#I never had much in it apart from my bed and a dresser with a mirror

[milla-frenchy]

In the middle of the night

1k1 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist Summary: Javi comes home after you spent the evening with friends at a bar. He can't resist your need for him Warnings: 18+ mdni. Established relationship, dubcon somnophilia (reader is drunk), Javi’s pov, oral (f), masturbation (m), rimming, anal play, piv, prone bone, creampie. No age specified.

a/n: @aurorawritestoescape thank you my beta baby 💕😘 | dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

"You worry too much, Javi," you told him as he put his hands on his hips and sighed. "I don't like it," he agreed. "Knowing that you’re alone at night… you can have a bad encounter."

"I can have a bad encounter during the day, anywhere," you replied. "And I won't be alone, I'll be with my girls! What are you gonna do, ground me?" He held back a smile, shook his head, and you both laughed.

"Hot," you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaving. He left the apartment a few minutes later, joining Steve for a stake out.

When he came home late that night, he closed the front door gently, placed his keys on the dresser instead of just throwing them like he did during the day, and glanced into the bedroom. 

You were sleeping on your stomach, naked, one leg bent towards the edge of the bed. He covered you with the sheets when you shivered from the cool breeze coming from the window, brushed your arm and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

He returned to the bed a few minutes later, a towel around his hips, drops of water beading on his shoulders. He was careful not to step on your clothes scattered on the floor when you moaned in your sleep, making his cock twitch just with this sweet sound. He ignored his hard on and leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead when the smell of alcohol invaded his nostrils. You mumbled something he didn't understand, and his gaze softened.

"You're wasted, baby. Let me bring you some water.”

You took a few sips while he held the glass for you, got back in your initial position and stammered his name.

"What do you need, Hermosa?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair off your face.

“Wanna feel you.” Your voice was a mix of whine and sigh that made him smile at first, but the curl of his lips froze when he realized he was fully hard now, his shaft pushing against the towel. 

He ran his tongue over his lower lip.

Somnophilia had long been discussed and agreed between the two of you, but never like this. Was it wrong if he did it when you were drunk?

He slid the sheet off your shoulders to the small of your back, slowly, as he was thinking about it. He waited for a few moments just teasing himself and his need to see all of you, before he carefully pulled the fabric again, the sheet following the curve of your ass, unveiling your thighs, calves, and finally your feet. You shivered, like a few minutes ago, but this time he couldn't take his eyes off your body.

You moaned again, pushing your hips into the mattress, as if you needed some release.

“You're not making this easy for me, baby,” he murmured, his piercing eyes fixed on your ass. “Or do you? Yes, you do,” he said suddenly, impatiently, dropping his towel to the floor to free his painfully hard cock.

He climbed onto the bed, knelt between your thighs and spread them with his hands to ogle your glistening pussy.

“Fuck,” he growled, running his fingers along your dripping folds, his other hand holding your hip steady. He smirked when you flinched at his touch, then looked at your closed eyes under the dim moonlight, at your hand sliding under the pillow, at your lips that gave him your cutest smile.

“You’re so wet, baby.”

He pushed a finger in, then quickly added a second one, and began pumping in and out. The wet sounds of your arousal echoed in the quiet bedroom.

He needed to taste you. To feel you on his tongue, and he couldn’t wait. 

He laid down and spread your ass cheeks, licking a long stripe from your folds to your ass.

“Javi,” you whimpered, your fist clenching the pillow.

“I know baby, I know. Let me use you. Let me make you feel good,” he said before diving in, pushing his tongue in your heat and feasting on your cunt. 

Damn, you tasted so good that he felt dizzy. He grabbed his thick cock in his fist and stroked it once or twice to release his own tension. He was leaking into the sheets, wishing to sink in your wet hole but couldn’t stop eating you out, drinking everything you were giving him. He placed his thumb on your ring and felt it throb, then leaned down to lap at it with the flat of his tongue, pushing two thick digits between your folds.

He tasted the resistance of your ring with a tip of his tongue, and fuck, he was so hard now. He grabbed his balls and squeezed them, trying to forget his need to fuck you.

“Shit baby, you’re driving me crazy,” he growled and sank in your cunt again, pushing his thumb to the knuckle into your ring. He knew how much you loved it — having your cunt eaten and your ass fucked with his finger. 

He let go of his balls and brushed your swollen clit.

“Come for me baby, please. Can you do that? I need to fuck you, shit. But I want you to come for me.”

He wasn’t sure if you were fully awake, hearing your moans and whines, feeling the way you were pushing your hips back, and it was turning him on even more, using you like this. 

Your body tensed and your breathing accelerated slightly when you came a few seconds later. He knew that if he were younger, he would have exploded right into the sheets just hearing you moan, feeling you pulsate around his tongue, your ring squeezing his thumb. 

But not now. Not in his 40s. Now he was going to fuck you, slow and deep.

He crawled on top of you once you stopped shaking, wiping your wetness from his chin with the back of his hand, straightened your leg and settled between your thighs. His weight not entirely crushing you, he fisted his shaft and pushed it between your thighs, slid through your entrance and thrust in.

Javi whimpered when your walls squeezed him deliciously, perfectly, with your cunt that seemed to be made for him since the first time he fucked you. He slid his forearms under your shoulders for leverage, and started thrusting faster than he wanted, harder than he should to last longer, but he needed to fill you, needed to come.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured in your ear, then rested his forehead against your shoulder blade as he chased his climax.

“I’m gonna come…” he grunted, his balls slapping against the back of your thighs. He nipped at your shoulder when he came, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” escaping his lips.

He rolled onto his side and you turned your head towards him to say,  “did you really just fucked me… when I’m drunk?” Javi’s face fell, his eyes filling with guilt.

“I’m fucking with you,” you giggled. 

Five seconds later you were already snoring.

Javi P masterlist

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[arthursfuckinghat]

Rented Room - Rhodes Parlour House

[luludeluluramblings]

Socialite!BatSis!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family - Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One

A/N: I don't know if this will live up to the last one. But, the BatFamily is now going to deal with the consequences of their own actions. This is where we get Bruce and Barbara's POVs on the matter.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Warning: Start of Yandere spiral, Implied past Assault/SA, Fem!Reader, Reader is coping in the only way the known how.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You had no recollection of falling asleep the night before. But, when you woke up in your own bed late in the morning, you laid there for a while blankly.

Thoughts of laughter, flames, and the echo of a princess's name in your head. Although you quickly reminded yourself that Cinderella wasn't ever really a princess. She was a noble and she had work to do. Just like you.

Ignoring the empty drawers spaces of your vintage wood dresser was easy. It wasn't like it had belonged in the family for generations. It was just something Bruce bought for you when your designer clothes took up too much space in the old one you brought with you from your childhood home. The drawers had broken on it from being stuffed with items your team of stylist insisted you needed. And, now you wonder if Bruce had ever gotten your old one fixed. Probably not.

You shook your head of the thoughts. Moving into your spacious closet filled with empty coat hangers. You hadn't thrown your shoes in the fire last night, but looking at the bloody red bottoms on some of the heels made you wish you had. But, you can't be Cinderella if you have no shoes.

Shaking your head again and again of the thoughts that plague your mind. You really are Cinderella though. And, you have work to do.

Throwing on one of the more casual designer outfits - you would have laughed at the thought once, you begin your routine for the day. Scrubbing everything away in the shower as you exfoliate every bit of skin that had been touched and every stray bit of ash that had clung to your skin.

Then beginning your much too long skin care routine. You made sure to play some music to help the complex task that your highly skilled and highly paid team of dermatologist told you was an absolute must. With expensive creams and odd chemicals that once made your skin burn, but now you seemed to depend on. You miss the beef tallow your mother insisted worked better than anything. But, it wasn't vegan. So it had to go. It's not like half your shoes and handbags weren't made from real leather.

You shake the thought again. Always shake it away. Even as you mouth the lyrics to the random song playing.

Go and fix your make up, girl, it's just a break up

Run and hide your crazy and start actin' like a lady

'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together

Even when you fall apart

But this ain't my mama's broken heart

The chorus echoes in your head as you wash away the oils and lather on the creams. Slowly you apply the makeup to your tired eyes as you start to make yourself look human again.

Powder your nose, paint your toes

Line your lips and keep 'em closed

Cross your legs, dot your eyes

And never let 'em see you cry

The smile you give the mirror after everything is said and done, primped and polished, should win you an Oscar. But, thankfully you don't have to deal with anything like that for a few more months. The season has just ended and you needed to contact your stylist about a new wardrobe for this coming one.

Go and fix your make up, well it's just a break up

Run and hide your crazy and start actin' like a lady

'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together

Even when you fall apart

But this ain't my mama's broken heart

Your hum as you move down stairs. Time to gag on that collagen and green juice concoction before going to the spa. Not to relax. No, you had to pretend last night wore you out, and it did. But, socialites can only relax if they spend money. Them is the rules. Oh, wait. You're not supposed to talk like that anymore. Better shake that thought away.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Bruce was used to long nights of no sleep. Of being beaten by criminals and his own demons. Sometimes he'd even have bruises from his own children littering his skin. Either from missions gone wrong or a training session gone right.

But, the scars you left on him last night. The way you tore him to shreds and wailed. The bruises on your skin. Those would haunt him.

You were the delicate one. But, he didn't know how to handle delicate things. He just knew how to give things purpose. And, so he did. Placing you at his side to face the Gotham elites had been a genius move, he had once thought. It freed up Tim, who had been his primary asset in the field. It kept Damian from harming some of the more aggravating members of high society. And, he knew the other's lack of interest in the events and the people you make pulling teeth a more pleasant experience.

Additionally, you were utterly charming. How could you not be? You didn't even get it from him. You clearly had gotten it from your mother and everyday he had been grateful for it. Her features blending with his own mother's had made you. His sweet girl.

He can recall the times in the Bat Cave when no one was around and he'd give in to that temptation. The one where he'd justify checking in on you and your mother. And, ignoring that other man.

The smiles and laughter, it all was foreign to him. The landscape foreign. The house foreign. But, deep down he knew you where his. Always his. He had many regrets. Letting your mother raise you wasn't one of them. Letting her go? Maybe. But, he desperately avoided lingering on it.

Right now, sitting in the Bat Cave and seeing the damage the others had sown across Gotham in a wave of crime so violent, great, and terrible that people didn't even connect it back to the very protectors of this city; Bruce regretted leaving you to handle it. You had done it so beautifully. But, he needed his little girl back. He had gifted you to Gotham and left you in it's hand, but that had been his mistake.

He's sorry. He'll fix this. Or, if his destructive hands can't, he'll direct them somewhere they'll be of better use.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

It was Barbara who found you first. In the kitchen acting like everything was normal as you drank your morning concoction. You had laughed off you gagging on it once when Duke asked what it was. You had joked it was disgusting with a laugh.

She remembers thinking 'Better you than me.'

There wasn't anything malicious intent behind the thought either. It had been a passing casual thought that had been lost to the flood of other things in her head.

But, she was grateful she never said it out loud. The only thing she had to ease her guilt at the moment was that she had been silent in your downfall.

Which wasn't good. But, was still nearly just as terrible. She helped people, damn it. Even when she was broken, she helped people. Why had she missed helping you?

"Hey, how are you feeling?" She can't stop the slight wince at the tentative way she asks while you set down the much to large empty cup. Inwardly, she notes that you don't move to eat anything else.

Barbara can faintly recall a time when you wore those silly almost childish t-shirts from some southern store that she hadn't been overly fond of, while making a giant batch of cinnamon rolls. She hadn't eaten one at the time. But, Alfred had reported you ate four yourself. And, she knew Jason had stolen nearly six in his usual pantry raid, and the other's had squirreled off with a few. But, only long after they had cooled and you had disappeared into your room.

"Fine." Comes your reply as you snap her out of her memories. Only to watch you drink some water to chase away the taste in your mouth with practiced easy.

"I don't believe that." Barbara isn't one to mince words. She's briefly reminded of Bruce's stubbornness with your short reply. But, she's stood up to him before without any fear.

"What do you expect me to say? I had a breakdown. It was therapeutic. All better. Time to get back to life."

"You can't juts call that therapeutic. You started a bonfire last night and where practically nude-"

"Oh, come on. No one got hurt. Not even a criminal. Besides, those clothes were out of season and I need to clear space anyway." The way you casually dismiss her had her reeling back.

It sounded like such a vain way of putting things. And, it almost made Barbara want to drop the topic out of annoyance with you.

Until she realizes, this isn't you. This is something they let you become.

No, worse. It's something you thought they wanted you to become. Something they pushed you into and let you rot away while trying to fill your role in this family.

"Fair enough." She finds herself saying instead. This is new territory, and she knows she's not going to fix anything with one conversation. This is going to need some careful deprogramming. A detox from this lifestyle you felt forced into.

Barbara may have gotten rid of the perpetrators with the other's, but now it was time to bring you back into the fold where you would properly flourish. There's was still a chance. Last night had shown her there was. You had broken, but the pieces were still there. They could fix this she could fix this.

"What are your plans today then? Something a bit more relaxing, I hope." She tries to smile, and you even smile back. But, it's wrong. It's too sharp. Not in anger, but from how brittle it looks. Like your lips are made from fractured glass, dangerous to touch and cracked.

"A little bit. I have to go to the spa. Do the usual post-Gala wind down. By massage therapist is a huge gossip so she's the best way to get some of the rumors I heard last night to spread quickly. Then I need to call my stylist. Gonna need a new style since the seasons are changing." You lightly comment. Explaining your day to her with ease.

In a sickening awe, Barbara looks at you.

You… You had a strategy for this. You had been doing this long enough that there was a strategy in place for this. One that made it so easy for you to bounce back into things even if you broke down.

"You could take and actual break you know. Take a day off. Gotham had a busy night last night. A lot of those rich asses got their lives upended. We could put out a statement that we were one of them-"

Your eyes narrow at the statement. Not in anger, but in opportunity. "Come on Barbara. The world doesn’t stop turning just cause I lit a pyre. It keeps moving a turning. Now is the prime time to come out looking unshakable to the other Elites. A game of whoever is left standing is being played here. Of who’s not going to crumble under the pressure?"

Already the ways to spin your actions to garner sympathy with the others in your circle start to pop into your head. Cinderella has to get back to work.

Time to pull the lintels from the ashes.

Barbara feels a dawning sense of dread and horror. This is going to be worse than she anticipated. The shame she feels makes her eyes prick. You were more like Bruce than anyone had realized and they had made you use it in the worst possible way.

As she watched you go about your day, making phone calls while pinching your cheeks to add a natural color to them, she made note. They would fix this. They would bring you back. Fuck those assholes, they were old pawns in Gotham's games of power.

Time to bippity-boppity-off some more and keep you home.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: As I said, don't know if I hit the mark here. But, I want to watch the Bat Family struggle to fix this. Reader's not going to have a villain arc, though she deserves one. She's going to get princess treatment. Just remember, that might not be a good thing.

A/N: Song is 'Mama's Broken Heart' by Miranda Lambert. Yes, it is a break up song, but the undertones have this sorta feminine rage bubbling under the surface.

A/N: Also, for anyone wondering where I've been, I had/have thyroid cancer. But, we caught it early! I'm currently radioactive and in quarantine on an air mattress in the corner of my bedroom. I also had my entire thyroid removed in March. I'm okay though! It's all uphill from here!

[stargirlygirl]

you walk out on him

zayne x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ part two

summary: it's been one week since you walked out on zayne. both of you have been silent. cue your surprise when you get a knock at the door late at night from your ex-boyfriend.

contains: hurt comfort, angst, suggestive in text messages, zayne apologises and professes his love for you, 2.1k words

pt.1

One week.

It’s been one week since Zayne laid those sharp, hazel eyes on you, and he’s going insane. At first, he was feeling pretty confident. You were upset and needed some space. Surely, you would message him sometime that day, asking to discuss things.

Wrong.

The second day, Zayne was still feeling confident, albeit less confident than yesterday. Leaving the apartment that morning, he notices you forgot your favourite necklace— the necklace he bought you for your one-year anniversary. Surely, you would be around to pick it up, and he would somehow catch you in the act.

Also wrong.

When he came home around 11pm that night, your necklace was still sitting on the dresser. To Zayne, the diamond looks slightly dull, or maybe that’s his teary foggy eyes. He resolves to have it cleaned tomorrow.

By day three, Zayne’s confidence in you returning is non-existent. Still no word from you, his mind races over all of the mistakes he’s made these past few months leading to this hiccup in your relationship. Looking back, it’s so fucking obvious. Not texting you daily, not taking days off, never telling you when he would be home, and not giving you his full attention even when he was at home. And it wasn’t solely because he was busy or tired. It was because he thought you could bear it.

Being a cardiac surgeon isn’t for the weak. Choosing this profession, he’s had to put much of his personal life on the back burner, especially when his work schedule got even busier than usual. But over the years, he’s learnt to grit his teeth and bear it. He enjoys it even. But why did he expect the same of you?

For the first time in Zayne’s life, he succumbs to temptation and tries his first energy drink. It tastes like medicine, grating and sour to the tongue. But nothing can compare to the flavour of your absence. Unable to sleep for the past several nights, he treks down to his local gas station and buys the canned arsenic.

Once the cardiologist gets home, he pops the tag and takes a sip. Recoiling with disgust, he finds the willpower to finish the 200 mL of poison. And now, he can’t sleep. The caffeine keeps him up well into the early hours of the morning, fuelling his attempts to type out an apology message.

I’m so sorry, darling. I want to make things right between us—

“No,” he groans, pressing ‘backspace’ with his pointer finger so hard he could crack the phone screen.

I’m so sorry, darling. I miss you terr—

My sincerest apolog—

I know that I’ve hurt you very deeply, my love. But if you’d be willing to give me another chance, I’d like to make things right between us.

Huffing, he deletes the message and throws his phone on his bed before heading to the bathroom to get ready for work.

As it hits Friday, one week after you left, Zayne is feeling confident. Confident that he can’t go on without you anymore. The energy drink catches up to him, and he almost falls asleep mid-consult. Finishing off with the patient, he has the rest of his appointments cancelled and dozes off in his office.

