#a few of them i just have in my head but i don’t know where i wrote them down

[hhughes]

Cleaning Max’s apartment while he’s gone and you accidentally break one of his race trophies.

𝒏ote , stop i loved writing this so much! thank you for sharing your little thought with me nonnie <3

fem!reader who is very sensitive (like me🥲) I don’t love how I ended this but that’s okay. . .

you had been so careful. so unbelievably careful not to touch the trophies as you dusted the shelf max’s whole life was displayed on.

you’d tiptoed around them like they were sleeping dragons. you used the softest cloth. held your breath. didn’t even blink too hard when you passed certain ones.

and still - still - you heard it.

that sickening clink.

that tiny shift in balance that meant something had moved when it shouldn’t have. you turned just in time to watch the austria trophy teeter and then crash.

you step down the little stool you used to reach up high, making your way over to the scene. your fingers hovered over the damage, the cloth still clutched in one hand like a murder weapon.

you whispered a panicked, “no, no, no…” under your breath, as if that would rewind time.

you hadn’t even touched it. just brushed too close, just shifted the air wrong, apparently. and now . . .

you sit back, legs folded, hand over your lips as you weigh your options.

you could call him.

you could confess in person.

you could flee the country.

“oh my god” you whisper, picking up the two pieces and inspecting them like maybe, just maybe, they’ll magically snap back together if you’re gentle enough.

but no. the clean break down the middle is unforgiving. you hold both halves in your hands like a confession.

“this is fine,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone else. “this is totally, completely-”

a soft mrrp interrupts you.

you glance up to see donatello perched on the edge of the shelf, right where the empty spot now is, tail flicking innocently, blinking at you like what?

a few feet away jimmy is sprawled across max’s couch, utterly unconcerned.

your eyes narrow. “you guys suck” you huff with a pout and place the two broken halves down in front of you.

donatello lets out a quiet meow, almost smug. you look down at the broken trophy, then back up at the cat. you consider blaming him. briefly. desperately.

but you had always been a terrible liar and max would see right through it. he’d take one look at your face and know.

still you point a very stern finger “you better back me up when he gets home” as if the cat’s going to deliver a grade A defence statement in your honour.

when max steps through the door of his apartment, he’s immediately concerned by how eerily quiet it is. there’s no music softly playing like there usually is, no clatter from the kitchen.

the kind of silence that makes his chest tighten.

he toes off his shoes, hanging his keys up at the door, carefully holding the bag of takeout in his hand. “baby I’m home” he yells, a faint smile on the edge of his lips over how domestic his life has become.

when there’s no answer in response max frowns and rounds the corner into the living room, stopping in his tracks when he sees you.

sees you curled up on the couch, jimmy in your lap, tissues scattered next to you, eyes puffy and cheeks red, tears streaming down your face.

max’s heart drops straight into his stomach. the bag of takeout hits the floor with a dull thud, completely forgotten.

he’s by your side in two strides, crouching low in front of the couch, his hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to touch first. your knees, your arms, your face.

“what happened?” his voice is gentle but panicked, like it’s being strangled by fear. “are you hurt? what’s wrong?” he spits question after question.

you shake your head quickly, clutching jimmy tighter to your chest. the cat doesn’t protest. just purrs against you like he knows your heart is in pieces and somehow cuddling him will fix it.

“I broke it,” you whisper. your voice is hoarse, quiet, like admitting it again might make it worse.

max blinks. “broke what schat?”

your lower lip wobbles as you glance toward the shelf. his eyes follow yours, and land on the empty space where his austria trophy used to sit.

max exhales. not a sigh of anger. just a quiet release of tension. relief. but you misread it.

“i’m so sorry,” you rush out. “I was being careful, I swear. I didn’t even touch it, I just — donatello jumped up and — I don’t even really know how it happened. if it was me or the cat and I tried to catch it but I was too late and then it broke and —” you stop and take a shuddering breath that sneaks right into max’s heart.

your voice breaks as you say “and I ruined it.”

max doesn’t say anything at first. just studies you. his eyes soft, expression unreadable. then he reaches up, gently brushing a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he says quietly

“but—” you go to protest but he just shakes his head, cutting you off, “it’s just a trophy baby” he reassures you, wiping more tears and sitting on the couch. pulling you onto his lap, jimmy jumps off and your head falls into that familiar crook of his neck.

“it’s okay” he soothes, running his hand through your hair slowly.

he lets you calm down a little before saying, “thanks for cleaning my shelf” with a kiss to your head

“didn’t even finish cleaning it. I was too scared” you admit with a little pout lifting your head to look at him. “i’m so so sorry max, really. i’ll win you another one myself if I have to” you say sincerely

“first you break my trophy and now you’re threatening to beat me in a race? who needs enemies when I’ve got a girlfriend like you” max jokes with a click of his tongue.

a breathy chuckle escapes him when you hit his chest with the back of your hand, a little glare on your face as you start to tear up again.

“i’m just kidding baby. my sweet girl. stop crying now please? it’s breaking my heart” he says, kissing your tears away and cupping your face gently.

“it’s okay. it’s just a trophy. I have lots of them. it was an accident and we can fix it. it’s not the end of the world. you’re okay. we’re okay. everything is okay. okay?” he says and you nod, pressing your lips to his softly.

“i love you” you whisper and he smiles, kissing you again.

“i love you more” he says, gently moving you next to him and getting up to grab the food he dropped earlier. somehow its all still perfectly packaged and in place and max starts placing things on the table.

“wanna watch the austria race? we could relive the trophy’s glory days” max jokes as he settles back on the couch, laughing when you throw a pillow his way.

“you’re an ass” you say, kicking his thigh with your foot, but both of you settle into that comfortable silence as you watch tv, the broken trophy long forgotten.

[frombookstoretobookstore]

Hi! I absolutely love your Jack Abott fics!! You’d are a wonderful writer! I was wondering if you would consider doing a jealous Jack fic? 😁

Aw thank you! Of course! I've had one in the works since I put out a poll. Enjoy!

Jealousy Looks Good On You

Summary: Jealous Abbot is quite possessive and isn't afraid to show it at work, or in the elevator ;) T/W: Bit steamy, Abbot isn't afraid to touch what's his. Masterlist

“You keep that Abbot furrow up you’ll burst a blood vessel.” Robby laughs from where he’s leaned against the nurses’ station.

Jack doesn’t answer, his jaw creaks as his teeth grind together. He can feel the headache starting to form behind his eyes from where his gaze is trained on you. A growl almost forms in his chest when he watches your eyes sparkle as you laugh at what one of the cops says. He can feel his nails digging into his palm as his fists clench.

“Seriously, Abbot.” Robby knocks his shoulders against Jack’s, breaking him out of his trance. “What has gotten into you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack says as he turns to his friend, willing a smile to his face. It drops as soon as he hears you laugh again, his scowl back as he turns towards your direction.

“I see lover boy is at it again.” Dana scoffs, patting Jack’s shoulder as she walks past him to drop off her bag as her shift starts.

“Some days I think the only security we need is to protect some of these guys against Abbot.” Robby smirks at the glare Jack sends him.

“Abbot, she’s just talking, cool your jets!” Dana says harshly, causing Jack to look down at his shoes. 

Jack’s irritation peaks when he sees the cop touch your elbow, his vision pinpoints on the contact between the two of you. 

His feet move before his brain can stop them, carrying him across the room toward you. He can hear Robby’s voice calling after him, but it’s just background noise compared to the storm brewing in his chest. By the time he’s standing a few feet away, he notes the faint flush on your cheeks as you clock his movement.

“Just finished with a consult, sorry to keep you waiting.” His smile is predatory as he leans in, pressing a kiss to your hairline. His hands instinctively pull you into his side as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“Anyway, let me know if you hear anything on it, I’m sure the rig will show up sometime.” Y/n waves as Jack is practically dragging her back to the nurses’ station, his only intent to pull you back unto his world, under his gaze and protection.

Dana snorts from behind her hand, clearly unimpressed with Jack’s attitude. He shoots her a look sharp enough to cut glass. You roll your eyes as even Robby is having to bite his lip to withhold his laughter.

“I guess we’re headed out.” Y/n says, raising her eyebrows in annoyance. She looks up to Jack who still has a hand on her waist. “Am I allowed to say goodbye or are you going to hulk out again?” He rolls his eyes with a huff; he leans back against the counter as you gather your things, his gaze sweeping across the room like a bodyguard looking for threats.

“He isn’t a man of sharing; the man covets peanut M&M’s like a kid at Halloween.” Robby laughs, rolling his eyes as he feels the bite of Jack’s gaze. 

Y/n barely has her things gathered before Jack is ushering them out of the ED; she calls out a parting goodbye as he stomps them out through the ambulance bay. He’s livid when he watches her shoot a sarcastic salute to the cop she had been talking to earlier.

Once out of ear shot, he winces as he feels her rally to call him out. “Jack, what the actual fuck?!”

“He was flirting with you.” He grunts, clearly still in full blown protective mode.

You grab his wrist to halt him, making him turn his broody gaze down to you. You burst out laughing at the dark look in his eyes that seems like it should be in a period drama, and not on your boyfriend’s face.

“Oh my god.” You blow out. “Are you fucking jealous because I talked to the cop about a boat rig, they’d had stolen last night?” He turns away stiffly and continues walking towards the direction of your apartment building, ignoring the laughter that almost has you doubled over.

“We were talking about the boat that was stolen from the police department parking lot, trailer and all, and you’re acting like some damn brooding period romance wannabe Jack!” He’s still ignoring you, trying to quicken his pace. Now that the initial jealousy has worn off, he’s slightly embarrassed by his behavior.

He’s holding the door for you to grab before he’s punching his keys into the lock on the front door of your apartment complex. His jaw is tight again, a muscle ticking. He can feel the triumphant smirk on your face you’re aiming at his back. 

He leans against the back wall of the elevator, his arms braced on the railing. You chuckle slightly as you wait for the elevator to reach your floor, your arms crossed as you shift your weight as you stand in front of him. You startle as you feel a sharp slap delivered to your ass by Jack.

You scoff and turn to him, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Excuse me?” you ask.

He crosses his arms and drops his eyes down to you and then back up to the screen to watch the floor numbers climb. “Mine.” He growls softly.

“Don’t start.” You warn, turning back around. You jump again as he places one last slap to your ass before brushing past you when the elevator doors start to open.

“Jack Abbot.” You scold, hustling after him, his dark chuckle echoing back to you from down the hall. He’s leaning against the apartment door, his gaze still dark, his arms crossed. You take probably a bit too long studying the veins as you walk up, enjoying the ways his muscles flex.

You eye him with an eyebrow raised and a shake of your head. You dig into your pockets to find your keys.

“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow am I.” You say as you push the door open, his gaze still heavy on you.

“Not if I can help it.” He says with a wicked smirk; his lips crashing into yours, his hand already possessively around your neck. 

“Jealousy looks really good on you.” You moan, chuckling softly at his lack of control as he pushes you across the threshold and into your apartment.

------------------------------------------------------ A/N: Slowly working through requests! Per usual I hope you and enjoy and lmk what y'all think!

[aqua-tophana]

So, I’ve always been “The Fat One” in any social group - be that friends or family. But I’m also, by all reasonable medical metrics, healthy, minus a bad back and depression. And I’m one of the supremely lucky ones, my doctor considers BMI to be pseudoscience and complete bunk (she had to step out of the room to curse and calm down when she heard my ex’s old doctor put her on a 900cal diet). She doesn’t care what my weight is; she cares about my metabolic panels and blood pressure and whether my migraine meds are working. All of which have been perfectly fine.

I usually sit right around 350 pounds, give or take a donut. I’m also, despite being afab, built like Thor from God of War: Ragnarok because I used to routinely deadlift and carry my disabled ex who was also 300+ pounds. I’m generally big and wide with a thick layer of fat over muscle. My idea of getting and staying healthy is building muscle and endurance, not weight loss. In fact, weight loss would likely be detrimental to those goals given muscle tends to be the first thing to go during a cal deficit.

Doctors appointments whenever I meet a new nurse are always fun (/s) because I’ll be entirely confident in my weight/size and equally uninterested in “nutritional advice” and these tiny size eight nurses would tell me how they couldn’t imagine being that comfortable in their body, how they were always dieting or trying to lose weight. It’s sad. Like, I just kinda want to give them a hug and maybe recommend therapy to unpack all that. It sounds like a really horrible way to live inside your own head and your own skin.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t come to be confident in my weight over night. I had to work for it. I still struggle with it. I still have internal fatphobia of my own to unpack - mostly attached to “I want to be smaller just to find clothes that fit, godamnit” and things like that. But I try to appreciate what my body does for me and what it can accomplish rather than what it looks like.

I have another appointment with that same doctor in a few hours. I know I’ve lost just under fifty pounds since I last saw her. And I’m pissed about it - which isn’t something most fatphobes would understand. But I’ve been near bed-bound and not eating since new year with crippling depression and I can tell that just about 100% of the weight I’ve lost is in pure muscle. It’s going to take me months or even years to rebuild myself to where I was before. Yet I know there are those out there who see any weight loss as good weight loss, even if it’s muscle loss. Even if it makes my life actively harder to manage.

So I’m going to go to my appointment and talk to my doctor about increasing protein and fat intake to help with rebuilding my muscles, all of which increases my body weight. Because it’s my abs that take the burden of holding me upright when my back gives out*, it’s my arms that carry groceries in the house, and my legs that walk me up the stairs. It’s my muscles that let me move and live my life. The numbers on a scale can’t compete with lived reality.

The point to my little rant is that “healthy” can look different for different people. If you have a health goal, it doesn’t have to be focusing on losing fat. Sometimes, it can be keeping the fat the way it is and focusing on building muscle instead.

But this is just one fat person’s perspective.

* I’ve the back of a 3x car crash victim: hit by a semi, hit by a metro bus, and hit a pallet on the freeway and rolled my car twice. Didn’t get PT for any of it until a decade later because I didn’t have insurance. Building up my abs and obliques to act as a brace for my back has been the best way to keep my back from going out and I’ve let all that progress go during this depressive slump. Not kidding about being pissed.

It says a lot about society that a beach towel that actually fits me is labeled "oversized" on the packaging so that thin people can know which of a select few beach towels will make them feel all warm and cozy and small.

I already buy beach towels to dry myself off with because it's easier than looking for bath towels that fit me, so labeling a beach towel "oversized" because this world is made solely for thin people is just added cruelty. I've been using beach towels to dry myself off with even when I was in the low 200s weight range.

What's fucking wild is that 99.999999% of thin people are blissfully ignorant of what the world is like for fat people. They have no clue what it's like to have to check the weight capacity of a chair on a website before buying it or seeing everything that's the perfect size for you being labeled "oversized." They don't know what it's like not being able to find clothes that fit you at a regular store, thrift store, online store, or even those plus size stores that only go up to a 3XL and just resize thin people clothing.

They don't know what it's like being thankful to learn online that Plan B doesn't work for most fat people before you bought and assumed in a post-roe world that Plan B will be effective. They don't know what it's like to live in a world where everyone freely hates and discriminates against you without even having backlash from progressives and people who claim to support equality, because oppressing you is just accepted fact even to the people who fight for the rights of all of your other oppressed identities. They don't know what it's like to live in a world where hating you is so expected and normalized that it's ingrained into your own people to the point that you literally cannot trust that

anyone you meet

not a single person

who looks like you will share solidarity.

None.

Whenever a thin person suddenly becomes fat, that is the closest we have to a person realizing they've been living in the Matrix. The most intense epiphany you'll ever have is rapidly becoming fat and then seeing how this world changes for you almost overnight.

-Mod Worthy

[bunnwich]

Same anon about the Leona bf Hcs....I'm also curious, do you have any ICKS when it comes to how people portray Leona romantically? plspls, I wanna get controversial.

My Leona Boyfriend HC Icks

(This is subjective, but you asked! Idk why I wanted to answer this ask before your other one… I guess I felt some type of way. It's a bit more ranty/bitchy so be forewarned. I’ve been in the fandom since the ENG release, so I've seen a lot of stuff that personally icks me. Dw I’ll get to your other ask!!)

Btw, I know some ppl won't like some of these opinions, but it's just my personal preferences at the end of the day! Friendly reminder: I am not the authority on Leona Kingscholar nor do I claim to be!!!

STINKY (But not metaphorically)

Why? He is an athlete and a prince? All the athletes I know bathe MORE than other ppl bc they get sweaty.  Besides…we all have bad hygiene when we aren't doing well mentally? So, this HC at best is just gross, and at WORST is offensive.  Also, just a question for ppl who do STILL this: Why would you WANT him to stink??? I never understood this mindset, even if he WAS that lazy. I simply wouldn’t wanna HC that he stinks. I love myself. GFBHNJM (Idia seems to get this stinky boy treatment too WHYY??? Sorry, I choose to believe my man smells good.)

