#I really think I need help but how. how do you get help for that. I can't trust anyone.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | southern drawl

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @itscalledastrategyfred) : how the grid reacts to a texan!driver!reader and her southern accent — from flustered blushing to terrible cowboy impressions and a whole lotta “yes, ma’am.” 🤠💬

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 2116

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : yall i missed the race cus i fell asleep... am i cooked?

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

gives you so much shit for your drawl at first.

“did you really just say y’all while threatening me?”

can’t stop smirking whenever you get riled up... especially when you say something like “i swear to god, i’ll whup your ass.”

fully imitates your accent when teasing you... and it’s terrible.

lowkey loves it though. it reminds him of daniel, in a way that’s nostalgic and soft.

once heard you say “darlin’” to someone and just froze for a second like okay, maybe this is the hottest thing alive.

pretends not to care but definitely perks up every time you say something country-coded.

yuki tsunoda

is very confused at first. “why do you sound like a cowboy?”

teases you constantly but in a very you’re my favorite person to annoy way.

starts mimicking your phrases just to make you laugh — “howdy” becomes part of his vocabulary purely to irritate you.

calls you “cowgirl” when you beat him in anything and grumbles when you call him “city boy” back.

secretly adores how unapologetic you are about it. says it makes you sound confident.

would 100% ask you to translate slang and then say it in his best impression just to see you roll your eyes.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

first time he hears you say “bless your heart,” he panics. “wait… is that… a good thing or not?”

tries to keep it professional but gets flustered when you throw a “yes, sir” his way with that southern sweetness.

definitely raises an eyebrow every time you drop a “y’all” during press, but secretly thinks it’s endearing.

once tried to imitate your accent on live tv and it came out as australian. never lived it down.

thinks it’s hilarious how you say things like “fixin’ to win this race” — quotes it back to you every chance he gets.

might tease you gently, but 100% defends your accent if anyone else makes fun of it. “it’s not weird, it’s hers.”

kimi antonelli

very confused at first but listens so intently whenever you speak — your accent is like a whole new language to him.

starts asking what everything means. “what is… ‘rode hard and put up wet?’”

tries to mimic you saying “howdy” once and instantly turned red when you burst out laughing.

quietly loves the way you talk. it’s soft and warm to him, even if you’re smack-talking.

calls you "texas" like it’s your nickname. “hey, texas. need help with your helmet?”

100% memorizes your slang and starts slipping it into conversations to make you smile.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

confused the entire first week. just stands there smiling while you say things like “i’m fixin’ to head out” and later quietly asks carlos what it meant.

blushes furiously the first time you call him “darlin’” — tries to play it cool but is visibly short-circuiting.

imitates your accent once during an interview and gets roasted online for how bad it was. “i wasn’t even that bad, right?” you nod slowly, hiding laughter.

starts calling you “cowgirl” in private, just to see you roll your eyes and smile.

says your voice sounds like “sunlight on hot pavement.” he’s a romantic.

lowkey tries to learn country music just to bond with you — gets too into kacey musgraves and now you catch him humming “slow burn” on race days.

lewis hamilton

absolutely obsessed. tells you it’s “the sexiest accent” he’s ever heard.

constantly asking you to say things again, slower this time — just so he can hear it twice.

you say “yes, sir” once and his whole soul leaves his body.

teases you when you get heated and slip into full-blown southern mode, but with the softest grin. “there she goes, my wild southern girl.”

absolutely convinced you two need to do a cowboy-themed photo shoot. insists on wearing the hat too.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

the second he hears your accent, he’s already planning impressions.

“well howdy y’all, ah’m fixin’ to win me a lil ol’ race today!” — said in the worst cowboy voice imaginable.

you threaten to fight him. he grins harder.

calls you “ma’am” dramatically and tips invisible hats at you in the paddock. you once slapped him with your water bottle.

has no idea that it’s kind of hot until you call him “sweetheart” mid-argument and he just shuts up entirely.

you catch him watching country tiktoks so he can learn phrases to throw back at you. he says it’s “research.”

may joke nonstop, but the second someone else mocks you? “nah, only i get to call her cowgirl.”

oscar piastri

didn’t expect to fall in love with your accent, but here we are.

says nothing when you speak, just blinks slowly and listens like it’s music.

every now and then you catch him smiling to himself after you say something super southern like “he ain’t got the sense god gave a goose.”

finds your little quirks adorable. “you just said ‘buggy’ instead of shopping cart,” he says softly, grinning.

doesn’t mimic your accent. not even once. too respectful.

will 100% ask you to teach him how to say certain phrases, then casually use them later to make you laugh.

you say “c’mere, sugar” once and he actually blushes. he’s so gone.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

pretends like he doesn’t care but he’s obsessed with your accent.

the first time you say something like “sugar, that was a rough quali,” he just stares for a second before going, “say it again.”

tries to mimic you with his own spanish accent and ends up sounding like a cowboy in a telenovela.

“how do you say it? y’all? yuhhhll?”

laughs at himself when you make fun of it but still keeps doing it because your eyes light up every time.

secretly loves how fiery you get when you're mad — especially when you let the accent fly. “you gonna kill me, cariño?” he teases.

absolutely calls you "cowgirl" in the most smug voice imaginable.

lance stroll

immediately thinks your accent is the cutest thing alive.

“you sound like a character from a movie. it’s awesome.”

gets super flustered when you call him anything sweet — “baby,” “darlin’,” “honeybun.” it kills him every time.

has a weird little canadian twang himself so when he tries to imitate you, it comes out like “howd-eh y’all.”

you cry laughing. he commits to it anyway.

lowkey loves how different you sound from everyone else — thinks it makes you magnetic.

tries to “cowboy up” next to you in interviews and fails miserably. “we’re a dynamic duo,” he says. “city boy and the wild west.”

ʚ・williams

alex albon

thinks your accent is the best thing ever, and won’t shut up about it.

constantly repeats your phrases back to you in a horrendous mock accent just to make you laugh.

“well shoot, sugar! i reckon we got ourselves a pole!” — said at full volume in the paddock.

you threaten to hit him with your boot. he tells everyone “she threatened me in southern again. it was so hot.”

teases you with names like “rodeo queen” and “yee-haw y/n” but goes feral the first time you call him “sweetheart” on comms.

100% starts saying “y’all” unironically. refuses to admit it.

tells his PR team you’re his “emotional support cowboy.”

carlos sainz

tries to act unfazed like “it’s just an accent” but his eyes go all soft when you call him “darlin’.”

loves hearing you talk — especially when you ramble. just nods along and smiles like he understands every word even when you say things like “that boy ain’t right.”

calls you mi vaquera under his breath when you walk away.

one time you called him “baby” and he blinked twice, turned red, and muttered “mi vida...” like a reflex.

doesn’t tease, but subtly flirts back in spanish until you’re the one blushing.

quietly practices a southern phrase or two just so he can surprise you later. you catch him whispering “fixin’ to win” before a race and nearly crash your scooter laughing.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

absolutely thrilled the first time he hears you speak. grins like a little menace and goes “wait, say that again.”

becomes obsessed with getting you to say weird southern phrases. “wait wait, what’s the one about biscuits and gravy again?”

mimics your accent constantly but in that annoying younger brother way. you threaten him with a tire gun. he laughs harder.

teases you with a fake lasso motion every time you walk into the garage. “woah there, cowgirl.”

once called you “ma’am” in a joking tone and you shot back with “watch your mouth, sugar.” he shut up immediately.

genuinely adores it though. thinks you’re the coolest person alive.

starts picking up your slang accidentally. pr catches him saying “fixin’ to” in an interview. he panics.

esteban ocon

acts completely unbothered at first. nods politely while you talk, no visible reaction.

but he’s so internally flustered.

one day you say “yes, sir” in that sweet, drawling tone and he just stands there blinking like you short-circuited his brain.

asks pierre what certain things mean later in private. “what’s a ‘hoot and a half’?”

doesn’t tease, but is very intrigued. tells people he likes how “unique” you sound.

once tried to say “howdy” as a joke but it came out awkward and overly French. he never attempted it again.

secretly loves when you call him something soft in that accent. might not say much, but his smile says everything.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

pretends to be unbothered but he’s fully gone the first time you say “darlin’.”

literally pauses mid-sentence when you call him “sweetheart” like… yeah. that’s it. you’ve got him.

teases you gently, but it’s always with heart eyes. “you really gonna charm everyone with that voice, huh?”

obsessed with how passionate you sound when you’re fired up. just lets you rant and watches, smiling like an idiot.

tells everyone “i don’t get the hype” and then immediately melts when you rest your boots on his lap.

absolutely wants you to teach him how to two-step. “for educational reasons.”

isack hadjar

chaos incarnate. tries to mimic your accent constantly and fails in the funniest ways.

“whatchu doin’, sugarplum?” he says. you throw a wrench at him. he ducks and cackles.

you start mimicking his french accent right back. “ohhh la la, baguette!”

you two are just rude to each other and completely in love about it.

insists on calling you “sheriff” like it’s your job title. even salutes you sometimes.

if you ever call him “baby” or “mon cœur” in your accent, he shuts up immediately.

secretly thinks your voice is the most comforting sound on earth, even when you’re yelling.

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

absolutely loses it the first time you call him something soft like “sugar.” full flirty grin, immediately flirting back.

“you keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna start fallin’ in love, mon amour.”

mimics your accent way too often and does it so dramatically it’s offensive.

“well HAW-DEE Y’ALL,” he says, strutting into the motorhome in your cowboy boots. you throw a towel at him.

turns every southern phrase you say into something scandalous.

“i’m fixin’ to fight you, pierre.”

“please do.”

but when you’re soft? when you call him “darlin’” and it’s not a joke? he’s quiet. maybe even a little breathless.

“don’t stop,” he mumbles. “say it again.”

jack doohan

acts cool at first but the second you hit him with a “yes, sir,” he’s toast.

blinks. stares at the floor. full body flush.

“you alright?”

“yep. yeah. mmhm.”

loves your voice but doesn’t tease. just listens. takes in every word.

gets kind of protective when people joke about your accent. “don’t be weird. it’s just how she talks.”

one time you called him “honeybun” in the middle of a race debrief and he messed up a tire strategy.

definitely the type to lowkey start picking up your phrasing — you catch him saying “reckon” once and he immediately denies it.

“i didn’t say that. you imagined it.”

he 100% said that.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

pretends he’s unfazed but absolutely notices every time you say something country-coded.

raises an eyebrow and goes “what does that even mean?” but secretly writes it down for later.

makes sarcastic comments like “you gonna ride a horse to the race next?” while absolutely staring when you wear boots to media.

calls you “cowgirl” in the driest voice imaginable but it makes you grin every time.

once heard you say “lord have mercy” under your breath and now repeats it back in a bad drawl just to mess with you.

claims he’s above it, but the second you call him “baby” in a sweet voice, he forgets how to speak.

accidentally got flustered once when you offered to teach him how to line dance. “oh. uh. yeah. maybe.”

gabriel bortoleto

fully enchanted from day one. like… heart-eyes level enchanted.

asks you a million questions. “wait, say that again? what does it mean when you say ‘bless his heart’?”

doesn’t mock, just listens with a little awe in his expression.

is super respectful, always like “you sound really cool” instead of teasing.

lowkey tries to learn southern slang so he can flirt back better.

once called you “sugar” in a heavy brazilian accent and you nearly fainted.

gives you that boyish grin and shrugs like “you started it.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[tojisteddy]

Mean nasty daddy simon when you try to rile him up? (The piss kink one made me..... realise stuff)

Feenin | cw: dark content, 18+ mdni, daddy kink (icky), meanie!simon/toxic (ish), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t try this at home folks), smol degregation, overstim, cunnilingus, edging (to hell), breath play, p in v, cum play, dd/lg dynamics, slight sub-drop, some after care, blackcat!reader

a/n: I’m sorry if this is too long. I just had a vision and had to map it out. Lmk what you think.

No one is surprised when Simon brushes you off.

He could be a complete and utter asshole, he’d brush off plenty of women in his day. Other women too. But he was doing it to you, his girlfriend. His precious kitty, who he sworn he cared deeply about.

All you wanted was for him to look at your outfit, tell you how pretty you look, hold your chin in his hand and adorn you with a peck on your pretty lip lined lips. But he simply gave you a glance and went on talking to Soap. You blinked, once, twice. He was kidding, right?

Not when you’d spent more than an hour curling your hair and getting it absolutely volumized and every curl in the perfect spot. Not when you’d picked out something undoubtedly sexy to have him eating out of your palm.

Did you look too uppity— god no. Never. A little slutty of course, a little minx— the way you liked it. The way the blonde, tattooed man should have. He does.

Soap gave you an apologetic smile, “You look great lass. Out ‘f a magazine.” And you did.

Who wouldn’t want to be with the girls out of a fashion magazine? Clearly not the man you’d actually want attention from.

“Thank you Soap,” you tried not to speak so tightly. with that, you turned, digging yourself out the small ditch you’d gotten stuck in— your feelings— and continuing to option D.

If the brute couldnt be bothered, you go seek attention else where.

It would never be your first option, or your second… or your third— the last resort— not since you’d been with Simon. But there was a rare occasion, like now, that ass hole would really try to make you mad. So you did what you had to do to get his attention. Show him what he was missing in the exact moment.

It was easy to get it too. You had the allure, pretty smile, a voice anyone would be at the edge of their seats to hear, enchant anyone with the sway of your hips to the music. It didn’t take long for you to find yourself sat next to some stranger at the bar. A fuck boy right of the bat, drowning you in compliments just as you wanted. But he was someone you and Simon both knew looked like the type you’d used to fuck.

Pretty, tall, too far gone up their own ass for their own good— men who looked right off of Paris Fashion Week.

The exact opposite of Simon Riley.

You were just playing at first. A little causal flirting never hurt anyone most of the time. A playful push of the shoulder, biting your long manicured nail and looking at him like he was the prettiest thing ever, a small giggle, playing with the necklace Ghost had gifted you so that the guy would look down at your perfect tits. No harm, no foul.

It was when he’d bought you a martini and coincidentally started talking about a show he was watching— your favorite show. You weren’t flirting anymore, you were fully indulging in deep conversation. Unknowingly making the guy think he had a chance against the rugged man who was staring you down now that you actually looked like you gave a shit about the man beside you.

You’d known Simon had to be watching by now. You felt it in your gut, those butterflies flying higher and higher. You couldn’t help that smug smirk that got on your face. The idiot beside you thinking it was for him.

Enough of the bullshit.

Simon stood from his seat, he didn’t need to yell, didn’t need to call out your name, didn’t even need to look directly at you. You saw him stand in the corner of your eye, then move towards the exit. You scramble to get up, eyebrows furrowing, your nose flaring. Not because you have to leave, because he didn’t give you the reaction you wanted.

He never did.

“Where you going? We were just having a good time right?” You-didn’t-even-know-his-name, asked as you double checked your purse.

“My boyfriend just left, we’re going home.” You say as if he should’ve already known that. Games over.

The drive home was quiet, so was the shower you too took together, and then he’s telling you to go to your room and think about what you did wrong. You didn’t even get the chance to refute it, he just went to his room— where you usually slept together— and shut it.

You woke up with a puffy face, you’d cried yourself to sleep before it even really got to the bad part. Your first instinct was to rush to where ever Simon was but you’d head the music from the garage blaring, so you knew it’d be harder to get your words out the way you wanted.

Push through it like Simon told you to.

So you occupied an hour or so of your time with other tasks, getting dressed just to stay in the house, eating the breakfast Simon left for you. Cleaning off the shelves of Simon’s large movie collection.

And here comes the hard part. Talking it out. Apologizing because you fucked up. Crossed the line.

“I’m sorry Pa,” you squeeked out over the music. And he knows you’re looking down on the floor, he can see you rocking in your little kitten heals from the corner of his eye, beyond nervous. But he doesn’t look up from the car he was tinkering with, just turns down the volume to the music. He doesn’t have to verbally say it, ‘for?’

“I’m sorry for flirting with that guy. I was- I was mad you didn’t pay attention to me. I wasn’t usin my brain like you tell me to. ‘Nd it’s not an excuse for bein tipsy.”

“No, no it’s not.,” he shuts the hood of the truck with a sigh. Moving over to wash his hands at the utility sink. He comes toward you, really taking you in— his gorgeous babe. You looked like the sexiest thing alive last night. Simon knew that. The asshole just likes fucking with you a little bit, get you riled up so he can fuck you. Tell you you’re the best thing in the world, his fucking girl. The blonde didn’t expect for you to play his game better than him. Get him jealous and pissed off.

His kiddo learned fast, didn’t you? Sweet thing. So loveable.

Flirting was a line never to be crossed with either one of you. You’d danced on it last night and the man would have to show you what that actually meant. But jeez, how fucking pretty did you look right now in your denim pencil skirt, cheetah print and lace cami, light make up just for a day in the house, gold hoops, your curls flowing down your back— the most adorable pout on your trembling, glossed bottom lip— he’d ruin it. Ruin you.

In the best way of course.

Simon holds your chin in his fingers, pecks your lips— you want to cry, you want to melt. It’s all what you wanted this whole time but you knew you can’t take, and take, and take. Someone’s gotta give.

“Dad’s gotta teach you to a lesson, doesn’t he kitty?”

You already want to say sorry again, maybe rewind and cancel out your prior actions and shake the sense into yourself. But you nod, tell yourself just to wait it out. Be a good girl for once.

“Yes sir.”

Simon wouldn’t let you cum.

The fucking demon, the bastard— had you running to grasp on to your own sanity.

He snatched your skirt off, spreading you thighs open on the hood of that old unfinished car Simon had been working on and ate. His tongue running through your folds, down to your hole, sopping up any of your sweet fluids that flowed out, making sure to catch every drop. Then slowly worked his tongue up to your fat clit. Swirling it around in his mouth before full on French kissing it.

Just when you felt your eyes cross, you tried to close your thighs that were pushed back with Simons large hands, that magical feeling coming to you— the blonde gave your cunt a harsh smack that got car wet from your juices.

“You’re not cumming that fuckin fast, are you?”

You want to scuff and shove his face away. But you’re trembling just from the thought of cumming. You wanted him to fuck the daylights out of you. “I-I’m fine.” You force out, turning your head away.

You so easily fall for the little bit of teasing. Simon’s little kitty, he’d fuck your little brain up. He’d continue eating away at you, sucking, rubbing, licking— until your mascara was smudged, tears falling from your face and not letting you cum.

But he was just getting started.

He fucked you againt the car, squeezing and pulling at your breasts through the seamless cami and then right as he felt you clench, with a smack to the ass, Simon would pull out. Stroking his own dick till he released all over ass. Then again, your leg over his shoulder, shoving all of his veiny cock in your sobbing pussy that was aching for release. Pulling away and cumming on your stomach. In between your thighs, right on your fucking pussy. Not giving a fuck that he worked it into you when he fucked you again.

And now, you’re on the ground, knees scrapping the concrete of the ground while he fucks you, rough. His hands gripping your hips enough to leave a bruise. You can feel it building inside your stomach, you shimmy your ass against Simon for more but you know he won’t give it to you by the swat he leaves on your ass, going to rub your more abused and misused clit.

Your sobs were loud, clawing at the ground, you babble, “Daddy, I wanna-“

“Shut it.”

“But-“

“[+],” he warns through a grunt, yanking his dick out of you again and you shake you head. Like a child who’s gotten their favorite toy taken away, crying even harder. Simon’s hand goes back and forth against his shaft, and holding you tightly by your hair.

“Spent all that time last night, talkin that pricks head off, now you’re gonna shut the fuck up for me. Be my little sex doll, yeah?” Simon rubs the tip of his dick on your ass, then in between the two globes, shuddering at how good you made him feel. His cum spurting all over you. He thrusts his dick a couple more times, making sure it’s properly smeared.

He groans at the sight of you, it’s fucking filthy the mess he’s created on you, dripping down to the floor.