When he wakes, night has fallen. Gathering his bag and coat, he books it to his car and clicks ‘Start Route’ on his Audi’s GPS to Tara’s apartment complex. Once parked, he takes the elevator up to her apartment, mentally rehearsing everything he’s been meaning to say to you this past week.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

You’re halfway through the new episode of your show when there’s a knock at the front door. It’s just you tonight, seeing as Tara’s out on a mission for the next couple of days. Throwing off your blanket, you stalk to the front door and stand on your tippy-toes to glance through the peephole.

“Go away, Zayne,” you grumble through the door.

He shifts closer, one hand on the wood as he declares, “No. I’m not going anywhere.” Groaning, you flip the lock and swing the door half open. He’s close, towering over you with dopey, wide eyes, which rake over your figure. You’re in his shirt, the sleeves rolled back and v-neck hanging off one shoulder. His gaze darts up to yours.

You sigh, “What is it?” Zayne steps back, putting some distance between you as he clears his throat.

“I’d like to talk,” he says clinically.

“Talk?” You bite back. “About what?”

“About us.”

You scoff, “I’m surprised you have the time. Don’t you have some emergency surgery to attend to?”

He shakes his head, saying firmly, “I took the night off.”

“Wow,” you say sarcastically. “Your first night off in months, and you choose to spend it with me. How thoughtful.” You roll your eyes, the pettiness bubbling up to the surface.

“Y/n.” Looking back at your boyfriend(? ex-boyfriend?), you take note of the knot in his brow. His scent wafts over to you, a mix of sweets, sweat, and… was that a Red Bull?

He sighs, “You have every right to still be angry with me after how I neglected you. But please, will you give me the chance to fix things between us?” You stare at him, thinking over his words. You’re about to respond when you notice the resident gym rat trying to sneak past. Reaching out, you grab Zayne’s forearm and tug him closer to you.

“Sorry,” you call past him.

Your neighbour mutters, “It’s fine,” as they dash off to their apartment. Hearing the click of their door, you release Zayne’s arm.

Gazing up, you huff, “Come in.” You push the door open wider with your back, standing against it and trying to make yourself smaller as the surgeon slips past you. It’s cosy inside: soft halogens, a warm vanilla candle going, and the low hum of your tv show.

“Take a seat,” you instruct, pointing to the couch. Leaving his shoes by the door, Zayne does as he’s told. His sleepy eyes are glued to you as you sit across from him, the too-big shirt sliding further down your shoulder. You must have recently showered, he thinks. Your skin is positively radiant and looks so smooth. The urge to touch you is unbearable, but he bears it. As long as he gets to speak to you, he’ll do anything.

“My eyes are up here,” you snap.

“Right,” he says quietly, heat rising to the tips of his ears. His heart rate accelerates as you two sit in almost silence for a minute.

Finally, Zayne apologises, “I’m sorry for ignoring you, darling.” Ooo, strike one. Your brow raises, and your eyes dart up and down his frame from the pet name. Fuck, no more pet names, he reprimands himself.

“You mean everything to me, and I was— I am— an awful partner for not reminding you of that every day,” he continues. Strike two. Bold of him to assume you’re still together. Not that you aren’t. You didn’t consider the sticky situation you would create for future you by walking out on him. But you appreciate his sentiment.

“I wish that I had taken the initiative to contact you earlier, and reassure you of your importance to me despite my busy schedule.” You nod, starting to like what you’re hearing. But by no means is he off the hook.

He sighs, “I took you for granted. Not because you’re not important. But I thought we could handle it. I thought you could handle my absence.” Strike three.

“What’re you saying?” You ask, your forehead creased and mouth twisted into a pout.

Zayne mumbles beneath his breath, “Fuck.” Pushing up his glasses, he clarifies, “What I mean to say is that I was ignorant of your needs, and my duties as your partner to fulfil those needs. I was unaware that you needed me to be more present in our relationship. And I was unaware of the toll my neglect took on you.” Better.

You prompt, “And so what’re you going to do about it? When it gets really busy, how are you going to make time for us?”

“Well,” he starts. “I’m going to communicate to you around what time I’ll be getting home, and make sure that if that changes, then I let you know. I’ll take a day off once a week, and we can spend it together. When you visit me at the hospital, I’ll be attentive to you. And if I can’t be, then I’ll tell you.” You hum, approving of his answer.

Zayne sighs, “But, I need you to communicate to me when you’re feeling dissatisfied in our relationship. If I’m very busy, then I want you to do whatever it takes to make me listen to you.” You chuckle. It’s short and soft, but it reinvigorates him the way an energy drink can’t.

“Whatever it takes?” You muse, your arms crossed underneath your chest, loosening.

He nods, “Yes. Grab me by the collar and give me an earful if you have to. Whatever you have to say to me, I want to hear it.” You gaze at him for a long moment, weighing up his apology and your pain. Your heart thumps in your chest, and your hands are becoming sweaty.

You pose the final question: “Why didn’t you come after me sooner? It’s been a whole week.”

Zayne avoids your eyes as he murmurs, “I… needed time to collect my thoughts as I’m sure you did.” He pauses before meeting your gaze.

“I love you, Y/n. I will always love you,” he states like it’s a fact and not a feeling. Like the only thing he’s sure of in this lifetime is his love for you.

Sighing, you slowly rise from the sofa opposite him. Stepping around the coffee table, you stand in front of him. He stares up at you, analysing all of the emotions in your eyes. They’re much gentler now.

He breathes out shakily, “Did I pass?” You smirk and run your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly and eliciting a soft sigh from him.

Zayne raises his hands slowly and reaches out for you tentatively. You give a small nod, urging him to touch you. When his cold fingers caress the back of your thigh, you shiver. They tremble as he palms your warm flesh and presses you into the space between his legs.

You giggle, “You scraped it by only one point.” His eyes almost pop out of his skull, and his jaw slackens— utterly mortified.

“O-one point?” He stutters.

You chuckle, unable to contain yourself, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. By two points at least.” His head dips as he nuzzles your tummy.

He murmurs into his your shirt, “That’s my worst grade yet. Don’t you think you mark too harshly?”

Ruffling his hair, you quip, “No.” Your hands slide down to his shoulders and wrap around the back of his neck. His toned arms encircle your legs as he sighs into your warmth. All of the tension accumulating this past week dissolves beneath your fingertips, and Zayne finds himself rather tired. Yawning, he tenderly kisses your navel through the cotton fabric.

“Where’s Tara?” He asks lazily.

You chirp, “She’s on a mission. Won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

“Mhmm,” he hums. You two remain like that for a few minutes, content to enjoy these tender touches and each other’s presence.

Eventually, Zayne yanks you down onto his lap and cuddles with you. He murmurs sweet apologies in your ear as he strokes your thigh, twirling the hem of your shirt between his fingers. You rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes, your hand on his heart. It beats steadily beneath your palm, a constant reminder that everything will be okay.

At some point, you doze off because when you open your eyes, you’re in Tara’s guest room. Morning sunlight streams through the curtains, and birds chirp in the distance. You stretch and turn your head to the side, eyes searching for a swathe of black hair and pale skin.

There’s no sign of Zayne. Not as you get out of bed and clean yourself up. Not even as you head to the kitchen and boil the kettle. Not until your phone pings.

You grab it, hoping that it’s him. And you grin as you pour boiling water into a mug with a tea bag in it, clicking on his message.

masterlist

a/n: here's part two as requested! hope all of you liked it. i was gonna make him like beg, but i feel like zayne doesn't grovel. i think if it was raf or caleb, they would be on their knees pleading for a second chance, but not zayne.

(almost) every one who asked for a pt.2 - @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888, @schnittled, @ciaradream8, @mystqyy, @syluslittlecrows, @mcdepressed290, @regalillegal, @crimsonsylus, @slimearchon

[2tcs]

DCxDP Prompt

Ah. It's good to hear the voice of god above me instead of below. Dick thinks as he begins to wake up more and realizes that it's Jason’s voice yelling above him. 

Wait. Why is his voice above me? Where am I? Suddenly Dick shoots up from where he is lying, only for pain to flare in his hip and up his side.

“Hay Mr. Nightwing? Are you awake?” A little boy asks as two kids open the door to the room he was in.

How did I get here?

“See Dan? I told you I heard him moving around.” The little girl said as she stuck her tongue out at her brother.

“Mama said that you should never ashoom anything and should always verify.” The little boy, Dan said with an adorable glare.

“Your Mama is right. It's not good to make assumptions. By the way, where is your Mama?” Dick asked trying to derail the argument he could see coming and hoping to get some answers.

“Mama is in the kitchen making supper. You slept the whooole day. But Mama wouldn't let us wake you up. She said that you needed your sleep because you were hurt. Are you still hurt Mr. Nightwing?” The little girl said while bouncing on her toes.

“Mama will want to know you're awake.” Dan said before grabbing his sister's hand and dragging her out of the room.

Watching them go Dick decided to take another look around the room. Other than the bed and a dresser the room was pretty barren of personality. Not even a window to break up the monotony of the room's walls. Must be a guest bed then. Dick thought as he managed to get up and hobbled his way to the main area of the apartment.

“Good morning Mr. Nightwing. Or good evening? Never mind. If you want you can go sit down while I finish making supper.” A man who looks around his mid-twenties said from the kitchen. “How are you feeling? You were pretty banged up when you came in last night but I managed to pop your hip back in place and stitched up your side. You really should sit down so you don't aggravate your hip. I am sorry if the kids woke you up.” He said, only for the sound of something hitting a wall and more yelling before what sounded like a door slamming and everything going quiet filtered down to them from the upstairs apartment. “Or my neighbor. He's normally really quiet.”

“It's okay. And thanks for patching me up Mr…?”

“Oh. Sorry. I'm Danny. My daughter over there is Ellie and my son is Dan.”

“Well thank you Danny. But can I ask how I got here?” Dick asked as he sat down.

“You climbed in through the window!” Ellie said excitedly.

“I think you thought it was an old safe house because you unlocked the window and came in before passing out. Ellie…” Danny said with a stern look at his daughter “had apparently decided she needed a midnight snack saw you come in.”

“Ya, probably. I don't remember much of what happened last night.” Dick admitted as he watched Danny plate up food and started handing it out to Dick and the kids before sitting on the couch with his own plate as his kids ate next to him.

“Hmm. You might have a bit of a concussion. You should probably call someone to pick you up if you can’t remember anything.”

After eating Dick opened his com and notified everyone where he was and that he needed help getting home. He'll have to figure out a way to thank Danny for his help. After dealing with the batlecture and his sibling's teasing.

[dixons-sunshine]

What Ifs | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: While cuddled up in bed one night, Daryl springs a question onto you, one that made you think. After seeing Daryl truly caught up on the ‘what ifs’, you took it upon yourself to reassure him as best as you could.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria

Warnings: None, other than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it allusion to past sexual activity.

Word count: 1.1k.

A/N: This one’s for my Daryl lovers! Yes, I am very much still writing for Daryl, even though I’ve started writing for Joel lol. I haven’t forgotten my roots. Anyways, I had this idea and (kind of poorly) executed it (also please ignore how meh the summary is. I struggled coming up with one). I hope y’all like this!

“D’ya think we would’a been together? Under different circumstances, I mean?”

The sound of Daryl’s surprisingly soft, tentative question filled the quiet, blissful air. The room was dark, the only source of light being that of the moon that trickled in through the window and spilled past the barrier of the curtains. The hour was late, probably nearing midnight, with owls hooting in the distance and crickets chirping outside the window. Sleep tugged at your eyelids, but the archer’s question kept you awake.

“What do you mean?” you inquired in a voice just as soft, raising your head from its position on his shoulder to peer down at him. Your fingers trailed over the bare flesh of his chest, being extra gentle whenever you came across one of his many scars. Blankets covered you both, tugged over you by your partner after a night of pleasure.

Daryl did not answer. Not at first. He stayed silent, his eyes—blue like the water in the ocean—looked anywhere but at you at first. The door, the dresser, his crossbow leaning against the wall, the curtains, until finally they landed on you. His gaze was uncertain, insecure, like he was scared his question would make you mad, and your heart ached.

“Daryl,” you began, making sure to keep your voice soft, gentle, almost honey-like, “it’s okay. You can tell me.”

Inhaling shakily, Daryl ducked his eyes down again. He drew lazy circles over your hip, hoping to anchor himself before he got lost in the abyss that was his mind. Despite his build, he looked so small in that moment, so vulnerable, and it made you want to hug him tightly and soothe his troubles away.

“I don’t really know how to explain it,” Daryl started slowly, swallowing at the lump that threatened to form in his throat. “Jus’... if we met under different circumstances, maybe earlier in life or in a world where none’a this bullshit ever happened, would we still be here today? Together? Or…”

Daryl couldn’t finish the question. He didn’t want to finish the question. Voicing this worry out loud made him feel foolish. Why did it matter? You were with him now. You were his woman, and he was your man. You loved each other. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

You took a minute to ponder over his question. You wanted to say yes, but you couldn’t say that for sure. Thinking back, you and Daryl lived two completely different lives. You had a job, an apartment, a life that seems like a pipedream compared to the one you led now. Daryl… his life hadn’t been that simple, and he never truly had any roots. If you had met in a world where the apocalypse never happened, would you have spared him a second glance? Would you have asked him out, introduced him to the people closest to you, done all the things couples did back then?

Then there was Merle to consider, the life Daryl lived with him before the outbreak. Would that have hindered Daryl from keeping in contact with you if you two met in a world where the outbreak didn’t happen? Would he have tried to break free from Merle’s shadow and live his own life, a life that wasn’t dangerous to have you involved in?

The answer wasn’t as simple as saying yes or no. There was a lot to take into consideration. You both lived very different lives before the apocalypse, but would fate have come into play? Would you still have ended up together? You couldn’t say.

“You want my honest answer?” you asked after a good minute of silence.

Daryl’s heart dropped at that, fearing the worst, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, I do.”

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I want to say yes. I want to believe with my whole heart that destiny would have brought us together regardless of how or when we met, but I can’t say that for sure.” Laying your head back down on Daryl’s shoulder, you kissed his pulse point, smiling to yourself when a shiver rolled over his spine. “But I choose not to think about that. You wanna know why?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah.”

“Because I have you now.” You pressed a string of soft, loving kisses against his neck, before continuing. “In a weird way, I’m grateful that the apocalypse happened because it led me to you.” You paused. “Although I definitely wish we didn’t have to lose so many people because of all of this.”

Many different faces flashed through Daryl’s mind when you said that. “Definitely could’a gone without all the losses.”

You nodded in agreement. Willing your mind away from thinking about all the friends you lost since the quarry, you spoke up again. “But my point is that it doesn’t matter. The ‘what ifs’. We have each other now, despite everything we had to overcome. So what if some alternate versions of us don’t end up together? We are together in this universe, and that’s all that matters. And for as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be yours. I love you, Daryl, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say. He had never been good with words, and no words would ever perfectly convey just how much Daryl loved you, how grateful he was to have you in his life, to be able to share his life with you. You deserved the world, and for as long as Daryl was alive, he would try to give you that.

“I love ya, too,” Daryl finally whispered quietly, his arm that held you to him tightening slightly, pulling you even closer. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shh. Don’t talk like that. Of course you do.”

He didn’t address everything you said. He didn’t need to. You knew he had heard everything you said, knew he appreciated it. Daryl was a man of few words, but his eyes showed it all, and you saw everything in those beautiful blue pools. You knew he appreciated what you said. Would that feeling—one he had for reasons you didn’t know of just yet—of his go away after one speech? Most likely not, but thankfully, you had time to show him just how much you loved him, and that he didn’t have to get caught up on the ‘what if’ scenarios.

“Daryl?” you said after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I know you now. There’s nobody I’d rather take on the apocalypse with.”

Daryl chuckled at that and tenderly kissed the top of your head. “Me too, Sweetheart. Me too.”

[gutghost]

Imagine you get cheated on...BUT- the cheater turns kinda...yandere?

It felt like an awful nightmare. Bile rising in your throat as you looked at your lover - the person who you loved through their highest and their lowest, the person who you invested blood sweat and tears into, the person you promised yourself to - undoubtedly pressing their lips to another person's. It took a hot minute before you tried to step back, only for you to bump into the doorway, causing a loud thump. The two looked at you, one with horror, the other with confusion. It took you no time to turn around and make a run for it. A hiccup making its way out of your throat as you felt a sob start to shake through your body.

It's been afew months, well. More then few months since that incident, and safe to say you have been doing...fine. not great, but fine. You've decided to collect your things while your lover was away from the house, your friends and family helping you out as you found a new place to live. It was bare bones, considering you didn't take the shared couch, or tv, dressers, not even bed. But it was yours, and you've been getting by. You'd like to think you've gotten stronger.

That was until odd things started happening around your apartment. Things were being moved, shit you know you wouldn't misplace. Your clothes were going missing, much to your dismay. You barely had any, so to lose even one shirt was frustrating. Then roses started appearing in vases in your home. Seeing as actual items were showing up you decided to call the police, and when it seemed that the window to your bedroom was broken, seemingly from an outside force, they told you to invest in better security as they kept a look out.

Which is why you were going to the store so late at night, I mean, what could go wrong?

bad decision, you later decided as you looked at the scene infront of you. Your throat tight, bile rising, just like that night, the night you lost your true love. In front of you was your lover - now ex - looming disheveled, gasping for air as their voice broke, a small, unnerving, almost crazed look, crossing their features.

"My love, my everything, oh please-"

"Dont."

Your lip trembles as you step back, your look of surprise quickly turning into that of anger. They had no right to call out to you with such fondness, not after what they put you through. The pain and suffering, all due to the person who swore to love you.

A look of hurt crossed their face at the sight of you backing away from them, as if you kicked a puppy. The idea sickened you. Quick to try and close the space once more as they struggled to walk straight they would stumble forward. Their voice trembling as they fell to their knees, a whimper coming from them as they scrambled to grab at your sweatpants.

"Please - my love I beg of you, I know what i did was sin, I know - I've never been more sick in the mind then i was that night, oh I was so stupid, thinking I could ever so much as THINK of another woman! Even more so after wards, how could I think I could ever live without you??? You! Oh precious you, the sun only shines when you are near. Those next few weeks were torture my dear, I've never wanted anything more then to RIP MY SKIN OFF WHEN I REALIZED MY MISDEEDS."