HERBIVORE. (The H-Word)

I think where people lose me fast in Leona fics is hitting me over the head with the word “herbivore.” Honestly…he doesn't use the word as much as people think?? And I don’t think he would call his S/O at all. I find it mean? Because of the Japanese context of this word, and just the literal meaning. I think of it as more akin to the word “whimp” or “weakling.” It's not…cute to me? He doesn’t even use it for the MC later in the game as much. So, unless you're a lion beastman or fellow carnivore, I’d expect prey nicknames. Kitten, mouse, bird, bunny, etc. He even likens the MC to a “kitten” in a few voicelines. Just makes more sense to me, idk. Think of the silly nicknames he has for the canon cast. That or you know…he’d just use your name.

BRUTE BOYFRIEND

He's rude, sure. But no…Leona is NOT beating anyone up for looking/flirting with you. Would he be annoyed, maybe even secretly furious? Sure. But, he's not a “brute strength" kinda guy who uses his fists. (It’s almost like it's his main battle line!) If someone truly hurt you or did something off-color, he’d probably send someone else to do the dirty work to intimidate or deal with them.  In a real fight, OFC he'd defend you, but fighting cause some guy winked at you? NO. I don’t personally believe so. He’s a grown man with high intelligence, so I think high school like beef would be a bit beneath him?? At least he'd have one of his goons go do it.

ALOOF BOYFRIEND

I think where a lot of ppl lose me is the “aloof/stoic” bf thing.  No doubt he would keep his distance at the first instance of catching feelings because he doesn't wanna be hurt. At first, he’s only batting at you to gauge how you feel for him. But if he becomes seriously interested, and then you begin dating, I just don’t believe he would care what other people think. Or try to downplay your relationship. He’d wait for you to make the first real move, sure…but YOU’D KNOW. I just think about how he acted toward Sally in the last Halloween event and how he was almost “uncharacteristically” sweet to her. I think because Leona isn't super close to anyone in NRC—beyond a few of his frosh or respect-based relationships (like he has with Vil), we don’t see this side of him often, and so it comes as a shock.  Without spoiling anything, let’s just say…he was VERY unbothered at everyone's reaction to his soft side. He was focused on Sally and being nice to her. And if we apply this to “bf status Leona,” I think he’d be too focused on YOU to worry about what other ppl think of him. I’ve been preaching for years that this part of him always existed, and that now he just chooses who sees it. He saves his softness for very specific people he deems worthy of his time. Period. You’ll have to play a bit of a game to get on his good side, but like the motto of Savanaclaw: PERSISTENTLY proving to Leona that you care for him despite his flaws, he’ll come around. And when you're together, well- (I'll save that for the other ask) Especially if you are in an established relationship. He clearly thinks the world of you. He doesn’t have many close relationships, so you think he’s wasting his time with someone he wouldn’t even bother to be nice to??? Besides, Leona later in the main story becomes quite self-aware of his inability to reach out to others, despite craving affection desperately. He knows it's his blind spot, SO he's putting effort into being a good bf to you!

HE'S 20 (45)

To further my above point, I think people forget he is a few years older than even the other 3 years, and…was raised by an old man? I think when ppl write him with low emotional maturity...it loses me. I get it, he's a brat. And often he CHOOSES to act like a petulant prince when it suits him. But, I think deep down esp in more serious situations, we’ve seen that he's wise, calm, and level-headed. Just some nuance, please.

“USING YOU AS A PILLOW”

Napping/cuddling together is no doubt one of the nicest things you can do with a partner. And I’ve even implemented this kinda thing in my writing. HOWEVER, there is a certain flavor of this I dislike. Esp when it’s “forced” on the reader/OC. Sometimes I find this is ALL ppl write about him in those HC posts, esp ones that aren’t Leona focused. That or “Leona dragging you off to be his pillow.”  (A bit of my life is taken every time I read this sentence now…) I know there are new folks coming into the fandom who may repeat old tropes, and that's fine! But, I STILL see this from people who have been here for yearssssssss. It's just cliche to me. I do believe he's a cuddly guy, EXTREMELY SO. It's just that specific phrase that icks me. Maybe it’s the implication that he does it against your will and is aggressive about it?? Just, no thanks.

"I CAN FIX HIM”

Okay maybe now we’re getting into the more controversial ones?? I think the idea of “tru wuv” fixing someone’s flaws is just unappealing as a concept to me and completely against what I think love is about. The “dragging him to class”, “making him dress up more,” or “forcing him to get along with his family” is not something I think he’d put up with. He’s grown, he's extremely stubborn, he knows he’s failing school. He doesn't need another person to nag him! Ruggie already does that! Plus, family relations are complicated. Idk…if someone I started dating tried to get me to talk with a family member who I felt genuinely hurt/neglected me, I’d be annoyed af??   I think he would find it all patronizing coming from a romantic partner. It's one thing if he chooses to be better himself or for his mental health to improve gradually, but forcing things on him and “nagging” him constantly about his behavior at school and at home is just what his family does so- He's flawed, VERY MUCH SO. But, I think when it comes to relationships…everyone has flaws they deal with easier in a partner than others. Like you can maybe deal better with someone being socially awkward, but can't stand your S/O having a messy room. Like if your “hard nos” are lazy people, your S/O dressing “sloppy,” or someone who can be petty and rude to others- Well, you get my point.  It's like....if you hate playing video games and wanna ship with Idia. My question is why?? I’m genuinely curious why you even like this character in the first place?? Hot take, (I guess) this is the reason I don't really ship LeoVil. It just rubs me the wrong way how it turns Leona into a “fix me” project thing. And not to mention how Vil talks to Leona canonically in a demeaning way. (I love you Vil, but you’re wrong.) Leona needs a kick in the ass for sure, all the twst boys do, but personally when a fic/ship leans too heavy on the dynamic of “I can fix/change him” it turns me off. As someone who's been in a long-term relationship… if your day-to-day lifestyles don’t align when living together…ya’ll are gonna be at each other's throats over the small stuff. That’s just how it works irl. And...I understand if everyone doesn't want to apply this logic to fictional ships.  I just personally am not fond of this dynamic. And with Leona being a beastman AND a POC, it often feels like a loaded trope to apply to him.

DISPOSABLE LION BOYFRIEND

Last one! (Maybe most controversial idk) I just think Leona is not good at being a romance rival, (assuming we're not talking about poly situation) despite him being competitive. While ofc I think it's possible for an MC or OC to have multiple crushes and things, I think Leona is someone who wouldn’t handle this well? Like, if Leona feels like he’s gotta compete for scraps of your attention, at a certain point...I'd think he’d just give up, or at least give you your space to come to him. He’s had to compete for attention his whole life, and I feel like he's too emotionally mature and ego-driven to put up with these kinds of games for too long? I DO think it's interesting to explore the dynamic of having multiple love interests!! I even do it for a lil drama! But…in gen I don’t prefer when it feels like Leona is just there to be the "the disposable love interest" considering all of his insecurities of being second. Honestly, in that case, I can see him giving an ultimatum? He's a grown man among...mostly teens, I PERSONALLY just can't see him being a love rival with a child. FGHJK

Anyways, I could go one. that's all I can think of for now!

AGAIN I WANNA STRESS THAT THESE ARE MY ICKS. And if you don’t agree or do any of these, that's okay! Everyone can play dolls how they choose, I’m not the HC or character police. ✌️✌️✌️

[novahreign]

Sinners

Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Lucinda “Lu/ Lil bit” Hawkins.

A/N: I wanted to give it a try. I’m a Smoke girlie. That’s my type of man.😜💙 I hope that you enjoy.

“Elijah. Please, don’t do this.” I begged gripping his bicep. “Please.” He gathered me in his arms.

I had been cheesing and humming all morning. Mama had gone into town and daddy was working, this was the only day that both of my parents would be gone and Elijah could come over. I finished my morning chores and freshened myself up from this hot Mississippi weather. I had been having sex with Elijah or Smoke, what most people called him, although I never taken a liken to it, for two full months and my folks were non the wiser. I smiled to myself, I just didn’t understand how something that was such a sin, felt so good. Elijah always knew how to me feel good, how to make me feel like a woman. He was always gentle too. Never harsh with me like he was to everyone else. My mother didn’t know what I saw in him, she just I didn’t understand, that’s all.

When Elijah came in, I was prepared to make love. He always did know how to work that thing between his legs to bring me so much pleasure, oh, and his tongue, sweet Mary, did he know how to use it on me, have me saying swear words that my mama would have my hind for, but instead of my sweet Elijah, I got the one with fear in his eyes. One I only saw a few times. He rushed inside and told me that he and his brother were leaving town. I could feel my heart bout to beat outta my chest. He gathered me in his arms, kissing the side of my head. “I gotta go Lu, don’t make this any harder for me.”

“Why are you doing this? Where are you going?!” I could feel my heart slowly crumbling as he worked to avoid my eyes. “Elijah, what did you do?”

His twin brother Elias “Stack” laid on the horn “Hurry nigga. We gots to go.” He seemed nervous as he scanned the dirt road. A man, I didn’t recognize sat in the drivers seat, kept his gaze straight ahead. “Smoke, let’s go!”

He looked at me with wary eyes “I gotta go baby.” He kissed me harder than he’d ever had before. I tried to savor every moment as I melted in his arm. “Promise me you’ll write.” I sensed his hesitation “You don’t have to say where you are, just let me know that you’re alright and that you’re thinking of me.”

He nodded his head “I’ll do that. I promise.” He kissed me one last time but before he made it to the end of the yard, I yelled out to him. “I love you Elijah.” He smirked “I love you too Lil bit.” I smiled faintly at the nickname that I hated, but would give anything to hear him say it forever. He hopped in the back of the car.

“Don’t forget to write.”

“I won’t! I promise.”

The car sped off down the road, leaving a cloud of dirt behind. I waved until I couldn’t see them anymore.

Sometime later, I learned that the twins killed their daddy or that’s Bessie’s grandmother was telling everybody. I know how cruel and evil his daddy could be and if that’s why he left then I could accept that. That was seven years ago. He never did write like he promised. I waited for years for a letter. Eventually I picked up the pieces of my heart and moved on as I best I could.

“Alright. Class is dismissed. You all go and make it home. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Bye, Ms. Hawkins.” The cute little brown faces of boys and girls exited the white painted barn that was used for schooling during the weekdays. I sighed as to face one little grumpy face child. I bit my cheek to keep from smiling but I put on my serious face.

“Lester Sims, You oughta be ashamed of the way that you carried on today.” His little frown loosened up some. “I expect better from you. You’re a smart boy and have a brain.” I tapped his head “Use it, because the next time you act like this, I’m liken to take a switch to you and I don’t want to have to do that, You hear me?”

He nodded his head and let out a gruff “Yes ma’am.”

“Alright now, gon and head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stomped his way out of the barn as I began tidying up. I unsnapped the button to my blouse, it was hot as Satans tail in this classroom. Hearing footsteps I turned around.

“Lester, you’re always forgetting something, I tell you ever-“ my words got caught as I looked up.

“You as hard on poor Lester as your mama was on me and Stack.How you doing, Lu?”

I gripped the chair, to keep myself from falling, it was like looking at ghost. Elijah Moore stood in front of me. Bigger and more put together than I’ve seen a colored folk before. He tipped his hat “Elijah.” I said, my voice coming out way softer than I wanted or needed it to. Hell, I was mad at him. Seven years you’ve been gone and got the nerve to come back looking like this?! I cross my legs at the ankles. Seven years wasn’t enough time for my body to forget the only man to ever touch me. Then anger boiled in my chest. I dropped the broom, brushed past him, stomping my way out of the school, like Lester did. I was almost far enough when I felt a grip on my arm. I turned so fast bumping into his rock hard chest.

“Can we talk?” Tears welled up in my eyes.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” I tried my best to keep myself together. “Just stay the hell away from me.” I jerked from his arm, headed down the road, not once looking back. I couldn’t, not yet.

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Soldier's Baby Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Series Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities, guy being creepy.

Pt. 3 Summary: Things are slowly starting to develop between you and Bucky. Will you get to live happily ever after? Or is this crush all in your head?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read*

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

□□□□□□□

The golden light filters through the trees, warming the bench beneath you and Bucky as Daisy runs circles nearby, her laughter ringing like wind chimes through the gentle hush of the park. A park brake is definitely what she needed after being in a store for hours.

Bucky sits close—his arm draped across the back of the bench, not touching you, but close enough that his presence is like a pulse at your back. You can feel the tension in the space between you, warm and steady, but unspoken. Not uncomfortable. Just... present.

“She’s a good kid,” he murmurs, watching Daisy fondly, something wistful shadowing his expression.

You smile at your daughter, who is currently making her stuffed bunny "hop" across the grass. “She’s everything,” you whisper. “and so much more.”

He hums softly in agreement.

His voice is warm, but your heart skips at the softness in it—the way it feels like he sees you, really sees you. You glance over, and he’s already looking at you.

“She's just like Rebecca, it's scary.” he adds, quieter now.

You blink, turning to face him more fully. “Your sister, right?”

“Yeah. Brooklyn, 30s. She was the toughest out of all of us. Always called me out on my crap,” he says with a small chuckle. “I miss her.”

Your heart tightens at the weight in his voice. You don’t know everything about his past, but you know enough. And he’s starting to open that door now. You've heard bits and pieces. Rumors and stories. But only he can tell you the truth.

“What was it like?” you ask gently. “Growing up back then?”

He leans back, eyes focused somewhere far away. “Busy. Loud. People looked out for each other. You could hear the radio through every window. There were corner stores, stoops, neighborhood kids always out. It was home. A lot simpler in some ways. We didn’t have much money, but we made it work. I ran errands, fixed up bikes, helped out the neighbors. And Steve—well, he was always in trouble. Too many opinions and too few pounds to back 'em up.” He chuckles slightly.

“I used to think I had to look out for him,” he adds, eyes crinkling fondly. “But honestly, Steve didn’t need anyone to fight his battles for him. He just needed someone to drag him out of them after.”

You both smile, the memory settling into a companionable quiet. But the silence doesn’t last long. There’s a shift in his breathing, a heaviness to the pause that follows. You glance over at him. His eyes are distant again, but this time, there’s something harder behind them.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you give him that silence, letting him settle into the memory.

“I enlisted,” he says, voice lower. “Got sent out before Steve did. I was captured in enemy territory. Hydra got ahold of me.” His jaw clenches slightly. “Experimented on me. Brainwashed me. Made me their weapon.”

You go still, your hand curling in your lap. “Bucky...”

His eyes are distant. “Every time I’d start to remember who I was, they’d wipe it. Like scrubbing out a chalkboard. Over and over again.”

You don’t speak. You just reach out slowly and place your hand on top of his where it rests on his knee. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

“You’re not there anymore,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “They don’t get to define you.”

He looks at you then, like he’s been underwater and your voice just pulled him up. His eyes meet yours—stormy blue, filled with something aching and real—and it’s like something settles in him.

“I’ve been free for a while,” he murmurs. “But I didn’t feel it… not really… until recently.”

“Until Daisy?” you ask with a soft smile, memories of his love for the little girl flashing in your mind.

His lips tug up, but his gaze is still locked on yours. “Until you.”

Your breath stutters. His words hit you low in the belly, heat blooming behind your ribs.

Neither of you says anything for a beat. The tension pulls tight, a magnetic thread stretched between you.

Your heart is pounding. You’re aware of the way his thigh is brushing yours, the way his fingers curl slightly where yours still rest on top of his.

Bucky’s eyes drop to your mouth for just a second. When he looks back at you, there’s no hiding what’s in them.

Desire. Fear. Hope.

He leans in slightly. Just enough that you feel his breath, warm and shallow. His eyes flick between your lips and your eyes, gauging—waiting.

Your lips part instinctively, and your heart hammers so hard you’re sure he must hear it. The world fades. There’s only him. The way he smells. The soft flutter in your belly. The need you try not to admit.

His other hand presses tenderly against your cheek. His finger hooks under your chin, slightly pulling it towards him.

Then...

“Mommy!”

You both jolt slightly, the spell snapping but not quite shattering. Bucky drops his hand from your cheek. You immediately miss the warmth.

Daisy is bounding toward you, stuffed bunny under one arm, little legs stomping through the grass.

You lean back just a little, cheeks warming. Bucky’s eyes are still on you, his lips parted like he’s caught between a breath and a moment. But his gaze doesn’t fall. Doesn’t waver.

Instead, his hand brushes yours again—deliberate. His fingers squeeze, gently. And though he doesn’t speak, his eyes tell you everything.

