#THIS OLD MAN IS PUNCHING THE AIR RIGHT NOW

[shybluebirdninja]

Sleep Striker

Summary: You discover that Bucky sleepwalks—and it’s not the calm, peaceful kind of sleepwalking. You wake up to find him in full-on combat mode with the couch.

Pairing            : Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Note                : fluff

The night was supposed to be peaceful. You’d spent the entire evening watching Netflix with Bucky, eating popcorn, and joking around like any normal couple. By the time you both hit the sack, you were expecting nothing but a quiet night’s sleep, maybe punctuated by Bucky’s usual snores.

But no.

Around 2 AM, you woke up to the sound of something crashing in the living room. Your heart leapt into your throat, thinking for a second that maybe someone had broken in. Instinctively, you reached for the baseball bat you kept beside the bed (Bucky insisted on keeping a knife there, but you’d settled on a less dramatic weapon). Slowly, you tiptoed toward the door, already mentally preparing yourself for some horror-movie showdown with a burglar.

But what you found was so much worse.

There, in the dim glow of the living room lamp, was Bucky Barnes—your sweet, grumpy, 100-year-old boyfriend—throwing punches at thin air like he was in the middle of a battle.

“What the hell…” you whispered, blinking in disbelief.

Bucky, still completely asleep, ducked and weaved as if he were dodging invisible enemies, his fists flying through the air with lethal precision. His face was set in that intense, focused expression he wore when he was in full-on Winter Soldier mode, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of fear and… laughter? This was ridiculous. Your boyfriend was sleep-fighting in the living room.

You set the bat down carefully, still trying to process the situation, when Bucky suddenly spun around and landed a full-force punch on the couch.

The couch.

It made a sad thud as the cushions absorbed the blow, but Bucky didn’t stop. He kicked out at the coffee table next, sending it skidding a few inches across the floor.

“Bucky!” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low but urgent. “Hey, babe, wake up!”

He didn’t hear you. Instead, he crouched low, as if he were avoiding gunfire, and rolled behind the armchair, his metal arm glinting faintly in the darkness. You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh, but it was impossible. This was like watching an overgrown toddler reenact an action movie in his sleep.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “how the hell do I handle this?”

You’d heard about sleepwalkers before, and you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to wake them up. But you couldn’t just let Bucky wage war against your furniture all night. The man had already drop-kicked the coffee table, and at this rate, he’d be suplexing the bookshelf by sunrise.

You crept a little closer, careful not to startle him. “Bucky, babe, it’s just me. You’re, uh, safe. There’s no Hydra agents in the apartment, I promise.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he launched himself toward the couch again, this time pulling off a move that looked like it came straight out of a Captain America fight scene. He tackled the poor couch as if it had personally offended him, his arms wrapping around the back cushions in a chokehold.

“Bucky, stop! The couch isn’t the enemy!” you half-whispered, half-yelled, trying to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god, you’re gonna kill the couch…”

He grunted, still deep in his dream, and threw a wild punch that just barely missed the coffee table. You winced at the near miss. That could’ve been bad. Like, broken furniture and a pissed-off Bucky kind of bad.

At this point, you realized you had to do something before your apartment looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Slowly, cautiously, you approached Bucky like you were approaching a wild animal—because, let’s be real, that’s kind of what he was right now.

“Bucky…” you said softly, reaching out a hand. “Come back to bed, babe. You don’t have to fight the couch anymore. You won. It’s dead.”

He hesitated for a moment, his muscles twitching like he was on the verge of launching another attack. But instead of another round of couch-punching, he slowly stood up, blinking groggily as if he was coming out of a fog.

You let out a breath of relief. “Thank God.”

But your relief was short-lived. Because as soon as Bucky turned around, he spotted the kitchen chairs—lined up perfectly in a row by the table—and apparently, in his half-asleep mind, they were the next Hydra targets.

“No,” you groaned, as Bucky lunged toward the chairs. “Not the chairs! I like those chairs!”

He grabbed one, flipping it over like it was an enemy combatant, and before you could stop him, he had another chair in a headlock. You stood there, watching in sheer disbelief as Bucky Barnes—the most feared assassin in the world—battled a set of IKEA furniture like it was the final boss fight of his life.

“Bucky, babe, please!” you shouted, a mix of panic and laughter bubbling out. “I can’t explain this to the landlord!”

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, you ran over and grabbed his arm—his metal arm, because that seemed like the safer bet. “Bucky, it’s me! You’re sleepwalking!”

At first, he didn’t respond. His eyes were still glazed over, lost in whatever dream battlefield he was trapped in. But then, slowly, he blinked. His metal arm relaxed under your grip, and he looked down at you, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“...What the hell?” he muttered, blinking again.

You let out the biggest sigh of relief. “Oh my god, thank you. I thought you were gonna destroy the whole apartment.”

Bucky glanced around, still looking dazed. “What… what happened?”

“You, uh… kinda went to war with the furniture,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing again. “You were sleepwalking.”

His eyes widened. “I did what?”

“You attacked the couch. And the coffee table. And, um, the chairs,” you explained, gesturing to the wreckage around the living room. “It was… a lot.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no,” you reassured him quickly. “I’m fine. But the couch… not so much.”

He looked over at the couch, which was now sagging slightly from the multiple punches it had taken. “Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I really went at it, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Babe, you suplexed the couch. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bucky winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, grinning up at him. “It was kind of… impressive, honestly. I mean, you took out an entire living room while asleep. That’s some next-level stuff.”

He gave you a sheepish look, still clearly embarrassed. “I’ll fix it in the morning.”

“You better,” you teased. “But for now, can we please go back to bed before you decide to fight the fridge or something?”

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll… I’ll stay away from the appliances.”

You wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom. “Good idea, soldier. Let’s just stick to sleeping from now on.”

As you both crawled back into bed, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance at the wrecked living room, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Bucky?” you whispered, snuggling up next to him.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever get the urge to fight the couch again, maybe, like, wake me up first?”

He groaned, pulling the covers over his head. “Don’t remind me.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Goodnight, Super Soldier Sleepwalker.”

“Goodnight,” he muttered, already halfway back to sleep.

But this time, thankfully, without the couch-wrestling.

[ellovett]

JASSSS HELP THE COMMENT U MADE ABT FAYETTE NOT HAVING WINGS AND THEN U FOLLOWING THAT WITH YOU FLYING AWAY IS SO FOUL IMMA BROWN/POS

[avocado-writing]

Not sure if this is enough to go off of but I loved the poly!poolverine fic where they rescued the reader. I was wondering if we could get some more of them being protective of the reader 🙏🏻

The bar is pretty crowded tonight. You nurse a rum and coke and hope Logan and Wade are able to find you in the corner booth you managed to snag, because you know the second you go to order another some opportunistic patrons will take your spot - and you’ve been on your feet all day at work so there’s no way in hell you’ll let that happen.

You take a sip. It’s warm now, ice long since melted in the heat of the room. You grimace at the taste as someone slides onto the bench next to you. 

It is not one of your boys. 

“Hey, baby.”

He’s big. Kinda guy who goes to the gym every day big, which isn’t inherently bad - but from the way he uses his size to press up against you there’s a little bit of unease rising in your chest. He puts his elbow on the table so that he can rest his jaw in his hand, biceps flexing in the tight shirt he wears. 

“I’m waiting for someone,” you say, as calmly as you can, hoping this will deter him. It does not. 

“So? We can have a little talk, can’t we? Not hurting anybody.”

His hand goes to cover yours where it rests on the table. You snatch it back. He frowns. 

“Dunno who you’re waiting for, but they probably shouldn’t have left you here alone. Looks like they don’t care about you, honey.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, annoyed, deciding it’s not worth it. He won’t go so you will. You slide out the free side of the booth - but you’re forced to stop when he grabs your wrist. 

“I wasn’t done talking to you yet,” he says. Okay. Now you’re panicking. You manage to shake yourself free of his grasp and quickly push through the throng of people, hoping to lose him in the crowd. No such luck. He knows where you’re heading. 

The air is cold on the street as you speed up; not running, never running, that might incite a chase. He’s on your heels anyway. 

“Hey, are you just gonna keep ignoring me?”

“I told you I’m not interested!”

He grabs you again, harder this time. A grip you can’t break free from. 

“You know, you should learn not to be such a bitch —”

“Oh! Isn’t this fun! Sorry to interrupt this little show of misogyny in action but it’d be great if you could let go of our pookie.”

You’ve never been more relieved to hear Wade’s voice. Suddenly you’ve got someone either side of you: the brick which is Logan on your left, and the snark which is Wade on your right. 

The guy who’s holding you does not drop your arm. He frowns. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“They’re who I was waiting for,” you say quickly, as if this will deter him. The man laughs, loudly, cruelly.

“Sorry, you’re in some kinda threesome with this old fucker and whatever this dude is? Fuck, honey, you really need someone to show you what a real man—”

He does not get a chance to finish. Logan’s fist has collided with his face with such ferocity you can hear his nose break. The man yelps and staggers backwards, you bring your hand to your chest for safety. 

“Should’ve let go, bub,” he mutters, massaging his knuckles. Wade deflates. 

“Aw, I wanted to get the first hit in!” He peers over at where the guy is laid out flat. “Go on, get back up. If I don’t throw a punch it emasculates me, and I’m very sensitive about it.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at his sleeve. 

“Let’s just go, guys. I don’t think he’s gonna follow us.”

“One sec.”

Wade strolls over and puts his boot on the guy’s chest, pushing down until he’s wheezing.

“You wanna apologise?”

The guy groans out a sorry, and you give a curt nod when Wade turns to see if you’ve accepted it.

“Don’t do this bullshit again, with anyone, or I’m gonna find you, rip your dick off, then feed it to my adorable, hideous dog.”

They cage in around you as your turn, two loyal hounds at your beck and call. You throw a couple of glances over your shoulder as you leave but it’s as you suspected: the guy remains on the cold concrete. When you’re far enough away to feel safe they slow to a stop. 

“You okay?” Logan asks, lifting your chin with a finger so that he can get a good look at you. You nod. 

“Yeah. Thanks for being there in time.”

“I’m sorry baby, we should have got here earlier, but peanut here tore a guy’s arm off so we had to go and clean up first—”

“Oh god, stop,” you say, pulling a face. You don’t want to know about their line of work, very happy for the business and personal life gulf to be a wide one. “Let’s go get some pizza and head home.”

“Anything you want,” says Logan, squeezing your hand. 

Anything where you’re between them is what you want. Safe and happy, they’ll make sure you’re both. 

[grugruel]

His Little Killer

Pairings: Cooper howard x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: in reluctant companionship with a ghoul, which turns out to be exactly as dreadful as you'd thought. You find yourself in a shoot-out where–post battle–one of your usual fights end way more pleasurable than usual.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: (violence, blood, death, in typical fallout manners), enemies to lovers, choking, pinv sex, rough sex, fingering, creampie, pet names (darlin', honey, killer, sweetheart), praise, a pinch of degradation.

AN: not yet proofread! Hope yall enjoy! (Yes, I'm unwell.'

Wood shattering, explosions booming–and charging footsteps heading straight for me. 'At my right!' I shout, gesturing in the direction of the steps. My voice barely registering above the racket of the fight.

Nonetheless, he heard me, I knew he did. Because bullets suddenly whizz past my makeshift cover in every direction except to my right.

The ammunition creating sick squelching noises as they collide with their targets, bloodsplatter spraying the walls a horrifying deep red. Meanwhile, in my corner. The heavy footsteps were left wide open to plough through the old wooden barrels I was hiding behind, 'Holy shii-' I squeak as im tackled to the floor with enough force to knock the breath out of my lungs. I try to cough, try to make my lungs open up as the man grabs hold of me. I hit my chest hard, desperately hoping it would do something–

He grabs my boots, pulling me toward him and finally- I get a breath of air. 'Stupid, fucking asshole.' I mutter through clenched teeth as I lunge and wrestle my attacker, our quarreling bodies kicking up a cloud of dust to swirl around us.

The man was big and foul-smelling, maybe it would've been better refered to as an it, considering the animalistic growls, snapping teeth, and fraying lips that bit and lunged at my face. He attempted to pin my arms to the ground while aiming its teeth at my jugular, but I was quicker. My knee smashing into his balls before he had a single thought of defending himself. He cried out in pain and I took my chance to roll him over, pinning him down with my weight instead, and I began throwing a wave of punches to his face, over and over again. 'I said MY right!' I shouted over my shoulder, weeks of fury and frustration bubbling up inside me as it fueled me into beating the ugly mut unrecognizable–when a second force slammed into my back, knocking me onto the ground once again. Another man, now climbing on top of me, his dirty fingers slithering around my throat and-

Another splatter, this time it's his blood–the second man's, and its sprayed all over me.

'Finally. . .' I exhale heavily, thudding back against the floor, splaying out with relief.

'Were really polishin' up on our teamwork.' A gruff voice announced, words coming out slow and steady with that self-satisfied tone which never failed to get on my nerves.

I heaved myself up on my forearms, angling my body so what remained of the man slumped off of me, and the source of the voice appeared like a specter from the dead man's shadow. 'You're a real pretty sight when ridin' a man like that.' He said, nodding to the guy with a bashed face.

I rolled my eyes, unbelievable. 'You mean while beating the shit out of him?' I ask, my voice pitching higher as I couldnt quite fathom the nerve of that man, despite forcing myself to get used to it over the past few weeks.

He hummed. 'Mhm, really got me goin' for a sec.'

My face scrunched up in disgust. 'Fucking cowboys.' I spat, renouncing the idea loudly. But, quietly, inside my mind, the thought had my core purring unwillingly.

'I shot right, just like you asked.' He shrugged, stalking closer, the drawl in his voice washing through the barren and now battered bar.

'The hell you did!' I hissed. He stopped at my feet, looming over me with his tall frame, frayed coat swaying around his chins, and that stupid cowboy hat covering half his face just like always. We'd been forced travelling companions for a while now, and I could say a lot of nasty things about him, but it was hard to deny- he was a real fucking apocalypse cowboy. Pretty cool if you cut his personality out of the picture.

'I said my right, what the fuck else do you think I ment with "my"?' I kick the lifeless body with my boot, emphasising my point.

'Well. . .' He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. '. . .my, right.' He smirked.

I shook my head, shooting him daggers. 'Not even you are moronic enough to get that wrong, ghoul.'

'Well, you're right.' He admitted, shocking me for a second. But then, the problem I've always had with him, inescapable and always the same–he never shut his damn mouth. 'You need to work om your phrasin', honey.'

I shut my eyes, screwing them together so tight I began wishing I could disintegrate from annoyance and seep through the cracks between the weathered floorboards like a corn of sand. But no, I was stuck with him, and had to lay there listening to his idiocy. 'How–?' I sighed a heavy, exasperated sigh. '–is it possible for a man to be so full of himself, yet- never talk about himself?'

'Tricks of the trade, sweetheart.' He winked, clicking his tongue while those forsaken eyes roamed my body like a predator sizing up it's prey, and extended a hand toward me as if it were no big deal.

Exhausted as I was, accepting his help seemed sorely tempting to my tired body. After a moments hesitation, I decided–once, wouldn't harm my morals. So, I grabbed his hand with reluctance and let him pull me to my feet. 'I could've died, I hope you realise.'

'Yes. . . But you didn't.' His lips pulling into a grin. 'I wouldn't let that happen'.'

'You're a real bastard, y'know that?' the words left my lips with an unintentional drawl, damn that man.

The ghoul cocked an inexistent eyebrow. 'If I didnt know any better, I'd say im rubbin' of on you, honey.'

Another scoff from me. 'The only thing you're rubbing–is me the wrong way.' I spat, this time making a point of speaking as plainly as possible.

