your eyes in preparation of what’s to come. But nothing prepares you for the way the seemingly sedated Caleb rips your panties open at the seam, exposing your hot skin to the cool air. 

With no hesitation, he plants a long kiss onto your core, his lips smacking against the fat of your outer folds. Covering your skin with a flurry of pecks, he moans into you, his intermittent licks becoming sloppy, appreciative kisses. 

Caleb was making out with your cunt like your brain wasn't in the room, kissing it like he hadn’t seen it in years. The sensations and lewd squelches make your arousal unbearable, but when you try to grind into his mouth—to get him to do something more—he pushes your hips into the mattress. 

“Don’t interrupt us,” he mumbles, lips still latched onto your unspread cunt. Heat rushing to your cheeks, you flop your head back down, defeated as the man ignores you to have his heartfelt reunion with your core. 

An agonizing few minutes later, you feel him press a last hard kiss against your skin before finally spreading your soaked folds. “Can’t believe you ever thought you could hide from me,” he growls, eyes sparkling. “I’ll show you you can’t. Make you never want to again.”

Slowly, he licks up and down your wetness, teasing his tongue around your entrance. You try to relax during his ministrations, knowing he won’t give you what you want this early, but he catches you off guard when he buries his tongue into your weeping, sputtering hole. 

A strangled moan escapes you as he fucks you with his tongue, twisting, turning, and circling himself inside you. 

One pulse has your walls flexing with desperation, and Caleb pulls back slightly when he feels you tighten around him. “Look at that, I think she’s kissin’ me back,” he coos, a string of his saliva refusing to part from your quivering cunt. 

Spurred on by the whine you give him, he flashes you a wicked grin before diving back in, plunging his tongue in and out at a punishing pace. 

All the while, he studiously avoids where you need him most, licking and kissing everywhere but your twitching clit—neglecting it like you did him earlier in the night.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up, flashing you a quick smirk. “You know,” he starts, licking his glistening lips. “When you were givin’ me all those crocodile tears and cryin’ about puppies earlier, you never did say sorry for trying to run. How about now, hmm?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to your center. “You sorry?”

You pant out an incoherent moan, and he nips at your clit—the first time he’s touched it all night. Ignoring your squeal, he gives you another kiss. “I don’t know what that means. Try again.” 

You go to speak again, but Caleb suddenly rubs his nose against your clit, your resulting gasp sending your back shooting off the bed. He swiftly slams you back down with his Evol, giving you another nip. “Just two words, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Two words, loud and clear. Want to know you mean it.”

You don’t know what it is—the last strands of your pride clinging on for dear life, your stupor after being toyed with for almost an hour, or pure stubbornness—but you can’t bring yourself to say it. With a whimper, you clamp your mouth shut, staring at the ceiling in rebellion. 

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking up at you briefly. Before you can even process it, Caleb covers your clit with his mouth and sucks, simultaneously groaning into you. The combined sensations set your nerves on fire, and you come in his mouth with a prolonged cry. 

“I’m sorry!” you wail, the tears in your eyes genuine this time. As Caleb laps up your release, chants of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—oh—I’m sorry,” fall through your lips, your earlier defiance reduced to blubbering submission. “Should’ve checked my phone and called you back, I’m so sorry.” 

You’ve apologized ten times over, it feels, but he won’t let up. He suckles you until it aches, and there’s nothing you can do but lie there and sob as his Evol keeps you pinned down. When he’s finally had his fill, he presses a reverent thank-you kiss to your cunt before crawling up your body, nestling in between your thighs. 

“Aw, none of that, now,” he coos, wiping under your eyes. “I forgive you, alright? I forgive you for getting distracted, baby.” Still crying, you nod frantically, leaning into his gentle touch. “But if you ever run from me again, whoever you’re with won’t like what happens when I catch you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your forehead before plunging into you. 

Though his pace is relentless, your walls draw him in, his earlier date with your cunt letting you take his thick length with ease. 

When the pressure builds and you shy away from his brutal thrusts, he turns your chin toward him, pressing an ironically chaste kiss to your mouth. “No running, remember?” 

As you hurtle toward your release, he leans close, kissing you briefly before speaking into your lips. “The next time you wanna ignore me—next time you wanna hide from me and lie to me sayin’ you’ll be good from now on—I want you to think of this, to think of me right here,” he murmurs, palming his cock through your belly. You squeal at the foreign feeling, but he only adds more force, and you think you’re about to pass out.   

“My baby,” he chides. “Loves to act out but she can’t handle the consequences.” While he speaks, he folds your left leg up, pushing it to your chest so he can penetrate you deeper.

“Please, Caleb!” you beg, the new angle making stars float across your vision. As your body rocks with the force of his strokes, you cry, “I said I was sorry!” 

“Mm, you did,” he nods, absorbing a tear on your cheek with a kiss. “But I don’t think you really are. Not yet.”

Without warning, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach before sliding back in. Resuming his thrusts, he uses his Evol to pick your forgotten phone up off the floor. “Call her back. Speaker,” he orders. 

At first, you're flustered into hesitation, but as he holds the phone ahead of you and taps through your history to do it himself, you pull yourself together. “Wait,” you wail. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

You do it.

When Simone picks up, Caleb shows you mercy by decreasing his pace so the sound of slick skin colliding doesn’t travel through the phone. 

“Hey Y/N, what’s up? Is it about earlier? …Did something happen?” she asks in concern.

Frantically, you twist your head to look up at Caleb, not knowing what to say. 

Leisurely, he folds forward over you, his chest flush with your spine so he can whisper in your ear. Throughout his dramatics, your time to respond without raising suspicion wanes, and you grow more desperate by the second.

“Hi Simone,” Caleb finally whispers, pressing kisses to your ear in time with his languid strokes.

“H-hi Simone,” you repeat louder, a slight tremble in your voice.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for checking in. That guy, the one from earlier—he can be so mean sometimes,” Caleb murmurs, pouting his lips in ridicule. 

“I just wanted…wanted to say thanks again for checking in. The guy from earlier—hah—can be so mean sometimes,” you echo, breathless from the impact of Caleb’s hips rocking into yours.

“Can we reschedule our plans for next week? My big brother’s,” he emphasizes, mocking your earlier jab with two deep thrusts, “coming home, and he really misses me.” As he feeds you lines, the taunts in his words break through the softness of his whispers. 

As softly as you dare to, you whimper for him, hoping it’s enough for him to end his torture.

But as the phone screen goes black from inactivity, you see his smirking reflection looming over your humiliated one. The only way out is by appeasing him. 

“C-can we reschedule our plans for next week? My…my friend—” 

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Caleb lifts off of you slightly, landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Y/N? What was that noise? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you all but moan as he bites your neck, reprimanding you further for breaking his script. 

“My friend is visiting next week, and he really misses me,” you finish, waiting with bated breath for her—and Caleb’s—reactions. 

“Oh…sure, Y/N. That’s fine with me. That’s a lot better than I was expecting, you sounded like you were in trouble for a second.” Caleb smirks against your ear. “Just let me know when you want to reschedule.”

