#and not in the way that he can’t afford it

[darkredsugarcookie]

Hi!! I’m new here so I’m sorry if I do this wrong. Just want to send some Thunderbolts!Bucky ideas maybe he called his girlfriend (the reader) for backup (maybe she’s a former shield agent) but didn’t share too many info with the group and they all a little surprised to find out he has a girlfriend

Let me know what you think, thanks!

i absolutely LOVE this!!! Ever since I saw Thunderbolts I've been thinking about almost this exact thing and I got another ask for something similar, so here we are! I'm also tempted to make a part two of this but focus on the two of them more and make it a comfort thing to apologize for my shame room fic LOL

love you 3000!

Signed Up For This

Word count: 1,143

As far as the media knew, the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances. 

But it was a bond that had gone back a lifetime, from when the two of you had first met when you were fresh out of escaping the Red Room, to when he was the contact you had made to get a fresh start on life and he was in the process of trying to make amends with his existence, so he had offered to get coffee. “We both need some… new connections,” he had said, offering that awkward smile that you had fallen for almost as quickly as he’d fallen for you. 

It was your idea to keep it a secret. You knew how he felt about weaknesses and you were currently the only one he really had. If anyone knew the truth… God, it terrified him. The idea of losing the one pure and right thing he’d gained in this side of the century drove him into a panic more often than he’d admit. So he was glad you had brought it up, worried you might be offended or think he was ashamed of you.

Which was what made him making you the head of his security when he decided to run for Congress a little out of the blue, but you took it. Any opportunity to be close. Plus… who said sneaking around at work was for teenagers? 

But tonight, you had a different reason for asking to speak to him in private in the middle of the fundraiser gala. You knew that look on his face. That look that said he was plotting when he very much should not have been. 

“What are you thinking?” you asked, peeking around the corner for a moment before your gaze fixed on him again. It was a miracle his hair had stayed in place, but there was a reason he always made you do it for him. “I can see that look.”

“What look?” he replied, that dumb grin you’d fallen for years ago pulling at his mouth. “I’m not thinking.”

“You are such a liar, James Barnes. I can see it. Whatever you’re thinking, leave it alone. We are past our meddling days.”

“I’m not meddling,” he said. 

You tilted your head. “Do not let this stuff with Valentina get personal. You can’t afford to get in trouble with all this.” 

“The politics don’t—”

“I’m not talking about politics,” you said. “I’m talking about you, Buck. We don’t know for sure what’s going on and we can’t act until we do. Otherwise we’ll be in just as much trouble as she is.”

“I talked to her assistant,” Bucky said. 

“Her assistant? Mel?” 

“Yes. She’s on the fence.” 

“Okay. Tell her to call you when she’s made a decision. Don’t make it your job to change her mind,” you said, taking a step closer. He just stood there a moment, looking you over. Not in that ‘get in the office and take off that dress’ kind of way he normally did, but like he was just taking in your existence. “You told me that my job as your security is to keep you safe. But my job as your fiance is to make sure that we’re not making dumb decisions. Let Mel come to you.”

He nodded, reaching for your waist to tug your body closer. Normally you’d pull away in a setting like this, even hidden, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Not now. Not when you had that feeling in your stomach that something was just off. And that feeling had never led you astray. “I just make your job harder, don’t I?” he said with a small, teasing smile. 

“You do, but I signed up for it,” you replied. 

“I’ll be good,” he said, nodding. “But… Mel’s just a kid. If she needs help—”

“Help her,” I said. “And if she needs more than that, call me.” 

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth. “My best girl,” he whispered. 

“Always.”

And you should’ve known after that conversation that it was only a matter of time. Within thirty-six hours, you were sent a pin drop link to some place in the middle of nowhere and a message that just said “need you.”

You’d tugged on that leather uniform jacket you hadn’t touched in a long time and braided back your hair before pulling up to some abandoned garage in the middle of nowhere, intel in hand. You could hear voices from inside, something about a “Bob” and exclamations of words you hardly understood. 

You shoved through the rusted door, swiping up on the tab in your hands. “She took over the old Avengers tower,” you said, approaching and offering Bucky the tablet. “Heat signatures say she has the place crawling with security and I ran facial rec on the guy she brought in early this morning.”

“So guns blazing is the only way in,” Bucky said, reaching to squeeze your hand in a silent thank you. 

You shrugged your shoulders. “Guess so,” you replied before turning to the abstract group of circus people tied up in front of you. And John. “What the hell happened here? Bucky, I told you to just leave Walker alone, he’s been through enough.”

“Who are you?” the little blonde in black asked. If you squinted, you might recognize her. Like some sort of really distant, childhood memory. 

Bucky blew out a breath before you could answer. “She’s my fiance.”

“Your what?” came from all four of them. 

“He’s married?” the brunette asked. 

“In the process,” I corrected. 

“How did that happen?” Walker muttered. 

“Oh, that is cute!” the large one exclaimed, seeming to be way too happy considering the circumstance.

You glanced at Bucky, your arms folded over your chest. “This is… who was so important?” 

“They’re witnesses,” Bucky said, giving you a look as if to tell you to be kind. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked at the others. “Most ragtag team I’ve ever seen,” you said, shaking your head. “What, exactly, is the plan here?”

“Well, originally, they were my witnesses,” Bucky said, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “But now the agenda looks a little different. Take out Val, help Bob. Then we go home.” 

“Bob?” You asked. “Like Robert?” You took the tablet from his hands and swiped it open. “Yeah, he’s a big deal now. If we’re gonna move, we need to do it fast.” You swapped a knowing look with Bucky as he nodded. “I’ll start the car.” 

As you made your way towards the door, you heard the voices behind you. 

“So you’re really not all bite, huh?” one of the girls said. 

“Someone really does have a soft spot.”

“Isn’t that cute."

And despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your lips.

[lostwrlds]

WITH LOVE, ON YOUR BIRTHDAY ── NAGI .ᐟ

( 📡 ) summary; picking out the perfect gift for seishiro nagi was no easy feat, but after flying a thousand miles to surprise him on his birthday – you discover the only present he really wants is you. 11K

✩ lost notes ! happy birthday to my glorious king seishiro nagi !! my goat fr !! also if ur reading this thank u for supporting the first fic on my blog, i'm excited to share more with u soon !! sorry 4 any typos & enjoy international nagi day mwah ⋆˙⟡♡

✩ warnings ! minors, blank & ageless accounts do not interact. fluff & smut, female reader, pro player nagi, characters are adults. long-distance & newly established relationship, unprotected sex, clothed sex, dry humping, oral fixation, somnophilia, overstim, coercion, breeding, creampie, praise & pillow talk.

── © LOSTWRLDS ╱ 2025.

you would think that seishiro nagi would be any easy person to buy a birthday gift for. 

whilst in your eyes, he’s far from plain and simple, the white-haired striker takes pleasure in the things that come easy. like naps on sunny afternoons and golden rays that filter through half-drawn curtains to kiss at your skin or rainy nights curled up on a cosy couch, blankets pulled over your head as your breathing syncs up. he likes the nothingness of quiet, downtime and alone time away from the hustling bustling world that roars his name whenever he makes a powerful or unpredictable play. 

to you, seishiro nagi is extraordinary — in every possible way. not only is he extremely gifted and a natural at the sport he plays, but he is sincere. when he’s out there, he’s got his heart on his sleeve with the intention of pushing himself beyond his own limits. he takes on the challenge, the adrenaline and the rush not just for himself but for his team. he moves with purpose, revitalised energy like he’s more than just the title bestowed on him. seishiro is not just the lazy genius to you. perhaps you’re a little biased, because you find yourself lucky enough to be his girlfriend. to be the one thing that motivates nagi aside from the tase of a freshly formulated goal. 

but he truly is beauty personified to you. not just fresh snow white hair, calming pools of grey for eyes, and a tall yet muscular physique. though bonus points, he is everything. your own personal drive to do and be better. 

that’s why you feel as though he needs the perfect gift, so you can show seishiro that he motivates you to succeed just as much as you motivate him. most of what he does is for you, not just his ego. 

it’s only right that you treat him the same way.

so a video game for his birthday could suffice, but as a big time soccer player earning big time money — he practically owns almost every game to have ever existed. there’s not a piece of jewellery in the world that might ignite a bit of passion in him, except for the black studs he wears when he’s not on the pitch and even then, nagi never changes them. he’s a creature of habit, he likes things the way they’ve always been and disturbing that would be less than an ideal present. you’d go for more little homely house plants, but between his hectic schedule and the sleep he craves when not working, you think the white-haired striker would struggle with raising a high maintenance army of greenery.

everything seishiro nagi usually wants and typically likes… they aren’t things that you can wrap up with luxury paper and a pretty silk bow — they’re circumstances caused by a butterfly effect starting many months ago. you can’t put a perfect day into a box and call it a gift, no matter how many times nagi tells you that all he wants is you. you’d feel bad if your presence was his only present, what would you have to show for as his girlfriend? 

compared to the likes of other bluelock wags, stags and partners…you find it hard to come up with something that will prove your worth. diamonds and flashy cars, expensive trips and gourmet foods aren’t something you can afford out of your own dime and you’re not even sure seishiro would care if he wasn’t able to share these experiences with you. but that doesn’t stop the nagging, itching feeling that peels through the layers of thick skin like a bug that bites. this would be your first time celebrating nagi day with him as a couple. you at least want to make it special.

it would be the perfect time to prove yourself worthy of every little drop of love he so tenderly showers you with — almost as though you’re one of those mini cacti he raises back home.

an opportunity arises once the bluelock team departs the country for an away game right around the time of the genius striker’s birthday, meaning that you wouldn’t be able to celebrate with one another in person. in a way, you were relieved — the time apart would give you more time to search for the right gift but being long distance was never easy. not for the two of you, so used to being wrapped up in one another’s arms and scents. and when seishiro’s teammates insist on flying you out for his birthday; to cheer him up between practises and matches — that gnawing sensation you’d been feeling, the dire need to prove yourself as the perfect footballer’s girlfriend dials back. just a touch. 

he’s been missing you, he always does. it’s evident in the way that his plays become more sluggish and his mannerisms grow dazed and drowsy —  like he’s out of it. sometimes, seishiro can’t function without you there, up in the stands to cheer him on — it’s too much of a hassle to be his best when his girl isn’t around. who is there to show off to? who is there to make proud? without you, there’s barely any motivation to win.

so maybe that’s what he needs… to touch you, feel you, kiss you again. instead of a ridiculously fancy gift. maybe you’ve been selfish, ignoring the one simple desire your boyfriend had for a day dedicated solely to him rather than choosing to focus on how that would make you look in the eyes of world, instead of how you looked in his eyes. 

no insecurity of yours is worth the cost of his happiness.

therefore, on the eve of seishiro nagi's birthday ( may 5th and not the 6th ) with a prepaid ticket from isagi in hand, you nervously board a plane set to land halfway across the globe in a matter of hours. and hope in your heart that your arrival is enough to satisfy the genius striker’s birthday wishes. 

you’re quiet when opening the door to seishiro’s hotel room — instinctively flinching until your  shoulders are raised high enough to level with your neck at the offensive buzz it makes upon scanning your keycard for entry. it’s a spare from swiped from yoichi, you shove it into your back pocket with baited breath and pray that it hasn’t roused your sleepy boyfriend.

the room itself is shrouded in darkness, inky black painting the contours and corners from where the curtains are drawn to their max and every light switch is turned off. you can just about see your hands in front of you, deciding to shrug off your backpack and leave it by the door with your suitcase to avoid stumbling over it while your vision is impaired. after a few moments of blind feeling, you adjust to the dimness around you — guided by the familiar scent of baby-safe detergent and the sound of soft snoring towards the luxurious king size bed where your sweet boyfriend snoozes soundly.

it’s crazy, how your mind and body works to find him even when your other senses are down. nagi’s calm and safe aura lulls you into his orbit and you don’t ever seem to find yourself fighting it. perhaps he feels the same way about you. drawn to you like a moth to a flame, dying happily by it’s light.

your gaze lands on him, curled up in a heap under high-thread count bedsheets and blankets. comfortable. safe. you’re desperate to be near him after time apart, eager to inch past the barriers of his skin and make space for yourself in his rib cage right next to his heart because you cannot believe that you convinced yourself to stay away from him in the name of gift wraps and tags. kicking your shoes off at the foot of the bed frame, you crawl onto the mattress, hands and knees sinking into its plush memory foam like quicksand.

sitting back on your knees whilst hanging over the sleeping striker, your brain is able to piece together the truth in the meaning of his name. calmness. the sensation washes over you like the gentle lap of waves against a serene, picturesque shoreline — seishiro nagi looks so calm while he sleeps. as though he’s an angel resting or passing time on the fluffiest cloud in heaven. the thought makes you smile softly to yourself in the dark, a hand moving to brush stray strands of snowy locks away from his pretty face. 

“sei,” comes your attentive whisper, hidden beneath the quietness of night. your boy. all yours. so beautiful like this, you’d hate to interrupt his sweet dreams. “baby, wake up…” he keens into your touch even under the guidance of sleep, lifting silvery locks splayed across crisp, flat-ironed pillowcases to nuzzle against your palm. the sound of your voice fails to rouse him, and for a moment you contemplate slipping behind him and joining his deep slumber… but you just want to see his eyes.

see them and know that you’re wanted. 

so you try again, raking your nails through the shaggy roots of his hair and scratching at his scalp. you miss his voice, his scent, his touch. this is easier than forcing yourself to stay away from him, much less of a hassle to desire nagi’s proximity than to deny it. 

“seishiro…”

this time, his body answers your call and the mattress squeaks under the weight of his stocky frame rolling over until his back hits the sheets. still, though, he doesn’t wake. moving quickly, you seize the opportunity to clamber into the lazy genius’ lap — straddling his hips, pelvis to pelvis, as you admire him from above. “mph…baby?” he grumbles at the familiar, pressure of your body on his, still constricted by the misty fog of sleep. he reaches for you because he knows it’s you, instantaneously and it’s cute how even then he searches for you, like you would him. 

he likes your warmth, the smell of the shea butter lathered onto your skin, the closeness — like a safety net. the world is so bothersome without you, that’s why he can’t help but react to you even while he rests. not that you mind and even though you really should sleep after such a long flight, surprise him in the morning, everything within you is screaming at you to take more. give more.

“it’s just me, sei,” you coo and swallow down the ardour that begins to mount in the depths of your throat, like soot from the fire of lust sparking in your lower belly. “don’ worry,” exhaling sharply, you swoop down to press the wisps of a kiss to the tip of his nose — more so to calm yourself down, distract yourself from the desire that you unwillingly allow to spread through you, than anything else.

you can’t control your hips, the way they subtly grind down on seishiro’s lap while he snoozes away so preciously. he’s too pretty, too soft, too warm. he makes it unable to resist. a craving for more spreads across your brain like a sheet of rain during a storm, slipping into the deficits and dips of your brain — clouding your mind with lust. you act on the feeling tingling just beneath the surface of your skin, pushing the heat between your thighs against the subdued hardness trapped behind signature grey sweats that hang low on the striker’s taut hips.

the soccer star visibly relaxes as a result of your subtle affections and sinful movements, the uneven crease between his brows fades into nothingness whilst his adorable pout does the same — only, rather than going back to sleep, seishiro’s ashy grey eyes begin to flutter open and you’re soon face to face with the man you love more than anything in the world. “‘m not worried,” he quips quite directly, the baritone notes of his voice caked in a layer of exhaustion. nagi’s back bows from the bed, his cruelly slender waist jutting upwards to match your pace. “what are you… what are doing here?”

he’s breathless beneath you; lines of sleep still caressing the prettiest patches of his soul, already ready to give himself to you despite just barely returning to the real world. the sight of him sends an unbearable ache down the segments of your spine, crackling at your pelvis and shooting to clit nestled against his crotch. “it’s your birthday, sei,” you whisper, feeling shy as if you weren’t just intent on using his body tonight. not that nagi would mind, it was something he loved. being close to you without asking. “i flew in to surprise you…”

large, veiny hands land on your hips causing goosebumps to rise across their expanse like chicken skin, not guiding you but simply holding you in place — stopping you from retreating into your shy little shell away from your boyfriend's moonlit gaze. nagi raises a brow, quickly checks the date on the digital clock banished to the night stand, and then exhales deeply through his nose — expression vacant and tired but eyes swirling with a bout of mischief. 

hidden desire contrastingly dances through the smoke screen flecks dotted around his pupils too, telling you that his touch isn’t as innocent as one may first think.  “oh… yeah, it is,” his thumbs slip under the loose hem of your shirt, a comfortable one from your apartment back home with his scent intertwined with each little stich and loose thread. a pleased hum rumbles from the depths of seishiro’s chest once the pads of his thumbs make contact with the marred surface of your skin, drawing lazy circles against it. “flew all this way f’me, huh?”