Their insane rambling continued as you tried to shove them off, tears starting to stream down their gaunt cheeks. Had they been eating? You wondered as you tried to get them off you.

"I'm...i'm better now though! I've never been thinking clearer, I came to a realization life isn't worth living without you! But by then- you...- you had already left, I tore through that house to try and find you but you had already been far gone. I asked your family, your friends - but all of them simply turned me away, your LOVER - isn't that what I am? I am, aren't i?? They should've...they-"

You couldn't listen to this anymore. A disgusted feeling filling your gut. What did you ever see in them?? You quickly shoved them away, a small gasp coming from them as you stepped away, your ex lover falling backwards onto the sidewalk. A look so firey resting on your face it could rival the heat from the depths of hell.

"You lost that right. You lost it the moment you took that person into your arms, the moment you brought them into our home, the moment you pressed your lips against theirs."

They seemed dumbfounded, sobs starting to wash over their body as they tried to sputter out apologies. But you had none of it.

"Did you get a kick out of it? Seeing me suffer? Seeing me jealous as you placed your hands on that person's? Your lips on them? When i left did you just go right back to kissing on them? Fucking them??"

You spat at them, your ex lover crying their heart out as they struggle to breathe. Whether it be from guilt or heartbreak, you weren't sure. They shook their head as they continued to cry, trying once again to reach out to you, to hold onto you for that comfort you once so readily gave them. But you stepped back, putting space between you once more. A scoff coming from you as you did so

"Baby please don't do this to me, please please please-"

Their voice wavered heavily. Some part of you, the part buried deep down in your heart, ached at the sight of them so broken down. They looked ill, both mentally and physically. But what done was done. You quickly turned on your heels as you made your way home. Your ex lovers cries filling the street as he urged you to come back, to not leave him. To not abandon him.

Maybe some sick part of you felt good that you left them a blubbering mess, after all. They rept what they sown, did they not?

Little did you know, oh how blissfully unaware you were. They were gonna get you back, one way or another. They will have you back in their arms, with all those roses they left in your apartment in pretty vases all over your newly bought home in the woods, far from everyone.

They will have you be their's again.

that corpse that once used to be their side piece left rotting under the concrete of their basement proves it.

[coff33andb00ks]

vivvvv how about…

11 + 24 with lando 😊

"It's impossible to get rid of me."/"Are you awake or asleep?"

driver + number = drabble <3

maddie babe ily

warnings: disgusting perverted amount of fluff

Lando Norris is, in his own words, a little bitch.

Granted, he said those words when he was drunk and a moth flew too close to his face, but you'll never let him forget that he uttered them.

Nor will you let him forget you have video of him screaming in terror and running straight into the glass door of the balcony to get away from the moth.

It's what your friendship is based on: embarrassing moments that the other finds hilarious but no one else would understand. Like the time you spent three minutes telling a store mannequin what you were looking for, or the time Lando locked himself out of his apartment at four in the morning. He has a tendency of doing that, so much so that when it happens he shows up at your place.

Like he is now, in his joggers and slides, without his wallet or phone, smiling sheepishly at you like it isn't three a.m.

"Don't you have other friends," you grumble, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.

"None that'll answer the door this late," he sighs.

You sigh and step back to let him in, pretending to be unaffected by the scent of him freshly showered. "How'd it happen?"

"Took out the trash and thought I had my key in my pocket." He looks entirely too comfortable in your tiny apartment, shirtless and his hair still damp.

Nodding, you shuffle to your bedroom to collect the spare key to his place. That he'd given to you so casually, like it was a normal thing for him to hand out an extra key, when you knew it wasn't because even Fewtrell didn't have a spare key back when Lando lived in England still.

"C'mon, you know I'll need it. Besides, you're the only one I trust to have it." He dropped the key - attached to a Snoopy keychain that you remember him buying in Vegas - into your purse. "There. Now it's impossible to get rid of me."

As if you'd ever want to.

He follows you into the bedroom and you're painfully aware of your unmade bed and the clothes you'd left on the floor. Which is ridiculous, because it's Lando, he's been in your bedroom before, he's seen your dirty underwear–

Just not at three in the morning...

"Fuck," you mutter, turning your purse upside down to empty it onto the dresser. The essentials of your life spill out, lip gloss and gum and wallet and keys - but not Lando's because that one stays on its Snoopy keychain it's special - and hand sanitizer and notepad and six pens and tissues and the ticket stub from the movie he took you to see two weeks ago and a friendship bracelet and two pads. Everything but his key.

"Don't tell me you've lost it," he says.

You scoff at the idea. You may have lost your mind, your sanity, and sometimes your wallet, but you'd never lose his key. Your sleepy mind scrambles. Two weeks ago you pulled it to give to him and–

"Oh shit it's at my place," he mumbles, clapping a hand over his face.

"Lando!" you groan, sweeping everything back into your purse.

He's sorry, you're annoyed, and after bickering uselessly you tell him to just go to bed, he can get his superintendent to let him in in the morning.

It's not unusual to share a bed with him. Lando's a clingy, touchy feely person, half the time you travel with him he ends up taking you into staying in his room. Ostensibly because he likes to talk but really because he wants to cuddle.

"You awake?" he whispers in the darkness. "Or asleep?"

You don't answer, because you know he's about to say something profoundly sweet or incredibly stupid.

He presses his face into your hair and sighs, much like an exhausted dog finally settling down for a good sleep. "I do it on purpose sometimes," he whispers. "Cuz I sleep better with you than when I'm alone."

As confessions go it's probably your favorite. But you have to pretend you don't hear it. You're smiling though, and you let out a sleepy little hum. And you feel him smile.

[ccarisi]

sleepyhead

summary: Your stepdad finds you fast asleep after a stressful day of work. warnings: age gap, stepcest, smut, somno, dubcon/noncon, virginity loss, unprotected piv, creampie, brief oral, daddy kink duh, kid/kiddo, sonny has zero morals 2.3k words

a/n: ever since i got this ask i couldn't stop Thinking. rushed this in one day so i hope its decent enough happy fathers day sonny <33 only proofread this once so you get what you get dt: @johnnydubcek do you forgive me for going on vacation

—

Sonny wasn’t sure if it was possible to have a day worse than this. If dealing with Buchanan as opposing counsel wasn’t bad enough, Liv was on his case from start to finish. If she brought him a weak he can’t win that wasn’t his fault. It was one thing after another and the only thing on his mind was going home, cracking open a beer, and watching whatever game was on that night.

And you, of course.

If he’s being honest you were the main thing on his mind. Coming home to your smiling face was the only thing that got him through the day sometimes, knowing that at the end of the dark tunnel that was his workday you were always there waiting for him. He figures he would have gone insane a long time ago if it weren’t for you.

On my way home now. Have you ate? I can make us dinner.

Sonny shoots you a text as he makes his way out of the courthouse, heading in the direction of the apartment. Your mom was working late tonight and he wants to make the most of every second he has alone with you. He knows how much you love his cooking, you’ll pick eating at home with him over a fancy restaurant everytime.

You there? I can make your favorite.

You always reply as soon as you get his texts, but those three little typing dots never pop up. Staring down at his screen Sonny tries again.

Is your phone off? Be home soon. Love you.

It wasn’t like you to ignore his texts and Sonny’s spiralling is in full force before he has the chance to stop it. He always did jump to the worst conclusions, but in his line of work who could blame him? Realistically, you were either away from your phone or it was dead.

Sonny finds himself rushing home, he knows he won’t relax until he sees you. It was hard to think rationally when it came to you, call it fatherly love and then some.

Almost dropping his keys in the process Sonny quickly makes his way through the door, half haphazardly dropping his briefcase off to the side. He calls out your name to no answer and his heart gets caught in his throat. He thought he was being ridiculous thinking something had happened to you, was he actually right?

Sonny treads down the hallway towards your room, peeking his head through your half ajar door only to discover you fast asleep. You were always a heavy sleeper.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as his eyes fall over your sleeping form, curled up into yourself in one of his old worn shirts. Sometimes he swore that you had more of his shirts in your dresser than his own.

You were here, you were safe.

Sonny quietly makes his way into your room, shedding his jacket before neatly folding it and placing it off to the side. The bed dips as he sits on the edge and he freezes for a moment, hoping he didn’t wake you from such a peaceful and heavy sleep. You’ve been picking up more shifts at work lately, something about wanting to have your own money and not rely on him. Too bad he’ll always spoil you rotten.

Brushing some hair out of your face Sonny admires how peaceful you look fast asleep. Wrapped up in your blanket with flushed cheeks, your soft plump parted lips, and the way you’re clutching that same stuffed animal he bought you ten or so years ago.

He couldn’t name a more precious sight even if he tried.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh baby?” Sonny murmurs under his breath as he pets your hair. No matter how old you get you’ll always be his baby, he’ll make sure of that. “Think you’ve been workin’ too hard, poor thing.” He leans in and leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead.

Your skin was warm and soft against his lips, causing heavy desire to flow through Sonny’s veins like a river. It’s been such a long day and well, you’ve been working hard too after all. Don’t you deserve some loving?

You’ve talked about this before, there’s been sessions between you that ended up a little too hot and heavy. It’s not that you didn’t want to do that with him, you did. But would you be able to face your mom everyday knowing the truth? There was that part of you that was scared to go all the way, too. You knew he was…well endowed. The thought made you nervous.

You met in the middle, you let Sonny go down on you and you promised that you’d go all the way when he finally leaves your mom. Whenever that is.

Maybe Sonny was appealing to his darker nature when he peels your blanket off to reveal the rest of your limp body. You’ll forgive him, he wasn’t worried about that.

As gently and slowly as he can he maneuvers you to lay on your back, sushing you when you mumble incoherently in your sleep. With a deep breath Sonny moves your underwear to the side and slides two fingers through your folds. He just needs to feel you, that’s all. Maybe watch you get off and he’ll feel better.

There you go. Sonny fights back a groan when he feels your growing wetness, body responding to his touches even in your deep slumber. His fingers move to your clit next, rubbing your sensitive bud in small firm circles. His eyes stay glued to your face, watching for every reaction he can pull out of you. You looked so sweet and innocent as you subconsciously let out a hum in pleasure.

He should stop here, but he won’t. He knows that much about himself. Slow and steady as not to wake you, Sonny slips your underwear down to your ankles and tosses them to the side. He waits for a reaction that never comes while you remain fast asleep.

He used to joke that you could sleep through anything. It was a real war to get you to wake up for school in the morning, all the kicking and screaming. He would hear your multiple alarms going off from down the hall and without fail he had to wake you himself every time.

Gently spreading your legs Sonny inhales sharply as he sees your pussy slick with need. He’s just giving you what you want, isn't he? The tip of his finger circles your leaking hole and it’s just so inviting. Without thinking twice Sonny slips a finger inside of you, letting out a strangled groan at the way your pussy grips his finger. His eyes move from the sight of his finger inside you up to your face, no indication that you’re aware of anything that’s happening.

Sonny slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, admiring the way that his finger glistens from your arousal. He slips the finger inside of his mouth and moans from the sweet taste you left behind. That was enough to throw the last bit of rational thinking he had left out the window completely.

Sonny carefully positions himself between your thighs, lips ghosting over your little aching pussy. Leaning down he presses his nose against you, inhaling deeply. “Oh christ, baby.”

Without a second thought Sonny licks a broad stripe through your folds, eyes falling shut from the taste. His hands find your hips as he softly kneads the warm soft flesh there. You’re so sweet, inside and out.

His lips find your clit as he sucks softly and you let out a whine as your toes curl. Sonny has his way with you, licking and sucking away as you remain in your peaceful slumber. You were his favorite taste, and he would spend hours between your thighs if you let him.

Sonny feels the strain on his back from his position, not being able to maneuver both of you comfortably. God, he was getting old. One of these days he’ll get you a new bed, this was the same twin sized frame he built you too long ago to count.

Sitting up with a grunt he rolls out his neck and stretches his back. He could leave you be, go finish himself off in his room and be done with this whole thing.

His hands move on their own as he lowers his zipper and fishes himself out. Before he knows it his hand is wrapped around his heavy cock as he gives himself a few pumps. He can’t help it when it comes to you. But how could he? His sweet little baby.

Just over the outside, he tells himself. That’s not technically going against your wishes, so no harm done. Sonny slides his cock through your wet cunt, coating himself in the slick he left behind. He watches the way his cock slides through your slippery folds and the way your slick sticks to his shaft. You were just so fucking tempting.

Maybe just the tip, that doesn’t count. It’s hard to resist when your tight little hole was close enough for him to slip into without a moment’s notice.

And that’s exactly what he does.

With a strained groan Sonny notches the blunt head of his cock inside of you and stills, stopping himself from pushing inside you any further. Just the tip. He pulls out only to find himself naturally pushing in more. You were so tight and wet around him and he was barely inside you, the sheer thought of what it’ll feel like to bury himself to a hilt inside you has him feral.

If this was wrong then why did your pussy stretch around him so naturally? Your body works to accommodate his length as he slowly sinks deeper and deeper inside of you. “Oh fuck, kiddo. That’s it, take Daddy’s cock.” Sonny sighs as his hips meet yours.

Sonny moves as slowly as he can manage, careful not to wake you if he can help it. It borders on painful to be this slow, there’s nothing more he wants than to pound into you mercilessly as you hold onto him for dear life.

Your pussy pulses and squeezes around him as he slowly pumps his cock in and out. “Doin’ s’good sweetie, jus’ lie there and take it.” Sonny’s body gently rocks against yours and you slowly find yourself coming to.

The first thing you notice is the dull pain between your thighs from the stretch of your stepdad’s cock inside you.

The second thing you notice is the wet sounds in the air of his hips meeting yours.

The third thing you notice is Sonny himself.

“Dad…?” You mumble as you try to sit up, movements groggy and slow from sleep. “Shh, sweetie. ‘S okay, jus’ go back to sleep.” Sonny tells you gently as he lays you back down on the bed, his larger body crushing yours.

Sonny can feel his inhibitions leaving now that you’re awake, no longer worried about possibly waking you. Now that you’re awake he could focus on your pleasure, eager to hear every moan and whimper he can pull out of you. “Wh– what are you–?” Your question is cut off by a particularly deep thrust that leaves you breathless.

“‘M not done, honey. Jus’ a little bit more, okay?” Sonny grunts as his thighs slap against yours, your pussy gushing around him unknowingly to you. Your sharp gasp fills the room as the tip of his cock hits your cervix, filling you in a way that was indescribable.

“Dad– S–slow down–” you plead with him, still not having adjusted to his size since waking up. “Oh I know, honey. Daddy’s sorry, sweetheart.” Sonny apologies as he continues using your poor abused cunt.

Two fingers rub firm circles over your sensitive swollen clit as you bury your face into his neck. “Oh there you go. Feels good huh, baby?” Sonny coos as you nod against him. Your pussy clenches around him as he grins, there was nothing he loved more than making his baby cum.

Your body shakes against him as he pulls your orgasm out of you, steady fingers never leaving your clit as he fucks you through it. Your walls clamp down around him and Sonny lets out a deep guttural groan from the way you soak his cock. “Fuck, that’s it baby. Cum all over Daddy’s cock. Such a perfect fuckin’ angel–”

Sonny pounds into you faster and harder than expected as he chases his own release. Sweat rolls down his back as you drool against his shoulder while you lie there and take it, just like he told you to. “Oh fuck, that’s good. So fuckin’ good.” He moans as his cock punches your cervix repeatedly.

Without warning Sonny’s back bows as he cums hard and deep inside you. “Fuck– take it baby– take all of it–” he growls in your ear as he fills you with his hot and sticky cum. You’re too out of it to realize he’s not wearing a condom.

“Fuck baby, ya really milked me dry, huh?” Sonny chuckles against your neck as he lazily fucks his cum inside of you. You wince from the feeling as you come down from your high, reality settling back in. “I thought I said…” you whine, not sure if you’re talking about the fact that he came inside you or that you had sex with him in the first place.

Sonny presses a chaste kiss against your lips before unceremoniously sliding out of you, his cum spilling out onto the sheets. He’ll do you a favor and wash your sheets for you, he’s not that cruel. Tucking himself back in Sonny gently pats your thigh.

“Alright, up. Ya slept through dinner.”

[bellaxgiornata]

How Much Did You Miss Me?

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 3k [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, f!masturbation, cocky Jax and his filthy mouth, somewhat rough sex (kinda, not really), porn with minimal plot, unprotected sex

Summary: While Jax is on a protection run, you're desperate to ease some tension so you can fall asleep. But when he unexpectedly returns early, he's determined to prove he's better than your toy.

a/n: This is pure filth. All of it. I was writing some soft!Jax smut and was struck with the need for something with a cocky Jax, so this interrupted that and fell out of me really quick. Newer to this fandom, but if you'd like me to tag something not listed above, let me know. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

You hated nights like tonight. Nights when Jax was out late doing a protection run with the club and you were left alone in your apartment.

You especially hated nights like tonight when you couldn't seem to ignore that damn incessant ache between your thighs no matter how hard you tried. You knew you’d never get to sleep tonight if you didn’t get rid of it, but all you wanted was Jax–his mouth, his fingers, his cock. Right now you craved any part of him, but he was probably hours away on his bike and you were here with nothing but your damn vibrator.

Head nestled amidst the pillows of your bed, your eyes squeezed tightly shut as the repetitive buzzing noise drowned out the sound of anything else in your apartment. You were focused on the pleasure steadily building in your body as your mind desperately tried to conjure up images from the last time you'd been with Jax two mornings ago. Holding tight to the memory of him lazily fucking into you while half awake from that other morning, you desperately attempted to chase your release just so that you could relax enough to finally go to sleep tonight.

Teeth biting down on your lip, you could feel that intoxicating sensation gradually growing stronger within you. You were getting closer, inching nearer and nearer as that wave of pleasure crept its way up your spine. Keeping your focus on the memory of Jax with your legs tossed over his shoulders, his large hands holding your ankles firmly in place as he slowly rolled his hips into you, your back arched along the bed as the pleasure continued to build. You were so damn close now.