His eyes lit up suspiciously, filling with mischief as his widening smile creased them. 'Well, tell me how you like it then and I'll do it the right way.' He smirked, his voice gravely as it scraped along my spine with a shiver. He always did this, He'd call me nicknames, flirt with me. All cause he knew I hated it. But now he's just bordering on harassment. It did however, not, stop the heat from rising to my cheeks, or for a blush to seep through my skin. He'd staggered me, I truly didn't know how to react. What happened next was purely instinctively driven–

The palm of my hand made contact with his cheek, a crisp slap sounding out through the room. I even confused myself for a moment, almost as I was the one who'd been hit. But I would've been furious, how he reacted, well. . .

'There you are. . .' He purred, his tone lethal. '. . .my little killer.' A grin spreading across his face as he took a step closer.

He was pure poison, somehow both hot and cold as he ran through my veins. 'I ain't yours.' He wss the only person- ghoul, who could get on every nerve I possessed, lighting it ablaze with frustration.

'No. . .? You ain't?' He chuckled, 'You're sure startin' to sound like it, sweetheart. I see the way you look at me, the way you blush when I call you pretty little names.' He nodded toward my eyes, his hat tipping with the movement as he took another step, gaining on the precious distance between us. I feared he was right, too, my cheeks burned in a way I'd never noticed before. Had I always reacted like this? Before I knew it–I'd flung my palm for his face a once again-

Only this time, he caught my wrist. 'Tsk tsk tsk, you can do better than that, killer.' He let go off me, forcefully shoving my arm back to my side with a scoff.

But now, I'm the one stepping closer, pushing him away by the chest simultaneously. 'I hate you.' I spit, taking another step and push again, but this time he doesn't budge, and I was left standing mere inches away from him, my hands pressed firmly against his chest as my own heaved with frustrated breaths, strands of hair hanging over my face from the ordeal.

'Good. . .' He whispered, brushing wild strands of hair from my face. '. . .Now, show me how much you hate me.'

I could've slapped him again, pushed him again, done anything else than what I actually did. But my body acted on instinct, again-

I crashed into him, my hands grabbing his face as our lips met in a battle for control. He released a breathy moan, his trigger ready hands finding my waist impossibly quick to pull me flush against him, our bodies clashing together in a thud. He hummed. 'That's right, killer. Show me.' He whispered in the air-swallowing gasps between our kisses.

I put pressure behind my hands, walking him backward while my fingers found the buttons of his vest. Undoing them along with the shirt, then slid his coat and vest down his shoulders in one go, right before his back collided with the bar top. My hands found themselves making their beneath his shirt, feeling the dents of his scarred chest as I sucked his lip between my teeth, and bit down. A sharp hiss escaped him, quickly being replaced by a wide grin. 'Naughty girl.' He breathed.

Smiling, I pushed myself off of him. 'You bring it out of me.' I panted, pulling my shirt over my head and unhooking my bra, letting it fall to the floor.

He leaned back against the bar, bracing himself on his elbows as his eyes roamed over my bare chest and flushed face. 'Those are the prettiest fuckin' tit's I've ever seen. . .' He spoke in a low voice, too filled with lust to allow him anything else. 'Now, would you mind.' His hand gestured below my waist, his index finger sliding through the air as he traced the buttons of my pants from a distance.

And an idea struck me, suddenly feeling like I wanted to indulge myself in a little torture. Turning around, I did as he told me and began unbuttoning them, slowly. Terribly, terribly slowly. Sliding them over my hips and down my thighs, bucking my knees and bending over slightly as I pulled my panties down along with them. Just as I stepped out if them and looked over my shoulder to give him a coy little look, perhaps revel in the feeling of his pained expression–I was in for a surprise.

Turning my head over my shoulder, I came fave to face with him, but he wasn't just standing there- no. He collided with my back, his arms already wrapped around ny front to catch me. His shirt bow nowhere to be seen. 'Enough.' He growled, one strong arm wrapping around my breasts as the other wrapped around my waist. He raised me off the floor, held tightly against his chest. I squeeked, giggling as I pulled my legs up. Completley overcome with the anticipation of what was about to befall me–then I all of a sudden found myself pushed over the bar top, chest against the smooth luke warm surface. The quality off it telling me it hadn't been bought when fitted into this weathered building.

Then, the clanging of metal, leather groaning, friction, and his belt hit the floor. Gruff hands ran over the swell of my ass and down the arch of my back, taking his time to feel all of me. 'Been thinkin' 'bout this, how you'd feel falling apart beneath me, on top of me–' he leaned over me, hand wrapping around my neck as he pulled me flush against him only to whisper in my ear. '–around me. . .' He breathed, dragging the words out. '. . . All wet 'n messy with my cum fillin' you up.'

A moan left my lips. 'Show me.' Was all I could get out, a silent pleading to make all those thoughts a reality–and so he did.

Before I knew it, a hand had disappeared to line himself up with my entrance, pushing inside me without as much as a warning.

'Fuck!' I cried out, my voice breaking as my breath left me. It felt never ending, he was huge. But oh, he felt so good.

He groaned, finally stopping as he'd sunken all the way into my core. 'So wet for me already.' His hand slid over my back and shoulder, molding itself to my throat as the other grabbed my hip. Already flush with my back, he inclined his head, leaving trail of kisses along my spine and neck.

'Fuck me, please Coop-' it was the first time I'd called him by his name, and I realised it the second it left my lips.

His lips curled against my skin, a smile-

He thrusted into me, again and again. My back arching into an angled I had no idea it was capable of, helping him hit my core at every rut of his hips–not that he needed it. The 200+ years of experience really showed, and they were definitely felt.

The bar was dead silent, no noise except for our joint breaths of pleasure and the sound of slapping skin. It was lewd and brutal, and It made me absolutely delerious. His low, pained grunting in my ear did nothing to ease the matter. He'd created an aching so strong within me I wasn't sure It'd ever be able to be tamed.

'Harder, harder, please.' I stuttered, the words barely coming out between my heavy pants. Fuck, he made me feral. Without even trying, that's just what he was capable of. It annoyed me, he managed to annoy me while fucking me senseless. Oh, how I wish I could hate him, but there was no going back now.

Coop left little love bites all along my shoulder, and up the side of my throat, nipping and kissing in equal meassure as his breathing warmed my skin deliciously. Doing it all with such precision I couldnt understand, his thrust were rocking my emtire body, his chest rubbing againdt my back, yet he could be so delicate. I side ive never seen before. 'Little killer ain't so tough no more, is she?' He whispered, placing a kiss behind my ear before biting the lobe, tugging in it gently.

'. . . Mmh- 'm not, I'm not.' I got out. I was whatever he said I was while he delivered this type of pleasure on a silver platter. I didn't care, my morals had been thrown out the window the second his lips touched mine.

'Well, look at that. Admittin' defeat already?' I could feel his stupid grin again, his pace slowing- still ruthless, but it did enough for that feeling of building pressure to wain inside me.

I shook my head, shutting my eyes hard as I tried to focus on his member moving inside me, desperate not to lose that red string that'd lead me to climax.

'Words, sweetheart. Use em'. .'

'Dont fucking care.' I cried. 'J- just- Fuck. Me. Harder.' I ground out, my teeth clenching real hard from a mix of desperation and frustration for the pressure to start rebuilding.

'That'll do.' He groaned, squeezing my throat. All the while his other hand slid down to my cunt, starting condensed circling around my clit. And just like that, he'd made me into a whimpering mess for him to steady, falling apart beneath him just like he'd thought. Then he simply took up right where he left off, without missing a beat he thrusted so ferociously I was sure I'd be bruising on every single part of my body from the vibrations that rumbled through my muscles alone.

The darkness of my lips were specking with white, a wall of pressure building brick by brick in my abdomen. 'Close, so fucking close.' I whimpered.

'Good- Good job sweetheart. Doin' so good for me.' He burried his face in my hair, nuzzling his nose into its scent, inhaling it as he too approached climax. And there it was, that sudden softness. It was almost unsteadying my senses more than his touch, more than his thrusts, but only almost. 'You sound so sweet for me, honey. Let me hear ya'. . .' He moaned, exhaling warmth against the nape of my neck.

I obliged, of course I did. 'Feels so good, Coop- so close. . .' I panted, tears burning my eyes as they began rolling down my cheeks.

He slid his hand upward, keeping it between me jaw and throat, still choking me as he angled my face over my shoulder, enabling him to kiss me properly. And I've never been more thankful because I was about to cry myself dry as the wall broke. Pleasure flooding through my body in tidal waves, my knees bucking beneath me. 'Good girl.' He praised, voice muffled against my lips. Fingers stopping to instead cup my aching cunt. 'My good fuckin' girl, my little killer.' He moaned softly, my lips vibrating from the roughness in his voice as he caught me, delivering a final few ruts of his hips before he too came. Doing just as he promised, filling me up with his cum.

He loosed his grip around my throat and slit, letting me depend on the counter for support while he held me. 'Still hate me?'

'Yes.' I didn't, but it'd be a long time before I admitted that to him.

'Good.' And then there was silence, our lungs catching up with our breaths. 'Still wanna see those pretty hips ride me.' He murmured as he hugged me from behind, his hand sliding lower, pinching my hipbone.

'Ow! Asshole.' I yelped, and he kissed my shoulder to make up for it. But the thought was alluring nonetheless. I wriggled in his embrace, looking around at the destruction we'd caused, at the- dead bodies. And a pang of guilt hit me. 'Fine, but not here.' I agreed, actually wanting nothing more than to get out of there and sit in his lap, maybe ride his thighs too.

We redress, and share a kiss before leaving. 'Can't wait to taste that cunt of yours, killer.' He murmured suddenly. Leaving me staggered once again.

Ugh, I'm done for.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel is Kryptonian

This takes place when both of them are first starting out. Clark started first. Then, the bubble popped. Now, since this is early in Supes’ career, that means, sure, there are other heroes around, but none else in Metropolis. So, when he heard of a hero that recently popped up who was suspected by the media to be related to him, he grew curious. He was even more curious when he found out the guy had similar powers to him, not to mention they looked alike. So, when he’s at work, writing a paper, imagine his surprise when he sees many people crowding around one of the tvs in the lounge. Lo and behold Captain Marvel, the guy he’s been hearing about is on live, fighting a giant monster somewhere in Kansas— wait a darn minute, he’s right next to Smallville. Looks like this is a job for Superman.

When Supes gets there, the monster goes down with one final punch from the Captain. When Clark saw the man floating, wearing a warm smile with his cape billowing in the wind, he was struck with the idea that maybe, just maybe they could be related after all.

Marvel: *notices Supes and gives a little wave, torn between wondering if Clark is another hero, or a dude who just happens to be wearing spandex*

Superman: *Flies up to him* “Hey.” *awkward*

Marvel: “Hey?” *also awkward*

*awkward silence of two super powered dudes floating mid-air*

Superman: “Right! Uh- Kal-El.” *offers handshake*

Marvel: *wondering what a “Kal-El” is* “I’m Captain Marvel? Or Marvel? Or Cap? You can call me whatever.” *shakes hand*

Superman: *little disappointed Marvel didn’t respond with his own Kryptonian name. Then says some form of greeting in Kryptonian*

Marvel: *confused at the sudden gibberish from the other man until Solomon translated it for him. Responds back also in Kryptonian*

Superman: *face lights up brighter than the sun*

They got burgers after that. They became super good friends after that too! I mean, sure, Clark’s new friend hasn’t really told him anything about himself yet, but that was fine! Marvel’s super nice, and he’s always willing to help the Kryptonian if Clark needs it. I mean for Rao’s sake, when he got mind controlled for the first time, the Captain was the one who held him off. Then when all was set and done he took Clark to get ice cream. (Buddy doesn’t know he’s boarding the Dad Marvel bus)

The media’s picked up on their new friendship too. There are more and then a couple videos of Marvel’s 8 foot 5 self, picking up a 6 foot maybe 4 inch Superman like he’s a toddler. People think they’re brothers, or at least cousins.

Speaking of cousins, we can’t forget about Kara. When Kal said that there was another Kryptonian, she was skeptical, but then she met Marvel. She was excited when she learned he could speak Kryptonian. She also found it awesome he spoke like an old man. The man also had no problem in learning any new traditions from her. And, he also had no problem in teaching her ancient traditions that she had no clue how he knew. The man looked at to be in his mid thirties at most. (He has knowledge of really really really old Kryptonian traditions and history because a long, long time ago a previous Champion got married to a Kryptonian woman and visited the planet whenever they could. Though, it wasn’t often due to their champion duties.) He also gets her to bake with him while he told her stories about old wars and conflicts she hadn’t even heard of. Not only did she get to teach more of their culture to Clark, she got to learn more about it from Cap. (Is also unknowingly boarding the Marvel Dad bus)

Also, Ma and Pa Kent love him and he helps around the farm as much as they allow him.

[tightjeansjavi]

Mine

A/N: um…hi! I write piss kink now? 👹 I don’t know what came over me today but I was sitting at my desk and just thinking about that mean old man, when all of a sudden, I thought hmm…what would it be like if Joel pissed on me? Then I proceeded to think about the prospect of him peeing on me while I was in a WORK meeting and well, you guess where this is going ;) oh! Fun fact, I wrote most of this in the shower! (How fitting) don’t read if this sorta content disturbs you, and if there’s any puritans out there that wanna call me a sick fuck and tell me I’m going to hell, baby, I’m already there! Feminism went completely out the window on this one!

~word count: 2.7k~

Summary: Joel Miller fucks you the same way he does every night…until he decides to switch things up for the first time.

Pairing | dark!joel x f!reader

Warnings: dark!joel, rough/mean Joel, overstimulation, heavy on the degrading kink, breeding kink, biting, dom/sub dynamic, oral f receiving, spit kink, pussy slapping, slight dubcon, piss kink, implied free use, Joel calls the reader his bitch and cocksleeve, unprotected piv, pussy pronouns, no specific age for the reader, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

Hot wisps of breath fan the shell of your ear. There’s a sheen of sweat coating your skin when his tongue darts out to taste a droplet of your perspiration on his tongue. His strong hips and thighs cage you posessively as he drives his cock further into your already ruined and messy cunt. His thrusts are relentless, and with each heavy punch of his cock into your cervix, you’re gasping for air; begging, pleading for him to let you breathe, but he always refuses.

He takes you like this the same way every night. Never soft and sweet, always rough and demanding. He’s like a rabid dog that broke away from its chain and headed straight for you. Ripping, clawing, and gnawing on your soft flesh. He takes and takes when, and however he chooses.

His large hands, calloused and scarred, act as a brand upon your skin. He molds you to his liking, pressing your face further into the seedy mattress till you can taste the dust ridden fibers on your tongue. His hands are capable of inflicting so much pain, and you can only imagine how many people he has killed with them.

He grunts against your ear, teeth biting down on the soft lobe till you’re yelping for him to stop and he removes his heavy hand from your soft cheek momentarily, only to grasp your hair between his fingers and roughly yank your head up from the mattress. Hot tears blur your vision. You’re in a confused daze, his words sounding muffled as you gulp down lungfuls of air.

“Ain’t much use to me if my favorite cocksleeve stops breathin’, sweetheart.” He gruffly teases, an edge of playfulness in his tone. “Keep on breathin’ in that sweet, sweet air. It’s the only shred of kindness you’re gonna get from me tonight.”

He forces your back to meet his chest, arching your spine to meet the heavy thrusts of his cock splitting you open. He drops your hair, your scalp feeling raw and tender from how hard he was yanking on it. His strong arms encase around your middle, fat fingers tormenting your nipples. He squeezes and pinches them before he shoves you right back down into the mattress.

“Turn your head to the side so that you can fuckin’ breathe.” Is all he says while he reaches for the old headboard for leverage. The shitty mattress shakes and squeaks beneath the weight of his heavy thrusts when he picks up his grueling rhythm, again.

You listen to his advice, if you would even call it that, and turn your cheek to the side so that your airway isn’t restricted. Your trembling hands reach for the tattered sheets, and your fists clench the fabric for any sense of support.

“Atta girl.” He rasps, blunt fingernails dig fiercely into the soft flesh of your hips, taking and marking you with red crescents indented in your skin.