“always for you.” 

“what a hassle.” there’s no malice in his tone and when he licks his lips, wetting them from where they’ve dried up during sleep, and basks in the way your line of sight instantly drops to his tongue — pretty pink darting out and swiping over micro cracks and crevices in otherwise plush, fleshy lips. seishiro appreciates…you. only his girl would fly across the globe to be with him on his birthday, that’s the kind of love and passion that motivates him to be better. good.

everything has a point when he’s with you.

“it’s not, i mean, it wasn’t,” your breath hitches as nagi’s gentle touch coasts over your skin whilst it warms, turning to an almost bruisingly tight grip that allows him to  pulling you back and forth over his lap. the white-haired striker knows exactly what he’s doing, lazily building up an undeniable tension that coils in your stomach and muddles up all of your thoughts.“anyway…i know it’s late a-and we should probably sleep,” incoherent musings come out as a rush, tangling with the heated particles that buzz in the night air — so full of mounting lust and kinetic energy. 

you’re rambling, you’re turned on and you’re flustered all at once. 

but that’s just what he does to you, and it’s so much worse when you’ve been away from each other for too long. seishiro hardens between your supple thighs before either of you can realise it, his erect and pulsating cock nestled between your clothed folds — catching on the hood of your clit through even layers of pure cotton and polyester. the feeling of him beneath you, so ready and so giving, has your steadiness swimming — the strength to keep yourself up already faltering to the point where you need to rest your hands against his firm chest. “but i was wondering… what you wanted for your birthday?” 

he hums at your dizziness, pushing your shirt up further. “nothin’ special,” comes his half-hearted reply, focus landing on the subtle rise and fall of your chest — trailing down to the softness of your tummy that he exposes to the word. “just you. like this.” nagi’s eyes darken, a storm brews within them — you can see the cogs whirring in his tired mind almost as if he’s calculating something. 

the white-haired soccer player bucks upwards experimentally, only once, pressing more of his girth against your pussy as it slickens with anticipation and you realise…

he’s measuring just how much of himself will fit inside you. 

the thought makes you groan with your  lips caught between your teeth — biting down hard enough to draw blood. flavours of iron would be enough to distract you from your aching clit and the soaked through gusset of your panties, but it wouldn’t take away how much you want him in this moment. “sei…” using a warning tone, you paw at his pecs and lean down to hide your embarrassed face in his neck — ragged breaths tickling the milky skin there.

just the mere implication of nagi comparing his size to you, imagining how he’s going to fuck you has you panting like a puppy in heat.

you’ve taken him many times before, in plenty of different ways… that doesn’t mean you’re not shy about it. nagi could have anything he wanted today — you may be new to this girlfriend thing ( girlfriend of a football star no less ), but you know that the world is at his fingertips. so, to think that your boyfriend, as handsome and as desirable as he is, can only think of fucking you for his birthday, it messes you up. does something to you. flusters you until you fall apart and your pieces are beyond repair. 

“i mean it, don’ want anything fancy. just you. on top of me like this. feels good…” seishiro continues to rasp, shaking out his pearlescent bed hair that seems to catch the light of the moon in the dark. something about his laziness is so sexy to you and you’re sure there’s a dark spot on the front of both of your sweats from how much his deep, sleepy voice makes your cunt gush and contract around nothing. “please, baby. you’ll do that for me, yeah?”

“yeah… yes, i can.” you’re nodding your head eagerly before the words have even been strung together — gasping shakily against seishiro’s skin as his hands trail down to your ass to squeeze fleshy cheeks, using them to pull you down against his prominent bulge. he slots between your legs perfectly, like he belongs underneath you or you on top of him. you hardly hold back the moans tucked into his neck, your fingers wrapping in silverdust locks while you hug his head — wanting to be impossibly closer to him.

whilst he appears to be in more control, nagi is no better than you are. he feels like he’s on fire, burning up with the feverish need to fuck you, make you his, fill you up. oh god, how he’s missed this. the adrenaline pumping through his veins, swirling around in the blood that rushes through his ears and down to his cock as it oozes against your covered cunt. there’s only two things that have ever gotten seishiro nagi this rilled up — one of them being you. his beautiful fucking angel; a simpering mess above him, clinging on him and depending on him for pleasure. “mmph, good girl,” his praise runs like molten sugar right through you, sugary enough to make you feel like you’re high despite the late hour. “want you to ride me. will you do that f’me too?”

seishiro squeezes your ass between deft fingers as if to ground himself. they feel so good on you, his lips pressing open mouthed kisses just beneath your ear lobe feels even better. nagi won’t let you go when you’re like this — so sweet and on the verge of collapsing on top of him. he has to soothe you because it soothes him, as if touching you and holding you and kissing you is the only thing that could possibly make him feel alive.

“anything you want, sei.” you reply weakly, lost  under the blanket of the night, you rut and grind against one another like two lovers leading each other blindly. you’ve hardly even started and you’re already close to tears just from having the striker’s sweatpants rub your clit until it’s raw and sticky. 

“i want you.” he murmurs firmly, his cadence still rough with sleep. you barely register his next movements, your entire thought process and any feedback turned to sluggish mush when your boyfriend suddenly pushes you both to sit up — his mouth slothenly finding yours in a languid lip lock. it’s slow, sexy and all-consuming, as if seishiro is trying to make you a part of him. his tongue licks into the crevices of your hot, wet mouth as you pour delectable, dulcet whimpers and whines into him. 

your breath tastes like spearmint like you’d brushed your teeth on the plane, but still has underlying notes of you. all he wants is to swallow you down, never come up for air no matter how your lungs may burn and beg for oxygen. nagi has missed this. he needed this. you find yourself chasing his mouth, his sinful tongue as it rolls over yours — wetly whining between pecks because you need nagi so bad you can hardly put it into words. fingers comb through pure white hair, noses knock against each other and become neighbours, whilst hands grow bolder and finally tug more forcefully at your clothes — impatient, ready to free you and expose you to possessive, fluttering sleepy grey eyes.

eventually the need to breathe outweighs the need to kiss each other and your lips glisten with sweat once you finally manage to pull away from the striker’s greedy grip on you. “arms up, angel,” blue lock’s lazy genius commands under his ragged breath, his tone firm but laced with affection. nagi lifts the hem of your shirt once you do what you’re told, throwing the article of clothing into the abyss of his hotel room. your bra receives the same treatment, exposing your nipples to cool-ish air.  “let’s take these off, they’re in our way,” a beat of silence passes, most spent on ogling the goosebumps that form at your chest like pin pricks — your boyfriend pings the elastic of waistband, causing you to yelp in surprise. “what a bother.” he pacifies you by rubbing cruel circles around your areola until reaching the hardening bud in the middle and pinching it.

in a flurry of fabrics, your own sweats are tugged down and tossed away with your panties — leaving you completely vulnerable and bare to your boyfriend’s manic, starved stare. he drinks you in like you’re the first woman he’s ever seen, the first glass of water to be found in a never-ending stretch of desert sand. before you can even make a move to cover yourself, wrap your own arms around the swell or your breasts — seishiro grasps your wrists a little too eagerly, nearly startling you out of your feverish skin when he pulls them down to have your palms resting on his chest. 

only after he’s sure you’ll be a good girl and stay in place, does he release his hold on you. but it’s far too late for that, by now your soul is tethered to his by strong ropes of longing and lecherousness.

“don’t forget what you promised me,” lifting his hips, nagi repositions himself on his back and yanks down his sweats  — moaning loud at the dark patch you’ve left on his crotch. tucking the waistband of both his pants and his boxers under heavy cum- filled balls — too drained to take them off properly. only then does his cock spring free, slapping sloppily against his toned abdomen, abs prominent through his light sleep-shirt. the lazy genius’ size is just as impressive as he is, where he is long and curved, he is also thick. idiotically pretty, his tip a delicious rose pink shade which might as well be vermillion red from how sore he is — oozing a viscous stream of cream from your earlier ministrations. pale blue gradienting to purple veins wrap around his cock like delicate ribbon on the perfect present, kicking to life as dopamine and other happy hormones rush to his shaft. 

the sight of him is hypnotic, calling to you like a siren’s song and you feel all of your self control slipping away when your hips jump forward — encasing his milky-tipped cock between your syrupy folds, rocking yourself back and forth. back and forth. back and forth over him — driven by the spark of ecstasy pulsing at the sticky sensitive pressure nub hidden between your puffy pussy lips every time his bulbous cock head nudges against it. you’re like a puppet on strings and seishiro your puppeteer, his pillow soft mewls and breathy, pleased laughter leading you through this impure performance. 

claggy, cloying sounds reverberate between your sweltering sexes that rub salaciously against each other — ad-libbed by the gentle sighs the two of you share. echoing in a sweet symphony of love making that only serves to dizzy you and make the world spin on its axis. all you feel, smell and taste is as him. all of him mingles with the air fizzling in the intimate night and all of you is put on display for his viewing pleasure. you are his present, his reward for working so hard. his everything.

eventually, a shaky hand reaches between your intertwined mess of half-dressed, half naked limbs to gluttonously grasp at the lazy striker’s chubbed up cock. you’ve had enough of grinding and humping at him, your whole body is aching for more. there’s a twinge of pain that blossoms in your lower belly and spreads throughout your sopping mound because she’s oh so desperate to be filled. 

you need him inside or you feel like that flickering wildfire of unadulterated lechery raging inside might burn you alive. blacken your organs and taint your soul with sin. you’re rushing, to put it simply, hotly pressing nagi’s mushroomed, pitifully creamy and red tip against the tight ring of your entrance as it flutters around nothing. squeezing droplets of your arousal onto him which helps act as the perfect form of lube.

nagi tuts at your impatience, he’s never liked to rush, always taking his time to make you fall apart but it’s so entertaining to see you crave him like this. so badly that your pretty face crumples above him like your world is falling apart and you’re about to shed some of those precious angel tears for him. “e-easy, angel,” he voices quietly, soft spoken words quickly turning into a hiss as your spasming hole easily circles and glides over the tip of his dick. “my birthday’s just begun…” from there, those very same comforting, warm palms from earlier take hold of your ass — pulling you forward as the white-haired soccer star aligns himself with your entrance and rolls his cock up into you. 

you do the rest of the work, it is his birthday after all, and push down to meet him halfway — burying your face against his stardust freckled skin and biting shoulder to cope with the delicious stretch as his weighty, viscous girth bottoms out inside of you. “slow… go slow, baby. want this to last. wanna feel you…” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, when you’re finally, finally fully seated down on him. though, it’s not long before seishiro throws his head back into the lush hotel pillows with an alluring whine — lips parting wide enough for you to see the strings of saliva that connect the roof of his mouth to his strawberry tongue, drool sloshing across its surface. “hah…mmm, angel. you’re so, m’fuck, you’re s’fucking tight.” 

if you had the brain cells to function, you’d agree. say something dirty in return, but you’re so exhausted from your flight and too worked up to even process full sentences — you’re just about conscious enough to relish in the feeling of his cock nestled perfectly along your rippling wet walls. almost as if they’re welcoming him home. “s-sei,” you whinge all babyish against his neck. “missed how you feel…” a displeased huff from him coasts along your skin as you pull back, but now you’re able to look at him with those beautiful, shiny bambi eyes that make his gut twist and his thick precum to pool deep inside of you. “‘s so big. feel so full.”   

“you can take it. yeah, pretty thing?” he coos; oxygen escaping from his lungs as if the air he breathes is thinned from how high he is — like it would to at a mountain top. because he is. high. high on you like you’re some kind of class A drug. high on the way you feel, wrapped around him so warm and wet — hugging him close, cunt locking around him to keep him inside. he’s high like he’s an addict and he never wants to give you up, never wants to go to rehab to get over you. so he trains you, makes you work for your own high to ensure that you’ll never ever leave him. “you promised me, s’my birthday.” 

a shaky sigh lays wet on your lips, your lashes fluttering against the exposed parts of his skin.  “uhuh… promised.” 

with that, you sit up straight and dig your knees into the crumpled duvet half discarded on the bed — peeling your salt-licked skin away from nagi’s so that you can lift and drop your syrupy cunt down on him steadily. you move up and down, up and down — picking up more momentum each time your pussy goes from suctioning around the swell of his base to just barely squeezing his miry tip. at first, you’re slow, sensual — just like he asked, airily squealing like a lamb at the slaughter house with each thrust. skin sluggishly slaps on skin, accompanying the glacé gripes clawing their way out of the inside of your throat whilst his deft digits splay out against your bare back — fingertips tucking themselves into the divot where your spine is. seishiro strokes along the length of it, sending an electrical current straight up to your brain, causing you to short circuit. 

again, despite his hands exploring and touching you, he does nothing to guide or help you navigate magnetic push and pull between you both as you make love — he’s leaving that all up to you, you are supposed to be spoiling him on his birthday after all. you’re too buzzed off him, too hooked on seishiro nagi to mind that he’s laying still beneath you, only pushing up when you’re too shallow when pushing down. instead, you savour the feeling of his thick cock and it’s prominent veins dragging against your soft, silken walls. 

creamy strings of your arousal cling to each blue ridge that spirals down his shaft, the probable cause of the lewd, squelch of your sex when you grind down on him — let him fill you to the brim once more. “angel,” he simpers, swollen lips escaping the prison of his perfect teeth just for a second as he inhales the waves of lust radiating from your pores. “do you know how wet you are? how good you feel…?” his praise runs like honey through your system, urging you to move atop him with more vigor — your grinding increasingly impassioned as you ride him feverishly. nagi’s rough palms become hot and tacky against the slope of your back but he refuses to let go of you — holding you there, making sure you can’t pull too far off him because he feels like he might die if his dick isn’t safely tucked inside your dripping cunt.

“yes,” you say without really understanding what you’re responding to, your own hands slipping up to shimmering milky-toned shoulder blades and the base of seishiro’s throat — not squeezing. just grounding yourself and reminding him to keep his hazy, stormy eyes on you no matter how blurred his vision may get. “s’all ‘cause of you, sei. o-only you get me like this…” you manage to cry out, but now you’re crying in two different ways. through your voice and your cunt as it bounces on nagi’s drooling cock. you just want to make sure that he sees it, the way your seams start to loosen and the threads of your sanity unravel because it’s his fault you’re like this. 