“Hold y’self open for me.” Your hands aren’t even steady anymore, you’re quivering. You reach behind, your manicured nails spreading your pussy lips open. And it’s like if you stared at the sun for too long, seen Jesus rise from the tomb— your pink insides, glistening with his cum and your shining slick.

“Stay there.” And then you hear his footsteps going away and the door to the garage that’s connected to the house, close.

“Daddy, I don’t- I can’t-“ you stumble over words, but there no immediate response. In fact there’s no response at all. Just the sound of the breeze, music low from when Simon turned it down, cars passing in the distance, you can’t even hear the tv in the living room. It’s silent— like he’s gone.

And you wrack your brain, your eyes start to glisten— what if he’s gone and he doesn’t come back? What if your left here and someone comes and sees you in this state?

The embarrassment builds, worry, you’re scared— “Daddy! I can’t do this anymore- please! I’m sorry!” You keen, still unmoving, just in case he changed his mind. He’d come for you. You wanted to be good.

And then, you hear the sound of a car pulling up. Not passing, it’s coming through the paved brush, and soon it’ll come up go the house. They’ll get out for car—

Someone’s gonna see you like this, your skirt god knows where, heels in two different places while you were a disheveled, stupid and fucked out mess. You plop down on the ground, your hands in your lap, one hiccup comes out— and right on queue, the garage door comes down. The dam breaks open.

The delivery driver doesn’t see you. He goes straight to the front door. Your favorite food in hand because the blonde knows his sweet girl needs a treat after this punishment—

“Everything alright sir?” The delivery driver asks.

“My kids just ‘avin a little cry,” no a big one, your sobs were echoing loudly. Even to where they stood. The delivery man gave an understanding nod and went about his way. Ghost placed the food down on one of the end tables and immediately went to you.

You feel arms wrap around you, pulling you close. You try to shove them away but he holds onto you tighter. Snaps in your face and you finally open your puffy eyes. Lashes clunked together as you struggle to look at the big man holding you’.

“Fuckin ‘ell, hey look at me, look at me,” and he turns your head to look at him, “I’m right ‘ere. Daddy’s right here.” Simon lifts you holds you against his firm chest.

“Y-youuu, left Daddy. You left!” You get out through your hiccups and ragged voice. Clutching onto his shirt.

“Just like you did to me last night, right? Dad doesn’t like when you go runnin off like that, do I?”

“No sir, ‘m sorry. I wasn’t good- I was bad.”

Simon brushes your curls back, planting a soft kiss to your cheek, coaxing you, “You just made a mistake ‘s all. It’s okay. You’re okay. You learned your lesson.”

Your concept of time is off, you don’t even realize Ghost has now put you on the bed, gently placing you on all fours, he rubs the fat of your ass, down to your thighs. Then angles himself to your hole, “Gonna let you cum once, okay? Did fuckin perfect for your Daddy, gotta treat you.”

Ghost sinks into your heat, deep, snug— just as he molded you pretty cunt. Ghost is slow this time. Immediately thrusting into your g-spot, the sound of your thighs clapping against each other bounces off the walls. You mewl, arching your back further into him. Drool starts forming down your mouth and Simon wipes it, just before covering your mouth.

“Shhhhh, just feel it kitty. You got it. S’okay.”

You can’t breath— you try through to through your nose but it’s not helping going straight to your brain. It makes you dizzy, while you moan out Simons name in muffled cries while he drives you further and further to the brink of your first orgasm of the night.

Simon gives you one last thrust, and that’s what it takes for you to unravel around him. And it’s fucking euphoric, earth shattering. Life changing. You let out a scream, muffled by Simons hand. Your gooey walls gripping onto his cock. The man finally lets you go and you fall against the mattress, chest heaving up and down, as your legs shake, tears drops falling against the sheets. Simon kisses your scalp as you shake, he mumbles, “Did so good for me doll. Took your punishment so well. Knew you could, so proud of you.”

You hiccup, eyes finding him as he slowly slides out from you. Throwing his pants on and then going over to the pile of stuffed animals you had on the floor. He lifts your two go to’s. A Miffy rabbit or the stuffed stripped tiger.

“Miffy or George?” And you sniffle, eyes slowly blinking at the two objects he’s holding out.

You point, “G-eorge.” Your voice is shot for sure. Ghost would worry about that later.

“Yeah? Fuckin good choice kitty.” He hands you the stuffed animal. Kissing your full lips, once, twice.

“Gonna clean you up, alright? Go to sleep, Daddy’s got you.”

Your eyes flutter shut, cuddling onto George tight, “Okay Daddy.”

a/n: if you ever wonder why it takes me so long to do requests. This is why. I do it for the plot. I need plot. Istg I’m writing it, I just gotta have the vision and proper inspo. This was fun to write tho. Luv you babes lots.

most recent masterlist more meanie!simon.

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @mims900

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Show a Character Who Believes They’re the Villain in Everyone Else’s Story

╰ Behavioral Red Flags

They assume the worst intentions in themselves, even when they act out of love. They brought you coffee? Probably just guilt. They helped you move? Must be manipulating you so you "owe" them later. (They just care. But they can't believe that's true.)

They over-apologize for existing. You bump into them and somehow they’re the ones apologizing, looking like they've personally inconvenienced your entire bloodline.

They self-monitor everything. Every joke they make. Every word they say. Every look they give. Constant little glances at people's faces, desperate for signs that they’ve messed up again.

They let people treat them badly because they think they deserve it. Rudeness? Sure. Being overlooked? Of course. Public humiliation? Absolutely par for the course. Standing up for themselves feels wrong, like a thief demanding a refund.

They preemptively distance themselves when things get good. Got a close friendship brewing? Time to pull away before they find out I'm terrible. New romance? Better end it now before they hate me.

They assume jokes about "bad people" are secretly about them. "You know those selfish jerks who never change?" someone says. Their inner monologue: That’s me. They mean me.

They play up their flaws. Self-deprecating humor, but not cute self-roasting, deep, almost aggressive, like they’re trying to hand you the knife before you even think about stabbing.

They struggle to accept forgiveness. Apologizing feels natural. Being forgiven feels alien. Like wearing shoes on the wrong feet.

╰ Thought Patterns That Wreck Them

"Even when I try to do the right thing, I mess it up." Trying doesn't absolve them. Trying just delays the inevitable hurt they’ll cause someone else."People are nice to me because they don't know who I really am." Kindness isn't acceptance to them — it's a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode when the "truth" comes out.

"If someone is angry at me, they must be right." They don't even question it. Anger directed at them must be justified. They deserve it.

"If I succeed, it's by accident. If I fail, it's because I suck." Zero credit for wins. Full credit for losses. The math of their self-esteem is so rigged it should be illegal.

"If I ask for help, I'm manipulating people." Needing something feels like emotional blackmail in their mind. Better to suffer in silence than risk "forcing" someone to care.

╰ The Tiny Physical Tells

Laughing after their own serious statements, as if to soften the blow of speaking honestly.

Keeping their hands visible when talking (subconscious "I'm not a threat" behavior).

Flinching when someone raises their voice, even if it’s not directed at them.

Making themselves physically smaller—shoulders hunched, arms crossed, shrinking into themselves like they can disappear if they just try hard enough.

Dropping eye contact when complimented.

Holding their breath without realizing it when waiting for someone's reaction.

╰The Relationships They Gravitate Toward (And Why):

Fixer-Upper Friendships: They think they have to earn affection by being useful, by helping, by being "the strong one."

Unbalanced Dynamics: They let people use them because "at least I'm being helpful, even if they don't actually care about me."

Romantic Partners Who Validate Their Worst Fears: They often fall for people who treat them like they’re a burden—because it matches the script in their head.

Or... Relationships That Terrify Them: Because if someone genuinely loves them, they’re always waiting for the moment that person "wakes up" and sees the "monster" they believe themselves to be.

╰ How They Might Heal (If They’re Lucky)

(And if the author isn’t an emotional sadist. 👀)

A relationship where mistakes are allowed, not punished.

Someone calling them out, not for being bad, but for being unkind to themselves.

Tiny acts of trust that stick over time, slowly poisoning the idea that they’re inherently toxic.

Learning that being flawed and being villainous are not the same damn thing.

Being told, over and over, "You don't have to earn love by being perfect."

[nightingale-prompts]

Phantom is so Moody

"I don't even understand what I am. I'm a clone so I can't age. But what does it even mean to be a clone? I'm not 100% Superman but I'm still nit like him or Lex? I wasn't born like a normal person so does that mean I don't have a soul?" Kon ranted.

Danny the muti-dimensional godlike being the team had contracted into being their aid slowly shuffled from under his mountain of blankets and pillows and yawned.

"What are you talking about?" He drawled lazily. "Of course you have a soul.

"But I'm like artificially made in a lab." Kon retorted.

"And? So what? Are you telling me I'm wrong?" Danny challenged " Hey stupid, everything has a soul. You, your friends, animals, a tree, a fucking blade of grass, even a kid's toy. If it has energy it has a soul. I'm not talking metaphorically, I mean literally. Souls are a real tangible thing and I will eat your soul if you don't put some food on my sacrificial altar. Also, get therapy."

Kon much like the others had gotten used to Danny. He was mostly all bark and no bite.

As Kon headed to the kitchen to get the god his post-nap snack he heard Danny speak again.

"Also, you can age. Who told you that you couldn't? Age isn't anything but the slow decay of atoms. You are aging. You just aren't changing because your body is so new. Given enough years it'll start to show. Then you'll be no different from anyone else. Granted Superman's race also grows differently. You are so fucking dramatic. You are fine the way you are." The godling huffed, "Ancients, you guys are annoying. You treat existence like it's torture and you'll bearly understand how blessed you are to exist simply because of how un-ideal it is. Look shit sucks, it sucks most of the time but human suffering is caused by humans. You are torturing yourself with all these what-ifs and angst. Just stop caring."

Danny wasn't saying all this to be comforting. He rarely does stuff like that. If anything he was ambivalent to Kon. It still made him feel better though. One thing you could trust about Danny was that he was honest. He could even be helpful considering his job was to be a living encyclopedia of information from beyond the pale. He has always been an asset if you can wake him up from his days long naps.

****

"You sleep all the time." Raven complained.

The Titans were here this time. They needed something from Danny. Something about having to seal a threat away.

"Just death being shy." Danny mumbled curling up on his raised platform. "Now go away."

Raven pulled out a smudge stick of white sage when Nightwing silently held up a hand to stop her.

"Phantom, look we need your help. This issue needs your assistance. We just want info on how to seal this threat properly." Nightwing said.

"Ask Constantine."Danny whined back as he shuffled deeper into his blanket cocoon.

"Unfortunately he can't help. This is Darkseid—"

"WHERE IS HE?"

Immediately he was wide awake. You see there are few things to stir Phantom to his full attention. He isn't inactive out of pure laziness. He lets the hero do their thing and he helps when he thinks it's appropriate. But he will not let anything or anyone harm the planet

*****

"He really doesn't like people," Impulse whispered to Aqualad.

"I still don't understand how the Justice League managed to get in contact with him let alone sign a contract with him. " Aqualad answered.

"Flash said he was pretty easy to convince. Hell he said that Phantom was so docile he let Wonder Woman carry him around. Now he'll practically snap of your hand if you touch him."

"Emm...think about it he must have just been really weak back then. If he was injured badly enough maybe he—"

"Stop talking."

*****

"I still don't trust you. What is your game?" Raven said sternly.

A being with origins like Phantom couldn't really be helping them out of the kindness of his heart. What did he gain from this contract.

"You assume you are worth games."

"Were you sent by my father?"

"Your father, Trigon? That nuisance? A petty demon like that having any say over me? I'd crush him if I ever saw him. He claims to have conquered a billion worlds. That alone makes me want to destroy him. No one OWNS a world. If anything I own all worlds. No one touches my universe, all universes are mine. And if people would just stop touching my stuff I wouldn't be here." Phantom growled furiously.

"So you are just like him." Raven hissed in anger.

"Like I said. I own it. It is my domain. My realm. So no one can destroy it. No one can control it. I make it. Every star, every planet, every person is a product of chaos. It is the universal law. I keep my chaos in check. Trigon, Darkseid, Anti-Monitor—I don't care. If they touch what is mine I will destroy them."

"Anti-Monitor?"

Phantom curled his lip in anger then relaxed.

"He is someone you don't need to be concerned about. Not anymore." Phantom sighed. "Just know; I don't care what you think of me. I only care about keeping things the way they should be. I'd prefer if you didn't trust me."

Raven narrowed her eyes in thought before she relaxed. Then a small smile appeared on her lips.

"No. I think I can trust you."

Phantom immediately frowned. This wasn't the response he wanted.

"I think you are doing this on purpose. I think you want us to dislike you." Raven teased "Phantom do you perhaps have a heart?"

Phantom just sighed, his cheeks were greenish hue. He was blushing. Then went back to his dais to sleep.

****

Phantom was certainly a prickly guy. He was sweet deep down. Everyone could tell after a while. It didn't help that Wonder Woman always gave as good as she got.

"Answer the question Phantom. No cryptic riddles either." She said climbing the dias.

Phantom scrambled to escape as she grabbed him by the ankle and held him upside down.

"That's not fair! Kronos said I didn't have to answer this one. I have permission to tell you wherever I feel like."

"Oh? Then how about not having snacks on your offering plate? We'll burn nothing but vegetables until you tell me."

"How dare you! That's child abuse. You'll be starving me."

"You don't even need to eat."

"I still taste everything you burn. That's force-feeding. That's bad too."

"Just tell me!"

"Fine!" Phantom grumbled "Trevor Barnes...didn't pass over yet. He waits for you in the realms between. You shouldn't know that though. He doesn't want you to know."

"Why wouldn't he—"

"Because he wants you to live for yourself. He wants you to love again. You have a long life ahead of you and he didn't want to hold you back with his memory. Although he contradicted himself because he still wants you to think of him fondly."

Phantom phased through Diana's grasp and retreated to his lair.

****

Phantom was like a stray cat or maybe a spoiled one. He was wary of most people.

But even the most moody cat likes at least one person.

"Phantom I—"

"What do you need?"

Tim had entered the chamber only half expecting Phantom to be awake. Though Phantom was always awake when Tim entered. He guessed he was lucky since he didn't have talk to empty space.

"Eh, nothing. I got put on sacrifice duty. I brought some Bat Burger and cookies from home. I'm warning you now that Wonder Woman said you have to eat a serving of vegetables. So I'm burning them first." Tim placed the steamed vegetables on the offering plate and before he tossed them into the green fire he felt the cold hand of Phantom wrap around him.

"Don't." He said softly.

"It's just broccoli and cauliflower," Tim said still putting it on the electrum disk.

"Don't wanna," Phantom whined petulantly holding Tim in place. His head buried in his shoulder.

"You big baby." Tim sighed.

If anyone saw this interaction they'd be disgusted. The oh-so-great and moody god is l acting like a soft and pitiful little guy. Phantom seemed to have such a unique fascination with Red Robin. To the point he acts completely different if Tim was in the room.

"Two-faced." Kon mumbled as he watched Phantom readily answered Red Robin's every question without complaint.

"He's always like that," Tim said afterward " It's probably because I was the one to help form the contract with him when he was summoned here. The League treated him like a threat when it wasn't his fault he was here. He just wants to keep his distance but he is the same age as us."

"He is?" Kon asked astonished.

[strangerexee]

(1) ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ɢɪᴀɴᴛꜱ | ᴇʟɪᴀᴊʜ "ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ" ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ

𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽!𝙶𝙰𝙽𝙶!𝙰𝚄

pairings: Elijah "smoke" Moore x black!fem!reader

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 | 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐/𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 | 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎/𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 | 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜 | 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 (𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜), 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 ��𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝-𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚢 | 𝚃𝚆𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 | 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

You weren’t even supposed to be out that night.

Whole week had been trash — your boss on your ass, car acting stupid, apartment loud as hell with neighbors fighting through the walls.

You needed a break.

So when your girls hit you up — “Bitch, we outside tonight, put some heels on” — you said yes.

You didn’t even think twice.

Short dress. Glossy lips. The kind of heels that said you might make a bad decision if the right man breathed on your neck.

The club was packed — lights flashing, bass thumping deep in your chest — and you felt yourself finally breathe when you got a drink in your hand and a song you loved came on.

You were dancing, laughing, living your little free life — when you felt it.

Eyes.

Heavy.

Watching.

You turned your head — slow — and caught them across the room.

Two of them.

Tall. Built like trouble. Dark eyes gleaming under the lights like wolves in the woods.

And fine?

God help you.

One leaned back against the wall — arms folded, chewing on a toothpick — looking at you like he already knew what you tasted like.

The other was talking to some girl, but his eyes? Still on you.

You swallowed — heart hammering.

Your friends screamed when the song switched — dragging you further onto the dancefloor — but you kept glancing back.

Who the hell was that? You couldn't really tell.

Fast-forward twenty minutes — you outside cooling off, drink in your hand, scrolling on your phone.

And he stepped to you.

The one from inside.

Black jeans. Black hoodie. Gold chain swinging. Those heavy-lidded eyes eating you alive.

“What’s your name, lil’ mama?” he said, voice low and slow.

You squinted up at him — heart pounding — but your mouth moved faster than your brain.

He was tall in that way that made you straighten your spine, hoodie hanging loose on that broad-ass frame like it was clinging for dear life. Gold glinted at his neck, catching the low streetlights, and the way his eyes moved—

Slow. Unhurried. Heavy-lidded like sin itself.

He wasn’t blinking. Wasn’t smiling either. He was watching.

And it was doing something to you that your little glossed-up, club-ready self hadn’t prepared for.

You scoffed lightly, not letting your eyes linger too long on his mouth, or his hands—veined, tatted, big enough to make your thighs press a little closer.

“Who, me?” You sipped your drink. “I don’t know you like that, sir.”

That “sir” was sweet. Smart. Maybe a little sharp.

And it made his jaw tick.

He dragged his tongue across his teeth, slowly, like he liked the way you tasted already.

“You gon’ know me,” he said. “Sooner or later.”

Lord.

He didn’t say it loud. Didn’t say it with a smile.

Just…stated it. Like gravity. Like fact.

You swallowed hard and tried not to show how hot your neck was getting.

He took a step closer.

Not enough to scare you. Just enough for the space between you to feel smaller. Warmer.

You leaned back against the wall casually, trying to play it cute—but your pulse was thudding. Your friends were still inside, probably throwing ass to the beat, and you were out here flirting with a man who could’ve been the devil’s body double.

“What’s your name?” you asked, voice smooth.

He smirked—but barely.

“Smoke.”

“That your real name?”

“Nah. But it’s the one you need to remember.”

You hummed, glancing down at your phone. Trying not to melt.

You had heard the name before. People whispered about him.

And his brother, Stack.

The Moore twins.

Trouble in two different fonts.

But Smoke? Smoke was the one they said moved different. Quieter. Crueler.

The one you didn’t want mad.

He didn’t act out.

He handled shit.

And here he was. In your face. Asking your name like it wasn’t probably already in his notes app under “sweet lil’ thing in that pretty dress.”

“You dangerous?” you asked him, tilting your head.

“What you think?” he said, voice low. “I look dangerous to you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Didn’t need one.

Because the way your lashes dipped told him plenty. The way you bit the inside of your cheek, looked away real quick like you weren’t all hot in the chest…

Yeah. He knew what time it was.

But still—you had the final move. And you weren’t about to let him play you into giving it all up like a dumb little groupie.

So instead—you smiled.

Real pretty.

You put your hand out slow, took his phone when he offered it, and dropped your number in.

Just your first name. Nothing more.

He looked down at it like it was gold.

And when you handed it back—you leaned in. Light. Soft.

Kissed his cheek.

“That’s all you getting tonight, smoke.”

And then you turned—heels clicking, dress swaying—walking right back into the club like you hadn’t just left the king of the damn city standing there with your number in his hand and a smirk blooming slow on his face.

He didn’t even chase you.

Just watched.