“J-Joel.” You try to find your words, but they are muffled and fragmented. Your mind is too focused and centered on the pleasure rippling through your body to even try and protest.

“Shuddup and take it like you always do, baby. Know you can. Don’t gotta act stubborn about it.” He hisses between his clenched teeth, bending his chest forwards against your arched back. He sinks his teeth into the spot where your shoulder blades meet.

In some twisted and erotic way, he is mating you. His primal nature to breed you, and claim you as his; only his, takes over as he bites down on your flesh hard enough to draw blood to the surface of your delicate skin. And you have no choice but to let him, because despite how used and abused Joel Miller makes you feel, you keep coming back for more because no one fucks you like he does.

And when you don’t respond to his crudeness and condescending tone, he feels pleased by your submissiveness and need to please him.

“Was startin’ to think that my perfect little fuck toy wasn’t gonna show up for her fucking tonight. Thought maybe she had finally woken up and realized her worth, but then I find ya outside my door like a stray puppy jus’ waitin’ to be fucked.” He grunts deeply, slowing the movement of his hips before drawing them back slowly. “Cus’ no matter how many times you try to deny it, you love bein’ my cock sleeve. My fuck toy. You fuckin’ live for that shit baby, and you know what? I think it’s about time that I reward you.” He lets out a throaty breath before driving his hips forward, knocking the air from your lungs in tandem with his hips sharply jutting into the soft swell your ass.

His sweat slick skin slaps against yours, the obscene sounds of sex, and your ruined pussy squelching around the thick intrusion of his cock, send your eyes rolling back into your skull when you struggle to lift your cheek from the mattress to look over at him.

“W—what kind of reward?” You choke out, lips falling open in an o shape when his fat cock head nudges against that inner soft and spongy spot deep within the walls of your inviting warmth.

He chuffs a laugh, lifting his head up from where his teeth were just embedded into your skin. “Ah, there she is. Eager as ever, huh? Be fuckin’ patient, baby. Before I change my mind and decide you don’t deserve a reward at all.” He snaps, slamming his hips forward once more before he draws them back again. He slips out of your sopping pussy completely, leaving you on the edge of your approaching orgasm.

His cock is glistening in the low light, a creamy ring of your combined arousal coats the thick, veiny girth of his cock. He scoots back just enough so that he can watch the way your pussy pulses and drools a trail of enticing slick down between your trembling thighs.

He uses his thumbs to pry your inner lips apart before he spits a glob of saliva between your gaped, pulsing hole, and down to your untouched clit, swollen and puffy with need.

“Such a messy little pussy. You should see the way she’s winkin’ at me right now. So needy and desperate for my cock to fill her up with my seed, ain’t that right?” He sounds drunk, words slurred together, darkened eyes glazed over in lust. He licks his lips, inhaling the heady scent of your arousal like a hound dog locked on a trail. “Smell so fuckin’ sweet, too.” He groans before surging forward, burying his face between your parted thighs.

He’s never eaten you out before. Always claiming that you were undeserving of his skilled mouth and tongue. But tonight he’s finally given into tasting you, and once he’s had a lick, he can’t stop. He keeps you pried apart at his leisure, dragging his broad nose right through your trail of slick from the source. His lips suckle on your clit before dragging downwards to tease your folds, sucking on them, too. He’s eating you as if your pussy, and her sweet, sweet, nectar is his life source.

Your body jolts forward when his wiry beard scrapes at the apex of your thighs. He growls against you before reaching around for your hips and anchoring you in place once more so he can continue feasting.

He obscenely slurps and groans against your cunt before drawing his face back for a lungful of air. His chin and beard are glistening, coated in your arousal when he licks you from his lips. You think that maybe he’s finally having a change of heart when he flips you onto your back with ease, your breasts bounce from the movement when your back hits the mattress with a soft thud.

He never strays from fucking you from behind, on your knees with your face smashed into his mattress. That’s how he always takes you. His way only. And yet, here you are staring up at him with your big doe eyes bright and innocent. Your lips parted when he grabs the back of your knees and presses them towards your chest.

“Make yourself useful and hold those for me, will ya?” He barks out an order.

You scramble to grab the underside of your knees, sweaty fingers nearly slipping before you are able to have a solid grip around them.

“Good girl.” He nods before wedging himself between the small opening of your thighs. He catches that almost hopeful glint in your eyes and shoots it down immediately with an intimidating glare.

He brings one hand to the back of your scalp, roughly yanking your head upwards so you’re making direct eye contact with him. His dominant hand is loosely wrapped around the shaft of his cock, and he slaps the fat mushroom head against your puffy clit to gain your attention. “You focus right here.” He snips, brows furrowed together in a harsh line across his forehead. “Don’t you go and gettin’ this twisted, ya hear me? I know how you women work. Y’all think that jus’ cause a man does somethin’ different for once, that he’s softenin’ up to ya. He ain’t. You’re still my bitch, my little cocksleeve, and you’d best be wise to remember that, baby.”

“Y-Yes, Joel. I’m still your—”

He cuts you off with a low snarl when he begins to feed you his cock from this angle inch by inch, glancing down between your bodies so he can see your pussy pulling him in further. “That you are, my girl. Still feelin’ jus’ as eager for your little reward?” He questions with a cock of his brow, smirk tugging across his devious face.

“Please.” You beg him softly, not understanding what it was you were begging him for in the first place.

“Such an eager little cocksleeve to be pumped full of my seed, baby. Never thought I’d see the day.” He chuckles, pressing his hips forward till he’s completely bottomed out inside of you, and the coarse thatch of hair above his pubic bone presses into your clit.

Wait…what?

You look at him dumbfounded, shaking your head and hoping that you just misunderstood what he was saying. “What?”

“What?” He mocks your surprised tone condescendingly.

“Joel.” You try to reason with him, “we—we can’t! I—I don’t want to carry your fucking kid!”

“Aw.” He pouts, drawing his hips back before slamming them forward again. “You don’t wanna be filled to the fuckin’ brim with my seed? You don’t think your pussy wants that, baby? I think she does.” He teases.

“No, Joel. Please. Anything but that. You can come on my tits, my face, just please—not inside!” Your mind is already reeling at the possibility of having to carry Joel Miller’s fucking offspring in a world such as this one. You felt like one of those breeding mares shipped off to some stud farm to be passed around between stallions till one of their foals would inevitably stick—

He laughs cruelly at your fear and the way it dots your vision. He can imagine exactly what’s going through your mind at that very moment. “You should see your fuckin’ face right now.” He snickers. “Relax, sweetheart. I got a vasectomy years before the outbreak.”

“Jesus fuck, Joel! Why didn’t you just start off with that?!” You yell in his face, wishing you could punch that stupid grin right from the perfect pout of his kissable lips. You feel the tension visibly leave your shoulders when he satiates your fears of pregnancy, even if he does it in such a cruel manner.

“Cus’ I like toyin’ with ya. It’s entertainment for me, baby. You’re so easy to play with. I can do it with my eyes closed.” He muses before rolling his hips forward.

“You’re such a dick for that.” You attempt to chastise him, but your attempt is fruitless.

“Now, don’t go thinkin’ you’re entirely off the hook now, sweetheart. I do believe you said earlier that I could do anythin’ else I wanted to ya, right? Your words, baby. Not mine.”

Damn, his mind is sharper than a fucking arrow.

“Yeah…I did say that you could cum on my tits, or my face—”

“Mmm…nope. That ain’t gonna cut it for me unfortunately. I think I wanna do somethin’ else.” He trailed off, meeting your slightly nervous gaze with a small tilt of his head. How could his words and body language always be so fucking…mean?

“Okay, well, what else do you want to do?”

He shrugs his shoulders in disinterest before he grabs your hands that are still secured around the backs of your knees and removes them quickly so that your thighs fall open. He wants you spread at his mercy when he begins to ram into you, over, and over again. “You’re just gonna have to wait and find out.” He grunts deeply, bending down at an angle so he can nip at the juncture of your neck.

Your head lolls to the side so he has easier access and the pleasure starts to coarse through your body till he moves his mouth down the clavicle of your chest. First he starts off with chaste kisses to the swells of your breasts, and then he toys with the pert nipple between his lips. You let out a soft mewl that quickly turns into a high pitched yelp when his teeth sink into the sensitive pebbled flesh, hard.

“OW!” You cry out at the assault of his mouth. He does it again before switching to your other nipple, delivering the same mistreatment before he soothes the broken skin with his tongue.

You jokingly call him an animal thinking that he would disagree and scold you for it, but instead…he leans into that side of himself. He fucking loves it.

“Yeah, baby. I am a fuckin’ animal. You got that damn right.”

He fucks you like one too, till your creaming around his cock, leaking out around his thick girth that continuously punches into your pussy. He slips out suddenly with a wet squelch, leaving you feeling a little dazed and positively fucked out.

“Still want your reward, baby?”

You nod dumbly, cock drunk and eyes glazed with stars still twinkling behind them.

“Alright, my little cocksleeve. Close those pretty eyes for me, and no peekin!’”

Your eyes snap shut on command, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

The old mattress squeaks when his weight rises from it. You think about risking a peek to see what exactly it is that he’s doing, but you decide against it.

He stands above you on the mattress at his full height, looming over your spread legs while your ruined pussy is still drooling along the soiled sheets. He looks down at you with his cock wedged between his fist.

You can hear the wet sound of his fist jerking himself off before you feel the hot ropes of his seed coating your face, lips, neck, chest and lower. He shoots a load across your tummy, and right down to your pretty spread pussy.

Well, I suppose that’s a nice…reward? You think to yourself.

“Ain’t done yet, sweetheart.” He scolds you lightly from above when he sees your thighs beginning to close up like a nighttime flower closing its petals till the sweet kiss of sunrise.

He really has more than that? Damn, I underestimated this sick son of a bitch.

He relaxes his shoulders, letting out a decompressing sigh before he slowly releases his bladder with a sick smirk plastered on his face.

First, you detect the familiar stench of urine, and then the steaming liquid lands on your face, trickling down your lips. You let out a sound of protest and lift your hands above your head to shield yourself from his piss. It trails down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and between your thighs, mixing into the trail of slick between them.

He’s marking you like a fucking dog marks his bitch, and you’ve never felt more degraded and humiliated in your entire life till you find youself under Joel Miller’s golden fucking shower. The stench of urine and cum stings your eyes and the sensitive hairs in your nose.

He bends down, cock now softened between his thighs and places one hand along the side of your face, brushing away a stray dribble of cum and piss from your lips with his calloused thumb.