“not fair, angel. fuck, y’not bein’ fair…” he pants in reply, gaze dropping from the twist of your face to between your glistening thighs; enamoured by the way his chubby cock rhythmically disappears into your swollen pussy. you have no idea how much seishiro needed this, how his fist and pretty pictures of you just weren’t enough to keep him going. he wonders if you know the effect you have on him, shattering the pieces of his soul with you being the only person able to put him back together again. “won’ be able to function without your pussy on me…wanna stay like this forever.” 

nagi’s focus flickers back up to meet your line of sight whilst his slender fingers dance across your body, swallowing down a thick whine when he uses them to spread your nether lips — showing off small waves of your sweet nectar as it glazes his thighs and shaft. “fuck, dont you want that too, angel? keep you full of me forever. like this…” he comments avidly, grinding up into you for a moment furthering your pleasure by jamming his cockhead against your g-spot just to prove his point. “would be such a hassle to do anythin’ else. you could just be with me…”

you tremble and your muscles tense at the new sensation, you blossom under his words and observation — drowning in the storm of his hazy eyes whilst blood dotted with lustful hormones course through you rapidly, stinging right at your exposed clit. every drag of his length against your salacious insides ruins you for everyone else, you could imagine a world where you’re fucked and ruined by him every day and you like it — the idea goading you to ride him faster, harder, clumsily slamming yourself down on him to your heart’s content. 

even from underneath you, relaxed and only lazily bucking up into you on occasion ( when he thinks you need it or deserve it ) — seishiro has so much power over you. he’s the only one able to make you bounce on it until there’s a dulcet crack in your voice and white hot tears are stinging at your waterline — your bodies in a dance together in a way that only lovers know, making you both experts in tangled limbs heaving moans. such levels of intense passion and intimacy have your sodden mound seizing around the white-haired striker, causing a hiccup in the way he lovingly and slowly begins to pound away at you from below.

to be fair to him, you’re very motivational. those dreamy sighs you let out and those  bedroom eyes you look down at him with. those lush lips that you lick in concentration... the list goes on. each little thing about you is like another carrot in front of a prized horse; you’re something he wants to chase after, someone he yearns for. being with you is just as thrilling as the soccer he plays for a living, every time your bodies touch and connect like this, accompanied by a sense of vulnerability that trickles into the humid air — nagi is reminded of how lucky he is to have all of you. you’ll forever be his greatest gift.

in the dead of night, mere hours into his birthday, you give yourself up for him — rip open your chest and bear your heart all for seishiro nagi, the muscle beating rapidly behind your breasts as they sway from the force of your hips crashing down to match your boyfriend’s pace. “wan’ that, wan’ you,” you bleat, sounding so much needier and aroused than ever before — your sugary voice layered over musical tracks of sweat-drenched skin slapping wetly on skin. “please… need more. more of you always. don’ wanna be without you ever again…” 

“mmnn, pretty thing. you’re so perfect,” the striker groans low and sexy, sending a rush of hot dopamine over your tired brain and arousing it further. “want s’much more but you’re not even done riding me yet,” seishiro cocks his head to the side, moonlight locks spreading out across the pillows like refracted pattern from a gem that’s caught light. if he shimmers, then you shine — glowing in the dark from the sex and light sheen of sweat clinging to your naked flesh. “gonna kill me with how pretty you sound ‘n how needy you are…” his hand that once parted your folds now dances its way up your pelvis, traces over the chub at your waist and smooths over your soft tummy — feeling for how deep he’s gotten, churning up your guts while you languidly roll your clenching cunt over him.

next they toy and tug on your hardened nipples, circling your sensitive areolas just to make you twitch whilst the supple mounds of flesh bounce with every thrust. collar bones, the base of your throat, the tip of your chin — they all end up grazed by an adoring touch, acting as checkpoints in your boyfriend’s whistle stop tour of his favourite parts of you. of course, he continues his trek until he’s reached up high enough to brush a thumb under the curve of your bottom lip. 

“open up, sweet thing,” nagi taps his fingers against your mouth and if you focus enough through the fog of your mind — you can even smell yourself on his fingertips.

obediently, your lips part — warm breath coasting along the pads of nagi’s digits before you take them into your greedy little mouth. you happily suck on what your boyfriend gives you, two fingers pressing down on the drooly palette of your tongue, your frenzied emotions become subdued like someone has wiped you mind and you’ve become a clean slate — where all that remains is the white-haired striker pumping up into your hot, juicy pussy each time you slam it back down on him. 

a quiet ‘fuck’ drifts from seishrio’s open mouth, drawing your attention to his strawberry tongue poking at the inner epithelium of his cheek as he sets his mirthy sights on you while your hips roll like a rushing river over him – occasionally pulling his throbbing, seedy dick from the snugness of your creamy cunt. the striker admires you like you belong in a museum. as though you’re a flawless piece of oil-painted art or a perfectly smooth marble statue – even with all the parts of you that you pull to pieces or despise. the view from where he is, down there, is one he tries to sketch into his brain for all of eternity… because he doesn’t want to forget and he wants something to remember you by when the time comes for you to leave. 

you’re so beautiful, licking between his fingers, thick globs of frothy spit seeping from the corners of your mouth. he has to fight the urge to sit up and taste it on you – instead choosing to fuck your mouth like you fuck his cock. the striker presses down on your tongue to make you writhe in his lap, and although he’s the one technically in control, you are the reason for the gentle thrum of ecstasy vibrating through his lean, athletic frame. “you like that? does that feel good? sucking me in from both ends…” the player asks, his voice shaky and increasingly husky from how lovestruck and turned on he is. 

having him pressed up against the walls of your blisteringly hot slit, nudging against that one special spot deep inside your swollen pussy fries your brain – causes your jaw to slacken while you sleepily suck on his digits. your poor pussy even trembles around him, catching on the ridges of his length that plunges in and out of you. “feels s’good, sei… so, so good–!” your words are muffled by the way he strokes at your tongue, drowned by spit, because you really do feel like you’re about to see the pearly gates of heaven. its evident in the way your eyes roll back into your skull and sex squelches at every thrust. 

yet, it's not enough for him, seeing you like this is still not enough to appease nagi’s ever growing appetite. like the egoist within him on the pitch, he has a sickly urge to devour you – especially when you lean away to sit back on your haunches, using your grip on his thighs as leverage to keep working yourself down on his thickness – cunt locking and unlocking around his frothy base that stretches your little hole. you don’t stop, shifting your hips in slow sensual movements to help him sink deeper into you and pulsing against hot, viscous and squishy pleasure spots dotted along your insides. spots that only he can reach. “love the way you fuck me, pretty girl,” seishiro feels like he’s losing his mind underneath you, stuck between chasing the sweltering heat of your insides and kicking back to enjoy the show entirely. “but ‘good’ isn’t good enough…need you to feel like heaven. make it even better, baby.”

he groans lowly and relishes in the feeling of your warm wet walls tightening around his erection, pulling his digits from the splashy cavern of your mouth – seishiro drags them back down your body, leaving a tacky wet trail in their wake to reach between your doughy thighs for what lies between your fat pussy lips.

with your hips rocking together fluidly, your boyfriend is careful when letting the pad of his thumb graze your aching clit as it rears its adorable little head between your nether lips. frantically, you grind against his digit and stain it with your thick, trecaly essence. everything is coated in everything that you leak, the mess worsened by the tiny spurts of precum nagi rewards you with. although, it does help his impressive size glide through your sugar-coated lining of your gushy walls. every time his fingers flick against your puffy pleasure pearl, you’re one step closer to crumbling above him.

something. you need something to ground yourself. overwhelmed by exhaustion and love and desire. “g-god, s-sei!” squealing like a lamb being taken to the slaughter house you lift a hand from his clothed leg, over his knee and reach for the bottom of his sleep shirt. “please…pleasepleaseplease – need more. wan’ more. a-anythin’ from you. for you,” you’re babbling brainlessly with no idea of what you’re begging for – the delicious burn of his girth against the tiny, tensed rim of your entrance distracts you from even thinking straight. “wanna feel you, sei,” you add onto the tail end of your mewled words whilst you continue to paw at his last remaining article of clothing. fishing for his stupid shirt. still, you remain timid and shy despite how you moan like seishiro’s perfect, personal little whore.

that’s okay. your boyfriend likes that look on you. stupid, dumb and sleepy on his cock. his heart roars in the left side of his chest but circulates passion and excitement through the rest of his body. you turn seishiro nagi on in more ways than one. physically and mentally — he can’t help but get all worked up around you, even in the dead of night.  “you want this off? can you ask me nicely, angel?” he chuckles leisurely, mouth falling open to mock your seraphic moans whilst he relentlessly toys and pinches and draws shapes on your viscid clit.

“c-can you take it off, please sei. been good,” you drawl, all high-pitched and whistle-toned like a puppy begging for the treat in its owner’s hand. seishiro has you on a tight leash, his little well trained pet – even if he doesn’t mean for things to end up that way. neither of you really mind it, though.

a bemused, fond smile tugs at the seams of his lips because you really are so perfect for him. the perfect gift. he’s thought about it about a million times tonight. it all rushes to his head, messing with the sleepy tendrils curled around his consciousness; the way you claw at him, the way the silverness of the moon catches on the saltine-perspiration on your skin and your glistening slit that leaves webs of slick on his sweats and pubes. he tortures you for a little bit longer, signing his signature against the most sensitive part of your sex for a few seconds longer – happy to see you jolt, hear you practically sob above him before he relents. “yeah, yeah… been so good f’me, sweet angel,” nagi releases your poor clit and then uses his arousal painted fingers to remove his shirt. he takes the fabric hem between his pearlescent teeth – revealing exquisitely carved abs shaped by his soccer career to your delirious gaze. “always gonna give my pretty girl what she wants…”

your lungs threaten to explode as your gaze rakes over him and oxygen in them fades to nothing when your boyfriend tugs the article of clothing the rest of the way off. you choke on a moan, the fluid motions of your doughy hips faltering for a moment. the second his chest is laid bare to the humid, sex struck air you’re immediately jumping forward to press your naked chest to his. now, you feel complete. content. with your hearts beating against each other in sync like a promise of loving each other eternally, made in the depths of the dark. you feel fully connected, skin on skin, nipples brushing against each other – it makes you tingle, makes your pussy drip down his balls like a never ending tap in this new position. you’re so shamefully wet that crude slaps drown out the sounds of your shared laments.

“want you. only you, sei.  h-hah, fuck!” you simper softly, the sound warbling with the threat of crying. “love you s’much, i love you.”

just as your tears start to spill over the edge and flow down the apples of your cheeks, strong and safe arms wrap around your shoulders – anchoring you to seishrio’s lap and cock, giving him the leverage to pull you up and down on him in a nasty, passionate manner. you’re so close now, impossibly so, and you love it because you get to hear the striker in ways no one else ever will. his deplorable, breathy whimpers coast along the shell of your ear heatedly and pick up when he begins to jackhammer into you with levels of motivation he dedicates only to you.

you make seishiro nagi want to do the unthinkable. the unspeakable. he would move mountains for you if you asked, if it were possible. he’s never wanted to do that for anyone other than himself when playing soccer.

you may be falling apart on top of him… but you’ll always be able to control him as much as he does you.

the bed below, as expensive and sturdy as it may be, begins to creak beneath the weight of it all. squealing louder than you do into the crook of seishiro’s neck as you dampen it with moist moans tears. he’s angling his hips up to press directly against your g-spot, grey eyes wild like an uncaring hurricane whilst he taps into his ego to make you see stars. and you take it, no matter how brutish his sluggish thrusts are, pussy eagerly swallowing him down. “love you, angel. my perfect angel, huh?” he grunts slackly and in restraint. you love him and if you say it again, especially in that voice, he’ll break in ways that only men in love will know. you just… do that to him. make it so he could cream your insides before he’s ready to. “you… y’really do it t’me, baby. can’t help it when ‘m with you… jus’ end up going crazy.”

his eyelashes flutter against your damp cheeks and his voice begins to wander into a dark slur that you willingly sink under the surface for. it brings you closer and closer to the edge, and you’re so tired from the flight out here and the work you’ve put into fucking your white-haired soccer star that you’re not sure you can hold it back. “y’make me crazy too,” you pant, too out of your mind to say more, muttering praises into his skin, clenching down on him to the point where your arousals mingle and foam at the thick base of his pulsing length. you hug his head, intertwining your fingers in his sweat-locked silver hair and tug on it as if it’ll keep you tied to earth instead of floating out of the atmosphere from the pleasure. “a-are you close? need you to cum inside… been waitin’ for it. missed it…” 

oh, how he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the idea too. filling you up with a hot round of his seed until it was practically pouring out of you. breeding you. the two of you aren’t strangers to the dangers of him cumming inside – nagi hardly ever pulls out if he doesn’t have to. most of your intimate moments end in that way, with a spent cunt and a drooly cock, the result of many lazy early mornings started by the kick of his morning wood against your backside and nights like this. it's too much of an effort and too much of a mess if he cums anywhere else. and also, it’s much more a plus to focus on watching your face as he pumps you full and feels you struggle to keep it all in. 

“need it that bad, huh? so soon?” he’s being a little mean without really meaning to, licking over the front of his teeth and grunting as he increases the weight behind his thrusts – eager to push you as close to the edge as possible. his dick throbs in the embrace of your deliriously addictive walls from where you’ve got him fucked up beyond imaginable, but he keeps it together, long enough to ruin you and hear you sniffle from the overstimulation. “almost, angel. almost. can you hold on f’me?”

you said you’d do anything for seishiro and at the time, you’d meant it but now your muscles are achingly wary and your eyelids are growing heavier, and heavier by the second. just as you shake your head ‘no’ a loud and childish sob bursts from between your lips, wet and whiny while your hole flutters loyally around his drippy dick. no, you don’t think that you can hold back, not like this, not when it hurts so good and he’s fucking you numb and dumb. 

all you can do is reply in a pitchy squeal, nearly missed by the wet sounds of you dowsing him in your sweet nectar, soaked sex slapping down on him in an uncoordinated manner. “‘m close…c-can’t–!”

still, you squirm about and you do your best to catch up with nagi’s new insane pace, his unrelenting stamina… even the backs of your thighs start to burn from the exertion — a subtle stinging tingling sensation underneath the supple flesh  from the friction against seishiro’s sweatpants and its waistband.

“‘course you can, always do,” white starts to froth at the entrance of your ravaged pussy, a mix of his precum and your juices bubbling up to leave opaque milky streaks along the length of him – clinging to the veins decorating his shaft. “c’mon, s’too much of a hassle for you to give up now, thought you wanted to be my present? make me feel good?” his words are breathlessly patronising, causing your body to jolt and jerk above his own, your hips fumble in their rhythm but that doesn’t stop you from gushing about the place either. “or is it that my poor baby is gettin’ tired…”

keening hoarsely, his voice still under the authority of sleep – nagi’s gaze slowly but surely hones in on the point at which your bodies join, taking in the sight of his pre-cum coated cockhead disappearing in and out of your puffy pussy repeatedly. his sights trail upwards to where your tummy bulges from the sight of him and he imagines how beautifully you would swell with his seed – he can’t wait any longer, not for that. 

in response to his speculation, you nod this time, desperate for relief or second to relax since your limbs are on the verge of giving out – head flying back as a result of the formidable momentum nagi uses to pummel your pretty pussy. “y-yes!” you damn near scream, not caring how loud you sound nor how late it is. “sei i-i’m… ‘m too–!”

you don’t get the chance to finish your hiccuped and heaved words, not that they make sense in between your shrieking and pleasure-filled cries, only because your loving, lazy boyfriend is snaking his bulking arm around your waist in addition to the one around your shoulders. all so that he can keep you tucked into him whilst he rolls you both onto your sides. “you’re that tired, baby? you don’t wanna fuck me anymore?” seishiro is teasing you of course, a tender smile splitting across his sweaty face whilst he fixes you both in this new position. with your calf now thrown over his slender hip and your head safely nestled into a pillow, nagi captures your lips in a searing hot and sloppy kiss before you have a chance to cry or whine about how mean he’s being. consoling you in a way as he assumes control. “s’okay, angel. don’ worry, i’ll got’cha. ‘m gonna take over, take my present now…”

only then do you remember how large seishiro is. how the sheer size of his frame is able to manhandle and dominate you. how small and safe you can be with him. you suppose he likes it too, where he gets his motivations from… the ability to commandeer you.

whatever he had commented to you had been all the reassurance you needed to hear before losing all sense and control and coordination – going limp in seishiro’s consoling hold. between your cute little please and airy, dreamy wails your lips smack against the soccer player’s – in tune with his measured grinds and ardent stream of lunges into you. his grip on you barely gives him the room to pull out from your tight, blistering mound… and it’s not like your body gives him the permission to either – your preciously greedy cunt squeezes down and locks his fervid, pre-cum pearling tip against your gummy walls. 