You woke up in your bed with one heel still on and glitter in your eyelashes.

Head pounding.

Mouth dry.

Phone buzzing.

“Ughhh…”

You rolled over and squinted at the screen.

Smoke (Mobile) 9:07 AM.

Hell no.

You tossed the phone face down and curled back under the blanket. Mind still foggy with club lights and too many tequila shots, feet sore from dancing in heels you should’ve thrown out two summers ago.

The night felt like a dream.

A blur.

Except him.

You remembered him crystal clear.

That voice. That smirk. That goddamn cheek kiss you gave him like some sweet lil’ Southern belle.

You groaned into your pillow.

Why did you do that?

Phone buzzed again.

Smoke (Mobile) 9:12 AM.

Back-to-back?

You side-eyed the screen, biting your lip.

And then—

Third call.

Smoke (Mobile) Incoming Call…

You stared.

Then finally hit ignore.

“Sir, it’s not even 10am,” you muttered, dragging yourself upright.

You made it to the kitchen, sipping orange juice straight from the bottle like a menace, still in last night’s dress with one strap slipping off your shoulder.

You rubbed your temples, then your phone dinged.

Unknown Address shared a location with you.

Your stomach flipped.

No name. No message.

Just a red pin hovering over your damn building.

You froze.

Then another message dropped.

“Come open the door”

No punctuation.

No emojis.

Just that.

Your eyes snapped to the door.

Was he joking?

You tiptoed over, heartbeat in your damn mouth. Peeked through the peephole.

And there he was.

Black hoodie. Hood up. Leaning against the wall like he owned the entire floor. One hand in his pocket. Other hand holding his phone. Head down.

Smoke at your damn front door like he’d lived there his whole life.

You didn’t even think.

Just unlocked it.

He looked up when it clicked open — and that slow, heavy gaze rolled over you like smoke under a door.

“Damn,” he muttered, eyes dipping down your body. “You always look like this in the morning?”

You pulled the door open wider and stepped aside, blinking up at him.

“How the hell you know where I stay?”

He stepped in without answering, brushing your shoulder — his presence thick — that quiet heat pouring off him again.

He looked around slow. Clocked your messy counter, the couch, the half-dead plant in the corner.

“You live alone?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, arms crossed. “You still ain’t answer—”

“I will get to that,” he said, low. “I asked a question.”

You stared at him, mouth open.

He just smirked.

“Relax,” he said. “Ain’t like I kicked the door in. You let me in.”

Damn.

You did let him in.

Something about the way he stood — tall, calm, like a storm in a hoodie — made your mouth dry.

You cleared your throat.

“I need a shower.”

“Go ahead,” he said, tossing himself onto your couch like it belonged to him. “I’ll be here.”

You blinked.

He pulled his hood down, leaned back, spread his legs — just making space. His gold chain caught the light. His eyes flicked to you.

“Go on, baby. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You stood there like a deer in headlights, every nerve buzzing.

You turned and headed to the bathroom — lowkey speed-walking — and locked the door behind you.

Your back hit the wood. Chest rising and falling.

Why was this man in your house?

More importantly—

Why did it feel good?

You stripped, hot all over, and stepped into the shower.

Let the water run over you while your mind raced.

He was sitting on your couch.

Comfortable.

Knowing damn well you were naked in the next room.

And your heart was pounding like you liked it.

You stepped out, dripping, towel wrapped around you, and cracked the door open to peek.

He was still there. Phone in hand. One knee bouncing slow.

“You good?” he called out, not even turning around.

“Yeah…”

You closed the door fast and leaned against the sink.

He didn’t knock.

Didn’t ask to come in.

Just showed up.

Showed up and sat there like he belonged.

And maybe that was the scariest part.

Because some twisted, hungover, half-dressed part of you?

Kinda wanted him to.

Anyway —

You weren’t about to be that girl. Walking out in a towel like you ain’t have an ounce of sense. He was fine, yeah. Dangerous, yes. Built like everything you knew you should run from…

But still.

You had dignity.

Even if you did keep looking at yourself in the mirror—checking your face, adjusting your curls, heart thudding like you had something to prove.

You took your time. Went out the bathroom and into your bedroom.

Lotioned slow. Fresh pair of panties. Cotton shorts. Cropped tank top, soft and snug, your favorite one that always sat just right.

Simple. Cute. Still had a little “you can leave if you want, I ain’t pressed” to it.

Even though you were very much pressed.

You stared at the door for a second.

Took a breath.

Then turned the knob and stepped out.

The scent of your vanilla body cream followed you like a cloud as you moved through the hallway—each barefoot step slow, hesitant, but steady.

And there he was.

Smoke.

Exactly where you left him.

Leaning back into your couch like it was a throne. Legs spread. One arm tossed over the backrest. Phone gone now—he was looking at you.

Eyes dragging from your face, to your neck, to your waist, to your thighs.

Slow.

Like he was learning you.

“You clean?” he said, voice low, warm.

You nodded once.

“You still here?”

He smirked.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

“You mad about that?”

“I ain’t say that.”

He nodded, eyes never leaving yours.

“But you thought about it.”

You shrugged, stepping into the kitchen to pour a glass of water—partly to distract yourself, partly to avoid looking back at him.

He watched you move, the way your shorts hugged your curves, the way your fingers curled around the glass.

“You let all strangers up in your spot like this?”

“You a stranger?” you asked, turning to lean against the counter.

His lips curved.

“Not after last night.”

You swallowed and sipped slow, heart tight in your chest.

"I kissed your cheek — you're acting like we fucked."

He wasn’t loud.

He wasn’t boastful.

But something about the way he said it — like you were already his — made your skin hum.

“So,” you said, setting the glass down. “You just…decided to pull up? No warning?”

“You ain’t answer the phone,” he said simply. “You gave me your number, yeah? Thought that meant something.”

You squinted.

“So you tracked me down?”

“Didn’t have to,” he said. “You know how many people know you? Or watch you? You too pretty to be out here thinking nobody’s paying attention.”

That made your breath catch.

And he saw it.

He leaned forward a little, elbows on his knees, voice dropping deeper.

“Don’t matter how late you leave. Don’t matter what you post or what you don’t. Eyes on you. Always. I’m just the first one to say something about it.”

You didn’t know if you were flattered or terrified.

Maybe both.

But you crossed your arms, trying to act cool.

“You always this intense?”

“Only when I want something.”

That shut you up.

Because that gaze? That posture?

He didn’t look like he wanted your number anymore.

He wanted you.

And not in some quick, messy way.

No.

He wanted to pull you. Keep you. Figure out how your day started and ended. Learn what made you tick. Put his name in your phone and in your mouth, just to hear how it sounded.

He wanted to sit on your couch with his hood off and his legs wide and look at you like you were already home.

And it was scaring you.

Just a little.

“You hungry?” you asked finally, voice smaller than you meant.

He leaned back, eyes raking over you again.

“I’m good. Unless you cooking.”

“You ain’t getting all that today, sir,” you said, smiled a little. “I’m still hungover.”

“I could fix that.”

You gave him a look.

He just chuckled — low and short — like he already knew he’d wear you down eventually.

And maybe he was right.

Because when you sat down across from him, arms still crossed, biting the inside of your cheek —

You didn’t tell him to leave.

But the quiet stretched out thick between you.

Not awkward — but heavy. Heavy like smoke after a fire. The kind of silence that made your skin itch ‘cause you felt like you were supposed to be doing something, saying something — but he was doing just fine saying nothing.

His eyes moved slow when he looked at you.

Not greedy, but precise.

Like he was trying to clock your tells. Your tics. The way you blinked when you got nervous. The little tongue poke when you were being smart.

Made you wanna fidget.

But you didn’t.

You sat on that couch, one leg crossed over the other, arms still tucked under your chest like a shield, trying not to let your eyes drop to the gold chain hanging loose around his neck.

That chain was disrespectful.

“So what you do?” you asked finally. “For work. For money. Or is that a rude question?”

Smoke snorted low — amused.

“What I do,” he said, dragging the word out, “ain’t always something you ask in daylight. Especially not when you still smell like vanilla body oil and got your knees showin’.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Sir—”

“But since you asked,” he cut in, “I got a few things. People call. I handle it.”

“So vague.”

“You want details, or you want the truth?”

“Both.”

He smiled—slow, lazy, like it tasted good in his mouth.

“Truth is, I move weight. Truth is, I don’t clock in nowhere. Truth is…” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, head tilting just slightly. “I don’t let nobody tell me what to do. Been that way since I was fourteen.”

You blinked.

He didn’t sound like he was bragging. No hype, no theatrics. Just matter of fact. Like he knew what he was and wasn’t about to apologize for it.

“So you are perilous.”

“I’m useful.”

“That what they call it now?”

“Only when I’m being nice,” he said, eyes dipping low as he glanced over your body again, “which I usually ain’t.”

You felt your breath catch. Again.

God, this man was good.

“I feel like I should tell you I don’t get down with all that,” you said, voice light, deflecting. “I like peace. Quiet. I like my little paycheck and my little business and my little sanity.”

“And yet,” he said, “you still gave me your number.”

Damn.

He had you there.

You leaned back, lips pursed.

“You’re real sure of yourself.”

“Nah,” he said. “I’m just sure about you.”

You looked away.

Because what the hell do you say to that?

No man ever told you that before—not like that. Not like he meant it.

Not like he already decided that the two of you were something, and your mouth just hadn’t caught up yet.

“You ever get tired?” you asked. “Of acting like nothing scares you?”

“You ever get tired of pretending you don’t like when I act like that?”

You snorted, surprised.

“You good at reading people?”

“I’m good at reading you.”

That stopped you. Again.

You felt your arms uncross before you even realized you were doing it.

Like some part of you was already surrendering.

Your voice was softer when you said, “Why me?”

Smoke let that question sit.

Then —

“’Cause you smart. Real smart. But messy with it. Like you trying to keep it together and falling apart at the same time.”

You blinked.

Hard.

“And you pretty,” he added. “But you don’t lead with it. You act like it ain’t your weapon. That’s cute. Dangerous too.”

Your throat got tight.

“And I like the way you talk. Mouth slick. You got fight in you. But your eyes? They stay looking for something. You tired, but not done yet.”

His voice dropped.

“I like that.”

You weren’t sure what emotion was creeping up your chest, but it was hot. Heavy. A little scared, a little intrigued. A lot turned on.

You leaned your head back on the couch.

“You always do this?” you asked. “Pull girls in with that therapy voice and street prophet energy?”

“Nah,” he said. “You special. I don’t do repeat games.”

You swallowed again.

"Right, right..."

Felt your stomach knot.

“You staying long?” you asked.

“Long as you let me.”

You looked at him.

He was still sitting back like he owned the room. But now his hand was resting on his thigh, slow-tapping, like he was thinking about moving.

Like he wanted to.

“Don't you got a brother?” you asked randomly, needing to ground yourself.

He nodded.

“Twin.”

You tilted your head.

“Fraternal or Identical?”

“Identical.”

“So there's two of you running around town?”

Smoke smirked.

“Yeah. But he ain’t me.”

You smiled — real slow.

“Noted.”

He tilted his head.

“Why? You planning to test it?”

“I don’t repeat games either.”

That made him grin — wide this time.

“Told you,” he said. “You real slick. Keep playing like that and you gon’ have a hard time getting rid of me.”

“Who said I wanted to?”

You didn’t even mean to say that out loud.

But the way his eyes lit up? Whew.

“Aight then,” he said, voice silk. “Now we getting somewhere.”

You rolled your eyes, checking the time without meaning to.

He’d been on your couch longer than some of your exes lasted in your bed. Legs spread like he paid rent here. Voice low and lazy like he had nowhere else to be.

So you said it.

“You don’t got shit else to do today?”

Smoke turned to you with that half-smirk, half-squint thing he kept doing. Like every word out your mouth amused him more than the last.

“I mean, I’m flattered,” you added, kicking your bare heel against the floor. “But I know y’all street boys don’t just sit still like this. Ain’t you got corners to stand on or money to count or something?”

He snorted.

“You think that’s all I do?”

“Ain’t say that,” you shrugged. “But I know you didn’t wake up and decide to play house on my couch. I’m not that fine.”

“You are that fine,” he said easily. “I just got better taste than time.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Boy, whatever.”

But he didn’t respond.

His phone buzzed.

Once. Then again.

You clocked the quick glance he gave it. The screen lit up bright across his thigh. He tapped it, turned it face-down, didn’t move.

“What’s that?” you asked, leaning a little.

“Nothing.”

“Your girl?”

That made him grin. Head tipping back a little as he stared at the ceiling like he couldn’t believe you asked that.

“You think I’d sit this long in your house if I had somebody else blowing up my shit?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen men do worse for less.”

“Ain’t my girl,” he said, straight-faced now. “If I had one, I’d have said it.”

You gave him a long look.

Didn’t say anything else.

But then the phone rang.

Loud. Sudden. The name flashed up — too quick for you to catch it — but his mood shifted the moment he saw it.

Just a flick of something. That calm-mask tightening.

“Yo,” he answered, standing up.

His tone dropped. Business.

He turned away, walked toward your door.

You stayed on the couch.

Didn’t ask.

You weren’t stupid. You didn’t need the details. Man like him? Phone call like that? It wasn’t brunch plans.

“Aight,” he said into the phone. “I’m on my way.”

He hung up.

Turned around.

And there it was — the shift back.

That calm he wore like armor.

You didn’t bother asking what it was. You already knew better.

Instead, you pulled your phone into your hand and scrolled. Just enough to let him know you weren’t pressed.

He watched you for a second. Then:

“Lemme get a kiss.”

You scoffed — head jerking up.

“You for real?”

“Deadass.”

“You wasn’t even here ten minutes and now you tryna act like this our place. Boy, please—”

“C’mon, baby,” he said, slow and syrupy. “You not gon’ do me like that.”

And the worst part?

You folded.

Not fast. Not right away.

But slow, like butter melting on hot bread.

You rolled your eyes — hard enough to give attitude — and stood.

“You so needy,” you muttered.

“You like that.”

You walked over.

He was already smirking.

And when you got close enough for him to reach — you knew.

You knew what he was gon’ do.

Still leaned in.

Still let him pull you in soft. One hand to your lower back, the other brushing your jaw.

His lips found yours like he’d kissed you before.

Like he’d been thinking about it since the second he saw you.

The kiss was slow — firm. Not sloppy, not rushed.

Just pressure. Warmth. Intention.

And right when you started to lean in deeper—

Boom.

Not one, but both his hands slid down to your ass.

Gripped.

Full palms, full squeeze.

You pulled back just enough to give him a look.

“Really?”

“You surprised?”

You tried to step back.

He didn’t let you.

Just stood there with that fucking smirk, hands still in place like they had a right to be there.

“You gon’ let go?”

“You gon’ ask me nice?”

“Smoke.”

“Aight, aight.” He finally eased up. “Go on then. I’ll call you.”

“Please don't.”

He leaned in one more time — kissed the corner of your mouth.

Then he was gone.

Door clicked shut behind him.

And your heart?

Still tapping a wild rhythm in your chest.

What the hell was that?

And why the hell did it feel like the beginning of something you wasn’t ready for?

[artdcnaldson]

Ok so hear me out. I need you to write an au about virgin reader and art having sex for the first time while patrick watches (like the perv he is!) I imagine that it would probably take place during the hotel makeout scene or in art’s dorm room😄

all three of you are on the same freakuency..... sweet art's first time, he just needs some moral support, that's all!

And maybe you've been hooking up with Patrick on the side and he very selflessly asked if you'll pop Art's cherry. Not like you're in his lap with his dick in your hand, the words were mumbled clumsily against your lips.

"I just think..." You interrupt him with a clumsy kiss, which he pulls back from reluctantly. "It would be nice. He's going to college in the fall and— fuck, yeah, like that— it'd be nice to get him nice and deflowered before he's surrounded by all that pussy without any clue of what to do."

"Gross. Are you seriously trying to pimp me out?" You ask with a tiny grin, not entirely disgusted by anything more than Patrick’s casual misogyny. Your hand continues its slick glide up and down his cock. Patrick just grins at you, like that's answer enough. "You're an idiot."

Whatever. Idiot or not, you still fuck Patrick. Idiot or not, you agree to deflower Art Donaldson.

And Art's cute, in a boyish, sort of way. He's sweet, well intentioned. When you come onto him at the MRTA graduation, he's all wide-eyed and nervous. Aren't you seeing Patrick? Are you sure Patrick won't get mad?

"I’m not Patrick’s girlfriend. And besides, he wants me to," you tell him, and his fears melt away like cotton candy. Now that you've eased his mind, it's so easy to get him back to his dorm room. It’s so sweet, how he’s already hard in his jeans from a little kissing and the promise of something more. His eagerness just proves that Patrick was right— this really was the best gift he could give Art for graduation.

If it were up to you, it would’ve happened in your own dorm, but Patrick insisted that it had to happen in their dorm. So instead of soft sheets and tasteful decorations and scented candles, Art gets scratchy blankets and the smell of cigarette smoke and empty Gatorade bottles.

He swallows when he sees Patrick waiting on the bed. It all feels like a virginity-intervention. Still... Art sits on his side of the bed, knees touching Patrick's, and looks between the two of you, hackles up, backing into a defensive state.

"You're both making fun of me," he mutters, and there’s an angry twitch in his jaw, that thinly veiled restraint that you notice and file away for later. "This is a big joke, right? Patrick, you fucking asshole."

"I'm not making fun of you, Art," you assure, moving to sit in front of him, hands on his knees. It forces his pretty blue eyes to land firmly on you. "I just want to help. It'll be nice to get it done, won't it? Patrick and I can help you."

He huffs, glancing between the two of you again. "He's staying?" Patrick grins and nods. Of course he is. He'd been there for the start of Art's sexual awakening, no way he'd miss this too.

"Yeah, to give you some advice, baby," you say with a little smile. You move into his lap, mouthing at his jaw. He sighs a little, tilting his head to the side so your lips can move to suck on his pulse point. You smile against his throat, teeth grazing the sensitive spot there, and he whines. "That's it, just let us take care of you."

You just kiss him for a while— licking into his mouth, letting him taste and explore however he wants. His hands slip under your top, squeezing your tits while he moans into your mouth something incoherent about how soft, warm, perfect they are.

It's like he's drunk on it— painfully hard beneath you, whining at every little touch. When you peel off his pristine blue button up and run your thumbs over his nipples, he keens and mewls like it's the best thing he's ever felt. Fuck, maybe it is.

"You can't suck him off," Patrick says when you go to unbutton his pants. "He'll cum before he can even fuck you."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick," Art mutters, shooting Patrick a glare that's about as deadly as he can manage with kiss swollen lips and mussed golden curls and ruddy cheeks. Like an angry little cherub. “I won’t… I’m not gonna cum if you touch me. I have gotten head before, and handjobs, and stuff.”

His hips buck mindlessly, seeking friction as you work the button and fly of his jeans. You smile as you rub over the bulge in the denim with your free hand, feeling the hard length of him. It makes him throw his head back and moan. “Yeah? But maybe Patrick’s right,” you murmur, lips trailing over his jaw. “Might be too much for you, baby. If we get you too worked up I don’t know if you’ll last when you’re inside of me.”

He whines. Really whines. It has to be one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard. “It’s not that I can’t, just… maybe I’m impatient.” You and Patrick share a look and grin. Sure. Impatient.

“I know you are,” you tell him, lips twitching as you fight an amused grin. “Just get me ready for you. You know how to do that?”

Patrick shakes his head behind Art, but you get the impression that maybe Art knows more than Patrick is willing to give him credit for. His hand slips under your dress, rubbing you through the cheap lace thong you’d bought at Wet Seal. Your eyes flutter shut as you gasp softly— his thumb rubs against your clit, but his eyes are locked on your every reaction.

“That’s good?” He murmurs softly. His index finger teases over your dripping entrance, barely concealed by hot pink lace. “It is, isn’t it? You’re so wet,” The words escape him mindlessly, like he’s accidentally verbalizing his thoughts. His cheeks go red and Patrick smiles like this is the proudest he’s ever been.

