#and if it were you; it would be right to the heart in three sentences and so straightforward

[the-last-thread-of-my-sanity]

Little mini-Aruani fic that’s been *dancing* around in my brain

****

Armin rolls his shoulders as he shucks off his coat, the sound of his keys plinking in the bottom of the porcelain dish reminding him that he’s home.

There’s a chill in the air just behind the glass of the front door, but he can smell the lit fire from the den and somewhere in the house he hears a record being played.

Something orchestral and grand- different from the simple village folk music he grew up with in Paradis.

He smiles, peeking down the stairs into the lower floor of their brownstone style house. They had left it open, unfurnished- nothing but the waxed reclaimed wood floors and some sheer curtains on the window.

“Let’s discover what it can be,” he had said to Annie. “We can grow into it.”

After so long in small squalid living quarters, or in communal style barracks- having a house with three floors and a maid’s quarter seemed excessive. Two private bathrooms? A grand showy living area for guests and a private intimate one for the owners? A dining room with a table set for ten? It made him feel too self-important.

He was a soldier- utility made sense to him, not comfort. And certainly not luxury.

So, the empty space on the bottom floor felt right. It felt like an unanswered question. An ellipses at the end of the sentence.

He steps quietly onto the first few stairs beneath the landing, peering through the banisters until he can see Annie.

He stoops to a crouch, lingering.

She’s dancing, he realizes.

A few months ago, he had paid for a ballet instructor to offer her private lessons- as a gift. She was too fit, too flexible, too physically disciplined to be idle- but he wanted her to discover something about herself other than fighting.

She resisted at first, insisting she wasn’t poised or graceful enough. But her instructor, an aging man who smoked thin cigarettes and spoke with a crisp and lilting accent, adored her. He spoke effusively of her ‘lines’ and her core strength.

But Armin had never seen her dance. The instructor came and left while he was at work in the government office down the street- only running into Armin on the sidewalk as they were coming and going.

Now, he watches, his breath slowing and his heart stilling.

She looks as though she’s floating, he thinks. Weightless. Just an ephemeral being gliding across the floor as though she’s skirting on the air.

She pirouettes and leaps and moves her arms along gracefully unseen lines, her eyes closed and head tilted as she gets lost in the music.

Armin swallows- feeling a heavy sensation sinking into his chest. It’s awe, he knows, but also something else.

Gratitude. That she’s alive. That she’s here with him now. Dancing, moving, breathing, sighing… instead of frozen in time and in place.

He’s so grateful that she has this life.

He doesn’t feel the same way about himself. He drags his perceived debt to the world, to his parents, to Mikasa, to Hange, to Erwin.. to Eren.. everywhere he goes.

He could never be as light as Annie looks right now.

But it’s not his job to be, he realizes.

Finally, she stops, and he can see her breaths moving deeply in and out, her ribcage visible in the thin dance clothes. He looks at the arch of her spine as she holds a pose- and then she drops it, shoulders sagging, rolling her neck on her shoulders.

She clears her throat, stretching her arms above her head as she walks over to lift the needle from the record and the music stops.

She turns, and stops short with a little yelp when she sees him on the stairs.

Armin can’t help but laugh.

“You watched me?” She asks, accusing. “I made so many mistakes.”

Armin shakes his head, rising to stand and walk down the stairs. “How would I know? I’m no dancer.”

“Neither am I.” She says, bashful as she looks away from him out the window. The wind is swirling the sycamore leaves from outside along the sidewalk, filling their view of the street with bright yellow shapes catching the late afternoon sun.

“Nonsense.” He says, opening his arms for her to walk into his embrace. She folds into his chest as easy as any other reflex. As easy as blinking or breathing.

He smiles, leaning his cheek on her head as she buries her face into the collar of his shirt, inhaling deeply. Her daily ritual- breathing him in like it was soothing to her lungs.

He understands, he thinks, as he runs her silken hair through his fingers absently. It’s not enough just to see her or hear her alone. He needs to fill his senses with her to reassure himself that she’s truly there.

“So that’s what this bottom floor is now? Your dance studio?” He asks conversationally.

“For now,” she says, tilting her head back to look at him, “until I decide that it’s something else.”

Armin’s lips quirk into a small smile.

“Still want to leave things open-ended, then?” He jokes.

She hums, and he extends his arm up for her twirl underneath it playfully. “I just want to take our time.” She says quietly as she stills.

He nods in understanding, pulling her close again to press a kiss to her lips.

She can be whatever she wants to be. A dancer one day. An artist the next. A musician. A seamstress. A connoisseur of baked pastries…

Just as she was a fighter, first, and then a lover.

Certainly Annie can be anything in the world… as long as she is his.

[benkeibear]

『 You're a mean one Mr. Grinch 』

🎄synopsis: If you could use only two words to describe Sanemi during the holiday season it would be "the grinch". But just like his hairy, green friend, Sanemi does have a heart deep down - and it belongs entirely to you.

🎄character: Sanemi Shinazugawa

🎄reader: female

🎄cw: slightly suggestive for 2 sentences (It's Tengen, I can't help it), otherwise pure fluff

🎄notes: Merry Christmas @awkwardchick87 I am Tinsel the liddol elf for the @pixelcafe-network secret Santa! 🥹🫶 I hope you have a holly jolly season and that Mr. Grinch here shows up under your tree for real hehe. Also a big thank you to @hayatoseyepatch who helped me to make sure that Sanemi was in character!

Snow is falling all around us I fucking hate it, everything is slippery and shoveling snow sucks.

Children playing, having fun I hope they fall and bruise their tailbones.

It's the season, love and understanding you mean materialism and fake love…

The Christmas music was blasting from the kitchen and Sanemi couldn't help but scoff at the pretentious lyrics, adding his thoughts to each and every line.

If you only had two words to describe your husband during Christmas time, you wouldn't even need to ponder for a single second, the two words would come to your mind immediately - The Grinch.

“Nemi?” Your voice called from the kitchen as the songs switched, giving him exactly three seconds before the next one started playing, a moment of peace for his poor ears, he thought, as he slowly made his way to you.

“Can I turn the music down a little?” He asked as he rubbed his temples a little too dramatically, but your face said it all - he can turn the volume down but not entirely off.

Now that the music wasn't blasting through the entire house, the tense feeling seemed to disappear from his shoulders and he looked at you from across the kitchen island, cookie batter stuck on your cheek and flour coating your hair white and he couldn't stifle the smallest chuckle.

“Did you need my help, Mrs. Santa?” He asked teasingly, the flour in your hair aging you rapidly and you threw a freshly cut cookie at his face, the little star sticking perfectly to his forehead.

“You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch,” you quipped back and laughed at the way he ripped that star shaped cookie off his skin.

“What was that for?!” Sanemi sounded quite angry. “I mean… why did you do that?” He repeated his question much calmer, still working on his little outbursts that have become a lot less frequent.

“You called me Mrs. Santa! Do I look that old to you?” You asked amused and threatened to throw another cookie, this time it was shaped like a bell.

Sanemi walked around the counter and took a closer look at you with squinted eyes, studying you as if he really had to think about an answer, which made you puff your cheeks in feigned offense.

“Well… the flour does make you look like Mrs. Santa… But perhaps I just need to grow a beard to be your Santa then?” He asked and gently ruffled your hair in an effort to remove the flour, only making it worse, which did bring a smile to his face.

*plap* The bell shaped cookie got slapped against his cheek with a playful slap of your hand, making you laugh out loudly before running off, knowing he'd chase you to get back at you somehow - and you were right.

Sanemi chased you through the apartment, trying to throw the batter at your face but firing it against the wall and two windows instead before giving up and chasing after you without a makeshift cookie weapon. Neither of you knew how long you'd been at it, but when the smoke detector went off, you ran to the kitchen in an instant, the first batch of Christmas cookies looked more like the coal pieces that Santa leaves for the naughty children.

The next time Sanemi was painfully reminded that this is indeed Christmas season was when he walked into your living room and saw that tree standing there. What an ugly thing he thought to himself as he eyed it up and down - at least the shape was decent and better than the one from last year. With a sigh he went to the storage to get the ornaments ready for you, knowing that you'll want to put them on there sooner than later and he didn't want you to carry all these boxes… Just why did you have so much stuff for a tree??

The first note of the song came on as you decorated the tree and a shiver ran down his spine. He hated Christmas music, but this song was on top of the list of most hated songs - it just sounded so awfully nonconsensual.

Gripping the star that goes on top of the Christmas tree like a microphone, you dramatically got into stance to sing this duet he was sure you made him sing with you. You're so lucky that he loves you…

“I really can't stay,” you started to sing, but he refused to sound like some asshole, so he improvised his own lines.

“No problem, there's the door,” he grumbled and pointed at the door. Sanemi didn't even try to sing this, but he also didn't want to disappoint you - seeing you smile was what made him happy after all and if he had to embarrass himself like this, he would do so. Your smile was brighter than any Christmas star to him and singing a silly duet wasn't too bad after all.

“I've got to go away,” you continued and gave him the puppy eyes to act your part.

“I hear ya, say no more,” he mumbled and twirled you around once.

“This evening has been-” before you were able to finish it, he interrupted you.

“Totally consensual!” He butted in, which made you laugh at how he made his own version of this Christmas classic.

“My mother will start to worry,” you sang through your little giggle fit, already having missed a line, but Sanemi took a step back.

“Here's my phone, give her a call,” he chuckled, making the whole song sound a lot less creepy than it actually is. Both of you ended up laughing by the time the song was over, the Christmas tree only having one ornament hanging on its branches. Gently, Sanemi lifted you up to place the Christmas star on top before handing you various ornaments to decorate the tree, leaving this task entirely in your hands after you complained that he would clutter the tree. Granted, your first Christmas you almost shoved the ornament down his throat after he hung two red ones next to each other, but that is a story of the past…

The last time Sanemi was painfully reminded that it was Christmas Eve was when he sat under the tree like a pouting little child. His arms remained crossed as he waited for you to find him there - a red bow tied to a strand of his hair and if you looked closely, his cheeks were almost the same color from how embarrassed he felt to sit there. Both of you agreed to exchange your gifts on Christmas Eve already and while you got yours to put it under the tree for him, he went to get into position. Oh, how utterly stupid he felt and every second that passed only made him doubt his decisions more.

Sanemi never really celebrated Christmas before he got to know you. Holiday of love and giving… to love who? He had no family and it's not like he could do things like this with Genya. Giving gifts? He thought that was stupid, too materialistic. The white haired man was a firm believer that you should show your love to the right people every day of the year and not only on made-up holidays like Christmas or even Valentine's Day - but this changed once he found out that you're quite sentimental about those little things and that you don't expect anything expensive or lots of presents, just one small thing coming from his heart. So the first Christmas you two spent together, he gifted you his Haori - something too simple in his eyes, but you were so happy because you knew that this was his favorite. Unless it's in the laundry, you still wear it daily until this very day, well past your marriage vows, and you never fail to make his heart skip a beat whenever he sees you wearing it. But this time he had to outdo himself at least a little bit, so he went to none other than Tengen Uzui to ask for guidance. Did he hate every second of this? Very much so. It was almost humiliating to ask for help, yet he reminded himself of the purpose - you.

“That's just ridiculous!” Sanemi stood up, his head bright red at Tengen’s advice, who only shrugged with a smirk on his lips. A smirk that Sanemi wished to punch off his stupidly handsome face in that moment, but something started putting pieces together in his brain. If Tengen had three wives that adored him so much, his idea wouldn't be too bad, given he does it himself. Grumbling, Sanemi sat back down onto the tatami mats and Tengen's smirk grew into an excited one.

“I'm not going to wrap my dick with ribbon or stuff it into a box,” he exclaimed, knowing his friend's mind was running wild after he was the one suggesting these very things.

“Well, my wives do like to have a taste of my… candy cane… when I put a pretty bow on it,” he mused and Sanemi stood up once again, leaving this time. Too much information.

“Yeah, yeah, have fun, you pervert,” he mumbled and left the Uzui estate with a bright red head. Surely his best friend would have a better idea now that he and Mitsuri are together…

“I write poetry for her,” Obanai mumbled, his voice muffled and although he couldn't see him smile, his eyes were shining whenever he was talking of her.

“I can't… I'm not good with words or emotions and that shit,” Sanemi answered, deeply in thought. He could ask Obanai to write one for you, but it wouldn't be from heart. It would be the words of another man and just thinking about another man telling you how much he loves you made his blood boil - even if it's in his name.

“Just try it,” the short man encouraged him and swiftly moved to bring him paper and a pen to write before leaving him alone with his thoughts and a tea, surely he will think of something.

It's been two hours since Obanai checked in on his friend, so when he went to his living room to see how the poet is faring, Sanemi was long gone. The stack of papers was empty, crumpled up pages littered the room, which frustrated the Hashira. Next time they meet, he will have to face the consequences of trashing his estate - although reading these poems out loud to you should serve as enough punishment with how bad they were.

Just as he was about to stop reading them, as they made his skin crawl with how truly bad Sanemi was to express his words, one caught his attention. It surely wasn't a masterpiece, but for what it was, it was sweet and heartfelt. Obanai smiled to himself as he straightened the paper out, intending to send it to you in a secret letter.

“Roses are red, Violets are blue, With every wild wind, I'm thinking of you.

Your laughter's like thunder, In the quiet of night, A spark in my heart, You're my guiding light.

I'm rough around the edges, and my hair's a mess. You see through the storms and love me nonetheless.

So here's to our chaos, and the battles we face, In a world full of danger, you're my favorite place.”

Now Sanemi was sitting under the tree, a bow in his hair and a small box hiding in his pocket. While he went home, frustrated with the poetry session, his engagement ring caught his attention - it shimmered beautifully in the sun, just like your eyes. He made sure to choose a gem that came closest to his favorite color, and you wore an amethyst on yours to represent his eyes.

“The eyes are a window to the soul after all,” Sanemi whispered the words you told him on your first date when he looked everywhere but at you since you made him uncharacteristically nervous.

Although you've been together for all this time, the nerves crept up as he waited for you to return to the living room, hoping you'd like the necklace hiding in the small box, an amethyst placed neatly in the middle of a decorative piece that looked like a whirlwind. And perhaps you'll like the big present even more, as it sat there, waiting and pouting for your return…

Network: @pixelcafe-network

[kbwrites]

Heated Waters

synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.

⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it

⚝ wc: 1.9k

“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”

Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.

Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Twice a week, I suppose…”

Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.

“What about you, Higuruma?”

“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.

Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”

But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.

It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.

But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.

“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.

“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”

Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”

“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”

Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”

“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.

Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”

“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.

“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.

“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”

Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”

Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.

“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”

“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”

Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.

“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.

You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?

You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.

“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.

“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.

Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.

Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.

His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”

“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.

Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.

“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.

“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.

He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.

“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.

“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”

He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.

He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.

You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.

“g-gonna cum!”

“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.

“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.

You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.

“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.

His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.

Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.

He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.

“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”

[pochaccoups]

beggin’ on his knees — kim mingyu

pairing — kim mingyu x f!reader

summary — mingyu looks good when he’s on his knees.

wc — 2k

warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. smut, established relationship, slight sub!mingyu (he’s a big puppy in this), oral (f receiving), fingering, creampie, not beta read sry

“Please?”

“No, Mingyu.”

“Pleaseee?”

“Mingyu, stop.”

“But… why not?”

“Because I’m still mad at you. No.”

You don’t spare your boyfriend a glance as he stands in the doorway, your gaze thoroughly fixed on your book—your book that you haven’t read a sentence of since he’d walked in.

“But you always let me eat you out before bed.”

You heave out a sigh, dragging a hand down your face in exasperation. “Well, right now I don’t want you to.”

A lie. You know damn well that letting him give you an orgasm or two would quell your infuriation at him, but you’re too stubborn. Mingyu is like a puppy—giving in to his sulking and pouting, however irresistible, only teaches him how to get his way. If you look up, you’re certain you’ll find a pair of pathetic, glistening eyes staring at you, and it’ll become so, so much harder for you to keep your foot down.

“But baby,” he says, so soft, in a way that personifies his affection for you. That one word in that tone of his is the first strike to your heart. “I can show you how sorry I am. Please?”

“Mingyu, I already-”

Finally he gets you to look at him when he beelines over to your side of the bed, takes your hand in both of his, and drops to his knees on the floor.

“Please, baby, I’m begging you. I need to taste you so bad.” He doesn’t hide the desperation in his voice, nor the pleading look in his stupid, round, pretty eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you for work. I’ll do better. I’ll make it up to you, I promise, and I’ll start with this. Please?”

It’s true that perhaps you’re being a little too cruel out of pettiness—you know his schedule is mostly out of his hands and how hectic things get for him. But there are times where things are in his hands, and still he ends up staying for drinks with the boys a little too long for your liking.

He looks fucking good like this though. In fact, your pussy throbs a little, seeing him like this for you—at your mercy. Despite the pinpricks of hurt he’d given you, you can’t find it in you to send him away.

“Fine,” you say, and he’s about to pounce on you until you stop him with a hand to his chest. “No, no. Stay there for me.”

Mingyu watches intently as you sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed so that he’s sat neatly in between them. Unable to wait any longer, he’s reaching for the top of your pyjama pants, tugging them down your legs so hastily you’d think he’s running out of time.

It’s a wonder how he has the control to not tear your underwear off and dive straight in—instead he’s pressing soft kisses that drip with apology all over your thighs, letting his giant hands warm your skin as they roam over your legs. It’s a view you wish you could imprint into your brain forever: your buff, six-foot-three boyfriend on his knees, worshipping you.

It’s only when your hips shift ever so slightly, when Mingyu senses the very first shred of impatience manifesting within you, does he settle his face right where you need him. He presses all the way up against your covered cunt, nudges at your clit with his nose and prods at your hole with his tongue, fabric be damned.

“You begged for this, at least do it right,” you scold, sounding a little more breathless than you’d like.

Mingyu smirks. Of course he does—you’re proving him right. His hands envelop yours as you shove your panties down your legs, and before they can even hit the floor, the wet warmth of his tongue is licking at your awaiting pussy.

You’re kind of stupid, you realise, because why on earth were you refusing this in the name of being petty? He’s sucking on your clit and you’re already whining his name, while his fingers sink into the fat of your thighs and pry your legs open even wider.

Mingyu lacks both mercy and shame when he gets his mouth on you. He becomes depravity in human form, sounds of him slurping and spitting filling the room as he becomes drunk on your taste. His tongue is everywhere, slipping up and down through your folds, playing with your clit until your eyes are rolling back and you’re grabbing fistfuls of his dark hair.

“Mingyu, f-fuck,” you sigh, your spine curling off the bed, your hips rutting against his face. ���Need more.”

And Kim Mingyu will never fail to give you exactly what you want, so he circles your sticky, drooling hole with his finger and slides it inside you. And his fingers are so thick that just one alone makes you shiver as it curls up into your sweet spot, and combined with the nonstop lapping of his tongue at your clit, it’s no question why there’s heat pooling deep in your core.

Then he does stop, much to your dismay. Well, he only pulls his mouth an inch away so that he can ask you with his glistening, pouty lips, “does it feel good, baby?”

“Yes-fuck,” you gasp as his finger grazes repeatedly at the most sensitive patch inside you. “Be a good boy and put your big mouth to use though.”

He obeys you without a moment’s delay.

Mingyu drinks in all your noises—the wetness of his saliva mixed with your arousal, the squelch of his finger pressing into you, and your shaky, breathy moans that are a barely coherent mixture of curses and his name. It’s your high, and yet he’s chasing it, too.

He lives for the long, high-pitched whine you let out when he slips another finger inside. He’s pumping them in and out of you with such vigour that his bicep starts to bulge, and when you pull on his hair for dear life he feels his cock jump in his sweats. At the same time his mouth is ruthless as he practically makes out with your pussy, and you rock your hips absentmindedly until you’re riding his face, and fuck, you’re so hot that Mingyu thinks he might cum untouched.

“God, Gyu, just-just like that,” you keen, melting under his gaze that’s both concentrated and hazy. He’s drunk and he’s focused, tuned into your body and the way your walls clench around his fingers, telling him you’re almost there.

It takes just a few more thrusts of his fingers and swipes of his tongue before your moans reach a crescendo, and the heat in your stomach erupts with vengeance.

While your thighs tremble on his shoulders, Mingyu pulls his fingers out from your soaked heat and brings them straight to his mouth. He makes a show of sucking your juices off them, moaning like it’s essence from the sweetest fruit. To him it is.

“I’m hard now,” he says in a whisper.

“So?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him. Him still kneeling; his fluffy hair a mess; his cheeks and chin drenched with your cum; his sweatpants a tent. It’s so pathetic it makes your pussy even wetter.

“Can I put it in? Please?”

You pretend to ponder it for a second—he just looks so cute when he’s desperate for pussy. Then you become aware of how empty you are, and give Mingyu his next command: “kiss me first.”

He’s up now, pinning you underneath him as he does exactly what you ask of him. His lips are sloppy against yours, his tongue weaving its way inside your mouth. He’s kissing you with such want that it’s messy, disgusting almost, but your boyfriend will sooner die than not put his entire soul into something.

His heavy cock prods against you, just as shameless and imposing as Mingyu himself. It’s sticky with precum and so hard that it’s practically throbbing with need, and you wish you were stronger than this but you need him stretching you out now.

“Fuck me, Mingyu,” you mumble against ravenous lips.

He slides home immediately, until his balls are warm against your ass. Then he hikes your legs up on his shoulders and starts to pound away at you like he has something to prove.

The sounds he makes when he gets inside you should be embarrassing to him, but they’re not. Much less to you—hearing him whimper like a clingy puppy in your ear makes you soak all over his cock. You know people look at him and his towering height and his bulging arms and they see strength, control, dominance, and what they’ll never know about is this—that your pussy reduces him to a desperate, whining mess.

Every snap of his hips has you gasping, sends you reaching for the sheets and his hair. Now that he’s finally inside you, he’s taking full advantage of it, because God forbid you think he’s slacking after begging with his heart and soul. No, no—he’ll show you how sorry he is, make up for every minute of your time that he’d wasted, and he’ll do it by fucking you into next week, filling you up (if you let him), and tending to you like you’re royalty after.

“Harder, baby,” you sigh, even though you know that word is dangerous territory with him, but his thrusts had slowed a little in his pondering about how sorry he was.

But oh, does he deliver. More than delivers. Mingyu leans forward, folds you even more in half until your thighs burn, but when his cock is buried so deep in your guts the pain becomes dull. He fucks into you with every ounce of muscle he has, leaning his weight on you so that every stroke breaches past your cervix and touches your soul itself.

Sweat beads on his forehead. His cheeks are lightly flushed; his toned, tanned skin gleaming. Your boyfriend looks divine as he ruins your cunt, as though this is what he was born to do: to please you. You want him to keep splitting you open, to stretch you out endlessly. You want his warm, sticky load inside you even more.

“H-hah, Gyu, baby…” you pant.

“Yeah? Feels good?” he asks, hissing as you clench down on him at the sound of his voice.

“Mm, love the way you fuck me,” you moan. “But I want your cum inside me.”

Your words make his hips stutter. He bites down on his bottom lip hard, willing himself to not cum then and there.

“Want you to cum first,” he whines through gritted teeth, and you near scream when his thumb finds your clit to rub at it, quick and precise in the way that you stand no chance against.

Only a few more hard strokes is all it takes for your orgasm to come hurtling towards you, tearing through your whole body and making you sob Mingyu’s name while his fingers and his hips never let up.

The way your walls clench and gush around his cock as you cum is ruthless. It’s a vice, selfish grip, one that entices him to his own climax, because there’s nothing that gets Kim Mingyu off more than making the love of his life cum.

“Cum for me, Gyu. Make me happy,” you whisper in the aftershock of your orgasm.

He gives you exactly what you want, driving himself impossibly deep inside you and giving a strangled moan as you milk every last drop of his seed out of him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whimpers, letting your legs fall from his shoulders as he collapses on top of you. Even when he’s dry, his cock twitches, still, and you think it’ll be a while before he pulls out of you.

You hum, warm and content. Your hand reaches for Mingyu’s hair, fingers brushing through it as he comes down. His face is buried in your neck, and his soft, warm breaths against your skin threaten to lull you to sleep.

Eventually he mutters out, “I’m sorry again.”

You can’t help but stifle a laugh. He’s good at grovelling, that’s for sure.

“You’re making dinner for the rest of the week,” you tell him. “And if you have a late schedule then you’re ordering me something. And if you do leave me hanging again I’ll kill you. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you still love me?”

“Yes, Mingyu, I love you.”

[brunchable]

The Marriage Bet

Pairings: Best Friend Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Themes: A bet. A bit of comedy but mostly fluff and Bucky treating his woman right ;)

Summary: If in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet.

A/N: For those of you who voted for 'Calm Down, Dad Mode' I've added it to this story. This has got to be my favorite fluff FML. Also let me TELL YOU, the cravings in pregnancy and the emotions are real because I lived it lmao. PART 2

Three Years Ago

"You know what we should do?” Bucky said out of the blue, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. The two of you had been lounging on his couch for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a lazy night filled with laughter, shared memories, and the kind of comfortable silence only you and Bucky knew how to savour.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“If we’re still single in three years… let’s get married,” he announced, as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. His tone was light, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. “Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, his lips twitching up into that familiar smirk that made your heart skip. “But think about it. No more crappy dates, no more getting your heart broken by idiots who don’t deserve you. Just us. You and me. We already know each other’s worst habits, and we get along. It’d be a good marriage.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You make it sound like we’re signing up for a business merger.”

He laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine. “Maybe. But at least you’d know you’re stuck with someone who’s never going to walk out on you. Someone who’d fight for you.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten, and for a second, you allowed yourself to picture it. A life with Bucky, the two of you navigating the ups and downs together. No more failed relationships, no more loneliness. Just the comfort and security of someone who knew you better than anyone else.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you murmured, still stunned by the idea.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for just a beat, then broke into a grin. “Deal, Barnes. If we’re still single in three years, I’ll marry your crazy ass.”

He grinned back, his hand shooting out to seal the promise with a firm handshake. But as your fingers clasped around his, the energy between you shifted — playful and yet, inexplicably serious.

“Deal,” he echoed softly, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

× × × × 

Present

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes skimming over the city lights below as the faint notes of Taylor Swift’s break-up songs filled the air. You and Bucky had been up here for hours, talking and drinking, the night air crisp against your skin.

It had been a rough few months for you — the breakup still felt fresh, the sting of rejection and disappointment lingering. But being here with Bucky made it easier. He had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it didn’t seem that way.

“Y’know, you’re the best,” you murmured, your words slurred slightly from the champagne. “I mean it, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm as he watched you. “Good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you turned back to the view. “Still, I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m destined to be alone or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. “And you know it.”

You shrugged, glancing over at him. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like it. Everyone I’ve ever dated just—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Bucky suddenly shifted, reaching into his pocket. Your eyes widened as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and, without hesitation, flipped it open. The soft light of the rooftop glinted off the 1.5-carat diamond ring nestled inside — simple, elegant, and undeniably breathtaking. 

“What’s that?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

Bucky arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look. “An engagement ring, Y/N. What else?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a ring!” you sputtered, your mind reeling. “But why—how—what are you doing with it?”