Later, they promise.

Not yet.

But soon.

And when Daisy launches herself into your lap, giggling and asking if bunny can have dinner too, you laugh—but your heart is still thudding from everything you didn’t say.

And everything you know, you will.

-----

Daisy’s little fingers hold out a dandelion proudly. “Mama, look! It’s a the flower!”

You blink, exhaling shakily as you pull back slightly from Bucky. Your lips are still tingling from how close he was—how much you wanted that kiss.

“Wow,” you breathe, voice wobbling just a little as you smile down at her. “That’s a beautiful flower, baby.”

She climbs up onto the bench and wriggles into your side, her hair bouncing as she makes herself comfortable between you and Bucky. It breaks the moment—pulls your bodies apart—but not your connection. Bucky’s eyes don’t leave you, not even when Daisy leans against his arm.

There’s something in his gaze that is steady and full of tension.

You feel it.

The air between you is thick, charged. And even as Daisy starts talking about butterflies and cookies and the toys she got today, your heart is still thudding with what almost happened. Bucky listens to her—nods, smiles, hums along—but you can tell he’s not entirely hearing her either. His eyes flick to you again. Just a glance. Then another.

Your knees brush together. You don't move away. Neither does he.

When Daisy scrambles down a few minutes later to pick clovers at the edge of the path, Bucky finally exhales. You hear it. Feel it.

“That was close,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into something deeper.

Your head turns toward him, slowly. “Yeah. It was.”

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s full. Warm. And buzzing.

“I wanted to kiss you,” he says again, like he just needs to say it out loud. “I still do.”

You nod, barely breathing. “Me too.” This feels like a dream.

He looks down, his metal fingers lightly drumming against the bench. “I don’t wanna rush you. I know things are still… fragile. With everything. With you and Daisy. But I need you to know—this isn’t just a moment to me.”

Your throat is tight. “It’s not just a moment to me either.”

He reaches for your hand then—your left one—his metal fingers curling over your knuckles so gently it makes your eyes sting. It’s such a strange contrast: soft affection from something that was built for war. But it feels like him. Steady. Sure.

“She’s the most important thing in your world,” he says, nodding toward Daisy. “I know that. And I don’t ever want to come into your life unless I can make it better. Safer. Happier.”

“You already have,” you whisper.

Bucky lifts his eyes again, and they’re so full of warmth it knocks the air from your lungs. He leans in—slow again, careful—and this time, nothing stops him.

His lips brush yours softly.

It’s not rushed. Not hard or desperate. Just gentle. Steady. Like a promise with a hint of passion.

Your hand finds his shoulder as your eyes flutter closed. His other hand rises to your cheek, holding you like you’re something precious.

And you kiss him back.

When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours. You’re both smiling—quietly, shyly—but you’re still so close, you could kiss again if you wanted. And you do.

But this time, he doesn’t rush. He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone, and you breathe him in like he’s something sacred.

At your feet, Daisy hums to herself as she plucks wildflowers, completely unaware of how her world just shifted.

And maybe yours too.

---Later in the Future (All of these next parts are from the future)---

You wake up to tiny feet pattering across the floor and the sound of an excited voice squealing, “It’s my birthday!”

You barely have time to sit up before Daisy launches herself onto the bed, her hair wild from sleep and her grin practically taking up her whole face. She crawls into your lap, bouncing with barely contained energy, and you laugh as you wrap your arms around her.

“Happy birthday, peanut,” Bucky says from beside you, still sleep-rough, but smiling in that soft, melted way he always does when he looks at her.

The two of you moved to Bucky's room a few months after officially beginning dating, leaving Daisy your old room. She loved it, all the space and free range to decorate it however she wanted. Right now, that means lots of fairies and unicorns.

She throws her arms around him next, squishing her face into his chest. “I’m four now!” she declares proudly.

“Four?” Bucky pulls back like he’s shocked. “No way. You were three just yesterday.”

Daisy gasps. “That’s ‘cause I grew last night.”

“Ohhh,” he says seriously, nodding. “That explains it.”

The morning starts with pancakes — heart-shaped, a little messy, made with too much whipped cream and sprinkles because Daisy insisted. You sit at the kitchen counter, watching as Bucky flips the batter with one arm while balancing Daisy on his hip. She’s humming the happy birthday song to herself, completely off-key and adorable.

After breakfast, there are presents. Bucky lets Daisy rip open the colorful paper as dramatically as possible, and you swear you’ve never seen her eyes light up like they do when she sees the little red tricycle you picked out together.

She gasps and hugs Bucky first, then turns to hug you. “Best birthday ever!”

Later, you head outside to the shared yard behind the compound. Natasha and Sam show up, bringing extra balloons and snacks, and a little cake that looks suspiciously homemade. Steve swings by with a wrapped book that he claims is “age appropriate,” though it turns out to be about heroic raccoons saving a forest.

There’s laughter. Games. Daisy runs around with cake on her face, chasing bubbles with a group of kids from the compound. You catch Bucky watching her with that same soft look he always gets now — the one that says he still can’t believe this is his life. That she’s his daughter.

That you are his everything.

When the sun starts to dip low in the sky, painting the yard in golden hues, you’re sitting on a picnic blanket with Bucky. Daisy is curled up between the two of you, tired and sugar-crashed, but still glowing.

“She had a good day,” you say softly, brushing her curls from her face.

“She always has good days,” Bucky replies, just as quiet. “But today was special.”

Your hand finds his. It’s instinct now — familiar and easy, the way your lives have become stitched together.

He leans over and kisses your temple. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “For giving me this.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, watching as Daisy snores softly between you. “We gave it to each other.”

And as the stars begin to blink above you, your little girl safe in your arms, Bucky’s hand warm in yours, you realize this—this exact moment—is what forever looks like.

-----

The sun is beginning to set, casting long golden rays over the quiet garden tucked behind the little restaurant Bucky took you to. It’s the kind of light that makes everything feel softer — glowing petals, fireflies just starting to flicker, the warmth of early summer clinging to your skin like a memory you won’t want to let go of.

The evening’s been perfect so far — slow, full of laughter and familiar touches, the kind of rhythm only two people who know each other’s hearts inside and out can fall into.

Bucky’s hand has been in yours most of the night.

Things have changed a lot since the day you two met nearly 2 years ago. You've become a family. You trust Bucky. You feel safe. And Daisy's grown so much.

Bucky hasn’t been able to stop looking at you — not during dinner, not during dessert, and definitely not now, as the two of you walk together through the garden path just behind the little cottage-style bistro. You pause at a wooden archway wrapped in ivy and flowers, stopping to admire the way the lanterns hanging from the trees flicker gently like stars.

You turn to say something. Something soft, something grateful. That’s when you notice he’s not beside you anymore.

He’s a few steps back.

And he’s kneeling.

Your breath catches.

He looks up at you with that steady, quiet expression of his — full of emotion but never loud about it. His eyes shimmer a little in the golden light, and you can already feel tears forming in your own.

“Hey,” he says gently, like this is just another one of your conversations, even though your heart is pounding in your ears.

You can’t speak. You cover your mouth with your hand, just staring down at him.

“I’ve had this ring for a while,” he admits, his voice low and a little rough. “Kept waitin’ for the perfect time. But I realized…” He smiles, small and sure. “Every moment with you is perfect. So I figured now’s just as good as any.”

You laugh wetly, heart flipping over and over in your chest. You can't believe what's going on. You've dreamed of this. Life forever with Bucky, with your kid. Now it's going to happen.

He opens the little velvet box — inside is a ring that’s so clearly you. Elegant, simple, beautiful. Thoughtful. Like everything he’s ever done.

“I love you,” he says. “I’ve loved you every day, even before I knew what it meant to build a life again. You gave me a home when I didn’t think I deserved one. You gave me your trust. You gave me Daisy.”

Your heart crumbles at that.

He looks up at you like there’s no one else in the world. “And I wanna keep doing life with you. Every messy, wonderful second of it. So…” He takes a breath, his thumb brushing over the ring. “Will you marry me?”

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes,” you whisper, and then again, louder, your voice thick with emotion. ��Yes. Yes, Bucky.”

He stands, slipping the ring onto your finger, his hands a little shaky with nerves and joy. And then his arms are around you and you’re laughing, crying, kissing him like you’ll never stop.

The applause from somewhere off to the side surprises you — you look over and see Daisy clapping wildly, standing beside the waiter who helped Bucky pull this off.

You giggle as Bucky kisses your forehead. “You had her in on it?”

He grins. “She helped me pick the ring.”

Of course she did.

You look down at your hand, at the way the ring catches the golden light — and at the man who put it there. The man who chose you, and never stopped choosing you.

And for the first time, your forever doesn’t feel scary.

It feels like home.

-----

The day starts soft.

Sunlight filters through the curtains in your shared bedroom, the golden kind that only shows up when everything feels right. There’s a breeze in the air, birdsong somewhere distant, and the smell of fresh coffee drifting in from the kitchen.

But none of that compares to the butterflies in your stomach.

Today, you’re marrying Bucky Barnes.

You’re marrying the man who held your daughter like she was a miracle the first time she called him daddy.

You’re marrying the man who sat beside you during sleepless nights and sweet mornings and all the quiet in between.

You're marrying the man who protected you.

You’re marrying your best friend.

The compound’s courtyard has been transformed — soft white lights strung across the trees, delicate flowers blooming in clusters. Sam and Steve helped put the chairs together. Natasha, impossibly smug, got her hands on the perfect champagne and managed the whole event like she was born to. She knew this was going to happen.

You’re tucked away in one of the side rooms, dress carefully laid out, makeup soft and understated. Daisy sits at your feet, giggling as she twirls in her own little white dress, clutching her basket of flower petals.

“Mama,” she whispers excitedly, “You look like a princess.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “And you, baby? You’re the most magical part of this day.”

When it’s time, you walk down the aisle with Daisy just ahead of you, petals fluttering behind her like fairy wings. Every eye is on you, but you only see one face.

Bucky stands at the end, heart in his eyes, wearing a dark suit that somehow makes him look even more breathtaking than usual. His hands are clasped in front of him, but you can tell — he’s nervous. Not about marrying you, no. Just... overwhelmed. Like he can’t believe this is real.

Like he can’t believe you’re real.

You take his hand when you reach him. It’s warm. Solid. The tremble in it mirrors your own.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you breathe, and he grins — boyish and bright, like he’s back in Brooklyn in 1942 and everything is possible again.

The vows are simple. Honest. Yours speak of healing, of trust, of building a future from pieces of the past. His speak of second chances and the family he never dreamed he’d have, but found in you and Daisy.

When the officiant says, You may kiss the bride, Bucky leans in slowly, reverently, like you’re something holy. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin as his lips press against yours — soft and deep

Applause breaks out. Daisy throws the rest of her petals in the air and shouts, “Mommy and daddy are married!”

You both laugh, breaking the kiss, forehead resting against his. “We did it,” you whisper.

“We did,” Bucky replies. “God, I love you.”

And later, under fairy lights and soft music, with Daisy fast asleep in a little flower-strewn chair nearby, Bucky pulls you close for your first dance.

You’re wrapped in his arms. The world fades. It’s just the two of you. The girl who gave him hope, the man who gave you safety, and a future that stretches endlessly ahead — built on late-night stories, morning pancakes, and the kind of love that can weather anything.

You're his wife.

He's your husband.

You wouldn't change anything.

--------

It happens on a quiet morning.

The kind of quiet that only settles over the Avengers compound after a week of missions and long nights, when everyone is finally getting a moment to breathe. You’re in the bathroom with the door cracked open as Daisy hums from the living room, playing with her puzzles.

You’re not expecting anything. Not really. You and Bucky have been trying for a baby — quietly, gently, like you’ve done everything else in this relationship — but the months have passed, and with each negative test, you’d slowly lowered your expectations.

But this one… this one is different.

You stare at the test in your hand, heart racing so hard you can barely hear anything over the pounding in your ears. Two lines.

Two lines.

You blink, once, twice, gripping the edge of the bathroom sink. It feels surreal. Like your mind hasn’t caught up with your body yet. You sink onto the edge of the tub, the test still in your hand, and let out a quiet, shaky laugh.

You’re pregnant.

You press a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound, not wanting Daisy to hear yet. She’s still so small, still waking up each morning with bedhead and her favorite stuffed duck in tow — but she’s also the best thing that’s ever happened to you. And now… now, you’re going to have another child. A baby that you and Bucky made together. On purpose. With love.

It takes a few more minutes to gather yourself. You hide the test in your sweater sleeve, calling softly for Daisy and pulling her into your lap on the couch while you try to think of how to tell Bucky. He’s due back soon — he went on a short recon mission with Sam and Steve the night before. Should be home before lunch.

You spend the next hour pacing the living space, heart fluttering, fingers fiddling with a tiny onesie you'd secretly bought months ago. Just in case. It’s soft and simple, with little moons printed on the front — and it’s perfect.

You hear the hum of the quinjet before you see it. Daisy rushes to the window, squealing, “Daddy’s home!”

You can barely breathe.

He walks in wearing that worn navy long-sleeve shirt you love, his metal arm catching the light, hair pulled back loosely. As soon as he sees you, something softens in his expression.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, stepping close and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Miss me?”

You nod, eyes wide, and then grab the onesie from where you’d tucked it behind a pillow. You hand it to him without a word, your hands shaking just a little.

Bucky frowns at first, confused, until he looks down and sees the little moons. Then his eyes dart to yours, searching, cautious — like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up unless you confirm it out loud.

You nod, barely whispering, “I took a test. It’s positive.”

He stares at you for a moment, completely still. And then he breathes out your name like it’s the only word he’s ever known. His eyes begin to shine.

“You’re serious?” he asks quietly.

You nod again, a little teary, a little stunned. “I… I didn’t think it would actually happen. I thought maybe it just wasn’t in the cards after everything… after everything we’ve been through. But—Bucky, we’re gonna have a baby.”

And that’s all it takes. He’s got his arms around you in a second, one hand in your hair, the other on the small of your back. His chest is warm, solid, and grounding. You melt into it, tears slipping out freely now. Happy tears, full of disbelief and joy and hope.

Bucky leans back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’re giving me another chance to be a dad,” he says softly, reverently. “You already gave me the best gift in the world with Daisy, and now this…”

Your heart thuds hard. “You’re the best dad. Daisy adores you. And this baby’s going to be so lucky.”

He cups your cheeks, brushing away a tear with his thumb. “They’ve already got the best mom.”

Later that night, once Daisy is tucked into bed and you’re curled up together on the couch, Bucky rests his head against your belly, even though you're not far along enough to show. He gently places his metal hand over your stomach, eyes closing as he speaks in the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

“Hey, little one,” he whispers. “It’s your dad. I know you’re still growing, but… we already love you so much. You’ve got a big sister who’s gonna teach you everything — like how to sneak cookies, and what blanket is the coziest, and how to draw superheroes that look like stick bugs.”

You giggle quietly, your fingers brushing through his hair.

“I’m not perfect,” he murmurs, “but I’m gonna try my best. I promise I’ll protect you. And your mama. Always.”

Tears slip down your cheeks again — how does he always know just what to say?

You rest your hand over his, soaking in the moment, the quiet, the warmth of this little family you’ve built together.

You never thought life would lead you here, to a home filled with love and second chances.

But now that you’re here, you can’t imagine anything better.

------

The months pass in a blur of belly rubs, baby kicks, and so many bowls of fruit that Bucky jokingly starts calling you his “peach.”

He’s attentive in a way that sometimes makes you want to cry — not from hormones, but from love.

When your back starts hurting in the second trimester, he figures out how to adjust the couch cushions just right to support you. When you start struggling to sleep, he stays up with you, even at 3 a.m., holding your hand and rubbing circles on your stomach until you both finally doze off. He never misses a doctor’s appointment, always holding your hand during ultrasounds like he’s watching a miracle unfold.

And he is. Because to him, this is a miracle — you are the miracle. He doesn’t say it every day, but he shows it. In the way he makes your tea just the way you like it, how he quietly learns all the ingredients in your prenatal vitamins, how he memorizes breathing techniques from the birthing classes and practices them with you without ever making a joke.

Daisy is glued to your side too — always talking to your belly, always saying “Hi, baby!” in her sweet little voice. She even draws pictures of what she thinks the baby will look like: usually a stick figure with wild hair and hearts for eyes.

But Bucky — he’s your constant. Your center. He kisses your stomach every night before bed, whispering little things to the baby about how much they’re loved. And when your feet swell, he gently massages them with his strong hands and a tenderness that makes you fall in love with him all over again.

Then the day comes.