The tips of his fingers catch on the wet fabric and tug it to the side, just enough that his fingers can tease over your dripping pussy. His thumb maintains its pressure on your clit as he sinks his middle finger inside you to his second knuckle. A soft puff of breath like a gasp slips past his lips as he feels your walls squeezing around him.

“He’s really good,” you gasp out, looking at Patrick over Art’s shoulder as he stretches you on his fingers. Patrick’s big hand splays over his lap, squeezing at the hard length of his cock in his jeans as he watches. “Better than you, maybe.” Patrick laughs softly, rolling his eyes as he leans back against the headboard.

Art likes the praise, you know he does because his lips twitch into a cocky smirk as he sinks a second finger alongside the first, curling them until his fingertips press against a sensitive spot that makes stars dance across your vision. He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, he’s driven by the need to be praised and desired. The silent, unspoken competition in his mind against Patrick driving him to do anything he can to keep you pleased and happy.

Each pretty moan and gasp from your lips is lapped up like the sweetest honey. He nuzzles against your jaw as he fucks you with thick fingers, like your body is a pretty little piece of equipment he’s been trained to perfectly use. He moans against your skin when you come, cunt fluttering and squeezing around his fingers, like he’s feeling it every bit as much as you are.

You’ve forgotten to spare a glance at Patrick— it’s too easy to get lost in the ways that Art can play with your body. His jeans are tugged down just enough for him to free himself— and his hand works over the length of his cock as he pumps his fist in time with Art’s fingers. You squeeze Art’s arm once, twice, to get him to stop and he obeys, withdrawing fingers slick with your juices and licking them off like you’re his favorite meal.

“Are you sure he’s a virgin?” You murmur as you push Art back against the sheets, his pretty golden curls fanned out against his pillow like a halo.

Patrick nods, watching hungrily as you undress the pretty boy beneath you. His fancy dress shoes and socks, his jeans and button down, then his boxers. Until Art’s naked and flushed pink beneath you, drooling precum onto his tummy as his cock jerks with weak little pulses. When he looks at you, his pupils are so dilated they swallow up the pretty blue. He’s so pretty and debauched it makes you feel a little dizzy.

You slip off your dress, then your panties, and watch the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat as he looks at you. “Are you okay with me on top?” You ask as you straddle his hips. You’re so close that he can feel the heat emanating from your body, from your cunt.

He swallows again, glancing over at Patrick like he’s asking for permission. “She’s good at it,” Patrick tells him. “You can just lay back and let her do all the work.“

You’d tell Patrick not to be a dick, but, well, he’s kind of right. You don’t expect Art to do anything— it’s his first time. But Patrick fucking loves laying back and making you work for it, like you’d have to earn the right to come. Art’s not that kind of guy— at least, not yet. But you can sense that smug confidence beneath the surface, lying dormant.

You reach down and take his cock into your hand, flushed red and slick with precum. You give an experimental pump in your hand and watch as more dribbles out. Needy boy. You sit up, lining him up with your entrance when he grabs your thigh. “Wait, don’t I need a condom?”

Patrick reaches into the bedside drawer, but you just shake your head. “It’s fine,” you tell him, teasing his tip through your folds, getting him even wetter. “I’m on the pill, and I know you’re clean. You can cum in me.”

As soon as the words slip past your lips, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain. You can feel his cock pulsing in your grasp and you have to bite back an amused grin. “Hold on, wait—“ he gasps out, gripping your hips like a vise, dimpling the plush skin there. “Don’t do it yet, just… give me a second. Just a second.”

It’s a pretty sight— his full lips parted as he pants softly, the little furrow in his brow where his eyes pinch shut. He takes one deep breath, then another, and nods. “Okay,” he pants. “Okay, I’m ready.”

You have to go slow so you don’t overwhelm him, sinking down inch by inch by inch. He groans, head tiling back against the pillows, the fine muscles of his neck taut. His hands grasp onto your hips, squeezing tight like it might ground him in reality, like it’s keeping him from slipping into a dizzy, mindless euphoria.

When you’re finally flush against him, he takes a shaky breath and opens his eyes to look at you. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he gasps. “And you feel— oh, god— you’re so warm, and wet, and you’re so fucking tight.”

Patrick moans at the sight of Art falling apart beneath you, hand squeezing around his cock as he pumps his length. The sight makes heat bloom in your tummy, and you feel yourself squeezing around Art’s cock. He whines, panting out hot puffs of breath.

It’s easy to forget how strong he is when he’s beneath you like this. But he grips your hips and pulls you forward, encouraging you to glide along his cock. “Please,” he says weakly, looking up at you with wide, pleading eyes. “I can take it.”

“He can take it,” Patrick echoes with a grin. There’s something about the thinly veiled amusement in his eyes that tells you he wants you to unmake Art entirely— to take the sweet, needy boy and make him something unrecognizable. Something primal, something pathetic. “C’mon, look at him. He’s a big boy, he can handle it.”

You begin to move, palms splayed against his chest as you rock your hips, nice and slow. He groans, head tipping back, eyes rolling so you can see the whites of them.

"You feel so good, Art," you gasp as you begin to move a little faster. He whines, eyes locked on the sight of your tits bouncing as you ride his cock. "So perfect."

Art wants more. He inches his hands a little higher, so his fingertips brush against your breasts, almost nervous to just grab. Patrick scoffs. "Just grab her tits, Art— Jesus— she likes it."

And he does. Big, rough hands gripping your tits, squeezing as you ride him. He bucks his hips up, seeking the tight warmth of your cunt as you move, just wanting to hold you down and stay buried there.

"Move faster," Patrick says. You can hear from the gravel in his voice, that tiny hint of whininess, that he's getting close. Of course Patrick wouldn't want to finish first and have to sit there watching Art have all the fun.

And, technically, Patrick is your boyfriend (or, at least, you think he is, and Art thinks he is, and Patrick... is a mystery), so you decide to indulge in his request.

"Wait—" Art pants, hands flying down to your hips as you ride him harder. "Oh, fuck— wait, wait— you're gonna— nghh, god—" He squeezes his eyes shut, chest heaving as you bounce on his cock. He squeezes, fingers dimpling the plush fat of your ass as he tries to slow you down, or maybe just hold on for some sense of grounding as you bring him closer and closer to a sweet release.

"C'mon, Art," you gasp, nails digging into his pale pecs. "C'mon, we want you to cum, baby."

He tries to hold out. He really does, but you want him to cum, you're asking for it. You and Patrick. He cries out, bucking up into your cunt as he finishes, pumping a warm load inside of you. He whines, eyes fluttering as his cock twitches, dribbling out his last drops of cum.

Patrick's chest is splattered with his own release, drying messily in his chest hair, Art Donaldson is beneath you— sated and deflowered. You glance over at Patrick while Art's eyes are still squeezed shut and make a face that says I didn't even cum. You owe me.

He just grins and nods, like it's a given that he'd get you off after. But honestly, you figure it's 50-50 that he'll follow through. Maybe you can just ask Art.

[littlepaperboatyo]

I think the language of this does a good job driving home the real issue behind things like Ai use and factory farming for me, which is not so simple as Ai is bad or factory farming is bad. Both of these things are done for the sake of scale, "how do we reach as many people as we can?" and when that is your first value it drastically shifts all of your other values. Corporations care about quantity of consumers over all else.

A small language school would never consider using Ai because it would introduce many problems and solve none. Their values would be set on doing their best to serve their community and help people they know to better communicate. Introducing Ai doesn't help them make a connection with Mel's kid Alex who's having a hard time learning Spanish and also understanding why he should learn Spanish just to talk to his new stepbrother Javi. That requires being present and connecting with people, and holds the possibility of personally mattering in their lives. Instructor Aldo might be the perfect person to do it too, Alex thinks he's a pretty cool guy and he focuses not on Alex's feeling about his mom getting married but on what Alex knows about Javi. Maybe that kid is pretty cool and Alex is missing out by not being able to play with him. Maybe Aldo can enlist Javi's help and now when they're laughing together Alex is desperate to be able to understand the joke. Now Alex is understanding Spanish, and he and Javi start being able to hang out, and they're both feeling a bit better about their parents getting married.

Take away instructor Aldo, now there's an app. It's a pretty good app, and if Alex would engage with it he might start to figure out Spanish, but he's angry about his mom getting married. He doesn't engage, and he has this stepbrother he doesn't understand, and he's mad. and he's mad. and he doesn't learn Spanish. and nothing changes.

But people learn languages for many reasons and Duolingo does work for many people. And it needs to work for more people, which means that they need to do more work. Which means they need to outsource it. Which means Ai is looking like a good choice.

This is what monopolies are. Forget about business for the sake of business, there was a time before businesses existed. there was a time before money. in fact, it was about 2000 years ago. people would do things for each other because they knew each other and cared about each other. and even when money came about it existed so that people who didn't know each other could help each other and would often result in people getting to know each other. in fact this is how about every business worked up until the industrial Revolution, and even then it was still most of them. But then you get businesses that do too well, and no one competing with them. And it's not really about the lack of competition that exists in a healthy economy, it's moreso about what happens when your neighborhood store is supporting more than just your neighborhood. where do they get the supply for the demand?

they outsource it.

When you care about scale your community expands. You have to start thinking on a bigger scale which means you lose sight of the small scale. Your values change, and your values affect the values of the people you serve. They lose sight of their value just as you have. I see it every day, and I see it in myself. I work in a very busy store where I serve thousands of people a day. My boss calls it the neighborhood store. I serve thousands of people a day. I see so many faces and I do my best to block them out because it's too much. This is not uncommon, for the people in my store or plenty of other stores belonging to different companies. But it is not normal.

Yesterday people came to protest where we get our chicken. I serve thousands of people a day.

It is not possible for companies to exist at this scale and honor good values.

And it smoothes over and eradicates culture. We don't have different conversations with our language instructors. We don't have that one really strange grocer that you can have an interesting conversation with for half an hour while they're on the clock. We don't have small communities with their own values that can inspire it's own culture.

we have the global scale.

[link]

we been knew its just a nail in a coffin tbh

[yuons]

THE CHASE, they only need your attention

🐳 downbad! enha x f!r .. 12OO+ 也 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒

윤 : hi ! gf sruka and caelita gave me ideas 💌

HEESEUNG

“hi pretty, did you miss me?” his low drawl from beside your ear made you jump. when you catch the familiar voice you quickly school your expression into a scowl.

“what do you want, lee” you say with faux apprehension, even though your lips were twitching in amusement. heeseung tilts his head, sliding his hands into his pockets, “you.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes, slightly pushing past him before his arm slides to your wrist, “come on, angel, just one date? if you hate me after it you can humiliate me in front of the whole school.”

the offer sounds tempting, really, heeseung’s image was one of the things he always been serious about, “and if i don’t hate you?” you try, a flash of interest cross his pupils.

“if you don’t, then, maybe consider dating me?” he grins, pulling you closer by your arm. you press your hand on his chest and let your eyes linger there for a while before flicking up to his. your finger tracing lightly on the hard lines of his chest through the shirt before pulling away, leaving him flustered, “we’ll see.”

JAY

“you know, you’re quite good for a newbie,” you look up from your guitar notes splayed out in front of you, jay’s figure towering over yours. he pulls a chair near you and invites himself to your space.

a small pout forms on your lips, “you’re assuming i’ve never played before.” jay’s eyes go wide and he stumbled over his words, “wait, that’s not— i was— i didn’t mean it like that! i was just—“ he cuts himself short when your laughter fills the space.

and god, does he want to bottle that sound for himself to keep. your chuckles die down, before you smile at him, “i was just messing with you, and, thank you by the way. my skills are kinda rusty, but i’m trying.”

“i can teach you,” jay blurts out before thinking. only a moment later after he saw your raised eyebrow and the amusement dancing across your eyes did he realize how eager he sounded, “i mean, if you want of course— i’m willing to help you.”

you smile at him, “okay then, see you..?” you trail off, suddenly jay feels stupid for never introducing himself to you, “jay.”

your smile widens at that, “alright, nice to meet you, jay.”

JAKE

“need some help there?” jake smiles watching you struggle with a question. you press your lips together, albeit your heart was starting to pick up its pace.

“no, i’m fine,” you quip. a second later, you feel him slip into the seat beside you anyway. you sigh when you feel him staring at you, “i said i could do—“

your words get caught in your throat, he’s looking at you with that stupid smile of his. grinning so wide that you were contemplating on whether to disappear or to just kiss it away. maybe then he’d be the flustered one.

“hm? you staring now, pretty?” he says, and you quickly look away. brain trying to make sense of the words you’re reading. but when you feel him slide closer to you, slowly grabbing the pen out of your hand. he writes down the formula for you without a word. all you can think about is how warm his hand is when it brushes over your own.

SUNGHOON

“you make this look so easy,” you say, attempting to balance on the ice. sunghoon, whose a few steps away from you just strides comfortably.

“that’s because i’ve had years of practice,” he retorts. you told him you could do this yourself and even though he’s pretty sure you can’t, he let you go and silently watch you from afar.

“hey, actually this might not be that—“ your foot slips in the ice and you were bracing for impact until you feel a hand on your waist, grounding you, “steady” you feel his voice by your ear.

sunghoon helps you balance yourself again and glide back to the edges, stepping back on land. “you okay” he asks, brushing off the ice that got on your leg. just then did you realize that his hand hasn’t untangle itself from yours.

SUNOO

you feel his hand before you see him, your hair being ruffled into a jumbled mess. you pout, letting out a soft groan when feel him plop down beside you.

“morning sunshine,” he smiles, holding back a laugh at you very visible pout. your hands come up to pat down at the ruse, “i just brushed it a few minutes ago, do you always need to greet me that way?”

“i was trying to distract you,” he says, eyes twinkling. you deadpan at him, “from what, my piling stacks of homework?” the unfinished paper stares back at you mockingly.

sunoo chuckles, voice soft, “exactly, winding down for a minute won’t hurt.” you bite your lip thoughtfully. and he thinks it’s unfair how you look so pretty even when you’re running on a few hours of sleep and probably too many energy drinks.

he hears you sigh and mumble out a ‘fine’ before laying your head on his chest. sunoo freezes for a moment before letting his hand carve through your hair. “you’re warm,” you mumble and he’s already planning on not moving an inch for as long as you stay there.

JUNGWON

for once, jungwon wished you’d congratulate him. he watches you talk with the others and hug your friends right after they got their awards for winning the debate competition. so when you reach him, he was looking at you expectantly. he adorns a tiny smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“nice play, yang,” was the only thing you said before moving on to talk to the girl beside him but he stops you, “that’s the only thing you’re gonna say to me?”

it was quite comical seeing his face fall, the glasses on his nose sliding off a bit before he pushes it back up and stare at you with a pout.

“what else do you want me to say?” you muse, crossing your arms over your chest, watching him open his mouth and close it again before huffing. “i don’t know— you were congratulating the others, don’t i deserve one too?”

you let the silence fall over you. the reverence of what he said lingering in the air. for a moment, jungwon regretted ever saying anything. but then, you laugh. and god was it pretty.

“congratulations, won, you did good,” you smile, brushing up his glasses that has fallen once again. jungwon’s eyes follow you as you move on to the next person. well now he simply just needs to win every competition there is, only if it means having you congratulate him.

RIKI

“don’t get used to it,” you scoff. at your voice, riki turns to see you smiling, handing a cold bottle to one of his teammates. the guy’s hand comes up to ruffle your hair playfully and you quickly slap it off.

“your dirty hands are gonna mess up my hair,” you say before glancing to your side. “oh, hey ki,” you catch the slight frown on his lips. he disregards you for a moment before turning to his teammate, “coach called you.”

“really? i didn’t hear—“ he quickly cuts off, “he told me.” you catch the tone, it was unnecessarily sharp. when riki turns to you, you have your own pout.

“what was that for?” you say, his eyes flicker from your lips back to your eyes. “why’d you fetch him water?” he lets slip, lips pursing right after.

your brows furrow, and then a second later it relaxes and your eyes widen like something had just dawned on you, “you’re jealous.”

riki frowns at that, “what? no i’m not, why would i be?” he doesn’t stop there, “it’s just, why would you get him water out of nowhere, do you owe him some—“ you cut him off by pressing a kiss to his cheek. pulling away as quick as you did and chuckle at him like nothing happened, “dont worry, he’s my brother.”

taglist is open + daily clicks

[everlastingserenitys]

SMILE FOR THE PICTURE <3

summ. you asked the best photographer in your school to help take pictures of you for your project, not take a video of you guys doing it!

pairing. Caleb x f!reader cw. nerd!caleb, p in v, fingering, masturbation, recording during sex, creampie, dirty thoughts, kissing, handjob, college au, petnames, dirty talk, kitchen sex, 3.7k wc (wtf omg) a/n. hello yes this is kiindaa based off this post ... I just added a tiny switch up hehe

“Is that all you need help with?” Caleb asked, his eyes darting around the library and back at you.

“Please Caleb?”

A tired sigh escaped his lips, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head in disbelief, “So what you’re saying is that you want me to take pictures of you for your project?”

You nod.

“I don’t believe it, why do you need me?”

An annoyed sigh escaped your lips and you leaned in closer, being just centimeters away from his face.

“I heard you’re the best photographer and editor, so I need someone to help me so I can pass the class… so, please, just help me this one time?”

Caleb lightly rolled his eyes and stared at you before agreeing, “fine I’ll do it—but I’ll need something in return.”

“I’ll give you anything, Alright? I’ll email you some of my photos and then we can move on from there.” You say, sliding over a scrap piece of paper with your email displayed on it and walked off.

You didn’t even let him speak the second you skipped away from him and headed over to your little friends, giggling and loudly walking yourself out the library, practically announcing to everyone that you’re leaving.

Caleb glared at your figure already leaving the library and sighed against his seat, at least he’ll have something to do for the night.

As the day progressed Caleb was already in his dorm, studying for his other subjects. It was late in the evening and he had totally forgotten about the little deal you made with him, until he heard a crackle sound beneath him.

An exasperated sigh left his lips and he reached in his pocket for the tiny piece of paper with your email on it, he rested it in front of him as his fingers instinctively started typing away on his laptop.

Without realizing or reading over what he had written, the email had already been sent to you. Caleb panicked and tried to find out how to edit, or even delete to send it again, but when nothing was popping up he closed his laptop and attempted to distract himself before you responded.

A few minutes passed and a ding blared through Caleb's laptop. A shaky sigh escaped his lips before he carefully opened up his laptop and checked his emails. He refreshed countless times until, finally your response loaded up.

Caleb read the reply out loud and hovered his cursor over the pdf files of multiple photos you sent, “‘hey these are the photos’, yada yada…mmh alright.” After a second of hesitating he finally brought the courage to click on the photos.

And they were…beautiful.

Caleb was starstruck. He scrolled through the five photos you sent and inspected every single one, eyeing every perfect curve, your pretty eyes, practically just admiring you.

He never really talked to you, mainly because he thought you wouldn't talk to him if he tried talking to you first, but when you stepped up and spoke to him first, Caleb felt like it had to be a prank. Whether it was for the project or not, he didn't mind it, in fact, he’d probably want to work with you again, if he could.

He exited out of the pictures, getting ready to write his reply when he noticed you sent something else. Only captioning the file with ‘and a little surprise for you <3 you look like you’d be into this so i hope this gives you a little motivation !!’

Curious, Caleb clicked on the file without thinking and immediately regretted it. Well, was it regret? Definitely not. Caleb’s perverted eyes scanned at every part of the scandalous photo you sent. He brought his shaky hands to his mouse and instinctively started zooming in on every part.

“Damn it.” he murmured, squirming around his chair as he tried to hold himself back from touching himself, even though the last time he actually masturbated to someone was years before his third year in college, he didn't want to just break the streak when he knows damn well you will leave him once this project was over.

But one time wouldn't hurt, right? I mean, he was practically aching down there.