“f-fuck…” seishiro drawls, whiny and romantic – like what you would imagine an aphrodisiac would sound like if it could make a noise. “y’keep suckin’ me in, angel. i can get s’deep like this…” he switches it up, going from rapidly circling his hips to gentle, purposeful pounds – stringing you along on a trip to your high. with such little space between you both now, you can feel his blistering hot breath coasting along your cupid’s bow, leaving the ghost of his mark along your sweltering skin as you gush around him – marking his cock and his balls as your own with your cream. “feel that… me, right here?”

whether you mean to or not, your pussy spasms around him – keeping him there. choking the life out of nagi in a way he can’t help but enoy. he feels like he’s being rewarded for loving you just as much as he is motivated to fuck you. he never knew sex could be this amazing until he met you, and now touching you..being with you is all that he wants. especially on his birthday.

pressing your forehead to nagi’s, you nod again – lost in your own lassitude and the sweep of delectation that laps at the inner parts of your soul. “r-right there, sei. need you r-right there,” you say tranquilly, barely able to keep your big wet bambi eyes open as the white-haired striker’s sappy cock massages that spongy spot nestled deep within, the one that only he knows how to find. “p-please don’t stop sei!”

your shared arousals form an elixir of love that seeps into the bedding beneath the lazy bump and grind of your bodies – it adds shine to your clit that drags over nagi’s pelvis, webs over your skin and wafts into the air, so that it smells like sex. the two of you are everywhere. everything and it only heightens the passion you have for one another. “not gonna, angel. n-never gonna. as long as i have you…” seishiro retorts, licentiousness lining the ridges of his throat, rattling about between the bones in his ribcage.

always. forever. an eternity. is what you want to say. you’ll have him for as long as he has you. you can only hope that where your words fail you, the erotic enthusiasm you have when you kiss him can make up for it. cupping his cheeks whilst you both lay on your sides, grinding and groping at each other – you lean forward and lick the trail of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and track it up to his plush, parted lips – where he kindly feeds you his airy moans and stray straggles of his spit. all of which you accept, wanting whatever he gives you to fuse with your body and soul, whilst keeping you sedated. tongues roll over one another agonisingly slow, adding the thrumming bliss tangled in the panted breaths the two of you exchange. your kiss speaks a million words in a million different ways and languages, portraying the love and adoration you have for the lazy genius. 

cherry red outlines seishiro’s lips, emphasising just how swollen they’ve gotten from constantly being meshed and melded against your own. “did so fuckin’ well for me… all night,” your boyfriend murmurs pensively, his words punctuated by the pervertted plap, plap, plap of his breeders balls against your syrupy mound. “really is so unfair how perfect you are f’me, angel. my pretty girl…my dream girl.” he adds through gritted teeth, making a home between your cream-soaked folds, rubbed and fucked raw – pushing back and forth between them to relieve the building ache in his erection. “g-gotta make you feel it…make you cum.”  

throughout his lazy rambles, your boyfriend’s grip ( in the mess of tangled limbs ) cascades down to handle your waist – roughly circling you on him like a well-loved rag doll while he plunges into the quivering tackiness of your pussy. an orgasm starts to burn through you like paper being held to the flickering flame of a candle and you’re not sure how much more of this you can take, being able to hold off is usually an easier task – but not today, on his birthday, when his usually soft eyes are flooded with a desire so dark the black of his pupils eclipses any colour in his eyes. 

“’m going to. g’na cum, sei,” a hearty sob burts free from your lungs, shaking your body down to its core. the visage of seishiro, your beautiful boyfriend, in front of you becomes blurry from your salty tears but you can still make out the rouge flush to his skin and the crease between his brows caused by your pleas for release. “feels so, so good. lemme cum on your cock… please–!” juicy, wet sounds stack like bricks in your hotel room, a symphony of whimpers and simpers that accompany the perfectly pitched notes from seishiro bucking into your sickeningly deluged hole. japan’s favourite genius leaks an endless stream of precum, a creamy white like the loose strands of his hair splayed across the pillows – the pre-release oozes against your ribbed insides from his bright red tip and aids his movements. they’re smoother, easier, helping him glide in and out of your clenching cunt like it's nothing. despite how tight you are around him, pussy fluttering with the intent to keep him in.

that’s how you’re reminded of his sheer size; accommodating to the way his cockhead so sweetly kisses your g-spot just by having his cock nestled inside. he throbs, fat and inflamed from an oncoming orgasm and the load he’s saved for you in his balls, weighing them down as they swing with each rut of his taut hips. “yeah?” nagi questions you groggily, swallowing thickly at the sight of you straining to stay awake and present in front of him. “you gonna cum f’me, angel? s’gonna be the best fuckin’ birthday present i’ll ever have…” he can tell that you’re there, teetering on the edge of sanity and heaven on earth. viscous drops of your treacly essence runs through your slit, spiraling down the purplish blue veins pulsating on his shaft. he’s right behind you, ready to catch you if you fall.

if he could, the soccer star would selfishly keep you writhing like this for hours, slowly making love to you until you slip from threads of consciousness. it is his birthday after all, he’s sure you’d let him… but it’d be too much effort to ask you to hold on for that long. not when you sound this wet, not when you’re blubbering and crying for him – weakly grinding on him. “that’s right. take it. take my cock, you know you can do it. gonna… gonna make you cum, i promise. s-swear it…” he coos to you like it’s a promise over the crude sound of your sexes slipping over one another. 

both of your shaky arms hug his head once more, grazing the sweat-darked curls on the nape of his neck and you arch forward on your side to press your chest against his – craving that closeness, whimpering happily as his heart beats against your breasts bouncing between your bodies with each uncoordinated and sloppy thrust. nodding your head agreeably, your next words hang between your teeth – panted out from your mouth as it slowly falls open. “‘hmygod, sei. sei please, ‘m cumming! oh… i-i’m cummming!” you don’t last much longer as your release sneaks up on you like a thief avoiding streaks of moonlight. the ropes that had been twisting in your tummy since the start of your midnight escapade finally unravel and the world around you shatters, seishiro’s hold on you being the only thing tying you to it. darkness floods your vision, black spots dotted around the corners of your love tinted lense – you don’t even realise you’re passing out from how hard you’re cumming either. you squirt fast and hard, clear streams of your own arousal spewing from your swollen cunt and rendering you useless in nagi’s strong arms.

white noise buzzes in your ear but he holds you close through it all, pulling your head down to rest against his bare shoulder to help muffle the deliciously loud wail tugging on your vocal chords. the louder you sound, the more seishiro likes it. he likes all of it really, the way your pussy drowns him in your mess and nearly forces him out, it’s exactly what he needs to reach his own peak. pushing an arm past your head, he grasps at the soiled sheets and carefully rolls you onto your back – using the last of his stamina and energy to make himself cum missionary style. as if chasing after something that’ll slip away too fast, nagi speeds up his thrusts whilst little whinges and whines spill from his cherry-bitten lips. 

“f-fuck. fuuuck, ‘m cummin’, pretty thing. gonna put it inside. won’t need to clean up, won’t ruin the sheets…w-won’t–!” the white-haired striker rasps without a care in the world, stumbling over his syllables – spit pooling on the palette of his tongue whilst he rocks into your soiled cunt harder and harder. you don’t have the strength to respond, weakly cradling the back of his neck in one hand while your nails rake down his back using the other. tears like dewdrops cling to your fluttering lashes as you watch your boyfriend fall apart above you – orgasm stacking painfully in his pelvis and practically tearing through his mountainous frame as he fucks you through the remaining aftershocks of your own high.

a final ripple of your pussy around his drippy dick opens the floodgates and his orgasm breaks the surface. nagi pushes himself as deep as he can go, every inch of himself snuggled salaciously against your honeyed walls before he finally lets go. he shakes like there’s been an earthquake, gargling against the shell of your ear whilst blisteringly white hot seed spurts against your squishy, gummy insides. there’s so fucking much of it, a layer of opaque cream smearing over your abused folds, painting you with his claim. seishiro’s cream sloshes about, but he doesn’t pull out – languidly rolling his hips into you so that he can make sure it sticks, lubing up your sex as he fucks himself further into your naked cunt.

silence trickles into the room, not uncomfortable, but instead completely content – broken only by your shared and shuddered breathing. you relish in the way he intermittently throbs and he, in the way that you convulse around him as he softens. for a moment, it’s just the two of you and no one else in the world, simply able to come down from your highs and calm down while hugging each other close.

“h-happy birthday, sei,” you whisper once your voice allows you to, it’s cadence still rough from the sex. “i love you…” 

“love you most…” fatigue sinks its claws into the white-haired striker, who collapses on top of you at the first chance he gets. he nuzzles against you as he goes, closing his eyes and peppering your wet face with soft little kisses as if to help soothe you both. “mmm. happy birthday to me, i guess,” comes his exhausted, yet pleased, hum. “you okay, angel?” nagi’s still regaining his ability to speak properly, a pleasant buzz crackling like static over his brain whilst he inhales through his nose, memorising the scent of your union. of you. “went too hard, i think.” everything feels right when you’re together like this, more peaceful and safe. exactly what a relationship should be

so, you shake your head, searching for grey eyes that meet your own with a doting gaze. “you were perfect,” you grin tiredly, growing shy underneath him. “i hope i was too…”

“the best, always are,” he’s quick to reply, checking you over for bruises and hissing as you clench around him. nagi can tell that you don’t want him to pull out, that you need him in close proximity to properly come back down. so, he clings to you, rubs small circles into the parts of you he can reach and just… loves you. as best as he can. “stay with me, lay with me. don’ wanna let you go just yet. you’re my present after all.” seishiro pouts entirely too cutely, doing a complete one-eighty to the man who was wrecking your insides just mere minutes ago.

humming you feel yourself begin to lose the fight to sleep – choosing to bask in nagi’s warmth and love instead of stay wide awake. “all yours.” you sigh out, completely reassured that your presence alone is always going to be enough to keep the lazy egoist happy on his birthday. more than happy.

seishiro nagi will always want you, always need you, always love you – especially when you fly across the globe to be with him on his birthday. 

falling asleep together, with your fingers intertwined and your hearts beating in sync.

RIGHTS RESERVED © LOSTWRLDS 2025. the content seen here belongs to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

♡ TW: orphan!reader, fire, Sukuna in general, kidnapping, implied abuse

♡ GN reader

The temple’s on fire.

Tall crackling flames lick the black sky. You stand and watch wide-eyed as it smokes out every star.

Barefoot, you grip the ground with your toes to steady yourself. You’ve never owned shoes. Never needed to, you’ve never been outside, and now all you’ve ever known is burning to the ground before you. 

The scent of burning wood is joined by blood, rusty and bitter and biting, and even though your nose is stuffed full, you can’t seem to get enough of it.

Taking a big breath you really can’t afford, you cough while smiling from ear to ear.

There’s screaming, but you’re used to the sound. Or no, this is a little different. You’re used to ripping your own throat out, but it’s not you this time. It’s everyone else: the monks, the nuns, the others. They’re all melting—melting away into nothing. Some might say it’s for their sins, but you know better than to believe in divine intervention.

No, this all happened on a whim.

And you'll be sure to thank whoever's whim it is, you think as you watch the temple collapse in on itself with a big crash, ashes to ashes. And with the red reflecting in your eyes, you let out a sound you’ve never made before. A loud, boisterous sound—not far off from a scream, but so very different all at the same time.

Sukuna stops his rampage at the noise. Skin sizzling with sweat that doesn’t roll, but steams and disappears. Swimming in the carnage with blood up to his elbows—he’d been having a fun time. He’s always loved making graveyards out of sanctuaries. But the laughter that cuts through the air over the cries of pain and despair is all so misplaced that he has to drop what he’s doing and go find it.

And what he finds is you. Dainty little malnourished thing. If he couldn't tell already, the tattered rags you wear make it more than obvious what you are. Orphan. And the bruises lining your joints tell him all about what they used you for. 

Some holy place this was, he sneers.

Very soon, your laughter grows ecstatic, and you start jumping in place, as high up as you can reach, barefoot on the heated gravel.

You must be in shock. He’s surprised you’re even able to stand, much less be whooping and hollering with all these hellflames surrounding you, not to mention his presence, which should be enough to force anyone to their knees. 

One might mistake you for a demon if you're not careful.

“Oi, brat,” he announces.

Still, you don’t stop your celebration—you take your time before you sigh with a deep exhale, looking up at the sky where the embers snuff against the black backdrop.

You don’t even acknowledge him as you speak. “You have my gratitude… Never in my life did I even dream of seeing anything so beautiful...”

He has to snort. It's been a while since anyone has thanked him for anything. Actually, coming to think of it... he doesn't think he's ever been thanked before whatsoever.

You keep looking up for another moment. There’s this air of peacefulness around you despite the surrounding fiery chaos. 

And then, just as calmly, you finally turn around to face him.

“I can die happy now.”

Eyes closed, and arms spread out to your side, you lift your chin and show him your neck. And with a contented smile spread on your lips, you say, “You have my blessing to kill me.”

And oh, how it makes his eye twitch. His smile, as well—or no, it’s not a smile, it’s more of an affronted grimace. 

Giving him thanks is one thing, but blessing? To kill? 

Now that’s definitely a first…

“Hey!” you squeal as the bloody demon picks you up off your scorched feet and throws you over his back instead of dealing you the final blow. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

His face remains jaded even through your screaming, only arching a brow when scoffing. “Tch—pint-sized brats should know better than to give orders.”

The way you pound his back with balled fists feels like nothing short of rain-patter. Not even enough to be called a message, much less a beating—or whatever it is you're hoping to achieve, whilst roaring, “I gave you my blessing!”

He nearly gags at the word. “I don’t take lives in turn for dumb things such as blessings.”

“Then you don’t have it!” you snip. “I’ll curse you instead!”

“Hah!” That’s more like it—he laughs, needing to throw his head back, “I’ve been bored lately. You’re funny for a runt, so I think I’ll keep you around for a while,” he wonders out loud for you to hear, continuing to carry you away from the wreckage.

“I’ve heard pets help pass the time.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 3: Maison Noire

A/N: I'm not too sure about this chapter lol. I hope you love it though! Also, our girl isn't gonna stay in the dark place, I promise! xx Elle

Warnings: Flashbacks featuring emotional abuse, verbal abuse, domestic violence, gaslighting, manipulation, low self-worth, abandonment

Word Count: 2.3k

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Azzi was so exhausted she could feel it in her bones.

After her meeting with Mr. Smith, he decided to keep her there like a scolded child.

“You embarrassed me, Ms. Fudd. We don’t reward insubordination at St. Paul’s.”

Azzi held back the replies she wanted to give. He didn’t want teachers who thought; he wanted obedient little soldiers. Azzi was everything he hated: young, female, and unafraid to speak her mind when needed.

"You asked for my opinion, Mr. Smith." Azzi said tightly. "It doesn’t make sense to punish a child for standing up to bullies. It’s literally what we teach them to do."

Azzi was dismissed with a warning to not let anything happen again and the recommendation to “keep a better eye” on her students. She knew the real reason for his anger. Paige Bueckers – a lesbian and single parent – had embarrassed him by refusing the back down and enroll Soleil in a different school.

Azzi stepped onto the L train, head pounding. She buried her face in her hands, letting herself sink into the cold metal. Teaching didn’t pay enough for this shit.

When she stepped into the lobby of her building, Azzi jabbed the button for the elevator. The distinct lack of electrical humming that made her huff. Of course, the elevator doesn’t work — today of all days. She needed to move. As she climbed five flights of stairs, she ran through her budget in her head.

You can’t afford a better apartment, idiot.

She slammed the front door to her studio apartment and rested her forehead on the wood. Three hours until her shift at Maison Noire.

The upscale club was a survival tactic. On good nights, she could make her rent in a single shift. If she didn’t love teaching so much, she would have quit and been a server full time.

Azzi sighed, thinking about how she ended up here. Grant had seemed like a good guy. She met him at her first college party at eighteen. A few too many shots had her waking up somewhere unfamiliar with no memory of the night before. Grant had brought her bagels and coffee to help with her hangover, and she’d been charmed. She had no idea what the next few years would bring.

It started small — complaining that she spent too much time with her best friends, Caroline and Colleen, neglecting him and their relationship. She distanced herself from them, believing he was right. Next, she missed holidays with her family; it started small with the Memorial Day cookout before escalating to Christmas.

Once she was isolated, the real abuse began.

He wasn’t stupid; he never raised a hand to her. But the things he said hurt worse than a punch ever could.

He gave her everything — everything — and still, spat in his face like an ungrateful bitch. It was laughable, really, how she thought she was smarter than him, asking about bills like she understood the burden he carried. She was entitled, paranoid, and sick in the head, making up problems just to feel important. Her friends didn’t care about her; they tolerated her, the same way you put up with a sad little stray. She was a liar by nature, lying even to herself, twisting every kindness into cruelty so she could play the victim.

Her degree was a joke, a hobby, something little girls picked when they didn’t have the guts to do anything real. She didn’t have the brains or the discipline to survive without someone holding her hand. She would never amount to anything but a preschool teacher. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t even good.

Deep down, she knew it too; she knew she was broken, unlovable, a burden that smart men like him were stupid enough to believe they could fix.

He would leave her, and the world would finally see her for what she was: a failure in cheap makeup, begging for scraps of attention from people who would never really love her.

She hadn’t decided to leave until he finally hit her. Six years into their relationship, when his fist ended up in her stomach, something inside Azzi broke.

She packed a backpack with essentials: passport, driver’s license, social security card, phone, charger, a few outfits, and one picture with her family. She left Los Angeles and started over in a different city.

It wasn’t until a couple months later she realized the full extent of the damage. Collections letters started popping up in her mailbox. The car, the apartment, and all the credit cards were tied to her name. She remembered signing papers, thinking she was just cosigning. She was in thousands of dollars of debt by the time she figured it out.

That was when she applied at Maison Noire.

While grateful for the money, she was sick of having to be ogled by disgusting men. On a Tuesday night, no less!