Bucky sighed, muttering under his breath, “For someone so smart, she really can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

You barely had time to process the words before he got up from his sitting position and slowly knelt down on one knee. The movement made your heart jump into your throat, your breath hitching as he looked up at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I want to marry you, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm and sure. “Not because of some bet or joke we made all those years ago, but because… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to. The one who makes you laugh when you’re sad. The one who fights for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as the weight of his words sank in, the sincerity in his voice making it almost impossible to breathe. “Bucky… this is—”

“I know this is crazy,” he continued, cutting you off gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “But when have we ever been normal, huh? I’m not asking you to feel something you don’t or to change anything between us. But I am a man of my word, and I’m keeping the promise we made.”

Your mind raced, memories of that night flashing through your mind — the promise, the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you back then as if you were the only thing that mattered. And now, here he was, years later, kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring, ready to turn that promise into something real.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he held out the ring, his expression almost pleading. “So… will you marry me? Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to?”

You stared down at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing anchoring you being his blue eyes, filled with nothing but hope and determination.

“Well? Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now. “Because I’m dying here.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over as you shook your head in disbelief. 

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you teased, “Getting down on one knee and everything… how could I say no to a man with such dedication?”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh of his own. “Is that a yes, or are you just stalling to make me sweat more?”

You glanced at the ring, then back at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I guess… if I have to be stuck with someone for the rest of my life… it might as well be you.”

“Yes,” you added quickly, your smile widening as you looked at him with all the warmth and affection you felt. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

Relief washed over his face, his grin so wide it could’ve lit up the entire rooftop. “You really know how to keep a guy on edge, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” you replied with a laugh, reaching out to brush your fingers against his cheek. “I can’t make it too easy for you.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can be so mean you know that?”

“Mean?” you scoffed, giving him a playful look of disbelief. “You’re proposing to me, remember? I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I know. And I’m still all in, even if you make me work for it.”

You grinned, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky didn’t hesitate, his arms coming up to hold you close, his chin resting gently on top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest as your eyes locked with his. The sound of the music drifted softly through the air, wrapping around you both like an embrace.

You could see the tenderness in his gaze, the way his eyes softened as he looked down at you. There was something indescribable in the way he held you, his hands warm and secure against your back, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You know,” you murmured softly, a small smile playing on your lips, “I completely forgot about that bet.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up at the corners as he started to sway gently, rocking you both back and forth in time with the music. 

“Yeah? Good thing I haven’t.” he agreed quietly, his voice low and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you swayed together under the soft glow of the rooftop lights, the melody of the song weaving its way into your soul. There was a peace, a sense of rightness in the way his hands rested on your waist, the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

Opening your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “I’m really going to make you regret this, you know.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your side as he gazed down at you. “Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try, sweetheart—I mean what else could I possibly not know about you?”

Your smile widened as you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Oh, you’ll find out. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m not full of surprises.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Just remember you asked for it,” you teased, your voice soft as your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “You’re the one who’s committing to a lifetime of never quite knowing what I’ll do next.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again, a smile playing on his own. “I guess I like keeping things interesting, too.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you felt the tension melt away as you both swayed gently to the music. It felt like a new beginning — a promise that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

× × × ×

A few months later.

The garden was alive with soft laughter and murmurs as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and jasmine, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided the perfect backdrop for the small, intimate gathering of friends.

Bucky stood under the floral archway, his suit somehow both perfectly fitted and slightly askew in that way only Bucky could pull off. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. When you turned the corner, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exaggerated sigh of relief he let out.

“Thank God you showed up,” he teased, his voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Thought I’d have to marry Sam instead.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you made your way down the short aisle, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, Barnes. He’d leave you at the altar, you know.”

Bucky grinned, his shoulders relaxing as you stepped up to him. “True. He couldn’t handle my morning breath.”

The officiant cleared his throat gently, drawing soft chuckles from your friends. Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on yours, a playful twinkle in his eyes as if you were sharing a private joke no one else could understand.

“You ready for this?” he murmured softly, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, giving him a small nod.

The ceremony was simple and sweet, with your closest friends standing in a loose circle around you, their smiles reflecting the joy and camaraderie that had always defined your relationship with Bucky. 

When it came time for the vows, Bucky cleared his throat dramatically, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he began, waving the paper around, “so I wrote it down. Just so I don’t forget the important parts. Like promising I won’t eat your fries without asking.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? For my fries?”

“Partly,” Bucky said with a wink, earning a few laughs from your friends. “But seriously… I promise to always be your partner in crime. To watch bad movies with you, to be your go-to plus-one for all those events you hate, and to be the one you can call at 3 a.m. when the world feels like too much.”

His voice softened slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I promise to be your best friend, to listen, and to support you. And yeah, to not eat your fries — unless you’re not looking.”

You chuckled, blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears. “Damn, Barnes. Setting the bar high for husband material, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied with a smirk.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath, glancing down at your own slightly crumpled paper. “Bucky, I promise to keep being your reality check, to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. I promise to help you with your crazy woodworking projects, even when you refuse to read the instructions. And I promise to be your partner in all things — the weird, the good, and the unpredictable.”

Bucky’s grin softened into a small, genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think we’re gonna be pretty good at this whole marriage thing.”

“I think so too,” you murmured back.

The officiant’s voice broke through the quiet moment, his smile warm. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bucky, you may now—”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, holding up a hand as he turned to you, his expression half-serious, half-teasing. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is technically our first kiss. I want to get it right. So… how do you like it?”

A burst of laughter escaped you, the tension in your shoulders melting away as the sheer Bucky-ness of the question made you grin. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Come on, humor me,” he pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Slow? Gentle? Or should I just go for it?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “Just… kiss me, you goof.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly, leaning in. “I’ll make it good.”

His grin widened and shifts a little closer to you, Bucky dipped his head and you felt your noses brush. His breath is on your lips, and you quiver a bit at the odd sensation. Without another moment to spare you realise that he's pressing his lips to yours—it was nothing like you’d expected. His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer, his eyes fully closed. Bucky was concentrating on the kiss, and you realised that your eyes were wide open. Slowly you close them, hiding away your brilliant orbs. 

Bucky’s lips are oddly doft in this kiss and it stays slow and sweet. He wrapped his arm around you more, lifting you slightly off your feet. The veil fluttered around you like a soft cocoon, and then everything disappeared as his mouth moved insync with you, his kiss remained slowly, his mouth molding against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

His fingers gently tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing softly along your cheekbone as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

But then he shifted, tilting your head just slightly as he deepened the kiss, his hold around you tightening. It was then that you felt him let go completely — every barrier, every wall he’d kept up around himself crumbling as he poured everything into that kiss. 

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint cheers and whistles of your friends—Sam being the most obnoxious—but it all felt like background noise. It was just you and Bucky, wrapped up in this kiss that felt like it had been building up for years. His lips slid over yours with a kind of sweet intensity, a silent confession of everything he hadn’t said — of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you were breathless, hearts pounding in unison. He didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

A soft cheer went up from your friends—Sam being the most obvious— and Bucky’s grin turned almost smug. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah, Buck. I think you got it just right.”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a long, lingering moment before his smile widened into something boyish and relieved. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”

Bucky’s laugh was soft, his nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should keep practicing, huh?”

You nodded, your grin matching his. “Yeah. Keep practicing, Barnes.”

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, slower and just as sweet as the first, you knew that this — all of this — was exactly how it was meant to be.

× × × ×

1.5 years later

You were pacing back and forth in the bathroom, your heart hammering in your chest. Every few seconds, your eyes would dart to the three little sticks sitting ominously on the edge of the sink — three white, plastic harbingers of potential chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whispered frantically to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if willing the tests to disappear — or at least show some clarity.

How did it come to this? You were supposed to be life partners — partners in crime, best friends — no strings attached, no expectations. Just two people who promised to be there for each other. Sure, you got married, but it was all because of the bet. A way to keep each other from loneliness, you both said. Nothing more, right?

Except somewhere along the line, late-night talks had turned into stolen kisses. Comforting hugs had turned into tangled limbs. And now… this.

“Oh my god, he’s going to flip,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the still-blank screens on the tests. “This isn’t how we were supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?”

You jumped about a foot in the air, letting out a small squeak of surprise as Bucky’s voice filled the bathroom. You whipped around, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Bucky! Don’t—don’t just sneak up on people like that!” you stammered, instinctively shuffling over to the sink to block his view.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t sneak. You’re just too distracted, sweetheart.” He pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just hanging out in the bathroom, talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” you answered quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yep, just a totally normal conversation with… myself. Very productive.”

He eyed you, suspicion etched all over his face. “Uh-huh. And why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I don’t!” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.

Bucky took another step closer, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. “Then why are you standing like that?”

You moved subtly, trying to casually scoot to the left, but your back hit the edge of the sink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, leaning down slightly to look your directly in the eyes. “What’s behind you, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” you insisted, but your hand twitched involuntarily, knocking into one of the sticks. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing once before rolling to a stop right at Bucky’s feet.

You froze.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the test, and his entire expression shifted — from curiosity to confusion to wide-eyed realization.

“Wait… is that a—?”

“No!” you yelped, diving forward to snatch up the stick and hide it behind your back. You stood there, breathing heavily, your face flushed with a mix of panic and embarrassment.

Bucky’s gaze slid back to you, his lips quirking into an incredulous smile. “Y/N, are those… pregnancy tests?”

You glanced around desperately, as if you could conjure up some kind of diversion to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Uh… no? Maybe?”

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stepped around your easily, and in one quick motion, he plucked the other two tests off the sink. He held them up, his eyes wide and eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “There are three.”

“Yeah, well… you know, the first one could be a fluke, and the second one too, and…” you trailed off, wincing at how ridiculous you sounded.

Bucky blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Three tests, huh? You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“Bucky!” you hissed, mortification washing over you. “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, though his lips were still twitching with amusement. “But you’re freaking out over here, hiding them like I wasn’t gonna notice.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!” you lied, folding your arms across your chest again. “I was just… assessing the situation.”

He raised an eyebrow, waving one of the tests in front of your face. “Assessing, huh? And what’s the situation, then?”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t looked at them yet!”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Wait, you haven’t looked?” Bucky’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief. “You’ve been pacing around in here, stressing yourself out, and you haven’t even checked?”

“I’m not ready!” you snapped defensively. “I mean… what if they’re positive?”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek. “Then they’re positive.”

Your eyes met his, the sincerity and calmness in his gaze making some of your panic ebb away. “But we’re not even— I mean, this was supposed to be—”

“A bet?” he finished softly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. I remember. But bets don’t always go the way you plan.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still hammering wildly. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. “Why the hell would I be mad? I mean, sure, this is unexpected. But mad?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “C’mon, Y/N. You really think I’d be mad about having a family with you?”

The words made your heart stutter, and you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky…”

“Let’s just see what they say, alright?” he murmured gently, stepping back and nodding toward the tests. “No more freaking out until we know.”

With trembling hands, you turned each test over, your breath hitching as you looked at the results.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Bucky’s grin had barely faded before the reality of the situation seemed to really hit him this time. His gaze drifted back to the three tests lined up on the sink, and you watched as his face slowly drained of colour.

“Bucky?” you asked cautiously, noticing the way his grip on your arm loosened slightly.

He blinked, his eyes darting between you and the tests like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. “So, uh… positive. All three?”

You nodded slowly, worry beginning to creep back in. “Yeah, Buck. All three.”

“Oh… Oh, wow,” he muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s… that’s a lot of positive.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean, I knew one was a lot, but three—positives?” he rambled, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s… that’s a whole lot of… baby.”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you asked, reaching out to steady him as his face turned even paler.

“I’m—yeah, I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back slightly as his knees buckled.

“Bucky!” you shouted, grabbing for him as he crumpled to the floor in a faint.

You managed to catch his weight just enough to keep him from completely knocking his head on the tiles, though it took every ounce of strength you had to keep him semi-upright.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you huffed, looking down at his unconscious form with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re the one who said you’d be fine with this!”

He let out a soft, incoherent groan, his head lolling to the side as you carefully lowered him all the way to the ground and raised his legs above his head for bloodflow.

“Of course you’d faint, you big drama queen,” you muttered, crouching down beside him and lightly patting his cheeks. “Come on, Buck. Wake up. I’m not doing this alone, you hear me?”

After a few more pats and murmured reassurances, his eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked up at you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “What… what happened?”

“You fainted, you big idiot,” you said, the frustration in your tone softened by the overwhelming relief that he was okay. “Over three little tests.”

Bucky stared at you blankly, then his gaze drifted back to the sink where the tests still sat in a neat row, mocking him with their tiny positive signs.

“Oh… right,” he murmured, his face scrunching up as he tried to process it all again. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, giving him a half-smile. “Definitely not a dream.”

“Damn,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I really fainted, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let you hit your head.”

He chuckled weakly, his gaze still lingering on the tests. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I love you, Y/N, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little slurred as he still looked dazed. “Not like a friend, but y’know… like, love love.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting you all over again. “Bucky, you’re still out of it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he murmured, blinking up at you with a lopsided grin. “But doesn’t make it any less true.”

Shaking your head, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, your smile softening. “I know, Buck. We’ll talk about that later when you’re not busy fainting over pregnancy tests, okay?”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping slightly. “But just… so you know.”

“I know,” you repeated gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Just rest for a second, and then we’ll figure this all out together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he opened them again, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “We’re really gonna be parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. “We really are.”

“Cool,” he murmured, his head lolling back against the bathroom tiles. “Love you, Y/N… love love.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you sat beside him, holding his hand. “Love you too, Bucky. Now, no more fainting, okay?”

“No promises,” he mumbled, but his grip tightened around your hand, as if even in his half-conscious state, he didn’t want to let go.

And as you sat there on the bathroom floor, Bucky still looking a little woozy but smiling up at you with that goofy, endearing grin, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be just fine.

× × × ×

First Trimester.

The clock on the kitchen wall glowed a soft, accusatory 2:37 a.m. as Bucky shuffled groggily into the dimly lit space, scratching at his head. He was half-asleep, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days, and still trying to figure out why he’d been dragged from his warm bed.

He paused mid-step when he spotted you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders hunched, face buried in your hands. He blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation. “Uh, sweetheart… what’s going on?”

Your only response was a pitiful sniffle, followed by another one. Bucky’s brows shot up in alarm, and he quickly moved to your side, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, peering up at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, letting out a small, hiccuping sob. “I… I really wanted… chocolate chip pancakes… with whipped cream and strawberries…”

Bucky blinked again, glancing around the empty kitchen as if he expected a stack of pancakes to magically appear on the counter. “Okay… uh… we don’t have any of that stuff right now, but I can go to the store—”

“Everything’s closed!” you wailed, cutting him off with a fresh wave of tears. “And I really wanted it now!”

The sheer devastation in your voice made Bucky’s heart clench in sympathy — but a very tiny, very unhelpful part of him also found it hilariously absurd. He had fought aliens, Hydra agents, and all manner of nightmares… but he’d never faced down a pregnant wife in the throes of a pancake craving at nearly 3 a.m.

“Oh,” he said lamely, scratching his head again as he tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve breaking into the nearest IHOP. “Okay, um… we can make pancakes without chocolate chips, right?”

“But I don’t want plain pancakes!” you cried, your voice wobbling dangerously. “I want chocolate chip pancakes! And… and I want whipped cream on top, but we don’t have any!”

Bucky swallowed, his panic rising as you continued to cry. He was the Winter Soldier, damn it. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of this. “Okay, alright. Just breathe, okay? How about… uh… what if I make you some toast? I’ll put some Nutella on it? It’s kind of like chocolate.”

“It’s not the same!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands again. “I want… pancakes…”

Bucky let out a helpless laugh, running a hand down his face as he glanced at the empty fridge like it was somehow betraying him. “Baby, you’re killing me here.”

You sniffled, peeking out from between your fingers with watery eyes. “You don’t understand, Buck. I can taste the pancakes. I can taste the strawberries… I can feel the whipped cream…”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, uh, I can’t pull that out of thin air. But…” He glanced around, his gaze falling on a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. “What if I make you a sundae? It’s kinda like a pancake… just cold.”

“No…” You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s not pancakes…”

Bucky let out a long, dramatic sigh, his hands resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna wake up, and I’m going to go get you all the chocolate chips and whipped cream and strawberries you want, alright? I’ll make a pancake buffet.”

“But I want it now,” you murmured miserably, rubbing at your eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cooed gently, reaching out to pat your head awkwardly. “But unless you want me to bust into some diner and get myself arrested, I’m gonna need you to hang in there for a few more hours.”

Your lips trembled, and you nodded reluctantly, sniffling again. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled softly, his heart melting a little. “Nah. You’re growing a tiny human.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Although, I gotta say, if I can handle your craving meltdowns, I think I deserve some kind of medal. Or at least, like… superhero husband status.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Bucky’s smile widened triumphantly.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your temple. “Look, we can’t have pancakes right now, but how about we get creative? Maybe I can whip something up with what we do have? I’m talking PB&J sandwich sculptures. Or,” he gasped dramatically, “a waffle made out of popcorn!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Popcorn waffles?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “This could be a revolutionary invention, Y/N. We could change the breakfast game forever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping at your tears as Bucky’s ridiculousness slowly chased away the lingering sadness. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you married me,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “So who’s the real weirdo?”

“Still you,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

Bucky let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow, so rude. No respect for the man who’s about to go MacGyver your snack cravings at 3 a.m.”

You smiled despite yourself, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Now, what do you say we get a little creative in this kitchen and see if we can’t make something that’ll make these pancake cravings shut up for a bit?”

“Okay,” you agreed, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. “But I’m holding you to that pancake buffet tomorrow morning.”

“Pancake buffet with extra chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries,” he promised with a mock salute. “You’ve got my word.”

And as Bucky scoured the pantry for the weirdest possible combinations — “How do you feel about a peanut butter, banana, and potato chip sandwich?” — you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of your cravings lightening in the face of his relentless optimism and willingness to do whatever it took to make you smile.

“World’s best husband,” you murmured fondly as he started arranging sandwich slices into a goofy face.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, holding up the plate proudly. “And this? This is my masterpiece.”

You took one look at the ridiculous sandwich sculpture — a lopsided smile made from pickle slices and a beard of crumbled crackers — and the tears came flooding back, but this time they were unstoppable.

“Bucky… you’re… you’re the best husband… in the world!” you sobbed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—hold on!” Bucky stammered, his eyes widening in alarm as he quickly set the plate down and moved back to your side. “What… why are you crying? Sweetheart, it’s just a sandwich! A really ugly sandwich, but—”

You let out another wail, shaking your head as more tears spilled over. “No, it’s not that! It’s you! You’re just so—so good, and sweet, and—and I don’t deserve you!”

Bucky froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

“Wait, what? Where did that come from?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out with a manual for how to handle this. “Hey, you deserve everything, okay? Even pancakes at 3 a.m. if I could make it happen.”

“I just… you’re always trying so hard, and you’re just… you’re amazing,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand like it was a lifeline. “And I’m crying because I can’t have pancakes, and I’m a mess, and you’re making me a weird pickle-beard sandwich…”

Bucky stared at you, completely lost, before he finally let out a helpless, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out of my depth here,” he muttered, gently pulling you into his arms and patting your back awkwardly. “But hey, let’s save the compliments for when I’m not half-asleep, yeah?”

You nodded miserably against his chest, your sobs starting to subside as his steady heartbeat grounded you.

“Good, because you’re gonna make me cry if you keep this up,” he joked softly, running a soothing hand through your hair. “And no one wants to see the Winter Soldier ugly-cry over a pancake buffet.”

You let out a watery giggle at that, sniffling as you pulled back to look up at him. “You’re really gonna get me all the pancakes tomorrow?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his smile gentle and reassuring. “Now come on, let’s see if we can make this popcorn waffle thing work. You’ll need to tell our kid one day that their mom ate the weirdest thing ever while pregnant,” Bucky finished with a grin, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears with his thumb. “That way, when they give us a hard time as teenagers, I can say, ‘Hey, kid, I made your mom a popcorn waffle at 3 a.m. She bettered have loved me.’”

You laughed again, hiccupping through the tears as you tried to calm yourself. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching up into a lopsided smile. “Maybe. But you married me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment,” you teased softly, feeling some of the tension start to ease as his thumb continued its gentle, comforting strokes on your cheek.

“Or just smart enough to know when you’ve got a good thing,” he murmured back, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “And I’m gonna keep being that good thing — even when it means making bizarre snacks and wrangling your tears at stupid o’clock in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, smiling up at him as you looped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes softened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. And we’re gonna figure out this whole craving thing. Even if it means starting a midnight pancake truck or something.”

The image of Bucky in an apron, serving pancakes from a food truck, was so ridiculous that you let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “A pancake truck?”

“Why not?” He smirked, his fingers playing with a lock of your hair. “I’d be the hottest pancake chef around. We’d have a line out the door.”

“Because everyone’s desperate for pancakes at three in the morning?” you asked, still smiling.

“Exactly,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “They’d be calling me the Pancake Soldier instead of the Winter Soldier.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter again, your earlier tears completely forgotten. “I swear, you’re impossible, Bucky Barnes.”

“Impossible and all yours,” he said with a wink, then glanced at the kitchen. “Now, how about we whip up some sort of Frankenstein snack to tide you over until the morning, huh?”

With another sniffle and a smile, you nodded. “Alright. But I’m still holding you to that pancake buffet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of backing out,” he promised, kissing your forehead again before guiding you to a chair. “You sit right here, and let Chef Barnes work his magic.”

You watched as Bucky moved around the kitchen, his clumsy efforts at ‘creative’ snack-making bringing a smile to your face despite the ridiculousness of it all. He muttered under his breath, concocting weird combinations — “What if we crush some pretzels on top?” — and talking to the food like it would reveal some hidden trick.

Eventually, he managed to cobble together another makeshift treat: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich with a few random M&Ms sprinkled on top for good measure. It looked as chaotic as you felt, but the effort and love behind it made your heart swell.

You stared at the messy sandwich, your lips trembling again — but this time with a whole different set of emotions.

“Hey, no more tears,” Bucky said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m running out of ideas here, babe.”

“I’m not crying,” you sniffed, reaching out to take a bite. “It’s just… you’re really, really sweet, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to give your knee a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart feeling lighter than it had all night.

“Good.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched you take another bite. “Now eat up, because come morning, I’m getting up at dawn to get everything we need for that pancake buffet. You’re gonna be the happiest pancake-eating pregnant lady in the world.”

“And you’re gonna be the best pancake-making husband in the world,” you replied with a soft smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right,” Bucky murmured, his voice filled with so much affection it made your heart skip a beat.

As you finished the bizarre snack and Bucky continued to ramble on about potential pancake flavors and topping combinations, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.

Because, bizarre cravings and all, there was no one else you’d rather navigate the chaos with than him — your best friend, your partner, your ridiculous, wonderful Bucky Barnes.

× × × ×

Third Trimester

Bucky’s overprotectiveness had started out in small, endearing ways—like lingering in doorways or making sure you had an extra pillow at night. But as your pregnancy progressed, so did his paranoia, turning him into an almost comical shadow of your once-confident, battle-hardened husband.

It began with the shoelaces.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He practically skidded across the living room to kneel at your feet just as you were about to bend down to tie your sneakers. You straightened up, raising a brow, watching him fumble with the laces like it was a complex puzzle rather than a simple bow.

“Bucky, it’s just tying my shoes. I can do that,” you pointed out gently, but he shook his head fervently.

“Not risking it. What if you lose your balance?” His words were muffled as he double-knotted the laces, his shoulders hunched like he was shielding you from some invisible force.

“I’m not gonna lose my balance,” you murmured, amused. “I’ve been tying my own shoes for decades.”

“There’s a first for everything.” He tightened the bow a little too firmly, making you flinch. He winced in apology and adjusted it again, softer this time, before peering up at you with those intense blue eyes, a mix of worry and resolve. “Humor me, okay?”

You sighed, relenting with a small nod. “Okay. But just so you know, you’re not going to be doing this every single time.”

He grinned—victorious, as if you hadn’t noticed how he conveniently “lost” all your slip-ons just last week.

Then there was the laundry basket incident.

It happened when you were carrying a half-full basket of towels from the dryer. You’d barely made it halfway down the hall when Bucky materialized out of nowhere, intercepting you like you were carrying live explosives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all mock-seriousness, but there was genuine concern underlining it as he gently pried the basket from your hands.

“Laundry?” you deadpanned, trying to tug it back, but he held firm.

“Not anymore, you’re not.” He shot you a look that dared you to argue as he held the basket up high, well out of your reach. “You don’t need to be lugging this around.”

“It’s not even heavy!” you protested, exasperation seeping into your tone.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. Just point me to where you want it.”

Grumbling, you pointed down the hallway. “Our bedroom.”

“See?” he said with a self-satisfied smile, striding down the hall like he was conquering new territory. “No big deal.”

You had to fight back an eye roll. “You’re gonna be like this until the baby is born, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he called over his shoulder, unashamed.

It didn’t stop there, of course. In the kitchen, he’d barely let you near the sink.

One morning, you’d decided to tackle the breakfast dishes—something you could usually manage without too much hassle. But as soon as you set the first dish into the soapy water, Bucky’s hand appeared out of nowhere, lightly shoving you to the side.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Your belly’s gonna bump into the counter. Let me do it.”

“Bucky—”

“Let. Me. Do it,” he insisted, holding a soapy plate hostage as he gazed at you, lips set in a stubborn line.

With a sigh, you threw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not a porcelain doll, okay? I can do dishes just fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, but he was already washing the dishes with focused precision, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t slipped or stumbled in the two feet he’d moved you back.

It was both infuriating and endearing, and it made you love him even more—though you’d never admit it when he was acting like a hovering mother hen.

The grocery trips were almost unbearable. He’d insisted on coming along, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of picking up a few items.

“We need milk,” you pointed out, motioning toward the far end of the aisle.

“Got it,” he said immediately, guiding the cart forward with one hand and slipping his other arm around your waist as if to support your entire body weight.

You shot him a look. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Of course you can,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m just… helping you waddle.”

“Waddle?” You narrowed your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just call me a waddler?”

“Um…” He glanced at you sheepishly, realizing his mistake a second too late. “No?”

“Yeah, nice try.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright, bad choice of words. I’m just keeping pace with you,” he corrected, slowing his stride even more so that the two of you were practically moving in slow motion down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “If we go any slower, we’ll start moving backwards.”

Bucky just chuckled, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take my chances.”

By the time you reached the milk, you were almost tempted to ask him to sprint the rest of the way just to get it over with. But the truth was, there was something undeniably sweet about having Bucky hover around like this.

“Let me guess,” you teased as you plucked a carton of milk off the shelf. “You want to carry this too?”

“Of course,” he said, already reaching for it, his expression deadly serious.

You held on to the carton just long enough to make him sweat before handing it over. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he replied easily, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Smooth,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

With Bucky being his overprotective self, you had no doubt that he’d be like this for the next few months—and likely long after the baby was born. But as much as you complained, deep down, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

× × × ×

“Bucky, for the last time, it’s just a shoe box,” you emphasise, glancing at your husband as he carefully hoists the empty box off the couch like it’s made of glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, eyes darting suspiciously to the plain cardboard. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

“Condition? Bucky, I’m pregnant, not broken.” You cross your arms, watching as he tucks the box under his arm like it’s a rare artefact. The man is a walking, talking fortress of muscle, but right now, his overprotectiveness is reaching absurd levels.

“And nearly at your due date,” he points out, placing the box on the counter with a sigh of relief as if he’s saved you from imminent danger. “I’ve read all the books. I know how this goes.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the worst that could happen if I pick up a shoe box?”