“Now, no other man is ever gonna want to fuck my bitch when she’s reekin’ of my piss and cum.”

~~~

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[yesimwriting]

Easing

a/n just a little logan idea i had while thinking of ways to work on my characterization of him :)

Summary: A contemplation of mortality. Or, alternatively, reader sustains a minor injury while on a mission and Logan sees the end of the world.

Warnings: age gap (where everyone is of legal, consenting age), slight descriptions of injury, unnoticed pining

----

The dimness of the room adds an edge to your haziness, blurring the furniture in a way that dampens your mood.

You've been curious about Logan's room longer than you'd ever admit, and now that he's pulled you into it to not-so-discreetly scold you when all you want to do is go to bed, you can't even enjoy the benefit of taking in your surroundings.

You take advantage of the fact that your back is to him, eyes falling shut as you focus on ignoring the buzz of the electricity powering his bedside lamp. The plights of being an exhausted technopath.

There's a severity to his presence, a sharpness in the way he lingers behind you. It'd be all too easy to leave him to his brooding, to halfheartedly accept any verbal lashings he feels like giving you and be done with it. But Logan knows you, knows how you work well enough to find a way to interpret your lack of commentary into something it's not, a sign that something is wrong with you beyond a scrape against your temple and a drowsiness you're not used to.

"So," the word feels flat, almost distorted, "This is your room."

He exhales, a puff of air that tells you he's in no mood for anything lighthearted. "What were you thinking?"

Logan had asked the same question of everyone else involved. "That I was helping people."

There was nothing dramatic or life threatening about the scratches against the side of your face. You were thrown to the ground and the gravel cut against your cheek and the side of your forehead. You were quick to get up and put the person that attacked you in their place.

He walks forward, turning to face you. His attention remains fixed on some point that seems to exist right past your shoulder. "If it helps, I broke the other guy's nose right after."

Logan doesn't exactly ease, but you don't miss the way the corner of his mouth attempts to tug itself upwards. "Yeah?" The word's more amused than he wants it to be.

"Mhm," you hum cheerily, recalling the sting of your knuckles and the sound of bone cracking. That had been the part of the mission you wanted to tell him about. "Punched him just like you showed me."

His eyes briefly meet yours before falling towards the floor. "Deserved more than a punch."

You sigh. "Come on." When he doesn't react, you take a cautious step forward. Logan still doesn't look at you. "It's not that bad."

"You're bleeding."

Any blood staining your skin is old and dry. If Logan hadn't found you so quickly you would have cleaned it yourself in the bathroom. You barely had time to finish changing into your pajamas before Logan knocked on your door. "It's old." Your assurance doesn't ease him. You take another step in his direction. "Logan."

He lets out a breath, the sound pointed. "You didn't let anyone clean it?"

The question is the closest he's come to your usual dynamic. There's nothing passive aggressive about it, and yet it manages to dig at you a little more than anything else that's been said.

Logan's older than you. It's no secret and rarely a source of concern, the two of you comfortable enough with the age gap in your sort-of-friendship for you to occasionally joke about him being an old man. But when things like this come up, and he worries a little too much, a part of you starts to wonder if he only tolerates you because he sees you like a little kid.

You lift your chin slightly, doing your best to seem a little more stable. "I'm not one of the kids, I can clean my own cuts."

His eyes meet yours, the look warning you against leaning into anything overly confident. You resist the urge to smile. "Aren't you all grown up, bub?"

Your lips part, but you're too distracted by the uneasy warmth settling in your chest to think of a response. The corner of his mouth bends into what feels like a partial smile. The look vanishes before you can be sure.

He turns with no warning, walking towards an unfamiliar door. You watch him for a long moment before following.

Logan opens the door, turning his head slightly to make sure you're behind him. He turns on the light before fully stepping into the room. You inhale sharply in an attempt to dismiss the burning pressure of the influx of electricity.

His bathroom is tidy, with only a toothbrush and a soap dispenser taking up the counter space next to his sink; a navy blue bath mat in front of the shower; and neatly hung towels. Something about seeing this feels oddly personal, and you're not sure why. It's only a bathroom, and it's only Logan.

He halfheartedly taps his fingers against the counter once. "Sit," said in a tone that is only ever used when he's not in the mood to be contradicted, even if you only mean to do so adorably.

The warmth returns with a vengeance, but you obey anyway. As long as he's preoccupied with you, he's not lashing out at anyone that might have seen what happened to you and not attempting to kill Scott for thinking to ask you to go on the mission.

You pull yourself onto the counter, placing your hands on your lap to limit the space you're taking up. Logan twists the faucet before reaching for a wash cloth. He dampens the cloth before bringing it to your cheek. He dabs at the scraped skin with a carefulness that twists your stomach.

"You need to take better care of that face." It's meant to be another way of scolding you, but the words lack any bite.

If you were less aware of your breathing, you'd roll your eyes. "It'll heal."

Logan sighs, moving the cloth up your temple. He finds a particularly ginger spot beneath your eyebrow, you press your lips together to keep from reacting. He pulls the wash cloth away, giving you a look that makes you feel terribly transparent. "You're hurt."

"I--" You cut yourself off. There's little point in attempting to lie to him, especially when he's looking at you like that. "I'm a little sensitive, but that's normal. You're just not used to it because you heal too fast."

"Too fast?"

You nod, glad for the excuse to turn this onto him. "If you healed at the same rate as most of the population, you'd look at it like a paper cut."

He throws you a look that's entirely unconvinced as he sets down the wash cloth. "I'm sure."

Logan picks up the Neosporin he set aside earlier, applying some of the ointment to his fingers. He hesitates before dabbing the product against your skin. His other hand finds the other side of your face, thumb pressing into your chin to turn your head to better assess his work.

His eyebrows pull together as he searches your features for something you don't understand. You're not convinced he's found it, but he does eventually let you go.

Instead of moving away from the counter, Logan holds his hands out in front of you. It takes you a moment to understand what he's asking, but once you catch on you offer him your own hands, letting him study your knuckles.

The skin is a little irritated, but far from as agitated as the scrapes against the side of your face. "At least you got some good hits in."

The validation comforts you more than it should. You're glad he's too focused on your hands to see your smile. "I'm tougher than I look."

He lifts his head slightly, eyes finding yours in a way that feels a little softer than before. "I don't doubt that, kid."

Logan releases you carefully, setting your hands back onto your lap. He keeps himself there for a moment, fingers resting against the back of your palm. When he does move away, he does so to reach for the Neosporin.

You roll your eyes as he applies the product to your knuckles. "You're very dramatic tonight."

He glares in a way that tells you you're in no position to comment on his level of concern. Usually, you'd push, but he's probably been through enough tonight. And maybe--only maybe--a part of you is enjoying his version of coddling.

Logan picks up the wash cloth again, wiping the excess product onto the fabric before taking a partial step back. "You're clean."

He's still in front of you, too close to let you push yourself off of the counter. "Thanks." Your fingers tap against your knee. "Anything you want to yell at me or was that a Scott only thing?"

He scoffs. "I told him if you came ba--"

"I'm fine." His irritation at the correction is enough to silence him. "And it wasn't his fault." A completely true statement, considering Scott was nowhere near you when it happened.

Logan places one hand on the counter, the side of his thumb nearly touching your thigh. "It was his idea for you to be there." Another fact, though one that's completely disregarding the complexities of the situation. A single touch from you completely fried the security system being used to hold other mutants hostage. "He was outside of your room while you were changing..."

What? You blink, so surprised in the change of topic you don't even know where to start. "Uh--" In all honesty, you had thought Scott was kidding about staying near you until the situation was diffused. You also thought it was ridiculous to assume Logan would see you before morning. "He said proximity to me would make it less likely for you to kill him."

His eyebrows draw together, his expression morphing into something you can't quite interpret. "Not his best theory."

Now it's your turn to glare. While you're not particularly fond or un-fond of Scott, he doesn't deserve the blame for this. "Not his fault, either."

He frowns in a way that's meant to let you know that you'll have to agree to disagree. Logan watches you for another moment before taking a step back. You use the space to push yourself off the counter. He--he's closer than you thought he'd be.

"I uh--" You let out a breath, focusing on the drowsiness that had been bothering you the entire way back from the mission. This isn't the longest you've ever gone without sleep, but the mission had drained you. There had been a lot of complicated technology in the facility that you had to concentrate on mentally hacking. "I think I'm gonna go to bed."

Logan presses his lips together before letting his gaze fall to the ground. "You can--" The words are mumbled, hesitant. "You can stay in here tonight, if you want."

You blink. He um--You guys have spent a fair amount of time together, more so than usual recently, but he's never implied anything like this. The only thing more startling than the offer is the fact that it isn't...unappealing.

You like being around Logan more than you'd ever admit. You're always looking for excuses to be around him more, and now he's giving you a reason to stay.

"Yeah," the response feels too uncertain, too surprised. "If it'll help your old man heart to see that I'm perfectly fine."

He angles his head to the side, the corner of his mouth pulling itself upwards. "As long as you're doing me a favor."

"I know," you say, glad for the excuse to return to a more familiar dynamic, "I'm so kind."

Logan turns around with a slight sigh, "Mhm."

It's easy to follow him out of the bathroom. "That felt sarcastic."

"No," he lies, pulling back his sheets before sitting on the left side of his bed, "You're a saint."

You hesitate, standing halfway between the bathroom door and the bed. It's just Logan--who sits with you to watch movies he couldn't care less about, who actually listens to you, who sits you down on his bathroom counter and applies antibiotics to split skin.

You walk towards the other side of his bed. Logan pulls back the sheets on the other side of the bed before you sit. Now that you're actually resting beneath comfortable bedding, the exhaustion that you've been ignoring all night spreads over your limbs.

He reaches for his bedside lamp but doesn't turn off the light. "Comfortable?"

You mumble your confirmation before the room's soft light vanishes with a soft 'click'. It hits you, then, that you still haven't been able to take in his room the way you would've liked to. Maybe in the morning.

You lay down, pulling the comforter up to your neck. There's something distinctly relieving about the end of the day, when all forms of electricity are turned off and the buzzing beneath your skin is finally given a way out. You've gotten better at controlling it, at ignoring it until it's little more than background noise, but when you over use your abilities, the mental shield that divides you and the feeling begins to slip.

You're somewhere between asleep and awake when some instinct convinces you to squint your eyes open. A final look at Logan, and that'll be enough. It's too dark for you to make out much more than a vague silhouette, but something about his rigidness tells you he's far from asleep.

"Logan?"

He's silent for so long you begin to wonder if he's going to pretend to be asleep. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, and for a moment you're almost taken back by how much you mean it. "I was just..." There's no real end to your sentence. You don't know why you couldn't let yourself fall asleep. Maybe it had been the way he looked at you, concern too genuine over something so small. "Are you okay?"

You hear him let out a breath. "Anything could have happened."

There's a heaviness to his voice that immediately presses itself against your chest. Did this--did it really scare him that bad? You know he's used to the rapid rate at which his body repairs itself, but that doesn't mean that anyone that recovers at a regular rate is on death's doorstep over something so small.

"But it didn't." He scoffs, the sound dismissive. You move onto your side. "It didn't." When he doesn't react, you reach for him. He doesn't move away when you bend your fingers around his forearm. "And what didn't happen doesn't matter, what matters is that I'm here."

You pause, dragging your thumb against his skin. Logan lets out another breath, the sound something that lacks acceptance. He moves his arm away, but before you can read too much into the movement, his fingers are bending around your own.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Voicemail

A Seams oneshot, but can be read independently of the series

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: You find Joel's old Nokia at the back of a drawer.

Warnings: Angst, description of a panic attack, grief, comfort, no use of Y/N, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has no physical description, definitely incorrect description of how mobile phones work, very lightly edited.

As always, Seams oneshots are set on a relaxed timeline. Voicemail can be considered to take place at an unspecified time after Part IV.

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: I don't know if anyone has written anything similar, but I've always wanted to write something about Joel's Nokia (the idea for Butter actually came from the phone scene in episode 1 - can't you tell? lol). This idea took me by surprise one night and didn't let me go.

Important note: I know voicemails don't work this way, but let's pretend that they are saved onto the mobile phone itself and can be accessed decades later, and that a Nokia can indeed survive the apocalypse.

After the outbreak, after Sarah, after missing his shot - he doesn’t remember much of those early, blurry days. Tommy barely managed to drag his catatonic ass to an abandoned house somewhere on the outskirts of town, where he had to punch him in the face to snap him out of it. 

It being a cocktail of shock, grief, pain and numbness that should’ve killed him, could’ve killed any man. And for the longest time he wished that it did.

It was in the aftershock of that punch, left cheek snapped to his shoulder and his eyes downcast, that Joel saw his Nokia was still clipped to his belt, by some miracle unscathed when everything else had fallen apart.

And he keeps it all these years.

He hadn’t meant to take it with him when he packed up his meagre life to leave Boston behind. But the grubby afternoon light glanced off the screen when he was grabbing maps and hammers from under the dusty floorboards, and with a fuck it, he shrugged and shoved it into the bottom of his backpack. 

If he was being honest with himself, it didn’t feel right leaving it behind.

And so the phone made it to Jackson, and survived the detour to Salt Lake City, largely forgotten. Joel was almost surprised by the sight of it when he finally unpacked his bag in the house that was now his and Ellie’s. 

With a wry smile, he tossed it into a nondescript drawer in the garage, never to see the light of day again.

Until one weekend, Joel asks you to help him find some obscure screwdriver in his garage, not able to get up from where he’s on his back, stemming the flow of the perpetually leaky sink in Ellie’s bathroom.

The space is cool, the shutters down and the air dank from the lack of sun. Under the flickering fluorescent light, you go through a frankly ridiculous number of toolboxes without sighting the elusive screwdriver. With a sigh, you try the middle drawer in the workbench, which is clogged with what looks like everything under the sun. 

Your lips twitch - Joel Miller is a messy man.

Digging around the random clutter, you startle when your fingers brush the long-forgotten, yet instantly familiar plastic case of the Nokia.

Wrapping your hand around the rectangular frame, you smile, in disbelief that you’re holding a mobile phone. You had a similar one that got lost in the confusion of the first days of the outbreak, and you haven’t seen one in the years since. At least not one in such good condition.

Joel’s faraway voice jolts you out of your thoughts. ‘Found it, sweetheart?’

‘Just a second!’ you call back.

Tucking the phone back where it came from, you grab the nearest screwdriver and hope for the best. 

It takes you a few days of asking around town, poking around dusty storerooms and untangling twenty year-old electric cords, but you eventually find what you’re looking for, and there’s a spring in your step as you cook dinner that evening. 

Joel seems to pick up on your energy, and he grins, amused, when he brings in the empty dishes after you eat.

‘You’re buzzin’ out of your skin, sweetheart,’ he teases, grabbing you by the waist. ‘What’s up with you?’

You cock your head to the side. ‘Well, I have a surprise for you.’

‘Is that so?’ he hums, then lets his voice drop an octave in playful insinuation. ‘What kind of surprise, hmm?’

‘Not that kind of surprise,’ you huff with a smile. ‘It’s - it’s hard to explain.’

‘Try me.’

Twisting out of his grip, you open a cabinet and pull out something that fits neatly in your palm. Joel frowns, confused by what looks like - a charger.

When you speak, it’s slow, as if you don’t want to startle him. ‘There’s a whole warehouse of wires and things down by the canteen. A patrol stumbled across an electronics shop in a nearby town a few years ago.’

He gives you a crooked smile. ‘And what am I s’pposed to do with it, sweetheart?’

You take a moment, making sure that his eyes are on you before the words come out. ‘I found the Nokia in your garage the other day, when I was looking for the screwdriver.’

You watch as Joel processes your words, and he goes still, stiller than you’ve ever seen him. 

Then he blinks and shuffles his feet, glancing down at the charger. ‘I - I didn’t expect this.’

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ‘I know. And you don’t have to do anything with it, really, but I just wanted you to have it.’

He nods, slowly. ‘Ok.’

Hesitating, you stutter, ‘So, um, do you - want to take it -?’

Joel holds his hand out, calloused palm quietly upturned. You half expect him to jump at the contact, but he doesn’t move a muscle when the black wire lands in his grasp, and his thick fingers curl around them.

‘I got the dishes, if you want to go first,’ you prompt softly.

Joel swallows, then nods. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If y’ don’t mind, sweetheart.’

‘Of course,’ you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips.

It’s cold outside, but he doesn’t feel it, not when the charger seems to be burning a hole in his hand. When he gets back to his house - empty, Ellie is at Lucy’s for dinner - he heads straight to the garage, and tugs open the drawer.

The Nokia stares back at him, screen blank.

Flinging the charger into the drawer without seeing where it lands, he shoves the drawer close with a snap.

Weeks pass. It hangs in the back of his mind like a spector, even though you don’t bring it up again, and he doesn’t either. 

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all - hopeful of what he would find on it.

It’s been twenty years. Electronics don’t last that long. It’s gotta be wiped clean.

One Wednesday night, Ellie is upstairs, music blaring, doing ‘homework’ or whatever she does on a weeknight (he doesn’t believe in helicopter parenting), and Joel finds his thoughts drifting to that damn drawer.

Feeling reckless, he reaches for the top shelf in the kitchen, pours himself two fingers of whiskey, and charges into the garage.

Hopping onto a workstool, he takes a big gulp of liquid courage and sets the tumbler on the work surface. Before his resolve slips completely out of touch, he yanks on the handle, and he winces when the drawer yawns open with a screech.

The Nokia feels foreign to the touch, like he’s forgotten how to hold a phone. It was, of course, glued to his ear almost all hours of the day and night once upon a time. He turns the plastic case over and the other way around again, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the buttons.