Caleb brought his fingers to the waistband of his shorts and played with it as he imagined different dirty scenarios with you. He eventually slid his fingers under his shorts, grabbing onto his hard, searing length, wrapping his cold fingers around it. He pumped his fist in a quick motion, staring at your picture through his already teary eyes, captivating every pixel he could see through his blurry vision.

“Ah-shit..” he whined, bucking his hips forward and soon brought his other hand to his cock, pretending it was yours. That thought just turned him on even more and he was practically trying everything to hold himself back from coming too early.

He glanced back at the picture, his glasses were slightly slipping off his nose but he didnt care. He yanked his head back, his pace going even quicker on himself and he was so, soo, clo–

“Fuck..”

Spurs of white pellucid mixture dripped out of Caleb, most of it getting on his desk and papers all over the desk. He breathed heavily as his violet eyes stared into in the ceiling, rethinking his fucking choices.

A few minutes passed and Caleb took a cold shower and eventually cleaned up himself, and the desk. He sat back on desk, reopening his laptop and quickly went to reply to your email. God, he was worried how he was going to face you the next day.

His fingers hovered over the light keys illuminating through his laptop, a response was stuck somewhere in the back of his head but he couldn't bring it back to him. He pondered for a moment, his mind spiraling with many, many thoughts, none of them were recollecting what he was going to say.

Caleb let out an annoyed groan and hit his head on his desk repeatedly. He’ll just respond tomorrow, when his mind was cleared out.

The next day after his classes were over, Caleb headed to the library to study for a bit. He put his ear buds in and started reading his book. But as he was too distracted by the gibberish of numbers and letters that somehow keeps him captivated the whole time he's studying, he didn't notice a presence in front of him.

A minute passed, and he still didn't notice. That was until someone yanked his earbuds off which caused Caleb to flinch dramatically. He looked up to see who disturbed his peace, about to stand up for himself until he realized it was you.

“What..”

“Why’d you not respond last night?”

Caleb's face flushed in a light pink tone, but he remained calm, a small smirk rested on his lips as he was trying to think of an excuse on the spot. He couldn't just tell you that he got off at the seductive picture you totally sent to rile him up with.

“I was too tired too, sorry. But I saw everything you sent.”

“You did?” you grin, leaning in closer as you stared into his eyes.

“Mhm, everything.”

“Did you like the surprise picture?” you said, a hint of teasing laced in your voice as you watched for Caleb's reaction. He was trying to act tough so badly, but you noticed how difficult it was for him to keep up the tough act and that just made you want to push his limits even further.

“Caleb?” you whisper.

Caleb’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down the second you whispered his name and he avoided your gaze, “..yeah.” he mumbled, his voice dropping five octaves deeper. You smile and pull away from him, looking down at him before shrugging.

“If you read the email–which I doubt you did–I told you to come over to my place tonight to take some practice pictures.”

“Practice? Wait, when did you even say that?” Caleb frantically started typing on his computer and pulled out the email. Embarrassment washed through his whole face when he read the first email which he totally ignored.

“I see…”

“Uh huh, the pictures I sent you last night were for reference, you know? How you’re going to take them and etcetera.” you fan your hands at him and Caleb stared at you for a good minute before nodding and closing his laptop, notebook, everything lying on the desk.

“Why’re you packing up right now?”

“Well? Why don’t we start early? I have studying to do and I don't want to spend the whole night taking pictures of you.”

You open your mouth, hesitant to say something but when no words could get out, you zipped your lips shut and turned around, walking yourself out of the library. You took small glances to see if Caleb was actually following you, when you noticed he was just a few meters away, you nodded to yourself and continued to walk to your place.

A ten minute walk later both you and Caleb end up at the front door of your apartment. You grab the keys from your purse and turn around, looking at Caleb while the key is shoved deep in the keyhole.

“Wait here, and do you have your camera?”

Caleb nods and rests his shoulder against the wall next to him. You nod and head inside your place. Caleb assumed you were cleaning it up so he leaned back and patiently waited as the sounds of shuffling and stuff moving around were getting louder and louder by the second.

A few minutes pass and you open the door letting Caleb in. Caleb looked around your whole place, his eyes darting on every piece of furniture that was definitely your style, and soon averting his gaze to the large window that showed off the view from outside.

It was already close to sunset and the lightning looked amazing to take pictures with. Caleb brought out his camera and tried turning it on when his worst nightmare happened.

“Dead?”

“Dead.”

A minute of silence echoed through the room, you and Caleb looked at each other before awkwardly chuckling at each other.

“I have a charger, be right back.” you say.

Caleb nodded and sat against your kitchen counter, fidgeting the camera around his fingers before you came back and slid the charger to him. He nodded in appreciation and quickly went to put his camera to charge.

“What should we do now?” Caleb asked, glancing at you then back at his camera.

You ponder for a moment then an idea lights up in your head, “Come, i’ll show you more of my photos so you can get an idea on what to do.” you unwillingly grab onto Caleb's wrist and drag him to your bedroom.

Which looked fairly normal, a little basic. Just a desk consisting of two monitors lying on it, a bookshelf, and your bed. You drag Caleb to your desk and you plop on the chair, unlocking your monitor in a quick movement and pulling out your camera roll.

“Some pictures may be weird so don't mind it, okay?”

Caleb nodded and glued his eyes to your monitor.

As the time went on and you were showing dozens upon dozens of photos to him, that's when your camera roll started to look a little too explicit and Caleb swore you were doing it on purpose.

“Oh whoops!” you giggle, letting Caleb quickly look at the explicit pictures of you, and at this point he wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t going to show that he liked it, but something else was about to shatter him from this nonchalant persona.

He watched you scroll through the pictures as his bottom half felt numb. Caleb looked at the bottom of the camera roll and noticed you were almost at the end of it, just a few more pictures to go and he could go to the bathroom to fix the problem down there.

When you finally showed the last picture Caleb nodded and enthusiastically told you how he knew exactly what he was doing and started backing away from your desk. You raise an eyebrow and get up from your seat walking behind him.

“Where's the bathroom?” Caleb asked, looking left and right at the two different hallways that could lead to anywhere. You peered your head up and brushed past him, but mistakenly stumbled over his shoelace and grabbed onto his thigh to catch yourself.

“Cal–uh..”

Your eyes widened and you looked up at Caleb's flushed look and down to your hand which was not on his thigh.

“Don’t move, please…” he mumbled, covering half his face with his hand as he carefully stepped back, but he was too much in a haze to even focus. He tripped on himself and stumbled against you again, making your hand practically rub on his boner.

“Shit…”

“You said you wanted something in return, why don’t I give you the favor right now and then you could take my pictures, how’s that?” you say, looking up at caleb who was still flushed bright red at the situation happening at the moment.

“I- fine..” he nodded and you smiled, sliding your fingers under his pants, slowly pulling them down and stare at his leaking bulge imprinting his boxers. Eventually, you pull his boxers down and let his cock spring out and, Fuck.

You wrap your fingers around his length and pump your fist in a slow, rhythmic movement, letting Caleb savour the time. Loud whines filled the room and you continued the same pace as you watched his reaction.

“Mo–ngh”

“Hmm?”

“More..” he breathed, Caleb's fingers slid in your hair and he pulled your head up so you could look at him. “Please.”

You smirk and fasten the pace on him, after one hand starts getting tired, you bring your other one and do the same movements to his cock. Both your hands were on his hard, sticky length. With one hand circling around the tip and the other pumping his full length Caleb was practically moaning like a virgin.

You slick your thumb on his tip and leaned in closer, about to make your mouth get put to use but Caleb stopped you and shook his head, “not yet..,‘m close” he groaned, his voice echoed through the room which sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re close? Then why don’t you hold it in.” you challenge, pulling your hands away from his cock and staring up at caleb who looked like he was going to die without the feeling of your hands on his.

“Hold it in, can you do that?” you whisper, getting up from your knees and leaned in closer, your hot breath ghosted against Caleb's skin. But Caleb couldnt even spit out any words, his eyes flicker on yours and before you could tease him further he crashed his lips on yours.

Caught off guard, you reciprocate the kiss and push him further against the wall, grabbing onto the sides of his face as you push yourself closer against him. Your bodies were practically molded together and Caleb lightly bit on your lip when he felt you grinding yourself against him.

His fingers made their way to your waist and soon snaked down to your pants, toying with the edges of it before pulling them down. His fingers slid lower on your body and soon reached your soaking, dripping cunt.

He slid a finger inside you and stroked a slow, deliberate pattern, stimulating and stretching you out before he put his cock inside you. He was holding himself back so bad but he lets the last drops of self control drip down him before he rams his cock inside you.

“Let me…” Caleb whispered, pulling his fingers out of you and stared at the mess coated on his fingers. You grunt and press yourself against him, he takes it as an indication that he can put himself inside you and without thinking he does it right away.

“urgh w-wait–” before you could tell Caleb to go to your bed or another room he lifted you up and pressed his tip against your soaking entrance, slowly pushing himself inside. He wasn't even a quarter in and you felt like you were full, you cling onto him as he lifts your body up and down on his cock.

“K-kitchen” you moan, burying your head on his shoulder. Caleb nods and effortlessly walks towards the kitchen with half his length inside you. You felt him press you against the counter and slightly pull himself away so he could see your face.

Caleb stared at you with love and lust filled in his eyes, his glasses were barely on him, his eyes were teary, and fuck he still looked like a beauty. You yanked your head back when you felt him sink deeper inside you, his tip practically hitting every right spot, and you felt like you were in heaven.

You wink your eyes open and get used to your surroundings again and notice the camera was still charging next to you. Caleb watched your every move as you picked up the camera and flicked it on. It beeped for a moment and flashed unlocked.

When the camera was on you smiled and glanced at Caleb who was too much in a daze to know what you were doing and angle the camera directly at his beautiful face. You coo his name and he averted his gaze to the camera that was in your hands.

“Smile.” you manage to get out and notice Caleb smirk before you flash a picture. Your eyes widened as you clicked the picture and he looked heavenly. Caleb chuckled as he continued to ram himself in and out of you, using one of his hands to grab the camera.

“Let me see.” he murmured, resting his fingers on yours which were still on the camera. You carefully gave him the camera and he examined the photo, a menacing chuckle escaped his lips and he shook his head, “don’t I look great?” he chuckled.

“Mhm”

“Yeah?”

You nod again and Caleb angled the camera to you, his hands, which were once shaky weren't shaky anymore and he looked at you before looking back into the camera screen.

“Smile for the picture.”

Before you could let out a smile you felt Caleb shove his full length deep, deep inside you. A wave of shock went through you and you heard the camera shutter when you noticed he took a picture of an expression you made that was most definitely not a smile.

“That’s a good–mmph e-expression! Shit, do it again.” he whined, continuing to ram himself deep inside you, the impact of his hard tip abusing your cervix sent you to a spiral, you stared at Caleb through teary eyes and shook your head.

“Come on, baby.” he begged, still having the camera aimed at you. A loud moan escapes your lips and you roll your hips against Caleb’s. Caleb let loud a low whistle and lowered the camera to the view of his cock buried balls deep inside you.

“Look at t-that..” he chuckled, slowing the pace down. He was already close to release and he didn't want to pull away. Caleb kept the camera at the same angle it was at before and brought his other hand to your stretched out cunt, placing his thumb against the clit as he stretched it out and watched the mess pool out of you.

“You’re recording? A-and you-?!” you couldn't even get any more words out. Caleb nodded and apologized repeatedly.

“I'm sorry.. It was on a-accident” he coughed, shaking the camera around as he slowly started pulling himself out of you. The sounds of the slick seeping out of you filled the room and it just turned Caleb on even more, when he was just almost the tip out of you, Caleb angled the camera from your lower half to your face and thrusted himself back into you.

His pace was quick and his moans grew louder at every thrust he gave. Caleb was practically over the moon and the feeling was just something he wished to experience again. Caleb placed the camera down on the counter and aimed it where you both were in frame.

“Can you handle one more–y-yes? Or no?” he asked, leaning in closer to your face, his breath tickling on your warm skin, you nod and Caleb chuckled, lifting your legs over his shoulders and thrusted himself one more time.

“That's good, might as well go until the camera dies again, should we, baby?”

You didn't know how many rounds you both did, you were almost going to pass out midway through sex but Caleb somehow calmed you down and you stayed awake, didn’t pass out once no matter how many times he filled you up, it was like he was magic.

Both you and Caleb just finished getting cleaned up and you both were back at the kitchen. He held onto his camera as he went through the multiple photos and videos he took, the longest video being about an hour and a half long, which resulted in the camera dying just the second before you were going to cum.

Caleb smirked as he looked through the photos and one photo caught him by surprise, he inspected the photo and flipped the camera towards you. “You look good in this.” he said, as a death piercing gaze was locked on you.

“I’m practically clothless in that, what's so special about it?”

“You can keep it for your album of those types of photos…” he shrugged, turning the camera back towards him and looking at the photo again. You shrug and that's when you realized.

“We haven't taken my practice pictures yet!”

“Well, can you still do it, or should I come back tomorrow?” Caleb grinned, stepping towards you and stared into your eyes with a teasing look.

“Let's get it over with, today.”

Caleb frowned, “Okay one second,” He said, angling the camera at you again.

“Smile.”

part 2 of fly into your heart -> next work

[jordiemeow]

summary: when anakin gets denied the rank of master, he's overwrought with tension. no better way to deal with it than sneaking out to visit his favourite girl at his favourite brothel on the lower levels of coruscant.

warnings: smut 18+, face-sitting, mild sub!anakin, reader is a prostitute, brief comfort ending in f!receiving oral, anakin is a giver!! cathartic head-giving

notes: in honour of may the fourth! need to remake my taglist for specific fandoms so not tagging anyone here. not my usual audience so if this flops idc but anakin has been on my mind a lot recently (when is he not). anyways happy star wars day :)

"It's... it's a joke, is what it is. And he didn't stick up for me. Not once. What an excuse for a mentor if he's just going to—"

You're not listening at this point. Head tilted, lips slick with red paint, body on display. It's a shame the sheer two-piece is going to waste on a Jedi rambling on about how betrayed he feels by the Order. It's also terribly hard to listen to said 'betrayal' when his robes and tunic have been shrugged off to leave him in just his pants, defined muscles rippling under the dim light of your private room.

Something about feeling too restricted. You'd laughed and said the removal of clothes was pretty typical in this establishment, but your attempts at levity proved futile. Fast forward to now...

"—And don't even get me started on Master Windu." (You weren't going to.) "How can he look me in the eyes and tell me that? Like I don't deserve it for all the work I've done for them. Risked my lives countless times. Saved millions—no, dare I say billions—and this is the thanks I get!"

Billions? You aren't so sure about that. You keep the comment to yourself—maybe he's right. You don't ask him for information; it's always willingly passed on. He could be the most decorated Jedi in the Order after this war and you would be none the wiser.

He paces back and forth restlessly, hands tightened into fits and jaw taut with tension. You'd almost be a little frightened if most of your visits from him didn't start with some sort of temper tantrum. All this just for you to soothe him into bed and make him forget.

"Ridiculous," he spits as you watch on plaintively. It's like spectating a meltdown, you can't help but think. You're surprised he hasn't thrown something yet. Destruction is always a symptom of his annoyance. You wonder briefly if his room back at the Temple is in disarray. "And then Obi-Wan has the audacity to ask me to—"

You cross the room to reach him just in time to stop him from saying something he absolutely should not be telling a prostitute. You know half the Jedi Order's secrets by now from his visits. A hand rests upon his left arm, the one made of human flesh. Gentle, tentative, like you're trying not to scare off a frightened animal. He almost jerks it back, but his eyes soften when you speak.

"Ani," you croon gently. The nickname makes the tension in his shoulders ease. "Just come to bed. You're getting yourself all worked up."

He sighs. He knows you're right. But he's stubborn on a good day, and today is not one of those.

"You don't understand. They're treating me like I'm less than them just because the Chancellor recommended me. Like I haven't done everything to prove I'm more than just a Knight before he got involved."

"You aren't less than them just because they go around calling themselves Masters. A lot of men in here do that, you know. Makes them feel powerful. If it makes you feel better, I could call you that."

He rolls his eyes. Fond. Amused. "That doesn't really count."

"No, I suppose not," you smile. The kind with your eyes that crinkles softly. The kind that always makes him wonder whether you're actually being authentic. Sometimes he forgets you're human under all the sequins and smoke, when you strut around the room like you're one of the suns and everyone else is in orbit.

You seem like you genuinely want to put him at ease right now, even with all your playful little jabs. It makes him sigh, shoulders slumping as his hand finds your waist.

"You're good at this, you know," he murmurs.

"And you're good at being a Jedi hero," you counter, gently urging him back towards the bed. "But enough moping. I'm not wasting this outfit on you if you think your credits are going towards therapy."

He laughs as the back of his legs hit the bed, letting himself fall. He props himself up on his elbows to watch you trail a tantalising finger down your chest, through the valley of your breasts. It's enough to make any man's throat go dry. Especially a Jedi who's only form of action is the rare occasions he can sneak away to see you.

"No? What are they going towards, then?"

"Depends. Whaddya want tonight?" You ask playfully, tugging at the alarmingly thin strap between the two cups barely concealing your tits. His eyes are drawn to them, watching the way the fat spills out of the satin, the red material a stark contrast to your skin.

He swallows thickly.

"Eyes up here, big shot."

His blue eyes flick up to your own, a little sheepish. This is the part where he has you sprawl out beneath him for his perusal. But instead, he says:

"I just want to feel good at something. Make you feel good."

It surprises you a little, your hand faltering where it's been idly exploring your cleavage. You recover quickly enough that he doesn't comment on your blunder. "You always make me feel good."

"That's a practiced answer," he accuses.

"Practiced but true in your case."

"Fine. But I mean it. I could use the ego boost."

"But—"

"Who's the paying customer?" Anakin interjects.

"You aren't making me feel very good by smart-mouthing me, you know."

He ignores your faux-admonishment. "So you'll let me?"

It's not as if you're opposed to it. Not in the slightest. It's just surprising.

"I'd let you do anything. You know I would."

A shadow of a grin crosses his face, before his braced elbows fall and he lays down. Dark hair spread across your pillows, fanning out in messy curls against the satin.

"Ride my face."

He says it so earnestly you almost laugh. Sometimes you forget how young he is. Nothing like the old timers who come in here looking for a quick fuck with no regards for anything but their own dicks.

"Are you sure? We've never done that before."

"You're not the only girl I've been with," he counters. It's almost enough to make your chest twinge with jealousy—you know he's seen other girls here. When you're busy, or before you became his favourite. You're a professional, though. Don't let it show.

"Okay," you relent. You can't help but be spiteful, though. Panties dragging agonisingly down your thighs while he watches through half-lidded eyes as the fabric inches lower, lower, lower...

Eventually they pool around your ankles, and you step out of them. The bra (a generous term for such a skimpy piece of fabric) follows as you move to straddle him.

"Higher," he says, hands finding your thighs and attempting to pull you further up his body. The contrast between cool metal and a warm palm on each leg makes you shudder.

You whack a hand gently. "Patient. Thought you wanted to be good?"

He bites back a groan, his hands stilling. They still rest on the plush flesh of your thighs, but he isn't tugging insistently at your limbs to get you where he wants you. You continue with your torturous pace, moving up his body. The slick of your cunt drags across his bare abs, and a sharp breath escapes him.

The friction is enough to have you sigh softly as you ease upwards. You take your time teasing his nipples until he's tensing underneath you, back arched up off the mattress and fingers curling into your skin.

"I didn't think this would make you so much of a tease," he says breathlessly.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Your eyelashes bat innocently at him. "This is what gets me off. You're being useful."

He gives you an unimpressed look for your faux-naïf, but he keeps his mouth shut. You're so close that he doesn't want to goad you into holding back any longer. And he's rewarded for his patience when you give a little pat to his pecs, and finally move to hover over his face.