Bucky turns to you with a dead-serious expression. 

“It’s not about the weight. It’s about…” he falters, eyes scanning your swollen belly, “…stability. Your centre of gravity is off right now. A box could trip you.”

“A box could trip me?” You arch a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes!” His tone is insistent, and you have to bite back a laugh. This is the same man who once told a pack of HYDRA agents they were outnumbered—just because it was him and Steve versus a dozen of them. But now, he’s reduced to eyeing an empty cardboard box like it’s a mortal enemy.

Sighing, you sit back on the couch, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Besides, there’s a certain charm in seeing the Winter Soldier so worked up over an inanimate object. You lean back, letting out a small groan as you shift your weight.

Bucky’s been hovering around you all day like a lost puppy, eyes following your every move. The moment you make the slightest sound, his head whips around, concern flickering in his eyes. So when you groan, immediately, he’s by your side, eyes wide, hands hovering over your belly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it time? Should I get the bag?”

“Calm down, Dad-mode. I’m just stretching.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve gotta stop panicking every time I make a sound.”

“Every time you make a sound, it could be something serious!” Bucky exclaims, sounding almost affronted. “Do you know what it’s like hearing you groan and not knowing if it’s ‘I want ice cream’ or ‘I’m about to go into labor’?”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you tease.

He huffs, muttering something about ‘pregnancy hormones,’ and kneels down in front of you. Strong hands lift your foot gently, and he starts massaging your arch. You sigh, instantly melting under his touch.

“Better?” His voice is softer now, concern etched in every syllable.

“Much better,” you mumble, letting out a little moan as he presses down on a particularly tight knot.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bucky freezes, eyes wide again. “What’s that? Pain?”

“Relax,” you say, though your voice is slightly breathless. “It’s the good kind of pain. Keep going.”

You lean your head back, closing your eyes as Bucky continues the foot massage. The man has hands that could crush stone, but right now, he’s so gentle you almost feel like you’re floating. It’s hard not to feel a little spoiled under his doting care.

But just when you’re getting lost in the bliss of his hands working away the tension, you catch his face out of the corner of your eye. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, and his expression is one of fierce concentration, like he’s facing down a particularly difficult opponent. You stifle a giggle—only Bucky could make a foot massage seem like a high-stakes mission.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” you say, reaching down to tug on his hand. “If you keep looking at my foot like that, you might set it on fire.”

Bucky blinks up at you, clearly having forgotten where he was. He chuckles, the sound low and almost shy. “Can’t help it. I just… I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Bucky, it’s a foot massage, not defusing a bomb.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart swells at his concern. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he lets out a small huff, pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then, without warning, he shifts beside you on the couch, a determined look settling on his face. “Now, hold still.”

Before you can ask what he’s up to, Bucky leans down, pressing his ear gently against your belly. You’re about to ask him if he’s comfortable, but the sheer look of wonder on his face stops you short. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, as if trying to capture every little movement your baby girl makes.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs softly, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. His fingers splay across your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. “It’s your dad. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re being good for your mama.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight. The fierce Winter Soldier, the man with a list of enemies longer than most people’s grocery lists, reduced to talking softly to your baby girl like she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“She’s probably plotting her escape already,” you joke quietly, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Nah,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s too busy practicing her karate kicks. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Right on cue, a small flutter against your belly answers him, and Bucky’s eyes light up like fireworks. He leans down again, pressing his lips gently against the spot where your baby kicked.

“Whoa, easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Save the punches for when you’re out here. We’ve got plenty of training sessions ahead of us.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words. “Bucky, she’s not even born yet, and you’re already planning training sessions?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” he says seriously, but the way he softens his voice when he turns back to your belly is anything but tough. “But don’t worry, we’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure you get to be a kid and have fun first. No one’s gonna mess with you. Not when I’m around.”

He pauses, his eyes misting over for a brief moment, and you know he’s thinking about everything he’s been through—everything he wants to shield your daughter from. Slowly, he rubs his thumb along your belly again, his touch featherlight.

“And you’re gonna love your mama,” Bucky continues softly. “She’s strong, and she’s funny, and—” He glances up at you, his smile turning mischievous. “She’s a little bit stubborn sometimes. But you’re gonna be just like her, I bet.”

“Great,” you mutter, faking a groan. “Two of you plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky promises, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already imagining all the ways he’ll spoil his little girl.

He shifts again, his head still resting on your belly, and you have to stifle another laugh as he starts a running commentary, complete with exaggerated gestures.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” he whispers conspiratorially to your baby. “When you get here, you’re gonna kick a lot. Cry a lot. But not too much. Your mama needs her sleep. Then, we’ll team up to get you extra dessert when she’s not looking.”

“Bucky!” You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You can’t be plotting behind my back already!”

He grins, looking up at you with mock innocence. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she wants ice cream. Right, sweetheart?”

A few more soft kicks seem to echo his words, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m doomed,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softening again. He presses one more kiss against your belly before shifting to sit up beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you gently against his side. “You’re gonna be the best mom. And I’m gonna be right here, making sure you both have everything you need.”

You lean into his warmth, smiling as his hand drifts back to your belly, tracing idle patterns.

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And I love you,” he replies, voice deep and steady. He leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Both of you.”

With Bucky holding you close and whispering to your daughter, you feel your heart swell with a contentment so strong it almost aches. It’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are to have this overprotective, sweet man by your side.

Even if he does go overboard sometimes.

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Dinner & Diatribes

❝i knew it from the first look of mischief in your eye.❞

Summary: You both swiped right and suddenly you're standing in a stranger's kitchen while he makes you spaghetti.

Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Author’s Note: this might be the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written, so fair warning. also, thank you tom, who inspired this by saying that dinner & diatribes would be aegon's hozier song. it's just true. anyways, this was really fun to write.

Warnings: language, recreational drug use, alcohol use, fluff, intense sexual situations (including: oral sex - female receiving, sexual intercourse - p in v), just two single people who are horny, more fluff, aegon being so cute that i couldn't stop smiling the whole time i was writing this.

It was precisely 9:39 PM on a Tuesday.

You were sitting cross-legged on your couch, nose deep in a fresh murder mystery that you had been working through for the last two days. There was a lit joint between your fingers that you were nursing, taking little hits so that it wouldn’t completely burn out, and on the cushion next to you, your phone softly vibrates and lights up; a familiar icon flashes across the screen and you can easily make out the words, “It’s a Match” from the corner of your eye. 

It’d been a regular occurrence since you had downloaded that accursed app. 

You’d been single for far too long, according to your best friend, though you hadn’t really noticed. The sweet silence of a solitary life was something that you had enjoyed for the most part. It wasn’t even like your online dating life had really taken off, either. You’d get matches but hardly anyone would reach out in any way that made you feel like they were serious. They wanted your Snapchat username, or they were in an ‘open’ relationship or asking for a threesome, and one guy even asked if you would send him pictures of your feet. Even some of the ones you thought were serious about taking you out- or even just hooking up- would end up ghosting you before anything actually happened. 

“It’s not supposed to be serious,” you could hear your friend’s words rattling around in your brain. You shake your head and focus once again on your book; they have a suspect, it’s the best friend! How fitting.

Once again, your phone lights up and vibrates. Not wanting to be distracted from the plot, you ignore your new match and get back to your mystery with anticipation; the best friend is about to confess. You go to take another hit of your joint and frown upon realizing it’s burnt out. As you move to grab your lighter, in comes another message, and another, and another. You stop what you’re doing and pick up your phone, swiping at the screen until you find the culprit. He’s known only as Aegon T, and according to the one sentence he has written on his profile, he has a dog. You swipe through his pictures- the dog is a golden retriever, the man looks like a golden retriever. 

In the message thread, he’s basically talking to himself. 

There’s four new messages waiting for you, while three little dots begin flashing at the bottom of the screen; disappearing and reappearing as you read what he’s already sent. 

“So, I’m high.”

“And I am making spaghetti… and it’s really good.”

“At least I hope it’s really good, it could just be the weed…”

“I could use a taste-tester, if you’re up for it? I can’t pay you or anything, but it’s honest work 😏”

Aegon begins typing again and you watch the screen, a smirk on your lips. You are 99% sure that the spaghetti is truly an innuendo for what he really wants and have half a heart to just block him, but you watch as those little gray dots continue in the bottom left corner of the screen; he’s going back and forth with himself and you can’t help but find it oddly cute. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you contemplate a witty response, but before you can even begin typing, he sends a fifth message. 

“That was weird as fuck, right?”

Then a sixth.

“You probably don’t want to come over to some random guy’s house on a Tuesday.”

He finishes up with a seventh message.

“Unless you do…”

He almost sends an apology. After all, what's another message? He’s already fucked this whole thing up; not even giving himself a chance before he nose-dived. If he was being honest, he should just go ahead and delete his whole account; save you from secondhand embarrassment and save himself from repeating the same mistake again in the future. He sets the phone down on the kitchen counter and goes back to ripping bong hits to calm his nerves. Though, he’s unable to keep himself from checking his phone for a response; a response that likely wasn’t going to come and he’d spend the rest of his night feeling like a complete idiot. 

Seven back-to-back messages should have screamed ‘red flag’, but you’re glancing at the clock as if you were seriously contemplating taking this stranger up on his offer. After all, you do have needs just as much as the next person. But, you’re wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts, your hair’s a mess, and you were covered in the crumbs of your munchie snacks. Meaning, you were nowhere close to being prepared for what was sure to happen between you and this random stoner offering you dinner. 

Yet, you respond to him, “I could never turn down spaghetti”. 

Aegon’s stirring the sauce when he gets your message. He’s instantly elated, thrusting a celebratory fist into the air. His fingers fly across the keyboard swiftly, sending another quick message, “Atta girl 🙃 My place is on the corner of 9th and 51st, above Jasper’s.”

“Be there soon,” you reply with haste. 

It was apartment #4 and you made sure to text your friend the address, and given name of your potential murderer, and also share your location for her to keep an eye out.  She says all you have to do is text her at any time if you need her to call and bail you out with a fake emergency. All she asks in return is for you to have fun and let her know if you are planning on spending the night- which was an idea that you weren’t opposed to, but it wasn’t something you were planning on. 

You’re nervous as you stand outside of the door to his apartment, fist hovering for a moment. Now’s the time to make a fast exit- you haven’t met him, you could turn around right now and never meet him. You could wake up alive in the morning, safe in your own bed. Or, you can knock on the door and have what might be a really nice spaghetti dinner with a really nice guy. Hell, he could even be the love of your life and in fifty years you’ll both look back on this day and laugh about how you met on Tinder and how you were stupid enough to go to his house and not a public place. 

Finally, you knock. 

Aegon puts the lid back on his spaghetti sauce and shuffles into the living room. Sunfyre is on the couch with his ears perked; his tail’s wagging and he’s panting eagerly, waiting patiently to meet this new visitor. Aegon whispers over to him, “wish me luck,” and thinks to himself, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish. He peers through the peephole when he approaches the door and there you are, a sigh of relief deflates his chest. 

“Oh, thank God,” you can hear him say as the door swings open. His accent is surprisingly British. “You’re real.”

The very first thing that you notice are his eyes. They’re piercing; somehow blue and lavender at the same time– the color of a warm, summer sunrise and they’re crinkling at the edges as he smiles. He’s wearing a pair of dark gray sweats and a pale green hoodie, and the only word that comes to mind when you look at him is warmth. He’s somehow more attractive in person than he is in the pictures on his profile, which you didn’t think was possible, but he’s standing right in front of you and you can’t help but think to yourself, he doesn’t look like a murderer. 

Then again, neither did Ted Bundy.  

Aegon stands there for a moment, just staring at you, unable to do anything else. His words escape him, he can barely even breathe. You look exactly the same as your pictures; even without the makeup and even in the shitty, fluorescent overhead lights of the hallway. Even in a sweatshirt and pajama shorts, you’re stunning. He’s having a hard time believing that you actually showed up and he doesn’t realize that he’s been staring for much too long until you shrug back at him. 

“Did you think I wasn’t?” You ask with creased brows and a lopsided smile.

The corners of his lips pull upwards as he looks at you, “I don’t know. You’re just so beautiful, I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t some sort of hologram… or a robot.” 

“Wow, you’re pretty smooth,” you say with a playful smirk, desperately trying to keep your composure— trying to play it cool, hoping that he hasn’t caught on to the fact that you’re secretly spiraling, because it took all of one smile and one compliment and you were done for. “But, I’ll have you know that flattery won’t work on me. I’m here for the spaghetti and the spaghetti alone.” 

“My apologies,” Aegon says with a chuckle as he holds his hands up defensively. “Right this way, then.” 

He steps to the side, allowing you to enter his apartment, and shuts the door behind you. It’s nice, clean, smells like fresh baked bread and tomato sauce. There’s niche artwork adorning the walls, he’s got candles burning, and there’s some lowkey, downtempo R&B playing softly in the background. He quickly moves past you and disappears into the kitchen, leaving you to follow him. 

However, before you can take all of two steps into his apartment, a flash of golden fur is suddenly at your hip, pawing for attention. You drop down to a knee and happily accept any and all kisses from the pup. “Oh! Hi, what’s your name?”

Aegon sticks his head around the corner and says, “That is Sunfyre. In case you were wonderin’, he’s a very good judge of character and I will be consultin’ with him later where you’re concerned, fair warning.” 

You roll your eyes and scratch behind Sunfyre’s ears, his tail thumps in approval. 

“Would you like something to drink?” He continues and disappears back into the kitchen. “I’ve got wine and bottled water. Oh, and milk?” There’s a rustling in the kitchen before Aegon adds with a nervous chuckle, “scratch that, there is no milk.” 

You politely excuse yourself from Sunfyre and step into the small dining room off of the kitchen. 

There’s a grin on your lips, which you pursed so that he doesn’t think you’re laughing at him. Sunfyre joins the two of you and circles around his owner’s legs as Aegon empties an almost full half-gallon of milk down the drain. His kitchen is small but looks to be well used, which you appreciate. You know almost nothing about this man, other than his name- if ‘Aegon’ was even his real name- and the name of his dog, and yet here you were, standing in the threshold of his kitchen with a strange sense of comfortability as if you had been lifelong pals. 

“Water is fine,” you tell him. 

He produces a bottle of water from his fridge and tosses it over to you with ease and goes back to the stove. You step further into the kitchen, taking in your surroundings. The kitchen, like the living room, is covered in artwork and vintage decor- things you’d only find in some obscure thrift store or estate sale. On the refrigerator are a collection of magnets from different cities and countries, real touristy type shit. Some of them even had names on them; Alexander, Aaron, Alistair, Alan, Adolf. 

Maybe these are the names of people he’s killed. 

“You travel a lot?” You ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

“I try to,” he says from over his shoulder as he continues to stir the sauce. You can hear him set the lid back on the pot. “Most of those are from my sister, Helaena. She thinks it’s hilarious to give me magnets with random ‘A’ names since you’ll never find the name Aegon on any of those,” he says from behind you. He’s leaning against the counter with a half glass of wine. You quirk an eyebrow at him, not fully convinced. “She has a few from me that say Helen.”

“Is that her?” You ask, finger pointing to a pretty blonde in one of the many photographs he had pinned up.

He nods and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close that you can feel his warmth, smell his aftershave. The proximity causes you to blush and he smirks in response, leaning over your shoulder as he points to the other people in the pictures. “Those two are my little brothers, Aemond and Daeron,” he claims and then points to two women. “That’s my half-sister, Rhae, and next to her is my mother.”

“The redhead?” You ask surprised, given she didn’t look like she could be old enough to have four grown children. He nods and takes a step back, leaning against the counter with half-lidded eyes and a tipsy blush. “She looks like she could be your sister,” you say softly, turning back to glance at all of the faces; he seemed proud of his family, like they were very close. 

You turn away from the fridge and lean against the counter at his side. It’s quiet for a moment, save for the music and the sound of boiling water where the noodles were cooking. You look at him and the corners of your lips can’t help but twist up into a shy smile, but you bite at the inside of your cheek out of nervous habit. He props himself up on his elbows, taking a sip of his wine, clearly comfortable with the silence. 

“So,” you look up at him and his little smirk grows. “About the job…”

“Ah, yes,” he nods. “As I stated earlier, I won’t be able to pay you a monetary wage, but the position does come with a benefits package.”

“And what exactly would this benefits package include?” There’s an innocent flirtatiousness in your voice that only adds to the tension. 

“Outside of the free gourmet meals that I would be providin’ to ya, which is obviously the most important part,” he smiles and steps to the side to grab a spoon from the drawer and holds it out to you. Your fingers softly close around his as you pluck the utensil from his grasp. He clears his throat to distract from the fact that he was visibly flustered from the slight touch. “There’s also unlimited cuddle sessions,” before he can finish, you shoot him a look. “With Sunfyre, of course! He’s the real boss ‘round here, after all.” 

“Cuddling with the boss?” You quirk an eyebrow and look down at the golden retriever, his eyes round and gleaming; clearly waiting for a hand-out. “Sounds like a conflict of interest to me.”

“Well, if it’s a conflict of interest you’re worried about,” he counters quickly with a soft yet playful tone. “I s��pose we could renegotiate the terms of the agreement and you could have me instead.” 

“I’m listening.”

“He might be better at cuddling for obvious reasons and he might be better lookin’,” Aegon continues. “But, I give better backrubs. I mean, I have thumbs and he don’t. You can’t give decent backrubs without thumbs, can you? Plus, he’s a sloppy kisser.” 

“Oh, you’re really trying to sweeten the deal now, huh? Backrubs and kisses? I must admit, that is quite a compelling offer,” you muse. “It seems my decision hinders on whether or not you can actually cook, wouldn’t want to accept the position blindly, now would I?”

“Are ya doubtin’ my skills?” He asked playfully. 

“No offense, but you possess the aura of someone who could fuck up a can of Spaghettios,” you tell him with a sincere smile. “So, forgive me if I don't get my hopes up.”

Aegon laughs and it’s a warm and infectious sound that fills the kitchen. It’s genuine, as is his perfect smile. You can’t seem to keep yourself from staring; eyes softly tracing every detail of his face– from his full, pink pout, to the scar above his right eyebrow, and the dimple of his chin– thinking to yourself that you’ve never seen a man more beautiful. His smile turns back into a smirk as he notices you staring at his lips and you look up to meet his eyes. There’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you feeling vulnerable. His gaze softens as you look away, turning your attention back to the spaghetti sauce on the stove in front of you to distract yourself from the blush creeping up your neck.

There’s only one way this night ends.

It was obvious before you even left your house and it was certainly obvious now. 

“Go on, then,” he prods, motioning to the pot on the stovetop.

His eyes are wide with anticipation as you dip into the simmering sauce, stirring it a few times before bringing the spoon to your lips. He’s nervous; it’s his mother’s recipe– one he’s spent years perfecting– but with his luck, you will most likely think it’s steaming garbage. Yet, he watches intently; holding his breath as your perfect lips curl to blow softly, cooling the sauce before you finally taste it. 

The moment the spoon touches your tongue, you're determined to remain impartial. After all, you’ve had your fair share of disappointing meals from men who’ve claimed to be great cooks. Aegon certainly could be the very latest and you wouldn’t be at all surprised. So, you keep your expectations low, and try your hardest to remain stoic, but as the flavors begin to unfold, you can feel your resolve wavering. 

It’s good. Better than most. 

Reluctantly, you have to admit that this is the second-best sauce you’ve ever had, right after your grandmother’s. You glance up at Aegon, who’s watching you with a mix of anxiety and hope, and you can’t help but smile. 

“I have to give it to you,” you say, your voice betraying a hint of admiration. “This is incredible. Almost as good as my grandmother’s.”

The relief and pride that spread across his face makes your heart flutter. 

“Yeah?” He asks with a toothy grin. 

“I’m still not completely convinced that you can actually cook, but you can– at the very least– make some top-notch spaghetti sauce,” you tell him as you place your spoon to the side. 

“Top-notch, eh?” He asks playfully as he begins plating your meal. “I’ll take it.” 

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you say to him with a laugh. “It’s just spaghetti sauce.” 

“Just spaghetti sauce? Don’t let my mum hear you say that,” he says with a smirk, setting a full plate in front of you on the counter. “I guess I’ll just have to work extra hard on the next one.”

“Assuming there will be a next one,” you reply, tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Though, you have set the bar pretty high tonight. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Well,” he murmurs as he steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he reaches around you to grab a plate. His lips are hovering above the shell of your ear, his voice low and teasing, causing your cheeks to immediately flush as the heat between the two of you intensifies. “I’m nothing if not a perfectionist.”

For a split second you expect for him to lean in for a kiss. Your heart is simultaneously skipping beats and racing at the same time; your breath catching in your throat as he leans in— But then he smirks, grabbing the plate and taking a step backwards. He’s doing it on purpose, you realize; his proximity expertly calculated to keep you on edge. You look up at him with wide, sparkling eyes and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. The soft blush of your cheeks has his blood pumping and sends a surge of adrenaline through him. He’s trying his absolute best to play it cool but the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him has him unraveling.

“Is that so?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “What other skills do you have up your sleeve?”

His grin widens as he looks down at you, setting his empty plate to the side. His gaze, once again, drops to your lips. “I have a few tricks,” he says softly, his voice filled with promise. “But I doubt you’d believe me if I told you, so how about I just show you?” 

“What?” You ask with a playful innocence. “Before dinner?”

“I’m not really in the mood for spaghetti anymore.” 

“Oh?” Your smirk is only growing. “What are you in the mood for?”

Aegon says nothing, but a confident grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he rests his hands on your hips. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in by the waist, until you’re pressed against him and his lips are on yours. The kiss is both gentle and urgent and a little bit awkward, as any first kiss should be. You felt like a teenager again, kissing a boy for the first time– butterflies in your stomach and all.

It takes no time at all for you to find your rhythm with him, and he deepens the kiss, pushing you up onto the kitchen counter to meet his height. Your arms naturally drape across his shoulders, your legs wrap around his middle. He’s completely taken over your mind, filling up every tiny space that he can fit into; the smell of his cologne, the scratch of his stubble against your skin, the feeling of his hands squeezing the flesh of your thighs– his fingertips teasing just underneath the hem of your shorts. 

Breathless, he pulls away from you as he pulls your sweatshirt over your head. He stops for a moment to take in the sight of you; clad only in your bra and shorts, lips red and blotchy, swollen and full. You’re looking up at him from under your lashes, softly biting your bottom lip as you wait for him to continue. He gently lifts his hand up to your cheek and traces the curve of your cupid’s bow with his thumb, providing one last show of tenderness before he leans in to capture your lips in another searing kiss. 

His touch is suddenly rushed; spreading a wildfire across your skin in the wake of his lips as he rips off the remainder of your clothes. It doesn’t take long at all before you’re sitting exposed on his kitchen counter in only a thong, blushing wildly and covering your face with your hands. 

“No– no hiding,” he clicks his tongue and pulls your hands away from your face. “I want to see you.”

He whispers a string of profanities and compliments as his starving eyes roam your figure. Self-doubt creeps into your mind and you momentarily consider making a quick exit, convinced he won’t like what he sees, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel desired in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. 

Aegon’s gaze is electrifying and intense, drawing you in and silencing your negative thoughts instantly. His hands pull you in by the waist, sliding you to the edge of the counter as his lips work their way down your chin and neck; leaving a trail of red marks down to your chest. He hums, smirking as he takes one of your breasts in his mouth. His hand kneads the other, rolling your hardened nipple between two fingers. Your head falls back, lips parted slightly as you breathe out his name. 

Each sound he elicits from you urges him on even further until he’s on one knee, looking up at you from his position with those pretty eyes. He runs a hand up the back of your calf, softly teasing you with his fingertips before tossing your leg over his shoulder. You knew where he was going, and yet, you were still surprised as he began placing open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs; shivering in anticipation as goosebumps formed on your skin. 

“You’re so wet,” he says proudly, praising you. 

His eyes are locked with yours as his fingers delicately smooth over your clothed clit. He hooks a finger around the dampened cotton and pulls your thong to the side, groaning at the sight of your perfect pussy. Without wasting another second, Aegon’s mouth is suddenly on you and your hands immediately find the back of his head; fingers curling into the roots of his silver hair. 

You roll your hips against his tongue, cursing out as your legs begin to shake. He moans, face still buried deep in you and the vibrations have you writhing. Both of his arms are wrapped around your thighs now, holding you tight to him, not letting up for even a second. Then he stands, lifting you up onto his shoulders. You squeal in shock, holding onto him tightly, but he doesn’t stop; he continues to devour you as he blindly carries you towards his bedroom. 

When his knees hit the side of his bed, he tosses you back onto the mattress. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he strips out of his clothes. . You can see the outline of his arousal; prominent and pressing firmly against the fabric of his sweats. You bite your lip at the sight and he smirks as he catches your stare. His movements are unhurried, giving you ample time to appreciate the sight before you. His hoodie and shirt come off first, then his sweats, and you can’t help but notice the way that his muscles flex with each motion. He’s not overly built, but there’s a solid strength in his frame that is evident in the way he moves.

Outside, headlights from passing cars cast streaks of light and shadows across the walls of his room. It’s quiet, the music in the other room has stopped playing and all you can hear is the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. You swallow thickly, encompassed by the tension of the moment as he crawls up the length of your body; placing tender kisses along your skin. His lips leave a trail of warmth, each touch igniting a spark that travels through your entire body.

When he reaches your face, he pauses, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches away. The anticipation builds, thick and electric in the air between you. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts slow and tender but quickly deepens; fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you closer, his body pressing yours deeper into the plush mattress. Your hands explore his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the tension and strength beneath his skin and coming to rest on his shoulders; gripping tightly as he continues to worship your body with his mouth. Each kiss, each touch, is deliberate, heightening your senses and pulling you further into the moment.

You curse at the feeling of his girth against your entrance. Your hand moves up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips as he presses slowly into you. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers into the crook of your neck as his arms become weak. 

He knows that he won’t last like this; it’s been a while and you feel way too good. He’s slow at first, wanting to steady himself and maintain control, but his rhythm picks up quickly; hips moving with an unrelenting rhythm, each thrust bringing you both closer to the edge. You can feel his muscles tense, his grip on you tightening as he buries his face in your neck. His moans are a mix of pleasure and desperation, and you can tell he’s fighting to hold back.

You tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, feeling the overwhelming need to reach that peak together. His pace quickens, the tension in his body building to a breaking point. You feel the same pressure inside of you mounting before it’s suddenly crashing over you like a wave. He follows seconds later, a low groan escaping his lips as he spills into you. The intensity of the moment leaves you both breathless and clinging to each other, bathing in the afterglow. 

“That was incredible,” he murmurs against your skin, head pressed to your chest as you stroke his hair softly. His eyes flutter shut as he listens to the sounds of your heartbeat. 

You hum in agreement, smiling to yourself as you savor the peacefulness of the moment. 

Suddenly, you’re joined by Sunfyre jumping up on the bed, his tail wagging enthusiastically. You smile at him and pat the empty space next to you, inviting him to join your cuddle session. He eagerly accepts the invitation, circling the bed a few times before snuggling up next to you. Aegon lifts his head and smiles, clearly pleased that you would be so open to having the dog in bed with you. He wraps his arm around both you and Sunfyre, pulling you closer. 

“This is perfect,” he says softly, his voice filled with contentment as he lays his head back on your chest. 