“Sounds good,” you breathe as Caleb’s thrusts return to a faster pace. “I-I gotta go, I’ll see you later!” you rush, almost squealing as you end the call. 

For the nth time that night, you want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you whine, your voice mixing with the renewed slaps of skin on skin. 

Chuckling, Caleb lifts off of you, his sudden absence from your cunt making you shudder. In an instant, he flips you over so you’re face-to-face before entering you again. 

“Technically, you just did that,” he smirks, his thrusts now lazy and sporadic. “I don’t remember pressing ‘call.’” His matter-of-fact tone is teasing, but you knew that if you hadn’t canceled on Simone, he’d have made good on his earlier threat. He always does. 

As you open your mouth to retort, Caleb’s face grows serious, and all your neurons responsible for making witty comebacks seem to atrophy at once. 

Caleb leans down, light bites on your throat punctuating his confession. “I can’t stop at wanting you not to run from me anymore. I want you to stay with me. To choose to, for as long as we live, for the next hundred years.” 

“But what if…” you trail off, but he understands what you’d been implying. 

At that, his eyes darken. Rutting into you with renewed fervor, he grasps your chin tightly, holding you captive in his gaze. “You’ll be around for however many years I’m alive and kicking,” he growls. And you believe him. 

Nerves alight, mind numb, and core throbbing from your impending climax, you nod as much as his iron grip allows you to. “I’ll stay,” you whisper, kissing his thumb near your lip. “Wanna stay—with you.” 

Letting out a strangled huff, Caleb surges forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. He bites your bottom lip as he presses down on your stomach once again, and you careen over the edge, feeling the hot spurts of his release intensify the flood inside your cunt. 

With a shuttering groan, Caleb collapses to your left, immediately closing the space between you with a hug. You stay like that for a while, your sore body curled into his arms as you face each other on the bed. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing circles into your hip. “I know it was a bit much.”

“Forgive you,” you mumble into his chest. “Felt good.”

He chuckles, tapping your nose twice. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. Or else I’ll want to keep testing your limits.” 

When you fall asleep in his warm embrace, Caleb looks down at you intently, trying to brand the visual into any part of his commandeered mind that’d take it. Daring to disrupt the image, he gently untangles your bodies, lifting you before laying you back down on top of him. 

At peace for the first time that night, Caleb looks out the window, smiling to himself. The rain has stopped.

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 1 ▷ || play next song?

summary : After another horny stream, you drop the bomb: fuck-a-fan fridays—seven weeks, seven fans, seven filthy videos. masks on, faces hidden, just you and one lucky subscriber tangled up on camera each week. All they have to do? strip down, get hard, and show you why it should be them. Auditions start now.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men

A/N : and so it starts!!! is everyone ready to see the submissions from your favorite horndogs? :) (also i hope you can tell whose who hehehe) i'm trying to keep the writing inclusive for every sort of female presenting person so let me know how i've done!

The next few weeks passed in a blur of lace, lube, and direct deposits that made your head spin. What had started as a desperate half-joke had morphed into a full-blown empire - your empire. The girl who once contemplated selling her underwear for gas money was now clearing rent, tuition, groceries, and still had enough left over to drop serious coin on clothes and silk bed sheets.

You’d gone to the next level. Your friends were of course benefitting from your suspiciously newfound wealth, you casually said you had found a better part-time job, never letting them know the truth when you decided to take them shopping. Not yet at least.

Private requests were your bread and butter. You weren’t just good anymore - you were a professional tease, a digital siren with a library of toys, outfits, and vocal tones that could bring grown men to their knees. They paid for everything; soft whispers, rough talk, slow stroking, filthy roleplays. Some just oddly wanted to hear your moans on loop. Others wanted personalized videos where you called them by username and told them exactly what you’d do if they ever had the balls to show up in person.

You were making big bank. Like “accidental tax bracket change” big. Like “should probably consult a financial advisor” big.

And the men?

Oh, the men were obsessed.

Especially the regulars. Their usernames lit up your screen night after night, tipping with reckless abandon, flooding the chat with unfiltered thirst. You didn’t know who they were in real life, yet, but their personalities bled through the screen in such vivid, chaotic little ways.

EmoWithaBoner was yearning. Desperate in a way that made your chest clench and your thighs twitch. His messages were usually soft, almost sweet - You deserve everything, You looked so beautiful tonight - until something cracked open inside him mid-message and he’d type something crazy like: I would lick your cunt until you beg me to stop. Now that had gotten a small “Oh.” out of you. He wanted to worship you and ruin you all at once.

SixEyesOnly was a fucking menace. Flirty, cocky, constantly sending emojis that were way too smug for someone probably watching with only one hand available. His tips were ridiculous, like, spend $300 just to watch you eat grapes in a bad wig slowly sort of ridiculous, and his messages read like he was trying to fluster you on purpose. You assumed it was some sort of control thing with him, throwing money at people and getting them to do it. No complaints from you.

TempleOfSin was smooth, a little poetic, a little filthy. He asked for long, descriptive videos where you described what you were wearing, how you’d touch him, how you'd taste. He liked to also order roleplay videos where you pretended to worship him like he was some sort of God. Sometimes he called you his loyal little follower. You didn’t ask questions.

daddyissuez was feral. No other word for it. His requests were blunt, primal, always toeing the line of what the platform allowed and your own, now lacking, self-control. He liked spit, degradation, and power games. His tipping was sporadic and a lot less compared to the others, though, it was enough to keep him in your attention.

OfficeAfterHours was different. Polite. Polished. His messages came like little business memos laced with innuendo. “You looked stunning tonight. That color suits you,” followed by a $200 tip telling you to buy more in the same color. Never crude, always composed. It made him stand out more, somehow. Like a man who didn’t need to beg. A man who expected what he wanted, and always got it.

And then there was KingOfRot.

Unpredictable. Crude. Arrogant. He dropped tips like they were nothing. $500 just because you looked at the camera in a way he said was like a ‘deer in the headlights’. Odd, but $500 was a good amount to keep your mouth shut. He called you “pet,” “whore,” “delicious little thing.” You should’ve blocked him. Instead, you kept reading his messages twice over with your jaw unhinged and in wonderment whether or not he actually said that. His energy was intense and you hated how hot that was.

Which brings us to tonight.

You were perched in your new silk sheets, ring light warm against your skin, wearing your most transparent slip where your nipples were clearly on display and a smug little smirk behind that now iconic mask of yours. You’d hyped this stream for days - teased it on your feed, hinted at it in DMs. The chat was already on fire and you hadn’t even said a word yet. Tonight was a big one.

EmoWithaBoner: god ur so fucking hot tonight SixEyesOnly: i logged in 15 minutes early and i still feel late :(( OfficeAfterHours: You’ve outdone yourself this evening. KingOfRot: Come on, get to the fucking point, girl.

You grinned, slow and lethal, dragging your fingers along your inner thigh and ignoring KingOfRot.

“Well,” you purred, “I figured since you’ve all been very generous lately… it’s time I give something back.”