But the sound of a familiar deep, rumbling chuckle broke through the moment. 

Just as you'd startled and opened your eyes, Jax was reaching down and pulling the toy out of your hand without the slightest hesitation. With a smug smirk on his lips, he easily turned the vibrator off without even glancing away from where you were sprawled naked on the bed before him.

“Really, baby?” he asked, his tone a mixture of amused and annoyed as he gestured his head at the vibrator in his hand. “This what you do when I'm gone?”

Lips parting in surprise for the briefest moment, you gaped at his audacity. Seconds later you recovered, shooting him a pointed look that only had his smirk growing a little more.

“What the hell, Jax?” you shot back in frustration. 

He held the toy up higher in his hand, his brows raising back at you. “You think I'm gonna let my girl use this fucking thing when I've got something much better?”

If it wasn't for the fact that you were feeling sufficiently sexually frustrated at the moment, you'd have found the sight of him holding your purple vibrator up with that look on his face somewhat funny. But right now you didn't feel anything close to entertained.

“You were supposed to be out, Jax,” you reminded him. “What the hell else am I supposed to do when you're gone? Suffer?”

“Now there's a thought,” he mused.

With an annoyed huff, you watched as he turned around to set the vibrator on your dresser. Pushing yourself upright on the bed, you frowned at him when he turned back to face you.

“Come on now, darlin’,” he drawled, a glint in his eyes as they roamed over the way you sat naked on the bed. “Don't give me that look. I'm not going to leave you so...tense.” 

Your eyes narrowed at the way he was still grinning at you. Unaffected by your look, his hands reached up and slowly slipped the leather kutte off of his shoulders, letting it drop to your bedroom floor with a soft thump.

“What's the catch, Jax?” you asked him, cutting straight to the point.

He chuckled at your question, his hands casually undoing the buttons of his flannel one at a time next. “No catch, baby. I wouldn't do that to you. Not when it seems like I interrupted you before your satisfying conclusion.”

You shook your head immediately, not entirely believing what he was telling you–not with that look on his face. Thighs pressing together as you watched him undress, your body was craving release at this point. It didn't help that Jax had caught the subtle squirming and shifting of your hips, his eyes dropping down towards your legs. His tongue darted out, running slowly along his bottom lip as he slid the flannel down his arms and to the floor. Your eyes immediately drank in the sight of his bare chest, raking over every toned muscle, little scar, and tattoo now made visible.

“Okay, maybe one little catch,” he amended.

Gritting your teeth together, you watched as his hands lowered, beginning to slowly undo the button and the zipper of his jeans. He was going so slow on purpose just to tease you.

“What?” you grudgingly asked.

“I want to hear you,” he continued, pushing his jeans and black boxer briefs down his thighs in one fluid movement that had you almost salivating at the sight of him finally bare. “No keeping quiet tonight. I don't give a shit if we piss off your neighbors again.” He kicked out of his clothes, taking two steps before he was right at the foot of the bed. “I want to know how much more you enjoy my cock. I want to hear it. You got that?” 

His eyes held yours as he leaned forward and planted both hands on the edge of the bed. There was a challenge in his expression, daring you to tell him no. But you knew better than to do that because then he probably really would leave you frustrated and unsatisfied tonight. And honestly, you had a feeling you'd be so sensitive at this point that you wouldn't be keeping very quiet.

“It's not like I wanted that thing over you in the first place, Jax,” you answered flatly. 

Clearly your response had been one he wanted to hear because Jax climbed up onto your bed the second you'd finished speaking. He jutted his chin out at you before he spoke again, that smug smirk he often wore returning.

“Roll over, baby. On your stomach,” he ordered.

You hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to take in the sight of him naked on his knees on your bed, one hand stroking his hardening length. He looked so good that you just couldn’t help yourself, but the moment one of his brows arched at you, you shifted and turned, laying down on your stomach.

“There you go, baby,” he praised in a deep rumble.

His voice went straight to your cunt, a surge of pleasure running through you. His rough hands grabbed onto your hips, shifting them a little higher up off the bed before one of them slid over to grab a firm handful of your ass. A quiet, soft little noise slipped out of you in response, the anticipation of what was coming causing your cunt to pathetically clench around nothing. 

As Jax pushed your legs apart wider with his knees, making room for himself between them, a pleased, throaty noise vibrated in his chest. The sound alone had your hands fisting the bed sheets before you glanced over your shoulder at him behind you.

“Already impatient, darlin’?” Jax teased.

“Of course I'm impatient, you interrupted what I was–”

Your words were cut off the second he ran the tip of himself through your damp folds, a gasp falling out of you instead. You were so damn sensitive already from what you'd just been doing that you didn't think you’d be lasting much longer. Especially when another throaty, satisfied noise left Jax behind you.

“What was that, baby?” he asked, amused. “Would you have preferred the toy instead?”

He teased the tip of himself against your entrance, barely pressing himself against you. Your eyelids immediately fluttered, your breath hitching. You just wanted to feel him already.

“No, Jax,” you nearly whined in response.

Trying to compose yourself as you watched him once more over your shoulder, you saw the slow, satisfied grin spread over his lips. A second later you were rewarded with the feel of him partially sinking into you, the sensation causing your mouth to fall open and a soft groan to slip out.

“That fucking toy get you this goddamn wet?” he growled, a hint of irritation in his tone. “That why you feel so goddamn good already?”

Jax moved behind you, leaning forward on the bed until his body was flush over the back of yours, resting his forearms along the mattress on either side of your hands to withhold some of his weight from off of you. His hips pushed himself further inside of you a little more roughly than usual as if to emphasize his displeasure at your use of the vibrator. The gesture met with a sharper gasp from you this time.

“Was–was thinking about you,” you managed to breathe out.

His face hovered just over your shoulder now, his mouth beside your ear when another pleased rumble sounded in his throat. He pulled his hips slowly backwards, his cock nearly slipping out of you before he roughly buried himself fully back into you in one quick movement. A high-pitched curse flew out of your mouth, your eyes snapping shut.

“So you were thinking about me?” he murmured, his tone far softer than the current thrust of his hips against you. His head shifted, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You miss me that much when I'm out with the club, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, the noise sounding more like a needy whine.

Jax’s pace increased at your response, his cock repeatedly burying itself so deep inside of you that he kept hitting the spot that made the edges of your vision nearly burn white. You were so damn close again already, each of his panting breaths and rough grunts in your ear drawing you right back to the moment he had interrupted a little bit ago.

You loved this position and Jax knew it. The angle he could thrust into you was always perfect, allowing him to fill you completely with every sharp snap of his hips. And you loved the feel of his solid, warm body pressed flush over the entirety of you, his weight pressing you deep into the mattress as he practically overwhelmed all of your senses. You could feel the pull of his muscles against your back, hear the grunts and heavy breaths slipping out of his mouth beside your ear, feel his hot breath along your neck, smell the familiar scent of cigarettes and leather.

Your cunt was tightening around him already at the influx of stimulation, squeezing him as you kept drawing closer to the release you craved. A flurry of soft moans had been increasingly tumbling out of your mouth as he continued to roughly fuck into you, his hips repeatedly ramming into your ass over and over. But you could tell he wanted more when the hand beside yours moved, sliding its way along the bed before moving between your body and the mattress, brushing down past your breasts and your stomach. His hand continued its descent further until it stopped between your thighs, his fingertips landing right on your already sensitive clit. A hiss of pleasure came from between your teeth and Jax huffed in amusement beside your ear.

“Baby, I know you can be louder,” he panted out. “I told you I wanna hear you.”

His fingers began rubbing circles against that sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head. You felt like you were drowning in bliss now as his hips continued rolling roughly into you, the sound of skin on skin obscenely mixing with Jax’s grunts and your growing moans.

“Louder,” he ordered, continuing to speak into your ear between gritted teeth and forceful thrusts. “Let me–hear you. Wanna know–how much–you missed me.”

“Fuck–Jax–”

With an animalistic grunt, his teeth latched onto your earlobe, giving a couple of sharp tugs against the delicate skin as his fingers continued rubbing against you. Your cunt fluttered around him, gripping him like a vice. He groaned in response, releasing your earlobe before his forehead dropped onto your shoulder as his hips began to stutter, slowly losing their rhythm as he neared his own release. That had your own hips beginning to push back against him, desperately trying to match his pace and take him somehow deeper.

“That’s it baby,” he whispered into your skin. His body pressed more of its weight on top of you as he kept ramming his hips into yours, chasing his own release. “That’s my girl.”

“Jax–I’m–”

You couldn’t get the words out, you were already teetering on the edge of an orgasm, one that felt far stronger than normal because of its delay. At the feel of Jax pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, your eyes snapped tightly shut.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Let go for me. Need you to–” he paused, breaking off on a groan that had your toes curling along the sheets as he hit you with a particularly deep thrust. “Need you to–cum for me.”

When the pads of his fingers added just a bit more pressure to your clit, you finally lost it underneath him. A moan tore its way up through you, ringing out through your bedroom as your fingers fisted the bed sheets even tighter. Jax continued to thrust into you, though the movements had grown sloppy as his breaths grew ragged and loud beside your ear. He was grunting and groaning as your body trembled its way through your orgasm until he gave another particularly deep, sharp thrust that had you crying his name.

That’s when Jax finally lost it. A resonant, beautiful moan tumbled out from between his lips as his hand finally left its place between your thighs to grip the pillow beside your head. He gave a few more rough pumps into you before you felt the warmth of his release fill you. You hummed softly, your cunt continuing to twitch around him.

Jax expelled a deep breath before he practically collapsed half on top of you, the weight of him only causing your already blissfully boneless body to relax further into the bed. As you both sat there panting, your loud breaths filling the room as your sweat-dampened bodies remained tangled together, you could feel his cock gradually beginning to soften inside of you. 

“So that–that’s what you get up to when I’m out, huh?” Jax finally asked, still sounding out of breath. “You and that goddamn vibrator get nice and close when I’m busy?”

Turning your head along the pillow, your eyes met Jax’s as his head rested on the pillow beside yours. There was a lazy half-smile on his lips as he gazed back at you, but there was something soft and tender shining in his eyes as he watched you in return. He looked so damn good all flushed and satisfied that you were half tempted to rile him up for another round once you recovered.

“Not every time,” you answered, a small smile slipping onto your lips as your breath came in heavy. “Just…some nights. When I’m missing you.”

A soft, amused breath left him as his hand reached up, lightly brushing aside a strand of hair that had stuck to the perspiration along your forehead with his fingertips. “Yeah?” he murmured, his hand coming to gently stroke your cheek. “Miss me that much tonight, did you?”

You hummed an affirmative response, your small smile growing. “Yeah. Wasn’t expecting you to come over tonight,” you told him, your heart still pounding heavily in your chest. “You made it sound like you’d be gone all night.”

“I was supposed to be,” he replied. “Had that protection run. Wasn’t gonna be back until four in the morning. But then some bullshit was going down at the clubhouse so Clay sent Opie and I back. Think he meant it like a punishment or somethin’.”

Jax laughed softly, shifting on the bed to ease some of his weight off of you. The movement had you once more growing aware of the fact that he was still inside of you. 

“Jokes on him,” he continued, that usual cocky smirk slipping onto his face. “Wasn’t that big of a problem to handle. And right now, this don’t feel remotely like a punishment.”

Quirking a brow back at him, a small grin tugged at your lips. “You want me to make it feel like one?” you teased.

Jax’s hand reached down, lightly swatting your ass as he grinned deviously at you. The gesture had you laughing, the sound causing the corners of his eyes to crease.

“Baby, this is your punishment for using that goddamn toy,” he reminded you. 

“Not feeling very much like a punishment for me, either,” you joked back.

That devious expression on his face only grew, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes suddenly. He leaned forward off the pillow, his teeth lightly mouthing at your bare shoulder as his eyes continued to hold your gaze.

“You want me to make it feel like one?” he asked, throwing your words back at you.

A shudder ran up your spine at the sultry tone of his voice before a sinful smirk pulled the corners of his lips upwards. You were definitely in for it tonight.

[thevoidstaredback]

Part 2

Danny had counted himself lucky that no one had been in the Manor when he'd arrived. It gave him time to stew in the silence about his unwilling occupation of the apartment sized room he'd be staying in. As soon as Alfred and Damian had left earlier with a threat to come and get him for dinner, he'd locked the door and pushed the dresser and bed in front of it.

Just because he was stuck there for the next three months didn't mean he had to interact with anyone. He'd live up to his half status as a ghost and be nothing more than a passing thought for the whole summer.

Now if only everyone else had gotten the memo to stay away.

Apparently, at some point between his arrival and where he now finds himself, Damian and/or Alfred had announced to the rest of the household - former and current - who Danny was and that he'd be staying with them. Luckily, they'd been so kind as to give him a room far away from the others. Unfortunately, that meant that he was only a floor above them all.

Someone had tried to open his door barely and hour ago, calling to be let in so he could introduce himself. Danny ignored him, not saying a word. Eventually, the guy left. About ten minutes later, someone else tried to get in through one of the windows. Danny hadn't been able to do much more than lock those and close the blinds. Though, he had to admit that Bruce Wayne spared nothing on his home security.

Ever since, he'd had several people come to his door, calling for him to open it, that they just wanted to say 'hi'. He studiously ignored all of them, even going so far as to lock himself in the walk-in closet. It wasn't too big a space, thank god, but it was just enough for him to comfortably curl into the fetal position in the back corner of the top shelf.

Being a clone gave him the advantage of having the same memories as whoever he'd been cloned from. While that didn't extend to muscle memory, that had been easy to rectify, Deathstroke and Talia had both made sure of that.

Being half dead gave him the extra advantage of powers to hide better.

Ever wonder why, in the stories and myths, people are almost never able to see a ghost by looking head on? It's because ghosts don't like to be seen. They use a mix of intangibility and partial invisibility to redirect attention from themselves. Rattling chains, opening and closing doors, pushing things off shelves, that's all just to get attention away from them so they can hide.

So, Danny's hidden himself in the farthest corner on the top shelf in a medium sized closet with the lights off and the door closed. The room proper has the windows locked and covered, the door locked and blocked.

He doesn't need to eat, so long as he stays a ghost. And if he doesn't consume anything, then there's no waste for his body to get rid of. And, because he's comfortable, he could totally just sleep the entire summer away.

That is, if he can get himself to relax enough to actually close his eyes for more than a blink.

One of the windows shattered, likely spreading glass all over the floor.

"Danny?" While all the others had been male voices, this one was female. A smooth alto. "I broke your window."

He almost snorted. How very observant of this person.

They, because he wasn't going to assume based solely off of how their voice sounds, were getting close to the closet. "That's a good hiding place you have there. Though, blocking the door was a bit much. Why'd you stick around if you so obviously don't want to be here?"

Because he'd rather not have the League of Assassins on his trail for leaving his 'vacation' early, thank you very much. He didn't say that, though.

The door cracked open. "Y'know, I used to hide in the closet in my room all the time. From what Dick tells me, so did the others." They giggled. "It's kinda like a rite of passage."

Danny cringed, though he didn't move. This was nice spot, no matter what Alto over there was implying.

The door opened fully, revealing the person who'd broken in. They had black hair cropped to their chin, a blue tank-top and black leggings. "My name's Cassandra, but you can call me 'Cass'," they said, "Can I come in?"

They weren't looking at him, but he shook his head anyway. They'd found him, so they could probably see through walls or some shit.

They closed the door, sitting on the floor with their back to it. "Damian told us that you're his brother-"

"He is not my brother," he hissed, "Not in the way they want us to be."

Cassandra leaned her head against the door, looking up but not at him. "Hm. Want to explain?"

He didn't speak.

"Okay. You don't have to." A pause. "Do you want something to eat?"

"Piss off," he growled.

"Okay, okay," their tone aggravated him. Why weren't they getting angry? They didn't leave.

Danny settled deeper into the corner. He'd spent way to long waiting to be beaten at a contest in stall tactics.

Though, even he knew when to recognize a good competition. This was going to be a long night.

Part 4

[dwaekkicidal]

Who are you calling a baby?

˚ʚJeongin x Fem!readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: You decide to join Stray Kids in teasing their maknae, your boyfriend, about being a "little baby." Let's just say he doesn't take very lightly to it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 2.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, mean!dom Jeongin (🤭), rough sex, degradation (calls u stupid and 'dirty girl'), traffic light system brought up once, hair pulling (once), spanking, a sprinkle of dacryphilia, creampie, no protection (don't be silly, wrap ur willy also pee after sex), aftercare mentioned but not thoroughly, think that's all?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: I was actually gnawing at the bars of my enclosure trying not to make this into a "sir/daddy" thing (I should've. it prob would have been so much better bc i hate this grrr)

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

You laugh along with Chan as he and Seungmin sit beside you, the three of you watching as Hyunjin lets his cuteness aggression loose on Jeongin. Ruffling his hair and throwing his whole body weight onto the poor maknae. They're taking one last break from their dance practice, deciding to go a few more rounds before heading home.

"You'll always be our baby, Jeongin~" Han sings to Jeongin, to no particular rhythm. Jeongin laughs but desperately crawls out of Hyunjin's grasp, seeking protection from a spot on the floor between your legs.

"He's just a babyy! My lil' baby boy~'' You tease at him, smiling fondly before pinching his cheeks. He looks up at you and pouts cutely.

"I'm not a baby.."

"Yes you are! You're our cute little baby~ You prove my point when you make a face like that!" You laugh, brushing his hair back to make it more presentable after Hyunjin's attack before grabbing his chin and squishing his cheeks to prove your point even further. A few of the guys around you laugh and join in, poking and tickling at Jeongin while throwing in comments here and there about him being their Baby Bread, him laughing as he tries to protect himself from their attacks.

Eventually the 7 of them stand up and walk towards their spots on the floor. Your boyfriend sits on the floor a little longer, catching his breath as he looks up at you, staring into your eyes with a blank expression. Your eyes catch his and you tilt your head down at him, smiling. He stares for a few moments longer, expression unchanging, before quickly standing up and walking towards his dedicated spot. You think nothing of it and pull out your phone, mindlessly scrolling on a random choice of social media and getting comfortable.