It’s early, the sun barely rising over the horizon, when the contractions wake you. This time, there’s no panic. No fear. You wake Bucky with a soft nudge and a shaky whisper.

“It’s time.”

He’s on his feet immediately, but not frantic. Just ready. His voice is steady, his hands gentle as he helps you dress, grabs the hospital bag, and alerts the medical team on-site at the compound.

You kiss Daisy’s forehead while she sleeps, knowing Steve and Nat will take good care of her.

And then you’re off.

The hospital is bright and clean, nothing like the chaos of your last birth. This time, you have monitors, nurses, soft lighting. You have a bed, a room with a view, a team ready to help — and Bucky, right there, holding your hand through every single moment.

He never leaves your side. Not once. He coaches your breathing, rubs your back, kisses your temple when the contractions hit hard. At one point, when the pain sharpens, he cups your face and whispers, “You’re not alone this time. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

And you believe him.

Hours later, when your baby finally enters the world with a cry that makes your chest break open, Bucky is crying too. You’re both crying. Because it’s not just a baby — it’s a second chance. It’s proof that healing is real, that love can grow out of pain and become something beautiful.

The nurse gently places the baby on your chest, and you let out a sob as you cradle your child — small, warm, perfect.

Bucky is leaning over you, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers, his hand cupping the baby’s back like they’re the most fragile treasure he’s ever held.

You look up at him, eyes glassy, heart full.

“We did it,” you whisper.

He smiles through his tears and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You did it. You’re amazing.”

Later, when the baby is swaddled and sleeping, and the room is dim and quiet, Bucky leans over and kisses your lips softly. Then he presses another kiss to the top of your head.

“You should’ve had this the first time,” he murmurs. “Safe and peacefuk. You deserved it.”

You nod, your voice catching. “I have it now. With you.”

He sits beside you on the bed, one hand holding yours, the other resting on your newborn’s chest.

And in that quiet, sacred space-with your baby breathing softly, with love surrounding you, you know that this time, everything is exactly as it should be.

This time you're not scared your baby will be taken from you. You know Bucky would never let that happen.

Bucky's here, and he's never letting you go.

-----

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

[writing-girlie]

Just for tonight

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Blurb: When Jack finds you sitting around after shift he doesn’t ask you to explain, just offers a drink and a moment of quiet. No expectations, no pressure.

WC: 1k

Warnings: [Soft] smut, unprotected sex, I think thats all?

Notes: I don't know where this came from. I can't stop writing for this man.

You had reached the end of another shift. This had been your life for a few years now and you loved it but it was a lot. You’re hunched over on the bench, elbows to knees, staring down at your fidgeting hands. Jack stops walking when he sees you.

“Your shift ended nearly half an hour ago.”

You exhale a slow breath, “Yeah. I know.”

“Rough day.” Jack leans against the wall across from you, arms crossed. You let out a soft, dry laugh.

He stays quiet. You finally glance up. There’s no sharpness in your voice, just tired honesty.

"I just needed to sit for a moment. Breathe before I go home like this. I didn’t want to bring it with me.”

“Most of them are. I just want something that feels good. Something real, even if it’s just for a night.” You shake your head, embarrassed by the words as soon as they leave your mouth. “It’s stupid. I know. This isn’t exactly the job for comfort.”

Jack looks at you for a long time, like he understands exactly what you mean.

“No,” he says finally. “It’s not stupid.”

You blink up at him.

“Come to my place, just for a bit. We’ll have a drink. Sit down. You can breathe.”

You nod.

The drive to his place is quiet but not uncomfortable. When he opens the door you follow him to the living room. His apartment is calming, lived in but organised.

“I’ll get you a drink” he says, his voice quieter now.

You nod, sinking into the couch. You let your head fall back and close your eyes. Jack’s footsteps softly echo to the kitchen and back again. When you open your eyes, he’s holding out a glass of whisky.

“Thanks.” He sits down, not too close, not too far. You both take a sip.

“I didn’t mean to come off desperate earlier.”

“You didn’t.” He’s quick to reassure you.

You exhale, eyes still forward. “I just- I go home, force down a bite of something, I barely sleep, and when I do stop moving, I feel like I’m going to break.”

“You don’t have to keep doing it alone.” He softly says.

“You say that like it’s simple.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, glancing your way now. “But neither is walking around with all that weight and nowhere to put it.”

You hold his gaze for a second too long. Then you both look away at the same time. You place your drink on the side table to stop yourself from taking constant sips just because you don't know what to say.

When your eyes meet again, it’s different. You both lean in at the same time, your lips meeting in the middle. It’s not what either of you expected when you agreed to come over. You feel his hand come up, settle against the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek, and when you pull back just slightly, your forehead rests against his. You don’t say anything. Neither does he, but he knows what to do next.

He gets up, places his drink down, and reaches for your hand. When you take it, he leads you down the hallway to his bedroom. You just stand for a moment, fingers laced in his. He reaches for the hem of your shirt slowly; he moves with care, giving you every chance to pull back, but you don’t. You lift your arms, letting him pull the shirt over your head.

You do the same for him. Your eyes trace over his well-built frame, the freckles that are speckled over his shoulders, and the soft rise and fall of his chest. Piece by piece you undress each other; nothing is rushed. You both know that this is about feeling something real and grounding.

Jack guides you back a few steps. When you lie back on the bed, Jack follows, bracing himself over you. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then over your collarbone. With the soft kisses, he reaches down and lines his hard length with your pussy. He pushes inside inch by inch, filling you completely, your arms wrap around his back, and your nails softly trace over his skin.

You both stay still, just embracing how you feel until you whisper his name. He starts to move, setting a gentle rhythm. You can feel every part of him, and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’ll break. You lift your head to kiss him again, and your hand then naturally finds rest in his hair. His pace never falters or speeds up. It feels like he’s trying to remind you that you’re still worthy of softness.

The space is filled with the sound of shared breaths and a quiet creak of the bed. His eyes meet yours again, and something about it makes your heart beat faster. You move one of your hands from his back to besides your head to hold his hand. He holds your hand, gently squeezing it.

Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him closer as you feel yourself get closer to the end of this moment. Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Don’t stop.”

Jack's hand tightens around yours briefly, silently telling you that he won't stop. He rests his forehead against yours, your breath mingling. He lets go of your hand and slips it beneath your back, holding you closer.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice husky, and that’s when you feel yourself slipping, unravelling into the safety of his arms.

Your breath hitches as you reach the peak, and soft moans follow. It hits you gently, like rolling waves, and it leaves you trembling, your body pulsing around him. You nod at him, and mumble a please. You feel Jack's body tense as he fills you up. He buries his face into the crook of your neck.

After a moment he lifts his head and presses a kiss to your lips. He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him. You snuggle into his embrace, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around you. You listen to his heartbeat with the sound of the city as background noise.

In that silence it’s just him and you, and the quiet realisation that maybe this isn’t just a one-night escape.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

how would toxic!fwb!Chris react to toxic!fwb!reader getting hit on at the bar by someone she clearly doesn't want?

it’s not uncommon for you and chris to go out and get a few drinks on your own, dressing a little bit nicer than the other was used to so you had something nice to take home later in the night, but what was a little uncommon was chris finding friends he hasn’t seen in a few years and drifting off to have a conversation with them.

you could hold your own, absolutely, but you were already a few drinks in and feeling chatty, so when chris left you on your own and didn’t bring you along to converse with his friends, you couldn’t deny being a little huffy as you sat at the bar.

the guy next to you wasn’t ugly and seemed nice enough from the way he talked to the bartender, so that was enough for you to turn on your stool to face him, shooting him a sideways grin.

“you come here often?” you ask stupidly, immediately earning a grin from the man. “sometimes,” he replies, turning to face you as well. “never seen you here, though. and trust me, i’d remember.”

okay, a little too flirty, you think to yourself, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. “oh, yeah, i’m not here a lot, just sometimes when i want to drink somewhere other than my living room.” it’s mostly a joke and it makes the man laugh, sending a sense of pride through you. the conversation flows decently enough, him even buying you a drink, but your eyes keep wandering over to chris where he stands with a drink in his hand, wide grin on his face as he speaks.

he’s attractive beyond belief, even just standing there in a leather jacket that was way too expensive, catching your attention every few minutes. the guy next to you notices this, getting more frustrated the more you look away.

“something else on your mind?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he reaches forward to grab your bare knee and spin you back towards him. the contact startles you and you turn your head to look at him, shocked expression on your face. “um… no?” you respond, pulling your drink close to your chest as his hand falls from your skin.

he scoffs, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “you keep looking at that guy over there, the one with the stupid haircut. got a thing for him or something?”

a laugh rips out of you at his words, not because what he said was funny, but because the jealousy seeping out of him was comical, worried about how you felt about somebody else so quickly in the interaction. “he’s hot,” you say plainly, shrugging your shoulders. “i’m here for a good time just like you.”

this pisses him off more, his eyes darkening at the way you laughed at him. he wasn’t on the same level as you anymore, if he ever was in the first place, mood completely shifted into something different. “so you’d give it up to that guy when i just bought you a drink?” he asks in disbelief, raising an eyebrow at you. you just shrug again, letting your gaze flit over to chris again, heart fluttering and stomach tightening when you saw him, body hinging at his hips a bit as he laughed at something funny. “sure,” you say, eyes still on the man on your mind.

you missed the way chris’s eyes kept landing on you as well, knowing you could hold your own but also making sure you were safe with whoever you spoke to. he knew you’d be coming home with him regardless, so he didn’t mind letting you have your fun.

the guy next to you stands up between your stools, hovering above you now, the action causing you to become much more aware of your situation, adrenaline shoving your buzz down as far as it could. “you are way too close,” you tell him, putting a hand up defensively to try and keep distance. “i bought you a drink,” he reiterates, nodding his head towards the back of the bar and taking a step away. “why don’t you come to the bathroom with me and i’ll show you a better time than this asshole could?”

“i’m good,” you immediately say, staring up at him with disinterest. “seriously,” he insists, reaching out to grab your arm. you’re about to turn and call for chris, heart racing, but when you look over, he’s already right there, drink discarded somewhere and hand pressed against this guy’s chest, shoving him away from you.

“she said she’s good,” chris says loudly, standing between you both with his back facing you. it’s hot the way he defends you, always scanning to make sure you’re safe even when he’s not near you, and you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze together at the low tone of his voice.

“oh, what the fuck is this?” the guy groans, rolling his eyes as he shoves chris’s hand away from his chest. “is this a fucking joke? you’re her knight in shining armor?”

“you’re the joke, buddy. out here trying to take advantage of drunk girls, touching them and shit all because you bought them a drink? why don’t you do us all a favor and show yourself out?” chris responds firmly. his actions with the sleazy man are rough and stern, but the way his left hand slides around his back, palm facing you has you melting as you slide your hand into his, his fingers immediately wrapping around yours in a way that asks ‘are you okay?’

you squeeze back, letting your other hand slide up his shirt and rest on the skin of his waist, thumb brushing back and forth gently.

eventually the man in front of chris decides this isn’t worth it and walks away, so when chris lets go of your hand and turns around, all you can do is stare up at him, eyes glazed over as his gaze catches yours.

“you alright?” he asks, hands reaching forward to grab both of your cheeks, keeping your head tilted up towards him. your lips part to respond, but all that comes out is a choked plea asking him to take you home, lashes fluttering at the way he stared down at you.

he obeys, guiding you back to his car, hand planted on your thigh while he drives you to his home where he shows you exactly who you belong to.

[himasgod]

Some twisted wonderland character comforts us when we broke down because we want to go back to our home ( separated) but it was no way back home

( if so can you make one with Jamil? )

ACE AND DEUCE AND JAMIL X READER

Where they comfort you when you miss home

How would the boys act when they find you crying because you know there's probably no way home?

The stars in Twisted Wonderland weren’t the same.

They were too blue. Too distant. Too still.

Back home, you remembered lying on your roof during summer nights, watching airplanes blink past, hearing distant traffic and dogs barking in backyards.

Here… all you could hear was wind. A different wind. One that felt like it didn’t belong to your lungs, like it didn’t know you.

You were used to pretending, smiling like things were okay. You had magic to study, housewarden rules to follow, ghosts to wrangle. But tonight… it cracked.

You sat on the crumbling steps of Ramshackle, hoodie sleeves pulled over your fists, knees drawn up to your chest. The sky blurred above you because of the tears you’d been holding back for months, now spilling down with no resistance.

You missed everything.

The feel of your own bed. Your mom’s voice. The dumb jingles from your favorite shows. The smell of your old laundry detergent. Even the mundane fights with classmates.

There was no way home.

Crowley said it over and over, he was trying to find it.

But now it felt real. You were trapped.

Like the story had been closed, and you were the only character left behind in the wrong book.

You didn’t notice when someone walked up the path to Ramshackle.

You didn’t hear the footsteps on the gravel.

“…Yo,” came a voice—too casual for the quiet night. “Did you forget what time it is? You’re gonna catch a cold out here like that.”

You blinked hard and looked up.

Ace stood a few steps away, jacket slung over one shoulder, a paper bag in his other hand.

Behind him was Deuce, fidgeting with something behind his back, expression hesitant but worried.

“…We brought you dinner. Er… late dinner,” Deuce said softly. “You weren’t in the cafeteria today.”

You tried to wipe your face quickly, but it was obvious.

“…Oh. I—I wasn’t really hungry,” you whispered, your voice cracking halfway through.

Ace dropped his bag next to you and sighed, crouching down to your level. He didn’t immediately say anything, just stared at your blotchy teary face

“Okay. Out with it. You’re too crap at hiding stuff.”

Deuce sat on the other side, carefully putting down a warm container of food next to you. It smelled like miso soup—maybe something Sam sold them.

You shook your head. “It’s dumb. I’m just… being stupid. Sorry.”

“Don't do that,” Deuce said, his tone suddenly firmer.

“You don’t have to say sorry. Not to us.”

Ace leaned his elbows on his knees, lips twitching.

“You seriously think we haven’t noticed you spacing out lately? Every time someone says something about ‘home’ or ‘parents’ you get that far-off look like someone hit you with a sad spell.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Kinda,” Ace said.

“But we didn’t wanna push. Thought maybe you’d talk when you were ready.”

You swallowed hard.

“I just… I want to go back. To where I belong. I don’t want to stay here forever. I want to be home, and there's no mirror, no spell, no nothing that can fix that. Crowley keeps pretending he’s looking but we all know he’s not really doing anything. It feels like I’m slowly being erased from my own world…”

Your throat clenched as your voice wavered.

“And I’m scared I’ll forget what my mom’s laugh sounds like.”

That was when the silence fell heavy.

Deuce looked down, fists clenched. He finally said, quietly.

“I’d be scared too.”

Ace was still. His normal sarcasm was gone.

“…That sucks,” he muttered, honest for once. “That really, really sucks.”

You let out a sob you didn’t know you were holding.

Without a word, Ace scooted closer and dropped his head against your shoulder.

“I’m not gonna tell you everything’s gonna be okay, ‘cause that’d be a load of bull. But…”

He reached over and flicked your forehead—light, just enough to be annoying.

“If you cry without telling us, I’m gonna be mad. Seriously.”

“Same,” Deuce added, resting his head in your other shoulder, more gently.

“You’re not alone, okay? You’ve got us.”

You looked between them, sniffing.

“Why… why do you two care so much?”

“Because we’re friends, dummy,” Ace said immediately, almost insulted.

“You’re our weird, stubborn, always-in-danger-because-you-have-zero-self-preservation-and-you-need-to-help-every-fucking-body friend. What kind of guys would we be if we didn’t have your back?”

Deuce smiled a little.

“And because you’ve helped us a lot too. You were there when we messed up. It’s our turn now.”

You covered your eyes with your sleeves again.

“…Thanks. Both of you.”

They didn’t push more.

Ace leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, and started complaining about how cold the steps were and how he should have brought a chair.

Deuce stayed beside you, occasionally handing you tissues from his uniform pocket.

At some point, you ate the soup.

It wasn’t your mom’s cooking, but it was warm, and it tasted like comfort.

And when you finally stood up, heart heavy but a little less cracked, Ace grinned and nudged your shoulder.

“Still stuck here with us losers, huh? Guess that means we better keep you around.”

Deuce laughed.

“And maybe… someday, there’ll be a way back. But until then… we’ll make this place feel a little more like home.”

And for the first time in a long while, you believed them.

You weren't supposed to be here.

The lounge of Scarabia in night wasn't exactly forbidden, but it was hardly a place students went after hours.

It was quiet. Isolated. Uncomfortable, even, with the cold stone beneath you and the wind tugging at your sleeves. But maybe that discomfort was comforting in its own way. Tangible. Something you could feel while everything else felt so...