"So, about that job offer," you say playfully, your fingers tracing patterns along his skin. "I think I'll accept the position. When would you like for me to start?"

He lifts his head to look at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “How about tomorrow night at seven?”

Before you can respond, a distinct burning smell reaches your nose. Your brows furrow as you sniff the air. “Do you smell that?”

Aegon’s eyes widen in realization. “The spaghetti!” 

He jumps up from the bed, pulling on his clothes quickly, and scrambles into the kitchen. You follow behind him, tossing one of his t-shirts over your head and meet him in the kitchen. 

“I guess I forgot to turn off the burner,” Aegon looks disappointed but then chuckles, shaking his head. He looks at you with a glint in his eye and smirks. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Oh, that sucks!” You laugh, playfully nudging him. “Is it too late to back out of the job now?”

“Way too late for that,” he says as he pulls you into a soft kiss, silencing any doubts immediately. “You’re mine now.” 

“Mm,” you hum against his lips. “But I came here for the spaghetti.”

He chuckles and pulls back slightly. “Will you settle for pizza?”

“I’ll settle for anything, as long as it’s with you,” you say with a smile as you wrap your arms around his waist. “And as long as there’s extra cheese!”

[reidmania]

a moment | s. reid

summary: two times there was a ‘moment’ between you and spencer, and one time he did something about it.

warnings; best friends to lovers, fem reader, pinning, this based off a lorelai and luke edit i saw, idk if its edited or makes any sense tbh!! sorry! longing, kinda self doubt idk, happy ending yay!!

an; this is for lia. And was written in like an hour so i really dont want the hate guys. If it sucks i cannot be held responsible.

You walk into the bullpen, scanning the usual chaos of the bullpen The day’s already running long, and it’s barely even noon.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Spencer says, glancing up from his desk. His eyes are sharp behind his glasses, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips. He’s half-hidden behind a wall of case files, as always, but somehow manages to throw his snark with precision.

you and spencer had been best friends since you started together, you got along with anyone but gravitated towards Spencer more than anyone else. Him and Penelope were the easiest for you to be around, you loved everyone but you had your favourites.

While Penelope had been bugging you to either kick up the courage to do something about your friendship with Spencer, or move on, you did neither.

"Oh, save it,," you fire back, tossing your bag on your desk. "I’m fashionably late. It’s a thing."

"Yeah, fashionably late in a profession like this. Very chic. Theres other ways to get here you know — from your house-“

“Don’t even” you cut him off.

“Im just saying if you keep missing the same turn off every time maybe it’s a sign you should be going a different way.” He muttered.

“I didn’t miss the turn off.” You argued. You lied.

“You did.”

“No”

He said your name and you huffed.

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin as you sink into your chair. "Can we pretend, just for today, that you’re not right?"

"Well," Spencer says, leaning back in his chair, "I’m only right about ninety-seven percent of the time. So, technically, you’ve got a three percent chance of being right today. Want to take a gamble?"

You throw a crumpled paper at him. "Your math is annoying."

He catches it, eyes twinkling, and throws it back at you. "Annoying?"

“Yes, annoying. It hurts my head”

It’s easy between the two of you—this banter, this back-and-forth. It always has been, ever since the first case you worked together. Over time, it’s become second nature to tease him, push his buttons, and he always gives it right back. The tension slips away with every joke, but today, there’s something different about the way his eyes linger on you a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to catch on.

You ignore it. You have to.

"So, what do we have?" you ask, holding out your hand for the file in his lap.

He passes it to you, fingers brushing against yours. It’s brief, but the touch sends a spark up your arm. Your eyes meet for a second longer than necessary, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t know what to say.

Spencer clears his throat, looking back down at the file. "This unsub’s a real charmer. I think he's using manipulation tactics to lure his victims. He’s got a pattern, but it’s subtle. Took me a while to piece it together."

"Took you a while? So, like... five minutes?" You grin, but the edge in your voice is gone, replaced by something softer.

He laughs, a sound that always surprises you because it’s rare, but so genuine. "Try thirty. It was a real struggle."

"Wow. I almost feel bad for you."

His smile fades just a little, and when he looks at you again, there’s that shift. Something hovers between you, just under the surface, where the teasing usually stays. His eyes flicker over your face, and suddenly, you wonder if he’s about to say something else, something that would cross the line you’ve never acknowledged before.

Your heart skips, and before you can stop yourself, you lean forward a little. Your breath catches.

"So..." Spencer starts, but before the sentence can land, your phone buzzes on your desk. The sharp sound breaks the moment like a snapped thread. You jerk back, grabbing your phone.

"Hotch needs us in the conference room," you mutter, more to yourself than him, trying to get a grip on the swirling thoughts in your head. "We’ve got a lead."

Spencer blinks, clearly shaken out of whatever that was, and you stand up quickly, focusing hard on the case and not on the fact that you were about two seconds away from… what? Leaning in? Kissing him?

No. That’s not what this is. This is Spencer.

"Race you to the conference room?" he asks suddenly, the playful lilt back in his voice, but there’s still something lingering behind his eyes, a question neither of you seems ready to ask.

"Race? You’re literally taller than me, that’s cheating. I’m wearing heels!!"

"You can run in heels, can’t you?" He shoots you a smirk, the tension easing just enough for you to relax, even if your heart is still racing.

"Could. But i don't want to damage my gorgeous shoes," you huffed, yet already heading for the door.

"Gorgeous shoes?" He repeated, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah that was actually the name of the shoes when i bought them. They had 'gorgeous shoes' written in big letters across the box." You smiled, tilting your head.

"Really?"

"No."

You make it halfway to the conference room before he catches up, the two of you slipping back into your usual rhythm. But as you walk into the room side by side, the unspoken thing still hangs between you. You don’t talk about it, and maybe you never will, but it’s there.

“Are you still coming over tonight?” He asked, looking down at you, eyes lingering on yours. You nod.

“It’s pizza night. Of course I am.”

And once again, you’re reminded that with Spencer, things have never been as simple as just best friends.

You’re standing in Spencer’s tiny kitchen, flour everywhere. And when you say everywhere, you mean it—on the counters, in your hair, smeared on his cheek where you definitely didn’t mean to slap him with dough earlier.

“This is going really well,” you deadpan, holding up the limp, misshapen pizza dough.

“Um.” He squints as he looks at the mess.

“Well.. you’re the genius who can outsmart anyone but apparently can’t figure out yeast,” you argue, pinning the blame on him. “Is it supposed to look like this?” You muttered, tilting your head.

“I think it’s fighting back. Maybe we’re the victims now.”

You both dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. This was supposed to be simple. Homemade pizza sounded like a cute idea, something easy to do on a night off, but it’s turned into chaos. The dough’s not cooperating, the sauce might be too watery, and you’re pretty sure you added way too much garlic. But that’s what makes it fun.

"Okay," Spencer says, hands raised in surrender. "I officially give up. This dough has outsmarted me."

"You’re giving up? Dr Spencer Reid, defeated by pizza dough?" You snatch the rolling pin from him, trying to take over, but the second you press down, the dough tears. "Okay, maybe it’s smarter than both of us."

Spencer steps closer, leaning over your shoulder to inspect the mess you've made. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and for just a second, everything feels different. The banter pauses. His breath is soft on your neck, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches to touch the dough. Your heart stutters, and you freeze, unsure of what to do next.

But then, with no warning, Spencer flicks flour at you.

"Hey!" you squeal, spinning around to face him, eyes wide. He looks so pleased with himself, a mischievous grin on his face.

"What? You had flour in your hair. I was just trying to help.”

"Sure, you were." You reach for the bag of flour, holding it up threateningly. "I will not hesitate to make this a war, Spencer."

He grins widely, almost daringly.

You grab a handful of flour and toss it at him in retaliation. "You are such a child."

“I’m just helping!” he protests, dodging your attack and grabbing the rolling pin like a shield. His laughter is contagious, and soon you’re both caught up in it, the tension slipping away into something lighter, easier.

You try to swipe more flour at him, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you mid-throw. His fingers wrap around your wrist gently, but the touch sends an unexpected shiver up your arm. You both freeze, the room suddenly too quiet again, his hand lingering on yours for just a second longer than necessary.

His gaze flickers down to where his fingers rest against your skin, and then back up to meet your eyes. There’s a pause, just long enough for the air between you to thicken, something unspoken hanging between you. His thumb brushes your wrist lightly, and you wonder if he feels it too—the tension that’s been simmering all night, just beneath the surface.

You swallow hard, pulling your hand away, but not before you catch the briefest flicker of something in his expression. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and just like that, the moment slips away.

His eyes narrow playfully, and for a second, you think he might call your bluff. But instead, he just chuckles and steps back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let’s not escalate this. We’re adults, after all."

"Adults who can’t make pizza," you mutter, dumping the ruined dough into the trash. "Guess we’ll have to order in. Again."

Spencer wipes his hands on a towel, still smiling. "I’ll let you pick the place this time. As long as it’s not that one with the weird crust you made us try last month."

"Oh come on, that was a bold choice! You just have no sense of adventure."

"I have a very good sense of adventure," he says, leaning casually against the counter, his eyes sparkling in that way that makes you feel like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. "I just like my pizza to taste like pizza."

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning, too. "Fine. We’ll get the boring pizza this time."

As you both settle into the living room, waiting for the pizza to arrive, you can't help but feel that lingering tension again. The kind that sneaks up on you when things get quiet, when the laughter dies down, and it’s just the two of you sitting side by side, closer than necessary.

You smile, nudging him with your elbow. "Who knew you were such a terrible cook, though?"

"I think we share equal blame here."

"Maybe," you admit, glancing at him. His eyes catch yours, and for just a moment, the playful air between you shifts. It’s small, like the brush of his hand earlier, like the way he’s looking at you now. Your heart skips again, and you wonder—just for a second—if maybe, possibly, you weren’t imagining it. You ignore it, there was too much that could go wrong if you didn’t.

It’s late in the afternoon when you hear the knock at your door. The sun's still out, casting a soft golden light through your living room windows, but it’s the last thing on your mind.

You’re dressed in something more put together than usual because, of course, Penelope had insisted on setting you up on this date tonight. It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but she’d been so enthusiastic that you’d caved. You’d said yes to humor her, to get her off your back.

She had insisted that you needed something to get your mind off Spencer. You wondered if that was actually possible.

So when the knock comes, your stomach churns, thinking it might be the guy arriving too early. But when you open the door, it's not your date.

It’s Spencer.

He’s standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair slightly disheveled, and there’s a look on his face you can’t quite place. It’s tight, maybe a little frustrated, though he's trying hard to keep his expression neutral.

“Spence?” You lean against the doorframe, arching an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes scanning you briefly before he looks down, then back up again. There’s tension in his posture, the kind you recognize when he’s overthinking something. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.”

You don’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh.”

His face tightens even more, though he tries to hide it with a half-hearted shrug. “Did Penelope set you up with some guy?”

“Yeah?” You squinted trying to figure out how he knew that. You hadn’t mentioned it, you didn’t want to talk about what had caused your sudden date or have to lie to him about why Penelope suddenly set you up when you have shown no intention of being interested in dating.

“Penelope told me. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, running his hand through his hair as if he was stressed. You didn’t understand, not really. You told Spencer everything so you could understand why he would be annoyed that you didn’t tell him this, but it seemed as if he took it personally.

You squint at him, crossing your arms. “What is your issue? You look like you want to strangle someone.”

He lets out a huff, avoiding your eyes again. “It’s nothing.”

You tilt your head, studying him. There’s something under the surface, and you’re not about to let it go. “Well you’re here so, obviously its not nothing … What’s going on?”

He finally looks up at you, his eyes sharp and filled with something you haven’t seen before. It catches you off guard for a moment. “It’s just—there was a moment.”

You blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “A moment?”

His voice drops, a little rougher now, a little more real. “Last week. When we were making pizza, and the week before that— and during- there was a moment.”

Your heart skips. You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you stay silent, letting him continue.

“I thought there was a moment,” he says, his frustration starting to leak through his words now. “I thought maybe something was… happening.”

Your chest tightens, the air in the room shifting as you meet his eyes. “There was.”

The confession comes out of your mouth before you even realize it, and the tension between you two spikes instantly, filling the space with an electric charge. You can feel it, the way everything has changed with those two words.

Spencer just stares at you, his brow furrowing slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to admit it. He takes a step forward, you step back almost unconsciously, and your heart beats faster in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice low, unsure.

He doesn’t stop moving, closing the gap between you even more, and his voice is soft but firm when he speaks. “Will you just stand still for a minute?”

Before you can say anything, before you can even process what’s happening, his hand comes up to cup the side of your face, and his lips are on yours.

The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but it’s full of all the unspoken things that have been building between you for so long. You feel the world tilt, your hands instinctively moving to grip the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. For a second, everything else fades away—your date, the case, everything.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you just stare at each other. His thumb brushes lightly across your cheek, and his eyes search yours, full of something that feels too big to name.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment, the silence thick and heavy with everything that’s just shifted between you.

Then, as if in slow motion, you take a small step forward. It’s your turn now, the tables flipped, and you can see the surprise flicker in his eyes as he instinctively steps back.

“What are you doing?” he asks, echoing your earlier words, his voice low and a little breathless

You give him a small smile, feeling the tension twist tighter in your chest. “Will you just stand still for a minute?” You mirrored his words

His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t move, and before he can say another word, you close the space between you and kiss him again.

This time, it’s different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. The kiss is deeper, more insistent, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. It’s like everything you’ve both been holding back is finally breaking free, all the tension and the unspoken feelings rushing to the surface.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily, faces inches from each other. Your hands are still gripping the front of his jacket, his fingers still digging into your sides like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t move, neither of you do. You just stay there, staring at each other, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not thinking about the job, or the cases, or anything else. It’s just him.

He’s the first to break the silence, his voice quiet and almost disbelieving, He exhales, a long, relieved breath, his hand still resting on your waist. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.”

You shake your head, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. “No. You weren’t imagining it.”

Another beat of silence passes, and then his lips quirk up into that small, crooked smile you’ve always liked so much. “Well, I guess we have Penelope to thank for this.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back. “Yeah, and she doesn’t even know it.”

His thumb brushes your side, a subtle touch, but enough to send a shiver up your spine. “Are you… still going on that date?”

The question hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you almost laugh. The idea of leaving now, of going out with some guy Penelope set you up with, feels absurd.

“No,” you say, your voice steady and certain. “I’m not.”

His smile widens, just a little. “Good.”

You grin up at him, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “Yeah? Why’s that good?”

Spencer’s gaze softens, and for the first time, you see the real reason for his frustration, for all of this. He steps even closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your lips, his voice low and sincere.

“Because, there was a moment.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you meet his eyes, that familiar warmth spreading through you again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips ghosting yours, and the last bit of tension that’s been sitting between you melts away completely. He smiles, and before either of you can say anything else, he closes the gap and kisses you again.

[logaenhowlett]

MY BEATIN’ HEART BELONGS TO YOU - L.H.

Summary: Logan believed he was sentenced to a life of solitude until he found you - an unexpected dawn promising the sunrise of a love he always deemed impossible. But then again, destiny never was merciful to fools like him.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, All aboard the Fluff Train with scheduled stops at Angst Station, Established relationship, Hurt/Comfort, How I Met Your Mother reference (iykyk), Reader can manipulate electricity

A/N: 5.9k - strap in, gang. Would you believe me if I said all this was inspired by a debate I had with a friend about the implications of 'I want you' vs 'I need you'. The mind works in silly, little ways sometimes. Title creds to Green Day. Enjoy, you lovely people!

MASTERLIST

Gone were the days when nightmares would rouse him from the sanctuary of sleep. Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd awoken in a cold sweat, sheets shredded from fighting invisible monsters, alarm clock glaring an angry red amongst the darkness. No, all that disappeared once you'd made a home within his arms.

It had been about three months, verging on four if anyone was keeping count - and he, most definitely, was - since you'd swept him away in a tide of fondness and pure affection. The shadow of a man who once roamed the mansion now nurtured a newfound lightness in his heart. Logan wasn't perfect, far from it, chosen paths that only led to a labyrinth of despair, but he was right about one thing: you.

And that verdict especially rings true every morning. The tangle of limbs, the soft ebb and flow of sleepy murmurs, the stray kisses grazing warm skin, he wonders how he'd survived so long deprived of such tender pleasures. He's never going back, that much he knows.

His lips trace a lazy line along your neck, lingering a second longer beneath your jaw. There's a chuckle aching to break through at the thought of your sleep-induced irritation - it’s too early, you'd whine each time. And each time, his half-hearted apologies would be long-forgotten as you meet his gaze, a tempest of desire swirling within hazel.

It's amidst the following moments of peace when he's most thankful for the thick walls surrounding the room. The aftermath of your intimate exchanges always leaves him mesmerised, heart racing at the reminder of your touch. His mutation didn't allow for the full effects of alcohol to poison his inhibitions, yet as your smile gleams at him, Logan's sure he's never been more drunk.

"Where're you goin'?"

He's shaken from his musings as you roll away from his embrace, huffing in disbelief when you don't seem to stop. But, the string of complaints dies on his tongue as he watches you slip on the shirt he'd discarded the night before, turning around amused, "What? You wanna stay here all day?"

"Got nowhere to be."

"Correction - you have nowhere to be. I, on the other hand, need to grade those assignments or Jean'll actually explode my brain this time."

Logan hmphs. He'd been looking forward to lounging around this weekend, positively thrilled at the idea of letting the hours simply trickle away in the quiet comfort of your company. However, he's also one too familiar with Jean's intolerance for slacking off and lessons were definitely learned.

"Let her try," he counters meekly.

As you circle the bed to part ways with a chaste kiss, Logan seizes the opportunity to pull you down, pinning you beneath him in one effortless move. His lips capture yours with a deliberate, sensual slowness - the urgency from earlier now completely absent. The feeble protests vanish from your mind as he breaks away, a twinkle of mischief playing on his smile.

His fingers trace the curve of your wrist, hovering over the faint crescent moon inked in black. It was the mark of your soulmate. Of him, he hopes. You'd shown him quite early into the relationship, spending many a night whispering theories and speculations about its meaning. At first, he expressed only timid fascination, a question here and there spurred by gentle curiosity while you rambled on and on. But as his heart began to tether itself to yours, the mark took on a new significance. Every time his gaze fell upon it, his thoughts would spiral from longing and self-doubt, wondering if he was the one destined to share a lifetime with you.

Over the decades he'd been alive, Logan had searched every crevice of his body for his own. In his youth, it was a fleeting thought, brushed aside by the assumption that his healing factor wouldn't allow for these scars. Yet as time passed, he was terrified of waking up to a branded promise - a cruel trick that condemned his soulmate to a life with him. After he met you, those fears were soon eclipsed by a yearning, a desperate hope for a sign of his worthiness. Every day, he lingered by the mirror, gaze sweeping across his reflection, praying for an identical crescent moon to mark his skin.

"Logan." Your laugh draws his attention, "I'm never leaving the bed at this rate."

"Darlin', that's the general idea."

He relents anyway, falling onto his back with a soft grunt as you stand up. The dopey grin you're biting has him narrowing his eyes in suspicion, wondering what goddamn joke popped into your mind. Before he can question it, you straighten your posture and salute, "General Idea."

A look of confusion contorts his features, though he doesn't get anything besides a mumbled response as you leave the room, "Never mind, it's from a show."

A mountain of papers sits perched on your desk illuminated by the warm glow of the lamp, the scratching of your pen punctuating the silence of the classroom as you continue grading your students' assignments. It had been a couple of hours since you left Logan amongst the nest of blankets. And that image only seemed more enticing with each word you read.

"Missed ya."

Speak of the devil.

Except this devil was an angel - you could almost see a halo shimmering around his figure, backlit by the sunlight flooding the hallway. Every time you think you've captured the essence of his allure, he defies your expectations, often with just a simple gesture. And despite the countless compliments and declarations of adoration, Logan still seemed surprised by flattery, his lips always seeking yours to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"I just saw you like - "

"In the shower," he interrupts, smirk widening as he approaches. He leans against the chair, nose brushing against your exposed shoulder.

Something in your brain short-circuits at his words and the casual display of affection. You stammer a little, "You… didn't tell me."

"Oh, that would've worked hm?" Logan spins the chair around, chuckling as he catches your flustered expression, "'M sorry, sweetheart... guess I gotta make it up to ya."

You never thought Logan was a romantic. Yet, time and time again you discover the depths of his boundless capacity for love and companionship. It wasn't just the whispered promises and passionate revelations, but the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the tender touches that speak volumes. Neither of you had uttered those three words yet, though they hang heavy in the air, unspoken but deeply felt.

His hand winds up beneath your shirt, bunching the fabric near your waist as he pulls you closer. Heat, courtesy of the shower, wafts off his skin, a tantalizing sensation that makes your breath hitch. His tongue toys with your lower lip, teasing just enough that you find yourself chasing after him, desperate for more. The laugh he produces, though smug, is also contagious, a sound that never fails to swallow your heart.

Again and again, he'd professed his desire to unravel you by his sheer touch, how your craving for him sets his insides ablaze. And judging by the way your eyes darken, mouth parting almost reflexively, he's got you dancing to his tune like a puppet on a string - and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But he backs off all of a sudden.

A crescendo of footsteps echoes down the hallway and the moment is shattered. Three of your students barge in, out of breath and frazzled as they clutch their assignments. A frown creases Logan's brow, annoyance he's certainly putting no effort to hide has them second-guessing their intrusion until you beckon them in with a warm smile. With a hasty apology, they fumble with their papers, eyes darting between the two of you before rushing out, the door swinging shut.

"We gotta find a place," he grumbles, dipping forward into your neck.

"We already live together."

A sharp click of his tongue, a playful nip to your shoulder, seals his disapproval, "Not enough. Lil' brats interrupt every damn time."

He wasn't wrong in the slightest. The kids did seem to have an uncanny ability to sense the most inopportune times to interfere. Sometimes you joked that it was one of their mutant powers and Logan, with an amused roll of his eyes, would just scoff and agree. You can't help but chuckle, "'Least it wasn't Scott... I think we traumatised him last week."

It was indeed last week when the two of you retreated to the Danger Room. Of course, with the sole and noble intention of honing your defensive tactics. However, the moment you strategically knocked him off his feet, the situation had taken a decidedly different turn. Pinned beneath you, Logan held a look of astonishment that soon morphed into something much more eager. He'd uttered all of two words before your lips slammed against his and whatever hopes you had for training immediately became the least of your worries. That was until somebody walked in.

He huffs a laugh, the memory filling him with satisfaction, "Should've used his fuckin' brain with those sounds you were makin'."

"Oh god, poor Scott," you mumble, embarrassed by the thought.

"Quit sayin' his name." The growl that curls his words leaves goosebumps in its wake. Logan grips your chin, tilting your head back slightly, a slow grin unfurling as his gaze bores into yours.

"I said it twice!" you protest, but it's all in vain. His thumb drags across your lip, silencing your words.

"That's two more than I care for."

It's dark outside by the time he's done with you.

Sugar melts on his tongue, the velvety texture of chocolate dancing across his palate. Logan takes a rather indulgent sip, the steaming liquid warming his throat. Nestled on opposite sides of the window seat, the two of you share a quiet moment accompanied by nothing but pale moonlight. A comforting weight settles on your feet, his hand kneading the stress away with care. Outside, a delicate snowfall paints the mansion's grounds, grass slowly fading away, droplets racing down the windowpane.

Dinner had wound down hours ago. The kids gathered around the living room after, wide-eyed with wonder as the first snow of the season began. Charles eventually ushered them off to bed, Logan had planned to follow suit until your gentle tug derailed his desire to sleep altogether. And as always, there's no world where he'd deny you anything.

He sees you stifle a giggle every now and then, your eyes twinkling with amusement each time he lifts his mug. It was nothing fancy - mostly white, adorned with a line of stockings and, cheekily, the words "Well hung".

It was a present from you a few Christmases ago. He remembers you watching him warily unwrap the box, laughing out of giddiness as he blushed when the implication dawned on him. It's just a silly gift, you'd reassured, not pressuring him to even keep it. Yet, since then, it remained a permanent fixture on his bedside table. During restless nights, he'd reach for the familiar mug, seeking solace in the kitchen to drink away the looming shadows of insomnia.

It wasn't until your first night together that you saw it again after all those years, carefully placed and by far, the cleanest thing on his table. Logan ducked his head sheepishly before confessing just how much he treasured the sentiment. In a lifetime of solitude, someone had spared a second to think about him, even for a simple gag gift. And that thought warmed his heart a little on especially hard days.

"You're a child," he chides as you smile, rolling his eyes.

You scoff under your breath, "Oh, just cause you're a hundred years old."

"Hundred and sixty," he corrects, grabbing your foot mid-air before you can nudge his thigh. There's a brief pause as he places the mug aside, a wicked grin splitting his lips. Laughter fills the air as you squirm and wriggle away, quickly understanding the look behind his eyes. But Logan moves faster. His hands trail their way to your sides, drawing squeals of protest as he tickles you.

Seconds later, he backs off, satisfied by your reaction. Shifting his weight, he settles on top of you with a gentle press. As he lays against your chest, humming softly in contentment, the soothing caress of your fingers through his hair lulls him into a state of relaxation. The world simply fades away, replaced by the warmth of your embrace and the quiet flush of domestic bliss. A profound swell of gratitude spreads within his heart. It's during intimate moments like these that he feels especially lucky. A far cry from the man brought into this mansion years ago, times you also reflect on amidst late-night conversations.

The memories remain as vivid as yesterday.

It was late in the afternoon, the setting sun casting long silhouettes across the classroom. You stood by the blackboard, explaining the laws of electromagnetism while scribbling equations in chalk. For months, you'd taken over Charles' role as the physics professor, and what began as a favour soon grew into a passion. However, some days were particularly slow. A palpable sense of boredom washed over your students as their eyes drifted towards the clock in anticipation. Just as you were about to begrudgingly dismiss them, the door flew open - a dishevelled figure clad in gray burst in, wildly panting in fear and confusion.

This must be Logan, you concluded, recalling the latest mission debrief from Scott and Storm. They'd rescued two mutants in Canada, one of whom was particularly banged up and recovering in the med bay. Well, until now. Since their arrival, Charles had emphasised the erratic nature of Logan's mind, even unconscious, a part of him stayed unyielding against the telepath's powers. But as you locked eyes with him, you saw none of that. Instead, he seemed lost and terrified, glancing around the room from one corner to the next as if someone was speaking. Before you could offer a word of reassurance, he was gone, disappearing into the hallway like a fleeting shadow.

Over the following months, he slowly began to emerge from his shell. At first, it was just plain nods of acknowledgement as you passed each other in the mansion. Then, a word here and there, clipped phrases of advice and caution during particularly dangerous missions. Gradually, his presence became more pronounced. Sometimes, after intense training sessions, he'd slip into the back of your classroom, intently listening to your lectures on concepts you presumed were entirely foreign to him.

Except they weren't. It was only later that you discovered his secret: the countless hours spent poring over textbooks he'd discreetly stolen from Charles' bookshelf. The realisation filled your heart with a warm sense of affection. His unspoken interest, the hidden depths, it was all so endearing. Thereafter, Logan consumed your thoughts. And it was during one of those sleepless nights that you found the courage to join him in the kitchen, wordlessly focusing on your own books at either end of the table. Since then, a shared understanding passed between you, a bond forged from mutual appreciation and a hint of something more.