She used to dream about a tiny classroom, a partner who loved her, maybe a dog. Instead, she was smiling through aching feet, hoping drunk strangers would hand her enough cash to keep the lights on.

She decided to read for an hour and a half before getting ready for work.

Caiden Thomas, the love interest, reminded Azzi of a beautiful, strong blonde who had recently entered her life.

Paige Bueckers was probably the most beautiful woman Azzi had seen. Every time she opened her mouth, Azzi wanted to drool. And the way she had shut down Principal Smith’s bullshit? Hot.

 She was glad Soleil had someone like Paige looking out for her and taking care of her because Azzi had missed that.

She was all alone in a big city. Her parents didn’t even know where she was. She missed her mom, dad, brothers, and grandparents. But Azzi couldn’t face them now. She was worthless. She put a man before everyone. They wouldn’t love her now. They couldn’t.

Not anymore.

Azzi’s alarm buzzed, signaling it was time to get ready. She let out a quiet whine of protest.

One of her favorite things about Maison Noire was the uniforms for bottle girls. They looked like something you could wear out, unlike many of the other clubs in Chicago.

She started with her hair, slicking the front of her hair back and securing it with a claw clip, leaving the rest of her coils loose. A few face-framing pieces softened the look. Disgustingly, she always got more tips if she wore her hair like — or in braids or ponytails.

Men are disgusting.

She applied a light layer of foundation, thanking God that her skin had been behaving lately. She layered on a heavy smoky eye with long lashes. A pinky-purple blush warmed her face nicely, and pink lip gloss tied the look together.

She zipped up the tight black skirt and secured the sweetheart corset. After slathering on shimmering lotion, she spritzed on Kayali’s Sweet Bakery Bliss, her new favorite perfume. She added a silver necklace, bracelet, and a few rings.

She stuffed her feet into a pair of combat boots and pulled on a black hoodie for her train ride. Azzi packed her floor shoes, pouting at the uncomfortable arch. She shoved sweatpants, a t-shirt, and old tennis shoes into her backpack, so she could be comfortable on her journey home.

Setting spray! How could she forget.

Azzi dashed into the bathroom, drenched her face, and used a handheld fan to make it dry faster.

Tonight is going to be great, Az.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Manifestation always worked. By 10 p.m., Azzi had already made $400 in tips.

She took a fifteen-minute break and, when she returned, Kayla handed her an order for a VIP booth in her section.

Three Dirty Shirleys? Someone must be turning 21 or something. Azzi giggled and passed the order to her favorite bartender, Ayanna.

While waiting for the drinks, Azzi made her rounds, groaning internally as she spotted a few of her regulars. Focus on rent, Azzi.

Looping back to the bar, she grabbed the drink tray and plastered on a bright smile.

Azzi approached the VIP section with velvet couches. Three women laughed together. So not a 21st birthday. Two of the women were decked out in silky dresses and jewelry, hair perfectly curled. Maybe sister wives? The third woman wore a beautiful black suit with a blonde bun that looked oddly familiar.

Before Azzi can speak, she felt the blonde woman’s eyes raking over her. She locked eyes with her instinctively.

Her tray almost hit the floor, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.

“Good evening, Ms. Fudd.”

Paige Bueckers was here.

Paige Bueckers, the mother of the child that will probably be Azzi’s favorite this year, was here.

Paige Bueckers, the finest woman Azzi has even seen, was here.

She was here, in Azzi’s section at a club that she would lose her job for being at if her boss ever found out.

Paige Bueckers was at Maison Noire looking at Azzi like — Jesus.

Azzi was very aware of her buffering when one of Paige Bueckers’ companions teased, “Wow Paige. You and Soleil weren’t lying. Ms. Fudd really is as pretty as a princess.”

“Shut up, Nika.” Is gritted out as the same time as, “You can call me Azzi.”

God, her cheeks heated up again. She wished that the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“Well, you have to call me Paige, Azzi. No more Ms. Bueckers.” Paige’s cool façade was back up, smirk firmly in place.

Azzi nodded stiffly. “Good evening, Paige.”

Before the blonde could say anything else, other women spoke. “I’m Jana, and this is Nika. Thank you for sticking up for Soleil today.”

A smile cracked Azzi’s face before she could control it, “It was nothing. She’s such a sweet girl and she didn’t deserve to get in any trouble.”

“Come sit with us,” Nika waved her over.

Azzi’s eyes bugged, stuttering. “Um, I — I’m still on the clock, I’m sorry.” She forced herself to finish her thought.

She placed the drinks and shots on their table and scurried off without another word.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“So that’s Ms. Fudd?” Nika smirked, watching Azzi retreat.

Jana snorted. “You chose a class where Soleil’s teacher works here.” She gave a nudge to Nika, one that Paige couldn’t see.

“Don’t talk about her like that, J.” Paige frowned. “Everyone knows teachers don’t make shit. And this didn’t pop up on the background check. Remind me to ask Ash how she missed it.”

After a few more rounds of drinks, the girls had managed to pry some information out of Azzi. She was from Virginia, went to college at UCLA, and stayed in LA for a couple years after graduation before moving here, wanting a change of pace. She was 26 and in her third year of teaching at St. Paul’s. Her job at Maison Noire helped her make ends meet because private school teachers didn’t make much. She had two brothers and no pets, but maybe a dog soon.

Whenever Azzi was around, Paige went silent, content to watch her.

After her fifth Shirley, Paige pulled out her phone and texted the owner, Shyanne, knowing her from her college days.

I want a private room with Azzi. Just her. Five minutes.

Shy Sellers: Room 35

She left Jana and Nika to find someone else to flirt with and walked to Room 35.

The room was silent for ten seconds before the door swung open.

“I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not for sale!” Azzi’s brows were furrowed, her big brown eyes flashing.

Paige was unbothered. She lounged back on the velvet couch, long legs spread casually, arms draped along the back. “Sit down.” She began lazily, “Please, Azzi. Five minutes.”

Azzi scoffed, hovering by the door.

Paige dragged her gaze over the brunette. Her black corset top, the tight skirt, the way she seemed to hide away, just a bit. It made Paige was to take her and keep her all to herself. She was perfect. If given the opportunity, she would protect her, cherish her, worship her.

“I just wanted to talk. Without the music. Without the girls.” Paige drawled lazily. “I heard what you said about working here. I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

Azzi’s frown deepened and her arms tightened around her. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

“You helped my daughter. Because you care,” Paige shrugged. “I want to offer you something different than…this.” She gestured around, “You deserve better than this.” She gestured to the dark room. “You could leave the club. We would have an exclusive arrangement. No kissing. No sex.”

She sighed, leaning further back. “In my line of work, men don’t like dealing with single masc women. I missed out on a 2.3 million dollar deal because I’m single. They went with a company where the owner was married with two kids, even though they aren’t as efficient as me.  Having someone makes me look more stable, more dependable. You’ll be seen with me. Dinners, events, galas, those kinds of things. You’ll be with me, but not with me. No strings.”

Grant was wrong about something. At least I’m still good for my looks. Azzi thought to herself. Yeah, good enough to be a trophy, but not good enough to love.

“Just think about it.” Paige said, standing. “This could help us both. You work Friday, right? I’ll be back in this room at 11. Please have an answer by then.”

[theartofwoompwoomps]

Im too old for this nonsense 

Tfp Ratchet x Human! Reader

Summary: hates love, hates distractions. But he doesn’t hate you. Though he thinks you’ll be grossed out if you knew how he felt

———————————————————————

We all know that he’s a grumpy old mech. Too tired, and too exhausted to let himself be distracted by others.

Heck, he hates the idea of getting close to anyone else. Having lost too many, he can’t bare to relive the pain again.

That’s why he works and works, till his servos can’t move and his optics can’t see. Overworking himself until he can give no more.

The only thing grounding him when he reaches his limit is your own small hands moving around him. Checking him to see if he’s alright. He appreciates your company. 

You always stuck around.

Even with his grumpy attitude that didn’t stop you from cleaning anything you could, keeping his things organized, and getting supplies he needed. 

And here you were once again. Though this time it you couldn’t keep up him. Your body sprawled on his lap, slowly sub coming to sleep as he continued working on his datapad.

Why did you always do this?

Humans are much more delicate than him. You know this. Yet you always worked hard to help him.

He knew you might think it’s not a lot, but a lot of small things build up to something bigger. And that’s what it was with you. Every detail or help you gave, no matter how small, ended up warming his spark. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t even know it. 

So no matter how annoyed he was with you and everything else. He genuinely cares for your wellbeing. Picking you up gently, he moved you onto the couch. Placing a blanket on you before he heads back to continue his work.

He should have known better. The fact you were overtaken by your fatigue should have been a sign for him to take a break. 

But he couldn’t afford it.

This could help everyone. Including you. He kept working despite feeling his body getting twitchy and heavy, but he had to get this done. He couldn’t fail.

But alas, his optics were closing and he could no longer resist the plea his body oh so desperately need for some sleep. 

When he gained consciousness of his surroundings again he felt the work space he recharged on. 

Feeling his back sore, he opens his options groggily trying to see what’s going on. Looking over a clock it showed it was past noon. 

Past noon?! He had to finish last night. Frustrated, he got up, quickly logging into his notes only to see the writing was different.

In fact, everything he was working on was reorganized and label. And he saw an energon cube nearby with a small note.

“Morning Doc, went out to get some coffee. We ran out of the good stuff. As you can see I left you some alien breakfast. Also hope the rearrangements help you find your notes faster lol. See you in a bit my lovely hardworking doctor :D <3”

Rolling his eyes at that last part. Ofc you always had to include your strange nonsense, but at this point he’s not surprised why he fell for you. 

He chuckled, just thinking about you endeared him. But he knew he couldn’t allow himself more than that. You are human. He is an autobot. You deserve to be happy, not to be burned with his problems.

Hates that you have this control over him without you even realizing it, but that’s probably for the better. He shoves those thoughts aways as he starts to work where he left off.

Only that your note kept coming to mind.

How that heart you drew at the end twists his spark. Imagining you with an unreasonable amount of coffee on your way this instant brought a small smile on his face.

“Of course, it’s always the coffee over me isn’t it.” He chuckles at his own thoughts. 

“Oh cmon doc, give me more credit than that.” Playful as always, you indeed came back with too many bags of instant coffee. 

Rolling his eyes at your comment he scoffs playfully at you. Once again, biting his tongue from ever letting the conversation go on longer. Worried that the consequences of getting close to someone will hurt him.

Especially when the someone he likes romantically is a human.

A human would most definitely want to be with another human.

Not with him.

He’s just a bucket of metal who’s too tired for all of that. He could never treat you the same way a human would, it’s better if you just stay with your own kind.

But it seemed you had different plans. Always finding ways to stay with him and wriggle your way into his spark. He kept this to himself. 

He finished his work for the day and was about to recharge but your soft whisper interrupted. “Hey doc.”

“Yes (y/n).” He groans a bit as he responds with his eyes closed. “As an expert in the biology for cybertronians i got a question.” He hums in interest, wondering were you’re going with this.

“Is it possible, in theory, for a cybertronian to have a romantic relationship with a human.” 

Now he was fully awake. 

“(Y/n), why in the world do you need to know that? I don’t see how it’s beneficial to explore the topic.” 

He hope he hid it well. How flustered he actually was from your question. “yes, I know, I know. But is it possible?” 

Turning to face you on his night stand. You were in your own human berth staring at him.

He wanted to say yes. The urge to say that’s what he wanted with you was strong. His own spark pressuring him to shared his true thoughts.

But, He didn’t know what consequences his response would lead to, and that scared him. 

you were genuinely asking for an answer, and he just couldn’t just ignore you. No matter how much of a waste of time it was.

“Well, in theory, yes. It is possible.” 

He’s not sure cause he barely caught it, but he’s pretty sure you got flustered at that comment before you hid your face. 

“Oh alright.” You were giddy and a bit flushed yourself. Wasn’t sure what your reaction specifically meant, but he hoped it was a hint that you indeed feel the same he did about you.

———————————————————————

Masterlist

[rebelliousstories]

Winter Soldier James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes SFW Alphabet

Relationship: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Violence and Abuse

Word Count: 2,939

Main Masterlist: Here

Marvel Masterlist: Here

Consider Donating: Here

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Immediately after escaping Hydra’s clutches, and before the events of the Civil War, Bucky is on the run. The fact that he trusts himself enough to be around you is impressive. He is extremely hesitant to touch you. At most, he’ll usually hold your hand. When you’re in public, it’s handholding, maybe a hand on your waist and back. If you take public transport, he’s standing in front of you protectively.

Bucky shows you affection by keeping you safe. He’s very silent at this time in his life, so he’ll maybe say five words to you a day. And these are, “good morning”, “good night”, and your name.

When you guys are wherever you’re spending your evenings, usually some run down apartment where you can lay low, he is usually more touchy. Resting his head on your shoulder while you’re cooking, his right arm wrapped around you. James never touches you with his metal hand, too afraid that he’ll hurt you in some way.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Very reluctantly. He would stumble into somewhere like a coffee shop or book store, and meet you. Bucky is still very cautious around new people so if you’re working, or offering a suggestion when he doesn’t make a choice at some point, he’s immediately assessing the threat, trying to determine if you were a spy, or, heaven forbid, a widow.

When he is able to make sure that you had no ties to his previous life, Bucky will really only meet up with you if he runs into you in public and he can afford it.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Personally, this soon after escaping Hydra, I think that James doesn’t cuddle. Not that he doesn’t want to, or like to, though he’s still trying to figure out his likes and dislikes independent of Hydra, but rather he doesn’t want to hurt you.

His night terrors torment him, and there are times where he moves to the floor when he is scared that he’ll wake up in the middle of the night attacking you. Though he has yet to do so, Bucky is just… so worried.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

No, he does not. This is in stark contrast to him back in the 40’s, because back then, when he does remember, Bucky is dying to settle down with you. Sure, he sees parents with their children and feels something in his chest. But he can’t entertain those thoughts now, or anytime soon.

Much like he was in the 40’s, I think he’s terrible at cooking, but he can clean. Though, Bucky is not as spic and span as he used to be. I think this is largely in part due to the fact that he is constantly looking over his shoulder, and moving around. He just doesn’t have the time to clean and make his bed everyday like he would probably like to do. James does make sure to be at least clean, but he might be a bit messy.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Oh, Winter Soldier Bucky is disappearing like a fart in the wind. The man is gone! For whatever reason, he will just up and leave. Though, he does leave a letter on your nightstand, after looking at you once more. It’s honestly not as creepy as it sounds. He’s just scared and wants one last memory for the road.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

When he’s first on the run, Bucky is hesitant to commit to a T-shirt, much less a person. But once he’s settled, probably in Romania before all the craziness started, James still doesn’t entertain the thought of marriage. The most you will get is a constant shadow that follows you around, and won’t leave. But it’s out of love, or rather, the closest thing his shattered mind can get to love.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

So. Damn. Gentle. James Buchanan Barnes is extra caution with you during this time. Before his mind is fixed, he is constantly making sure to never do anything that would trigger a Hydra memory, or programming. He’s a man of few words in this era, but he means what he says everytime. And if you need to rant, he will sit there quietly. Bucky can’t really offer any advice considering how he is still trying to figure himself out, but he will be a sympathetic ear.

When he holds your hand, as mentioned in “Affection” above, he’s always doing it so gently. What I failed to mention up there is that he’s always holding you with his right hand. He doesn’t let you near the metal arm if he can help it. This includes when you sleep next to him. His bed is positioned so the his right side is towards you, but he’s still the closest one to the door.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

You need to ease him into hugs. Like I said, if he can keep his metal arm away from you, he does. But Bucky has grown to accept, and even love hugs from you. The morning after a night terror, James doesn’t say a word. At some point in the morning, he will just hug you close, and take comfort in the warmth.

Maybe once a day when he’s feeling up to it. Bucky likes them on his terms though. He’s just very black cat coded in this stage of life. He wants affection when he deems it safe. But when he does hug you, it’s just like reuniting with a memory you had forgotten until it came back. A little timid, but once it’s there, it’s there.

I = I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?)

For some reason, I just have a sneaky feeling that Bucky isn’t saying those three little words while you’re awake. If you’re staying over at his apartment, or vice versa, and you fall asleep first, his insomnia kicks in, and he’ll watch you for a long time. It’s at this point, so late in the night that it’s the next morning where he’ll whisper it aloud.