He looks like an undercity kid who's seen the surface for the first time. Eager blue eyes, mouth salivating at the sight of your dripping cunt above him. It's hard to find the restraint to not dive in and bury his nose in your folds. Just the smell almost has his eyes rolling back.

"Please," he murmurs. Breathy and whiny, like a young man begging for a drop of salvation, not the famed 'Hero with No Fear' breaking his Code to spend the night in a pleasure house. "C'mon. Just let me. Oh, please, I need it—"

You sink down onto his mouth before he can finish his sentence. He moans into your heat, tongue flicking out to drink up whatever has already spilled from you. There's nothing tentative about it—it's like he's devoting everything into worshipping you with his mouth. Gone are the thoughts of his Master and the rest of the Council denying him. All he can comprehend is your sweet mewls as you sit atop his face.

His chin is soaked with the fluids of your pleasure, nose nudging your clit each time you roll your hips against his face. It's instinctive and you hardly mean to do it, but he grips your hips and guides you to grind against his eager mouth.

"Oh, Ani," you moan softly. "Just like that. Mhm."

It's enough encouragement for him to keep working. Dutifully strokes of his tongue, switching between nuzzling between your slick folds and sucking at your clit. Cheeks hollowed out and applying suction as you brace a hand against the headboard, the other nestled into his soft curls.

Your thighs tremble on each side of his head, toes curling into the sheets every time he flicks eagerly at the bud. Hips rocking upwards against the air in search of friction he physically cannot receive right now, cock hard and leaking in the confines of his pants. His erection is almost painful, but he wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to be good for something.

"You'd do wonders in here, you know,” you manage through a groan. “If you're looking to become a— oh, fuckkkk—different kind of master. Very skilled mouth."

His laugh vibrates against your dripping cunt. "Tempting, if I get to work in such close quarters with you."

"Mhm, maybe. Perhaps we could become a bit of a duo. They pay extra for that, you know. And the tips are great. You should really— oh!"

His teeth graze against that sensitive spot that has your eyes rolling back. "I didn't come here for a new career. Just let me make you feel good, please?"

All you can manage is a hum of agreement with the way he's redoubled his efforts. Tongue flattened against the roll of your hips, obediently letting you use his wet mouth to chase your own pleasure. The feeling of your sopping cunt grinding against his face chases anything but you from his mind.

The pleasure grows almost blinding. "Fuck, close," you gasp out, tugging lightly on his hair.

It earns a pleased moan into your heat. "Please. Wanna feel it," he mumbles, a rumble into you in between licks of his tongue. He doesn't think he's ever tasted anything sweeter.

A few more carefully placed laps and your thighs tense. One of your hands moves to cup your breast as you ride through your orgasm, release spilling over his awaiting mouth. He welcomes it all eagerly, working you through it as his name falls off your tongue again and again.

When you roll off of him, you're both short of breath. Neither of you bother to wipe the smear of your slick off his chin as you sink down next to him. One glance to the chronometer on the wall tells you he's spent most of his time worshipping your pussy rather than chasing his own pleasure. Another glance, this time to him, makes it very clear he isn't bothered by that in the slightest.

Oh, well. You still have a few more minutes for him to smother you in affection unbefitting of two people from your stations in life.

It’s quiet after that. Light, fleeting touches as you catch your breaths.

Aftercare with him is the best part, you think. When all the tension is released and he's all lazy, boyish smiles as he runs his hands absently up and down your bare arm. Soft kisses placed to your shoulders, an apologetic brush of his lips against any splotchy bruises left by the men and women before him. Most patrons are always right out the door, but Anakin...

Well, he likes to check in. Make sure you're okay. Have a bit of banter.

"Was I too much? Was that alright?"

You smile. A silly question, given you were calling most of the shots when you were actually on top of him. You answer anyways.

"No. No, you were perfect," you tell him softly, pushing a sweaty brown curl off of his forehead.

His brow pinches like he doesn't believe you. Not about the too much part. The perfect part. "But I—"

"Ani," you cut him off. The nickname makes him melt back into the sheets. More docile, relaxed. "You are perfect. Those Jedis all have sticks up their asses if they can't see you deserve to sit around their silly little table, or whatever it is they do up in their fancy pants Council Room."

He sighs. A beat of silence.

"... Lightsabers," he corrects.

You blink stupidly. "What?"

"They have lightsabers stuck up their asses."

There's the Anakin you know. You snort softly, bracing your forearm on top of his chest to peer down at him. "I'm pretty sure that'd burn them inside out."

"Maybe they deserve it," he fires back. Something about the way he says it makes you think he's not entirely joking. But you laugh anyways, head shaking softly.

"Maybe they do," you agree, ducking down to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Anyways, you best get going. I have to clean up before the next one comes in."

"Do I have to?" He groans. "Just cancel. Tell them you're sick."

"She's a regular. Unfortunately, you have to go face reality." You sit up, patting his chest. "Go be a big, brave Jedi for me, yeah?"

Anakin rolls his eyes, but he obliges reluctantly, even if he makes a big show of sighing loudly and dragging himself sluggishly out of the soiled sheets in search of his discarded robes.

If tonight has shown you one thing, it's that he probably shouldn't be a Jedi Master after all the rules he's broken in one evening alone. But you don't tell him that. You make your coin out of sleeping with sleazebags from all over the Galaxy in the Coruscant Underworld, after all.

Who are you to judge?

[elodieunderglass]

There was an utterly random person who accused me of reblogging things in a pattern indicating I was part of a group that secretly gathered to mock them. They asked why I was bullying them, which was done by reblogging specific posts that were secretly about them, in patterns and times designed to trigger them and mock them. For example, reblogging a certain piece of art and a certain queer positivity post in succession was a pattern, and if I thought I was fooling anybody, look how other people did it too (clearly their dash had a lot of mutuals who were online at the same time and reblogged the same thing.)

I had a similar conversation, and they pretty much instantly calmed down and explained that they sometimes had trouble distinguishing reality, and that perhaps I was participating in the pattern in all innocence. I attempted to handle this compassionately. I worried that I shouldn’t block them, because what if that harmed them?

This came back recently, and I searched for their name, and saw they were having some sort of outbreak, and doing this to other people as well. Some of the people they messaged had their own troubles with distinguishing reality, and being told quite firmly that they were a bully, part of a secret bullying ring, who gathered on tumblr to mock nudes - the evidence being the pattern of posts they’d reblogged; look who else reblogged this, they’re in the ring with you, aren’t they, you disgusting bully - was incredibly destabilising for them. This was so awful, and helped me understand how Beyond My Problem this person was.

I think I’m someone who tries to behave fairly sensibly and scrupulously, and with decent manners, online. Unfortunately, that often results in me feeling like I have to manage other people’s reactions for them. Like, if I was a better person, and hit every word perfectly, nobody would get mad at me. That’s certainly the impression the Internet likes to give - that if people get mad at someone, it’s because they were Wrong and Okay to Punish, so if you don’t want people mad at you, you just have to behave perfectly. Simple, right?

But interactions like the OP and the one I had recently really go to show that you can’t manage other people. There is no perfect behavior you could pull off that would have stopped this happening. They are just having a separate experience that’s nothing to do with you as a person. They are mad at you not because of you as a person, or anything you did, or even on purpose (they might be genuinely distressed by feeling this way.) sometimes people are just mad and you can’t fix it and it’s not about you.

Are they trying to be funny? Are they trying to set up some false accusation blackmail thing? Are they having trouble distinguishing reality? Did they mistake you for someone else? Is it a bot? Are they genuinely in need of help? Are they doing a bit to screencap you? Do they think that you deliberately reblog posts in significant targeted patterns?

None of them are within your gift to solve over internet messages. Sometimes people are just mad, and you happened to be there. Sometimes it’s just something that happens, like weather.

I’m sorry it happened, OP. You were really funny about it but it’s not pleasant.

what the hell is going on

[straows]

Are you cheating on me?

Request ✔️ @sejel

—In which, Jjk men have dupes of your lip-gloss in case you need it, but you didn't know 'til you found it.

Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna

A/n: I hope this is what you were looking for, as I got to writing I kinda forgot what the prompt rlly was... hope you enjoy though!

Groaning, you looked through your makeup bag to try and find your favorite lipgloss. You’d swear you’d bought a spare, but you cant find it. It had your brows furrowing and a your lips to pull into an angry pout.

Slipping off your heels, you marched right into the kitchen, practically turning the place upside down.

“Where the fuck is it?!” You mumbled, stressing because you’d told him you’d be ready to leave for your date by the next four minutes.

Going back into your bedroom, you looked through his bedside dresser. Only to pause when you noticed a tube of lipgloss. The same brand as yours, just one shade off.

You stared at that tube for a lot longer than four minutes. Hell you stared at it so long that your eyes got dry and you were almost squinting.

Because why the fuck, did he have this lip-gloss?

Your knuckles closed around it so tight they turned white. The possibility that he was cheating on you had your blood running hot. But you had to calm down. It could be a misunderstanding. Right? Right?

Walking into the kitchen, barefoot, no lipgloss, you leaned against the counter top, voice all sweet and doting like it usually was, except for the drips of venom that clouded your tone. “Baby, can I ask you a question real quick?”

Gojo Satoru;

Turning away from the sugar cookies he was gulping down, Gojo wiped his mouth and nodded with a smile. “Of course sweets, you’re lookin’ good. No gloss today?”

He looked your figure over appreciatively, oblivious to the grave mistakes he’d made.

“Well, I just wanted to ask you,” A sardonic smile on your lips, you put the gloss on the counter top, that smile dropping with a glare, “what the fuck is this doing in your drawer?”

“Huh?” Gojo just looked at you stupidly. So confused as to why his woman was getting angry over a tube of gloss he’d bought for her in case she needed it, but also absolutely turned on with how your talking to him.

“This isn’t even my shade, so don’t you play stupid with me, Gojo.” Your nose wrinkled slightly as your lip curled in anger. “Who’s is this? Was she in our house? Why the fuck is she using the same brand as me?”

Gojo felt a shiver go down his spine at how you said his name, and quickly he moved forward to do damage control. “What do you mean wrong shade? Baby that’s your shade. I’d bought it for you in case the one you had ran out.”

You paused, before quickly pulling out your phone to look at your shared bank account, and surely enough there was the charge from Ulta for the gloss.

“Oh.”

“Did you think I was cheating on you? Really baby?” Gojo would be upset, if he didn’t love how embarrassed you were. Taking slow but big steps towards you, his hands found your hips and pulled you in close. “How could you think id cheat on you?”

“I- well- it just- it’s not my shade and it’s in your drawer and I just- I’m so sorry, Toru.” Groaning, your head dropped to his chest, hands resting on his forearm.

“It’s alright… but I think you should make it up to me.” Gojo grinned against your cheek, pressing a few kisses here and there before biting down teasingly under your jaw.

“…but the date—“

“Fuck the date, I gotta remind you how much I love you.” Picking you up easily by the underside of your thighs, Gojo easily carried you back to your shared bedroom.

The tube of lip-gloss left on the counter alone.

Nanami Kento;

“Yes honey?” Kento didn’t turn to look at you, and was looking the reflection of the microwave. He’d been struggling with his tie for the past five minutes, and usually he had it down pat but today was not his day. “Can you help me with this real quick, I seem to be struggling for whatever reason today.”

Feeling your resolve crack, you just cleared your throat. “Kento.”

Pausing, he finally turned around only to find your very serious expression. One that was hardly ever sees you with. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Why was this lipgloss in your drawer?” You had to keep your voice stern because the way he was looking at you like you were crazy almost made you want to crumble and laugh.

“You don’t remember?” Kento walked up to the counter, and picked up the gloss, “you’d asked a few weeks ago if I had any idea where your gloss went, and I didn’t, so I went and ordered you one. I apologize if this isn’t the right shade, but it’s the one I ordered for you.”

Your mouth was left opened for a moment before you closed it and nodded. “I knew that, I was just um… testing you.” Cheeks red in embarrassment, you quickly grabbed the gloss and tried to walk away, however a hand on your wrist had you turning around and landing into Kento’s chest.

“Did you think I was cheating on you?” Kento’s voice was low and quiet, his eyes locked with yours as he held you.

“…no…” Looking away, a pout on your lips.

“Honey,” Kento gently tilted your head back towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, “I have absolutely no time to juggle you and another woman. You simply take up all space in my mind.”

You smiled sweetly up at him, before tilting your head, “did you just call me fat?”

“Huh?”

“I’m kidding. I love you, thank you. ‘M sorry for jumping to conclusions.” Getting on your tip toes, you pressed a kiss to his cheek before helping him with his tie.

Sukuna Ryomen;

Sukuna just stared at you, brows furrowed as he looked you over. First, appreciating your appearance, secondly, confused on what the fuck you’re talking about.

“Why are you showing me some tube?” Crossing his arms, his arms flexing as he did.

“Why was this lipgloss in your drawer?” You huffed, brows furrowed and voice demanding.

“Woman, you have the memory of the peanut.” Sukuna groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“So you are cheating!” You pointed, eyes wide as if you’d been suspecting it for days it’s been 8 minutes.

“Cheating on you? I’ve killed all the concubines. All of the servants are over the age of 45, and you are constantly near me.” Sukuna leaned against the counter, his face inches from yours. “Are you sure in this accusation or do you just want to punished?”

Blinking once, twice, thrice, you paused. “Hey I never said that—“

“Too late.” Wrapping an arm around you, Sukuna easily lifted you by your hips. Holding you like a dog that just caught trying to run off.

“No! Wait— I’m still sore!” Whining, you try to bite at his arms but he just grins.

“You know I like it when you bite, you must be eager. Not to worry woman, I will satiate you.” That shit eating grin on his mouth and his stomach mouth.

“Can I at least ride you?”

“No.”

“PLEASSEEEEE”

“Keep talking, it will only elongate the inevitable.”

[bunnipuffs]

somno with ellie x reader?

yes … yessss … absolutely … putting myself to sleep right now for her (◕◡◕) thank you for your request anon !!!!!!!! i am a somno girl through and through <3<3<3

꒰ cw. dubcon, loser! pervert! ellie, ellie using you to masturbate, you're drunk and ellie takes advantage of you, mention of the word vomit ꒱

⋆˙⟡ ellie is impulsive. something that she can’t ever change, even now, when you’re passed out in front of her. she can’t help it.

ellie likes to think that she’s contained. calm, collected, never lets her feelings get the best of her. but that wasn’t her. not at all, she’s always been very immature—starting fights for no reason, getting ticked off when joel lectures her about what she had done, an eye roll every time maria had reminded her about responsibilities. instead of realizing that, yeah maybe i could’ve died back there and i should apologize, a quick rebuttal always comes first. she never thinks about the severity of the situation. ellie acts before she can even process what she had done wrong, she’d rather not think about it honestly, her stupidity or carelessness. she never even really operated like that in the first place.

ellie wishes that she was like that though. doing the right thing even when it was hard. especially in this moment—you’re drunk and passed out on her bed, another annual jackson party wringing you dry. she feels dirty when she can’t help but to strip off your clothes, skinny fingers peeling off your top. you’re sweaty, and you probably have splashes of vomit on it. she tries to rationalize with herself, but she knows that taking off your bra isn’t necessary. it really isnt, but her fingers are moving before she can think about it. your tits are splayed out now, covered in the moonlight seeping through her windows. she exhales a shaky breath when she looks at you. this was wrong. very wrong, but ellie keeps staring at your perky nipples, salivating. the smell of alcohol is rough. you had a lot to drink and too much ambition, but ellie decided to be a good person and take you "home," not really specifying where home was. that thought was long discarded when she leans down, noticing that the scent doesn’t really bother her anymore when she gets close enough to your nipples, too eager and curious, a gentle kitten lick to the bud.

she has a hand wrapped around your throat, softly, just testing. she had always thought about doing that to you, feeling every gulp and movement of your throat underneath her fingertips. she’s sucking on your nipple, gently, afraid that if she makes any noise it’ll remind her of how sick she is. your sweat is salty on her tongue and she wanted more. wanted to clean you off until you were covered in her saliva, in her. she feels horrible, a storm of shame and embarrassment swirling in the pit of her stomach, but she can’t help it—you just do this to her. you did this to her the day she met you. a warm smile and the crinkles in your eyes when you laughed. she couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with you either, even when you had hung out with her and dina often, something about you just made her spin.

that’s why it was easier to do this to you. you weren’t awake, couldn’t judge her for being so irrational and irresponsible. she just needed her fix. and you were so pretty, under the soft gleam of the moonlight. it couldn’t hurt to do this just once right?

she’s quickly shoving down her pants along with her boxers, rubbing her slick across her folds. she moans quietly, staring right at you while she hovers on top of you, the only time she's ever had the confidence to look at you properly. she’s ridiculously wet when she hasn’t even done anything yet, just perverted touches and thoughts racing through her head—ellie takes your limp hand from your side, gripping your wrist and rubbing herself with it. she’s moving you like a doll, controlling you, it’s a little awkward since you’re unconscious, you can't fuck them into her like she so desperately hoped for. your fingers are angled downwards and she’s grinding right on top of them, moaning when your knuckles bump her clit. your fingers are getting messy, covered in ellie.

ellie feels gross—using you like this. but there was something beautiful about taking you in secret. so secret that only ellie knows, not even you, and you're making her feel so good. she's used her fingers a million times before, rubbing relentlessly until she was sore to the thought of you. your smiles when you passed by, your sweet small talk when you both were putting your horses away at the same time. your hands felt different, so much better and pure. ellie likes to think that she's the first to have you like this. all laid out for her, nothing that could stop her in this moment. no nagging from joel, or anyone else. just her and you.

ellie's biting her lip to stop the loud whimpers spilling from her lips, your name an occasional strangled sound in the air. almost a whisper, precious on her tongue. her hands are tightening around your wrist, dragging it rougher and rougher against her cunt, feeling her own wetness spread along her inner thighs and dripping down your fingers. she's still staring you, sweat trickling over her slit brow and down her face. she thinks you look so beautiful when you're asleep, even more so when you're awake. but something depraved is growing in ellie, seeing you unconscious. your pretty tits spread in front of her, the shadow of your eyelashes against your skin. it makes ellie hot, burning, her body warm to the touch. she could probably come just by looking at you like this.

a part of ellie wishes you were awake. that you wholly accepted her for what a "bad" person she was. you seeing her desperate and taking her like she was taking you, she wanted it—but she was afraid. she knows that she'll never be able to look you in the eye for sure after this, but it feels too good. your fingers are connecting with her, so close, pulling the softest whimpers and moans from her throat. she wants to come all over them and stare, watch the obscenity trickle down your pretty hands.

"ah, fuck, i'm gonna.." ellie mutters, watching as you softly breathe under her. she grinds against you once, hard, before coming undone. she's muttering a blabbered string of curse words, fucking herself through her high. she feels every slide of her pussy across the sides and tops of your fingers, making sure she rubs herself on all of them. ellie can only hear the loud pounding of her heart in her ears now, puffing out heavy tired breaths. she pulls away from you and brings your hand up to the light. it's glistening, slick with arousal and ellie's love. she smiles at the sight before bringing them to her lips, licking everywhere—in between your digits, your palm.

she'll clean you up now, bring you home. tuck you into bed and let dina know you got home safely. when the next day rolls around, you're met with a horrible hangover and no recollection of last night's events. dina had let you know that ellie brought you home, cleaned you up, left a water bottle and some painkillers she had leftover in her bathroom cabinet. you're a little confused when you give ellie your gratitude when you see her, watching as her body visibly tenses. oh well, she was always a little distant!

tag list ! ♡

@hyperbabes

[billionairebratenergy]

Every Little Thing

 Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes tracks every detail of your life like a soldier guarding something precious, battling the ghosts that whisper you're too good to be true.

Bucky notices everything.

It’s not intentional. It’s survival. It’s instinct, muscle-deep and bone-etched, as much a part of him as the metal welded to his body.