There’s no putting it off forever.

In goes the plug into the electric socket, and he looks down, phone in the left hand, the end of the charger in the other.

He thinks he’s seeing double until he realises that his hands are fucking shaking.

In one determined motion, he slots the charger into the bottom of the phone and drops it like it’s acid.

Then he downs the rest of his whiskey.

He’s not sure how long he stares, the very air around him as unmoving as himself, and he feels the alcohol spread its warm fingers through his veins. 

Just when he’s about to look away, it happens.

The battery sign appears on the screen.

Joel almost chokes on a chuckle. He can’t fucking believe it. You really can’t kill a Nokia if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the familiar home screen to pop up, the time on the top right corner, the battery in the bottom right. The bright green glare casts a cool glow in the dim. Joel picks up the phone, only to be nearly knocked backwards off the chair when the words flash across the screen.

1 NEW VOICEMAIL.

He’s sure his heart has stopped, it definitely feels like it, a deadweight in his chest sinking into his stomach. But he hears it, the relentless beat of it, pounding violently in his ears. Too fast. Gripping the edge of the work surface, he tries to breathe, mouth open, but air isn’t getting in.

It could be nothing. Could be a voicemail he missed from a client that night, or a junk call.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all -

He’s trembling so badly that he needs both hands to hold the phone steady, just so that his thumb presses the selection key.

He doesn’t hear the pre-recorded message, his brain skips it entirely. Then there’s five seconds of silence, and his life flashes before his eyes at the familiar beep -

Dad, are you on your way home? Please tell me you remembered the cake. Uncle Tommy bet me ten dollars that you won’t and I kinda need that lunch money tomorrow. See you soon, love you dad -

And everything goes white.

When Joel comes around, he’s on his knees, the empty tumbler in crystalline pieces around him. The phone is no longer attached to the charger, clutched so tightly in his hands that he feels the imprint of every button in his palm.

He won’t know that his face is wet with tears until you thumb the streaks off his cheeks on your doorstep minutes later, no memory of how he got there. You draw him into you, but your embrace barely contains his broad frame.

You can’t get him far in his state, whiskey on his breath and shivering all over. You drag him across the living room and onto the couch, where you curl up against him, warming him up with your body heat, cradling his head on your chest. The candlelight bounces off the phone screen, which glows green in his grasp.

It will take him weeks to get his head around what you have given him. And when he does, he will ask if you want to hear Sarah’s voice - shyly - as if you would ever say no. 

Watching him watch you, Sarah’s warm, fun-loving voice in your ear, the seams of your lashes sting with tears as your heart clenches, swells, breaks for him - and then put together again by his hand finding you, fingers filling the gaps between yours.

But for now, he lies prostrate, his weight pinning you to the couch, as you comb soothing fingers through his hair, anchoring him to you.

‘I got you, Joel,’ you whisper in his ear, and his eyelids droop and his breathing evens out, as if he’s run a thousand miles. ‘I got you.’

As he drifts off to sleep - his baby girl's love you dad echoing between his ears - he knows that you do.

More notes: I don't lean too hard into angst in my fics as a rule, so this took me places I haven't been for a while, but it's ok cos Pin's got our man 🥺 Thank you for reading, as always! ❤️

[laurorne]

༊*·˚ VALYRIAN STEEL | aegon ii targaryen x sister! reader summary: you’ve found that your brother was better as a lover, in more ways than one. warnings: nsfw, minors dni, targaryen incest, top!reader, smut, p in v, riding, slight masochism, a tiny bit of a blood kink? word count: 0.6k a/n: man i love tom glynn carey 😭

Aegon II Targaryen is a messy brother. With his choppily cut hair and his dire need to do well by you, you find him endearing more oft than not. He is far from the perfect son, or the shining example of a prince. But he is loyal, to his family, to his dragon, to you.

He is messy in the sense that he's barely put together, with last minute gifts that fall apart before his eyes and half-thought out plans. Like the time he had the Conquerors crown pulled from the Red Keeps vaults, only to have the rubies removed and placed into a heavy Valyrian steel necklace —the steel from a smelted ceremonial blade mind you— accompanied by moonstones imported from the Summer Isles.

Your grandsire had yelled for a good twenty minutes before his breath left him and he needed to rest, the old fart. And your mother… oh gods she had nearly nagged both your ears off, and you hadn’t even had a clue as to why the scolding was about until Aegon sheepishly presented it to you. The nameday present spoiled now, but ever heartwarming.

After that unfortunate incident, you'd found yourself wearing that necklace nearly everyday, having dresses altered just to accommodate the sheer size and intricacy of the piece. You barely took it off, the jangling of the layered metal became a comfort over the years of your marriage.

Like right now.

Your hips roll in a slow, wide circle. Your hands pinning his chest to the bed as you work yourself atop him. He's flushed red across his neck and chest, cheeks ruddy as he pants into the night air, Adams apple bobbing deliciously as he fails to swallow down the noises he's making.

"Not much t- to say now, hmm?" You glance down at him, licking your lips as you scratch your nails down his chest and stomach.

His breath hitches at a particularly fast roll of your hips, his hands pawing at the flesh of your hips as he dares to take a peak up at you. "I don't have much to say, when you- when-"

You purposely speed up, lifting your hips only to roll back down onto him, your tits bouncing and your necklace clinking. The scarlet rubies catching what little moonlight they can as you use Aegon like a common whore.

"What was that, my sweet husband?"

"You're a cruel sister." He catches his breath, finally. His fingers pinching at the skin on your hipbone, his other hand skating over your stomach and up to your tit as you lean down into his face.

"I'm only as cruel as you are wanting."

He squeezes your breast in a soft hand, thumbing your nipple as you begin slowing your pace again. Edging him to his finish, oh-so slowly.

He hums, his thighs tensing beneath you as you pinch roughly at his nipple. He arches up into the touch as you flick over it with a nail, taking in the way his brows pinch together and his lashes flutter.

You surge forwards to catch his lips in a kiss, all teeth clashing and messy tongue. He bites down on your lip a bit too hard and you can feel the release of tension in the soft skin as blood meets your tongue.

You breathe out, pulling away by a breadths width as you begin swirling your hips, his dick heavy in your cunt as you watch a droplet of blood land on his chin. He's grinning up at you stupidly, a string of reddish spit linking your lips together before he cups the side of your face and drags you back in.

Tonguing at the cut on your lip as he moans, hips rocking up into yours finally. The other wrapping around your middle as he begins fucking up into you, punching a breath out of your lungs as he devours you.

Aegon was a messy husband, and an even messier lover. But by the Seven, did you love it.

[bloodykhaos]

Gifts and Fun Consequences

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x GN!Reader

Words: 3k

Warnings: A little bit of violence.

Summary: Playing a traitor hunter is not something your Queen is happy about.

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The whole world around you was burning. Not literally. But, even in that aspect, it would not be long for it to happen as well. You had always liked to think you were a good person. Calm, kind, collected.

And you had been. For a while. Until Hightowers had decided to steal the throne. There was almost nothing from the old you in the new you. The betrayal had changed you. It was not even done to you, but it still felt like a knife had been buried in your back and twisted for good measure.

The feeling only had deepened when you had found out one of your closest friends had not shared the same views as you and his brother. Arryk's choice had cut you deep. As deep as your sword had cut him when he had tried to murder the Queen. And when he had not seen anything wrong with attacking Erryk in the process.

You'd found them battling in the Queen's sleeping chambers. It hadn't taken you long to put two and two together when you'd seen her terrified and curled up on the floor. Her features had been painted in colors you had never wanted to see.

Your sword out of its leather sheath had been the next thing you had known before you'd charged at Arryk when he'd knocked his brother down. You would never forget the look in his eyes.

The regret, the sorrow. But the readiness to end his brother's life had been there too. And it'd been the last thing to push you one step closer to dragging your sword through his stomach after he would not have listened to your pleas.

Nothing had been the same since that day. Since it had happened a week ago. Erryk had not been himself at all, but had never put the blame on you. And it was okay. You were blaming yourself for all three of you. There was enough guilt in you already.

That was why you did your best to mask the way emotions pulled at you. How they attempted to sneak their way into your head and lead to your demise.

Maybe that was why you had started making unwise decisions. Decisions that had seemed great and very well planned until you had taken action. It had not been the tactics of the war that had led you to those decisions.

It had been your anger at everyone and everything.

That was how you found yourself in this situation right now.

The clinking of the metal was bouncing off the stone walls as you walked with one hand over your sword and the other fisted in the hair of an unfortunate man. Unfortunate because he'd had the rare occasion of you making it your personal mission to find him.

He was not too smart, so it had not been a challenge at all. Taking candy out of a child's hand would be harder. You should have done this weeks ago when the Greens had decided to put their impostor on your Queen's throne.

A loud thud sounded throughout the big hall as you pushed the man to his knees. Your tight grip on the hair made him wince, his face scrunching up in pain before you let go of his head and stood a few steps in front of him.

Fixing your armor and making sure your sword was safely in its sheath, you cleared your throat while he stared up at you with a foolish smirk on his dirty face. "Is this what you truly fell into doing?" His head shook as it dropped loosely.

"Joining the unrightful, fake heir?" He spoke, seething out his words like a snake. "Betraying your King is disgusting to do even for you." He looked at you with displeasure written all over his face before he spat in front of your feet.

Taking a slow and deep breath, you looked up while pursing your lips. He really did not know when to stop. "Ah!" His head whipped as a strong punch was delivered to his face.

The air got knocked out of his lungs, causing his mouth to open as he blinked slowly. "I do not know what you are speaking of. I only know of the Queen Rhaenyra." Your stoic tone had nothing in common with the actions of your fist.

"I am not aware of what kind of people you acquaint yourself with, Cole—" Continuing, you raised one hand, clenching and unclenching it. "But I am not interested in joining."

Criston huffed. And huffed again. Before an airy chuckle turned into a laugh that you fought hard not to roll your eyes at. "You truly want to devote your life to serve that who-" The word could never be finished as your fist connected with his cheek once more.

"Oh, excuse me." Your face scrunched up in concern and confusion. Your upper body bent to get closer to his face. "Did you want to say something?" The question seemingly innocent held a huge warning behind itself.

If the way you said it was not enough, the look on your face should let him know you would not listen to insults thrown at the Queen.

His lips pursed as he looked at you with anger in his eyes. "You are pathetic." Almost spitting at you as he spoke, his nostrils flared. "You could have been a great knight, but instead, you are just her whore." His bitter tone made your lips pucker out for a second while you listened.

Your eyes went to the side and up while you slightly scrunched your eyebrows. But your gaze quickly found his again. Taking a step closer, you did not fear him doing anything. Even with his hands untied.

Lowering your upper body to the point your eye line was almost at the same level as his, you tilted your head. "I can be her whore." You said lowly. "I can be her slut." You added in a careless tone. "I can be whatever she wishes to call me."

The low volume of your voice only intensified the message you were giving. There were no threats, but he looked worried. "And I will still have more honor than you in your white cloak." You finished the sentence with a click of your tongue as you let out the last word.

Your burning gaze stayed on him as the silence embraced both of you. His eyes going between yours before his throat bopped.

"Ser Y/n!" You heard the only voice that could ever make you do whatever she wanted you to do. The only voice you followed the orders of. Sometimes not very well. Like this time.

You stood back to your full height while smiling at Criston. "What is the meaning of this?" You turned around just in time to see her confusion and irritation as she waved her hand.

"I have brought you a gift, Your Grace." Her head tilted at you as she squinted her eyes. You acted like nothing happened, back to your Queensguard-self. Back to behaving like a true knight on duty.

But she did not see you just as that anymore. She knew your true self. "A gift?" She repeated, unimpressed. "Is this the gift you are speaking of?" The annoyance in her tone was shining through as she gestured with her hand to Criston.

However, her eyes were glued to you. And they were not filled with happiness. "Yes, Your Grace." You stepped to the side, giving her a clear line of sight from the direction of where she was standing.

She glanced at the man before her eyes rolled as she sighed unhappily. Her hands holding onto her long dress. "And to what possible end would you bring him into the Dragonstone?" Her mouth was tense, the skin on her neck straining with each word she spoke.

"He had plenty of things to say, Your Grace." You informed her before moving your eyes to Criston. "Did you not?" The rhetorical question made the man look up at you as he avoided Rhaenyra's gaze.

He, however, stayed quiet. "Did you not?!"

"Yes!" You smiled to yourself satisfied when he finally responded after you had raised your voice.

His eyes dropping to the ground as he kept kneeling on the hard stone. Rhaenyra finally looked at him for longer than a second. Intrigue appeared on her features.

"What things?" Her words held some edge, opposite to the, now, calm demeanor. "Tell your Queen what things." You nodded at the man who would not raise his gaze above the floor.

You waited for him to speak as Rhaenyra looked at you with parted lips. Sucking in your bottom lip, you slightly shook your head before stretching your mouth into an unamused smile.

"Tell your Queen!" Your voice was so loud it bounced off the walls in the hall and caused the blonde woman to look at you with widened eyes.

"She's not my Queen!" He finally replied, trying to be loud but could barely be heard.

Your eyes found Rhaenyra, not believing in Criston's foolishness. "If she is not, then you are a traitor to the crown." You declared openly, your hands resting on the handle of your sword.

The Queen's gaze was roaming your face as you bit the corner of your lip from the inside. Standing on guard right next to the dark-haired man, your head was looking straight ahead at nothing in particular.

"It is not possible for me to be what you speak of when I believe in one, true King Aegon II." Your mouth ticked at his words. You had never liked him. Ever since he had joined the Kingsguards.

He represented nothing with himself. He was no real warrior. "What will you choose to do with me for speaking honestly, Ser Y/n?" Your eyes faltered at the mocking tone of your name as you could see from the corner how Rhaenyra's face changed into anger upon hearing it too.

Moving slowly and lowering your head to his, you watched as his ignorant grin widened. "The only person who can decide your fate is Queen Rhaenyra." The firmness of your words made the man blink.

"And you should be happy about it." Now, it was your turn to smirk at him. "Because I already have a lot of things planned for you in case she needs any help with deciding." Criston's face quickly dropped as he paled a little.

It made the corners of your mouth lift even higher as you stood straighter. At times, you could be perceived as insane. And it was perfect for torturing methods. Or situations like this where it did not hurt to scare and threaten unworthy people.

Criston knew what you were capable of. You were also sure he would not want to experience how far your cruelty could go.

"That is enough." The Queen's voice made you stand straighter again as you would not look away from Criston. You relished in the fear that was forming on his face. "Take him away to the dungeon."

Rhaenyra ordered two guards, gesturing with her head as her hands laid neatly at her front. "And you, Ser Y/n." Your posture formed to perfection as you stood with your chin up. "I will be waiting for the explanation in my chambers." Her words were sharp as you listened.

She would not look away from you for a longer while before shaking her head in irritation and walking away.

——

"Are you mad?!" She almost yelled out as soon as the doors closed, leaving only the two of you to privacy. "Have you not listened to what I said before?!" It would have to be the angriest you had ever seen her.

"I have, my Queen." There was nothing you could say or do that would make it better right now. She was already mad at you. Mad for ignoring her orders.

"Chasing after Cole alone? Only Daemon could be accused of such foolishness!" Her feet were taking her back and forth as she was pacing around the chambers.

Her hand was on her forehead as she rubbed it. "Cole is nothing close to a warrior, he could not be a challenge even at his best-" Her angry eyes found you quickly as you started speaking.

"It is not Cole I am worried about!" She cut you off sharply, her gaze piercing through yours as you sighed. "It is everyone else that could have seen you, kidnapped you, even taken your life!" Her voice kept getting louder and louder.

But you did not even flinch, you listened to everything she had to say. You took a half-step forward, reaching for her with your hand. "Rhaen, nothing happen-"

"That is no way to speak to your Queen!" Her teeth were clenched as she looked at you with wide, full-of-rage eyes.

You immediately stepped back to your previous spot. Hands going to your sides as you stood to your full height. Your head was unmoving as you stared blankly ahead.

"You disregarded my orders, left the Dragonstone without my permission at a convenient time when I could not have noticed your absence until recently." She started ranting and listing every single thing you had done. Every rule you had broken. "And most importantly, you could have died!"

Her wild eyes were going from one thing to another and another, trying to find anything that would occupy her head. She was leaning on the table, her arms spread widely as she breathed deeply.

You stayed silent. Your stance did not falter even for a second as she was composing herself. Her hand rubbing at her eyebrows before she turned around to you.

"Will you not say anything?!" She asked loudly, raising her hands and making them drop to her sides.

She tensed her entire mouth as she waited for you. "I apologize for my actions, Your Majesty, it will not happen again." You spoke softly, not letting your eyes wander to her. Not letting them connect with hers.

She huffed in irritation, turning her body around and running a hand through her hair before moving back to you. "Is that all you have to say?" She pursed her lips, her hand gesturing to you as its palm was pointed up.

When you did not reply, she started walking and stood right in front of you. She stared right into your eyes, going between them, as you did your best to avoid her gaze.

"Are you not going to embrace me?" Her tone was still firm, but you could sense the falter in her words.

"I am not allowed to-"

"Oh, for Gods' sake, Y/n." Her eyes rolled in frustration as she grabbed both of your hands and wrapped your arms around herself.

Your mouth twitched as a small smile threatened to break out on your lips when she pushed herself closer to you. "Do not dare to do this ever again." She spoke in your neck and you finally let a grin spread on your face as you tightened your arms around her.

"I was losing my mind worrying about you." One of your hands went up to her hair and softly caressed it as the metal of your armor clinked.

She huffed in annoyance at how stiff your movements were and pulled away while looking at your chest. "Take this off. I hate it when it gets in my way." You could not help the chuckle that passed your lips as you started getting rid of the armor.