The first time he cracked a smile left you breathless. Jean was furious at Scott, her anger clear as day as she stormed away. And Scott, ever so helpless, turned to anyone for guidance, retracing every misstep, every misplaced word. Logan, watching the scene unfold, sneered to himself, enjoying the man cluelessly suffering. You exchanged a knowing look, a silent agreement on the absurdity of the situation. As you excused yourself, a fit of giggles threatening to overtake you, Logan followed close behind, unable to suppress his own laughter.

From that moment on, things changed. You found yourselves seeking each other, conversations flowed effortlessly, at times even seasoned with playful banter. And as Logan became a steady figure in your life, a strange ache settled in your heart. You were falling for him. Yet, his emotions remained a mystery, a puzzle you were desperate to solve.

One year became another, and another and another. And as your feelings for him increased, hesitation crept in rather unwillingly. You pushed everything away, burying them six feet under, afraid of rejection or something worse. But Logan, with his uncanny perceptiveness, sensed the shift in your behaviour. And one day, in a moment of raw honesty, he confronted you. A heated argument ensued, emotions spilling over, words cutting deep. Then, just as suddenly, the tension dissipated. His lips were on yours, conveying every bit of the love he carried in ways words could never bring justice to.

That was a couple of months ago. Everything was perfect and you'd never felt more complete until you noticed the brief flashes of insecurity whenever he saw the mark on your wrist. You knew he didn't have one. In the beginning, it became a sensitive topic, you started wearing a watch or longer sleeves to stop reminding him. But eventually, his unease was too much to ignore.

And so, you bit the bullet.

The conversation was fraught with discomfort, but as you spoke, his expression softened, a slight weight lifting off his shoulders. He shamefully expressed his worries, the fear of not being enough - not being the one for you. It was a small step, but one that brought you closer than ever before.

Logan couldn't have been more grateful.

"Perhaps the two of you should, what do the kids call it, get a room?"

Charles' voice suddenly cuts across the silence. All eyes, including Logan's and yours, snap up from the blueprints scattered on the table. Scott blinks in confusion, meanwhile Jean, holding back a knowing smirk, can barely contain herself.

"I've had my fair share of lewd daydreams in my youth, but that was quite disturbing," he continues, tone laced with disapproval.

Colour drains from your face. Had your thoughts really been that obvious? Sure, you couldn't stop admiring how the tight leather suit molded to Logan's physique - incredibly distracting, to say the least. But you didn't realise you were projecting your attraction so loudly, especially in a room with two telepaths.

"Sorry, Professor." It seems useless to apologise at this point, but he responds with a curt nod directed at Logan. Turning your attention to the blueprints, you feel a familiar weight against your back. Logan, the sly bastard, leans over your shoulder with feigned nonchalance. And it takes every ounce of your willpower to focus on the serious discussion instead.

A recon mission.

Some old abandoned Hydra facility used for mutant experimentation in the 90s, the remnants of failed trials left to rot and forgotten. Charles had caught wind of it through Cerebro, suspecting that there may be valuable information hidden within its walls, secrets that should very well stay away from the wrong hands.

"What's in there?" Scott asks, tensing a little.

Charles pauses, a scowl twisting his expression, "That is a private matter."

"Private Matter," you mumble without thinking, instinctively reaching for a salute before Logan catches your wrist, halting the motion. He shoots a look, a silent reprimand that very clearly implies "Not now". Fortunately, no one else witnesses your mistimed quip, too engaged in drafting a safe plan for extraction.

The mission seems fairly straightforward, a simple infiltration like many you've done before. Nevertheless, Charles concludes with a stern warning to heed caution, "Now, good luck to all of you." As you filter out the room, he casts a pointed glare, "And Logan, please refrain from defiling my desk at any point in the future."

Shock etches across your face, mouth slightly agape. Once you're out of earshot, you shove Logan’s arm in embarrassment, "It wasn't me then." You breathe in relief only to be reminded of the thoughts he seemed to be entertaining earlier. What surprises you is the fact that you're more intrigued than deterred by the idea.

"My bad, sweetheart. Couldn't help myself," he laughs, dipping in close to whisper, "Suit's makin' it real hard to think straight." And with that, he's off, jogging ahead to Scott and Jean already waiting in the hangar.

Once you're airborne, the atmosphere shifts. Jean pilots the jet, her hands steady on the controls, eyes scanning the horizon. The Hydra facility looms in the distance, a dark and ominous presence in the middle of nowhere. As you approach your destination, a sense of apprehension lingers among the four of you. Scott recounts the plan, outlining the most efficient entry and exit points, his voice low and deliberate, "Logan and I will start from top-down and you two from the opposite."

As you leave the jet, a hand slips into your own, stilling you in place. Logan tugs you into his arms, there's a faint smile playing on his lips, his eyes, however, convey something along the lines of "Be careful, please". You squeeze his hand reassuringly, pressing a quick kiss before breaking away. With a reluctant sigh, he catches up with Scott, splitting off from you and Jean.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of decay and neglect. Everything is left exactly as it was, except there are signs of a violent struggle - machines overturned, wires strewn across the floor, glass shards crunching under your boots. It's a scene of chaos and destruction. In the center lies an operating table, its restraints snapped in half, broken syringes and discarded medical equipment scattered around.

Electricity crackles beneath your fingertips. Though your powers aren't advanced, Charles has been a patient mentor, overseeing your progress since the day he found you. However, as you keep surveying the area, you notice an odd sensation, a subtle resistance to your abilities. A similar unease grips Jean too, her gaze meeting yours, a shared look of concern exchanged as you continue your search.

A distorted voice breaks through the comms, "Upper level's clear. No sign of anything." It's Scott, barely recognisable over the static.

"Copy. Still sweeping the lower level," you respond, but it's garbled by the interference.

"Stay on alert," Jean warns, straining her telekinetic energy against the strange force permeating the facility. "Defence systems could still be active."

You venture deeper into the hallway, greeted by an eerie silence broken only by the echo of your own footsteps. A series of cells line the corridor, thick metal barricades, scarred and rusted, stand as a testament to the suffering endured by those held captive years before. Peering through the tiny barred windows, you see sterile, empty rooms, not a single bed or mattress to be found - the cold, hard concrete floor offering no comfort.

"Fuckin' hell," you murmur, chills running down your spine. Jean hums quietly in agreement, looking around in horror. The electricity you can usually detect in the background dwindles to a weak buzz. You descend a narrow staircase, the air growing heavier by the second. At the end of the hallway is another metal hatch, this time with a faded Hydra symbol etched onto its surface. With a concentrated effort, Jean manipulates the lock, the door groaning open with a distinct beep.

It's beyond dimly lit - a dark, cavernous space. You focus your powers, fighting against the invisible pressure dampening your strength, current coursing through your veins. With a snap of your wrist, the room erupts in light, fluorescent bulbs flickering awake. A row of computers surrounded by a bundle of wires and archaic machinery stretch towards the ceiling.

"Must be the control room," Jean reaches out to flip a switch, but as her fingers brush the old metal, energy jolts through your body - a warning that something is amiss.

"No - wait!" you shout, but it's too late. The metal door slams shut with a deafening clang. An agonising vibration rattles through the room, a shockwave that reverberates through your body. The two of you sink to the floor, clutching your ears as a rush of debilitating pain burns every nerve ending in your body. And you're left paralysed for what feels like an eternity.

Logan clicks his tongue as static continues pouring through the comms, he catches the tail-end of your broken reply - something something lower level - a pit of dread forming in his stomach, "Place feels off."

"You're right, I can't get a read on anything," Scott mutters, the red hue of his glasses flashing in the darkness.

Logan's eyes dart around the space, landing on a series of grotesque instruments undoubtedly used for torture. A wave of nausea washes over him, flashbacks of his own past spring forward at the sight, reminders of the days when he too was a mere subject in someone else's twisted experiments. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. An imperceptible vibration ripples beneath his feet, "The fuck was that?"

Scott immediately tries the comms again, "Jean? Wha - ", but it goes completely dead.

Logan's already barrelling through the corridors, his instincts taking over without a conscious thought. He calls for you again and again, reckless abandon fueling his every move. Screw the mission, all he wants is for you to be safe. His heart leaps into his throat as static hisses through the comms, Jean's voice muffled through the noise, "We've got... a major problem."

One second passes.

Two.

Three.

"C'mon, darlin'." The silence drags on, panic begins to seize his mind, sweat beading on his forehead. He needs to find you, now. The faint vibrations gradually become intense as he races down the staircase, "Major problem? C'mon, say your stupid joke, sweetheart. Please. Anything." His pleas, wracked with desperation, fall on deaf ears. Fear gnaws at him. He’s itching to hear your voice, even for that little running gag he doesn’t fully understand. Just any goddamn sign that you're still alive.

His senses direct him towards the metal hatch. Lunging forward, his fist connects with the barrier, claws extending at any attempt to tear through the door. Yet it holds firm, its surface barely dented or scratched by his force. Frantic, Logan rams his claws into the small security panel on the side, trying to short-circuit the lock. But the moment it's breached, a chain reaction is triggered, explosives hidden within the walls detonate with a tremendous roar. A torrent of debris and radiation thrusts him backwards, knocking him hard against the concrete.

The world around him seemingly implodes into a bedlam of sound and light, white flashes obscuring his vision. Pain, a searing, all-consuming pain diffuses through every inch of his body. His consciousness wanes, slipping away from his grasp. In the fading moments of awareness, he hears a distant crackle of electricity.

Then, nothing.

The memory of the chaos, the blinding light, the aftermath of the explosion, replay over and over. And then, there was Logan, his body limp and unresponsive, a sight that haunts your every waking moment. You remember the desperate scramble to escape the facility, the weight of his unconscious form in all your arms, the tense journey back to the mansion, Charles and Jean ushering you out of the med bay - their focus solely on stabilising him.

The night stretches on, a relentless march of time that seems to punctuate your helplessness as you pace back and forth. The lack of response from anyone doesn't quell the whirlwind of anxieties in the slightest. Every minute sound, every faint whisper, sends your heart racing. But when they finally emerge hours later, faces etched with exhaustion and relief, you can finally breathe.

For days, you sit by Logan's bedside, hands intertwined with his. The monotonous rhythm signalling his vitals is the only thing grounding you to reality. Though he remains unconscious, Jean had offered words of comfort, pointing to subtle improvements in his healing with her scans. Eventually, warmth returns to his body. His breathing, once laboured, is now full and steady. Leaning forward, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead and hope ignites within you again, just enough to draw a small, weary smile.

But then, you see it.

Glaring at you, painfully so, is a little mark on the back of his shoulder. Except, it isn't the same crescent moon that adorns your wrist. No.

Your heart sinks, breath catching in your throat, paralysis sets in once again. A single, shattering revelation echoes in your mind: Logan is not your soulmate.

He stirs awake, eyelids fluttering open. Everything slowly returns to his senses as the haze of confusion begins to clear. The first thing he notices is the familiar scent of you lingering on his skin, in the air, on the chair pulled by his side. As his vision unblurs, the blue walls of the med bay coming into view, a flood of concern smacks him in the face. Where are you? What happened? He tries to sit up, his body protesting with every movement.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The mechanical hum of a wheelchair grows louder as it approaches. Charles, brimming with sympathy, rolls closer.

Logan groans, his muscles throbbing like never before, "What the hell happened? Is she - "

"She's alright, as are Scott and Jean," he interjects, though a shadow of pity clouds his expression. The unspoken weight behind his words triggers alarms in Logan's head, but before he can question him, a sharp burn shoots up his back. He winces, reaching for the source of the stinging. Beneath his fingertips, a strange, rough texture grates against his skin. He angles back to inspect it, blood running cold.

"It surfaced a week ago," Charles says grimly, "We suspect the radiation from the explosion temporarily impacted your healing, hence, the mark."

Logan can't think straight, a maelstrom of emotions engulfs every single fiber of his being - disbelief, agony and rage. How could this be real? He'd spent night after night, praying for some sort of sign, a reason for his existence. And when he found that in you, it felt like everything finally aligned. But now, destiny had struck him down with a ruthless blow, a cosmic twist of fate far worse than death.

Seven days.

That's how long it's been since you last saw him. The weight of the world bore down on you, every breath a struggle. Hours bled into one another as you stayed locked in your room, sobbing uncontrollably, your heart fracturing with each passing moment. Jean's persistent knocking eventually broke through your despair, her calm voice soothing your frayed mental state.

It took all of her gentle persuasion for you to finally eat something, to force you out of the anguish that consumed you. The news that Logan was awake and begging to see you almost crumbled the impenetrable walls you'd built up. But the thought of facing him, of confronting the fragile pieces of your harsh reality, filled you with dread.

And so, you avoided him. Retreating into yourself, a ghost of your own life, you clung to the illusion of distance. Maybe it'll somehow ease the pain, the heartbreak. You couldn't even bear to look at your own wrist, the mark - a cruel reminder of a love that was and a future that can never be. Every second of every day, mocking whispers floated around your mind, "You don't deserve him. You never did."

The moment Logan fully recovers, he immediately rushes through the mansion. Anticipation swells in his chest, there's nothing he wants more than your touch, your laughter - just you. He reaches your room, sensing the warmth from within. Hand hovering in the air, he takes a deep breath before knocking.

"Sweetheart?"

There's no response. He drops his head against the door, breathing ragged. Tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over, the oxygen in his lungs thinning as he tries to speak, "Please. I know you're in there. Talk to me." The silence, the emptiness, it all becomes too much. He's losing you, and he can't do anything to stop it. "I know you're upset. But, please, just let me in."

Your voice comes muffled, charged with grief and sorrow, "That mark means there's someone out there for you - your real soulmate. Someone who isn't me." The words are piercing, he longs to pull you into his arms, to comfort you, to reassure you. "I am not meant for you, Logan," you choke out.

"Fuck that," he spits back. He can't accept this, that you're conceding to some inexplicable truth, "'M not givin' you up cause of some shit on my body. I choose you. And I will choose you. Every single time." It's all strangled, raw with emotion, cheeks stained with a wetness. He's wound up, a caged animal clawing at the bars. He'll fight for you, even if all the cards are against him, "Darlin', I don't care if there's someone else - they're not you. You're perfect to me. For me. The universe can go fuck itself cause I love you."

Logan goes still. He's never expressed that to you, not in this way, not with such soul-baring honesty. But, nothing has ever been more true, "I love you."

Heavy hangs the air. Then, a soft padding of footsteps, the door clicks open. Before he can react, your hands cup his face, drawing him down to your level, lips meeting in a passionate caress. Logan cradles the back of your head, deepening the kiss. The space between you, both physically and emotionally, fades away. This is all that matters, for now and forever.

His arms tighten as you pull back and tuck into the crook of his neck. The weight of your exhaustion is obvious with the shuddering sigh you let out, his heart aching for you. As you whisper apologies, he trails kisses down your face. "No, no, don't be sorry, darlin'," he says, all soft and gentle. Neither of you move, surrendering to each other, the moment suspended in time. Slowly, your trembling subsides and he smiles, the lines of misery now dimming. With delicate fingers, he brushes your tears away.

"I have a major headache," you murmur, eyes falling shut.

He huffs a laugh, saluting you with a playful grin, "Major Headache." The look of astonishment across your face brings him so much joy. "I asked Kitty, told me to watch the damn show." And Logan did watch the show - all for you - to understand the little references you kept making here and there.

"You know how to use the Internet?" you ask, incredulously.

"Don't push it, sweetheart." There's no malice behind his tone whatsoever. With a smirk, he leans forward, scooping you up in his arms and carries you to the bed. It's a familiar motion, a routine he's done hundreds of times before. But now, it's different, one that’s even more precious.

"Logan?"

"Hm?"

"I love you too."

He knows. He knows because it's written all over you. Every word, every breath, every touch - a testament to your love for him. A love so quiet and profound, a love that has weathered storms, a love that will last until the end of time. And he's eternally grateful for it. For you.

[luvyeni]

1095 DAYS ,, 방찬

pairings ‎⸝���⸝ exinmate!bangchan x fem!reader wc. 1.3k

genre. smut

🦢◞  including ... oral ( m. receiving ), unprotected sex, breeding kink, daddy kink

request. HERE I AM AGAIN! Ahem so I want a chan smut "he comes out of prison after 2 years for killing your psycho ex and you wait for him at home dressed in his fav way ;)" yeahhhh sounds horrible and freaky but I trust you ;)))

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 enjoy it probably one of my favs in a while !

❪ masterlist! ❫

1095 days; 16 hours, 30 minutes and 23 agonizing seconds since you could wake up to his arms warmly wrapped around you in the morning, hear his laugh when he tells you a corny joke that you laugh at just to make him smile— it was finally coming to an end.

3 years before you met chan; you were in a very physically and verbally abusive relationship with your ex; he destroyed you and everything around you— if it wasn't for chan you probably wouldn't have escaped; he saved you, and after he saved you he protected you, didn't let anyone harm you.

when your ex began to stalk you again; finding your shared apartment with chan, breaking into your home thinking you were alone; fortunately for you; you were weren't, but you couldn't say the same thing about your ex. he left out in a body bag, but the love of your life; the only man to protect you was also leaving out that night— in handcuffs.

the court process was long and stressful; and in the end he was sentenced to 5 years in prison for the murder of your ex— 5 years which you told him you'd serve right by his side; well on the outside.

it was the hardest time of both your lives; seeing him locked up in a cage when you went to visit him; sometimes covered in bruises due to fights he would get into with other inmates. only being able to speak to him for short periods of time, most of the time it was him listening to you cry about how you missed him and you needed him, which only made him upset; but he would never change what he did , if he could go back and do it again, he would.

luckily it was all over; he was released, 3 years later; 2 years before his release due to good behavior— he couldn't wait to be and to touch you, it was the first thing he thought about as he walked through those gates. “look at you.” lee know a good friend of his waited with his car. “you’re fucking jacked, did all you do was work out?” he pulled the boy into a hug. “ah! so good to be out.” he said. “and that's all i could do man, that and think about my girl.”

“speaking of your girl; don't worry we made sure she was straight the entire time, she's waiting for you at home.” he smiled getting into the car. “take me to my girl.”

staring at yourself in the mirror; you looked sexy, and it was chans favorite. “perfect.” you smiled to yourself, heart pounding, you'd finally have him in your arms again— you'd finally have him inside you again. “baby?” you heard his voice , the door closing being him. “oh my god!” you shrieked, running out of the room. “channie!” you jumped into his arms. “babygirl.” he lifted you up. “fuck i missed you so much princess.”

“i missed you too.” you said , he groaned. “seeing you and not being able to touch you was fucking torture.” he said. “it's been torture.” you whined, kissing his neck. “i needed you.” he moaned as you bit his neck. “it's not the same using my fingers.” he could feel his cock hardening in his sweats. “then how about i give my pretty princess what she's been needing for the past three years?” he hummed against your skin. “let's take this too the bed room baby.”

he carried you to the room, sitting you down on the bed, taking in your outfit. “oh baby i surely did miss this.” he sighed. “good cause you're getting this for the next few months.” you looked at him with glazed over eyes as you sunk to your knees, hold the waistband of his sweats. “yeah?” he said. “gonna suck my cock?” you nodded; pulling his pants down, along with his underwear , his cock almost slapping you in the face. “missed this so much.”

you grabbed the base of his cock; kissing his tip. “fuck baby , give me what i've been missing.” you sunk down on his length; his head knocking back as you began to bob your head up and down. “that's it baby, suck my cock.” he hadn't felt this in so long; unable to ever have privacy in a prison cell; he was force to be celibate the three years he was locked up. “fu-fuck baby , not gonna last long; take it fully choke on daddy's dick.” he grunted , your removed your hand from stroking what you couldn't fit inside your mouth, holding his thighs as you took him fully , gagging around his length. “yes fuck!” his thick accent and deep moans , shooting straight to your cunt , making you moan around his length. “fuck baby gonna blow my load , gonna take it right fuck , take it right down your throat?”

he began to thrust himself; using your throat. “fuck baby im gonna cum, gonna fucking cum?” he released over and over. “fuck im cumming!” he shouted , cumming into your waiting mouth , pulling out cumming onto your cheek. “good girl , taking daddy's cock like that.” he moaned, slapping his cock on your cheek. “time for daddy to fuck that pretty pussy of his.”

he helped you up. “as much as i love this pretty outfit, it's time to take this off so i can get a good look of your pretty body.” you slowly took off your lingerie, he watched you , stroking his cock. “you like daddy?” he smirked. “so fucking much princess , your pretty photos is what kept me sane for those three years.” he groaned. “go ahead and get on the bed for me.”

he cursed as you climbed on to the bed , spreading your legs revealing your wet center. “so wet baby, you really missed my cock didn't you?” he got in between your legs. “so-so much.” you moaned. “missed it so much.” you said , running your freshly manicured fingernails , pink with his initials , down his abs. “please fuck me.”

he wasn't gonna deny you or himself , pushing himself inside you. “oh yes.” he moaned. “this is what i've been missing.” he slowly rocked his cock inside of you. “ch-chris.” you moaned. “so-so fucking big.” the familiarity of his cock stretching you out , giving your cunt exactly what it wanted after so many years. “go faster please.”

he pushed your legs against your chest. “want daddy to go faster, fuck you deeper?” you nodded, he folded your body in half , pounding into you. “fuck!” you screamed. “this what you want?” he plowed into you. “for me to ruin this pussy?” he hissed. “yes please!” you cried out. “fu-fuck princess , daddy missed you so much.” he cursed. “missed feeling you squeezing me like this.” he groaned , the last three years were hell , now that he was out , he wasn't going back , he would never leave you for that long. “shit im gonna cum.” he moaned. “me-me too.” you moaned. “please cum inside me.”

“yeah? want me to cum inside you, give you a baby?” he cursed, he was ready to settle down with you, he had it all figured out , get a job at changbins auto shop; marry you and start a family. “please chan , give me a baby.” he kissed your neck. “channie im gonna cum.” you moaned. “gonna cum all over your cock.”

“fuck baby do it, cream daddy's cock.” he watched your mouth drop open as you came. “oh fuck that's it baby cum for daddy.” he groaned. “gonna cum.” his thrust began to falter. “fuck im cumming!” his cock twitching as he came deep inside you. “shit.”

he pulled out; watching his cum leak out. “mhm , not done baby , daddy's still hard.” he began to thrust inside you. “chan.” you shook in overstimulation. “ch-chan please fuck me.” he smiled. “don't worry baby.”

“daddys got so much more cum for you pretty girl.”

©LUVYEN

[innerfare]

I Love You - Part 1

Summary: Who says I love you first? How do you say it?

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: He showed it first, asking you to join his crew, making sure you had a safe and healthy place to be yourself, fighting anyone who stands between you and your dreams, saving his funniest jokes until you're around to hear and giggle at them, even going so far as to share a little (really, only a little) bit of his meal with you, but you were the only who actually said it first. He gets severely injured after a nasty fight, and you stay by his side while he sleeps it off like he normally does, though it takes him longer than usual to wake up. When he does finally wake up looking for you and something to eat, you fling yourself on him and tell him how much you love him. You didn’t intend on confessing, but you were so worried about him and the words fell from your lips as soon as you knew he was okay. Your brows are still furrowed, and when Luffy asks why, you voice your insecurity that he doesn't feel the same way. Luffy just laughs at that and ruffles your hair. “Of course I do.” With that, he crawls out of bed in search of food. He quickly falls into the habit of telling you in the morning when you wake up, and it fills you with so much joy, it’s like he’s giving you a happy vitamin to start your day. And saying those words bring him so much joy that saying them is like he's taking a happy vitamin, too.

Zoro: To your surprise, it was Zoro who said it first. Though Zoro seems the type to bottle up his emotions, he’s actually not, he just doesn’t seem emotional because he’s really good at dealing with his shit. And he knows all too well how temporary arrangements can be, how quickly life can be snuffed out, how easily the people he loves and cares about can be taken away from him. So one late night when he’s alone in the shower, washing his hair (using Nami's expensive shampoo and conditioner because she left it in the shower and Zoro just uses whatever's within his reach) and thinking about you, he realizes how he feels, and he doesn’t even consider not telling you. He climbs into bed afterward in just his boxer briefs, his hair still damp and smelling extra good, shakes you awake, kisses you a few times, and mutters that he loves you in your ear before passing out, not even waiting for you to say it back. He doesn’t say it often after that because he doesn’t thinks actions matter more than words, but he always says it when one of you is injured or after an argument. 

Sanji: Sanji technically confesses first, but you’re the one who actually says those three words. He’s holding your hand in both of his, clutching it close to his racing heart, as he looks down at you, telling you all the ways you make his life better, all the things he’s looking forward to doing with you, all the energy he’s going to put into keeping you happy, healthy, and safe. And the words just sort of fall from your lips. He stops mid sentence, eyes wide and mouth open. The seconds drag on in silence before he’s pulling your lips to his. Both of you are very generous with these three words, saying them often and in public. If you ever hang up the transponder snail without telling him you love him, he’s calling you right back to make sure everything is alright. (Also, not really relevant, might do a separate post about this, but Sanji is definitely a heart-shaped jewelry sort of guy. He just is. Certified lover boy.) 

Ace: Your first, more implicit confession came one night before you two were ever in a relationship. You noticed he was a little off and saw him slip away from the crew as they were drinking the night away. You found him sulking by the water and sensed he was hurting, especially when you asked to say and he told you he’d rather be alone. Before you leave, you tell him, “I just wanted you to know that I’m happy you’re alive.” You had no idea that it would strike a nerve, just got the feeling he needed to hear it, and this was confirmed by him grabbing you by the wrist as you walk away and pulling you into his arms. You continue finding implicit ways to tell him you love him such as, “I think the world is a better place with you in it,” and, “I’m so glad you were born,” and Ace is never really sure how to respond, but he soaks your words up like they’re sunlight and he’s a plant. This culminates in him blurting those three words out one day when you’re sitting in a tree together, Ace avoiding your eyes for fear you’ll reject him. When you lean in and kiss his cheek, instead, he almost cries (and he does when he’s alone later on, your love the purest thing he’s ever known). 

Sabo: Sabo is always taking risks. He lives a dangerous lifestyle as the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army, and on top of being one of the most wanted criminals in the world, he is an incredibly reckless individual who thrives when his life his threatened. He does not, however, thrive when your life is threatened. So accustomed to being the one others are fretting over, so used to Koala telling him off for taking this risk or making that dumb decision, he is completely blindsided by the anxiety he experiences when he finds out you’ve been captured. Naturally he launches a rescue attempt, and when it succeeds, he wraps you in his arms and tells you how much he loves you. He always makes sure to say it after that, telling you in the morning when you wake up and at night when you go to bed together, the memory of not having you there to hear it all too fresh. 

Law: Law is pretty bad with words, and, for lack of a better term, he sort of lacks a bedside manner. Needless to say, this carries over into other aspects of his life, including his love life (or lack thereof; Law has little to no experience in this arena). One afternoon, though, the two of you are fighting because you want to accompany Law somewhere and he insists it’s too dangerous despite all of your qualifications and skills as a fighter. You keep pressing and pressing, demanding to know why he won’t let you go when you are perfectly capable, until finally he blurts it out. “I love you! Alright? And I won’t lose you.” You aren’t even in any sort of relationship at that point, the two of you just sort of stewing in unresolved tension. His irate confession is the tipping point, and you become an item after that. When you hear it from him after that, it’s always in private, usually in the late hours of the night when he slips into bed and buries his face in your neck. Other times, it’s when you two pass each other in the hallway aboard the Polar Tang and he catches your hand in his, placing a warm kiss on your knuckles, muttering the words, and moving along quickly for fear someone might see despite the entire crew knowing about your relationship. 