Detached.

The sky above was foreign—unfamiliar stars scattered in constellations you didn't recognize, a moon that looked the same but felt completely different.

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, pulling your knees to your chest, and stared into the distance.

"I want to go home," you murmured. The words felt like a betrayal.

Saying them out loud made them heavier.

You hadn’t heard the voice behind you.

"Then why are you here, instead of asking Crowley for the thousandth time to send you back?"

The voice was dry, even. Unmistakable.

You turned slowly. Jamil, arms crossed. His gaze was sharp as always, but there was no mockery in his expression.

Only... observation. Careful, measured.

"I didn't think anyone would notice I was gone," you said, managing a weak smile. "Let alone come looking."

Jamil stepped into. He didn't respond right away. Instead, he glanced up at the sky.

"Grim noticed. You left your bag behind, and he was tearing apart the hallway like you'd disappeared into thin air."

You huffed a bitter laugh. "Well, that would be on-brand for this world, wouldn't it?"

He didn’t laugh.

He just moved to stand beside you, the silence stretching long. The wind tugged at his braids.

"You want to go home," he said again, quieter this time.

You didn't answer.

"You're not the first person who wanted to leave this place," he continued. "And you won't be the last."

"You sound like you know what it feels like," you said.

Jamil sat down beside you, back straight even as he lowered himself. He rested his arms loosely on his knees, his fingers laced together. Always in control. Always composed.

"I used to think I could escape too. That one day, I'd walk away from Scarabia. From Kalim. From... all of it."

You glanced sideways. "What stopped you?"

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Reality."

That one word hit harder than anything else had.

He continued, gaze fixed on the sky.

"No one ever asked me if I wanted to serve the Al-Asim family. No one ever asked me what I wanted. They just assumed. And when you're trained your whole life to be useful, your desires become irrelevant."

His words should have sounded bitter. But they didn’t. They were too matter-of-fact for that.

"And now?" you asked.

"Now? I play the part. Because if I don’t, someone else will write the ending for me."

Your throat tightened.

"I'm sorry."

Jamil looked at you finally, and for a moment, his eyes softened.

"You don’t need to be. You’re not the reason things are the way they are."

The silence returned. But this time, it was gentler. Less suffocating.

"I miss them," you whispered.

"My family. My friends. I miss the smell of my house. The taste of my grandma's food. I miss sunsets I recognize. I miss waking up and knowing where I am."

Jamil didn’t interrupt. He didn’t offer empty reassurances. He let you speak.

"And sometimes I feel like... if I let myself forget even one thing, it means I'm giving up. That I'm letting this place win."

Your voice cracked.

"I forgot the password on my old phone. I forgot the tune my sister always sang when she came home from school. I briefly forgot my dog's birthday."

"I'm tired, Jamil. I'm so tired."

He didn’t reach for you. That wasn’t his way

He leaned a little closer. Close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. Just barely.

"Then rest. Just for tonight."

You looked at him, eyes stinging. "I don’t know how."

His expression didn’t change. But he said, softly:

"Then let me keep watch while you figure it out."

A lump formed in your throat. You turned your head away, but not before he saw it.

"You don’t have to be strong every second of every day," he continued. "I know what it’s like to keep everything inside until it eats you alive. I won’t let that happen to you."

He said it like a promise. Quiet. Fierce.

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve and leaned into him a little more. He didn’t move away.

"We’re both trapped, aren’t we?"

"Maybe," he murmured. "But under the same sky. Under the same stars."

You sat there together, under constellations neither of you recognized, listening to the wind.

And when your head gradually rested against his shoulder, and his warmth settled around you like a shield, you felt him shift just enough to let it happen.

He didn’t speak again, but you felt the faintest brush of his fingers as they hovered near yours doing constellation figures—hesitating, uncertain.

And then, softly, he intertwined them with yours.

The night didn't feel quite so cold.

[bruisedboys]

thinking of jacob giving u the best hugs after a long week. maybe your social battery has died and people keep asking u to help them so he scares them off (temporarily)

drew my angel thank you for the request!! love u

jacob black x fem!imprint!reader (reader is shorter than jacob)

Jacob Black has a one track mind when it comes to you. You’re all he ever thinks about, all he cares about, the only thing that really matters to him. He worries about you when you’re not together and clings to you when you are together. He’s totally obsessed, and he likes to think that if it weren’t for the whole imprint thing, he’d still be equally obsessed with you. Who wouldn’t? You’re kind, and smart, and beautiful. You don’t care that he’s a monster and you love his pack family even when they’re a pain in the neck.

Like now, when they’ve dragged him out for patrol and left you at Sam’s, when all Jacob wanted to do tonight was take you home and kiss you stupid. You’ve let him go without a complaint, ‘cos you’re perfect.

Jacob, in his wolf form with the rest of the pack spread out within the woods around him, realises too late that he’s been musing over you in his mind. The others are laughing at him.

Really, Jacob? Paul’s voice says in his head. We haven’t been gone ten minutes.

Shut up, Jacob thinks back, but he stops picturing your face in his mind and tries to focus on the task at hand instead.

A few uneventful hours later, the pack finally heads back to Sam’s. Jacob, the fastest not only because he’s naturally quick, but because he’s desperate to see you, gets there first. Back in his human body he feels much more comfortable, and at least now no one can read his thoughts. He can think about you all he likes without getting an earful for it.

He’s unsurprised when he finds you in the kitchen with Emily.

“Hey,” he nods to Emily, who’s getting something out of the oven, and crosses to where you’re standing over the sink, up to your elbows in suds.

“Hi,” he says fondly, moving up behind you. He pushes an arm across your lower back and dips his head to lay a kiss in your hair. “Missed you.”

You turn to look up at him and smile, and you’re so, so pretty, but your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hello,” you say softly. Your voice is heavy and slow, like someone’s poured honey down your throat. “Missed you, too. Where’s the others?”

“I beat ‘em,” Jacob tells you proudly, at the same time as voices and laughter start trailing in from the living room. Jacob winces. “Just.”

You laugh softly. “Will you dry these for me?” You ask, nodding towards the clean dishes on the bench. “Before it gets too rowdy in here?”

Jacob helps you with the dishes. You were right when you guessed it would get rowdy — the pack are starving and eat the meal you and Emily have made like, well, wolves. Paul’s in a mood tonight, a good one but a loud one, and as a result everyone jokes and laughs and talks over one another. You’re decidedly quiet, and when you’re done eating Jacob pulls you into the hallway, out of the way of all the noise.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, hands on your upper arms.

You heave a sigh. “I’m really tired,” you admit. You’ve long since given up on trying to hide how you’re feeling from Jacob, because he’s so persistent and stubborn that he always ends up weasling it out of you, anyway. “Not like, sleepy. Just, my battery is really low.“

Jacob frowns and rubs his thumb over the hill of your shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says. It somehow feels like his fault.

You give him a look like you know what he’s thinking. “S’okay,” you say. “Just had a long week, you know?”

Jacob hums. “Yeah, I know. You want a hug?”

You nod like you were waiting for him to ask, and Jacob makes quick work of wrapping you up in his arms, pulling you into his chest like he’s done a million times before. You push your arms around his waist and cling to him, while he rubs your back with a warm hand. He’s tall enough that he can rest his chin atop your head so he does, and lets you push your face into his neck, your mouth warm where it presses against his skin.

You sigh softly and go almost completely limp in his arms.

“Thanks,” you say, muffled.

Jacob opens his mouth to say let’s go home, but then Embry appears, calling your name in an unnecessarily loud voice.

“Y/N! Can you come help me— oh.”

He stops short at the sight of you limp as a ragdoll in Jacob’s arms. That, plus the look Jacob gives him.

“What, Em?” Jacob says, and it comes out a bit more harsh than he’d intended. He amends, “Sorry, she’s really tired. What do you want?”

Embry has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Never mind,” he says.

You pull your face from Jacob’s neck, one arm still curved around his waist. “What is it, Embry? I can help, it’s fine—”

“No you can’t, we’re going home now,” Jacob interrupts, throwing you a look, annoyed and endeared by how sweet you are. “Ask someone else,” he tells Embry bluntly.

He’s pretty sure Embry rolls his eyes as he leaves, but he doesn’t care. You turn to look at him once Embry is gone.

“You’re mean,” you say, but you make it sound like I love you, and you wrap your arms around him again.

“And you’re tired,” he says back, ducking his head to press a quick kiss to your forehead. He pulls away but rubs your arm as he goes. “C’mon, I really am gonna take you home now, okay? Dad’ll already be asleep so it’ll just be me and you.”

You raise both eyebrows, pleased. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, feigning intrigue.

Jacob grins. “Whatever you want it to mean, sweetheart,” he says, though he hopes he’ll get to kiss you stupid like he’s been wanting to do all night.

[hedwig221b]

Have you ever read “You would kill for this, just a little bit, you would” by alice9?

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/51306448) it’s an absolute favourite of mine and I wonder whether you know any fics similar to it?

Also recommended by @avabean24 ❤

It's been 84 years, and I didn't really get what recs you wanted, bc this wonderful fic has so many tropes. I focused on secret relationship, so here we go, I guess?

You would kill for this, just a little bit, you would by alice9

The Hales didn’t like him. He didn’t like them either. And for fifteen years he made it a point to have as little interaction with them as possible. It comes as a shock then, when Derek Hale turns up at his door one night, screaming baby in his arms, asking for help.

Operation Girl Scout Cookies by katsu_kiri

After a minute Derek looks back up, his lips puckering in thought, “so…we just…see each other in secret. Then in November after local elections we can see each other for real?” “We are seeing each other for real! It’s just us who know about it for the first few months,” Stiles corrects. “Okay.” Stiles holds his breath, eyes widening, “okay as in okay let’s secretly date?” “Yes,” Derek adds his tone a little less bitter as if he is just now warming up to the idea. “Awsome! Holy shit, dude we’re mates,” Stiles beams. Or the one where both Talia and John are running for mayor of Beacon Hills and their sons end up being mates. Enter a secret relationship, a dash of smut, and a way too involved Laura Hale.

Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

Pry Him From My Cold Dead Fingers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"So they’re coming for our Emissary because they lost theirs?” Derek asked, somewhat angrily. “It would appear. The McCall-Hale Pack’s reputation precedes itself.” “Don’t worry,” Scott said, “we won’t let them touch you.” Deaton turned to him, offering a private smile before inclining his head slightly. “Very comforting, Scott, thank you. But,” he looked between them, “I’m not the Emissary they’re coming after.” Derek frowned and shared a look with Scott, who looked as confused as he did. “What do you mean?” Scott asked. “What other Emissary is there?”

Operation Get Derek Laid by Kikileduc

There's pining, misunderstandings, confusion, a little jealousy… Stiles and Derek have a nice thing, no one knows, yet. The issue is, the pack wants their alpha to get lucky at the werewolf seminar, and well Stiles thinks Derek wants that too…

Mismatched Match by LadyDrace

Getting to date hot senior jock Derek Hale should be cause for shouting from the rooftops, frankly, but life is a little more complicated than that. Until it isn't.

You Look Like Bad News (i gotta have you) by standinginanicedress

Option A : violently tell Derek that they are under no circumstances ever to hook up again because it was stupid and dumb. Option B : tell Scott the truth, stand back and watch as Scott kills Derek with his bare hands so Stiles doesn't even have to face the music. Not an option at all, actually. Expunge this from the record. The real Option B : calmly explain to Derek that the situation is too fucked up and hey, maybe if Derek and Scott ever shake hands and make up, he and Stiles can hook up again because, man…it was great. Option C : forget everything, charge headfirst into danger like fuckin' Bravehart and have sex with Derek all over again. Option D : bury himself alive and wait for the worms to eat him.

Until Sunrise

"You told me I would have time,” Derek said, simmering with anger. “You promised to leave the choice to me.” “The court is starting to talk,” said Peter. “We do not have a stellar reputation as it is, and your ventures into the world of simple pleasures do not go unnoticed. You do not care, of course. But you are, pardon me, too loud for it to remain discreet.” “You think if I were to have a wife, I would stop fucking?” Peter cringed his nose. “No. It would make you a proper, civilized man. You are getting too old, nephew.” “Fine. But I’ll choose.” “No,” Peter smiled. “I shall choose.” Derek opened his mouth to argue, but Peter did not let him. “We both know you will continue to fuck whomever you want. None of us will be able to stop you. Let me have a pick of a proper spouse to placate the court. That’s all I ask.”

Other fic recs: angsty fics + pt2 + pt3 | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles + pt2 | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles + pt2 | oblivious Stiles | oblivious sterek | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | feral Stiles | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek | jock!Stiles | alive Hales | spanking | royal abo au | longfic | void!Stiles | sheriff dissaproves | Stiles doesn't know about werewolves | soft fics | hales love stiles | somnophiIia |

[minetro]

Like him

tags: established relationship, gn!reader

word count: 0.8k

notes: in which kinich looks like his dad

“Hey, Kinich?”

“Mm?” He hummed, imploring for you to go on.

He waited, but no words left your mouth. He gave it one, two, three seconds. No reply. An unusual pause of silence, filled only by the crackling of the campfire and your unsure breaths. He wasn’t facing you, his hands and eyes trained on the fire to keep it steady, but he could tell you were opening your mouth, just to close it, then opening it again. Rinse and repeat.

It was only until after Kinich turned around to face you fully, a tilt to his head, that you mustered up the courage to speak your mind. You had to break eye contact and divert your attention to your feet, but the minute details don’t matter.

“Why… do you, uh, dislike compliments towards your appearance?”

Kinch blinked. Then, he also found his gaze falling to focus on the already well lit fire. Poking it around with a stick to keep his hands busy.

“What do you mean?” He had urged you to elaborate, but deep down he really only hoped that question would cause you to fall over your words and drop the whole thing all together.

“Well…”

Shit. You’re still talking.

“Sometimes, when I tell you that your hair is… pretty, you go quiet, and then you don’t let me play with it after that,” You cleared your throat, “Or when I say your eyes are breath-taking, you just ignore it all together.”

This time, Kinich was the quiet one. Maybe the sound of the crickets would be a loud enough diversion for you to forget any conversation that had been held between the two of you for the past 5 minutes. Not the most full proof of plans, but one he had to roll with.

“You’re doing it again! See? You completely ignored what I said,” You kicked your feet on the dirt.

“...Sorry,” He said with a sigh.

Kinich stood from where he crouched, took a few steps towards you, then prompted himself right next to where you sat on the log. He rubbed his palms together, grappling between what to say, what not to say, or to say anything at all for that matter.

“It’s not exactly a fun story,” He decides to start, “I don’t want to trouble you with it, that’s all.”

“You know nothing you say could burden me, right?” You crossed your arms, staring intently at him.

Kinich relaxed into his seat, slouching a bit as he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Mhm, I know,” a knowing smile adorned his face for a second before it fell to his usual stoic one, this time a tinge of seriousness had made its way to the reflection in his eyes.

“When I was born, it was apparent whose features I had inherited the most from,” He sucked in a breath.

“My dad.”

It felt as though there was a drop in temperature, like the mention of that man halted everything that breathed. Kinich peeked over at your direction, studying your expression as if to discern whether he’d made you uncomfortable and to stop talking, leaving this conversation just at that. He gave you a few moments, just in case you wanted to say something. However, all you gave him was a supportive nod and that was his queue to keep going.

“As I got older, I grew into those features, and began to look more and more like…”

Like him.

“Go on,” You gently rest a hand on his shoulder, understanding.

“Because of that, my mom started looking at me…”

…with fear in her eyes. Kinich wanted to say, but he shook his head.

“She looked at me weird. From then on, she started avoiding me altogether. Whenever I offered to help her out with chores, she’d tell me to go to my room. If I insisted, she’d have me help out with tasks where I’d be out of her sight,” He dug the soles of his shoe deeper into the dirt, holding back a sigh, “Then… eventually, as you know, she… left.”

“Kinich…,” You moved the palm of your hand from his shoulder to his cheek, shifting his gaze to your own.

“When I talk about your features, I’m referring to them as your own. And when I look at you, all I see is… you. Only you.”

Kinich’s breath hitched, his eyes only slightly widening, but not a small enough detail for you to miss. Then, his features softened as his lips were overtaken by a warm smile. The kind of smile that had your heart melting, and your knees kissing the ground.

“Hah…,” He nuzzled into your warmth, his cheeks a light dusting of pink. He rested his own hand atop your own, kissing your wrist, “When’d you become such a smooth-talker? Did Ajaw teach you?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes playfully, pulling him into an embrace, “Oh, please. If I took romantic advice from him, I’d end up with a rock, and that’s being generous!”

Taking in your scent, he buried himself deeper into the dip of your neck.