"I do not think you like anything or anyone getting in your way, my dear." Her head tilted at your words, but you saw the hint of a smile that formed on her lips.

"I do not mind someone getting in my way." The chuckle only intensified as your head shook while she quickly raised her eyebrows at you. A playful smirk playing on her lips.

When you managed to put away all of the parts, she quickly stepped back into your personal space and sneaked her arms around your torso. "If you ever do that again, there will be serious consequences." Her breath was hitting your lips as she kept her head up to look at you.

Smirking at her, you embraced her with your strong arms before pulling her closer and ghosting your lips over hers. "It depends on what type of consequences we are speaking of." Your low voice had the woman glancing down at your lips as she dug her short nails into your back.

"Some of them proved to be quite tempting." You added, brushing her lips with yours. And it was all it took for her to connect them, fisting your shirt and pulling at it.

You did not waste any second and kissed her back instantly, hands lying flat on her back before one of them wandered lower. Her mouth opened when you squeezed her backside and you swiftly pushed your tongue inside.

Moans sounded through both of your throats before she pulled away to get some air. Your mouth did not wait for hers to come back as you attached it to her soft skin. Sucking and nibbling on her neck, you heard her sighs getting louder.

"To the bed." Her words were quiet, but you were used to that in this kind of situation as she was losing herself.

"I thought you wanted to speak." Teasing her with a smirk on your face, you earned yourself a hard glare when she grabbed your hair and pulled you away from her neck.

"Do not test my patience any longer today." Your smirk widened so much it could break your face as you smashed your lips against hers and started walking her back to the bed.

The anticipation was rising for both of you as you were getting drunk on how eager she was.

"As you wish, my Queen."

After all, there was something you could do to make it better.

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[stargirl-int3rlud3]

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬.

monkey d. luffy x fem! reader

🗯 ! swearing, old man being gross, kicking ass, sexualizing, injuries, luffy being a cutie pie per usual !

synopsis; luffy notices a girl being hit on by a creepy old man and informs his crew of the occurrence as he goes to try to break up the interaction. unbeknownst to luffy, she can handle herself. — ♡ ᵎᵎ

You had walked into an establishment hoping for a nice meal and something to quench your thirst. After days of the beating sun on your skin your body needed rest to recharge. The place looks nice enough and to be fair it was. a blonde waiter took your order, of course he was clearly flirting with you but you took it more as a compliment as he told you how beautiful your hair was. You had no idea letting one person harmless flirt with you would lead to this.

A much older looking man approaches you as you're enjoying your meal.

With a smirk on his face he says, "Nice ass, young lady"

The vulgar use of language caught you off guard as you choke on your food for a split second.

"Excuse me?" You ask in a squeaky voice.

"You heard me, nice ass" He chuckles loudly, gaining unnecessary attention towards you two.

He seats himself next to you, far too close for comfort. This makes you scoot away from him. A frown flashes on his face as he grabs the legs of your chair, moving you even closer to him than before. You could feel his god awful breath on your skin and you swear you could vomit right now.

Luffy watches the whole thing go down and for the second time in his life, he isn't hungry anymore as he witnesses the old man attempt to grope and grab at you. Luffy thought you were a pretty girl and he knew that you didn't deserve to be treated that way. He tells his crew that about the situation. Before Luffy can step any closer the old man flies across the room into another table.

The aggravation in your eyes was more than obvious as your leg was stuck out from kicking the man. A small group of men race towards you as you roll your eyes. All you had wanted was a meal and drink, apparently that was too much to ask for.

You take out two of the men with a kick to the face from your leg. You flip backwards, your palms on a table, shooting your heeled boots into another guy's face. You grab hold of a chair smashing into a guys face, you use it to boost yourself into the air, you flew in the air like an angel. Landing gracefully back onto flat ground you dust your hands off with a satisfied smile. A guy perks back up causing you elbow to him in the face making him fall back down.

You take your leave, setting money down on the table of your empty dishes. However, you weren't able to get far before Luffy approaches you.

"Hey!"

You swivel around to be met with a Brazillian boy with dark chocolate hair and eyes to match well with his honey skin. He has a wide smile across your face.

"Yes?" You respond.

"That was so cool! Would you like to be apart of my pirate crew!" He asks with a cute smile, a group of people follow behind him.

Looking at them and then back to his beautiful eyes that wait for your response, you smile, "Sure! Why not!"

As if you had just hung the stars for the boy, he looks at you and somehow his smile grows wider than ever. He jumps up punching the air, letting out a loud laugh before his feet hit the ground once more.

You can't help but giggle at his cute mannerisms.

☆ | kind of short, but i had the urge to write for my cutie patootie luffy!!

[badger-tales]

Patched Up// S.H x Reader

a/n: Man I'm a bit rusty on the smut but hopefully it's good!! Also, y/n and Steve are severely injured but that won't stop them from getting freaky apparently

word count: 6.5k

WARNINGS: THIS FIC CONTAINS SMUT SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. ALSO UNPROTECTED SEX.

request:

Hii can you please write a fic for steve harrington. Where reader and Steve used to be together and broke up. And in the battle with vecna she patches him up and he patches her up and they end up getting back together. Also could it please be a mix of Angst and then smut and fluff.

Tyyy 💜💜💜

The air was suffocating, thick with the acrid tang of smoke, blood, and the metallic scent of fear. It clung to your skin, worming its way into your lungs as you crouched next to the crumbling remnants of a building, the world around you still smoldering in the aftermath of the battle. Every breath felt like swallowing ash, and the oppressive silence, broken only by distant crumbling and the faint crackle of flames, was as unsettling as the chaos that had just ended.

Your hands shook as you pressed a tattered cloth to Steve's side, feeling the sticky warmth of his blood soaking through your fingers. His skin was clammy beneath your touch, and the sound of his sharp, labored breathing punctuated the heavy silence. You dared a glance at his face—he was pale, sweat glistening on his forehead, strands of his hair matted down with blood and dirt. His jaw was clenched in pain, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line, but even through the agony, he tried to meet your gaze, forcing a strained smile.

"Just like old times, huh?" His voice was rough, almost hoarse, and despite the weak attempt at humor, there was an edge to it—an underlying bitterness that stung more than the wound you were trying to heal.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. Old times. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, stirring up a storm of memories you had tried so hard to bury. Back when you and Steve were inseparable, two halves of a whole, tangled in a relationship that was messy, beautiful, and broken in all the ways that mattered. But that was before everything changed. Before you walked away. 

The hurt still simmered beneath the surface, the wounds from your breakup never fully healed. You had told yourself it was for the best, that walking away from him was the right thing, that it was easier to let go than to keep fighting for something that felt doomed from the start. But now, with Steve bleeding out in your arms, every decision you made felt like a lie. You had never really let him go.

Your throat tightened, and you tore your gaze away from his, focusing on the task at hand. "Yeah," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. "Except this time, we don’t get a happy ending, do we?"

Steve’s face flickered with something—a flash of hurt, maybe regret—but he held your gaze now, searching for something in your eyes. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, and you were too scared to offer anything. The silence stretched between you, thick with words unspoken, until the distant rumble of debris breaking apart reminded you of where you were. And who you were with.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Steve’s hand moved to cover yours, his touch warm despite the coolness creeping into his skin from blood loss. His fingers brushed over your knuckles, and that small, simple gesture shattered the fragile wall you’d tried to build around your heart.

"You really think that?" His voice was softer now, more vulnerable than you’d heard in a long time. It wavered slightly, like he was afraid of your answer, afraid of where this conversation might lead. He looked at you with those familiar brown eyes, the same ones that used to make you feel like you were the only person in the world. Now, they just made everything hurt more.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you, suffocating. It wasn’t just the battles that tore you apart—it was fear, the insecurity that gnawed at you both. You were afraid of what loving him meant, of how the world you were thrown into was far more dangerous than you could have ever imagined. The monsters weren’t just in the Upside Down—they were inside you, inside him, inside both of you, festering in the doubts and the heartbreak.

You blinked hard, trying to clear your thoughts, your vision blurring for a moment as you kept pressing the cloth to his side, as though if you just focused on that, you could ignore everything else. "I don’t know, Steve," you breathed, your voice barely audible. "I don’t know what to think anymore."

His fingers tightened slightly around yours, grounding you in that moment. His touch wasn’t desperate, but there was a quiet urgency to it—a plea, maybe, that you couldn’t ignore. 

"We’re still here, aren’t we?" he said, his jaw clenched through the pain. His voice was a mix of determination and vulnerability, a crack in the armor of the Steve Harrington you once knew. "We can figure this out. We can fix it… We have to."

His words sliced through you, fragile and raw. You couldn’t tell if he meant the gash on his side or the rift between the two of you—maybe both. The tension between you felt like a taut wire, ready to snap at any moment. His eyes were locked on yours, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself really look at him. Not as the boy you used to love, not as the boy who broke your heart, but as the man who had fought beside you, bled beside you, and now, even in his brokenness, wanted to stand with you.

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the adrenaline, from the exhaustion, or from the way his thumb traced the back of your hand. You’d been running from this— from him—for so long. You didn’t know if you had it in you to stop.

But his words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a lifeline. And in that moment, as the world burned around you, neither of you had walked away.

The world was still crumbling around you—buildings reduced to rubble, fires crackling in the distance, and the air thick with ash and dust—but for a moment, none of that mattered. You and Steve had found a quiet corner in the chaos, leaning against the jagged remains of a wall. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on your shoulders, and every breath felt like a struggle. Your hands trembled from the effort of patching him up, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away to make room for the dull ache of your own injuries.

Steve shifted beside you, his head lolling back against the stone. His face was pale, the color drained from his cheeks, and despite the hastily bandaged wound on his side, he was still bleeding—just less than before. You had done everything you could for him with what little you had, but every time you looked at the blood-stained fabric, your heart squeezed in your chest.

"I’ll be fine," Steve rasped, his voice rough, though his eyes were soft when they flickered over to you. "I’ve been through worse."

You forced a weak smile, though the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. "You always say that."

He chuckled, but it was cut short by a grimace, his hand flying to his side, clutching the wound. The sound of his pain was enough to break you all over again.

"We should rest," you murmured, trying to convince yourself as much as him. You pressed your back against the cold stone behind you, wincing as you felt your own bruises scream in protest.

But Steve wasn’t having it. He turned, his eyes scanning over you in the dim light, his expression hardening when he noticed the blood seeping through the tears in your shirt. "You’re hurt."

You waved it off, trying to play it down, though every muscle in your body throbbed. "It’s nothing."

Steve’s gaze narrowed, and before you could protest, he was shifting onto his knees, ignoring the pain that clearly still wracked his own body. "Let me see," he insisted, his voice low but firm.

You sighed, too tired to argue, and pulled back the torn fabric to reveal the gash along your arm, jagged and ugly from the battle. You hadn’t even noticed how bad it was until now, the adrenaline masking the pain that was now starting to pulse steadily through your veins.

Steve’s jaw clenched, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight of the wound. "You should’ve said something," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His hands, though roughened from fighting, were gentle as they touched your skin. He worked carefully, almost delicately, as if afraid he might break you if he applied too much pressure. He used what was left of the supplies—an old, dirty rag that he dampened with water from a flask—to clean the blood from your arm, his focus unwavering.

You watched him, your chest tightening with a mix of emotions you couldn’t untangle. He was so close, his face inches from yours, and you could see the concentration etched into every line of his features. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes dark with worry as he tended to your wounds. Despite everything—despite the years, the distance, the heartbreak—Steve Harrington still took care of you as if nothing had ever changed. As if he never stopped caring.

"You don’t have to do this," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling in the distance. But the truth was, his touch was comforting. It was like you were transported back to a time when things between you were simple, when his touch didn’t make your heart ache with memories.

Steve didn’t look up, but you saw the way his jaw tightened, his hands stilling for a moment before resuming their careful work. "I want to," he said, his voice rough with a kind of determination you hadn’t heard in a long time.

He wrapped the cloth around your arm, tying it with a gentle but firm knot. You winced as the pressure sent a sharp sting up your arm, but you bit your lip, refusing to let it show. Steve noticed anyway. His thumb brushed your skin, a soft, fleeting touch, and for a brief second, the pain didn’t seem so bad.

When he was done, he finally looked up at you. His fingers lingered on your skin, the warmth of his touch spreading through you like fire. You met his gaze, and in that moment, everything else—the battle, the blood, the hurt—faded away. There was only him, the boy who had once held your heart in the palm of his hand, now looking at you like you were the only thing left in his world.

"I never stopped caring about you, you know," he said softly, his voice low and rough, as if it pained him to admit it. His eyes searched yours, as though he was trying to find some hint of what you were feeling—trying to find the part of you that still belonged to him.

Your breath caught in your throat. The words you had longed to hear, words you never thought would come again, hung in the air between you. You felt your chest tighten, a rush of emotion swelling up inside you. And suddenly, without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing his in a tentative kiss.

It was soft at first, almost hesitant, like neither of you wanted to admit how much you needed it. But then Steve kissed you back, and all the restraint, all the distance between you melted away. His hand came up to cup your face, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. Every ounce of love, regret, and longing that had been bottled up inside you both spilled out in that kiss, desperate and hungry.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. Your forehead rested against his, your eyes fluttering shut as you let the reality of the moment sink in. Steve’s hand remained on your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

"We don’t have to figure everything out tonight," he whispered, his voice shaky but certain. "But I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you knew, deep down, that you didn’t want to walk away either. Not this time. Not ever again.

"I’m not going anywhere," you murmured, your voice soft but sure.

And in that moment, amidst the ruin and the darkness, you found each other again—two broken people, patching each other up, piece by piece.

---

The quiet hum of nightfall had settled over the wreckage, the world outside now eerily still, as if holding its breath in the aftermath of the storm. You and Steve had found a fragile kind of solace in each other’s arms. The fires that had raged, the battles that had left you both scarred, felt distant now, reduced to faint embers in the back of your minds. The silence between you was heavy but not uncomfortable—it was loaded with unspoken words, emotions that were too big for either of you to voice.

The adrenaline had finally drained from your bodies, leaving behind an aching exhaustion. After the makeshift bandages, the blood, and the rawness of survival, you both ended up back at Steve’s place. The journey home had been quiet, both of you too lost in your thoughts, too caught up in the weight of everything that had happened. There were no words for the things you had seen, for the battles fought, for the way your heart ached in his presence even now.

But once inside, the silence transformed into something else. There was no need for words after that first kiss. It was as if all the brokenness between you could be healed with a touch, a caress, a look. Your bodies spoke where your voices couldn’t, and it was all so familiar. Steve’s hands roamed over your skin as if they remembered every inch of you, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, the years between you fading like a distant dream. His touch was both desperate and tender, filled with a longing that neither of you had been able to put into words.

The night stretched out slowly, each second heavy with anticipation. Steve’s lips found yours again, and this time the kiss was deeper, more urgent, filled with all the things he couldn’t say. His hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers grazing your skin in a way that made your breath catch. You could feel the hunger in him, the way his chest rose and fell against yours, the way his breath hitched every time your hands brushed over him. 

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he whispered against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent shivers down your spine. His breath was hot against your neck, the closeness of him igniting a fire in your belly. 

Your heart raced, and you shook your head, already pulling him closer, feeling his warmth seeping into you. "Don’t stop," you breathed, your voice shaky with need. "Please."

And he didn’t.

His hands found the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head, and in the dim light, you could see the way his eyes darkened, filled with something primal, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long. His fingers traced along your skin, slow, deliberate, as if memorizing every curve, every scar. When his lips followed the path his hands had made, kissing a trail down your neck, across your collarbone, a soft gasp escaped your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair.

There was no rush, no urgency to get it over with. The night was slow, deliberate, a mix of gentle touches and desperate need. You felt his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between you, his body pressed tightly against yours, skin against skin. Every kiss he placed on your skin felt like a promise, every touch a silent apology for the time you had spent apart.

When his lips found yours again, the kiss was different—deeper, more consuming. His tongue brushed against yours, and you could taste the desperation on his lips, the way he needed you, the way he had always needed you. You could feel him trembling beneath your touch, his body taut with tension, but he was careful. So careful. His fingers skimmed over your skin, mapping every inch of you as if afraid you’d disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough.