SixEyesOnly: oh fuck You licked your lips, loving the short little power trip it gave you. “I’ve been thinking,” you said, voice sweet and dangerous. “Maybe it’s time to start a little… tradition.”

You paused for dramatic effect.

“Fuck-a-Fan Fridays.” You bit your lip. Boom. Chat detonation. SixEyesOnly had sent you $200 just for the phrase.

EmoWithaBoner: you’re joking SixEyesOnly: oh shit baby TempleOfSin: Perfect. KingOfRot: You say when and where, pet. daddyissuez: i’ll be first. fuck the line OfficeAfterHours: I trust you've thought this through..

You leaned in close. OfficeAfterHours was cute in the way he was concerned for you. “I mean, why stop at one, right?” You giggled, cheeks burning behind your mask as you kicked your feet a little bit out of the view of your webcam. “I was gonna keep it casual, but um… yeah. What if I made it a thing? Like, a series?”

Another pause. You leaned in even closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried heat.

“One fan. Every Friday. For seven weeks.”

You crossed your bare legs over one another, your slip rising on your thighs as you did so. “Seven Fridays. Seven people. Seven chances to fuck the brains out of a very nervous, very willing woman who cannot believe she’s actually saying this live right now.”

You sat up again, brushing the slip back into place like your nipples weren’t clearly on display.

“I mean..obviously, we’ll keep it anonymous. Like, we’re not stupid here. Masks. No faces. Just hands. Bodies. And my camera.” The chat was still in full meltdown, comments stacking so fast the shitty platform could barely keep up. Your heart was pounding, your skin warm and tingling from the high of it all—of watching them fall apart just from your voice, your words, the soft shift of silk and skin. You hadn’t even done anything explicit yet, and they were on their knees.

God, it was addictive.

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft sigh, the movement pulling your slip just high enough to tease your hips. A final little gift before the curtain dropped.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” you said with a giggle, feigning innocence even as your gaze sparkled with something much dirtier. “You guys are gonna give me a heart attack.” SixEyesOnly: no no no don’t leave yettt!! :(( KingOfRot: You owe me for the buildup, woman. You tilted your head, lips curving into a sweet little smile as you leaned forward, giving them just one more generous view of your tits before the curtains closed.

“But before I go…” you said, voice slipping into something quieter, softer, like a secret you didn’t mean to share. “If you’re serious about Fuck-a-Fan Fridays… I want you to show me.”

The pause that followed had its own kind of weight. You watched the chat stall for half a second. The anticipation was thick enough to choke on.

“Send me a message,” you murmured, “with a picture. No face. Just your body, and cock, obviously.”

You let your fingers trail down your own torso, to your hips, your thighs, hinting at what you wanted to see. “Let me see what I’d be touching.. What I’ll be fucked braindead by.” EmoWithaBoner: fuck i’ll take a hundred SixEyesOnly: don’t lose your mind too much baby KingOfRot: It’ll be mine you dream about when you touch yourself. OfficeAfterHours: Submission will follow shortly. No face. Clean framing. High quality.

You had to laugh—giddy and a little breathless. You honestly didn’t think they’d go this feral.

“Think of it as an audition,” you said, tucking your knees to your chest, playing sweet again. “Show me what you’re offering. How you’d fit against me. In me.”

You smoothed your hand up your own thigh, lazily now, teasing.

“And just so you know,” you added with a little grin, “I’m only really looking at the ones who’ve tipped enough to keep my attention. You know who you are.”

Oh, they most definitely did.

The seven of them were already scrambling—photos incoming, tips rolling, blood leaving their brains. You didn’t need names. Their usernames were burned into your memory. Their obsessions with you were paying your bills.

“Goodnight, boys,” you whispered. “Impress me.” The second you ended the stream, you collapsed backward into your pillows with a dazed little laugh, limbs spread like you’d just run a marathon and won a gold medal in filth. The glow from your laptop cast a soft haze across your legs, the screen already lighting up with the chaos you’d left behind—tips still pouring in, messages stacking, your inbox begging for attention.

And the photos?

Oh, they were already flooding in, from people you didn’t want, but it was there regardless - upping your activity.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin resting in your palm as you clicked open the first one with a half-curious, half-unhinged smile.

No face, just like you asked. Neck down. The guy was standing in front of a mirror, one hand wrapped tight around his cock, the other lifting his hoodie to show off his chest. His abs were flexed. His cock hard enough to cast a shadow.

You blinked. Let out a slow breath.

“…Damn.”

Another one came in. Different guy, different vibe—tattoos on his hips, hand slick and stroking himself in a dimly lit bathroom, captioned: Fridays look good on me. Want to see how I look underneath you?

“Oh my god,” you whispered, laughing as you pulled your legs up behind you. “This is real. I’m really doing this.”

And you were. One fan. Every Friday. Seven weeks. Seven videos. Each one getting posted to your feed, available for your hundreds of subscribers to watch, rewatch, tip on, comment under, and probably break their dicks to.

It wasn’t just a hookup. It was content. Premium content.

Still riding the rush, you opened your messaging panel and started typing.

New Mass Message Sent to All Subscribers:

Hey babes— If you missed the stream tonight (rip to you), here’s your official invite.

Fuck-a-Fan Fridays is happening. Starting next week, I’ll be choosing seven of you to spend one very intimate night with me. Every Friday for the next seven weeks, I’ll be posting a new video. One fan. One full-length scene. Just me… and whoever impresses me the most.

How to audition:- Send me a photo. - Neck down only. No faces. Masks will be worn on camera, so full anonymity will be protected. But I need to see everything. Cock out. Hard. Your body. Your vibe. The way you'd look on camera—underneath me, on top of me, behind me, inside me.

Show off a little. Or a lot.

Make me want it. Let the auditions begin.

xoxo,

—Your girl

taglist : @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @syubseokie

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged partially disabled Simon, who swears he is perfectly fine and capable of doing everything himself. But it doesn’t really matter what he thinks says because Price sees differently. He sees the way Simon’s hands shake and how he’s started fidgeting when he’s never done that in the past, he can see Simon’s right side, the side that was crushed under rubble during an attack, he sees it shake and almost falter every time Simon puts even a little bit to much weight on it, but what worry’s Price the most is when Simon zones out and stops paying attention to his surroundings or whatever he’s doing. Not to mention now Simon has to go back and live in civilization, when all he’s known is military life since he was still a teen.

So although Simon claims he’s fine, Price gets him live-in-help, you. You’ve been with him the past week and although he rarely talks you’ve learned a few things. The blinds always need to be fully open unless he’s sleeping, he needs to be able to see what’s happening but it’ll keep him up when he’s trying to sleep, so they close at night. He gets very tense when he can’t see your hands, it hurts you a little to know he doesn’t trust you but you understand. He can't cook at all, unless you prepare food for him he’ll only eat a prepackaged dinner nothing else, of course that isn't healthy so you've started fixing him both breakfast and lunch which he accepts with a grunt but he doesn’t eat till you’ve started. He never takes off his mask around you unless he's eating and even still only up to his nose. Lastly you've noticed something always sparked in his eyes when you called him Simon, you haven't been able to figure out what it is so instead of risking offending him or something, you've stuck to calling him Ghost.