Kid: You say it first. You say it a couple of times, actually, before you ever hear it back. You’re sitting in his workshop watching him build something, and you just sort of blurt the words out. You swear Kid hesitates before picking up the next piece of metal, but he gives no real acknowledgment you uttered those three words. Knowing exactly the sort of man he is and not expecting to receive anything in return, just wanting him to know how you feel in the moment, you aren’t actually offended, but you are wondering if he didn’t hear you. So, the next day in his workshop, you say it again, once more receiving no response. The third time you say it to him, catching him while he’s painting his nails, you receive a grunt in response (Kid is a man of grunts, not a man of words). Only in the heat of battle do you hear it back. He catches you around the waist and picks you up, and you fight thinking it’s an enemy, only for him to say, “I love you,” in your ear before deflecting a canon ball headed straight for the two of you and then setting you on your feet like nothing happened. From that point forward, he’ll say it, but only at inopportune times.  

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[slttygeto]

SHAMELESS | TOJI & SHIU

STICKY (part 2)

જ⁀➴ synopsis: Toji isn't that big on sharing, but he can give Shiu a pass just for the sake of your pleasure.

જ⁀➴ content warning: fem!reader, pwp (i mean, the plot is barely there), established relationship w toji, he and shiu fucked you the previous night, cunnilingus, fingering fucking, multiple orgasms, dirty talk.

જ⁀➴ word count: 1,9k

ʚ⁺˖↪ comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

You never had a problem with Toji spending the night over at your place. In fact, you thought it was pretty cute when he woke up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before asking you what was for breakfast. Except this time, it wasn’t just Toji in your kitchen. You glance to the side as you finish serving the scrambled eggs on three plates and there’s a blush on your face when you see a freshly showered Shiu drying his hair, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey, I’m still here,” you let out a squeal when you feel Toji’s rough hands grab at your hips, sitting you down on his lap before wrapping a possessive arm around your waist.

“Toji—be careful, the pan is hot!” You try to get off his lap but his hold only tightens around your body. You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s glaring at Shiu, the man who decided to join you and Toji on a little night of fun.

“Easy on her, Fushiguro. That’s where my hands were last night, I’m pretty sure there’s bruises there.” Shiu knows exactly how to rile up Toji, and he only scoffs in response before lifting up your shirt to check for himself.

“What are you—“

“You weren’t so shy last night when you squirted on him,” Toji’s eyes are sharp, but the way he was holding your shirt made you relax against his touch. “Let me see.” And you do, you let him lift up your shirt to see the love bites and very subtle hand prints on your hips, waist and thighs. You feel a little exposed as Shiu takes a seat facing you both, thanking you for the meal as though your boyfriend wasn’t just stripping you naked in front of him.

“You asshole,” your boyfriend grumbled. “I told you to be careful with her.”

“But she seemed to like it,” Shiu raises his head to stare at you, and you feel your heart get stuck in your throat. “Didn’t you, sweetheart?” You nod in response, and try to slip away from Toji’s hold and manage to succeed since the man seemed to be focused on the food in front of him.

You place the pan in the sink, and turn around to take a seat next to Toji. You’re about to eat, you pour orange juice for yourself, and there’s a rather comfortable silence in the kitchen. That is until your boyfriend decides to break it.

“Any thoughts about last night?” His question didn’t really catch you off guard, you were expecting one of them to bring it up but you were hoping for it to be Toji, just in case. You don’t look up from your food as you nod at him, grabbing the glass of orange juice.

“What did you like exactly?” Oh? He wanted details? You feel yourself flush at the question. You’ve never gone into detail about what you liked during sex unless it was to learn with Toji about each other’s bodies. But now that you had another man—one that made you see stars last night, sitting right across from you with a proud smirk painting his features, you find yourself shifting on your seat.

“I liked…uh, when you both ate me out.” You manage to choke out the sentence, cheeks flaring up when you realize exactly what you just said. Toji senses your shyness and grabs you from your seat to place you on his lap again.

“Why is that? Is there something else you liked?” His rough fingers are gripping your thighs, and you can tell he’s trying to force them open but you let him anyway and he smirks. So you knew where this was going.

“You both ate me out… differently,” it was true. While Toji was the type to abuse your clit with licks and overstimulate you until you saw stars, Shiu teased at the bud until you had tears streaming down your face. He would suck then pull away, then suck again and repeat the motion—and when you did reach your orgasm, you had to hold onto the bed sheets and gasp for air. Seeing Shiu make you cum this hard made Toji grab you immediately to fuck your brains out, forcing the man who previously made you cum to fist his cock while you cried and clawed at Toji’s back.

“And?” Toji’s hand slips inside your panties and your breath hitches. Your hand holds onto his forearm and your head rests on his shoulder as you sigh.

“Baby-“

“And?” He presses, feeling his finger trace over your clit ever so slightly and you moan before nodding.

“And—fuck, when you both fucked me at the same time-“ You don’t finish your sentence as Toji starts rubbing your clit in soft, slow circles. You’re still sensitive from the previous night, and you’re embarrassed to admit that you might cum so quickly.

“Oh yeah?” It’s Shiu’s turn to talk, and you stare up at him with those pretty eyes that widen his grin. “Told you she liked it, Fushiguro. She likes to be stuffed,” the tone he was using with you makes you whimper, and you try to bury your face in Toji’s chest.

“My baby, my dirty girl- one big man isn’t enough for you? You need two to feel satisfied?” Toji says against your hair, his finger rubbing your clit faster. You’re whining against him when he starts rubbing your clit using the palm of his hand, and you grind your hips at the same rhythm.

“Answer him, sweetheart.” You’re brought out of your haze at Shiu’s voice, and mid gasping for air and gripping Toji’s arm, you manage to utter out a few words.

“Yeah-fuck, yeah I do. Two big—you two are big,” your flushes when you hear both Toji and Shiu chuckle at your words, so fucked out that you were openly admitting that you enjoyed being split open on their cocks.

“Is that so?” Toji kisses your ear, watching as you squirmed from the contact. He let you grind yourself desperately against the palm of his hand before eyeing Shiu.

You could feel yourself get closer, you were gasping and moaning and it was all so good. Your boyfriend helps you by kissing your neck, whispering a few praise words, telling you how fucking pretty you looked fucking yourself on his hand. But Toji was cruel, and you should’ve kept that in mind.

He wasn’t going to give you what you wanted unless he felt like it, and so when he pulls his hand away from your pussy and robs you from your orgasm, you let out a pathetic sob. Your hips buck up and stutter, and you’re wailing in protest.

“Toji! Toji- was so close, why-“ Your boyfriend roughly grabs your jaw, ignoring the tears glossing your eyes. He kisses your forehead and grins before making you look forward and your breath gets caught in your throat.

Shiu was on his knees, with both of his hands resting on your thighs. You look back at Toji, then at the man kneeling in front of you and whimper when you feel his finger trace the outline of your pussy through your panties.

“She’s desperate.”

“She’s sensitive,” Toji warns the other man who only chuckles in response. He taps your butt and tells you to lift up yourself a little, taking off your underwear before putting it in his pants and your boyfriend glares at him.

“You better give that back.”

“I’m about to eat your girlfriend out, and you care about that?” One of Toji’s arms wraps around your waist while his free hand grips your thigh. It’s a silent and subtle reminder that you were his, he was yours and Shiu pleasuring you didn’t change that. You are once again trapped between two big men, same as last night. And Shiu chuckles when he sees your swollen clit twitch a little.

“Poor thing, Toji is so mean, hm?” You sniffle and nod, and he chuckles lightly at how desperate you are to cum.

“Don’t worry pretty thing, won’t tease you like he did.” And sure enough, he was parting your pussy lips and diving in with his tongue first. He kisses at your sensitive clit, licking and brushing his lips against the bud while you squirm in Toji’s hold.

“Don’t push it.” Toji sent yet another warning glare his way, but it quickly dissolved into a soft look when you cry out his name even though there’s another man eating you out.

“What is it baby, hm?” His big hand lets go of your thigh to grab your face. He tilts it so that you can stare at him, and he coos at the fucked out look on your face. You were gone, and your boyfriend found it so endearing and so hot. He would never admit it, but sharing you with Shiu was better than doing so with any other man.

There are slurping noises coming from between your legs and your lips part, eyebrows pinching. You try to look down at Shiu despite Toji’s strong grip on your face, wanting to look at the man who was about to give you an earth shattering orgasm. Shiu sees your attempt and smacks your boyfriend’s thigh. Instead of protesting and telling him to fuck off, they lock eyes and unbeknownst to you come up with a plan.

“You’re so spoiled,” before you could even ask what Toji meant by this, his hand releases your face and grabs the back of your thigh. He tells you to be good and hold it there while he slips his hand underneath. You feel his fingers trace your folds, and your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel him push two thick fingers inside you.

“There it is,” Toji laughs. “Fuck, you’re so dirty, this is exactly what you wanted, yeah?” You can’t respond—they have officially fucked you stupid. The combination of Shiu’s mouth on your clit and Toji’s fingers curling up inside you makes you cum embarrassingly fast.

You tremble in your boyfriend’s hold, jaw going slack when neither men want to stop or pull away. Your hands try to push away Shiu’s head and Toji’s head, but to no avail.

“I can’t—Toji!” You cry out when you feel him nip at your neck, the squelching sound of his fingers going in and pushes you again towards another orgasm.

“Yes you can, come on baby girl—come on,” he whispers in your ear, peppering a few kisses there and it seems to be the one thing that pushes you over the edge. You cum around his fingers and hard. You are gasping for air, holding onto his forearm while your hips continue to shake stutter. Shiu has to pepper a few kisses on your inner thighs and stomach, whispering against your skin.

“Calm down, there you go,” you feel spoiled, like a princess. Your forehead is sweaty and your hair is sticking to it. You hiss when Shiu presses another loving kiss to your clit and squirm on Toji’s lap.

“Easy on her.” Toji warns the man again before taking the fingers that were inside you and licking them clean. You blush at the gesture and look away from him, as if he didn’t just finger fuck you within an inch of your life.

“Let me have her.” Shiu tells your boyfriend who raises a questioning eyebrow.

“What?”

“The shower. It’s my turn to fuck her there.” You feel the butterflies in your stomach, and Shiu chuckles when he sees the eager look on your face.

“See? Even she is excited.”

“Okay, but you only have twenty minutes.” Shiu chuckles at this, sending you a knowing look.

“We both know that’s more than enough for both of us, right sweetheart?”

Fuck. You were truly in heaven.

ʚ⁺˖↪ GIRL DINNNERRRR GIRL DINNEEEERRRR also im so annoyed i couldnt find a proper panel of them both together. so ignore the annoying header.

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[crescenthistory]

You Too, Silly

Pairing: Bartylus x Reader (Starkiller x Reader)

Summary: When your two best friends fall in love and make it official, you try to be happy for them despite your heartbreak. When they keep flirting with you, though, things grow complicated.

Words: 8.8k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, poly relationship obvi, miscommunication trope, pining & yearning, hurt/comfort, (some) angst with a (very) happy ending, your pov and you think your love is unrequited, it is not!, all three of you are stupid but you're in love so it's fine, kissing while crying, some slight suggestiveness but overall safe for minors, light drinking at a slytherin party

Note: this is my hard launch of romanian!barty mwah – if you don't like it sorry not sorry, this is my barty now!

Being in love with your two best friends hurts.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other hurts perhaps even more.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other, yet for some reason seem hellbent on jokingly flirting with you at any given moment could be considered a form of torture.

And for the past few weeks, Barty Crouch Junior and Regulus Black have been putting you through nothing short of torture.

As any relationship either boy has sustained throughout their lives, your friendship with them was complicated. When you and your dorm mate Dorcas first began integrating yourselves in the friend group that consisted of Barty, Regulus and the elusive Rosier twins, you had both said you might come to regret it. You remember clearly sitting up one night and talking about it – you both thought it would end in flames, yet somehow you couldn’t help but poke the bear. You would prefer to fly under the radar, avoid any more pain than you had already had to grapple with, but you also craved a sense of belonging and figured it was worth the risk.

And oh, were you rewarded. 

No friend had treasured you the way Barty does. The second he decided he “liked your vibe” as he put it when he cut you off mid-sentence during your first proper hang-out, you had a loyal guard dog who would kill for you and then demand cuddles as payment. Almost overnight, wherever you went, Barty wouldn’t be far behind, no questions asked. He was fierce in his love, uninhibited and wild. It made you feel important in a way that sizzled over your skin.

In Regulus, you found a quiet understanding no one else had been able to give you before. He was both a mirror held up to your face and a cushioned bench to share during your turmoils. It seemed like he could read your every thought, every experience, like the books you would bond over. Silences shared with Regulus often gave you more than long conversations with others ever could. While he didn’t declare your friendship in the same way Barty did, he still had this simple way of making you feel seen and known.

They quickly cemented themselves at the root of your heart. They were your best friends, and you theirs. Your boys; with their respective green and white strands in their curly hair, who were misunderstood in each their way yet were never a mystery to you.

Perhaps naively, you had always thought there was a certain tension there, that something ran deeper below the surface. Barty was physically affectionate with all his friends, but the way he reached out for you felt differently charged. The only other person he held as long as he did you, was Regulus. It felt right. Likewise, you had yet to be in a room with Regulus without feeling his eyes on you, and you often absentmindedly compared the feeling to when Barty hugs you – they were equivalents, those gazes were the former boy’s version of affection. When you played spin the bottle during an after-party in the boys’ dorm one night, Barty’s grin had widened brilliantly when it landed on you and Regulus. You had sworn you had seen a hunger in his eyes when he watched you share the brief kiss, and you could still hear the soft sigh Regulus breathed against your lips. Again, it all felt so right. 

It went unspoken, but you thought that was because it did not need to – not because it was not there.

You knew, of course, that you had been stupidly delusional when Barty hauled Regulus with him into the Great Hall a month ago, hands intertwined, and announced with his signature Cheshire cat smile that he “finally got the boy”. You saw them making out – rather publicly – at the quidditch victory party the night before, but at the time it had only made you smile. It was odd, how you hadn’t realised that kiss was proof that all this tension really was just the two of them. Not before the words left Barty’s mouth did it hit you that this was a part of them you were not involved in. That felt decidedly wrong, but you shoved it down and joined in on the wolf whistling and congratulations, pushing your plate away in the chaos, unable to take another bite.

Since then, you have just tried to be happy for them. Or at least seem it.

Tried to smile through it all as Barty made sure their honeymoon phase was as public as humanly possible, much to Regulus’ ongoing chagrin. Tried to laugh at the quips your friends made, the “get a room you two”s and the “lovebirds”s, though you were never able to dish them out yourself, instead just humming along in agreement whenever Dorcas or Evan did. Tried to stiffen your mask to the point where it could not crack underneath the pressure of emotion, perfectly polished as you originally intended for it to be. All those years ago, before they had ensured you would not need it – you gave yourself a silent thank you for your previous doomsday caution. 

You even tried not to avoid Barty and Regulus, to be normal. Why should they be punished by losing one of their best friends because they had the audacity not to fall in love with her too? While you thought yourself generally successful in not showing disdain for their new relationship, this was the one aspect you struggled the most with. Your instinct was to run away and it physically pained you not to. In the few weeks they had been together, you had not been able to stomach being alone with just the two of them and confront their relationship in such close proximity – but you knew you could not avoid them altogether. Instead, you tried to always attach yourself at Dorcas’ hip and always invite the rest of your friends if Barty and Regulus wanted to do something with you. They ask you to study out by the Black Lake? Fantastic, you, Dorcas and Pandora have an Astronomy project you need to work on anyway. They want to visit that one store in Hogsmeade with you? How convenient that Evan was discussing how he needed something from there earlier, and if he goes, then Pandora goes and if she goes Dorcas can’t be the only one left behind, can she?

To offset any accusation that you were not spending time with them alone, you still spent time with them one on one when you knew the other would be busy – just seeing Regulus or Barty was not too bad, it was seeing them as a couple, knowing it did not include you, that you could not withstand. If you were alone with one, you could just pretend nothing changed. 

You made sure you focused on these ‘rules’ in your mind, the carefully constructed plan on how to make it through the year. Somehow you did not have it in you to wish they would break up and put you out of your misery – you wanted them, not just one – so instead you set your sights on graduation day. What you would do afterwards, you did not yet know. Disappear off the face of the earth? Become an Unspeakable as an excuse not to ever see them again? Endless possibilities. You zeroed your focus on your coursework and these measures you must take to protect your heart and sanity – if you filled your mind like this, maybe you could distract yourself from the pain that leaked through your body.

Barty remaining his flirtatious self whenever he was around you and Regulus’ simmering dedication to you seemingly only building, was decidedly not helping your case.

Which is how you ended up in this admittedly awkward cat and goose chase.

“There you are!” Not only did you hear Barty’s screech the moment he laid his eyes on you – everyone else in the library did as well, going by the shushes and ugly glares you both received that Barty paid zero mind to. “Dragă, I have been going crazy without you, where have you been?”

He plopped down on the bench beside you instead of any of the readily available chairs around the table, thigh flush against yours. “Good morning, B,” you whispered, hoping to lower his volume with yours.

The ever-growing grin on his face told you he likely understood your attempt. His hair was still damp from his morning shower and hanging slightly in front of his eyes, but you could see the sparkle there you thought was reserved for you. “Good morning,” he stage-whispered dramatically, to show his abiding of library law. Then, he pressed a smacking kiss to your cheek before pulling up his books. “Tell me, why are we studying on a weekend morning?”

This was the kind of activity that caused your delusion. It was early on a Sunday, arguably too early, and you had snuck out of your dorm to the library before anyone else woke so you would not be roped into any heartbreaking hangout. Yet, upon your absence, Barty went looking for you before doing his hair or anything – and when he found you studying, as he likely assumed you would be, he just joined you. There was no reason for him to.

You had been staring at him a tad bit too incredulously for a tad bit too long, so he gave you a cheeky sideway glance while he readied his books. “Too early for you too, baby?”

You shook your head, but couldn’t stop the laugh escaping you. “Maybe I’m just shocked at seeing you voluntarily in the library. I usually have to drag you here.”

“Yeah, because usually I have you with me somewhere more fun when you try to go to the library,” he explained to you matter-of-factly. “Now that you are here from the get-go, I accept my fate that this is where we’ll be. For now.”

“Lucky me.” You poked him lightly in the side to emphasise your sarcasm before you tried to return to your books, though your attention was thoroughly divided.

“I reckon I am the lucky one who gets to spend time with the fittest babe in the castle.”

You snorted at the same time as your heart shattered further – an odd reaction none other than Barty could draw from you. Those comments are not only how you got in this whole emotional mess to begin with, but felt like genuine ice shards spearing through your flesh. You were guilt-ridden as you revelled in them, and begged the gods he would stop.

“And I reckon,” you teasingly copied, hoping to sound level-headed and not agonised, “that Regulus would not appreciate having that title taken away from him.”

“Regulus is a fit babe,” Barty said dreamily, unaffected by your correction. “But he would agree that the title belongs to you, Dragă.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Barty was incredibly particular in how he showed affection, and flirting with you explicitly was not at all out of character for him. You just, perhaps bitterly, hoped that maybe he would stop, if he was to be in a monogamous relationship with one of his two best friends.

“What’ll you be working on?” you asked, hoping to redirect the conversation. 

Likely entirely unaware of your attempt, Barty allowed you, delving into a longer rant about what extra assignment Professor Flitwick had assigned him because he “saw potential in you, young man”, which he of course found to be utter “trollpiss”. It was familiar, working side by side while also not studying at all, gossiping like the two best friends you are. It should be lovely, and you kicked yourself for being hung up on it just being friendly, when friendliness in itself is a gift you should be grateful for.

While you tried to allow yourself to enjoy Barty’s company and not be guilty for how hard you noticed where his body touched yours, you kept your eye on the clock. Regulus had prefect rounds on Sunday mornings, but as soon as he finished them, he would seek the two of you out. 

You had to get away from Barty before then.

“While this was lovely,” you said with a forced airy tone, “I have to get going now, B.”

“Cool, where’re we goin’?”

Your pageant winner smile wavered slightly as he immediately began to pack up his belongings, considering it a given that he would join you in your endeavours. “I don’t think so. I’m heading to meet with the Hufflepuff third years I tutor, and I believe it would be considered a crime to introduce them to you when they’ve just stopped being scared of me.”

Not technically a lie. You picked up a massive amount of extracurriculars after Regulus and Barty became official, and tutoring Hufflepuffs was part of it. Though you had no scheduled study session with them today, you knew at least two of them were still too much of a pushover to say no to you if you headed over there. Innocent casualties in your escapades. 

Barty immediately pouted. “No fun,” he whined, sitting back down before you. He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush to him so he could rest his forehead on your stomach in defeat. “Why do you have to be such a swot? I miss you.”

You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart flutter at the sentiment. You brought a shaky, selfish hand up to card lightly through his hair, separating the green from the black. “Sorry, B. Duty calls and you know how much I love to be a hero.”

“No hero would leave such a perfect victim like me destitute and alone.” He moved his chin to rest against your flesh so he could look up at you in faux misery.

“Good thing you have Regulus, then.” You feared your voice was more pointed than you wanted it to be. It did not go with the pleasant mask you tried to wear, but the mask never fit quite right around Barty.

Something odd flashed across his eyes at your words and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Whether he wanted to say something that would explain it, you would not find out, because you gave his hair one last ruffle before patting his cheek lightly and pulling away.

“I’ll see you for dinner, alright B? Don’t worry about me.” You turned around and walked away without waiting for a response.

It still came behind you, sounding too much like the ache in your own chest. “Counting down the minutes!”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You survived the rest of the Sunday with little to no incident; as in, you avoided being alone with Regulus and Barty, ensuring the friend group ate together and sat together in the common room afterwards. When Pandora retreated to head to bed, you immediately used the excuse to slither away too, lest you end up trapped with just the two of them by the fire.

Dorcas opened the door to your dorm just a few minutes after you had settled down on your bed to reread your comfort novel. You looked up with a warm, small smile to greet her, but it slipped away as you saw her eyeing you carefully. Neither of you said anything before she was sat on her own bed opposite you, studying you. There was this crackling ferocity to Dorcas’ silences that would make even the strongest man cave – and you were not feeling particularly strong lately.

“Spit it out.” It was all she said.

You sighed and put your book aside, straightening up in your previously comfortable position. “What is it, Cas?”

She gave you a stern but not unkind look. “You’re different. Why?”

“Different how?” You stalled.

She indulged you. “You’re not yourself, babe. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you act like you’re programmed and not like you’re living. I want to know what’s wrong. I want to help.”

The staggering, almost fragmented way she spoke was in part to spoon-feed you her concern so that you might actually answer her truthfully and in part how Dorcas was with emotions. She had not been raised to speak of them, but she was loyal and smart, so she knew when it was needed, even if you wished she wouldn’t.

You looked at her with heavy eyes for a moment before sighing once more and bringing your hands up to roughly rub at your face. “There is no way for you to help right now, I’m sorry. Except maybe be my shield.” The last part was added as a joke, but it fell flat.

“Shield you from what?” Protectiveness flared in her tone and you knew you had to soothe it with the truth.

“Not what,” you said softly. “Who.” You pleaded with your eyes for her to understand.

It took but a few seconds before her face scrunched up in pity – and something that would almost looked like amusement, had you thought her cruel enough to laugh at you. “Barty and Regulus.” 

It was a statement, not a question, yet you nodded in affirmation, shutting your eyes in humiliation. “It’s bad, Dorcas. It’s so bad.” A tired heave for breath. “But I will get through it. I just need a little bit of distance without any drama around it and to get my shit together.”

Dorcas looked like she was weighing up her next words carefully. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I would have told you to talk with them. Alas, I know you won’t. But I hope you somehow end up having to.”

Cryptic and confusing; just how you knew her to be. 

When she realised you would not answer her first sentiments, it was her turn to sigh and give you a rueful smile. “I assume this is why I suddenly have been roped into so much lately? Marlene misses me.”

You laugh at her teasing tone, happy for her to not dig too much into your feelings. “Sorry about that, babe. Just for a little while longer, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she repeated with a tilted head. “If it’s any help, I get it.”

“Considering you got the girl, I don’t think you do.” There was no malice in your words, just a bit of longing. It was bittersweet to indirectly admit your loss.

“That’s not what I meant.” She waited to continue before you met her eyes once more. “I can’t say I understand your heartbreak exactly, but I share your confusion. I also thought you would be part of it.”

The look you gave her must have been nothing short of gobsmacked, yet she had the kindness to not laugh at you. It was unclear whether you were most surprised by her knowing you were in love with both of them, or her having shared the same assumptions as you once. Both floored you.

“I–” you tried, but your voice failed you. All you were able to do was whisper a small, “Thank you.”

This time, there was nothing but pity in her eyes. “I’m sorry babe. I’ll shield you to the best of my ability.”

You shared small, knowing smiles and you decided to end the conversation there, lest it get teary. Reaching over, you carefully switched off your light and placed your book on your nightstand, abandoning any attempt at being comforted for the night. When you laid your head on your pillow, there were phantom indents on either side.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The one place you had no opportunity to shield yourself from or avoid either of them was during classes.

With your timetables for the year, you and Regulus ended up sharing more than half of your classes, while Barty was in at least a third of them. When you first saw the allocations, it felt like painfully little, and the thought of scraping by so many classes without them felt like a punishment you did not deserve. Now, you almost wished it was less.

Almost was the key word though – because Regulus’ presence by your side at your shared Herbology station was somehow melting the tension that had settled in your bones and making your chest heave all at the same time.

His elbow bumped lightly into yours. “You alright?”

You looked up from the notes you were pretending to study for the depotting you two were currently attempting, giving him a brief smile. “‘Course. Ready for the next step?”

His gaze lingered on you for a second too long, flickering over your face carefully before nodding almost imperceivable. You shifted your focus towards the Venomous Tentacula on the bench before you, reaching out to carefully manoeuvre the prickly leaves away so Regulus could attend to the roots when his hand stopped yours.

“These aren’t tight enough.” His voice was but a whisper as he took off his gloves to tighten yours where the velcro was hazardously slapped on top of each other. With long, cold fingers he elegantly realigned the straps and made sure there was no gap between your skin and glove. “Don’t want my best girl getting hurt, right?” 

Regulus looked up to meet your eyes, a small smile playing over his lips. With his striking grey eyes locked on yours, you feared your emotions were too clearly pasted across your face. His loose grip remained on your bare skin, thumbs brushing carefully above your gloves.

“Right,” was all you offered him curtly, pulling your hands back to yourself. 

Together you navigated the plant meticulously from one pot to the other you had pre-prepared. Propagating, maintaining and harvesting from the plant was one of your major projects in Herbology for the term and you and Regulus had been dedicated to your so-called coparenting to begin with. Now, to have his body half pressed to yours as you covered the plant’s teeth and angled its venomous leaves away while he extracted and cleaned its roots, it was almost too much. You breathed in and instead of being overwhelmed by the smell of dirt, your nose was filled with Regulus’ shampoo and cologne. You were suddenly thankful your part of the job was rather stationary, as you feared your hands trembling.