“Mm… I’m lucky you didn’t then.”

—

Far away from here, a small pixelated dragon let out a mighty sneeze.

[harrywavycurly]

For protective harry in WTF I'd like it to be all of the above. I mean everything that you mentioned. I need to see that man worried sick about his baby momma's well being and I need to see him keeping her glued to his side when they're in crowded public place or something and I also need to see him giving death glares to whoever is trying to get too close to her. Thank you very much.

Hiii lovey!! Okay okayyy I think I kinda hit all of these with this blurb, it’s Harry being protective in ways that fit his personality in the story! So I hope you enjoy and don’t worry I’ll also add some more protective Harry in the next few chapters as well!!💖

You can find all things Worth the Fight: Here✨

CW: None just the usual pregnancy stuff!

A/N: This has a tiny time jump in it so if you’re confused don’t worry in the series you’re not this close to your due date! I just thought this fit the request better!✨

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy @jerseygirlinca @behindmygreyeyes @mads3502 @tpwkdpr @unfuckwitablenarry @itscoucouharry @latedirectionerera @ell0ra-br3kk3r @cumuluscranium @donutsandpalmtrees @silastylesswift @prettygurl-2009 @blueleonor @daphnesutton @angeldavis777 @harryssunflower17 @blckburd @tinawritesstuff @inlikea-coolway

Summary: You and Harry enjoy an afternoon stroll✨

It’s a perfect afternoon for a walk, the sidewalk is nice and shady thanks to the trees that line the streets of Harry’s neighborhood blocking the sun but the warmth of if is still present and the slight breeze is making it feel cooler than it actually is. Something Harry knows you’re grateful for because as you near the last few months of your pregnancy your hot flashes have begun to cause you a bit of an issue, but you refuse to let them get in the way of enjoying the beautiful springtime weather, so you just now carry around a small handheld fan in your bag at all times.

Harry fights off a smile as he holds his arm out for you to grab onto while you slowly make your way down his front steps. Your very prominent baby belly has officially gotten to the point where you can no longer see your feet making you rely on Harry to keep you from taking a misstep, something he gets an odd sense of pleasure from, knowing you trust him enough to guide you so you won’t fall. His eyes land on your feet as you take the last step, your grip on his arm tightening as you let out a sigh of relief the moment your feet land on the smooth ground of the driveway making him chuckle.

“Well done love that only took you,” Harry looks over at his wrist that has his watch on it while you give him a glare. “Four minutes and twenty three seconds this time.” Before you can take the hand that’s gripping his forearm and smack him upside the head with it Harry is placing his much larger hand over it and giving it a loving pat. “That’s a new record.”

“I just don’t get why you have so many steps just to get to the front door? You already have a gate to keep people out.” You huff as the two of you make your way down his driveway. “You didn’t need to add those torture devices.” You mumble making Harry just shake his head at your new found hatred for his front steps.

“I’m so sorry that when I built this house I didn’t exactly take into consideration that one day the mother of my children would have to walk up and down the front steps while very pregnant.” He says as he reaches with his hand that was over yours on his arm and opens the side gate that goes right to the sidewalk. “I do hope you can forgive me.” He adds with a smile that has you rolling your eyes as you walk through the gate.

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s not a no.” He points out as he takes his place on the side of the sidewalk that’s closest to the street, your hand on his arm falling to your side after you bring the pair of sunglasses that were pulled up into your hair back down so they are now covering your eyes as the two of you make your way down his street.

“It’s not exactly a yes either.” You inform him as he places a hand on your lower back giving it a rub, something he’s done anytime the two of you are out of the house recently that helps him feel the tiniest bit more at ease knowing he has a hand on you in some way.

The two of you let a comfortable silence take over as you go further down the street, choosing to enjoy the sounds of birds chirping and every now and then a random dog bark that’s coming from behind someone’s gate. Somewhere during the short amount of time the two of you have been walking Harry’s hand has slid from your lower back over to your waist allowing him to ever so gently pull you closer into his side. He smiles to himself when he turns his head to look over at you, the white sunglasses that you stole from his closet match your white and blue maternity dress that ends right at your knees perfectly and the slight breeze causes the strands of your hair that have fallen out of your messy bun to blow around your face and in this moment Harry swears you look absolutely beautiful, slightly rosy cheeks and all.

“Stop staring at me.” You say shyly as you bring a hand up and adjust your sunglasses in a poor attempt to hide the way your cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink under his adoring gaze.

“But it’s one of my favorite things to do.” He argues with a teasing smile that has the corners of his mouth pulling upwards, making his dimple appear.

When he thinks you’re about to hit him back with some witty remark he notices the subtle change in your step that he would’ve missed if he wasn’t hyper fixated on keeping up with your movements, something that he’s been doing ever since he met you at your first Dr appointment that confirmed you were in fact pregnant. It’s his way of trying to make sure he is prepared for any sudden changes in your demeanor due to something causing you pain or lately any slight missteps you might take because you simply can’t see what’s directly under your feet so he can prevent you from getting hurt in any sort of way. So when you bring your right foot down and let out the faintest of noises as a small jolt goes through your body that he can easily feel since his arm is wrapped around you and his hand is firmly on your waist.

“You need new hobbies or-”

“What happened?” Harry asks interrupting your playful insult as he stops walking making you do the same, before you can say anything he is moving so he’s standing in front of you with his hands on the tops of your shoulders.

His eyes roam over your face for any obvious signs of discomfort before traveling down to your belly that your hands are resting on top of but when he takes a small step back, his hands sliding down to your wrists so he can look at your feet that’s when he sees the way you’re avoiding putting any weight down on the ball of your right foot. Once he realizes you don’t have any serious injuries he feels his heartbeat begin to go back to normal and his anxiety goes back down to its usual low simmer, because if he’s being honest he’s always a little on edge when out with you because he can’t control what happens nearly as much as he can from the comfort and safety of his house or your apartment.

“I uh think.” Harry ignores the surprised squeak that escapes your lips when he kneels down making you put your hands on the top of his shoulders to help you keep balance as he messes with the strap of your shoe. “There’s something in my shoe.” You mumble as Harry just gently taps your foot silently telling you to lift it so he can slide the shoe off.

“How’d you even manage to get a rock in your shoe? We haven’t even walked by any rocks.” He asks as he hears you let out a huff while he watches a small pebble fall from your shoe when he tips it over.

Your grip on his shoulders tightens as he is extra careful putting your shoe back on. The whole time Harry is messing with getting the pebble out of your shoe he makes sure he is looking around to check the surroundings, wanting to ensure no one is getting too close or that the two of you aren’t in the way of someone riding on their bike or out for a run.

“I don’t know.” You whine making Harry let out a small chuckle as he stands up after checking to make sure you don’t have anything wrong with your left shoe. Before he can stop himself he’s leaning in and placing a kiss to your forehead making him smile when he hears you let out a soft sigh as your hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest.

“Don’t freak out okay?” His voice is hushed as his eyes briefly glance over the top of your head as his hands find their way to yours that are gently resting on his chest. “But there’s a few people behind us.” He explains as he looks down at you and he doesn’t miss the slight downward twitch the corners of your mouth make as his words hit your ears.

“Oh god I look massive from behind please tell me they aren’t-”

“You do not look massive you’re pregnant with twins for crying out loud you look amazing.”

“You’re just saying that so they can’t snap photos of me crying.”

“Love there’s photos of you bawling your eyes out on the street after our first date so I’m not all that worried about you crying in public anymore.”

“Riiiight.” Harry quirks a brow at how sarcastic your voice is as he brings your hands up to his lips so he can place kisses to your knuckles to try to help you calm down a bit since he knows how uneasy you still are when there’s cameras around. “The day you stop worrying about me crying anywhere is the day Ethan tells you he wants to be friends.”

“Wait so you’re saying he doesn’t want to be best mates?” Harry jokes making you laugh as he glances behind you to make sure the small group hasn’t gotten any closer. He smiles down at you as you look up at him as if you already know what he’s about to do as he leans in to place a quick kiss to your lips as his hands give yours a reassuring squeeze.

“Can we go to that frozen yogurt place up the street?” You ask when Harry pulls away giving you a nod while he lets go of one of your hands, keeping a firm grip on the other as he takes his spot back by your side blocking you from the street.

“What flavor are you going to get today?” He asks while turning to look over his shoulder, giving the men with their cameras pointing directly at you a harsh warning glare making both men slowly lower their cameras as they slow their pace so they aren’t too close behind the two of you.

“I have to see what the kids want when we get there but right now they’re telling me chocolate with rainbow sprinkles.” You answer with a smile as Harry puts his attention back on the sidewalk in front of him smiling at how excited you sound at the idea of your sweet treat.

“Rainbow sprinkles? No more chocolate chips and gummy bears?”

“Niall said that’s too much sugar.” You answer with a shrug making Harry let out a scoff as he drops your hand so he can drape his arm over you shoulders, pulling you into his side making you giggle at his obvious reaction to mentioning Niall.

“Since when does Niall care about your sugar intake?”

“Since he thinks you named our son after him.”

“Named our son-oh god.” Harry lets out a sigh as he brings his free hand up and runs it over his face. “James is a very common middle name so he’s lost his bloody mind if he thinks I named our son after him.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that next time I see him.” Harry rolls his eyes as you slide an arm around his middle, giving you a little squeeze as he does a quick look behind you so he can check that the small group of people with cameras took his warning and stayed a respectable distance away from the two of you.

“Oh I think they changed their mind.” Harry looks over at you as your hand rubs your belly. “Yeah they want chocolate with-gummy bears now.” Harry lets out a laugh as you lick your lips and he can practically see your mouth watering, normally he would make a joke about how you seem the happiest when talking about whatever food it is you’re craving at the moment but right now he can’t be bothered. He is too content with his arm securely wrapped around your shoulders making you snug against his side, the people with cameras a safe distance away and a smile on your face as your hand rests on top of your pregnancy bump. Harry finds himself smiling as the two of you continue down the sidewalk towards the frozen yogurt shop, enjoying the weather and what both of you know is one of your last moments of being able to go out for walks before you eventually get too uncomfortable doing much moving around the closer you get to your due date.

[lila-lou]

✨Turning Heads - 2/5✨

Summary: You were just supposed to act. But from the moment Jensen Ackles knocks on your door, the lines start to blur. The chemistry is real, the scenes are intense—and he's... well, he’s married.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4178

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

Sitting on the small couch in Jensen’s trailer a few weeks later, you shifted uncomfortably, your script resting on your lap. You had gone over the lines a dozen times, but your mind wasn’t really on the dialogue.

Jensen, sitting across from you, leaned back against the armrest, flipping through his own script with an easy, relaxed posture—completely unfazed. Meanwhile, you were practically vibrating with nerves.

“Alright”, Jensen said, tapping a line with his finger. “This part right here—where Soldier Boy kinda loses control for a second—we should probably talk about how we’re gonna play that”.

You nodded quickly, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “Yeah. Right. Totally”.

Jensen glanced up at you, and his lips quirked as he took in your rigid posture. “You good?”.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah, just… I don’t know. I’ve never done a scene like this before”.

Jensen closed his script and gave you his full attention. “It’s a lot, I know. Especially for your first big gig. And having to do it practically naked? That’s a whole other level”.

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. I mean, I know everything’s choreographed, and I trust you, and the crew is professional, but…”. You hesitated. “It’s still terrifying”.

Jensen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression softened, the usual teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something more serious. “Listen, I get it. It’s awkward as hell at first, no matter how long you’ve been doing this. But my job—besides, y’know, pretending to be an asshole—is to make sure you feel comfortable”.

You bit your lip. “I appreciate that”.

He nodded. “You’re in control, okay? We go at your pace. If anything feels weird, too much, even a second too long—say the word, and we adjust".

You played with the corner of your script, still feeling the weight of tomorrow hanging over you. “I just keep thinking about the modesty patches”, you admitted. “I know I won’t be seen naked, but I’ll be naked, y’know”.

Jensen smirked. “Yeah, those things don’t leave much to the imagination”.

You groaned, covering your face. “Not helping”.

He chuckled. “Sorry, sorry. But look, I promise—when we’re on set, it’s not gonna feel as bad as it does in your head right now. We’ll have a closed set, only essential crew. And I’ll keep my eyes where they need to be”. He lifted his hands in mock innocence.

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Uh-huh. Sure”.

Jensen laughed. “Hey, I’m a professional. But, y’know, if it makes you feel better…”. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll be in the same boat. Just some modesty gear and a prayer”.

You snorted, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “Right. I’m sure you’re really worried about being half-naked on set”.

He smirked. “Okay, fair point. Not my first rodeo”.

You sighed, finally setting your script aside. “Thanks, Jensen. Seriously. I know you don’t have to do all this, but it means a lot".

He shrugged, his smile easy. “Like I said, it only works if there’s trust. And for what it’s worth, you’re gonna kill it”.

You exhaled, nodding. “I just hope I don’t pass out from nerves first”.

Jensen grinned. “If you do, I’ll catch you”.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be as terrifying as you thought.

The next day, the set was eerily quiet, the usual hum of background chatter completely absent. Only the essential crew remained, their movements efficient and professional. The motel bathroom was dimly lit, the shower running, steam curling against the tiles.

You stood near the edge of the set, wearing nothing but a robe and a pair of slippers, biting the tip of your thumb as you watched the final adjustments being made. Your stomach was in knots.

Jensen was already inside the shower, water cascading over his bare chest, his modesty patch in place, though from this angle, it looked like he was completely naked. He was talking to the director, nodding at something Kripke was saying, looking completely relaxed—like this was just another day at the office.

You, on the other hand, felt like you might pass out.

A hand touched your shoulder gently. “Hey, you ready?”. The intimacy coordinator, Sarah, gave you a kind smile. You appreciated her presence—she had gone through every detail of the scene with you and Jensen the day before, making sure you felt comfortable.

You exhaled shakily. “As ready as I’ll ever be”.

Jensen glanced over and caught your eye. His lips curled into a reassuring smirk, and he mouthed, You got this.

You nodded, even though your nerves were still buzzing.

“All right, places!”, Kripke called out.

Your cue was coming up. The robe had to come off. You swallowed hard, steeling yourself, and untied it with slightly shaky hands.

Jensen, still leaning against the shower wall, tilted his head slightly as he watched you step into position. His eyes flickered down for half a second—not in a way that felt unprofessional, but in a way that told you he was taking in your nerves, not your body.

He shifted slightly under the spray, the water dripping off his hair, and offered you a small nod. His way of saying, It’s just us. We’ve got this.

You inhaled deeply.

Kripke called out, “Action!”.

Everything around you faded—the cameras, the crew, the nerves. It was just you, standing under the artificial glow of the motel bathroom, and Jensen—Soldier Boy—waiting for you beneath the stream of water.

The shower was already running hot, steam thickening the air as you stepped inside, your bare skin instantly covered in a sheen of moisture. The warmth made everything feel heavier—your breath, the tension, the way Jensen’s gaze darkened as he took you in.

Soldier Boy wasn’t a man of tenderness. He took what he wanted, unapologetically. That’s exactly what this scene was meant to show—the raw, unfiltered way he devoured the woman who had somehow managed to capture his interest.

Jensen moved the second you stepped into the shower.

A rough hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you forward so fast that a gasp left your lips. Before you could process, your back was already pressed against the cool, wet tiles, the contrast to the hot water making you shiver.

“Fuckin’ finally”, Jensen - Soldier Boy - growled, his voice thick, rough.

His body caged yours in instantly—broad shoulders, towering frame, every inch of him pressing down against you. His hand was splayed over your ribcage, so massive it nearly covered the whole expanse of your side. His grip was firm, almost bruising, fingers digging into your damp skin as if reminding you who was in control here.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t have time to react before his other hand came up, gripping your jaw roughly and tilting your head back. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, and his smirk turned wicked.

“All that attitude, all that fuckin’ mouth”, he murmured, voice thick with condescension. “Bet you sound a lot better when you’re moanin’ instead of talkin’ back”.

Heat coiled low in your stomach, the way he manhandled you making something primal stir deep inside you. You knew it was just acting—you knew—but your body wasn’t quite on the same page.

Then his mouth was on yours, hot, demanding. The sheer intensity of it made you whimper.

Jensen—Soldier Boy—swallowed the sound eagerly, one large hand sliding down from your ribs to grip your thigh, hoisting it up against his hip. The movement was rough, controlling, making you fully aware of just how much bigger he was than you.

And that’s when it really hit—how small you felt beneath him.

His massive frame nearly engulfed yours, his chest pressed flush against you, slick with water and heat. His hands, calloused and huge, wrapped around your bare skin like he could completely consume you. His presence was overwhelming, his control absolute.