Price chose you for two reasons, you were quite, something he thought Simon would like, he was very wrong. It’s probably the oddest thing about him, he doesn’t like when you're super quiet you've learned it cause he doesn’t know where you are or what you’re planning the other reason is Price hired you is because you were a military nurse for quite a bit so you would always be there for Simon. This was something Simon actually did like it meant he didn’t have to leave his flat just to see a doctor, what he didn’t think about though was the cut and bruise on his face that he would have to remove his balaclava for.

“Okay Ghost” you paused not sure how he would react to having to take his mask off “I-i need you to remove your mask for me please” almost immediately he grunted out a why “because you have a cut and bruise on your face and I need to make sure it’s healing properly” Simon stilled completely for a few seconds before he slowly pulled the balaclava completely off. You took a second looking over his entire face before you brought your hand up inspecting the area “your bruise is completely gone” you whispered slightly surprised it had only been a week, you went to write it down but the moment your hand left his face he spoke up “it’s still ere, jus can’t see it” carefully your brought you hand back to his face to carefully push on his check “does that hurt” “bit” was all he grunted out, you hummed to yourself as you removed your hand and started writing, but had you been looking at him you would have seen the almost pout gracing his face.

Once you finally looked back up, placing your hand on his face “okay let’s finish this quickly” you say looking over his scar “I know I’m not that pretty but you ain’t gotta rush” he said in the quietest voice. You looked up into his eyes quickly only to find them looking back at you with what you could only describe as curiosity mixed with need “Gh-Simon that’s not what I meant, your very beautiful I just thought you wouldn't want me touching or looking at your face any more since you always hide it behind that mask” he never replied to you, just kept staring with that look in his eyes. Finally you peeled your eyes away, finished writing whatever you needed to in your book then you got up and walked away “I’m gonna fix us some lunch, okay Simon?” you called from in the kitchen already, and that’s when Simon managed to place the feeling he had been having every time he saw you. He liked you, he had a crush, a crush! “Simon?” You called again “yeah okay” he called back, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up, not when he thinks he might have found a new purpose in life.

pt 2 here

[esote-rika]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐭 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Category: Smut 18+ MDNI

Summary: Teasing your virgin boyfriend was all fun and games, until he’s too worked up to function. When the layers of clothing fall off, you’re in for a delightfully large surprise.

Content: 3.2k words, virgin!Spencer, kinda sub undertones, he’s hung af and really fucking whiny, fingering, hand jobs, raw p in v but reader is on the pill, multiple orgasms, Spencer cries because he needs it so bad, reader wears lip gloss, dacryphilia (lemme know if I missed anything)

a/n: Truly just 3.2k words of filth. I wrote this instead of the next chapter for my thesis and I have no regrets. Also, a lot of my italicized words got lost because formatting on the app truly is the bane of my existence, but I reached a personal milestone and wanted to celebrate! So yay, here's a fic as a thank you for supporting my blog and writings ❤️

Sometimes dating Spencer Reid meant throwing subtlety out the goddamn window; the man wouldn’t know subtext if it hit him square on his beautiful, perfectly sculpted face. All your subtle attempts to seduce him have all been entirely unsuccessful, and you're beginning to wonder if he even wants you that way. 

In your defense, you've been dating for over two months now and he still hasn't initiated anything beyond making out. It’s been making you antsy. Of course, his hesitation is nice. It comes from a place of respect after all, and there’s something endearing about his gentle touches, large hands ghosting over your body. You appreciate this easy, steady pace you've set for the relationship. 

But after a particularly busy week for both of you, you've been left aching and needy for something more. 

When you finally found a time that works for both of your schedules, you decided it would be time to make your move. Fuck waiting for him to initiate. You can do it yourself. You'd been subtle about it at first—a hand on his thigh, a few inches higher than where you'd normally place it, lips running over his jaw. 

The man had simply laughed nervously, and returned with a kiss to your forehead.

Briefly, you wondered if it truly is because he's not into you that way. However, that thought flits right out of your pretty head when you see the unmistakable tent slowly forming in his pants. 

So you’d upped your actions, nibbling at his earlobe in the middle of dessert, fingers trailing up his inner thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. Screw subtlety. (And hopefully, him too.) By the time you two sat in the back of the cab, he’s a squirming mess.

“S-stay the night?” he’d been so shy about it you debated teasing him a little more. Maybe if you weren’t so horny, you would have, but relief had simply flooded your veins. Finally. So you nod, teased him a little more in the back of the cab until he had to grab your wrists and hold them in place, because he swore he’d probably come in here just from one more brush of your palm. The lightest pressure and he’d be a goner, a pathetic mess, and you hadn’t even really done anything. 

There had been no build up once you got into his apartment. Simply an exchange of quick, sloppy kisses, Spencer pushing you deeper into his house until the couch hits the back of your knees and both of you came tumbling down. He’s already rutting his hips against your thigh, his erection hot even through his slacks. Clumsy fingers strip off fabric and shoes, leaving them strewn haphazardly on his living room floor.

You had pushed him away then, grinning enticingly as you went to straddle his lap. You ground your hips in circular motions against his still clothed crotch, gasping as the obvious bulge gives you even more traction to rub on. 

“No fair,” he whines, fingers leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips, “P-please stop teasing, you’ve been doing it all night.”

He’s so tightly wound it’s almost pathetic. He’s lucky you’ve some semblance of mercy left in your body, because you could probably come undone just from the friction that came by dry humping him. But you relent, sitting back on his thighs as you tug at his underpants. 

“All right baby, since you asked so nicely.”

Thus exposing what’s going to be the small issue of the night.

Rather, the large issue.

His cock springs free and for a moment you just stare at it. Red, veiny, pulsing and huge. Larger than anyone you’ve been with, larger than even the toys that hide in that one drawer in your bedroom closet.

“W-what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You paled a little.”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips, “You didn’t tell me you were hung.”

His eyebrows scrunch, so ridiculously adorable you have to bite your lip to stifle another giggle.

“Hung?”

“Yeah, like, your dick is huge.”

Red blooms across his cheeks, “It’s - it’s certainly above average—”

“You know what the average length is?”

“I-in North America, yes.”

“I didn’t know you swung that way, baby.”

He groans, moving to hide his face into the crook of your neck, “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, I know, I’m kidding.” You manage to shift and catch his head before he has a chance to press it to your neck. Your lips land on his, and he’s pushing his tongue inside your mouth sloppily. When you pull away for air, you add, “You’re just bigger than what I’m used to.”

“Is that bad?”

Is it? One hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking up delicately, testing out the girth and the weight of him. He shudders, muscles tensing. His fingers dig into your hips. With a grin, you reply, “On the contrary, I think it’s exciting.”

You position yourself over him then, letting the blunt tip run up and down your slick folds. The friction makes you both shiver. Every single ridge and vein of his cock catches on your sensitive flesh, and you can’t help but start moving your hips up and down, rubbing your folds over the length of him. 