Regulus took a laboured breath as he settled the plant properly within its new home, packing the potting mix carefully around the roots. “Right there, perfect,” he murmured, presumably to himself, yet you fought the shiver down your spine. You noticed him glancing at you in the corner of his eye with what can only be classified as a smirk growing on his lips. “Amazing work, amour.” That was unmistakably to you.

You lightly shook your head to clear your thoughts. “Are we done?”

“Unfortunately,” Regulus replied, dusting the remaining dirt off his gloves as he took a small step back from the plant – and closer to you. “Gregory has been successfully assimilated to his new environment.”

You scoffed a laugh, to which his smile grew genuine. “You’ve got a flare for the dramatics, Black.”

“Only comes with being close to one Bartiemus Junior, doesn’t it?”

His eyes were crinkling from his smile and adoration, but you took the comment for what it was – a reminder. A warning. Albeit a confusing one, giving his amorous words just a few moments ago, but one you most certainly needed. “That it does.” Your tone was drier than you intended, but you did good; the smile didn’t slip.

Regulus’ did, and he tilted his head while regarding you. “I almost slipped up a few times there, though. Was a tad distracted.” There was an undeniable cheekiness dripping from his words.

“Yeah?” was all you managed to say.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, leaning against the desk. You had time to small talk, giving as you were finished long before anyone else. “Pretty girls like you really shouldn’t be allowed in here; it’s a safety hazard.”

“You would know all about safety hazards,” you mumbled, fighting yourself from going red from the sentiment or seeing red from the audacity. 

Regulus’ laugh seemed more guarded than usual.

“Speaking of,” you said, trying to get the conversation to safer grounds, “who do you think will definitely kill their plants at last today?”

If there was one thing you and Regulus did well, it was gossip, and you managed to derail him into chattering quietly with you instead of doing some weird dance of pushing the limits and then drawing them clearly. As you spoke, you took small, careful steps away from Regulus to put some physical distance between you, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

If you had looked him in the eye even once more before your separation to go to your next periods, you would have seen that he did.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You would have thought the Quidditch game on Friday to have been a blessing.

The tension had been growing more and more between you and your best friends, and it seemed that the more you volleyed around their pretend flirting, the more fired up they got, in each their own way. It didn’t seem sustainable anymore. 

Even Dorcas had grown weary of you, though she tried to remain supportive while urging you strongly to speak with them about it.

“And say what exactly? What could I possibly say that would not make the situation ten times worse?”

Dorcas levelled you with a look that spoke volumes, but she seemed unwilling to verbalise any of it in response. Instead she just offered you a vague, “It might go better than you could imagine.”

You must admit you had grown weary of her cryptic remarks as well.

A quidditch game gave you the perfect opportunity to have a small break from them guilt-free, seeing as they were all playing for Slytherin. In turn, you believed you gave Dorcas a break from working overtime to shield you and keep any awkward situation at bay. 

With you in the stands, cheering for your little makeshift family who were all involved in the game somehow – Regulus as Captain and seeker, Barty and Evan as beaters, Dorcas as a chaser and Pandora as commentator – you thought you could finally breathe for a moment. 

Any such hopes were shattered when Barty came chasing up beside you before you could ascend the wooden stairs to find your seat.

“Dragă! Hold up!”

The pet name sent warmth up your spine, but the sigh that escaped you was not a happy one. You turned regretfully on your heel to take in Barty’s form as he jogged up to you. His quidditch gear was tight, much more than it had any business being, seeing as he could easily make them larger with a quick spell if he wanted to. 

You didn’t ask what he wanted, but he didn’t seem to mind, grin permanently plastered on his face in your presence.

“Do I not get a kiss for good luck?” He threw you a cheeky wink with his comment as he came to stand in front of you, breath slightly laboured.

“Sure you can. Regulus is right over there.” You hoped your voice sounded a bit lighthearted even in your sternness of correcting his flirting. Even more, you hoped the heat in your cheeks had not turned into any noticeable redness. 

A look at Barty’s wicked smile told you it might have. “I’ve already gotten plenty from Reggie. Now I just need my girl and I’m golden.”

You knew he didn’t mean it, at least not like that. You knew he meant a kiss on the cheek, and you knew he asked to make fun – not of you, but of the concept of good luck kisses and of your closeness as friends being read as anything else. He likely didn’t even know that you had been among those reading it as something else, this was a joke the two of you were in on, as all best friends should be.

Still, you couldn’t help but wince at the sting in your heart.

“I think you’ll do just fine without it, B.” You pressed your lips together in the same way you would if you were fighting a smile and not a frown.

He tilted his head at you, a mix of black and green strands falling into his eyes. “Have I done something that would make you want me to fall to my death? Because that is what will happen without you as my good luck charm.”

You shook your head, taking miniscule steps towards the stairs; away from him. “I’ll be a shining bright good luck charm in the stands. You’ll see me after, at the party.”

“I sure will,” he replied salaciously, but you caught the flicker in his eyes. “Wear a pretty little thing for me?”

“You know I’ll wear jeans.”

“And aren’t they a pretty little thing?” His smile grew more affectionate. “And you look good in anything, Dragă.”

“Sure.” You cleared your throat, stepping more confidently away from him. “See you later, B. Play well.”

“Just for you, baby!”

It was as if he was laying it on even thicker the more you turned his compliments away. While you never got quite used to his outspoken praise, it had been years since you embraced it and stopped fighting him on it – he didn’t seem quite pleased that you suddenly had started. Then again, Barty never liked not getting his way, so it shouldn’t surprise you.

You turned and walked back up the stairs, not turning to see whether he jogged off too or remained watching you like usual; you didn’t feel like having the pieces of your heart jumped on, and both alternatives would have resulted in nothing less.

In the stands, you settled into your usual place by the railing, seated beside Lily and Marlene, who were there to cheer on Dorcas. The two girls were the only Gryffindors you tolerated, not due to any of your own sentiments, but simply as a form of hatred by-proxy from Regulus and Barty – they were also a great opportunity to slowly edge Regulus closer towards reconciling with his brother. Though you knew in your heart that was a slow-and-steady-wins-the-race type of situation.

The game flew by and while you were relatively certain you cheered in the right places and sat with baited breath at the tense moments, you felt you were never truly present. Pandora’s voice in your ears was lulling, allowing your soul to drift out of your body and float up into the skies. You wondered if maybe you should take her up on her offer of teaching you how to meditate. Maybe that is how you end your torture rather than trying to change Barty and Regulus’ ways of being, even if it sent terribly mixed signals.

You were somehow exhausted by the time the whistle blew to announce Slytherin’s victory, despite not having done anything. 

Victory was a guarantee for a rowdy party, which, if you didn’t watch yourself, was a guarantee for mistakes. You could not risk slipping up and confessing your feelings to either boy – though some part of you whispered that perhaps some liquid courage is what you needed to tell them to stop flirting with you.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

If the game had gone by in a blur for you, the party was nothing less. You lost Dorcas to Marlene’s wicked laugh just a few minutes in, and had since drifted between your many groups of friends. Shots with Evan, braiding with Pandora, armwrestling with Emmeline, gossiping with Amelia and Regulus. Throughout the whole night you had managed to keep things light, floating through the crowd and keeping someone by your side at all times. It made it bearable to be near the both of them when you had others to keep up appearances for. It also was a great distraction from the joint envy that bloomed in your heart whenever Barty paraded Regulus around like he ought to.

He tried to parade you too, but you slipped out of his grasp before he ever could.

The closer the night got to being over, the more intimate the atmosphere in the Slytherin common room grew. People migrated from standing around to sitting huddled together, there were quiet conversations and card games instead of yelling and butterbeer pong. There were less of the other house colours, and more of just the familiar greens and faces.

Meaning, it was your cue to slip out and away for a minute.

You, Regulus and Barty always ran off into some corner towards the end to do a debrief of the night, perhaps a bit tipsily. If there was one thing you couldn’t take right now, it would be that.

It was easy to distract the both of them by starting a conversation with Evan and Pandora – whether torture methods has improved or worsened since the dark ages – that would have them in a chokehold. You used the opportunity to slip out through the common room door and walk down the hallway.

It was rare you were grateful for the gloomy dungeons and their cold stonewalls, but this was one such moment. You walked slowly, alone at last, taking deep breaths. Somehow the air felt fresh despite being several metres below ground; anything was better than the stuffy post-party air that clung to the common room.

You let your right hand graze the wall as you walked, texture rough and freezing beneath your fingertips, and tipped your head back with closed eyes. You knew the way like the back of your hand.

At the end of the hall was a rarely-used classroom that functioned more as a storage room these days – your favourite place of refuge. The desk in there was the perfect size to lay down on to close your eyes and relax, feet just barely hanging off the edge. Along the top of the wall was a narrow window that gave an obscured view of the Black Lake, distorted light spilling through to make the most beautiful shapes along the ceiling.

You could stay here and relax and by the time you went back, everyone would have gone off to bed already and you wouldn’t have to face anyone until the morning.

“... Amour?”

You flinched so violently you almost fell off the desk, sitting up by propping yourself onto one elbow and clutching your chest with your other arm. “Gods, Regulus, you cannot fucking sneak up on people like that!”

“Sorry, love.” He offered you a half-hearted smile from where his head popped in through the crack in the door.

Barty’s head appeared just below his, as if he had crouched down to get the comedic angle. “I’m not, what the fuck are you doing here?”

You could hear the light squaffle behind the door as Barty presumably tried to push Regulus aside so he could walk in, while Regulus tried to hold his own to walk with grace. It resulted in them more or less tumbling in, the latter boy straightening up to close the door carefully behind him.

“Whatcha mean?” you asked dumbly, deciding to remain in your half lounged position on the desk at the top of the room.

The boys exchanged a quick look that you didn’t have the time to decipher.

Barty was the one who spoke. “I mean, how come you’re hiding out here? We have very important matters to discuss, you know.”

Your lips tightened slightly. You looked between them quietly while they came up to settle in front of your desk, Regulus deciding to lean his weight against a smaller one behind him while Barty jumped onto it without hesitation, settling into some odd position.

“Needed some fresh air. Party got too hot for me.”

“So you decided to lay down in this dusty room?” Regulus asked humorously, lifting a brow at you.

At the same time Barty commented, “I cannot imagine anything being too hot for you, Treasure.”

You ignored them both, fighting not to meet their eyes. This was going worse than you imagined.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to run off on you.” You aimed for a light-hearted tone, if a bit tired. “Want to do the debrief in here?”

Regulus hummed questioningly, as if he wanted to probe more, but Barty clapped his hands together. “Yes. You’re simply not getting out of this love, lest my bleeding heart become public knowledge as I wail at your absence.”

“Stop it, Barty,” you whispered. He didn’t hear you, in one way or another.

“Okay, so we all agree Dorcas and Marlene are shagging?”

You sit more up at this, realising you truly would be doing the whole debrief here, and that you would thus likely be here for a while. Also well aware that you know more than both of the boys on that matter, as Dorcas' dorm mate. “Well, duh,” you offer. “But did you see anything tonight?”

You look at Barty as he speaks, but can feel Regulus’ gaze burning through the side of your head, and you wish he would stop trying to scrutinise you. You look over to meet his gaze, hoping to give him an I’m fine smile that would divert his attention. However, when his eyes meet yours you see they are sparkling with that mischief that only Regulus can pull off, the kind that is equal parts elegant and dirty. He winks at you, and you really, really wish he wouldn’t. 

You shift your gaze back to Barty, further assuring his claim. “Don’t push it with Cas, though,” you warn. “She will tell you when she feels like."

“But it is so much fun to push it though,” Barty pouted, making his eyes comically big.

“It’s even more fun to not be skinned alive by Dorcas in our sleep.”

“Fine,” he groans, throwing his head back theatrically before settling you with a gaze. “But only because you asked, beautiful.”

You hum noncommitedly, fighting any prickling tears. Don’t be such a fucking twat. Let your friends speak to you. 

“Oh,” Regulus said, as if he just remembered a piece of drama to share. “Amelia flirted with me earlier.”

“She what!?” Barty’s voice was not much unlike a banshee’s. “Have I not made it clear that your arse is off the market?”

Your heart plummeted and you had to fight not to let your shoulders grow into your ears.

“Right?” Regulus said through a laugh. “I think she was just too pissed, though. Would have flirted with anything that walked.”

“What did she say?” you asked somewhat meekly.

“Oh, something about gorgeous curls and tight shirts and whatnot.” Regulus made a waving motion with his hand, as if physically brushing it off. “You know, the usual. Called me baby.”

“Only we get to call you baby,” Barty said through a pout.

We?

“I know, amour, I told her as much.”

Barty nodded emphatically. “Good. I don’t like picking fights with birds, but I would if she can’t keep her hands off the goods.”

Regulus gave his leg a light kick with his own. “Down, boy.”

Your stomach was turning over and you desperately wanted to leave. A comment about being tired and wanting to discuss the rest over breakfast tomorrow died on your tongue when Barty turned his attention to you, pout giving way for a scrutinising look.

“What about you, Dragă? Anyone else flirt with you?”

Any turning in your stomach was replaced by an irritation seeping into your bloodstream, one that had been fighting with heartbreak and anxiety for your attention for almost a month now.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, B.” You’re not sure quite what possessed you to say it, but there was no denying your dry tone.

Barty looked equally puzzled, head actually reeling backwards ever so slightly. Still, he pushed his luck. “Am I not allowed to be concerned for my girl?”

You looked at him incredulously. “I am not your girl.” 

That was the whole point. That was the whole heartbreak. That was all you could think about. They were each other’s and you weren’t theirs and you most certainly was not their girl. 

Regulus’ stance shifted quickly, tensing in weariness. “Amour, what he meant–”

“I know what he meant.” You sighed, making no effort to hide your pain anymore. You could not take this. “I know what you both mean.”

“Baby–” Barty began, sliding off of his desk and moving towards you, but you cut him off.

“No! Stop it, Barty, please.” He looked as if you had punched him. “I can’t take it anymore, I’m sorry. I am so, so happy for you and I’m glad you’ve found each other like that. But now that you have, I just can’t take you flirting with me or, or doing the play pretend. It’s not fun anymore.”

The room was laid in silence. 

You had been defiantly staring at the wall behind them both, but after practically being able to hear the crashing out in their minds, you slid off your own desk and made your way towards the door without sparing them a glance. “I need a moment.”

“No, no, hey, hey, hey,” Barty chanted as he ran up behind you, hand circling loosely around your wrist. Enough to ground you, but not enough to trap you should you want to wrestle free. He slowly came up around your stopped form. “Shit, Y/N, I–” This time he cut himself off, running his free hand through his hair and looking over at Regulus, whose footsteps you could hear stop right behind you. 

You stared at the door over Barty’s shoulder. This was your worst nightmare.

“Amour, we’re sorry,” Regulus whispered behind you. His hand came up to ever so slightly trace the side of your arm.

You felt ganged up on where you stood between them and you cursed your body for loving it, even as they were rejecting you more explicitly than ever. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault that you don’t– you know.”

“No, no, no,” Barty chanted yet again, hands coming up to grasp both of your cheeks and bruising away a few tears you only now realised had fallen. You would never stop revelling at how Barty’s touch could be so painfully gentle even when his voice was frantic and passionate. “That’s exactly it, Dragă, we do. We do. I do.”

You met his eyes and furrowed your brows at him. “Barty, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

He had the audacity to laugh quietly at you. “I don’t think you understand what you’re saying. In what world could I, Barty Crouch Junior, not be obsessed with you?”

“Lovely girl,” Regulus whispered as he inched forward into your field of vision, hand growing more confident in its touch on your arm. “I’m sorry, we’ve gone about this all wrong. We realised it quickly, but didn’t know how to fix it. The whole... getting together part happened naturally between Barty and I, and we figured it would with you too immediately after, but it proved, uh, more complicated.”

At last, your brain caught up with you, and your instinctive reaction was to jerk backwards out of both of their grasps, not even feeling the impact of your back hitting the desk behind you. Both boys hissed at the thump that sounded.

You finally looked at both of their eyes and found layers of insecurity and guilt there, along with… 

“Are you saying…” you started, but trailed off, unsure how to formulate the words.

“I’m obsessed with you, consumed by you, enthralled by you, whatever word you please, it’s yours. I’m yours.” Barty’s face was almost impassive despite the volumes behind his confession. More tears welled in your eyes, by confusion still more than any relief – you didn’t dare feel that yet.

“What he’s saying is that – well, that we love you.” Regulus smiled and you saw the quiver of his lips at the unfamiliar words.

You let out a half-choked sound. “I don’t understand? But then why– how come–” 

Regulus took a careful few steps towards you once more, hand held out between you in a show of safety. “Even as it happened, I remember thinking you would laugh at us for it. Really what happened a month ago was just that we didn’t really think at all.”

“Which you rightfully accuse us of a lot,” Barty added.

“Right. Barty and I were together and drunk and that tension we’ve all had, I guess it finally spilled over for us. By the time we had admitted our feelings physically, we didn’t really need words for it, which is what we both struggle with the most. And you weren’t close by to be dragged into it. When we told everyone we hoped to just… smoothly join you in. Wouldn’t be difficult right, it’s always been the three of us anyway?”

“Turns out it’s not so bloody simple,” Barty grumbled.

By this point, tears were streaming clearly down your face. Regulus reached out a hesitant thumb to wipe them away. “We were stupid, amour. And by the time we got our wits about us, we didn’t know how to reign you in, other than by… continuing being us. Us three.”

“How could I feel like it was us three when it was so clearly you two?” you all but sobbed.

Barty had grown too impatient by Regulus’ easing you in and closed the gap in two long strides, grabbing at your hand fiercely. “You couldn’t, we were just stupid wankers and absolute boys. You’re perfect, it’s not your fault you fell in love with us sods.”

You laughed a bit wetly, bringing grins out on both of their faces. “Bold claim you have there,” you said, some teasing making its way into your voice.

“But an accurate one?” Regulus’ tone was void of humour, just quiet and nervous and hopeful.

“Of course,” you breathed and Barty’s hands tightened around yours. “I always thought it was us three… when it seemed like it was just you two, I– I didn’t really know what to do with myself.”

“So you ran and you hid,” Barty concluded with a nod. Upon your almost offended expression he hastily added, “as is understandable, and as asserted, we are wankers and you are perfect.”

“Stop saying that,” you whispered.

“But it’s true,” Regulus added in the same cadence. Then, a sparkle settled in his eyes as he regarded you. “Can I prove it to you?”

Your breath hitched at the implication but you nodded, ever so hopeful smile growing on your face. You dared tighten your own hold on Barty’s hands – they were delightfully warm.

Regulus’ smile matched yours and he took a final step towards you to bring the two of you together. His lips covered yours in the sweetest of kisses, slow and smooth and exactly how you had guiltily pictured. He breathed in as he kissed you and you felt the air move across your skin, tickling and tingling. When he pulled back he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek too.

“This whole thing should have never played out this way,” he started. “But this is exactly where I always wanted to end up.”

Barty bumped lightly into both of you, giving you a conspiring smile. “It’s true – he tried to brag to me that he had been picturing us three together since fifth year, which is embarrassingly late for him. I’ve pictured this since the fifth week of knowing you both.”

You huffed a laugh, feeling your entire face still burning from the confessions, neck aching from the whiplash and lips tingling from the kiss. “Then you’ve both got eons on me. I only really realised, like, last term.”

“See, that’s because you are sane,” Barty provided, circling his arms around your hips to pull both you and Regulus closer to him. “A sane beautiful girl who balances us out perfectly and who completes my heart.”

“One we will spend eons making up lost time with,” Regulus added somewhat cheekily. 

You brought your hands up to properly wipe at your face, hoping to remove redness and giddiness with the wet. “It’s barely been a month.”

“A month you spent confused and hurt, Dragă. That cannot slide. I would have hexed anyone else who did that to you.”

“No one else could have broken my heart,” you said then, intending it to be romantic.

The horrified looks on their faces said otherwise. “You were heartbroken?” Barty exclaimed in intense frustration, pulling his wand up and handing it to Regulus. “Reggie, baby, I need you to Avada me right now. Use my wand so they can’t trace you and send you to Azkaban, because you need to be her personal servant to repent for us.”

“Barty!” you laughed, quickly plucking the wand out of his hands before any shenanigans could occur. “It’s fine, really–”

“Nope, absolutely not,” he cut you off. “I must fix this. Kiss it better?”

Before you could even really respond he brought his hand up to the back of your neck, pulling your face gently albeit quickly towards his. Millimetres before his lips could crash with yours, though, he paused. Giving you the opportunity to back down. His thumb was ghosting carefully across the baby hairs at the nape of your neck.

With a delighted sigh, you leaned your chest against his and brought him the final way in for the kiss.

His lips were softer than they looked, fitting exactly within the narrative that usually followed your relationship with Barty. He quickly opened them for you, bringing your bottom lip in between yours and kissing you passionately, tongue sliding over delicate skin. One of your hands curled into his shirt by his collar, wand long since discarded on a desk, while the other found Regulus’ neck, massaging it not much unlike Barty did with yours.

Barty’s skillful lips trailed happy kisses along your jaw, turning into a smile at the breathy laugh that escaped you at his ministrations. 

Your eyes met Regulus while Barty practically attempted to bury himself beneath your skin, smiling and sighing against you – kissing it better. The former boy’s smile was at its widest and most sentimental, encircling the both of you within his arms.

“Y/N,” he said, almost seriously. “We will do right by you, as we always should have. I’ll start by asking, will you please legitimise our feelings by becoming our girlfriend?”

Before you could reply, Barty added against your neck, “And will you please take back your demand we stop flirting with you, because I don’t think I can.”

You were afraid your smile was almost dreamy – everything you believed out of reach just a few minutes ago was not quite literally cradled in your arms. “You are both so unbelievable. Yes, I’ll happily be your girlfriend and yes you may flirt with me.”

Barty popped his head back up from your neck, lips somewhat swollen despite being stretched wide. “Fucking finally.”

“You say that as if I was the one holding back,” you teased, poking him in the chest.

“And while I will lay down and take a sword to the chest for ever believing I was not mad about you,” Barty began. “I think there is also something to be said about little miss run away and completely shut away any and all feelings and compliments.”

You hummed as if in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”

Regulus snorted in that way he only ever did around you two. Then, he reached out and gave you two, three kisses in a row, grinning all the while. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Too cute.”

Barty, tactile as ever, was cradling your cheek in his hand, tracing the side of your nose with his index finger. “I want the court to know that I am absolutely mad about Regulus,” he started, smiling all the while. “But it was always you too, silly.”

Emboldened, you leaned forward and gave him a sweet kiss. “Glad to know it.”

“Now let’s make sure everyone else does too, yeah?”

[greg-montgomery]

the latest hotch x sunshine reader fic?

u think u ate with that?

no.

U DEVOUREDDDDDD. GRRRRRRRRRRR

part 2 now mama i love u so much

bestieee thank you omg!!!! <3 i hope you like part 2!!

part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Spencer took a deep breath staring at his desk. On any other day it would be due to the amount of paperwork waiting for him, but this time it was a cup of his favorite coffee order, a muffin, and a chocolate croissant, all sitting right on top of the report he was working on.

He wasn’t ungrateful for the treats, but he would rather enjoy them if they weren’t accompanied by three pairs of wide eyes looking at him, while searching for answers in return.

Emily threw her head back dramatically. “Come on, give us something.”

“They’re on a date right now, aren’t they? That’s why he left early. I know you know,” Penelope said. “I know you do. Rossi knows too, but he won’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, “Every time we ask he says nothing and just…smirks at us.”

“Please, you’re our last hope.”

Spencer took a bite of his muffin and smirked.

“You’re even worse than him,” Emily said and pointed at him.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go hack Hotch’s phone.”

“No, wait!”

--

Was it silly to start planning your wedding on a first date?

Maybe it was; you didn’t care. Because there was no way Aaron was not your future husband.

He did everything perfectly: he picked you up from your house, got you flowers, did not let you touch a door handle, paid for your dinner date, and let you play your music during the car ride.

Aaron also smiled a lot and the sight of it made you melt into your seat. It wasn’t often that a man gave you butterflies by just one look or with the sound of his laughter.

“What are you in the mood for now?”

The last thing you wanted was for the date to end, so instead of suggesting you walk back to his car you made a different offer.

“Let’s get ice cream!”

He chuckled, but you could already tell he would not say no to you. “Okay.”

You were walking side by side and even though you were already falling in love with his warm voice it was hard to pay attention to his words. Your mind was too occupied thinking about his arm swinging next to yours and how bad you wanted to hold hands with him.

Did he want it too? Would he think it’s childish to hold hands?

What if you just…did it?

Life’s too short, you thought and grabbed his hand.

Yes, you had not been paying attention to what he'd been saying but you did notice how he stopped mid-sentence when your hands touched. Was he mad?

Your heart was jumping against your chest, afraid you did something stupid. Aaron was quick to ease your anxiety, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently your hand.

He wanted this too.

He cleared his throat. “So it’s um…a good chance to…”

With the side of your eye, you caught him turning his head to stare at you. You hadn’t wiped the grin off your face from the sudden hand holding yet, and he saw it.

His dimples made an appearance, and as your grin got bigger you noticed he blushed.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you giggled.

The sound of Aaron’s phone ringing interrupted your moment.

“Sorry, I have to get this,” he said.

You, of course, didn’t mind. Even though he hadn’t said so himself, you knew he had left right on time – early in Hotch’s terms - from work just for your date. Perks of being best friends with your date’s subordinate was getting to have this kind of inside information.

“Hotchner,” he said sternly.

You stayed quiet.

“What? I didn’t authorize this.”

Oh.

“No. And I trust this won’t happen again.”

Oh…Maybe you liked this side of him a little bit more than you should.

“Thanks,” he said, and hung up. “I’m sorry about that.”

I’m not.

“No, it’s okay! It’s fascinating observing you being a boss.”

“You like observing people?”

“Why, are you interested in hiring me?” you teased.

“Oh, I would never.”

“Why not?” you asked, acting offended.

“I would not be able to focus on a case with you around.”

You took advantage of the fact you were on a sidewalk and stopped walking, turning your body to face him. “And why is that?”

Aaron moved closer and dropped your hand only to cup the side of your head. His thumb moved back and forth on your cheek and his eyes on yours made you feel dizzy.

“Because you take my breath away.”

And with his next move he took yours. Maybe you’d actually faint if he didn’t pull you in and place his lips on yours.

Your hands moved to his tie with the intention of pulling him even closer to your body. His kiss was heavenly and you really wouldn’t mind if you were to stay like that forever.

Yeah…there was no way Aaron Hotchner was not your future husband.

[saturngas]

lover boy

[🪐] satoru didn't believe in love at first sight, but it changed when he met you.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: teen!gojo; pining!gojo x pining!reader; two teens in love; this is sooo cheesy; a tiny bit of angst; confort; canon au; I hope I wrote teen gojo well this is lame

word count: 3.3k

...

satoru gojo did not believe in love at first sight. love requires time and devotion, and just seeing someone can't determine your definite feelings for them. he claimed people often mistook love for admiration, physical attraction, or even arousal. his beliefs were firm and inflexible.

so when the first year students got introduced to the new second year class, he felt a bit... provoked.

the moment director yaga announced the new class was coming on thursday, satoru persuaded his two classmates, suguru and shoko, to welcome them warmly. satoru was kind at heart, but sometimes his loud and egocentric personality caught in the way.

he and suguru had prepared a few decorations around the classroom, while shoko got the party hats.