James doesn’t care that you don’t hear him, or say it back. Hell, it takes a bunch of courage on his part to even admit it aloud, and not just in his own head. And Bucky can’t bring himself to think that until a year, much less say it openly. So just give him time.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Might be an unpopular opinion, but, and just hear me out: Winter Soldier era Bucky gets horribly jealous and can’t help it.

Now I said to hear me out! Listen, this man is so horribly broken. The fact that he’s got you is saying something for how well he’s doing on the journey to recovery. All this to say, when he sees you talking with someone, specially another man… someone who has his life together, isn’t looking over his shoulder constantly, and is just generally not him, Bucky has a lot of internal feelings that start eating away at him.

Bucky will retreat into himself. Quietly brooding in the corner of a room, doesn’t matter what room, and staring the other man down. He’s deadly silent during this time. Both verbally and physically. Like the entire room could be silent, you’d never hear him coming up behind you. Speaking of, please, put him out of his misery and take him away from the offending person as soon as possible. Once he’s away, Bucky feels like he can breath again, though he can’t explain why.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kissing Bucky is like feeling a butterfly land on your skin. He’s timid, slow, but when he lands, it’s a feeling unlike anything you can describe. James takes a while to open up enough to be able to kiss you. But he does it o gently, with so much love and adoration in his movements, that it’s hard to be mad at the fact that it has taken this long.

He loves to kiss you on your head. Why? I’m so glad you asked. It’s because that’s where he can reach when he has you hugged close to his chest. Every time Barnes has you close like that, he’s kissing your head.

For himself, he really doesn’t care, so long as you kiss him. Head when he’s laying down in bed with you. Cheek when you two are out at the market together. Lips in the safety of your home. Just don’t kiss him below his neck.

L = Little Ones (How are they around children?)

Bucky, around children, in this era? They are terrified of him. He’s just so big, silent, dark, and brooding. Though some are brave enough to stare at him openly, which leads to him awkwardly waving before walking away because he has no clue how to handle tiny humans without you.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

A major factor plays into this; have you spent the night together?

If you haven’t, he’s leaving a note on your window or doorstep; no technology for him, especially now. Bucky will ask you to meet him in a specified location, at a specified time, and when you get there? He’s nowhere to be found. At least, at first. After a few minutes, James just kind of pops out of the shadows and then you two go about your day. The first few times this happens, it definitely freaks you out. Now, it’s just par for the course.

Now, on the other hand, if you haven’t spent the night next to Bucky, mornings are interesting. He doesn’t get much sleep as it is, so he’s always up way before you. Sometimes he’ll be in the kitchen, working on his second cup of coffee already. Sometimes he’ll crawl back into bed with it so that he can lay next to you as you sleep. Then, it’s just a waiting game. Once you are awake, he’ll make you a cup of coffee, or tea, then invite you out for breakfast because he doesn’t want to subject you to his cooking.

N = Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

Much like above, this depends on a major couple of factors; have you spent the day with him? And are you staying over?

If you have spent the day, and are staying over, he’s grabbing some food with you on the way back either one of your places, and tucking in for a nice night. Bucky definitely carries a new book around with him constantly. He uses these books to read aloud to you right before you two go down for bed. It’s peaceful, and wonderful for the both of you. Sometimes these late night reading sessions lead to him suddenly getting a memory from his past, and he breaks from reading to write it down in a little notebook.

If you haven’t spent the day together, but one of you comes over, it’s usually Bucky coming late at night right before you go to bed. He’s always just in need for some companionship, and a distraction from the thoughts in his head. It’s the same process though; James takes out a book, and reads until he falls asleep with you next to him.

Now, if you aren’t spending the night together, Bucky is leaving a note or something where you can find it, just to make sure that you know he still thinks about you. Sometimes, it’s combined with a flower, a piece of fruit, or a book as a little offering.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He reveals things very slowly. The more he can keep from you, in his mind, the better. But he starts truly letting you in around a year. By this point, he’s ruled out you being an agent of Hydra, or some other organization that is after him for whatever reason. Bucky tells you about his dreams when they happen, hoping for some additional input to provide some clarity. Whenever you bring something to his attention that might help him remember, he is always grateful.

Retroactive Headcanon; you tell him about foods, spices, and herbs that can help memory.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Not very. James makes sure that he’s got a tight lid on all of that. The last thing he wants is to hurt you in a moment of rage. He needs to keep calm so as to not lose control over himself, for the betterment of society. So he just bottles stuff up, counts to ten, focuses on something else so as to release those feelings.

If he ever truly cannot get past the anger, he disappears until it’s gone.

Q = Quizzes (How much do they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

There are some things he forgets, but that is mostly because he’s trying to fill his head with his own memories again. But there is a special notebook he keeps on him that has all your favorite things written in code. When Bucky feels like he should know something, he consults his book. He remembers major things though, but ask him out of the blue what your favorite poet is, and he needs that little book.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Bucky always comes back to one memory, whether it’s late at night and he needs help sleeping, or if he needs to calm himself while out in public.

The day you brought him a book that he automatically remembered. “The Hobbit”, a 1934 copy, just like it was when it came out and he read it for the first time. For some reason, Bucky just knew that he knew this book, though he wasn’t sure why. And when he read it again for the first time in his new life? James made sure to read it in bed with you tucked into his side.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

The most protective era of all the Bucky’s. He’s extremely paranoid, which makes him behave strangely. Not strangely to the point normal people notice, but someone who’s trained would notice. If you’re going out in a dangerous part of the city, he’s coming with. You get weird phone calls? Tell him, because he’s gonna listen in.

He can really only offer physical security, though you place emotional security on him anyways. Though James might not be the best with it, he still tries. But physically making sure you are safe? He’s got that down pat.

Now, Bucky is in need of some mental, and emotional security more than anything else. He can kill a man in three seconds with nothing more than his wit and bare hands. Just reassure him that he’s okay when he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Consult the book! Bucky is checking the book everyday. He’s learning so many new things that he doesn’t want to forget important things for you both. Anniversaries and dates are jotted down so he has an accurate timeline.

If you mention liking something, whether out in a market, or scrolling on your phone, he’s making a note of it. If he can, Bucky will get you that thing, or something close enough to it. He doesn’t wait for special occasions to give them to you either. They’ll just suddenly show up somewhere in your house or bag, depending on when he can get it to you.

For everyday, James just makes sure to help where you need. That door is squeaky? He’s got some WD-40. Need a new bookshelf? He’s making one from the package depending on your style. He’s just very helpful because you help him so much with his memory.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Bucky is far too quiet. Disturbingly quiet. When he gets scared, complete radio silence because he doesn’t have a phone, nor does he make himself easy to find. And the worst part is that you need to just wait it out. When he comes back, James feels bad that he’s made you worry, but he tries to talk it through with you.

There was one time he disappeared for two weeks. When he came back, oh, the earful he got. A loving earful, but an earful nonetheless.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

James is on the run. He cares enough to disguise himself, and that’s it. His beard is kept trim. His hair is not touched.

Bucky does make sure to smell nice though. It’s his one luxury; nice smelling soaps. There’s just something different about those European soaps that he can’t resist.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Once he’s attached, it’s very hard for Bucky to shake you. You have come in at such a tumultuous time in his life. That kind of bonding is different than if you had met him at a happier point. If he did leave you for good, you are on his mind every second that he can afford for you to be. James shoves you from his thoughts during missions, but you are the last thing on his mind before going in.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Bucky makes little origami figures for you. It’s something he’s picked up to help calm his mind when nothing else works. There are times where you have gone over and the floor is covered in little cranes, hearts, dinosaurs, butterflies, and just every kind of shape all over the place. Nine times out of ten, these are the little presents he leaves for you.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In a partner, someone who is nosy, or just not patient. He needs to take things slow, not be rushed into saying things or doing anything. Bucky needs someone that is okay to just sit in the silence with him as he tries to find the right words to ask for help.

In general, the state of youth today. The few memories he has from before the war, he remembers how manners were taught back then. James can’t stand the new slang, the disrespect of elders, and the general vibe of youth in modern times.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Facing the door with his left arm closest. Not particularly sleep, but somewhat related; he will sleep in full clothing (shoes and bag on) when he is feeling extra paranoid for whatever reason.

Bucky also sleep talks, and sometimes walks when he’s had a good day remembering his past. There have been a couple times where you have found him the next morning passed out in the kitchen, white tank top and boxers on, with the knives polished and dangerously sharp.

[davrinsleftpectoral]

A Word With Friends/Wip Wednesday

Thank you @jenn2d2 for the word of the week, and @hedwigoprah for making a tag game that makes me really stretch my brain muscles. Not gonna lie, this one hurt lol.

This week's word is Perspicacious

Definition:

Quick in noticing, understanding, or judging things accurately or of acute mental vision or discernment.

I took the easy way out this week. I won’t do it every week (probably). Also put it in this WIP of my Chuck E. Cheese AU. So enjoy a snippet of Welcome to Nug E Cheese. This is still part of the first chapter. If you’d like to read the beginning, you can find it here

Some people like to torture Lucanis with angst and feelings. I like to torture him with bad coffee and the horrors of a minimum wage job.

==

“Sorry, don’t mind me.  I’m just gonna get old Joe going,” he explained.

“Good idea. I need some coffee after that meeting,’ Neve agreed.

Turvi approached old Joe. The machine was ancient. 15? 20? Years old. No one was really sure. They suspected it had been left behind by the original construction crew when then store was built.  He took a deep breath and began The Routine.

“Good morning Old Joe,” he began.

Lucanis looked up from his papers and didn’t say anything, simply raised one eyebrow.

Neve smirked at him, “Trust the process. Old Joe likes Rook the best.”

Turvi then turned on the machine. Turned off the machine. Unplugged it, counted to 15, and plugged it back in. He filled the water reservoir, put in a new filter, and grabbed the budget sized can of store brand ground coffee. When Lucanis spotted the giant can, Turvi thought he heard a small sound of distress. Once the coffee was in, he closed the the lid and wrapped a big rubber band around it to keep it shut. 

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Lucanis finally chimed in. “What is the rubber band for?”

Turvi grinned. “It’s like a seat belt, you gotta strap in, it’s for everyone’s safety.” Next he hit the start button, and after that he banged on the top 3 times. “You see Neve, the reason that Harding’s coffee isn’t as good, is that she only hits Joe twice because she feels bad. He needs 3 to really get going.”

Old joe wheezed and started to gurgle and bubble. “When you hear the wheeze, you know it’s going to be a good pot.” He turned around, hands on his hips with satisfaction, grinning at Neve. Lucanis didn’t say anything for a moment. The man’s eyebrows were furrowed deeply though.

Lucanis handed his completed paperwork over to Neve. She flipped through the pages, skimming over his writing. “Well, this looks good. I’ll go see if we have any spare polos in storage, but I’ll have to order you more. We weren’t expecting to get anyone new today,” Neve said by way of apology. 

“If you can’t find one, he can wear mine,” Turvi offered. “I can just wear the Gus suit for the day, instead of switching in and out.”

Lucanis’ eyes widened, but he stayed silent. Neve must have clocked the face he made, because she chuckled. “Keep your clothes on Rook. He can wear his own shirt if we dont have one for him.” 

Old Joe started beeping. Turvi stepped to the side and dramatically bowed and swept his arm out towards Neve. “Ladies first.”

Neve rolled her eyes at him as she got up to grab a mug. She poured the steaming liquid and made a little hum of displeasure. “Seems this batch is a little thick. Oh well. Better luck next time Rook.”

“Thick?” Lucanis squeaked, visibly paling. “And you guys actually drink that?” He asked incredulously, as Neve took a sip. 

“Yes, very perspicacious of you,” Turvi replied. 

Neve chuckled hand on hip, “Well look who’s putting that word of the day calendar in the break room to good use,” Neve said with a laugh. 

“I try,” he confirmed with an answering smirk. 

Turning to Lucanis she shrugged, “It tastes fine, and it does the job. We work in a Nug E Cheese. We can’t afford to be picky,” she shrugged. “Now let me go see about that shirt.”

==

The Routine is based on actual ancient food service machinery. Not the exact routine. But my sister works at an ice cream stand that has very very old machines. You do need to do weird stuff to make them work properly, and there is an actual rubber band holding parts together. Also there is way too much smirking going on. It’s still a wip okay?

Thank you @serensama for the tag. No pressure tagging @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @biowaredisasterbisexual @seaglassmelody @thedissonantverses @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @woundedsoul12

[fictionrealms]

One For The Money

Zayne x Non MC x Caleb

TW: self-depreciation, smut, fake dating trope, emotional manipulation, HEA, named MC/OC to help the flow and characterization, smoking, cigarettes, substance abuse, alcohol consumption, alcohol abuse, neglect, MDNI

Summary:

It was a mistake. Taking that deal was a dangerous mistake. But it was the perfect way to make Zayne finally notice me in all the ways that mattered most. I just didn't think I would be pulled into Caleb's gravity at the same time.

Word Count: 2014

Finished || Ongoing

Chapter One-->Chapter Two-->Chapter Three

One For The Money - Chapter 4 - bhaalistbabe - 恋与深空 | Love and Deepspace (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

His first text came four hours after making that deal. Four hours after exchanging numbers and watching him walk out the door with my brother. 

“You know that means you’re gonna have to kiss her,” Cash teased, barely able to contain his laughter.

“Fully aware.”

“Think you’re gonna be able to pull through?”

Then their voices were drowned out as they walked down the stairs and I shut the door behind them.

When his name came flashing across my screen, I was already at the studio I bought in Skyhaven. Arranging everything I would need to officially open shop the next morning. A bright pink, neon sign with the name flashed across the window to my left. All the message said was a time. Though, that was followed by Caleb informing me he would be picking me up and an address somewhere in Linkon. I hesitate to respond at first. Opting to enter the address in my search bar. My face pales when the website pulls up and I am met with the most expensive dress shop in the city. Of course, there were more expensive shops in Skyhaven. But he didn’t know where my shop was located. He didn’t know what I did for a living; as a matter of fact.

My reply is fast, precise, and to the point. ‘I can’t afford that, Caleb.’

‘Already paid for in full. My treat.’

His response was immediate, sharp, and left no room for argument.

I had exactly three hours left before the Fleet merger event I had to attend with Caleb. Which normally would have been enough time to run into the shop and grab whatever dress he had picked out for me to wear. I just wasn’t prepared to see him standing by his car in the parking lot of my shop in Skyhaven. Surrounded by roughly four other guys and all out of uniform. It takes me maybe two full minutes to finish closing the shop before I beeline to him.

He, however, isn’t the first to notice me. His friends, or rather fellow Fleet members, take immediate notice of me. All of them watching me with such precision that it makes my skin crawl and itch. True to the part I’m supposed to play, I seamlessly slide myself in his line of sight and flash possibly the most daring smile I could manage as I trail my fingers up and down his arms.

Caleb blinks, cocking his head to the side in a way that only I would notice as curiosity. Too well versed to his subtle tells and mannerisms to let it go unnoticed. “Pixie? I thought we were going to meet up later? Are you stalking me?” The way he places emphasizes makes me tense. 

“Didn’t I tell you I opened up shop here?” I tease, favoring to ignore the feeling of forboding for the moment, my tone hinting to remind him that we had a story to sell and I would be damned if I was the one to fuck everything up, “I could have sworn I did.”

It was like a light bulb went off above his head. Violet eyes flashing with recognition with something he most definitely had no recollection of. Because we had never discussed such a thing. Hadn’t yet danced into each other’s lives in that way. It was almost comical watching him try to piece together something believable whereas I could easily lie through my teeth. Lying had become an art form of sorts for me. Nine years of trying to avoid attachments had molded my tongue into the perfect weapon.

“Right, guess I must have forgot. Did you want to pick the dress up now? We can make any alterations to it while we’re there.”

An plea to get out of the stares of his men. Scrutinizing and watching and prying us both open. Trying to piece togather the connection to each other. Cleverly disguised as an invitation to go do something he knew I was already about to do.

“Sure, why not.” My voice is smooth as silk. Wrapping around him like a scarf. Intended to throw him off. Or maybe it was meant to throw his men off our lies. I couldn’t tell which anymore. It was more about the dance around each other now. Something we were accustomed to more than we were our long standing loathing of each other.

“Colonel,” one of the men spoke, his voice holding a lilt that told me everything I needed to know about him, “who’s this lovely little thing? And why haven’t we had the pleasure of meeting her until now?”