He knows how you tap your fingers three times against your mug before taking the first sip. How you always, without fail, leave your keys on the third hook by the door. How you eat your fries last, your dessert first, your smiles brightest when the sky’s just turning pink before sunset.

He knows you. Every little thing.

Which is why, on a rain-washed Saturday night when you casually mention you’re running to the store—the store, when you hate crowds, when you hate driving in low light—Bucky's mind snaps awake like a man hearing a gun cock.

He smiles. He kisses your forehead. But inside, the storm brews.

It brews when you take a work call during lunch the next day, ignoring the sandwich he made, untouched and cooling on your plate. It churns harder when you visit the dentist twice in one week. (Once for a cleaning, you said. The second time?) Your voice had been muffled against your scarf. You hadn't really answered.

Bucky feels sick with it.

Not because he thinks you’re cruel. Not because he thinks you’re disloyal. But because some part of him—the broken, battered part—knows that things he loves get ripped away. Torn from his hands. And he never sees it coming.

The third night, he doesn’t sleep. He watches you breathe beside him, your face relaxed, peaceful. And the guilt nearly suffocates him. You deserve someone better. Someone who doesn’t catalog your routines like intelligence reports. Someone who trusts without question, who doesn’t have war drums pounding in their chest every time you smile just a little too tightly.

And yet—he can’t stop. He’s slipping again, hands bloody with doubt.

You notice. Of course you do.

You find him in the kitchen, hunched over a mug of cold coffee at 2:14 a.m., the overhead light buzz-buzz-buzzing like a broken thought.

"Hey," you say, voice sleep-rough but tender. "You okay, baby?"

Bucky looks up. The weight of his shame is a bullet in his chest. And the dam cracks.

"I—I notice everything," he rasps. "I track everything you do. I can’t shut it off. And when something’s different, I—I think something’s wrong. With us. With you. I don’t want to, I don’t mean to, but I..." He drags a hand through his hair, the strands trembling between his fingers. "It makes me feel crazy. And you’d have every right to leave. I wouldn’t even blame you."

You cross the kitchen, bare feet silent on the tile. You take the mug from his hands. Set it aside. Then you cup his face, warm palms grounding him back into his body.

"Look at me, Bucky." He does. Barely.

"You are not crazy. You’re not wrong. You’re not broken for loving me so much you notice things." Your thumb brushes his cheek, slow, steady. "You’re careful because you were hurt. You’re watchful because you’ve survived things no one should survive."

He tries to pull back. You don’t let him. You hold him like he’s something precious. Like he’s not a weapon but a wounded man.

"And the things that worried you?" you murmur. "You can ask. Anytime."

He blinks, confused, wary.

"The work call? Emergency. Client’s server crashed, they needed help fast." "The store trip? You were out of the only brand of hot cocoa you’ll drink and didn’t want to make a big deal out of it." "The dentist? Toothache. Temporary crown."

Bucky’s mouth opens, shuts.

"You don’t have to spiral alone," you say, your voice breaking just a little. "Not when you have me. Let me be the place where you’re safe, too."

It’s not an order. It’s not a plea. It’s a gift, wrapped in love.

And slowly—achingly—he takes it.

That night, he falls asleep with you tucked against his chest, your heartbeat lulling him into dreams where nothing—nothing—could go wrong.

It’s not immediate. Healing never is.

But you start telling him about every change before he can even notice.

“Hey, babe, I’m going to grab groceries—should be back in an hour. I’ll avoid the crowd.” “Gotta take a call during lunch today—promise it’s just one.” “Dentist again, unfortunately. Wish me luck."

Each casual announcement chips away at the old paranoia, like sunlight slowly melting winter ice.

And when, one night, you roll away from him in your sleep, Bucky only smiles into the darkness, knowing you’ll drift back sooner or later. Knowing you love him. Knowing he can trust you.

He’s free, for the first time, from the war inside his own head. Because you chose him. Because you stayed.

Because sometimes, love isn’t about not noticing the little things. It’s about trusting that they’ll always lead you back home.

To each other.

Always.

BONUS SCENE

You’re curled on the couch, scrolling through your phone mindlessly, when Bucky sits beside you with a suspicious gleam in his eye.

“What?” you laugh, leaning into his side.

He just grins, pulling something from behind his back—a neatly wrapped box, tied with an absurdly perfect bow.

“For you.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Bucky says, suspiciously casual. "Just... saw something and thought of you."

You carefully untie the bow and lift the lid. Inside, nestled in delicate tissue paper, are products you recognize immediately: the brand-new moisturizer you’d been thinking about buying but hadn’t mentioned out loud, the serum you lingered over in Sephora but never picked up, the cleanser you bookmarked three nights ago in your browser and then forgot.

You blink. And blink again.

"Bucky... how did you...?"

He shrugs, sheepish, scratching the back of his neck like he’s been caught.

"I just... notice things." You stare at him, stunned.

"You always spend three extra seconds on your moisturizer when you don't love it," he says, cheeks pinkening. "You get this little crease between your eyebrows when your skin feels dry. And you kept hovering over your phone lately when you were online shopping but never actually bought anything, so I... figured I'd help."

The words come out like a confession. Like he's worried you’ll think it's too much.

Instead, you feel your heart absolutely shatter with love.

You set the box down and launch yourself into his lap, cupping his face in your hands. "You’re unreal," you whisper against his mouth. Bucky smiles—really smiles, all teeth and crinkling eyes—and kisses you like he’s breathing you in.

"You deserve the best," he murmurs between kisses. "Always."

You pull back just enough to whisper, "You already give me that. Every single day."

Later, you sit between his legs, your back against his chest, while he watches in awe as you try the new products—like it's some kind of sacred ritual. He kisses your shoulder every time you smile.

And you think: If noticing the little things is how he loves... then you’ll never let him forget how much you adore being seen.

Want to join my taglist? Fill out the form at this link or drop a comment below!

Taglist: @avengersfan25,@doilooklikeagiveafrack, @hits-different-cause-its-you, @fallen-w1ngs, @angelsoftbear

[spidybaby]

Hi can you please can you make a second part for the coparenting plz . If you can't do it that's okay . I really loved your writing .

Coparenting 2 | Barca Boys

Summary: What is it like to coparent with them

Part one

A/N: took more time than I was counting on, but here it is ❤️ also @unreapp yelloooow, you deserve your credits baeeeeee 😭❤️

Pedri

"Don't let me take the ball from you." Pedri says, trying to take show him how to keep the ball. "Vale no, don't push me because if you push someone on the game, they are taking you out."

"Why?"

"Bua, imagine someone comes and pushes you to get the ball. Yo te pongo una roja, chaval."

You shake your head at them, fighting over an imaginary red card. You finish fixing the food while looking at the window to see them playing.

Rosy once told you that Pedri was the same with his father. They were outside all the time playing with a ball.

"Okay, time out. You two need to eat." You call them.

Pedri and you got into a better foot. He was more talkative now. You both sat down to talk, and you decided that you need to be adults for the sake of your son.

He was now more responsive with the texts, with calls, he was better in every way. You feel like now you can actually say that he was with you in everything.

That can also is noticeable on your son, he looks more happy, more confident in different activities. It was all for the better, and you are happy with it.

"Croquetas?" Pedri asks, entering the kitchen. "My diet is really suffering, eh."

"You can eat the salad." You tease him, placing the bowl in front of him.

"Con lo ricas que te quedan a ti las Croquetas, I prefer to break the diet." He says, grabbing a good amount of food. (With how good you make the croquetas)

You smile at him. "But your mom's are better."

"I like yours, mami." Your son says, hugging your legs.

You kneel down, giving him a kiss. "Thank you, amorcito." You smile, kissing his cheek. "Now eat your lunch, you need all the energy you can get for the game."

Pedri loves seeing you parenting your son, it was so cute to see. How your voice goes from normal to this very sweet voice.

You are also so delicate with him. Always knowing what he wants or what he says, even when he doesn't understand him, you do.

He looks for you, even at his house. If he doesn't see you, he's always mentioning his Mami. That was something that Pedri always admired about you, your dedication to your son.

Pedri helps you load the dishwasher while you organize the toys on the floor. You like this Pedri, who was talkative, who was helping you and not just answering with an emoji or leaving you on read.

"Need help with something else?" He asks you, leaving the kitchen.

"Can you put him to bed?" You ask. "I just need to prepare his school bag for tomorrow real quick."

He nods, picking your son from the couch and taking him to his room. "Papi, stay."

Pedri doesn't know what to say, he can't just invite himself. "Buaf, guapo, maybe next time."

"No, today."

He can't help but feel bad, his son is used to having only you or him. He blames himself for that, letting his ego get in the way of him.

"We need to ask mam-"

He can't even finish his sentence when his son outer the loudest scream he ever heard. "Mami!"

"Ey, chaval." Pedri tries to cover his mouth. "Para, the neighbors might hear you."

You walk upstairs after the third call you son's make you. Making you wonder what is going on.

"Si?" You ask, entering the room. "Is everything okay?"

"Si, tod-"

"Let papi stay." He smiles, hugging Pedri by the neck. "Pwease."

You sometimes struggle to understand your son, he's little and still learning to pronounce the words.

But this was too perfect for you to think he's saying something else.

"I-" You begin. Clearing your throat. "I mean, it's up to you, I don't mind." You say, trying to sound normal.

He lifts his eyebrows, silently asking you if it was really okay for him to crash over for the night. You nod, letting him know that it was really okay.

"Now, let's get you a warm bath." You smile, taking your son in your arms. "Tomorrow you have school, and Papi and I need to work."

You both do the bath routine. You can't help but wonder if this is what it would've felt if you and him worked better instead of parting ways as soon as the first problem hits.

"You can stay here, or I can prepare the guest room."

"Whatever is fine." He smiles, grabbing a book to read. "Gracias, for letting me stay."

Both of you thought that it was going to be a one-time thing, maybe he won't ask again, maybe she did it to let our son have his way.

But the reality was that Pedri decided to use those weeks that there was left until the game as an excuse on why he needed to be there.

Are you going to argue?

No, you love it.

"Lunch is ready," You announce. They were out in the patio playing with the ball. "Time out, no more playing. You two need to eat."

They sound of their laughs, the extra place on the table. It all makes you feel like you got what you wanted.

"I want ice cream."

"No, mami made us some yummy food." Pedri says, making your son stop arguing. "I want to ask you something." He says, helping you with the plates.

"Aja?" You ask, concentrated on the food.

"Do you wan-"

"Do you want rice or not?" You ask, asking before serving food. "Sorry, I cut you off."

"It's okay, and no, I eat at the club." He answers. "Do you wan-"

"Mami, can I have mac and cheese?"

"Mijo, there's chicken and rice." You say, placing the plate in front of him. "We can have that for dinner."

You sat down, remembering that Pedri hadn't had a chance to tell you what he wanted to tell you.

"Pepi, tell me what you wanted to tell me."

"Oh, si." He smiles, taking a deep breath. "I was thinking that maybe we can go out to eat tonight. The three of us, maybe somewhere where he can play."

"That sounds amazing." You smile, "He has a play date, but after that, we are free."

"Vale, I'm picking you two after that." He smiles, kissing your son's head. "See you then."

You stay happy the rest of the day. You like the idea of going out, it feels like you are a real family.

You change into something comfortable, but not to the point you look like you are home. You still manage to look casual and stylish.

The play date ended quickly. After a coffee and a good chisme from the other mom, you two parted ways into the mall.

When you get home, you have time to brush your teeth and spray some more perfume. You brush your kid's teeth, making sure he is comfortable.

Pedri picked you up only a few moments later. You open the back door, placing you kid in his chair. When you open the passenger seat door, you are welcome with a bouquet of flowers.

"Estoy esperando no haberla cagado, eh!" He says, giving you a kiss on the cheek. "Are these still your favorite?"

"They are, gracias." You blush a little. "Where are we going?"

"Remember that place near the beach we liked when we first came to Barcelona?"

"The one with those milkshakes?" You ask, already craving one. Pedri nods, smiling at your reaction. "I haven't been there in so long."

"But nothing with milk for him." He says, whispering so your kid won't hear him. "Tomorrow's the game, and I don't want him to get sick."

You can't lie that watching Pedri share moments with your kid is something else. He was something else.

You focus on enjoying the time you have with them, hearing him talk about his day, hearing him talking like he used to when you were together.

You wished the day was longer to enjoy more time together, but sadly as the day got to an end. You know you have to go back home and prepare for the important day of your son.

You thought that this was going to be a calm day. You were going to enjoy your son and his friends.

But you feel nervous, you can't help but want his team to win and pulverize the other team. Even if you are talking about kids and not adult footballers.

"Diviértete, and please don't push anybody." Pedri says, walking to the field with your kid in his arms. "Te amo."

"What if I don't win?"

"Then we pay the referee to make you win." He jokes.

"Pedri!" You hit him in the arm. "No, amor. What really matters is for you to have fun, papi is just joking. We are not paying the referee."

"Vale, ve ahí y chuta." He says, putting him down and pushing him to go with his friends. (Go and score)

You find his parents and brother on the corner of the field. You sit with them, talking about what the expectations were for this game.

You really don't care if he wins or not, even tho a win would be amazing. You can say that he might have a very competitive gene on him. After all, Pedri can't help but want to win everything.

The game was slow, the first half was fun, but it wasn't really much to say about it. Pedri takes mental notes to help the team, calling your son over.

"Vale, do you see those kids?" He asks, turning your kid and pointing. "They are the guys that are supposed to defend, but they run with the rest. I want you to take the ball from that other kid and run as fast as you can to the goal and score."

"But if I fai-"

"If you do, then you do it again. Don't be negative about it. You have some of me in you, so I know you can do it."

He sends his kid back to his group. He knows that even if he loses, he's going to be the proudest father.

"Some of me in you." You chuckle at his statement. "He's all you, your smile, your eyes, your accent even."

"Aren't we both from the same place?" He asks, smiling. "But he has a lot of you. Your stubbornness, your crazy eye and that weird mark on your-"

"I hate you." You frown at him. "Not me saying cute things, and you saying I have a crazy eye." You say, pretending to be mad.

"Ah vale vale, we were supposed to say nice things." He lifts his hands. "Bua, I'm bad at lying." He teases you.

"That's it, you are in time out." You point at him. "Your punishment is to get me a snack over there."

Rosy is watching the two of you. She's happy that you two are finally taking over the role of parents instead of coparents.

She knows that she was out of line when she scolded Pedri about how he was, but she now sees that it was all worth it.

"Mira que si chuta y no le pega ya tendremos pa calentarlo." Fer says at you. "Maybe he's like you and Pedri when he loses, and he kicks mom's favorite flowerpot."

You remember the flowerpot. Pedri got subbed after what he called a bad performance. He was frustrated, and when you took him home, he kicked the flowerpot so hard it crashed over other plants.

Pedri arrives with your snack, passing his arm around you. "Can you believe he's old enough that we are at his football games and not the other way?"

"It's crazy," you say, feeling nostalgique. "Time does flies."

The second half starts, the game continues 0 - 0 to the dislike of everyone. You spend the rest of the game hoping for a change.

It was also about to end, only a minute or less on the clock that was placed on the grass.Pedri calls the name of your son, making signals to do what he was told. He nods, running to get the ball from the first kid.

You can't help the emotion, neither could the other parents. Yelling at your boy to run and to score.

"Chuta, joder!" Fer yells, making someone's mother correct his language.

The whole side of your team yells in happiness when the goals go in. You jump happy, hugging Rosy.

When you turn to where Pedri is, you feel two hands grabbing your cheeks. It was Pedri smashing his lips against yours.

You wrap your arms around him, too happy to care about the reactions of his parents and too into it to care that the game was over.

You two separate, smiling like crazy at each other. You go back for a peck, already missing his lips.

When your son runs to where you two are, Pedri let go of you, picking your son. He's telling him how proud he is and how happy he should be that he scored the winning goal.

You hug the two of them, giving your son a kiss on the cheek, telling him that he was amazing and that he was a champion just like his dad.

You look to Pedri, the look on his faces is not compared to anything. You haven't seen this, not even when he won everything that season.

"I love you so much." You say to your son. "I love you both so much." You smile at Pedri, getting closer to him, joining your lips in a kiss.

Gavi

"Vale, mira." He says, pointing at the goal. "You need to kick the ball there."

He places the ball in front of her, checking that it was aligned to the small goal he has at home.

"Papi, I'm tired." She argues, tired of playing football.

"We will, but first kick the ball."

He picks her up from the grass. Placing her in front of the ball. His daughter looks back at him, turning and going back to the house.

"Ey ven acá. " He says, going after her. "Let's go, one more time, and we are over."

"I'm tired, papi." She repeats.

Pablo hears the doorbell, walking outside to open the door.

"Sorry I'm late, this took more time than it should." You say.

"Come in." He says, moving to the side. "Can you believe she can't score one single goal?" He asks, frowning. "She got your feet."

"Okay, that's rude." You say, giving him a hit on the head. "I told you she doesn't like football, Pablo."

He scuffs, walking inside. "Mami's here."

She runs to you, giving you a hug. "You are so red." You say, noticing her flushed face. "Papi is making you kick the ball?"

She nods, pouting at you. "I want to go swimming with Sebas." She says, making Pablo turn his head to where you are.

He wants to ask, especially since < Sebas > is not a girl name.

"Oh, Pablo. I have the papers you asked me to bring. Let me get them." You smile, walking back to your car.

Pablo took his chance, he walked up to his daughter. "Doll, who's sebas?"

"Mami's friend, he has a big pool." She smiles.

Pablo frowns, turning back to his backyard. "I have a pool." He points at the pool.

"Si, but he has a big unicorn on the pool." She smiles.

He frowns. "I can get you one, two if you want." He kneels in front of her. "You just have to promise me not to go swimming with him anymore, because if you do, the unicorns on papi's pool are going to be sad."

She nodded, excited about the flooties he promised.

"That's my girl." He smiles, walking outside with her. "Now, let's try kicking the ball one more time, yes?"

You watch them both play outside, leaving the papers on the counter. You take your phone to answer some texts.

You didn't have anything else planned for the evening, so you were fine with watching Gavi and your daughter play.

You walk outside, seating at one of the pool chairs he has. You can't help but laugh at how funny he looks frowning when your daughter missed the goal for the third time.

"You know what, let's get you some ice cream." He says, frustrated.

He walks with her in his arm. Telling her that maybe they can try practicing another day. He knows he's maybe a little bit too hard on her about the football thing.

He wants to have something more in common with her. She has a lot of things in common with you, and football might be the only thing he can share with her.

He knows that this past weeks his schedule was too busy, not allowing him to visit her or to do more than just FaceTime.

For him, it's important that when she is visiting. She's having fun and that she enjoys being there.

"Eat your ice cream, I have to talk to mami." He says, pressing play on the movie. He walks over to where you are, seating next to you. "Did you have fun today?"

You turn to him. "I mean, would you consider doing essay research fun?"

"Ni de coña." He frowns. "I want to ask you something."

You nod, leaving your phone and paying attention to him.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

You blink a few times, trying to process the question. "No?" You say, sounding more than a question. "Does it matter?"

"I just, she's saying that she loves going to this friend of yours because he has a pool, and I just." He pauses, not sure how to organize his words. "I don't want other dudes in her life. I don't want another dude teaching her how to swim or helping her with homework. I'm her dad."

"Well, Sebastian is my sister's boyfriend." You say, making him feel dumb. "And he is not teaching her how to swim or helping her with homework. I don't have anyone because I'm focusing on college and on her, but I'm not saying that if the opportunity comes I'll deny it just because you fear she might get help with her homework."

"It's not about the homework." He says. "I just don't want any other dude near my daughter."

"So I have to be alone just because you don't want her to have any male contact appart from you?"

"You don't need to have anybody, joder. I'm here for the two of you. If you want to be with someone, be with me."

You don't expect Gavi to be the one to say that. You and him haven't been together romantically since before the baby was even born.

Your sister always told you that it was pretty much dumb to have hopes to go back to a relationship with Gavi.