“You’re - ah - so wet.” his tone is wretched with desire and awe.

“All for you baby.” You continue your ministrations, letting his length part your folds, the tip hitting your clit at certain angles. His cock is covered in your slick within moments and your poor boyfriend looks like he’s about to combust. You feel the twitch of his cock, the shift in the way he moves his hips—rocking up desperately against you—and you know he’s close. So you stop.

You’re rewarded by another whine.

“Please,” his grip is hurting you now, palms clutching handfuls of your ass. You don’t think he’s even aware of how tightly he’s doing it. “Please, I’m so—”

“Spence, do you really want to cum without even being inside me?” That shuts up his whining. “Mhm, didn’t think so.”

“Can I— please, just—”

“What?”

“Wanna touch you.”

Your lips tug into a smile. At your nod of assent, one of his hands let go of your ass to move to your pussy, the pads of his fingers quickly locating your clit.

“Fuck, Spence,” your head falls forward, forehead meeting his, “Faster, baby.”

He obeys, tilting his head forward to capture your lips. Your mouth opens to him, muffling your moans as you begin to move, shamelessly riding his hand. His finger finds your entrance, dipping shallowly, hesitantly, but you’re so wet that, with a quick thrust of your hips, the digit slips all the way in. 

Spencer pulls away from the kiss to watch, the pupils of his eyes nearly eclipsing the ochre irises as your pussy swallows his finger greedily. Transfixed, he adds another finger and it’s your turn to squeeze and mark up his alabaster skin with crescent marks. 

“Yes,” you groan, gasp, writhe in his lap as his fingers curl and find the sweet spot inside you, “Oh god, Spencer, yes!”

He’s entranced as he pumps his fingers in and you, mouth hanging open as your pussy parts and accepts his fingers so prettily. To reciprocate, your hands—plural, yes both hands—wrap around his cock, starting a slow, lazy pace. That throws his rhythm off, fingers stilling inside you.

“Keep going,” you urge him, hands slowing to a stop as well, “Spencer.”

He whines, hips bucking up into your palms, but something in your voice seems to set him straight. Fingers thrust in and out of you again, long and elegant and stretching you for what’s about to come. Satisfied, you pump your hands over his cock again, twisting them every time you motion up, and squeezing as you go down. It doesn’t take long for him to fall apart, his cock twitching before cum shoots from the tip. Because you’re straddling his lap, it makes a mess and lands on both of you—his stomach, your chest, some even on your hair. 

“Oh god,” he’s whining again, embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I’m so—”

You silence him with a kiss, still stroking him, as your hips move over his hand. His brain manages to work, curling inside your fluttering walls. The movements are messy, uncoordinated as you chase your orgasm and he struggles to catch up. A whine leaves your lips, soft and needy. Something about it must trigger the neurons in his beautiful brain, make him remember you have the perfect bundle of nerves being neglected and he has more free fingers. 

With a slight shift, he presses his thumb to your clit. 

“Fuck, baby, yes!” you cry out breathlessly, head falling forward on his shoulder. 

“Good?” he asks, increasing pressure on that sensitive nub. Small, quick circles. You wonder when he became so dexterous.

You nod, thighs clenched and quivering as your climax nears, the pleasure in your stomach building and coiling into something white-hot and— “Oh, Spencer!”

His other arm wraps around your waist, crushing you to him as he helps you through your orgasm. In the steady comfort of his arms, the rocking of your hips slow to a stop. You feel his lips at your temple, not really kissing the spot, just resting there. Heavy breaths rifle strands of your hair. 

“Oh god,” he sighs, fingers slipping out of you with a pop, “Angel, that was amazing.”

You straighten up, grinning, “We're not done yet.”

“No?”

Eyes dart down suggestively, and his gaze follows to his own lap. Still completely erect, his cock lays flat against you, heavy and pulsating. “No, I think I need to take care of you a little more.”

“Y-you don't have—”

But you've already lifted yourself to your knees, fighting through the quake in your thighs, in order to position the tip of him at your slick entrance. His hands return to your thighs, nails clamping down on your skin.

“But I'm not— condom—”

How cute, he can barely speak. You grin, press a chaste kiss to the dimple on his cheek. “I'm clean. And on the pill.”

“You sure it’s okay?”

It's more than okay, actually. You're too shades shy of being desperate for his cock to split you open, but you're not sure if he'd survive hearing that sentence so you say, “Of course it is baby. Unless… you want me to stop?” If he catches the hint of insecurity in your voice, he doesn't show it. 

Instead, his head is shaking no, vigorously, lower lip jutting out in a pout. 

You smile, and kiss it away, “Okay then. I'll go slow, okay?”

You'd meant it as an empty warning. Really, there's nothing more you want than to impale yourself down on him and ride him like there's no tomorrow. However, as you slowly lower yourself onto his cock, as the blunt tip breaches your entrance and spreads your walls, you realize that going slow is probably more of a necessity. 

He's big. Almost uncomfortably so. 

One sharp exhale from your lips and he's suddenly looking at you in concern, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” you gasp, although the furrow in your brows suggest otherwise. 

“You don't have to—"

“Hush, baby, I just need a moment.” You say, forcing yourself to relax and take more. The broadest part of his head pushes through, stretching you wider than you've ever been. Soft, keening sounds fill the air. It's hard to know which came from you, or from him.

You look up, and laugh when you realize Spencer's skin is dappled with large red splotches. He's staring at where the two of you are connected, his cock barely fitting inside you. With a deep breath, you roll your hips around, trying to get used to the feeling. He whines again, his torso falling back onto the cushion, “Oh my god,” he gasps, lower lips trembling, “Oh my god, please.”

“Need you to be patient for me, Spence.” you mutter, dropping down a little more. You place one hand on his thigh for balance, while the other wraps around the base of his cock, stroking him to give him some relief. The greedy bastard bucks up, involuntarily, and you hiss as another inch pushes into you before you're ready.

“Spence!”

“Sorry, I'm sorry! Just - oh god, oh god, please, oh did I hurt you?”

And then it happens. Something glimmers on his cheek as it catches the light. And then another. And again, this time on the other cheek. Your hand leaves his thigh to grasp his chin, tilt his head up.

Your boyfriend is crying. Splayed out on the couch, cushions embedded by the sharp joints of his elbows from where he's propped himself up. He's looking up at you with glimmering liquid gathered on the rims of his lashline. Dripping down his cheeks, only to be replaced by another bout. 

“Baby,” You sigh, pouting as you lean down. Soft lips catch his tears, leaving sticky residue on his cheekbones from the remains of your lip gloss, “It's okay.”

Another sob. Large teardrops crawl down his chiseled face.

Knowing that it’s your fault makes a feeling of power surge through you. “You’re so pretty like this, Spence.” 

“Angel, please—”

The sight of his tear streaked face does something to you, your walls relaxing and fluttering as you manage to accept another inch down. His reaction is instantaneous, nails sinking into your hips, head falling back. “No, no,” you say, hand coming to the back of his head, tilting his head forward again, “Look at me.”