Your hands slid down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, before finding their way lower. His breath caught as you reached for him, your fingers brushing over the growing hardness beneath his jeans. He jumped slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing under your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into you, his forehead resting against yours as a low, breathless groan escaped his throat.

You wasted no time, your fingers working to free him from the confines of his jeans, pulling them down just enough to feel him fully. When your hand wrapped around him, slow and deliberate, Steve let out a shuddering breath, his head falling back slightly, eyes squeezed shut in barely contained pleasure.

His skin was warm, the heat of him almost scalding in your palm as you began to stroke him slowly, teasingly. His lips parted, and you could hear the way his breath faltered, could feel the tension coiling in his body as he tried to keep his composure. But with each slow stroke, you could see him unraveling—his composure slipping with every press of your hand.

His pale skin flushed, a deep shade of red creeping up his neck, and you watched, entranced, as he gave in to the pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, but his touch was still tender, still filled with the care you had always known from him. He watched you with dark, hooded eyes as you worked him, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and you felt a surge of power in the way his body responded to you.

You pressed your thumb against the prominent vein running along the underside of his cock, and Steve groaned, his hips jerking slightly against your hand. His eyes fluttered shut, his mouth falling open in a soft moan, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he was coming undone beneath you.

“God,” he breathed, his voice rough, barely a whisper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands found your face, pulling you into a desperate kiss, his lips moving against yours with a kind of hunger that made your knees weak. And in that moment, there was nothing else. Just you and Steve, lost in the heat of each other, every touch, every kiss a reminder of what you had lost—and what you had found again.

“Come here.” The words left your lips, a gentle command, yet charged with an intensity that had Steve immediately following your lead. You slid off the bed, your knees sinking into the plush carpet beneath you as you knelt before him, gazing up into his darkened eyes. He obeyed without hesitation, positioning himself at the edge of the bed, his breath already shallow with anticipation.

You could see the way his chest rose and fell, the way his muscles tensed as you brought your mouth closer to him. His cock was hard, flushed with need, and the sight of him made your heart race. Without breaking eye contact, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his tip, and a low, guttural groan tore from his throat. 

Your tongue flicked out, teasing him, swirling around his sensitive head, tasting the saltiness of his arousal. You watched as his head fell back, the cords in his neck tightening as he gripped the edge of the bed. The tension in the air was thick, almost palpable, as you slowly dipped your head lower, taking more of him into your mouth inch by inch. You could feel the stretch of your lips, the way his cock twitched against your tongue, and it only made you more eager.

Steve’s hand found its way into your hair, his fingers curling into the strands, tugging gently at first as if trying to maintain some semblance of control. But when you began to speed up, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper, his restraint shattered. His grip tightened, gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and his hips bucked forward involuntarily, thrusting deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck,” Steve hissed, his voice rough, strained with desire as his cock slid further down your throat. You gagged slightly at the intrusion, but the sensation only spurred you on. You gripped his thighs, your nails digging into the soft flesh as you took him as deep as you could, the pressure and the fullness overwhelming but intoxicating all the same.

Steve's hips began to move in sync with your mouth, each thrust pushing him further into the heat of your throat. His fingers tugged at your hair, guiding you, and you moaned around him, the vibrations of your voice sending shudders up his cock. His quiet grunts filled the room, punctuated by your soft, wet sounds, and the air around you buzzed with the tension of his impending release.

Your eyes watered as Steve’s movements became more erratic, his hips jerking forward with reckless abandon. Each time the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged around him, the sensation both overwhelming and thrilling. You flattened your tongue against the underside of his length, relishing the way his body tensed, how his cock twitched as you brought him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his hand tightening in your hair as he struggled to maintain control. His breathing was ragged, labored, his body trembling with the force of holding back. But you could feel it—he was so close.

“Come back on the bed,” he panted, his voice strained with urgency. “I won’t last much longer if you keep this up.”

You slowly pulled away, your lips releasing him with a soft, wet pop, and you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips when you saw how wrecked he looked—his cheeks flushed, his chest heaving, his cock glistening with your saliva. Without a word, you climbed back onto the bed, settling yourself down as Steve shifted to make room for you. His eyes were locked on yours, dark with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

Once you were comfortable, Steve wasted no time. His eyes devoured the sight of you, and his hands moved with a gentleness that contrasted the earlier urgency. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and the soft moan that escaped your lips only seemed to encourage him. 

His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and there was something almost reverent in the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were here with him again. Slowly, he leaned down, his lips trailing a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, over the curve of your abdomen, until he reached the waistband of your shorts.

With one smooth motion, he unzipped them, pulling them off and discarding them carelessly to the floor. His eyes darkened further as he took in the sight of your lace panties, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low, almost like a growl as he looped a finger through the waistband of your panties. The anticipation made your pulse quicken, your body humming with need as he slowly pulled them down, exposing every inch of you to his gaze.

You were bare before him now, vulnerable and open, and yet the way Steve looked at you made you feel powerful. His eyes never left yours as he moved forward, his body shifting until his head was level with your thighs. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, and you couldn’t help the way your hips instinctively lifted, seeking more of his touch, more of him.

Steve’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your core. His eyes stayed locked with yours, and the tension between you both was electric, a coil wound so tight it was ready to snap. When his mouth finally descended, pressing a soft kiss to your aching heat, the sensation was so overwhelming it made your back arch off the bed.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice sending a jolt of desire straight through you. His tongue flicked out, teasing your clit in slow, torturous circles, and the pleasure that coursed through your body was enough to make you gasp, your hands flying to grip the sheets beneath you.

Steve’s fingers dug into your hips, holding you firmly in place as he began to devour you, his mouth moving with a precision that left you breathless. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, had you spiraling closer and closer to the edge. Your moans filled the room, mingling with the soft sound of his mouth working you, the air thick with the heady scent of sex and the tension between you.

Your legs trembled as his tongue worked you over, his pace building, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You were barely able to think, your mind clouded with desire, your body completely at his mercy as he pushed you closer and closer to the brink.

And all the while, Steve’s eyes never left yours, watching every reaction, every gasp, every moan as you came undone beneath him. Steve took a moment to admire her, his gaze lingering on her flushed cheeks, her lips parted in anticipation. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, waiting, with her skin glowing in the dim light—was enough to send a surge of desire coursing through him. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her body taut with need, every breath she took coming out in shallow, shaky exhales.

And then he moved, lowering his head between her thighs, his lips finding her swollen clit. He latched onto it with a fierceness that had her gasping, sucking harshly before smoothing it over with the soft, deliberate strokes of his tongue. The pleasure rippled through her, waves crashing against every nerve as he took his time, dragging it out, building her up slowly, almost teasingly. He knew exactly what he was doing, bringing her closer to the edge but never quite letting her fall.

Her hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as she held him against her, wordlessly begging for more. Her body writhed beneath him, hips bucking up to meet his mouth, but Steve was in control. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every inch of her skin, and when his fingers found her nipples, he couldn’t help but pinch them, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers as his tongue continued to work her over.

He moved lower, his tongue slipping down to her entrance, teasing her with soft, languid strokes. The mewling noises that escaped her lips only spurred him on, each sound like fuel to the fire burning inside him. He pushed his tongue inside her, and she let out a choked gasp, her back arching off the bed as she pulled him closer, urging him deeper. 

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice shaky, desperate. “I’m so close.”

The way she bucked her hips against his mouth, her body trembling with the need for release, was all the encouragement he needed. He picked up the pace, his tongue moving faster, his fingers pinching her nipples in rhythm with his movements. The tension in her body built and built, until finally, she let out a loud, breathless moan as her orgasm crashed over her, her thighs shaking around his head as she came all over his tongue.

Steve stayed there, nestled between her legs, his tongue lapping at her softly, helping her ride out the waves of her orgasm. Her body was trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his arm as she tugged him up toward her, desperate for his kiss.

“Steve…” she panted, her voice still breathless. “Fuck me. Please.”

The words alone nearly sent him over the edge. His cock twitched at the sound of her begging, her voice raw and filled with desire, and it took everything in him not to lose control right then and there. But he steadied himself, his hands bracing on either side of her as he repositioned himself above her, his body hovering just inches away. He searched her eyes, waiting for her to give him the slightest nod, the sign that she was ready for him.

And when she did, her eyes half-lidded and lips parted, he moved. Slowly, carefully, he began to enter her, sliding into her inch by inch, his breath hitching at the overwhelming sensation of her tight, wet heat around him. It was almost too much, the feeling of her body clenching around him, pulling him deeper, and Steve swore he could’ve died happy in that moment. The way her body responded to him, the soft, breathy moans spilling from her lips, sent his head spinning.

When he was fully inside her, he paused, savoring the feeling, letting her adjust to the stretch of him before he began to move. His hips rolled slowly at first, drawing out each thrust, watching the way her body arched beneath him, the way her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. The sounds coming from her—those sweet, breathless moans—only made him want her more.

He could feel the tension building inside him, his control slipping with each slow thrust. The slick sound of their bodies moving together filled the room, mingling with her soft whimpers and his quiet grunts. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, watching the way her chest rose and fell, the way her lips parted in pleasure. Every thrust sent a shudder through her body, and he could tell by the way her breathing faltered, the way her grip on his shoulders tightened, that she was close again.

“Faster,” she panted, her voice thick with need, her pupils blown wide with lust. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and Steve obeyed, quickening his pace, his hips snapping against hers in a desperate rhythm. 

“I’m close,” she moaned, her voice high-pitched, the pleasure overtaking her as she gripped his shoulders even tighter.

“Me too,” he groaned, his voice low and rough, the fire in his belly growing hotter with each thrust. His own release was rapidly approaching, but he held on, determined to push her over the edge first. His hand slipped down between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight, firm circles over it.

The effect was immediate. Y/N let out a guttural moan, her body tightening around him as her second orgasm tore through her, her thighs trembling as she came hard. The sensation of her walls pulsing around him was enough to send him spiraling. With one last thrust, Steve pulled out of her, his hand moving to his cock, giving himself a few quick pumps as he reached his release. He came with a shuddering groan, his hips jerking as thick ropes of cum spilled over his hands.

For a moment, the room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, their bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in time with each other. Steve collapsed onto the bed beside her, his chest heaving, still reeling from the intensity of it all.

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her eyes still glazed over from the aftershocks of her orgasm, a lazy smile playing on her lips. She reached out, brushing her fingers through his damp hair, and Steve turned his head, meeting her gaze.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment, but they didn’t need to. The connection between them was electric, the air still charged with the heat of their passion. Steve reached out, pulling her closer until her head was resting on his chest, his hand idly stroking her hair as their breathing finally began to even out.

And in the quiet aftermath, with the warmth of her body pressed against his, Steve knew that this moment—this connection—was something he would never let go of.

The world seemed to slow down. The only sounds in the room were the faint rustling of sheets and the soft cadence of your breaths, mingling together in the stillness. Tangled in each other’s arms, you lay in silence, the heat of your bodies slowly dissipating as the room cooled. Your head rested on Steve’s chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he took. His heart beat strong beneath your ear, a rhythm that soothed you in ways you hadn’t realized you needed.

Steve’s fingers lazily traced patterns on your skin, gentle swirls and lines that sent soft shivers down your spine. His touch was delicate, almost reverent, as though he was memorizing every inch of you all over again. The warmth of his hand lingered wherever he touched, grounding you in the present moment. It was a stark contrast to the urgency from earlier—the passion that had left both of you breathless and trembling. Now, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of tenderness.

You shifted slightly, turning to face him, catching the soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His hair was tousled, sticking up in places, and his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion, but there was something else there—contentment, maybe even peace. You hadn’t seen that look on him in so long, and it made your chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of longing.

“I never thought we’d get here,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, like you were afraid saying it too loud might break the spell of the moment.

Steve’s smile widened just a fraction, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. His hand slid down from your arm to find yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as his thumb brushed gently over your knuckles. “Neither did I,” he admitted, his voice low, but filled with a sincerity that made your heart ache.

He leaned in slowly, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so simple, yet it felt like a promise—a silent reassurance that this time, things could be different. That the broken pieces between you could be mended.

“I missed this,” Steve murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I missed you.” There was a raw honesty in his voice that made your throat tighten. “I tried telling myself I didn’t, that we were better off apart, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

Your chest tightened as his words sank in, the vulnerability in them echoing your own feelings. You’d missed him too—more than you could ever admit to yourself. The space between you had felt endless, the weight of your decision to walk away a constant ache you carried. But now, lying beside him, the ache was replaced by something else—hope.

“I missed us too,” you whispered, your voice catching slightly as you spoke. You tightened your grip on his hand, pulling him a little closer, needing to feel him next to you. “I kept trying to forget… but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.”

Steve’s hand found its way to your cheek, cupping it gently as he studied your face, his eyes filled with a softness that made your heart swell. “You don’t have to anymore,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone in a tender caress. “We don’t have to pretend. Not anymore.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, a warmth blooming in your chest that chased away the last remnants of doubt. His words wrapped around you like a safety net, catching you before the fear of losing him could take hold again. When you opened your eyes, you found him staring at you with that same unwavering gaze, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world at that moment.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet determination. “I don’t want you to either. We can make this work, I know we can.”

His words were a balm to the wounds you had both carried, soothing the hurt that had lingered between you for so long. Your heart swelled as you looked at him, seeing the boy you had fallen in love with, the man he had become, and the hope that still lingered between you. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy; you both knew that. But in this moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the past didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, your fingers brushing the side of his face as if to anchor yourself to this moment. “I’m not leaving, Steve,” you murmured against his lips. “Not this time.”

His smile was small, but full of relief, and you felt his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The silence was comfortable, filled with the quiet understanding that you had found your way back to each other.

“Do you think… we can really do this?” you asked softly, your voice laced with both hope and hesitation. 

Steve chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. “We’ve faced worse things, haven’t we?” His fingers threaded through your hair, gently tugging you closer. “I think we can handle a second chance.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of lightness washing over you as you curled into his side, your head resting on his chest. His heartbeat, steady and sure, lulled you into a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in what felt like forever.

“Promise me something,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you traced patterns on his skin.

“Anything,” Steve replied without hesitation, his voice soft and full of affection.

“Promise me we won’t let go of this again.”

Steve’s hand came to rest over yours, his grip firm but gentle. “I promise,” he whispered, his lips brushing the top of your head. “We won’t let go. Not this time.”

And as the night stretched on, the weight of the world slowly fading away, you held each other close, knowing that while the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, you were ready to face it—together, patched up, healing, but never alone.

[tr4gictea]

I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS FOR REQUEST BUT I DON'T WANNA OVER BEAR YOU SRRYY

What about a teen gn reader who looks average (in term of strength) but could OBLITERATE a ruin guard in like,, one punch

How would the characters react to that???

genshin + weak looking but strong!teen!reader

❥Masterlist

Tags: slight fluff, mention of injuries

Including: Xiao, Dehya, Lyney

word count: 1,203

A/n: Heyyy, guess who's not dead! sorry I haven't been around for like a year or two things for me have gotten busy but things are slowing down for me right now so I'm gonna be focusing more on writing now! I hope you enjoy :D