He was a footballer who had girls throwing themselves at him. He was one of the biggest footballers in Spain at the moment.

"Papi"

You feel like your daughter could read the desperation of your thoughts and how you can't figure out how to answer.

You follow Gavi with your eyes as he goes inside the house with your daughter. You take a few more minutes before going back inside.

"Pizza or burgers?" Gavi asks her.

"Me?" She asks, making him nod. "Pizza."

"You still like the half veggie half full meat with extra cheese?" He asks.

You smile. "I actually haven't had that in so long. The last time I had it was with you, actually."

You can't help but feel excitement, he wanted you to choose him. To be together and raise your daughter like a family.

You wish you could make your sister know what happened, like a broadcast thing where she's able to hear and see that Pablo was the one finally giving that step.

< "You think that Pablo and you can be a what?"

"Can you not laugh?"

"Y/n, why would you ever think a 17 year old boy would want to get serious with the girl he got pregnant?"

"I not saying that it has to be right now, but mayb-"

"Maybe in 10 years? When you notice you gave a big part of your youth to a boy who's never going to be more than just the father of your child?"

"I think that maybe someday we can be a family." >

Maybe this is your someday.

"Next week I'm going to be in Milan, but after that I was thinking maybe you can let me have her all day this sunday?"

"Sure, I can drop her." You smile, eating a slice of pizza. "Maybe 9?"

"That works. Escuchas princesa? Pasaremos todo el domingo juntos." (You hear that, princess? We are going to spend all Sunday together)

You can't help but feel butterflies on your stomach with him now saying that he can be the one for you.

Your mind works at a million percent the whole week, you can't help but feel like everything he does or says is a signal.

Your daughter insisted on speaking to him because she refused to go to bed without saying I love you to him.

"Vale, now you need to sleep." He says, turning the light on the nightstand off. "Look, even I'm going to sleep."

Gavi was in Milan, the team was coming back in the morning because they wanted to give the team the day in Milan before coming back.

You grab the phone from her hands, walking to the balcony so you won't bother her. "She's off, thank you."

You and Gavi have been talking at night for a couple of nights in a row. It was becoming something you were looking for at the end of the day.

"My mom was at my house the other day, and she almost killed me when she found out she still sleeps with me in my room."

"If you are giving her a room, please don't paint it with the barca colors."

"Que va, I wanted to ask you to help me decorate it. Maybe a bigger bed than those kids ones, so you can crash for the night."

You can feel your smile grow. "We can talk about it when you are back."

You say goodbye, hanging up the call. You can't seem to drop the smile you have. Nothing was going to make you doubt that this was going to the way you wanted.

You know that you should wait and test the waters, but you have waited three years. You'll be fine trusting.

When Sunday finally hit, you woke up earlier than normal. Got your child ready, letting her watch a movie while you got ready.

Since Pablo was going to spend the day with her, you thought it would be an amazing idea to join them.

You have this plan in your head that with you joining Pablo will notice that you are compromised with the idea of him being back in your life.

You got yourself ready, putting on some nice clothes, doing some makeup to enhance your features, and doing a little bit more than just brushing your hair.

"Vamos, amor." You call her, turning the tv off. "Papi is waiting."

The whole drive feels quick, you have the best mood. You sing with her in the car to some of her favorite songs, making it the best of it.

"Okay, don't forget your doll." You say, fixing her hair before walking to Gavi's house.

You let her knock on the door, she was also happy that she was going to swim with him. You waited for a few minutes, knocking again because maybe he didn't hear it the first time.

You were on the third time knocking when the door opened. You would have preferred to see a sleepy Gavi or maybe for him not to open the door.

You have to wait a few minutes before answering to her. The shirt she had on was the same one you picked for his past birthday, the same one your daughter gifted him.

"Where's Pablo?" You finally ask.

"Oh, he's inside." She smiles.

You fake a smile, knowing she's not the one at fault here. "Can you call him over? Please."

"Sure, wait here."

You nod, watching him get inside the house. "Hey, bubs." You say to your daughter. "Why don't you go to the car? Mami forgot that papi wanted me to take you for breakfast before coming here."

She nods, you open the car door for her. Telling her that you were only going to take a moment and you'll be back to her.

You turn, finding Gavi looking at you. "Seriously, Pablo?"

"Joder, perdona. I got caught up last, and she was supposed to leave before you dropped her." He explains, making things worse for himself. "She's leaving, I promise."

You roll your eyes, wanting to smack his head to bring some sense into him. It's crazy how he can be so childish in the worst moments.

"I'm not doing this." You say to him.

You should know better than to be disappointed. You should know better than to feel like this was your fault.

"I'm taking her for breakfast, I'll text you when we are done so you can pick her up at the restaurant. Please take a shower and change the sheets."

"Why can't you leave her?"

You scuffed, shaking your head at how stupid he sounds. You walk over to your car, not feeling like explaining the obvious to a boy.

"Pablo." You call him before entering your car. "I don't want you to ever mention that you are < here for me >, okay? You are her dad, and I love you for that, but whatever game you are playing, it's over."

Ferran

"Why do teachers hold meetings so early?" He groans, reading the note his daughter gave him. "Why do I need to be at a 7:30 meeting with her kindergarten teacher?"

"Sucks to be you, huh?" You smirk. "It's not a meeting, you need to pick her report card."

He doesn't argue anymore. Knowing that no matter what he says, he's not winning.

"Oye, venga, why does Mister Puffy get more tea than me?"

"You ate Mister Puffy's cake."

"Pero hombre, he offered it to me."

You shake your head at them, enjoying how Ferran argues with the bear about eating the imaginary cake.

You grab your wallet and Ferran car keys. Walking to where they are, he looks comical.

The chair he's using looks like it's about to lose the fight. The tiara on his head matches the tutu on his hips.

"Do you want anything from the store?" You ask him, fixing the tiara.

"Maybe some carrots and some celery, please." He says, hand on his pockets to get his card. "Amore, do you want anything?"

"Juice." She smiles. "Pwease."

You nod, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back with dinner, love."

You fix her tiara, moving some of the hairs away from her face. If you love something about being a mom, it's being a girl mom.

"Can I get a kiss?" Ferran asks, trying his luck.

You turn to him, getting closer and grabbing his chin, knowing that if you let him, he'll get advantage of the situation.

You place a kiss on his cheek. You can't lie that you want more, but for now, it's all he gets.

"I'll be back. Don't burn the house." You smile, getting up. "No cookies or snacks while I'm gone. It's about to be dinner time." You warn him.

While you are gone, Ferran keeps playing to the tea party. He even got Mister Puffy to be unnivited after he drank all the tea.

He can't lie that he feels happy. You agreed to move to the house he bought you, being much closer to where he is, even agreeing to let him stay.

He got a three bedroom house, thinking that you would agree to let him stay on the spare bedroom you got.

But no, the couch he picked himself was his own torture. You purposely left the spare room not ready, wanting him to suffer a little bit more.

He wasn't going to complain. The fact that you even let him stay after bedtime was enough for him. The physio can help with the back pain later.

"Papi, I'm hungry."

"Well, me too." He chuckles, making the little girl frown at him. "You look a lot like your mami when you do that."

Thankfully for them, you walk back carrying a supermarket bag and a bag from the Chinese Restaurant you know Ferran loves.

He gets up to help you with the bags, using the opportunity to steal a kiss from you.

"That's rude." You say, moving away tying to hide the blush. "Let's go wash our hands, princesa."

You like having Ferran around more than he used to. Thanks to the small distance, he can spend more time with you two.

After dinner, he took care of getting your daughter ready for bed while you organized the pantry and clean the kitchen.

When you are done, you walk upstairs, finding Ferran reading some princess story. You knock on the door, catching his attention.

"Your blanket and pillow are ready downstairs. Also, if you need towels, they are in her bathroom if you want to take a shower."

He rolls his eyes, "You hate me, that couch is killing me."

"Try to sleep early, we need to be on time tomorrow." You smile, moving to your room.

After making sure your daughter was asleep, he went to the bathroom to take the glitter off. He changes into his clean pijama you place in the bathroom for him to change.

As much as he tries, he can't sleep on that couch. The size was a problem, the roughness of it, the cushion was to stiff.

The other problem was that if he wanted to join his daughter. The small bed wasn't much of a better option, yes it was more comfortable but not big enough for two people.

He grabs his pillow and blanket, moving upstairs to your room. He opens the door carefully, trying not to be loud.

He moves you a little to wake you up. "Five more minutes." You mumble, turning to the other side. He tries one more time, tapping on your shoulder. "What?" You ask, opening only one eye.

He can't help but laugh. "Can I sleep here?" He says with the biggest puppy eyes. "The couch is killing me."

You are too sleepy to care. Nodding and moving to the side to let him into the bed.

He knows he might get kicked out, but it's worth the try. Joining you in bed and wrapping his arms around your body.

You don't argue, feeling the warmth of his body comforting, or maybe it's his lips kissing your shoulder what's relaxing.

"Can we skip tomorrow?" He whispers in your ear.

"No." You whisper back, hearing him curse under his breath. You smile at that, enjoying the warmth you need from him.

You can't lie that he wasn't exaggerating when he used to mention that you were the reason he didn't felt like leaving the bed.

All those times he told you to give him more minutes before training is now turned to you. When you begged him to give you five more minutes, grabbing onto him to make him stay in place.

Now you are suffering from the consequences by being a few minutes later than you should.

"You are here!" You boss and friend say. "I thought you called sick. We had three people doing it."

"Oh no, I was-"

"I don't care, it's you, and I forgive you." She smiles. "Can you take care of the three year olds? I know that's where your daughter is, but I swear I can't stand the blonde mom that's there."

"Will do. Do you want me to just do it in general or one by one."

"Whatever is fine, did Mister ball came?"

You pointer towards the lined up parents. Ferran was holding your daughter while checking his phone.

She gives you a look, making you laugh as you walk into the class. You decide to call one by one.

It wasn't that long, all you have to say was, < Oh, your kid is such angel. Here's a golden star for them >

Ferran was the last one, you know that he was doing that to tease you. When he gets there with that big smirk on his face you can't help but smile.

"Señor Torres," you say, grabbing the report card. "Nice to see you here."

"Oh, my pleasure."

"Well, she's been doing her work in class, she's attentive, she's a hard worker. Wonder who she got that from."

You expect him to pull this praise speech on how she's so like him. "She's like her mom. She's the smartest, nicest, most beautiful woman I've ever met in my life. If I can say something about her is that I'm proud our daughter is like her."

You know that it might not be the place, but you don't care. You grab his face, giving him a kiss.

"Let me take this to the principal, and we can go." You smile at him.

You grab the few report cards that were there. Giving it to your friend and telling her that there was nothing else for you.

She was okay with you leaving, as soon as there were no more parents in the area where you should be, there's no need for you to stay.

"Okay, I'm free." You say, joining them in the entrance. "What if we go for some breakfast and maybe later we can go to the store, I need some boxes."

Ferran grabs your hand, confused frown on his face. "Boxes?" He asks.

You nod. "Yes, I need them to pack the toys and everything." You explain, opening the car door for him to place your daughter on the car seat.

"Why do you want to pack them?" He asks, buckling the girl. "Where are you putting them?"

You smile at him, sometimes you wonder how he's that mindful on the field. "That way I can bring them home to you."

Fermin

"Papa."

Fermin looked up from his seat, he was entertaining his son with painting. "Wow, that's beautiful."

You had this very important project that needed your full attention. Having no other option but to ask Fermin to help you while you finish it.

It was the last project you had of the semester. After this, it was going to be easier for you to concentrate on your child.

It's been two weeks, and you are finally about to finish it. After all the stressful nights and stressful times you put Fermin through.

He was happy to help, even offering to move to his house while you worked on the project. It was easier for him to return from training and pay full attention to his son.

"Want to see mine?" He asks his son. "Mine has a son on the corner." He points to the smiling sun.

He knows he's not the best at entertaining babies. That's why when he's out of ideas, he calls his mom.

His mother makes a plan for them to do, a walk on the beach of Barcelona, a nice evening at the park, swimming in the pool.

You don't worry about what they are doing, you know that your son is secure. You trusted Fermin with any activity.

"Why don't we get you cleaned." He smiles, picking him up. "Then we can take a nap, cause honestly I need one."

"Mama"

"No, amor. Mami is busy right now, and the soonest we leave her alone is the soonest it takes to finish her work."

You hear how Fermin says this to your son. You decided to take a break, a much needed break.

"Hola, guapos." You say, hugging Fermin's back. "I missed you."

"We missed you too, mami."

"I heard you talking about a nap," you smile, pinching your son's cheek. "Can I join?"

Fermin turns, giving your head a kiss. "That sounds like a plan."

You love how Fermin gets to take care of everything. Even when the plans changed in the last minute.

He never argued about it, he just supported you.

You all moved upstairs, ready to take a well-deserved nap you all were craving. Fermin, and you don't share a room, he wanted to give you your space.

But for special occasions like this one, you all share a bed to be more comfortable. That also felt right to you.

You can't lie that these past weeks you felt the luckiest person. Not only was he helping you to an extent not every father feels like doing.

But he's also the type of guy to take you food to the room where you are studying, he takes you coffee, tea, a snack, dinner.

You worked better when he was home because he would make his mission to entertain his son to the point you have enough time to work and to even take a quick break before taking over.

When you get to present your project, you feel nervous because what if it was wrong? You don't want to disappoint everybody.

Fermin texted you a picture of your son and him, wishing you all the best. "We trust you, mami. No matter what, you are our star."

You feel the confidence taki g over you again. You know that no matter what, like his texts read, he was going to be there for you.

You walk home, bag on your arm. You can't wait to take the heels off and to put something more comfortable.

"Hey!" He calls from the kitchen. "We are eating our snack, want some?"

"I was thinking that maybe we can go out later." You say, walking to where he is.

"You okay?" He asks, worried about your blank expression.

You shake your head, trying so hard to hide your smile. "More than okay, I'm fantastic. The professor loved my project so much."

Fermin smiles, getting closer to you. "I'm so proud of you. We both are." He says, giving your cheek a kiss. "You hear that, buddy? Mami got her project approved."

"So, do you want to go out to celebrate?"

"Joder, I more than anything want to."

You both finish with the snack, moving to your rooms to change into something more appropriate for the evening.

You kept it casual formal, nothing too fancy but nothing too casual. It was the perfect middle.

Fermin got a call from his mother, trying to check on him and the baby. She knows sometimes he oversleep, so she's making sure they're awake.

When she hears the news about your project, she gets happy. She likes you a lot and she's always happy about your achievements.

"Okay, talk to you later, kiddos." She says, waving at the camera. "Love you, have fun."

You wave her back, moving one arm of your kid to say goodbye too. You love the small laughs that come out of him.

You order some food, talking about his day. What's next for him in the season, what's next for the next season, everything basically.

"I was wondering something." He says, leaving the fork and knife. "I know that this project is over and that maybe you want to go back to having your own place."

You nod, not because you agree but to show him that you were paying attention. You can't lie that being together was fun.

"I want you to move permanently to my house." He drops the bomb.

"Are you sure?" You ask, scared that maybe he's just used to having you and not because he really thought about it.

"More than sure, I know that I want to have you both with me at all times." He smiles, grabbing your hand. "I also want to ask you something."

"Tell me, you know you can tell me anything." You smile, thumb caressing his hand.

"I want us to try being together. I love you and our son. We are young, yes, but I know that if we both want to, we can do this."

You smile, moving your hand from his. You close the distance between you two, giving him a kiss as an answer.

"I want that, Fer." You smile. "I love you."

"And I love you, guys."

🏷: @gadriezmannsgirl

[hyunjincanraptoo]

congrats on 500!!!!! i would be happy with literally ANY chan prompt 🥹

Hi, baby! I chose number 11 to you 🤭 This is somehow very self indulgent and so Chan coded imo. And idk about you guys but I miss blonde channie so I had to bring him back. I also reunited all the songs in one playlist :)

11. You made me a mixtape? (I forgot to add this sentence to the story 😅)

Word count: 0.7k

No warnings, this is pure fluff & shy Channie 

Alexa, play Love Language by TOMORROW X TOGETHER 

It starts with a knock you almost miss. Just one— soft, fain, kinda shy 

By the time you open the door, the hallway's already empty, except for a small brown paper bag on your welcome mat. There’s no name, just a little doodled heart on the label, and a playlist titled:

“What’s your love language? This is mine…”, scrawled across a CD sleeve 

Inside you found a carefully labeled CD, five small sticky notes, each folded and numbered. And a slightly crumpled pack of banana flavored candy.

For a moment, you know who made this.

You laugh— because it’s very him.

You slide the CD into your laptop, press play, and sit cross legged on the bed as the first track starts.

Track 1: “Friday I’m In Love” – The Cure

 You unfold the first sticky note.

“It was a Friday. You borrowed a pen from me and tapped it against your lip while thinking. I couldn’t focus for the rest of the lecture. That’s when I realized: I was screwed. I liked you. Like, really liked you”

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a grin.

Track 2: “Out of My Head” – Khalid & John Mayer

“I tried not to fall. I really did. But then you leaned over to help me find a page in my textbook and your fingers brushed mine. I didn’t sleep that night thinking about you. Still don’t, sometimes”

You clutch the note to your chest.

Track 3: “Banana Pancakes” – Jack Johnson

“Okay… this one’s kind of a dream, but I think about it a lot. Just… you, me, a rainy day, coffee and bad banana pancakes. You laughing at my kitchen while wearing one of my hoodies... I’d be the luckiest man in the whole world”

That explains the banana candy. Of course, Chan doesn't miss details.

Track 4: “Sweet” – Cigarettes After Sex

  “If I ever get to kiss you, I want it to feel like this song. Slow, careful, like we’ve got all the time in the world. I don’t want it to spark and disappear, I want it to stay. I think you’d taste like something sweet. I’d never get tired of it"

Your cheeks burn so hot you have to pause the music for a second.

Track 5: “I Wanna Be Yours” – Arctic Monkeys

“I know this song is kind of dramatic, but I mean every word of it... but in my own way. I don’t need grand gestures, I’d rather be the one who walks you home, who remembers your coffee order, who stays even when things aren’t easy. I wanna be yours, in the quiet, lingering way”

The music fade gently, and you swear you can hear Chan’s heartbeat in every note.

Whipping some tears, you’re already grabbing your hoodie, barefoot, heart racing, mixtape in one hand.

You swing open the door— and there he is, waiting by the stairs.

 His blonde hair is falling in his eyes, one hand behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. The other hand holds a small, but beautiful, bouquet of your favorite flower .

He stands there under the porch light, with his hoodie sleeves covering his fingers like they’re trying to protect him from how exposed he feels.

You’re holding the mixtape to your chest. Your heart's pounding messy in your chest.

Chan tries to smile, but it’s shaky.

“So…” he starts, voice breathless, “do you… wanna live this story with me?”

You don’t answer, not with words.

You just lean in and kiss him— warmly and gently.

At first, he doesn’t move. Just freezes, widening his eyes. A faint gasp gets caught in his throat like he’s not sure this is really happening.

But then, his shoulders relax. His fingers uncurl around the flowers. And he kisses you back like it’s the first time he’s let himself feel the full weight of hope.

When you pull away, his cheeks are bright pink, lips parted, eyes searching yours like if he blinked he would wake up.

“W–was that… real?”

You grin and tuck your hand into his.

“Yeah”, you whisper, “And I think we just wrote track 6”

He blinks, stunned, “track 6?”

You hold up the mixtape with a playful tilt of your head, “The beginning. Every playlist needs a good opener for what comes next”

You pull out your phone, and hit play.

The smooth beat of 'Day 1' by Honne spills out of the speaker

“'Cause from day one, I was already yours. And if this is where we start… I can’t wait to see the rest"

He makes a shy noise, something in between a laugh and a whimper, and buries his smile behind the flowers.

“I think that’s the best one", he mumbles.

You nudge his shoulder, “Now we just have to write track 7 together"

"I want to write the whole album with you"

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