Tear streaked and hazy eyed, he manages to keep his head steady in order to maintain eye contact. It’s a little sick, the way this turns you on, but it allows you to sheath his cock further in. 

You lift yourself up, until only the tip remains notched inside you, and his cock gleams with the evidence of your arousal. With a smile, you sink down again, walls fluttering as you take him deeper, until you have about three fourths of his length buried inside you and he’s little more than a puddle. 

A hiss escapes your lips, brows knitting from the stretch. It isn’t just that his length is impressive, it’s that he’s thick too, splitting your pussy open. But now he's buried more than halfway through, giving you enough room to lift yourself up, and sink down again.

You count that as a victory.

He groans, muscles tensing, and you know he's desperately trying not to buck up and meet your movements. With a small smile, you lean close, forehead resting on his. Large, honeyed eyes stare back up at you, still glassy with tears. You repeat the same motion of your hips, moaning as you feel every single ridge and vein of his cock straining inside your walls. 

“Feel good?” you murmur, swiping a stray teardrop with your thumb. 

“Mhmm,” he nods, breath hitching as your movements grow steady. The sting remains, but it's grown dull now that you’ve gotten more used to the size of him.

“Oh god, baby, why haven't we done this sooner?” you whine as you rock on top of him, enjoying the fullness of having him inside of you. The question is rhetorical, but he's in absolutely no state of mind to answer. His hands grip your hips tightly as he sniffles, unable to do anything else except enjoy the ride you're giving him.

Praises leave your lips, murmured in tones cloyingly sweet and half mocking. 

“Crying over sex, you're so lucky I'm so into you.”

“You look so pretty with tears in your eyes baby."

“Never had pussy this tight, haven't you?” 

That last one rips another sob from him, because you know this is his first, that you're making a mockery out of something significant for him. So you soothe with a kiss, and whispers of “I'm sorry, it's okay, you're doing so good, you feel so good.”

You punctuate it by moving faster, your pussy thoroughly comfortable and so wet that there's barely any struggle to bounce on his dick. However, you're still careful, still unable to take him all the way in. You figure it's something you both can work up to, something for the future. The thought makes you smile. 

Besides he doesn't seem to mind, moaning beneath you as you ride him. He seems to have lost all ability to articulate himself, instead just staring at you with red, tear filled eyes and a slack jaw. It makes you giggle, the way he looks so utterly fucked out. 

You clench around him, walls tightening sharply, sending sensations that make the two of you gasp. 

“I-I'm so close.” He manages to say, his hands now helping you, guiding your body as you impale yourself over his cock again and again, “Please, I'm so—”

“I know, baby, I know, you can come.”

His eyes squeeze shut, and his voice is especially strained when he asks, “Inside?”

You tug his hair teasingly, and his kids flutter open again. With a grin, you confirm, “Inside.”

A few more thrusts and he's gone, crying out, squirming desperately beneath you as spurts of his cum paint your walls. You don't stop, riding him continuously as you chase your own release. Thick, creamy liquid drips from your pussy and down the base of his cock with every movement. 

He sobs even more. 

“Touch me,” You whisper, pleading, “Spence, please baby, I'm so close.”

His fingers are at your clit in an instant, rubbing hasty circles as your pace grows erratic and sloppy. 

“Please,” He gasps, looking up at you with glassy, imploring eyes, “Please I wanna feel you come.”

Your body seems attuned to his desperate pleas, because as soon as those words leave his lips, your pussy clenches around him so tightly you both yelp in surprise. He doesn't stop his ministrations on your clit, helping you through your orgasm until you're panting. For the second time tonight, you collapse against him, face buried at the crook of his neck. 

“My god.”

He laughs, breathless, “My god indeed.” 

He shifts, moving slowly so he doesn't jostle your boneless frame too much. There's a hiss from you as he slowly pulls out. You find yourself clenching around nothing, feeling oddly empty after such an intense fullness. 

Silence wraps around both of you, heady and languid. His fingers in your hair, scratching your scalp. Soft intimacy after a whirlwind of lust.

And then he breaks it, so achingly sweet it almost makes you cry, “I'm sorry that I hurt you.”

“Mhm?”

“Earlier,” He clarifies, lips finding your shoulder and staying there. His voice becomes muffled and sheepish, “When I thrust up.”

“I didn't think you'd remember that.” You tease, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging at his curls.

“I've an eidetic memory, remember? I remember everything.” He laughs too. Relief makes his voice sound lighter. “I never want to hurt you.”

“You didn't,” You reassure him, “Well - okay, a little bit, but it's fine. I don't think you meant to.”

“Of course not,” He hums, lips traveling up your neck, “But I'll be more careful next time.”

“Next time huh?”

“Mhm,” Teeth on your jaw. Playful, teasing. “Next time.” 

It sounds like a promise. You know he intends to keep it. 

This was a request by @mggslover lol I forgot to add up top oh well

[vintagebuckybarnes]

In Vino Veritas

Pairing → Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Lab Assistant! Female! Reader

Total Wordcount → 3.5K

Summary → It all started when you and the Avengers enjoyed drinks during the afterparty back at the Avengers Tower. There, Tony revealed one of your deepest secrets, and even though you wish it had never come to light at first, you’re glad it did when the man you love stands on your doorstep, ready to start the rest of your life together.

Tags & Warnings → Semi-canon compliant, Avenger! Bucky Barnes, Female! Reader, Tony’s Lab Assistant! Reader, Bucky’s past as TWS is mentioned, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, some cursing, and explicit sexual content.

Tags: Smut → Grinding, begging, some dirty talk, praise, teasing Bucky, protected sex, cowgirl position.

Story Rating → Explicit

Author’s Note → This story is beta'd by the wonderful @late-to-the-party-81, and I cannot thank you enough for that. I hope you'll all enjoy my story, which is filled with some angst, lots of fluff, and some smut to top it all off! 💜

Writing Prompts @fandom-free-bingo Bug Edition → “There is no us.” | Riding | In vino veritas | “Touch me.” @fandom-free-bingo Medical Edition → Crush at first sight @julybreakbingo Post-JBB → Being confronted about their feelings for another

Tags List → If you’d like to be tagged in my stories, you can add yourself to my tag list here.

The evening starts fine, good, even. But it all takes an unexpected turn when the man you work for - Tony Stark - reveals your secret. A secret that you’d only recently revealed to him.

Earlier that day, you’d spotted Bucky as he was working out and from that moment on your mind has been with him instead of your usual work and tasks.

“Hello, Y/N? Anyone home in there?” Tony asks as he lays a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. You look up at him with a worried look while he smiles back at you with a kind expression. A soft sigh escapes your lips as the thoughts in your head wander off again, specifically how his back looked underneath the tank top he wore in the gym while doing squats. Not only that, but you also can’t stop thinking about the way his ass looked in the sweatpants he wore. In a word, magnificent.