Caleb’s gaze shifts to the man to our left. He was about four inches shorter than Caleb. Broad shouldered and lean. Well built for a man who appeared to be maybe eighteen. Perhaps twenty at most. And had deep emerald eyes that glittered with mischief when he looked at me. Caleb tensed, only a fraction. Such a minute change that I didn’t think anyone but me had noticed.

“My bad. This is Pixie–my girlfriend.”

A smirk bloomed across Emerald Eyes’ face. Making a dimple in his cheek and his high cheekbones infinitely sharper than they were. “Girlfriend? And you’re just now bringing her up?”

“I just moved back after nine years. We’ve been long distance until now and I told him I wanted to keep it on the down low until I could come back home.”

Truth peppered in with the lie makes everything all the sweeter. Easier to swallow. Easier to believe. Sugar-coated and rolled in honey.

He nods. And that was the end of it.

_________________

He’s silent in the car. The kind of quiet that’s loud and screaming rather than soft and quiet and lets you breathe in its comfort. It’s raw and somehow more alive than I feel. I shift in my seat, the leather creaks with my movement, and Caleb thrums his fingers against the steering wheel. Each one echoing the steady thumps of my heart. At first, the speed is gradual. He navigates the streets of Skyhaven like he had them memorized. Slowly gaining speed with each turn we take. But then the car is moving impossibly fast. Buildings and signs whip past us so fast they’re nothing but a blur in my vision.

I grip the seat on instinct. Bile rose in my throat when the flashbacks hit me. I was only fifteen. A year before my grand departure. Cash had his license for a year and took me on a drive. But it wasn’t a drive at all. He got caught up in the mix of street races and at the next stop light he took off like a bat out of hell. Racing towards an end I couldn’t see. Screaming for him to slow down. Only to end up with Cash’s car flipped.

I don’t realize I shut my eyes until the car slows to a stop. Caleb shifts the car into gear then turns to me. His eyes downcast, hand still on the gear shift.

“Hope I didn’t scare you with my driving, Pixie.” The familiar nickname sends a bolt of ice straight down my spine, but I can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was the tone of indifference in his voice. Or the fact that he knew about the accident the same way Mckenna and Zayne did.

I mutter under my breath when I shove open the car door. “Fucking asshole.”

When I finally feel like I can breathe again, it hits me that we’re not in Linkon. Which was stupid of me to think we were considering Skyhaven is nothing but a floating island. We would need to take the train in order to get back to Linkon. Still, I don’t recognize where we are and that terrifies me more than anything. 

“Relax,” Caleb’s playful tone is back in place when he leans against the car, “we’re at my place. I told the shop just to send the dress here. Figured we could save some time. Go over the basics.”

I quirk a brow, wrapping my arms around myself. “Did you seriously bring me here to play Twenty Questions?”

“Depends. You think you can handle three extra hours with me?”

A challenge.

“If you insist, Colonel.”

_____________________

The inside of his apartment is cold. The walls a dull shade of gray that makes me think of a heavy fog. Lifeless. Nothing appears to have been moved or even touched. Everything immaculately placed and clean. The air hums as if it’s alive and can hear my thoughts. It’s like the apartment itself if dead, if not barely hanging on for dear life. Like all the light had been sucked out of it. Save for the singular splash of color from a bright red apple plushie that sits on the couch. A tell sign that Mckenna stays here at times, being that the girl never outgrew her childhood fixation of them.

“Why is you’re house so fucking cold?” Before he has time to answer, I remove my boots and toss them beside the door. An old habit ingrained in me from dinners at Zayne’s when we were kids. “It’s freezing in here.”

“I don’t stay here that much.”

Taking what little he has to offer, I tuck it away in the filing cabinet of things I hate about him in my head. Caleb locks the door, the faint click somehow seeming to echo through the large, near empty space–then walks to the couch and slumps down on cushions that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. His head thrown back and chestnut hair falling in his face. He looks tired. Exhausted really. Like he hadn’t slept in weeks and was due for something between a nap and a light coma. 

Finally, I make my way to sit beside him. A decent gap between us as I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. Arms wrap around my legs to pull them impossibly closer. My knees strain with the effort, but I manage. Gnawing on the inside of my cheek to counter the ache.

Caleb is first to break the deafening silence. “What business did you open in Skyhaven?”

“Tattoo shop. It’s called Pins & Needles. What’s your favorite color?”

“Really? We’re really going back to basics?” He snorts.

“Nine years changes a person.”

Somewhere between the questions and the silence my head turned from him. Not looking at anything in particular. I felt distant, cut off from the rest of the world somehow. Like I wasn’t exactly in the same reality as Caleb or anyone else. In a world all my own. There’s a shift in weight on the couch. A sign that Caleb moved or changed positions.

“Orange. Yours still purple?”

“Mine hasn’t been purple since I was seven.”

“What was it then?”

I purse my lips. Ashamed to admit that it had changed to green. But not any green–emerald green. The same color of Zayne’s eyes. “Green. It’s yellow now.”

There’s a beat of silence. Like he was assessing my answer. Or simply tucking it away in a mental filing cabniet of his own. Though I wasn’t sure why he would be doing that. My favorite color wasn’t something worth filing away.

“You’re not exactly the kind of person that would like the color yellow.” Caleb’s tone holds something like judgement. My eyes narrow on instinct. 

“And what kind of person is that?”

“I don’t know. Someone happy? You know like–”

“Don’t you dare fucking say it. Don’t you dare say Mckenna.”

He freezes. His whole body tensing at the tone of my voice. As if one wrong move would make his skin fracture like a sheet of thin ice.

“Like Mckenna.” He says anyways.

Without a word, I get off the couch and walk to the room I knew undoubtedly would be hers. Where the dress would be if it was delivered before we got here. Leaving him alone in the living room in silence. Nothing by my anger to keep him company in the empty space of my departure.

[lodessa]

Kiss challenge!

#32 a kiss with someone watching

KASTLE BAYBEEEE!!!

“Hey, Red.  I hear you’re recruiting suckers to fight Fisk’s clowns.  There some sort of release form I gotta sign, or what?”

Something kicks into gear inside her before she is consciously aware of recognizing the rumble of that voice.  Frank! Karen is halfway across the parking garage towards him, before she remembers Matt who was previously standing beside her. Then she remembers Matt’s smug comments about the last time the three of them were in the same place, and dashes the rest of the way anyway.

Frank winces when she throws her arms around his neck, so damned glad to see him she doesn’t stop to think whether she should, but he wraps one arm around her as well anyway so she doesn’t let go immediately.  

“Heya, Karen . . .” 

“Christ, Frank, what the hell happened to you?”  she asks as she  pulls back to survey the damage at last.

Frank looks . . . bad.  Karen has seen him in rough shape before but this is on another level. 

“Clown car pile up,” he evades, or answers, Karen’s not sure which.  

“I’d say you need a hospital but . . .”   Frank can’t afford to be recognized at one, especially not right now, and he definitely would be.

“I can call someone,” Matt pipes up, reminding them both he’s still there. “Consider it a favor, or a sign on bonus or whatever.”

Karen isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be a favor to Frank or to her, but whatever Matt’s thinking she’s thankful for whatever help he thinks he can get.  There’s definitely broken bones along with the layers of bruises Frank is sporting, and she wouldn’t bet against internal bleeding. 

“You didn’t have to throw yourself in a meat grinder to prove the whole caring thing, you know,” she tells Frank, as Matt turns away from them. (Clearly for they benefit not his own, since it doesn’t make a difference for him either way. The illusion of privacy.)

“Sorry I missed your calls,” Frank sniffles, glancing away in Matt’s direction for a moment before turning his eyes back to hers.  “I was a little . . . tied up.”

She’s vaguely aware of Matt talking to someone on the phone in the background.  She’s hyper aware of the battered face looking into hers and the way her heart is thumping against her chest like a wild creature straining against the bars of a cage.

“I went back to your place,” she confesses, “and you weren’t there.”

More and more vigilantes have been going missing, or turning up dead. Karen has been telling herself the fact that Frank’s body hadn’t shown up is good news, but with every unreturned phone call it has felt a little less true. 

“Decide you wanted the cup of coffee after all?” 

“Something like that,” she swallows, trying to fight back the tears of relief that want to spill from her as it fully hits her that he is alive here in front of her. “But I should warn you the West Coast has kind of spoiled me.”

“Blasphemy,” he tells her, but the way he says it is so much softer than it has any right to be.

“I thought . . . I thought-” Karen doesn’t finish as a choked sob overtakes her. Now that she knows he is alive, all the thoughts and feelings she hasn’t been letting herself feel until now come rushing to the surface.   “Goddamn it, Frank.  How many times are you going to make me mourn your death?”

He takes it.  He doesn’t turn away or pull back.  He looks directly at her as she rages impotently, instead of interrupting her. 

“I’d tell you not to mourn my ass, but that won’t make a damned bit of difference, will it?” he shakes his head when she quiets, pressing it against hers as he learns closer.

“So you do actually hear me. occasionally.”

He’s so close, closer than he’s ever been without blood and bullets flying.

“Would it help if I stayed dead? I could do that, Karen, for you.” 

Anyone else would be joking about that, but from Frank it feels too real.  Frank would die for her, but that’s not what Karen wants.  It’s never been what she wants and she isn’t sure how many more times she can tell him that before she really and truly loses her mind.

“It would help if you stayed alive. I’m not sure how I can get that through your thick skull if the last dozen times I have told you as much haven’t stuck.”

“I gotta tell you, Karen, the last years of this whole ‘having a future’ business have kinda sucked.”

She can’t blame him, even if a lot of it is his own fault.  Frank may have chosen to be alone, to punish himself as much as he ever has the scumbags he puts down, but Karen gave up too.  Being back in New York, back here staring into Frank’s eyes as he admits to being depressed if not actively suicidal again, it makes her realize that maybe she should never have stopped short of saying all of what she wanted to say in the past.  

“Come out to San Francisco with me, when all of this is done,” she tells him.  “You can finally embrace your real destiny: go full hipster and open up a coffee shop or something.”

Have a life with me.   

“You don’t mean that.  Are you even going back out there, now that you and Murdock-”

“Matt and I will always be family,” she says out loud, for all three of them to hear, “But not the way you’re thinking.”

That’s the truth that she and Matt have avoided saying out loud, even to each other. 

“Assuming  that we make it out alive,” Frank hesitates, “That doesn’t sound half bad. You’re sure . . . ”

“I’ve been sure, Frank. If you really want to do something for me, please just-”

She can taste the blood on his split lip and the tears from her own: salt and iron like they are trying to bind or banish some fairy tale creature. Maybe they are: embracing the bond between them at long last and banishing the cobwebs of the past.

“Is that Frank Castle?” a woman’s voice asks from behind Karen. “You called me for the Punisher, Matt?”

“I appreciate you coming, Claire,” she can hear Matt reply.  “I’m sorry for having you rush down here.  Apparently it’s not as urgent as I thought.”

“Looks pretty urgent from here.” Claire, whoever she is, sounds amused more than annoyed.

Karen lets Frank to be the first one to pull away, their foreheads still pressed together as they try to catch their breath or maybe just indulge in the moment. 

“Adrenaline, I’m sure.” 

Karen may not have his super hearing but she can hear Matt’s smirk as clear as day. For the first time since Foggy died, she feels like they might all be okay again at some point.

[berryispunk]

Stars Above, Us Below

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: soft! Frankie, smut (🌶️🌶️🌶️), established relationship, date night vibes, kinda public sex, a tiny sprinkle of dirty talk, all the fluff, no physical description of reader apart from wearing a dress

summary: A fancy dinner gone wrong, a bottle of stolen champagne, starlit kisses in the truck bed — and somehow, it still felt like everything was falling perfectly into place.

notes: in today's episode of "from brainrot to fanfic" i present you this. written in one maniac sitting. enjoy ~

word count: ~ 1,9k

It’s date night with Frankie.

As always, he doesn’t tell you where you’re going—he likes to surprise you. Tonight’s destination turns out to be a restaurant so fancy it practically whispers “you can’t afford to breathe here.” Dim lighting, overpriced cocktails, food that looks like art but won’t touch your hunger.

Just as you're about to be seated, a waiter approaches with a nervous tilt to his smile.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he says, “but it seems there’s been an issue with your reservation. Your table was mistakenly given to another party.”

You feel Frankie go still beside you, the tick in his jaw flashing sharp beneath his stubble. “What?” he says, low and hard.

You reach for his arm without thinking, grounding him with a gentle squeeze.

“There’s no way to fix that?” you ask. “Did you double check?”

The waiter nods solemnly. “We did. I’m truly sorry… Mr. and Mrs. Morales.”

The tension snaps. You glance at Frankie, who arches a brow, then at the waiter again, a slow grin spreading across your face.

“Well,” you say sweetly, “in a place like this, that kind of mistake seems a little… beneath you, don’t you think? I imagine some sort of apology is in order.”

Your voice drips with false charm, each word sharp as glass under silk.

Frankie tries to stifle his laugh but ends up coughing into his fist, eyes sparkling.

---

Ten minutes later, you’re both walking out with a free bottle of champagne and zero dinner plans. He opens the truck door for you, waiting until you’re settled before climbing in himself. The city fades behind you as he veers off the main road, turning onto an old dirt path that winds into the hills—somewhere quiet, off-grid, just the two of you.

Eventually, he parks at a lookout spot tucked between trees and stars. You both climb into the truck bed, bottle in hand, the world below cloaked in silence.

Frankie leans back on one elbow, watching you take in the view. “That was hot as hell, by the way,” he says, voice low. “The way you played that waiter? I almost kissed you right there in front of him.”

You purr back, “Yeah?” taking a generous sip of champagne before hiking your dress up enough to climb into his lap, knees on either side of him.

He steadies you instinctively, hands finding your waist.

“It didn’t freak you out? Them thinking we were married?”

He shrugs, eyes locked on yours. “Why would it? It’s gonna happen anyway. Sooner or later.”

You laugh, socking him lightly in the shoulder, even as your arms slip around his neck.

“Francisco Morales,” you tease, “this is not the way you’re gonna propose, is it?”

He only grins up at you, big hands now settled firmly on your ass, unapologetic.

“And what if it is?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

Frankie’s grin only widens, that cocky tilt slipping into something darker. “Guilty.”

Then he kisses you—soft at first, like a secret passed between your lips, but there's heat behind it, simmering just beneath the surface. His hands tighten around your ass, pulling you closer into his lap, and you squeak into the kiss, surprised by the sudden pressure, then giggle against his mouth.

He breaks away with a breathless laugh of his own, resting his forehead against yours for just a second—like he needs a moment to steady himself.

Then his fingers tug gently at the hem of your dress, dragging it higher along your thighs, his warm eyes searching yours, asking without words.

You nod and that’s all it takes.

The cool night air prickles over your skin as he pushes the fabric over your head, goosebumps blooming across your body, but you barely notice—because his mouth is on your neck now, warm and slow, trailing kisses down the delicate line of your throat, over your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts. Every kiss is reverent and purposeful.

When his hands come up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brush over your nipples before his tongue follows, teasing around the sensitive skin until your back arches into him. A soft moan escapes your lips, and you bury your fingers in his hair, clutching tight as he licks and sucks, slowly unraveling you under the stars.

His name slips from your lips, breathlessly. “Frankie…”

He grins against your skin, slow and wicked, before gently guiding you down onto the bed of the truck. The night air curls around you as he hovers above, braced on strong arms on either side of your head. For a beat, you just look at him—like really look—your hand finding his cheek, thumb brushing softly along the curve of his cheekbone. He leans into the touch like it’s home, pressing a kiss to your wrist, and something in your chest clenches.

You’ve never met a man who touches you like this—like you’re something fragile and holy. It does funny, dangerous things to your heart.

Your other hand slides down, fingers finding the zipper of his jeans in a silent invitation. He exhales sharply, understanding immediately, helping you strip him down, piece by piece. He sits back on his heels to shrug out of his button-up, and when he’s finally bare before you—golden skin, sculpted muscles, and that signature furrow between his brows—your breath catches.

You’ll never get tired of this view, ever.

You reach for him again, pulling him down between your thighs, your hands cradling his face as your legs wrap tightly around his waist. His cock nudges at your soaked center and he groans low in his throat, forehead resting against yours.

His eyes, always so full, search yours. Then he kisses you—hard and deep, like he’s trying to memorize your taste. You mewl into it, pressing your softness against his heat, every inch of you aching.

His lips drag down your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder—where he bites, gently, then soothes the sting with a kiss. One arm props him up while the other moves between you, guiding himself to your entrance.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, even as you’re already trembling beneath him.