You had always heard stories of adventurers finding new civilizations, fight cool monsters, and traveling around the world. You were gonna be like one of those strong adventurers and be marked down in the history books. Though your training and honed your skills to your very limit yet your body stayed the same, growing at its normal pace. Sure you could punch through a brick wall but, you also looked as if you spent your days reading inside. But after a while you had come to accept that you would remain average size until you joined the adventures guild.

The adventure’s guild always had interesting commissions, from the mundane to the deadly. You joined looking forward to getting super hard missions where you could explore a abandoned temple and fight the spirt that lives there! Or a commission about a missing person who has been kiddnap by dozens of treasure hoarder and you have to fight your way through them! As Katherine hands you your first commission you read the page telling you to deliver mint to some guy. 

You look up at kathrine with a “are you joking” face. She only smiles at you and asks if you have any questions. You insist to kathrine that you are a strong individual and you can handle your own. She shakes her head saying that this is the best commission for your skill level. You went back and fourth with Kathrine about the commission before she gave up and gave you some hillcurl camp to clean up on the west side. Snatching the commission out her hand you rush off to complete it. 

It wasn't the intense adventure you hoped for but it was better than nothing. So you head out to the camp and when you get there you spot three hillchurls, easy enough. When you finish off

the last hillchurl you heard the sound of gears churning behind you. 

“WATCH OUT!” a mystery voice calls out. Quickly turning around you are faced 13 feet tall ruin guard. It lifts up its giant geared hand attempting to slam it down on you, you dodge out of the way by jumping back. This is the first time you've ever encountered a ruin guard and there was something you wanted to try with it. 

Throwing your weapon to the side you take a running start at the ruin guard. You can hear the stranger yell at you to get back when you leap into the air lifting your fist up pull it down right on the machine’s head. It flies back into a rock wall 12 feet away from you. Landing on your feet you watch as the ruins guard light flickers for a second then goes dark. Turning to the mystery person you are met with a look of…

Xiao: Shocked but doesn't care that much

Xiao was patrolling the area around Yaodie Valley when he came across you fighting hillchurls. You had an adventurers guild uniform on but you looked far too weak to be fighting such monster, and at such a young age. But you looked to be holding yourself well so he didn't bother you. Until he saw out of the corner of his eye an old ruin guard started to shuffle and activate. 

He yelled at you warning about it but to his surprise, you dropped your weapon and took off running towards it. He was about to intervene when you sent the ruin guard flying into a wall. He stood there for a second spear still out and in his fighting stance but, confused as hell. How did such a weak-looking child punch that machine like it was a stuffed animal. 

“Uh, Mr. Adeptus?” You said trying to get the man's attention. “are you okay?” Snapping out of his trance he circles around you checking for wounds, none were found except for some red on the fist. And without any word he disappears. 

Dehya: Worried but Amazed

While traveling to meet her newest client she stumbles on you collecting stuff off the ground while a ruin guard towers over you. You looked no older than 18 and even tho you had a weapon didnt look like you could fight. She shouts a you watch out and unsheft her claymore. As she is running towards you she sees you turn around send the metal heap flying into a stone wall with a singular punch. Stopping her in her track Dehya looks at the scene before her with her mouth agape.

“Hey kid!” she yells at you. “Are you okay?!” She began checking your body for injuries. That was quite a punch but she needed to check that you didnt break anything from that. 

“If i move your fingers like this do they hurt?!” She asked while bending your fingers slightly upwards.

“No ma’ma,” you resond 

“I've just never seen someone knock out a ruin guard with one punch! How did you even do that without break your hand?”

“I drink a lot of milk.”

Lyney: Excitement

Today was a day Lyney had all to him self, much to his dismay. Lynette was off on a solo mission and Freminet teaching some of their siblings how to dive. Lyney would have joined but those lessons were too slow paced for him and he'd end up getting board and leaving the group behind.

So now he was outside of the city walls looking for something that could entertain him. When he saw the slashing of a weapon out the corner of his eye and turned to see a teenager fighting a couple hillchurls. They looked skilled enough to take on a couple monsters but, defiantly not strong physically.

He was about to head out and look for something more interesting when he heard the gears of a ruin guard turn. He spun around to see you face to face with one of these machines. He saw you jump back nearly missing the hand crushing coming down on you. As he got out his bow to shoot the thing down he stopped himself as he saw you run and jump off a rock and landing a punch on top of its head sending it flying backward.

You turned to face him and his bow was still in his hand with a shit eating grin on his face.

"My archons that was amazing!" He exclaimed while throwing his hands up and trotted right up too you. "How did you manage to do that?" He was lifting your arms up and down like he was trying to find something to tell him how you knock the guard out in one punch. "Or is it just raw strength... Punch me."

"What?" He said that as if it was just a normal request.

"Punch me right here in the stomach, I wanna see something."

"Sir I just knocked out a whole monster and now you want me to punch you?"

"Yes, I don't know what's so hard to understand. you can take down an ancient machine with one punch but you look so... normal!" Rude. "I don't mean that in a bad way but I want to see how this is possible." for the rest of the day he spent it with you testing out your strength on different things. He should have more days to himself if it's gonna be like this one!

Requests are now open again :D

[dapperapple]

parts of live action ATLA that I can think of right now and thought were particularly well done include:

- opening scene with the earthbender (he fought hard and died brutally, it sets the tone well for this world at war)

- the air nomad genocide (it feels so different when we have to see it for ourselves, jeez louise)

- Kyoshi fighting through Aang (metal as hell)

- the cave of two lovers (gay Oma and Shu!! red and blue Oma and Shu!! hell yeah!! I also just like how they had Sokka and Katara in there instead, and their familial love got them out)

- that earth kingdom soldier talking to Iroh (more nuanced than just "corrupt soldier punch old man", also "he was only 19" got to me, great acting bro)

- Zuko talking to Iroh at Lu Ten's funeral (Zuko saying what he's supposed to but then instead of leaving he shares a memory of his cousin and just sits with his devastated, unresponsive uncle so he isn't alone, oh my god I cried)

- Seeing Zuko's father tell him he's banished (he looks so young and scared and he echos what his mother must've taught him about the weak being capable of growing stronger)

- Zuko's crew being the 41st division (I love that it ties the crew directly to the action that upset Ozai and led to Zuko's banishment, plus it gives the crew a pretty damn good reason to respect him despite him being a bratty asshole sometimes)

[bratdotcom]

Froyo to Go !

( Stan Pines x reader || taking Dipper and Mabel to get froyo )

You try to hide the smile on your face as you look out the window at the passing scenery. It was a slow day at the Mystery Shack. Stan decided to be nice and take you and the twins out to beat the heat with froyo because the freezer broke.

You look at the twins in the rear view mirror. Mabel was absolutely over the moon, talking almost everyone's ear off about which flavor she was going to get with corresponding toppings while Dipper seemed to be talking to himself on how to get the most frozen yogurt without overfilling it to the brim.

Stan pulls El Diablo into the parking lot.You gaze up at the giant, visibly sun-bleached cup of froyo in a perpetual spinning motion on top of the shop's roof as the car roars to a stop. You can hear Mabel gasp in awe as she spots the giant spinning froyo cup from the passenger's seat. Unsurprisingly, because of the heat, there was a small line forming right outside the door.

You all collectively step out of the car, Dipper retches, clutching his mouth. He must've gotten carsick from reading while Stan was driving. Mabel rushes to grab onto the man's arm. He smiles playfully at her when he raises his bicep up to carry her a couple inches off of the ground. You knew he'd probably complain about the joint pain later, but it was worth it to see Mabel smile. "Twenty dollars's all I got. Take it or leave it." Stan holds up a crisp, twenty dollar bill in between his fingers like a playing card as he speaks to his great niece, lowering her back onto the ground as you all group into the line.

"You really give it your all for those kids." you say quietly to him, cocking your head to the side slightly as you speak into his ear. You both watch as they play fight each other, Dipper flips his sister's hair over her back to cover her face as some sort of way to block her punches. "Our kids." he corrects, holding you close by hooking his arm around your waist.

You stumble against him at the sudden pull, making him chuckle to himself. "But you ain't wrong about what you said." he adds, adjusting his glasses against the bridge of his nose. His eyes seemed to soften as the glare of the sun reflected off of the lenses of his glasses.

"Remember when you made me pour all my beer cans out back?" he asks, already knowing the answer to his question. "Yes, I remember it clearly, Stanley." you reply softly, poking his beer gut. "You probably got a soda gut now, huh? Mr.Pitt soda Pines."

Stanley snorts to himself, playfully slapping your wrist away, which makes you laugh as well. "Will you two hurry up?" Dipper's voice cracks slightly as he calls out for the two of you. "The line's already moving, c'mon, people!" He says, as if he was the one who drove the car all the way here.

"You got two senior citizens breakin' their backs for ya, kid. Don't try your luck." Stan says as he holds you close to him, making you move forward as he does the same to catch up with the kids.

You're hit with the cold air of an AC above your head as you go inside. The amount of neon colors used to decorate the frozen dessert shop hurt your eyes badly.

Stan pats the small of your back, letting go of your waist. "Make sure they don't go crazy or somethin'. I'll find us a seat." He says gruffly, allowing you to follow and watch over the twins.

Stanley clutches his hip as he sits down with a sigh.

He leans his weight against the table, with a perched elbow he watches as you talk to the kids, making sure neither of them felt left out as you helped them pick out froyo flavors and toppings.

"Grunkle Stan!" The twins say in unison, Mabel turns around to look for the man himself. With a small heave, he uses the table for support to lift himself back onto his feet.

"Alright, alright. You don't need to holler to get me, y'know. I'm not that old." Stan says, making you stifle a laugh. He pulls out his wallet, handing a twenty dollar bill to the cashier.

"Uhm, sir," the cashier's strained voice makes his words somewhat hard to hear for both you and Stan's ears. "You're one dollar off." He says, pointing at the customer display, which showed that he owed exactly twenty-one dollars. Which he did not have.

Stan gives you the look that you were oh-so-familiar with. "Listen here, kid." He leans the side of his arm against the counter.

Stan was trying to impress you. As if he hadn't won you over for almost a decade.

"How about I give you a couple of Mystery Bucks? Get ya a couple dollars off whatever you buy from the Mystery Shack. How's that sound?" He does his signature smile, pointing a finger gun at the cashier.

Judging by the cashier's almost dead-eyed stare, he wasn't buying it. "...do you have the dollar or not?" He asks, waiting for Stan's answer.

"No. I don't." Stan's smile never falters as he speaks. Oh. You knew where this was going now.

Subtly, you grab a couple of spoons from the cup near the register. You stuff them into your pocket as you slowly drag the cups of froyo off of the weighing scale. You could tell which cup belonged to who, by the weight of each cup alone.

Stan slaps a couple of coupons onto the counter. "Go! Go! Go!" He quickly says, bolting for the door.

He holds the door long enough for the three of you to run out as well. Stan slides over the hood of his car, hurriedly opening the driver's side and jingling his keys into the ignition.

He pops the passenger’s side door open from the inside, letting you in. Mabel, followed by Dipper, jumps into the back seat with a bounce.

Dipper is completely out of breath as the car screeches out of the froyo shop parking lot. He murmurs a breathless thank you when you hand him his cup.

You weren't even surprised to see Mabel not affected in the slightest as you passed the girl her froyo cup. You had to use two hands to give it to her. She gives you an enthusiastic grin and a thank you as well. She buckles her brother's seatbelt on as he catches his breath.

As the car stops at a red light, Stan slouches forward in the driver's seat. "I think I'm gonna be bedridden for a couple of days." Stan says, rubbing his back with a groan. You rub his back with a chuckle as he begins the drive back home.

[delcakoo]

i wish i was a baller ₊✩˚⊹ c.yj

ty @yenqa bae for the idea <3

SUMMARY ! being his longtime crush, when yeonjun and his pesky friends’ catch you walking past the court, he’s quick to try an impress you with one (un)lucky shot on hoop in exchange for your number.

PAIRING ! yeonjun x f!reader

WC ! 1.3k

GENRE ! cavity inducing fluff

a/n: c’mon now u have to listen to i wish after readin that title c:

“shit, look who it is yeonjun!”

the male in question was much too busy shouldering soobin to the ground, dribbling past his now groaning friend before slam-dunking his favorite orange ball through the hoop to listen to lame, old, beomgyu.

“let’s go!” yeonjun punches the air, running by his teammates to offer them high fives that they halfheartedly return. “another point for the yeonjunniez!”

“horrible fuckin’ team name,” taehyun murmurs, while kai only nods in tired agreement.

before yeonjun could force the group into another scrimmage, a strong hand grips his shoulder, redirecting him to face a barely visible figure that’s only steps away from reaching the basketball court’s end. beomgyu squeezes tighter, shaking him back and forth slightly. “don’t ignore me! you recognise who that is, right man?” squinting his eyes, yeonjun gasps as he takes in the familiar sight of your signature hairstyle and white headphones.

oh, he knew it was you alright. even if it was pitch black out — only street lamps illuminating the shady pathways — and you were clearly wearing all dark shades to blend in more, he knew.

“‘course, what kind of boyfriend would i be if i didn’t know my girl when i see her?”

soobin, who’s still brushing off pebbles after his dramatic fall, rolls his eyes at the straight fibs coming out of his friend’s lips. “she barely knows you exist.”

“not for long.” before anyone could stop him or make him think at the very least, yeonjun has himself pressed against the chained wall of the court, fingers noisily locking through the metal in an attempt to grasp your attention. “y/n, is that you?”

when you swiftly turn at the sound of your name, looking adorably like a deer caught in headlights, yeonjun is reminded of just how head over heels he is.

“yeonjun..?” he’s never been so thankful to mr. sim assigning partners for projects, or else you still wouldn’t know your future boyfriend’s name! you look past him to take in the other boys who send you awkward waves, and yeonjun glares in annoyance at each and every one of them. what shitty wingmen.

“uh, yeah.. so, what’re you doing out here alone?”

with one more glance around the empty park, yeonjun nearly squeals as you begin walking closer, shoving your phone into your hoodie pocket smoothly. “j-just clearing my head i guess. what about you guys?” your stuttering gives him hope that perhaps you’re just as nervous as he is right now — leading a small smirk to etch across the boy’s lips.

“practising extra late since tryouts open soon,” he replies, gesturing to his friend group in the background. “they all kinda suck though.”

“thanks!” beomgyu spits back, but yeonjun could care less about his sarcastic comeback when it resulted in you letting out a soft chuckle. that was him by the way — he made you laugh!

in an attempt to give yeonjun more one on one time with you, the others had attempted to go back to playing (while still eavesdropping of course), but it was clear that their friend needed a little shove in the right direction.

taehyun moves closer, adjusting his black muscle top while offering you a mischievous grin. “say, y/n. if yeonjun here gets a three pointer, would you consider giving him your number?”

besides kai’s howling laughter in the distance, the court is frozen in tension, more specifically yeonjun — who’s jaw has practically dropped to his ass. this was not part of the plan, taehyun! attempting to bandage the wound, the raven haired boy smacks his friend, hoping the expression on your poor, confused face would falter at least a bit.

his ears burn bright red, and he can only pray the hood of his grey coat is deep enough to hide it. “i uh- sorry about that, you don’t— you don’t have to do anything—“

too busy manifesting some way to travel back in time and tape taehyun’s mouth shut, yeonjun fails to notice the amused smile creeping its way to your lips. “no, it’s okay. you can try if you want.”

soobin and beomgyu share a horrified glance, just how is this working?

yeonjun blinks, holding a bewildered yet determined look in his pupils. “i— you mean like, to shoot?” he blabbers in disbelief.

you shrug. “why not?” and before he knows it, the ball is forced into his grip by a snickering soobin, who attempts to relieve his friend’s shoulders that are tenser than he’s ever seen them with a swift massage.

little did he know that you found it almost as endearing as the way yeonjun’s teeth nibble onto his bottom lip as he gets into position, crouching with precision before jumping, releasing the basketball with a flick of his wrists.

the orange ball flies for a bit before landing right on the hoop’s ring, bouncing across it loudly, spinning around for a bit before—

“shit..” beomgyu murmurs in horror, watching how the ball flops pathetically off the side of the ring along with the other five pairs of eyes.

yeonjun refuses to believe this.

sinking down to his knees, nails frustratingly glide through his bangs while a pained groan leaves his lips. “i didn’t miss a single fucking shot earlier,” he winces, “but of course when it actually matters i fuck up.”

god, he was so cute — it was all you could think to yourself as you paced closer, squatting next to the boy’s destressed form all while lightly patting his shoulder. when yeonjun lifts his head, his eyes widen at the closeness of your face being mere centimetres from his. for a second, he thinks he might just pass out on the spot, up until you pull out a pen from your pocket, grinning cutely as usual.

when you open up your palm, it takes him a minute to realize you were asking for his hand.

ever so carefully, yeonjun places his hand in your grasp, breath stuttering at the feeling of his crush’s fingers wrapping comfortingly around his wrist. “what- what are you..” he gulps when you bend a bit closer to begin scribbling something right across the softness of his pale skin, glancing up at his friend’s with a face of utter disbelief who only give him an equally gobsmacked look in return.

suddenly, you’re releasing him and standing back to full height, pen being shoved casually into the embrace of your black hoodie as if you hadn’t just narrowly avoided giving the poor boy a heart attack moments prior. “yeonjun, i was gonna give it to you either way,” you snort.

wait, what? did he just go through the five stages of grief for nothing?

all he can do is watch with eyes gaped as you slowly march back towards the entrance, only snapping out of it when beomgyu pulls his arm up to investigate the nine numbers inked across his hand. “bro.. you did it.” he states it as if yeonjun had just solved world hunger, shaking his friend frantically.

“i.. i did it?” he repeats dumbly.

it seems as though he can’t get a break; now soobin’s the one pushing him towards the entrance. “go on, dipshit!” he exclaims, “it’s pitch black out there, walk her home!”

this has yeonjun’s expression changing from dumbstruck to full on panic, nearly tripping on his own shoelaces as he sprints out to catch up to your now-far-away form, grey hood falling off and finally revealing his bright red ears in the process.

there was no doubt that he looked insane — lighting or not. “she has him wrapped around her finger, huh?” kai can’t help but cackle once more.

soobin takes a shot, easily making a dunk with the help of his height before sighing in agreement. “oh, absolutely.”

if you enjoyed, reblogs and feedback’s always appreciated <3

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