“Is everything okay with you? You’ve been a bit off your game today.” As Tony sits next to you, you put down the screwdriver you were holding - the one he asked you three times to pass to him - before turning to face him, your gaze focusing somewhere on the wall behind him. For a moment, there’s a silence between you as you gather the courage to tell him what’s been on your mind.

“Well, uhm- There’s something, or someone, that I can’t stop thinking about, and it’s taking over my mind every second of every day. It- It’s Bucky,” you say almost in a whisper. For a few seconds, Tony is completely silent as he lets the thought of you having a crush on one of his fellow Avengers sit in his mind. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he reaches out for your hand and takes it between his warm ones.

“You know that I’ll always support you in everything, right? I supported you when you expressed your desire to halt your life as an Avenger and retrain as my lab technician, and I supported you when you moved out of Avengers Tower to have your own home with more peace. This is not going to be any different. All I’m hoping for is that he will make you the happiest and best version of you, as you deserve nothing less.”

Tears brim at your waterline as Tony tells you this, and even though you deeply appreciate him, his words, and everything he has done for you, you can’t help but still feel a bit… odd about the fact you told him you’re having a crush on Bucky. That you have a crush on the man who was once the most feared assassin in the world under the hands of HYDRA.

“Now, can you hand me that screwdriver before your thoughts wander off to him again?” your boss asks in a teasing tone, making you smile as you grab it and hand it to him. Somehow, he always seems to know the right thing to say, and it's exactly why you enjoy spending time by his side while learning everything there is to know about his lab and what's going on in there.

Just as you’re about to get comfortable with another drink in your hand, you meet the gaze of the man you’re crushing on, and you feel heat coursing through your veins. The lines around his deep blue eyes intensify as he smiles at you, his attention making every last thought in your brain disappear. You’re so captivated by how Bucky looks at you that you miss your seat as you sit down. However, before you fall, you’re caught by a pair of solid arms that prevent you from hitting the floor.

“Careful there, Little One,” Thor says in his deep voice, his accent always making the butterflies in your stomach go wild. Even though you’d known Thor since you were young, you couldn’t help but get a little flustered by the nickname, and he smiled at you as you were finally sitting on the chair you intended to use.

“Thank you, Thor,” you whisper before sipping your cocktail. Around you, the conversations are starting to become a little blurry as you focus on Bucky and everything he has to say, his lips forming around the words effortlessly. When you suddenly feel a little shove against your arm, you yelp, making everyone go silent as they look at you.

“What did you do that for?!” you ask Thor in a low voice, but all he does is point to Tony, who obviously has something to say as he’s waving for everyone’s attention. There are moments when you enjoy the fact that alcohol can bring out people’s true feelings or thoughts, also known as in vino veritas, but not now. Oh no, now you wish you could disappear as you listen to the words coming out of Tony’s mouth.

“Guys, you really shouldn’t say this to Bucky or Y/N, but they’re having a massive crush on one another!” Tony says in a loud whispering tone, but what he fails to notice in his inebriated state is that you two are sitting right across from one another, enjoying the afterparty just like everyone else. Or at least, you were enjoying the afterparty until your secret got out.

The glass you were holding falls out of your hand before shattering into pieces on the floor, and your feet carry you as fast as they can away from the party and away from your worst nightmare come true. The music behind you fades away as you turn one corner after another, tears burning in your eyes as the event repeatedly replays in your mind. Your lungs start to burn as you keep running, the stinging feeling in your side increasing as you run out of the Avengers Tower into the night.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s world feels like it has taken a 180-degree turn. Mere minutes ago, he could only fantasize that you could have feelings for him, but now? A wave of disbelief washes over the super soldier, his expression showing pure surprise as he takes the moment in. For him, it was a crush at first sight from the momentyou walked into the training room on your first day. Over the years, his feelings have intensified, although he has only told Steve about his crush - or rather his now deep-rooted love - for you.

And yet, now that the pair of you have been confronted about your feelings for one another, he doesn’t know what to do. He has replayed the moment he’d confess his feelings to you more times than he can count in his mind, and in none of those versions, this is one of the scenarios that had appeared. It’s only when Steve grabs his arm and pulls him away that he seemingly comes back to reality again.

“Bucky, how does Tony know about your crush on Y/N? I mean, I’m, of course, fine with you sharing it, but-”

“I don’t know, Steve, I don’t know, and it kills me,” Bucky says as he runs his fingers through his cropped hair.“Fuck- I was planning on telling her this week but… but now it’s ruined, and I didn’t even get the chance to talk to her, and-” It’s all Bucky can say as he fights the urge to punch the wall with his metal fist, both hands clenched by his side as he tries to regulate his breathing. Without warning, Steve pulls him into a hug, and Bucky’s arms snake around his best friend's waist as his fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Steve whispers, though he’s not entirely sure that’s true because he knows as well as anyone that things don’t always go back to how they were before. Still, Bucky decides to believe him as they stand there for a little while longer, and he soaks in every bit of comfort he can get for now. Lord knows he’s going to need it.

The past few days have been strange, to say the least. You haven’t been to the Avengers Tower since Tony revealed your now not-so-secret crush on the super soldier. You’re afraid of what will happen if you do. This also means you haven’t seen Bucky in a few days, and you miss him. You miss hearing his laugh, and you miss seeing how his mouth turns slightly upward as you hand him one of your baked goods, but most of all, you miss how his arms feel when he pulls you in for a hug.

Just as you’re about to make yourself a cup of tea, you get pulled from your thoughts by a soft but familiar knock on the door; only one thing can make that sound: Bucky’s metal hand knocking against the wood. For a moment, you contemplate your actions, but decide to give him at least a chance to talk, especially as it wasn’t him who laid out your feelings in front of everyone.

“Bucky, hi,” you say softly as you take in his appearance, your heart sinking as you do. It’s evident he hasn’t slept at all the past few days. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he doesn’t look as healthy as usual—more disheveled. The struggles he’s facing are apparent in his entire demeanor, and all you want to do is wrap him up in a warm blanket and cuddle him until the end of time.

“Hi,” he says hoarsely, and you step aside, allowing him to enter your apartment. He’s been here a few times already, and usually there’s a warmth radiating from you and every inch of the little place you call home, but ever since the party, it hasn’t been the same. It isn’t just the apartment, either. You feel different.

“Would you like some tea before we talk?” you ask to break the tension. “I was about to make some.”

He nods at you before wandering further into your apartment, and you head to the kitchen, picking out another mug for Bucky to use. Once he’s caught sight of your couch, he immediately takes a seat, a soft groan audible as he does. There aren’t many places more comfortable than the large couch that’s standing right here in your living room.

When you emerge a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate filled with chocolate chip cookies you baked fresh this morning, Bucky can’t help but smile at you. He gladly takes the tea with one of the cookies, as they’re his favorite, and when you sit down next to him, it feels just like it always has, as if nothing has changed. But you both know it has, and that’s why the super soldier’s now in your living room.

“So…” you start, unsure what to say now that he’s sitting on your couch. Bucky’s eyes are trained on the steaming tea in his hands, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he’s thinking about what he wants to say - other than confessing his love for you.