“Yes,” you whisper, breathless. “Frankie, please.”

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you again, slower this time, as he pushes in—inch by inch—eyes locked on yours, like he’s watching every expression bloom across your face. You gasp, your mouth falling open as he fills you, your body stretching to accommodate every thick, perfect inch of him.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”

His hand grips your hip as he begins to move, slow at first, deep and deliberate. The world around you fades—the stars, the breeze, the quiet rustle of trees. It’s just the two of you now. 

You cling to him, nails digging soft crescents into his back, and he groans again, wrapping one of your legs tighter around his waist to deepen the angle. His head drops to the crook of your neck, breath hot and uneven as he starts to lose himself in the rhythm of your bodies.

The pace builds—each thrust more desperate, more claiming—until the truck bed is rocking beneath you. You’re moaning his name like a prayer, clutching him tighter, and he’s answering with broken, breathless praises in your ear.

When you finally fall apart beneath him, it crashes through you like a wave—sharp and blinding. Your back arches, mouth open in a silent cry as pleasure pulses through every nerve. Frankie follows with a ragged moan of your name, burying himself deep, his whole body shuddering as he lets go.

He collapses over you, both of you breathless, tangled, shining with sweat and starlight.

For a long, perfect moment, neither of you speaks. Just the sound of your hearts calming in sync, your fingers brushing through his tousled hair and the occasional soft kiss he presses to your skin.

And when he finally lifts his head, those warm brown eyes find yours again—still wild, but loving. Like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

You’re still catching your breath, the chill night air nipping at your flushed skin as you both start lazily pulling your clothes back on. Frankie reaches for his jeans, and as he lifts them off the truck bed, a small, velvety box tumbles out and lands between you with a soft thud.

Your heart lurches.

Your eyes snap to his, wide and blinking. “Is that what I think it is?”

He freezes, eyes flicking to the box like it might detonate. “Joder,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he snatches it up. “This... this isn’t how I planned it.”

You just stare, brain completely short-circuiting. “Oh shit,” you whisper, voice cracking as he opens the box.

Inside, nestled against the velvet, is the most beautiful, understated ring you’ve ever seen. Something delicate. Timeless. So perfectly you that your chest aches.

Your eyes fill with tears before you can stop them, and the word bursts out before you even think.

“Yes!”

Frankie stares at you, blinking. Then he laughs—soft, breathless, somewhere between nervous and stunned. “Mi amor, I didn’t even ask you yet.”

You laugh too, wiping a tear with the back of your hand. “Well, the answer is yes anyway.”

He shakes his head, his smile blooming in that slow, crooked way you love. “Impatient woman,” he teases, but there’s a glint in his eyes that’s all awe.

You hold out your left hand, fingers trembling. “Last chance to back out,” you joke, but your voice wobbles around the emotion clogging your throat.

His gaze flicks up, meeting yours with a depth that makes your heart flutter. “Last chance to say no,” he murmurs, holding the ring just above your hand. It catches the moonlight and gleams like something out of a dream.

“Are you insane?” you whisper fiercely, tears spilling freely now. “No way I’m saying no.”

You wiggle your fingers impatiently, and he finally slips the ring onto your hand. It fits like it was made for you.

Of course it does.

You stare at it, at the shimmer of it against your skin, and the tears just keep coming, silent and warm. You laugh through them, a watery breath of disbelief. “I should’ve known the moment we pulled up to that expensive-as-fuck restaurant.”

Frankie smirks, already pulling you gently back into his lap. “Was trying to be smooth,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around you again, both of you still half-dressed and tangled in each other.

“But this?” You gesture around—the bed of the truck, the empty champagne bottle, the stars overhead, the lingering warmth of his body on yours. “This is way better, believe me."

He doesn’t answer with words — just pulls you closer, presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and in that breathless quiet, chaos has never looked so much like forever.

thanks for reading 💌

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[friends-w-ghosts]

(My Take On) Locke & Edgar’s Friendship

I honestly love Locke and Edgar’s friendship so much and I think both of them would be entirely different people even if at the beginning of the game if they hadn’t met each other.

I definitely didn’t touch on everything I’ve ever thought about them (and absolutely talked more about Edgar than Locke), but definitely enough that this is long. You’ve been warned!

I. Their Dynamic in General

Edgar is so emotionally protective of Sabin and was also arguably parentified to some degree (or at least absolutely forced to grow up far too fast and took it upon himself to keep Sabin safe). It’s also safe to assume Sabin was his only real friend, at least of note, and once Sabin went to train with Duncan full-time he was left to take on a huge responsibility completely alone. Even if he did try to make friends his status would make it really really difficult if not impossible to make genuine connections.

But Locke could not care less about Edgar’s status and I doubt he ever did. The only time he cares is when he’s talking about himself and can basically be like “cool that I’m friends with a king, huh? Didn’t expect that did you??” and even then Locke is constantly trying to make a point to show how he goes against expectations (aka constantly prove he isn’t just some thief) so it’s more a point about himself than it is about Edgar.

Because most of Edgar’s social experience comes from political exchanges, he’s all about façades and presenting himself just the right way so that he can get the results he needs. He’s very strategic about everything, and a lot of how he presents himself is not the entire truth. So Edgar spent his whole life always having someone to save, protect, or otherwise have put their faith in him. That is, until Locke.

Edgar has no obligation to protect Locke from anything. They’re not related, and Locke isn’t from Figaro. He’s also already able to fight, and doesn’t see Edgar as someone he has to win over for political reasons. (The Returners seemingly being more of a mutual support/project they’re both a part of rather than something Locke is trying to convince Edgar to be a part of).

I personally think that had Locke and Edgar not become friends, then Edgar would be a lot less sociable than he is. He would have had little to no non-political social interactions in ten years and I think without someone to be himself around it would’ve been a lot easier for him to lose his sense of self beneath the strain of upholding the image of king.

Locke is a person who Edgar can afford to really just be human around in a way he can’t (or doesn’t let himself) with even Sabin. He can be petty, they can make fun of each other, etc and it doesn’t have to mean anything other than that they’re comfortable around each other.

(I’ll definitely write more about this another time, but Edgar’s protectiveness of Sabin keeps him from connecting as honestly as they could otherwise and it’s, imo, something that has been imposed on them since childhood. He wants Sabin to be happy more than anything else and all the weight he puts on that would make it near impossible to tease him and interact with him in the same way he does Locke.)

Side note: I also wholeheartedly believe Edgar learned his whole disguising himself thing from Locke. I mean we get to see a Locke disguise himself all the way back in South Figaro so the idea that Locke was the one that at least inspired the idea isn’t that crazy.

But I’d go even further to say this could’ve been a way to save Edgar’s casual, non-political social skills. As (repeatedly) previously stated, Edgar’s biggest hurdle when it comes to making friends is the fact that he’s a king.

Disguising himself so he can talk to people normally could have been a major outlet for him and a lifesaver in terms of keeping himself sane. But also, it could have given him space to experiment with his identity as a whole in a way that would have been previously robbed from him because he spent his teen years amidst political drama.

TLDR: I think Locke always treated Edgar as an equal and even potentially gave him an outlet for self-expression that he definitely desperately needed.

Speaking of outfits, though, I am an artist first so let’s talk about character designs for a second!

II. Character Design

I mentioned before that Locke is a person who is constantly trying to subvert the expectations that are set for him, and some of his designs really lend themselves to that point.

A. Locke

To put it simply: out of all the cast he looks really plain. Like he’s seriously just a guy. The most out of the norm thing about him is his hair color and even then it’s very neutral and not eye-catching; it’s gray, but warm gray(ish), which is very subtle when put next to the browns and dark blues of the rest of his outfit.

Meanwhile, his personality is bright — he’s extremely outgoing, friendly, and happy-go-lucky. He tries so hard to be good/the hero he’s seriously self-sacrificial and reckless — who cares about consequences when you could help someone who needs it? And yet, his design is… kinda dull. (I love his design btw this is me talking it up not down).

It gives the impression of someone who truly is just a person who is intentionally thrusting themself into a position of greatness instead of being “born for this”.

B. Edgar

Edgar’s outfit works to the complete opposite end. I’m using his remastered outfit here because I think it’s better, firstly, and it does fit a lot of the art of him more closely (plus the fact that yellow + blue are Figaro’s royal colors).

Unlike Locke, Edgar’s whole color palette is all intensely eye catching. Bright blues, yellow, purple — all of it is super saturated. He’s the guy you’re supposed to be looking at/to. And it fits! He’s a king, so of course he’s flashy.

Or: He was chosen — quite literally born — for this. The position his birth gave him was that of a leader, someone everyone pays attention to and sees as a figurehead. And while I think Edgar plays the part well, I think it’s abundantly clear that it’s not something he wants. He wants to have a life of his own the same way that Sabin does, he just has a different relationship with responsibility (especially over Sabin’s happiness) and his role as heir that kept him from leaving Figaro to pursue his dreams.

So, Edgar’s a guy whose character design speaks of him being special and important, while his actual personality is that of someone who is pretty typical. His personal goals align more with wanting to reconnect with his brother and invent things than adventuring and saving the world. He only really does that because he feels he must and recognizes how catastrophic it would be for both Figaro and the world if he didn’t take an active role in fixing things. He’s someone who, at the end of the day, is a fairly normal guy who was thrust into a position of greatness and is taking it with as much grace as possible.

(Yes his hobbies are weird asf but to be fair I think his proximity to war and death probably was what skewed “liking to build strange things a la Rube Goldberg” to “liking to build strange death machines”)

I think this juxtaposition has its benefits. As I talked about before, Locke can help Edgar have a way to participate in society normally. But this also works in the opposite direction: Edgar is a world leader. He has real power when it comes to fighting the empire. He has the ability to kickstart Locke and the Returners, bringing them from a small rebel group to an actual threat backed by one of the world’s largest and most technologically advanced countries. So they both get to benefit in a way that feels equal to them.

[valorsworn]

There’s a hushed, exhausted quiet that’s settled over him now, even though his chest is still recalibrating, muscles aching from the emotional death sprint his mind just took him on. Already now, he’s rebuilding the walls again, shouldering responsibility like his own suit of armor, convincing himself he needs to be invulnerable so others don’t have to be. But there’s a crack in the wall.

( That’s how the light gets in. )

It’s not the touch that gets him ; it’s the way. Not tactical. Not measured. Just… there. Gentle where Steve never lets people be. Steady. It stays, and holds, and anchors in a way he can’t afford to examine too closely, but he’s still wide open, everything right there at the surface. 

His eyes flick up, find Tony’s. He can feel his entire expression ( his entire being ) softening at Tony’s words, the slow smile already blooming on his face, the wry fondness creeping into his eyes. The statement is irreverent and flippant in just the right dosage, enough to break him free from his maudlin mood, enough to have him silently convey gratitude in the way he keeps the eye contact a living, breathing thing between them.

“ I’m just me, Tony, ” he objects quietly, smile lingering.

Nothing special. Just a kid from Brooklyn. Except he’s done a thing or two since then. Some growing up, for one. He’s not a kid anymore. People look to him, depend on him, in and outside of the team. 

But maybe he doesn’t have to do it all on his own.

His fingers circle Tony’s wrist, thumb pressing on the inside, soaking up the heartbeat he finds there. He can’t help it if his eyes turn a slight, unwise shade of yearning. Everything right there at the surface.

“ Guess it’s a good thing he wasn’t the only one who believed in me. I won't waste it. ”

I promise.

he very nearly recoils with the panic to pass this on to someone else. there’s supposed to be an answer, and steve is the one supposed to have it, or pretend to for the gracious cause of letting the pleb waddle around in their enclosure drowsily, angst-free. tony included. soldiers are the last line of defense.

from down on his knees, the car crash feeling is back with an altogether different close-up of steve’s face. its topography is personal. his eyes are kidlike, too big. the two crinkles between his eyebrows are lived in. he’s a curl of hurt.

tony has to swallow around an apple chunk of grief to get himself working. he could choreograph this with natasha in his sleep. bruce, barton, eyes closed.

his suited fingers clap down on steve’s big open palm like they’re linking for an obligatory theater bowdown, then it’s his bare fingers roofing over steve’s knuckles. doesn’t feel right. he peels off, wanting, pats at the low of steve’s cheek twice-friendly. but instead of finishing polite, the heart of his hand sits the overworked chew spot in steve’s jaw. his knuckle supports under steve’s ear, and the rest just holds.

’ if erskine got you wrong, then there’s no hope for the rest of us. ‘

[sanatomis]

why do some parents make such a big deal out of the most basic fucking tasks

[rouge-fauna]

Normally, I wouldn't really say anything about the drama and stuff, because that's not what I'm here for and honestly I feel like a lot of it is just none of my business. But, it just feels so close to home for me that I can't help but say something. Because here's the thing people aren't going to talk about and probably don't even realize, but I think so much of this drama actually has to do with Dream being autistic.

Just notice the themes of what Tubbo said about Dream being weird, inappropriate, not considering the social boundaries, not communicating, coming across wrong… etc these are all things that can be attributed to Dream literally not knowing better because of neurodivergence. That’s not an excuse but an explanation to know the difference between Dream texting Tommy’s mom out of being manipulative versus not understanding how that breaks a social boundary. That’s not to say Dream should get a free pass to do whatever but I think in the same way we take into consideration other people’s ages and their naivety and obliviousness and inexperience into consideration, Dream’s neurodivergence should be considered too. It is valid. It makes a difference between manipulative and malicious intent versus simply not seeing it the same way.

And really the sad thing is, that I think people will always dislike Dream. At the end of the day, I think that will never change, because even if he was the most perfect person people would still dislike him because of an underlying subconscious response to him not being like the rest. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he is made the villain in real life and in the dsmp, because it is simply a psychological fact that people inherently dislike autistic people. It’s not because they are ableist it’s just we don’t act like they do so that makes us weird and therefore unlikeable. And it’s hard to understand us because our brains our literally different and as has been said throughout history what we don’t understand we hate, we fear, we see as evil, we attack. Why does Dream get canceled and attacked over and over again? Not because they are true and it proves a pattern that he’s shitty, but because society is so desperate to find a more tangible reason to hate him other than the fact that they just do. Because his behavior breaks social rules he didn’t realize existed. Because he’s easy pickings. Because in my opinion it all comes down to autism and honestly until that piece is actually taken into consideration nothing will probably resolve.

[crow-of-paradise]

Kaladin still finding reasons to care. Despite his chronic bouts of spiraling depression. Despite losing his brother. Despite saving Amaram and in return getting his entire squad cut down and being marked as a slave.

Kaladin. 😭😭😭😭

[eatsbooksarchive]

If Eris meets someone and instantly realises that they are his mate, he knows nothing else of the person, how would he go about it?

i think he would try to take that shit to the grave — theirs or his. the one romantic relationship he is most readily exposed to throughout his life is fraught with abuse, despair, and unwillingness; the open romantic and sexual relationships his brothers participate in look a lot like subjugation; their secret ones, the ones that are genuine and sacred, are under constant threat of exposure; and we all know what happened to jesminda. not to mention being mated to him means becoming an external vulnerability, a heart beating outside of his chest, aching for a hand to reach out and crush it — and there are so many who would see him crippled in such a way. even beyond that, there’s the hostility a mate would experience amongst the autumn nobility. not while he was around, of course, but if they were ever left alone with all of the fae who wanted so desperately to ascend to power alongside the scion of autumn. so there’s obviously a lot of reasons he would keep it secret, all of them selfless, even if in the selfishness of the act.

but i do think, in the dark of the night, when the forest house is quiet and none are awake to scent the weakness on the air, he lets himself feel it — the second heartbeat, just outside of his chest. beating much slower than his own, as though in sleep. he imagines what they look like in repose, how they might nestle deeper into their pillow with a furrow between their brow as a dream stirs them towards waking, how he might like to lean forward and press his mouth to it until they settled, there, in the dark, where no one would know but him. and then — and then a servant creeps into his study to tend the hearth, which the ones loyal to him know not to do because he does not like to be disturbed and prefers to do so himself, which means this one is not loyal to him and is here to catch glimpse of what the heir is up to and report back to whoever sent them. (could be beron, could be a brother, could be a high-ranking noble who despises him, could be a high-ranking noble who hopes to slither into his bed. doesn’t matter much anymore.) the fantasy lives and dies in that moment, until the pressures of his life close around his chest once more and he must steal another reprieve from the heartbeat beyond, then it lives and dies there over again, again, again.

because the kindest thing eris vanserra can imagine doing for a mate is ensuring they never, ever know.