You barely registered the way your own fingers clutched at his arms, at his biceps, feeling the raw strength beneath them. You weren’t just acting anymore. Your skin tingled where he touched, your pulse thrumming hard beneath the surface.

And then you felt it.

The subtle, unmistakable press of him against you—solid, hard.

Your breath stuttered for a second, and so did his.

Jensen’s fingers flexed against your skin, like he was trying to ground himself, trying to stay in character, but something in his stance shifted. You saw it in his eyes, the way they flickered—just briefly—from Soldier Boy to Jensen.

And then—he nearly dropped you.

Not completely, but his grip on your thigh slipped for half a second, enough that you gasped and scrambled to hook your arm around his shoulder, your fingers digging into the damp muscle there.

The loss of balance made the scene visibly fall apart.

“Cut!”. Kripke’s voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and immediate.

The room went still, the only sound left was the steady patter of water hitting the tiled floor. Jensen exhaled hard, his jaw clenching as he carefully—carefully—set you back down onto both feet, his hands lingering for only a second before he pulled away completely.

You barely heard Kripke sighing in the background, probably blaming the slippery floor or poor blocking, but you knew better. Jensen knew better.

His hands went straight to his hips, head tipping down as he let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh—one of disbelief, frustration, maybe even amusement.

You, on the other hand, didn’t know what to do. Your skin was still burning from where he had touched you, from where his body had pressed against yours, from the very real thing you had felt just moments ago.

Jensen finally looked up, rubbing a wet hand over his face before glancing at you. His eyes searched yours for a moment, almost like he was trying to gauge your reaction.

Then, barely above a whisper, just for you— "Sorry".

It was so quiet, almost lost beneath the steady stream of water, but you heard it. And for a second, you saw something almost vulnerable beneath the confidence, beneath the Jensen Ackles persona.

But before you could say anything, Kripke’s voice rang out again. “Alright, let’s go again from the top of that last section. Reset positions. Cameras ready?”.

Jensen inhaled sharply, his shoulders straightening, rolling the tension away as he slipped seamlessly back into character. You swallowed hard, shaking off your own thoughts as you repositioned yourself against the wet tiles.

The second Action was called again, everything changed.

Jensen’s fingers were on you instantly, rougher this time, like he had something to prove—to himself, to the scene, to you.

The Scene continued.

As his large hands gripped your waist tightly, spinning you so fast your palms smacked against the wet tiles, your chest pressing flush against the cold surface. A gasp left your lips at the sudden movement, but it wasn’t from surprise alone—it was the force of it, the sheer strength in how he handled you, like you were weightless to him.

“Thought I told you not to run that fuckin’ mouth”, he muttered, voice thick, gravelly, dripping with that unmistakable Soldier Boy arrogance.

You barely had time to react before his body pressed into yours from behind, his broad chest molding against your back, his massive hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips possessively. His fingers dug in, hard enough to leave marks.

Jensen—Soldier Boy—was consuming you.

Your breathing was ragged, a mix of nerves, heat, and the sheer overwhelming presence of him against you.

His lips ghosted against the shell of your ear, hot breath fanning against your damp skin. “You gonna be good for me now?”, he murmured, voice dangerously low.

A shiver ran down your spine, your fingers twitching against the slick tile. You knew your line. “Make me”.

The second the words left your lips, Jensen moved.

One of his hands left your hip and grabbed the back of your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to tilt your head back toward him. His grip wasn’t choking, but it was possessive, dominant, a silent reminder of who was in control.

Your pulse thrummed beneath his fingertips, and you could feel him smirk against your jaw before his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was rough, demanding. He kissed like he fought—aggressive, unapologetic, like he owned you in that moment.

The heat between you was suffocating, the steam making everything feel heavier, thicker.

And just like before, you felt him. That same hardness, that same evidence that this scene was blurring lines neither of you had anticipated.

This time, Jensen didn’t falter.

He didn’t drop you, didn’t hesitate—but you felt the way his breath hitched, just for a fraction of a second, the way his fingers flexed against your skin, betraying him.

The way the control he prided himself on was slipping.

But still, he stayed in character, his lips ghosting over your jaw before he pulled back just enough to sneer, “That what you wanted, sweetheart?”.

“Cut!”.

The room snapped back into reality.

Jensen’s grip on your neck instantly loosened, his hands dropping from your body like he had just been burned. He took a half step back, but his breathing was still heavy, his jaw tight.

You stayed where you were for a second, your hands still pressed against the wet tile, trying to breathe, to force yourself to remember this was just acting. But it hadn’t felt like just acting. Not to you.

Jensen exhaled sharply, finally breaking the silence. “You okay?” His voice was lower than usual, rougher. It wasn’t Soldier Boy’s voice anymore—it was his.

You finally turned to face him, your gaze flickering up to meet his. His green eyes were darker than usual, still hooded with the weight of the scene, with something else. Something unspoken.

You nodded, though your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted it to be. “Yeah. You?”.

Jensen hesitated. Just for a second. But that second was enough.

Then he smirked—his usual Jensen smirk, easy, charming, playful—but there was something behind it. Something restrained. “Yeah”, he said, rolling his shoulders like he was physically trying to shake it off. “All good”.

Kripke’s voice cut through the moment before you could say anything else. “That was great. Let’s do one more for safety, but that was it”.

One more.

You saw the brief flicker in Jensen’s expression—the awareness that doing that again, feeling that again, could be dangerous. But he nodded, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. One more”.

You had barely sunk into the couch in your trailer, robe still loosely wrapped around you, when the exhaustion hit. The adrenaline from earlier had finally worn off, leaving behind a mixture of relief, residual heat, and an underlying tension you couldn’t quite shake.

The talk with Kripke had gone well. He had praised your performance, reassured you that you handled the scene like a pro, and reminded you that today was the hardest part. He had even joked that you should take the rest of the afternoon to decompress.

Jensen had been there too—charming as always, back to his usual self, laughing with Kripke, nodding along to his feedback. But every now and then, you had felt his eyes flicker to you. Not the teasing, big-brotherly looks he had given you before filming had started. No, this was something different. Something unreadable.

Now, an hour later, you were curled up with a bottle of water, trying to replay the scene in your mind, trying to decipher what exactly had happened between you and Jensen in that shower.

And then, a knock.

You jumped slightly, not expecting anyone. You frowned, setting the water bottle down and straightening up. “Uh—yeah, come in”.

The door creaked open, and there he was. Jensen. Except… not Jensen the way you usually saw him. He looked almost nervous.

His usual cocky ease was replaced by something more uncertain, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, his weight shifting slightly as he hovered in the doorway. His damp hair was tousled like he had run a hand through it a few too many times.

You blinked at him. “Hey”.

“Hey”, he echoed, then hesitated. His jaw tensed, like he was debating something. Then he let out a small breath and finally stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

You sat up a little straighter. “You okay?”.

Jensen let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing”.

You tilted your head. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”.

He gave you a look. “C’mon, short stack. That was… not your average day at work”.

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. No kidding”.

A small silence stretched between you.

Jensen shifted again, his fingers tapping against his thigh, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Finally, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen”, he said, his voice lower now, more serious. “About earlier…”.

Your stomach tightened slightly. “Yeah?”.

He met your eyes, something there that wasn’t just casual, wasn’t just friendly. “That got… a little intense”, he admitted.

You swallowed. “Yeah. It did”.

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something else, but he hesitated again. That wasn’t like him. Jensen Ackles was never hesitant. But here he was, standing in your trailer, looking at you like he wasn’t sure if he should say what he was thinking.

Jensen exhaled sharply, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck before finally meeting your gaze again. His usual confidence was off—not completely gone, but definitely cracked.

Then, to your surprise, a faint flush crept up his neck. “I, uh…”. He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Look, I just—wanted to say sorry”.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Sorry?”.

His jaw tightened, and for the first time since you had met him, Jensen Ackles actually looked embarrassed. “Yeah”, he muttered, shifting his weight again. “That—what happened—that doesn’t… happen to me. Ever".

Your stomach flipped. You knew exactly what he meant, but you still asked, “What doesn’t happen?”.

Jensen gave you a look, one that said don’t make me say it, but when you just raised an expectant eyebrow, he let out another dry chuckle, shaking his head. “You felt it”, he muttered, looking anywhere but at you.

Your face heated instantly.

Of course, you had felt it—the very obvious, very undeniable way his body had reacted to yours in the heat of the scene. But hearing him acknowledge it out loud? That was something else entirely. “I—uh”, you started, suddenly very aware of how small the space between you was. “Yeah”.

Jensen groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed.

That made him glance up at you, his brows raising slightly. “You’re laughing at me?”.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle it. “I mean… kinda?”.

Jensen scoffed, finally meeting your gaze again, the corners of his lips twitching. “Unbelievable”.

You shrugged. “Sorry. It’s just—you’re Jensen Ackles. Mr. Charming, Smooth, Experienced Actor. And yet, here you are, blushing in my trailer, apologizing because you got…”. You trailed off, letting the weight of your words hang between you.

Jensen ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling again. “Fucking shit".

You tilted your head, teasing now. “So… what was it?”.

He blinked. “What?”.

You crossed your arms. “What was it that got you?”.

Jensen narrowed his eyes slightly. “Excuse me?”.

“I mean, you said it’s never happened before. So… what was different this time?”.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, after a beat, he let out a breath, shaking his head with a small, almost incredulous smirk. “You”, he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

Jensen studied you, his smirk fading slightly, replaced by something softer, something more real. “You caught me off guard”, he admitted. “Didn’t expect you to be so—”. He stopped himself, lips pressing together.

Your heartbeat picked up. “So what?”.

Jensen hesitated again, then finally sighed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter”, he muttered, running a hand down his face. “Point is, it was unprofessional, and I didn’t want you thinking I was being a creep or something”.

You swallowed, your pulse still quick. “I didn’t think that”.

Jensen met your gaze again, studying your expression, and for a second, the teasing, the tension, the awkwardness—all of it shifted into something heavier. Something unspoken. Something neither of you were ready to acknowledge.

After a beat, he cleared his throat and glanced toward the door. “Alright, well… guess I’ll leave you to it”.

But before he could move, you reached out—just a small movement, your fingers brushing lightly against his wrist. “Jensen”.

He stopped. Looked down at where your hand had touched him. Then back at you.

You swallowed. “I didn’t mind”.

His jaw tightened slightly, something flickering behind his eyes—something he pushed down fast.

Then, after a long, silent beat, he huffed a small, almost amused breath and shook his head. “Yeah”, he murmured, eyes still locked onto yours. “That’s kinda the problem, isn’t it?”.

And just like that—he walked out.

The second the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a groan and facepalmed. "I didn’t mind". Seriously? That was the best you could come up with?

You had just been trying to reassure him, to ease his awkwardness. But the second those words left your lips, the entire conversation had shifted.

And then—that comment. "That’s kinda the problem, isn’t it?".

You sank onto the couch, your heart still pounding as you replayed it over and over in your head. Did that mean what you thought it meant? Had he been feeling this pull too? Not just today, not just in that scene—but for the last few weeks?

You groaned again, dropping your head back against the couch. What the hell were you doing?

Jensen was married. Happily, as far as you knew. You had met Danneel briefly when she visited set. She was gorgeous, confident, the kind of woman who seemed untouchable. And yet, here you were, sitting in your trailer, practically burning from what had just happened with her husband.

But, your mind argued, he was the one who came here.

He was the one who hesitated at the door, the one who blushed, the one who admitted that what happened in that shower wasn’t normal for him.

He was the one who said that was the problem.

And, shit, you couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t a problem for you, too. Because the truth was, you hadn’t minded. Not one bit.

Jensen was just so much. He had been since day one. Larger than life, effortlessly charming, teasing and protective in all the right ways. And physically—Shit, you had felt him today, really felt just how massive he was compared to you, how his hands had completely swallowed your skin, how easily he had moved you like you weighed nothing.

And the worst part? You had gotten just as turned on as he had.

You clenched your jaw, your fingers gripping the couch cushion beside you. This was bad. Really, really bad. Because now, you couldn’t stop wondering.

How long had he been feeling it? Was today the first moment he had slipped, or had there been other moments—small ones, lingering ones—that you had missed? Had he been watching you, noticing you, thinking about you the same way you had caught yourself thinking about him?

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing your heart to stop hammering, willing your body to calm the fuck down. None of this mattered. It couldn’t matter. Jensen was off-limits. Untouchable.

But as you sat there, still replaying the way his fingers had gripped your skin, the way his voice had dropped when he whispered Sorry, the way his pupils had blown when he pulled away from you in that shower… You weren’t sure you believed that anymore.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[saturnyo]

Beauty and Sin

Warnings: submission, power play, mentions of ownership

WC: 2,239 (I think)

Relationship: Domjoel x reader

Summary: you are a stripper. Your stage name….Angel. For you are as sweet as sugar and something that you take your time savoring and tasting. Every customer wanted you and your coworkers hated you. But one always stood out. You see him sitting in the corner, watching you on stage every Friday night like clockwork. He never requested a dance, he just watched until one night he requested a private room with you…

PS: this is a story I came up with all on my own. I know my fanfics and/or oneshots aren’t the best but I’m trying I swear 🥺. Anywaysssss I hope you enjoy

——————————————————-

It was friday night

Money….Money….Money is all you can hear going through your head as you feel the music vibrate through the floors of your dressing room

You knew the married and sad lonely men that find themselves drawn in by the flashing neon sign outside to get drinks, lap dances and watch strippers on stage were out in droves tonight. It was the weekend and they had money to burn. Whether it was to simply ogle at other women as they throw away the sanctity of marriage or they don’t want to be alone, the reason didn’t exactly matter to you. Money is money. But you knew they weren’t there for just anyone…

There were there for you

For Angel

Angel is your stage name. The name that draws in customer after customer, making the club packed almost every single night. It also made your coworkers have a bit of a vendetta against you. Claimed you were stealing customers and so what if you were ? Business is business and you were killing it.

Sure you had to deal with your fair share of customers who couldn’t take no for an answer but most were easy to deal with

Thank god for the bouncers

Their faces blurred into one, easy to forget and not special enough to remember. Except one

What was special about him is that every Friday night like clockwork he would come in, sit in a corner booth somehow getting the perfect view of you no matter where you were in the club. You could feel his stern brown eyes watching your every move. It was unusual though…he never asked for a lap dance or anything.

You only see him ever order a few glasses of whiskey as his eyes followed you throughout the night and since it was Friday you knew he would be there.

He haunted you

The nameless man who you couldn’t get out of your head.

The nameless man who haunted your dreams and touched yourself to the thought of every night. A bit of shame flashes through you every time your hand drifts down between your legs and his face being etched through your mind as you climaxed in the darkness of your own home

How can a man you haven’t even spoken to affect you in such a way?

That is the question that is running through your mind as you finally step out of your dressing room and onto the main area.

All eyes are on you. Every step you took was carefully calculated. The seductive sway of your hips, your eyes locking on to every single patron, making sure they see you and the way your body is just whispering temptation and sin.

The jealous glares from the other dancers meant absolutely nothing to you once the money started to roll in. Many men flocked to you stuffing money in your thong, eye fucking you as you danced for them and their friends as they threw hundreds and hundreds of dollars, giving you every single penny of their check that their wives were surely waiting for them to bring home

Feeling hands on your hips, as the guy you are giving a lap dance tries to sweet talk you. Basically a sad attempt to get you to sleep with him. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him. The nameless man sitting in the corner silently watching you. He nods over to your boss, whispering in his ear and staring you down making you feel as though you are the only girl in the room.

Your boss walks over motioning for you to stand up and follow him

“I’m sorry boys, I have to steal my best dancer for a moment,” his voice is careful, not wanting to upset his highest paying customers

He grabs you by the arm walking you away from the sounds of annoyed groans and complaints

“What’s going on?” You questioned

“It seems that he has finally requested not only a dance but a private vip room” your boss answered

Your heart starts to thud as the music drowns out, leaving everything as if it was dead and empty

He leads you to one of the vip rooms and stops in front of the door

“Make him happy, he’s spent a lot of money”

Your boss walks away leaving you to yourself. Hearing the faint drum of your own heartbeat thudding in your chest so loud you feared everyone inside the club could hear it. Putting on your best face and straightening your back you open the door.

Fucking Christ

He was handsome from afar but up close…

He was the very embodiment of carnal lust and devotion

A warm feeling settled in your lower belly as you walked towards him. Both of you internally fighting for control over the other, it is like he somehow knew your weaknesses without ever speaking to you.

You started to do your usual dance, grinding your hips every which way and low to the floor. You wanted him to see each and every inch of you leaving nothing to the imagination. He doesn’t say a word, just…watching you giving silent hums and murmurs of approval.