"suguru can you write a big 'welcome' on the board?" satoru asked as he stuck balloons onto the wall.

"what? do it yourself."

"no! you know I can't do it. nobody understands my handwriting."

"well satoru, you need to work on that. it is pretty awful."

"h-hey!"

before satoru could launch at suguru, the door swiped open, director yaga coming right after.

"w-what? who let you do this delinquency on the classroom?" the older man questioned annoyed. he never approved of some party for the new class, he just expected the second years to introduce themselves.

"it was satoru's idea," the black haired guy said quickly.

"what!" a gasp left his lips as his blue eyes shouted betrayal behind his round glasses. "and yet you are here helping me," he squinted his eyes accusingly at suguru.

"it doesn't matter. they will be here in less than thirty minutes," yaga sighed. "and where is shoko?"

just as he finished his sentence, the brown hair girl entered the classroom, a nonchalant facade adorning her. she was holding the three party hats along with snacks and beverages, a single maybe illegal one snuck between them.

kento nanami and yu haibara complemented each other so well. you had known them for just four days, but you were already growing a bit of affection towards your new classmates. nanami was a quiet and private guy while haibara leaned more into the extrovert side, but not being annoying at all.

when the three of you were called into the classroom where you would meet your seniors, a bit of nervous sweat adorned your forehead as you stood behind the shut door. you have heard some tremendous things about the second year students. there was a guy who literally swallowed curses and used them as pokemon, a girl who was incredibly good at reversed cursed technique, and the beholder of the legendary six eyes and limitless. you didn't know who was who though.

"are you guys excited? oh my! I can't wait to be a great sorcerer!" haibara said excitedly and it actually made you less nervous, there was someone in the school who seemed sensitive.

"yeah. it's going to be a long way," you said just so say something, as you couldn't think of an answer to his enthusiasm, when the door slid open to reveal the classroom inside.

a loud plopping sound startled the three of you, confetti cannon firing hundreds of small colored papers in your direction.

"welcome!" a white haired boy with some ridiculous round glasses shouted as he held the confetti cannon. his yawp followed by a couple of seconds of silence as you recovered from the disorientation the loud cannon caused.

"hah, thank you. that was funny." you said with a soft smile. you had to demonstrate gratitude to your seniors, right? even if it's something as random as this. maybe you were overthinking your interactions with your seniors, but you wanted to make a good first impression.

"thank you! im so glad to be here!" haibara said innocently with a big grin. nanami just looked around the room to try and cover his crippling embarrassment.

satoru gojo didn't believe in love at first sight. but when you told him he was funny? maybe the burning sensation of his cheeks claimed otherwise.

okay, you didn't say he was funny, but the confetti cannon was his idea, so you think he is funny, right?

the rest of the welcoming was spent with required introductions from both the new class and the second years. satoru was certainly curious about the three of you, he wanted to know if this generation was strong. sorcerers needed to be strong, he believed. however he couldn't help but stare you.

you were indeed a sight for sore eyes. your hair danced gracefully around your neck, your skin seemed so smooth, your posture screamed confidence, and you eyes were ones to get lost in.

but that was only admiration, right? satoru had seen dozens of pretty girls before. but the big smile crippling up his face couldn't hide itself when you introduced yourself.

your seniors were very... particular, especially the white haired boy with a creepy smile looking directly at you. his eyes were covered by his shades, but you could swear he hadn't blinked in at least the forty seconds that took you to present yourself.

"im glad there is another girl in this school," shoko shared with a relived tone, her brown eyes analyzing the three of you. "it gets a bit... difficult sometimes with so much testosterone here," she said casually while looking at his two male partners.

suguru shot her a displeased glare while satoru... kept staring at you with the biggest grin. suguru could see his blue eyes from the side being as wide as plates. he wanted to slap him from being such a creep.

satoru didn't believe in love at first sight. he was certain what he felt when he saw you using your cursed technique was pure amazement. he valued strength even over people's morals.

the raw power coming from your cursed energy made him feel almost as euphoric as when he discovered his cursed technique reversal, red.

the way your hand-in-hand combat skills made his opinion on you even more complex. was he a creep for peeping your sparring sessions with haibara and nanami?

satoru swore he just admired your hardworking skills, and maybe your cursed energy was somehow attractive to him, and maybe maybe he liked watching you because he thought you were pretty.

but why hadn't he approached you yet? his natural flirtatious charisma would have acted right the moment he said welcome to you. even as far as showing you his bright blue eyes while striking poses in front of you, showing you every single well-carved angle of his body.

yet he had been respectful to your persona. when he was told there would be another girl in jujutsu high, he thought nothing of it, guessing it would be "another shoko," just another female friend of his.

however, you had unconsciously awed satoru: with your beauty, your strength, and you even thought he was funny!

uh oh, maybe you were different. maybe he liked liked you.

"did you know that in quantum mechanics, particles such as electrons can behave both as particles and waves?" satoru said with an easy going smirk as he approached you during your lunch break.

"oh, hi gojo," you smiled naturally, making the dimples on satoru's cheeks deepen. "yeah I have read something about that in quantum physics books. something about the Schrödinger equation, right?"

oh man. satoru knew he was lost. his lanky body launched itself to your side on the bench. you were outside in the training grounds. you took a bite of your rice ball.

"oh wow," he chuckled a bit nervous. "didn't know you were a physics girl."

"not exactly," you responded muffled as you swallowed the food in your mouth. "but I figured I needed to know the basics to understand my cursed techniques."

you were just made for him. satoru esteemed your physical strength and your smart head. were you also a geek like him?

"your cursed technique involves a lot of physics, right gojo?" your words brought him back to reality. "I would appreciate if some time you show me how it works. I guess im a bit nerdy, haha." you laughed a bit embarrassed. was it okay to be this straightforward with your senior? yeah right? they were there to help their juniors after all.

"of course!" he responded loudly with a big grin. it caught you off-guard you almost tossed him your chopsticks.

you would have thought satoru would show you his technique in the training grounds, or even out in a mission. not in a bakery shop.

before one of you classes started, there was a blue sticky note on your table.

"meet me at the bakery shop in front of the park tomorrow at 3pm to show you my technique, -S.G." there was a little drawing of a cat with round glasses at the right lower corner.

satoru had bribed the naive haibara to tell him where you would usually sit and if you had any missions the next day. the junior was so happy his senior was directing a word to him, if only he knew satoru talked to him to get closer to you. poor guy.

what the white haired guy didn't tell you—didn't want you to know—was that he planned it as a date. was it considered a date when only one of them was aware of it?

satoru didn't care.

he stood straighter the moment his blue gaze fell on your figure entering the bakery shop. oh how good you looked in the jujutsu uniform. the skirt fitted you so well.

"hey!" he shouted your name while raising his entire arm to get your attention. it even gathered the attention of the others clients. you chuckled slightly at him, finding it cute that he was so careless about what others think of him.

"hello gojo," your soft voice was like honeyed melody to his hungry ears. he liked hearing his name coming from your throat.

"suit yourself with something sweet," satoru passed you the small menu looking directly at you eyes as you sat in front of him. you hadn't seen his blue eyes yet, but you could feel his deep stare.

"thank you," you murmured. "umm... gojo? I thought you were gonna show me you technique."

"do you really wanna talk about it? I mean we see sorcery-related stuff all the time, we should take a break," he suggested with a smirk. "why dont you tell me more about yourself? I wanna know more things about you."

and that's what you two did for the next couple of hours. satoru found solace talking to you, an easy person to talk to. it wasn't just the addictive sound of your voice, your answers to his questions and the funny remarks you would sometimes add made him all giddy.

he enjoyed listening to you speak, but he felt a tug at his chest and a burning sensation on his pale face when you asked him about him. you wanted to know about his innate technique and his cursed energy, of course, but satoru gojo was more than just him being a sorcerer. and you could see that. perhaps it was part of your nature to see beyond people´s facade, dip into their true feelings and just observe them.

you noticed the way his eyes cracked open when you asked him about his music taste, his long white eyelashes picking up from his round glasses.

satoru was very complex. he was funny, however his jokes were sometimes a bit off. his humor could be a bit... ahead of his time. he tried putting up an unbreakable, solid self-centered demeanor, but he was kind and sweet at heart, in his own and weird way. it was true that he wanted to have a regular date with you, to get to know you—which he was accomplishing—but it was just as true that he wanted to get his mind off of jujutsu. for a moment at least. he didn't need constant reminder he was supposed to be the savior of the world.

the "date" went smoothly. each got to know more about the other. satoru was convinced he will make you his, while you started seeing beyond the strongest, meeting the compounded and sweet person he was.

it was girl's night. one of the girls dorm was full of the only females in jujutsu high—you, shoko, and utahime.

utahime was like your super senior, she was already a graduate and sorcerer. she was nice and honest. you could notice shoko had a deeper bond with her than with her two male friends.

"shokoo," utahime sang to her junior, squinting her eyes. "ive noticed the way that guy haibara looks at you~."

"haha, nonsense," the short haired girl chuckled unconcerned. "im pretty sure he just looks up at me. he is the same with the two idiots."

"yeah, he admires you all," you said after taking a sip of your nonalcoholic beverage. "haibara just wants to be a great sorcerer to help people so he wants to learn from all of you." you yawned. it was almost midnight and even though you were still young and healthy, getting up at 6am was challenging after a sleepless night.

"well he certainly won't learn anything if he follows in the footsteps of gojo," utahime shrugged while rolling her eyes. she needed to get it off her chest after the constant disrespect the junior gave her.

shoko laughed as you did as well, just a bit nervously. "why you say that, utahime-senpai?" your sleepiness vanished completely.

"well!" she has prepared her whole life for this moment. "he is careless and bluntly disrespectful! to everyone—especially to his seniors!" utahime said with an elevated fist in front of her face, she was getting a bit agitated from the alcohol running through her system. "I dont care he is the strongest, gojo doesn't even care for the people around him. he just cares for himself and getting stronger alongside geto."

the girl with ponytails was speaking with her heart. though her words made you question satoru's morals. he was sweet with you the other day, and he always greeted you during mornings. it was clear he wasn't the most down-to-earth person, but you wouldn't agree he didn't care for others.

that night you went to bed a bit anxious, tossing around the blankets thinking about the white haired boy.

"y/n~ why do you keep training with those two?" satoru whined loudly as he ploped himself down next to you. too next to you. you chuckled softly at his dramatics.

the two were sitting under a tree, its autumn-orange leafs falling at the rhythm of the slightly chilly air. it was mid october and the climate was full of cinnamon and earthy odors with vibrant shades of yellow and orange.

utahime's opinion on satoru didn't discourage you from meeting the sunshine boy, but it was definitely interesting to know how his classmates viewed him. you decided to form your own verdict on satoru by yourself.

and you couldn't deny the feeling of an accelerated heartbeat whenever the tall boy would rush to you to start a conversation. you had stopped laughing politely and started giggling like an enamored girl whenever he would say something remotely funny.

it was undeniable satoru was both handsome and pretty. his boyish features, his striking baby blue eyes that mirrored the skies, his ruffled snow white hair, his very tall and lean figure was too much to take in. the more you would meet him, the more you would grow fond of him. he was a sight for sore eyes. and all the while, his personality was eventually getting into you.

"what do you mean, gojo?" you giggled when his clothed thigh brushed yours. "they are my fellow classmates and they are my friends."

"well, im just saying if you train with me, you'll get stronger faster," he suggested while leaning back with his hands behind his head. he wanted to appear cool and smooth.

"oh, please, every time you say we'll train, we end up in a different bistro!" you exclaimed with a hearty smile while looking at him. his cool facade disintegrated once he caught a glimpse of your eyes.

"th-then, thanks to me you know all the great small restaurants around here!" satoru said flustered. you chuckled while leaning back as well, and just slightly, almost nothing, satoru felt the ghosty touch of your shoulder on his side.

"haha, whatever you say, satoru," the taller man looked at you impressed, a rosy shade decorating your cheeks. the moment suddenly imbued to his consciousness. he was glad you two were over the last name barrier.

his dimples deepened as he tilted his body toward you.

satoru didn't believe in love at first sight. he tried convincing his own self that it took him time to be this smitten by you, that it wasn't love at first sight.

when he told suguru about you, the dark haired boy looked at him with a stoic stare with a raised brow. only a brainless person wouldn't have noticed, he had said, with the way satoru was being all over you recently, harassing your personal space when clinging to you and being annoyingly whiny whenever you had to be anywhere else away from him.

suguru did confirm, though, that you didn't mind any of satoru's loud antics, and once he told satoru his thoughts, the squeal the white haired boy left was to bully him forever. suguru decided to let him drown in his own delusions and he'd tease him later.

after the incident with the star plasma vessel, you noticed a subtle change in satoru.

you weren't in jujutsu high when they returned, however you knew there was something off the moment satoru stopped spamming you with text messages.

your flip phone buzzed the whole three days the mission lasted, with messages full of emoticons.

the star plasma vessel is just a loud youngster with no friends! ( ˘︹˘ ) ohh it reminds me of someone~ hahah y/n stappp (╥︣﹏᷅╥) (ง︡'-'︠)ง

we're at the beach! (✿◠‿◠) :D saw a little sea snail n it reminded me of you~ <33 ah satoru have a fun time!! why did it reminded you of me? *u* bc of that back hump bby you gotta work on that (´_ゝ`) enough

however, during the last day his message rate decreased, to the point that by afternoon, you hadn't received a single text from him for hours. you would have thought he was involved in an intense battle, though he would still text you while doing that.

so it was a bit bittersweet to get a solid text almost at night.

suguru and I made it back to the school, hope you're doing ok on your mission:)

you never questioned him what had happened during those three days, but you were certain it had changed him. it was evident when the day you announced you were back at the school, satoru sprinted to check on you. his hands roaming through your face and arms, looking for any cuts or wounds, while murmuring "are you okay" repeatedly under his breath.

you also noticed this new ambition of his of becoming stronger, asking you to randomly throw objects at him to test his limitless, which he now kept it automatically, isolating himself from the rest of the world.

still, you could see through him. you wouldn't insist on him telling you about what happened, but you weren't going to allow him to sulk and seclude himself from you, being by his side and opening your heart to him.

it had took him a week and a half after the star plasma vessel mission for him to go back to his silly self. such assignment left a bitter scar on his heart and soul, one that wasn't your job to heal, but satoru treasured you for it. he needed frequent assurance you were there with him and that you cared for him.

he also realized he was wasting time playing games with you. he was ready to be yours just as you were ready to be his.

and even though satoru gojo didn't believe in love at first sight, he did believe in deep, devoted love. he didn't know he would be as lucky to endure it, but with you, he was prepared to give you his all. even if he keeps lying to himself he didn't fall for you when you laughed at his confetti cannon.

taglist: @snwvie @fanficsforkicks <3 guys I really wanna make a pt 2 of this I think I can do much better

[goldfades]

PICK & ROLL ─── PAIGE BUECKERS

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | request: you didn't give a single fuck about sports or understand them, but the moment certain tall blonde was in your sight you were the biggest basketball fan. basketball? most interesting thing in the world. that if you knew something? pff, of course you do not know everything about it (you wanted paige so bad lmao) for @kokoch4nel

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | nothing but cute fluffiness! pining (kinda?), insta-stalking (HA), paige being a cocky gal, teasing, nothing else!

The first time you saw her, it was purely accidental. Like a bird flying into a glass window, you collided with the moment, unprepared and utterly floored. A friend had dragged you to the game, insisting, "It’s UConn! Come on, it’ll be fun!"—an assertion you immediately regretted the second you stepped into the roaring, sweat-laden coliseum of enthusiasm that was Gampel Pavilion. Basketball, you’d thought, was a game of giants and squeaky shoes, a sport you could confidently say you knew absolutely nothing about. It wasn’t your scene. It wasn’t your vibe.

Or so you thought.

Because that was before her.

She was blonde—platinum, almost—and tall, yes, but not in the ungainly, lanky way you imagined athletes to be. She moved like water, fluid and effortless, commanding the court with an unassuming grace that bordered on unfair. And her smile—it wasn’t for you, of course, it was for her teammates, or the fans, or maybe no one at all—but it lit up her face in a way that made something dormant in you stir awake.

You hadn’t asked your friend her name because you didn’t want to give yourself away. Instead, you feigned a casual disinterest, leaning back in your seat and pretending the choreography of the game made even the slightest bit of sense to you. But your eyes betrayed you. They lingered on her as she zipped across the court, her ponytail whipping in the air like a metronome to some invisible rhythm.

“Bueckers,” your friend had said, catching you staring. “She’s insane. Probably one of the best players in college basketball right now.”

You’d hummed, nodding like you understood, like that sentence hadn’t just rewired something fundamental in your brain.

Paige Bueckers.

You didn’t know it then, but the syllables of her name were about to become a prayer, a mantra, a haunting.

You spent the rest of the game feigning fascination with basketball—standing when everyone stood, clapping when they clapped, shouting when they shouted—though every ounce of your focus was pinned to her, this enigmatic golden girl who made your heart beat like a buzzer in overtime.

It wasn’t until the final whistle that you realized just how deep you’d fallen. And by then, it was already too late.

The game ended, and the rest of the night was a blur. Your friend chattered on about the plays, the scores, the sheer dominance of UConn’s offense, but all you could do was replay the golden flash of Paige Bueckers in your mind. Her quick, darting movements, the smirk she wore when she sank a three-pointer, the way her hand briefly rested on her teammate’s shoulder after a foul. It wasn’t just basketball, you realized. It was her.

And like any modern-day fool smitten beyond reason, you did what any rational person would do: you went home, crawled into bed, and stalked her Instagram.

Her page was... vibrant. Game photos, sure, but also candids, selfies, and the occasional post with captions like “locked in 🔒” or something equally infuriatingly confident. Paige had that kind of smile that looked genuine even when it wasn’t, and her comment sections were flooded with fire emojis, hearts, and people professing undying love for her.

But nothing prepared you for her TikTok.

You downloaded the app with a shameful urgency, feeling slightly ridiculous as you typed her name into the search bar. There she was. Laughing at trends, goofing off with teammates, dancing like she had the entire world in the palm of her hand. It was unfair, the way she radiated charm without even trying. You watched way too many of her videos in one sitting, spiraling into a rabbit hole you weren’t sure you’d ever climb out of.

Then it happened.

You were still half-scrolling through her Instagram, thumb moving mindlessly, when your body decided to betray you. A slip. A touch too eager.

You double-tapped one of her pictures.

You froze. The blood drained from your face as you stared at the bright red heart on a post from two years ago. It wasn’t even a basketball shot—it was Paige lounging on a couch, looking effortlessly cool in an oversized hoodie, a Starbucks cup in hand.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you whispered, your voice climbing in panic. You quickly unliked it, but the damage was done. She probably has notifications on for her posts. She’s going to know. She’s going to think I’m a freak.

In a blind haze of panic, you did the only logical thing: you hurled your phone across the room, watching it land on the carpet with a dull thud.

For the rest of the night, you lay in bed, replaying the disastrous moment in your head like a bad movie you couldn’t stop watching. Sleep came reluctantly, plagued with dreams of Paige scrolling through her phone, laughing at your desperate, unhinged attempt to lurk unnoticed.

Morning came too quickly, the sunlight piercing through your blinds like an interrogation light. Groaning, you reached for your phone, still half-buried under a pile of discarded clothes. You opened it, expecting nothing, hoping for oblivion.

But there it was.

The notification.

Paige Bueckers has followed you.

You sat up so fast your vision blurred. Your heart pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Paige had followed you? And she did it first?

You stared at the screen, disbelief coursing through you. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she thought you were someone else. Maybe—

A new notification popped up.

Paige Bueckers sent you a message.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tapped on it, your hands trembling so badly you almost dropped your phone.

Her message was casual. Too casual.

Paige 💕 so are you just gonna pretend like you didn’t just deep dive my insta last night ?

You threw your phone again.

This time, it bounced off the wall.

It started small: a few texts exchanged, playful banter about your accidental deep dive into her Instagram. Paige’s messages were quick, witty, and oddly effortless, which only fueled your crush. Somehow, in the back and forth, she didn’t make you feel like you were talking to one of the most talented athletes in college basketball. She made you feel like you were talking to Paige.

You two fell into a rhythm over the following weeks—texts turned into calls, calls turned into FaceTimes, and eventually, FaceTimes turned into actual plans. The first time you hung out, she suggested coffee. By the third hangout, you’d graduated to hanging out at her apartment, something that simultaneously thrilled and terrified you.

Which was how you found yourself now, sitting on Paige Bueckers’ couch, pretending to understand basketball.

Her apartment was warm, modern, and surprisingly homey for someone who probably spent most of her life traveling or on the court. A soft throw blanket was draped over the armrest of the couch, and there was an unmistakable scent of vanilla in the air. Paige was sprawled out next to you, wearing an oversized hoodie and athletic shorts, her feet propped up on the coffee table. She looked completely at ease, while you were internally spiraling, hyper-aware of every movement you made.

The game playing on the TV wasn’t college ball—it was the NBA. Something about the Lakers and the Celtics, teams you knew more from Twitter beef than actual sports knowledge. But Paige was watching with rapt attention, occasionally muttering something about a defensive rotation or a bad screen.

You, on the other hand, were staring blankly at the screen, trying to mimic her reactions like you weren’t two seconds away from Googling “What is a screen in basketball?” on your phone.

“So, what do you think of their zone defense?” Paige asked suddenly, turning to you with a curious glint in her eye.

“Oh, um,” you started, your brain scrambling. “Yeah, it’s... really good. Like, solid. They’re covering all their zones. Defensively.”

Paige’s lips twitched, but she didn’t call you out—yet. “Mmm, yeah, totally. But did you notice how they’re switching on ball screens?”

You blinked. “Oh, yeah. The, uh... ball. Screen. Switch. Super noticeable.”

Her grin widened, and she leaned back, stretching her arms across the back of the couch. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

You flushed, your eyes darting to the screen as if it would save you. “Of course I do,” you lied. “I’m, like, really into basketball now. Totally understand all of this.”

Paige let out a low laugh, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. “Okay, Miss Basketball Expert. Tell me what a pick-and-roll is.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You searched your brain for anything, anything, that sounded even remotely basketball-adjacent. “Uh... it’s... when you, like, pick the ball... and then... roll with it?”

Paige doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met,” she managed between gasps. “Pick the ball and roll with it? Are you serious?”

You crossed your arms, trying to feign offense. “Okay, well, not everyone grows up playing basketball, Paige. Some of us have other hobbies.”

“Like stalking my Instagram?” she shot back, her grin wicked.

“Low blow,” you muttered, unable to suppress your own smile.

Paige sat up, still laughing softly as she nudged your shoulder with hers. “You’re adorable, you know that? You don’t have to pretend to know basketball to impress me.”

Your stomach flipped. “I wasn’t trying to impress you,” you lied again, though the heat rising to your cheeks gave you away.

“Sure you weren’t,” she teased, leaning a little closer, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “But for real, if you ever want to learn, I could teach you. That way, next time someone asks you about a pick-and-roll, you won’t embarrass yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was racing. “Fine. Teach me, Coach Bueckers.”

“Deal,” she said, smiling like she’d just won some unspoken game.

And as the game on TV continued—now entirely ignored by both of you—you couldn’t help but think that sitting here, with her laughing at your complete lack of basketball knowledge, felt better than anything you could’ve imagined.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[aurynsia]

Like The Movies

Sirius Black x Bookworm!Reader

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Summary: You meet a mysterious man in a bookshop who falls for your sunshine personality…

Warnings: Nothing serious (pun intended), grumpy x sunshine dynamic, Marlene once again being the best wingman (it’s a tradition atp), reader is referred to as a girl with she/her pronouns, reader is oblivious to Sirius’ flirting.

Word count: 0.7K

Masterlist

A/N: I couldn’t get this meet cute idea out of my head so I had to write it! Basically all fluff and no plot, Sirius just thinks you’re adorable <3

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Ding!

The bell above the bookshop’s door rang in an echoing call as you stepped inside, a giddy smile spread across your face. You had finally finished your summer reading list, with a chilled breeze marking the end of your book-buying ban.

Preparing to hibernate in your cosy bedroom with a stack of classics, you skipped your way through the aisles to the counter of the store’s joint cafe.

Ordering a hot drink to keep off the chill of the midday breeze, you flashed a grateful grin at the blonde behind the counter as you rounded the aisles, making a beeline for the classic fiction.

You stumbled through the maze of novels, making mental notes of each book you had already read. You found yourself passing three aisles before you discovered a title you didn’t recognise.

Lifting the book to flick through the pages, your gaze intuitively lifted at the presence of someone further down the aisle.

That’s when you saw him.

A dark stroke of hair dropped down his shoulders, collecting in sweet spirals at his chest. His bright eyes held a dark splash of mischief in their depths as he towered over the shelves. His gaze was focused on the book in his hand, eyes flicking over the blurb on the back cover.

Peering over with curiosity, your eyes lit up at the title on the front as he flipped the book in his hands. “That’s my favourite! I’ve read it six times,” you blurted at the mystery man.

His gaze flicked to yours in an instant, a flash of surprise gracing his features before he relaxed into a soft smirk at the sight of you. “Would you recommend it, Dove?” He spoke with a lighthearted and teasing tone as he leisurely stepped closer to your ecstatic self.

“Absolutely! It’s a masterpiece, the author is so talented! You should totally read it,” you rambled, not catching the amusement mixed with adoration in the stranger’s eyes as he watched you.

His head tilted to the side like a curious puppy, listening intently as you gushed over the plot, the characters, the handsome romantic lead, and the optimistic heroine.

He slyly reached for a second copy of the same book on the shelf as you spoke, tucking it under the one already settled in his grasp. You were in your own world at this point, and the man couldn’t help but fluster at your adorable excitement over words on a page. What is this girl doing to me? he mentally asked himself.

She’s got me wrapped around her finger and she doesn’t even know it.

He was beginning to grow soft.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

You eventually remembered to introduce yourself after a series of rambled facts about the book tumbled out of your mouth. The stranger found you to be the most endearing creature he’d ever met.

“I’m-“

“Sirius? Y’Iced latte’s ready!” He hurried over to the blonde behind the counter who finished his sentence, flashing you an apologetic smile over his shoulder with a slight blush to his cheeks.

Marlene’s gaze fell on the books held tightly in his hands with an arched eyebrow. “Sirius Black, reading a book? My, I thought I’d never see the day!” He laughed while motioning for her to keep her voice down, leaning in closer while you browsed.

“It seems I’ve taken a liking to the little bookworm over there, wriggled her way right into my heart,” he motioned towards you with a smirk as Marlene spots you curiously reading the blurbs of various classics. “Said this was her favourite,” he held up the books in his hands with an uncharacteristically bashful smile, brushing the gesture off nonchalantly. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her I was buying it for Moony’s birthday.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, passing him his drink along with a napkin and a pen. “You’re hopeless, Black, really,” she whispered, turning around to pick up another order.

His eyes lit up at the sight of the pen, “You really do know me well, Marls! And to think I only keep you around for the coffee,” he quipped, though his tone held no bite. He scribbled on the napkin before Marlene passed your drink into his grasp, sending her a final look of gratitude before turning back to you.

“Here you go, love. Now, what was that sequel about again? What happens next?” You glanced up as he handed you your drink with a sweet grin, oblivious to the napkin sitting on top with a phone number scrawled across it, waiting to be discovered as you launched into an explanation with a giggle.

“Wait- no! I can’t tell you, spoilers!”

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————