After some time of hearing the same part of a song on repeat, you feel a pair of eyes burning into you. Looking up, you see the boys discussing a mistake somebody made. As you scan the boys, you meet your boyfriend's gaze. His eyes boring into you with another unreadable expression before he narrows his eyes towards you and turns back to the mirror, getting into position. You furrow your eyebrows at the back of his head, staring at him a little longer in hopes that he would turn around and explain himself. Is he upset about the teasing? Surely he knows I'm just messing around.. Once you realize that won't happen you sigh and shake your head, turning your attention to our phone once again. Assuming that he would get over this "fit" soon.

Not long after this, the guys all agree to call it a night. Jeongin opted to stay at your place for the weekend since you both had the next few days off. "I just want to spend some sweet time with my girlfriend," he explains to his hyungs. But the tightening grip on the back of your neck tells you otherwise.

The ride to your apartment was quiet aside from the radio. His hand never left your thigh and occasionally squeezed when he felt your gaze on him. Before you know it, the both of you are walking into your bedroom

"Are you okay? You've been super quiet for the last few hours." You ask, setting your bag down on the dresser and taking your (his) sweater off, landing it on the edge of the bed. You take a seat as he turns to you, his arms cross and his expression blank asides from the bump you see on his cheek. His tongue poking his cheek out in what you can only assume is annoyance or anger.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know.. you've been super quiet since the little teasing fiasco earlier.. Are you actually mad?" He raises an eyebrow at the way you enunciate the word 'actually,' but chooses to stay quiet and frowns down at you.

"Oh my gosh.. you're actually upset?" You laugh, standing up and taking a step forward so that you're in front of him "Baby...." You start as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you, planting a kiss on the corner of his lip before continuing, "You know I was just messing with you, it's all playful banter. You're my baby and I'm yours, there's nothing wrong with that. I'm sorry that you got upset." You giggle, showering him in kisses before you feel his arms unfold and reach behind you to embrace you.

Melting into his embrace, you litter more kisses on his face, waiting for a response. When you still don't get one, you pull away slightly to check on him only to be met with a smile. One that doesn't quite meet his eyes. One you thought was genuine until one of his hands trails into your hair, grabbing a tight handful, and tilting your head back forcibly. Your eyes screw shut as you wince, whimpering when you feel his hot breath on your neck.

He plants a few kisses silently before pulling back and smirking, loosening his grip so you look at him again. "What happened to all that laughing? Fox got your tongue?"

You pout and open your mouth to say something before he pushes you forcefully onto the bed. It catches you off guard and you take a second to try to even your breathing as he leans down, pushing your back to meet the bed and hovering over you. His lips ghost around your jawline and your neck, occasionally leaving wet kisses and small marks and rendering you breathless.

"C'mon baby... keep running your pretty little mouth.." He says, one of his hands by your head moving to slowly trail down your body until he meets your waist. He caresses your hips softly before continuing, "My hyungs aren't here to protect you anymore. So let's see if you still think you're oh so funny.." You let out a gargled noise as he bites down on your collarbone, moaning lightly as his hand moves to unbuckle your jeans, pulling them off you in one fell swoop as he pulls away from your neck.

When you don't say anything he lands an open handed smack on your thigh. "Why is the 'little boy' like me taking control? Use your words like the big girl that you swear you are."

You whimper at the sting on your thigh, but look him in the eyes and suddenly it's your turn to pout. "I said I was sorry baby, you know I didn't mean it like that." He lands another smack in the same area, not liking your response. He rubs the area to soothe the pain, but also as a warning of what's to come.

He leans forward and the other hand grabs your chin, making you keep eye contact, before leaning forward, "Let's see how far acting coy will get you. Sit up."

You feel your stomach tighten at his demandingness, but you listen and sit up on shaky arms. He pulls your shirt over your head before pulling off his own, throwing both behind him without looking.

"Color?" He asks, as he pushes your legs apart with his knee.

"Green" you whisper back, breathing heavily as he bends down to place a kiss on your stomach, pulling your underwear from under your ass and down your legs. You feel him smirk against your stomach, "Of course it is... dirty, dirty girl."

He trails small kisses down your stomach at an agonizingly slow pace. Eventually he reaches your pelvis, he swats at your thigh when your leg twitches in anticipation before meeting your eyes and speaking up again. "I want your eyes on me at all times. No closing your eyes, no looking away. Okay?"

You nod your head and watch as he shoots you a crooked smile, making sure to hold eye contact with you before leaning in and placing a kiss directly on your clit. Immediately two of his long fingers softly rub along your folds, gathering your wetness before you feel them slide against your gummy walls, quickly finding the spot that has your legs weak. He makes a good pace off the bat; not too fast and not too slow. Your eyes still stare into his, and you let out moans as he fingers you while licking his lips. He leans down further and places kisses on your inner thigh and uses his free hand to undo his jeans, pushing them down with his boxers just enough so his cock bounces out. He strokes himself a few times and tilts his head at you teasingly as he makes a particularly hard thrust. His gaze moves between your legs as he adds a third finger and frees his other hand to massage your clit.

With his piercing gaze not on your face, you quickly forget your previous promise to keep your eyes on him and you throw your head back. You let out a particularly loud moan as your eyes close and your legs shake, struggling to stay spread. He suddenly pulls his hands away from you and lands a harsh slap to your clit, pushing your legs apart when they clamp shut from the sudden sting. You squeal loudly in surprise and your head jolts forward, your eyes opening to look up at him with furrowed eyebrows and tears pricking your eyes.

"Do you not know how to listen? Or are you just trying to piss me off again?" He grumbles, frowning at you as he pushes your knees to your chest. He holds you in place as he lands another smack to your cunt. "I was gonna be nice about it and spoil you, but since you don't know how to follow basic instructions, we'll do this my way. Be good for fucking once and hold your legs for me, yeah?" He spits out, pulling his hands away when you shakily hug the backs of your knees. He rubs his tip against your folds repeatedly before dipping just the tip in.

" 'M sorry-yyyy!" You try saying before he cuts you off and bottoms out. He groans and leans forward, towering over you and placing his hands beside your head, planting himself above you. He pulls out all the way to the tip before locking eyes with you and smiling smugly at you, "Yeah? You're sorry? My pretty little baby is sorry?" When you open your mouth to respond he suddenly thrusts all the way into the hilt, pulling a loud moan from your lips as you furrow your eyebrows, closing your eyes yet again.

"Aww, baby... What am I gonna do with you.. Too cock-dumb to follow basic instructions…” he laughs at you before finding a fast pace, one that has you seeing stars as he pounds into you repeatedly. The angle you're in makes him hit all the right angles constantly while still making him go so deep. So much so that you feel him hit your cervix a few times, making you whimper as you look up at him with teary eyes.

You moan out his name as your grip on your legs tighten, already feeling so close after cumming not long ago.

"Don't worry baby, sit there nice and pretty for me and I'll take care of you. I'll let it slide just this once and 'll fuck you nice and stupid, okay? Though.. I'm not so sure it will be any different than how stupid you normally are?"

"Pleaseee" You whine out, a few tears finally falling at the mix of his words and the constant stimulation. He laughs at you and moves one of his hands to your mouth, tapping your lips to let him in. You open your mouth enough so that his thumb enters your mouth, and you knowingly suck on his fingers. Once he deems it wet enough he pulls his thumb out and moves it to where you two meet, messily rub circles onto your clit.

"Jeongin... 's so goodd" You cry out at the extra stimulation, nails digging further into your legs.

He leans back and his free hand reaches forward to smear your tears into your cheek, "Stop crying baby, you can take it. mmmmmm.. You will take it. You owe me for being such a bitch earlier and trying to embarrass me in front of my hyungs."

You moan loudly and throw your head back, tilting it slightly to look up at him, "Fffuck baby! I.. I promise, I swear I didn't mean it like-" Before you can finish he grabs your face and pulls you forward, "C'mon, babe, I know you can make up a better excuse than that. Or are you too cock-dumb to use your pretty little head? Hm??" He teases, ending his sentence with another slap to your clit, one that makes you loosen your hold on your legs.

Your eyes gloss over and he smirks, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss to your cheek before leaning back and continuing his brutal pace. When he feels you grip him stronger he knows you're close and he pushes further, in order to get you there faster. "You gonna come? Huh, pretty little thing?" You nod and moan mindlessly as you look up at him, mumbling out mindless pleads before he pushes your knees into your chest again and chases both of your highs.

"Then cum, stupid baby. Milk me dry, okay? Be a good girl baby." He says out of breath, as he leans forward and pulls you into a kiss. One of his hands comes down on your ass and it's enough to send you over the edge. You're squeezing him like a vice and it's enough for him to finish next. He breaks the kiss to groan, pulling away to stare where the two of you meet, watching his cum get fucked out of you with each thrust. Once he rides out both of your highs, he leans forward to leave hickeys in your collarbone.

After a short time, he pulls out slowly and softly lays your legs against the bed. You sigh at the empty feeling, but are thankful that your legs can stretch out.

"F-Fffuck.. Jeonginnn'' You whine, feeling even more cum drip out of you. He laughs and leans forward to pull you into a kiss, softly smudging his cum along your folds with his fingers before leaving a final, much softer, slap. He leaves soft kisses all over your face as you catch your breath, mumbling an 'I'll be right back' before disappearing into your bathroom. You faintly hear the water running and he quickly returns, wiping you down with a cloth that was soaked with warm water. You finally catch your breath e as he throws the cloth onto the pile of your clothes from earlier, deciding to put them in the hamper later.

You look up at him and give him a sex-drunk smile, giggling as he lays next to you before pulling you into his side. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest one of your legs on his hip, and he massages it to sooth the muscles as his other hand draws circles into your back. He holds eye contact with you for a moment before pulling you into a kiss.

"You okay baby?" He asks, pulling away to smother your face in kisses as he gives you time to respond.

"Amazing, actually... " You mumble out, pulling him in for another kiss.

"Good... Rest up baby, you're gonna need it." He says between kisses and lands a smack to your ass. He laughs in your face as you look at him with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. He grinds against your core and you realize that he's hard again, making your eyes widen a little.

"Oh, my love.... you thought we were done?"

[dreamivyisla]

♱ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 ♱

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elijah “Smoke” Moore and Elias “Stack” Moore.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ you’re a complicated woman caught between your current boyfriend, Elijah “Smoke” Moore, and your ex, Elias “Stack” Moore.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ sooo.. im just posting this for filler because genuinely my Negan oneshot is taking sooooo long because i cant stop typing. i made this like a month ago, or more. also, i apologize in advance! if you guys want, i can make a part two to this because i was just going to leave it at a oneshot. enjoy!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 3.0k

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ➤ part 1, part 2, part 3???

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ cheating (reader is in a relationship with Smoke), sexual content, oral sex (reader receiving), spit kink, choking kink, biting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), emotional distress, unplanned pregnancy, modern au, black!reader (but anyone can imagine themselves), toxic relationship history (with Stack), emotional manipulation, lying/deception, and sibling betrayal.

═══════ ═══════ ═══════

you were the kind of girl that made a mess wherever you went—always soft in the way you spoke, but wild in the way you lived. loud in energy, but quiet in pain. black girl pretty, but hard to hold down. and everybody knew it.

everybody but smoke.

elijah loved you in that deep, patient way men only give to women they think they can fix. the type of love that doesn’t ask for chaos, just peace. he was gentle hands and sharp eyes. slow to speak, but always watching. he wasn’t the kind of man you were used to—but he felt safe. and safety, for you, was a hard thing to ignore.

you’d been with stack for two years before smoke came around. stack was everything you weren’t supposed to want, but couldn’t stop chasing—hood pretty, smooth talking, mean in the mouth and meaner in the bedroom. y’all cheated, fought, made up, broke up, and did it all over again like clockwork. you weren’t healed. he wasn’t either. but love lived in the in-between, and y’all stayed tangled in it.

when you and stack finally cut it off for real, you ain’t cry. you just texted smoke back that night when he asked if you still needed help putting your dresser together. that was six months ago.

now you were living in smoke’s apartment—his space, his rules, his love. he worked long hours and came home with shoulders tense, always with one hand on his gun and the other on your waist. he didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was always with weight.

“you been good today?” he’d ask, voice low, already knowing the answer just from how you moved when he walked in. you’d nod, kiss him on the cheek, try to play domestic even though it felt foreign. he never said it, but you could feel it on him—he didn’t believe you’d stay.

and you weren’t sure if he was wrong.

you still missed the way stack used to pull your hair and call you out your name in bed, the way y’all used to get dressed to fight, then end up fucking on the floor like animals. you missed being bad. but smoke didn’t allow bad. smoke was a man of order.

you couldn’t wear short skirts no more. couldn’t go out without him asking where, with who, and when you were getting back. and while he never raised his voice, the silence he gave you when he was upset cut deeper than any yell. smoke didn’t tolerate disrespect.

and you? you were built on it.

still, you stayed. told yourself you loved him—and maybe you did. maybe it wasn’t the same kind of love you had with stack, but it was quieter, safer. maybe that was enough.

maybe.

the day everything cracked open didn’t feel special. it was quiet, like most days in smoke’s apartment. the sun spilled soft over the hardwood floors, and you were cleaning the kitchen in a silk robe he didn’t like you wearing around the house.

“too short,” he said once, tugging it down over your thighs, his jaw tight. “that’s for me, not for walking ‘round.”

but he was gone that day—just ran to the store, said he’d be back in twenty. kissed your forehead like he always did, left his scent all over your collarbone. bergamot, tobacco, musk. that man always smelled expensive, like he ain’t belong anywhere but the top.

you were barefoot, sipping water with the fridge still open, when the front door creaked.

your heart hiccuped, but it wasn’t smoke.

it was stack.

and that silence between you two, thick like humidity in july, almost swallowed the both of you whole.

“smoke home?” stack asked, stepping in like he still had the right.

you stared at him, blinking slow. “do it look like he home?”

his lips tugged up—god, that cocky smirk. same one he gave you back when he’d pick you up from your mama’s house and tell you to lie about where you were going. he walked in like he owned the walls, like the memory of him still lived in them. and truth be told, maybe it did.

you crossed your arms over your chest, not because you were shy—but because stack’s eyes had already started dragging down the silk, pulling the robe off with just a look.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said, but your voice didn’t hold no conviction. it sounded soft. almost like you wanted him there.

“you let him tame you?” he asked, nodding to the way your robe was tied tight, how your hair was up and your lip was glossed. “that’s crazy. you used to be loud, wild. now look at you. quiet in somebody else’s house.”

“shut the fuck up, stack.”

he laughed, but his eyes didn’t leave you.

“i ain’t say that to hurt you. i just… i miss you, that’s all.”

that was the problem—he meant it. stack didn’t love easy, but when he did, it clung like smoke in a room with no windows.

you swallowed hard. “you gotta go. smoke gon’ be back.”

“then we don’t got much time, huh?”

you didn’t move. didn’t tell him no, didn’t push him away when he stepped close enough to make your breath catch. his hand ghosted your waist. and you hated how your body remembered him. how your hips shifted just right, like no time had passed.

“don’t do this,” you whispered.

but he was already leaning in, lips brushing your ear.

“you gon’ stop me?”

and you didn’t.

you weren’t supposed to let him touch you.

but you didn’t stop him when he did.

stack had always known where to put his hands—how to pull soft gasps from you like he was reading sheet music. his palm grazed the curve of your ass, fingers curling slow, then sliding up your spine like he had a right to every part of you.

you told yourself you didn’t mean to lean into it.

told yourself this wasn’t going to happen.

but it was already happening.

“you gon’ let me remind you?” he whispered, lips barely touching your jaw, hot breath dragging goosebumps out your skin. “or you gon’ keep pretending you happy over here playing house?”

your fingers clutched the marble countertop behind you like it could ground you. like it could hold you down from floating into this mess you swore you wouldn’t get back into.

you looked him dead in the eye, trying to call his bluff. “you think you still got that hold on me?”

he tilted his head, smirking. “i know i do.”

and the worst part? he wasn’t wrong.

he kissed you like he was starving. no hesitation. tongue deep, rough, messy. your robe slipped loose like it wanted to fall for him too. and before you could blink, you were bent over the counter, silk sliding off your shoulder and your pride crumbling beneath the weight of your want.

his hand gripped your throat, not tight, just enough for you to feel it. for you to remember exactly who he was. stack didn’t ask for space—he took it. claimed it. filled it with words you weren’t supposed to let touch you anymore.

“open them legs, baby,” he growled against your ear. “i missed this pussy. missed how she cry for me.”

you moaned before you even realized it left your lips.

“stack, we can’t—”

“you already let me in. might as well let me finish.”

he sank to his knees like it was muscle memory. like your body still belonged to him. mouth hot, wet, soft in all the ways his voice wasn’t. your head rolled back, fingers clawing the edge of the counter while he devoured you like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. like this was his last meal.

you gasped, loud, eyes wide as the silk robe dropped completely. stack’s mouth worked like he was tryna make you forget your own name. spit dripping down his chin, tongue circling your clit like he’d never been away.

you were trembling by the time he stood up, dick hard against your thigh. you knew what came next, and still, your breath caught when he slid inside, deep and slow.

“you still tight as hell,” he groaned, gripping your hips, thick fingers digging in. “damn, baby. you tryna make me lose my mind?”

you couldn’t answer. your mouth hung open, no words. just moans and wet slaps echoing off the tile. he pulled your hair, arching your back more, watching your ass ripple every time he hit the spot that made your knees buckle.

“say it,” he growled, choking you gently again, eyes locked on yours. “say this still mine.”

you whimpered, eyes glossy. “it’s yours…”

“louder.”

“it’s yours, stack—fuck—it’s still yours.”

his laugh was low and sharp. “yeah. i know.”

and then he nutted deep, thick and warm, biting your shoulder as he did it—marking you. you cried out, legs trembling, tears sliding down your cheeks not from pain, but from the shame curled tight in your chest.

when he pulled out, he slapped your ass once, soft. then zipped his pants like nothing happened.

“tell smoke i said what’s up,” he muttered, walking out the door.

and you were still bent over the counter, thighs wet and shaking, heart pounding like it was trying to escape you.

twenty minutes later, smoke came home.

you were back on the couch when smoke walked through the door.

robe retied. face wiped. body washed clean.

but guilt? guilt don’t wash off easy.

he set the bags down with a heavy sigh and locked the door behind him like always, slow and deliberate. like routine. like safety.