“So… uhm, we missed seeing you around the Tower,” Bucky starts, though you both know it’s mostly him who has missed seeing you there. You have always been a staple there during his mornings as you make him a cup of coffee, and during movie nights, you were always the one he could sit next to and enjoy the movie, but now that you’re not there, it’s like a piece of soul has left the Tower with you.

“I mean, yeah. It’s been a bit awkward for me to go back after what happened a few days ago,” you tell him, and a shudder of horror runs down your spine at the thought of having to face Tony again. A smile tugs at the corners of Bucky’s lips as he thinks back to what happened that night, a happy memory of your first meeting resurfacing in the back of his mind as he does.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. I’ve made some chocolate chip cookies, if you want some. However, I should warn you, Tony’s been on the prowl since I took them out of the oven, so I’ll advise you to be quick,” you say with a glare towards Tony, who has been eyeing them up since he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. For the first time in a long time, Bucky showed something akin to a smile, and everyone looked at each other to ensure they saw it, too.

“Thank you,” he says lowly, grabbing one of the smaller ones on the plate, followed by a cup of coffee, before swiftly leaving the kitchen to spend more time in his room. Before Bucky even left the kitchen, Tony was on the cookies as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and this time you let him.

“Can I- Is it okay if I tell you something? Because if I don’t say it now, I don’t know if I ever will,” Bucky says softly, and you nod before repositioning yourself so that you’re facing him. His gaze is still trained on his mug as he thinks carefully about his next words, afraid he might accidentally say the wrong thing.

“Tony was right. He is right, actually. When he said, we’re crushing on each other. I’ve been crushing on you since you offered me those chocolate chip cookies when Tony threatened to eat them all before anyone else had a chance to get them. It was like a switch flipped inside me back then, and I haven’t been the same since,” Bucky says, his mouth now in a line as he tells you about his feelings.

“Each time I look at you, it’s like I’m seeing an angel, and every time I hear your voice, it’s like a little piece of my soul is healing, too. I find myself drawn to you in every room and wonder what life has in store for us. But deep down inside, I know there is no ‘us’ yet. But I want there to be us. I want you, Y/N. I want you to be mine, in whatever capacity you’ll have me. If you want to stay friends, that’s okay with me, but if you want more, I’ll happily accept every bit of love you’re willing to offer me.”

Once Bucky’s done, you’re unsure what to say. What to think. What to do. You want to say that the feelings between you are mutual, that you’re in love with him and that you want nothing more than to be his, but something inside you is stopping you. So, instead of saying anything, you place your hand over his flesh limb, and his eyes slip shut at the feeling of your soft fingers against his rough hand.

“Bucky.” His name is a whisper on your lips, but it’s enough to make him look at you, to meet your gaze.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, Bucky carefully put his tea on the coffee table before hauling you onto his lap, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your waist as your lips interlock in a passionate dance. He can’t get enough of your soft mouth slotting together with his and the way his tongue fights for dominance with yours as your fingers dig into his neck. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt a strong connection with someone, and you’re happy to explore it with Bucky.

Your hips grind over his growing length of their own volition,your body looking for any bit of friction it can get. Without warning, one of Bucky’s hands slides lower until he’s cupping your ass, making you gasp into his mouth as a result. Bucky can’t help but smile into the kiss as he pulls you impossibly closer, your legs spreading just a bit further as you sink against his muscular body.

“Hmm, I’ve been wanting this - you - for so long,” he says between the kisses trailing your jaw towards your ear, his teeth nipping on your earlobe as your head lolls to the side. With every passing second, your thoughts are melting away more and more, and all that’s left inside your mind is Bucky. Soon, his other hand joins the first as he helps you grind onto him, a groan falling from his lips as he sets a perfect pace for you both.

“B-Bucky—" his name sounds more like a whine than anything else. “I—I want you.”

“But you already have me, pretty girl, ‘m right here,” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice, his hands continuing to help you grind until you’re a complete mess for him. Your shorts are ruined, your arousal soaking through them and onto the bulge in his black jeans, much to Bucky’s joy. He was wondering what it would take to get you to this point, and it turns out it won’t take much.

He smiles against the skin of your neck, where he’s taking his time to mark you with hickeys and small bitemarks, all of which leave you a bit more of a moaning, begging mess on his lap, much to his pride. When one of your hands moves away from his neck and down his torso, he quickly catches on to what you’re doing. “Someone’s a little impatient today, huh?”

“Yes, oh god, yes! I need you to touch me, Bucky. I want to feel you inside me as you make me fall apart on your cock, and I need you to fuck me like there’s no tomorrow!” Your voice sounds more breathy than usual, but every care you thought you had has gone out the window. All you want is Bucky and his cock to ride, until you’re orgasming so hard and long you can’t remember your name.

“Okay, I will. Don’t you worry about anything, okay? Let me take care of you, and I’ll give you everything you need and more,” he reassures you in a shushing voice. You nod before kissing him again, which immediately deepens before he gently helps you get up, allowing you to take off your panties and shorts, and he can take off his pants and boxershorts, too. As soon as you’re both freed from your last pieces of clothing, you hand him a condom you retrieved from the side table drawer while he took the time to undress himself.

“Hmmm, looks so thick,” you tell him as you look at it with wide eyes, wondering how he’s going to fit inside you as you’re positioning yourself on his lap once more, your legs bracketing his thicks thighs as you get comfortable.

“I know, but I’m gonna go slow. Wouldn’t want to hurt you and your perfect, sweet little pussy.” He smiles as he holds his cock in place, your pliant body sinking onto him slowly as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. Your hiss of pleasure is audible and your face contorts at the slight sting of him stretching you, but just like he promised, Bucky is taking it slow to ensure you’ll both have the most amazing first time.

As soon as you’re fully seated on his lap, your body goes limp against him, your face tucked in the crook of his neck as you adjust to his girth, and Bucky places soft kisses on your head while praising you through it all. “You’re doing so well for me, baby. Such a good girl for me, letting me take the lead and giving you exactly what you need.”

A small smile appears on your face as you look up at him with big, doe-like eyes, and he can’t help but smile back as the back of his fingers gently caress your cheek. He may have thought you were beautiful before, but nothing compares to this moment. 

“I love you, Y/N, and I promise to take care of you with every fiber of my being,” he whispers, his lips sealing his promise against your cheek. Your eyes fall shut at his words, and his hand moves down your side until it’s on your hip again, ready for you to let him know when you’re good to go. Your bodies work in complete sync with one another with every rise and fall of your chest, and his hands guide you beautifully as you slowly sink and rise on his length.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, and it doesn’t take long for both of you to find your highs for the first time, and they’re serving as a promise of everything else that’s still to come in this lifetime. A few days ago, you and Bucky didn’t even know you felt the same about one another, but now you’re sharing the start of the rest of your lives, and it’s all thanks to Tony. Because without him, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the man of your dreams how much you love him.

Masterlist → Bucky Barnes

GIF: Source → All the other graphics you see are made by @vintagebuckybarnes