“Stop” his voice steady and gruff sending chills down your spine

You turn around, his pupils are dilated narrowing in on your half clothed body

“Joel” he said curtly

Your eyes blinked as your mind lazily attempts to crawl out of the daydream you were in

“I’m sorry?” Confusion is set on your brow. You wondered why he stopped you

“My name is Joel” he repeated. His voice is dangerous, stepping forward towards you closing the empty space between

“The first time I came here…I was actually dragged to come by my brother to get me out of the house” he stopped, before continuing. “I wasn’t interested in getting a lap dance or throwing money towards any girl here….until I saw you walk out. You are the most beautiful girl there is and your name matches perfectly”

Your breathing hitches. Normally when a man tries to sweet talk you, you would feel disgust or annoyance but now….

You wanted him to bend you over and treat you like the whore you were

Fuck

The way the red neon lights hit his big brown eyes just right casting an unearthly glow upon his skin. His stare, his careful steps, his body

You could claim he was the devil in disguise sent to tempt you further into hell than you already are. You are far from innocent especially in your line of work and he knew it

“I paid money to have you here are you going to listen?” His voice low, menacing. Whatever he wanted you knew you had no power to refuse

And you didn’t mind it at all. Because despite your stage name, you weren’t no angel.

Joel wraps his hand around your throat, turning you around and bending you over onto the couch that’s in the room.

His warm breath is on your ear casting goosebumps along your body

“Have you ever dreamed of this? Late at night laying in your bed…did your hand ever drift between your thighs thinking of me bending you over?”

The already growing feeling between your legs is at an all time high. Your wetness is evident by your soaked panties where the heat is undeniable. Wanting more friction, you needed it like it was air for your lungs. You bucked your hips grinding against his cock. The bulge in his pants strained even more against his jeans, he growled the sound of his hand slapping your ass reverberated throughout the room

“Behave…” he said darkly. “Now answer my question”

“Y-Yes I have,” you muttered

Joel’s mouth twitches into a possessive dark smile

“Such a good slut for me,” he whispered. “I know you want this, I could see it everytime I came here. The looks, the way you would sway those sweet soft hips of yours on stage, you were divine”

You shudder as his words fall over you, seeping into your skin. Your thin lingerie hides nothing, your arousal is slick as Joel fingers rub the outside of your clothed pussy

“How long have you been so needy? You need my cock don’t you?”

You whimper, bucking your hips back again your patience growing thin

His hand slapped your ass once more, harder than before. “Ah-ah, what did I say? Behave”

He ripped away your lingerie leaving you bare in front of him. He rubs circles on your bottom, soothing the red stinging area where he slapped you. His fingers drift back down between your legs, roughly delving into your slick folds. The sudden intrusion of his fingers make you yelp

“Awww darlin, don’t give up on me now”

The feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of you was painful but mixed with pleasure

A powerful combination

Your juices drip all over Joel’s fingers, the sweet sound of your wet pussy is perfect music to his ears. His mummurs of approval send jolts through you, making your wetness drip all over the couch

“Cum for me my little slut,” his voice lidded with desire.

The tone is his voice is the typical southern twang you hear living in Texas. But his…his sounded like sweet molasses in your cornbread that would be served alongside dinner on a hot summer day

This isn’t what you typically do. You did your job and left. But Joel is the exception. Everything about him is intoxicating. He’s like your own personal brand of heroin

For the first time, something in a long time has happened. You were the one always in control but now…you were under his

“F-Fuck…I-I can’t take much-much more,” you stuttered

Suddenly he stops denying you as you were tettered on the edge. The sound of Joel’s belt comes unbuckled as he uses it to tie your hands together

“You’ll take my cock, every single inch like a good girl”

He pushes the tip of his cock outside your entrance. You can feel it pulsating and how big Joel is. If just the tip is a lot you had no clue if you could take all of him. Joel wrapped his hand full of your hair before bracing himself behind you with the other

“Fuck, you have such a perfect pussy baby. It’s so wet and tight,” he groaned

The feeling of his hips slamming against yours and his hands gripping your hips leaving marks along the side of your body was possessive, some form of ownership. His thrusts became more aggressive as he whispered your name over and over, worshiping you in the process

“You have the most perfect pink pussy and it’s all mine. It’s been dripping for me all the this time hasn’t it?”

“Unh-uh y-yes…fuck y-yes,” your voice unsteady, cracking. “P-please…I-i can’t take it anymore. I’m going to-“

“No you don’t cum until I say so,”

Your clit is painfully throbbing aching for release. Joel was drawing it out, making you work for it

“When I count down to 1, you can cum for me, you understand?”

You nodded yes weakly

10….

9…..

8…..

7…..

6….

You moans grow louder and louder unable to contain it

5…..

4…..

3…..

2…..

1……

“Cum for me”

Your body shudders as waves of pleasure hit you over and over

“Fuck…Fuck!” You scream out

All the noise from the club and the sound of voices from the other rooms drowned out, as you are left a dripping fucking mess

You feel Joel’s cock twitch inside you, his cum filling every inch of your walls. Your arousal and his cum mixed in together as he slowly pulls out of you

You were extremely sore as Joel pulls you up off the couch cleaning you the best he could. Before he left, he turned to look at you, that same dangerous smirk on his face

“Same time next week?” He asked

“Same time next week baby,” you smirked

[lewismcqueen]

could've been. 1/2

lh44 x black!reader

summary: you and Lewis meet again for the first time since 2008, and his presence leaves you reminiscing on what could have been. cw: this will be smutty all the way through. story involves infidelity, so feel free to pass on this one if that distresses you. a/n: this was gonna be a one-shot but I could feel deep in my spirit that it was gonna be longgg asf so...two parter! (not a series lol). I know folks don't love Lewis' pre-braids era but just go with it this one time for the plot 😁 I tried to cosplay as a British writer for a second it might be inaccurate pls don't jump me 🙏🏾

“Don’t look so down, honey. Walk around, grab a couple drinks!” 

Your husband, Joshua Lee, flashed you that ‘party host’ smile that was more for everyone else than for you. He raised his flute of champagne in the air jovially before turning away. He had an audience to entertain.

He thinks he’s in the fucking Great Gatsby, you thought to yourself with a sigh. 

You touched a manicured hand to the white cashmere sweater tied around your shoulders overtop a navy blue blouse. It was starting to create unnecessary bulk, and you considered removing it and just tying it around your waist the way you used to. Too hot out to just put it on. 

Freshly-cut grass occasionally brushed the sides of your feet as you wandered around what was the third garden party that your husband had decided to throw on a whim within the past couple of months. It’s considerably more crowded today, which meant that he’d likely invited a few of his buddies from Formula One, and you now had twice as many folks to smile and wave at if you couldn’t weave around them. Some had even begun to recognize you; he liked to take you to races and paddock walks to ‘show you off’. Brag about how he’d married you before any of the actual racers could as soon as you graduated.

You were just ending a conversation with one of the drivers’ wives about where you got your sandals from when a man’s voice that was not your husband’s called out your name. It took a second to place it, but the pang of familiarity was unmistakable. Eyes widening, you turned around. 

“Lewis?”

-

“What?” Lewis’ brows furrowed. 

Now, this Lewis hasn’t grown his hair out yet, keeping it closely cropped so that none of the other racers or the media had anything to comment on. He hasn’t pierced his ears just yet either. He’s wearing a black polo shirt—you swear he has a million of those—over loose blue jeans on which he wipes sweaty palms. Lewis is trying to look irritated and pragmatic, but it doesn’t quite reach his dark brown eyes. They always gave him away, revealing that he cared more than he would like to admit. 

This is the Lewis you knew.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” you snapped. You began counting off on your fingers, “You walk right past me after races, you miss my birthday, you’ve not returned any of my calls, or my mum’s calls! Do you know how crazy it is to let my mum go to voicemail?”

Lewis’ expression softened, and he suddenly looked very tired. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I’ve got back-to-back training sessions with my dad, then it’s straight back home for me. I’m hanging out with you now, though, right?”

“Sure, I guess.” 

“You don’t accept my apology?”

You pretended to check your nails. The glittery blue polish had finally begun to chip. 

“I don’t know.”

Soft, quiet laughter came from the other side of your bed. “What the hell is your problem?”

He called your name one, two, then three times, but you continued sulking with your head turned in the other direction. Finally, you felt his finger beneath your chin, turning your face towards his. You stuck out your bottom lip with a pout.

Lewis tilted his head with a grin. He liked to do that whenever he was trying to make you forget whatever he’d just done to annoy you at that moment, sometimes batting his long lashes and narrowing his eyes for full effect. It was almost coquettish. And it always worked. 

“Are you mad at me?”

“Maybe.”

“Well don’t be, ‘cuz I got you something. That's the main reason I came here.”

Lewis bent down and reached into his backpack, which he had laid beside your bed when he came in. From it he produced a small white satin pouch with drawstrings. Gently, he placed it into your palm and closed your hand.

“Open it.”

You pried open the soft material and gasped softly as you pulled out a gold necklace. The warm light of your bedside lamp reflected off of a nameplate hanging from the chain. Your name, in stylish, curling letters. It was going to be extra hard to stay mad now.

You held the nameplate between your fingers. “How…how did you know?”

He snorted. “Overheard you begging your poor mum to buy you one. Put it on, then.”

You undid the clasp and wrapped the chain delicately around your neck, finding the hole it was supposed to go through with your fingers with practiced ease. Letting it fall at your collarbone, you brushed back iron-pressed hair and turned to Lewis. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” he answered with an earnestness that caught you off-guard. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

You were half-expecting him to be a smart Alec and say something like, “The same, but with a necklace” or something. But he was staring at you the way he stared at the sunset when you two would watch it together while sitting on the hood of his dad’s car. 

Staring, and getting much, much closer. 

His lips pressed against yours before you could even react. When he pulled away, he suddenly looked mortified. Heart drumming in your ears, you noticed the residue of some of your lip gloss creating a sheen on his lips. It was a lucky thing you were wearing your favorite tank top today, because the heat simmering beneath your skin would’ve made you break into sweats.

Lewis held his hands out defensively like you were going to hit him.  “I’m so sorry—”

“Shut up.”

Impulsively, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into another kiss. You had watched him make out with other girls enough times in sixth form to get the general idea of how it ought to be done. Now, fresh out of your first year of university, you were basically an expert. Sort of.

“Wow,” Lewis exhaled with his lips still nearly brushing yours. He smirked. “You’re a terrible kisser.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then show me how, idiot. Since you’re apparently so good at snogging.”

“Let go of my shirt, and I will.”

Despite your casual remarks, you were very sure that your steadily rising heart rate and heavy breathing was the loudest thing in the room. Lewis gently held your chin again.

“Alright, so you’ve gotta tilt your head.”

“Like this?”

“No,” he laughed. “Other way.”

You followed his lead before leaning in with your lips slightly parted this time. He guided your hand up to his face, where you rested it on his cheek as you went in for a much surer kiss. 

Save for the occasional awkward clicking of teeth, you eventually fell into a rhythm. Lewis’ hand came to rest on your waist. He seemed to approach making out like he did racing; the moment he felt you relax, he pushed further, deepening the kiss with more hunger than before. Your breathing had just begun to even out again when he made the bold move of planting a soft, experimental kiss on your neck, making you tense up. He pulled away, looking hesitant.

“Do you want me to stop? I’ll stop if you ask me to.”

You bit your lip, considering. A week from now, he’d be back to racing, unlikely to ever bring this up again, knowing him. You’d be going back to school to study engineering in a couple of months. The bedroom door was locked. Might as well make the most of it.

“No,” you finally answered, voice so low you were nearly whispering. “Keep going.”

Slowly, Lewis lowered his head to where it was before. You placed a hand on the back of his neck as he made contact with hot skin, more sucking now than kissing. As your mouth fell open with the added pressure, you thought about how this felt way better than how it looked in those R-rated movies you sometimes snuck off to watch together. 

Just as the tender spot above your necklace began to feel sore, he broke contact. His eyelids were low as he looked at you, lips just slightly pinker than they were before. He was staring downwards, where the nameplate rested just above the swell of your breasts. Lewis looked up.

“It’s, uh, better lying down. Can you…?”

He didn’t have to finish the question for you to get the message. Lewis got up as you swung your legs and scooted forward so that you were lying flat on your back. He climbed onto the cramped twin-sized bed with you, carefully settling right between your legs. Suddenly, you were very aware of how high up your thighs your shorts cut off, how your hair was going to be a flattened mess after you got up, and how you might look from above while gazing up at him through thick red prescription glasses. This rapid line of thought was soon cut off when his lips crashed into yours again.

You pointed at your spectacles as he hovered over you. “Should I take these off?”

He shook his head, “I like when you keep them on.”

Huh, you think. Must have a thing for glasses.

“You know, if they get crooked, it’s not gonna look very—”

“I like when they’re crooked.”

A mischievous smile spread across his face; The statement seemed to shut you up.

Lewis had been right. It was easier lying down. Your hands roamed up and down his back as you gave him full access to your neck. You felt him tug at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?” he asks against your skin.

“M-hm.”

You actually weren’t sure what you expected him to do until you felt his hand slide underneath your tank top and begin kneading your breast through your sports bra. This was now completely uncharted territory, but heat was building between your thighs and you wanted him to explore all of you until he knew it like the back of his hand. 

An unexpected, quiet moan escaped you when his thumb swiped over your nipple. You’d never moaned before, not even by yourself when your dorm was empty.

This seemed to signal something to Lewis, who momentarily sat up on his knees to bring his shirt up over his head, revealing an expanse of bronze skin with lean muscle that wasn’t there before. He discarded it onto the fluffy pink rug you had on the floor.

You lie there gaping for a moment, before realizing that you were supposed to do the same or it would be weird. You were about to wriggle out of your top when he stopped you.

“I can do it, it’s fine.”

Raising your arms, you let him briefly remove your glasses and hoist the turquoise fabric over your head. He looked so focused as he carefully placed the glasses back on your face that he could’ve been doing surgery. Lewis had never looked this methodical in your presence before. 

Now that you were more or less topless, there was no bit of skin that went untouched by his lips or tongue. He was kissing your navel when you finally stated the obvious.

“I didn’t realize you were into me like that.”

Lewis stopped and looked up at you quizzically. Then he smiled. “Me neither.”

-

This new, less familiar Lewis wore a white tank top that showed off extensively-tattooed arms, earrings that glittered in the sunlight, and hair that was braided into neat square sections with faded edges because he had won too many championships to be worried about what the media would say about it. He had a hand shoved into the pocket of some fashionably-baggy cargo pants while the other hand carefully held a champagne glass.

That sharp, gap-toothed smile was the same, though. And the way he said your name again, softer this time.

“Hey,” he regarded you warmly. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Still reeling from his sudden appearance, you stuttered. 

“Y-yes, it…certainly has been. A while, I mean.”

“I know what you mean. How have you been?”

You thought you’d gotten used to seeing him, given his face was everywhere now. But the intensity of those eyes couldn’t be captured on camera. Suddenly you were back in first year again, moaning beneath him in your old bedroom. 

“I’ve been…good,” you nodded.

“Oh, don’t give me that. It’s been so long that you’ve gone and got married!” His hand left his pocket to gesture animatedly. “Tell me something. I mean, how’s married life? What do you do these days?” 

You had forgotten that Lewis could chat up a tree if he wanted to. “It’s been alright,” you say unconvincingly with a practiced smile. “Joshua’s been great, he takes me to races once in a while. I even get to tour the garage sometimes, though I’m not as involved as I’d planned to be. It’s like I never left.”

“You were studying engineering, right? I’d love to see you working around the paddock, if you’re ever interested. I’ll vouch for you.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’d given that up—all of it—because you thought you were in love. Now your degree was nothing more than a notch in your belt. A mere decoration collecting dust on your nightstand. 

“I’ll be sure to call you if I ever think of joining the team. We’re always rooting for Mercedes,” Gesturing towards Joshua’s figure in the distance, you started to move past Lewis. “I will see you—”

“Wait,” 

You felt Lewis’ hand lightly touch your elbow. You stopped, only turning halfway.

He looked like he was still figuring out what to say afterwards, as if he had stopped you on impulse. His free hand awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “I, um, don’t have your number.”

You nodded slowly. 

“Right, um,” you reached into the back pocket of your white capris and pulled out your phone. 

Once you added a new contact labeled with his name, he typed in his number.

“Well, there you go.” You gave him a strained, polite smile. 

Lewis looked like he wanted to say something, but you turned to leave before he could. You told yourself it was better this way. I’m married, you repeated like a mantra in your head.

I’m married, I’m married, I’m married.