“you good?” he asked, eyes flicking up from the bags to your face. he always looked at you like he could see past the skin. like he knew when something was outta place even if you ain’t say it.

you smiled too quick. “yeah. just tired.”

he didn’t smile back.

smoke walked over, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. his lips lingered there, warm and still. when he pulled back, he studied you again—closer this time. and you swore, for a second, he smelled something on your skin. something that wasn’t his.

but he didn’t say nothing.

he sat on the couch beside you and pulled you in without asking, hand resting on your thigh like he always did when he missed you. he was always touching you, not in ways that screamed sex—but in ways that meant something deeper. his touch said i’m watching, i’m waiting, i’m yours even if you ain’t all mine.

“you ain’t been yourself,” he said finally, voice low. “you quiet. more than usual.”

your throat tightened. “i’m just tired, elijah. i promise.”

he nodded once, jaw tight. his hand slid up your thigh, then stopped mid-way.

“you take a shower?”

you froze for just half a second. “yeah. felt sticky.”

he nodded again. “you smell different.”

your heart jumped.

“like soap?” you offered, trying to laugh it off.

he didn’t laugh. he just stared, long and hard, and then leaned in and kissed your collarbone.

“don’t lie to me,” he whispered. “you don’t ever gotta lie to me.”

you blinked fast, lips parting—but nothing came out. and instead of pressing, smoke just pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you like he was tryna protect you from something he couldn’t name yet.

and you melted into it, into him.

he kissed your temple, then rested his cheek against your belly, lips brushing your skin through the thin robe.

“i love you,” he murmured.

and that made your chest hurt worse than anything else had all day.

you didn’t deserve that kind of love—not now, not after what you’d done.

but you nodded anyway. “i love you too.”

even if your body still remembered someone else’s hands.

the days that followed were quiet.

not the peaceful kind, but the kind that felt like pressure in your chest.

you cleaned. cooked. folded laundry. smiled when he came home. rode his dick like you loved him. and maybe you did—at least part of you still clung to the version of yourself that wanted to be his, fully.

but your mind? your mind stayed stuck back on that counter.

on stack.

you told yourself it was a one-time thing. a heat-of-the-moment mistake. a body craving something you hadn’t felt in months. but that lie wasn’t sticking the way you needed it to. not with how your stomach had started twisting every morning.

first it was the nausea.

then the back pain.

then the missed period.

you kept track—always had, always careful. you weren’t new to this.

but this… this felt different.

you sat in the bathroom, eyes locked on the pregnancy test blinking slow on the counter. the clock on the wall ticked too loud. every second felt like a scream. you hadn’t told nobody yet. not even your sister, who usually heard everything before it left your mouth.

not even smoke.

especially not smoke.

you stared at that test until the screen went solid.

and your heart damn near dropped out your chest.

pregnant.

you covered your mouth, tears pricking your eyes—not from joy. not yet. maybe not ever. it wasn’t the pregnancy that scared you.

it was the question.

the possibility.

the timeline.

two weeks. that’s how long it had been since stack bent you over smoke’s kitchen counter and filled you like he owned you.

you couldn’t breathe.

you threw the test in the trash, then pulled it back out again. stared at it like it owed you more than a single word. like it was supposed to tell you who.

but it didn’t.

that night, you didn’t eat dinner. just laid in bed, back turned to smoke, your hand protectively curled over your stomach.

he didn’t say anything. just reached for you like always, warm hand pressing against your belly, thumb rubbing circles like he knew. like something in him felt the shift before you even spoke it aloud.

“you cold?” he murmured into your hair.

you shook your head, whispering back, “no. just tired.”

another lie. another weight.

and his arm just wrapped tighter around you.

it was raining that morning. soft, steady. the kind of rain that made the world feel still, like time pressed pause.

you stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of tea with shaking hands. you’d been up since before the sun, sitting in silence, staring out the window. the nausea had hit hard today—your second time throwing up before seven a.m.

and smoke wasn’t stupid. he wasn’t oblivious. he was quiet, sure. but he noticed everything.

he stepped out the bedroom shirtless, sweatpants hanging low, gold chain glinting even in the dim light. his eyes found you immediately. sharp, alert.

“you straight?”

you didn’t answer at first. you just nodded like you always did, but it wasn’t enough this time.

he walked over, slow but steady, like he already knew he wasn’t gonna like what he heard.

“baby,” he said, voice low but firm, “what’s going on with you?”

you swallowed hard, setting the mug down before you could drop it.

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

his hand came to rest on your lower back, thumb brushing soft. “you ain’t been eatin’. you ain’t been sleepin’. you ain’t even been lookin’ me in the eye.”

you looked up then.

that was your mistake.

because his eyes were already full of worry. already searching for the truth you hadn’t said yet. already ready to carry something heavy for you if he had to.

you blinked slow, heart thudding in your chest.

“i’m pregnant.”

the words dropped between you like thunder.

his face didn’t change at first. he just blinked once, the way he always did when he was trying to process something without reacting. his jaw flexed. throat bobbed.

and then—

“what?”

you breathed in deep, forced yourself to keep going. “i found out two days ago. i took three tests. all positive.”

he stepped back, arms folding. the distance hit harder than any yell.

“and you wasn’t gon’ tell me?”

“i didn’t know how.”

“when did you find out?”

“i just said—two days ago.”

“and it’s mine?”

your stomach turned. he hadn’t even asked that outta suspicion. he asked it out of calculation. timeline. logic. trying to make sense of how his girl was standing in front of him with something that might be his but also… might not.

you hesitated.

and that was the second mistake.

“yo,” he said, voice dropping lower now, dangerous low. “who else would it be?”

you looked away. your chest burned.

he stepped closer. “nah—look at me. who else would it be?”

“elias.”

his breath hitched like you’d punched the air out of him.

for the first time since you’d met him, smoke didn’t look calm. didn’t look composed.

his whole face changed.

“you fucked my brother?”

you blinked fast, tears stinging your eyes.

“it was a mistake—i didn’t mean—”

“don’t do that,” he snapped, voice cracking. “don’t play it like it just happened. when?”

“the day you went to the store.”

“in my house?”

you cried now. couldn’t help it.

he stared at you for a long time. no words. no movement. just that steady, angry breath through his nose. then he turned, grabbed his keys from the counter, and walked to the door.

“where are you going?” you asked through your tears.

he didn’t look back.

“to get some air before i do something i regret.”

then he was gone.

and you were left in the kitchen, holding your stomach, heart broken in too many pieces to count.

═══════ ═══════ ═══════

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

[buckybarnes82]

Can you write something about surprising bucky with a gift? Fluffy. 🍬

Sentimental gifts

A/N: Thank you for the request! Mostly fluffy but some injuries are mentioned. Arnicare gel helps with bruising and that’s also mentioned!

It had only been six months, but you were madly, desperately, and wholeheartedly in love with him. Six months and you felt closer to him than anyone else ever has. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, that time frame really didn’t seem like very long but when you’re dating someone whose entire life got stolen from them, time moves quicker than most would expect.

It didn’t take long at all for Bucky to slowly take ownership of an empty dresser drawer at your place, filling it with socks, T-shirts, his knife, and basically all the random things he kept in his many pant pockets. He also made sure to clear closet space at his place, though you rarely stayed there with him and the rest of the team. Bucky liked coming to your place for a bit of peace, and you knew that without question.

Bucky didn’t have to question much when it came to you, you told him how you were looking for something serious after twenty minutes in and he knew what he wanted in a partner, being up front about it during your first date. “I know what I want, and I want to explore that with you.” The words and memory of that night were etched into your memory. He wore a navy blue button-up that he was practically sweating bullets through, and you wore a blue dress that matched his eyes, it was fate or at least you liked to think of it that way.

Bucky was undoubtedly busy, he didn’t necessarily plan on working for Valentina. Now that he was roped into this, his time with you was limited, and it started to wear on him. He was growing increasingly nervous that the distance would make you question things, and that was something he couldn’t handle. The slump in his shoulders, bag under his eyes, and general grumpier-than-usual demeanor told you everything you needed to know, and you wanted to reassure him.

So here you were sitting on the hardwood in your apartment, in your pajamas with various scraps of colorful paper, stickers, glue dots and tons of photos of the two of you spread across the floor. Bucky never fully understood why you constantly took pictures of him, or wanted some together but he didn’t question it, mentally noting you were just a sentimental person.

You had bought a small rectangular scrapbook in his favorite color from your local craft store. Bucky often had to work late, so you’d work on it while he was away and you’d hide it under your bed from him otherwise.

You had been working your way through the months of your relationship, finally landing on month five and now six, you spread out the silly photos of the two of you, admiring how handsome Bucky looked even with a beard full of red pasta sauce. He insisted on taking you to a local Italian place for dinner last month that Alexei had recommended and it was actually one of your favorite dates.

You stood up to look for a marker when your phone vibrated, a silly picture of Bucky wearing a silky robe appeared on your screen.

“Hi, handsome!” You giggled excitedly which gave him a breath of relief as he heard your voice.

“Hi love” he loudly yawned into the phone, making you giggle again.

“Someone’s sleepy!” You tease affectionately, grabbing the marker and going back to your craft on the floor., notating your date with cute side comments and sticker hearts.

You heard the faint sound of motion in the background.

“Where are you? Are you in the van?”

“I miss you” Bucky hummed, you didn’t have to see him to know he was sitting in the back of the van with his eyes tightly shut, and a migraine brewing. You knew he hadn’t heard you ask him a question.

“I miss you too, Are you coming home tonight?”

Home was what you called your apartment, because to you both that’s what it was.

“Yeah, I need to sleep beside my girl” he mumbled and you heard an audible “awww” from Yelena and Ava in the background that you knew he hated every second of.

“How far away are you?” You pulled the phone back from your ear to check the time. You knew you’d have to hurry if you wanted to gift this to him tonight.

“I probably have another hour or so” he groaned, a layer of exhaustion prominent.

“I make it 45!” Alexei hollered from the front seat and normally Bucky would object but he’d do anything to be beside you right now.

You continued to glue pictures down, decorating and annotating as Bucky spoke.

“Tell Alexei I need you home in one piece! Speaking of that, any injuries?” You asked this often enough to be routine.

“Scratches, they’re handled. Bruise on my right arm, it’s not that bad. It’s fine.” He was lying and you knew that by his tone of voice but you let it slide for now.

“Hungry?”

“Starving” he sighed, rubbing his temples as he realized he hadn’t eaten since this morning.

“Burger?”

“Please, if it’s not too much trouble.” He sighed again, making your chest ache. He always felt like a burden to everyone around him, no matter how much you reassured he wasn’t.

“You’re my boyfriend, it’s never an inconvenience to me to feed you” you lightly chuckled knowing how he felt about that word.

“Yuck! Boyfriend sounds so juvenile” he snorted, the first real laugh you’d heard since the phone call started.

“Guess you’ll have to change that” you teased as you finished the scrapbook, flipping through the pages a final time before placing it on the coffee table, ready for Bucky when he got home.

“Oh, I fully intend to” he rasped back, his tone laced with seriousness.

He had bought the ring months ago, only waiting for your mom’s blessing which he planned on asking her for next month when she came to visit.

“I have a present for you when you get here” you giggled as you stood up to get ingredients out for dinner.

The sound of your giggle made him feel more alive, sitting up straight in the van to wake himself up.

“A present huh? More arnicare gel?” He teased knowing you had pretty much bought a Sam’s Club level amount of arnica gel for him.

“I knew the bruise was worse than you said” you clicked your tongue, taking out seasonings from the cabinet above you.

“My phone's going to die, I’ll be there in like twenty minutes. I love you.”

“I love you too bunny.” You started to cut the tomato for his burger, smiling over at the scrapbook he’d have waiting for him.

You had just gotten done plating his food, when the front door opened, and Bucky practically collapsed inside. You rushed over to him helping him walk over and sit down on the recliner in the living room.

“What do you need? Talk to me.” Your wide worried eyes traced his features, he was dirty, cut up, and exhausted but he was still gorgeous as ever to you.

“My girl” he hummed, reaching his arms out before he pulled you on top of him. He covered you in kisses making you giggle as you squirmed on top of him.

“Baby you need to drink some water, take your pain pill, eat and-“

He grabbed your chin, kissing you to momentarily quiet you, “You worry way too much” he mumbled between kisses.

“I love you, it’s my job to worry,” you said it so matter-of-factly his heart swelled hearing the words.

He looked over at the coffee table, seeing the scrapbook immediately. “Oh? What is this?” He pointed and you leaned over the chair to hand it to him.

“Your present” you sat up straighter, still on his lap as he looked at the cover, it had a picture of the two of you from your first date.

“You made this for me?” His eyes immediately stung, he’d blame it on being exhausted but you’d see through that instantly.

“Mhm!” You opened it for him, eager for him to see the work you put into it.

“Remember this? It was when we first started dating and we went to that baseball game and-“

“We got rained out! I was so worried you were going to get sick and never want to go on another date with me” he laughed, pointing at the selfie of you with fully drenched wet hair.

“And when I did inevitably get sick you came and brought me soup” You pointed to the next page that had a picture of the two of you in bed and Bucky smiled, he had assumed you’d forgotten all about that. He kissed your cheek before continuing to flip through pages.

“We both clearly worry too much” you admitted and he nodded nonchalantly.

“This is so sweet of you to do” he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to cover it with a cough.

“Bunny? Are you tearing up? Did I break Bucky Barnes?” You teased knowing that would make him chuckle out loud.

“I’m just crying because I’m starving. My stomach is touching my back.” he joked tickling your side lightly earning his favorite sound from you, another giggle.

“You know I love you and I’m never going anywhere right?” You held his eye contact for a moment before he nodded, leaning in for another kiss.

You made him feel safe, secure and loved and like the ring hidden in his closet should be on your finger right now.

[wandasaura]

CRUSH CULTURE

summary — yelena’s never had the freedom of considering her sexual orientation, but she knows that girls like boys, and she knows her sister likes girls, but even when you’re the only person on her mind, she can’t succumb to the suffocating standardized crush culture

warning(s) — established queer-platonic relationships, asexual yelena belova, self-acceptance, pride parade, established blackhill, caught fucking, internalized homophobia, childhood trauma, past sexual assault, mention of the red room, yelena’s first pride, coming to terms with sexuality, crying, light banter, alcohol consumption, pre-gaming, day drinking, men/minors dni

authors note — based off of ‘i’ll never need a reason to show the world how much i love you’ from this prompt list! a little asexual representation for pride!

“Hey Nat,” There’s a soft smile on your face. You brace your hand on the bedroom door, a question on the top of your mind. There’s sunshine spilling in from every corner. Everywhere you turn, one window or another is open wide, and the breeze that sweeps inside dances sweetly with the sheer curtains that don’t block out much light. They weren’t purchased to block light, just to soften it, and keep private moments from the windows of other apartments across the way. Today though, they’re pulled to the side, and anyone who dares to be nosey and glance into your two bedroom Manhattan apartment is welcome to watch the show unfold.

Seven months ago, you’d first thrown this idea around. A year ago, you’d first begun to set the groundwork and lay the expectations. Natasha and Maria, for the most part, had been following your color coded agenda down to the very T. They’d done pride events before, many of them, some of them even with you tucked into their side as a third wheel, still taking everything in, still figuring out who you were. How General Dreykov’s prized possession recognized her calling to lesbianism before you did, you would never know, but years later, it’s your turn to teach somebody else the beauty of being unconditionally and unapologetically free.

“I thought we still had vodka—“ Your eyes sweep across the furniture in your guest bedroom. Unlike Yelena, who lives out of a suitcase, Natasha unpacks whenever she gets somewhere. It’s interesting to watch them handle trauma individually. It’s interesting to witness how Natasha overcompensates with allowing the world into her heart and her mannerisms, and Yelena can’t seem to close herself far enough off from it completely. “Oh my god, Nat!” It takes you a moment to glance at the bed in the center of the room. You’d been captivated by a ripped strip of film sitting on top of the dresser. It’s not yours. It’s the other half of Yelena’s. It’s a photo booth film reel from the years in their life where family had been a core value. Yelena’s cheesy smile is missing a couple of teeth, her hair is wild, falling down her shoulders and her back just until it reaches her breastbone. She’s so little. So full of radiance and innocence. It’s hard to imagine that she’d been only a few months away from the end of her life at that point. It’s hard to swallow that her little face hadn’t ever smiled that sincerely since.

It’s like somebody dumps a bucket of ice water on you — to one minute be considering how Yelena Belova had overcome the worst fate imaginable, and then the next lay eyes on her naked big sister whom you’d established a relationship with before you’d even known of her existence was shocking. It was only subconscious that your eyes raked up Maria’s toned back in the initial shock.

The brunette straddled the redhead, using two pride flags as restraints that kept the reformed assassins hands pinned above her head. The sunset colors looked pretty against Natasha’s skin, and the green of her eyes seemed incandescent as she raised her head from the pillows and tugged her hands out of the restraints like they’d never really held her down anyways. Maria glanced down at her when hands looped around her warm waist, a gleam of annoyance on her face.

“You’re supposed to tell me when they’re too loose, not just force yourself still. Will you tell her that it’s about letting go completely? She won’t let me drill it through that thick skull.” Your cheeks flame at Maria’s brazen question. She doesn’t seem to mind that your eyes glance down at her nipples, or that you flicker back to Natasha with a compulsive need to memorize the way her pasty skin looks speckled with love bites and bruises. This isn’t the first time you’ve walked in on Natasha and Maria like this. This isn’t even the first time Maria’s roped you into a conversation about their sex life, but it’s the first time it’s happened with Yelena down the hall, getting ready in the bathroom with your blow dryer on its quietest setting. It’s still a trigger for her; the sudden loud noise and inescapable heat. She can’t tell you specifically what it reminds you of, you don’t think she knows, or at least can’t distinguish a specific memory through the haze in her mind, but nonetheless it triggers her, and that response is as real as anything else.

“Um, it’s about letting go completely.” You tell Natasha, because you’ll do anything Maria tells you to when she uses that tone of voice. Natasha snorts, sitting up fully, until Maria is cradled in her lap. The veteran. who you’ve never known to be the one getting held in their relationship, wiggles off of Natasha’s lap and stalks toward the closet like she’s equally as uncomfortable. She has a pair of black underwear on, nothing scandalous, but you watch Natasha watch her swing her hips with every step.

Both of them are entirely unphased that their marked skin is exposed to the sunlight and your gaze. Neither of them care that their nipples peak before your attention, either subconsciously or not. Maria’s a veteran, she spent six years stripping naked in communal showers and whatever their sleeping arrangements looked like on base. She’d been deployed to the field, where it’s not a guarantee you come out alive, so stripping a couple layers to pee isn't so embarrassing in front of company. Natasha, she’s just never known privacy a day in her life. Sex has been normalized since she’d sprouted her first pubic hair, and probably before then too, but she’s never told you that, and you’ve always avoided asking. Even when she’d joined Shield, she’d been a lower level agent who wasn’t yet above the communal showers and locker rooms. She might know that her body is her own now, she might value that, but some morals aren’t relearnable. Yelena’s the same way. You’d seen her completely naked before she’d even let you in enough to stop constantly threatening your life. Despite naked Russians and veterans being in your life for years, it never fails to make you blush.

Natasha loves to watch you squirm. That’s just the kind of person she is. Now is no different. Her hair might be pulled up into some kind of intricate half-up half-down style, two little sections pulled away from her face, lifting her hairline and pulling the corners of her eyes just the slightest bit taut, but that doesn’t discredit her natural edge. There’s glitter sprayed into her red hair, there’s a shimmer on her skin from the body oil you’d set out on the counter for anyone to grab, but she’s still deadly. There’s still a knife beneath the pillow she leans against, it might just happen to be wrapped in pink, white, and orange duct tape. That’s one thing Natasha’s learned how to do that Yelena still hasn’t. Natasha welcomes life into her trauma in ways that are beautiful and tragic. She still can’t walk around without a weapon. She feels too vulnerable, like she’s practically asking for an ambush, but she decorates the handles of her blades when there’s something worth celebrating in the near future. Not all of them, not the ones that she’s going to be the most inclined to use in a fight, but the ones that she’ll only reach for if she really needs them; if it's her life on the line. Natasha Romanoff may not be entirely free of the trauma imparted on her aggressively in childhood and adolescence, but she’s free enough to know she wants to die with character, because she’s not made of marble, she’s made of flesh, and blood, and bones, and she’s not just another widow in the endless sea of assassins, she’s a person with a girlfriend and a sister, and a best friend that she considers another little sister at points, but only when she has clothes on and isn’t flush from a third round with her girlfriend.

“What did you need?” Natasha rises from the bed, your bed, the one that you paid for and dressed in silk sheets specifically for her because you know cotton against her thighs reminds her too much of the red rooms' wool blankets after a nightmare. She might have a better grip on reality now, she might not be as prone to flashbacks and panic attacks as Yelena still is, but she’s still a woman living with more PTSD than anyone in your history books. She still deserves to be cared for like she’s delicate and irreplaceable.

She has an outfit already laid out. Maria’s in the closet, and you make a note of how the blue-eyed latina is halfway hidden behind the door as she shimmies into whatever clothes she and Natasha packed with enthusiasm before they came down from the upstate Campus. You giggled as you watched Natasha hold up a white baby-tee with black and red letters. Treat Her Right. It was so boldly on the nose for her. Not in your face pride, not cheesy enough to elicit an eye roll or a grimace, but just casually enforcing that she’s in fact a lady lover when she’s not saving the world. Sometimes even when she is. You recall a few kisses or two happening beneath falling rubble and alien weapons.

“You’re not really going to wear those jeans are you? Skinny jeans, Natasha? Really?” You deadpanned, glancing at the black skinny jeans she hasn’t been able to let out of her sight since she’d first been given a shield credit card and stocked up on whatever she thought fit Western style at the time. She’s gotten more accustomed to comply with fashion trends, and she officially has the coziest oversized hoodie out of everyone you know, but those damn skinny jeans are looking like they’re going to have to be clawed out of her dead, cold hands.

Natasha rolls her eyes, “What did you need, detka?” She reiterates, and you grin at the term of endearment that rolls off of her lips in exasperation. Natasha rolls her eyes at your reaction, throwing the jeans aside again and plopping down onto the edges of the bed in only a pair of underwear and the baby-tee.

Maria finally steps out of the closet, and you manage an amused laugh at her lesbian flag cargo shorts and self-cropped wife beater with rainbow letters that spelled out ‘a little bit fruity’. Sometimes you just couldn’t with them. Sometimes it was impossibly hard to remember that they were the only reason the entire world was still spinning, and that they couldn’t sleep soundly at night because of it.

“Oh! Vodka.” You grinned, perking up slightly as you remembered why you initially entered the guest bedroom. “Yelena used the rest of it to make Jell-O shots last night, and didn’t think to tell me that before we went to bed.” You sighed, trying hard not to let the little inconvenience ruin your entire mood now that you remembered it had happened at all. You wanted this to be perfect for her. You needed this to be perfect for her. Natsaha’s first pride had been perfect. She tells you that every year. She’d gone with Maria and Carol Danvers, and a rather excited Clint who had dragged Laura Barton around New York City pregnant and all. Carol hadn’t known that. She’d just thought Laura was strategically sober and knew how to have a good time without alcohol. Natasha had told you that was the pride she realized she didn’t like men at all; that she only associated feelings of love with them because it was drilled into her head in the red room that men are the ultimate honey trap. Women are harder to break, harder to seduce. Men are easy if you show enough skin. “I think she’s on the verge of a breakdown in the bathroom. So, if I give you money, can you run down to the corner and pick up another bottle?”

“I brought some.” Natasha shrugs, nodding toward her duffle bag that's placed in the corner of the room between the nightstand and the wall. Your eyes trail over to the black bag embroidered with her Red hourglass symbol, a ‘seasons end’ gift from Tony the last time they’d momentarily gone their separate ways after a crisis.

“Oh, great!” You beam, a bright smile on your lips before her words catch up to you. “You brought your own vodka to my apparent? When worst case scenario there’s a liquor store on the corner?” You stare at her, lips fluttering. Sometimes, Natasha Romanoff can still catch you off guard after all these years.

“I’m Russian.” Natasha shrugs, and Maria just shakes her head from the corner of the room, willing you to go with it, to just accept that Natasha is a lotta bit weird and a little bit a certified functioning alcoholic. ”Do you want to do a shot?” She changes tune, and you grin eagerly, bouncing on your feet.

Your head bobs up and down, and your eyes glance at the clock on the wall. It’s eight in the morning, almost nine if you consider that it’s exactly thirty-seven after, but the premise stands that people are still down below rushing to work or somewhere prestigious, and here you are, preparing to start the day with a shot a vodka as breakfast. “Yeah. I’ll just bring one to Yelena. I think she needs a minute to just…take in what she’s getting herself into.” You say, knowing Natasha was going to tell you to find her sister before she broke into the bottle of Grey Goose.

Natasha frowns, and Maria inches toward her compassionately. Her fingers rub at spots of collecting tension in Natasha’s shoulders, and while the ginger relaxes, it doesn’t entirely quell her accumulating resentment. “Is she going to be okay?” Natasha’s voice cracks. She knows what it feels like to stare straight down the barrel of a gun pointed at your identity. She knows what its like to battle for control, what it’s like when the first brush of brass against your fingertips shoots through every nerve in your body. Yelena is strong, but Natasha doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to face something like this only a year after getting out. ”I can hang back with her today. You and Maria can go.”

You shake your head, because while Yelena would appreciate having the option, you don't even want that suggestion anywhere near her. “She’s never going to let me help her if you’re always there to guard her corner.” You smile wistfully, because you know that Natasha means well, that she’s only looking out for her baby sister the way she wishes she could’ve all their lives. You know this means a lot to her too. It means a lot that her entire life hasn’t been for nothing. If she never got out, Yelena may never have even had the chance at all to figure out who she loves when her body isn’t being used for profit or murder. Natasha wants today to go okay, for Yelena’s sake, but if it doesn’t, her sacrifice was already worth it for getting them this far. “She just needs a minute to herself. I got her a flag pin and I think she just…I think this is the first time she’s realizing she’s not who she thought she would stay after you killed Dreykov. We both know she doesn’t give herself enough credit as it is, let alone does she ever stand far enough back to realize she’s entirely reinvented herself how she wants to be perceived.” You smile. Yelena’s changed so much since the first time you met her. She’s a sarcastic little shit, she always has been, but she’s less defensive with it now. She doesn’t guard her every feeling like you might use them against her. She cut her hair, painted her nails for a while before she decided she doesn’t like when it chips, and she pierced her ears. She bought a vest, and then she bought a dress, and she realized she hates dresses when she has the option to wear pants instead. Yelena has changed. She has grown. She has healed. You smile knowing that all of that is unconditionally true. “It’s not a bad meltdown, it's just… well it’s the inevitable one.”

“Your meltdown was rather cute.” Maria hums, reminding Natasha that this was normal, this was just another step to Yelena establishing herself as a free agent, not just a hive mind. ”Has she ever told you the story?” Maria’s eyes sparkle as she glances at you, stepping up to be Natasha’s voice of reason before the Russian can convince herself they should just abort while they’re ahead, while Yelena’s still in one piece.

Your lips curve upwards. It’s not often you witness Natasha Romanoff blushing, especially not regarding a story of her recent past. You can’t pass this up, so you shake your head eagerly. Natasha Romanoff can break anyone she wants, but she wouldn’t dream of touching the pure light that shines in your eyes. “What? No. Tell me! Please, please, please!” You gasp, and Maria laughs like you’ve just made her day.

“Oh, I could have so much fun with you.” She notes, and your cheeks flame. Maria is undeniably attractive, Natasha as well. Their sly comments unmake you every time they hit the air, and when Yelena’s around to overhear them, she bustles with laughter that you think could shake the frame of every building in the world.

“You have to stop saying shit like that.” You groan, your hands coming up to hide your blushing cheeks from their equally strong gazes. Natasha and Maria don’t know that you’re not just Yelena’s best friend. They have no reason to assume you’re anything more when all they’ve ever witnessed is an intimate brush of hand against the small of your back that could’ve just been mutually needed at the time. You’ve had no reason to run your mouth and share the news anyway, not when it doesn’t hold any weight in your relationship with them, but a world of difference in theirs with Yelena. Natasha knows her sister is gay. Yelena had told her that before she’d even known there were more umbrella terms and categories to shift through and understand. She doesn’t know that Yelena’s finally found a label that she thinks fits her, or that you happened to be intertwined in the existence of her identity. Even if Natasha knew that Yelena was your partner, you know it wouldn’t stop the comments. It’s just the kind of relationship you have, and you knew her ten years before she ever told you Yelena existed at all. “Will you just tell me the story?”

“Laura kissed me.” Natasha deadpans and your eyes widen, because surely Laura Barton, mother of three, ex-shield agent, long-term committed wife hadn’t kissed Natasha Romanoff three months pregnant in the middle of New York City at the parade, but Natasha was telling you it happened, and Maria was nodding enthusiastically behind her. Maria and Natasha lie, but never to you. ”And I freaked out.”

“She turned to me with the biggest eyes I’ve ever seen and said ‘I think I love women.’ and then proceeded to break down crying about how many years she’d wasted fucking men on her own volition. Clint had to peel her off the corner and apologize to the Drag Queen she fell into while he pulled her away.” Maria laughs and Natasha reaches a hand back to slap at her waist, huffing beneath her breath as she rolls her eyes.

“Whatever. It still took you a year to ask me out after that.” Natasha huffs petulantly and Maria laughs, shooing her up and off the bed. “Shots, right. I almost forgot.” Natasha nods, racing toward her duffle bag with wiggling fingers. “I don’t want anything super loose.” She says randomly, and it takes you a moment to remember you’d thrown a fit about her skinny jeans, and she’d thrown in the towel and put them aside. Her easy compliance was questionable in retrospect, but you didn’t care enough to wade through potential intentions.

“I have denim shorts I was going to wear before I found the skirt I was originally looking for.” You wave her worries off, “I’ll grab them. Don’t start without me! The Jell-O shots on the door, not the shelf, are doubles!” It’s a jumble of words and instructions, but Natasha salutes dutifully as you buzz out of the guest bedroom like a bumblebee — entirely harmless.

The hair dryer is still whirling in the bathroom, the door closed. You can’t hear anything concerning, there’s no crying or soft whimpering, so you assume Yelena’s fine, just taking her time, wrapping her head around all of this as best she can before she lets it all assault her without walls to deflect the contact of the hits. She’s going to go into this with an open mind. She’s going to let herself just be in the moment with you. If Natasha can do it, Yelena knows that she can do it, but she has to get herself to that point first. You let her have however long she needs. After a year of walking this tightrope with her, you know what works best for her now. You know that sometimes, she needs to be alone for a while with her thoughts.

When you return to the kitchen, Natasha’s tipping back what looks like a third Jell-O shot and Maria’s leaning over your countertop, her fingers scrolling through the iPad you have perched against the backsplash. You laugh brightly when Lady Gaga starts playing through the speakers, and quickly you tell her to add another song to the queue, one by a newer artist you and Yelena discovered on a walk through central park a month ago. The little things that remind you of Yelena are your favorite. This song. Kraft. Hot sauce. American Pie. Curly fries. Lightning bugs. She’s everywhere and nowhere, in the little things, not the bigger picture. You think that explains Yelena’s impact on the world and your fragile heart beautifully. After all, even if you’re in the shadows, you’re around for someone to hold onto and protect; darkness can be a beautifully warm blanket when it’s not a death sentence.

Natasha pours you a double, and she slides it down the counter toward you with a lively grin on her lips. There’s a pink Jell-O shot on the counter too, waiting for your touch like it’s meant to be a chaser. It’s another one of the doubles, and you roll your eyes at her intentions to get you drunk before you even step out on the confetti littered streets.

“Ready?” She smirks at you over the rim of her shot glass, her lips curved into a challenging smirk while her eyes throw daggers at you tauntingly. She drips with danger, and it swallows you entirely as you attempt to match her glare and slam the bottom of the shot glass against the counter, and then tip it down your throat. The swallow that comes after all of it sloshes down is thick and unpleasant, and your nose scrunches to avoid coughing at the splatter of a burn against your uvula. Your hand reaches for the jell-o shot, and without breaking eye contact with Natasha, still determined though you’re not sure about what, your tongue eases the gelatin away from the plastic container and flicks it onto your tongue with a hum of readiness. It’s sweet and bitter, it burns when you swallow before it’s soothed by the temperature of the Jell-O. You grin, cheeks flush, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

Maria, who had evidently taken a shot when your back was turned, comes to you with a High Noon already cracked open. You grin, reaching for it eagerly. It’s pineapple, one of your favorite flavors, and she knows that after many years of supplying it to you beneath tables at Stark events. It soothes the remainder of the burn when you take a sip, and you hum eventually in satisfaction.

“They might be a bit big around your waist.” You hum informatively, glancing at Natasha who's finally stepping into the denim shorts you’d handed over and concealing the lovebites left on her thighs from Maria. She takes a moment to consider your advice, fixing the button and the zipper, pulling the waistband up to her mid-belly. “They look good.” You decide before she can share her own opinion, and Natasha nods agreeingly.

“You’re ass looks great.” Maria interjects suavely, and her pinches her thumb and pointer finger together in a smooth motion, her lips pursing into a pleased frown as she bobs her head. You giggle, taking another sip of your high noon. Natasha rolls her eyes, turning toward the counter again.

”Detka!” You hear Yelena’s voice over the music, and you grin with delight. Natasha’s poured you another shot, and it sits next to one that’s been intended for Yelena all along. Her eyebrows pull together at the endearment that rolls off of her sister's lips and echoes through your quaint little home. Yelena’s not the nickname kind. She’s even less the petnames kind. Natasha can count on one hand the amount of people Yelena’s ever called anything other than their name. The list is short because it doesn’t exist. Yelena doesn’t even call her anything other than a variant of her name.

Your lips curve into a sly grin, and you down the second shot she poured without flinching. “Told you you should stop saying shit like that.” You winked, leaving any direct conclusion up for her to draw herself. Maria laughs, and you grin all the way to the bathroom, not wasting your time with knocking before you enter.

Yelena’s hair is entirely dry, but your hairdryer is on the floor by the toilet, still humming, still blowing hot air into the room at a quiet volume that still sounds too loud. You frown, setting the shot glass down on the counter to reach for it instead, turning it off once its between your soft fingertips.

Yelena yanks you into her chest, her arms wrapping around your body until you’re certain she’s trying to fuse the two of you together. It’s only been half an hour since you left her alone, but it feels like a million years whenever you're away from her. Your head rests on her chest, and the faint pulse of her heart beneath your ear is soothing. The music plays overhead, Maria and Natasha are singing along in the kitchen, but it hardly penetrates this moment with Yelena.

She has a white t-shirt on, and black shorts with silver chains hanging from the pockets. The pin you’d given her is secured to the patch of fabric on the front of her thigh, you can feel the cold metal against your bare skin. It makes you smile, and you know it lightens her heart when you reach down to brush your finger against it.

“Does it feel good? To have a little piece of you to touch? To share with other people without having to explain?” You whisper softly, not wanting to scare her off when you can see that she’s doing her absolute best to open up to you right now. No walls. There’s not a single wall in her usually guarded green stare, and you know just how much effort it takes for her to come at any conversation with a fully open mind and fragile emotions.

“I’m asexual.” She whispers as an answer. You don’t know if you’ll ever get tired of hearing Yelena whisper her sexuality into the limited space between your bodies. You don’t know if you’ll ever get tired of knowing you’re the only person she trusts enough to explore this with; to confide in. “I..I do not—”

“Yelena, you don’t have to.” You shake your head, because you know she’s been trying to find a reason for this in her life. If that doesn’t make sense, it because it doesn’t make sense. You’ve tried to tell her that no single event made her this way, that asexuality isn’t something born of natural consequences and trauma responses, but she’s never been quite able to accept that she was born this way. She’s never been able to accept that Dreykov took something for her that she never had any intention or thought of giving away at all. It’s one thing to take her virginity, to take Natasha’s virginity, to take the virginity of every widow that’s come through its doors, but she feels impossibly violated sitting with the newfound reflection that if she’d never been forced into sex and honey trap missions, she might’ve never even had sex at all.

“I need to tell you why I can’t love you.” She whispers. Her words are a desperate plea, but you can’t give into them no matter how easily you typically crumble. “I want to explain to you. You show me all of this love, and I can’t do more than hold your hand. I— I don’t want to do more!” She’s never been allowed to choose how she expresses emotion. She’s never been allowed to decide whether a victim is sliced with her smallest blade, or ripped apart by her bare hands. She never got to pick who she seduced, or when it happened. It’s been a year, but that’s not enough time to unlearn everything you’ve ever known. Yelena still thinks she needs to be worthy of your love in physical ways. She still tries to tether herself to physicalities to express what she doesn’t know how to say. It’s worked for an entire year, but it’s failing her now.

“You don’t have to do more.” You whisper, because it feels important to match her energy right now, even with Born This Way blaring through the speakers overhead. “Yelena, I’ll never need a reason to show the world how much I love you. Never. Sex isn’t everything in a relationship. Not to me. I love you because I love you. I was just always meant to.”

“Natasha was… Natasha was raped too, and she still enjoys having sex with her girlfriend.” It feels wrong to talk about Natasha’s trauma without her present, but it’s the only way Yelena knows how to encapsulate everything she’s feeling in a way that you can digest. She’s glad that you have no idea what it’s like to attempt to move on with your life when so much of it is haunted, but it puts her even farther out in a sea of isolation when you just have no real way of knowing what she means fully.

“Natasha, is also a lesbian. She’s also something that the General never would’ve allowed either of you to be.” You crane your head to the side, your hands gently cupping Yelena’s cheeks. She thinks so highly of her sister, you don’t think she even realizes that she’s so much like her. “She’s sacrificing normative relationship culture just to call Maria her girlfriend. Natasha’s also had fourteen years to adapt to society, and freedom, and accepting her sexuality. Believe me, she didn’t always have a healthy relationship with sex. I was still with the IT department when her and Maria started sleeping together. Every single day, multiple times a day, like she couldn’t get enough. And she couldn’t. She had a meltdown the first time Maria told her to wait until after their mission debrief. I thought someone had died, she stormed out, slammed the door, didn’t come out of her quarters for two days. She was breaking down, Yelena.”

Yelena looks surprised, like she can’t imagine Natasha ever being in a position any less stable than she is now. You’re happy she doesn’t know what it was like to experience Natasha Romanoff before she’d decided to let the world into her heart again. It would’ve destroyed her to realize how truly broken she’d been all those years ago.

“I am asexual.” She says it again, and you nod just as acceptingly as you’d done the first time. “I was raped. I have sexual trauma, but that did not make me asexual. I was born this way. It is just who I am.”

“You were born this way. It’s who you are — at your best and your worst.” You parot, and a single tear leaks from Yelena’s eyes and she lets her forehead fall into yours. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.” You whisper, your lips brushing her cheek. Yelena shivers, she curls her fingers into your top. She holds you tightly against her chest.

“You don’t mean that.” Yelena whispers. It breaks your heart. She breaks your heart just as much as she fixes it. “There’s no way you could mean that.” Her voice is hoarse. Her eyes are wet.

“I mean it with every fiber of my being, Yelena Belova. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. I wouldn’t change a single thing about how we met, or this last year we’ve had together. None of it. I don’t need your body to have you. You’ve let me have the best and worst parts of yourself without it. What more could I ask for from you?” Your fingers curl into the hair at the name of her neck, and Yelena sighs softly as she deflates into your touch, nodding like what you’ve been telling her for months is finally, finally setting in. “And we both know I have my own methods.” You wiggle your eyebrows, and Yelena goes flush, chuckling softly as she dips her head and agrees that you definitely do have your methods with still finding pleasure.

“Yelena!” Natasha yells, and you shake your head. “Did you take the shot!” Yelena rolls her eyes, but glances down at the counter where you’d placed the counter. Her lips curve into a grin, and she reaches for it as she untangles her limbs from yours. You nod once, glance that she’s in better spirits already.

“Yes!” She calls back once it’s down her throat, and you laugh as she makes a face at you in the mirror as she reaches for your practically empty High Noon. Whatever was left is very quickly gone, and the can makes its way into the garbage can besides an empty bottle of Nair. Only Maria Hill would nail her legs. “I’m excited.” She tells you eventually, when she leans in close to the mirror and takes an eyeshadow brush to her waterline. She sketched in deep purple shadows, and you smile at her willful acceptance of the asexual flag. You know that once the novelty has expired and she doesn’t feel so fragile exposed she’ll find comfort in the community and freedom, but for now she’s just taking it one minute at a time.

“I’m excited.” You tell her, fixing the hem of your skirt. “Nat’s the best to come with. I’m thinking we let her and Maria blindly lead us around, and see how long it takes for her to get pissed that we're not keeping up quick enough.” You get caught in the purple eyeshadow. It’s captivating, but so are her eyes without it. Yelena smiles softly, her hands frame your face.

“YA tebya lyublyu.” She breathes, sweeping down to peck your lips. Your belly buzzes every time she kisses you, no matter if it’s intended to take your breath away or not. Yelena’s kisses are rare, beams of sunshine that spontaneously fall from the sky onto your skin. They’re not something she can give you a lot of the time, trauma to sift through still a priority ahead of romantic relationships, but when she finds the strength to have comfort in her own freedom your heart soars higher than all the lives lost to get here. Phil Coulson would adore Yelena Belova. You think she’d have a friend in him too.

“I love you more.” You whisper, dropping your head to her chest. You press a chaste kiss to her chest where the fabric of her t-shirt covers soft freckles. “So much more than you’ll ever know.”

“You know I do not like that.” Yelena frowns, and you laugh softly, inching out of her arms again to grab the gleaming silver knob in the door. “Natalia brought vodka?” She questions when it dawns on her that she’d never heard anybody leave.

“Yeah.” You snort and Yelena nods, something you only see through the reflection in the mirror before you pull the door open.

“Ah, I knew she would.” Yelena praises and you shake your head, guiding her down the hallway where Natasha and Maria are both working through the Jell-O shots. You assume they’ve made it their mission to individually try every flavor, so when Natasha hands you an orange one without any hesitation and Maria bats a yellow one at Yelena, neither of you hesitate. You trust that they know that you’ll like best, not that you’d complain either way.

“What’s that?” Natasha asks around a mouthful of Jell-O, swallowing after it’s off her tongue and the weight of her curiosity is distributed to Yelena.

“I am an asexual lesbian.” Yelena says simply, shifting her stance to show Natasha the asexual pride pin she’s secured to her shorts proudly. Natasha closes her eyes for a moment, slightly shocked that the first time Yelena’s brought up specifics for her sexuality it’s two terms she wasn’t even sure the blonde knew, but her heart swells with pride and you can tell by the way she shrugs haphazardly.

“Okay.” Natasha nods, and Yelena nods too before her eyes flicker to Maria seeking approval she didn’t know she wanted. Maria offers the same nonchalance and you can visibly see Yelena relax more than she has in the last month.

“Okay.” Yelena whispers softly, a smile on her lips that doesn’t dwindle once throughout the remainder of your day.

[chilling-seavey]

↳ A/N In some of my casual concepting I do in my spare time, this random blurb idea came out of it and I had to flesh it out to post because it genuinely [and embarrassingly] made me laugh out loud.

↳ Summary: Your curious two-year-old son discovers something he shouldn't.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 2.3k

↳ Warnings: Unedited. Mentions of adult related items in not adult situations, possible secondhand embarrassment, honestly it's just a good ol' lighthearted silly blurb

“You never realize how much useless stuff you have until you’re packing.”

George chuckled at your sentiment as he leaned against the open doorway to your shared bedroom, arms crossed over his chest and his skin tight work-out shirt. He had just returned from his early afternoon gym session — skillfully scheduled right over your two-year-old son’s nap time — and had found you amongst another round of attempting to pack up your Monaco apartment for your impending move. 

With a toddler and balancing George’s chaotic race schedule, it was hard to actually find time to dedicate to packing so you took any chance you could get. It was a slow but sure process; but also meant you were going to be living out of cardboard boxes for a few weeks. How glamorous. 

“As good a time as any to bin anything useless then.” George replied, watching you putter between the dresser and the half-filled cardboard box positioned on the foot of the bed. “Only important things are coming with us.”

Your freshly awake and quite lively two-year-old was blissfully exploring your bedroom, wobbling around your legs and into every corner as he babbled away to himself. His favourite toy car was clutched in one hand (he rarely went anywhere without it) as he peered into open drawers of the dresser and explored the half closed cardboard boxes neatly lined up by the wall. 

“The only important things I need are you two.” you replied to your husband with a proud smile. 

George’s eyebrows raised as a smirk pricked his lips and he pushed off the doorway to saunter farther into the room, “Oh, really? Well, then, we might as well just live in one of these boxes since we need nothing else but each other.”

You smiled back at him as he approached you, his hands navigating to your hips like second nature. Fiddling with the random cluster of wires you had pulled out of your bottom dresser drawer, you kept his tender eye contact as you replied to him softly, “As much as that is so appealing, I feel we may have Children’s Aid called on us.”

Before George could offer any sort of rebuttal, your toddler let out a giddy squeal from across your room followed by an adorable, “Uh oh!”

You both looked over quickly to see what he had gotten into now (foolish of you both to even take your eyes off him for more than three seconds), only to find your two year old beside one of the packed cardboard boxes, bottle of lube in hand. Except the bottle had been opened by his tiny nimble fingers and he was squirting the clear substance all over his hands and arms. That was NOT something either of you wanted your son to get a hold of.

Your eyes widened in sheer shock, “Oh-”

George felt his heart drop into his stomach, instantly moving away from you with a stern call of your son’s name followed by a, “No, no, no.”

He bent down beside the toddler and quickly grabbed him by the wrist to keep him from spreading the lube everywhere, his other hand snatching the now half-empty bottle from him. George looked back at you, shock and embarrassment written all over his face.

Despite the unideal situation, you couldn’t help the amused smile that threatened to spread across your face and you lifted a hand up to your mouth to try and hide the upturn of your lips.

“Yucky!” your son giggled, clapping his hands together to make the wettest slapping sound.

“Jesus.” George muttered with a shake of his head, reaching over the kid to set the slippery bottle on the bedside table for the time being. He had a toddler now smeared in lube to deal with first and, God, he didn’t know where to start. Staring down at the smiley kid, he directed to you (or the universe), “Why does he have to find the most embarrassing stuff to play with?”

You went back to trying to untangle the clump of cords as you offered half teasingly, “Maybe we should look into drawers that lock for our new house.”

“Yeah, maybe you're right. We should start locking up everything before he goes destroying the whole place before we are even moved in,” George said, a hint of resignation in his voice.

The little boy, with one wrist still in George's firm grip, reached out his other hand towards his father’s face, announcing proudly, “Slimy.”

George leaned his head back, out of the toddler’s reach, with a strained, “Oh, no. No, no, no, don't you dare-”

With an amused giggle, the toddler took his hand back and, instead, went to bring his little fingers to his mouth to taste. 

George saw what he was about to do and his eyes widened in horror. The last thing he needed was his son putting lube in his mouth.

“No, hey, stop that!” George exclaimed, quickly grabbing your son’s other wrist with his other hand to prevent him from touching his mouth. “You can't put that in your mouth, mate. It's all kinds of wrong. It's for adults only!”

Threading the cords through your fingers, you offered unhelpfully, “Well, it is safe for consumption, technically.”

George shot you a dirty look, only half truly exasperated, shaking his head in disbelief at your comment. Your attempt to hide your laughter wasn't going unnoticed.

“Oh, yeah, because that's reassuring,” he replied sarcastically, “Safe for consumption or not, our son does not need to be putting that in his mouth. Especially not while it's all over his hands like this!”

“Little one needs a bath, I think.” you said in a gentle voice.

George nodded in agreement, his annoyance quickly replaced by a resigned sigh. He hadn’t even had a moment to wash off from his gym session himself and now he had to deal with a lubed up toddler’s majorly required bathtime. 

“Yeah, you're right. He's made quite a mess of himself, hasn't he?” George said, still holding tight to your son’s tiny wrists to prevent him from getting more lube all over the place.

“Did you want me to bathe him?” you offered, easily noting the slight frustration in his voice.

“No, that’s alright, I can handle him.” George relented and cautiously let go of the little boy’s wrists so he could pick him up under the armpits and set him on his hip. He started to walk around the cardboard boxes towards the ensuite, speaking to your son in a stern but affectionate tone, “Alright, mate, let's get you clean. You're sticky and slimy, and Daddy's not too happy about it.”

He barely stepped foot in the bathroom when the little boy smacked a slimy palm against his father’s cheek with a giggle. 

George's eyes widened in shock and disgust, grabbing his wrist again with his free hand and a firm huff of your son’s name, “Ugh, seriously? That's gross!”

You spoke before you could think, a smirk playing at your lips at the entire situation, “You've had it in worse places.”

At your comment, George shot you a disapproving look over his shoulder, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of course, you had to bring that up at the most inopportune moment. Trying to keep his voice even as he continued into the bathroom, he replied with a flat, “Now is not the time for that kind of smartass remark, love.” 

Once they were inside the bathroom, George set the two-year-old down on the ground next to the bathtub. He turned on the water, making sure it was the right temperature before testing it with his hand, not bothering to interact with how the little boy smacked his greasy hands on the front of his shorts.

“Okay, buddy, let's get you cleaned up,” George said, still trying to sound stern despite the underlying amusement he felt from the whole situation. He started to take off the boy’s clothes, one piece at a time, while shaking his head in disbelief.

The little one squirmed, protesting with a little whine, “Nooo bath, Dada.”

George let out a sigh as your son protested against the bath, his toddler stubbornness making itself known once again. The joys of the terrible and trying twos.

“Oh, come on, mate, you need a bath. You're all sticky and slimy. You'll feel much better afterward, I promise,” he said, gently but firmly, trying to keep up a patient demeanor while he removed the last of his clothes. He folded them haphazardly and left them on the closed toilet lid beside the tub.

The toddler tried to put his fingers in his mouth again.

Once more, George caught his wrist just in time, “No, no, no, we don't do that. Keep your hands out of your mouth, you little rascal.”

Without wasting another second, George lifted the toddler up and into the bathtub and immediately submerged his hands to try and get the worst of it off. Of course, he would still need a scrub since the lube somehow got everywhere. George then grabbed a washcloth and started to lather it up with some baby-safe soap.

“You know, I never imagined I'd be bathing my two-year-old son in the middle of the day because he decided to play with lubricant,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief with a faint chuckle as he scrubbed the boy down. The irony of it all wasn't lost on him.

Unknowing what he was really talking about or meaning but still liking the soft tone of George’s voice, the little boy giggled along with him. George’s fingers raked through his son’s hair, only to find remnants of slippery lube somehow streaked through the soft strands too. 

“Yeah, it's funny now, isn't it? Just wait until you're a grown-up, and I tell this story at your wedding,” George teased in return to the clueless toddler, gently soaping up and rinsing the boy's hair. “We'll be talking all about the time you decided to turn yourself into a slimy, wriggly little mess by playing with mommy and daddy's private stuff.”

Soon, once the giggly little boy was sufficiently scrubbed and rinsed and clean, George drained the tub and wrapped him in a soft, fluffy towel.

“There we go, all clean and spiffy again.” he said, picking up the toddler and starting to dry him off with gentle pats.

Wrapped in the big fluffy white towel, the little boy looked so cute and tiny in his arms. He stared back at George with only his little face and a small tuft of damp hair poking out from the towel that nearly swallowed him, nothing but big blue eyes taking up most of his face. 

George couldn't help but melt at the sight of his son, all wrapped up in the towel, looking at him with those big, blue eyes that were his very own. It was moments like those that made all the stress and chaos and mess of parenting worthwhile. He cuddled his boy close, running his hand gently over the little one’s back over the thick fabric of the towel to keep him warm and dried.

“You're a little troublemaker, you know that?” George muttered against your son’s head before pressing a kiss to the same spot, “But you're my little troublemaker, and I love you.”

Content and warm and cozy, the little boy flopped his head onto his father’s shoulder.

George smiled and felt a warm, protective feeling fill his chest as the toddler leaned his head against his shoulder. He snuggled him closer with a soft and gentle voice, “Yeah, you're all cuddly now, huh? All that exploring and playing and bathing wore you out?”

When he carried the little one back out into your bedroom, you looked up from your packing, smiling fondly at the sweet sight of them. George, somewhat frazzled but still as handsome as ever with your son on his hip in a towel far too big for him but one that made him look ridiculously adorable. 

You greeted them softly, “There are my boys.” 

George walked over to you, his hands under the little one’s bum to hold him snuggled against his chest, his cheek resting atop his son’s head. 

“Yeah, here we are.” he said in a breathy sing-song voice, only ever used around your little one, “All cleaned up.”

Your son’s big blue eyes sought you out and he wriggled away from George’s chest to reach his tiny arms out from the towel towards you instead with a sweet call of, “Mama.”

“Come here, my little love.” you cooed, reaching for him in return. 

George passed him over to you, the exchange making the towel slip off the little boy’s body for a moment until you gathered it back from your husband’s hands and tucked it back around the toddler. George chuckled faintly at the sight of the little one just as naked as the day he was born and still searching for the comfort of your embrace.

When your son was snuggled up in your arms instead, you asked him sweetly, “What’s the big idea going through mommy and daddy’s things, hm?”

George tutted in agreement and made sure the towel was sufficiently wrapped around his little body to keep him from catching a chill. The toddler just smiled innocently and batted his long lashes at his father and clung onto your shirt. 

George shook his head, amused and charmed, “It's not fair. He's so sweet and adorable that it makes it difficult to stay cross with him.”

“He’s just a curious little explorer.” you said with a smile, peppering a few kisses to your son’s head. “Who can be cross with him for that?”

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